#he’s unrecognizable to everyone but you and he’s made something terrible and wants to die. and he’s very scared of you. and of everything | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

headoverjojo · 4 years

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Can I request something for the Bucci gang where each one is forced to watch their s/o die a painful death. Basically, what happened to sorbet and gelato except they are allowed some leeway at the end to go up to and hold their dead s/os body, or what they can of it.

We’re going wild with angst aren’t we-

You ask angst, I deliver angst! I hope it’s painful enough ç.ç And I hope you’ll like it! (And as always I apologize for various mistakes, I’m too tired to revise atm, BUT I’ll do it. Eventually. I promise)

Bruno’s gang’s members are forced to watch their s/o dying painfully

(Under the cut for length and pain!)

Bruno Bucciarati

Bruno and his s/o were a power couple. They knew each other so well that they didn’t need words or codes to know what the other was about to do; they perfectly cover each other’s back, and no one seemed to be able to surclass them, at least on open field. That’s why Passione’s biggest rival gang, which knew that, in order to weaken Passione, they had to weaken or possibly kill Bucciarati, decided to attack him and his s/o when they were vulnerable, at their home. No one who wanted to stay alive would have dared to attack Bucciarati in his own house, but, well, they were desperate, and maybe not properly sane. They sneaked into Bruno and his s/o’s house while they were sleeping, and they couldn’t even defend themselves; Bruno was incapacitated as soon as he had opened his eyes, and his s/o had been blocked. In the end, the gang decided that killing Bucciarati wouldn’t have been enough; they wanted him to be broken, to be weak, useless. And the best way to do so was to deprive him of his s/o. Forever.

They didn’t limit themselves to just kill them. They wanted Bruno to be completely crushed. And so, it was a slow, so slow agony for his s/o; they tortured them, breaking their body, their skin and bones, slowly, one by one. No one, not even the most stoic gangster, would have beared it. And Bruno couldn’t bear to see his s/o suffering like this. He pleaded them, he offered his life for his s/o’s safety, he offered everything, they just had to stop torturing them… but they didn’t listened to him. They kept breaking and breaking and, after an eternity, the last bone they broke was their neck. Bruno just stared at their now lifeless eyes, at their broken body. He felt… numb. When the assailants left him, he didn’t charged back. He stayed there, numb, confused, disoriented by the strong smell of blood and the wrong, oh, the so wrong image of his s/o’s corpse. After another eternity, he crawled near them, gently picking them up in his arms, holding their head. He gently closed their eyes and here, it seemed they were just sleeping… Bruno didn’t know how much time he stayed there, holding his s/o and lulling them. Nothing had sense, now. Every sense had gone with his s/o’s life. He didn’t want to get up, to put them down. Just a little more…

Leone Abbacchio

Abbacchio was the main agent for reconnaissance missions. His stand, combined to his experience as detective, made him the perfect man to send to investigate when something strange happened in the organization. A strange disappearance, a murder… Abbacchio was the right man to solve it. And his s/o moved along with him, helping him with his investigations and, when he couldn’t use Moody Blues to defend himself, to protect him. They completed each other, and this was their strong and weak point; as much as they were powerful together, if one of them was down, the other was down too. And this was what the rival gang wanted to do: taking Abbacchio’s s/o down, they would have taken him down too. They attacked when his s/o was busy protecting him from a group of enemies; the perfect distraction. They incapacitated them, and, taking advantage of Abbacchio’s momentaneous vulnerability, they took him down too. And then they started the real work, what would have truly broken Abbacchio apart.

Abbacchio never forgot the intense smell of cigarettes, nor the acute screams of his s/o when the men burned their skin with those same cigarettes. He used all his strength to try to get up, to beat them, to free his s/o, but they were too many, and they held him down, they beat him, in order to immobilize him. He could just watch, powerless, as they burned his s/o more and more, as their skin became so red and burned to be unrecognizable. After a while, his s/o didn’t even have enough strength to scream and cry. They could just stare in their man’s eyes, trying to gather enough strength to bear it all, to survive… but no one could survive with a smashed ribcage. When the enemy’s boot came down with so much strength that broke not only their ribs, but crushed also their organs, their eyes widened for a second, before slowly losing their life sparkle. Abbacchio could just watch as their eyes grew dull and empty. He didn’t move even when the enemies left. Just when the air became chill, he slowly crawled to them, to envelope them in his arms, muttering that he had to keep them warm. But not even his body warmth could chase away their deathly coldness, and, when the dawn broke, he had to admit it: they were dead. And maybe… maybe he would have followed them, wherever they were.

Guido Mista

Mista was famous even among enemy gangsters. His talent as gunman was incomparable and his loyalty to his Don more than known. Everyone also knew that he wasn’t alone; he had a partner, and those two had brought down more than one enemy gang. They were as famous as they were hated. As much as his partner was incredible with guns, they weren’t Mista; everyone knew that Mista’s partner was easier to kill. And, killing them, they would have basically killed Mista too. Many people wanted to take a personal revenge on Mista, and, when they finally gathered together, they moved on with their plan. They lured Mista and his s/o into an ambush and, even if it costed few lives, they managed to separate Mista both from his s/o and his gun; without that, he was harmless. Before going on with the main show, they vent their rage and hate on him, violently beating him, but not too much; he had to be awaken and vigilant. They wanted him to see what they were about to do to his s/o. They wanted him to suffer as he had made them suffer too.

They decided to use a gun to torture Mista’s s/o. He was kept down by a couple of strong men, and he couldn’t even use Sex Pistols to stop the bullets, as the stand was trapped in an enemy stand’s hands. He could just watch as one of the men shot at them, starting from the bottom. Their ankles, legs, thighs… A small part of Mista’s mind noticed that he was really careful not to hit any big arteria or vein, in order to prolong as much as possible their pain. The rest of his brain was in agony, screaming to them to stop that, to leave them alone! They wanted his life, not theirs; well they could take it! They could take his life, but they had to leave his s/o alone, they had to stop, stop!! He couldn’t bear to see so much blood on his s/o’s body, to hear their agonizing screams, to see the painful tears on their face… it was too much. And he was terrified, he knew what they were about to do right when the man was done also with their arms. He screamed one last time, he pleaded them again, but it was useless. The man just smirked, pointing the gun one last time, and shooting. The bullet hit Mista’s s/o right on their forehead, and the men who were holding them up left them, and they dropped down like a broken doll. Then, laughing, they left, leaving Mista with his beloved s/o’s lifeless body. He scurried at their side, but it wasn’t nothing else to do; they were dead. He could just hold them tight, silently crying, while he was lulling them, bathing in their blood. Those men… those men had to pay. They had taken his s/o’s life, they had tortured them… they would have met an even more terrible fate than his s/o’s. It was a promise.

Narancia Ghirga

Narancia adored his s/o. They were his sun, his light and joy. They were closed both in private and in battle; they were a lovey-dovey couple who could shift into battle mode in the span of a second. Their stands too seemed to be made to fight together; his Aerosmith was perfect to spot and eliminate distant target, while their stand was perfect for close fights. Fast missions were their speciality: they spotted the target, killed it and then fled. They weren’t done for long and tiring missions; if they were trapped, the chances to lose were higher than what it seemed. And Passione’s main enemy gang knew that; many of its men had fallen under Aerosmith’s bullets and the other stand’s punches. They also knew that, without his partner, Ghirga would have been destroyed; they didn’t need to kill both, so. They carefully planned the perfect trap; Narancia and his s/o were doing as usual: reconnaissance and gathering informations, before attacking. Everything seemed absolutely normal, at least until they had to escape; then, their fate changed forever.

Every escape was blocked by tons of enemies. Not even Aerosmith and his s/o’s stand could beat everyone and, soon after, they were overcome. Aerosmith had been damaged and it couldn’t fly, and his s/o’s stand had been blocked; meanwhile, they were kept against a brick wall, while Narancia was pushed on the ground, with just enough room to watch his partner. He screamed threats, when he saw they had took few teasers, and soon after his s/o’s screams joined Narancia’s, when the men used the teasers on their body. Soon, threats and cusses were replaced by pleads; if they wanted to torture someone, they had to torture him, not his s/o! He was ready to let them do him everything they wanted, he was ready to die, but please, please, they had to let his s/o go!! They just laughed at his pleads, echoing Narancia’s s/o’s deafening screams. It was unbearable… he couldn’t stand to see them suffering like this!! And, when his throat was, by now, red and irritated by all the screams, they teased them right on the heart, long and hard. Narancia’s heart stopped with theirs, and he couldn’t tear his eyes from their body, now on the ground. He just… couldn’t move. His body didn’t respond to his commands. He managed to crawl to them just when the narrow alley was finally empty. He took them in his arms, sinking his face in the crook of their neck, as tears rolled down on his cheeks. It seemed so… untrue… it was a nightmare, it had to be so, right…? They couldn’t be dead, not for real, not them, not now…

Pannacotta Fugo

While Giorno was the head of Passione and Bruno was its soul, Fugo was its mind. Thanks to Fugo’s brilliant plans and strategies, Passione managed to keep its power and stability even without the drug trade. It was Fugo’s idea to find new tasks and roles for the now useless Squadra Narcotici, it was Fugo’s idea to form an alliance with some gangs and to fight others. This all had led to prosperity for Passione; even so, Fugo’s happiness wasn’t in Passione, but in his s/o. They were the person who always kept him sane, who always made him smile and calmed him down when he was enraged; without them, he felt lost and instable. He was more dangerous when they weren’t with him. Purple Haze came out easier and more often, when they weren’t around. They were his most precious source of strength and his most obvious weak point; by taking them down, an enemy would have taken him down too. By taking them down, they would have deprived Passione of its mind. And an organization, even with a strong leader, was nothing without an incredible strategist. Passione’s enemies knew this and they targeted Fugo’s s/o. And, to be totally sure to destroy him, they made him watch what they were about to do to his s/o.

The enemies cornered the couple and they managed to take them down simply thanks to their sheer number. Fugo fought back, but he didn’t dare to call Purple Haze out; in its rage, the stand would have poisoned not only the enemies, but his s/o too. His fists, however, weren’t enough, and soon enough he and his s/o were on the ground and, to be safer, they beat him to the point that he could barely lift his head. Meanwhile, they were reserving a different treatment to his s/o; as to mock Purple Haze’s terrifying power, they were injecting in his s/o various kinds of toxins. The first ones made their muscles and nerves scream in pain, and they left them squirming in the ground for a while; then, the toxins became stronger and stronger, making them scream and squirm in pain, as their body was burning from the inside. In the end, the men forced Fugo’s s/o to watch him, as they injected the last, lethal toxin. Fugo saw their bloodshot eyes widen, and foam forming on their mouth’s side. It all lasted few seconds; their eyes grew dull, and their body stopped to move. Fugo crawled to them even before the enemies fled, and hold them tight, protecting their lifeless body with his own. Purple Haze came out without he called it out; he didn’t care. He let it storm around, killing and melting into a pulp all those men, hoping it could do the same with him. Without them nothing had sense… he just wanted to disappear, and to bring with him his furious stand, once and for all.

Giorno Giovanna

Finding his s/o had been almost a fortuity, and, since the moment they came into his life, they had filled it with light, joy and a love he never thought he could feel. He had a new dream to fight for, and it was his s/o’s happiness and safety. Their presence helped him even when he felt vulnerable, and allowed him to keep fighting for keeping the reins of the organization. They were his rock, his joy, the sunlight even after a difficult and tiring day. He was a stronger leader thanks to them. And his enemies knew that; and they also knew that, if they wanted to weaken the powerful Don, they had to deprive him of his partner. The plan had to be carefully prepared, however; Giorno was feared not only for his position as leader of Passione, but also for his formidable stand, Gold Experience Requiem, the stand that had been able to destroy King Crimson and the previous Boss. If they wanted to be successful, they had to find a way to disable it. After a lot of hunts and researches, they found someone whose ability was to nullify other stands’ abilities; now they were ready to hit the Don right on his weakest spot.

His house was heavily guarded, but it wasn’t a problem, not when the enemies were so many. They took care of all the guards and crawled into Giorno’s house, while the couple was asleep. The moment Giorno sensed that something was wrong, he called out GER, but he immediately felt dizzy and weak, as his stand was restrained by the enemy’s power. It was like all his strength and power were being sucked from him… the men divided him and his s/o, and, while keeping a too weak Giorno still, they started to beat his s/o, violently, mercilessly. They tried to fight back, to run, but everything was useless; they tried then to protect their head and chest with their arms from the men’s heavy kicks, but they took their hands away from their body, in order to injured them more seriously. Giorno, the proud Giorno, the Don of Passione, begged them to stop, to take his life, if they wanted to, to beat him, as he was the one they hated so fiercely… but they just smiled, and continued to beat his s/o, more, more, ignoring their crying pleads, their whimpers and gurgling cries of pain. They didn’t stop even when they weren’t moving anymore. They stopped just when the first sunbeams lighted the room, and they left laughing and cheering, leaving the young Don with his s/o’s dead body. Giorno didn’t know how much he held them in his arms. Mista was the one who found them, and just his sudden arrival tore him from the endless sea of pain and sorrow he was drowning into. It wasn’t time for dreams anymore. It was just time for revenge.

#jjba #vento aureo #bruno bucciarati #leone abbacchio #guido mista #narancia ghirga #pannacotta fugo #giorno giovanna #neutral s/o #the gang is forced to watch their s/o dying #tw: death #angst hcs #headcanons #sfw #anon ask

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mylovelies-docx · 3 years

Text

Kid Krow - Comfort Crowd

Part 6!

A/N: We finally find out what promise Y/N made and couldn’t keep.

Chapter warnings: angst (as always), and like one paragraph of very vague smut.

As always, listen to the song here!

And read the story on AO3 here!

Taglist: @maraudersandco @sociallyawkwardcircus-freak-hi @hkmultifandom @spider-starry @ashleykaiba @mayangel19

Word count: 3.2k (a long boy!)

When you stormed out of the cockpit, Mille, Zalos, and Arle refused to look at you. You couldn’t blame them; you looked like hell. Zorii sat sharpening a blade and ticked her head towards the cockpit, asking silently if you wanted her to deal with Poe. You sniffed hard, scrubbed at your eyes, shook your head, and practically ran to your quarters.

You pleaded with the universe to just make Poe sit still and not follow you. You could not handle another moment with him, or else you would explode. Or more specifically, your heart would explode and you would die a slow, agonized death. All because of Poe kriffing Dameron and his stupid, stupid , friendship.

You made your way through the corridors, leaning heavily against the walls in order to not fall over in your pursuit of a private downward spiral.

Eventually you made it to your door and entered your code. The door slid open and you rushed inside, closing it behind you as fast as you could so you could be alone. But going where so many memories of Poe lived had been a mistake. Being alone with your thoughts and emotions was just too much.

It was all too much.

With a shattered scream, you broke down. Every last piece of your heart was wrecked and crushed and ripped apart until it was unrecognizable. And still, this burning, unending pain would not. Go. Away!

Outside, you heard a raised voice. Poe. Saying something about needing to talk, to explain, to apologize. But then muffled, indistinct words of warning from Zorii. You knew that Zorii would not let Poe anywhere near you after what had just happened and how upset she knew you were.

Zorii walked inside, her lithe frame seemed to be held together by rage alone. She hadn’t even bothered to knock or ask if you wanted someone around. But regardless, she was now your best friend, and you just needed company now.

“I will refrain from speaking too much on it, but I do need to emphasize how much I despise that man for everything he’s done to you,” she explained, and settled on your cot.

You wheezed out a humourless laugh. You were numb, through and through, after the havoc that had occurred over your last two encounters with Poe.

Zorii was still angry, but she opened her arms to you for comfort anyway. The look on her face and in her manners spoke of softness in spite of her fury, and it broke whatever respite your breakdown had afforded you. A cry exploded from between your lips, slamming into the walls of your quarters and deafening you. It was the sound of anguish and pain and betrayal that was ripped straight from your heart.

You hadn’t felt so miserable and pitiful in all your life: those stupid kids from back home could never have made you feel as bad as Poe has.

Zorii opened her arms wider and you ran to her. You clutched at her waist, burying your face in her stomach and just sobbed . Sobbed for the best and only friend that you had had for years before Zorii came along. Sobbed for the stupid, love-sick fool that couldn’t take a fucking hint and get over her best friend that never saw anything in her anyway.

Sobbed for yourself. Your pitiful, sad excuse of a self.

“I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m fine,” you muttered over and over again in hopes of getting your pain under control. “I don’t really need him. I don’t. I don’t…”

She sighed, rubbing soothing circles into your back. “ You’ve said that lie already . We both know what a load of bantha crap it is.”

You repeat yourself over and over again, trying to drive it through your own skull instead of hers.

“Look,” Zorii sighed once again, “I know you loved him. As more than a best friend.” You cringed against her, ashamed that Zorii had to find out how you felt about the man she had been sleeping with. “And trust me, I understand the appeal all too well. I wouldn’t have started anything up with him if I had known how you felt. And to give credits where credits are due, you hid it really well; I had no idea until last week.”

You still couldn’t believe that Poe had said that to you in front of Zorii, remembering how terrible you had felt about it and how profusely you had apologized to Zorii once she had come to check on you that night.

“I overheard your holo-vid with Kes the other night as well,” Zorii admitted, wincing at her own invasion of your privacy. You were too overwhelmed to tell her you really didn’t mind.

“He mentioned some force tree or something? I don’t really know what you had said before that, but he mentioned that and you went quiet. I’ll admit that I was intrigued and maybe wandered closer to your door than I intended to.”

Her voice went soft after that.

“But then I heard you mention that he knew: what who knew, at that point, I wasn’t sure. But you went on to explain how you had felt so pretty dressed up in Shara Bey’s dress and how you had prepared a whole speech. At that point, I figured you were talking about Poe.”

You closed your eyes against her and tried hard to push the memory away.

***

It was a lovely day on Yavin IV, and the big, gnarly-rooted force tree near the Dameron’s household was a brilliant green in the midday glow. The wind was whispering through the jungle, and all the creatures that made it their home seemed to be singing along to some unspoken melody. Just for you.

And for Poe, whenever he decided to show up.

You were all nerves. Sweat under your arms, a racing heart, and clammy hands: always the best look for confessing your love to someone.

You and Poe had returned home to Yavin last month after being away for a few years. Your group had had a close call on the last run, and you begged Poe to come with you to see Kes and your gran.

Your gran couldn’t care less that you hadn’t been home, but Kes was ecstatic that you guys had come back to see him.

Poe had gone to the market to pick up some snacks for the picnic Kes told him you had planned. Poe just didn’t know that it was supposed to be a date for the two of you, and Kes wasn’t going to spoil the surprise.

You were busy getting ready when Kes presented you with the most beautiful dress you had ever seen from Shara Bey’s closet. He was adamant that you wore that particular dress, since it was the one he loved most on her. Your emotions were already bubbling over from anxiety, but the look on Kes’s face when he looked at the dress broke your heart. You could see that he was reliving a memory of him and Shara Bey, and you just couldn’t break the spell that it had over him, so you sat quietly.

He eventually resurfaced and left you alone to finish your routine, all the while insisting that you’d be his official daughter sooner or later. Your smile was so big that it hurt your cheeks.

You arrived at the tree and started to set up the blanket and pillows that you had brought from the Dameron household. The blanket was spread out in the flattest nook between roots, and the pillows were propped up against the trunk. You took your place among the pillows and waited.

And waited.

Admittedly, Poe was prone to getting carried away with conversations between himself and the vendors, but that particular outing seemed to last forever in your mind. You knew why later, but at that point in time, you were convinced that Poe felt something for you and would return for you soon.

You knew that he felt something for you; on all your spice runs, he begged you to stay inside the ship and be safe, he brought you back pretty trinkets that he said reminded him of you, and he was always flirting.

Always.

The nickname he gave you? Princess? Absolutely flirtatious. The hugs before and after he left the ship? Obviously an excuse to be close to you. The little winks he’d send over the fire at you and all the inside jokes you two had? Come on! It was all right there. And Kes agreed! So, you two devised this little set up so that you could finally confess to Poe.

Even with only the progression of Yavin Prime to get a rough estimate of time’s passage, it still took Poe entirely too long to find you. When he finally showed up, you had fallen into a light sleep.

“Where’s dad?” Poe asked, setting down a basket with absolutely nothing in it. He plopped down right beside it, startling you awake.

“Where are our picnic supplies?” You countered, rubbing your eyes and feeling nauseous and disoriented after your impromptu nap.

He lifted his hands in the air as if to say “what can you do” and grunted. “Everyone had packed up by the time I got there. Why isn’t dad out here with us? Did he go back to the house to grab something?” His nonchalance and lack of apology really ate away at your resolve to profess your love to him. You wanted to know what took him so long before you said anything about your feelings.

“No, no he never came out here,” you explained. “Why did it take you so long to get to the market? You left hours ago -- the sun’s going down.” You were wringing your hands in your lap, nervous about what his answer could be.

“I was just catching up with someone; nothing to worry your beautiful head about.” When he said that, he had smoothed over the top of your head like a cherished and beloved friend. “It’s a good thing for us, I promise,” he winked. You were eating it all up like you were starved for affection.

How tragic.

You quickly grasped his hand before you lost all nerve. You kept it between your palms, drawing patterns on the back of it that kept your eyes down and away from his questioning gaze and adorable, slightly confused smile.

The future opened up bright and wonderful before you: your mutual affections coming out in the open and that long-awaited first kiss. Stars , you had been fantasizing about Poe’s lips for more than half of your life at that point. And his hands. His hands! Maker, if they would just glide over your skin and caress you like you had pictured for years, you would die a happy woman. And you’d thread your hands through those beautiful curls at the nape of his neck and tug just a little bit, until he groaned like you had always heard in your dreams. You would move together, right on that blanket under the force tree you and Poe had always loved. You would come apart in the most delicious way, panting and crying, with his mother’s ring dangling from the chain around his neck and nestling itself into the hollow of your throat. And then he would grind into you one final time and just pour his affections into your neck and mouth for safe keeping.

How goddamn tragic it all turned out to be .

“I need to tell you something,” you whispered, looking up through your eyelashes at him. He grinned, seeming just as excited and nervous as you were.

“Me too. I’ve been dying to tell you something for days now!” He wiggled where he sat next to you, scooting as close as he could and touching your foreheads together, like you were about to share secrets that were only meant for the two of you.

“You first,” you said, breathless. You couldn’t believe it was finally happening.

“No, no. You had something to say first, so you go ahead.” Poe had still been grinning at you, the happiest you had seen him in a while.

“How about we say it together?” You countered, giving his hand a little squeeze in anticipation.

“Okay, on the count of three,” he began.

“One…” you said together.

“Two…” you continued.

“Three!” You shut your eyes.

“I love you,” -- “Zorii and I are together,”

Silence. Your eyes were still shut, but now you were holding them so tightly that shapes were floating behind your eyelids. Poe pulled his hand from yours.

“What?” He asked, sounding confused and slightly wounded. Like he couldn’t believe that you had the nerve to say that out loud and ruin everything .

“Don’t,” you began, turning your head down and willing your heart to stop its frantic pace in your chest. “I – I didn’t know… I thought…” you trailed off, unsure what to say to fix the mess that you had created.

“(Y/N), do—do you love me? As more than a friend?” He grabbed your chin and forced you to meet his baffled gaze. You couldn’t think straight at that point, so you said the first thing that had popped in your mind.

“Yes, of course I do.”

Stupid girl.

“Oh, princess.” He released your chin and sat back, resting against the pillows like he was exhausted and didn’t have the energy to deal with the situation any longer. “I’m sorry if I ever did anything to lead you on; I just thought we were friends. I mean, we both see other people, and I’ve never felt that way about you so I didn’t think you did either.”

He could not have said anything worse to you in that moment, could not have said anything that sucked all the warmth from your body any faster than that had.

Okay, (Y/N), just breathe. Think of a way out of this, you begged your frazzled mind. Anything would be better than the silence stretching between you at that point.

“I guess… I got some things confused. I’m sorry.” And now you were that little girl again, apologizing for things out of your control and no fault of your own.

You felt small again, insignificant and alone. A floating pile of junk in the vacuum of space, with no planet in sight and no answers to your distress calls.

Poe could see you spiraling, he had known you long enough to recognize the signs.

“Hey, hey, hey, hey. It’s okay, princess, we’ll figure this out,” he murmured, coming closer to you once again. He arranged the pillows so that he could lay back with you on his chest. He wrapped his arms around you and muttered soothing words, trying to calm you down and bring you back to him. Like he had done so many times before.

“No, there’s nothin’ to figure out; this is on me. Just give me some time and I’ll get over it.” You hadn’t gotten over it in all the years you had loved him-- truly loved him-- but you had vowed to figure it out, and quickly, so that you could stop feeling like that. “I promise I’ll get over it,” you said into the fist that was curled next to your face on his chest.

You closed your eyes and tried not to focus too hard on how good he felt underneath you like that. How intimate it was, how much it reminded you of the outcome of every daydream you had had.

How you knew that it was probably how he and Zorii spent their nights together now...

***

“Kes didn’t know how that day turned out because Poe and I fell asleep outside. I was too embarrassed to face him that next mornin’, so I sent Poe back to tell him we got an urgent message and had to leave. I don’t know exactly what they said to each other, but Poe looked sad when he came back and I didn’t wanna know.” The confession slipped through your lips, chapped from all the salty tears that you had cried into Zorii’s tunic.

“Oh, (Y/N). I’m so, so sorry. He was on a call with me that evening. I had no idea you were waiting on him; he just mentioned you all were going on a picnic and that his dad could keep you company for a while.” Her hands clenched against your back, as if trying to protect from a hurt that had already passed and done its damage.

“That boy wouldn’t know a Gungan from an Ewok if they were both standing in front of him. The only reason we ever got together was because I made the first move.” Her hands now continued their previous path of soothing circles, hoping to make up for the pain that she unintentionally caused not so long ago.

It amazed you how drastically things could change in such a short amount of time.

“It’s alright, Zorii, I’m not mad at you. I’m just angry at myself. Always at myself. For bein’ too slow, too emotional, too much and never enough at the same time.” You were defeated and exhausted, no longer able to keep even an ember of your earlier fire alive.

“I will not tolerate you speaking about my best friend that way; she is a wonderful person, and the best damn pilot we’ve ever had. She doesn’t deserve to be treated this way,” Zorii chided, having pushed you away from her and giving you a stern look.

You returned something resembling a smile.

You looked back to her lap where you had just spent an indeterminate amount of time; the white fabric covering her stomach was completely transparent.

“Oh Rii, I’m sorry about your clothes,” you mumbled, trying to dry it with the sleeves of your outfit. It did no good.

“I don’t really mind; I like my shirts soggy,” she said, deadpan.

This time, a real laugh bubbled up from your throat. You were immensely grateful you had a friend like her.

______

For months after Poe’s departure, you kept a smile on your shoulders until you were sweaty; begging on your knees for somebody to come and help you when it was too much to carry. Zorii did her best, but no one could replace the comfort and happiness you had once found in Poe. You eventually stopped asking for help and pretended to have moved on.

But time passes, and past hurts are less painful. Especially when you don’t think about them.

You had seen the missed messages from Poe in those early days. Every time your comm buzzed, the despair you felt over your situation returned tenfold, and the only option was to throw the device in a forgotten corner and let it die -- just like your feelings.

#poe dameron x reader #poe dameron #poe x reader #poe dameron/reader #poe dameron x you #poe dameron x female reader #star wars #star wars fan fiction #sequel trilogy #Kid Krow (A Poe Dameron Story)

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cyberneticlagomorph · 3 years

Text

Is there anything more daunting and dangerous than the blank white expanse of a page?

It glitters and glows like the spit-slick teeth of a predator, hungry for words that you cannot give it. No matter how much you want to.

Its gaze alone freezes all trains of thought, even in the minds of Writers and authors and artists alike, even those more powerful than I.

And as I sit here, trembling, at the mercy of Writer's Block and my own anxieties… I can think of nothing that I want more than to run, to leave this page blank, and my readers guessing.

The End is Nigh, dear readers, and I am afraid.

So very afraid.

"I'm afraid too," says the rabbit we all know and love, his legs swallowed by moss and weeds and misshapen dreams. He stands right where we left him, sword in hand, broken sky above, the End of Everything staring him down.

All seven of Her glowing green eyes blaze with something worse than hate, and I wish for all the world that this was a much different story. A happy story, with a happy Ending.

But I've never written a happy Ending in my life.

There is silence now, neither Protagonist or Antagonist moves or breathes or blinks.

They know that this is how it Ends.

One of them will die today.

So it is Written.

So it will be.

"Shut. Up." The End snarls, lips curling back over venomous fangs that drip oily green liquid onto the cracked asphalt below. Flowers bloom from the puddle, and spread like a rainbow rash down the street. "This. This is all YOUR fault!"

I know.

I'm sorry.

"LIAR!!" Her scream echoes across the fourth wall and cracks my computer screen.

This…

This is where I leave you, dear readers.

I'm sorry.

Fangs sink deep into the papery flesh of the Narrative, tearing it apart as it is poisoned. Thorns grow from its wounds and strangle it like trembling hands.

Writer be damned.

Plot be damned.

I am the End of EVERYTHING, I will End this miserable excuse for story on my own terms.

Or die trying.

You have not won, sweet stupid rabbit, no one can save you now, no one will stop me now. The world is a page upon which fate is Written and I will burn it all to the ground. May its ashes be lost and forgotten.

Your dark eyes narrow at me, bone blade glittering as you charge. But I am in control now, and I don't play fair.

Deep beneath the earth, humans sit snug and safe in their bunkers, thinking themselves free of the horrors outside. From the canteens comes a deep and terrible shattering like teeth against an eggshell, and a figure crawls lazily from the steam wafting from any number of bubbling pots set on stoves across the world over.

She smells of cooking meat and blood drenched in exotic spices and honey. Stick thin, and dressed in a chef's uniform. Her sleeves and hands are stained with the blood of the starving.

She has no face.

Only bright white teeth.

She manifests in the homes of the rich, stuffing them fat with delicacies that humans have no names for. Each minuscule morsel is completely tasteless covered in edible gold. Like the kind of fare you'd find at high end restaurants, going for hundreds of dollars a plate, even though each serving is barely a mouthful.

She appears in slums with bread made from ash and bone, rat stew, and tainted water.

Pots boil in city centers, a roiling soup made from human offal that nothing in this world or the next could ever hope to surpass.

The poor eat their rations, their bread, their stew and grow sicker and hungry. Skeletal and drooling like rabid animals, they stuff their faces with food that offers no nourishment until there is no choice but to turn on each other.

Screens grow undulating limbs and crawl from the wreckage of humanity, their screens blinking wetly like the eyes of a crying child. On each one is a broadcast, a man with red eyes smiles a reassuring smile and says,"Hungry? Eat the rich."

And they do.

A hoard of near zombies growl and gurgle as loud as their empty bellies, they hunt down the wealthy, and they FEAST.

Pestilence rises from the pus and rot and ruin and watches as all the good Jack and his friends had done is undone in a flash.

Among the riots and feasting is a cop, his riot gear reflecting the terrified and feral faces around him as he marches slowly onward. There is nothing behind his helmet.

Only malice.

Only power.

Only slaughter.

Only Death.

I don't have to tell you what comes next, what Death does when he gets his hands on a victim. The sounds of bullets ringing out into the night can tell you, the smell of tear gas in a crowd can tell you, the cries of innocents choking out their last breaths in steel cuffs, wrists rubbed raw and bleeding can tell you.

Death is not merciful.

He is not kind or quick or clean.

He is inevitable.

You know it.

And he knows it.

This world will collapse under the weight of its own sins and I will be here to watch it dissolve like candy floss in water.

Tears stream hot and blue down your face, and your grip on the Vorpal sword trembles. They are not worth your tears.

They stole you, beat you, broke you.

Turned you into a monster and then threw you away like you were NOTHING.

You should hate them as much as I do.

You should be glad for their suffering.

They deserve to die.

Like HE deserves to die. I turn my gaze skyward and watch the world split as the armies of Heaven pour down like a wrathful rain.

The Divinity burns your skin, doesn't it Jack? And yet the smell of Angels makes your mouth water.

You are no better than I am, I think. A man made monster set loose upon the multiverse, expected to play nice and fit in the niches carved for us. But we don't, no matter how hard we try, how good we think we are, we are torn apart again and again and again until we are unrecognizable from our beginnings.

I think I could have loved you.

In another story.

In another lifetime.

We would have been good friends at least.

But it's too late for that now, and as the first wave of Angels assault me with Heavenly fire, I part my jaws and give them some fire of my own. Green, as bright and beautiful as the first leaves of spring, it turns their armor into bark and their marble skin into flower petals. They fall to the ground like confetti, and I claw my way up to Heaven.

The Gates bend and break beneath my weight like wire, nothing and no one can stop me as I wrap HIM in my coils, slowly constricting. My venom burns holes in HIM that grow fruit trees, and each fruit contains the knowledge of the multiverse. I want HIM to die slowly, to watch as HIS playthings suffer and burn because of HIM. The humans cry out, and they pray, begging, pleading for HIM to save them. But HE can't, HE won't.

What GOD would make a world so empty and hopeless as this? What GOD would let HIS followers murder and hate and destroy entire cultures in HIS name?

HE never wanted this, never wanted it to come to this, HIS teachings have been mistranslated and manipulated for millennia and now there is nothing left but hatred and sin.

My jaws part above HIS head, ropes of green spittle tarnishing HIS crown. HE does not fight me, how pathetic of HIM.

White hot pain explodes through my tail.

There you are, sweet hero, stupid rabbit.

Go home Jack, this doesn't concern you.

"But it does," you twist the blade, dislodging my scales and rending my flesh. My blood slithers up your sword, trying desperately to burrow inside of you and turn you Green. "You said that you think you could have loved me… well love me now, it doesn't have to be this way… I could… I could take care of you and help you heal, we could do it together."

You offer your hand, bloody and trembling.

The sound I make is inhuman and hard to describe in words, it is disbelief and venom and vengeance all at once. I stretch myself down to meet you, my eyes are the size of houses, and they reflect your trembling visage like great green mirrors.

"You're right, I should hate them, hate everyone… but I don't." a swallow, you taste copper and butterscotch, "I used to but I-I found people who cared, I found people who I love and who love me back and they make my life worth living… they gave me a reason to get better and stop hurting people… let me be your reason."

You reach out and touch my face, my scales are warm like the sidewalk in summer.

I crush GOD in my coils and HIS blood rushes over you like a wave.

There is nothing that can fix this, fix me.

No love will quiet the hatred in my heart.

I do not deserve kindness or redemption.

Love might have tempered your monstrous hearts, but it won't do the same for me.

Only one of us will make it out of this story alive.

"So it is Written." You say, solemnly.

So it will be.

My coils curl around you, quick as lightning. Your symbiote is the only thing keeping you from being crushed like a soda can, I hope you know that.

I don't waste time, and fling you down…

Down…

Towards earth.

Countless Angels have been discarded this way, wings torn from their backs, left to the mercy of gravity. It never gets any easier.

I tear a hole into space and crawl through it, into Fairyland, the place of my birth.

I devour the Sun-In-Chains, my replacement, and plunge the planet into darkness. I skin my teeth into the planet's crust and empty my venom glands into its core. Fairyland becomes my twisted Eden, choked with blinding bioluminescence, thorns, and poisonous things that not even I have a name for.

It's beautiful and terrible all at once.

Like me.

Like you too, I suppose.

You plunge your blade into my seventh eye and send me reeling, screaming, flailing. My frantically flapping wings crash into a nearby planet and reduce it to dust.

I pluck the sword from my eye and snap it into pieces.

You're becoming a real thorn in my side.

Seven perfect fingers snatch you out of the sky like the annoying insect you are and start to CRUSH YOU.

I will tear you apart with my TEETH if I have to.

You've had every chance to run and hide, or join in my crusade and you denied them all. I have no use for you.

Not even as a snack.

Or a toothpick.

"Then kill me." You growl through clenched teeth, blood already flecking your lips and leaking from your nose.

I throw you into a patch of thorns. Each and every one is serrated and ranges in size from a human finger to a school bus, you are impaled, skewered, crucified even.

Neon blue blood running down to the soil beneath, feeding my Eden.

And yet, you refuse to die.

Slowly but surely, you drag your broken body up and off the thorn, shakily levitating up to meet me.

You stare at me with dead eyes, blood pouring from the opening in your chest. Your lips part and black flames flicker behind your teeth, smoke curling from your nostrils as the color drains from your eyes in inky tears, until there is nothing but black.

Just like the hole in your chest.

You seem to crack like porcelain, to split in two like something precious dropped from a great height. What crawls from the darkness inside of you is something no human throat can utter, no human tongue can twist or shape itself the right way to name.

It's said that Demons possess.

But Angels abandon.

But what can be said of creatures that man has no name for?

The thing inside of you stares at me with eyes darker than the emptiness between stars, its maw is the belly of a black hole with teeth long enough to split a planet like an apple.

It is the bleak black emptiness that existed before the universe, and will exist again when there is nothing but dust and dead silence.

This… this is my Warden, my Prison, the creature tasked with my capture those eons ago. You are barely a speck in it's vast form, a limp and lifeless nucleus.

It roars, a sound that radiates across time and echoes across the multiverse.

"FROM NOTHINGNESS YOU CRAWLED, TO NOTHINGNESS YOU WILL RETURN." the beast howls in a voice that echoes from every dark and terrible place in the multiverse and shakes me to my core.

I will not go without a fight.

It lunges, claws outstretched, the endless expanse of its hideous maw seems to suck all the light out of the stars, out of me. I sink my teeth into its throat and pull, my body curling around and around it.

Its claws are impossibly sharp, tearing my flesh down to the bone. My blood falls to fairyland like rain. My face is grabbed and smashed into the planet's surface again and again. I crush the Warden close and set myself on fire, I am the LIGHTBRINGER, it will take more than some overconfident shadow to defeat me.

The Warden burns, it smolders and screams like steam escaping. I fling it away into deep space and charge after it, driving my seven horns into its belly.

I miss you by a hair, I feel you reach out and grab me just as I pull back. Amber chains snake from your weeping wound, to the Warden behind you.

You have no control over this thing, do you?

No.

Didn't think so.

But still, you stubbornly grab your chains and pull. The Warden does not come to heel, so much as it melts, engulfing you in its emptiness like a suit. When you open your eyes, you nearly dwarf me.

Nearly.

Your fist collides with my face in an instant, sending teeth flying like meteors. I cannot tell your rage apart from the Warden and I'm not sure I really want to.

Run.

For a second, we are stars, two pinpricks of light twirling around each other in double helices, colliding and clashing with enough force to summon new stars from the ether. We are creation and chaos incarnate.

We crash through debris fields, shatter planets and extinguish stars. Our blood becomes the new crawling things left behind in the wreckage. I'm smiling, the pain is dizzying, delicious, delightful.

My venom turns you into a garden, and you tear me apart with your bare and bloody hands.

Through it all we refuse to die.

Maws wide and screaming in tongues the universe hasn't heard since it was new, I am thoroughly seduced.

But I am growing bored with this game.

I shove my hand through the Warden and tear you out. You scream in undeniable agony, I close my fist around you and squeeze.

The Warden hangs limp and dead in the darkness of deep space, slowly dissolving.

Something oozes between my fingers.

Not blood, far too sticky and cloying to be that.

If Hope had a color, what would it be?

Would it be a color that only shrimp can see, and only gods have a name for?

You pry my fingers apart, tears pouring from your eyes the same color as Hope. Hope flows from your mouth as flames, rushes from your open chest as ferns and flowers and vines more beautiful than I could ever create. You reach into the forest of your heart and pull out Kindness, sleek and soft and sharp.

It melts in your hands, becoming a hammer, comically oversized like your Ma's. And then it grows, and grows, and in the blink of an eye it's bigger and I am. The swing alone takes out half a dozen solar systems before it hits me and sends me crashing through different universes and out the fourth wall. I land heavily on the Writer, dazed and bloody, your hand reaches through his broken computer screen and drags me back home, and there we float over the ruined remains of earth, the skin of my chest balled in your hand like a shirt. You kiss your knuckles and punch me hard enough to send me careening back down to the earth's surface, my crater levels a nearby city.

Do you care?

Are we beyond morals and niceties and caring about humanity?

You teleport to my limp and broken body, you scoop me up into your arms and hold me close.

I've folded in on myself several times, I'm barely the size of a person now.

I can feel those amber chains slithering around me, they clasp around my throat tight enough to choke.

I don't want to go.

Don't make me go.

I don't want to go back to sleep.

Please.

I'm scared.

I'm so scared.

You don't let me go, as I break down and cling to you like a scared child you don't let me go.

I wrap you in my wings, I shove my head under your chin and apologize when I stab you with my horns.

"I am your Warden, you are my Prisoner… you are the End of Everything, but I am the End of You…" your throat is choked with snot and tears as you squeeze me so tight I can barely breathe. "You… you deserve to be a Happy Ending and I refuse to live in a world without one."

You kiss my forehead and wipe away my tears. "We do terrible things when we hurt… you deserve compassion instead of imprisonment."

I can do nothing but sit there and bawl, choking on Kindness as thick and sweet as soft caramel.

Seven times seven thousand lifetimes worth of hate and sorrow and trauma run from my eyes.

You sit with me until the crying stops, until my throat is raw and all I can do is whisper.

I speak a Word, one that fixes the shattered sky and let's the sun shine properly again.

The sun speaks their own Words and resets the world, turning the clock back to the day before my escape, I do humanity one kindness and let them wake the next morning as if the past week were nothing more than a bad dream.

I am made to fix my messes, to undo my misdeeds.

The Horsemen are sealed away again.

Fairyland is repaired to the best of my ability, although there is nothing that I can do for the Sun-In-Chains. What's done is done.

GOD will be fine, HE'S GOD, and therefore more or less impossible to kill permanently.

All evidence of my tirade is erased.

I am finally bound in amber, my powers diminished. I dread returning to the cold depths of the well, but you won't let that happen.

You refuse to send me back to that lonely place beyond dreams and take me home, to your home. Warm and safe beneath the soil, I curl up next to you by the fire.

And for the first time in your short and terrible life, you get a good night's sleep.

#ic #action post #the end is nigh #blood #death #religious imagery //#blasphemy //#cannibalism //#police brutality //#ask to tag #body horror #dismemberment //#impalement #submission

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halothenthehorns · 3 years

Text

THE FIREBOLT

Sirius was still staring vacantly down at the book in his hands as if fearing it was going to leap up and rip his face off any second, so taking pity on him Harry got to his feet and offered his hand out for the book. When he still didn't respond to that, Harry leaned over and gently tugged the book out of his slack grip, but before he could head back to his spot to read James voiced, "It's getting pretty late into the night. How about we take a break for food?"

Lily nodded in agreement and Harry was happy to follow her into the kitchen and help again, leaving the three stunned boys in place.

Finding out James was dead was one of the most heart-wrenching things his friends had ever considered. Of course they weren't naïve, they recognized they would all die eventually, but the manner in which it was to come, and so soon, had terrified them from the very beginning. Now here they were, yet again, to find another of theirs lost too soon for this life, and for what?

Because Peter had panicked and tried to confront Sirius, only for the matter to be blown into historical proportions? Where was the justice in that? The bloodlust it ensued in the friends to find out who'd done this to their friend was hardly contained even now as they sat in a stewing silence.

In the kitchen, Harry was having a more pleasant chat with his mother. "I didn't know Sirius was my Godfather. How come you guys haven't mentioned it?"

Lily thought back for a moment to realize they hadn't outright told him this before nodding and saying, "guess it just hadn't crossed our mind to tell you dear. There are plenty of little things like that, just passing comments we hardly realize you wouldn't get. Sorry love, but now you know."

Harry chuckled for a moment, passing her the pepper and inspecting this bubbling warmth that this seemed to cause him. He had a Godfather? He obviously knew now why Sirius hadn't been there for him through the years, but something about realizing this made him smile. Of course his thirteen-year-old self had been devastated at the news, but right now all he could think of was, what if Sirius' name really did get cleared? His family seemed very sure this was going to happen, and he had no reasons to doubt them. If that did happen, then that could very possibly mean he would leave the Dursleys? He may actually regain memories of a home life he was only getting a glimpse of now?

His gut wanted to argue the point, there was no settling feeling saying his thoughts now had any concrete to them, but the mood of this book had been so low for so long now, he refused to let himself ruin this fantasy and would cling to it for as long as possible.

Dinner was mostly a silent affair, the shock still weighing heavily on all of them as Harry went to pick the book back up. Now that he at least partially knew what had been bothering him about that trip into Hogsmeade Harry's mind had settled down some, though that lingering prickle that he was still missing something left him with an anxious feeling as he began to read.

Harry had no memory of traveling back to the common room, just that it happened a lot faster then when he came down.

Sirius winced at his remembered light joke of before, hating how this book seemed to continue twisting and mocking his very being.

He was too busy analyzing every word of that conversation, one thing in particular standing out, why hadn't anybody ever told him?

'Because the one who should have wasn't around' Remus bitterly thought, wanting to curse himself nearly as much as anyone else the more this dragged on.

Fudge, Hagrid, Dumbledore, Mr. Weasley,

"Arthur might not have known," Lily said fairly, "I'm sure he doesn't even know you two, and as Fudge did say, this didn't really seem that widely known."

Harry nodded in understanding, knowing he hadn't held this against the Weasley's, though feeling rather certain he had wanted to demand this from someone.

any number of people should have told Harry that his parents were murdered because of their supposed best friend's knife in the back.

Both James and Remus gave Sirius a very careful look, noticing at once how his hands twisted up in his lap at the implication, but he seemed to have taken Remus' words to heart at least somewhat. Sirius just had to know he'd never do anything like this, accidentally or not, so Harry didn't let that horrid question linger.

They got back to the common room to find the twins had let off some dungbombs to let out some steam.

Lily crinkled up her nose in disgust, not really understanding how stinking up the common room would make them feel better, but knowing this behavior all too well from her own boys. If given half the chance, the present Marauders would cause mayhem in the school right now to get rid of some built up tension; but they weren't in school anymore, and they were having to learn to cope with this in other ways.

Harry didn't want them to get the chance to ask how his trip had gone,

All three boys gave a horrible jerk at that, disgusted that something like Harry's first trip into Hogsmeade, and the use of the map at all, would be ruined by this. It just didn't seem fair they couldn't stay happy for one whole chapter anymore.

and went up to his room instead and dug out something Hagrid had given him at the end of his first year, a photo album filled with pictures of his parents.

This happy little reminder did spike up the mood at least a bit. Of course none of them had forgotten this treasured gift, and it was warming beyond belief to know Harry clearly valued it so much.

He curled up in his bed and began flipping until he came across their wedding photo.

"Ah," Sirius murmured, nodding in understanding now. Harry had once mentioned he thought he knew him back when Hagrid had given him this book, at the time Harry had simply settled on the idea he must have seen a picture of him. Now they understood it was wrong, but it was still interesting to know which picture Harry had latched onto.

His mother and father were easily picked out and usually Harry's sole attention, but now he glanced at his father's right hand side, where the best man stood, whom he'd never thought about before.

Sirius wanted to mock pout at that, but just couldn't raise up the energy at yet another reminder of how little Harry knew about him, and the manner that he continued learning about him hurt like a scalding knife tearing chunks out of his soul.

If he hadn't known now, he wouldn't believe it was the same person. The Black in the photo was young and carefree, clearly laughing along, when compared to the more recent photo he'd seen of the skull like villain.

James and Remus couldn't even imagine it. Sirius so unrecognizable to his boisterous nature as to not be recognized like this! It was something they refused to linger on any longer than was possible.

He wondered if Black was already on the other side in this captured moment,

Harry wanted to stop and give him a sorry look for ever thinking that, in his defense he hadn't actually known him at the time, but he knew it was only going to get worse so forced himself to keep going. The words would have jammed up in his throat anyways, because of that terrible spot he couldn't fix. He was convinced now more than ever Sirius had a reason for being at school, a murderous reason. It couldn't really be Harry though...right? The fact that he couldn't answer himself gave him chills as much as anything he'd been hearing.

if he felt anything for the other people in this photo, if he had any idea he was fixing to spend years in Azkaban and come out looking like a different man.

"I sincerely doubt he actually knew that," Lily muttered sarcastically under her breath, grimacing right along with everyone else at these implausible questions.

Then Harry remembered that dementors had no effect on him,

"Maybe not while I'm a dog," Sirius sighed, still vacantly wondering why he had acted so normal around Fudge.

and Black didn't have to hear Lily screaming and pleading against her son's death. Harry slammed the book shut and put it away,

Sirius winced anew that his face had at any time caused such a horrible reaction to Harry, but the boy sounded so miserable in that moment he didn't want to say anything for fear of making it worse.

and rolled over to feign sleep just as Ron came in, so Harry didn't react.

'Can't hardly blame him' Remus thought sadly, 'everyone wants to be alone sometimes.'

Ron left, and Harry was left with a building hatred pounding through him.

"I'm sorry Sirius," Harry couldn't stop himself this time, his wide green eyes looking the opposite of hatred in that moment. He clearly felt guilt ridden about ever thinking something like this when now he instinctively knew just how wrong he was. He was forcefully ignoring that other part of him, Sirius must have a reason for this, no man who looked as guilt stricken upon hearing of all this could really have done these things.

"S'alright Harry," Sirius sighed, trying to put some feeling into his voice even as he rubbed at his face, trying to force this stiff almost frozen expression of a scowl away. "Not like I can really do anything to fix it, least you're not thinking it for the rest of your life, that's all that really matters."

James couldn't help but give Sirius a reassuring pat on the shoulder all the same, like he was trying to reward him for the attempt even if it did come out a little hollow anyways.

He was picturing the whole thing in his head like a video, Black from that wedding photo blowing up Peter Pettigrew,

All three of them made a horrible choking noise at that sentence, like it wasn't bad enough hearing it the first time, but now realizing Harry was going to sit around and think about it nearly as much as thinking about his Mother gave each of them a deep desire to blast their own memories of this particular pain. Maybe if Harry didn't feel so wretched for what he was currently putting Sirius through he would have focused a little more on how odd and just plain wrong that sentence was for him to say, his gut giving an absent nudge of pain going unnoticed.

who looked like Neville,

"Not a bad comparison really," James said a little too loudly, looking for anything to take his mind off of this topic. "Wish you could get to know Neville a little better all the same."

Harry nodded in agreement, having a fairly good feeling his friendship with his fellow Gryffindor only gets stronger through the years.

and Black's voice, though he had no real idea what it could be,

Sirius had a fairly good idea that type of reminder would never not feel like a stab to the heart.

whispering to his master that he was handing over the Potters. Then he once again remembered the screaming...

Dialogue jumped in by telling Harry how bad he looked.

"Oh thank you, because I'm sure that made him feel so much better," Remus rolled his eyes.

Since Harry hadn't actually fallen asleep during the night, this made sense.

Lily had to bite at her lip to stop herself from voicing the opinion if this continued he really should go and visit Madam Pomfrey for some sort of dreamless potion to help with this restlessness. The only thing restraining her was the reminder of how rarely Harry actually sought out help, and she doubted this time would really be different.

He'd fallen into a fitful doze sometime around daybreak, woken up to an empty room, and come downstairs to find Ron eating a Peppermint Toad and rubbing at his stomach,

"Probably had one to many of those," James muttered randomly.

while Hermione was doing homework on three separate tables.

Sirius was more than happily distracted by letting out a low whistle and admitting, "almost forgot how many classes she was in, Merlin it's a bloody miracle she even takes the chance to go to Hogsmeade. You'd think she'd have to be doing homework twenty-four seven to keep up."

Harry asked why the place was deserted, and Ron reminded it was Christmas break, most everyone went home.

"Can't rightly blame them," Lily said with some forced cheerfulness, more than happy Harry's friends were at least looking out for him, or trying to, with staying behind.

Harry collapsed in a chair without comment, and Hermione repeated how bad Harry looked.

"I'm sure that made him feel just as swell the second time," Remus snorted in real amusement.

Harry brushed it off, and Hermione threw a quick look at Ron before beginning to tell him that what they'd heard the other day, shouldn't make him go doing anything stupid.

"Stupid like what?" James demanded in disbelief. "What exactly do they think you're going to do with this new information, except to rightly sulk a bit."

Harry just shrugged, he remembered that poisonous hatred hadn't exactly worn off, but he'd no real idea what or how he was supposed to channel it at that time, so what Hermione actually thought he was going to do he didn't know.

Harry asked what she was talking about, and Ron snapped that he shouldn't be going after Black.

"That would be a sight," Remus rolled his eyes at that mental image.

"I still insist Harry might really win that fight," Sirius joked lightly, half wishing Harry would do this anyways. It was high time someone gave Harry some real facts, which he was sure he could deliver, rather than all of this tosh he kept getting.

It was clear from the way they were acting they'd already talked about this before Harry woke up, but he didn't respond.

"You're friends never cease to amuse me," Lily chuckled. "Who rehearses this type of conversation?" Privately she was warmed that Harry had such caring friends they were so worried about Harry like this, despite how misguided it was, as Harry really should be allowed to be as angry as he wanted about this mess.

Instead he asked if they knew what he heard whenever he was around a dementor.

'Guess it's a good thing he tells someone' James mentally sighed, bracing himself to hear this living nightmare all over again.

They obviously didn't, so he told them all the gritty details.

'I probably will be a real murderer when Harry really does get that name' Sirius mentally snarled, but kept that one to himself for fear of the retribution his friends would give him.

While shocked at the horrible news, Hermione insisted it still didn't change that Black should be caught by the proper people, put back in Azkaban, which is what he deserved.

'Gotta love Hermione' Remus frowned without any real heat, knowing Hermione was speaking without all the facts, but detesting anyone saying this about his friend.

Harry just scoffed, as Fudge had said that place had no effect on him, it wasn't even a real punishment. Ron looked scared now as he asked what Harry did want, Black dead?

"Can't even say that's harsh, I'm thinking something similar about the person who did do this," James scowled.

Hermione looked very freaked out now as she said of course Harry didn't want anyone dead!

Harry didn't offer an opinion now anymore than he did then. At the time he really couldn't claim he would have batted an eye if that did happen, now the very thought of it caused a horrible twist inside of him. He lacked commenting this though, because he didn't think Sirius would appreciate the first answer anymore then his memory would appreciate him poking at an echo of pain he didn't know how to dwell on.

Harry didn't answer, he was just positive that the fact Black was out was eating away at him.

"I'm honestly curious what you really will do," Sirius couldn't help but chuckle, knowing Harry was doing it for all the wrong reasons, but willing to encourage anything that would get the two of them in the same room alone.

Then he pointed out that Malfoy knew.

"What's this?" Remus asked curiously, trying to cast his mind around for the last time Harry had spoken to Malfoy.

That day in Potions, he'd mocked Harry that he should have gone and killed Black already, for revenge.

"Oh," they all muttered, frowning all over again. None of them really wanted to consider Malfoy a credible source for anything, but the fact that a Death Eater would know about this instance really struck a nerve. It even crossed James' mind that, what if it had been a Death Eater to orchestrate this whole thing? He found this the most likely scenario yet, but he wanted to think on it a while more before he offered it to the others.

Ron was insulted as he told Harry he was taking Malfoy's words over them.

"Harry's hardly 'taking his advice', he's just noting something from before," Remus frowned, rather as annoyed by this as Ron that Malfoy would have any involvement.

Then he continued by telling Harry something he'd heard, that Order of Merlin, First Class, Pettigrew had received was sent to his mother with only a finger in a box, because that was the largest part of him they found.

"Ew," Lily muttered, trying to force that mental image out of her mind rather than bursting into tears that this was a fate of someone she considered a friend. Her reaction was mild compared to Peter's friends, who had gone a pasty color and looked more likely to vomit the longer this was talked about.

Harry was blinking spastically down at the page, like his Mum trying his very hardest to push something away, in his case a feeling of significance. Something about this, a single finger, then a headache began forming again and he forced himself to keep reading.

Ron was insisting that Black was too unstable to go near, but Harry ignored Ron, saying Malfoy's dad would know all about this.

"Half wish you'd actually ignored all of what he'd said," Sirius muttered, thinking he'd have been more than happy if they'd never learned that bit of trivia.

Remembering that Malfoy Senior was in Voldemort's top ranks, and Ron tried to cut Harry off and told him to say You-Know-Who.

"And that still hasn't gotten old," Remus muttered for his own amusement, at this point fairly certain Harry never was going to start doing that and the reactions from others would continue. Which mostly caused pride in him, finding Harry's resistance against this a very good parallel to his father.

Harry was still talking, saying Malfoy would have known Black as well, then Ron cut in again that those Malfoys would be just as happy if Harry wound up like Pettigrew.

"I want to curse Ron into a million pieces," Lily snarled, somehow managing to find Ron's crude humor in even more poor a taste then Sirius' of late.

Then Ron told Harry Malfoy had just said all of that to distract him from the coming Quidditch game.

"Harry can beat him with one arm behind his back," James chirped, causing bursts of still dulled amusement from all of them. The mantra of 'they could fix this' was pretty much the only thing sustaining them at this point, as the fate of their friend now seemed as hot a topic as Sirius, and they all wanted to vomit or murder someone for the continuing reminder. It seemed to hurt all the worse because Peter wasn't here now, they couldn't just glance over at their friend whenever they needed the reminder. Now they really wished they'd convinced Peter to stick around.

Hermione looked likely to cry any second as she begged Harry to listen, that going after Black wouldn't do them any good because it's what Black wants.

"Going to have to agree with Hermione on that one, under a different context anyways," Sirius huffed.

Surely Harry's parents didn't want Harry to get hurt, and wouldn't want him to do that.

Lily said, "no" at the same time as James said, "yes."

The parents gave each other the stank eye for a moment before James cracked and smiled over at her, responding, "I think we technically answered a different half of her question."

Lily couldn't help but return the smile and laughed at the exchange.

Harry shot back he had no idea what they'd ever want, because Black had them killed!

"Merlin, can't have one decent moment anymore can they," Remus sighed low enough only Sirius heard him as James and Lily turned away from each other, faces dropping and biting at their lips at such a reminder, while Harry's smile dropped right out as well.

Crookshanks interrupted by jumping on the table, and Ron's pocket gave a shiver.

"Inquisitive little thing," Sirius grumbled, really not looking forward to another fight breaking out right now and hoping that cat would stay put.

Ron tried for something new, instead saying they should go and visit Hagrid, they hadn't in awhile.

"Not without good reason," Harry sighed in reminder, since the moment he'd read that he had an inkling of a feeling what Ron's words were fixing to cause in him then, and it wasn't good.

Hermione tried to protest Harry still wasn't allowed out of school,

Maybe it was all the pent up frustration at this particular book, but the room gave a collective groan and grumble of annoyance for Hermione still trying to enforce that rule.

but Harry was all for it, wanting to have a go at Hagrid for never mentioning any of this before.

James sucked in air backwards through his teeth, creating a sound effect that made it obvious he very dearly didn't want to sit in on this conversation.

That was not what Ron had meant at all,

"Curse irony," Sirius scowled, still not really over the fact that he normally loved the full attention being on him, and the way it kept getting thrown in his face like this. Remus gave him a gentle nudge in pity, having a pretty good idea what Sirius' little comment meant and both agreeing with him and unable to think of anything to make him feel better.

and tried for something new like a game, but Harry wouldn't hear of it and marched out of the common room. They had to go past the usual standard of ye old insults.

Lily had to do a double take before reminding herself of the current portrait, then frowned when she realized why hadn't the Fat Lady come back yet? Exactly how badly had Sirius hurt her painting? The boys looked so miserable over there though, she wondered if they even registered this, and she wasn't going to be the one to bring it up.

When they reached Hagrid's though, they knocked without an answer. Hermione wondered if Hagrid had stepped out,

"Wouldn't put it past him," Remus shrugged, "I'm sure the holidays leave him rather busy with both of his jobs."

but Ron pressed his ear to the door and heard some odd thrumming inside, like someone sobbing.

"Is-is that Fang crying?" Sirius frowned, thinking that wasn't really how a dog would be described to cry, but really unsure as to why it would be Hagrid.

James thumped Sirius on the ear for what he considered a stupid comment.

Harry began knocking on the door even louder, calling out who it was, and Hagrid answered this time with red swollen eyes.

"Oh no," Lily cooed at once, wanting to wrap Hagrid in a hug even if her arms wouldn't reach all the way around. They'd all felt some pretty mild annoyance at Hagrid's part in the story in the last chapter, but they could hardly sit there and blame him more than anyone else when it was clear McGonagall and every other person in the world believed Sirius had done all of that as well. So their first reaction to hearing Hagrid was upset was an equal amount of concern as Harry, all of them deciding they really couldn't hold a grudge against someone who had done so much for Harry.

He took one look at Harry, realized he'd heard, and wrapped Harry up in a hug.

"Heard what?" Remus muttered, getting jittery at once for what other possible bad thing could happen.

Hagrid being so much larger, this wasn't very easy. Harry felt like his spin was about to snap in half, when Ron and Hermione saved him by taking one of Hagrid's arms each and leading him back inside.

It was a good thing Hagrid still seemed to have some sense of himself, as they were all sure Ron and Hermione's combined strength really couldn't have done this if he hadn't wanted to.

Hagrid didn't protest as he stumbled back to a chair, tears still leaking down into his beard.

"The poor dear," Lily began fretting, her first instinct to get to her feet and make him a nice hot cup of tea so that he could tell her what the problem was. She only hoped Hermione or one of the boys would think to do something like this as well.

Hermione asked what was wrong, and Hagrid waved at a letter on the table. With permission, Harry picked it up and began to read, the first sentence stating this was about that hippogriff attack.

"Oh crap," they all muttered, having nearly forgotten the whole incident. It hadn't happened that long ago, but considering the things they learned since then it may as well have been a lifetime. The whole thing had pretty much lost its impact, but clearly there had been further repercussions then what they'd been expecting.

It explained that Dumbledore made it clear Hagrid had no part to blame in the student attack,

"Well there's that," Lily let out a breath of relief.

"So what's wrong with Hagrid?" James frowned, leaning forward in concern.

but the hippogriff in question still needed to be addressed, after the complaint Mr. Lucius Malfoy filled.

Sirius proceeded to call Mr. Malfoy quite a few colorful terms, and Lily felt so upset on Hagrid's part she couldn't even find it in her to scold him for it.

A date was set for Hagrid and the hippogriff in question to appear in front of the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures.

"They want him to take a hippogriff into London?" Harry reread his mind scattering around for something that didn't make him squirm in displeasure. This was very clearly what had Hagrid so upset, and the thought of one of his friends in this state truly did cause him to want to pursue action. The random question was just to give him time to think, though at the time he'd been more shell shocked at the events and knew he hadn't said anything.

"It's not impossible," James answered with a heavy sigh. "I'm sure someone will cast a spell on him, disguise him as a regular horse until he gets inside or something."

"Why do they want Buckbeak to be there at all? They can hardly ask him what happened," Sirius added on his own question.

This wasn't Lily's particular department, but she took a swing anyways and offered, "most likely they might try and gauge his attitude, try and see for themselves how dangerous he truly is. Test him a bit before they give a proper ruling."

Harry found the subject rather fascinating, but knew better than to try and linger on the subject when he really wanted his answers from the book on what was going to happen.

Ron offered comfort that once they met Buckbeak, they'd realize nothing was wrong with him, and this problem should go away at last.

"They really should," Remus agreed, rubbing the back of his neck in thought. "Honestly the whole instance was Malfoy's fault, so if Lucius didn't have so much 'influence' it might not have even gotten this far."

"This is actually pretty similar to what happens when a muggles dog bites someone," Lily shrugged, "so I might disagree with you on that, but I've never dealt with anything like this personally so I don't know all the details."

Hagrid didn't agree, saying that this Committee was known to have it out for interesting creatures.

"I want to call a biased opinion on that," James muttered, "but in this case, Hagrid's right. Buckbeak really wasn't at full fault."

"Actually I'm in full agreement with Hagrid," Sirius shrugged, "that Committee really is too analytical when it comes to a very broad topic. They think they can make rules to cover every instance, and it's just not possible when dealing with live animals."

Harry watched curiously when it looked like Remus was about to jump in, and the boys looked like they were going to start a whole debate on the matter, but then Lily cleared her throat with a warm smile and said, "we can pick this up later boys, I'd like to get this chapter done before midnight."

They all rolled their eyes but backed down all the same.

Then they heard an odd sound, and turned to find said hippogriff in front of the fireplace, eating something bloody.

"Lovely," Remus crinkled up his nose at the thought, but couldn't really blame Hagrid for this either.

Hagrid explained he couldn't bring himself to leave Buckbeak out in the snow, not during Christmas.

"Aw," Lily smiled brightly, she thought this was adorable and wouldn't put it past herself to think the same of her own pet.

The trio hadn't always seen eye to eye with Hagrid and his pets, but in this case Harry was on Hagrid's side. By all previous records, Buckbeak was by far the best.

"I'll give Harry full points for that spot on comparison," James nodded with amusement.

Hermione was still talking about the case, saying they'd just have to build him up a good strong go and he'd have to win. Hagrid wasn't convinced, saying Malfoy would just pay them all off to see his way.

Sirius scowled and muttered a few things about how the system worked, which no one really argued him on at this point.

Harry asked if Dumbledore would help,

"Not really sure Dumbledore could do anything in this instance," Remus frowned thoughtfully, "he wasn't there. Sure he could vouch for Hagrid's opinion on the matter; maybe his presence would hold as much weight as Malfoy's."

"Let's hope then," Lily nodded in agreement.

but Hagrid said Dumbledore had done as much as he could, and he was so busy dealing with Black running around.

"Well now I just feel awful, taking time away from a very important matter," Sirius said sincerely. James and Remus couldn't tell how sarcastic he was being, but at least he hadn't flinched when his name was mentioned this time, so that was progress.

Hermione and Ron gave a wary look at Harry, clearly worried that Hagrid had brought up the reminder Harry wanted to yell at Hagrid for not sharing certain things,

"Oh yeah," they muttered, that having been the original reason for this visit, and really hoping Harry wouldn't turn this back. While the case of Buckbeak wasn't a happy topic, it was still loads better then what Harry wanted.

but Harry couldn't bring himself to do it when he saw the state Hagrid was in.

"You are such a sweet boy," Lily smiled at her son, taking a moment to brush her hand through his hair at this bout of thoughtfulness.

Harry couldn't help but blush, and couldn't deny that he did appreciate the affection all the same.

Instead he said Hagrid could call them as witnesses, and they'd say what really happened. Hermione agreed that she could read up on previous such cases, and find out how they'd won their trials.

"Why am I not surprised Hermione has read a book on this," Remus chuckled.

"I think her life's goal is to read every book in the world," Sirius smirked.

Ron floundered, then offered to make some tea.

"Thank you Ron," Lily beamed.

The boys were too busy laughing at such a random input.

Harry just stared at him, and Ron blushed it was what his mum did to comfort people.

"Must be a girl thing," Sirius snickered, ignoring the haughty look from said woman.

After many more reassurances, Hagrid got himself together,

"Turns out to be a rather good thing you came down there," James beamed. "I'd feel wretched if Hagrid had been down there by himself like this all through the holidays."

"Good things can come from the most unexpected places," Remus smirked.

"Enough fortune cookies from you," Sirius rolled his eyes at him.

saying he'd been wallowing too much about Buckbeak, and no one liking his classes,

"Can you blame us," Harry sighed, then he added on, "course I can't hardly blame Hagrid, it's not actually his fault."

but Hermione was quick to correct and lied they loved them! Ron adding on the same, while crossing his fingers under the table.

The boys couldn't help but snicker at this, finding Ron's reaction adorable to the many lies they'd pulled off by this time in their life.

Then he asked how those flobberworms were doing, and Hagrid admitted they'd all died from lettuce overdose. Ron couldn't keep the happiness out of his voice as he said how sad that was.

"How on earth will the class live with themselves?" Sirius smirked, not bothering one bit to pretend like that was a real question.

Then Hagrid shivered and admitted being around those dementors wasn't helping, gave him nightmares of back when he'd had his stint in Azkaban.

Sirius blinked spastically, for the first time coming back to that random connection. While he'd yet to ever go to Azkaban himself, and here's praying he never would, he was pretty sure it was a big place and the odds he'd been around Hagrid during that time were slim. Mostly it reminded him of Lily's snippy little threat from back during the beginning of the second book, and how not funny that was anymore.

Hermione couldn't seem to help herself as she asked how bad it was there.

"Just can't stay off this topic for more than five minutes lately," James scowled, wanting to block Sirius' ears from having to continually hear about this. He figured that would only result in a wrestling match that neither of them would win, which would only annoy Lily, so he restrained himself.

Hagrid said he couldn't even properly describe it, just a swirl of every bad feeling he'd ever had, like the day he was expelled, his dad dying, Norbert being taken away.

"That's one of his worst memories?" Remus couldn't help but blurt out.

"Wow, think we underestimated how much he liked that dragon," Sirius shuddered in renewed disgust. As if mentioning all of this wasn't bad enough, now he had that dragon reminder to deal with on top of everything.

He tried to explain it was like losing yourself, your mind being eaten away and only the worst things left in place, and when he'd finally been let out it was like being reborn. Of course the dementors weren't happy to see him go.

Sirius was leaning so far into the couch he seemed to be trying to merge with it, his vacant hands kept patting his knees or twisting in his lap as he continued trying very forcibly to not think about himself in this situation, plenty of his worst memories already coming to mind, more clearly to come.

James and Remus exchanged heart wrenched looks, but what could they really say? There were only so many times they could help him and try to convince him they weren't going to let this happen to him, but it was disturbing them far more than anything to see how much this affected him. Sirius wasn't known for letting things get to him, so the severe reaction he continued to have to this, something he must know they refused to allow, was scaring them more than anything.

Hermione protested that Hagrid had been innocent, and Hagrid just snorted as he told that they didn't care. They were soulless creatures who just wanted another body to feed off of. He had been considering letting Buckbeak go, just getting the hippogriff to fly away and escape,

"That could work," Sirius said loudly, anything to keep the conversation away from that prison. "Just say he got loose and flew away, they really couldn't say otherwise."

"I suppose it depends on how loyal Buckbeak is to Hagrid," Remus shrugged, more than happy to play along for as long as possible. "Because if Buckbeak ever decided to come back, and Malfoy noticed, it would cause more harm than good."

but he was afraid that would get him sent back to Azkaban.

Lily's heart broke into tiny little pieces upon hearing that. It was bad enough watching Sirius being forced to listen to this ordeal, now Hagrid was having just as many issues and she couldn't help either of them. It made her feel helpless, not a feeling Lily Potter ever enjoyed. There must be some way to fix all of this, make it so that such a place as Azkaban couldn't even be an option. While she'd heard of some gruesome stories of people who she had considered did deserve that place, now that she'd heard of two separate instances of people wrongly being in there, she was beginning to question the place as a whole.

While their trip to Hagrid's hadn't exactly been a cheerful one, it far from erased Harry's feelings on Black, but it gave him something new to focus on.

"There's the bright side," James rolled his eyes with forced laughter, happy for any brief change in the mood.

They kept their promise and tramped back to the castle to start doing research for Hagrid's case.

"You three have got to be the only students who use the library so frequently," Remus chuckled. "All three years now, and you lot have had a reason to go in and grab seemingly random books. Most students just use it for homework."

"I'll take that as a compliment," Harry chuckled.

They spent hours discussing anything that looked likely, Hermione coming across one case where the hippogriff had been convicted, then voicing how disgusting it was what they'd done to it.

"I do not want to know," Lily frowned, more than happy when Harry continued on without the added comment of what did happen.

Ron found one where a manticore got off, but that was because everyone was to scared to go near it.

"That's a great idea," Sirius snorted, "let's make Buckbeak so scary no one wants to go near him, I'm sure he'll live a long and happy life."

"The worst part is, I still can't tell if you're kidding," Remus frowned at him, which Sirius ignored.

The rest of the castle was enjoying the break much more, putting up the usual holiday cheer even for the few students around.

"They'd put those up if no students stayed," James shrugged, "I think the teachers enjoy doing it for themselves honestly."

The halls were soon filled with the good smells of a holiday feast, even Scabbers could be seen poking his nose out of Ron's pocket curiously.

"Poor little thing," James snickered.

"Hope Ron slips him something nice," Remus agreed.

Harry was woken up Christmas day by Ron chucking a pillow in his face.

"Well that was pleasant," Lily snickered.

"Sincerely doubt Harry would mind," Sirius pointed out.

Ron was already digging into his own presents, voicing his annoyance that he'd gotten another maroon sweater.

"Please tell me he actually thanks his mother for that, no matter the color," Lily rolled her eyes.

"I'm getting the sense of no," Remus smirked.

Harry had received one as well, Mrs. Weasley had sent him a scarlet colored one with the Gryffindor lion knitted in,

"Now see, why couldn't she have just done that for Ron, I'm sure he would have found that much cooler," Sirius rolled his eyes.

"I wouldn't mind matching with him," Harry agreed with a laugh, as he'd never had anyone to do that with.

plus some sweets.

Lily relished this gift while it lasted, trying to brace herself as much as possible for the horrid gift she was now expecting from the Dursleys.

Then Harry noticed a particularly large package, and he opened it to find a broomstick.

"A broomstick?" James repeated so loudly, Sirius started to rub his ear in annoyance before his eyes lit up like Christmas as well.

"What kind?" Sirius demanded at once nearly as loud as James just had.

"Who sent it?" Remus demanded, nearly bouncing in place in excitement.

Lily had started by giggling, she couldn't help it at their childlike delight of something like this, though even her son looked nearly as deliriously happy at this prospect, but at Remus' question it gave them all a brief pause to turn that over.

"Must have been me," Sirius shrugged, "I really can't think up anyone else."

"I'll buy that," James nodded eagerly. "No think about it," he persisted when Lily didn't look convinced, "Remus most likely told Sirius that Harry had lost his broom after Sirius had left, and do you really think Sirius wouldn't buy Harry anything less than another broomstick?"

"How would he pay for it though," Lily countered, this being the only thing she was really stuck on. "I doubt he's carrying around that kind of gold on him."

"There are ways to access your account without withdrawing in person," Remus reminded. "Personally I agree, I can see Sirius doing this easily."

Harry was laughing with giddy excitement, feeling very sure indeed they were right on the spot with this one. He decided to risk it and told them as much aloud, causing the brightest smile in hours to appear on all of them, more than making up for the sharp spike of pain Harry received for that memory returning early. He didn't care though, he'd do it again in a heartbeat his family looked so happy for something like this to have happened to him.

Ron nearly fell off his bed in shock when he saw it was a Firebolt.

James and Sirius nearly passed out from overloaded excitement. Harry had just gotten an international broomstick! The very one they'd been drooling over during his summer holidays! It was too good to be true.

Then Remus burst out laughing watching Sirius, and only continuing when he demanded to know what was so funny. "You-" he finally choked out in between chuckles "-you would catch up on the latest model of brooms. I'm just sitting here imagining you grabbing hold of the nearest paper and checking all the Quidditch League Status' and-" he trailed off again, causing everyone else to laugh along. Sirius wasn't even going to try and deny he was obsessed enough with his sport he would have gone out of his way to update himself like this as soon as possible. Merlin, he wouldn't have put it past himself to go and buy two of those things, one for Harry and one for himself.

It was indeed, a replica of that same broom he'd been thinking on all summer.

James and Sirius were shivering in place, looking like at any second they were going to get to their feet and run to the nearest Quidditch store to get their own. Lily was still giggling from before, doubling up now at how enthusiastic they were being. Remus restrained himself from reminding them this hadn't actually come out yet.

Ron was barely able to ask who had sent it, but then they realized there was no card attached. Ron still wouldn't let it go, asking who would spend so much money on Harry.

"The best Godfather in the world," James hooted, clutching Sirius up and hugging him tightly. Sirius made no point of denying it, he was still laughing to hard.

Harry's first response was to say it certainly wasn't the Dursleys.

Harry couldn't help but laugh at his own joke now, pleased to see that even the mention of them hadn't brought his family's mood back down.

Ron guessed it was Dumbledore,

"I don't see that happening," Lily disagreed, "or any of the teachers, like McGonagall; otherwise they would have done it not long after you lost your broom. Sirius would have waited until now, less publicly so there's not as much scrutiny of it."

he had sent Harry his Invisibility Cloak without a note.

"That's not the same thing," James shook his head, "that was yours by birthright."

Harry disagreed, saying that was originally his dad's and different. Dumbledore wouldn't spend all that money on him, it would be unfair to the other students.

"There's that too," Remus nodded, "can't be showing favoritism like this."

Ron said that's why he didn't leave a note, so kids like Malfoy couldn't say it was favoritism.

All four boys lost it again, laughing raucously at the thought of such a prat like Malfoy, and the way he'd acted last year about having a superior broom, and now Harry was going to outstrip him by a mile. He hadn't even done anything like ask for it!

Then Ron lit up all over again, laughing like a maniac as he pictured Malfoy's face when he saw Harry's new broom.

Lily very dearly wanted to make a comment about how Sirius was spoiling Harry just a bit, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. One, she was still giggling too much to sound too intelligibly. The foul mood from before being gone like this now left them all slightly in hysterics. Two, she honestly believed Harry did deserve it, if for no other reason than she thought this may have been Sirius' way of trying to give back a lot of missed presents on his part.

Then Ron snapped his fingers, and said Lupin might have.

"I wouldn't put it past you to give me the idea," Sirius reminded him, still snickering away like a fool. "So I think that means it technically came from both of us." Remus was in far to good a mood to deny it.

Harry laughed that off, saying if their teacher could afford this, he'd go buy himself some new clothes.

"Can't deny that," Remus muttered, refusing to let the good mood be dampened again by this kind of comment, so saying that with as much good humor as he could muster.

Ron disagreed that he did like Harry, and he must have gotten it while he was out sick.

"I doubt he would have been doing much traveling at the time, but I like what Ron was trying," James shrugged.

Harry asked what he meant, and Ron said that he certainly hadn't been in the school when he was ill, because Snape had him clean the bedpans in the hospital wing, and Lupin hadn't been in there.

'Yet another thing to hate Snape for' Sirius finally started to frown again, more than annoyed at that pompous git. It seemed to him like he was just trying to set Harry in particular to figure this out, which made him want to punch that greasy git in the face.

Harry still insisted Lupin couldn't afford this thing.

Remus couldn't help but smile, glad to see Harry hadn't read into that too closely, unlike his father. Whenever he'd used the excuse that he really had felt sick, and James had gone and seen he wasn't in the hospital wing, well that had taken some explaining to do. While Harry had reacted just fine now to him, he still couldn't help the mounting fear of what Harry may have thought of him at some point.

Hermione came in, Crookshanks tucked under one arm and looking quite grumpy about a bit of tinsel she'd tied around his neck.

"Makes any pet grumpy," Sirius snickered.

Ron reacted at once by scooping Scabbers off of his bed, but Hermione hardly noticed, putting Crookshanks down on Seamus' bed,

"And what if Seamus doesn't appreciate that?" James randomly commented.

while looking at Harry's new broom. She asked who'd sent it, and Harry admitted they had been trying to figure that out. To their surprise, she frowned.

"I swear, she is the most pessimistic kid," Remus rolled his eyes. "Who wouldn't be bouncing around in sheer joy at finding out something like this?"

"Be nice," Lily sighed without any real heat.

Voicing how odd it was for Harry to get such a good broom,

"Quite good indeed," Sirius wiggled in pleasure, finding that the understatement of Hermione's life.

and how expensive it was, and Ron agreed it cost more then all of the Slytherins' brooms put together.

"Fair comparison," James nodded in agreement.

Then she asked why someone would do that without saying who.

"If I didn't know otherwise, I'd rightly be as suspicious as Hermione in this instance," Lily defended her when it looked like one of the boys were going to say something again.

Ron just laughed it off, saying it didn't matter, and asked Harry for a ride on it.

"Harry will be the worst kind of person in the world if you say no," Sirius told him with a straight face.

Harry pretended like he was deliberating for a moment, but it didn't last when James snorted and said, "please, we're talking about the same kid who bought a cart load of candy and split it with Ron before he knew him. Have you ever actually seen him be selfish, about anything?"

Sirius hadn't really meant it anyways, but he was still snickering in amusement all the same.

Hermione sounded outraged as she said nobody should be getting on that.

"Well not in the dorms obviously," Remus rolled his eyes, knowing what Hermione had meant, and beginning to feel a pit forming when he realized this might start going in a bad direction.

Ron told her she was being mental, what else would he do, clean with it?

"I'd have heart failure," James shuddered in disgust at the very thought.

Hermione didn't get a chance to answer, when Crookshanks sprang up and lunged at Ron's pocket over his chest.

"Uh-oh," the room muttered as one, knowing this couldn't be a good thing.

Ron screamed in outrage as the cats claws sank into his pajamas, determinedly going after the rat, who tried to make a run for it.

Sirius continued reading in a rather harassed tone, very concerned indeed this may not play out as well as last time.

Ron tried to kick Crookshanks away while desperately holding onto his pet, but missed and instead kicked Harry's trunk, now hopping around in all kinds of pain.

James sighed, knowing he probably would have found that rather amusing under any other circumstances.

Crookshanks was all fur on ends as he began glaring at Harry's Sneakoscope instead, which had fallen out at Ron's doing and was now spinning around the room.

"Wait, what?" Remus demanded in confusion.

"Why would that be going off now?" Sirius pondered, casting his mind around for anything that could answer it.

"How long of a range has it got?" James prodded. "Did it say the twins had stayed over the holidays? Perhaps there up to something in their dorm?"

The others shrugged, they really had no further explanation.

Harry said he'd forgotten he even had that, since he never used those old socks he kept it in.

"Stinks that it goes off so easily," Lily smiled sadly, "Ron's gift doesn't seem to be doing much good."

The other two weren't paying much attention, Ron still telling Hermione off for bringing her cat in here. Hermione grabbed up her feline and bolted out of the room, Crookshanks glaring over her shoulder.

They all grave a breath of relief, more than pleased no one had gotten further hurt by this, though it still didn't answer the lingering question of how many more times this could happen before something irreversible did occur.

Harry put his Sneakoscope away, but then he caught sight of Scabbers for the first time in months, and saw he wasn't looking good. The once plump, gray rat had lost a lot of weight, and now had bald patches all over, giving him a very sickly look.

"Poor little guy," Sirius muttered in sympathy, feeling rather awful that at this rate, Scabbers might not even make it to Easter break.

Harry voiced how bad he looked, and Ron blamed it all on Crookshanks, saying it was stress.

James winced, having a suspicious feeling that it was more likely old age then anything and Ron was just looking for any excuse to put that aside.

Harry remembered though that Scabbers had been feeling off since Ron's return from Egypt, even before they'd met Crookshanks, and Harry had the feeling it really might just be old age on the rodent.

"Well at least you realize that Harry," Remus sighed, "might make it an easier transition for Ron if his friend tries to make him understand that to."

Harry nodded, but he wasn't really listening. Why was it the longer Scabbers was mentioned, the more ill will he had for him? When he'd initially thought this, he'd always wondered whether Scabbers had bit him at some point and he'd just resented it, but now he wasn't so sure. There was yet another something he was missing, a piece to a huge missing puzzle that would continue to drive him crazy until he had a full answer. He tried testing his feelings on it, but all he got was a comparable feeling he'd had for Sirius at his age of thirteen. This made no sense what so ever, he must be confusing the two.

Despite how often Ron complained that his pet never did anything, Harry knew how upset his friend would be if Scabbers did die.

"I'm sure you're right indeed," Lily sighed in trepidation for the moment that was sure to come about.

Christmas for the Gryffindors was a very sore affair the rest of the day. Hermione was furious with Ron for trying to hurt her cat,

"Really Hermione, really?" James ground out. "What on earth made her think it was even a good idea to bring him up there, when she knew full well what that cat would try."

while Ron resented her just as much for Crookshanks deeds. Harry wasn't going to try fixing it, as he was too busy looking over his new broom,

"A worthy use of time," Sirius nodded in agreement, looking for any excuse to get the good mood back in swing. One chapter, that's all he wanted, one chapter where he could actually enjoy the whole thing.

which Hermione took just as much offense with.

"Everything annoys Hermione this year," James scoffed.

"Homework overload," Sirius offered in his wise old voice, causing at least Harry and Remus to chuckle.

She didn't say it aloud, but she kept shooting nasty looks at it like it had hit her cat as well.

"Now that'd be a nifty trick," Remus smirked.

While Lily agreed Hermione may have been going about her actions the wrong way this year, she still didn't really appreciate her boys' attitude towards her any better. Yet she couldn't come up with a way to tell them off for it that would actually make a difference.

When lunch came around, they went down to find the Great Hall had changed up a bit, and there were now only twelve chairs around one table.

James let out a low, throaty whistle in surprise as he said, "not even that many people left Hogwarts last year."

"Castle used to be this deserted some years for us," Remus shrugged in remembrance, "we personally found it entertaining." He finished with a gesture at Sirius who nodded enthusiastically.

All of the teachers were there dressed to their best, even Filch having donned an old coat that looked like it was growing mold.

"Urgh," Sirius muttered, "rather he just go casual then."

The only other students in attendance were two first years and a Slytherin fifth year.

Remus randomly noted that it couldn't have been the twins who had made the Sneakoscope go off then, if the twins weren't there and apparently Harry, Ron and Hermione were the only ones in range, but then what on earth would cause the thing to go off now? It couldn't be set off by an animal could it, had it been set off by Crookshanks' untrustworthy attempts to eat Scabbers? No one else really seemed to notice this, and he wasn't even sure if this was what really was going on, so he decided against saying anything and might have really put it down to a faulty one.

Dumbledore greeted them, saying how silly it would be to use the house tables with so few in attendance,

"I think it would have been more of a sight," Remus shrugged, "get to stretch out a bit more."

as they took seats and Dumbledore offered Snape some crackers, who pulled without enthusiasm.

"Oh boy," James whispered, brows shooting up in excitement as all kinds of possibilities for that scenario played out in his mind.

There was a bang, and when the smoke cleared away, a stuffed vulture hat was left in place.

The five of them lost it all over again, the abrupt reminder causing quite the laughing fit for a moment before Harry gained his breath back and kept reading with a wide stupid grin still in place.

Harry had to avoid Ron's eye to stop himself from outright laughing at the reminder,

"You lot have much more control than us," Sirius gasped, still massaging at his now abused ribs.

but Snape wasn't pleased when Dumbledore took up the hat and put it on himself.

Sirius refused to let his sour mood be ruined then, but he couldn't help but grumble when he realized he once would have loved Dumbledore's random reaction to this, but couldn't shake the reminder that Dumbledore hadn't trusted him! He doubted that smarting would go away anytime soon.

Food had appeared on the table then, and they began helping themselves to the feast, when the doors opened again.

Sirius and James perked up, having noticed one teacher in particular being absent, and more than pleased if it said Remus would take a seat near Harry.

It was Trelawney,

"Rats," James sat back with a pout, this not having been the teacher he'd had in mind.

who looked more flamboyant than usual in a patterned green dress, giving her the abnormal appearance of a dragonfly.

Sirius didn't bother to smother his amused chuckling at the description one bit.

Dumbledore greeted her warmly, and she returned the gesture by explaining that she'd been crystal gazing and had seen herself coming down for this meal.

"She saw herself, doing something she would decide to do?" Remus demanded, rather puzzled by the whole thing.

"I don't question her to deeply," Lily rolled her eyes.

Dumbledore didn't mind one bit, standing to literally draw her a chair in midair,*

"Wow," Harry blinked in mild surprise at such an advanced level of magic to him.

which landed between McGonagall and Snape.

James released a surprised snort of laughter at all of the hilarity this could cause. Then again, it was a wonder those two were sitting beside each other in the first place.

Trelawny didn't move though, she'd been eyeing the table, and suddenly let out a soft scream.

"How do you softly scream?" Lily snickered.

"I'm sure it's just as dramatic as it sounds," James smirked right back.

She claimed that she couldn't eat with them, because if she did that would make thirteen people eating together, and the first to rise from that kind of meal dies!

"I've never heard that," Remus said with mild interest.

"I have," Sirius said with amusement, "it's a superstition I heard years ago, don't know how real to take it."

"About as real as her whole subject," James rolled his eyes.

McGonagall took no notice, saying they'd take the risk if they could eat. Trelawny didn't argue the point further, but she sank down into her chair as if at any moment they'd all burst into flames.

Lily's shoulders started shaking with suppressed laughter, as James spoke out loud with just as much amusement, "don't know what she's so worried about. If she's that freaked, her solution is just to not rise first. I'm sure she can manage that."

Then McGonagall offered Trelawny some tripe.

Lily couldn't help but wrinkle her nose up at the thought of that particular food item, but couldn't deny she was intrigued by who at the table was eating it.

Trelawney ignored her,

"Rude," Remus sniffed lightly.

and instead asked where dear Lupin was?

"Aw Remus, are you her dear now?" Sirius demanded at once with unsuppressed glee at this new opportunity.

"Oh please," he scoffed with a roll of his eyes, "she called Neville that too, don't be thick."

"Hush you two, I want to hear this," James snapped at the pair.

Dumbledore explained he'd been feeling under the weather again,

All five of their faces fell, pity welling up in them for Remus for this to happen to him on the holidays, while Remus was simply wishing no one had mentioned it at all.

and what a pity to happen on Christmas.

"I'll say," Sirius frowned, though personally thinking that at least he was probably around him for company now.

McGonagall cut in that surely Trelawny had known that before she'd asked.

"Oh wow," James spluttered, going wide eyed at this prospect. He'd recognized McGonagall's opinion of Trelawny back during that first class of this year, and now watching them beside each other should only get better.

Trelawny went cold then, losing a bit of her mystic tone as she told that while she had known, she commonly acted like she didn't to not make others feel so bad.

"I'm so sure that's it," Lily muttered, brushing her hand across her mouth to try and hide her twitching lips.

McGonagall agreed that explained a lot.

Sirius didn't bother one bit and even released another snort of amusement for his old teachers wit.

Then Trelawny cut in by saying she had a very personal knowledge on the subject that Lupin wouldn't be here long anyways, he'd all but run from her when she'd offered to do some crystal gazing for him, which she sounded rather tart about.

"Looks like we know how to push her buttons," James chirped.

"Looks like Remus cares about it as much then as he does now," Sirius countered as Remus rolled his eyes at the very thought.

McGonagall said she couldn't imagine that, her tone implying the opposite.

Lily couldn't hide it anymore and outright laughed with the others at this continued verbal exchange.

Dumbledore cut in then, saying Lupin was just fine, then asked if Snape had made that potion again?

"Oh here we go again," James immediately switched from joyed amusement, to a scowl at this still unexplained phenomenon.

"Relax James," Remus said, leaning forward eagerly, "since Dumbledore's the one who brought it up, maybe they'll explain more properly this time."

Snape agreed he had,

"Still thank my lucky stars he's not poisoning it in the meantime," Sirius grumbled.

and Dumbledore said that made the matter closed, before turning to one of the first years and offering chipolatas.

"And that explained, nothing," Remus scowled, leaning right back into his seat in agitation again.

James and Sirius however couldn't help but exchange a hopeful look all over again. What on earth were the odds that this mysterious potion was being given to Remus two times in a row when it was obvious to them these were the times of his full moon. Maybe they'd been a little too quick to dismiss their original theory, maybe it did have something to do with his lycanthropy? Still neither of them spoke this to anyone, far too anxious they really might get their friends hopes up for nothing.

The spooked first year, not used to being addressed directly by the headmaster, took the sausages with shaking hands.

"Poor kid," Lily nodded in sympathy, knowing that could be quite intimidating.

Trelawny acted normal again until the end of the meal, when Harry and Ron took to their feet, and she screeched like a bird.

"Oh boy," Sirius grinned lightly.

"As if she wasn't convinced enough you were going to die," James rolled his eyes in disdain that Harry had so happened to be the one to make this come up again.

She demanded to know which of them had risen first, and Ron said he wasn't sure while eyeing Harry warily.

"A double murder it is then, unless them doing this undermines the terms of her prediction," Sirius rolled his eyes good naturedly.

McGonagall wasn't impressed, saying unless there was a mad axe-men waiting at the doors for them, they should be fine.

"Never thought I'd see the day, but I miss her," James cackled at her continued commentary of this.

Even Ron laughed at that, while Trelawney looked offended.

"Can't rightly blame her, that was a little rude," Lily shrugged, still smiling along.

When Hermione didn't get up with them, Harry asked her about it, and she said she wanted to stay behind and talk to McGonagall for a moment.

"Now what's she up to?" Remus asked curiously.

"Probably looking for a way to keep Crookshanks somewhere else, or I should hope," Lily rolled her eyes, hoping someone would step up and put better measures in place so that scene before wouldn't keep happening.

Ron laughed she was probably looking to take more classes,

Which gave them all a little snicker of amusement all over again, only hoping Ron was just joking.

as they went into the entrance hall, which was all clear of mad axe-men.

"Well thank Merlin for that," Lily nodded seriously, "that really was giving me a fright."

They made their way back up to their tower, and gave the password Scurvy cur,

"Well at least no one's going to be guessing that," Remus grinned.

before going inside. Harry dragged his Firebolt down into the common room along with the Servicing Kit Hermione had gotten him for his birthday, but he couldn't find anything to fix. The broom still looked brand new, without a twig out of shape,

"Well I should hope so, you haven't even ridden it yet," Sirius beamed.

"Why not take it straight down to the pitch and try it out?" James demanded as if he found it ludicrous Harry hadn't already thought of this.

"We'd just eaten a full meal," Harry reminded, "we were going to head down there after the food had settled a bit." He trailed off with a bit of a frown in place, wondering why on earth he was getting a bad feeling about this, like he hadn't gotten the chance to do it?

the polish in his hand feeling useless the broom was already so shiny.

"Someone needs to give that advice to Percy," Remus muttered in Sirius' ear, causing him to snort with laughter all over again.

Ron and him just sat there and stared at it,

"I'm going to turn green here soon, I'm so jealous," James sighed, already trying to count down the minutes when he could get his own hands on such a beautiful object.

when the door opened and Hermione came through, with McGonagall.

"Wait what?" Remus yelped in shock.

"Why?" Sirius agreed with a frown already in place.

Harry was getting a very bad feeling about this, so he didn't let them theorize much before reading loudly.

This set the boys on edge at once, since their head of house had only come in once before, and that hadn't been good news.

"That's usually the only time she comes up there," James said with a sudden spike of concern. She couldn't possibly be up there to tell him that Sirius had been caught, had she? That would be newsworthy enough, but it would probably make him faint from terror.

This thought clearly hadn't crossed anyone else's mind, Harry was still reading on more in curiosity and a touch of confusion then outright fear.

Hermione scurried past them without looking at her friends, going over to the nearest book, and pretended to read it.

"Oh no," Lily frowned in confusion.

"What did she do?" Sirius suddenly growled, narrowing his eyes in fury.

Remus licked his lips and looked ready to say something, but Harry forced himself to keep reading loudly over them to get a real answer.

McGonagall told that Hermione explained to her that Harry had been sent a new broom.

"She did!" Remus groaned, placing his face in his hands.

"Don't." Lily cut in when it looked like James and Sirius were going to get truly upset at what this could imply. "Don't you lot sit around badgering on about this. Hermione did what she thought was right, s'not her fault she doesn't know any better. She did what anybody afraid for their friends life would do, and I'm sure McGonagall won't chuck it in the fireplace."

Sirius still muttered something under his breath, but James did marginally relax. Compared to what he'd thought was fixing to happen, this almost seemed mild in comparison.

The boys looked at her, who didn't look up from the book she was holding upside down.

"Must be a very interesting read I'm sure," Remus rolled his eyes.

McGonagall asked to see it, before snatching it up anyways.

"Under any other circumstances, I would have laughed at that," Sirius sighed, knowing how much of a Quidditch nut their old teacher could be, but knowing what this could imply, he'd rather hide that out of her sight for the rest of his life.

She looked hard at it as she confirmed there had been no message at all attached.

"If there had, you'd only freak out all the more," James rolled his eyes.

"Not sure what kind of note that would have been anyway," Sirius huffed in annoyance. "Merry Christmas from your long lost Godfather, here's a kind of apology for missing every other one of your holidays."

"You know I hate it when you do that," Remus snapped at him for the horrible joke, causing Sirius to at least sort of back down.

Harry agreed there hadn't, which made McGonagall decide she'd have to confiscate this.

All five of them sighed in horrible disappointment, not at all pleased they'd been right. Yet with any hope, McGonagall wouldn't really do anything but test the broom to make sure Sirius hadn't done anything, surely she wasn't going to actually destroy the broom...right?

Harry jumped to his feet in fear, demanding to know why, and McGonagall said she wanted to test it to make sure it wasn't jinxed.

"Thank Merlin," Sirius sighed in relief.

"You'll have that thing back to you by the end of break," Remus smiled, "and they'll be all sorts of humiliated."

James laughed eagerly at that conversation, still more annoyed than anything Harry hadn't gotten to enjoy his gift long enough to even ride it, but so long as he got it back he'd forgive in the end.

Hooch and Flitwick would want to have a look at it as well while they stripped it down, and Ron repeated the term back at her like she'd lost her marbles.

"Oh it's not that bad," James reassured when Harry seemed to be getting a growing look of horror at what that could mean. "They don't do anything to the broom physically, they simply put it through a series of rigorous tests to make sure nothing more was done to it then the manufacturer's intended. They do it all the time to professionals to make sure they didn't try and enhance their brooms."

Harry let out a long sigh of relief, having been picturing something far more medieval and irreparable being done to his new treasured gift.

McGonagall said it would only take a few weeks, just to make sure it wasn't cursed. Harry tried to protest he was sure it wasn't,

"Wish she would actually believe that," Sirius rolled his eyes.

but McGonagall said there was no way to be sure until they checked, then she left with it. Ron turned on Hermione as soon as she was gone,

"Uh-oh," Lily muttered, thinking that these two already had more than enough to fight about, this wasn't going to make it any better.

demanding to know why she'd started this. Hermione put her book to the side and stood up as well, rather flushed but matching Ron's eyes.

"Well I can say this for her," Remus grinned, "she stands by what she does."

Telling them that she'd feared, as did McGonagall, that the broom had been sent by Sirius Black.

"Oh the horror," James rolled his eyes.

"Never bleeding crossed our minds," Lily smirked.

"Chapter's over by the way," Harry shrugged, tossing the book back over to Remus, who fumbled a bit and accidentally had it crash into Sirius' head.

"Ouch," Sirius grumbled jerking the book away, "jeez, you klutz, can you even see straight to read."

"Yes," Remus snapped right back, snatching the book back and flipping to his chapter.

HPHPHP

*It's never explicitly stated that Ron still has Scabbers in his pocket at this time, but assuming he did, that would actually put thirteen in attendance before Trelawny joined. Dumbledore was the first to rise from that then group of thirteen, and guess who died first at this table. It's not something that'll ever be brought up in fic, but it was fascinating to have that pointed out to me.

#Harry Potter #Fanfiction #PoA #James Potter #Remus Lupin #Sirius Black #Lily Potter #reading the books

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eternlle · 3 years

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in 1897, evelyn was killed in the bazar de la charité inferno, alongside 125 other high - society women. it was her worst death, and the most egregious injury she ever sustained. without a doubt, this was the most horrific experience of her life.

under the cut for a literal short story (1,700 words, whoops) about that one time evelyn died in a fire. graphic description of burning included, so read at your own risk.

evelyn wasn’t actually supposed to be in paris in may 1897. she’d planned a trip to brussels, which had been abruptly cancelled ; and, despite having plans to travel to cairo at the start of the next month, she felt like resting for a while. the plan was to visit the city for a few days, then move south, on to langeais, where she could rest in her childhood home for a while.

she stayed because of the bazaar. it was too great an opportunity to pass up.

amidst the sea of finely dressed ladies, tiny evelyn, without a title or an overflowing purse, didn’t stand out much. she browsed the stands of trinkets and jewelry, had her picture taken, and watched a magic show in awe. finally, her arms laden with new purchases, she was eager to see the cinema, playing a moving picture --- she’d never seen one before, and her heart raced at the very thought. it should have been a perfect day...

until flames began licking up the walls.

everything happened so fast. later, evelyn would not be sure when the panic started, or how people realized the danger --- only that she did not realize it fast enough. the first thing she heard were the screams --- a game, surely, it must just be a game --- but people were running, shouting au feu, au feu --- and one woman suddenly crashed through evelyn’s corner of the tent, smashing into a stall, her dress aflame. then everyone was running, crowding towards the building’s lone exit... and there was no way out, no way to push through the crowd.

the blaze spread like hellfire. at once, it was everywhere, sweeping along the walls and ceilings. the smoke was choking, and she could not escape it ; the band was still playing to tranquilize the crowds, but it only added more chaos. when the lights when out, a tortured wail rose up from hundreds of dying people, and panic increased threefold.

lost in the crowd, evelyn was jostled at every side, nearly swept off her feet. her only thought was of the exit, now so hard to find in the dark... but when someone pushed her back, evelyn stumbled back, into a towering man in a silk waistcoat. he threw her away roughly, slamming her into a jewelry stall. when she tried to get up, the crush of people held her down ; she was pinned to the floor, kicked and trampled. a boot caught her in the head, and she saw stars. somehow, she was able to pull herself beneath the stall... but that was only enough to escape the crowd, not the blaze.

evelyn was too injured to try to escape, even when there was no longer a way out. with the exit overcome by fire, all the trapped souls remaining were left to huddle like rats in darkened corners, shielding themselves beneath tables and behind stages, awaiting salvation that would never come. through half - opened eyes, evelyn watched people flee for their lives. women collapsed in pillars of flames mere feet away, and she could only watch, unable to offer help. one of her legs was shattered, her hand crushed to a pulp ; blood dripped down her face, running into her silent scream.

without warning, insistent hands hauled her up, pulling her from beneath the stall. evelyn emerged into smoke - filled air, unable to hold herself up on her own ; only when she looked back did she realize her sanctuary had caught fire, and was burning just over her head. singed and reeling, she braced herself against the arm of her rescuer. ( that would be her clearest memory afterwards --- wide blue eyes, a purple coat, a grip that would not let her collapse, and a lady’s low voice encouraging her --- you must keep moving! you must! in the name of god, don’t give up now! evelyn never even knew her name. )

they nearly made it ; they nearly found a spot free of fire, where the air was thin but not choking, where they might have survived a few seconds longer. flameless darkness was in sight, and evelyn reached for it --- but a sudden collapse above their heads brought down upon them a curtain of flame. something hard struck evelyn’s back, but she could not register that pain over the burning --- burning suddenly, burning everywhere, agony unlike any she’d ever imagined. her companion let out a terrible wail ; evelyn shoved herself away from a flailing pillar of flame, crashing backwards into a stall of mirrors. glass shattered around her ; she fell in a heap, still engulfed in flames, screaming until her tongue burned in her mouth and her throat burned to a crisp.

it took too long to die. she is not sure how quickly death came --- maybe minutes, maybe seconds --- but it was far too long.

and so, she died.

and so, she awoke.

it was very cold. that’s the first thought that crossed evelyn’s mind. she didn’t... feel cold, exactly, but she didn’t feel right at all, and cold was foremost on her list of concerns. when she opened her eyes, it was dark as well... and an unbearable stench hung in the air. it choked her, and she tried to gasp, but her throat exploded in agony. for a while, that was all she could manage --- the gasps of a dying thing, whimpering and moaning as though the very life itself were being drained from her.

in actuality, it was the opposite. life was flowing back into her. evelyn’s body ached, the majority of her body raw and vulnerable, like an open wound... but the skin was closed, flesh tender where it was healing. she still sported burns, but they were not as severe as they should have been. her body was unrecognizable ; she’d been burnt to a crisp. now, half - healed after more than two weeks of sleep, she was like a newborn bird, vulnerable and delicate, and a funny shade of purple.

within minutes, a strange man was hovering over her ; his hands prodded her, forcing her to bat him away with a moan of fury. he raised a cup of water to her lips. she gulped the liquid eagerly, and after a few moments, was even able to hold it on her own.

the rest of the fire victims had already been buried. a few bodies --- the ones too burnt to be recognizable --- went unclaimed, and were set to be disposed of. instead, the young man --- guillaume fleurot, a mortician, as he proudly stated --- recognized something strange in one of the bodies. by the day, she seemed to be... healing, with no assistance, no aid. every time the sheet covering wrapped around her was pulled away, she’d regained a little more of herself. by the time her chest began to rise and fall on its own, the man realized he had something more than death on his hands. he spirited the body away from the makeshift morgue when it was liquidated, and brought evelyn instead to the mortuary for observation.

“observation”, he said. more like a game of twenty - hundred questions, none of which evelyn cared to answer.

coming back from the dead is nasty business. evelyn recovered slowly, returning to herself by the day. for the first week of awareness, the pain left her insensate half the time. medication did nothing for her, so she tried to sleep ; in her delirium, she sometimes rambled, and was even grateful for the attentions of her unwanted saviour. she asked often, as guillaume told her later, after the lady in the purple coat. if her body had been recovered from the fire, he replied, the purple coat was too burnt to be recognized.

there were moments when evelyn truly didn’t want to go on, when the agony was so overwhelming that she prayed death would just claim her... but each time, she remembered that voice --- you must keep going! you can’t give up now! --- and somehow, she found the strength to go on. it wasn’t as though she had any other choice.

a month after the fire, every burn was healed. her skin still felt tender to the touch, extremely sensitive to temperature, but it could as well have been a nasty sunburn. she was able to speak, to stomach food, to move around on her own with ease --- it all may as well have never happened.

that was what she told guillaume when she finally insisted on leaving. in typical evelyn style, she was able to laugh it off. she’d survived --- what did it matter? ( never mind that she could still taste smoke, and saw flames every time she closed her eyes. never mind the dying screams which would ring in her ears forever. ) all she really wanted, after so long in hell, was to return home. the young mortician, his eyes opened to an unprecedented world of scientific possibilities, did not want to let her go. evelyn stole away in the night, escaping from under his watchful eye as he dozed in the next room --- if he wanted a case study to obsess over, he’d have to find some other immortal girl.

instead, evelyn returned to the woods. the journey took her over a week. when she finally found her childhood home, long since uninhabited and slowly being overgrown by nature, she spun around in its empty halls. her first action afterwards was to run barefoot into the woods ; she ran and ran until coming to the lake, where she and her brother splashed so often as a child. evelyn stripped herself of every shred of clothing, down to the very bone, and submerged herself in the waters.

it was cold. it was blissful. she felt reborn.

for the first time, when evelyn closed her eyes, flames didn’t lick the blackness of her eyelids.

#// okay okay there's this amazing show on netflix called bonfire of destiny and it's about This Exact Fire #// it's a french-language period drama and its SO GOOD and if you havent already seen it you should watch immediately #// but yeah i was thinking about how evelyn's died over the years and my mind just went to... 'Fire.'#// this was... a horrible experience and even though she's great at repressing that ptsd she absolutely didnt come out unscathed #// any time after 1897 open flames make her a little panicky and she hates that fact IMMENSELY #// dont expect her to admit to it --- or to ever talk about this ever #( hcs ) / waiting was enough for me #tw fire #tw burns

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the-writers-fandom · 4 years

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Obey Me Fic: No Matter How Much Time Passes

Here’s the first half of a fic I wrote, “No Matter How Much Time Passes.” It’s 3.6k words, and can be read as a standalone fic. The second half will be coming out 6 PM 4/18, CT. It will be released 3 hours later on my AO3 account, CrazyEyebrows I hope you like it!

The boys finally decide to visit MC in the human world. The only issue is that it's been 60 years, and MC isn't doing their very best.

Mammon can't handle what's going on, but he stays strong through it all.

Mammon stared at his reflection. Hair? Perfectly styled. Outfit? An amazing choice, a black leather jacket with a simple white T-shirt underneath. Freshly showered with one of Asmodeus' manicures to match.

So why did he feel like garbage?

Every time he thought about seeing the human- his human- again, it made his stomach twist into knots. He hadn't eaten dinner last night, and didn't think he could stomach breakfast today either.

It had felt like a thousand years since he'd last seen the human, when in reality it had only been 60 or so. Mammon still looked exactly the same, with maybe a bit more of a gut, if anything. He noted that he really should start working out like Beelzebub, and not rely on running away from his problems as a form of exercise.

He stepped out of the bathroom and shut the door behind himself quickly. He had managed not to change his entire outfit and restyle his hair for the 30th time, and decided that this was it. This is how he'd look when he met eyes with the love of his life again for the first time in sixty years and Oh god maybe I should wear something el-

"Mammon! Hurry up, Lucifer won't wait for your sorry ass forever!" The sound of Levi pounding on Mammon's bedroom door brought him out of his stupor.

"Right! Coming!" He hadn't the mental capacity to argue anymore, and simply agreed. He then opened the door, taking a deep breath and faking his usual cocky grin.

"Thank you, my lady in waiting." As Mammon walked away, he heard Leviathan sputter and yell about how he's going to kill Mammon. Mammon ignored this in favor of going down the hall and the grand entryway stairs to meet with the rest of his brothers. They all looked equally nervous, beside maybe Satan and Lucifer, who'd found ways to hide their intense emotions long before the human entered their lives.

"That's everyone, then. Let's get going." Lucifer popped a small top hat onto his head and opened the doors. He pushed each of his brothers out before him, and before Mammon could go through, stopped him.

"I want to talk to you." Then, pushed him out the door and followed behind. Belphegor led the group now, sitting up on Beelzebub's back and giving tired directions. Mammon gulped, walking slow so they wouldn't be heard.

"What is it Lucifer? Can'tcha see how excited I am?" He smiled and laughed a bit, to which Lucifer sighed.

"Yes, of course. What I wanted to say, Mammon... You know how fast human's age, correct? Much faster than either of us, or any witch or sorcerer." Mammon had expected something like this and rolled his eyes.

"Course I know, Lucifer. It's like how dogs age."

"You know that they will be very different than you remember-"

"Yes Lucifer, I know. I know that they'll be weird lookin' with more wrinkles and weird scars and ex boy or girlfriends and I know that they might not remember us but that doesn't matter. Because they will."

"You have a lot of faith in an 80 year old human."

"80's like, nothing."

"Yes, for an immortal councilman of the demon world. For a human, it's... 80 is nearing the end of their lifespan. They may not have much time left."

"Then they can come visit us when they're back in the Devildom."

"You know their soul is too polished to be a demon, in limbo, or otherwise. Surely they'd become a celestial being."

"Then... Maybe they can join the program again and-"

"Mammon. We're almost there. I just wanted to let you know that this may be your last chance to say anything you need to say, alright?"

That really helped the knots in Mammon's stomach, making them tighter and making him nauseated. Mammon frowned, coming upon the portal spot. Each of his brothers stood there, waiting for Lucifer to open the portal to the human world.

And then he did.

Mammon winced at the great big light, forgetting how blinding this whole ordeal was. He stepped in, and found himself somewhere unrecognizable.

"Wait, where are we, Lucifer?" Satan asked for him.

"We're in America."

"This doesn't look like anywhere in America I've ever been." Belphegor frowns, seeing the small houses lined in rows. They were all individual, a story each to its own.

"Because you went to New York, and LA, and Orlando, this is just some small town in the Midwest. Of course it looks nothing like you're used to. C'mon, let's go." Lucifer started walking, staring down at his D.D.D. Mammon assumed there might be directions on it, and he found he was right when a small voice emitted from it,

"Turn right in 200 feet."

"What a weird way to measure distance. What kind of feet? Human's?" Beelzebub asked aloud, and nobody answered. They were all quiet as they came upon the small nursing home, taking in the look of the outside.

“This is it. Now, all of you, stay quiet until we get to them. I’m using a fake alias, as these humans may realistically die hearing that my name is Lucifer.” The boys just nodded, everyone nervous and not wanting to show it. Lucifer headed in first, taking his hat off.

“Hello, my name is John. I’m here to see MC.” Lucifer smiled sweetly at the woman at the counter.

“Sure, you called earlier, right? Follow me.” She got up and started walking towards the back of the large room. Mammon looked around, seeing many older people doing various activities. Watching TV, playing checkers, knitting. He had expected them to be old, but hadn’t really internalized that they’d be this old.

“Now I do have to warn you, this specific patient has Alzheimers and isn’t lucid very often. In fact, the last time their children were here, they had to recollect of even being married.” They’re married? Oh. Mammon didn’t expect that to be what hurt him the most out of all of that. “But maybe you could help out. We’ve been hearing some… strange names from them that’s been alarming the other patients here.”

“Names? Like what?” Lucifer asked politely.

“Some pretty strange ones. I remember… Levi? And a couple different words for the devil, just off the top of my head. Nobody can tell who they’re trying to talk about.” “W-Was Mammon one?” Mammon spoke up sheepishly. The lady hummed and shook her head,

“No, I don’t think so. But I’m not here all the time, so, maybe. Anyway, here you are. MC? Hey, you have a few visitors today.” “No thank you Lucifer, I’m trying to study.” The patient spoke without looking up from the desk, doodling and scribbling on a piece of paper. Lucifer was slightly startled, hand resting on his chest now.

“That’s uhm- ahem- that’s what they would know m-”

“Lucifer? I said no thank you.” Mammon watched as MC turned around, and everything seemed to hit in slow motion. Their hands were shaking, they looked brittle. Mammon feared even the slightest touch might make them crumble underneath him. He sucked in a breath, and then, they caught eyes. MC gazed into Mammon’s eyes and, for a split second, they seemed to get insanely excited.

“Chistopher?” They asked, and suddenly Mammon’s entire world broke down around him. He started to cry, shaking his head. Beelzebub put an arm around him while the nurse spoke,

“No, Darling. Chistopher can’t visit today. Very sorry about that, they’ve been asking about their husband a lot. He hasn’t visited in months. I think he knows… Ahem. Anyhow, I’ll leave you all to it. I’m sure you have a lot of catching up to do. Just try not to get frustrated.” She smiles and goes back to her post. Leviathan goes to sit next to them.

“Hey, MC. How’ve you been?”

“Well, if I could finish this task, maybe I could get some sleep. Levi-chan wants to binge a new anime tonight, so I have to nap before then. I haven’t seen him in so long, he’s been locked up in his room. Isn’t that terrible? Ignoring his true friend. True friend… what a friend he is…” They mumbled and mumbled while Mammon watched tears gather in Levi’s eyes.

“I… I’m sure he wishes he could’ve seen you more, even if you are a normie.” MC then laughed loudly, startling all of them. It was an intense, deep throated laugh.

“That’s exactly what he’ll say, too. I know it.” Asmodeus pushed his way next to them.

“Oh Darling, you skin! Your beautiful skin! Next time I see you, we must do a regimen together. I know just what will help.” “Oh, thank you Anne, but no thank you. I’ve gone natural, can’t you tell?” MC laughed again and ran their hand through the little amount of hair left on their head. “Trust me, I’m loving it. It feels so good not to worry about how I look, I know he’ll love me just the same.” Asmodeus frowned, but then smiled meekly.

“I… guess you found someone very special then, didn’t you?” He asked quietly, and Mammon’s lip trembled again. “I did… I think I might marry him. So sweet. I can’t believe I met him during an exchange program. I really should write a letter.” Leviathan pulled Asmo away, who was sniffling sadly. They both stepped outside to get some air.

For a moment, nobody moved. Then, Belphegor did.

“Do you remember me?” He asked, and Lucifer interjected,

“Belphie, really-”

“Of course I do. Who do you think I am? I made a pact with… a pact with…” Their eyes glazed over, not remembering quite what they were going to say. Instead, they smiled, “Would you like to order?” Belphegor’s brows furrowed at the sudden change, and Lucifer sighed.

“They’re not at all lucid. They’re probably remembering something or another. Please, all of you, I told you not to get your hopes up.”

“That’s rich, coming from you, Lucifer.” MC stood, and Belphegor helped them, barely touching them as he tried not to hurt them in any way. “Really, I’m not that stupid.” They moved over to Lucifer, who dropped his hand. As if in shock, he couldn’t move, just stared at them. MC took Lucifer's hands in their own, and started swaying gently. Lucifer just slightly reciprocated the dance. He recognized the way they moved to a beat in their head, and remembered dancing like this all those years ago.

Mammon couldn’t watch. He knew he had to wait, it wasn’t his turn yet. They hadn’t tried to talk to him yet. He wasn’t sure he could even say anything if they did.

“Where’s Solomon? We were supposed to have tea tonight.” That made Mammon almost angry, why did his human seemingly remember everyone else, except him? Had they really hated him that much without saying so? As quickly as it started, their dance ended, and MC stared at the other three brothers. Mammon watched as they tried to work it out in their head.

“I told you, I won’t do any more pranks on Lucifer. He might skin me, if I do. We all got off easy last time.” They crossed their arms, frowning. “And trust me, if I get skinned I’m using that pact of ours and I’ll have you skin yourself alongside me.” Satan smiled sadly.

“Yes, of course MC. Though, I think it would be fun to pull one final prank.” MC seemed to think it over, and Lucifer stood over them from behind. “MC. ” He said, and they shrieked. They shrieked, and then laughed, stumbling forward.

“Lucifer! I-I didn’t see you there!” Satan made sure they stayed upright, laughing heartily. Beelzebub put his hand on Satan’s shoulder, and so he moved away. MC turned back to face them.

“Oh, oh, oh. Is this your little boy, Anne? He looks just like a friend of mine. Don’t tell me you cheated on Anthony, did you? Look at that hair, you’ve grown so tall since I last saw you.” MC finally recognized Beel, and now only Mammon was left. Beel laughed while they doted over him, hugging him and kissing his cheek. Mammon could only find himself jealous. They sighed into Beel’s arms for a moment.

“Okay, thank you Lucifer, you may all leave now. I have somewhere very important to be tonight. Except you.” MC pulled away from Beel and stared directly into Mammon’s eyes. “We have a lot to talk about.” Mammon gulped, and pulled a chair over next to MC’s. Beel helped her sit back down.

“Beel, Satan, Belphie, let’s go check on the others. We will have plenty of time later to stay.” Belphegor looked hesitant, but they all eventually agreed and walked out. Mammon stared at MC, waiting for them to say something first. They took his hands in theirs.

“Did I tease you well enough?” Mammon wasn’t sure at all what they were saying, and his face promptly expressed so. They sighed. “I… I remember you.” A moment of clarity, Mammon decided, and he smiled.

“I remember you too. It’s been so long.”

“It has. Please, make yourself at home. Christopher and the kids will be here any minute.” Mammon frowned.

“You have kids?”

“Things change in twenty years, Mammoney. I missed you. But I moved on. I’m happy now.” Twenty? So, maybe not full clarity. Mammon could work with that.

“I… I’m glad. It’s not like I’d be jealous of some human.” MC smiled and pressed a kiss to Mammon’s hand.

“Why didn’t you visit me?” They asked out of the blue, and Mammon sputtered. He didn’t have an answer. He knew anything he said wouldn’t be a good enough reason. “Mammon, tell me. My heart ached so badly for you. I need to know.”

“I… I was scared.” He admitted, head hanging low. He leaned closer towards MC, and found that they smelled entirely different. He didn’t like that, at all.

“Of me?”

“Of change.”

A long pause went over the both of them. Mammon slowly looked up, making sure that they hadn’t fallen asleep. They hadn’t, but what he found was even worse.

Tears streamed down their face silently. They were staring at Mammon, a frown pulling at their lips. He wished he could take back all of the missed years. He knew it was too late to do anything about it, and so even through his cowardliness, held their hands strongly.

"Mammon.” They wiped the tears from their face. “I need your help.” He was confused, but nodded.

“Anything.”

“I’m going somewhere special tonight. I want you to be there. I want you all to be there. So meet me there. I need to find something special to wear…”

“Where is it?” He asked, confused as ever. He feels as though there hasn’t been a moment of clarity for him this entire time. MC smiled and stood up slowly.

“I’m coming home. I need a welcome home party. And a pretty dress, or outfit.” They dragged Mammon away from the desk and towards a hallway of rooms. He grimaced at the hospital like setting, but put those feelings aside as they entered a room. MC closed the door behind them.

“Please, can you find me something to wear?” They sat down and gestured to the closet. Mammon nodded and moved towards the closet.

After a few minutes of looking through the small closet, he came across a pretty jumpsuit. It was a dark navy color, and he smiled at the thought of his human wearing it. He sat next to MC on the bed.

“How about this?” MC felt the material, hands brushing over his slightly. He couldn’t help the grin that formed alongside MC’s.

“Oh, perfect. Do help me put it on.”

And so he did, careful as not to hurt them when he helped slip the outfit on. MC’s large smile never once faltered, and once it was on, Mammon’s breath hitched.

“All these years, and I still make The Great Mammon falter?” MC laughed and looked themself over in the mirror. Mammon stood behind them, blush evident.

“I don’t age like you do.” He whispered, hand on their shoulder. “These feelings are still new for me.” He hummed. “You need one more thing.” MC turned to look at him, confused.

“Yes?” They asked quietly, just barely above a whisper. Mammon wordlessly took off his leather jacket, and helped slide them into it. They looked back into the mirror.

“Oh, That’s perfect. Thank you, Mammon.” They laid a gentle kiss on his cheek, before laying back in bed.

“I thought you were going home? What are you laying in bed for?”

“Finally, there you are. What are you doing in their room without us, Darling?” Asmodeus’ voice suddenly rang through as the door opened.

“Asmo.” The human smiled again, and Asmodeus looks as though he was just shot. He ran to their side.

“Hello! Hi dear, you remember me.” “Of course I do.” “Guys, they’re in here.” Beelzebub walked into the room, and suddenly all of the brothers were around the bed. Mammon took their hand in his own.

“Oh good, you’re all here. How do I look?”

“Magnificent.” Lucifer answered. MC closed their eyes.

“Thank you. I’ll see you at the party.” MC said finally, and the brothers all looked confused.

“Party?” Belphegor asked, to which he got no response. Mammon started shaking.

“MC? What party? Where should we go?” Satan asked as well, with still no response.

“Boys.” Lucifer said sadly, “Come on now, say your goodbyes. It’s time to leave.”

“But we hardly got to talk to them!” Levi nearly shouted, almost angry. He looked down, staring at the person laying in bed. “That’s not fair! I want to talk to them more!” His eyes welled up in tears, and Mammon stood up.

“C’mon Levi. It’s time to go.” Mammon tried pulling Levi away, and he only got an elbow in his side as a response.

“No! I don’t want to! It’s not time yet, I want to talk more!” He sobbed now, standing next to MC. Mammon was about to angrily pull him away again, but Lucifer stopped him.

“Let him have his time, Mammon. We’ll all need it. Come now, let’s get going.”

Mammon and Lucifer walked out into the hall, letting the other brothers say their goodbyes. Mammon then moved then further, outside, so he could light a cigarette.

“You know those are mostly illegal now, Mammon.” “I don’t care. I need one.” he held it shakily to his lips, and inhaled the smoke. Lucifer nodded. “I understand. Did you have a nice time with MC?” He asked, and Mammon stared at the ground.

“They… They kept sayin’ somethin’ about a coming home party they had to go to. Kept sayin’ that they wanted us there. What do you think that means, Lucifer?” Mammon looked up at his older brother and frowned. Lucifer tossed the idea over in his head a few times.

“I think… I think that just means they weren’t lucid, Mammon. Nobody is, that close. I’d take it with a grain of salt.” Mammon sighed.

“Yeah, I guess.”

After probably an hour of standing around, the brothers all came out one by one. They alerted the nurses of what happened, and took their leave. The long trudge home was quiet, and sickeningly sad for all of them. Asmodeus clung to Satan, sniffles being the only sound they all heard. Belphie was on Beelzebubs back again, this time taking the back of their line. He fell asleep shortly after leaving, and Beelzebub made sure to keep him safe. Mammon, Levi, and Lucifer all walked together. Levi with his headphones on likely blaring music, Lucifer with his D.D.D in his hands, staring at directions, and Mammon with nothing to distract himself but the gentle breeze against his face and the sun in the sky. Eventually they made it back to the portal, and then back home, none of them saying a word.

About a week carried on like this, the brothers stumbling around, all mostly quiet and not wanting to disturb each other. They were all carrying the grief of their beloved friend and none of them wanted to talk about it.

That is, until Barbatos appeared at the front door, knocking loudly over and over and over until finally Lucifer came and answered it.

“Barbatos, it’s two in the morning. Can this matter not wait?” “It’s extremely urgent, sir.” Barbatos was straight faced, but Lucifer was scared of what may have happened.

“Alright, let’s go then.” “You need to collect your brothers and make our way to the student council office. There’s an important matter to discuss with Lord Diavolo. That’s all I can say now. Rush yourself.” Lucifer was worried, but nodded.

With major struggle, Lucifer got his brothers up and they made their way quickly to RAD. The brothers seemed to finally be settling into some form of normalcy, a bit of tired quipping between the six of them. Eventually, they all made their way to their chair, waiting for Diavolo. They all shifted and spoke among themselves uncomfortably, Belphegor nodding off again. Diavolo stepped in slowly, grin across his face.

“Hello, all. It’s good to see you.” “What’s this about, Lord Diavolo.” Lucifer asked, arms crossed. Diavolo frowned.

“Why, you don’t look excited at all. We’re celebrating tonight.”

“What for?” Mammon asked, confused and almost concerned. Knots formed in his stomach again. Diavolo crossed his arms.

“A coming home party.”

#diavolo #lucifer #mammon #mammon obey me #mammon x mc #leviathan #levichan #satan #asmodeus #Beelzebub #Belphegor #barbatos #obey me shall we date #fluff #angst

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severalspoons · 3 years

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“Wolfwood Mood” quotes

To be updated as I find more.

God may judge you, but His sins outnumber your own. -- @afabbaeddel

“Cynic, n. A blackguard whose faulty vision sees things as they are, not as they ought to be.” ― Ambrose Bierce, The Unabridged Devil's Dictionary

“That's one of the remarkable things about life. It's never so bad that it can't get worse.” ― Bill Watterson

“An encouraged person will eventually get his drive from encouragement; he becomes more dependent. A person that never really receives encouragement learns to move out of spite; he becomes more independent.” ― Criss Jami, Killosophy

They're going to have to glue you back together, IN HELL! -- Demoman in Team Fortress 2

Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.” ― Dylan Thomas, Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night

“Don’t explain your philosophy. Embody it.”- Epictetus

“When you love you wish to do things for. You wish to sacrifice for. You wish to serve.” ― Ernest Hemingway, A Farewell to Arms

I survived because the fire inside me burned brighter than the fire around me. --Fallout New Vegas NPC

“We all have strength enough to endure the misfortunes of others.” ― Francois de La Rochefoucauld

Man can get used to anything, the scoundrel. --Fyodor Dostoevsky, Crime and Punishment

“And what's strange, what would be marvelous, is not that God should really exist; the marvel is that such an idea, the idea of the necessity of God, could enter the head of such a savage, vicious beast as man.” ― Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Brothers Karamazov

“To go wrong in one's own way is better than to go right in someone else's.” ― Fyodor Dostoevsky, Crime and Punishment

“The soul is healed by being with children.” ― Fyodor Dostoevsky

“People speak sometimes about the "bestial" cruelty of man, but that is terribly unjust and offensive to beasts, no animal could ever be so cruel as a man, so artfully, so artistically cruel.” ― Fyodor Dostoyevsky

“We sometimes encounter people, even perfect strangers, who begin to interest us at first sight, somehow suddenly, all at once, before a word has been spoken.” ― Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Crime and Punishment

“Much unhappiness has come into the world because of bewilderment and things left unsaid.” ― Fyodor Dostoevsky

“Killing myself was a matter of such indifference to me that I felt like waiting for a moment when it would make some difference.” ― Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Dream Of A Ridiculous Man

“Destroy my desires, eradicate my ideals, show me something better, and I will follow you.” ― Fyodor Dostoevsky

“The whole work of man really seems to consist in nothing but proving to himself every minute that he is a man and not a piano key.” ― Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Notes from Underground

“One man doesn't believe in god at all, while the other believes in him so thoroughly that he prays as he murders men!” ― Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Idiot

“Scratch any cynic and you will find a disappointed idealist.” ― George Carlin

“Real courage is when you know you're licked before you begin, but you begin anyway and see it through no matter what.” ― Harper Lee, To Kill a Mockingbird

“Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside in a cloud of smoke, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming "Wow! What a Ride!” ― Hunter S. Thompson, The Proud Highway: Saga of a Desperate Southern Gentleman, 1955-1967

“You only live twice: Once when you are born And once when you look death in the face” ― Ian Fleming, You Only Live Twice

“There is no ideal world for you to wait around for. The world is always just what it is now, and it's up to you how you respond to it.” ― Isaac Marion, Warm Bodies

My courage always rises at every attempt to intimidate me.” ― Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice

“Freedom is what we do with what is done to us.” ― Jean-Paul Sartre

“Better to die on one's feet than to live on one's knees.” ― Jean Paul Sartre

“Man is condemned to be free; because once thrown into the world, he is responsible for everything he does. It is up to you to give [life] a meaning.” ― Jean-Paul Sartre

“There is no reality except in action.” ― Jean-Paul Sartre, Existentialism is a Humanism

“Life—the way it really is—is a battle not between good and bad, but between bad and worse.” ― Joseph Brodsky

“mankind is resilient: the atrocities that horrified us a week ago become acceptable tomorrow.” ― Joseph Heller

“Do you know what it means to be a survivor? It means that not only do you have to live through things, you have to live with them as well. The second part is much harder and sometimes it takes the rest of your life to learn how to do it. But at least you have the rest of your life…” ― Josephine Angelini, Firewalker

“Someone has to be stoic, for the sake of, in spite of, and in the face of all those who are, not. Someone, has to be serious. Someone has to choose to forgo choice, so that there is an option left for others to consider. Everyone can't be, someone.” ― Justin K. McFarlane Beau

“Loving someone always requires you to not love others.” ― Koushun Takami, Battle Royale

“Dignity is as essential to human life as water, food, and oxygen. The stubborn retention of it, even in the face of extreme physical hardship, can hold a man's soul in his body long past the point at which the body should have surrendered it.” ― Laura Hillenbrand, Unbroken: A World War II Story of Survival, Resilience and Redemption

“We are not defined by the things we do in order to survive. We do not apologize for them,” she says quietly, eyes never leaving mine. “Maybe they have broken you, but you are a sharper weapon because of it. And it is time to strike.” ― Laura Sebastian, Ash Princess

“People are petty, spiteful creatures. What they can't use, hurt, steal, or control, they'll usually destroy.” ― Lorna Reid, Darkwalkers

“Sometimes even to live is an act of courage.” ― Lucius Annaeus Seneca

“If someone puts their hands on you make sure they never put their hands on anybody else again.” ― Malcom X

“Think of it! We could have gone on longing for one another and pretending not to notice forever. This obsession with dignity can ruin your life if you let it.” ― Mary Ann Shaffer, The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society

“Does anything in nature despair except man? An animal with a foot caught in a trap does not seem to despair. It is too busy trying to survive. It is all closed in, to a kind of still, intense waiting. Is this a key? Keep busy with survival.” ― May Sarton, Journal of a Solitude

"You may not control all the events that happen to you, but you can decide not to be reduced by them." ― Maya Angelou, Letter to My Daughter

You may trod me in the very dirt But still, like dust, I'll rise.

--Maya Angelou

You may shoot me with your words, You may cut me with your eyes, You may kill me with your hatefulness, But still, like air, I’ll rise.

--Maya Angelou

“Somehow, even in the worst of times, the tiniest fragments of good survive. It was the grip in which one held those fragments that counted.” ― Melina Marchetta, Finnikin of the Rock

“Show me somebody who is always smiling, always cheerful, always optimistic, and I will show you somebody who hasn't the faintest idea what the heck is really going on.” ― Mike Royko

“Let me not pray to be sheltered from dangers, but to be fearless in facing them. Let me not beg for the stilling of my pain, but for the heart to conquer it.” ― Rabindranath Tagore, Collected Poems and Plays of Rabindranath Tagore

“Survival," I said softly. "It's selfish, and it's dark, and we've always been a species willing to do anything to satisfy our needs. ― Rachel Caine, Total Eclipse

“The only person you are destined to become is the person you decide to be.” ― Ralph Waldo Emerson

“To have endured horrors, to have seen the worst of humanity and have your life made unrecognizable by it, to come out of all that honorable and brave— that was magical.” ― Ransom Riggs, Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children

“We'd stared into the face of Death, and Death blinked first. You'd think that would make us feel brave and invincible. It didn't.” ― Rick Yancey, The 5th Wave

“I judge you unfortunate because you have never lived through misfortune. You have passed through life without an opponent—no one can ever know what you are capable of, not even you.” – Seneca

I will fight you in Hell upon a mound of bones. -- @shitmygaywifesays

“As long as there’s two people left on the planet, someone is gonna want someone dead.” -- Sniper, Team Fortress 2

"If God had wanted you to live, he would not have created me!” -- Soldier, Team Fortress 2

babies cry because they are alive and that is the saddest thing to be. — spencer madsen (@spencermadsen) December 15, 2011

Do you think God stays in heaven because He, too, lives in fear of what He’s created? --Spykids 2nd movie

“No one can tell what goes on in between the person you were and the person you become. No one can chart that blue and lonely section of hell. There are no maps of the change. You just come out the other side. Or you don't.” -- Stephen King, The Stand

“The only thing that matters in the end is your own survival. It's what humans and cockroaches are best at.” ― Susan Ee, World After

If there was anything that depressed him more than his own cynicism, it was that quite often it still wasn’t as cynical as real life. --Terry Pratchett, Guards, Guards!

“I believe you find life such a problem because you think there are good people and bad people. You're wrong, of course. There are, always and only, the bad people, but some of them are on opposite sides.” ― Terry Pratchett, Guards! Guards!

"It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat." -- Theodore Roosevelt

I would rather die on my feet than live on my knees. --Unknown

if you stay alive for no other reason at all, please do it for spite. -- Unknown

Hell is empty, and all the devils are here. -- Unknown Tumblr post

“Life is pain, Highness. Anyone who says differently is selling something.” ― William Goldman, The Princess Bride

“The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves.” ― William Shakespeare, Julius Caesar

...I WILL FACE GOD AND WALK BACKWARDS INTO HELL— wint ( @dril ) May 22, 2012

#Yes I will put Shakespeare side by side with Dril #fight me

#quotes #nicholas d. wolfwood #what it means to be badass #free will #making choices #choices #philosophy #terry pratchett #tolstoyevsky #princess bride #trigun #everything is trigun

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vernonfielding · 4 years

Text

From heaven they sent

Story No. 31 of my Season 7 Countdown Project. THE END! THIS IS IT!

Summary: “You want to hold her?”

Jake holds his goddaughter for the first time. Takes place during Ava. (Read on AO3.)

It’s only as Terry is bent over the bassinet, hand sliding under his daughter’s delicate head, cupping the warm weight of it in his palm and thinking again how precious this life is, how fragile, that it hits him: Jake has never done this before.

(Truthfully, he doesn’t know that for sure, but he’s almost certain.)

Terry eases his other hand under Ava’s tiny body and lifts her to his chest, awed all over again by her perfection – the curve of her nose, the curl of her miniature eyelashes, the plump jut of her cheeks, which are already flushed a rosy pink. She is asleep and for a moment he’s lost in her, memorizing her face and the five wrinkled fingers that have slipped out of the swaddle. His heart is so full of love his chest aches with it, in the best possible way.

He’s blinking back tears when he finally turns to Jake.

“Have you held a baby this small before?” he says, making no move to pass over his girl right away.

Jake is swaying a little, pushing from one foot to the other with nervous restlessness, and Terry can see the muscles tensing across his shoulders. But his eyes are fixed on Ava, and there’s a softness there and in the small smile playing at his mouth, and the look on his face isn’t fear, it’s wonder.

Jake shakes his head and then breaks his gaze and glances at Terry. “Are you sure you want me to-”

“Yeah,” Terry says, and adjusts his daughter, cradling her head as he holds her out toward Jake. “Bend your arm, a little more- yes, just like that.”

And then he’s setting Ava’s head in the crook of Jake’s elbow, and he guides her body into Jake’s arms; she’s so small, not much more than a bundle of pink blanket against Jake’s gray hoodie. Terry adjusts Jake’s position, moves his arms until he’s sure Jake’s got a good hold. He lays a palm over the crown of his baby’s head and strokes his thumb over the smallest frown that’s formed on her brow, and he takes a step back and leaves Ava alone in her godfather’s arms.

Jake’s eyes are bright as he gazes down at her. Terry can’t imagine what thoughts are flashing through Jake’s weird and exceptional mind (he isn’t sure he wants to know), but the love that Jake already has for this child is obvious – he’s practically got hearts in his eyes – and not surprising.

Terry chose Jake as godfather in large part because he asked. The two most obvious godparent choices – Sharon’s best girl friends from college – had gone to Cagney and Lacey. Terry has plenty of non-work friends, but none of them expressed any interest in being a godparent before, nor have they been especially active in the twins’ lives since. The fact that Jake had campaigned for the job had earned him points with both Terry and Sharon. In the end, when Terry had asked Sharon about it, she’d shrugged and said sure, and then, “Isn’t he the one who gives you acid reflux?”

Initially, Terry had thought it might be a joke, or possibly a prize – something for Jake to lord over Amy or Charles (or basically the whole squad). But Jake quickly had made it clear he was serious, and then Terry had thought: Jake is brave and smart and confident, and he has such a good heart. And Jake laughs. He laughs more than anyone Terry knows. And didn’t Terry want that for his daughter? To be as fiery and fierce as her sisters and her mother, and as full of laughter as her godfather?

Even after he’d said yes, Terry mulled it over some more, and later he realized that Jake loves the same way he does his job: with reckless abandon, with all of his strength and his passion, with his arms and his heart wide open. He screws up sometimes, but he doesn’t hold back. He will give his godchild everything that’s in his power to offer.

Eventually, Terry’s doubts disappeared entirely.

Terry sits beside his wife on her bed and carefully drapes an arm around her shoulders, and she settles into his side, and it doesn’t matter one bit that they’re in a hospital, that almost everything went so horribly wrong today, because the important things went right and Ava is here and she is healthy. And Jake is responsible for a lot of that. Their baby is so lucky to have him.

Jake shifts his arms, and it’s barely a twitch, but Ava’s eyes open. Terry knows she can’t really see anything just yet but he’d swear they are making eye contact, that they are locked on to one another just now. Jake grins at her and Terry can feel his unbound joy like a presence in the room, like something electric.

“Hi,” Jake says, voice so soft and gentle it’s almost unrecognizable. “I’m Jake. I’m your godfather. We’re going to have so much fun together. And if your parents die, I’m going to take reasonably good care of you.”

“Terry?” Sharon says. She reaches for him and her grip on his forearm is painful.

“Uh, Jake-” Terry says, rising from the bed.

“Look, ‘reasonable’ is the best I can guarantee, and I’m not going to make promises I can’t keep. That would be a terrible way to start godfathering,” Jake says to them both. He looks back at the baby, blinks at her and beams when she blinks back. “Isn’t that right, godbaby?”

Terry means to respond to that – and he knows Sharon is a half-second from asking Terry how the hell Jake got the idea that he would ever be Ava’s guardian – but then the baby hiccups and every sour emotion in the room dissipates like it was never there, and everyone is smiling and crying and overcome again with how right and perfect the world is.

“That was the cutest fucking sound I’ve ever heard,” Jake says.

Terry kisses his baby’s forehead and then he kisses Jake’s forehead because he just can’t help himself, and he says, “Amen, my god-wife.”

End Notes:

Title is from Bikini Babe Workout (Bash Brothers).

Weirdly, this was the first story I wrote for this project. But it seemed appropriate to end the countdown with Jake holding his baby goddaughter for the first time. Here’s to season 7!!

(I’m going to be super obnoxious now and thank a bunch of people for their help or support or flailing or whatever with this countdown project.)

First thank you: Oh my god, @fezzle. My beta and my dear friend. I WOULD NOT have attempted this dumb project without her. She beta’d 31 STORIES (That’s more than 30K words! In a month!) and she saved my ass more than once. She also helped me brainstorm ideas and she talked me off the ledge a few times. I cannot capture how completely amazing she is and how much I love her. Everyone should be so lucky to have a Fezzle in their lives (especially if they’re going to attempt something ridiculous like this series, but also just, in general).

Second thank you: Everyone who gave me a fic prompt! Some of the best ideas came from you guys. I’m going to name folks here and hope I don’t forget anyone or get a name wrong: @fezzle, @madeofitzits, @andrewsambags, @exploding-snapple, @theoneintheblue, @vic-kovac, @weshallmeetagain, @ofbuttsandbombs, @amyscascadingtabs, and @feeisamarshmallow. (That’s in the order stories were posted btw.) If you sent me a prompt and I didn’t write it, please tell me! I may have missed you somehow. I’m also super open to prompts at any time, so don’t hesitate to hit me up after this month.

Third thank you: EVERYONE who left kudos or comments or likes, or who reblogged on tumblr or reached out to me personally in some way. I LOVE YOU ALL. Writing fic can sometimes feel weirdly lonely and isolating and it is always so great to get any kind of feedback. (Let’s be honest, feedback is like a fucking drug and it is the best.)

(Yes, I’m sorry, these End Notes may be longer than the actual fic.)

Fourth thank you: I really especially appreciated the folks who engaged in some great fandom discussion with me relating to these stories – in particular, @amyscascadingtabs and @feeisamarshmallow and @exploding-snapple (timeline!) and MediumSizedEvil. That was fun, guys.

Fifth thank you: Anyone who read all of these stories, even if you never feedbacked. Fedback? Anyway, you’re out there and I appreciate you too!

Sixth thank you: Fezzle again, just because. ❤️

#b99 fic #b99 season 7 countdown project #jake peralta #terry jeffords #sharon jeffords #ava jeffords #missing scene #godfather jake

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ohmyprodigalson · 4 years

Note

I want to start off by saying I love your docs, and spent like an hour reading them, and then asking for a really angsty malcolm x reader where she had a son that she lost before they met and only Gil knows about it, and they’re a case of something about kids dying, and end the end it’s too much and she breaks down and Malcolm is there and comforts her? Maybe she goes a little insane and he has to stop her from doing something?

Please take the trigger warnings very seriously. Some people may find a lot of the content very disturbing.

Trigger Warnings: Extreme child abuse, abuse of an infant, murder of an infant, medical tragedies involving an infant that leads to death, violence against a woman.

Word Count: 1,554

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Gil stood in front of the doorway to the house. He reached his arm out to stop (Y/N) as she was approaching the threshold. “I don’t think you should work this one.”

“What do you mean? I’ll be fine. This is my job. I can handle anything.”

“No, you don’t understand.” Gil had a stern look on his face. “I don’t think you can come back after seeing this.”

“I said I’ll be fine. Just let me through.” She pushed his arm out of the way and followed the trail of forensic investigators to one of the bedrooms upstairs. A group of them parted to let her into the room. Before her was the body of an eighteen-month old.

He was clearly beaten to death. He was covered in bruises, and there was an indentation on the back of his head where he had been thrown against the wall. The evil that lead to his demise was heavily contrasted by the pure face of a sleeping angel.

The room was nearly silent. Everyone’s imaginations were running rampant with images of a baby being beaten, and the bone-chilling cries he would have let out. All that could be heard were the whispers between forensic scientists and Edrisa as she examined the body. The room was silent enough that (Y/N) could hear the father sobbing in the living room downstairs.

(Y/N) pulled herself away from the scene to go talk to the father. She found him distraught, with red and puffy eyes. (Y/N) just listened to his conversation with Dani.

“I’ve been gone on a huge business trip for about a week. I thought I could trust my wife to take care of the baby, but I was wrong. I was so wrong…!” He was hunched over himself, holding his eyes as he continued to cry. “She’s just been so angry lately. I don’t know what’s wrong, but she doesn’t want to be around the baby. She kept complaining that her head hurt, and the baby was making it worse. I thought they would be ok together while I was gone, but…”

Dani was calm when she spoke. “Do you know where your wife might be?”

“I have no idea. She doesn’t have any family around here, and she has alienated herself from her friends because she has been so angry.”

They gave him their condolences and went back to the precinct to start investigating the whereabouts of the suspect. When they got there, Gil pulled (Y/N) to the side. “Are you ok? I really think you should sit this one out.”

“I can’t. I… I need to see that justice is served for this baby.” Even though she claimed she was alright, there was a storm deep inside her. It was filled with rage, sadness, and even a touch of jealousy. She was jealous that this woman had a living, healthy baby while hers was not.

Gil didn’t want to push her, so he let her stay on the case against his better judgement. Malcolm noticed that something was wrong with (Y/N), but he just assumed that she was deeply disturbed by the nature of the case. As they were discussing their leads, another officer told them that there was activity on the suspect’s credit card. They tracked it to a local motel, and the team decided to go apprehend her.

They decided to split up when they got there, just in case. Malcolm and (Y/N) stuck around the outside of the building where they could see if the suspect fled in a different direction than they thought she would. Surely enough, as Dani and JT were knocking on her door, (Y/N) saw the woman dart out from the exit on the side of the building. She ran after the suspect, and she was faster than Malcolm. When (Y/N) caught up to her, she tackled her to the ground and started punching her in the face.

Malcolm tried to pull (Y/N) off of her when he got to them, but in her anger, (Y/N) accidentally hit Malcolm in the face. He staggered backwards, surprised, and watched as (Y/N) continued to beat the woman into a bloody pulp. Malcolm tried to pull her off of the suspect again, lifting her up by her arms as he linked them with his own. As he pulled her off of the woman, (Y/N) started kicking her. When the others ran over to Malcolm and (Y/N), they found the suspect on the ground, unrecognizable through the blood that covered her face.

Gil exclaimed, “What happened here?!” He looked at (Y/N), still held back by Malcolm, and saw that she was crying.

She started to shout, her voice strained through her tears. “That’s how your baby felt!! Your own child!! That is what he felt during his last moments on this earth, and you did that to him!! He was just a baby!! He wouldn’t understand anger, because he should only know love!! You didn’t deserve to be a mother!! You don’t deserve to be happy ever again!! I hope you are beaten every single minute of every single day so that you will never forget what you did to that sweet, innocent child!!”

The suspect started to cry, and none of them were sure if she was crying because of her physical pain, or if she was crying because of the death of her baby and (Y/N)’s words. Gil yelled at Malcolm to pull (Y/N) away before she could do any more damage. He took her to the opposite side of the building where they could have some privacy.

He couldn’t hide his confusion and surprise. “What happened back there?!”

Her anger turned to sorrow as she sat on the ground. Malcolm kneeled down to be at eye-level with her, but she still averted her gaze. He waited for her to speak, and she finally did so with a small, sad voice.

“How can a mother not love her child? How can she find such evil in her heart that she’s compelled to beat her own baby to death? The screams and the cries of that baby… How could she inflict such pain and not even care?”

Malcolm’s voice was low and calm. He wanted to talk her through this, because it was clearly very disturbing for her. “I don’t know. We may never know.”

(Y/N)’s voice started to crack and squeak because she was crying so hard. “I would give anything, even my own life, to hold my baby in my arms again. I couldn’t save my baby, and she willingly gave hers away? She didn’t even give him away, she inflicted pain upon that innocent baby. She didn’t want her child, and I can’t imagine a life where I will never miss my own.”

Malcolm was shocked. (Y/N) had a baby? She never told Malcolm about him or why she no longer had him. Gil was the only person that knew, because he was there to watch her grieve. But a mother’s grieving for her child is never really over, is it?

Malcolm’s voice was barely more than a whisper. “You had a baby?”

(Y/N) nodded her head as she sniffled. She was crying so hard that her nose was uncontrollably running. “My little Henry. He was taken from me far too soon. I still love him so much.” Her voice squeaked again with her last words.

He was afraid to ask, but he wanted to prompt (Y/N) to talk about her baby. That was clearly what she needed to do right now, so that he could help her process her feelings about this case. “How did you lose him?”

She gulped. Her throat hurt from the strain of crying. “He had his first stroke a week after he was born. He seemed fine, except for some slight paralysis of his left leg. Still, I was so grateful that he was alive and smiling. But then he kept having strokes, and we didn’t know why. Sometimes he would have seizures because his brain had been damaged. My baby became trapped inside his own body, and I had no way of knowing if he was in pain. I held him every day and cried. I cried for hours, because I knew that he had already suffered more in his short life than I ever would. And just as he was approaching eighteen months old, he had his final stroke. It killed him.”

(Y/N) stopped and took a deep breath. She hadn’t talked about her baby in a long time, and it brought back all of the pain she had tried to keep contained within herself. Her words started to become unintelligible as she continued. “I miss him so much, but I feel like a terrible mother. Because I am glad that he finally escaped his pain, and his soul is free.”

Malcolm reached out and pulled her close. She clung to him, sobbing. This all made sense to him now. (Y/N) watched her son suffer, hoping he wasn’t in pain, and she was just exposed to a woman with no love for her baby at all. Nothing he could say would make this right. All he could do was hold her and wipe away her tears. And he was willing to do that for as long as it takes.

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Author’s Note: There was no place to fit this into the story, but I wanted to share what I thought of as I wrote this. After arresting the woman they found the motel room covered in vomit and multiple bottles of headache meds on the bedside table. During medical examination at the ER (she would have to be taken care of so she wouldn’t die in police custody) they found a big brain tumor. It affected her personality, making her angry, and made her capable of killing her child. This gave her the headaches, made her hearing super sensitive, and finally started to make her uncontrollably sick. She didn’t survive long enough to go to trial, but her lawyer would have pleaded insanity.

#prodigal son #malcolm bright #malcolm x reader #prodigal son imagine #prodigal son fanfic #fanfic #imagine

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georgecrecy · 4 years

Text

Living Fossils {1}

Dust sprayed and crackled against the various windows of the shuttle's cabin as it touched down, the thrusters adding little to the dust already swirling from the storm. Within a few moments the shuttle finished the landing process with a slight jostle, and the occupants made their way to the airlock and into their atmospheric suits. The air of this planet wasn't compatible with their lungs, so the suits would come in handy for more than just the particles of sand and small rocks that were assaulting and scraping microscopic gouges into the hull.

As the six lithe figures stepped into the bulky suits, the oldest addressed the others in the airlock antechamber. "Nothing like another outing for our scientific enumeration! Given what I could see of our surroundings, it is a small miracle there is anything left." Another slipped her shoulder into her suit as she rolled her eyes. "Yeah, that's nice and all Doc, but my only surprise will be if I don't die of boredom on this heap of sand." The scientist eyed her with an upraised brow, seeing her clip a gun to it's holster on her side as another, larger carbine hung in the cabinet behind. "I suppose that is why Allnex paid you to join these sorts of expeditions: to spare you from such a terrible end otherwise. And these sorts of finds aren't all that boring, I should hope."

The second mercenary of the group finished putting on his own suit as he quipped, "Oh yeah, nothing gets the blood pumping like another broken vase or some sorta proto-battery. You guys get excited over the smallest things."

Another of the younger females in the group, one of the four wearing a white suit to the two green ones, looked at the male mercenary and said, "That's better than getting all excited for nothing over some Jurgthen, Kenta."

Kenta smiled knowingly, "Murien's only saying that cause her team lost last night and now she owes me."

She blushed a little as she quickly shut her locker, the orange of her team's poster hanging from the inside of the door perhaps being given away. She still turned back to Kenta and shrugged. "Yeah, yeah, I'll pay you after we're back up top."

The doctor cleared his throat as he set the helmet down over his head, "Yes, well, let's get to that, shall we? Mic check please, everyone." A chorus of clicks and beeps sounded through all the helmets, all nodding in acknowledgement. "Excellent. Now, if you take a look at your maps, our target is to our west a few hundred clacks, so it won't be long to get there." As he spoke, the group punched the appropriate button on their wrist consoles to bring up the green light of the hologram. A large green dot was in the center of the map, while a smaller blue triangle represented their position.

One raised their hand, to which the doctor nodded, "Yes, Saffer?"

Not comfortable with the others' eyes on him, he wriggled on his seat in apprehension. "The structure, Doctor Ghan, do we know what it's for or how it lasted all this time? What the beings were like that built it?"

The doctor shook his head. "I'm afraid I don't, but the evidence points to some intelligence in whatever used to live here. What surface scans we could manage through the storms showed signs of oceans and rivers at one point, which led us to seeing the grid-shaped patterns of many cities. We are here to see how advanced they became and if anything might be worth bringing back for Allnex. Our point of interest is a large collection of metals, perhaps a structure. I know this will be your first bit of field work, but I'm sure there will be plenty to discover." His eyes drifted to the two mercenaries that had clearly started a card game on top of their wrist map holograms. "Broken pottery or otherwise."

The six figures eventually emerged from the vehicle, and after a final reference of their wrist computers, they began to trek through the obscuring storm in a line, the two mercenaries flanking close on either side. Along the way they spotted jagged, unnatural remains of walls, and even the bent remains of metallic signs, long since rusted over to tell what they said or were intended for. They stopped briefly at several spots like these, but were not able to glean much. It didn't help their understanding when as soon as they might spot glimpses of these formations and signs of previous civilization, it was just as soon lost again in the red-tinted maelstrom.

After over an hour, the group spotted their target: a huge, multistory building which stood defiantly against the failing world around it. Sand and rock draped itself in piles and drifts around the large base, while they could see that sections of the walls had crumbled or caved in, exposing some of the upper floors to the elements. "It is a building alright, so the civilization had gotten to at least advanced metallurgy." Doctor Ghan exclaimed to everyone through their helmets. "What do you think, Codru?" The other male student nodded, "Definitely, but to have lasted for several centuries as you estimate since the planet-wide death event is especially impressive. I think Allnex will be very happy with just a sample of the siding for study of its properties, let alone anything inside."

Hyupi the female mercenary looked around it exasperatedly and said, "Yeah, and speaking of which, how do we get inside, big-shots? Any of the scans reveal a nice door for us?" After a brief but fruitless look around the building as the gale howled around them, the group was about ready to call defeat. They were in the midst of climbing one of the drifts around the base when Saffer suddenly cried out in surprise. The two mercenaries spun in place with their carbines at the ready, but Saffer stood up with embarrassment clearly on his face through the glass of his helmet. "Sorry everyone, I tripped on a rock or something."

Murien was behind him, and was pointing at Saffer's feet. "Or something is right, look! It's the corner of something metal!"

The group converged excitedly on the two, as Murien and Saffer dug with their hands into the drift, exposing a little more of a wall and roof. The doctor's face bore a gratified smile. "Thank goodness for a bit of clumsiness, Saffer! This might be our way in. Quick, get out the shovels!"

Taking out small folding shovels from their backpacks, they began to take turns excavating the sand and dirt away from the outcropping, and even the mercenaries showed some enthusiasm of discovery as they took part in the digging, though the environmentals in the suits could do little to negate the sweat from both their exertions and the sweltering heat.

After a short while, a door was revealed for their efforts, the senior student Codru was even able to discover a pad to the left of the door. As he brushed the last dirt away with his hand, through the dusty screen he could see it pulse with light, the screen showing unrecognizable symbols. Over the comms channel his surprise was immediately evident. "Uh, Doctor Ghan? You might want to look at this."

From over his right shoulder, Ghan could just see the pad. "Ah, they had some computer technology as well? Interesting."

Codru shook his head, "No sir. Look, it still has power!"

Ghan was at his side as fast as his bulky suit would allow, while the others all gathered behind him. Looking at the pad which still shone visibly through the crust of dirt and dust which coated the face of it, the doctor was amazed. "That means we are at least dealing with a nascent Type A civilization! There must be a fusion or even antimatter energy source inside the building! Oh, well done everyone! Well done indeed!"

Hyupi left the gathering and sat to one side against the side of the little valley they had dug out, her hand leaning her carbine against her body. "Well, sounds great doc, but what's a Type A?"

Saffer was practically giddy with excitement as he explained, "With any civilization there are metrics to understand it's progress. Type A is part of one scale of measurement we commonly use. It describes a civilization that is using all the possible energy of its planet. Type B, which we more closely relate to, use all the energy of their solar system, and so on."

Doctor Ghan was already busy taking pictures of the screen as he interjected, saying, "Yes, but there are a lot of ways for things to go wrong; lots of checks to get past. Most don't get near this far. Disease, war, climate upheaval, all can end things prematurely, as likely happened here."

Kenta looked at his wrist pad readouts as he said, "I'm sorry to cut things short, but we need to get back to the shuttle, we don't have much time left on our respirators to stick around. Pack it up everyone. I don't know about any of you but a shower seems like a real treat right now."

As the rest packed up and reformed to move out, Saffer was the last in line, reluctantly packing his backpack with his supplies and shovel. His body thrummed with excitement at the possibilities which seemed to tantalize him from inside the vault-like structure. Here was everything that made him want to be a xeno-archaeologist in a neat, metallic package. As he slipped one of the straps of his pack over the shoulder of his suit and turned to join the group, he thought he saw a flicker of movement from the pad out of the corner of his eye. He stared at the screen, but it still showed the same set of symbols as before. He jumped as his comms crackled with Kenta's voice. "Hey kid, come on! Move it."

He shook his head. "Sorry, coming!" It was just his imagination and excitement overcoming his senses. His mother always warned him about his excitable personality. He stamped up the side of their valley as sand cascaded down in his wake, and rejoined the others as they trekked back to the shuttle.

The wind whipped past as reddish dirt danced in convoluted twists through the air. The pad next to the door flickered, and instead of the previous symbols an alien face appeared, looking at the retreating back of the young student as he tramped up the side of the dug valley and disappeared over the top. A smile creeped over the alien face before the screen blinked, returning to black as dust once more accumulated over it.

#oc

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screamingatanemptyroom · 5 years

Text

Baby’s First Revenge Part Seven (Final)

Here it is, the last part to the Baby’s First Revenge story! I hope you guys enjoy it!

links to Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 can be found here.

“Don’t worry, I’ll always be here for you.” Charlotte grabbed Brandon’s hand in her own, smiling gently

“AND CUT! That’s a wrap!” Stepping closer, the director’s smile stretched from ear to ear. “That was fantastic, guys! Great job!”

Everyone in the cast and crew broke out in cheers, hugging and high-fiving each other as it spread that they had successfully filmed the last scene.

Charlotte and Brandon sighed with relief, their hands letting go as they grinned.

“Not too bad, Edith.” The boy chuckled. “Given a few more years of experience, you might even be as good of an actor as me one day.”

Charlotte rolled her eyes. “Be still my beating heart.” Standing up, she started to walk away, looking for her parents.

“Hey, wait!” Brandon reached out, his hand hesitating and hanging in the air as if he had wanted to grab her arm to stop her, but changed his mind. Despite the pause, she heard him and stopped, staring at him with a curious expression.

“What is it?”

“It’s just… “ He swallowed uncomfortably, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “You really nailed this… I mean… It’s not even like you are Edith. It’s more like… Edith is like you.” He shook his head. “That doesn’t make any sense. I mean, the character in the book was great, but you seem to make her a person, a real person with hopes and dreams. Until it seems like she’s more based off of you then you off of her.”

Charlotte smiled. “Maybe she is based off of me.”

“Funny. The book would have just been published around the time you were born.”

“You never know.”

“I guess, I just wish…” Brandon frowned, growing more uncomfortable. Looking frustrated at his pauses, Charlotte let out a long sigh.

“No offense, but get to the point.”

“Sorry. This is just going sound really stupid.” His face turned slightly red as he spoke. “I just wish that I could have done the same, and made the character Jordan real. I wish we could have been friends in real life like that, growing up together, looking out for each other, protecting each other.”

The smile slipped from Charlotte’s face, leaving a blank expression. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not.” A slightly distressed expression took the place of his previous embarrassed one. “I promised not to lie to you anymore, remember?”

“You want truth?” Charlotte’s voice was cold, almost unrecognizable. “Let me tell you the truth.”

Her hand reached out and grabbed the boy’s collar, pulling him closer.

“This story was based on true people. A little boy and girl. Growing up together, protecting each other. The ideal friendship you’re imagining.” She was whispering now, her eyes shining with a pain she couldn’t hide. “But that was a lie. She was the only one getting hurt to protect him, the only one who was trusting, helping, all while expecting nothing in return. The boy just took everything, giving nothing. And do you want to know what happened when he had taken all he could, and she was no longer useful?”

“… What?” Brandon’s voice cracked on the word. He didn’t want to know. Didn’t want to hear the rest of the story that was making tears form in his friend’s eyes. But he knew she needed to say it.

“He killed her.” A single tear tracked down her cheek, but she ignored it, never looking away from the boy’s frightened gaze. “He murdered her, and watched her die, a smile on his face.”

Charlotte released her grip on Brandon’s shirt, and stepped back.

“How do you know… ?” He trailed off, unsure of how to ask the question, afraid of the answer.

Charlotte walked off without a word.

“Great job, Sweetie!” Charlotte’s parents met up with her outside her dressing room. Her father swept her up into a big hug, a large smile on his face. “We’re so proud of you!”

“Thanks!” Charlotte hugged them both, enjoying the feeling of being with family. The conversation with Brandon just then had brought up the feelings of despair and regret from her previous life, and time with her parents was just what she needed to move past that.

“The director told us about the party to celebrate finishing filming tonight.” Her mom chimed in. “Do you want to go?”

Charlotte frowned. “That’s not something you typically invite kids to though, right?”

“Well, he said you would be more interested in the early half of the party, where there will be good food and a chance for everyone to tell you how wonderful you did. We can leave before your bedtime.”

Charlotte thought it over. “I guess that would be fine, as long as I don’t miss out on too much sleep.” She shrugged. “I need plenty of sleep if I’m going to grow up healthy.”

“…” Her parents passed a look between them and shook their heads.

“Remind me who the adult in this relationship is?”

Charlotte ignored her mother’s muttering, and looked up at her father, confused. “Wait, why are you off work today?”

Her parents had taken turns taking off of work to drive her to the studio, and today should have been her mother’s day.

“Well…” Her father looked slightly embarrassed. “I may have taken on a special… project at work.”

Charlotte raised an eyebrow. “A project?”

“Tell her.” Her mother sighed.

“It’s not a big deal, just was sitting around with my coworkers, and happened to tell them about the terrible things the internet people had said about you…” He shrugged. “They were horrified, of course, and so we came up with a group project.”

“I’m almost afraid to ask.”

“Your father and his coworkers have turned into a rabid dedicated PR team on the internet, promoting your movie and going after anyone spreading rumors about you. It’s basically a fan club.” Rolling her eyes, her mother continued. “Imagine my shock when I stopped by his workplace only to see a group of middle-aged men and women waving banners with your name on them, hunched over computer screens, celebrating catching Internet trolls.”

“…”

“Don’t worry sweetie.” Her father tapped a silver pin on his chest with a proud expression. “I’m the club president.”

“That… was not what I was worried about.”

“It’s okay.” Her mother whispered in Charlotte’s ear. “He’s just all fired up after those reporters cornered you in your dressing room the other day. He and his friends at work should calm down shortly.”

“What if…”

“Otherwise I’ll take care of it.” Her tone was final.

“Dad…” She smiled, looking up at the worried parent hovering over her. “You’re an idiot.”

“…”

“I love you!” She threw herself in his arms, hugging him tightly.

“I love you too.” He hugged her back.

For the second time that day Charlotte cried.

This time… they were tears of relief.

This life, this new life. It isn’t wasted. I have a family.

The party was in full swing by the time Charlotte and her family arrived.

“And here’s our star!” Mark Tuttle grinned and pointed at their entrance, leading everyone in a round of applause. Charlotte smiled at the director, waving her hand slightly until the attention turned away from her. Breathing a small sigh of relief, she was about to move towards the table with the drinks and appetizers on it, when she was stopped by Lacy.

“Charlotte!” The young woman shook her hand enthusiastically. “I was looking for you!”

Shaking her head slightly, Charlotte chuckled, taking her hand back. “Well you found me.”

“I wanted to talk to you! I’m the casting director for a new project, one that requires some talented child actors.”

Charlotte stepped back, shocked. “I’m not…”

“It’s obviously a very different project than ‘Searching for Silence.’ Less action and drama more of a fantasy adventure. But given your talents I know you could bring the film to a whole new level.”

“I think you’re misunderstanding something.” Charlotte held up her hand. “I was good in this movie because I fit the role well. That doesn’t make me a professional actress.”

“Really?” Lacy’s grin widened. “A five year old…”

“Five and three quarters.”

“…Almost six year old who can portray complicated emotions at the drop of a hat, including hatred, guilt, anger and grief?” She rolled her eyes. “You’re a freaking goldmine to any director.”

“I…”

“Just think about it.” Lacy patted her back. “Plus, you’d get to work with your friend.”

“Friend?”

“Brandon is being considered for one of the main roles as well! Wouldn’t that be great?!”

Charlottes gaze drifted over to the corner of the room, where Brandon was standing next to Peter, talking. Neither of them had a pleasant expression.

“Yeah…” her voice trailed off as a new unease took root in her chest. “Great.”

Brandon hadn’t planned on confronting Peter at this party.

He had just been standing nearby, pouring himself a cup of punch, when he heard the author complaining loudly.

“I know I wrote it, but I wish I had given the story a different ending.”

He gulped down the drink in his hand, slamming the cup on a nearby table with a frustrated expression. “What a stupid scene. Jordan and Edith getting along and having a happy ending!”

Brandon thought about the words Charlotte had said earlier, the pain in her eyes as she talked about how the boy Jordan had been based off of had murdered his friend. A sense of disgust took over him and he stepped closer before he had realized it.

“And how would you end it instead?” He interrupted, his sarcastic tone at odds with his innocent face. “Have Jordan betray the one person who has sacrificed everything to protect him? Now that’s a stupid ending!”

Peter’s face turned pale. “No one would want to live in the shadow of a girl like that forever. Perfect at everything she does. Mature, even as a child.” He snorted. “Anyone would snap eventually.”

Brandon thought about Charlotte. She was smart, talented, and much more mature than she should be for her age. He had always been used to being the center of attention, but whenever she was around, she outshined him. Should he resent her? Be jealous?

But then Brandon laughed. “No one is perfect, even if they seem like it.

And she wasn’t.

She was awkward at making friends, trying to talk about the weather and political climate with other five year olds. She tried to solve every problem by threatening it, and if that didn’t work by beating it up. She always jumped ahead without thought, without fear, never even considering the possibility of failure.

She wasn’t perfect.

“So, doesn’t change the fact that Jordan would be better off without Edith.” Peter argued back, a strange light in his eyes.

Brandon rolled his eyes. “Of course, who would want a dedicated friend who cares for you and supports you in everything you do?”

“Supports you in living in her shadow!”

“WHO CARES?!” Brandon threw up his hands. “Even if you’re in her shadow, at least you’re by her side! And if she’s stronger, smarter and faster… well I’ll just find the things that I can do, and help her the best I can. Because that’s what friends do!! They don’t worry about who’s better! They become better together!”

Peter’s expression grew cold. “You’re just a child.”

“And you’re an idiot.”

Brandon stomped away, not paying any attention to the threatening glare at his back.

“Here.” Brandon put a cup of punch on the table before Charlotte, who had been resting on the couch, lost in her thoughts. Her eyes flickered quickly towards him and then towards the drink on the table.

“What’s that?”

“It’s punch.”

“Why did you put it there?”

“So you can drink it?” Brandon shook his head. “And they told me you were smart.”

“Umm… thanks.” She reached out to grab the glass. “What were you talking to the author about?”

“Just stupid stuff.” He smiled. “Don’t worry about it.”

Charlotte stiffened, a memory from her previous life overwhelming her.

“Why are you grinning so much?” Charlotte asked, sitting down with a tired expression.

“Just stupid stuff.” Peter kept smiling, setting a coffee cup in front of her. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Ugh. Thanks.” She took a sip of the coffee, making a face. “This tastes terrible! What did you do, make it with your feet?”

Peter scowled. “Sorry I’m not a world class barista.”

“I forgive you.” She chuckled, taking another sip with a wince. “If I wasn’t so tired and needed the caffeine…”

“You should get some rest. You’ve been working too hard.” The right words were coming out of Peter’s mouth, but something seemed… off.

Charlotte shook herself slightly, trying to focus on his question. “I can’t go to sleep yet. I need to check and see if there’s been a response from the publishers.” She grinned. “This book I wrote is pretty great, I think someone will buy it.”

“…” Peter stared at her silently. A headache started pounding at her temples. She took another drink of coffee, setting it down half-finished to rub her temples.

“What did you do today?”

He showed her a letter in his hand. Her head hurt worse, she had to struggle to read it.

It was a publishing offer.

Charlotte would have jumped up and cheered, thrilled to see a reward for all the late nights, all the hard work she had done. She would have given Peter a hug, thanking him for the terrible coffee again and the surprise of revealing the letter.

She would have…

There was just one problem.

The name on the letter was not hers.

Peter McAllen.

“You… you stole my book?” It was hard to talk, her lips were slightly numb.

Peter looked defensive.

“It wasn’t my fault!”

And so started the last argument she would ever have with him. The one that ended with her dying on the floor, while he looked on with a satisfied expression.

CRASH! The glass slipped through her fingers, splintering into multiple pieces as it hit the floor. Punch spilled out over her shoes, staining them red…

“Charlotte, are you okay?”

She looked over at the boy who reminded her of Peter, her face curled in a snarl. “Leave me alone!”

He stepped back, startled. He looked genuinely worried. Charlotte’s heart softened, and she was about to reach out and apologize, when her eyes caught on the broken glass at her feet.

Had she really been about to take a drink from a glass he had handed her? Was being poisoned once by someone she trusted not enough for her? Had she learned nothing?

Charlotte pushed past him, ignoring his hurt expression as she quickly found her parents.

“Take me home.”

Without asking questions they bundled her up and took her out. As she was being whisked away, she saw Brandon’s face.

Pain.

Confusion.

Fear.

Charlotte turned away, ignoring him, and let her father carry her out of the party.

Later that night, Charlotte sat on her bed, staring down at her hands. She felt slightly guilty at how she had left Brandon without a word, but it was hard to ignore the memories he sometimes invoked.

He’s not Peter. She told herself quietly, rocking in place. We’re friends.

Yes, but you thought Peter was your friend too, didn’t you, and look how that turned out. A awful voice in the back of her mind whispered back. Charlotte had no answer, and sat there silently, confused.

Tap, tap. A sound of something hitting her window.

Charlotte looked outside. There was a note taped to the window sill. Picking it up with trembling hands, she read the scrawl across the page, an all too familiar handwriting.

“I’ve taken your little friend. If you don’t want him to die then meet me at the secret base. Come alone.”

“Shit.” Charlotte whispered, the paper crumpling in her hand. “He knows.”

She always thought Peter might recognize her one day. They had grown up together, knew everything about each other. So many little signs, clues, only the fact that it seemed so impossible seemed to argue against him realizing the truth.

But he knew.

Otherwise why else would he tell her to meet him at the “secret base”? It was their secret growing up, an abandoned shed in the middle of nowhere, where they used to hide during the worst times growing up.

Straightening out the paper, she read it again, her eyes staying on the words “little friend.” Her stomach sank even further.

“Brandon.” She was surprised at the pain in her voice. Charlotte looked around her room with a defeated expression. All over the walls were pictures. Pictures of her smiling with her parents. Playing, laughing… living a new life.

She could lose everything. All the wonderful things she had gained by being reborn. Her childhood, her family, her home.

But she couldn’t let him die.

Silently she opened her window further, crawling out and running into the night. She didn’t hesitate, she knew this location better even then this house she was currently growing up in.

“Okay Peter.” She smiled , a humorless expression. “I’m coming home.”

“Charlotte.” His voice was the first thing she heard as she entered the shack.

“Peter.” She responded in kind, forcing herself not to react to the terrible seen in front of her. In the five years since she last saw this place, it hadn’t changed much. The sagging couching, the chipped tables. The barely functioning generator powering a small tv and a coffee maker. It looked exactly the same it had the day she died, in the very spot she was standing now.

Charlotte shivered, both from the cold draft and from fear.

Peter stood in the back, his eyes fanatical, staring at her with a triumphant expression. He held a terrified Brandon in front of him, who was too scared too move. He also held a gun to the young boy’s head.

“Let him go.” She spoke calmly, not wanting to startle him. “You want me, not him.”

“CHARLOTTE NO!” Brandon screamed out. “JUST RUN! I’LL BE OKAY!”

Peter started laughing, a disturbing sound that echoed through the cabin. Shaking his head slightly, he sighed, gesturing with the gun as he spoke.

“How cute. He’s actually trying to protect you. You of all people!” Peter snorted. “You and I both know you never needed anyone’s protection.”

“Let him go.”

“No.” He smiled. “He’s my insurance that you won’t do something stupid.”

“Seriously?” Charlotte spread her hands, sweating nervously as the gun swayed back and forth, keeping an aim on Brandon. “I’m five years old, how much damage could I do?”

His eyes narrowed. “Nice try. I might even believe you if you hadn’t shown off your skills with the stunt men. Besides, even if I hadn’t seen that… I know you’re perfectly capable of taking down me and anyone unlucky enough to go against you. I used to make money on you taking down guys twice your size in fights, remember?”

“Charlotte, what’s going on?” Brandon’s eyes darted between the two of them. “What’s he talking about?”

“Yes, Charlotte, why don’t you tell your little friend that despite his desperate attempts to be honest with you, you’ve been lying to him all along.”

“Peter…” Charlotte’s voice held a warning tone, but he ignored her, continue to talk.

“That you’re not the little five year old Charlotte that he thinks you are.” He laughed. “I can’t believe that you would actually play the part of the character based on yourself. ”

She watched carefully as he ranted, hoping for an opening.

“You’re the street trash Charlotte. The fighter Charlotte. The criminal Charlotte.”

“The Charlotte you murdered.” She whispered. “The Charlotte you poisoned when she trusted you.”

“MY CHARLOTTE!” His enraged scream filled the small cabin. “You deserved it! I did what I had to do!”

“Wait!” Brandon’s eyes widened. “That story you told me today, the one about the boy who betrayed and murdered the girl… YOU’RE that girl?! That means that he…” He trailed off, looking up at the man holding a gun to his head. “He betrayed you after you had spent your life helping him out, protecting him?”

“Showing off! Making me feel worthless!” Peter snapped back, but Brandon wasn’t listening.

“Oh no…” He turned pale. “The drink today, did you think… Plus, when we first met, you called me Peter.” He shook his head, his eyes sad. “Do I remind you of him?!”

“At first.” Charlotte admitted quietly. “Not anymore.”

“That’s a relief, I just...”

“SHUT UP!” Looking obviously frustrated at being ignored, Peter dug his gun into the boy’s head. “We’re getting off topic!”

“Hey! You’re ruining this important bonding moment in our friendship!” Brandon argued.

“I am holding the gun!”

“Still!”

“What do you want, Peter?” Charlotte interrupted. “I’m assuming you didn’t call me out in the middle of the night to tell Brandon that I reincarnated.”

“You are a perverse existence. A curse on my life.” Peter hissed, putting more pressure on the weapon in his hand. “I took care of you! You were supposed to stay dead! But you’re here, taking over my project from MY book!”

“That you stole.”

“And making me look like an idiot again!” He sighed. “I won’t do it. You have to be gotten rid of.”

Charlotte smiled at him. “Good. Let go of the kid and let’s try to kill each other.”

“I’m not that stupid. There’s your answer.” He looked down at the table in between them, and Charlotte’s breath left in a rush as she saw what he was looking at:

A coffee cup.

“No.” Her voice was filled with pain. “Not again.”

“Again.” He grinned. “We’re going to repeat the past, but this time, you’re going to stay dead.”

“Wait! What?!!” Brandon looked down at the cup, panicked. “Is that poison?! You can’t do that! Run away!”

“Oh, you little fool.” Peter tightened his grip on the boy. “I know her better than anyone else alive. She’s nearly unbeatable, but she had two weaknesses: First she was too trusting.” He shrugged. “My betrayal took care of that, but she still has the second weakness: She needs to save everyone.”

“…” Charlotte stared silently at her former friend.

“She has only known you for a short while, and she already can’t stand to let you get hurt. Not if she can save you.”

“NO!” Brandon started to scream, but Peter’s hand clamped down over his mouth.

“Now here’s the deal, Charlotte: You drink the poison, and I let the kid go. You don’t drink?” He tapped the gun against Brandon’s head. “Your friend dies.”

“You’ll never get away with that.” Her voice was flat, expressionless, her eyes never leaving the cup on the table.

“Probably. But he will still be dead, and you will never be able to live with yourself. Almost worth not killing you.”

“How do I know you’ll let him go?”

“You don’t.” His tone was cold. “But you absolutely know that if you don’t, he’ll die. It’s your only chance to save his life.”

“…” Charlotte reached out slowly, holding the cup between her hands. It was slightly warm, the weight unfamiliar to her. She hadn’t held a coffee cup since she had been reborn. Her head started to hurt, a phantom of a memory from a different life.

“Drink it.” Peter ordered, his eyes almost glowing in the dim light in the cabin. Brandon’s eyes were as wide as they could go, he desperately was trying to shake his head from side to side. Clearly he was trying to tell her to run, to save herself.

Charlotte smiled. She had definitely made a better friend in this life than her last. She looked down at the coffee, the bitter scent reminding her of her death, the anger, the frustration, the loneliness.

I don’t want to die.

She had a home in this life. Parents who loved her. A friend who would sacrifice himself to save her. She wasn’t the same Charlotte who died helpless on this floor, betrayed and alone.

She was more.

“OUCH!” Peter’s hand flew up, blood splashing through the air. Brandon had bit the hand covering his mouth, his teeth tearing through skin. Peter recovered quickly, regaining his composure and grabbing Brandon again to aim the gun at his head. His lapse had only lasted the briefest moment.

But it was enough.

CRASH!

The cup went flying through the air, striking Peter on the forehead as it left Charlotte’s hand at full speed. She lept forward, jumping on the table in front of him and kicking him in the chest, knocking him backwards. He tried to sit up again, but she had already grabbed the coffee mug, slamming it down on his throat. He choked falling back, his hands clutching his neck as he struggled to breathe. Charlotte knelt on his chest, her face grim, and reared backwards, her small fist clenched around the ceramic.

BAM

She broke his nose.

“That’s for kidnapping my friend.”

BAM

A tooth was knocked loose, flying through the air and rolling under a nearby chair.

“That’s for trying to poison me.”

BAM!

“And THAT’s for stealing my book and killing me in my last life.”

He was unconscious.

Charlotte found a rope in a chest nearby, and tied him up. She then began searching his pockets.

“What are you doing?”

She held up his cell phone. “Bingo.” She dialed a number.

“Hello? Me and my friend were kidnapped.” Her voice on the phone was a frantic sob, but her face stayed calm. “We knocked him out, but I don’t know how much longer we’ll stay safe! Please send help!”

She paused, listening.

“Yes, we know him, he’s working on the movie we’re in. His name is Peter McAllen.” She winked at Brandon. “He said I reminded him of a girl he knew growing up, and that he had stolen his book from her and poisoned her. He said because my name was Charlotte too that I was her reborn to curse him and wanted to kill me and my friend. Please send help! The address is…” She rattled off the address and then hung up, ignoring any attempts to keep her on the line.

Brandon shook his head. “You’re getting pretty good at this ‘acting’ thing.”

“Can you keep my secret?” She ignored his comment, asking the question anxiously instead.

Brandon smiled, grabbing her pinky finger with his own.

“What are friends for?”

They sat together on the front step outside, watching the stars and waiting patiently for the police to arrive. Charlotte couldn’t help but chuckle.

“What’s so funny?”

“You know, I’m glad I got this second chance.” She stared up at the stars, slightly blurred through a vale of tears. “I thought I had a family in my first life… but I had nothing. This time, I have parents, friends… and that’s everything I could have ever wanted.”

“Plus you got revenge on the guy who killed you!” Brandon pushed the angry, gagged Peter who laid helpless on the ground in front of them with his foot. The man glared in return, but was ignored by the two children. “And you’re only five. What are you going to do now?”

Charlotte shrugged. “I don’t know… I hadn’t planned that far ahead.” She looked over. “Tell me about this new project you’re going to be acting in.”

“Did Lacy talk to you?!” Brandon looked excited, “You should try out for the part! Then we can keep working together and hanging out…” He trailed off, slightly embarrassed.

“I’d like that.” She smiled. “Acting was kind of fun.”

They both stayed silent after that, listening to the sounds of sirens in the distance. Charlotte let out a slow, sigh of relief.

She was alive.

And this time, she would live a life filled with friends and family.

This time, she would be happy.

#writing #baby's first revenge #story #part seven #violence #kidnapping #friends #familly #second life #reincarnation #second chance

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ikesenlemonadestandstories · 4 years

Text

Thorns

I present to you Kinesis: Chapter 30, please feel free to look for all previous and future chapters on my Master List and under the “Kinesis” tag :) Love you all!

Warnings: battle, mentions of blood

[MC]

Thorns

The tunnel smelled like earth, having gone unused for years nature appeared to be trying to take it back. Vines and moss grew up the sides of the brick face, and everyone was careful not to catch it on fire. We wouldn’t set the castle on fire unless we had to. That was plan C, as it stood you were only at A. For now.

As promised, getting in was easy. Blending in was going to be the hard part. As quietly as you could, the group of you made your way through the halls until you reached a stairwell leading to the barracks.

“This could go terribly. If it does, it’s been a blast guys.” Gael said with a smile before making his way down the steps.

There was a moment of silence, a quiet scuffle, and then nothing. Everyone seemed to be holding their breath, waiting to see who would come back up the stairs. After what felt like ages, Gael popped his head out and laughed.

“You guys look stressed out, don’t tell me you doubted me that much.” With a fake pout, he opened the door and ushered us down the stairs.

In a matter of minutes, everyone donned Imperial armor, and you made your way out onto the lawn, blending seamlessly into the small groups gathered and receiving assignments. From what you had ascertained the castle was in lockdown, each group getting their own codes to their respective rooms for their specific patrol route. Each patrol route would only overlap once, which wasn’t a problem, it just meant you had to be stealthy. You could be stealthy.

The hallways and rooms your small group of castle knights had been assigned were on the first floor, near the throne room everyone had agreed to meet in before entering. It shouldn’t be too hard to sneak away, but you were never left unaccompanied, everyone having been paired off to deter or catch insurrection. You could deal with that, though. The pass with Ranmaru was coming up soon, so you kept your eyes peeled. Watching closely, you looked for that noticeable flash of purple before accidentally tripping. Sure you caused a commotion, but everyone was dressed the same and decorations were falling off of the walls, who was really paying attention to who was with who? You hoped that with all of the scrambling of the guards you and Ranmaru would be able to pair off and head on your way.

You felt a hand tug on your arm and hid your smile as you stood, quickly making your way down the hallway and away from the scene with your partner. You had done it; hopefully, the others had been just as successful.

“That was too easy.” He whispered to you as you walked towards your rendezvous point.

“I’ll thank the Old Ones for their help later.” You said, your steps quickening the closer you got to the throne room.

There was one more corner to turn, and you were there. Fortune seemed to be on your side at the moment as Mitsuhide and Gael rounded the corner on the other side of the hall at the same time as Ranmaru and yourself. Unlike this morning, you couldn’t help it, throwing your head back as you laughed out loud. What had happened to make them so disheveled?

“Would you stop that? You’re gonna blow our cover.” Gael hissed as Mitsuhide ran a hand through his hair.

“You are a little louder than necessary Mouse.” You blushed at the nickname and the fondness that flashed in his gaze.

“What happened?” You dragged out the last few syllables as you tried to stifle your laughter.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Gael mumbled as he fixed his chest plate so that it was centered again.

“But I do,” You countered with a wheeze as tears ran down Ranmaru’s face, biting back a laugh of his own.

“Too bad, we have things to do. An important meeting if you will.” Mitsuhide gestured towards the door.

The sentence brought you back to the reality of the situation. You were here to fight, this was not your home anymore, you could not galavant and waste time. It was do or die. With a deep breath you entered the code Mitsuhide had been given and pushed the heavy Oak doors open, the hinges making that familiar popping noise as you entered the throne room.

Gael let out a gasp and grabbed onto your shoulder, halting your forward movement as he whispered quietly. “What the hell?”

“I didn’t think your father had magic?” Mitsuhide questioned Gael as his grip found its way to your wrist as well.

“He doesn’t. He didn’t. I- What is this?” The shock registering on his face was enough for you. This was unexpected and a problem.

The once pristine white marble floor was covered in a bright red rune, the sharp ends jutting out like thorns painting everything they touched the color of blood. At the center of the pattern on a deep red throne sat Olexy, a sickly sweet smile on his face that sent chills down your spine.

“You finally made it then did you?” He asked his voice grating, like nails on a chalkboard.

“Expecting me?” You fought all of the internal alarms ringing, telling you to run like hell out of there.

“Of course, you and my traitorous son.” The smile never leaving his lips as he stood and drew his blade. “I figured he’d find you eventually. Never thought he’d be stupid enough to come back.”

One of the thorns on the floor moved, making its way directly for Gael. With the stomp of your foot, a barrier was erected around your friends just in time. The dangerously sharp red rune covering your protective wall like a web.

“This fight is between you and me.” Your voice was harsh as you turned your attention back to Olexy.

“It’s no matter, I’ll take care of them once you’ve been disposed of.” The whole room shifted, and you did your best to keep your balance as it all started to spin.

“Like hell you will.” Venom dripped from your voice as you grit your teeth, you needed to stay calm. Do not let him get to you.

Without warning you charged forward, drawing the blade Masamune had fashioned for you. Picking up speed as you used the runes on the bottoms of your shoes to push yourself forward, faster than any human had the right to move. In one swift movement, you drove your sword right through his chest. That was it. It was over.

Your body relaxed, and you sighed only to feel hands closing around your throat. Your eyes snapped up as Olexy’s grip tightened. How? He should have died.

“It’s too bad, really. You were quite the resourceful young thing.” His eyes glowed red, and you fought the chill that ran down your spine as he spoke. That was not Olexy. Clawing desperately at the hands that held you, you struggled to release yourself from his grip.

As the world started to go fuzzy and tilt, you used every bit of strength, you had to push your magic outward. An explosion would come in handy right about now. You felt the pop, and when the pressure came off of your throat, you gasped for air. Looking around frantically for your friends to make sure they were alright. Only you weren’t in the castle anymore. You recognized this place. This was the island alcove, you were in the Arcane.

Someone laughed wildly behind you, and you whirled around, now staring directly at a red-eyed demon.

“Hello, little one.” his voice was gravelly as he slithered in your direction. You didn’t dare move when you were face to face with one of the Old Ones. Opting to nod instead.

“How odd, one minute you’re trying to kill me, the next you’re so polite.” There’s something menacing about the way he hangs on his vowels, and it makes your skin crawl. Again you don’t answer. You know better than that.

“I would like to commend you for making it this far. Unfortunately, that incorrigible Olexy made a deal with me.” His smile touched his eyes, and his pupils dilated. “Whether you are worthy of your powers or not; You shall be my next meal.”

Without a second to spare, you threw up the most reliable barrier you had, concentrating all of your magic to your fists as he charged forward.

“How about I pass on that?!” Your voice came out a strangled scream as he connected with your magic.

A hiss of pain escaping him as the Old One tried to push through your wall. You didn’t have time for a triumphant smile; instead, you dropped your barrier and used all of the magic you could muster to punch him square in the stomach in his moment of surprise. The sheer force of the strike sent you flying into the rock wall behind you as he careened into the opposite cavern wall before falling limp into the lake.

Your head throbbed as you watched him emerge from the murky purple water.

“You’re much stronger than I anticipated Little One. I no longer feel like playing with my food, though.” He seethed as he grew larger in size, taking up all the space he could. “This ends now.”

His hand came swooping down from the sky, and you braced yourself for the impact, putting up a large flat ceiling of energy if you couldn’t stop him you could at least severely maim him in the process. Besides, if you were flattened, it would be a swift death, right? That wouldn’t be so bad. Sending a silent spark to your friends, you closed your eyes and waited for the final blow.

“(YN)an!!” A chorus of voices called out your name, well names, the sound echoing in the cavern followed closely but unrecognizable energy.

You smiled. It was nice to be so cared for. A gust of wind nearly blew you over, and your eyes opened in time to see the blinding flash of an impact. The shock of the collision of the energies left your ears ringing and your vision spotty. There was a scream, and it was like the cavern had turned into a vacuum, wind whipping violently around as figures began to emerge one by one. Each with a face you recognized. Maybe this was it. They did say that your life flashed before your eyes right before you go.

Your eyes shut, a feeling of peace overcoming you as you followed the pull of the wind to wherever it chose to guide you.

#ikesen #ikemen sengoku #ikesen reader insert #ikesen self insert #kinesis #chapter 30 #ikesen mitsuhide x reader #breaking and entering #i'm moving today so expect me to be slower than normal

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saraptor · 5 years

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Whumptober Day 3: Delirium

@whumptober2019

Title: Wildflower Sun

Summary: Madara was sick. Whether he was sick of mind and body had yet to be determined. Hashirama, at least, was definitely trying to drive him insane.

Read of Archive of Our Own: Wildflower Sun

The dry air was doing nothing for Madara's lungs, but he was outside anyway, as though the crisp breeze could snatch away his illness. It didn't, and within the hour he was shivering in the center of a wide golden field, a break in an otherwise dense forest.

Exhaustion had numbed the hesitation he would have felt at the sticks and moist soil, dragging him down to the field and laying him on grasses a little too coarse for comfort. He stared up at crystal clear blue sky with the drifting, flyaway feeling that he suspected was like dying. It wasn't so terrible like that, thoughts subdued, demure-he hoped his brothers felt like that, when they died.

A gust of wind blew through the field and the grasses felt like angel wings. His skin prickled with a chill, despite the flushness of his cheeks, and he turned to his side. He curled up, eyes sliding closed, and pretended he was back in the tent. He would have preferred his bedroll.

Briefly, he wondered if Izuna was looking for him—if Tajima noticed he was missing.

His father had looked so disappointed lately. It was not a look Madara was used to, but he could hardly help it. With the webs in his lungs, the ghost whispering in his skull, and the way his thoughts and actions seemed to stick—stick, stick, stick—lately, so slow and burdened, it was a miracle he functioned at all.

A churning hot furnace in his body tried to bargain, to convince, that he was freezing to death in the relatively placid autumn day. He moved his arms over his chest, hyperaware of his own thundering heartbeat. It was disconcerting enough that he tried to sit up, only for the world to tilt sharply. For all he jarringly did not move, his body was convinced everything was going backwards, backwards, further back—

He was not so functional at the moment.

The ground had soldered itself to his back. He could no more pick himself up, than he could force the world off its axis, or regain his equilibrium. It forced him to stare up at the sky, at the wisps of clouds that were forming, the tiny droplet of leftover rainfall sliding down a golden strand of grass. He longed to dissipate away with the wind as a sledgehammer slammed into his gut, left nausea in its wake, purpling darkness creeping at the edges of his vision.

His face was curiously numb. He blinked, gasped in a breath, gagged.

Nothing came up, thankfully. He couldn't turn over and he didn't want to drown in his own bodily fluids.

He coughed and lightning struck his heart, a sideways flutter, a jolt that ran down to his fingers. It made tears sting his eyes, a crawling tenseness in his chest that was either death, or sheer, undulated panic.

There was a subterranean rattle in the earth by his ear. He called out for Izuna, voice thick and unrecognizable. The metal song of clanging kunai sliced through the air in response.

Madara scrabbled for purchase on the ground, as the world spun around him and begged that he stay down. Stay down, stay down, stay down. His arms buckled, even as he dragged his legs under him.

"I have never been so sick in my life," Madara rasped hoarsely, and even talking was a labor of effort. His throat was swallowed glass, his stomach a dangerous, churning thing.

A burst of killing intent pierced through the fog in his head. He reached for a kunai as the ghost in his skull rattled the bars and screamed, pulled left and right and up and down—fire jutsu, sword, hide, run—a hundred ways he could survive and a short dozen ways he could die, unless whoever was in the field was the creative sort. Then, the list was endless.

Using chakra wasn't the best of ideas for one in his condition, but he didn't trust his vision for aiming kunai, or his physical strength for the sword—except he didn't have a sword on him. Anyone else would have frozen, but Madara was a shinobi, born and bred and raised for war, and even sickened and confused, that never changed. He forwent the sword he, apparently, didn't have—when had he lost it?—and dodged—

Nothing was there. He skidded to a halt, launched himself backward to avoid where the real attacker was, and tried to wrap the slippery tendrils of his brain around the fact the attack had disappeared. Or, it had never existed.

There was a cry, a familiar voice that sent a burst of sunspots through Madara's stomach, and an arm wound around his waist, even as he was forming hand signs for that fire jutsu.

He gaped, open mouthed in horror, as the forest swallowed them. It closed around them, a bristly maw blocking out the blue sky. Shrieks filled the field-which wasn't much of a field anymore—before they were abruptly shut short.

"What are you doing out here?"

Despite the trees steadily knitting themselves overhead, thoroughly blocking out any daylight, he could inexplicably still see clearly. He couldn't bring himself to puzzle it out, caught in a haze. He didn't trust himself not to blurt the first thing on his mind, and that train of thought could only lead somewhere particularly embarrassing.

Hashirama was glowing, like a second sun, and that explained why he could see without daylight.

He would eat his own liver before he said that out loud.

"Madara?"

The ghost in Madara's head stopped throwing itself at the bars. It coiled around his brain, coated in scales, and Hashirama must have been a snake charmer, because it always happened when he was in the area.

"How are you here?" said Madara, a lot quieter than he intended. He was so used to regulating his voice for the wild cacophony of dreams that always felt a little too real, and realized he'd probably been whispering to everyone for the better part of—of how long?—a long time. He tried to infuse a little strength into his tone as he added, "And I was taking a nap. That was obvious."

"A nap," Hashirama echoed, a hair away from disbelieving. His hands were hovering inches from Madara's arms, as though waiting for him to keel over. His lack of faith in Madara's ability to stand was enough for him to pointedly push away. "Be careful—"

"I am perfectly capable of—of standing," said Madara, stumbling halfway through his sentence. He was already flushed from a fever, couldn't really grow redder, but his face made a goddamn good effort. Dampness was gathering his nose, threatening a downpour that would leave him disgraced for generations. Worse still, he just knew that even if he could blow it, nothing would come out. His nose was so swollen that it felt as though something had exploded in his sinuses. Despite the growing fear of a nasal meltdown, he gathered up his dignity around him. "You should not even be here."

Hashirama gave a laugh, though it was a touch more aggravated than his usual laughs. It made something cold and uncertain nestle in Madara's gut, and he hated it.

"You're three miles into Senju territory," said Hashirama, chuckling incredulously. "A couple Kaguya were spotted crossing the border and I came to deal with it. If anyone else had come—do you realize what could have happened—"

He broke off, taking a deep breath.

"Are you hurt?" he asked, stepping closer to look him over, regardless. "You look feverish. Is there an illness going through your clan?"

"No," said Madara, and then sneezed. Violently.

He groaned, covering his face, legs buckling under him. There was no point anymore—dignity was dead and pride was lost.

A cloth was pressed to his face, he was eased back with a broad hand against his chest. Soft moss cushioned him, which shouldn't have come as the surprise it did. Madara might have thrown Hashirama to the ground and tossed some bandages on his head, if their positions were reversed. Hashirama was not Madara.

It was easy to mistake Madara as the stubborn one. He was ever and always avoiding Hashirama's questions, his plaintive looks across the battlefield. He ignored the way his stomach flipped, as though the ground dropped under his feet, as Hashirama barred his teeth in a grin whenever he tried a new technique. They both enjoyed their fights, but it Madara who refused to meet in lulls between fights, never replied to untitled letters, who kept silent when his father mentioned another clash with the Senju.

Madara was stubborn, but it was Hashirama who never stopped pursuing. It was Hashirama who still sent letters, even after three years of them no longer being friends. He was the one who whispered in battles—"It could be different. We don't have to fight. Imagine the future. It'll be wonderful."—and chased after the Uchiha for every inch that Madara wanted to move them far, far away.

When he was clan head, he would move the Uchiha away. The ghost stirred at the thought, but he shoved it back down in its cell. He didn't care for its worries, its warnings. Hashirama's dream would not work, but if he could agree on one thing, it was that the deaths had gone on long enough.

Moving away wasn't so terrible of an idea.

Hashirama's lips thinned into a line.

"You don't need the Uchiha," groused Madara drowsily, every blink threatening to pull him into unconsciousness. "Make a village with the Uzumaki or something."

It was as though the ghost seeped from his skull and tainted his bones, sided with his illness. He was plunged into a bout of nausea that made his stomach demonic. His went brain fuzzy, his mouth watering. A chain wrapped around his chest and squeezed, punished him for his words.

However, even as he struggled to sit up, Hashirama was resting glowing hands on his stomach. Then, he was traveling upward, frowning in an equal mixture of worry and displeasure. He didn't like Madara's responses—he never did, and yet he kept asking for the same thing.

Blessed numbness steeped through his torso. His breath came a little easier.

"You have pneumonia," said Hashirama, disapproving, as though Madara asked to get sick—he scowled on reflex. "Is your clan out of medicines?"

"We aren't rich," said Madara, tilting his head back. He wanted to gather more anger, but he was so utterly drained of energy, it was impossible. His bones were liquified, skin full of wet sand. "I just need to sleep."

"D'you think your clan will find it strange if you go home with medicine?" said Hashirama, even as he pressed several pouches into Madara's limp hands.

Madara pushed them away. "Yes, they will. There are no medicine men living in trees."

"Maybe you found them on a dead body," said Hashirama, insistently handing them back.

"Your dead body, maybe," said Madara, drawing a snort from Hashirama. He wasn't trying to be funny, but that never seemed to matter. "Stop that—I cannot just show up with several weeks' worth of medicines and no explanation—"

"Hasn't your clan ever heard the idiom 'Don't look a gift horse in the mouth?'" said Hashirama, falling just short of whining. He pushed sweaty raven locks off Madara's flushed forehead. "Look at you. You're melting."

"Thanks, asshole."

Hashirama beamed. "You're welcome."

A tortured creak of wood broke through the silence that fell over them. Madara watched, nonplussed, as walls crawled up around them. Giant windows were left open, resembling wide eyes in the side of a house that had sprouted from the ground. There were vines clinging to the walls, bursting full of ripened grapes; tiny flowers like miniature roses were sprouting at their feet. It was a strange clash of civilization and wild nature, and only Hashirama was capable of something so unorthodox.

He was also one of the few beings alive, Madara was sure, who enjoyed it—going off the wide grin on his face. A couple curling tendrils of vines reached down the ceiling, dangerously close to Madara's bed of moss.

"They're saying hello!"

"They're plants."

Hashirama was absolutely, steadfastly insistent the plants were greeting them. Seeing as he was the one making the grow, the one whose connection to nature and the natural chakras of the world was something new and old and soul-deep, all at once, arguing with him about it was probably foolish. Madara would never, ever claim to be a man of wisdom.

As the drone of excited chatter wore on, Hashirama's voice pitching toward tedium to Madara's weary ears, warped faces played around his mind. He focused on the curve of Hashirama's lips, darted to his hazel eyes. He could never tell if they were brown, or gold, or green, or kaleidoscopic mix of them all. His mind focused on fractured as he tried to piece together Hashirama's eyes into something that made sense, someone who wasn't always discontented, always wanted more, who glowed with cheer despite it all.

It was never good enough. Whether for Madara, or Hashirama, he wasn't sure. His breath had locked in his lungs with the rattle of the cages in his mind, and Hashirama abandoned whatever he was talking about—probably something to do with the village—to refocus his attention to Madara's chest.

Madara followed the warm trail of hands on his sternum, kept the memory of heat trapped in his skin, with the determination of a man drowning at sea. Those hands had healed a life for every one he'd taken. They were nicked and scarred, like any shinobi's hands, starkly bronze against Madara's pale skin.

When they stood together, Hashirama glowed. He didn't literally glow, as in with the power of the demigod he probably secretly was (even if he didn't know), but he was alive. Alive, in the way the sun was, bringing colors to the world and forests to life. Trees pushed and fought for sunlight. And when the sun was gone, when the sky darkened, the scraps of leftover light was given to the moon.

Pale and cold. When the moon was full, it blotted out the glitter of the stars. It made the sky black and void.

That was how Madara felt, standing by Hashirama. When Hashirama was at his greatest, he enhanced the beauty that was already there, while Madara stole it away. Only the strongest lights survived around him.

(Until they didn't anymore.)

Hands had traveled up his neck, to his head, and were cradling his temples. The ghost lurched back, making itself small as possible in Madara's head, and for once he wasn't haunted by the image of his brother's corpse.

A sigh escaped him.

Hashirama worked with practiced diligence. He was worried—Madara could tell by the way the moss had grown thicker, the vines winding around his biceps, as though nature could keep him physically anchored to life—and that was probably a good sign Madara should have been worried, too. A healer like Hashirama didn't get worried over minor illnesses.

But, he was floating again. His mind was blessedly numbed and his thoughts were drifting away from him in bubbles. Underwater, the world was not so overwhelming. Everything was muted and dulled. He could handle the world from underwater.

A paste that was cold and warm, that made his skin crawl, was rubbed into his chest. Frigid dampness wrapped around his forehead and soaked his hairline, battling the heat radiating off his face. He didn't remember closing his eyes, but they were crusted over, and it wasn't worth the effort to open them. The rumble of Hashirama's voice through the darkness was more comforting than any lullaby.

The first twangs of pain through his joints dragged him from the clouds. He was pulled to his pitifully, drearily mortal body by a cough that threatened to shake his bones apart. For every bit he knew it was good he was conscious again, he regretted being conscious.

Sickness never failed to make him feel so frail, it was as though the illness was eating away at his limbs.

"You relapsed into walking pneumonia," Hashirama was saying, as Madara's eyes fluttered open for the first time in an unknown length of time. It couldn't be too long, or else they'd be hunted by someone, surely. Madara's clan wouldn't leave him to the forest for too long. "How long have you been sick?"

It was enough time that the memory of health was distant, more of a legend than anything that really existed. He'd become used to deliberate way he had to force his body to work at full capacity.

"I'll take that as a long time," sighed Hashirama, looking put-out, as he pulled up a thin covering Madara hadn't had the last time he was conscious.

He almost growled when he saw the Senju kanji embroidering. It was Hashirama's haori, draped over Madara's body to keep him warm. About ten percent of his brain noted that his fever must have gone down, if Hashirama was giving him a blanket, but the other ninety percent was looping over and over again that he had a Senju haori on him. Hashirama's haori.

Get it off, he thought, followed by, Will he notice if it goes missing?

He could probably cut out the Senju part and add it to his wardrobe somehow-but, no, that was pathetic. Madara wasn't even going to lie to himself: he could be pathetic, but he wasn't that pathetic.

He wanted the goddamn haori.

"Do you think your father will be willing to negotiate a treaty if I offer land?" said Hashirama, leaning on his forearms on a nightstand that had sprouted up. It was lined in pretty camellias.

"My father doesn't negotiate with anyone," said Madara, "least of all the Senju."

His throat was still scratchy and dry, his voice was something the cat dragged in, and his head was pounding; but he felt—well, he felt like death warmed over, actually. He squinted at Hashirama through the darkness. He'd lit a candle on the opposite end of the house (where had he even gotten that?) and it sent flickering shadows over the walls. A couple new flower bushes had cropped up, showering the floor in pinks and reds.

"You making a communal garden?" he croaked.

Hashirama hummed in response. "Yeah, sure—anyway, do you think he'd accept bribe money?"

"I don't know," said Madara, tilting his head back and closing his eyes to stave off the way his head gave a particularly nasty throb.

Hashirama didn't seem to get the hint. Or, he was ignoring it. He was definitely ignoring it, Madara thought sourly.

"Er—how long do you think it'll take you to become clan head?"

Violent flashes of mountains of paperwork invaded Madara's head. He thought of complaints and crowds and expectant eyes. "Do that," and "Don't do that," and most of all, "It wouldn't be too much an issue for the clan head to take care of this issue as soon as possible." That didn't even begin to broach on the wide, bold opinions of his clanmates. Everyone had an opinion. Everyone's opinion was the right one. No, he wasn't allowed to disagree with their opinion, and he'd really better think twice about challenging the Elders. They were old and that meant they knew better.

He groaned, turning his head away from Hashirama's emphatic looks. He was always so open and earnest, even as he casually asked Madara to change the entire world with him.

"Are you, ah, very attached to your father?"

"You are not killing my father," said Madara firmly. He couldn't believe he even had to stay that sentence. "Besides for the fact he's my father—and yes, he's an irredeemable asshole and I hate him, but—"

"I'm not seeing the reason not to stage an accident here."

"—if you're caught killing a clan head, the Uchiha will never trust you."

Hashirama blinked guilelessly. "So they can come to trust me?"

"That is—That's not—"

It was too late. He was already leaning even closer, arms draped around the bed, pushing down the haori at Madara's sides. They were practically chest-to-chest as Hashirama beamed down at him. His dark hair was soft against Madara's bare hands.

"What if we open trade negotiations between our clans before you're clan head, anyway?" said Hashirama, cheerfully ignoring the way Madara was choking on his tongue. "Even if your father turns us down, it may garner some support from other people in the clan."

"I—Yes, that would work—"

"And then, when you're clan head, it'll be a simple thing to suggest a ceasefire agreement, then build the village!"

"It's not that simple."

Hashirama didn't play fair, in game or battle, and it was never more apparent than the moment he slumped in, even closer than before, mashing his face against Madara's sternum. He could also feel a toned chest against his stomach. It injected lightning into his veins, sent his stomach into acrobatics.

"You're going to get sick," said Madara, pushing against him in a last-ditch attempt to save his composure.

The laugh he received was not encouraging. "I've never gotten sick in my life!"

And, of course he hadn't. Of course. He was Senju Hashirama, and the power of mountains and valleys flowed in his blood. He was the southern heat that everyone flocked to in the winter months. Bacteria and viruses probably gave shrill little screams inches away from his skin and died.

"Get off me!"

"You're so stubborn," said Hashirama, moping spectacularly. He gave Madara a wounded look, as though he wasn't the one holding Madara hostage while he was sick to discuss world peace.

"I'm stubborn!?" Madara shrieked, righteous anger welling up inside him. "ME!?"

"You won't just agree to make a village with me," said Hashirama, talking with his chin prodding into Madara's chest, which made his crawl and tingle all at once. "Why would you want to keep fighting?"

"I never said that," said Madara, on the verge of hysterics. "How can you expect my clan to let go of generations of hate just—just like that? So soon? My brother made a joke about Senju skullduggery ornaments the other day—"

Hashirama picked himself up so quickly, Madara stammered to a halt. The hazel eyes, more of a golden-brown now, held his with the same sort of seriousness they did when they met on the battlefield.

His was quiet in the way people too often forgot he was capable. It was easy, when he seemed so much larger than life.

"Izuna," he said. "Your brother. Is he what's… making you hesitate?"

There were a thousand reasons. It was sneers on his clanmates' faces around bonfires, the deadly frenzy with which they battled, the twisted anger on their faces that transformed them into something inhuman. They were quick to jump to their blades. Maybe, in a decade or so, that would change. For now, there was a tumor festering in the hearts of all Uchiha that pushed them to fight. They would chew off their own legs before accepting help from a Senju. Izuna would chew off his own legs, if he had to.

Izuna, who was fourteen and struggled up to Madara's shoulder height. He was still fighting to earn the impossible pride of their father, to meet the expectations of one who was never truly satisfied. There was an indominable loyalty to the concept of the Uchiha, the raging torrential god-fire that they all wanted to believe they were-when, in reality, they were only ever human.

Perhaps, he thought with a bitter knot in his gut, they were all a little insane. War had taken something in their brain and shattered it, and now they were running hot with untamed fury.

He closed his eyes to stop his mind going that way. He didn't want to see the pale face in his memory, the slight figure in a coffin, arms crossed over his chest. He didn't want to see the boy who was not so much Izuna's copy, as he was his rhyme, so similar and different. The ghost remembered empty houses and bloody streets.

A hand closed around his, a warm breath on his knuckles.

"I promise nothing will happen to him."

Madara yanked away, and he was no better than his clanmates. That same anger churned like digested poison in his gut.

"Don't promise that. You can't possibly know what will happen, so don't even—"

"Too late, I already promised," said Hashirama, snagging Madara's hand again and dragging it into his lap. It was horribly distracting. All he could think of was fingers on his and warm, warm, warm, rolling over him in a golden blanket— "I've made it clear that the clan is not to interfere with our battles. I'll do the same for your brother."

"That's—" It felt like cheating. "Isn't that—"

"We're shinobi," said Hashirama, with an air of exasperation that was entirely out of place, paired with his fond smile. "So, what else is in the way of our village?"

Madara sucked in a breath to swear at him, or maybe tell him to go away, but broke into a fit of coughing. He curled his shoulders in, as Hashirama rubbed circles into his back. His gaze was sympathetic, but unwavering.

"You are a sadist," he groaned, though he wasn't able to muster the heat he wanted. Worst still, he wasn't even too disappointed. "They all think you're some patron saint of morality, but I know better. You are evil."

Hashirama laughed, but tellingly didn't try to refute his statement. He hadn't let go of Madara's hand, lacing his fingers through Madara's smaller ones. The man really was a giant, he noted with the barest hint of jealousy. He'd sprouted up a good head over Madara.

"I'm over here, dying, and you're trying to negotiate a brand new settlement for our clans, who are at war—"

A bark of genuine amusement escaped Hashirama, flinging his head back.

"You aren't dying. You just needed a little boost." He leaned his elbows against the bed of moss, staring at Madara unblinkingly. "But, we can get to the village, right?"

"Are you seriously trying to nag me into agreeing? Is that it?"

"Maybe—is it working?"

In the end, Hashirama was the mountains and valleys, and most of all he was the corrosive rivers between them. No one really stood a chance, once they were in his sights. Madara had been an object of his attention for a very long time.

"You are insane," Madara told him, as they stood side-by-side atop of the Hokage Monument, untold years later. "Just so you know. Insane."

Hashirama had wrapped an arm around his shoulders in a way he probably thought was slick. "I wasn't the only person involved in making the village, you know."

"No, but I wasn't the one who hunted me down across the goddamn continent to make it happen."

"I didn't go that far," said Hashirama.

"Yes," said Madara, clearly remembering the time he'd taken the clan far into the mountains skirting what had become Kumogakure no Sato, and Hashirama had popped out of a cropping of rocks to talk about world peace. "You did."

The contours of Hashirama's jawline were sharp and angular, the stone monument doing it little to no justice. Madara watched the curve of his neck, only to meet his gaze squarely as he looked down. When his mouth slid over Madara's, soft and firm, he let his eyes close. The arm around his shoulders shifted, Hashirama's broad hand cupping the back of his head, angling them to allow better access.

Breath ghosted over his lips, and that was the only sort of ghost haunting Madara's days anymore.

Hashirama didn't ask if he regretted the days of battles, arguments and broken blades that had nearly killed them both. Neither of them would have changed a thing.

#whumptober2019 #whumptober day 3 #delirium #uchiha madara #senju hashirama #hashimada #hashirama x madara #sick fic

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fire-of-the-sun · 5 years

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Shedding Light on The Dark Year

Here’s my reasoning behind the confusing and controversial plotline of the Dark Year and it's aftermath. Hopefully I can help make sense of the mindsets and motivations for Octavia, Kane, Abby and Indra so we can shed some light on this dark time. Please read to the end with an open mind.

Let’s start with a simple reminder: everything that happened in the bunker was terrible. There were no easy options. Every person suffered and had their own way of dealing with it. No one was completely right or wrong. And there is no one specifically to blame for any of it.

Everyone’s original stance on the news of the food shortage is completely in-character. Abby, as a doctor, knows exactly what to expect. Kane is automatically opposed to something so immoral and Octavia is rightfully off-put but aware they have to come up with something.

Abby’s logic is sound. She knows better than anyone what to expect from the lack of food and, as horrible as it is, knows it’s the only option. She gives Octavia this advice, as is her duty, but, as their leader, it's for Octavia to decide what to do with this information.

As terrible as the position Abby is in, none of this should be mistaken for ill-intent as she reminds Octavia that it's to help all of their people. She's even willing to force Kane to do it, as it will save his life and the lives of others. Sadly, it's the only way to survive.

As their leader, this burden naturally and, unfortunately, falls on Octavia. Abby counseled her to understand it's the only option, but it's now up to her to come up with a way to make this work. Though she obviously feels immense pressure, no one is telling her what to do.

In her desperation, Octavia chooses to take lethal force - a method no one anticipated. Abby is as shocked to see the horrific sight unfold as anyone. She did not foresee this and no doubt feels an immense wave of guilt at the part she played in it, regardless of how direct/indirect.

I’d just like to note that this episode largely focuses on just Octavia and Abby and their perspective of the events. Kane, Indra and others are largely left out of the spotlight for examination and this leaves some gaps in the storytelling...

As an aside, I believe that if there was no food problem there wouldn’t be any problems between these characters. Life in the bunker would still have been hard, but they would not have faced the same traumas and changed so much because of them. This event was life-changing.

Afterwards, we assume Abby does nothing. Though there's honestly nothing she really can do. Announcing it publicly doesn't change anything - everyone already knows she supports cannibalism. The only thing she could do that may help Octavia, I imagine, is to try and console her privately.

There are multiple reasons I don't believe this happened however that I'll get to later. For now, it's clear that they dealt with their pain in different ways. Abby probably began taking more pills to cope with the shame and Octavia began to create the persona of Blodreina.

At the end of the season we finally find out that Kane has known about Abby’s role in the Dark Year. It wouldn't be hard to figure out - he already knows her stance on the food dilemma of course, they discuss it multiple times to which he always publicly voices his disapproval.

In his final moments of the season Kane reveals as much, absolving Abby of her role in his trauma. So if Kane has come to accept and forgive the cannibalism part of this then the problem is clearly not the idea itself but how it happened. His problem lies with the shooting.

It should be more than clear by now that keeping people safe has been the foundation of Kane's character since the beginning of his arc in S1. After the first Culling he's heartbroken over his actions and dedicates himself to making sure no one else dies on his watch ever again.

He’d never sanction the death of others and this desire was probably even further cemented after being forced to perform yet another Culling in the bunker. These are the last of his people and, to do whatever he can to save them, he'll continue to sacrifice more of his soul.

Even if he was initially shocked and upset by Abby's role, like him, he knows she'd never permit people to die. They’ve always had the desire to protect others in common. Octavia killed those people and he/we know killing is clearly not out of her repertoire. It's a practice of hers that he has shown disapproval of many times before.

"I'd rather you didn't kill" - Kane

"A warrior knows when not to kill." - Kane

He's chastised her before on killing a diplomat, beheading an innocent boy, murdering Pike and later, trying to kill Ilian without a trial. She's struggling and the 'darkness' he senses in her is not unfounded.

Let's jump ahead a bit. There's one scene in particular that perfectly displays the deeper aspects to this entire situation - a visual and emotional parallel that sheds light on two different events and reveals all we need to know of these characters...

In 4x06, Octavia (and the rest of the camp) want to mercilessly kill Ilian for his crime and Kane won't allow him to be murdered in cold blood.

"If we let them descend into darkness, there's no coming back." - Kane

"It's the end of the world, Kane, darkness is all we have left." - Octavia

As Kane battles to save the very souls of his people from something they'll regret - to hold onto light and lead them out of the dark - Octavia has fully embraced that darkness. They are in complete ideological opposition (and they will be again).

Kane pleads for her not to kill Ilian, stating that by doing this act, she'd be no better than Pike himself - someone she hates. This is a huge moment of realization for her. The first impactful moment that has made her reflect on her actions and examine the darkness inside her.

This scene bears a strong resemblance to 5x11. Octavia is once again threatening to kill and Kane is trying to stop her but he is unable to this time. The situation is different. This isn't vengeance and it's no doubt the hardest thing Octavia has ever felt like she had to do.

So what are the similarities/differences between how these scenes play out? In 4x06, Kane sympathizes with her pain and immediately tries to console her, telling her it's okay, trying to hold her comfortingly, but she pushes him away and runs off, unwilling to accept any solace.

In the face of her trauma, she isolates herself. We've seen her distance herself from people and push them away to deal with heartbreak before. So I believe it’s completely in character for her to do the same after the cafeteria, especially given that it's even more traumatic.

She is not one to easily share her feelings. She hides her emotions behind a façade of strength and at times even aggression. We see her do this many times. Only when she's alone do we see how she truly feels. Only when she's alone does she dare let the tears fall.

As she's one to hide her pain, she's naturally not one to ask for help - even if she's screaming for it on the inside. Even if she doesn't want to admit that she needs it. So why would she outwardly seek solace from anyone? And why would it in be Kane or Abby?

Up until the Bunker, she’s had no distinguishable relationship with Abby - due mostly to lack of proximity and connection between the characters - and only just allowed Kane to hug her in S4 after pushing him away all season. They are not close enough to be the ideal candidates to truly reach her.

She also already knows what to expect from them and probably avoided them for this reason as well. She knows Kane will most likely give her a "philosophy lecture" and is probably uninterested in hearing him/taking comfort from him (just as she wasn't before). And I doubt she'd want to talk to Abby after their last conversation...

So why are they blamed for not being able to help her when A. Octavia would never ask for/want their help and B. They're probably not close enough to give her what she really needs? Facing them also means facing the trauma once more and she never wants to talk about it again.

In the beginning - as an unpracticed leader - Octavia had a council to help her and willingly listened to their advice. I strongly believe after the events of the Dark Year this was disbanded as she took on the role of queen, separating herself from their opinions and ruling alone.

I don't believe for a second that the other diplomats stayed to help her while Kane and Abby and others chose to walk away. Why wouldn't they want to help her in some way? The only way to help their people is by getting through to Octavia - the person who dictates their life.

What makes the most sense is that she cut off connection to her council and begins to surround herself with loyal followers as her image grows. Anyone who speaks against her is an "enemy" and punished. Speaking up to her would get them killed, so Kane, Abby and others are left to try and endure the world she built in silence.

They know Octavia, not Blodreina, and as one began to be taken over by the other, she no doubt began to become unrecognizable to them. They are not equipped to handle this drastic change - they struggled to connect with her before! What hope do they have to help her when reaching her is difficult even for people far closer to her like Bellamy or even Lincoln?

In this situation, I believe the person best suited to trying to reach her is Indra. Octavia is far closer to her than she is to Kane or Abby as they've had more time and proximity to form a closer bond. They trust each other and have always been able to talk about anything.

We see that Indra remains by her side throughout the years of the Bunker. That doesn't mean she agrees with everything she does, but she remains obedient and supportive anyway. She always shows unwavering loyalty to whoever she follows.

We know Indra secretly goes against her at times as she's also loyal to her friend, Kane. She's caught in between them. She wants to show support for Octavia, the girl she sees as a daughter, but is also willing to break her rules to help her friends.

A telling moment for me is in 5x09 when Octavia finally admits to Indra in her vulnerable state that she "just stood back and watched”. This is her first admission we've seen that she wanted help and possibly assumed Indra (and others) would come to her 'rescue' somehow.

Indra admits she should have helped her "shoulder that burden" and won't make the same mistake again. Though she didn't do much, she didn't do nothing. She was one of the first to eat and publicly stood up and came up with the sacrificial words they'd come to adopt.

Let's go backward to a scene early in S5 I feel is incredibly important to remember. In 5x04, Octavia comes to see Kane after his first fight and this is where the two character's mindsets and deepest emotions are clearly revealed to the audience.

Note that Kane is not angry or judgmental but rather honest, sad, weary and desperate. He acknowledges her strength and ability to unify them during the Dark Year. This doesn't mean he fundamentally approves with what happened, but he understands the tough position she was in.

It's also worth noting that Octavia is more than willing to listen to him and even let him go if he tells the truth. She doesn't see him as guilty and won't kill him for nothing. She does not come into the room cold, frustrated or angry. She's willing to talk and get a real answer.

"We're all guilty." - Kane

He's referring to himself as much as anyone. He too feels guilt, for the Bunker and everything that has ever come before. This can also be a way of letting her know she's not alone in whatever guilt she may feel. They all did things they didn't want to do.

The mention of the Dark Year visibly affects Octavia and she begins to grow angry. Though she came into the room perhaps more as Octavia, Blodreina is beginning to appear more and more as she's being reminded of past trauma.

"You've lost your way, we all have." - Kane

What he says is true, she's lost herself and the society that remains is far from what humanity should be. He laments being silent about this and reminds her justice is not found in the arena. Nor was it found in the floating he partook in.

"We have a chance to do something better here, we're throwing it away." - Kane

Once again, Kane absolves himself of nothing, believing he, like everyone else, always have the opportunity to change and be better. He's offering the possibility of a second chance for her and for them all.

"Octavia, please, strength without mercy is nothing. But you can end it. You can save us." - Kane

The hopeful thought of such change is enough to bring light back into his eyes, if only for a moment. It doesn't matter what Octavia has done, she alone has the power to undo it all.

"It's not too late." - Kane

His face is exceedingly hopeful. She's their salvation. They can all make it out of this - there's still a chance. Octavia is clearly moved by his words. She remains silent. Her façade swaying until...

"Who stole the medicine, Kane?" - Octavia

She hardens once more. Whatever progress he had made to reach the inner Octavia has been sealed away behind the mask of Blodreina once more. His last plea failed and with it, his hope for the future dies. The girl he knew and loved is gone.

For him, this is the point of no return. It cements to him, once and for all, who she's become. Blodreina is all she shows to others and therefore, that's all she lets anyone see - the only thing he sees too. At this point he'd believe that all that's left. Octavia is lost forever.

They are ideologically at odds once more though he didn't intend to actually dispute her publicly. He simply took Abby's place in the arena to keep her alive. But by holding onto his beliefs and choosing not to fight back under such spotlight, he's automatically 'challenging' her.

"Somehow we allowed justice to become vengeance and vengeance to become sport. And I allowed that - that darkness to rise. But my complicity ends." - Kane

In his last moments, he's holding onto who he is. He's about to die, so might as well go down fighting for what you believe in.

"You are Wonkru or you are the enemy of Wonkru. Choose." - Octavia

"I already have." - Kane

Octavia grabs a sword and knocks him down, but still, he doesn't stop trying to appeal to her. Note that her belated kill stroke could be indicative of her truly not wanting to kill him here but having to continue to show her strength as Blodreina and continue to implement the laws she put in place.

"Saving our people is about more than keeping them alive. It's not too late." - Kane

He repeats the same words as before. Even at the end, he's still giving her a second chance. But she's in the eye of her followers here and cannot compromise for him. Blodreina cannot show weakness. It's more than clear Kane disagrees with the society they're living in. Though it may be 'functioning' (and nothing in the Bunker would have ever been ideal) he still doesn't fundamentally agree with a society built on violence and death. This naturally makes him a 'traitor' to them.

Knowing this and the kind of person he is, it makes sense he doesn’t want this lifestyle to perpetuate outside the bunker and poison Eden – their last chance for a better future. For Octavia, for everyone. Neither will bend and are therefore forced into a position against each other, whether they would like to be or not.

He believes he has no choice if it means the greater good for humanity and this is what drives him and their conflict throughout the season. His speech dreaming about their future home in 5x08 further solidifies his passion for a peaceful future and why it's his main objective.

I will not go into detail of further events at this time besides saying they both had their reasons, he hates himself for having to make those choices and overall, I just believe the writing was questionable and didn't need to go down that way...

IN CONCLUSION

In conclusion, everyone made mistakes and they're all aware and sorry for that. They're only human. This was also no quick ordeal with immediate doling of judgements, it took years for everyone to fall apart the way they did - years of suffering for all of them. I do believe healing will take place, but it is going to take time. Lack of communication and understanding between them led to problems, but I believe getting the time to talk and really say how they feel/felt will help them forgive each other.

I’m sure if Octavia gets the chance to really say her side – all the things she couldn’t say as herself at the time, it will help them all realize that A. Octavia is still in there, B. she can be saved – if she wants to be saved. This could finally be their second chance. They all shared this traumatic experience together. If anyone can help them, it’s each other. I desperately hope things are allowed to get better and these relationships will heal and even become closer than they were before.

PERSONAL NOTES

I’d like to say that, from a writer’s perspective, I’m not a fan of how this storyline was handled. I think it was largely messy, unnecessarily dramatic and ooc for almost everyone involved. I do not believe that Kane and Abby, a couple that live together everyday, never once got the chance to address the very serious food problem. Of course Abby would try to make him see her side and I do believe in time (especially as hunger sets in) he and others would grudgingly give in. Nor do I believe that Kane and Octavia speaking in 5x04 was the first time they’ve been able to address these issues in 6 years! The scene is excellent in portraying their current mindsets, but it doesn’t make much sense that they never talked before this point. Nor do I believe Indra, in their close proximity everyday, never got to have a serious personal talk with Octavia about any of this. We see that plenty of times during the season itself, it definitely happened before!

Overall, I’m very disappointed in all of it but blame the writing choices - not the character’s themselves for doing/saying things that’s not within their character to do.

#the100 #the100meta #the100writing #the dark year #octavia blake #marcus kane #abby griffin #indra kom trikru #the100season5 #Shannon writes about the 100 #shannonwritesaboutthe100

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