#I am so filled with rage it’s not even amusing from like a detached sense. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy · 5 years

Text

“Forget what I said,

It’s not what I meant

And I can’t take it back

I can’t unpack the baggage you left.”

- Falling, Harry Styles

A/N: the long anticipated third installment of “that angsty threesome story.” this shit hurted y’all. that’s all i’m gonna say. hope you enjoy :)

Sharing Isn’t Always Caring masterlist

word count: 13k

content: A N G S T, drunk sad!harry, melancholic relationship flashbacks, and Niall being an amazing friend. oh and lots of pining pain

preview:

“Y/N, I am so sorry.”

He really didn’t know what to expect on her part but he was willing to take anything she deemed fit. Screaming, yelling, cursing— anything. Anything was better than the suffocating silence that had been hanging over his head for what had felt like eons.

What he didn’t expect was the energy he received in response. It wasn’t brutal or enraged or bitter, it was just…hollow. It was tired and defeated, as if she’d spent hours combing through her feelings to the point of surrendered exhaustion. She held no spite or resentment, just a tone of flatlined renunciation and honest common sense.

“I know.”

The answer was curt and calm and for some reason, it packed a harder punch than anything he could’ve imagined. He would have rathered she tell him off and shout in his face and even slam things; at least then he would know she was still sorting through the ordeal and trying to come up with a resolution.

But this was way more difficult to stomach. If she had no screaming or crying left in her, it meant she had already come to her senses on the matter. It meant he had no wiggle room, no chance to change her mind, no way to win her back. It was cold and condemning; it felt like a death sentence.

or Harry and Y/N breakup after the incident and the next two months are the worst either of them have ever known

///

Two months and thirteen days.

That’s how long Harry and Y/N have been broken up.

It’s poetically ironic, if you ask him, and he felt like the universe was playing a cruel game at his expense. Though it’s not like he didn’t deserve it.

The length of time that had passed was coincidentally parallel to how much time he had spent sitting on his couch that dreaded Saturday morning— which had been two hours and thirteen minutes— wringing his hands, boiling in his regret, and waiting for her to come out of their bedroom with a verdict on their relationship.

When Y/N had finally surfaced from her hiding spot, she had barely acknowledged him other than a few one-worded, snipped answers to his questions. She was headed out, she’d said, and that she would return later. Her path had been straight for the front door and the body language and aura she had displayed from the frame of their room door to the frame of the front door had been enough to clearly communicate a simple message: Don’t come after me.

He had followed her to the edge of the corridor that led to the exit, but he knew better than to chase her once she was out of the door. He remained put and watched her walk out without so much as a glance back.

She needed time, he had assured himself. Y/N needed a chance to cool off on her own and smothering her would do nothing but dig him further into the hole he was already neck-deep in.

In hindsight, Harry should have gone after her. Maybe it would’ve made a difference, or maybe it wouldn’t have at all, but all he’s aware of now is that he’d never know.

The minute she got back, a few hours later when the sun had just finished dipping over the stretch of forest that extended beyond the balcony of their apartment, he could immediately tell he had to prepare for the worst.

From the second Harry had met Y/N, he had always been able to read her. It’s something he prided himself in and something he always admired about the connection they shared— that it had been instant. It had been one of those rare pockets in life when he met someone and clicked with them automatically, so effortlessly that it was almost fictional. He’d always been a hopeless romantic and he had his mother and sister to thank for that; growing up with two women who constantly fed him stories about true love and the importance of emotions had molded his relationships down to the very core. And through that characteristic, which had been engraved within the man he had grown into, was how he and Y/N so easily came to be.

Harry had been able to read the nervous excitement she was wading through on their first date, watching her with fond amusement as she had contemplated the menu, trying to pass as nonchalant but being betrayed by the obvious cinch in her brows.

He had been able to read the first time she had wanted him to kiss her, eyes absorbing her features like the pages of a novel. He had picked up on the metaphors she depicted in the form of wine-swollen lips twitching with longing anticipation. He had picked up on the similes that translated into her slowly dilating pupils, the glittering specks of color that shimmered in the depths of her irises dancing with anxious enthusiasm as his face drew closer to her’s. He had picked up on the analogies that painted themselves onto the warm, supple skin of her cheeks as he cupped the side of her face with the palm of his large hand, fingers tucking lose strands of hair behind her ear as he thumbed over the faint smile lines chesiling themselves into existence along the edges of her mouth, her action thick with enamored awe.

He had been able to read just how taken Y/N was with him the first time they had slept together. It was certain in how she had clung to the bare, sweaty muscles of his shoulders as her nails clawed memories along the soft sides of his torso, her head dangling over the edge of the kitchen island to allow him the intimate comfort of pressing hot, wet moans to the searing skin of her throat. He had whined and shuddered as he’d spread her open over the cold marble surface, fogging it with the heat of their conjoined bodies, the air tinged with the scent of desperate sex and blurbs of orgasm-drunken praises that to this day he can feel burn his lungs. Barely coherent mumbles of “God, been needing you for the longest time now.” and “Fuck, you’re an absolute dream.” and he had even made himself susceptible to some of his deepest vulnerabilities, confessing how quickly and dangerously he was falling for her in a breathless little whimper of, “You’re everything I’ve ever wanted.”

Tiny zaps of invisible electricity had passed through her fingertips and into the flexing tendons of his back, revealing that she was just as scared and jittery and needy and absolutely whipped for him as he was for her. He had never been able to read her better than at that intense, emotion-packed moment, and he knows he’ll cherish that wordless instance of assurance for as long as he lives.

The only other occasion that competes is the first time Harry had known Y/N loved him. They had planned to go bar-hopping with their friends but, in a spur of laziness and utter disinterest, had decided to stay back. The night had been filled with board games and hot chocolate and half-burnt quesadillas because Harry had bought a new panini press that he didn’t quite yet know how to work. He knew she loved him when he beat her at CandyLand for the third time in a row and in a whirlwind of victory dancing, he had knocked the coffee table with his knee and ended up with cooled cocoa all over his striped pajama pants rather than in his belly.

He knew she loved him because she wasn’t upset that she’d have to help get the stain out and she wasn’t mad that he’d gotten marshmallow goo on the carpet and she wasn’t angry that his silliness had ended with her favorite vase rolling across the ground. All Y/N had been focused on was Harry and that ridiculous wide-toothed grin of his, her own lips nestling into an endeared smile as he giggled out of sheer shock at his ruined pants, clutching his stomach and throwing his head back against the couch cushions. Through teary, delight-blurred vision he saw her staring at him with this doe-like gaze, her eyes soft and glossier than he’d ever seen them, a tender laugh evident on her cheeks. Her eyebrows had been slightly furrowed with a type of disbelieving wonder at the utter moron she had chosen to share her heart with, but specifically at how she loved him all the more for it.

That’s when Harry had read that she loved him and she had confirmed it with words about ten minutes later as they both sat on their knees against the ground, scrubbing at the mess he’d made and sharing soft little snickers under their breath.

In the end, all of these milestone moments in their relationship had all funneled through his mind the minute Y/N had walked back into the living room on that forsaken day, hours later. They all sped past the inside of his eyelids every time he blinked, each one dissipating with each step she drew closer. She had stood before him as he sat forward tensely on the couch, forearms propped on his knees as he grasped his knuckles nervously, though they had stopped cracking ages ago.

It all flashed back to him like a film on fast-forward and it was because for the first time ever, he wasn’t able to read her face and it fucking terrified him.

Y/N’s eyes were the first factor that had given away the impending end. Even at the darkest of times, Harry could always count on Y/N’s eyes for support. They had always held a permanent admiring warmth towards him, even beneath clouds of rage or annoyance or worry. They had been empty that day.

Her lips had been etched into a emotionally-detached straight line, though the corners dipped down ever so slightly. Her eyebrows were void of any wrinkle, groove, or lifting that would suggest even a smidge of sensitivity and somehow her cheeks seemed more sunken in, as if the last couple of hours had aged her years.

Y/N had approached him with her hands cradling each other before her stomach, footsteps heavy against the carpeted ground, muffled yet somehow loud. She’d taken a seat before him on the glass coffee table, knees pressed together tightly and unintentionally brushing his as she settled her hands into the crease between her inner thighs, nails digging into her palms. Her shoulders hunched forward as if the weight of the world was using her back as shelf, the flyaway hairs that had fallen from her ponytail kissing along her jaw and caressing her temples almost apologetically, as if trying to comfort her for what was next.

Y/N hadn’t spoken a single word before Harry was already breaking down.

It wasn’t dramatic or spontaneous like the break-up scenes in the rom coms he often fancied; it was quiet and concise. The hot tears streamed down his cheekbones and followed the slope of his sharp jaw, squeezing out of his tear ducts and rolling along the bridge of his nose, itching the very tip, to which his instincts responded by spurring him into wiping away the water with the front of his shoulder.

Harry couldn’t bring himself to look up at her out of self-hatred and shame— how could he be as selfish as to cry when everything that was about to unfold had been solely of his doing. He knew he didn’t deserve the best outcome, but he had hoped for it. Prayed that she could find it in her tattered heart to grace him with the option to rebuild what he had so recklessly torn down. He didn’t deserve it and he’d felt like he never would, but he had promised himself he would try and earn it if she gave him the chance.

But that was just the hopeless romantic in him flaring up again. Reality was sharper and much icier.

Harry had taken in a deep, trembling inhale, feeling it cut his lungs and tug at the pit of his stomach. He’d released it in stuttery spurts through his nose, back muscles contracting with dread. He found it in himself to uncoil one of his index fingers, gently grazing the curve of Y/N’s right knee with the bed of his nail.

She’d tensed up momentarily, toes curling into the rug below her feet, but didn’t shed him away. It was the first time he’d touched her since last night and though it made her feel sick to her stomach, she figured she’d allow it as a parting gift.

The air stood still for a few elongated seconds that seemed to drag out for an eternity. Finally, one of them spoke up.

“Y/N...” Harry had choked on the singular word, swallowing thickly in an attempt to recuperate.

The syllables seemed to lodge in his throat, outright refusing to emerge, likely due to the fact that he spent the day soundlessly moping to himself. He forced them out anyways in a low croak.

“Y/N, I am so sorry.”

“I know.”

Harry had cleared his throat softly, mind treading through his jumbled thoughts to try and sew together a worthy sentence, the pad of his forefinger tracing down the visible threads of Y/N’s worn jeans.

“I didn’t mean any of it.”

Though it’s the truth, it sounds feeble and pathetic. His words had then started tumbling out of his mouth with no rhyme or rhythm but simply in an attempt to communicate his rawest emotions.

“That’s not an excuse or anything, but I just want to make sure that you know. And if I knew all of this was going to happen, I would’ve never brought it up in the first place. You’re important to me— I hope that all the time we’ve spent together shows that— and to lose you over something like this…” Harry pauses, choking up at the sheer notion of having to let her go. He continues his speech slowly to avoid another mishap, though it quivers nonetheless. “To lose you over something that was so stupid on my part would tear me to shreds, Y/N. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. There’s nothing I can do now except apologize until my voice gives out and pray that you give me the chance to make it up to you. I know I don’t deserve it and I know that the damage I’ve done could be beyond repair, but I also know that I will spend every second trying to mend it if you allow me to. I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you and I know we’re young and that it sounds dramatic and I’ve been told a billion times over that I love too deeply for my own good but I don’t care because I know it’s the truth. Without even the slightest bit of doubt.”

His words had echoed across the walls of the flat, the dim buttery light of the single lamp in the living room casting their seated shadows over the creme surfaces. The dark silhouettes of their bodies seemed to absorb his message, picking it right out of the air and engulfing it into the ominous shade.

All that could be heard was Y/N’s faint breathing as she processed his confession and the occasional sniffle on his part. The silence stretched for exactly two minutes and fourteen seconds— Harry had counted. A frail distraction, but a distraction either way.

A deep inhale had cut off his mental stopwatch and he could tell Y/N had cried recently before arriving because the air had to force itself through her stuffy nose. His index finger had twitched anxiously against her knee. He found himself counting again, this time the target had been the thin lines of the rug beneath the reinforced glass of the coffee table. He hadn't known it then, but his urge to count whatever he could to pass the time had been the start of what would later develop into a coping mechanism.

“I don’t know what to say.”

It had only been a day but Harry had missed the sound of her voice more than he’d ever care to admit. She was talking to him rather than at him and it was enough to halt the fresh flood of tears that had been gathering across the glossy sheen of his irises. It was a victory, no matter how small.

The sentence she spoke, however, was a whole new battle he had to face within itself.

The words hurt, but luckily, they didn’t cut. There were dozens of harsher possibilities of what could’ve come out of her mouth and that makes him thankful for what he’d received.

Harry had shifted in his seat, pulling the sleeve of his old Greenbay Packers sweatshirt over his free hand and tucking his arm across his stomach. His other hand remained on Y/N’s leg as non-intrusively as possible. “Is there anything you want to get out? Anything at all? I want to hear it no matter how bad you think it is. I deserve it as much as you deserve to express your feelings.”

He hadn’t noticed when, but at some point he had absentmindedly tilted his head up to look at her. What brought it into clear attention was when she did the same and their eyes met.

Y/N’s expression had crushed the oxygen from Harry’s lungs.

He had hoped it would be different after everything he had said. That her eyes would hold some form of love within them, even if it was shrouded with sadness and disappointment. He had aimed to draw an ounce of forgiveness from her that he could cling onto and expand; he had aimed for redemption.

Instead, her eyes held the same barren gaze that she had doted when she had walked in— vacant acceptance.

Her own speech had confirmed his worst fears.

“I don’t know if we have a future together. All I know is that right now, I feel like I could never forgive you for what you did. Watching you treat someone you barely knew the way you treat me made me feel like what we have isn’t real. Sex can be something both meaningless and meaningful and the lines between those two is finer than most people think. And even though I know in my heart that you’re telling the truth about not feeling anything towards her, I just can’t let it go. I can’t. I can’t get over the fact that you called her what you call me. That you kissed, touched, and held her the same way you do me. You made her feel the same way you make me feel. And the whole time, I was sitting there watching you do it, begging you not to and trying to communicate to you that you were crossing the line and you didn’t even notice.”

Y/N had lifted her hand from her lap, running the back of her wrist across her cheeks messily. Harry could see the tears sparkling on her lashes and he felt like his chest cavity was going to collapse in on itself.

When she had spoken again, her voice was tight and packed with all of the pain she’d been holding onto since the incident happened.

“You took all of the private little things that had built our relationship and shared them with someone else just to get your dick wet.” She releases a short spurt of a laugh, miserable and humorless, her palms smacking down against her thighs as she shrugs her shoulders for emphasis. “Intimacy is the most important factor of genuine love and you went and tossed it around like it was nothing. We’ll never be able to regain that; not in the way we had it before. I don’t know if I could ever trust you with it again. I shared myself with you because I love you— we opened up to each other in that way because we worked up to it. And now that you so carelessly let yourself have it with someone else, I’m too disappointed and hurt and fucking terrified to let you see me vulnerable like that again.”

Y/N had locked her eyes with Harry’s and his heart had shattered into a million shards.

They had been swollen and bloodshot, tiny red veins webbing across the dull white, scraping at her irises and relentlessly chipping the color from them. There was no twinkle left whatsoever; the specks that normally decorated around her pupils had completely defused, disappearing into the murky sea of the muted shade behind them.

“You broke my fucking heart, Harry, and I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to let you pick up the pieces.”

He had never heard her say his name like that, so dismal and void of emotion. He’d never felt more unworthy of love than at that moment and he knew there was nothing he could do to change her mind. He’d fucked up and now he had no choice but to marinate in it for the rest of his days.

The process of separating was painfully fast.

As it turns out, when she had left the morning after everything had happened, she had gone to visit Niall.

Niall had been the mutual friend that had introduced Harry and Y/N in the first place so, naturally, Y/N’s first instinct had been to seek his counsel. She had kept the details of the breakup to herself but from how distraught she had seemed when Niall had opened the door to his flat, his hair sticking up at weird angles and his eyes crusted over with sleep, he had known it was not on good terms. She had stood there with dried trails of tears staining her cheeks as her entire body shook like a leaf and the second he had opened his arms caringly, she immediately collapsed into them, violent sobs wracking her body unapologetically.

The Irish lad was as big-hearted and supportive as friends came and it was seen in how he offered her the spare room in his apartment that was normally occupied as a home gym.

“I haven’t had a roomie since I was twenty but as long as y’don’t leave your dirty underwear in the living room, I think we’ll get along just swell.”

With Niall’s help, Y/N had finished moving out by the end of that same week.

They did the brunt of the job while Harry was busy at work, though there was an awkward instance when he unexpectedly came home early on the last day of moving.

Luckily enough, Niall had been the one retrieving the last couple of items so Y/N was saved from the ordeal.

The two men had contemplated each other, Niall standing with the cardboard box tucked beneath his arm while Harry stood parallel to him stiffly, keys grasped tightly in his fist. Harry didn’t know how much Niall knew of what had happened, and he didn’t want to stick his foot in his mouth, so he had remained silent until the blue-eyed boy finally spoke up first.

“Mate, I don’t know what happened between you two or why, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen her this torn up before.”

Harry had sighed, partially in relief, but mostly in forlorn agreement at Niall’s comment. This was Y/N’s indirect way of telling him that the reason behind their breakup was meant to be kept a secret amongst their friend group. It was one last act of kindness towards him on her part because both of them knew that if word got out on what had happened, everyone would likely turn on Harry and shun him out. Y/N didn’t want that for him— despite everything, she found herself genuinely wishing him the best because she still loved him. A part of her always would, no matter how deeply she tried to bury it.

The last thing she needed was to cling onto bitterness and make him suffer; it would be counterproductive considering her end goal was to move on. The whole situation would stay hidden and hopefully everything would eventually blow over.

Avoiding each other proved trickier than expected in the beginning, but it gradually became routine amidst their everyday lives.

Y/N avoided grocery shopping at Harry’s favorite market and he proceeded to change the coffee shop he went to every morning before work, well aware that it was the one she fancied the most due to the specific brand of creamer they carried. Y/N insisted on the second closest movie theatre whenever she went out with her friends for a film, knowing that Harry liked the one closest to Niall’s apartment because it was smaller, more homey, and did free refills on popcorn and drinks. Harry started frequenting the gas station near the twenty-four hour gym instead of the one near Y/N’s place of work and started doing his early morning jogs at the park on the opposite side of town, which wasn’t too bad considering it was only about a ten minute drive. Y/N stopped going to art museums all together— they were mainly Harry’s thing, either way.

When it came down to their friends, they did the best they could. Whenever there would be a plan to go out for lunch, dinner, drinking, or any other event, they made sure to invite one and not the other, alternating turns. It kept the situation fair, though birthday parties were much more complicated. Staying on opposite ends of the club or flat would have to do.

No one ever questioned the breakup too thoroughly, thankfully. All Y/N told them was that it ended really badly and that what was best was that they stayed clear of each other. Harry stuck to whatever he learned Y/N had said, brushing off the occasional curiosity thrown his way with a tired, “I’d rather not talk about it, yeah?”

They were grateful to all of their friends for not pushing for details too much and respecting their privacy. Family members were harder to shake off, but both managed to keep things under wraps with the right amount of sternness.

///

Three weeks and four days had gone by, according to Harry’s calendar, and things were remaining seemingly civil. That is, until Harry had a bit too much to drink on the fifth day and ended up drunk calling Y/N as he sat on the floor of his kitchen, eating from what he was sure was an expired box of Cheerios while counting floor tiles and wondering why the fuck he even liked tequila in the first place.

The phone had rung three times and then the line abruptly cut off, sending Harry right to voicemail.

“Hey, this is Y/N! Sorry I couldn’t come to the phone right now, just leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible!”

His eyes had immediately begun to water as her voice crackled through the speaker of his phone. He hadn’t realized how long it had been since he’d heard it and he hates that he had almost forgotten its gentle trill. The bright chime of her words were so different than the last time he’d heard her speak— her tone was easy and good-natured rather than dismal and hurt and he missed when she would regard him that way. Now, it was directed at a random person on the other end of her phone line who she might not even know and for some reason, that made his stomach twist.

The Cheerios had started to taste funny so he opened the cabinet across from his spot on the ground and chucked them in the bin. He had then leaned back against the wall of the kitchen island, head repeatedly thunking against the polished hardwood as he redialed her number and waited, tiny hiccups plucking at his vocal chords and shuddering his shoulders without consent.

This time, it had rang only once before cutting off, meaning that she knew it was him and that she was actively delicining.

But Harry’s stubborn and insistent— which admittedly are some of his worst traits— and the fact that he had been shit-faced had fueled these characteristics. He’d continued to call her another four times before the line was finally picked up.

His voice had filled with enamored relief as he quickly sat up, a weak smile starting to spread his cracked lips. “Y/N, hi, I—”

“Harry, you gotta cut this shit out, man.”

It wasn’t Y/N. The person speaking had a much deeper voice with a smooth, raspy undercurrent covered in a heavy Irish accent. Their tone held a stern yet concerned edge.

“This isn’t good for either of you. You’ve got to try and move on, H.”

It was Niall and he was on Y/N’s phone and Harry could feel himself about to vomit.

He had forced himself to speak, clutching his stomach with one hand as if it would keep the bile from rising. His words came out slurred and numb, tongue feeling heavy and unbelievably large in his mouth. “Where’s Y/N?”

“She’s asleep and you should be, too. It’s three in the morning.”

Harry’s brows had cinched down angrily over his lashes. Somehow, in his muddled brain, he was able to form a coherent train of thought about the current situation. If Y/N was asleep, that meant her phone had probably been on a nightstand beside her bed or splayed across her duvet or even on the floor considering she had a habit of twisting and turning too much. If Niall had picked it up, it meant he had to be in close proximity to her. It meant he had been in her room, possibly in her bed...

Harry’s throat burned as acid rose from his stomach.

“I wanna talk to—”

He was cut off by the alcohol he’d had earlier resurfacing and splattering across the off-white kitchen tiles he’d been counting.

The spluttering noises filtered through the phone crystal clear, much to his friend’s disgust.

“Jesus, Harry, just get yourself together, will you?” There’s a pause on the other end of the line and then Niall’s voice had come through again, gentler and less annoyed. “Do you need me to come over and help?”

“No.” Harry had blurted out with panic evident in his demeanor. He’d wiped at his soiled mouth with the sleeve of his black Nike jumper, staring hollowly as the mess before him traveled across the cracks of his floor. An all too familiar swelling had started to fill his tear ducts. “No, I’m fine. Goodnight.”

Apparently, it had been the third time he’d drunk-called in the span of two weeks, though he didn’t remember the first two times. He did remember this third time though— the stench stuck to his sweatshirt for a while.

///

The next month that followed that cursed Friday night had been significantly better for Harry.

He went out with friends and actually had fun more times than not, as long as he didn’t let his mind wander to what Y/N could be doing since she wasn’t with the group. Slowly but surely, he began to mend.

The movies had always been his and Y/N’s favorite date idea so the first couple of times he’d gone out to see a film after the breakup had been tough, but he’d powered through the rough patches. Their favored seats at the very back of the cinema had gradually just become exactly that— seats. He was eventually able to enter a theatre without even as much as a glance to the last row. When Harry would go out to eat, he relearned not to order in excess anymore since he wouldn’t be needing those extra fries or two extra beef tacos or those couple buffalo wings she used to pick at religiously. Going out for drinks was easier on his wallet now that he could drink both of the two-for-one Happy Hour shots, the only issue being that sometimes he’d forget and order the next round while he had a perfectly untouched whiskey shot right there. He had sworn off tequila— he could still feel the way it had seared his throat, somehow manifesting an aftertaste of honeyed cereal.

Niall usually went out with the rest of the gang, but not as much as he used to and that bothered Harry extremely— bothered him to the point where he’d get the overwhelming urge to tear his hair out if he allowed himself to amble in his head too much. He hated being the jealous type, especially when he was no longer entitled to it. Especially not when Niall was such a nice best friend, willingly present for him on the nights where things went downhill and he needed someone to pick him off the ground— literally— and tell him that he would be alright.

The days Niall missed out were spent with Y/N and it wasn’t a secret. Harry had heard about how much closer they’d gotten recently through conversations that would happen across the other side of the booth, when his friends thought he wasn’t paying attention or that he was too sloshed to be properly present. He wasn’t, though. He was hyper-aware of every anecdote and syllable exchanged and it would make his mouth go sour.

One night, he had drummed up enough courage to ask Niall outright about Y/N. They’d been out bowling and the Irish brunette had been standing off to the side waiting his turn, sipping on a pint and cackling his ass off every time Adam rolled the ball into the sideline gutters.

Harry had been standing next to him for a while, leaning back against the machine that redispensed the bowling balls, taking tiny gulps of his third white rum margarita. The liquor filled his tummy with a certain type of empty warmth that numbed his better judgement and before he could talk himself out of it, the words were escaping his lips in a low, sheepish tone.

“How’s Y/N?”

Niall had paused mid-sip, his entire body going rigid for a second as he kept the rim of his large glass perched at his lips. He had then pulled back from his beer, licking the froth off his Cupid’s Bow and craning his neck to acknowledge the green-eyed boy directly.

“She’s doin’ good. Treading through the bills and tryin’ t’fill the rest with thrills, like we all do.”

Despite the light nature of his response, Niall’s accent had been heavier and Harry’s not sure if it was due to the alcohol or the tension-packed subject of conversation. Probably both.

Harry had nodded his head slowly— casually— and taken an ice cube into his mouth, cracking it with his teeth in the way Y/N used to scold him for. He had stared intently at the condensation gathering around the tips of his warm fingers for a few heartbeats before looking back up at Niall with aching curiosity.

“Is she happy?”

The Irish bloke had opened his mouth to answer, and then hesitated, thinking over what he had been about to say. That teeny fraction of time filled Harry with enough nerve-grating suspense to that he was sure he’d pop a blood vessel.

Niall had cleared his throat softly, sighing tiredly through his nose. “She’s better than she was right after the split.”

Harry hates that Y/N’s doing better. He knows how petty and selfish it comes off, but he can’t help it. If she’s doing better without him, it means she might never need him again— it means he’s replaceable to her. He can hardly fathom that thought without the backs of his eyes prickling.

Harry had swallowed thickly, nose stinging and jaw clenching. “Is she seeing anyone?”

Niall tilted his cup against his mouth, savoring the tanginess of the beer, grateful for its help in making this talk way easier. He’d given Harry a sympathetic slink of his head. “I don’t think that’s the type of question you should be asking, Har. One day, you might not like the answer you get.”

Harry’s fingers had tightened around the stout cylindrical glass in his grasp, rings biting into his skin. His voice came out strained but unwavering. “Is she?”

His friend’s blue eyes had flitted across different points of his face, sussing out Harry’s attitude and whether he could be convinced to back down on this specific topic.

When it was obvious he wouldn’t budge, Niall sighed heavily once again, this time through his lips. “She’s not, no.”

Harry can’t quite place a name to the flood of emotions that had crashed into him like a tidal wave. The closest he can relate the experience to is breaking the surface of an ocean of suffocating uninformed doubt, instead filling his lungs with illogical optimism and stunned relief.

There was hope for them, even if the sliver was fine as a hair.

Harry had found himself drawing closer to Niall, eyes doe-like and pleading, the neon lights of the bowling alley washing his face out with bright purples and drunken blues. “I wanna see her.”

“You can’t.” The objection had been quick and authoritative, causing Harry to blink as if he’d just been smacked between the eyes.

“Why?” It was a stupid question— he knew why. It wouldn’t be healthy for either of them.

“Because you’re only going to set yourself back. And even though you might not be thinking of the consequences it could have, I am, and I’m not going to let you hurt her or yourself more than you already have.”

And that’s when Harry realized that Niall knew. He’d heard the whole story.

The guilt-ridden young man had broken eye contact, looking down at his scuffed heeled boots. “You know.”

“She told me a while back.” Niall’s confirmation had hung across Harry’s shoulders like a lead jacket. “You fucked up, mate. Bad.”

A weak, remorseful, “I know.” was all he could muster.

“She knows you didn’t mean it, but I don’t know if you can come back from this, H.”

Harry repeated his previous phrase, but this time, it had been heavy with a form of undignified recognition. He was slowly coming to terms with the crushing possibility that he might never get her back.

He’d downed the last of his drink, feeling it reluctantly settle into his stomach. He had then locked gazes with Niall once again, his own conflicted and needy, which in turn caused his friend’s to mold into one of deep worry and pity.

“Will you just...Will you tell her that I love her so much. That I love her to the point where it’s pathetic. And that I’m so fucking sorry. That a day doesn’t go by when I don’t think of her and that I’d give fucking anything to earn her trust again...And that I found her Sherpa jumper under the bed and washed it in case she wants it back.”

Niall had snorted lightly, shaking his head in amusement at Harry’s ability to be so unintentionally pure even under the most stressful circumstances. He’d tossed an arm across the jade-eyed boy’s loaded shoulders, pulling him into a hug that was very obviously needed.

The reluctance had melted out of Harry in less than a breath, his arms wrapping around Niall’s torso, face pressing into the shorter man’s broad left shoulder. The tears he was holding back were evident in his quaking voice. “I miss her.”

Niall had remained silent for a while, not wanting to push any more boundaries.

He had made due with running his palm across the expanse of Harry’s back in soothing circles, only speaking up when he felt his mate’s tears seeping into his knitted sweater.

“You’re gonna be okay, yeah? You’re gonna get through this.”

Niall wasn’t entirely sure if his words were the truth. All he knew was that he wanted to be there for his best friend, so he comforted him to the best of his ability and prayed that whatever happened in the couple’s future would bring them closure.

Harry had gotten home that night feeling deflated and more regretful than ever. The emotional exhaustion had fused into his muscles and joints and he’d ended up collapsing on the couch, too depleted to take the walk down the corridor that led to his bedroom.

His sleep was restless and worthless, as it tended to be of late, but it beat having to sulk consciously. The pain was less sharp and his sorrows were covered in a hazy fog that somehow made everything bearable. He slept well into the afternoon and awoke with a mean kink in his neck and a dull thumping in the back of his skull— karma, obviously, for his lack of self-care and shitty drinking habits. Nothing coffee couldn’t fix.

///

As it turns out, Niall had struggled some to pass on Harry’s message to the intended party.

Y/N had been sitting on the couch when he’d gotten home from the bowling alley, snuggled cozily in a Friends blanket Niall had gotten last Christmas in a game of White Elephant. She had been so focused on an episode of Master Chef that she hadn’t even heard him unlock the door.

Y/N had momentarily glanced away from her show when she saw Niall enter the living room through her peripheral vision, watching as he toed off his rusty brown Clarks boots, kicking them into the corner beside the television stand. “How was bowling?”

“It was good! Mitch beat me by two points but, frankly, I think he cheated while I went to refill my pint.”

Y/N had scoffed in amusement, taking a sip of the chamomile tea in her Mickey Mouse mug, shaking her head distractedly. “Can you even cheat in bowling?”

Niall had shrugged his navy blue peacoat of his shoulders, draping it over the backrest of the worn recliner that was perpendicular to the couch she was currently inhabiting. He’d arched his eyebrows challengingly. “Obviously there has to be a way ‘cause I never lose. And especially never to Mitch and his shitty hand-eye coordination.”

Y/N had set down her mug in the small hole created by her crossed legs, the warmth of the drink radiating through the ceramic cup and seeping through her cloud-patterned pajama pants, heating her inner thighs soothingly. Her expression had then matched up to his, brows raised tauntingly. “Or maybe you were just off your game.”

Niall had slumped into the old recliner, sighing heavily as it creaked and extended. The Irish bloke had snuggled deeper into the cushioning of the seat, absentmindedly wiggling his toes in their rainbow polka-dotted socks before giving his housemate a pointed look. “Maybe you should shut up and go back to watching random people make squash noodles.”

“Actually, it’s eggplant ravioli.”

“Actually, that sounds like arse.”

A round of bubbly laughter had belted out of Y/N and it had been contagious, the same type of giggling escaping from Niall’s lips. Then, comfortable silence had fallen over the two as they centered their attention back onto the cooking show.

Niall hadn’t been sure how to approach the topic. There was no real proper segway into conversations about exes— he didn’t want to upset Y/N with the sudden intrusion on her healing process. But he had made a promise to Harry.

Aside from the obvious negative factors, mentioning him would also give Niall insight into how she was currently feeling about the entire situation. He’d be able to accurately gauge what her emotions had resolved on the matter and therefore be able to give Harry a solid response on whether he had any chance left for reconciliation. He’d be able to confidently tell him whether hanging on was worth it or if letting go was the best choice.

Though Niall and Y/N had been living together for almost two months, she hadn’t started opening up to him fully about the breakup until three weeks in. And even with the whole story laid out bare for him to examine, Y/N shared very little of her mending path with him until they were five weeks in. For a while, her version of “opening up” was simply telling him what had occurred and he’d had to fill in the rest of the mental and emotional blanks himself.

It had not been hard to come to the conclusion that she had been feeling like utter shit right after it happened— insecurity was awfully present as well as the haunting weight of thinking she wasn’t enough. Though Harry had put those worries to rest the day they had separated, they still lingered in her subconscious, constantly poking and prodding and picking at the membrane of recovery she had developed around her heart.

Y/N had felt numb for days after she had ended things. Boiling anger had created a buffer for the pain that was dwelling just under the surface and it had powered her for about three weeks. Then, at four in the morning on a random Thursday, her real emotions had burst through the fine cracks that had been webbing themselves into that unstable wall of rage.

She’d had a dream about him that was actually a memory. There wasn’t anything particularly special about the scene as it had been one of many alike— they had been cuddling on the couch. But for some reason, it cracked something inside her.

It had been scarily vivid to the point where she could feel the ridges of Harry’s finger pads tenderly passing over the skin of her exposed arm as she had laid between his legs, her head nestled into his strong chest, ear drums thumping with the sound of his relaxed heartbeat. She could feel his breathing, pectoral muscles rising and falling with penetrating inhales that had fallen into rhythm with her own. There had been faint movement above her and a sudden warmth had erupted across her forehead, his lips flushing caringly between her brows. The heated glow had washed down her temples and nose like syrup, vignetting her mind with a feathery, sleepy haze. It dripped over her tingling cheeks and buzzing ears, running down her neck and infusing into her chest, calming her from the inside out. He had whispered something unintelligible against her skin, his deep voice warbled as if he was talking underwater. Though she couldn’t make out what he was saying, the mellow, pleasant tone of his voice was enough to lull her. She had never felt happier, more fulfilled, and more at peace than at that moment.

Harry had always been the one factor that could drown out the static of her troubles with the simplest caress of his touch. He could make any problem sink away just by cupping her jaw and thumbing over her cheekbones. Could make the end of the world creak to a stop just by knitting his mouth to her’s. Could melt away any obstacle by brushing his palm over the dip of her spine. He had always been there, and at the time, it had felt like he always would be. Through that assured remedy of relief, she had been able to live her life one step at a time, bracing even the worst moments with a clear mind and strengthened energy, all because he stood behind her— with his warm hands and consoling aura— every inch of the way.

Y/N didn’t have that anymore and though she pushed it down and claimed it didn’t phase her, she was falling apart inside.

It was only a matter of time before it came rushing out all at once.

She had jerked awake from the dream as if she’d been stabbed, face wet with tears, her pillowcase dampened to the point where she would have to replace it. The breakdown that followed hadn’t included any screaming or slamming or stomping; it had been quiet and concise, much like Harry’s on the day she had left.

She’d laid on her side, wrapping her arms around herself and tucking her knees to her chest, drawing into her body as if it could keep all of her feelings from spilling out. Heavy tears had swelled her already bloodshot eyes, her entire face stinging as fresh sheens of water washed down the dried saltiness of the ones prior. Her nose had run so badly she’d had to resort to using an old t-shirt as a tissue. The sounds that had escaped her were low and broken— cracked, stuttery whimpers with no real words behind them. The noises were just another outlet for the aching to seep out; her eyes just weren’t enough.

Her back had hunched over as she constricted into herself even further, burying her face into her sopping pillow, feeling hot tears soak into the saturated fabric. She could barely breathe that way and it helped calm her down some— no air meant no sobbing. No sobbing meant she was on the way to picking the pieces back up to put herself together again.

It took her awhile to come to her bearings. Her body had stopped shaking but the tears didn’t seem to want to go away. It irritated her that she couldn’t control this— she hated not being able to do anything other than just drown in it.

Without meaning to, she had released a gut-wrenching growl of frustration that tapered off into another round of heart-breaking sobbing. Her stomach throbbed, the pain so deep it was almost palpable.

Y/N had hoped the pillow would muffle it enough not to wake Niall, unaware that he was already up. He’d awoken on his own, making a trip to the kitchen to retrieve a glass of water. He’d been sipping at it slowly, mind still stuck in a meaningless dream, when the sudden noise had echoed down the hall that led to Y/N’s room.

Niall rubbed at his tired eyes with the palms of his hands, irises grey with sleep. He had blinked a few times, downing the rest of his water and setting the glass down carefully onto the marble counter, trying to limit any sound interference as his ears strained to listen for any more crying. He had wanted to make sure he wasn’t imagining it in a half-unconscious stupor.

But no, it was very much real. If he focused enough, he could just barely hear the soft sobbing coming from his friend’s bedroom. He had a good guess on what it was about.

He’d stood still for a moment, mulling over what he should do. His first instinct had been to go in and comfort her, but with more thought, he wondered if it would be better not to meddle in her grieving out of respect for her privacy. He knows that if he were crying over a bad breakup, he’d want to be left alone. But he also knows that shouldering a burden like the one she’d faced could put anyone in a really dark place; he wasn’t just going to stand around and let her crash and burn.

Niall had wandered down the corridor attentively, footsteps light as to not startle Y/N. He’d turned to knob to the door with immense care, pushing it open with his shoulder and peeking in.

The crying had stopped abruptly, which gave away that she knew he was there. He couldn’t see much in the dark room— the moonlight filtering in through the cracks in the curtains didn’t do much for the fact that he was lacking his glasses— but he could see the silhouette of Y/N’s body curled up under the duvet, trembling ever so slightly with the effort of keeping in her sobbing.

Her housemate had cleared his throat to get rid of the gravel in his dormant voice, as well as to fully alert her of his presence. His words had still come out in a raspy croak, but at least they were understandable. “You alright in here?”

Y/N had sniffled feverishly, desperate to put out a collected facade. She hated when people saw her so vulnerable without her anticipating it.

“Y-Yeah, I’m good. Thanks for checking in.”

Her voice had cracked near the end of her response, giving away that she wasn’t good at all. The air had been silent for a moment, then Niall’s muddled footsteps thudded against the thick carpet.

Y/N could feel him standing behind her, his body heat radiating off him like a furnace, the soft scent of his ocean-scented deodorant tickling her itching nose. “Are you sure?”

There had been no response other than the comforter tightening around her frame. Her hair was splayed across her face in a wild, matted mess, keeping him from being able to read her features.

Niall had sighed heavily and then the bed had dipped with his weight, sheets shifting and springs squeaking as he settled into place beside her, swinging his legs up onto the mattress.

More silence followed, Y/N refusing to budge. She hadn’t wanted to drag him into this considering he was still friends with Harry; she didn’t want to split him down the middle or force him to take care of her alongside her ex. She knew Niall too well, certain that he had been offering help to Harry, too. She’d heard him answer the array of drunken phone calls on her behalf so she wouldn’t have to deal with more trauma. She’d heard him leaving the house at unintelligible hours only to return smelling like Harry’s favorite vanilla cinnamon candle. She’d even found one of Harry’s t-shirts (which she had gotten him herself) in the laundry basket, which had probably been lent to Niall after an alcohol-related accident.

Niall was too kind for his own good— too caring. Y/N had learned a lot about him in the time they had lived together and the one characteristic that stood out more than anything was his savior complex— his default setting to provide love and assurance to anyone that needed it, no matter the stress it put on himself. She didn’t want to take unfair advantage of that.

Her friend’s voice had torn her out of her guilt trip, loaded with adamant concern. “Y/N, I’m not leaving this room until I know you’re genuinely better so stop being stubborn and let me help.”

She’d jerked suddenly when she felt his large hand coast up her back. His touch was gentle and nurturing, squeezing her shoulder expectantly. It wasn’t hard for her to let go into him.

Y/N had turned towards Niall, hand ducking out from beneath the duvet cocoon she’d swaddled herself in, moving her hair out of her splotchy face. Their eyes had locked and she’d immediately felt the remaining anguish flush out of her system.

The look on his face was so kind and protective and it made her feel safer than she had in the last couple of weeks. Even in the limited lighting, she could see his eyes were glossy with the genuine desire to help her heal, inviting her to share her problems with him, silently promising that they could shoulder the weight of it together. She didn’t have to fight this on her own.

Y/N had spent the rest of the night in Niall’s arms, crying into his chest and utterly drenching his Eagles t-shirt, though he didn’t complain once. He had kept his lips pressed to the top of her head, running his warm palm up and down her shuddering back and telling her that she shouldn’t bottle up her feelings— that it didn’t make her weak to show them, that openly sorting through them with someone else would make it less scary, and most importantly, that it was “okay not to be okay all the time.”

For the next month or so, Y/N and Niall’s heart-to-hearts had been a real breakthrough for her. All of her undealt fear and self-doubt no longer badgered her anymore— it was almost all gone. She hadn’t felt this emotionally liberated since before the split and she could feel the shards of her heart welding themselves back together, ushering her into a more healthy, serene state of mind. She was on the road to her old self again and the relief it brought was otherworldly.

It could be seen physically, too. The bags under her eyes had faded and her face carried a certain rejuvenated glow that it had lacked for weeks. Her smile and laughter were buoyant and loud again, not hindered by any inner conflict anymore whatsoever. When she went out with her friends, she didn’t find herself mentally checking out in the middle of conversations or movies or drinks like she had plenty of times before. She actively participated and engaged in events instead of just going through the motions and it felt so fucking good to get a taste of actual joy for the first time in so long. Things were looking up, and though she still had that hole in her chest that only Harry could fill, she was learning to deal with it in a beneficial and independent manner. It was okay not to be okay all the time.

///

All of these instances had scattered across Niall’s eyes, whirling around in his skull as he sat back in the old recliner, trying to decide if he should pass on Harry’s bowling alley message onto Y/N. He knew she was doing way better, but he didn’t know if hearing from Harry would break her all over again. He didn’t want that, but he also didn’t want the sheer sound of his name to send her into a self-destructive spiral for the rest of her life— she had to learn to cope with him being mentioned regularly because it was bound to start happening again. People couldn’t walk on eggshells around both of them forever.

And Niall also needed to know where she stood on her relationship to the British boy— whether she was willing to give it another shot or whether it was best to tell Harry to move on completely. They were adults, after all, so questions needed to be answered and ties needed to be either tightened or severed for good.

“Harry was there.”

“I know, Niall. That’s the reason I wasn’t.”

Her tone had taken him by surprise. It had been jokeful and amused, holding no obvious resentment he could detect. It’d been a good start to the Ex Talk, if Niall had ever seen one, as long as it didn’t turn into her using humor as a deflecting mechanism.

“He asked about you.”

Y/N’s hands had tightened around her mug, crossed legs shifting her weight. She had broken away from the television screen, meeting Niall’s cautiously hesitant gaze. Her eyes had held an emotion that he couldn’t quite place— it was mostly blank, but it held a smidge of something he could only think to refer to as pained curiosity.

When she’d spoken again, it had been soft and fragile. “What’d he say?”

Niall had leaned forward in his seat, elbows propping onto his parted knees as his fingers sifted together, chin resting on his knuckles. His voice had been as cautious and hesitant as the look in his sky blue irises. “He said to tell you that he misses you and that he’s terribly sorry. That he’d do anything to earn your trust again, that a day doesn’t go by that he doesn’t think about you, and that he loves you so much ‘to the point where it’s pathetic.’ His exact words.”

Y/N had been quiet for a while afterward, the TV droning on in the background with chefs running around kitchens, cursing about food burning and incorrect ingredients. Niall hadn’t pushed her on an answer; he’d simply sat back with his hands flat across his belly, allowing her all the time she needed to process the speech.

When she finally spoke up again, her voice had been taut, strained by the heaviness of the message she’d received. “Anything else?”

Niall had intentionally left the lightest part of the conversation for the end, hoping it would provide her with some form of ease, as minimal as it would be. “Yeah, he said you left your Sherpa jumper at his place and was wondering if you wanted it back. If I were you, I’d say yes. Fleece sweaters are fuck-you-in-the-arse expensive.”

His comment had the intended affect, his heart fluttering with relief as he watched Y/N’s face break into a huge grin, eyes crinkling as airy laughter bounced all around her. Some of the tension in her body remained, but most of it had dissipated out. A fraction is better than none.

Y/N had managed to talk through her giggles. “Yeah, I think I would like my sweater back, actually.”

“Great!” Niall had clapped his hands together once, head wobbling in a jerky shake for silly emphasis. He’d pushed his palms against the armrests of the recliner, catapulting himself onto his feet and pointing at Y/N playfully. “I’ll get that sorted for you, then. Now, if you need me, I’m gonna be in my room, passed out on my bed for the next twelve hours, neck-deep in a beer coma. Feel free to check if I’m breathing every now and then, yeah? Got a dentist appointment next week that I’d hate to be dead for.”

Y/N had sat on Harry’s words for the next week or so. They hadn’t spurred her into a meltdown (as she’s sure Niall had worried they would), but they did loiter in the back of her mind, keeping her awake past appropriate hours by playing her heart strings like a violin.

There was one part of the message specifically that took up a chunk of her sleep more than the others, scattering inside her head and running along the crevices of her brain, the meaning behind it stirring the pit of her stomach into a hollowed frenzy: I love you so much to the point where it’s pathetic.

That one measly sentence carried so much baggage to unpack.

Harry’s choice of words were transparent on how he was dealing in the aftermath of the split.

Y/N knew how much of a hopeless romantic he was— it had been obvious in the way he had put her on a pedestal for the entirety of their relationship, constantly showering her with all different types of affection to let her know how much he cherished her. It ranged from the simplest gestures— like keeping her favorite chocolates stocked inside the pantry at all times— to extravagant actions— like randomly buying her an expensive necklace she’d stared at for a bit too long at the mall. He was always aware of her, always going out of his way to show her how much he loved her, and she had never felt more appreciated than when she was with him.

When it came to expressing that love verbally, Harry only ever connected it to words that carried positive connotations. Words like, “truly,” “madly,” “deeply,” “immensely,” “entirely,” and “wholeheartedly.” He wanted her to know that when he thought of her, any negativity was immediately expelled from his mind; she could always make him happy, no matter what.

This being taken into consideration, one can understand why Y/N had been utterly baffled when Niall had told her that he’d referred to his love for her as “pathetic.” It gave her insight into just how hard he was taking the breakup— hard enough to the point where he was so desperate to get her back that he felt pathetic. This told her that he loved her so much he was willing to admit that it was sad and pitiful, especially since he was a grown man, and especially because they’d been split for just over two months. That span of time is long enough for a person to at least start moving on; long enough for someone to sever themselves from that stage of hopelessly clinging to what once was and to look forward to what the future could bring.

But instead, Harry had allowed himself to regress back into a lapse of needy pining, pleading with Niall— and in public, no less— to tell her that he missed her so much it was embarrassing; that he cared for her to the extent that it was humiliating; that he loved her to the point where it was miserable. He wanted her to know that what he had done had been tearing at him nonstop since it happened, that it would likely haunt him for years to come, and that he would never forgive himself for it.

All of these confessions weren’t any different than what he had told her the day they had broken up— they were the same bullets he’d hit when he was sitting before her, teary-eyed and distressed, begging her to give him another chance. However, for a reason unbeknownst to her, they penetrated deeper this time, slamming her square in the chest like someone had punched through her ribs, squeezing her heart with their fist.

Maybe it was the fact that she had finally let go of the splintering anger she’d been clutching onto from that day, which had likely blinded her from absorbing the rawness behind Harry’s apology. Maybe it was that she’d had weeks to work through all of her jumbled emotions, finally untangling herself from the bitterness that had been clouding her mind for what felt like ages. Maybe it was just the simple notion that she fucking missed him— missed him more than her pride would ever let her admit.

Missed the way his nose would scrunch up in distaste when he didn’t agree with something, the way the edges of his eyes would wrinkle when he smiled, missed his boyish giggling and how it would go up in pitch when he laughed too hard. She missed the way his dimples would carve into his cheeks when he smirked, the way the little mole under the left corner of his lips would jolt with the slightest motion of his mouth, and the way his large, warm hands would feel as he would knot their fingers together, his thumb caressing over the tops of her knuckles.

Y/N missed the way her head would sink into his chest when she would hug him, his arms cradling her against his body while he played with the ends of her hair. She missed the small group of freckles at the base of his neck— missed tracing them with her lips while he chewed on the inside of his cheek to keep from bursting into spontaneous giggles at the feathery sensation. She missed the way he smelled, like mandarin shampoo and musky, spiced deodorant and his ocean salt cologne and that stupid fucking candle.

Y/N had remained on the fence for a few days about what to do, mentally jotting down the pros and cons of reaching out to Harry to make amends. The defining moment had been the day she’d gotten her sweater back.

///

Niall had gone out with Harry to see a movie, returning home with the Sherpa jumper hung across one of his forearms, tucked into his elbow. He’d held it out for her between his thumbs and index fingers, flapping it back and forth triumphantly, eyebrows arched with dramatic glee as a huge goofy grin buckled his cheeks. “Look at what we have here, then!”

He’d tossed it towards her on his way to the kitchen, belting out a cocky, “You’re welcome!” over his shoulder before disappearing behind the archway.

The minute Y/N had caught the hoodie in her arms, the scent hit her like a bus. It invaded her nostrils without permission, sending a sharp ache through her chest.

It was perfectly faint since Harry’s smell never tended to be overpowering— he had a very light hand when it came to cologne, well aware that too much could be agitating. That being said, the brand he used was potent even when dispensed in small amounts, so it’s salty sea aroma usually lasted through a couple of washes. He had probably nonchalantly chucked the jumper into the laundry with his clothes, which had resulted in the smell being strung through every single thread of the fabric.

Beneath the initial layer of his cologne laid the softer scent of the vanilla cinnamon candle that she knew too well. It was tender and homey, just the right ratio of sugar and spice, its cozy undercurrent enveloping her in familiarity.

It launched her into a round of fleeting flashbacks.

The fractions in time consisted of a winter day spent snuggled on the sofa under thick blankets, half-empty mugs of hot cocoa discarded on the coffee table and a Netflix show drawling on aimlessly in the background. Not a single soul had paid attention to the screen; Y/N was too busy straddling Harry’s lap, planting wet, sloppy kisses down his throat as he dangled his head over the side of the armrest, hands gripping her hips needily as she rocked against the bulge in his sweatpants, a dreamy, pleasure-drunken smile adorning his swollen lips. Low hisses and weak whimpers had resonated from deep in his chest, rolling off his tongue as his mouth had absentmindedly fallen open at the warmth growing between her thighs. Her fingers had twisted into the loose curls along the back of his skull while she’d gasped his name all breathy and whiney along the underside of his jaw, working herself against him at a desperate pace, his palms trailing underneath her pajama bottoms to grope at her ass.

Harry’s voice had been distant and echoey in the memory, but it made her cheeks sizzle nonetheless. “God, I love you so fucking much. Could spend the rest of my life between your thighs...Could spend the rest of it anywhere as long as it’s with you.”

Another flashback had shuffled forward like a deck of cards. This one was of a foggy, rainy evening spent napping soundly in their bed, limbs tangled messily with their bodies half-naked, her heated lips pressed to the lulled pulse that throbbed beneath Harry’s flushed neck. His hand had been petting over her mussed up hair, mouth pressed lovingly to the ridges between her brows, smoothing them out in order to defuse whatever was troubling her in her dreams.

She’d awoken, her eyelids heavy with the remnants of sleep, her mind partially conscious as she had taken in a long inhale, blowing it out through her nose. Harry had run the pad of his thumb over her lashes gently, helping her get rid of the blurriness that had taken her under. She had blinked up at him drowsily, a watery smile spreading her buzzing lips. Harry hadn’t said a single word and he didn’t have to— he’d just stared down at her over the tops of his lightly colored cheeks, the right edge of his mouth flicking upwards in endearment, his bright jade irises glossy with fondness. He didn’t have to say a single word because his expression silently told her everything she needed to know.

Y/N had snapped out of the memories in the blink of an eye, a sudden tickling sensation bristling down her cheeks. She’d reached up to touch her face in confusion, the tips of her fingers coming back wet, the water glinting cruelly under the dim lighting of the living room. Her brows had furrowed in objection, both at her tears and at being so abruptly yanked out of moments in her life when she had been the happiest. Her body reacted out of instinct, desperately searching for a trace of him to clasp onto, her hands fumbling to bring the flouncy material of the sweater to her nose.

She’d taken a saturated breath in, the pleasant odor hugging her trembling frame and kissing her heart. The tears had then started flowing freely across her waterline and down the bridge of her nose. They had seeped into the fleece hoodie and she’d immediately jerked back from it, not wanting the treasured item to suffer the same fate as most of her pillowcases. She didn’t want to do anything that would make her have to wash it— she refused to let the comforting aroma leave her.

Y/N spent the next three days in that jumper, only taking it off to shower. She wore it religiously, taking it to work, to the superstore when she went grocery shopping with Niall, to lunch with a friend, to a doctor's appointment she barely paid attention to, and even to bed. In the span of seventy-two hours, she had developed an addiction to the scent that was woven into the fluffy article of clothing, needing to have it around her at all times in order to function properly.

It was sad, really. It was just a smell and she knew it would eventually fade away, but she just couldn’t help herself from wanting to be wrapped in it every second of the day. It reminded her of a time in her life when everything seemed flawless— where there wasn’t a gaping hole in the center of her chest that could only be filled by the one person who had accidentally hurt her beyond compare.

Y/N couldn’t stand it. Couldn’t stand the flood of memories that the stupid hoodie had fished out from the corner of her subconscious, where she had shoved them with the intent of never looking back. They loitered her dreams, broadcasting over the inside of her eyelids for hours on end, dissolving away when her alarm blared beside her ear, leaving her with a hollow feeling toiling at the pit of her stomach. She didn’t know how long she could deal with it, but her sanity was starting to wear thin, cautioning her that she had to do something or else she’d go absolutely mad.

On the night of the fourth day, Y/N finally cracked.

///

Two months and thirteen days.

That’s how long Harry and Y/N have been broken up.

It is currently 11:43 PM, meaning that in a meer seventeen minutes, it would be two months and fourteen days since the split.

Harry is laying in bed, as far away from his digital clock as possible, watching a random Christmas movie that Netflix had recommended, one hand buried in a bowl of kettle corn that he’d already refilled twice as the other holds his phone an acceptable distance above his face.

The movie is cliche, if he’s being honest; something about Santa Claus dying and passing on the torch to his dead-beat son that didn’t want it, so it ended up going to his overly-perky younger sister instead. The twist was supposed to be that a woman had never been Santa Claus, but he could see that ending coming from a mile away, what with her natural ability to get along with kids and the fact that she dressed like a literal Elf on the Shelf. It’s heart-warming in the way that all Christmas films are and it had the witty humor one would expect it to, alongside a cute furry animal sidekick that people couldn’t help falling in love with.

But it just didn’t really impress him. The message is sweet, the execution could’ve been better.

Yet, he only deemed it fair that he finish the movie. He’s already three-fourths of the way done and though the intended surprise was obvious, he might as well see it through.

In the middle of the climax scene where the young woman was putting on the Santa suit for the first time, his phone dings with a chime he hadn’t heard in too long— two months, thirteen days, twenty-three hours, and forty-four minutes, to be exact.

Harry had been so startled he’d dropped his phone on his face.

“Ow! Fucking hell!”

He sits up in one quick, stiff motion, the hand knuckle-deep in the popcorn bowl flying up and knocking the dish upside down, the sticky kernels rolling across his disheveled duvet. The sleek black device falls into his lap, nose pulsing in pain as it had taken most of the heat, his caramel-coated hand rubbing messily along his flannel pajama pants to try and get rid of the stickiness. He then pinches the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger to stifle some of the stinging, bumbling to get his smartphone into the palm of his clean hand.

The screen lights up with a text message and Harry blinks a few times to make sure he’s not imagining it in some type of pain-induced hallucination.

But no, the message is very much real and it’s authenticity sends him into a dull stupor for a minute. He comes back to when the phone vibrates with another ring, alerting him for the second and last time that the person he wanted to talk to the most had actually reached out to him; it was in his best interest not to keep her waiting.

Y/N: Hey, are you free to talk tomorrow?

#siac #Sharing Isn’t Always Caring #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles writing #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagines #harry styles au #harry styles smut #harry x reader #harry x y/n #harry x you #harry styles angst #angst #harry styles fic #harry styles drabble #harry styles blurb

2K notes · View notes

sparklingpax · 4 years

Text

What It Costs

Love is sweet, love is loyalty, love is unwavering, love is....sacrifice. Sometimes, one does not remember the last part until it is simply....too late.

///

A/N:

-Angst. This is angst. If some of y’all don’t like that stuff and/or are bothered by it, click off or scroll by, please. Thanks.

-Hhhhh speaking of that, I’ll have you know I’m terrible at this kind of writing. I gave it my all, however. I hope I did passably, at least...^^’’

-Um......I am very sorry if I made any errors, be it a typo or misinformation about something/someone, etc. I wrote a lot of this very late at night or at ungodly hours of the morning.....so that might explain a little of it ^~^’’ I’ll read through it as many times as possible after posting so I can catch and fix as many of those mistakes as possible....

-I’ll make this quick; sorry again to anyone who saw this the first time ^^’’ But this time, I’ve posted it intentionally so I hope you enjoy!! :’D

-This is only one, long part so dw about cliffhangers or waiting 10 centuries a long time for me to finish it :3

-Set in the TFP universe! And obviously, my attempt at some official OptiRatch content! :)

The sky was a dull, bleak grey.

Icy rain pelted the earth, pouring from the stormy skies with a vengeance as harsh winds tossed them around with an ominous whistling.

Yet the real storm had materialized inside the rocks—in the simple silo base where the Autobots resided.

Today, the children had not been able to come to the base.

Miko was in detention, Jack was busy working overtime at his job, and Raf was studying for a exam.

It was just one of those days.

“Thank Primus for peace and quiet!” Ratchet would have remarked as he usually did on days such as this.

However, things were all but calm—even as a prickly silence filled the air.

///

“I…I cannot let you do that…” Optimus stammered at last. He bowed his head and shifted his gaze to the left, clearly uncomfortable. “It is only a mere relic, not worth the life—”

A fist pounded the wall, leaving a blackened scuff mark in the metal.

“DON’T YOU CARE?!” Ratchet practically screamed. Optimus’s eyes rounded with guilt as he turned his gaze back to the medic sharply.

“Of course I—”

“Then GET IT THROUGH YOUR HEAD, OPTIMUS—” he hit the wall next to him once again, with more force. “It’s not about you!!!”

He spat those words so coldly, so jarringly sharp, Optimus felt his spark twist.

Old friend…I do not think you understand my intent at all…please be patient with me…

The Prime opened his mouth to speak, but Ratchet flashed him an even harsher glare, silencing any further words. Optimus again cast his eyes momentarily to the floor.

Pushing past his leader, Ratchet raised his fist, not turning to face Optimus, and flipped up his middle finger.

Optimus would have given an amused laugh.

‘Did one of the children teach you that custom?’ he wanted to ask jokingly, teasingly.

Agent Fowler had done it enough times for Optimus to understand what it meant.

But all he could do was stare after his medic as the older mech stalked over to the groundbridge controls. All kinds of alarms were going off in Optimus’s head, and yet all he could do was…watch.

Perhaps he could take no more of Ratchet’s harsh attitude—the anger that emanated off his old friend.

Perhaps he really wasn’t making the right decision, but Ratchet was.

Or perhaps…

You’re a coward, Optimus. A big, strong, coward.

“I’ll find the relic myself,” Ratchet announced to the other bots. Up until then, they had, unmoving and tense, watched the argument which had preceded all this.

Don’t go, my Starlight…or at least…let me go with you…But the Prime stood immobile, watching the old bot speak.

“I’ll find it myself and win us the war,” he repeated, still trembling with rage from minutes before. He turned that sharply angered expression—now laced with disdain—at the Autobot leader. “And I don’t need any backup.”

A swirling portal of green, white, and purple roared to life when the medic shoved the lever downwards, his expression only grim now. Without saying anymore, he then turned and transformed. An ambulance raced through the portal and disappeared seconds later.

While the Prime lingered absentmindedly near the bridge, eyes focusing on no one thing as he stared around, deep in thought, Bumblebee carefully padded over and pulled the lever up. The swishing, humming noise quickly faded as the groundbridge portal did, and silence rested over them once again.

Except that silence was still not peaceful.

Optimus soon found himself speaking, not really thinking as he did.

“Woah—you sure, Optimus?” Bulkhead asked, eyes widened a bit nervously. “I mean, no offense but…Ratchet might rip you to shreds…”

‘He looked pretty mad,’ Bumblebee agreed quietly.

“If something were to happen to him, it would be my fault,” Optimus found himself saying. “For that reason, please reopen the groundbridge.”

You scared of the blame, Optimus?

You don’t want to be incriminated?

Are you making this about you?

Do you really care?

Optimus didn’t want to shake those questions away just yet. He was unsure of their answers. The Prime wished his mind was where his body was, yet as he transformed and drove through the bridge, his thoughts continued to wander.

They taunted him, echoing his medic’s scornful words.

Why don’t you go after the relic, the one thing that could save us? Who cares if Megatron is there with all his troops? What makes that different from any other of your confrontation with him?

A heavy feeling sat in the bottom of his stomach—a foreboding sense.

Often—they say—if your loved one is in danger, you can feel it.

Optimus pushed harder on the gas, thinking only of what was going to take place if he did not reach his friend quickly enough.

The day was dark, cold, and rainy.

///

Ratchet pressed his back against the side of a tall rock, not daring to peer again at the action taking place in the center of the clearing. He heard the footsteps of some vehicons heading his way. They drew their guns as they got closer.

Above him, the dead-looking gray skies has stilled, leaving the air feeling taut—like it was holding its breath and ready snap any second.

The storm from Jasper must be close by, considering I bridge to—

Ratchet gritted his teeth and snapped himself back to focusing on the current situation.

The medic felt his spark racing. His arms began to tremor uncontrollably as he drew them upwards to get into a fighting stance.

They saw you. They saw you and it hasn’t been more than 8 minutes you’ve been here. What a successful mission. It’s just you against Megatron and hundreds of vehicons. And—

He glanced down at his leg a little worriedly.

He’d jumped into action a week before and received a blow to the leg he was still healing from. At this very moment, in fact, he felt a faint aching start up again in his knee.

Ratchet let his head fall against the rock, eyes squeezed shut, swallowing hard and drawing out his own blades.

You idiot.

He counted the seconds before attack.

Optimus was right.

“WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?! BRING HIM TO ME NOW!!” Megatron’s furiously growled order broke the tense silence.

Instantly the slow footsteps became sets of scrambling feet, quickly heading for the rock. A second later, Ratchet watched (and heard) a shot of crimson red blaster fire whiz past his helm. Instinctively, he let out a cry of shock and stumbled to the side—right out from behind the rock.

Before he could regain his footing to even turn around, the silence exploded into the deafening sound of hundreds of shots aimed for him. The medic turned and faced it, wincing and sucking in a sharp breath as one or two grazed his plating.

He charged, strangely feeling almost a little….detached from his own body. Like he was on autopilot.

“For Cybertron!!!” He heard a voice shout.

What….am I doing here?

“FOR VICTORY!!!”

Oh…it was his voice. Right.

The orange-white-plated mech swerved past the blaster fire, swinging his arms—now blades—back, forth, up, down….

Optimus, forgive me. I was a fool. I was a prideful fool.

He ducked a shot and kicked out, catching the vehicon by surprise and knocking him off his feet. Almost one motion, the old bot maintained his momentum and swung his blades at an oncoming opponent.

The con dodged smoothly. He raised his gun and fired.

Just as Ratchet thought to spring in the other direction, his knee gave out beneath him. Ratchet tripped over himself, grabbing his knee.

Right in the path of the vehicon’s shot.

A shot ripped through his shoulder, followed by another closer to his neck, tearing from the medic such an ugly, guttural cry that even the vehicon flinched. The medic crumpled to the floor in a writhing heap of short, agonized exclamations.

Meanwhile, the vehicon’s gun wavered a bit, drawing back a second. Ratchet’s pained noises faded from the air of the clearing, replaced only by the sound of his tremoring breath. Clearly struggling, the medic reached over and clasped his shoulder so hard his digits shook. A small flow of energon began to leak through, soiling his servos and the dirt surrounding his figure. Turning his face to the con, he let his eyes show off his anger.

In a smaller, quavering voice, he managed to say, “C-coward…hold y-your…w-w-weapon….straight why don’t you—” He spat out, wheezing a bit, then falling limp into the ground. Not unconscious, but simply out of strength.

Or…will to live.

The Vehicon shook its head and held the gun firmly upwards again. The weapon was trained directly on Ratchet’s helm.

Just at that moment, the skies snapped.

A bellowing rumble of thunder sounded, the clouds suddenly looking bigger, darker, greyer….

It’s pointless…we’ll just lose, won’t we? Like we always do. Megatron will have his way today, and he’ll have his way until he kills all of us and ends this fragging war….

Ratchet looked up, hearing a low, gravelly cackle.

Speak of the devil and he doth appear—is that not the phrase?

The medic let out a little moan, rolling over onto his side, still clasping a hand to his bleeding wound. His gaze, sharp with pain and yet dull with exhaustion, stared ahead to see the vehicon back away twitchily.

Megatron’s footsteps shook the ground a little as he stalked in Ratchet’s direction. The huge figure of the ex-gladiator soon towered over Ratchet. He smirked a little, slowly folding his hands behind his back and tilting his head.

“Ratchet….” he paused to chuckle. “Tell me, what ever did you think you were going to accomplish?”

“T….the relic—” he hissed tightly, breaking off abruptly to suppress a noise of pain as his shoulder burned with pain under his grip. His optics, trained on Megatron’s sneering face, spoke more than a thousand words of hate and fire.

Megatron laughed out loud.

“Oh, you must mean—” he turned and make a rough motion at the vehicons behind him. The one holding the escape pod immediately scurried across the clearing to them. “This trinket?” He asked, grabbing the object from his soldier.

The pod hadn’t been opened yet.

The pod hasn’t been opened yet. The weapon is still inside.

Ratchet let his mind fixate on that one thought.

There is time still….if I can just…..

Megatron started one of his small monologues, something Ratchet wasn’t listening to. He switched on his comm link as discreetly as he could. Pride was not of importance now, Ratchet told himself.

Optimus had been right, and he knew it. It would be entirely foolish not to try to—

“Ratchet?”

Megatron instantly stopped dead in his tracks. His head whipped around as he processed the voice. His eyes darkened when he registered.

“I see.” Was all he growled in a chillingly quiet voice.

“Ratchet, what is going—”

The medic fumbled to switch it off again, internally kicking himself for so stupid a plan. Of course his idiot sparkmate would call out to him the instant his switched on his comm lines again!

He meant well, Ratchet. He loves you. He cares about you. Keep that in mind.

Ratchet let out a grunt of both pain and frustration.

Optimus, hurry! There isn’t anymore time!

Ratchet watched as Megatron dropped to his level and grabbed his chin. Mustering all his confidence, the medic stared with an unwavering gaze right back.

“You’re a fool, Autobot. Much more foolish than I remember you being,” he snarled.

Ratchet narrowed his eyes and fired back, “Not as much of a fool as you—and unlike you, I’m not a pile of—”

“SILENCE!!!!!!!”

Megatron’s roared command silenced the medic instantly. Ratchet was not afraid, just startled. Around him, all the vehicons nearby had flinched and taken steps back—even though they were as far away as they were. The Decepticon leader gave another growl, indignant and angered at his prisoner’s insolence.

He released Ratchet, cursing under his breath.

Now the Prime is coming. I can’t just leave.

The huge figure of Megatron paced around, his grey metal looking oddly shinier in the greyish lighting the skies were providing. He was formulating a course of action.

A plan.

His eyes lit up and he straightened again, looking once more as if he was in control.

Just at that moment, a terrible rumble that Ratchet felt all through his body sounded in the air.

The storm had arrived, and the great roll of thunder was its announcer.

Megatron looked around casually, then back at Ratchet. There was a dry amusement dancing in his optics.

“Today shall be the day another one of you dies,” he spoke with a terrifying finality.

The medic’s spark skipped a beat. He felt a cold fear run through his veins, and sit at the bottom of his stomach—like a rock. Yet it was not fear for his own life.

“How can you be so certain?” Ratchet fought to keep his tone level—steady.

Blinding white flashed through the air, accompanied by a tearing, cracking sound that rang in everyone’s audio receptors. However Megatron stood, and had not flinched. His eyes held a dangerous light of unbending desire.

“One of you will die by my hand,” Megatron repeated himself, turning away. “For it is as I will.”

Then, the ex-gladiator stalked back across the clearing. Vehicons immediately scurried to form a circle around Ratchet, two of them coming even closer to guard him, guns drawn and ready to fire.

Softly, gently, unrelentingly, drops of moisture began to fall from the sky.

Rain.

Ratchet closed his eyes, letting himself focus on the odd sensation of those thousands of drops of liquid created when they repeatedly hit his plating.

With a heavy, exhausted sigh, Ratchet let his head fall into his hands.

Optimus….my sweetspark…..forgive me…

He jolted as a vehicon reached over and slapped his helm harshly.

“Up.” He snapped, holding up stasis cuffs.

Ratchet sincerely hoped, with all his spark, that he would be the one.

///

“Ratchet? Please respond, Ratchet.” Optimus repeated himself once again, speeding down the empty road in alt-mode. He finally rolled to a halt, transforming and taking a look around.

Dark clouds poured rain, the rising winds causing the little droplets to mercilessly pelt his plating from all sides.

“Old Friend,” he tried his comm for what felt like the hundredth time. “Sweetspark, respond.”

Urgency laced his tone, concern burning clearly in his gaze.

Please, my love. Something happened, I am sure of it. But….what?

Static sounded in his audio receptors until, with a sigh, the Autobot leader switched his link off again.

I must find him on my own, then—

He perked up suddenly, hearing a faint noise of….blaster fire?

A cold, sick feeling twisted in his stomach. Dread weighed heavily on his chest.

Hang on, my Starlight….!

Without a second to spare, driving as if a fire chased his tailpipes, Optimus pushed his engines to the max. He sped closer, feeling that dread and despair sink further into him as he could more clearly make out the sounds of a fight.

All he wanted was for Ratchet to be okay.

All he wanted was for Ratchet to come home.

Maybe he was selfish for not wanting to attempt to steal that relic, but Optimus knew that he couldn’t go on if anything happened to his teammates over some weapon. The war was not worth anyone’s life.

If he could save yet just one more, he’d take that option first.

You will come home alive. No matter the cost. I will not fail you, old friend.

He pushed the brakes and skidded to a halt, catching sight of the commotion. There was a space between two towering canyons below his road. In that rocky clearing, Optimus saw an orange-white-plated mech darting from left to right, fending off as many of the oncoming vehicons as he could. Sure enough, Megatron was also there. At present, he simply stood by, watching.

Enough was enough. Ratchet needed help.

Optimus transformed and gripped the side of the mountain he’d been driving up, vaulting off the top and landing with a huge ‘THUMP!!’ on the road below.

He cared not for the huge crater that now lay in the road.

Optimus ran as fast as he could, drawing out both his guns and firing as soon as he was in range of the fight.

“STEP AWAY FROM RATCHET!!!” Optimus commanded, nailing two vehicon soldiers with two shots as he continued to cross the distance of the clearing. Some of them scrambled back, many others turned their fire on the Prime, charging at him with a strange confidence.

Optimus felt his blood boiling. The rain seemed to intensify as another bolt of lightning ripped through the sky with great ferocity. Almost like it had hit Optimus himself, he put away his guns and drew his swords, feeling electrified—powerful.

I am not afraid of you, Megatron. Nor of your legions of breakable troops which you care nothing for.

He saw the warlord, standing far across the clearing, arms folded.

“FACE ME, MEGATRON!!!!”

And with a powerful war cry, Optimus bolted forward, swords drawn. Vehicons poured in from all sides, shooting at him and trying to throw themselves in the Prime’s way.

He didn’t notice pain from shots that ripped through his armor, the blows that landed on his chest—before he grabbed his attackers and dismantled them one by one.

The Prime had but one target.

Optimus wanted Megatron, and he wanted the end of this selfish, futile war.

///

Megatron inspected the pod, wondering if he should open it now or wait until—

“Step away from Ratchet!!!” He heard the enraged command from across the clearing. Before his eyes met the scene, Megatron already knew who it was. He grinned, baring his teeth with excitement.

Ah, yes, Optimus. That’s right. Come closer. Let me finish you once and for all…

With an unchecked level of anger, he yelled for Megatron to face him, tossing away the corpse of yet another dead vehicon as he spoke. The Decepticon warlord stood, unmoving, gazing with a taunting amusement in his eyes as he watched Optimus fight his way through the vehicons, tearing them apart as they would approach him.

At last, no one dared to approach the Prime. The rest of the vehicons there had either fled or threw themselves behind rocks to hide. Optimus stood for a second, panting, energon spattered all over his body and swords. He looked around to find Ratchet passed out in a heap, far to Megatron’s right. No vehicons stood guard.

Of course, with Megatron there, guards were not a necessity.

You’re a fool, too, Optimus. You all are.

Thunder rumbled, louder than before.

“So, you’ve come to rescue your lapdog, have you?” Megatron asked, sneering through every word he said. Optimus seemed to vibrate with anger. He didn’t respond, eyes a sparking electric blue behind his battlemask.

“You can take him, Optimus,” as the Prime twitched to move, Megatron held up his arm—the one with the fusion canon—and added, “For a price.”

Optimus looked ready to rip his head off.

He had clearly seen Ratchet’s wounds, and the new ones from a….punishment. Minutes after the medic had tried to escape, Optimus had arrived.

It was almost like they were going to succeed!

However, the large grey-purple mech had also made absolutely sure Ratchet would not escape, no matter what.

Megatron thought he’d feed his ‘old friend’s’ anger.

Or perhaps…his guilt.

“While you were busy tearing vehicons to shreds, Ratchet was able to be successfully contained. We had to rough him up a little, as a result of his foolish actions…..but he’ll live…for now.”

He gave a little chuckle as Optimus made a quiet exclamation.

“You might have succeeded had you kept yourself focused on getting your friend out of here, Optimus!”

“You will let him go.” He growled, taking a fighting stance.

“Make me.”

“Very well then,” The Prime drew his sword and started towards Megatron. “I shall.”

Megatron dropped his canon. “Or…listen to my offer.”

Optimus stopped, dropping his arms a bit.

“Speak.” He let his gaze burn with a terrifying electricity. “Quickly.”

Megatron was of course, not even slightly fazed. “My terms are simple,” he paused to make a gesture to the clearing in which they stood. “Fight me now, unarmed. If you win, I’ll let you and the medic here return to your base. No one will harm you as you leave.”

It was a simple proposition.

It was a simple goal.

Ratchet would be safe.

You could fail…Optimus, you could fail and get Ratchet killed…

The rain poured from the skies ever harder, a storm unrelenting and harsh.

Megatron took a few steps until he stood right in front of Optimus.

The third stroke of lightning lit up the skies, flashing in the reflection of Optimus’s blue optics. Megatron grinned, tilting his head. He reached out his hand.

“So?”

Without a single hesitation, Optimus took it.

///

A cold, familiar ache in his shoulder.

Burning sensations of pain from fresh cuts and dents in his body.

Merciless rain battering his plating.

Ominous, loud whistles of wind sounding in his audio receptors.

Ratchet’s optics snapped open when he heard the resounding clang of metal on metal.

“IT IS FUTILE, PRIME—GIVE IT UP!!!”

“NEVER!!”

“MAYBE I SHOULD KILL BOTH OF YOU!!”

There was another sound of impact, punctuated with a short cry of pain. The voice was Optimus’s.

The medic sat up, looking around briefly to see that any remaining vehicons who hadn’t yet traveled back to the warship—hovering a short distance away—were cramming themselves behind rocks, flattening themselves to a corner. Others were presently trying to escape the scene.

Clearly, they wanted no part in any of this dispute.

But I do.

Ratchet hoisted himself up despite the way his wounds stung.

I must.

He watched Optimus and Megatron for a few moments. Neither one seemed to be using their weapons—it was simple combat.

Except there was energon splattered around the grounds where they fought.

Who said swords and guns were the only things that could kill?

“Well, then,” Megatron laughed a chilling, malicious laugh. “Do you surrender yet, Optimus?” He bent down and thrust his face into Optimus’s, while the Prime struggled to get up. Optimus retracted his battlemask, gritting his teeth with anger and in an attempt to stifle pained grunts of effort.

Energon stained the side of his face, dripping steadily from his mouth. He flinched back from the warlord and pushed himself to his feet, taking a fighting stance again.

Ratchet stood, mesmerized.

The sight that lay before him was nearly poetic, in a strange way.

Not the “good” kind of strange.

Rain poured from the heavens, the air was cold, and the winds raced noisily about. Smokey breath billowed from Optimus’s mouth as he panted, looking ragged and angry. His gaze fixated on Megatron.

“This ends today, you lunatic—” he forced out, gripping one of his newer wounds gently. “Even…even if it kills me….”

Megatron grinned. “Oh, it will,” he said slowly, deviously, not moving an inch as Optimus began to circle him. They eyed one another, anticipation hanging in the air as one silently dared the other to make the first move.

I will be the victor today, Optimus, and then I shall win this war!

Time seemed to slow, and suddenly Optimus couldn’t move—yet nothing held his limbs in place.

Instead, his eyes were trained on Megatron as the warlord had suddenly turned.

He chuckled lightly and aimed his fusion canon at Ratchet, who was standing frozen, watching them.

The medic seemed to snap out of his trance and flinched, taking a step back defensively. Optimus felt a new rage form in him. Something unseen tore another war cry from the Prime and he charged at an almost desperate-looking pace.

“LEAVE HIM ALONE!!”

He threw himself at Megatron, knocking the huge mech to the ground. Megatron gave a short cry of surprise, then immediately locked his jaw, biting down on his tongue. Optimus’s eyes burned with such a ferocity that the ex-gladiator had not seen—not for a long time.

Not since he last fought a wild beast in the arena of Kaon.

Never from the soft eyes of Optimus.

“YOU….KILLED THEM,” Optimus snarled, pinning Megatron to the dirt. Rain pelted down, bouncing limply off Optimus’s frame. He glowered over Megatron, seething at him. “YOU DID ALL THIS, YOU MONSTER!!!”

Megatron looked surprised only for a moment, then narrowed his eyes belligerently.

He could only grin. A sick, twisted grin that said, ‘I don’t care.’

Limbs burning with exhaustion, Optimus began to pummel Megatron. He swung side to side, pounding his opponent with all he had. Wordless cries of anger poured from him as he punched…harder, harder….

“Optimus!”

His servos began to tear and feel numb. Streaks of faded blue and purple stained his plating.

“OPTIMUS!!!”

Distantly, a voice registered in his ears. What was it trying to say?

“OPTIMUS, WAIT!!”

All the Prime could see was a blaring, bright red. Steady clanging of metal on metal against the static rain sounded loudly in his optics.

“ORION, PLEASE!!! LISTEN TO ME—”

Optimus felt as if an electric shock had been passed through him. Hearing his name, he froze, panting, trembling, blood roaring in his head. Beneath him, he could feel Megatron tremoring. Yet the silver-purple mech still bore that scrap-eating grin.

He knew something.

Something he won’t tell me, the Autobot leader thought, feeling some of his frustration return. He glanced up again at Ratchet, who was still backing away. The air around them began to vibrate, waves of hot air joining with and drowning out the blustering, icy, rainy wind.

Something was definitely wrong.

�� Optimus narrowed his optics and raised a readied fist above Megatron’s face.

“What are you not telling me, Megatron?” Optimus gripped his rival by the neck. Nothing but a feeble-sounding laugh met his words. The red optics staring back at him squinted with fatigue and fell shut.

Optimus knew Megatron was still awake.

“I’m more than finished with all your little mind games, this war, your treacheries,” he spat. “What else are you trying to take from us all now?!” His voice rose with every word as Optimus began to work himself up again. Centuries of anger and sadness began to pile on his spark.

Waves of warm, stifling air drew closer. A reverberating hum sounded in Optimus’ skull. Something like….a ship.

All the same, sound faded out around him as he zeroed in on Megatron.

Finally, he was at his fingertips—his mercy. Finally, Optimus thought, he could bring a final peace to—

“You lose,” Megatron sneered, a new fire lighting his optics. Beneath him, the Decepticon leader tensed and felt as if he was about to make a move. Optimus gritted his teeth and held steady, tightening his grip on Megatron’s throat.

“OPTIMUS, YOU NEED TO GET OUT OF HERE!!”

Ratchet sounded on the verge of tears, practically shrieking at his partner.

He realized in an instant what exactly Megatron had meant before.

///

Every wound made itself known, throbbing with pain. Megatron could barely move.

Yet victory buzzed through every cell in his body, giving him just enough strength to carry out the last step to complete his grand plan to end it all.

Farewell, Orion. Ironic that it was your uncontrolled emotions that led to your downfall.

Optimus, fist raised, opened his mouth to ask again. Megatron suddenly let loose a surge of strength, pushing up and thrusting his legs under his opponent’s torso and kicking outwards. Optimus’s blue optics widened with shock and he uttered a short cry as he was thrown a few feet across the clearing.

He landed and instantly got to his feet again, activating his battlemask.

The Prime stared for a moment at the odd scene before him.

Megatron stood—albeit shakily—and began to back away, pulling Ratchet with him. No vehicon stragglers were in sight, and even more odd…the rain had begun to let up just a little.

Soft rays of sunlight began to show through the clouds. His mind drifting, Optimus turned slowly to gaze up at the clouds. He was met with the huge mass of metal and a blast of air and sound.

It was the Nemesis. A huge canon under the ship readjusted itself with an audible whirring noise.

“NOW, SOUNDWAVE!!”

“OPTIMUS, RUN!!!!!!”

Ratchet….I’m sorry I failed you….

In the time of a split second, the world around Optimus lit up in a brilliant, blaring flash, and a deafening explosion filled the air.

Never before had murder seemed so ethereal.

///

“Ratchet?”

No response.

“Ratchet..?”

Nothing.

“RATCHET!!” Miko tried, her loud voice jolting the medic out of whatever trance he’d been in moments before. He turned slowly from staring at his screen, a dead-looking gaze meeting the children’s.

“Do you…need something, Miko? Rafael?”

“Oh—well, it’s uhm….it’s nothing….I’ll let you get back to work…” Raf mumbled, suddenly sounding nervous as he fumbled to hide the object he’d been holding. Miko rolled her eyes.

“After all the work I did to get his attention!” She followed her friend back to the lounge area. Ratchet watched them, not really processing what they were doing. He then turned back to his task.

What was I doing again?

“Hey, Ratchet,” Bulkhead greeted, coming from the hallway. “How’s your, uh…data surfing going?”

Right.

“Very well. I am nearly finished with three of the four sectors I was to organize today,” Ratchet heard his voice respond.

He looked up to see Bulkhead staring at him, eyes rounded with concern and worry. However the moment he raised his head to see him, he switched his expression to a normal, casual one.

It was fine if he did that, Ratchet thought to himself. Everyone had been doing it for the last two months now, anyway.

“Well…that sounds good! A-anyway, I’m gonna…go for a drive…” he responded, sounding awkward. Ratchet nodded an acknowledgement and turned back around. Feeling guilty, Bulkhead looked as if he wanted to say more.

But he knew better than to bring up what it was they were both still thinking about.

He turned and transformed, then left. Meanwhile, Ratchet tapped at the screen, barely thinking about what he was actually doing.

Some small part of him wished for a warm touch on his shoulder as he was finishing up.

A warm, baritone voice to calmly whisper, “Good work today, my love. Come, rest with me in my quarters.”

It’s not your fault…it’s not your fault….there was nothing you could do!

His mind repeated what the others had gently murmured over and over on that day and every day after.

But it was…

He heard the small voice protest. He clenched his fist and locked his jaw.

It’s not your fault, Ratchet. You didn’t kill him!

The medic felt a lump in his throat. With all his might, he swallowed it, controlling himself.

But I did…I killed him.

“Ratchet?”

Jack. It was Jack’s voice.

Ratchet felt his arm quivering, his gaze and body frozen in one place, as if someone had hit the pause button on him.

“Yes?” Everything felt distant now. He felt his arm drop and his head turn to stare at the small human teenager.

“So…how’s it going?”

“Fine.”

“Oh…well, it’s raining cats and dogs out there!” He joked, pointing at his shirt. “I got a little of it..”

“You did?”

“Yep. Might wanna tell Bulkhead to be careful on the roads, right?”

“Right.”

“Right…so, I guess I’ll leave you alone, then…” Jack backed away, saying something to Miko and Raf as he neared the couch and TV.

All of a sudden, Ratchet was aware of how cold his shoulder felt.

///

HNNNN THIS PIECE OF GARBAGE O///O’’ THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING AT AA >///< Sorry, I know I’m not good at angst. But I wanted to write this anyway.....

If you like, listening to this for the last 2-3 parts of the story might....set the mood better..? Idk. For me, I heard that recording and instantly felt my heart twist. And had this idea. So.....^^’’ (yes, I know about this piece btw I just like the slowed version because,,,aesthetic,,,,jsjdsjsd)

Thanks for reading and I hope you have a lovely eveing/day/whatever time it is where you are!! <3

Feedback, likes, reblogs, and all that stuff is always welcome!! ^///^

// Kuni out :’3 //

50 notes · View notes

scribeofmorpheus · 4 years

Text

Himmeløyne [21/?]

Pairing: Loki Odinson x Reader

Catch Up Here | Masterlist

Warnings: None

A/N: Nothin’ to report Cap’n

Taglist is open! Reblog, comment or leave a like please ☺

~Odin

The Allfather conjured old memory and returned himself to it; the last moment he ever conversed with his old counsel, Mímir.

“The boy must know of his lineage. He is the only one who can end this war. Bridge the sides. This rift was formed by lies, and lies will only pry it further.”

“Silence!” the younger Odin shouted, his stave burrowing into the floor from his surge of emotion. He was always quicker to temper before. Thor and Loki were still babies, Odin had yet to taste what truly came with fatherhood. Fatherhood would give him the burden of a different kind of love, of temperance, but in this moment, he was still ignorant to it.

"I know why you do this. You think by keeping this a secret, by refusing him his past, you will stop the inevitable, but not even you, old friend, can stop the Fate of the Gods.”

“I said silence!” Odin’s shout shattered the glass in the throne room. Mímir’s detached head simply blinked his outburst away. "You think yourself clever because you can see fate's web? Tell me, Mímir, can you see with only on eye?"

Odin loathed that condescending stare. It made him feel obsolete, limited. Without thought, rage bubbled to the surface, filling his vision with red. Then there was blood on his thumb, and Mímir screamed. The fluid of an eye coating his thumb.

“You truly are your father’s son,” Mímir spat.

“Twilight will never be!”

“I know what you will do. I have seen it. This will be my final gift to you: the truth will crumble at the price of your father’s belt.”

Odin returned to his older form, now realising that the last words Mímir spoke had been misconstrued. He had sworn never to wear it, never to use his father’s belt even if he was to face a formidable foe. But Mímir had tricked him, manipulated him into locking it away. Locking it in the one place is was meant to be taken from, ironically.

A knock interrupted his thought.

“Who is it?”

“You sent for me, My Liege. It’s the Captain of the Guard.”

He sighed. As much as he yearned to see his son conscious again, to find where he’d hidden Frigga, he dreaded the outcome of such a success even more. No matter what, he had to get his father’s belt back, and stop Y/N at all costs. “Enter.”

~Heimdall

He watched Y/N get drawn into the light. The mirror screamed, but Y/N did not react to its piercing shriek.

Sif folded hunkered low from the pain, hands pressed to her ears. A mangled scream poured into the room, but her mouth never opened. The sounds, the shrieks, they were a thousand disembodied voices, all coming from inside the mirror. He felt unease, a desire to pull Y/N away from the harrowing sounds in the light. Then she was gone, and everything turned as silent as a graveyard, the mirror shattering into dust.

“We should have stopped her,” Sif wiped the blood from her ears onto her trousers. “That was Jotun magic. Forbidden magic!”

“I know,” he stood upright.

“Fascinating,” The Collector clapped his hands as if he’d seen the most impressive performance yet. “I’ve never seen anyone survive entering the Mirror of Fate.”

“You’ve never what?” Heimdall’s actions were quick, his large hand finding the uncollared space of The Collector’s neck.

The Collector laughed, a streak of lunacy to the twitch of his lips, bearing his teeth as though it’d been aeons since he had found something amusing. “I’ll be honest, it was never the belt that I was interested in.” He turned to look at Y/N’s eye in the crystal skull.

Heimdall lifted The Collector off his feet, “Explain yourself!”

“Have you ever seen an empire built on the bones of lies crumble?”

“I will not ask you again!” Heimdall struck The Collector into a wall.

Sif grabbed his arm to try and calm him, “You won’t get anything from him if he’s unconscious.”

“Someone’s coming,” Hogun whispered before disappearing behind a column.

A shadow grew larger by the entrance. Sif followed after Hogun to try and counter manoeuvre whoever was closing in. Heimdall didn’t care, he wanted answers, his grip on The Collector’s neck growing stronger.

“Why is it, as of late, we’re always getting tangled in one misadventure or another?” Fandral asked, arms on his hips, a devilish smirk pulling his hideous moustache closer to his nose.

“Fandral,” Sif let out a sigh of relief, closing in for a hug. “Am I glad to see you.”

“Don’t be too happy just yet,” he straightened out, his tone turning for the graver. “Odin said you stole something from his vault?”

“It’s a long story,” Sif said.

“As I’m sure. You’re lucky I managed to convince him to let Volstagg and I get the lead, but we don’t have time. His guard will not be far behind. We must leave, get you back to Asgard before you are apprehended as prisoners, so you can plead your case to the Allfather.”

Hogun side-eyed Heimdall, “It’s not that simple.”

“Speak,” Heimdall demanded, ignoring the commotion around him.

“All I did was keep a promise to an old friend,” The Collector revealed.

“Who?”

“The one who placed that amulet in my care,” he wormed around Heimdall’s grip. “She told me someone would come for it, and when they did, I’d finally get to see the fruits of her labours.”

Suddenly, the skull began to glow. Runes appearing all over. Heimdall recognised some. Y/N’s eye acted as refraction material, displaying a doorway built into a mountain into the space of the emporium. The ground was the sky and the mountain had no base. The peak glistened with ice, a beautiful sunset presenting itself in the orientation of a sunrise.

“How do I get her back?” he slammed The Collector into the wall a second time.

“Gahhh! Never took you for a man able to relinquish control, anger suits you.”

“I won’t lose her,” he could feel his heart racing, thrumming in his ears. “Tell me!”

The Collector glanced at the skull, “To enter Verdenspeil, a spell is required. A two-part spell. The first half is the sacrifice of sight. The second was to recite the words of the Giants. The entry is one way. Every other person that’s ever sought out the mirror has never managed to recite the words. Until now.”

A torrent of light, heavy with every streak of colour, poured in the streets outside. Heimdall could feel the magic of the bridge, someone had opened the Bi-frost.

“That’s not good,” Fandral stated.

Sif and the others moved into position as several of the Allfather’s guard came wielding weapons with shields drawn.

“Heimdall!” Sif warned. “We’re running out of time.”

“Then buy me what little you can,” An agitated growl left Heimdall, “How do I get her back?”

“There—” Hogun shouted, “—pull that lever!”

A loud thud echoed into the room. A large, golden gate descended as a barricade. A red dot grew larger around the barricade, melting the metal.

“Did Odin send The Destroyer too?” Fandral’s jaw dropped. “What in all the Nine did you steal?”

“What madness have you gotten us into?” Volstagg demanded.

Heimdall was close enough to The Collector’s face to see that there was no fear in his eyes, only the dilation from oxygen starvation.

“If she makes it passed the maze, the doorway will open, there,” The Collector pointed to the apparition coming from Y/N’s eye in the skull.

“I’ve seen this peak before,” Hogun closed in on the apparition. “Recently.”

“The runes,” Sif pointed out, “They’re the same as the ones that were drawn on Y/N. Wait… Heimdall, that’s Gjallarhorn!”

“Gjallarhorn?” Fandral backed away, terror in his eyes. “Then… that means… this is connected to the Twilight of the Gods.”

Heimdall set The Collector down, the eccentric man laughed between coughs. He ignored him and walked closer to the doorway that Sif, Hogun and Fandral stared at. One rune, in particular, made Heimdall’s veins turn to ice.

“Jotunheim,” he said. “That doorway is in Jotunheim.”

“But there's no snow, the sky isn't darkened. It doesn't resemble Jotunheim in the least."

"Jotunheim wasn't always the desolate place you know today. The Great War took more than just lives."

"How can you be sure?” Sif asked.

“Because, only one other has ever possessed Gjallarhorn, and Odin tasked me with his imprisonment. That is where I hid Mímir’s head.”

Sif pieced everything together, “Mímir? Of course! This all makes sense now. Then the Mirror of Fate—”

“Is his invention, yes.”

The Destroyer had made it through the door, its face covered the hole and a second burst burned a scorch mark across the floor. The Collector rushed to a display case and pushed it aside, there was a hidden lever there. He pulled it revealing a false wall.

“In here, there’s a dais in the level below. Take the skull, it is the key to opening the portal.” The Collector ushered them closer.

Heimdall frowned, “Why should we trust you?”

“I don’t think you have much of a choice. Whatever that girl is connected to, it has cause to make Odin worry. And, it seems, it was designed to happen exactly as it has. I have fulfilled my promise, now I get to watch chaos unfold. For someone as old as I am, there are few things as joyous as seeing order fall to chaos.”

Sif grabbed the skull and the apparition dissolved into the air like steam.

Heimdall waited for Sif and the others to head for the lower level first, then he turned to The Collector to ask one final question: “This old friend of yours, was it Mímir’s sister?”

The Collector smiled, warm and affectionately, an odd emotion to see on his face. “It was.”

~Y/N

Birth. A child’s first steps on steps of stone. Runes drawn into the snow. Blood on ice. A village on fire. Pieces of a home, blackened by soot and ash. Wings in the light. An arrow whistling through the air. Clear. Sweet. The rush was more than images layered over one another, morphing into one another, it was sensation too. The feel of the cold on the stone steps. The muscle memory from tracing the rune. The drip, drip, drip of blood streaming down a frost sword and splattering on ice. Heat from flames. Smell of ash on the throat. These moments were yours, animated and swishing around in this viridian green atmosphere. You had made it into the Mirror World.

You spun around, searching for a path or a marker of some sort. There was nothing but thick, green fog all around you.

“Hello?” you asked the expanse. It didn’t echo. No one replied. “Oracle?” you called out for the whisper that you conversed with in the emporium.

You shouted out again and again until you heard a reply.

Child of the Sky, welcome to Verdenspeil.

You spread your fingers over the fog, the memories were torn like seams, visions dissipating and then reappearing. “What is all this?”

The Nexus of Fate. Your fate. Once you step out, you will be subjected to all fates intertwined with yours.

“How do I know what to look for?”

Desire. Search your mind for desire. It will light the path to the answer you seek.

“And my desire will lead me to the answer I seek?”

Yes… and No. Nothing in this realm is as it appears. This world is not meant for the living. It will try to coerce you. Lead you away from the root of its power.

“Root of its power?” you were distracted by a glimmer, then the memory of you and Loki’s first meeting by the balconies came to life. Then you thought of the kiss on that very same balcony, and suddenly the world reshaped itself to project that memory. You realised then that the world wasn’t just showing you fate, it was feeding off your memories too. A give and take. “This world isn’t real is it?”

Real is a matter of perception. But yes, this world is ancient, a thread within the fabrics of all the universes, tapped deep into Yggdrasil.

“What is its purpose?”

Cause of effect. This world is a maze. I am the effect, but I cannot see beyond my bindings, see to its cause. I do not know what lies in the centre. All I can do is mark a path. Follow it to the source. Free me, and I will make this world show you what you seek.

You focused on what you desired. Flashes of Loki came to life I the fog, but so did images of your mother.

“We will see each other again,” your mother’s voice spoke through the fog.

The rune on your palm burst with red light. Glowing, iridescent like eels, it lit the path ahead of you. The second rune on your forehead rippled, almost as if it were an appendage. Trembling fingers reached for it and were greeted by the aqueous of an eye—a third eye. You gasped, shocked at how real the runic eye felt. You closed your one human eye and tried to see through the third.

Runic vision was strange, the Mirror World was all reflections and memory, and the expansion and contraction of matter. The rune on your palm acted as a torch in darkness, revealing the world that was previously magically concealed. Branches, stretching endlessly, all intertwined and meandering, were revealed. Each branch glowed with a different colour, some colours you’d never seen before. To your immediate left, a branch absorbed the colour of your hand’s rune.

“Follow the path,” you reiterated.

With your human eye closed, you walked as if a blind woman, letting the magic guide you, letting it see for you. The walk was long. It felt like the seconds had rushed to hours and hours faded to days, but your muscles didn’t give in, they didn’t even feel like they were moving. Air raised your chest, but your lungs seemed as heavy as rocks.

Yes, you are close. I can hear it. The beginning of my name. I can hear it! A little further!

Over the edge of the path, to the right, there was a branch that looked to be severed. The only singular branch untouched or intertwined with others. A coldness prickled at your skin.

“What is that place?” you shuddered.

There was a brief pause, a small voice in your head told you to turn towards the edge and look over it.

I… I do not remember.

“It’s calling to me…”

Child of the Sky! Do not stray from the path!

But it was too late. That same pull you felt to the light was drawing you towards that severed branch that led to a drop.

“I have to…” you took your first step away from the red of the path. The colour of the world began to leech away, all turning to that viridian green. The fog of the world covered the tree slowly, returning everything as it had been.

“Be careful!” a stranger’s voice shouted, her dialect foreign to you, yet you understood it.

“By the Gods!” you gasped in shock. Except, it wasn’t you. You hadn’t opened your mouth to speak. It was your voice, in the same dialect as the stranger’s, coming from the edge.

“Look at the size of him!” the stranger continued.

Then there was an animalistic cry, creature-like and deep. And the whoosh of rushing water. And a rumble in the earth.

“Stop! Don’t hurt him!”

“Hurt him? He displaced half the ocean!”

“Trust me!”

“I hope you know what you’re doing!”

“So do I…”

Your foot reached the end of the path, a whirlpool sucking up the air where you stood. The voices stopped too.

“That was my voice. What was that?” the real you asked the Oracle.

I suspect, something yet to be, or something never to be.

A trance came over you. A need to step over the edge. Deep in your bones, you knew that stepping off the path needed to happen, that it was fate leading you to the whirlpool at the bottom of this universe.

“Y/N?” Loki called your name from below, but he did so in a manner a stranger would. "Never heard of you..."

“What happens if I stray from the path?” you peered into the spiralling clouds sparked with thunder and lightning. Watched the whirlpool tear those clouds apart like dandelions in the wind.

I… I do not know. The maze is endless. Getting lost could be a life sentence.

“Then it’s a good thing I’m mortal,” you took a controlled breath and dove off the edge.

Half mortal.

The whirlpool opened, the crack at its centre allowed darkness to slither through. A tendril touched your skin. Then another. The darkness spread like the drench of rain. Soon, you and the darkness were one.

#loki #loki x reader #loki laufeyson x reader #loki x y/n #reader insert #loki marvel #tom hiddleston imagine #odin #fantasy #marvel fic

26 notes · View notes

jenovahh · 3 years

Text

Wild Greens Choke Tended Gardens - Ch. 4 - Gladiolus (Sword Lily)

He’s bored.

He usually is, but something about the monotony of everyday life seems particularly...bothersome now.

It has been another day of delegating and overseeing, having returned to the Garlean Embassy within Kugane after releasing the Warrior of Light back to her friends.

“I’m A’yana Salvia, the Warrior of Light.” She huffs, her tail giving an angry flick. “And you are going to let my friends go, peacefully.”

He can’t help but let loose a chuckle then, eyes unseeing as a servant refills his glass of wine. He had to admit, it was certainly amusing to see how readily she stood up to him, how she was devoid of fear despite her defeat by his hand at their last encounter. He couldn’t help but find the entire situation...refreshing.

“You are strong, but I am willing to lay down my life for my friends. I would do whatever it takes to allow them to escape.”

He had heard of people like her. Noble. Dutiful. Selfless.

A waste, comes the thought unbidden.

He had never understood those types, those that threw down their lives for the sake of others. Those who attached their sole reason to do battle to weak concepts such as selflessness and pride.

Man should fight for the joy of it. Only man could fight for fightings’ sake.

“Why are you even here?”

He can’t help but grin to himself, remembering her rage, how her eyes flashed with unbridled fury at his insult of her skills. How he could see any desire to save her friends had bled from her eyes and turned into a wish to see him dead where he stood.

“You had come looking for me, have you not? Sorry to disappoint you once again, but I am the Warrior of Light and the Warrior of Light is me.”

A’yana Salvia, the Warrior of Light…

Standing from his chair, he excuses himself, not allowing himself to head to his rooms straightaway. While sleep was tempting, if only to spare him from the boredom of the waking hours, he had something to occupy his time if only for a little while.

He walks the halls until he reaches a door, punching in the code to unlock the latch to allow him inside. Behind the door was an office, nearly as opulent as his own back home in Garlemald, filled with all manner of books and files and maps. Upon the desk was a neat stack of paper, along with a single book, bound in leather with gold trim.

Nearing the desk he sits himself in the high backed chair accompanying it, leaning back for a bit of comfort as he takes the documents in hand and reads the note on the first page.

A Brief History of the Warrior of Light, A’yana Salvia

At his request had his men been tasked with finding out as much about the Warrior of Light as possible, from the time of her birth to what she liked to eat for dinner. He was if anything thorough, and he had failed his own standards by not being able to connect her title with the Miqo’te woman herself. He would not make that mistake again.

Flipping the page, he is surprised to find there is little known about the details of her birth. The report goes on to say how there were no official records or reports or even hearsay of her birth, no ties back to any childhood homes. Even her parents were a mystery. Despite his best efforts to remain impartial, he couldn’t help but sit a little straighter, intrigued by the concept of a hero who came from nothing, but not in the traditional sense.

To anyone who tried to delve into her origins, they would find nothing. Even nomads, even beggars of savage city-states had some history and telling of their beginnings, and yet…

A’yana Salvia had none.

And not for lack of trying, either. The report goes on to say that others have attempted to dig deeper into her past, but no one, not even those known to be close to her know of her origins. It is said that she had almost seemed to appear from the mists, an adult ready to explore the world when she had been discovered by the Scions of the Seventh Dawn to come together to orchestrate Baelsar’s defeat.

It was all rather peculiar, that someone of such power had so little known about their life, save for their deeds as the hero. Enough deeds, that someone had deigned to write an entire book practically detailing her accomplishments.

The Dragonsong War, by Count Edmont Fortemps lays on the desk still, its leather staring back at him unassumingly. Cutting his eyes back to the report, he flips through the pages, seeing more information he had known already in addition to whatever his men could scrounge up. He had already heard the Garlean side of Baelsar’s defeat, but the report managed to dig up a few more details, such as her befriending of the traitor, Cid nan Garlond.

Done with the report, he picks up the tome, flipping through the first few pages that details the author’s early life. His years as a child were oft spent in between the shelves of the royal library, the princeling easily gaining the ability to scan through tome for information he sought.

Reaching the beginning of the retelling, some of the words begin to jog his memory. He had heard of the first brood. Heard of the terrifying power of Midgardsormr and his equally terrifying children from books about the fall of Agrius. The war of a thousand years waged by one of the dragon’s sons, fueled by nothing but his hatred for mortals. He had not seen such a beast himself, but he knew that the stories were true that despite not holding their sire's power, the first brood were still magnificent in their own right.

And she had slain him, this Nidhogg.

The Warrior of Light was lucky, yes, but there was no denying her power.

How could such potential be housed in such a small frame, such gifts be given to someone so... unworthy?

Part of him whispered that she was not as unworthy as he thought. The slowly fading scar on his neck attested to that.

It had been years since he sustained such an injury, his fingers constantly drifting to his neck anytime glanced at himself in a mirror. It had long since healed, the scarring not an angry red, but pale and silvery, as if dust from the moon itself had been imbued in her magic.

His eyelids fall close as he relives the rush of pain, the rush of feeling his blood well up into tiny pebbles at the small cut on his skin. He was strong enough to withstand her magic without difficulty, but even the discomfort it gave told him that the average man would find it nigh unbearable.

Their gap in power was not as large as it first seemed. Unlike him she lacked training, lacked control.

Somehow that was part of his unintentional obsession. He had built himself from the ground up with power, doing all he could to become a better hunter. The prestigious prince who had the best instructors in the land brought to his home to teach him, versus the feline warrior from shrouded origins with nothing but a blessing and luck to her name.

It was almost laughable really, and yet he found himself more intrigued than he cared to admit. He continues to flip through the pages, eyes dragging across the Ishgardian cursive script with the barest hint of detachment, his eyes steadily drifting closed.

He's dreaming again.

The usual warmth surrounds him, melding into his bones in a way that is frighteningly comforting. It has always been like this, yet only now does he consciously realize it is so.

It feels akin to--

The feeling of her in his arms--

"Thinking of someone?"

The dreamspace shifts and coalesces into another dense forest, though this time it is dark and moonlight drifts through the trees. His friend is behind him, their presence still formless and yet not, their energy seeming much looser and not all there.

"Why would you draw such a conclusion?" He asks, brows furrowed, not even bothering to turn to face what is not there.

"That woman," they begin, "the Warrior of Light. Was she not in your thoughts?"

He remains silent gazing up at the moon. It's milky surface stares back at him, shining brightly and illuminating the depths of his soul. He closes his eyes and allows himself to bask in its glow, the strange sense of comfort drifting across him again.

A minute passes before he realizes he's not given an answer. "Yes."

He hears tinkling sounds behind him, but still he does not turn to face them. "I like her."

Frowning, he responds in monotone. "That makes one of us."

Silence sits between both of them for another beat. "Do you feel nothing when you look in her eyes?"

He does whirl on them then glaring at their misty form. "I thought we already discussed this." he growls.

“Discussed what?” They question nonchalantly.

“Discussed this...soulmate nonsense--” he grounds out, glaring harder as their tinkling laughter surrounds him and their form solidifies a little more. “And what is so amusing?” he snaps, crossing his arms across his chest. “Do you find my innermost thoughts a source of entertainment?”

Though they don't have the form to manage it, even he can sense them shrugging nonchalantly. "I have only ever wanted you to be happy Zenos."

His lips move to form the words that he is happy, but he cannot bring himself to state such a blatant lie. Not to himself, not to his friend, because whether he liked it or not, they always found out the truth.

“And how would she make me happy?” he questions, regaining a little more composure. “She is weak. Untrained. She is used to having her equally weak companions throw her at whatever god arises and vanquishing it with raw power and sheer luck.” he scoffs, lip curling at the thought. “How could such a weakling make me happy?”

“You question how she could make you happy, yet you have spared her twice.” They respond, not at all bothered by his lofty tone.

Wrinkling his nose, he turns away from them again, trailing off into the forest. “A mistake I will soon rectify when next we meet.”

“Did she not say herself that you have caught her out of her element?” They press on, following behind him at a safe distance.

“What good is someone incapable of fighting on any battleground?” Zenos asks, uncaring as water from the creek soaks his pants leg. “Either she will prove that she is the challenge I seek when next we meet, or she shall die by my hand.”

His friend giggles behind them then, and he can’t help but turn once more to see their form a bit more solid. Were they always so much smaller than him? “And just what is it that you find so humorous?” He grumbles, sighing as the breeze caresses his skin.

“If only you could see it yourself, Zenos.” They giggle, their laughter like the tinkling of bells. “Try as you might, you're more invested than you let on.”

Frowning, Zenos finds that that thought resonates with him a bit more than he’d like. “You have known me this long. Am I anything other than thorough?” He asks, coming to a stop as he gazes out at the greenery before him.

“You are right, I have known you this long. Long enough to know when you are nearly obsessed. Long enough to know you thirst for more.” They echo, the dreamscape once again fading, his friend’s voice drifting away as it becomes indiscernible from the wind whispering through the trees.

Blinking away sleep, moonlight pours through the window, signaling he had been sleeping for quite some time. Shifting to a standing position, rolls his shoulders, preparing to retire for the night until he sees some of the Kugane guards running about in the streets.

Drifting closer to the window, he watches their paper lanterns light their path as they scuttle along, their voices muffled but Zenos can gather enough of what is going on. They seem to be trying to apprehend someone.

No longer interested, he prepares to turn away until a particular group’s conversation is loud enough to drift up to him.

Scions of the Seventh Dawn…

Garlean traitors…

The Warrior of Light--

His feet have carried him out of the office and toward the main entrance before he can even stop himself to ask what he’s doing. His soldiers question him, but he only feels his lips form the orders to not follow him if they wish to remain living. Grabbing a single sword, he stalks out into the night, noting that the guards have moved further into the city.

His hair trails behind him as he makes his way to where the general populace of Kugane resides, sticking close to the alleys as he keeps track of the guard’s movements through the streets. They are rather disorganized, and already he has spotted the two women the warrior calls her friends sneaking through the city to their destination. He does not doubt the Warrior of Light is far behind, taking the backstreets to keep a low profile. While not in his full regalia, there was nothing else he could be but the prince, and any guard that did happen to spot him wisely overlooked his presence.

It would also not do to have the woman know he was out looking for her as well. She’s doing a surprisingly good job of hiding from him; surely he would have spotted her at least once by now.

He keeps up his search until a group of guards begins shouting, their exclamations turned into coughs as a cloud of smoke erupts in the city street. Hurried footsteps barrel toward him and with all the grace of a predator does he reach out and snag the would be intruder, dragging them into the shadows as the smoke clears. They struggle against him but go still as the guards begin searching the area, failing to notice the two huddled together under a dark alcove.

As the sounds grow quieter, they renew their struggle, prompting Zenos to let them go.

“What are you doing?!” The Warrior of Light hisses, fangs catching the faintest bit of moonlight, sapphire eyes gleaming up at him in the darkness.

“Protecting my investment.” He responds dryly, watching as that riles her further.

“Your investment?!” She whispers harshly, looking as if she would love nothing more than to raise her voice.

“Letting you live was not without cost. Until I duel you under more...favorable circumstances, then it would be in my best interest to make sure no misfortune befalls you.” He sighs, watching as her eyes go wide with shock before narrowing once again.

“I did not need your help!” She growls, preparing to leave, but he blocks her path.

“I am inclined to disagree.” He purrs, unable to keep himself from poking the hot embers before him, in hopes that he’ll be burned. “Kugane may be a state of neutrality, but even they know that they must bow to the emperor, or risk their way of life being upset.” He hums, watching the gears turn in her head. “I would hate to bring attention to your location, or worse, your friends who I saw pass by earlier…” he trails off, unable to keep amusement from suffusing his words.

Her expression steels immediately.

Ah...there it is.

“You wouldn’t dare.” She whispers, the sound so sinister and low that he can’t help the shiver that runs down his spine.

“Would I?” he goads, eyes darting to how she flexes her claws. “While I have endeavored to occupy my time with more important matters, I find you have too many mysteries surrounding you for my curiosity to ignore.” He continues, watching an unreadable expression pass through her eyes. “Answer my questions truthfully, and I will allow you to return to your friends. Refuse…”

“Right, right, ask your stupid questions.” She snaps, crossing her arms across her chest.

He had expected more arguing from her, but he’s pleased to see that she is at least practical. “The first: why are you running?”

His eyes have adjusted to the darkness sometime ago, able to see her tail give an angry flick. “My friends and I were looking for a comrade of ours. Unfortunately we trusted a stupid fish who tried to turn us into your soldiers.” She grumbles, ears flicking to and fro as if still listening for guards.

“A comrade? For what purpose?” He continues on, unconsciously taking a step toward her. The alley is narrow and already one step has him nearly looming over her.

“To liberate Doma, what else?” She retorts, not at all afraid of him.

“You mean to free Doma?” He laughs, taking another step closer. She does take a step back then, though he can tell it is not from fear. Her eyes have not left his, fierce and unafraid. “While I applaud your ambition, I believe I have shown you twice now where standing against me will bring you.” He rumbles, voice thrumming in his chest. “What primal will your friends throw you at next, little Warrior? What tasks will they place upon you to bear alone?” He presses on, smirking all the while. “I have heard of Eorzea’s Savior, though a more aptly named title would be...Eorzea’s Errand Girl. Barring she is not killed first.”

“You…” she seethes, not even flinching as he backs her against a wall. He stands tall above her then, but she does not tremble, does not shake even though most people cower in his presence, his proximity notwithstanding. Even in the dark he can see the slits of her eyes have widened to let in more light, giving her superior vision in the night. Her fangs capture his attention with how sharp they actually are, but most of all…

It is the rage he feels from her that makes him shudder.

“Is this all you sought me out for? To insult me and make me question how my friends care for me?” She huffs, standing her ground.

“I have asked questions, but not made you question anything, Warrior of Light.” he chuckles, her title sounding like silk on his tongue. “I am merely curious about your endeavors, as any enemy would be. Is that so wrong?” He taunts, hoping for another violent reaction, but his smirk fades as a determination enters her eyes, one that stills his breath.

“You will listen and listen well, Garlean.” She hisses, reaching for his hair and yanking him down, the movement surprising him so thoroughly, his brain is still struggling to catch up. Never had anyone dare to take such liberties with his person. Even the servants whose job was solely to take care of his hair asked for permission to do their job.

That his body almost moves at her will, bringing him face to face with her so that she can glare at him from her level, sets something alight within him. A burn he had not felt his whole life. In this moment his entire being is tuned into her, tuned into the quiet conviction in her eyes.

“You may insult me all you like, but I will not allow you to insult my friends. Yes, they may be unable to fight a majority of battles without my help, but it is help I give gladly, it is help I give willingly.” She seethes, his eyes paying close attention to how the curl of her lip keeps her fangs displayed, almost as if in reminder of how she could sink them in his throat. The thought makes him shiver with an unnamed emotion. “As I had informed you at my capture, I don’t have time to play with a spoiled prince. My friends need my help and if it means giving up my life to help them, then so be it.” She growls, giving his hair one more tug and it goes straight to his groin.

“Now, you will be letting me go, without any fuss.” She demands, and just like that, he can see it.

The Warrior of Light in all of her glory.

She releases his hair, but he makes no moves to stand back to full height quite yet, still staring at her in muted wonder. She stares back until confusion slowly seeps into her gaze, unsure for why he has remained silent for so long. Silence continues to stretch between them, until her impatience finally gets the better of her. “Are you quite done staring? You are more than welcome to have me come sit in for a portrait if you so wish. I don’t have time to stand here with you gawking at me.”

Eyelids fluttering closed, he releases a single chuckle, standing back to full height as his hand absentmindedly runs across the strands of hair she had abused but moments before. Once he opens his eyes, she gasps, unsure what she sees there, but caring little.

If she had wanted him to leave her alone, there was no way he was doing so now.

“Very well, Warrior of Light.” he hums, stepping from her personal space. Giving her a forceful shove into a dark corner in the alley, not giving her time to complain as he calls out into the night. “Guards!”

He can hear her go stock still behind him, quiet as a mouse as nearby guards rush over to him.

“Lord Zenos!” they exclaim, bowing profusely in his presence. “How may we assist you?”

Glancing down the street, he remembers what direction her friends were heading before speaking once more. “While I am loath to help you bumbling savages...I would rather not have my rest interrupted by you shouting all over the district. While unsure of your targets, I last saw a suspicious group of people head south west of here.” Resting his hand on his sword, he can hear them all audibly swallow. “I would also suggest you be quick about it. I would like the district clear by the time I arrive at the Embassy to rest.”

“O-Of course, my lord!” they hastily bow, rushing down the streets like their lives depended on it. Turning to speak with the Warrior of Light, she stares back at him almost equally mystified, though her skepticism is clear on her face.

“As I had informed you earlier...I must protect my investments.” He grins, lips pulling into a genuine smile that stuns her even further. “Run free, Warrior of Light. Our next meeting may be sooner than you think.”

She shoots him a distrustful glare without hesitation, pushing past him as if he were just another man and not her sole enemy. The change is so refreshing he cannot find it in himself to even think of punishing her for her disrespect. To do so would be counterproductive.

“Oh, my wild, untamed beast…” he purrs to himself as he watches her hurry to her destination, skirts trailing behind her as she disappears into the night. “There is no escaping me now.”

When he returns to the Garlean embassy it is with purpose, his men nearly jumping out their skin at the look in his eye as he begins rattling off orders. His father hasn’t approved any action to march on the savages in Gyr Abania, giving him a copious amount of free time to do as he wished. If his father really did begin to ask after him, he could always feign that he was putting the Doman wench in line; which would not be far from the truth. She had failed him by letting the Warrior of Light reclaim the Ruby Sea, and yet he cannot be too harsh on her.

She had brought him a challenge after all.

When morning comes, he feels a drive he had not felt since he was a boy. A zest for life that was blooming within his chest, barely able to contain the sheer joy he felt. It was not hard to arrange for his entourage to prepare him a vessel to depart for Doma the next morning. Using the information he had gleaned from the Warrior of Light the night prior, he was walking the halls of the dilapidated castle in no time at all.

The Doman woman kneels before him, subservient as the rest. Her hatred had intrigued him before; it was why he had seen fit to ascend her to a position that allowed the subjugation of her own people. But looking in her eyes now, all he can feel is disappointment.

Blue, feline eyes glare back at him in his mind’s eye, and a rush of heat runs through him.

“Have you anything to say for yourself?” he questions, not even deigning to stand up. Prostrated before him, he is glad she does not tremble before him at least, but the lack of defiance is rather uninspiring.

“Nay, my lord.” she replies, not even bothering to look at him to give her answer.

Rolling his eyes, he studies her for a moment longer. “Tell me then, in detail just how you failed me. Have you not heard of the Warrior of Light? Is your network so under utilized that you could not quash a rebellion well before it started?”

She flinches under his criticism, and remains kneeling before him. “I had not, my lord.” she answers, throat tight. “She was like a storm; a typhoon, making landfall before you could even do anything about it.” She does rise up to look at him then, most likely in hopes that he will see how sorry she is. “She had rallied the Confederacy so quickly, and I had tried to stop her...but suddenly those Kojin...she had slain a god.”

His eyebrows raise as she sounds almost stupefied, as if trying to make sense of how it all went wrong so fast. “It was as if the fear of the empire no longer mattered. Her and her friends had organized and planned, she had instilled the people with a will that even the empire could not suppress. She is formidable, my lord.” she finishes, and her words make him think.

The conviction he saw within her eyes, a will not easily broken. That even as he stood before her, out of her element, her life in his hands by the prospect of her being in his presence alone…

It was this will that inspired the masses to rebel as he had hoped the Doman woman could do.

Begrudgingly he had to admit that she knew how to inspire the masses. She accomplished in days what the woman couldn’t even accomplish after several moons and imperial forces at her disposal.

It was also clear that between her and her two comrades, she was not the strategist. He would not go as far as to insult her intelligence, but there was no denying that just as his presence evoked fear, hers inspired hope. He doubted she gave speeches, doubted she gave orders. Simply by existing she was an inspiration, a morale booster of the highest caliber.

He can’t stop himself from smirking, even if the action makes the woman before him fear for her life. He envisions those fierce blue eyes again, whispering her name on his lips.

“The Warrior of Light, A’yana Salvia…”

Her name on his lips tastes heavenly.

As much as she warned him to stay away, to threaten his life in the hopes he would take heed to her promises…

It only made him yearn for their battle more. Without trying, his prey had gotten snared in his trap--

And he would not suffer to let it go.

#zenos #zenos yae galvus #ff14 #FFXIV #Final Fantasy XIV #WGCTG

2 notes · View notes

another-sonic-blog · 4 years

Text

By Accident Ch.2

Part one: https://another-sonic-blog.tumblr.com/post/618876056624054272/how-about-one-where-amy-discovers-shadow-in-stasis

This chapter's synopsis: After waking up Shadow from stasis, Amy and the black hedgehog spend some time together before going to see the Federal Reservation Bank, home to a Chaos Emerald. However, the longer Shadow spends time with Amy the more he realizes that he is having conflicted feelings about destroying Earth. This leads him to a final resolution.

ShadAmy (Platonic/Romantic it's up to you)

The sun began to rise as it helped the sky decorate its blue canvas with soft pastel colors. Flowers bloomed as they began to be touched by sunlight, they detached a sweet aroma that could even be smelled by the unskilled nose.

Shadow the Hedgehog looked outside the window from Amy's apartment where he could see people coming out of their houses, ready to start a new day. There was a new unknown feeling that was taking over his body. He wasn't tense, his body completely relaxed and although he didn't sleep he didn't feel tired ... He was at a complete state of tranquility. Something that he wasn't used to since leaving in the Space Colony ARK. Constant test, needles coming in and out of him, Xrays, and overexerting his body in every possible way was an everyday item to him. Although there were very loving and caring scientists at the ARK, not everyone was. Must of them saw Shadow for the living weapon that he was, nothing more and nothing less. Even Professor Gerald Robotnik saw him as such but instead of a weapon, he saw Shadow as a cure. The Ultimate Life Form, his body was perfect in every sense of the world. Undefeatable.

All the power in the world and he couldn't save the only person he truly cared for.

The black hedgehog looked at the people walking underneath him. So small and fragile but still a smile plastered on their faces. How could they be happy when their race only seeks for destruction? How can they be happy when they can only feel hate towards each other? Humanity was rotten from the very pinnacle of its core and Shadow wanted nothing more but its demise.

How can they be happy when they took away the person he loved the most?

Even with the pain, hate, and suffering inside of him ... Shadow didn't want to do it. He didn't want to destroy this pathetic planet but ...

He will do it.

The promise he made to Maria is more important than Shadow's conflicted feelings. Maria wanted revenge and for all that's sacred, Shadow was going to give it to her.

"Shadow?"

His moment of rage was broken as Shadow heard the sleepy voice of the pink hedgehog who opened the doors of her house to him. Shadow reminded himself that he shouldn't get attached to anyone, especially Amy who seemed to have her way into people's hearts ... quiet easily. However, Shadow couldn't deny that the pink hedgehog has come in handy to him. She cooks for him, gives him a roof and-

"Are you alright? Did you sleep?"'

She gives him company.

Something he didn't need nor want but it was greatly appreciated. It was going to be complicated to destroy the world she seemed to love so much, Amy will probably hate him when she finds out ... if she ever does. Shadow will try to keep the destruction of the world a secret for as long as he can. At least until he makes sure Amy is safe at the ARK and that's if she wants to come along with him.

"You know that I don't need to sleep," Shadow said still looking outside the window. A heavy sigh left Shadow's lips as if he was letting out all the anger that built up inside of him just a few moments ago. Once again he felt tranquil. "I'll be fine ... soon enough."

There were a lot of moments in which Amy questioned Shadow and if she was being completely honest there was doubt within her. The pink one knew that Shadow was hiding something. However, she decided to let the feeling go. He was just a mysterious hedgehog who wanted to go home, nothing wrong with that. Amy could trust him and she will.

"I'll cook something and then we can go to the Federal Reserve Bank of Capital City." Amy walked towards the black hedgehog. Again, she could notice that same sad look. Full of anger, pain ... If there was a way Amy could console him, she would. But how? There was a wall around him, one where there was no way she could climb up nor go underneath. Nonetheless, she was stubborn as well. It didn't matter how long nor how many hits it took, she was going to break down Shadow's wall.

Federal Reserve Bank?" Shadow asked this time he was facing the pink hedgehog.

"That's where the Chaos Emerald is."

Shadow thought that it was just a matter of eating breakfast and getting to the place where the Chaos Emerald is located. However, it seemed like the pink hedgehog had other things in mind. She took him to places that he only had seen in magazines and books back at the ARK. Places that Maria always wanted to visit.

"When I get better we definitely need to go to a shopping center! I wanna buy cute clothes and ice cream!"

"Shadow, once we go down to Earth we should go to a park! It would be nice to race against you!"

Something was screaming in Shadow's mind, telling him to tell the pink lady to stop playing around. What surprised him the most was his level of patience, he was supposed to be completing his plan to destroy the world but instead here he was. Following a pink girl around to sightsee.

It was late afternoon now, the sun once again helps paint the blue sky with pastel colors. The only difference was this time the color palette was darker. Purples and blues showed up and Shadow mentally smacked his forehead already disappointed that he might lose this day.

Maybe he could sneak outside during the night while Amy is asleep. But what if she wakes up and doesn't find him? Will she suspect him?

And what if she does? What does that matter to him? Shadow needed to continue his plan to destroy the world, that was the only thing that mattered to him now.

"Are you enjoying yourself Shadow?" Amy asked as she looked over at the black hedgehog with a smile on herself.

"No."

"Oh ..."

Chaos gracious, Shadow doesn't even know where to start with this one. He regretted being so upfront with her even if he was speaking up his real feelings.

"My apologies, it's just that I am desperate to get a Chaos Emeralds."

Although Shadow wasn't looking directly at the people, he felt the presence of humans passing by them. Some looked, some didn't care and to be fully honest Shadow never thought he would be walking around with humans as normal as this. On the vast streets that were filled with cars, cafes, restaurants, lights, and all of these mechanical things he quite didn't understand ... yet. He was never fond of the loud sounds but this was quite amusing to him.

"No, I am sorry," Amy said. "I know you want to get home and to do that you need the Chaos Emerald but ... I don't know I just thought that maybe you would like to sightsee before you go? I also wanted to spend some time with you before we parted ways ..."

When Amy says things like this, it becomes more complicated for him to think of the destruction of the Earth. His need to protect her increased to levels that even worried him. Now it wasn't a matter of Amy wanting to come along with him to the ARK. It was as if Shadow needed her to come with him.

No, he can't let those feelings take over him. He can't get attached and he shouldn't. Not after what the world has already taken from him.

"Yes, I need to go home but that doesn't mean my journey with you ends once I get the Chaos Emerald." Shadow looked over to Amy who was walking next to him, a bit too close for his comfort but at the moment he didn't mind. "I still need to help you find your friend, remember?"

"Oh, you are right!" Amy said, a bit surprised. "Thank you Shadow, most of the time I am left behind ... So, I thought that maybe you would do the same."

This time a sad smile was placed on her face. As if Amy was remembering a nostalgic memory, maybe someone who she was found off mixed with a sad memory. Anger suddenly began to rise within the black hedgehog. Whoever dared to leave behind such a kind-hearted person like Amy was an awful creature.

However, the rosette hedgehog was back to her bubbly self. She smiled the brightest that she could and looked at Shadow with her Emerald eyes.

"But I know you won't do that to me right, Shadow?" Amy asked.

This was becoming difficult. Way too difficult. Shadow was once again conflicted with his feelings, he shouldn't care much about this girl but still he does.

"No, I won't," Shadow said and really meant it ...

So then, why did Shadow felt like he was lying?

The Federal Reserve Bank was one of the most secure places in Capital City, may even in the whole world. A great facility, robots, guns, lasers, soldiers, nothing that Shadow couldn't handle.

Amy and Shadow were a few meters away from it as to Shadow's request. Although the facility was on the outskirts of the city, it was still very concurred by people, especially G.U.N. agents. Shadow knew that it was better to keep his distance now.

"I have a friend who works for the government, I think we can ask her to help us convince them to lend us the Chaos Emerald-"

Amy's voice was cut off as an explosion was heard on the Federal Reserve Bank. The gates that were surrounding the facility were no longer there and Amy immediately recognized the person behind this.

"That's Dr. Eggman!" Amy said to Shadow. "I have to stop him! He must be after the Chaos Emerald."

They were hiding behind some bushes where there was not a possibility of them being detected. Amy looked at the facility once again, determination on her eyes. Maybe this time she could prove to Sonic that she could be useful.

"Who is this Dr. Eggman?" Shadow asked, trying to get Amy's attention so her mindset would move away from entering the facility.

"He is a villain. Dr. Eggman is always trying to conquer the world and he is always after the Chaos Emeralds." Amy said. "I wonder what does he need them for now."

"This information can come in handy later on."

A quick thought crossed his mind. This was it, the means as to how to start his plans. But first he needed to do something.

"I need you to go back home, I got this. I'll stop him by myself-"

"No."

Shadow quickly interrupted, Amy had such a determination on her face that could intimidate anyone ... but him.

"I don't like being left behind Shadow and I won't leave you alone either," Amy said. "He can hurt you, what if you need me to protect you?"

"From what I remember I was the one who protected you from that guard of robots a few days ago."

"And? I still helped you get out! I can take care of myself."

"I can take care of myself!" Maria caught the red ball with her hands, an angry look placed on her face. "I want to play too!"

"Dear, even if you feel good that doesn't mean that you are." One of the scientists approached the blond one, trying to provide her with some comfort. "But your health is very delicate, one small agitation and may end up in the infirmary again ... You don't want that do you?"

"But I want to play with Shadow!" Maria said.

"Shadow is very strong, he may even hurt you if he were to throw that ball."

The black hedgehog watched from afar, a bit sad that his best friend wasn't able to play with him the activities that he enjoyed.

"Don't worry Maria," Shadow approached her, a delicate and comforting voice coming from him. "We can read a book or do a puzzle if you want."

Even when Shadow tried not to compare Amy to Maria, there was an evident share of personalities within the two. This brought back a faint memory, one that he wished he could relive again.

"I know you can take care of your self," Shadow's voice changed and this took the pink one by surprise. "I don't want you to come with me ... because I don't want you to get hurt."

Shadow the Hedgehog was the Ultimate Life Form but even he had failed to protect the one he cared for the most. His failure was something that will always hunt him in the form of insecurity. He was the Ultimate Life Form and he failed to protect a little girl. Who is he to say that the same thing won't happen to Amy? What if he can't protect her? What if he can't be there when she needs him?

"It's not like I don't trust your abilities ..." Shadow made a pause as he took a moment to appreciate Amy's emerald eyes. "It's more like I don't trust myself to protect you if need me to."

There it was again, that sadness, that painful look. There was a reason behind his insecurity and although Amy wanted to know why she knew she couldn't do that at the moment. Just what had happed to Shadow that made him be this insecure about himself? Heck, Amy was utterly impressed when she saw him destroy that guard of robots back at Prison Island. He had unique and amazing abilities ... but even he had his insecurities.

"Will you be back by dinner?"

Maybe, she was finally understanding the black hedgehog. Amy now knew that she wouldn't be able to break down the wall that Shadow had built up around him no matter how much she tried to destroy it. It was a matter of giving Shadow time, space, and understanding ... And that way maybe ... He would be the one to destroy his wall.

The dark hedgehog gave Amy a small smirk, one that pierced through the pink hedgehog's heart. Hopefully, she would be there to see more of that enchanting smile.

"I'll try my best," Shadow replied.

"You will come back, right?"

Almost like plead, Shadow's heart begged him to not stay away from the pink hedgehog. To forget everything and to not destroy the planet that Amy seemed to love so much.

But he couldn't. Shadow had made a promise to the most important person in the universe, to Maria ... and he always keeps his promises.

"I promise."

Obtaining the Chaos Emerald was too easy. The black and red striped hedgehog even felt a little bit guilty that he took down every single agent and robot at the facility. In his hands now was a green Chaos Emerald.

"It all starts with this ... A jewel containing the ultimate power," For a moment, Shadow was lost in the beauty of the green Chaos Emerald. How could something so small be so beautiful yet powerful? In a sense, the Chaos Emerald reminded him of someone he knew.

"You rat! What do you think you are doing with my Chaos Emerald?"

Although Shadow didn't recognize the voice, he wasn't scared of it much less intimidated by it. There was complete silence between them. The only thing surrounding them was the metal room in which Shadow had stolen the Chaos Emerald. Slowly, he turned around coming face to face with the so-called Dr. Eggman.

"My name is Shadow, I am one of Gerald Robotnik's greatest creation ... The Ultimate Life Form." Shadow said. "It's an honor to finally meet you, Doctor."

Although Dr. Eggman was surprised that this black hedgehog knew his grandfather's name, thanks to his great thinking abilities he was putting all the pieces together.

"You are the military's top-secret weapon! The one that the military shut down the research because they feared it!" Eggman said on top of his robot. Shadow had to admit the whole scene was comical even. He could tell why Amy called him Eggman but if the black hedgehog wanted the human to do as he pleases, it was better to not say that nickname.

"A few days ago I found my grandfather's old research files and dairy. He wrote about the greatest weapon he has ever created ... Project Shadow," Eggman was still keeping his distance, not knowing how dangerous could this hedgehog be. "I was looking for you in Prison Island, just to find that you were no longer there ... How did you even escape?"

That was something that Shadow didn't dare to say. He didn't want to involve Amy in any way into his devilish plans. He decided to ignore his question and instead focused on the information that was given to him.

"Because you are the grandchild of my creator, I'll grant you one wish," Shadow said. "Bring more Chaos Emeralds."

"Shadow wait!"

"I'll be waiting for you in the central control room on the space colony, ARK."

Shadow was enjoying this too much. The police, soldiers, agents, everyone was after him. Although he could easily use Chaos Control, a part of him wanted himself to be known to the world. Shadow wanted this planet to know that he was here, that they should start to feel despair, pain, and suffering just like he felt it. Just like he was feeling it.

Destroying the Federal Reserve Bank brought him a certain pleasure, was this what revenge felt like? If he was being completely honest, it was quite lovely.

Standing proud of at the tallest bridge of Capital City, Shadow the Hedgehog looked down on the humans. So small, so weak and pathetic and they still managed to outsmart the ultimate life form 50 years ago in the ARK.

The sounds of police sirens and helicopters around him made Shadow smile, did they really think their machines are good enough to stop him?

"Hmf ... How pathetic ..." The words left his mouth but as soon as they did, he remembered what had happened on the ARK. Yes, he was the Ultimate Life Form. However, he shouldn't let that fact make him underestimate the humans. They were more deadly than they looked.

"Find them before they escape!"

Shadow did everything he could so Maria's small hand didn't slip away from his. Her breathing was becoming more agitated, and Shadow feared that her weak lungs would explode at any moment.

Gunshots were heard and without noticing Maria had been shot right in front of him. Everything happened so fast that Shadow didn't know how to react, what to do. He had been trained to be many things, a weapon, a cure ... but Shadow had never learned how to be a savior ... A hero.

"Maria!"

In the next moment, he was trapped. A crystal capsule surrounded him and Shadow was again lost. He couldn't do anything. The black hedgehog only stood there, watching his only family bleeding to death. Maria sacrificed herself to save him, to put him to safety. Shadow was supposed to be the one to save her. After all, he was her hope all along for a happy and normal life on Earth.

"Shadow, I beg of you ... Please do it for me."

"Maria!"

"For all the people ... on that planet ..."

No matter how much Shadow screamed her name, she wouldn't listen. The Ultimate Life Form was reduced to helplessness. To nothing, he just wanted this nightmare to end. For Chaos, for everything sacred in this universe ... He swore to never sleep again if that meant he will never have this nightmare.

"Sayonara ... Shadow the Hedgehog."

He couldn't do anything back then. But now, Shadow was going to do anything in his power to get revenge. Nothing else crossed his mind, although the memory of the pink hedgehog wanted to make its way trough. He suppressed the thought, knowing that if he let his mind go to Amy the sudden rage of destroying everything will disappear. The black hedgehog didn't need that right now, all he needed at the moment, was anger, rage, and determination.

Starting right this moment, he didn't care about anyone or anything. He will seek destruction, he will full fill his promise. Shadow will make everyone feel the pain, the suffering, the no-ending nightmare that was his life.

Just how dare they? How dare these humans walk away as if nothing happened? Like they just didn't destroy his whole universe? His purpose to live?

These were the same thoughts he was having early this morning until a sweet voice interrupted him.

Amy made him have second thoughts and doubts about destroying the world.

But she wasn't here now to remind him of that.

"Maria, I still remember what I promised you, for the people of this planet ... I promise you ... Revenge!"

The dark hedgehog had already finished defeating the guars of the military that was after him. It didn't take him long and his satisfaction was short-lived, therefore he decided to go downtown where he could cause a little more of despair within the population. He looked around the city, sightly enjoying the lights and how perfectly they illuminated the city.

Suddenly, something caught his attention. It wasn't the tall buildings, nor restaurants nor how there were no people at the moment.

It was a blue hedgehog, who was fighting a G.U.N robot. It was pretty big and Shadow would have liked to take down that robot as well but seeing that the blue hedgehog was almost done with, he decided to not interfere. Shadow had to admit that the blue hedgehog had good skills for the regular Mobian. Watching from the rooftop of a close-by building, Shadow thought that maybe this could turn out to be an interesting fight.

The black hedgehog landed on top of G.U.N's robot as he threw the Chaos Emerald up and down, playing with it to get the blue hedgehog's attention.

"Now, I know what's going on!" the blue hedgehog said as he approached Shadow, looking directly up at him. "The military has mistaken me for the likes of you!"

Shadow reminds quiet, it was amusing to see that the blue one had the guts to face him. The black hedgehog wanted a fight but he didn't think it was going to be that easy.

"So, where do you think you're going with that Emerald?!" The blue hedgehog raised his voice, tired that Shadow wasn't saying a word. He began to run this time. "Say something! You fake hedgehog!"

"Well, let's play."

Throwing up the Chaos Emerald and then catching it, Shadow only said two words.

"Chaos Control!"

Greenlight eradiated from the Chaos Emerald and Shadow felt his whole body go through an energy shock. It was a sensation that was long forgotten but it wasn't uncomfortable. In the next moment, there he was up close to the blue hedgehog.

For a moment, everything went in slow motion. Blue met black as they crossed next to each other, Shadow finally took a good look on Sonic's features. He was just a regular blue hedgehog, but his green eyes remind him of someone.

Amy's emerald eyes.

"Damn it, I forgot! I promised her I was going to be back!"

Shadow mentally face palmed himself, he felt so stupid for letting his uncontrolled emotions take over him so easily.

"And tragically, I didn't make it for dinner either."

Shadow decided to teleport back to the top of the building where he could see again the blue hedgehog. Why did he even think this was a good idea? He was just wasting time.

"Wow ... he's fast!" The blue one said. "But wait ... Its not speed! He must be using the Chaos Emerald to warp!"

Oh, well at least the blue one offered him some type of entertainment. The least he could do was to introduce himself before he goes off to Amy's apartment.

"My name is Shadow, I'm the world's ultimate life form." The black hedgehog was once again playing with the green Chaos Emerald, mocking the inability of the blue hedgehog. "There's no time for games ... Farewell."

Shadow used the Chaos Emerald to create a great amount of energy, it was so bright that it blinded Sonic for the moment.

"Shadow ... What is he?"

And then he was gone.

"I better investigate this ... Just after months of not seeing Amy and Tails ... I come back to the city to see them and this happens-"

"Don't move! Stay where you are! Keep your hands up in the air!"

Sonic's thoughts were interrupted as in few seconds, the blue blur was surrounded by G.U.N's trucks, soldiers, and helicopters.

"Huh? Not again!"

Like a teenager coming back from a party that he wasn't supposed to go, Shadow entered Amy's apartment through the living room's window.

He tried to be quiet but of course the pink hedgehog was waiting for him. Amy was wearing her pink pajamas, messy hair, and tired eyes. She was sitting on the couch, in front of a small table. On top of it, a plate of food was wrapped with plastic paper, Shadow could tell the food was long cold.

But his heart wasn't.

Far from it, actually.

"My apologies, were you waiting for me?"

Shadow was finally inside the apartment, his voice was soft. For a small moment, he looked over to the lamp that lightly illuminated the room, giving him enough light to see Amy. "Have you eaten?"

"Yes."

Growl

As if destiny wanted to prove Amy wrong, her stomach let out a loud growl, showing that she hasn't eaten anything since she last saw Shadow.

"I wanted to eat with you," Amy defended herself. A bit shy and embarrassed that Shadow watched her being this vulnerable. "How did it go? Did you defeat Eggman?"

Shadow nodded, he watched Amy stand up from the couch. The pink lady slowly walked towards him where she could see him better thanks to the moonlight coming from outside the window. Shadow's vermillion eyes glowed even brighter. The first time Amy saw his eyes, they were a bit terrifying. But now, she found a strange sense of comfort within them. Red pools that wanted to say so much, but couldn't.

"Did you get the Chaos Emerald?"

"Yes,"

"Are you going home now?"

"...Yes."

Amy's heart shrunk a little when he accepted it. They had been together for a couple of days but they had built a special bond. She knew this won't be the last time she would see him ... So, why does she feels like this?

"I need to go home but I'll come back to you when the time is right."

Even for Shadow, it was hard to say those words. But why? His heart stopped beating as he watched Amy's face change.

It was as if she knew everything, about his past. About his plan to destroy the Earth, about his dark thoughts.

But her face showed such calmness, such softness ... It wasn't pitying, it was compassion.

She was giving him comfort, without Amy knowing it.

"I'll be here whenever you need me,"

This time, Amy smiled. She knew that Shadow needed to follow his journey and to discover himself on his own. However, if there was any way she could help, then she would make it clear that she would be here for him. No matter what.

"Would you ... Would you really be here?"

Amy couldn't tell all too well, but she knew that his voice had cracked. His voice was filled with such grief that Amy herself felt like crying. That insecurity was showing up again in Shadow and this time it was breaking him. His voice was a quiet plead. He was like a sinner seeking forgiveness, like a vagabond seeking a home.

"Yes, I'll be here ... I promise."

The rosette hedgehog was something or rather say someone who Shadow has been looking for since the day Maria died. Something that he thought he lost forever. He had only known the pink hedgehog for a couple of days but she had shown him so much. She offered him such unconditional sentiment and comfort that made his heart feel at peace.

But was that enough to forget a promise?

No.

"When I come back, I'll help you find your friend. How does this individual look like?"

"No need. Honestly, he must be traveling somewhere. I have my ways of finding him, so don't worry about that," the pink lady was getting closer to Shadow but now he didn't mind the closeness of it at all. "Besides, something tells me that you have more important things to do that to help me find Sonic."

The black hedgehog still wonders who was this person who seemed to be so important to the pink one. Why would anyone want to be away from her? When all that Shadow wanted to do was to be close to her?

"I'll come back soon enough, don't get in any trouble alright?" Shadow took one last good look at Amy, fully appreciating her soft features. Nonetheless, his eyes landed on hers. How come he didn't notice earlier? Amy's green emerald eyes were even more beautiful than the Chaos Emerald he was hiding.

"No promises!" Amy said playfully as Shadow walked towards the window, ready to disappear into the distance.

Although his heart was begging him to not leave, he knew that this was for the better. He needed to figure out things by himself and hopefully, he could get rid of the strange feeling that was starting to make its way into his heart.

"I'll come back," Shadow said. What the black hedgehog didn't know was that he would see Amy soon enough, in a circumstance he wished Amy wouldn't see him in.

"I know," Amy gives him a reassuring smile, one that made his heart and soul feel ... tranquil.

"You promised me."

A/N: The hardest part of this chapter was the ending. It took me a very long time to figure out how this conversation. Shadow, a lost, suffering soul ... and Amy, an idealist who sees the best in everyone. I guess I really wanted to show Shadow's mains traits in this chapter. His determination, insecurity, and caring side. No matter how much he tries to not let 'superficial' feelings get to him, he always ends up caring for others. He does not want to destroy the planet earth, but he is still going to do it because he 'promised' it to Maria. I wanted to show Shadow's inner conflict and how much that affects him. He is going to have his lows on this story but you all know how it's gonna end. I am really trying to stay 'in character' for these two. This won't be your super 'mushy lovey-dovey fanfiction story.' This story is going to be more like 'the reasons why Shadow and Amy have such great potential as a couple, romantic and non-romantic'. I want to highlight both characters' traits, weaknesses, and strengths as I give a new approach to this iconic story.

Also, I just realized that Sonic never introduces himself to Shadow but after they are at the ARK racing each other. So, if I can I'll have Shadow at the end be like 'Oh, so you are the hedgehog Amy is looking for!"

On the side note, I am already preparing for the big ANGST moment. Well, two main angst moments, I am sure you can figure the two moments out. I honestly can't wait for all of you to read it.

I want this story to be around 10 chapters long. But, it may be more or less. It all really depends on how much I can make out of the SA2 story. I'll be pulling out things from the hero and dark stories to finish this.

Anyways, that's all I have to say for now. I think, lol.

See you next time on Prison Island!

#shadamy #shadamy fanfiction #shadamyau #shadamy fanf #shadow and amy #shadamy comic #shadow x amy #shadowxamy #shadowandamy #amy rose #sonic fanfic #sonic fanfiction #sa2

106 notes · View notes

wickednerdery · 6 years

Photo

Title: FrostBitten: Absolute Zero Author: @wickednerdery Fandom: Marvel Pairing/character: Loki x Jotun!OC (& Reader) Rating: Explicit Summary: “Just do it already.” Notes: This is a series/multi-chapter fic - Masterlist Here. Ulfr is a Frost Giant, more clearly so than Loki, and “played” by Lee Pace. The whole thing in general is dark and this piece is NON-CON DARK, involving violence, torture, and a public rape. Loki is literally the worst to Ulfr here guys so don’t say I didn’t warn you, haha! For all that and length it gets a “Read More”.

It’s a sick déjà vu with a twist, the roles reversed, as you stand at the back of the crowd and Ulfr up front with Loki. Only the crowd remains the same, gives the same sense of humiliation as public entertainment with its terrified women and amused men. You shake without control, both totally unsure and completely certain of what’s to come.

“I expect treason now and again,” Loki’s opening smile freezes your blood as eyes burrow into you, then drag to the crowd. “Even the best kings have those who think they may do better, those who dare to attempt assassination and revolution. Often their punishment is death.” He pauses to let insecurity and discomfort bloom. “But I am loving god that allows for such wretches to learn better. I am a king that is willing to show mercy to those who might deserve it, who show they’ve seen the error of their ways.”

Ulfr’s a strange mix of slumped and rigid, his lack of strength preventing even Loki’s magic from raising him up on knees properly. What little there is of his own energy seems dedicated to listening, watching through blackening eyes.

“Of course, one still must be punished for such an egregious act as treason,” Loki grins, drags a hand down through the air so the Frost Giant drops...just catching himself with his hands. “Crawl to me, Ulfr, like a good pet, and beg for my mercy.”

Stomach turns over, legs weaken, as you watch Ulfr grunt himself across the floor. He leaves it spotty with blood as swollen head hangs, seemingly too heavy to raise. You think to speak out, try to reason with Loki, offer to take Ulfr’s place, anything to stop it, but don’t for fear it’ll only make things worse.

"My king...my god...” His voice is soft, crackling with bloody lungs and raw throat. “I know I have done wrong, I have disobeyed and betrayed, for that I deserve to die...”

The speech is rote, given in a beaten monotone. You sense he’s slipping off, finding safe places inside his mind to go, even as he continues. Is this something Ulfr’s heard before? Had to give before? He’s not present, there’s no defiance or spark of life in the man’s eyes, yet he doesn’t stall or stumble. You flick a look to Loki, who seems pleased, but arrogantly unimpressed.

“...I beg that your justice be swift and true, your punishment help me to learn better, and you may allow me the chance to correct myself and prove my loyalty over and over until you have it once more.”

Loki grins. “Ah...Ulfr...” Crouches, runs hand through his second-in-command’s hair before gripping it hard, forcing Ulfr back and up on knees to look him in the eyes. “I don’t believe you.” His laugh holds a hollow, dark, amusement. “Give me your belt.”

There’s a rumble of twisted chuckles throughout the crowd, both eager and unsure, as your breath holds. You watch Ulfr undo and slowly pull off his belt without emotion, your heart jumping at every snap it makes through another loop. You swallow hard as he folds up it, presents it to Loki like a gift. “Loki!” you call out, unable to stop yourself. “You don’t have to do this, please...Please!”

Loki snatches the belt, then turns head with a malicious grin. “Oh, that choice will not be mine...or yours, my dear.”

You stop in your tracks, look over the crowd only just realizing you’re at the front once more. That you’re on display again, before everyone, with Loki only too-delighted to have you that way. Heart beats against your chest, driving you to flee until you shake with the urge. With shocking speed Loki loops the belt around Ulfr’s neck, yanks him up to stand. “Loki, please!”

“Silence, quim!” He snaps back at you before smirking at his leashed captive. “You want to prove to me how sorry you are? Where your loyalties truly lie?” Eyes narrow, nostrils flare as if sniffing for the truth. “Take her now.” Lips curl over Loki’s teeth. “Show me, show everyone, exactly how you betrayed your king...and destroy the thing that led you astray.”

Something in Ulfr’s detachment breaks; he comes back to the present, the situation as it is. His own eyes narrow, lips quirk up into a smirk, in a countermove. He knows what Loki’s truly requesting...and he imagines Loki already knows his answer.

It’s then it occurs to you...Ulfr can’t touch you anymore. Whatever he’d done the night prior, whatever turned his eyes frost blue, also gave him the power of control. It’s gone now and, if he touches you, he’ll burn you. He’ll kill you if he attempts intimacy. He’s being setup to refuse Loki, to worsen his punishment. You’re the pawn again.

“Take her, Ulfr, or I’ll take you.”

Something in the stillness of the air suggests they’re speaking to each other without words; their glares hard and unwavering so that the whole room shifts in discomfort. Are they arguing, goading each other? You half expect a brawl to start, a winner-take-all cage match to the death between the two beings. You move to back away, but the crowd insists you stay as they push back. The buckle clinks, insisting on an answer, and its captive growls back.

Ulfr’s lip splits again in his grin. “Just do it already.”

The god grabs and there’s a moment you swear you see them both go blue, lined, like Ulfr the night before. They both show as Jotun...then you blink and it’s gone. You look around, but no one else seems aware. They only see the awe of their king, their god, as he spins and slams Ulfr face first into the counter.

“LOKI STOP!!” You blurt out in utter desperation; in frustrated wish for this to be nothing more than a game of chicken between the two.

“If she opens her mouth again,” Loki scans the men of the crowd before focusing in on you. “I encourage you to stop it however you may see fit.” That your eyes tear, beg in silence, only seems to delight.

With belt held firmly, ready to choke, Ulfr doesn’t bother to fight, adjust, or say a word. He barely grimaces even as the head wound from the scepter smears its blood across countertop. He knows better...Loki wants signs of pain, fear. He wants the reassurance he’s the most powerful and scary thing in the universe. Well fuck that and fuck him.

Dark chuckles of the crowd rise once more and nausea bubbles up in your stomach, your throat. You think to speak, but one glance around shows men are waiting on it, on that opportunity to stop your mouth in the most sadistic ways they can. Instead you will your words heard. The begs, the pleads, the curses at Loki, the apologies and pleas to Ulfr. Neither seem to take note if they hear.

Whatever’s in him that might acknowledge the terrible cruelty of it, that he knows all too well the damage it will do, fades in rage and the drive to dominate. Loki only indulges in the feel of himself growing more in charge, more feared, more like the god and king he needs to be. He leans over the other, puts lips to ear. “I am a god!” He hisses. “You’re nothing without my stolen powers...just another frozen monster to be destroyed.”

“That what Odin told you before he tossed you into the abyss?” Ulfr growls back. He gives a heated chuckle before the tip of Loki’s blade slices up tailbone and small of his back, cutting fabric and flesh both.

“Do not think for one second that anyone will see such a thing.” Loki as a Frost Giant, he’ll never allow it. “They will see their god fucking his usurper into submission.” Hand undoes fly, reaches in to stroke himself to hardness.

The belt is stretched across the counter, held at the corner by Loki’s hand, so that every move Ulfr might make to fight, to resist, will only result in choking him. He’s also choked in Loki’s movements from behind. “Behave and I’ll let you watch all the times I take her,” he taunts, roughly stripping Ulfr from the waist down. “That is my mercy for you, you fucking traitor.”

Ulfr curses Loki’s harsh entry, eyes watering at the sheer shock of pain. No preparation, no easing in, just a snap of Loki’s hips that jolts what should be a solid island-counter. Waves of sickness that cause Ulfr’s head to spin overtake his whole self, heighten as his body instinctively fights the intrusion trying to rearrange his insides.

Your eyes fill with tears of shock and terror, mouth open to speak even as nothing comes out. Nothing can. Beyond his threats Loki seems to have taken your voice from you; words swirl and fill your throat, but none escape. Nothing does as you watch Loki do the unthinkable...listen to him cackle in delight as he does.

Blood runs down Ulfr’s thighs, works as the only lubricant while Loki shoves cock up his ass over and over. Every attempt to lessen pain, to slip away into his mind, is stopped by a sudden jerk of the belt or bark of his name. Loki wants him present, wants him to know exactly what’s being done to him - every painful, humiliating, thing. Hand once bruising his hip moves into hair, yanks until his head is bent back...bloody, tear-streaked, face and throat exposed to the world.

“Who is your king?” Voice snaps, demands, with Loki’s thrusts.

“You.” It’s barely a word, it’s a croak.

“My name...” Teeth bury into the back of Ulfr’s neck to break and mark the skin. “Say it, Hoarfrost.”

He considers holding out, not giving him the satisfaction, before Ulfr feels that soul-breaking heat once again. As if turning into fiery metal Loki’s length starts to burn deep inside him, hits prostate so that Ulfr finally gives up a wail of pain in the form of the other’s name. “LOKI!!” That fire in his veins starts to spread into his heart and head once more...He cannot not repair or even protect himself if he wishes now.

“Who is your god?”

“LOKI!!”

It doesn’t lessen Loki’s drive, only spurs it on. He fucks faster, harder, demanding his name be said over and over. He wants nothing more than his newest pet’s pleas and cries...he wants it to beg him for death. Death should be the mercy, not life. His grin goes psychotic, actions wild, as he slams the Frost Giant’s head into the counter and grabs limp dick, squeezing until Ulfr screams...until Ulfr can’t make sounds he’s in such pain.

Whatever else is happening in the room blurs in inattention as you focus on the two men. On Loki’s seeming reenactment of your introductory rape with Ulfr. No, it’s worse than that...Loki was trying to scare you, hurt a little, yes, but not like this. With Ulfr you’re not so sure death isn’t the goal. That Loki won’t suddenly slit him open or snap him in half. And, for all your desires to stop it, to protect Ulfr, you’re frozen to the spot utterly helpless. Hopeless.

Loki spills with a growling shudder and smile, letting himself fill Ulfr’s ass with the heat he denied you. For a moment he simply stays inside, heavy-lidded and panting, as if shocked himself at what he’s done. Then he pulls out, white cum flowing after to mix with the red blood already running down the thoroughly owned Frost Giant’s legs. Loki cleans and does himself up swiftly. “Am I not merciful?” He looks over to see faces of shock and awe. “AM I NOT MERCIFUL?!”

As much as the crowd cheers its response, it’s also stepped back a fair ways. It’s left you out in the open, alone. The only one refusing to answer, to obey, Loki. Even knowing Loki’s glaring right at you, through you, you don’t catch his eye. Your eyes stay on Ulfr as he tries to hang onto the counter and what little dignity he might still have with knees giving out, starting to buckle.

Loki closes in once again and Ulfr cringes away. “You heal a single wound before its time, I’ll do the same to her ten times over,” he hisses before shoving Ulfr to the floor with belt still around his neck and turning back to his people. “He should remain warm for the next few hours.” Only when you look up does he add. “Do with him what you wish...just don’t permanently damage or kill him.”

You rush forward, hoping to get to Ulfr first, to get him away if at all possible, but Loki catches you around the waist before you get more than a few steps. You fight and squirm to get out of his hold, more when you see the crowd start to close in on the Frost Giant, but not even biting stops Loki from hefting you over his shoulder and carrying you off in the direction of his quarters...

First, Hoarfrost is a real word; it’s definition, pronunciation, and usage is here. Second...I told you it was dark and Loki was terrible in this one, ha! Ulfr will survive this, but he’ll most certainly not be in top form or even his regular self for some time afterwards. The summary quote, the one Ulfr says to Loki, is a repeat of what the reader told Loki upon his initial public rape of her...I like parallels and Ulfr couldn’t resist, lol! I have two major possibilities after this: going on to Loki and The Bold One in his quarters just after or a small time jump of a few days to get Ulfr mobile again...not sure which I’ll do yet, but if you guys have thoughts/opinions I’d love to hear them! ^_^

(Gif created from two others found on Google!)

Tagged: @succumb-to-your-king @chibiyanai @wadeyouwitch @creedslove @lady-crowned-with-stars @moonfaery @annievvv7 @ladyfluff @holykryptonitekitten @lokilvrr @janebrownnie @lokis-little-kitten @alexakeyloveloki @theangelsfightwithdevils @the-blue-tiefling @lokis-lady-death @dangertoozmanykids101 @prometheasmother @vethrvolnir @wintertink @amethyst-dreams-and-candy-canes @drakonwild @starscreamloki @fassyownsmyassy @hiddles-rose @the-lady-witchitery @galaxies-inside-my-head @jackheart180 @lukeevansandjdmobession @endlessstairway @steph-1986 …Think that’s everyone, you want on the list, just lemme know!! (Also @manip-loki, whump!)

126 notes · View notes

darkmindsthinktwistedthoughts · 6 years

Text

Experimental

A huge thank you to everyone who has followed my little blog and its ramblings in story form. I feel beyond blessed that I now have 100 followers ^^. You are all awesome and I hope that you continue to enjoy the things I write. With that in mind I did create a short for the occassion. I hope you enjoy it. - Aerion x

Warnings: Strong language, main character deaths, A worlord going through some mental distress and another being himself.

Masterlist

---

Experimental

It was a banquet like any other in Azuki Castle. The drinks were flowing keeping pace with the conversations and laughter. As for the food it was a triumph that one warlord in particular was very pleased about.

Masamune moved with jovial grace between the groups of gathered vassals and warlords enjoying the freedom of the evening to just talk and socialise. The last battle was over and with a victorious outcome everyone was in high spirits. Taking a little time to observe the room as he calculated food platers and what he had left in the kitchen still to come out Masamune noted positions of all his allies.

Hideyoshi was sitting with a group of his men laughing and joking. Mitsunari was with him rather unskilfully attempting to pour sake for his Lord, how someone can create such a mess was always a source of amusement to him.

Ieyasu was hovering around the food platers attempting to avoid talking to anyone. He would probably make himself scarce after he has had his fill and make some excuse to leave. Nobunaga was surrounded by men wishing to pour for him. There was one warlord he hadn’t seen yet but something told him he was definitely here. Just as that thought crossed his mind a hand was placed on his shoulder and when he turned he was confronted with the resident kitsune he had been looking for.

“You have outdone yourself once more.” The thin smile on the warlord’s face was as unnerving as ever.

“Its only right that a celebration has enough food. Have you eaten yet?” Masamune returned the seemingly fake smile with one of his own genuine ones.

“You are starting to sound like Hideyoshi.” This made Masamune crinkle his nose at the idea and made Mitsuhide chuckle. “Don’t worry I am eating as well as drinking I assure you.” Mitsuhide took a swig from his cup before continuing. “As it is a celebration would you allow me to pour you a drink?”

“Oh no you don’t.” Masamune snatched his cup away from the reaching hand of Mitsuhide. “You know I don’t drink and I certainly don’t touch whatever you pour. I’m reckless not suicidal.”

“Your words wound me.” Mitsuhide smirked the statement at odds with his appearance. “Well I have some more work to do I shall just grab a few provisions and return to it.”

“You can’t just eat and run it’s a celebration you should at least stay and enjoy yourself.” A small airy female voice spoke from behind the two men and Masamune turned to see his beloved standing there in a new kimono smiling brightly. He loved that smile he could drown in it and die a happy man.

“We cannot all afford the luxury of immersing ourselves in such affairs my dear [Name], the battle may be over but the war is still on going after all.” Mitsuhide patted [Name] on her head which provoked Masamune to move and block the gesture.

“Hey leave the Lass alone and go back to whatever you were doing.” It was unlike him he knew it and he knew it made him look terribly uncool but he couldn’t stop himself. He hadn’t seen her for so long and now she was here he wasn’t about to let someone else touch her before he had.

“My my, it appears I have triggered the possessiveness of the one-eyed dragon. Whilst I am curious as to what exactly he thinks he is protecting you from, I will have to take my leave and return to work. No rest for the wicked after all.” Mitsuhide finishes placing a few items on a plate and then saunters out of the hall.

The party continues until the food is all gone and most of the guests have either made excuses to leave or passed out around the room. [Name] looked tired and he had to admit that he was feeling the effects of the last few days himself taking their toll on him.

“Come on Kitten time to go home.” With little protest [Name] stood at his side as he pulled her from her cushion and walked happily hand in hand as they left.

---

The air was crisp as they walked slowly along the main road towards the castle town. It felt a little strange there were lanterns lit and he could hear the usual hustle and bustle that was still present in Azuki even at this time of day, but he couldn’t see anyone else but them on the road. The hairs on the back of his neck started to creep up on their ends and he began to scan the area looking for anything that would make him feel like they are about to become under attack.

“It was a great party wasn’t it? It’s so nice to see everyone having fun and enjoying themselves after all that fighting. I’m glad you all returned safely.” Her cheerful voice travelled clear in the night.

Masamune looked at the woman next to him, her smile on her face as bright as the sun and he knew that she meant every word she said. She was a pure hearted kind soul untainted by this world. He wondered how a man like him had ever gotten so lucky as to have her to himself. Her hand slipped from his as she moved in the dim light on the road dancing like a child spinning in front of him, always a little out of reach.

“Hey now Kitten don’t tell me you are drunk.” He chuckled as he watched her making little playful grabs with his hands to try to catch her hand back in his own.

“I’m not drunk, I’m happy Masa. I’m so Hap- AH!”

He hadn’t seen it. He wasn’t fast enough. Inwardly cursing himself whilst his mind raced at triple speed to catch up to the situation in front of him. Out of no where someone covered head to foot in a dark fabric had wrapped themselves around his beloved. The woman he swore he would protect even if it were to cost him his own life. He would protect her and her naive heart, her strangely innocent ideals and her smile. The smile he loved to much now gone as her lips twisted in pain. Her eyes alternating between cringing agony and wide-eyed terror. He felt it rising the seething rage, the pounding in his chest of the mix of thrill of a fight and impending weight of his convictions manifested in his sword arm.

“Masa!” Her cry cut through him sharper than any blade and he moved on instinct. Drawing his sword from his hip. The faint metallic sound as it left its sheath, the prelude to the events he knew he would unleash. The covered figures body hardly moved. They almost appeared to be smoke as they held tightly on to the small figure of the woman he loved keeping her away from him blocking every thrust and jab he made as he pushed forward. It was almost like he was fighting himself.

“If that is all you have, you don’t deserve to have someone like [Name].” The voice from behind the cloth sounded strange, detached like it was not connected in anyway to the figure before him. But the blind rage was bubbling in him now and the red mist has descended his mind a fog his body moved on its own the memories of all his lessons, his battles the successes and the failures pushing him forward and the figure before him back.

Just one mistake that was all he needed and almost as soon as that thought was given creation the figure before him left a gap in their defence large enough for him to push his advantage and he plunged his blade up to its hilt into the chest of the attacker. He felt the warmth of the blood as it sprayed across him, the smell of the iron in the crimson fluid filled the air putting that familiar taste in his mouth.

[Name] screamed as she broke free from the grip that held her and ran in the darkness back towards the castle. He did not care at that moment he knew she was safe and if she was going for help then all the better. But this man whoever it was would not be walking free.

Masamune yanked the cover from their face and felt his world tilt as he looked upon the familiar face. The air in his lungs stale and he felt his whole body turning to ice as he looked into the green eyes of one of his closest allies. He thought of him as a brother.

“You don’t deserve her.” The voice of his friend came out weak a thin trail of blood formed and fell from the edge of their mouth.

“Ie-yasu?” There was an eerie laughter filling the air around him and the figure in his hands impaled on his blade changed over and over. The faces and bodies of all the men he fought alongside and drank with happily earlier in the evening. Everyone Hideyoshi, Mitsunari, Nobunaga, Mitsuhide. The figure spilled more blood issued more insults and fed his sense of guilty and failure even more. The laughter around him getting louder seeping into his mind etching itself there in an unavoidable wave drowning out her voice.

“Masa?” No, no the vision he didn’t want to see the one he had closed his eyes too was suddenly laid before him in all its terrible glory. The figure in his arms was her. The light in her eyes fading the smile on her face faltering the woman who had changed his life and made him feel for the first time was growing limp in his arms. He fell to his knees the dull pain for the ground jarring him but he felt none of it. The cold beads of sweat on him rolling down his back and he screamed into the night…

---

The sound woke him. The loud ear-splitting sound of his own scream in the darkness and he realised he was sitting up in his futon in his room. A small lamp was lit near him flickering slightly. He looked around him attempting to figure out what had just happened. His sword lay next to him clean and sheathed. His kimono was hanging unstained by the wall. He was damp with sweat but covered in his sleepwear. When did I?

“It was all a dream…” He ran his hands through his hair grabbing handfuls of the dripping chestnut locks, giving a light pull to convince himself of his own state of finally being awake. [Name] was not there and he had an urge to go find her as fast as possible. As he moved to get out of his futon he heard a voice from the doorway.

“You are finally awake I see.” The ghostly figure with its piercing citrine eyes looked at him with a smirk plastered across its face.

“Mitsuhide what in the seven hells are you doing here?” Masamune squinted at the man in the darkness. His eye blurry unable to draw clear focus, head pounding.

“Well that is rather easy. I wished to keep an eye on you.” Mitsuhide spoke in a matter of fact manner.

“What? Since when did you care about anything like that?” Frustration rising in his own tone Masamune was still trying to grab hold of his racing heart.

“You cannot remember anything of this evening, can you? Well I suppose it is to be expected.” The low voice of the other man rolled out into the still of the chamber and settled in a heavy blanket in the air around him.

Running through as much as his fragmented memory would let him Masamune adjusted his sleepwear enough to be decent. The Banquet was… and then he… the water. Masamune turned to the figure by the door and growled.

“What the Hell did you do to me?” Masamune retrieved his sword from the floor by the futon and drew it moving towards Mitsuhide who had not moved from his position at all was still leaning on the door frame.

“Well I have to admit I had no idea that it would be so effective, I was always curious to see what that drug would do. Thank you for helping me with my little experiment.” Mitsuhide was rolling a small vial of some strange coloured liquid around on the tips of his long figures holding it up to the light admiring it in a way you might gaze upon something precious.

That was it, Masamune howled and his sword imbedded into the door’s wooden frame where Mitsuhide had been a fraction of a second before.

---

In the quite streets of Azuki’s Castle town a curious sight reached the eyes of the man standing on his balcony observing the night. Raising his brow at the sight of the unexpected commotion below as two of his closest vassals ran through the streets.

One clearly furious in what appeared to be sleepwear barely clinging on to him as he shouted slurs and insults between attacks with a blade jumping over and around obstacles in his path.

The other laughing like a lunatic deftly dodging the swinging blade aimed at him throwing back his own verbal jabs, ducking and diving around objects and buildings avoiding the physical threats narrowly.

A smile played upon his lips as he drank sake watching the entertainment before him. He was certain he would hear the details in the morning from Hideyoshi but until then he could enjoy the lack of information for the distraction that it was.

---

29 notes · View notes

ravennest1342-blog · 6 years

Text

BTs Demigod AU Jung Hoseok

The Masterlist to all of my stuff is HERE

Kumiho— a beautiful fox that can turn into a lovely girl that wants to seduce boys and eat their liver or heart.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

The ten year old pouted slightly as he stared at his mother. He had his chin resting on the little table in the RV, his legs tingled from sitting still too long and the familiar swooping sensation he associated with forcing himself to be still for too long was back and it was killing the poor boy. He screwed his face up in concentration, sea green eyes narrowed to slits as he forced his twitching limbs back into stillness.

It wasn’t Jung Hoseok’s fault. The child had severe ADHD and sitting for this long without doing anything was surely going to kill the poor boy. But he knew better than to disturb his mother when she was this concentrated. Jung Yuna was a delicate woman, but mess with her work and she would shurely turn into the epitome of terror for Hoseok. She was Korean in origin, she had moved to America with her parents as a child. She held strong to Korean traditions and taught her son, Hoseok, to go buy them as well. She had named Hoseok after his great grandfather — a general or something, Hoseok didn’t care. He just wanted to get the heck out of this RV.

“The storm seems to centering somewhere around Long Island.” Uncle Joey, aka Hoseok’s role model in life, muttered as he zoomed in on the screen both he and Yuna were staring at. Joey was a tall buff man, Mexican with a neatly trimmed beard and sharp brown eyes. He was always kind to Hoseok and Hoseok adored him for it.

“That doesn’t really make any sense, all the wind patterns indicate it should have moved on by now.” She mumbled. Hoseok let out a tiny little keen, desperate to get his mother’s attention. She sighed in obvious frustration before turning to him with an eyebrow raised. “What’s wrong bub?” She asked, clearly forcing the annoyance out of her voice, Hoseok resisted the urge to grin, happy he had indeed timed his little noise right.

“Mommy,” He whined, purposefully hunching in on himself and squirming. “I’m bored.” He pouted. She rolled her eyes a bit, and there was a done look on the woman’s face as she gently said.

“Go outside and play then Seokie. Mommy’s busy right now and the storm isn’t too bad yet, it’s just brewing, so when it starts to snow come back baby, ok?” She smiled. Hoseok all but shot out of his seat and towards the door. He almost made it when a hand reached out of one of the two bunk beds — bottom bunk— in the RV and snagged the collar of his shirt.

“Where do you think your going without a jacket you fart?” Hoseok flushed, startling at the grisly voice, meeting the sleep filled eyes of his Uncle Mitch a bit shamefully. The man’s blue eyes were still clouded with amusement and sleep.

“Don’t need it!” He whined, trying —and failing— to not sound like a baby. Mitch snorted running a hand through Hoseok’s pitch black hair as he sat up and wrapped the boys jacket around him.

“It’s about to be a blizzard out there fart.” He said affectionately. “Not even you can stand those temperatures.” Hoseok grumbled blushing even more as his Aunt Judy (Mitch’s wife) chuckled from the drivers seat of the RV where she was reading a book. Hoseok got out of there quick. He didn’t need a bunch of stupid adults cooing over how ‘cute’ he was. Hoseok was a man. He was not tiny and adorable as they liked to joke! He pouted as he zipped the jacket up and rushed outside.

To anyone else it would have been a dismal day; the clouds hung heavy in the sky, a thick pasty grey, swollen with snow. The grass was a dull yellow/green that crunched underfoot from being frozen and a harsh wind ripped through the field which seemed to have been drained of color. But Hoseok was not most people, and the ten year old was ecstatic. His green eyes sparkled as he took off with a little shout, moving through the grass that scratched almost painfully at his calves with a sort of careless worry only youth seemed to contain.

He was so busy running, trying to quell that dreadful itch from sitting still for too long, that he forgot to make sure he didn’t stray to far from the RV, and before he knew it, the van was out of site. But Hoseok wasn’t particularly worried. The storm wasn’t supposed to start till later, knowing his mother’s terminology, that probably meant around one AM, and he was pretty sure he could find his way back with relative ease.

He moved along cheerfully, examining his surroundings with a detached curiosity, forcing the desire to take his shoes off out of his mind; his mom would kill him. He blinked as a sudden slice of wind seemed to smack him in the face, an ominous rumble of thunder rippling in the distance. Which didn’t make sense because everyone knew that lightening and snow storms did not exist together! (At least they didn’t in his mind)

Hoseok squinted, impatiently brushing his fluffy black hair out of his face to look around, and was a bit startled by how dark the clouds had gotten. Having a storm chaser for a mother meant that Hoseok could easily recognize when a dandgerous storm was about to occur. He hesitated, shuffling back and muscles tensed to retreat back to the RV, but in that moment a sound assaulted his ears.

It was like a rumbling noise; like thunder combined with hoof beats. Hoseok peered heasitantly, leaning forward to look more closely at the field before him. It was just a field. Dull just like all the others with a small hill off to one side. But as the rumbling sound increased and rippled out tenfold he could here the faint sound of someone crying. Every nerve ending seemed to get a mild shock at the noise and Hoseok raced out, desperately looking for the person; they couldn’t be out in this storm! They’d get hurt!

As he approached the hill he saw it, a little girl, lying on her side crying as a rather large . . . man hovered over her. Except this man didn’t look like any many Hoseok had ever seen, his body seemed to shudder and ruipple, dark as if the very clouds above lived in him, and sharp unearthly blue eyes sparking with electricity narrowed down on the girl beneath him. Long stormy wings also rippling with electricity extended behind him. To be perfectly honest; the guy looked like something from straight out of Hoseok’s nightmares. He skidded to a halt, body going still with fear, watching almost helplessly as the man grabbed the girls arm. She screamed, arching up with pain, and the noise was like a knife slicing through Hoseok’s panic.

He shot forward like a bullet, all fear gone replaced with a icy rage that made his limbs tingle and his stomach twist with pain and nausea. The guy never saw it coming, one second he had the girl pinned, the next Hoseok’s tiny ten year old body had slammed into him like a battering ram. Hoseok ignored the shocks of pain rippling through him at the points of contact. A horrible force was ripping through his very soul, shredding up and down his muscles as he frantically scrambled, grabbing the mans face with his nails and digging in with a cry, his body curled down, right as the dreadful burning in his belly ripped out of him. And at that same moment, the hairs on his arms stood up, the man beneath him grunted as he was literally torn apart by the icy winds that ripped from Hoseoks hands. And something slammed into Hoseok with a crack.

Throwing him off the man with its force, body steaming and jerking uncontrollably as he sailed through the air, he landed on the hill with a sickening crack. Instantly, the boys vision went black and he was unable to see the girl grabbing him and dragging him over the hill, and the shredded body of the man blowing away like dust.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Hoseok wandered around in confusion. He was in a house. The walls were all dark, and the place was actually empty. Honestly it reminded him of a particularly terrifying video game he had played as a kid and he was getting more and more frightened by the minute.

The pictures didn’t help.

There were hundreds, decorating each wall, in grand frames, but Hoseok couldn’t see them, try as he might, as much as his eyes strained the pictures remained painstakingly blurry. He padded from one to the next his hysteria rising and as he got to the end of the hall he froze. This picture he could see.

It was him, pinning that mean guy to the ground, his face twisted into one of the most disturbing expressions that Hoseok had never even thought he could make, lightning was arching down from the sky towards him, even as the man beneath him looked like he was being ripped apart. He reached up slowly, his fingers trembling as he went to touch the painting.

“Don’t touch it.” Hoseok screamed, hand jerking back at the soft voice and whirling around to find himself face to face with a sinister pair of black eyes. He screamed again, hopping back and crying out

“Kumiho!” In a terrified voice, and falling flat on his butt. A small snort of amusement greeted his ears.

“Kumiho? No, sorry but I am neither a fox nor am I a female.” The voice was soft, and distinctly childish; it was the type of voice that you could tell that once it matured, would have a soft growling tone to it. Hoseok flushed in embarrassment as he looked up at the other kid, who was very much a boy. But he had never seen another boy that looked quite like that. He was Korean, like Hoseok, with dark black eyes that seemed to suck at Hoseok’s conscience, he had a delicate — almost underfed — frame and soft silver hair that fell around his face and neck. His skin was pale and he looked vaguely bored.

“Come on then.” The boy sighed, holding out his hand to Hoseok, “You’re so hopelessly stuck you’d never be able to get out of here alone, and Jin is already in hysterics enough thinking you’ll never wake up again.” He said impatiently. Hoseok frowned, he didn’t understand what the kid was talking about or what was going on, but he reached up accepting the hand a bit shocked by the rough grip as the boy dragged him to his feet. Not waisting any time, he began to move confidently through the halls, which seemed to be twisting and turning in a sickening way.

Hoseok frowned, the pictures were getting clearer and he wanted to look at them, trying to focus and barely catching a sight of an older boy that looked distirbingly similar to Hoseok screaming defiantly at some dark shadow, blood flowing from a head wound and his side as he stood over a limp figure, a sword raised threateningly.

“Don’t look at them!” The boy dragging him snarled, grabbing the back of Hoseok’s neck and forcing him to face forward as he awkwardly picked up into a steady jog, cursing faintly under his breath.

“W-what—“ Hoseok yelped as they rounded a corner and the boy pushed him towards a door at the end. Not to be dramatic, but it was glowing like it was a portal to another world.

“Go on. You don’t need to stay here any longer.” The boy said sharply. Hoseok turned to look at him, biting his lip with a faint frown. He didn’t understand what was going on or happening, but he knew he didn’t want to leave the boy in this creepy place with the blurry paintings leering at them on the walls.

“What about you?” He asked softly. The boy folded his arms in an almost defensive pose.

“It doesn’t matter. I’m exactly where I need to be.” He said stiffly. Hoseok bit his lip, nervously wringing his hands, he looked away before working up the courage to continue.

“But it’s dark here.” He whispered. A surprised look flashed across the boys face. He looked awkward as he reached up to brush some of his silver hair out of his eyes.

“Ugh — Don’t worry. I’ll be right behind you.” Then he smiled. Once again, Hoseok’s view did a 360. The smile transformed the kid’s face, and suddenly he looked like someone Hoseok would play with at the park, smiling so big even his gums showed. His eyes crinkling slightly.

“Promise?” Hoseok demanded. Still smiling the boy reached forward to grab his hand and connected their pinky fingers. Hoseok let out a startled noise as he looked up with a softer smile from their hands.

“I’ll always be right behind you! I promise!” He said triumphantly. Hoseok couldn’t stop his own releaved grin. Giggling he moved towards the light then turned with a smile. The boy was right behind him.

“Ok! Let’s go then!” He yelled and raced out the door. Hoseok’s entire vision turned white and he was once again surrounded by the world of dreams; but this time he could get out of them.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

So! This is gonna be pretty detrimental to the fic I’m slowly building!

If you have any questions feel free to ask! Also if you want shorts like this on how all of them arrived at camp then just tell me and I’ll get right on it!

The link to my Masterlist is HERE

#bts #bts demigod au #demigod au #jung hoseok #min yoongi #yoonseok #yeah #its gonna br awesome

24 notes · View notes

kittenwritesstuff · 7 years

Text

Color me happy

Fandom: Marvel Pairing: Bucky Barnes x (Maximoff)reader Genres: insecurity, mild angst, super fluff Words: 1.710 Summary: You feel insecure and useless because of your lack of special abilities. Bucky notices it and comforts you - requested by Anonymous

Late evening finds you in the kitchen area, making yourself yet another cup of tea. It’s your pick-me-up drink – green tea with honey and you usually make it when your mood is down.

Which is almost every day lately.

You’re ordinary. And it wouldn’t be that bad if you were surrounded by similar ordinary non-special people. But you, being a Maximoff, are living with a team of skilled, gifted people, the Avengers, which makes you feel like a not needed obstacle at times.

Wanda and Pietro never did anything to make you feel unwanted. When you were at Strucker’s base, during the experiments, you were fairly convinced that you, too, would show a sign of mutation, just as they did.

It turned out that the scepter did not affect you in a way it did your sibling, making you nothing more but a rubbish. Only Wanda’s angry protests resulted in you being kept there. Strucker was ready to get rid of you when an occasion occurred, since you were useless, having manifested no mutation.

You had no idea why you failed at it. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that Wanda and Pietro were twins, maybe it was because they were older. Nobody knew.

And since the day the Avengers came and destroyed the base you were only proven that you were only Wanda’s and Pietro’s sister and only because of it they allowed you to live with at the compound.

Sure, you were clever and sometimes helpful, especially during an emergency rescue missions when everything had to be settled immediately, within a few minutes. You knew how to stay focused and organized and there were times when Tony didn’t even touch anything because you had everything handled within seconds.

Still, you were not irreplaceable. If you left, they would surely do well without you.

Heaving out a sigh, you take the cup and make to the living area. You plan on watching a comedy or something of that sorts, in hopes that it will cheer you up.

You have the entire place to yourself – the rest is on the mission. Only Bucky, Steve’s friend, was left at the compound. Usually, the two of you would just mind one another’s business, even while being in the same room; sometimes you’d spent hours on talking. You wouldn’t call it friendship but you enjoyed being around him. He was quiet, but once he opened his mouth, you could be sure he’d throw a joke here and there or tell you something he had recalled about 40s.

But today you want to be alone. You don’t want to talk to anybody, don’t want to see anyone, just you and your tea. And maybe a movie.

Once you reach the living area, you carefully place the cup on the table and reach for the remote while making yourself comfortable on the couch. You curl up in the couch’s end, your knees almost touching your chin. You are aware that you look miserable but it’s not like anyone will notice. Maybe Wanda, if she was here, would sense that you were upset.

Shuffling through the channels you have yet to find anything interesting and because of the noise the TV makes you don’t hear Bucky entering the place. You notice his presence only when he lets out a small huff while sitting down.

You jerk your head, quite startled and Bucky smiles softly.

“Sorry, Y/N, didn’t want to scare you.”

“It’s okay,” you say, shrugging and turn your attention to the screen. Finally, you find a Friends marathon and decide to watch it.

Frankly, you don’t pay too much attention to what is happening in the show. You just stare at the screen blindly, your mind occupied with the thoughts of being in the way, of being unneeded and useless.

You tug on sleeves of your sweater. It’s oversized, so you’re able to cover your entire palms, which you do, hugging your legs to your chest. You don’t see it but Bucky’s glancing at you every now and then, he’s face concerned. Yes, he noticed that you were out of sorts pretty often but usually a bit of jesting would make you smile and you were always up for a conversation. But not today. Today you seem oddly detached, unsure and utterly sad.

“Y/N,” he calls your name quietly, not wanting to prod too much. You don’t seem to hear it so he calls again, a bit louder this time.

“Hm?” you absentmindedly answer, not even looking at him and Bucky shifts a bit closer.

“I’m wearing Sam’s boxers.”

“That’s cool,” you say emotionlessly, like a robot and for a moment Bucky fears that something really bad happened to you. You sound almost like him while he was under HYDRA’s control.

“Y/N, can you look at me?”

“No, I’m busy. I’m watching the show.”

“Commercial break is on right now,” he states and you blink. When did it happen?

“Oh,” you pant and turn your gaze at him. Was he so close before or you didn’t even notice when he scooted closer?

“You okay?” he inquires, his voice soft, his eyes sympathetic and you find yourself unable to bottle it up any longer.

“No, Bucky. What am I even doing here?” you whine, tears filling your eyes and you bite at your lower lip to prevent them from falling.

“Right now we’re sitting in a dark room, watching ice cream commercial. But that’s not what you meant, is it?”

You shake your head and sniffle. Bucky reaches to the table to give you a tissue box before you start crying. You can’t hold it back anymore – the insecurities you kept hidden have clawed their way out and you can’t do much about it now.

“I’m useless,” you stutter between cries and Bucky knits his brows, a look of disbelief clear on his face.

“That’s bullshit, doll.”

“No, Bucky. I don’t do anything here. There’s nothing special about me.”

“You’re wrong, Y/N.”

“I’m not. I’m just a girl who’s here because my sister can do stuff with her mind and my brother runs super fast.”

“Maybe that’s what special about you, okay? That you didn’t let the scepter change you?”

“Bucky, that doesn’t make sense,” you protest as you wipe at your cheeks and Bucky smirks.

“No, it does. Just hear me out. You’re so wonderful and strong inside that the scepter couldn’t break you.”

You frown, not really following his logic. Is he really suggesting that you sibling was too weak to fight back the scepter’s power but you succeeded? How could he even think of it that way?

“Look, the only special person around here is Thor. He’s a God, like a legit, real God, but the rest? We’re all just a bunch of people who were given a serum or something. Tony’s a genius, nothing very special about it –“ you snort and Bucky gives you an amused look. “- Sam’s got his wings but without them he’s just a regular guys. Nat was trained since young to be an assassin. Steve and I got a super-soldier juice. Bruce, well… Bruce is, uhm, different.”

“He’s a green mountain of rage,” you say, your voice playful and Bucky cracks a grin.

“If you put it this way… But you know what I mean? You’re the most special from all of us. You wanna know why?”

“Yeah.”

“Because even though you don’t have ‘super powers’ you put up with all this madness which is living with us and without a word of comply you give your time to bake us cookies or read Clint a book when he’s beefing that he’s so very tired after a mission. You listen to my rumbling. You always say good stuff about Steve’s sketches. Nat told me that you’re best when it comes to picking an outfit for a night out.”

“No, I’m not,” you try to protest but Bucky taps your nose which makes you wrinkle it.

“Don’t downgrade yourself, doll. We’d be lost without you, really. I know I would!” he assures and cup your cheeks, suddenly feeling bashful. You never looked at it the way Bucky just presented. To you, it seemed your presence was bothering everyone and they were nice only out of courtesy.

“I’m really that important?”

“Hell yes! Remember when you told Tony he should turn the project upside down to look for faults? He actually ended up making it that way because it was better. And he stated, out loud and in front of witnesses, that you’re smarter than him.”

“Shut up, Bucky.”

“Do I see a blush there?” he teases and you hide your face in your hands to cover it. He damn sure saw you blushing very clearly.

“Y/N, doll, please, don’t do that.”

“Do what?” you mumble from behind your hands and Bucky chuckles airily as he reaches to uncover your face. You shiver slightly at the contrast of temperature of his hands but it’s not unpleasant. You always found it fascinating.

“That’s better,” he says and smiles brightly when you look at him, your hands squeezed in his. It’s hard to not smile while Bucky’s face is lit up and so you do, readily throwing yourself in his embrace when he opens his arms for you.

He quickly scoops you up his lap, his arms wrapped around your frame, his thumbs rubbing small circles on your back. You feel so at easy, so peaceful that you nuzzle your face into his neck, almost melting into him.

He doesn’t seem to mind, his arms tightening slightly around you. You sigh contently, closing your eyes as Bucky tilts his head to press a quick kiss to your forehead.

Paradoxically, the man who was the most distant and quiet, was the one to pick you up and help you look at yourself in a totally new light. And with a newly gained confidence about yourself you decide to say something you buried so deep that even your sister couldn’t find it.

“I like you, Bucky,” you state simply and you feel Buck’s lips curl up in a smile.

“I like you, too, Y/N.”

And simple as that, your previously grey, shadowy world begins to fill with colors again.

#bucky #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #the winter soldier #the winter soldier x reader #x reader #reader insert #captain america #captainamericafic #marvel #marvelfic #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes drabble

279 notes · View notes

fictrashheap · 7 years

Text

Dancing with the Devil (Unedited)

Sometimes good by itself cannot defeat darkness. And sometimes it is necessary to fight evil with evil in order to save the world. Jack discovers this and more in his tenuous alliance with Aku.

Chapter 21

The wizard was suddenly quiet, pinned beneath Jack's soulful gaze. What was the samurai thinking? Why couldn't he discover what the samurai was thinking? He was simply a soft little mortal creature hardly worth the effort of manipulating to fulfill his own agenda, yet there was something more to it then that—an infuriating inability for him to fully comprehend his own pawn. It was maddening and intriguing and each sentiment served to bolster the other until Aku found it difficult to even look at his samurai nemesis without the pendulum continually swinging from anger to curiosity. The samurai's father had been a self-righteous little wretch, but the samurai himself was different, of a harder and more insolent ilk than his sire. Audacity, that's the word he was looking for. His nemesis possessed an outright audacity and it drove him into a fine rage each time he had to face it. No mortal had ever been so audacious in his presence.

Only the samurai dared his wrath. Only the samurai could—

The sudden slap of cold against Aku's face startled him and he jerked his head back in a mixture of indignation and bewilderment. His scarf unravelled with the abruptness of his retreat and hung limply in Jack's hand, only moved by a teasing breath of wind to fill the ensuing silence with the occasional flutter of clothing. The samurai's fingers, calloused from years of swordsmanship, lightly grazed his exposed throat and settled under the ridge of his helmet to tilt his head back into a vulnerable alignment with Jack's face. The press of lips dispelled any discomfort from the cold, now unimpeded by any protective demon aura.

Aku inhaled deeply as he pulled away, furious at himself for being caught so badly off-guard. "Gods flay your miserable hide, samurai," he breathed in a low rumble and watched with detachment as every word condensed in the chilly morning air. "Even after all that I have said you still possess the insolence to defy my prophecy?" The demon tightened his hands into wrathful fists, angry at the samurai and himself and their situation in general.

Jack didn't bat an eye when he caught Aku's wrist and with the absent ease of long familiarity he twisted the demon's arms behind his back and managed to pin his hands against his spine in one smooth, decisive motion. Aku only had the time to look surprised before the space between them vanished and any snide insults he would have made were swallowed up by astonished silence.

The wizard was completely surprised and realized it was the first time he had been in close proximity to any mortal before. From far away they appeared so clumsy and fragile with their flimsy bones and pitiful stature, but now their positions were reversed, and it was he who felt flimsy in comparison to the samurai's battle-hardened musculature, so unyielding after years of strife and hardship. For one strange moment he felt relaxed this way, utterly boneless, before the familiar anger reasserted itself.

"How dare you!"

"Why do you even pretend to be angry at this stage?" Jack asked, amused and genuinely puzzled. "It would seem redundant now, do you not think so?"

"I am angry! I am furious with you!" Aku curled one side of his lip and turned away to regard the fortress before him with stoic contempt. "Stop wasting time, samurai, those Celts hunger for demon blood and I intend to answer their insolence." He ascended up the path with squared shoulders.

Jack followed, hands hidden within the folds of his sleeves. He reached out when he matched Aku's pace and clutched the demon's shoulder. "No," he said firmly and took the lead, "your arrogance will not get us killed." The warrior passed beneath the magnificent frosted arch and was greeted by a square courtyard with a pile of stones placed in its centre. Birds sang in the emptiness, echoed oddly in the uninhabited halls of the ancient fortress. Jack shivered as he stepped gingerly onto the packed earth, still solid even after countless ages of neglect. He could sense a presence in here, something unsaid resonated within each stone used to build this place. He couldn't discern what it was, but he could feel it intimately in his being. An acknowledgement.

Dagaz and Deirdre stood idly by the ruined stones and both looked up to watch them enter the fortress. The big Celt shook his head in disgust and spat into the snow while his wife remained motionless, her tiger eyes unreadable beneath the sharp edge of her helmet. Jack could tell from the silence behind him Aku was wary. "Where are these trees?" He asked and waved his left hand towards the pile of stone. "Surely they are not within this fortress?"

Both Celts shared a significant look and it was Deirdre who answered. "The druids believed trees held special powers. There are folks who tell of a series of tunnels below this fort built before the Romans ever stepped foot here. That's where the trees are. Underground. Have a care, these are not natural trees. This is where the Forest King was slain and whatever is still down there seethes over it. The earth has a long memory, lad. It's a dark place down there." Deidre made a strange little sigh. "Dagaz and I can't follow ya any further. We've shown you the way, but the way's closed to us. We'll stay here and guard your back."

"You shoulda listened to me, li'le warrior," the hunter rumbled darkly beneath the ghastly skull, "he will attract things down there in that place." They both appeared disappointed but resigned to Jack's decision. Something the samurai was grateful for. He nodded his head to them both for their assistance and approached the square's centre but always kept himself between Aku and Dagaz.

"I thank you both for all your assistance, you have helped me immeasurably." He bowed his head in gratitude.

"Do us a favour and don't die," Deirdre muttered gruffly with forced nonchalance.

"Aye, it would make a good story over a pint," Dagaz added and swung his hammer over his shoulder. "It would be a shame if you took such a good tellin with you into the afterlife."

Jack's scowl gave way to a weary smile. "I will try." He bowed again but it was wasted upon the two Celts, who swarmed him with caution and good-natured admonitions. "Please," he pulled away from their unbridled affection, "how do I enter such a place?"

Deirdre pursed her lips, but her eyes had quickened. In her armour she appeared far more dangerous than her husband. "There's a hidden entrance about. Tis a cursed place, Jack, I won't lie to ya. It's damned and dark beneath these stones." She cast a complex glance at Dagaz. "Light a torch here and the hate of this place will eat ya alive. The Forest King was loved and whatever grows underneath isn't forgiving."

"Here," Dagaz lifted his enormous hammer and walked toward a particularly ornate arch. "Tis here you'll need to go." Jack followed his mountainous bulk and squinted into the shady reaches of the fortress. There was a battered soldier carved into the wall. Hard eyes gazed out from the lost centuries, eyes that sized Jack up. At his scornful feet rested a thick slab of marble, rosy and rare. Imported from the balmy Mediterranean basin. A solid remnant of an empire lost to the pages of history. The samurai bent down and examined it for a hidden trigger. There was none. He looked to Dagaz for an explanation, but the big Celt was looking at Aku, features tight and inscrutable. These ruins unnerved him far more then the one they had passed before.

The samurai frowned but continued to examine the small square of marble. The Roman soldier gazed down at him, stony face imperial. There was an eerie knowledge to the carving, something that not quite stone. Jack knew magic when he saw it. He turned to Dagaz and spoke, if only to distract the big Celt's alarming gaze. "There is a spell here. If this place is cursed, should such a thing be broken?"

"No, there is no need to damage it." Deirdre muttered. "Dagaz knows the words." The hunter spared his wife a complex look, but he turned to Jack and nodded.

"Aye, I remember."

Aku shot the hunter a glance, green eyes narrow. "Only demons know such things."

"And such fine help you've been!" Dagaz shot back. The wizard scowled, but hadn't the strength for idle prattle. Deirdre put a hand on his arm and the big Celt's body lost some of its tension, but his eyes burned with malevolence. He and Aku regarded each other for a long time before Dagaz faced the stone soldier and began to speak.

Dagaz had a low, guttural voice, but the words that emerged from his mouth were elusive and deeply unsettling. Jack strained to discern individual meanings, but syllables and vowels thundered past him like a polluted waterfall. He glanced over to see Aku was motionless behind him, gaze intensely green and unblinking. Jack realized he was watching something. Colours—like in their link? The samurai frowned. Despite his experience accessing the demon world was beyond him.

For a moment if felt like the stone wouldn't yield to Dagaz. Then a teeth-chattering grind shook the ground beneath their feet and the soldier shattered. Jack ducked instinctively and threw up an arm to protect his eyes. Rock pelted his exposed skin and promised to leave welts. A cloying grey dust was thrown up as the wall collapsed and shrouded them in a thick coat of dust. It was impossible to see, but Jack could hear Aku's breathing.

"I can smell her." The demon hissed into his ear.

Jack blinked rapidly and waved the dust away from his face. "What?"

Aku made an agonized groan and leaned closer. "She's been here. A long, long time ago…but she has been here."

"What?"

"Yes." The demon was trembling, expression torn between revulsion and pleasure. "She has grown very powerful…."

Jack recalled the chaotic encounter with Gaia; his own and the dizzying recollections of his nemesis. What would it be like to meet the demonic god who made you? He shuddered, but didn't have an answer. Instead he pulled Aku to his feet and waited for the dust to settle. Dagaz and Deirdre hadn't moved, but they were crouched with their back to the wall. The snow was littered with rocks and fine debris. It looked like a volcano had sent ash raining down the mountainside.

"Jack?" Deirdre's voice was faint.

"Yes. We are here." The samurai approached the Celts as they struggled to their feet. After Aku's outburst, he could feel something welling up from the deep, dark hole in front of them. The Roman wall had fallen away to reveal older foundations. A wooden hatch had covered it once, but had long since rotten away. Only a rectangular hole remained. Despite the light, it remained a featureless void. Jack squinted and stepped closer. There was no evidence of stairs. Only a presence rose from the black depths. It went beyond Aku's at the Roman ruins they had passed earlier. A deep and immortalized malevolence regarded them from the bowels of the earth. Jack swallowed and looked away.

Dagaz stood at his side. It was impossible to know what he was thinking. "So?" He asked after a moment.

"How did you know those words?" Aku asked. His voice was soft and had a visible affect on Dagaz. The big Celt looked at him.

Without speaking he withdrew a golden medallion that had been hidden under the layers of clothing. It shone under the sunlight, the sapphires perched on its surface glowed as blue as Dagaz's eyes. The sight of it was like a physical blow. Jack gasped and took a step backward. The shape, the colour, the jewels, the despairing figures….

"How?" He demanded. "I saw that in my dream."

"Gaia found you." Aku spoke the samurai's thoughts. "She caught you sneaking into this place." He eyed the Celt's helmet and his eyes suddenly widened. "That skull is how she kept you here. She took your face."

"To use as her avatar," Jack added softly. Aku shot him an alarmed glance. "You told me she challenged the gods, but if she had a disguise…." His dark eyes met Dagaz's. "She could do what she wanted without divine interference."

Deirdre approached them, sword dangling against her thigh. Her bright tiger eyes were blank with astonishment. "I never asked," she muttered softly, "and you said it was an accident. You said…." Her husband glanced at her, eyes heavy with silent messages.

"It was," Dagaz suddenly spoke and threw the medallion to the ground. Its round design shone eerily amongst the snow drifts. He stood still, blue eyes glowing, and suddenly looked at Jack. "I like you. I do. I even tried to warn you…but it's done." He pointed at the medallion shining beside his feet. "It's touched the earth, now. She will come. He's made sure of it." He pointed to Aku.

An ominous shiver ran through the crumbling fortress. Aku's head jerked up as if someone had called his name. The cold air crackled with an unseen danger. Another tremor rumbled through the ruins, more violently than the last. Jack clutched his katana as a jet of light burst from the medallion to punch through the overcast. It shredded the clouds. The sky became an unearthly purple-black bowl. A new sort of cold descended as the sun withered to a grey pinprick.

Jack struggled to understand. He tore his eyes away from the column of light and gazed at Aku. The wizard's eyes reflected the sky's eerie sheen, his expression blank. There was so much power before him, but he was helpless to use it. One of Gaia's talismans had more power than he had in his entire being. Jack could see the realization. Jack could feel its weight. Despair crept over them all like the deep purple sky. It felt like time was slowing down.

Dagaz released a hoarse shout and smashed his hammer against the medallion. Instead of breaking, its energies exploded through his weapon, up his arms, and through his body. The sudden heat was blistering. Jack stumbled back, momentarily blinded, and bumped into Aku. The wizard's body was cool and unyielding against his back. The fuhai's work was nearly done. Deirdre regarded everything from the opposite side of the clearing. Her golden eyes were nearly perfect circles as her husband was consumed by demonic energy. The magic forced its way beneath his skin, made it glow and pulse like the transparent flesh of a newborn bird.

"What is happening?" Jack howled over the roar of wind and power. Aku made no reply, deaf to everything but Dagaz's transformation. His eyes were unblinking, mesmerized.

And then there was only darkness. The sky above was a charred and starless black. Jack felt it pushing down on his shoulders, sucking the strength from his limbs. An invisible tide washed across the fortress, numbing and pervasive. Jack felt he was drowning. There was no sun, no light, no warmth. The sky was a godless black bowl, emptied of life and light.

#samurai jack #aku #jaku #dwtdnoedits

6 notes · View notes

moonsandstar-s · 8 years

Text

The Final Warning - Chapter XXVI

Chapter XXVI - Nevermore (Reprise)

Summary: As the year draws to a close, peace has finally dawned. The time for unity has arrived. In the Vytal festival, it is time for heroes to rise, bringing glory to their kingdoms. But as autumn dies, the first winds of winter blow over Remnant, chilling the hearts of the people; breathing doubt into their souls. Long-buried secrets will triumph, and every action will have a consequence. Ruby must reconcile herself with her own fate. Weiss struggles to escape her legacy. Blake cannot erase memories. Yang’s search leads her into more peril than ever— but none of them can outrun fate. Shadows turn on shadows, and bonds shatter as they are tested to the limit. For in dividing them, they will fall and burn; at the eye of the storm, no peace lasts forever. In the end and beginning of time, there is a place where the sun never rises, and the dead delight to teach the living. A great danger is rising from the darkness. It’s time to take sides. The final warning is coming. The first chill of winter is the most deadly; it is the chill that kills more than any other. The first betrayal is the most damaging; it is the act that shatters bonds of love and trust, crushing even the strongest heart, tearing teams apart. AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/7745314/chapters/22238168 Yang

A powerful stench pervaded her consciousness. Someone’s bleeding! She surfaced to wakefulness with a slow, syrupy feeling, as if she was being yanked from a pool of mud, twisting and writhing like a fish hauled out of the water. Her surroundings swam into existence hazily, spinning and shifting and blurring. She felt like someone had twisted her inside out, dunked her into a blazing fire, and pulled her out again. Every part of her ached dully. She was moving, boarded on some aircraft, of that she was sure— she could hear muffled wind rushing past her and the whir of gears.

But what had happened?

There was a narrow aisle to her side, further reassuring that she was, indeed, on an airship, and she was propped up on a cushioned leather seat. Was that Sun sitting beside her?

Yes, it was. A violent bruise was blooming on his cheekbone, cracking and swelling it. But there was a strange expression on his face, an expression that was like stunned fear and sorrow and disbelief, all mixed together and magnified until he seemed like a stranger. His hands gripped his knees like he was afraid he might break apart at the seams. “Sun,” she said. Her voice sounded foreign, her tongue thick with salty blood, and her head swam. Pain throbbed through her entire body, but it felt distant, disconnected, like she was floating alone in space with stars sparkling in the distance. “What’s— where are we?”

He looked relieved, spinning around to place a hand on her knee, breathing out a muffled exhalation that she realized was a prayer of thanks. “You’re alive,” he whispered, enfolding her in a tight-gripped hug before letting go. “You’ve got Sage to thank for it; he saved your life, Yang, with his healing semblance, he gave it everything…” He trailed off, looking down at his feet with a mixture of dread and misery in his eyes. “It’s not all good news, though.”

She struggled to sit up and found she couldn’t; her body simply wouldn’t cooperate with her, so she slumped back, still trying to sort out everything internally. Her memory still felt fuzzy; her thoughts slow, like they were embedded in molasses. “Sun,” she said. “Sun, what’s happened to me? Where’s my sister? Where’s Blake?”

His eyes were shiny, shiny like lights, and it took her too long to realize that it wasn’t light in his eyes at all, it was tears. He was crying. Tears welled up in his eyes and streaked silently down his cheeks, one after the other, and Yang had never seen Sun cry before. That scared the hell out of her. Sun didn’t cry; he was tough as nails, able to bounce back from any sadness like elastic. She struggled to sit up once more and gasped as a bolt of pain stabbed through her. He shook his head and swallowed, wiping his eyes roughly.

“No— don’t sit up, Yang, you’re bleeding…” He reached out one grimy hand, as if to touch her, before shrinking back as if he couldn’t screw up the courage to do it. Yang felt a thick sort of wetness on her face— she knew it was blood— and she raised her hand to wipe it away, only to find that nothing happened. She tried again, feeling an unfamiliar weightlessness on her right side. As a Huntress, she was familiar with her own body, where each limb was at all times, of her own balance and strength. Something felt wrong, terribly wrong. She frowned, trying to raise her hand once more, and nothing happened. She looked down at her arm.

It was gone.

Just as she drew breath to scream, with all the force of a hurricane, a gale of memories smashed back into her mind in full-color.

Blake screaming her name—

— Adam’s insane laughter bouncing off the walls—

— the flicker of red metal, a sword, slashing down in a deadly arc with light sparking off the blade; the moon itself was slicing down like a scythe—

— fire coursing through her veins, into her heart, and she was shattering—

— there’s pain and then it—

— the flash—

— “Yang, you can’t die, you can’t, I still need you—”

— flash—

— Weiss’s voice, quavering with doubt. “You’re telling me someone was able to hurt her like this? A White Fang member? The leader? Why would he—”

— flashing blurred lights and screams—

— “No, I don’t know where Ruby is. Sun says she jumped off the ship and made it to the edge of the arena—”

— exploding silver light—

—the faintest echo of her sister’s final scream—

— the flash—

— fade to black.

She was in the present now, and the slow-state of her thoughts was gone, leaving everything outlined in sharp, agonizing reality. Her injuries now throbbed with the full force of their extent— her insides were scrambled, bones bruised, numerous wounds dotting her body— and her thoughts spun too fast for her to hold on to. But there was one thought that arched in her mind and stayed there like a bullet to the brain: deadly, impossible to ignore.

“Sun,” she snarled. Her voice shook like a leaf. “Sun, where is she? Where’s Ruby? Where’s Blake?”

“Yang, please, calm down—” He reached out as if to touch her on the arm, a comforting gesture, before he saw the bloody stump and recoiled, paling.

Her voice rose to a scream. “Where are they?”

Sun’s apparent calm dissolved, exposing the true anguish he had been hiding, and he exploded, screaming right back at her. “Ruby’s gone! Nobody knows what happened to her after she went to the top of Beacon Tower! Weiss’s father went batshit crazy and took her back to Atlas! And Blake— she’s gone!” he shouted, his visage of solidarity fracturing, revealing the desperation behind it. “Yang, she’s gone! She ran— I tried my hardest but she ran— she left.” He gave a terrible sort of hiccuping noise, shaking all over. “She’s gone,” he repeated before dissolving into awful, heaving, brokenhearted tears. “Gone, gone, gone, and she’s not coming back…”

Yang blinked once, twice, as his words settled in. A deep chill flooded her veins, like she had been doused in ice-water. Darkness whirled behind her eyes, and for one terrifying moment she thought she would pass out; the thought was welcoming, almost. The darkness of oblivion would be comforting now, because the world she knew and the world she trusted as whole and unbreakable had given way under her feet, plunging her into a horrifying maelstrom of pain and fear where nothing made sense, and she was utterly, utterly alone.

And as she was left there, standing alone in the aftermath with the pieces of her life scattered all around her, she could only feel numb as reality sank in, left holding one piece of emotion and not knowing what to do with it: not sorrow, not disbelief, not anger.

She felt betrayal.

Blake is gone, she thought, but she couldn’t make herself believe it. What am I supposed to do with that? She’s— she’s gone, she left me, even after swearing she loved me, would never leave me… she left Beacon… left our team, left me… and she’s not… she’s not coming back…

“Yang,” Sun broke into her thoughts roughly, on his feet as he paced the aisle. “I mean— you have to know what happened after you…”

Her broken voice burst out of her throat, icy and furious, startling her as much as it did him as anger suddenly surged up in her stomach, hot and bitter, twisting everything up within her. “Know what?” she snarled. “I don’t want to know why she ran. Let her run! Let her go and leave us all behind! Because if she did… if she did love me, if she cared… she wouldn’t have gone! She would be here, next to you, telling me all this for herself! Don’t you get that? She didn’t give enough of a damn to stay after everything…”

His gray eyes were round with horror. “Yang, that’s not—”

“I don’t care, Sun,” she growled, turning away from him and looking out the windows of the airship. “I just don’t care.”

“Yang—”

“Leave me alone. Don’t you get that? I don’t want to know her reasons. I don’t care.”

She heard him walk to the front of the airship, his breath hitching unevenly, as if he was holding back tears still. She clenched her fist in her lap, and fought off another wave of dizzying blackness. She couldn’t succumb back to unconsciousness, not now, even if she wanted to. Rage electrifying her veins, she turned to the Bond, feeling a distant, sharp sort of grief, but it felt— taut. Strained, like a cord that had been pulled too tight. Because my other half is running away and straining it with every step she takes, fleeing like a coward, Yang thought with a cold, bitter amusement, every part of her filled with a icy detachment that she wasn’t used to. Bonds aren’t meant to withstand so much distance, are they?

Well, let’s see if it can stand some more. I’ll finish what she started.

Summoning up every scrap of her will and anger, she reached deep within herself, feeling her Bond, the shape and emotion of it— the pain, the love, the sadness, the anger— and, with one last wrench of fury, she shut it down.

She shut it down, not breaking it, but turning it off, blocking off Blake from her thoughts, her mind, her heart— and with a last splintering sigh, the tautening cord inside of her snapped, untethering her from Blake, leaving her stranded, on her own and drifting and alone. Pain— not the screaming agony that accompanied the breaking of a Bond, as she had seen with Taiyang when Summer had died— but pain nevertheless, flashed through her. Everything around her turned pitch-black for a heartbeat, and she knew pure terror before the world bleached back into focus. A great emptiness yawned inside of her chest, and she realized she had grown used to it, so familiar with having Blake’s emotions in tune with her own, that being separated like this felt like she had sawn off one of her limbs.

Fitting, she thought with a sense of hollow amusement, before she burst into tears.

All the anger leeched out of her, and she bent double, sobs wrenched out of her like they were being pried out with a knife. Blake, she thought. God, Blake, why did you go… why did you leave me, leave us… after everything we went through…

She realized that a sharp pain was digging into her hipbone, and, fumbling with her good arm, blinking away blurriness from her tears, she fished out her Scroll. The Screen had cracked, a spiderweb of white lines splintering out from the center, but there was a glow still emitting from it. She could hear Sun still weeping behind her, but numbness flooded her system like ice. There was one message lying there on the screen, sent seconds before the Tower crashed, one single message from Blake, three words, and they sounded like last words, more final than death itself.

Everything must go.

The wave did crash over her, then, her misery bursting its banks, and she broke, shattering, shattering over and over and over. / / /

Blake

After sending her letter, somewhere in the wilderness of the untamed forests of Remnant— not on a train-car as she flew away from Adam, but running— Blake Belladonna fell to her knees as a spear of agony blazed through her chest. The string tethering her to Yang snapped in two, and she curled in on herself with a scream as her body lit on fire with pain.

History repeats itself, she thought, having time for one last glimpse of Yang’s furious grief before pain overwhelmed her as the Bond shut down, and she blacked out. / / /

Qrow

He burst through the gates of the courtyard in a full-stride sprint, his sword clattering against its sheath. Huntsmen had finally arrived in the city to help Glynda suppress the tide of Grimm, which had already begun to lessen, and he had left as soon as they arrived, hellbent on getting to Beacon.

But on his journey, half a mile away from the school, the world had gone pure silver, a bone-crushing chill sweeping over the land and receding as quickly as it came. He knew what it was in an instant, and he was up and running, even more desperately this time, before the last of the silver had faded from the air.

Ruby, he thought, his thoughts scattered. Not now. This was too soon for you to find out about your power.

He barged past clusters of worried professors and swarms of panicked citizens cramming themselves into the airships, noticing how much colder the air had gotten the minute he’d entered the courtyard, as if it had dropped several degrees. His breath smoked out in front of him, and he took a moment to scan the courtyard with the sharp eyes of a trained Huntsman, taking everything in within seconds, not even stopping to look around.

He couldn’t see his niece, nor could he see his niece’s team, or Ozpin— or the battle at all. It seemed to have subsided and stopped entirely, all the Grimm slinking away to lick their wounds. Robots lay in sparking, smoking heaps upon the ground, the bodies of slain White Fang members dotting the spaces between them. The stones were stained red, and the blood of the fallen had frozen into rusty-red puddles.

He skidded to a halt at the base of the Tower. Nothing came out of the shadows; the living had utterly abandoned this place. Scanning the place once more, he saw the shattered remains of the CCT’s transmitter, the faintest auras of green light shimmering around it, and he swore loudly, more out of fear than anger. The one thing Ozpin had been truly afraid of had transpired, because without one transmitter, none of the ones around Remnant would work. Without one, the others fell.

To be truthful, I find the limitations somewhat poetic, Ozpin had once said. Qrow closed his eyes, a pang of pain echoing in his chest.

“No time to worry about it now,” he grunted to himself, striding forward and skirting the rubble so he could crane back his head to peer at the jagged remains of the Tower’s summit.

As he did so, a jolt of shock flashed through him. The enormous wyvern - the Father of all the Grimm - lay there, curled around the top of the Tower, its red eyes closed by scaly black lids. Its tail wrapped around the Tower, coming to a pointed end near the windows of the middle, and its head was half draped across the top. That wasn’t what had frightened him, though: the entirety of the beast’s body was covered in a thick, white fur of frost and ice. Jagged icicles dripped from its skin. It was clearly dead.

Ruby lay up there, he was sure of it now; only her power could have killed the Grimm like that… but God knew what state she was in, and God knew what else lay up there.

“I’m coming, Ruby,” he growled. “Hang on just a little longer…”

He closed his eyes, backing away and steeling himself. Becoming the crow was never a painless process, but it had never hurt so much as it did now, tonight in this desolate wasteland amid the snow howling above his head, and emptiness below. He closed his eyes, imagining it, feeling the wind beneath his wings, his bones melting and reshaping, becoming smaller.

For a moment, time seemed to stall, and a burst of sheer panic shot through his veins. Why was the shift halting?

He knew why: he was too jittery, too panicked, too much of a human with all his very human emotions to devolve into a bird of prey, which only had need of one feeling: clear-minded clarity that came with unawareness of human emotion. He needed clarity— clarity to save his niece, to save Ruby, helpless at the top of the tower. He had always been filled with the need to protect her at any cost. She was Summer’s daughter, and though the day had long, long gone when he had loved her, Ruby was here. Alive. But if she was still breathing at the top of the Tower, she wouldn’t be for much longer, not after expending so much of her spirit and strength on the burst of silver light he had seen. It had spread for miles; Ozpin had once told him that the silver-eyed warriors could control their strikes, to something as small as a flash of silver, but no power was meant to be so huge. Undoubtedly, Ruby had burned out every scrap of strength she had in unlocking her power and unleashing it for that big of a radius. She wouldn’t have known what was happening at the moment of release, as the silver light took hold of her body and her mind fell unconscious, but would she remember it if— when— she woke up? He and Taiyang had kept it that way, raising her best they knew how, keeping her in the dark of her massive power, power that came from something as meaningless as the light in her eyes. Now, it seemed, the choice had been taken out of their hands by the light raging in a conflagration through her body, killing anyone at the top of the Tower, freezing the Grimm wyvern where it perched on top of the stone monolith.

And Ozpin…

They had battled in the vault, and Qrow knew it, so if Cinder had made it to the top of the tower, Ozpin was gone. Not dead, perhaps, but gone. He would have fought to the last breath. He would never have let Cinder go unless it was that, or vanish forever, his soul— disappeared.

For a moment, the thought of Ozpin gone— solemn eyes dulled forever, all those words of wisdom lost, his unmoving certainty killed— was enough to make Qrow collapse, his heart constricting as though choked off by an invisible hand. Then he took a deep breath, gripping his broadsword, his other hand balling into a fist, the veins on the back of his hand standing out in ropy knots. Clarity, he told himself, pushing everything back down, hardening his heart as he gazed at the shattered peak of the Tower, his red eyes narrowing. Control your emotions, or they will control you.

Then, all of a sudden it happened, and in a whirl of darkness and agony, the shift ate him up and spat him out in a new form, small and dark and beady-eyed. He landed on the ground, talons splayed, and then with a single-mindedness he welcomed— the thoughts of Ozpin, Ruby, even of the immediate Grimm in his vicinity all feeling very distant and far-away, as though they belonged to another person— he spread his wings and beat them experimentally. With a throaty shriek, he lifted off into the air, battling furiously against the storm as it battered him back. Beating his fluttering wings with the wind, he struggled higher, closer and closer to his destination.

He hovered over the top of the Tower, and then, he became who he was again in mid-air, all of what made him Qrow tumbling back together and hurling him out of the crow’s body. He landed roughly, smashing into a slab of stone that was smeared with blood, and he rolled to his feet with a grunt, planting his sword in the unstable ground to give him purchase.

The first thing he noticed was that the whole ground was covered in a mixture of odd, golden-colored dust and frost, layered thickly over everything. Ice hung heavy from broken slabs of cement and glass, and, frowning, he looked around. He was the only conscious thing here, standing in the ruins of Ozpin’s office, and for a moment, it was almost too much to bear. There was his desk— his chair— and he was gone forever.

Control the grief or it controls you. Repeating it to himself, he moved forward, before he realized where the dust had come from, the only thing it could be.

The Fall Maiden possessed the power to summon all the fire of autumn and use it to burn her victims to the ground. With a sudden, awful pang, he remembered the girl, Pyrrha, as he had last seen her, standing in the vault and accepting her own fate. His mind put two and two together and he shivered, staggering away from the dust and the sickening implications of it. That wasn't ash or dust. That was... that was...

He looked down and saw flecks of charred bone among the ashes, and his stomach turned, bile surging in his throat. He had already seen one student die - the boy with the bullet through his spine. Now here was another, and it was almost worst.

Forcing himself on, he walked forward, rounded a block of stone, and saw the Maiden laying there— no, not the Maiden, Cinder. Her body lay on the ground. She had been flung on her back by the sheer force of the silver light, her arms thrown out to either side of her, like an angel fallen from the sky. One of her arms was gashed up and bloody, and bruises colored her skin— Pyrrha had fought her admirably, then— and a thin film of frost coated her skin— the light from Ruby’s body had frozen everything on top of the Tower. In addition to the winter storm, it was bitterly frigid up here, and Qrow’s breath plumed out in front of him in a smoky white cloud as he crossed over the ice and broken stone to her body.

She was dead, and he could tell that, as he crouched beside her, she had died the instant the light had hit her. Her mouth was open, but no breath clouded out, and the pulse in her neck was absent. A last expression was frozen upon her face— one of pure fury, and yet, somewhere in her vacant eyes, filmed with ice, he could see a hint of fearful pain, and even regret.

He could not say he was sorry for her, not after seeing how she had brutalized Amber, but he could not suppress a pang of pity. What had led her to ally with Salem, the mother of all darkness? Desperation, perhaps, or simple ambition. Who knew where this woman’s spirit was heading? Not to the ranks of the stars, that was sure.

The Fall Maiden’s spirit must have fled her body to another host, someone random, certainly. She had died instantly— there would not have been time to think of what was happening to her or to Ruby, much less about anyone in particular. The thought almost brought him relief. With the release of Autumn’s spirit, things could go back to normal, and with Cinder dead, Ozpin’s sacrifice…

It wasn’t in vain, Oz.

Looking around, Qrow saw a faint glint of silver, and he ground his jaw together. I’ve had enough silver to last me a lifetime, he thought, before the moonlight parted a hole through the clouds and struck it fully, a shimmering, slanted beam of white.

Ozpin’s cane.

He took several hesitant steps forward before reaching down and picking it up. The faintest of emerald gleams shimmered around it— a ghostly imprint of its owner’s Aura. The second Qrow’s hands made contact, he felt something like warmth go through him, filling his veins with a calm glow— warmth, and a strange tranquility that came with knowing everything would turn out as it was supposed to in the end, no matter what happened.”

“And this was how he felt,” Qrow murmured. “This was how he felt before he died.”

For a moment, he felt like collapsing and wailing his grief to the raw, snowy sky like he was a little boy again. Swallowing, he tucked it away beneath his cape, fingers lingering on its patterned surface for a heartbeat, before he turned back to his task. He weaved through the puddles of frost, dust, and blood, leaving Cinder’s body, the wyvern’s, and Pyrrha's behind.

He came around a heavy pile of melted machinery and stone, and there she was.

Ruby Rose, silver-eyed warrior, daughter of Summer Rose, his niece, and the one who had nearly been torn apart by what was inside her, what she could not help. The one who had killed three people tonight and witnessed the death of five, and the crippling of another, who had so much to wake up to, and so much grief to confront on the path ahead of her.

Her face was turned upwards towards the moon, her scarlet-touched hair fanned out around her, like the breath of the Grimm had stirred it where it lay. Her eyes were closed, and the thinnest layer of frost covered her body, like a translucent white veil. Her arms and legs were thrown wide, like an angel that had been hurled out of the sky, and her face did not give the slightest twitch of consciousness as he stepped forward, each crackle of his foot on the frost sounding like a gunshot in the stillness. It was absolutely unmoving, and the only sign of life was her chest rising and falling ever-so-shallowly. Utter silence, broken only by the whistling tune of the wind, lay about her, a silence that felt wrong to break— almost sacred, as if even the stars and storm itself were paying heed and tribute to the monumental act of sacrifice and power born from grief that had been committed here, a vow as unbreakable as the earth.

He came forward regardless, and scooped her up in his arms. She felt so fragile, so breakable… but he knew that was as far from the truth as one could get. She had her mother’s strength and courage, and the sheer bravery that was unique to her, and her alone. She was not his daughter— there was no doubt she had Taiyang’s blood, his obstinate courage and optimism— and he wasn’t related to her, not by blood. He was a bastard, rogue, a runaway, a Huntsman who was only ever destined to be on his own, but as he stood there, with a strange feeling of protectiveness flickering his chest, he felt, for a heartbeat, what it might be like to be a father.

“I’ve got you, kiddo,” he whispered. “I’ve got you. You’re going to be okay.” / / /

Yang

She wept.

She wept for the loss of her sister, for the death of innocence. She wept for the terror and fear that had swallowed the partner she'd once known whole, the monster of nightmarish loss and unthinkable pain that had consumed Blake. She wept for Weiss's suffering and trials, for the fact that she was headed into a nightmare when freedom had been right within her grasp. She wept for the void inside her that Blake had fled from and left in her place, an emptiness that no Bond could ever hope to replace. She wept for Pyrrha and Penny, for Ozpin and Summer Rose, for Raven and her own team, and finally, for all the nameless lives lost in that terrible, hellish night.

Everything must go.

She wept until every part of her ached, every fragment of her soul and heart was wrung out. And then she looked outside to the shell of a kingdom where she had played as a child, to the rain sweeping the broken city, to the withering earth that held no body, none at all. The storm had leeched the earth until all that remained was darkness, sunken and colorless, an alien land. The terrible night had finally passed, and a dawn that held no light was drawing near.

She thought of all she had gained and lost, all the love now turned to ashes, of her mother and sister, her father and uncle, her teammate and friends, and her first and last love.

Everything must go.

She thought of them, and wept.

And then presently she was looking out the window at the drizzle of the dying night, the windshield wipers in full action, but unable to cope with her tears.

Everything must go.

/ / /

Pyrrha

Winter had finally arrived, and wind and snow howled around her.

She was dreaming again. Dreaming of him. The storm raged around her, drowning out Jaune’s voice. And yet her heart was easy. Somehow she knew that he would be safe, he would find shelter from the cold.

Behind her, shadows lingered and the night had fallen, but ahead of her, she knew there was a place where warm sunlight broke through the snow, and family waited. Autumn was finally over. The promise of her own destiny beckoned her forward, unending and forgiving. She was back on her own once more, alone as a Huntress, and somewhere, she could hear voices calling her name.

But this time, she knew they were welcoming her home.

#RWBY #Pyrrha Nikos #Yang Xiao Long #Qrow Branwen #bumbleby #arkos #ozqrow #qrowpin #Sun Wukong #my writing #the final warning #Ruby Rose #Ozpin #Cinder Fall

10 notes · View notes