#the cruelty of being given life only to have it snatched away again on rules beyond them. what if she doesnt want to listen this time?

[trainingdummyrabbit]

my beasts!!! my mysterydungeon beasts!!

this is team relic!! ft Milady the Hisuian Sneasel as the Hero, and Azrah the Hisuian Zorua as the Partner! ^_^

Milady is a bit quiet and stoic, tending to hold a more composed air about her whenever she acts. She proceeds in a very calculated manner, always considering as many outcomes as she can before making a decision. Despite this, in battle she's shockingly reckless, oftentimes taking the forefront even when she doesn't need to. She tends to only account for herself in combat-- meaning she tries to carry the brunt of the load on her own, almost as though she forgets she has teammates. Against her more rational outlook, she's very very stubborn when it comes to jumping to action.

Even so, past her stony demeanor is a bit of an awkwardness. A lot of what comes across as flippancy or composure is simple confusion. She honestly isn't very good at "friendly small talk." ...or any talk at all, really. She's very blunt and to-the-point, simply because she values honesty. If she doesn't know how to react to a situation, chances are she will simply nod with a hum or not respond at all and leave. She gets uncomfortable with that expectancy, and simply chooses to Not Deal With It, and simply do the bear minimum. Act the part.

...which is kind of how she ended up getting tied up in an exploration team with Azrah.

Azrah (or Azzy, for shorthand,) has a very small presence, tending to opt for Curt and Polite in interacting with others, almost as though he's walking on eggshells the entire time. Considerate to a fault, he has a hard time making decisions, causing him to be very softspoken and cowardly. He really does dream big though! Even if dreams like that aren't really for pokemon like him.

Teaming up with Milady was honestly a bit of a split second decision. He thought she'd surely turn him down-- she was so cool and strong, after all! Maybe she was already part of a team or something-- but she didn't. (She had no idea what she was doing or where she was going, but felt a bit too awkward to say anything else after the fact... she didn't really mind anyhow, so... whatever.) A lot of their first interactions were Azrah checking in on her when she was quiet, and Milady deciding what to do and where to go. A bit awkward at first, but they found themselves getting along pretty well pretty fast despite it all. They just kind of... clicked into place, after a while.

There's more, but um, it's very much PMD spoiler territory and that might be important to some folks so. Post Length and Spoiler Warning Readmore Cut ! Woe!!

Azrah's insecurities run a bit deeper than he tends to let on. His nervousness isn't necessarily just due to his meek nature-- though it is at least a part of it-- but it also has a lot to do with Himself as an individual. Hisuian Zoroark are well known for their rather capricious and vicious nature. They're known for their Malice, after all. It very much sets a precedent for him-- one that he doesn't want to uphold. It's why he keeps his emotions in such a tight lock-- he doesn't want to get angry and lash out at others, so he talks himself out of feeling that anger at all. Doesn't speak up for himself when others talk over him.

He believes his instinctual defensiveness is a personal flaw and something to be repressed-- he doesn't want to be dangerous and violent like Zoroark of his kind tend to be, and overcompensates by muffling it as much as possible. He's the type to cry if he ever gets mad enough to yell. In suppressing that defense mechanism, he kinda becomes a huge pushover and a bit of a doormat... but its better than being a Bad Pokemon.

Milady, of course, is our resident Human-Turned-Pokemon amnesiac. She holds her composure more often than not, but she's deceptively anxious. Not having access to your memories doesn't seem to quell your body's habits, and it's something she is very fully aware of. She's constantly filled with a quiet sense of stress and anxiety, quietly building in pressure as she goes. She had something important, and she can’t find it. It’s frustrating. She’s frustrated. Confused and lost in a world that doesn’t quite belong to her, with ingrained knowledge of things about herself and the way the world Should work, but the image of it just out of reach. Her awkwardness isn't just in her nature.

She knows she should keep her level-headed attitude (but why?) and she has an image to upkeep (to whom?) but... but.

Milady tends to overprepare. Always checking over and over, making absolutely certain everything is in order for every worst-case scenario under the sun and then some. But when things really do get dangerous, she gets... admittedly very overbearing. She hates not knowing what to do-- hates not being able to control a situation. And when she can't... she runs. She stops thinking completely, almost unwittingly, like the flip of a switch. Some sort of measure her body remembers, but she does not.

She'd lost something once. It takes her a long time to piece it together, but it couldn't be anything else. It's a lingering sense of guilt that she can't shake, the desire-- the need-- to be better than she is. Reach her limits and pass them. (Maybe then they'd forgive her.)

Azrah mostly tends to let Milady handle things more often than not to avoid getting in the way. At the end of the Fogbound Expedition though, he does step up a bit more when she starts showing signs of getting overwhelmed. He was nervous at first, but he does want to help. It was nice when she looked back and encouraged him too...

The "Groudon" fight is the first time Milady and Azzy fully sync up as a team, minding each others blind spots and giving them cover-- working around each other to keep the other safe, rather than tiptoeing circles around invisible boundaries. Milady does not run, and Azzy does not hesitate. It's at this point that Azzy accepts his place as part of the team-- Milady needs him as much as he does to her, and wants to live up to that. As well, Milady starts to be able to relinquish a bit of her need for control, trusting Azzy to be on the same level rather than taking up everything herself.

It's what starts allowing them to accept what they had as Theirs, rather than just something that they happened to stumble into.

All these things start tangling together as things go along-- Azzy's grudge with Grovyle and looking up to Dusknoir; Dusknoir being someone he aspired to be as a "Good Pokemon" despite his scary reputation as a Ghost Type, mixing with his stubborn worldview of Grovyle as one of the Bad Ones, unable to accept it even after they learn the truth in the future. All the while, Milady's past begins resurfacing, bringing out parts of her she wishes to keep buried-- mixed with the volatility of trying to keep Azrah safe and retaining her visage of a Good Leader. Everything just causes them to stick closer and closer together as everything unravels-- which makes things deeply complicated towards the end of the game.

Milady's entire life revolved around her own life being temporary. As a Human, it was simply the truth of things. She'd never had to think too hard about any future-- in fact, even now she actively tried not to. Even when the deadline reared its head, she continued to not think about it. She couldn't. The entire world was weighing on them, after all. It was what she was meant to do from the start, there was no room for regrets. But when the time came to finally say goodbye, it was only hearing Azrah call out to her that she realized. She wanted to live.

It was funny. Both of her lives spent with complete disregard to herself, to what she could be, what she could have-- and it was only when she no longer had the choice that she'd wondered. What if she wanted more?

But a good leader always saves face. So...

wait.. have i never talked abt azrah and milady over here... do you guys know about my beasts.... do u want to hear abt my beasts

[gabby297]

Saudade - Prologue

Summary: "Saudade" - A nostalgic longing for a person or thing that was loved once, but is now lost.

Helmut Zemo's life was forever changed when the Avengers picked his country as a personal playground to fight their own creations. He would never regain the pieces of his life where he was a husband and a father of two. But the existence of new Super Soldiers might just bring him closer to that life he once had than he ever thought was possible. Madripoor holds secrets that even Baron Zemo does not know about.

Word Count: 3.9k

Helmut shut the book that he was reading with an audible snap. He stretched out of his position on the bed to put the book on the metal table nearby. He was reading it for the past hour and a half, making his eyes dry out enough for it to become a slight annoyance. Dropping his feet from the edge of the bed onto the ground, he sat up. He could hear his back cracking as he stretched out. Truly, prison was bad for his back and posture.

Helmut sighed and brought his hand to his eyes, rubbing the strain away. He dragged his hand down his face, feeling a few days worth of a stubble that covered his cheeks. Ivana would’ve already pestered him to shave it off, preferring a clean shaved look on him. He didn’t disagree with her on that but without the constant comments, it was harder to remember or find the motivation to shave every couple of days. Days tended to blend in together when you’re confined to a small room by yourself for most of the time. The cell itself collected small knickknacks over the couple of years that he was incarcerated, almost looking like someone was living here. A number of newspapers, books, playing cards, a small radio, and a worn-out chess board filled his space. Getting his belongings back, post-Snap, was somewhat a tiring experience, even with the little influence around that he had. From what he heard, almost half of the prison had been snapped away, creating chaos when everyone returned. It was surprising to blink and find someone else living in his cell because somehow five years had passed. They shared a cell for almost two weeks while the facility tried to relocate both prisoners and guards that appeared out of nowhere.

Helmut glanced over at the abandoned Chessboard that sat on top of the table. While he won it out of another prisoner a while back, it sat untouched for the last couple of days. At some point, playing chess against yourself just becomes boring. He rose from his bed. Reaching, he took a Bishop off the board and twirled it between his fingers. It was nothing compared to the set that he had back home. The paint had chipped off the edges and the small, wooden piece had dents in it.

“Ready to give up?” He raised his eyebrow. Nic hadn’t made a move for the last five minutes and from the looks of it, wasn’t going to make another one anytime soon. They sat by the fire, at the opposite sides of the chess table. The board had both ebony Chess pieces and Checkers on top of it.

Their games started off as simple rounds of Checkers months ago, since Carl wanted to play as well but didn't understand the intricacies of chess quite yet. But overtime, the two of them, incorporated the chess pieces into the game, made their own rules. They might have accidentally created a brand new game that neither Carl nor Ivana understood or cared for. So it became their pastime before dinner whenever he was home from the army.

“No, I got this,” Nic mumbled through her hands as her eyes scanned through the board. He had her cornered on almost every front, they both knew it, but Nic wasn’t someone who just gave up. Ivana was convinced and often complained that she was a mini version of him, but he had to disagree. The level of stubbornness that Nic possessed at times did not come solely from him alone.

“Care to make a move then?” He egged her on, leaning back on the leather wingback chair and crossing his legs. An hour had already passed since they started the game.

“I’m considering all my moves,” Nic grinned and moved her hand to tap the side of her head with her fingers.

“I’m sure you are,” He smirked lightly. “Although, it would be nice if you made a move before midnight.”

“Fine,” Nic sighed and picked up a Pawn and moved it back diagonally, taking out his Checker. “Happy?”

“No,” Helmut frowned sitting back up. “That is against the rules.”

“What? It so isn’t!” She defended herself, taking the piece and putting it to her side.

“It so is,” He reached and snatched it, placing it back on the board. “You can’t go backwards to get the Checker when you use a Pawn, only forward.”

“No, you can when you either use a Pawn or a Rook.”

“You are altering rules to cheat.” He accused her, narrowing his eyes at the giant grin that plastered her face. If that wasn’t the most mischievous expression he had ever seen, he didn’t know what was.

“I would never do that!”

She was saved from being caught by Carl coming into the room and disturbing their attention.

“Mum says if you two don’t come to the table I get your dessert.” He announced, making them both look at the clock. They most certainly were late for dinner. Again.

“Well we can’t have that.”

“Mom’s gonna kill us,” Nic mouthed, making him chuckle.

“Oh most definitely.” He agreed as they made their way into the kitchen.

“Look who finally remembered that dinnertime exists,” Ivana called out looking up from her phone as they came in. Carl and Nic took their seats, piling the food from the table into their plates. Ivana cooked steak with mashed potatoes and vegetables that night. The latter that both kids, made their best effort to stay clear from.

“Apologies, dear.” Helmut made his way and leaned over the back of her chair. He laid his hands on her shoulders and pressed his lips against her cheek, planting a quick kiss.

“Playing your silly game again?” She chuckled as she brought her hand to the back of his neck, slipping her fingers into his hair.

“It makes all the sense when you know the rules,” He remarked, leaning into the touch.

“Not when you two are the ones that made the rules and change them every game in order to cheat and win the game.”

“We never cheat,” He cast Nic a look who in turn smiled innocently at her mother.

With a gentle squeeze on Ivana’s shoulders, Helmut moved away to grab the bottle of Marcassin Estate Chardonnay from the counter and opened the drawer to find a bottle opener.

“Oh don’t even try to act cute Helmut. I know you two.”

“We can always play something else,” He suggested. “Backgammon? Nic and I against you and Carl?”

“You lost the last time,” Carl quipped in with a fork half raised to his mouth. “And the time before that.”

“It was a brief misfortune,” Helmut defended himself. “Those days are over.”

“Mum and I are going to kick your asses,” He retorted with a shrug.

“Carl! Language,” Ivana reprimanded as Helmut moved to pass her the glass of Chardonnay before pouring himself one as well.

“What? Nic always says it.”

“Since when?” Nic raised her eyebrow.

“Just cause Nic does something doesn’t mean you have to repeat it,” Ivana rolled her eyes, taking the glass. She cast him a glance and smiled. “Thank you, honey.”

“It doesn’t matter. Dad and I are going to wipe the floor with you,” Nic boasted.

“In your dreams. We always win.” Carl rolled his eyes and reached for the glass of water.

“You lost like yesterday what are you talking about?”

They started to bicker, recalling their previous matches and rubbing in victories to each other while Helmut half-listened to them as he ate.

“Anything to add?” Ivana rose her eyebrow at him playfully.

“Oh, I know better than to say anything.” He defended himself with a smile and tipped the glass to his mouth to prove the point.

The pieces fell in a heap after it connected with the Bishop that he held moments ago. Helmut exhaled deeply through his nose, his hands curling into fists. Damn it. He opened his eyes and looked down at the scattered chess pieces across the board. Some of them had fallen to the floor. He ran his hand through his hair, brushing through the small knots and grease that seemed to permanently stick to him, no matter how much he tried to scrub it off. He was tempted to convince one of the guards to bring him some of the products he used back home, but ever since everyone snapped back into existence, the number of times the same guards came by, had decreased. Besides, there were a limited number of favours he could pull at a given time. So he was stuck living with the mediocre, at best, shampoo. Such a pity.

He clenched his jaw tight, grinding his teeth, as he bent down to grab the fallen pieces, failing entirely to ignore how his chest tightened and air seemed to disappear from his lungs. No matter how much time had passed, it never got easier to breathe through it. It was like a disease that could never be fully gotten rid off no matter how much he tried to move past it. When the dust settled, and initial shock left him all those years ago, he was certain that he must be having a heart attack. Convinced that such intensity of agony that hit him over and over, seemingly at random times had to have some medical reason. Apparently, the never-ending sensation that liked to leave him breathless and choked for air, was simply just a permanent part of his new life. A life that he was forced to continue against his will. It was cruelty at its best.

Helmut moved his position from the bed to the desk by the time that lunchtime came around. He hunched over the crossword puzzle in the newspaper that the guards brought in this morning, when they brought him his lunch.

The alarm buzzed as the metal door to his cell opened from the outside. He glanced over to see that it was a guard that he met when he was first dropped here from the Joint Counter Terrorist Centre. Stefan was one of the younger guards, more chatty and naive than some of the others. It was something that he used to his advantage years ago, befriending him enough to gain his trust.

Stefan came in, bringing a plate of food and a mug of black coffee. Getting to know his guards had its perks, such as getting better quality coffee.

“Thank you, Stefan.” Helmut voiced his gratitude to the guard in German. He too had fallen victim to the Snap. Helmut was grateful that the young man resumed working after returning to existence. Without him, some of the possessions that Helmut had in his cell would have taken longer to get.

“How’s the crossword?” Stefan nodded towards the newspaper as he slipped the cup first through the opening at the bottom of the glass.

“Would be better if they did not repeat the questions so often,” Helmut shrugged as he stood up and walked over the glass barrier. He bent down to pick up the mug and took a sip, humming in appreciation.

“I’ll see what I can do about getting better crosswords. If I can borrow one of your books again.”

“Consider it done.” Helmut chuckled, lightly rocking back and forth on his feet. He reminded him of Nic sometimes. “Quiet shift?”

“You have no idea,” Stefan sighed. “Oh, I almost forgot. You have visitors scheduled for 4 o’clock today.”

Stefan informed him as he passed the plate onto his side of the cell. Helmut tilted his head and raised his eyebrow.

“Who?” He asked curiously. It was not often that he had people visiting him. Not without needing something out of him.

“Someone by the names of James Barnes and Sam Wilson.”

“Oh?” Winter soldier and an Avenger in one day? Something serious enough must be going on if they wanted to talk to him. Perhaps something that wasn’t publicized in the newspapers.

“Any reason why two Avengers want to see you?”

“Not a clue,” Helmut shrugged and took a couple of steps back to his desk where his books were placed. He picked up a copy of Middlemarch and passed it to him. “Here, this should keep you occupied for a while.”

“Huh,” Stefan hummed reading over the cover. “Never took you one for reading novels.”

“I have time to kill.” He sighed as he passed the empty mug back to the guard.

“Well thanks,” Stefan nodded. “I’ll let you know when they arrive.”

Helmut watched him leave before sighing and taking his plate from the floor. Chicken with steamed broccoli and gravy laid on his plate. Not the worst.

Setting It down on the desk, he smiled lightly as the young Wakandan King’s words echoed in his ears. ‘The living are not done with you yet.’. It seems like he was right after all.

This was certainly going to be interesting.

Helmut watched him enter, patiently tapping his fingers while the guard left. The Winter Soldier, James as he now called himself, stepped closer to the glass with his posture stiff and head held high. Picture definition of a perfect soldier.

“Longing. Rusted.” Helmut rolled the Russian words off his tongue, raising from his bed. They came easy to him, even after eight years. “Seventeen.”

He stopped and watched James. He didn’t need to list off all of them, just enough to gouge a reaction from him. To see how quickly could the illusion of a changed man crumble under slight pressure.

“Those days are over,” James responded in English, never breaking eye contact. He said it with confidence, but Helmut could see through the facade. There was uncertainty in James’ eyes. Doubt. The trigger words might have been deprogrammed and removed, but the years of destruction and killing could not just be erased and replaced with a new start. The instinct would not just disappear.

“I know,” Helmut tilted his head, goading. “I just wanted to see how the new you reacts to the old words.”

With the cell being small, it didn’t take much to walk closer to the soldier and look him down. Up close, it was even easier to see the missing pieces in his face. There was still something, deep inside, that craved orders. The fragments of the Winter Soldier were still there. His therapist must have either been blind or lacking any skill in her profession to let this man go back into any work, let alone to meet him. Unless he was acting behind their back. Helmut smacked his lips, as different thoughts of how he could explore it to his own advantage crossed his mind.

“Something is still in there. At least you were not conscious for most of your imprisonment.” Unlike himself who had nothing better to do but to be trapped with his own thoughts. He had to admit, he was almost jealous. Unfortunately, the five-year blip felt no longer than five minutes, not nearly long enough to make any difference. To rest from the burden of living.

“That time wasn’t exactly a picnic.”

Helmut could sympathize with that.

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.” He confessed, any goadiness leaving his voice entirely. And he was sorry, honestly, for the part that he played, no matter how necessary it was. “It was never personal. You were simply a means to a necessary end.”

“Someone recreated the Super-Soldier serum. I need to find out who.” James, changed the subject, catching his attention immediately. Helmut looked back at him. This was not something he expected. Granted, it was suspicious in itself that James wanted to meet with him which meant that he needed something out of him, but he figured it would have been about Hydra or even perhaps the Winter Soldier Program.

“You are assuming HYDRA has something to do with this,” He assessed. It was a logical guess; with HYDRA’s past involvement and reputation, it would make sense to think it was them behind this. Yet, Helmut had to wonder if HYDRA rebuilt themselves enough, ever since it was destroyed by mostly Steve Rogers, to recreate the Super-soldiers. Empires like that took years, if not decades to rebuild themselves to former glory. After all, last he heard, The Avengers were still broken, even post-Snap. Scattered. So, perhaps it was someone else. “Which is why you came to me, which means you are desperate. Luckily for you, I know where to begin.”

It wasn’t hard to think of Madripoor as the first stop. Years of trading and forging connections on the low, allowed him a personal insight into the city-state. For long enough to build a small safe-house, off the grid, that was just outside the city.

He watched James consider the proposal of his services, watched as different emotions passed through him. Hatred, anger, mistrust, contempt. Finally, they all dissolved into resignation. He knew that he needed him.

“You will be our prisoner until we bring you back,” James asserted, leaving no room for argument.

“Naturally,” Helmut smirked, half raising his clasped hands in mock surrender. James looked past him to his cell.

“What’s the book you’re reading?”

Helmut glanced at the book behind him. First Edition of Fortune is a River laid on his sheets. He glanced back at James, hoping his plan was not going to involve the book’s destruction. It was one of the more expensive books in his collection. He won it an auction in Madripoor after bidding B6.61, roughly 304,421 Euros. It would be a shame to ruin it.

“Machiavelli.”

James grunted and tilted his head for it. Helmut picked it up and slid the book to him. He examined it briefly as they went over James’ plan and the location where to meet, slid it back to him, and left without a word. The door shut loudly behind him, leaving Helmut alone again. He looked down at the book and flipped through it. Towards the back of the book, on page 235, he found a small, black key card that was responsible for the lock of his cell and other doors.

Not long after Helmut put the key card into his pocket, the alarm went off. Within moments, the chaos of shouts and heavy boots hitting the ground could be heard outside his cell. He didn’t hesitate to unlock his cell, step out and walk through the mostly empty hallways on the upper floor. He was met by one officer with his gun raised by the shower rooms, but with his training as a Colonel, it was easy enough to overpower him and knock out the gun from his hold. Helmut used the grip that he had on the guard’s arms, twisted him over his shoulder and threw his arm over the guard’s neck, rendering him useless. The guard tried to pry his hold but Helmut was faster and dragged him backwards into the shower stalls, knocking him out by hitting him against the wall.

Adrenaline surged through his veins as he fought against time to undress himself and the man and swap their clothes. The longer he took, the less chance he had of slipping through unnoticed. Confrontation with the guards would not be the smartest decision. Thankfully, the man was roughly his size, so the uniform was neither too baggy nor too tight on him. It would not make him stand out. From there, he rushed down the stairs, past where the fight broke out and used the key card to open the security door.

“Aufseher Menz.” Helmut called out the name of the guard, with a phone pressed to his ear. He tilted the hat lower to cover his face against the cameras. The doors made an audible click as the lock opened and he held the door for riot guards to march past him. From there it was easy enough to sneak out, he only needed to trip out the fire alarm and run behind couple of guards and prisoners to appear like he was doing his job. Spotting the I-3 passage door, he snuck by the guards and took the shortcut for another hallway. Following the emergency exit signs, he stayed away from the camera views until the facility was behind him.

Helmut pushed the door open of his private garage and stepped in. Locating it by Berlin Correctional Facility finally paid off. It was quite easy to find James and his partner, Sam, in the building since they seemingly pulled all the electrical switches that they could find, making their location quite obvious for anyone with eyes. He crossed the corridor and pushed past plastic coverings that divided the room.

“Whoa. Whoa, whoa.” Sam exclaimed, marching to him the moment he noticed his presence. So James didn’t tell him of his plan to break him out. Perhaps he didn’t trust his partner enough. Interesting. Helmut wondered briefly if it had anything to do with the Shield being passed to Sam instead of James. It would be understandable if James felt some resentment towards Sam, even though he didn’t keep the Shield for long. The news of the new Captain America and the details of the passing of the Shield were plastered across all the newspapers for the last couple of weeks, even in Germany.

“No, listen.” Bucky jumped in front of Sam, putting his arm in front of his chest to stop him.

“What are you doin’ here?” Sam demanded, looking at Helmut who simply approached them with his hands half-raised in surrender. He took the uniform’s hat off while James tried to explain himself.

“I didn’t tell ’cause I knew you wouldn’t let this happen.”

“What did you do?”

“We need him.”

“You’re going back to prison!”

“If I may…” Helmut tried to intervene in the conversation, fearing that he would have to stand around and listen to them bicker for the next couple of hours.

“No!” James and Sam shouted back in sync.

“Apologies.” That was the best he could think of to say. There was no point to poke the bear, or this apparent married couple, too much this soon. He couldn’t help but watch their dynamic.

“When Steve refused to sign the Sokovia Accords, you backed him. You broke the law, and you stuck your neck out for me. I’m asking you to do it again.”

“I really think I’m invaluable…” Helmut tried to interrupt again, knowing that the Avenger would need more convincing.

“Shut up.” Sam ordered, sending him a glare. Helmut frowned. Well, that was rude and not called for. He was not the one that had no leads.

“Okay.” Sam sighed, making up his mind as he pointed the flashlight towards James’ chest. He turned to Helmut. “If we do this, you don’t make a move without our permission.”

“Fair.” Helmut tilted his head. It wasn’t like he had that many options at the moment. Not when the prison was so close.

“Okay. Zemo, where do we start?” Sam asked, distrust seeping through his tone, but he had no other choice.

Helmut’s face split into a giant grin. It was music to his ears.

Note: This is Zemo-centric fic :) His family hasn't been talked about that much in the movies or series so I took some liberty. In this fiction, his wife is named Ivana, and he has two children. At the time of the Ultron attack, Carl was 10 and Nic was 15 but the story is going to explore different periods of Zemo's life. Quick points: Normal text format is for present times and if someone talks in English. Italics are for memories and if someone speaks in another language. English isn't my first language so if you spot mistakes please let me know :)

[jalebi-weds-bluetooth]

TS: Farak/Difference [2/3]

Read Part 1

---

Four minutes and forty two seconds.

The time it took for his parents to argue and commit suicide.

Thirty hours.

The time it took for Khushi to faint from her internal bleeding, without anyone noticing.

She bled when she held his heart. She bled when they hugged. She bled when the family flung their discreet accusations and disappointments.

She bled when he blamed her for ruining Anjali’s life.

She bled when he called her the biggest mistake of his life.

And he hadn’t noticed.

Because much like her heart and mind, her injuries had been too deep for him to see.

---

Hemorrhagic shock due to rapid, delayed intra abdominal blood loss.

She was alive, barely.

Akash watched his wife take the news with unparalleled bravery. Her lips pressed tight, eyes glassy, but not a tear rolled down Payal’s cheek.

The same could not be said for the rest of his family.

Arnav had burst into a fit of rage and denial until he finally fell silent. Devyani slumped on the seat and started muttering prayers, her aged hands shaking with every utterance. NK sat by her, offering her the comfort a stunned Manorama couldn’t give. Yet, his clenched fists revealed his suppressed anger.

Payal remained frozen as the surgeon, Dr. Zayed, rattled off the rest of the things necessary for Khushi’s treatment. Blood transfusion, surgery. They needed a family member to sign the surgery consent form.

Arnav snatched it.

All operations and surgeries carry the risk of unsuccessful results, complications, injury or even death.

“What’s the success rate of this procedure? How can I sign this!” Arnav faltered, re-reading the terms and conditions.

“Bhai,”

“Akash, call Aman and gather the statistics of-” Stripped away from his anger, Arnav was desperate.

“Arnav ji,” Payal stopped him with a gentle touch on his shoulder, “Shayad Khushi might die during this operation but if we waste any more time, she will die.”

With a gentle determination, she took the consent form from him.

“And, please, get a checkup done.”

“Payal I am fine-”

“Khushi said the same.” Payal choked, “And if anything happens to you, I don’t think Khushi could take it.”

Akash’s pull did not have the power of Payal’s words. Arnav gave one last look at the ICU and headed down the hall. Dr. Zayed gave an understanding, sincere nod, and gestured to Payal to sign the consent form.    

“We’ll try our best,” Payal’s hand shook as she gave a watery smile to Dr. Zayed.

“Payal, I’ll handle-” Akash approached her and the doctor. She stepped away before his hand could touch hers.

“Doctor, aap hame bataiye, what else do we need.” Akash stilled, his hand mid air. Ever since Khushi had been hospitalized, Payal neither spoke, nor looked at Akash. Did she blame him? How was he at fault? How was anyone at fault!

“Does she have any blood relative?” Dr. Zayed asked.

“She has-” No one. A chilling reality swept across Payal, apart from Khushi’s aunt - Amma- Khushi had none she shared blood with. Any other tie was met with gratitude and a humble nudge of obligation. There was never a sharper reminder of Khushi being an orphan.

Unfortunately, Babuji’s words of heart bigger than blood didn’t matter.

“An aunt,” Akash frowned, it was the first time Payal referred to her mother as such.

“Do you know her blood group?”

“B negative.”

“I’m afraid Mrs. Raizada, she isn’t compatible. Is there anyone else in her family with-”

“She doesn’t have anybody,” Payal’s voice shook.

“Payal, yeh kya keh rahi ho, we are all there for her.” Akash interrupted, hurt by her thinly veiled accusation. Dr. Zayed kept to himself, not missing the strain in the couple before him.

“Mrs. Raizada, do you know anyone who has O positive or-”

“I’m O positive.” Payal cut in, expectation and hope springing in her eyes.

Dr. Zayed sighed in relief. They were in short of blood owing to the major accident that took place a few hours ago. He collected the form and quietly, with as much as fact and as little as false hopes, conveyed the truth of Khushi’s situation to her sister and brother-in-law.

“Mrs. Raizada, we’ll take a quick test for further compatibility and pregnancy, after which we can-” Dr. Zayed stopped at Payal’s stricken face.

“Pregnancy?” She asked. Akash turned to his wife in wonder, his heart pounding for the best news in the worst time.

“Yes it’s necessary as one cannot donate blood during pregnancy,” Dr. Zayed watched the woman who hadn’t cried at the news of her sister’s possible death, crumble in shock.

Akash crouched and placed his hands on her shaking knees. There were so many questions he needed to ask her. Payal remained rooted to her spot, her world collapsing in a moment.

“Mrs. Raizada, are you-”

“I might be, I don’t know…”

---

Positive

It was the best news of Akash’s life.

It was the worst for Payal’s.

She stared at the ICU. Khushi’s lifeless body was hooked to numerous tubes. The last time Khushi was this pale, she was an eight year old child pulled out of a car crash.

“Payal, we’re preg-” Akash choked, tears of happiness clogging his throat.

“She’s never asked anything from me. No earrings, bangles, sarees or dolls. She would even ask for a ladoo, making sure I wouldn’t want it so she could eat it.” Payal whispered, running her fingers on the glass door separating her and her sister.

“One time Akash, this was the one time she needed something from me and I couldn’t give it to her.”

“We will find the blood for her.” Akash’s smile fell when she stepped away from him, again.

“Payal this is not your mistake-”

“If not telling you and your sister the truth about Shyam was a mistake, so is this.” Payal brushed her tears aside. How could she have missed out on Khushi’s weakening health? What kind of an older sister was she?

“That’s something different Payal. You could’ve told me the truth. Khushi could’ve-”

“And so could Arnav ji. Bas farak iss baat ki hai, that you would never yell at him.” Akash stepped back, her words unmasking his hypocrisy and unfailing faith in his brother. He had known that if Bhai hid the truth, it was for a reason.

Why could it not apply to Payal and Khushi? And how could he question Bhai when he’d just been home from a kidnapping, scarred and traumatized?

With Khushi in the ICU, Akash realized that he no longer had the choice to ask questions to the only woman who had nothing but smiles for him.  

---

The doctor ruled Arnav a miracle for not sustaining any permanent injury given the nature of his injuries. Arnav walked out of the physician’s room, his head pounding at Devi Maiya’s cruelty.

He needed no reminding of her existence. Not when Khushi vowed he’d believe in her Devi Maiya in her absence.

Yet, he was blessed with every miracle possible.

Payal whirred by him, frantically punching keys in her cell. Akash remained slumped on the seat, distraught.

Distraught?

Arnav jogged up to Akash and nearly yanked him up from his seat.

“Bhai? Are you alright-”

“That doesn’t matter. What happened? Why are you…” Arnav paused, his heart hammering in fear. Khushi.

“Khushi, please tell me she’s not-”

“No Bhai,” Akash held his brother,  “But we’re falling short of blood. She’s O positive and so is Payal but Payal can’t donate because she’s-”

“What the fuck are the blood banks doing?” Arnav interrupted.

“There’s been a major accident nearby, the hospital is running low on blood.” Arnav kept quiet. There was only one decision left.

“Akash, you’ll look after the family right?” Akash was surprised at Arnav’s strange request.

“Of course Bhai, but-”

“Good. I trust you.” Arnav left to find Dr. Zayed.

---

“Mr. Raizada, we don’t allow this in most cases-”

“And this is an exception doctor. We’re short of blood and I’m in perfect health, your own doctors checked me. I’ve checked it with my assistant, you are allowed. I’ll make sure of it” Dr. Zayed battled his ethics as Arnav continued debating with him.

“Above all I’m O negative, a universal donor. If I can’t save my wife then… meri,” Arnav refused to complete the sentence. He grabbed Dr. Zayed’s hand.

“Please doctor.”

“Alright Mr. Raizada, but you will be under strict observation once your blood is further tested for compatibility.”

And again, much like the rest of Arnav’s life since Khushi, Devi Maiyya dropped another miracle on his lap. Arnav and Khushi were perfectly compatible.

---

The Raizadas panicked as Arnav was rushed into the room for a transfusion. Payal collapsed on the chair in relief, and Akash held her, his brother’s words finally dawned on him.

Devyani rolled the prayer beads in her hands, while Manorama remained uncharacteristically quiet. Both the women held the other for support. In supporting and caring for Anjali, they wondered what pushed them to take a stand against Khushi. When all in all it had been one man responsible for the events.

Shyam Manohar Jha.

It was easy to believe someone’s secret was responsible for their tragedy, rather than their own gullibility and lack of suspicion.

The last few words Khushi spoke to them floated in their minds and shame filled them. Yes, Khushi had committed a mistake but she was family.

And a family never counted the mistakes.  

NK bounced in with his group of friends, rushing them to the transfusion center. Akash was amazed at NK’s capability to bear a smile in these trying times.

---

“What’s there to not smile?” NK asked, piling up a tray of tea for the grieving family, “I know Khushi ji is going to be alright.”

“I hope you’re right. Today deserves to be a good day.” Nk nearly dropped the tea cups and engulfed Akash in a hug upon learning Payal’s pregnancy.

“But Payal, she’s-”

“-devastated.” NK completed, “How can a sister smile knowing the child in her didn’t allow her to save her sister?”

“NK, how’s Payal at fault? She couldn’t have predicted she would be pregnant right when Khushi needed blood.” Akash reasoned.

“Exactly Akash bhai. Khushi ji and Payal bhabhi too were at no fault for not sharing. There’s no way they could have predicted their silence would lead to this.” NK dropped his smiles, staring hard enough to unease Akash.

“NK, it’s different-”

“-It’s not.” NK cut in, his tone razor sharp, “Imagine if they told Di the truth on time  and unable to bear it, she would commit suicide.  Or if none of you believed their truth and cancelled your weddings - leaving Payal bhabhi abandoned at the altar yet again. Ya phir, the blame lies on Di and all of you for not sniffing out Shyam’s weird behaviors and excuses.”

NK sat down beside Akash, hoping the latter’s sensibilities helped.

“Payal bhabi blames herself for the same reason you all are blaming Khushi ji and Payal bhabhi. And in all this mess, it’s sad that no one gets it that if there’s anyone to blame - it’s Shyam.” NK seethed. Somehow, despite all the truths, Shyam had emerged victorious and had managed to break the family into pieces.

Akash groaned into his palms, his head hurting with all the truths. There was no reasoning in Shyam’s malicious words as he threatened Arnav for grabbing his collar.

A fear crept up Akash’s spine.

He only wished it didn’t take Payal’s grief, Khushi’s injury and Arnav’s panic for him to understand that Khushi and Payal were a part of the family.

---

Arnav lay on the bed, staring at his Khushi in remorse and agony. The regrets were too much to count, and he fervently thought against anything related to God.

“The day you believe in God, I won’t be next to you,” She huffed, the pain in her bandaged finger miniscule next to the words inflicted by him to her. Arnav had lost sleep since that night, breaking every nightmare with Khushi’s name on his lips.

He couldn’t apologize, nor cry. He just continued to stare, hoping she’d wake up one more time for him.

---

Read Part 3

---

A/N: Third part will be up soon. A big thank you to @ridzmystique​ for checking on this story and pushing me to complete Farak. Thank you for reading/liking.

[justfandomwritings]

Oh my goshhh!!! Loyalty is frigging amazing!!!! That fic is so beautiful.. I just... there's no words, man. What happens next? How do they plot? Does he kill Odin and Thor? Can you please tag me when you write the spin off (not to be rude but how long will that take? I am just soooo excited) ❤❤

Gather round children! I am not going to write any story of how Loki’s story matches up with the MCU, and while the sequel I’ve plotted will feature bits of this, it will really only hint at what happened to Loki. So, because I think everyone deserves an explanation, here is how Loyalty!Loki progressed through the movies.

Loyalty post-story explanation:

The plot continues up to Thor as you’d imagine.

Brilliant actor that he would be, Loki pretends to be absolutely fine with all slights and fakes that he has gotten over his lost love. Because no one in his family pays attention to him, no one at court notices anything is wrong with Loki or that it’s odd that he got over losing his soulmate so quickly. 

Loki spends more and more time in the lower districts of Asgard, doing everything in his power to support the people and keep (Y/n)’s memory alive.

The people loved her, were loyal to her, and still are. Naturally, Loki receives much of this loyalty through his relationship with (Y/n) and more importantly through his insistence on keeping her memory alive.

All the while, Loki is plotting Thor and Odin’s demise. He knows he wants it to be at the hands of the Frost Giants who killed (Y/n), and it’s Narfi who gives him the chance.

Now on the Council for himself, Narfi is ordered to plan Thor’s coronation, and he and Loki plan out how the Frost Giants might ruin his big day.

They use (Y/n)’s old family home for their preparations. Most nobles consider the outer rim of fishers near (Y/n)’s childhood to be insignificant. So as long as Heimdall doesn’t watch Loki enter the house or know he’s going there, no one cares to look at what’s happening in (Y/n)’s old room.

Thor movie

On the day of the coronation, Loki has doubts. He knows this is not what (Y/n) would want him to become, and he questions whether they should follow through.

Then, one last time, Thor slights him before the coronation by talking about Loki’s conquests as though they were his own and by mentioning the attack by the Frost Giants as if it were a success even though (Y/n) died. 

(Insert the deleted scene of Thor and Loki together waiting to enter the throne room)

Loki makes up his mind then and there that Thor must lose everything, as he once did.

The Frost Giants come and Thor shows his true colors.

He demands a raid on Jotunheim, and though Loki publicly denies it, he is seething inside. 

Thor demanded justice for a stupid ceremony and thought that was worthy of Laufey’s head, but Laufey killing (Y/n) wasn’t even worth a second thought to Thor.

 After Jotunheim, even Odin can’t deny what Thor has done, and Loki relishes watching Thor cast away from everything he’s ever known.

In the vaults beneath Asgard, Loki argues with Odin on the steps only for Odin to tell him the reason Frost Giant’s don’t affect him is because he is one.

Loki watches Odin collapse and the guards take him away, leaving Loki to think.

Loki is horrified. This whole time he’s been on a quest of vengeance against the Frost Giants, and he is one of the monsters who killed (Y/n). 

He determines that his best plan would be to kill them all, take Thor and Odin’s life himself. 

He sends the Destroyer for Thor and is only incensed more when Thor appeals to him for mercy for Midgard. After everything, Thor still doesn’t understand why Loki is in a rage. 

The fight happens as it did, and Thor destroys the Bifrost to save whatever is left of Jotunheim.

Odin is holding Thor who is holding the spear with Loki. 

Loki: “Vengeance, that’s all I wanted for her, but you wouldn’t even give her dignity.” 

Thor looks confused for a moment before he realizes who Loki’s talking about.

Odin just stares on emotionless as always. 

Loki: “We’ll see.” 

Loki falls.

Between movies

Loki falls to Thanos.

Loki is worried over what Thanos’ plans to do, to destroy half the known universe. 

He wouldn’t mind watching half of Asgard burn or all of Jotunheim or even parts of Midgard which Thor had come to care about, but he knows that isn’t what (Y/n) would have wanted, that many innocents would die in the crossfire, that some of those may even be his own, his real, family.

Using the mind stone, Thanos finds the rage and anger within Loki, and there’s a great deal of it after millennia of being slighted by his father and brother and pitied by his mother, and after a century of suffering the loss of the only person he ever loved. 

Thanos exploits this and draws it out, sending the mind-controlled Loki to Earth to retrieve the Tesseract for him. 

Avengers movie

Everything happens as made, save that one conversation between Thor and Loki.

Thor: “I thought you dead.”

Loki: “Did you mourn?”

Thor: “We all did. Our father...” 

Loki: “Your father. He did tell you my true parentage did he not?”

Thor: “We were raised together, we played together, we fought together. Do you remember none of that?”

Loki: “I remember a shadow, living in the shade of your greatness. You speak of togetherness because every time you needed me I was there, but every time I needed you I was alone. I remember studying magic, alone. I remember defending myself against the Warriors Three, alone. I remember standing up to Father, alone. I remember being punished for our tricks, alone.”

Loki: “I was alone until (Y/n) came, and then you took her from me. You made me alone again. Not just for being the cause of her death, but for not caring that you caused it at all. I was back where I began. I mourned her, alone. And when I finally came out of my chambers, I sat, alone, robbed of the only real family I ever knew. And you’re surprised that after millennia of suffering your destruction, I plotted vengeance alone?”

Thor: The Dark World

Loki faces Odin’s punishment for Midgard alone.

He rots in the dungeon until someone tells him Frigga has been killed.

Loki wants to hate her like he hates the rest of them. She was never a good mother. She clearly preferred Thor and pitied Loki. She let Odin run rampant over Asgard and his sons, and she never once defended Loki. 

But Loki can’t bring himself to hate her because: for one at least she tried, but more importantly she gave him (Y/n).

Loki goes with Thor because if he can’t avenge (Y/n) then at least he can avenge his mother. 

He watches Thor’s love for Jane and can’t decide if he despises it or not. He wants desperately, to watch Thor suffer; but he isn’t sure if that is how. His pain is the sort of pain he wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy, and his worst enemy was his brother. 

In the ship, they talk about it.

Loki: “The only woman who’s love you prize will be snatched from you.”

Thor: “And will that satisfy you brother?” 

Loki: “No, but perhaps in a few years, when I get to watch you become me; perhaps that will satisfy me.”

Thor: “This was all about (Y/n)?”

Loki: “That feeling you have for Jane, that love; imagine if it were the only love you’d ever felt. Imagine if Odin despised you and Mother ignored your suffering. Imagine if I spent my life beating you into submission. Imagine if the Warriors Three and all your friends didn’t care about you. And imagine if the Nine Realms never noticed you existed. Imagine the only person you love being the only person who loved you, then imagine my arrogance, after years of cruelty and incompetence, finally ripped it away.” 

Loki retreats and sits back down. Loki: “It was always about her. It will always be about her.” 

Between Movies

Loki avenges his mother and fakes his own death to rule Asgard as the King they always deserved. 

He puts the people first, shares his wealth and power, he rules with a firm, justice hand and doesn’t play favorites like his father.

The people all begin to realize that it isn’t Odin, that Loki has replaced him, when Loki orders a giant statue to  his soulmate built in front of his extension to the palace.

No one says anything. They prefer this happy peaceful life Loki’s given them. It’s the life Frigga promised they would get with soulmates, but the life Odin was too warlike to let anyone actually have.

Thor: The Dark World

The movies plot passes pretty much the same, but Loki’s character is more in keeping with his development and style. It isn’t the sort of sniveling, whiny, weak creation Taika came up with.

Loki comes at the end of the movie, not to help Thor, but because he realized Thor was going to have it out with Hel on Asgard and put the people in grave danger, including his real family.

He arrives and sees Delling and Dysis helping their daughters and grandchildren onto the ship he brought.

Loki: “Where are the others?”

Delling, heartbroken: “Gone. They died with the army.”

Loki, discouraged: “And Narfi?”

Delling just shakes his head.

Loki roars out into the battle and ends up fighting side by side with Thor and the Valkyrie.

As he brings about Ragnarok, Loki takes the Tesseract. He knows that even the blast of Ragnarok won’t destroy the Space Gem, and he can’t very well leave it floating in space for Thanos to just casually pick up, so he determines to find somewhere to hide it forever. 

As the battle rages on between Surtur and Hel, Loki heads for the Royal Family’s tomb and takes (Y/n)’s crypt, using the Tesseract to port it onto the ship. Everything else is going to go up in flames, and Loki refuses to let that be her legacy. 

The end of the movie, onboard the ship, Thor throws a thing at Loki to prove he isn’t there. 

Loki catches it. Loki: “I’m here, brother.” 

Loki turns and leaves the room, finding (Y/n)’s family and sitting with them. He’s given up vengeance on Thor because he’s finally realized (Y/n) died to save his brother, not so Loki could kill him later. But he knows now that this is his real family. 

Thor is off to the side, watching them. This time he’s the one standing alone. 

Seeing their interactions, their mourning Narfi and his brothers, their talking with Loki, Thor realizes that Loki was right. They never really treated him like family

He realizes that Odin, with his help, robbed Loki of everything. A normal family, a happy life, his one true love. They even took the family he made for himself. 

Thor decides to leave Loki in peace with his family and leave on his own. 

Avengers: Infinity War

Loki watches Thanos ready to kill Thor and realizes what Thanos means by half. He’s going to kill half of each group, and that means half of the sons of Odin.

Loki knows that Thor with his Avengers stands a better chance than Loki, and if Thor dies Thanos may well succeed. 

More importantly to Loki, if Thor dies, then (Y/n) died in vain.

Loki rushes Thanos and dies so that he is the half of the sons of Odin that Thanos kills. He dies for Thor the same way (Y/n) did.

The rest of the movie happens.

Avengers: Endgame

Finally understanding what Loki felt, finally understanding what it’s like to lose everything, Thor picks up Loki’s quest for vengeance and takes off Thanos’ head.

Then, with no real purpose, Thor mourns, alone, like his brother did.

Movie goes as planned mostly.

When Hulk snaps, he doesn’t just bring back the half of humanity that Thanos snapped out of existence. Thanos had been roaming the galaxy slaughtering half of every inhabited world he encountered, and Hulk (knowing this from watching on the ship) thinks of them too and brings back the millions who died before the snap.

Asgard’s army was killed by Hel before Thanos ever touched them, but Loki is brought back in space and roars into battle to help protect his family. 

When the war is finally won, Loki watches Cap disassemble the infinity gauntlet with envy.

The rest of the Avengers are wary that he will try to steal it, but Thor knows what he’s thinking.

Thor: “Perhaps the soul stone might bring her back.”

Loki: “Let her rest brother. I have kept her alive through death for far too long. She deserves peace.” 

Loki leaves. No one knows where he’s gone, and no one ever sees him again.

Loki returns to the wreckage, retrieves (Y/n)’s crypt and disappears forever. 

I plotted this out when I plotted out the series, because I believe you have to know the whole story to write a story well. 

But as you can see, there are huge chunks where the story just overlaps with the movies, so I didn’t think it would make for very good reading.

[prodigalscns]

( SUMMER BISHIL. THIRTY TWO. CIS FEMALE. SHE/HER. ) in texas, MAESON PRINCE is known to most as NA. they have been riding with the reapers for TEN YEARS. they’re originally from KILDAIRE, IE and the PRESIDENT is known to be very CUNTY & MANIPULATIVE but the other club members will tell you they are CLEVER & PROTECTIVE. as the years go by, they’ve gained a lot of respect in the club and around town. they rarely ever drive a car but when they do CALM DOWN by KREWELLA is usually heard blasting. ( empty shell casings hitting the floor, the coy lilt in voice even when temper is winning & a collection of black and white photographs hidden in a shoe box under the bed. ) 

There was nothing kind about the Prince family. They were raised to be violent. To be savage. Growing up, meant growing into shoes that already had blood hiding underneath the soles, it meant turning your fear of the dark into a way to make the monsters that hide there fear you, instead. They cared for no one outside the thinly veiled boundaries of their family unit, and even sometimes the inside was content to collapse in around itself. Jaoquin ruled the family like a crooked king, never caring enough to hide his disappointment in being blessed with a female child. After all, it wasn’t like she would carry on the family name, it wasn’t like she could continue his legacy of lucrative violence. Perhaps it was that doubt that challenged her, that set determination as a fine line in her jaw. The perfect act of rebellion was proving that her venom would always be far more vicious than even he could have imagined.

She fixed that crooked halo proudly atop her head when the time came, constantly carrying around the old adage that even the devil himself, was once an angle. Her fathers doubt was work like a badge of honor, black heart on her sleeve from the time she turned sixteen. He taught her everything she needed to know about cruelty, her childhood memories were butterfly knives, never butterfly kisses. It was her fathers vulgar obscenities paired with her mothers head, just a touch of her heart, that made this beautiful mess.

After years of arguing about the safety of their children in Ireland, that same soft heart managed to out smart her husband. Her check, and then perfect mate coming to the conclusion that America was the best bet for them, she sold her soul to the devil in the name of the American Dream and never looked back. It was becoming a citizen that taught her what true bullshit looked like, sounded like, and tasted like. The move, combined with touchy ties to the streets of their small towns, was what brought her father to the club. This is the part where she lays claim to being raised in it, she discovered exactly who she was in the streets with the rest of them; she’d just done it better, faster, and bloodier than they had.

It was that reputation that didn’t speak volumes, it screamed them. There was no way to ignore her favorite ugly truth, the one that whispered that this is what she’d been born for. The decision to prospect, patch in, and leave little parts of herself with every member of the club was an easy one. Again, the decision to take on the role of secretary was made without so much as a blink of an eye, taking the reward as if she’d been starving for it. Maybe, just maybe she was tired of the way blood always did seem to stain her hands at the end of the day.

It was the club that taught her what love and loyalty meant, lessons her father had omitted for the fear that they would turn her soft, that they would become her own personal Achilles heel if ever given the chance. His downfall was forgetting that the girl was permitted to breathe, to be human without always being programmed for his mantra - by any means necessary. Those same words had been carved in the back of her arm as a lesson when she was child, a lesson he had no problem taking right out of her flesh. While the scars have faded by now, her memories do not and over the years - over the years they’d grown teeth. They’d become reckless and wild, they taught her how to disconnect from her flesh and blood until the vote, the decision to get rid of him was made just like her decision to join; without blinking an eye.

That was five years ago, and even when the wind seems to whistle a lonely song that tries to trick her into thinking she misses him, she’s still got the scars to remind her how stupid that really is. As for her mother, she still visits her in the quiet home they’d left her in, every Sunday. Dinner is a tradition that she follows, unsure whether it’s sentiment or just plain learned habit that keeps her coming back. Emotions had never been welcomed, or easily processed, but she’d begun to learn them once she’d joined a family that didn’t try to take them away from her at every turn. 

as the years passed, she learned what family should have been all the while, forming relationships that taught her lessons that she would never forget. everything seemed to be running smoothly until her departure, checking on other clubs only to realize that her own was a mess of backstabbing and secrets. once she returned back, she began to make the moves to correct that, effectively staging a coup to snatch the presidency out from under the past reaper president, before she could ruin the club entirely. 

now, maeson sits at the top of the food chain, for better or worse, at least for the time being. that responsibility is heavy on her shoulders, but she wouldn’t trade it for anything. these were her people, they had given her everything she has, and more importantly? they’d given her faith, they believed in her, for the first time in her life, there was neverending support for the length’s she’d go to, to protect them. that principle alone said that this wasn’t merely a place to survive anymore, it was a home, and she would fight for it every day, if she had to.

PLAYLIST

ghost krewella // horns bryce fox // degenerates a day to remember // straight razor matt maeson // woman ke$sha // caroline kill it kid // glory the score // go to war nothing more // filthy rich evalyn // the good, the bad, the ugly panic! at the disco // death valley fall out boy // royals otep // trouble natalia kills // devil’s in the backseat lostboycrow // animal badflower // church chase atlantic // game of survival ruelle // middle fingers missio 

[lilaflyy]

Fictober Day 4 - “Will that be all?”

I don’t like this one as much as the one from yesterday, but it’s better than the one from Tuesday! :3 I have a better grasp on Maddy than I have on most characters, so this was a lot of fun to write. I was running short on time in the last part, so that might seem a little rushed, but I think it’s overall okay.

Maddy is my favourite character from “Unseen” by the way. I know a character owner should not pick favourites, but really, she’s my favourite, no doubt about it. ;w;

Maddy

There were a lot of things Paris had taught me and I was sure there were also a lot of things this town in the middle of England could teach me. In the big city you had to be careful of your every step to not accidentally walk into the bad parts of town, but you also had to have the courage to dare something from time to time. I had learned the hard way that daring something might be healthy to get the craving for adventure satisfied and to get stories to tell, but it could also be dangerous. Just how dangerous it could be had become clear to me when I had died in that dirty alley all those years ago.

Naïve little Maddy was gone. She died three years ago in that Parisian alley. A young teenager on the quest to become an adult which she had tackled with an unhealthy amount of recklessness. I had had to pay for that recklessness with a dead best friend and my own human body. Keeping my life only for the price of belonging everywhere yet nowhere.

It had not erased the memories of that day and the trauma had shook me to my core. Even now, years later, I woke up from nightmares, reliving that horrible night over and over. If this torture was part of the curse or just a regular torture my mind subjected me to was unclear.

What had shaken me just as much as the memories, had been the loss of my voice. Well, it had not exactly been a loss but rather a gain of a new ability. An ability I despised. Others might have found a liking in a voice that lured people closer, made them obey to your every wish and made them love you. Old me would have adored it, but after what I have unwillingly sacrificed to gain it, the only thing I yearned for was something real. After all, singing was my life. It had always been my life and it was my dream. To have it twisted like this had been a cruelty by the universe I had never forgiven. A siren voice to one whose only comfort was to sing.

There had also been good things happening in the last three years though. I have met a new best friend. One, who I could be sure was real and not just some person enchanted by my voice. How I could be sure? Well, he was deaf. With my self-enforced muteness and his deafness, we had both become outsiders. He taught me sign language and I practiced speaking with him.

He had also been the first one to find out about my otherness. As the observant person he was, he had realised pretty quickly that something odd happened whenever I talked to others. An oddness that went beyond what was common.

It had taken a while, but we had eventually decided to test out my special abilities in a safe setting and stabilize them so I could live a normal life again. What we discovered, however, had gone far beyond just charming people with my voice.

Now, I was fast, swift and I even could fly. I distracted people with my singing and I could make the quietest of escapes. Becoming a thief had not been something I had ever seen myself doing, but like everything else in my life, it had just happened. A “just this once” had turned into “just one more” until I had grown sick of finding excuses. It had become the norm, even though I was not particularly proud of it.

New town, new rules though. I had to accept that things were different now, but you know what they say, old habits die hard. To be sneaking around such a quiet place with the most horrible crime being the occasional robbery, there was not much to do. Paris had always been buzzing with opportunities, while in this place I had to take what I could get.

Even I had to admit that going for the wallet of some rich bastard was beneath me. He may have had deserved it but the usual thrill that went with my usual nightly escapades.

No priceless jewel was snatched right from under the surveillance of a group of thieves who had stolen it themselves. It also was no busted drug deal or a person saved from murder. It was just a petty act of thievery which I really was not proud of. I almost considered giving the damn wallet back when there was a noise behind me. A noise too silent to be just a random person.

I kept my cool, knowing my glamour and the costume I additionally wore would protect me to be identified. Even I could not do much against a gun being pointed at me, or a knife being held at my neck, so swiftly drew my own knives—they were meant for throwing, one between each finger—and whirled around to whoever had dared to sneak up on me.

It was not a familiar face, but yet there was something I recognized. A feeling. A hunch. Something fey. At least he seemed male, so this would hopefully be easy. Unless he was gay. Well, it was still worth a shot to play my charms now that I could control them!

“Don’t you know it is rude to take things that don’t belong to you?” he asked and held his hand out, as if expecting me to drop the stolen wallet into it and call it a night. Clearly, he was the naïve one out of the two of us, which could give me the upper hand.

“It is also not polite to hit women and only offer them a salary they can actually live from when they endure sexual harassment,” I said with a shrug, not taking my eyes off him. I would not use my siren voice. Not yet. Maybe I could convince him with normal means to let me go.

“Stealing is a sin, yada yada yada, but I’m not religious and the bastard I stole this from obviously isn’t either. It’s by far not what he deserves, but it’s a start,” I continued.

“So, you plan to kill him?” His voice was scarily calm. So far, I had only killed in self-defence and that had been over a year ago and only twice. So, no, I did not plan to kill him. Whatever would lead him to such an assumption?

“I don’t like getting my hands dirty if I can prevent it,” I replied as calmly as possible. This guy unnerved me, maybe I should just charm him and be done with it. I could go home then and use the money to pay for food for a homeless shelter or something similar.

“This is quite human of you.”

A suspicious phrasing.

“Will that be all?” I asked, fake annoyance and nonchalance tugging at my tone. In reality I was just unnerved and wound up like a spring, ready to leap to safety at a moment’s notice.

The clear answer was ‘no’, but it was not given verbally. Instead, he drew a sword—why did always I get the weirdos?! I sprinted away as fast as I could, taking big leaps, bigger than I usually would because they tended to attract attention. At this point I did not care anymore. Some lunatic with a sword was after me and the last thing I had in mind there was subtlety. At least the years in Paris had taught me how to lose someone when they were chasing me.

When I arrived home after half an hour of running around the entire town, the damned wallet still in my bag, I swore to myself to not go out and play Robin Hood again until I had not gathered more intel on creepy sword guy.

The few things he had said and the fact that he had drawn a sword at least let me conclude one thing with absolute certainty: He either was human and knew or he was one of them. After all, what were the chances that he was neither and both? Someone like me? Zero, I would say. Because as far as I was concerned, only I was that unfortunate.

[jkbaws]

end of the line, @yeolkeot​.

they all had their hopes placed onto her and yet selfish as she was, she sought to escape the illusionary chains that bound her. it was him. he who does not care about human lives. he sneered and filled himself with disdain, letting grudges consume him. he did it all so willingly. he talks of a love to offer, but she was nothing more than a pawn. her salvation was elsewhere, until it all goes wrong.

there is one important flaw to her that is easy to accept. she is a hypocrite. she is pure lies and illusions. she ignores any sign of sustainable judgement. the moment her cover is blown, she runs. she is fast, she can hide in her shadows, she can turn her own trail into deception. it made sense why this is her power. it is the manifestation of her soul. she only knew violence but held on to the idea of peace. she only knew cruelty, but held on to the idea of heroism. she is too stubborn, believing in things when everything around her tells her otherwise.

but this time, she runs with the motivation to chase what has haunted her for decades. she knew no stronger foe. adam's semblance was to pierce through aura. all her hits and blade beams, he can simply store and have it backfired on her, bypassing her aura for one big attack. she's seen it herself and replicated the skill itself for her own benefit. the passive force field she can create can only stop damage, not pain. her wounds can heal, but not in a snap. she casts herself on a rule; no logical thought or speech until one of them is dead. this was her last stand, whether she wins or lose. if there was anyone who needed to see her gone, it was him.

his frame, the details of his face, and his figure turns into a glowing red from a distance. she feels her chest sting at the sight of him. he offers her words, but she didn't arrive to have her walls broken down. she makes her first strike in thoughtless anger. "what you want isn't possible. you cannot die." she hated him for speaking the truth. he knew all the ways to tick her off, and even being apart for so long, he knew what her agenda was. yet, she doesn't stop. "i understand. all i ever wanted was you. i wanted to light the fires of revolution with you."

"lies!" she strikes on and on in a tantrum, each beat smashing onto his sword and making it glow brighter. "fight back, you bastard!" thus, the first time he listens to her without any protests. he charges back, sending her katana away and disarming in one blow. all the colors around them becomes drained. everything turns red and black. rose petals float in the air and then they fall, shrinking and wilting. he stops midway, trapping arabella under his weight. "just kill me." she begs, finally sparing him a softened gaze, eyes watering, prepared to bequeath him as she steps into a place of darkness.

"you ought to remember, i made it my mission to destroy everything you love and ever loved." alarmed, her eyes shift in urgency and in a blink of an eye, a searing pain in her chest hits her like a bullet. blood gushes out and covers her while her hand desperately attempts to press down his wound. "no... no, no, no... no..." his skin grows cold yet his expression shows he remained unfazed until his last breath. the night ends with arabella soaked in his blood and her tears.

she bemoans how he continues to hurt her to the very end and the next morning, she paces around in what she's made into her lair with his weapon in her hand. all she's left with was memories. all she ever knew was gone. through mourning, she sets out to clear her mind but a stranger takes the worst of times, halting her steps as he goads her on, speaking of bringing her down. for the sake of his friends. "kihyun" was the only thing that registers and it catches her attention for a split second. then her mind shifts once again. if he could do as he says, she wouldn't complain.

the jaded warrior doesn't flinch at one punch, another and still she doesn't budge. he goes for a third, and a fourth, and adam's words resonate in her mind. it is impossible. it feels impossible. she cannot be killed, not by this weak human being, not by anyone she knew. adam was her only hope but now he's gone, too. she stands unprovoked, but there was still a chance. it was but a selfish act once again, but she was running dry on ideas. she couldn't take it anymore. she intercepts an attack of this stranger, walking forward and him taking steps back until they were on the streets. with all the witnesses around, she severs his arm without a moment of hesitance.

the gasps come in unison. she looks around to see everyone looking at her, some dialing numbers on their phones, others screaming in horror. it was a deed that cannot be undone. she flees, just like she’s always done when trouble arises, even though she’s set on a purpose. back to the place she calls home, she sits solemnly, waiting for the expected visit and it doesn’t take long.

"so we meet again."

death isn't kind. arabella knew that. it snatched where it could, taking people who were far too young, far too good, far too deserving of a life. it didn't pretend to care, it didn't pretend to distinguish. the hooded vale of death had hung over the world for a long time, always threatening. it had never touched arabella quite so close. she never thought it would be possible. not when she's given up years ago and she still stays where she is.

they say those who live fully is not afraid of death. yet despite all the centuries, she has not lived fully and she didn't fear death. she feared not knowing whether the pain she'll stand through would bring her what she had been ready for. she sees it as a foggy road that she has to pass to finally see the clearing. it is yet another path to walk, but who's to stay it'll be her last?

it was selfish of her to put him up to the task. living with the thought of the dead was hard enough, but being responsible for one was another. arabella knew it all too well. she had caused far more deaths than a graveyard can fill.

for treason, for heresy, for witchcraft, for being all that is evil; a capital punishment, this is what she deserves. back in her world, she would have taken a pouring of molten metal onto her, down her throat, into her ears. she would have taken being enclosed within metal contraptions subsequently heated. she would have taken boiling to death. auto-da-fé. everything that was painful. this was to atone for her sins.

lightheaded and feeling like the world is spinning, head throbbing against her skull. cold tendrils embrace her, vision fading, rattling gasps, breaths struggling to slip past bloodied lips. it was a steady progression, but it goes on fast. red with clear blisters, blanching with pressure. she could feel the pain seeping into layers of her skin. then there's yellow along with discomfort, onto the full-thickness and suddenly the pain disappears. she feels nothing but stiffness. then little by little, it turns black and dry, charred with dark scabs. 

she deserves this.

she screamed her last screams, then like a silent yet faithful companion, she waited until she ebbs into the comforting folds of darkness.

i’m coming, everyone.

lights out. sweet dreams.

[clubofinfo]

Expert: Why do so many authoritarians on Twitter have anime girl avatars? The rapid emergence of authoritarian ideologies online — both right wing and left-wing — is perhaps the biggest story of the last five years and one that has caught existing activist communities off foot. For decades radical politics was almost exclusively the domain of anarchists and other explicit anti-authoritarians. Sure there were neonazi gangs on the streets of many cities and the occasional Trotskyist or Maoist on the edges of the activist scene, but anti-authoritarianism was for all intents and purposes hegemonic. The internet eventually helped shatter this hegemony, it gave authoritarians the spaces to recruit that they weren’t capable of holding in meatspace. Movements recruit through social reinforcement, when we enter rooms where everyone is on the same page those norms are reinforced in our cheap monkey brains. The perception of having a tribe or community is a powerful one, merely knowing twelve disparate individuals with the same politics as you is far less pernicious than having all twelve of those individuals in the same space. Suddenly your ideology is not merely an idea up for discussion but rather a law, a flag, a compact, a binding sense of identity. Authoritarian ideologies have always appealed to the most vulgar of our psychological needs. The twists and turns of their arguments are often ludicrous on the face because they’re not actually about intellectual persuasion, but emotional promises. The subtext is the point: We offer you community. We offer you power. Less examined is how these authoritarian cults often promise love. Or, to be more specific, the way they tap into an existing ideology of love. Lots of hetero boys grow up to idealize and long for an ideal of human empathy, kindness, softness and connection denied us under patriarchy — wrapping it up into a distant prize or fantasy to be longed for or strived for. Patriarchy shoves young boys into a kind of brutal competition and the reward it promises at the end of the tunnel is the thing it takes away: empathy, connection, and kindness. We are told that if we can harden ourselves, learn to wall ourselves off further, we might one day stand on the top of a pile of corpses in some gladiatorial arena and be presented with love. Another human being who has been sealed off from the viciousness of the world in cryogenic storage, a crystallized remnant of everything that was snatched from us in childhood. We are then to use our great hulking bulk of scar tissue to enclose around them, to protect their small flower as though a replacement heart. In the most ideal fantasy we are thus made whole, returned to our youth to uncertainly re-start our lives as complete human beings. The picture tends to terminate here in a kind of “Happily Ever After” event horizon, because to even visualize ourselves beyond patriarchy, beyond the broken, twisted pain, isolation, and silent frantic need that has become as integral to our lives as breathing air taxes our imaginations beyond their capacity. We may daydream about particulars — white picket fence, names of children, etc — but it functions akin to dressing up a D&D character. There’s a whole absurd, magical, fantastical leap we’re distracting ourselves from with such particulars. Eventually many of us stop being able to sustain the dream. The goal — the promise — such as it still enters our life does so as a source of mitigation. A stalling tactic in a long doomed retreat. The furthest our imaginations can stretch is clinging to the faint hope of such a prize until one finally drains it and dies alone. A true return to childhood wholeness is finally conceded as impossible, we simply want to sip some nostalgia of what life was like before we became boys, before we became men, one last time before dying. Love — for many, but particularly for heterosexual boys — functions as a utopia. The last conceivable one. It’s no longer possible for most to imagine a world not riven with callous competition. And so one’s aspirations shrink to just prying away one single relationship not characterized by cruelty and fear. This concept of love is the widest spread and most powerful radical ideology in the world today. It is also one of the most silent, since its adherents have given up on trusting anyone beyond this eschaton-like figure of the lover. Men do not speak about love to other men. What would be the point? As in so many other instances the most important parts of our lives are by necessity never shared. And with the girls and women we date we are circumspect. The reward we are promised is one of innocence of what the world has done to us. By such assumption it cannot be aware of its own role. And we cannot speak what drives us. There exists, in every eschatology of this promised utopia, every ideology or narrative that wraps around it, a breaking moment. A “???” step where the chains of context that have wrapped around us disappear and we are suddenly pushed by an outside force, by the hand of god, by narrative power, by The Way It Works!, into utopia. Such a revolutionary or millenarian ideology of love has widely flourished in the last few hundred years in the west. Modern romantic love, “true love” and similar narratives  are so clearly pressure valves for revolutionary instincts. A comfortingly human-scale place to channel the hunger and frustrated aspirations of simultaneously seeing the world as it is and might instead be. Lots of people subscribe to it to varying degrees. I subscribe to it. Or at least some variant. Some days fighting for a better world is too much to ask. Some days the most you can bring yourself to imagine is a single relationship that isn’t shit. You think “If I could have a single tiny burning ember of utopia I’d be fine, I could live once again from its warmth.” Idealistic aspirations in romance and love are not the problem, and they are obviously not in any sense exclusive to geeky hetero boys. We all need warmth in our lives. We all need some kind of relief from the war of all against all. We all need to start somewhere. But what is relatively unique about hetero boys is the way their socialization and the narratives of patriarchy often frame and channel this. Many of the most virulent reactionaries online were clearly once sensitive children. The 4chan nazi who spews hate on women and calls for the establishment of an absurd Reich where women are forced into abject slavery, or indoctrinated into service as Good Aryan Women peppers his internet presence with compulsive anime waifus. Childlike enormous eyes plaintively look out from soft and comforting frills. This representation is abstracted away from any resemblance to a real breathing human, turned into a totem, a constantly invested in and revisited symbol. The internet nazi with a love for anime and other infantilized representations of girls is more than a cliche, it’s a near-constant. If we can just get through these armies of our enemies then Step ??? will happen and everyone will get a waifu. The state will force someone to love me. Without the monsters of feminism to delude and mislead women they will return to their natural state of waifus ready to love me. If only women would be enlightened to how their shortsighted approaches are leaving them unrewarded like they would be if they gave me a chance. If only women would see that fairness means everyone should get a waifu. And finally, fuck it, maybe none of those things will work, maybe none of those arguments ring true. But then where’s any redeeming value in life? Where’s any hope? Goddamn it, maybe if you just blindly rage, if you just seize enough power, maybe somewhere in there you’ll find a path to utopia that would actually work. It’s better than just giving into hopelessness. Conservative and authoritarian ideological structures make a lot more sense when you recognize them as mechanisms to validate one’s own hardening — this wasn’t a mistake! This is the only way! I can have my cake and eat it too! …Either lying about the terms of the relationships they actually have, or actual the paths ahead to other possible relationships. The racism of young white men in the west often takes the form of projecting all the uncontrollable fearful rage and pain you feel, all the brutality and nihilism, onto an animalized other. Self-recognition deferred. The middle class white boys in basements howling for the heads of feminists, posting guides for getting away with rape, and shooting up churches? This tornado of raw scar tissue is not not primal. It’s not some kind of genetic destiny that rules us like puppets. It’s ideological. A worldview beaten into us. Sure there’s sexual frustration, but mostly it’s emotional-mutilation alongside a model of How Things Work that carries such stakes we can never risk breaking from it. The more society hurts young boys and the more we hurt ourselves the more we desperately hunger for what it promises, following its instructions and hurting ourselves all the more. Success, power, toughness, the softest boys become the hungriest for the currencies we are told might buy back what the world has stolen from us. If we deviate even the slightest from the path, we will fall behind in the contest, fail forever. The lunkheads, the privileged brutes who can barely remember what was stolen from them, rarely rise as high as the true ideologues of love. The fratboy is not a true believer, the nerdy girly boy is. The fratboy will pillage, but the nerdy girly boy will kill millions in service to his religion. Every moment carrying the raw tension that this might be the last chance to win. The fratboy chortles with delight at anything that gets things back to the simplistic formula he knows, that removes the obstacles of those feminists and weird kids. He wears his MAGA cap like a party hat. But the nerdy girly boy wears it like a talisman, a crucifix, a holy pact. And just as this ideology of love closes us off from real relationships it epistemically closes us off from alternative paths. Notice what it does not allow for: It does not include the harder path of trying to build positive non-romantic relationships that can satiate some of our ever growing needs. It does not include the harder path of working on yourself to repair some of the damage. It is hard for many to even to speak of much less think of such paths. And with such shrunken aspirations it’s almost impossible to rise to the challenge of meeting another human being honestly, sincerely exploring the fullness of their being and collaboratively creating together. Deep connection — the empathy and solidarity of actual love — is, of course, an immeasurable fountain of strength. But it requires audacity and work. Atrophied and raised on a diet of utopian ambrosia, albeit a limited one, the hungrier we get the less appealing these bitter vegetables look. And as we die of starvation our vision narrows to focus on the golden promise alone. http://clubof.info/