#cant believe they left him to rot FOREVER

[howdoesagrapewrites]

im not the anon who asked for something like tricycle but HEAR ME OUT what if like something where the reader has to travel outside the country and pav and gayatri are like “what ?? we’re coming w you tf ?” and you and gayatri have to point out that hes spiderman … and cant leave … so then you ask gayatri to stay behind for him and idk where else to go from here 😭

𝙃𝙤𝙢𝙚 𝙞𝙨 𝙬𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙩 𝙞𝙨

Cw: slight angst/comfort, poly!gn!reader x Pavitr Prabhakar x Gayatri Singh, long distance relationship, depressive behavior

Notes: I had to use an online roulette to tell me if I should make angst or fluff, fluff won. I interpreted this as "they're moving away" but if this isn't what you wanted, just tell me

>You were horrified as you heard them tell you that you were leaving the country

>You tried to protest, be logical, be emotional, cry, lay a well researched and sensible argument, beg, anything in your control to convince them otherwise, but your tutor just won't budge

>You had the biggest fight over this

>You locked in your room, refusing to speak to anyone as you cried and cracked your head open thinking about how you'd explain this to your partners, what would they think? You want to communicate this the best way possible, is there even a good way to do it?

>You didn't answer texts, and you hated yourself for it, you hated yourself for getting shut down and wasting the little time you have left

>You didn't want your partners to feel neglected or think you were mad at them, so you made sure to tell them it was just issues in your home, and that they didn't do anything wrong

>And they tried to respect your alone time, they really did

>But four days was enough:( please

>Pavitr calls you, and you just start crying and word vomiting things that don't make any sense

>"jaanu, are you there?"

>"I am, but I won't, and I really- I-I mean that it won't be like this forever, and I really want to say it to you, but you'll feel sad, and I need you here, but then we have to talk and if we talk you'll - I'll- if we talk that means I have to go- I don't want to go"

>You sob even harder when you listen to the beep indicating he finalized the call, you are there just having an absolute meltdown, hugging your pillow as you rot on the bed you've been the whole week

>Your crying is loud, but loud enough to cancel out the loud banging on your window, it's your boyfriend (in his spiderman suit) carrying your girlfriend in his arms, waiting like two stray dogs for you to open the window

>He was really fast, he probably started swinging the second he hanged up

>You clumsily open the window, crying and struggling with the safe, to finally let them in, they almost knock you down on the floor with the strength they used to jump to hug you

>You hold them as a close as you can, they don't ask for explanations and carry you to your bed to cuddle until you calm down, always with reassuring words of "it's okay", "whenever you're ready", and infinite "I love you"s

>When you gather the strength to talk, completely forgetting whatever script you had in mind, they can't believe it

>"We're coming with you!" Gayatri blurts out, anxiously biting her lip, looking at Pavitr and then at you

>"That's right! We'll come with you, it'll be an adventure for the three is us!" Pavitr smiles, unaware of the million of flaws in his train of thought

>"You can't leave Mumbattan without a spiderman, love" you stroke his cheek looking to soothe his worries

>"And you can't leave him, Pavitr, your father, your country, everything you know and love is here"

>"Not everything" she said, a single tear cascading down her face, bitter expression

>Gayatri hugs you close, crying into your shoulder "not everything, not without you..."

>It took you some time to finally convince Gayatri to stay, took you even longer with Pavitr

>And it want easy, at times they'll come up with a newer crazier idea to travel with you

>You spent all the time you had left, glued to them

>and when it was time to say goodbye, they had to be physically restricted to leave the plane go without doing anything reckless

>You stayed on facetime with them almost 24/7, going to sleep on calls kind of thing.

>And you're just depressed in this new place, nothing is like home, nothing is as lively, as beautiful, as comfortable as Mumbattan

>after failing several classes, and practically snapping back at everything, your tutor agreed that you simply needed to go back, so they told you that if you couldn't find 5 reasons to stay here, you could go back and captain Singh would be entrusted with your care

>As much as it was physically painful to, you managed to keep it a secret

>And when december was here, you were counting the seconds to get in the plane. You failed the school year due to those early months, but you tried to stop dwelling on that, there's nothing you can do about it

>"what are you doing today?" -you

>"today's christmas silly, just staying home" -Gayatri

>"I wish you could be with us, captain Singh invited me and my Maya auntie for dinner" -Pavitr

>"damn, so you really have no time to do anything? Not even opening the door?" -you

>"What door are you talking about?" -Gayatri

>you knocked, Gayatri's breathing became irregular, so nervous and scared this was just a joke

>but she saw you with two backpacks, on her door, she couldn't contain herself, too much joy inside

>Pavitr heard the happy squealing and came running, they kissed you and smelled you hair, touching you like they were making sure you were real

>There's really no place like home

[resident-gay-bitch]

“james, love…” lily puts her hand soothingly on james’ thigh. it’s soft, and small, and smooth, and almost delicate in her touch. everything about lily is so right to james, in every sense.

but gosh, sometimes he wishes that hand were bigger, rougher, scarred and pale with long bony fingers and black chipped nail polish.

james doesn’t even know why he feels that way sometimes. he loves lily. he really fucking loves lily. she’s everything to him, and five times out of ten he’ll yearn for her hand and her touch and her love.

but those five other times…

fuck, it hurts. and it’s so goddamned confusing. james drives himself crazy thinking about it.

actually, he drives himself crazy trying not to think about it. he doesn’t want to think about it. he can’t hurt lily. she’s the love of his life. so wonderful, she is, the brightest witch of her age, and she’s sassy and challenges james and doesn’t put up with his arrogance but also loves when he gets a little snobby. she’s so wonderful, and his parents adore her, and they’re engaged. to be married!

james doesn’t think life could get much more perfect than her.

oh, but his heart, it’s a terrible fucking thing. it’s the worst thing in the world, he’s beginning to think.

everyone’s always told him he has the most pure heart they’ve ever seen, that he has so much love and wears it on his sleeve. james potter has a wonderful heart, so good and lovely.

but james potter thinks his heart is so horrible, the betrayer. why? why would it do this to him?

it loves lily so dearly, and he’s certain of that. so why does his heart race so fucking fast when those long bony fingers reach out and tickle his skin. why does it ache and yearn for james to look into ice grey eyes and embrace another? if his heart so full of good and love, why must it hate james so much?

his body quakes when her delicate touch gluides over the meat of his thigh, the covers kicked down to his shins. her nails are painted a pretty pale green colour, and they look lovely, sitting in the place where his boxers end. he usually loves the sight of her hand there, so perfectly placed, her freckled skin contrasting against the tan of his own.

but not tonight. not right now. right now it’s his hand that james wants to see there. it’s his bony pale fingers that james wants to see spread out over the thick muscle. it’s his touch james yearns for.

he convulses, caving in on himself more. he’s distraught, arms wrapped tight around his almost bare body, snot in his nose, hot cheeks covered in tear tracks, his glasses all foggy.

“love…” she whispers again, her perfect, sweet voice. james loves the way she chants his name, weather it be soft, or tender, or loud, or excited, or desperate, or angered. he loves it all. he loves how perfect the melody of everything she says sounds to him. but he wishes for the deeper baritone of someone else to call his name in all the same ways. someone who’s not supposed to call his name in all the same ways.

james can’t even look at her. cant bring himself to look at her. he can’t hurt her the way hes hurting himself. cant believe he’s feeling this way. it’s horrible, guilt sinking it’s claws into his chest and tugging everything out until there’s nothing left but empty pain.

he can’t tell her, or she’ll leave him.

he can’t tell him, or everything will be wrong.

he can’t lie, or he’ll feel even more guilty.

he can’t be honest, or things will get messy.

he can’t rot like this forever, or hill drive himself to insanity.

they’re getting married next week, for fucks sake. and james loves her so much, and he’s so happy, and so excited. they’ve been taking about kids, about life. james got so excited about the thought, he impulsively bought a tiny pair of baby sneakers he saw in the store one afternoon.

so why is it, on his bucks night, of all nights, that he’s getting cold feet? why is it now just hitting him harder than it ever had before, these horribly betraying feelings?

had it been because those ice grey eyes looked at james with such pure affection and softness it made his heart want to explode? had it been because calloused hands felt good wrapped around james’ biceps as he had to be hauled back up to bed? had it been then kiss left on james’ forehead from pretty pink lips that didn’t belong to his fiancé? had it been the quiet words muttered into the night, when james was presumedly asleep, that had been playing on an insistent loop since they’d been whispered?

she can give you everything i can’t, amour. be happy, please.

or did it only really hit him, how horrible this all is, when he heard lily get home right as he was leaving. when he heard them talking downstairs, unable to decipher what they were saying, but sobered enough in the head to know they were talking for a while, taking about good things and bad.

or is it worse, because james feels the way he does, and he knows it’s bad and that he shouldn’t think on it, but sometimes he notices those ice grey eyes drift over to look at the soft curves of lilys figure? is it anger, he feels, for his friend to look at his fiancé like that? is it jealousy that he feels, when he notices her looking back? or is he jealous that those ice grey eyes aren’t always set on james?

“james.” lily whispers once more, moving herself closer to him on the bed, her hand shifting from his thigh to his cheek where she wiped his tears and held him. her makeups smudged, her hairs all messy, and he has a gaudy feather boa on. she wanted an all muggle henz night, and it looks like she had a wonderful one. and now james was here, ruining it because his heart yearns for a second.

why isn’t she enough for him? why can’t she be enough?

“i’m sorry, love.” james splutters out, surprised he can actually string his words together.

“oh, jamie.” she whispered, the soft pad of her thumb swipes over his wet cheek, flicking away more tears as they spilled. she leant in close to kiss his forehead, so delicate and warm, her kisses. so perfect. not enough. she smells like champagne, and sweat, and her floral perfume. it’s nice, comforting, it’s her and assurance she had a good night.

james sobbs more, they rip through him like waves; a never ending stream washing him away, and he aches.

“i love you so much, darling.” she whispers again, “and you love me?”

oh, more than anything he’s ever loved, almost. besides that one other incessant, irritable, beautiful, perfect disaster. he loves the both of them equally, he thinks, which is wrong. it’s so wrong. pick one, he tells himself. you can only love one person at a time.

“of course.” he nods, bottom lip wobbling as he speaks. “oh, i love you so much, lily, you have no idea-“

“i know, my love.” she smiles, so pretty, so perfect. “but your heart… it’s not only mine, is it?”

james stills, his said heart stops still in his chest. he isn’t entirely sure he’s actually breathing for a very long while. how would she know such a thing? how can she know? how- how… oh how?

“oh, my love.” she giggles, so softly. it sounds so familiar, like a warm summer breeze, and it settles something deep in james’ chest. it provides him comfort, as she always does, and he breathes again. “don’t panic. i’ve known for a while- for years, james. before we started going out, you know?”

“i’m so sorry.” he breaks, slumping into her arms and almost wailing against her chest. she holds him tight, soothing her hand over his back and petting him there, another hand sifting through his hair as she kisses his crown. she’d make a wonderful mother some day, james knows it. but now he’s gone and fucked it up, hasn’t he? “i don’t want to hurt you, i love you, lily, so much-“

“i know, james.” she sighed, kissing his crown once more, “you don’t have to be scared. not with me. you know you can tell me these things? i’ve been waiting for you to tell me years, thought maybe once we tied the knot you would.”

“you’re not… mad at me?” james peaks up at her, his eyes stinging from crying so much, his glasses askew. “why are you not mad at me?”

he’s terribly lost right now, his heart practically on another planet already with how fast it’s moving.

“you can love more than one person, james, and still have your love be pure.” she smiled, so sweetly, so pretty. he wants to kiss her, but thinks this is hardly the time for that. “you can love anyone you desire, as much as you desire. i know your heart is mine, i just share it with sirius, is all.”

hearing her speak his name like that, it’s unsettling at first. it makes james jolt back in shock, looking at her through eyes blown wide. she was never meant to know, no one was ever supposed to know. it’s weird, now she knows- she’s always known, apparently. but since he’s been made aware. why isn’t she angry? why isn’t she saying his name with such distain?

why does she speak his name like it’s something tender, like he’s precious? why does she sound out each letter the same way james would?

“you’re not a terrible person, james. please know that. i only waited so long to bring it up because i wanted you to feel good about it. but i can see it getting to you…” she sighed, smoothing her soft hands over his shoulders, “i love you so very much, no matter how many other people i share your heart with. i think it’s wonderful, how you can love me so strongly and still have more to give. don’t you think it’s wonderful? you do really have the biggest heart.”

james doesn’t know how to feel right now. he doesn’t know what this means. she loves him, still. is glad, perhaps? he’s baffled, actually. and he must show it, because she laughs so brightly at him and wipes the last of his sticky tears away before kissing him kindly.

james sinks into her wonderful, wonderful kiss. oh, she really is brilliant, his lily.

the brightest witch for certain.

“you relax, my love. lay down.” she mutters, pushing james back to lie under the covers again, folding his glasses for him and setting them on his bedside, “i’m going to put on a spot of tea, and then we’ll lay together for a while, and we’ll talk more in the morning about what it all will mean, okay?”

“okay.” james muttered, closing his heavy eyes.

oh he really loves his lily.

he must have fallen asleep, because one minuet she’s laying him into bed and the next she’s making him sip a hot cup of tea. his glasses stay off, too tired to worry much about seeing, too drunk to process much else anyway. he sips his tea, and she sips hers, and smiles at him softly.

“i love you so much, james.” she whispers to him, taking his teacup and setting it on his bedside table. “let’s sleep?”

she doesn’t give him time to argue, shoving him over into the centre of the bed. rather than climbing into her own side, she crawls under the covers on james’ and curls in at his side.

but james can’t focus much on the soft curve of lily, or her pretty smile, or the inviting smell of her; there’s another body climbing into bed behind him.

“shhh…” lily whispers, taking james chin and turning him to face her, as he startled. she kisses his lips again and wipes away the confused furrow of his brow. “not now, love. just relax, okay. let us hold you, we’ll talk tomorrow.”

james nods and turns to look at the other body, and finds pale skin and ice grey eyes looking down on him softly.

“would you like me to hold you, jamie?” he whispers, and james’ heart burns with how fast it’s beating.

james nods, too delirious to question it, if he’s honest. it’s not as if they don’t cuddle, regularly. it’s just… this is a little different, he suspects. lily has this look on her face, like she’s meddling, like she’s happy to be meddling.

james usually loves when she meddles, so he can only assume this is something good. he doesn’t have to worry now, they’ll talk about it in the morning.

for now, he lays his head on his pillow and wraps his arms tight around lily, their legs slotting together with ease, a position they have mastered. she’s curled into his chest, her forehead pressed against the flesh of his, and her hair tucked under his chin.

but tonight another set of arms wrap around them. strong biceps and ink blead into pale skin lay over james’ own. those long bony fingers skate over the back of james’ palm, the one that rests on the meaty flesh of lilys lower back, and they slot between his own. a strong jaw tucks itself over james’ shoulder and nuzzles there, warm breath fanning over his neck.

it’s sirius, pressed up against his back, spooning james whilst he holds his fiancé. it’s so oddly comforting to be sandwiched between the pair, his heart never had felt quite so full.

lily shoots her hand up and shoves sirius’ face away, and she tiredly groans. “your breath smells like cigarettes, dog-boy. don’t breathe on me, or i will kick you out.”

sirius snickers, and james utterly loves the sound. it contrasts the melody of lilys laugh quite strongly, and perhaps lily is right; maybe it is kind of beautiful how his heart can love two entirely different things, so intently, and so equally.

“please don’t kick me out.” sirius grumbles, tucking his face behind james’ shoulder and kissing him there. james’ heart positively somersaults. “i’ll probably have a bigger meltdown than james,” james kicks his foot back against sirius’ ankle, and he laughs before continuing, “i love you both terribly.”

this time lily is the one to kick sirius, right between james’ legs, “shh! don’t ruin it!”

sirius kicked her back, “he’s so drunk, he won’t even remember, mrs. potter.”

“he’s significantly more sober now, dipshit.” she muttered, “sorry, jamie, go to sleep.”

“oh…” sirius muttered, pressing his face into the back of james’ neck, “sorry, prongsie boy. we’ll, ah… we’ll talk more tomorrow. but you can understand, right? waiting so long and all-“

“shut up, pads.” james groaned, hoping neither of them could notice the red smatter of blush on his face or the lovestruck grin he had plastered to his lips, “i’m trying to sleep.”

“right.” sirius muttered, and shut his trap.

silence lulled over the room again, and james mind was so heavy, so desperate to sleep. however, his heart was hyperactive.

this was something.

oh, this had to be something entirely wonderful.

he wasn’t sure he could wait till morning to talk about it further. he just had to get one last word in before he let himself sleep.

“i love you both terribly too, i suppose.”

james fell asleep feeling much better than he had before, lily and sirius sandwiching him in; the shared warmth of their body’s settling comfortably over james. they were here, now, all of them, together. james and lily love eachother, and by the looks of things james and sirius love eachother too; and perhaps even lily and sirius might. but either way, james’ heart is too fucking full of love and he never intends on ridding himself of that.

they both pressed pretty little kisses to james skin in sync, and james certainly dreamed much more wonderful things than he had in a while.

[suzyqrara]

01/06/2024

I woke up at 2 AM today and I hear my sister sobbing in the living room.  I could tell she was trying to keep it down.  It could be worse; she could have been hollering murder. I have so much hate for her right now.  It would be different if she was open to getting help but she gets too defensive when you bring up going to the doctor/seeing a therapist/working towards not crying all night and sleeping all day. Basically, we must just deal with her crying and sleeping all day, doing nothing with her life and being depressed. I don’t understand how she is OK living this way- never worked, no hope for any future with any anything/anyone, dying alone.  How can she not naturally try to work on herself.  This is what angers me.   Hearing her cry will forever haunt me.  It’s the most annoying ass cry I will ever hear.  She cried for over two hours last night.  Even with the earplugs on, I still hear her stupid cry.  I suppose you get used to it after a while, but I don’t want to get used to it.  I want her out of my life.  I want this whole family out of my life.  I don’t want to be a part of them.  I want to rip my genetics out and throw them into the wolves.  I get angry at GOD too.  I feel like if I don’t help my sister not be homeless once my dad dies, I will go to hell.  I feel like a monster for hating her cry and not being compassionate.  But to be fair, I was compassionate when I first heard her stupid cry.  I ran to help her.  My heart wanted to comfort her and be there for her but her response to my compassion made me want to throw something at her face so she can be unconscious and shut up! For the last two hours I’ve been researching the cause of crying for hours, how to find compassion for someone who annoys you but is hurting, how to get someone help if they don’t accept it.  I tried resting and then 20 minutes after she stopped crying, she’s back at it again. 

She slept all day yesterday.  She drank the night before, cried for 3 hours in the early morning and then slept from 5am to 10pm. I can’t deal with this now and I can’t deal with this when my dad dies and I am left with making a decision to support her or not. I am making this about me, I understand, and I feel like a monster, I do.  But I am angry.  I am angry at how depressed she is and how there has been no progress or regress in the last 20 years. I can’t find sympathy for her in my heart.  She is choosing to be like this.  This is a choice for her.  She doesn’t care how much it hurts my dad when she’s cursing at him or how much pain she brings to people with her defensiveness when are trying to help her. I believe she is content with her life and she does just enough to make it seem like she is too crazy to work but not crazy enough to cause an episode that will get her evaluated. I’ve offered help for her.  I ‘ve offered to go with her to a disability organization that helps people find jobs, I bring up going to the doctor, I’ve talked to her about her future and it led to some stupid fights that made my heart harden for her entirely.  She deserves someone to come to the house and force her into the car to get help since she spent 37 years not doing anything at all.  Not helping anyone and just rotting in her room.  

I’m listening to her cry. Cant you cry like a normal person?  No because you are not anormal person. I don’t know what to do with this person in my life who will be in my life forever.  Who will probably outlive me because she doesn’t do anything with her life. IBut I will feel terrible for the things I’ve thought about so I need to pretend like I know Ellen will die soon.  Will this make my compassion appear?  Will my heart soften for her knowing she will be dead in 5 years?  I wish something would just happen to her.  Her getting sick? Or her getting high?  Just something to make her brain busy. She literally has NOTHING TO CRY ABOUT.  She has everything given to her.  She gets to scream and shout, sleep, and sob all she wants and no one will stop her. Her brain is so deterioted, I remember a dream I had of her as a pre-teen. I know that was a dream of Ellen’s soul, her real soul leaving my life.  I don’t know wtf is in her now but she used to have a personality. She used to have a future.  She used to be a person to me. Now she is just a shell with some alien in it. The dream was the sister that had hope she started getting skinnier and skinnier right before my eyes.  She was deteriating right before my eyes.  I cried so much in that dream.  I woke up crying.  Then my brain made me dream another dream saying this was just a dream, don’t cry. Everything is ok.  But it wasn’t ok, Ellen was gone after that.  She got worse and worse and now this is all of our life. Ellen used to be smart.  She used to edit my papers for me, I remember.  I used to trust her grammar and I would be so thankful she was there to edit my papers. We used to laugh together.  This is of course when she was an older teen, and I was a pre-teen. After Ellen was like 18, she was gone. I hate this Ellen so much.  You know what would kill me.  If I was given the chance to speak to the old Ellen and really see the difference of what we have now.  That would be the most beautiful thing and saddest at the same time to see what she was and maybe have an image of what she could have been? Talking to GOD feels like I am not heard.  It literally just feels like I am talking to myself, and the words are going into thin air and thats it.  Its 6am and I must start my day. Why was I born into this family? This family impacts my whole being.  I feel less value because of the family I am from. I know I don’t need to give my family this much power but for every failure I feel or rejection, I can’t help but get the confirmation I feel from the devalue I feel of being part of my family.  Every failure and rejection reminds me of where I came from.  I came from nowhere; I came from a retard father and mother that have no meaning in their lives.  The fact that I am single confirms it all.  I am just as loser as these stupid people that I was given as a family. I wanted to take matters into my own hands. I had dreams as a young girl that I will make my own family and I won’t ever need to look back at my train wreck of a family.  God must have been laughing me dreaming that dream because I can’t get a date/ keep a man interested in me for the life of me.  So there goes my dream of having many children so they don’t have to live this depressing life alone.

Now I have to get out of bed and pretend like she doesn’t annoy me.  I will go out and start getting ready for my day while she gets to rock back and forth with her stupid scarf around her eyes listening to me walk around. I’ll have to say, thank you to her for doing absolutely nothing but preventing me from sleeping and overstaying her welcome as I leave and say have a good day when I just wish she would make a day out of it.  I get to see her ugly milk downed coffee on the counter in a mug that is placed on my small plate. Wtf does she do that.  She uses a mug to drink her nasty sugared up coffee and places it on a plate.  And adds a spoon on the side like it’s a tea party.  She probably ate another launchable.  She literally has cooked food in containers in the fridge and chooses to eat processed food that isn’t even a real meal with her coffee. This will haunt me even after she dies.  I could have helped..how I don’t know…but I didn’t use my time to help her while I could.  I chose to stay away from her because she brings out an evil person out of me.  A hating person.  How can I help?   I have snot all over my t-shirt because I used that to blow my nose writing my thoughts out. I have so much to do…figure this crap out for my sister and dad, figure out my life insurance since it is expiring soon, figure out my stupid goals for this job to tell Karen and it still won’t be good enough for her because I am me. Nothing wrong with being me, but Karen had higher expectations for me which I cannot meet, call masons health insurance because they are saying I’m past due on a payment when they just took 1800 out of account…a few other things I cant remember. When will I have time to do this?  Students keep making appointments with me…like yesterday my schedule was empty and today, the whole week is full.  This is my job and it’s annoying me. This is the scenario that will happen if I go out there.  I think my voice is annoying to her so I’ll come out and says “Ellen?”  She will let out this most annoying noise that resembles a ‘huh’ but not really a huh.  I will say, “I hear you are crying, can I help you.”  “NO! leave me alone.”  OR she would say …hgh…make some noise like a neanderthal while still rocking, “im ok, leave me alone”.  If I push it, let’s say.. I sit down on the computer chair and say, “ I would like to stay here with you.  I am here if you need to talk.”  She will rock in silence for whatever time.  Of course, I can’t stay long because I need to get ready for work.  And so that was the scenario.  Didn’t help a thing, annoy the shit out of me, and she will be off to crying for hours stop and then cry every 20 minutes.  It never leads to anything.  It either leads to a fight or nothing at all. And that is what is frustrating.  Hearing her..hhgh.. noise will irk me.  I will say, “can I get you anything”. Ellen: “hghh”…If I even bring up help….”Im fine!” she will say while rocking like a whale out of water. Your obviously not fine you moron.  Stop saying your fine and get help!!!! I hope she doesn’t wail during the day with the neighbors listening. 

[baiboop]

adam collage, thinking of him. i love him

[lostgreekgod]

delusion: part 2

"a/n: hello, hello! cant say i didnt sniffle a little writing this one.

words: 6539 (the word limit kind of faded away as i got emotional)

pairing: loki x f!reader

warnings: angst, but ends with fluff. but a lot of angst. mentions of death, blood, and fingers. and dead bodies. and hypnotism?

another a/n: thanks to @theaudacitytowrite for this little adventure. cant say I wont miss it.

tagging all those who requested for a part 2: @karushinekomiya @midnights-ramblings @savoryloki

read part 1 here!

37 minutes. That’s how long it took for y/n to have her soul crushed. Not crushed, ripped, and trampled all over repeatedly, until her very essence was terminated, until she was nothing but a bag of bones, muscles, and blood. She fell back into her bed as she watched Loki leave her. Forever. She didn’t matter to the god. Of course she didn’t. why did she ever believe that she would be of any importance to him? A mighty god like Loki, a literal prince! What was some simple Midgardian to a being of such alleviated status? y/n felt something trail down her cheek. She was crying. 4 years, 3 months, and 27 days of not one tear- not even when her parents left her to rot- and it took only 37 minutes for her ex-lover to have her eyes release such a foreign substance. She wasn’t even sobbing, just one lonesome tear trailed past her cheekbone, just one tear that contained all her anger, sadness, and pain. She wished she could cry harder. She wished she could cry her eyes dry, and just spontaneously combust while she was at it.

“Okay since the door is open, I’m assuming you guys aren’t doing anything that will scar me for life-“

Nat. Of all those times she could walk into y/n’s room, she picked today. She faltered as she took in the image of y/n sprawled on the bed, staring at the ceiling and into nothingness.

“y/n?” she whispered as she reached for her friend. Her blood froze as she took in y/n’s face. Pale, like a corpse. y/n still hadn’t acknowledged Natasha’s presence. Gently shaking y/n’s shoulder, Natasha called her name again. Nothing. Was she even breathing? Natasha began to panic. Her only friend- aside from Wanda- What ever happened? y/n was fine when she left training a while ago-

“Nat,” came y/n’s voice, a gentle, hoarse whisper.

Rushing to her side, Nat brushed her hair away from her face. “y/n, what happened?”

Finally, y/n met Natasha’s eyes. The pain was so evident in them, just bared out for the whole world to see. Vulnerable, weak. Natasha had never seen y/n like this. The y/n she knew was strong, so strong.

“y/n,” she breathed, “talk to me.”

“He left me.” Her voice cracked, almost as if it wanted to match with the likeliness of her cracked heart.

“What? Right now?”

y/n nodded, not trusting her voice. If only she could find a release for that awful swell in her throat.

“Hours before a mission?” Natasha could have slapped herself for blurting out something so insensitive. Here laid her friend, literally looking like death, and she was worried about a mission. Sure, they had 4 lives to save, but what good was a near-dead agent in a rescue operation?

Natasha had initially come over to y/n’s room for last-minute mission prep. Yes, they had about 2 hours left for the mission, but she could never be too careful with anything.

“Would you like me to leave you alone?”

y/n simply continued to stare at the ceiling. Natasha wished she could see what she was thinking. Although she looked like death, Natasha couldn’t help but notice how she had cried just one tear. Anyone could tell that she needed a while to collect herself. Natasha decided to step out, probably approach Fury and issue a last-minute change of plan. She could take Clint and Peter. Not the best replacement, but she could have Peter go in and look for the agents, while she placed Clint at a farther position, as backup for Peter.

“Stay.” y/n breathed out when Natasha began to retract her arms away.

Perhaps Natasha could stay and provide her friend some support, just for a few minutes. She felt awful about how she couldn’t help more, but this was the most she could do at the moment. ‘Missions first, personal problems next. What are you a hero for?’ as Fury would say. Natasha thought of Loki. How she wished she could knee him in the groin and then cause him a slow painful death.

“Coming up with a plan for murder?” y/n asked, somewhat with a hint of amusement in her voice.

Looking up at y/n’s face, Natasha relished the little smile on her face. Heartbroken as y/n was, she was still alive.

“You know me so well.” She snickered.

“Don’t bother Nat. He doesn’t deserve it.” Lies. Although y/n really wished to let Nat murder Loki, her love for him outdid that need.

“y/n, as much as I would like to stay with you like this, I’m afraid I have work to do. I need to find replacements so the mission can still-“

y/n’s eyes widened. “Wait, what? Replacements?”

“Yes, you obviously cannot go on a mission in this state. I mean, have you seen yourself?”

No. No, no, no. The mission was the only distraction she was counting on. If she stayed behind, she would probably end up doing something she never once thought she would.

“I want to come, Nat. I’m fully capable of fighting today.”

“y/n, think about this. Loki- “ Nat paused, concern refilling her when y/n flinched at his name. Rephrasing, she tried again, “he’s going to be there too, and we cannot risk any mistakes.”

“Nat. you know me. You know how I am. Would I let a little squabble in my personal life come in the way of my work?” y/n was probably lying again, she didn’t know how she could manage being in close proximity with the same person who managed to suck out her very soul, but it was so much better than the alternative. If y/n was deemed unfit for the mission, she would have to spend a day doing nothing, and that was not something she was looking forward to.

“Let me partake in the mission, Nat. I promise ill be okay. I just needed a few moments to collect myself.” y/n added a little smile at the end, hoping she could have Natasha fooled into believing that she was fine.

Gauging her response, Natasha studied y/n’s face for a moment. It was obvious she was lying, but Natasha knew better. She had to let y/n do this. Nodding, she relented.

“Promise you’ll be okay?” she asked, squeezing y/n’s shoulder once before standing up.

“Promise.”

//

He still had 2 hours to burn. 2 hours before he set out on a mission with the person he loved, aka the person whose heart he broke. Once her best friend, Natasha Romanoff found out, she’d probably come straight up to his room to kill him. He would have laughed if he was capable of feeling anything at the moment. He laid in his bed. The mattress was cold, hard, empty. Not even an hour since he left y/n for good, and he was already missing her. Her soft body flush against his chest, as he inhaled her chocolaty scent. The little sighs she subconsciously let out when he wrapped his arms around her. The little twitch in her lips when he whispered something in her ear. It was too late before he realized what he was doing. His heart stopped as his mind screamed at him, you can’t think of her! You don’t deserve to think about her, let alone lay next to her!

Inhaling deeply, he curled up into a ball. How he wished he was someone else. If it weren’t for his past, he and y/n could have lived one of the sweetest lives. Sure, she was a Midgardian, he would still figure out a way to keep her with him forever. If only.

“Top of the morning to you, brother!” Thor’s voice bellowed. Loki groaned internally. It seems, while he was in the middle of his self-deterioration, he forgot to lock his room door.

“What’s gotten you so sullen?” Would he simply leave if Loki didn’t respond?

“Brother. Hello.” Thor said again, shaking Loki’s shoulders. Clearly, he was unaware of Loki’s mental state- but then again, Loki was always like this with everyone. Except his y/n. His y/n? Nope, not anymore. Just y/n.

“Thor.” Loki said, finally acknowledging his cheery brother’s presence.

“Ah, finally. It seems to be getting harder every day to obtain a response from you, brother, hence I must ask- is everything alright?”

Loki wanted to laugh. Hysterically. So, he did. Slow laughter built up in his throat, and before he knew it, his laughter boomed all the way from his stomach. Cold, dry laughter that would run chills up one’s bones. When was the last time he had laughed like this? Out of sorrow? Out of spite for himself?

“Whoa. Am I dreaming? I have never seen you laugh like this, brother. I am now very concerned for you.” Came Thor’s voice, causing Loki’s laughter to die down. Laughter is supposed to make people feel better, right? But the feeling in Loki’s stomach would prove that otherwise. I do not deserve to laugh.

“To what do I owe your presence, dear brother?” Loki was surprised his voice sounded so collected. Almost as if he didn’t just take someone’s heart and stomp all over it. His heart churned as he remembered what he had done. He just wanted to lay in bed and sob.

“It is mission day, brother! We must prepare!” Thor bellowed; his previous question forgotten.

“As it is. Leave. I shall arrive at the quinjet in due time.” Loki hoped Thor didn’t hear how his voice wavered in the slightest.

“Brother- “

“Leave, Thor,” he breathed, his voice cracking at the slightest, “I beg of you.” Maybe Thor didn’t sense the wavering earlier, but he definitely caught this. Besides, Loki never begged.

“What did you do, Loki?” Thor asked gently. It now dawned on him why Loki crawled into a ball. Since they were children, Thor had seen how he would do that every time something had hurt his heart.

Loki scoffed at how Thor questioned his deeds. Of course, Thor would suspect him of some wrongdoing. It was never ‘What happened, Loki?’. Just the accusatory, ‘What did you do now?’. Although, this time, it was his fault. All his fault. Monster.

“y/n,” he said.

“y/n? What happened to y/n?” Loki could feel the sudden anger surge in him. Big, ugly anger- filled with resentment for himself. Why won’t Thor leave him alone? Why can’t he just leave, leave Loki to rot in his room?

“I broke her heart, Thor. I took it, trampled all over it, and left her to scavenge for the shattered bits. Is that enough? Or would you like me to tell you more? Leave, Thor. Leave me alone. I will report at the quinjet for the mission soon.”

Thor realized Loki’s predicament. He knew a situation like this might arise sooner or later, but he hadn’t expected it to occur at such an intensity. His little brother had only begun to experience the joys of love, of living, he had just begun to heal, and his demons were eating at him already.

Sighing, Thor began. “Loki. Look at me.” When Loki didn’t respond, Thor forced him to face him and meet his eyes.

“I may not have a clue about how you deal with most things, but I do know what you are feeling right now, brother. I have known you for many millennia, and no matter how clever and secretive you are, I can always tell how you feel. You feel undeserving of y/n, am I correct?”

Loki inhaled sharply at Thor’s accurate judgment. Was he so predictable?

Almost as if reading his mind, Thor continued, “You aren’t predictable, dear brother. In fact, you are far from it. But it wouldn’t take a fool to see how you feel about y/n. We all see how you look at her, Loki. Like you love her. Like you would do anything for her. But what you don’t realize is that we also see how she looks at you. She loves you, regardless of your scars, your past; she loves you for your heart- she loves you for you, Loki. Anyone who’s incapable of seeing that is simply an ignorant idiot.” Loki’s eyes widened at Thor’s revelation. y/n loved him regardless of what he had done in New York. She loved him, not because he was a god or a prince, but because he was him. Because he was Loki. How could he have been so blind? He wanted to smack himself for being so naïve & insecure. He should have just talked about it to y/n, like she always suggested. ‘Talk to me if you have a problem, Loki. It’s what all couples do. They support each other,’ she had said to him once.

“It isn’t too late. It never is. You can always fix it. Do you understand?” Thor said, bringing Loki back from his thoughts.

Loki needed to sit down and think, and Thor shaking him to elicit a response to his monologue wasn’t really helping.

“Are you done, brother?” Loki asked, his voice and face still monotonous. He needed time with himself. Besides, he never responded to Thor in any other manner. To break that ritual now was to sin.

Thor, however, couldn’t see past Loki’s monotony. Sighing, he said, “I hope you think of my words, Loki. You need y/n, as much as she needs you. Come to terms with that for yourself.”

\\

“Based on what we can tell, they’re going to ask us for the hard drive before they give us Agents Samson, Waller, Bryson, and Stevens- so we’re going to have to stay on our toes,” Hill began, Natasha and y/n listening on intently. Loki wasn’t anywhere to be found, but then he hardly attended the briefings. He simply read case files and had a pretty good idea of what was to be done. “Natasha will be our front. She will deliver the drive, while y/n and Loki go in search of the agents. We need to ensure that we find our men before the decryption of the drive.” She said, looking back at her tablet.

Just then, Loki walked in, looking as pristine and collected as ever. As if he wasn’t running on sleep from a day ago, as if he didn’t have a broken heart weighing him down. y/n’s anger surged. It was infuriating how he wasn’t affected even to the littlest. She put on her mask of indifference perfectly. Last night didn’t happen. Loki was simply her coworker, and she was going to have this mission take place perfectly.

“Um, Agent Hill? Is it possible for me to take Agent Romanoff’s position?” y/n’s voice rang before Hill could give further instructions. Loki noticed how y/n looked calm and ready. Ready, to pounce like the lioness she was. She didn’t acknowledge his presence. Usually, when they met up at briefings, she’d give him the tiniest of smiles, but the sparkle in her eyes would speak more than what they could converse in a lifetime. That one moment always made his morning. He wouldn’t deny the sting he felt in his chest when she asked Agent Hill to change her position.

Agent Hill looked into her tablet and frowned. “I’m sorry Agent y/l/n, but this is the best way we can proceed while ensuring minimal casualties. Loki’s seidr, accompanied by your stealth will help in a faster rescue. Not many people are capable of resisting Natasha’s sweet-talking, so it is best for her to be on the receiving end of the exchange.” she said, winking at Natasha; grinning as Nat returned the wink. “And guys, a quick note. We don’t know these people; we don’t know how they work. If in case shit goes down, call for backup. We’ll be in ASAP. You have a 60-minute time bridge to be in and out. If you’re not out by then, we’re coming in. Understood?”

Quickly sheathing her disappointment, y/n nodded in agreement, “Affirmative, ma’am.” It seemed as if she had to face him after all. But no matter, she reminded herself. I am a hero. An Avenger. My people before myself.

//

“Alright guys, let's move in. I will enter through the main, you both through the back doors. Wait for my signal, and as soon as you receive it, go. Do not waste your time. I assume you have memorized the floor plans?” Natasha asked, putting a gun into her thigh holster. y/n nodded as Loki simply stared.

“Go on then, good luck.”

Loki used his magic to put some sort of cloaking around himself and y/n as they walked quietly towards the backdoors of the abandoned silo. The rival organization had set up a temporary location there for the exchange, and their current invisibility enabled them to walk comfortably.

Loki took a deep breath. It was unwise to have a conversation, nevertheless an intimate one during a stealth mission, but he had to talk to her. Let her know that he was sorry.

“y/n, I have to talk to you about earlier,” he began, looking for a reaction in her.

He waited for a moment. Several moments.

“y/n.” he tried again.

Nothing. Not even a flicker of emotion in her.

“I’m sor- “

“Don’t. Don’t for one second, think you can talk to me. Not after what you did.” She sneered at him, fresh fury blazing in her eyes like Greek fire. Loki flinched at her sudden reaction. He never flinched. “You do not get to talk to me after I bared myself open to you like I did, only to have you scoff at me, and deem me worthless.”

y/n was now angry with herself. It enraged her how Loki was able to elicit such a response from her with 3 mere sentences. She had to stay more collected. Ignorance, she decided. The best choice of weapons.

Loki decided to attempt again later. He could not give up on his love. He could still hear Thor telling him about how he could fix it. Loki used his seidr to pick the lock on the back door. So far, they couldn’t see anyone. No snipers, no guards, nothing. He ignored the chills that ran up his back.

y/n had her gun at the ready. It didn’t matter if they were invisible, there could be heat sensors. She wasn’t going to let the little kerfuffle from a few minutes ago faze her. Her skin rose in goosebumps as she sensed the eerie silence. Something was wrong.

On Natasha’s command, they moved in, both walking on guard in perfect formation. y/n in front of Loki, with her gun out, while Loki stayed behind her with his daggers in his hands. They walked around each other in perfect sync as they scanned their surroundings. They moved past the pitch-dark corridors as y/n tried to look for signs of an ambush. So far, they had to have encountered at least a few guards. The plan was to silently take them out as they continued to look for the kidnapped agents. y/n looked back at Loki and turned away before he could make eye contact with her. His heart pumped steadily, his blood filling with adrenaline in response to the suspicious silence. They approached another door, and based on the floor plans, they had to go through the room ahead. The only problem was that it was a very big, and possibly empty one. Some sort of a torture chamber, y/n figured, from the lack of furniture and other basic things. She cracked the door open. A single chair. That’s all she found in the center of the room. Was that blood? y/n’s muscles froze as she noticed the table with numerous surgical tools- no, torture devices. A little knife-like object laid in a steel tray, covered in blood. And fingers. So many fingers. y/n gasped at the image in front of her. The junior agents had been tortured in the very room they were in. She looked around for active cameras. 4 in each corner of the room. She was thankful for the invisibility curtain Loki’s magic was able to provide. Suddenly, Loki was tapping at her shoulder, trying to get her attention. He frantically pointed at a bundle in the corner of the room. White sheets. Drenched in blood. She moved towards it slowly. Please don’t be what I think it is. Please.

Uncovering the flimsy cotton, her eyes widened. “The Agents.” She breathed, meeting Loki’s eyes. He looked as mortified as she did. All four of them were dead. Tortured, left to bleed out slowly. It’s a trap. y/n realized, her blood curdling up. Only then did she notice the tripwire around the sheets. We’ve been tricked.

“y/n!” came Nat’s voice in her earpiece. “y/n- it’s a t-t-trap! Crack. G-get out of t-there! N-n-now Crack. R-r-rendezvous at-t b-back- Crack.” not even the static in Nat’s transmission could have left them confused about what they had gotten into.

In a blink, there were lights, everywhere. Red lights, lasers, sirens, noise resonating all over. They had been spotted.

“Well, well, well. Look who we have here,” Came a deep, cold voice from behind them. A man in a white coat, followed by a woman who seemed like an assistant- who was followed by at least a dozen men who looked like SWAT agents, except they had much more brandished weapons. The 2 doors in the room shut with a bang, leaving Loki and y/n trapped; with 4 dead agents, and the many people who probably wanted them dead- but not before having their fun.

“Agent y/n, and Loki, the God of Mischief.” He sneered at them.

y/n pointed her gun at him while Loki drew out his daggers and flipped them. That would have had y/n swooning on a good day, but not today.

“The one and only,” Loki stated. “Now let us through, or it will be the end of our short-timed pleasantries.” he sneered, adrenaline flooding in his veins, causing his green irises to turn almost completely black.

“Now, now. There’s no reason to be so hostile,” the man said, his mouth twisting into some crooked sort of smile. “After all, I am sure you do not have the capability to fight past all of my soldiers.”

He was right. Loki’s seidr could probably take out a few, and y/n’s ammunition a few more, but not before they were electrocuted or whatever those hi-tech weapons were capable of. She needed to contact backup. And fast.

“Let us out, unworthy scum. We’ve given you the intel anyway.”

“Behave, Agent y/n. Do you really think I’m stupid enough to fall for a corrupted drive?”

Loki wanted to smash his teeth in. How dare he talk to his beloved like that?

“And you are?” y/n asked the man, changing the subject and trying to stall him. The drive plan had failed, which meant that Natasha could be in trouble. Besides, they needed to come up with a new plan to get out without any more trouble. Not even 10 minutes in, and they were already cornered.

“Fred. I am also a doctor.” The grey-haired man said. y/n would have laughed if she wasn’t already upset and running on almost no sleep.

“.. your name is Fred?” she asked, silently trying to reach for her walkie.

“Yes. Is that a problem?”

“No, but I was expecting something more ... traditional. Something that would suit that malice in your eyes a little better,” She stalled. “Something more Russian. You look very Russian.”

All Loki could do was stare at y/n with a prideful smile when he realized what she was trying to do. His little lioness, so daring and clever.

Grinning like a madman, Fred turned to his assistant. “I like this one. Although, what’s all this about being Russian? I just don’t get it.”

y/n would have responded if not for the dart in her neck.

“Hey!” she felt the poison running through her veins in no time. Her sight faltered, her own voice sounding distorted.

“No!” Rang Loki’s panicked voice. His heart fought against his ribcage. What had he done? If only he hadn’t gestured at the bundle, if only he told y/n it was better to leave the moment they spotted it. They knew the junior agents were dead the moment they saw it, what was the need for him to have y/n uncover the sheets?

“Don’t worry, Mr. Laufeyson. It is only a sedative. Your girlfriend will be fine.” The doctor chortled.

It was now y/n’s turn to freak out. “How did ... how did you…” she mumbled; her eyes widening at the colors that brimmed in her vision. Her heart calmed to a surprising rate, a sloppy smile on her lips as she sank onto the floor.

“Please, Agent y/n. Like I said, I’m not stupid. Did you really think I wouldn’t notice the way you look at each other?”

Thor’s voice rang in Loki’s ear. ‘It wouldn’t take a fool to see how you feel about y/n, Loki.’ He would have smiled if it weren’t for their current state.

“Mmm,” y/n hummed. Understandable, she wanted to say. “Un- un- under the sea.” She managed, with a goofy smile and a giggle bubbling from her chest.

Chuckling at y/n, the doctor said, “I’ll see you soon, Mr. Laufeyson.”

That was all Loki heard before everything went black.

//

He gasped loudly as he woke up. Where was he? He scanned his surroundings and realized he was in a lab-like settlement. No doors, just 2 bullet-proof glass windows behind which a number of doctors and agents stood. Along with Fred. His heart sped up as he took in y/n. Strapped onto a bed with numerous wires attached to her head. She was still unconscious from the sedative. He pulled at his arms only to notice he was shacked to the walls.

“Nice of you to finally join us, Mr. Laufeyson!” Loki heard a cheery voice through the speakers. “Shall we begin?” Fred asked, pausing for a few moments as Loki realized he was waiting for a response.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his mind numb. How was he going to get out? Where was Agent Romanoff?

“Ah, so glad you asked. This nice lady here,” he gestured, “is Doctor May. She specializes in hypnotism.”

What did they need a hypnotist for? If they were planning to hypnotize Loki, they were in for a disappointment because that really wouldn’t work on him.

Looking at Loki’s expression, the doctor smiled. “Don’t worry, it's not for you! It's for our dear y/n here! Doctor May here has so skillfully come up with a serum that we can test on y/n. We’re going to turn her against you, watch an epic battle- to the death; and if she survives, hooray! We’ll have her rejuvenate and train before using her to infiltrate SHIELD!” he cooed. His tone did not go with the threats he was spewing. "Oh, I also forgot to mention, we're giving her superstrength, just for the sake of it. see what happens."

Loki’s blood turned to ice. “What if she doesn’t survive?” he asked, unsure if he wanted to hear the answer.

“Oh well, if she doesn’t, we’ll harvest your powers and whatnot! But not to mention we will be very disappointed in her.” The doctor said, frowning playfully.

Loki’s chest seemed to cramp up onto itself. He tried to pick the locks on his cuffs with his seidr.

“Did you really think we’d let you have seidr while in captivity? Gosh, SHIELD. Keep thinking I’m stupid. See what that does for you.” Fred mumbled, rolling his eyes dramatically.

“No! No. Fred. You do not want to do this,” His silver tongue was the only thing he could rely on now. He couldn’t let them hurt his y/n. Ignoring the sweat running down the side of his head, he donned a sweet smile and crooned, “let her go. I am far more powerful than she is. If you release her, I promise to submit to you, causing you no difficulty. My seidr and my other strengths. All yours. I will give you any intel you need.” He promised, his nerves slightly betraying him. That’s it. Take the offer, Fred. Let y/n go. It’s my fault she’s here anyway.

“Hmm, let me think,” Fred said, placing his index on his chin. Uh oh. “How about no?” he snapped, quickly letting that carefree smile adorn his face again. Loki’s smile faltered. “Unfortunately, your proclamation isn’t as fun as my idea, Mr. Laufeyson.” No seidr, no backup. He was going to have to fight the one he loved.

“May, commence operation Omega!” Fred yelled, bouncing on his toes. “I’m so excited!” he yelled, his arms flailing around. Loki couldn’t help but notice how the man’s appearance did not suit his personality even by a percent. Creepy.

He watched as y/n’s body started shaking. She was seizing. His stomach dropped as the horror registered in his mind. The wires suddenly detached from her head with a sickening pop as she opened her eyes. Her e/c irises now glowed bright blue. Like electricity in her fibers. Loki’s chest clenched at y/n’s foreign expression. How long had it been since they got in? Surely Agent Hill must have realized something was wrong by now?

He flinched as the shackles around his hands clicked open. He was incapable of fighting y/n, let alone killing her. He couldn’t stand the idea of landing his fist on her.

“Ah, hello? Subject 7? Can you hear me?” Fred’s annoying voice crooned.

“Yes,” y/n said, her face devoid of any expression. Almost as if she was a robot. Loki’s skin rose up in goosebumps as he heard her cold emotionless voice. This was not his y/n.

“Good,” the doctor beamed. “Destroy.” That’s it. One simple command for y/n to turn to Loki and snarl at him.

“y/n,” Loki whispered. No, no, no. He felt tears prickling in his eyes. He’d rather die a thousand deaths than lay a hand on her.

“You’re pretty. But I’m going to kill you.” y/n smiled, her mouth letting out a little giggle. That wasn’t her giggle. It was cold, malevolent.

“Doctor May, what was that? It was cute, but I don’t remember asking for that?” Fred asked, frowning at the lady. Stuttering, she said, “I-I believe the serum hasn’t taken complete effect, sir. Part of Subject 7’s personality i-is still accessible to her.”

“Aw,” Fred groaned. “Do I have to kill you, Doc?” he asked the lady, whose eyes were now wide as saucers.

“N-no, sir. I assure you it won’t be a p-problem. I will have it fixed b-before administering the next dose.”

“Okay!” Fred smiled again.

Loki overheard their little conversation. Could he still reach for his y/n, which was buried underneath the cold exterior, courtesy of the serum?

“y/n,” he said, swallowing the lump in his throat. She didn’t respond, but simply charged at him with a growl.

Loki dodged her, putting a safe distance between the two of them before trying again as his mind screeched at him. All your fault! Why did you let y/n uncover the sheets? You knew it was dangerous, you knew they were dead!

“y/n, it's me,” Loki said softly, trying to get her to look at him. He took a step towards her when he saw that she wasn’t going to lunge at him.

“y/n … I know you’re in there.”

Loki thought he saw a flicker in her eyes.

“Doc! What’s going on?” Fred exclaimed; his face glued to the glass.

Loki decided to get closer. “My love,” the words sounded foreign to his ears, no doubt, but it had never felt so right.

“Come back to me,” He whispered, reaching for her; tears obscuring his vision. “Please.”

y/n lunged at him; a perfect roundhouse directed towards his face. But Loki’s reflexes had always been faster. She circled him, like a predator assessing its prey.

Fred banged at the glass. “Subject 7! We do not have all day!” He yelled, and now y/n was rushing towards Loki. She swung her fist at his jaw as Loki dodged her, only to receive another punch on his throat. Coughing and sputtering, he glanced at y/n, his eyes speaking words he never had a chance to say. Rubbing his neck, he said in the gentlest voice he could muster, “Please, my love. You do not have to do this,” he paused, gauging y/n’s reaction. He noticed how her movements faltered every time he spoke in that gentle voice. “It’s okay, y/n,” he whispered, his eyes holding hers as he reached to cup her face. Everything slowed down when clarity sank into Loki, chilling his bones like ice on a hot plate. He now knew what he had to do.

“It’s me, look at me, my love,” he breathed, his eyes searching hers. Flicker. His y/n was fighting underneath the shadow that had taken over her body.

“I love you,” He whispered to her. 3 words, just 3 words to let her know how sorry he was. To let her know he never meant any of it. to let her know, that it was all his fault.

“I love you, my darling, I always have; I’m so sorry this ever- “ Loki’s voice muffles down as the next event unfolds.

She’s suddenly kissing him, she’s kissing him like she’s never kissed before- raw and hungry- and for one moment, for one moment y/n's emerged from the shadow of the serum- to tell him, tell him that it was okay. That she understood. One kiss to let him know that she’s forgiven him, one kiss to let him know that she loved him too. Loki’s eyes widened as her warm lips held onto his like her life depended on it- except this time, it did- and he was kissing her back before he knew it. he wrapped his arm around her, his other arm knotting in her hair to support the force of the kiss- and he’s crying, he's crying as her fingers tangle in his hair, he’s crying like he’s never cried before- the tight wraps around his past wounds ripping open, he’s crying like he’s never going to experience this feeling ebbing from the depths of his heart ever again--

And he’s suddenly on the floor with y/n’s hands around his throat, her eyes electric blue again, a menacing smile playing on her lips.

“Yes! Yes!” Came Fred’s voice. “Finish him, Subject 7!”

y/n stared at Loki, her hands lowly tightening around his throat. He could only stare back at her, his tears running silently as he placed his hands around y/n’s wrists.

“Do it, y/n. Do it. I did not deserve you anyway,” he said as he choked on a sob, “but I just want you to know- I have always, always loved you; and I wish last night never happened. I wish for you to never, ever experience the pain you felt last night, I wish for you to be treated like the queen you are- “ he paused, meeting her eyes, a thousand emotions swimming in his mind; making it impossible for him to speak the numerous confessions he was attempting to make.

“I love you, y/n, and I regret not believing you when you said you did too.” He choked out before shutting his eyes and accepting his fate. He embraced death like an old friend, waiting for it to swoop in and steal his soul. He waited for that cold feeling of release, of being free. He would die for her instead.

“I love you too. I never stopped,” He heard a sweet voice whisper. He opened his eyes to y/n’s e/c ones. She had fought the serum. Her lips quivered as tears brimmed in her eyes, freely falling down her cheeks, as Loki’s hands reached for her cheeks. “I love you,” she said, and everything blows apart as the building explodes.

// a week later//

y/n opened her eyes to 2 smiling faces, groaning at the throb in her head. She noticed the other Avengers next to her, all smiling, grateful that she was okay. She was in a hospital bed.

“Welcome back!” Natasha and Steve yelled, causing y/n to shut her ears.

“Guys! Stop yelling!” y/n manages to say before furrowing her eyebrows and shutting her eyes.

“How long was I out?” she asked, her eyes still shut.

“a week,” Sam replied from her left.

“Whoa.” She whispered, trying to recollect the events that had unfolded.

She froze as the images came rushing back to her. She tried to kill Loki. Then she kissed him. ‘I love you,’ he had said, and the building had exploded on their fragile reconciliation.

“Loki!” she gasped, sitting back up, her eyes flailing around to look for him. Was he dead? Please don’t let him be dead.

“y/n! Calm down! You have 3 cracked ribs, not to mention the messed-up head, thanks to serum Omega. We need to make sure it still isn’t in your bloodstream,” Nat says, holding her down.

“Is Loki okay?” she asks Natasha, her heart in her throat.

“I'll bring him to you,” the red-haired agent smiles at her, before turning to the door. “Stay put,” she calls behind her.

“What happened to Fred?”

“Who?” Steve asked quizzically.

“That weird doctor.”

“Oh, probably died from the explosion. Our people are there as we speak, y/n, we’ll find out soon. Feel better, we’ll tell you the rest later.” he said with a warm smile.

How did they manage to get out? Sure, she was knocked out after the explosion, but she did witness the intensity. It would have been impossible to extract them from underneath the rubble- unless--

“y/n?” Loki’s tentative voice came from behind the infirmary’s door a few moments later. She looked at him, searching for any injuries he might have sustained. Loki ran up to her, grabbing her face, “You’re okay.” He said, kissing her gently. He snickered as y/n’s hand crawled up into his hair, pressing his lips into hers harder.

“So are you,” she smiled, looking at him with a look of pure adoration.

“What happened?” she asked Natasha, her fingers looping into Loki’s as he sat next to her.

“I escaped, noticed that you both hadn’t made it to the rendezvous point only to encounter more agents, fought my way out, called for backup, and the rest is history. The question is, what happened to you? We got only Loki’s version. Gotta hear yours,” she says, all in one breath.

“Perhaps give us a while before that?” Loki asks her, Natasha gasping slightly at the little smile on his face.

“Careful Loki, smile any wider and people might think y/n’s making you go soft,” she joked and turned around to leave, gesturing at the team to follow.

“Hey you,” y/n whispered, her index tracing Loki’s jaw. He leaned down to envelop her in yet another kiss, this one sweeter than the best Asgardian mead, filled with promises of tomorrow. He smiled into the kiss when her fingers knotted in his hair.

“I love you," Loki whispered, thanking whoever that he could say it to her again.

"Forever?” y/n asked, her voice still hazy from the kiss.

“Always.”

[saturnsstufff]

The Blade and The Crow

warnings: mentions of death

   Immortals are painted so delicately high in stories. Each brush stroke gently and precisely placed, placed without flaw. Immortal's either see Mortal's as a soft malleable child, open and willing to learn, yet desperately in need of guidance. Or they see them as fools, not cautious enough with their limited time.

   When the Angel Of Death saw Mortal's he saw them as pure Fools. Too stupid and naïve in the understanding of God's, and Immortals. What made him turn his nose up the most however was their lacking in interest. They didn't want to learn, or understand the unnatural order. Mortals shunned the forbidden knowledge, to Phil- someone who loved to learn, someone who soaked information up seamlessly, he couldn't understand their uninterest.

   Philza was young however, he was still new to this... power. No matter how long Immortals live their is always a beginning. A start to their story, a single hushed word, maybe written, thought, or spoken, sometimes even screamed, whether gloriously or in sin. sometimes their beginnings aren't wrote or even spoke of, sometimes they are painted, mostly because words cannot begin to explain.

   When Phil started becoming Devine, he honestly didn't think much about it, frankly he didn't even understand it was happening. He was a teen, young, a bit of a lady killer if you asked around, but entirely he was kind and quite generous. His parents focused on raising a kind son, the type any girl could bring hoe to her parents and be proud of. Truthfully, between his never ending manners and his strive for hard work, it was hard to not be proud of him, or at least acknowledge he was striving for the stars. 

   Phil's story started Hushed, soft, gentle even. Like a slow morning. The sun slowly leaving it's hidden spot. Shining and blossoming out to something much larger, sometimes more threatening. Just like that Sunrise, no matter how small and frail he was, by the end of eons Phil would become something more threatening, and terrifying. Some wouldn't even know he was born a child, for every story and legend taken down described him as a immortal elder who flew trough eons as a blood thirsty, torn man.

   However, about his teens he started to notice his aging slowing down dramatically. His mother would always play it off as having a young baby face. The common thing any mother would tell her child. “Oh it’s just your youth showing, no need to worry”, “It’s just a baby face, your father had it too” all things he was told. He believed it too, after all, was he supposed to look into it?

   Sadly this odd aging became more apparent with every new year. By Nineteen he roughly looked about fifteen, when he turned twenty, he similarly looked the same. Because of this oddity he found himself staying home, or keeping away from the public more and more, not wishing to be ridiculed or looked at as a medical mystery. 

   He tried to grow close to some at least, some girls still lingered to his kindness. That was until they looked like a older woman carrying a child around on her arm. After being left  so many times, Phil couldn't help but draw back, and subconsciously shut himself down on seeking out a possible partner. After all, who wanted to bee seen with a child?

   When he matured into his thirties, he moved into a cottage by himself. He lied to his mother about the reasoning, telling her he wanted to explore the world more, grow up and experience it all. He knew his father wouldn't need help around the house anymore so it was perfect timing for the excuse. However, deep down he knew he was only leaving because he didn't want the village people to see a thirty-year old looking like a nineteen year old.

   After his departure he only came back for two things. His Father’s and his Mother’s Funeral. He would always kick himself in the future when he looked back on his mothers death. He couldn't stay through her whole service, not because of the tears he shed, but because of the lingering comments the villagers made. They didn't recognize Phil, thus they assumed he never showed. So instead of whispering saddened through's about her missing child, they down talked him. They cursed his “absence”, they wished Ill on him, they hoped he suffered for it.

   When Phil thinks back on this, he always remembers this as the first time he felt something deep within him stir.

   For every word, every curse... Every ill will... 

He wished it back tenfold. 

   “Shame their boy didn't show, I thought he was so kind”

   ‘Shame you don't open your eyes’

   “Don't you think he would at least show? I mean its a funeral, its not like he had anyone else.”

   ‘I don't see anyone at your funeral, not with how you keep both faces upturned’

   “I hope he remembers missing his mothers death, I hope it stays with him forever”

   ‘rot in hell’ 

   He knew most of his anger was from grief, he knew he shouldn't take it out on the others, it wasn't the right thing to do. 

   But that didn't stop him from doing it anyway.

   He should have been about a hundred now. he was easily old, yet he looked no older than twenty. He couldn't explain it, but that didn't stop him from living, he still kept going day to day.

   After a few more he left the pew, no longer waiting to hear what else they had to say about his absence.

   After he hit three digit numbers, he started to change drastically...

   He met a woman on his One hundred, and fiftieth birthday, and Oh would he always remember her. She never gave her name, yet Phil trusted her with his whole heart. 

   She came to him when he was out late hunting. The night was cold, the first snowfall hadn't been long ago, so as Phil prowled the woods his breath came out in puff’s, the cloud showing his shaky breath. At first he thought he was seeing things, shadows moving too swiftly for a pure animal. He would see one on his left, then swiftly from behind him, then to his right. it was enough to drive anyone insane at the thought.

   Pushing aside his fear, he drew the sting of his bow back, assuming a black bear had taken interest into his loneliness, prowling alongside him, waiting to send him back to his mothers grave in bits. Phil was wise enough to know the situation of “You or Me, we both cant leave” So before the bear could strike he pulled the arrow back, tucking the nock against the corner of his lip, the fletching brushing his cheek in the process, giving contrast to the cold night. With the arrow ready, he waited for the sound of movement. 

   When he herd the wind pass by his ear in a swift breeze, he released a breath and turned, releasing the arrow from his grip, letting the arrow pierce the air, waiting for the sound of a hit.

But it didn't come.

   Instead, when he turned to see his kill, he saw a kind woman looking down at him. She was tall, yet beautiful in every point, wings of gold glittered under the moonlight, acting like a natural halo behind her. Her face was hidden by her black veil, black curls kissing her cheeks as they fell over her shoulder. Not only was Phil stunned, but he was left speechless when he saw her holding his arrow, the arrow he shot in hopes to end animal.

   “Well hello there little one”

[bansheeoftheforest]

Uh, is there still an angst break? Ignore this ask until your ready if so 👉😎👉

-

What was the au where Jekylls pushed down the stairs and experiences a skull crackening again? Oh well but I've been thinking of a branch of that where Jekyll doesn't know hes dead like all day. I also cant remember if that was already discussed or not

The lodgers patch him up, he complains of a headache, and goes on his merry way! He's confused why all the lodgers are so nervous and being nice to him all of the sudden, why creature is looking at him with a stange mix of empathy and pity. He was told he fell down the stairs, fell unconscious, and obtained a bit of an injury. He cant fathom why Frankenstein is "The only doctor who can treat him" why he has to constantly go to her for checkups. Why Maijabi is suddenly following him practically everywhere.

Hyde squeezes back control for a moment and tries the potion but it doesn't work. Maybe a bit of pain but certainly no transformation. Jekyll assumes his injury or whatever medication they're giving him to treat it somehow negated the effects

Jekyll complains about "suddenly blacking out" the lodgers know its because his soul is slippery. They tell him it must just be a side effect of the injury and not to worry

How long can they keep it secret from him? When does he find out? Does he? Does it get to be years only for him to realize that he hasn't aged? That he still needs checkups from Frankenstein? Does he learn sooner? Does a lodger crack and say it? Does he rot? Does he notice how so very cold he is. How animals act around him? It's all very interesting,,

-

I actually did think a bit of Jekyll's kidnappers for the amnesia kidnapping au! When drawing that lil sketch of Henry and O'Leary meeting Robert I had considered making it so O'Leary was suspicious of Lanyon like "Oh theres no news anywhere of someone matching Thomas' description who's missing. But some random people walk up claiming to know him? Begging to take him back with them?" And he'd think they were the kidnappers. But ultimately I decided against it as I felt Lanyon and Rachel were pretty clearly, genuinely concerned for "Thomas" :p

-

I tried playing assassins creed once, the first(?) one. But the controls were confusing and everything was sorta thrown all at me at once, and I got bored of it quickly

But! I went to the store the other day and just so happened to notice Syndicate was being sold for 15 dollars 👀 So I bought it because funky Victorian assassins and your influence! It's a bit less confusing then the first ac game I tried but why is going down or dropping so hard bdksnks. I'm having quite a bit of fun! If you dont count my rage and annoyance-, the B button refuses to cooperate with me unless I'm looting corpses >:(

The b button being the bane of my existence aside, I AM having fun! I like the funky outfits and I want to play as the girl twin (evie?) forever because her clothes are good and shes better at attacking than jacob(?) For some reason. Probably the stun her weapon has? Oh well! I have not unlocked any new outfits yet, nonetheless I wish there were more.

Also! I was thimking, and my current quests are taking place at 1868? Did I get that right? And Jekyll is like 35 in 1885. So in game he'd be 18! An au like I believe you mentioned sounds very interesting 👀 but I must play more to know what's going on and daydream about it

That would be the resurrection au <3

But god, I really like that branch! Especially combined with the hc that he can't feel pain bc the HJ7 and the transformations made him immune. Frankenstein patched him up and made fleshweaver to heal the crack in his skull but it still has to be bandaged, he surely broke a few bones, yet all he has to do is to be careful because it doesn't even hurt. He doesn't even realize how severe the injuries are because it doesn't hurt, it very well might just have been that he accidentally slipped at the bottom of the staircase and accidentally hit his head on the railing during his fall, rather than getting physically pushed and flying down the stairs, shattering his skull upon impact with the marble floor. Y'know what would be extra fun? If he only starts getting a bit suspicious about how severe the injury was once he realizes his lungs stop breathing for minutes at a time when he gets distracted, or his heartbeat stops dead in his chest. I know that that's not how biology or even creature works but lets say the HJ7 is funky, Zombie Jekyll my beloved. Perhaps he would only fully grasp what had happened once he blacked out too much and 'passed out', but his soul slipped out enough to leave his body unconscious on the floor while his soul/ghost was just... Watching. And it's not until Maijabi (who, as you said, follows him everywhere) immediately calls for more Lodgers saying that Henry's soul is getting unstable and Frankenstein's lousy job is starting to shine through that he fully understands that it was not a mere hit to the head. Or maybe it is when days, weeks, maybe months has passed and the headache never goes away, he only feels how his body starts feeling so much more... Fragile and delicate, that the guilt has eaten Helsby up alive and he corners him and spills everything, knowing he is going directly against what the group agreed to but not being able to keep it a secret much longer-- or maybe Creature would tell him immediately, once Henry is, for once, alone perhaps days after the initial accident. He cannot see Henry struggle to understand what is going on when he already knows what's happening to Henry, his mind, and his body. He doesn't listen to the plan that Frankenstein and the Lodgers has set up and immediately tells Henry the first moment they are alone. That would certainly be horrifying, I can only imagine how the Lodgers would find Henry after that, once he actually knows and manages to process everything. He would be so mad, not only to have been killed in the first place, but also because he was robbed of an afterlife because the Lodgers were selfish and could not accept the consequences of their actions. He would be mad, he would be so pissed and I have no doubt he might actually be mad at Maijabi too for even agreeing to help Frankenstein and the rest of the Lodgers. That anger would not stay long, though. That anger would soon turn into misery and sadness and paranoia so even as Henry has tried to push Maijabi away, Henry still ends up on his doorstep begging him to help him make sure he is not rotting, because no matter what anyone says, he is sure he can see rotten spots and patches on his skin and he is just so scared and jdhfjsdfdsfsfs... <3

--

Ooooooohhh, I was actually daydreaming about this just this morning! Granted, I woke up at 5 and began to daydream to fall asleep quicker but I still like the thought of O'Leary being suspicious of Robert/Rachel/Jasper/the Lodgers bc he is protective of 'Thomas' and doesn't want anything bad to happen to him and especially with the idea that Henry still has hallucinations and they both think he was abandoned by his family, left to rot at a mental asylum. O'Leary might very well think that it might be Henry's friends and family that dumped him that Henry had 'escaped' the hospital and that's why they knew he was missing since the Asylum itself obviously wouldn't have posted the news... I really liked Jeks idea, okay? Like a lot, I absolutely love it <3

--

Oh, the oldest AC game I played was Unity bc it was free after the Notre Dame fire, and I can confirm, I played 15 min and could not get through it even if i would have wanted to, it absolutely sucks so i have no doubt the older games are just as frustrating <3

BUT!!!! I'M SO GLAD MY CORRUPTION IS SPREADING AND YOU BOUGHT AND PLAYED IT AND ARE ENJOYING IT SO FAR!!! Trust me, Syndicate truly is an absolutely amazing game and is definitely one of my top 3 games of all time. I sometimes play it w my friend watching me play and trust me, I know that rage of trying to do smt but the character does smt else... or you try to do smt but the game doesn't react and you miss your chance... Oh well, still a wonderful game <3

My friend loves to play as Evie as well but I'm definitely playing Jacob every chance I get and I honestly get a lil pissy when I have to play as Evie bc I always prefer to play male characters, plus, I just like Jacob better bc he is a sweetheart. He is also canonically bisexual as hell!!! Have you met Abberline yet? The police officer? Him and Jacob together is one of my fave ships for the game. I also bought the ultimate/golden/whatever name it was edition so I had a bunch of extra outfits, I love the sherlock holmes outfit for Jacob but my friend keeps bullying me for it </3

Honestly? The time difference is the bane of my entire idea for the au bc if it's during their time Henry hasn't even graduated yet, and definitely not well-known enough for them to actively meet for whatever reason, and if you use the timeline for the jack the ripper dlc (in 1888) a lot of... Less than pleasant things happen so it wouldn't really make a lot of sense for a crossover to happen at that point but maybe it's just bc im a pussy and refuse to play the dlc. Rn, while imagining the au, I just imagine the 1868 timeline to be the same as the TGS timeline. I like to imagine the Frye Twins hearing about Henry and the Society and promptly breaking into his office to ask him to make poison and stuff for them. I also have a feeling that Jacob would flirt wildly with Henry and that Henry would be less-than-amused. It would also be a very fun thing with the fact that there would be two Henrys, with TGS Henry Jekyll and AC Syndicate Henry Green, soo... XD

[urmomification]

WOOO POG DREAM SMP AU

theres 1.8k words and 9,393 characters of a schlatt au below the cut LMAO

[i was rambling to my friend and this is what came out of it! send me an abt it if u have questions i would love to talk abt it more pls]

(slight body horror/gore tw!!)

slams fists on table rattling any dishes on the table au where schlatt doesnt die of a heartattack and tubbo locks him up to rot basically and his horns grow into his eyes effectively blinding him and chained his hands together and basically a leash on him to keep him from moving around in his cell so he cant do anything to break the horns off before they get too long and one day when technos breaking into lmanberg he gets chased into the prison and loses them in the halls before coming across schlatts cell and schlatts calling out like 'whos there i can hear ur foot steps whos there please someone whos there' etc yk and technos speechless they thought they executed him to keep him from causing any more problems in the country but this is this is just much worse than anything he even thought theyd do and hes standing in front of schlatts cell just looking at him as if hes imagining it he knew lmanberg was bad but holy fuck they just let this man rot in a cell to the point of his own horns blinding him and giving him no aid or way to ease the pain so he makes himself known and schlatt 'ive never been so happy to see, well, hear an anarchist in my life, its good to see- hear you technoblade' and chuckles and blood runs down his face like tears would, few drops landing on his clothes before techno starts trying to get into the cell to take him out of there he cant leave him here sure he was an anarchist terrorist w a murder record but he had standards and now that schlatt wasnt in power he had nothing against him really considering he isnt a citizen of lmanberg so he manages to pick the locks enough to get him out of there, schlatts arm slung over technos shoulder they stumble out of the prison building and as they slowly make their way to the nether portal to get back to technos base, they run into tubbo and quackity, schlatts old right hand men and they try to stop techno bc hes well an anarchist terrorist w a murder record but the glare techno gives them levels them and theyre left staring at each other for a moment when schlatt 'whyre we stopped whos there tech' and techno mumbles 'tubbo and quackity schlatt' and schlatt just furrows his brows as far as he can without sending excruciating pain into his eye sockets before he purses his lips and asks 'are they going to try and stop us?' techno looks back at the other two 'no they wont, isnt that right boys?' tubbo and quackity slink away allowing techno and schlatt to the portal and them going thru, schlatt still silent as he tries not to trip over technos cape or off the ledge of the bridge passing over the lava lakes, they make it to the portal and begin the walk across the arctic tundra to technos house, philza isnt there right now so its just the two of them and techno leads him up the ladder to his room (its not really a room i think its just a bed, a bell and an enchantment table) and sits him down on his bed mumbling something abt being right back and he is with some medical supplies and a change of clothes to clean everything up, they dont talk techno works in silence and when schlatt winces he mumbles a small apology before continuing eventually techno got schlatt as cleaned up as you can get someone w horns in their eyes and a sweater to keep him warm and finally starts asking questions 'how long had u been in there' 'lost count' 'did they bring you food' 'a chests worth at the beginning of the month' techno sighs 'i thought they executed you' 'tubbo chickened out despite me being 'an active threat to our peace in lmanberg' and locked me up a few days after u set the withers loose and dropped off a chest of food once a month and most of them refused to talk to me others couldnt even make eye contact with me, other than the few instances where they said things like 'heres ur food' or 'u deserve this' or 'i cant believe tubbo let u live' i talked to no one other than myself for however long i was in there' techno stands and walks around for a moment before flipping some pages and schlatt can hear him gasp quietly in mild surprise 'what is it tech' looking in the direction he heard techno from and techno says, turning to face schlatt on his bed 'schlatt that was almost 3 months ago' a single beat of silence rings for what feels like forever 'oh. i, i didnt think itd been that long. though it would explain my current predicament' loosely gesturing towards his face 'oh right abt that i have a few questions if ur ready to answer some' schlatt hums and techno grabs a pen and paper and sits next to him in case he needs to take any notes for future reference 'how fast do ur horns normally grow' 'idk just a steady amount my whole life pretty much' 'will they ever stop growing' 'they generally stop growing around 30 and continue to grow more in width than length' 'did anyone who brought u food notice' 'they grow quickly and by the time the person w the third chest came around they were getting close to my eyes but they didnt listen to me, no one did' he sighs looking down at would be his hands 'the odds of both of my horns growing into my eyes and blinding me like this are so low but of course it would happen to me' a chuckle void of any amusement 'because losing my country and my people and my power wasnt enough already' techno stands up 'you had that coming' schlatt actually laughs this time, short and curt 'ok fair, u were the one that took me down afterall' and from then on schlatt lives w techno and phil and eventually tommy and then without tommy (tommy was Not happy when he found out that schlatt was living with techno but he needed somewhere to stay too and techno happens to live in an arctic tundra where only a handful of people know how to get to so he didnt complain too much) and eventually techno saws off schlatts horns at the bend adn removes them from his eyes bc if they kept growing into his head theyd hit his brain and kill him on top of blinding  him and techno gags and almost throws up despite not being sensitive to gore  and gives schlatt a bandanna to cover the holes in his head for everyones sake and once they heal somewhat he can find something else out and thats how they live, schlatt helps with what he can like farming w phil but mostly spends his time learning braille or something so he can read and techno gets him books in braille so he isnt bored or alone like he was in the prison and he feeds him and takes care of him and schlatt is funny and entertaining despite being blinded by something from his own body and the torture it was like to rot in a cell alone for almost a 1/4 of a year and nights when techno gets home late and hes shaken and the voices are bad schlatt will sit behind him and play with his hair and talk abt his own day and rub technos back and in return when schlatt relapses and gets violent and angry techno will wash his hair and read him stories until he calms down and hopefully asleep and no one told him the news that wilbur died so when ghostbur shows up and starts talking to him he treats him the same as he would wilbur bc he cant see that hes a ghost all thats different is his speech pattern and overall personality and one day he says 'ur different wilbur what happened to that, i dunno spark u used to have' and wilbur simply 'im not sure if im being honest a lot abt me has changed since i died, or so im told i dont remember much from when i was alive' and schlatt just 0_0 and then hes scrambling down the ladder and stumbling around the house looking for techno, finding him in the basement working on something and when he gets there hes out of breath and his hands are shaking bc holy shit wilburs not only dead but a ghost and he was just talking to me and he doesnt remember what i did and and and and techno is shocked to see schlatt in the basement and asks whats up and schlatt just 'wilbur died wilbur fucking died tech why didnt anyone tell him and now hes a ghost hes a fucking ghost who lives in ur house and doesnt remember anything he doesnt remember that he blew up lmanberg does he he remembers my name but not anything that i did what hes a fucking ghost techno hes a ghost holy fuck' and technos just standing there like ??? no one no one told him 'yea philza had to kill him after he blew up lmanberg i thought u knew thats why i didnt say anything' oh. 'phil, phil had to kill him?' 'yea its a touchy subject, dont bring it up' and simply goes back to what he was working on so schlatt sits on the ground by the ladder and listens to him work his brain going a mile a minute trying to comprehend whats going on 'would i have become a ghost if theyd chosen to execute me?' 'its hard to say im unsure if theres specific circumstances that contribuite to someone becoming a ghost but theres really no telling' and goes back to working yet again and from then on they fall into an easy schedule of techno going out and doing whatever an anarchist terrorist w a murder record does on ur average wednesday and schlatt stays home reading and organizing whatever he can based on size and feeling and sleeping in windowsills and schlatt greeting techno comes home beaten up and full of new resources and a side of bruises and cuts so he tends to them, getting better at maneuvering and functioning without needing to see then techno making dinner and then curling up by the fire for the night enjoying each others company as they talk abt their days :]

[nickysurfer28]

Summary: Dr.Nicky Ransom still searching for her cousin Denise Ames, along the way this mystery man she’s got herself into...

Word count: over 1,000 ..I think lol

Warning ⚠️: 18+ only, smut,dreams,etc.

Characters: Dr.Nicky Ransom(female reader)x Chris Evans

Chapter3:

I have to get out of here.

A human skull grins gruesomely up at you from the cave floor.

“Oh my God! Nicky shrieks.

Chris turns , his eyes wide as he see you. “Nicky?”

The shock of everything is too much. You let out a brief yell of fear. You lurch backward.

“Oh my God.. “ Nicky shrieked again.

“Nicky, stop.” Chris catches you, pinning you to his chest before you can run.

How did he get here to me so fast? He was on the other side of the cave.

Your body slackens in defeat.

It’s over...

“Really, Nicky? You think a strange man may have hurt your cousin...so you follow into an abandoned mine in the middle of nowhere, miles away from any cell reception?”Chris answered angrily.

“Let me go! Nicky yelling scared.

“This mineshaft is unstable, Nicky! You could bring the whole thing down on us if you panic! Chris yelled angrily.

Chris... What’s going on?, what are you doing here? Whose skull is that? Nicky answered ,confused. “ what is this place?

“Somewhere no mortal should ever have ventured... Chris answered with a stern look.

“That is the weirdest answer! Nicky spoke with shockingly and confusion.

“I- okay, fair enough.” He sighs, his strong arms loosening on you just slightly. “All right, Nicky. I’m going to let you go, but I need you too promise me you’ll remain calm. No sudden movements. These support beams are over a hundred years old. It isn’t safe in here.”

“Okay, I promise. Nicky answered. Chris releases his hold on you...and you sprint for the mouth of the cave, your ankle throbbing in protest.

“Nicky, no!”Chris yelled.

You stumble over a piece of debris, bracing your hand on a support beam to catch your fall. You only touch the rotting wood for a second. But a second is all it takes. The beam splits clean in half.

“Ahh!”Nicky screamed.

Bits of rock and splintered wood rain down as the mineshaft collapses around you.

“Nicky! Look out! “Chris yelled.

Chris shoves you out of the way as a large section of tunnel crashes down on top of him.

Oh, God. Chris! He just got crushed.

“Chris! Say something! Anything”...Nicky yelled.

A dry cough rises from the debris.

“Chris!”, Nicky screams.

Nicky? Are you hurt? Chris asked warmly.

“No. No, I’m fine. But you just got crushed! It’s a miracle you’re alive. Are you okay?”Nicky answered with concern.

“I’ve been better.” Chris answered with slight smile. He coughs again, and you begin to panic.

He... he just saved my life. It’s my fault that this happened. Now he’s hurt and we’re trapped.

“Oh, Chris... I’m sorry. This is all my fault. I should have listened to you, but I panicked. I could have gotten us both killed.” Nicky sobbingly answered.

Nicky slump, feeling her shoulders hunch in defeat.

“Nicky, it’s okay.” Chris’s voice strangely calm despite the situation. “I’m just glad you’re all right. That was a close call, hm?”.

“You should be furious! I literally caused a mine to collapse. And I followed you in here like an idiot. All you’ve done since we met was act kind and offer to help me.” Nicky answered sadly.

It’s not your fault. I shouldn’t have frightened you. I... handled the situation badly.” Chris answered calmly.

“Well....it happens to the best of us. Are you hurt? “Nicky answered worried.

He shifts slightly under the rubble and winces.

“My left arm is broken. Right leg...might be. A few ribs are cracked, too, from the feel of it.” Chris answered in slight pain.

“How are you so calm about all that? Nicky answered with a worried look.

“Would panicking improve my situation? “Chris answered.

“No. I guess it wouldn’t. But maybe I can! Nicky answered. You clear away as much of the debris trapping Chris as you can, but.... “Damn it!, If I love these last pieces, it may cause another cave-in.”

“Okay. So, what you need to do now is go for help.” Chris answered.

“What? I can’t just leave you here!” Nicky answered freaking out.

“You’re going to have to, Nicky. It’s the only way.” Chris answered.

He’s right. He’s totally pinned and I can’t free him alone, not without risking both our lives again.

“All right. I’ll find a way out and call 9-1-1 the second I have a signal again. I’ll bring the EMTs back for you.” Nicky answered with concern.

Damn, I dropped my flashlight in all the commotion.

Nicky finds the flashlight amid a pile of human bones.

I guess this is who the skull belongs to...

“Hang in there, Chris . I’ll be back before you know it.” Nicky answered.

But the severity of the collapse means your rescue mission is over before it has a chance to begin.

“It’s no use. There’s no way out.” Nicky answered sadly.

“That’s... not ideal.” Chris answered.

You sink down onto the ground next to Chris. “I don’t know how we’re going to get out of this.” Nicky answered sadly.

“I don’t either. But we’ll worry about that in the morning. For now, you should try to get some sleep.”Chris answered.

“Sleep? But this cave is....creepy! Who knows what wild animals might be living in here? Plus, it’s... dark.”Nicky answered shockingly.

“You’re afraid of the dark?” Chris answered with a smirk.

“I know it’s stupid.” Nicky answered.

“It isn’t stupid at all. Everyone has things they’re afraid of. What matters is how we deal with the things that frighten us.”Chris answered.

You lean back, supporting your weight on your hands. Your hand brushes Chris’s.

I can’t believe he risked his life for me. I should thank him for saving my life.

You interlace you’re fingers with his.

“Thank you. For saving my life. I’m sorry I got you into this.”Nicky spoken softly.

Chris squeezes your hand warmly. “I’ve...well, no, I can’t honestly say I’ve had worse. But for what it’s worth, Dr. Nicky Ransom, I cant think of anyone I’d rather be trapped in a collapsed mine with.” Chris answered warmly.

“Oh yeah? Not even someone strong enough to get you both out of here?” Nicky answered.

“Oh, obviously I’d prefer to be stuck with that person. I didn’t realize that was an option.” Chris answered.

Despite the situation, you burst into giggles. You stroke your thumb softly over his knuckles.

“I’m glad I’m in here with you, too. But let’s remember to bring Superman with us the next time we go spelunking.” Nicky answered.

Chris smiles wryly. “Not to make this all about me, but I hope this is adequate cause to take me off your suspect list. I would never dream of hurting you or Denise, Nicky. Never.” Chris answered warmly.

“That’s not what we need to be thinking about right now, Chris. Nicky answered.

“But it’s what I’m thinking about. Please, Nicky. I need you to believe me. Chris answered.

“I...believe you. I really do. I’m sorry it took me so long.” Nicky answered.

Chris nods solemnly. “Get some sleep, Nicky.” Chris answered.

As if on cue, your eyelids grow heavy. You stifle a yawn. Chris holds out his free arm.

“Here , we’ll stay warmer if we lie close together.” Chris answered warmly.

I am really feeling the cold now that the adrenaline’s starting to wear off. And Chris must be In so much pain. He could use any physical comfort I can provide right now. I think I’ll.... get close to him.

You snuggle up to Chris as best you can, and he wraps his arm around you.

“Don’t get any ideas, mister.” Nicky answered.

“I couldn’t act on them even if I did.” Chris answered warmly.

You bury your nose in his neck, inhaling his warm, comforting scent. You’re getting sleepier by the second.

I shouldn’t be getting this tired this fast. What’s...what’s happening?

You yawn widely.

“Sleep, Nicky.” Chris answered.

You feel him press a soft kiss to the top of your head, and you feel strangely warm, like a strange spell has fallen over you.

“Everything will be better in the morning.” Chris answered.

Yes. Yes, everything will be better in the morning...

You drift off to sleep, snug against Chris’s warm body.

You wake alone and naked in the dark.

“Chris!, Where are you? “ Nicky answered in shock.

The echo of you own voice is the only response. Then it dawns on you...

I’m dreaming. This isn’t real. But...it feels so real. How am I so aware?

Just how aware am I in this dream? Maybe I can....see in the dark.

You wish for the light, and suddenly, just like that...

Oh. I’m lucid dreaming. Wow.

You move through the cave, trying to find a way out.

I think I see the exit up ahead. But...wait. Something’s out there.

You can’t see the predators outside the cave, but you sense them. You hear their faint footfalls. You smell their rank breath.

They’re waiting for me. If I set foot outside, I wrong be safe. But if I stay here, I’ll. Be trapped forever. I know it. Am I brave enough to face what’s outside? Yes. I’m sick of hiding.

You tell yourself and step outside the cave...only to find yourself falling.

“Ahh!” Nicky screamed.

You plummet downwards screaming in terror. A gaping void rushes up to meet you.

Wait, this my dream! Maybe I can control it! I’m going to.. fly!

You spread your arms and soar!

This is amazing!

Suddenly you’re in a beautiful open field, watching everything around below

I wonder if I can fly to the moon!

You zoom toward the moon’s bright, glowing face.

“Nicky...” The voice comes from somewhere beneath you.

Who’s calling for me? It’s coming from that fire down below. I should check it out.

You glide back down, your feet landing softly on warm earth.

“Nicky...come closer. “

“Who are you? What do you want? Nicky answered.

“Don’t be afraid, Nicky.”

The voice is deep and velvety seeming to caress your bare skin. You shiver despite the warmth of the flames.

A fry? No, I’m not afraid. I feel.. intrigued. I wonder who’s waiting for me in the shadows...

“Yes...Come to me”.

You step forward, into the flames.

They don’t burn. Somehow I knew they wouldn’t...

“Yes. That’s the way.” The flames swirl up abruptly coalescing before your eyes into the shape of a man. “Nicky..”

No...not a man. A god.

The fire god spreads his arms wide. “Embrace me, Nicky.”

You move back, afraid. You remember the painting in Chris’s house. You remember the book you saw. “Nicky..”

Then the flames disappear reveal...

“Chris?”

“Come to me, Nicky.” Chris answered.

Well, why not? It’s just a dream, right?

You obey and float over to him. As soon as you do, his lips capture yours in a searing kiss, and the fire envelopes him again. Each expert stroke of his tongue stokes the flame of you lust higher.

Oh..

“Yes. Feel me...”Chris answered deeply.

Flames rise up to lick at your body, circling your nipples and delving between your legs.

“Oh!” Nicky squealed.

It isn’t enough. Desire courses through every inch of your body.

“Please...I need more.” Nicky answered deeply.

“I know what you need.” Chris answered.

The flames lick inside you like tongues, circling every part of you. Then, you feel him. His hard member against your entrance.

“Here, Nicky.” Chris whispers deeply.

You gasp as he plunges inside you, his white-hot flesh burning deliciously.

“Yes..” Chris whispers in your ear.

Molten pleasure courses through your body.

“Oh God, I think I’m going to...”Nicky whimpered.

“Go on, Nicky. Come.”. Chris answered.

Climax wracks your body.

“Ah!” Nicky screamed.

“Yes, Nicky...Nicky....”Chris answered.

Gouts of flame engulf you, enveloping your body. You Burt front from the fire wreathed in the brilliant plumage of a Phoenix.

“Oh!” Nicky yelled in excitement.

You surge up out of the darkness into the brilliant blue sky above.

“The sun! I bet I can reach it!” Nicky yelled out.

You careen toward the blazing star, but as soon as you come within reach...

My wings! They’re melting! No!

Your body plummets down, down, down.... until you’re swallowed up by the darkness.

Tags: @denisemarieangelina @joannaliceevans-fanficblog @patzammit @ohmy-captain @thatgirly81 @katiew1973 @jms358 @daliaevans @trishevans @branflakes82 @mizcaptainphoenix @littlefiercequeen @shellbilee @shreyaaaaaaaaaaaa @wintrcaptn @star-spangled-beard-burn @worksby-d @waywardodysseys @comebackandhauntme21 @americasass91 @amazon-x @my-favorite-fics-and-imagines @shadowcatsworld @tropicalcap @trottae17 @kelbabyblue @southerngracela @kellyn1604 @nbarnes @kirstie-evans-writes @chris-butt @kailyndavillier @what-is-your-plan-today @captain-rogers-beard @captainchrisstan @captaincrazyexlover @twittytelly @gothamlovr91 @lovinevans @luvinchris @thinkxlovexloud @nomadevans82 @thatsxamericasxass @ok-buchanan @deidrashouseofpain @denissjmaddox @xlanawriter @pine-fresh-kirk @bellaireland1981 @brilliantkey

If I missed any tags again tumblr won’t let me ...ugh sorry. Hugs 🤗💙👍

[normal-thoughts-official]

Pls talk about Alec and Magnus reuniting in Edom and Magnus just RUNNING to him and hugging him so hard Alec stumbles a little and then hugs him back real tight and they just stand there in each other's arms for a hot minute

I mean........ first of all, thank you harry shum jr for my rights. he really sold all the emotion in that scene. the way he pauses like he believes he was hallucinating, the way his eyes widen, and then he just half runs, half skips, half leaps at alec like his brain is still catching up with him and he doesnt know how to react, or how to fucking walk, and then when they hug he keeps grabbing at him and pulling him closer??????????????? to make sure hes really there???? because he cant believe this??? the way he opens his mouth like hes about to argue when alec tells him hes staying in edom, but then just shakes his head in disbelief and stares at him in awe????????? bitch

magnus really didnt believe they were coming for him. before that, lilith says that their friends left him to rot, and he doesnt argue; he looks slightly hurt but resolute (thank u harry shum jr for my rights can u believe what a great actor this guy is???? ugh) because he chose this, and hes gonna protect his friends. he chose to go to edom fully believing that he wouldnt be rescued, that he would be stuck in there, the place he hates the most, the place that's filled with memories of torture and abuse, alone, a destiny so awful to him that when asmodeus offered to help him in exchange for him going to edom he chose to give up his magic instead, knowing full well this would make him severely depressed and also take away his immortality.

Ive said it before and I'll say it again, i dont think magnus truly understood how much alec loved him until that moment. not because Alec hasnt shown it, but because he cant really understand such a full, beautiful, selfless love; not when its directed towards him, because hes used to being the one that gives; he sacrifices himself constantly for the well-being of others, its what he does the most in the whole series. himself, his magic, his immortality, his mental health, and then ultimately his whole life and freedom. hes used to it; hes full of love to give, and he doesnt prioritise himself, and hes an abuse victim whos been told many times thats how love will go for him. that he'll be the one left behind, that he's too much to handle, that at the end of the day he's alone

but alec comes back for him. without a second thought. he throws everything out of the window, doesnt even cook up a decent plan (become a vampire and stay with him in edom forever? seriously? that's ur brilliant idea?), is willing to leave behind his life, his job to which hes dedicated his whole life, his family and friends, all to be with magnus. he barely sleeps in his desperation to get back to him, and the one thing that keeps him grounded is the damn ring.

alec is the opposite of magnus in their reunion; his steps are big and fast, hes focused, hes marching to magnus like hes just gonna burst through whatever tries to come between them. when they hug, he grabs him steadily and holds him close, to make sure magnus is protected; and he smiles with so much relief in his face, like finally, finally he can breathe, because hes with magnus and that's all that matters (thank u matt daddario for my rights)

where magnus is all uncertainty, alec is certainty; theres no hesitation because he knows full well what he wants, what he needs to do: get to magnus. and magnus thought he would be left behind. magnus thought he'd be stuck in edom forever. magnus thought he'd never see alec, or his friends, or the light of day again. magnus thought he was going crazy when alec showed up, because he had no idea alec loved him enough to sacrifice something for him in return, no idea alec would choose him and give him back when he selflessly threw away his entire fucking life.

and dont even get me started on the implications that has for the whole proposal scene, idk if magnus realized at the last minute that that was the only way or if he just wanted to make up with alec and have something to remember him by when he was stuck in literal fucking hell. all i know is that i cry, and thank u alec for loving magnus like he deserves, for showing him that he's worth it, that he deserves to be pursued and fought for, that he's not destined to be left behind like camille told him and that he doesnt have to keep sacrificing himself because theyre in this together and magnus matters. in short malec are soulmates and harry is a fucking amazing magnus and also im crying

[areiton]

Fic Recs

I feel like it’s been forever??? Sorry, darlings, life has been insane. But here. Have some fic recs. 

Attachments by Lissandiane (MCU | Winterhawk)

Bucky is an expert at taking care of Steve, who is small and angry and prone to getting sick. He keeps chicken noodle soup in the freezer, a spare inhaler in his backpack, and is always there to finish the many, many fights he starts.

He doesn't know how to take care of Clint, though. And he really, really wants to.

 Always Welcome by Tuesday (MCU | Starker)

In which Peter starts college, accidentally gets drunk, continues to deal with the fallout from Infinity Wars, and falls into a relationship with Tony Stark.

—

"No hospitals," Peter insisted. "I'm just—calling a friend. To come get me."

 Winter Wooer by Fakesheep-luna (MCU | Winteriron)

Winter may not be the most pleasant guy to live or share your body with, but he isn't nearly as destructive as everybody expected him to be either. He likes to brood in the corners, watch British TV, and freak people out. And Tony. He really, really likes Tony Stark. There's just one problem – Bucky's pretty sure he doesn't feel the same way about the guy.

The only thing you need to know about this story is that no matter how much you like winteriron, you'll never ship them as much as Steve ships them here

 Two Solitudes by emungere (Hannigram)

  After the fall, Will drags Hannibal out of the Atlantic and they find their way north to a remote part of Labrador, where they try to make a life together.

 Complications by flawedamythyst (MCU | Winterhawk)

Clint's got a plan to retire and go find himself a simple life at his family's old farm. Simple is good, right? Easy to remember. Simple is why he doesn't really mind that his soul-print has never activated, because a soulmate could only add another layer of complexity to his life.

And then the Winter Soldier turns up at his archery range on the Avengers base, and simple slips through Clint's fingers.

Post Age-of-Ultron (minus Clint's wife&kids) Soulmate AU.

Massive thanks to Chucksauce for betaing.

 Occupational Hazard by aloneintherain (MCU | Irondad)

Peter flaps a hand in the air, grasping for words. All he’s left with is the thought that’s been running through his head all night: “There was this dilapidated building out near Hell’s Kitchen, rotted all the way through, and I kept staring at it and thinking, This thing could go down at the smallest breeze.” Peter gestures at the roof over their head. “Even this apartment could go down easily enough.”

May rubs his hand. “Buildings don’t just collapse, Peter. Did something happen to make you worried about that?”

Peter shakes his head. He doesn’t ever give her details. He doesn’t tell her about the intimate, gnawing kind of horror that came with being trapped beneath a collapsed building and knowing no one was coming to save you; the way it felt like his bones were being ground into the damp cement; how he’d felt small and very soft, and how his thoughts keep going over the components of a building—rusted metals, long nails strong enough to jut through cement—and how that might’ve pierced him if he’d moved wrong, like a fork pulled through slow cooked meats.

 (Peter learns to cope and communicate with the people around him, post-Homecoming.)

 Nameless by AvaKelly (MCU | Winterhawk)

A gun is pointed at him before he can even move from his position, the Soldier's metal arm steady in its aim. Clint sighs.

"Nemo," Clint says. "It's tattooed on your wrist, right here," he lifts his right hand and taps his left index finger where his palm ends.

The Soldier's eyes widen. "How do you know this?"

"I put it there."

 Looking at You by NotEvenCloseToStraight (MCU | Winteriron)

Bucky doesn't understand why no one ever says anything about Tony's PTSD. A year after they have all come back, after they all hugged and made up, Tony is still jumping anytime someone speaks to him. His hands shake when Steve raises his voice. All he does is work and drink and apologize for being around. And nobody notices except Bucky, because he is looking. Constantly. Watching Tony as he goes through his day to day. Bucky looks and LOOKS, until he is having a hard time even wanting to look away from short spiky hair that begs to be mussed, deep brown eyes that always looks so sad, and perfect lips that Bucky just wants to kiss forever. Bucky looks for so long that now all he wants to do is touch and hold and fix everything. But Tony can barely be in the same room as Bucky, cant even look him in the eye. So Bucky doesn't know what to do about Tony, but he is determined to do something. Because all he wants is to look at Tony, and see Tony looking back with a smile.

(re-editing and dividing into chapters)

A Street Corner in Cambridge by NarutoRox (MCU | Winteriron)

Tony sucked in a sharp breath, heart pounding in his ears, and looked up at his savior.

“Are you alright?” he asked in a tone much softer than Tony had expected, grip tightening around Tony as he pulled him further away from the street.

~

In which Bucky is actually Tony's long-lost college sweetheart, and these two knuckleheads take a ridiculously long time figuring out they're still perfect for each other.

From these prompts: Because new. Clintasha has Budapest. Can I have Tony & Winter Soldier have their own secret story about Budapest (or place of choice )that doesn't become known until Steve introduces Bucky to the Avengers. & Inspired by Shadow and a Dancer by the Fray. Bucky knew Tony when Tony was in College. Bucky was on a mission that lasted 7 months when he met Tony by accident and they fell in love. Buck was Tony’s first, but then he was mind wiped and Tony was heartbroken he disappeared. Now Bucky is starting to remember and Tony is wanting to give in again. But he’s in a relationship with Bruce (or someone) and its not fair. I would really prefer it not have an ending of a 3way. Tony chooses Bucky in the end.

 What do you mean we left clint on Mars? By sara_holmes (MCU | Winterhawk)

“What do you mean we left Clint on Mars?”

Cap’s incredulous voice cuts through the stunned silence of the cockpit, loud and shocked. He’s standing there with his cowl in hand, gaping at the holo-screen at the front of the jet. Next to him, Tony is standing with his hands on his head, mouth hanging open in a similar fashion. Over on the other side of the cockpit is Jane, who has both palms clapped across her mouth like she’s trying to hold back hysterical giggles.

For his part, Bucky is just staring at the screen like he can’t quite believe what’s going on.

[feel199x]

 gang!au, gang member!han jisung, florist!reader, underground band!au

chapters: I II III IV V VI VII VIII IX X masterlist

warnings: angst and themes of abuse and trauma

🌸 a/n: i actually finished this fic, and it’ll be up in my queue to post over the weekend! it’s kind of exciting to be finally finishing this fic! a hint  for the next chapter is at the end!! hehe

🌸 song rec: arsonist’s lullaby

Your eyelids were still heavy when you awoke. In front of you, though your eyes still blurry you made out a flower vase. You tried to move, suddenly desperate to feel the petals against your fingertips. Even though they were azaleas, petunias, globe amarths, carrot flowers, and asphodels- all dressed in a void black vase. You knew what it meant, you knew what it threatened. But you found your arms sore, propped up and irritated from the handcuffs that hung from the ceiling. As you looked down, your head getting too heavy for your neck to support, you found yourself surrounded eglantines, lemon and peach blossoms, lungworts, phlox, and red rose petals. You couldn’t help but let out a choked sob, your wrists burning, the metal digging into your skin. You arms stayed propped up, but the numb feeling began to spread through your body. You didn’t even look up as he came in, even as he made sure to slam the door shut.

“You know why you’re in here?” You didn’t answer, your voice all used up from crying. You could feel his fingers on your jaw, propping your face up so you could look straight up at him. You couldn’t make his face out completely, your vision blurred but not fading. There were already bruises there you knew, and he pressed down on them further. “Do you? I try so hard to control myself, and here you are, still acting up.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Are you? I should just leave you here, let you learn your lesson.”

His thumb rested against your chin, looking at you intently- what could almost be mistaken as sympathy. It was deja vu, sitting there like a doll. “But I can’t resist you, can I?” No, you guess he couldn’t. That was the funny thing, right? He couldn’t expect to, how could he resist these primal urges? He talked and talked about nothing, and you were glad that you couldn’t pay attention to his words anyway, mind foggy and complacent. “I even brought you flowers. You didn’t have these in your shop, huh? So I got them. I’m a good husband.”

“Husband?”

“Good thing you’re pretty.” He got up, reaching over you and pulled something off your, well, ring finger. “See that? That cost more than your stupid shop.”

Stupid shop.

He slipped it back on, sitting back down next to you as he continued to talk.

“How long,” you paused, voice weak and raspy, quiet, “has it been?”

He seemed surprised by your question, eyebrows digging into his forehead in sudden anger. He got up and paced around the cramped room, not even bothering to watch him as you stared down at your own clothes- crinkled and dirty. “Why do you care?” he seethed, “I could treat you better than he ever could. A low-level drug dealer and a shitty, amateur rapper. Do you see lover boy here? No, you don’t. ‘Cause he’s dead.”

You let out a small gasp, tears brimming at the corners of your eyes and you looked at him. “What did you do?” you weeped, “Please- please, please tell me what you did.” His pacing came to a stop as he looked at you, face contorted with anger. “I got my co-workers to shoot him and friends dead, that’s what I did. Because you’re mine. Always and forever.”

You didn’t know what was true and what wasn’t- he couldn’t exactly be trusted. You grew impulsive, angry with him. Jisung would never, Jisung could never. He wasn’t that type of person- he could never take advantage of people, he could never keep something like that from of you. And here your captor was, smothering ash over Jisung’s name. But you knew he wasn’t lying about shooting Jisung and his friends, even if you didn’t want to believe it. He had tried the same thing with your family back then too. You felt guilty, at fault like you were the one behind the trigger. Anger bubbled like sparkling in your throat like bubbling water, steaming with impulsivity.

“You should kill me too then. I’d rather rot in the ground next to Jisung than spend another second looking at you.”

You knew your goal should’ve been to play the long game, especially after your failed attempt some time ago. How long has it been? You weren’t sure, there weren’t any windows in the room- and the white painted walls burned into your eyes. If you made him angry now, it would only take longer to gain his trust, but the damage was already done- you could feel the blood pouring out of the back of your head. You might’ve been dying, but you didn’t really care. You couldn’t even feel the pain from the hit from the adrenaline, so you continued to push your luck. Because it was true, Jisung had kept you going, your shop had kept you going. How would you ever be able to look another flower without seeing his face?

“He loved me better than you ever did and he didn’t even ask me to be his lover yet. Lover boy is better than you even dream about.”

It wasn’t like you to speak out of your turn, especially with the looming threat of death. You were too far gone, the warmth of blood streaming down your back. The bruises on your jaw from your grip deepening in color as his grip tightened, yelling some nonsense.

Still, even as he looked into your eyes, his breath hot on you- all you could think about was Jisung. How could you not? Your mind swam through melancholy memories.

You were in his arms tonight. His arms drooped over your shoulder, his head pressed against yours- lips brushing against your jaw as he whispered commentary about the movie you were watching. You were leaning against his chest, feeling his heart beat against your back. Knees propped up as his legs circled around you.

“I love you,” he murmured, “probably more than like, shrek.”

“I would hope so, shrek doesn’t feed you,” you paused, “But I love you too.”

And it was true, but you were unsure of the extent of your infatuation and devotion he was refering to. You wanted to say you were in love with him, but it was too much of a risk. If you scared him off now, who would come by your flower shop to spend time with you? Who would carry you off your bed during the weekends just to go to the convience store. Who would wrap arms and limbs around you and sing you to sleep at night after nightmares, after remembering? Did it even matter? You’ve never felt like this before, the only thing that came close was your devotion was your flowers. Maybe it should’ve scared you, that suddenly there was someone with so much importace to you, on the same level as the only thing that got through the Incident. You turned your head, the side pressed against Jisung’s chest. His arms moved to wrap around you waist, tightening around you. Your nose was touching his, lips only a breath away- but he was crying.

“Jisung,” you said softly, “Why are you crying? You chose this movie.”

“Do you think people in love will always end up together?”

You laced your hands in his, intertwining the both of them. “Of course,” you whispered, “Love finds a way.”

You thought it would happen then, his lips practically on top of yours- but it didn’t. He turned from you, his adam’s apple bobbing up and down- something caught in his throat. “Even if the person lied?”

“I guess it depends on the ‘sung. As long as it wouldn’t change your perception of the person in a way that hurt the relationship too much, I think they could make it.”

“What if it did? What if the person wasn’t as good as you thought they were?”

“Sung, is something going on? You can talk to me, I’ll always be here for you. No matter what.”

“You can’t. I can’t. We can’t.”

“Sung,” You cupped his face, making him look at you. You turned around, and his embrace loosened but remained around your waist. “I love you. You’re my best friend. I love you more than my shop. I promise that I always will, no matter the circumstances. You’re a good person, I know that. I promise, I pinky-promise.” You held up your pinky, and he brushed away his tears wrapping his finger around yours.

You don’t remember exactly what he had said before he left, something about a band dropping out of the club he played at. He had gotten a call and gathered his things almost immediately. You offered to go with him, you always wanted to see him live with his fans but he always refused. He said that it wasn’t your scene, and all grimy- it wasn’t somewhere you should be, not a play for someone pure as you. But you didn’t feel pure and insisted that he was the purer of you two. But it didn’t matter, when Jisung’s mind was set, it was set. He kissed your forehead, and before the door close he wrapped his pinky around yours without another word.

And then Jisung disappeared again.

It wasn’t the first time, but it was one of the longest. The days dragged on, the day having to pull and drag the night up into the sky. Even the sky’s star shined dimly, there only because of obligation. Ever since you started making arrangements back home at your mother’s flower store, you never liked roses much. But now you were starting to understand people’s obsession with them. It was an iconic symbol of love, everyone’s go-to, and you supposed there was a good reason for that. Its smell was sickeningly sweet, and the petals like velvet. You started getting letters in the mail. It happened every day. And even though you were flattered, you began to get worried. Worry arising.

After four months, you finally saw Jisung again. He kept somewhat in contact, but he had been busy. There were two months with complete radio silence, and one night you saw news coverage of shots fired in a car chase. You hadn’t put two and two together then, not even as you saw Jisung slightly limp as he moved around your store. You remember being conflicted about asking him, but as he kept telling you about his stories featuring his group members, you got lost.

That’s the night it all happened.

But before that, way before that. Maybe it really was love at first sight.

After the hose incident, you found Jisung lingering around your store until closing time. He had brought sweets every day for two weeks until you invited him back up to your apartment.

“Thank god,” he groaned, “My grandmother said if it didn’t work this time, she was going to interfere. Jokes on her, though, I’ve been stealing sweets forever.”

You laughed, getting bold after closing the shop and tugging at his wrist as you pulled him up the metal spiral stairs. “I would be more worried about Minho,” you teased, “you’d better not be slacking off during practice or he’ll chew you out.”

“Ew, ugh! Don’t remind me.”

“So, um,” you looked down, “What do you want to do?”

“Can I pick a movie?”

He had chosen a romance movie, you could’ve gone to the theater instead, but he insisted that he would pay you back for the fee- and that going to the theater would never be better than streaming at home. You didn’t mind romance movies, they were fun to watch. But during the less tense parts of the movies, you could feel yourself falling asleep and before you knew it your head was on his shoulder. If you were less sleepy, you would’ve freaked out as he pulled you closer is fingers lightly drawing shapes on your hips. You awoke when you felt Jisung’s chest heave and you looked up to see him crying. It was the first time you saw Jisung cry, and it broke your heart.

“Jisung, are you okay? We can change the movie if it’s too much…”

“No! Sorry, it’s just…”

“It’s just?”

“I don’t think there’s anything more beautiful than love. I’m going to have a love like this one day. And I can’t wait. Thinking about makes me cry.”

 You were awake now. Eyes glazed over, still heavy with exhaustion and sleep. The blood down your back had dried now, you could feel your hair all bunched together and sticky with the flaky dried and blood. It was throbbing, pulsing almost- the headache was unbearable. How long has it been? How long would it be? You tried moving your legs, a numb static began to make you grow in discomfort. It was for the better though, because otherwise you would’ve felt the rope digging in and around your ankles. It was hard, you had to press your wrists further against the cuffs in order to help yourself. It was awkward, like a baby learning how to walk. It must’ve been hours when you stood there, the feeling finally returning to your legs. Your arms were relieved with the ability to relax, even if they were in an awkward position. They were still strung up, but at least your upper arm could relax.

The flowers in the room had been replaced, but the petals around you were starting to become crisp and brown. Alstroemerias, altheas, arbutus, red and yellow balsams, Japanese rose, jumpers, and kalmias. It made you shiver with disgust and fear. Where was he getting these flowers? Was he going back to your shop? 

You collapsed suddenly, your legs caving in on yourself. Your wrists pulled at harshly as your knees hit the floor. Have you eaten? You couldn’t have, how long has it been? Your stomach began to turn, you were hungry, but that was the least of your worries. Was Jisung really dead? What about his friends, Minho, Chan and everyone else? Were they dead too? How were you to expected to live with yourself, knowing you had brought his misfortune on all of them? If they were alive, how could you expect them to forgive you for the mess you had made? You couldn’t, and you would have to live with the guilt of hurting Jisung for the rest of your life. Because you knew it was dangerous, falling in love with someone knowing that it could be turned against you at any moment- but you did anyway. And now you had dug your own grave. Thoughts were growing difficult to form, the space growing through your coherent thoughts. All you could was feel.

How much time has passed? Months? Weeks? Days? Hours? Minutes? All you knew was white. You could see the walls fill in the spots in your vision. It was irrational, but you began to hate the white painted walls. The lack of color was draining you, except for the vase in front of you. You wanted to kick it, destroy it completely- you wanted to move and release everything- every emotion and irrational thought boiling with impulsivity in your head. The only thought going through your head, getting louder and louder, blocking the diminishing number of coherent thoughts.

Jisung is dead.

Jisung is dead.

Jisung is dead.

Jisung is dead.

Jisung is dead.

Jisung is dead.

You cried, even as dehydrated as you were. Your voice was raspy, and you couldn’t even speak words of comfort to yourself. You couldn’t remember, you couldn’t make them out.”It’s…going….to...be...okay.” Maybe it was pathetic but you were the only one you could lean on. You couldn’t hang on to the hope that someone was going to rescue you, especially if the only people you were dead- or angry because of the mess you had caused.

“Have you learned your lesson?”

You looked up, vision spotty and glazed with tears, and nodded desperately. You were mad at yourself for giving in so easily. “You’re pretty like this, “ he cooed, “All broken down and desperate.” He stroked your hair, fingers getting caught in your bloodied hair. “I bet you’re hungry, hm? I’m not going to let you go, so you’re going to have to let me feed you. I’d hate to have to...well, you know.”

You wish you didn’t.

 It felt like you were giving in as you ate, the food dry and difficult to swallow. He sat there for a while. The water he made you drink missed your mouth and streamed down your neck. You sat there, helpless, unable to clean yourself. “What a pretty mess,” he murmured, “What a pretty mouth. Just for me.” You hated him, you did. You hated him like forest fire, like the damage of a natural disaster. He disgusted you, he was disgusting- time and time again, he had taken everything that mattered to you. And he won. You felt pathetic, useless. Jisung was dead, dead and gone and you felt like it was all your fault. It made you shake, your heart thumping against your ribcage, begging to get out.

His phone rang, the ringtone burning in your ear. “Yes… I told you...Just get it...Dead.” He must’ve heard you lean against the metal cuffs, because he got up. He smiled, using his thumb to wipe the water off your lips. You were beginning to panic again, maybe it was a small chance that he was talking about Jisung and stray kids, but any chance was big enough to get worried. Before he closed the door, before you could give a second thought: “Help me take..a bath. Please.” Even with your soft, raspy and broken voice, it was enough to get his attention. Words were getting harder to form, it was getting to harder to even think- but you had to warn them, even if you don’t know what the danger was. Because if the call was about them, some of them were alive- and that meant you could clean up some of your mess, or at least make up for it. He ended the call quickly, uncuffing you. You arms immediately dropped, hands slamming against the floor.

“I knew you would come around. But you’d better behave. I don’t care if I have to hurt you to keep you complacent.” You watched as he pulled at your legs, untying the rope that kept your legs together. You struggled to get up, so he opted to carry you, throwing you over his back. It hurt your eyes to be flooded with color as he carried you to the bathroom. The bath ran and you sat in the warm water, he was watching you as he sat on the toilet cover. The feeling was returning to your body as the water in the filling bathtub lapped against you. “Help...me.” You didn’t want him to touch you, you never wanted to feel his fingers brush against your bare skin. You didn’t trust him, and you never would. Especially not after he did, or tried to do with Jisung. But more than anger, you felt guilt. It was overwhelming, contradictory feelings making your head spin even more. You shuddered as you felt the soap against your back.

“I missed you,” he murmured, “I’ve been searching for you for so long, waited for you so long.”

You swallowed hard, biting your lip as he continued. “I watched you for months. I wanted to take you and carry you away in the night, but I wanted to make him watch. He needed to know you were mine.” You felt hot water pour over your head, the bathtub becoming decorated in a red tint. “I almost gave up, I thought I had lost you completely. But then I saw you with lover boy. I wanted to kill him right there, I wanted to kill everyone but you. He gave a good fight though, beat the shit out of me. But guess who’s dead and who’s got the love?” He laughed at that, massaging something into your hair and picking at the flecks. You felt your wound burn and you moved to cover it, but he slapped your hand away. “Me. I won. You’re all mine, and if I ever see him again. I’ll kill everyone. I’m the only one who loves, okay? Not Jisung, not anyone else. You’re mine.” You heard him murmur that again and again. “I love you, you’re mine, mine.” You brought your knees to your chest, glad that the water hid the fact that you were crying. He didn’t push you to get up though, at least he was that decent. You watched as the red water swirled down the drain. He left and brought a towel, and your dress was clean and pressed. He sat on the toilet cover again, watching in case you wanted to pull something again.

This time you walked, content with being able to feel your weight shift as you walked. You knew this feeling, what it felt like to be completely devoid of basic powers. He led you back to the room, watching the phone in his back pocket. As you entered the room, you took an interest in the flowers. They were beautiful, despite what they meant. It was the only color in the white void of a room, and it mocked you. Your fingers caressed the petals, and the smell was haunting. Your heart was beating again, and you did your best to keep your face blank.

“Aren’t they nice? I got them just for you. You don’t even know what they mean, do you?

“No...tell me.”

“Nah. It’s a secret just for me.”

He moved to set up your ties again, and you got up, legs wobbling with a slight shake as your grip around the black vase tightened. It was now or never. It didn’t happen in slow motion- you knew that wasn’t possible. But you watched as the vase shattered against the back of his head, falling, bursting into tiny pieces as the flowers fell to his feet and he toppled. You knew there was no way he would be down for long, so you fished the phone out of his pockets. You panicked as you ran around the large house, searching for a room to hide in the meanwhile. His phone was locked, but you saw the screen unlock as you typed in your anniversary. You didn’t know where you were, a random room with various boxes. You slide the closet door open, met with the smell of mothballs but you entered anyway. There was a lot of stuff, and you piled things on top of you as you typed Jisung’s number.

It fell to voicemail, and you felt tears well up in your eyes.

“Jisung….it’s me….don’t have time, please...he’s send..ing...someone. Be safe..please...I’m in love.... with you. I’m sorry.”

You ended the call, typing in the emergency number.

“What’s your emergency?”

“I’m trapped...abducted.”

“Do you know where you are?”

“No.”

“Okay, stay calm okay? Please stay on the line as long as you can.”

“Can’t..he’s coming. Oh god, I’m as good...as dead.”

“Can you tell me his name please?”

“_____”

“____, as in the gang leader?”

“Yes.”

“I need you to stay on the line okay. Do you remember where you last were?”

“Boseong, my shop...flower shop..mirror.”

You heard the door slam open and the closet door slide open with a large creak.

“Sweetheart? Are you still there? Sweetheart, stay on the line. Is he in the room-?”

“Caught.”

azaleas: fragility

petunias: your prescense soothes me

globe amaranths: immortality, unfading love

carrot flowers: do not refuse me

asphodel in a black vase: death threat

eglatines: i wound to heal

lemon blossom: fidelity in love

peach blossom: i am your captive

lungworts: thou art my life

phlox: our souls are united, unanimity

alstroemerias: devotion

altheas: consumed by love

arbutus: love only for you

red balsams: touch me not, impatient resolve

yellow balsams: impatience

japanese rose: beauty is your only attraction

jumpers: asylum, aid, protection

kalmias: treachery

[maternalcube]

i did an art summary so now im doing a fic summary. i was tagged by @jamthedingus also!! ive never done one of these before!! lets go!!!

Rest (13106)

Keith & Lance's Island Adventure (20631)

Atlantis (10014 words)

The Way to a Man’s Heart (6858 words)

nobody's business (2096 words)

leave, and take (557 words)

dead girl walking (1661 words)

the course of fate (1039 words)

who ya gonna call (465 words)

come here often? (806 words)

til kingdom come (1950 words)

stars in the sky (pt 2) (5404 words)

a song of falling (630 words)

Eyes to the Sky (3683 words)

Feet on the Ground (4050 words)

Divergence (6669 words)

homecoming (1426 words)

Window of Opportunity (11144 words)

along that wilderness of glass (3801 words)

string theory (2327 words)

Katt Week (1062 words)

The Pining-Plant (3860 words)

at the end of many worlds (21684 words)

you're my home (19646 words)

Believe Me (3177 words)

Starchild (3568 words)

Summer Heat (2285 words)

third time's the charm (5349 words)

Blackbird (59546 words)

The Sixth Planet (9444 words)

all the infinite realities (1197 words)

Total Fics: 31! (plus one i posted anonymously lmao) Total Words: 229999! (except parts of string theory and the sixth planet were actually posted last year... but still, what a number)

more under the cut!

Ship/character breakdown: i didnt filter out my prompt collection or abandoned wips here so /shrug Ship breakdown:

klance - 6 sheith - 5 shance - 5 katt - 4 heith - 3 pallura - 2 and one each of plance, kallura, allurance, shatt, shkatt, kidge, kidgance, and shunk. and keiths parents lol. let it never be said i am not a multishipper.

and i know gen isnt a ship but it tied with klance at 6 (plus whatevers in the prompt collection) which was a surprise

Character breakdown: man if theres a way to get ao3 to show me ALL the stats, i dont know it. but.

keith - 25 (shocker) shiro - 23 lance - 21 pidge - 17 hunk - 16 allura - 12 matt - 12 and then coran and sam are at 4, and zarkon ats 3 and presumably many others are at 3 or less

Characters that had the main focus: well ~9 were from keiths pov, and ~5 each from shiro and lances povs. i think i also had ~5 from multiple points of view. its safe to say that keith has my heart tho lol

Specifics:

Best/worst title? Best title: i still like “at the end of many worlds.” i weirdly still like “Blackbird” too even if it has nothing to do with anything... Worst title: “Rest.” :/ also like all of the abandoned wips bc i didnt care. and “Keith & Lance's Island Adventure.″ some of my zine fic titles were also... bad. im bad at titles.

Best/worst first line?

Best: Keith & Lance's Island Adventure. ok the title is bad but this line? this really sets the tone for whole fic. you know what youre getting yourself into here.

When Pidge invited Keith to a fully-funded graduation party aboard the Holt family boat (“the smaller one, anyway,” she’d said), this is not exactly what he'd pictured: three of them standing on a wobbly dock, packed bags at their feet, sky cloudy and gray, while the Holt siblings stand on a little ledge off the back of the boat and deny entry.

Worst: ive got two for this lol

at the end of many worlds: even i have to read this a couple times to figure out what i was trying to say. at least you know youre in for pain...

Keith’s mother shows up to interrupt movie night often enough that, this time, Keith almost doesn’t realize anything’s wrong. Almost, because she’s silhouetted by the movie, but she’s clutching her arm and panting for breath, and in the thin edge of light around her he sees a wet and vibrant red.

Divergence: because all your friends being dead is EXACTLY like losing at dodgeball. yeah, theres a reason i abandoned this one.

Hunk always hated playing dodgeball. Not because he was bad at it--though he was--but because he always ended up the last one standing, and therefore the only target for the entire other team. It was due to a tendency to hang unnoticed in the back, he knew, but that didn't change the sickening, empty feeling of looking around and realizing there's no one left but him, and there's no way he can win. Only wait for the inevitable.

This, Hunk decides, is a lot like that, only, like, a billion times worse.

Best/worst last line?

Best: The Pining-Plant. there are a few others that were cute too but this one is also good out of context so

And then the pod swishes open and he's scrambling to catch Pidge as she stumbles out. She clings to his arms to steady herself and his heart swells.

"Falling for me again, huh?" he asks, and she groans loudly.

"Let me go, I'm getting back in the pod," she says, and he laughs. He doesn't let go, and neither does she.

Worst: if im bad at titles, im worse at endings. most are bad. i suspect the ending to “Rest” is terrible but i cant bring myself to even open that shit again so: Believe Me. if weather were a recurring theme in this fic, itd be fine, but as is its just... a weird note to end the fic on lmao

Hunk rocks back on his heels. "We aren't counting this as our official first date, right?"

"I dunno," Keith says, and now he smiles at the rain instead of frowning. It shows no sign of easing up, but whatever—they're soaked anyway. "This seems pretty good to me."

“...All right.” If nothing else, it’ll make a good story. And, Hunk had to admit—he’s pretty happy with how it’s turned out, rain and all.

But next time, he's double-checking the forecast, just in case.

General questions:

Looking back, did you write more fics than you thought you would this year, less than you thought, or about what you predicted?

more than i expected! considering ive been in grad school all year!! i wrote about the same amount wordcount-wise in 2017 which i spent only half in school so. idk how i managed it.

What pairing/genre/fandom did you write that you would never have predicted last year?

the anonymous fic was a surprise but im not gonna talk about that lol. otherwise... nah, its all been my usual stuff.

What’s your favorite story this year? Not the most popular, but the one that makes you the happiest.

blackbird, probably. i like working on that one. summer heat was also fun, id sort of forgotten about it bc it was a zine fic but coming back to it, i really liked it. likewise with third time’s the charm. and i like t6p a lot even if i kinda hate drawing for it :’)

Okay, NOW your most popular story.

depends on your metric. window of opportunity has the most kudos, keith and lance’s island adventure has the most hits, and t6p has the most comments and subscriptions. 

Story most underappreciated by the universe?

AT THE END OF MANY WORLDS. oh man i killed myself over that fic. it was important to me. but i think the mcd scared everyone off :’)

Story that could have been better?

i realize “all of them” is kind of a cop out answer but like

Sexiest story?

i have written nothing sexy, ever, in my whole life

Saddest story?

i mean, ateomw. considering all the death. blackbird def has its moments too.

Most fun?

i feel like i answered this in the favorite story q lmao. you’re my home also gets a shoutout, that thing was,, super self-indulgent lmao. and id be lying if i said i didnt have fun with parts of ateomw, even if its mostly sad.

Story with single sweetest moment?

man i write a lot of fluff but so much of you’re my home is just tooth-rotting. heres part of the proposal scene lmao

"Lance!" Keith yelps, barely rescuing the ring from falling into the sand with them. Lance pushes himself up on his arms, silhouetted by the sun and glowing with it.

"Really?" he asks breathlessly.

"Yeah," Keith says, and maybe he should've prepared something to say, that's a thing people do, right? Hell, he's winging it. "I know we can't stay here on Earth forever, 'cause we're paladins, and there's still stuff out there we gotta do. And I know you probably want to stay because this is your home—but you're my home, and if we gotta go, at least you'll have me, good or bad." He grins crookedly. "Or rocket science. Whatever happens, I'll be there."

Hardest story to write?

well t6p gets a shoutout, but its not the writing thats the hard part for that. uhhh ive struggled with parts of blackbird. i remember k&l’s island adventure giving me a LOT of trouble, i think i posted late lol

Easiest/most fun story to write?

anything short uhhh for all the infinite realities, i kind of just sat down the other day (actually i was in bed but) and was like “im gonna write this” and then in the morning i just sat down and wrote it in one go. i dunno if id call it fun, but it was easy. t6p is super fun to write but, as mentioned, drawing it sucks.

Did any stories shift your perceptions of the characters?

no... my perceptions probably have shifted but not due to anything i wrote in particular. i did talk myself into liking allurance with a prompt fill, though, but im not sure that was 2018...

Most overdue story?

all the infinite realities lmao. at the end of many worlds needed that happy ending. and another shoutout to t6p, because thats been going on over a year and im still nowhere.

Did you take any writing risks this year? What did you learn from them?

does posting my abandoned wips count? ive still got some of those hanging around... blackbird was a bit of a risk bc my last longfic was written while i was unemployed and out of school, so like i had the time for it, and now i kinda dont. still chugging tho. ateomw b/c of all the death but it turns out i really like writing whump woops. and writing any sort of kissing always feels like a risk bc i suck at it but im getting better lol... i hope...

What are your fic writing goals for next year?

write more! finish things! do more sheith! i really want to work on this sheith longfic i came up with the other day... but i want to get blackbird over with first.

Tagging: eh! do it if you want to!

[dementor1112]

my mother isn’t cancelled at least, i don’t think so

I can’t stop thinking about the first person to ever put radium into paint, imagining the years they might have spent in the lab, fiddling with chemicals, years in university and apprenticeship leading up to the culmination of a career, an invention that would become a household name, that would light up the dials on the planes that won the great war. I imagine their horror as the first stories came out, as cases went to trial and the newspapers wrote about young girls rotting from the inside out, the jaws falling out of their skulls, the realization that this was their life’s work: that all they’d built was poison. I’ve been thinking a lot about the young soldiers sent into war, kids that boarded their planes to the desert genuinely believing that they were liberating a people and precipitating a future of peace and democracy; I think about them realizing, having broken their minds and bodies for the cause, that the fruits of their labor would be chaos and terror and the disintegration of state after state, that they were means to the deaths of millions. Most of all, I’ve been thinking about my mother, about what haunts and consumes her, and the absolution that I wish I could provide but I cant.

I don’t want to talk about my childhood. I don’t want to talk about the things that made up the first decade and a half of my life, and I don’t think I need to. The details don’t matter. The story is universal, of the trauma that your family can cause you, or maybe it isn’t universal and it just feels that way. The story is about your immigrant parents, your families of color, and if not quite universal it’s something familiar enough to be immediately recognizable, for the shared dark jokes, the shared therapy-speak, the shared impossibility of reconciling all that our parents did for us with all that they did to us. But that’s not the story: the story is about being twenty four and learning how to love your family in a way that’s true to yourself.

I think there’s a journey a lot of us take: you love your family and you’re afraid of them, you love your family but you’re angry, you love your family but you slowly realize that what you had wasn’t just how things were and wasn’t normal. You love your family, but you start to slowly realize the extent to which it all affected you, the ways in which it warped you, you love your family but you discover again and again how much of the things inside your head that cause you pain, the things you do that you hate yourself for, the impulses and fears you can’t explain can all be traced back to them. You resent your family. To be able to heal, you allow yourself to be angry, to be told with clarity that it wasn’t your fault, that what you experienced was real; that your pain and trauma are is valid. You love your family, but you need distance to set and splint everything. And then you’re older and then you’re the age your parents were when they had you, and then your parents reveal themselves as broken battered adults with whom you feel a sense of kinship. You learn to love your family again, in a whole new way, or maybe you don’t. A lot of the time you don’t. I was lucky, I suppose. A lot of us never get to hear our parents own up to their mistakes or see them try to atone for their actions. I don’t want to pass up the chance at healing that offered us, for her sake and for mine.

My mother didn’t believe in psychiatry until I got diagnosed with bipolar disorder, and not for a while after. Mental illness is hereditary: she’s never seen a doctor and she’s never been diagnosed, but while I was trying to explain my illness to her I told her about what it was like to feel great crashing waves of despair that sucked the air out of my lungs, and as I detailed my thoughts she told me that hey, everyone gets those thoughts, don’t they? She was a high school dropout who married young, and remarried, and had us, and poured all of herself into us and perhaps didn’t know how. I don’t know if she had to fight the same mental horrors that I did, or if she had any help. I don’t want to justify the things she did wrong. I can’t justify them. I can’t reconcile the unambiguous way I’d feel about anyone else I’d heard did the same things to their children, and the way my own feelings toward her are all a set of storm-cloud grays. I don’t know whether it’s because we share the same blood, or whether I’d feel the same empathy for anyone else once I’d known and seen as much of their stories.

On the phone one night with swirling snow outside and the cold sinking into my bones I called my mother because I missed her and I told her things were hard. I don’t usually say this: when you’ve been living with your depression for all your life, saying “I’m alright” when someone asks you how you’re doing is a reflex. Either you really are fine, and in those moments you want to laugh at the question- obviously I’m fine, everything is great!- or you don’t want people to worry. But that night the darkness felt perched at the top of my bed, a senselessly cruel figure that felt as eternal as a god, waiting to take my hand and lead me to death. You know things are bad when you can feel him- whenever it manifests, I’ve always thought of it as a “him”, faceless but solid enough to feel the air move against my skin. The mainstream Islam my mother practices considers suicide forbidden, a route to eternal damnation. I can only see it as a very real possibility as to how my life will end. I hope it doesn’t end that way, but hoping is the best I can do. I didn’t tell her all this. All I could say was that things were hard. But our family had never talked much about our internal lives, and that’s made us good at guesswork.

There were a few seconds of silence and then she burst into sobs. She wished she could just hug me, she said, and that my illness had been such a worry since I’d first told them. She told me that she prayed every day that God would take away my pain and that I’d get better. She’d walked outside to talk to me. She was living with my grandmother- her mother, a once-indomitable woman who survived Churchill’s famine and was known to friends and neighbors as the iron lady, now trembling and frail- who had cancer that had spread through her body and settled in her lungs, a hospice worker that told herself she was a nurse. She couldn’t cry indoors because her mom would worry and she’d been putting up a cheerful front for weeks, and it left her drained. Please don’t die, she begged, please please please, whatever happens, dying like that is a mortal sin and I can’t lose you forever, I can’t lose you in this life and the next and never see you again. You can’t break my heart like that, whatever you do, whatever happens, I can’t lose my son forever.

She regrets how she treated us when we were kids. She tells me this every time we talk and she asks for forgiveness, from me and from God. She told me that she constantly fantasized about finding some kind of time machine, about going back in time and changing things, doing anything anything to spare us, that she wondered everyday if she would have been better to have given us up and entrusted us to someone else altogether. I tell her that I know what it’s like to have hurt people, and to have lived with the knowledge of having hurt people. I don’t wish that on her, and I tell her as much. I don’t want any more pain in our lives. I don’t want the destruction in our pasts continue to perpetuate itself. I don’t want her to suffer, I want her to be happy, I want her to have the life she’s dreamed of having.

When I first told my parents about my mental illness it was shortly after my first time being hospitalized. The pain that led me there was still fresh and for the first time in my life it didn’t feel like pain I deserved. It was pain I could rightfully be angry about. And I was. You know hell, from scripture?, I told them. I lived that, I couldn’t imagine anything worse, I spent days curled up in bed telling myself that hell couldn’t be worse than this, and you’re partially responsible. I wanted them to own up to it and I wanted them to take some kind of responsibility. She shut down completely. She knew she lost her temper at us but every example I brought up made her go white. I couldn’t have hurt you like that, she’d sat on the bed and repeated, I couldn’t have done that, I couldn’t have done that, I couldn’t have done that. At the time it made me angrier at her. Just take responsibility! I’d snapped at her. I just want that! Just take responsibility!

It feels clear now that she was in shock and denial, that she was processing the narrative of her life shifting suddenly under her feet. When I think about trauma that passes itself down generations, all that I feel a sense of loss and waste and destruction. My mother sacrificed so much, gave up so much of herself, all for something that ultimately turned out to have caused immeasurable damage. It’s a painful and existential loss, the feeling that your life’s work went to waste, that all you built were ruins. Every generation we dream about giving our children a life better than our own and too often we realize that all we’ve done is continue that cycle, that the result of decades of their lives was all suffering. It’s how I imagine the lives of the chemists that created radium paint after reading about the radium girls, the first scientists to synthesize thalidomide as reports of deformed babies made the newspapers. It’s why I can’t stop thinking about them. Every time I see parents in the news that had their children die as a result of their mistakes, it’s how I imagine them: haunted, fantasizing about finding some kind of time machine.

Regret doesn’t work retroactively. Nothing will ever make me whole the way I could have been. I don’t want to excuse my mother, just to understand her, and forgive her, and make my peace with her presence. I want to be kind to her and to myself. I want the cycle of pain to stop.

My mother already had three children by the time she was my age. I know that I, the person I am right now, wouldn’t be able to look after one child, let alone three. I know that for a fact. So how could I expect her to know what she was doing? If I woke up tomorrow with kids, I don’t believe that I would have caused them the same kind of harm or subjected them to the same violence, but I also know I wouldn’t have devoted myself to them, or spent as much time on them, or given up my life and my career and the things I wanted for them.

I know that, and I could choose that. Did she have the same choice? Growing up in a small conservative town in the 1990s where people were expected to start their families in their early twenties, with limited options available to her, how much of a choice did she really have? I knew so little about the world at twenty-one, the age she had me, let alone at nineteen, when my oldest sibling was born. I know so little about the world even right now. Could she really have had any idea what she was getting into? Did she find herself, one day, trapped in a reality that she didn’t really know how to cope with?

I can’t cancel my parents.

I can never figure this one out. I believe my parents deserve forgiveness for damage on a scale that I don’t think I would give similar grace to for anyone else, including myself.

Calling accountability to our changing norms “call-out culture” has always felt disingenuous to me, a way to negatively frame collective social repudiation of actions that cause harm to others. It made sense to me that it ultimately makes the world a better place. It felt clean and logical. But love is the quantum unit where the clean convictions of morality break down. When I’m this close none of it makes any sense anymore. Grace for my family isn’t consistent anymore — my family is no more human than anyone else, so how could I possibly argue that my parents are uniquely deserving of absolution?

I can never figure this one out. How can I possibly develop a consistent sense of who or what deserves redemption? Would I be able to tell myself that they deserved redemption if they’d been anyone else, if I’d only known of the things they did to someone else instead of living through it myself? Would I have described that as giving them a pass for their actions? I probably would have. Why does giving someone a pass feel right, then, when it coexists with the empathy you have for those you know and love?

Does love and loyalty blind people from dealing fairly with loved ones who deserve more censure? Or does knowing someone deeply and personally create the empathy that makes you see their remorse as suffering, that makes you weigh their remorse as pain, that makes you weigh their pain against the pain they caused others, and makes you believe they deserve to be redeemed, that they’ve earned some kind of redemption? My parents aren’t more human than anyone else. My parents aren’t unique in having rich inner lives, being full of contradictions, having consciences. My parents aren’t unique in feeling guilt or remorse for irreversible harm.

Is there a point at which empathy tells us that the pain of their remorse and their attempts at change can be considered sufficiently redeeming, that they deserve good things again? Or is it all apologism, some kind of Stockholm Syndrome where knowing and caring about someone makes you willing to give them grace that they don’t deserve? Do people earn grace? Is remorse a form of pain we should empathize with, or should we consider it just desserts, worthy of no particular sympathy? Should the empathy I feel for the real pain I can see my parents feeling as remorse translate to other humans, who have done wrong and are making an effort to change and are remorseful? Everyone I love is no more or no less human than anyone else. The same morality should apply.

I can never figure this out: is it individual? Do only I get to forgive or not forgive someone who caused me serious harm? Should the outside world forgive them because I have, or would that be giving them a pass that they don’t deserve as long as the ruins that they made of me continue to walk the earth? Do even I have any right to give them absolution when I’m not the only one they’ve hurt — they hurt my siblings too, and if I could ever forgive them for myself, can I possibly justify being an outsider and giving them that absolution? Is there even any kind of standard? I don’t know. But it feels like a very important question that may have no real answers, and being close to it, both loving the people who hurt someone and being the subject of their harm, makes it much harder and messier than the abstraction of acquaintances or public figures. I stay up nights trying to find an answer. I’ve never been able to figure it out.

In my first semester of grad school, I told her I was struggling more than I had in a while and that I was worried I wouldn’t be able to manage this, that it was hard being alone, in a new country, with nobody I knew around me, how I felt like I just wasn’t cut out for this, that I never would be. We didn’t usually talk much about our feelings but I was struggling, and I think she could hear it in the dull, stumbling monotone of my voice. And she told me about how, when my family had first moved into a new country, back when I was still a teenager, that she was convinced she’d never be able to drive, that she felt like she just wasn’t cut out for it, that people who were able to drive just had something she didn’t. Years later, my sister had a terrifying encounter on a night out, and that very day she just sat down with the book, learnt everything, and she ended up passing her driving test. She became such a confident driver that even your father was impressed, she said.

She told me that she believed that if you wanted something enough, God would put in a favor for you, that a lot of the time she felt that she had some kind of godmother looking out for her. We don’t have godmothers where we grew up so when she said this she meant a fairy godmother, like in the Disney movies she’d watched with us on repeat when we were children. She’d learnt every single word to Hercules because as a toddler I loved it so much we watched it every day. She told me later that she’d gotten sick of Hercules. She did it anyway.

Ever since she was a child, she told me, she’d always dreamed of having a house of her own, where she wouldn’t have to share a roof with her extended family. Something out of the magazines. She got to have that house when we moved to Singapore and she threw herself into it with abandon- that house was my baby, she said. She met a contractor that she became friends with in a cab, where he moonlighted as a driver, and he helped her to renovate on a budget. That was her godmother, she said. She told me that, in the years after I’d left the country for college, she’d had to move out suddenly, and that somehow, miraculously, she found a place in the same building complex that was available to move into immediately. She told me she’d been talking to my dad about selling the house- her baby!- to pay for me to go to college, before she could even move in. I got the e-mail confirming a full-ride scholarship the next week. She got to have things that felt impossible when so many times things felt like they might fall through. She believed that grad school would be the same for me: no matter how impossible it felt, God would help and I’d get there.

But even with all that she feels that her parenting ledger is indelibly in the red, and I think she needs to know she’s not irredeemable. She tells me that she prayed constantly for her quick temper to ease, to not fly off the handle, and she hopes I’m proud of how now, no matter what happens, she never gets angry. She tells me a friend cheated her out of half her savings, and she didn’t feel any anger. She hoped he’d do something good for himself with the money and she’s thankful for the life she has. She’s religious, so she believes in some form of karma: whatever happens to her is God’s will, and life is a test. Misfortune is atonement. Anger would be failing the tests of her commitment to atonement.

I hate seeing her hurting. I hate hearing the haunted feeling in her voice. At moments it feels like inflicting hurt upon others is some original sin. Like some Gabriel Garcia Marquez novel, the story of our family is predestined, and we are doomed to repeat ourselves over and over, and something tied into the fabric of our souls ensures that good intentions eventually devolve into inflicting pain. I was angry and said things that still haunt her. I don’t know if any real good that came out of my anger is worth having crystallized an existential crisis that consumes her every day. I don’t know how to live with having caused that kind of pain, and so I understand. I don’t wish that on her. I don’t wish that on either of us.

I try to comfort her. I remind her that at the end of the day, she did raise two pretty decent kids, both with college degrees. She tells me that if a measure of how well you raised your kids was how they treated the people around them, she must have done something right. I see her looking after her own mother, giving up any dreams she had to move back in to look after her, and I wanted her to know how much I admired that kind of self-sacrifice. I don’t tell her that I admire her strength in choosing to watch her mother die just to make her final months better, that I didn’t think I would have the strength to do the same. My grandmother is in her late eighties and my mother is only forty-five. I don’t want to think about it. I hope I don’t have to.

She tells me, and herself, that she thinks she did spend time playing with her kids, doing fun things with us, taking us on vacations and trying to spend time with us, and that was something. As she spoke, she kept hedging herself, telling me every other sentence that she wasn’t trying to avoid responsibility by saying this. It breaks my heart to see my words having become part of her own self-talk. In the final reckoning, she says, she doesn’t know if any of it mattered when she’d caused so much pain. I wanted to tell her that I felt her remorse and that I didn’t want punishment, that I loved her, but our family had always been so bad with emotions that I couldn’t verbally say “i love you, mom” on the phone, much as we both needed it. But healing is trying. Sometime after we hung up I texted her an I heart u emoji.

My parents moved to a bigger, wealthier country when we were children. Their parents moved from the country to the city before they were born. I’m here now, one step further, the first of our family to make the move to the west, inheriting the hope that any children I have will get to grow up in a place where they’ll have better lives than me, three generations living out our own versions of the immigrant dream, of struggles and sacrifices that our children would first take for granted then grow to understand.

When I was younger I thought that I would never have children, that I’d never risk my unresolved demons fucking up an innocent child. Now that I’m older, I’m more hopeful that the trauma we’ve had inflicted on us and in turn inflicted on others, generation after generation, would become something soft and gentle and beautiful. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to put in the amount of effort and sacrifice and myself into my children that my mother did, but I’m hopeful that my children will never feel fear, that they’ll get to make mistakes, that they’ll be at ease with me. I’m hopeful that, as I try to build a childhood for them in a family that expresses their emotions, that talks about their lives, that tell each other they love them without hesitation, hearts more open than I ever have, that I’ll learn to be those things too.

[toraffles]

Little Red Flowers [first, possibly only, chapter]

Does anyone remember that one excerpt of a fem!Harry fic I was working on? I had the entire first chapter written out almost two years ago, but knowing myself, I decided not to post it until I’d at least written the second chapter. Lo and behold, that... never happened, and also I realized that I really don’t have much plans for the future of this fic anyway, so here is that first chapter for your perusal. Please don’t expect a continuation, because one won’t be coming. I do have a lot of ideas for this, but I’m not going to write them here because I may salvage them for another fem!Harry fic that @glowssary​ annd I are idly playing with. So, without further ado:

LITTLE RED FLOWERS

CHAPTER ONE

It is both alarming and not when the child is found on their doorstep, with irises of deep teal and wispy hair the vermilion of sunrise. Like a prophecy, she can already foresee that those eyes will brighten into a brilliant green in a few years, and she needs not even glance at the letter clutched in tiny fingers to know whose child this is, because she knows, she knows, and she also knows exactly what this means. She bends down and snatches at the envelope left atop of a pile of soft blankets, carefully avoiding the gaze of the infant who stares at her with those too familiar eyes.

Petunia Dursley née Evans, 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey, is written on the back in slanted, looping calligraphy that tugs at a memory she has long since banished, for it is mired in the humiliation and resentment that fills her to the brim wherever magic is involved, wherever Lily is involved. The paper is an unbleached off-white, thick and pulpy between her fingers, and skimming the contents tells her little more than what she has already determined for herself.

Lily is dead. Lily, her little sister, her only sister, is dead. And she must be, for there is no other reason for this child, obviously the offspring of Lily and that Potter boy, to be laid out in a little woven basket and left on her doorstep.

Petunia takes a carefully measured breath. She blinks, once, twice. She takes another breath.

Her little sister has been taken away by magic once again, but this time, this time there is no potential for second chances and apologies, this time there is no future for reconciliation, this time she is irrefutably, irrevocably late, no do-overs, no take-backsies Lily is gone gone gone and Petunia never had the chance to tell her why she had been so cruel to her, not even once, and suddenly she is angry, suddenly she is furious, because how dare that girl, how dare she die before Petunia was finally ready to ask forgiveness, how dare she leave Petunia alone as the last of their family, how dare she hoist onto Petunia the burden of caring for her stupid little infant -

Remembering herself, the blonde cants her head to the side and stares into the solemn scrutiny of Lily’s child, fascinated by what must be her little sister’s baby pictures brought to life all over again. The child’s face is wet with silent distress. Salty moisture trails paths over plump cheeks and a pert nose and a puckered little mouth. Petunia brings a hand to brush soft fingers over the child’s brow but it is shaking too badly, and she fears she may catch her nails across those beautiful eyes. She brings the trembling hand instead to her own cheek and when she brings it away it is damp with something like dew.

It takes a few moments, but Petunia is startled to realize that the child is not crying at all; it is an illusion caused by her own tears, crawling down her skin and dripping onto infant features. Somehow, she finds the image too comforting to move away: it seems almost as if Lily herself is crying for Petunia, for her misfortunes and her resentment and her bitter, bitter heart. She never could quite figure if Lily would have forgiven Petunia for everything she had ever said, for every hostile jeer and cutting barb, for every moment she had hurt the redhead and smiled about it. And now she never would. But surely, surely, this child is more than enough to wash away the regret that drowns her lungs, thick and heavy. If it was Dudley in this position, she knows Lily would have taken him in as her own, would have cared for him like her own son, so maybe if she does the same...

The life of the dead is placed in the memory of the living, she thinks, lifting the child in her thin arms and holding it close. Its breaths are sweet and warm against her skin, which has begun to chill in the brisk November air.

“Holly Euphemia Potter,” Petunia says into the empty wind, tasting the words on her tongue. Lily has followed the maternal tradition of naming baby girls after flowers, and this soothes her a little. “I’ve always wanted a daughter.”

The door slams shut at her heels as she turns inside. It wouldn’t do to linger outside too long; after all, what would the neighbours think?

Holly Potter is a very ordinary little girl. Or at least, she tries very hard to be an ordinary little girl. Not because she finds ordinariness to be particularly compelling, but because Aunt Tuney says there is nothing better than being ordinary and of course Aunt Tuney is right; in her experience, Aunt Tuney is always right.

Except when it comes to Dudley.

Aunt Tuney loves Holly, this is true enough, but she utterly adores Dudley, who equally adores making Holly as miserable as he can. Unfortunately Aunt Tuney refuses to believe any such thing about her Darling Diddlykins, and the few times Holly bothers to truthfully report the origins of the scrape on her knee, or why her pretty new smock has dirt smeared messily on its skirt, or the reason why there are drying tear tracks on her cheeks, a few words from Dudley quickly clears up the issue.

Often, the situation unfolds as such:

"I didn't do it!" Dudley will say, following Holly's accusation.

"Holly Euphemia Potter," Aunty will then respond, her voice sharp. "I did not raise you to be a liar. You must tell me the truth, right away."

Thus Holly is often forced to lie in order to avoid being punished for lying when she only wants to give the truth. And Dudley, having never been told off for bullying Holly, continues to do so without qualm or worry, for he is secure in his mother's trust.

This is how Holly finds herself being chased around on the playground by her large, fat cousin who is brandishing at her a long stick. On the end closest to her there is a snake coiled up tight and hissing angrily; the afternoon sun gives its grey-black scales a menacing sheen.

She is especially afraid because she can hear him - for it is a him - threatening to bite and tear and hurt whichever human he can land his fangs on first. She doesn't want to be hurt, not at all, so she runs and runs as fast as her five-year-old legs will take her.

Eventually, Holly knows she will tire.

She takes a quick glance over her shoulder to gauge if Dudley has begun to sweat through his shirt yet, and shrieks when she sees how close the snake has gotten.

"Stop it! Go away," she cries out.

It is not Dudley who answers her plea, however. Rather, it is the snake who irritably snaps, "Believe me, you moronic little monkey, if I could leave I would in an inssstant."

Holly almost stops to gape at the mean creature, but at the last moment remembers she must keep running if she wants to avoid being bitten. "You said a bad word!" she manages to squeak out through heavy breaths. "Aunt Tuney will wash out your mouth with soap!"

"Foolisssh creature, your threatsss ssscare me not," it hisses back. "I will sssink my teeth into your flesssh and revel in the tassste of your blood. My venom will make you writhe with pain until the life drainsss out of your sssoft, weak body - "

Holly claps her hands over her ears and shakes her head because she cannot bear to hear the cruel thing's threats. She is scared, so very scared - no, no, she is terrified, she's really going to die and go away forever, like her mommy and daddy did, she's never going to see Aunt Tuney again or eat delicious trifles and bombes or wear pretty frocks that make her feel like a princess or even start Primary School and make even one friend, though she's supposed to begin attendance this very September.

I don't want to die, she thinks to herself with desperation that fills her to her toes. Let me get away from here, I want to get away from here, please, please, please, take me away...

Holly squeezes her eyes shut and wishes as hard as she can, expecting nothing to happen.

When she opens them again, she is very, very surprised to find that something, in fact, has happened. And this something is a rather big Something indeed, for she does not recognize where she is in the least.

Holly sneezes messily.

For one, never has she ever been privy to such filth in her short life. This is in small part due to Aunt Tuney's constant crusade for cleanliness, but mostly because of the impossibly thick layer of grime that coats every surface she can see.

The place she has found herself is a hovel in the truest sense of the word. The walls are composed of worn, rotted bricks riddled with holes; the original colour of the stone is indiscernible underneath all the moss and mould that monopolizes it. There is light enough to see but it streams in not through the tiny windows, which are an invariable murky gray-brown and thick with scum, but through the gaps in the tiles of the roof. The building itself seems to sag with age and neglect, as do all surviving articles of furniture. Carcasses of various creepy-crawlers litter the dust intermittently, dried out husks with wings made too heavy for flight and abandoned shells with too many little legs pointed into the air.

Holly glances down and sees that her own feet have made a pair of straight indentations in the grit. The dust rises all the way to her mid-shins, and to the left of her knee is a small green-bodied creature with large filigree wings. It is dead, as is everything else in this little shack, but she's never seen such a kind of insect before.

‘A lacewing fly.’

The words flit through her thoughts, nearly silent and quicksilver fast; she only just manages to catch and hold onto them long enough to make sense of what has been said. The distinct feeling of being not-alone slams into her like a trainwreck, but a quick survey of the shack once more reveals nothing, and nobody, that had not been there previously.

"Hello?" Holly calls out curiously. "Is somebody there?"

Her only answer is a thick silence.

The redhead tilts her head and considers the insect. It certainly does look like a fly, and she supposes that its wings are rather lacy. It's possible that she could have made the name up all on her own, but just as she is beginning to attribute the noise to her imagination, the silence is broken once more.

‘You can hear me?’

Despite the wording this is not so much a question as much as a demand. Holly is caught between the compulsion to give a prompt answer and the desire to keep quiet just to be contrary, because Aunt Tuney always tells her that rudeness should not be rewarded.

But in the end, curiosity triumphs, and Holly replies, "Ye-es? But where are you, mister? I can't see you."

‘... For lack of a more appropriate description, I suppose I am in your head. So to speak.’

In her head? How could he have possibly gotten into there? Holly means to ask, but the voice continues on in a musing sort of way that is not at all conducive to a conversation.

‘How curious,’ says the stranger in her head. ‘The child was not conscious of me before - what was the trigger? The snake, perhaps? Parseltongue is an ability she must have acquired from my residence within her; to my knowledge the Potters are not bound closely enough to Slytherin's line for it to be inherited, and the girl's mother was a muggleborn. The use of an ability so deeply entrenched with my presence, then, may have incited awareness…’

And Holly knows he must be talking to her, for there is no one else for him to be talking to, but oddly it seems to her as if he is not speaking to her at all, not least because she hasn't the slightest inkling what the disembodied voice is going on about. Perhaps he is speaking to himself. In which case she must distract him from his insanities, which Aunt Tuney says is the Proper Thing To Do when she sees somebody acting in a manner that is Not Ordinary and therefore Embarrassing. Of course, Aunt Tuney also said that the preferred method of dealing with Not Ordinary people is to remove herself from their company, but she does not know how to remove herself from her own mind.

"Who are you, then, mister-in-my-head? What's your name? I'm Holly."

'Tom Marvolo Riddle' drifts across the surface of her subconscious like a whisper without sound or words without letters, coalescing into a vague not-quite memory of a thin woman looming over her, graying hair tightly drawn back in a bun and sharp features set in the most hostile expression Holly has ever seen.

'Tom,' the woman snaps. Her voice is cold to the touch and the way she forces out the word makes it sound like the worst sort of profanity; far, far worse than when Uncle Vernon stubs his toes on the kitchen doorway in the mornings. Holly thinks she should be frightened of this old lady with eyes that freeze her through - except how can she be, when it is only too clear that the woman is masking her own fear?

But Holly blinks and the woman is gone. She is once more alone in the dirty shack.

‘I am Lord Voldemort.’

Exempting, of course, the stranger in her head.

"That sounds stupid," she tells him truthfully. "I like Tom better."

There is a loud silence and suddenly her head hurts it hurts it's splitting in half -

‘Do not dare presume to call me by that name,’ says Tom, who sounds so very calm even though she can feel his anger like a knife through her skull.

"Okay," Holly manages to hiss through gritted teeth, bent forward with her hands pressed tightly against her temples. "Okay. Not Tom."

The headache lifts as suddenly as it had come.

"You're really mean," Holly mumbles to the ground with a petulant scowl. "And Voldemort still sounds stupid."

‘You are an irritation and a taint on your blood who doesn’t deserve the Gift,’ rumbles Not-Tom, the cold fury in his words lashing against her nerves like a whip. ‘Always simpering after an "Aunt Tuney" who does not even consider you an actual person as opposed to a reincarnated doll of her sister, and allowing that fat, stupid little oaf to trample all over you, and bending over backwards just for the slightest indication of acknowledgement from the fatter, stupider oaf that damned aunt of yours married, God knows for what reason. You let them use you like a rag and instead of becoming enraged that they dare treat someone magical in such a way, instead of punishing them like the insignificant worms that they are, you find pleasure in it. You bask in whatever attention your darling Aunt Petunia deigns to give when she's parading you around like a show pony in front of her acquaintances, leap to whatever inane chore your imbecilic uncle tosses to you, and do absolutely nothing as your dim balloon of a cousin drags you through a puddle of mud and blames you for getting his clothes dirty.’ As the tirade winds down, Holly is left taking shallow breaths and trying her best to keep at bay the stinging high in her nose. In a final measure of spite, Not-Tom hisses, ‘You, Holly Potter, are a house-elf to muggles, and it disgusts me.’

She doesn't understand why this stranger hates her so much, doesn't understand how his words hurt so deeply. Slowly, through the sharp heat behind her eyes and the ache simmering deep in-between her lungs, she manages to respond, “Aunt Tuney loves me.”

‘She does not, you little fool. She is using you to allay her own guilt towards your mother, and does not care for you personally one whit.’

Holly bursts into tears. Big, wet sobs wrack her body violently, and she wails into the air without abandon, free to cast away years worth of suppressed emotion because there are no Dursleys here, no one to tell her be-quiet and what-would-the-neighbors-say and I-don't-want-to-hear-it. And because Not-Tom must be right, everything he says just feels so right and she doesn't want to think this to herself, not ever, but his words ring with truth and she cannot deny it and it hurts her on the inside.

'Stop it,' the voice snaps frantically. 'Stop your caterwauling this very instant, or I'll - '

Another headache pounds at her temples but Holly only cries harder and stumbles forward in confusion, pressing palms against her closed eyes in an attempt to ease both the pain and her tears. The throbbing in her head quickly withdraws but the dust scattered by her movement does not, and Holly cannot stop from sneezing heavily. Compounded with the tears still blurring her sight and the trembling of her limbs, any sort of balance abandons Holly utterly; she trips over her heels and falls onto her rump.

Unfortunately, she lands on a certain patch of the wooden flooring where the earth underneath had been made hollow years before, with the intention of hiding a highly precious object. Decades of rot have left the floorboards of the shack frail and thin and even the impact of her weight, slight though it is, is enough to crumble what remaining strength there is to be had into dust. Holly falls into the floor with a short shriek, and the result of her misadventure is a massive cloud of dust that rises into the air almost angrily, attacking her eyes and nose and throat with all the ferocity of a dragon roused from slumber.

Holly begins to sneeze uncontrollably, and tears stream down her cheeks for an entirely different reason. Her hands flail at her face in an attempt to bat away the dust, and when this fails she gropes along the dirt underneath her to propel herself up, only to graze something that burns her fingers with a shock of electricity.

'What was that?' Not-Tom demands tersely. 'Open your eyes, I need to see.'

‘I can't,’ Holly thinks at him. She cannot breathe, let alone speak, and she is most definitely unable to do any seeing. ‘The dust…’

‘Get rid of this wretched mess, then. Do you have magic or don't you?’

‘Magic?’

'At your age, accidental magic should not be overly difficult. Merely will it to happen - wish the dust out of existence.'

‘Go away,’ Holly thinks fervently. ‘Go away, go away, go away.’

Nothing happens.

‘You made your way here, somehow, what did you do then?’ says Not-Tom, his voice edging the boundary of impatience.

What had she done earlier? Well, she’d just…

‘Make it go away, please.’ The words are a faint susurrus curling in the corners of her mind, but they thrum down her spine like thunder, like ebullition, like power, thick and heady and entirely hers.

Holly takes a calm breath and opens her eyes.

All around her, the shack looks almost exactly the same as it had before. It looks just as dull and dilapidated as when she had first opened her eyes here - only, all the dust is gone. All the dirt and grime and the carcasses of unkown little creatures have disappeared, as if the rafters, the floorboards, even the air itself, have been scrubbed clean during the interval of a long blink.

‘You...’ Not-Tom begins, only he seems to think better of it and instead continues, ‘Look down.’

She pushes herself to her feet and does so. Within the crack in the floor is a small, rectangular case, plain and black but for the small gold-gilded letters inscribed on the lid - T.M.R., it reads. Unlike the rest of the shanty, the box looks untouched by age, its edges straight and crisp, its paint gleaming and unfaded. Plain though it is, the case is... oddly compelling. It seems to beckon to her, wordless whispers of secrets and her greatest desires granted and the return of lost love. The jolt of pain from earlier all but forgotten, Holly crouches and reaches for the box with stubby little fingers.

‘STOP.’

Holly stops. Her hand hovers midair as she is brought back into herself.

‘You were lucky the first time,’ her disembodied passenger chastises. ‘You will not survive second contact. I have no desire for electrocution, so do not touch the artifact again unless I say.’

The child nods frantically in agreement, too disturbed by the brief loss of self-awareness to have done otherwise anyway.

‘How did you find your way here, of all places?’ murmurs Not-Tom, once more speaking at her, rather than to her. ‘It explains why my presence is magnified enough for coherence, but the questions this situation poses… they do not sit well by me.’

His voice fades off and Holly sits in silence, bewildered and a little scared. She knows that Not-Tom is thinking deeply on something because her mind feels heavy with the weight of his thoughts, intangible to her but for the unfamiliar strain between her temples. She's not sure what she's doing here, and now that the novelty of the situation has worn off, she can feel confusion and fear crawling to the forefront of her emotions, both warring for primacy.

She… she wants to leave. She wants to go back home. Dudley had witnessed her display of strangeness and she'll probably get a thorough scolding for it, maybe be sent to bed without supper, but that prospect is still eons better than staying here, alone in this dilapidated hovel without a single clue where she is and only a cruel, disembodied voice for company.

‘Yes,’ Not-Tom interrupts shortly. ‘Yes, that is a wise decision, present circumstances being as they are. Repair the floorboards and then leave this place, and do not return for as long as you are able.’

That sounds like a perfectly valid plan to Holly. She determinedly imagines the broken flooring beneath her being set to rights and, as politely as she can, asks her ‘magic’ to make it reality. The largest lath of floorboard floats level with the rest of the ground, and shards of wood, thin and grayed with age and use, piece themselves like puzzle pieces along the sharp edges of the break until it seems as if the boards had never been cracked at all.

Once the repairs are finished, she begs to be brought home. Her magic is only too happy to comply, and the moment her feet touch the plush grass carpeting 4 Privet Drive’s front yard, she springs into a dash straight into Aunt Tuney’s apron skirt with a bawl caught in her throat.

Later, when she's up in her room with only a single piece of toast for supper, she realizes that the voice from earlier is nowhere to be found. Her mind feels quieter. Lighter. Emptier. Quite honestly, she isn't sure if this relieves her or not, but she puts it out of mind as a singular occurrence and resolves to never think of it again. That night, her dreams are vibrant and bizarre.

… a snake with filigree wings rebukes her for trespassing into its castle of dust, saying she should have known better… after all, TMR is inscribed in gold on the black banner out front… oh no, why hadn’t she seen that earlier, so sorry… only, the room had been lit as luminously green as her eyes, and it had been so hard to see anything, you understand… if you bite me, mister snake, I will scream, except someone is already screaming…

Holly wakes up the next morning, and remembers little of the previous day’s misadventure. She goes down to breakfast, has fruit and cereal and orange juice, and plays with her few toys before Aunt Tuney calls her to attend a social gathering of the neighborhood children. Life goes on as normal.

And then, on one sweltering afternoon several years later, Holly meets Tom once more.

ORIGINAL NOTES —

What is this. What am I doing. Who am I. WHO ARE YOU PEOPLE.

I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT I'M GONNA DO WITH THIS //AGONIZED SCREM

Unlike the common fan misconception, James Potter’s parents were not Charlus and Dorea (née Black) Potter. They were actually named Fleamont and Euphemia. Honestly, I was going to make Holly’s middle name Lily, but my friends @our-brightest-stars and glossary (sidenote - please go check these people out they are wonderful authors and they helped me figure out my direction with this story so much mwahh such great friends) both gave a great big “No” to that, so Euphemia it is. It's definitely pretentious enough to suit the only heiress of an old pureblood family, and Lily was an awkward fit, in any case. I also struggled between the first names Holly and Harriet, but for the purposes of this story, a flower theme seemed more suitable to further ingratiate Harry to Petunia.

[icyhobi]

YOU ARE AN AMAZING PERSON AND YOU HAVE AMAZING PEOPLE AROUND YOU!! HAVE A GOOD DAY AHEAD AND I HOPE YOU EAT A LOT THAT IS ALL 💓

Thank you so much! And btw everyone, i’ll be answering all the asks i have in my inbox rn, since i don’t wanna let it pile up even more. So beware, this is a long ass post! (and idk if it will show up on mobile properly :(

fullydecaffeinateddinosaur said:AHHHHHH I love Forgotten, I hope you’ll make a part two (but if you don’t that’s okay). DONT LET THE HATERS BRING YOU DOWN!!! You’re an amazing writer.

thank you so much for liking it!

Anonymous said:Don’t stop writing! I think that a non was just jealous and if that persone doesn’t like smut well she don’t have to read them! Don’t let anyone to drag you down because I love your stories! 😘

lool dw, i definately won’t stop writing!

Anonymous said:PLEASE MAKE A PART TWO TO FORGOTTEN 😭😭😭😭

umm, i’m still deciding if i should or not… i just, idk...

Anonymous said:DAMN. FORGOTTEN GOT ME FUCKED UP. YOU ARE DEFINITELY MY FAVORITE WRITER WOW I LOVE YOU♥️

OMG AM I REALLY!??! WOOOW!!! THANK YOU!

Anonymous said:Is forgotten supossed to have a second part? :) Sorry if my english is bad

no, don’t be sorry your english is perfectly fine! and im still thinking about it!

Anonymous said:Omg forgotten was soooooooo good!!! Please do another part!!

thanks! and maybe ;)

Anonymous said:Forgotten made me shed actual tears 😭 are you going to be continuing it?

did it really? was it too harsh? and im still not too sure if i will

Anonymous said:will their be a forgotten pt 2?

who knows…

Anonymous said:Guuuuurrrrl i read your fic (forgotten) and i looooved it soooo much that i wanted to re-read it (its that a word? Sorry spanish speaker here hahah) but i couldn’t remember your nameee and i spend the entire day looking for you (cause i only rememberd the “mochi” part) and i finally fouuuuuuund youuu!!!!!! So pleeeeease keep it up with the good work! Please make chapter 2! Loveeeee yaa! Saludos desde el fin del mundo!

yaaay you found me!!!

Anonymous said:I LOVE FORGOTTEN AHHHHHHHHHHH ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

THANK YOU!!!!!!

Anonymous said:I need part 2 of forgotten now because like I’m crying and omg the feels

Anonymous said:I was wondering if you’re ever going to continue forgotten! The ending was such a twist and I cried while reading it LMAO i think it would make a good full fanfic!! Pls at least make a part 2 I’m dying RN

Anonymous said:will there be a pt2 of forgotten? 

Anonymous said:Wow forgotten got me fucked up!! I loved it I loved it I loved it!!!!! Do you think there’ll be a part two for this or is it the only one?

Anonymous said:MOCHIIII I love you and your an amazing writer but Forgotten gave me da feels man!!!!!! I finally found someone I hate (Tae’s cheater of a wifu) XD. Is there anyway you might continue the story though with a happy (revenge on the witch as well 😈) ending????? 

Anonymous said:Holy moly forgotten is so good!!! I hope you do a part two❤️❤️❤️

Anonymous said:BUT UR GOING TO MAKE A PART 2 TO FORGOTTEN RIGHT?!!!!!

Anonymous said:Part 2 of forgotten plz omg I loved it it was so good💙💙

Anonymous said:omggggg your Taehyung uni story defos needs a part 2!! i loved it!!

figureinglifeout said:Omg pls tell me forgotten has a sequel. Tae can’t do OC dirty like that

fairyrink said:I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT HAPPENED AND WHY TAE IS ENGAGED TO THAT GIRL BUT UM I NEED EXPLANATIONS SO I NEED TO KNOW IF YOURE DOING A PART 2 OF FORGOTTEN PLEASE!!! 😭😭❤️❤️

Anonymous said:Will there be part 2 of Forgotten? I really hope there will be more it can’t end like that! That bish can’t win!

Anonymous said:OMG!! I really liked Forgotten a lot even if it did break my heart at the end :’( Are you thinking of making a part two or something like that cause that was really good and I just want Taehyung x reader to be together even though that’s unlikely 💔😅

Anonymous said:Is Forgotten going to be a series?

Anonymous said:Ah also forgot to ask: is Forgotten a one shot? - moose anon

Anonymous said:I’m sorry but Forgotten has me yelling WTF. Like, I knew something like that would happen, BUT I STILL WASNT READY. UGH MY HEART. FUDGE MUFFINS. - moose anon

xsnapplex said:Mochi!! I really hope you make Forgotten a series, because classic you out a cliff hanger in it… T-T I almost lost my mind at the end. But it was sooooo goood

ahh okay, so i decided to answer these asks all together since they are basically asking the same thing. first of all, THANK  YOU SO MUCH FOR LIKING IT!!! xoxo im like so happy you guys enjoyed it! and to answer your questions, im still not to sure if there will be a second part unfortunately… we’ll just have to see!

Anonymous said:Lol I think you made me a sucker for hybrid ffs 😂 but i love “take it like a puppy” so much. ❤️😊😘😍

aww thank you! lmao i really like hybrid aus too!

Anonymous said:😭😭😭😭 I wasn’t ready for it. I’m a crying mess now after forgotten it was soooo good. If it’s a oneshot it’s beautiful and really sad but if there’s gonna be another part… *fingers crossed*

thank you sooo much!! and nooo dont cry!!

sanha-ii said:Okay right, the story Forgotten got me tense as! The cliffhanger at the end is actually making me shriek due to the amount of theories I’m getting, will there be a part 2 by any chance or is this a story where you let the readers suffer forever😂😂

ikr? it was such a twist lol. and idk, maybe i’ll just be mean and let you guys suffer…. *insert even laugh*

Anonymous said:WTF TAEHYUNG AND SEULGI ENDED UP TOGETHER?????? AND TAEHYUNG DOESNT REMEMBER THE READER??????

IKR RIGHT!?!??! LIKE WHAAAATTTT????

zara-zaza said:Forgotten was so good!!! But if it was me I would have slaped the shit out of Seulgi the second time I saw her 😂😂 but just a question does Tae really don’t remember her or was he just mad at her?

loool it was so shocking thoo. and well…. i cant say… ;)

Anonymous said:Ahhhh I’m so freaking hooked on “Forgotten”!!! Ugh I kinda wish that the reader moved on from Taehyung but it soooo good either way! I love the way you write and I can’t wait to see what happens next ♡♡♡♡♡

ikr poor reader! :( And thank you for liking it!

Anonymous said:Oh my god! A second part in forgotten, please! Y/N deserves to be happy and Seulgi SHOULD DIE! I’m sorry, I’m just being really over dramatic 

But is Seulgi really the bad guy here? I mean maybe was hurt because Y/n left… but Seulgi clearly leave him tho… ;)

Anonymous said:PLEASE DO A TEASE PT 3 I WILL SELL MY SOUL FOR IT HAVSHBAHAHSH U WRITE SO GOOD IM STUCK IN THE REALM OF UR GOOD FICS

lool thank you! and im sorry bby, but tease was only meant to be a two-shot :(

Anonymous said:uM, eXCusE U?! How dare you write something as good as forgotten and LEAVE US ON A CLIFFHANGER LIKE THAT?! iT’S LIKE pURusaSION BTS style!!!!!

loool my style is usually ending things off on cliffhangers!!! 

Anonymous said:Please do another part of tease I can’t take the ending please my love

srry bby, but i won’t :/

Anonymous said:i just finished reading the taehyung x reader, forgotten and im crying at how you ended it. you’re a great writer, bless you.

loool it was so mean right??? BUT THANK YOU!!! xoxo :”)

Anonymous said:omg Forgotten was sooo good and sad it legit brought me to tears 😭❤️ and the plot twist at the end got me so fucked up I was expecting a happy ending :’D

aww sorry bby!! i didn’t mean to make you cry

Anonymous said:WTF WRITER NIM YOU MADE ME CRY IM CRYING WHY DID YOU HURT ME WITH THAT ENDING HOW COULD YOU?! IM JUST GONNA GO CRY NOW AND I HOPE SEULGI DIES AND ROTS!¡ I’m in pain, you better fix this 😭 - Psychotic Jungkook stan anon

ohhhh are you threatening me???? LOOOOL im so cruel, right???

Anonymous said:OMG how… how could you end Forgotten just like that pls have mercy on yn …. i can’t believe you …. oh god

hmmm we’ll see… ;)

Anonymous said:Fanfic request: Could you write a fanfic about Min Yoongi (x Reader) where he was a mass murderer or gang leader/criminal that fell in love with you on a job of his. (Something like that at least. I don’t really know. But I thought that we should start recommending stuff that wasn’t just the mankae line lol)

thank you for requesting! but unfortunately i not taking in requests since i have too much stories to work on atm! srry again!

Anonymous said:Forgotten.. I’m literally about to die now.😫😭 WHYYYYYYYYYY!?! UGHHHHHH. Getting my heart attacked and stomped on was not how I wanted to end my night.😭😫😂 Anyways, it’s beautifully written! I love your fanfics (even if they do bring my heart an enormous amount of pain)!💕😘

aww im so sorry! i didnt mean to hurt your guys! i just wanted to write something very angsty!! but thank you so much for reading it!

Anonymous said:There is a part of me that wants to kiss you but another part of me that wants to ask you ‘why?’ Also why does everyone use Selugi as 'that girl’ in fanfics? I like I am getting into R.V and I am starting to like her. ~Edgy ❤❤ (Kiss part spoke louder that was amazing also I am a sucker for angst it fuels my soul. Love u)

loool aww edgy, your soo funny!

Anyways, this took a long time to answer, but thank you eveyone who sent me an ask! i seriously love you guys!!!