#this image refused to leave my head for Days so i decided to inflict it on you

[bunkerboy]

We were children playing at war

“Lily, can we talk alone?” James asks quietly.

Peter eyes his watch uncertainly. “We’re already late, James.”

“We’ll tell them you’re coming,” Sirius says gruffly, clapping Peter on the back. “Prongs never needs more than five minutes anyway.” 

“Thanks, mate,” James says, and his tone is sarcastic but he really means it. He takes Lily’s hand, and leads her away from the gargoyle that guards Dumbledore’s office. One right turn and they can no longer see the Marauders.

In this nondescript hallway, ten meters from McGonagall’s classroom, he thinks, she might not be about to become a soldier.

She might be fourteen, about to start screaming because he hexed Snape’s textbook to sing dirty sea shanties. She might be sixteen, teasing him for getting his 100th detention and then keeping him company all night under his invisibility cloak. She might be seventeen, stealing kisses when they’re supposed to be patrolling.

She might not be eighteen, returning to Hogwarts one final time to accept Dumbledore’s offer to join the Order of the Phoenix. She might not be about to hand her life over to a war they will probably lose. 

In the same moment, each of them steps closer to the other, and now he can feel her breath on his face.

“I wish you didn’t...” he tries to begin, but she knows exactly where he’s going, and she shakes her head.

“No, you don’t.” She’s right.

“No, I don’t. I wish...I wish I were the sort of person who could fall in love with the sort of person who didn’t want to fight this war.”

She smiles at him, almost. Her eyes are wet, and he brushes the tears away with his thumbs. Merlin, he hates when she cries. “But you aren’t,” she says, “and you didn’t.”

“I love you.”

“And I love you.” Her voice is quiet. “Merlin, we’re the worst sort of people.”

He half-laughs, half-gasps, and presses his forehead to hers. “Don’t you dare die, Evans,” he whispers. “Don’t you dare.”

She touches his hands where they still cup her cheeks. “We have to go back, James,” she says, tilting her head toward the gargoyle.

“Can we just...” his hands fist in locks of her hair. His eyes drink her in. “I want one more minute where you’re not in this war.” She nods, lips trembling as she stares back at him. He tries to memorize her. 

Freckles and asymmetrical nose and bony wrists. 

Terrible haircut because she got drunk and made the rookie mistake of betting against Sirius. 

Fucking unbelievable eyes.

She is the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen, the only real thing in the world. Her eyes flutter closed and so do his, and they stumble even closer until their lips are a half-inch apart and—

“James Potter? Lily Evans?! Merlin’s beard!”

They jerk out of each other’s arms and see a blond Ravenclaw girl staring, mouth open. She looks only two or three years younger than them, but James could swear he’s never seen her before in his life.

“Elizabeth!” Lily cries immediately. She’s a wonder. She probably knew the first years’ names when they were in school. She probably still does.

“What are you doing here?” Elizabeth demands, “You graduated! Merlin, are you two still together?! That is soooooo cute. I always thought you were endgame. I mean, Laura said—”

“We’re here to meet Professor Dum—to meet Albus,” James cuts her off, trying the strange, grown-up name out on his tongue. “And we’re late.” He grabs Lily’s hand and they walk back toward the gargoyle, away from the girl, who just keeps talking to their backs.

Lily laughs under her breath. “Albus? You’re on a first-name basis with Dumbledore now?” she whispers, as soon as Babbling Beth is out of earshot. “You are such a show-off, Potter.”

He grins goofily at her. He loves that she caught him. “You don’t know, maybe old Al and I get together at the weekends and crack open a few butterbeers.”

“And how do those convos go, exactly?” she asks, giggling, as they reach the gargoyle. She drops her voice an octave and scrubs her hair with a hand, imitating him: Yo, Old Al, long time no booze!”

“Ah, but Papa J,” he answers in his best Dumbledore impression, and Lily snorts. “It is the mark of a truly great pub crawler that he may return after a day or a decade and find the drink just as he left it.” then, to the gargoyle: “pumpkin pasties.” The statue leaps aside, and Lily and James step onto the stone staircase that carries them upward. She leans against him, and he lets go of her hand to wrap his arm around her shoulders and squeeze. “How fares the missus, Papa J?”

Lily tosses her hair, smiling. “Gorgeous as ever. Much too good for me. Far smarter than I am, and almost as smart as I think I am.” He kisses her temple and hums his agreement. “How about you, Al? Still loving the bachelor life?”

“Ah, yes. Chicks dig the beard.”

She blinks. “Chicks?” she says in her normal voice, “Babe, you know Dumbledore’s gay, right?”

“What?”

“James...”

“What?!”

“This cannot be new information for you! The man pulls. He definitely shagged our 6th year Defense prof—”

“Ragnarion?!” his jaw drops, and his arm falls from around her shoulders. The woman is blowing his mind.

“—Him and Slughorn have a whole will-they-or-won’t-they going on, but I have it on good authority that they did once, and, get this! It wasn’t good—”

“Lily, give me a Knut’s minute to process that he’s gay before we detail his whole body count—I always assumed McGonagall...hold on, is that why Ragnarion didn’t get sacked after that bit with the engorged hinkypunk and Longbottom’s arse?”

“Obviously! What, did you think he stuck around because he was such an inspiring teacher?”

They reach the top of the stairway. Dumbledore has left the door ajar for them. The world rushes back in. They are frozen, staring at each other, inches from the door, inches from the war.

James’s bantering retort dies in his throat, and Lily drops the bag she was holding. They collide. His arms circle her waist, her hands tangle in his hair, their lips seal too tight to breathe. Desperation makes them clumsy. His spectacles bite her nose; she stands on his feet. His hair is a mess from his anxious scrubbing at it all day and her hands get caught, tugging painfully. None of that matters. In this moment, they are not yet soldiers losing a deadly war. They are just children in love, kissing under their headmaster’s nose.

[husbandohunter]

Moments of Despair #1 [Genshin Impact/Diluc x Reader]

Synopsis: “The man who was on fire and realized it too late.”

(A series of works where the boys deal with the passing of their beloved).

Albedo's despair

Warnings: angst, tragedy, major character death, graphic depictions of violence perhaps

(A/n): Had these ideas for a while after reading @/serensama To Mourn series of another fandom. So much sorrow and feeling I just was inspired to write 😫

_______________________________________________

The moment you fell lifeless in Diluc's arms, he wanted to disappear.

It was raining again, he had always despised the rain. How it trickles down the slope of your cheek, like tears falling from the heavens. The sight of it mixing with your blood creating a thin stream of red rivers flowing beside him. They patter down obnoxiously because time didn't care, the gods don't care, the world didn't care. You were just a small fragile person to their eyes but to him you were his light. A candle that used to shine in his dark world was now dissipitated by the waters of reality.

Many droplets have passed and he was still holding you. Diluc could do nothing but stare. He hadn't shed any tears nor could he make a coherent sound. Perhaps it was because his tears have long run out when his father was held in the very same way. Or it was because he was heartless. He's usually told for being cold and indifferent. But the pain clenching in his chest was proof that he still had one (proof that it was still beating), much to his dismay. It would be better if he didn't.

So why can't he just look away? Your wounds, your bruised features, everything now etched so deep into the back of his conciousness that is was starting to awaken his worst nightmares. They were the source of the bile growing in his stomach. The irony stench filling up his nostrils felt so sickening. He couldn't turn away. You're dead. You're dead. You're dead. As if reality had yet to register, or maybe he refused to accept it, Diluc helplessly gazed down your body with blank and empty eyes.

"Master Diluc..."

Jean's voice called out to him pitifully. He rises up with his back turned, ignoring the stares given to him, "Leave. The knights of favonius are not needed here."

"But she's a Mondstadt citizen," The anemo user retorts, slightly taken aback by his impassive reaction, "It's my responsibility to ensure this case doesn't go unnoticed."

Unnoticed. Diluc scoffs in his mind, what a tasteless joke.

"It seems you weren't listening," he announces as his head was turned ajar so they could see the deep hatred glowing red in his eyes, "Leave. Now."

Jean's lips trembled before barely being able to say, "Alright" and retreating her knights back to the city. Kaeya narrows his gaze at his bother, the sorrow was evident through his pupils. He steps forward until he was arms length away from his brother. Too little too late, another failure was added to the belt.

Kaeya was a man of many words but for once he was at loss of what to say. No underhanded suggestions, no ideas taunting him to spill his thoughts, he simply asks Diluc, "What are you planning to do now?"

Silence. Kaeya couldn't predict what sort of expression his brother was making as he looks at your corpse. It brought a heavy weight of unsettlement upon him and here he thought he had already grown used to his brother's quietness.

Slowly, he turns around while letting the water pour down his face. Kaeya tightens his jaw as Diluc drags his feet towards him, stopping when their shoulders were parallel, "It's none of your concern."

"You're just going to leave her here?"

There was a slight pause which was enough of an answer. The Cavalry Captain sighs when he watched him walk away, what was the point of asking when Kaeya knew Diluc so well? He glances at your form before swiftly shutting his eyes.

It was his concern.

-------

A week later, the staff of the Ragnvindr household could hardly recognize their Master's appearance. They knew not to bother him when he decides to lock himself in his chambers. Diluc drowns himself with work from hours to no end as he connects the findings of the person that took your life. As expected, it was one of his enemies- a fatui member. The question was, which one?

"Master Diluc, I beg of you, please take care of yourself," Elzer pleads.

The pyro user didn't bother to spare him a glance or look at the tray of food he carried.

Food...you always brought them whenever he had to work overtime.

"I do not remember specifiying anyone to be allowed in my office," he voices aloud, "If it's related to business affairs simply leave that with Adelinde and I'll take a look at it tomorrow."

"I understand. But you've been working all day and night yet refusing to take any breaks in between. At this rate, you'll harm your health."

The feather pen in his grip kept dragging it's course, "This is beyond the duties assigned to you Elzer."

"That's because it was a request sent by your father," he adds, knowing that stepping over his boundaries may cost him, "If Master Crepus was still here, I'm sure he would have said the same thing."

Taking a deep breath, Elzer lays out his last card, "And also your wife."

The pen slows into a halt.

No one had brought you up until now. Elzer anxiously watches his Master shifting in his seat, his red bangs covering half of his face but he could still see the frown pressing firmly on his lips. It wouldn't be a surprise if Diluc suddenly bursted at him for mentioning such a sensitive topic, all that matters was his master's well being and Elzer was willing to risk everything for it. But nothing. Diluc turns his attention ever so slightly at the tray he carried.

"Fine, but I'm not eating that."

"What? Wasn't this was her favourite-"

"Do I need to repeat myself?"

Elzer furrows his brows before sighing, "...No, Master Diluc."

He exits the room while carrying the fresh dish of Once Upon A Mondstadt that you loved so much. The door closes with a soft click and he was alone again.

People found it strange how Diluc seemed so vacant to your passing. He didn't even show up at your funeral. Instead, he continues his duties as a Mondstadt nobleman like usual while taking care of business matters associated with the winery. Except those who were close to him could see the difference in his actions. Apathy, he was so mechanical in every task he did. Like a marionette attatched on strings, a doll without a soul. After all, his soul died the moment when yours did too. What remains was a shadow of Diluc and a being existing solely for revenge and duty. He was nothing but a remnant.

Fatigue begins to wash over him and he fights to stay awake. Because once he gives in it will all be over. Once he closes his eyes, he would see your face with a multitude of images from the past. He would hear your voice calling out his name from a distant space as it echoes off the walls of his mind. He would fall into a dream where you were still with him and as always, waking up to see that it was never real.

I should have pushed you away.

Because what hurt Diluc the most wasn't that you were gone, rather, it was how you were still here.

Then you'd still be-

Something breaks and it turned out to be the pen he was holding so tightly. Only now Diluc realized how fast his heart was thrumming as beads of sweat began rolling down his forehead. Focus. Don't waste time. He won't grant himself the liberty of anything when your murderer was still on the run. Every wound they inflicted on you was going to be returned in tenfold. He'll make sure of it. That's why, he refuses to think about you at all. Diluc occupies his mind with other matters since at this point, work was the only efficient method of keeping his sanity in tact.

She needs you to focus.

The door opens and Kaeya enters the room while holding a document, "We found the guy."

His reaction was immediate, "Where?"

"Hm, now that we meet, it's actually quite debateable," The captain notes wryly, "When was the last time you've gotten proper rest?"

"I don't have time for this, either you tell me or I'll do it by force."

Kaeya couldn't help but sigh, "Apologies but you don't seem to be in any state for a fight. I'm sure you know how it would end up if you were to face your enemy right now."

"..."

"Diluc, this isn't healthy," Kaeya asserts, it's been a while since he sounded so sincere, "I'm not here to prevent you from doing what's necessary however, perhaps it would be better if I finished it in your stead."

"No," Diluc stubbornly answers, "Hand that over."

"...Heh, then there's really nothing I can do to stop you it seems," he whispers with a sad smile, "At the very least, be careful."

"I intend to," The pyro user snatches the paper parchment out of Kaeya's hands before opening the window, "Also, if Elzer returns, tell him there's a few errands I have to take care of."

The night was a full moon and the sky was empty, Diluc leaps off the edge and disappears into the darkness. There was no telling of what could happen next. Since you weren't here, it was up to Kaeya to watch over him.

-------

The claymore dropped to the ground with a clang as it soaks up the blood of the fatui he just killed.

Diluc was tired, so tired.

He slumps down against the wall from pure exhaustion, all that adrenaline and hatred went up in fumes, leaving behind whatever was left in his heart: nothing. Two hours, not even that far from Mondstadt, the fatui hid in an abandoned building as he cowarded for his life. When Diluc arrived, he never expected this monster to be so weak. This was the person who murdered you? A pathetic nobody that was simply following orders? This was the reason why he lost you forever?

In the end, the only one to blame was himself, for being weak and unable to protect you. He was supposed to be your hero ("Darknight hero," you'd always tease), the rock that shields you just as you had been the warmth he longed for many years, did he give you enough? Was this enough? He thought avenging your death would grant him a peace of mind and the justice you deserved but deep down, he knew it will never be enough when it comes to his love for you.

"Diluc."

He closes his eyes, he hears your voice. He was so tired, it wouldn't be a surprise if he started hallucinating.

"Diluc."

"I'm sorry..."

The man lets out a trembled breath as he apologized to the image of you in his mind. I'm sorry I failed you. They were repeated like a mantra in hopes to reach you somehow. Of course that was impossible, his feelings, his emotions, love and sorrow altogether will never reach you again. And your arms that once comforted him and brushed his hair with a soothing voice, saying everything will be okay, where are they now?

"Diluc."

"Stop," he didn't want to hear your voice.

"Diluc, I'm here."

"Stop..."

"Diluc..."

He jolts his eyes open and lets out a yell, what was he saying? He doesn't know. All he needed now was to drown out the fake voices mocking in his head. Diluc grabs the nearest object and shatters it against the floor, the dam was broken and it flooded uncontrollably, breaking everything in it's way. The abandoned house was filled with loud cries of a man sobbing with agony like a broken-hearted child. He crumbles to his knees and falls to his side, lifting his forearms while clutching his face.

And screamed.

Archons, what did he do to deserve this? Why do the people he cherish get taken away from him? Diluc never wanted to be the Darknight hero if it meant having his father perish in his arms. He didn't want the feeling of stabs against his chest with every breath he took. He didn't want to feel cold while knowing it was because you weren't here to hold him. He didn't want your voice, your pictures or your memory.

He wanted you.

"(Y/n)..." he chokes. Rolling to his back, Diluc moves his arms to cover his eyes, letting the tears run down to his ears, "(Y/n)..."

For who knows how long, he lays there in the abandoned building and mourns. Diluc doesn't have the strength to move from his position, he found himself staring mindlessly through the cracks of the roof when his voice had gone hoarse. The corners of his eyes still burned and his head was throbbing with so much pain. Maybe he should just stay here but the thought of being in the same room as your murderer was unfathomable.

Picking up his claymore once again, Diluc drags himself out of the door. Where would he go? It's not like he had a home to return to because home was when he was with you. A doll without a soul, the marionette moves as if the strings have commanded him to do so. Where ever it takes him, he didn't care. He just knew he had to go.

[alcinadimitrescuwu]

This Woman's Work Part IX (Alcina x Female Reader Fanfic)

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI Part VII Part VIII

“You’re almost there, Maman. You’re doing great. Just a couple more steps.”

You take a deep breath in through your nose and blow it out through your mouth and push forward at your daughter’s coaxing, your arms gripping the railing that had been set up in your bedroom. The wound in your side is in agony but you take another step, biting the inside of your cheek hard to keep from crying out in pain.

It has been three weeks since that horrible night. You had already lost a lot of blood by the time Karl and Alcina arrived at Donna’s place. In an incredible stroke of luck, Donna had surgical thread in her sewing kit and at Salvatore’s instructions (he was having one of his good days) sewed up the place where Alcina’s claws had torn through. You were in and out of consciousness, but every time you opened your eyes Alcina was there by your side holding your hand.

Alcina is sitting nearby in her chair now, gently burping Ecaterina after her feeding. She looks up at you and you see concern in her golden eyes and another emotion that has been a mainstay for the past couple weeks: guilt.

Things had been...awkward between the two of you since that night. No matter how many times you assured her that all was well and you had forgiven her, she refused to forgive herself. You had only been intimate one time since that night and it ended quickly after Alcina had forgotten about the wound in your side as she cupped your hip and you couldn’t hold back the scream of pain that came out of your mouth. Alcina had immediately gotten out of the bed and as far away from you as she could, as if afraid touching you would cause any more damage.

She had sunk into the chair and began sobbing brokenly. You had wished to go to her, but your Bath chair was already on the other side of the room. You braced yourself against one of the bedposts as you said gently, “Darling, it was an accident. The pain’s already subsiding. Please come back to bed.”

Alcina covered her face with her hands, but you could see the tears rolling down her cheeks. “I can’t even make love to my wife without causing her pain. What kind of wife does that make me?” The raw self-hatred in her voice broke your heart.

From that point on whenever you had settled down for the night, Alcina kissed your forehead and turned out the light and that was the end of it. She kept to her own side of the bed and you greatly missed the feeling of her muscular arms about you with your shoulder tucked under her chin, her curls kissing your cheekbones.You had the sense that if you tried to move closer she would move away so you didn’t even try.

You try to take another step and suddenly the room spins around you and you fall forward. Daniela, however, quickly grabs your arm and puts her arm around your shoulder before you hit the ground.

“I think that should be enough for today, Maman,” Bela says soothingly.

You set your jaw. You only have three more steps to go before you clear the railing. “No, girls, I can keep going.” But your ragged breathing and forehead shining with sweat give you away. You push your tongue to the inside of your cheek and taste coppery blood from where you had bitten into it.

Cassandra rolls your Bath chair over to you. “Maman, you don’t need to push yourself so hard. You’re not gonna be of any use to Ecaterina if you run yourself ragged.”

You smile at Cassandra’s brutal honesty as she helps you into your Bath chair. “You’re right, dearest.”

Alcina stands up, having finished burping Ecaterina. She looks affectionately over at her daughters taking care of you and you see one of the first genuine smiles from her that you’ve seen in weeks. “You’ve been so good to Maman these past few weeks, dears. She and I really appreciate all the help you’ve given to us and Ecaterina.” She rests the hand not holding Ecaterina on the back of your chair and you take her hand in yours, kissing her knuckles. Surprisingly, she doesn’t pull away this time. “It’s time for us to put Ecaterina down for her nap and for me to change Maman’s bandages. If you’ll excuse us, loves.”

The girls nod in agreement and vanish into their bug shrouds. Alcina turns around and settles Ecaterina into her cradle. Ecaterina gurgles, her eyes mirroring the gold in Alcina’s. Alcina gives her a tender kiss on the forehead before turning to you. She motions for you to stand up and you obey as she kneels down to your level and helps you take off your day dress. Standing there in your slip with her hands on you reminds you of how long it has been since you have last felt her touch.

Alcina lifts up your slip ever so lightly and peels off the gauze bandage wrapped around your waist. Alcina sets her jaw as she uncovers the gashes she herself had inflicted on you. She takes off her gloves, dips the pad of her thumb in a jar of salve and applies it to your wounds. There is an unreadable expression on her face.

You try to give her an encouraging smile. “I talked to Sal the other day,” you posit. “He says that even though the wound is deep,if I don’t expose it to too much sunlight it won’t leave a scar!”

“Not a physical one at least,” Alcina mutters.

Ok. You’ve had enough. You turn her head to face you. “Darling, we’ve been over this,” you say, rubbing her cheekbone with the pad of your thumb. “Are you going to keep punishing yourself forever?”

Almost despite herself, Alcina leans into your touch and interlaces her large fingers with yours. “I can’t imagine how much physical pain you must be in, my love,” Alcina whispers. “And all by my hand.” Tears begin forming in Alcina’s aureate eyes. “I nearly killed you.”

“You didn’t though, Alcina!” You move over to her lap and she gently almost tentatively wraps her arms around you and holds you close. You lean your head against her chest and resist the urge to sigh. It’s been so long since you’ve been held by your wife. “I know you were under Miranda’s control but something held you back from killing me outright. I know it.”

“You don’t know what it’s like being under someone else’s control.” You can almost feel Alcina’s body shudder as she recalls that night. “It was like I was outside my body watching myself. I was screaming at myself to stop when I kissed that woman.” The memory of your wife kissing Mother Miranda so passionately pops into your mind briefly but you shut it out as she goes on. “And when I stabbed you, I-” Her voice cracks. “I was practically begging myself to stop but my body just moved on its own.”

“Don’t you see, then, darling?” you ask. “You weren’t yourself when you were under Mother Miranda’s control. The person that kissed Mother Miranda, the person that stabbed me, that wasn’t you, so please.” You cradle Alcina’s face in your hands and stare into those beautiful discs of gold. “Please stop blaming yourself for this. Mother Miranda is dead. I’m alive. Our daughter is safe and healthy. That’s what matters now.”

Alcina kisses your forehead lovingly. “When did you get so wise?” she asks, tucking a stray curl behind your ear. You can see that you’ve finally gotten through to her. Her body posture is more relaxed, her jaw is loose, and her shoulders aren’t so tight. She carefully places the new bandage over your wound and you feel a pleasant tingle as you feel her bare fingers brush briefly over your tender skin.

She moves to pull your slip over your new bandage but you take her wrist before she can withdraw it. You hold her gaze as you take the strap of your slip off your shoulder and your slip coils in a pool of silk around your ankles. She takes you in her arms and brushes her lips against yours briefly. When she pulls aways, you see the same desire in her eyes. “Are you quite sure, ingeras?” Alcina asks, brushing the back of her knuckles against your cheekbones.

“Yes” you rasp. “Take me to the bed.”

Alcina picks you up as you wrap your legs around her waist, taking care not to touch your sensitive wound and carries you over to the bed. She gently, almost reverently lays you down on the bed. She lowers herself down to kiss you again and you bury your fingers in her curls. Alcina deepens the kiss, her tongue coaxing your mouth open as you unfasten the pearl buttons on the back of her dress. “I’ll go slow for you, draga,” Alcina murmurs against your lips.

“Alright, let’s see how our little patient is doing today- JESUS CHRIST! What the FUCK?”

It seems like Heisenberg has decided to check up on you today.

With a frustrated growl Alcina moves quickly in front of you while holding her own dress up. “Yes, Heisenberg, that is in fact what we were setting out to do before you arrived.” Alcina shakes her head at him derisively. “You seem to have impeccably bad timing, as always.”

Heisenberg’s face is beet red again, you note with amusement. “Well, excuse me for trying to check in on my sister-in-law and my goddaughter! Speaking of which, really Alcina? Getting down and dirty with the kid in the room?”

Alcina’s cheeks are also sporting a lovely red color. “Ecaterina was asleep.” Amidst all the commotion, Ecaterina has already woken up and is crying. “Well, she was until you came in.”

The girls suddenly materialize into the room. “Mother!” Cassandra chirps. “I thought I heard Uncle Karl in here and- JESUS CHRIST! What the FUCK!”

Alcina covers her face with her hands. Bela takes the book that Daniela is holding and holds it so it’s covering the image of you and your wife on the bed. “Really Mother,” Bela tuts to herself.

Daniela doesn’t seem to mind. She turns to the two of you, unperturbed by the state of your undress and asks, “Can Uncle Karl stay for dinner, Mother, Maman? Please? It’s been so long since we’ve all had dinner together!”

You smile indulgently at her over Alcina’s shoulder. “Of course he can, darling,” you say.

“Fine,” Alcina mutters. "Now if you please, will all of you kindly get out of our room?”

The daughters vanish into the bug shrouds, chattering excitedly about what Cook is making for dinner. Heisenberg leaves too, chuckling softly to himself.

You turn to your blushing bride and give her a chaste kiss on the lips before you both get dressed and join your daughters for dinner.

Together. As a family.

[comfortwriting]

Unbreak My Heart - F.W

Fred Weasley X Reader Part 2 of ‘Call Out My Name’, inspired by the song ‘Unbreak My Heart’ by Toni Braxton.

Part 1 , Part 3

About: Fred realises he has everything wrong. His heart aching for the reader after pushing her aside for someone else, he searches for her to apologise for what he’s done and to admit his true feelings for her.

Theme: Heartache, sadness, moving on, relationships, rumours.

Warnings: mentions of raw emotions, *incredibly light* smut, depression, body image issues and swearing.

Don't leave me in all this pain Don't leave me out in the rain Come back and bring back my smile Come and take these tears away I need your arms to hold me now The nights are so unkind Bring back those nights when I held you beside me

The first thirteen months without Fred were the worst. You couldn’t face visiting Weasleys Wizard Wheezes no matter how many times George asked in his letters which you ignored. You couldn’t go into Diagon Alley without hearing news about The Weasleys - more importantly, the news about Fred and his darling; they were now engaged.

You kept to your bedroom, crying to sleep every night, looking through all the pictures you had taken of and with Fred over the years that you were with him. Letters you had written to him laid scrunched up all over your floor like an author going mad over a sticky, confusing, part of the story - but that was exactly what this was. 

Everywhere you went as you entered Diagon Alley, you were forced to listen to the news over and over again that the shop was a success. You wanted to congratulate George, but after ignoring him for so long you couldn’t bring yourself to pick up a pen to reach out to him.

Too afraid to let anyone in after the damage Fred inflicted on you, you didn’t bother meeting anyone new.

Plenty of people offered and even your sister tried to match you up with a friend of hers from work, but you declined and allowed Fred’s damage to take over you.

You only left the house for work which was torture enough as you worked with Percy at the Ministry. You ate one meal a day which was an apple on your lunch break. You didn’t dream of moving out despite your parents encouragement and you simply just collapsed in on yourself whilst your family constantly complained about Fred, swearing that you chose the wrong twin.

Although you hated Fred - or at least convinced yourself that you did - you still thought about him every single day, and at bedtime you would envision yourself back on his sofa in his arms underneath that scratchy patchwork blanket you shared many memories under. 

Laying awake staring at the ceiling, you took a deep breath. It had been over a year. You couldn’t go on like this. You needed to claim your life back, one step at a time. Sitting up in your bed, you grabbed the last of your parchment and leaned it against an old book. Dipping your feather quill into your ink pot that rested beside your bed next to the framed picture of you and Fred, you wrote to George.

You began apologising for not replying and for not visiting the shop, explaining why, and asked how everything was going - you missed your friend and it became suffocating to ignore him reaching out.

Un-break my heart Say you'll love me again Undo this hurt you caused When you walked out the door And walked out of my life Un-cry these tears I cried so many nights Un-break my heart My heart

It had been another five months since you wrote your letter to George and you were still waiting for a reply. You told yourself that perhaps he got too busy with the shop or he just didn’t want to mend things after you ignored him for so long. Either way, you didn’t ponder on it, sprayed yourself with some perfume, and got ready to leave for your third date this week.

George wasn’t ignoring you on purpose. He truly was too busy with not just everything at the shop, but also helping Fred plan out this so-called wedding and engagement party that came out of nowhere. He planned to write back but time got the better of him, he knew you wouldn’t take it personally.

“Oh look at you!” your sister grinned, “Same guy?” she asked enthusiastically. 

“No,” you shook your head and grabbed your coat, putting it on, “I don’t see the same guy twice if the spark isn’t there.”

Your sister smiled to herself and told you to have a good time. You enjoyed yourself temporarily until you remembered Fred Weasley and what he did. He was the reason why you decided against seeing the same person twice. If there was no chemistry during intimacy you moved on. Speed dating was the perfect temporary aid you needed at the moment.  

And just like Fred and his fiancé, word got out about you and how desirable you were. Instead of wallowing in self-pity, you started looking after yourself and forced yourself into the limelight. Even if it didn’t result in finding your true love, you still wanted to have fun along the way.

Your parents went to The Leaky Cauldron, and just as they were leaving, they bumped into Molly and Arthur Weasley. Your parents flinched at first sight, but swallowed the anger they had towards their son Fred.

“Oh Mr and Mrs Y/LN! what a lovely surprise to see you!” Molly chirped up. George turned his head and stood up to greet your parents. Unlike Fred, they loved George.

“And you.” Your father replied, his voice monotone.

“We haven’t seen your daughter for ages. We missed her last summer, please ask her to come and see us. George misses her and it’s our Freddie's engagement party tonight!” Molly babbled on, pointing to George when she mentioned him and Fred.

Molly and Arthur loved you coming over to the burrow. They loved you even more seeing how happy you made their son. In their eyes you brought out the best in him. On the other hand, they weren’t keen on the girl Fred decided to marry, she was inconsiderate, selfish and didn’t know what hard work was - she was handed everything she ever wanted, the exact opposite to you.

Your fathers face flushed with frustration. Didn’t they know why you never came around anymore? Were they not aware that Fred was the reason she screamed and cried every night for over a year?

Your mother hesitated but decided against holding back. She liked the Weasley family, but she couldn’t allow Fred to get away with what he had done. 

“Maybe you should ask your darling boy, Fred. Or maybe George will tell you, he’s the decent one of the two.” 

Your mother said no more and stormed out of the packed pub, your father trailing behind nodding a goodbye to George. Molly and Arthur stood there speechless and looked over at George, demanding that he tells them what happened as soon as they arrive home when everyone has gone to bed.

Fred felt strange throughout the whole party. He didn’t feel happy like he thought he would - he hadn’t been feeling happy for the past five months. Something in his life just didn’t feel right and he couldn’t put his finger on what was wrong -waking up next to his girlfriend made him feel sick and he realised how stupid he was thinking that getting engaged would make everything better.

Molly, Arthur and George sat at the dining table when everyone else was in bed. “George you better tell me what happened, now!” Molly hissed in a low whisper.

George spilled absolutely everything, from beginning to end. As much as he loved his twin, he didn’t shy away from any details even if they showed Fred for exactly who he was, and the awful things he did. Molly and Arthur were outraged at their child's behaviour. Molly had to restrain herself at the table whilst she sobbed into her hands.

Far away, you panted heavily as you came down from your high with your date. Unmounting him, you laid beside him in his bed. He took off his condom and breathlessly offered taking a shower with him. You accepted his offer knowing that you could go home straight after, you wouldn’t need to stress about hurrying in the morning to get to work on time. 

Take back that sad word goodbye Bring back the joy to my life Don't leave me here with these tears Come and kiss this pain away I can't forget the day you left Time is so unkind And life is so cruel without you here beside me

Work at the ministry became more tolerable over the next six months. Percy smiled at you more often and you couldn’t understand why. You didn’t look into it and simply smiled back. You flourished even more within the same time - you had got into a relationship with the one night stand you shared a shower with. The curly haired bookshop assistant grew on you and you didn’t mind, he often made you laugh so hard you burst into tears.

Whilst you were finding yourself, running with the wind, Fred had fallen apart completely. He overheard George spilling his guts, and finally realised why everything felt so wrong, why he wasn’t happy. You were the missing piece. His guilt and mistakes were eating him alive. He broke off the engagement - to his parents delight - and vowed on finding you and making everything right. George felt relieved that he had his own room because Fred’s cries were enough to make anyone feel ill.

Fred slept with the Irish scarf he bought you from the world cup, and he kept the patchwork blanket on his bedroom, refusing to bring it back downstairs.

Memories flashed back to him, the two of you in the tent, “Oh Fred are you sure?” you asked him as he put the scarf around your neck.

He chuckled and kissed your head, “Anything for you, my love!”

Then memories from the sofa flooded in, hurting him even more. 

“I’m so in love with you,” you moaned, cupping his face while he made love to you. 

He shook his head and came to his senses, angry that he put such a lovely girl in the firing line.

“Percy, Y/N works with you doesn’t she? Can you tell her I need to see her.” He later begged.

Percy refused, “That would be an incredibly inappropriate thing to do in the work place!” 

Fred wrote you letters, but you never got them. The family refused to lend him their owl and Fred couldn’t understand muggle post. Getting desperate, he would stay in Diagon Alley trying to see where you were lurking after work, asking strangers if they had seen you, showing them the only picture he had of you.

“It’s going to be perfect here!” Your mum smiled looking around your large half unpacked apartment, “When will he be moving in?” She winked.

You finally saved up enough money to move out and you were planning on asking your boyfriend to move in if things continued to run smoothly. You had got your furniture, all you needed were the items left in the big green box from your bedroom. “I’ll collect them next week.” 

Feeling brave with your partner, arms linked, the two of you visited George’s shop. He had sent you a letter letting you know when Fred wasn’t working and you felt confident that you wouldn’t bump into him.

“I’m so proud of you!” You cheered for George, giving him a hug.

After paying for your bits and bobs you previously saw in the design stages, you walked out of the shop and bumped into someone. Looking up to apologise, you realised it was Fred. He stared at you - both of you mirroring each other looking like a deer caught in the headlights. 

You shook yourself out of the immediate shock Fred was still stuck in. 

“Sorry,” you muttered, walking away, your boyfriend asking what his problem was.

Un-break my heart Say you'll love me again Undo this hurt you caused When you walked out the door And walked out of my life Un-cry these tears I cried so many nights Un-break my heart

Another week went by and Fred was going stir crazy. Customers in his shop who knew you both were whispering about how happy you were now. Him and George argued when he discovered the letter between you two.

Fred rifled through the stacks of letters and found your parents address where you no longer lived. He got on his broom, not caring if muggles saw him, and landed on the roof. He crawled down to your window and gave it a tap with his wand with a soft “Alohomora”.

Expecting to find you asleep, he discovered only disappointment that your room laid bare and empty. The bedside table had nothing but a folded photo lying face down on it, the bin on the floor full of parchment balls.

He unfolded the photo and put a hand over his mouth, seeing you and him moving during your morning walks. He bent down and grabbed a ball from the bin, unravelling the parchment. He cried reading the letters you had written him but never sent. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted the green box on your bed and he went through it, more tears spilling down his face.

“I’ll just grab my box!” He heard you yell, walking upstairs. 

Without giving him time to hide, you opened the door, revealing him standing in front of you. You held back a scream of shock and took a deep breath shaking your head, “Fred please - you can’t be here.” 

Fred shook his head and cried, “I’m so sorry, for everything,” he made his way closer to you, “I got everything wrong, her, everything.”

Not wanting your parents to see him, you closed your bedroom door and locked it, your heart pounding. Tears fell from your eyes, the walls you put up against him crashing down, your hate for him melting away and your love for him surging inside.

“Why are you here?” you questioned him through your cries.

Fred walked over to you slowly not wanting to scare you off. This was the closest you had been to him since you bumped into him at the shop. The young man you fell in love with wrapped his arms around you, tangling his hands in your hair. You stayed still with your hands by your side.

“I’m in love with you.” Fred choked out between sobs. He pulled away and gently put your hands in his, your tear filled eyes getting lost in his.

“Fred- I can’t!” you shook your head crying, feeling weak at the words he said and the ones you replied with. 

“Please,” Fred begged getting onto his knees, staring up at you, “please let me make things right.”

Don't leave me in all this pain Don't leave me out in the rain Bring back the nights when I held you beside me

“I think you look stunning,” Fred complimented you, soot spread out all over your nose.

You chuckled and sneaked a kiss on his lips, only to hear a loud thud on the desk in front of you.

“One weeks’ detention for the two of you,” Professor Snape snarled, “and fifty points will be deducted from your house.”

Un-break my heart Say you'll love me again Undo this hurt you caused When you walked out the door And walked out of my life Un-cry these tears I cried so many, many nights Oh, un-break my

“What do you mean you’re taking her instead of me!” you freaked out, throwing your earrings at the mirror. 

“It’s just a bloody Yule Ball. Y/N. It doesn’t mean anything.” Fred argued.

“Well it does to me!” you argued back, “I’m guessing I was just your back up plan if she said no.” 

Un-break my heart, oh baby Come back and say you love me Un-break my heart, sweet darlin' Without you I just can't go on

Fred held you in his arms, the two of you watching the muggle horror movie in amazement. You nuzzled your head into his neck, planting kisses on it softly. Fred let out a soft shaky moan, his hand making its way up your thigh. “We’ll need to be quiet,” he whispered, pulling your underwear off.

Can't go on (Say that you love me, say that you love me) (Tell me you love me, un-break my) (Say that you love me, say that you love me) (Tell me you love me, un-break my)

You stared at Fred, still trying to process what he said. You pursed your lips and stayed quiet getting lost in your thoughts. Fred noticed you were in shock and lost for words. He pulled out the scarf from his coat pocket and walked over to you, wrapping it around you.

You stared up at him, getting lost in those gorgeous eyes that you missed so much. You looked down at his lips and kissed him impulsively.

He kissed back.

[fenristheorem]

Lance Romantic Headcanons

(Technically part 2)

I’ve had a few of general / romantic headcanons running through my mind for a while now regarding Lance, so as part of my weeks away I decided I wanted to write about this. This isn’t to be confused with my two request writings (part 1 and 2) asking for headcanons of Lance in Guardienne in a relationship, although, the subject is very closely related so it’s probably a bit of a sister series lol.

~ Under the cut ~

I'm going to jump right into this: I think Lance has a dirty secret (many secrets actually, but I’m only sharing this one for now 😉). I theorize he secretly likes sensual dancing; soft yet intimate or intense music playing, and either watching his partner dance around or dancing with her. Being able to grasp her hips gently and sway with her, nuzzling his face into her neck, and pressing her body against his could definitely bewitch him into falling in love with is partner all over again. For this reason, he'd also like when his partner gives him lap dances - if that's something she's interested in doing - especially if she’s being subtly dominant about it. However, this isn't anything that's necessary, more like something that he enjoys when offered due to the intimacy of it. He'd never admit his interest in this, though - except maybe to his partner - and he'd certainly never do any of this in public.

He’s probably into massages - both giving and receiving - as this includes a lot of physical touch, too. Being a warrior and the Chief of Obsidian, Lance probably has a lot of stress on himself and undoubtedly works himself until he bleeds, which means he’s probably tense all the time. Provided his partner can get him to sit or lay down for long enough to give him a good back or shoulder massage, he’ll eventually melt into it until it’s hard to get him back up and moving. Massages can literally make this guy melt. He’ll enjoy giving his partner massages for reasons different than why he enjoys receiving them, though. Being able to lay his partner down and use his strength to sooth her ignites something deep within him, a sort of feral protective instinct, possibly because the act of massaging someone is similar in motion to kneading (like a cat) and providing comfort to your partner is usually pretty nice anyways. This can actually influence him into turning the simplest of massages into a long night of gentle touches where his partner doesn’t need to worry about doing anything except laying beneath him and letting him do all the work. Frankly, saying that he likes massages is an understatement, he probably loves them due to the simplistic intimacy of it.

Lance is definitely into aggressive cuddling as well. He likely has aggressive moments through out the year, almost like how a woman's temperament may change based on her menstrual cycle (yes, I did just say that lol), and it can make him crave his partner's touch more or less in certain moments. Based on his internal time clock, he'll have days where he'll come back to their shared room at night, strip off his armor until he's wearing only his pants, grab his partner - gently - and throw her - gently - onto the bed, and cuddle with her. He'll wrap his arms tightly around her, may possibly lay on top of her - as long as he's sure she's not suffocating under his weight - and he'll refuse to let her up for anything. She can argue him all she wants; he'll either argue back or shut her up with a kiss, which could probably lead off to another type of aggressive cuddling 😉. 

He can also be somewhat aggressive during these moments... but not exactly in a distasteful way.

“Hey Lance, can I get up?”

A grunt.

...

“Please?”

Another grunt, and a shifting of his grip to hold her tighter.

“Oh come on! I need to see Karenn about something!”

“You’ve seen her enough this week.”

She can start to struggle against his arms and chest, but he’ll pull her into a death grip and wrap his legs around hers so it’s harder to move.

A frustrated sigh as she relaxes.

...

More struggling. He’ll growl and lightly nip her neck or shoulder, following up with a few gentle kisses if he’s feeling kind. This gets her to stop.

“I promise I’ll come back and then we can continue!”

He’ll raise his head and look at her with a raised eyebrow.

“Is it urgent?”

“...Yes?...”

“No.”

“Why!?”

“That ‘yes’ had ‘no’ written all over it.”

His hand will press her head against his chest again as Lance nuzzles into her hair.

“Is there any way, in any possible world, that I could possibly leave for just a few seconds to tell her something?”

“No.”

Better luck next time, maybe. Once Lance is set on something, it’ll take the sky falling to change his mind... and even then his stubbornness may still prevail.

While we’re on the topic of close contact with Lance; he probably has a very specific scent to him that isn’t even remotely similar to any one else in the guard.

His profession requires heavy manual labor, and although he probably isn’t fighting most of the time - maybe not even training depending on the day - he still has to lug around heavy armor and weaponry, and he probably has a somewhat routine schedule of walking around the guard to check in on how his sentries are doing (was it ever confirmed that there are watchmen stationed on the walls of the guard? Anyways, I headcanon that if it wasn’t already confirmed). Lance probably does a lot of moving around each day; be it training, fighting, working out a bit to keep in shape, embarking on missions, or just patrolling the guard to assure everything is alright. This means he probably does sweat a bit, and of course that hightlights anyone’s natural scent. It’s hard to say exactly what his natural scent may be like, but I image it’s a bit musky with a hint of a lighter chill to it.

Of course, he probably deals with the forge a lot, too, so the scent of the oil, leather, and smoldering steel he works with likely rubs off on him quite a bit. At nearly any time of the day - but especially later in the day - his partner is likely to find him smelling like the heavy musk of leather and heat, mixed with his own faint musk, and a tinge of nipping cold from the soap he showers with.

I’ve noticed that people rarely ever mention Lance’s neck injury... but I think his injury may actually have some impact in his relationship. There’s very little detail known on his injury, but regardless, it’s still a major weak point for him and was probably life-threatening at some point, so I don’t think he takes people being around this injury - or his neck in general - very lightly.

He’s likely very sensitive about his neck, even with his romantic partner. It’s less of a trust thing and more of an instinctual, self-preservation thing. There was a point in time where his life was threatened because someone was inflicting an injury to his neck, and it is known that it’s a weak point for Lance, so it would make sense that he would be very defensive about his neck.

It would take a while for him to open up to his partner about the details, and he may lean away from any touch on his neck for a long time until he learns how to feel comfortable with it, so in that time his partner would need to be understanding and accepting. She can hug him, kiss him, lean against him, anything... but avoid touching his neck.

Lance would likely be startled if she did this without warning, possibly to the point of clearly jumping or immediately backing away from shock. As it is, other’s don’t really touch him in a kind manner, so to have someone - even if it is his partner - touch him without warning, gently, on his neck, will usually come as a surprise. However, this is really only in the beginning of their relationship, and he’ll calm down in time the more he adjusts to physical touch around that area.

In the mean time, his partner would need to get used to his skittishness, but if it’s really a problem for his partner and he agrees, they can start to rehabilitate him to physical touch around his neck, starting by getting him used to touch around his neck and his partner eventually moving her hands closer and closer to his neck until he’s calm enough to let her touch his neck. It would be a slow process, but - provided he trusts her and feels safe when they try it - he’ll slowly relax in time.

This would be unlikely to cause major issues in their relationship unless his partner obviously doesn’t seem to care about his uncomfortable feelings, so as long as she gives him the time he needs to adapt and trust, he’ll calm down. In time he’ll fully enjoy her touch on his neck.

This is relatively short in comparison to the rants I usually go on but I’m glad to have finally written these out. Technically, I had more headcanons I could have added to this, but since they’re a bit more specifically about Lance’s dragon genetics I decided to split those off onto their own post. Fortunately I think these are fine as they are!

Thanks for reading!

Have a request? Ask them here!

But first, please read the rules list for asks!

[just-dreaming-marvel]

Out Of Time ~ 109

MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 3,025ish

Summary: Secretary Ross holds a meeting. Steve and Y/N get some news.

Tony sat in the corner of the facility’s conference room, away from everyone else. Secretary Ross stood in the front next to the monitor. Steve, Rhodey, and Natasha were seated at the table on the side closest to Tony. Sam, Vision, and Wanda were seated on the other side. Y/N was sat down at the end of the table, opposite Ross.

“Five years ago, I had a heart attack. I dropped right in the middle of my backswing. Turned out it was the best round of my life, because after 13 hours of surgery and a triple bypass… I found something 40 years in the Army had never taught me: Perspective,” Secretary Ross stated. “The world owes the Avengers an unpayable debt. You have fought for us, protected us, risked your lives… but while a great many people see you as heroes, there are some… who would prefer the word ‘vigilantes’.”

“And what word would you use, Mr. Secretary?” Natasha cut in, snarkily.

“How about ‘dangerous'? What would you call a group of US-based, enhanced individuals who routinely ignore sovereign borders and inflict their will wherever they choose and who, frankly, seem unconcerned about what they leave behind?” Secretary Ross activated the monitor behind him. It started playing news reels from past Avengers and SHIELD matters. “New York.”  A clip of the Chitauri invasion played out. “Washington DC.” When SHIELD fell. 

“Sokovia.” Ultron. “Lagos.” The team’s most recent mission.

“Okay,” Steve said, noticing Wanda’s uncomfortableness. “That’s enough.” 

Ross turned off the screen before continuing. “For the past four years, you've operated with unlimited power and no supervision. That's an arrangement the governments of the world can no longer tolerate. But I think we have a solution.” He threw a thick book on the table. “The Sokovia Accords. Approved by 117 countries… it states that the Avengers shall no longer be a private organization. Instead, they'll operate under the supervision of a United Nations panel, only when and if that panel deems it necessary. The Accords will also require anyone who is enhanced to be put on a registry.”

“Like me and Y/N?” Wanda wondered. Y/N glanced at Tony, who refused to look her way, as Wanda continued. “We’d be put on a list so that you can watch our every move? Maybe even experiment on us?”

“We wouldn’t experiment on anyone.”

“Why?” Y/N questioned. “Is it cause you already are?”

“The Avengers were formed to make the world a safer place,” Steve stated, trying to change the topic. “I feel we’ve done that.”

“Tell me, Captain, do you know where Thor and Banner are right now?” Steve merely looked at Ross, unable to answer the question. For all they knew, Thor was on Asgard and no one had seen or heard from Bruce since Sokovia, a year ago. “If I misplaced a couple of 30 megaton nukes, you can bet there’d be consequences. Compromise. Reassurance. That’s how the world works. Believe me, this is the middle ground.”

“So, there are contingencies,” Rhodey spoke up. 

“Three days from now, the UN meets in Vienna to ratify the Accords.” 

Steve and Tony briefly made eye contact,Tony quickly looking back down. Y/N noticed. That floor must be really interesting, interesting enough for a man who never shuts up to stop talking.  

“Talk it over,” Ross continued.

“And if we come to a decision you don’t like?” Nat asked.

“Then you retire.” Ross answered. Everyone kinda glanced at each other. “Let me know what you guys decide.” And with that, Ross left. 

~~~

They moved to one of the common area’s of the facility. Rhodey and Sam were going at each other about the Accords while Steve flipped through them and everyone else listened.

“Secretary Ross has a Congressional Medal of Honor,” Rhodey argued. “Which is one more than you have.”

“So let's say we agree to this thing,” Sam said. “How long is it gonna be before they LoJack us like a bunch of common criminals?”

“117 countries want to sign this. 117, Sam, and you're just like, ‘No, that's cool. We got it.’”

“How long are you going to play both sides?”

“I have an equation,” Vision stated, interrupting their bickering.

“Oh, this will clear it up.” Sam grumbled sarcastically. 

“In the six years since Mr. Stark announced himself as Iron Man,” Vision started, “the number of known enhanced persons has grown exponentially. And during the same period, the number of potentially world-ending events has risen at a commensurate rate.”

“Are you saying it’s our fault?” Steve questioned, as he looked up from the Accords.

“I’m saying there may be a causality. Our very strength invites challenge. Challenge incites conflict. And conflict… breeds catastrophe. Oversight… Oversight is not an idea that can be dismissed out of hand.”

“Boom,” Rhodey said.

“Tony…” Nat called, causing everyone to look at him. “You’re uncharacteristically non-hyperverbal.” 

Tony, who had been laying down, moved his hand off from over his face and looked at Nat. She was right. He’s always very open about his opinion. Y/N had to keep pushing down the urge to read his mind, let his thoughts in.

“It’s because he’s already made up his mind,” Steve stated.

“Boy, you know me so well,” Tony said sarcastically. Tony stood up and walked into the kitchen, rubbing the back of his head as he went. “Actually, I’m nursing an electromagnetic headache.” He opened a cabinet and grabbed a mug. “That’s what’s going on, Cap. It’s just pain. It’s discomfort.” Tony looked into the sink. “Who’s putting coffee grounds in the disposal? Am I running a bed-and-breakfast for a biker gang?” He tried to causally pull up a holographic image on his phone. 

“Oh, that’s Charles Spencer by the way,” Tony continued. “He’s a great kid. Computer engineering degree. 3.6 GPA. Had a floor-level gig at Intel planned for the fall. But first, he wanted to put a few miles on his soul, before he parked it behind a desk. See the world, maybe be of service. Charlie didn’t want to go to Vegas or Fort Lauderdale, which is what I would do. He didn’t go to Paris or Amsterdam, which sounds fun. He decided to spend his summer, building sustainable housing for the poor. Guess where, Sokovia.” Y/N closed her eyes. “He wanted to make a difference, I suppose. I mean, we won’t know because we dropped a building on him while we were kicking ass.” 

Tony threw some pills in his mouth and took a drink before continuing. “There’s no decision-making process here. We need to be put in check! Whatever form that takes, I’m game. If we can’t accept limitations, we’re boundary less, we’re no better than the bad guys.” 

“Tony, someone dies on your watch, you don’t give up,” Steve stated.

“Who said we’re giving up?” Tony questioned. 

“We are, if we’re not taking responsibility for our actions. This document just shifts the blame.”

“Sorry,” Rhodey interrupted, “Steve, that, that is dangerously arrogant. This is the United Nations we’re talking about. It’s not the World Security Council, it’s not SHIELD, it’s not HYDRA.”

“No, but it’s run by people with agendas and agents change."

“That’s good. That’s why I’m here,” Tony said. “When I realized what my weapons were capable of in the wrong hands, I shut it down and stopped manufacturing them."

“Tony. You chose to do that. If we sign these, we surrender our right to choose. What if this panel sends us somewhere we don’t think we should go? What if there’s somewhere we need to go, and they don’t let us? We may not be perfect, but the safest hands are still our own.” 

“If we don’t do this now, it’s gonna be done to us later. That’s a fact. That won’t be pretty.”

“You’re saying they’ll come for me…” Wanda whispered.

“And me,” Y/N said.

“We would protect you,” Vision promised, looking at Wanda.“Both of you.”

Y/N looked to Tony, trying to see where he was going with all this. But nothing. He just refused to meet her eyes.

“Maybe Tony’s right,” Nat suggested. Tony looked at her, shocked. “If we have one hand on the wheel we can still steer. If we take it off—”

“Aren’t you the same woman who told the government to kiss her ass a few years ago?” Sam cut her off. 

“I’m just raiding the terrain. We’ve made some very public mistakes, we need to win their trust back.”

“Focus up. I’m sorry,” Tony interrupted, the hint of surprise in his voice, “Did I just miss hear you or did you just say that you agree with me?” 

“Oh, I want to take it back—“ Nat quickly shook her head. 

“No no no,” Tony said, as he shook his finger. “You can’t retracted it.” 

Sitting close to him, Y/N could hear Steve’s phone buzz. She watched as he pulled it out to check it and immediately grow sad.

“I have to go,” Steve stated.

He got up quickly, dropped the Accords on the coffee table, and slipped into the stairwell. Concerned, Y/N stood up and followed. She found him a couple of flights down, leaning against the banister with his head hung low.

“Hey,” she gently said, coming up to him. “What’s going on?”

When he lifted his head, his eyes were glassy. “She’s gone,” he struggled to say. “Peggy’s gone.”

“Oh, Steve.” Y/N quickly pulled him into her, tears forming in her own eyes as well. 

“She’s gone.”

~~~

Tony found Y/N in their room later that day. He wanted to talk to her about the Accords. He had no clue where she stood. When he entered, he noticed she was packing.

“Are we going somewhere?” He asked.

“Peggy’s dead…. She’s gone.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” Tony came over, allowing Y/N to fall into his arms. “I’m so sorry.”

“She was just one of the few I had left from then.”

“When’s the funeral?”

“In three days, in London.”

They stood in silence for a moment. “The Accords are being signed in Vienna that day.”

Y/N pulled her head away slightly, brows furrowed. “I tell you that my close friend just died, and you are worried about the Accords?”

“That’s not what I meant—“

Y/N pulled away fully, going back to packing. “I can’t believe you.”

“What? I just stated a fact. And you’re going to go sign them, right? Red’s going so you can just go with her.”

“Stop, Tony, just stop.”

“It’s a question. Are you going to sign them?”

Y/N let out a frustrated sigh. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“Yes, Tony, I don’t know.”

“Why? Explain to me why you don’t know.”

Y/N dropped what she was working on so she could face Tony. “Because I see both sides! I see and understand that we need a little more leash than we have. We need to be monitored, as a team. But then I see the other side as well. The Accords are so strict! What if they force us to fight for something we don’t agree with? Or won’t let us fight when we need to? And there’s the fact that those will powers will have to be monitored. But they were never specific on what that entailed.”

“I will protect you.” Tony stepped closer. “Like always.”

“You can’t promise that if you sign the Accords. It’s not up to you.”

“I already signed them.”

“What?”

“I signed them before Ross even brought them to the team.”

“How— why—you should have talked about this to me first. Why didn’t you say anything?!”

“Because I guess I thought that you would sign them too.”

“Out of what? Love? Duty to my boyfriend?”

“Yes! And because I thought you’d understand why we need to have this.”

“I do understand! I just think that the Accords aren’t the answer!”

“Well I do! And if you loved me, you would too!!”

“What?” Y/N’s whisper of the word still gave away her angry tone. “If I loved you? What the hell do the Accords have to do with love?!”

“Because one of the reasons, my biggest reason, for doing this is because I love you! I’m doing this for us! And to make things right!”

“You’re doing this for you, Tony! And no one else! You’re hoping that you’ll be able to sleep better at night after this. That the guilt of everything that’s happened won’t drive you crazy anymore.”

“So what if that’s part of it?! We need to be put in check, Y/N! God! How do you not understand that?!”

“You know what? I understand perfectly.” Y/N threw the rest of the clothes on their bed into her suitcase. Slamming it shut. “It is my decision whether or not to sign the Accords. I need some time to think.” Zipping it up, she grabbed the suitcase. “And I think it needs to be away from here.”

“So, what, you’re leaving here? Running away?”

“Don’t even, Tony! I am not running away. I need to make this decision on my own, without any opinions in the way.”

“But you’re going to London with Cap, right? I’m sure he’ll try to sway you.”

“My friend just died! The person who used to be my best friend! The only person I knew after waking up. So, yes, I am going to London. But that doesn’t mean that I’ll be taking Steve’s side. Or any side.” A portal opened next to Y/N. “Please, let me have some time.”

As Y/N stepped through the portal, Tony called out one last thing, “You have less than 3 days, Y/N. Better make your decision quick.”

~~~

After the portal closed, Y/N hurried to find a nearby trash can, emptying her gut into it. The baby clearly wasn’t a fan of that. Y/N got a hotel room in London. She texted Steve telling him where she was and that she would see him at the funeral. Steve questioned is she was okay, which Y/N just waved off.

She stayed in her hotel room until the funeral. When she arrived at the cathedral, it was already packed with mourners. Y/N quickly found Sam sitting in the front row.

“Hey,” he greeted, bringing her in for a hug.

“I didn’t know you’d be here, Sam.”

“I figured you would both need some support.”

Y/N pulled away. “Thanks, Sam.” 

She tried to discreetly look around. She was hoping that Tony would do the same thing. They hadn’t spoken or texted since that argument. 

“He’s not here,” Sam said, turning her attention to him.

“What?”

“Stark, he’s not here.”

“I wasn’t—“

“Yes you were. Steve may not be immediately again to see it, but I do. You two got in a fight. Was it over the Accords?”

“Yes,” Y/N sighed with a nod. 

“Your stance?”

“I still don’t know. I see both sides… there just has to be a better way.”

“I hope you figure one out. And figure it out fast."

~~~

Steve helped carry the casket down. As he sat down beside Y/N in the front pew, he immediately grabbed her hand, squeezing it. Y/N squeezed back. They listened to the speakers, Y/N staring at the framed photo of Peggy in front.

“And now, I would like to invite Sharon Carter to come up and say a few words,” the Priest stated.

Steve was watching Y/N when Sam leaned over and nudged him. Steve looked up to see Sharon Carter, formally known as Agent 13 from SHIELD and Steve’s neighbor, up at the podium. Y/N knew that Sharon was related to Peggy, but it was clear that Steve did not.

“Margaret Carter was known to most as a founder of SHIELD . . . but I just knew her as Aunt Peggy,” Sharon began. Steve took a surprised breath. "She had a photograph in her office. Aunt Peggy standing next to JFK. As a kid, that was pretty cool. But it was a lot to live up to. Which is why I never told anyone we were related.” Sharon looked directly at Steve. “I asked her once how she managed to master diplomacy and espionage in a time when no one wanted to see a woman succeed at either. And she said, compromise where you can. But where you can't, don't. Even if everyone is telling you that something wrong is something right. Even if the whole world is telling you to move . . . it is your duty to plant yourself like a tree, look them in they eye and say, ‘No, you move’.”

~~~

After the ceremony, Steve and Y/N were the only ones left in the cathedral. Y/N was standing in front of Peggy’s picture while Steve had his head down, leaning against a pew. Natasha walked up the isle to Steve.

“When I came out of the ice, I thought everyone I had known was gone besides Y/N,” Steve said. “Then I found out that she was alive. I was just lucky to have her.”

“She had you back, too,” Nat responded. “The both of you.”

“Who else signed?”

“Tony. Rhodey. Vision.”

“Clint?” Y/N asked, still looking at the photograph.

“Says he's retired.”

“Wanda?” Steve wondered.

“TBD. I'm off to Vienna for the signing of the Accords. There's plenty of room on the jet.” Steve sighed as Y/N turned around to join them. “Just because it's the path of least resistance doesn't mean it's the wrong path. Staying together is more important than how we stay together.”

“What are we giving up to do it?” Nat sighed as Steve shook his head. “I'm sorry, Nat. I can't sign it.” Nat looked at Y/N.

“I don’t know yet, Nat,” Y/N responded. “I see both sides, I’m affecting either way. I just… I don’t know.”

“I know,” Nat responded.

“Then what are you doing here?” Steve asked.

“I didn’t want you two to be alone.”

next chapter >

NOTES: There was going to be more gifs, but I got lazy..... sorry.....

From now on the taglist when be added by a reblog. I will reblog it using my second account, @just-dreaming-marvel-2​. Just so that my main page doesn’t get too cluttered.

If you want to be added to the tag list, please dm me or send in an ask.

[wrenhyperfixates]

Of All the Places

Chapter 12

Pairing: Loki x reader Series Summary: Washing up in a small town in Oklahoma was definitely not part of Loki’s plan when he came to conquer Midgard. There is one good thing about it, though: No one recognizes him as the one who just wreaked havoc in New York. So, Loki plans to recover from the battle and move on with his life. The only problem? He’s not sure he can leave you. Chapter Summary: Loki is in SHIELD’s custody, but refuses to speak. That is, until Thor manages to get through to him. Chapter Warnings: kinda angsty and some bad language A/N: Updates every Friday. Enjoy :)

Tag List: @lucywrites02 @frostedgiant @lunarmoon8​ @twhiddlestonsstuff​ @marvelousdaydreams​ @parkastoria​ @lokistan​ @thelokiimaginechroniclesficrecs​ @sourpatchspinster @gaitwae

✥ Start at Beginning ✥ | ← Previous Chapter | Next Chapter →

Disclaimer: Gif not mine 

The wall across from him was a dull, depressing shade of gray. It had light cracks running through it, undoubtedly from previous super-powered villains who had resisted against their captors. This deep in the belly of the beast, Loki doubted they had much success with anything besides maybe giving out a few bruises. He, however, would not give the agents the satisfaction of seeing him lash out, no matter how badly he wanted to act like a madman, tearing everything apart until they let him go. Until he could see you. But, no, he swore he’d stay away from you for your own good.

Loki looked at the one-way mirror out of his peripheral vision. Another thing he refused to do was look directly at them, to look like he cared at all. His whole plan on getting out of here hinged on the fact that he seemed completely uninterested. It had worked the first time, after all. Though, that would probably mean they were more likely to be wary of him now. It didn’t really matter, anyway. His plan was half-baked at best, and he didn’t have much hope for getting out. Or much of a reason for trying, either. Not when he couldn’t go to you. A pain shot through his whole body, starting in his heart and spreading out. It was the all-consuming thought of you that made him show a crack in his armor, even though it was for the briefest of seconds. He tried to go back to the completely calm facade he’d been doing such a good job of keeping up, but he was sure he looked quite a bit more deranged now. It was much more of a strain on him to look fine when he was remembering that you were out there, possibly still crying into Denzel’s shoulder.

The door to his left swung open, and Loki examined his nails as best he could being cuffed to the table. He hoped the action looked as nonchalant as it did in his mind. Fury and Natasha walked up to the chair opposite him, but neither sat down for a second, obviously trying to give a subtle reminder of the power they exerted over him. Finally, Fury took the seat, but Natasha remained standing off to the side. It was probably a reminder of how she got him to crack last time. As if he would let that happen again.

“So,” Fury began, “you mind telling me what was going on in that crazy head of yours, attacking civilians without a cause.”

He was met with silence.

“Perhaps I haven’t made myself clear. I’m going to ask you some questions, and you’re going to answer them. Now, don’t make me repeat myself again.”

Still, stony-faced silence.

“You can take all the time you need. The sooner you answer, the sooner we can ship you back to that alien planet you dared to come from. It makes no difference to me whether you’re rotting here or there. I’m in no rush.”

“Oh, I can see that,” Loki taunted. The man’s intimidation tactics were more annoying than anything else, and Loki couldn’t resist the chance to be snide. “After all, it only took you two months to find me. And even then it was only because of a civilian, is that not right?”

“Fine, have it your way,” Fury shrugged, leaving the room with Natasha, seemingly carefree, though Loki knew he was grating on his nerves.

Really, all Loki wanted to do was break down, scream. Cry. But he knew he was being watched, so he didn’t say or do anything else. He should have left when he had the chance. Had he not stayed on your farm, he wouldn’t be in custody right now. Not to mention you and your family wouldn’t have had to be interrogated. Because, he was sure, there had been countless questions asked of you in the past twenty-four hours. Most of you would be safe, he knew, but what about John? He had kept Loki’s secret. If he was smart, he would claim it was under duress. Alas, Loki knew his friend cared too much to say anything that might condemn him. He could only hope John didn’t incriminate himself instead.

And Matt! Oh, that poor boy would be so confused, so upset. Right from the beginning Loki knew he would be no good for the child, but did he listen to sense? No, he gave into his own selfish desires. If only he hadn’t spent so much time with him, this might be easier. Maybe Matt was still young enough that after all this was said and done, he wouldn’t even remember it. Of course, that means he wouldn’t remember how Loki saved him either. The thought made him sadder than he ever would have imagined it could.

What of Papa and Ana, Loki wondered. They knew nothing of his true identity, so they must be safe. Ever the pacifist, he was sure your father would keep everyone as calm as possible during the whole ordeal. But Ana might not be doing too well. Plus, she was pregnant, and Loki felt guilty he’d inflicted so much stress on her during such a time. It dawned on him just then that, in his mind, he’d always just assumed he’d be around to meet the new baby. Needless to say, that was not the case. How he already missed your whole family already. Except for Mama. Screw it, even her! As annoying as she was and whatever she may have done in the end, Loki enjoyed the banter with her, deep down.

Then there was you. You’d cared for him since the moment he first arrived. From the very second you saw him passed out in the field to the time you found out the truth, you watched over him. All the bruises and cuts and scratches on him, you had healed with your touch. And that wasn’t just the physical ones, but the ones on his heart, too. Words could not describe all that you had done for him. His blood boiled at the thought that SHIELD agents were prying into the details of your relationship at that very moment.

He remembered he’d said he’d sing for you one day. He’d never get to do that now. He supposed it could just be added to a growing list of broken promises.

The last image he had of you as the van pulled away was still burning in the back of his mind. The way Denzel had been holding you, comforting you, it broke Loki. After everything you went through together, that should have been him. That could have been him. Instead, Mama had to go and ruin everything. He couldn’t really hold that against her, though. After all, he had been branded as a criminal. When you got down to the nitty-gritty of it, he actually was a criminal. But was he a villain? There was a difference there, he realized, but he didn’t know exactly where in the spectrum he fell. You’d called him a hero once. He shuddered to think what you’d call him now.  

He’d vowed to leave you alone, but his resolve was already weakening. What if, by some miracle, he was able to get out of here? Could he go see you for even a second? If for nothing else, then to apologize for all the wrong he did you. He shook his head ever so slightly. That was not a thought he should be entertaining. How could he be so stupid! Here he was thinking about making the same mistake again. Would he ever learn? He needed to keep you out of this. You never should have even been involved in the first place. A monster; that’s all he ever was, and all he’d ever be. A single imperceptible tear rolled down his cheek.

Again, the door opened, but this time Thor walked in. He was seething in anger, but if Loki looked deep enough—and for whatever reason, he did—there was also a deep remorse in his eyes. A sadness Loki could only assume was due to all that had happened. It made him feel a little bit better to know he wasn’t the only one who wished things could have been different.

“Brother, I know not why you have taken this path,” Thor said. “But the sooner you confess, the sooner I can go back to fixing the mess you made in the rest of the Nine Realms.”

“What?” Loki scoffed. “So eager to leave your precious Midgard.”

He tried to spit it out with only venom in his voice, but it just sounded sad at the end. It was, after all, his precious Midgard now too.

“What happened, brother?” Thor asked, a bit more softly than he had before. “Why did you attack?”

Loki looked at the table, unable to face Thor.  “You would not believe me even if I told you.”

“What have I ever done that you think I do not trust you, care for you, brother?”

“Stop calling me that,” Loki snapped, his eyes shooting up to Loki’s face. He would have stood if his restrains allowed it. “I am sure father dearest has already told you my true heritage.”

Ah, there was the venom in his voice. His demeanor quickly changed, though, when he noticed Thor was looking at him with a puzzled expression. Loki had assumed that Odin would have gone singing through the streets, telling everyone that Loki was a Frost Giant once he declared him a villain. Could it be that he hadn’t even told his prized son?

“Did he...” Loki gulped. “Did he not tell you?”

“Father did not mention anything. Loki, what are you talking about?”

“I am Jötnar, Thor,” Loki whispered. “The very thing you were taught to abhor.”

Thor finally sat down. He seemed to still be confused by something, though the trickster god could not quite figure out what. Perhaps he was just deciding the best way to slay the beast, to strike him down.

“But you are still my brother.”

Loki’s voice caught in his throat, and he choked on his words. He was nearly as shocked as Thor seemed, if not more. Though, it was for entirely different reasons. He sputtered, trying to find the right thing to say. So much for his cool demeanor.

“Just tell me what is wrong,” Thor said, “my brother.”

“I will tell you. On one condition.”

“That depends,” Thor hesitated, “on what that condition is.”

“That family I was staying with, you must make sure they are all safe. All of them.”

“You have my word. Now, please, tell me why you attacked Midgard. We will discuss your previous actions another time.”

“Very well,” Loki conceded with a small nod. Here goes nothing. “It was the mad Titan, Thanos. After I fell—well, let go on the Bifröst, I was adrift in a void for a while. It was not my intention, but it is what happened. After, well, to be quite honest, I do not know quite how long, Thanos pulled me out. He... He twisted my mind, bent me to his will. He used me as his puppet and made me attack. It was his bidding that I lower Midgard’s defenses, take note of what kind of fight the planet could put up. And one more thing. He wanted the Tesseract. I cannot at this moment, however, give it to you.”

Thor paused for a moment, the gears in his head turning. “And why is that?” he questioned.

“Because of these,” Loki said, lifting his magic-restraining chains. “If you take them off, I will be able to provide you with it.”

For once, he was telling the truth. He had no plans to keep the artifact for himself. Not right now, anyway, with so much else on the line. Once he had handed it over, though, he would have teleported away. It would have been nice to make amends with Thor, yes, but it was not something he would stake his freedom on.

“Point Break,” Tony said, popping in. “Can we talk to you out here for a second?”

Thor excused himself and left Loki by his lonesome again. Well, he wasn’t really alone with so many agents watching from the other side of the glass. His heart was beating wildly. If it had been up to Thor, if he had acted quick enough, Loki would already be on his way off this planet. There was no way anyone else would ever allow it now.

“Ok, Rock of Ages,” Tony said, waltzing back in with Thor and Fury close behind. “You know what I think? Your story sounds like a load of bullshit. But, Point Break here says he believes you.”

“Which is the most idiotic thing I’ve heard,” Fury added.

“And he’s got some evidence to back it up,” Tony finished.

Loki looked at his brother with wide eyes, much like he had when they were kids and he was about to get in trouble. A part of him couldn’t believe Thor would have stood up for him, even after their little heart to heart. He dared let a spark of hope ignite in his heart. If Thor was sticking up for him, and SHIELD was accepting his story as the truth that it was, then was he free to go? After all, if they agreed that it was not him, what reason did they have to keep him in custody?

“May I ask, then,” Loki started, “am I free of the charges? May I go?”

“I am afraid, brother,” Thor solemnly replied. “That I cannot allow that.”

[itsamejin]

trash || part 2 || taehyung angst/fluff

Part 1

Summary: Taehyung and you are friends with benefits, but you’re having a hard time maintaining this secret relationship when a close friend of yours starts falling in love with him.

Warning: Suggestive themes, mentions of alcohol and casual sex, cursing and crude language/humor

Genre: Fluff, Angst, fwb!au, college!au

Word Count: 5,245 words

—

Taehyung stared at the door you had left through only minutes ago and couldn't help but take his eyes off of it. His brain was short-circuiting, his limbs refusing to move from their spot just in case you decided to come back. He would have looked like a statue if not for the tears that stained his cheeks.

For whatever reason, Taehyung felt like he had witnessed a fever dream so intense that even pinching himself repeatedly wouldn’t wake himself back up. Those heartbreaking words that came from your lips felt so surreal that he didn’t want to admit that you had said them. Whether it was the denial speaking or if you were lying to him about your feelings, Taehyung didn’t know if he could fully grasp what was happening. 

Wasn’t it just an hour ago when he held you in your arms, whispering sweet nothings into your ear as you dozed off to the sound of his voice? 

Were you not tangling your fingers into his hair, complimenting him about how beautifully they reflected in the moonlight? Did none of those little things mean anything to you? Did you really feel nothing for him each time you embraced or kissed?

Or was he the only one in love after all?

Taehyung shook his head as more tears fell. You had walked out the door by your own will; no one forced you to leave. He begged you to stay and you said you couldn’t. He should be angrier, but he couldn’t bring himself to feel such emotions when the image of you walking out on him as he poured his heart out to you kept replaying in his mind. 

Taking one last look at his bedroom door, Taehyung laid himself down onto the bed softly. Just minutes ago, you were beside him with the brightest smile on your face. Your scent still lingered and when Taehyung closed his eyes, he swore he could feel you wrap your arms around him. 

Taehyung had never cried himself to sleep before, but there was always a first for everything.

—

It was the morning after and Hana held onto her poster board tightly, showing up to his place an hour earlier than their promised time. She was outside his door, practicing her lines and breathing through her words. Her mind was swimming with nervous energy.

“I know you don’t really do relationships,” she muttered to herself, “but I can’t help but like you-”

Taehyung pulled the door open with sunken cheeks and puffy eyes. The events of last night had drained his usually sharp features. His mouth was slightly agape at the sight of a nervous-looking Hana, clutching what seemed to look like a science fair poster panel. If he was being honest, Taehyung forogt that they were supposed to meet up. He was perplexed, to say the least. 

“I thought you were coming at 11?” he sighed groggily, a little peeved that he couldn’t get some pain relievers to ease his headache that came from crying his eyes out the night before. He didn’t have the energy to have a conversation with an excitable Hana.

“Surprise,” she stuttered softly, blushing. “I wasn’t planning to knock just yet.”

Taehyung opened the door wider, inviting her in. He knew what she was there for, but he just wished that he could get it over with a little quicker. His throat was killing him.

“Your place is a mess,” she sighed heavily, viewing his room that reeked of bad decisions. 

“Haven’t had a chance to clean up,” he croaked. “Anyways, what did you want to talk about?”

Hana paused her movements and her back tensed slightly. How could she forget her words so easily? She’s been practicing the confession for days now.

“I know you don’t really do relationships,” she said sternly, but with a noticeable shake in her voice. “I can’t help but like you in more than just a physical way, Tae. I was hoping you would feel the same.”

Hana gulped as she felt around the poster board and turned it around for him to see. The big bright letters of confession brought a small smile to Taehyung’s face. ‘At least she cares,’ he thought to himself. He shook his thoughts away as he took a glance at her faltering smile. Her knees were shaky.

“This is really sweet but-”

She put a hand out, halting him from speaking any further.Even though she looked about ready to bolt from his place, she stood her ground. Taehyung respected her for it.

“You don’t have to answer me now,” she whispered. “I just didn’t want to regret anything.”

She slowly handed him her poster board, all sparkly and beautifully well written. Taehyung, as sad as it was, wondered if you would have ever done this for him- if you would even give him the time of day outside of the sex you had. Taehyung didn’t want Hana to suffer through the same harsh rejection you had inflicted on him. She deserved more than that. 

Taehyung ruffled Hana’s hair slightly.

“I do have my answer,” he said softly.

Hana looked up at him expectantly. There was such a pretty glint in her eyes, the kind a puppy would give. It broke him to think that someone could actually love someone like him.

“And?” she asked, anticipating.

Taehyung took in a deep breath, hoping he wouldn’t regret the next words he was about to say.

“I-”

—

Weeks later...

“Tae took me to that really cute cafe in Myeongdong,” Hana sighed wonderfully, stars written in her eyes. “The one that has that really pretty rooftop garden.”

Frankly, you were sick of her chirping about the dates she’s gone on since you essentially broke Taehyung’s heart. Not because she was talking about him (though that might have contributed slightly to your annoyance) but that he was the only topic of your conversations! You two used to have chats that didn’t revolve around boys, but now you just felt like she was using you to brag about her love life.

“Was the food good?” you asked, scrolling through your phone mindlessly as you laid on her bed. You didn’t actually care for the answer too much. You just felt like showing your interest, especially when Hana talked about her dates so excitedly. “I’ve been wanting to go.”

“It wasn’t really to my taste,” she replied, touching up her makeup at her desk. “But Tae seemed to really enjoy it! He hasn’t been feeling good these days so it was nice seeing him as his usual self.”

You were already coming to terms with the shitty things you did, but it felt like Hana was rubbing salt onto your psychological wounds. She didn’t know about your relationship with him, so granted it wasn’t fair to judge her. You just couldn’t help but be bitter whenever she mentioned him.

“Would you recommend the place? I’m planning to go with some friends,” you said, just saying words for the sake of speaking.

She shook her head.

“Their coffee sucked,” she said straightforwardly. “And the waiters weren’t even cute so I doubt you would want to stay for bad drinks and unattractive people.”

You let out a genuine laugh. Hana had probably noticed how down you’ve been lately. She was good at bringing up your mood, not knowing that she was slightly the reason why you were so sad in the first place. ‘Stop it,’ you told yourself, ‘you broke it off with Taehyung. Hana isn’t responsible for anything.’

You had racked your brain over it many nights, hoping that he wasn’t too angry at you for what you had done that night. You had texted him a couple of times and there was never an answer and the one time you called, he had hung up on you. The amount of apologies you had made to him after that night far outnumbered the times you would casually text any of your other boy toys. Maybe he moved on and just wanted to act like you didn’t exist, but you can’t help but doubt that. He was the type to linger- the type to forgive even when he didn’t get an apology.

“I definitely need to choose where our next date is,” Hana sighed. “I’ve been dying for some Thai food recently.”

Her words made you suck your cheeks in, resentful at the prospect of the two of them going out again. You didn’t even know if Taehyung and her were even dating! She never told you how the poster confession went, so you just assumed it worked out since the dreaded thing was no longer lounging in the room. She was always vague about her relationship with him and you were starting to wonder if Taehyung even changed at all. After all, you breaking his heart would’ve been useless if the two weren’t committed to each other already.

You just figured that Hana smiled so brightly these days that something must have been going on, no matter if they were serious or just playing around. You had tried to ignore the slight pain in your chest whenever you thought about them, but the longing to see Taehyung grew as each day passed. How was he doing nowadays? Was he thinking about you as much as you were thinking about him?

“Anyway,” Hana said, finally changing the topic. “How about you? What did you do yesterday?”

You wondered if you should tell the full truth or half a lie. What wouldn’t make you look the most suspicious?

“I hooked up with a guy,” you replied, turning your phone off and made eye contact with Hana. “And before we actually fucked, I started crying like a lunatic.”

She gave you a strange look and all you could do was chuckle at her reaction.

“Why were you crying?” she asked carefully, not wanting to pry too much.

“No reason, but really when I tell you his balls were the size of my-”

She hushed you as you tried to say the next words.

“Sometimes it’s good to not give information,” she said, clicking her tongue at your vulgarity. Hana went back to applying her lipstick, knowing that a conversation with you about your unhealthy fuckgirl tendencies would lead nowhere.

“Suit yourself,” you sighed, smiling to yourself slightly. “You’d have been crying too if you saw what I saw.”

Hana threw one of her eyeliner pencils at you, shaking her head in disbelief.

“You are so vulgar,” she sighed in disappointment.

You pouted your lips teasingly in response, but your heart still felt heavy. You had lied to Hana once again and with very little hesitation. Your heart already felt rotten from all the deception, but now you genuinely felt like you were choking on your guilt. 

The real reason you broke down, the real reason you cried was that the guy you tried fucking the night before had the same cologne as Taehyung. When you held him in your arms you couldn’t help but feel like it was him caressing your body, that it was him holding you close. It felt like you could feel the pulsing of his veins on your skin.

Whenever you breathed his scent in it felt like Taehyung was there with you, synching his heartbeat to yours. Before you even knew it, you were ugly crying into the poor guy’s chest. You wept and wept until the stranger had left you to sulk with your thoughts. 

The sadness lingered as you sat on that hotel room bed, wondering why you even bothered trying to fuck another guy when someone more important was still in your mind. You wanted to see Taehyung, you wanted to be the one to ride around campus with him on those rickety bikes, to go on those cheesy dates, and talk like babies to each other. Maybe you were an idiot for realizing this late, but you cried even more at the thought of Taehyung leaving you like how you left him that night. Cold and unwanted.

As you looked around the hotel room, with wine bottles laid around and your clothes were haphazardly thrown on a chair, you figured that you didn’t deserve him-

“What color do you think Tae would like on me? He said he liked purple, but I can’t help but think that pink suits me better...”

- she did.

—

To you, the most effective way to drown out your sorrowful thoughts was to party it away until you regretted it the next day. This cycle would repeat until eventually, your feelings were numb enough to the point that it didn’t feel like you had them in the first place. It worked for you a great deal so many times before, what’s wrong with trying it out now?

The club was a good place to start and maybe after a couple more drinks, you could find a pretty boy to take with you back to your place- a repeat of the previous nights you spent in shady motels and fraternity houses.

You spent countless nights in other people’s beds, drowning out your thoughts to distract you from the pain in your heart. It changed nothing once you left, though. It would sit at the pit of your stomach and churn at the sight of him. He was with Hana earlier today, kissing her in front of the whole campus to see. And you managed to convince yourself that you were okay with it- that you were okay with the emptiness that persisted within you.

After ordering yourself another tequila, you set your eyes on a handsome looking back. The guy looked strong and since you were tipsy, you couldn’t quite make out his face. Even without the drink in your hand, you had sauntered over to the person in a way only a totally hammered person could. You just prayed he was good looking when you’d see his face in the morning.

“Oh I’m so sorry,” you said, pretending to bump into him. “I should have looked where I was-”

After seeing who you were talking to, you just wanted to crawl into a hole and die in it. Why was God never on your side?

“[Y/N],” Taehyung stared at you, eyebrows furrowed from confusion. 

You had almost tripped on your high heels at the sound of his voice. It’s been weeks since you last heard him even open his mouth.

“Oh my god, I am so sorry,” you apologized profusely. “I thought you were someone else. I-I’ll just go.”

As you tried to stumble away from him, he had caught your elbow to prevent you from falling. He had a can of beer in his hand, but he set it down to hold you up. It seems you drank too much after all.

“How much did you drink tonight?” he asked worriedly. You wished he didn’t care. You’d have preferred for him to scoff, to push past you, and insult you. Anything to make you hate him just a tiny bit and maybe then you’ll forget about him. 

“Do you need me to take you home?” he asked worriedly.

You shook your head rapidly.

“No, no. I’m fine,” you said, attempting to loosen his grip from you. When you managed to do so, he just looked even more concerned. “It’s a short walk from here. I’m good.”

Taehyung crossed his arms disapprovingly. 

“No way in hell am I letting you walk alone by yourself.”

You rolled your eyes.

“I swear to you I’m fine,” you replied. “I’m, like, not even drunk.”

You started making your way to the entrance of the club. Your drink was still waiting for you at the bar, but you couldn’t spend another second in that musty room filled with sweating bodies. Unbeknownst to you, Taehyung followed closely behind.

“Just let me walk you home, [Y/N],” he pleaded. “I’m not looking for anything in return.”

As you finally felt the air of the outside as opposed to the stuffy musk of the club, you stared up at him. The cool air that hit the exposed parts of your body had started sobering you up, but not enough to make you completely conscious of your next words.

“I’m not gonna fuck you Taehyung,” you said, knowing full well that those words would hurt him, prevent him from taking any more steps forward. After all, it was like that with every man that ever offered to walk you home. It always ended with sex, the kind that felt like a favor- the kind that you’d definitely regret the morning after.

“I’m not like that,” he whispered sadly. “You know me.”

You pursed your lips at his words and turned your back to him, heading to the direction of your dorm.

“No, I don’t,” you replied, already walking away. “As far as I’m concerned we’re strangers. You think so too, right? You’re ignoring my messages and not accepting my apology as if you weren’t doing the same shit I did with other girls.”

You could hear him sigh and felt a slight tug on your elbow as he made you face him once more.

“I don’t have to accept your apology,” Taehyung said sternly, letting go of you as he felt your body tense up at his touch. “And maybe we are strangers now, but I’m a decent enough person to want you to be safe. Just let me walk you home.”

You shook your head, but it made your head hurt even more. You two used to speak so comfortably. Where did this hostility even come from? You clutched your scalp and massaged it to relieve yourself a bit.

“Hana wouldn’t like that,” you said, bringing your arms to a cross over your chest. “Guys don’t walk home girls they pretend don’t exist.”

Taehyung flinched, not necessarily at what you said but how you said it. There was a certain kind of pain laced in your words, the kind that he had when he was begging you not to leave him.

“Why do you care about my relationship with Hana so much?” he asks, genuinely anticipating the answer. “It’s not like it’s any of your business.”

You refused to look up at him. You couldn’t bear to see his face when you were seconds away from bawling your eyes out. ‘How the tables have turned,’ you thought to yourself.

“I need you to treat Hana right,” you said slowly. “She deserves to have someone that isn’t hung up on a person that isn’t even an ex.”

He scoffed. There you were again with that word “deserving.” Who were you to make these decisions for him? It’s not like he was a fucking child.

"You’re the one being melodramatic about me ignoring you,” he said angrily. “I’m not the one who fucking left that night.”

He was right, but unfortunately, you were drunk. You had no sense of common sense left in your aching brain and his words weren’t registering at the moment.

“I was looking out for her, Taehyung,” you said threateningly. “I’m not being fucking dramatic. The fact that you’re in a club probably chatting up other girls and now walking me home is not something a good boyfriend would do.”

He chuckled darkly at your drunken splurge. Why were you so invested with his love life if you claimed to not love him back?

"What the hell are you even talking about [Y/N]?”

You pushed him away slightly, feeling claustrophobic at how close he was to you. He caught you as you stumbled out of his reach.

“I need you to just trust me and let me take you home,” he said lowly. “We can go back to ignoring each other another time. Right now I just want you home.”

This time, you pushed his chest aggressively. He just couldn’t let it go.

“Why can’t you just leave me the fuck alone when I ask you to?” you shrieked, earning odd stares from people around you. “I said no you dick!”

Taehyung knew that if the scene escalated any faster then you’d both be in a compromising position. 

“Please just calm down,” Taehyung said sadly, searching for some acceptance in your eyes. “I would never do anything to hurt you.”

You shake your head. Your thoughts were coming out jumbled, completely illogical. His mere presence had caused you to act a fool.

“You told me I was your favorite girl,” you swallowed down your tears as you let the hysteria consume you. “And then she goes and makes a poster board for you to show that I’ll never fucking be like her- that she deserves you more than I do. It’s not fucking fair, Tae.”

You cried into the cold night, the street filled with silent watchers of your break down.

“I wish I was like her too Tae,” you swallowed down your saliva. “I wish I wasn’t myself. I really wish I could just-”

He pulled you close to him, his nose almost touching yours.

“Stop saying that about yourself,” he pleaded softly. “Please.”

You wished in the deepest part of your heart that he would embrace you and reassure you of all the recent insecurities that bubbled up inside of you. Taehyung comforted you with his warm gaze, but you couldn’t reciprocate the same. Instead, you collapsed there on the street as Taehyung failed to catch your falling figure.

“[Y/N],” Taehyung screamed as your body collapsed onto the concrete floor. He dropped to your limp body and held the back of your head into his palms. He slapped your face gently. “[Y/N], are you with me?”

You nodded slowly. 

“I’m just tired,” you said through slurred breaths. “Just give me a second.”

You were dozing off as you spoke and your eyes closed into a sunken state. 

“I need to take you home [Y/N],” he said softly, scooping you up into his arms. “You can’t walk by yourself.”

You punched him lightly on the chest. 

“Let me go Tae,” you whimpered. “I’m perfectly fine.”

He scoffed. 

“You say that all the time,” he said, starting to walk towards the direction of your apartment. “But it’s okay to rely on others sometimes, [Y/N].”

He squeezes your waist lightly as he felt you drift into unconsciousness. As he walked on, taking a couple of breaks and switching you to lay on his back instead of carrying you bridal style, he finally reached your dorm. He knocked a few times and finally, it opened.

“Tae!” Hana gasped, seeing your groggy state. “Oh my god, what kind of trouble did she get in this time.”

She opened the door wider and Taehyung walked through, setting you down on your bed lightly. 

“She was at the club,” he said, tucking you in to the sheets properly. “I think she drank too much.”

Hana nodded slightly, looking up at how Taehyung was so fondly staring at you. It bubbled up a resentment she didn’t even know she had.

“I can take care of her from here,” Hana said lightly. “Thank you for bringing her home.”

Taehyung shook his head, still staring at you. His guilty conscience was eating him up.

“Hana, I need to tell you something,” he said hesitantly. “I’ve been keeping something from you.”

Hana scoffed, sitting next to your laying figure and putting a palm to your forehead, checking for anything abnormal. 

“If it’s about you having a crush on [Y/N],” she started, avoiding his gaze. “I already know.”

Taehyung’s mouth opened, slightly agape. Did she know the whole time? Regardless, it wasn’t what he wanted to talk about specifically.

“That’s not it,” he said sadly. “I need to tell you why I rejected you when you asked me out.”

Hana stopped her movements and with shaky hands, she clasped her palms together. She looked up at him, tears welling up in her eyes. 

“I know already, Tae. Don’t bother,” she said sadly. “Your ex told me a few days ago that you and [Y/N] were dating. Thought I wouldn’t find out?”

You stirred a bit in your sleep and out of fear, Taehyung grabbed Hana’s wrist to take her out into the hallway. There, she had started to cry a bit harder.

“[Y/N] and I weren’t dating,” he said with a heavy heart. “She and I were a thing, but it didn’t last. I’m clarifying that now. I still...”

He struggled to find his words, but he took a deep breath. He’s never voiced his true feelings before, but he needed to do it now before anything else.

“I’m still in love with her,” he said quietly, tears threatening to spill out. Hana choked back more cries, keeping her eyes locked to the floor.

“Tae, I’m a bad person,” she hiccuped. “I’m the worst, worse than trash, worse than whatever you guys were doing behind my back.”

Taehyung sighed.

“Don’t blame yourself, Hana,” he said, patting her head softly. “None of this is your fault, I shouldn’t have led you on.”

“No, you don’t understand,” she shook her head rapidly. “I’ve been lying to [Y/N].”

Taehyung pulled his hand back and tilted his head out of confusion.

“What do you mean?”

She sniffled and let out more sobs, finally looking up at him.

“I’ve been lying to her.”

— 

A girl with fiery stilettos sashayed down the university halls with a clear purpose. She was hearing around campus that innocent, little Hana had failed with her corny love confession. She wanted confirmation herself. The tall female stopped at her destination, in front of a small and neatly dressed girl with sulking shoulders. Hana did not look ready for a confrontation, making this all the more entertaining for the one wearing high heels. This should be fun.

“So, Hana I heard about you and Taehyung,” the girl started, “I’m sorry if things didn’t work out. You know how he is.”

Hana looked up at the much taller lady, intimidated somewhat, but remembering that this same girl was failing a semester of prerequisite classes.

“Word travels fast, huh?” Hana chuckled slightly, attempting to soothe the tense atmosphere the girl had initiated. “Well, he wasn’t ready to be in a relationship. Nothing worth talking about.”

The girl gasped as if she was given a new set of information that wasn’t already known throughout campus. Over-the-top acting skills came in handy when you are purposely trying to act like a bitch.

“But I thought it was because he was with [Y/N]?” she questioned. “They’ve had a thing for a while now. I’m surprised you didn’t know!”

Hana blinked repeatedly, not comprehending the words coming out of the taller female. What the hell was this girl talking about?

“[Y/N]? As in my roommate?” Hana asked, furrowing her eyebrows.

She chuckled.

“Of course! Who else would I be talking about?” she mocked. “Everyone thought you two just decided to share him or something. You know we all expect that from [Y/N], but now it makes sense that you didn’t know.”

Hana gulped back her frustration. If she wasn’t the civil person she was, Hana would have decked the girl right then.

“No, I didn’t know,” Hana replied sternly. “As far as I’m concerned it’s none of your business either.”

The high-heel clad girl cackled, flipping her hair away to show more of her face. She stepped towards Hana menacingly.

“You’re not angry that your friend’s been fucking Taehyung behind your back?” she asked dramatically. 

Hana clenched her jaw. Of course, she was angry. She always felt like Taehyung and you were secretly flirting and it seems her suspicions were confirmed by the worst person she knew.

“And why should I trust what you’re saying?”

She rolled her eyes.

“Because he hasn’t changed at all Hana!” she sighed disapprovingly. “You know he did the same thing with me? I’m sick of seeing him play around with girls and get no consequences. Same with [Y/N].”

Hana thought long and hard, biting her bottom lip out of frustration. She felt betrayed, not by Taehyung, but by you. You were living with her for how many months now and you were dating him behind her back? It just didn’t sit right with her conscience. Were people always this dishonest when it came to guys?   

The girl clicked her tongue to grab Hana’s attention and patted her shoulder firmly.

“You have all the cards in your hand and don’t know how to dealt them,” she sighed, shaking her head with disapproval. “Taehyung could be yours if you just take the initiative.”

She moved her face closer to Hana, whispering directly to her ear.

“The good girl never gets the cute guy, Hana,” she stepped back lightly, relishing in the frustrated expression that Hana adorned. “Don’t you want to put him in his place?”

Hana pushed her hand off and the girl could only smirk back. She had already planted the seed in Hana. Her work here was done.

“They deserve whatever’s coming to them, Hana. You’ll do the smart thing if you know what’s good for you.”

—

Genuinely, Taehyung felt devastated with this new set of information. You had genuinely thought that he got over you within mere weeks. 

“I kept feeding her these lies,” she started sadly. “I told her I’ve been going on dates with you, that what we have is romantic. I knew she got hurt each time I talked to her about you, but I wanted to make her jealous. I wanted to hurt her.”

Taehyung’s mouth opened slightly, surprised with Hana’s words. All of those invitations to hang out, whether friendly or not, would be perceived as dates to people that didn’t know the full story. He didn’t know what to think at that moment.

“So the reason why she thinks you and I are dating is that-”

“I never said we were,” she said wiping away her tears. “But I made her believe that we were.”

“She’s been spouting bulllshit about us,” he gritted his teeth. “And you knew about it this whole time?”

She let out a cry, wiping her tears with the back of her hand.

“I feel so fucking guilty, Tae. I’m sorry.”

Taehyung shook his head, letting out a deep breath. He didn’t have the energy to discipline her at the moment. All he cared about was that you were in your bed safe, albeit with a girl who was knowingly deceiving you. Then again, you were lying to Hana a few weeks ago too.

“I don’t know what to think right now,” he muttered, refusing to make eye contact with her. “I think it’s best if I don’t see either of you for now.”

“Tae I’m so-”

“I accept your apology, Hana,” he said softly. “I know you’re not a bad person, but [Y/N] isn’t as forgiving as I am. I just don’t know if I can handle any more betrayals.”

He swallowed his saliva and continued speaking.

“I’m sorry for leading you on Hana, even if you’ve been making up lies to [Y/N]. Genuinely, I’m sorry that I put you between the two of us. It wasn’t fair to you.”

Taehyung nodded to himself, turning around towards the elevator. It didn’t feel right to talk any further, but Hana enveloped him in her arms. She cried into his back, staining his clothing.

“I’ll tell her,” Hana whispered. “I’ll tell her everything, just please don’t hate me.”

—

A/N: I’m back! Sorry for the massive delay, with the protests going on and my life being fairly busy, I haven’t had the time to update my stories. I’ll try to get some up as soon as possible! Please support the black lives matter movement! Here’s a link to resources so y’all can spread awareness and donate! Let me know how you feel about this chapter and Hana as a character! Part 3 will come some time in the future...

[glimmerglanger]

Whumptober 2020 - Day 6

Day 6 of whumptober and part 6 of the oof!au. (Post Order 66 Vader-Captures-Obi-Wan AU. Eventual happy(ish) ending. Past/eventual Codywan. One-sided Vaderwan.)

I.... arranged this preface a little different today because we’ve moved into the peak of Anakin’s nastiness, today and tomorrow. He’s laying the ground work for his own defeat, but we’re not there, yet. It’s also a brief return to using the right prompt on the right day! Look at that! Technically “Get It Out” probably applies, actually....

Warnings for torture, abuse of a prisoner, non-con (of a particularly twisted sort), being mind controlled into hurting someone you love in some pretty awful ways. PLEASE heed the warnings. Dead dove, do not eat, etc. 

No 6. PLEASE…. 

“Get it Out” | No More | “Stop, please”

 The med-droids rarely had reason to file reports on Mustafar. Vader didn’t care what they did to the troopers. He left those reports, taking a twisting sort of pleasure in it, to filter through to 2224, who… Likely did nothing with them. Why would it? Vader demanded only reports on Obi-Wan’s progress, as time went past.

Apparently, he had died twice while they worked to preserve his life after Vader crushed his throat to make him stop speaking about Shmi. Still, they had managed to get him stabilized, managed to keep him alive, which was as it should be. He was only permitted to die when Vader decided he was, and--

And Vader was not ready for that moment, regardless of Obi-Wan’s foolish decisions. He tossed the report aside, ignoring a comment about severe damage to Obi-Wan’s vocal cords - apparently they were not sure they could repair them - fury curling around in his gut and through his bones. He’d known Obi-Wan was a monster, but to say such things about his mother--

She hadn’t deserved anything that had happened to her. Her entire life had been a punishment for crimes uncommitted. Finding her in the village of the Sand People had proven to Anakin that the galaxy needed direction, a strong hand, someone to make things right--

He swallowed, his respiratory and cardiac systems entirely out of order, the image of his mother chained up, brutalized, rising in his mind, memories he didn’t want and fought so hard to bury. He shut his eyes, shaking his head, and when he opened them again he was staring at the rack where Obi-Wan had hung.

For an awful, lurching moment, his mind supplied an image of his mother, hanging there, instead, and of Obi-Wan strung up in the Sand People’s hut, and he lurched a step backwards, a scream caught in his throat as he lashed out with the Force.

No one came to check on him, despite the cacophony of noises that must have echoed out from the room. When he did call the troopers in, later, he only said, “Remove that. I never want to see it again.”

He listened, staring out at the lava, as they dragged the twisted pieces of the rack, still covered with Obi-Wan’s blood - not his mothers, never his mother’s, he could have never hurt her, never - away.

#

Obi-Wan had done something to him, Vader realized, later, when he found himself down in the infirmary, staring at the bacta tank where Obi-Wan floated, healing slowly from the latest wounds he’d forced Vader to inflict upon him.

Obi-Wan had - had gotten into his head, somehow. He must have found a way around the collar. He’d used the poison of his words to steal Vader’s ability to think clearly, to rest. He could not stop conflating the images of his mother and Obi-Wan, which was -- ridiculous. 

They were nothing alike.

Obi-Wan had never done anything but fail him, but turn Padmé against him, but try to hold him back and confuse him, diverting him from his true purpose. Vader stared at him, fists clenched, and resolved to make Obi-Wan pay for everything he’d done.

Including the new nightmares, playing out each time Vader closed his eyes. Vader tried to make him pay, after the med-droids repaired him, but his voice wouldn’t work, even after the droids said he was recovered. Vader sent Obi-Wan back, for more work, eaten up by the nightmares and memories echoing in his head.

He needed to make Obi-Wan pay. Somehow. He had time to think of something appropriate, while Obi-Wan recovered.

#

The nightmares remained, terrible, confusing things put in his head by Obi-Wan, through another campaign. Vader returned to Mustafar in a foul temper, feeling so full of anger at the injustice of it all that he almost vibrated with it. 

He found he did not care if Obi-Wan had recovered or not, barking an order that Obi-Wan be delivered to him, immediately. He’d taken injuries, been sloppy, during the campaign. Some of the rebels had gotten away, because Obi-Wan would grant him no peace, had him spinning out of control.

Well. He fully intended to regain his control of this entire situation. Of Obi-Wan. Of his thoughts. He opened the windows to the lava flow below, all the way, wanting the convective heat to blow in around him, wanting the charred air to fill his lungs. He stood before the window, his hands clenched at his back, feeling just as full of fire and upheavals as the volcano, so far below.

He did not turn to look, when the door opened.

“I see you’ve redecorated, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, his voice strange. Hoarse. Quiet, only barely over a whisper. Infuriating as his words.

Anakin spun on his heel, snarling, feeling the hot air lift and tug at his cloak as he spat, “I’ve indulged your impertinence long enough, old man. You will call me by my proper title.”

Obi-Wan stared at him, blue eyes unblinking and faded. There were dark bruises under his eyes. His cheeks cut sharp, especially without any beard to hide them. Troopers held his arms. 2224 gripped the chain at his neck. And yet, still, Obi-Wan stood with his back straight and his shoulders back, his head high, as though--

As though he had any right to dignity. 

Obi-Wan said, staring right at him, his voice quiet and raspier than Anakin had ever heard it, “I will call you by your name. It doesn’t matter what you do, you cannot avoid who you are. Anakin.”

Something hot and pure as lightning ran down the back of Vader’s back, dug teeth into him and spread through his gut. He could not allow Obi-Wan to keep mocking him in his own place of power. He could not allow Obi-Wan to have this hold on his dreams, to hurt him, somehow. He took a step forward, growling, “I am Lord Vader. Anakin is dead.”

That weak failure of a boy was gone. He’d burned down in the lava flows. All that had remained was the core of Vader, strong enough to do what needed done, to herald the galaxy towards order and peace. 

Across from him, Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow, managing to look supremely unimpressed, chained and bound and otherwise naked, utterly at Vader’s mercy - he’d proved that over and over - and still refusing to acknowledge his utter defeat. 

But why would he, Vader thought, sharply. He’d obviously done something. Struck out at Vader’s mind. Planted nightmares there, left him dry heaving as he woke up, plagued with - with the ghosts of guilt and regret and--

And he had no room for those weak emotions in his life. He would burn them out, destroy them in the fire. Destroy Obi-Wan in the same fire, if required. If he would not be remade into an appropriate shape. He considered the plans he’d made, during the campaign, breathing hard, hesitating for just a moment as he said, “I give you one last chance. Kneel and greet me properly.”

Obi-Wan drew in a little breath, scowled, found some way to straighten his spine yet further and said, “You are Anakin Skywalker and you will never--”

Vader activated the collar and watched him fall, watched him spasm across the ground, watched him struggle for breath, when the pain stopped. “I tried to be reasonable with you,” he said, the heat of Mustafar curling around him, the heat of his rage kindled within him. “Remember that. But, obviously, you require a firmer hand. You will call me Vader, before we leave this room.”

Obi-Wan said nothing, rocking himself up onto his knees, blood dripping from his nose, splatters of it across the ground. “I will never,” he rasped, mouth quirking, infuriating.

Vader exhaled, harshly. His hands clenched and his gut burned with anger, fury that Obi-Wan would push him to this, would not just accept-- “You’ve brought this on yourself,” he said, “and so I’ll let you stop it, at any time. Call me my proper name, and you may return to your cell.”

“I--”

“I don’t let my men enjoy themselves nearly enough,” Vader barked, talking over Obi-Wan. He could guess what Obi-Wan had to say, anyway. “2224,” and, oh, he liked the way just saying the numbers made Obi-Wan suck in a breath, something in his posture stiffening. “I need your assistance.”

“Don’t hurt him,” Obi-Wan said, pushing to his feet and swaying once he got there, and for a moment Vader just stared at him. There was something darkly amusing about Obi-Wan trying to step in front of 2224, trying to protect an empty vessel. Especially considering what Vader planned. “Anakin, leave him--”

“The prisoner is being disruptive. Pacify him.” Vader enjoyed the brief flash of despair across Obi-Wan’s expression, the swell of it through the Force. Obi-Wan turned, looking towards 2224, just in time to take a blow across the jaw. He made a sound, low and stunned, covered by the impact of a fist into his gut.

“Wait--” Obi-Wan panted, words cut off when 2224 kicked his knee out, sending him down. 2224 was moving jerkily. Hesitating before each blow. Malfunctioning again. “No, this isn’t--”

Vader watched and listened, respiration increasing, as Obi-Wan tried to curl away from the blows, as 2224 followed him down, pulling him around, blows landing over and over and still Obi-Wan made no move to beg, to listen to instruction, to--

Well. Vader had known he’d likely require… further convincing. He grimaced.

“2224, you’re programmed to recreate,” Vader said, the words tasting like ash. “Aren’t you? Under Order 312.” Sidious had insisted that such actions could assist with appropriately subduing an entrenched populace. Vader had seen it work, on Ryloth. He could remember the way the insurgents there had screamed. Cried. Wept--

2224 stopped, froze in place, one fist drawn back still, black glove wet with blood, hand shaking. It was a broken damn thing, unable to process a question and continue a simple task. Vader scowled. He’d have disposed of the model already, if merely seeing 2224’s ugly, scarred face didn’t make Obi-Wan’s emotions twist, every time.

“What’s Order 312?” Obi-Wan panted, voice thick with pain, but neither of them answered.

“Yes, Lord Vader,” 2224 said, after a long beat for processing, with less emotion than a droid, expression utterly and completely blank. Still, Vader could not help but notice that its index finger was twitching, jerkily, and for no apparent reason. There was a smear of blood, under its nose.

Defective.

Perhaps Vader would have to make Obi-Wan watch as it was decommissioned. Permanently.

The thought held no small measure of appeal. But it could wait. At least a little while. He knew, very well, how his old master had felt about 2224. Before. He worked his jaw, once, twice, and then said, “Execute Order 312 on the prisoner.”

“What’s--” Obi-Wan started again, words cutting off when 2224 grabbed him. “Cody?” he said, sounding confused, feeling lost in the Force. There was a sharp little thrill of hope through him, at every touch of 2224’s hands, and Vader felt his lips pull back from his teeth.

He’d put that hope out, every single spark of it. 

Obi-Wan jerked as 2224 gripped his shoulders, shoving him over onto his stomach. Vader watched Obi-Wan’s chin hit the floor, heard him make a sound, felt his spreading alarm. “No,” he panted, struggling in earnest, and Obi-Wan was strong, had always been strong, even without the Force, but… his arms were bound, he’d just been beaten, viciously.

And Vader was almost certain the troopers had always been stronger.

“Stop! Don’t--Cody!” Obi-Wan’s voice cracked, as 2224 put a hand on the side of his head and pressed down, its other hand pulling robotically at its armor. “Please,” Obi-Wan gasped, voice failing with another crack, and, oh, he was shaking, Vader noticed, shaking all over, his eyes gone white all the way around, breath sharp and choppy. “Cody, don’t!”

2224 hesitated. Froze into place. Vader scowled and snapped, “I gave you an order! Carry it out!” And Obi-Wan cried out, sharp, ragged, when 2224 pushed into him, without a word, without a single move towards kindness. Vader watched, stared, unwilling even to blink, waiting for Obi-Wan to give in. Waiting for him to break. Waiting--

He made an awful, guttural sound, when 2224 bottomed out, still pressing Obi-Wan’s face down, its other hand gripping at Obi-Wan’s hip, that index finger still tapping, endlessly, even as it set a fast, brutal pace. And Obi-Wan didn’t beg. Didn’t break. Instead, he gasped, “It’s not you. It’s not you -- it’s--this isn’t--”

“Is this what it was like?” Vader asked, making himself watch. How often had he wondered, over the course of the war? How many times had he imagined his high and mighty master, bent over and fucked, taken. It had irritated him, at the time, that Obi-Wan would let someone else touch him, that he’d spread his legs and beg, when he hadn’t wanted Anakin. It had left him hard and aching, back then.

It still did, he found, cock twitching beneath his suit as he watched and listened.

Obi-Wan had never handled himself properly. Never realized what was good for him. Vader snarled, listening to the sounds Obi-Wan made, gutted and soft. Wet. Refusing to answer.

“Have you missed this?” Vader demanded, taking a step forward, listening to 2224 pant like an animal, just rutting mindlessly into a warm body, still with no expression on its face, the white of its left eye staining red. Perhaps that was what it had always been like, Vader could imagine that. Vader spat, “I suppose 2224 deserves permission to have you like this whenever it likes, that’s what you let it have before, isn’t it?”

Obi-Wan’s mouth worked, soundlessly. Resisting, even still.

Vader went to one knee, watching, and snapped, “Answer me!”

Obi-Wan spat towards him, instead of saying anything, salvia pinkish with blood, splattering across his boot, expression twisted up as, behind him, 2224 made the smallest sound and stilled. Just… stopped moving, completely, the task finished.

“Go clean yourself up, Cody,” Vader ordered, eyes on Obi-Wan as 2224 pulled out of him, taking in the flash of pain across his expression. He collapsed sideways as 2224 rose, laying there, sprawled across the floor, exposed and bloody already, drawing his legs up, hunching around them.

Vader swallowed, harshly, and said, bile in his mouth, “Say my name.”

Obi-Wan laughed. It was a terrible, cracking sound. His eyes barely focused when he said, in a hoarse whisper, through a crooked smile, “Anakin Skywa--”

Vader activated the collar, for just a moment, white-hot rage moving through him, and gripped at Obi-Wan’s shoulders, shoving him flat onto the ground. He felt the way Obi-Wan jerked and jumped, beneath him, noticed the slickness of blood and spend, and -- and refused to hesitate.

Obi-Wan wasn’t moving, by the time he finished. Vader stood, feeling strangely shaky, split open inside, and looked down at the limp body. Obi-Wan was just… staring forward, breath shaky and hitching. Vader was sweating, heavily, under his suit. He could smell the stink of himself, and hated it, one more thing caused by Obi-Wan.

He stumbled back a step, but there was no one to see but the troopers. And they did not care. He said, turning away, “Take him away.” He added, as he heard them dragging Obi-Wan towards the doors, “To the med-droids. But tell all the troopers to enjoy themselves. After all, one of you is the same as all the rest.”

And, perhaps, that would be enough to teach Obi-Wan his place.

His mouth tasted of ash. He swallowed it down into his gut.

[sanjuno]

how do you reckon things would change if Obito and Kakashi remembered their past lives as Izuna and Kanna? (And have you given a past incarnation of Rin in the Warring Era?)

… @deverickracoma you mean, like in canon? Huhhhh…

Well first off before Rin was Nohara Rin she was Senju Touka. Which makes this situation super fun because both Izuna and Kanna died before Hashirama strong armed Konoha into existence and Touka only went along with it because Her Stupid Little Cousins Need Some Common Sense. XP

In her lives as both as Touka and as Rin she holds the single (1) braincell for this Disaster Trio.

So Izuna dies via Tobirama’s sword. And then Kanna kinda… revenge rampages with Madara until the critical angst threshold is reached as Kanna just… explodes both theirself and the battlefield. 

There’s a whole lot of background stuff behind the suicide run such as Kanna’s Hatake side suffering from mate-loss depression and their Uchiha side suffering from Makengyou Madness and also Really Bad post-partum depression compounding it and yeah. Unfortunately Madara is just as wrecked from Izuna’s death so he can’t really support Kanna and it all goes to shit because we all know canon is a shitshow.

But anyway Touka is there to see Izuna die and she is well aware that Tobirama has just made a horrible decision driven by unacknowledged jealously and overzealous paranoia. Then Touka barely manages to save Tobirama’s pasty ass from the screaming revenge demon that she later learns was Izuna’s wife. And then Touka stands witness as Hashirama forces peace at sword point.

So Touka is just there like, “Oh for fucks sake we’re all going to die horribly.”

And, of course, Touka was right everything is horrible and everything hurts. 

Only now it’s plot-twist time and Touka, who was investigating certain questionable sources about the ongoing breakdown of social order in Konoha gets killed by Zetsu in order to cause even more tension against the Uchiha in Konoha and hey guess what? Yeah, that’s right Rin remembers the creepy plant-demon thing gloating about stealing Uchiha Madara (aka the only one vaguely strong enough to combat Kaguya at that time given he had naturally manifested the Rinnegan) for his own use before Zetsu killed her in a suspiciously ambiguous manner.

Shit.

Fuck.

Four year old Nohara Rin has a vendetta and the ability to kill a grown man. 

So obviously given that the Plant Demon is trying to kill off the Uchiha using shadowy assassinations and rumour mongering the Plant Demon is afraid of the Uchiha. Ergo the Uchiha are a threat to the Plant Demon otherwise it would confront the Uchiha more openly.

So.

Rin therefore needs to make super-duper ride-or-die best friends forever with at least one (1) Uchiha. And then, on the first day at the Academy, Rin runs into an absolute dork wearing Madara’s face.

Ah. Says Rin, channelling canon!Madara. That One. That’s The One I Need For My Plan To Succeed.

Cue the Rin and Obito Bonding Moment ™ that will repeat as a flashback every time their history is at any point mentioned in the narrative.

As for Obito, well… when he was Izuna he loved his Clan but then when he was reborn he read the Clan Histories from after his death and the public history of Konoha and Obito knows his Clan are a bunch of fucking traitors who stabbed his big brother in the back and that’s why Obito is both disgusted by the Uchiha and overprotective of the Clan’s reputation because Madara still loved their Clan even after they turned on him.

I may include Obito unearthing Madara’s private journals from a hidden cubby in the Naka Shrine that only Izuna would have known to look for. Just for the sake of an extra knife and also so that Obito can find proof of Zetsu’s sabotaging his brother’s mental health. 

Obito is more than a little weepy and sentimental over the fact that Madara honoured Izuna’s last request to the point Madara destroyed himself and his connection to the Clan. Obito can’t blame Madara for giving in when Hashirama forced peace to try and protect the few loyal Clan members who remained. Obito decides to protect Konoha and the Uchiha because he won’t let Madara’s last wish go unfulfilled but he’s going to become the fucking Hokage and tear out all the Senju-inflicted rot infecting his Big Brother’s Dream.

Obito is openly disdainful of the Clan Elders and the only people he even vaguely respects is the Head Family. Mostly because Mikoto is descended from Izuna’s daughter and even though Izayoi married “Tobirama’s student Kagami” she was still his baby girl and Mikoto is his great-grand daughter and he loves her because she’s his family.

Mikoto, Obito, and Shisui are all descendants of Kagami and Izayoi’s kids so they’re second-third cousins. Obito spends a lot of time pondering the overlap of self-care and I-love-my-grandbabies. It’s a fun little exercise in existentialism.

In the meantime Kakashi is still a little shit-disturber of the highest order. Kanna was taught all the fun Uchiha Clan Skills as Izuna’s wife and now Kakashi has learned all the fun Hatake Clan Skills from Sakumo and the little bastard is even more terrifying than canon. Kakashi is more gender-fluid than agender the way Kanna was though which is a fun new flavour of dysphoria-through-reincarnation that I’ll probably enjoy exploring.

Now, this does mean that Kakashi starts wearing his mask before Sakumo gets scapegoated which is a minor yet still significant change from Kakashi’s canon characterization-and-motivations.

So Kakashi blitzes their way through the Academy in like, 6 months because Kakashi has negative chill and an understandably paranoid focus on keeping their dad alive this time around. The only people Kakashi respects are the Military Police and their Dad everyone else can perish. Minato is A Constant Despair because he cannot control this sassy hell child Sakumo-sempai pls tell your son to l i s t e n t o m e.

Sakumo-sempai goes “LOL nope” because Sakumo is also a troll but is better at hiding it than Kakashi is.

So Rin and Obito are BFFs then Kakashi rips through their class like ground lightning and the sparring scene happens but the kickback of Uchiha-memories manifesting as body action means the spar is a familiar dance and so Obito is like “OMG K a n n a” and cue Obito stalking Kakashi like a schoolgirl with an obsessive crush and no concept of personal boundaries.

Enough shenanigans occur to 1. make Team Minato a cohesive and functional thing instead of a train wreck, and 2. keep Sakumo alive because Kakashi recognizes their Dad’s suicidal tendencies for what they are and so they set their ninken up as watchdogs to make sure Sakumo doesn’t do anything stupid. Because Kakashi’s biggest regret is leaving Madara and Izayoi to suffer grief without them and they refuse to let that sort of despair take away anyone they care about again.

So now Team Minato is bonding, and they are friends, and they are all slowly coming to the realization that they all remember their previous lives. So they start to share information and gradually piece together where Zetsu’s influence has been applied as they try to figure out what the Plant Demon’s endgame is.

Which means that Team Minato is 100% more paranoid about mission intelligence than they were in canon and also Rin more than ready to gut the Iwa-nin who tries to kidnap her during the Kannabi Bridge Mission so that’s fun. Team Minato has also made a point system for rooting out moles, spies, and traitors to hand over to T&I. 

Sarutobi had a lovely headache when the knowledge that Sakumo’s mission had been sabotaged “accidentally” got leaked. (Kakashi had given the old man more than enough time to fix the rumour mill so it’s on Sarutobi’s own head that he didn’t take action before Kakashi did.)

Also Team Chaos Gremlins Minato manages to charm Orochimaru over to their camp via one of Obito’s rage fuelled rants about dismantling the hypocritical indoctrination of the institutionalized status quo. Specifically, the fact that the Hokage is supposed to be a public service position voted on by the people who only really has complete executive power during war time. Instead of a unilateral dictator chosen by the previous Hokage’s undisguised bias and favouritism.

Also because they’re all proof of the reincarnation cycle existing. Orochimaru is living his best life especially when Team Minato trash talks the other two Sannin. 

Rin is the Most Offended by Tsunade fucking off and abandoning her responsibilities. Tsunade basically inherited all of Hashirama’s worst traits without any obvious redeeming qualities to balance it out. Because, let’s be honest, the only reason Hashirama got any level of respect is because he was Over Powered to the point of ridiculousness and because Tobirama plus Mito were in charge of his public image.

Kakashi and Obito are both hyper-loyal so having Jiraiya decide to just not come back during wartime and for Tsunade to abandon her responsibilities as a healer and Clan Head has destroyed any possible respect they might have had.

Obviously Orochimaru is the best Sannin so he’s the one they’re going to make friends with. Also they drag Orochimaru back to the Hatake Clan House to commiserate with Sakumo about being the target of a Village wide smear campaign. Which strengthens both Orochimaru and Sakumo’s spirits enough to resist their Bad Endings from canon.

All of this basically allows Team Minato to have the leverage to track down Zetsu’s creeper cave and they find Madara trapped and blinded and leashed to the Gedo Mezo, and Obito nearly has a world-destroying breakdown. Rin stands guard while Obito and Kakashi have a tearful reunion with Madara and there’s a lot of dramatic apologizing and sobbing.

They all know that they can’t leave Madara here with Zetsu, but detaching him means he’s going to die. Eventually Madara makes the decision himself to break the connection because he refuses to be used as a hostage against his little brother. So Madara tells Obito where his eyes are (which means that the Ame trio are going to get kidnapped by Team Minato eventually) plus a run-down of all the subversive plots Zetsu has had a hand in, and then Madara outright smashes the statue.

Normally nothing would be able to destroy the Gedo Mezo given that it’s basically the fossilized corpse of a god but Madara is currently part of it which means that the statue’s defences don’t realize Madara is a threat. So, statue goes boom, the cave starts to collapse, and Team Minato runs away with Madara’s body so they can give him a respectful burial.

Zetsu has approximately ten thousand aneurysms in the space of one (1) second.

From here the kickback really starts to pile up because Obito now makes a habit of dropping in on newborn Uchiha to check and see if Madara’s been reborn yet. Which means that Sasuke has a really invested older cousin hanging around to take Itachi’s place when Itachi make dumb decisions.

Rin is grumpy because basically every Clan who joined Konoha had a bunch of Senju marry into their Clan so finding Hashirama’s reincarnation is basically impossible. (And then, of course, Naruto is born and Rin faceplams 1000 times because of fucking course.)

Kakashi is laughing at both of them. Right up until they take command of Team 7 and notice a hated familiar chakra under the skin of a pink haired little girl. (All three members of Team Minato nearly die laughing because Tobirama is a pink haired little girly girl heeeeee~)

Anyway aside from all the family drama Team Minato also manages to dispose of Danzo and exposes his “plot against the Hokage”, boosting Sakumo’s public image to the point he gets named as the Fourth, fixing the stigma Orochimaru faced despite being the only loyal member of the Sannin, and basically terrorizing Konoha with Political Activism.

Zetsu probably goes a bit around the bend thanks the Team Minato destroying all his hopes and dreams plans. Also they keep putting the pressure on and exposing Zetsu’s schemes and eventually that gains enough momentum that the other Villages are taking a good hard look at shit that’s going down and hey wait w h a t t h e f u c k …

Obito eventually takes over as the Fifth Hokage and tears apart the corrupt government systems like a Tasmanian Devil going through a rotting carcass because Big Brother’s Dream Will Become A Reality B E L I E V E I T !

The End. XP

[thefanficmonster]

An Angel Through Time

David Milton (The Dark Pictures Anthology: Little Hope) x Reader (Female)

Warnings: Mentions of death and a near death scene

Genre: Angst, Romance

Summary: The unthinkable miracle of getting a second chance at love centuries after the first one slipped through his fingers is exactly what happens to David Milton when John’s students are taken back trough time and save him from certain death.

Requested by my dear friend @artlovingbre​ . Hello! I’m sorry to be posting your request so late, I hope it makes up for the wait. David is really an underrated character and I can’t thank you enough for giving me the opportunity to write for him. Please enjoy the read! Love, Vy ❤

Y/D/N - Your double’s name (same first letter as your name)

I feel someone’s grip on my forearm, encouraging me to open my tightly shut eyes. When I do so, I’m met with a terrifying scene. That evil priest is here, along with that little girl and two other men - one of which is a spitting image of Daniel. The priest is saying something but I’m too busy exchanging confused and fearful looks with Daniel and Andrew who have been dragged into this mess with me.

“What do we do?“ I ask, turning around just in time to see the other man push Daniel’s double over the ledge.

“NO!“ The scream leaves both me and Daniel but while I remain frozen in place he rushes to save the innocent man from the certain death awaiting him.

Luckily, he manages to grab onto him, I don’t know how he made it, I’m just glad he did. However, he’s struggling to pull him up to safety, having his double dangle above his faith.  Seeing the man who pushed him pull out a knife and begin to approach the ledge shakes me out of my trance and I rush over to help him myself, grabbing onto the rope that binds his wrists. Thankfully, with joined forces and a little help from Andrew who took a bit longer to snap out of his confusion, we pull the double back inside the belfry. We each lose our balance, falling to the ground, letting go of the rope that has cut through the skin of out palms.

I hiss at the irritating pain spreading through my hands, squeezing my eyes shut. If I had any doubt that this was actually happening, I don’t have it anymore. The pain is real. That scene was real. That man was real. This is all real and I really need to put myself together because otherwise, I’m not making it out of this place alive.

Oh God, the image I saw when I rushed to the ledge - below was a spiked fence this innocent man would’ve inevitably impaled himself on had Daniel not caught him when he did. My heart sinks just thinking of that happening.

“Hey, it’s over now. You can open your eyes.“ Andrew’s comforting voice reaches me through the fog of distress clouding my brain. I feel his gentle grip on my shoulder as if trying to ground me to the present, reminding me we left that behind.

Maybe not completely though. The first face I see is Daniel’s, thing is - a quick look to the left shows Daniel standing aside talking to Taylor. The person I’m looking at is his double. In the present. Here, with us, now. 

I look at Andrew who’s offering me a helping hand to get me off the ground. He understands all the bafflement from that simple eye-contact and I can tell he feels the same.

John and Angela ask us for explanations but how are we supposed to explain something even we don’t understand? 

                                                            *  *  *

How can this be? It’s them, it’s really them. Maybe it’s their souls looming over me as to shield me from harm. Maybe I have been compromised by the Devil himself. I have no answers, no way to understand what is right in front of me.

The late sister of mine - Tabitha and my deceased lover, Y/D/N. 

My eyes may deceive me or an evil force is using me as its plaything. I can not be sure of anything anymore. So help me God, I am miraculously alive. Or I maybe aren’t. This may be my soul reuniting with the souls of my condemned love ones. One was accused of witchcraft by our own kin - our sister Mary, and the other, my dear Y/D/N was a victim of reverend Carver’s sinful, poisoned with malice heart.

We were to be married, the joy of calling her my wife so close within my reach. I remember the night I asked her to marry me: the tears glistening in her eyes, the warmth of her embrace. The happiness that inhabited our home.

And how suddenly it was taken from us.

Y/D/N warned me of Carver’s advances and intentions towards her. I told her not to fear, that I would first throw myself in the arms of damnation rather than let any harm be done to her. I will never forgive myself for not doing more to save her from the horrible fate Carver decided for her when she refused his advances and stayed true to me and our love. She let out her final breath right in front of me, looking me straight in the eye.

Her final words shall forever haunt my mind and memories.

David, my soul will love you beyond death’s grip

This is her fulfilling her last words. She rescued me from inevitable demise. 

Like a guardian angel, using her love for me to keep me out of evil’s reach.

“Are you ok?“ She approaches me cautiously, almost fearfully. “That was a close call back there.“

“My eyes deceive me, no? Y/D/N, is it really you?“ I reach out towards her, fearing she is nothing but an illusion. Fearing I’ll never see her again the second my hand touches hers.

Her hand takes firm hold of mine as reassurance that I haven’t gone mad. “I’m sorry but I’m not. My name’s Y/N. I understand that you are having a tough time understanding this and believe me - we’re in the same boat there. Just trust us, we’ll....figure everything out, ok?”

Her voice - her voice opens the wound on my heart Y/D/N’s death inflicted on me. I hear the echo of the purest words I’ve ever heard spoken.

I most certainly do not feel safe nor do I understand what trickery was done to me for my soul to be sent amongst these people, but I believe they mean no harm. I have seen the face of evil - and it doesn’t look like them.

                                                              *  *  *

Daniel’s double, who I now know is named David, is coping with this surprisingly well. The confusion is still clouding his brain but he’s not nearly as freaked out as I would’ve been in his position. He hasn’t asked many questions, I think he’s still in shock. Regardless, he’s calm and...well, alive and that’s what matters. Every now and then I catch him looking at me with this sorrowful sadness in his gaze. I feel my heart sink a little every time I see it. He has mentioned another lady, Y/D/N I think he called her. I don’t know what relation he has to her, but he mistook me for her so I can only assume she’s my double. I’m honestly afraid to ask, I don’t believe I can handle what he’ll tell me. At least not yet.

We approach an old house. That’s a pretty generic description, considering all the houses in this ghost-town are old. This one, however, sticks out. It has clearly been shielded from the cruelty of time by many renovations. It simultaneously looks firm as a fort but also like it could crumble at any moment. It’s hard to explain, you’d have to see it to understand. Through one of the windows we see a faint flickering light, presumably from a lit candle.

“This is our house. What in God’s name has happened to it? Why is it so filthy?“ David looks the house from top to bottom with fear and hurt in his eyes. I see the tears threatening to roll down his cheeks and my heart cracks much like the foundation of the house.

“It may have been your hose back then. It’s no one’s now.“ John tries to explain to him, as delicately and carefully as one could, “It’s our only good lead, given there’s light in there.“

David shakes his head, “I refuse to step foot beyond that doorstep.” His statement is firm, not that we would’ve tried to change his mind regardless.

I look at the group who are exchanging puzzled gazes. I raise my voice to say: “I’ll wait outside with David, you guys can go in and do a sweep. If you find anything useful just holler, I doubt I won’t hear you.“

They slowly nod in agreement before entering the house. I watch as they disappear into the darkness of the hallway, paying close attention to the creaking of the floorboards that bend under the weight of their footsteps - giving me some indication of where they are in case I need to go in and find them.

There is a half-rotted bench in front of the house. It looks far from stable or useable but I decide to take my chances. I sit down and brace for impact with the ground but when that doesn’t happen I wave David over to sit down as well. He does so, though reluctantly - never taking his gaze of the house, the look in his eyes remaining as painful as when he first saw it.

“Y/D/N, she was the light of this home. Tabitha was to be wedded as well. She didn’t live to see that day. I couldn’t protect either of them.“ He rests his elbows on his knees, hiding his face in the palms of his hands. “I should’ve fought till the last undeserved breath for theirs. I should’ve done more.“

With minor hesitation, I place my hand on his shoulder in an attempt to comfort him though I know my presence is fueling his sorrow. I’m an image of someone meaningful he lost, how can he even bare to look at me? “Who was she? Y/D/N?“

His hand reaches up, taking hold of mine and removing it from his shoulder. He straightens his posture, gently holding my hand with both of his. “My late wife to be. She was cruelly sent away from this world by the town reverend. He wanted to rid me of my life shortly after Y/D/N, but...” his attention travels to my eyes, “you saved me. I would now be nothing but a lifeless body if you hadn’t done what you did. I will forever be in your debt.” He squeezes my hand in an act of endearment that makes my heart flutter. “Though it pains me to look at you or the other woman,” he tilts his head towards the house, presumably referring to Taylor, “I can not take my eyes off you. This mustn’t be a coincidence. You are either her, or an angel sent by her. I am grateful to you regardless.” His hands uncover mine and he brings it to his lips, placing a gentle kiss on my knuckles.

I feel this overwhelming need to protect him, to always be by his side and never leave him. I have known him for less than two hours; he’s been a part of this time for just as long and yet I still feel so close and so attached to him.

“Don’t worry, David. My life isn’t getting stripped away and neither is yours. I can promise you that.“ I say reassuringly, nodding to put extra emphasis to my words.

                                                             *  *  *

The way she puts such faith on her words, on her promise, makes me recall how Y/D/N’s voice danced in the air when she’d tell me what our future looked like through her eyes. Every letter leaving her lips carried its own meaning, none less valuable than another. All so certain and concrete. A force to be reckoned with. A force to gain all my trust in a matter of seconds.

“Thank you, Y/N“

I shall put my life in these people’s hands and my heart in the hands of this angel that survived through the walls of time. This strong woman who risked her life to save my own. 

There’s no longer a doubt in my mind that she’s my second chance at love disguised as an angel. One Y/D/N’s soul sent me from the heavens where she’s looking down upon me from. I shall fulfill her wish - I shall love again.

[capricornus-rex]

Someone Left to Save (3)

Cal Kestis x Reader

Requested by Anon

Summary: The Mantis crew arrives to the capital of Ulfin, in the planet of Pevera, under siege. They meet the local rebel cell spearheaded by the former Republic admiral, Jax Beneb, who seeks to destroy the Empire’s occupation that was aggressively imposed upon while exploiting the planet of its natural resources. A plan is devised to destroy the Imperial’s main base of operations—as well as their influence—in the planet; however, it was a do-or-die mission that you and Cal had gotten yourselves caught in.

Tags: Force-Sensitive! Reader, Inquisitor! Reader, Jedi! Reader, Fake Death, Jedi turned Inquisitor, Seduction to the Dark Side, Turn to the Dark Side, The Dark Side of the Force, Aftermath of Torture, Torture, Psychological Torture, Redemption Arc! Reader, Possible Redemption, Premonitions

Also in AO3

Chapters: Part 1 | Previous: Part 2 | Next: Part 4 | Masterlist

3 of ?

The Second Brother’s hand barely touched you, his clawed gloves hovered mere inches away from your face, but you could feel the energy escaping your entire body and then enter his fingers in the form of white, translucent tendrils. The sensation was similar to drowning—sinking, rather—with a weight tied to your ankles, the farther you plummet the more air you are deprived of. Your throat roughed up on its own as you gagged for oxygen. When you thought you were kicking your legs to perhaps swing yourself out, your ankles were all but a pair of spastic, twitching joints—any more and you just might tear your tendons due to the desperation brought by your fight-or-flight instinct.

It’s excruciating. Extremely.

You could feel like your heart would stop any moment now, unable to withstand this overwhelming sensation.

With your guard down, he got back at you in breaking your balance—kicking you in the shin so your stance falters—and then held you by the scruff of your shirt as he continued stealing what could be your Force energy. As he stole your essence, he took satisfaction in your bodily throes that were nothing more but feeble attempts to slip away from his grasp.

“Not so slippery, aren’t you, my little thorn?”

For every inch of translucent mist that wafted out you cannot breathe, your head felt heavy for each time the veins on your temples throbbed, and your vision went dim as you avoided eye contact with the Second Brother. Whatever form of escape you attempt, everything was pointless.

You are literally in the Second Brother’s grasp.

It is mercy that he has not killed you yet.

Although he decided to make a plaything out of your agony.

“LET ME GO!!! LET… M-ME… G-G-GO!!!” you ear-shattering plea fell to deaf, sadistic ears.

As you suffer with every violent jerk of your body—so much so that it cramped your muscles—every labored, through-the-teeth breath, and the frenzied shifting of your eyes to fight off the dimming—all of these reactions to the intolerable, inhumane pain that you’re experiencing right now does not seem to sate this Inquisitor.

Through his wicked Force ability, he was able to see everything in the recesses of your mind—your memories, dreams and nightmares, and fears. He bore witness to the nightmare that has haunted two nights ago until the eve of this very day. The Second Brother wanted to make sure that you will see and realize that your motivation is also your weakness.

“Now I see whom that fire burns for,” he purred.

His cackling began with a wheeze, muffled yet still audible through his mask’s ornate face plate. As he looked into your shifty eyes, he mocks you by watching your nightmare play like a film… over and over again, to his liking.

All of a sudden, his strength appears to have double compared to hours ago. The longer he inflicts this agonizing power over you, the more you submit to your knees—with the toll of the pain becoming more and more unbearable.

This was a dark, distorted mirror image of Cal’s own ability: Psychometry. His and the Second Brother’s abilities are near-identical; the only difference is that the Inquisitor has yet to demonstrate that he can manipulate his victim’s visions to his whim—bending them, poisoning them, and ultimately changing them—to further twist what they truly convey. This is a capability that he has earned through the Dark Side of the Force.

“I can see him heading this way right now,”

“Liar! He’s out there fighting with the others,”

“Oh, I never lie. I may be bad, little thorn, but I do not lie—it’s a lesser, lamer evil, in my opinion.”

“And I am supposed to believe you—of all people? I’d rather believe a pile of Bantha shit if it talked!”

The fight dragged on, while it did, Cal tore his way through the enemy fronts, leaving lifeless Stormtroopers in his wake—but he hasn’t gotten any closer to the stronghold to get to you. From where he stood, he could see the rebels that you came with pour out of the entrance, some of them leaped from the towers, taking the enemy by surprise and flanking them.

He squinted his eyes through the battlefield, he couldn’t spot you—he knew what you wore and none of those figures in the distance matched.

“Where are you, [Y/N]?” Cal growled in frustration and growing fear.

The Inquisitor continued to siphon your Force energy out of your system, leaving barely an ounce from the vessel.

When he’s had enough of it, he releases his grip from the collar of your shirt and then you felt a row of solid, metal knuckles slammed to your cheekbone. You literally saw stars, mere white specks dancing behind your eyes as the surroundings blurred; you can barely make a proper stance, let alone stand straight. The Inquisitor laughed in mockery.

“With every step he takes, the closer that nightmare of yours becomes a reality,” he cooed.

“Just shut up!”

“Oh, and would you look at the time?” he chirped in his trademark singsong tone, only this time it was sarcastic and meant to taunt you.

Eleven minutes remain on the clock.

You spot this from the nearest time-bomb at the corner of your eye.

“Do you still think you can play around with fate, little thorn?”

There still some fight left in you, though your battle was both physical and mental, it’s difficult enough to deal with the physical—what more of the latter?

Being drained of your Force essence was relative to losing a lot of blood—you’re nauseous and groggy, your vision’s fogged and wobbly, and your grip can barely keep itself tight. You cannot even hold your defensive stance for more than a minute. You coax yourself to take long, slow, calm breaths—it was effective. Slowly, you recompose yourself.

Your objective in mind is to hold off the Second Brother while affording enough time to escape.

“There is another way of saving him, you know,”

You ultimately hate to admit it… but he’s right.

As he had siphoned the Force out of you, he has also seen through the secrets of your mind. He knew of your fear—the apparent death of Cal. You’ve already figured out that the blinding red and orange light, the ash and soot, all came from the imminent explosion caused by the bombs destroying the reactors.

Little did you know that the solution he had intentionally embedded in your mind was a distortion, a trick, and he smiled to himself sensing full well that you’re slowly biting into the bait.

“Are you really going to let his blood be on your hands? It’s going to be a lot, you might not keep all of it, little thorn,”

“Don’t call me that…” you snarled through the grit of your teeth as you sobbed.

You’re desperate. The longer the clock ticks, the more imminent Cal’s death would be.

Come on, [Y/N], think fast!

You will not allow the Second Brother to get the best of you. A mere second was afforded for you to meditate, to make peace quickly that your last-minute plan is the best and only resort to save Cal—without any other compromise.

I know he’s safe, that’s all that matters. You mouth the words to yourself like a prayer.

With one sweep of the arm, all of the bombs’ timers have been manually changed. Originally, only five minutes were remaining, but you—using the Force—overrode the configuration and set them all to ten seconds. This took the Second Brother by surprise, with the remainder of your strength, you kicked him on the chest and flung him a few inches away; while disoriented, you made a run for it—dashing through the air in the same speed as he did, scaled and skipped a few spokes of the ladder until you hauled yourself to the platform. Doing these doubled the toll your body is already taking, which is struggling to keep you from collapsing; your breath heaved and your own weight suddenly became anvils.

Now that you’ve gotten yourself to high ground, you’ve used up all of your energy and returned to your sluggish, weakened state. The exit is still far off and you can see the digits on the clock.

00:05.

“W-Where’s [Y/N]?” Cal demands an answer from the rebel who ran past him, grabbing the soldier by the sleeve.

“I-I don’t know! An Imp attacked us from nowhere… he’s already killed Yenna!”

“Imp? What Imp?”

“He had a saber like yours, except red.”

The young Jedi let the partisan go. Based on the last thing the rebel said, Cal already knew it was no ordinary Imp.

His fears have come true. Although he was aware of the risks already but he never anticipated you would face an Inquisitor alone!

00:02.

Before Cal could even get any closer to the stronghold, he—along with everyone else, friend and foe alike—stopped dead in his tracks, startled by the rumble that sourced from the building. His eyes widened, his jaw dropped—the red and orange cloud of fire filled the pair of jade eyes—and his heart drummed so loudly that it just might tear right through his ribs and out from his leather armor. Goosebumps pelted his arms, cold sweat trickled on his temples, and the hairs at the back of his neck pricked up.

“No…!” he gasped. When the reality of the explosion eventually sunk into him, despite refusing the truth right in front of him, he roared your name at the top of his lungs—so much so that he wheezed when he inhaled.

“Beeeeeeee!!!!” BD-1 let out of the shrillest, ear-shattering chirp he has ever done in his entire life.

“FALL BACK!!!”

“RETREAT!!”

The Stormtroopers cried in panic, some turned tail and fled, a brave handful kept shooting while slowly stepping back. The rebels gradually overtook the field until the numbers have thinned out in the enemy’s side. Having a complete disregard for his safety, Cal charged through the crossfire, powered yet blinded by pure adrenaline, a few of the partisans called out to him but to no avail.

“CAL, HEY COME BACK!!”

“CAL, COME BACK HERE!!!”

Cal was hindered from coming closer as another minor explosion followed up after the big one. The wind of the blast was enough to fling him away and the couple of partisans who called for him ran and caught up to him. The hooked their arms underneath Cal’s.

“NO, WAIT!!! [Y/N] IS STILL IN THERE!!!” Cal violently kicked and attempted to shake them off his arms, but they’ve held him tight enough to bruise his arms through the sleeves. “GET OFF OF ME!!!”

“Cal, come on! We gotta get out of here!” insisted the male partisan who’s the first to call Cal out when he ran off.

The two young men worked together in hauling Cal out of the fire’s radius—surprisingly, he was heavy for both of them, considering the insistent one was a bit bulkier in stature, but that’s the adrenaline doing its job in his body—the ginger kept his eyes on the blazing stronghold, his emotions have clouded the clarity of his mind as well as his good judgment.

The pair of rebels had regrouped with Cal in tow—who was still being stubborn and difficult to deal with. They reported the one known casualty—the woman who personally called you Little Spark, the woman named Yenna, murdered by the Inquisitor upon making his grand entrance earlier.

Cere personally approached him to greet him back, but when the woman saw that you’re missing, her eyes searched the entire group.

“Where’s [Y/N]?”

“She wasn’t with them when they rendezvoused,”

“Th-Then where?”

Cal’s face lit up and frantically patted his person in search of the compact radar. There was no sign of your blip. He could’ve sworn he saw it blink once before it died out.

“No! My radar’s bust, but I know she’s out there, Cere!”

Cere, unsure of what to make of Cal’s medley of emotions, sighed and spoke nothing. Cal insisted on setting up a search party for you with him personally leading it. The idea was merit, unfortunately, the young redhead isn’t the one calling the shots.

“Whoa, slow down, kid,” the captain in charge stepped into the scene between Cal and Cere. He expresses that he understands what the boy is going through, shell-shocked by the apparent fact that you might have been killed in the explosion, but he also expressed the importance of the survivors’ individual well-being.

“We have to tend the wounded first; and you’re gonna need some equipment if you want to charge through that fire out there,” added the captain.

“I won’t need a lot of men, rather I don’t any,”

The same couple of partisans who hauled Cal against his will—namely Larki and Morzen—cut in directly after Cal’s statement. They volunteered to go with him, thus it’s just the three of them as a search party. They have enough people back in the rendezvous point and the main hideout to care for the wounded and send them back for proper medical attention. The captain personally took and handed over sets of protective gears for Cal and his companions.

The three of them mounted speeder bikes—Cal rode along while Larki and Morzen shared. Cere watched the trio disappear into the horizon and then her head craned to the sky peeking over the trees.

It will be night very soon.

“Your boy sure is persistent,”

“It’s because he feels something is there, and he means what he says,” Cere argued. She nodded sideways to the captain, gesturing him to the tent until their land transport arrives.

[yes-these-obsessions-are-healthy]

WIP Wednesday 8/11/21

Had a writing stint where I pumped out 7K words in 3 days when I usually manage only..200-500 a week. Here’s some snippets of a WIP with my Gray-Ace Inquisitor Tallin and a very understanding Solas as they navigate her very first romantic/sexual feelings for anyone, ever (24 and never been kissed except that one time in the Fade, baby!!). She is a very nervous person by nature...

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Please just a crumb of feedback. A gif. An emoji. Please. I’m on my goddamn knees.

[snippet 1]

"Tell me 'no', and we can resume as we were without enmity. You are also at liberty to tell me to take my leave, in which case I hope to see you in the morning..." He stopped before her, drawn to his full height, head tilted slightly in a manner akin to a wolf intent on ascertaining a curious vision. “But if you choose for me to remain, you must decide once more. At your behest, I will gladly provide the chaste company of which you are so accustomed. We will sit. We will talk. We will read. We will retire in an exhausted fashion to bed. You will cozy up beside me like a nugling to its nestmate, content. But if you say 'yes', if you wish to learn how it is the wolves dance.." 

The light gray of his eyes suddenly darkened and his lips spread wide and sharp, rendering him impish, lupine. Tallin's heart lurched, but to her inner wonder it was not accompanied by a familiar queasy unease.  Her instincts were not screaming for her to bound away like a skittish halla from the man standing before her. Instead, the soft heat in her lower stomach flared like a bonfire given new life, its flames crawling up inside her chest, licking beneath her lungs. In the rare instances where someone looked at her in such a way--like she was something to be snatched up, like she was something edible--she retreated, recognizing that the individual had wordlessly marked her as prey.

Would it be so terrible to have him as her pursuer? That was what he was implying, wasn't he? That he had been observing her in that particular manner far longer than this emergent sense of craving.

What made it so different from the other times? What made his approach far less threatening?

The consideration, she realized. He is considerate.

If she was a halla, then he was a..a..

Her eyes flicked down momentarily in thought, landing on the dark jawbone hanging low over his chest from thin leather cords. 

And here and now, she realized she had always had her answer. He was a wolf. A wolf with a wistful man's soul.

Their method of courting until now, if it could be called that, had not been a simple 'chase'. No, the wolf had deigned not to pursue, for it recognized the halla did not wish to be hunted down. If this particular halla was ever compelled to bolt, it would not do so while also secretly relishing the idea of hot frantic breath on its heels or teeth sinking into its throat.

"..then with your blessing I will take you to your bed and claim everything you are, everything you are willing to give. I will unravel you as easily spun silk, uncover for us both your desires that remain unnamed."

He shifted and out of the corner of Tallin's eye, a shadow moved. His words had coiled her up like an Orlesian spring toy, promises that spoke of capitulation and submission and frightening loss. Her head felt hollow, her skin tight and brittle. The anxious fire in her chest roared in its hearth unabated.

Her breaths shallowed. This was happening. Everything was happening. He was describing the clumsy mental images she had been too cowardly and too embarrassed (and too confused) to acknowledge. All of this, everything, was happening too much and too fast. She knew nothing of his predilections. She knew nothing of what she wanted other than to be with him. Beyond the bare minimum for procreation, the stories of brutal violence inflicted upon elf women by peasants and nobles, and the confusing comments made in passing by the Iron Bull, she didn't know what to expect. 

If you speak it, you will make it real.

He raised his hand. She froze, spine taut. His expression gentled, edges shaved. The backs of his fingers stroked her cheek. "I will have you in the manner that a lover should. Gently. Sweetly."

As if he had woven a spell, Tallin gradually relaxed into the touch. It was not necessarily of her own volition, but she knew this. Nothing frightening ever came of this. This was familiar. Safe.

She heard Solas hum, thoughtful. "Yes, a gentle touch for a gentle girl. Would that please you?"

She swallowed, caught his hand and turned her head to press her lips against his hot palm. The world was silent for several moments. "W-Would you..?" She croaked. A question with many budding branches.

Would you..?

..be gentle?

..do all that you say?

..treat me kindly?

..love me?

Another step, and they were flush together. Her hand found his tunic and scrunched the material in her fist. As a precaution or an anchor she did not know.

He loomed over her fully now, both hands coming to cradle her face as if she were blown glass, gray sky eyes beholding her like Mother. Love. But now, also..

She offered no resistance when he tilted her head just so. He leaned in. His breath was scorching mint against the whorls of her ear.

"Yes. Until you can hardly stand it."

[snippet 2]

"You wish to-? Oh, 'ma'lath.." The tenderness in his voice made her eyes sting for but a moment.  The casual nature in which he extracted her hand from the half-hard presence pressing against breeches could not fully offset the surge of embarrassment she felt. As Solas busied himself with kissing the knuckles of her offending hand, she silently berated herself. Stupid, stupid, stupid!

"Tallin."

Tallin started. To her chagrin, she found Solas peering at her over her curled hand, his gaze firm and knowing. The internal self-abuse had been playing itself across her face.

She couldn't do this, she realized. She didn't know *how* to do this. He was trying to coach her through it but what if nothing stuck? What if she kept making mistakes, misreading signs? What if this was all a put-on for *her* sake? What if he didn't want her and was doing this to placate her, as he had so many other times? Lovers had to touch each other, she knew that much, and for him to except himself from this exercise, it reeked of...

"Tallin." His voice said through the dull ringing in her ears. "Tallin."

"Ir abelas." This was a mistake, a horrible mistake. She turned away, intent on rolling off the bed and..where would she go? She didn't know. The blood pounding in her ears was making it so difficult to *think*.

An arm wrapped around her waist as firm a steel band, digging into her stomach. She struggled half-heartedly, frustrated tears leaking from her eyes.

"S-Solas.." she protested.

"Tallin. Come back to me, my love." She shook her head and bit her lip to hold back a pathetic whimper. Not to deny him, but to help rid herself of the looming thoughts.

Selfish. This was selfish. 'I desire you, you desire me, but I demand that I take from you and give you nothing back.' That wasn't how it was supposed to go, was it? It didn't sound right.

But she was greedy for comfort. Always craving it.

[snippet 3]

"Shh, shh. No. You are not like most others. You were born with a heart that hungers endlessly for love, but eyes that cannot see that the source from which you drink remains full no matter how often you sip. It is your nature, but it can be tamed with practice. You can learn to ignore these pressing doubts, in time."

"I want to do this. I want to feel this burning, to learn where it might go, but.. I'm still nervous about..you, and where you..fit."

"That is not an uncommon concern, vhenan."

"So I've heard. But what if I never overcome it? What if it still..frightens me? If you accepted it--"

"--I would accept it." His tone was firm, almost indignant.

"--then it would only be me that was benefitting from this. It would only be me that was taking."

Solas barked a laugh, making Tallin jump.

When he finally settled, his grin had not abated--a full one that revealed straight white teeth and sharp canines, crinkled eyes that glowed with pure mirth.

Tallin lay there, confused and a bit put out, by her hahren's strange reaction.

"'Ma'vhenan, there is so much more to sex than that." He chuckled again, the sound decidedly doting. "You see yourself as taking advantage of me, of taking while offering nothing in return until you have used me all up, yes?" A reluctant nod. "But you have never considered to ask how I feel in all this?"

Tallin blinked.

"In matters of state you display exemplary feats of compassion and empathy, but in matters of the heart you are callous to yourself. You believe that sex is a matter of 'taking', but that is far too reductive for what this is.  Pleasure does not solely originate from taking or receiving. Giving is just as lucrative. In giving, I would be receiving your pleasure. The joy in giving a gift is to receive another's happiness, is it not?

"Y-Yes.."

"And do you not see that you are a gift to me?"

"I am?"

"Yes. Your trust that I will do right by you in this matter is a precious gift, one I will hold close to my heart. That you offer me the opportunity to teach you despite your lingering reservations is no small gesture."

[snippet 4]

"I love you." She said, muffled. "Ar lath ma."

"Lathan na. Bellanaris. Please understand that this is a request I must refuse. The time to learn of me will come later." At the familiar sight of Tallin's brow furrowing in confusion, he hummed, a serene enigmatic smile on his face as he cupped her inked cheek. He leaned in and planted an affectionate kiss upon her forehead before resting his against hers, peering into her puzzled brown eyes. "Tonight we are learning about you. This is your first experience not just with a man, but with pleasure. I will not risk overwhelming you with my wants when you have yet to determine what it is you yourself desire." Another kiss. "Slowly, 'ma'vhenan, slowly is best."

Sheepishly, "O-Okay, but I only wanted--"

He was quick to silence her with a kiss. "I know, I know, and you are so good to have offered." His voice dropped into a purr. "So good for me.." His mouth was on hers again, hot and surprisingly eager. Tallin's eyes widened, then fell closed at the familiar brush of his tongue against her lips. Thick honey-heat pooled beneath her skin; her hands found his shoulder and nape to instinctively pull him close as she obediently opened her mouth.

They clashed and fed upon each other's taste. She discovered his: sugar and..lemon. Lemon cake? It tasted good, a faint playful zing on her tongue.

Time and sense gradually slipped away with the air in her lungs. At some point he turned them both so she lay on her back. With his knees staked on either side of her, he could hover over her while avoiding making her feel trapped. Considerate, she thought with a burst of love, he is so considerate.

Solas was the first to pull away, and Tallin was only a little surprised that the soft noise of disappointment that she made at their parting didn't inspire any embarrassment in her.

What did make her blush furiously, though, was the show Solas made in how thoughtfully he licked his lips as he paused to catch his breath, grinning the whole time. "..mmh, an intriguing mystery."

Tallin didn't know if it was the lack of air or the wondrous nature of the kiss, but she couldn't connect the dots with what he was saying. "W-What?"

"The taste of you. I wonder what it could be. No, don't tell me." he clarified when she made a move to speak. He hummed to himself as his thumb rubbed the space beneath her lower lip, his grin simplifying into a satisfied smirk. Tallin felt another flare of heat radiate over her cheeks. "I will find out for myself soon enough."

And he descended upon her with his lips and tongue as fervently as before. She soon began to pant as she found herself once again suffocating on his sweet breaths. He seemed intent on fulfilling his promise. She could never have imagined a kiss to be this fierce, this hungry. He was devouring the very taste out of her mouth! And to her surprise she found she..liked it. She liked it as much as the soft and gentle kisses. Where those were affirming his devotion, these were confirmation that the desire she felt for him wasn't one-sided.

[flydotnet]

Bad Things Happen Bingo! The event where you send me requests according to this marvelous card! (Red cross is the completed prompt, character headshots are prompts I’ve already filled).

An Empress has to do what has to be done, no matter what.

Sup y'all, it's a boi Fly, back with another fic of questionable quality and even more questionable concept. Tonight, we're once again rewriting Ares because it's my new greatest pleasure in life to exploit wasted concepts and potential. This case is specifically Anna, because man, I love her design, such a shame she was just a generic ojou-sama for three episodes then lost all pretenses of personality. As such, I decided she was now going to be whatever she is in this story, because it's my canon rewrite, my rules. Also, I had to give YuuAnn another shot, because it also got butchered by canon and I felt like I could somehow do a better job. I'll let you judge. My first idea for this prompt was actually to slap Nosaka with it, but I ended up going the other way around because that seemed more interesting. Blame the Ares rewrite we've been planning with a couple pals from the Inazuma writing server, I suppose? (no, just blame me, they've got nothing to do with it). It was a bresh of fresh air and, man, I missed being a purple prose-loving moron.

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Regalia

Summary: Behind the mask of the Empress is a girl with scars all over her soul, yearning for someone to share her sentiment.

Fandom: Inazuma Eleven (alternate continuity series)

Wordcount: 2.5K words.

Event hosted by @badthingshappenbingo​

AO3 version available here.

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There are blemishes and wounds on her skin that she’d never let most people see. It used to be by pride, then for fear that her image as an invincible queen would be tarnished. None of them are physical, etched into her mind rather than her actual body, but it only makes them more painful: if they ever fade away, it’s a process which will take much longer than a blemish left by an injury, and she’s resolved herself to it.

To cover up these scars, she’s become the Empress who showed neither remorse nor hesitation, showing mercy only to those who felt like they deserved redemption. It was only meant to be a mask for some occasions, but she got too comfortable wearing it and is now stuck being the regal figure to a group of people who surely must be even more lost than she is without a sort of guidance.

Sadly, no matter how much or how well she hides them, the wounds have never truly closed and if a grain of sand enters one of them, the pain flares up again and all she can do is suck it up and keep on as the Empress, always keeping it together, composed and in control. Even her own feelings can’t get outside her control, even if everything around her makes them peak in all the wrong directions. As is the duty of an Empress guiding her court.

 Because of her closed-off emotions and stubborn wishes to prevent herself from getting near more harm, it is very rare of Anna to open herself to other people. She used to be a much more open person, back when she didn’t know just how far some people can go to use others to their advantage, gladly discarding anyone who has exceeded their initial use and cannot be drained for more. Nowadays, however, she’s the opposite: as long as someone hasn’t shown they’re worthy of her trust, she’ll never be herself around them, never take off the Empress’s jewel-incrusted mask.

It doesn’t mean there isn’t a few people she trusts. While none of them are part of her “court”, mostly because she believes they’ll abandon her as soon as they find someone better or closer to their interests, she still keeps them close. One of them is a long-time classmate of hers, Ootani, whom she only recently got to know through her position as a soccer team manager: someone earnest, unable to lie, heart on her sleeve and her emotions clear as day on her face. In short, Ootani is a real open book, one so free to be read by the first malevolent spirit that Anna can’t help but be far more transparent than she’d usually be comfortable being around her.

 People like Ootani are very rare, however, so most of the time, she ends up befriending people less honest but whom she can tell have similar scars to her. One of them just so happened to be the captain for a team hers was against. It’s ironic because Nosaka fits her mental image of who exactly she wouldn’t trust: haughty-looking, closed off to the world, a scheming look on an expressionless face and someone who seems to be at his very command.

His reputation preceded him, she must admit. As a team manager, she had to know who played for the enemy, so she knew they would cross paths eventually – just from far away, from opposite ends of the field, because he was a warrior commander and she was a ruler working on the sides. He was the Emperor of Tactics, she was the Empress, and their similar reputations were where everything was going to stop.

It didn’t.

 It didn’t and she fell into a rabbit hole like the naïve girl she once was.

 It started by speaking at the end of a match. They merely ended up getting a cup of coffee in the same shop on the way back from the stadium after watching a match that had nothing to do with their respective schools. Nosaka was the one to open the discussion, seemingly trying to pique her interest with whatever had just happened on the field. She kept most of her actual opinions to herself, that day, preferring to reply as vaguely as possible as not to leave a hint to a man whose scheming was rumoured to rival a computer’s.

They kept coming across each other and, after some time, their discussions started to revolve less and less about football. At first, it felt comfortable to just mention a couple things like the recent news, but it progressively became personal and… they exchanged phone numbers. She gave him the one way to contact her directly, gave it to the enemy, and in turn, gave his to her, his enemy. It felt wrong, tasting like betrayal, but with a sweet aftertaste, because there were things she wanted to tell him and they never had enough time.

That was when she realized liked his company, and by then, it was already too late: she had opened to someone else and, even if partially, even for a moment, put down her mask and showed parts of her real self.

 Even if neither brought it up, she could feel they had similar scars on their bodies. He spoke about people with natural distrust, preferring to assume the worst out of people so deception and disappointment couldn’t settle in, only leaving himself a little open to a couple persons (he never said she was part of them, but the way he looked into her eyes with a slight smile was enough to convince her she was now part of this group, and it comforted her – she wasn’t the only one vulnerable). His recounting of his experiences were always vague, yet the messages were clear.

She was the one who said that, despite their opposed sides and different roles, they were more alike than she thought. At first, he stared in silence, about to tell her she was wrong and they were different persons (and she cannot deny having feared such a reaction); but he ended up looking aside, eyes looking at the horizon, and replied she had a point. For a second, his fingers brushed against hers, and they remained silent for the rest of their short time together.

 They became friends, started talking to each other, trusted each other more and more as time went by. She told her about her reasons to distrust her own council, he told her about being unable to confide in most of his teammates no matter how much they trusted him back, because both of their lives had lead them to naturally distrust anyone. The only reason why they let their guard down around each other, she’d have guessed, was because they were both doing so: if both were vulnerable, then neither of them was because, in a sense, they both held a sword over the other’s head.

Mutual respect, mutual trust. They both knew the taste of betrayal and didn’t wish to inflict on the other. They may not have known what the other’s wounds were exactly, but they took care of them, patching closing cuts and persistent but mostly faded bruises. For a while, Anna thought that was it, she had found someone who was like her: play-pretend royalty who didn’t match their masks, fragilized egos hiding behind a façade of pride. He was the Emperor, she was the Empress: it was almost like a match made in heaven, that of songs and romance novels, and despite how weary she naturally was, she let herself get that spoonful of honey.

And she almost regretted it.

 For some time, they were in a situation where even the way they referred to each other was intimate, yet they weren’t doing the thing she started to hear rumours about. No, they weren’t dating, she was truthful in her words – but there was some lie in there, because as much as she refuted it, she refused to admit she’d have wanted it to be true. Still, the Empress would betray her people if she said she had grown feelings for the enemy’s leader and staying silent was the best thing she could do. Maybe, once that tournament ended, they could stop pretending they were the enemies they never managed to be…

Yuuma was protective of his intimacy, so while she could never know what exactly had happened, she still thought she could believe he was at least saying the truth and only hid the most intimate parts of his stories. They weren’t tales, to her, just like what she told him never were lies, but she hid the parts where she had cried or the dark thoughts she had had – erased the ugly and the weak parts of herself from her past self, gave her the strength she wishes she honestly had.

The thing is – he didn’t tell her everything. It was a given, of course, but what he hid were things she wishes she could’ve known, not because they were demonizing and would’ve given her reasons to be mad and to leave, to take back her intimacy and shield her true self away again, but because they explained a lot and… she thought he trusted her.

 Betrayal is the one feeling the Empress doesn’t stand: the entire school knows it. Traitors are the people she’s always treated with the least amounts of respect, those whom she’s shunned away despite knowing their reasons and being aware of what that reputation entails, because they pour salt into the wounds she refuses to show. Trust is an important component of the school, of the team she manages, of so much in the world of sports: her wrath with them has always seemed natural, to the council. If only they knew…

…but Yuuma knew. He knows she hates being kept in the dark and having to discover the hidden truth by herself. He’s aware of what it means to feel like your trust is only one-sided, especially if it has reached the point of intimacy. Of course, part of it is shame on her: she should’ve known a man known for his schemes on the field and his rhetoric would be able to manipulate her into a sense of easiness, just like people did in the past, as if she hadn’t learnt her lesson. Still, despite knowing this, she’s furious and dismayed, unable to think about the issue straight.

 It may be a minor thing, but it still stung like it was yesterday, reopening old wounds like a shell getting pried open as to steal its pearl. The rational part of her – the manager in her – knows it’s only a minor illness, is perfectly aware she’s getting worked up over a seasonal case of the flu; but the emotionally raw part of her who’s never moved on from the things that inflicted pain on her acted up immediately and tried to put the mask back on and run away from the situation.

Yet, despite that, Anna is still by his side, because she’s the one who was there when he fainted in public, and her house was the nearest and – she knew what she was doing. It’s not about practicality, because her family has the funds to make her every wish come true, it’s about following her feelings and being the better person (as much as she hates the idea, as much as she knows it’s not how she’s supposed to think, as much as the rational her is screaming at the other her) – or is it because, no matter how much her injuries bleed again, she knows what loneliness feels like and concern has bloomed in her chest?

Yuuma knows what it feels like to be alone in times of need, to feel helpless at the worst times, and if her wounds have been reopened, then she may as well not inflict the same on someone else. It eases her pain to at least know he’s got someone with him now, because the idea of a sick person fighting against themselves in times of physical and emotional vulnerability scares her, and the way he spoke about his missing parents horrified her – she couldn’t abandon him at a time like this.

He may have betrayed her, but she’ll show him how wrong he was not to trust her.

 They’re stuck in silence, neither wanting to speak, an unfamiliar tension rising between them. All she does is refresh the washcloth she’s stuck on his forehead, hands reddened by the cold water in the bucket, because she’s given him medicine already and she knows better than distrust a doctor’s orders: these things don’t rely on emotions, rather on rational observations and conclusions, it simply isn’t the same as the relationship dynamics she’s so weary of.

There are a lot of questions on her mind, but none of them make it outside of it. She wants to know why he didn’t tell her, why he thought it was okay to let himself wither away like that, how he thought she was going to feel when she’d have inevitably known – questions to which she can kind of answer, questions she doesn’t dare answer by herself because she could give herself false hopes and injure herself even further.

That is, until she muses too loudly, and he tilts his head when she laments about being kept in the dark.

 I didn’t think anyone would bother, is all he tells her; but the feelings are there, the undertones are clear, and she realizes it wasn’t about her.

 Her answer could be “you should’ve known”, “you should’ve told me anyway” or “what did you think that’d bring you?”; but she dislikes every one of these possibilities. His words ring a bell to her, a sad chime of a relatable feeling: would have she been in his place, she’d have figured people wouldn’t have cared for her, and if they did, then it wouldn’t be for her sake, but for their interests. Better be alone than ill-accompanied, as the saying says, a saying ringing true to him, to her –

She gets it. She gets it all now, and she feels stupid for doubting him, because she should’ve known earlier and better than that. Their wounds are the same – they both opened their own in this; but it means they can stitch them close back again together.

 You don’t bother me, she tells him, taking his hand in hers. He doesn’t bulge, doesn’t take it out from hers. Instead, they look at each other, still silent, and he gives her a slight smile.

 For the first time, Anna decides to stitch her wounds shut with a golden thread and leave it at that, pushing the Empress’s mask aside.

[creepingsharia]

“They Rape Our Women, Kill Our People, and Burn Our Properties”: Muslim Persecution of Christians, August, 2020

by Raymond Ibrahim

Defaced frescoes (R) inside the ancient monastery of Sumela in Turkey (L).

The following are among the abuses Muslims inflicted on Christians throughout the month of August, 2020:

The Slaughter of Christians

Philippines: On August 24, 15 people were killed in twin suicide bombings, carried out by the widows of two terrorists, and targeting a cathedral in the Muslim majority city of Jolo; about 80 others were injured in the blasts.  Abu Sayyaf, a jihadi terror group, claimed responsibility.  “There were two bombers. A suicide bomber was involved in the first explosion,” a military spokesman confirmed. “The second suicide bomber blew herself up after she was arrested after the first explosion.”  “They have died as martyrs witnessing to their Christian faith,” said local Bishop Charlie Inzon of those who died, “as they braved to stay in Jolo despite constant intimidation and risks….  [I]t was treacherous, inhuman and an evil act of violence” “This crime,” added Church in Need, a human rights group, “is even rendered more unconscionable because of the hardships our people are going through during the Covid-19 pandemic.”

Ethiopia: At least 500 Christians—“including pregnant women, children and whole families”— were slaughtered between late June and August 27 in what were reported as “relentless door-to-door” attacks.  Soon after a popular singer from a Muslim majority tribe was allegedly assassinated on June 29, “extremists arrived in cars and, armed with guns, machetes, swords and spears, sought out and slaughtered Christians.”  The report continues:

Children were forced to witness their parents being brutally murdered with machetes….  An Oromo Christian was beheaded for refusing to deny his faith by tearing off the thread around his neck (worn by many Ethiopian Christians as a sign of their baptism)….  Christians’ business premises and houses were burnt down, vandalised or destroyed by the extremists. Billions of dollars of damage was caused to property…  The severity of the atrocities shocked local witnesses who gave accounts of harrowing scenes. In Dera, a witness described how the killers desecrated corpses by ‘dancing and singing, carrying the chopped or hacked body parts of those they slaughtered.’ Another witness reported how the hacked bodies of an elderly Christian couple, who were beaten to death in their home, were dragged through the streets… Thousands of traumatised survivors have fled for their lives, including orphaned children, and many are being sheltered in churches and community centres.

Cameroon: Late in the night of August 1, the Islamic terror group Boko Haram sent in two suicide bombers, one of whom was a girl, into a village, while its residents peacefully slept after a hard day’s work.  Their target was the village’s Catholic Mission.  At least 28—including seven children between the ages of 3-18—were killed in the subsequent detonations: “The scene was horrific,” as explained by the leader of the targeted Catholic mission: “I was at home when they came. We heard gunshots and then shouts from the vigilante committee alerting us. So we fled … When they got in, they first fired shots (randomly), and then people started running.”  One of the terrorists, a young girl, concealing her identity and intentions before a group of women and children who were hiding, claimed she was hurt and pleaded for their help.  “They were duped,” the church leader said. “She detonated the bomb and killed many people.”  According to the report,

Further details about the bombers, including their origins, are unknown though reports in recent years indicate that Boko Haram has kidnapped thousands of children. Last year, the UN recently stated that since 2009, an estimated 8,000 children have been abducted by Boko Haram. And according to a UNICEF report, at least 117 of these children have been used as suicide bombers since 2017—and more than 80 percent of them are girls.

Nigeria: Throughout the month of August, the “ignored genocide of Christians” continued at the hands of Muslim herdsmen and Fulani tribesmen.  According to an August 4 report, in Kaduna State, at least 171 Christians, many of which were women and children, were slaughtered.  On August 10, armed jihadis stormed the Lion of Judah Church in Azikoro and opened fire on worshippers; four Christians were killed.   An August 24 report states that “Fulani herdsmen attacked a predominantly Christian village in north-central Nigeria, killing one resident, burning a church building and kidnapping four children among others.”

Uganda:  A Muslim family severely beat two cousins for embracing the Christian faith; one died of his wounds.  Last reported, the surviving cousin, Ahmad Waisana, 23, still barely “clings to life,” and suffers severe injuries to his head and a kidney.  From a sick-bed at an undisclosed place of refuge, he said, “I have been spending sleepless nights thinking of my [cousin and] best friend, Jalilu [Kamutono, aged 20].  The whole of my body is aching. I am not sure whether I will get well or die and go to be with Christ.”  Earlier, both cousins, after listening to and attending various sermons in late 2019, “made a public confession of faith in Christ.”  Word instantly reached their fathers, who are brothers, even before the cousins returned from the event to house they all lived in.  The fathers “angrily chased” the apostates out of the village.  After several months of moving around and trying to eke out a living, which became increasingly harder due to COVID-19 lockdowns, “we decided to return back home hoping that we were going to be welcome,” Ahmad continues:

At home we were questioned whether we were Christians, and we affirmed to them that we were still Christians but pleaded that we be received back. To our surprise, we were received with hostility, and the relatives arrived and started beating us with sticks and blunt objects before burying us in banana leaves.

According to the report, “Their relatives were about to set them on fire when some cattle herders and Christians happened by,” prompting their violent family to flee.  “At the hospital we were diagnosed, and the finding was that Jalilu had internal bleeding, and after two weeks he succumbed [on August 5] to the injury” and died. “I could not remain at the hospital, and so I went to a nearby church.”  After the hospital called Jalilu’s family to come and retrieve their son’s corpse for burial, “They were reluctant at first, but pressure from the government and the problem of COVID-19 made them to yield, and they took the body for burial; that was on Aug. 7.”

Germany: Hamzar D., a 25-year-old Muslim migrant from Tunisia, strangled the 28-year-old German mother of his child to death, partially because she had baptized the child into Christianity.   They originally met at a disco; by July 2019, she gave birth to his son.  “But after the birth, she changed,” explained the aggrieved killer. According to the report, she “withheld his son from him for a long time, and then she made his boy a Christian too.”  This and other disagreements led to his strangling her during one of their meetings.

Attacks on Churches

Crete: A Muslim migrant from Algeria, 38, attacked a Christian cathedral twice in less than a week. First, on Sunday, August 2, he threw rocks at and damaged the stained glass windows of the Metropolitan Church of Agios Minas, in Heraklion, the largest city on the Grecian island.  Two days later, on August 4, he returned with a hammer and started to smash down the cathedral’s door.  Camera footage helped police identify and arrest the Algerian.

Turkey:  Unknown vandals defaced “priceless” Christian frescoes inside the ancient Byzantine monastery of Sumela in Trabzon.  Many of the faces of Jesus and the saints were scratched out of the icons.  The monastery, which was built in 386, is dedicated to the Virgin Mary and visited by many pilgrims on her feast day, August 15—less than a week before the desecration occurred.   The monastery had only recently reopened, having been closed for years to repair earlier arson and vandal damages.  Despite all the visible damage (pictures here), “Turkish authorities deny the disaster, with the Deputy Director General of Cultural Heritage and Museums of the country’s Ministry of Culture and Tourism stating that there was no recent damage to the frescoes in the Monastery.”  Some social media users claimed responsibility for the “sacred” duty of desecrating the monastery.

Also, coming on the heels of an event that shocked and angered many Christians around the world—the transformation of the Hagia Sophia cathedral/museum into a mosque—on Friday, August 21, President Erdogan announced that another ancient church/museum, renowned for its exquisite Byzantine/Christian mosaics, has been transformed into a mosque.   Holy Savior in Chora is a fourth century church that, like most other churches in Constantinople/Istanbul, was turned into a mosque after the Muslim conquest of 1453.  Later excavations found that many of the Christian images and mosaics that had been painted over could be restored.  During its experimentation with secularism in the mid-twentieth century, Turkey made the necessary restorations and turned it into a museum in 1958, as was done earlier with Hagia Sophia in 1935.  Like the latter, Chora is also a UNESCO World Heritage site.  Its “beautiful mosaics and frescoes cover almost all the church’s walls and domes,” a historian noted, adding, “It would be hard to imagine it being returned into a mosque without totally covering [or destroying] them over.”  According to a report, “Other church-museums in Turkey, including less notable Hagia Sophias in the towns of İznik and Trabzon, have also been converted back into mosques in recent years.”

Italy: On August 12, an Egyptian migrant broke through Milan Cathedral’s security and sped up to the high altar, where he forced, at knifepoint, a guard to kneel for over eight minutes.  The man was reportedly loitering around the front of the cathedral and broke in after a patrol inquired for his ID (it later came out that he had a criminal record).  Police officials rushed to the scene in an attempt to negotiate with the hostage-taker, who was eventually apprehended.  Although police did not reveal his identity, the Italian bishops’ news media Avvenire uncritically quoted him during the standoff saying that he had a “room” in the cathedral and that his name is “Christian.” According to a later report, however, the 26-year-old man’s name is Mahmoud Mohamed Zin Elaabdin Elhosary.

Sweden:  During widespread immigrant riots believed to be connected to the burning of a Koran in Malmö, Muslims tried to torch a church in the small town of Ronneby.  A local, Naem Sufan, said he intervened and prevented its burning, and was also beaten because he “defended the church” by extinguishing the fire with his jacket.  His injuries include a broken shoulder and strained neck.  “You get so disappointed when you see immigrants do that,” he said.  “I’m an immigrant myself. And I don’t get it. Sweden has given them everything they want. We have fled war, so we can not start new wars here.”

Desecration of Christian Cemeteries

Turkey:    A Christian cemetery belonging to the Holy Savior Church and another Armenian church was desecrated.  According to a report, “the remains were taken out of the graves and the bones of the deceased were scattered everywhere” (pictures here).

Pakistan: On August 17, dozens of armed Muslim men occupied a 70-year-old Christian cemetery.  While there, and “according to eyewitnesses,” they “desecrated graves, Christian crosses, and Biblical verses written on walls and tombstones. The men then constructed a wall dividing the graveyard in half.”  A local Christian explained their motivation:

Over 100 Christian families reside in the village. We have remains of our forefathers in this graveyard. However, influential Muslims have grabbed a big portion of the graveyard.  They have grabbed the land to use for their cattle….  The Christians had no courage to stop the armed men as they were ready to open fire if the Christians resisted…  Very soon the land grabbers will occupy the remaining part of the graveyard.  We cannot fight as we are the poor segment of the society.

Last reported, local authorities had not responded to Christian please, and the land remains occupied by the grave desecraters.

Egypt: Local officials forced Christians to exhume and remove the corpse of a young Christian boy from his resting place behind his church to somewhere else “far from Muslims.”  According to the August 21 report,

The child, Samer Mark Maher, was buried on a piece of land behind Mary Mina Church as per usual practice. The governor, however, claimed that there were no permits and ordered that the Christians remove the body to a place far from Muslims.

Moreover, local authorities and council members are now talking about exhuming all Christian corpses at the church and moving them elsewhere, even though, as one Christian layer explained, “The Copts (Christians) there don’t have an official place [other than their church] to bury their bodies. Usually, they were burying the bodies in land behind their church. The nearest village which contains Coptic burials is far, around 100 kilometres [more than 60 miles] from the dead child’s village,” where few of its Christian residents have vehicular access.

In another incident of discrimination in Egypt, during what are known as “reconciliation sessions,” a government-appointed village mayor ruled that a Christian family must sell its home and leave their village.  (In Egypt, local authorities and involved parties of a dispute often meet outside of courtrooms in an effort to resolve matters and restore peace before getting the law involved.)  The case revolved around a young Christian man who accidentally hit and killed a Muslim girl with his motorcycle.  Despite the fact that such accidents are very common in the chaotic and near lawless roads of Egypt; despite the fact that even the girl’s father acknowledged that it was an accident; and despite the fact that these sessions are informal and meant to find the most equitable solution before the courts get involved—the Muslim official, Hanni Snofar of Fayum governorate, who was invited to the session, ordered not just the expulsion of the youth, but his entire family, who must sell their home as soon as possible and essentially go in “exile.” The August 15 report inquires:

It was just another reconciliation session but it turned into a courtroom with the animated mayor ordering the selling of the Christian family’s home and their expulsion.  By what right does the mayor judge and issue mandatory decrees to expulse a family, force them to sell their home, and create other problems?  Do we no longer have judiciaries to rule on such cases?

Attacks on Apostates and Blasphemers

Syria: An Islamist group connected to Turkey and operating in northwest Syria seized a 40-year-old Kurdish man for apostasy in the city of Arfin.  Earlier, fighters from Failaq Al-Sham ordered Radwan Muhammad to relinquish his school so they could transform it into a madrassa, an Islamic school.  Radwan, its headmaster and an English teacher, refused, adding “I will hand you the building in one case only: if Jesus Christ comes down to earth again.”  He was promptly apprehended.  According to Pastor Nihad Hassan, who is also from Afrin, “We are extremely worried about Radwan’s life and wellbeing, he is being held at [Failaq Al-Sham’s] Headquarters in Afrin and they may execute him.  Those Islamist groups and their Turkish masters are walking in the footsteps of IS. In fact, many of their fighters are former IS and al Qaeda members.”  Moreover, “Mr. Muhammed’s wife died recently, but the group prevented the family from washing and shrouding her body according to the customs of that region. She had converted from Islam to Christianity a while ago.”

According to a separate report from August 19, “Continuing its policies of religious oppression and demographic change, factions of the Turkish-backed Syrian National Army (SNA) — a coalition of militias, several of them with extremist ideologies, formed and funded by Turkey — kidnapped 14 Kurdish youth from occupied Afrin after they converted to Christianity.”

Pakistan: On August 5, after mosque leader Muhammad Abdul complained, police arrested Sohail Masih, a Christian man, on the charge of blasphemy.  Earlier, during a Facebook discussion, Masih wrote, “It is not possible that the blood of goats and bulls can wash away sins. The incident of Miraj is based on a lie.” (Miraj is a reference to the Islamic tradition that, while mounted atop a supernatural winged creature named Buraq, Muhammad flew from Mecca to al-Aqsa mosque in Jerusalem, then temporarily ascended into heaven, all in one night.)  When local Muslims learned of Masih’s blasphemous post, an “enraged” mob surrounded the police station he was being held in; some “forcefully entered the police station and exchanged angry words with police.”  Soon thereafter, police formalized a case against and charged Masih under section 295-C of the Pakistan penal code, the maximum penalty of which is death.

Indonesia:  A Muslim convert to Christianity was arrested for “blasphemy.”  Apollinaris Darmawan, 70, wrote on twitter that “Islam is not a religion but a heretical teaching that silences and uncivilizes its people.”  On August 8, before police could get to him, an angry Muslim mob stormed his home, dragged him outside and stripped him naked.  The elderly Apollinaris has a history of criticizing Islam and was released from prison, where he had served four years for another blasphemy accusation, just five months earlier. Discussing this incident, the deputy chairman of the human rights group Setara Institute for Democracy and Peace said that “In a democracy, views expressed by Darmawan are natural. In religious life, if people are criticizing our religion, we [should] see it as a challenge, not an insult.”  The 70-year-old now faces the maximum penalty for blasphemy in Indonesia: six years imprisonment and a one billion rupiah fine (USD 72,000).

France:  As a reflection of anti-Christian sentiment and fears of apostasy, a Muslim family beat and shaved the hair of a 17-year-old girl for dating a Christian boy.  Previously her hair was about two feet long.  According to the deputy prosecutor of the case, the family will be tried later this year for “violence against minors”:

The two families knew each other and (their relationship) was not a problem, but when they started talking about marriage, the girl’s parents told her: “We are Muslims, you cannot marry a Christian.”…  The first blow came from the mother, then there was an outbreak of violence. She was taken to a room and beaten. She was shaved, according to her testimony, by her uncle—her father’s brother— while being beaten.

The August 21 report closes by saying that, “Head-shaving in this context has a particularly shocking context in France. This was the punishment after the Second World War meted out to thousands of women who had relationships with Nazi occupiers in so-called ‘horizontal collaboration.’”

Rape and Forced Conversions of Christians in Pakistan

In late August, Maira Shahbaz, a 14-year-old Christian girl, escaped from the home of Mohamad Nakash—her kidnapper, whom the Lahore High Court had recently ruled is her legitimate husband despite her objections—and fled to a police station, where she gave testimony, including on how she was being “forced into prostitution”  and “filmed while by being raped,” with threats that the tape would be published unless she complies with the demands of her rapist/husband and friends: “They threatened to murder my whole family,” the young girl said. “My life was at stake in the hands of the accused and Nakash repeatedly raped me forcefully.”  In an interview, a friend of Maira’s family described how the family is in hiding and constantly on the run, adding: “Maira is traumatized. She cannot speak. We want to take her to the doctor, but we are afraid we might be spotted. We are all very frightened, but we place our trust in God.”

In a separate but similar instance, a married Muslim father of four kidnapped Saneha Kinza, the 15-year-old daughter of a pastor, while she was walking to church for early morning prayers.  According to the report,

Saneha’s family fears that their daughter will be added to the growing number of Christian girls who, after a kidnapping and forced conversion to Islam, are married to Muslims…  On July 28, Pastor Morris Masih’s family received a call from the kidnapper, who threatened them if they dared to take any action to bring Saneha home.

In another incident of abuse in Pakistan, Muslim employers upbraided and beat Anika Shehzad, a Christian housemaid aged 18, after she refused to convert to Islam.  A human rights activist explained how such incidents are very common in Pakistan:

Christians in Pakistan are illiterate and poor, and many poor families are forced to take risks such as sending their young daughters to rich Muslim families to work as live in domestic servants for a little money. These young girls are often sexually harassed, tortured and sometimes are asked to convert to Islam.  Many times such cases are reported in the mainstream media, like the gruesome torture of 10-year-old housemaid Tayyaba by an additional district and sessions judge, and his wife, in the capital Islamabad which made headlines in 2016. Several girls have even been killed, like Shazia Masih, 12. And several cases are taken to the courts but hardly any family has got justice and the practise still continues because perpetrators are always influential and rich, and sometimes victims are pressurised to withdraw their cases and some victims are compensated with money.

Finally, a video appeared on TikTok showing a Christian man on the floor being pressured to renounce his faith and embrace Islam. An August 25 report describes it:

In the video in question, the Christian man is seen being pressured to recite the shahada, the Islamic creed, surrounded by people who are not seen. Despite everything, he refuses, saying that for nothing in the world would he recite the Muslim creed and reject the Christian faith.  His tormentors [which include female voices] then begin to threaten him, saying that he will face serious consequences. Even then, the victim says no, stating that it is his right to keep his faith and that he is ready to suffer all the consequences, that he would not give up his religion.

Commenting on this, Rev. Irfan James of Peshawar said that,

Pakistani Christians suffer many challenges and [endure] persecution. They face difficult situations every day.  It is sad that young Muslims, the majority community, constantly threaten Christians and our faith. Time and time again, they make fun of our faith, but neither the government nor law enforcement do anything about it.  If we report these cases, the offenders get away with it by apologising and saying that they did it in an unconscious way. Should a Christian do something similar, he is immediately accused of blasphemy and the local Christian community is guilty by association. They rape our women, kill our people, destroy or burn our properties….  [All] we want is for our constitution and the law to treat us as equals, with justice, and for the guilty to be put on trial.

About this Series

The persecution of Christians in the Islamic world has become endemic.  Accordingly, “Muslim Persecution of Christians” was developed in 2011 to collate some—by no means all—of the instances of persecution that occur or are reported each month. It serves two purposes:

1)          To document that which the mainstream media does not: the habitual, if not chronic, persecution of Christians.

2)          To show that such persecution is not “random,” but systematic and interrelated—that it is rooted in a worldview inspired by Islamic Sharia.

[just-dreaming-marvel]

FORTY THREE - THE ACCORDS

LEGACY: A Tony Stark Daughter Story

MASTERLIST

< previous

Word Count: 2,250ish

Summary: The Team learns about the Accords.

 “Five years ago, I had a heart attack. I dropped right in the middle of my backswing. Turned out it was the best round of my life, because after 13 hours of surgery and a triple bypass… I found something 40 years in the Army had never taught me: Perspective. The world owes the Avengers an unpayable debt. You have fought for us, protected us, risked your lives… but while a great many people see you as heroes, there are some… who would prefer the word ‘vigilantes’.” Secretary Ross stated.

“And what word would you use, Mr. Secretary?” Natasha cut in, snarkily.

“How about ‘dangerous'? What would you call a group of US-based, enhanced individuals who routinely ignore sovereign borders and inflict their will wherever they choose and who, frankly, seem unconcerned about what they leave behind?” Secretary Ross said, activating the screen behind him. It started playing news reels from past Avengers and SHIELD matters. “New York.”  The Chitauri invasion. “Washington DC.” When SHIELD fell. 

“Sokovia.” Ultron, I shuddered. “Lagos.” Their most recent mission. I could tell Wanda wasn’t taking all this well.

“Okay,” Steve said, obviously noticing Wanda reaction as well. “That’s enough.” Ross turned off the screen. 

“For the past four years, you've operated with unlimited power and no supervision. That's an arrangement the governments of the world can no longer tolerate. But I think we have a solution.” Ross said and he threw a thick book on the table. “The Sokovia Accords. Approved by 117 countries… it states that the Avengers shall no longer be a private organization. Instead, they'll operate under the supervision of a United Nations panel, only when and if that panel deems it necessary. The Accords will also require anyone who is enhanced to be put on a registry.” Ross stated.

“Like me?” Wanda wondered, “Like Bailey?” She glanced at Tony, who refused to look at her. “We’d be put on a list so that you can watch our every move? Maybe even experiment on us?”

“No it’s not like that. It’s—“ Ross paused. “Wait a minute. Who the hell is Bailey?” Ross quickly glared at Tony. “Are you hiding enhanced people here?” Tony sat there, staring at the ground, not saying a word. I waited for him to defend me or something. But nothing happened. So Steve quickly chimed in. 

“No. Bailey is someone we were thinking about recruiting. She’s not unofficial member of the team and she’s not enhanced.” Phew, at least Steve has my back. I felt bad that he had to lie though, and I immediately felt that Ross hadn’t fully believed him. He changed the subject quickly. “The Avengers were formed to make the world a safer place. I feel we’ve done that.”

“Tell me, Captain, do you know where Thor and Banner are right now?” Steve merely looked at Ross, unable to answer the question. Thor was probably on Asgard and no one had seen or heard from Bruce since Sokovia, a year ago. “If I misplaced a couple of 30 megaton nukes, you can bet there’d be consequences. Compromise. Reassurance. That’s how the world works. Believe me, this is the middle ground.”

“So, there are contingencies,” Rhodey spoke up. 

“Three days from now, the UN meets in Vienna to ratify the Accords.” I noticed Steve and Tony briefly make eye contact and Tony quickly look back down. That floor must be really interesting, interesting enough for a man who never shuts up to stop talking. 

 “Talk it over,” Ross continued.

“And if we come to a decision you don’t like?” Nat asked.

“Then you retire.” Ross answered. Everyone kinda glanced at each other. “Let me know what you guys decide.” And with that, Ross left. 

I sat in the security room watching, waiting for Tony to speak up. But nothing. He just got up and walked out. I switched the cameras so that I could see where he was going. He went to the main gathering area, took off his jacket and tie and then laid down on the couch. Everyone else slowly followed. Sam and Rhodey were bickering back and forth about the Accords while Steve had grabbed the Accords themselves and was looking through them. They listened to Sam and Rhodey go at it for a while until Vision spoke up.

“I have an equation,” Vision stated.

“Oh, this will clear it up.” Sam grumbled sarcastically. 

“In the six years since Mr. Stark announced himself as Iron Man,” Vision started, “the number of known enhanced persons has grown exponentially. And during the same period, the number of potentially world-ending events has risen at a commensurate rate.”

“Are you saying it’s our fault?” Steve questioned, as he looked up from the Accords.

“I’m saying there may be a causality,” Vision answered. “Our very strength invites challenge. Challenge incites conflict. And conflict… breeds catastrophe. Oversight… Oversight is not an idea that can be dismissed out of hand.”

“Boom,” Rhodey said.

“Tony…” Nat said. “You’re uncharacteristically non-hyperverbal.” Tony moved his hand off from over his face and looked at Nat. She was right. He’s always very open about his opinion. Something was definitely off if he was keeping his mouth shut.

“It’s because he’s already made up his mind.” Steve stated.

“Boy, you know me so well,” Tony said sarcastically. Tony stood up and walked into the kitchen, he rubbed the back of his head as he went. “Actually, I’m nursing an electromagnetic headache.” He opened a cabinet and grabbed a mug. “That’s what’s going on, Cap. It’s just pain. It’s discomfort.” Tony looked into the sink. “Who’s putting coffee grounds in the disposal? Am I running a bed-and-breakfast for a biker gang?” 

Oops, that was me. I quickly mad a mental note that I needed to stop doing that. He tried to causally pull up a holographic image on his phone. 

“Oh, that’s Charles Spencer by the way,” Tony continued. “He’s a great kid. Computer engineering degree. 3.6 GPA. Had a floor-level gig at Intel planned for the fall. But first, he wanted to put a few miles on his soul, before he parked it behind a desk. See the world, maybe be of service. Charlie didn’t want to go to Vegas or Fort Lauderdale, which is what I would do. He didn’t go to Paris or Amsterdam, which sounds fun. He decided to spend his summer, building sustainable housing for the poor. Guess where, Sokovia.” I could feel the emotional shift in the room from where I was. “He wanted to make a difference, I suppose. I mean, we won’t know because we dropped a building on him while we were kicking ass.” Tony threw some pills in his mouth and took a drink before continuing. “There’s no decision-making process here. We need to be put in check! Whatever form that takes, I’m game. If we can’t accept limitations, we’re boundary less, we’re no better than the bad guys.” 

“Tony, someone dies on your watch, you don’t give up,” Steve stated.

“Who said we’re giving up?” Tony questioned. 

“We are, if we’re not taking responsibility for our actions. This document just shifts the blame.”

“Sorry,” Rhodey interrupted, “Steve, that, that is dangerously arrogant. This is the United Nations we’re talking about. It’s not the World Security Council, it’s not SHIELD, it’s not HYDRA.” 

“No, but it’s run by people with agendas and agents change,” Steve stated.

“That’s good. That’s why I’m here. When I realized what my weapons were capable of in the wrong hands, I shut it down and stopped manufacturing them,” Tony said back. 

“Tony. You chose to do that. If we sign these, we surrender our right to choose. What if this panel sends us somewhere we don’t think we should go? What if there’s somewhere we need to go, and they don’t let us? We may not be perfect, but the safest hands are still our own.” 

“If we don’t do this now, it’s gonna be done to us later. That’s a fact. That won’t be pretty.”

“You’re saying they’ll come for me… for Bailey.” Wanda whispered.

“We’ll protect you,” Vision promised, looking at Wanda. I sensed him caring, but in a different way than I had ever felt from the android. A way that shouldn’t have been possible. It was almost… human. “Both of you."

“Do want them to be taken away, Tony?” Steve stood up to face Tony. “Do you want Bailey to be taken away?” I could feel Steve’s emotions acutely as he asked those questions. He was terrified that the government really would take me away and worried that Tony was willing to take that chance. 

“Don’t bring her into this!” Tony slapped the counter top. “She’s different, she’s not a part of this. She’s not an official member of the team and they don’t even know about her.”

“She is apart of this, Tony! She’s trained, gone on missions. She’s enhanced! Do you want them to know what powers she has? If they find out that she has healing abilities, they would run tests on her to create some sort of super drug! And then there’s her super strength and what about her—”

“You don’t think I know that?! I have thought about every possibility! I have…” Tony looked up at Steve, the glimmer of tears in his eyes was obvious. “She is all I think about. She is the reason I am doing this. Bailey is the reason I do anything. She is my kid! And no one here has a say about what happens to her except me!”

I burst into tears as I sat there listening to everything that was being said. I shook my head and ran out of the security room, down the stairs, and out the back doors. I went straight to the facility fence line, collapsing against it as I continued to cry. When Tony first found me, I was being tested on. When my parents and others found out about my abilities, I was sought out for. My parents were paid a lot of money to sell me to, what we now know was, HYDRA. I was 4 years old when I was sold, just 4 years old. Kept in a cage, poked and cut open, blood drawn. Then I was kidnapped. Now, the government could put me on a list and could possibly do the same things that HYDRA had done to me. I agree that the Avengers need to be put in check, but not at the risk of those who are enhanced. 

While I was crying across the compound grounds, things were still heated inside.

“I signed the Accords to protect her,” Tony continued. “To protect all of us.”

“Steve, maybe Tony’s right,” Nat suggested. “If we have one hand on the wheel we can still steer.”

“Aren’t you the same woman who told the government to kiss her ass a few years ago?” Sam asked. 

“I’m just raiding the terrain,” Natasha answered. “We’ve made some very public mistakes, we need to win their trust back.”

“I’m sorry,” Tony interrupted, the hint of surprise in his voice, “Did I just miss hear you or did you just say that you agree with me?” 

“Oh, I want to take it back—“ Nat quickly shook her head. 

“No no no,” Tony said, as he shook his finger. “You can’t retracted it.” 

Natasha looked at everyone around the room. They were all tense. She knew that continuing this conversation would get them no where. Especially with Tony and Steve going at each other about me. It frustrated her that Tony didn’t know what was going on between Steve and I. But she understood that it needed to be kept a secret from Tony for now.

“I think we need to take a break and rethink things. We can talk about this once we all have cool heads,” Nat suggested.

Tony marched out, immediately in search of me since he hadn’t seen me in weeks. Steve sat down and put his face in his hands. Nat went over and put her hand on his back. She glanced at everyone else in the room. They all got the hint and then left. 

“You can’t be serious about this Nat,” Steve said, once everyone else was gone. 

 “They’re going to put them on a list. They’re going to put her on a list. I can’t—“ He took in a harsh breath. “I can’t let that happen. She’s already been through so much, too much. I have to do what I can to prevent more from happening to her.”

“I know you love her Steve, but you have no say in the matter. Tony’s her father and you’re her secret boyfriend. Until it’s out in the open, you’re just going to have to deal with having no say.”

“I know,” he sighed.

“He’s just trying his best.”

“I know.”

“We need to ride this out, see what happens. But you should go talk to her. We both know she heard the whole thing.”

“I can’t be the one to talk to her first. Tony needs to… I’ll just have to pick up the pieces of that conversation.”

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