#and be mostly isolated in a small dark room in peace with nothing but my work

[ninawolv3rina]

Unfortunately I think part of the reason Veid is captivating me rn is bc I identify with certain aspects...

[chill-pills-yandere-haven]

Can you do the Yandere idol au with 4nemo. Cause they’re all beauties nothing can change my mind😤

Wooh! First ask! Here is a little drabble I made for you, enjoy! (Might also make headcanons for the group)

Tw: Yandere, mention of violence

Disclaimer: Yanderes are abusive, this is not a healthy crush.

Made, finished, and posted same day.

A Dream of Coffee and K-pop

(Not my art)

Sunlight shone through the window, the smell of freshly ground coffee beans wafted through the air, it was truly beautiful. You and your best friend had decided to stop for a drink break and found yourselves here. Honestly, you were thinking about becoming a regular here, the atmosphere has heavenly and the food and drink were delicious. Then you heard camera clicks and squealing. You let out a slight sound of confusion and irritation. Forced out of your state of serenity, you looked back at your friend to see what happened. Their face was red and they seemed to be holding back an almost terrifying grin. It didn't make sense to you, all that happened was that four men and a bunch of other people entered the cafe. "Holy archon of idol groups! It's 4NEMO!" Your friend was now shaking you, making you look even closer at the four men who had just entered. Even on further inspection they only looked like rich people with hair dye, you didn't see anything special. "Who?" You blinked, just annoyed that your peaceful coffee break had been interrupted. "I swear to God, you uncultured swine. That's 4NEMO, the hottest new K-pop group. I sent you a link to their newest album, you know, the one I've been going crazy over because they had a collab with DCKZ and Lumine from ABYSS?" They facepalm at your obliviousness to the literal celebrities that are in the same place as you. "Sorry, I forgot to check it out yesterday, I was studying." You apologize for not at least trying to see what was so good about these K-pop bands that were your best friend's newest obsession. But you did have a life of your own, you were studying to become a surgeon so you never really had much free time. "Hello, there! I was wondering if you two could share some space? seems that there's nowhere else for us to sit in this place." Out of nowhere, a young man with braided hair that faded from dark brown to teal and emerald eyes that almost made you want to trust him, was at your table, asking if he and his three friends could sit with you all. "Oh my lord, 4NEMO is asking to sit with us! Squee! Please say yes, my dear best friend who has brought us both insane luck, please?" Resistance was futile when your best friend was almost begging you to let them sit with you two, trying to do the best puppy dog eyes they could. "Yeah sure, you all can sit with us, just squeeze in." You relented and moved further into the booth to create space. The one with the braids and a guy with mostly white hair that had part of it dyed red sat on your side of the booth while a blonde with golden eyes and a man with an edgy vibe to him sat with your friend. The before almost empty cafe was now bustling with people and you swore you could feel a couple of people glaring at you. You gave a close-eyed smile and a small sigh, this could've been worse. The six of you ended up getting along quickly, talking the day away. Your friend was malfunctioning most of the time from being in the same room as their idols so you tried to calm them down from the shock but it didn't work. You found that the 4NEMO boys were actually quite sweet and easy to talk to, maybe excluding Xiao who wasn't one for small talk, or any talk. All of you exchanged numbers before you had to leave and even gave your super fan best friend some signatures. Kazuha then handed you both VIP tickets and backstage passes for their next concert saying that you could be his plus twos. But only because all the boys were allowed to give out two free tickets to whomever they chose. You all said goodbye and you made a mental note to check out their music once you got to the comfort of your apartment. But as you left, you just couldn't shake the feeling that something was off with your new friends no matter how many times you tried to brush it off. (On the other side.) Kazuha was the one to first notice you. A serene being in the middle of the cafe, face illuminated by the evening light. On your face was a beautiful smile more genuine than anything he had ever seen. You were the only one whose head didn't turn as they

entered, even ignoring the obvious adoring look on the person beside you's face. He confidentially alerted the other members of his group to your presence. All with some variation of curiosity and something that he could only describe as a breath of fresh air on their faces when they completely took you in. "I don't think they even know about our band." Aether supplied, you had a true expression of complete cluelessness even when he heard your friend explaining who they were just loud enough for him to hear. You were much too enticing and adorable, especially for someone who he just saw. "Why does it matter, we're here for public appearances, coffee and desserts, not some random person," Xiao mumbled, loud enough for the rest of them to hear. He didn't understand what was so special about them, just another attractive stranger. Though, part of him did understand why his group mates felt this way. "Who cares, I'm making a move," The lead singer of the group, Venti announced, making his way over to their table after looking around for anything they could use as an excuse. Ah, of course, because of their appearance, the little cafe was now packed. He brought himself and the others up to your table, acting charismatic in hopes you would let them stay. Though the idol group didn't even need an excuse as your best friend would have convinced you either way. Surprisingly, everyone in the group almost immediately warmed up to you, even Xiao. Kazuha was the one to give you his plus two tickets mainly because everyone else had already invited other people but luckily, Kazuha hadn't used his yet. The 4NEMO boys were a good distance away from the cafe and we're finally able to freely talk. "So, we're sharing them?" Aether asked, getting a nod or a yup from everyone in return. "We should do more research on them. What if they're already dating someone?" The composer of the group, Kazuha supplied. Noticing how the other boys' expressions got just a bit more malicious at that. Xiao looked around, being sure that they were completely isolated. "Then I'll give them a threat or a concussion." Xiao threatened, the other members were mostly in agreement with the statement. Any of them would already do appalling things for their new friend and future lover. "I'm sure as long as we don't scare them away they'll fall head over heels in love with at least one of us. We just need more time with them." Venti assured, not the fondest of using violence to settle his disputes. "Well one thing's for sure, they will learn to love us and will be ours." Aether voiced the idea on everyone's mind as they stepped into their shared studio apartment that could comfortably house about eight people. Leaving them all to individually plan how they would make you theirs.

[aidemint]

reflection - bucky barnes

word count: 3k+

notes: god i just love Bucky so much asdkjahdkfjhskdjfsdf his character is kinda hard to capture because of the layers that marvel set up but i tried lol

warnings: angst turned to fluff with a lil bit of spicy kissin with a hickey 😏😏 but mostly (?) wholesome bucky n his beautiful partner 🥰✨

Ever since Bucky moved into the Avengers compound, he was always distant. He’d go out of his way to avoid close contact with anyone besides Steve, even going so far as to skip meals or lock himself up in his room all day, reading books that Steve delivered to his quarters. And despite all the pleading and beckoning from Steve’s end, it seemed like nothing could get Bucky to open up and spend at least a few hours with the people around him. 

Perhaps his self-isolation was a form of self-punishment. Perhaps he didn’t truly believe that he deserved anything, or that he wanted to be with people, that he wanted to laugh and have fun with friends. There was an amalgamation of repressed emotion behind those piercing, dark blue eyes. 

In understanding this, I was fortunate enough to get close to Bucky -- not as a means to fix him, but to understand and comfort him when and where he needed me. We’d spend nights together looking at the stars, talking about the bits and pieces of our childhoods that we could remember, or simply laying next to each other in complete silence, relishing the peaceful and serene atmosphere that the evening brought.

 And it was in that setting in which we shared our first kiss. 

From then on, we always shared a special, intimate relationship. He opened up to me, as I did to him. We were equals -- something that Bucky had never known, being trapped in the Hydra system ever since he got out of ice. 

But I’d only known him for a few months. I’d only been with him for a shorter amount of time. There was so much more to uncover, so much more that he had yet to choose to speak with me about because he just wanted to keep everything stuffed inside a tight little jar and ignore it. He wanted to ignore it because he was scared. He was afraid that the soldier would come back and he would lose everything all over again. 

He was scared of the monster, of the ravager that lived inside of his mind in the minefield of memories. 

A habit of his seemed to sprout from this inherent terror.

Whenever I talked to him, he could never keep his gaze trained on mine. His stare wandered to every inch of my face but never seemed to pass my eyes. He’d look at my forehead and the bridge of my nose at an attempt to fool me into thinking that he was lost in my eyes, but I knew. And it was the same with reflective surfaces. He’d turn away from mirrors and slightly opaque windows with a wince, hide behind his cap and stare at the ground in elevators, among other acts. 

For days, I wondered why. I even mustered the courage to ask him, but he’d deflect, then changed the topic as soon as he could. I didn’t prod, as I didn’t want to venture in a space beyond his comfort zone, so I just left it. 

Yet it still seemed to haunt me. I figured it would be an inquiry that was to remain forever unsolved, but it lingered at the back of my mind whenever I saw Bucky. This was beginning to form a bad habit. I didn’t want myself to become fixated on “helping” him in a zone that he’s clearly not comfortable talking about. I couldn’t allow for myself to spiral into obsession over such a thing.

So the question remained unanswered.

__

A week had elapsed since the thought had initially come to mind. It was midnight and I was finishing up some research about a newer perpetrator that was affiliated with a series of bombings in Berlin. As I sent the documents to Tony so he could do some deep diving, someone entered the hall, light footsteps padding towards the small kitchen island where I was sat. 

I lifted my head up only to see Bucky moving towards me. Closing my laptop, I gave him a small smile and turned to him.

“Buck? What’s up?” He sucked in a breath and let it out shakily as he took a seat on the kitchen island next to me. I couldn’t tell what emotion his expression was of, but it wasn’t something pleasant. No, his brows were furrowed and his lips were pulled into a deep frown with unexpectedly prominent wrinkles forming underneath his eyes and on either side of his nose. It didn’t foretell the beginnings of devastation, nor desolation, but a simpler feeling that I didn’t recognize. 

“I need to talk to you,” he spoke lowly. I nodded, holding my hands out so that he could place his in mine. Not minding that his gaze was lowered as to avoid mine, I still stared at him attentively, making sure that he knew that he had every bit of my attention. 

“I’m here for you, sweetheart.” I gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. “You can tell me anything.” The brunette gave a small but appreciative smile, then cleared his throat before speaking. 

“You know the question you asked me before?” I nodded. “I think I have an answer.” 

“I’m all ears,” I murmured in response, rubbing the tops of his hands with my thumbs, “Take your time.” Bucky opened his mouth as if to speak, but closed it soon after, unable to unstick the words that were lodged in his throat. 

He looked as if there was something restricting him from telling me -- a higher, greater force that forbade him from speaking about this taboo topic that was his issue. His irises, normally a deep shade of clear blue, were stormy, clouded with dark thoughts that swirled around his mind. The sight was uncomfortably familiar -- I’d seen that face before, when he first arrived at the Avengers compound. His hair was disheveled and he looked like he hadn’t showered in a week, but what stood out to me the most was how pained his gaze was. The complete and utter wreck that he was inside only showed through his stare and it hurt me more than expected. 

I never truly believed the ambition of the saying “the eyes are the window to the soul,” but for the first time, it became my mantra. How torturous was Bucky’s inner state, how unbelievably despondent he was. That chest of his lacked a spirit because it had died in the wasteland of the mind. There was no shred of hope left in his consciousness. 

There was no sparkle in his eyes. 

I wondered where that gleam had gone.

In the present, I kept waiting for his response, patiently sitting and holding his hands until he was ready. 

Bucky drew in a breath, then let it out, squeezing his eyes shut to focus on clearing his mind and seeking comfort in our bond, in the trust that he’d so courageously given to me. 

He fluttered his eyelids open once he found his place.

And then it all came out in carefully chosen words and cautious sentences.

“I hate seeing my reflection. I hate it. If there was a stronger word, I would use it, but i-it’s all that I can come up with right now. I-I just- Every time that I see myself I just think that this was the last face that people saw before they died, that this was the face plastered across the news, that this was the face that served for Hydra.

And it’s pathetic, I know. I know that I’m an Avenger now, and I know that I’ve somehow changed, and I know how much effort you put into each and every moment, in trying to understand me, and I feel so horrible every single time you look at me and I can’t seem to return that… that hopeful smile, or lovestruck gaze because I just-” He paused, an influx of emotion surging through his body. I rubbed a thumb against the back of his hand to assure him that everything was going to be alright. 

“I can’t look at you because I can’t stand seeing that… that man in your bright eyes. Those bright eyes that are filled with so much life, so much joy whenever they’re on me. I don’t- I don’t want him to be in there. I don’t want him to hurt you, (Y/N). I don’t want-” The brunette stifled a sob by tugging his bottom lip in between his teeth. My heart ached at the sight, my grip on his hands becoming tighter as I watched him come undone. He turned to me with tears in his eyes, tears that threatened to fall onto his cheeks, threatening to stain his skin with the colors of sorrow.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispered. A trembling breath flew out of my mouth as all the wind seemed to be knocked out of my lungs at the impact of his words. I took him into my arms, pressing his heart to mine and clenching my fists around the fabric of his shirt. Bucky slowly wrapped his arms around my body, finding comfort in my touch, resting his chin on top of my shoulder blade, drinking in my scent in heavy but silent gasps.

“Oh sweetheart…” I flattened my fingers to softly pat his back, attempting to ease him into a less panicked state. “Everything’s gonna be alright. We’re going to be okay. You’re going to be okay, I’m not going to get hurt because of you. You’re not going to hurt me, honey.” The brunette in my embrace shuddered, hopelessly clutching onto me in desperation, almost at a mad scramble for some sort of safety. 

We sat there, intertwined with one another as I whispered words of solace until Bucky’s breaths became even and his hiccups subsided, making way for a smoother airflow and a stable, steady heart rate. Unlocking my arms so that we could separate, I gingerly placed my hands on Bucky’s chest and delicately pushed away enough for me to brush all the hair out of his face and press a kiss to his forehead.

“Bucky, I want to show you something.” 

“What is it?” 

Taking his left hand, I led him to the bathroom down the long hallway on our floor. He sensed what was going on and immediately stopped in the middle of the hall, his grasp tightening around my hand. 

“(Y/N),” he spoke, “(Y/N), please.” I clasped my hands around his metal one and gave the back of it a kiss, my gaze full of sorrow as I stared at the brunette. 

“Please, Buck. Let me help you.” Bucky could hear the pleading tone about my voice. He hesitated for a moment, pausing to take a breath, but eventually gave a reluctant nod as I led him to the bathroom. Upon entry, Bucky immediately bowed his head, completely avoiding the centerpiece mirror as he moved to a spot in front of it. I gave a soft, sympathetic sigh and hopped on the table that was built into the giant vanity, making sure that my boyfriend was positioned right in front of me. 

“If you’d like, you can close your eyes, sweetheart,” I hummed, “Can you lift your head up for me?” The brunette did as he was told, fluttering his eyelids shut as I gently raised his chin so that it sat at a normal angle. Letting a breath out, I admired his features with despairing irises. I looked on at his red, puffy eyes and unkempt skin as a pang of heartache reverberated through my body. Despite how painful it was to see him in such anguish, I managed to swallow the lump in my throat and opened my mouth to speak to the broken man.

“Honey, I-I don’t know how you feel. I can’t even begin to imagine what you must have gone through during your darkest times, but I want to be there for you. I want to be there for you whenever you crash or you forget that your actions in the past don’t dictate your future. You’re not the person you were a year ago, Buck. Your face doesn’t remind me of the desolate times, but of the happiest moments in my life.” Noticing that I was getting loud, I paused for a few seconds to cool off, then continued. 

“Whenever I see this face,” I murmured, cupping Bucky’s cheeks in my palms, “I see my Bucky. I see the face of the man who has been nothing short of sweet, understanding, patient, and oh-so dear to me.” My view flitted to his hair, to which I reached for to slowly entangle my fingers in. Bucky gave a small hum as I brushed my digits through his hair, instinctively collecting the brown locks into a half-bun. His neck arched at the feeling, his shoulders sinking while I continued to play with his hair while talking freely. 

“I see the face of the man who is selfless, caring, who is willing to change and diverge from his past to strive towards a brighter future.” As I secured the half-bun in place with a hair tie, I smiled at the sight of Bucky’s expression: his eyes were still closed, but the edges of his lips were curled up in content and comfort -- a rare but always stunning sight. 

“I also see the face of the man that I love with every single bit of my heart, and who I know loves me all the same.” Finishing the look, I leaned back and reveled in the newfound freshness to the brunette’s complexion. 

“If you want, you can open your eyes, Buck.” To my complete surprise, his eyes shot open the moment those words left my mouth. Without missing a beat, he jerked forwards and looked at the mirror with sudden resolution. My heart jumped upon seeing his readiness and the sudden jerk his body took upon, but soon melted as I recognized spots of determination and wholehearted faith in his expression. 

He was slowly shifting out of his comfort zone. 

The progress made here tonight would’ve taken weeks if we attempted this a few months ago. 

It was an understatement to say that I was absolutely ecstatic about this huge leap we’d taken together. My emotions were beyond elation, beyond excited -- the mere thought that Bucky had felt comfortable enough around me to do this sparked a fire within my chest, one that sent flames rushing through my veins so that the tips of my fingers tingled, trembling as they struggled to contain the enhanced level of exhilaration. 

“Baby,” I breathed, “Oh, Bucky.” I turned around to look at the mirror and watched in pure joy as a delighted grin spread across my lover’s face, lighting up his features in the best ways possible. His gaze shifted to my reflection, then back to his, soaking in the wholeness of the image before us. 

“You’re beautiful,” he spoke, “You’re so beautiful, (Y/N).” My heart leapt to my throat as I burst into laughter, my cheeks rosy and my head spinning. He’d called me beautiful in the past, but it never felt like this -- so pure, so close to the heart and endearing as ever. The brunette stepped back to gaze at me as I giggled with a hand clapped over my mouth. 

“Doll, don’t you dare cover your face, now.” Bucky gripped both of my forearms and pulled down so that the big, dopey grin on my face was fully exposed and my laughter could finally echo freely through the chamber of the bathroom. The brunette drank in the melody of merriment with a big, dopey grin of his own as he started to slide his hands down my arms and to my thighs. 

“Hey, look at me, beautiful.” Instinctively, my gaze shifted to meet Bucky’s. The world seemed to slow moments before our eyes met. Waves of motion blurred and the background turned into white and beige gaze as my pupils started to fixate on my lover. 

There was silence, seemingly senseless blindness, even.

And then this brilliant wave of blue, the crashing of cymbals, the tidal wave that immediately swept over my eyes. 

I started to cry as I saw the way his irises glimmered underneath the bathroom lights as they bore into mine, those beautiful dark blue irises finally making their way into the depths of my soul. I cried my heart out, hot tears streaming down my flushed face, cascading down my cheeks and dripping onto my chin. God. I was breathless. 

“Doll,” he said, brushing a tear off of my cheek, “Hey, what’s wrong? Are my eyes that ugly?” I laughed at his jokes, lightly shoving him in response to his cheeky comment. 

“I-I’m just so happy,” I sobbed, “I’m so happy, Bucky.” The brunette smiled and leaned in, nearing my face as his eyes grew half-lidded. He gave my thighs a squeeze before whispering against my lips, his hot breaths bearing down on them, filled with want. 

“I am too.”

His lips pressed against mine and suddenly everything was right in the world. As my hands slid up to cup his face in my palms, I wrapped my legs around his torso, bringing him closer to me, his lower stomach pressed against my core. I hummed at the sensation of his finding their way to my waist, fingers smoothing over my curves, cherishing every small wave that they found themselves riding. 

Gasping softly as his mouth moved to layer kisses down my neck, I moved my hands to rest comfortably on Bucky’s shoulders as he started to lap at a spot at the base of my neck. Small huffs of breath and mewls spouted out of me as the brunette worked on forming a bruise.

“God, I love you,” he murmured into my skin, “I love you so much.” I could only hum in response, toes curling at the sensation of his teeth gently nipping at my collarbone as his tongue coaxed my nerves to scream in delight. 

Once he was done, he parted from my collarbone with a satisfied glint in his eyes and lifted his head to fondly gaze at my relaxed features. 

“Thank you, (Y/N). For everything,” he spoke. I kissed his forehead and beamed at him, overjoyed to finally have seen him like this -- relaxed, with a radiance about his expression that could not be attained from anything other than pure laughter. 

And with that, I pressed my lips to his again, only parting to reply to his expression of gratitude. 

“You deserve it, baby. You deserve it.”

[kirboner]

The Curse of the Blood God

TW: Gore/blood descriptions, attempted suicide mentioned, major character death, swearing (not much).

WORD COUNT: 2,738

This is a mainly c!Technoblade centric along with c!Philza, other DSMP characters are also mentioned :] (if there are any tags I missed please tell me!)

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Growing up, Technoblade was always surrounded by violence. With violence came death, so the concept of it was never unfamiliar to him. Never jarring, never shocking. It happens to those who are too weak to keep fighting, who make stupid decisions or let their guard down. It happens to those who lose, and Technoblade never loses. 

Technoblade never dies.

So, when the tip of his blade pierces through an enemy’s throat, or when their blood spurts against the snow, and they collapse in a heap against the frost- Techno feels nothing. Partially because he doesn’t know them, but mostly because they made a stupid decision and they lost. They challenged The Blade. The Blood God. To Techno, losing a life is like losing a game, a challenge, a bet. 

The L’Manburgians that suffered once he spawned the Wither let their guards’ down. The Butcher Army by challenging him had made a stupid decision, and those he challenged and triumphed against were weak. So, they lost a life, or a few.

Maybe that’s why betrayal hurts him so deeply, why the feeling aches in his very core. Someone has to be close to him to betray him, he has to put his trust in them, he has to care about them. For someone to then betray him, to betray The Blade, is a stupid decision on their behalf. However, that’s not the half of why it hurts so much, why the feeling stings and burns and engulfs him. It’s because he made the stupid decision to put his trust in someone traitorous. Yet, regardless of his stupid decisions,

Technoblade never dies.

Techno has few constants in his life, so he tends to gravitate to those he can control. Roasted potatoes and gapples, a royal gown he stole a long time ago that he wears as under-armor, a golden crown. Small things, items he carries with him as he flees location. However, one other thing remains a constant in his life, something he can’t pack in a suitcase or strap to his back- and that’s Phil. 

His memories of his life growing up in the Nether are a mix of vivid snippets and utter vagueness that he’s had to piece together through whisper and rumour. He remembers fighting with other Piglin half-breeds in The Pit, uncomfortable nights spent unslept on hard nether rack, fractures and purple bruises left blotched across his torso. Gashes that reopened, scabs that refused to heal. The jeering and hissing crowd that surrounded him, as he was forced to rip apart his opponents; orphans just like himself. Losing their parents was the worst thing that ever happened to them, Technoblade being a close second. He could recall the *clink* of golden nuggets pooling at his feet, quickly soaked in the ever-growing pool of his opponent’s blood- this time a larger Piglin boy who laid face down, iron pickaxe lodged firmly in his spine. The crowd cheering his victories and spurring him on. Shrieking for more.

BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD

BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD

BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD--

How he left- or rather escaped- the Nether falls into the latter category of utter vagueness. Phil had told him he came across The Pit when trading rare spider eyes on the black market, as he heard the value was higher in the Nether due to the specific spiders only existing in the Overworld. However, upon discovering The Pit he had, in his words, “gotten into a bit of a domestic over it with the ringleader,” which Techno suspected to be an understatement. Phil, apparently, had “completely non-violently, and totally consensually” taken himself and the other half-breeds to the Overworld. Techno, again, believed this to be a massive understatement, as Phil and himself to this day could not enter the Nether without a fight of some kind. 

‘So, what ever happened to the other orphans?’ He asked, throwing a match on their fireplace. Living in a Tundra, while isolated and peaceful, required near constant temperature adjustment.

‘I spent a while rehousing them all across the Overworld, it took around two months to actually find homes for all of ‘em,’ Phil shifted more firewood closer to the hearth. A spruce log, dark and dense. Techno shifted in place, ‘Uh, what about me?’ He wanted to elaborate more on the question, rather than sound like a small child, but didn’t. Phil chuckled, ‘You were different, Techno,’ to this Techno quirked an eyebrow, ‘Different?’ He probed.

‘Well, let’s see... I did try a couple times to find you a family, y’know?’ Techno frowned, ‘Not because I didn’t like you, but because I was worried about you. I have a pretty dangerous line of work, and I thought you deserved a bit of a more stable life,’ Phil sighed. A beat of silence followed ‘So how well did that plan turn out?’ Techno asked sarcastically, earning a chuckle from Phil. His confidence rebuilt slightly. ‘I wanted you to have a constant in your life, but I also didn’t want you to be unsafe,’ Phil looked at the hearth, crackling quietly. ‘The more time I spent with you, I realized you already had a constant, Techno,’ He looked at the kindling, long charred and crumbling to ash. ‘Violence,’ Phil breathed, barely above a whisper. ‘You needed more than just violence in your life Techno- and trust me, I know I’m not always the best example- but I wanted to be that constant’ Phil continued, ‘And I’m glad I made that decision,’ he smiled.

A silence stretched for a moment, a tight feeling developing in Techno’s chest. He got this feeling whenever Phil said something particularly sappy, though the tightness was never painful. It was a pleasant feeling. It was kind. ‘Even if it means you can’t trade spider eyes on the black market anymore?’ Techno deadpanned, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. ‘Oh trust me, the market value for spider eyes has plummeted since the ‘90s, I was just trying to cut my losses,’ Phil smirked, leaning back on his hands. Techno rolled his eyes, ‘Christ you’re old, man,’ he said fondly.

A constant. Phil was a constant. He had been there to mend his tattered gown, tend to his wounds (now shallower, and fewer and further between). He had fought alongside him, brothers in arms, working together in the fight against tyranny. Phil was a force to be reckoned with on the battlefield, rightfully earning the title as The Angel of Death. 

‘Who first started givin’ you that name, anyway?’ Techno asked, swinging his axe down and splitting a spruce log down the middle, watching it splinter and fall in two smaller heaps. The chill of dawn was warmed little by the sun peaking over the horizon, a reminder of the Autumn season soon to come. ‘What name?’ Phil looked at him, confused before shoveling another mound of snow to make room for their new vegetable patch installment. ‘I know you well, mate, but I’m not a mind reader,’ he chuckled. ‘The Angel of Death- who first started callin’ you that?’ Techno elaborated. Phil heaved another shovel-full, ‘God, it’s been a while since someone’s called me that. I reckon it started way back, before the Antarctic Empire,’ he paused for a moment, his shoulders tense. ‘I remember when I was little, I had a pet bird and I used to let it sleep in my bed,’ Eyes downcast, the air seemed to grow chillier. ‘It was the night before my 6th birthday, and I had a dream that I was standing in a cave, the walls covered in this weird writing I couldn’t read and... I could hear a voice whispering to me, but there was no one there,’ Techno heard him suck in a breath before continuing, ‘It said: you are the angel of the men befallen to you, you are the choice you will wish to unchoose. An unvindicated angel, an angel of death.’ 

Techno’s axe was frozen in place, feeling significantly heavier than before. ‘The bird was dead when I woke up,’ Phil swallowed thickly, before plunging his shovel back into the slush. ‘That’s, uh... heavy stuff, Phil,’ Techno shifted uncomfortably. ‘Well, it was a long time ago now, I don’t really think about it much. It is a bit weird how people started calling me that a while afterwards, though,’ Phil chuckled dryly. Techno blinked, deciding to continue chopping firewood rather than probe the topic. It’s not like he had much of a need to fight now anyways, Techno was perfectly capable and willing to take on the world for Phil. 

From then on, time passed by quietly.

The Syndicate was formed, consisting of his fellow anarchists. Small battles were fought, but nothing extreme. Well, at least the ones Phil participated in. Techno’s bloodshed, however, did not slow. He was never one to insert himself into battles he had no stake in, but he found the “stakes” he held in the battles he fought became less about what he gained, and more so existed for the sake of fighting. Time passed, yet Techno never felt the effects of it.

The same could not be said for Phil, nor his peers. As the years passed, Phil seemed significantly older. The timeless winged angel he knew growing up seemed... ancient. As isolated as they originally were in the Tundra, the people he once knew became even further and further away.

The Winter winds of Snowchester became harsher than what Tubbo’s infrastructure could withstand. The damage to the buildings became too severe, Tubbo and Jack resigning to move to a warmer climate. Tommy went with them, unsurprisingly. Ranboo and Niki left the Syndicate to join them.

Eventually the Egg and its cultists seemed to disappear below the surface. The dead bloodvines oozed a mix of light blue and red when cut, any residual whispers too quiet to make out. Sam wasn’t seen outside the prison anymore now, and new visitors were always refused. George and Sapnap allegedly left Eastward towards a mycelium biome, the looming walls of Pandora’s box an apparently unpleasant reminder for them.

More people disappeared; their reasons unknown to Techno. Some set sail across the ocean in search for something new, something untainted. Some died in smaller territorial battles, or over Casino winnings. Others went to the Nether and never came back. Phil could only fly for short periods of time now, and it took a great toll on his body.

‘So, see anything new out there birdman?’ Techno inquired, brewing a potion of Swiftness II. ‘I saw a gravestone I never saw before, near L’Canyon,’ Phil coughed, slowly adjusting himself in his chair. ‘L’Canyon... I don’t remember anyone being buried there. Who’s was it?’ Techno asked, mildly interested. ‘The hedge stone was too eroded, it could’ve been written in Endlish for all I know,’ Phil paused for a moment, ‘You might be able to read it, you have better eyesight than me, mate.’ Techno looked at Phil, surprised. ‘That’ll be a pretty long journey by horse, we’ll have to load up on supplies,’ Techno muttered, adding another cup of Redstone powder into his brewing stand. ‘I’ll fly us,’ Phil smiled as Techno looked dumbfounded at the fragile man before him. He was pale, the feathers on his wings greyed, his face lined and tired. Techno swallowed, ‘Phil, I don’t think--’ ‘C’mon, mate. Just like old times. If we leave now, we’ll have plenty of daylight,’ Phil interrupted, placing a gentle but firm hand on his shoulder. No matter his age, Phil was just as stubborn as always, so despite his better judgement Techno agreed on the trip. 

‘I’m still bringing a map, compass and overnight supplies in case we don’t make it before nightfall,’ Techno announced. ‘Of course, mate. I’m stubborn, not crazy-’ Phil was cut off by another fit of coughing. Techno eyed him nervously, ‘You’re sure you can hold my bodyweight, plus supplies?’ He inquired, dubiously. ‘Course, mate. Don’t stress about it,’ Phil reassured.

As anxious as Techno was, he trusted Phil’s judgement in his abilities. Plus, he couldn’t deny the rush he got from being in the sky. The wind flowing through his hair, the air fresh and crisp. He felt like a child again, riding on Phil’s back across the SMP. Soaring to the heavens at unimaginable speeds. He looked down at the pure whiteness that was their home, fading into dense spruce forestry, slowly becoming pure green Plains. Eventually, the green was abrupted by a deep, grey crater. 

They landed clunkily, more of a barely controlled fall than a proper landing. ‘You okay, Phil?’ Techno called out, standing up quickly, and wiping grass stains off his gleaming Netherite. Phil was further North of him, lying in a crowd of thistles. His body was contorted at a strange angle, ‘I’m ‘right,’ he called, his face wincing. Panic surged through Techno as he got closer, ‘Phil your bleeding, what the hell happened?’ He yelled, grabbing the medical kit out of his backpack. ‘It’s okay, mate. It was gonna happen soon, anyway,’ another labored breath, ‘Just wanted you to see the sky, one last time,’ He coughed, blood spurting across his chestplate. Techno hastily grabbed disinfecting wipes, Phil winced as his chestplate was removed.

A deep gash spread across Phil’s torso, below his ribs. His upper half impaled on a sharp tree stump shrouded within the thistles, his breath growing more ragged. ‘Phil- fuck. We’ve gotta get you off this thing,’ Techno swallowed, beads of sweat forming at his brow. ‘It’s too deep. The branch’s lodged in my intestines,’ he cringed, ‘at this angle, it’ll rip through my lung if you move me,’ Phil whispered, smiling weakly. He was right, the wood was splintered and lodged firmly in his core. Dark crimson blood leaked out from the gash like treacle, almost black and intense in volume. ‘I can- I’ll get healing potions from the house,’ Techno hyperventilated, wiping the disinfected cloth around the jagged and bloody stump. ‘If that doesn’t work, I’ll find a totem of undying-’ ‘Techno,’ Phil cut him off, placing a hand on his face. He hadn’t realized he had been crying until now. ‘It’s at least a 3 day walk back to the house on foot,’ Phil chuckled weakly, interrupted by a another fit of coughing. ‘Then what can- tell me what to do,’ Techno pleaded, wiping the cloth across the gash again and again as the crimson continued to leak out. 

‘Isn’t it painful, watching bleeding only to see more blood?’ Phil sighed, his breathing shallower, ‘It hurts but its undeniable, Techno...’

‘What is?’ Techno rasped, hands shaking.

‘...How good you are at wounding,’ Phil smiled, clasping his hand tightly. 

‘Phil, please’ Techno felt sick, his shoulders shaking.��‘It’s okay, Techno. I wanted this. I wanted to see the sky one more time,’ Phil swallowed, ‘-with you,’ His squeeze on Techno’s hand growing feebler. ‘Bury me at the gravestone I told you about,’ Phil’s eyes fluttered slightly. ‘But- I thought that was...’ Techno trailed off. 

It wasn’t fair. Phil had never betrayed him. He wasn’t stupid- his decision were always calculated. He was careful, he set traps around their base- he didn’t let his guard down. He wasn’t weak, he was an enemy’s worst nightmare on the battlefield. And yet, despite this, he died. Bleeding out, impaled and contorted near the shattered remains of his late son’s country. Phil died, just like everyone else.

Techno was alone. Phil, his constant, was gone. The other Syndicate members had disappeared, Wilbur died with L’Manburg and Tommy had long considered him an enemy. He was desolate and barren, the air felt cold as he sobbed loudly. His hands beat against the ground as he screamed until his throat grew hoarse. For the first time in his life, Techno ached. 

It had been weeks since Phil had passed, Techno felt too sick to eat or drink anything. The freezing nights did little to numb him, blistering days did little to warm him. His muscles did not deteriorate, nor did his legs give out beneath him. Physically, his body was fine. 

Back in the Tundra, his poison potions made him feel nauseous, potions of damage stung at his skin. No matter the mob, or the damage he sustained, he would respawn in his bed. The ache in his chest did not subside with time, the loneliness of the base encroaching upon him constantly. Yet, despite his stupid decisions, or letting his guard down around any mob he faced. Despite his weakness...

Technoblade never dies.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hi so that was an AU i wrote that got way too long lol. Hope you enjoyed! Likes/RBs appreciated :] <3.

[ladyreapermc]

Drabble: Birthday Surprise (Henry x You)

Summary: it was bad enough that you would have to spend your birthday in quarantine, but for Henry to forget it? That was just awful

Author’s note: I wasn’t supposed to take any requests or post other fics during this month of May since it’s the Birthday Challenge month, but this was a very especial occasion. It’s @mary-ann84​ birthday.  My dear, I wish you all the best in the world. You’re such a bright and kind person and I’m very glad I’ve met you here on tumblr. I do hope you enjoy this little drabble.

Wordcount: 1038

Warnings: so much fluff.

You knew it wasn’t fair to be upset with Henry for being able to entertain himself during this damned quarantine while all you could manage was stare at the walls and walk around aimless through the rental house you two got for the duration of The Witcher season 2 principal photography.

It was the first time you came with him to location, mostly because you had a month off from work and decided you could use the peace and quiet of the countryside to work on a few personal projects. It seemed like the perfect plan. While Henry was out working hard on the series, you had the house to yourself to do what you pleased and when night came and he was back home, you could dedicate all your time to him.

Then the news of the virus broke and for a while, production continued, but as the scenario slowly progressed to something direr, the producers decided to stop everything for safety and start isolation. You and Henry talked and decided that might as well wait where you were instead of going back to London. He had hopes that it would be over quickly.

Now, almost two months later, there was still no clear evidence of the quarantine ending and you were running out of ideas to entertain yourself. You read all the books you brought along with you and sure, there was always kindle, but it wasn’t the same. You liked to feel the actual thing, smell the pages, touch the rough texture of the paper beneath your fingers.

Besides, you missed being able to go out, see friends and family, have small gatherings. You were always a people’s person and as much as technology helped you to remain close to your loved ones, it just wasn’t the same. As matter of fact, sometimes it felt like seeing them through the screen was even worst, because at the end of the call your heart would always feel tighter and the lump in your throat made it so much harder to breathe, making tears spring into the corner of your eyes.

Henry was taking isolation very well. Despite being a very social man, he had also his introspective moments, in which he got lost in his favorite hobbies like reading or gaming or working out. More recently, he had also taken up cooking and painting miniature figurines.

He would spend hours completely absorbed in the task at hand, barely hearing when you spoke to him. It was slightly frustrating, but you knew he didn’t do it on purpose and whenever you had his attention, Henry was completely devoted to you. Watching or doing whatever you want, no questions asked.

So really, there was no reason to complain and it wasn’t fair to ask him to keep you entertained all the time. You were, after all, a damn adult and not a toddler. You could find something to do in this house. There was that Netflix show you were meaning to watch and since Henry was once again in the kitchen doing God knows what, Kal could use a walk. It would give you an excuse to breathe some fresh air and hide your disappointment from Henry.

The truth was, you hoped he would pay a little more attention to you today. It was, after all, your birthday. But he didn’t even seem to remember, and you hated to be the one to remind him. You knew he would feel terrible for forgetting and would try to overcompensate. That wasn’t what you wanted. You just wanted some nice time together, cuddling on the couch, with some popcorn and a cheesy movie on the telly. That wasn’t too much to ask, was it?

“Come on, Kal,” you called, taking one last turn around the block before leading the way back to the house. “We’ve been gone long enough. Your dad is probably worried. If he even noticed we went out that is.”

With a heavy sigh, you made your way back to the house at the end of the street, giggling at Kal chasing butterflies. It was your favorite time of the year. It was so beautiful to see the flowers back in full bloom and the birds and bees flying around.

And since there was barely anyone out, it felt like mother nature was reclaiming her ground, and more often than not you caught sight of wildlife making themselves at home in the gardens or jaunting around proudly, like they owned the street. It was a gorgeous sight and almost enough to soothe your sour mood as you approached the red door of the rental home.

You left your boots on the welcome mat, before wiping Kal’s paws and letting him rush inside in front of you, frowning slightly at the darkness at the foyer and living room. You stepped inside in your socks, shrugging off your coat and flickering the lights.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” Several voices shouted making you scream in surprise.

You looked around, but there was only Henry standing there, with a big, but slightly crooked chocolate cake, a grin on his lips, and a party hat on top of his dark curls. On the television screen, the faces of your loved ones staring back at you in individual little windows of the group conference call. All of them had silly party hats of their own.

On the wall above Henry’s head, a hand-made banner, paper flowers, origami, and colorful paper streamers decorated the room and you felt tears brimming in your eyes as you took it all in.

“You really thought I would forget?” he asked with a cocked eyebrow and you giggled, feeling silly and wanting nothing more than to rush into his arms and hug him tight. “Go clean up. We’ll wait for you.”

“Hen…” you breathed out, your heart overflowing with joy and love for this perfect man. You still couldn’t believe he just walked into your life one day but were so damn glad he did. “Thank you.”

“Always,” he smiled at you, and in his ocean blue eyes, you could see Henry containing himself from going to you, sealing his lips on yours. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

xxx

[parvulous-writings]

The Man of a Thousand Faces

Jerra/Nine x Reader

Request: Hello Pavy! I see that you're writing for some of your own characters now too, something that I think is super unique and so cutee!! <3I've never actually made a request here, so I'm really excited, and I migh send more in the future!Can I send in a request for one of your birds of prey original characters? Jerra, I think his name was? By the description, he sounds amazing! Can we maybe get a short Jerra X reader, perhaps a thing that goes from angst to fluff, with the prompts: 'I'm not in the mood right now.' 'Not you again.' And 'Is that my shirt/jumper/robe?' 'You look cute like that.'I hope this isn't too much, if so, it's completely okay! I think I just excited myself a little too much there haha.Thank you sosososo much in advance!!-Buggs <3

Requested by: Anon/Buggs

Genre:  domestic angst/romance

Warnings:  Mentions of violence and death.

Summary: oneshot with Nine/Jerra (character of my own creation) with the prompts  'I'm not in the mood right now.' 'Not you again.' And 'Is that my shirt/jumper/robe?' 'You look cute like that.'

Words: 1.3K

Notes: You’re the first person (besides my best friend) to request something with one of my ocs! I don’t think I’ve ever stimmed so hard in my life- it made me so happy to see someone interested in my characters!   My requests are currently open! My pinned post (found here) contains both a list of characters I write for, and a masterlist! Original character list - please request for these too!

not my gif

Life in Gotham wasn’t exactly brilliant, but it was just about liveable. You lived in a kind of well off apartment building, with your roommate and partner, Jerra. How you had matched yourself up with him was still a mystery even to you, but you were still very happy about it. To find love, in a city such as the one you found yourself in, was a miracle. It wasn’t often you saw the lanky brunette at the moment- and whenever you asked him about it, he would mumble something along the lines of; “The boss needs me, and I can’t say no to her.” Which, in a way, was true. You didn’t much like Jerra’s current employer- a notorious crime ring leader by the name of Valerie Steward. She was cruel, even by Gotham’s standards. A woman who found it difficult to control her temper, and often lashed out at those beneath her. More often than not, Miss Steward would send Jerra to be her mole, her little birdie, in other people's operations. That was why you hadn't seen him all that much in recent weeks; if he dropped the act, even for a moment, everything could be lost. So, even when you did see him, it wasn't really him. It was the character he had to play, the persona he had created for this specific job. Jerra was a committed man, when it came to his work. He would not break character-not even for a moment-until he had completed his work. It was this ethic, that unfortunately gave Jerra many problems, mostly to do with his identity-who was he really? Was he Jerra? Did Jerra even exist anymore? Had he been lost in a flurry of personalities and characters, never to be retrieved?

Thankfully for you, Jerra’s most recent job had now been concluded, and he was allowed to return to the small apartment the two of you shared and called home. Just because Jerra had been raised and trained somewhere away from civilisation, and was one of the thirteen leaders of an organisation that even Gotham’s most elite and high earning inhabitants knew little of did not mean he led a life of seclusion. No, he actively rebelled against the very concept. If he isolated himself, purely to stay out of harms way, how would he be able to study those around him? To get apt source material to draw upon in his profession? That would put him in more danger.  You heard the heavy thump of Jerra’s bags on the cold hard floor of the entryway, no doubt filled with more than just clothes and toiletries. Knives and firearms were probably stashed and hidden inside it. Jerra did not call out in greeting, he never did. You were used to that. You moved from the bedroom to the hallway, a bright smile on your face. “Jerra, baby!” You greeted, not getting too excited right away; Jerra had difficulty dealing with other people’s emotions, especially after just finishing a job. He gave you a rather disgusted look, “Not you again.” He rolled his eyes, before dragging his bags further down the hallway, and into the living space. You stood there, dumbfounded. Even when he’d returned from his worst of jobs, he’d never said something like that. Not once. He could be a little cold, of course- but you knew he had some difficulty getting back into recognising and displaying his true emotions, so more often than not you would let that slide.  This was more than unusual though. This was concerning. Had he gotten so into character that he’d briefly forgotten who you were? Had he briefly forgotten your life together? 

You started to trail after the tall brunette, your brows furrowing in concern. “Jerra?” You call after him, and he didn’t reply. He didn’t even turn to look at you as you came into the room. He was sat on the couch, head in his hands, fingers tangled in his hairline. You move to sit near him- not too close, so as not to startle him, but not too far away, so he could still sense your presence. You clear your throat quietly, and he gives you a dark look from his almost black eyes.  “Go. Away.” He insists, his voice low and rather dangerous. “I’m not in the mood for your company.” He told you, putting his forehead back in his palms. You rose silently from where you sat, it was best not to argue with him. You had never had his anger directed at you, but you had seen his anger before. It was never physical, but he could hone in on weaknesses of those he was arguing with- little insecurities that they tried to hide from others. You thought it best to avoid such an argument. 

In your absence, Jerra began to unpack his things, slowly and methodically. He passed you several times, but said nothing to you, he didn’t even seem to notice you. He just completely blanked you. To try and rouse him from his robotic state, you moved to his usual wardrobe- the one with all his normal clothes- and took one of his long, dark robes. It was far too long for you- it’s sleeves went partway down your thigh. The silver ‘hoodie strings’ jangled as you moved. They weren’t really hoodie strings- they were metallic pendants, but they seemed to be hoodie strings from a distance, and even Jerra didn’t know what they were called. “I don’t know. It’s just the uniform.” He had once told you. You shuffled back through to the living room, where Jerra now lay on his back, his hands rested on his stomach, eyes closed. He looked so peaceful, free of the worries and stresses of his day to day life. You almost don’t want to disturb him, but you’re vaguely aware that the longer you leave trying to get Jerra back into the habit of affection and domesticity, the harder it would be for him to stay at home with you. You cleared your throat to try and grab his attention, putting your hands on your hips. “Nine.” You address him formally. If you hadn’t had his full attention before, you certainly did now. His head whipped round to look at you, eyes blow wide in surprise as he quickly sat up. “Yes, I-” He stopped himself mid-sentence, his brows furrowing as he looked you up and down. His head tilted slightly as he started to speak again. “Hold on.... Is that my robe?” He asked, pointing a long finger at the garment draped over your form. You stretch you arms out, look down at yourself briefly, before nodding to confirm it for him. “It sure is.” You grinned heartily, and he started to chuckle. He opened his arms to you, and you settle on giving him a little bit of a hug.  He wraps his arms tightly around you, holding you close for a moment. “Look... I’m sorry for how I was earlier... I didn’t mean to snap at you like that.” It isn’t often that Jerra will apologise for something, so it’s fairly clear he is aware he’s done something wrong in some capacity. You snuggle close to him, his normal, almost earthy smell engulfing you.  “It’s alright, Jay. I know you don’t mean it.” You pressed a kiss to the underside of his chin.  “On the upside, you won’t have to deal with that for a long while now... Miss Steward’s given me a couple of months off.” Jerra gave you a wide grin. You were overjoyed, and partially surprised by his employer’s generosity. She must have been in a very good mood indeed. You snuggle closer to him. “So that means we can spend tonight like this, right?”  “Right.” Jerra confirmed. “But... I think we should get that robe off you. As cute as you look like that, it’s far too big for you.” He laughed, starting to pepper your face with kisses, making you descend into a flurry of giggles, both of you settling back into the swing of normal domesticity. 

[secondhand-trash]

Dead Romantics

A/N: The idea came before the plot and I’m just writing this because this is a theme I really want to write about but don’t have the outlet for lol Hopefully starting a series out of this

(au masterlist)

Pairing: modern necromancer!Shinsou HItoshi x reader

Description: The young necromancer spent his entire life being all by himself, and now he had no idea what to do when an enthusiatic classmate went out of thier way to be his friend.

Word count: 2618 

Playlist:

Apocalypse//Cigarettes After Sex

Your Heart Is As Dark As Night//Melody Gardot

Cherry Wine//Hozier

-

Shinsou Hitoshi was the first and only necromancer to enroll in UA since its establishment many, many moons ago.

For an institution that pride itself in offering inclusive education to both human and magical children alike, the board of staff sure panicked when they read the boy’s application form. Shinsou remembered the slight awkwardness on the teacher’s face when they stiffly said that there was no curriculum or support for necromancers because, frankly, there never was one. And honestly, he was used to that look, he had got reactions way worse than a brief seconds of silence. Necromancers pretty much isolated themselves from the rest of society and for a good reason. Even after cohesion between humans and the nocturnal had made such progress in the past decades, many still saw those who interfere with spirits as taboo. His parents’ decision to let him go to a ‘normal’ school instead of receiving private tutoring caused quite the conflict in his family, whose bloodline traced all the way back to the first generation of those who communicated with the dead.

Shinsou grew up hearing kids whispering things behind his back like he wasn’t there but the worst part was always the look in their eyes when they knew that he heard everything. It was the look of fear, one that his parents warned him before letting him into the wide world filled with people. Just because he was warned doesn’t mean it hurt any less. There was a time when he would try so hard to fit into other kids, and spent night after night sobbing under his blanket when they still avoided him like the plague. But after many years, he had accepted the fact that people simply don’t want to befriend necromancers, and he had grown to enjoy being alone.

Which was why Shinsou Hitoshi had no idea, absolutely no idea why you were being so nice to him.

You were pretty much a normal average human who did not dabble in magic of any sorts and even if you sat right in front of him, he never expected to come in contact with you in any ways. In all honesty, he did not expect to come in contact with anyone in his class in any ways. He made the effort to occupy the seat far at the back in the corner, that way he could avoid being surrounded by people when they get into groups during break. It was a way of living he adapted, self-alienating was actually pretty pleasant once you get used to it.

So no, he wasn’t even sure why he’s still listening to you rambling on about some weird encounter you had with a ghost in the empty classroom when the rest of the class had gone to the canteen. As he watched your hands flailing in the air while reenacting the whole scenario, he wondered why he even responded to you the first time you turned around and tried to get him to talk.

“Shinsou? Shinsou!” you waved your hand in front of his face, bringing him back to reality. “Are you even listening?” you leaned forward, “you look even more dead inside than usual. Did you even sleep last night?”

Shinsou ran his hand through his untamed hair and sighed, he would have been napping by now if you weren’t here. “No, stayed up all night for some ritual.”

He tried to search your eyes for any signs of disgust, any signal of fear but he saw nothing. If anything, you always looked intrigued every time he nonchalantly brought up his family business to see if it would finally scare you into leaving him alone. “Ah, necromancy!” you tilted your head, “so it’s true that it could only happen at night?”

He only nodded. No one had ever asked him about that, how was he supposed to say that it was mostly for aesthetic purposes nowadays when you looked so impressed?

“You should definitely show me how it works one day.”

“What?” Shinsou choked out in disbelief. He knew that you had no idea how dangerous his field of practice could be but he definitely underestimated your lack of alert.

“It’s almost Halloween and my friend is an actual necromancer, we should have a séance or something. It’s festive!” you said, your excitement completely contrasting to the baffled expression of your friend.

“We’re not... Never mind,” Shinsou was about to reflectively say that he wasn’t your friend when his words were caught at the back of his throat. Something about your genuine goodness made him feel bad for pushing you away, which was strange because he never asked for any of this. He wasn’t going to lie, having an accepting person around for a change did feel nice. “Having a séance without a purpose is dangerous and necromancy is pretty much a ‘no outsider’ type business so there’s no way I’m letting you in on that.”

You let out a dramatic sigh and pouted. Shinsou rolled his eyes and you chuckled. Somehow, he wasn’t as annoyed as he tried to be and it confuses him to no end. He was trying to get you to stop bothering him, why was he still here entertaining you when he could be off doing something else?

Shinsou took a breath and tried to sound as stern as he possibly could, “If you’re not a client or another necromancer and I let you see anything, I’ll either have to kill you or marry you.”

You only shrugged, “Sounds good either way.”

He snorted. And as convincing as he tried to be, he could not even convince himself to ignore that fluster in his stomach.

“Just because you’re a necromancer, doesn’t mean you have a free pass to dig up graves.”

“Actually, it does, it’s in the law. (It actually is.)” He silently cursed himself for being foolish enough to fall for your whines and let you tag alone. To be fair, when you heard that he had ‘somewhere to go afterschool’, you really wasn’t expecting to end up in the middle of a graveyard but a normal person would have left at this point and you were still poking your head around him curiously as he looked around. “Why are you still here? For the last time-”

“Stop trying to convince me that we’re not friends,” you crossed your arms in front of your chest and smirked as you knew exactly what he was about to say, “I’ve been to your house and your parents recognizes me, your cat purrs when it sees me, I still have that book you lent me on my shelf, I actually managed to make you laugh once and I’m literally here to dig a grave with you, we are friends.”

Shinsou groaned and you knew that you had won. He would try to argue that you went to his house because he took a sick leave that day and the teacher asked you to since you were the only person he actually talked to in the whole class. His parents still remembered you because they were shocked when they answer the door to someone looking for their son who said that he had no interests in making friends with people from school. Till now, they would still ask Shinsou if ‘the nice kid he met at school’ would like to come over for dinner or not and he would always give an indifferent mumble to brush it off. The house cat purrs at anyone and the only reason he lent you that one book was because you kept bugging him about it and he wanted a bit of peace. He was only laughing at you because you tripped yourself on a flat ground. Finally, he did not ask you to come to the graveyard with him.

Now that he thought about it, he had been spending an awful lot of time with you recently.

“Fine.”

You gave him a wide grin, seeing that it was the first time he ever admitted it out loud. He tried to ignore you and turned around to look for the items he was looking for, not picking up on the heat concentrating on the tip of his ears. He wasn’t actually digging up a grave this time, a little bit of dirt from the ground was enough for what he had in mind.

“What are you doing with that?” you asked as he kneel down to scoop up a small pile of soil next to a tombstone and put it in a small velvet bag.

“Trying to contact a spirit of some sorts,” he said, carefully choosing his wording, “there are questions I want to ask.”

You nodded and didn’t pry any further. He let out a relieved sigh, because he had no idea how he was supposed to answer your questions like it was nothing when everything he wanted answers for had to do with you.

The clock strike midnight and Shinsou sucked in a deep breath as he stared at everything that was laid out in front of him. He had done this many times and he knew that he would not fail, but some part of him was still nervous to see if this would actually help the million thoughts swimming in his mind at all.

Dusting the soil in a trail to form a circle, he lighted a candle and placed it inside the circle. Closing his eyes, he could feel the way his blood flow in his veins and the sudden chills that spread from his back all the way to the tip of his fingeres. As the numbness retreat and he felt the air circulating around the room, his slowly opened his eyes to see a blurry shadow.

Focusing his gaze on the silvery shadow, the figure slowly morphed and twisted like a stream of smoke before coming to form the image of a man. The man was dressed in a sharp suit with a silk bow and held a top hat in hand, old-fashioned but extravagant no less. His hair was carefully styled and every little detail on his coat was delicately crafted.

Ah great, a romantic.

“You called upon the spirits to get answers on the future I assume. Is that right, young boy?” the syllables rolled off the man’s tongue in a way that sounded tiresome to Shinsou’s modern ears.

“Well, yes, but I might have make a mistake.” This was stupid, how sad was it that he was looking for advice on his own feelings and he could only turn to people who had been dead for decades.

“Oh, a mistake you say?” the spirit looked amused by the clear distress on the necromancer’s face, “We both know that a ritual of that sort summons only the spirit that could respond to the deepest yearning of your heart. So why did you call me here, prey tell?”

“I need help,” he said though his teeth, “with this friend of mine.”

“Is it a friend or is it a someone more?”

Stupid ghosts and their instincts. “The thing is, I don’t know how I feel about them.”

“Ah!” The dandy yelped in excitement, “the dilemma of love and friendship, the problem every young gentleman must face!”

Shinsou paled at the ghost who was so excited in the face of his struggle. “It’s not a dilemma. I just, I don’t know if I even feel for them that way or I’m just getting attached to the first person who showed me a hint of kindness. Because I was still annoyed by them the last time I remember and all of a sudden I don’t even mind being around them and it doesn’t make sense-”

“Sounds like you fell in love.”

“But if that’s so then I’m just messing things up, wouldn’t it?”

The spirit raised a brow, “How is that so?”

“Well,” Shinsou tried to gather his thoughts, “there’s no way someone like them would want to get too close with someone like me.”

The spirit stayed silent for a while and it was like it could stare a hole into the boy standing in front of him, “But they already did, haven’t they?”

“What?”

“From what you said, it sounded like that person actually want to be close to you. Why are you so convinced that they wouldn’t?”

For a while, Shinsou was lost with words. There were many, many reasons he could think of on top of his head on why people wouldn’t want to be close to him. He didn’t talk much, he looked like he hadn’t sleep in 300 years, he went looking for relationship advice from a dead romantic, many, many of them. But as he went through the many reasoning, none of them seemed like they would have work with you.

“Don’t mind me because I’m just a dead old man from the 19th century but perhaps you spent so long wallowing in self-loathing that you ignore all signs of said person fancying you as much you might hope them to be?”

It was nothing new but Shinsou stayed up all night thinking about what the spirit said to him. At heart, he still found it pretty pathetic that he got lectured by a ghost but what he said makes sense and for the first time since he gave up on trying to fit in, he felt extremely anxious while sitting through his many classes at school, knowing that you would most likely be around him for lunch.

As expected, you turned your chair to the back and sat down facing him once the bell for lunch break rang and people started to clear out of the room. “So, any success with the questions you wanted to ask?”

“Yeah, sort of.” he only uttered a quick response and you knitted your brow together.

“Is something wrong?” you asked, slightly concerned.

“Why weren’t you afraid of me?”

He looked right at you in the eyes and it almost pained you to think of what he had gone through to even feel the need to ask that. You could guess that he didn’t have the easiest time around people from how closed off he was before you annoyed him into letting his guard down but you wasn’t expecting the standard treatment he got to be fear.

You gently said, “Why would I be?”

He chuckled and you weren’t sure why it sounded to gut wrenching to you. “Everybody else is.”

“I like being around you.”

His eyes slightly widened, the leaping in his chest speeding up at your earnest. His brain went hay wired when you tentatively reached for his hand and rubbed soothing circles at the back of his hand. He wasn’t even aware that he wanted the contact so badly until his body acted upon him and held your hand in his.

A rush of warmth washed through you as the boy initiated any affection towards you for the first time. He brought his hold on your hand to his lips and placed a soft kiss at the back of your hand, sending a mad blush to your face. You would be lying if you say you never wanted this to happen when you brought up the bravery to talk to the gloomy kid sitting at the back of the room for the first time.

He quietly said in the most genuine tone you had ever heard from him, “Thank you.”

He smiled, and that sight alone made your heart melt.

[pandawritesmanythings]

(A Medieval!AU Loki x Stark!Reader Story)

Chapter Summary: Where our adventure begins...

Word Count: 2,018

Warnings: Angst? Breakups?

Masterlist

A/N: Thank you so much to those who liked the idea and decided this story was worth your time! I hope you enjoy!

-

Loki found himself looking out the window, while the woman on his bed slept soundly. He took a breath of the salty air that belonged to that dark and secretive night. A night of caresses and whispers, always aware that anybody could walk in but fully devoted to each other.

The northern star sparkled brightly against the dark sky and he found himself staring at it. At the millions of stars that he had explored yet still so many, he had out of his reach. He couldn't map further from what he could see. But there was no brighter star than the one that he had left to rest on his bed.

He approached her quietly and sat beside her. A hand petting her hair to wake her.

"Time to go love." He whispered as her eyes fluttered open.

She let out a heavy and sleepy sigh. "Must I?"

"I wish you hadn't. But you must."

"If only this wasn't so complicated..."

"Yes... If only." Loki stared out of the window. He knew this night was the last with his true love. "But despite what happens tomorrow, you must know that it was you. It was always and will always be just you."

They pressed their foreheads together, him trying to transmit his love for her and her trying to suppress the tears. After tonight these secret rendezvous and quiet cuddles would be no more. The dark prince was going to marry someone else, and there was nothing either of them could do.

"Promise me you'll never forget me." She asked him.

"I promise. But you also have to promise that you'll move on."

She kept quiet. Her golden hair was messy and it had fallen off her braid. Despite her disheveled look, she was still the most beautiful creature to Loki. His angel was struggling with her words, but he couldn't blame her. This was for the best, but it didn't mean that it wasn't hard.

Finally, she conceded. "I-I promise..." 

That night they would finally admit their love to each other, but they would have to painfully part before that love could ever be consumed.

-

The day of departure was extremely stressful for you. You paced around your room and Wanda helped you finish going over your luggage.

"Are you sure I have everything? Maybe double-check the list." You nervously paced as you pulled your dress to make it neater for the umpteenth time.

Wanda bit her lip in amusement. "Darling, this is the third time we have gone over about what you are taking and what you aren't. You have to take a breath. Everything will be fine."

You sat in front of your vanity and looked at the bags under your eyes in the mirror.

"Alright. Yes. Everything will be fine." You placed your head in your hands, and even though you tried to convince yourself, you had to admit that you really weren't feeling confident.

"This just needs to work Wanda. It does. I can't afford to slip up."

She kneeled next to you, and understanding look on her face. "I know my dear friend. But it will do you no good to worry like this. Come, you must speak to your brother. If you are nervous I can't begin to imagine how nervous he is."

You nodded and led the way to your little brother's room. After knocking, his brown eyes met yours and he beamed at you before tackling you into a hug. Not very princely like, but you loved him a lot so who cares.

"You came!" He beamed at you.

"Of course I came!" You smiled back. "I wouldn't want to leave without saying goodbye!"

A sad look crossed his face. "Do you really have to go?" He sheepishly asked.

"I know it's not ideal Peter, but it will only be for a little while, with some luck I'll be able to come back here soon." You tried to remain positive but the teen remained with a worried expression etched to his face.

"But you won't come back alone, will you?"

You hesitated. Your parents had been adamant about not letting Peter know many details, but you couldn't lie straight to his face.

"Best case scenario I won't."

"Why does that have to be the best-case scenario?" He grumbled, becoming slightly more annoyed.

"You know full well why Peter." You straightened up. "This is my duty and I'll fulfill it if I have to."

"But what about-"

Your glare and stern look shut him up immediately, especially after noticing a pair of guards walking nearby.

A sigh fell from your lips. "I don't wish to fight you."

"Me neither."

"Then please understand. I just want you to care for Morgan. And don't worry about me. I'm the royal heir. It's my obligation to worry about arranged marriages, not yours."

Both of your foreheads were pressed against each other. Both trying to draw strength from the other and still show your love, because you knew that in public you wouldn't be able to.

"I love you, little brother."

"And I, you."

-

The realm consisted of 9 kingdoms. Towards the ocean, was Asgard. A beautiful and towering kingdom. Rich in resources and culture. It was one of the biggest and most prosperous of the kingdoms.

To it's right was Vanaheim, which was a series of hunting tribes that had their own system of government. It was unusual for the Vanir to leave Vanaheim, and the thick vegetation and merciless fauna rendered it almost impossible to travel through it if not guided by a local.

To Asgard's left was Alfheim. An illustrious monarchy that made its home on the edge of the mountains, and had made itself rich for acquiring the precious gems and stones that decorated their palaces and streets. They lived quietly isolated and had refused for centuries to trade with any of the other kingdoms. But they had accepted to do so thanks to the Yggdrasil Accord.

Deeper into the mountains was Svartalheim. Their kingdom was to be found inside the mountains. Not much was known about them since they had remained isolated from the other kingdoms and despite the Accord, they still mostly kept to themselves.

At the top of the mountains and the subsequent valleys was Jotunheim. This kingdom was hostile. They bred warriors from infancy and were terribly dangerous to the other kingdoms. They were the strongest in the military sense. They had the best strategist and fiercest warriors. It was no surprise that anyone who approached the kingdom uninvited had gone missing and never heard of again.

In the valley below the mountains, there was Nidavelir. A kingdom of artisans and poets. A stark contrast to their Jotun neighbors, they were a complete opposite to them. Being mostly unarmed and interested only in refining their craft and methods of farming, they were the kingdom most defenseless yet with the most resources of the bunch.

Next, there was Niflheim. This was a neutral zone. A zone that was for the rulers of the kingdoms to come together in peace. As a result, the people of the place were pacifists and tried to share their ways with the other realms.

Then there was Hel. It had once been a powerful kingdom. But a raging fire had turned the green and beautiful forest into a barren and ashy wasteland. The people who lived there were ruled by their queen who barely had contact with the other kingdoms. Their system works like any other tribe would.

And finally, right in the middle of all the kingdoms, there was Midgard. The youngest of the kingdoms. This was your home. And this was yours to protect. Once you were old enough to understand your responsibility you took it with honor. Your small but resourceful centric land was everything to you. And you would protect it against the other kingdoms with your life.

"You've been looking at that map for a long time." You heard your father's voice.

He was coming towards you. His confident stride contrasting with the worry lines and sad smirk.

You smiled back at him before you looked back over the map. "Just making a mental list."

"For?"

"Well. If I am to go to Asgard I must make a good case for my visit and arrangement, must I not?" You smirked back at him, hoping it would lighten his mood.

To your delight, he seemed to relax a bit, but it didn't last long before he took a good look at you and smiled sadly.

"You've grown so much, you know?" He cupped your face in his hands and brought you in a hug. "I'm proud of you."

You couldn't cry. You wouldn't allow your self. It wasn't fair to him. He needed you strong. 

"I love you, dad."

"And I love you, my little girl..."

The doors opened and you saw your mother stride in. Her strawberry blonde hair flowed as her cream dress did. She was the image of perfection and grace. Oh, how you wanted to be like her when you grew up.

She called your name softly and embraced you. You felt her love in the soft hug. She looked at you with the same fondness as your dad.

"She's become such a wonderful woman, hasn't she, Tony?"

He nodded in agreement. "Almost as beautiful as her mum."

"Oh, hush you make me blush." You teased.

"You'll be a wonderful queen when the time comes my dear." Your mother nodded towards you, disregarding your last teasing comment.

"Thank you, mother."

"That's why I keep saying that you don't need to go to Asgard!" Your dad tried to sway you once more before you left. "You're absolutely capable of managing Midgard by yourself! Just saying!"

Your mother tried to interject, but you beat her to it. You held your dad's hands and looked earnestly into his eyes.

"I know that, dad. I truly do."

"Then why go?" He basically breathed out, it was painful for everyone, but you knew that for your father it was probably the hardest.

"You know why. There is no other option. At least not one that would want to make an alliance with us. We have the common ground, and benefits to profit of." You lowered your head in slight resignation. "We both know that this was not what we had planned. But I'll do whatever it takes to keep our people and my family safe. Please... You have to trust me."

He looked back at your mom, searching for her to correct you, tell you there was another way, anything. But when he saw the resignation on her tired eyes he knew there was nothing he could do. You were going through with this. Like it or not, you were going to do it.

"I trust you. I just don't trust the Asgardians."

You pulled a section of your skirt where there was a hidden knife and he raised an eyebrow at you. "How many?"

"Three more under the skirt." You flipped a thin razor from your long sleeve dress. "One right here, just in case."

"Attagirl." He smirked back at you.

"Now those are for emergencies, alright dear? We don't want war. Please reconsider taking so many." Your mom tried to interject.

You gasped exaggerating your expressions. "Me, by myself at a strange kingdom and you prefer I go unarmed? Mother, you wound me worse than any Asgardians ever could."

She raised an eyebrow at you, unimpressed. "I'm just saying choose your battles, child. You go to make peace, so avoid inadvertently causing a war between us and Asgard."

The three of you went over the plan and the proposal once more, before they escorted you outside the castle and let you off to the mysterious land than was Asgard. 

As your home and family faded in the distance you saw Peter hugging Morgan to his chest who cried for her big sister. You finally allowed the tears to run. For you, your family, and everything that was about to be taken away from you.

-

TAG LIST (OPEN)

[bjy-on-ao3]

Fic Friday: Needy, Part 1

(As usual, you can find the AO3 version of all my uploads [and some things I don’t post here to tumblr] via my Masterlist blog page.)

Another concept that has been sitting in my notes since I finished the first season of Durarara!!. Izaya has been coming up a decent amount in some recent conversations and I was convinced to continue watching DRRR!! with X2/etc, so my want to write this has been reinvigorated.

This lead-up can be skipped if desired. It’s mostly Reader being bored and getting more jealous as the day goes on, but I felt like writing it and was having a good time, so it exists (plus it’s a little help to practice for a longer project I may have in mind.). You won’t miss out on any smut skipping this chapter, so if you’re here for that, feel free to move onto the next one!

Part 2

Summary  Reader’s jealousy over the attention Izaya gives to everyone else finally comes to a head one evening. They discover it hasn't exactly been a secret to the information broker.

Needy (F! Reader/Izaya Orihara)

Chapter 1. Green-Eyed Monster

You came to slowly, unwilling to leave the peaceful land of slumber, tangled in the soft warmth of the sheets and pillows like so many other days. The surrounding room was dark, the sheets displaced by whatever tossing and turning had taken place through the night. You contemplated snuggling back into the blankets and snoozing the day away, but admonished yourself quickly, rubbing the sleep from your eyes with your wrist. It wouldn’t do to spend all day in bed - at least not alone.

You had long since grown used to waking up in Izaya Orihara’s bed, often after long exhausting evenings preceding it. Many mornings you awoke in his arms, or with him in yours, surrounded by his faint scent of soap and spice and bitter tea. Those were the sweetest. Had someone told you when you first met him Izaya was the cuddling type - in or out of bed -  you would have laughed in their face at the absurdity. As much as he claimed to love humans, he didn’t come off as the type to be physically affectionate. You were glad to learn that your first impressions had been incorrect. 

Recently something had changed. Izaya’s workload new was far heavier than before, which left less of his time for you. You occupied yourself more often while he stared intently at various screens for hours or went on about plans only he fully knew and understood. You were used to that well enough, just not so much as had become the recent norm. Sure, Namie was often around as well, but she was little in the way of good company or entertainment. 

There were the times when Izaya left to gallivant around the city and make life a pain for the more powerful or notable denizens of the city or to meet clients to broker his work. When he was away you didn’t even have to chance to try to coax him into taking the occasional break. Those were the days you hated the most, but you knew it wasn’t his job to amuse you all the time- even if you would have been perfectly happy with that kind of arrangement.

Despite suggestive promises and invitations to join you, you had begun retiring to bed alone long before Izaya more and more commonly. Often you feel asleep before he ever came to bed - some nights you weren’t sure he did at all. Even on the mornings you knew he had, whether from the displacement of the bedsheets or a faded warmth beside you, he was up and back at work before you woke as if he had never stopped. That morning was another on which you awoke alone, frowning at the impressions in the sheets beside you and wishing you had woken earlier or he had stayed longer in bed.

You tried to convince yourself it was normal, reminding yourself that Izaya was a busy man. That he had so much business to attend to was no surprise, especially when Ikebukuro got rowdy, due to whatever new event involving the color gangs or a shift in Yakuza politics popped up. But reason did nothing to wash away the bitter taste in your mouth when you wandered out into the hall and looked down to see Izaya entertaining another early morning client. 

You frowned, glowering down at the seated client - you weren’t sure who they were, but they looked vaguely familiar, so likely some regular - sitting across from Izaya. The informant in question looked as cool and confident as ever. For a moment, the lilt of his voice overturned your bitterness, but the moment was brief and it returned obstinately. You waited, resting your elbows against the rail, sure to remain hidden among the shadows cast by the apartment’s angles. 

You knew better than to interrupt his business. Even if you were upset it seemed to consume every waking hour recently, interference was taboo. You had learned that a long time ago. You weren’t sure if Izaya being wholly unconcerned you might overhear a business conversation meant he just didn’t care or if he trusted you. Maybe it was a bit of both.

You grew bored quickly, hardly listening to the exchange at the desk below, despite neither bothering to keep their voice down. At last, there was a shuffling of something - funds, contracts, whatever, you couldn’t tell from your perch - and then the client rose with a farewell and turned to leave. You eased further into the shadow, fairly sure you weren’t in danger of being seen, but better safe than sorry. Passingly, you imagined how irate some of Izaya’s clients might have been if they were aware a second set of eyes and ears was butting in on their private conversations with the informant.

Izaya followed courteously, seeing them off to the door and bidding a professional, cheery goodbye. Only once you heard the door snap closed did you make your way down the stairs. But before you even descended the last step, you heard Izaya engaged in another conversation and your face sank. He wasn’t speaking to you, of course, but another client or contact on one of his many cellphones. Work, work, and more work again. Izaya cast you a small smile before tuning back into his call, plopping down on the couch as he talked.

You sat down on the cushion beside him, careful to stay quiet and not interrupt his call. Izaya lay an arm along the back of the sectional but didn’t touch you, and you gave it a  sidelong glance. A childish part of you fantasized about tearing the phone from his hand and tossing it away, undoubtedly garnering his attention one way or another. You quickly silenced the thought, waiting some more. You had hardly been awake for long, and already you had done so much waiting.

Just as you were considering moving off the couch to grab a book off the shelf or freshen up, you heard the call winding down from Izaya’s tone. A hopeful excitement sprang up in your chest and you inched closer to Izaya as he hung up.

“Izaya, since you’re done with those clients, how about we…” you began to propose, placing what you intended to be a seductive touch on his knee. Your words fell away, noting Izaya was paying no mind to you - his eyes and fingers focused on the message he was composing on his phone.

“Hm, what was that, darling?” He asked, hitting send and tucking the phone into a pocket.

“Ah, it was nothing important,” you dismissed, sighing internally and pulling your hand back. You had a feeling you knew what the answer was going to be.

Izaya eyed you quietly for a second, and you wondered if he suspected the thoughts simmering beyond your dismissal. “I see. Well, I’ve got some things to take care of,” he announced, the previous scrutiny disappearing and replaced by his typical demeanor. When he rose from his seat, his fingers brushed fleetingly across your shoulder and you followed the oh-so-slight motion out of the corner of your eyes. “Don’t get into too much trouble while I’m gone.”

You almost rolled your eyes at his teasing words. You really should have been the one warning him. Izaya Orihara telling you not to get into trouble when he caused and attracted it himself in so many forms was an irony so thick you could taste it. 

“Don’t worry, I won’t do anything you would,” you shot back wryly.

He smirked, leaning in for a second and pressing a quick kiss to your cheek that left you wanting. You watched him straighten and turn on his heel, vanishing down the entryway and out the door briskly. 

You sighed, leaning on your elbow on the back of the sofa with your cheek resting on a fist. Silence enveloped you again, save for the dull chatter of the birds outside and even fainter sounds of people in the streets below. You searched the apartment lazily, trying to decide on something to entertain yourself with. Neither the TV nor the assortment of books on the shelf piqued your interest, nor did the idea of laying on the couch and browsing the internet or the forums. Certain ones were amusing now and then, chatrooms especially, but you weren’t in the mood for any of that.

In your search, you realized that you were left completely alone in the apartment. There was no sign of Namie, whom you knew by that time would have normally arrived. A day off for the woman then. Just your rotten luck that you didn’t even have her prickly company for the day. Perhaps you would take a stroll down to Ikebukuro and entertain yourself there instead.

A shower and a change of clothes later and you had left the spacious apartment, unsure exactly where in Ikebukuro you were planning to go. It was always important to monitor your surroundings in the city, even if you weren’t somewhere sketchy or isolated. You weren’t sure if your involvement with Izaya was a secret or not - or how widespread it was, even if it was a secret. All you knew was that not everyone liked the information broker and some of those people had enough balls - or few enough brain cells - to think screwing with someone more closely involved with Izaya was a good idea.

Even with that in mind, Ikebukuro, for all the trouble that took place so often, really wasn’t very intriguing most days. Sure, there was always something lurking beneath the surface, someone moving pawns on a chessboard, or some plan being brought to fruition. None of that mattered though unless you wanted to butt into someone else’s business. And unlike a certain someone you knew, sticking your nose into other peoples’ affairs wasn’t a hobby of yours for the most part.

You grabbed a quick bite to eat in one of the small shops on your way into the more bustling parts of the city. You weren’t sure if you had gotten a bad batch or if everything just tasted worse from your boredom and bitterness, but your breakfast left you thoroughly unsatisfied. A running trend for the morning it seemed. Well, there was plenty of time in the day left to fix that, right? 

For a while, you sat down on an empty bench on a busy street, watching the many perfectly ordinary people of the city going about their daily business, blissfully unaware of the games being played around them, save for when the usual players shook up things in particularly noisy ways. You mentally picked one out from the crowd, now and then, wondering if beneath the surface they had some awful or bizarre secret, as was the case for several of the notable names in Ikebukuro. When you had first come to the city, you would have never imagined such normal-looking people were capable of having such impressive secrets, but your time had taught you much.

Here and there, over an hour or so, you spotted several of the men or women you knew to be trouble of some degree. A high-schooled aged boy who couldn’t have looked more commonplace if he tried with some fantastical sounding name. A tall man in a headscarf who often rode around with a band of eccentrics in a van. A man with dreadlocks and glasses, flanked by a grouchy looking blonde smoking a cigarette. Your brow arched up and a jolt of jealousy swirled in your gut at the sight of the blonde.

You knew most of the others were involved in Izaya’s business in one form or another - generally not by choice - but you were acutely aware of how much attention he paid the blonde. He had spoken about him before, insisting how much he hated monsters like him, but you weren’t so sure sometimes. Whatever the case, he devoted a lot of his attention to making his life miserable, you knew that much. Time you pettily felt could have been better spent paying attention to you without the threat of being beaten into the concrete.

Shaking off the feeling, you daydreamt for a little while about what it would be like to be involved in all the dirty dealings and trickery that went into the politics controlling the city. Maybe it would be a better and more exciting use of your time than what you did for fun. You doubted you were cut out for how cut-throat you had heard the game could be though, so perhaps it was best it remained an idle imagining. Eventually, imagining what-ifs and singling people out in the ever-moving crowds grew dull and you stood up, taking your outing back on the move.

Turning a corner, you glanced through the immaculately polished glass windows of a quaint, cozy cafe. Your face stretched in surprise, eyes widening for an instant as they landed on a slender form and handsome, sly face there was no mistaking. Izaya looked so comfortable, settled on one of the window seats facing outward. He looked to be watching the crowds go by, sipping contently at the steaming mug in his grasp. People-watching? That was the business he had needed to attend to? 

Jealousy swelled in your chest again, acrid and burning, and you took a deep breath to quell it. Yes, you had been doing the same thing recently - out of necessity to amuse yourself since Izaya had ignored you, you reminded yourself crossly - but you hadn’t labeled it as something that needed tending to. You stepped back, glaring from your spot on the corner for a moment before making an about-face and striding angrily away from the cafe windows. Now you were bored and angry. So much for the idea that there time for the day to improve.

You tried your hardest to clear your head as strolled aimlessly, but the stubborn emotions refused to go. The image of him seated so relaxedly in the cafe as if he had nothing else in the world he could be doing compounded your frustration, making it grow hotter and more irrational. ‘You could have spoken up’ a small voice piped up. ‘Maybe you’re just not interesting enough to keep his attention,’ another far meaner voice sneered. You ground your teeth and shook your head, refusing to accept either suggestion.

When wandering alone with your antagonistic thoughts became too much, you gave up the idea of your pleasant excursion. Head cloudy with nagging voices and snippets of the day, chest burning angrily, you made your way back to Izaya’s apartment. At least there you could be moody in peace without worry of anyone seeing.

[malecsecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, @leetje!

happy holidays leonie, have a wonderful time of love and celebration! i hope you enjoy your fic! x

Read on AO3

*****

wherever you are is the place i belong

Of all the things Magnus expected to be doing an hour before midnight on Christmas Eve, trekking through inches of dense Hungarian snow was not one that had crossed his mind. It was all that rat bastard Lorenzo Rey’s fault for antagonizing the notoriously reclusive and anal-retentive High Warlock of Budapest.

Gergo Bartos had grown perilously distrustful through the centuries and his spellwork reflected that—but it didn’t keep Lorenzo from asserting the possibility that he purposefully sabotaged the warding of the archives in the Spiral Labyrinth, leading to a security breach. Bartos was livid, and sent word to the Clave and the Warlock Council that he refused to ever again be brought to a conference, summit, or any such engagement where he had to share space with Rey.

Naturally, the solution was to send the High Warlock of Alicante and the Inquisitor to Budapest on Christmas Eve to try to smooth things over.

“I’m going to strangle that man the next time I see him,” Magnus grumbled to himself, carefully avoiding a slick glaze of black ice.

Alec’s fingers pressing into Magnus’ forearm flexed as he looked down at the mounds of wet snow below his boots. “Lorenzo? I’ll back you.”

Looking over at him, with delicate little snowflakes trapped on his eyelashes and the soft ends of his hair, Magnus felt that familiar lurching feeling in his chest, like for a second his heart stopped just to take him in. The silvery moonlight reflected off the snow and formed a backlighting that gave his angel the halo he deserved, resting on the crown of his head. The high points of his cheeks were flushed pink from the cold, as was the tip of his nose.

Maybe this turn of events wasn’t totally unfortunate.

“Are you too cold?” Magnus asked, sending a pulse of warmth to the surface of his skin and letting it bleed out to Alec.

Alec shivered at the sharp contrast in temperature, then leaned in close to press his face to Magnus’ cheek. “Ugh, that feels so good. I didn’t know it got this cold here. It’s not as bad as New York but still…”

“Your nose is ice!”

Pressing his face more enthusiastically against Magnus’ with a deep, throaty chuckle, Alec peppered kisses with cold lips against the round of his cheek. “When we get home, can we take a hot bath? Maybe add a bath bomb or two, a couple mugs of tea, some eucalyptus candles, and a Sam Cooke vinyl playing.”

“I love when you talk dirty to me,” Magnus teased, catching the tip of his nose against Alec’s in an aborted Inuit kiss. “That sounds like absolute heaven. Did you know there are some divine thermal springs here in Budapest? The Széchenyi Baths are open all year round you know. Maybe we’ll find the time to indulge.”

“You know patience isn’t a virtue of mine when it comes to you, Mr. Lightwood-Bane.” Alec nipped at Magnus’ earlobe with his teeth, a gentle sting of pleasure. A soft sigh punctuated the wistful declaration and preceded the next words out of his mouth. “How much further?”

“Not far.”

“And we can’t portal because…?”

“We can’t portal in because Gergo has perfected the enchantment that surrounds his property; it doesn’t allow portals in or out within a certain distance of his home. This is as close as I could get us without potentially risking life and limb. Believe me, getting spliced would be the least of our worries if we tried.”

As the woods grew denser, clearly capable of making a lesser person claustrophobic, the strength of Bartos’ magic signature grew. Magnus could feel the hairs on the back of his neck standing up and goosebumps spread across his skin.

“Do you feel that?” Alec asked, stopping suddenly in his tracks and pulling an arrow from his glamoured quiver and nocking it in his bow.

Holding out a hand to keep Alec from making a sudden move, Magnus’s magic began to probe their surroundings for a trigger, a thread lying in wait to be pulled. “Wait.”

Like a flash of lightning, a bolt of raw energy shot through the trees, and Magnus only just stopped it in its tracks before it reached them. “Látom, hogy az idő még ébersé tette Önt, Gergo,” he called out evenly, keeping his eyes on it.

“Bane? Te vagy az?” a voice responded from somewhere unidentifiable in the distance.

“Az inkvizitátor Lightwood-Bane-nél vagyok.” The concentrated energy Magnus was holding at bay suddenly dissipated, and he lowered his arm back to his side. “We’re here as representative authorities on behalf of the Warlock Council and the Clave.”

From the darkness of the vast woods, a man suddenly appeared from a glimmering portal of opalescent magic. His hair was a darker shade of blond, and his eyes were a deep brown that almost looked black from where he stood. His physique was mostly hidden under the long black robes he wore and the loose button up shirt, but what was clear was that he was very tall with softer features. “This is about that rohadék, Lorenzo. I made it clear that I will not be cooperating with him any longer. I did nothing to sabotage our people’s haven and source of community. I would hope that is something you would know about me without a shadow of a doubt, Magnus.”

Shifting away from Alec to move towards Gergo, Magnus nodded and held out one hand in a peaceful gesture. “I do. I believed you from the beginning. We didn’t come here to accuse you of anything.”

“Is that so?” Gergo looked at him, and then at Alec, with stern eyes and a set jaw. Some of the ice in his expression had thawed, however, and he looked less guarded than when they began. “To what do I owe the visit, then?”

“We can prove your innocence,” Alec stated simply, speaking up for the first time.

“Color me curious.” With a wave of his hand, a pale blue sheet of magic appeared and formed a barrier that started just behind him. Slowly, it began to peel away, allowing Gergo to step through. “A more comfortable venue seems best to continue this.”

Magnus put his hand on Alec’s lower back, steering him gently. He also used the opportunity to his advantage, pressing faint traces of protective magic onto Alec with fingers teasing just under the fabric of his coat, sweater, and t-shirt to brush tenderly across his skin.

They walked towards an old-style mansion that had just dropped its glamour—it looked like the sister establishment to the Sacelláry Mansion. Its exterior was as immaculate and pristine as the day it was built, though it almost seemed to be existing in a place where time didn’t wear down what it touched. There were large columns that barred the front, balconies off every window from the second floor up to the attic. It was painted a crisp ivory color with minimal accents of chestnut brown, still perfectly preserved. The inside was mostly cold, sterile marble in white or black, save for the doors which were large oak double panels. The hallway seemed to stretch on forever, with numerous doors on either side, until Gergo stopped at one and opened in, gesturing for the two of them to go inside.

It was the apothecary, markedly different from Magnus’ own with its more chaotic atmosphere. Nearly every surface housed magical objects and items, numerous bookshelves stuffed full with tomes, journals, and volumes were pushed against the walls, and a massive cabinet of glass vials full of potions, tinctures, and salves of varying colors sat snugly in the space just inside the room beside the door. “I’m prepared to prove my innocence, no matter what effort it may require from me,” he stated bluntly, taking a thin stack of papers from the desk in the corner. “This is how I created the warding. Whoever was able to slip between the cracks would have to know even more than just how to find the back doors—they would need to understand the minutia of the mechanisms I applied.”

Magnus looked at the outstretched hand and its proffered notes written in hurried cursive. After a few moments of reading, it became clear that there were extensive adaptations in the spellwork that made it unique. Whoever had managed to hijack it would need some prior knowledge. But… “You put in a tripwire.”

“I did.”

“And?”

“I haven’t been allowed access to the Spiral Labyrinth since the breach. So I don’t know.” Gergo walked around the desk to be opposite them and opened one of the drawers. “If it was triggered, this would detect it.” A small, round stone that was milky-white and appeared to encase something living inside that swirled in ceaseless, shapeless movements. “It acts like a magnet of sorts, attracting the energy source it touched.”

Alec came up behind Magnus, reaching into his coat pocket and pulling out a test tube of a navy blue substance. “One of the best forensic pathologists in our Institutes managed to isolate the energy signatures that were found within the warding and then reduced it down into a concentrated form. This might be able to give us an answer.” He pulled off the stopper and held it out towards Gergo.

As soon as the stone got within a few centimeters of the substance, the swirling insides became frantic and turned a dark gray.

All three men looked up at one another.

“We’ll take this to the Summit tomorrow,” Magnus declared. “The sample Isabelle provided, and the stone.”

For a moment, Gergo just observed him with narrowed eyes.

If Alec weren’t with him, Magnus thinks, maybe he would be more inclined to have faith that he could be trusted with the responsibility. Things had changed when Magnus became Alicante’s high warlock—rumors had circled that maybe his alliance was shifting, maybe he had lost himself in the dizzy daydreams of his shadowhunter lover. He’d had to choose between his love and his people before, and he hoped never to face it again because it nearly tore him apart. But he was loyal to the people it was job, both formally and informally, to protect.

“Swear a blood oath,” Gergo finally said.

Without skipping a beat, Alec, still at Magnus’ side, pulled an adamas blade from his boot. “I’ll go first.” He glanced over at Magnus with an understanding expression that made it clear that he had gauged the situation correctly. He pressed the sharp point to his palm just hard enough to draw blood, and then clenched his hand into a fist so it dripped down onto the stone still writhing inside. “Et sanguis meus, ut accipiat fidem meam. Si fractum ita et ego.”

Magnus clenched his fist tight enough that his nails dug into his skin to break it. “Et sanguis meus, ut accipiat fidem meam. Si fractum ita et ego.” His blood fell slow in droplets, mingling with Alec’s in a way that made something in his chest go tight.

When they left, bloodied hands clasped together, Magnus felt Alec’s pulse against his in the midst of the wet warmth.

“That could have gone worse,” Alec pointed out, speaking quietly among the ambient silence of the woods.

Magnus chuckled wryly, looking over at him. “Politics are rarely ever a situation in which anyone wins.”

The soft crunching of snow beneath their boots with each step was abnormally prevalent with how quiet the city had become. The snow was still falling at a steady pace and accumulating on the ground, making a pristine and untouched layer of soft white.

“Well my love, since we won’t be getting much sleep tonight anyway, how about that bath you tantalized me with earlier?” Magnus suggested as he brought them to a stop.

Alec grinned at him like the sun rose and fell at his command, and Magnus had to look away to keep from being completely incapacitated by it. “That sounds perfect.”

Before the portal home could be summoned though, the clock tower that loomed above them began to toll midnight.

“Merry Christmas, Alexander,” Magnus murmured, putting his hands tenderly on either side of Alec’s face to bring him in for a kiss. It was soft and warm and tasted like snow.

“Merry Christmas, Magnus.”

[santalsaburablog]

Adventures of Santal. Chapter 7. The first day of school is very, very important.

School is a workshop where the thoughts of the younger generation are formed. You must hold her tightly if you do not want to let go of the future.

     Santal - youngling! After a long and intense interview with the Jedi Council, which gives permission, the girl is enrolled in the Order! At the same time, Sabura herself was able to please the adult Jedi. But the joy is clouded by a conversation with an adoptive aunt, who, apparently, is not satisfied with this turn of events. And now Santal is sleeping peacefully in his new bed, not suspecting that the surprises are not over.

     Santal Sabura, at five minutes youngling, slept like a dead woman for once. Finally, she fell asleep in a normal bed, not in a drawer, on a couch or on the sand. On a comfortable bed. Not too soft, but okay.

     The girl woke up because she simply could no longer sleep. She rolled a little and got up. She felt cheerful and rested. After standing, the girl sat down opposite the door and waited for the green eared master.

     Finally, the door opened, and Santal saw the one she expected to see.

     “Good morning, youngling Santal,” said Yoda.

     - Good morning.

     - Ready for something new?

     - Yes. - In fact, the girl was worried. Who will she study with? What do her classmates look like? How will they react to her? And how will she react to them?

     This time the walk was short. The two Jedi quickly reached the desired hall. There were only fourteen children in the clan. Moreover, the company is quite diverse: six people (three boys and three girls), two twi'lecs, which Santal was very happy about. Two more strange children who had many, many processes on their heads. The only difference was that the second had them wavy. A bunch of some kind. The first eye reminded the eyes of that blue uncle, the second human. There was also a peer covered with wool. A child with small horns on his head, a Rodian, and one with red skin with white patterns on his face and a lekku with a white and blue stripe.

     - Your new clan member. - Yoda pointed at the girl with his paw. “Her name is Santal Sabura. I ask you to love and favor.

     - Hello, Santal, - the children greeted amicably.

     “Hello,” Santal replied quietly. However, she was heard anyway.

     Then Yoda ordered everyone to line up in three. The lesson began. The first lesson in a girl's life. The first is at the very beginning of the journey.

     - Let's review the Jedi Code.

   - No emotion - there is peace,      There is no ignorance - there is knowledge      No passions - there is peace      There is no chaos - there is harmony      There is no death - there is only the Great Power.

     Santal listened in silence and tried to grasp the meaning of what was said. So far, nothing is clear. Yoda then revealed that there are three more required Jedi disciplines - Strength, Knowledge, and Self-Control.

     After the lesson, the girl approached the teacher and asked to explain the code. To which the green master smiled affectionately and replied:

     - Patience, youngling. Everything has its time. You will have time to understand the code. Just remember: the meaning of what is said does not always lie on the surface. Now I must leave you. Learn with the rest.

     Yoda left, and Santal was left alone with his peers, who took the opportunity to meet.

     - Hi, I'm Green Prine. - The first to introduce herself was a girl with wavy bunches on the sides of her head. The skin itself was green. Her gaze struck Santal as a little angry.

     - Landa Selmura. - Turquoise twi'lek with dark blue eyes.

     - Max Navarre. - A boy with short, straight black hair with small bangs and blue eyes.

     - Grace Young. - Curly blonde girl.

     - Anna Minara. - A swarthy girl with brown hair and blue eyes.

     - Trilla Suduri. - A girl with black hair, green eyes and a mocking voice.

     - Adrian Keteris. - The boy is blond with green eyes.

     - Fion Taluka. “This youngling looked like a humanoid cat.

     - Denia's body. - A boy with brown eyes without pupils.

     - Svante Solborne. - A Rodian with blue-green skin.

     - Justin Corso. - A boy with hair like Santal, but lighter.

     - Nick Swell. - White twi'lek with blue eyes.

     - Daria Ossaki. - A red-skinned girl with a blue and white striped lekku.

     - Risha Sloane. - The last to introduce herself was a horned girl with fair skin with a pattern on her face.

     Santal shook hands with everyone. Then everyone went to the next lesson. On the way, the girl did not forget to look around to learn the route. Daria seemed to guess her thoughts and said:

     - Do not be afraid. You will remember.

     “I wonder what she is talking about? About names or a schedule with a route? " Thought Santal.

     The history lesson turned out to be no less interesting than Yoda's lesson. Since childhood, Sabura loved different stories. And this time she listened with rapture to the theme "How the galaxy was born." So she learned that a long time ago, at the dawn of time, nothing had happened yet. And then at some point there was a Big Bang that shaped the universe. In the very first moments time and space, energy and matter appeared. As the universe expanded, it cooled down. Its particles formed stars, planets. The galaxy where Santal lives was formed about thirteen billion years ago. Before the beginning of the chronicle, the first known political entity to sweep the galaxy was the Rakat Infinite Empire, which emerged thirty-five thousand years ago. Its existence ceased long before the formation of the so-called "galactic civilization" twenty-five thousand two hundred years ago. Even before that, living creatures such as the columi traveled to interstellar space and built artifacts. The two oldest known artifacts were the Pelgrin Oracle (c. Two million years ago) and the Balancer Station, which was created by the mysterious celestials, also known as the Celestians (c. One million years ago).      

    The galaxy as an official entity began millennia later, when humans discovered hyperspace travel and came into contact with alien races. When several worlds and species learned about each other, they formed a free community, which adopted common laws and monetary unit. Thus twenty-five thousand fifty-three years ago the Galactic Republic became the "official" form of government in the Galaxy.      

     But the surprises didn't end there. After the lesson, Santal first met the head of her clan - a creature with a long tail and an extended head and a cane.      

     “Hello, Tera Sainube,” the children greeted.     

     - Hello guys.     

      “This is our curator,” Santal whispered in Land's ear.      

     - And who are you? I do not remember you. Tera counted the younglings and noticed that there were one more of them. He narrowed his eyes as if trying to remember.      

     - He will study with us. New, - Max answered immediately.     

     - My name is Santal Sabura. - The girl introduced herself as if on command and bowed slightly.      

   - Oh, I remembered! Yoda had warned. Well, welcome, Santal. - The teacher smiled good-naturedly, which made the girl feel better.      

    - Thanks.     

    “Now it's time for you all to go to the dining room. We need to gain strength before physical training.      

    On the way, Santal learned from Landa that the Younglings meditate five times a day. Learn to control the Force, exercise. The girl was delighted. Finally, she will begin to control her, so as not to harm anyone.      

     The food was delicious in the dining room. Surprisingly, the menu consisted mostly of the food Santal ate. In addition to a bowl of soup and a drink, the girl asked for some moldy mushrooms and ricrit meat. The cook, greatly surprised, finally gave out mold-free mushrooms and stewed ricritium. Well, thanks for that. But why the woman reacted this way, the girl did not understand. She probably believed that people do not eat that. Maybe the Coruscant ones are not, but the Rilotians yes. Although Santal did not meet people on her home planet. Neither small nor large. Only tweets. And even then they are exceptionally large.      

     All her life, the young Jedi lived surrounded by adults, which is why she easily found a common language with them. I could calmly come up and ask something, take an interest. But at the same time she did not know how to communicate with her peers at all. Santal just had no idea how to do it. Is it necessary as with adults or do you have your own subtleties? The girl did not know this, because until recently, thanks to her aunt, she did not go anywhere further at home, she played only in the yard, she did not even see her neighbors. Complete isolation. And then she got to the Temple. Despite the fact that so far everything has turned out well, she was still scared. And there was nothing surprising in this. She's been here recently, she doesn't know anyone yet. First met creatures of the same age.      

   Santal found an empty table and sat down. Having managed to overcome half a bowl of soup, she heard a voice.      

   - Can I come to you?      

   The girl looked up from the meal, raised her head and saw Dasha, Landa, Nick and Anna.     

    - Yes.      

   - Hi Santal! - A cheerful Nick sat next to the girl.      

   “Hello everyone,” Sabura replied with a smile.      

    Nick smiled even wider.      

   - You are a little strange. He even chuckled slightly.      

    - Why? - Santal was surprised and frightened. What did she say or did wrong?       

    - Yes, relax! It's just that I personally have never met a girl who would say hello like that. Say hello.      

   “Hello,” Santal repeated.      

   - Well, how do you like the Temple? Like? - continued interrogation Nick.      

   - Yes. Rather, it's hard to say. I’m only here for the second day. - Santal did not understand what he was getting at.      

   - Well, what are you afraid of? - Dasha smiled affectionately this time.      

   - Where did you get it?      

   - Dasha is a congenital empath, - explained Nick.      

   - Yes, I'm afraid. I'm a beginner.       

   - Do not be afraid. We will not bite.      

  They all laughed. Even Santal.      

   - Okay. Let's go to class, ”Landa decided when everyone had finished.      

    At first glance, meditation seemed easy. Sit in the right position with your eyes closed and focus. Santal did just that. And ... she saw something again.      Santal ended up on Tatooine. At first she was shocked. She was just in the room in the Temple. And then I thought, probably, another dream, like the one on the ship. Okay, let's see what this time. Wait a minute ... What kind of dream is this? She might have thought so before, but now that she knows about the Force, maybe she is sending it all to her. However, enough reflections, it is better to postpone them for later.      

      The girl found herself in herself. It sounds strange, but it was so. That is, the mind is in place, but the body did not obey. As if it were separate. Grabbing it around the belt, that uncle carried it. Santal herself looked around. Nearby sat, walked and talked a variety of creatures. There were very few people.      

     Here is a man entered some stuffy room. A little more, and Santal saw a huge fat creature with large, stretched out eyes, small arms and a thick tail.      

      “These are probably those giant slugs that my aunt was talking about. Fu, abomination, ”the girl thought and shuddered.     

      The slug said something in his own language.     

      - What do you want, hunter? - translated the droid. To which the uncle replied:     

      - Would you like to buy a slave? - Blue pushed the child closer.      - Still small. We won't buy, ”the droid translated again.     

      - Yes, still a baby. But he will grow up, - the man replied carelessly, raising the girl to the level of his eyes. At that moment Santal jerked and kicked the one who held her. She broke free, turned around and ran. And the uncle follows her.      

     The baby was running as fast as ever. She was constantly hiding behind some boxes. Completely exhausted, hid. Carefully spied, the man carefully looked around. Probably will run further.      

     “The meditation is over,” said the teacher's voice.     

       Santal opened her eyes. Tatooine disappeared as if he had never been. Spacious room with high ceiling. Nearby, the members of the clan sit in the same position as herself.      

    “And remember,” the green-skinned woman instructed, “meditation is not just an opportunity to strengthen a connection with the Force. It allows us to know ourselves much better. And through this, we learn to better control our thoughts and emotions. Peace. Serenity. Harmony. We must know ourselves before embarking on the knowledge of the Force.     

      In the next lesson, each was given a small stone. He had to be raised using telekinesis. After watching the rest for two minutes, Santal began to repeat. She stretched out her hand and concentrated. She was able to throw those away. And surprisingly she succeeded. True, not immediately. It took several minutes to raise the stone to arm level. The girl looked at the others. For example, Max completed the task in no time. And he managed to lift the Body a little later than her.      

     The exercise was repeated. This time with a thin rectangular metal plate. This time Santal did a little faster. It's always easier to follow the beaten track. But the teacher made the task more difficult: the board had to stand either vertically, then horizontally, then obliquely. So I had to work hard.      

      Then Yoda asked for a series of physical exercises. Everything went well initially. Glory to Sila, my aunt taught her niece to do a little morning exercises. But very soon the girl realized that this exercise was different from home. There is more exercise, so the youngling is tired at the end. And secondly, sometimes they were forced to do something that the baby was afraid or could not, as she believed, do. That's why she didn't want to. But Yoda was not angry with the girl. New girl.      

    - Do not worry. Such things are not for everyone and not always at once. Moreover, you have the first day, - Santal Dasha consoled later, referring to telekinesis.     

     Interestingly, without the last sentence, the girl would have thought that the red man was making fun of her. Like, I can the first time, but you can't. Although why did Santal decide that? Dasha is good. And all Jedi are good. Nobody wishes her any harm. So why doesn't she trust? Or reacts painfully to comfort? Maybe because the daughter of the Jedi? And who are Dasha's parents? And the rest? I have to ask.                    

    - Dasha, who are your parents?      

    The girl thought about it.     

     - I don't remember much. The only thing I know is that my father is a worker on the planet Shealy. And my mother ... I don't remember. You see, I was very young when they found potential in me and brought me here. We are all like that. Except for Landa. It…      

    - Daria Ossaki! - the Twi'lek sternly rejected her. - In my opinion, my biography should not be fiddled with once again. Moreover, you promised. And all around the people.     

   - Okay, calm down, mommy, - Dasha joked and returned to Santal. - Well, what about you? Who are your parents?      

   - I do not know. Before getting here, I lived on Ryloth with my aunt and uncle. About mom and dad, I was always told that they were killed by hunters and that they gave their lives for me. It's all.      

  “Poor thing,” Grace sympathized.      

   “But don’t worry. The entire Order is now your family. A hand for friendship. - Dasha first held out her palm. The others followed her. As a result, a star was formed. At that moment, the mistrust and expectation of Santal's trick disappeared.     

     - Well, guys, what are we going to do after school? Max asked.      

     Santal decided that she would take a walk around the Temple and get to know the surroundings better. By the way, on the way, after talking a little more with the guys, the girl realized that she seemed to be the only child whose parents were Jedi. Wow! Only she's so lucky. Or not. We need to figure this out too. What is there! Santal wanted to sort out a lot. For example, her aunt wanted to tell her something important about her parents, what are their names. The girl even began to think: maybe her uncle and aunt were hiding something from her?      

    Okay, let's leave our relatives alone. That uncle ... Why did he want to do this to her? It is clear that the Force showed Santal what would have happened if that crowd had not wiped her from the blue skin and she had not yet escaped herself. It turns out that she saved herself. In both cases. That's it! And then and then she was able to escape. But why? It turns out that there are not so many differences.      

     So what's the difference? Obviously, in version two, Santal escaped a little later. I've seen more horrors before that. But the giant slug is nonsense. The worst thing is that my uncle tried to sell it. But why? Didn't he feel sorry for the little girl? Previously, she believed that evil does not exist, although her aunt scared her at night with various horror stories. But she did not believe that it was true, she considered it just a legend. But it turns out she was wrong.     

    How did the man talk? As if this wasn't the first time he'd done it. How many times has she begged to bring her home? Couldn't convince him. I even tried my eyebrows with a house. Did not work out. Well, uncle! As if made of metal. Outside and inside. But how does that happen? He seems to be smiling. Not iron to the touch.      

    Wait a minute, and that she is "uncle and uncle" all the time? Doesn't he have a name? Oh yeah, she never found out. And he probably never will. It's sad. Anyway. If he doesn't know, he can at least come up with it. To call it somehow. We must remember how it stands out. Maybe Uncle Hat? It's funny. Evil hat? Resoundingly. Blue death? Enough. Nothing else comes into my head.      

     While Santal was thinking, she reached the library. From what he saw, his eyes lit up. There were so many wardrobes, just wow! The girl wanted to read literally everything! Only she could not read, so she asked to teach. A gray-haired woman in yellow clothes agreed to help the newcomer. This was not the first time she had faced such a problem. So often that it even ceased to be considered a problem. But Santal already had his own plan.      

    First of all, she wanted to find out as many names of the races inhabiting the galaxy as possible. And most importantly, what races her classmates belong to, except for those whom she already knew. But it is not enough to remember, you still need to learn the distinctive features. Yes, a lot more! There is so much to learn.      

     From Madame Jocasta Nu, and that was the name of the woman in yellow, the girl received the alphabet. And then the librarian took her to Sainuba to help her. And it turned out that it is not that difficult. Santal had an idea. She asked for several sheets of paper, cut them into rectangles with some help and drew a letter on each to make it easier to remember. In her room, she placed it on the table so that it catches the eye. Then the librarian gave a book to help and another "for all younglings", which was called "The Jedi Path: A Guide for Students of the Force."     

     By the evening, Santal found out which of her classmates was who. For example, Dasha is a Togruta. Fion is a Zigerrian.      

   Ugh, how tired she was all day. But this is only the very first, it will be more difficult further. I have to get up early tomorrow. No more sleep until you want to. Santal groaned, remembering this. Well, nothing, he will probably get used to it. Now it's time to go to bed. To be more alert, you need more hours of sleep.       

    Sabura lay down without undressing, and soon sleep overcame her.

[slothgiirl]

the one where mc communes with her ghost monster boyfriend Noah

“Everything's fine mom,” you find yourself saying even as you cry yourself to sleep every night, driving yourself crazy with what ifs. What if you'd gone back sooner. What if you could have helped Jane. What if you hadn't pulled away from Noah, left him alone…

“That's good to hear after those wild animal attacks,” she replies, static distorting her voice. “Are you sure you're okay on your own? I think your dad could go home for a few days next month if you want?”

Since things had calmed down, since it was over, your parents had accepted a grant and continued their research.

“Yeah,” you answer, the word coming out as hollow as you feel, a tiredness down to your chest. These past few weeks have felt like the after crying numbness, still too raw to really process anything. “Cid’s back so I'm not completely isolated.”

“Okay then. Love you honey.”

She hangs up before you can echo the words back.

After everything that happened, after Noah and-after your parents at least call to check in every week.

You sigh. It's almost been two months. The towns lifted the curfew. Andy's legs healing. Tom’s back to playing basketball. Dan’s in class, hanging out with everyone and surprisingly Britney who's comments while still bitchy have none of their heat anymore.

Time is healing wounds. Just not yours.

And in the dark of the night, you can almost see a familiar shadow in the woods.

You don't think you could take Noah becoming as twisted as Jane, if it even is Noah anymore. Maybe the power consumes the next person immediately, leaving just enough of a person to hurt. Jane who'd remembered being Jane but had been twisted into an unnerving facsimile of the girl you'd loved.

It's enough to leave you in tears, to keep you awake for hours.  

*

“Wanna hang out,” Dan asks easily, as the school day comes to an end.

Lily beams, nodding, “yes! I'd love to.”

Lucas shrugs with a small smile on his lips, “I could use a break.”

“Hell yeah mental health,” Dan grins back at him, “bet Andy would love a visit from us.”

Ava rolls her eyes before uttering “I’d rather consort with dark forces,” while wiggling her fingers menacingly.

“Are you still on about Pritch’s books,” Stacy asks shaking her head.

“Um yeah. You don't say no to actual witchcraft Stacy.”

“Well my moms gotta a whole lunch planned. Her therapist said it'd be good for us or something,” she replies trying to appear nonchalant.

“Things getting better between you all lately,” you ask. Stacy had seemed more relaxed lately but what did you know. It could be the lack of monsters trying to kill you.

“Kind of. She's made her peace with me not applying to any ivies but she's still Mayor Green. She is trying though,” Stacy replies, her smile careful. Like she isn't sure whether or not it'll stick.

“That's what's important though isn't it. Trying,” you state, “And if she's making time for you then I'm sure she's got her priorités finally sorted.” You try not to think about your parents.

“I hope so.”

“Are you in,” Dan asks.

You shake your head, “I need a nap. Tell Andy hi for me though!”  

“Need a ride home,” Stacy asks, “I could drop you off on my way.”

“Thanks for the offer but I'm good.”

Stacy looks like she wants to say something else, but smiles and lets it go. You let a breathe out in relief. You don't want to be the one to bring up Redfield, to bring up all the shit that happened.

Your friends are moving on. And your not going to be the one to make them relive their trauma. Not when you know they haven't forgiven Noah. But then they weren't there at the end and now-

You smile, “I'll see you guys tomorrow.”

*

It's starting to get really cold though snow won't fall for for another month. Leaves falling from trees, leaving them barren. The woods looking as menacing as ever.

You wonder if Noah remembers anything. Jane had. She had remembered enough to be angry about you breaking your promise. You wish you'd know it was Jane sooner. Maybe it would have made things better. Maybe Noah would still be alive.  

Fucking hell.

You can't find it in you to truly hate Noah even knowing what he did. What he wanted to. There’s been anger and hurt and fucking betryal but now your just left with a hole in your heart and none of this is fair and nothing should have ever happened to Jane. Redfield-Jane was right, you were useless. You couldn’t protect your friends.

You take a deep breath, pausing on your way back home, among the houses clustered together. Jane and Noah’s street.

It doesn’t hurt to think about her like it hurts to think of her brother. Noah who’d been alone and brave from the start, ready to fight redfield again. You wish you’d had more time together. You wish you’d never stopped being friends.

But it’s much too late, regret thick on your mouth as you swallow and try to stop thinking about everything you can’t change.

Their house has a for sale sign outside. It makes sense. You doubt there’s anything left for their mother here. It hurts to remember her words, directed carelessly at Noah. How dare she! We were only kids.

None of this was their fault. You don’t blame him for being manipulated by what was left of Jane, you can’t think of her as Jane, fiery and fiercely loyal Jane, your partner in crime both of you feeding into each others schemes. She’d never have hurt her friends. She’d never have hurt Andy.

There’s boxes by the trash.

Your feet carry you there before you can process, tears welling up in your eyes as you realize what they must be, who they belong-belonged to. Your hands tremble and you don’t care who could be watching as you go through the boxes, sitting down on the cold curb.

The soft fabric of well worn t shirts and hoodies, still smelling of him. An assortment of books mostly from school reading lists. A beat up skateboard, most of the stickers worn blank. A notebook full of doodles and recipes and notes and you wipe tears away with the back of your hand, thumbing through pictures from your childhood, Jane alive and smiling. A sleepover with your friends where Stacy had given everyone makeovers.

You and Jane, hugging, hair cut jaggedly after you both had run out of doll’s hair to style and cut.

The three of you running through the sprinklers on a hot summer day.

Noah and you asleep and drooling on the sofa. Probably having crashed from a sugar rush. You’d forgotten how much Jane had liked taking pictures.

You start shoving it all in your backpack. Pictures and notebooks and fuck if your not taking the beanies and hoodies and it’s not trash. Noah isn’t dead. He’s just. . .you can’t stop crying, carrying what you can’t fit inside.

Noah deserved to live. You should have stopped him. Found another way to help Jane but Noah didn’t deserve to be alone in death the same way he’d been in life. Alone and hurting. You’d promised to never leave him again but you were never great at keeping promises where the Marshall twins were concerned.

*

Your house feels emptier than usual. The tears have died but you still can’t stop shaking.

After the nightmare with Dan, you’ve taken to sleeping in the guest room on the first floor. It doesn’t have any windows, having once been a small cramped office for your mom, which makes you feel safe.

You take the time to pour over all of Noah’s things, folding the clothes thrown away haphazardly with care. Everyone just wants to move on and put the deaths behind them but you can’t. Not when you’d been there.

It wasn’t the same for your friends. They hadn’t seen how desperate and torn up about everything he’d been, the misplaced guilt eating him up from the inside for years and he’d still tried to do the right thing in the end but the power demanded blood.

They wanted to put it all behind them, bitter and angry about him. There would be no forgiveness there. No thought to the shadow that was left of the boy who’d once been your best friend, who’d been the only one to go with you to save Dan.

You lay down in bed, clutching his jean jacket shamelessly against your chest. There had been enough left of Jane to taunt you with the whistle. But you don’t think she remembered at first or else she’d have . . .Pritch had stated that the power grew stronger when they were around. If they’d known, would. . .

Closing your eyes you take a deep breath.

Jane’s gone. Really gone this time.

But Noah isn’t.

You don’t even know if Noah remembers you. You hadn’t stayed there long enough to find out. Everyone rushing you and your friends to the hospital. Fuck.

No one had brought him up later. They’d just been relieved that you’d walked out alive.

There’s still hope for Noah.

There has to be.

You’d promised to be there for him, that you wouldn’t leave him alone.

This time you won’t break your promise.

*

The ancient flashlight does little to peel the darkness away. You gulp. Every noise menacing when you can’t see where it’s coming from.

Maybe you should have told someone where you were going. But all of your friends would have tried to stop you. Told you this was a mistake. And maybe it was.

It was hard to feel brave in the dark of the night, alone in the woods, but you had to do this for Noah.

He deserved better than being left to rot alone among the ruins. To become just as bitter and angry as Redfield. You wouldn’t let that happen to your best friend. You had to try and find a way to save him, the way he’d saved you in the end. The way he’d saved Jane.

You walk farther in, your feet carrying you towards the place where this had all started years ago. You wonder if he’s even there. If he’d even come or if you’re wrong about this all. Maybe there’s nothing left of the Noah you knew.

The ruins look the same as ever, moss covering the rocks, vines breaking apart the stones, climbing up into the roof. You set your backpack down carefully, awkwardly holding your flashlight, shining it around, trying to spot a living shadow, but there’s nothing but an eerie silence.

It’s worse than the scattered noises you’d heard on your way here. As if all the creatures in the woods know to avoid this evil place. The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end, your hare brained mind urging you to run away.

You shake your head and find somewhere to position the flashlight so you aren’t in complete darkness, so you have free use of your hands.

It falls over.

“Shit,” you mutter to yourself, propping it up against a rock that might have once been part of the house, before continuing on your task with a single minded determination, thinking of the rare times you’d managed to get a smile out of Noah. How he’d talked about culinary school, blushing red, like it was a pipe dream.

You could manage this for him.

The board is easy enough to set up, still in pretty good shape, but it’s childish compared to what you’ve dealt with. Lily had teared up when Ava had brought it over for your birthday, and of course Jane would never back down from anything. Lucas had run after Lily and Andy had scolded Ava, Ava who had taken notes for the first time since you’d known her, convinced she was about to talk to a ghost. The ouija board.

It feels absurd now.

You shove any reluctance to the back of your head, stealing yourself. It won’t be the same Noah, who’d stiffened as you’d hugged him earnestly, whose hand you’d held as you both ran around the woods in terror, who couldn’t help himself but be a smartass. But hopefully it would still be him.

Hopefully he would still remember you.

“Noah,” you utter, breaking the silence of the woods, “Noah are you here? Can you hear me?” It feels stupid when no one answers. The planchette unmoved on the board. “Noah, I’m sorry it took this long for me to come. I should have come sooner,” you glance around where the forest creeps into the clearing, looking for any movement, those burning red eyes redfield had, “I’m sorry Noah.”

Nothing.

You sigh. He has to be here. There has to be a reason that Jane had stayed here for so long, a connection.

“Noah,” you try again, wondering if he even remembers who he is. “Noah Marshall. That’s your name and you’re my best friend and god damnit Noah you have to talk to me, you owe me that much.” Tears well up in your eyes again, stinging as you refuse to let them fall.

You sit down on the forest floor, damp and cold, and wait for something to happen, glad that you’d worn a thick coat instead of your usual jacket. You won’t give up on him.

You look around the clearing again, hoping for any sign that this whole experiment isn’t pointless. It’s a school night, you can’t stay out here forever, but if he doesn’t show you’ll be back.

He has to talk to you eventually.

You look over at the ouija board, still unmoved, before signing and looking up again.

A shadow like an ink stain looms in front of you, too close, way too close, it’s eyes glowing like fireflies in the darkness, making the flashlight dim in comparison.

You gasp, flinching back, wanting to put distance between you and redfield and oh go you shouldn't have come alone. You don’t want to die.  

The shadow, Noah, doesn’t move.

An apology tumbles from your lips, “I’m sorry Noah.” I’m sorry this happened. I’m sorry your dead. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you when you needed me. I’m sorry I was scared I know it’s you.

You sit up, eyes glued to Noah, “Can you speak? I know that the others couldn’t very well so I thought a ouija board might help. Ava would get a kick out of this wouldn’t she? Do you remember Ava?”

Noah still doesn’t move so you decide to ramble on. “I want to help you. And even if I can’t your my best friend, I wouldn’t want you to be alone. I wouldn’t leave you alone.”

Noah floats closer, more substantial than smoke, his unnatural gaze on you. It takes everything you’ve got not to move away. You still aren’t sure if he remembers anything but he hasn’t hurt you, hasn’t made a move to, that’s gotta mean something.  

“Noah I. . .love you” they’re the only words that come close to describing the complex mess of emotions that arise in your chest when you think of him, heart lodged in your throat, Noah, your best friend, a boy brave enough to become a monster. So you offer your fist instead, a hesitant smile on your lips.

The shadow, Noah, responds in kind, his spectral fist attempting to fist bump.

You smile brightly, enough to make your cheeks hurt as the tears brimming in your eyes finally fall. It’s Noah. Noah remembers. There’s hope and you haven’t felt this light since that night, but maybe things can be okay again.

“Noo o o . . .crii ying,” Noah tries, settling down next to you, in front of the board you’d both once played with. As a child Noah had scoffed at the ouija board.

You wipe the tears from your eyes, and nod, “I’m just really happy to talk to you again. Even if it feels weird to see you without a beanie.”

The specter shakes its head and you can almost imagine the twist of his lips, brow arching as he glares at you, as he goes to start moving the planchette. The shadows near enough that there’s overlap and it’s almost perfect. You don’t call him out on it, Noah who’d always claimed to be above all that touchy feely nonsense like Ava, though you suspect he just wasn’t used to it after years alone, letting him have this. Letting yourself enjoy the proximity.

Its slow going, but eventually Noah manages the planchette.

T oo k y o  u lo n g e n o u gh.

You give up on the idea of going to school in the morning.

“Dick.”

[ravenqueen89]

the fading home

A Patron reward for the wonderful @princessbatteringram, who graces me with allowing me to play with her amazing OCs. This time we have a return of Lottie/Bela with an appearance by their adopted nonbinary kiddo, Sparrow. 

Fandom: Dragon Age II

Title: The Fading Home

Rating: Gen

Pairing: Isabela/Lottie Hawke, mostly family feels

Summary: She knew the moment the sky shattered into spirals of green that her life would change because of it but, as usual, knowledge makes nothing easier.

Notes: Isabela’s POV (she’s not dealing well with Lottie having to leave to get to Skyhold), rambling, many feels.

Word count: 1763

also on ao3

Day is breaking, and so is the sky. The cottage is at the foot of the mountains, and winter rushes down with its frozen breath, coating everything in delicate patterns of frost. Isabela doesn’t normally wake early, but there is nothing normal about today. She knew the moment the sky shattered into spirals of green that her life would change because of it but, as usual, knowledge makes nothing easier.

Two letters, one from Varric and the other from Alistair were delivered days ago, sealing the upheaval of Isabela’s life. She knows her wife, but she’d hoped the whole running into danger to save the world part of their lives was over. She still craves adventure and always will, but she is no longer willing to accept the risk of loss. She has built a life from the ashes with Lottie, and it has become her normal. Varric occasionally teases her in his long-winded letters about settling down, and once upon a time she would have hated that and would have done everything in her power to prove him wrong, but now what she hates is the thought of all of this disappearing.

They’ve spent years on ships, her and Lottie, but now Sparrow is in their family too. It was Isabela who suggested spending some time on land, surprising both herself and her wife. Ground under her feet has ceased to suggest a lack of freedom, but actually craving some time in which nothing would happen other than domesticity is still a new concept. Despite the newness, Isabela has enjoyed every second, up until the sky broke and shattered all the illusions of futures she’s created in her mind.

She wants to be back in bed, to hold on to Lottie until the day passes with her staying, but Lottie must leave, and Isabela must get used to her absence once more. She’s forgotten how, which seems irrational, but after all they’ve been through she thought they were owed at least this. She’s also forgotten that being married to Lottie Hawke  means that nothing can ever stay calm. Isabela’s restless thoughts have turned to superstition a few times, worrying that she should’ve stuck to the sea and sailed with Lottie and Sparrow far away, where no messenger could reach them, but she knows the Champion’s duties are inescapable. She knows what Lottie is, knows what Lottie must do, knows that her wife will always need to help in some way instead of letting the world crumble into dust, but Isabela still resents it at times. She resents it most now that she’ll have to watch Lottie go without Isabela at her side. They have Sparrow’s safety to think of now, and so Isabela must stay back from the fight, and it’s so very jarring that Isabela hasn’t been able to taste anything other than fear and bitterness for days. It must be done. She hates it, but her need to protect her family must be divided now.

The breaking sun does little to alleviate the chill in the wind, and Isabela knows she should go back inside, but the cottage is old and creaky and Lottie and Sparrow need their rest so Isabela keeps pacing around the cottage in disarrayed patterns. She’s wearing so many damnable layers but she’s still shivering, so she walks faster, frost crackling under her boots. She keeps looking back at the cottage like it’s about to be assailed. It’s been their haven, a beautiful comfortable escape. It was always meant to be temporary, but it was never meant to be stolen from them too soon.

Isabela has woken late every day until now to the sound of Lottie and Sparrow laughing, chasing each other through the garden and then bursting through the bedroom door with arms full of late autumn flowers and sweet-smelling herbs. The cottage belongs to some old acquaintance of Lottie’s, someone grateful for some favour that Lottie has bestowed, someone with another house in the middle of civilisation. Isabela found herself enjoying the peace of isolation, cooking spicy Rivaini stews while Sparrow and Lottie experimented with tea leaves they found in beautifully painted boxes laden with dust, mementoes of other people’s past lives.

Isabela told Sparrow stories in the firelight until they fell asleep and Lottie carried them to bed, returning by the fire to rest her head in Isabela’s lap. They’d talk of everything and nothing, and drink brandy, and kiss, and Isabela hadn’t thought she’d have a home on land, but she realised her home would be found in any place she shared with her wife. And now, Lottie is going somewhere Isabela can’t follow.

Despite having been part of their family for a while now, Sparrow still goes from sleeping to awake instantly, like they still constantly need to watch their own back. Lottie is the one who usually gets out of bed around the same time, but Isabela is always aware of both of them, even when she sleeps in as much as she likes. She knows that she won’t do much luxuriating in bed in the coming months, but her instinct alerts her to movement in the cottage. She’s almost next to the door, so she can hear the floorboards creaking, following Sparrow’s steps as they bounce from one edge of the hall to another, hurriedly making their way to the bedroom door, which opens with a bang. Isabela can hear Sparrow saying ‘mama!’ followed by a muffled sound of protest from Lottie, and it’s heartbreakingly normal in a way that makes Isabela walk around the cottage once more before heading inside.

Isabela sat next to Lottie well into the dark of night, planning the moves ahead and how to react according to what would come. Isabela knows how long to wait without news until making her way back to sea. Lottie knows where to write and where to go if everything goes to shit. They’ve done as much as they could within the magnitude of everything they don’t know and can’t control, but it gives Isabela little comfort. She’s so tired of fighting the battles of others, so tired of living in constant threat. It’s all she’s wanted to leave behind, but now she must watch, and plan, and not let herself be consumed by fear. She can’t protect Lottie, but she can protect Sparrow.

When she finally goes back inside, warmth envelops her, but she can’t quite rub the feeling back into her hands. The sound of the door alerts Sparrow, who’s ensconced in a pile of blankets on the bedroom floor, with the hat they’ve once more stolen from Isabela crookedly placed on their head.

‘Captain!’ they say, and Isabela rolls her eyes but Sparrow has never been impressed by that, not even the day they met. Sparrow tends to call her ‘Bela’ like Lottie does, but their uncle Varric kept calling Isabela ‘captain’ until Sparrow started imitating him, to his endless amusement

‘Sweet bird, I can’t be a captain, nor an admiral, if I am without my hat,’ she says, and by the time Sparrow reaches out with both hands to hold on to the hat, Isabela has danced around them and reclaimed it.

Sparrow laughs, loudly and gleefully, their tooth gap on display, and Isabela is painfully reminded of how young they are and how much they need the safety of a home and a family.

Lottie’s head is buried under a mountain of pillows, but her hand is tense where she’s clutching the blanket Sparrow hasn’t stolen, and Isabela’s heart sinks further when she realises Lottie’s warmth will be gone from their sheets by evening, so she walks out of the room to hide the expression on her face.

Sparrow falls after her into the small kitchen, enticed by the idea of preparing breakfast for ‘mama’. They accompany Isabela’s cooking with a terrible Fereldan song that no one sees her smile along to, and then Lottie joins them. She distracts Sparrow by drawing ice petals along the window, her magic almost crackling in the air, and Isabela desperately wishes she could preserve this forever but she can’t.

They all pick at their food, and Isabela doesn’t watch Lottie saying goodbye to Sparrow. She will not cry.  She is an admiral of the seas, a leader of ships, and she will not cry.

She walks outside with Lottie while Sparrow stays in the warmth of the cottage. Lottie will walk to the nearest village, where a mount is waiting, and from there to the new Inquisition and a broken sky and an uncertain future dealing with the ghosts of the past.

They end up standing in the middle of the road, Lottie looming over Isabela with her unfair height advantage and Isabela still wearing her hat, feeling more powerless than she has in years. Lottie’s hair is shorter than it used to be, but it still falls into her eyes and Isabela still brushes it away, and her hands will miss Lottie, her entire body will, let alone her mind.

‘Bela, I-‘

Isabela kisses her instead of letting her finish because they’ve never been ones for words on momentous occasions. There’s desperation in the kiss and in their hands, Isabela accidentally brushing against the sharp end of Lottie’s staff in her haste to hold on to her shoulders, Lottie grabbing her hips and picking her up in that way that Isabela scolds her for to hide how it makes her knees turn weak.

They breathe together until snow starts dancing around them on the wind and Isabela is shaking again, and Lottie has to go because light fades fast, but Isabela has to force herself to let go.

Lottie looks at her with those captivating eyes of hers and her kissed mouth, and Isabela has to let her go, has to stay behind.

‘Come back to me, Lottie Hawke,’ she says, trying to keep her voice steady when Lottie takes her hand and kisses her palm, her lips warm against Isabela’s cold skin.

‘Is that an order, admiral?’ Lottie asks, her grin trying its best to seem carefree.

Isabela laughs shakily and lets her hand linger along the pulse point at Lottie’s neck just to feel the rhythm of her heart beating.

‘If you don’t I’ll have to chase after you wherever you might be. You know I can’t allow mutiny.’

Lottie smiles and presses her forehead to Isabela’s and they share one last breath before Isabela turns, making her way back to the cottage, and refusing to watch Lottie walk away from her.

[dearlazerbunny]

Lie to Me (Ch. 10 of ?)

Pairings: Loki x Reader

Genre/Ratings: M eventually (aiming for a slow burn here); warnings for kidnapping and subsequent anxiety/PTSD (will be marked before every chapter)

Words: 2800

Summary: If you had to guess what the captured, traitor, trickster god Loki Laufeyson wanted or needed at this moment, a babysitter would be far, far down on the list. (Set after the events of Avengers 1.)

SHOUTOUT TO @molmcb and @jessiejunebug for their constant loveliness

Requested Tags: @deraniel @iamverity @yasnooshka24@wegingerangelica@themusingsofmany @dark-night-sky-99 @tarynkauai@stuffandstuff-stuffand the total sweetie @angelicshinigami @my-current-fandom-is @geekysimmerthings

WARNING: I have an extremely basic white girl taste in music. Rather than actual classics, I decided to stick with what I know, because I personally think it’s funnier to imagine Loki reacting to Kesha than the Beatles. Please do not scream at me for my horrible taste in music. I know it’s mainstream. But also you can pry my all consuming love for TSwift out of my cold, dead hands, okay thank you for coming to my TEDTalk

Something you’ve come to like about Loki is that he can appreciate silence.

Everyone seems to think that two people sitting quietly has to be awkward; something to avoid- but really, there’s nothing better than being in a room with someone, each doing their own thing, but enjoying the other person’s presence nonetheless. It’s a kind of comfortable that only comes with a severe amount of trust in the soul sitting across from you. Trust that you aren’t simply something to entertain them, or a mouth to keep them occupied- they like you even if all they’re doing is watching your eyebrows quirk as you read a particularly fascinating novel.

Sure, most of your visits are still full of back-and-forth bickering that could rival a fifties sitcom- you never seem to run out of things to talk about- but some days, when he can tell you’ve had a row you’d really rather not discuss, or you know he’s simply not in the headspace to chat, the two of you will simply sit and be. You’ll page through a book or scribble down some thoughts on your notepad while he laces and unlaced his long fingers into intricate patterns, content to sift through his thoughts.

Though you do mark down a note to talk to someone about getting him a few books. He’s got to be bored in there.

To your surprise, these quiet days quickly become your favorites because as much as you love his twisted sense of sarcasm, you like his singing voice more.

Sometimes, Loki will hum.

It’s always very quiet, under his breath, and most of the time you think he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. But every so often you’ll pause from whatever you’re doing to listen to the faint melodies coming from his cell. It’s never anything you’ve heard before, and the music is hopeful and happy and tragic and uplifting all at once, the kind of thing that makes you want to smile and cry at the same time. They must be from Asgard, because you doubt any music from Earth could ever sound like this.

You never mention it, though. You’re afraid if you call attention to it, he’ll stop, and the songs seem to give him a small bit of joy in his lonely bubble of isolation. You’d never want to take that away from him.

Today, rather than reading, you’ve got your arms curled up underneath your head and are fighting (and mostly failing) to keep your eyes open. You got caught up on a project last night and didn’t even realize what time it was until he sun was peeking through your curtains, leaving you to chug several cups of coffee and hope for the best.

But Loki is humming and the music is making you drowsy and warm which is not a great combination for wanting to stay awake. For his part, he doesn’t tease you about very obviously falling asleep on your desk, which you appreciate- you’re pretty sure any comebacks thought up right now would be incredibly lame

“ ‘S pretty,” you mumble, trying to blink the blurriness out of your eyes. Ugh. You hate all-nighters.

“Pardon?”

“You have a pretty voice.”

He doesn’t respond for a minute- though that might have been because you fell asleep for a second- but eventually he just chuckles briefly. “Thank you, I suppose. It does tend to be part of my appeal.”

“Your singing voice, stupid. It’s pretty.” A yawn nearly splits your face in half, and you blink at him blearily.

“When have you ever heard me sing?”

“Well you hum. Same thing. ‘S nice. Never heard it before.”

“I see.” He lapses into silence, and you frown.

“Well don’t stop.”

“I- I am not sure I even know what I was humming.”

You grumble, frustrated. “It was like-” you lilt into a vague approximation of one of his songs, the one that makes you think of a sunflower field on a misty day. “Like that. Kind of.”

Now he properly laughs. “I apologize, I don’t believe I can recreate… whatever it is you just pulled out of your sleep-addled brain.”

“Never said I was a singer.” Another yawn. “Sing something else then.”

“The Witling is quite pushy when exhausted,” he says amused. “Noted.”

“Shu’ up.” With a huff, your head is back in the crook of your elbow. “Why do I even like you.”

“For lullabies, apparently.”

You don’t quite catch that bit, as the drowsiness has finally caught up with you- your eyes close, you curl yourself into a more comfortable position. Loki stares at you, somewhat amazed that you feel comfortable enough to be so vulnerable with him in the room. You look peaceful, content- something warm sparks in him. “It was something my mother sang me, when I was young,” he admits, when he knows for sure you can’t hear. “I seem to recall it chased away nightmares quite effectively.”

But he does start up his lullaby again. It pulls on the homesickness in his chest, but it also makes you smile softly in your sleep.

You dream of sunflowers.

                                                          XXX

“Okay, since I basically forced you to culture me on Asgardian music-”

“I believe you underestimate your incredibly rude demands.”

“I- I was half asleep! I wasn’t trying to on purpose-” you stop when Loki grins, making it obvious that he’s only teasing you. You huff. “Whatever. You suck. Don’t interrupt. Since I basically forced you to culture me on Asgardian music-” you pull out your phone and plunk it on the table. “I’m going to culture you in some Midgardian music.”

“I… see…”

“Don’t look so terrified, I’m not going to subject you to screamo headbangers or anything.” Loki gives you a look, the one that says what on Midgard are you talking about, you strange mortal. “I’m going to start you off with the classics.”

“Be still my beating heart.”

“I know, you should be grateful. My taste in music is the epitome of class and excellence.”

“…of course.”

You pull your phone out of your pocket and flick through your playlists, wondering what to dive into first. “Are you feeling something upbeat or angsty?”

Loki snorts, which is hilariously undignified for him. “I defer to your judgement.”

“A wise choice.” After a few flicks of the screen, you turn your volume up to full blast and sit back to listen.

“I got too many people… got left to prove wrong…”

Serene acoustic guitar washes through the room, and you drum your fingers on your thigh in time to Kesha’s voice. “Don’t let the bastards get you down…”

Loki raises an eyebrow. “Is this your way of attempting to be inspirational?”

You grin at him. “I thought it’d be uplifting.” “Been underestimated… my entire life…”

Once that song is over, you scroll a bit and click to a more techno, pop-y sounding beat. “I knew you were trouble when you walked in…” Again, he stares at you from behind the glass. “What? It’s a great song! One of her best!”

He wrinkles his nose. “Beyond the obvious message…. I do not believe I’m a fan.”

“Hm. Your loss. Honestly I’m disappointed I didn’t name you Trouble instead of Trickster, this would be a perfect theme song for you.” At his death glare, you hold your hands up, giggling. “Okay, okay! Next one…”

You roll through a couple of P!nk’s newer works, guessing he might appreciate the poetic lyrics, and then just because you want to you throw in a couple K-Pop groups, and then asked him for translations on the songs you’ve never bothered to google. “And this is currently the quintessential Midgardian music experience.” The first few strains of the goddamn song nobody can get out of their heads, Let it Go, begins to play. “It’s from a musical called Frozen, based on the old fairytale The Snow Queen.” You wiggle your eyebrows at him suggestively. “Magical ice powers, frozen hearts. The whole shebang.”

His eye rolls are really something spectacular. “Fascinating.”

“I just thought you’d appreciate the theme!”

He tilts his head. “Am I missing a joke, Witling?”

You grin at him. “You know, being a frost giant and all. I thought you could really, I dunno, empathize?”

Loki- well, Loki does something, something you can’t quite describe other than a  complete and systematic mass shutdown. It’s like his very soul suddenly ascends and leaves behind a body that can do nothing but breathe and blink. His eyes go opaque, and even the casual tapping and twitching of his fingers stutters and then stills. He practically disappears in front of your very eyes, as invisible as a person can be behind a pane of glass. Something in your stomach immediately turns. “Um, Loki? You okay?”

“How did you know that.” His voice is toneless, and quieter than you’ve ever heard it, even in those beginning days where he did nothing but huff and sigh at your existence.

You’re confused, but more than that, you’re frantically wondering what you did to cause such anguish to appear on his face. “How did I know…? I don’t know what you mean.”

“That I- I’m not-” he takes a breath, and it shudders out of him so achingly slowly something about it breaks your heart. “A frost giant.”

“How did I know that…you’re a frost giant…? I mean, like everything else we knew about you, from old poems and stories…” there’s a flare of anger in his eyes that scares you. “Is that- is that not good?”

“You say you knew this from the old stories?” His voice is still quiet, but now there’s something simmering beneath it.

“Yeah. The Poetic Edda and all that. I think they’re described as a race in Beowulf which is like, freshman English 101.” Silence. Heavy, stifling, suffocating silence. Your chest heaves from the pressure of it. “Loki? You’re scaring me here.”

The life crashes back into him all at once, and he’s suddenly as hot and dangerous as a flare lit to explode. “You knew this?” He roars, up on his feet and practically vibrating with intensity. His glare pins you to your seat. “You knew- the pathetic Midgardians, of all the races in the galaxy, knew my own secrets before even I?” He laughs violently, his entire body shaking with the force of it. “Of course they did! Because what luck would the universe afford me other than heinous? Other than disgusting-” his cot gets thrown from its position in the corner to the other side of his cell- “rotted-” his hands clench; knuckles white- “fate!” He stands amid the small chaos he’s created, heaving, eyes wild and looking for something to destroy.

You’ve curled yourself up a small as possible, watching the scene unfold with your heart in your throat. “Loki?” You whisper, not noticing a small tear drip onto your cheek. “I’m- I’m sorry. I don’t know what I said but I’m so sorry-”

When he whirls on you, notices your wide eyes, a little of his rage dissipates. “No, Witling, it is not-” he groans, clearly frustrated, and runs his fingers through his hair to direct his anger somewhere other than you. “You did nothing, other than confirm that the world is infinitely cruel.” His laugh is darker this time, more bitter. “That is a not a new lesson to me, have no fear.”

“I- I don’t understand.”

“I do not see how you would.” He looks away, but you get the idea that he’s tying to avoid his own reflection rather than you. His hands clench and unclench.  “I am not sure how your poets came upon such knowledge, but it becomes more and more clear that their sources outrank even my own.”

Realization smack you so suddenly there’s a physical sting on your cheek. “You… you didn’t know. You didn’t know?” How is that even possible?

He grimaces. “Not until a scant year ago.”

You stare at him. “You didn’t know that you were a frost giant until a year ago.” He opens his mouth to say something scathing about your parroting habit, but you cut him off. “Sorry, I’m sorry, I just- how? Why?”

“Why does Odin do anything?” He snarls. “To manipulate. To lie. To raise torment.”

His tone is cutting, but his eyes are lost. Despite the anger radiating off of him in waves, he stands in his white cell alone, adrift, with nothing to anchor him. Ever so slowly, you push back your chair and stand- he eyes you like a caged animal, which is all too accurate to his situation- and walk to him, gauging his reaction as you go. He only watches, so you eventually get close enough to reach out and touch the glass in front of you. You can’t offer anything but that. “Tell me?”

Loki’s sigh caries millennia of unspoken stories. “I would not tell a tale you already know.”

You shake your head a little. “I think I’m realizing we never knew the first thing about you.”

He looks at you for a moment, apparently weighing your words. “It is quite simple. On a mission to slaughter the Jotunn, my father came across an abandoned child in the middle of the battlefield. He concealed its nature and brought it to Asgard to raise in hopes of one day using it as a bargaining chip for peace.”

It. He speaks of himself like a thing, not a person. “Why did he never tell you?”

“Because it would have risked disloyalty, and crippled his plans.” His eyes darken. “If I had realized sooner that I could never take the throne, never truly be a prince of Asgard…” he doesn’t finish his sentence, but you can guess the sentiment.

“He used you.” The simple fact hangs naked in the air, a revelation for you but old news to the god in the cell.

“From the day he spotted me. I was never more than a pawn to him.”

“But didn’t you look different?” You blurt out, trying to wrap your head around the inconsequential details in order to ignore the more painful implications. “I mean- I don’t know what frost giants- Jotunn- look like, really, but…”

He does smile a little at that. “Magic mimics, and illusions are quite easy to conjure. I imagine my subconscious did the work for me.”

“Oh.” You glance at the cuffs on his wrists. “Do they not do anything then?”

“I assure you they work properly,” he sighs. “I would assume Midgardian technology is not capable of suppressing every ounce of magic I possess.”

Your finger traces an outline of his manacles on the glass, leaving smudges. “I’m so sorry.”

Loki looks at you. “It’s ancient history, Witling.”

“How can you say that? Of course it’s not!”

“I realized my father’s love was conditional very quickly, even if I did not know why. I have had a century to deal with the fallout.”

“That- doesn’t make me feel better.” You cross your arms, desperately searching for solid footing. “So you were alone?”

“No.” His voice softens. “My mother- she loved me as a mother should. I do not think I would have survived without her.”

The both of you stand quietly for a minute as your world resettles on its axis. Loki eventually rights his cot and sits down on it, waiting for you to speak first.

“I bet you’re beautiful.” He looks at you, confused. “I mean your other form- self? Carvings aren’t very detailed, most people said the Jotunn were fiercely stunning.”

“Jotunn are monsters, Witling. The things you tell your children of at night. There is nothing beautiful about me.”

“You aren’t a monster.”

“The stories would say otherwise.”

“Well then maybe the stories are wrong,” you say harshly. His eyes meet yours, vulnerable. “Because I know monsters, Loki, I have plenty of my own. You do not share their face, believe me.” He doesn’t seem to know what to make of that- he seems caught between denial and disbelief. “Tell me about your mother.”

So he does. He tells you of her never ending patience when his burgeoning magic was more hinderance than help, and how her healing hands could stitch together even the most dire of wounds. How she could rein in Odin’s temper and even change his mind in the dead of night. How she would know exactly where he would hide when he was upset, and leave a mark or sign so he would know he wasn’t alone.

With every story, his sadness seems to chip away, and his anger fades. Your heart is still crying, but you’ve at least pulled yourself together enough for the tears to dry up, and smile and encourage Loki to keep going whenever he hesitates.

Throughout it all, you murmur small thank-you’s to Frigga in the back of your mind, for carrying him through when you couldn’t.

A/N: Get it? Because they dated for like three weeks and everyone thought it was strange?

Guys. I have two chapters left. TWO. And they’re not hard chapters. So why have I been staring at them for a week not able to write either of them??? BLERGH. 

[elmidol]

Damage of the Spirit

Three Blind Tooke Part Three Death is an Art

Read on AO3

Warnings: war and loss

Three Blind Tooke 

 Part Three: Death is an Art

 Chapter Fifty: Damage of the Spirit

 Of the million ways there are to die,

There is one that scares me above the rest.

It’s by losing the good in my life,

And knowing all the sacrifices were useless.

 The ironic thing in regards to surviving an encounter with the enemy is that it opens the door to questions as to how death had not taken you. Navrin was in the same position. Those in the Resistance were visibly and vocally disappointed that the mission had resulted in failure. Debriefing had taken an equally hostile mood as the temporary alliance with the Order of Ren had been discussed. It was foolishness, you thought; catching glances at the face of General Organa proved that she harbored similar sentiments. That situation, the moment that the Order of Ren had arrived, was nothing that could have been completely salvaged. Phasma would remain alive in all likelihood had the alliance not been formed. What troubled your superiors more was that Kylo had been allowed to see and use the device Rose had created. A thread of guilt coiled inside of you. Nothing too large, and much the same as what you had felt at the time that this particular piece had occurred. Those in the Resistance would not learn the full truth. They only caught snippets. Distortions of the truth were quick to form.

 Even your mother expressed her agreement with the punishment that you received. Benched again.

 None of them knew that you had agreed to carry a message from Kylo Ren to Rey and Finn. That message was not something you had yet shared. Master Skywalker could sense that there was something you were holding back. He approached you thrice since you had returned. As best you could, you ensured that what left your lips were white lies rather than something more twisted. General Organa met with you once as well. Their intuition did not fail them. To know if that was an attribute of the Force or something of their personalities, that left you quiet and in a state of pondering after they left you alone each on each of those occasions.

 When at long last you did manage to get Rey alone, out of earshot of others, it had been just past a standard week since your return. You had spent time in the interim mentally repeating the message so that you did not forget a single portion of it. The risk that you would muddle things and thus cause more damage had left you feeling rather nauseated dozens of times. It was why you wanted to speak with Rey alone. She would be able to relay the message to Finn; you knew that she would discuss it with him, that much was written on her face the second you had started speaking. An audience of one ensured fewer interruptions. Less questions. You also felt that mentioning the bond she had with Kylo put her on the spot. It wasn’t something she had wanted. It was different than the bond she had with you or with Finn. The latter bonds were of warmth, of familiarity and camaraderie. The former was power.

 The tinges of personal touch to the bond between Kylo and Rey stemmed from their joining forces during battles. The death of Snoke, that subsequent throne room fight was clear in your mind. The time together on Naboo.

 Through the bond, you felt the interest in Rey rising alongside the conflict. She was torn between remaining loyal to the Resistance and loyal to herself by nurturing the good she had seen in Kylo Ren. Those Maker-forsaken glimpses that also explained why Leia failed to give up completely on her son.

 Rey cupped her hands against her shin while tilting back her head to stare up at the sky, which was mostly obscured by the trees surrounding the pair of you. This was one of the training grounds she had set up for herself on this base. At times Finn joined her here, however he had a preferred spot of his own and had also been going on more missions with Luke. You did not know their exact nature.

 “He still wants to rule,” Rey said. You murmured your agreement. That was part of the dilemma you encountered whenever you thought of a true alliance between the Resistance and Order of Ren. Kylo would wish to rule, the same as always. He felt that his power elevated his importance in comparison with everyone else in the galaxy. “I don’t know what the Resistance wants when this war ends. Peace. We all want that. To be free from tyranny. But I’ve become a part of something so...so large and beyond myself. I lived on Jakku. I didn’t worry about things like the laws in the New Republic. The senators on Hosnian Prime. I know they did a lot of good.”

 “But?”

 “But to hear how they turned their back on Leia when…” She shook her head. “I don’t know who my parents are. What if they don’t live up to what others in the Resistance think is acceptable? Does that mean I have no place when the war is over, when some new set of senators begin to help govern our galaxy?”

 The big questions that were not often voiced. You had believed that you had issues to sort out when the fighting ended. You had started to worry about feeling misplaced, but you at least had your mother. Rey’s family was the Resistance. The same with Finn. Two Force sensitives that were at long last learning who they were simultaneous to being shaped into soldiers. The Jedi had been viewed as the keepers of the peace until they weren’t. Would they have the same fate now?

 Rey had turned her head to watch you. Her eyes roamed along your face before dropping down to your hands. You shifted those limbs closer to your stomach. She spoke again, this time to bring up the fact that you had been benched after returning from your captivity. There remained numerous members of the Resistance that did not trust you, that would never trust you. That was quite possibly the fate that awaited her when the war ended. Alienation, isolation. Sure, they viewed her as a symbol for hope now...but how quickly that could change. Which was one of the reasons she feared her own powers. Feared doing the wrong thing. Delivering this message from Kylo Ren, you had hoped, would erase some of that. Now you wondered if she wouldn’t fear her powers more.

 “My father trained me...in small ways...ever since I was little. He feared that the war wasn’t over. That another would begin. He also made sure that I had fun. And I think…” You chewed on your bottom lip, toying with how you wanted to phrase things. You did not want to come off as being cruel or insensitive. “For you, it’s been only war and survival. Then this new power. It’s hard enough to settle down and find life off the battlefield when you’ve been doing it for years, but for you, it’s more. Let me tell you, I’m no stranger to politics. No matter what you choose, there is going to be someone disappointed. We have to do the best we can. That’s all we can do.”

 Another stretch of silence followed your words. You found yourself leaning into Rey, your shoulder and hers touching. As much as the pair of you were bonding with your allies, the feeling of alienation persisted. There was only so much to be done that allowed you to integrate yourselves with the group. Like Navrin, you and Rey had fought alongside Kylo Ren. Those missions wherein you had eliminated targets that were benefiting off the war without choosing sides, that now held a tinge of irony. The difference was that you wanted the war to end, whereas they had not. Death helped to fill their pocketbooks.

 “It didn’t feel wrong,” Rey said. You wondered if her thoughts had strayed into the same territory of their own accord, or if the bond you shared had influenced things. “If he hadn’t fallen, maybe we would have still come together to fight as equals, side by side.”

 The wind rustled your hair along with the leaves of the trees. Tilting back your head, you peered up at the slivers of sky that showed through the foliage. There were no visible clouds. No obvious threat of precipitation. Some beings looked to the sky for answers when they faced such important choices. Being stuck at a crossroads resulted in a heavy sensation of helplessness. It caused one’s stomach to roil and nausea to creep inside. Rey, too, had started to place both of her hands on her stomach. Her eyebrows were knitted towards one another while her lips pressed more tightly together.

 Both of you were waiting for the other to make the decision, to be able to follow the other’s lead. The two options that had been presented were equally dangerous. Join the enemy in the hopes that together a balance could be discovered. That he would relinquish some of the darkness and hunger for power that he possessed. On the other hand, reject that enemy and hope that the battles would result in victories for the Resistance. And, afterwards, that you would both escape persecution for the choices that had been made along the way. For Rey possessing abilities in the Force.

 No one knew that Kylo had used his abilities to heal you, not even Rey. For some reason you had been unable to bring yourself to broach the subject. Even now, while she was torn, your tongue remained still. You held your breath then forced yourself to push on, to tell her. The young woman beside you avoided looking at you as the words tumbled out of your mouth. She had to be wondering why you hadn’t told her this to begin with. Or she knew why, and there was some bitterness in her because of it. She had to know that you did not want to encourage her to join Kylo, to see that he was sincere in his efforts to dabble in the Light side.

 “You don’t want me to go to him, do you?” she asked. Her voice was guarded, and she did not look your way even now.

 You huffed out a sigh. “In the future, maybe. But right now? Pretty words… Small acts. He’s done it before. What he’s talking about, what he’s proposing, is huge. And I… Rey, my relationship with Kylo is complicated. I can’t hope that he will let the Resistance members survive based on how he treats me. To him, that’s separate. He is wanting you and Finn to join specifically. I don’t know what he intends for the others.”

 This time as you talked, Rey did look at you. She watched the way your expression changed with each sentence. She took notice of the pain that was etched on your countenance. You were feeling just as torn. Wanting to push for a reality wherein Kylo and Ben, the ideas of both, the monster and the man, were one. The reality of gray that could never erase the darkness he had brought into the world, but did not have to be defined by that darkness. Because, in the end, Kylo and Ben were the same person. Not Ben the idea. Or Kylo the true self. The two halves. Someone who was power hungry yet equally capable of compassion.

 “I don’t know what I should say to Finn.” Yet more sentiments that you shared. It was more difficult for you to approach him than Rey. Not only because of the bond you had with Rey, but due to Finn’s history with the First Order and Kylo Ren. You felt sick thinking of the injury to his back. “Master Skywalker is on a mission. I need to tell Finn before he returns.” You could at the very least help her arrange for that. Distract Poe. Dameron would be touchy when it came to Kylo Ren, and you could not say as you blamed him. He had been tortured by the man.

 The amount of missions in the process had increased following Phasma’s demise. It did not take a genius to know that Supreme Leader Hux would react poorly; the woman had been one of his key enforcers, one of his oldest allies. He would retaliate. Preventing as much damage as possible was an undertaking of individuals such as Master Skywalker, who could do a lot on his own. Skilled pilots like Poe Dameron also were frequently on the move. Dameron had returned not long ago, and already he was slated for another mission. Truth be told, you were lowkey jealous. Having something to do by ensuring Rey could speak with Finn, that was something to keep you busy, to keep you moving. You felt useful.

 Your thoughts shifted towards Navrin. The pair of you had been sending knowing glances to the other whenever you crossed paths, which had not been frequent. The superior members of the Resistance hierarchy were working to keep you apart. If a decision was reached wherein Rey and Finn wanted to join with Kylo, you already knew that you would locate Navrin to ensure he had an equal chance to make such a choice. It was his connection with Rey that had made him leave Kylo in the first place.

 On that note, you did understand the Resistance’s reluctance to welcome him. Yet that was their flaw. Welcoming him could further give him a reason to fully adhere to their cause. To join them in full. That wasn’t going to happen. Which, in turn, had you knowing why the idea of the Order of Ren and Resistance uniting on a larger scale seemed so impossible. Trust was earned. It had already been damaged, the potential almost nonexistent.

 That doesn’t mean we just give up hope, you told yourself. We allow him a chance to prove he is sincere.

 In the meantime, you would work to rebuild the trust among your fellow Resistance members. None of whom were the ones that you had trained with when you had joined the splinter cell. Those allies were all dead, most of them murdered by Kylo. You squeezed your eyes closed to will away those memories. You would never deny the past, but you could not live in it. To do so would mean you had no future. Worse, you would have no present.

 “I have to talk with Dameron anyway. It should give you a moment with Finn.” Rey nodded. She had fallen as deep into her own thoughts as you had yours.

 After allowing her a little more time to gather her thoughts, you watched Rey rise from where she had been sitting and head off to find Finn. You wandered away from the area as well, albeit to find Poe. You did not have long to search. He was jogging in the direction of his X-wing. This caused you to quicken your pace before setting off into a full run. There was too much happening. Too many pilots climbing into their ships. Your heart was like a sledgehammer in your chest. You could not even hear yourself calling out his name over the sounds of its beating and the noises erupting from the ships that were lifting off the ground.

 Poe looked at you over his shoulder without stopping. He was strapping himself in while speaking. “We received a transmission from Artoo. Luke has encountered the Knights of Ren. We have his coordinates. And Hux…” He shook his head. “Find Leia. She’ll fill you in.”

 You were not told if he was heading off to assist Luke, or if he was to help with Hux’s latest victims. Whoever they were. Wherever they were. Stepping back so that you were not injured by the X-wing as its owner prepared to leave the planet, you started to search for the General. The female Skywalker twin was speaking with Connix and Rose. Their expressions were all severe. Bile threatened to rise in your throat as your stomach churned.

 Urged into action by the news, you ran over to your superior. She spared you but a quick glance without pausing in her conversation. Orders were being given out by other superior officers. The tacticians spoke with pilots and technicians alike. You caught snippets of sentences. Enough that you learned what it was Supreme Leader Hux had done as revenge for Phasma’s death. It brought you down to your knees. Your palms flat on the ground. Retching. Crying. Sobbing.

 Naboo had been destroyed. Your birth planet. The birth planet of Padmé, who was mother to the Skywalker twins and grandmother to Kylo Ren. It was a way to punish both you and Kylo in one blow while also shaking the heroes of the Resistance, the heroes of the Rebellion.

 Cold seeped into your body. The one source of warmth came from a hand on your shoulder. It was General Organa speaking to you. You could not understand what she was saying, but your mind recognized her voice.

 Your father’s grave was gone. The house in which you had lived. Gone. Every trace of your father. And if your mother had not come with you to the Resistance, she would be gone as well. Next your mind ran through the faces of those you had grown up with. The children. Their parents.

 Had Phasma’s death been worth all of that?

 All of those deaths were, in some part, your fault, weren’t they? You had bargained with Kylo Ren. Had assisted in her demise. For what? What had it all been for? She had won. Even if death, that wretched woman had taken more from you. Supreme Leader Hux would want to keep as many planets intact as possible to rule over them. This, though, was a sacrifice he had been willing to make. To show that he would not stand by doing nothing when provoked. The rivalry that existed between him and Kylo, that would only intensify the longer this war went on. And you… You had fueled that shared hatred to the point that it had made things go up in flames.

 A supernova creating a blackhole.

 “Why?” The first word to leave your lips since you had heard of Naboo’s destruction. It assaulted your abused throat, which burned from the stomach acid that had emerged just minutes before. “I did this.”

 “No,” Leia said. Her hand remained on your shoulder. “Hux did this.”

 “You don’t know what--” The words, hissed out as you whipped around to face her, died. They caught in your throat, choking you. You lurched forward to bury your face into her chest, and her arms wrapped around you. She did know what this was like. Except worse. She had been forced to watch her homeworld be destroyed. Your sobbing resumed, this time more violently.

 You couldn’t breathe. It felt as though you were submerged under water. Drowned in a deep ocean that swallowed you. Churning, each wave crashing. Shoving you deeper and deeper. The breath that had been in your lungs forced out with no means of replacing it. And when at last you emerged from those depths, it was fire that pushed you to the surface. Hot hatred that Leia seemed able to feel. When you tried to pull away so that you could hop into the nearest ship and pursue Hux, Leia tightened her grasp on you. She spoke your birth name, which only increased your anger. Birth name. Birth planet. The last of your childhood destroyed by this war. You had to kill Hux before he killed your mother.

 “Let me go!” you said through clenched teeth. Instead she rested her lips on the top of your head. Warmth, a different kind, started to enter you. Calming you. Making your muscles less tense. It tingled down the entire length of your spine. She was pouring bits of herself into you, a calming technique to help you recenter yourself. If she had been an enemy, this would have been an assault. Yet she was not. She was your ally, and she did this out of love.

 She was not only your ally, you started to remember. She was your mother-in-law. She was your family by marriage on top of being the family you had chosen when you joined the Resistance.

 “Please. Please don’t bench me.”

 “I won’t,” she whispered, and you knew that she was not lying to you. Though she would not allow you to go flying out of there like a rabid mynock, General Organa would ensure that you could help. This woman who so understood your pain. “You need to see your mother first.” You nodded dumbly, bobbing your head though it took your brain another handful of seconds to process the command. To understand why it was being demanded of you. If this war killed either you or your mother… You had to see one another one final time before that could happen. It was something that Leia had never gotten the chance to do.

 She helped you up to your feet, your legs trembling with each and every step that you took. Her hand stayed on your shoulder until after you were more steady. The woman left you, reluctantly so, to issue more commands to the other Resistance members. Some of them patted your shoulder when they passed you. Quick condolences, the only kind available at times like these. You did not return any words or gestures. Your feet carried you towards the temporary hut in which you found your mother sitting at a table. Her eyes on the center of the surface. Staring sightlessly at it. They were glazed. She was in shock. Numb. Did not respond to you saying mom. Did not even look up.

 You pressed your hands together. Much like on the battlefield with Kylo Ren, the adrenaline was pumping through you, and you could not stop shaking. You reached for her wrist. Touched it, earning no reaction until you lifted the limb a fraction an inch off the table.

 “It’s gone.” Her eyes did not move from their position, which meant that she did not see you nod. You ran your tongue over your lips to wet them before telling her that you were going to make Hux pay for this. She hummed. That was it. Just a small hum of acknowledgment, although you doubted she actually heard what it was you had said to her. You shifted your weight onto one foot, started to lean forward, paused, and then at last gave her a loose, one-armed hug that she didn’t return.

 There was no sense in your prolonging this; you were already losing steam by standing still long enough to hug her. You said a soft see you later because you did not want to say a goodbye. That would have been too final.

 You ducked into the quarters that had been assigned to you long enough to dress more appropriately. Wrapping your hand around the rings that were on the chain you wore, you debated going straight after Hux yourself regardless of whatever orders you were given. Emotions could make you reckless, which meant that Leia was not likely to assign you to pursue the First Order’s Supreme Leader.

 There was movement behind you, the sounds of someone entering. Your mind supplied you with three names: Finn, Rey, and Navrin. Turning around, you discovered that it was none of these. Rose locked gazes with you. Determination was written all over her face. She, too, had lost so much in this war. The death of Paige had pushed her to do all she could to help win the war. You remembered working with her in the throne room on the Supremacy. “Hurry up. We don’t have a lot of time.” You followed her without arguing. It had been your assumption that General Organa had sent her to find you, or else some other superior.

 When you boarded the ship and found that Rey was the pilot while Finn and Navrin were waiting for you and Rose, you knew this was not the case. You also knew that this was not to join Kylo Ren. A decision like that could not be made so easily; and, in any case, you doubted that Rose would be this willing to go. It was to find Kylo. At least, you assumed that Kylo was among his Knights as they faced Luke Skywalker. Perhaps this would be the final act that would determine if Rey would join him again. Because you did know, with a certainty, that the Knights were there to kill Luke. The Order of Ren would be close by to stop the Resistance support. They would stop Poe.

 “Hey.” Finn reached over to buckle your restraint after you took the seat beside him without making a move to do so yourself. “Are you okay?”

 No. Not at all. “Yes.” It sounded robotic and rehearsed even to your own ears. “No. But that doesn’t matter.”

 The ramp was lifting. Rey and Rose were talking with one another. They needed to leave before any of the others in the Resistance realized what was going down.

[romantichopelessly]

Of Gifts and Love

A birthday gift for my awesome fantastic friend @sunshineandteddybears ! I hope you have an amazing day and year. Thank you for being such a good friend and person.

This got a bit out of hand. It’s Moxiety, and can be taken as romantic or platonic, so without further ado, enjoy!!! (the title is weird ignore it)

The first time that it happened was actually before Anxiety was truly ‘accepted’ by the others.

Virgil did not consider himself to be an artistic person by any means. At the time, he did not think much of himself at all, beyond what he had to do for Thomas and how that isolated him from his fellow sides.

It did not start out as a hobby, or even something that was particularly enjoyable for the dark aspect. He only began making the bracelets because the repetitive motion of the knot tying calmed him down after an anxiety attack.

When he had begun making the little bracelets, he had not even intended for anyone to see them. They were just a coping mechanism after all. They weren’t even very good. In fact, if it weren’t for Patton and Virgil’s own guilt complex, he doubted that anyone would have ever found out about them at all.

Not that Virgil felt as if he had done anything to Patton in particular that he had to be guilty about, but it seemed as if the more the moral side was nice to him, the more Virgil found himself wanting to repay him in some way.

That way just happened to lead to Virgil standing in the doorway leading to the kitchen in the mind palace just after they had finished filming “Making Some Changes”, a small strip of interwoven threads clutched tightly in his fingers. He watched nervously as Patton moved happily about the kitchen, humming softly to himself.

Taking a deep breath and steeling himself, Anxiety gingerly stepped into the room and figuratively into Morality’s territory. “Um… Patton..?” He cringed slightly at the wavering tone that his voice took, suddenly wishing to be anywhere but where he was.

But no. He had to do this. He had to do something to show Patton how much his… friendship… meant to him. And this was all that he had to offer. Because he wasn’t talented, he didn’t have anything to give any of them, he was just a disease-

Virgil’s self deprecating inner monologue was quickly cut off as Patton turned around with a wide smile on his face.

“Anxiety! Hiya, kiddo! What’s up?” Patton’s tone was light, happiness practically radiating off of the emotional side. It calmed Virgil somewhat. No matter what he thought of himself, Patton had always treated him just like he did the other two.

Virgil cleared his throat as Patton stepped away from the cookie dough that he had been stirring to turn his full attention to Virgil. “Well..” He averted his eyes from Patton’s deep chocolate brown, focusing instead on a point just over his shoulder. Apparently his hours of practicing in his room meant absolutely nothing as the words stuck uncomfortably in Virgil’s throat. “I wanted to…” Frustrated, his grip on the simple gift tightened. His next words came out quickly, almost gruffly. “I wanted to thank you. For, you know, being a good friend and not turning me into another person or whatever. So… just- here.”

Patton’s eyes widened as Virgil thrust whatever it was that he was holding into his chest, his hands scrambling to catch the small item before it fell to the ground as Virgil pulled back just as abruptly. Carefully, Patton opened his fist, revealing a thin, homemade bracelet. It was simple, with alternating stripes of light gray and bright blue thread.

Patton’s colors.

Virgil watched Patton with thinly veiled anxiety. He knew that the little bracelet was not much. It was not nearly as much as Patton deserved for not only putting up with Virgil, but also making attempt after attempt to make him feel welcome. The longer that Patton was silent, staring at the bracelet in his palm, the antsier Virgil got.

He was just about to say something and book it out of there when he noticed the tears welling in the corners of Patton’s eyes.

Eyes widening, Virgil held his hands up in surrender. “Patton, I- I know it’s not much, it was stupid, I-” Virgil’s words were instantly cut off as a pair of arms wrapped around his shoulders.

Virgil froze, all thoughts halting as Patton hugged him. He barely registered the soft sniffles coming from the other as he focused on the warm, overwhelming feeling of the hug that he was receiving. Just as he was about to relax into the comfort of Patton, however, he was pulling away, his eyes still watery, but a huge smile lighting up his freckled face.

“Kiddo! This is just- It’s just perfect.” Patton’s smile grew as the noticed the slight pink hue growing on Virgil’s cheeks. “And of course you’re welcome. Now, why don’t you help me tie it on! I’m never gonna bracelet it out of my sight!” Patton giggled, holding out his left wrist and the bracelet. “And then you can help me with these cookies!” He exclaimed as Virgil began to carefully tie the bracelet around Patton’s wrist.

That night, Virgil didn’t sleep, his mind far too preoccupied with trying to mentally recreate the feeling of his friend’s arms around him. Turning over in his bed and clutching his pillow to his chest, Virgil knew one thing.

He had to get Patton to hug him again.

----

The second time it happened was much later.

Virgil didn’t have much of a chance to make anything for Patton when he was stepping back from the videos, his job, and Thomas. Once the others came to get him, everything changed, and Virgil had to adjust to a new life where Thomas, Logan and Roman not only now knew his name, but all accepted him as an essential part of Thomas.

So, all in all, Virgil stopped making the bracelets, and went without physical contact of any sort for a while. Which would have been fine, if Virgil had been able to stop thinking about that single hug.

It turned out that less frequent anxiety attacks meant less need for a distracting activity like making bracelets. However, the closer that Virgil found himself growing with Roman and Logan, the more Virgil craved their casual sort of intimacy. Specifically with Patton.

So Virgil took his previous coping mechanism and turned it into a hobby. He began making the bands on good days. Sitting in his room, feeling content, Virgil would weave together the threads expertly, learning new techniques and patterns and trying out different colors. Roman even noticed Virgil’s new activity, and gifted him a box overflowing with brightly colored new threads, beads, and other jewelry making tools.

Virgil appreciated the gift, even if he knew that it was mostly fueled by guilt.

Of course, Virgil didn’t give his first attempts to Patton. No, his experiments were either quickly trashed or used for himself. If when he finally gave another bracelet to the bright side, it would have to be perfect, and it would have to be for good reason.

Virgil couldn’t allow himself to give Patton a gift just for his own selfish touch starved reasons.

So Virgil waited. And practiced. And waited some more.

His chance came after the next video. He found himself marveling at how at peace Patton had looked, wrapped in his Hufflepuff merchandise, his smile bright and sunshiny. As soon as Patton asked if they could wear the Hogwarts stuff and the new outfits full time, Virgil knew exactly what he was going to do.

His suddenly replenished sentimentality had nothing to do with Patton’s reaction to his new jacket. Absolutely nothing.

The new bracelet didn’t even take an hour to make, Virgil was working with such focus. It was more complicated than the first, with a diamond like pattern make of bright yellow and black thread. Without even giving himself time to think, Virgil was out his door and heading towards Patton’s room, holding the new bracelet carefully. He wasted no time in knocking on Patton’s door, his anxiety only appearing as the door remained closed, no sound to be heard on the other side.

Patton’s door was always open. Always. Or at least, if it was closed, it always took the moral side less than a minute to answer it. As Virgil stood there in front of the silent door, he began to twist and untwist the bracelet around his finger. Where was Patton? Was something wrong? Was this a bad time to bring another gift- of course it was, he shouldn’t even be here-

Suddenly the door was pulled open a crack, Patton’s face peeking out. “Yeah, kiddo? Did you need something?”

Virgil, though filled with relief at seeing Patton open the door unharmed, felt a pit of worry growing in the bottom of his stomach. There was something off here. Patton’s voice was wavering ever so slightly, his usual light tone just barely off the mark. Virgil could feel the hairs on the back of his neck rising as he noticed the slight redness around Patton’s eyes and the tip of his nose.

“Pat? Are you okay?” Virgil asked, momentarily forgetting his reason for being there.

“Yeah! I’m great, Virge!” Patton’s smile widened, and Virgil tried to unsee the brittle edges of that smile. “I’m just a peachy Patton! Is there something I can help you with?”

Virgil hesitated, wavering between asking again if something was wrong and just doing what he came here to do. Biting his lip, Virgil settled on the latter.

He trusted Patton to tell him if he really needed anything.

Tentatively, Virgil held out the yellow and black bracelet, his other hand stuffed in his hoodie pocket, plucking on a loose thread. “I.. I just made you another thing. Because you can’t wear all the Harry Potter stuff. It’s Hufflepuff. So… yeah…” Virgil trailed off, wishing that he had scripted something to say rather than trying to wing it like this.

This time, when Patton’s eyes filled with tears, Virgil wasn’t as shocked. He was surprised even more by how quickly he was pulled in for a tight hug. Patton squeezed him like a lifeline, and Virgil shivered at the long craved contact. He was just about to wrap his arms around Patton’s middle when the other spoke, his voice muffled, buried in Virgil’s shoulder.

“It’s perfect, Virgil. I love it. Thank you.” And then Patton was pulling back, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. He took the bracelet that Virgil was still holding out and stepped back into his room, the tiniest, thankfully genuine, smile on his face.

Virgil decided to count his blessings and get out of there while he was ahead. It was obvious that Patton had something that he wanted to attend to in his room anyway. Stepping back as well, Virgil shoved his hand back into his pocket and nodded, giving Patton a half smile in response. “You’re welcome.”

----

After that, the bracelet giving became more and more frequent.

Virgil couldn’t quite shake what he had seen with Patton in his room. Obviously he was bound to worry- he worried about all of them, he was Anxiety- but for whatever reason, Patton’s odd behavior stuck with him and nagged at him in the back of the mind for days.

His worries were resolved after the next few videos, though.

Or, they weren’t resolved, because Virgil would never be able to rest knowing that Patton was in actual turmoil and didn’t think that he could tell anyone, but at least his worries were validated.

It honestly didn’t feel any better.

It certainly didn’t help that he was the only one that hadn’t given Patton a gift after the whole ordeal, either. Even Logan had given something to Patton, though it was more of an apology gift than anything.

As soon as he could, Virgil began his new project. This bracelet was a bit more intricate than the last two. It had three colors instead of the usual two, red, purple and dark blue, with a charm in the shape of a puppy hanging in the middle. It wasn’t much, not compared to real conjured puppy, or a brand new hoodie, but Virgil knew somehow that Patton would appreciate it nevertheless.

He was correct. When Virgil gave the new bracelet to Patton, he was greeted with yet another warm hug. There were no tears this time, only a soft, genuine smile and a real light in Patton’s eyes that lifted Virgil’s spirits more than any bigger or flashier gift ever could have. Virgil almost allowed himself to hug back that time, but found himself frozen in Patton’s arms as a simple, “I love you, you adorable little muffin,” was whispered into the fabric of his hoodie.

Those words spurred Virgil into a new frenzy.

He sped up his pace, making more and more bracelets for the moral side, each unique in pattern, color, charms and beads.

A red and green bracelet for Christmas.

A light purple one for the time Patton helped him through an anxiety attack.

A green and orange one with a ‘P’ charm for Patton’s birthday.

A pink and red one that was a bit messy post Patton’s return after Deceit’s trick.

A black and white one with the words “Dynamicest Duo” threaded into it.

Each one was met with a much welcomed hug and thanks, and Virgil found that he couldn’t get enough.

However, the others were beginning to notice. Roman had outright asked about the menagerie of handmade bracelets decorating Patton’s arms, and Virgil had only barely managed to avoid answering his rather persistent questions. Logan hadn’t said anything to Virgil directly, but he could see the pointed looks and calculated glances that he sent Virgil and the jewelry. And although Patton never said anything, Virgil was sure that he was catching on as well.

The thought terrified the anxious side. It wasn’t as if any of them would be mad at him if he explained his reasoning. Making gifts for a person in seek of getting a hug wasn’t exactly a dastardly plan, though he didn’t doubt that a year and a half ago Roman would have been able to make it look as if it was.

Nevertheless, admitting how much he cared about Patton and craved his soft touch scared Virgil to no end. Though, try as he might, Virgil couldn’t see a way out of admitting it. It was either stop giving Patton the bracelets at all and risk a complete lack of hugs for the foreseeable future, or admit his true intentions and risk a few awkward moments.

He knew that it likely wouldn’t be more than that. Patton was understanding and loved that mushy stuff.

Right?

That’s what Virgil told himself, over and over again as he stood in front of Patton’s door once again, his hand poised to knock. He was just edging on his third minute of standing still and staring at the door when it swung open before him to reveal Patton, his eyes wide with surprise.

“Virgil! I… I wasn’t expecting you to be here.” Virgil straightened up as Patton opened the door fully, a smile falling over his features as the shock wore off. “What’s up, b- buddy?” The nickname was awkward, the two of them still adjusting to Virgil’s more vocal discomfort with the innocent nicknames.

It may be a bit bumbling for a while, but Virgil was beyond glad that he had spoken up. It was important to him that Patton see him as an equal, and not a little angel.

Taking a deep breath, Virgil let himself relax. Patton was trying to respect him in the way that he needed and the two were closer than ever before. This would be okay.

Gently, Virgil pulled a dark purple and black bracelet from his pocket, looking up to meet Patton’s eyes before he spoke. “I made you another one.” He could see the light growing in Patton’s eyes so he held up a finger before the other could talk. “I should… probably confess something first. I’ve been making these, yeah, because you’re a good friend, but I- I also-”

Patton reached out and carefully lowered Virgil’s finger, his eyes kind and deep. “You want a hug?”

Virgil’s cheeks instantly flamed red, his eyes widening. “Wh- I- How did you know that I-”

Patton giggled, taking the bracelet from Virgil’s other hand. “I’m not as oblivious as Logan thinks I am, Virge.”

“I know that, I just…”

“You thought you were being sneaky.” Patton smiled, opening his arms. “But you don’t have to ask to get a hug.”

Virgil only hesitated for a second before stepping forward and into Patton’s arms. It was warm and comforting like always, like coming home. He was just nestling into the hug when Patton spoke again.

“I love you, V.”

“...I love you too, Pat.” And Virgil finally wrapped his arms around Patton’s middle and hugged him back.