#the way her world would shatter worse than it did in the actual canon

[lilyharvord]

been thinking about AUs lately, mostly becuase I have had so little time to write due to craziness, and I got back on my bullshit about meeting your soulmate and their first word being tattooed on your skin. And just... the implications of that?

Mare with the word "thief" tattooed on her wrist and having to cover it so as to not give herself away in the Stilts, but when/if she gets caught by officers they see it while they detain her and even if she didn't do anything she ends up locked up for the night because of that word. So she comes to hate it with a passion and tried scrubbing it off, and mutilating it as she grew up to remove it, to hide herself better as she starts to steal more and more to survive. But she would wake up with it perfectly healed. And it is in such pretty penmanship, waaaaay too nice to be a Red's handwritting, or even an officer's in the Stilts. And that scares her, so she forces herself to hold onto the belief that maybe it belongs to some Red who assists a general or something and they have to write a lot and she will meet them at the Choke. When Kilorn sees it for the first time while he is helping clean her up after a particularly bad night in a cell, he realizes he can never be hers because it was no where near his first word to her.

Cal has the word "obviously", and it is so obviously the dumbest fucking word to have. It is literally the most common word. The amount of times he has heard the words "obviously" in his life and turned around only to realize it is someone he already knows? Stupid, absolutely ridiculous. And not to mention that the way it is written on his wrist is horrific and makes him question if this person ever really learned how to write properly. The good news? He can hide it underneath his flamemaker and forget about it if he needs to. And he does, pretty much decides that he'll probably just never meet whoever it is. Besides... he has to marry a lady of a High House, and he's already met all of them and none of them said that word to him on the first go. And it doesn't really matter... it is so rare for a future king to marry their soul mate through Queenstrial anyway. His father was just lucky with his mother, and his grandfather of course met his but got away with keeping him and marrying a Queen. And maybe it's for the best if he never meets this person, it would just be a twist of the knife if he is already married and meets the person who is meant to complete him.

And then, one night, on a dirt road, in the hours before night and dawn, when the stars are still out and the world is dreaming, a thief sticks her hand into the pocket of prince, who catches her wrist, and accuses her with a surprised and confused tone: "thief", and she tilts her head to the side, her eyes sparking as she replies "Obviously". And it takes everything for him not to flip her wrist over and look for the word he just uttered, but he lets go instead, terrified that this is the girl who is meant to come into his life and complete him. And she backs up a step, her eyes darkening as she looks him over anew. Neither comments, neither admits to anything. And Mare is glad for it, because the next day she learns he is a prince, and not just any prince, he is The Prince, and she immediately is relieved because there is no way in all of heaven and earth that she is paired with this man. She didn't see her reply on his wrist... she forces herself to believe that there is a different word tattooed there. That if she were to lift up his sleeve she would see something else, some meaningless word to her, that means everything to him. She never looks though, and he never takes off his flamemaker, so she never has the chance to see.

Then, one evening, in a soldiers barrack, on a Piedmont base in the middle of a summer shower, complete with the distant growl of thunder: Mare glances at his bare arm, wrapped around her bare waist. It would be so easy for her to just, gently turn it and look, to answer the question that has haunted her since a Blackrun fell from the sky, and he held her like they were going to die. She shivers subconsciously and gently reaches down to slide her fingers through his, her heart pounding against her ribs. She can't decide if she wants to see the word there, or if she doesn't. She doesn't know which way would be better, whether it would break her heart if it wasn't, or if she were be terrified if it were. He sighs against her neck and pulls her a little closer when she first goes to rotate his wrist, she freezes, tensing for a heartbeat. He's a soldier, they sleep lightly, and this feels like an invasion even though she has now seen and touched every part of him. For some reason this one spot of skin feels forbidden. Inhaling, she slowly rotates his wrist to face up, and her entire skin erupts in goosebumps as lightning illuminates the room and thunder crashes a heartbeat later. There is her hand writing, her ugly, horrific handwriting, and there is the word she said to him with such tenacity on a dirt road and changed their lives forever. She flips his hand back over and pressed it to her stomach, knots her fingers with his as she tries to slow her breathing back to a sleeping rate. It's no use though, his sigh against her neck is no longer a gentle whisper, but is instead one of relief. "I wanted you to look first." He murmurs against the vertebrae at the base of her skull, before lightly running his lips up to her ear. "I think knew in my heart since the Bowl of Bones." He squeezes her fingers softly, and they never speak of it.

Then he choses a crown, a crown over what those words on their wrists' mean. And that betrayal is so much worse than it ever could have been.

[beastszai]

✦ Dazai and Chuuya childhood headcanons (2/2) ✦

part 1

!!! THIS POST CONTAINS STORMBRINGER SPOILERS !!!

♫ Orchard - OMORI

✧ warnings : STORMBRINGER SPOILERS・mentions of s*icide, death, hospitalization, alcoholism, etc.・angst・pure angst…・ooc (???)

✧ a/n : got way too long im sorr… but I love chuuya so much and all these headcanons have been eating dust in the back of my head and im so happy (lie) to finally post them

w/c : 950

!!! these are just personal headcanons and are not accurate to the canon story !!!

✦ Chuuya :

Chuuya’s parents weren’t blessed with a child even after years of marriage…

…So when he was born, they were so happy that they celebrated 3 days and nights (like the real Chuuya Nakahara !!)

Such a sweet boy… very polite and a tiny bit shy

He actually had an amazing bond with both his parents

And they loved him a lot, too!

How mini Chuuya would help his mom around the house, how he would randomly tell her that he loves her :,^)

Chuuya was probably interested in his father’s work (military doctor, like the real Chuuya’s father!!)

AUGHH he would peek at his dad working with those big blue curious eyes

Also, unlike Dazai, I headcanon that Chuuya has siblings!

2 little sisters!!

When his first little sister was born, he was probably around 3 or 4

Was quick to grow attached to his sister

And when his second sister came around, he was around 7

Was very overprotective of his sisters, and had a big soft spot for them

Would piggyback carry their younger sister every morning to school while holding his other sisters hand

Brilliant kid

Adored by absolutely everyone and everything

Chuuya and the family dinners with the rest of the Nakahara family SIGHHH

His mom always worried about him not eating enough (even though he did.)

His dad developed this hobby and habit of checking Chuuya and his sisters’ heights and mark them on the wall

Chuuya wasn’t the happiest when he figured that his younger sister was nearly the same height as him…

And regarding Stormbringer and how he was put in a lab…

Ohhh how his mom was losing her mind over Chuuya’s father allowing such a thing

His family kind of… grew distant and fell apart from then on

Constant arguing between his parents while he was in the lab… how his sister would cover their younger sister’s ears each time they’d argue

She’d ask where Chuuya had gone every now and then, but it was like a forbidden topic in the house

His mom would either tear up or just lash out on his sister

And his dad would yell and cuss her out, saying things like “Goddammit stop asking stupid questions! He’s fine for god’s sake!!! Be patient and he’ll be back sooner than you think!!!”

Chuuya’s dad wasn’t very happy with the decision he made either

Regretting it like crazy and losing sleep, losing focus…

And once the news broke that their one and only son was dead (aka his clone… fuck stormbringer bro…)

His family was worse than ever before.

Chuuya’s dad cried… a lot. Fell into being an alcoholic for a long time

His sisters? Despite their young age and how they couldn’t wrap their heads around the idea of death…

They were devastated. Completely had their hearts and souls shattered

But his mom… she was the worst out of them all

It broke her so much that she couldn’t even cry over her son’s death

She was left in a daze, unaware of her surroundings and just… in her own world

Though, once it registered in her mind? How she would scream and cry at odd hours of the night, begging for Chuuya…

She would push away anyone who would try to comfort her, hit them and curse them out, only wanting Chuuya

Even though Chuuya’s ‘death’ had sunk in and she understood it, she’d scream at everyone to get away from her and that ‘only Chuuya can come close to her’

S*icide attempts became a regular thing

…the amount of times Chuuya’s dad was called during work hours and just rushed home to stop his wife from taking her life…

His sister lost sleep and stopped being the top student at school because of how difficult everything had become

Their younger sister was a bit better, considering she was small

But it still hurt, she’d call Chuuya out of habit, just to remember that he was never gonna answer her calling out to him

His mom’s situation got so bad that she was hospitalized for years

And even now that the entire Nakahara family has accepted Chuuya’s ‘death’

His mom hasn’t. She’s doing a lot better than before getting hospitalized but…

She always seems to be spaced out. She doesn’t smile or laugh, and even when she does… it seems forced and it’s only for a brief moment

His mom doesn’t talk much, not to anyone

She often spends her time talking to framed pictures of Chuuya. She still cries every now and then, but tries to hide it…

And honestly? I think that Chuuya has considered going back to his family

He’s coincidentally seen his sisters and made sure they got home safely from school/work while watching from afar… then return to his own work

It scares him to go back, not only because of him putting their lives on the line for being a mafia executive

But also because he’s supposed to be ‘dead’. That’s what his family believed and has learned to live with…

So if he were to show up at his childhood home, he’d make them confused

And he can’t even imagine how they would react if he were to go back

So Chuuya just watches over them from a distance…

But maybe, just maybe one day he’ll gather up the courage and listen to the voice in his head telling him to go back

That day won’t be anytime soon, not now. He can’t go back until he’s sure the time is right for him to do so.

Until then, Chuuya just prays that they’ll stay safe and alive…

That’s when he can return to his family, his home…

[total-drama-brainrot]

Owen vampire anon here! Thanks for replying

I do like the idea of a whole horror concept of Owen, might like to play into that scenario one day. But i feel like it would be way more funnier and just...more Owen if it was kept in a more comedic light.

Hear me out on this scenario, everyone knows well enough that Owen might be a vampire. (People got this idea from some of the ideas you listed, and maybe the fact that Owen has mistaken them for food way too many times to be suspicious). But Owen is convinced that no one knows, so in the confessional he's just like "no one must know" dramatically

And then Noah walks up to the confessional like "My best friend might be a vampire. Crazy shit i know right?"

Also it would be really funny if Owen is convinced Izzy is a vampire too due to all her biting, when its really Izzy just doing fun pay back for all of Owen's blood sucking.

Yes! I adore fun light-hearted AUs, and having the vampire Owen AU focus mostly on the hijinks he gets up to in order to protect his "secret" (despite everyone knowing there's something up with him) is so fun. So good. 10/10 concept - especially since it plays into is canonical inability to keep a secret.

I think the initial misconception that Izzy is some sort of supernatural creature would be really funny; a fellow vampire, some sort of werefolk, a zombie(?). Anything known for being as feral and bite-happy as Izzy tends to be. She'd absolutely try to play into the idea, but I can't see her being very convincing at all despite her abilities as an actress - thus she'd be outed as a normal(ish) human being pretty quickly.

Though she'd be more than contented to be Owen's main bloodbag. Izzy's absolutely the type of person who'd have a weird fascination with the supernatural (her actions in the Egypt episodes of World Tour attest to this) and being the primary foodsource for a vampire would be right up her alley.

I see their relationship playing out a lot more vaguely than it did in canon - neither would ever cross the boundary of confirming whether their relationship is official or not, and (if we're getting a little angsty with it) Owen's happier living with their indeterminate situationship than risking asking Izzy to be his girlfriend, only to learn that she barely tolerates the company of a "monster" and doesn't share the sentiment. Or worse. Of course, that's pretty out of character for Izzy, but she is fairly unpredictable and Owen's got good reason to play his cards close to his chest when it comes to his "condition".

I didn't want to talk about Noah in the OG post since a lot of my blog in practically centered around him, but I did have an idea for a scenario where Owen is convinced that Noah is also a vampire, hence why he befriends him so quickly and easily. Because Noah's got pretty much all of the characteristics; he's cold to the touch, generally avoids sunlight and going outside, his footsteps are feather light to the point he moves around silently, he sleeps a lot during the day, ect ect.

To Owen, the only logical conclusion is that Noah is also a vampire who's really bad at masking it. In actuality, Noah's just kind of a weirdo. And anemic.

So Owen's fairly open about his vampirism to Noah, wholly convinced that they're both in the same boat. And Noah takes it in stride because he ran out of fucks to give the moment he arrived on the island and, in all honesty, Owen's pretty good company.

Then you get a scene like the one you proposed - Noah goes into the confessional, says something along the lines of "So my best friend is a vampire. I didn't realise reality TV shows cared that much about their diversity quota, but here we are." And plays off the whole situation in his usual unflappable and snarky way. Did he just have his perception of the world as he knew it shattered under the news that vampires are real? Yeah. Does he care? Not really.

Cue shennanagins where the rest of the Island knows that Owen is a vampire... and maybe they even think he turned Noah? And our favourite idiots are completely unaware and trying desperately to keep Owen's vampirism a secret.

I think it'd be really cool to have someone else on the island be a different type of supernatural being too, and have them work as an antagonistic force towards Owen in this AU. Or have someone be well versed in the occult and, using their knowledge, act as a de facto vampire hunter in a cartoonish game of cat-and-mouse between them and an oblivious Owen. Cough cough Gwen cough.

[irenespring]

House MD Characters and Their Mentors

Oh look it's more of this very niche character analysis. This time I'm looking at which of @lorata's District Two Victors would be good mentors for House characters. House fans reading this: you would really like Lorata's writing. Only limited Hunger Games knowledge required (basically you need to know the premise); lots of messed up people making the best of things, found family shenanigans, emotional angst, and queerness.

Anyway, time for mentors!

James Wilson: Devon. The essence of a Devon tribute. Really wants to make the world better. Fairly messed up and depressed, but does genuinely care about the district, and even the kid he volunteers for. The one bit of really key information we are provided about Devon's tributes is that Devon's dreamers burn bright, but flame out as the reality of the Games shatters their world view. This reminds me a lot of how House says that "Wilson thinks that if he cares enough he'll never have to die" contrasted with Wilson's feelings of betrayal and devastation that he, a oncologist who gave his life to treating cancer, is dying of cancer. He served the Capitol, believed everything the Center told him, and the truth of the Games ---the pain and the guilt and the injustice of it all--- is a sudden betrayal that completely unbalances him. The only way he wins is through temporary Arena madness, the kind of desperation that caused him to double his dose of chemo in a last ditch effort to survive and make the world make sense again during canon. Devon's main challenge post-Arena is helping him rebuild his shattered sense of self: Wilson thought he was a good person, but you can only win the Hunger Games by being vicious. Devon, as someone who had a similar break, is the best choice to help him form a cohesive identity. Devon can see him for who he actually is, all of it, and still say he cares. Devon can cite his own struggles with accepting care without "enough work" in return to get Victor!Wilson to step back from compulsively ignoring his needs to "earn" affection. Devon can pull him out of spirals about how his mental state is worse than his brother's now and show him how there is a way forward. The Victory Tour almost kills him, all those people hate him even though he only ever did what was asked of him and what he thought was right. Along with Devon, there is probably only one other person who could help him embrace that he does not need to be perfect or liked by everyone, which brings us to...

Gregory House: Adessa. I went through multiple avenues with this one. First I thought Callista, because viciousness and unapologetic attitude. Then I thought Lyme, because abusive childhood, resentment of the rules, and attachment issues. So we had option A and option B...and we somehow landed around option L. I dismissed Callista because of the reasons I thought Lyme. I moved away from Lyme because she works best with tributes who want to open up but can't until after they win. Claudius wants a family, Misha wants affection, etc. House wouldn't want to open up--- he would want respect, validation, and someone to make everything make sense. The reasons Adessa wasn't a good fit for Nero would make her a great fit for Victor!House. Nero wanted to be told Adessa loves him, but House wouldn't trust any obvious display of affection---instead perceiving his mentor's care for him through nonverbal actions she takes: exactly what Adessa expected to be true of Nero. Adessa can make recovery and all the chaotic, swirling feelings fit within a reasonable framework. She can answer his questions and treat him like someone with a rational mind. She knows that if he opens up, he probably doesn't want to be touched. She understands why he doesn't want the cuddly relationship that Victor!Wilson would have with Devon. She wouldn't pressure him to talk about feelings before he was ready and would give him space when he was ready. She understands his intellectual curiosity. She's probably the only one who could get him to invest in therapy. He wouldn't go based on "I've been there" talks or "I care about you" talks, he would go because "after a significant trauma the logical course of action is to seek medical care, so that one can be assigned medications to regulate neurotransmitters, and to remove unwanted chaos so one can better focus on more important matters." Oh, and also if John House every showed up to take credit for shaping his son into a Victor, Adessa has a briefcase full of knives and decades of fantasizing about taking revenge on behalf of her Victors. They would find his body in pieces...probably. If Adessa was feeling nice and wanted Blythe to have closure.

Devon is terrified when Adessa requests a meeting with him. Misha asks him what he did like fifty times and he doesn't know. He almost calls his mentor, but doesn't because he's a mentor too now, dammit and Adessa totally shouldn't scare him anymore. When he shows up she opens with: "Our Victors appear to have significant romantic attraction to each other. Shall we hasten their union via jointly planned manipulation, culminating in an arranged one-on-one meal over candlelight, perhaps involving the exchange of flowers?"

Lisa Cuddy: Nero. This one is hard. Cuddy is a lot more difficult to analyze than House and Wilson even though I actually prefer her over House (Wilson is my favorite, he just has so many problems, weird habits, and hidden depression). She has a lot of contradictions. She's manipulative, but empathetic. She genuinely advocates for the rules, but allows for crazy ass things to take place. She seems to argue for the rules because she has to, but is inherently drawn to the more chaotic, vigilante tendencies of House. She puts on a show of obeying regulations set by those above her, but seeks power so that she can facilitate what she thinks is right (she repeatedly says she's the only one who would employ House). This is reflective of a Nero tribute. She doesn't know why she is drawn to violence and competition of the Centre, but she is. She completes her kill tests with the highest scores in her year, but she mainly only feels guilty for not feeling guilty. She doesn't have a rationalization for why she is like this the way someone with House's history has. She should want to join the Peacekeepers or be a medic. But the more time passes in the Centre, the more she wants to win the Hunger Games. She goes into the Games a year early, the youngest District Two volunteer in history, and even though she knows the killing is wrong she still wants to win because why shouldn't it be her? She's better at this than the others. However, the inner conflict causes problems post-Games, as the criticisms from other districts actually hurt her, because she agrees. She knows there's something wrong, she fears she might secretly be evil. Nero, with a lifetime of dealing with conflicted, crazy tributes, knows how to reassure her that even if that something is actually wrong, she still has people who love her.

Bonus! Ducklings:

Foreman: Brutus. He's just here to do his job. He knows he's better than his Centre rivals, so his job is the Games. Trying to make it right or wrong will only drive you crazy.

Chase: Lyme. Daddy issues, alcoholism in the family history, wants the authority to like him. Lots of weird hidden triggers.

Cameron: Emory. Wants to be a decent person, just kept going in the Centre because she figured no one would pick her and she owed it to her district to keep trying. She had a baby Victor crush on House and Adessa had to take Emory aside and be like "the baby is making my Victor uncomfortable, tell her to calm down."

Thirteen: Misha. Rules are for suckers, enjoy your life while you have it, desperately try to find meaning in the world while pretending you don't give a shit.

Kutner: Lyme. Wants to find a place to belong, shoves his emotional issues down because he thinks nobody cares. Thinks outside the box, but still responds well around authority he respects.

Taub: I have no fucking idea. Seriously, the more I try to think about this the more I have no thoughts, head empty. Maybe Odin? Odin has a "do what you're supposed to do no matter what, no matter the cost" ideology that would cause a mentor mismatch like Adessa and Nero but at least that mismatch is something.

Anyway if one (1) person requests a Victors!House/Wilson I will write scenes so you have been warned.

[spxllcxstxr]

Being Regulus Black’s Younger Sister (Version 1 - Slytherin) • Headcanon

Warnings: body insecurity and eating mention, forced eating restrictions, canon child abuse and neglect by Walburga Black, Barty Crouch Jr makes an appearance

Request: Hey maybe you could do a regulus x younger sister headcanons or fix really whatever you want to do 💖 — @nicole198205

A.N: I honestly loved writing Black sister reader...this was so fun and if you liked it too and want like a real blurb or something based on any of these bullet points, you should request it. Hope you all enjoy and I love you all ❤️

Being the only girl in 12 Grimmauld Place means that you got treated differently than your brothers

Not nicer, by any means

Different in a way that meant your mother was constantly fussing over your appearance and making sure you acted “ladylike”

When you were little it was nice

You got to spend alone time with your mother in your room, she would brush your hair and pick out frilly and elegant dresses

Sure, sometimes she would purposefully tug a little too hard on your hair causing you to yelp, but it wasn’t a big deal

Eventually, though, your mother got rougher, these mother-daughter times turning into torturous hours where she’d make snippy comments about your weight and how you should appear to certain men

You weren’t even ten years old and she was already arranging your marriage to a man that, according to the Black Family Tapestry in the Drawing Room, was a distant relative

Sure she bought you dresses, and heels, and jewels, but they weren’t for you to enjoy and it wasn’t out of love or kindness

She needed you perfect for marriage

You always ran to Regulus’ room for comfort and he was always happy to listen to you vent

“If Bella, and Cissy, and Andy can deal with it, (Y/n), so can you. You’re just as strong as they are.”

You were always closer to Regulus, maybe because he was closer to you in age or because he wasn’t as rough or brash as Sirius

While Sirius taught you curse words, Regulus taught you prose and poetry

When Sirius went off to Hogwarts, the two of you got even closer

Your mother got worse when she found out that her eldest son was sorted into Gryffindor

She had a fit that day, one that consisted of her throwing pots and pans at the walls, shattering ancient artifacts, and tearing at her own hair

You and Regulus, frightened little children, hid in his closet waiting for your father to come home to calm her down

The two of you clutched each other tight, not daring to even make a noise, scared that you might be the next thing she breaks

You and Regulus weren’t allowed to say your brother’s name and all letters were snatched away and thrown into the fireplace

He was even banned from coming home for Christmas break

The two of you were dragged to even more family gatherings and balls

You particularly were forced to split your time between hanging out and learning from the other girls and presenting yourself to the boys

At night, you would sneak into your brother’s room, seeking comfort

You would talk about Sirius and how you can’t wait to get to Hogwarts

“Hogwarts’ll be different, (Y/n). No more screaming and family obligations...” He would smile, listening to a rogue sneakoscope whir in a drawer

“You’re forgetting something, Reg.” You’d sigh. “I’ll have to be on my own for a whole year before I can join you guys.”

“Well maybe mother will let you read my letters, and I can sneak in some of what Sirius wants to tell you.”

Sirius was different when he came back home for the summer

He wasn’t afraid to push your mother’s buttons a bit harder and he certainly wasn’t afraid to run his mouth a bit more

Sirius talked like the outside world like it was the best thing ever

And while you were curious about Hogwarts and the many different sorts of people that attended, your mother made it pretty clear pretty quick that even associating yourself with your older brother was worthy of some sort of punishment

And as much as you loved Sirius, you loved playing it safe even more

You didn’t outright ignore him, you did talk to him about Bella’s new boyfriend and the new quill your father bought you

But more often than not, you were with Regulus, enjoying the time you had left together

The night before Regulus had to leave for Hogwarts, you came crying into his room

“Don’t cry, sœur, it’ll be quite alright.” He would whisper in your ear, rocking you back and forth in his arm (sœur is sister in French)

But your etiquette lessons got harder and your mother got stricter, trying to make you a Perfect Slytherin Princess

Your mother was overjoyed when she got a letter saying how Regulus was sorted into Slytherin

She gave you a glass of wine (“Because that’s what ladies drink, (Y/n)!”) and told you that Regulus was a perfect role model

Regulus sent letters every week, detailing his classes and the people in his year

He made fast friends with a Bartimus Crouch Jr

He told you how Sirius would barely talk to him in the corridors ever since the sorting

Regulus would say a quick hello and Sirius would always reply, but the older brother never went out of his way to leave his friend group for a chat

Regulus would write paragraphs about why this could be before settling on the fact that it’s because of the house difference

Sirius only sent a few letters home and each time they were burnt to ash in front of you

So Regulus was your only outlet

You would tell him about how mother was starting to restrict your meals and starting to squeeze you into dresses far too small

He would offer you comforting words and distractions by talking about school, as it was far too difficult to actually help your situation through a letter

Regulus didn’t come home for Christmas break, claiming that exams were stressing him out, especially Herbology, so he’d rather continue his studies in a school environment

So that’s how the rest of your year goes

Regulus is...different when he gets back for the summer

It’s a very slight change, you’re pretty sure you’re the only one who notices

But it’s there

A bit more reserved, a bit more secretive

Childish wonder disappearing

He no longer publicly acts afraid of your mother

“It’s Sirius’ fault he’s got grounded, (Y/n). He broke a rule, now he’s facing the consequences.”

“But Reg, he didn’t do anything wrong—“

“(Y/n)! Are you trying to encourage the downfall of the Noble House of Black?!”

And that was it

But finally you were off to Hogwarts

Regulus lets you sit with him and Barty, who wears expensive shoes like you and Reg and had a slight tic with sticking his tongue out

But he was nice nonetheless less

Turns out, they were the outcasts of the outcasts

You were welcome to join when you are sorted into Slytherin

They were sure that you were going to be sorted there already

And you were dreading it

What if you weren’t a Slytherin and ended up like Sirius?

You could barely handle your family now, there’s no way you’d be able to take the extra shit Sirius gets

The hat gives you a choice

The worst choice possible

Gryffindor or Slytherin

You end up with a hatstall of 8 minutes, constantly looking between your brothers

And you beg to be placed in Slytherin

And so you join your brother and Barty at the table of the snakes

Sirius doesn’t look at you across the Great Hall

“Hey, Reg? Did the hat give you a choice too?”

“A choice between what?”

“Slytherin and Gryffindor.”

“Don’t tell anyone you got a choice. Listen, people in this house are brutal to people like you who get choices. Don’t mention it.”

“You didn’t answer my question—“

And he never does

You spend all of your time with Regulus and Barty, the other kids in your year are kinda major assholes

Regulus helps you with your homework, always making time for you

Meet ups in the library

Chess in the common room

Barty was usually with you as well

And that’s how it goes over the next few years

Even when Regulus is busy with his own classes and him being a seeker, he’ll make time for you

You always attend his matches, cheering him on

He’s a great seeker

In your fifth year, you notice how Reg and Barty change drastically

Pulling away from you, secret meetings, dark depictions and phrases hidden in notebooks

You get worried

For the first time ever you push your way through the Marauders to talk to your brother

“Oh, the Slytherin Princess arrives! Want us to bow?” He snarks, his friends laughing

“Piss off, Sirius! It’s about Reg.”

“What about him? Did he finally stop kissing Walburga’s arse?”

“It isn’t a laughing matter!” You’re practically in tears

And he listens to you as you explain all of your concerns and he ends up agreeing that that is worrisome

“What the hell did you tell Sirius?” Regulus shouts at you in the empty common room one night

“I’m worried, Reg! You’re going all dark, like what mother wants! This isn’t you!”

“This is me, believe it or not, (Y/n)! I’m not some puppet!” He shouts at you.

“Just wait, (Y/n), you’re next. Next year, it’ll be you. You can’t escape it.”

“Sirius got out of it.” You mumble

Regulus storms out and that’s the last real conversation you have with him and Barty for a long time

You get a letter from him when you graduate, something you have to hide away from your brother and the rest of the Order

Forgive me, sœur,

RAB

•

All Character Taglist: @aspiringsloth20 @amourtentiaa @cherie-draco

Regulus Taglist: @lunalovecroft

[theoriginalcarnivorousmuffin]

You wrote your opinions on the Order of the Phoenix, what about the Death Eaters? That's another way of saying Lucius, Bellatrix, and anybody else. I honestly feel that we're running out of HP characters for you to write your opinion and reasoning about, so yeah~

We honestly are. When people start asking me questions about Harry’s nameless and faceless classmates I feel like we’re scraping the bottom of my barrel of Harry Potter opinions.

Though, that said, this is still a very large ask if you want me to analyze very Death Eater ever or even the Death Eaters as a whole (which is worthy of its own post).

So, we’ll compromise, and I’ll just look at the two you name dropped.

Lucius Malfoy

To me, Lucius is by far one of the more intelligent Death Eaters. He’s the guy who makes them almost look classy. I say almost, because Lucius is still a racist domestic terrorist and as the series goes on Tom gleefully drags him into being less classy by the minute (his house becomes a POW camp and housing for the dregs of society, Lucius just sobs, trying to be thankful he’s somehow still alive).

Lucius is rich, sophisticated, and is probably the most politically powerful man in the country. He has a beautiful wife he has... a son (sorry Draco, but you do not live up to your father) the guy has it all.

Which makes it very surprising that he got dragged into this mess. But you see, Lucius is paying for that tragedy we call youth.

Also, as a caveat, I’m about to headcanon hard and will not bother to get into the details of why I think x, y, or z in this post.

Ten years prior to the start of canon, Lucius is a very young man, probably very charismatic, certainly believes he’s intelligent and probably gets decent grades, but nonetheless the kind of stupid you see in men ages 15-25.

He’s likely chafing under his aging father’s strict guidance, knows he’s not going to be Lord Malfoy for years yet, wants to get out there, prove himself, and make a difference for his country. More importantly for Lucius, there’s this hip, exciting, new thing that all his cousins and friends are getting into called “The Death Eaters” (yes, I don’t believe the Knights of Walpurgis/Death Eaters 1.0 ever happened, I think it’s ridiculous that fandom and JKR does, I could go into why but not in this post). 

The Death Eaters are led by the single handedly most beautiful, charismatic, man in Britain. (Yes, I headcanon Tom’s still blindingly attractive at this stage, because it makes much more sense to me but we’re not getting into that here.) A mysterious man by the name of Voldemort, Salazar Slytherin’s long lost heir, who has come to resurrect the wizarding world’s true heritage and purge the land of the muggle stain. (Yes, I do believe that no one, not even Lucius who is later given the diary, knew who Tom really was. I believe Regulus’ had only the vaguest idea, informed mostly by Tom’s use of Kreacher to place the locket.) This is the most exciting thing to have ever happened, the rallies probably consist of rich kids drunk out of their minds and maybe even high on a little wizard cocaine, and Lucius is down for it precisely because his father says “Lucius, this is stupid, please don’t embarrass the family.” WELL LUCIUS IS GOING TO EMBARRASS THE FAMILY, DAD! WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO ABOUT IT?!

And for a while, it looks like Lucius made the right choice. Things are happening, they’re actually going out and killing the mudbloods! Unlike Regulus, Lucius never has that “wait a minute” moment as he realizes that Voldemort’s actually far more efficiently eliminating pureblood families and sowing dissention in what was once a unanimous force among the Wizengamot (the other pureblood lords aren’t necessarily pro muggleborn, per se, but they get a bit queasy at the thought of blowing them up or Merlin forbid actually blowing up their own public venues wizards use). 

And then October 31st, 1981 happens, and it all comes crashing down. Lucius has to desperately lie his ass off, having only the flimsiest lie to rely on, has to hand out a shit ton of bribes, and manages to squeeze his way out of being imprisoned in Azkaban. 

I’m sure Abraxas looked at his son, with his tattoo on his arm that makes him another man’s slave, at the utter destruction of the Black family, and just shook his head going, “Clean up your mess, Dumbass Son”

And Lucius does to the best of his ability. While some will always suspect him of being a Death Eater, while some know it, he’s able to climb very high in influence in their ridiculously tiny community. Granted, I do think he messed up, and could never for example run for minister given everything (if Crouch can’t rerun then Lucius certainly can’t). He also shows us that in some ways he is not above the law, he’s very afraid his house will be searched without warrant in The Chamber of Secrets, and this is in part why he dumps Tom Riddle’s diary off onto Ginny.

However, he wields total control of the Prophet, has a seat on the Wizengamot, has the ear of the current Minister, is on the Hogwarts’ Board of Governors, and has his hands in pretty much every pie he can.

I imagine during this period Lucius grows up. He brushes the indiscretions of his youth under the carpet, gleefully leaving it all behind him, and the only real friend he maintains contact with from that period is Severus, the least zealot like of all of them. (Crabbe and Goyle Sr aren’t friends, they’re minions). 

Don’t get me wrong, he’s still a racist slime bag, and I don’t think he really regrets the domestic terrorism. He just regrets nearly getting caught and putting his entire family’s security on the line. He witnessed first hand what happened to the Blacks.

And then the worst thing happens: Tom Riddle rises from the dead. He rises, impossibly, from the dead when Lucius has his own hand caught in the cookie jar.

Lucius has been living a life of luxury and influence while his great master, the man he had pledged everything to, was dead. Worse, Lucius took what was described as a treasured item to be protected at all costs, and not only threw it away but sent it to Hogwarts where it caused massive havoc and was ultimately destroyed. 

And Lucius, I imagine, no longer wants to serve a master.

But he has no choice. And so begins Lucius’ descent into misery and hell as he’s given an increasing set of impossible, horrific, tasks in punishment that involve him watching as his wife and son are put through hell.

I believe Tom holds a special place in his cold, black, passive aggressive heart for Lucius Malfoy.

First, Tom makes Lucius’ house his headquarters. Oh, Lucius, you have a very nice, very large, estate? Why don’t you host your beloved, mad, cousin, her equally mad husband and brother-in-law? Oh, Bellatrix threatened to cut off your ear? Well, she’s just so passionate! 

Second, Lucius is told to go get the prophecy. Well, this is easier said than done. He nearly succeeds but then it all turns into the world’s largest clusterfuck that ends in two notable things. First, the prophecy is lost forever, shattered. Second, the government admits that Voldemort is truly resurrected. Both of these things are very bad in Tom’s book. And the blame can easily be put on Lucius’ head.

In response to this, Draco is now given an impossible task that Draco is too stupid to realize is designed to cause him (and his family) as much misery as possible. Draco is to assassinate Dumbledore. 

Likely, Tom was already informed by Snape that Dumbledore was dying. The blackened hand was too obvious a tell coming from too obvious a source for the pair to have hid it. I think trying to hide such information would have immediately blown Snape’s cover. So, Tom knows the man is dying, and doesn’t see fit to tell Draco this.

Instead, he tells Draco, “Kill Dumbledore as soon as possible or I deliver you to Fenrir Grayback.” Draco, however, is young and stupid, so he honestly thinks he is doing this to restore the family honor, earn glory for himself and for the cause, and is expected to do this entirely by himself. As a result, when Narcissa begs Snape to aid Draco, Draco blows them both off and only accepts help from Bellatrix because HE CAN DO THIS ON HIS OWN! DRACO IS A MAN.

This, of course, doesn’t work out either. Draco doesn’t deliver the killing blow, Snape does, but Tom decides to give him a pass.

Instead he moves on to his next plan which is making the Malfoy manor his torture chamber and POW camp. Even Draco, at this point, realizes this all kind of sucks. 

And then Voldemort finally dies a second time, and I’m sure Lucius just stares numbly at his malformed corpse, wondering if it will really take this time.

So that’s Lucius for you, paying always for his mistakes, and pretending he’s just as much of a nutcase as Bellatrix to fit in.

Bellatrix LeStrange

God, compared to the novel that is Lucius’ ridiculous life, I really don’t have much to say about her because I feel like there’s not much too her.

Bellatrix reminds me a lot of the Manson family, she gives off those same vibes. Point being, I think even before Azkaban (while Azkaban certainly didn’t help), she was insane and a little too worshipful of Voldemort.

I guess I can start there, I don’t think Bellamort is a thing, at all. 

Tom may have, probably did, have sex with her before he died but afterwards? In that body? Forget about it.

That said, I’m sure Bellatrix both wanted to have sex and is convinced she did have sex to produce whatever the hell Delphi even is. It just wasn’t with Tom, and probably was Rodolphous with a Halloween mask on his face as they got a little too into role play.

And there we go, I suppose, I can’t take Bellatrix seriously. You often see her portrayed as sexy femme fatale Death Eater, the most competent of all of them, if a bit of a sadist.

Oh she might be a very good duelist but she’s... Bellatrix.

She prances around in corsets, shrieking madly, and just what part of that is supposed to be femme fatale? I literally cannot take her seriously on any level. When I even try to write her seriously, in very serious stories, I end up with lines like the following:

"My lord, if there's anything you need… Anything from me, specifically, as a woman…" 

- Bright Eyes

That was my best attempt. That was the best I could come up with. It’s still something that belongs in a comedy.

So, I don’t think Tom really corrupted her. I think without Voldemort she still probably would have been blowing up Diagon Alley, just in a much less organized manner.

Even in canon she does ridiculous things. For example, Bellatrix, frankly, could have easily avoided prison.

For weeks after the dark lord fell neither she, her husband, Barty, nor her brother-in-law were arrested. Bellatrix in grief and utter disbelief that the dark lord could ever do something so mortal as die, said “remember that other house our lord mentioned, THEY MIGHT HAVE INFORMATION, LET’S GO MURDER THE LONGBOTTOMS!” They torture and kidnap Frank, demanding he tell them where their master is, THEY KNOW HE KNOWS. He doesn’t know. They go too far and torture the man into being a vegetable. “Shit, GET THE WIFE!” They go get the wife, do the same thing, with the same results.

They now have no information on the dark lord, two well regarded aurors tortured into brain damage, and are quickly caught and brought before the court with absolutely no “I was imperiused” excuse they can give out. 

How am I supposed to take her in any way seriously?

I mean, to end your life killed in a duel with Molly Weasley. That just says it all.

[avengerscompound]

Small Gods: Patience - 4

Patience:  A Black Widow Fanfic

Patience Masterlist | More Small Gods PREVIOUS //

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing:  Natasha Romanoff x F!Reader

Rating: E

Word Count:  1786

Warnings: canon typical violence

Synopsis: Every day Natasha prays for more patience to deal with a litany of things from waiting for her target to make a move - to not yelling at Clint for putting empty milk containers back in the fridge.

When her prayers are answered, Natasha finds that having patience is easy, holding on to it is a little harder.

Chapter 4

Natasha was not good at emotions.  She didn’t like them - so she buried them.  It was better to be the cold and heartless assassin who could be killed at any moment than to risk being hurt in a way that mattered.  She shut people out and pushed them towards others so at least she could see what being happy might look like on someone else, even if she never felt it herself.

Except - Natasha was happy.

It took her a little while to realize that was what the feeling was.  She recognized happiness in those short joyful bursts where she’d be with a group of people you care about and they’ve all let their walls down and just briefly she would too.  That quick burst of serotonin never lasted but always felt good while she had it.

That was nothing like what she was feeling now.  It was a long-term contentedness, mixed with hope, and just enough excitement to keep her interested.  It was scary really.  She was vulnerable.  She had something to lose.

Yet all around her things seemed better.  Food tasted better.  Spending time with her friends felt different - she could connect with them more.  Even Clint’s annoying habits seemed to lean more to funny than annoying.

The others noticed it.  Sometimes Clint would flinch when he made some stupid joke - like he was expecting to get cuffed on the back of the head, and when it didn’t come he’d look at her suspiciously - almost as if he thought she was saving up to get him later.

She put it all down to you.

Natasha was falling for you.  Hard.  She sought you out in her free time, and you popped in her head even at awkward times like on missions.  You had cracked through her hard outer shell and even though she was scared of her soft parts being exposed, it felt good.

“Nat, head in the game,” Steve shouted.

Natasha whipped around to see a HYDRA agent running directly at her.  She flipped forward, kicking them in the head and then following through with her baton.  The agent practically flew backward and landed in a heap.

“Nat’s daydreaming about her lover again,” Tony teased as he blasted his way through a bunker.

Natasha scowled.  She had been distracted, and she had been thinking about you.  This kind of grunt work always felt mindless and repetitive, like putting books into boxes.  She was a spy - not a soldier and it was easy to start thinking about other things when she was doing such repetitive work, but usually, the only thing she had occupying her mind was the job and the mindless banter happening over the comms.

“Please never say lover again, Tony,” Clint teased.  “That gave me the heebie-jeebies.”

“Thor says it all the time!”  Tony argued.

“Yeah, but that’s Thor!”  Clint said.  “Thor can say all kinds of weird shit and it sounds good.  Doesn’t mean you get to.”

“Why thank you, Barton,” Thor chuckled.  “That is very flattering.”

“I’m as good as Thor!”  Tony yelped.

There was a sudden group shouting of dissent and Natasha couldn’t help the smile that crossed her face.  She had always had such a love-hate relationship with the group’s banter during battle.  It was nice being part of them, and she did enjoy dropping her own snarky comment into the mix but growing up the way she did - fights were serious - fun was for other people.  It felt slightly wrong to be joking while you were also fighting for her life.

“Let’s all agree right now that no one, not even Thor mentions anything about my lovers,” Natasha snarked.

The group continued to fight, Natasha pushing all thoughts of you down and focusing on the job.  By the time everyone had been arrested, the operation had been shut down and Natasha had performed the lullaby on Hulk, it was late and Natasha was exhausted to the bone.

She piloted the Quin back silently, just listening to Clint jabber away as her thoughts drifted back to you.  She knew there would be a debrief to go to, but what she really wanted was to go straight to your place and curl up next to you before passing out for a good twelve hours.

She could wait.  She was better at that now.  Besides, it was worth the wait.

She guided the jet down onto the launch pad and as it drew the jet down into the hanger, she and Clint began the cool-down procedures.  The back of the jet opened up and everyone got up and trudged off.

When Clint got up to disembark, Steve took his place.  “What happened out there today?”  He asked.  “You nearly lost your head.”

“That’s why we’re a team, isn’t it?”  Natasha asked.  “Make sure no one misses anything?  Get each other’s backs?”

“Of course,” Steve assured her.  “And we’re all here to pick up the slack.”

“I’m hearing a big ‘but’ coming,” Natasha said.

Steve smiled and shook his head.  “But…” he said.  “It’s not like you, Nat.  You always have your head in the game more than anyone else.  You’re the one I don’t have to worry about.  So when I do, it worries me.  Is everything okay?”

Natasha frowned.  Her head wasn’t in the game.  Steve was right.  She was happy and happiness meant her work was suffering.

“Everything is fine, Steve,” she said.

“You sure?”  Steve said.  “I’m only asking as a friend.  If there was something up, I’d want to help.”

“It’s fine.  I’ll sort it out,” Natasha said.

Natasha was exhausted by the time she showed up at your place.  She hadn’t slept for almost thirty-six hours and she thought that she’d broken a rib in the battle.  She needed to see you though.  Rip it off like a band-aid.  She liked you.  She liked you a lot.  So much that if she didn’t cut it off now it was going to turn into love and once that happened, she wouldn’t be able to do it.  If she was with you, she would be worse at her job, and if she didn’t have her job, she was nothing.

She knocked on your door.

She could hear you singing on the other side and when you pulled the door open your whole face lit up.  “Tasha!”  You squeaked and launched yourself into her arms.  She made a pained ‘oof’ sound as you wrapped your arms around her, but that didn’t hurt as much as her heart did right at this moment.  You were always so cool and put together, the excitement and pure joy you expressed seeing her were too much.  Natasha was going to hurt you and it was going to kill her to do it.  “I didn’t know you were back.  I am so happy to see you.”

“Krasotka,” Natasha said, closing her arms around you and breathing you in.

You must have heard the pain in her voice because you pulled back immediately and looked you over.  “Are you hurt?”  You asked, pulling her inside.  “Let me get you some ice.”

“It’s fine,” Natasha assured you.  “I’m fine.”

“I can tell you aren’t,” you said, guiding her to the couch and almost pushing her down on it to sit.  “What do you need?  Have you eaten?  I can get you food.  Something to drink?”  You paused and quirked your eyebrow.  “Earth-shattering orgasm?”

“Sit down, Krasotka,” she said.  “We need to talk.”

You narrowed your eyes and took a seat, folding your arms over your chest.  “I don’t like the sound of that.”

Natasha nodded.  “I can’t do this anymore.”

“‘This’ as in ‘us’?”  You asked.

“That’s right,” Natasha said.  Her heart was already hurting.  She wished she was a stronger person.  Someone who was allowed to have everything.  Someone who could be in love and do her job.  Someone who could be happy and not feel like the world was falling apart because of it.

“I supposed I should be glad you’re doing this in person,” you said, sitting back in your chair.  “Do I get a reason?”

“Does it matter?”  Natasha asked.

You nodded.  “Yes.  Because I know you’re happy when you’re with me, and I know you like me, so whatever it is, is stupid and if you say it out loud, I’m hoping you’ll be smart enough to figure that out yourself.  I have faith in you.”

“I do like you,” Natasha said.  “This isn’t about you.  It’s about me.”

“Wow,” you scoffed, raising your hands. “I don’t think I have ever gotten the ol’ it’s not you, it’s me before.  Continue.”

Natasha was getting angry now.  She had expected you to be upset, not hostile.  She had prepared for tears and begging, not to be told she was an idiot.  She sat up straight and folded her arms.  “This is hard for me, okay?  I don’t owe you an explanation.  It was fun.  But now it’s over.”

“And that’s that?”  You said.

“Yes,” Natasha said, getting up.  “That’s that.” 

You stood up too, bailing her up against the wall.  She was half tempted to actually fight you.  If that’s what you wanted to make this, she was quite capable of kicking your ass.  You brought your face close to hers, she could feel the warmth of your breath on her lips.  “You’re making a mistake, Natasha.  I don’t know what happened while you were gone that got you all up in your head and made you think you don’t deserve me, but it doesn’t really matter.  The world is not a place of fairness or balance.  It’s just random chaos and in that, you called to me and I came.  You’re going to realize that breaking up is a mistake.  I know you will because it is.  We’re good together and you wanted me.  I can wait.  I’m very patient.”

A million different arguments popped into Natasha’s head but instead, she just pushed you away and stormed out.  She had never felt the desire to cry as much as she did right now.  Her heart felt like it had been shattered into a million pieces and she’d done it to herself.  She walked down the street not even knowing where she was headed, all she knew was that she wanted to go back up to you and tell you she was sorry and that you were right, but her anger and her pigheadedness stopped her.  There was a bar on the corner, she went straight inside.  She wouldn’t cry but she would drink.  Maybe she’d even find someone to take her home tonight.  Right now she’d do anything to stop herself from thinking that she’d made a huge mistake.

// NEXT

[irondadfics]

I’m looking for fanfics where Peter is Tony’s biological child and he goes missing/gets kidnapped as a young child. He is raised by someone else and doesn’t know he’s Tony’s son. I’ve already read Lost Boy and Things I Almost Remember on archive of our own and I wanted to find stories with a similar plot.

WHEW! It’s kind of a long list, but we did our best finding several fics that feature both BioDad!Tony and Peter being kidnapped at a very young age. ENJOY!!

PETER IS TONY’S SON BUT THEY WERE SEPARATED WHEN PETER WAS A CHILD REC LIST

Lost Boy by winterda

Isaac Stark disappeared from a crowded park a few months shy of his third birthday. There were never any signs of him, and no arrest were ever made in connection to the case. It was as if the toddler had simply vanished off the face of the earth. Twelve years later, Peter Parker has a really bad day, which only get worse when his prints are put through the system.

Things I Almost Remember by IcedAquarius @icedaquarius31​

Peter's past is not as it appears. It all starts one day with a genetics project and slowly spirals into something Peter never could have imagined.

hydra's not a home by tempestaurora @tempestaurora​

At 6 years old, the son of Tony and Pepper Stark, Peter, is kidnapped, never to be seen again. Or, so they thought. Ten years later, while raiding a HYDRA base, the Avengers come across a new, enhanced individual, working for the enemy: in black spandex, with a tendency to stick to walls and shoot webs from his wrists, the Black Spider is a pain in the ass in more ways than one.

If They Knew All About You by MsHermia

Tony Stark had lost his son when he was only 2 years old, stolen away in broad daylight with nobody the wiser of what exactly happened. Years later, Tony has just made it through the disaster with Ultron. He is trying to keep himself and the team together but relationships are strained and tempers are running high. Then a random turn of events leads to his path crossing with that of a particular vigilante. They are strangers to each other, or so they think.

Peter Parker is on top of the world. After a few shitty years, losing his parents and then losing his Uncle, things are finally looking up. Sure he lives in a crappy little apartment with his Aunt but he might have just found his mission in life.

------

This is an AU story obvious by some of the tags. I'm starting out a few weeks after Age of Ultron took place. Civil War will be a thing. Other than that I'm not too concerned about sticking to every canon detail and storyline.

Finding Their Way Home by ElliahRose

Peter Benjamin-Edward Stark went missing on a Tuesday. For months the entirety of the New York police department, as well as anyone else the Starks could convince to join, searched for the tot. He was only three when he was taken and for four months, two weeks, and four days, Tony Stark and Pepper Stark (nee Potts) worried and fretted over their beloved child.

Peter Benjamin-Edward Stark was murdered on a Friday. A ransom call gone wrong spelt the end of the child’s life. The world grieved as the kidnappers gleefully told the devastated parents they’d find his body in the morning.

They never did.

Twelve years passed and the family was still grieving, and Tony Stark worked tirelessly to find his only child’s killer and gain justice for his son.

Meanwhile Peter Parker was having literally the worst day ever. He just wanted to help make the world a better place, but instead he got stabbed. That's just his luck, isn't it?

missing, presumed dead by hailingstars @hailing-stars

They hadn’t had a funeral for Peter.

There hadn’t been a casket or a service inside a church.

There had been, before Tony decided in his heart that Peter was gone, candlelight vigils and pleas on the media for whoever had taken him to bring him home. Neither of those did any good. Neither of those brought Peter home.

OR

Tony Stark's son gets kidnapped when he's two. Twelve years later he comes back.

I told you to be better (and you became the best) by HaruK

Tony was blessed with a healthy baby boy, and for once in his life, was actually happy. Until everything derailed and he had to send his son away to keep him safe, because those related to the Stark family, one of the worlds biggest and most targeted families in the black market, always end up hurt. With a new name and identity that Tony himself doesn't know, the young baby was wiped off the map, his existence erased, never to be heard of again. . Years later, Anti-hero Iron Man meets a local superhero vigilante and Tony becomes surprisingly close with young Peter Parker.

The Curly-Haired Boy In The Paper by Svn_f1ower @svn-f1ower​

When Tony sees the blurry, grey scale photograph of someone he thought he had lost years ago, he follows the trail to a newspaper company, to a hospital, to an adoption agency, to the police station and finally to May Parker's house.

hold him tight & don’t let go by jessicagoddamnjones @farremoved

Peter Stark went missing when he was four years old.

Eleven years later, he’s found.

Only now he’s Peter Parker by day, Spider-Man by night, and he doesn’t like the idea that his entire life is a lie.

Rise from the Ashes; Just to See You Again by Mintstream @iwritedumbshit​

Tony Stark didn't expect Mary Fitzpatrick, or the news she delivered. He didn't expect that he would become a father, or that he would actually enjoy it. He didn't expect Penny to love him just as fiercely as he did her.

He didn't expect to lose her so soon.

In the wake of the loss of his daughter he tried--tried to do right by her. He became Iron Man, he was an Avenger, he protected his world because he couldn't protect his daughter, but through it all, he hoped to be reunited with his daughter.

He didn't expect to be alive when he was.

AKA the biological daughter kidnapping AU no one asked for. Hope you read, and hope you enjoy.

Updates on Saturdays.

Coming Home by inkinmyheartandonthepage

AU – Peter Stark was kidnapped when he was just three years old. Tony and Pepper never stopped looking for their boy. Years later, Peter finds his way back home.

A Change In What We Knew by Imissyoutoo @imissyoutoo

Tony scoured the floor behind Steve as though his one-year-old son had somehow crawled to him, before finally, he looked up. The realisation dawned on him like an eclipse; the decaying darkness hiding the sun. Hiding his son. Because his boy wasn't there.

”Where is he? Steve? Where's my son Rogers?!” At only a year old, Tony Stark’s son is taken, leaving him shattered. Little does he know, his journey to find what is lost only begins twelve years later. In the most unlikely of places, and all because of two words.

”Hey kid.”

I Found You by honestchick

Tony had a son; he raised him for two years until someone kidnapped him. Tony was devastated and heartbroken. And who would have thought in Starks Expo, he’d be able to see his son once again?

move back home forever by chasingflower @evahmohns

The results say he’s not actually Peter Parker.

They say he’s Peter Stark. You know, the one who’s been missing for 10 years.

Yeah. He knows.

Soon You'll Get Better by lostinmorewaysthan1

Peter Stark was kidnapped. That was all anyone knew. He vanished into thin air, no traces left behind, when he was eight years old.

Six years later, on one of the final raids on the HYDRA bases, they find an enhanced assassin, with super strength and the ability to climb walls. No one imagined that it would be Peter. Least of all Tony.

With no memory and brainwashed by HYDRA, Peter Stark goes home and tries to recover.

Let This Road Be Mine by CommunicationFlail

Ten years ago, five year old Peter Stark disappeared. When the trail went cold, the case was closed. Now new evidence has been brought to light and Tony will stop at nothing to get his son back. No matter how many fakes he has to meet. His son is out there, and he will find him.

Return to me, the one I love so endlessly by SuperHeroTiger @superherotiger

James Edwin Stark was born on the 10th of August 2001, and for the first time in his life, Tony Stark cried tears of joy.

All the fears, all the dread that had once consumed his soul washed away with a single look at the baby’s gentle features, so familiar and yet so distinctly unique at the same time. Tony made many promises that day. Promises to love his son, to protect him, to always be there for him.

On the 10th of August 2002, James Edwin Stark was stolen in the middle of the night, and his father’s world came crashing down. Shattered and alone, Tony whispered the same promise he’d made to his son the day that he was born.

‘…My love for you is endless…’

Fourteen years later, hidden away from the world in a forest of pine, Peter Beck would dream of a day he might get to see the towering city of New York. And when a wounded stranger stumbles onto their property a week out from his birthday claiming to be a famous billionaire from New York, his dream might just come true.

Once Lost Now Found by FreckledAvenger11

Peter Parker was just trying to get used to life without his uncle. He wasn't expecting to find a familiar face in an article about Tony Stark's missing son. Follow Peter on his journey to discover just who he is. Is he Peter Parker? Is he Spider-Man? Or is he someone else entirely? Just who is he and what secrets died along with his parents in that plane crash?

So He Walks The World Alone by Miola014

This is a story 'bout a broken boy With his headphones in just to block out the noise Of everyone around him telling him the way to go So he walks the world alone Wondering if it gets better Or if he's always gonna feel empty forever So he gets lost tryna find another way back home As he walks the world alone

Or

The Kidnapped Peter Stark AU that I promised y'all!

[intonerofcuriosity]

Hold it, I need to write some background on Teresa. It gets sad.

When younger she was just a little shy girl that didn’t talk much and had her own little quirks, that at the moment were completely harmless.

She follows the idea that she hated her parents. Pretty much like her faux memories in canon. Her parents saw her as someone too odd since she was young, so they were always pretty strict with her for no real reason, even alienating at times, because the assholery of her parents made them think that appearances are really important, and Teresa was tainting that by just existing.

‘Your daughter is really odd’, ‘Hey look, there are the parents of the odd girl...’, and comments like that were things that her parents started to get a lot when Teresa was growing up, from other parents of the private school she attended.

They had her be almost a dirty little secret, not letting her attend formal celebrations even when they took the rest of siblings to them, and not really caring about celebrating her birthday either. If anything, her sisters and her brother treated her way better than her parents ever did, and even if One didn’t approve of this behavior coming from her parents, it’s not like she could do anything back then.

She didn’t care much about missing fancy meetings, but being treated differently compared to her other siblings was actually affecting her, and it would eventually warp her vision of the world or other people.

She managed to finish school and high school, but because her behavior just got worse with time after the negative treatment and getting no therapy, being the ‘weirdo’ of class made for many to bully her through the years as well.

And her attitude just kept growing into the wrong direction. She was just getting creepier and numb with those that surrounded her except for her siblings, that still treated her well despite everything.

There were a few times in which she attempted to kill herself when going through really bad episodes of depression.

It was when she was studying her medicine career that Teresa’s got the final nail in her coffin. She had a future, she was talented, for sure, but her weird interests in humans had her kicked out from university when she was found trying to steal some organs and corpses from one of the rooms.

That just kind of shattered what was left to shatter. That story was heard in so many places that Teresa knew it was going to be hard for anyone to accept her in a new university, so she just decided to drop her studies altogether to focus on her obsessions instead.

By that time her mother was already dead and so was her fave grandma. It was the wrath of her father that rained on her when he obviously found out what happened, and she still remembers the beating she got to this day.

She’s glad her parents are dead, and it’s her hatred to people that has her being numb to her amoral recreational activities.

Up to this day she hadn’t gone to therapy even when One is the lead of the family now, mainly because Teresa refuses to do so, she doesn’t want to help herself, and also because no one in the house knows she’s actually a damn murderer.

[cinaja]

any word on how btw!rhys becomes super extra shitty canon!rhys? 👀👀👀

Ohhh yes, lots of words!

So, there's little on btw!Rhys in the actual story (because I cut out his pov, because I couldn't stand writing him as somewhat nice), but basically, during his youth, it's considered cool for young Fae nobles to be very progressive in their mindset and with their plans for how they want to rule. It kind of goes hand-in-hand with the War. Everyone wants to change the world, abolish the class system, create equality. Basically, every Fae noble under 100 wants to be like Drakon. This never quite makes it into the story becuse the protagonists are all far more concerned with actually winning the War.

But well, Rhys is in the fortunate position of being friends with the people who are (without really noticing) at the head of this movement. This friendship is more of an accident (the only reason Miryam and the others ever noticed Rhys was that he is Mor's cousin, and close to their age, and they are never quite as close as Rhys later likes to pretend. They certainly aren't as equal. Miryam, Jurian and Drakon are arguably the most important people in the Alliance, each the best in their areas. Miryam started the war and led the Alliance. Even Mor, emissary to the Night Court and friend to all of them, held indefinitely more power than Rhys. He was just a common commander. But oh, how he liked to pretend he was just like them.) But anyways, Rhys enjoys the standing this gives him. He also kind of enjoys feeling rebellious against his father - being friends with people he hates, part of a movement that goes against everything he believes, is the very definition of rebellion for Rhys.

After the War is over, Rhys keeps the pro-equality mindset, partially because it annoys his father, partially because being able to say "I was friends with Miryam and Drakon" gives him a certain amount of standing (and oh, does he hate to always be only a footnote in their story), and partially because he genuinely believes in equality. However, his actions never quite match his mindset. Even during the War, he didn't try to earn the respect of the Illyrians he was to lead, didn't try to compromise and work with them, he commanded them through force. And after the War, the "blunt force" approach continues on. He never goes to university to the Continent, never learns their way of looking at things, he stays in Prythian and studies under his father, learns his way of ruling.

And then, about 150 years after the War, Rhysand's father dies and he becomes High Lord. Rhys mourns his family, but he also rejoices at finally, finally becoming High Lord, finally having real power. And oh, is he going to use it. (To his credit, he genuinely wants to be better than his father was.)

One of the first things he does is to visit Miryam and Drakon on Cretea (a visit only possible now that his father is dead). By that time, things on Cretea are working somewhat smoothly, and Rhys is... well, somewhat amazed. But above all, he decides that he is going to do better. (Outdoing Miryam and Drakon is something Rhys, whether he admits it or not, always wanted. 150 years of being a footnote, a friend to people who were so much more, now he is going to be the one to make history.)

He thinks he can do it, too. In his mind, he was always better than Drakon, who is largely the one responsible for making things on Cretea work. Rhys learned to value brute strength, cunningness and manipulation. Drakon doesn't have any of that, so in Rhysand's mind, it is clear that he is going to be better. (As for Miryam... well, Rhys always enjoyed being the most powerful and the smartest person in the room. With Miryam around, he was neither and even though she is the only reason he survived the war, a part of him always resented that.) So Rhys brushes off Drakon's offer for help, advice, anything he might need, and returns to the Night Court. Not without first boasting about all he is going to achieve.

The first thing he does is appoint his cousin and his two Illyrian brothers as members of his Inner Circle. When the other advisors disagree, he fires them. The Hewn City rises up in opposition. Rhysand, all brute strength (just like his father taught him), kills the rebels. Murder, as usual, doesn't lead to peace. He turns to the Illyrians. Not a hint of understanding, not a negotiation, he orders them to change their entire culture in a day. Women are to train. No more wing-clipping. Bastards no longer thrown out into the snow. (All good ideas, but none quite as easy as Rhys likes to think.) Within a months, the Illyrians rallied forces in opposition. Who is he to give them orders, this man who got so many of them killed in the War? ("But I put two of yours in charge," Rhys insists, thinking it representation and ignoring that the Illyrians never chose Azriel and Cassian to lead them.) Rhys, once again, answers with violence. Kills the leaders, forces the rest back into their camps. His next attempt to change things in the Hewn City (end forced marriages, give rights to women and servants) goes equally awry. Another rebellion, more deaths.

By the time it is over, Rhys is done. He signs a treaty with Keir, allowing him to largely govern himself. Pulls Mor back from the Continent where she worked as emissary and puts her in charge of the Hewn City. (Relationships with the Continent, previously good, get worse and worse. Mor, who had been friends with so many of the Continental leaders in the War, who had learned their ways, was respected amongst Continental royalty. The new emissary isn't.) Rhys bans wing clipping for the Illyrians, but goes back on all other demands.

The Night Court, he decides, cannot be governed with a soft hand. He keeps his Court of Dreams (oh, how ironic the name has become) and Velaris, spends most of his time in his City of Starlight where he can pretend to be the ruler he always wanted to be. He becomes, although he will deny it to his last day, just like his father was. Cold. Cruel. Uncaring.

He comes up with excuses, millions of excuses. He did his best. He could never have succeeded. Miryam and Drakon did it, but the Seraphim were always more open-minded than the Illyrians. They had the advantage of peace, of being isolated from the ouside, on their side. They didn't have to reform a corrupt court. If they'd been in his place, they would have failed as well. They had it easier. He knows, deep down, that they didn't.

He never returns to Cretea, forbids Mor from going. (Too risky, he claims. The truth is that if he goes, he won't be able to keep up his lies. Deep down, knows all too well that he never had it harder, that his way of ruling is wrong.) Nothing can ever be allowed to shatter his illusion. Some days, he even believes it himself.

Amarantha happens. Excuses upon excuses for actions he knows to be inexcusable. Most people think him crueller than his father now. Amarantha gets killed. Another rebellion, another swath of his own subjects he murders for treason. (He never learned to compromise, to listen. Never understood that rebellion doesn't happen without reason.)

Hybern's threat looms on the Continent and Mor suggests they go to Cretea, ask for help. It would be the logical course of action. It would mean an army far larger than their own, and a chance to rally the Continent. (It would mean having to explain 350 years of silence. All the blood on his hands. It would mean needing to explain the Illyrians and the Hewn City and the fact that he is just like his father. Having to explain that he married a girl of nineteen. He thinks Drakon might believe him he is wrong, but then, as he usually is, but Miryam was never one for excusing inexcusable deeds.) "They wished to remain hidded", he lies, thinking that he should at least be able to win this one war on his own.

When he looks at Tarquin, young and honest, full of plans he will surely manage to get to work, he thinks of Drakon. More excuses. "Tarquin with his neutral court will always have it easier," he says to Feyre. And she believes him. She looks at him and sees a good person in him. She believes his excuses, his carefully spun lies. She thinks he is good, and that anyone who says otherwise is wrong. He loves her for it.

During the charade that is the meeting with the queens, he has Feyre play Miryam (a young woman with ties to both the humans and the Fae, with unusual powers. He makes her emissary on top of it, thinking it's the closest he can come). Another War, that's the image he wants to send. He is going to unite humans and Fae, he will rally the Continent. Neither works. (He never understood.) The war effort crashes and burns around him. He can barely unite Prythian. But Feyre is there, worshiping him like a god, believing his every lie, never noticing all the ways he failed. His friends are there, backing him up. And he is fighting for the right thing, isn't he? Surely that makes him a good person. Deep down, he knows it doesn't.

[mightydragoon]

Darth Vader A+ Parenting.

While Darth Vader in canon ain’t exactly the nicest fellow, this is a Vader or Anakin who has no qualms getting what he wants and using any methods to do so. 

Or otherwise known as Darth Vader A+ Parenting. 

1.  to gain a son Russy

After falling into a trap laid by the Empire and being captured by two Inquisitors, Luke Skywalker wakes up in an unfamiliar room with an unfamiliar man watching over him.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25019218/chapters/60586045

2. No Time Like The Present PinkEasterEggs

In a Galaxy where Princess Leia Organa and Luke Vader have always known they were twins, a deadly discovery by their biggest enemy throws their entire lives upside down. Yet again.

Now on the run from the Empire, the Skywalker twins find it their mission to bring peace back to the Galaxy once more. And with Darth Vader on their trail, that mission is far more complicated than they originally believed.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24754825/chapters/59851300

(Note* Part  3 of the  Back To The Future series. Can be read as standalone) 

  3.  The Heir - SpellCleaver

Darth Vader just killed his master and learned a galaxy-changing truth: the child Palpatine adopted, the Imperial prince and heir, is actually Vader’s son, raised by Palpatine to torment him.

Meanwhile, Luke Palpatine just woke up from severe injuries he sustained in a Rebel attack to a galaxy where his father is dead, he is the Emperor, and the figure from all his childhood nightmares is acting suspiciously nice.

They figure it out from there.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24024442/chapters/57801529

4. Eclipse - SpellCleaver

Luke and Leia, the twin children of Darth Vader and heirs to the Emperor himself, defect. When they do, it's naturally a dream come true for the Rebellion and the mother they never knew, one that's been a long time in the making.

But they have to get to that point first.

Or: Darth Vader unwittingly sends his children down the merry path of treason... and the ugly, painful fallout.

(Note* Obviously) 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/18221840/chapters/43109123

5. Walking the Line Between - aradian_nights

After an emotional confrontation on Bespin, Luke Organa has been captured, and his newfound twin Leia Skywalker will not stop until she has rescued him. Even if that means murdering their own father.

( How the Other Half Lives  -   aradian_nights) 

(Note* the entire series is this but more in particular the recent additions, I’ve already discussed this story multiple times before so you know the drill )

6.  The kidnappings of a Sith Lord - maedre13

How a certain Sith Lord may or may not kidnap his rebel son. One-shots. Strongly inspired by sparklight´s “Where Our Intrepid Hero Doesn´t Get Away”.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/10606992/chapters/23453241

(Note* not all these chapters are Vader at his worst but he isn’t exactly a top notch parent in them either) 

7. How to Save the World from its Heroes - stardustgirl

Being the Avatar’s—and Fire Lord’s—non-bending heir isn’t what Luke signed up for. He also didn’t sign up for an Agni Kai he can’t possibly win, or for getting dragged into a search for someone who can kill his own dad. Then again, someone has to bring the world back into balance, and if his dad won’t, then Luke might as well give it his best shot. After all, how much worse can things get?

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24948487/chapters/60386875

(Note* Only started and already you can see Vader A+ Parenting in all its glory) 

8. your heart is full of stars and your hands full of shattered glass -victoriousscarf

Nineteen years ago, Vader took his children off Mustafar, and Palpatine raised them to be Sith, the perfect weapons he had been looking for.

Except the very eve of his greatest victory, the fully functional Death Star, Luke Skywalker defects to the floundering but growing Rebel Alliance. His sister follows because someone needs to watch out for that fool.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/13242183/chapters/30290415

9.  Love of a daughter. - youngjusticewriter

"and yet, so far at least we have yet to figure out what you gain from this." It's a question as well as statement. A chance to explain, to come clean on why she - a unknown Sith- had assassinated they're precious, beloved Chancellor (what fools). But how could you come clean when there is so much blood on her hands? Never-mind the sins and blood on Vader and Luke's when her family had been alive.

When she answers it's not because she's announcing her transgressions in hope that her heavy, dirty soul might be saved. One couldn't repent when they didn't feel guilt in their sin.

"For the love of a daughter." Leia pauses and looks back at Anakin and thinks: I did this to avenge you. After thinking that Leia says one more thing - the last thing actually because she nothing else to say after this.

"And you should have been more careful electing your Chancellor. You never know who is Sith." This has double meaning but she's the only person who knows it.

And she's fine with that (no, she isn't).

Leia wonders if her younger self and Luke will ever become the monsters like her Luke had been and the monster she is.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/10924239/chapters/24297558

10.  Literal Hell - TreeOfTime

Luke Lars is content as a Moisture Farmer with his father and mother... until two people come to find what was lost to them...

Then all hell broke lose

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22579066/chapters/53957833

(Note* oh dear lord Vader A+ Parenting in its full glory, a Sith Leia for flavour and a non force sensitive Luke. ) 

11.  Dynasty - Valerie_Vancollie: Co-authored by Rebecca Thomson aka Zekkers.

Hit in the leg by a stormtrooper's blaster bolt, Luke falls in the Death Star hanger bay and is unable to escape on the Falcon along with Han and Leia. During the subsequent interrogation, his true heritage is revealed and Vader instantly takes him to Coruscant, determined to reclaim the son the Jedi stole from him. But the glory of the Imperial capital belies its true nature, where politics and power are everything and anything is fair game in the never ending game to reach the top. Not lying, not betrayal, assassination, sabotage, blackmail, nor seduction. As he commences his Sith training, Luke must also learn the rules and etiquette of the Imperial Court if he is to survive as most of his enemies fight their battles with words and political maneuverings rather than military force. Yet, even as he struggles to gain his place within the Empire, Luke learns that his best friend has joined the Alliance...

https://archiveofourown.org/works/13111908/chapters/29997507

12. Fractured twists - Annessarose

Timelines are fickle things.

Every line is balanced precariously on the precipice. One shift, one twitch of a finger, one step in the wrong direction, and entire stories change. Lives flicker out, galaxies rise and fall, but the Force is always a constant.

Each moment is carefully balanced. We know how the Siege of Mandalore happened - how the former Jedi padawan Ahsoka Tano led her men into victory. How she defeated Maul in single combat and earned the loyalty of Lady Bo-Katan Kyrze. How she rode her ship too late to meet with Anakin Skywalker, and how the galaxy fell and burned under the hand of the Sith.

This is the way it could have gone if Obi-Wan had followed Ahsoka to Mandalore.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24158608

13. Runaway- Valerie_Vancollie

Co-authored by Rebecca Thomson aka Zekkers & a contest winner.

What if Luke had runaway from Tatooine and joined the Imperial Academy?

https://archiveofourown.org/works/12976095

14. A Mother's Decision - Valerie_Vancollie

What if Padmé had brought Luke to Vader when Luke was only nine months old?

https://archiveofourown.org/works/12915687

15. Descent into Darkness - Valerie_Vancollie

What if instead of waiting for Luke to come to him on Endor, Vader had gone for Luke and the others, capturing them while with the Ewoks?

https://archiveofourown.org/works/12908223

16. Avenge and Conquer - arikylo

The Alliance has fallen into a very well laid trap and now Luke has no choice but to hand himself over to Vader. But what does the father have in store for the son? Can Luke handle the torture and the ruthless tactics of the Empire or will he be forced to surrender and embrace the dark side?

The struggle between the light and the dark is strenuous, relationships crumble and all is looking bleak for the Alliance.

Dark!AU set after ESB.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/3058115/chapters/6639581

17. The Terrorist - Seasider

High above Bespin in Cloud City, Vader chooses not reveal his identity and instead uses deceit to trick Luke into surrendering. The Dark Lord has a lot on his agenda, so he entrusts the breaking of his son to an Imperial interrogator, unaware that the man has an agenda of his own: revenge.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24810643/chapters/60006952

(Note* Dead Dove do not eat. Contains some reall fucked up shit) 

18. Consequences - treenahasthaal

An intense burst of light and a vicious blow to his left shoulder sent him spinning violently backward and he fell...

What if Luke hadn't made it off the Death Star immediately following Kenobi's death?

https://archiveofourown.org/works/809144/chapters/1527145

(Note* It’s also a boba fett/ luke) 

19. Instinct - treenahasthaal

There was something about the blond boy in the crowd of detainees that caught Commander Yarryn's attention. Something that pulled at his gut and told him there was more about this captive than met the eye. It was his duty to find out what it was the boy was hiding - and find it he would, for Yarryn was very good at his job.

12 weeks after the destruction of the Death Star.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/2185854/chapters/4785594

( Part 1 of the Invictus series) 

20. Child of Mine - Oneshotshipper

AU. Darth Vader discovers Leia at a young age. Barely managing to escape her father's clutches the first time, young Leia goes into hiding and becomes the Empire's most-wanted fugitive. If the second time comes, fate will not be as kind. Meanwhile, Darth Vader would tear apart the galaxy itself to possess and keep his child. The Dark Side seems to inevitably be the fate of the Skywalkers.

21. To Catch a Daughter, One must... - ftbprotocol

A variety of AU one-shots where in canon Leia stayed a secret, but in these stories did not. Because there needs to be more Leia and Vader fic!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/12173637/chapters/27632673

22.  Daughter Over The Son - Keetajet

Work is inspired by ftbprotocol's work "To Catch a Daughter, One must..."

The moment where Darth Vader did not save his son. Instead, he will have his daughter.

Leia's future went downhill the moment she felt her brother die on the second Death Star, leading to their capture on Endor. Only she, Han, and Chewie survived the failed ground assault and they were restrained and being held at gun point.

She has a bad feeling about this.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25354183/chapters/61476130

23. Before the Emperor - SilverDaye

Luke is defeated and captured at Cloud City by Vader. He is then dragged before the Emperor. However Palpatine is dead. Luke's father is alive. And someone else holds the reigns to Vader and the Empire.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/15950198/chapters/37196351

Tags- to help search for more

Darth Vader's A+ parenting

Dark Anakin Skywalker

Sith Luke Skywalker

Imperial Luke Skywalker

Luke Skywalker & Darth Vader

Leia Organa & Darth Vader

Bad Parent Darth Vader

[cdkwrites]

fall from grace (6)

From ancient grudge break to new mutiny, where civil blood makes civil hands unclean

When Atem from one of the high houses of Hell is discovered dying in the streets of 1920s Paris by a mysteriously kind angel, tensions of this old war spark when she elects to save his life. The devastating fall out of one simple act of kindness is more than enough to shatter the truce. Soon, it maybe be impossible to avoid the resulting war for all species on Earth.

What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend

——-

cw: mentions of blood, self harm (kind of? there’s no scarring involved, it’s more like Allowing Oneself To Starve To Death), suicide idealization (nothing worse than you’d read in canon ygo), some artistic license re: european history espeically re: the french, violence

chapter one. chapter two. chapter three. chapter four. chapter five.

you can read it on ao3 here!

if you enjoy my work, considering supporting me through ko-fi!

From an interview with Katsuya Jonouchi, 1900s “I don’t know what to tell you. I was with Honda when all that happened.”

Dartz was on warpath. Jonouchi almost felt bad for Keket, who was currently the subject of Dartz’s rage. “Seems like Ket let that vampire go again,” Honda said as he joined Jonouchi in Jonouchi’s usual hiding spot. No one knew better than Honda how much Jonouchi disliked Dartz’s moods. “No wonder Dartz is angry.”

“I don’t get it,” Jonouchi said as he examined the terrain below them. High above the clouds, the mortals couldn’t see them but they could see the mortals. Jonouchi could understand why Dartz spent all his time in places like this. Mortal watching could be kind of fun at times. “What spell does that demon have over Keket? She’s normally so smart.”

“Enough about her,” Honda said as he waved off the discussion. Jonouchi turned to him, a brow raised. “How is Shizuka? Isn’t she your responsibility?”

Shizuka was Jonouchi’s latest charge and she was more than a handful. And yet Jonouchi already viewed her as a little sister. “She’s got her own ideas on how to be an angel,” Jonouchi said with an annoyed look on his face. Mortals souls that became angels all seemed to think they had everything figured out. “Unfortunately, guiding her has proven difficult.”

“I imagine so,” Honda said. Honda had already dealt with his own charge a few thousand years ago. He had claimed it had been one of the easiest things to do and that it was so rewarding. It had been part of why Jonouchi had been so willing to take on a charge of his own. “Some mortals who pass have a relatively big head that they take from life into the next form. Why, do you have issues with her?”

Jonouchi shrugged. He knew he should report that Shizuka asked just a little too many questions but he couldn’t bring himself to. He wondered if he had once been mortal, he’d have the same outlook on forever that Shizuka had. Shizuka had been horrified to learn that this was how her afterlife was to be spent and had asked if there were other options. Jonouchi did not know. “No,” he said, squashing the guilt aside from lying to Honda. “There’s no problem.”

He wondered if Honda saw through it.

From the journal of Sumiko Kubota: December 2, 1922, Paris I think my sister is being entirely too difficult. Surely there’s plenty of reason to stick around this shop. And not simply because Duke is utterly fascinating…

Sumiko hadn’t planned on staying in Paris. But Duke fascinated her so much that she had to stay for just a little bit longer. Sure, Kazuko was annoyed the longer they stayed but for once, Sumiko didn’t care. She was learning a lot about the world that her sister stumbled into. Duke spent most of his time either running the store front or in the kitchen.

Today she found him in a new place, however. Sumiko wasn’t sure how to describe the room she’d found herself in. For a minute, anyway. It was like the room was coming into sharp view, as if it had been hidden from her. All the bookcases went right to the ceiling and there was an ornate wooden table in the center of the room. He was humming and Sumiko was struck by how pretty he looked. He seemed relaxed. He looked from the book he’d had open on a podium and grinned. “Why, Sumiko,” Duke said as he gestured towards the chairs around the table. “I see you’ve found the library.”

This was not like any library Sumiko had ever been in. There was this sense that she was not supposed to be in here. And yet Sumiko pressed forward into the room, focusing on Duke. “I didn’t know this place existed.”

“The more time you spend in the supernatural, the more you become in tune with it,” Duke said as he turned to pull a book off the shelf behind him. “Most mortals have an innate sense of magic but spend their whole lives unaware of it. I figured eventually I would see you here.”

“But I was able to see the shop,” Sumiko said as Duke placed the book in front of her. It was in a language she couldn’t read. It was possible it was in French but Sumiko thought the writing looked too different from the signs in the area to be the same language. “Is there a reason for that?”

“Yugi has it set up so people who have had a single strange encounter with the mystical can see the shop,” Duke explained as he took a seat next to Sumiko with a sly grin on his face. Again Sumiko was reminded of a predator who had found its next meal. “However, the shop is so much larger than any mortal who is just dipping their toes into the supernatural can possibly imagine.”

“That reminds me,” Sumiko said, hesitant to ask the one thing she’d been curious about. “Why do you spend all your time here in this shop? Surely a demon such as yourself must get bored of it.”

Duke looked annoyed briefly. “I made a bet with Yugi a few years ago that if I lost a game to him, I’d be friends with him,” Duke said as he leaned back in his chair. “So now here I am, having to honor my end of the bargain. I still don’t know how he managed to win.”

“Powerful demon turned friend by a guy at least a foot shorter than you,” Sumiko remarked, a brow arching up. “How does that happen?”

“Must we talk about it,” Duke said with roll of his eyes. “I’d rather focus on teaching you some of the finer workings of magic.”

“You’re going to teach me magic?” Sumiko narrowed her eyes. “Kaz always says that nothing comes for free. What do you want?”

“That’s how mortals operate,” Duke said, sounding rather dismissive. “I’m not a mortal. I’m doing this out of the goodness of my heart.”

“Really?” Sumiko wasn’t sure she believed him. And yet, despite the fact it was a bad idea to make a deal with a demon, she found herself grinning. “I’ll trust you for now. But I’d be careful. My sister is mean and willing to go pretty far to protect me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of hurting you, Sumiko Kubota,” Duke said and Sumiko felt strange realizing she believed him. Trusting a demon with her life seemed like the worst kind of mistake she could make. And yet, with those brilliant emerald like eyes that sparkled with promise, how could Duke be anything but an angel?

From the logs of Rafael, soldier of Destiny, keeper of Justice:1900s Master Dartz seems keenly aware that there is a growing problem with Keket. I am unsure if this is the correct solution, however. Yet I know that asking questions merely leads to more problems….

Rafael wanted to ask Keket if all this was worth it. He never thought she’d lose her mind over some demon. And yet she was. Three times now Keket had failed to kill the vampire. Dartz was pacing the length of the room and the anger radiating off him. “There has to be a way to deal with this,” Dartz muttered, clearly not expecting any answers from Rafael. Rafael glanced towards the multiple views of Earth. One of the views was fixated directly on Keket, who hadn’t moved from her house on Earth since the incident. “She has gotten far too attached to this vampire.”

“Surely we can take him out,” Rafael said, confused as to why Dartz simply wouldn’t just order him to deal with it. Rafael still owed Keket. She’d saved his life in that battle so many eons ago. He recalled how she’d moved with grace through that battlefield. “I can do it. I owe her one.”

“Yes, you do,” Dartz said with a side glance at Rafael. Instantly Rafael felt like he’d made a misstep. Dartz seemed to prize strength and many times, Rafael felt he came up short. Perhaps that was why he was itching to prove he was capable. “But would you even be capable of helping her? Perhaps you might need to start with a smaller target.”

And a file appeared out of nowhere, landing at Rafael’s feet. Rafael hesitated for a moment before picking it up. Instantly, he recognized the demon that Dartz was suggesting. “This is that vampire’s father,” Rafael said, almost stunned. The name had been what Rafael read first - Akhenamkhanen. It would be impossible to forget that name. “How is this a smaller target?”

“I thought you were strong,” Dartz remarked with a strange inflection in his tone. “But if you’re too weak for the task, I’m certain one of the other angels could take care of it.”

Rafael looked at the file again. A demon who was king of his realm, who had been alive for thousands of years. It was a task that even the best of angels would struggle with. He tried to imagine himself actually doing the act. “No,” Rafael said as he passed the file back. “I can do it.”

Still, the rumblings of regret were already starting to build in Rafael’s chest. Doubt coursed through him. But what choice did he have?

From the journals of Anzu Mazaki: Paris, December 23, 1922 Bakura arrived at the theater today. I had been unaware that he even knew where I worked. Curiously, however, I found myself not minding that he had shown up…

The candles were such a dim light to read by, Anzu thought absently. She held the script closer, trying to read the words on the page but not really absorbing them. Her mind was elsewhere. She was focused heavily on remembering the last time Bakura had come around. Her cheeks flushed as she remembered that his hands were sure and the smirk he’d worn. “Miss Gardner,” came a voice like silk from behind her. She glanced up into the mirror, already knowing that she wouldn’t see him reflected back at her. The shadows moved in the mirror, however, and this gave her an idea of where he was. “Shouldn’t you have memorized that already?”

“Maybe I should,” Anzu said, grinning as she turned to face Bakura. White paired so lovely with his skin tone, she thought to herself. She’d never say that out loud to him, though. He had a big enough ego as it was. Then again… “What’s it to you what I have memorized?”

“Why, Anzu,” Bakura said, sounding wounded as he reached out to cup her cheek. His finger rubbed along her lower lip and her lips parted slightly. “You know I deeply care about what goes on in your mundane mortal life.”

“Do you?” She liked the dangerous glint in his eye that he got every time she challenged him. She leaned forward, tilting her head up to give him a hint that she wanted him to kiss her. “Is this why you won’t tell me how to become a vampire? You’d miss my stories of my mortal life?”

“No,” Bakura admitted as he pulled Anzu into a standing position. He yanked her closer to him, his hand wrapped around her wrist. “But because it's a rather scary story.” His grin promised something dark and it thrilled Anzu to her very core. “Can you handle that?”

“I can handle just about anything you throw my way, darling,” she said, unsure where that came from. He was so close and his teeth were so near her neck. Near enough to take a bite out of her. “I want to know everything about you.”

His hand was under her jaw, a finger tracing out her jawline. He yanked her back to him and Anzu let out a soft gasp. Her head tilted, allowing him access. Her arm was pinned behind her back and yet she felt no fear. Being bound by him was thrilling. A veneer of having no choice and yet… Anzu would rather be in no other position. She knew he’d let go if she merely said one word - just one. “Do you?” Bakura asked, his lips pressing to her neck. “I would think you’d be done with talking by now.”

She was tempted to say that of course she was done with talking before reality sat back in. “You promised me a scary story,” Anzu said softly, doing her best to ignore how his strong hands felt so nice on her. “I want to know - how does one become a vampire?”

Bakura stilled. For a moment, Anzu wondered if he would leave her frustrated and in need of release. “It’s not pretty,” he finally said. “You mortals have such romantic notions. I’m trying to protect you, Anzu.”

He so rarely used her name. The last time he used it, he had been warning her that she should go find a mortal boy instead. She’d insisted then she didn’t care about the potential heartbreak they could face. He’d merely smiled and said it was on her own head if she got in that deep. “What if I don’t want to be protected?”

A heartbeat passed and he released her arm. She was almost disappointed until his hand was placed on her hip. His forehead pressed against her shoulder and he let out a weary sigh. “You aren’t going to let this go, are you?”

“No.”

“Fine,” he said and Anzu couldn’t pin down his tone. “I was turned thousands of years ago. It was a mistake, of course. Akhandin never meant to turn me. I was a poor thief who no one would miss. He stole me and my mother in the dead night from our village.” He sounded far away and Anzu felt a surge of affection. She tried to picture Bakura as human. Then she tried to picture what Bakura’s mother might look like. “The blood was drained from the bodies and stored in jars for later consumption.”

He spun her around, staring deep into her eyes. Anzu wondered if his eyes were always blood red like that. “So does that mean part of becoming a vampire involves being drained of blood?”

“Yes but there’s a particular order,” Bakura said with a sly smirk. “I fought back and got a bit of Akhandin. Turns out, because I got a bit of him… it was enough to start the change.” He leaned forward, a dangerous glint in his eyes. His teeth glinted somehow in the lowlight. “Can you guess what that bit of him it was?”

Anzu raised a brow. “You tell me,” she said, trying her best to not sound breathless. Already she had a hunch and was trying to picture the process. “I’ve just stumbled my way into the supernatural, remember?”

He took her hand in his and pressed a quick kiss to the inside of her wrist. “Blood, my dear,” he said, his tongue pressed against her skin. “I managed to bite him hard enough to take blood. And when that happened, why… him draining me of blood set the wheels of fate in motion. My heart ceased beating and when I awoke, I was filled with thirst.” There was now a manic glint in his eyes. “So thirsty… I drank all the jars he’d stored for later. He hadn’t been expecting to find me there. I fled.”

“What about your mother?” It was, on the surface, an innocent question. However, the pained look on his face told another story. Her stomach dropped. “Bakura?”

“I didn’t know at the time,” he said, as if looking for absolution from her. Anzu had never seen this look on Bakura’s face before. She’d seen so many ways to be looked at but this face… It was almost worshipful. Like a sinner pleading for mercy from a crucifix. “At the time… I was just… so thirsty, Anzu.” He was gripping her hand so tight. “I didn’t know he’d already drained her. And I didn’t… I was a coward.”

The pieces clicked together and Anzu stumbled back. She landed in her chair and he was kneeling before her, begging for her to understand. Of course she understood. “It’s not like you meant to,” she said, reaching out to cup his jaw. “Does that mean… when you’re turned…”

“It’s like an animal taking over you,” Bakura said, leaning against her touch. “The pain, too… It’s more than just a desire for blood. It destroys you. Can’t you see now? I want to spare you that pain, Anzu.”

From the journal of Prince Atem, domain of vampires: London, January 1st, 1923 I hate that angel. I wish she’d never entered my life. She’s ruined it forever.

The phone rang twice before Atem answered it. “Hey,” Atem answered as he examined his throat. He was surprised that there wasn’t even a scar. It was like nothing had happened. “This is Atem. May I ask who’s calling?”

“Atem, it’s Mahad,” came the voice from the other end of the line. Atem straightened up. Mahad typically didn’t call unless it was important. “Before you hang up, I promise that I’m not calling to drag you back to the palace.”

“You wound me, brother,” Atem said, distracted by the shattered pieces of mirror still all over the floor. He needed to take care of it but couldn’t bring himself to. He was obsessing. That angel had entered his home and attacked him violently. And he was obsessed, wondering why she’d done it. “I would never hang up on you.”

“You hung up on me last time I called,” Mahad pointed out, sounding weary already. Instantly Atem felt bad. The last time Mahad called, Atem was just a little too frustrated. He wouldn’t have hung up otherwise. “That’s not what I’m calling about though, young prince.”

“Are you trying to get me to hang up on you?”

“Not at all,” Mahad said and Atem could almost hear the smile in Mahad’s voice. “Merely showing respect, young prince.” A beat passed before he hesitantly continued, “However… something has come up that you need to know.”

“Need to know,” Atem remarked as he picked up the bloodied shard of mirror. She’d shoved it deep in his throat and attempted to hack him apart. He’d reacted by draining her blood mindlessly. And her blood had created a surge through him that he hadn’t known was possible. Was that not something he needed to know? “That reminds me, I have something I need to ask.”

“This is more important,” Mahad said and Atem noticed that he was trying too hard to sound gentle. There was no teasing, no ribbing. The last time Mahad had been this gentle, Atem found himself in mourning. He somehow knew what Mahad was going to say before he said it. “Your father is dead, young prince.”

And just like that, Atem’s entire world was tilted on its axis. “Father’s dead?”

[sepublic]

Eda and Loss

           Even if Young Blood, Old Souls helped remedy the pain from Agony of a Witch… It also really added to it too, in a lot of other ways! Specifically, how Eda still insists on being selfless, but is also just sort of resigned to her fate… Because so many terrible things happen to her that to Eda, she figures it must just be her inevitable fate, the way things are. That bad stuff happens to her and that’s just how it is, and all Eda can do is ensure that others like Luz or King don’t have to suffer like her…

           Like, Eda barely survives petrification, and realizes she’s lost all of her magic- And her only reaction is a tired, used-to-this, acknowledgement of what happened before immediately moving on! It really saddens me how Eda is just used to this, to suffering and loss… She can’t even take the time to wallow in self-pity and misery, because she’s always got something else to deal with, or this is a step up from what she was resigned to; Even if it’s still a step down from what she once had! And obviously it’s so Eda doesn’t fall into despair, obviously she developed this coping tactic after years of bitter loneliness and ostracization after being cursed, no doubt an intense period of depression- But still.

           Eda deserves to feel bad for herself, and to have people comfort her and agree on this- And now she does, she has Luz and King and even Lilith! Eda has the right to scream and vent about the injustice that she regularly goes through, I just want to see a one-shot or even a canon scene where she finally just loses it and breaks down, as it all catches up to her the realization of the unfairness of it all… I want Eda to cathartically soak in those feelings of bitterness and anger and despair, as she just lets it out and admits that she is NOT okay, that this is terrible and she doesn’t deserve this, she deserves better and yet others way worse than Eda get good things in life… And she HATES it!

           Eda’s played the bigger person for so long, but you know what? She’s tired of that, what has being mature reallygotten her in the end, things just keep getting worse for her as Eda keeps losing things so what’s even the point, may as well only care about herself, HUH!? Just like Lilith…! And then Luz and King… They comfort and reassure Eda quietly, supporting her righteous anger and self-advocacy. And they tell Eda that she DID get something for all of her efforts, she got the two of them. She got the defense of all those people back in the Conformatorium, and obviously it’s not right that Eda has to actively work for that kind of dignity from others when that’s something she’s naturally due and owed as a person who never did anything wrong… But at least she has it, and Eda DID succeed in getting it. She got that for herself, Eda DOES accomplish things and she doesn’t have to worry about losing them- Luz and King aren’t going anywhere, anytime soon… They’ll always come back for her!

           Maybe that played a big role in Eda’s rage when Lilith kidnapped Luz- Eda had been resigned to loss, but then she gained Luz… And when Luz was threatened, Eda decided this was the ONE thing she could not take standing, the one loss she couldn’t bear nor allow- This was the one person she’d hold onto no matter what, she doesn’t care what others say, she doesn’t care if this is the divine order of the Titan or anyone else; Especially since Luz is a PERSON, not a thing! Eda already lost Lilith, she is… She is NOT losing Luz, not if she can help it!

          She’s sick of losing people and Eda has gotten enough self-love from Luz to recognize that she at least deserves to have this kid in her life… And then of course the truth of Lilith cursing her shatters Eda’s self-confidence, because her sister already took this happiness and magic from her, Lilith took herself from Eda, and now she’s taking Luz too?! And Eda becomes resigned to her fate, and is just glad that at least Luz is safe… When really Luz insists to Eda that she should ask for Luz’s safety AND presence alongside Eda.

           And Lilith, I think the tension between her and Eda would really spike in such a cathartic moment of release, when Eda is allowed to vent about her frustrations in life. But Lilith would AGREE with Eda’s sentiments that she deserves better, and cite how she spent most of her life trying to cure the curse because she thought Eda shouldn’t have to deal with it, shouldn’t have to suffer and hurt. Lilith messed up in many ways, but she DID do a lot of terrible things because she thought they’d be the best course of action for Eda… Lilith, as misguided as she was, was motivated by the belief that Eda was better than her, deserved better than her, or at least deserved better than this- Because Eda is the world to her.

          Lilith, who hurt her more than anyone else, agrees that Eda doesn’t deserve this, and… it must be so validating, that this enigmatic curser, their unknown reasons, which must’ve haunted Eda as she wondered why she did this, if there was a justification for her suffering the way Luz or Amity wondered the same… It WASN’T valid, Eda’s reaction and hatred for the curse was 100% right and basically the world is agreeing with her considering that entire crowd and her own curser agree! And it’s scary to consider the idea that there isn’t some divine reason for your pain, that it was all meaningless and unnecessary… But once you get the worst out of the way –and Eda is USED to that- it can really open the avenue for some self-love, and accepting good things for yourself and working for them, too! Demanding those good things, being rightfully entitled to them, and reclaiming your dignity!

           So Eda has to admit, get it off her chest this one positive thing, because she’s already unloading these negative feelings… She has to confess to Lilith that her sister’s return to her side means everything to her, that it’s one thing she lost and DID get back, and then the sisters just cry and sob into each other’s shoulders because they’ve messed up, they’ve lost so much and only had each other, and they almost lost that too… But now that bond is back, and if the sisters got their friendship back, maybe they can get MORE back from this world that they’ve lost… And if not, then what they’ve taken back and even received is just fine as it is, because having each other is all they ever needed as kids; Lilith never needed the Emperor’s Coven and she realizes this. And not only that, but they have Luz and King with them, too!

           Maybe this sensation of loss plays a role into why Eda collects human trash; She’s materialistically hoarding stuff, not just as a reflection of her Owl nature… But maybe it’s also a way to cope with the losses of the intangible things in life that TRULY mattered to Eda, by making up for it with random trinkets and treasures from another world- Giving herself a kind of compensation to make up for the one she was owed but never given by others. Of course, Eda would never substitute her treasures and trinkets for actual interaction with people, and she maintains her connections with King and Luz well… But it also helps to have that AND her stuff, you know?

          So it’s only all the more tragic that Eda ends up losing her human-trash business, because she loses the portal as well; But at least she got back her sister Lilith, and that’s a sacrifice she’s glad to make. Besides, it’s no different than being resigned to being dead, and NOT having anything in life because there is no life to begin with! However, Luz had to lose her way back home, and thus her mother Camila… and I think that’s something that could bother Eda later down the line, as she feels like she failed her kid and couldn’t protect Luz from the loss Eda’s always accustomed to. Eda got back Lilith, but would she have jeopardized Luz and Camila’s connection to do so?

          But I think Luz can reassure Eda that not only is she putting too much blame onto herself for something Belos was responsible for –and that’s a recurring theme of abusers making victims feel wholly responsible for things beyond their control- but Luz doesn’t HAVE to lose Camila… It’s not hopeless. Eda thought she lost Lilith, and now she has her back… And it hasn’t even been an entire year yet, Camila and Luz don’t have nearly as huge of an emotional rift between them because of another’s mistakes… Their separation is physical, but it’s not hopeless. If Eda can get back Lilith, and gain Luz and King, Owlbert and Hooty… Then Luz could get back Camila, too- And maybe Eda could get to meet Luz’s mom, too!

           Just… Eda deserves to be petty and immature and self-serving after everything life has thrown at her and she knows it… But she doesn’t take this one thing she’s at least due, because Eda’s so focused on giving to others. Eda doesn’t make her resentment Luz’s problem, she doesn’t let her grudge against the system prevent Luz from enrolling in Hexside… And Eda knows that the girl needs guidance and maturity, and so for Luz’s sake, Eda will steel herself and be the mentor she needs! Eda doesn’t want anyone to suffer and lose like she did, she’ll focus on giving things, even at the cost of herself, to others who arguably have it better than her, because they could get even more than what they have, and deserve to! She’s so selfless and strong, and Eda has invested so much into others even at her own sacrifice… So for once she deserves to go feral as a treat, to unapologetically beat up someone who makes a cruel remark about her curse.

           Eda has been so resigned, so used to loss that she just focuses more on minimizing her losses than actually keeping what she has, or even getting things back and earning new things along the way… And it’s until Luz comes along that Eda begins to change her stance, that Eda tries to hold onto Luz, even if this doesn’t last and that night ends with Eda sacrificing herself. Eda thinks loss is such an inherent inevitability of her, such a written-in-stone fate, that she basically tries to claim this on her own terms, by deliberately sacrificing things she knows she’ll lose anyway, by giving them to those who actually deserve it- Instead of letting those lost things fade away into oblivion meaninglessly.

          Eda is resigned to losing magic, so she figures she may as well lose it by protecting Luz, VS having it just dwindle away meaninglessly. She’s resigned to being petrified, so Eda figures she may as well throw herself into the beam to protect King and Lilith in the process. Eda is resigned to losing Luz moments before her execution, so she gives Luz the portal so Luz can at least go home. It’s like Eda knows it’s better to accept this than to fight it, so then she can take control and initiative of what she CAN change… If Eda accepts loss then maybe she can have a say in how it happens, and how it can also give to others as well. If she thinks that she loses everything and is given only pain in return, then Eda uses that pain to motivate herself to protect others from it.

          Maybe that played into why Eda chose to give Luz the Witch’s Wool cloak, initially meant to protect her! Perhaps Eda was resigned to eventually becoming an Owl Beast, to dying or being captured, and having that cloak taken from her… So why not give it to someone else who needs it more than her, a kid who has an actual chance at avoiding misfortune? Give it to Luz, who can make the most of this cloak and her own potential, and has been doing so; Unlike Eda, who had so much magical potential, but never got to properly explore it thanks to the Coven System and the curse.

          The worst part is that Eda WAS right- By reserving the cloak for Luz, it wasn’t confiscated with her when she was captured… And with the cloak’s protective abilities, Luz was able to succeed in rescuing Eda! So Eda’s kindness and investment in others does come around, and pay off… And the best part is that she never expects it to, she’s just being unconditionally kind! It’s always a pleasant surprise… Albeit because Eda’s expectations are always lowered, if not outright non-existent thanks to her horrific trauma.

          It plays into her cynicism, anticipating/assuming the worst and preparing for it… Such as thinking Luz will ditch her after finding Hexside as an alternate teacher, or after learning about the curse; So Eda tries to avoid getting too attached to this kid. Or when she’s afraid that Hexside will only traumatize Luz, so initially she tries to discourage her… While also giving Luz an out with that Quitter Badge on her first day, no judgment! Eda expects the worst for herself and so tries to protect others from it by offering a support network, a safety net to recover from mistakes and learn from them… So it really means so much more to her when good things happen.

           And Luz is such an excellent foil to this mindset… She’s positive, she’s still young and fresh, she righteously demands good things for herself and others and gets them, and Eda does everything to support this! Eda WANTS Luz to know that she deserves to get better things in life, she neither has to accept losses, nor minimize them… Nor just hold onto what she already has, Luz can make things better for herself! And Eda WANTS her to!

          Even when Luz lost the portal and her mother, she managed to hold onto Eda and her friends when she could’ve lost them as well- She got back Eda’s regular form, and got the help and companionship of Lilith as well. Luz even got people to protest against the Emperor’s Coven, on Eda’s behalf! Eda and Luz both make the most of a situation, sometimes even expand upon that- Luz is just a lot more hopeful and optimistic in that regard, and she’s got good support from Eda.

          It’s ironic that Luz’s name sounds phonetically similar to ‘Lose’, yet she’s gained so much for herself and others… And like Luz herself said; If she has to lose, she can make Belos lose a couple of things himself! Make the losses mutual, to deter them from anyone else who’d want to keep causing them, because they may not be as willing nor mature about handling sacrifice for such a selfish goal. Eda doesn’t have to lose anything, to give, and Luz wants to make her know this; That giving to others can, as corny as it sounds, be fulfilling in its own way, it can lead to one gaining a different kind of thing in life!

          Eda gave something as unconditional, as endless as her love and appreciation towards Luz, and Luz returned that tenfold… It’s sweet that Eda is resigned to loss and turning it into sacrifice for others, but Luz is here to remind Eda that she doesn’t have to just accept losing things anymore, just as Eda encourages Luz not to accept the status quo. If Luz can do it for herself and others, among them Eda… Eda can do the same for herself, after doing that for Luz and so forth!

          Like I said before- Luz is someone who asks why can’t she and others have it all, instead of just settling for the best option, and/or one of them… And she really learned that from Eda, who was normally resigned to loss, because she doubted her ability to get better things in life for herself, and thought she could only pass this opportunity on to others. Eda has always believed in the question of why can’t people have it all, she just began to see herself as the one exception… But no, why can’t EDA get in on this, too!? That’s something Luz can ask Eda to consider, and override any answer/justification she’s given, because Eda shouldn’t take no for an answer.

          She’s always questioning of authority, and been forging her own path, making her own things from seemingly nothing, finding value even in human garbage and creating her own meaning from them beyond whatever they were intended for… Just as Eda encourages others to make their own paths and identities beyond whatever anyone else, be it a Coven System or a Titan’s alleged will, ordains! You’re more than what others make/intend for you to be… Kind of like how the Blight kids could’ve been brought into this world by Odalia and Alador to continue the Blight legacy of ‘greatness and strength’, but the kids can choose to redefine themselves and make their own purpose in life, or how Luz shouldn’t settle for any ‘destiny’ and just make the one she wants for herself.

          Eda deliberately looks for and finds meaning in things, and if it’s not there she’ll make it herself; Like Luz’s own skills as a witch apprentice! Eda finds the inherent beauty in nature, and it’s an appreciation passed onto Luz, a philosophy to really pay attention and look, that leads to the discovery and reclaiming of lost glyphs! Eda finds something in rejection, in stuff and people considered outcast and detrimental, and it leads to her belief that fellow weirdoes really need to stick together, because they can find solidarity and happiness there, or create it anyway. People like Eda lost the approval of society, lost family members who rejected them… But from that rejection, they can learn and make a home for others to gain in return, as at least some compensation for their losses- A found family that could even more than make up for the blood family that had been lost! And if you can get back those lost familial bonds; The more, the merrier!

          Eda’s such a productive and efficient, headstrong person in regards to handling tragedy… But at the same time, just for once, PLEASE let her be unapologetically selfish! That’s something Eda was always due and owed, and yet she had to earn it… And Eda’s more than earned it multiple times over. I’m sure Luz and the others would be glad to provide, but just once I’d love to see some universal acknowledgement of how much Eda is owed, and actually give her something for once, without Eda having to fight and work tooth and nail for it. Eda doesn’t want others to suffer and fight for good things like she had to, it influences her kindness to Luz… Let her kindness come around to her! Eda is a GODDESS and deserves to be worshipped as such, she shouldn’t take “No” for an answer- Eda should take what she wants and is owed anyway!

[leiawritesstories]

Burden

One of the first fics I ever wrote. Inspired by the Evanescence song “My Immortal.”

Nexta x Cassian, canonverse. Written waaaaaaay before ACOSF came along, so ignore canon divergence. 

TW: mentions of sexual assault

She is tired. Tired of the work, the long hours, the demanding pricks she must placate, the front she must show, tired of the façade she puts up, and so, so tired of locking away her heart. 

But locking away her heart is the only way to protect herself.

Never again can she let anyone, anyone, know the storm of emotion that rages within her soul. Never again can she allow herself to forge one-sided trust. Never again can she bare her inmost self, lest she be left cold, broken, and utterly alone. Never again can she watch the only person she thought  loved her dash her heart against the rocks of rejection. Never again. No one.

Not even him.

Him, the first male in this place to look at her like she was more than the silent, haughty, closed-off bitch the others considered her. Him, the only male to genuinely offer her what she needed during those horrible days after that bastard shoved her into his Cauldron-from-the- hells and cursed her with immortality: an outlet for her rage. Him, the male tied to her soul. Him, the male she cannot allow herself to love, no matter what her traitorous heart screams. 

Cassian.

The brash, cocky, fearless Illyrian. The only male in the world who sees her as she is and does not balk. The only person she knows who can face the raging inferno that is her and stand completely unfazed. 

Her mate.

A fact she must squelch. Never let it come to light. Never allow it to escape the steel cage around her volatile heart. 

No matter that every time her mate’s eyes fall upon hers, she reads his unspoken question.

Please. 

And no matter that every time she reads his heart written in his gaze, her own repressed heart leaps in response. Damn her heart for always feeling so deeply, so wholly. Damn her for not learning to rein in her emotions earlier. Damn her for turning into a pillar of steel, ice, and heartlessness when anyone so much as asks her a polite question. And damn her for being so godsdamn terrified of letting anyone even an infinitesimal step into her heart. 

Her warrior’s heart.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He watches her every moment she is present. And every moment, the pull on his soul grows stronger, ever stronger, drawing him towards the pillar of steel, flame, and unflinching willpower that is Nesta Archeron. He knows she feels the bond. He knows she refuses to let anyone know about the bond. He sees the faint flicker of fear in those glorious eyes of hers every time he speaks to her. A fear, not of him, but of what connects her soul to his. 

What horror happened to her to make her fear having a mate?

Not that he will ever know. But he wants to. Oh, how he wants to. How he longs for her to trust him, or if not him, then at least her sisters. He can sense that whatever she hides in her soul weighs heavily upon her, can see the burden she bears in the ramrod-straight line of her spine. And how he yearns to take some of that weight off of her shoulders. 

Every time he speaks to her, she pushes away his efforts to make her smile. He wonders if she has forgotten joy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She has not.

She has merely forgotten that her life can be joyful. She cannot see past the string of terrible events that made up the last months of her human life. And she cannot bring herself to share the pain that shattered her heart mere months before life went straight to hell. 

Not with anyone.

No matter how much her brain, her heart, her soul push her towards spilling the entire story to her mate. Months in the Illyrian Mountains spent by his side, learning Illyrian combat tactics, dissolved the hatred she once felt for everyone in the Night Court, save her sisters. During those months, she discovered what lay under the Commander’s armor: his impossibly soft, warm heart. During those months, she came the closest she had ever come to revealing the scars that mottled her heart. He’d already seen the ones on her forearms, exposed during training; why, then, should she hide the mental ones, the emotional ones? 

Because he would never understand, she thinks to herself. 

“Nesta.”

She jumps, not realizing that while she was lost in her thoughts, he crossed over to her.

“What.” A statement, not a question. 

“I…” To her shock, he trails off, self-consciously twisting the Siphons on the back of his hands. 

“Bryaxis got your tongue?”

He jerks. A ghost of a smirk flits across her face. Which he notices. “By the Mother, Nesta Archeron. Did you just…joke?”

“Maybe.” That smirk returns.

He gazes at her, his eyes scanning her face as if trying to peer into her soul. “Why the long face?”

“Memories. From before. Most of them best forgotten.” Despite her iron resolve, a flicker of pain crosses her face. 

“Nesta, please.” The word emerges a broken plea. “Locking away whatever your terrors are will only make them worse. Please. Tell someone. It doesn’t have to be me. It—”

“What if you’re the only one who will actually listen?”

He freezes. “What?”

Her eyes, silver collecting in the corners, stare directly into his. “What if you’re the only one I trust to listen, fully and completely?”

Red light flares, and she finds herself—and Cassian—in his familiar wood-paneled cabin at the edge of the Illyrian woods. “Then speak.”

She does.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Not quite three months before Hybern kidnapped her and Elain, Nesta met a young man, new to the village. His parents were merchants, he said, and he had come to start a shop in an area where their commerce did not yet reach. He was passably handsome, and a sweeter talker than all the lecherous bastards in town. He also “happened to be around” whenever Nesta ventured into town. After his appearances became too frequent to be “chance,” Nesta allowed him to flirt with her, and despite her better sense, allowed herself to flirt back. Allowed herself to share her secrets, her hopes, her dreams.

A month after meeting him, he finally asked her to dinner, and she accepted. He came to her house that evening and charmed the hell out of her father, acting the perfect gentleman, even asking his assistance as a bookkeeper, considering his knowledge and experience as a trader. It was a pleasant enough dinner and conversation, a pleasant enough evening.

Until he escorted her home.

Or, more accurately, he escorted her into a secluded alley and pressed her against the wall. And clamped one greasy hand over her mouth. And ripped her skirt straight down the seam. Frozen with shock, all Nesta registered was his heavy breath, reeking of alcohol, and the lust-crazed sheen of his eyes. For one interminable moment, she could neither move nor think beyond the nasty, oily feeling of his other hand crawling up her thigh. 

The moment passed. Nesta bit down on his hand as hard as she could, earning a strangled grunt as he jerked back. Before he could manhandle her again, she drove her elbow into his ribs once, twice, thrice, and was rewarded with a satisfying crack and him doubling over. Then, she turned and fled into the night. 

She reached home in moments, burst through the side door, and barred it. Elain, who had come into the kitchen for some reason, gasped. 

“Nesta! Your dress! What happened?”

Nesta could only shake her head, the horror of the encounter crashing into her full force. Elain, seeing her sister’s obvious state of shock, helped her upstairs, into a bath, and into bed. When Nesta appeared the next day, bruising on her face from where she had been gripped, her sister again asked about the night before. Nesta refused to answer. She spent years stuffing the memory of that night as far back into her memory as she could. 

But the effects lasted. To this day, she fears opening her heart to any man, no matter how good, how sweet, how outwardly perfect he may seem. The scars from nearly being forcibly raped linger. And despite the years between then and now, there is simply too much that time cannot erase. Some scars run too deep. 

His name was Tomas Mandray.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the silence following her story, Nesta realizes that she has slumped onto the worn wooden floor, unable to support herself against the flood of her memory. She realizes that the warmth on her face is her tears, falling freely. 

And that the one thing keeping her tethered to the earth is Cassian’s hand around hers. 

She lifts her head, drawing in a shaky breath, her heart…lighter. 

Ever so hesitantly, his thumb brushes her cheek, wiping away the tears tracked there. He feels her tense, and then, incredibly, she relaxes, allowing him to brush the tears from her face as if he could erase the pain she feels. 

Deep in a buried corner of her mind, a thread of golden light pierces the shadows. 

Thank you, Cassian.

Always, my Nesta.

[katnissmellarkkk]

Summary: At the Seventy-Fourth Reaping for The Hunger Games, volunteering is outlawed, thanks to a tribute four years prior. Because of this, when Katniss’ sister Prim’s name is chosen from the bowl, there’s nothing she can do but hope that Peeta Mellark, past victor and now Prim’s mentor, can somehow bring her sister home alive. (Obviously heavy on Everlark.) 

AN: Hi! I don’t really have a big author’s note or anything--at least, I don’t think I do? We’ll see how long this trails on--but this is one of the fics I’ve been working on for a while. It’s multi-chaptered so there’s gonna be a lot more coming in the future, but this first chapter is honestly a little similar to the original book, with some (significant) deviations here and there, but after this first chapter, this story becomes extremely different from canon. I gotta thank, obviously, @rosegardeninwinter​ for a). making me my pretty lil banner and for b). reading the million, unpolished, unedited screenshots of my drafts that I’m sure ya’ll got tired of really quick. And also for encouraging me to write this in the first place. And also, I gotta thank everyone who liked and reblogged the lil story edit I posted months ago for this concept. It really encouraged me to write this concept out. (I’m talking about this edit right here if you forgot or never saw x). Okay, anyways, I’m talking too much but thank you! Also link to this story on AO3 [x].

Chapter One :

I stare out into the sky, introspective, as I wait for familiar footsteps to approach. The footfalls of my hunting partner, my friend even, Gale, still remain absent, despite our longstanding agreement to hunt on Reaping Day, no matter how hot it is, or how scarce the game, or how worried we may be deep inside.

Of course, how could a couple kids from the Seam not worry about Reaping Day? At least a slight bit, deep down?

Reaping Day. The day that decides the almost absolute fate of a lucky—as our assigned escort, straight from the Capitol itself, so proudly proclaims—boy and girl.

We're District Twelve. The smallest and one of the poorest districts in the country of Panem. There's an almost guarantee that whoever gets their name picked from the reaping bowl, even the strongest eighteen-year-old boy in the district, will have an almost sure fate of death. Likely before the number of tributes drops below twenty.

Tributes from our district almost never fare well inside the arena.

Almost never.

We have had a few winners in history, two of which are still around, but a few out of seventy-three games isn't inspiring much hope in anyone today.

The wind breezes against my arms, prickling the hair at the back of my neck, and I'm struck by the memory of being out here, in the forbidden territory of the woods, outside our district limits, when I was just a kid. When my dad was the one hunting and I was just along for the ride. Just along because I wanted to be with him. When I used to blindly trust him and my mother, when I thought he'd live forever, when I was too young to truly grasp the concept of the Hunger Games. When I was too young to truly grasp the concept of the world in which we live.

When I was eleven my every illusion was shattered violently. Almost as violently as the death in which my father must have endured, underground in those mines, as they exploded.

I remember hearing the alarm at school, blaring so cacophonously over the speakers that it shook the schoolrooms themselves. I remember blindly grappling through the scurrying bodies of my classmates, until I found my way to my little sister, Primrose. Her room was completely empty, but she still remained, sitting behind her desk with small folded hands, waiting for my arrival with excessive patience.

I'd always coached her on what we'd do, if there ever should be a mine accident. I made sure she knew the drill, just as I knew it. Like the back of my hand. Like a prayer or a lullaby. I could recite it in my sleep. Because my father had just as sternly instilled it into me.

I wove my way through the chaos of bodies and white-hot panic, towing Prim only inches behind me by the hand, as the kids from town lingered in the hallways, their classic, bright blue eyes large and their voices all quivering, and as the kids from the Seam dutifully made their way to the nearest exits, hoping and praying and begging silently that it wasn't their parent who had been hurt. Hoping the accident hadn't taken what was typically the sole provider in most households, here in the poorest section, in the most impoverished district.

Prim and I must have not hoped hard enough, because we learned almost immediately upon finding our mother, who was now immobilized with grief, her characteristic gentle smile eviscerated and in it's place, a blank stare, void of any life at all, that our every fear from hearing that alarm were coming true.

My mom was supposed to get a job. She was supposed to find a way to provide for us, to take care of her two daughters, who were grieving her husband just as much as she was.

But instead she lay in bed day after day. On the good mornings, maybe if Prim begged and pleaded, she'd move to a chair, in front of the fireplace and stare at the flames with the same vacant expression that had replaced the loving, kind woman who'd raised us.

The money from the government, the minuscule amount of money given to keep us afloat until our mother found work, ran out. The meat our father had hunted, the plants he'd saved, ran out. The food we had the small luxury of sometimes buying—or more times than not, trading for—quickly ran out.

And our mother still did absolutely nothing.

I take a deep breath now and try to force myself to forgive her. Forgive her for not being strong enough to keep going, forgive her for not caring enough about her own children to keep them alive in the face of her grief, forgive her for being so in love that losing my father had almost killed her too.

I know it's what my father would want. And I know it's something I can't let myself do. Because if I let her off the hook, it's like saying it's okay that she almost let Prim wither away to nothing. Forget me. I will never forgive her for almost taking my little sister away from me.

Our mother did absolutely nothing until Prim's ribs were prominent, until my stomach was nearly hallow, until our cheekbones were so blatantly obvious you could count them from down the road.

And all my fears, all my resolve, to keep the three of us together as a family, went out the window. There was nothing left to do, but wait for me and Prim to be taken to the Community Home, with the other orphans or kids from unsafe families. Kids who still remained too thin, who's eyes told stories no ear wanted to hear, who still wore bruises upon their skin like freckles from the sun, who looked nearly worse than the corpses I encountered every winter, while walking from the Seam to town. Those corpses were the unlucky ones who'd actually starved to death, who had sat down to merely rest, because they had no substance to carry them any further, and somehow never got back up.

On that day, at eleven years old, living in the Community Home sounded no worse than living with the immobilized shell that had once been my mother. My resolve to hold out until my birthday, until I could get the tesserae that would feed my family for an entire year, was shattered by the harsh raindrops pelting me from the grey, unforgiving sky.

I vaguely heard the baker's wife, the mean-spirited woman, with her deeply embittered, hostile blue eyes that somehow seemed black, scream at me, calling me names, shooing me from her property.

I'd simply wanted to rummage her trashcan, so desperate for any small morsel to take back to Prim, any motivation to take even another step forward, when I felt her rough and calloused hands shove me away.

I toppled over, my legs already weak and shaky from lack of nutrition and substance. My depleted form laid on the ground, my eyes bleary from exhaustion and the shivering wind and rain.

The witch went back inside the bakery as I scarcely conjured up the will to sit upright. I was beyond done. The fighting to even gain a fraction of my mother's awareness, to get something, anything, to feed myself and my starving sister, to even stand up, became overwhelming and I felt the last bit of my resolve crumble from deep inside.

Let them come and take me and Prim to the Community Home. I don't care any longer. Let them come.

Out of the corner of my eye, a boy exited out the same backdoor the witch had gone through. He was carrying a bag of trash in his hands and my famished mind focused on that first, focused on what could be inside the contents of that bag, on what a baker could potentially be throwing away, before I realized the boy was in my year at school. I knew him, or at least, I knew his face. But he stuck with the other blonde-haired, fair-skinned town kids and I didn't even remember his name in that moment.

In hindsight, that's absolutely hysterical now.

But he evaporated as soon as he'd appeared and I closed my eyes and let the rain drown me, hoping perhaps I could be swallowed up within the downpour itself. Hoping that perhaps I'd never have to face the reality that I was out of options and I had nothing of subsidence to take home.

But then I heard a clatter and a clang and the sound of a scream. It was her, the witch. She was screaming and calling someone names my own mother had never even uttered in my lifetime.

I mentally prepared myself for her to come back outside, to drive me away with a stick or a knife. Or possibly even a hot, scorching prong.

But it wasn't the witch. It was the boy, the one from my year. The one I thought went back inside after taking out the trash, that I believed didn't even notice me before.

He was carrying bread. Two loaves, in fact. The crusts were black and burned and the welt across his face told me, without a doubt, that he was the target of the witch's insults. That he was the victim of whatever clanging noise I heard.

And though I was the one starving to death, I didn't envy him having her for a mother.

I remember vividly, the most crystal clear image I have of this day, the boy checking and making sure the witch's attention had been claimed elsewhere. And then, without even glancing in my direction, he tossed one loaf of bread to my feet. Seconds later, the other followed.

He didn't hesitate to head back inside after that, and I've spent more time in these last four years than I'd more than likely care to admit, wondering what possessed him to commit such an act of kindness. No one was kind for free, I'd learned by that point.

And yet, as I shook myself forcefully out of my stupor, and carried the loaves back to my house at the edge of the Seam, I had no explanation for his simple act. I had no basis to explain why he would help me, when no one else ever had.

The next day, I saw him at school. I passed by him in the hallway, and saw his eye had now blackened, his cheek welted, but somehow he still managed a joyous smile. He didn't notice me then. He was surrounded by his friends. Like always, he was surrounded by a constant crowd.

He is, after all, one of the most charming and sweet people Panem's ever known.

Later that day, when I was about to walk home with Prim, who was excitedly chattering about the leftover bread awaiting us on the kitchen table, the bread I'd brought home the night prior that had filled our stomachs for the first time in months, I caught the boy looking in our direction. My grey Seam eyes met his baby blues for a microsecond, before he looked away. I snapped my gaze downwards too, embarrassed, when I caught sight of a dandelion.

It was that moment that a bell went off in my head. That I saw how I could survive, how Prim could survive. How, through the things my dad had taught me, I could keep me and my sister alive.

After that day, I could never stop associating the boy with the bread, the one who gave me hope, with the dandelion that reminded me I wasn't doomed.

I never stopped associating him with his simple act of kindness, even when he became famous for some much less appreciable acts.

And I never stopped kicking myself for failing to thank him, for saving my life and my family's life, before he was whisked away, to a land far from Twelve, called the Capitol. When he later returned, now a part of a much more elite social class, thanking him for his kindness became even less of a possibility.

A girl from the Seam had no business seeking out a boy from Victor's Village. Even if I did have the guts.

Though he isn't exactly in good company here in Twelve, seeing as the only other person who holds the same title is a drunken, middle-aged man who can barely form a coherent sentence most days and lives like a hermit by his own volition.

My thoughts are interrupted by the quiet—almost as quiet as mine, but not quite—steps of Gale.

"You're late," I state without turning around, pulling the cheese from my pocket. "You're lucky Prim's cheese held up under the sun."

But Gale pulls something even more impressive from behind his back. "This will probably go nice with it," he says and I almost gasp.

Fresh bread is so rare in our district, generally reserved for the Peacekeepers and perhaps a merchant who is having a good day. Here in the Seam, fresh bread from the bakery is as common as new school shoes.

Gale updates me on his day as we split the bread and cheese and have our own version of a small feast. He'd gotten to the woods early, while I had been still at home, and shot a squirrel to which he traded for the bread.

"The baker really went for that?" I ask in disbelief. The baker was a subdued, large man, who resembled all three of his sons quietly strongly, and was one of my dad's best customers. Sometimes I think he still trades with me and Gale out of respect to my dad's memory, but a simple squirrel for a loaf of fresh bread isn't common.

"I think he was feeling generous this morning," Gale suggests a little snidely, his bitterness leaking through. "Besides. It's not like the Mellark's need the money they ask for bread. They could easily skim off their precious son and he'd probably never notice."

Gale has a special affinity for hating anyone and anything associated even minimally with the Capitol. He was lost his father in the same mine explosion I lost mine in. But whereas I don't let myself get too worked up over the inequities between the town and the Seam, and especially between us all and the victors, Gale takes a special pride in fuming over the things he cannot change.

I don't mind listening usually, since neither of us can speak our minds in public or even within our own homes, out of fear small ears will pick up on our words and repeat them elsewhere. But today, I just don't have the energy to be a sounding board.

Instead I take a segue towards a slightly different topic, but one, without a doubt, weighing on both our minds. "Prim has been having nightmares of the reaping," I murmur solemnly. "She's convinced they're going to call her name."

Gale shook his head, his demeanor becoming more subdued now. "Least Prim's name is only in there once, Catnip. Rory had to take tesserae this year."

I nod silently at that admission, knowing what it must have cost him to even allow his little brother to take additional risks of being called. Knowing it meant his family of five must be even more hungry than he leads on.

We don't say much more after that, only lingering in the woods long enough to catch some additional game from what I've already collected, and hurry back to town to trade.

As we walk back to the Seam, having divided up our goods evenly, Gale murmurs suddenly, "I might be able to stomach the idea of Rory's name being in that bowl six times if we were still allowed to volunteer."

I bypass his words the best I can. I don't want to think about what Gale must be going through, making himself sick with worry, not for himself but for a sibling in which he considers himself responsible for. And, as it happens once in a lucky moon, I feel grateful that my tesserae is still sufficient for a family of three, and I don't have to worry about Prim the same way. Her one entry pales in comparison to the thousands that are piled in that bowl.

Still, the silence between us as we walk is deafening and I can't take it any longer as we come closer to my house. "At least then, you'd get to see the Capitol," I say lightly, as a means to brighten his mood, even just a little.

At that, Gale rewards me with a humorless smirk. "Generous of the president, isn't it? To allow us district people to experience the great Capitol firsthand while they slaughter our family."

And it's true. Just a few years ago, it was allowed to volunteer as tribute in the place of whoever's name got chosen, as long as you were the same gender and between twelve and eighteen on Reaping Day.

But four years ago, when a twelve-year-old boy volunteered for his seventeen-year-old brother, an outrage sparked across the entire country. People are never happy, in any district, to see a twelve-year-old be chosen for the games. They're the youngest, the smallest, the most innocent, and never in history had a single one made it past the Final Fifteen in the games.

So when one volunteered, the country wasn't pleased in the slightest. However, like always, the anger was contained by Peacekeepers in a matter of weeks, and promises came pouring out from the Capitol that a change would be made after the games that year to ensure never again would this situation occur.

And it never again could. Because three days after the Seventieth Hunger Games, President Snow announced that all volunteering, from that point forward, was officially banned.

This new law is even more ironic when you realize that the twelve-year-old volunteer from that year became the youngest victor in the entire history of the games.

Still, I suppose the president was feeling generous that day, and he threw in a bonus treat for us in the districts. Now when someone is chosen from the reaping bowl, though their fate is sealed definitively when their name is uttered, they get to choose one family member to take on the train ride to the Capitol with them, to get a special viewing of the games with the mentors and the sponsors and the past victors, to get to experience the wonder that is the mysterious Candy Capitol firsthand.

However, when all is said and done, twenty-three family members must ride the train home alone to their districts, with their loved one in a casket beside them. The thought chills me to the bone and I shiver as me and Gale wish each other good luck. We probably won't see each other again until it's time for the customary dinner we all try to put on with our neighbors to celebrate, even minimally, that we've survived another year unchosen.

Prim is already wearing my first reaping outfit when I enter the house, though it is a bit large on her. She's slimmer than even I was at Twelve, despite her having months on me when I attended my first reaping.

I get ready quickly, if only because I want to spend time with her before we have to go. I protect Prim in every way I can but I'm powerless against the reaping.

Still, she's only entered once and that's as safe as anyone can get from being chosen. It's almost unheard in the Seam to be that safe from the games.

But my sister never did appear like she fit in here anyway. Her golden blonde hair and sky blue eyes resemble the merchants, not the Seam, and her and our mother stick out like sore thumbs next to our neighbors.

Our mom is restless now, busying herself with preparing the food for our small feast tonight and braiding Prim's hair and then mine.

I still haven't fully forgiven her for leaving us when we needed her most, but I also can't imagine how difficult it must be to have to send both your children off to be potentially chosen for an absolute death. And I let her hug me as I guide Prim out the door.

Attendance is mandatory for all in the district, but the ones viable for being chosen and those just watching don't typically enter together.

I guide Prim by hand into town, the walk feeling longer than it did with Gale. Perhaps it's the trembling twelve-year-old I'm towing, or perhaps I'm more afraid than I'm even admitting to myself.

After all, unlike my sister, I have twenty slips with my name splayed across this year. It's not as a bad as someone like Gale, who has forty-four chances of being called. But it's not as safe as the kids from town, who likely only have to worry about a handful of slips with their names.

Its not that they're rich by any standard, but they get by better than those in the Seam. Even if they're hungry, they're not at risk of starving, and no one is going to sign up for tesserae unless there is no alternative.

A year ago, my mother let it slip once over dinner, just out of the blue really, that my father had always sworn no child of his would be in need of tesserae.

I shake my head, as if to physically rid myself of the reminder. I don't want to dwell on what my father would feel if he were here. I don't want to be reminded how different things would be if he hadn't died.

I help Prim sign in and then drop her off, as gently as I can, with the other girls her age. At the last minute, she pulls on my hand, yanking me back to her with surprising force.

"Prim, I have to go stand with the sixteens," I say as she leans up and kisses my cheek.

"I just wanted to say I love you," she whispers softly, her big blue eyes so terrified, and then she steps back into the crowd of twelves surrounding her.

I sigh softly and give her what I hope is a reassuring smile. She truly is the best of our parents. Kind, smart, level-headed. She's funny and resourceful too, even if she can't take hunting animals herself.

She is the only person I'm certain that I love. And just about the only thing that keeps me going most days.

As I make my way to the sixteens, straightening my mother's dress on my hips, I check the clock. Only five minutes before we start. Before our lovely Capitol escort, Effie Trinket, reads off two names in her distinctive, afflicted accent. Before two kids know they're never coming home again.

This place isn't much. But it is all we've ever known, and no one wishes to leave it.

As more people crowd in, I begin to pick up an excited buzz in the girls surrounding me. Already knowing what I'll see, I crane my neck just the same, to peer up at the stage ahead.

Sure enough, I see exactly what I knew I would.

There's four chairs set up on the stage. One for Effie Trinket, because no one from the Capitol could ever bear to stand for more than three minutes at a time and she must have a seat to relax in before she calls out the names and sends two of us—a lucky boy and girl, as she says it—to the slaughter.

One of the other chairs is occupied by Mayor Undersee. A man who looks like he's been beaten down by life too many times as it is and would rather be anywhere but here. His daughter is my age. She sits with me at lunch, since Gale is two grades ahead of me and we rarely see each other at school. We make polite small talk but other than that, I barely know anything about her, and by association, her father.

However, it's neither of them that's stirring up the buzz within the crowd—admittedly, more so with the female portion of the crowd—and it's definitely not Haymitch Abernathy, who's stumbling on stage right at this moment. He managed to win the Fiftieth Hunger Games and I still can't imagine how. He's a paunchy man my mother's age and he's never sober, on the rare time he's even seen in public. Today is no exception, as he flops onto a chair gruffly, and murmurs something unintelligible with his eyes closed.

No, the murmuring, the now batting eyes and coy smiles, the soft vibrato still traveling within the crowd, are all because of the last guest of honor, walking upon the stage right behind his old mentor.

Peeta Mellark.

Winner of the Seventieth Hunger Games. Youngest ever. District Twelve's first and last volunteer. The twelve-year-old that changed the rules for the entire country.

The youngest mass murderer in history of Panem.

And now one of it's most beloved celebrities.

Peeta is smart—brilliantly smart—and he's always been charismatic. Even at twelve, he had the Capitol audience, as well as every single soul watching on television at home, eating out of the palm of his hand.

It doesn't hurt that at sixteen, he's become quite a looker. His blonde curls, his blue eyes, those long lashes and bubblegum pink lips. His fair, perfect skin that has not a blemish in sight. His toned, muscular body and devastatingly genuine smile that no one can help but fall in love with.

He's also the boy who saved my life. The one who committed the simple act of kindness, knowing it would cost him, to help me.

I never thanked him. And now I never can, as I'm sure he has zero memory of me. After everything else that's happened to him since, after the last four years of living as a Capitol darling, as one of the country's most cherished victors, he'd never remember the starving eleven-year-old he threw some burned bread to in a rainstorm.

But I remember him. I don't know if it's what he did for me that day or what he did for his brother only a matter of weeks later, but something about Peeta Mellark crawled under my skin four years ago and ever since, I've never been able to completely shake the feeling I get inside upon seeing him.

I break my gaze away, refusing to stare at the boy, who I will always accredit as the one who saved my life. I venomously refuse to gawk at him, like every other girl in the district.

He rarely comes out of his house when he's home here in Twelve, and I know the overzealous amount of attention he receives just by going to his parents' bakery has to be at least a part of the reason. Unlike Haymitch, who has lost his clout and his appeal with age and with deterioration, Peeta has only gained more and more notoriety as the years pass by.

You'd be hard pressed to find anyone in Twelve, outside of a few outliers like Gale perhaps, who'd say a negative word about Peeta Mellark.

Of course, rumors about his random and long stretches spent in the Capitol itself are always floating around, no matter what time of year it is, but they don't affect his public persona or anyone's opinion of him. He is, after all, the most valuable figure Twelve has and perhaps the only thing we can take any pride in.

Effie Trinket steps up to the microphone just as I turn my head away from the stage. "Welcome!" She greets, so vivaciously, so brightly, I can't imagine it even resonates in her head that she's just moments away from announcing two of our impending funerals. "Welcome, everyone! To the reaping for the Seventy-Fourth Annual Hunger Games!"

I can't even bear to listen as she prattles on, with too much confidence and dignity for someone dressed in every neon color known to man, speaking in such a peculiar accent, with a thickly painted face that is so blatantly visible to the every eye here today, even in the back row. Doesn't she realize how ridiculous she is to us? Doesn't she realize how wrong it is to preach about the morals and disciplines of the Capitol, in such a prideful voice, when they're the ones about to murder us for entertainment, and in repentance for a long over war that only a few elders can still remember?

As I advert my eyes, my gaze travels once again to the back of the stage, and I'm more than a little surprised to see Peeta Mellark with a similar expression as mine. He, too, is shifting his eyes elsewhere, away from his own escort, looking sick to his stomach.

Of course, it still can't be easy for him, even with his own games four years in the past. He was a literal child when he volunteered and it's fact that he didn't understand what he was getting himself into when he took his brother's place that fateful day. His innocence was stolen as soon as the countdown ended and talk still circulates, even in the Hob, that he wakes up screaming most nights, calling out the names of fallen tributes. Though those words are not given much weight in the Seam, as we all know, people get bored in this tiny district and bored people begin to spew lies whenever encouraged.

Effie continues, in a long overdone mantra, one I could recite in my sleep, the same one she spews every year, that two kids from every district must be chosen to battle to the death in a new and invigorating—one of her favorite words—arena, in order to pay for the blood shed during the rebellion and war, in order to ensure we'll never again even think to rebel.

It would almost be easier to swallow, this whole charade, if the people sent from the strange land of the Capitol would just be honest and blunt with us. If they'd just admit that they see us as lesser than, as animals or beasts of some sort, as less than human beings. It'd be easier if the Capitol spokespeople would just outright say, "we'll take your children, we'll starve your district, we'll ruin your homes, we'll broadcast the deaths of those you love most, all to keep you too powerless to fight. In order to make sure you never are able to stand strong, we have to kick your legs out from under you first."

Instead of being honest though, Effie Trinket is reiterating the Treaty Of Treason, in a tone so serious that it takes all the self-control possible to stop several boys standing in the fourteens from bursting out laughing. Her accent and a serious tone do not mesh well together.

Once she's done though, my heart automatically skips a beat. Because, after four years of standing in this square, I know exactly what's coming. "Ladies first!" Effie announces and I feel a bead of sweat glide down my forehead, both from anxiety and from the overload of heat. Reapings always take place in the start of the hottest month of the year.

Standing in my mother's well-crafted dress, one of the most luxurious pieces of clothing we own, only makes my perspiration worsen, as the dress was clearly made to keep the wearer as warm as possible.

Our district escort makes her way over the bowl containing the names of every girl eligible to be picked in the entire district and I feel myself take in a breath involuntarily.

There's twenty chances she's going to call out my name. Twenty chances I'll be sent to an almost imminent death. Twenty chances Prim will grow into her teen years, and later adulthood, without a sister.

The gut-churning fear I'd repressed all morning, in that moment, overtakes my entire being, curling up like a ball in the pit of my stomach, as I do my best to listen on baited breath, somehow expecting to hear my own name spoken through the raucous microphone for all to hear.

Don't be me, I whisper inside my head, more fearful than I'd ever admit out loud. Don't be me. Please, don't be me.

And, as it turns out, it's not me.

Instead it's the name I never in a million years thought I'd hear. The name I believed to be so safe I didn't even allow myself to worry about her.

"Primrose Everdeen!"

[babi-correia]

You’re My Sunshine

From Anon:

Hey girl! Would you mind doing another Jay Halstead pr maybe Jesse Lee Soffer imagine/one shot*? Maybe being the hidden girlfriend? Thanks hun!

Words: 2147 Warnings: Kidnapping, torture, canonical violence Pairing: Jay Halstead x Officer!Reader A/N: This ask has two viable one shots, actually. I did this one now, but I’ll probably pick up the JLS sometime in the future. Hope you like it, hun!

Deep down, both of you knew this day would come. The day when Voight barked out to bring a uniform up for an undercover stint, and the Intelligence member brought you up. 

Jay tries to interfere and go with Adam as he goes to get one of the officers down at the lobby, but Voight quickly shuts him down, remembering him that Adam knew the suspect's type better than Jay. His jaw clenches and his hands close into fists as Adam goes down the stairs, already knowing you are going to be the one he brings up. 

The two of you have been dating for a few months, and Jay liked having you to himself. By hiding your relationship, not only are the two of you not in the public eye for dating each other - the last thing you need is someone calling you a badge bunny and saying you're sleeping with Jay to climb the hierarchy - but you are also out of the line of immediate danger that comes with dating a law enforcement agent, inevitably becoming a target.

At first, Jay wasn't very keen on the idea of you: a new cop with shiny eyes and hope in the world; he knew you would be shattered by the job, and he didn't want to watch it. But then he started warming up to you. He couldn't pin down what you had done exactly, if it was how you refused to drop your kindness with Platt, or how you could offer an input that he hadn't seen, or how you would charge in, gun in hand with unwavering intent when someone's life was at risk... it was probably how you didn't try to take pity in him or treat him like a baby when you saw him having a particularly nasty flashback that made him freeze in the middle of the locker room. You had just grabbed his hands in yours and gently coaxed him out, giving him the visual help of the "Chicago Police Department" badge on your vest - you would never know how much it meant to him. 

He had seen your determination falter over the time, but he always tried to make you get back up on the positivity horse; secretly, it kept him going too, the idea that someone could see so much good in the world and still believe in the best possible outcome. It was something rare and precious, in your line of work. 

So, when Adam comes back to the bullpen with you in tow, Jay feels like punching him. He feels like going out on a solo manhunt and face the consequences of it, if it means that you won't be brought into this case. But he watches you walk into Voight's office and nod after the Sergeant explains what he called you up for. He knows that you would never refuse the opportunity to help other people - that's why you had become an officer in the first place.

He sits in his chair, resigned, as he watches you and Voight leave the office. 

"So, officer (Y/L/N) will go undercover as an immigrant that needs help getting the rest of her family inside, no matter the cost." Voight says, pointing at the board. The pictures of 7 women are pinned in, their faces stuck in an eery, eternal smile, unknowing of the atrocities that committed against them. All they wanted was to give their families a better life.

Jay meets you in the locker room after he makes sure that no one saw the two of you entering, and crosses his arms. 

"There's no chance I'm talking you out of this, is there?" He asks, his voice small and defeated. You turn back, already wearing your civilian clothes, and give him a reassuring smile as you lay your hands atop his forearms. 

"I'm a good cop, and this will be over quickly." You say, lightly rubbing his arms. "It has to be done, they can't keep killing these women."

"What if something happens?" He asks, his brows furrowed - you don't quite grasp the seriousness and danger of this, and it worries him deeply. "It's more dangerous than you think."

"Jay... I've been a cop in Chicago for a while. A beat cop. I'm cussed at and thrown things at for existing. There, I'm going to be a girl that they're going to underestimate. The only way this can go wrong is if they figure out I'm a cop, and that's a risk every undercover takes, and that you have also taken several times." You grab his face. "It's going to be ok."

-

Unintentionally, you had jinxed yourself in your conversation with Jay. Not in a thousand years would you have thought that the measly drug dealer you arrested a couple weeks ago would be involved with a human trafficking ring, and when he saw you, you knew it was over. He shouted to everyone how you were a "pig", how you were there to arrest them all. You had stood your ground, unwavering, claiming you had never seen him before in your life and had no idea what he was blabbering about, but no one bought it. They ganged up on you and you knew that resistance was futile and would only hurt you further.

And now, 3 days later, here you are. Bruised, bloody, sweaty, laying on the cement floor of an abandoned warehouse somewhere by the river, in between torture sessions. The big boss doesn't know who you work for - all he knows is that you're with law enforcement. He's too paranoid and knows that CPD isn't the only one after him, and even though he knows you're CPD, he has no idea if you're working directly for them or if you've been "scouted" by a bigger agency. 

Your mind rarely leaves your memories of Jay, trying to isolate and disassociate yourself from the prodding metal and angry fists connecting with the several different parts of your body. A small part of you hangs on to hope that Jay and the rest of Intelligence are coming for you, but the bigger part tells you that they either won't make it in time, or that they think you're already dead. 

The footsteps in the hallway drag you out of your thoughts and you raise bloodshot eyes to glare at the grunt in front of you. He hastily pulls you up by one arm and drags you into another room, different from the one you had been beaten in. There's a hook hanging from the ceiling, but there's also a chair and some blades arranged neatly by the chair. The thing that jumps at you is the camera standing in the corner of the room, hooked to a computer, and aimed at the hook and chair. The grunt stands with you by the door as the boss walks into the room, walking with his usual swagger towards the camera.

"Since I don't know who my little toy is working for, here's what is going on: to whom it may concern, this bitch is at my mercy, and either her employer comes forward, or I'm going to kill her." He says darkly as the grunt drags you into further inside, near the hook. 

You put on your best brave face as he hangs you in the hook by the bindings on your wrists. Your shoulders scream at you but you refuse to show pain. The boss sits on the chair next to you and the grunt leaves, making it just the two of you in the room. He grabs a small, yet sharp blade from the assortment and turns to you, smirking darkly. 

"So, I'll ask you again. Who are you working for?" 

"Your mom." You spit at him, biting your tongue to not cry out when the blade cuts across the skin in your stomach.

-

The mug in Jay's hand hits the floor the second he sees the screen of his computer taken over by a video of a dark, grimy room, with you hanging from a hook and a slimy-looking guy in a suit passing around you with a large blade in hand. 

He knew to fear something bad when they stopped getting the daily debriefs from you, but part of him had been influenced by you into thinking it was the best-case scenario: maybe you had gone deep to the point of not being able to contact them, but were about to resurface with enough evidence to nail every single interferent in the trafficking ring. He feels his heart sink to his stomach and his legs threaten to give out as his gaze fixates on the screen. Your face is bloody and bruised, along with the rest of your body, but your expression is one of stubbornness; whatever the guy is asking of you, you're not complying. 

"This would all be over much quicker if you told me who you're working for." The guy snarks, and your expression remains unchanging.

"We both know you're going to kill me either way, just get it over with. Besides, I already told you I'm working for your mom." His fist connects with your ribs and you give out a pained chuckle. Jay's fists close up as anger begins to boil and cloud his head. "Or maybe for Brutus over there. Maybe you're his Ceasar, and he's waiting for the right chance to stab you in the back thirty times. Now seems like a good time, Brutus."

Voight bolts out of his office, vest on one hand, and a post-it note on the other. 

"A contact of mine got me an address. Let's role." He barks out sternly. Jay bolts out behind him and the whole team gets in the armory, putting on their vests and grabbing their choice of weapon before getting into the cars and driving towards the address Voight's contact had given him. 

Jay checks his three guns yet again: one Glock 19 in his hip holster, one Glock 17 in his thigh holster, and an AK-47 in his hand. He knows every moment from breach is going to count, and the longer they take to get to you, the worse the outcome can be. 

The car comes to a stop and he turns off the security in the AK, rolling his shoulders as he steps out of the car and stealths towards one of the entrances. He peeks through a window, seeing two grunts. He gestures what he saw towards the rest of the team and prepares for breach, kicking in the door when Voight says so. 

He feels the adrenaline coursing through his veins and doesn't stop until he's passed the guarded area. The hallways are silent and he strains his ears, trying to pick up something, anything that will guide him to you. 

In the room, you're still dangling from the ceiling when the loud noises snap the guy from yet another monologue about how it would be easier for you to just give up and blah blah blah. Honestly, you had started to tune out the moment he opened his mouth, already knowing some variation of what was about to leave his lips.

"Go check out whatever that was!" He barks at the grunt, making you focus on the door as the other man exits through it. Before you realize what's happening, a shot rings out and the grunt falls back into the room, making the boss jump in fright. You see Jay slowly stepping over the body, AK steadily trained on the suited guy standing by your legs. 

"If you move another inch, I'm blowing your brains out." Jay growls out as the other man tries to reach for the gun on the chair. "My finger is feeling very, very trigger-happy, and I just need you to give me a reason to give it what it wants."

You feel tears prickling at your eyes, both of joy and of pent up frustration and fear, flinching when you see the man moving towards his gun and Jay delivering a clean shot to his chest, dropping him to the floor instantly. 

The AK hits the floor with a clatter before Jay rushes to you, unhooking you and lowering you to the floor before wrapping you in a bear hug. You feel yourself starting to sob as you hide your face on his neck, relishing in the feeling of being wrapped by Jay and his scent surrounding you. 

"I would die happy if I died like this." You mutter into his neck, feeling him chuckle as he pulls away.

"You're not dying anytime soon, I'll waltz in and save you every time." Jay says, retrieving his AK and slinging it over his chest before he picks you up. "Let's get you home, yeah?"

"Sounds good to me."