#saoirse: mirror

[manichsey]

If someone's reading...

Let's talk about Jo March girls

Jo March girls are the girls that want to be someone important, girls who fight for what they want, and they want big things. Are the girls that if they could choose, they would choose to travel the world, know different people, cultures, storys, and they would do a journal for the travel. Are the girls who love love, but don't want to be in a relationship (because their freedom is too important for them just gave it to a mortal). Are the girls who need academic validation more than anything. Are the girls who love poetry, book, literature, history and philosophy class. Are the girls that would do anything for those who they love. I'm a Jo march, I want the world to know me, I'm the most anxious person that I know, but I'm also everything I want to be (even if it takes me some time to be brave enough to be). Jo march girls, are also the archer and mirroball girls.

Ps: if you don't know who's Jo march, you should watch (or read) little woman, specifically the 2019's version.

[giordirossi]

[keydekyie]

I might be up to. Some bullshit.

Went to Meow Wolf when we were in Colorado and now I'm obsessed with making infinity mirrors. Whoops.

[redclercs]

DELICATE✰ CHARLES LECLERC.

xiv. this feels like the calm before the storm.

— the one where the world is caving in.

warnings: cheesy pop culture references, aidan and victoria are back, more articles than usual. mentions of panic attacks, anxiety tics, spelling mistakes in the tweets that i am too lazy to correct, forgive me. 2.3k words (+articles!)

masterlist ✢ next

'Did Timothée Chalamet get y/n y/ln a role in 'Little Women'?'

By Bridget Thomas

As previously reported by various outlets, actress y/n y/ln has been cast as the youngest March sister for yet another remake of "Little Women", expected to be premiered by the end of next year. However, we can't help but wonder, how did y/n manage to get a role alongside actors of such high caliber, such as Meryl Streep and Best Actress Nominee Saoirse Ronan?

Despite the success of movies such as Supercut and The Hating Game, y/n's acting skills cannot even begin to compare to those of her co-stars, she's a romcom actress, and she's supposed to stay that way. But as Ringo Starr once sung: "I get by with a little help from my friends" and y/n is no exception.

Timothée Chalamet, Greta Gerwig's other main muse, has Hollywood eating out of the palm of his hand, and his influence goes a long way. So much so, that he was able to secure Amy's role for new friend (possibly new something else) y/n y/ln.

Right after they were seen mingling at a party in Paris with y/n's boyfriend (probably soon to be ex) Charles Leclerc, y/n got the call that they decided to give her the role.

Don't we all want a boyfriend who uses nepotism to our benefit?

Seriously, though, how does y/n manage to get this heartthrobs to spare a glance her way and do this stuff in her name? Somebody call the Winchester Brothers, we might have a witchcraft case right in front of our eyes.

Click here to go to the next article.

'Victoria Presley: I still miss my best friend, but all she did was use me.'

By Daniel Gomez

After staying away from social media and her job for a month and a half, beauty influencer Victoria Presley is back and she's not afraid of anything. Not even legal repercussions.

Back in July, Victoria received a 'Cease and Desist' letter from none other than former best friend y/n y/ln, demanding she stopped talking about her in public and to news outlets. This sparked the rumors that Presley had been selling her secrets to tabloids and was the one to reveal the engagement secret alongside actress Mia Kim, Aidan Kim's sister.

Victoria immediately removed herself from the narrative, deeply hurt by her ex-bestie's actions. Now, after gathering her thoughts and recovering from being stabbed in the back, she's giving us this exclusive interview.

"I can't help but miss y/n, she was my best friend for so long. But all she did was use me." Victoria is still in disbelief of y/n's actions, after giving her all her love and support. "I let her live in my house for months, and one day she leaves without any explanation. All to meet that Formula One guy."

Victoria has expressed her discontent with y/n's relationship with Charles Leclerc several times, arguing he is one of the main reasons y/n cut all ties with her and not the rumors that she revealed y/n's secrets to tabloids.

"He changed her for worse. Their relationship is so toxic, they breakup and get back together again and again, and they're just looking for ways to use the other's reputation for their benefit."

However, Victoria is certain the relationship won't last much longer, since y/n has her sight set on co-star Timothée Chalamet. "y/n has liked him for a while. When the rumors of his relationship with Kylie Jenner came out, she assured me she could steal him away with a flick of her hand."

Meanwhile, Victoria is focusing on her beauty line and its evergrowing sales. "I'm competing directly with Rare Beauty and Fenty. I'm in the big leagues, the way I deserve to be."

Click here to go to the next article.

'Aidan Kim reveals tracklist for "MIRRORS" and moves the release forward.'

By Paul Dean

Aidan Kim fans won't have to wait until October 5th anymore since their idol has decided to move the release date for his debut album forward by one month.

While we believe this decision was influenced by the news of ex-girlfriend y/n y/ln making her acting comeback in a high category movie, his fans also begged him to 'remind everyone of how awful y/n is' and judging by the titles of his upcoming tracks, we're sure he's leaving no crumbs.

Check out "MIRRORS" tracklist here:

In Your Pocket

All The Things I Hate About You

Him

Cry Me A River

Stabber

Stupid Love Letter

MIRRORS

Round and Round (Star-5 Reprise)

Yours and Mine (Star-5 Reprise)

Blinding Lights (The Weeknd Cover)

No Lie (With Mia Kim)

We can't wait for Aidan's insight on his relationship and breakup to y/n, we're certain the details are juicy! Don't forget to presave "MIRRORS" on Spotify and Apple Music!

Monza, Italy, September 3rd.

1...2...3... deep breath in, 4...5...6, breathe out.

You repeat the process five times until your heart has set in your chest and isn't trying to break free anymore. Until you've stopped squeezing your thighs with your palms and you can keep your eyes open without feeling like the red decoration is stabbing your eyeballs.

It's good that you can manage your anxiety before it turns into panic. You're still embarrassed about The Spain Incident, although neither Charles nor Carlos fault you for it at all. Still, every now and then, their panicked faces flashback in your mind and you feel sorry for them all over again.

You don't want this weekend to turn into The Monza Incident. Not when Charles' contract renewal was announced a few hours ago and he's on Pole Position, this weekend has to be perfect. Or as perfect as possible, for your boyfriend.

Boyfriend.

The weight of the word has multiplied by a thousand in your mind. Silly, when you really think about it. But palpable in a way that has butterflies flying around your stomach every time you think about the word and Charles' smiling face appears in your mind.

He's your boyfriend and you're his girlfriend, and this was a mutual agreement you reached with panic still holding you by the throat, only soothed by Charles' soft lips against your temple and his warm hands rubbing your skin.

You agreed to come to this Grand Prix because it will be the last one for you for a while. Filming for Little Women starts soon, and though they have a couple of races in the States, your schedule can be a little unpredictable. Also, you're hoping to score more roles soon.

You breathe again, deep enough that your lungs ache and lightheadedness threatens to rise through your body. You're overwhelming yourself, again.

According to the world, you’re not skilled enough to be in a movie with Saoirse and Timothée and should give up the role to someone who actually deserves it. Which you won’t do, of course. That someone who deserves it is yourself. It has taken a lot of pep talks in the bathroom mirror to brainwash yourself into believing it, but you’re getting there.

Plus, there are more things to worry about with Victoria back on her bullshit and Aidan's album coming out in two days. There are so many things to fix again, just when you thought you were getting there. Of course the two people that hate you most in the world have to mess with you again.

"Already here?" Carlos asks the second he crosses the door to the Suite. "It's way early."

"Good morning to you too," you let the air out of your already burning lungs and smile at Carlos. "I have nowhere else to be."

You could be at the Paddock Club, mingling with whatever celebrity or rich local is there. Or even visiting McLaren, since Lando offered to 'show you the garage', something Charles didn't like, of course. The secret of your newly earned girlfriend-boyfriend titles is one you try to keep close to your heart.

As if that has worked before.

A wave of anxiety runs down the back of your neck when you remember the tweet you saw this morning about a Deuxmoi tip on Charles and you. What could the exact price be, to reveal your relationship to the world?

"Have you had breakfast? Looks like you're going to throw up," Carlos says, sitting in the sofa opposite yours.

It's at least the fifth time he's told you that during the weekend. You know he does it out of a place of concern, but it still rubs you the wrong way. You also need to look perfect, not like you're going to throw up.

"I had breakfast back at the hotel, it's just the lighting."

"Sure?"

"I'm fine, Carlos. How are you?"

Carlos shrugs, he's not being the center of attention this weekend despite this being another home race for the team. "Good."

"Didn't you have to be at the meeting today?" you question, although it's obvious that by his getting there just now, he didn't.

"Had my PR reminders yesterday. Charles is different."

Of course. He has to know what he's allowed to say about his renewal and what he should not speak on at all.

Your own team advised you not to let yourself be seen at Monza. Mildred would have pulled you out of the plane if it had been up to her, and Walter would have helped her hold you hostage until the weekend was over.

They're both trying to find out about the Deuxmoi pictures too, although you doubt they can reach an agreement of any kind with whoever holds them to stop them from calling People Magazine up.

This whole avoiding being seen thing makes you feel wrong. As if you were doing something bad with Charles instead of just finally letting the love you've felt for him for months show. You hate it.

You're wrong to compare your current situation with your past ones. Aidan was your first really public romantic relationship, but before that, you didn't hide your partners either. Of course you weren't that famous, but even then, you didn't entertain the thought of scurrying around like criminals.

"He'll be fine, y/n," Carlos adds, looking at the way your foot keeps stomping the floor, like you're some kind of hyperactive bunny. "He's on Pole. You can pray for Max's downfall, though, maybe that'll help."

"I don't pray for people's downfall," you click your tongue, crossing your legs to stop the tic.

Karma and all that.

"Maybe you should." Carlos winks at you, and your conversation is finished as Charles leaves his meeting.

You can tell something's off just from the way his shoulders tense, but he smiles at you the moment your eyes meet.

"Everything okay?" you ask before he leans down to reach your height as you sit and pecks your lips.

"Yes, everything's good."

He's lying.

─────────

What was the point of coming to Monza if you're only watching the race through the screens?

You don't think the sun has touched your face at all since you got to the circuit, and you really want to be out there. But you stay put in your seat as the formation lap occurs right outside of the Suite.

It will make no difference, though, Charles is focused on the race, as he should be, rather than whether you're watching him through the TV.

Soon enough you know what will make a difference.

It's some kind of miracle that Charles has managed to regain the P1 position after the disastrous pit stop Ferrari put him through, and maybe Carlos was actually praying for Red Bull's downfall since Max has his very first DNF of the season and Checo can't get past George in P3.

Charles is going to win Monza again.

The decision making tree branches in front of you in a matter of seconds, people at the Suite are already talking excitedly and someone asks if you want to go down, there are four laps left.

You get up from your seat, aware that if life was anything like that videogame you played a couple times on the set of Parisian Valentine with your co-star, the "This action will have consequences" legend would appear on the screen right now.

You follow the Ferrari worker out, but even between the excitement and celebrations, you manage to hear what the PR Manager really thinks of your presence in the Paddock.

"She’s such a PR nightmare,"

She switches to Italian when your eyes fly to her face. And you can only wonder what cruel yet entirely accurate thing she said.

It's worse than a nightmare. It feels like the apocalypse all over again. And the weight of the world is back on your shoulders, feeling like you're messing up what was a weekend out of a dream for Charles.

You flashback to Monaco and the way Mati pulled you out of your head and locked your phone in her purse. You wish she was here more with each passing second. You cannot tear your eyes away from every single tweet speculating about your presence, about your relationship, about your intentions. It's overwhelming.

But Charles' happiness is what matters. He's absolutely ecstatic, even after the mishaps during the interviews where his PR training had to kick in and lead reporters back to Formula 1 related questions.

The thought that maybe you should have tried to make friends with more people occurs to you when you arrive at the celebration in the private club and Charles is dragged away from you. He tries his best to hold on to your hand, but the truth is people want to be with him and not you, so you let him take the spotlight he deserves and enjoy it.

"So, are you and Charles dating, then? Didn't you use to be engaged?"

You half-smile at the girl who just asked you the question, so boldly it takes you aback. But you guess her eyes are so bright from how much alcohol there is in her system, she's bound to be direct with liquid courage running through her veins. She's pretty in that dark hair, dark eyes way that has you momentarily doubting your own looks.

The extra heartbeat that takes you to reply, has her eyes shifting around the room before settling on Charles, who is finally walking back to your side.

Your boyfriend hands you a drink and smiles at the dark-haired girl and her friend, politely. "Are you having a good time?" the question is mostly directed towards you, but both girls jump at the chance of saying they're having the time of their lives and congratulating Charles for such an epic win. But they prompt you to join the conversation a few seconds later, so you're grateful for it either way.

There's a song in Spanish playing on the speakers and Charles is doing his best to sing the words while encouraging you to move to the beat with him. With his arms around you, things feel a little lighter, the whole in your chest that anxiety carved out is slowly filling with the love you feel for him, and the happiness of the day outshines the darkness of the thoughts in the back of your mind.

That is, at least, until the first notes of 'In Your Pocket' replace the previous song, after the DJ announces it's a special request. It's a remix, obviously, so people can dance to it, but a few of them have stopped moving altogether just to be a little less discreet about eyeing you.

"C'est pas amusant," you hear Charles say to one of his friends, who is hiding his mouth behind a tall glass of alcohol, his eyes still betray his enjoyement.

"It's fine," you squeeze Charles' arm, trying your best to smile although you're being put in the spotlight and there's nearly nothing worse than being the butt of a cruel joke. "It's just a song."

You wondered many times what those surrounding Charles thought of you. They didn't know you, after all. His brothers were nice to you when you saw them around the Paddock, and it wasn't like you'd hung around the rest of his friends. Did they mock him when tabloids called him a homewrecker? Or did they believe he'd just embarked on what seemed to be a dead-end relationship?

"I'm sorry, soleil, they're just— they're idiots," Charles adds, his hand reaching for yours. He looks genuinely upset and you can't help but hate whoever requested the song a little more for spoiling Charles' mood rather than for making fun of you.

"Charlie, it's okay, I've been through worse," your reassurance doesn't soothe him, so you squeeze his hand and he presses his lips to your temple. "I'd rather listen to Bad Bunny or something, though."

Charles laughs and pulls you out of the dancefloor, to a more private part of the club where you both can catch your breath and share a few kisses, unafraid of people staring at you.

New York, United States, September 7th.

You know you're in trouble when Mildred calls tells you that you need to be at her office ASAP. She also used that condescending 'I'm the adult' tone that sends you back to when you were fifteen and got in trouble with your mother, so it's another indication that she's angry at you.

Of course you know why, the words 'PR nightmare' haven't left your brain in days. And the moment you set foot in New York, Mildred was all over you about every single thing that was being said about the Monza Incident—aka seeing your boyfriend like any normal person would.

"This isn't ideal," Mildred says after a while, she has been explaining the public's perception of you for the past half hour. "It's like you—"

"Like I fucked up?" you cut her off, squeezing your knees to stop from biting your nails.

"We were rebuilding your brand, y/n. People think you waited for things to die a little so you could go public with Charles. Aidan's new album is not helping your case."

If you thought 'In Your Pocket' was bad, nothing compared to the rest of the songs. Some in which he called you a list of things including a homie-hopper, drama starter and said you settled for a 'bum' when you could have had a 'rockstar'.

"How is that my fault?" you don't intend to sound so whiny, but you can't help it. Why are Aidan's actions always your fault somehow?

"People are talking more about how you are dating a Ferrari Driver after spending months saying you weren't, rather than the fact that you landed an incredibly important role."

"We haven't told anyone we're dating,"

Mildred rolls her eyes despite her best efforts to remain professional. "Do you really think that's necessary?"

"What do you suggest we do?" you ask, knowing you won't like the answer.

─── team principal radio: ❝remember when I said it wouldn't take me one month to update delicate and then it took me longer than that? I'M SO SORRY LMAO. also not loving this chapter but i just want it out of my way for now i need it off my drafts, but don't worry this time i'll try for the next not to take me a century. thank you if you're still here, your patience means the world to me i love you all so muuuuch♡❞

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[mischiefandmedicine]

Very Full - Chapter 1: Confrontation at the End of Time

Summary: At the end of time, Loki, guardian of the multiverse, is confronted by Saoirse, his daughter, who seeks answers and retribution for her mother's absence. Their tense encounter reveals a deep well of shared pain and unspoken history, hinting at sacrifices made for greater purposes. Overwhelmed by the truth, Saoirse's anger gives way to a vulnerable quest for understanding as Loki prepares to unveil their story.

Word Count: 2,372 words.

Chapter Warnings: Angst, a hint of someone having died.

A/N: Bear with me as I get used to how I want to lay everything out. This is my first fan-fiction and I loved this story idea. I have a Spotify playlist that acts like a soundtrack for this entire story. For each posted chapter, I'll share a link to songs that I listened to and/or were referenced in each chapter. Enjoy!

Soundtrack Link

This Chapter's Inspirational Music: Can't Fight the Moonlight

---

Previous: Prologue

___

Chapter 1 - Confrontation at the End of Time

In the vast expanse at the end of time, where timelines converged, and infinite possibilities shimmered like echoes of forgotten moments, Loki sat upon a grand throne of his own making. The luminous emerald-colored threads of the multiverse danced around him, woven together in a breathtaking display reminiscent of Yggdrasil, the world tree, all with Loki as the powerful epicenter. His gaze, usually calm and all-seeing, rested upon the glowing strands that danced around him.

            The weight of his existence bore heavily into him. Loki was not the ruler of a once-proud Asgard floating among the stars. He was not the ruler of the nine realms. He had not replaced Odin as king. He was no longer the god of mischief. He was something else and now he sat on his gilded throne, countless timelines in his grasp. They all breathed because of him…because of his sacrifice.

            A subtle longing tugged at the edge of his consciousness, a wistful yearning for connections that once illuminated the recesses of his solitary existence. Memories of love, both found and lost, dance like wisps in the cosmic winds, leaving a lingering ache in the depths of his being. Thoughts of Sylvie, Mobius, and other intriguing friends he had left behind, hovered over him like distant constellations across the sky at the end of time – remnants of bonds forged amidst the tumultuous symphony of his life. Their faces were etched in the mosaic of his recollections, evoking a bittersweet blend of camaraderie and longing.

This was his burden to bear and his alone. For all time.

Loki had carried the weight of his loneliness letting the time pass ensuring the timelines were stable just long enough to give the Time Variance Authority time to achieve what it needed to. But there was no expiration date on these duties. He would remain, lost amongst the emerald-glowing strands, for as long as the multiverse needed him.

            As he contemplated the harmonious chaos before him, a sudden disruption jolted the tranquility. In the distance, Loki could make out a figure, cloaked in shadow and mystery, appearing at the gangway leading to his throne. The hooded silhouette emerged, standing resolute, yet shrouded in obscurity. A voice, tinged with a mix of determination and haunting familiarity, echoed across the boundless emptiness.

            “I am Saoirse of Midgard,” the figure proclaimed, their voice carrying an all-too-familiar power and rage, “and I am here to avenge my mother…and myself.” These words held a cadence that mirrored Loki’s own epithets as he had arrived on Earth to claim the Tesseract. This unexpected arrival, however, resonated with its own sense of purpose and determination.

            The former god of mischief, with his piercing gaze that twisted with intrigue and an inkling of recognition, looked upon the cloaked figure stoically. He did not speak but watched the figure through narrowed eyes as its form remained obscured by the depths of its cloak. For a moment, the silence between them seemed to echo across the infinite expanse that was the end of time.

            Loki, ever the master of words and wit, parted his lips to respond, but the charged atmosphere lingered, pregnant with the reticent turmoil of their intertwined destinies. The impassioned plea reverberated in his ears, a fervent cry seeking recognition from the god perched on the throne.

            In the cavernous expanse where time’s echoes converged, Saoirse’s impatience and rage swirled like tempestuous winds in the silence. The lack of response from Loki ignited a fierce blaze within her, stoking the flames of indignation and uncertainty. Her resolve wavered not; instead, it solidified into an unyielding determination as she flung off her cloak, long black wavy hair draped around her shoulders, held out of her face by a single, solid gold headband.

            “Say something, asshole!” Her voice was laden with raw fury and pain as it boomed across the celestial chasm, punctuating the vast emptiness with a desperate plea. The powers she wielded came with the vocal projection, a manifestation of the strength it took to find Loki and bring herself here to the end of time. Loki himself remained quiet, his gaze unwavering, veiled behind a mask of inscrutable calm, yet he scrunched his nose playfully at the sound of the insult thrown at him.

            In a moment that shattered the stillness and infinite space between them, a manifestation hurtled through the expanse. Down on the gangway where Saoirse stood, a projection materialized – a mirrored image of Loki – crafted from the essence of his cosmic presence. This apparition mirrored his countenance and mannerisms, a visage brought forth from the depths of his consciousness to address Saoirse’s impassioned call.

            Though Loki, in his corporeal form, remained perched on his sparkling throne, he maintained an air of whimsical defiance, an enigmatic smile splayed across his lips. His silence, a calculated choice, teased at the depths of his cosmic power and the intrigue that coursed through his perplexing persona.

            “Asshole? Really, Saoirse?” the projected image of Loki intoned, his voice a melodic blend of playfulness and veiled confrontation. “Impatience does not suit you…daughter.”

            Saoirse’s furious gaze met the illusionary Loki’s, her eyes widening in a cocktail of shock, disbelief, and a glimmer of recognition. The word “daughter” hung heavily in the air as the various glowing emerald strands of timelines floated past the pair.

            “Don’t you dare call me that!” she shouted past the projection towards the corporeal Loki seated on the throne.

            The Loki projection maintained a serene yet arrogant countenance about him amidst the brewing storm. “You seek me out, yet deny what you might be,” he teased, the gleam in his eyes hinting at a cryptic knowledge.

            Frustration etched deeply into Saoirse’s features as she seethed with unresolved emotions. She stood nearly as tall as her father, so she could stare his projection down, eye to eye, reflecting the pain that tore into her as she searched for some semblance of regret in his eyes. “I came here for answers, not games!” she shouted angrily, voice quivering with a potent mix of longing and resentment.

            “Answers?” the projection raised an eyebrow, cocking his head to one side before continuing. “But do you truly desire them, or are you merely seeking a mirror to reflect your anger?”

            Her patience waning, Saoirse’s anger surged forth, fueled by years of the void that her mother’s absence had created. “I want to know why you left her! Why you abandoned us?!” Her voice cracked with the anguished accusation, the tremor betraying the depth of her emotional turmoil.

            The projection of Loki regarded her with an eerie calm. “Blaming me won’t bring her back,” he countered, his voice nearly at a whisper.

            “Your actions, rather, the lack thereof…they led to her death!” Saoirse fought back tears as she fought through the words she had come all this way to say. “In all your infinite power, how could you just let her die like that?!”

            Loki remained speechless, unable to find the words to quiet his daughter as she stood before him, long black hair flowing down her back, framing her face. She was, no doubt, his daughter. The anguish and pent-up rage that surged from within were caused by a father who had seemingly all but cast her aside. As he studied Saoirse’s face, Loki could not help but think that she bore a striking resemblance to her mother; the thought of whom pulled the playful smirk from his face, softening his gaze.

He thought of the movie reel Mobius had shown him of what would become of his own life had he continued along the sacred timeline. All the lives he had destroyed and the Loki he had been when trying to take New York as his own. He did not want that life for his daughter but could not possibly tell her of all he had sacrificed for the sake of the greatness that she could become. He had changed from the angry tyrant demanding his subjects kneel before him. He was something else now that he had taken on the responsibility of keeping the timelines alive.

Saoirse’s anger broke Loki from his thoughts as she materialized a pair of long, thin bronzed blades in her hands in a flash of purple light. “Give me answers, Loki, or I will take them by force!”

As she wielded her blades, her eyes flashing with determination, the tension between them escalated once again. Her blades crackled with energy, eyes reflecting a storm of emotions surging within her. The projection of Loki observed her with a blend of intrigue and caution, a veil of godly poise masking the concealed complexity of his intentions as a smirk pulled at the corners of his mouth. Pride surged within Loki, a silent acknowledgment of his daughter’s innate strength and proficiency in the mystical arts. But with that sense of pride came a father’s pained recognition of her anguish.

“Saoirse,” Loki began, his voice soft and arms outstretched as if attempting to calm a lion ready to pounce upon its prey. He sought to bridge the chasm between them. “I understand your anger, your pain. But there are truths that remain buried within the complexities of duty and sacrifice.”

“You had a duty to her! To me!” She yelled. “What about that?”

Loki paused, gathering his thoughts amidst the tumult of emotions. His posture sank as he thought of the words that would calm the daughter standing before him ready to take his head off with the gorgeous blades she had conjured for herself. That is, if it were his corporeal self standing before her.

            “You wield your powers with the grace and strength of Asgardian lineage, your grandparents would be so proud,” Loki intoned. Sensing that Saoirse was rightfully losing the limited patience that she had brought with her to the end of time, he continued, “Your mother lives within you.”

            “Oh, yawn!” she said, rolling her eyes. “Next, you’re going to tell me that I remind you of her and that I should be satisfied with that. None of that changes that she’s gone and it’s all your fault!”

            “Daughter,” Loki’s voice held a gentle plea, tinged with regret and a profound longing to ease her pain. “Your mother’s absence is a wound that cuts deeply, a void that cannot be easily filled.”

            He paused, the weight of her accusation heavy upon him. “I cannot erase the pain of your loss, nor absolve myself of the burden that my duties thrust upon us.”

            Saoirse’s face pinched into a scowl upon hearing Loki’s words. His expression softened, a paternal yearning beneath a mask of composure. He was, after all, a god with a purpose. “I do not expect you to find solace in vague resemblances or platitudes. Your anguish is valid and your anger justified.”

            Loki’s projection, an echo of his essence, bore the weight of remorse as it showed on his face. “I sought to protect what remains of our fractured existence, sacrificing what I held dear. But it was not a choice I made lightly, nor one I made without sorrow.”

            A quiet desperation colored his voice, looking at Saoirse with a depth of sorrow mirrored in his eyes. “Know that you are not alone in your pain. I may not have all the answers, but I am here, Saoirse.”

            With the sound of her name falling from Loki’s lips, Saoirse collapsed to the ground, tears streaming down her face as the blades she once wielded clanged to the gangway floor. The Loki apparition knelt to look his daughter in the eyes, tears forming in his own eyes as he watched her sob. “Tell me, daughter, what do you know of your mother and me?”

            Saoirse took a moment to gather her words before snarling back at Loki, “All I know that she loved you more than anything but neither she nor I were enough for you to stick around.”

            Loki’s face fell. “She didn’t tell you anything about us?”

            “She didn’t have to, Loki. I learned enough from everyone else around me. Loki of Asgard who was burdened with glorious purpose. Loki who rained chaos upon New York. Loki who disappeared with the Tesseract! Am I getting every detail?!” she inched closer to his projection, fire and rage growing within as she continued. “Loki who reappeared years later to con my mother into sleeping with him only for him to disappear when she needed him the most. What good is all this power if you could not use it to save or even be with the one woman who was supposed to be everything to you?”

            Each and every one of Saoirse’s words stung Loki as she shouted them into the endless void. The Loki projection spun on his heels as if to look up at the corporeal Loki who sat upon the throne, infinite timelines in hand, disappearing with a neon green glow. God Loki looked down upon his daughter, tears forming in his eyes. He longed to comfort his daughter, his flesh and blood.

            In a flash of lightning, god Loki used nearly every ounce of magic within him to wrap himself in a tapestry woven together with the strands of time, carrying himself down to the gangway in labored steps until he reached his daughter. Loki, god of the throne at the end of time, keeper of the timelines took Saoirse’s hand, gesturing for her to stand. As she rose, Loki whispered with a single tear falling, “My dear daughter, you don’t know anything.”

            “What don’t I know, Loki?” Saoirse sneered through gritted teeth.

            Loki removed his crown and gestured to a pair of velvet green armchairs he had conjured behind her. “This is going to be a long one. Shall I pour us some tea?”

            “Keep it, I need something stronger than tea,”Saoirse scoffed at the offer.

Saoirse turned to take a seat as Loki wordlessly gestured towards the chairs once more. “Oh, this ought to be good.”

            “I do hear they call me the god of stories on some of the timelines,” Loki said with a smirk to lighten the mood. “This story – the story of your mother and me – it is the best one of all.”

[manyfandomocs]

Glee OC Masterlist (K-Z)

(A-J)

Name: Kaipo Steele

Fic: How Far I’ll Go

Love Interest: Jake Puckerman

FC: Auli'i Cravhalo

Name: Karina Jimenez

Fic: Walk In The Sun

Love Interest: Brittany Pierce

FC: Melissa Barrera

Name: Knox Berry

Fic: Berry Beautiful

Love Interest: Sugar Motta

FC: Noah Centineo

Name: Kyra Puckerman

Fic: A Rose By Any Other Name

Love Interest: Marley Rose

FC: Antonia Gentry

Name: Leonard Sparrow

Fic: Mirror In The Sky

Love Interest: Sebastian Smythe

FC: Logan Lerman

Name: Marceline Giles

Fic: Dancing Through Life

Love Interest: Mike Chang

FC: Sofia Carson

Name: Marigold Stinson

Fic: Walk Walk Fashion Baby

Love Interest: Sam Evans & Mercedes Jones

FC: Josie Totah

Name: Nico Nichols

Fic: Like A Prayer

Love Interest: Sam Evans & Mercedes Jones

FC: Michael Evans Behling

Name: Ramona Harris

Fic: Love Song

Love Interest: Rachel Berry & Quinn Fabray

FC: Victoria Justice

Name: Reagan Harlow

Fic: Show Stoppin’ Number

Love Interest: Santana Lopez, Noah Puckerman

FC: Sarah Jeffery

Name: Saoirse Flanagan

Fic: Luck of the Irish

Love Interest: Mike Chang, Ryder Lynn, Artie Abrams endgame

FC: Brenna D'Amico

Name: Scott Macmillan

Fic: Slapshot Romance

Love Interest: Brittany Pierce, Sugar Motta, Finn Hudson endgame

FC: Jack Falahee

Name: Sophia Hummel

Fic: The Tiniest Lifeboat

Love Interest: Mercedes Jones

FC: Mary Mouser

Name: Steve Schuester

Fic: Faithfully

Love Interest: Jesse St. James, Rachel Berry, Quinn Fabray

FC: Mitchell Hope

Name: Warren Anderson

Fic: Perfect Son

Love Interest: Sebastian Smythe or Hunter Clarington or an OC

FC: Dylan Sprayberry

Name: Xavier Carver

Fic: Still Frames In Your Mind

Love Interest: Quinn Fabray

FC: Charles Melton

Name: Zeke Beiste

Fic: Take Me On

Love Interest: Kitty Wilde, Marley Rose

FC: Booboo Stewart

[witchersmistress]

Tails you win

Hello my darlings!! wanted to do something or someone new for you in this case. Captian Syverson.

Warning: Blood, violence, death and gun shot wounds.

Word count: 7.5k

my usual warning, you do not have my permission to copy or use my work in anyway, if you do ill haunt you for the rest of your days!!

Propbably gramatical errors and typos but i type to fast for my own good lol

Name pronounciatuion for the FMC : her given name is Saorise, Sheer-sha, in Irish-Gaelic means freedom

Her nickname, gifted to her at a young age by Syverson: Louhi, Lo-hee, Finnish origin, she is the goddess of Death and Disease.

Saoirse's POV

I’m wearing the dress Svyerson picked out for me. It hugs my body in all the right places and makes me feel beautiful and deadly. I feel like one of those knockout nineteen fifties actresses like Ava Gardner or Grace Kelly, ready to take on the world. Who knew that an item of clothing could make you feel so powerful? I smile at the memory of Svyerson sliding up the zipper of my dress, recalling the hunger in his eyes and the way his fingers lingered on my skin as he stared at my reflection in the mirror just like I’m doing now. Thinking about him makes me wonder if it’s possible to miss someone who is still a part of your life?

Because I do. I miss the man who could relax enough to kiss me. Who could cup my cheeks in his huge palms, fuck my mouth with his tongue and make me wonder what having sex with him would be like. Since we kissed, he’s gone back to being less handsy and more gruff. Over the past couple days that we’ve been in each other’s orbit, it’s been tense, to say the least. I’m not sure if it’s all that pent-up sexual tension or the fact that Carter has asked Svyerson to fight again tonight, this time with a man called Derby, brought in by the King no less.

 I’ve never heard of him before, not on the fight scene and not as a name to be familiar with in the criminal underworld. Still, that doesn’t mean anything. Just because I’ve never heard of him doesn’t mean he isn’t a threat. It’s more likely that he is one tonight because Svyerson will be going in cold to the cage with nothing to go on. Not that I’m afraid for him. On the contrary, Svyerson is the best fighter out there. Hands down. He’ll win. He always does. He won me, didn't he? I grin at that, my bright cherry-red lips complimenting my smoky grey eyes. I’ve purposefully gone for the glam but sexy look. Instead of wearing my hair down like I usually do, with the help of Nadia, I’ve got it pinned up in a low bun that sits at the nape of my neck with tendrils of my dark hair hanging  loose at my temples,

adding a softness to my features. In all honesty, I feel like a knockout, and I’m more than ready to floor Svyerson. Satisfied with my reflection, I slid my feet into my favorite Louboutin heels, the same ones I wore that night I met the King. Who, despite my reservations, is attending tonight. Just like all of Carter’s business associates and acquaintances are. It stings a little that this night isn’t about me, or my eighteenth birthday, but about my dad and his business… Our business? I’m still not certain whether he wants me as his partner anymore. He’s barely spoken to me these past few weeks, and has certainly avoided even being in a room with me. Which is why I have to prove myself tonight. I will be the perfect Davidson. Strong, beautiful, and not to be fucked with. Whatever goes down tonight I will take it all in my stride, because like I said to Hudson, it’s not a Davidson party without a little—a lot—of bloodshed.

“Who the fuck is that?” Hudson, my best friend, asks as a man not dissimilar in size to Svyerson steps into the cage. Around us the chatter quietens as everyone focuses on the new guy who is as bulky as Svyerson but maybe a couple inches shorter. He’s so pale, he’s almost translucent, except for his face where he has a skull tattooed into his skin. If he’s going for the intimidation look, it looks good on him. Svyerson isn’t easily scared. I’ve never seen him look even remotely concerned in the cage, but there’s an edge of apprehension in the way he carries himself, and that in and of itself is cause for concern. “Is that who I think it is?” Tony, a small-time gangster who I’ve been talking to for the past ten minutes, mutters under his breath. He’s actually one of the few men I recognise here tonight. There are a lot of new faces, most of them brought in by the King according to my father, including Svyerson’s opponent. “His name’s Derby, right?” I ask, repeating the only thing I know about the new fighter and hoping Tony can fill in more details. “Yeah, it is. He’s to the King what Svyerson is to Carter,” Tony explains, the excitement in his eyes sparking concern in mine. “He’s an enforcer?” “Yeah, he worked for the King once upon a time. Rumor has it Derby banged his ex-missus and that’s why they’re getting a divorce.”

“And he’s still alive?” I ask. The King doesn’t strike me as a man who’d let anyone get away with sleeping with his wife. “Looks that way. All I know is that this fella is fucking hardcore. I heard he once ripped a man’s throat out with his bare hands.” “Fucking hell,” Hudson mutters. 

A nervous laugh bubbles out of my throat and I make a kind of choking noise trying to cover it up. “He ripped out someone’s throat, with his hands?” I repeat, hoping my voice doesn’t give away the panic expanding in my chest. “Put it this way, Svyerson might be undefeated in this cage, but Derby…” Tony smirks, “He’s the Grim fucking Reaper. Know what I’m saying?” Hudson shifts on his feet. “Fuuuuuck!” “I’m not worried. Svyerson’s got this,” I say firmly.

 “You might want to tell that to him,” Tony adds, pointing to the cage as Svyerson steps into the spotlight. “He does look worried,” Hudson comments, earning him an elbow-dig to his rib. “It’s his game face, he’s not worried,” I retorted, even though the look on his face tells me that he very much is. 

Shit.

 Circling each other, Svyerson and Derby face off. Where Svyerson is tense, Derby is relaxed in a way that doesn’t speak of arrogance, but confidence. He thinks he’s going to win. Svyerson might have the edge in height and build, but there’s no denying the fact that he doesn’t seem to intimidate this guy in the slightest. “Do they know each other?” Hudson whispers. “There’s a lot of eyeballing going on.” “Appears that way,” I reply, and when Derby drops his chin and gives Svyerson the briefest of smiles, revealing a set of gold teeth, a thread of anxiety bubbles up in my stomach. Everything feels off.

 “Ladies and gentlemen,” Carter says, interrupting my thoughts and drawing my attention to him as he steps into the cage. “Or should I say Louhi and gentleman…” He laughs at his own joke as a spotlight appears over my head, highlighting me to the room and the fact I’m the only female within it. “Oh shit, he’s not going to sing you happy birthday, is he?” Hudson mutters, raising a laugh from Tony and some of the other arseholes nearby. “Fuck,” I mutter, keeping my lips in a tight smile. “Come on up, Louhi,” Carter says, motioning me over. I want to say no, but this is Carter and no really isn’t a word he takes kindly to. Instead, with the smile plastered on my face, I head towards the cage.

 All eyes are on me, and as I stride across the room, I can see King and Rodriguez step out of Carter’s office. Rodriguez is smirking and King is watching me closely. My gut flips over. The moment I step inside the cage Carter jerks his chin, fishing in his pocket for something. A moment later he pulls out a coin and gives me a beaming smile that’s so fake, I almost wish I’d worn shades. “Carter?” I question softly, turning my gaze to Svyerson who briefly meets my eyes with an empty gaze. 

There’s not even a flicker of acknowledgement. My gut twists. I know he has to keep up pretences but fuck, that hurt. “Tonight you’re all here to help celebrate my daughter’s birthday,” Carter continues, addressing the crowd and doing nothing to temper my growing unease. “Tomorrow, Louhi will be turning eighteen, and as such I’ve arranged for Svyerson and Derby to go head-to-head, all for your viewing pleasure.” The room erupts into cheers and whistles, only quieting when Carter raises his hands. “But for tonight only we’re going to change the rules of the cage.” I glance at Svyerson with a question on my face, because we all know the only rules that apply in the cage are that there are no rules. The last man standing is the winner, that’s it.

“What?” I ask, but my question is lost amongst more cheers and whistles from the crowd. Why do I get the feeling they already know what Carter is talking about? Pinching the coin between his finger and thumb, Carter says. “In a moment I’m going to ask Louhi to toss this coin.” “Carter?” I repeat, quieter this time. He throws the coin to me and I catch it, frowning at the weight and the warmth. It’s one of those old sovereign coins that are no longer in circulation but are often mounted in jewelry as a nod to the old days. I wonder where he got it from. “Tonight Svyerson is up against Derby, a worthy opponent,” Carter continues, dragging my attention back to him as he strides around the edge of the cage.

 He looks pumped. No, he looks wired, there’s a jittery kind of energy pouring off him. It’s not fear, but excitement, and I’m not a hundred percent sure it’s the natural kind. His pupils are blown wide and he’s sweating. “As usual anything goes. The only difference is that tonight we allow weapons.” “What?” I exclaim, my Irish accent slipping through,  my eyes widening. Again I find myself looking at Svyerson and this time he shakes his head minutely, warning me not to protest. Swallowing hard, I bite back my concern and say nothing. Carter raises his brows, looking between us both as he notices the silent exchange.

“Louhi will throw the coin. If it lands on tails, Svyerson will get to choose his weapon of choice first. If it falls on heads, Derby will.” He motions over his shoulder to someone in the crowd. “Bring me the weapons.” Rodriguez steps into the cage, wearing his usual shit-eating grin. I grit my teeth, hating the way he smirks at me like he’s in on the joke and I’m the fucking punchline. Maybe I am. Standing between Svyerson and Derby, Rodriguez waits for further instruction. 

On the large silver tray are several weapons. Notably, a twelve inch butcher’s knife with a slightly curved blade, a pair of knuckle dusters with clawed tips, nunchucks, a crowbar and finally, a baseball bat. Jesus Christ. This is madness. I stride over to my dad, pressing my hand against his arm. “Carter, what are you doing?” I hissed. “Why? What’s it matter to you?” he replies, eyebrows arched. “Toss the coin, Louhi,” Svyerson orders, his heavy Texan accent  cutting in. The sheer fact he calls me Louhi and not Darlin or Saoirse has me feeling all kinds of ways, and the look he gives me makes my stomach flip and my spine tingle with fear.

 Rodriguez, the prick, laughs, adding to the already building tension. What the fuck does he find so damn funny? “Yes, toss the coin, Louhi,” Carter adds smoothly, turning his back on us all and moving to stand at the edge of the cage as he addresses the crowd. “Tonight the winner is the last man standing. This is a fight to the death.” “No!” I shout, unable to stop the word spilling from my lips, but it’s just background noise, lost as the crowd goes wild. Like a pack of baying wolves they’re out for blood. This is a fight to the death. To. The. Death.

 “NO!” I repeat, striding over to Carter, anger firing in my blood and my heart beating out of control. I grab his arm, unconcerned now at how this looks to the crowd, to him. “What the hell are you doing?!” Whilst the crowd goes fucking crazy, Carter grips my elbow and forcibly pulls me towards the centre of the ring where Rodriguez stands with the weapons and Svyerson and Derby eyeing each other up. “I’m doing this for you!” he hisses. “What do you mean, for me?” I reply, glancing at the Svyerson who shakes his head subtly.

Carter ignores me and Svyerson looks away, leaving me in total confusion as Carter once again raises his hands to quieten the crowd. “Louhi is about to toss the coin. Let’s see who gets to choose first.” “Do it,” Svyerson insists, softer this time as he meets my gaze. A thousand words and a whole host of emotions pass across his features. “It’s okay. I’ve got this.” This time Derby laughs. He steps close to me and I freeze, not because I’m afraid that he might touch me, but because if he does Svyerson will lose his shit and show everyone how he truly feels and he’ll wind up dead anyway. “Toss the coin, sweetheart, let the fun begin.” Derby purrs, making my  skin crawl,  I toss the coin. The crowd falls silent as the gold sovereign flips in the air. I watch it in slow motion as gravity pulls it down, my stomach dropping out at the same pace until eventually I catch it, covering the coin up with my hand.

 “Call it,” Carter demands as my racing pulse fills my ears with white noise. Slowly I lift my hand, my eyes dropping to the coin nestled in my palm. “Tails!” I announce loudly, a rush of relief that’s quickly overridden by a powerful dose of fear, because it doesn’t really matter if Svyerson gets to choose his weapon first, he could die anyway.

“Tales you win, heads you lose,” Svyerson shouts as he steps towards the tray of weapons, picking up the butcher’s knife and gripping the handle tightly. He taps the tray twice with the blade, pointing it at Derby. “And the fighters of this club never lose!” Then he turns to me and places his left hand over his chest, right where my handprint is tattooed into his skin. My stomach flips with apprehension and dread, but also love. I love him so much it hurts. “Svyerson—” I begin but around us the crowd go apeshit, and my words are drowned out by their hollering. “I know,” he mouths. “I know.” And whilst the crowd might not be aware of the unspoken words between us, my father certainly notices. The look he gives is deadly. He knows. When the crowd settles, Carter steps forward and withdraws his gun from the holster at his hip, placing it on the tray. “Let’s up the motherfucking anti, shall we?” he rasps out in a laugh that has all the blood draining from my face. “Dad?” I question, shaking my head in disbelief. “That’s not fair.” “My club, my rules!” he snaps, jerking his chin at Derby. “Choose.”

Derby smirks, or at least I think he does because I can’t really tell beneath his skull tattoo. He glances at the gun and I wait for him to grab it. Only he doesn’t. He picks up the crowbar instead. Rodriguez looks as shocked as Carter, but the crowd doesn’t care, they want a fight not an execution, and that’s what they’re going to get. With a tight jaw and even tighter voice, Carter addresses the crowd one last time. “May the best man win!” he yells, then grabs my arm and pulls me from the cage and marches me towards his office, shoving me inside before I can even blink, let alone watch the fight unfold.

 The moment the door slams shut behind us and Rodriguez—who has followed us both into the office like a bad fucking smell—the crowd goes insane. “What the fuck, Carter?!” I round on him, trying and failing to disguise my fear as my gaze flicks to the window in his office and the fight unfolds in the cage. Derby wastes no time and lunges for Svyerson, who ducks, the crowbar missing the top of his head by mere inches. Fuck! “What’s the problem, Louhi, afraid of a little bloodshed?”

“What’s my problem? Are you insane?! Svyerson could die!”

 I shout, snapping my head back around.

“You don’t think he’ll win?” My father questions, canting a look at Rodriguez who places the tray on the desk and smirks in that infuriating way of his.

 “What the fuck do you find so amusing?” I snarl ready to punch his fucking lights out. He holds his hands up.

 “Absolutely nothing. No disrespect meant,” he replies, completely insincere, the smarmy bastard.

 “Get the fuck out!” I snap, reaching for my father’s gun and pointing it at him. The feel of the cool metal in my hand is comforting. “Don’t be hasty,” he stutters, his fucking smile dropping as he looks to Carter. “You heard Louhi. Get the fuck out.” Rodriguez spins on his heels, not needing to be told twice. When he opens the door, I catch a glimpse of Svyerson receiving a blow to his upper arm, the tip of the crowbar scraping across his bicep. Blood bursts from the wound and I swear I can hear Svyerson’s grunt of pain over the roar of the crowd. “Svyerson!” I yell, my desperate call lost behind the door slamming shut. “It’s true then?” Carter questions. 

“What’s true?” I questioned

 “That you and Svyerson have been fucking.”

“What? No!” I exclaim, my fingers curling around the handle of the gun even as my arm hangs loosely at my side. “He’s a friend.” “Like Hudson is?” Carter asks, looking over my shoulder. I turn to figure out what he’s looking at and see that Hudson’s on the other side of the window, being prevented entrance by Rodriguez who’s apparently guarding the fucking door now. I whip my head around and glare at Carter. “What is this?” I have a question. “Hudson is a friend. Svyerson is a friend. That’s it, that’s all.”

 Carter shakes his head, stepping towards me. “You’re a liar!” “We haven’t been fucking, Carter!” I counter, my voice rising in distress. It’s not a lie, we haven’t, but not from lack of trying on my part. He laughs, and it comes out cold and distant. “Hudson is your friend. I believe that. It’s one of the reasons why he’s not fucking dead already.” “What?” I whisper, dread creeping over my skin as his gaze darkens with malice. “You’re my daughter, Louhi. You forget that I know you.” “Carter… Dad,” I pleaded. “You’ve got to believe me, we’re not together. Put an end to this madness. Now!”

Gripping my arm, he twists me on my feet and pushes me towards the window, pulling up the blind so that I can see the fight more clearly. Hudson sees the movement and shouts at me through the glass. “You alright?” I nod, warning him with my eyes to back off before he gets himself hurt, but it’s Rodriguez who forcibly manhandles him out of the way. Hudson puts up a fight, throwing a punch that hits Rodriguez on the chin and forces him back against the door with a loud crash. “Maybe Hudson has more than just smarts,” Carter says, a note of respect in his voice as Rodriguez retaliates and the pair get into a brawl. “Wonder whether he’d be up to fight in the cage?” “Absolutely not!” I exclaim, moving towards the door so I can break up the fight then put a stop to the one in the cage. 

Carter laughs, snatching my arm and yanking me back against his chest. “Yeah you’re right, I can’t have that pretty head of his losing any brain cells. I think he’ll come in handy down the line.” “Useful how? What are you—?” My question is cut short when Mark appears from the crowd and strides over to the pair, forcibly pulling Hudson off Rodriguez. Hudson’s face is pitted with rage and he spits out a glob of blood before casting his gaze to me. I shake my head, warning him not to continue, but it’s only when Mark drops his mouth to Hudson’s ear that he finally backs off.

 That and the fact Mark has a gun pressed against his side. With one last look at me, Hudson grits his jaw and follows Mark to the other side of the room, disappearing from view. “Carter! What the hell is Mark doing?” I ask, panic crawling beneath my skin. “Don’t worry, Mark won’t shoot him. Like I said, he’s going to come in useful in the future. Mark will escort him home. Make sure he gets back safe and sound,” Carter says, but that doesn’t reassure me in the slightest. It only concerns me more. Hudson’s a good guy. He’s working hard to get himself and his brothers out from beneath the stigma of being a child in care.

 Crime is the road he never wants to walk down. Another roar from the crowd has my gaze snatching back to the cage. Svyerson has just slashed his knife right across Derby’s chest, spilling blood that sprays across the canvas as they continue to fight. “Dad, you’ve got to believe me. End this.” 

“See, here’s the thing, Louhi. I don’t fucking believe you. I know Svyerson touched what’s mine!” he replies sharply, grabbing the back of my neck and forcing me to watch the fight. “Dad…” I plead, hating the way my voice gives me away. This is all my fault. Every part of it. “There’s nothing going on!” But even to my own ears it sounds false. “DON’T BULLSHIT ME!” he roars, squeezing my neck tighter, his fingers digging painfully into my skin. “Now watch the fight!” “Don’t do this,” I argue. Beg, actually.

 “This is for your own good, but if you fight me on this then I will go out there right the fuck now and shoot him in the motherfucking head,” he hisses into my ear. “Do you understand me?” “Yes,” I whisper, giving Svyerson the only chance I can because Carter is many things, but a liar isn’t one of them. Svyerson has to win this fight so that together we can convince Carter he’s wrong. It’s the only chance he has. The only chance we have. As my gaze lands on Svyerson, I silently mouth the words he’d uttered just minutes ago inside the cage, sending a silent prayer to the man I love. “Tales you win, heads you lose, and the fighters of Tales never lose.” He has to win. He has to.

Syverson’s pov

Death is pretty fucking painless when all is said and done. I don’t feel a goddamn thing, not the broken ribs, not the gashes to my arms, chest, back and thighs from the crowbar Derby is wielding so expertly. I don’t feel my broken nose or cracked eye-socket. I don’t feel the bruises  or the deep gash to my head that sent me free-falling into the arms of darkness. I don’t feel anything. But I do hear something. A scream.

A fucking cry of pain so loud, so deafening, that even in the throes of death it drives a hook into my soul and drags me back from the motherfucking light at the end of the tunnel. A light that shouldn’t welcome the likes of me, but does. It comes again, and again and again. Her screams punctuated with my name. 

Sy

 Sy

 Sy

 Svyerson!

 It’s familiar, her voice, and the pain within it is like a fist wrapping around my heart and forcing it to pump faster, harder, until death crawls away and the light fades, leaving me with nothing but excruciating pain and a banging fucking headache. 

Right now, I can do nothing other than feel.

 Feel the pain.

 Feel the bloody canvas beneath my cheek.

 Feel fingers pinch my skin as someone tries to roll me over.

 Feel a heart breaking open with every second I don’t respond.

 “Svyerson, please wake up!”

 Darlin.

 Saoirse.

 But try as I might, I can’t fucking move.

I can barely fucking breathe. I’m incapable of anything other than holding on to her voice, using it to ground me, to lure me back to consciousness, one painful breath at a time. More noise filters into my brain that’s rapidly trying to make sense of the situation. Memories piece together as the sound of a man yelling at everyone to get the fuck out rings in the air.  It’s Dom. Deeper voices merge with the cacophony of sound, Saoirse’s sobs a burden as she lies across my back, pawing at me now. Yet I remain still, weighted down by her grief.

 Fuck knows I want to reassure her, I want to tell her that I’m alive, that I’ve survived the single hardest fight of my life, but that would be a lie. The biggest fight is yet to come. So I lay here instead, on the blood-splattered canvas, and wait for my other senses to return one by one, drawing on every last drop of strength left in my body and gathering it together so I can do what  I must and protect the woman I love. After sound and touch, scent returns. 

The smell of blood, metallic and meaty. I’m surrounded by the stench of it. Fucking choking on it. Next it’s sight. Spots of color invade my vision as I slowly crack open my eyes a sliver. The world reappears in shades of red first. There’s blood everywhere, a huge fucking pool of it that I’m lying in. But as I focus, trying to ignore the metallic stench of butchered flesh, my gaze falls to a wide-eyed Derby, his sightless eyes unseeing, the knife I impaled him with sticking out of his gut, the serrated edge making mincemeat of his bowels. Didn’t stop him from bringing down the crowbar on my head though. The last thing I remember is blood spurting from his lips before the world went black. He’s dead. I’m the victor. Except I’m not. Not yet. Because our fight was just a show, a fucking good one at that, given death had me in its grasp only moments ago and Derby has stepped into the afterlife. The King wanted Derby dead for fucking his wife and Carter wanted me dead for loving his daughter. They both needed revenge. Looks like I fucking delivered, at least partly. “Remove the bodies. Get this shit cleaned up,” I hear Carter order, his voice a cold, unyielding hammer to my painful head. “Yes, boss,” Dom replies, the heaviness of his voice as painful to hear as Saoirse’s distress is. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he was gutted by my apparent death.

“Get the fuck away from him!” Saoirse yells, her weight pushing off of me as she stands. I watch through slitted lids as she strides towards Carter, gun in hand, oblivious to the fact I’m not actually dead. Not fucking yet, anyway. She’s holding a gun, and that makes me feel so much better because fuck knows I’ve been worrying about her from the moment she stepped out of the cage with Carter. I’d lost sight of her almost immediately, too busy trying not to fucking die and knowing that I had to win this fight in order to keep her safe from him. Except she isn’t safe. She never will be whilst he remains alive. “Lower the gun, Louhi!” Carter demands. “There’s no need for dramatics. Everyone’s fucking gone.” “Fuck you, Carter!” she replies, refusing to do as he demands. Good girl. Rodriguez, the King and Dom are standing just outside of the cage, right in my line of vision. Both the King and Rodriguez are watching this all unfold, neither paying me any attention. Clearly they think I’m dead, just like Saoirse and Carter do. Dom’s gaze however falls to me, his eyes widening a fraction as I blink at him a couple of times, willing him not to rat me out. I’m praying I’ve read him right and he’s going to keep his mouth shut.

 I’ve got one chance at this, and one chance only. He gives me the tiniest nod, then looks away. I make a mental note to buy him a fucking drink when this shit is over. “You’re a fucking monster!” Saoirse yells. I’ve never seen her so enraged, so fucking broken, so radiantly beautiful in her anger.

 I want nothing more than to stand by her side, to back her whilst she takes on her father and any other motherfucker who dares try to control her. Instead, I use these few precious moments to gather my wits and concentrate on mentally checking my body. I hurt, there’s no denying that, but that’s a good thing. Hurting means I’m alive, and that’s all I need to be to end this. “Louhi, lower the gun and behave.”

  “Behave?! Screw you!” Louhi continues, screaming at her father now, her rage undeniable. “You killed him!” Carter shakes his head. “No, he did that all by himself by fucking you and fucking me over. He knew the rules. He broke them. There was only ever going to be one motherfucking outcome. Betray me and die. End of.” “We’ve never fucked!” she screams, lifting the gun and aiming it at Carter’s chest. “Svyerson is loyal, so fucking loyal that he refused to sleep with me even when I offered myself up to him!”

For a moment Carter appears taken aback, then a smile glides across his face. “You think I’m fucking stupid? No man would ever deny themselves a hot piece of ass, so your lies are worthless to me. Svyerson made me a promise, Louhi, and he broke it when he went after you. He betrayed me.” “He didn’t!” Louhi exclaims, her broken voice taking on a hard edge as they circle one another. I watch transfixed, enraptured by the woman who’s snared my heart so thoroughly. She’s a lioness, prowling, baring her teeth at her dad, a man who was willing to sell her to pay off his debts. 

Yeah, he’s that man. Looks like The Crib Club has been a home away from home for Carter over the last six months, and all of Tales’ profits have been sunk into card games and pussy. Turns out the bastard was willing to sell his daughter to the King to clear the debts racked up by his gambling habits and addiction to pleasure. A debt that I will clear the moment I kill the cunt. Carter might be acting holier than thou right now, but he’s the fucking villain, not me, and because of that he won’t live to see another day. The moment he has his back to me, I launch myself upright. Adrenaline and the need to protect the woman I love propelling my feet forward the few paces to rip the knife from Derby’s body and then drive it into Carter’s back, straight through his heart.

He dies instantly. He didn’t see it coming and neither did Saoirse. Her face is a mixture of astonishment and relief as she stares at me, oblivious in the moment that her dad is dead in my arms. Her eyes brim with tears, tears that never fall as relief is quickly replaced with shock, then bewilderment as blood gurgles up Carter’s throat, spilling from his lips. I watch in slow motion, breathing heavily from the exertion and pain as she tries to make sense of what’s happened. Her eyes widen and her body stiffens as realization dawns. Drawing the knife free with one hard yank, I let Carter’s body fall to the canvas with a loud thud. He falls onto his back, blood pumping from the wound and mingling with the viscous pool beneath my feet. “Saoirse,” I murmur, my arms falling to my side as I drop to my knees with exhaustion right beside Carter. His sightless eyes stare up at me, and even though I know he’s dead, I need to make sure. Ripping at his shirt, I pull it open, revealing his bare flesh. Blood oozes from the wound on his chest, streaking down his skin in rivulets. Despite the leaking blood, his chest is still. “Carter?” she whispers, her voice trembling with emotion as her gaze drops to him. “It’s over,” I reply, looking up at her.

She’s pale, ghostly, her mouth hanging open as she blinks with confusion. “Svyerson?” “It’s over,” I repeat. Only that dark part of me, the part that is more Svyerson than man, still needs to prove to her that I’m willing to cut the heart out of any man who dares hurt her, that I’m willing to do whatever the fuck it takes to protect her. So, with a bloodcurdling roar, I stab the knife through Carter’s sternum, using the serrated edge to saw through his bone. She deserves nothing less than his bloody heart, and I’m going to deliver it to her right the fuck now. “Stop!” she shouts, her demand stilling my hand. My head lifts, the rage I feel at the man who so easily wanted to sell his daughter making way for another emotion, empathy. She looks broken. 

Defeated in a way that guts me. I drop my hands from the knife handle, falling back on my arse as I watch the woman I love drop to her knees. “Saoirse, listen,” I reach for her, but she shakes my hand away, flinching from my touch. “Don’t!” “Saoirse…” But the look she gives me quietens me faster than any weapon ever could. “Dad?” she questions, resting the gun on the floor beside her then cupping Carter’s face. “Dad?” Her voice is no more than a whisper as she twists his head to the side, ducking closer to him and ignoring the twelve inch knife sticking out of his brutalized chest. “He’s dead.” My head snaps up as I watch the King step into the cage, followed by Rodriguez and Dom. I’d almost forgotten about them. Rodriguez is uncharacteristically quiet, and Dom gives me a small nod. He’s a smart man, he knows that I would never do something like this if I didn’t have a good fucking reason for it. There will be time for an explanation, but that time isn’t now. “You!” she hisses, grabbing the gun and getting to her feet, aiming it at the King. “This was you!” “No, Saoirse,” I interrupt as I force myself to my feet, readying myself to act if the King decides to go back on his word. Fuck only knows it gets my goat backing the cunt, but this is all part of the deal I made to keep Saoirse safe. “Shut the hell up, Svyerson!” I want to tell Saoirse everything, and I will when I can ensure her safety, but right now I just need to get her through this night without starting a fucking war.

 Keeping Saoirse in the dark for a short time will protect her in the long run. It has to. “You’d be wise to listen to your boyfriend, Louhi,” the King says, unperturbed by the fact she is pointing her gun at his head. “Trust me, Saoirse,” I urged, willing her to see past the carnage. To think and not act this time. At The Crib Club I made my own deal with the King after he revealed Carter’s plans. The King had said that he’d never intended on taking Saoirse for his own, and whilst I didn’t believe a word of it, I was willing to suspend disbelief to get what I wanted for Saoirse. Her security, her safety, and her father’s debt paid in full. All I had to do was kill Derby and Carter. The King would remain a silent business partner, and continue to provide fighters, taking a cut of the profits. In turn he would keep her in business under his protection, and whilst the whole part about him giving her his protection is a bitter pill to swallow, I’m man enough to know that I’m only one man, and one man does not an army make. At least not until Saoirse and I can build one ourselves. And we will.

The caveat to this agreement was that I take full responsibility for killing her dad, hiding the fact that a contract was drawn up between the two men. To be honest, after the King showed me their contract, killing Carter was the easiest fucking decision to make. Not killing the King for agreeing to it, the motherfucking hardest. I don’t like the man. Don’t fucking trust him, and I certainly don’t believe he will keep to his side of the deal, but for the time being I’m willing to let him live so that Saoirse and I can make a plan, and build a fucking army. There will come a day when we’ll both have our revenge, but in the meantime we use him, then take him out when the time is right. “This is on you,” she snarls, her rage fucking beautiful to behold.

 She may be at her most vulnerable right now, but she is fierce, and one day soon she’ll be unstoppable. “This has nothing to do with me,” the King says without even flinching. I’ll give him that, the guy has balls of fucking steel and the best poker face I’ve ever seen. “You’re a liar,” she accuses, her finger tightening over the trigger. “Saoirse, this is on me,” I say, stepping over Carter’s body and standing between her and the King, stumbling a little as my head pounds like a motherfucker.

I fucking hate that I’m in this position, protecting the King, but it’s only temporary. His time will come. “Bullshit. What do you have on Svyerson?” Saoirse presses, stepping to the side, trying to get a clear shot at the King. I move in front of her again and she bares her teeth at me. “Not a thing,” the King replies. “I’m as shocked as you are about how this all panned out.” “Bullshit!” she shouts, fury leaking from her now. “Saoirse, listen,” I say, holding my hands up and trying my fucking best not to pass the fuck out. “This is on me. I’m responsible.” “What?” she asks, snapping her gaze back to me. “I went to Carter this morning about us. I explained everything to him. I tried to make him listen. He wouldn’t.” “And he didn’t kill you the second you told him?” I shake my head. “No. He said if I won the fight tonight then he’d allow us to be together. I took him for his word, Saoirse,” I lied, because I didn’t say a damn thing about us. As far as I was concerned he knew nothing. I only realized that wasn’t the case when he asked Rodriguez to bring the weapons into the cage. Right now I’m not a hundred percent certain which fuck told him, but given the look on Rodriguez’s face, I’m guessing it’s him. “He wanted me dead. That’s why he allowed weapons into the ring. He also wanted a bloodbath, and he fucking got one.” “Yet you survived,” she whispers, sadness brimming in her eyes as she aims the gun at me now.

“Saoirse, what are you doing?” “You killed my dad, Svyerson.” “I had to do it. He would never have allowed us to be together, Saoirse,” I say, covering up the fact that I did it to protect her. That he was the fucking monster ready to sell her off to the King to save his own arse. “And I have to do this,” she replies, her sadness replaced now with a hardness that is so much like her dad it makes my blood run cold. “We can work this out,” I say, watching as she shuts down her emotions one by one. “I will never be respected in this business if I let you walk after what you did.” “Saoirse, I was protecting you!” “Don’t you see, it doesn’t fucking matter. We could’ve found a way around this together, but you chose to murder Carter instead. How can I let that go? Tell me how?” she pleads.

“Darlin, think about this…” Dom says, his voice trailing off when she snatches her head around to look at him. “It’s Louhi to you,” she snarls. “Louhi, listen, you’re in shock,” he says quickly, and the room around me fucking spins as darkness claws at my brain. “Understandably so, but even I can see that Svyerson did what he had to do.” 

“And where does that leave me?” she shouts, her voice cracking. “Carter is dead and the club is mine.” Her gaze flicks back to me now and the anguish in her eyes almost floors me. “It’s too late for me to choose. They’ll walk all over me if I don’t do this. You know that.”

 “No one would dare fuck with you, not with my backing, Louhi,” the King interjects. “I have a reputation enough for the both of us.” “And what makes you think I want your backing, huh? This is my club now,” she snaps. “Well, see, that’s where things get a little complicated,” the King says, and my fucking stomach bottoms out because I know why that is. Carter well and truly fucked the gravy train on this one. “What do you mean?” she asks, the gun moving from my chest back to the King’s.

“In order to get my backing, your father signed over a percentage of the club to me. I now own a forty-eight percent share in the club, and that will remain in place for as long as it is profitable for the both of us or you’re able to raise two million dollars to buy me out.” “Two million dollars? You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” “Those were the terms of our deal, Louhi,” the King says, conveniently leaving out the most important part, that Carter was going to sell her to him to clear his debts and secure the deal. I glance at the King, not liking the way he’s fucking smirking like he assumes she’ll never be able to raise that kind of money. He’s a fool to underestimate her. 

“Or I could just shoot you dead and rip up the contract now,” she replies, bringing a smile to my lips. “I’m feeling particularly trigger happy.” “You could, but we both know that wouldn’t be wise. I have men who know where I am and what time I’m expected back. If I don’t turn up they’ll rain hellfire down on you. You stand alone, Louhi, with one man barely alive.” “She has me too,” Dom says. “Three against two hundred loyal men. You do the math,” the King retorts. I can see the defeat written across her face as she tries hard to figure out what to do. We both know that acting out of passion and anger now will be a mistake.

 She’s smart enough to know that what she needs is time to figure everything out, to make a plan. That’s what I’ve given her, us. Time. “You’re right, it wouldn’t be wise to kill you.” “That’s a good girl,” he replies, the fucking patronising prick. “But don’t for one second think you can walk all over me. I’m not a bleeding heart. I’m a Davidson… No, I’m Louhi and no one fucks with me. Let this be your warning.” “Understood,” the King retorts evenly. She shifts her attention back to me. “I warned you not to break my heart.” 

“I was protecting you!” I protest. “No, killing Carter wasn’t about you protecting me, it was about you protecting yourself and believing that I’m incapable of finding a solution to a problem that affects the both of us.” “That wasn’t what—” I begin, but she cuts me off. “Once again you failed to consider that I had a say in all of this. Me. I don’t need a man to make decisions for me, I need a man who’s willing to stand beside me whilst we find a solution together. You’re just like all the rest.” “Saoirse, you don’t understand…” “Don’t. Not another word, Svyerson.”

“I did this for us, for you. I fucking love you,” I say, willing her to believe me. Needing her to know, if nothing else, that’s the truth. “Love?” she laughs bitterly. “People like you and me don’t get to love.” Then she points her gun at me and pulls the motherfucking trigger.

[elmleif]

While getting ready for bed Saoirse will often stand and stare in amazement at her growing belly in the mirror, usually thinking about how grateful she is that her body allowed her to finally fulfill her dreams of becoming a mother. She used to worry so much about the toll pregnancy may take on her body, but now she feels stronger and more beautiful than ever knowing her body is growing and nurturing a life other than her own.

[leilawhittaker]

MMCU + Fic Covers!

Mirror Mirror, an Avengers fic starring Leila Whittaker

ft. Hayden Christensen as Clint Barton and Evan Rachel Wood as Natasha Romanoff

The Other Side of the War, a multi-marvel fic starring Rebecca Barnes

Everybody Else’s Girl, a multi-marvel fic starring Jace Barton

ft. Simon Baker as Ulysses Bloodstone and Gratiela Brancusi as Wanda Maximoff

You’re On Your Own, Kid, a multi-marvel fic starring Jace Barton

Out of the Woods, a Black Widow fic starring Alex Romanoff

Dancing With Our Hands Tied, a Thor: Ragnarok fic starring Alex Romanoff

New York Minute, a Doctor Strange-Spider-Man fanfic starring Saoirse, Aiden and Haven Hendrix

ft. Naomi Scott as OC Sita Strange, Thomas Doherty as Harry Osborn, and Nicola Coughlan as Gwen Stacy

The Lightbringer Legacy, a Defenders fic starring Jezebel Murdock

ft. Andre Dae Kim as Danny Rand and Holland Roden as @notaboutcat's OC and my goddaughter Tessa Nolan

On Each Other’s Team, a fic loosely inspired by Agents of SHIELD starring Riley Branson and Vira Kovaleva

ft. Natasha Liu Bordizzo as Daisy Johnson

Apres Moi, Le Deluge, an Inhumans fic starring Cassia Amaquelin

The Edge of Glory, a Guardians of the Galaxy fic starring Adira Dragozera and Lyra Dash

Sound & Fury, an Ant-Man fic starring Lydia Forbes

BONUS:

Gods and Monsters, a prequel fic going over Leila’s backstory pre-SHIELD

Mirror, Mirror: The Ultimate Guide, aka the wattpad fic I use to post playlists etc

TAGLIST: @arrthurpendragon @notaboutcat (lmk if you'd like to be added!

Credit:

Adelaide Kane png

Barbie Ferreira png

[fierce-in-the-forest]

FFXIV Write Day 16, Third Rate

It wasn’t that Char didn’t love her sister. She did. More than anyone in the world. It was more that Char….she didn’t quite have the words to express what she was feeling. The witch knew though. Char felt Y’shtola’s eyes on her everywhere she went, whether the witch was actually physically present or not. The witch knew that which Char could not put a name to.

Saoirse was beautiful, confident. She walked through life almost as if on a cloud, like nothing could touch her, able to command whatsoever she chose with a snap of her fingers and a kind turn of the tongue. Char was….not that. The twins were identical in physical appearance only. When Char looked in the mirror, she didn’t see beauty. She saw ugly, she saw someone that didn’t belong. Confidence was not a virtue that existed with Char’s skill tree, nor did she have the ability to command anything—minus the flight of her arrow directly into the target she sought. Her mother Alannah told her she was the best huntress since, well, Alannah.

Saoirse couldn’t hunt. In the slightest. So Char had that going for her at least. She wasn’t last place in EVERYTHING.

“What are you doing up here?” Alannah appeared over the edge of the roof and pulled herself up to sit beside Char. The roof was both of their favorite places.

“Thinking.” Char still didn’t have words to say everything that needed to be said.

“You will be fantastic in the hunt tomorrow, if that is your concern.” Alannah patted Char’s knee.

This was not Char’s concern. She had never been as confident as she was that she would win the hunt, a hunt her mother had started many years ago as a way to bring her viera traditions to Doma. They would go into the wood and the one to return with the biggest catch would win the prize. “I will win,” she told her mother proudly. “I am certain of this. You have taught me well.”

“You did not need me,” Alannah replied. “You had the gift all on your own.”

They were quiet for a few moments before Char got the bravery to ask, “Mother? Have you ever felt like you did not belong?”

Alannah pursed her lips for a moment as she clearly considered the correct things to say. “I…have,” she hesitated, “many moons ago in my tribe. They did not understand the person I wanted to be. But I have your father now, and you girls. And our people. It took time, to figure out how I fit within the world.”

Char nodded slowly. “How will I figure it out? When will I know?”

“You fit with me,” Alannah said gently, taking her hand. “And with your father, and your sister. Your place is with us.”

Char was not so sure. She decided then and there that she would ask the witch, someday. That she would find her answers.

“If you would like to talk about—“

“That’s okay.” Char stood and dusted off the rear of her hunting smock. “I must prepare for the hunt.”

She grasped the top of the roof and swung down, leaving her mother behind.

[valiant-portabella-pirkko]

Saoirse, Champion of Soul

Regrowth AU vs Flourish AU

Revenant (Vindicator) -> Guardian (Firebrand)

What if one choice could change the world? What if when you looked into the mirror of time, you could not recognize the face on the other side? She could have been the hero. She could have saved the world.

She could have been one of a set of three. But this is not that world.

In one reflection, she would burn as brightly as the flames she wielded, a Guardian, a protector of any who needed her shield and blazing, furious power. Where darkness stirred, she would bring the light. And so she would be chosen by the winding paths of fate, and become so much more than a Champion of the Pale Tree; one day, she would fight alongside Aurene. The light they shared would bring hope to Tyria when all seemed lost. Not even the deepest, darkest nightmare could stand before the shine that comes from within.

Yet, in the other, pain and loss would turn her flames caustic and sharp, fueled by a raw power that not even the finest technology could contain. This would be the Saoirse who knows only how to run-- to charge forward into calamity, and leap from the ashes her choices leave behind. The blades that should bring hope would instead herald a darkness so much greater and more terrible than her. She, too, would be chosen by an Elder Dragon-- for better and for worse. A shining beacon, stifled into the deepest shadow.

Yet no matter her history, one constant remains.

The three will meet again... And they will change the world.

[littlelostmabari]

Chapter 8: Breaking Faith and Other Things (Part I)

In which Varric spins a tale, Saoirse accepts some things, and Saoirse meets her first Fade spirit. Sort of.

AO3 Link Here. Notes under the cut.

"I'm telling you, both of you, that this is a terrible idea. Carver, Bethany, and I owed Flemeth a life-debt, or we never would have helped her. Nothing good can come from meddling with Chasind witches." “Isn’t that how Daisy ended up in Kirkwall? Helping you with that trip?”  “Yes, Varric,” Hawke snapped, finally brushing Anders aside. “Since then, she’s been holed up in the alienage, obsessed with that damned mirror and magic she barely understands. Merrill, Carver, Bethany,” she paused for a moment to choke back a strangled cough, “Mother — anyone who crossed paths with Flemeth is worse off for it.” She turned to Saoirse. “Why not just say you’re an apostate from Ferelden?” “Because the last time we had one of those in this merry band of misfits, they ended up in the Gallows.”

This collection of chapters wasn't going to exist but I realized I had to add some additional scenes to make sure the introduction to Carver & Cullen made sense (In "To the Gallows, the Long Way ‘Round").

I also I really wanted to flesh out Anders' and Hawke's personalities a little bit. Hawke is protective of her found family to a fault, because she's essentially lost her blood family.

Carver and Bethany are alive. They'll be here soon, I promise.

[mischiefandmedicine]

Very Full - Chapter 16: The Night We Met

Summary: Melara returns home and reflects on her life.

Word Count: 3,244 words.

Chapter Warnings: Angst, sadness, talk of pain.

Soundtrack Link

This Chapter's Music Inspiration:

The Night We Met by Lord Huron

Very Full MASTERLIST

Previous Chapter

A/N: Reminder that I do not own the rights to the lyrics. Yes, I connect the story a lot to songs. I enjoy the idea of a life soundtrack.

Let me know if you would like to be added to the taglist!

In the shadowed corners of the Avengers compound, amidst the hum of ceaseless vigilance, there lingered a softer, more human melody. It was in these hallowed halls that Saoirse, young and wide-eyed, watched her Melara grapple with an existence that was at once both radiant and ravaging. Even at her tender age, Saoirse sensed the undercurrent of sorrow that threaded through her mother’s days, a silent partner to the chronic pain that never quite receded into the background. And her argument with Loki only seemed to make matters worse.

Melara, whose spirit was as vibrant as the music she conjured from the depths of her being, carried her affliction with a grace that belied the tears Saoirse often caught glistening in her eyes. The pain, a cruel tax levied upon her mother’s every breath, seemed to fuel a creative fire that blazed through the notes and lyrics of her songs. To the world, Melara’s music had soared, a phoenix rising with wings unfurled from the ashes of her suffering, gaining adoration and acclaim as it climbed the charts.

Yet, for Saoirse, the music was a double-edged sword. It was the lullaby that had rocked her to sleep, the anthem of her childhood. But it was also the siren song that heralded the slow unraveling of her mother. Melara’s melodies were spun from the threads of her agony, and they shimmered with a beauty that was heartrending. The more Melara’s fame grew, the more her songs resonated with souls across the globe, the heavier the toll it seemed to take on her.

Saoirse, though only seven, bore the heavy mantle of the silent observer from the comfort of their space within the compound. She had neither the words nor the means to articulate the helplessness that gnawed at her small heart. She could only watch, her violet eyes a mirror to the torment and triumph that warred within her mother.

The days melded one into the other, each marked by Melara’s fierce determination to rise to the demands of her flourishing career despite her condition. Her mother would smile, would perform, would shine under the spotlight – only to return to their quarters with a pallor that makeup no longer concealed and a weariness that sleep could not cure. Saoirse would listen to the soft sobs that escaped from behind the bathroom door, the sound muffled by the rush of water and the walls that stood between them. Occasionally, Saoirse could swear she even heard her father’s name escape from her mother’s lips in her sleep, a fever dream she had every night, no matter how good the day.

Saoirse understood, in her own way, that her mother was fighting a battle that went beyond the physical. Melara was striving to leave a legacy, to carve out a piece of eternity through her art, perhaps to defy the impermanence that her illness whispered of in the dark hours.

Yet, for all her mother’s strength, there was an ever-present shadow that lurked behind the smiles and the curtain calls – a specter that grew bolder with each passing day. It was a shadow that Saoirse, young as she was, recognized as the harbinger of loss. Try as she might, Saoirse’s magic was not strong enough to summon her own father to rescue her mother from the torment.

The compound, with its heroes and its healers, became the stage upon which Melara’s dual life played out. And in the midst of it all was Clint, the quiet sentinel who watched over both mother and daughter. His presence was a constant, a reminder of the life that continued beyond the confines of fame and pain.

In those days, the compound was more than a refuge; it was a witness to the cost of greatness to the price of a mother’s love, and to the silent understanding of a child who saw too much too soon. It was a place where Saoirse learned the language of unshed tears and unspoken fears, where she came to understand the resonance of her mother’s music, and where she first glimpsed the inexorable approach of an ending that seemed written in the stars.

In the wake of her tempestuous farewell to Loki, Melara found herself adrift in the quiet aftermath, her emotions as raw as an open wound. The Avengers compound, once a bastion of strength and solace, now echoed with the hollow remnants of her shattered connection. It was there, following a shared song with Clint, whose empathetic ear and gentle strumming offered a semblance of peace amidst the silent chorus of her own heartbreak.

But the respite was fleeting. The next day, the call to return home to Wisconsin, to the roots and the reality of her life before the grandeur of stages and the acclaim of crowds, loomed over her. It was a homecoming tinged with disquiet, a journey back to the origins of her dreams, now colored by the fatigue that clung to her like a shadow. She would return to the place where she met Loki, the place where Saoirse was born, and above all, the place where she had fallen in love with the disjointed family that they had created.

The flight back to Wisconsin, though, was a quiet affair, Melara’s gaze often drifting to the clouds beyond the window of their private jet, lost in the thoughts she could not voice. Saoirse, ever perceptive, nestled close to her mother, sensing the unease that vibrated through her. With a tenderness that reversed their roles, Melara soothed her daughter, her gentle caresses and whispered assurances painting a veneer of normalcy over the canvas of her anxiety as Saoirse laid her head in Melara’s lap.

Evelyn, the matriarch whose wisdom and love had shaped Melara into the force of nature she was, awaited them at the airport. Her keen eyes, missed nothing, noting the telltale signs of her daughter’s weariness. With Saoirse in tow, she offered a warm embrace, her words for her granddaughter laced with a knowing that spoke volumes.

“She looks tired, doesn’t she?” Evelyn whispered to Saoirse, careful to keep her observations from reaching Melara’s ears. It was a dance they had perfected over time, a way to acknowledge the struggle without adding to its weight.

Saoirse, nestled against her grandmother, merely nodded looking up at her, her young heart aching with the understanding that her mother’s vibrancy was dimming, the flame that had once burned so brightly now flickering uncertainly.

The return to Wisconsin was bittersweet. Melara’s smile, as she breathed in the familiar air, was genuine, but it was a joy tempered by the knowledge of what – and who – she had left behind. In her mother’s house, surrounded by the artifacts of her past, including the one picture anyone had of her with Loki and Saoirse, Melara seemed to walk the line between gratitude for her roots and the restlessness of a soul that had tasted the stars.

As night fell, Melara tucked Saoirse into bed, her voice soft and soothing as she sang Saoirse’s Asgardian lullaby for what seemed like the millionth time. It remained a part of their bedtime routine as a mother’s promise to her child that, no matter the storms that raged, her love would remain an unshakable fortress.

Evelyn watched from the doorway, her heart heavy with the silent knowledge that her daughter was battling more than just the exhaustion of travel and the demands of fame. There was a deeper weariness in Melara’s eyes, one that spoke of battles fought in the depths of her soul, of love lost and the relentless march of time.

As Melara kissed Saoirse goodnight, her touch lingered, a silent prayer that the dawn would bring renewed strength and clarity. And in the quiet of the house, as the echoes of Melara’s lullaby faded into the night, the three generations of strong women found solace in the shared sanctuary of family, a bond that time, distance, and even the gods themselves could not sever.

Melara and Evelyn retreated from the sanctity of Saoirse’s room, heading for the living room that was steeped in the soft glow of evening. They settled into the well-worn couch, an island in the midst of family photos and mementos of a life rich with memories. Evelyn’s gaze, filled with the weight of unspoken concern, found her daughter’s weary face.

“Love, you’re pushing yourself too hard,” Evelyn began, the words wrapped in the warmth of maternal care, yet firm with the insistence of one who knows the toll of overextension. “As a widow who raised two kids by herself, I can tell when someone is overdoing it. Why not stay here for a while after the concert? The compound isn’t going anywhere.”

Melara’s laugh was a shadow of its usual mirth, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the edge of a cushion. The layers of makeup did little to mask the tell-tale signs of fatigue that her mother’s keen eyes so easily discerned. “Mom, I’m fine,” she lied, a practiced smile dancing on her lips. But Evelyn was not to be dissuaded.

 “I can see it, Melara. The way you move, the hollowness in your eyes. Something’s not right, and I think you know it too,” Evelyn pressed, her voice a tender yet unyielding force. “Do those fancy Avengers doctors even know what they’re doing?”

The dam within Melara cracked, her defenses waning in the face of her mother’s astute observation. She could not fight with her mother. “I’ve been feeling drained, mom. The pain is never-ending now and even sleep has become a stranger to me,” she confessed, the veneer of strength crumbling.

Evelyn reached out, her hand enveloping Melara’s. “Singing shouldn’t be a crutch, love. It’s your gift, but it should not be done at the expense of your health.”

Melara’s eyes, so often a wellspring of determination, now glistened with the sheen of vulnerability. “It’s the only thing besides Saoirse that’s keeping me going. If not for the music, I’d have nothing to counter this…this endless ache.”

They sat in silence, the generational divide bridged by a shared understanding of suffering and the solace found in art. Evelyn, her heart heavy with a mother’s love, sought the words that might anchor her daughter to the shores of rest and recovery.

“Think of it this way: you need to be with family. We can take care of you too, Melara. Let Saoirse spend time with her cousins, let her feel the roots that ground us all. The world can wait, but this,” Evelyn gestured to the walls that contained the essence of their family, “this is where you can heal.”

The conviction in her mother’s voice was the balm Melara hadn’t known she needed. It was a permission of sorts, an affirmation that stepping back from the limelight was not a retreat but a necessary respite. After moments that stretched like lifelines, Melara nodded, acquiescing to the wisdom her mother offered.

 “Alright, Mom. We’ll stay a while,” she agreed, her voice a murmur that carried the weight of her world.

Evelyn pulled her into an embrace, one that spoke of homecoming and the quiet strength that the bonds of family provided. Melara allowed herself to be held, to be comforted in the arms that had always been her sanctuary.

As the night deepened around them, the two women remained in the living room, their conversation a delicate dance of hope and healing. And for the first time in what felt like an eternity, Melara allowed herself to imagine a life not dictated by the demands of burgeoning powers, but by the simple rhythms of home.

With the stillness of Evelyn’s Wisconsin home, under the watchful gaze of family history, Melara and Evelyn forged a new understanding, an agreement that anchored Melara to the present, to the promise of days filled with familial love and the gentle respite of her mother’s house. It was a promise of tomorrow, a vow to face the uncertainties not alone, but with the strength of generations that flowed through their veins.

After much talking, the comforting words and the warmth of the embrace from her mother, Melara excused herself under the pretext of needing fresh air, but the truth was, she sought solitude with the night. The porch, bathed in the soft glow of the moon, became her refuge, the guitar her only companion as she settled into the wicker chair that had known many such nights.

Her fingers strayed over the strings, a familiar song bubbling to the surface, one that spoke of love, loss, and the bitter sweetness in between – a song that Loki had once said captured the essence of the stars. As she began to play, the melody filled the silent expanse around her, the notes a poignant echo of the life she had built and the love that still lingered in the recesses of her heart.

I am not the only traveler, Who has not repaid his debt. I’ve been searching for a trail to follow again, Take me back to the night we met. And then I can tell myself, What the hell am I supposed to do? And then I can tell myself, Not to ride along with you. I had all and then most of you, Some and now none of you. Take me back to the night we met. Haunted by the ghost of you, Oh, take me back to the night we met. When the night was full of terrors, And your eyes were filled with tears. When you had not touched me yet, Oh, take me back to the night we met. I had all and then most of you, Some and now none of you. Take me back to the night we met. Haunted by the ghost of you, Oh, take me back to the night we met. But as the song progressed to the last notes, thinking of Loki and their epic story, a sudden sharp twang cut through the melody. Melara paused, looking down in the dim light to see a string snapped, its frayed end the result of the tension that had built unnoticed. A wry teary smile touched her lips – the guitar had its limits, it seemed. Her fingers brushed against the broken string, and she flinched; the metal was unexpectedly hot to the touch, as though her own inner turmoil had transferred to the instrument.

The broken string, the heat from her touch – they were more than just physical occurrences. They were metaphors for her life, for the path she had walked upon, where the fire within her threatened to consume not just her own peace but also the things, and the people she cherished. She was losing control.

A wave of emotions crashed over her, the memories of Loki’s face against the backdrop of stars upon his throne, the sound of his voice, their last conversation – it all rushed back with a vengeance. The song she played, once a calm to her soul, now felt like a dirge for something she feared was slipping away. The heat from her fingers, a cruel reminder of her condition, and the fire that burned within her – sometimes a beacon, sometimes an uncontrollable inferno.

With a sigh, she set the guitar aside, the silence more fitting company to her thoughts. She wrapped her arms around herself, the night air cool against her skin, a stark contrast to the warmth that still radiated from her fingertips. In the quiet of the night, with the broken guitar string a tangible representation of her fractured reality, Melara looked up at the sky, allowing herself to grieve – for what was and what could no longer be.

In the stillness of the night in her hometown, on the porch of the house where she had grown up, Melara made a silent vow. A vow to fight, to hold on, not just for Saoirse or for the music that defined her, but for herself. Because even with a broken string, the song was not over; the melody remained, waiting to be reborn from the ashes of the moment.

As she rose to return inside, the porch seemed to hold her for a moment longer, the night whispering its own silent song of resilience. Tomorrow, she would face her mother, her daughter, and the world. But tonight, she faced herself, her own heart, and the haunting melody of a love that refused to be quelled by distance, duty, or the ravages of time.

***

Loki, his features softened by the cosmic dimness that surrounded them, turned towards Saoirse, a question in his eyes, mirroring the brightness of the stars above. “Why,” he began, his voice carrying the stories he wished to tell of Melara, “did you find yourself drawn to the shadows, listening in on your mother’s solitary moments?”

Saoirse, reflecting the resilience she had inherited, met his gaze with an unflinching honesty. “The shadows were where the unspoken truths lay hidden,” she replied, her voice steady. “In the light, Mom was invincible, the star that outshone the darkness. But in the shadows, she was human, vulnerable. I needed to understand her, all of her, not just the brilliant façade she showed the world.”

Loki considered her words, a flicker of understanding crossing his features. “And what did you find in those shadows, daughter?” he asked, the title ‘daughter’ hanging between them like a bridge over the vast chasm of time they had lost.

“I found strength, even in her tears,” Saoirse said. “I found that the same fire that burned in her music burned in her spirit – it hurt her, but it also made her Melara Grace Brandt…my mother. I eavesdropped not to uncover secrets, but to know her heart. To hear the lullabies of her soul that weren’t captured in her songs.”

Loki’s expression softened, the mask of the god slipping to reveal the father beneath. “You carry her fire,” he observed, the pride evident in his tone. “And her heart. You are as much a part of her story as she is of yours.”

Saoirse nodded, a silent acknowledgment of the bond they shared through Melara. “Her music was her legacy, but her struggles, her quiet moments, they were her gifts to me. They taught me that even stars feel the cold of space, that even the brightest light can falter. I needed to see her humanity to accept my own.”

The god of mischief, known for his silver tongue and grand tales, found himself at a loss for words, once again, at the hands of his beloved daughter. In his daughter’s revelations, he saw the reflection of Melara’s essence, the very things that had drawn him to her in the cosmic dance of their lives.

 “Then you have seen what many fail to see in a lifetime,” Loki finally said, his voice carrying a reverence that was rare and true. “You have witnessed the entirety of a person, the light, and the shadows, and loved them all the same. I hope that someday you will see the same in me.”

Saoirse, with the wisdom of one who has been beyond the veil of illusion, simply nodded. They sat together, father and daughter, united in their understanding of the woman who had changed their worlds forever. In the silence, filled with the music of the cosmos, they found solidarity, a moment of peace in the tumultuous narrative of their lives. For they both knew what came next.

---

Taglist: @mischief2sarawr

[quinnthebard]

WIP Wednesday :)

A snippet from Like the Dawn, my funky little eighth umbral calamity au thingy? AO3 Summary:

At the world's darkest, just past the events of the Eighth Umbral Calamity, G'raha Tia spends his days surviving. No one woke him up with a plan, the Ironworks crew having not survived long enough to devise such ideas or mechanisms. The world is lost and hope's light snuffed out.Or so he thought until he peered into his mirror and saw her, an echo of someone he knew long ago. Suddenly, an ember thought long dead, rekindled. Reincarnation is a myth right?Then, like the dawn, hope rises and his destiny takes a turn he hadn't foreseen.

The rustle of the reeds from the near barren lake’s shore feels ominous. A wind stirs. The hairs on her arms stand tall. Instinctively, she reaches a hand towards her weapon and she looks around and sniffs the air, the intense scent of ozone, of aether making her nose wrinkle.

Hear…

Saoirse’s heart pounds. Hear wha—

A scream pierces the sky and she runs.

It can’t be very far. The scream was so loud. The soles of her feet pound against the ground, her chest feels—

Feel…

—heavy, breaths shallow and she has to focus in order to keep them long and strong. Another shriek, closer, she thinks.

Think…

Resolution sets in and her fists clench. Exertion is taking its toll on her stamina but still she pushes onward until she reaches a small cavern, its crystalline formations a mix of the familiar blue and the out of place orange uncommon to the rest of Mor Dhona as known to her. On the ground, a child cowers and quivers in the face of a beast or—

—a nightmare more like.

Her blood runs cold at the sight of it. It’s hulking mass was a void of the deepest night. Light can not escape its darkness. Its limbs are barely identifiable within its miasma and the sanguine glow of its eyes felt unnatural. Whatever it is, it commands attention and power. Frozen, she stares, hands useless at her sides. Resting, holstered on her back, her bow is useless but for the first time she’s petrified, well and truly.

Surrender not, my child.

That voice. Saoirse feels like she should know it. It’s comforting, feels like a warm embrace. Caressing her, it floats on the breeze, seemingly audible to only her and with it, the strength to reach back and knock an arrow, taking aim at the creature threatening an innocent child.

A deep breath, steady aim, right at the heart. Or what she assumes is.

Look thee to the Light.

Exhale. Release.

Her quarry roars, rearing tall on its hind legs. The arrow struck true.

“Run!”

The child, a young elezen, whips to look at her, eyes wide and red from crying. He needs comfort but there’s no time. “Run, I said! You must leave! Hide!”

But the child hesitates and, taking advantage of the opportunity, the beast lunges.

It is like time has slowed. Saoirse has no time, yet an eternity to react. Her instinct fuels her, she knows what will happen and what must be done to protect the innocent. And so she does.

First, she reaches to her waist and yanks her knife from its holster. In desperation, she throws. It’s unpracticed but effective. The blade does little damage but it successfully pulls attention to her. Another roar, deafening. Her heart pounds.

Deep breaths.

Again, she knocks an arrow, watching as this time the beast bounds straight for her.

Feel…

Wait. Patience. She must have patience. Darkness incarnate races towards her; its fists pound into the ground impatient to instead impact with her flesh.

Think…

It’s close now. She can smell its rancid, foul odor. Its bitter, much like its heart must be. Just a bit more. Her arm aches from holding her position but then finally—finally—it is time.

Exhale. A silent prayer. Release.

The arrow flies true, leaving an otherworldly trail of light in its wake until it strikes the fiend in the eye, driving in deeply. It takes her a moment to register the scent of ozone that lingers but then she realizes—aether. Her suspicions are confirmed when the arrow bursts felling the beast, its shriek of pain stopping in an instant. The world falls silent with it, all is still except for the heaving of her chest as she processes what just happened.

Then there’s the sound of something falling to the crystalline ground, delicately tinkling until it settles. Verdant eyes search until she spies what caused it. There, just ahead, near the body of the beast lies a crystal. It is completely different from that which makes up Mor Dhona. It is not simply a piece broken from the star, left to crumble but instead a seemingly crafted vessel of sorts. It glows gently.

She chews her lip in thought as she approaches, worrying it between her teeth. Saoirse is unsure what to make of it but it seems to call to her. Words echo, deafening yet silent. It speaks to her directly to her mind.

Hesitantly she reaches out and as her fingers touch its smooth, strangely warm surface, her vision goes black.

[egglantine23]

DC Titans Part 1

Ok so I actually watched Titans a while ago but I’m seeing it a lot more on tik tok and I have been thinking about it quite a bit lately because of it. so before I get into whatever is in my brain

1. I really don't like Titans as a show, I only watched the first season and already I did not like it. like the final “battle” (if you could even call it that) was basically a very boring argument between a girl and her dad.

2. while I wasn't a fan of his character before the show, I am now and I really don't like how Jason Todd is treated in the show.

so now because I have been thinking about this I have been sort of rewriting Titans in my head so I'm here to get those thoughts out. 

ill start with Jason, I cant do much about the first season and frankly I don't know enough about trigon or the story to care, so sadly we are keeping it because i think its a good jumping off point for what i want to do. so when ever Titans stuff is discussed Jason gets really exited and happy him being apert of something gives him joy and yes he can get carried away, he’s a street kid from Gotham probably the only safe place for him was in public spaces and he probably was raised by the prostitutes and homeless people of the area. so I think his motivation is more trying to find a home that doesn't reject him.

so first of all Jason is a HUGE book nerd, his favorite book is Pride & Prejudice for crying out loud, so he didn't know how long he would be staying in San Francisco so he only brought like 7 books. I know that seams like a lot but I headcannon him to be able to read like a long chapter book in like 2 or 3 days. so he doesn't have his normal library with him. now I am going to introduce a OC that I made named Saoirse, she’s a girl he met when he first went to the fancy school in Gotham after getting adopted by Bruce. She was a foreign exchange student from Ireland and ill make a separate post about her after this one.

Jason and Saoirse have been friends for a long time and for his first few months in San Francisco they didn’t talk but after the hole trigon thing he starts to talk to her again. she knows he is Robin and Bruce is kind of ok with it because she is a blue Lantern in training. anyway he talks to her about all the stuff going on in San Francisco and to surprise him she sends a care package with a couple books, snacks, and some bookmarks. Dick sees Jason bring the package into his room and follows him, and because its Titans probably thinking the worst.

Dick sees Jason on a video call with Saoirse and opening the package getting really exited about the new books and she even got him a copy of the book there book club is reading. after the call ends Dick makes his presence known asking who Saoirse is. Jason starts acting defensively trying to get Dick out of his room. it ends with Jason telling him that she’s his friend and even a little bonding moment between the two. in the scene I want to show how smart Jason actually is with questions about books and we start to really get to know Jason.

now I’m still going to go the Deathstrock route because I want drama with Rose and Saoirse. so after Jason almost dies he doesn't talk to Saoirse for a little bit. but after starting his relationship with Rose he calls her and one apologizes for the radio silence he was depressed, she understands and validates his emotions wile still telling him that she is always able to talk to him LIKE A GOOD FREIND WOULD, excitedly he tells her about Rose and how he wishes she where here so he could introduce them. and she informs him that she was planning on flying to San Francisco that night and stay at a friend's place in order to surprise him.

now from my very limited exposure to Titans season 2 I know that the team breaks up at some point and that Rose and Jason are very toxic. so Saoirse arrives before the team breaks up but after the crosses on the mirrors incident. I think when Jason told Rose that Saoirse was coming she made a scene about how he’s never talked about this Saoirse before. I think she does this in front of everyone else and they gang up on him for nothing. he basically stays quiet and says when lunch is and that he need to pick Saoirse up from the airport leaving.

him and Saoirse go to the lunch they had planned and Rose doesn't show up they end up eating anyway and they decide to go back to Titans tower because Jason just assumes Rose wasn't feeling very good. when they get there the team try to confront Jason, its worth noting the Titans don't notice Saoirse there,   saying things like “who is this Saoirse girl”, “why is he keeping secrets”, and I think hank would make some rude remark about Saoirse pretty much based on nothing.

that's when Saoirse makes herself known and introduces herself. now before this we don't see a lot of Saoirse just her voice bit her look has been obscured  so this is sort of a reveal scene. she is a 5 foot tall girl with frizzy bright red hair, cute gold glasses that look strait out of a fantasy book, a brightly colored crochet cardigan over a cottagecore, witchy outfit and red lace up leather boots her grandfather made her.

I think this is when Dick enters the scene and politely invites her in while everyone is getting over the initial shook of the moment. they sit on the couch and talk Saoirse answers questions like how she knows Jason by Gar, I think Dawn would ask her questions that bring up the fact she is a pagan witch, she lives in Ireland buts stays on her grandfathers farm for most of the summer, and her love of crochet and books. Rose shows up Jason introduces her to Saoirse but Rose stays quiet for a little bit before asking about the ring on her finger. Jason is a little alarmed by this and makes a small inoffensive comment about Rose skipping any introduction. Saoirse says its fine revealing her blue lantern ring and showing it to Rose and the group.

Kori probably says something about how she’s heard of a Green and Red Lantern but not a Blue one. this prompts Saoirse into explaining all about the Blue Lanterns, a topic she is very interested in. someone probably asks if she’s a hero and she says something like “No. No. No. No, I could never be a vigilante like any of you guys or Hal or John or... does Guy count, yea he counts. I’d cant use my ring like a green lantern could and even if I could I’d much rather teach than fight bad guys.” now most of the Titans didn’t know Saoirse knew they where vigilantes and the mood sours and she continues “OH! I forgot, yea I know who you guys are, John one of the green Lanterns told me, I hope that's ok.” 

this calms some people down and I think Donna says something like its fine and that Diana trusts John so she will to. after Dinner Saoirse goes back to the place she is staying and there is some talk around Titans about Jason’s friend. Jason probably tries to talk to Rose about what happened but she avoids the topic and it ends in a small fight. Jason and sometimes Gar leave and hangout with Saoirse. Jason invites Rose but she declines overtime, and because i think Jason is actually trying in this relationship he tries to politely confront Rose about this but it always ends in a fight, Rose ignoring the topic, or Rose trying to distract from the topic.

I have more but this is really long so this is part 1

[spreadyourwingsc]

Sy and Saoirse. Chapter 10 

Summary: Sy and Saoirse figure their way through their relationship, before, during and after Sy is deployed.

Disclaimer: This is the first story I have ever written and published. Captain Syverson is not my own.  Saoirse is, I don’t intend to offend anyone or anyone's culture with my story, if you feel that this content belongs to you or anyone else, please let me know and I will delete it. This is purely fiction and not an actual representation of things!

TW: This story contains: violence, attempted SA, PTSD,  strong language and mature scenes, please proceed cautiously, you’d been advised. If there’s something I missed, please let me know

AN: I’m open to any suggestions and advice, I don’t know where the story is going yet, but if you want to help me write it, or better it!Please let me know!

TW for his chapter: PTSD, Anxiety, war flashbacks. etc

Ringing, he felt his head pounding inside the water, bomb explodings, and yelling, all he could see were dead bodies sinking under him. Ringing, more ringing. louder ringing. 

Sy pulled his head from the water bowl he made on the bathroom sink taking a big gulp of air, chest raising up and down. An alarm ringing coming from the restroom, brought him back to the present moment, and he looked at himself in the mirror for what felt ages. He knew Saorise would wake up soon and go looking for him, but he couldn't move.

“Sy” he heard her sweet voice call out for him

“In here baby,” he couldn't recognize his own voice. Opening the door she saw him standing there, a confused look in her eyes catching his gaze in the mirror.

“I-is everything alright?” “yeah i just-” he pressed his hands to his eyes and shook his head quickly as to get out of the state, she frowned at this, standing behind him wrapping her arms around his waist and kissing behind his shoulder blades. He melted at this. 

“You know you can talk to me” turning to face her, he wrapped his arms around her waist pulling her closer, and kissing her. 

“Tell you what, why don't you and I  go on a date day today” she lights up at this “What do you mean a date day?” she laughed “It means I get to take you to eat, and to walk around the city, and treat you to whatever you’d like, all day, no questions asked” “Sy, you don't have to do that”. she laughed, the mood in the room suddenly shifting to something more cheerful. 

“Heyy, I want to!, plus I have to make up for lost time, don't I” his hands traveled south to grab her booty, and she pushed jokingly on the shoulder.

Quickly after making love one more time, they both got ready for this so called day date, they went to a fancy restaurant to have lunch, and talked about everything and anything. Sy’s mood was shifting every odd time, and this was concerning Saoirse, she could feel something was on his mind, and as much as Sy was trying to hide it. He knew all this happiness was not going to last for long. 

He’s gotten the card this morning, and while he watched her in the distance while they were in line to get fair tickets, she offered to pay them cuz she said he’d already spent too much on her, he was having none of it, but he let her have her moment, while pondering how he was going to break the news to her. 

After winning what seemed to be the biggest hippopotamus plushie and every other random shit, he was carrying all this in one arm , while his other was wrapped around her shoulders. 

“Shit Sy!!, how come you’re so good at all this!” she exclaimed, thinking nothing of it. he laughed

“We train with blindfolds in the military, Sweets” he laughed. “Sweets” she thought, he made up a new nickname for her every other minute, and she loved it. 

“Oh!” she said, realizing the meaning behind what he just said. “Is that,...is that a problem?” He stopped walking to look at her. 

“No, it's…I just never really thought about what you go through when you’re in there, I never really have thought about it, not even with my brothers…”

“It sounds worse than it really is, baby-” He lied.

“No, Sy, it's okay we don't have to talk about it if you don't want to, I was just-” He sighed, he knew it was now or never.

“We need to talk, Sweets”. 

When he was about to confess, the fireworks started and he kissed her. stalling, he thought this moment was just too precious for him to ruin it, he continued to kiss her and ended watching the fireworks show.  When they finally got home, she was too tired to even wait for him. He knew she was mad at him, 

“I'm going to take a shower first”. he just nodded, not even bothering to suggest they share it, instead he just went to his drawer and took the dreaded paper out. 

She got out of the shower without a word and started to look for her pajamas, he cleared his throat, she faced him confused, looking at what he was holding. 

“I have to go back, sweets”. 

--

Thanks for reading!