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theoriginalcarnivorousmuffin · 4 years ago

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Lily Evans and Severus Snape: Headcanons

So, I was asked in the ask about Sirius and Regulus what I thought about Snape and Lily. At this point people are probably going, “Oh that Carnivorous Muffin is just clearly a Snape stan who thinks he could never do anything wrong and anyone who was slightly mean to him is evil.” Shockingly, I’m actually not, I just happen to think sexual harassment and attempted murder are bad and probably worse than JKR intended (I do think she was trying to go the “boys will be boys” route versus “oh my god, they just dumped pigs blood on Carrie at the prom and then threw her at a starving vampire”)

So let’s start on Snape.

First, Snape did live an incredibly shitty life, with circumstances beyond his control, that did lead to many of his poorer choices. In no way am I saying that it was alright for Snape to have grown up in an impoverished, abusive, household and endured years of humiliation and torment at school.

That said, I believe that we all, in some respects, are responsible for our actions and our decisions. Yes, even when we come from non-privileged backgrounds. Life is hard, some people will have it much easier than you, that doesn’t excuse you becoming a domestic terrorist or tormenting and terrifying your students, young children, so much so that an entire generation comes out with a loathing and incompetence in your subject.

I guess let’s start back on his friendship with Lily Evans. We get... a really weird perspective from Snape on that friendship. Time and her tragic death have warped it into this strange worship where I’m not sure the Lily Evans that exists in his mind and memory is the one that really was there. She’s this shining Madonna idol who he failed, actively betrayed, is very very hung up about it years later.

I suspect they weren’t as good of friends as either of them thought they were and it comes down to Snape’s resentment of his own upbringing and muggles. I believe Snape was very racist towards muggles, specifically, due to his father. It was his way of grappling with his home life and only fueled by being in Slytherin. Lily was probably, in his mind, always a golden exception to the rule (Lily is the token, gold standard, muggleborn where she’s pretty, brilliant, charming, etc.) That Severus himself was a halfblood clearly caused him some angst. What I’m getting at is that I believe throughout their entire friendship, especially when they got to Hogwarts, there was an unacknowledged undercurrent of intense racism that eventually boiled up with that one incident in Snape’s fifth year.

Calling her that, while he views it as a slip of the tongue that damned him for all time, I see it more as a Freudian Slip. That sort of thing doesn’t just slip out from nowhere, not at that age when they both knew exactly what that word meant, it simmers beneath the surface, and was ultimately what he thought of her. Later, she became the Madonna figure that he views her as today (ironically perhaps even less of a person than he viewed her as at the time).

That said I think a number of factors played into the young Snape becoming a Death Eater. One, becoming friends with Lucius/that crowd who were all being sucked into Tom’s influence. Two, having his terrible home life and all the implications of Snape resenting his own blood status as well as muggles and muggle borns at large. Three, the loss of friendship with Lily (now there’s nothing to hold him back anymore, he has no reason to preserve muggleborn life). Fourth, Dumbledore’s letting Sirius, James, and Remus entirely off the hook in the werewolf incident.

That last one, especially, I imagine cemented Snape’s utter hatred of ‘the light’ (don’t get me started on the stupidity of light/dark in Harry Potter but I guess I’ll use the term) and those that cater to muggleborns. They’re hypocrites of the highest order, Dumbledore claiming to defend the poor and non-nobility, when he goes and does the exact opposite (James is the next lord Potter, Sirius is still pureblooded even if disowned, Severus Snape is a dirt poor halfblood).

So what I’m saying is I understand why Snape did become a Death Eater, I do not condone this action. Especially as, unlike Regulus, Snape never gets cold feet. He loves being a Death Eater at first, he’s living the dream, getting all the revenge he ever wanted and burning the stupid wizarding world to the ground as he scrambles for ways to climb in Tom Riddle’s graces. We don’t see any hint that he was wavering, thinking of the fact that beloved Lily might die in battle, perhaps at his hand, until the prophecy.

Now, I’m a little kinder than some about the prophecy. We know Snape overhears the first portion of the prophecy in early 1980. He eagerly rushes to the dark lord, regales him with the prophecy in both a) aid to the cause and b) in the hopes of climbing in the ranks and gaining the dark lord’s notice. At this point, Lily Evans is pregnant, perhaps knows the gender, but has not given birth. Months later, when both Neville Longbottom and Harry Potter are born at the end of July, Snape realizes he has signed Lily Evans’ death warrant (because despite Dumbledore talking, I imagine Tom always planned to kill off both children, Pettigrew just happened to make things convenient for Tom to go to the Potters first).

With Lily’s death now so inevitable, and her blood on his own hands, Snape has his existential crisis, goes to Dumbledore who puts the Potters in hiding and becomes a double agent. Snape also pleads for Lily’s life with Tom and he puts in a minimal amount of effort to spare the woman.

Then Lily dies anyway and now Snape lives in the bitter cynicism most commonly seen in characters from Game of Thrones. He’s Dumbledore’s agent and sort of a Dirty Harry character, getting to see all the nasty things that many of the other order members never have to deal with. He’s one of the more intelligent characters in the series, able to see the truth of the world he lives in, but he also doesn’t care enough to actually do anything about it. He’s a bitter, resentful, and angry protector of Harry Potter, choosing to hate a naive child for all the reminders of his own terrible life (both in Lily, for failing and betraying her, and in James his most hated rival and tormentor). He gleefully enables the favoritism of Slytherin (my god how he panders to Draco Malfoy) while tormenting poor Neville into terror (that Neville’s greatest 13 year old fear is Snape is very telling).

Basically by the time we get to him in canon Snape not only isn’t happy but I think he doesn’t want to be happy. He’s accustomed to his bitterness, his cynicism, his quiet rage and moves forward out of both resignation, guilt, and a sense of obligation to a woman’s ghost. The actions he takes in canon aren’t so much for Harry as they are for the memory of Lily Evans.

Even if Snape could be happy at that point, change his life or his purpose, I do not think he would. He’s a man who has given up on life.

Now, onto Lily Evans.

You probably think I’m going to rail on her to for the sheer hypocrisy and nerve of marrying James Potter. I’m actually not. Lily Evans is one of my favorite characters in the Harry Potter series and probably the one I’d label as the most moral (though that’s a very low bar in Harry Potter, the characters are almost all assholes, but even so Lily would still be very high on the list).

You know what, I’m just going to damn myself and sound like a crazy person. Lily Evans always reads to me as a more moral young female Tom Riddle.

What the hell? You undoubtedly ask but I’ll explain.

Lily, while having a far more stable homelife than Tom Riddle, also comes from a muggleborn background. She’s exceptionally brilliant, very good looking, and very charming with a lot of people who would call her friends but no one close. Lily, aside from Snape (and that’s debatable), has no friends.

If Lily had not been a Gryffindor, and were Dumbledore not a raging misogynist, his Tom Riddle bells likely would have been ringing with her.

“But wait, that can’t be right!”

Oh, yes it can. First, as I went into above with Snape and Lily, there was something deeply wrong with that friendship. I believe they both considered themselves best friends, didn’t see many of the warning flags, but ultimately we see the giant fissure when Snape lets loose the m-word. Given all of that, I would not label them having been true friends in the first place. Just the appearance of friends.

Otherwise, while it’s very easily to canonically point out James’ friends it’s incredibly difficult to do so with Lily. First, people hardly remember Lily. We get Dumbledore talking about her like she’s the Virgin Mary, saving her son with the power of her love. We get Snape’s weird Virgin Mary impressions of her. Otherwise, it’s pretty much just Slughorn. Everyone else remembers that she married James and that was great because JAMES WAS SO COOL and that she had very striking eyes and was “nice”. Lily is less than a ghost in Harry Potter canon (sadly Harry never really realizing it).

Also, unlike James who has Sirius, Remus, and Peter to point towards (that are very important characters in canon). Lily has no one. The godmother was Alice Longbottom, a woman many years older than Lily and James who probably liked Lily well enough but I can’t imagine was a close friend. In canon there’s an offhand mention of two girls named Mary and Marlene but we don’t see much of them/Severus was always cited as Lily’s closest friend. As for Lily’s sister, well we know they’re estranged. I think it’s very telling that Lily writes a letter to Sirius, James’ best friend and certainly not hers, telling him that James is pouting over his invisibilty cloak. It’s because there was no one else to write.

So Lily Evans is a brilliant girl, who everyone likes and is very charming, but has no friends and led a very lonely and short life.

Here’s where my slack towards Lily comes in.

When she dumps Snape I completely understand why she did so. Snape dropping that word wasn’t simply a mistake, a moment of infinite regret, but something that revealed what he truly thought of her and where she came from. Lily was absolutely right in walking away.

However, without Snape, her closest friend is suddenly gone and the world is cold. As graduation approaches I imagine Lily’s career options become clearer and clearer. While very talented and smart, Lily is a muggleborn, what job she does manage to get (thanks to the sheer nepotism of the wizarding world/lack of jobs) will likely be through Slughorn if she manages to get a job at all. The world is cold and it is cruel and no one seems to even notice.

Cue James Potter. I do believe, probably until seventh year, Lily loathed James, not simply because of the horrifying things he did to Severus (and I’m sure she knew very little of it, Snape hiding most of it from her out of pride and shame), but because he’s just a giant dick. He’d make flirting with her a kind of game and joke to be shared with Sirius, something to hold over Snape’s head, like she’s a prize to be one.

However, by seventh year the werewolf incident has happened, Snape’s retreated further and further into Death Eater recruit land and she’s cut him off, and for all my “James is a dick” I do imagine he calmed down a little. Now that Snape is no longer friends with Lily/after the whole almost murder incident I imagine they didn’t bully him nearly as much as they used to. Though yes, they probably still bullied him, but Lily probably doesn’t know that now that she’s lost contact with Snape.

James is charming and very good looking. He seems a bit more mature than he used to be. Lily is desperately lonely, living in a world that rejects everything she is, and James seems like one of the few who does support her (that James is more of a ‘pretty fly for a white guy’ kind of support for muggleborns doesn’t hit until later). So Lily is charmed and makes the largest mistake of her life, she and James start dating.

Now, given their extreme youth as well as Lily’s pedigree (say what you like, I don’t think Mr. and Mrs. Potter were thrilled that their son was dating a muggleborn) I imagine the wedding was a shot gun wedding and Lily got unintentionally pregnant. Yes, go ahead and throw fruit at me or call foul, I just can’t imagine they’d want a child that young while in the middle of a war while they’re part of an active resistance movement and only just out of Hogwarts.

Then things start snowballing downhill. Lily and James have just joined the resistance movement, Lily’s son is prophesied to defeat Voldemort, they strongly suspect one of James’ close friends is a spy, and they’re forced into hiding.

In hiding is where I imagine stress runs high and their marriage begins to fall apart. We know from Lily’s letter that James was routinely leaving hiding, using the cloak, so he could meet up with Sirius and Peter (I imagine Lupin’s on the out as they suspected he was the spy). While James might not realize what a big deal that was, I imagine Lily always did, and she begins to realize just what she’s gotten herself into but there’s no way out while in hiding.

Now we go really off the rails into headcanon territory in: what the hell is up with Harry Potter?

In my stories, I often choose the unwitting god route. Harry can’t die because he is a god, he becomes the master of death and always was the master of death. This is an answer, but it’s one that makes canon Harry a god and... I would not want canon Harry as a god. JKR and Dumbledore push the “Lily loved her child so much that it deflected death... multiple times” but this always felt... unsatisfying. Many parents love their children (fathers too, JKR, let’s not make this weird Virgin Mary thing) and yet Harry Potter alone in the history of mankind survives multiple times.

Most likely, Lily pulled off some insane bullshit with absolutely no resources and minimal education AND EVERYONE IGNORES IT. We do know that Lily crafted the blood wards, wards stronger than anything Dumbledore himself can come up with/than Voldemort can break. Ones that protect Harry not only at home but away from it as it melts Voldemort for simply touching his skin. Lily pulled off the impossible in only a few months and did it right under everyone’s nose.

This makes her easily one of the most intelligent characters in Harry Potter. Probably beating out Dumbledore and maybe tying with Tom Riddle. And Dumbledore tells us, “Your Virgin Mary mother loved you so much, Harry, that it courses through your veins and lights those that would want to harm you on fire.”

So, that’s Lily for you.

Now, that said, I’m probably a bit biased and clearly very lenient with her marrying James. To be honest it took me years to figure out why the hell Lily would ever marry James after what happened with Severus and was always one of those weird canon things I never quite understood. He’s that good looking and charming, I guess, was my response.

The answer I now land on with some confidence was that the world is that cruel and bleak and Lily was utterly alone for two years.

By the way, a side note/plug, of all my stories while head canons do pop up here and there I think “October” is one where they tend to crop up more. It’s a vast AU of canon, but it gives an idea of what I think x character would do in y situation.

#headcanons #harry potter #lily evans #severus snape #october

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bookquotes-20 · 4 years ago

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Broken Chord

Fandom: Folk of the Air

Pairing: Jurdan

Rating: 13+

Warning: Slightly OOC but tons of angsty fluff ;)

For as long as she could remember, all that mattered to Jude Duarte was power. The thought had been forged into her mind, hammered by the innumerable hours of training with Madoc where her only task was to find the advantage. Figure out how to gain the power in the situation, and take it. Take it without mercy, without hesitation. Power was all that mattered in the twisted world she could not stop her heart from calling home. She had spent her whole life without it. People dangled it in front of her, taunting her with displays of superiority she so deeply yearned to return them. Each night, as sleep pulled her under, her final thought would be of revenge. Some day, she’d tell herself, some day I would be the one to hold it all in the palm of my hands. She didn’t know how, she didn’t know when. But she could dream, and dream she would. Dream of fantastical circumstances that turned the wooden sword in her hand to steel sharp enough to gnaw through bone, stain her hilt with rich gold and her blade with deep crimson, worthy of respect. Worthy of admiration. Worthy of fear.

She had it all today. Even if only person knew it. The Puppetmaster. The Kingmaker. The Queen, as the Court of Shadows had taken to calling her. Now, there were days the name felt like a knife twisting in her stomach.

Every day she reveled in the bliss, in the thrum of adrenaline that raced in her veins at her newfound importance. She faced each day with her head high, with a grace and ease that should not have come so easily to a mortal amid regal faeries.

But it was as each day neared its end, that her father’s words would ring in her ears.

Power is far easier to acquire than it is to hold onto.

A lesson best learned by experience, she had seen. She loved her role, her work, her importance. But the sigh she heaved as she entered her chambers when all was done, was a stark reminder of who she was, she truly was. Because at the end of the day, she was still a mortal amongst Fae.

Her breaths come heavier and a dull ache settles into her limbs as she closes the door behind her. Another day, another battle. Hearing days were the most tedious. For hours she stood by the King’s side as folk across the land came to him seeking counsel, mercy, or favors. The benevolent king, of course, simply sat upon his throne with an expression of boredom and a glass of wine in his hands. It was Jude who listened to each word that fell from their lips in search of any trickery or deception they may be trying to place on the king or his kingdom. For hours, her mind raced through infinite possibilities of deceptive intent behind their words, and her fatigue was tangible. Her head pounds furiously and her shoulder slouches. Sluggishly, she makes her way to the modest armoire she had allowed within her room. On autopilot, her hands reach in to pull out a billowy night shirt and comfortable pants. Unfastening Nightfell from its spot at her hip, she places the blade in the corner of the armoire delicately. She has just finished throwing on the her night shirt when she hears a soft knock at her door.

At such a late hour, the number of people who would come to her was short. Had it been the King’s guards or her Court of Shadows the knock would have been of urgency. She opens the door with a sigh, only slightly surprised to see the High King standing at her door.

“What do you want, Cardan?”

She expects to see the same bored boy she had spent the day standing beside, not a man with muscles pulled taut and anger shining in his eyes.

“I hear there was a Counsel meeting today.” His voice is calm, controlled in a way that spells danger. Jude raises an eyebrow.

“And this is of importance to you because?”

“Oh really, Jude,” he drawls, “you weren’t even going to tell me about all the important decisions you made today?” His eyes narrow. “Decisions involving me.”

“I make decisions involving you every day, I don’t see what makes this any different.” Yes she did. The decision she had made today was unlike any she’d made before. Well, with the exception of one. One that had disastrous consequences for her heart and self-control. Cardan moves at her with blinding speed, pinning her between himself and the wall.

“Cut the nonsense, Jude,” he snarls. “You know full well why this is different. You decided to just marry me off. To Nicasia.”

She swallowed. The words felt just as heavy in her ears as they did in her throat when she forced them out in front of the Counsel.

“Yes.” It’s the only word she can come up with. His hand slams against her the wall inches from her head.

“Why?” he growls. She knows he’s restraining himself but she can’t bring herself to care. She’s tired and just wants the day to be over. She wants to be done with this, if only just for a few hours.

“Because it’s the best move for the kingdom.” His eyes darken. He’s not pleased with that answer. “We’re treading dangerous waters between the attack on the Court of Termites and Orlagh’s anger with Elfhame. We can’t find a war on two fronts. We both know that Nicasia has wanted to be your queen for years. She could placate her mother and the alliance would strengthen our image amongst the other courts.” She works hard to force the words out of her mouth. “A union between the land and the sea is not easily ignored, it could quiet all the dissent and doubt amid the lower courts.”

“You forget one thing,” his voice is low as his face nears hers. His breath is hot against her skin. “I already have a queen.”

Anger ignites her blood, exhaustion forgotten for just a moment.

“Oh really?” her voice is as sharp as her blade, as is her accusation. “Says who?”

His eyes widen in surprise, and his grip on her loosens. “Jude-“

“To whom, am I your queen, Cardan?” She steps forward and he staggers back slightly. “To the entirety of the court, I am still your seneschal. You made sure of that when you laughed me into ridicule at the time of my exile.” It’s her that anger flares at him now. “So what did you expect me to say when the Counsel suggested a perfectly viable way of resolving our political troubles?”

“So you want this?” Accusation laces his words now. “This is what would make you happy?”

She hesitates. Tries to force out the word. Tries to say nothing would make her happier. When did lying to him become hard?

“Yes,” she says. Her voice betrays no emotion; it’s resolute.

“For once, Jude, stop lying.” His eyes close and his brows furrow in frustration. It seems her hesitation betrayed what her voice didn’t.

“What does it matter, Cardan?”

“It would hurt us both.” She ignores the implication of his words.

“So what?”

“Jude.” There’s a warning in his voice. She doesn’t care.

“It doesn’t matter Cardan.”

“Jude.”

“Just do it!”

“I CAN’T!” he roars. “I can’t.” He sounds broken. His eyes are pleading and desperate. “I wish so badly that I could.” He scoffs out a laugh void of humor. It’s a painful sound to hear. It’s a sound filled with pain. Filled with guilt and regret and hatred but laced with surrender. “I don’t know how you do it so easily, I truly do envy you for it. But even for the kingdom’s sake, for even your own sake, I can’t bring myself to purposely hurt you.”

She can’t ignore it anymore. His words. The meaning behind them. The chord between them that has been stretching tighter and tighter for far too long. Silence fills the room. She’s tired. She’s so tired. She’s tired under the heaviness of the armor she wears, the layers upon layers of metal that weigh on her bones. Her exhaustion coaxes a little more truth out of her. Words that would never have spilled from her lips otherwise.

“It’s not easy,” she whispers. She’s turned away from him now, knowing her throat would close if she were facing him. A stubborn tear drops from her eyes but she doesn’t dare wipe it away for fear that the arms she has wrapped around herself are the only thing holding her together. She imagines she’d collapse if they moved, crumble to the floor like a wooden puppet with all its strings cut.

“It’s never been easy to see you in pain. For the entirety of my exile, I spent the day planning countless ways to take your life. To make you pay for ripping me away from everything I loved, from my home. But every night, without fail, I’d wake up screaming from nightmares. I’d watch Madoc attack the palace and steal Oak away. I’d watch Taryn turn Vivi against me. Rob me of the only support I have left. I’d watch the Roach and the Bomb try to fight their way out of a fire and I’d never be able to save them. I’d watch the people I came closest to calling friends called out for me to save them while I could do nothing but watch them burn. And every single time, the last thing I’d see is you.” His breath hitches behind her, the only sound in the room other than the beating of their hearts. The room around them fades away as she loses herself in the macabre scene that had tormented her for months. “I’d watch Madoc drive a sword through your heart. I could never reach you fast enough to stop him, but I’d always be there in time to catch you as you fell. I’d always watch you bleed out in my arms. What you said always changed. Sometimes it would be the cruel words you used when we were kids. Sometimes you’d just repeat my exile sentence over and over and over again. While I sobbed and screamed and begged you not to leave me, you’d repeat over and over how you wanted me as far away from you as possible.” She turns to face him now. He looked haggard, eyes blown wide and breaths coming heavy. “Your pain has always been my worst nightmare. And I lived it every single day.”

His hand comes to the nape of her neck, cupping the back of her head. He tilts it forward and presses his forehead to hers. His eyes are closed, eyebrows furrowed as if in pain. She can feel his warm breath fan her cheeks.

“Forgive me,” he whispers so softly it's almost lost in the darkness. The request is genuine, she feels it in the way his body trembles faintly against hers. She lacks the strength to speak. She hesitates and can feel his body coil at her silence. She gives the slightest of nods, one he only registers through the touch of their heads. He exhales slowly, the tension seeps slowly out of his body. The hand at her neck softens and he takes a tiny step forward. He pulls her into him, his free hand wrapping around her back, pressing against her skin with nearly painful intensity. As if decreasing the distance between their bodies would decrease the distance between their hearts. Her arms wrap around his torso and she presses her cheek to his chest. Perhaps it will.

He tugs them onto the bed, still holding her against him. She listens to his heart under her cheek. The steady beat is a welcome reminder that the visions weren’t real. They weren’t real.

She repeats the words over and over again in an effort to convince herself. I don’t know if this is real. Or a dream, she thinks. I don’t care — if it’s a dream, I don’t want to wake up; if it’s real, I never want it to end. Her heart finally admits that, at least. Whether my head is brave enough to allow me to embrace the admission, I don’t know. She feels his lips press to her temple.

“You’re here,” he whispers against her skin. He’s trying to convince himself of the fact just as much as she is. “You’re here and I don’t want you to leave. Not again. Never again.” He sounds delirious, repeating the words with a fervor that surprises her. She looks up at him and the sincerity in his eyes takes her breath away. She knows he cannot lie, she knows the words he speaks must be the absolute truth for there is no room for twisting or deception. She sees his very soul in his eyes and is shocked to find no walls. No barriers keeping her out. He lay himself out bare before her, placed his heart in the palm of her heart. He couldn’t know what she would do with it. He did it regardless.

“You’re trusting me with an awful lot Cardan,” she whispered with a lowered gaze.

“I entrusted my heart to you long ago, Jude.” His voice is a low murmur. Her breath catches in her throat. “It seems you simply did not realize it.” He tilts her head up so she meets his eyes. “I trust you just as much right now as I did when I gave you the crown at what turned into my coronation.” The very words he used to fling at her as an accusation now spilled from his mouth with nothing but warmth and sincerity. “Just as much as the day I gave Taryn anything she asked thinking she was you. Just as much as the day I married you.” His thumb swiped away a tear that had strayed from her eye to her cheek. “I trust you with all that I am, Jude.” He smiled at her sadly. “It is up to you to do with it as you please.” She was silent as she kept her eyes fixed on his. She thinks that he must be wondering what she was searching for in the depths of his black orbs. She isn’t searching for him. In his eyes, she is searching herself. Her soul. When it came to Cardan, her head has always been at odds with her heart — she would never come to a decision with either of them. So, she searches for the one thing that could overpower both. Deep within that part of her that had been suppressed for most of her life, subdued by the harshness of her childhood, by the fear of emotion other than rage and pain, of thoughts other than power and vengeance. The visions from her nightmares flash before her. Her heart races and breath freezes and there is her answer. The very thought of life without him shuts down her lungs and the time she spent away from him was spent in crippling pain she hadn’t recovered from in the entirety of her exile.

She tightens her arms around him and presses her cheek to his heart again. “I missed you,” she whispers against his skin. She feels him freeze beneath the tangible weight of her words. “I missed you and I never want to have to again.” A droplet of moisture hits her hair. The air that was caught in his lungs releases slowly. She finally meets his gaze again.

His voice is strangled as he chokes out the word, “Stay.” She brushes her fingers against his cheekbone, wiping away the tear. The metal of her ring scrapes against his cheek. “Please, stay.”

She smiles. His heart skips a beat and he swears it is the most beautiful thing he has seen. “I will, for as long as you’ll have me.”

“Forever,” he says before pulling her mouth to his. He kisses her like he never thought he would get to again. She feels months of yearning in the way his lips move against hers and she can’t help but respond in kind. Her fingers tangle in his soft curls as she pulls him impossibly closer and his arm crushes her to him. They pull apart only when air becomes absolutely necessary and even then he keeps his forehead pressed against hers.

“Jude Duarte,” he whispers, raising her hand and pressing it against his chest right above his heart. “I pledge my heart to you till my dying breath.” Tears prick her eyes again and for once she doesn’t feel ashamed in letting them fall. She brings his hand to her heart as well. He can feel the press of her ruby ring against his hand and his heart races. She’s still wearing it. He feels her heart pick up speed under his touch and it nearly undoes him.

“Cardan Greenbriar, my words may not carry the guarantee of honesty yours do. But I hope you can feel the truth in the beat of my heart when I say, I pledge to you my heart and soul till my dying breath.”

She brushes her lips over his, a feather soft touch. Not of want, not of need, but a promise. The promise of more.

Notes:

This is my first venture into Folk of the Air fanfic after reading so many insanely amazing ones on tumblr and AO3. It’s been a work in progress for weeks and I’m so excited to finally be able to share it!! Please do let me know what you think ❤️ I hope you enjoyed it!!

This takes place somewhere in an altered version of post Wicked King, where Jude comes back from her exile but only Cardan knows they got married and she’s the queen.

Also, a huge thank you to everyone who sent asks!! I’m working on multiple asks simultaneously so I’ll try to have them finished as soon as I can!

Please feel free to send in more, I love having new ideas to ponder and try to write. I’ll try my best to write them! (I really mostly write for Shatter Me and Folk of the Air).

Thank you lovelies ❤️

#jude duarte #cardan greenbriar #jude x cardan #jurdan #the folk of the air #the cruel prince #the wicked king #the queen of nothing #book quotes #booklr #booklover #love #books #fic #jurdan fic #fanfic #I love this ship so much #my beautiful babies

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warriorswand · 4 years ago

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A drabble in the explanation of what happened when Lily Evans was there for Remus Lupin while no one else was (alternatively, a Very Important marauders PSA)

When Remus Lupin looks down into the achingly familar face of Harry Potter and tells him of the time Lily Evans had been there for him when no one else was, he doesn’t remember the third month of his first year at Hogwarts, when his heart had threatened to beat out of his chest the moment he realized he couldn’t lie to his (first ever) friends about what they had so correctly guessed regarding his monthly absences and injuries. Nor does he remember the snowy January of his fourth year when he had shakily, nervously, anxiously, drunkenly confessed that while he certainly liked girls quite a lot (Mary Macdonald had given him his first snog 3 months prior after all), he also definitely liked boys just as much (one boy in particular if he was honest — he wasn’t, not yet anyways).

The other marauders, his idiot marauders, bloody ADORED Remus John Lupin (he never understood why) and didn't give a DAMN about his condition or who he wanted to date. James-do-you-want-to-kiss-me-as-practice-for-blokes-moony-no-it-isn’t-going-to-be-weird-I’m-delightful-at-snogging-I’m-trying-to-hELP-Potter, Sirius-fuck-fuck-FUCK-he’s-beautiful-he’s-everything-shut-UP-prongs-I-love-him-I-love him-will-he-ever-love-me-Black, and Peter-no-don’t-practice-with-James-I-need-practice-snogging-too-we-could-learn-with-each-other-and-STOP-LAUGHING-PRONGS-Pettigrew spent a month with mandrake leaves pressed to the roof of their mouths so that their best friend, their Moony, wouldn’t have to face his greatest horror alone ever again. These boys, these brilliant wizards, these masters of the map, figured out his “furry little problem”, his deepest secrets, the things he always believed he had to hate, had to deny, and they DIDN’T CARE, they didn’t blink, they didn’t flinch.

(James Potter was the first person to ever know, to ever hear werewolf, and step forward and seize him in a hug without fear, without hesitation, and Remus Lupin never, EVER, forgot and sometimes, years later, when he is alone and the moon has made his bones ache he remembers and he closes his eyes and tries to hold himself as tightly as James Potter’s uncompromising friendship had. It isn’t the same, nothing is the same, and oh how he mourns his lost boys)

However. They’re young, so achingly young, and so often drunk on the invulnerability and impermanence of youth. And in that drunkenness, there was that one time. That horrible time. That one, horrible time in fifth year. When Sirius, his Sirius, who had always understood, who couldn’t have done this to him, not Sirius no, does the unthinkable.

Sirius Black loses his temper (he’s always had such a temper, he says it’s the curse of his surname; Remus knows it’s the pain of his parents hatred) and in his anger and rage and while he’s looking to make someone else hurt more than he is, he plays a prank. Just a prank. Just a prank without thinking for even a moment that sometimes, sometimes Sirius Black’s actions can have consequences he doesn’t expect, and “it’s just fucking Snivellus what do you care Prongs? Prongs? OY WHERE ARE YOU GOING? JAMES?” and Remus’s body is tearing itself apart at the moon’s command, he’s no longer himself, and then suddenly there’s a boy (a horrible, oily boy) and then another (a horribly familar one) and the last thing Remus Lupin is aware of is trying to hurt them, kill them, take them both, and the voice of a friend rising above his own snarls, “it’s not your fault! don’t blame yourself, this isn’t your fault Remus!”. When Remus wakes, his secret is no longer his secret and Snape knows, Snape knows, bloody fucking SNAPE KNOWS. And he’s FURIOUS. He’s livid, he’s broken, he can’t breath and the world is ending and “how could you! HOW COULD YOU?! how could you do this to ME?” Sirius, his Sirius, the boy he was almost sure felt the same way he did, one of his best friends, the one he trusted with the most fragile pieces of his heart, used an affliction Remus hated and loathed and suffered endlessly from in a callous attempt to best a schoolboy rival with no regard, no thought, for how it would hurt him, Remus, most of all.

(Sirius Black never did learn to think before he jumped, and when he dies, high on exhilaration, drunk on the act of actually doing something, he briefly remembers the reckless joy of his youth, because, just for a moment, he is laughing with James beside him, throwing curses and exchanging one-liners — but wait. No. No, no. Not James. Sirius isn’t with James. Harry, he’s with Harry. Until suddenly he isn’t. And Remus Lupin doesn’t scream when Sirius disappears behind the veil, as he holds James’s son back from the same fate. He doesn’t scream. His remembers. A thousand fragments of a million memories. Little flashes slipping, slipping, slipping away just like Sirius through the veil. A handsome face. A barking laugh. Lingering glances in the Great Hall. Months of steadfast and earnest apology and “I don’t expect for you to ever be able to forgive me, I couldn’t, I wouldn’t, but I’ll still be here. Always. I solemnly swear.” A cocky, confident, black-haired man who always somehow seemed eternal. The second one to leave Remus Lupin’s life forever.)

And Remus is SHATTERED and he can’t even LOOK at Sirius, but, then, almost as painful, in a very different way, is James. James, who hasn’t met Sirius’s eyes since he bolted from him to save two lives, James who considers it the height of dishonor to betray ones friends, James who hollered for Remus not to blame himself even as he took the brunt of Remus’s claws when he attacked, will not leave Sirius as Remus has. James wouldn’t abandon Sirius (even though “it’s JUSTIFIED, he deserves IT” but even as Remus screams it he already knows that James agrees and still won’t walk away). Because for James, Sirius is his closest mate, his family, his brother in every sense of the word, and “Moony, please, Moony I know but he needs me, he needs me just as bad.” But Remus, Remus is so hurt, so lost, so fucking alone he couldn’t understand and could only see a second betrayal, this time by his first real friend, “how could you choose him? after this? instead of me?” and James begged “I’m not choosing him Moony please, please, he knows how wrong he was, I’m trying to fix it —“ “It isn’t yours to fix James! You don’t understand, you can’t understand, I was a fool to think you ever could” “Moony, I do, I do understand—” “NO, no, you DON’T or you WOULDN’T—“ “he needs us more than ever —“ “I needed you more than ever and I won’t make that mistake again!” “Moony, no, please, MOONY! OY! Please come back, Moony, PLEASE!” But Remus couldn’t come back, he couldn’t forgive, not this, this betrayal went too deep and it’s consequences were far too harmful.

(And really, it isn’t until James Potter is long dead and Remus Lupin is watching Harry Potter choose to spare the life of the man who ripped James away from them all that he truly understands the particular brand of loyalty James Potter had shown Sirius Black during those awful dark days)

Remus walked away from them, walked away from them all, not even attempting to convince Peter to join him. Peter, who was chalkwhite and pale and shaking from this fight, this fight that was destroying them, his favorite people torn apart, his preferred family splitting at the seams, was being eaten alive with guilt, guilt over Remus’s pain, guilt over thinking it had been rather funny when Sirius had told him exactly a half-hour before he’d told James, and guilt over his relief at being largely ignored in this moment. See, even if Remus had asked him to go, Peter would have stayed with James and Sirius. He wasn’t really expected to say anything in this fight to end all fights, and that was just fine by him, Peter was too afraid of Remus's anger (because of all of them he was the sweetest but he was also the most fearful, and he had never fully mastered James and Sirius’s ability to completely forget Remus’s affliction) and he was not at all willing to risk ending up alone if he chose wrong. So, Peter stuck with James. He stuck with James and tried to help alleviate his most favorite friend of the weight and responsibility of trying to reconnect them. And, with that, for the first time since boarding the Hogwarts Express in first year, Remus Lupin is alone. Refusing to reconcile with his best friends, burning with betrayal, and carrying a cracking, aching heart in his chest, he has no one at all.

(Peter loved Remus, he really did, he loved them all, honest, but he loved James most and he suspected the others knew, and hell, he was sure Pads and Moony loved James most too because why wouldn’t they? Who wouldn’t choose James? James with his easy smile and effortless popularity and hazel eyes that crinkled just so when he threw his head back and laughed. James who could make anyone feel special, who made Peter feel special when no one else ever had. Peter didn’t choose Sirius over Remus, no, he chose James. And Peter Pettigrew chooses James Potter only once more in his life — when he takes his artificial silver hand away from James’s son’s neck and turns it on his own because Harry Potter, oh Harry Potter, looks so much like the boy he loved most all those years ago)

It was just days after the incident and just hours after that last horrible fight with the others, when, with his head heavy in his hands on a bench in the shadowy corner of the courtyard, still sore from the moon, he felt a small, warm hand drop onto his shoulder and lifted his eyes to see flaming red hair and soft green eyes and that kind smile that was so quintessentially Lily Evans. And as his eyes fill with tears, she sits next to him, and, merlin he is so much taller than she is, but she pulls his head down onto her shoulder so he can feel small and protected and safe from the brutal cruelty of Sirius’s mistake. And she doesn't ask questions (but she knows all about Remus's condition, she figured it out ages ago, those marauders really were horrid liars for lads who considered themselves so bloody stealthy) and she had overheard whispers between James, Sirius, and Peter when she certainly had NOT been watching James Potter mussing up his stupid black hair.

(And she certainly hadn’t been worried over what had caused the deep bags under his normally brilliant hazel eyes, she’d never seen him so deflated, so serious, so grown-up, and where was the boy she’d always been sort-of mates with, the one who taught her to play gobstones back in second year, who was so cocky and unshakable, who could even make McGonagall crack a smile in the midst of reprimanding him, and she didn’t like this desperately sad James Potter, she missed awful jokes and horrible pick-up lines more than she ever could have imagined she would and DAMN was James Potter under her skin)

Even though she didn't know the details of what happened, she knew something had. She knew that it had to have been Something Terrible in order to come between those four and when Remus's breath was finally evening out, his shoulders ceasing to shake, he began talking. And talking and talking. Once he started, he didn't stop, didn't even realize that when he mentioned his "furry little problem" Lily Evans didn’t so much as flinch. He unleashed everything, all his pain and heartache and bitter rage, onto his fellow prefect. A girl he’d been mates with for years, who he couldn't believe he hadn't thought of, because if anyone could maybe understand what it was like to be fucking terrified of a blood-deep label it would be her, “a half-breed werewolf and a dirty mudblood what a pair we make, aye Remus?” And it was Lily who accepted his anger at the others, who didn't push him to get over it or talk to them again. It was Lily who late one night, unbeknownst to Remus, cornered Sirius in the common room and, without judgement or anger, helped him too, helped him push his shame aside and “Sirius you need to go to him — no listen — prove to him you regret it and show him you’re sorry, he doesn’t hate you, not really.”

So, it was weeks and weeks later, after a teary reunion and four repaired relationships, that Remus had just managed to stop laughing at Lily’s spirited re-enactment of James drunkenly getting his head stuck in the bannister railing at the last Gryffindor house party. And, just as the Fat Lady’s portrait comes into view with the completion of their rounds for the night, he glances down at the flushed, grinning face of Lily Evans and (feeling oddly sentimental, unusually emotional, and unendingly grateful) softly murmurs to her that he had always wanted a sister yet he hadn’t realized that she would have red hair and a massive crush on his best mate. Even as she shrieked and laughed in (quite forced) outrage, aiming a kick at his shins, she also reached out and squeezed his hand quite tightly, not dropping it as they strolled into the common room to greet their friends. Lily Evans was there for Remus Lupin at a time when no one else was, at a time when he was far too fragile for anyone else to be, because no one can care for you better than a sister.

(Lily Evans knew how to be a sister even after hers decided to hate her but never imagined that she could find a brother in the form of Remus Lupin, a brother who would love and accept her the way her sister never could. And when James and Lily Potter died, Remus Lupin mourned both his truest friend and only sibling. Years later, back on the Hogwarts Express, he hands chocolate to a shaken and embarrassed thirteen-year-old boy with James’s face and Lily’s eyes and wonders if Harry Potter would ever know that he hadn’t always been Professor Lupin, he had first been Uncle Moony)

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margoshansons · 5 years ago

Text

The Killing Kind (10/?)

Part Ten. 01. 02. 03. 04. 05. 06. 07. 08. 09.

MASTERLIST:

Summary: Y/N and her father finally face each other after three years. Her powers have grown, but so have his.

Warning: ANGST! Mental and physical torture, manipulation, abuse, parent on child violence, suicidal thoughts.

Notes: ooooooo boy, friends. We should’ve seen this coming, and I absolutely loved writing this chapter. PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS! If you want a song from the playlist to listen to I recommend Power, No Place like Home, and Speechless. In that order. Y/N deserves better.

“Get out of here,” Y/N commanded MJ, placing a protective shield around the two of them. MJ stared in awe of the blue energy before her, unsure of what to do next.

“Are you not listening to me? I said go!” Y/N urged, not wanting to see the most important person in her life hurt by her own father.

“No,” MJ stood strong, grasping a spare piece of debris, “I’m not leaving you behind. I’m staying here to help.”

Y/N shook her head, continuing to hold the protective shield as long as she could.

“I’m not losing you again” MJ held herself in a rare moment of vulnerability, fear shaking the poor girl to her core. Y/N turned to her friend, seeing more than fear in her gaze, but determination. God how she hated how stubborn MJ could be.

“Neither am I” She admitted, “Now go”

MJ nodded, taking cover in an alley not far from the square. Y/N continued to use the protective shield against the Molten Man, making sure the citizens were evacuated from the square before jumping into the fight. When enough citizens had escaped, she moved over to the tilted Ferris wheel, allowing the energy to flow from her palms and surround the carnival ride, lifting it back to its usual position. She collapsed her hands together, drawing a familiar circle glyph before her, the same teal color from Venice reappearing and creating the glyph needed to achieve stasis. With the Ferris wheel taken care of for several minutes, she called to Peter.

“Spiderman!” she groaned, holding the image as long as she could.

“I got it!” He yelled webbing the Ferris wheel at its most vulnerable points, while Y/N kept it firmly in place. That ended when Molten Man got closer, ready to swipe at the carnival ride at any time. She let go and propelled herself forward, launching herself over the Ferris wheel and joining the illusion of her father in fighting against the beast. Her eyes began to glow as she charged the energy needed to stay afloat, guarding the ride against the monster. Her body warmed, sweat dripping down her face as she released both of her hands and screamed at the top of her lungs, emitting a dangerous amount of psychic energy at the beast.

Red met Blue in a death match before she landed on the ground, anger spurring her forward, Peter’s cries lost in her ears. All she could focus on was getting to the center of the illusion. All she could focus on was finding her father.

She found him at the top of the elegant building protruding from behind the Molten Monster.

Cerulean tendrils wrapped around his ankle, pulling him forward, Y/N used her other hand to lift him up, the blue energy surrounding his body, working its way from the inside out.

“I told you to stay away” He whispered through groans of pain.

“You know better than anyone that I don’t listen.” Y/N snarked, crushing several of the drones and technical gear surrounding him.

“That’s why you’re such a disappointment, honey”

Her powers dissipated, and her father disappeared into the darkness.

“No, no no no no no no, NO!” She yelled over and over as the familiar illusions overtook her.

Enclosed walls surrounded her, the musty smell of the church overtaking her senses. Her breath quickened at the enveloping sight.

“Really, it’s quite pathetic how you thought you could escape me” Quentin’s voice echoed, the illusion pushing and pulling her from their old apartment to the rainy streets of New York, and finally to the London Square they had spent so much time in before moving.

“My sweet little Y/N, always running from her true place” Lightning flashed as she crashed to the ground, moaning in pain as she gazed upon two statues above her. The fishbowl was easy to make out, her father was glorifying himself, but the other…

“My Side”

The other was her, eyes glowing with arms crossed, an evil smirk plastered into the marble. Y/N scrambled up, running away, her own tendril protruding from the statue, wrapping itself around her ankle, pulling her back into the illusion.

“I’m never going to be like you!” She screamed into the void, crawling away, the thick smoke dissolving into a familiar scene.

“Oh, but honey,” Her father commented, “You already are.”

Two scenes one right after the other. Quentin and Peter overlooking Prague. Y/N and Peter overlooking Venice. The unusual bursts of energy as she fought off the molten man. The way they set their jaw. The anger that resides in both of them. The lies, the lies, the lies, the lies, the lies.

“You are more me than I could’ve hoped for. You lie and cheat to achieve your goals.”

She was back on the bus, the smell of sweat weaving itself through her nose, while the air conditioning left goosebumps up and down her arms. Her own hands were working against her will, grasping the EDITH glasses. Lying to Peter. Betraying her friend’s trust. Her chest twisted as she relived the action.

“Oh, how you lie. You’ve told so many lies you could fill an encyclopedia”

A book of his own design fell atop her before dissipating into darkness, each containing a lie she had uttered to her closest supporters.

Her living situation.

Her family circumstances.

She coughed at the impact, her now damaged lungs burning every time she took a breath.

“You’ve lied to everybody. Your best friend”

A thick smoky tendril pierced through MJ’s heart.

“The woman who took you in”

May Parker joined the scene.

Her heart twisted.

“Even the boy you care so much for”

She was pulled to a stop in front of Peter, his mask torn, shrapnel embedded deep in his face, blood pouring from his abdomen. “No” She let out a strangled yell, saltwater burning her lips as it trailed down her cheeks. Eyes burning, she held Peter in her arms, not knowing if this was real or not.

“Y/N” He struggled to get out, “How--how could you do it?”

“Peter I’m sorry,” Y/N sobbed, her own voice unrecognizable.

“Why didn’t you save me?”

Betrayal filled his eyes, squinting the the girl before him, flinching every time she moved closer.

She shook her head, speechless at the accusation, “I tried--”

His hand wrapped around her neck, latching onto the vocal cords, hatred gleaming in Peter’s innocent brown eyes. “Not hard enough”

From his hands, a shock collar latched itself around her throat, his last act before Peter drew his final breath. He remained limp in her arms. Even if she knew it wasn’t real, the pain was.

“Stop it!” She cried out, clawing at the collar around her neck. An electric shock burned through her, muscles spasming from the aftershock. Her body convulsed against her will, screams involuntarily leaving her mouth. She looked up to see her Father holding the gun that had killed Peter. He cocked it once again, aiming the pistol at a familiar face.

Her Mother’s shadowy figure only looked up at Quentin, accepting the challenge.

“Every time you lie, you are killing those around you, for what? Your own selfish motives? Your mother would be ashamed of you.”

Bang!

Blood pooled on the ground, her mother’s face hidden by shadow, the head of curls unmistakable.

The scene replayed itself over and over until Peter took her mother’s place. She moved to get up, to use her powers, to do anything, but each time she did, the collar would go off, weakening her muscles further and further.

“This is what they would relegate you to. A dog needing to be kept on a leash. But with me, I would let you be free. With me your lies would be triumphs, with me, you would be a hero undreamt of. You are my daughter, and you belong with me.”

Her father’s image warped until it wasn’t him holding the gun anymore.

It was her.

Pointing it directly at Peter’s head, cocking the bullet, ready to fire.

“You are exactly like me”

An idea sprung in her head and she crawled forward, using her newfound adrenaline to push Peter out of the way, grasping the gun and pointing it at herself.

“So do it then” She taunted weakly, her voice hoarse, “Kill me.”

The illusion began to dissolve until she was surrounded by black, her father standing above her, gun drawn against her head, his eyes alight with fear.

“No matter the consequences right?” She uttered bitterly, tears falling from her face.

A moment passed.

Then another.

The cool barrel sent waves of fear through her. It would be over soon. Finally, all of this would end and she would be free. Even if she was scared to go, a part of her wanted so badly to.

She waited.

Watching his bright blue eyes. Watching the conflict unfold behind them.

His breath hitched.

His hands shook.

He couldn’t do it. No matter what he wanted. He couldn’t kill his little girl.

The gun dropped and Y/N let out a breath.

Something lurched in her stomach, something that she barely had any time to register before she was thrown to the side, a drone launching her out of the building and directly into the pole of the Ferris wheel. The smoke cleared and all she saw was her own father collapsed on the pavement.

Her vision went black.

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myrhymesarepurer · 8 years ago

Text

It doesn’t matter.

FMAB, Post-Promised Day

They had not spoken. Three days, four days, give or take or give. They had not spoken, for this, they knew this would be the result, He smelled the iron, felt the blood under his toes. “I would have done it.” “It doesn’t matter.”

Pairing Royai Rating K, sorta

a/n this one’s called, “how much can a overwrite and be vague simultaneously”? I never bought any of the post-promised day hospital shots I’ve read. I think they were there for a long time. And, I think it was complicated. And, I’m definitely avoiding my smut with pure and utter angst. Oh, my poor babies. Enjoy.

ff ao3

Contrary to what one might anticipate, it was not a joyous reunion.

He requested that she stay with him in the same room, their beds separated by only three feet of a nightstand.

He couldn’t see. He needed an aid, he said.

She was his aid. His vice.

Always had been.

The doctors agreed. It was the best option.

Mustang had lost his sight, but he also had through and through stab wounds on both hands prone to severe infection, as well as a concussion

just to add a cherry on top.

Hawkeye still lacked a major volume of her blood and had a freshly stitched slit across her carotid. Yes, supervision was ideal, a bunk buddy was ideal,

and it seemed wrong to separate them after everything. But, the reunion was-

They had not spoken.

Three or four, give or take or give, so many days since admission.

They alternated pretending to sleep while the other was awake, had visitors, ate meals.

They both could admit it had become quite extreme.

The men didn’t comment. Perhaps it was the trauma. The Colonel and his Lieutenant. They ignored each other.

Their reunion after everything, all of it, the post-mortem was

silence.

Roy was blind, but he could still see red gushing, spreading, coating the tile, endless.

He could smell iron in the air, invisible, inextinguishable blood.

His breathing was deep, fighting off shock. breath in and breath out.

Day one, two, three, four give or take or give.

He stared at the ceiling,

Riza saw the same, felt the same, the cold and the slice

over and over, but she could open her eyes, stare at the IV bag, outline her bandage, ground herself.

It was over. They did not speak.

She winked an eye open often, having the luxury of checking on Roy without getting caught.

He was not sleeping. Neither was she.

They both asked for stronger sedatives. It did not work. They did not sleep. They did not speak.

Their reunion was not joyous. It was painful, callous, cold.

Alas, the fallout was inevitable. She wished they had separate rooms.

He stumbled blindly to the bathroom, four in the morning. She wasn’t asleep.

They did not speak until she involuntarily, accidentally, regretfully said,

“Bedpost.”

He flinched in her direction, blinked at her bed, “Huh?”

“You’re about to run into it, Sir.”

“Oh.” “Inch to the left. Then forward.” “Right.”

She wished they had separate rooms. He wished she hadn’t said anything.

The chain reaction was imminent. The inevitable was unavoidable.

They were foolish, stupid to think otherwise.

“I would have done it.”

He did not move. Not an inch to the left. Not forward.

He just stared at the floor, held onto her bedpost.

Riza sat up, sighed.

She didn’t want to talk. Roy wanted to go back to bed.

The Lieutenant said “Bedpost,” and it was all over. Damn it.

“I would have done it.” “No.” She said, solidly.

She knew what he meant, what he saw in his mind’s eye while he grit his teeth, and clinched his jaw.

“I was going to do it. I would have done it.” “You would not have.” The Lieutenant told her Colonel.

She had orders. She was not to die. She was to watch his back, and stop him, shoot him, if he even dared to give in to that kind of evil.

But, to be honest, her position in that moment, cold on the floor, she had no power, no blood, no pistol, no physical capability to hold him back.

He knew. He was so close before she gave her signal. Too close.

“Yes,” his voice a caustic whisper, crushing the bedpost under his hand. “I was going to. I planned to.”

“I was going to save you,”

He knew very well he could’ve committed the crime, the ultimate sin, the irreparable, abhorrent, deplorable act,

human transmutation, He would have done it.

Then and there, he felt, no, he knew he would have buckled under the weight of air full of red iron.

“I did not care about the rest. They could all burn. I did not care, I was going to do it.”

Roy twisted the knob, the wooden top of that bedpost. He clenched it until his knuckles were white. His face flushed into a red hot, burning, hatred.

For himself. How could he consider such a thing? Then again. How could he not?

His mind waged war on itself.

what kind of man would- well, perhaps a man that-

He felt the bedpost might splinter. I was going to do it.

“No.” “Riza.” “Colonel,”

She demanded. She was in front of him. He could feel her in front of him.

He pulled at his hair, buried his hands, wanting to snatch it all. He wanted the pain, the punishment.

“Do you understand what I’m telling you.” “I understand, Sir.” Your precious woman is dying, Mustang. Roy huffed, he couldn’t breathe.

What will it be?

“You don’t. I would have done it. I would have done it because I -“

“Stop.”

Riza raised her hand, raised her voice, sliced through his words, shot him down, cut him at the knees.

Insubordination be damned.

This was not about pecking order. This was not about the Colonel and his Lieutenant.

This wasn’t about anything. There was no story here.

It did not matter.

“I understand what you are telling me. I am not a fool.” Riza snapped, rushed, spitting out so many more words at once than she ever had before. ”If we were simple. If we were whole,” She shook her head clear.

“No,” She said, “You would not have done it. We are not whole. We are not simple. So, it doesn’t matter.”

She had rushed. She had struggled. But, just as quickly

she solidified.

They had not spoken. Three days, four days, give or take or give.

They had not spoken, for this, they knew would be the result, precisely this.

Roy would say something like this, admit feeling like this about all of it, about her, and then where would they be?

Better than where they were, Roy felt, he thought for three or four, so many days straight.

But, Riza, for one, could not trust herself not to crumble, not to admit the same. “For us, Sir, It’s irrelevant,” so she said.

“Excuse me?” Roy protested. “You would not have done You know this.”

She stepped away, turned, half way to her bed.

Even blind, he caught her arm. “You don’t get off that easily.”

Roy Mustang was the only one ever willing to fight Riza Hawkeye.

She was three feet away three, four, however many days straight, radio silence.

He needed contact, He needed proximity.

He needed her, and he needed her to understand.

“It’s over.”

He was blind. Their goals were gone, He would have done it for her.

It was over now, all that they had worked for.

You would expect him to be defeated. Instead, in the dark, he was relieved.

He would have done it for her. In the dark, now, he could say why.

but Riza bit her lip. She bit it all back,

“No. This is a waste of time.”

It was not over. He was dead wrong. They needed to stop talking.

But, he still held her wrist, tugged her back to him. Riza. Riza broke, “It does not matter.”

He scoffed, “Others would argue the exact opposite-“ “You did not perform the transmutation,” She put her foot down, “You did not do it for the very same reason I asked you not to,”

Colonel, Please, she whimpered then, dying. Do not sacrifice everything. For my sake. Riza pulled her arm free and started to plead. “We chose. Because, you and me-

It does not matter. ”

Roy’s jaw hung useless, he heard her voice grow tight. He heard her break. It was the closest she had been to crying, sobbing since Lust.

Since she just knew he was gone, and every piece of her body, every cell, every organ, every part of her soul

became necrotic, toxic, dead.

Yet, there now, the tears did not come. Instead, it was her voice that betrayed her.

Instead, she grit her teeth, and seethed, and shattered into a million tiny pieces.

Roy would not have seen her tears. She could’ve cried freely, undetected, but she didn’t.

Heaven forbid Riza grieve in peace. Instead, her voice betrayed her, and Roy flinched, froze ice cold when she backed away, and used his rank.

“Please, Colonel.”

His Lieutenant, his best friend, Riza. She shook.

“I am begging you. Do not make this matter.”

They didn’t speak for how many days, so many days, three or four, give or take or give.

Their reunion was not joyous.

They said nothing. They said nothing, because if they spoke, they would finally

say it,

and it would destroy everything. “It is not over. Do not make this matter,” she pleaded, “Not now.”

Not now.

Not now, when they had their whole world ahead of them. They survived, and having done so,

as cruel as it was, there were consequences

Many would find the fire, the blood, the smoke giving way to a clear blue sky.

It would be clarifying for most, freeing.

For the Colonel and the Lieutenant, after all that, the blood and fire, and the clear blue sky.

They were trapped.

Their terrible fate, it just grew more excruciating by the second, more unjust, utterly unfair.

After all that.

There was nothing for them. The fact that there would never be a Roy, a Riza, only a Lieutenant and a Colonel. It stung worse. It hurt more, after all that.

The pain wouldn’t go away, unless they stopped talking right now.

“Please.”

Roy was caught. He had no choice. He had to let her go

just as he had to in the tunnels, cold and gray and bleeding on the floor.

He had to. It was crucial. It was the most good for the most people.

He had to let her go, again.

Even so, he couldn’t help it, stepping to her. She flinched backward. He felt it.

Roy raked fingers through his hair again, a pained frown, defeated, hopeless.

After all that.

To continue speaking like this, about this, It would slice through further, cut even deeper, to an irreparable degree.

She understood what he was telling her, and he understood why she begged him to stop.

Please don’t make it matter. Not now.

Roy nodded, gave in, agreed. as much as he could, “It doesn’t matter.”

Riza was shamefully short of breath, in panic, desperate for a comfort undeserved.

She tripped over her feet, her involuntarily step. She stepped to him, grasped his shirt. Roy’s hands found her waist.

He followed up her arms, grazed the rough bandages strangling her neck. He cringed. He smelled the iron, felt the blood under his toes.

I would have done it.

For her, he would have done it. Even still, she was right.

He didn’t do it

for the very same reason she begged him not to. They were irrelevant, nonessential. Regardless of how they felt, even after all of that.

Roy ghosted her cheeks and got so close.

He hovered her nose, and gave her peace.

Three words.

“It doesn’t matter.”

His finger swept the tear off her cheek. She nodded, a flurry. He rested his forehead on hers.

Three words. The wrong three words, but the only three words he could ever say to Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye.

“It doesn’t matter.”

uh ouch. hopefully this is realistic. they aren’t a profess their love kind of couple. it’s an understanding, I think. and, if they said it out loud, maybe it would hurt more than heal? at least for right now. who knows. okay. but, people, tell me if you get what this is about or like what’s happening bc it is like really vague i need sleep. Reblog reblog tag tag comment, let me know what you think or if you hate me. Also, READ WHAT I’M AVOIDING IT’S MUCH HAPPIER AND FUNNY I THINK

#myroyai #roy mustang #riza hawkeye #royai #royai fic #royai fanfiction #fma #fmab #ouchie #oh my loves #im so so so sorry

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