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storiesforallfandoms · 2 months

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shared trauma ~ logan howlett; marvel

word count: 3466

request?: no

description: in which she sneaks away to help them return home, and ends up bonding with the brute with knives in his hands

pairing: logan howlett x female!reader

warnings: swearing, some deadpool & wolverine spoilers, trauma bonding, wade wilson being wade wilson, a good ending

masterlist (one, two, three)

Getting out of Cassandra's compound wasn't as hard as the Others thought. Not when you shut up and played by her rules. She trusted everyone who worked under her enough to let us come and go as we pleased, mainly because she knew we were scared enough of Alioth to come back and be under her control.

The Others also weren't as hidden as they thought. At least, not from me. Lucky for them, I was the only telepath in Cassandra's army, because Johnny's mind gave away everything about the Others without even knowing I could hear him.

When it got dark and mostly everyone had turned in, I snuck out of the compound. I could see the hiding place of the Others in my head, and I knew it would take me a long time to get there on foot, but I needed to get there. There was something about these variants - this Deadpool and this Wolverine - that was different. They may be the key to my freedom from Cassandra. Maybe to all of our freedoms.

I travelled for so long that my legs burned and I felt like I was going to pass out, but I got there. Immediately I was hit with the sounds of several brains, all thinking about a plan to take down Cassandra. All except one, but it was hard to make out what was going on in that head over the wounds of everyone else. I pushed into the place, a silence falling over the room as they heard me enter. I winced with every step I took down the stairs. When I appeared in the doorway, I was greeted by a barrage of weapons.

"Whoa!" I exclaimed, putting my hands up.

"You're one of hers," Blade stated.

"I came alone," I insisted. "I...technically snuck out."

"How did you find us?" Elektra asked.

"Let's just say Johnny Storm's mind was just as loud as his mouth. Look, I'm not here to hurt you guys. I'm here because I think those two - " I nodded to Deadpool and Wolverine " - may be who we need to take Cassandra down."

"And why would you want to take down Cassandra?" Blade questioned. "She's your leader."

"Not by choice. I followed her because I knew it meant survival. But I'm telling you, I see something with those two. I'm clairvoyant as well as a telepath, and when those variants were with Cassandra I could see a fight that ended with her downfall."

The group shared a look. Well, all besides the Wolverine, who was halfway through a bottle of whiskey. He seemed to be ignoring everything going on. I realized his mind was the one I couldn't hear. It was almost like he was trying to block out any thoughts. Not because of me, but because he didn't want to have to think those things.

"We could use a clairvoyant," Elektra pointed out.

"This reading you got form us," Deadpool said. "Did you see all of us winning?"

I shook my head. "It doesn't work like that. Some scenarios aren't definitive, and some are. I saw that we'd fight her, but after that there's a number of different ways it could go. All I saw for sure was that Cassandra was taken down and everyone in the Void was finally free from her reign."

"Sounds like a shit power," Wolverine muttered.

"She could tell us how to avoid the bad paths," Elektra said.

My legs were starting to ache in a way I couldn't handle for much longer. "Can you guys make a decision soon? I walked all the way here and my legs feel like they're about to snap off."

The group, minus Wolverine, shared another look before X-23 - Laura - nodded and said, "We'll give you a bed. Once you're rested, we'll come up with a plan."

~~~~~~

I laid awake that night while everyone else was asleep. We had come up with a plan to attack Cassandra's compound, one that should be mostly successful for everyone if the input from my visions helped at all. Everyone else had gone to bed with hope of a successful mission at sunrise, but I was wide awake with thoughts of going against Cassandra. Unlike everyone else, I had been part of Cassandra's team for a very long time. I had seen the things she did to people who opposed her. Despite the fact that my visions should give us a leg up in this fight, I was still scared of the consequences if we lost.

There was a stir in the air that told me someone was awake. I heard movement and the sound of a glass bottle being picked up. Logan didn't notice as I rolled over to face him. He was already walking up the steps and out of the hideout. It took me all of ten seconds to decide to follow him. This Wolverine may have been a grumpy Gus, but trying to speak with him would be way better than laying in the silent room struggling to sleep.

I followed him into the woods, where he had already started a small fire. He was sat next to it, hunched over with a bottle of Gambit's whiskey. I was shocked there was any whiskey left at this point, but who was I to judge someone else's coping mechanism.

His back straightened when he heard me approaching. "I don't want company."

"Good thing I'm not here to keep you company," I said, sitting next to him but keeping enough space between us. "I'm here to see if you'll share the liquor you're stealing."

To my surprise, he willingly gave me the bottle without hesitation. I took a big mouthful, which proved to be a bad idea when the harsh liquid burned my throat. I winced at the burn and gagged once I had it swallowed. Logan let out a low chuckle. "Not your usual drink of choice, huh?"

"Actually, I've never drank," I responded, passing the bottle back to him. "I was pruned before I was legal drinking age, and Cassandra doesn't have alcohol at her base."

"You nervous to fight your boss tomorrow?"

"She's not my boss. I'm not part of her team by choice. I already said that. You saw Alioth, you saw what he can do. I was young, I was scared, and she promised to keep me safe."

There was a pause. I wouldn't look at him. I knew coming here was a risk. I knew they wouldn't completely trust me. I just wished they would understand I only sided with Cassandra to stay safe and alive.

Logan broke the silence when he asked, "How young?"

"What?"

"You said you were young, below the legal drinking age. How young?"

"I was a teenager," I responded. "Mid-teens, I think."

"What does a teenager do to get themselves sent to this hell hole?"

I shifted in my seat. No one had ever asked me my backstory before, so I never had to reveal what I was most ashamed to admit. "Do you have Hydra in your universe?"

He nodded. I sighed and said, "My parents...they worked for Hydra. They...they let those Hydra scientists experiment on me. Trying to recreate something as powerful as the serum that created Captain America. Except, instead of making me super strong, it gave me the ability to read minds and see the future. Weirdly enough, the TVA doesn't like anyone that can change the future."

"They didn't get you to join them? Seems like your powers would've been perfect for a time variance agency."

I chuckled humorlessly. "That's not how the TVA works."

"You were a kid."

"That's not how the TVA works."

When he didn't respond, I found myself becoming aware of the silence. Like, of the actual silence. I couldn't hear a single thing Logan was thinking. No one could truly block me out. At least, no one I had met. Not even Cassandra could keep me out completely. I looked over at Logan, trying to focus on him, but still I couldn't hear anything.

"I don't like people poking around in my brain, bub."

I smiled a little. "I can't help it usually, but your brain is weirdly silent. No thoughts, Wolvie?"

"They're none of your business."

I left it at that. Despite my abilities, I wasn't one to pry into other people's thoughts. I heard things by accident, but I wasn't searching through people's heads for their trauma. Actually, it was nice to not have Logan's voice in my head. It was true silence that I had not had in years.

"Are you really not coming with us?" I asked him.

"I'm not a hero," he responded.

"You sure about that?" I eyed his yellow suit. "It's not about being a hero, though. It's about going home."

"There is no home for me to go back to."

His mental walls cracked for just a moment then. I could hear something coming from his mind; the faint calling of his name. No, not calling. Screaming. It was multiple voices, but it was just a faint whisper to me. At the same time, an image came through in his mind. It was a woman with red hair and brown eyes. We didn't have any variants of her come through the Void before, but I had recognized her from the minds of other X-Men who I had crossed paths with: Jean Grey.

Just as quickly as those thoughts slipped out, Logan managed to pull them back in. I wasn't sure if he was hiding them from me or from himself, but either way they were gone. I could tell from the look on his face that he knew I had heard something, and he was not very happy that I had.

"You don't have to tell me," I said, my voice soft. "Or...or show me. But whatever it is going on that has you like this, I'm sorry it happened."

His face was hard as stone, but I could see in his eyes that there was a flux of emotions.

"I lost people," he admitted. "Everyone I loved in my universe. It was my fault and...I just couldn't live with that. I did things...things I regret. Things that could never bring those people back."

"You could be reunited with them in another universe."

He shook his head. "It won't be the same. Every other universe already has a Wolverine. The only one that doesn't is the Mouth's, and that's because he died. I couldn't go back there and put them through seeing me and opening up old wounds. Besides, I don't think I could see them again either. Too much guilt."

I could see Jean's face again, just for a moment, before she was gone again. I could feel Logan's grief; his guilt. The more he opened up, the more his mind became easier to read.

I moved closer to him. Not by much, just an inch to test the waters. When he didn't react, I moved closer again until the space between us was almost completely closed. He looked up at me, but for once he didn't have that scowl on his face. He looked curious by my actions more than anything. I didn't try to push his boundaries any further than just being close to him.

"Good people do bad things sometimes," I told him. "It doesn't make you a bad person."

"I'm no hero, kid," he pointed out.

I shrugged. "Neither am I. None of us are here. But that doesn't mean you can't become a hero."

I wasn't sure if it was the whiskey, the fire, or just how close I was to Logan, but I felt a rush of heat washing over my body. I knew I was definitely feel the effects of the alcohol because I was swaying involuntarily. I started to lean in closer to him, but tried to stop myself as best I could. He seemed amused by it, at least, which made me smile more.

I let out a yawn and stood. I stumbled a little, causing Logan to reach out for me to steady me.

"Are you gonna be able to get back on your own?" he asked.

"I think so, but if you see me passed out along the way do me a favor and carry me back," I said. He chuckled and I tried not to beam too much about it.

I started to walk away, or more like stumble I guess, when Logan called, "Did you see me there tomorrow? In your visions?"

I turned back to him and responded, "Maybe. You'll figure that out tomorrow."

~~~~~~

Good news is, the battle at Cassandra's hideout went well. We took down every one of her cronies, and when Cassandra had left with the army of Deadpools to go to Deadpool-10005's universe, we commandeered her place to keep us safe from Alioth.

Bad news is, Wolverine and Deadpool got out, but the rest of us didn't.

No one really seemed upset over that fact. I mean, besides Laura, who was already missing the variant of Logan ("He may not have been my dad, but he was a version of dad," she had said when she realized he had left without her). Blade, Elektra, and Gambit were more proud of themselves for saving the day, even if it meant not going back to their own realities. I guess I was happy to no longer be under Cassandra's control, too, but I found myself wishing I could've left this place too.

And I found myself dreaming about Logan.

Well, partially dreaming. Some of them were visions.

It's not hard to differentiate between dreams and visions. I don't often get visions when I sleep, but when I do I can feel that they're visions. It's hard to explain other than that. Some nights I found myself dreaming of us by the fire again, except this time I allowed myself to get close enough to Logan to touch him. It very rarely went further than my shoulder against his, sometimes my head against his shoulder. But the visions I had were us together in an apartment I didn't recognize. At first they were all the same - me, Logan, and Wade living domestically in some apartment in New York. Laura was there once too, but only one time.

But then once the vision ended with Logan's arm around my waist and his lips against my forehead. I had woken up with a start before anything else happened.

It was the only vision that showed me with him romantically, but I knew deep down inside of me that that's what I wanted. I mean, Logan is an attractive man. No one could deny that. I may have only known one version of him briefly, but still it was enough to leave me longing for his presence again.

It was just another new normal day in the compound previously owned by Cassandra - I was in my own room reading one of the few books Cassandra had somehow found and kept - when an orange door shaped portal opened. I recognized it as a TVA portal. I sat up quickly, my guard high as I waited for a TVA agent to walk through.

But it wasn't an agent.

It was Logan.

"Come on, kid," he told me. "I'm taking you home."

He didn't have to tell me twice. I was up off my bed and through the portal. I expected to be brought to the TVA first, but I was surprised to find myself in a small apartment.

The apartment from my visions.

I looked around, taking in every detail of the place that I had already seen in my head before. Everything was there, from the pictures to the crude drawings Wade had stuck to the fridge, to the mattress in the middle of the living room where Logan slept. Everything from my visions.

"This..." I said, but paused before I finished the sentence. Did I tell him I had been seeing this place? Did I tell him that I had been seeing us?

When I didn't say anything further, Logan said, "I know it's not your home. But...I wasn't sure if you'd want to go back there."

"I don't," I said quickly. And it was true, I never wanted to go back there. After what my parents had done to me, it was almost a blessing to be sent to the Void. Besides being forced to do Cassandra's bidding.

Logan nodded. "Okay. So...well...welcome. You can stay here as long as you want. It'll take some time to get used to actual society again, I'd assume. The Mouth lives here too - "

As if on cue, the front door opened and there stood Wade, being followed by the mut I once knew as Dogpool.

"Ah! You got the girl!" he said, ushering the dog into the apartment and kicking the door shut behind him. "Finally, he can shut up about seeing you again."

Logan's face turned a shade of red I never expected to see from The Wolverine. "Wade, shut the fuck up."

"What? I'm just saying you've been brooding around this place for ages because we had to leave her behind. You finally have her back. Oh, and Laura! You guys can be one big, happy, fucked up family."

I looked over at Logan. "Laura's here?"

"Not staying with us, but she is in this universe," Logan said. "The TVA agreed to let us save you guys from the Void. Gambit, Elektra, and Blade are all gone back to their own universes now."

"Hopefully one where Gambit can find a better dialect coach," Wade added. "And you get to stay here with us! Isn't that just great? You get to share a bed with Wolvie."

"Only if you're comfortable with that," Logan quickly added, shooting another glare at Wade.

"Of course she'll be fine with that. Better than sharing a bed with Blind Al. Actually, can we switch? I'd much rather cuddle up to the greatest showman."

Logan raised a fist to Wade and unsheathed his claws. It was enough for Wade to finally stop running his mouth and scurry off to his room, the dog following closely behind him. Logan pulled his claws back in and let out a long sigh.

"I'm sorry, I know this is a lot to take in at once," he said. "It's a lot of explaining."

"I can figure it out, I'm sure," I said. "Thank you for saving me."

"I should be thanking you."

I raised an eyebrow at him. "I didn't do anything."

"After our talk by the fire, I realized you were right. I was letting the shit I did get to me for too long. I forgot who I was, or who Charles wanted me to be. I just needed a little push from a different mind reader."

I smiled at him. "You just needed someone to tell you you're not a bad person. It's insane to me that no one had done that before I did. Just cause you did bad things didn't mean you were ever a bad person."

There was a pause, then suddenly I was being pulled towards him. Before my mind could comprehend what was happening, Logan's lips were against mine. His hands were holding my face, holding me to him. It took my brain a few seconds to register what was going on before my hands were reaching for his shirt, holding him as well.

Our moment was swiftly interrupted by a familiar merc exclaiming, "Finally!"

Logan pulled away from me to glare at Wade over my shoulder. I heard the bedroom door slam shut again.

He looked down at me. "I'm sorry that you will have to put up with that."

I giggled. "I guess it's a small price to pay if it means I get to kiss you more."

His smile was so beautiful. It really brightened his face after all the brooding and scowling I had seen him doing before. "I'll kiss you as much as you want, bub. Just gotta make sure Wade is locked away in his room if you want it to be any more than kissing."

"Awe, no fair!" came Wade's voice.

Logan and I shared a look before Logan said, "Maybe we start looking for an apartment of our own."

The suggestion caused my mind to fill with another vision: Logan and I in a small place similar to this one, but one that was just our own. The two of us tangled in sheets, completely naked, with the glow of the sunrise spiling through the blinds onto us.

I smiled, both at the vision and at Logan. "I would love that."

#logan howlett #logan howlett imagine #logan howlett x reader #wolverine #wolverine imagine #wolverine x reader #hugh jackman #hugh jackman x reader #hugh jackman imagine #deadpool and wolverine #marvel #mcu #imagine #one shot #fanfiction #fanfic #fandom

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calder · 8 months

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In every mainline Fallout game except for New Vegas, players can earn the loyalty of a dog known as “Dogmeat.” As part of the main quest of Fallout 4, Dogmeat assists in tracking down the antagonist, even if the player has never encountered him before. When you leave Kellogg’s home, Nick simply starts talking about Dogmeat as if he’s a known quantity.

Perhaps related to this quirk of the world, Dogmeat is first named in this game when the clairvoyant Mama Murphy recognizes him and addresses him by name. The game’s UI calls him “DOG” until he is recognized by Valentine or Murphy. It seems clear that this german shepherd is somehow an independent agent with a good reputation, or something.

Dogmeat does not have a loyalty quest associated with him, which is how the player would earn the other companions’ perks. However, upon finding Astoundingly Awesome Tales #9 within the Institute, Dogmeat becomes more resistant to damage. While this isn’t coherent or conclusive evidence of Dogmeat being a synth, it’s plainly prompting the audience to consider that idea. In light of these factors, his origins have been fiercely debated among the community.

The skeptics and “hard sci-fi” fans out there would have you believe that he’s merely a famous stray dog who solves crimes. But I believe there's something more remarkable at work.

There's a section in the Fallout 2 instruction book called the Vault Dweller's Memoirs, where the player character of the first game recounts what canonically happened. Due to Fallout’s famously terrible companion AI, if you travelled to Mariposa with Dogmeat, he would consistently run into the force fields and get vaporized. So, in the Memoirs, we learn that this is exactly what became of Dogmeat Prime, in canon. He loyally sprinted into a wall of solid light, and disappeared. What if our buddy simply awoke in a new, confusing place?

In Fallout 2, Dogmeat must be found at the Cafe of Broken Dreams, which is explicitly a liminal space. It appears randomly to travellers in the desert. The NPCs within are frozen in time, such as a young version of President Tandi, who mentions that Ian went to “the Abbey,” an area cut from the game. To gain Dogmeat’s trust, the Chosen One must equip the Vault Dweller’s V-13 jumpsuit, which Dogmeat recognizes as belonging to his dead master. You can also attack him to spawn Mad Max, who claims ownership of the dog. Max fits the description of Dogmeat's original owner given in Fallout.

There’s also the “puppies” perk in Fallout 3, which enables you to restore Dogmeat, in the event of his death. “Dogmeat’s puppy” inherits his base and ref ids. In other words, they ARE the same NPC, just renamed. So, the way this actually articulates is that whenever Dogmeat dies in combat, you can find him waiting for you back at Vault 101. In practice, it’s almost Bombadilian.

Lastly, please consider the following developer context.

In June of 2021, the dog who performed Dogmeat’s motion capture and voice for Fallout 4 passed away. A statue of her was placed outside of every Vault in the China-exclusive sequel to Fallout Shelter. She still watches over each player.

River's owner, developer Joel Burgess, honored her in a brief thread about her involvement in the game, and shared much about his thought process and design goals while leading the character’s development. The Dogmeat project changed course early on, after Mr. Joel saw a new member of the art team gathering references of snarling German Shepherds. This motivated him to bring River into the studio, so the artists and developers could spend time with her.

He wanted to steer the team away from viewing Dogmeat as a weapon, and towards viewing him as a friend. Everything special about Dogmeat was inspired by River. For example, whenever you travel with Dogmeat, he’s constantly running ahead of you to scout for danger, then turning to wait for you. This was inspired by River’s consistent behavior on long walks. The only way they were able to motivate River to bark for recordings was by separating her from Joel while he waited in the next room. Reading the thread, it’s very clear that he hoped Dogmeat would make players feel safe, encouraging them to explore, and to wonder. In his closing thoughts, he said the following:

-Joel Burgess

Mr. Joel felt it was important to express that the ambiguity of Dogmeat’s origin in Fallout 4 was deliberately built into his presentation. He also felt it was important that you know Dogmeat loves you. Dogmeat was designed, on every level, to reflect the audience’s inspirations, and to empower their curiosity.

The true lore of Dogmeat is a rorschach test. The only “right” answer is to pursue whatever captures your imagination.

#dogmeat #v13 #meta #companions #animal death t

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florencemtrash · 7 months

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The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter Twelve

Azriel x Day Court Librarian Reader

Summary: Y/n's clairvoyance is a gift from the Mother, but it feels more like a curse. With the power to gain knowledge through touch alone, Y/n holes herself up in The Alcove and hopes her powers and parentage will remain a secret. But things will change after the Summer Solstice ball and a chance encounter with a certain Shadowsinger.

Warnings: None! Familiar faces return to Velaris and Y/n finally gets a chance to explore the city...

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

I’ve been dreaming again. Dreaming of him.

Thanatos. With his milky pale skin the color of bleached bones. Bold brush strokes of black ink mark his clothes and paint his hair and his marble eyes. I should feel unsettled when looking into the face of death. But I don’t. I’m the only one who gets to see him like this. The only one who gets to see his true face and I don’t know why. He doesn’t understand it either, and it frustrates him to no end.

He’s almost as curious as I am. Almost.

He came to the cabin again today, carrying that black lit candle between his spindly fingers like he believed in the Mother and was prepared to pray and sing to her like the rest of us. He says he likes to hear me during the service, tiny and informal as it is, but really I think he’s here because it irks me, and because I’m some tapestry he can’t seem to unravel.

He asked me again whether I’d call upon the Mother for him. He says he has a question that needs answering, and once he has his answer, he’ll be able to tell me how we can defeat Koschei. If it’s even possible.

But I don’t believe that male for a second. He’d sooner carve the world to bits and devour the scraps before helping us like the coyote he is.

Rest assured I will never agree to his bargain. It will take more than that to turn Bethsevah Mordeigh.

Although he said something strange that night, when the candles had dripped and left their waxy marks on the altar.

“You were made to ruin me, Beth,” he said, “And I will let you do it a thousand—a million—times over.”

He spoke in a dozen different voices, but I can’t deny I liked how the sounds came together and became his own.

You jerked awake with your hand still cradling the book against your chest.

Bethsevah Mordeigh.

You had a name.

You had a name!

You burst out of your room.

“Az! Az! I’ve got something.” You beat your fist against his bedroom door. “Az!” There was silence.

The kitchen was empty, dirty dishes scrubbing themselves clean in the sink. A glance at the clock above the oven told you you’d slept in a great deal.

You took the steps two at a time, sprinting down the hallway towards the west wing. The training arena took up most of the second floor stocked with enough weapons to outfit a small army. Wood and stone knobs stuck out from the wall at extreme angles as part of the climbing gym. The ceiling dipped up and down like draped fabric. On any other day you would have seen Valkyries with rippling arms and backs making their way up to the green flag pinned directly above the room’s center point, bodies straining against the pull of gravity. But not today.

Two of the three mats spaced across the room were occupied and you heard the beat of Illyrian wings before you even opened the double doors.

Feyre and Nesta stood against the side wall bracketed by racks of steel swords, glistening throwing knives, and an Illyrian bow as long as you were tall.

Feyre licked her lips, greedily tracing Rhysand’s powerful form as he went toe to toe with Azriel. You couldn’t help but stare as well as they leapt around the ring in a blur of wings and shadow. You’d never seen Azriel shirtless but… well… it was a sight you could get used to.

It was a dance — a dangerous, deadly dance — and although the language of violence wasn’t one you were familiar with, you could read the display well enough to know that Azriel would win this round.

Sweat glistened on his skin, slipping down the curves of his back where leathery black wings fused with his shoulder blades. Tattoos wrapped around his shoulders and across his chest, pulsing with a life of their own as Azriel cleanly side stepped one of Rhysand’s kicks. There was the faintest crease in the High Lord’s brow to let you know he was getting tired.

But Azriel was just getting started. And now that he knew you were watching? He wanted to make it worth your while.

Rhys gritted his teeth, launching out with a strike quicker than lightning. Someway, somehow, Azriel was faster. He dipped to the side, Rhys’s knuckle just kissing his cheekbones and came up for a counterstrike, slamming his fist so hard into his brother’s cheek that he staggered back.

That was unnecessary. Rhys snapped his jaw back into place.

Azriel grinned. Fatherhood suits you. But I can’t let you get soft.

There was a roll of violet eyes. Sure. That’s why you’re trying so hard right now.

Rhys snatched Azriel’s leg out of the air, rolling onto the ground in a move that sent the Shadowsinger twisting in a graceful arch that had your breath catching in your throat. He broke free of Rhysand’s hold, leaping onto his feet like gravity didn’t apply.

You met his eyes, heady and dark, and could have sworn he winked. But it may have just been a trick of the light.

You ducked your head, hurrying across the room towards Feyre and Nesta and hoping they wouldn’t comment on the flush creeping up your neck.

“Fey—” you began urgently.

The High Lady held up a hand and you fell silent. There was a sheen to her eyes that let you know she was honing in on Rhysand’s moves with more than just her eyes.

Nesta smirked at you as you blushed. You struggled to keep your gaze from drifting back to the powerful display, even as you caught glimpses of Azriel’s tan body out of the corner of your eye. Rippling, bold, strong.

“Don’t worry about staring,” Nesta said with a wicked glimmer. “The boys admire us. We admire them. It’s an even exchange.”

One mat over Cassian was sparing with a new female you’d never seen before. Illyrian, but there was something wrong with her wings. They were held strong and proud above the ground, but they dragged in places where Cassian had control over every minor movement. If you concentrated closely enough, you could make out the thin, shiny scars that had snipped the tendon closest to the apex of her wings, just by the arch of her claws.

Your stomach dropped with horror.

Her wings had been clipped.

She held her own against the Lord of Bloodshed. Cassian might have had the advantage of experience and his longer limbs, but she moved with a daring determination. She dodged every blow by the narrowest margin, conserving her energy so when she was able to slip close and find her opening, she slammed her elbow up and into his nose with a sickening crack that echoed throughout the room.

You winced, hands flying up to your face at the same time that Cassian’s did.

“FUCK!” He roared.

“Whooo! THAT’S MY WIFE!” A gorgeous, curvy blond hung off one of the ring posts, legs propped up on the tensioned ropes.

There was only one member of their family that had ever been described as sunlight incarnate. That had to be Mor. Which meant the striking female currently giving Cassian hell on the mat was Emerie.

Emerie blushed, stealing a heavy look for long enough for Cassian to snap his nose back into place. He ducked down and swept her legs out from beneath her, wrestling her to the ground in a tangle of leather and wings. But Nesta didn’t let him have the advantage for too long.

Cassian choked on the teasing words he’d prepared for Emerie when Nesta sent him a particularly candid image of herself in a strip of black fabric.

For later tonight. She whispered down the bond.

Damn it Nes.

Emerie smashed her forehead into his already swollen nose, then her knee surged up with enough strength to crack ribs. She braced her foot against his chest and flipped him over her head and onto his back, wrapping her powerful legs around his neck and pinning him to the ground with his arm forced back in his socket. Finally he tapped out.

“Poor Illyrian baby,” Nesta crooned as Emerie pulled Cassian to his feet. Despite the blood that dripped from his nose, he was glowing with pride at Emerie. “Better luck next time.”

Mor grasped Emerie by the front of her training gear and yanked her close for a long kiss that left the Illyrian stumbling back with red lipstick smeared over her lips and a dark blush across her caramel cheeks.

Nesta yelped when Cassian wrapped his arm around her waist, lifting her off the ground with one arm like she weighed nothing.

“We could try that move tonight. Your legs, my face? But this time I won’t tap out.” Cassian winked and Nesta leveled a sultry glare in his direction, eyes lingering on the sheen of his muscular chest with unabashed heat.

“Get a room,” Mor called out and Emerie threw a towel in his direction. It landed over his shoulder with comical perfection.

“Says the pair that had to disappear to another continent after their wedding ceremony.”

Mor flung an obscene gesture his way and Cassian returned it with equal fervor. “Says the pair that made Azriel run for the hills when he was left to chaperone.”

“Hey! That’s on Rhysand. He never should have left us with a chaperone at all.” Nesta cut in.

“You rang.” Rhysand appeared sweaty and spent behind Mor’s shoulder and slung his arm around her. The bruises on his cheeks were turning darker by the second.

Azriel hovered on the edges of the crowd, glancing at Mor and then at you. He was mildly disappointed that you’d been too busy watching Cass and Emerie to see him win at the end of the fight.

“Gross, get off of me.” Mor shoved her cousin away.

Rhysand’s shoulders shook with laughter. He smiled at you, eyes gleaming with happiness. It had been so long since he’d last seen his cousin.

“Mor.” He gestured to you, “Meet Y/n—” He raised his eyebrows in surprise. “I think I just realized I don’t know your last name.”

“Halwynn.” You offered up your mother’s last name. Even though you technically didn’t have any right to it as a bastard, it’s the name you’d gone by your whole life.

“Meet Y/n Halwynn,” Rhysand finished.

“The resident intellect,” Mor said, caramel-brown eyes shining. “Well thank the Mother, you showed up when you did.” She looped her arm around yours easily and you caught a whiff of the perfume she’d dotted against her collarbones — amber and vanilla. A ruby the size of your thumb hung from a gold chain, following the dramatic dip in the front of her scarlet dress that left little to the imagination. You thought she might just be the most gorgeous female you’d ever seen.

“We’d be absolutely lost without you. I hope the Library is up to your standards, although let’s be honest, it probably isn’t.”

You agreed a little too quickly.

“Bethsevah Mordeigh.” Rhysand turned the name over in his mind, testing its familiarity and coming up empty. “Any takers?”

You all stood around Rhysand’s desk, the book propped open beside bottles of jet-black ink, eagle-feather pens, and neat stacks of parchment paper.

Everyone shook their heads.

“Fair enough.” He looked disappointed, but not surprised. “We’re only separated by a few thousand years, give or take.”

You paced in front of the windowsill, nervously picking at your fingernails until they were under threat of bleeding. Azriel noticed and one of his shadows gently wrapped around your wrists and pulled your hands apart. You looked at him gratefully and stuck your hands in your pockets.

“The oldest text I’ve seen dates back twelve-thousand years,” Feyre offered. “I’ve also asked Gwyn and Clotho to begin searching.”

“What about the Day Court?” Azriel looked at you.

“I can ask Helion to search the archives. But I’ll warn you, records dating back that far are few and far apart. And priestesses back then were less keen on recording the movements of their members. But we might get lucky with some of her descendants if they ever joined the order. Work our way backwards through history.”

Mor shot Rhysand a look. “Why ask me to come back here now? I could have been of better use searching for this information on the Continent.”

“Now is not the time for you to be traversing foreign lands. Not with Koschei at risk of being let loose.”

You shook your head. “And it wouldn’t matter. Bethsevah wouldn’t have been born on the Continent. If she ever went, it would have only been to trap Koschei. Our best bet is to search for information about her down south.”

The others stared at you in confusion. You blinked as if the answer was obvious. “Organized religion surrounding the Mother emerged in Southern Prythian and her priestesses didn’t spread out to Hybern or the Continent until the Insynthian Age.”

“Your point being?” Nesta folded her arms over her chest. When it came to the specifics of Prythian history, she and Feyre were about as useful as a glass rod in a lightning storm.

“The bit about the candles is a very, very old ceremony. People would write their prayers in blood and have a priestess burn them on a candle made with a strand of their hair woven into the wick. If Bethsevah was a priestess performing this ritual, she would have been an early member of the order. Before the Insynthian Age.”

“That would narrow things down significantly.” Rhysand nodded in approval. “I’ll reach out to Lucien, see if he’ll be able to find anything out for us.”

You pulled a sheef of paper out from your pockets and Helion’s pen. You scribbled down a note to him about what you’d discovered and within five minutes the words were racing south to the Day Court.

“How on earth do you know this?” Mor asked incredulously, looking at you with a mixture of awe and bewilderment.

“I’m a Librarian.” She looked unimpressed by that statement. “I had a religious phase.” You smoothed your thumb over your necklace, feeling for your mother’s seal — a flowering heather and fountain pen crossed over in an “x”.

“A religious phase?”

“Yes.”

She clicked her tongue, red lips turning up in a smirk. “You Day Court fae are certainly something.”

You blushed. “I’ll let you know if I learn anything else.” You went to grab the book, but Mor’s hand slapped down first, pinning it to the table and you with a stare.

“Nope. Work is for tomorrow,” Mor declared, eyes glittering with fondness. “Today, I want to see my city with my family.”

You tapped the book through your robes, counting the rhythmic swings against your hip like a metronome. One. Two. One. Two. One-

Cassian leaned down to whisper, “You’re doing great,” before waving to a male with ash-blonde hair standing beside an apple cart.

Pink ladies, honeycrisps, and ambrosias were piled high into luscious clouds. Two gestures and a flick of a coin through the air later and Cassian was shoving a small, flimsy basket in your hand. Roasted apples covered in burnt sugar and drizzled with caramel seeped into the wax paper.

One. Two. One. Two.

It was still too early for most of the Night Court, but the hustle and bustle in the Palace of Bone and Salt was unperturbed. Now was the time for the owners of small shops to haggle for prices without interfering with common business. The apple cart you just left had a new customer already — a wispy female with candy-floss hair lugging a basket on wheels capable of carrying three bushels for the bakery two streets over.

“Would you like some?” You held the food up to Azriel, but he only stumbled over a crack cobblestone street before shaking his head no.

He was being awfully quiet today. Quieter than usual.

Maybe he’s sick? You thought to yourself. He hadn’t eaten lunch either, but maybe that was just because he disliked the sandwiches you’d made. Or maybe it was because of a certain blond-haired female who kept giving him side glances with questions eating at her from the inside out.

“Come on,” you encouraged, nudging his shoulder. “You haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

Azriel looked at the apple slice you held out for him like it was a personal torture.

Cassian grinned and slung his arm over your shoulders, peeling you away from Azriel’s side to his relief. The weight was a comfort coming from him and you felt that thrill in your stomach whenever any member of the Inner Circle touched you.

“Azriel won’t starve. I promise, Y/n.”

Nyx thought he might starve. He was a growing boy, and had a stomach to match. He tapped your elbow and you wordlessly passed over the basket to him, but not before snatching a piece for yourself. The sugar crackled, then melted over your tongue, the sharpness from the apple cutting through caramel in a burst of tartness.

“How is Helion doing by the way?” Mor dropped the question casually. “Rhys says you know him well.”

You blinked at her. What did she care about Helion? “I’ve worked on a few projects for him before this one. And he’s doing as well as he can be, I suppose. Things aren’t exactly perfect in the Day Court right now.”

“Ah, Helion,” Mor breathed out, almost wistfully, “He was one of the few good males I ever slept with.”

You choked on your food, sputtering and coughing for long enough that Cassian started to slap your back. You felt your bones shake with each blow.

So… Mor had slept with your father… figures.

Feyre looked at you with concern. “Are you alright?”

“Fine,” you said meekly. You shoved more food in your mouth before anyone could ask any further questions.

Azriel felt that familiar pool of jealousy bubble in his stomach at the mention of Helion. You kept rubbing that necklace of yours, Helion’s seal displayed prominently like he’d personally stamped you as his.

He allowed himself to get close enough to brush against your shoulder and a few of his shadows creeped onto your body, weaving themselves into your hair. You looked up at him and smiled.

“You’re in a good mood today.” Azriel’s hazel eyes were brighter in the morning light, flecks of green poking through the amber. “You’re smiling.”

And what didn’t you have to be smiling about? You were finally exploring Velaris. Mor, Cassian, and Nyx had touched you, albeit through the fabric of your robes, and you hadn’t been overwhelmed. And you’d finally been able to take knowledge from the book.

It had been a pinch of information as potent as saltwater. You had gotten a name, and names held power.

Azriel’s eyes glimmered with quiet delight.

“I’m just happy,” you said. “I think things are getting better, with—” You glanced down at where your arms swung side by side and you reached out a finger, allowing it to gently brush against the scars at the top of his left hand. You curled your fingers around his for the briefest moment before letting go. “And… you know.” You shrugged.

Azriel stopped walking abruptly and everyone turned to stare at him. The Shadowsinger was strung taughter than an Illyrian bow.

Mor raised her brow in open appraisal. There was a flash of something like shock in her eyes and then she was buried in Emerie’s hair, whispering something into the female’s rounded ears that had her dark carved eyebrows flying up to her hairline.

“Az?” Rhys asked cheekily, “Everything alright?”

Cassian chuckled and even Nesta smirked.

Last year he was giving Elain and Gwyn the bedroom eyes, and now he short-circuits because Y/n brushes her hand against his? I don’t believe what I’m seeing, Cass.

Some females like their males a little pathetic and lovesick.

You would know.

Cassian chuckled, looping his arm around her waist and burying his lips in her hair. He twirled the face framing pieces between his fingers like he always did, and Nesta tried not to think about how she’d first started leaving them out after meeting the Lord of Bloodshed. It would seem she had once been a pathetic and lovesick fool herself.

I love it when you tease, Nes.

Maybe she still was. Nesta couldn’t help but lean into his touch.

They do make a good couple. She admitted and Cassian was in agreement.

Feyre was thinking the same thing as you twisted towards him, hand still outstretched like there was a string tying your fingers to his. You couldn’t help but want to drift towards him as surely as gravity makes rain fall to the earth.

Does she know? Mor grasped Rhysand’s arm, eyes wide and staring. Does she know they’re mates?

Not yet.

Mor groaned. Are you fucking kidding me?

I wish I was.

Damn you, Azriel.

Azriel shook his head and forced his body to move forward. The world had stopped when you touched him, and it was only just starting to pick up again.

“Sorry,” he murmured.

Nyx munched on his apple slice, staring at you both curiously before following after his mother and father.

“Did you hear something?” You stayed by his side, no longer interested in the aromas fluttering in the air from the bakery, the soup shop with its stone vats bubbling in the back, the smokehouse with its slabs of bacon crackling on grease. “From your shadows?”

“No. Why did you think that?”

“You had a look in your eye, like you weren’t quite there for a second. My mother used to say that I looked like that sometimes when using my powers. Like for a moment I was untethered from the earth and at risk of floating away.”

Azriel saved that piece of information, storing it away in his mind next to the knowledge that you had always wanted a dustbear for a pet because they were such simple, mindless creatures and you never felt overcome in their presence.

“I do feel that way at times.” He waited until your little troupe passed by the spice shops. The particles in the air always made Cassian sneeze. “But not now.”

Everyone dipped into a paisley blue building, the bell ringing with a soft clang to announce their presence.

“Right now I feel… settled.”

You grinned at him brighter than the sun, moon, and stars combined. “Good.”

You followed after the others, and while your back was turned, Mor took her opportunity. She clawed the back of Azriel’s leathers, hauling him down the alleyway before anyone could notice.

Azriel’s eyes blew open in surprise when Mor shoved him up against the wall hard enough for a rain of petals to fall over their heads from the second floor balcony. It would have been romantic if it weren’t for the incredulous look in Mor’s eyes and the fact that Azriel was still caught up in your smile and the feeling of your skin against his. Gods he wished you were the one pressing him against this wall. He couldn’t stop thinking about that hug in Rhysand’s office. He wanted to feel the softness of your body against him once more.

“You idiot!” Mor slapped him across the face and it shocked him back to the present. “Why didn’t you tell me you found your mate?” She hissed.

Azriel looked frantically back to the street, half expecting you to be standing there with your inquisitive eyes. It was still a jolt to his system whenever anyone used that word: mate. Equal parts exhilarating and terrifying. It was such a fragile word, and the others tossed it around so dangerously.

“I didn’t—” Azriel stammered. Mor and Emerie’s arrival this morning had been unexpected for everyone except Rhysand and Feyre. “There wasn’t time.” “So?! You should’ve made time.” Mor stepped away, letting the Shadowsinger back down onto his feet. He had the good sense to look sheepish, rubbing the back of his neck while Mor tossed her waist length hair over her shoulder. Her cheeks were flushed pink, tanned and freckled from her time on the Continent.

Azriel felt that familiar coil of guilt building in his stomach and he tried to remember the apology he’d been preparing for this exact moment when he and Mor would be alone.

He cleared his throat and bowed his head to the ground in a picture of reverent apology. “Mor, about what I said—”

She crashed into him again, arms looping around his neck and squeezing him so tightly he felt his ribs crack. And she was… laughing?

“You have a mate!” She giggled through happy tears, bouncing on her feet. Her heels clicked against the granite tiles. “My best friend finally has a mate!”

She kept repeating it over and over again, like she couldn’t quite believe it herself.

“Mor, please. Keep it down.” They were attracting attention and Azriel wordlessly summoned his shadows to hide them from view.

Mor finally let him go, covering her mouth with her hands. “I’m sorry I just—” She squealed.

Azriel let out a long, heavy sigh. This was closer to the reaction he should have had when Mor and Emerie announced their engagement. Instead he’d gone cold and silent.

He should have known Mor preferred females, and maybe he had known all along that Mor could never love him the way he’d once loved her. But he’d done what he always did when it came to love and ran forward with a blindfold on, hoping his aim was true but never bothering to check.

Mor furrowed her brows. “Are you upset by this? Why do you look like that?”

“What?” Azriel hissed like the question physically hurt him. “No. No! I’m not upset, I’m—” He clenched his fists and said in a small voice, “I think I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.” He took a deep breath and winced, “And I’m thinking that you must have felt similarly when you got together with Emerie, and that I royally fucked up by reacting the way that I did.”

He could picture it clear as day — Mor’s radiant smile slipping off her face, left hand dropping behind her back to hide the glittering ruby, the tears that gathered in her eyes when all Azriel did was remain stiff as stone before dropping off the balcony at her engagement party.

Mor hesitated then tucked her honey-gold waves behind her ears like she did whenever she was uncomfortable. “I should have told you sooner.” Azriel knew she was referring to more than just her relationship with Emerie. “I knew you loved me and I let you believe for so long that there might be a chance I could return those feelings. But I was scared because… because I wanted to know there would always be someone waiting for me if…” She pressed her hands over her stomach. The nails may have disappeared from her body without a trace, but they’d been hammered elsewhere in her soul and she hadn’t managed to take them out just yet. “It was wrong of me to use you like that. To keep you waiting for so long.”

Azriel rubbed her shoulders. “I think you gave me more than a few hints that it wouldn’t work out. Chief among them, Cassian.” Mor’s gaze dropped to her feet, but all Azriel did was press a gentle kiss to the crown of her forehead. “I still love you, Mor, and I always will. It’s just a different kind of love now. I’m happy for you and Emerie. Truly.”

“Yeah?” She looked up hopefully.

Azriel nodded. He pulled Mor close, wrapping his wings around her to block out the sounds of bartering happening in the square. They stayed like that for a long while, until the shadows on the wall had dropped another inch.

Mor sniffled and pushed him away. “Ok, enough of this now.” She carefully brushed away at the corner of her eyes, “You’re ruining my makeup.”

Azriel’s shoulders shook with silent laughter, and Mor noted how it seemed to come easier to him now.

The whole day you’d felt that something was amiss, but it wasn’t until a flustered artisan carrying bolts of spider silk fabric crashed into you that you realized what it was.

You stumbled into Azriel’s sturdy arms, feeling the strength and power beneath his leathers as he propped you up against his side.

“So sorry, miss. Please forgive me.” The artisan blubbered. His cat eyes glowed a pale orange as they flickered over you from head to toe, “Can’t see with this.” He lifted the bolt. There was something about his gaze that unsettled you, like he was searching for something. Like he was hungry. Or scared.

“It’s alright.” You adjusted your clothes, tucked the book behind your back so it was pressed up against Azriel’s hip.

That look in his eyes disappeared and he huffed in relief before continuing down the cobblestone streets, too much in a hurry to notice the Shadowsinger glaring at him.

“Are you ok?” He let you find your footing, keeping his hand at the small of your back.

You stared at the male’s retreating form. “He didn’t… he didn’t bow to you. To any of you.” You blinked at Feyre and Rhysand.

She wore no crown, no jewelry except the ring on her finger and the diamonds in her ears, but the male must have known he was in the presence of his High Lady. And there was no mistaking Rhysand and his brothers.

“Like Azriel said when you first arrived here, we take the casual approach.” Feyre said, and as if to make the point, Nyx shoved his hands in his pockets, tilting his head to the side in a manner so like Rhys that Azriel and Cassian burst out laughing. Rhys looked down fondly and brushed back his hair.

Feyre drifted to your side, watching with amusement as Nyx disappeared into the forest of color that was the Palace of Thread and Jewels. Every inch of fabric was too precious to be wasted, and so the weavers collected the scraps and tied them together, end to end, until they became one long chain. They hung from the entrances of shops, from the arches criss-crossing overhead, and from hand-painted signs. They wrapped around doorways and caught on the shoulders of passerbys, whispering of the time and effort spent crafting them.

Nyx weaved in and out of these strands, chased by Cassian and Azriel as they pretended to be tricked by the little boy’s lithe footsteps. You gasped as he turned invisible, then reappeared four inches to his left, jabbing at Azriel’s side before disappearing again.

“He can wrap light around himself as much as he can weave darkness,” Feyre explained, staying close to your side, “I think he might have gotten some remnant of the Day Court’s power from me. It made him an absolute nightmare for about three years when he couldn’t control it. Can you imagine having a toddler waddling around and wreaking havoc that you can’t even see?”

Nesta let out a sharp breath of laughter. “I think that’s an experience unique to you, Fey.”

You had to agree. You’d never turned invisible as a child, although you had to admit it would have been a very useful power to inherit from your father.

“Gotcha! You little rascal!” Cassian said triumphantly.

You heard Nyx shriek with laughter. Cassian and Azriel both had one arm raised above their heads and with a little shake the boy came back into view, dangling upside down from his ankles.

“Don’t break the boy, Cass.”

“I won’t break him, Rhys. Gotta let him grow old enough to beat all those bastards at Windhaven, don’t I?”

Rhys and Feyre’s smiles slipped ever so slightly.

Nyx was lowered to the ground. He kept his arms out and balanced on his hands for a brief moment before walking over onto his feet with a flourish.

“Gwyn taught me that last week. She’s part river nymph. Very flexible.” He brushed invisible dirt from his shirt and continued on, leading the way towards the Sidra like he owned the place — which in some respects he did.

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

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Author's Note:

Just another little chapter with more slowburn antics between Y/n and Azriel! And! Mor and Emerie are here! I am slowly but surely collecting characters like pokemon cards because you know I want to have my favorites in Velaris when shit starts to go down...

#azriel x reader #azriel x reader slowburn #azriel x y/n #azriel x you #azriel shadowsinger #the shadowsinger and the inkbird #acotar fanfiction #acotar #azriel angst #azriel spymaster

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pixelmensupremacy · 2 years

Note

Can I request a Leon x reader for RE4 remake? :0

Reader is one of the missing hikers that was mentioned during the opening cutscene and managed to escape the villagers just as she runs into Leon on his way to the lake. Leon has her come with him, even reader helping him keep Ashley safe, and during the whole mission, they start to develop feelings and Leon gets more protective. Can even be suggestive- especially during the chained scene if you want. 😳

A/N: Since I got one more request about this scene specifically I'll do a part two with the smut

Word count: 1.2k

Warnings: mentions of violence, fem!reader, not proofread

part 2

Darkness was all (Y/N) could see as she took cover in the cool, shadowy tunnel, using its gloomy nooks to hide from the locals, whose inhumane rage almost caused her horrific doom. Her entire body shook, her heart thumped loudly in her ears as the adrenaline in her veins was still in abnormal amounts. Images of what she saw haunted her and even now she was safe she trembled in fear as the awful memories resurfaced, making it even harder for them to catch her breath. Sounds of footsteps caught her attention; tears formed in the corners of her reddened eyes; her breath hitched. The sound grew louder and soon after she was able to make out the silhouette of a man; frozen in fear, (Y/N) couldn’t move as the man was slowly nearing her. Her (E/C) irises were glued on him so much so she didn’t notice her foot was poking out of the safety of the shadows.

Carefully, her gaze followed his movements; her fisted rolled, taking a hold of any object that was underneath her. Her poor heart was on the verge of exploding; her chest rose and fell in an unnaturally quick pace as her breathing grew shallow. A yelp ripped past her lips at the sudden force hitting her foot; a thud echoed on her right. Cold sweat broke out on her skin; her eyes widened in utter horror as she was faced with the man and more importantly the barrel of his gun. In that split moment she surrendered to her fate; and at this exact moment the thought of a quick painless death was a blessing in comparison to the horrors she witnessed in the cruel village, the screams of the poor police man will forever be imprinted in her conscience. Yet the freeing moment she expected never arrived and instead of the gun she saw an inviting hand once she peeled her eyes open.

“Are you hurt?” She barely made out the words, for her anxiety driven mind was far too hazy for her to comprehend.

“Why didn’t you do it?” Her voice was quiet, her glassy eyes bore into his; his heart clenched, a smear of guilt weaved in his features.

Shouts anchored the attention of the two; dozens of villagers lurked about the end of the tunnel, the lights of their torches threw light on the barricade the two were hidden behind. Chills ran down her spine at the sound of sickles and hatches flying by her, she wasn’t ready to go through this, not again.

“You’ll have the time to thank me later.” The mysterious man took a hold of her hand and dragged her in the opposite direction.

“So, what brings you here?” (Y/N) spoke up breaking the unnerving silence.

“I could ask you the same thing.” He answered not even turning around to face her; she let out a deep sigh.

“Okay let me guess.” She tapped her chin, stimulating her logical thinking. “You definitely aren’t here on a vacation, judging by your… gear.” She paused as she observed the arsenal of weapons resting right on his back.

“Go on.” His foot stomped on a wooden box, demolishing it with just the force of his limb; impressed by his strength, (Y/N) fell silent as she looked at him with awe.

“Now’s my turn.” He turned around, finally facing her after the frenzy of running from villagers the two had gone through. “You’re a hiker, who got lost and now you’re here.” She was at loss of words, yet the puzzled, hurt look on her face didn’t fail to reflect the state of her heart.

“Are you a clairvoyant or what.” The mysterious man chuckled before e knelt down to pick up a box of what looked to be ammunition; the muscles of his back and shoulders flexed as he then stood up, the leather of his fingerless gloves tightened around his fist.

“Can I at least know the name of the guy that saved my ass.” She asked, in attempt to distract herself from the newfound subject of her interest. He turned to face her; the sunrays highlighted his features that she hasn’t had the time, nor opportunity to observe. His hair was a beautiful blond color, the strands of which appeared gold under the light of the setting sun; his jaw and cheekbones were defined and smooth as if he wasn’t a human being but rather a marble sculpture, carved by the most skillful of craftsmen. The irises of his eyes were a mixture of different cobalt blue hues each prettier than the previous, every shade made for a whirl of unreadable emotions that were contained deep within him, enhancing the intensity and mystery to him.

“Leon Kennedy.” Immediately, her attention was anchored to his full, silky-smooth lips and to the Adam’s apple that bobbed up and down as he spoke. “It’s rude to not introduce yourself, you know?” He looked her up and down, his gaze both judgmental and intrigued.

“It’s (Y/N).” Her gaze shied away from his prying one that ironically also drew her in with a strong invisible force.

“Okay, (Y/N) you’re gonna have to stick to me if you wanna make it through.” She nodded, not paying much attention to the words he spoke as she noted how her name sounded when he said it. She was screwed.

Together they explored their surroundings; before them there was a heavily damaged house, behind it’s gaping hole was another one that was intact. Driven by her intuition, she pointe the house to Leon and so they headed to it. The space was plain and fairly minimalistic with just a few pieces of furniture lying around, the color scheme of the room though was even more poor that the interior itself. Dust particles flew in the air as the slowly fell and clung to any surface that was already covered in thick layer of debris and filth. Continuing her venture inside, (Y/N) heard a strange sound; investigating it’s source she came along a darkened, narrow corridor above which was a ticking bomb. Immediately, she called out for Leon, who safely detonated it. Weirdly enough, the bomb wasn’t her found, for she noticed a ladder leading to what appeared to be basement.

“I’ll go check it out. You stay here.” Leon was quick to move past her, preventing her from entering the gaping dark opening.

“Are you out of your mind? I’m not staying alone.” She protested; her arms crossed in front of her chest as she struck him with a stern look.

“Sure.” He sighed in defeat, he had no time for arguing. “Ladies first.” He jokingly pointed to the entrance; hesitantly, she gazed at the hole and then at Leon. The corners of his lips curled ever so slightly.

“Just as I thought.” He said before he jumped. Shocked, (Y/N) screamed his name only to be hear his chuckle- the one she couldn’t get enough of despite having only heard it only twice. She cursed as she got down after him; the lighthearted mood soon evaporated as they noticed a suspicious looking sack. Leon pointed his flashlight at the object and knelt before it; a piercing scream resonated from behind him. Swinging his gun in the air, he saw her trapped in the grasp of an atrociously tall man, dressed in black from head to toe. With no hesitation, the agent fired at the man, yet he seemed unphased; a powerful force hit him, causing him to fly across the room. Slowly, blackness took over his hazy vision as a sudden warmth embraced his head; (Y/N)’s screams of horror echoed in his head.

#resident evil fanfiction #resident evil x reader #leon scott kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon x reader #leon x you #request

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cressidagrey · 3 months

Text

The Starlight Princess - Chapter 6

Summary:

There is a Pool of Starlight in the Spring Court. A piece of the Night Court that has no business being in the land of Eternal Spring. So how did it come to be?

Or: How the Spymaster of the Night Court starts hearing a voice, realises that no, he is not insane after all, frees a princess, kills a High Lord…and finds his mate all at the same time.

Warnings:

Discussion of the Death of Rhys’ Mother and Sister, Tamlin ends up being unalived, Discussion of Magic being turned against the other person, Rhys has a mental breakdown, Cassian is a clairvoyant

(dividers by @tsunami-of-tears)

Azriel was nowhere to be seen.

Rhys pressed his lips together in displeasure.

Busy, Nesta had said with a shrug. He said he had plans.

Azriel seemingly always had plans these days.

Rhys was quite sure that said plans were to mope around the house he had bought. Silently.

Because that’s all Azriel was these days.

Azriel used to regularly question his orders, suggesting another way or an addition to Rhys‘ plans…he had stopped doing that. Azriel did what Rhys told him to. No more. No less.

And anything else…he wasn’t interested in that.

Last solstice, Azriel had even willingly thrown away his own snowball fight victory for Cassian‘s. He had ensured that Rhys would lose and then hadn’t bothered to protect himself from Cass. He pulled back from them all, and Rhys wasn’t sure what to do against it.

Not when it was his own decision that had resulted in it after all.

A decision that Azriel wasn’t interested in talking about either: that wedding a few days ago had made that just abundantly clear.

But at least Rhys had stopped him from getting utterly drunk. Azriel had been definitely had no hangover the day after. Oh no. All he had gotten from Azriel was hell-bent determination.

For what…he had no clue.

Still, as he watched his family have dinner that evening, something tugged deep in his gut, worrying about his brother.

Worrying about him eschewing his family in favour of being alone.

Amren wasn’t there either, visiting Varian in Adriata.

Their usual tight-knit group lacking two members.

He was turning it over in his head, when he felt it.

It started as nothing more than a rumble. But it grew. And it grew.

The very foundation of Prythian was shaking.

“Oh no,” Mor breathed.

He could just agree.

Spring’s Wards were failing.

“Cassian. Mor,” he said sharply as he moved to stand. He would ask Azriel to come also g if he was there, but he wasn’t.

This wasn’t good. He didn’t even want to imagine what he would find in the Spring Court if…

“I’d rather stay here and help Feyre. Take Nesta,” Mor told him quietly and for a moment he looked over to his sister in law that was mustering him with her grey eyes.

He turned away. “Feyre Darling. Hold Velaris,” he told his wife and High Lady, their son on her lap, Nyx staring at him with wide blue eyes, so similar to his mother. She just gave him a sharp nod.

There had never been two people that he had loved more than them.

“Azriel?” Cassian asked, fighting leathers already spreading over his form, offering a set of knives to Nesta, who strapped them to her own form. Rhys held out his hand, Ataraxia slapping down into his palm as he held it out for Nesta to take.

He called onto his own weapons, his own fighting leathers, just as he grasped both Cassian and Nesta…winnowing them straight into Spring Court.

It looked as horrible as it had been for months. Utterly desolate. Just that now… he could see the dome of the wards falling to the floor in little flecks of magic…utterly destroyed by…Tamlin’s inaction.

But that wasn’t the only TV in. He could nearly taste the metallic, heady sense of blood magic in the back of his throat. Seemingly the whole place was permeated by it.

“Don’t you think he’s already all over this?” Rhys gave back in response to Cassian, even just hating having to ask that question.

He was sure of it. Azriel was in the midst of this, pulling information out of thin air.

He reached out for his brother, only to come up against a wall of adamant. Something was going on. Normally he would be able to place where Azriel was but not right now.

Not…

“You think he knew it was coming?” Cassian asked him incredulously, sword drawn, following behind as Rhys crossed the courtyard of that manor towards the forest…towards where that blood magic was coming from.

And then Nesta’s quiet voice: “He had two swords with him this evening that I have never seen before,” she said. “They matched, but they didn’t…They looked like they belonged to a female. The hilts were encrusted with purple stones.”

That…That didn’t sound like any of the brutally practical weapons Az preferred.

But he could feel Cassian’s shock pour from his mind…just as Rhys stopped as suddenly there was a snap, another person winnowing in…he blinked twice to see that it was Helion.

“It seemed that I wasn’t the only one disturbed this evening,” Helion said after a blink and Rhys could just shake his head, just as the snapping sound of another burst of winnowing sounded. Kallias.

“How long do you think until it’s all of us?” Helion drawled and Rhys shrugged wordlessly…wondering when not if Autumn was going to show up…or Summer…or even Thesan.

Still, he needed…something pulled him further into the forest. He wasn’t quite sure what it was, couldn’t quite put his finger on it…And then he found that clearing.

And Tamlin.

In his beast form, keeled over into the mud…He was dead. Rhys didn’t even need to check that. It was obvious.

Cassian’s breath caught in his throat.

Tamlin’s prone form, laying in a puddle of his own blood in a muddy sinking into the ground.

But the most shocking thing was the blood magic that was permeating the space. Magic that was so dark that it made Rhys shudder.

He could feel it…could feel how strong it must have been to force another’s faes magic to submit this completely…to enslave them like Tamlin clearly had done…his magical signature was all over the place.

Rhys wanted to throw up.

It turned his stomach.

He had seen many horrible things throughout his long, long life, but this…this was on a level with Amarantha. This wasn’t…

“What happened here?” Kallias asked tonelessly. Rhys clearly wasn’t the only one who had felt this magic. Dark ancient magic… So dark…it was unspeakable. He could feel it in his bones.

But it was Helion who climbed down next to Tamlin, casting something that resulted in a golden glow surrounding Tamlin’s prone form.

Rhys reached out with his own magic, poking around the remnants of that dark, dark magic…so unlike his own…And then suddenly, he felt it.

A magic that he would remember for the rest of his life. A perfect mirror of his own. Since she had been born.

Seren’s magic. Pure Starlight…traces of it still left even if they started to pull back so quickly that he was sure nobody else would see them.

Seren.

No. No, it couldn’t…it couldn’t be…This couldn’t….

*Rhys, what’s wrong?* His mate demanded sharply, and he realised that he must have bled his surprise and devastation and everything else he had been feeling all over their bond. He pulled back sharply, shaking himself out of it, even when…Even when he knew that this was impossible.

Seren had been dead for centuries. She was nowhere…She was…

*Nothing, Feyre Darling,* he forced out.

*Do not lie to me. Mor just disappeared too. Went chalk white, like she sensed something and went off.* Clearly something more was going on.

*Tamlin is death,* he told her quietly. *Helion is checking how it happened.*

Surprise from Feyre…a wave of sadness.

“Tamlin used his…blood to tie another fae to his…life force in some form. The moment he died, the wards fell…and with them the curse put upon her,” Helion said at that moment as he straightened up. He spat out the words, seemingly disgusted by it.

So was Rhys.

“Her?” he asked, idly. This was…A female?

“If you figure out who this female was, let me know. She must be a sigh to behold,” Helion said deceptively light and Rhys swallowed. Had Helion…Had he…sensed the same thing as him? Had he…

“Who killed him? What killed him?” Kallias demanded.

“Drowning,” Helion said easily, pushing over Tamlin in his beast form. Rhys could see two stab wounds lining his throat.

“He has two stab wounds in his neck,” he pointed out. Helion shrugged.

“And still he drowned,” Helion answered. “Just not in water.”

Before he could ask in what exactly Tamlin had drowned then, another harsh pop of winnowing.

“Tarquin,” he greeted the High Lord of Summer.

“I apologise for my tardiness,” Tarquin said carefully. “We had…some unexpected developments.” He gestured to a male at his side who looked like he would prefer to be anywhere else, wide-eyed and terrified.

“Oleander. The New High Lord of Spring,” Tarquin said with a wave. Unexpected though not completely. The magic would find somebody else to settle on. “A far-fetched cousin from Tamlin,” Tarquin explained. “The magic settled on him minutes ago.”

“Let me extend my sincere condolences,” Kallias said, his voice flat, making it very obvious that he didn’t actually think that Tamlin’s death was a great loss.

Not after the magic that was still in the air all around them.

“After what I am getting from him, I don’t think he deserves that,” Oleander blurted out at that moment. He still looked young, like he hadn’t expected the magic to land in his lap. Rhys supposed that it must be shocking.

“That blood magic…it’s all over him,” Oleander breathed. “It’s…so dark.”

Really young, Rhys clarified mentally. He must have never seen a battlefield in his life.

“Tamlin used his blood to tie another fae to his life force. The moment he died, the wards fell and with them the curse put upon her,” Helion repeated calmly. “It’s a magical enslavement. Pure and simple.”

It was. The worst kind.

“Will you search for his killer?” Rhys asked lightly and Oleander stared at him, green eyes wide, the colour of foliage as he blinked.

“Wasn’t it the fae he kept imprisoned?” Oleander asked. “If it was, they had every right to kill him to escape…This is dark magic sullying Spring’s ground…all of that is on my cousin. I am not going to hunt down somebody for defending themselves in a horrible situation. What kind of example would that set?”

It seemed like the new High Lord of Spring promised to be both a bleeding heart and just as liberal as the High Lord of which court he had just come from.

Still…the feel of his sister’s magic…it kept him off-kilter, not understanding what else Tamlin had done when he had killed her…cut off her wings and her head…

Killed Seren and her power and her sweetness…the ferocity of her love.

*Rhys, you need to come home,* Feyre suddenly said into his mind, sounding…not worried but…something he couldn’t quite place.

*What happened?* He demanded, trying to push deeper into his mate’s mind but she kept him out.

*Just come home,* Feyre requested. *Whenever you can.*

There wasn’t much more for them to do in the desolate court of Spring. Not when its new High Lord was already trying…clearly chafing under what had been unexpectedly dropped into his lap but clearly trying.

Oleander would rebuild the wards, and do his best to make Spring less desolate…maybe even some of Spring’s people would be willing to come back now…now that they had a new High Lord… they would make sure that the land would be blooming and brimming with life again. But there was nothing else that Rhys could do.

Nothing else he could do but to return to the Night Court.

Where his cousin was waiting for him, Nyx was asleep in Feyre’s arms.

“And?” Mor demanded immediately.

“Tamlin is dead…a cousin of his has taken over…Oleander. Must be from one of the side lines of the family,” Rhys recounted with a sigh.

“He seems like a good fellow,” Cassian agreed with a shrug. “Stout. Clearly very displeased with the blood magic Tamlin used.”

“Blood Magic?” Feyre asked curiously.

“He tied the life force of another Fae to him,” Rhys explained, quietly.

“Like a bargain?” Feyre asked him and he swallowed as he remembered the death bargain the two of them had. He wished it was something like that.

“No. Much worse than that. He enslaved another fae’s magic to do his bidding. It’s old magic. Ancient. And dark as fuck,” Mor said darkly, her brown eyes lined with unshed tears. “And Rhys…I….I figured out it was. And you aren’t going to like this.”

“Figured out who who was?” Cassian wondered.

“The Fae bound in the blood magic?” Rhys asked and Mor just nodded, swallowing.

“Can’t you feel her?” She asked, looking at him softly.

No.

No, this couldn’t…this couldn’t be.

This was a fever dream.

Something he had hoped for and prayed for and knew was never going to happen, because it was impossible…because he had seen her unattached head in that basket…he had…

No.

And still, he reached out with his mind, rushing over the city like he always did, catching all the snapshots of the faes of Velaris and…

And then he felt it.

He felt her.

It nearly brought him to his knees.

He knew her mind’s rhythm as well as he knew his brothers’. He knew how it felt, the slick adamant walls that were down now, all her feeling broadcasting to everybody around her.

Sweet Love…Everlasting Devotion. All there…Need…So much need there, devastation and adoration and…

“I am feeling…kinda mellow,” Cassian realised aloud. “What is that?”

“It’s Seren,” Mor said quietly. Cassian sharply pulled in a breath.

“Who’s Seren?” Nesta asked aloud.

“Rhys’ Sister,” Feyre answered, and he could feel his hands shaking, still reaching out for his sister’s mind, being batted away, as her attention was turned to…turned to somebody else…something else.

He could feel it…it was… “Who’s with her?” He bit out. Who…

“Azriel,” Mor answered quietly. “They are in the midst of their Mating Frenzy. And I wouldn’t suggest interrupting them unless you want to be killed by a pissed of Seren.”

“Did you interrupt them?” Cassian asked with a shit-eating grin. “I am surprised that Azriel didn’t kill you.”

“He was too busy holding her back. She took a bite out of him in response. To show me that he is definitely hers,” Mor said with a wet laugh, shaking her head.

His little sister in the middle of her mating frenzy with Azriel of all people.

“I am going to kill him,” Rhys hissed. Azriel’s plans that evening: Oh, it probably had been to kill Tamlin!

“You are not going to kill your brother,” Feyre said calmly.

“Yes, I am! He’s…He’s defiling my little sister!” he said hotly.

Defiling her.

Seren was too fucking young to mate to anybody! She hadn’t been 18 when she had died! She had still been…She had still been…

“Don’t worry, I think she’s defiling him just as thoroughly,” Cassian said with a snort. Could be weeks until you see them. Azriel always had the greatest endurance….and they have three centuries to catch up on.

“Cassian, I’ll kill you too,” Rhys hissed, but Cassian only grinned.

“After or Before you kill Azriel for defiling your little sister?” he teased him.

Rhys just growled at Cassian.

“Just be happy that she’s very much alive,” Cassian told him softly, clapping on his shoulder. “You got her back, Rhys. Who can be upset about a miracle like that.”

Not him. Not ever him.

He would thank the mother on his knees for the rest of his life for this miracle if he…

He went back to brushing over her mind, feeling more love…more adoration…so much happiness. She was so happy.

“There’ll probably be more than one very mellow Fae around Velaris tonight. Maybe a few orgies,” Mor said drily. “I’ll suggest you wait until tomorrow morning.”

“Did she always use to project her feelings like that?” Nesta wondered and he shook his head. No, she hadn’t. Normally, Seren had been very calm…very collected. Nobody had been able to look underneath the masks she wore…the perfect princess.

“Only when her emotions were very…strong,” Mor answered quietly. Only very rarely. Then yes…then her emotions bleed all over everybody in her near vicinity.

“It does seem like you were right,” Feyre teased Cassian, who just grinned at her.

“Right about what?” Rhys demanded. What had Cassian suspected?

“That Azriel and Seren are mates,” Cassian answered calmly.

What? How in the world had Cassian figured that out before…

“Why did you think that?” he asked weakly. Cassian just looked at him.

“Because they were very much in love, Rhys. And he would have laid waste to the entirety of Prythian to make sure that she was safe. And so would she for him.”

#acotar fanfiction #my writing #azriel x oc #the starlight princess #the starlight princess story #azriel x rhys!sister

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ohgeezlya · 1 month

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READ ME | THE TIMELINE SERIES

I want you to read this before reading the series, please and thank you.

CHARACTERS

Number One -- Luther -Superhuman Strength -Enhanced Resilience

Is able pick up heavy objects without a sweat. Also resilient against any attack after a failed mission. ----+"Spaceboy"+---- "He sent me to the moon for nothing!"

Number Two -- Diego -Trajectory Manipulation

Is able to change the trajectory of any weapon thrown or shot. ----+"The Kraken+---- "Have enough material for your sequel yet?"

Number Three -- Allison -Vocal Manipulation

Is able to manipulate the mind with the words "I heard a rumor..." ----+"The Rumor"+---- "I want to see my daughter!"

Number Four -- Klaus -Commune With the Dead -Self-resurrection

Is able to communicate with the dead, and partially allow the dead to roam as apparitions. Also able to bring himself back to life. ----+"The Seance"+---- "I always wondered why we had an extra room ..."

Number Five -- Five -Time Manipulation/Teleportation

Is able to teleport through space and time either from one place to another or across decades. ----+"The Boy"+---- "I don't know you, despite what you say.

I don't trust you for even a second."

Number Six -- Ben (Dead) - Eldritch Tentacles

Is able to release large tentacles from his stomach . ----+"The Horror"+---- "WEEEEE!"

Number Seven -- Vanya/Viktor -Sound Manipulation -Matter Manipulation

Is able to manipulate sound waves and matter into a physical force. ----+"The White Violin"+---- "I'm glad to have another sister"

Redacted - (Y/N) Clairvoyance Energy Absorption

Is able to see/feel the future and absorb energy/life force with a constant touch. Her body is a host for space and time, whatever happens to the timeline will happen to her. ----+” Timeline"+---- "I signed a contract that cost me...everything."

- I do not own the plot of The Umbrella Academy or its characters; this is purely fanfiction for like-minded people. Remember, if anything that's shown in the TV show and in this book—supernatural elements, violence, blood, death, forced isolation, social ineptness, derealization, and panic attacks—makes you uncomfortable, please click off. Self-preservation should come first before any lame book.

-I will not be descriptive when it comes to the reader, besides the fact that she's intended to use feminine terms. (However, you are welcome to change that to fit yourself) And power related changes to your appearance.

- I also want to say that Viktor will be referred to as Vanya and she/her pronouns until we get to season three. I want to clarify that I am not intentionally misgendering them or dead naming them, I want to keep his progress of figuring out his identity as a trans-man because I believe it to be important.

-My opinion on Season Four is that it was SOOO dogshit that I'll be rewriting it entirely when I get there!YAY, don't you love it when screenwriters and directors shoot their show in the foot?

- Also I accept criticism, I think it would help me with my writing mainly grammar and typos because I'm dyslexic and will fuck up many times. I also love when people comment on my stories because I like interacting with my audience.

- I make sure to write long chapters possibly 1000-4000 words.

- This a slow burn because Five would NOT fall in love at first sight. While on the relationship between Five and the reader, I changed it so that Five joined the Commission at 34 so when Five and you time travel back you both are mentally 34 but physically 14-15 during season 1.

-I also have this book on Wattpad I will be honest and say that this would be much more immersive on Wattpad but I understand that it’s not everyone’s first go-too fanfic app. Account is ‘Ohgeezlya’

Welcome to the commission!…

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fuckyeahisawthat · 5 months

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While this article does not answer my #1 burning question of how you dismount from a speeding sandworm, there are a lot of great pull quotes, including:

On Paul and Chani:

"...I wanted to make sure the audience will understand that Paul becomes a dark figure, that his choices are exactly what Chani was afraid of. He becomes the colonizers the Fremen were fighting against.... He betrayed her in many ways. But the big thing for Chani is that it’s not about love. It’s about the fact that he becomes the figure that will keep the Fremen in their mental jail. A leader that is not there to free the Fremen, but to control them."

On the duel between Paul and Feyd-Rautha:

"...we approached their fight at the end like some kind of symbolic union. The way their bodies get close to one another, there’s something animalistic, an intimacy, I was looking for."

On the infamous popcorn bucket:

"I’m at peace with the bucket."

Full article text under the cut, including Fremen sex lives, murder toddler adaptation choices, and the teeny tiniest of teasers for Dune Messiah:

Denis Villeneuve Answers All Your Questions About ‘Dune: Part Two’

He explains why Lady Jessica’s face is so heavily tattooed, whether Paul considers himself the Messiah and what he thinks of those Javier Bardem memes.

By Amy Nicholson

April 17, 2024

This weekend, “Dune: Part Two” muscles back into IMAX theaters with the verve of Timothée Chalamet rodeo-riding a giant sandworm. After nearly two months in theaters, the film is the current champion of this year’s box office race, with a total take of more than $680 million. (It’s also available to rent or buy on some streaming platforms.) The film’s success is thanks in part to audiences that have returned over and over to get lost in the rocky warrens and spiritual reckonings of the planet Arrakis. One admirer reports he’s seen the movie 25 times to date.

That there’s so much to explore in “Dune: Part Two” is a credit to its writer and director, Denis Villeneuve, who boldly reshaped Frank Herbert’s complex and cerebral 1965 novel “Dune.” Villeneuve split the book and its themes into two films: “Dune: Part One,” released in 2021, focused on the political struggles between two families, the Atreides and the Harkonnens. “Part Two” delves into religious fervor as the two surviving Atreides, young Paul (Chalamet) and his mother, Lady Jessica (Rebecca Ferguson), ingratiate themselves with Arrakis’s Indigenous desert tribe, the Fremen, by allowing the locals to believe that Paul is their Messiah — a prophecy that, if it comes to pass, will mean the slaughter of billions of victims across the galaxy.

Villeneuve has yearned to tell this story since he was a teenager in Quebec. His devotion is palpable; every frame feels steeped in monkish contemplation. Yet, he’s also a visual dramatist who doesn’t want audiences to get tripped up by too much exposition. His scripts give only passing mention to core concepts like spice, a psychedelic dust that powers everything from space travel to Paul’s clairvoyant hallucinations.

Though Villeneuve doesn’t want to overexplain, he was willing to provide some answers in an interview via video where every question about the film — even silly questions! — was on the table.

Does Chalamet’s Paul Atreides actually believe he’s the Messiah? What’s the meaning of Jessica’s face tattoos? Villeneuve also got into the erotic lives of his desert dwellers and the extra narrative weight he threw behind Paul’s Fremen love interest, Chani, played by Zendaya. As Villeneuve said with a grin, “Chani is my secret weapon.”

Here are edited excerpts from our conversation.

The last time we spoke, you weren’t sure what to make of the sandworm-shaped “Dune” popcorn bucket. It went on to be so popular that it sold out in cities before opening day and is being resold online for around $175. What do you think of it now?

I thought that the bucket was an insane marketing idea. I laughed so much. It is so out there. I don’t know who designed it, but they’re a bit of a genius. I’m at peace with the bucket.

In this film, Javier Bardem’s character Stilgar is reduced to a guileless follower of Paul Atreides, who Stilgar believes is the new Messiah. His conversion is tragic. But also, Bardem’s awe-face has become a funny meme, and the second time I saw the movie, people laughed at almost every line he spoke. Did that reaction surprise you?

No. I am very happy when you say that he is a tragic figure. For me, he is the most tragic figure of all. The idea to bring humor to Stilgar was to make him lovable, to feel the humanity in that character. He’s not an austere figure, he has a big heart. But his beliefs, his faith, his reactions bring humor — and that is something I love about making a sci-fi film, because I can talk about that without offending people because it’s a fake religion. I designed all the prayers myself, so I know it’s fake. I find Stilgar very funny. And when people laugh, I’m happy because that was the intention.

Someone makes a dig that Stilgar has found a savior again. This is not even his first time?

All his life he has been raised with that dream. So I suggest that every time a guy comes from outside with a lot of charisma, he hopes he’s found him. Like in the Bible, we have tons of prophets before Jesus came.

The arc of “Dune: Part Two” is Paul accepting that he must become the Messiah — and get billions of people killed. Does he truly believe that he is the Messiah? Or does he just decide to let the Fremen believe that he is?

I don’t think he believes that he is the Messiah. I think he feels the burden of the heritage that the Bene Gesserit [the mystical sisterhood that Jessica belongs to] have laid among the Fremen, and he sees the potential to use that religious power to survive.

Paul is warned that no man can survive drinking the spiritual water of life. But as that’s part of the lore of a planet seeded with manipulative propaganda by his own mother, I have to ask: Have other men actually been drinking the water and dying? Have they been scared off from trying? Is the warning just a setup for a magic trick?

There are people that have tried it in the past and died. In Frank Herbert’s world, femininity is a power. I think Herbert was fascinated by motherhood, by the power of creation. I love this idea that the power is held by women. It’s something that was ahead of his time when he wrote it and I tried to put the focus on it.

You say so much with Jessica’s costuming. In the first film, her look is immaculate and baroque. This film begins with her in rags, but she finds another path to being dressed and treated like royalty. And she gets a lot of tattoos on her face. Why did she get so many more face tattoos than the outgoing reverend mother?

She’s trying to play on the symbolism that was put in the prophecy. She’s supposed to be the mother of the Messiah, so I wanted to bring the idea that she was like the pope of the reverend mothers on Arrakis. There’s some kind of madness in writing elements of the prophecies on her face. Frankly, I think when you drink the worm poison, it affects your sanity — and the same with Paul. I like the idea that we feel she’s going too far.

Jessica is already pregnant when the first movie ends, and she’s still pregnant at the end of this film. Which means you had to condense this massive story into less than nine months because her body is a time clock.

The idea was to compress the book so that Paul will feel the pressure to get the Fremens’ trust, to start gearing up — but not to succeed, not to have the time to create a real war. Time is against him.

Because in the book, this takes years. Long enough for Jessica to give birth to a very unnerving daughter, Alia. We glimpse Alia as an adult — she’s played by Anya Taylor-Joy — but you skipped over seeing her murder people as a toddler. Was it hard to decide no “murder toddler”?

I think pregnant women look tremendously powerful. To use that power was very exciting. And usually when you see a pregnant woman onscreen, she’s always giving birth. To avoid that moment, to stay in the state of being pregnant, I thought was very Frank Herbert-like. I was going away from the killer toddler, but I thought that was more fresh and original. Honestly, it’s one of the things that I’m proudest of in the adaptation.

Speaking of female power, let’s talk about Chani.

Chani is my secret weapon. Frank Herbert was sad to realize that people saw the book as a celebration of Paul Atreides. He wanted to do a cautionary tale against messianic figures, a warning against blending religion and politics. I wrote the second movie trying to be more faithful to Frank Herbert’s intentions than to the book. In the book, Chani is just a follower. I came up with the idea of her being reluctant. She gives us the critical distance and perspective on Paul’s journey. I wanted to make sure the audience will understand that Paul becomes a dark figure, that his choices are exactly what Chani was afraid of. He becomes the colonizers the Fremen were fighting against. And then the movie becomes the cautionary tale Frank Herbert was wishing for.

Paul makes a choice at the end that will go on to kill billions of people. That’s so large and theoretical that it’s hard to grasp. But you structure your climax so that in that moment of betrayal, he’s also betraying the love of his life — a betrayal we understand.

He betrayed her in many ways. But the big thing for Chani is that it’s not about love. It’s about the fact that he becomes the figure that will keep the Fremen in their mental jail. A leader that is not there to free the Fremen, but to control them. That’s the tragedy of all tragedies. Like the Michael Corleone of sci-fi, he becomes what he wanted to avoid. And he will try to find a way to save his soul in the third part.

But “Dune Messiah,” the book your third film is based on, picks up 12 years later with a reunited Paul and Chani. How far did you feel you could push her anger? Because at some point, she’s going to have to forgive him.

That anger is tremendous. I don’t want to reveal what I’m going to do with the third movie. I know exactly what to do. I’m writing it right now. But there’s a lot of firepower there and I’m very excited about that decision.

In the spirit of no dumb questions, Chani says that Paul sand-walks like a drunk lizard. Which means Arrakis has booze?

Actually, there is spice beer. In the book, there are Fremen parties, even some orgies involving spice. I didn’t bring that into the movies because it’s PG-13.

Body fluids have significance to the Fremen. Spitting is the giving of water, a sign of respect. But tears and vomit are a waste. So what is kissing?

As long as you don’t lose your humidity, you can kiss. It’s an exchange of fluids — an act of love, when you think about it. Fremens love to kiss.

What about the, um, other romantic fluids?

You cannot have sex outside, for sure. But they are very sexual. I suspect that all sexual intercourse happens in environments that are protected from losing moisture. When they are in their sietches [or caves] underground, those are sealed. You don’t need to wear stillsuits inside them. We can deduce from that there is no problem to have sex in a sietch.

By the way, who decided that Fremen was pronounced Freh-men and not Free-men?

All the pronunciations, I took them from recordings of Frank Herbert’s voice. Frank Herbert used “Freh-men,” which I love. It makes it less on-the-nose.

You kept two major characters out of the first movie and only introduced them now: the princess Irulan, played by Florence Pugh, and the Baron Harkonnen’s nephew Feyd-Rautha, played by Austin Butler. The princess is the first voice in the books, the first face onscreen in David Lynch’s “Dune” [1984]. What made you sure holding them back was the right move, despite three years of fans asking, “Hey, where are they?”

When people ask me what was the biggest challenge in making those movies, it’s writing them. In order to make this adaptation, we have to make big, bold decisions. One was that the first movie should be seen from Paul’s perspective. I wasn’t able to do that entirely because I had to go to the Harkonnens’ side to introduce them so that the story will be clear, but I tried to find an elegant simplicity in the story structure. And I wanted, frankly, to keep some firepower for the second movie.

Why is Feyd-Rautha’s gladiator scene in black and white? And what are the splats in the sky above the dome?

Frank Herbert explores the impact of ecosystems on cultures, on humans. How it influences the way we evolve — our biology, culture, technology, mythology, religion. The psychology of a tribe is linked with their environment. If you want to know things about the Fremen, you observe the desert. I wanted to have the same approach to the Harkonnens. They killed nature. It’s a plastic planet. One thing left was sunlight, but instead of a sun that reveals color, it kills colors. When you are outside, it’s all black and white. It gives us ideas about how these people perceive reality, politics, violence in a binary world — it brings the idea of fascism. It also gave me the opportunity to bring images that remind us in our memories of World War II and the Nazi regime. So it’s an idea that I had as I was writing. Then I had the idea to have strange fireworks in the sky that will look like Rorschach drawings. It’s a nightmarish celebration. The perception of a dome is not accurate. It’s just that the fireworks reach a certain altitude and then they explode. But it’s true that it looks like a liquid that falls from the sky.

Forgive me if I am not being fair to sadistic, psychopathic Feyd-Rautha. But all of the gladiators were supposed to be drugged for his happy birthday massacre. The one who secretly isn’t puts up a worthy battle. So I assumed that Feyd-Rautha isn’t that great of a fighter. But at the end, he’s the only warrior who is Paul’s equal?

It’s a show. You see that the Harkonnens are very cruel and their society is very paranoiac. His opponent is known in the books as one of the great fighters, Lieutenant Lanville. I tried to show that Feyd is excited to have a real opponent. He has a code of honor, he respects the effort, and he has fun with it. That’s the idea I tried to convey — he’s not a coward.

Audiences might remember that the Bene Gesserit wanted Jessica’s child to be a girl, that Timothée Chalamet’s Paul Atreides was supposed to be female. And they specifically bred Feyd-Rautha to be a male. Were they hoping these youngsters would mate?

Yeah. They are trying to increase the potential of humanity by breeding the best specimen of each tribe or family. A baby between Feyd-Rautha and an Atreides daughter would have brought peace between Harkonnens and the Atreides, and created an über being.

Will you read any of the internet fan fiction spawned by the idea of Timothée and Austin hooking up?

[Laughs] But you know, we approached their fight at the end like some kind of symbolic union. The way their bodies get close to one another, there’s something animalistic, an intimacy, I was looking for.

I rewatched the first film again recently. It opens with a quote in another language: “Dreams are messages from the deep.” I love that quote. It feels like how a film resonates, too. But it wasn’t until I had subtitles on at home that I realized who said it. Of all the important characters and cultures to establish, you gave that major moment — the very beginning of your franchise — to an anonymous Sardaukar from the murderous imperial army that we’re cheering to see get killed. Why?

I love your question. The Sardaukar are the dark side of the Fremen. I thought it would be interesting to have a tiny bit of insight that they are not just tremendous warriors, but they have spirituality, philosophical thought. They have substance. Also, their sound was designed by Hans Zimmer. I absolutely loved how it feels like it’s coming from the deep, from the ancient world. Frank Herbert said beginnings are very delicate times. By starting with a Sardaukar priest, I was indicating to the fans that I was taking absolute freedom with this adaptation, that I was hijacking the book.

But you also deeply love the book. So when you make these bold changes, do you feel like asking Frank Herbert for forgiveness?

Yes. There’s so many darlings that you kill. An adaptation is an act of violence.

#dune #dune part two #denis villeneuve #paul atreides #chani kynes #as usual i think he gives frank herbert way too much credit when it comes to writing female characters #agree to disagree on that one denis

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mxchaelsdiary · 3 months

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"Is that the impression you get from me?"

･｡ﾟ★: . Headcanons. :☆ﾟ. ･

History

★ Michael was the first angel created by Father, and the eldest of the angels.

★ Michael's decision to cast the brothers out wasn't a punishment, but rather an act of desperation. He realized his heart couldn't bear to fight against the brothers any longer, and that if the war continued they'd surely lose and pay for it with their lives- either at Michael's own blade, or at Father's hand as execution for their crimes against the Celestial Realm. And so, in a split-second decision, he cast them out as a desperate attempt to end the war without any further bloodshed. More about this can be read here.

Hobbies

★ Prior to the Great Celestial War, Michael prided himself in his swordsmanship and often did fencing with his siblings during peacetimes. However, ever since the war he has not been able to bring himself to pick up a blade.

★ Michael collects enchanted artifacts, and keeps detailed notes on their histories.

★ Michael has had a range of different hobbies and interests over the millenia, with many becoming all-consuming phases for short periods of time. For every long-lasting hobby that's defining to his character, there's another ten random subjects he happens to know a lot about because he was obsessed with it back in year 547BC or something.

★ Michael is secretly very fascinated by both the Human World and the Devildom- though he'll never admit a fascination with the demonic, and he's far too busy nowadays to get much opportunity to engage with either.

★ Michael is a huge maximalist fashion-wise, owning and wearing lots of jewelry and other accessories.

Abilities

★ Michael can be easily startled out of a disguise; often, any kind of physical pain or significant surprise will be enough to shift him back to his own form.

★ Michael is clairvoyant, able to see and know things without actually being there. It's limited but powerful, and he likes to keep others on their toes wondering what he knows and what he doesn't.

★ Michael is capable of dream manipulation. On occasion, he'll check up on his brothers' dreams and change bad ones to good ones - or pester them in their dreams if he's feeling lonely. As dreams are a product of a subjective and fluid subconscious, sometimes his meddling has unintended effects.

★ Michael can manipulate space and time, but isn't as proficient in it as Barbatos. He also rarely proactively uses his time abilities anymore, having developed a healthy fear of it following an incident when he was young and dumb where he nearly collapsed the entire timeline using time magic to win a battle. Nowadays, he really only uses it to clean up Nightbringer's Solomon's others' mistakes.

Miscellaneous

★ Michael is prone to sleepwalking, especially when stressed.

★ Due to the trauma of losing the brothers, Michael has developed pretty serious separation anxiety with his remaining family. For the sake of the exchange program, he's working on it.

★ Michael's feathers have strong protective and fortune-granting properties- as such, they're rather sought after, much to his annoyance.

★ Michael's wings are similar to a swan's- he has hard, bony spurs underneath his feathers that make his wings rather efficient blunt weapons in combat. His wings are also absolutely massive, so they're usually folded to his back so he doesn't accidentally whack someone.

★ Michael loves to spoil his brothers, but he tends to take it a little too far.

#obey me michael #om michael #obey me headcanons

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soylent-crocodile · 8 months

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Felidar (Monster)

(Felidar Sovereign by Zoltan Boros)

(I'm posting for the time being! Expect two posts a week right now.

Magic the Gathering has a habit of creating types of beast to make their settings more fleshed out and fill out the mechanical slot of "generic large beast" in different places- felidar, krushok, cerodon, thoctar... all are creatures with a defined look and name. They're fun targets for monster creating, and I'm generally looking to make these Magical Beasts to keep it interesting. I started with Felidar because, well, I love big cats. As with all my creatures, I tried to give them a fun plot hook.)

CR6 NG Large Magical Beast

Felidar are large catlike predators typically found in mountainous regions, where they use their powerful roars and expert climbing skills to hunt down and kill prey. Felidar are more intelligent than an animal, though not by much- they have no true language, and prefer to live in simple family units or just hunt alone. Perhaps their most intelligent aspect is their knowledge of magic and magical places, as well as a capability for empathy- a felidar who sees an injured humanoid is willing to provide healing, and one whose trust has been gained will often lead humanoids to places of great magic potential- or to the location of a dangerous interloper or creature that needs to be dealt with for the good of the mountain.

Felidar are beings connected to the Plane of Positive Energy, and a vivacious life flows through them. One pint of felidar blood can be used as 100gp of materials to craft any potion of the Healing subschool. Felidar never give this blood freely, instead using their roar or Cure Moderate Wounds spell-like ability- some unscrupulous mages take this blood by force, typically injuring or killing these majestic animals.

This large cat has a splendid rack of antlers upon its head, its horns and insides glowing with a vivacious life.

The first roar startles; each enemy within the area of effect must make a Will save or trigger an attack of opportunity.

Misc- CR6 NG Large Magical Beast HD7 Init:+3 Senses: Perception:+13, Low-Light Vision

Stats- Str:21(+5) Dex:17(+3) Con:17(+3) Int:5(-3) Wis:18(+4) Cha:16(+3) BAB:+7 Space:10ft Reach:5ft

Defense- HP:60(7d10+21) AC:19(+3 Dex, -1 Size, +7 Natural) Fort:+8 Ref:+8 Will:+6 CMD:28 Immunity: Energy Drain, Curse, Death Effects

Offense- Bite +9(1d8+5), 2 Claw+10(1d6+5), Gore +4(1d8+3) CMB:+13 Speed:40ft Special Attacks: Pounce

Feats- Skill Focus (Intimidate), Weapon Focus (Claw), Power Attack (-2/+4), Dazzling Display (Claw)

Skills- Climb +17, Intimidate +9, Perception +10 (+8 Racial bonus to Climb)

Spell-like Abilities- (Caster Level 5, Concentration +8)

Light (Self only) /at-will

Clairvoyance/Clairaudience, Cure Moderate Wounds 3/day

Divination 1/week

Special Qualities- Roar, Vigilant

Ecology- Environment- Mountains (Any) Languages- None Organization- Solitary Treasure- None

Special Abilities- Roar (Su)- A felidar’s roar is imbued with supernatural power. It can make one of these special roars three times a day as a standard action; each successive roar has a different effect depending on if it’s the first, second, or third roar of the day. Each roar is a 60ft cone with a save DC of 16. The DC is constitution-based.

The second roar harms, dealing 7d6 sonic damage to all creatures- ally or enemy- within the area of effect, Reflex save for half.

The third roar restores, healing all allies within the area of effect 7d8 damage and removing the shaken, frightened, or panicked condition.

Vigilant (Ex)- A felidar is never considered to be flat-footed.

#i love cats #soylent original #monsters and races #felidar #zendikar #ikoria #mtg #mtgblr #magic: the gathering #cool mounts

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rosethreeart · 1 month

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(Character concepts for the Umbrella Academy AU)

1- Yao. Can teleport, regenerate, and manipulate time. Holds first position as he is most likely to last longest in the field.

2- Ivan. Super Strength and Frost. Second due to his seemingly cruel streak to his enemies, bravery, and kindness towards the innocent. Bloodthirsty. Do not anger.

3- Arthur. Pyrokinesis, temperature resistance, and explosions. Temperamental; figuratively and literally. Would be a good contender with first as he is both smart and cunning, however he does not play well with others.

4- Kiku. Quick Draw, Weapon master, trajectory manipulation, and lightning fast reflexes. Keeps to himself most of the time. Good for a variety of situations but his siblings make it hard for him to join the fray without risk of injury.

5- Ludwig. Clairvoyant, seems to have a "permanent" ghost who is particularly fond of him. Other powers--if any--unknown. Peculiar case indeed...

6- Feliciano. Super Speed. A bit...empty-head, but good-natured. Well suited for rescue missions and evacuations. Not a good fighter. Cowardly. My personal favorite.

7- Matthew. UV and Air particle manipulation(?); can make things invisible, create illusions, and create shields. Can Fly? Unknown as he is afraid of heights. Easily forgettable. I think he does this on purpose.

8- Abigail. [̴͔͎̙̮̩̅̐͑̒̀͑̃́̆̍̕͝͝R̴̡̼̝̲͕̝̅̔̔̾͂̎̀̐̋͝Ȩ̴̱͇̞̙̥͇͎̯̮̀̋̾́̿̅̽̾͂̃̒̐̀D̵̢̯̱̖̪̥̰̮͇̻̩͒̐́̿̔̄͝Ȃ̸̧͙̙͙̺̹̣̩̻̮͇͆̂̔͂̈́̅̾̂̍͊̀͜ͅC̶̨͇̄Ţ̵̯̲̹̣̮̯͍̼̠͚̭̽̈́͛̎͜E̵̫̥̻͆̒̈́̚D̸͚̺͉͚̯̮̰̃͑̂̏͘]̴̮̩̺̘̩͔̩̙͈̒̉̀͒͊̈̓̽ Normal. Nothing of note; Average at best, burden at worst.

--Master Vargas.

#UA AU #hetalia #aph nyo america #aph england #aph germany #aph canada #aph china #aph russia #aph north italy #aph italy #aph japan

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familyvideowithsteve · 29 days

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façade, pt. nine : the thunder in our hearts - steve harrington x fem!reader

This material may not be copied, reproduced, displayed, modified. This is my work, do not steal it, do not republish it.

summary: Is it over, now?

warnings: (reading the first series is highly recommended) /NSFW/, no use of Y/n, she/her pronouns with no physical description, violence, near death experiences, blood, weapons, insecure thoughts, angst, self doubt, trust issues, jealousy, nightmares, anxiety disorders and depression (warnings for the entire series not the individual parts) (it's a filler chapter, it's barely interesting, but this is the best I could do as I went through the two most challenging months)

word count: 3.9k

façade the first series | the sequel | spotify playlist | pt. ten

People who are burned alive don't die from the fire, not consciously at least, the brain protects them as so many nerve endings would pull the alarm bell about excruciating pain everywhere, they would fall unconscious on second and third degrees burns, then keep on burning alive until they die.

Thank the heavens Steve and her were originally unconscious when fire started spreading. He had managed to get them closer to the town centre where the four parts joined to form a bigger gate, taking its place on the town library’s side wall and asphalt; it basically was a door gate.

This portal was the way the US army was able to enter the Upside Down, sending a small group as scouts, all under the clairvoyance of the Mind Flayer, and Henry’s tentative way to warn them of both the US army and his master’s plan, torn between his influence and wrath and the little boy inside him who was his first victim, back in 1959.

He was so split, the warning he tried to get through her didn't work as the Mind Flayer had the upper hand on both of them. She was only a means to know his location as the Mind Flayer suspected Henry would try to get his grip on some form of power to recover.

She was the perfect tool, being physically and mentally vulnerable and most accessible to both of them.

The first bomb broke through Hopper’s group meeting Demogorgons and Demobats, fire was their weakness, it got rid of the creatures but it also revealed more presence for the Mind Flayer.

The order to stop the bombing and look for civilians didn’t come quickly, even though they had managed to clear the first places they had marched in, they struggled to spot any civilians at first, whether dead or alive, then Colonel Sullivan believed he could get more information on Eleven so he ordered to get the civilians out.

Through Hop’s group, one by one they were brought on stretchers, quickly examined by military doctors to separate and officialise the deaths and the unconscious ones were sent to the military outpost first to be sent to the hospitals. Wings of same state hospitals were privatised, militarised, non-disclosure agreements signed to every healthcare workers and non healthcare workers that would come in contact with them or their hospital wings. High level politics and the army don’t want a sequel to the Watergate scandal, especially when they messed up big time again.

Steve and her were found later, given their separate position, the fire had stopped spreading when it started raining, their bodies found in comatose condition, they were taken through the main gate as a downpour started pouring, thankfully for them, they were out of the Upside Down for good. The army would have to deal with the Mind Flayer’s forces walking towards the few military men, unprepared and in the unknown. It was none of their concern, though.

They managed to identify everyone, except her, as they didn’t have any intel on her from previous encounters with the Upside Down, Colonel Sullivan’s branch of army had been watching since Dr Owen took charge of Hawkins Lab, out of everyone, they didn’t know who she was and the most important one of them, El, was missing. He ordered to send Steve and her away and frustratingly ordered more men to search for El, not knowing what was waiting for them on the other side of the gate.

The scent of antiseptic and the sharp, abrupt feeling of pain guided her towards consciousness, welcomed by a strong and vivid light above her she immediately closed her eyes back. She doesn’t understand anything of what’s happened or been happening, all she knows is that her body’s short on adrenaline and endorphins and she feels pain like she’s never felt before.

It stings, it feels hot, sharp, burning everywhere, like the smallest needles on earth would prickle and tickle her burned skin, it’s unbearable and she wants to die. Not her entire body is burned, the third degrees burned don’t have any nerve endings to send a signal of pain but the surroundings skin gets the message pretty clearly to her brain.

Her body starts trembling, out of cold, fear and pain, she realises she’s crying when she feels the droplets wet her cheekbones and fall into her temples, it’s the harsh realisation that she’s not dead that hits all of sudden.

She finally hears and sees movements above her, it’s blurry at first, but she sees nurses trying to insert catheters in her non-burned arm, someone is scissoring away some of her clothes to reveal her wounds, they’re all trying to attend their patient, her, when she desperately wants to die. She wants to disappear, fade into nothingness, turn into smoke, begone.

Wrath invades her and the lastest drops of adrenaline hits her body, she pushes everyone away, kicks some health workers away as she rips away the IVs, screaming in a fury to be left alone, that she wants to die. She manages to be on her feet, discards the IV stand away and attempts to take a step away but her body gives her up. Days of not eating and drinking, losing blood, defenceless on all parts, physical and psychological has left her immensely weakened. She collapses on the cool, hard linoleum.

He feels something tightening around his left biceps, the pressure and pain it creates lulls him awake, it’s all blurry, and his mouth's as dry as the Sahara, he wasn’t blinded by the aggressive light on the ceiling.

He feels the pressure loosening and his head automatically tilts to the side. Through barely opened eyes he sees a nurse, or a doctor, he doesn't really know.

He closes his eyes back shortly after and succumbs again to unconsciousness. For a few more days, he drifts away a lot between wakefulness and sleepiness.

The day he fully wakes, the first thing he asks is where he is, and if she’s okay.

They offer little information at first, because they’re not sure how to deal with it and the NDAs they signed, but they provide some info for Steve.

His body is burned up to 30%, which is reassuring and shouldn't be too incapacitating for living a somewhat normal life. They had to make skin grafts out of his back, but overall, he’s in better condition than most of his friends.

Three out of them didn't make it, but they refused to name who, and Steve doubted they knew all their identities, of if the military had shared it to them because he had to tell them all of his information, on his bedside table, his documents read John Doe#4, soon replaced by Steve Harrington, 21 years old.

The thought of his birthday passing made him dizzy, because he realised he was in a coma for weeks, possibly more than a month, the dates were all a bit fuzzy and it saddened him greatly.

Although, he wondered, who were the other John Does? What about the Jane Does? Who was still alive and who was dead? If the doctors considered he was in better condition than the others, how were the others? Was he the only one awake?

He asked to see the others, they kept telling him they weren’t sure, that he had to be able to walk furthermore so he took that as a bet and worked as much as he could with the physiotherapist, soon enough, he was given the green light to see his friends.

John Doe#1 was Hopper, he was awake too, but much later than Steve had, he had to be put under an artificial coma to put his body to rest, he had been burned up to 55%, they used skin grafts from his scalp and the back of his tights. He laid in bed, bandages around his arms and torso, he looked tired as hell, but the tiniest smile appeared on his face when he saw Steve step in his room with a cane.

Steve doesn’t know if it’s a smile he sees on the corner of the man’s lips, he sits on the chair beside him, they chat a little bit, but they don’t know how much they can say with civilians nearby.

They barely talked, avoiding the subject of who had made it alive and who didn't.

He was so tired he didn't stay that long, but he went to see him over the following days.

Jane Doe#1 was Nancy, unfortunately she wasn’t awake, she was still in an artificial coma, she had taken most of the impact of the fire, burned up to 60%, the doctors were very wary of her condition. Steve could only hope she would get better in time.

John Doe#2 was Jonathan, Steve didn’t even enter his room. Their eyes met through the glass of the door, but he walked away, following the nurse to John Doe#3’s room. Dustin’s.

The teenager had his limping leg in an external fixation device to keep his leg stabilised. His head stuck to the window he didn’t see Steve approaching, he only looked once he heard the door opening.

Dustin barely smiled, just a thin line on his lips, he rearranged his head as the young adult walked to him, caneless this time. The young teenager once was once so full of life, talkative, he rarely didn’t speak.

They barely chatted, Dustin’s mood was morose, he was the only one of his best friends who had made it alive, and he didn't see the point yet.

There was nothing that could be said, really, it was too early for reassuring words and optimism. Dustin kept wondering what they could have changed to have a better outcome.

He was permanently marked by the Upside Down and the losses he experienced.

If he had known the day of the first murder, that it would all lead to this, he would have made other choices. But overthinking the situation isn’t going to change anything and it’s not going to bring back his best friends. If only.. So he hangs on to Steve, and Hopper.

Jane Doe#2 was her . Plunged into a deep artificial coma. He tells the nurse her name, it rolls off his tongue so delicately, so longingly, so naturally.. he tells her her age, that he’s her boyfriend. Pulling a chair closer he sits close to her, his hand intertwining their fingers together, his eyes watching closely the movement of her breathing through artificial breathing with a respirator.

The nurse tells him she had to be put in an artificial coma given the severity of her injuries, burned up to 30% like him but she was in septic shock because of the piece of wood impaled in her abdomen. She was so close to being in cardiac and hepatic failure. She also mentioned how she awoke and screamed she wanted to die and ripped the IVs out before she fainted, how none of them understood that reaction.

He didn’t say much, but he understood. She let him know they planned on waking her up the following day as the exams they had done were good, she wasn’t totally off the hook, but they were optimistic, more optimistic for her than Nancy. The nurse left him in the room, it became incredibly silent.

Unable to say anything, he hated to see her like this. The more he tried to open his mouth to say something, the more his eyes couldn’t bear the sighthing. He was caught in a monstrous spiral of guilt.

His fingers against hers’ feel clammy, he doesn’t realise right away the tears that cascade down his cheeks, falling down the pants the hospital gave him.

His head hung low in shame, he angrily rubbed the tears away and left the room without a single word.

He had felt hope before, he was covered in shame now. Unable to look at his reflection in the mirror, sending the nurse away when she tells him they’ve put her off the respirator and that she’s breathing on her own. Not awake, yet.

And he waits, unsure, ashamed, for the nurses to tell him he can go see her. He’s never been more unsure of his future, of them . He’s got such a bad feeling, he doesn’t know what to think, what to hope for.

It’s silent, so silent, then suddenly her ears are invaded by a sharp beeping, it’s kind of a blur but she hears footsteps, the sound stopping then silence again.

She doesn’t dare open her eyes, her lids feel so heavy, she can’t lift them up and she fades back into silence.

Her mouth feels so dry, furred. Her eyebrows frown, she realises she’s incredibly uncomfortable, her body aches, she opens her eyes and meets the ceiling.

Her head tilts to the side and she sees it’s dark outside, the window is as large as the wall and she can see the neighbouring woods, hiding the moon. Her room must be pretty high up because she can see an owl is perched on a thick log, stretching one arm then the other. It gets comfortable while keeping an eye on the area for any mouse to hunt. It’s a beautiful scene to witness.

Her eyes meet the ceiling again, it’s just another proof that she isn’t dead. She closes her eyes and completely abandons herself to the feeling, her right arm moves to her stomach, under the hospital gown she feels the thickness of a dressing. Sobs escape her lips and she tightens her closed lids, forcing the tears to run along her cheeks to fall in her temple and in her hair.

She cries herself to exhaustion, emotional exhaustion. She doesn’t fall asleep, even if she gets to witness a peaceful scene, she gets to relive her final days in the Upside Down. She really hoped she would die, she would finally be at peace with Eddie. Turns out she’s not done agonising on this earth.

She doesn’t ring anyone to let them know she’s awake, they’ll know soon enough and it’s suddenly gonna be less calm and more hectic around here. She sees the night fade away into the dawn, the trees are the curtains to the light of day, the owl retreats to sleep.

She hears the door open, footsteps approaching, and with a sigh the cacophony begins.

He knows she’s awake but hasn’t come to see her yet, uncertainty planted a seed in his brain that he can’t seem to outgrow. He knows she’s going to reject him, but he hopes not. So he delays.

One afternoon, the nurse comes to him, she’s awake and cognitively responsive, but refuses to talk to anyone. Maybe she will respond to him.

He’s basically their last chance at getting her to communicate and open up.

He finds her lying on her side, it’s past five in the afternoon, she’s looking at the window, a birds’ nest is perched on a log, she watches the two birds building the nest. Seeing her like this from afar, felt like watching a lioness in a small lions run.

A lioness that’s accepted her doomed fate in a terribly small enclosure and no stimuli.

He opens the door, she doesn't move, he grabs a chair and walks towards her side of the bed, when he sits down their eyes meet and a shy smile appears on his lips.

She doesn’t smile back, only frowns, “Steve.”

Her voice is so hoarse, like she hasn't spoken in a long time, she clears her throat, and frowns more as her throat aches.

Her name falls from his lips like warmed butter, it rolls off his tongue like sweet honey and it makes him want to close his eyes and reminisce the months they spent as a couple before it all went sideways.

Instead he simply smiles more, his hand naturally falls close to her waist on the duvet.

He gets her to talk a little bit, for him it’s clear, she’s still in the Upside Down, haunted by everything that happened. He could understand her reaction, he’s been trying to live with the trauma of it for four years before, but he didn’t experience it like her.

That’s what really shatters him, because she experienced way too much, way too fast, and more than most of them.

She didn’t open up much to him first, she had intertwined their fingers together, tucked under her cheek. Her eyes closed, she seemed to be able to rest that way, so he let her.

With more visits she began revealing more, how she could barely sleep at night because as soon as she closed her eyes she was back in the Upside Down, she could hear the demobats gnawing on Eddie as she tried her hardest to rush to him. She could see the pool of blood growing larger by the minute.

Heat left his body as minutes went by.

Then the shuffling sound of the Mind Flyer getting closer and her most vivid nightmare begins. Henry, Vecna, the voices, the unsettling darkness and loneliness. All of this repeats every night and she’s trapped in the most gruesome place.

Steve suggests collective counselling but she refuses, so he promises her to get better together to live this place together. A promise he makes, and she nods.

It starts there.

Physiotherapy, all their IVs are out, Dustin’s leg in an articulated splint so he could readapt to walking again, Hop’s on his feet too, and Nancy doesn’t wake up.

Jonathan is ignored by Steve and her, he carries the weight of Nancy’s fate on his shoulders, forever wondering if he had done things differently, maybe she would still be with them.

They don’t receive any news about Hawkins or the Upside Down because they refused to get them, if only Hop knew anything about El, he would feel a tad bit better about being alive, so he swore to himself he would get better to search for her.

Over the months, it had been over more than a year actually, they stayed in that militarised hospital only to ensure their safety, and they needed clearance from the doctors and the army. Especially from the army.

They demanded that each of them consulted a counsellor to clear them apt for living in society, given what they went through. Hop was sour about it because he hadn’t had something like this when he came back from Vietnam.

They all were more or less trustworthy with the counsellor, Steve was the most sincere, and she was the most calculating to leave this place as soon as possible.

To be done with this hell, she had to leave, and quickly.

She has no idea what she plans on doing, but the more time she spends with them, the more she can't bare it.

She knows they're not responsible for the Upside Down and Vecna and the Mind Flayer, but she needs someone to blame, and lying to the counsellor seems to be working, so she continues, hoping she’s going to escape this hellhole. She’s in denial, buried very deep in there until it’s going to come bite her in the ass.

One September afternoon, the news broke through. They’ve been cleared by the army to leave, finally, she was the first one to cross the counsellor’s doors to retrieve the things she had gathered since she’s been brought to the hospital, some clothes—donated by people to the hospital. Toiletries. She scoffed as she realised her entire life could be held in a plastic bag from the nearest 7-Eleven.

He shouted her name through the corridors, calling her to stop and allow him a few words but she only walked faster to the nearest staircase, furtively meeting his eyes when she stopped by the door.

The look on her face was enough to slow him down slightly but he kept going after her, they practically ran off the staircase until he caught up on her when her hand was on the door handle, his body blocked the way for her and she turned to him.

“Just.. wait, please— I… I need to catch my breath.”

“Wait for what? I don’t want to hear it, what I want is to leave far away from this godforsaken place and never return!”

His hand intuitively went to his hair, his fingers brushing through his locks without a second thought as he observed her, “I understand, I don’t plan to stay here, but I thought we could—”

“What? That we could run far far away together as if nothing happened? As if I don’t wish to be left off dead in that godforsaken place with my best friend?! As if we could forget it all?!”

“No. It’s n—”

“Listen to me carefully because I will not say this again. I’m leaving, alone. I do not wish to see any of your faces ever again, do you hear me? I never want to hear from you, see you, ever again!,” she paused, pushing him to the side to grab the door handle.

She opens the door, takes a step but suddenly stops, turning to face him.

He doesn’t remember ever seeing her eyes so full of anger, how so much wrath could hold into her body without it crumbling down in autodestruction like a ticking time bomb, he doesn’t know. Perhaps the bomb already set off, or is about to, but he doesn't want to be around when she does.

“If memory serves me right, you were the first to leave, and you were right. You were so right to abandon me on my doorstep."

Another pause, and he dreads the last words she will spat at him like venom.

" You’re dead to me .”

They swore they could hear their hearts breaking like porcelain. It was full circle. She had watched him leave all those months ago after a night together, she had physically felt her heart breaking, crumbling down. She had felt her stomach twitching, ready to empty itself. She had wanted nothing more than to disappear in shame.

Now it was Steve’s turn. Nausea crept up on him, his legs turning to jelly, his heartbeat grew so loud in his ribcage, he could feel his flesh thumping along the rhythm, he felt like he was dying. He wanted nothing more than to disappear in shame. Disappear into nothingness as he watches her leaving.

They feel like their lives are over, their hearts deflated like their dreams and hopes. Even though they loved each other so profoundly, she had to free herself of so much pain and anger.

‘Free herself’...strange choice of words. She doesn't know what she's going to do, where she’s gonna go, she doesn't feel free either way.

All she knows is that she needs to get as far away as possible from Steve Harrington and Hawkins. As far away as possible from the source of all the pain and shame, and self hatred she feels. Away from where her heart truly feels at home, but doesn't let her feel that sense of belonging, buried under layers of her anxiety and crippling depression, from the trauma of the Upside Down to her maladaptive jealousy and self hatred.

The day she left Steve Harrington on the front entrance of the militarised hospital, is the day she celebrated her twenty-second birthday, after spending two years in hell from the day she fell in the portal on the highway.

Is it over, now?

Don't forget to reblog and let me know your thoughts, it's the least minimum. tags (of the prequel and/or people who liked the masterlist) : if you’d like to be tagged, let me know in the comments @freezaz123 @ihavebecomesomething @aphetropy @sigh-mon-reads @madaboutjoe @mystic-writings @wanderlustaflame @333starbride @seatnights @gabby123rocks @hauntors @ourprisma @torntaltos @hollandweather @we-out-here-simping @cupofjoekeery

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#steve harrington #stranger things #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x reader

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