#no hope of rescue; nothing but enemies around him who want to see him suffer | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

silverflame2724 · 3 years ago

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Accidental Martial God WWX

That was exacty what I meant actually but I do have a few more povs if you want.

LQRs reaction to a demonic cultivator ascending, JGS and JGY reaction to the Yin Tiger Tally moving completely out of reach, WQ pondering the true requirements for ascension given WWX doesn't have a golden core yet ascended, WWX musing on Godhood and on his new followers both the good and the more disturbing worshipers.

Maybe LWJ protects the Wen Remnants because WWX asked him to in a dream and after he succeeds (13 years later) he ascends and is finally reunited with WWX.

Lan Qiren did not know what to think. Wei Wuxian, his most troublesome student, a demonic cultivator, had ascended. He’d ascended. How was that even possible? Were the Heavens blind? Why would they allow someone like Wei Wuxian to ascend?

From what Lan Qiren had thought, only those who are righteous and followed the correct path in life like the Lan clan’s founder, Lan An, would be worthy of ascending.

Either the qualifications for ascension were lower than he thought or Lan Qiren had been horribly mistaken about Wei Wuxian’s personality and motivations for using demonic cultivation. That last thought made Lan Qiren feel very uncomfortable.

He’d always been harsh on the boy and disregarded him, even - he ashamedly admitted - punishing him harsher and more frequently than others.

He’d thought he was in the right because of how Wei Wuxian was but…..

But if he was wrong then Lan Qiren owed him an apology.

………………….

Jin Guangshan wanted to scream out in frustration seeing Wei Wuxian ascend. That brat had the Stygian Tiger Seal on him - according to his spies - and now that he ascended, the Seal went with him.

He had had so many plans on bribing Wei Wuxian to his side or killing him when he refused - as well as stealing the Seal - and then taking over the cultivation world, lording over it as he was always meant to be.

Now those plans are ruined. He sighed. Hopefully that bastard son of his can finally prove his usefulness and give him countermeasures or he might retract his favor from him.

……………………

Jin Guangyao’s first thought upon seeing Wei Wuxian ascend was: Oh shit. I have to go make up new plans to help Father.

He knew his father wanted Wei Wuxian and the Seal and didn’t really care how he obtained both or either, just as long as no one traced it back to him. He sighed. This was going to be a big headache. But at least the plans on putting his father as Chief Cultivator were going smoothly. He could only imagine what his father would do to him if even this failed.

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

Wen Qing had still been in Yiling, making plans to relocate her family, when the news that Wei Wuxian had ascended had reached her.

Her first reaction was, That’s impossible.

Because it was, right? Wen Qing should know. She cut out his core, after all. But to think he was still able to ascend while he was a demonic cultivator made her wonder what the requirements were for ascending. Perhaps it’s an honest heart? Self-sacrificing tendencies? Or is it a sacrifice of some sorts? She paused. What if.....it was a trial? To test a person’s will? What Wei Wuxian had suffered was.....horrible. Could it have all been just a test from the Heavens?

If that was so, the Heavens really are cru---

“A’ Jie, we have to go! Some Jin were spotted nearby!”

Wen Qing gritted her teeth. Members of the branch families of Qishan, regardless of whether they were innocent or not, were captured and subsequently tortured to death by the Jin and sometimes the Nie. Because her family was all in Yiling, they were safe.......but only for now. They had to hurry and escape.

Wen Qing sent a quick prayer to Wei Wuxian, hoping for her family’s safety, and tucked the rest of her belongings in her qiankun pouch, remembering to wrap her arms in bandages to hide the needles she might need to paralyze any Jin that came close.

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

Wei Wuxian’s first thought when he landed in the Heavens was, What the fuck.

Then he looked around and looked taken aback and wary at the unfamiliar faces around him. Where the fuck am I?

“Hello.” A rather stoic-faced man greeted.

“Hello.” Wei Wuxian parroted back. The person in front of him didn’t seem to be a threat so he felt a little tension loosen from his shoulders. “Um, Xiansheng? I’m afraid I don’t know where I am?”

“You have just ascended.” The man replied, throwing Wei Wuxian aback.

“Are you pulling my leg?” Wei Wuxian asked. “How is that even possible! I don’t even have---” He swallowed. I don’t even have a core.

“I do not lie. Come, we are wasting time. We must get you washed up and dressed for the induction ceremony.” Seeing Wei Wuxian still frozen, the man sighed, signalled for some people to pick Wei Wuxian up and dragged the struggling man to some quarters.

After absentmindedly washing, drying and changing himself, Wei Wuxian noticed some differences in his body. He wasn’t....cold or hurting anymore. And - he touched his back - he could feel his back! After having his muscles and nerves shredded by Zidian, he didn’t think he’d ever be able to sense touch on his back or even move without pain! But now he can!

He heard the urging of some people and grumbled.

“You will become a god of demonic cultivation.” Was the first thing he heard when he stepped out of the room.

Wei Wuxian choked. “Excuse me?!”

“I said what I said. Now then, if you would please concentrate, you should be able to hear the prayers of the people below.”

Wei Wuxian felt like everything was moving a little too fast for him, but nevertheless complied. Immediately after, a flood of prayers hit him at full force.

“Wei Wuxian!” That was Jiang Cheng! “….Have some fun up there.”

“A’ Xian, do be well. Shijie isn’t there to take care of you so do be well.” Wei Wuxian refused to cry.

“Wei-Xiong! I hope there’s someone up there to supply you with you know what *winks*”

How does someone even wink in their prayers? Wei Wuxian thought amusedly.

“Wei Ying.” That was Lan Zhan. “Wei Ying, I will—be well.”

Ah, Lan Zhan. Always concise even in your thoughts.

Wei Wuxian was a little teary. As much as he was glad to not be a part of the cultivation world considering all the rumors, he did regret leaving behind those that cared for him.

That thought was much more cemented upon hearing…….

“Ah, Lord Wei, the pinnacle of evil, the role model of all demonic cultivators!” Wei Wuxian’s eye twitched. “Please hear my plea for more power! I need it, I need it to destroy everyone who harmed me!”

“Wei Wuxian, I wish to gain power over resentful energy so that I may tear my enemies limb by limb!

“Give me money! You’re a god, aren’t you? Be useful for once and give me some gold!”

“Tch. If I’m going to pray for anything, then it’ll have to be the Seal. You’re a god, now, right? So you have no need for the Seal. Just give it up.”

No matter the good or bad, Wei Wuxian heard the wishes and prayers of the people down below and while some were innocent enough, there were those that wished for death, destruction, tools for torture, power, money, women…….you name it.

It made Wei Wuxian feel a little disgusted with humanity. He cut off his focus from the bad and focused on the prayer he received from his friends and family.

“Wei Wuxian, I heard you became a god.” It was Wen Qing. He hadn’t heard her voice in a long time. “I know this might seem shameless of me after all I did to you, but please. Please guarantee the safety of my family. We’re being hunted down and—”

Her prayer was abruptly cut off, before coming back in full force with notes of desperation. Her family had been captured and taken to Qiongqi Path! Wei Wuxian panicked. He didn’t know how to escape from this place and try to go help her.

The…..person who was watching over him evidently knew what he was thinking about and merely stated that gods cannot interfere with the mortal realm. So he was stuck.

But that didn’t mean he was out of options.

It took a few days, but he managed to wheedle out how to help: via dreams. He merely needed to get into the mind of one of his followers and tell them to help. Much like those prophetic dreams Wei Wuxian had read about as a kid.

So he buckled down, thinking of the best candidate to help him.

……………………………

Lan Wangji looked at the landscape around him and concluded that he was dreaming. Though, it was a little odd that he was aware that he was dreaming. Not that he hasn’t realized he was dreaming before - especially in those many fantasies he had of Wei Ying - but to be aware that this is a dream and to see nothing but a flat landscape was pretty out of the ordinary.

Anyway, he digressed. What was going on?

“Uhh, Lan Zhan? Can you hear me?”

“W-Wei Ying?!” Lan Wangji couldn’t be blamed for stuttering. He wasn’t expecting this!

“Phew. Oh good, you can hear me. Anyway, Lan Zhan, I gotta be quick about this because I’m kinda sorta bending the rules here, but do you think you can go to Qiongqi Path and rescue Wen Qing and her family?”

“Okay.”

“Huh? Just like that? Not even going to ask me for a reason, er-gege?”

Lan Wangji’s ears flushed red at the address. “If Wei Ying wants to save them, you must have a good reason. That’s enough for me.”

“Ah, Hanguang-Jun.” The title was spoken fondly. “Always so good. I’ll tell you anyway. Wen Qing and her family sheltered Jiang Cheng and I after Lotus Pier fell and even brought back Jiang-shushu and Yu-furen’s bodies! That’s a debt I cannot repay.”

“I understand. I will help.”

He couldn’t see Wei Ying, but could practically feel the amusement from him.

“Wei Ying.”

“Yes?”

“Are......Are you well?”

“Of course I am. I’m actually feeling so much better than before.” Wei Ying grumbled, “I’m not even in pain anymore.”

“You were in pain?” Lan Wangji asked worriedly. “Wei Ying, why didn’t you say anything.”

“Lan Zhan, there was nothing you or anyone else could do to alleviate my pain. It doesn’t matter now. I’m okay.”

Lan Wangji was still worried and wanted to speak to him more, but---

“Ah! Looks like my time’s up!” Wei Ying exclaimed cheerfully as the dreamscape wavered. “See you, Lan Zhan!”

Lan Wangji nodded. “See you, Wei Ying.” I’ll catch up to you soon.

And 13 years later, Lan Wangji kept his promise.

___________________

I didn’t edit this so I’m hoping there’s not too many grammatical errors lol.

#mdzs #wei ying #wei wuxian #lan qiren #jin guangshan #jin guangyao #lan zhan #lan wangji #wen remnants #wen remnants survive #JGS and JGY can no longer scheme against WWX :)#LQR is kinda an asshole #but at least he sorta admits it?#hurt wei wuxian #implied chronic pain

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dreamrecorder · 4 years ago

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Ok so- idk if you’ve seen demon slayer;; but there’s this episode (it was during the spider fambam arc) aNywaYs- so like. Rui yeets ties* (i guess-) Nezuko like. Up in the air. With his weird spider thread jazz— and like. It’s sHarP weird spider thread jazz— so she’s like. Yknow. Being sliced and diced with string— but it kindaaa reminds me of like. Xiao. And his like.... weird... sad.... uh. Karma. Thing. Like y’know where he’s like hanging from his arms- red stuff. Yeah. So like. Now for the actual request

Xiao’s s/o (female if you don’t mind;;) gets kidnapped by like— the fatui or smth. And they tie her up like Nezuko :D to be like “lol haha Xiao be all like-” and she’s just. Like. Dying. Slowly. Dripping b l o o d and yknow. All the tea. And Xiao comes to rescue her— and he’s like 0-0 “wait...” and he realizes that’s like- exactly what happens to him- and so. He beats the fatui’s butts saves his s/o, anddddd she like.

Idk. This is where I need your angst expertise ❤️ like- she could d i e. In his arms. And poor Xiao would be so scarred omg poor thing- BUT THE ANGST- but at the same time;;;; the f l u f f of him being able to save her just in time and she was like fighting for him the whole time or whatever and ended up needing him to save her anyways- and then Xiao feeding her almond tofu until she gets better ❤️❤️❤️

IM SORRY THAT WAS SO LONG- im probably going crazy from lack of sleep from reading fics for too long sndndnsnsj

But if you do this,,, BLESS YOUR SOUL I HOPE TO EITHER BALL MY EYES OUT OR SQUEAL FROM THE WHOLESOMENESS-

Anyways.... thank you! Have a stellar day~ ✨❤️

The heart yearns and the wind heard

lmao this ask is so adorable i hope you’d enjoy this ksks

anyway, full Angst train up ahead but there are moments of Fluff too. There are mentions of blood and violence if those are not your thing- dont worry guys, this goes with a happy ending cos you and Xiao deserve one~ on a final note- non canon compliant and suuuuuuper long- like- legit this is very long

The Yaksha sighs.

He’s here again. His mind and heart has returned his being into this crimson world his demons have created within him.

He feels it. He feels the corruption binding him tighter again for every death he brings by his tainted hands.

He looks at his bindings. And ever so slowly, the red and black coiling around his person will eventually reach his heart.

One day, he thinks, all this crimson and black in this world will swallow him whole and he will see the light no more.

Xiao sighs again.

This is his karmic debt.

The moment you stepped foot within Wangshu Inn, you knew he was in his prison again. After giving a quick greeting to the inn keeper, you hastily went to Xiao’s room. The closer you got, the heavier the atmosphere became.

You reached his door and knocked softly. As expected, no reply as he continues to struggle to take back his control over himself. Without hesitation, you stepped in. To anyone else, they would have instantly met his spear at their throats, but with you, this doesn’t happen. Instead, you see him crouched on the wooden floor with a hand on his chest. His knuckles were white and his breathing was ragged. His amber eyes- lost. Observing his form, yes… his moments of corruption are becoming progressively worse.

With swift steps of familiarity to this routine, you went to him and grasped his shoulders.

“Xiao, it’s me…” You whispered with clarity. And oh- how your voice brought a wave of comfort to his soul.

“N-name…” His voice cracked, but him calling to you is always a good sign.

You gave him a small smile and proceeded to grasp his hands together with yours. After which, you then leaned your forehead to his to chant your prayers. As your prayers progressed, slowly but surely, the corruption begins to fade along with the black mist that covered him. However, you took note how this ritual took longer than the last.

Once everything is done, Xiao just slumped onto your shoulders, still breathing deeply. “How are you feeling?” It was a useless question you asked every time this happens, but you always, always, have to make sure.

Usually, he would mutter a small ‘fine,’ but now- words seemed to have left his mind and all he could muster was an almost-unnoticeable shrug.

Truth be told- his response disheartened you, but you did not show it. Instead, you opted to simply encase him in your arms and caress his hair. After all, these are just one of the few, rare moments Xiao would leave himself into your care. Xiao is aware, himself, that his state has been becoming worse and worse. And you both know, that a day would come when he would just attack anyone- friend or foe- without a trace of hesitation. So, just this time- he speaks his feelings.

“Name?”

You answered immediately with a questioning hum.

“What would you do… when I finally lose control over myself?”

It was very subtle, but he felt how your hand stopped caressing his hair for a second, then proceeded to the previous task at hand again. In all honestly, you can never find yourself having an answer to that question. “And why would I ever let that happen to you?” You questioned back, fully aware that you were dodging his question.

Silence surrounded the two of you, unsure on what to do with the sudden heavier atmosphere.

Not wanting to face the cruelty of the world yet, Xiao simply buried himself on the crook of your neck even more. And despite the ghostly sensation of his lips on your skin, you could feel him mouth the words ‘I love you.’

“As long as I’m here,” you whispered, “nothing can hurt you.” And that was the most beautiful lie that the Yaksha has heard, but he was willing to believe all the same.

When word about Fatui diplomats starting a bank reached you, there was a nagging feeling in your head that trouble would bring itself present anytime soon. It was like an itch that wouldn’t get away. And the only way to have that itch gone is to scratch it.

“You are absolutely a fool.” Xiao stated darkly with crossed arms, for once disagreeing with the plans of his master.

“We can never know what their intentions are unless we let them start their bank, no?” Zhongli said as he gazed at the marsh spread beneath him.

The Yaksha only scoffed but said no more.

Building up your courage, you deemed it was your turn to voice out your thoughts, “Um… Rex Lapis, I see your point, but wouldn’t it be best to resolve the problem before it persists into something larger? We all know- All of Teyvat knows, that the Fatui are not to be trusted.”

Your archon offered you a kind smile, “I understand your worries, Name. However, as of the moment, they have not presented themselves as such. If they truly are our enemies, then it would be beneficial for us to know their intentions.”

You frowned deeply at his statement. Seeing you do so, somehow, your archon immediately identified your main concern.

“Is this about the Tianquan assigning you to be her representative for the Fatui?”

The moment those words left his mouth, a growl tore from Xiao’s throat, but he held his tongue.

“Did Ganyu tell you?”

The Archon nodded and you sighed.

“I volunteered, actually.”

And at that point, Xiao vanished into thin hair, but you could still his sense his presence around.

“May I know why?” Zhongli questioned gently.

For a moment, you struggled for words. You didn’t know how to describe this ‘itch’ to him. “At first, it was supposed to be Ganyu, since in the Tianquan’s eyes- Ganyu is an adeptus and she does not know that I am, too. Perhaps she didn’t want to put me in harm’s way, a ‘visionless human’ at the side of a harbinger. After some convincing to Ningguang for my volunteering, I spoke to Ganyu next.

“The adepti are divine beings that walk here in Liyue. I had this feeling that putting a divine next to a power-hungry harbinger would become an issue. I told Ganyu that, since I looked ‘harmless’ and ‘ordinary,’ the harbinger’s interest about the divine would never surface.”

A stretch of silence wrapped around them as Zhongli pondered over your words. “Perhaps, are you also planning to dig out the truth of their arrival?”

You nodded, “I knew you would allow them to stay, so I just took it upon myself to unfurl their secrets.”

“Hmmm… I grant you permission on doing this. However, should trouble arise, do not hesitate to tell us.”

The glare pointed at you was strong. Even without him saying a single word, you could hear his phantom voice in your head speak with such coldness, What are you thinking?

You simply gave him a reassuring smile, “I’ll be fine, Xiao. I may be a human in mortal eyes, but please do remember that I am also an adeptus, no matter how weak I am.”

Xiao releases a huff, but still sits by your side at the floor of the balcony, letting the moon kiss his skin. “You’re not weak.” He mumbled as he snaked his hand to yours.

To him, you will never be weak. In fact, you were the strongest being he has ever laid his eyes on. Not physically, no. It was you mental and emotional fortitude. Back during the Archon War, he always admired how you kept your head held up high no matter the suffering you have experienced. No matter how much death surrounded you, you still fought. And that strength made you a survivor. During the war, you never failed to help the wounded. Even when someone dies under your care, you held strong for the departed and for those who are left behind. You were a pillar of hope.

He brings your hand to his lips and kisses every knuckle “… Just be careful. If ever you are in trouble do not-“

“Hesitate to call your name.” You finished, beaming at his words.

As someone who used to be a healer and a doctor, you were quite familiar with several mild skin diseases that mortals can suffer from.

If there is an itch, you do not scratch it- for you will only aggravate the area even more.

Now that you’re working alongside the Fatui as the Tianquan’s representative, the itch you kept feeling was only irritated more. Especially whenever you spoke with the Harbinger who goes by the name Childe. And since your work requires you to cooperate with him, you also don’t miss the chance to discover what he hides, should the opportunity presents itself.

Childe… his azure eyes certainly have their… charm to those unaware. However, you knew better. You know he’s capable of drowning you just by his eyes. While he may be a cheerful man, his eyes lack the lustre of joy. The eyes are the windows of the soul, yes? If so, all you see is an unending ocean that you do not want to swim in. The surface may be calm, but the deep is relentless. However, duty bound you are- deep within the ocean, you shall find the secrets the Fatui hides.

Again, another scratch to the itch, but it only irritates you more.

The news of Rex Lapis’s death became the catalyst of you confronting the Harbinger. From Yujeng Terrace all the way to Northland Bank, you ran (with Ningguang’s permission of course). Before you can even open the door to his office, something caught your eye.

It’s faint, but you’re an adeptus. You sensed elemental traces, just smack bang at the middle of the door. You carefully scrutinized the tracings, and fortunately you knew Snezhnayan script. And what you read only made your heart sink.

It’s ready.

With the adeptal arts, you managed to uncover the origins of these elemental tracings.

Scratch.

Without hesitation, you followed these tracings until it led you into some ruins.

Scratch.

Following the tracings further, you find yourself in a dimly lit room. Wary, you summoned your weapon imbued with your element.

Scratch.

Searching the room, you came across several antique boxes. You opened them.

Scratch.

What you saw were familiar. Too familiar. Dimming the room more with your element, you find more Sigils of Permission hanging on the walls and on the ceilings. The energy within them were faint, but with enough numbers, it’s enough to kill a-

“Well, well well, I thought you’d be there mourning for your Archon. But here you are, snooping around someone else’s research material.”

The sound of his voice made you sharply turn your head to him, your stance now more offensive. “What are you planning?” You bit coldly.

The Harbinger hummed a small tune, “Nothing much… But! If you’re really curious, I guess I could tell you.” He hummed some more but you knew he’s not finished. Once he finished his tune, he grinned to you menacingly and the depths in his eyes became even deeper and darker, “After all, I won’t let you leave this place with you knowing my secret~”

There was this one time, Xiao struggled against himself so much, he scratched himself red so that he could anchor himself back to the real world. You remembered how much you cried as he slept in your arms. You never wanted to see him do that again. Seeing him hurt himself also hurt you, too. It was like a stab in the heart, then a twist, and twist some more. A slap in the reality that you might lose him one day.

As he slept, you solemnly observed the wounds he sustained himself to. They were angry red, just like blood.

Now, you, yourself scratched that itch in your head too much into a wound for blood to seep through. You scratched too much and now you have to bleed from it.

You were slipping in and out of consciousness. Sleep was tempting you more and more but you know you have to wake up. You were aware that this is going on for days.

Everything hurts. You remembered how his blades, imbued with the Sigils, weakened you thoroughly. Every slash he brought to your body just drained the energy away from you. But still you had to do something.

He wanted an adeptus- he wanted an adeptus in order for the Sigils to grow stronger both in number and in power.

Now here you are, bound by chains and suspended at the middle of this empty room. These chains were adorned by talismans that drained away your energy. You were bleeding from your wounds of your previous battle.

Drip. Drip. Drip goes the blood and pools on the ground underneath you. The ground, you barely noticed, was lined by Liyuean script which enacts the ritual of the Sigils draining your divine power from your blood.

To the eyes of a sadist- you were a picture perfect in a canvas. A dark room lined by the damned Sigils, glowing an eerie gold. Then there's you with your bloodied clothes and chains. The red pool underneath was casting a red glow on your way, giving you a red shade to your pale skin.

Everything hurts-

And everything was driving you mad.

You can also feel the Overlord of the Vortex feed from your energy through the Sigils. You sensed his lust for power and revenge. You felt his anger and the corruption within him. You felt his hatred and his want to bring death. For days that felt like years, you’ve been battling against that very same god in your head. This battle was not something you shall not lose to and failure is not an option. If you fail here, then Liyue will fall.

This god- he was driving you mad slowly.

If ever you are in trouble, do not hesitate to call my-

You shut the thought from your head. You are not going to call him. You will not speak of him. You will not think of him. You will not call him. Not to this place where his corruption will grow. No. You Will Not Call Him.

If it means that me not calling you will keep you safe from the corrupted remnant of a god- so be it.

Please

However, no matter how much you denied yourself to call his name, no matter how much your heart yearns to be with him- the wind does not ignore the pained sob that left your lips.

Ever since the news of Rex Lapis's death and the visit of the Traveler with a Sigil in his hand- the corruption within him just bloomed into something feral.

The Sigil- there was something wrong about it but Xiao doesn't know what is it that is wrong. Then there's you- where are you? Surely with the news of their Archon's death- it would send you to bring forth a meeting for the adepti to talk this over. But now- for days- you remain not by his side.

With you missing- the demons inside him are slowly taking control over him, taking advantage of his vulnerability for you. For each passing day, it was slow torture for him- The worry bubbling in him was consuming him. He glared at the Sigil between his fingers and not failing to notice how his dark aura covers him once more.

“Traveler,” Xiao called sharply, “What is it you intend to do next?”

To any mere mortal, the look his eyes held were enough to strike fear, but the Traveler stealed themselves- meeting the adeptus’s gaze with an equally serious calm. “I have my suspicions on a certain harbinger and I-”

“Where?” The Yaksha growled.

“In the Golden House.”

Without a word nor warning, Xiao placed a hand on the Traveler’s shoulder and teleported them to the place where the Exuvia is hidden.

To the Traveler, everything happened so quickly as one event led to another. One moment, they were standing among unconscious bodies of the Millelith then the next thing they knew a corrupted and demonic gust of wind flew them away to the side. Regaining back their vision, they could see Alatus’s spear now at Tartaglia’s barrier made of Sigils.

Alatus narrowed his eyes at the floating talismans and began to calculate the flow of this incoming battle with precision and accuracy despite his losing control over himself.

It was a tense minute of sizing each other up, but eventually, Tartaglia has broken the silence with his annoying innocent voice.

“Who would have thought that I’d have the honor of fighting another adeptus of Liyue?”

The question immediately fed the corruption within him, the dark aura exploding at it. He knew that he should not believe in the Harbinger’s words so easily, but the glint in the latter’s eyes held truth. You could be out there, hurting, scared, alone. You could be out there, bleeding out. You could be out there dyi-

His aura exploded once more at the thoughts spreading in his being. With a burst of unspeakable power, Alatus lifted his weapon and pierced the barrier once more, this time breaking it without failure. At the threat, Tartaglia backed away as he donned his mask.

In a similar fashion, Alatus, too donned his mask. “I will ask you once,” the Conqueror of Demons spoke with a deathly calm, “Where is she?”

He should have killed him then and there. But the call of the Overlord of the Vortex must not be ignored as it threatens Liyue.

In the small opportunity of escape, Childe took it. But he was weak and injured as Alatus swiftly threw his spear to block his way and teleported right in front of him. In a show of power, the Conqueror of Demons lifted the mortal by the neck.

“I will ask you again, where is she?”

In fear, Childe told him everything and at his every word, Xiao listened carefully- never speaking once. But the anger within his heart, it boils- it rages. His amber eyes bored into Childe’s soul- thinking what he should do to this mortal. Oh how killing him would be so nice. However, when the Yaksha’s gaze landed on the regal form of the Exuvia, he merely threw the mortal in its way.

“Killing you would have been easier. However, the crimes you have presented against Liyue are not mine for me to judge.

I leave the Harbinger to you... Rex Lapis.”

Once out of the Golden House, the Overlord roared once more, shaking the lands of the nation. However, along with it, he heard the faintest of voices. I’m so sorry... I couldn’t hold him back anymore.

Only then did the demons in his heart freely took control of him. Just like the stories of old, where the Yaksha walks, death follows. But they were no stories. In his way towards the ruins where you were held captive, every step he took brought carnage and even more death and blood to taint his hands. No Fatui will leave this place alive. The very being of destruction ended many lives. Each death, the demons were growing stronger.

All he wanted now was to kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill killkillkill killkill kill killkillkillkillkillkillkillkillkillkill

Then seeing you suspended in the ceiling and bound by chains. Blood was painted on your lifeless skin. Wounds were littered and bruises were blooming on your form. But most of all, your eyes. What were once full of life and hope- now empty and blank. His demons quieted down.

Broken. You were like a broken porcelain doll.

“N-name...” His voice cracked, not believing it all.

With haste, he quickly broke your binds and caught you in his arms. he was fast to check for your pulse and your breathing. And thank the Archons, you were breathing but barely. You were now walking the line between life and death. With all his might yet a gentle caress, he hugged you for dear life. “Name... It’s me...”

But still, your eyes still held no recognition and it shattered his heart to pieces. With further inspection, he sensed the presence within you. A corruption. A certain evil.

“Name, stay with me please,” Xiao begged with desperation as he fought back tears. “It’s me who supposed to be the corrupted one between us, not you... I’m not allowing you to leave me, you hear me-”

With a ritual of the adeptal arts, he started purging and purifying the evil left by the god who fed from you. He is not letting you stay alone in your prison, not for a second longer.

Xiao prays and he never prayed before. Even to his master. But just this once, He prays with desperation. You are the light in his darkness. You are the moon in his night.

The ritual was a delicate process. For every word he spoke, he was rewarded by your screams of pain and the writhing of your fragile body. He wanted to stop, but he can’t. He had to physically restrain you from trying to escape from his embrace and from hurting yourself. And for every cry you released, Xiao merely shuts his eyes clos just for him not to see your pained eyes. Every now and then, Xiao speaks gentle apologies and words of encouragement for you. You were coming back. But still, the evil persists.

You writhed and scratched against him, until you were creating more wounds for blood to seep through. When it came to a point, you began pleading and begging for him to stop, that was when Xiao had shed a tear. So he continues the ritual, his prayers, and his apologies. They were arriving to a point where the ritual is reaching its conclusion but your screams only grew louder.

Please, just a little more...

Please, just stop...

Please...

The corruption disintegrated away from you in a forceful release of dark energy. He was breathing deeply, attempting to calm his loud heart. When he placed his gaze on you, you were breathing rapidly and your eyes were searching blindly and your hands were desperately holding onto him.

“X-Xiao...” You whispered, “Where am I? Where are you?”

With a sigh of relief, the Yaksha hugged you again closer and his forehead to yours, fearing you would go away again. The action made you lift your hands to his face, still searching blindly.

“I’m here, Name... I’m here.” At his voice, the dam in your eyes broke as you cried silently. Xiao was not adept in emotions, but for you, he will face them gladly. He lets you cry as he gives you soft whispers of assurance, safety, love, and promises. However, you were not crying because of what had happened to you. You were crying for him. After experiencing such corruption-

You sobbed some more- you were this close to him losing you and you could not bring yourself to imagine if your roles were reversed.

“P-please,” you said with a broken voice, “please don’t go to the place where I can’t follow...’

The words, at first puzzled him, but after a few moments, he realized and once more it broke his heart. Bringing you closer, Xiao let loose the tears he was holding back. With a gentleness unexpected of the Conqueror, he simply littered your face with kisses. “I promise if only you would do the same.”

With your smile that he loved dearly for so long you too spoke your promise, “I do.” They were simply two words, but the comfort they bring into the Yaksha’s heart was in volumes.

After that, you shared a few tender moments in each other’s arms. Simply relishing the feeling of their familiar warmth. A little later, Xiao spoke, “Would you like to eat some Almond Tofu once we get home?”

The question made you giggle at his innocence, so you agreed. Despite you needing physical medical attention. But Almond Tofu with him? Yes, you two definitely need some emotional healing.

A/N: fINALLY dONE lmao this was supposed to be short but angst really makes me want to write longer everytime haha~ anyway this request really made me ponder bout genshin stuff with all the corruption this and corruption that but then a question popped up like-

how did childe replicate the sigil of permission? since sigils are imbued with divine energy, i just thought how did this guy accumulate so much sigils to the point of freeing Osial- a god!!! soooo i just played with the idea for a bit then figured out maybe these pieces of paper get the divine energy from a divine source right? and the adepti are divine beings of liyue and another thing- you guys might have noticed the change of names in some scenes- i dont know but i think somehow different names represents different side of a person like- we have childe the cheerful harbinger then tartaglia the power hungry harbinger- there’s Alatus who’s calculating and cold, there’s the Conqueror of Demons who’s ruthless and unforgiving, then Xiao who is calm and humane- lastlyyyyy i might post this in ao3 ksks

#genshin impact #genshin imagines #genshin scenarios #xiao #genshin xiao #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #xiao genshin #xiao x reader #xiao imagines #zhongli #childe #ganyu #ningguang

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sonoftatooine · 3 years ago

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Whumptober 2021

DAY 3: ‘STICKS AND STONES MAY BREAK MY BONES BUT...’ - ‘WHO DID THIS TO YOU?’

Characters: Padmé Amidala, Anakin Skywalker

Warnings: Implied abuse, scars, panic attack

Summary: Continuation of my AU where raised as a Sith Anakin saves Padmé from execution by the Separatists (first two fics here and here). Having managed to get a wounded Darth Vader medical attention at a remote facility on Polis Massa, Senator Padmé Amidala tries to figure out what their next move should be with the threat of her unlikely saviour’s Sith master looming over their heads.

***

The bright lights of the medcenter on Polis Massa were harsh and white, casting its sleeping patient in pale shades so stark that, if not for the tentative grip Padmé had on his hand, she might have mistaken him for a ghost. The Sith assassin Darth Vader, so feared amongst the Republic and the Separatists alike, looked so very young and fragile swaddled in blankets and bandages and surrounded by beeping machines. Cheekbones too sharp, eyes shadowed, and skin a waxy white, he looked far too ill and tired for a man who couldn't possibly be any older than twenty-one. His blond hair, drying in a halo of soft fluffy curls about his head and still smelling faintly of bacta from his time in the tank, made him look almost...innocent. Angelic even.

The rest of him told a very different story.

The flight from the Separatist world that had been intended as her grave to the remote medical facility on Polis Massa had practically torn her nerves—even hardy as they'd always been—to shreds. It had turned out that she had perhaps been a little too optimistic when she had suggested flying Vader's ship back to his location in the canyon she had been forced to leave him in. She had, however, found both a speeder bike and a med-droid inside to bring back to him. By the time they had reached him, he had barely been conscious, slumped in front of the rocky wall she had propped him up against with the promise she would be back soon, his face white and his lips bloodless. Between her and the droid, they had wasted no time in loading his limp form onto the bike, getting him back to the ship's little medbay and flying offworld, setting a course for Polis Massa. But through it all, she had been afraid. Afraid, as she spoke to him quietly all the way through hyperspace, trying to keep him awake when all he wanted to do was slip into sleep and the danger of never waking up again. Afraid that he would not make it to the medcenter. That he would die because he had risked his life to protect her.

She had been afraid even after they had landed on Polis Massa, and he was rushed away into surgery. She had been afraid right up until the point that the droids had come out to inform her that he was stable, and that they were putting him in bacta for a time to accelerate his healing. But her relief had not lasted for long. The droids had had a long list of other...concerns that their programming told them it was their duty to report.

Not least of which was the map of scars across his skin that she had been informed were most likely caused by injuries sustained through some form of electrocution. Some as new as to have been inflicted not more than a few weeks ago. Others years old.

Years old and he was barely even an adult.

Who did this to you?, she had thought, her eyes tracing the wicked patterns along his back and chest—along his shoulders and arm, running down to where the metal of his black and gold prosthetic met with flesh—as he hung suspended in the bacta tank. The freshest of them had already started to heal along with the wound in his shoulder, but the older ones had been carved into his skin long ago. He had looked too thin, too brittle—even though she knew well the wiry strength he possessed—amidst the eerie blue-green glow of the liquid. Was it your master? Sidious? Is that what the Sith do to their apprentices? Make them hurt, make them suffer, until they rule them absolutely by fear? But you defied him. You defied him to save me. Why risk that for my sake?

She couldn't help the niggling sensation in the back of her mind that there was something about all of this that she was missing, some crucial piece of information she had heard or seen but had managed to slip through her fingers. That she wasn't asking quite the right questions. But there was only one question that was rattling around in her head right at that moment, and all of the others would just have to wait.

Who was Sidious?

It was one of the several reasons that had stayed her hand from attempting to contact anybody in the Republic before her unlikely saviour had woken back up. She knew—definitely now—that the mysterious Darth Sidious was Vader's master. He had referred to him as such to her guard during her rescue, and even if he hadn't, the fact that the man hadn't at all questioned that the young Sith must have been carrying out Sidious' orders would have been clue enough. She also knew from that incident that the name was enough to induce terror even in his so-called allies. And she knew from the Jedi that he was suspected to have infiltrated the highest levels of the Republic's government, and had some sort of influence in the Senate. How powerful exactly that influence was, she didn't know—she hoped it wasn't insurmountable; she needed to believe it wasn't insurmountable, that the Sith hadn't corrupted everything she was fighting for, everything she had dedicated her life to—

But no matter how great or how slight it was, it was there. Which meant that, logically, Sidious must be a politician himself or—more likely—someone in a significant politician's circle. And that in turn meant that, no matter how desperately she wanted to, she couldn't fully guarantee Vader's safety in the Republic.

And so here she sat, by his bedside, his limp flesh hand held gently in her own, and her mind racing through possibilities as she waited for him to wake. If she were to bring him to the Republic, if she could persuade him to plead for asylum before the Senate or—no, the Jedi, there must be a way to keep him safe from Sidious. He must know who his master was—if he exchanged that information for protection, then they could root out the man and his associates before he had the chance to strike back at his apprentice, and surely that, along with his rescue of her, would count for something amongst them. Yes, the Senate took a dim view of Separatist operators, and the Jedi an even dimmer one of the Sith, but if he were to help them take down their greatest enemy in the Republic, that would have to be enough—

Her train of thought was cut off sharply as she felt a slight movement under her touch. Vader was waking up.

"Vader," Padmé called, watching as he shifted about on the bed, his brow scrunched up in a sleep-softened frown as he was dragged back in the waking world. "Vader."

The young Sith groaned quietly in protest at the sound of her voice. His hand slipped from her loose grasp and travelled up to his face to rub at his still closed eyes. It was an oddly endearing sight, seeing him do something as normal and as simple as struggle to wake himself up after a long sleep. But nothing about this was normal—or simple—and she would do well to remember that.

"Wha...?" Voice hoarse and faint, Vader trailed off as his eyes finally peeled open, taking in his surroundings with no small degree of confusion. "Where...?"

Padmé ruthlessly suppressed the urge to gasp. She'd forgotten, briefly, that his eyes were yellow—the only thing, save perhaps for the prosthetic that was currently resting across his stomach, that would have set him apart from any other twenty-something (if, indeed, he had even reached twenty yet) human man had she passed him on the street. The droids had been vaguely concerned about it, she remembered, but they hadn't found any medical reason behind it. Perhaps—she thought back to the Zabrak assassin that had killed Qui-Gon Jinn on Naboo—it was something to do with the Dark Side.

"We're on Polis Massa, remember?," she said once she had stamped down her instinctive reaction. She had told him where they were going back on the ship, assuring him over and over that it would be safe even though he had seemed too out of it to take anything much in beyond the sound of her voice. "I had to get you somewhere nearby that wasn't controlled by the Separatists. It's too remote to be of any interest to them."

Vader blinked at her, still not quite lucid enough to properly guard his expression. She could see the moment he registered exactly who it was that was sitting at her bedside, his eyes widening as his gaze settled on her face. Then, without warning, he shot bolt upright, swaying slightly at the sudden movement so that he was forced to catch himself with both his arms. He winced at the sudden tug on his tender shoulder.

"Don't get up."

Padmé's hand flew to his chest before she could think better of it, attempting to push him back down onto the bed. He let out a startled flinch at the contact, and for one horrid moment, she thought she had accidentally pressed on his healing injury. But her hand was on his sternum, not his shoulder—not brushing against flesh and skin still knitting back together. And yet he had recoiled as if she had burnt him. She drew her hand back sharply.

"I'm sorry" she whispered.

Vader turned away from her. A long pause, and then he nodded stiffly.

"You're not fully healed yet" she said, still apologetic. I'm not going to hurt you. I know someone has, but I promise you, I won't.

"I've had worse" Vader replied. He made no move to lie down, even though his left arm was shaking with the effort of propping himself up.

Yes, Padmé thought, trying to keep the corners of her mouth from turning downwards unhappily. I know you have. But I'm not letting you suffer on my watch.

She reached out to push him back down again, slowly this time. He tracked her movements like a wary loth wolf, an impression that was in no way diminished by the strange yellow of his eyes. This time, he didn't flinch under her touch, though he did hold himself uncomfortably stiff as he let her guide him back down to the pillows. His eyes darted briefly up to her face as she drew back before they flicked down to the IV in the crook of his arm. He frowned.

"The med-droids said that you needed it," Padmé said, in answer to the unspoken question on his face. "They were concerned about your weight."

Secretly, she thought it would have been both quicker and easier to list the things which they hadn't been concerned about. Her heart sank down to what felt like as yet unrecorded depths as she remembered the attending droid informing her that, not only was he currently underweight for a man of his height, but that he showed signs of malnutrition dating back to his formative years consistent with periods of starvation as a child and teenager. Vader, however, barely even reacted to the news that he had been deemed malnourished enough to be pumped full of nutrients intravenously. His attention had turned—fully this time—to their surroundings, suddenly agitated.

"How long have we been here?"

"A little over a day," Padmé replied. "They had to put you in a bacta tank."

Vader hissed through his teeth, his mechno hand untangling from its grip on the sheets to the fast-healing wound on his shoulder.

"They didn't need to do that," he muttered. "A few patches would have been enough—"

"Vader!," Padmé cried incredulously, before she could stop herself. Really, she shouldn't have been surprised, given how baffled he'd been by her own clumsy field care—concerned about her ruining her cloak of all things rather than the heavily bleeding blaster wound that had caused him to collapse to the ground in front of her. She got the impression—more so than ever now that she had seen his scars—that he was not at all used to receiving or accepting care, but if he wouldn't treat his injuries with the proper gravity they warranted, then she was more than happy to do so in his place. "You had a hole through your shoulder. You were barely conscious when we landed. A few patches would not have been enough—"

"We can't stay here," Vader interrupted her, cutting across what was fast becoming—not that she would have admitted it out loud—an impassioned tirade. His breathing, she noticed suddenly, was starting to speed up. "He-he'll have heard— He'll know what I've done—"

"Ssh, ssh," Padmé murmured, her need to make him understand subsumed by worry in the face of his burgeoning panic. She didn't need to ask who this "he" was. His master. Sidious, the man whom she was sure must be responsible for both the pattern of scars on his skin and his unfamiliarity with any sort of simple kindness alike. She wanted to reach out to comfort him, but she didn't know how he would react to her touch. "We're safe. Nobody knows we're here. I promise you we're safe—"

Vader shook his head, his eyes closed tight shut. Both his hands had moved to clutch tightly at the blankets about his chest, the knuckles of his flesh hand white with tension. His entire frame shook as his breaths came sharp and fast. Too fast.

"He'll know—," he gasped out. "He'll find us. He always—"

"He won't find us," Padmé soothed, trying to keep her voice as calm and as gentle as possible. She hoped—oh by the Force, she hoped—that time would not make her a liar. "We're safe here. Please, Vader, I need you to breathe."

The young man's breaths were coming in short, sharp bursts, laboured and painful. He shook his head again, though in response to what exactly, she didn't know. She needed to get through to him, calm him, ease him out of the panic that had caught him in its durasteel grip. But how? With anyone else, she might have taken their hand, tried to get them to breathe with her, but Vader was clearly not accustomed to touch not meant to hurt. What if it just made it worse for him—?

Another sharp gasp was enough to cut through her reservations like a knife. She had to do something. She couldn't just sit here dithering in indecision while he suffered.

"It's alright," she murmured. The tips of her fingers brushed ever so lightly against the back of his hand, enough to alert him to her intentions without—she hoped—adding to his distress. "It's alright, Vader. We're safe. You're safe. I won't hurt you."

When he didn't recoil from her touch, she began to drag her thumb slowly back and forth across his white knuckles, trying to give him something to focus on, to ground him in something other than his fear. After a few long moments, she felt the tiniest bit of tension leave his rigid form as, painstakingly, eyes still closed tight shut, his breathing began to slow.

"That's it," Padmé sighed in relief. "In and out."

Finally, his breathing evened out and he flopped down onto the mattress in exhaustion, his entire form shaking faintly from the adrenaline that had been coursing through his system not moments before. His yellow eyes opened slowly, and for a moment, Padmé could read naked distress on his too-young face. Then his gaze flickered down to where her hand was still resting over his, and his expression shuttered, like a pair of heavy blast doors slamming shut behind his eyes. Jaw clenched, he turned his head away.

"Nobody knows we're here," Padmé repeated, now that he was calm enough to properly take in what she was saying to him. "I made sure the droids would keep it off the record, and I haven't made contact with anyone in the Republic yet."

Her heart hurt seeing him retreat into himself, even though—or perhaps because—she understood it. He'd been vulnerable. He felt vulnerable. Ever since he had been wounded protecting her, he had been relying on her goodwill not to take advantage of that vulnerability. And now, he was surely steeling himself for consequences that she suspected he had been taught, over the years, to instinctively expect.

But despite that, he hadn't yet withdrawn his hand from hers.

"Why?," he said hoarsely, his brows drawn together in a deep furrow. He sounded drained, his tone flat, too tired even for confusion. "You fulfilled your promise to me when you brought us here safely. You could be back in the Republic by now."

Padmé's thoughts flashed back to the canyon they had fled into to escape their Separatist pursuers, of his collapse and her attempts at aid. Of him asking her something much the same as he bled out on the ground in front of her. Why not just run? Why not just leave him and save herself? This question didn't quite offend her like those had—after all, leaving a wounded man in safe hands with medical care was not quite the same as abandoning him in the dust to die. But she was still sure it wouldn't have been right. She owed him her life, and she hadn't been about to repay him by leaving him to wake up alone with nobody but droids for company and the knowledge that he had nowhere to go now that he had betrayed both the Separatists and his thrice-cursed master.

And besides, with everything she had seen since her rescue from her cell, she suspected there was far more to him than just what his reputation across the Galaxy painted him to be. The young man underneath that terrifying mask deserved at least the option of a second chance.

"I wasn't going to make that decision without consulting you first," she said. "We're in this together now. We need to figure out what we're going to do together."

And I'll repeat that to you for as long as you need to hear it.

"Do?" Vader asked.

His voice had flattened out even further, so fatigued, so resigned. As if he had given in before he had even begun. So soft and quiet compared to the deep boom of his mask's vocoder, she could barely comprehend that he was the same man that had struck such terror into her captors, that had fought so ferociously through pain and blood loss and overwhelming odds to get her to safety.

But even if he'd been drained of all his own fire, she had more than enough for the both of them.

"Separatist space isn't safe for you now. For either of us." Her lips drew together in a thin, determined line. "And I'm not leaving you until I know that you're somewhere safe out of their reach. Out of Sidious' reach."

Vader's flinch at the name was an answer to all her unspoken questions. He shrank in on himself, and suddenly, for a man who was over six feet in height, he looked very small. Without warning, Padmé was struck by just how true her words were. That she would do it if he refused to come back to the Republic with her. Would stay with him no matter what, no matter how far from home it took her, because she wanted to give him the same protection he had given her.

"Then I guess you'll have to get used to being glued to my side, because there's nowhere in the Galaxy that's beyond my master's reach," he said. She thought he might have intended the words to come out harsh and sharp, but the tremor in his voice betrayed him. "He's more powerful than you can possibly imagine, and he's not the kind to forgive and forget. I've betrayed him and he'll stop at nothing to hunt me down. Stay with me and you'll have an even bigger target on your head than he's already put there."

I'm not going to leave you alone, Padmé wanted to scream, feeling frustrated tears threatening to well up in her eyes despite her efforts to remain calm. Why can't you understand that? I'm not afraid. I won't abandon you. Not when you're in danger because of me.

"If there's nowhere in the Galaxy that's out of his reach," she retorted, not sharply, but pointedly, "then going back to the Republic won't be any safer for me than staying with you."

Vader's jaw clenched tight at her words, but he said nothing. His throat bobbed up and down as he swallowed thickly. Padmé fought back a sigh, pushing away the last remainders of her frustration as best she could. Gently, she tightened her grip on his hand, still resting beneath her own, in what she hoped was a reassuring pressure.

"Who is he, Vader?," she whispered, finally giving voice to the question that had been plaguing her ever since she had seen his scars, ever since he had heard him speak his name on the Separatist base. "Who is he, if he's that powerful?"

Who is this man that can make someone as strong as you afraid?

"Senator." Vader's lips twisted into a bitter smile, and in it she could sense the echoes of a terrible truth that she could not yet see. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

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staripheral · 3 years ago

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➺ 𝙋𝘼𝙍𝙏 1 & 2 𝙈𝙀𝙉 𝘾𝙊𝙈𝙁𝙊𝙍𝙏𝙄𝙉𝙂 𝙏𝙃𝙀𝙄𝙍 𝙎/𝙊 𝘼𝙁𝙏𝙀𝙍 𝘼 𝙉𝙄𝙂𝙃𝙏 𝙏𝙀𝙍𝙍𝙊𝙍

𝘪𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘶𝘦𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘢 𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘧𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 : 𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨 𝙤𝙛 𝙙𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙝, 𝙥𝙖𝙣𝙞𝙘-𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙗𝙚𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙤𝙧, 𝙝𝙮𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙡𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣

★ JONATHAN J. would wake to the slightest of movements, the quietest of whimpers, and to the tiniest of tremors raking through your body as you were squeezed to his muscular side. He was an extremely light sleeper, something he naturally acquired to remain vigilant (because a certain adopted son of the Joestar Family surely had it out for him). Immediately, his eyes blinked open and he moved onto his side, cooing gently into your ear and rubbing slow circles with his calloused fingers on your hip. While he had hoped to simply coax your dreams into something more delightful, you awoke with a loud gasp after a few moments of experiencing his earnest touch. You hesitantly turned your head towards his large figure in bed and felt the tears trickle from the corners of your eyes; you could see the pain in Jonathan’s eyes as well as his own features contort to express his discomfort of seeing you in such an agonized state.

“My love, please… tell me what troubles you?” He pressed a tender kiss to the crown of your head and brought up his palm to feel the skin of your complexion, carefully brushing away the several tears you could not find within yourself to hold in.

“J-Jojo… Oh, Jonathan, it was horrible! You-- You were murdered, and I was forced t-to watch the life drain from your eyes and--” Jonathan’s brows furrowed further, witnessing your pain: your damp cheeks, red eyes, and uneven breaths. He pressed himself further towards your shaking body underneath the silky sheets, and removed his hand from the side of your face only to replace it behind your head and press your face into his bare chest.

“How I hate to see you so upset, my love… But, know this. I will never leave your side, not even for an instant. My soul is bound to yours as yours is to mine. Never shall I part from you, in life or death, and I do not plan on leaving you alone in this lifetime, my love. I am positive I am to remain by your side for the rest of eternity… and no man, woman, or enemy could ever remove my promise to you, ⌜f/n⌟.” His kind words only made your tears flow stronger, and he panicked for a moment, wondering if he had been out of place to say such things. But, when he felt your wails begin to even out into soft, short breaths and your trembling vanished, leaving your body moving with every inhale and exhale, and eventually your tears came to a stop, he found he could relax at last seeing as you were not in torment any longer. “Sleep well, my love.”

He pressed a kiss unto your lips and pulled away with your hand in his, holding both atop his broad chest. Goodness, what he wouldn’t do to ease the pain of the one he loved most.

★ DIO B. had not been in your presence the moment you had been awoken from your night terror. Your hands would not stop shaking as they gripped the sheets and pulled them off your damp body and you found that you barely had the strength to move your feet to plant themselves atop the soft rug by your bedside. You stood up, having to bring a hand to the footboard to support yourself, and a hand to your mouth to stifle an oncoming sob. There was only one person you trusted yourself with in this kind of state, but he was nowhere to be seen-- at least, not yet.

You wrapped your arms around your torso in an attempt to comfort yourself and your voice echoed through the Joestar Mansion, searching for your beloved. Eventually, you heard his voice call out to you and you ran (or, at least walked as fast as you could) towards its source; the den area.

The door was cracked open just a sliver and you gazed inside, spotting Dio on the loveseat, reading a novel in the dead of night by himself. You squeezed through the entrance and closed the door as delicately as you could.

“And what is it that would require my utmost attention in the midst of the night, my dear ⌜f/n⌟?” Dio questioned, not even looking up from the place he was in his book, although you could tell you had his ears open for you, as he had not turned another page in his book.

“...Dio. It is nothing… I-I just wanted to keep you company.” You whispered, coming around the side of the loveseat and remaining at his side, giving him space to himself, but also being close enough that you were able to feel his warmth from afar as well. You feared he would push you and your stupidity aside, calling you out for allowing yourself to be overcome by your fears. Although he was soft for you, you knew he still had his own limits, which you deeply respected.

Dio looked over at you slyly, his usual smirk gone and his eyes narrowed in suspicion. “After seeing you sound asleep in our chambers, I’m not quite so sure that you could have awoken just for a bit of attention, hm? What dreams plague you this late?”

You sighed. Nothing gets past his watchful, crimson eyes. As you wiped the tears from your eyes, you began to recount the atrocious visions that haunted you; that of death, destruction, and deceit. Dio nodded thoughtfully, having put down his book, but still staring into the flames of the pit before him. You wrung your hands harshly, trying to quell your emotions as best you could.

He suddenly took your right hand in his and pulled you towards him so that your back lay against his chest and he picked his book up once again. “Perhaps you would like to read this with me, to get your mind off of the foolish fantasies you dream of? After all, how can anything harm you if you are here in my company.” He said, mocking you slightly.

If he were being honest with himself, Dio would admit that this situation made him uncomfortable, almost out of place. But when he felt your head slightly nod against him, he found himself reading aloud, the only thing he could do (or at least knew what to do at that moment) to provide you comfort in that very moment.

As he read chapters upon chapters, with his deep, rich voice running dry, Dio felt your figure cease its subtle movements and slump into another deep slumber. He carefully slid out from underneath you and kneeled beside the loveseat, tucking his toned arms underneath the back of your knees and the length of your shoulders and lifting your limp body into his arms, carrying you back to your chambers, where he intended to join and guard you from any more dreams that wished to terrorize your good-natured soul.

“Don’t believe in such trivial fantasies, my dear. I would never allow for us to part. Even fate itself will not be enough to divide us. Sleep well, dearest.”

★ JOSEPH J. was a very, very deep sleeper. No man alive could devise a wake up call loud or obnoxious enough to make him arise from his sleep. But… a woman such as yourself happened to find out what woke him up on the day that you experienced a terrifying dream. You had tossed and turned, cried out and begged for help, yet no one had come to rescue your pitiful self. You awoke with a start, your figure flying up from its position in bed. Joseph’s heavy arm that had once lay across your waist had been tossed to the side, and his eyelids remained closed while his snores filled the quiet room. You clutched your chest in an attempt to control your breathing, tears dripping down onto the covers of your bed as you tried to maintain composure. You had to leave the bedroom, and fast, lest you feel even more suffocated than before.

The loss of your presence woke up the goofster. There was no heat, no mass weighing down the bed in the space next to him; you were gone. That was his motivation to open his eyes and look at the time by the clock beside him. 2:31 AM. The horror.

Joseph knew he would not be able to sleep without you by his side, so he begrudgingly sat up and exited the bedroom, rubbing his tired eyes and groaning at his sore muscles. His bare feet padded against the floor, making a loud entrance into the kitchen, so loud that he had not even heard your quiet, muffled sobs as you sat on the floor, back pressed against the cabinets with your face buried in your hands.

His eyes softened. He grew quiet. He was never quiet. You were scared to even look up at him. Was he upset? Was this another trick of your mind? You were so lost, so confused, shaking so violently in your nightgown that you became so sure that this was real. Your gaze finally moved upwards to look at Joseph, who had approached you with soft, saddened eyes as he kneeled before you.

“Jo,” --you hiccupped-- “Jo… I-I’m so sorry, did I wake you?” You attempted to wipe the tears away vigorously, poorly covering up your terrified state. Joseph, the ever-observant man that he is, knew better than to fall for your words. You were so scared. He could practically feel the fear radiating from your body as his fingers extended to tuck a piece of your hair behind your ear and cup his palm against the side of your neck. “Joseph?” You asked timidly, as he remained silent and reached your hands out to touch his face.

However, you were the priority in Joseph’s mind, and in no way would he let you suffer as he often found himself after troublesome nights, especially when you were always there for him in his times of need. Instead, he moved his hands to grip your sides and smoothly lifted you to sit atop the countertop, leaving you squeaking in surprise. This side of Joseph was so unfamiliar to you… yet you loved it all the same.

His hands tenderly smoothed up and down your sides before engulfing you in an embrace. He wordlessly connected his lips to your temple, holding them there for what seemed like forever until he finally felt the sobs rack your body, your pain being released into the air. Joseph’s teeth clenched as you gripped his shirt in your dainty hands, cries filling his unusual silence as he let you rid yourself of the suffering you were experiencing. He only moved to either smooth the back of your hair by running his fingers through it idly, or to press the lightest of kisses to your temple, so that you knew he was there, that he would not judge, and that he would always protect you from the bad, even from within, until you fell asleep, peacefully breathing against his shoulder with your arms wrapped around his neck.

Joseph was a chatty, intolerable brat at times… but he always, always wished to bring you the kind of serenity you’d introduced into his life. And he realized that sometimes, just by being at your side he was able to help rid yourself of the demons that lived inside of you, as you had saved him from the demons that once lurked within him.

★ CAESAR Z. woke to your piercing shriek sounding out in the middle of the night. He moaned something incoherently to his amore as his eyes desperately tried to open, only fully widening as he felt a petite hand shake against the bulk of his bicep. “C-Caesar, please wake up!”

He sprung up into a seated position to look at you, his frazzled partner. His head whipped back and forth for signs of any potential danger. When he found nothing strange, his head turned back to you to figure out what was wrong. Your lips wobbled, your eyes producing streams of endless tears, and your hand shook as you gripped his arm again. “Y-You’re alive!?”

“Of course I am alive, tesora, what made you believe I wasn’t?” He questioned, gingerly taking your face in his hands, bringing his forehead to yours, and furrowing his eyebrows in curiosity. “Did you have a night terror, ⌜f/n⌟?”

Your waterworks were the only response he required to answer that question. As he wiped away your tears and nuzzled impossibly closer to you, your own hands clutched at his sides, as to ascertain for themselves whether he was reality or some sort of dream.

“Oh, tesora, please do not cry. I promise you, I am real. Do you feel my hands on your face?” You nodded, the air around you feeling a lot thinner than it did before. You began to wail in a panicked state. “Shh… It is alright. My lips, right here, “--he kissed your left eyelid--”and here,”--then pressed another to your right eyelid--”are real.” His hands began to peel away from your cheeks before you desperately tried to grab at them. He could tell you were so scared, so vulnerable and afraid of losing him, as he was of losing you. “Amore-- I’m here. You can touch me, I won’t disappear. I will not vanish. My place is here, loving you forever. I am not dead, nor will I be anytime soon. Oh, don’t cry… please breathe with me.”

His continued coos of affection, his whispered words of encouragement, and his gentle touches provided you comfort in due time. His words were laced with a velvety, relaxing tone that surely would’ve put you to bed much sooner had you not been so frantic in your state of mind.

“I’m so sorry, Caesar… I’m so sorry for waking you up and bothering you with my mindless nonsense.” You spoke quietly, forehead still pressed to his as you laid down next to one another for the second time that night. He shook his head immediately, his bangs tickling the skin of your forehead.

“Don’t ever apologize… You were scared, and not over something such as ‘mindless nonsense’. I want you to reach out for me, to find solace in me, tesora. I want to cure you of your fear. I want to save you from your darkest thoughts. You mustn’t be sorry, tesora, for everything that has happened does not bother me in the slightest… I adore you, ⌜f/n⌟ .” He spoke calmly, slowly so that his words would lull you into sleep, hopefully this time blessed with happiness.

Caesar smiled as you snuggled in close and thanked him for everything. He did not say anything in return and made sure you were comfortable before shutting his eyes once more. ‘No,’ He thought to himself. ‘Thank you, tesora, for giving me everything.’

𝙖/𝙣 : 𝘰𝘩 𝘮𝘺 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴, 𝘪 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘪 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴. 𝘪'𝘮 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘢 𝘣𝘪𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘢 𝘯𝘰𝘷𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘴𝘰 𝘸𝘦'𝘭𝘭 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘳 𝘱𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘴 𝘮𝘦 :')) 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴, 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘳, 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩!! 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘢𝘥𝘷𝘪𝘤𝘦, 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘥𝘰 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵! 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 <3

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night-filled-mountain · 3 years ago

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Captivity and Escape in Critical Role

So this post has been sitting in my drafts for about half a year. It’s about a persistent theme I noticed throughout campaign 2, which I’m sure others have noticed and written about before, but parallels and recurring themes have always been my Thing, and I couldn’t let it go. And with last week’s episode, and the campaign finale airing tonight, and the dominance of this theme being more glaringly obvious than ever, I thought I’d just give myself a treat and finish up a giant meta post. For old times’ sake.

So, just for the heck of it, here’s an exhaustive exploration of a single through-line of campaign 2 since the very beginning: captivity, and escaping or being freed from it.

Let’s start by taking a quick look at everyone’s backstories, the things that happened to them before the campaign even started, and how they were ultimately resolved.

FJORD: Entered unknowingly and unwillingly into a pact with Uk’otoa, which bound him to perform services he never agreed to in exchange for powers he never asked for. Fjord did not know how he got into this pact or how to get out of it. He makes his escape when he pitches his sword into a lava river and pledges himself to the Wildmother.

JESTER: Spent the majority of her life “locked in her room” (or at least hidden from sight) until the consequences of one of her pranks forcibly liberated her into the wider world. While Jester loves her mother dearly and thinks of her long “captivity” as being for her own protection, its negative effects on her--loneliness, insecurity, a lack of worldly experience and social awareness--were still apparent, and she spends much of the campaign working through them.

BEAU: Her parents had her kidnapped by monks. It could be argued that even before the kidnapping, she was a prisoner to her father’s “over-protective” tendencies and her parents’ expectations when it came to her career, behavior, gender role, etc. But most significantly, she was very much kidnapped by monks, and made her escape from the Cobalt Soul shortly before we met her.

CALEB: Where to start? First he suffered coercion and abuse at the hands of Trent (a form of captivity); then he was made to torture and execute prisoners; then he spent eleven years literally imprisoned in an asylum, and had to kill and steal in order to escape; and four and a half years later, he met Nott when they were both thrown in jail (and had to engineer their own escape once again). Caleb’s ordeals ultimately made him a prisoner of his own guilt and fear, and escaping that prison has been the heart of his storyline.

VETH/NOTT: Besides the aforementioned stint in jail, the catalyst for her entire adventuring career was being captured by goblins along with her family--and then, after engineering the escape of her husband and son, being imprisoned in the wrong body (and subsequently enslaved!). The desire to escape from this second imprisonment was her driving motivation through much of the campaign. With Caleb’s help (and Essek’s, and Jester’s), she ultimately succeeds.

MOLLY: His first memory was of clawing his way out of a grave, which is just about as extreme a form of captivity and escape as you can get. More subtly, he was also a prisoner to the expectations placed on his body--to the life that body once lived, which he could not remember and refused to claim. Arguably (and tragically), his escape from this particular prison is his own death...until Cree resurrects Lucien, Mollymauk fragment and all. Then he presumably becomes a prisoner much like Yasha was, subsumed body and soul by a mind and a will that are not his own. Until last week.

... (incoherent sobbing)

Until last week.

YASHA: She was a prisoner to her clan’s laws and expectations. Her brief attempt to escape this prison through a forbidden marriage ended tragically, and then she was forced to make a second, literal escape (fleeing into the desert)--only to be (presumably) possessed by Obann, imprisoned inside her own mind, and forced to do his bidding until the Storm Lord liberated her once again.

CADUCEUS: When the gang first meet him, he’s literally a prisoner of his own fear (and/or inertia)--though his whole family has left the Blooming Grove, he’s been too afraid or hesitant to brave the corruption of the Savalirwood without companionship, and spent years isolated in the family temple as a result. The Mighty Nein (or rather, Caleb, Nott, Beau, Keg, and Nila) initiate his escape.

***

And that’s just the backstories! Now let’s take a look at each of the places the Mighty Nein have visited since they came together, and the story arcs therein.

***

TROSTENWALD - CARNIVAL ARC: This arc’s entire goal is to free the (future) Mighty Nein and the other carnies from jail or house arrest. (Much later, the M9 come back to pay Gustav’s debt and liberate him as well.) And remember that Beau is especially sympathetic to Toya’s predicament because she, too, was once a young girl held somewhere against her will.

ALFIELD - GNOLL ARC: This arc’s entire goal is to free the citizens of Alfield who have been kidnapped by gnolls to feed to their manticore leader (and to kill off the gnolls and manticore to keep it from happening again).

ZADASH: The Mighty Nein’s first undertaking in Zadash is to kill off the giant spiders in the sewer. In the process, they free a halfling imprisoned in a spiderweb, which leads them to the Gentleman and all his future quests.

Aside from that, their biggest job in Zadash this time around is the High Richter heist--which, yes, is a mercenary/political job that goes terribly wrong, but why does it go terribly wrong? Because Ulog, the M9′s NPC ally at the time, is so furious over his wife being wrongfully imprisoned by the High Richter that he impulsively blows up both her and himself. And arguably the most poignant moment in the heist’s aftermath is Caleb speaking to the next High Richter, Dolan, and ensuring that Ulog’s wife will be freed.

Also, let’s not forget the drow the M9 meet in the sewer. The one they capture, interrogate, and ultimately...let go. Yes, he’s killed shortly afterward and his beacon falls into their hands, but I think it’s very important to remember that the decision they make, when holding a captive terrorist from an “enemy” nation, is to return his stolen artifact to him and let him walk away free.

LABENDA SWAMP/BERLEBEN: The most memorable events during this interlude are: (1.) The M9 literally freeing Kiri from the swamp, where she is stuck in the mud and at the mercy of crocodiles, and (2.) Bowlgate, a.k.a. Caleb and Beau’s tense confrontation over what to do with Calianna, which is once again fueled on Beau’s side by her sympathy for a young woman held against her will. (Caleb proposes that Cali spend the night with the M9, which she did not intend, so they can use spells to determine her truthfulness the next day.)

HUPPERDOOK: This one’s obvious: The M9 fight a deadly automaton to free two gnomes from prison and reunite them with their children (largely to prevent said children from being taken to an orphanage against their will).

GLORY RUN ROAD/SHADYCREEK RUN - IRON SHEPHERDS ARC: ...Even more obvious. The sole goal of the remaining M9 members (and Nila) throughout this arc is to free their friends from slavery. They end up slaughtering all the slavers and freeing several other captives as well.

LUSIDIAN OCEAN - PIRATE ARC: Here’s where things get really interesting. Because this whole arc is also about captivity and freedom, isn’t it?

It’s about whether or not to free a little old captive named Uk’otoa!

I haven’t given nearly enough thought to how this arc fits in with all the others thematically, considering its central lesson is that freeing this particular captive would be a very bad thing. I do think it’s significant that:

(1.) The beginning of this arc, which leaves the whole party feeling so bad and icky, involves them quite inadvertently taking a captive of their own--and one whom they don’t treat very well. (And still don’t, for that matter...poor Marius.)

(2.) Soon after that incident, the M9 are themselves effectively taken captive by Avantika and her crew. This situation doesn’t last nearly as long as many audience members (and quite possibly Matt, and quite possibly the players themselves!) thought it would, because they panic on Darktow, go all Wall of Fire, and free themselves in a huge, climactic, desperate battle. The Mighty Nein do not take well to captivity.

Anyhow, they follow all this up with...

FELDERWIN/XHORHAS - YEZA ARC: ...another very straightforward quest to free a captive. Not only is this arc all about rescuing Yeza from a Xhorhasian dungeon, but after Caleb returns the beacon, after the Bright Queen of Xhorhas offers the Mighty Nein anything they want...all they ask her for is to let them go.

BAZZOXAN & BEYOND - OBANN ARC: ...By now, you know where I’m going with this, right? The entire arc is about freeing Yasha from Obann, who has her imprisoned inside her own body, inside her own mind. There’s a reason That Moment in the cathedral hit so hard, right? “And as you close your eyes, you see yourself breaking the shackles. You see the influence no longer holding any sway over your soul. There's nothing but the storm, vengeance, and hope.”

(Bonus: In the middle of the above arc, we get the HAPPY FUN BALL - RESCUING YUSSA ARC, which, once again, is devoted to freeing a captive.)

KAMORDAH/CYRIOS MOUNTAINS - ISHARNAI ARC: Aimed entirely at freeing Nott from the body in which she was imprisoned. Beau also has a bit of a freedom arc here: confronting the parents who imprisoned her figuratively and literally, turning her back on them (possibly for good), and then confronting a major source of the expectations and superstitions they shackled her with: Isharnai, who is neutralized by Jester’s cupcake.

THE MENAGERIE - CLAY ARC: Aimed entirely at freeing Caduceus’s family, who are imprisoned in perhaps the most literal way possible, being turned to stone. (The M9 also manage to liberate the Stone family while they’re at it.)

RUMBLECUSP - TRAVELER CON: Two great liberations take place here. First, all the residents of the Village of Vo are freed from Vokodo’s influence, their memories restored, their blind devotion dispelled, able once again to choose the course of their own lives. Second, the followers of the Traveler are freed from the deception he’s imposed on them, the cult he’s roped them into. Thanks to the Moonweaver’s interference, they, too, are free to make informed decisions. And I think we can also safely say that Artagan is freed from them, from the false “god” role he managed to box himself into, and he’s happier for it.

EISELCROSS - SOMNOVEM ARC: ...And this is it, folks. This is why I decided to finish this post today. Because I was openly not feeling the Eiselcross arc as an endgame. The hard slog through the elements just wasn’t doing it for me, or the frequent combat, or the increasingly complex lore, or the traditionally heroic quest to save the world from being swallowed by a monstrous city.

...Until last week. Until Lucien’s defeat. And Molly’s oh-so-improbable resurrection.

When I heard all the voices of the Somnovem whispering “Thank you” as their individual souls were freed from the Lovecraftian hivemind...when I heard Jester sobbing that at least Molly’s soul wasn’t “trapped” inside a monstrous Lucien anymore...when Cad’s Divine Intervention succeeded, and Mollymauk Tealeaf opened his eyes--his two plain old natural eyes--unburdened by Lucien and his Somnovem eyes and all of his dark baggage for the first time--I was finally able to embrace this as the ending.

Because it’s not about saving the world. That’s just a bonus. It’s about saving a friend. Freeing a friend. Freeing captives, wherever they find them. Whether from Crown’s Guard, gnolls, and giant spiders, or from royal dungeons; whether from ruthless enemies or from their own families; whether from eldritch abominations or from the forces that chain their own minds.

In the end, the Mighty Nein--and the people whose lives they touch--belong to no one and nothing that they do not choose to belong to. They belong to themselves, to the people they most sincerely love, to the gods and causes they have chosen freely. And that has always, always been my favorite kind of story.

And I can’t wait for tonight.

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theotherhufflepuff · 3 years ago

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Simon Snow Trilogy Tarot Cards...

Ok so, a little while ago I saw this frankly stunning artwork by @vkelleyart and I started thinking about the Major Arcana archetypes and how characters from my favourite book series could fit into them.

So I made this list. It took a lot of thought and I’m still not 100% sure on some of them but I have explained my thought process for each card.

I don’t know how much crossover there is in the Venn diagram of “Simon Snow fans” and “tarot readers” but I’d love to hear your opinions and/or alternative suggestions (be respectful though, obviously). I’ve left “visual prompts” for most of the cards explaining what they looked like in my imagination and if anyone wants to draw any of these (or their own alternative version!) please tag me; it would make my day! I can’t draw for toffee so I am 1000% never gonna try to illustrate any of them myself.

List under the cut because it is loooong.

Spoilers ahead for the whole series!

0 The Fool - Shepard - Shepard just follows magickal creatures around and says “yes” to everything... he is the pure embodiment of the Fool archetype to me; care-free, innocent... prepared for everything and yet totally clueless. Visual prompt: Shepard about to (attempt to) step into the fog as he follows a fairy into the forest.

1 The Magician - Penelope - “Penelope Bunce is a fierce magician, I don’t mind saying” Baz, at least once in each book. Penny never worries about not having the power or words available to do whatever she wants; she is comfortable in her power and it is always there, ready to be wielded however she sees fit. Visual prompt: Penny wearing her Stevie Nicks cape, standing by a chalkboard in the classic “Magician” pose, ring clearly held aloft.

2 The High Priestess - Dr Mitali Bunce - Dr Bunce is possibly a more formidable magician than her daughter. Highly intelligent, straightforward and, let’s be honest, judgemental. But she does have all the answers. Visual prompt: Dr Bunce carrying around her laptop, phone sandwiched between her ear and her shoulder.

3 The Empress - Lucy Salisbury - Lucy exudes the nurturing, Earth Mother vibes that are central to the Empress archetype. She saw the best in everyone and all she wanted was to love Davy and live with him in their cottage with her chickens and their child. Visual prompt: Lucy, barefoot and pregnant, feeding the chickens outside of their cottage.

4 The Emperor - Lamb - This is one of the ones I’m not totally sure about. I went through a few different ideas but ultimately settled on Lamb as the “Vampire King of Las Vegas”. He is an imposing figure, ruling his city with an iron fist; if you are in his favour, Vegas is your playground, but cross him and you will suffer the consequences. Visual prompt: Lamb sits on an antique chair in his opulent suite at the Katherine, the lights of night time Vegas visible through the window behind him.

5 The Hierophant - The Mage - Again, this one took some thought and I’m sure some people will disagree with this interpretation... I’m not completely sold on it myself. The Mage was all about reforming the old traditions of the World of Mages and he amassed a following by doing so. But he turned out to be somewhat of a false prophet; abusing his power to oppress those he deemed “the enemy”. Visual prompt: The Mage in his Robin Hood costume, sitting at his desk at the top of the Weeping Tower, surrounded by his piles of banned books.

6 The Lovers - Simon and Baz - Obviously. As stated at the top of this post, I love @vkelleyart’s version of this card, but there are a lot of scenes across the series that could be used to illustrate this archetype. I personally always love to see the original “and then he kisses me” scene.

7 The Chariot - Fiona Pitch - I struggled with this one a bit and I don’t really think that this is the ideal version. But the image of Fiona, rolling up to Blackfriars bridge in her vintage sports car to rescue Baz from the Numpties really stuck with me so that’s what I went with, for lack of a better idea.

8 Strength - Ebb - Ebb is often dismissed and underestimated by other magicians but she is wicked powerful. But more than that, the Strength card is about inner strength, self control and the wisdom to know when to fight, and when to rest. Ebb is highly intuitive about the people - and goats - around her and is always careful not to talk about her twin brother, only conceding that she knows of his presence once a year and never giving in to the temptation to talk directly to him. Ebb saw the war coming and knew that she could probably end it all by herself with the power she had; but she also knew that she didn’t want that and she had the strength to say no, to eschew the expectations the rest of the World of Mages placed upon her and live quietly, instead. Visual prompt: Ebb in the hills behind the school with the goats, she wears a flower crown that the Dryad made her.

9 The Hermit - Agatha - the Hermit eschews the outside world in order to take an inner journey of self discovery, knowing that this is the only way to find real answers and achieve real growth. Agatha, jaded by the World of Mages, took herself off to California, leaving her wand at home. She didn’t know what she wanted but she knew it wasn’t magic. Visual prompt: Agatha sits on the beach at twilight by a small campfire, Lucy the Cavalier King Charles Spaniel by her side.

10 The Wheel of Fortune - The Crucible - The Crucible’s decisions, like the Wheel’s, are unpredictable and inevitable. Once it’s happened, you’re stuck with the consequences - sometimes bad (being stuck with a toff vampire who hates you) and sometimes good (getting the best room in Mummers house).

11 Justice - Natasha Grimm-Pitch - Natasha needed justice to find peace; her whole story is about justice. She was swift to act when the vampires attacked Watford, dispatching them without hesitation. When she came through the veil to find Baz and ask him to bring her murderer to justice, she knew that would also provide some closure for him, too, both for her death, and for his. Visual prompt: Natasha Grimm-Pitch appearing from beyond the veil, looking for Baz and finding Simon.

12 The Hanged One - Nicodemus - The Hanged One is about feeling stuck, but also about finding peace where you are when there’s nothing you can do about it. Nicodemus chose to cross over for eternal life, but he was stricken from the book; his (considerable) magic effectively taken from him and his fangs removed. He was stuck in between - not a full vampire, not a magician; he exists on the fringes of both communities. He got himself there and then he had to figure out how to get by, carve out a place for himself in order to survive. Visual prompt: Nicodemus sits in the tree in the garden of his mother’s house in South London, waiting for Ebb to come and sit on the empty bench beneath him.

13 Death - [scene on the Great Lawn] - Ok, so.. this might need some explaining. My immediate thought for this card was that it should be the Humdrum but Death is all about clearing out the old junk in your life that doesn’t serve you in order to make space for the new. And the Humdrum isn’t making space for anything. So I was thinking about times that has happened in the story and I thought about how the death of the Mage made room for real progress and an end to the war with the old families. Visual prompt: Penny and Baz (literally) run into a fleeing Agatha on the Great Lawn; the Weeping Tower looms in the background, the Mage and Simon visible through the blown-out stained glass windows.

14 Temperance - Simon and the Humdrum - Temperance is, as you might expect, about balance and harmony. Simon used so much magic at once that he couldn’t control it and it tore holes in the magickal atmosphere. Simon had to fill the Simon-shaped hole to restore equalibrium and stop the magickal firmament from collapsing altogether. Visual prompt: Simon kneeling in the Weeping Tower, pouring his magic into the Humdrum as he fades away.

15 The Devil - Smith Smith-Richards - The Devil is about feeling trapped by temptations in your life, often because we’re afraid of what we would do with the freedom we’d have if we let them go. Which got me thinking about Smith-Richards (that name never gets any less ridiculous) and all the magicians who were taken in by the temptation of “fixing” their magic. But it was a false promise and those magicians who narrowly escaped taking Smith-Richards’ spell were all freed from the idea of their magic being “broken” in the first place. Visual prompt: Smith-Richards (looking like the guy who would be cast to play Simon in the Netflix series) standing on a stage in the packed-out White Chapel, rapt audience hanging on his every word.

16 The Tower - The Humdrum - Originally I wanted to use the Weeping Tower for this card because the imagery is on point but the meaning doesn’t match. The Tower is about absolute destruction, the crumbling of something you thought core to your being. The Humdrum steals magic and renders magicians homeless because of it. The Tower is about having to start again from the ground up - just as the Grimms did when all the magic was drained from Hampshire. Visual prompt: The Humdrum, wearing Simon’s face, stands in the grounds of Pitch Manor, laughing. (I have always thought of the holes looking like a burn in a piece of paper - sort of glowing and smouldering at the edges as it eats away the atmosphere. I know the holes can’t actually be seen - the Normals would freak out - but that is imagery I would use here)

17 The Star - Lady Ruth’s candles - The Star is about hope and healing after the devastation of the Tower. Lady Ruth’s candles were a symbol of hope that kept her going when she thought she had lost her children. They provided comfort and, at the end when it became clear the Lucy was gone, the healing of knowing that her child had finally found his way home to his family. Visual prompt: Lady Ruth’s candles in front of a window, a bright star can be seen through the window.

18 The Moon - Agatha and Simon - So, the Moon is all about examining blurred lines between illusion and reality - nothing looks totally clear in the moonlight. It reminded me of how Simon never really seemed to have a clear view of his feelings for Agatha and what their relationship was. When he properly examined his feelings, he found that he didn’t love Agatha and was going through the motions because he thought it was what other people expected of him. Agatha was doing the same. It also brought to mind Simon, going out of his mind worrying about Baz when he was missing - as well as basically every other thought Simon ever has about Baz before Christmas Eve 2015 - and somehow mistaking it for hating him?? Simon is not stupid but sometimes he’s real dumb. Visual prompt: Agatha and Simon meet on the ramparts, both looking for Baz, and break up.

19 The Sun - Simon - This card is all about innocence, optimism and joy. Nothing about this series personifies this more than Simon flying above Shepard’s truck in America, feeling free and hopeful about the future for the first time in over a year. Visual prompt: Shepard’s truck drives through the vast empty desert, the sun beating down. Simon flies above the truck, joy on his face.

20 Judgement - Niamh and Agatha - Ok, this one was hard to figure out and this is maybe not the right solution, but I was very stuck. Judgement is about self improvement through self reflection. As a small twist on that theme; Niamh and Agatha challenge each other’s view of themselves and their interactions with the world around them. Visual prompt: Agatha and Niamh, sweating to death in Niamh’s “shitty Ford Fiesta” (I’m very salty about that line; my Ford Fiesta is lovely and it has aircon). Niamh is frowning, obviously.

21 The World - Simon, Baz, Penny and Shepard - The World is about completeness, the ending of a story, fulfilment and belonging. At the end of AWTWB, Simon has finally found his biological family, he is starting to accept that his boyfriend and his found family love him for who he is, magic or no, and he can finally start to imagine a future for himself. Baz has learned new information about his vampirism, Penny has found new confidence and Shepard is finally fully accepted into the group. Visual prompt: Baz, Penny and Shepard sit on Simon’s sofa (possibly still pink from Baz’s spell, possibly he spelled it navy blue again) Simon sits on the floor. They’re all eating leftover sandwiches and cake from Lady Ruth’s.

#carry on #carry on rainbow rowell #rainbow rowell #simon snow #simon snow trilogy #wayward son #any way the wind blows #awtwb #tarot #tarot cards #major arcana #baz pitch #Penelope Bunce #shepard love #snowbaz

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my-writings-and-musings · 4 years ago

Note

Can I please have a short story of the prompt of the human reader being used as a sheild, and the human has a communicator allowing the bots to trace their signal? And can I please have ratchet, tailgate, cyclones, and drift for this?

I have headcannons for now because I'm spread really thin lately, but I hope you like it! Also I love this prompt in particular because every bot on the ship needs to be told how special and wonderful they are, and what better way to show them than by shouting their praises at an enemy with ample swearing?

Part One: Here!

Part Two: You're Here!

Ratchet

·Your relationship to the medic had allowed some of the restraint he needed for his high stress job to rub off on you, but that's also true of his testiness, so when you reach your breaking point it's quite the sight. The bot that kidnapped you for a ransom learns the loud way just how passionately you adore your grumpy bot when they crack another joke about Ratchet's age and you simply lose it. Held back by your chains, you crack that the bot who kidnapped you couldn't accomplish what Ratchet has if they had a billion years to do so, and what right do they have to insult when they look the way they do? "Call him old all you want, he looks better now than you ever have and ever will!"

·Perhaps it's the fact that the tiny human just insulted their appearance of all things, but the bot is frozen at the communicator, and somehow that makes you angrier. It's clearer to you now than ever before why Ratchet hurls wrenches at the bots that annoy him; nothing would be more satisfying than the "thunk" of a well aimed projectile at this jerk's head. As it stands you're willing to settle for using your words as the only weapons you have. Laughing bitterly, you ask your captor if they're only able to win an argument with bots that can't fight back, which would explain why they need you as a shield AND the corpses they keep as company. The last dig actually gets them moving towards you with a threat, but when they refer to Ratchet as your "rusty old paramour" you get a renewed burst of rage and go off once more.

·"Are you seriously trying to insult Ratchet of all bots?! Do you have any idea what he's capable of?! How many lives he's saved?! What have you accomplished lately, huh?! Besides EXTORTION?!" Feeling a tad bit flushed, it's impossible not to go all out in your tirade, especially because it feels so darn good after suffering in silence for so long. It doesn't hurt that you have so much material to work with either. This raging jerk is living in a corpse filled lair and kidnapping humans to ransom them off for cash, and they're going after one of the greatest medics the Autobots ever had? Cutting them down to size should be classified as doing the universe a favor! If you weren't so incredibly frustrated, and dangling from chains, you might have found this enjoyable.

·"Seriously! Ratchet does more good for the universe in a week than you could do in a lifetime! Plus, you think age is holding him back?! The bot walks right off the battlefield after carving up bad guys like you, only to waltz into the medibay to patch up everyone else, on a daily basis!" Though not impressed, it does appear that your captor is rethinking some things, and perhaps actually realizing they've made a pretty formidable enemy. Had that not been such a flagrantly obvious fact you'd have been satisfied. Instead you just keep going, your intense love for your docbot mingling with your frustration to pour forth in a never-ending stream of loving threats. Only a total power outage cuts off a tangent about how Ratchet's age has not impacted his ability or endurance in "other areas" of your relationship either...

·The darkness is broken by flashing lights and the crackle of energy weapons firing all around, and you just manage to catch some familiar colors flashing through the dark before a very welcome red and white frame swoops in to carefully slice you out of the chains with a laser scalpel. There's just enough time to catch a smile overflowing with emotion before you're taken into gentle hands, and as Ratchet takes you back to the ship you get a glimpse of your very roughed up kidnapper being cuffed by the remaining crew. Your partner takes you straight to the medical bay, fussing over you all the way and asking a thousand questions about your wellbeing, but without any of his usual gruffness as he does so. In fact, he's probably the softest you've ever seen him. The smile never once leaves his face as he insists on getting you fed and rested and to bed where he pulls the covers over you himself.

·In the aftermath he almost seems to melt in your presence, losing most of his grumpy persona every time he's with you no matter how long or difficult a day he's had. Though you obviously don't mind, a couple bots let you know that when you were kidnapped he was the closest to losing control anyone had ever seen him. He'd been shouting and cursing until you had interrupted the latest communication with your captor, at which point he'd been so shocked others had needed to rush in and take advantage of the prolonged signal. Evidently, hearing you defend him as you did had rocked his world in the best possible way. Between working a stressful and often thankless profession, and not ever hearing you shout in such a way before, he's been touched to learn he could be loved by someone who appreciates him as you do. It's enough to keep even the worst of grumpy days from affecting him.

Tailgate

·Truth be told, your greatest concern when you were kidnapped was for your tiny SO, as his propensity for panic could result in some very unpleasant anxiety attacks while he and the others try to rescue you. That worry on his behalf turned to fury when your kidnapper refused to stop mocking the little bot for everything from his size to his age and even for supposedly choosing an organic solely to be taller than someone. It's enough to make you see red, and your limit is quickly reached as a result of the cowardly bullying. Your explosive bout of rage is a scream of frustration that quickly morphs into an unstoppable tirade that pulls no punches. Has this big jerk been planning this for any length of time you ask, because if so, you know a couple of sparklings that could think of more mature insults!

·"Really?! You make fun of bots for being short?! He's also blue, you want to pick on him for something arbitrary, why limit yourself?!" You know it's not the smoothest insult, but darn it all, you can't bring yourself to think straight with all this rage. This bot needs to hear what an absolute creep and bully they are, because seriously who gloats like a real life cartoon villain? When they leave the communicator and try to get in your face you're only further incensed, channeling your tiny partner's courage as you wish beyond the telling of it you could punch the jerk into silence. "If there's gonna be insults, how about I open the floor to some genuine digs? Because your ugly mug is a GOLDMINE of material, okay?! Seriously, does Unicron ask YOU for beauty tips?!"

·There's sputtering in response, which you just take as a go ahead to tear them apart, because at this point you're not sure if you can really stop. After all, record shattering hideous face aside, what does this bot actually have to offer? Tailgate has saved millions! Faced with multiple varieties of death, he took out the guy hellbent on committing species wide genocide, and he doesn't even brag about it! You rub that in your captors face with all the pride you have for your partner spurring you on, hoping that you get a chance to tell Tailgate what a source of inspiration he was in these moments. At the very least you'll have to tell him how your captor froze at the enraged shouting. "Plus, Tailgate has actual friends! People LIKE him, unlike you, who I'm guessing doesn't entertain often based on the corpses you leave lying around!"

·A last ditch attempt to shut you up with a few lame threats just gets you laughing, in part because you can't believe this bot ever thought they were going to succeed at this. "You didn't even bother to check up on who you're making an enemy of, did you? I doubt it, because if you did, you'd know Tailgate has made paperweights out of bots much tougher than you!" Perhaps it's a little macabre, but it's endlessly satisfying to see your captor flinch as you describe what an absolute powerhouse your partner is, particularly how he uses his small size to levy his strength in the most destructive ways possible. It's delightful enough that, as you begin to brag about the benefits of his size relative to yours and his strength working together in more intimate settings, only something like an earthquake stops you.

·Chained as you are, there's no way to get a clear look at your captor as they attempt to flee, but thankfully the ground stills just in time to let you see the cavalry arrive. Lost Light bots pour in to stop the automated defenses from doing much at all, and in a brilliant blue and white blur your kidnapper is punched full to unconsciousness by what might as well have been a meteorite. It's only when said force of nature runs to free you and a tearful blue visor meets your eyes that you recognize Tailgate. The minibot gets you down in a hurry and embraces you in as tight a hug as is safe, talking a mile a minute about his worries and how sorry he is you had to go through all this. After assuring him he doesn't have to beat up your captor any further, you let him carry you back to the ship, getting nuzzled all the while.

·In between far more frequent cuddle sessions from the absolutely enamored Tailgate, you get pulled aside by a couple bots who just want to let you know what an impact your brave speech had on the minibot. While inconsolable during your kidnapping, to the point of swapping between rage and tears every few minutes, he'd been visibly awed once he heard you go off in his defense. That makes you understand everything far more clearly; this bot has been unsure of his self worth for so long, so hearing you face down a much larger foe because you love him so much that their taunting him drove you to frenzy... Knowing he's loved like that changed his entire worldview. You can see it in his visor every time he looks at you, and feel it in every buzzing hug, how grateful he is to have found someone who loves him.

Cyclonus

·Dating a bot capable of triggering enemy surrender with a glance requires a strong will, mostly to endure the endless questions from bots confused as to how you got Cyclonus to ask you out, but today you find yourself facing a whole new level of irritation. Though the bot that kidnapped you is obviously no match for your towering partner, they still mock the big mech through radio like they're some kind of badass, taunting him for debasing himself and growing soft by dating a fleshy. Regardless of how hard Cyclonus has worked to open up to you, hearing the personal jabs makes something within snap and go nuclear, resulting in a war cry your partner would be proud of as you rattle your chains for emphasis.

·"Can you just CAN IT with the insults?! We all know that if this fleshy wasn't here as your shield, you'd be fleeing to the other end of the galaxy!" You waste no time getting right to the heart of what's so infuriating about your captor; their spineless and cowardly nature is so obvious beneath the sneering mockery it makes you literally sick. Seeing how completely they freeze at your jab just proves your point in your mind. What, were they just expecting you to be quiet forever after dealing with THEM for the past few hours? Was the idea of resistance that surprising to them?! The calm maturity you picked up from Cyclonus is matched only by the capacity for righteous fury learned from the same source, and it's the latter that breaks out in glorious fashion.

·"Oh, what, nothing to say? No moronic insults for someone who can actually talk back? Do you need your debate opponents to be silent so you can think of a rebuttal?!" Your almost sarcastic jab actually earns you a demand to be silent, but it's so lacking in authority you can only laugh, despite not feeling any less furious with the situation. It's bad enough to be kidnapped and chained up, but by someone this incompetent? Being a tiny fraction of their size doesn't make you feel any less embarrassed for having been caught by them. It's enough frustration to make you snap again when they start coming in close, especially as another insult is levied at Cyclonus for having chosen a human so unpleasant due to his age and miserable attitude. The words are little more than kerosene on your already burning anger.

·"Do you really think you get to accuse Cyclonus of having a miserable attitude, you inept excuse for a kidnapper?! I'd rather have a conversation with these corpses than you! Not to mention, Cyclonus isn't limited to insulting people whenever he talks, unlike you!" The tirade is perhaps nonsensical with how passionately you begin to praise your partner's command of verse, but you're far too lost in your genuine adoration to care, especially as you begin to relay how wonderfully enticing his singing is to you. Every time your captor tries to command silence you just jump to yet another feature that makes your heart flutter, riding on the high of how incredibly good it feels to rub it all in their flustered face as you go. An attempt at describing his passionate grasp of verse around specific topics is stopped only by a door flying off its hinges in a burst of shattered metal.

·Security forces do nothing as a hulking purple figure enters through the smoke of considerable destruction, and your captor is left paralyzed with fear as they're hefted up by a clawed hand, one you're so relieved to see you can't help calling out their name. Cyclonus is content to toss the criminal to the rest of the crew as they arrive, and actually smiles once he beholds you safe. Freeing you of your bonds, he doesn't drop the chains until they're wrapped about your captor for some poetic justice. After that, you're carried to the nearest private spot on the ship and embraced without hesitation, the giant arms that have held you before almost shaking as he whispers how grateful he is to have you back. For an instant he sheds genuine tears when you hug him in return.

·Though the intensity of his emotions isn't as extreme as when he rescued you going forward, the big bot is far more open about his feelings than ever before, even showing them in full view of others. Surprised but not at all displeased, you are however quite thrown for a loop when someone recounts how incredibly worried he was during your kidnapping, in that he had to be convinced not to go after you alone and gouged some unfortunate furniture as he listened to the communications. Yet the moment you started your tirade, he was shocked to a whole new kind of silence. It's obvious that he hadn't even been able to process it at first, but now is fully overwhelmed and grateful for your love as he never was before. Hearing himself defended by someone he adores more than anything changed his perspective of himself, as well as his outlook on life, for how could he not see the beauty of a universe that had given him you?

Drift

·Sort of an interstellar hippy in his own way, Drift has taught you a lot about remaining calm through meditation, saying that a clear mind and control over anger is key to surviving high stress situations. The same philosophy is what he instructed you to use when others mocked his past, as he claims to be used to it and doesn't want anyone angering you on his behalf. This doesn't stop you from simmering in your current situation, dangling from chains as you might be, and admittedly being kidnapped tends to shorten one's fuse. Perhaps that's why you explode so dramatically when your abductor opens up the communication line just to mock your partner by claiming he hardly should be upset by an organic dying, considering his past, and that this current "relationship" is probably just a redemption stunt. That final mistake sets you off on a legendary tirade.

·"Are you KIDDING me?! You want to talk about STUNTS you wannabe kidnapping loser?! Do you have a projection disorder or something?! Because unlike you, Drift doesn't actually have to PROVE anything!" Never in your life have you wished to be the same height as the bots to this degree, granted though it's only because you want to strangle this jerk purely for the satisfaction of throttling them. Drift has worked to be better, and jabs about his past hurt him deeply, despite what he says. What right does this loser have to use that against him? You're so worked up fear isn't in your catalog of emotions when your captor tries to threaten you with physical harm. All you see is an overhyped grifter who got lucky, and you make that abundantly clear.

·"What, are you going to try threatening me, really? Am I supposed to be afraid of bluster now?!" The sight of a tiny organic growing red in the face with rage actually seems to give the bad bot pause, in part because you're so flushed they have to wonder if humans have a secret explosive ability that you're presently charging up. Admittedly you do feel like you might pop, but that's only because it's impossible to unleash all of your anger in a way that's truly satisfying, and you're left with spouting all the very justified insults that spring to mind. One particular thing that galvanizes your anger; how is this jerk pretending they would stand a chance against Drift?! The bot may be a literal ray of sunshine to you, but you're well aware of what he can do to enemies, and you doubt your kidnapper is in the dark about your paramour's combat prowess.

·"Would you be playing the big tough bot if he were anywhere near here?! Or if you didn't have me as a shield?! Because I doubt you'd last a moment in a one on one!" You shout, your tone of vitriol somewhat humorous considering that the point is a very valid one. While not afraid of Drift in the slightest, you know being on his bad side can be fatal in impressively short order. Perhaps that's why his soft approach to your relationship is even better. It's so special to you that in your current state you can't help but brag aggressively, going on about what a wonderful bot he is and that this loser could never hope to best him in combat or personality. Seeing them rethink it all just adds fuel to your fire, but before you can really get going on how Drift's gentle mannerisms extend to the bedroom you're interrupted by a cacophony of unfathomable origin.

·One of the entrances to the room you're in is sliced open by what you swear has to be ten swords at once, but as soon as it's down and the wielder charges in, you see only two held by a very angry looking Drift. Though accompanied by ample backup, he's an army of one as he reduces the security to pieces and almost dices up your captor. Only some obviously difficult self control lets him immobilize the bot instead. Not wasting time, your partner leaves the bad guy for the others to hurry to your side, his expression beaming with unmatched happiness and relief as he cuts you free and catches you in cupped hands. Shameless kisses and a million questions about whether or not you're hurt are your prelude to an open embrace. Never minding public affection in the past, he's still at a new level all the way back to the ship and in the days that follow.

·It's impossible not to go an hour without a loving nuzzle against your forehead, and whenever you aren't looking Drift is in the corner of your eye with an absolutely lovestruck expression on his sweet face, to the point you halfway imagine there could be hearts in his optics. Rodimus himself tells you in confidence that the unshakable ninjabot was barely able to keep himself steady after your kidnapping, obviously holding back a hurricane of pain and grief within his spark, but that changed in a flash as soon as he heard you. Accustomed to being derided, he'd been unprepared for such a passionate defense from anyone. Hearing you shout his praises had nearly driven him to tears. The pain of his past and the exclusion he faces for it has worn him down, to the point he often believes himself to be irredeemable, but you've made him have hope for himself for the first time in eons. Your love makes him see what he's done right, and from now on, he fully intends to give you and himself more to be proud of every day.

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theartofdreaming1 · 3 years ago

Photo

As usual, my thoughts regarding this week’s prompts and random thoughts on chapters 25-27 are below the cut.

heart

The imagery that really caught my attention this time was Peeta pointing out the changes in the moon to Katniss: The only indication of the passage of time lies in the heavens, the subtle shift of the moon. So Peeta begins pointing it out to me, insisting I acknowledge its progress and sometimes, for just a moment I feel a flicker of hope before the agony of the night engulfs me again. - So for one, we see another example of Peeta focusing on the small details in life (which I’ve previously hypothesized to being an important element in his recovery from his hijacking) as well as Peeta being the one to give Katniss hope, even if it’s just for a brief moment. Also, it’s a nice parallel to Katniss looking at the moon and desperately wishing for it to be “her moon” back in chapter 23. As a nocturnal person, I also love watching the moon from my living room window🌙

mind

Hmmh, I don’t think that Katniss and Peeta’s win was predetermined - although I do believe that by introducing the romantic angle, they significantly improved their odds. A Career winning the Games is not really that special and exciting, since it happens so often (although Careers generally satisfy that excitement for violence/blood/gore, that plenty of Capitol people seem to share). As a volunteer from District 12, who achieved an extremely good training score and proved herself to be very capable in the arena already, Katniss definitely had an edge by playing into the classic underdog story, which offered another exciting “narrative” for the Capitolites to follow - that, coupled (heh) with the romance angle Peeta introduced? Katniss (and Peeta) definitely had the entertainment (and excitement through novelty) factor on their side. Ironically, Cato’s chances of winning were not as good as he expected, precisely because he was playing it by the book.

soul

Poor Peeta (and Katniss), it hurts that their relationship was in such a rocky place by the end of the book. Especially those weeks right after the end of Book 1, when there were still cameras around District 12 and they had to pretend while hurting must have sucked big time🥺

Chapter 25

Ugh, the muttations are just so unsettling... *shudder*

Honestly, I’m just so impressed by Peeta’s presence of mind to draw that X on Cato’s hand, after he had just most of his calf ripped off, only to be grabbed and put in a headlock by Cato! He and Katniss work insanely well under pressure

God, Cato’s death is just so gruesome and awful... In the end, his “gift” from the Feast doesn’t help him win at all, but instead ends up prolonging his suffering a cruel amount... I wonder if in general these “gifts” come with a string attached (aside from the expected danger of trying to get them, I mean) - because the Gamemakers also intend for Katniss’s “gift” (medicine for Peeta) to force an even more cruel outcome on her - saving him from blood poisoning only to be forced into killing him herself... 🤔

I’m not sure if this is exactly medical protocol, but I’m terrified that if he drifts off he’ll never wake again. “Are you cold?” he asks. He unzips his jacket and I press against him as he fastens it around me. - Katniss is terrified of the idea of Peeta dying; at the same time, Peeta worries about her freezing - I can’t with these two 😩

Peeta begins to doze off now, and each time he does, I find myself yelling his name louder and louder because if he goes and dies on me now, I know I’ll go completely insane. He’s fighting it, probably more for me than for him - Katniss can’t lose any more people she cares about 😢; on a different note, Peeta fighting his unconsciousness “probably more for [Katniss] than for him” points out one of the crucial elements Katniss brings into Peeta’s life - she is that someone for whom he will fight - including for his own life and well-being - even when it feels easier to give up... Having that person in your life that keeps you going can make all the difference - if Katniss hadn’t had Prim and promised her “to really, really try” to win (and later also made Rue the same promise), I’m not sure she would have made it this far; it’s the thought of Prim anxiously watching her after Rue’s death, that forces Katniss to keep going, to not give in to despair after that particular traumatic event - Peeta, on the other hand, didn’t really have that kind of person in his life, as he will point out on the beach in CF (and Katniss acknowledges herself that the only person who will be devasted if Peeta dies is her)... that is not to say that neither Katniss nor Peeta aren’t fighters on their own - but it helps to have someone that inspires you to not give up

the adrenaline pumping through my body would never allow me to follow him, so I can’t let him go. I just can’t. - We’ll see the mirrored version of this by the end of Mockinjay

Pity, not vengeance, sends my arrow flying into [Cato’s] skull. - Another act of rebellion, technically (sure, this can be spun as Katniss killing Cato so she and Peeta may win - before Peeta dies from blood loss - but we know better - Katniss’s motivation was compassion for her supposed enemy)

We inch down to the tail of the horn and fall to the ground. If the stiffness in my limbs is this bad, how can Peeta even move? - Peeta is tough as nails, yo!

Before I am even aware of my actions, my bow is loaded with the arrow pointed straight at his heart [...] I drop my weapons and take a step back, my face burning in what can only be shame. “No,” he says. “Do it.” [...] “I can’t,” I say, “I won’t.” - In spite of her initial reflex, Katniss chooses Peeta/ chooses not to kill him; it’s a recurring theme in their relationship (despite her wariness of others, she chooses to open up to Peeta eventually; although she vowed to never marry and have children, she’ll choose to have a family with Peeta); also, my psychology-brain just noticed how this moment illustrates how harmful thoughts/impulses don’t have to determine your actions and are not an indicator of who you are - it’s about what you choose to do

“You’re not leaving me here alone,” I say. Because if he dies, I’ll never go home, not really. I’ll spend the rest of my life in this areny trying to think my way out. - Again, makes me think of MJ; also, I think that from this point onwards, Katniss and Peeta are officially linked together forever; the bond they forged during this traumatic experience will connect them to each other until the day they die

“On the count of three?” Peeta leans down and kisses me once, very gently. “The count of three,” he says. - My heart😭

Chapter 26

... while our muscles are immobile, nothing is preventing the blood from draining out of Peeta’s leg. Sure enough, the minute the door closes behind us and the current stops, he slumps to the floor unconscious [...] Through the glass, I see the doctors working feverishly on Peeta, their brows creased in concentration [...] I’m not sure, but I think his heart stops twice. - Peeta was in such a bad shape by the end of the Games; I’m still kinda salty that the movie really glossed over this fact :/

... they’re taking Peeta but leaving me behind the door. I start hurling myself against the glass, shrieking and I think I just catch a glimpse of pink hair - it must be Effie, it has to be Effie coming to my rescue - when the needle jabs me from behind. - Oh geez, in Catching Fire Katniss will also get sedated in a hovercraft because she’s upset about being separated from Peeta 😢 (also, Katniss thinking that Effie is coming to her rescue 😭)

While she [Lavinia, the avox] adjusts my pillows, I risk one question. I say it out loud, as clearly as my rusty voice will allow, so nothing will seem secretive. “Did Peeta make it?” She gives me a nod, and as she slips a spoon into my hand, I feel the pressure of friendship. - Katniss is so considerate of Lavinia’s situation, and Lavinia’s giving her a gesture of comfort and support; they’ve never been able to have a proper conversation (Katniss doesn’t even know Lavinia’s name), but still they managed to build up such a bond - compassion certainly is a strong thing to behold 😭 (and this whole scene is just through and through about compassion, with Katniss asking how Peeta is doing!)

Home! Prim and my mother! Gale! Even the thought of Prim’s scruffy old cat makes me smile. Soon I will be home! - Katniss is so excited to see her home and her loved ones again

I want to get out of this bed. To see Peeta and Cinna - Aww, the two people she grew closest to over the course of the past weeks (Haymitch will be added to that list in just a smidge)

Or do I hear a man’s voice yelling? Not in the Capitol accent, but in the rougher cadences of home. And I can’t help having a vague, comforting feeling that someone is looking out for me. - Thank God for Haymitch!

And behind one of them [doors] must be Peeta. Now that I’m conscious and moving, I’m growing more and more anxious about him [...] “Peeta!” I call out, since there’s no one to ask - Katniss is sick with worry over Peeta; romantic feelings or not, she cares so fricking much for him by now!

I run for them [Effie, Haymitch, and Cinna] and surprise even myself when I launch into Haymitch’s arms first. When he whispers in my ear, “Nice job, sweetheart,” it doesn’t sound sarcastic. - These reunion scenes are so intense and heartwarming! And then Katniss asks about Portia and Peeta because their presence would make this scene complete

when I asks for seconds, I’m refused. “No, no, no. They don’t want it all coming back up on the stage,” says Octavia, but she secretly slips me an extra roll under the table to let me know she’s on my side - It’s moments like these that help humanize Katniss’s prep team - they might be shallow, they might be completely oblivious and ignorant, but they aren’t that bad [of course, the prep team chattering about their mundane lives while talking about the event that ended with the deaths of 22 children shortly after, leaves a bad taste in our mouths]

I immediately notice the padding over my breasts, adding curves that hunger has stolen from my body. My hands go to my chest and I frown. “I know,” says Cinna before I can object. “But the Gamemakers wanted to alter you surgically. Haymitch had a huge fight with them over it. This was the compromise.” - God, the idea that the Gamemakers wanted to give a boob job to an unconscious, malnourished 16-year-old girl makes me sick 🤢 (Also, what’s the flipping deal about boobs?! As a pretty flat-chested gal, I’ve always been annoyed that there are barely any bras my cup size that are not push-up ones; I’m not self-conscious about it, so stop making me pretend that I’m bustier than I actually am!)

“I thought it’d be something more... sophisticated-looking,” I say. “I thought Peeta would like this better,” he [Cinna] answers carefully. Peeta? No, it’s not about Peeta. It’s about the Capitol and the Gamemakers and the audience. Although I do not yet understand Cinna’s design, it’s a reminder the Games are not quite finished. - Ugh, that sinking feeling when Katniss and the reader realize that the Games are still not over... Sidenote: Peeta flirted up a storm with grimy, bloodied Katniss and complimented her when she wore Cinna’s first, absolutely badass costume (”You should wear flames more often”)... Katniss’s girlish outfit has nothing to do with Peeta and she knows it... Cinna could have dressed Katniss up in a trash bag and Peeta would have been smitten - although a trash bag by Cinna would probably still look pretty good ;)

“How about a hug for luck?” Okay, that’s an odd request from Haymitch but, after all we are victors. Maybe a hug for luck is in order. - Aww, Katniss actually wouldn’t have minded giving Haymitch a hug just because - sadly, this is about survival tips instead :/

But what was it Haymitch said when I asked it he had told Peeta the situation? That he had to pretend to be desperately in love? “Don’t have to. He’s already there.” Already thinking ahead of me in the Games again and well aware of the danger we’re in? Or... already desperately in love? I don’t know. I haven’t even begun to separate out my feelings about Peeta. It’s too complicated. - Poor Katniss... she didn’t have the time and peace of mind to sort out her feelings regarding Peeta before they all got tied up and muddled with her need for survival. Now she’ll be having an even harder time trying to untangle that mess :(

Chapter 27

Then there’s Peeta just a few yards away. He looks so clean and healthy and beautiful, I can hardly recognize him. But his smile is the same whether in mud or in the Capitol and when I see it, I take about three steps and fling myself into his arms [...] He rights himself and we just cling to each other while the audience goes insane. He’s kissing me and all the time I’m thinking, Do you know? Do you know how much danger we’re in? After about ten minutes of this, Caesar Flickerman taps on his choulder to continue the show, and Peeta just pushes him aside without even glancing at him. - Man, their reunion here always gets me - it would be so fricking good if Katniss didn’t have to worry about their potential doom 😒😔 - she barely has time to just be happy to see Peeta alive and well before slipping back into survival mode while Peeta is just genuinely thrilled to have her in his arms, completely unaware of the pressure and immediate danger Katniss experiences in this moment... It hurts so bad

I’m with Katniss - How did the previous victors endure rewatching those horrible moments from the Games?! I guess because they had to, but oof... I think I’d just completely shut down, blocking out the footage shown, ugh

But I do notice they omit the part where I covered her [Rue] in flowers. Right. Because even that smacks of rebellion. - In such a callous and cruel place as Panem, any act of compassion can be regarded as rebellion, it’s crazy. In a place filled with apathy, hedonism, greed, and cruelty, the most radical things you can exhibit are love, kindness, and respect!

A wave of gratitude to the filmmakers sweeps over me when they end not with the announcement of our victory, but with me pounding on the glass door of the hovercraft, screaming Peeta’s name as they try to revive him. In terms of survival, it’s my best moment all night. - Again, another instance where Katniss’s genuine feelings/reactions to Peeta are get muddled with her need for survival

The one thing I never do is let go of Peeta’s hand. - irrevocably linked with each other

Despite Haymitch’s running interference, I’m determined to see Peeta privately. - Katniss just wants to have an honest and open talk with Peeta 😢 (I get where Haymitch is coming from, and maybe in this instance it’s the right call, but we’ll see a similar situation in the beginning of CF when Haymitch advises Katniss not to tell Peeta about President Snow’s visit and that time, it doesn’t go so well...)

Then Peeta’s there looking handsome in red and white - for someone who isn’t sure whether she’s into him or not, Katniss sure mentions how good Peeta’s looking a lot 😏

“Well, there’s just this and we go home. Then he can’t watch us all the time,” says Peeta. - 👀👀 Peeta is so thirsty here; reminds me of when he pulled Katniss close to him in the cave before they set out to hunt... He clearly believes she’s also “already there” regarding their relationship; he’s never this “suggestive” (can’t think of a better word right now) with her once she lets him know that she doesn’t really know how she feels about him - I feel a sort of shiver run through me and there’s no time to analyze why - Katniss totally isn’t averse to what Peeta’s suggesting here, either (though there’s probably also a healthy amount of fear mixed in with the thrill of being wanted - letting people in can be terrifying)

I can feel Peeta press his forehead into my temple and he asks, “So now that you’ve got me, what are you going to do with me?” I turn in to him. “Put you somewhere you can’t get hurt.” And when he kisses me, people in the room actually sigh. - It’s me; I’m people 🙋🏼‍♀️ (also, the “turn in to him”?!?!! it just suggests such a closeness, I can’t-)

Katniss burying her face in Peeta’s shirt when she’s afraid she might cry learning that he lost his leg 🥺 (how awful it must be to be constantly on display while you’re dealing with your private feelings, ugh)

“... The moment when you pulled out those berries. What was going on in your mind... hm?” [...] It seems to call for a big, dramatic speech, but all I get out is one almost inaudible sentences. “I don’t know, I just... couldn’t bear the thought of... being without him.” - It might not be a super eloquent way to put what she was supposed to say, but this way, Katniss is being perfectly honest (and frankly, if she’d had the chance to properly process her feelings, she would have been able to voice this sentiment with less hesitation)

I go back to my room to collect a few things and find there’s nothing to take but the mockingjay pin Madge gave me. Someone returned it to my room after the Games. - For one, Katniss didn’t think of that pin (again), but also - was the pin returned to her simply because it’s standard procedure or did someone (like Plutarch, for example) arrange for Katniss to get the pin back, to keep her connection to this symbol going?

I stare in the mirror as I try to remember who I am and who I am not. - Poor Katniss! She’s been through so much, experienced so many traumatic events in short succession recently (aside from the trauma she already had), already had problems defining her identity beyond sheer survival, and now the Capitol also keeps pushing an identity onto her and a romantic relationship, when she hadn’t even had the chance to figure out how she felt about that yet

“... Haymitch has been coaching me through the last few days. So I didn’t make it worse,” I say. “Coaching you? But not me,” says Peeta. “He knew you were smart enough to get it right,” I say. “I didn’t know there was anything to get right,” says Peeta. - Oh boy. It’s always so painful to see Peeta realize that he’s been completely out of the loop; again, we’ll see how Katniss and Haymitch adopt a similar strategy in the beginning of CF: banking on Peeta’s good social skills and eloquence and keeping him in the dark. In a way, it’s a sort of compliment they pay to Peeta for being good with people, but, by not telling him, they are also using him for their purpose (which is motivated by caring for and wanting to protect Peeta, but still). Peeta is right to be upset about it - he has always been very clear about not wanting to be used as a piece in anyone’s games, really. And, as we will see later in CF, they are way more effective as a team when they are open and honest with each other.

“It was all for the Games,” Peeta says. “How you acted.” “Not all of it,” I say, tightly holding on to my flowers. “Then how much? No, forget that. I guess the real question is what’s going to be left when we get home?” he says. “I don’t know. The closer we get to District Twelve, the more confused I get,” I say. He waits, for further explanation, but none’s forthcoming. “Well, let me know when you work it out,” he says, and the pain in his voice is palpable. - It’s just so goddamn painful😢 They’ve both been done so dirty by that forced star-crossed lovers of Distrct 12 routine. (Sidenote: I appreciate that Peeta actually gives Katniss the chance to explain herself here - still, it’s too much to deal with on the spot so I can understand why Katniss ended up dropping the ball, even though it’s frustrating to read.)

That it’s not good loving me because I’m never going to get married anyway and he’d just end up hating me later instead of sooner. That if I do have feelings for him, it doesn’t matter because I’ll never be able to afford the kind of love that leads to a family, to children. And how can he? How can he after what we’ve just been through? - Oh Katniss, you certainly are skipping a couple of steps here; I’m pretty sure there are some options in between dating and being married with kids you could look into. Also, she’s just assuming that this is what Peeta wants, but she doesn’t know that at all - As someone who also has this stupid habit of imagining how whole conversations could possibly transpire and then resigning myself to the hypothetical outcome of said imagined conversation instead of actually having them: Don’t do that. ‘Never assume - it makes an ASS out of U and ME.’

I see Peeta extend his hand. I look at him, unsure. “One more time? For the audience?” he says. His voice isn’ t angry. It’s hollow, which is worse. Already the boy with the bread is slipping away from me. I take his hand, holding it tightly, preparing for the cameras, and dreading the moment when I will finally have to let go. - Ma babies! They are both so hurt and both just want to be with each other 😭 But they’ll need some time apart, to figure things out before they can do that.

#thgagain #thg #hunger games #everlark #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark #my sketches and drawings #thg meta

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youngreckless · 4 years ago

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Drarry Eighth Year Fic Recs ✨🌈

note: all of these are hogwarts eighth year drarry fics!

The Fifth Floor at Midnight by hopelocklet

(1.8k, General)

When Harry is watching the Marauder's Map late at night, he sees Malfoy's name in a part of Hogwarts he doesn't recognize. It's on the fifth floor, the Fine Arts floor. Now Harry is practically desperate to find out what in Merlin's name Malfoy is doing on the fifth floor - alone - at midnight.

Oh You Pretty Things by JulietsEmoPhase

(1.8k, Mature)

Draco and Harry have a drunken heart to heart listening to David Bowie.

In Need of a Proper Hug by Faith Wood (faithwood)

(2k, Mature)

Draco rescues a poor, poor koala, which won't stop hugging him.

Moonlit Revelations by JulietsEmoPhase

(4.2k, Teen & up)

When Harry returns for his Eighth Year at Hogwarts, he quickly suspects Draco Malfoy is up to something again.

Operation: S.M.W.L.N.T.E.T.H.S.P by XxTheDarkLordxX

(8.1k, Teen & up)

Typically, notes from admirers would bring smiles to one's face or even lift their mood. It might make their day or even their week. It was a sign of a romantic at heart and even considered sweet.

However, Draco Malfoy doesn't do sweet. If he got one more note saying he looked radiant or beautiful, he was going to kill someone. Literally. His secret admirer better stay a secret before he cursed them into oblivion... right after he figured out how to stop blushing.

The Mysteriously Appearing Mistletoe by MystyVander

(9.6k, Explicit)

The mysteriously appearing, vindictive and mischievous mistletoe is forcing everybody in Hogwarts to kiss whomever it lands above. Nobody can figure out how to rid the school of the informally named 'M'am' but eventually the particular mistletoe falls on top of the heads of the schools old rivals, Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy. What happens next is anybody's guess!

In the Interest of Interhouse Cooperation by firethesound

(11k, Explicit)

Organizing a Duelling Club was supposed to be a fun extracurricular activity for Harry’s 8th year. But add in Draco Malfoy and a malfunctioning Room of Requirement, and things can’t help but get complicated.

The Difference Between a Cat and a Comma, Or, The One Where McGonagall Has Sass by shilo1364

(18k, Teen & up)

Eighth year at Hogwarts is going to be boring. That's what Draco Malfoy thinks when the Wizengamot makes attendance a condition of his pardon. After all, after letting Death Eaters into the school, failing to kill his headmaster, and being forced to serve a homicidal madman, how could finishing up his education *possibly* be interesting?

Answer: a coveted Transfigurations advanced study position, Minerva Mcgonagall's surprising fondness for him, Thestrals, tea with Hagrid, tutoring Harry Potter, Granger and Weasley's excessive PDA, and the perplexing nature of sleight-of-hand double-dates with Harry, Luna, and Ginny. And then, of course, there's righteously indignant (if misinformed) Weasley, Draco's own insecurities and flair for dramatics, and a long-suffering Kingsley Shacklebolt.

Don’t mind if I keep your tie (And your heart, babe) by Ingi

(21k, General)

The Eighth year common room has a parrot in it, courtesy of McGonagall and her mad search for interhouse bonding.

Most of the time, it's just there, until one day it repeats "Potter has a damn fine arse." And the Slytherins know exactly who the parrot's mimicking...

Draco is not amused.

An Issue of Consequence by Faith Wood (faithwood)

(21k, Explicit)

Draco has woken up in an alternate universe. Or he has woken up utterly insane. Nothing else can possibly explain why Harry Potter suddenly seems to think he's Draco's boyfriend.

Harmonised Consciousness by Talizora

(24k, Explicit)

"Potter's spell is still active, but I can shield my thoughts from him. I've been stirring him up all afternoon! It's hysterical!"

Blaise gasped, "It's still active! But it's… Dinner time!"

"Yes, so?"

"S-so? That spell is supposed to cancel itself after an hour! It's been, almost four hours!"

Draco shrugged, "I'm not worried. It's probably due to Potters magic. I'm sure it'll time-out eventually."

Blaise frowned, "Draco I don't think this is a good idea. Maybe you should end the spell?"

"No way! Blaise! I can hear everything! Before, in Runes, Potter was ranting about how he wanted to kill Weasel and Trelawney! He's all over the place! I had no idea he had such homicidal tendencies!" Draco giggled.

One of Blaise's eyebrows rose, "…Draco? Did you just giggle?"

"No I didn't."

"Yes you did."

A Dented Old Street Sign by orphanghost

(27k, Mature)

Draco knows they aren't the only students who will be completing their NEWTs this year, but they are the only ones whose home fireplaces were disconnected from the floo network by the ministry.

At least, Draco assumes as much until he sees the light falling out from the front door of one of the other rickety old houses in front of them and the three figures cast in its warm glow. For a moment they look like some sort of strange, many legged creature. An acromantula, or a particularly massive Blast-Ended Skrewt. Then Draco hears Pansy make a disgusted sound beside him and the light falls in a less blinding way, and Draco can see that it is actually Potter and the Weasel carrying a large couch between them, and Granger fluttering around them with her wand out, seeming concerned.

Draco Malfoy and the Year He Kept Getting Hexed by iamaghost

(43k, Explicit)

Draco is just trying to get through his eighth year at Hogwarts without getting hexed. Again.

The Standard You Walk Past by bafflinghaze

(46k, Mature)

On returning to Hogwarts for their Eighth Year, Headmistress McGonagall decided to room Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter together. She may have hoped for a leading example of house unity; the other students fully expected insults and fights. But nothing happened.

That was, until Harry sleepwalked into Draco’s bed.

Right Hand Red by lq_traintracks (lumosed_quill)

(73k, Explicit)

Harry felt Malfoy's breath on his lips as they came together over the bottle, hands firmly planted on the floor as though they each needed their familiar soil, refusing to cross into enemy territory.

Except that Malfoy no longer felt like his enemy.

Malfoy felt inevitable.

Azoth by zeitgeistic

(88k, Explicit)

Now that Harry is back at Hogwarts with Hermione for eighth year, he realises that something’s missing from his life, and it either has to do with Ron, his boggart, Snape, or Malfoy. Furthermore, what, exactly, does it mean when one’s life is defined by the desire to simultaneously impress and annoy a portrait? Harry has no idea; he’s too busy trying not to be in love with Malfoy to care.

Things Worth Knowing by Femme (femmequixotic), noeon (noe)

(164k, Explicit)

After the Battle, Harry thinks he's left Hogwarts for good, but Minerva insists that all students return for an Eighth Year if they wish to sit for NEWTs in the spring, and Harry needs those NEWTs to go into the Aurors. Draco's just grateful not to be in Azkaban. Or the Manor. He's hoping he can steer clear of Potter this year and grapple with his own problems. Unfortunately for him, Potter appears to be one of those problems. And that's not even addressing the fact that Potter's got serious issues of his own, which Draco realises as he's forced to share an Eighth Year dormitory room and several classes with the Gryffindor Git. If only they can make it through the year without killing each other, it should be all right, shouldn't it?

#drarry #drarry fic #drarry recs #drarry fics #drarry smut #hogwarts eighth year #eighth year fics #drarry rec #drarry fic recs #drarry 8th year

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robininthelabyrinth · 4 years ago

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Chapter 4 of The Quiet Room (ao3 or tumblr pt 1, pt 2, pt 3)

The ceiling of the hanshi looked strange when Lan Xichen woke up.

His mind was fuzzy, his mouth dry and disgusting in taste, and it took a few moments before he realized that the strangeness was the position of the light: he had overslept for the first time in years, and the sunlight on the ceiling was that of mid-morning or later, not pre-dawn. How strange – he almost never slept so late, he thought vaguely, and wondered almost idly what had caused him to be so tired.

It took another few moments before he realized why sleeping late, or even at all, was such a problem.

He sat up with a gasp, hand flying to his throat in horror, and Jin Guangyao, seated not far away and awake already, looked up at him, already starting to smile in greeting.

“Why did I sleep?” Lan Xichen demanded, but he already knew the answer – his tongue had a greasy feel on it, herbaceous, that suggested that he had been drugged, and anyway he only remembered having a single cup of tea with Jin Guangyao’s coaxing, then nothing. “A-Yao, why…?”

“You were panicking,” Jin Guangyao said, smiling fading a little, his lovely soft eyes turning melancholy at the perceived blame in the question – Jin Guangyao was so sensitive about the merest suggestion that he wasn’t wholly trusted. It was trauma remaining from his upbringing, Lan Xichen knew, and never blamed him for it; he took every effort to remind him that he was loved and appreciated now, that he respect him, even honored and treasured him, and one day he was certain his efforts would be enough. “I thought it would be good for you to sleep, so that you would be calm again. Er-ge…”

“I was supposed to be monitoring da-ge!” Lan Xichen exclaimed, struggling to get out of bed, his limbs still unwieldly and unresponsive. “He shouldn’t – I only meant to put him in there for – for half a shichen at most –”

Jin Guangyao hurried over to him at once, his facile face upset. “But you said that he needed more time,” he pointed out, confused, and oh, it was Lan Xichen’s fault, wasn’t it? He should have been clearer. With Jin Guangyao’s too-perfect memory, both benefit and curse, for him to make a mistake like this meant that it must have been a misunderstanding between them. “You said that the benefit of the room was only very small to start – I thought you said he needed stronger medicine than what he was taking? We discussed it, I’m sure of it. A sharp shock to the system to restart it properly – when you said yesterday that you only planned to leave him for a short time, I honestly thought you were just talking yourself of out of what you needed to do…”

It was not unreasonable, but of course Jin Guangyao was never unreasonable.

His words now were echoed the ones he’d raised when Lan Xichen had been dithering – uncertainty and irresoluteness were his worst faults and he knew it – over whether he should even take the current approach, even knowing how much Nie Mingjue didn’t like the idea of the quiet room.

Not that he’d ever even given it a proper try.

Jin Guangyao had pointed out that Nie Mingjue was declining, and it was true, visible, painful. It was one thing to know that your beloved was likely to have a short life and another to see him begin to lose himself when he’d barely had any time to live. Nie Mingjue had spent his whole life on avenging his father, had finally succeeded, was finally unfettered and free from the burdens of his parents the way Lan Xichen had always so desperately wanted for him, and now, now he was dying? Succumbing to his inevitable fate, fading into a creature composed of nothing but rage the way his father had, the way he’d always feared more than anything?

It wasn’t fair.

Jin Guangyao had helped Lan Xichen see that it wasn’t fair to him, too – to either of them, really. They both loved Nie Mingjue so much! He was their lifeblood, their backbone, the foundation of the earth beneath their feet. The thought of him dying panicked Lan Xichen beyond all reason, and the thought of him dying when it could be prevented, when they could have done something, when he could have done something if only he wasn’t so unreasonably stubborn…it was simply intolerable.

Jin Guangyao was right, of course, that Lan Xichen would ultimately hate himself if he stood by and did nothing. He’d been so passive all his life, his father his mother his uncle his sect, but this was his lover – and the Lan sect was always so unreasonable about lovers. That was something Nie Mingjue well knew, so surely some strong measures could be forgiven, could be understood.

Nie Mingjue would understand.

It wasn’t like Lan Xichen’s father’s situation at all, Jin Guangyao had assured him when he had raised the concern. It wasn’t as though Lan Xichen was imprisoning Nie Mingjue for his own selfish reasons, claiming to protect him when in fact all he wanted was not to lose him.

He was trying to help him.

Help him when he wouldn’t help himself.

That was what hurt the most, really. That was what Jin Guangyao had so passionately argued was unfair: that Nie Mingjue had stopped trying. He’d stopped letting Jin Guangyao play Clarity for him, the technique Lan Xichen had worked so hard to find and develop for him; he’d stopped trying even his own sect’s techniques for calming and healing qi. He was no longer looking for solutions. No, he’d turned instead to start arranging his affairs: to make plans and provisions for what might happen, to prepare his sect for Nie Huaisang to take charge, to ease the transition that would happen after he – after he –

It’s not his fault, Jin Guangyao had said gently when Lan Xichen had driven himself into a frenzy of panic, heart beating wildly and lungs burning even as he breathed too quickly. Jin Guangyao had held him in his arms, counted his breaths with him, calmed him; he was so good, good to Lan Xichen, always thinking about what he could do to help him, and he’d been so good to Nie Mingjue, too, even if they were fighting right now, even if Nie Mingjue was holding him at arms’ length.

Jin Guangyao had remembered what Lan Xichen had not. He’d reminded Lan Xichen that even if it was unfair, even if it hurt him, even if he resented Nie Mingjue for having given up on life, on them, so easily, that him doing that when he’d always sworn he wouldn’t? That was wrong, too.

And that meant that it wasn’t Nie Mingjue’s fault, not really.

It was the qi deviation.

After all, as Jin Guangyao had recalled to Lan Xichen’s attention, wasn’t it a known symptom of qi deviations that they affected the person subtly as well as strongly? Death by qi deviation wasn’t just the single killing blow with the sword, but the insidious destruction of poison, tearing apart the person from the inside out until they weren’t even themselves any more.

If he had had a small qi deviation, it would make Nie Mingjue more stubborn, more rigid, more angry, less flexible, less forgiving, less willing to listen to reason. It would take Nie Mingjue away from Lan Xichen, take Nie Mingjue away from himself, and make him an accomplice in his own deterioration – as Jin Guangyao pointed out, why else would Nie Mingjue suddenly refuse to be helped? Why else would he grow so distant from Jin Guangyao, who he loved?

It must be the qi deviation speaking, not him. Not his Mingjue.

With Jin Guangyao’s words, Lan Xichen had felt the sudden and overwhelming relief of understanding – of knowing that it wasn’t anything he’d done or failed to do, of knowing that there was still hope. If they only took stronger steps to get rid of the vile thing affecting Nie Mingjue, he would return to the way he was, return to them both, and they would stand shoulder-to-shoulder in this fight against the invisible enemy the way they had against the more corporeal enemies they’d faced in the Sunshot Campaign.

Nie Mingjue hadn’t minded aggressive moves back then, after all. He’d put his life on the line time and time again to win the smallest advantages – win a battle here, rescue a village there…he’d been willing to consider the wildest stratagems, accept help from strange sources (Wei Wuxian’s demonic cultivation came to mind), if it meant they could free the cultivation world from Wen Ruohan’s cancerous tyranny.

It really wasn’t asking so much for him to try just as hard to fight his own doom, was it?

No, Jin Guangyao was right. It really wasn’t.

And if it was only the qi deviation that made Nie Mingjue refuse their help, then maybe Jin Guangyao was right about the rest of it, too. He’d made an apt comparison: if Nie Mingjue had put blinders on himself and was stumbling around in the dark, heading the wrong way, then surely it was their duty to help him see the light, even if he initially refused their assistance in his artificially induced stubbornness.

He would see the benefit of what they’d done when he was better. He would thank them.

He’d see that it wasn’t that they were being malicious, overriding his stated wishes like that, but rather that they loved him – loved him too much to let him stand aside and let him hurt himself like that.

He’d forgive them.

After all, hadn’t Lan Xichen forgiven him?

When Jin Guangyao had first confessed his past with Nie Mingjue to him, he’d been heartbroken, of course. Nie Mingjue was his lover – how could he take another man to his bed? Even if that man was as charming and beautiful as their A-Yao, as competent and righteous, as kind and generous…

Lan Xichen had liked Jin Guangyao from the very start, back when they’d had nothing to do with each other and not even friendship to bind themselves together, when he had exerted himself to help when Lan Xichen had had nothing with which to repay him.

He’d admired him so much for having come through everything that he’d suffered all the stronger, that he’d still remained noble and good despite all the humiliations and embarrassments. He’d been flattered when Jin Guangyao – then Meng Yao – had flirted with him, lingering touches and sly innuendo and the sparkling tension of will-he-won’t-he-what-will-he-do-next. Nie Mingjue had never engaged in any of that with him, not really; his beloved was too straightforward in his affections to take a circuitous route in expressing them (they’d been barely more than children when Nie Mingjue had blurted out a love confession, much to Lan Xichen’s delight), and he’d been too familiar with the burdens of being the sect heir or sect leader to play around with implications that could harm their position.

Lan Xichen appreciated that consideration, really, but flirting with Jin Guangyao had been…nice.

Fun. Meaningless, of course, because Jin Guangyao was strictly off-limits – everyone was off-limits, he already had a lover! – but the banter was flattering. It made him feel the joy of being desired by someone he liked, that feeling of excitement and newness and discovery that had long ago faded out of the comfortable and happy relationship he had with Nie Mingjue.

It’d been a passing crush, nothing more. And with Jin Guangyao as Nie Mingjue’s deputy, he could still be friends with him – they could both be friends with him. The conversations between the three of them had flowed smooth and easy back then, all of them casual and as relaxed as they could be given the circumstances; he had been so happy then. They had all been happy.

The war had taken that from them.

Lan Xichen still didn’t know exactly what it was that had divided Nie Mingjue and Jin Guangyao so bitterly – Nie Mingjue had both wanted to tell him and hadn’t, knowing how close they were – and he had known that he’d only made it worse by honoring Jin Guangyao’s desperate request to hide the fact that he was the source of the information that had helped them. But in the end Nie Mingjue had agreed to swear to brotherhood between them despite all that, so it couldn’t be that bad, surely?

He’d expected that one day Nie Mingjue would finally be able to swallow the hurt and pain in his throat and speak clearly to him about what his grievances were, and that once they were out in the open, he would see that they were all misunderstandings the way Jin Guangyao swore they were. Once it was in the open, they could work through them and return to the way they’d been.

Lan Xichen hadn’t expected Jin Guangyao to confess first – and to being Nie MIngjue’s lover during the war.

Lan Xichen hadn’t believed it at first, thinking that Nie Mingjue would never, would never, but Jin Guangyao’s confession had been so detailed: the way Nie Mingjue liked to stroke his hand along his arm as if petting a large cat, the expression of stunned pleasure on his face, the little things he did only in private, even the secret things like how his hips stuttered in the moments before he reached completion…it was almost as if Jin Guangyao were reciting back one of Lan Xichen’s own hidden encounters with Nie Mingjue back at him, the same in every respect.

And while Lan Xichen was absorbing that, Jin Guangyao had apologetically explained that he had never meant to trespass – that Nie Mingjue had said that forgiveness was better than permission in affairs of the heart, that Lan Xichen liked Jin Guangyao so much that he wouldn’t mind, that he would clear things up the very first instant he had a chance to.

It was wrong of him to have agreed to have done that to him, his good friend, Jin Guangyao said, his face full of sorrow and guilt. But he had been in love – surely Lan Xichen understood how love could blind you and dizzy you? How it could drive you to do things you’d once thought were crazy?

He only spoken up now, he’d explained, because it seemed as though Nie Mingjue had not told Lan Xichen the truth – he hadn’t – and it seemed, moreover, that he wasn’t planning to tell him, ever. That he’d planned to just forget it had ever happened, to pretend that they had really just been sect leader and deputy, been only friends.

That had seemed to him, Jin Guangyao had gently explained, to be rather unfair to Lan Xichen. And so, even though it might cost him everything, he had chosen to explain it to him now.

Lan Xichen had been heartbroken, of course. He’d been so angry at the betrayal – but also secretly a little thrilled.

After all, if Nie Mingjue could do it, Lan Xichen could do the same, couldn’t he? And he’d always liked Jin Guangyao so very much...

Jin Guangyao, it seemed, felt the same way.

Sometimes Lan Xichen felt bad about it, knowing that even if Nie Mingjue had once been lovers with Jin Guangyao he certainly wasn’t now. But Jin Guangyao was so reassuring in his certainty that Nie Mingjue would understand – that he’d even fantasized about the two of them together many a time, that it was his own words that had said that forgiveness and not permission was the right way to go about these things. This way, Lan Xichen could work out his little anger at being betrayed, get his own little version of revenge: just a kiss, at first, he’d only planned on it being just a kiss, but then one thing had led to another and then there was more that he would have to explain, more that he’d have to get forgiveness for, and after a while it was just easier to remind himself that this was something Nie Mingjue wanted, that when it was revealed to him that he would be happy, that it would all work out perfectly with everyone getting everything they wanted, than it was to try to think of having to explain.

Jin Guangyao had even volunteered to be the one to talk to Nie Mingjue on the subject when the time was right, relieving Lan Xichen of the anxiety-inducing burden of serious emotional conversation, which he hated.

(It was his job to smile and be happy, comforting, supportive; the sect elders had always made that very clear. Lan Wangji could get away with a scowl firmly on his face only because he was younger, a spoiled little brother and not the future face of their sect – Lan Xichen’s uncle might have run the sect on his behalf, but everyone knew that Lan Xichen was as good as sect leader from a young age, and he’d had to act like it. It was easier for him to smile and nod and simply not bring up unpleasant subjects, just the way he always had, than to torment himself with having to break through his long-established façade.)

Besides, as Jin Guangyao had worriedly remarked, Nie Mingjue’s worsening condition made it difficult to talk to him openly about such things. According to Jin Guangyao, Nie Mingjue had suffered a qi deviation in the fight at the Fire Palace, and it had made him untrusting and paranoid, reluctant to trust or forgive in a way that wasn’t like him. If they brought it up to him too early, before they’d solve the underlying problem of the qi deviation, Nie Mingjue might lash out and ruin the wonderful thing that all three of them wanted so much.

Lan Xichen had wept when Jin Guangyao had told him that Nie Mingjue had admitted, in a moment of weakness, that he wanted to make sure that Lan Xichen would still be loved after he was gone – that he wanted to leave his lover in good hands, hands he trusted, in Jin Guangyao’s hands.

That had been before they’d fought, of course.

And anyway, there really wasn’t anything to worry about, not really. Nie Mingjue loved Lan Xichen, and he’d loved Jin Guanyao, and he always forgave those he loved – one need only look at how spoiled Nie Huaisang had become over the years to know that.

Even if he might get annoyed that they didn’t tell him at once, he’d understand why they delayed.

Just like he’d understand why they had to help him.

Lan Xichen rubbed at his face tiredly. “A-Yao, I know your intentions were good, but there’s strong medicine and then there’s strong medicine. We need to go check in on him at once.”

“Da-ge’s strong,” Jin Guangyao said, loyal and loving as always. “And anyway, didn’t you say you spent your first full night in the jingshi before the age of fourteen? And he’s a man full grown, as powerful a cultivator as I’ve ever seen. I’m sure he’s fine.”

When the arrived at the jingshi, though –

Lan Xichen’s stomach, still churning from the drug, abruptly dropped, his whole body stiffening in sudden freezing terror.

The inside of the jingshi was a mess, the walls battered, blood smeared all over, scratches on the wall –

“What happened?” he gasped, horrified. This couldn’t be – the jingshi didn’t do this to people – it was just quiet – “What – where’s da-ge? Mingjue! Mingjue!”

“He may have been too close to the edge,” Jin Guangyao said, his own face creased with genuine concern as he examined the scene. “A severe qi deviation – he could be unstable. Out of control, paranoid, and with that saber of his, with the spirit goading him on…he could do anything. He might attack someone. Some innocent – me, or even you.”

Lan Xichen opened his mouth to deny it, because Nie Mingjue would never hurt him, but the words couldn’t make their way out of his mouth. He remembered what Nie Mingjue had said about what had happened after his father’s saber had broken, the whispered confessions in the dark as his tears had dripped onto his shoulder – terrible things, unconscionable things, things old Sect Leader Nie would never have done if he had been in his right mind.

It was, as much as he hated to admit it, possible.

“It’s my fault,” Jin Guangyao said suddenly, distracting Lan Xichen from his horrible thoughts, horrible thoughts that made his pulse race and his heart beat too fast and the panic start to rise up to choke him. “It’s all my fault, er-ge – I’m the one who thought you needed to rest, I’m the one who misjudged how much da-ge could take without breaking. It’s my fault!”

“No, no,” Lan Xichen said at once, instinctively. He was the one who gave comfort, not the one who was comforted; it was easier than anything to fall back into his usual role. “You meant well –”

“I never meant any harm,” Jin Guangyao agreed, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I only wanted to help, I only thought you were anxious – I didn’t realize you would fall asleep, and when you did, I thought there wasn’t any harm in you getting some rest…if da-ge does something terrible, he’ll never forgive himself, and neither will I.”

“No, A-Yao, it’s not your fault, don’t blame yourself –”

“Sect Leader Lan!” someone shouted, and Lan Xichen turned at once.

“What happened?” he asked urgently. If Nie Mingjue hadn’t gotten far, or if what he’d done could be hidden, they could join hands to hide what had happened – no one would ever need to know. Just like with Lan Wangji, they could preserve his reputation and allow him freedom in the future.

It would be fine, they could handle it, they could find a way –

“Reporting to Sect Leader: the Unclean Realm has put up its defensive barrier,” the disciple said, saluting with a deep bow.

Lan Xichen stared at him, not understanding. The only person who could order the protective shield raised was an acknowledged master of the Nie clan, and that meant Nie Mingjue himself; he was the only one who would, since Nie Huaisang, the only other candidate, never cared for such things. But hadn’t he just been here, in the Cloud Recesses? It would take half the night and all morning, flying without end, to get to Qinghe so quickly…

“Are you sure?” Jin Guangyao interjected, a frown forming on his normally placid face. “From whom did you receive word? Are they reliable?”

“We’re certain of it. The responsive beacon lit in the guard-house,” the disciple said.

“We exchanged beacons after what happened with the Cloud Recesses and the Lotus Pier, it will activate reflexively in response to the barrier being raised, there can be no doubt,” Lan Xichen said numbly. Nie Mingjue had pressed it into his hand personally, murmuring promises that Lan Xichen would never need to fear a repeat of that terrible night: the Wen sect breaking the Cloud Recesses’ barrier before they could call for help, the flames that flooded his home, that terrible escape with his sect’s most treasured books clutched in his hands as he fled in a state of terror – he’d thought that Nie Mingjue had given the beacons out to all the sect leaders, he knew he’d traded ones with the Lotus Pier, but maybe he’d left Lanling Jin out for some reason. Or maybe Jin Guangshan simply hadn’t informed his least-loved son about it, for whatever petty reason. “But – why? Are they under attack?”

Who would be attacking the Unclean Realm now? Who would dare try something against the domain of Chifeng-zun – but no, Nie Mingjue was incapacitated now, surely unable to fight to defend his sect…but who would know that? Who could predict that he would have a qi deviation now?

“It could be da-ge himself that did it,” Jin Guangyao said, and Lan Xichen looked at him, surprised. “If he escaped and returned home, he could be suffering under paranoid delusions and believe himself under attack, even if there is none…should we get people and go to help?”

“Yes,” Lan Xichen said, grateful to seize on something constructive to do. “We should go at once. But we cannot take too many people – we’re not a threat to him, and we should be clear about that.”

“Naturally,” Jin Guangyao said. “But er-ge, I worry – what if da-ge has truly lost all sense and thinks of us as enemies, as if we were Wen? Let me send word back to Jinlin Tower, which will send people to meet us there. That way, if things go badly, da-ge will blame only me.”

“He won’t blame either of us,” Lan Xichen said, because he had to believe that his lover hadn’t descended to such madness. “But if it makes you feel better, send word. Only remember – not too many people. We cannot give the impression of being an invading force, even if it is by accident.”

The Unclean Realm did not raise its protective shield often – indeed, even during the Sunshot Campaign itself, it was only raised thrice as anything other than drill, and of those three times, one was a false alarm and the other two resulted in the Wen retreating voluntarily. The last time Lan Xichen could remember it being raised to deal with an actual imminent invasion was when Nie Mingjue’s father had died. At Nie Mingjue’s order, the Unclean Realm had sealed itself away as thoroughly as a powerful spiritual owner refusing to admit any but its owner, a snapping turtle within its shell and just as dangerous, and Wen Ruohan had been unable to seize the prize he had schemed to obtain.

To a certain degree, once the shield was raised, it did not matter the reason for which it had been raised, whether Nie Mingjue had done it out of true anger or mere paranoia, actual reason or a mere supposition. The people of Qinghe, cultivators and common people alike, were trained to expect war: they would react to strangers as if to vipers, and Nie Mingjue’s ancestors had made their land rich in obstacles to trap and destroy an unwary army. Even if Nie Mingjue belatedly realized his folly, an overly large group arriving at his door might end up dead at the hands of his people before he had time to correct the error.

No, Lan Xichen had to go himself. He had to find out what happened.

He had to rescue his beloved, his lover, from himself yet again.

He only hoped they were not too late.

#mdzs #lan xichen #jin guangyao #nielan #xiyao #nie mingjue #my fic #my fics #the quiet room #yes it's LXC POV time #cw: infidelity #cw: gaslighting #cw: everything really #Do Not Be LXC #I say again #do NOT be like LXC #also please recall the tags on ao3

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wordynerdygurl · 4 years ago

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Skin Deep - Part 6

Author’s Note: Honestly, this story is nearing it’s ending. Hard to believe that a little idea I couldn’t shake has now grown into this mini-series! For all my die-hard homies, waiting for the next installment, I hope this is worth your while! If you’re new here, take a look around, see if you like anything and please, let the management know if you have any questions!! As always, writing like this requires the emotional support of people and pets. My dogs, Murphy and Winston, get me through a lot of plot bunnies just by being stalwart companions. My husband, graciously, lets me take these flights of fancy when I probably should be paying better attention to him and his day... and some of my besties here on Tumblr make it possible for me to do this for you guys. @sammy-jo1977 , my sister from another mister! Couldn’t/ Wouldn’t do it without you! To all the folks who follow me... My Minxes! Love you all! Stay well, be kind, and remember that Love, really does conquer all! If you want to be a Minx, send me a note, I’ll happily add you to my tag list! Lastly, be sure to like and share anything that you see on Tumblr that catches your eye. Creative types, we need the constant validation, you see? Without it, like an unwatered plant, we wither on the vine and perish! Be kind to those who help you through the day and reblog! Skin Deep Part 5 - click here for the previous chapter! Pairing: Loki x Reader, Steve, Valkyrie & Thor all make appearances Summary: Continued from Part 5, You and Loki put your plan into action, returning to Farmhouse. When you encounter Steve again, you learn there’s more than two sides to this story. Warnings: Loki’s POV and perspective, including mentions of his time under Thanos. I’m re-writing MCU history here, but some of the main beats are the same, so look out for SPOILERS for Dark World, Ragnarok, and a touch of Infinity War. The SNAP never happened because, reasons.

Empathy used to seem such a human emotion. Loki had no time for that on Asgard, not when Odin denied anything as frivolous as feeling. Hiding in plain sight was the means to survival and if that made the young prince sneaky and sly, so be it. By placing those parts of himself under lock and key; the parts that hurt, the ones that ached, Loki found it was safer to disconnect from others than subject himself to their suffering too.

Operating under the influence of Thanos and his minions when he held the scepter, Loki had purposefully divorced connection of any kind from his mind. It was dangerous. Weak. And moreover, it allowed Loki to do what Thanos commanded without really experiencing the horror, the havoc, of his actions for himself.

Who could hear the screams of women when the voice of Ebony Maw subliminally chanted all the ways that one could be dismembered at Thanos’ hands should Loki fail? What man would shed a tear after the near constant beatings doled out by Black Order members, just for the fun of it? How could someone care about a house, a car, a city, when they no longer cared about themself? Losing the Battle for New York had consequences far beyond the destruction of property. With Thanos’ hold over him vanquished, the walls around his heart, constructed in youth, crashed and burned like the dream of ruling Earth. Suddenly and completely out of reserves, Loki was powerless. And he felt everything. The fresh hurts caused by his manipulated ambitions in the hands of Thanos. The furious feelings of his brother, the inadequacies of his character, the feeble needs that drove his wild ambition washed over him unceasingly. Anger. Loss. Lunacy. Loki learned a hard truth in that moment. He was a monster. A freak. A creature beyond hope and salvation; proving his adoptive father right and his own hopeful heart wrong. Bitterness soured the fallen prince. Endless hours in isolation on Earth, which continued in his father's house, had Loki believing he had no chance of seeing the world outside again, and it hardened his heart further. To feel was so painful, so raw, and so humane. Why bother anyway? All that emoting, those high spirits, all they really did was expose you to derision. What was grief to a goblin? What was horror to a monster? What was love to a villain like him? An evil, conspiring demi-god, with a mind bent toward domination. A damaged, destroyed, deity alone and in pieces. Who would ever give someone like Loki Odinson a chance? Why should they?

Turning to his mother, Loki did everything but ask for forgiveness. In long rambling talks, her projection to his jailed person, the pair talked around ideas of guilt and innocence, of fate and fortune, of destiny versus desire, yet Loki never heard the words he needed in order to truly find peace.

If Frigga was aware of her son’s need for absolution, Loki would never know, as their last exchange was harsh and full of anger. Another stroke of loss, crippling now, because there was nothing Loki could do to change any of it from inside his prison cell. No illusion could conceal the painful ache that consumed him entirely.

Those days were dark, even for a soul as dusky hued as his own, and Loki’s thoughts followed a similar path. If there had been a way for him to shake off this immortal coil, free himself of the burden of living, Loki would have done so and been glad. Death was welcome compared to all this longing and heartache. But life, even a nearly immortal one, was funny.

When Thor provided a chance at redemption, Loki snatched at it, in his own detached way. He played hero, rescuing Jane, aiding his brother. And if he took a bit more in the form of deposing his arrogant, aging father, who would be surprised? He was Loki, God of Mischief, after all. Ruling the Nine Realms without the oppressive oversight of his father allowed Loki to prove himself in ways he never imagined. And Loki wasn’t just good at it. He was great. Of course, it helped that no one knew he was Loki. Living disguised as Odin was often unpleasant, frequently frustrating, but entirely necessary. Being Loki was still too difficult and likely to bring unwanted attention in the form of The God of Thunder, a thing that no one truly wanted, Loki least of all. Return Thor did, along with an unknown sister and the end of Asgard. When confronted with the insanity of Hela’s bloodlust, Loki’s only thought was of his kingdom, now without a ruler. He had worked too hard, too long, to see the land he cared for in the hands of an enemy, even if she called herself sister. Opening the Bi-Frost, panicked, his mind was solely on saving those he had recently held dominion over. They were his people, after all. But he never reached Asgard. Swallowing his fear, Loki focused all his energy on staying alive in a new and distracting environment, initially. What Loki found on Sakaar wasn't a new home base under a flamboyant, ineffective leader that he could control, even if that was his first design. On Sakaar Loki found his loyalty.

The proud, deep resonance of being Asgardian, of being an Odinson, of being capable and cool under pressure. Sure, he had to prove himself to Thor, Valkyrie, Banner and honestly, the rest of the kingdom, but actions speak louder than words. And through his actions on Sakkar, and by extension rescuing the people of Asgard, Loki had shown everybody his true mettle. It was on the deck of a stolen ship headed for Midgard that Loki had made a commitment of sorts. One that was not to the people, so recently saved or for his found family. This time, the promise Loki intended to keep was for himself. Loki was going to change. The problem is, a task like that takes time. Patience. Motivation. It was something that Loki had to work at and it was exhausting. They say that the best things come to those who wait. Loki was learning to wait everyday. Having earned a place at the side of his brother, he worked tirelessly to win over the heroes of his new home planet. Was it easy? Hardly, but Loki wasn’t willing to compromise. Not anymore. A life like Hela’s was not in his runes. Loki was simply going to be better. Not perfect. No one could be as good hearted as Captain America, nor could one be as tech savvy as Stark. So Loki was planning on being the best Loki he could possibly be, and that’s how he found himself going to meetings at The Avengers Tower, a mostly welcome addition to the team. Meetings weren’t all that exciting and boredom was an awful temptation for a deity devoted to mayhem. In fact, Loki spent more time doodling in his notebook than listening to whoever was droning on about whatever part of the world needed the attention of this motley crew. That was, until Pepper Potts hired her new assistant. That you were polite, pretty and pert wasn’t lost on the young god. Sitting outside Mrs. Iron Man’s office, typing away with a phone tucked under your ear, moving faster than anyone he had ever seen was certainly impressive. You were quick witted, clever and most of all, funny. Everyone else seemed to fall under your spell without much effort on your part, something that Loki found frustratingly fascinating. Here he was, struggling to get people to say his name without having a traumatic flashback, while you simply smiled and smarted off prettily, and had everyone singing your praises. But Norns, were you adorable. If he thought about it, and while off planet, Loki definitely had, he could remember the moment he realized that you were the woman he wanted. You were busy, as always, fielding phone calls and flipping through screens yet every moment your flying fingers weren’t hovering over a keyboard or pushing down telephone buttons they curled around a heart shaped charm at your throat. Clearly, it was a habit and one that you weren’t even aware of, still - it transfixed him all the same. Watching you from his side eye, your voice never wavering, your tone always so pleasing, and your nimble digits returning again and again to the small sigil around your neck. “Loki?” “Huh?” Dumbfounded at your call, those deep sea eyes blinked wildly at the sound of his name on your lips. “Hi! Yes, Pepper can see you now. Go ahead, she’s ready!” He rose on stiff legs, adjusting his tie, about to lie to Tony Stark’s woman all for the chance to see you in passing. Who had he become? It started out innocent like that, but soon, Loki was having to invent excuses for being in the office so frequently. Missing files, random visits, even going so far as to buy Tony coffee just for the thrill of seeing you. Something needed to change, and quickly, or Loki was going to blow. On another made up errand, hanging around the executive’s high rise office, Loki was doing a bad job of pretending not to see you. His mind was on your pouty lips as you sipped lemonade through a straw and not on the stately woman seated behind the desk.

“Loki, you’re a man of some… style.” Pepper said it so casually that he almost didn’t hear, his head lost in thoughts that would shame any other person. “I like to think so.”

Shutting her folder with a snap, Pepper smiled, “And you’d love to help your old friend Pepper out, right?” That got his attention, and quickly. Loki, shoving his hands in his pockets, turned to face Pepper with a widening grin, “I feel like I’m being baited.”

“Baited? Never! It’s just, you’re always here and I have a… project that needs the kind of help that you can provide.” At those words you entered the office, ready for action with a notebook and pen, eager and excited. Suddenly, it was all clear to Loki, “Pepper, no.”

The noose closed in on the handsome god as Pepper gathered paperwork without looking his way, “Come on, it’s the Stark Homecoming Gala and the two of you will do great! I have faith in you both. I can’t wait to see what you come up with!” “Really, Miss Potts, I simply can’t-” Stopping short, the strawberry blonde whipped around, almost nose to nose with Loki. Shrewd and straightforward, Pepper interrupted, saying, “You’ve been dancing around my office for weeks now. Clearly you like her and… against all the odds, she likes you too. I’m doing you a favor and when someone does you a favor, you say “Thank You”.” “Thank you.” Nodding curtly, “You’re welcome. Now, make yourselves comfortable, order some dinner, my treat. And do whatever you need to make sure this is one great party!” That’s how Loki found himself sitting at a clear glass table over sweating bottles of iced tea as you discussed color themes and tablecloths. You were shy, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as you reviewed notes from previous gatherings both large and small. His hands itched with wanting to do that job himself. “So, what do you think?” It was the first time you had addressed him directly since coming through the door and for a moment Loki couldn’t answer. You were too… not beautiful, that wasn’t the right word, although you were. No, you were too open, too easy to read, and the earnestness you offered him was downright frightening. Sitting forward in the uncomfortable, yet fashionable, office furniture, Loki cleared his throat and again tugged his tie, “What I think is that you should let me take you dinner.” Dropping your eyes, your cheeks colored slightly as your fingers found that locket charm once more, “Loki, I… I don’t know-” Grabbing for your hand, suddenly afraid that you would take those shining eyes away, Loki lowered his voice and did something he never thought he would. He begged. “Please? I find that you’re all I can think about.” It rushed out of him in a torrent, the way truth so often does, and he found himself unable to look you in the eye. Loki was afraid to see rejection on your easy to read face, afraid that wanting you had cracked open the lock box holding his heart, afraid that you would see just how weak you made him. Your fingers twined with his own as you replied, “You didn’t let me finish. I don’t know what took you so long.” Sighing with relief, his face melting into a genuine smile, “Me either.” Over the next two months the pair of you worked tirelessly to plan and execute a perfect party. You were inseparable during the day, heads buried together as you discussed linens and table settings, the quality of cocktail glasses, and debating over a band or a dj. But at night, at night Loki talked about the things that haunted him in the dark. And you loved him in spite of the awful things he had seen and done and said. Others took notice. Loki was more lighthearted, more available. He listened when people spoke and wasn’t constantly doodling during meetings. Yes, Loki was learning how to love through your loving him. If empathy had seemed too humane before, then sharing his life, his love with you, was the kind of immortality that earned someone a place in Valhalla. It was the bravest thing Loki Odinson had ever done and he didn’t mind one bit.

The first time Loki tasted you was burned into his brain, as bright as a flash of lightning. A firefly in a memory jar that he kept returning to, time and again. Loki remembered what you were wearing. He recalled exactly how the light shone in your eyes. If he concentrated, he could tap out the rhythm of your racing pulse as he held you in his arms. It was the night of the gala. Inviting everyone under the Stark Industries banner, up to and including the heroes tasked with saving the world, the event was a way to earn money for one of the many charities Tony supported. The place was full of beautiful people wearing gorgeous clothes under perfect lights set to the hand crafted soundtrack you had created together.

But, Norns, he could still remember the way your eyes sparkled under the lowlights of that hall. How your dress, simple but sophisticated, clung to the fullness of your bottom. Low cut but somehow still modest, Loki couldn’t tear his gaze away from the promise of your curves, willing himself to find anything else as interesting as the idea of you.

You were across the room hanging onto Tony’s every word, eyes bright and cheerfully glowing as you sipped champagne. It made Loki want to do something grand, something suave, something that would demand your attention for his own. Moving towards you, his tuxedo perfectly pressed and fitting better than it had any right to, Loki looked long and lean. Each of his steps seemed to echo, even though the room was full of sound, and you turned your head as if you also heard. Breaking away from the cluster of acolytes surrounding Iron Man, you bit into your lip as the crowd parted, moving closer together one step at a time. It was one of the sexiest things Loki had ever witnessed. Lifting your glass in a toast, taking in the room of mingling millionaires, wealthy hangers on and Avengers, “Well, we did it!” “You did it, my dove, I just hung around and judged everyone.” “Oh stop. I couldn’t have done it without you and you know it.” Playfully you pushed against his shoulder and Loki took advantage, using your momentum to pull you to his side, your curvy figure flush against his own. Crooning into the shell of your ear, his lips brushing over that sensitive skin, “Somehow, love, I think you would have managed.” Before you had time to think, Loki had melded his mouth with your own, stealing your breath along with your heart. Loki’s feet moved in time with the music as he pulled into a dance, laughing in his arms, your cheeks hot and your head swimming. You laughing was, without question, Loki’s favorite sound. Nothing in this world or any other came close to matching the joyful, childlike glee of that enchanting noise. Loki memorized its melody, the rise and fall of your giggle. He had craved it, being away for so long, and now he wanted… no, needed to hear it. But you were the furthest thing from happy at the moment.

"Darling, please. We have to go." Loki tapped his watch, shaking himself free from the memories of your previous life together and barely suppressing his irritation.

Tears filled your eyes as you whipped your arms around Thor’s mighty shoulders, his deep voice grumbly with emotion, "Take care of him, would you? He's a jerk, but Loki is the only brother I have."

"Of course… always. And Valkyrie, your highness, I can’t thank you enough for-"

"No need. Loki, and by extension yourself, will always have a safe haven here in my palace."

Looking on, Loki and Thor embraced almost tenderly before crashing their heads together.

"Stay safe, little brother."

"Be good, Thor."

Eyes on the sky, Val ignored the show of masculine emotion, chastising your plan, "You’re going to start a war, Loki."

Straight backed, Loki turned to the king, "Not on the grass of New Asgard. I will take the fight to them, that is my vow to you."

As Loki offered his hand, Valkyrie shook it, with parting words, "Work on staying alive. You have a tendency to worry your brother."

Solemnly nodding, "As the king commands. Shall we?" With that Loki laced his fingers with yours, leading you a few paces away from the people who loved him most, before summoning the magic that had you both transcending space and time.

This time when your feet touched down it was on the familiar turf of the orchard, surrounded by the scent of apple blossoms and the buzzing of happy bees. Morning had broken and the world seemed full of promise, with the exception of that knot in your stomach.

"Are you ready? Darling?"

"Oh… yes. I mean, I still don't love this plan, but-"

"But it's going to work." Only it was no longer the baritone voice of your long, lean Loki speaking. In his place stood Nick Fury, leather duster and eye patch in place.

"If you say so!" And you clutched your own throat as Natasha’s bored tones came out of your mouth. The suit, skin tight but flexible, molded to your modified form. All in all, you were comfortable, "The boots are a bit much."

"Ya think? This jacket weighs a ton." Pulling at his collar, "Why does he wear a turtleneck anyway?"

"Loki, this is so weird. It feels so weird."

"Agreed, but then, why am I so turned on?"

Laughing, you shook your false red hair, hands resting on Natasha’s waist, "God, I've missed you."

"Same, dearest. Now… let's get your necklace and some answers!"

---

Convincing Bucky to head home had taken a lot of work, but sometime around 2 am Steve had finally seen his friend off. The house was empty. Steve felt the same way.

Turning the black velvet box in his pocket, fingers crushed against the fragile fabric, Steve struggled to feel anger. When that didn't materialize he shot for sadness but even tears seemed beyond his ability.

With a sigh, climbing the same stairs he had trudged up a hundred times before, Steve started going through the motions of bedtime. Only tonight you weren’t there to tease him about the wildly inappropriate amount of toothpaste on his brush. He didn’t have your light footsteps to follow to the bedside or your help with stacking all of your extra, yet entirely essential, pillows on the chair.

Someone must have changed the sheets, he thought. There was no evidence of you and Loki’s adventurous afternoon anymore. Steve made a mental note to thank Buck for that little piece of kindness in the morning.

Shucking his shirt, Steve sat on the mattress, a hand to his forehead. He had lost. Captain America had been bested. Beaten. And by Loki, no less.

Moonlight in silver slivers shone through the window panes, squares of light in the deep of night. Steve was alone. Utterly and totally alone.

And there was no one to blame but himself.

Sighing hard, Steve stood, pacing the floor to work off some of the unspendable anxiety he kept creating. The room still had your energy, your vibe, as you liked to call it, and the feeling was a prickling itch Steve couldn’t quite satisfy. Traces of you were everywhere and something about you leaving all of it, and him, behind was just too big to process. “Damn it.” Even whispering sounded like thunder in the silence of your recently vacated room. His hands, so big, so strong, smoothed along the fabric of your hanging clothes. All that power had done nothing to help Steve get the thing he wanted. Sorting through the baubles and trinkets on your dresser, bottles of perfume he had purchased, necklaces and pins, each with a moment of memory it hurt him to recall. Your watch ticked away the minutes as he stood, stoic and still, surrounded by the shadow of you. In the orchard the birds were waking, their song filling the air, as morning broke in low golden rays. Abandoning his plan for sleep, Steve watched as the light chased away the dark, casting rainbows on the floor. The sun was reflecting off of your Grandmother’s necklace. A pretty, ancient, carved cameo, heart shaped locket. He recalled his own mother owning one just like it, pictures of loved ones pressed inside, holding them as tight as history would allow. Fisting the filigree chain, winding it around his fingers as if it would somehow undo what he had done, Steve slipped it into his pocket before settling back onto the bed. ----

At the back door to the home you so recently shared with Steve, Loki hung back, “I think this is where we split up. You go find your treasure and me… I’m going to find some answers.” Nodding, Natasha’s signature red hair swinging, you squeezed the hand holding your own. It no longer looked like Loki’s long fingered paw, but that was only a skin deep change. You felt the undeniable essence of him in the press of his fingers against your own. “Be careful.” “That’s no fun, dove.” “Loki-” You hated the way your voice broke as you said it, but there just seemed to be so much at stake and you had already lost him once. Sensing your unspoken concerns, Loki flashed you Nick Fury’s best smile, “I will. I promise.”

“Ten minutes.” “Ten minutes.” You watched the black coated back of your charmed paramour as he opened the shed door, hoping that he’d find something worth knowing in that place out of sight. Inhaling deeply you twisted the doorknob as quietly as possible, letting yourself into what was once your kitchen, “What a mess.” It was impossible not to notice the unwrapped leftovers and empty bottles littering the table. An overturned trash barrel, crumpled beer cans littering the counter, things that Steve, your Steve, would never have tolerated. All evidence that the grand evening he’d envisioned had been thwarted by Loki’s arrival and your collective escape.

You started up the stairs, praising Natasha's footwear for its stealth, when you heard the toilet flush and the unmistakable shuffle of Steve’s feet on the carpet. There was no place to hide on the wide stairwell. It was time to see if Loki's plan was going to work.

Voice blurry, eyes rubbed red and raw, you couldn't deny that Steve looked like shit, “Bucky? That you? You back?” Steve’s voice bounced around the brightening room as morning sunlight filtered through the soft sheers you had picked out for exactly this reason. Panicked, you backed into the railing with an over loud “Oof!” “Nat? What are you doing here? I thought you and Fury were headed to New Asgard?” Suddenly wide awake and wondering, Steve rushed to your costumed side, eager for information. The man in front of you now bore little resemblance to the angry Avenger you had escaped from hours before. This man had hair sticking up in odd angles from near constant finger raking. This man had a hint of a stuffy nose and red rimmed eyes, all indicators that tears had been shed. Now those blue eyes were scrutinizing you closely, full of concern.

“Uh… We... We got intel. Yea, intelligence, that Loki was headed back this way. Turned around… and uh, here we are.” One of those sandy blonde eyebrows lifted, “Natasha?”

Squaring your shoulders, channeling that cool confidence you’d see Black Widow display over and over, “Steve?” Something about your tone of voice convinced him in a way your words couldn’t. He visibly relaxed, those broad shoulders going slack as he asked, “Didn’t make it to Norway, then?"

Nodding a negative, you felt the unfamiliar brush of her red hair at your cheek and had to fight the urge to tuck it away, “No. Loki’s using some sort of transporting power to move them around. Fury suggested I keep an eye out here, in case they come back this way.” “She won’t be back, Nat. There’s nothing for her here.” To you, Steve sounded so sad, so removed, that you had to will yourself not to comfort the giant before you. “That’s not true!” It came out of you forcefully, thoughtlessly, and you saw the shock register on the Captain’s face. “That is, Fury and I… we… have reason to believe that she will come back. They left with nothing, Steve. She’ll need clothes… maybe some shoes… and-” Swallowing hard, you didn’t want to give anything away, “-a necklace from her grandmother.” Steve, patting his pocket, felt the weighted chain and it’s heart shaped locket, “I don’t think-” Stepping up to his bulky form, suddenly aggressive, you started, “Never mind what you think, Captain. We're here for a necklace... the necklace. Our intel suggests that your former flame might return for it and… And, I want it, with me, as a means to subdue her when she arrives." Sounding forceful and official was enough to back Steve down. Just a touch deflated, you watched him shrug, “If that’s what you want, Nat, here-” From his pants he pulled out the shining bauble, a trinket really, but full of sentiment and memory. Sitting in his palm, the tiny heart that held the picture of your grandmother and mother looked so small, almost unreal. Reaching for it with wet eyes, you smiled at Steve as you lifted the charm and chain, “Thank you, Steve. Thank you.” Nodding deeply, that golden head bobbing, “You’re welcome.” The large grandfather clock could be heard ticking throughout the house. The sun was gaining on the day and you, dressed as Natasha stood in silence in front of a somber Steve. For another long beat nothing was said, then, as if sensing a shift in your conversation, Steve flashed your fake Natasha a weak smile, “I could use some breakfast. How about you?”

“Um… sure. Yea, ok. Breakfast.”

Steve started moving again, downstairs towards the cluttered kitchen when he paused, "So how did you get back so fast? Cause that's like a 7 hour flight, even with you in the cockpit." “Steve…” You could hear it, the whining almost pleading tone that signaled the end of Loki’s well planned charade. That wasn’t enough to stop Steve. He broke hard, one of those strong arms stopping you in your tracks before you could reach the lower level. “It’s clever, I have to give you guys that. Almost perfect, really.” Panic rising, you doubled down on the ruse, struggling to keep your voice even, “I don’t know-” Blocking you in, his body the perfect unmovable buffer, “Loki’s here too, isn’t he?” Pushing against “Steve, I… I don’t…” “Don’t lie. You don’t have to…” “But… how-?” “You’re not mean enough to play Natasha, doll. Not by a long shot.”

--- It was strange to be seated at the table and chairs that you and Steve had picked out together one sunny Saturday when you thought that your future was going to be Loki-less. Your place, the one that you had imagined filling with children that had golden hair and bright blue eyes, felt like a set. Something false and fake. A facade, put together simply for show. Steve must have felt it too because his fingers drummed against the white washed table incessantly. Clearly he had something on his mind. “Steve-” “No. No. Please, let me just get this out, ok?” Raising an eyebrow, you waved at him to continue, nervous but interested in what the super soldier needed to explain. With a shaky inhale, running his constantly moving fingers through his golden locks, Steve caught your eye and didn’t waiver. “When I saw you… No, that’s not right. Let me start at the beginning. “When Loki left Earth, you… you were so sad. It hurt me to see you so… deflated.” “Steve, I-” “You know it’s true. When he returned to Asgard, something in you, it dimmed, and I just couldn’t allow that… Not when I felt the way I did about you. “I don’t think you realize just how incredible you are… how full of life! And since I had already missed one chance to be with you, I knew I needed to prove that I could be the man you needed… If you forgot about Loki along the way, even better. “Only… you never did. I waited years for you, ya know, doll? Years. And just when I thought there was no chance with you, Nat gave me a reason to hope. “She was your friend. An ally. Someone you could trust… someone I could trust. I swear it started out that innocently, at least for me. I just wanted to make you smile again. But she had other plans. Plans that came from higher up the ladder of SHIELD. “Fury, he wanted us to watch you… something about Loki being too powerful. And-”, grabbing your hand tightly, Steve emphasized his point, “-I promise you that I had no idea about his success, or the messages he had sent to you through Nick. Like you, I thought that Loki was gone. Missing. Never coming back.” “I… I believe you Steve. I know that you didn’t do all this on your own… but what was Nick hoping you’d find out? I knew less than nothing about what was going on!” “I think he was worried that Loki would get to you first. That if… when Loki returned, you would be his first stop. Then you would know about Loki’s success and, frankly, Fury’s failures. You would also know… well, everything you know now. That Fury had you tailed, lied to, and led on in an effort to stop Loki from out flanking him.” Frenzied and frantic, you felt anger boiling up inside of you, “But I thought Loki was gone forever. There was no hope for him and I… and Natasha, she told me that he was dead.” “All a part of Fury’s plan to keep you neutralized and Loki away. If Loki thought that you’d ignored his letters, that you no longer loved him, why would he come back here? And, if that didn’t work… when Loki came back and you were with me, what else could keep him on Earth?”

Whispering with realization, “So, they used you too.” Steve sighed and buried his hands in the pockets of his sweatshirt, “Don’t feel bad for me. I let them use my love for you, let them twist it up and shape it as they needed. Honestly, I wish I could tell you that it was for you, but it wasn’t. It was for me. I wanted you, so, so badly. I didn’t care what strings were attached. And we built a life together, you and me. I thought I could outrun the reality of the constant monitoring and daily reports. Telling Natasha and Nick about every word and each email. Don’t you see, I love you… and I wanted you, however I could get you.” Shaking your head, Natasha’s red wisps flying, “That’s not love, Steve. I don’t know what that is… but love isn’t it.” “No?” With a loud thunk, Steve slammed a small velvet box on the table between you. “Is… Is that what I think it is?”

“Last night. It was going to happen last night. Our friends here, under the lights and the stars, I was going to ask you to marry me. I still would if-” Realization hit you like a ton of bricks, “If Loki hadn’t stepped back into our lives.” “-If Loki hadn’t stepped back into your life.” It made you both laugh in a sad way, how you finished the same thought, and for a fleeting second you could see why you had allowed Captain America to sweep you off your feet. He was a lot of things to you now, but there was a time when he had been almost everything. The evidence of that was in the small black square that said nothing but spoke volumes. “Steve, I don’t know if I would have said yes… even without Loki’s… arrival. I think I have always known that you and I… we are very different people.” Sitting back in his chair, his gaze still locked on your own, “I just want you to know that I’m sorry. I’m sorry about what I’ve done… what I’ve said… How, shit, how I’ve behaved. I could say that it was my duty. I could tell you it was out of love, but the plain truth is that I have always been jealous of what you and Loki share.” “You’ll find it Steve. You really will. There’s a person out there waiting for you. And once you’ve found them, oh Steve, you’ll see that this… what we had, it’s a shadow. An illusion. Because love, real love, doesn’t come with caveats and catches. It is an undeniable force which, in my case, even the boundaries of time and space can not deny.” Something like a sob burst out of Steve, and you were surprised to see tears in his eyes, “I was so wrong. Could you ever forgive me?” “I want to, Steve. I really do... “ What more could you say? Patting his hand you started to rise, “I have to go now. Loki and I need to keep moving and I don’t want to risk running into Nick and Natasha. At least, not yet, anyway.” “Where are you planning to go?” “To the Avenger’s Tower. I believe I know what Mr. Fury has been planning all along.” Loki’s strong voice entered the conversation as smoothly as his arms wrapped possessively around your waist. Steve took in the protective stance of your returned lover with a raised eyebrow, and without further comment asked Loki, “Really? And how are you going to breach the building? They’ll be looking for you, even with disguises… Fury is no fool. Plus, there’s little chance that Tony hasn’t activated a million safety and security protocols by now.” Only interested in you, Loki refused to give Steve any of his attention, “Getting in can’t be that hard! I’ll figure it out when I get there. Ready pet?” With a gentle push under his broad hands your feet started to move towards the door. Loki was eager to be off and away, especially after hearing so much of Roger’s confession. Just knowing what Steve had done, manipulating you while also convinced of his love for you; it was enough for Loki to commit murder. He was having quite a difficult time not tearing the good Captain’s limbs off his body. Softening his tone, Steve practically pleaded, “Loki. Wait. I… I can help.” Turning his attention fully to your former flame, Loki purred venomously, “You can help? I’d love to know what entails, Captain.” “I can get you into the place and take you exactly where you need to go. Fury’s going to hate it, but I’m tired of taking orders that hurt the people that-” His pause was as lingering as the look he gave you, “- That I love.” Before Loki could offer a sincerely sassy reply you grabbed his sleeve, tugging, “Um… Excuse us a minute Steve.” Pulling him down the hall of a home that felt like a familiar faced stranger, you waited until you had a bit of distance from Steve before harshly whispering, “How long were you listening?”

Serving you that small, sexy smile, Loki grinned, “Long enough. How did you know I was there?” “You are sneaky, but even you, God of Mischief, cast a shadow.” Swinging you close enough to catch your mouth with his own, Loki pressed a sweet kiss there before answering, “A mistake I will be careful not to make again!” “The tower, huh? That’s where you want to go?” Grabbing you at the swell of your hips, grinding his frame against your own, “Where I want to go, my darling, is to the nearest bed, preferably naked, with you and you alone.” Your hands traced over the lapels of his borrowed leather duster, pausing only to jerk him closer by the supple fabric, “Hmm… is that so?” “Oh yes…” Loki’s buttery grumble filled your ear as his strong hands dug into the flesh of your bottom. For a moment you thought he’d give in to temptation, his sweet lips teasingly close to your own upturned mouth, “But-” On your toes, leaning into Loki’s sturdy, leather draped frame, you paused, “Ugh. But?” Moving you to a safer, less kissable, arms length away, Loki sighed with the same frustration you felt, “-But, where we need to go, as soon as possible, is the Tower.” Moaning grumpily, you stepped out of the arms you longed to linger in, “I was afraid you were going to say that.” “I know it’s less than… ideal, love, but I did find something useful before the good Captain unburdened his soul this morning.” “And that is?” “Fury’s plan. At first I couldn’t figure out exactly what he was after. What did Fury want? How was I involved?” Loki was dragging this out, loving how it kept you hanging onto his every word, and you rolled your eyes, “Well? What is it? Weapons? War?” “All of that, yes… and… yours truly.” That triumphant smile that filled Loki’s whole face lit up his mischievous eyes. Tilting your head, struggling to make sense of what Loki had just told you, “What do you mean, you. Fury wanted you… to do what, exactly?’ “Loki was going to be the patsy.” You both turned toward the sound of Steve’s baritone at the door, suddenly remembering that the Good Captain was still there and that he was waiting to see what you were going to do next. Leaning his 100 year old bones into the doorframe, Steve crossed his arms, “The fall guy. An example of what happens if you cross SHIELD.” “I think, my dear Mr. Rogers, that you mean, I am to be used as an example of what happens if one crosses Nick Fury.” Loki countered, slinging an arm over your shoulder protectively. The idea was frightening. A man like Fury had too much power, too much at his disposal. Just knowing the lengths he had gone to in order to keep you and Loki apart was scary enough. Making enemies of your friends. Threatening the people you loved. Selling your affection to Steve in an effort to control Loki.

Now, the knowledge that all of it was done in an effort to ensure that Nick Fury was the toughest guy in the galaxy, it made your stomach clench. “What do you mean, an example?” “Unless my intelligence is flawed, I believe that Fury was going to kill me. Is that correct, Captain?” Steve felt the weight of two sets of eyes on him. Yours, full of fearful love and blind hope that this was all just some misunderstanding. Innocent and naive and as lovely as he could ever remember. Loki’s were reflecting a deeper understanding. The kind of knowledge that only time in the trenches teaches. There was no answer from Captain Rogers. None was needed. Honesty, final and resolute, was out in the open. “Look. I know I’m not the guy you want on your side. I’ve… I haven’t been the man I needed to be. Not for you-” Steve locked his bright blues onto you, offering a small smile that spoke of sadness before facing Loki, “-Or you, Loki. But if you let me help you now, I promise that I can get you into the tower and maybe, one day, you won’t think so little of me.”

Around you the morning gained strength. Somewhere nearby birds chirped wildly, blissfully unaware of the drama unfolding in the modest little farmhouse and its implications on intergalactic politics. Without moving a muscle, Loki plainly asked you, “Do you trust him, dearest?” Squaring your shoulders, you crossed your arms, staring down the man called Captain America. Nodding decisively, “I do. I don’t think he’d spill everything like that only to turn on us. He’s not so bad Loki, really.” “We’ll see about that. For now, we trust Steve. Ok, what’s your plan, Rogers?” --- “Hey. I… I have one other thing to show you.” Steve was dressed for action in his branded tactical gear, looking every inch the super soldier that Dr. Erskine envisioned. “Steve, we have to get moving. Loki’s eager and -” “Just open it, ok?” The envelope was thick with folded paper, the flap tucked under and not sealed. Clearly it had spent time in and out of pockets, the edges frayed and tattered. In exasperated curiosity you gingerly pulled the sheets free.

Shaking, your hands trembled holding the once white documents as your voice thickened, “Is this… is this what I think it is?” Cocking his head playfully, that rueful smile pulling at his full mouth, Steve almost seemed cheerful as he teased, “It’s yours. I think something about this place has always been yours and I want you to have it.” “But-” Folding your small hands in his mighty ones, Steve squeezed gently, “It was a wedding present, or it was supposed to be.” “But we’re not getting married.” “I know. Still-” “I can’t, Steve. It’s yours. Your house, your farm, your dream.” Shaking his head, disagreeing, but feeling lighter than he had in decades, Steve insisted, “Too late, I’m afraid. It’s done. Actually, that version of the deed has been signed since our second week here.” As realization sunk in you appraised the man changing right before your eyes, astonished but exhilarated, “Where will you go?” “I dunno. Think I might need to be alone for a bit. Maybe see the world… but first-” “First, we have to stop Nick Fury.”

To Be Continued... My Minxes: @scrumptious-finicky-illusion @iamverity @mizfit2 @sammy-jo1977 @wolfsmom1 @jessiejunebug @iluvsumbucky @unadulteratedwizardlove @procrastinatinglikeabitch @shxdowofdarkness @nonsensicalobsessions @ahintofkiwistrawberry @alexakeyloveloki @rorybutnotgilmore @crystalizedcaramel @lokislittlecorner @capcapcapsicle @jamielea81 @caffiend-queen @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore @jenjen8675309 @that-one-person @roguewraith @toomanystoriessolittletime @vodka-and-some-sass @just-random-obsessions @brokenthelovely @lots-of-loki @thefallenbibliophilequote

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