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volterran-wine · 3 years

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𝗦𝗡𝗢𝗪𝗙𝗔𝗟𝗟 𝐈𝐈: The Aftermath || Caius

"Vengeance is mine; I will repay," ― Romans 12:19

Summary: Caius is in recovery back home in Volterra after almost being killed by a Child of the Moon. His injuries proving to be much more extensive than the coven has ever seen before. He plots and schemes for his greatest crusade to date, but an unexpected darkness settles on his mind. And he cannot escape it.

Wordcount: 3238 words

Authors note: This is part 𝐈𝐈, following my Caius ficlet “Snowfall”, which depicts the immediate moments after he gets mauled by a Werewolf. In this instalment we see the aftermath of it all and the beginning of a road to recovery and revenge.

!Warnings! Caius is in a very bad place in this one, both physically and mentally. There is depiction of trauma here, as well as mentions of serious injuries. This is Caius at his lowest point, and things get dark and horror-esque. Specifics: Blood, Scarring, Violent Thoughts, Panic Attacks, Dissociation, Hallucinations, Explicit Gore and Suicidal Thoughts & Tendencies.

𝐄𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐲, 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲

Volaterrae, 21 AD

His homecoming had been a dramatic affair; fear spread among the coven's members as their general was brought back in pieces. Caius had always danced with death, inviting the elusive wraith to come claim what remained of him. Although, never had he imagined to be carried into their fledgeling empire with the reapers shroud following besides him in the shadows. Snow had already blanketed the modest town their coven had claimed and built in their image, bringing with it a foreboding feeling of what the colder months could bring to their doorstep.

The vampires who resided in Volaterrae believed that change in season heralded another set of problems. As the snow began piling up, a storm could be seen on the horizon; the kind that would confine them to their home. Tales of gruesome horrors were spun and elaborated upon around the lit braziers. Their golden light casting shadows across the walls, dancing as the castle's inhabitants silently made conversations with one another. What sort of creature could possibly injure one of their kind? And in such a gruesome manner?

Till that day, many had believed themselves untouchable; god-like. Some spoke of the terrors in the night as if they were frightened children. Paranoia had set in as they kept to themselves.

Their displays of cowardice disgusted Caius, men and women he had considered worthy of his command were nothing but snivelling incompetents. Cowering before an enemy they had not even laid their eyes upon. For now, he was left alone in his quarters as he listened to the wind howl through the countryside; gaining momentum over the rolling hills. The single candle he had in his quarters flickered, close to being snuffed out.

As he had predicted when he laid there in the fresh snow; his wife did want his head. Her sentiments had warped however, for the look upon her face he shall never forget. Marcus had shielded him from view swiftly enough, he knew Caius' wishes. He would not let her see him before his injuries were healed... and even then was not quite sure if he desired her company.

He let the hours bleed into one another, running the events of the last couple of days through his minds eye on repeat. There was much movement in the castle, a distinct set of footfalls seemed to wander from vampire to vampire. It was one of his sharpest guardsmen, ambitious; and vying for higher standing.

They must think him to be lost in his pain, for through the ancient stone he could hear slanderous words spoken in hushed tones.

“The scars do not disappear, his face is ruined."

“Did you catch a glimpse of his hair? They say it is white as snow”

“Do you believe him cursed? doomed to turn into... one of them?”

With a snarl did Caius turn over in the various pelts and blankets that made up his resting place, head a top his bundled cloak; staring into the darkness. The sudden movement had his various injuries flare up with white hot pain; a miserable moan escaped him as his eyes closed tightly.

Somewhere in the dark he thought he heard his wife whisper quiet chants of worship, to whom he did not know. Caius had not prayed since he marched beneath the sun, a man of flesh and blood; and he would not begin now.

When the moon rose on the seventh night since his return, Caius was able to rise from his place of rest; legs shaking as he stood up. Gritting his teeth, he staggered over to the few belongings he had kept with him in this life. He attempted to ignore the white tufts of hair in his periphery, instead focusing on the smooth plate in front of him, grabbing it and lifting it up to his face.

The bronze mirror showed him what he had feared. His face now scarred, that inhuman perfection their kind was known for was gone. What was left was a mockery of immortality. Those beasts had almost claimed his sight, an angry jagged lined ran from the top of his brow across his left eye and down over his high cheekbone. Tilting his head; he watched another line that gently caressed along the right side of his jaw. The pain had been searing, as if a scourge of pure fire had struck him across his face. In truth; he was fortunate there was only two visible scars. The ones that littered his body he could live with; but his face...

Shaking hands rose the mirror further; his hair now taking up much of the bronze reflection. White and tousled; the colour not unlike the snow that was falling outside his window. Reaching up, he pushed his hair back in one smooth motion, not quite believing what he was looking at. The pale moonlight gave his entire form an unearthly glow, had Caius seen himself; he would have thought himself a spectre.

With all his might did he fling the offending object at the wall. It made a terrible sound as it bent and cracked, falling to the ground with an echoing clang reverberating in the stone room. He bent forward, long hair falling over his shoulders and framing his face. Body trembling as he attempted to pull himself together, but the sight of his hair... it brought him back to that place. In that clearing, all he had seen was white and streaks of red; as the beast lay staring at him. Something moved in the corner of his eye and his head whipped around; eyes wild and alert. The shadows in his quarters had grown, the candle had long since burnt out; and now he was left in shadow. Deep within that abyss; something moved and slithered.

Yellowed fangs glinted in the darkness, the stench of the beasts sweat perforated the air; rotten and wet. Golden eyes pierced through the moons gentle blue glow, it's attention fully on him; before it pounced.

Caius screamed.

As he fell back he did not care that his injuries screamed at him to not strain his movements, scrambling until his back hit the stone wall; a small indent created from the sheer force. The creature was gone, but its snarls were circling him; looking for his weaknesses. Another pitiful sound tore itself from his throat; half a scream... half a sob. The darkness seemed to move in on him, soon even the moonlight was gone. Caius felt helpless and alone.

From far away he could hear the voices of his brothers raise another octave, a mess of noises that furthered muddled his thoughts. They must have heard him cry out; disgraceful. He did not know how long he sat there, his brothers voices blending in with the growling from the dark that was only getting closer.

Until like a crack of lighting from the heavens above; his wife's voice.

"How do you think Caius will fare? When he recovers and learns that you let him scream so all the guards can hear?"

He could easily envision his wife, the goddess she was when ire overtook her. Someone had once likened her as the Aphrodite to his Ares; she had cut their tongue out. Caius smiled despite the situation. If anything she was Athena; his true equal in everything in this realm.

"If you let this continue Aro; I will tear you limb from limb and scatter your remains in all the corners of the world so you shall never know peace."

It was quiet after that, until he could hear his brother and their executioner making their way towards him. Felix had not been with them when they retrieved Caius, the large man froze when he laid eyes on his general; half hidden in the shadows. It was a sight he never expected to see, he was known for being unbeatable after all. The king smirked, at least they had picked a guard he respected to see him this way. Beaten, Scarred and Broken.

Felix and Marcus hoisted him up between the two of them, it took all the strength they had to force Caius down the corridors. He knew where they were headed, and that only made his struggle more violent. The shadow-like beasts followed them, flanking their side as the noise of their excited panting filled his ears. They were waiting, waiting for the perfect opportunity to tear him apart for good. Once they made it to the stairway he had began shouting, cursing them to every god he could think of.

His head was thrown back, catching a glimpse of his youngest brother in the flickering light of the torches at the very end of the corridor; before he was dragged down into the dark. They would move him into the depths, there he could battle these demons in peace.

Aro had looked haunted.

Their caverns were as old or even older than they were, underground waterways making paths through the stone and crystal. It had been comforting; being around something natural that even predated themselves. Of course they had carved out their own spaces as well, Caius had took part in some of the early work and was quite prideful of it. Now he simply wanted to tear the stone off the wall, they had once again left him with a single candle. Any other day his sight would be impeccable in the dark, he didn't fault them for not understanding. No longer could he hear the hushed voices or the movements from his coven or guard. Too deep into the chasms of the earth for even their hearing to pick up on any noise. Down here he only had his own laboured breathing as a companion.

As he had feared, his nightmares had followed him into the deep. Shadows grew long and dark, tendrils of inky black slithering across the floor. The candle flickered violently as the snarls and barks grew louder. He felt their fur slide against his side, inhuman hands grabbing at his arms, legs and throat. He couldn't move, their touch was like fire to his cold skin. The smell of burning flesh invaded his senses, further confusing the part of his mind that was still rational; this was impossible.

A pitch black snout emerged from the void, mouth opening in a sneer showing decaying sharp teeth. The head closing in on him as he could smell its foul breath.

Closing his eyes, Caius willed it all to just end. He let himself sink, deeper and deeper as the shadows engulfed him. Sharp teeth nipping at his skin and ripping the hair from his scalp. He was gone. Nothing more was left of Caius in this mortal realm.

As he let the calm settle, he felt a tugging at the frayed edges of his thoughts. In the deep recesses of his mind he could catch glimpses of a human life.

Hours spent underneath the harsh sun, sword up, sword down; thrust. Sweat drenched hair under his boar's tusk helmet, spears shaking and splintering due to his sheer strength; a fleeting sense of glory.

The only true clear memory was his death.

Oh; how he remembered the stench of corpses, his fallen comrades piled around him; grimaces eternally frozen. It had not been long until the wildlife had began pecking at them, beaks and teeth tearing apart flesh as they circled. He was all that was left, dragging himself across the sea of death by sheer will. The birds following him, cawing and taunting him as they waited for their next meal to finally die. When he reached the forests edge his strength finally gave out, shadows dancing a the edge of his vision.

In his delirium he had thought there to be two twin suns in the sky, blazing red and unforgiving. When he felt the bite he surely thought the end was near; but he burned for three days.

When he woke the only driving force was to clench his thirst, his throat coated in wires that were hellbent on choking him. He had stumbled through the countryside, knocking over trees in his carelessness. On the wind he had smelled the sweetest of scents; a sinful nectar his hindbrain demanded he sample. Instinct had taken over and he ran faster than the winds as he saw a small farm in the distance.

He had slaughtered the entire family, bodies drained of every drop of blood. Once he was sated, he had looked around in horror at the atrocities he had committed. When his eyes caught sight of a bowl of water he had stilled. Red, he was absolutely drenched in red as he stumbled out of the house; he set the farm ablaze to hide his involvement as well as giving the family somewhat of a funeral rite. What had shocked him the most was his eyes; the colour of blood itself.

Caius never met his sire.

The shadows did not allow him to linger on this memory, instead the scene changed; a forest laid out before him. Everything was tinted grey, as if all the colours of the world had been drained from it. This was unfamiliar territory, definitely not a vivid memory of his own. Branches crunched as a hooded woman stepped out in front of him, turning to look at him with somber eyes; his wife. Caius wanted to get close to her, but he was rooted to the ground unable to move. He called out, urging her to get closer to him; she only shook her head.

It continued like this for a good while, until a beast emerged from the trees; grabbing her body and ripping it apart. He swore he could hear a heartbeat in his ears, blood rushing as he became light headed. Why wasn't she moving? Their bodies were made of hardened flesh and venom. They were unbreakable.

However, there were no cracks on her body; instead blood poured from his wives limbs. There was nothing he could do as he watched the beast chomp down on her cracked skull, tearing it asunder.

The scene repeated, again and again in more gruesome detail every time; and Caius never stopped screaming.

Time was an interesting concept, especially to their kind. When you were blessed with immortality, everything seemed so inconsequential. Caius had thought himself indomitable, now he was slowly forfeiting the raging war in his own mind. He could have been down in the caverns for weeks, months perhaps even years. How he had broken free from the nightmares, he did not know; in the distance he had heard frantic screaming. No longer was there a strong hand around his throat to keep him steady, so he slumped forward on to his knees.

Fingers dug into the sides of his arms, reopening injuries that might never fully heal. This was no way to live, a fainthearted rake hiding in the dark. The shadows had returned and were once more swirling around him, he felt matted fur caress his back and he shivered at the sensation.

It could be possible for him to rip his own head off... the candle may be enough to ignite him if he timed it correctly. What would his brothers think when they found him? What would Athenodora... no, she deserved better than this. He moved closer to the candle on his knees, someone must have tended to it; for it was still going strong. With the little strength he had left, he lifted his hands to get a good grip on his head. He had executed hundreds of his kind; he knew what he was doing. Closing his eyes he willed the darkness away and thought of his dear ones instead, a mournful smile on his lips. The shadow beasts would be his only witnesses.

"Caius"

The sound of his name startled him, head slowly turning to the side. At the entrance to his alcove stood his wife. In her hand she held a torch; filling the room with warm light.

"Dora-" her name left him as a broken whisper. This was it, his wife would shun him for this display. Caius considered how good his chances for running away was, if he could make it out of the castle before anyone caught him.

He would get no choice in the matter, for soon enough he felt his wife's strong embrace; pressing his face to her abdomen. Her frame was hunched over his as Caius was still on his knees. The torch lay abandoned by the entrance, casting softer shadows around his torture chamber. He buried his face into her, breathing in deeply so he would be blanketed in the perfume that was so uniquely hers. Hyacinths; floral and green with its aquatic accents, incense from the temples of Ares; sweet and spicy.

Scents of home.

“Ψυχή μου...” Caius murmured against her shirt, it was unclear wether the king spoke of his beloved who was bent over him... or something else entirely. For now, the two of them simply existed in that moment, hidden away from everyone else.

The shadows still slithered around the cavernous room, seeping into the cracks in the stone. Cementing themselves into their hallowed halls; forever. Athenodora was murmuring words of comfort, reassurance and love into the top of his head; voice sounding so scared. A sense of guilt washed over him, how could he ever let his thoughts darken to such a degree? Willingly leaving her behind would be an even greater disgrace. Tired red eyes glared at the shadows that had created a stark contrast marble pattern against the stone; until they slowly faded away. He would face them again, and he would annihilate them. Scarred, yet strong arms lifted to wrap themselves around her waist; fingers digging into her side. Head lifting, fixing his wife with a fiery stare as her hands moved into his now white-blonde locks; nimble fingers pressing into his scalp. It was a comforting gesture they both were fond of.

Determination swirled in his eyes as he felt fires light inside of him.

There was research that needed to be done, specimen to be captured and studied; every trusted coven member needed to be trained properly. Traitorous men would be removed; personally executed by him if he could have his way. He would triple, no, quadruple their training regimen to prepare them for the crusades to come. His guard would be magnificent, trained to perfection so they could exterminate these abominations. Caius would not rest until every single one of them were dead.

“I will hunt them.”

Athenodora's expression was difficult to read, for a moment; he wondered if she would reject him still. That he had become too cruel; even for their kind. One of her hands moved from his hair, down to run a finger across his new scar as she caressed his jaw. He saw determination in her eyes as she leaned down towards him.

Every single part of him told him to pull away, to not let her lay this blessing upon him. Jaw tight and teeth grinding as his wife placed the softest of kiss against his brow bone, right on top of his healing scar. Her lips were like a soothing ointment against his feverish skin, giving him a new sense of relief.

"We will hunt them."

Caius closed his eyes and exhaled;

𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 Ψυχή μου: My soul

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐱𝐭 "Vengeance is mine; I will repay,": While being a quote from the Bible, it is also well known as the epigraph to Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy.

Volaterrae: The name used by the Romans to refer to what we know as the town of Volterra. By 21 AD the Etruscans cities had been formally absorbed into the growing Roman Empire. Which is why I used this naming convention.

Vampires, Scars & Werewolves: Another part of my personal world building is that I fully believe that Children of the Moon's spit is actually very damaging to vampires. Working similarly to a vampires venom and is able to scar them permanently. Hence Caius' various scars. Now how did Caius get their spit on him without a werewolf biting his head off? Canine's have the habit to lick their wounds, I imagine Caius would have been able to injure one of their hands and in return they instinctively licked it. When it came back swinging the claws were coated in spit and Caius were done for in that regard.

What is up with Caius' hair? In my worldbuilding Caius ends up suffering from a vampiric form of Marie Antionette Syndrome. While this is not a recognized medical condition it is still well known. The theory is that when a person goes through unimaginable amounts of stress or trauma their hair turns white in the aftermath. So no, Caius didn't always have those luscious white-blonde locks in my world.

Athenodora: Is a character I have not elaborated on except small cameo's in my writing, as well as my Fancast of her. But I imagine her to be a certified bad ass that will take shit from no one, which is why she is exceptionally cross with Aro in this one. In truth they are all besides themselves with worry and just trying to cope.

Caius' background: I do hint at Caius human life in this one, I fully picture him as living a soldiers life most of his adult years. And he was damn good at it as well. I always pictured his turning happening in a battlefield littered with the dead.

Caius & Athenodora: It is my firm belief that Caius and Athenodora are stupidly in love with one another. The "You jump, I jump" kind of love. They have been through so much together and I believe their bonds are exceptionally strong. In my eyes Caius doesn't half-ass anything, and that includes loving his wife. No Caius does not put his wife in a tower in my worldbuilding, it's frankly one of the stupidest cop-outs SMeyer ever came up with to make the Kings look even more evil because she had no well fleshed out villains by the end of Breaking Dawn so she had to double down on the Vampire Police who is just doing their god damn job.

𝐈𝐧 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 As I have mentioned on my blog perviously, I believe Caius went through some awful shit in the aftermath of his attack. You do not go on to hunt down an entire species if you are not truly terrified of these things. This is probably the darkest thing I have written to date.

This little series will certainly continue, perhaps in our next installment we get to see dear Caius go on a hunt. I have spent a lot of time writing the softer sides of Caius that's not explored in canon, but I think it's due time I write his darker sides.

Also, Happy Halloween everyone! I hope you do something spooky today. Now I am going to make myself some nachos and relax. I will be playing Animal Crossing and watching horror movies, as well as playing the newly released Fatal Frame/ Project Zero horror game for the PS4.

So long; and take care of yourself 🥀

#Caius Volturi #Caius Volturi Imagine #Snowfall Saga #Twilight

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heliads · 3 years

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Time Can Heal (But This Won’t) Chapter Three: Bloodstains

You’ve been a lone demigoddess, daughter of Hecate, ever since your home of Hellas sank beneath the waves centuries ago. You loved the Darkling until he crossed you and you fled the Little Palace. Now you’re disguised as a mere cartographer. Can you face him again, knowing what he’s done?

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There was no way around it, no way to avoid it. Like it or not, you would be returning to the only place you’ve ever truly called home since you left behind the sinking shores of Hellas, past a people who would never rise again. You had seen Os Alta built, walked the newly constructed halls of the Grand and Little Palaces with the Darkling before you knew enough to run from him. This is where you’ll be going- not to a new future, but a chance to drown in all the memories you’ve tried so hard to forget.

However, you’ll have to survive the journey to Os Alta first. You’re not here as an esteemed guest or prisoner, you’re here as a double, a lure. Someone who can be killed so that Alina Starkov walks out alive. You know this as well as your ice-eyed Darkling who rides next to you, who thinks nothing of you but that you share a name with a woman he thought he could manipulate. That is all.

So you force your gaze away from the Darkling and back towards your hands, which grip the reins of your offered steed. You mentally catalogue the scant few weapons you had on you before you were dragged along after Alina- two knives, a medium length dagger, and the small pistol all First Army soldiers were forced to have on them. You’ve never particularly cared for guns, though- they’re dirty, loud things, nothing compared to the damage you could wreak with a syllable from your tongue. Then again, if it came down to it, you’d rather have a pistol in your palm then risk using your magic in front of the Darkling. In the end, you’re here to stay hidden, not reveal yourself in the most dramatic way possible.

That being said, you can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong. You’ve learned long ago to listen to the voices that whisper past your ear, speaking of dangers lurking in the woods and ill-intentioned beings who wait for women who walk alone. Some are remnants of past protection spells, and others are shades from the Underworld who’d managed to conjure up some corporeal strength and warn you of an attack. You are the last living Hellenid to walk the earth, and so they feel duty-bound to protect you. Through you, your people live on, and so even the dead watch your back.

So when the voices come, you listen. Your eyes flicker shut for just a second as you listen, past the thump of your heart and the pattern of horse hooves on the dusty ground. The carriage rolls noisily some distance in front of you, and then you hear it stop. Around the bend, you hear the disgruntled mutterings of the guards even though they’re too far for a human ear to pick up. A tree has fallen down, blocking the path. You know it’s a trap even before the shots ring out.

You hear the choked screams of men falling with arrows through their throats and eyes and begin to panic. They’ve come for Alina Starkov, the Sun Summoner who could damn the Fjerdans to a lifetime under Ravka’s watchful eye. They’ve come to kill her. You sense the Darkling rearing his horse beside you, and his stallion picks up into a canter. You don’t have to say a word, just listen to his commands to his men. There are more men attempting to circle behind you and pick you off, you can distract them and the remaining attackers trying to get into the carriage.

A Heartrender turns to you, gesturing for his fellow Grisha to follow you. “Come, Alina! We have to get you to safety!” This command is far too loud for any self-respecting Second Army soldier to ever utter, but to the Fjerdans, it is nothing out of the ordinary. Ravka already swears by its legions of witches, why shouldn’t the ice-haired drüskelle believe themselves above the pathetically obvious Grisha? They follow you without a second thought.

You wait a minute, listening to the sound of boots crashing through the forest floor after you, then jump down from your horse in one swift motion. Your knives appear in your hands and you sprint towards your attackers, knocking them down again and again. You slam the hilt of one knife into a Fjerdan’s nose, and you can hear the bone shatter as if it was your own. Light flashes off of the Grisha steel blades as you slash and stab, drawing blood without taking a break.

A small part of your mind gleefully notices the way the Fjerdans are running towards you now, drawn towards the sunlight reflected by your knives. They think you the Sun Summoner now, all because of metal polished to a shine. And why shouldn’t they? You have enough power to tear this continent in half, to let the sun pierce the planet’s very core. Why shouldn’t you be feared? Why shouldn’t you be the Sun Summoner yourself?

The man in front of you cries out, and you come back to your senses. Your eyes follow your knife, twisting in his windpipe, and you withdraw it hastily. You wipe the scarlet blood on the grass before turning to fight another Fjerdan attacker, but none come forward. You realize that they’re all dead, either by your hand or by the Heartrenders. Although, you notice with a sickening twist, most are killed by you. You’re supposed to be a shy First Army soldier, and you’re not exactly playing your part quite right.

Across a clearing, you see the Darkling helping Alina to her feet. She looks stunned, most likely due to the body of a Fjerdan lying at her toes. It’s been sliced perfectly in half- so he’s used the Cut. No wonder she looks as if the world has just been exposed for being woven from nightmares. She glances over at you and blanches even further. Shame twists in your gut as you realize your hands are covered in blood, none of it yours. You were borne of a race of warriors, fighting has been in your history for as long as Hellas has stood. To Alina Starkov, however, this is a massacre like she’s never seen before. You carefully sheath your knives again once you’re sure there’s no blood left on them.

You stare at the bodies, forcing your eyes to remember every last detail. May your gods or their Saints watch over them, wherever they may go. You don’t have enough coins to place under their tongues as per the Hellan tradition, although even if you did you couldn’t risk drawing the Darkling’s attention with such a specific ritual. Instead, you burn their faces into your mind. Memories and legacies were how your people retained their power, and being forgotten was a large part of how they crumbled away. At last you can remember these men.

A voice sounds from in front of you, and you look up hastily. “Do not pity them. They attacked the Sun Summoner, your friend.” The Darkling stands before you, something strange in his eyes. You’ve seen this look before, a few centuries ago. You had been careful to hide the true extent of your magic from him, perhaps knowing even then that he would want nothing more from you then the power you could give him.

In that long ago instant, you had let go, allowing your spells to run wild as stallions through the air. You were attacked, yes, but you had used it as an excuse for true bloodshed. It had been so long since you had truly tested your limits, always making sure to hide what you truly were, even from the other Grisha. You wanted to see what you could do, just this once. Even then, you were just scratching the surface, but the wash of inky emerald over the scene threatened to drown out the world. Bodies dropped, trees were stripped of bark, entire buildings crumbled despite the strongest of foundations.

The few other Grisha present looked at you with true horror, but not the Darkling. No, he looked at you as he does now, with a sort of hunger that could consume entire countries and never be filled. He saw no girl or lover, he saw a weapon. He saw you standing before him, pulling a blade from your chest and offering him the hilt. He’d take it, not caring (or even relishing) your blood still dripping from the blade. The things he could do with you were unimaginable even in your worst nightmares, and it would never be enough. The worst part is that you thought you might go along with it, that you’d be willing to watch the end of the world with him.

This is how the Darkling looks at you now, a weapon ready for the taking. You remember hastily that he’s likely expecting something of you, so you duck your chin and do your best to summon up the modesty expected by the likes of Y/N Stassov, mapmaker and nothing more. “It’s just, well, a lot of death.” The Darkling inclines his head. “Maybe. Where did you learn to fight like that?” You don’t like this line of questioning, where it could lead. “The First Army. Sir.”

The Darkling’s lips quirk at the last minute honorific. “I’ve seen no First Army mapmaker who could take out a dozen Fjerdans with a pair of knives. Maybe I should send some of my soldiers to learn from your generals.” You panic, sure he’s testing you, then realize that he’s joking. Ridiculous. You force a smile. “I think they’re probably fine with their heartrending and all that.” The two of you have begun walking back to the horses now. The Darkling mounts his steed, then looks back at you. “Maybe so.” When he takes off, you’re not sure which scares you most- him figuring out who you are, or the idea that he would not look for you at all.

The Darkling calls for the party to take a respite that night, waiting until the moon shines low in the sky for everyone to tie up their horses and rest in a long-abandoned barn. Alina runs over to you as soon as she gets off of her mount, flinging her arms around you in gratitude. You can tell from the hammering of her heart whenever she looks at the Darkling that she hasn’t forgotten his use of the Cut, and probably won’t for a while.

“Saints, Y/N, I’m so glad you’re here. I couldn’t do this alone.” You can sense the eyes of the Darkling and the other Grisha on your back, and you know what’s expected of you. To them, you are no more than an otkazat’sya mapmaker, someone utterly unworthy of their Sun Summoner’s company. They’ll leave you to make your way back to Kribirsk when Alina is safe at the Little Palace, and they no doubt expect you to make her path easier.

So, you smile, smoothing back an errant piece of her hair into place. “That’s a lie, and we both know that. If you can punch an irritating officer or survive the Fold, you can ride a horse to Os Alta. Promise.” Alina rolls her eyes. “It’s not like that.” You raise an eyebrow. “It totally is. Believe me. Now come on, chasing after you all day is exhausting. I intend to go to sleep right now.” Alina grins. “That sounds good to me.”

Despite your weary eyes, you can’t seem to fall asleep at all. Alina sleeps next to you, the few Grisha lookouts stand unmoving at their posts. Eventually, you get sick of tossing and turning and staring up through the rotting beams through the barn roof. You stand, making your way quietly out of the barn. If the sentries see you, they do not stop you. Evidently, they trust you enough to let you walk around, or they view you as useless enough to not stop you from trying to run. Either works for you.

You don’t go far, just outside of the doors lying at odd angles on their hinges. You take a seat on a rusting metal bench, leaning back against the faded paint of the barn walls. You stare up at the sky, eyes tracing the constellations. Somewhere up in the night, there were once heroes and monsters, prideful queens and stubborn kings whose stories were famous enough to warrant them a place amongst the stars. You’ve been looking for them for a while, though, and know that the skies are empty of all souls who were once cast up there. It’s just another reminder that you are well and truly alone. The last remainder of a long dead culture.

“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” You startle, turning to see the Darkling walking out of the barn beside you. You manage to cover up your surprise with an apology. “Sorry, I didn’t think I’d woken anybody.” The Darkling shrugs. “You didn’t. I was already awake.” This feels somewhat surreal- here you sit, a false face and a fake history as a farmer turned soldier. Here stands the Darkling, looking just the same as always. It makes no sense, though- why would he keep seeking you out? Why would the general of the Second Army keep looking for an otkazat’sya soldier? He must know you, somehow. There’s no other explanation for it.

The Darkling clears his throat. “Thank you for speaking to Alina. I appreciate your words.” You dismiss the gratitude with a lift of your shoulder. “She’s my friend. I couldn’t exactly make her feel worse, could I?” The Darkling turns to look at you now, familiar quartz eyes seeming to tear you in two. “You could. You could have refused to play along with the role of double, you could have refused to fight by her side, you could have done your best to turn her away from us. You did none of that.”

You raise an eyebrow. “I could have resisted a team of the most skilled Grisha in all of Ravka? I intend to keep my life.” Something almost like a smile appears on the Darkling’s lips. You’ve seen this look before, in sunset afternoons and deepest nights. It’s so familiar that it seems to cut at you like a knife. You almost want to call out to him now- know me, please. Remember me. If you look close enough, you will see the woman you pretended to love. We could pretend again, if we wanted to.

You silent the murmurings, and he speaks again. “All the same, it was appreciated.” You turn back towards the sky, partly to take in the sight of the night sky again and partially to hide the smile giddily appearing on your own face. How is that after all this time, all these hurts, he still has this effect on you? “Well, I want her to have some good memories after this. I’ll be shipped back to Kribirsk, I don’t really want to leave on bad terms.”

The Darkling remains silent for so long that you’re worried you’ve said something wrong, opened up too much. A simple mapmaker would never confide in a centuries-old Shadow Summoner, he must suspect something. Surely, hopefully, he does. But instead, he turns to you, a softness present in his eyes that wasn’t there before. It rounds the edges of his quartz gaze, making it easier to fall hard and fast. “You aren’t going to leave for Kribirsk. You’re staying in Os Alta.”

You stare at him, night sky forgotten. “What? But I’m no Sun Summoner.” The Darkling laughs quietly in the night. “No, but few of us are. I have a personal guard, the oprichniki. I would like you to begin training with them once we arrive.” The sentence is phrased so casually that it almost floats by you completely undetected. The monumental weight of the words, however, is enough to shake you whole. The oprichniki are not Grisha, so you would fit in, but they are the Darkling’s special guards. Only the toughest and bravest of fighters are selected, certainly not a mapmaker who’s best skill is pretending to be a Sun Summoner.

You tell him as much, so stunned by this that you forget to hold your tongue. When you remember who you are and who you’re doing your best to pretend you’re not, you wish you had remained silent. For some reason, however, the Darkling doesn’t seem taken aback by this momentary lapse. Instead, it just makes his lips twitch even more. He is most certainly hiding a smile. “I saw you fight, Miss Stassov. If you can do that without any of our training at all, I’d say you’re a good candidate.”

You lean back against the barn wall. “Oprichnik. Me.” You whistle quietly, letting the sound echo in the night air like the call of a dove. The Darkling inclines his head. “You are free to turn the offer down at any point-” his smile grows at your raised eyebrow- “Although it is not an offer I take lightly. You have potential. Besides, keeping you in Os Alta will be a support for Miss Starkov.”

You furrow your brow. “I thought you would want to separate her from her old life, not keep having ties to it.” It’s what the Darkling would do when you knew him. He would have cut out another mapmaker without a second thought. The Darkling considers this. “Perhaps. But if she feels too alone, she may draw in on herself and feel unwilling to use her power at all. You have your merits, Miss Stassov. Perhaps more than you see yourself.”

You barely hear him when he goes back inside the barn. He has always had this ability to disguise his footsteps, letting the shadows cloak him in sound as well as in sight. For once, it doesn’t trouble you. Instead, you’re troubled by the future ahead of you. If you were an oprichnik, a guard loyal only to him, there would be even more chance of the Darkling finding out that you were Hecari, the woman he’d loved and who had run from him, feigning death rather than stay by his side and fear his knife.

Being near him, though, it makes you think back to every moment you’d shared. Could it be possible that you had misheard? Would the man you know, the man drenched by moonlight who makes offers of joining the ranks of the oprichniki to mapmakers he’s barely met, truly want you dead? The answer is yes, you know that. But your heart whispers differently, telling you that you could be wrong on this. You’ve always trusted your whispers, the ghosts of the past. The only problem is that these aren’t Hellenid spirits now, they’re your own. Longings for what might have been, what you left behind.

In the end, you retreat back inside the barn. When you sleep, you dream of a quartz-eyed boy, dark-haired and smiling before he thought to use you.

series tag list: fave @underc0vercryptid, @hotleaf-juice, @aleksanderwh0r3, @kaqua, @nemesis729, @imma-too-many-fandoms

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captain-josslett · 2 years

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We Love You, But-

So, this is something a bit different today. I'm thinking of entering a LGBTQ+ competition and have written an entry. The only rules are the maximum word count is 1,000, which I did struggle with!

If you'd like to read please give me feedback, even it's a 'I liked it!'. Thank you 🥰

“We love you, but-”

When I heard those words, my world imploded.

I was born into a christian family. We went to church every Sunday and I absorbed all I was taught. I never questioned it and my faith was steadfast.

As a child I felt I was different but I didn’t know what it was. I would watch movies where the princess ‘lived happily ever after’ with her prince. I would play with my barbies and act out what I had been taught, especially by the church. You date your prince, get engaged, then marry and have babies.

But something didn’t feel right.

One day Ariel met Belle and I went through the usual motions. However, there was an unknown problem...

Enter my middle brother who immediately started laughing. Explaining that marriage is between a man and a woman.

I blink and look down at Ariel and Belle who were happily in love.

I asked why and my eldest brother explained.

“Being gay is an abomination, it’s disgusting and I hate anyone who is gay!”

With horror I realised I was gay and I choked down my tears. In my child-like mind I made a promise to god that I wouldn’t be a sinner and I buried my sexuality so deep that I made myself forget about it entirely.

I focused even more on being the best christian I could be and followed the commandments to the letter.

Then the pastor taught how we should follow the example of Paul, who states that it is best to remain single and while I watched those around me dating, marrying and having babies, I figured god destined me to be like Paul.

But because of this, I never experienced a crush, the excitement of a first date, the thrill of a first kiss and the joy of love.

Instead, I developed crippling depression.

This made me dive further into the church and I even attended bible college to be able to work in the church.

Then, 2020 hits.

When lockdown struck, my busy life halted. I no longer had to go to worship rehearsal, or life group, or women’s breakfast or turn up at 6am on a Sunday to help set up.

Instead, I could watch the service from the comfort of my bed, still in my pyjamas and I quite like this new setup.

But what I hadn’t realised was the tidal wave of indoctrination I had been fed, had now stopped. For the first time in my life I was able to think for myself and not be told what I should do or who I should be.

A few months later I got a notification on my phone that Mary Setrakian was doing vocal classes on Zoom.

I jumped on the opportunity to be taught by Mary, who had starred on Broadway and has taught the likes of Broadway star, Sierra Boggess.

I nervously entered the Zoom class and found Mary to be an amazing woman who embodies pure sunshine and love. She didn’t want anything in return, other than my full commitment to the process and to have fun.

The others in the group were some of the nicest people I had ever met. At the end of every session we’d give feedback and I would find myself openly weeping at their words of unconditional love. All they wanted was for me to let go and be me.

At first I didn’t understand what they meant. I am me… Let go of what?

I would think deeply on their words and felt something I had buried had finally cracked through the surface.

… I’m gay.

I remembered what I had done as a child and felt sick but a sense of relief when it finally clicked fully into place.

But it is now 2020! Things have changed! Right?…

“We love you, but-”

Those were the words my pastor of 10+ years said to me. He continued on that it was okay that I was gay, but I couldn’t practice it. If I did I would be removed from the worship and pastoral team and placed in a background role. That I can’t be seen on the platform in that kind of relationship.

At that moment, my world literally imploded.

When we parted ways I felt numb. The organisation that I had given my life to, that I loved with my whole being and sacrificed so much for… Decided that I couldn’t have one of the most fundamental things about being a human.

Love.

I then realised that their view of love was blinkered and narrow minded. Unlike my friends in the zoom class who accepted me without any rules of how I should live my life.

I immediately started distancing myself from the church and tried to find myself without the tight restraints that had me bound.

Because for all my life I had strived for people’s acceptance, approval and love. However, I was being suffocated by a toxic ‘love’ that was damaging my very core. Making me believe I was only worth something if I fitted into a ‘perfect’ mould.

But in fact, the acceptance, approval and love I really needed?

It was from me.

To know that I am enough and worthy of love.

When I realised this, it was like taking a breath of fresh, clean air.

I wish I could say it’s been smooth sailing, but it hasn’t. When I decided to come out and declare it to the world I mostly got positive feedback but I had a few comments made about how I was making the wrong choice… As if my sexuality was a choice.

I still struggle with moments of sinful guilt but I am finally free to be me.

And although I haven’t been asked on a date yet, I am now open to the idea and want to be loved.

And if no one does. I now know someone who will love me, no matter what.

Me.

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wordynerdygurl · 4 years

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Skin Deep - Part 6

Author’s Note: Honestly, this story is nearing it’s ending. Hard to believe that a little idea I couldn’t shake has now grown into this mini-series! For all my die-hard homies, waiting for the next installment, I hope this is worth your while! If you’re new here, take a look around, see if you like anything and please, let the management know if you have any questions!! As always, writing like this requires the emotional support of people and pets. My dogs, Murphy and Winston, get me through a lot of plot bunnies just by being stalwart companions. My husband, graciously, lets me take these flights of fancy when I probably should be paying better attention to him and his day... and some of my besties here on Tumblr make it possible for me to do this for you guys. @sammy-jo1977 , my sister from another mister! Couldn’t/ Wouldn’t do it without you! To all the folks who follow me... My Minxes! Love you all! Stay well, be kind, and remember that Love, really does conquer all! If you want to be a Minx, send me a note, I’ll happily add you to my tag list! Lastly, be sure to like and share anything that you see on Tumblr that catches your eye. Creative types, we need the constant validation, you see? Without it, like an unwatered plant, we wither on the vine and perish! Be kind to those who help you through the day and reblog! Skin Deep Part 5 - click here for the previous chapter! Pairing: Loki x Reader, Steve, Valkyrie & Thor all make appearances Summary: Continued from Part 5, You and Loki put your plan into action, returning to Farmhouse. When you encounter Steve again, you learn there’s more than two sides to this story. Warnings: Loki’s POV and perspective, including mentions of his time under Thanos. I’m re-writing MCU history here, but some of the main beats are the same, so look out for SPOILERS for Dark World, Ragnarok, and a touch of Infinity War. The SNAP never happened because, reasons.

Empathy used to seem such a human emotion. Loki had no time for that on Asgard, not when Odin denied anything as frivolous as feeling. Hiding in plain sight was the means to survival and if that made the young prince sneaky and sly, so be it. By placing those parts of himself under lock and key; the parts that hurt, the ones that ached, Loki found it was safer to disconnect from others than subject himself to their suffering too.

Operating under the influence of Thanos and his minions when he held the scepter, Loki had purposefully divorced connection of any kind from his mind. It was dangerous. Weak. And moreover, it allowed Loki to do what Thanos commanded without really experiencing the horror, the havoc, of his actions for himself.

Who could hear the screams of women when the voice of Ebony Maw subliminally chanted all the ways that one could be dismembered at Thanos’ hands should Loki fail? What man would shed a tear after the near constant beatings doled out by Black Order members, just for the fun of it? How could someone care about a house, a car, a city, when they no longer cared about themself? Losing the Battle for New York had consequences far beyond the destruction of property. With Thanos’ hold over him vanquished, the walls around his heart, constructed in youth, crashed and burned like the dream of ruling Earth. Suddenly and completely out of reserves, Loki was powerless. And he felt everything. The fresh hurts caused by his manipulated ambitions in the hands of Thanos. The furious feelings of his brother, the inadequacies of his character, the feeble needs that drove his wild ambition washed over him unceasingly. Anger. Loss. Lunacy. Loki learned a hard truth in that moment. He was a monster. A freak. A creature beyond hope and salvation; proving his adoptive father right and his own hopeful heart wrong. Bitterness soured the fallen prince. Endless hours in isolation on Earth, which continued in his father's house, had Loki believing he had no chance of seeing the world outside again, and it hardened his heart further. To feel was so painful, so raw, and so humane. Why bother anyway? All that emoting, those high spirits, all they really did was expose you to derision. What was grief to a goblin? What was horror to a monster? What was love to a villain like him? An evil, conspiring demi-god, with a mind bent toward domination. A damaged, destroyed, deity alone and in pieces. Who would ever give someone like Loki Odinson a chance? Why should they?

Turning to his mother, Loki did everything but ask for forgiveness. In long rambling talks, her projection to his jailed person, the pair talked around ideas of guilt and innocence, of fate and fortune, of destiny versus desire, yet Loki never heard the words he needed in order to truly find peace.

If Frigga was aware of her son’s need for absolution, Loki would never know, as their last exchange was harsh and full of anger. Another stroke of loss, crippling now, because there was nothing Loki could do to change any of it from inside his prison cell. No illusion could conceal the painful ache that consumed him entirely.

Those days were dark, even for a soul as dusky hued as his own, and Loki’s thoughts followed a similar path. If there had been a way for him to shake off this immortal coil, free himself of the burden of living, Loki would have done so and been glad. Death was welcome compared to all this longing and heartache. But life, even a nearly immortal one, was funny.

When Thor provided a chance at redemption, Loki snatched at it, in his own detached way. He played hero, rescuing Jane, aiding his brother. And if he took a bit more in the form of deposing his arrogant, aging father, who would be surprised? He was Loki, God of Mischief, after all. Ruling the Nine Realms without the oppressive oversight of his father allowed Loki to prove himself in ways he never imagined. And Loki wasn’t just good at it. He was great. Of course, it helped that no one knew he was Loki. Living disguised as Odin was often unpleasant, frequently frustrating, but entirely necessary. Being Loki was still too difficult and likely to bring unwanted attention in the form of The God of Thunder, a thing that no one truly wanted, Loki least of all. Return Thor did, along with an unknown sister and the end of Asgard. When confronted with the insanity of Hela’s bloodlust, Loki’s only thought was of his kingdom, now without a ruler. He had worked too hard, too long, to see the land he cared for in the hands of an enemy, even if she called herself sister. Opening the Bi-Frost, panicked, his mind was solely on saving those he had recently held dominion over. They were his people, after all. But he never reached Asgard. Swallowing his fear, Loki focused all his energy on staying alive in a new and distracting environment, initially. What Loki found on Sakaar wasn't a new home base under a flamboyant, ineffective leader that he could control, even if that was his first design. On Sakaar Loki found his loyalty.

The proud, deep resonance of being Asgardian, of being an Odinson, of being capable and cool under pressure. Sure, he had to prove himself to Thor, Valkyrie, Banner and honestly, the rest of the kingdom, but actions speak louder than words. And through his actions on Sakkar, and by extension rescuing the people of Asgard, Loki had shown everybody his true mettle. It was on the deck of a stolen ship headed for Midgard that Loki had made a commitment of sorts. One that was not to the people, so recently saved or for his found family. This time, the promise Loki intended to keep was for himself. Loki was going to change. The problem is, a task like that takes time. Patience. Motivation. It was something that Loki had to work at and it was exhausting. They say that the best things come to those who wait. Loki was learning to wait everyday. Having earned a place at the side of his brother, he worked tirelessly to win over the heroes of his new home planet. Was it easy? Hardly, but Loki wasn’t willing to compromise. Not anymore. A life like Hela’s was not in his runes. Loki was simply going to be better. Not perfect. No one could be as good hearted as Captain America, nor could one be as tech savvy as Stark. So Loki was planning on being the best Loki he could possibly be, and that’s how he found himself going to meetings at The Avengers Tower, a mostly welcome addition to the team. Meetings weren’t all that exciting and boredom was an awful temptation for a deity devoted to mayhem. In fact, Loki spent more time doodling in his notebook than listening to whoever was droning on about whatever part of the world needed the attention of this motley crew. That was, until Pepper Potts hired her new assistant. That you were polite, pretty and pert wasn’t lost on the young god. Sitting outside Mrs. Iron Man’s office, typing away with a phone tucked under your ear, moving faster than anyone he had ever seen was certainly impressive. You were quick witted, clever and most of all, funny. Everyone else seemed to fall under your spell without much effort on your part, something that Loki found frustratingly fascinating. Here he was, struggling to get people to say his name without having a traumatic flashback, while you simply smiled and smarted off prettily, and had everyone singing your praises. But Norns, were you adorable. If he thought about it, and while off planet, Loki definitely had, he could remember the moment he realized that you were the woman he wanted. You were busy, as always, fielding phone calls and flipping through screens yet every moment your flying fingers weren’t hovering over a keyboard or pushing down telephone buttons they curled around a heart shaped charm at your throat. Clearly, it was a habit and one that you weren’t even aware of, still - it transfixed him all the same. Watching you from his side eye, your voice never wavering, your tone always so pleasing, and your nimble digits returning again and again to the small sigil around your neck. “Loki?” “Huh?” Dumbfounded at your call, those deep sea eyes blinked wildly at the sound of his name on your lips. “Hi! Yes, Pepper can see you now. Go ahead, she’s ready!” He rose on stiff legs, adjusting his tie, about to lie to Tony Stark’s woman all for the chance to see you in passing. Who had he become? It started out innocent like that, but soon, Loki was having to invent excuses for being in the office so frequently. Missing files, random visits, even going so far as to buy Tony coffee just for the thrill of seeing you. Something needed to change, and quickly, or Loki was going to blow. On another made up errand, hanging around the executive’s high rise office, Loki was doing a bad job of pretending not to see you. His mind was on your pouty lips as you sipped lemonade through a straw and not on the stately woman seated behind the desk.

“Loki, you’re a man of some… style.” Pepper said it so casually that he almost didn’t hear, his head lost in thoughts that would shame any other person. “I like to think so.”

Shutting her folder with a snap, Pepper smiled, “And you’d love to help your old friend Pepper out, right?” That got his attention, and quickly. Loki, shoving his hands in his pockets, turned to face Pepper with a widening grin, “I feel like I’m being baited.”

“Baited? Never! It’s just, you’re always here and I have a… project that needs the kind of help that you can provide.” At those words you entered the office, ready for action with a notebook and pen, eager and excited. Suddenly, it was all clear to Loki, “Pepper, no.”

The noose closed in on the handsome god as Pepper gathered paperwork without looking his way, “Come on, it’s the Stark Homecoming Gala and the two of you will do great! I have faith in you both. I can’t wait to see what you come up with!” “Really, Miss Potts, I simply can’t-” Stopping short, the strawberry blonde whipped around, almost nose to nose with Loki. Shrewd and straightforward, Pepper interrupted, saying, “You’ve been dancing around my office for weeks now. Clearly you like her and… against all the odds, she likes you too. I’m doing you a favor and when someone does you a favor, you say “Thank You”.” “Thank you.” Nodding curtly, “You’re welcome. Now, make yourselves comfortable, order some dinner, my treat. And do whatever you need to make sure this is one great party!” That’s how Loki found himself sitting at a clear glass table over sweating bottles of iced tea as you discussed color themes and tablecloths. You were shy, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as you reviewed notes from previous gatherings both large and small. His hands itched with wanting to do that job himself. “So, what do you think?” It was the first time you had addressed him directly since coming through the door and for a moment Loki couldn’t answer. You were too… not beautiful, that wasn’t the right word, although you were. No, you were too open, too easy to read, and the earnestness you offered him was downright frightening. Sitting forward in the uncomfortable, yet fashionable, office furniture, Loki cleared his throat and again tugged his tie, “What I think is that you should let me take you dinner.” Dropping your eyes, your cheeks colored slightly as your fingers found that locket charm once more, “Loki, I… I don’t know-” Grabbing for your hand, suddenly afraid that you would take those shining eyes away, Loki lowered his voice and did something he never thought he would. He begged. “Please? I find that you’re all I can think about.” It rushed out of him in a torrent, the way truth so often does, and he found himself unable to look you in the eye. Loki was afraid to see rejection on your easy to read face, afraid that wanting you had cracked open the lock box holding his heart, afraid that you would see just how weak you made him. Your fingers twined with his own as you replied, “You didn’t let me finish. I don’t know what took you so long.” Sighing with relief, his face melting into a genuine smile, “Me either.” Over the next two months the pair of you worked tirelessly to plan and execute a perfect party. You were inseparable during the day, heads buried together as you discussed linens and table settings, the quality of cocktail glasses, and debating over a band or a dj. But at night, at night Loki talked about the things that haunted him in the dark. And you loved him in spite of the awful things he had seen and done and said. Others took notice. Loki was more lighthearted, more available. He listened when people spoke and wasn’t constantly doodling during meetings. Yes, Loki was learning how to love through your loving him. If empathy had seemed too humane before, then sharing his life, his love with you, was the kind of immortality that earned someone a place in Valhalla. It was the bravest thing Loki Odinson had ever done and he didn’t mind one bit.

The first time Loki tasted you was burned into his brain, as bright as a flash of lightning. A firefly in a memory jar that he kept returning to, time and again. Loki remembered what you were wearing. He recalled exactly how the light shone in your eyes. If he concentrated, he could tap out the rhythm of your racing pulse as he held you in his arms. It was the night of the gala. Inviting everyone under the Stark Industries banner, up to and including the heroes tasked with saving the world, the event was a way to earn money for one of the many charities Tony supported. The place was full of beautiful people wearing gorgeous clothes under perfect lights set to the hand crafted soundtrack you had created together.

But, Norns, he could still remember the way your eyes sparkled under the lowlights of that hall. How your dress, simple but sophisticated, clung to the fullness of your bottom. Low cut but somehow still modest, Loki couldn’t tear his gaze away from the promise of your curves, willing himself to find anything else as interesting as the idea of you.

You were across the room hanging onto Tony’s every word, eyes bright and cheerfully glowing as you sipped champagne. It made Loki want to do something grand, something suave, something that would demand your attention for his own. Moving towards you, his tuxedo perfectly pressed and fitting better than it had any right to, Loki looked long and lean. Each of his steps seemed to echo, even though the room was full of sound, and you turned your head as if you also heard. Breaking away from the cluster of acolytes surrounding Iron Man, you bit into your lip as the crowd parted, moving closer together one step at a time. It was one of the sexiest things Loki had ever witnessed. Lifting your glass in a toast, taking in the room of mingling millionaires, wealthy hangers on and Avengers, “Well, we did it!” “You did it, my dove, I just hung around and judged everyone.” “Oh stop. I couldn’t have done it without you and you know it.” Playfully you pushed against his shoulder and Loki took advantage, using your momentum to pull you to his side, your curvy figure flush against his own. Crooning into the shell of your ear, his lips brushing over that sensitive skin, “Somehow, love, I think you would have managed.” Before you had time to think, Loki had melded his mouth with your own, stealing your breath along with your heart. Loki’s feet moved in time with the music as he pulled into a dance, laughing in his arms, your cheeks hot and your head swimming. You laughing was, without question, Loki’s favorite sound. Nothing in this world or any other came close to matching the joyful, childlike glee of that enchanting noise. Loki memorized its melody, the rise and fall of your giggle. He had craved it, being away for so long, and now he wanted… no, needed to hear it. But you were the furthest thing from happy at the moment.

"Darling, please. We have to go." Loki tapped his watch, shaking himself free from the memories of your previous life together and barely suppressing his irritation.

Tears filled your eyes as you whipped your arms around Thor’s mighty shoulders, his deep voice grumbly with emotion, "Take care of him, would you? He's a jerk, but Loki is the only brother I have."

"Of course… always. And Valkyrie, your highness, I can’t thank you enough for-"

"No need. Loki, and by extension yourself, will always have a safe haven here in my palace."

Looking on, Loki and Thor embraced almost tenderly before crashing their heads together.

"Stay safe, little brother."

"Be good, Thor."

Eyes on the sky, Val ignored the show of masculine emotion, chastising your plan, "You’re going to start a war, Loki."

Straight backed, Loki turned to the king, "Not on the grass of New Asgard. I will take the fight to them, that is my vow to you."

As Loki offered his hand, Valkyrie shook it, with parting words, "Work on staying alive. You have a tendency to worry your brother."

Solemnly nodding, "As the king commands. Shall we?" With that Loki laced his fingers with yours, leading you a few paces away from the people who loved him most, before summoning the magic that had you both transcending space and time.

This time when your feet touched down it was on the familiar turf of the orchard, surrounded by the scent of apple blossoms and the buzzing of happy bees. Morning had broken and the world seemed full of promise, with the exception of that knot in your stomach.

"Are you ready? Darling?"

"Oh… yes. I mean, I still don't love this plan, but-"

"But it's going to work." Only it was no longer the baritone voice of your long, lean Loki speaking. In his place stood Nick Fury, leather duster and eye patch in place.

"If you say so!" And you clutched your own throat as Natasha’s bored tones came out of your mouth. The suit, skin tight but flexible, molded to your modified form. All in all, you were comfortable, "The boots are a bit much."

"Ya think? This jacket weighs a ton." Pulling at his collar, "Why does he wear a turtleneck anyway?"

"Loki, this is so weird. It feels so weird."

"Agreed, but then, why am I so turned on?"

Laughing, you shook your false red hair, hands resting on Natasha’s waist, "God, I've missed you."

"Same, dearest. Now… let's get your necklace and some answers!"

---

Convincing Bucky to head home had taken a lot of work, but sometime around 2 am Steve had finally seen his friend off. The house was empty. Steve felt the same way.

Turning the black velvet box in his pocket, fingers crushed against the fragile fabric, Steve struggled to feel anger. When that didn't materialize he shot for sadness but even tears seemed beyond his ability.

With a sigh, climbing the same stairs he had trudged up a hundred times before, Steve started going through the motions of bedtime. Only tonight you weren’t there to tease him about the wildly inappropriate amount of toothpaste on his brush. He didn’t have your light footsteps to follow to the bedside or your help with stacking all of your extra, yet entirely essential, pillows on the chair.

Someone must have changed the sheets, he thought. There was no evidence of you and Loki’s adventurous afternoon anymore. Steve made a mental note to thank Buck for that little piece of kindness in the morning.

Shucking his shirt, Steve sat on the mattress, a hand to his forehead. He had lost. Captain America had been bested. Beaten. And by Loki, no less.

Moonlight in silver slivers shone through the window panes, squares of light in the deep of night. Steve was alone. Utterly and totally alone.

And there was no one to blame but himself.

Sighing hard, Steve stood, pacing the floor to work off some of the unspendable anxiety he kept creating. The room still had your energy, your vibe, as you liked to call it, and the feeling was a prickling itch Steve couldn’t quite satisfy. Traces of you were everywhere and something about you leaving all of it, and him, behind was just too big to process. “Damn it.” Even whispering sounded like thunder in the silence of your recently vacated room. His hands, so big, so strong, smoothed along the fabric of your hanging clothes. All that power had done nothing to help Steve get the thing he wanted. Sorting through the baubles and trinkets on your dresser, bottles of perfume he had purchased, necklaces and pins, each with a moment of memory it hurt him to recall. Your watch ticked away the minutes as he stood, stoic and still, surrounded by the shadow of you. In the orchard the birds were waking, their song filling the air, as morning broke in low golden rays. Abandoning his plan for sleep, Steve watched as the light chased away the dark, casting rainbows on the floor. The sun was reflecting off of your Grandmother’s necklace. A pretty, ancient, carved cameo, heart shaped locket. He recalled his own mother owning one just like it, pictures of loved ones pressed inside, holding them as tight as history would allow. Fisting the filigree chain, winding it around his fingers as if it would somehow undo what he had done, Steve slipped it into his pocket before settling back onto the bed. ----

At the back door to the home you so recently shared with Steve, Loki hung back, “I think this is where we split up. You go find your treasure and me… I’m going to find some answers.” Nodding, Natasha’s signature red hair swinging, you squeezed the hand holding your own. It no longer looked like Loki’s long fingered paw, but that was only a skin deep change. You felt the undeniable essence of him in the press of his fingers against your own. “Be careful.” “That’s no fun, dove.” “Loki-” You hated the way your voice broke as you said it, but there just seemed to be so much at stake and you had already lost him once. Sensing your unspoken concerns, Loki flashed you Nick Fury’s best smile, “I will. I promise.”

“Ten minutes.” “Ten minutes.” You watched the black coated back of your charmed paramour as he opened the shed door, hoping that he’d find something worth knowing in that place out of sight. Inhaling deeply you twisted the doorknob as quietly as possible, letting yourself into what was once your kitchen, “What a mess.” It was impossible not to notice the unwrapped leftovers and empty bottles littering the table. An overturned trash barrel, crumpled beer cans littering the counter, things that Steve, your Steve, would never have tolerated. All evidence that the grand evening he’d envisioned had been thwarted by Loki’s arrival and your collective escape.

You started up the stairs, praising Natasha's footwear for its stealth, when you heard the toilet flush and the unmistakable shuffle of Steve’s feet on the carpet. There was no place to hide on the wide stairwell. It was time to see if Loki's plan was going to work.

Voice blurry, eyes rubbed red and raw, you couldn't deny that Steve looked like shit, “Bucky? That you? You back?” Steve’s voice bounced around the brightening room as morning sunlight filtered through the soft sheers you had picked out for exactly this reason. Panicked, you backed into the railing with an over loud “Oof!” “Nat? What are you doing here? I thought you and Fury were headed to New Asgard?” Suddenly wide awake and wondering, Steve rushed to your costumed side, eager for information. The man in front of you now bore little resemblance to the angry Avenger you had escaped from hours before. This man had hair sticking up in odd angles from near constant finger raking. This man had a hint of a stuffy nose and red rimmed eyes, all indicators that tears had been shed. Now those blue eyes were scrutinizing you closely, full of concern.

“Uh… We... We got intel. Yea, intelligence, that Loki was headed back this way. Turned around… and uh, here we are.” One of those sandy blonde eyebrows lifted, “Natasha?”

Squaring your shoulders, channeling that cool confidence you’d see Black Widow display over and over, “Steve?” Something about your tone of voice convinced him in a way your words couldn’t. He visibly relaxed, those broad shoulders going slack as he asked, “Didn’t make it to Norway, then?"

Nodding a negative, you felt the unfamiliar brush of her red hair at your cheek and had to fight the urge to tuck it away, “No. Loki’s using some sort of transporting power to move them around. Fury suggested I keep an eye out here, in case they come back this way.” “She won’t be back, Nat. There’s nothing for her here.” To you, Steve sounded so sad, so removed, that you had to will yourself not to comfort the giant before you. “That’s not true!” It came out of you forcefully, thoughtlessly, and you saw the shock register on the Captain’s face. “That is, Fury and I… we… have reason to believe that she will come back. They left with nothing, Steve. She’ll need clothes… maybe some shoes… and-” Swallowing hard, you didn’t want to give anything away, “-a necklace from her grandmother.” Steve, patting his pocket, felt the weighted chain and it’s heart shaped locket, “I don’t think-” Stepping up to his bulky form, suddenly aggressive, you started, “Never mind what you think, Captain. We're here for a necklace... the necklace. Our intel suggests that your former flame might return for it and… And, I want it, with me, as a means to subdue her when she arrives." Sounding forceful and official was enough to back Steve down. Just a touch deflated, you watched him shrug, “If that’s what you want, Nat, here-” From his pants he pulled out the shining bauble, a trinket really, but full of sentiment and memory. Sitting in his palm, the tiny heart that held the picture of your grandmother and mother looked so small, almost unreal. Reaching for it with wet eyes, you smiled at Steve as you lifted the charm and chain, “Thank you, Steve. Thank you.” Nodding deeply, that golden head bobbing, “You’re welcome.” The large grandfather clock could be heard ticking throughout the house. The sun was gaining on the day and you, dressed as Natasha stood in silence in front of a somber Steve. For another long beat nothing was said, then, as if sensing a shift in your conversation, Steve flashed your fake Natasha a weak smile, “I could use some breakfast. How about you?”

“Um… sure. Yea, ok. Breakfast.”

Steve started moving again, downstairs towards the cluttered kitchen when he paused, "So how did you get back so fast? Cause that's like a 7 hour flight, even with you in the cockpit." “Steve…” You could hear it, the whining almost pleading tone that signaled the end of Loki’s well planned charade. That wasn’t enough to stop Steve. He broke hard, one of those strong arms stopping you in your tracks before you could reach the lower level. “It’s clever, I have to give you guys that. Almost perfect, really.” Panic rising, you doubled down on the ruse, struggling to keep your voice even, “I don’t know-” Blocking you in, his body the perfect unmovable buffer, “Loki’s here too, isn’t he?” Pushing against “Steve, I… I don’t…” “Don’t lie. You don’t have to…” “But… how-?” “You’re not mean enough to play Natasha, doll. Not by a long shot.”

--- It was strange to be seated at the table and chairs that you and Steve had picked out together one sunny Saturday when you thought that your future was going to be Loki-less. Your place, the one that you had imagined filling with children that had golden hair and bright blue eyes, felt like a set. Something false and fake. A facade, put together simply for show. Steve must have felt it too because his fingers drummed against the white washed table incessantly. Clearly he had something on his mind. “Steve-” “No. No. Please, let me just get this out, ok?” Raising an eyebrow, you waved at him to continue, nervous but interested in what the super soldier needed to explain. With a shaky inhale, running his constantly moving fingers through his golden locks, Steve caught your eye and didn’t waiver. “When I saw you… No, that’s not right. Let me start at the beginning. “When Loki left Earth, you… you were so sad. It hurt me to see you so… deflated.” “Steve, I-” “You know it’s true. When he returned to Asgard, something in you, it dimmed, and I just couldn’t allow that… Not when I felt the way I did about you. “I don’t think you realize just how incredible you are… how full of life! And since I had already missed one chance to be with you, I knew I needed to prove that I could be the man you needed… If you forgot about Loki along the way, even better. “Only… you never did. I waited years for you, ya know, doll? Years. And just when I thought there was no chance with you, Nat gave me a reason to hope. “She was your friend. An ally. Someone you could trust… someone I could trust. I swear it started out that innocently, at least for me. I just wanted to make you smile again. But she had other plans. Plans that came from higher up the ladder of SHIELD. “Fury, he wanted us to watch you… something about Loki being too powerful. And-”, grabbing your hand tightly, Steve emphasized his point, “-I promise you that I had no idea about his success, or the messages he had sent to you through Nick. Like you, I thought that Loki was gone. Missing. Never coming back.” “I… I believe you Steve. I know that you didn’t do all this on your own… but what was Nick hoping you’d find out? I knew less than nothing about what was going on!” “I think he was worried that Loki would get to you first. That if… when Loki returned, you would be his first stop. Then you would know about Loki’s success and, frankly, Fury’s failures. You would also know… well, everything you know now. That Fury had you tailed, lied to, and led on in an effort to stop Loki from out flanking him.” Frenzied and frantic, you felt anger boiling up inside of you, “But I thought Loki was gone forever. There was no hope for him and I… and Natasha, she told me that he was dead.” “All a part of Fury’s plan to keep you neutralized and Loki away. If Loki thought that you’d ignored his letters, that you no longer loved him, why would he come back here? And, if that didn’t work… when Loki came back and you were with me, what else could keep him on Earth?”

Whispering with realization, “So, they used you too.” Steve sighed and buried his hands in the pockets of his sweatshirt, “Don’t feel bad for me. I let them use my love for you, let them twist it up and shape it as they needed. Honestly, I wish I could tell you that it was for you, but it wasn’t. It was for me. I wanted you, so, so badly. I didn’t care what strings were attached. And we built a life together, you and me. I thought I could outrun the reality of the constant monitoring and daily reports. Telling Natasha and Nick about every word and each email. Don’t you see, I love you… and I wanted you, however I could get you.” Shaking your head, Natasha’s red wisps flying, “That’s not love, Steve. I don’t know what that is… but love isn’t it.” “No?” With a loud thunk, Steve slammed a small velvet box on the table between you. “Is… Is that what I think it is?”

“Last night. It was going to happen last night. Our friends here, under the lights and the stars, I was going to ask you to marry me. I still would if-” Realization hit you like a ton of bricks, “If Loki hadn’t stepped back into our lives.” “-If Loki hadn’t stepped back into your life.” It made you both laugh in a sad way, how you finished the same thought, and for a fleeting second you could see why you had allowed Captain America to sweep you off your feet. He was a lot of things to you now, but there was a time when he had been almost everything. The evidence of that was in the small black square that said nothing but spoke volumes. “Steve, I don’t know if I would have said yes… even without Loki’s… arrival. I think I have always known that you and I… we are very different people.” Sitting back in his chair, his gaze still locked on your own, “I just want you to know that I’m sorry. I’m sorry about what I’ve done… what I’ve said… How, shit, how I’ve behaved. I could say that it was my duty. I could tell you it was out of love, but the plain truth is that I have always been jealous of what you and Loki share.” “You’ll find it Steve. You really will. There’s a person out there waiting for you. And once you’ve found them, oh Steve, you’ll see that this… what we had, it’s a shadow. An illusion. Because love, real love, doesn’t come with caveats and catches. It is an undeniable force which, in my case, even the boundaries of time and space can not deny.” Something like a sob burst out of Steve, and you were surprised to see tears in his eyes, “I was so wrong. Could you ever forgive me?” “I want to, Steve. I really do... “ What more could you say? Patting his hand you started to rise, “I have to go now. Loki and I need to keep moving and I don’t want to risk running into Nick and Natasha. At least, not yet, anyway.” “Where are you planning to go?” “To the Avenger’s Tower. I believe I know what Mr. Fury has been planning all along.” Loki’s strong voice entered the conversation as smoothly as his arms wrapped possessively around your waist. Steve took in the protective stance of your returned lover with a raised eyebrow, and without further comment asked Loki, “Really? And how are you going to breach the building? They’ll be looking for you, even with disguises… Fury is no fool. Plus, there’s little chance that Tony hasn’t activated a million safety and security protocols by now.” Only interested in you, Loki refused to give Steve any of his attention, “Getting in can’t be that hard! I’ll figure it out when I get there. Ready pet?” With a gentle push under his broad hands your feet started to move towards the door. Loki was eager to be off and away, especially after hearing so much of Roger’s confession. Just knowing what Steve had done, manipulating you while also convinced of his love for you; it was enough for Loki to commit murder. He was having quite a difficult time not tearing the good Captain’s limbs off his body. Softening his tone, Steve practically pleaded, “Loki. Wait. I… I can help.” Turning his attention fully to your former flame, Loki purred venomously, “You can help? I’d love to know what entails, Captain.” “I can get you into the place and take you exactly where you need to go. Fury’s going to hate it, but I’m tired of taking orders that hurt the people that-” His pause was as lingering as the look he gave you, “- That I love.” Before Loki could offer a sincerely sassy reply you grabbed his sleeve, tugging, “Um… Excuse us a minute Steve.” Pulling him down the hall of a home that felt like a familiar faced stranger, you waited until you had a bit of distance from Steve before harshly whispering, “How long were you listening?”

Serving you that small, sexy smile, Loki grinned, “Long enough. How did you know I was there?” “You are sneaky, but even you, God of Mischief, cast a shadow.” Swinging you close enough to catch your mouth with his own, Loki pressed a sweet kiss there before answering, “A mistake I will be careful not to make again!” “The tower, huh? That’s where you want to go?” Grabbing you at the swell of your hips, grinding his frame against your own, “Where I want to go, my darling, is to the nearest bed, preferably naked, with you and you alone.” Your hands traced over the lapels of his borrowed leather duster, pausing only to jerk him closer by the supple fabric, “Hmm… is that so?” “Oh yes…” Loki’s buttery grumble filled your ear as his strong hands dug into the flesh of your bottom. For a moment you thought he’d give in to temptation, his sweet lips teasingly close to your own upturned mouth, “But-” On your toes, leaning into Loki’s sturdy, leather draped frame, you paused, “Ugh. But?” Moving you to a safer, less kissable, arms length away, Loki sighed with the same frustration you felt, “-But, where we need to go, as soon as possible, is the Tower.” Moaning grumpily, you stepped out of the arms you longed to linger in, “I was afraid you were going to say that.” “I know it’s less than… ideal, love, but I did find something useful before the good Captain unburdened his soul this morning.” “And that is?” “Fury’s plan. At first I couldn’t figure out exactly what he was after. What did Fury want? How was I involved?” Loki was dragging this out, loving how it kept you hanging onto his every word, and you rolled your eyes, “Well? What is it? Weapons? War?” “All of that, yes… and… yours truly.” That triumphant smile that filled Loki’s whole face lit up his mischievous eyes. Tilting your head, struggling to make sense of what Loki had just told you, “What do you mean, you. Fury wanted you… to do what, exactly?’ “Loki was going to be the patsy.” You both turned toward the sound of Steve’s baritone at the door, suddenly remembering that the Good Captain was still there and that he was waiting to see what you were going to do next. Leaning his 100 year old bones into the doorframe, Steve crossed his arms, “The fall guy. An example of what happens if you cross SHIELD.” “I think, my dear Mr. Rogers, that you mean, I am to be used as an example of what happens if one crosses Nick Fury.” Loki countered, slinging an arm over your shoulder protectively. The idea was frightening. A man like Fury had too much power, too much at his disposal. Just knowing the lengths he had gone to in order to keep you and Loki apart was scary enough. Making enemies of your friends. Threatening the people you loved. Selling your affection to Steve in an effort to control Loki.

Now, the knowledge that all of it was done in an effort to ensure that Nick Fury was the toughest guy in the galaxy, it made your stomach clench. “What do you mean, an example?” “Unless my intelligence is flawed, I believe that Fury was going to kill me. Is that correct, Captain?” Steve felt the weight of two sets of eyes on him. Yours, full of fearful love and blind hope that this was all just some misunderstanding. Innocent and naive and as lovely as he could ever remember. Loki’s were reflecting a deeper understanding. The kind of knowledge that only time in the trenches teaches. There was no answer from Captain Rogers. None was needed. Honesty, final and resolute, was out in the open. “Look. I know I’m not the guy you want on your side. I’ve… I haven’t been the man I needed to be. Not for you-” Steve locked his bright blues onto you, offering a small smile that spoke of sadness before facing Loki, “-Or you, Loki. But if you let me help you now, I promise that I can get you into the tower and maybe, one day, you won’t think so little of me.”

Around you the morning gained strength. Somewhere nearby birds chirped wildly, blissfully unaware of the drama unfolding in the modest little farmhouse and its implications on intergalactic politics. Without moving a muscle, Loki plainly asked you, “Do you trust him, dearest?” Squaring your shoulders, you crossed your arms, staring down the man called Captain America. Nodding decisively, “I do. I don’t think he’d spill everything like that only to turn on us. He’s not so bad Loki, really.” “We’ll see about that. For now, we trust Steve. Ok, what’s your plan, Rogers?” --- “Hey. I… I have one other thing to show you.” Steve was dressed for action in his branded tactical gear, looking every inch the super soldier that Dr. Erskine envisioned. “Steve, we have to get moving. Loki’s eager and -” “Just open it, ok?” The envelope was thick with folded paper, the flap tucked under and not sealed. Clearly it had spent time in and out of pockets, the edges frayed and tattered. In exasperated curiosity you gingerly pulled the sheets free.

Shaking, your hands trembled holding the once white documents as your voice thickened, “Is this… is this what I think it is?” Cocking his head playfully, that rueful smile pulling at his full mouth, Steve almost seemed cheerful as he teased, “It’s yours. I think something about this place has always been yours and I want you to have it.” “But-” Folding your small hands in his mighty ones, Steve squeezed gently, “It was a wedding present, or it was supposed to be.” “But we’re not getting married.” “I know. Still-” “I can’t, Steve. It’s yours. Your house, your farm, your dream.” Shaking his head, disagreeing, but feeling lighter than he had in decades, Steve insisted, “Too late, I’m afraid. It’s done. Actually, that version of the deed has been signed since our second week here.” As realization sunk in you appraised the man changing right before your eyes, astonished but exhilarated, “Where will you go?” “I dunno. Think I might need to be alone for a bit. Maybe see the world… but first-” “First, we have to stop Nick Fury.”

To Be Continued... My Minxes: @scrumptious-finicky-illusion @iamverity @mizfit2 @sammy-jo1977 @wolfsmom1 @jessiejunebug @iluvsumbucky @unadulteratedwizardlove @procrastinatinglikeabitch @shxdowofdarkness @nonsensicalobsessions @ahintofkiwistrawberry @alexakeyloveloki @rorybutnotgilmore @crystalizedcaramel @lokislittlecorner @capcapcapsicle @jamielea81 @caffiend-queen @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore @jenjen8675309 @that-one-person @roguewraith @toomanystoriessolittletime @vodka-and-some-sass @just-random-obsessions @brokenthelovely @lots-of-loki @thefallenbibliophilequote

#loki x reader #loki x you #you x loki #loki smut #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x reader #mcu smut #MCU fanfiction #loki fanfic #loki fanfiction

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larkace · 3 years

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Robber Claws

hi guys! i've read a bunch of your fics and got inspired so i wrote a thing! enjoy ;) also, it's pretty long so...buckle up! love yall <3

The criminals lurk in the mist, invisible, but Sofiya Pavlichenkov knows they’re there.

She’s perched in the Lookout’s nest of her Warship in Fourth Harbour, pretending to read the documents her first mate, Kastor, has just handed to her. But her blue coat is flapping in the wind and her papers keep jostling and she’s being watched, all of which is rather uncomfortable.

Idly, Sofiya wonders what the criminals might want. A smuggling, perhaps? Out and away from stinking, crawling, loathsome Ketterdam?

Sofiya hates this city. His city. She misses Ravka, her homeland- the Little Palace.

I miss my bloody Kefta, Sofiya thinks darkly as another bought of wind spirals harshly through the Harbour. The blue coat she wears is a subtle nod to her Tidemaker status, but it’s a sad, thin piece of cloth compared to the grandeur of the Fabrikator-made Keftas. But Sofiya can’t wear her Kefta, not if she wants to blend in in Kerch- a lesson she learned long ago…

Old enemies, Sofiya. Old enemies, but not withered grudges.

Huffing out a sigh that would make Zoya Nazyalensky proud, Sofiya rises gracefully to her feet.

They’re coming. She can feel it; they’re making their way towards the ship. They don’t have to be rowdy to intimidate, that’s for sure - or to make a crowd of Merchants and Thieves part like the sea almost immediately.

Sofiya reaches up behind her head and loops her hand around a piece of knotted rope; takes a deep, steadying breath.

And she steps off the platform into the open air.

For a moment, she catches on the air as if a Squaller has caught her on a buffering breeze, but sure enough, gravity kicks in.

Sofiya welcomes the feeling of her stomach in her throat as the fall takes hold, zipping her past the sails. It's good preparation, anyway, for the three dark figures moving up the docks towards her.

As they near and Sofiya lands lightly on the deck, she confirms what she already knew: these were criminals. Her criminals.

The trio stops in front of her. They're all wearing black and gold - not a uniform exactly, but it’s a solid way to show your allegiance. None of their hands were visible, but if they were, Sofiya would find the Robber Claws emblem branded cleanly onto the backs of their knuckles. Their hoods are drawn up over their faces, but Sofiya can tell from their posture who she’s dealing with.

"Ah, Iseut," Sofiya says serenely, "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

The girl in the middle pulls down her hood, revealing shining blond hair, dark eyes, full lips. She doesn’t smile.

"Where have you been, Sofiya?" Iseut asks coolly.

"The Wandering Isle," Sofiya answers immediately, "I stopped at Os Kervo on my return to pick up some supplies. I'm only three days late, Is. Cut me some slack."

Iseut sighs, and suddenly looks less the badass, fake-waitress man-killer, and more the tired mother of a delinquent child. Sofiya feels a flicker of guilt.

She had stopped at Os Kervo for more than one reason. The "supplies" were crates upon crates of commandeered Fjerdan weapons and traps, intercepted by the First Army on their way to the Front Line. Sofiya had paid nothing to take them off the hands of the Ravkan soldiers, who honestly had no clue where to send them. What good were jerky Fjerdan guns to a sophisticated, well-oiled Second Army legion?

Sofiya could picture Zoya's face at the sight of the sad little weapons. Disgust and disdain, unshakable beauty - and perhaps just a little bit of pride that her friend had been the one to collect the Fjerdan cargo. Sofiya would work on selling it all later. She'd dump the Grisha traps in the ocean, though. Drown them like they deserved to be drowned.

"I am sorry, Iseut," Sofiya says, and her words aren’t mistruths.

"Don't apologise to me," Iseut says dismissively, "It’s your friends that were barely able to sleep the past few nights. You should talk to -"

"Destry," Sofiya's words mist the air like a fine rain, "I know."

One of the tall figures stood behind Iseut lowers her own hood. Lyra. Ly.

It made sense that the Robber Claws would send their best Bruisers to Fourth Harbour. Sofiya knew by the other Robber's posture that beneath the hood, she would find the face of Winter. But Winter wouldn't lower her hood in front of so many people, so Sofiya was content with what she could get.

"You really had Destry worried, Sof," Ly says, chastising.

"Destry can handle me being gone for weeks on end," Sofiya crosses her arms. She will not be guilt-tripped, "This job was half a week, and I was only a few days off schedule. I did tell Cherry that I'd be late." The words come out as a question.

None of them say anything.

Another flash of worry courses through Sofiya. Cherry Vlasova is a Heartrender, and one of Sofiya's closest friends. The message that Sofiya had forwarded was simple and concise: I'll be a few days late. Stopping at Os Kervo. Don't worry, no Fjerdans. Tell Destry -S.P

Had something happened to Cherry? She was an avid gossiper; her post box was always full of tip-offs (a useful source of information for the Robber Claws) but Sofiya was reliably informed that her letters were always placed on the top of the pile. Marked "URGENT."

"What happened? Is Cherry alright?" Sofiya demands.

Iseut holds up her palms, and they are callused and grease-marked. Sometimes Iseut is so well put together that Sofiya forgets she's a barmaid.

"Cherry is fine. But all our Grisha are shaken. Whilst you were away, there was an attack on the East Stave."

Sofiya's heart stops and restarts and stops again.

An attack. On the Grisha. And she wasn’t there to - to help, to defend-

"Destry," Sofiya breathes, "And Cherry - and Adali, Roza, Linnea, Yan, Anya- oh, Saints, was it the Fjerdans?"

There are many Grisha members of the Robber Claws. It was one of the reasons that Sofiya wanted to join them in the first place. If the Fjerdans had attacked -

"Everybody is fine," Ly says lowly, "We had Freya and May fixing people up as soon as we heard- and Lita, of course, but behind the scenes."

Freya and May- and even Lita, whose powers most of the gang didn't even know of. Grisha Healers. So people had been hurt.

"What. Happened." Sofiya growls, and Ly glares at her challengingly, fists clenching. The water beneath the decking froths and bubbles as Sofiya brings her own fists together, power surging pleasantly up her arms. If Ly wants a fight, she can have one.

"Calm down, both of you," Winter's smooth voice projects from under her hood. Despite the heavy fabric, her voice is clear and commanding. Sofiya takes a breath to compose herself.

"To answer your previous question: no. It wasn't the Fjerdans." Iseut says, "We don’t know what they were."

Sofiya's brow creases at the chime of fear in Iseut's voice. She's never seen the golden-haired barmaid afraid before.

It begins to rain softly, the pattering of droplets quiet against the wooden decking of the docks.

"We should go back to the Queen’s Head, Iseut," Ly suggests, referencing Iseut’s place of work. Iseut nods once, swiftly, and glances over Sofiya's shoulder at her warship.

"Do you need to...?"

"Yes."

"Go on, then."

"KASTOR! IM GOING FOR A ROUND OF DAY-DRINKING!" Sofiya yells over the shoulder of her rain-splattered coat. She hears Ly chuckle as Kastor's scruffy head pokes out from a window.

He nods at Sofiya when he spots her, and she waves, assenting. Kastor would keep everything safe whilst she was gone. It was their unspoken agreement, unchanging and unwavering since the day they'd become crewmates.

Sofiya turns back to Iseut, Ly and Winter.

"Let's be on our way," she says, and lets her fellow criminals lead the way along the Harbour, her warship disappearing into the mist behind her.

~~~~

The mid-day slump of customers meant that the Robber Claws had the Queen’s Head pub all to themselves.

Iseut- who did not own the pub, but had put more work into it than the real owners ever did- had immediately trekked behind the bar and poured herself a whisky.

"Want anything?" She asks, directing the question directly at Sofiya despite the equal presence of Ly- and Winter (who had lowered her hood slightly now that she was back on familiar ground, with familiar faces.) Bruisers didn’t drink on the job. It slowed reflexes.

"The story," says Sofiya firmly, "It a joke about the day-drinking. What happened?"

Iseut pours herself another whiskey and the quartet take a seat at a shady little circular table in a quiet corner. The murmurs of other Robber Claws members is enough to shelter their conversation from the group- despite Sofiya being sure she was the only one unaware of what had transpired the days she’d been gone.

As Iseut begins her story, with Winter and Ly regularly interjecting with additions, Sofiya feels horror and fear clamp down on her heart like a Fjerdan Grisha trap.

Iseut’s alluring voice weaves a tale of Komedie Brute actors in bloody masks, rose-painted rubble from an impossible explosion, and worst of all: Grisha. Dead Grisha, killed by creatures with screeching metal wings.

“Only a few of our Grisha were hurt,” Iseut sips her drink solemnly, “We took your advice of keeping them anonymous and undercover. We have Erin and our other spies out searching for answers at the embassies. I’m sure you’re just as eager to find out about the winged creatures as we are.”

Sofiya nods, “I am. Thank you for filling me in, Is, really. And to you, Ly, Winter. I know you don’t like going to far from the West Stave.”

The last comment was directed purely at Winter. It’s not a lie. Winter runs a dojo for training Kerch’s women to protect themselves from Barrel bosses and scum alike; she didn’t want her clients finding out about her… Robber side. Being a criminal wasn’t the most unintimidating, friendly persona to have when speaking with vulnerable women.

Sofiya respected Winter and her clean profession. It was hard to be so kind in the Barrel. And men were rarely kind to women at all.

Sofiya knew that first hand.

Shoving away the memories- blue eyes, dark hair, gorgeous smile, charming words and sharper wounds- Sofiya stands in one fluid movement.

“I’m going to find Destry,” she says. Iseut stands, Ly and Winter falling back to flank her again, and smiles. She’s beautiful, that is undoubtful, but the attacks- the sleazy men at the Queen’s Head, the strain of the city- it’s all gotten to her. Sofiya can see it.

This city is poison, thinks Sofiya as Iseut takes her hand and shakes it. Poison and rot.

“Destry will be in her rooms,” Ly supplies, and Sofiya nods at her once.

Sofiya grins brightly, hoping it covers her own weariness, and recites, “Fair winds.”

“Bright stars,” chorus her friends. Sofiya waves over her shoulder as she slips out of the bar and down an alley. Above her, a storm brews in the clouds.

Perhaps the stars would be out that night. It didn’t matter. Nobody in Kerch saw the stars anymore.

~~~~

On her way to Destry’s apartments, Sofiya ran into more members of the Robber Claws.

Malcolm and Firefly, who lived together in shared housing in the Anvil, were shopping for new blacksmiths’ equipment. They each provided invaluable services to the Robber Claws, crafting flawless weapons second only to that of Fabrikators. They greeted her with a wink each. Sofiya moved on swiftly after trading them a Wandering Isle-crafted staff for twenty Kruge.

She picked up some baked goods on the way. She would need them. Destry- who had been her closest friend since she arrived in Kerch- was an Inferni. Fire-bringer; with an even fierier temperament. Rumour had it- and Sofiya knew the rumours were true- that Destry had been attending the University of Ketterdam when she’d heard a boy make a lude comment during an exam and lit the paper on fire with her mind. And that paper had been thrown. At the boy’s face. Ouch.

Sofiya had been nursing a whiskey in a tavern when she’d first heard the story recounted. She’d leapt up from her seat, slithered into an alley and held the recounter at knifepoint until he’d told her Destry’s name.

They’d become fast friends upon meeting. Sofiya had been in awe of someone so rebellious, so brave as to set fire to an exam paper, and Destry- well. Destry had laughed for hours when Sofiya had told her how she’d first come across her name.

But now, staring up at the ornate windows of Destry’s apartment, Sofiya feels unsure. She didn’t mean to worry her friend. Iseut had explained that her letter must have gotten lost during the riots. Sofiya cursed the post offices. So there was a deadly storm- your motto is still “We always deliver.”

Despite her trepidation, Sofiya’s feet were swift on the stairs. She had a key to the apartment, and didn’t hesitate to unlock the door and slip inside without a sound, content to watch Destry whilst she worked; even if only for a moment.

Leaning against the wall, Sofiya’s brow creases as she surveys her friend. Destry’s hair is plaited carefully into two loops at the nape of her neck, hazel strands freeing themselves gently against her light brown skin. She’s stood facing away from Sofiya, arms circled in rings of fire. The shirt she wears is Fabrikator-made; the flames don’t take to the papery material.

Sofiya takes a step forward, and pointedly drops her bag of confectionary on the floor. It lands with an audible thump.

Destry whirls, the fire at her wrists whirling into an inferno ready to strike- until Destry sees who is at her door.

“Shouldn’t have hesitated, Des,” Sofiya said weakly, “I could have put a knife in your back.”

The shock on Destry’s face dissolves. Her face splinters down the middle. Licks of fire at her fingertips wilt into ash in a pile at her boot-clad feet.

“You would have put out the flames with your water, I’m sure,” Destry says, and then flies across the room towards Sofiya, wrapping her in a tight, smoke-smelling embrace.

Sofiya would normally pull back. “Don’t be too open with your heart, Des,” she’d say, “People use your loves against you here.” But Sofiya couldn’t bring herself to say those things. The weight of the week comes crashing down on her head like a tsunami.

Fjerdan traps on my boat, attacks on my gang, tensions in Ravka boiling over… where’s safe anymore, except here?

Destry pulls back slightly to scan Sofiya’s face. She has a smear of oil on her cheek. Destry’s eyes are filled with fire, burning like an ember beneath onyx waters.

“Where. Have. You. Been.”

“Destry-”

“Don’t you make excuses with me, Pavlichenkov,” Destry snarls, “You didn’t warn us you were late! I couldn’t sleep- neither could Cherry!”

“I-”

“We thought you’d been caught, Sofi,” Destry cries, “We thought the Fjerdans had got you! I thought you died.”

The word is ugly and big in the room, choking Sofiya’s response. Death. Dying. Dead. And by Fjerdan hands. It wasn’t so rare for travelling Grisha to be caught and sent to the pyres.

“I’m sorry,” Sofiya says, because it’s the only thing there is, “I wrote- I really did, don’t look at me like that- according to Lyra, there was a storm in the True Sea. The letter sunk with the ship.”

“You’re a Tidemaker,” Destry huffs.

“Yes, which means I manipulate water,” Sofiya says, “Not stop it from overturning ships with important letters on them. Destry, I’m sorry. I brought waffles.” She offers the last sentence like a defendant on trial with the Stadwatch; one final piece of evidence to prove her innocence.

Destry brightens immediately, “Well, in that case.”

The pair of them set to work, shoulders just brushing in the cramped kitchenette. Sofiya’s array of pasties are laid out over two plates, which they lay on their laps. Destry’s job for the Robber Claws is, in few words, that of the logician. Papers are scattered all over her apartment, covered in detailed blueprints and scale drawings of buildings all over Ketterdam, Fjerda and even- rarely- Shu Han. There were no drawings of Ravka.

If Iseut had ever commissioned a robbery in Ravka, Sofiya didn’t know about it. It would be…unwise to hit out at the Ravkans, with so many Grisha in the gang.

But Destry’s job was essential, so Sofiya couldn’t complain about the lack of trays to put their plates on. Such things were useless for such an incredible mind as Destry’s.

“So,” says Destry conversationally as she lights the fireplace with a casual flick of her wrist, “How were the Wandering Isles?”

Sofiya says nothing, massaging her temples lightly. Destry manages a laugh.

“Your silence is telling, Sofi,” she warns.

Sighing quietly, suddenly feeling very tired, Sofiya says, “It was crawling with our Fjerdan friends from the North. ‘Peaceful’ Fjerdans.”

Destry spins, and she is outlined with the fire. We’re opposites, Sofiya thinks. Fire and Water.

“You didn’t-” Destry begins, horrified.

Silently, solemnly, Sofiya raised her palms to face the ceiling. Destry reaches out.

Her gentle fingers trace the scars there. Deep and painful and barely healed, the scars run red against Sofiya’s pale flesh.

“Sofiya…” Destry breathes.

“It was the only way to push my power down,” Sofiya whispers. She’s rarely so emotive, but Destry is someone she trusts with everything. It was a weakness, some would say, but they were each powerful Grisha. They were Gods in a world of men. And they would not kneel “If I hadn’t, I would’ve been caught. It was a price to pay.”

Grisha shone like lighthouses around people. In Kerch, in Ketterdam, it was safer for them- especially ones loyal to a gang, as Destry and Sofiya were. But in the Wandering Isles; where Fjerdans passed through on their way to Novyi Zem, where gang affiliations mattered less than the colour of your eyes… Sofiya tells herself she had no choice.

“Sofiya, you’ve opened up old wounds here,” Destry says, tracing the marred skin of her palms again, “You need a healer. Freya, Lita, May-”

“Wouldn’t understand,” Sofiya finished, pulling her hands out of Destry’s and placing them carefully in her lap, obscuring them with her coat, “They’re healers, Des, not warriors- they’d go to Iseut.”

Iseut. Their unofficial leader, the founder, the lighthouse in raging seas. All of the Robber Claws seemed to be caught in her gravity. She was their sun. And Sofiya… well, Sofiya was the moon. Iseut would send her to a healer, one who would stop her travels. One who would commandeer her Warship, and Kastor… health of the mind was important to Iseut.

But Sofiya was not damaged, as they would tell her. She was not broken. Her mind was sound.

I did what I had to do, to survive.

But Destry can see through it all. Through the mask, through her eyes, right to her bones. Through to her lying, treacherous heart. We’re all broken in the end.

But.

Oh, Destry, Destry, please…

“I won’t tell her,” Destry promises, “But I’d like you to know that I think you should. Tell her, that is- Iseut. She might help.”

“She might ship me back to Ravka,” Sofiya grumbles, biting into a toasty croissant.

“Oh, she wouldn’t.”

“You never know.”

“She’ll want you to heal, that’s all.”

“Yes,” Sofiya rolls her eyes, “But these wounds are of the flesh. The scars on my heart will never heal, not in this life Perhaps there will be mercy in the next, even for my rotten soul.”

“You sound like you’re auditioning for the Komedie Brute,” Destry laughs.

“Mother, Father, pay the rent!” Sofiya crows.

“I can’t my dear, the money’s spent,” Destry choruses instinctively.

Sofiya wipes away an invisible tear, “Gorgeous! We’ll make an actress out of you, yet, Destry Clements.”

“Oh, you most certainly will not,” Destry huffs.

Their laughter fills the air, and Sofiya thinks that maybe there is hope for her rotten soul, after all.

~~~~

The man returns late from the pub wearing only one shoe.

A bottle drained halfway of mauve liquid dangles limply from his pale fingers. The veins in his foot are blue in the half-moon’s light.

He slurs a broken melody. She catches a few words as he passes below her on the street.

“Hmm… perish… light… air… fire… hell… hmmm…”

The man’s name is Danyl Harrop. And he is going to die tonight.

“Hmm… shadow… devil… rot… earth… sun… burn… lose….”

Harrop continues down the road, heedless of the mud on his bare foot. He'd be blackout drunk in the morning if he survived.

He wouldn’t.

Silent as a breeze, steps as soft as downy feathers, she leaps from the streetlight where she was perched.

She strikes.

She is ash and shadow. She is a storm of fire. She is vengeance.

She is death.

Harrop yelps as she pins him against the tree. His face is as white as the moon, with eyes like black craters.

“What’re you doi-” he slurs dazedly, but she silences him with a wave of her hand. He blubbers like a fish on land as he tries to shout for help.

“For King and Country,” says the girl. Stepping away from Harrop, she lets her power hold him against the tree, keeping his muscles upright. She surveys him like an artist would their unfinished masterpiece.

The girl whispers, “Sleep tight, Danyl.”

Flicking her wrist, she snaps his neck. He’s still alive, barely, so she latches on to what little of his mind there is left and strips it like an onion. For a man who is out so late, so drunk, on what the girl remembers as a work-day, he knows too much.

Secrets. They feed this girl, nourish her. There is a skip in her step as she turns away from Harrop; without her supporting his muscles, he collapses against the tree. She leaves his mind just as it goes dark.

There is no need to hide in the treetops upon her return to the city. It gleams just half a mile away, most of which is roiling seawater. As the girl wanders along the road back to Ketterdam, she finds Danyl Harrop’s shoe in a puddle of mud. The girl laughs at the sky. She flips a coin into the shoe, whispers a heartless prayer to her Saints, and moves on.

Back to Ketterdam. Back home.

~~~~

Ok, so that's that! I left it on a bit of a cliffhanger... I may have created a whole plot... so there might be some more coming soon!

all these excellent characters (save Sofiya, Danyl, Kastor and the girl at the end who kills Danyl- who has no name... yet *wink*) belong to the following:

Iseut is @littlegirldorothea's

Destry is @finnick-annie's (I may have made them besties👀👀)

Cherry is @brekkercookie's (they are ALSO besties👀👀 we have a trio omg)

Winter is @cressjacquine's

Lyra is @no-mourners-at-my-funeral's

Malcom is @blackpheonix’s

Firefly is @ask-shadowbon’s

Erin is @lightningboytytonjesper’s

Adali is @apple-bottom-jeansx’s

Roza is @vampire-rights’s

Linnea is @alonlyfangirl's

Yan is @lucentcorrigan’s

Anya is @queenlilith43’s

Freya is @smol-evil-gremlin’s

Lita is @the-whispers-of-moonlight’s

May is @saltyfortunes

and the "Fair winds, bright stars" motto as created by @spicy-tomato-sauce's

oh and the whole Grishaverse is the wonderful @lbardugo's <3

if I missed anyone or you want to tag anyone go ahead!

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dangermousie · 3 years

Photo

Look at those arms! MMMMM!

You know, I really like Gilina. Or, more correctly, I really like what Gilina represents, both in terms of Crichton’s development and in his feelings for Aeryn. Gilina is Earth Crichton’s dream girl: she is blonde, pretty, sweet, and plucky (she is no push-over). She is also a girl geek, and a techie and for our scientist, that’s quite irresistibly appealing. (Btw, let me take a moment to note how much I like that the show showed us that Crichton had a type in women, B.A. (before Aeryn): they were blonde and sweet and had a certain safe niceness to them. Aeryn is not blonde, not sweet, and not safe at all. And neither is his feeling for her). If Gilina was a girl working for a research institute on Earth and she and John met at some party, I can easily see them talking, dating, falling in love and getting married. And having a happy married life. And the John of ‘PK Tech Girl,’ despite some unpleasant encounters in the Uncharted Territories is still enough of the Earth John to be attracted to Gilina, to be at the very beginning of developing something for her. He is still enough of an innocent, with enough uncomplicated and sweet left in him, for Gilina to be his type. But of course, that is not the case any more when they meet again in ‘Nerve.’ When they meet again, Gilina has had a fairly uneventful PK tech existence. She hasn’t changed much. But she is not Crichton’s type any more. Not after Maldis and finding out firsthand that there are psychopaths that will just enjoy watching you die for the fun of it, not after Crais and finding out that no, if you only explain the truth, it won’t make it better. The person will still want to kill you even if they believe you, even if it’s wrong and irrational, and there is nothing you can do. Not after ‘Jeremiah Crichton’ (my least fave ep of the whole show, but whose theme of Crichton’s long isolation is well taken). Not after finding out the truth about Zhaan, or almost dying out there in space with Aeryn. Not after the mind and soul fuck of ‘A Human Reaction.’ Gilina is not for this John. Not any more. And it’s not just that in the meanwhile he’s ceased to see anyone but Aeryn. It is also that his character has changed. And that is only the beginning. When he meets her in ‘Nerve’ it is pre-Scorpius, pre-Aurora Chair, pre-everything in S2, 3 and 4 (I’d do a list but it would take too long to type). If Gilina met S4 Crichton, she’d freak and run away and rightly so. A digression, but I find it fascinating how John's non-Aeryn women reflect his change. We have his ex-gf on Earth who he was serious enough to apparently want to propose to, before they went their separate career way. She is sort of like Gilina only blander, less engaging (Earth Crichton strikes me as someone who's had things come to him too easily because of his intelligence or what not. His passion (for whatever) was never truly engaged to the full, and the gf reflects that.) There is also Caroline (who we meet in Terra Firma) with whom he had something or other, but she is rather like his Earth-ex and it's clear the Crichton of TF doesn't even have anything to say to her any more. From them, we progress to Gilina (about whom see above). In first half of S2, there is the PK Disruptor. Now, she is a lot more edges, more hardness. If she is like anyone, it's a female version of Bond. And Crichton sleeps with her, because hey, he's tried everything to get Aeryn to admit any interest, he's beaten his head against the rock and he's beaten it and beaten it. But she refused and she's conclusively walked out of his life for good (not even came to see him for the very last time, when he needed her most). And also, girl can kill him, good to stay on her good side. There is no Gilina sweetness in her, at all. PK Tech Girl Crichton would annoy her and be intimidated to be with her, not so much Crichton of that s2 ep arc. But interestingly, that is the last time he even looks at another woman, no matter the circumstances. Once Aeryn and he admit their love to each other at the end of S2/beginning of S3, that is it. Even at the second part of S3, when Aeryn is off with Talyn-Crichton, Moya-Crichton goes deep into his obsession with wormholes, not any girls at all, and he is just as obsessed with Aeryn as ever. Even after the end of S3, the beginning of S4, even after he tells Aeryn "I can trust you with my life. But not my heart" and he locks himself away, he still does not look at anyone else. He cannot. And even the drugs cannot knock her out from his mind. Which is why his last non-Aeryn woman is Grayza, who rapes him while at the same time telling him if he gives her the wormhole stuff she will help him find Aeryn (OMG, that bit is seriously the worst in the whole scene). I think the darker progression of these women-others mirrors the darker and darker universe. OK, digression over. I find it interesting that in S1 we have a number of people (beings, whatever) whose life is affected, changed by Crichton and who are grateful for that and thank him for changing/opening/saving either explicitly, or it’s implied. But after S1 this slows to a trickle pretty fast and then stops almost entirely. Crichton is such an innately kind person, and one of the saddest things in the show is seeing this kindness leach away under the tortures (literal and figurative) he is subjected to. I find it so sad and so significant that in the S3 finale it’s Aeryn who brings up the fact that the command carrier has a lot of lives which John’s plan might end. Aeryn. Not John. She’s become more compassionate (she, who started out saying ‘I hate that word’) and he’s become much less. These are both reactions to their environment, to events they are in (When they initially meet, she is a product of an individuality-less, soulless scenario. Even if he is wrong in reading her at the very very first in Premiere during intros, he is not wrong in reading her potential, in recognizing she is a person, and even as early as Premiere she proves him right. I also love that for Crichton, she is always her own person, not a preconceived notion of what she should be. He loves her for being Aeryn, not for some idealized being in his head). And yet it is never completely suppressed, it is always there, however muted and downtrodden, however circumscribed. He had to jettison most of it in order to stay sane and to survive, but somewhere deep inside he is still the guy who, in a completely strange world, took the time to fix the eye-stalk of a mechanical critter thingy he didn’t know at all. And of course, part of the reason he jettisons it is also because whenever he tries to save someone or make it better, it often ends up making the situation worse. I am thinking for example of S3’s lovely ‘Different Destinations’ which turns a beloved sci-fi trope on its head and he has to live with it and he can barely bear it. And I love how the show never lets us forget the cost this takes on him, that he is not a power-hungry psychopath, a cavalier callous being only caring about his small group of friends. That coda to S4’s ‘We Are So Screwed’ where he is with Aeryn, and he breaks down, and he can’t help it, and he weeps for what he’d done, for what he almost did (and it’s going to be small fry in comparison with PKW) is just brilliant and heartbreaking and one of my favorite bits (and I love that she is there, and she silently comforts him, and he clutches her arm as a lifeline). And that is why I actually liked the drug storyline in S4. After all the stuff that Crichton been through, I am surprised he didn’t end up going on something earlier, just to deal with it all somehow (I love that the show brought up earlier that he has nightmares, feels tremendous guilt, and that was mid S2, I am sure they are much worse now). And it also made sense that when his number 1 obsession, Aeryn, told him to give it up, he did, as he’d pick her over anything. She’s his number 1 drug. Basically, he needs Aeryn desperately. She is what allows him to function, allows him to stay (relatively) sane, what holds him together. When he can’t have her, or doesn’t have her, he falls apart and needs something else to get through the days (wormholes in S3, lakka in S4). I do find it interesting that Crichton keeps his compassion, however tattered, but he develops absolute priorities, as a result of choices he shouldn’t have had to make. Most people don’t really analyze whether they will pick the woman they love or selling one’s soul and giving up something which earlier, to protect, you didn’t give up even when tortured or hunted or broken. They don’t have to. Crichton’s developed rigid priorities are a result of the environment where he had to confront those hierarchies in himself. Crichton’s earlier ‘purity’ and goodness and optimism exist in part because he is a product of a relatively sheltered life (compared to Uncharted Territories). But that early cleanness allows others to see a better or at least a different path for themselves and so they repay the favor later by pulling him out when he is on the brink of succumbing to all these horrors (which really do seem to be scarily disproportionately triggered at him). One of the things I love about Crichton is that even after he’s seen and dealt horrors, he has a certain moral absolutism to him (however broken it gets at times) and a pure refusal to give up, and strength even if only to make the least worst of two bad choices presented to him. Something untainted is always there, maybe a legacy of his initial idealism, and so he never breaks, not permanently, not irreparably, though he comes very very close. Throughout the show, even as that world bends and molds and twists him to its own parameters, he manages to make the world somewhat bend and mold and twist to himself. Do you know what I really really wish for John and Aeryn and the kid after the end of PKW? A few years of total peace, where they can just travel the space in Moya, and John can do his research, and be with Aeryn and watch their child grow, without having to worry about saving his and their lives every other day.

OK, these are getting epically long omg.

#farscape

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insomniacrobyn · 4 years

Text

Pairing: Erwin Smith X Reader

Summary: (Y/N) is remembering their failings as a squad leader. However that doesn't last long as soon Erwin is sitting on their couch sad and just looking for comfort from his lover (I know I suck at summaries)

This is my first ever Erwin Smith piece. I wrote this because a) I miss my husband Erwin and b) I didn’t want to do my class work. I went into writing this with no plan or purpose but I hope you enjoy it. ༼ つ ◕_◕ ༽つ I am also having bad Erwin brain rot so enjoy.

I used to drink to bring the house down, just because I saw a few holes in the wall. I don’t know when I became like this but I have a feeling it was after I became a squad leader. I can blame being a squad leader but it more than likely started because of the horrors I have seen beyond the wall.

One thing that wasn’t in the job description of being a squad leader is how much guilt you will carry when anyone on your squad dies. Before I became a squad leader I would mourn another soldiers death but it wouldn’t affect me to this degree. Instead, I think about how I failed. How my commands led to their death. I go through every way I failed and then the only way to null them thoughts is alcohol. However, the harder part is knowing the family blames you. How they carry that hatred for you everywhere they go. They see you in public they make sure to glare and scowl at you. Some families go to the extent of talking about your failures in public making sure that you hear them.

One family has stuck with me for years. It was after my second expedition as a squad leader. Two of my squad had died. Their 3D manoeuvre gear malfunctioned and they got eaten by two 15 meter class titans. The only thing I could get from the carnage was the cape of one of the soldiers. When we got back to the walls a woman had pushed her way over to me. She shared a lot of the same features as that soldier. I knew they were family. I gave her his cape which had his name stitched into it. I told her he didn’t die in vain but the entire time she just stared at me.

“It’s your fault he is dead,” she hissed, “It should have been you not him. He was only a kid.”

You know I wish it was easier every time we left the wall but it won’t be.

The new recruits we got are from the 104th training corp. They are the kids that lived through the fall of wall Maria. I had to deal with the second breach towards the end of their time in the training corp. They are the future they are the kids Erwin has a lot of faith in. All I can hope is that they don’t die on the next expedition.

Sometimes I wonder how Erwin does it. How does he manage to hide the stress and the guilt so effortlessly in public. He is by far the best commander the survey corp has had in years. It’s amazing that his strategies have caused the rate of casualties to drop significantly since the last commander. I still remember when we were cadets and then Erwin flew through the ranks. His quick thinking and skill in combat causing him to stand out.

I still remember when we first started dating. At the time he had only just be promoted to a squad leader. He was so happy to get the promotion. He told Mike and me about his plans about he wanted to ensure the safety of his squad. It was inspiring. Before I could continue reminiscing about the beginning of Erwin and I’s relationship a knock was heard on my door.

“Come in,” I called out.

The door opened and the familiar tall figure of Erwin walked in. His jacket was gone and his bolo tie. His blonde hair was no longer perfect but instead dishevelled as he ran his hand through his hair again.

“What are you still doing up,” I mused as I walked over to the bottle of whiskey, “Do you want a drink?”

“Well I just finished up my paperwork and then decided I had to come to see you,” He replied, sitting down on the couch next to the window. He extended his legs out and let his head fall back as he stared at the ceiling.

“Also, I came because the demons that plague my mind give me a break when I am with you,” He quipped.

“I don’t think it’s me that scares them. It might be the whiskey.” I joked, walking over to him and handing him the glass. He grunted in thanks. I went back over to my desk and began to finish of my small pile of paperwork.

I looked up at him as he took a sip of his whiskey. His blue eyes didn’t have their usual spark instead that spark was replaced with a sense of deep sadness and his normally perfect posture was no slouched and tired looking. He no longer looked like a commander that led an army of men and women out into the dangerous territory beyond the walls. Instead, he looked like a tired man. A broken man.

I quickly finished my work and stood in front of him.

“Erwin, you can stay the night with me if you want.” I offered, watching the man as he looked up at me from his seat. I held his hand and rubbed the skin on the back of it.

“I think I would like that,” Erwin smiled tiredly up at me.

I smiled back and tugged him up to his feet. I followed me to my room which was off my office. We both got out of our uniforms and under the sheets. Erwin lay flush to my back, one of his arms rested on my waist and the other under my head. I turned in his grip so that I could see his face. My hand going to absently run my fingers through his hair.

“Thank you,” Erwin whispered.

“What are you thanking me for,”

“For sticking with me for so long.”

“Of course I would stick by you.”

“I love you .” He replied kissing my forehead.

“I love you too,” I hummed tucking my head into the crook of his neck.

#he is my husband #he lives in my head rent free #attack on titan imagines #he was the first character I ever simped for #attack on titan x reader #erwin x reader #erwin smith #aot x reader #snk x reader #erwin x y/n #erwin smith x reader #shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan fanfiction

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starr-fall-knight-rise · 5 years

Text

Humans Are Space Orcs, “Left Face!”

Just something quick for you this morning . Wanted to let you guys know that I have about a week before being back at school, so if you have any ideas you want to see happen, I would like you to let me know so I can do any planing now that I have time. Thinking becomes harder when at college lol.

Anyway thanks! :)

The Rundi councilwoman was very nervous. She had only met humans a few times, five times, not that she was counting, and the creatures unnerved her more than anything ever had. It was a strange experience, a first look into their eyes and you were convinced you were looking into the eyes of a predatory beast, but look closer and you realized the guile and intelligence that drove the creature. An intelligence that lead it to folding space before it even bothered with light speed.

It confused her and scared her. She just wasn’t sure how the handle the creature, whether she should treat it more like a dangerous beast or ore like a reasoning sentient being. That thought was still undecided as she walked from the galactic assembly council chambers with her guard, which had been heavily augmented considering who they were meeting with.

The doors ahead of her were open allowing in the light of their main sequence star, a warm yellow in color, and their sky which was a pleasant purple-blue dotted with clouds. It was a pleasant enough day outside though she was racked with what seemed like the weight of an entire galaxy on her back. The Drev war was taking its toll on her. She would very much have liked to accept the suggestions of the Vrul and leave the creatures to rot on their primitive planet, but they were dangerous and intelligent, and they had made threats to the entire galaxy. Destroying their manufacturing plants was the only option, and one that was made increasingly difficult by the Drev proclivity for war.

Then had come the treaty signing with the humans, and out of goodwill they had pledged their own soldiers to the cause with the promise that they did, in fact, know a thing or two about war.

Why didn’t that surprise her?

With a deep breath, she stepped out into starlight, and was met with a small army of humans.

There were dozens of the creatures all lined up in perfectly formed rows before the assembly chambers. It was difficult to tell the difference between them as they were all dressed similarly to each other in those strange human garments. The patterns atop them made it very difficult to focus on their forms as they stood straight and still in the morning sun. She shouldn't have felt so afraid, but somehow she couldn't help but feel a small sense of threat with the way they held their perfect rows, with their perfect posture and their unflinching faces staring straight forward.

She had seen humans before, they never remained still, so this just seemed to be a….. A demonstration of their might by showing her they could force such a volatile species into absolute stillness.

That was all accept for a group of humans that stood out in front of her. They were wearing similar uniforms to those of their soldiers, though they had more shiny bits on them . The amount of shiny things worn by humans seemed to be an indicator of their status, also the ones that stood on higher ground seemed to be a good indication. She felt her innards crawl as the humans turned to look at her, their eyes darting the small dark apertures in their centers expanding and contracting as they licked over her body. Just watching them made her dizzy and she wondered how they did not make themselves sick with the strange movement.

They stood taller as she approached, and she shrunk down a little wondering if they intended the movement as an aggression or a show of dominance towards her. As she drew near the frontmost human raised its chin to her exposing it’s throat, “Good morning chairwoman, it is a pleasure to meet with you again.”

Inside she was internally panicking. All of their features were so much the same that she had a hard time remembering if she had ever met this human before. She frantically looked over the shiny bits on his clothing struggling to remember what she had been told about their ranking falling into great relief when she finally remembered, “Oh, Admiral it is indeed an honor to speak with you again. We cannot express how deeply we thank you for this show of goodwill.”

“It has been a human tradition for centuries to help one’s allies in war, though it has not always pleased the civilian masses.” he held out one of his claw-tipped hands towards the assembled soldiers, “Take a look, see what you think. All of these men and women have been vetted, tested, vaccinated and are ready to fight for the cause of intergalactic peace.”

She nervously glanced down at their still standing ranks and swallowed, “Are…. they always so still.”

The man laughed, “Only when ordered. They are disciplined to the last movement and the last order.” We will demonstrate.” The man snapped sharply on his heels, “ATTENTION!”

The chairwoman stepped back in shock and surprise as all the humans, in one synchronized group snapped their legs together brought their arms to their sides, “PRESENT ALL!” A hundred arms snapped upwards as if they were about to bash themselves in the head but stopped right below their temples eyes never moving.”AS YOU WERE” Again, like they were all reflections of each other the humans did as told never deviating.

“RIGHT….” Heads snapped to the right, “FACE.” With synchronized foot movements they turned to the right.

“ABOUT FACE!” They all turned in the opposite direction.

He leaned in closer to her, “Let's play a little game. DROP OUT DRILL EVERYONE!”

She stares don in concerned awe as the human began barking commands.

“ LEFT FACE, RIGHT FACE. RIGHT FACE, RIGHT FACE, LEFT FACE, ABOUT FACE, LEFT, AS YOU WERE, ABOUT FACE, RIGHT FACE, LEFT FACE.”

The square was filled with the clattering of the human’s feet on the ground in perfect rhythmic synchronization. The longer it took them to drop out the faster the commands came until the humans were practically spinning in circles on the field below.

“W-what is the point of this/” She stammered

The human turned to look at her, his incredibly mobile face bringing the opening of his mouth up at the corners, “It is a demonstration of their ability to follow orders and pay attention. What I am about to show you next is historically the methods used for intimidation, demonstration of superior military might, and synchronization.”

Other humans had moved into position behind him and began barking orders forming the humans into tight columns and groups. Around the square, other faces were peering from buildings trying to determine what the commotion was about, “FORWARD MARCH.”

“LEFT, LEFT, LEFT RIGHT LEFT.” The humans walked past never stopping boots thundering against the ground at the same moment sending chills up her spine as she watched them move in perfect harmony, their bodies no more than rhythm turned into motion. They turned spun, and walked backwards through each other heads never turning to look where they were going, perfectly trusting the commands of their officers.

She found their method of intimidation to be working, and so seemed the rest of her people as they vanished back into the buildings with great haste.

When the demonstration was over she turned to the human, dreading the question she was about to ask, “And what military technology can you bring to the field?”

“That is a good question chairwoman.” He motioned to one of his soldiers, who hustled over carrying…. Well it looked like a big black stick with knobby protrusions. He took it carefully in one arm keeping one end pointed towards either the ground or the sky as he demonstrated, “This is a piece of military technology that hasn’t changed for the past thousand years accept to be stronger and more accurate. He pulled a lever at the side of the weapon locking open a tiny chamber.

“A round.” He ordered, and his soldiers rushed forward.

The human held up the little gold and copper-tipped cylinder up to her eye level/. “This, that pointy bit on the end is a bullet inside the gold part will be an explosive powder.” She stepped back, he held up the black stick, “This is a rifle, the bullets are fed into the chamber, the little hole right here where the firing pin will strike the back of the casing lighting the explosive and sending the bullet in a controlled explosion through the barrel at a high rate of speed into your target. Once inside, the more delicate metal is designed to break apart and tumble ripping your enemy apart from the inside.”

She stared at him in shock and horror, “You, you use explosives to hurl speeding shrapnel at your enemies.”

“Sort of accept for the times that we use explosives to hurl actual shrapnel of our enemies, then we just generally pack the explosives into a ball and throw them at each other.”

She swallowed hard, “I… I and what do those do?”

“Rip of limbs, hurl you to the ground, causing a pressure wave so serious that it causes the lungs to fill with fluid, or just kill you instantly, one of a multitude of options. We create them in all sizes, we shoot some from really big guns, drop them from the sky or even bury them in the ground to be triggered by the pressure of a misplaced foot long after we aren't there anymore.”

Was he threatening her, was she being threatened?

“I, I see, why-why do you not simply use energy weapons.”

The human sighed, “We tried those once upon a time, but it turns out the radius of an effective blast is closer than we would like, and like a taser some humans can sort of just walk them off. Better to rip open their insides to make sure they can’t get back up.”

She was feeling a bit feint, “I will have you know that the Drev wear full plate armor, and have a hard covering carapace.”

“In that case we will use armor piercing rounds. Just make this thing a bit heavier add some tungsten, punch through their hard outsides and into the squishy insides.”

She swallowed hard, “Could you please not describe that so graphically?”

The human tilted his head at her, “I wasn’t.” His strange toothy expression returned, “Anyway each one of my soldiers will be carrying one of these, as well as a small version. A few of them will have the model that can shoot these over distances of thousands of feet.” I think we will have your little Drev problem dealt with in short order.”

She stammered and swallowed hard, “I…. I sure hope that you do.”

He reached out patting her on the arm, and she tried not to flinch, humans were very touchy, and she had a feeling that maybe it had something to do with dominance rituals, but she couldn’t be sure.

She just didn’t want to be touched by something that she knew could rip her arms off.

What had she gotten herself into.

#humans are insane #humans are space orcs #humans are space australians #humans are space oddities #earth is a deathworld #Earth is space Ausralia #HUMANS ARE WEIRD

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wlw-lovestruck-fiction · 4 years

Note

I’m new and if this is the right place can you do vinca comforting mc through a mental breakdown after things mc mom had said to her? If it’s too much then just ignore👍🏽

Written by: @evoedbd

****************

“Alright, this is fucking unco, Rae.” Vinca’s voice was sharp; sharper than the little throwing blades adorning her striking red jumpsuit. In the peak of the Vegas sun, Vinca was a gleaming star; a blaze of fury and snark. The cut of her shirt revealed glistening alabaster skin; the finest marble shined by the finest scented oils. From sharp collarbones worthy of a renascence sculpture, down the valley between breasts full enough to make angel’s sob with envy. Then the smooth expanse of her belly, a surface which occasionally seemed to bubble with hidden muscle. The heaving expanse of her ribcage, lines which appeared between exhales.

“Sit down. Drink this.” Each command was almost barked. Harsh and short. Delivered from the international supermodel Vinca Wren. Rae didn’t know whether it was the heat, her own loneliness or her hysteria that brought such a vision to her, nor if Vinca herself recognised the irony of addressing thirst when she was the cause of it across the world. All she knew with terrifying clarity was that she had obeyed, accepting the iced water bottle and dropping to her haunches like an ever-faithful hound.

“Wha-”

“Ah, ah, ah. No questions.” Vinca cut her off, reaching out to press the pad of her finger to Rae’s lips. The bike Mechanic fell obediently silent, fighting the urge to rub her lips together at the irritating grain of sand that rubbed across them. When had Vinca put her hands anywhere near dirt? Wait… she’d said no questions. Why was Rae asking questions? Before she could freefall into her doubts, Vinca seemed to read it. The model withdrew her decorated finger with a softened expression.

“Drink. Then, spill.” She urged. Despite the strength of her tone, the power of her posture and … personality… Vinca’s words rung like a plea in Rae’s ears. The mechanic paused, taking another moment to inspect Vinca. There she was, on her knees in the sand of the Canyon, having chased Rae out onto the bike trails. Vinca was all high heels, platform shoes, clothes worth more than Rae’s monthly paycheck, sullied by sand. And concern. Vinca embodied concern. The aloof tilt of her mouth wasn’t true; delicious-looking, candy-pink lips falling a bit too far into a frown. The darkness of her eyeliner couldn’t hide the shadows in hypnotic blue eyes. This Vinca was not somebody Rae had ever seen before, at least, not directed at her.

The mechanic realised what a mess she must be. Her tie-dyed hoodie flapping around her elbows, cheap t-shirt hanging off of one sunburnt shoulder. Her face had to be a mess, after all her sobbing. She could feel the itchiness across her eyes, the dried caking of tears and snot down her cheeks, all the way to the point of her chin. Despite this, Vinca Wren had chased her. HER. Rae Lang. A dropout, bike instructor and mechanic living in a cheap apartment above her workplace with her single mother. That gave her the courage to try and smile, to dare utter a deflecting line.

“The drink?”

Vinca literally growled in frustration. Her hands came up to her pixie cut, sweeping the longer, dyed bangs out of her eyes. Nails dug into her scalp as if she could wrench her own thoughts out of her mind through the roots of her platinum hair.

“You are the most dense, stubborn woman I have ever met. You didn’t even cry when demons attacked you. We can’t have your eyes all swollen, that’s just a travesty. Whoever or whatever has made you this upset needs to be dealt with.” What started out frustration quickly melted back into concern. Hesitantly, as if she might break Rae, Vinca reached out. She ran her own fingers through Rae’s hair, across her temples, sweeping the chaotic locks away from the Asian’s face. Whatever Vinca saw there must have hurt her, given the subtle hitch in her breath before she slinked closer. How a near six-foot woman could slink on her knees was damn confusing, but Vinca Wren perfected the art. The movements. The attitude. The aura. Catwoman eat her heart out. It was almost feline how Vinca drew close, enough that she sat hip to hip with Rae.

“It’s my mom. We got into an argument, and things got spicy.” Rae confessed, letting herself melt into Vinca’s side. Any weariness vanished the moment Vinca’s arm wrapped around Rae’s shoulders, guiding her into a comforting closeness. Vinca’s nails found their way into Rae’s hair, delicately scratching across her scalp. This time, the motion was intentional, a gentle caress that drew the wounded sound from Rae’s throat, the weight off her chest.

“She said she was disappointed with me for dropping out of med school.”

That earned a derisive snort.

“Right. Because a doctor is SO much more useful than saving the world from Demons.” Vinca was unapologetically snarky. That earned a soft snort from Rae, a wet and wounded sound of amusement. So many people may have been touchy about such things, would have offered apologies and comforts. Vinca didn’t do that. She struck back, bigger and harder than ever, using the truth like a sledgehammer from a rival act.

“She thinks I’m being reckless with the act. That I’m trying to hurt myself like some…” Rae grasped for the words, unable to find what she was looking for. She looked imploringly to Vinca, pleading with the younger woman to rip the truth from her too. To drag every dark thought into the light, just as she did upon the stage. Just as she did in every brutal fight. There were so many shadows, so much confusion, yet Vinca usually brought clarity. Why wasn’t she being clarity now?

“I can read minds, you know. I’d know if you were being stupid or planning on kicking it on stage.”

“I don’t get it. She loves Yvette and Lazarus.”

“Everybody does.” Vinca agreed. It was true. Yvette was so painfully charming, despite her aloofness. She captivated without a single touch. She burned; azure fire held back by the weight of humanity. And Lazarus had somehow swept Rae’s mother off her feet with his gentle words and polite mannerisms. It didn’t hurt that his abs could be mistaken for a cheese grater and that he never wore a closed shirt… ok, so her mother was a cougar. Rae couldn’t exactly blame her. But she could disagree on one thing.

“But she thinks you’re dangerous.”

“I can’t argue with that. My fashion is pretty sharp.” Vinca delivered the line flawlessly, only a twitch at the corner of her mouth, showing any amusement. Rae could only shake her head in disbelief at Vinca’s jest. She didn’t get it. Didn’t take it seriously. And why should she? Vinca Wren was a worldly marvel, an international superstar. While Rae showed overweight tourists the easiest bike trails, Vinca Wren was in London. While Rae had to deal with overly entitled customers, Vinca Wren was sitting beside leopards in the finest lingerie or setting the trend for summer bathing suits surrounded by lions. Whilst Rae had a cougar for a mother, Vinca Wren sat amongst actual, literal cougars in suits that could make grown men sweat or gowns which would make grown women sob with envy. Vinca Wren was Pride. The big bad sin. The mind-reading, knife-wielding, drop-dead gorgeous extraordinaire. Why would she care what a bike shop owner thought?

“She thinks you’re just using me, that I’ve been swept up in the glamour, and I might get hurt when you g-get bored. That when you’re all done with the bike tricks, you won’t really care for me.” And there it was. The truth, laid out for Vinca to weaponize. To wield. All Rae’s unspoken fears laid bare. To rip the world apart with at a whim, all with her devastating smirk.

“Bullsh-” Vinca cut her answering growl off, clamping her jaw shut. A breath, composure reclaimed, emotion hidden behind a professional mask.

“… I mean, what do you think?” A submission. That made Rae blink. Vinca Wren had just shut down her own opinion to give Rae the floor.

“Can’t you read my mind?” Rae demanded on instinct, earning another derisive snort and a blasé flick of Vinca’s wrist.

“Duh! But like, invasion of privacy much?”

There was something about the way Vinca said it that didn’t sit right with Rae. A waver in her usually impeccably aloof act. Her sharp features were just that little too youthful. Her lips didn’t quite reach the notes of indifference, nor did her nose point quite as high in the air. Then, her eyes… wider. So impossibly bright blue, like a summer sky. So devastatingly vulnerable for a blink, before they narrowed slightly, adding to an angular appearance.

“Are you scared what you’ll find?” Rae couldn’t help but fire back, drawn into the banter. It felt dangerous, like throwing herself into a pit of knives and daring them to cut her, but the reward was worthwhile. The briefest flash of surprise in Vinca’s eyes, a tinge of colour to her cheeks, and that dangerous, not quite a pout, not quite a frown; an expression which promised pain and horror upon those who had incurred her wrath. The little crease in her brow, the way her eyes hardened and narrowed, honed to a razor's edge. Somehow, knowing Vinca, that expression was just downright adorable… like a kitten threatening a toy mouse.

“I’m not scared!” Vinca declared just a touch too vehemently to be truthful. There it was. Pride. The sin Vinca had taken on, in a way she still hadn’t disclosed. Not fully. She had killed someone, that much Rae knew. Someone evil. Someone who had the world fooled and was using his power to hurt everyone Vinca loved. But Rae knew there was more. There had to be. It was too raw a wound to be a completed chapter.

“Vinca Wren. I know when you’re lying by now.” Rae commented, refusing to let the moment she saw go. Rae had seen the photoshoots, the advertisements, the endless endorsements of this larger than life woman. Vinca Wren was sold as sex and danger; a mystery. A real-life Selena Kyle. A sin above humanity. How many people got to catch a glimpse of the woman beneath? The young, loyal woman who would give everything to protect what she loved? How many people ever got to see Vinca crack? Even Yvette seemed to look to Vinca as a rock, mindless to the fact life was like water. Mindless to how water eroded Vinca, until only sex and danger remained. What she had to be. What everybody saw. Just how did the world see Vinca? How easily did they forget how she hurt?

“Fine, whatever!” Vinca’s confession was a deflection, delivered with another attempt at indifferent even in an explosion of irritation.

“So I’m anxious about what I’ll see. Happy now, you little sadist?” There was no heat to her words. The beginnings of a fond smile tugged at her lips, even as she straightened enough to loom over Rae, chin held high in a haughty fashion. Despite her appearance of looking down, Vinca’s eyes glistened with scarcely restrained amusement. Something rarer than diamonds. Sapphires amidst the clay and sands.

“Vinca.” If one name could be a loaded sentence, it was the way Rae whispered that name. A prayer. Imploring a goddess to pay heed to an ant. And heed the goddess paid. For one bright, blistering moment of crystal clarity, Vinca’s world was only Rae. Vinca gave her all to the mechanic, hanging on the unspoken words, searching and fearing simultaneously. Rae swallowed. What could she even say? What words did she have that could sum up the complication, which was Vinca Wren? How could she show the duality of intents, the clash of meaning to every word that could ever describe her? Snarky meant wonderful, and bitchy meant saintly, selfless. Vinca redefined every insult one might spit; turned the world on its head, twisted it upon its axis. She was the brightest darkness. The darkest star. She was the shadow of the sun because she shone too intensely to be anything so simple as sunshine.

“Whenever you’re ready, look at what I think of you. Until then, I’ll try to find the right words.” Rae wanted to cuss herself out even as she spoke sweetly, invited Vinca inside yet again. Stupid. How was she so stupid? She’d had Vinca’s attention, had the chance to try to fix everything Vinca hated about herself. Had the chance to begin to untangle her own jumbled concepts of the woman. And what had she done? Chickened out. Left Vinca without answers and pressured her into something she clearly wasn’t comfortable with.

She was shocked to hear an amused huff, as if Vinca was attempting not to laugh. There was an easiness to her presence, a tenderness even in the way she sidled closer, using her own body as a pillar for Rae to lean on. For once, Vinca’s snark was delivered lightly, lips pulled into something resembling an unpractised smile as she delivered a deadpan line.

“I’ll buy you a dictionary.”

“Make sure it has snarky in it.” Rae needled lightly, giving Vinca a poke in her exposed ribs. The Pride assassin was warm, roasting even, yet so soft and smooth beneath even that poke. Once more, Rae was struck by how unusual their blossoming friendship was, how far apart their worlds truly were. Cultures, countries, paychecks. Everything considered to make the world turn. They were so very vastly different, yet here they were. Sitting in the sand. Sweaty and snotty. Making bad jokes and bridging their different upbringings one awkward syllable at a time.

“It’s a dictionary. That word be ancient. If it isn’t in there, I demand a refund.” Vinca pulled what might be dubbed a Karen face, complete with severe frown and haughtily raised brow. For one. Two. Three seconds, there was silence. Then, cracks. Vinca’s lips twitched, Rae’s breath caught in her nose. Then laughter. Rae laughed, freely and openly, right alongside Vinca. The Pride assassin’s laugh, a genuine laugh, was a far cry from delicate. It was the soft chortle of a lioness. A sound which was soft yet never let anybody forget the dangers of the being. Rae didn’t care. She continued to giggle and snort long after Vinca stopped, almost oblivious to the tender, thoughtful expression etched across Vinca’s face. Almost. Rae caught it, like a glimpse of a falling star, and wished upon it. Wished to understand it. For once, for clarity to be cast upon itself.

“… Look…” Vinca broached, voice unusually hesitant. Thoughtful and soft. So very quiet, yet so unmistakably her.

“Your mom cares about you. She’s worried. I get that. I’m not the type of person you want around for my sparkling personality. But you also have to make your own choices and mistakes. That's part of growing up. And if you tell anybody about this, I will stab you, but you’re pretty ok. You haven’t fucked up that badly… yet.”

She had to add the yet. She couldn’t be soft, not if she wanted everybody safe. Soft wasn’t safe for anybody… yet. That didn’t mean she didn’t relish how close she had gotten, how close she could come. Enough to taste the humanity. Enough to break her heart once more.

“Vinca…” Rae began, unable to find any other word, any other sound even to begin her sentence. Summoned, Vinca’s gaze turned back to the mechanic, meeting her eyes in a silent question. A silent dare. Under the weight of such a gaze, Rae cracked. The corners of her mouth pulled towards her ears, curling into a wicked little grin that sent Vinca into high alert. She tensed, calculating. Instead, she found herself flabbergasted by a rather playful observation.

“You’re really terrible at this comforting thing.”

“No shit. What do you want from me? Professional advice?” She demanded sharply, brows arched dangerously. Her lips peeled away from her teeth ever so subtly, an instinctual warning. Just like a timid hound trying to prove it was tough, Rae realised. Vinca’s knee jerk reaction was fear. Denial. Aimed at something behind the words.

“Maybe just a hug?” Rae’s request was simple enough, though it still threw Vinca for a loop.

“Seriously? What are you, twelve?” She barked; her laughter far less joyous. What she didn’t expect was the wounded expression across Rae’s face… no. That was a lie. She had expected the sad tilt to the Asian’s fine lips, along with the foggy glistening across suddenly unfocused eyes. What Vinca hadn’t expected was the way it would hurt. She flinched, unable to stop her body from reacting despite all her training. Only one person ever asked for hugs from her. One glistening, gorgeous person who Vinca herself kept tearing down. One person, she’d given everything for, including their relationship. One bright, stubborn little girl who… who reminded her entirely too much of Rae.

“… Fine.” She relented, twisting until she could gather the small woman to her chest. It was overwhelming in the best and worst of ways. Finally, after so long, she had someone she could care for. Even if that only lasted a moment, she had the comfort of contact. Of someone wanting innocent contact with her. She wasn’t reading lewd thoughts and desires, nor having to be on guard in case skin touched her. She could just… be. Exist in a moment. That was enough for Vinca to squeeze tighter, to burrow her nose into the crown of Rae’s head with an entirely too soft sigh of her own. Then, she bristled.

“For someone so sharp, you’re really a big softy.” Rae sighed, voice a million miles away. Lost in a moment, Vinca could never fully surrender to. It was too soft. Too dangerous. Too tempting. She wanted to withdraw, like a tiger with its paw snared in a trap, Vinca wanted to flee… but she couldn’t. Rae’s arms were wrapped around her, squeezing like a boa constrictor. Hands, gentler than the finest Masseuse, were like the teeth of a trap digging into her flesh. There she was, a soul sold to hell, stuck in the embrace of someone angelic. Damned if she did, damned if she didn’t.

“If you tell anyone…” she began, hissing the words into the baby hairs behind Rae’s ear. She shuddered, unable to conceal a reaction at the heated breath, the closeness… the sickly promise in Vinca’s empty threat.

“I know, you’ll stab me.” Rae chuckled, simply squeezing a little tighter, nuzzling that little bit closer. Vinca relented further, sighing, slouching into the contact.

“Seriously though…” Rae began, withdrawing enough to see the startled expression upon Vinca’s face as she muttered the next word.

It wasn’t perfect. Wasn’t the opening Rae had hoped for, nor the closure Vinca may have sought. Yet, there was a door opened. A tender olive branch extended; a sprig, too defiant to die in the blazing heat. That little spark, that unspoken potential drew a matching smile to Rae’s lips, gave her the courage to accept the comfort Vinca offered, even knowing that she risked being cut. Perhaps bleeding would be worth it to have a friend as loyal as Pride… no, as loyal as Vinca Wren.

“Thanks.”

#Anonymous #lovestruck #lovestruck fanfiction #lovestruck sin with me #sin with me #sin with me pride #sin with me vinca #swm vinca #vinca wren #vinca x mc #fluffy angst #comfort #lil bit of angst #fluff #sfw #scatterday

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starbornvalkyrie · 4 years

Text

soccer moms | a next-gen nessian one-shot

A/N: i was going to keep this a headcannon but felt the energy to push this into a one-shot. it's written in the POV of Cassian's 16 1/2 year old daughter...and i'll leave it at that (;

my original headcannon: Cassian is the "you're doing great, sweetie!" kind of dad, while Nesta is the "you didn't get hit that hard, get back up!" kind of mom

Joana Soldato loves her father. The kind of all-consuming, unconditional love a girl reserves for that special person in her life. It had been the two of them since she was born - her mother died during childbirth - and she’s never had a better friend than her dad. She doesn’t know a time he hasn’t been there for her. He has always been her number one supporter, and she absolutely loves it.

Most of the time.

“Gooo, Jo! You’re doing so great, sweetie! That’s my daughter! Right there on the bench with the water bottle! You do that hydrating, Number 7!! Go, Jo! Go, Jo! Go, Jo!” Her dad’s booming voice somehow has the ability to reach the team’s bench from the bleachers on the other side of the soccer field.

Mentioning her dad is the Cassian Soldato, Commander of the Prythian Air Force, usually elicits looks of awe and reverence. “Oh, how special it must be to be his daughter,” they say. Oh, it’s special alright. Those people have obviously never been to a Prythian High soccer game.

Joana did her best to ignore him, fixing her attention on the girl running off the field to sit next to her on the bench. Joana handed her a water bottle and waited until she drank two large gulps before snatching it back. Francesca Archeron - Cheska to everyone she dubs worthy enough - is the biggest pain in her ass. Her skills on the field are the only ones that rival Joana’s, and this year their rivalry meant something: becoming Captain of the Prythian High girls varsity soccer team.

As a soccer player, Joana hated Cheska with everything she had.

As an only child, she was also her best friend. After her dad, of course.

“Damn, Jo. Your dad’s really going at it today.” Joana risked a glance in her dad’s direction. Even though she couldn’t actually see them, she knew the exact moment her hazel eyes locked with his. He immediately started screaming for Joana, jumping up and down, jostling parents around him. It was so like him to make a scene even when she wasn’t even playing.

Joana looked back at her friend and said, “Yeah, well, at least my dad supports me. When you bumped heads with that Hybern mid last week, she yelled at you for having a mild concussion.” Cheska winced but her eyes shone with delight.

“But at least my mom has some air of dignity. Your dad looks like he’s a kid in a bounce house,” she retorted.

They laughed and turned back to the parents on the bleachers. Their laughs faded, and they watched in horror as Cassian Soldato - the most feared, strict, and rigid commander on Prythian Air Force Base - tripped over his own feet, spilling the container of nachos he was holding all over the woman in front of him.

The two girls stood up, horror morphing into amusement, as Nesta Archeron started cursing and yelling at Joana’s dad so loudly that the opposing team’s goalie got distracted. One of the team’s star forwards, Vanessa, took the opportunity and shot the ball into the upper left corner of the net, winning the game for Prythian High.

Joana did her due diligence and cheered with her team but didn’t linger after shaking hands with the other team. She immediately made a beeline for her dad, Cheska trailing behind her. But as they got to the bleachers, they realized their parents were nowhere to be seen.

“Maybe Aunt Nes went to clean up in the bathroom?” Joana asked her best friend.

Cheska just nodded and they made their way in that direction, random people shouting, “Great game, ladies!” as they went. They were almost at the public restrooms when a girl with bright red hair called after them, “Hey Joana! Francesca! Congratulations, I’m so happy for you guys!”

Confused, Joana replied, “Uh… thanks? What for? We’re only halfway through the season still.”

The red-head, Malia Vanserra - Lucien Vanserra’s daughter - furrowed her brows. “What are you talking about? I was congratulating your guys’ parents! How long have they been together?”

Cheska and Joana stared at Malia, mouths hanging open, completely dumbfounded. Cassian Soldato and Nesta Archeron were not together. Her whole life, Aunt Nesta and her dad were at each other’s throats. They’ve had Friday night dinners with Aunt Nesta’s sisters and their families every single week since before Joana was born, and almost every single dinner has had at least one argument between her dad and Aunt Nes.

Joana looked at her best friend and found a matching look of disbelief and wariness on her face. Malia is not a credible source of information. Her dad is okay, but she’s extremely close to Lucien’s best friend, Tamlin I-Don’t-Even-Know-His-Last-Name-Nor-Do-I-Care-To. Their parents have always warned them to stay away from Tamlin, and for good reason. It seems his manipulative nature has rubbed off on his “niece”.

“That’s really funny, Malia. Everyone knows our parents hate each other. Did you not see my dad spill nachos all over Aunt Nesta?”

Malia only smirked, crossed her arms, and began walking away. Joana thought that was the end of that, but at the last second, Malia called over her shoulder, “Might wanna hurry to the women’s restroom, then.”

Joana met Cheska’s eyes and asked, What the fuck? In that special telepathic way they’ve perfected since they learned to talk. They continued their way to the restrooms, walking a little faster than before. When they finally made it, no one was near the sinks, but there was the unmistakable sound of people making out coming from the largest stall.

Cheska gagged, and Joana barked out a laugh. The kissing noises ceased.

Cheska, always the one to fill a silence, called, “Mom? Are you okay? Do you need help getting cheese out of your hair?”

Joana stifled her laugh, waiting to see how they were going to respond. There was inaudible whispering coming from the stall, no doubt an argument about what to do next. In the end, Joana had to guess that Aunt Nesta won because the stall unlocked and opened. Her dad walked out first, rubbing the back of his neck, staring at the floor.

Cassian stopped just outside of the stall, which pissed off Aunt Nesta. She shoved him out the rest of the way, and said, “Hey, girls.”

“Mom? Uncle Cassian? What? How? Since when? Why didn’t you tell us? Uncle Cass?” Cheska blurted.

Undeterred by her daughter’s rapid fire questioning and the congealed cheese still stuck on the top of her head, Aunt Nesta replied, “I know how this looks, but we were waiting for the right time to tell you.” She elbowed Joana’s dad, prompting him to elaborate. He finally looked at Joana. The hazel eyes that were twin to her own, but Joana was surprised to find her father’s were filled with wary sadness.

“Jo…” He crossed the floor and took her by the hands. “Sweetheart, it’s been you and me against the world for so, so long. You obviously know I’ve dated here and there since, since your mom, but nothing serious. But this? What I’ve just begun with your Aunt Nesta--” He glanced over his shoulder at the woman in question. The corner of her mouth turned up ever so slightly, encouraging him. “What we’ve just begun to scratch the surface of, this is serious.”

He paused to take a steadying breath. Voice thick with emotion, he continued, “I know how much you’ve always wanted to have a mom, and with how close you are to Cheska, I didn’t want to get your hopes up.” Joana didn’t even realize she was crying until her dad reached up to cup her face in his big hands to wipe away a tear. “I don’t want to take that away from you again.”

“Dad.” He closed his eyes, and this time it was Joana’s turn to wipe his tears. “Daddy, I love you so, so much. All I’ve ever wanted is for you to be happy. I’ll admit that, yeah, I sometimes wish I had mom to teach me about my period, instead of my tough, macho dad.” He released a small laugh. “But like you said, it’s been you and me against the world for almost seventeen years. You’re all I’ve ever needed.” He finally looked back at her.

“You will always be it for me, dad. But I’ll be leaving for college in two years. You deserve someone to be it for you, too. And dad, come on. Aunt Nes?” Joana leaned in, and with a conspiratorial whisper, she said, “She’s way hotter than anyone else you’ve dated.”

This time, Cassian laughed that deep belly laugh she loved so much and wrapped her in a tight hug. After she caught her breath she said, “Seriously, dad. If Aunt Nesta makes you happy, I’m all for it.”

Over her dad’s shoulder, she saw Cheska walk towards her mother. “And you, mom? Does Uncle Cassian make you happy?”

Her dad put his arm around her shoulders, and turned around so he could look at Aunt Nesta. When she responded, their eye contact didn’t break. “Yeah. Yeah, he makes me very happy.”

Joana looked up at her father, her rock, her everything, and saw the goofiest grin she’s ever seen. Joana turned back to Cheska.

With her eyes, she asked, Well, what do you think?

Cheska’s face was thoughtful for a moment before she began to smile.

Her best friend nodded at her, and in perfect synchrony, they exclaimed, “WE’RE GONNA BE SISTERS!!”

---

here’s part two!

Written by: @starborn-faerie-queen

I don’t have a taglist for my one shots yet, but one day!

Let me know if you want more Joana and Cheska shenanigans!

#nessian #nessian fanfic #fanfiction #nesta archeron #cassian #next gen #my writing #sfq meg writes #a court of thorns and roses #a court of silver flames #sarah j maas

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newnitz · 3 years

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Howl's Moving Castle & the Power Narrative Holds Over Reality

Like most 90s borns, my first anime was Pokémon. I watched the first three seasons diligently, and my tooth fairy gifts were always VHSs of memorable episodes. But like most Millennials and even Gen-X before us, my first real entryway to Japanese culture was Hayao Miyazaki. On the tiny TV screen, behind even for 2002, where my mother would watch her TV shows as she worked out, I watched Spirited Away. Chihiro/Sen's coming-of-age story and the movie's numerous themes deserves their own essay, and one I think better bloggers, vloggers and ordinary people have written before me. But after such a masterpiece, I jumped at the chance to see the next Studio Ghibli movie, Howl's Moving Castle. I rushed to the local library to read the book before it aired in the nearby city's bus station mall's small cinema. 18 years later, too nauseous for schoolwork and mooching off of my dad's Netflix account, I decided to rewatch this film. ***Spoiler alert for both book AND film*** The film itself is a staunch anti-war message, released around the same time as the invasion of Iraq, informed by Miyazaki's own childhood in the final years of Imperial Japan and the horrors inflicted on his home country to set the stage of the Cold War. The exposition includes a bombing of Sophie's hometown with...banners. The citizens of Ingary are terrified of the flying machines descending upon their skies, they expect bombs and destruction and untold death and unspeakable horrors. So when they instead get rained down paper pieces with pictures and words we are never privy to, they treat it with suspicion. They refuse to so much as touch them, since it's of the enemy. And the day after, when Ingary soldiers distribute their own country's propaganda banners, they drink it down without a second thought. Again, we are never privy to what they say. Perhaps it was meaningless. Perhaps, to the common contemporary viewer, the content would be incomprehensible. But for me, it got me thinking: What if this was the "enemy" spreading missing posters of their prince? What if this was a warning for the townspeople to evacuate, as they expect to take point there? And if it was, what the hell did it accomplish, outside of everything BUT what it tried to? The people are too scared. They see it as psychological warfare, whether intentional or not, and therefore the papers become a terrorizing presence, whether they were filled with graphic threats or pleas for cooperation, all it ended up doing is scaring the population into a deeper layer of hatred. I personally disagree with the film's apparent message, but I agree with how much of war is the matter of spinning the truth. No character represents a better allegory for spinning the truth than Sophie Hatter, the main character of the movie. The first thing we notice about her is how intricate and colorful all her creations are, while she sticks to a plain hat with minimal detail. We see her displeasure with her own appearance even when trying it on in front of the mirror. She dresses plainly for she thinks herself plain - wearing a mousy dress in both the source book and the film adaption. The book elaborates on this narrative and its subversion: In Ingary, fairytale tropes are accepted as divine truths. Sophie and her sister Lettie have had their mother die as toddlers, so when their father remarried and produced a third sister(briefly referenced in the film), Martha, Sophie and Lettie were doomed to be wicked, hideous stepsisters. But not only did their stepmother raised them as her own, but both all the Hatters were stated to be beautiful, with Lettie in particular having the entire town's male population vying for her affection in both book and film. In fact, the cunning one is the designated "Cinderella", Martha, who uses her guile to warn her half-sisters. See, another trope specific to Ingary was that the firstborn of three siblings will never find their luck - if they ever dare try, they will encounter disaster after misfortune and end up poor and miserable. According to Martha, her mother wanted to enjoy a life of luxury, so she sent Lettie to work in a bakery where she will surely find a man of her liking to start a life with, and shipped her own daughter off to be a magic apprentice far far away from her. Sophie is the only one she kept close, because she knew she buys into the tropes and will make her fortune for her, preferring the safety of her late father's shop to the dangers of the unlucky life of a firstborn. But in both film and book, this blissful avoidance of any exploration is torn away in a chance encounter Sophie has with the notorious wizard Howl. While her sister(s) are terrified for her safety, Sophie has no fear of the 'heart-eating monster' as "he only eats the hearts of beautiful girls", believing her plainness protected her. But oh, how she was wrong. Or was she? In both book and film, the Witch of the Wastes barges into the hat shop. In the book, she seeks Lettie whom Howl is taken with(like literally every man in town) and enters the shop where an overworked Sophie loses her temper at her, and mistaking the hatter for her sister, she curses the girl to become old. In the film, she's explicitly exacting revenge on Sophie, whom Howl is interested in, and follows her and invades her shop after closing time, cursing her to be ninety years old. This is supposed to devastate Sophie - rob her of her youth, beauty and health, ending her life before she started them. But in both versions, Sophie acclimates to the change rather well, constantly noticing the perks of living as an old lady - she can mumble to herself and be seen as normal, she can be assertive and commanding without being inappropriate and/or bossy, and since she has nothing to lose, she might as well go exploring the world, if only to lift the curse. To revisit this as someone who didn’t expect to have the option of growing old, this is an empowering message on its own - growing old is what you make of it. But despite subverting the Witch's narrative, Sophie remains a helpless victim of her own narrative. Book Sophie is explicitly said to be a powerful sorceress unaware of her own powers, even enchanting her hats into the client's shape with her words alone, while in the film it's only implied. But in both versions she Unconsciously Maintains Her Own Curse: She reverts to the eighteen year old in her sleep, or when something silences her insecurities enough. In the film, she's explicitly shown to de-age as she gains confidence in herself under the role of the household maid, going from the frail ninety-year-old into someone who looks and acts as a woman just past middle age - I don't think this is incidental, as many women are at their most confident at that age, when they no longer feel pressured to worry about trivial matters such as beauty and childrearing, and retreat back into the original cursed form when Howl calls her beautiful - a compliment she can never accept. In the book, Howl eventually comes to the conclusion that she likes being old and gives up trying to guide her out of it. The book takes narrative subversion even further. Remember cunning Martha? Turns out, the Hatters didn't conform to their mother's narrative either - Martha was bored by wizardry while Lettie craved it. The two concocted a plan to glamour as one another, which of course the mentor witch saw right though, and preferred Lettie's genuine interest to Martha ghosting the craft. This stings extra once Fanny is shown to be a caring mother who attacks who he thought cursed her stepdaughter - perhaps she fell for the same sort of thinking Sophie did, and wanted her stepdaughter to have the best life possible for someone doomed to fail, thought extroverted Lettie enjoyed the attention and choice of men and wanted Martha to be a powerful, self-sufficient young woman who led a life more glamorous than she did, as someone who lacked magic? That Fanny was a real parent - a well-intentioned woman who completely misjudged her children and their future? Is it possible Martha’s own narrative has poisoned her relationship with her mother, perhaps beyond repair? As for Sophie, in the book she breaks her own curse by breaking the contract between Calcifer and Howl. But the film gives it more nuance - Calcifer and Howl are clearly in a codependent relationship: In both versions Howl gave Calcifer his heart in exchange for magical powers (as well as saving the fallen star's life, depending on your interpretation of the character), but by the time Sophie employs herself at the Castle, Calcifer feels more like a slave than a powerful demon. Howl himself has his own internal struggles, and many online have made convincing cases for BPD being among them. Calcifer is an essential part of his support system. Each one of them believes that if Calcifer isn't fed properly, or gets dunked with water, they'll both die. And once Sophie does so to stop the wizened, depowered Witch of the Wastes from literally being consumed by her obsessive desire for Howl, she too believes to have killed them both with her rash actions. But they live, because Sophie's part in a time loop led her to think otherwise and refuse to give up on them. Within the film’s universe, this ties into Sophie’s innate magical powers talking reality into her perception. But I know real-life, ordinary people who’s own narratives have changed grim fates. Now, I don’t live in Ingary. I don’t believe the world around me has literal, reality-warping magic. I’m not a spiritual person. But this is precisely why Howl’s Moving Castle appealed to me - because the characters’ thoughts don’t perfectly dictate reality, but the way they act on their perceptions does. I know a man who is alive because his (now ex-)wife changed the narrative of his deathbed to one of optimism and efficacy. When I stopped trying to have my self-image reflected in the eyes of others, I transformed into a more confident, capable person practically overnight. I’m not delusional - I’m well aware of the Dunning-Krueger effect, of how reality exists whether you live in it or not. I’d like to think I live strictly within the boundaries of what is proven beyond reasonable doubt to be real.

But your spin on reality dictates your life. It can dictate parts of the lives of your close ones. But the message isn’t one of just changing your own view of a situation around you to become happy, oh no. Lettie and Martha didn’t just choose to be happy in apprenticeships they had no passion for. Sophie didn’t just relocate to some quaint cottage to live the few years that weren’t stolen from her as an old hermit. They acted to transform the existent reality within their means, but they could only do so because they felt empowered enough to question their life’s narratives.

#howl's moving castle #movie essay

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hoodwinkd1 · 3 years

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the stars that shine - Ch 3

Ch 2 here.

Chapter 3: I was sixteen when suddenly

“Excuse me, esteemed guests,” the herald called out. “A toast, from Queen Mother Georgina.”

The room silenced quickly, people putting down their dessert forks and picking up their flutes.

Hollin watched his mother rise, fixing her skirts and simpering at the crowd. “My dearest friends, thank you all so much for joining us for such a wonderful evening to celebrate Adarlan’s future.”

They couldn’t all be her dearest friends, could they? Considering Hollin didn’t recognize over half the faces, he highly doubted it.

“The fall harvest has produced more bounty than anyone predicted, so tonight is to celebrate the hard work of our farmers and all those who financially support them.” She paused for a moment, allowing light applause to flutter through the room.

He caught Dorian’s eye. Although the King looked engaged and supportive externally, Hollin could read the boredom oozing from him. They shared a look, both thinking that this dinner couldn’t celebrate farmers if none had been invited.

“And of course,” Georgina continued. “Tonight is celebrating my son as well. Happy birthday, Hollin. May this year provide even more success for you and the kingdom.”

She raised her glass against his, then sat down.

“Thank you,” he muttered, taking a large sip of champagne. “The dinner is...lovely.”

His mother preened. “Oh, of course my dear. Anything for your sixteenth.” She sighed and drank half her glass. “I cannot believe how grown up the two of you are. I remember, oh it feels like yesterday, when you first rode a horse--”

Her closest courtiers leaned in to hear the story, right as Hollin tuned her voice out. Only one glass, and he could sneak off while pretending to “work the room.”

Luckily, Dorian jumped in as soon as the story ended with him falling on a stable boy. “Hollin, would you join me? I spotted some people I should greet.”

His brother had been more supportive than usual in the past two year. After Hollin had begun his training, with a mortifying first lesson, Dorian had quietly stepped in to help. Although the two of them lacked the easy conversation between many siblings, they had come to some sort of arrangement. Hollin could find Dorian whenever he felt overwhelmed, without fearing judgment or scorn.

“Do you think she’s ever met a farmer?” Hollin wondered, as they navigated past tables. “Actually spoken to one before?”

Dorian chuckled. “I always forget how sheltered she’s been as Queen. Even during the damn war, Mother was too far away to interact with any soldiers or common people.”

“So was I.” The words flew out of Hollin’s mouth before he could think.

Dorian stopped walking. “What? You were a child.” He turned his head sharply. “Hollin, you can’t possibly feel guilty for-”

“Your Highnesses!” A family approached them. Hollin recognized the parents as Ladies Bernice and Nerissa Finnick, who oversaw much of the sea commerce in Rifthold, leading three of their children towards the princes.

Nerissa reached out a deep bronze hand. “Excuse the interruption. If you have a moment, Your Majesty, I would like to request a meeting for next week.”

Dorian took her hand and smiled warmly. “Of course. Hollin, have you met the Finnicks yet?”

Maybe his brother didn’t have his back all the time.

“Yes, Anya and I have had some classes together.” He nodded at the middle daughter.

Anya stepped forward as the adults began some boring conversation. “These are my brothers, Galen and Sebastian.”

“Nice to meet you,” Hollin responded, shaking both of their hands. He hated the formality these parties required, since most of his peers treated him quite casually in other settings. “Are you enjoying the evening?”

Galen smiled. “The food was excellent, so I can’t complain.” Hollin had to glance up to look at him, the whole family annoying tall, tan, and beautiful.

“Have you heard any news from Terrasen?” Anya asked. “From Evangeline?”

He wasn’t sure how to answer her question, whether she simply meant to further the conversation or if she wanted a certain piece of information. “Nothing...particular, but the royal family seems to be doing well.”

“Ah, well. I’ve written to her a few times, but she hadn’t mentioned any plans to return. We all miss her so much,” Anya sighed.

Oh. Apparently everyone on this damn planet loved Evangeline and expected them to be best friends.

“I’m sure she knows she’s welcome here anytime.” Hollin took a step back. “If you’ll excuse me, I have a few more guests to greet.”

He was lying, of course. Hollin snuck into the kitchens as soon as he maneuvered past prying eyes, content to finish the evening with another round of dessert and absolutely no more niceties.

---

Thick snow layered Orynth, as it always did in late winter, but the dining room inside the palace was downright toasty. Evangeline’s gaze kept catching on the massive window across from her, the white powder falling down in countless patterns and twists.

“Excuse me, Queen speaking!” Aelin called out, tapping a knife against her champagne flute to command everyone’s attention. “I’d like to make a toast.”

Evangeline started at the interruption, turning away from the snowfall, as Lysandra rolled her eyes from the seat next to her. “Just keep it brief, Galanthynius. Today isn’t about you.”

Aelin pouted for a moment, garnering laughs from the table, then shrugged her shoulders. “Fair point.” The two women shared a grin before she turned to face the larger group.

“Today is about two of my favorite people,” she began. “Lysandra and Evangeline, I am incredibly happy that we all came together to celebrate such happy news.”

Aedion leaned across the table and caught Rowan’s eye. “‘Two of my favorite people’ and we aren’t even included? Pure misandry,” he muttered. The silver-haired Fae chuckled lightly.

“Exactly,” Aelin shot back. “Now hush, male. Eva, even with the most chaotic group of parental figures, has managed to grow into one of the kindest, wisest, and most genuine young women I have ever met. I hope this year brings you joy and fancy jewelry, both of which you deserve plenty of. Happy sixteenth birthday, my darling.”

Evangeline blew her aunt a kiss. She couldn’t put into words what this entire evening meant to her, how unbelievable it was that the Queen and King of Terrasen hosted her birthday dinner. She glanced down the table, smiling at all of the family and friends that looked at her with such love in their eyes.

“Lys,” Aelin continued. “My best friend. You took care of me, and so many other people in this room, when we needed it most, giving you more than enough practice for this next chapter in your life. I think I might actually be more excited than Aedion for this baby.”

Aedion leaned back in his chair. “Not possibly, cousin.”

“Didn’t I already hush you?” Aelin scrunched her nose. Evangeline held back a giggle at their dynamic. “Anyway, I can’t wait to force Adara to befriend your child, just so we all have another excuse to spend time together. Cheers to these two beautiful women.”

“Cheers!” The whole table cried out, glasses clinking and liquid sloshing.

Lysandra tapped her glass of sparkling juice against Evangeline’s. “I’m a bit sad that you get to drink alcohol while I can't. I always imagined sneaking you liquor on a ladies’ night.”

Aedion put down his juice as well. The couple had agreed that if Lys couldn’t drink, neither of them could. “I always wanted to take her to one of the taverns in Rifthold. Watch little Eva drink her first ale while taking men for all their worth in cards.”

“I’m not that good,” Evangeline laughed. “And anyway, this is a very classy way to have my first, proper glass of alcohol.”

“Proper?” Rowan interjected, bouncing the crown princess on his leg. “Does that mean you’ve had an improper drink before?”

Aelin gasped. “My devious little angel”

“No!” Evangeline scrunched her nose. “I just meant, first drink beyond accidental sips and tasting it from your glasses. You’re all horrible.”

Aedion shrugged. “My first drink was when I was fourteen. Stepped off the battlefield and took a very large sip of something disgusting.”

Lysandra patted his knee affectionately. “That’s a terrible story. We probably all had bad experiences during our first time.”

“First time? Lys, you make it sound like something dirty,” Aelin teased. “My first time was quite romantic-”

“Really? Bringing him up at a nice dinner?” Rowan drawled. “In front of our child?”

Evangeline finally stopped trying to hold back her laughter and huge smile. She would miss this family, miss the ease and joy that came with every conversation during her next round of travels.

----

Evangeline all but threw herself onto the lavish bed, too exhausted to even consider taking a bath, though she most definitely needed one. Banjali might be the loveliest city she had ever seen, if not remarkably warm in the early springtime.

She had a week left in Eyllwe, with most of that time spent travelling. Aelin had pulled her aside before her visit, and asked her if she would be prepared for a visit to Calaculla to demonstrate Terrasen’s grief for the horrors committed there. Evangeline, of course, agreed to the detour.

As if to make up for the depressing finish to her stay, the Ytgers’ had ensured her time in the capital city was as happy as possible. The younger crown prince in particular put in the most time and effort to show her around the city. Evangeline didn’t mind, not when Deji was nice enough to look at.

She sat up at the sound of a sharp knock. “Time for dinner,” Fenrys announced from the other side.

“I haven’t had any time to change!” Evangeline protested, scrambling towards the vanity, eyes widening in shock at the state of her hair. “I thought we had an hour!”

She didn’t love that this trip was chaperoned, but Lysandra and Aedion had insisted. The ship would travel past Skulls Bay, a place where Aelin had apparently made more enemies than friends.

“We would have had an hour, if you didn’t stop for cake on the walk back.” Fenrys opened the door carefully. “Can I come into the sitting room?”

“Ugh!” Evangeline huffed, pulling her hair out of its braids. She walked over to the entrance of her bedchamber and slammed the door between them shut. “I’ll be ready in fifteen minutes.”

She could hear him pacing around. “If we get any snide remarks for being late, I’m tattling on you to Aedion.”

Evangeline stuck her tongue out, although he couldn’t see her. She didn’t have time for a proper reply.

Seventeen minutes later, the two of them walked down to one of the smaller dining rooms. The Queen stood at the entrance, looking impeccable as always. Evangeline looked...passable, clothed in a fresh, crimson dress and golden hair somewhat brushed.

“Hello, Your Majesty,” she greeted. “I hope we aren’t late.”

The Queen waved her off. “Tonight is a rather small affair, do not fret. Lord Fenrys, I hope you don’t mind that we planned on separating the children from the adults tonight? The boys have a couple friends with them and they do hate it when we eavesdrop.”

Fenrys puffed his chest a bit at the use of his title. “Perfectly fine by me. Assuming you can handle yourself, Lady Evangeline?”

“Of course,” she responded, her polite tone at odds with the elbow she shoved into his side when the Queen turned to lead them in.

Kharis, the elder prince, walked up to them. “Good evening. May I escort you in?” He offered up his arm, which Evangeline took with one last wave to the adults.

He steered her towards another door that he opened to reveal a room with a much smaller table. She was met with four pairs of eyes, only one of which she recognized.

“This is Lady Evangeline, from Terrasen,” Kharis announced.

“Oh please, just Eva,” she insisted. “Pleased to meet you.”

One of the girls stepped forward. “I’m Athaliah, and these are my siblings, Jethro and Phebe.”

They all took their seats then, and luckily, conversation flowed easily. The three of them were not nobility, but their grandmother had served with the Queen’s father. Evangeline didn’t quite understand how he had managed to get his daughter on the throne after an alleged rebellion against the former King, but she didn’t think it polite to ask.

Phebe and Deji seemed to have some special connection, joking on a level that suggested intimacy. Evangeline forced herself to feel any sort of disappointment at their banter. Even if she thought he had flirted with her, nothing actually happened.

“Would you like a drink?” The boy of her thoughts interrupted the conversation Evangeline was currently having with Athaliah. “We nicked some spiced wine.”

“That sounds lovely,” she replied. Deji handed her a glass, seating himself next to her on the couch.

“Where will you go next?” Athaliah asked, continuing on. “Back to Terrasen?”

Evangeline nodded. “My ward, Lord Darrow, is expecting me back in a few weeks. We have some additional time, but quite honestly, I’m excited to sleep in a familiar bed again.”

“Our accommodations aren’t good enough for you?” Deji teased.

Evangeline scrunched her nose at him. “Of course not! But I am unaccustomed to this heat so early in the year.”

Jethro called for his sister, the others beginning to play a card game of sorts. She left them alone on the couches, Evangeline scrambling for something to keep the conversation going.

“Can I show you something?” he asked.

Perfect. “How far is this ‘something’?” Evangeline brought the glass to her lips, enjoying the slow buzz of the wine.

Deji stood, holding out his free hand. “Not far. I wouldn’t dare make you walk for too long in this heat.”

She followed him out of the room, down the hall, and towards a large balcony that she hadn’t noticed before. He held open the opaque doors, gesturing for her to step out first.

Evangeline let out a small gasp at the view. From this angle, the ocean seemed endless, and the moon looked close enough to touch. Large, swaying trees framed the water’s edge. The entire scene glittered with starlight, more real than a painting, yet more beautiful than real life.

“This is...unbelievable.”

Deji leaned against the stone railing. “It’s my favorite view, especially at night. I don’t know what I would do if I couldn’t see and hear the ocean most days.”

Evangeline joined him on the railing. “You might have ruined me as well. I’ll miss this dearly back home.”

They glanced over each other at the same time, bringing a heated blush to her face. His skin was too dark to show it, but she prayed she wasn’t alone in this feeling.

“Can I kiss you?” she blurted out, then immediately covered her mouth with her free hand. Oh gods, she might as well fling herself from the balcony now. Evangeline wanted to blame the wine, but truthfully, one drink hadn’t clouded her judgement at all. “I’m so sorry, that was--”

Deji cut her off, grabbing her hand gently and holding it in his own. “I was afraid you were going to make me ask you.”

He leaned in then, pressing his lips against hers. Evangeline’s eyes fluttered shut, experimentally deepening the kiss and moving her mouth against his.

It was sweet, if not a bit clumsy and filled with nervous giggling. Everything a first kiss should be.

----

Dorian found him in the training ring, one morning. Hollin wanted to get reacquainted with walking up earlier, now that spring had arrived and the afternoons would soon be too warm for exercise.

"Do you need something?" he huffed, talking a second to chug some water. The endurance circuit was quite honestly kicking his ass.

His brother shrugged. "I feel bad that I didn't warn you last time, so I'm telling you in advance now. Evangeline and Fenrys Moonbeam will be staying in the palace for a few days on their way back from Eyllwe, arriving in one week."

Hollin spun on his heel, pretending to grab a towel to keep his face hidden. "It's a bit last minute for royal guests, isn't it?"

Dorian sighed. "They're dear friends, not courtiers. Perhaps we could do a more casual dinner, allow you the chance to get to know both of them better. I'm sure Fenrys would offer to train you a bit as well."

"Is that the purpose behind their visit? Give me training with a feared Fae warrior?" Hollin didn't cover the sarcasm in his tone.

"No, I believe Eva wanted to see her friends here, something she doesn't regularly get a chance to do. Are you done with the questions?"

"Yes. Fine. Whatever." He pushed himself up, abandoning the towel. A bath would do nicely for his aching muscles. "Add the required events to my schedule."

Dorian mumbled something under his breath, but thankfully turned to leave. Right before he re-entered the main hallway, he called out: "It wouldn't hurt you to have friends!"

"I have two!" Hollin called back. "Who needs more than that?"

#tog #throne of glass #fanfic #hollin havilliard #evangeline tog #dorian #eyllwe #sjm #sarah j maas #fic

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ad1thi · 4 years

Text

proof of life | AU-gust Day 10: Pirates AU

AU-gust masterlist

you told me you were a pirate and i didn’t believe you. you got angry and stormed off somewhere. yeah i know, i offended you but iS THAT ANY REASON TO KIDNAP ME AND PUT ME ON YOUR SHIP JUST TO PROVE YOUR POINT??? (from this prompt list)

for @welovetonystark

Admiral James Rhodes was the proud Commander of the most impressive Fleet that the American Navy has ever seen. Colloquially, his fleet was known as War Machine, because of their impressive firepower. His ships were outfitted with the best cannons, and he had good crews working under him - men and women with good heads on their shoulders, instilled with duty to God and country.

He was directly responsible for hundreds of sailors, and while James wore his lapels at the front of his chest, things like this took a toll on a person, weighing them down until they just needed to unplug. Which is why he was here, clad in only his breeches and a loose shirt - his pistol left at home and armed with nothing more than a small dagger strapped to the inside of his boot; nursing a pitcher of ale.

The tavern that he'd found himself in was in the rougher side of town, frequented by Maidens and their patrons, littered with men that ordinarily, James would be writing up and throwing into the dark side of a cell. But these were not ordinary times, and James was here to forget his job, not act on it.

The Iron Man is a favourite of pirates in particular, and James knows that he's taking a huge gamble by drinking here. It's very possible that the few members of the crews he's raided over the years might recognise him and cause trouble - but he has a deep-seated need to be removed from his life; one that rivals his desire to not find himself on the business end of the wrong person's pistol.

"You don't look like you're from around here," James turns to face the man who's settled down next to him, blinking lazy eyes as he takes in his figure. The man is dressed like James, breeches and a loose shirt that's tucked at his waist and accentuates his hips, curvy and shapely. He's got a heavy mop of brown hair, and when James brings his gaze back to the man's face - bright hazel eyes blink back at him.

"I'm not," James says after a couple of seconds, "Looking to escape my usual haunts."

"Ah," the man says, waving down the barsmaid, "then you've picked the right place. I'm Tony Carbonell." James takes the proffered hand, with the intent to shake it, but at the last second - brings it up to press his lips to the back of his palm, as if Tony is a dame that he's courting.

From the way Tony's cheeks heat, he might as well be. "James," he offers back, "no last name."

Tony's eyes twinkle, and he leans in much closer, close enough that James can feel his breath against his neck, "Oh honey, for the things I want to do with you," Tony's gaze travels down his body, not similar to how James had looked at him not a couple seconds ago, and James feels a familiar heat gather in his core, "we don't need last names."

"Awful forward aren't you?" James remarks, even though he knows that he's going to leave with Tony.

"It pays to be forward in my line of work," Tony leans back, hopping off his stool and extends his hand towards James, "so are you coming?"

James debates blowing him off, but then he catches the curve of Tony's backside in his breaches - and the decision is made for him, really.

Later, when they're naked, and sweaty, and there's a map of clothes leading back to them - James turns to Tony and asks, "so what line of work requires you to be so forward?"

"I'm a pirate," Tony huffs back with a smile, " 's how I can pay to keep the Iron Man open."

"You're a pirate?" James says incredulously, giving Tony a slow once over, "That line work for you often?"

He never gets to hear Tony's reply though, because a couple of seconds, he falls into a blissful sleep.

The first thing that James notices when he wakes, is that there's a bag over his head. This is instantly suspicious. The second thing he notices is that his arms are bound behind his back, and when he tugs at his wrists, he thinks he recognises the scruff of rope. The third and final thing that he realises, is that he is no longer on land, because he can hear the sound of water connecting with the hull of a ship.

It's enough for him to put together a rather grim picture of where he might be, and he starts tugging at his wrists with more purpose - hoping to loosen the rope enough to reach down for the knife in his bootstrap.

"You're awake!" says a familiar voice, and James instinctively flinches when the bag is ripped off his head. He blinks a couple of times, adjusting to the sudden light, but his jaw slacks when he focuses on the person standing in front of him.

"Tony?" he says, flabbergasted, and Tony nods, looking oddly gleeful.

"You said you didn't believe that I was a pirate," Tony gestures around him to what, looks like a pirate ship James realises with horror, "so I decided to give you a chance to see for yourself how wrong you were."

Next to Tony is a tall blonde, leaning over Tony's shoulder with one hand perched on her pistol. His first mate, James' mind supplies, and he dimly wonders what Gods he must've pissed off to get into bed with a pirate.

"I have a small confession to make," Tony continues, oblivious of James' thought process, "My name isn't actually Tony Carbonell. It's Tony Stark, as in -"

"- of the Stark Family," James finishes, "I recognise the name."

"I thought you might Admiral," the surprise must register on James' face, because Tony's grin goes wider somehow, "no last name my ass. You're Admiral James Rhodes."

"Tony!" his first mate hisses, "Are you trying to get us killed? I can't believe you kidnapped an Admiral just to prove a point! Of all the stupid things you've done…" she trails off, and Tony honest to god pouts.

Anthony Stark was not an unfamiliar name in the waters. The Stark family were notorious for their ruthlessness, their ships outfitted with weapons that surpassed even James' own - and they were infamous for never leaving any witnesses. James had lost many a good men to the pursuit of even the barest description of what the new Head of the Stark fleet looked like, and now James was sitting in front of the man, arms tied behind his back - a few mere hours after he'd bed him.

Whatever preconceived notions James had formed when he first realised that he was on a pirate ship were swiftly thrown out, because it was one thing to be a captive of a pirate ship, and another to be captive on a Stark ship.

In front of him, Tony is still arguing with his First Mate.

"All the work we've done to conceal your identity!" she's yelling, "and you spread your legs for the first pretty Admiral that smiles your way?"

"In all fairness," Tony concedes, "I didn't actually know he was an Admiral at the time. Besides Pepper, what would you have me do now? Kill him? He's not a foot sailor, I can't exactly toss him overboard and expect no retribution."

Tony turns to James, and clutches his chin - lifting his face up for Pepper to see, "Look at how pretty he is. It would be a loss to all of mankind if I just gutted him."

"If you kill me," James pipes up, because the topic of discussion is his possible execution, "you will feel the wrath of the entire United States Navy if I wash up dead."

Pepper scoffs, "If we kill you sweetheart, nobody would ever find your body." She kills at him like he's dim for even suggesting otherwise, and James resumes tugging at his wrists, if only to give him the semblance of not giving up.

"We won't be killing you," Tony says loudly, sending Pepper a significant look, "and you can stop tugging at your wrists. I tied you up myself, you aren't getting out of those anytime soon. Plus," he pulls out James' knife and James feel the last of his hope vanish, "I've already taken your knife for my own."

"If you aren't going to kill me, what exactly is it that you plan to do with me?" Rhodey asks, growling with Tony reaches out to touch him again.

"I haven't decided yet," Tony says, with the air of someone who's choosing what their next meal will be, "but I'm sure we'll find some use for you yet."

"That doesn't sound very reassuring."

"Chin up babe," Tony clucks, "and look around. There's worst pirate ships to find yourself captive on." He claps his hands, and leans down to press a kiss on James' cheek, "we're going to have so much fun together."

Fin

#my writing #rhodeytony #ironhusbands #james rhodes x tony stark #james rhodes/tony stark #rhodey x tony #adi does AU-gust #AU-gust #proof of life #pirate tony stark #admiral james rhodes #first mate pepper potts #meet cute #meet ugly #i deviated slightly from the prompt #but the essence is still the same

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hpdabbles · 3 years

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Moar Naruto Harry AU please.

I wanna know what he has planned to keep his favorite wizards with him.

Also will he ever learn Remus's name is Remus and not Emus?

“Excuse me?” The man sitting on the high chair surrounded by men and women wearing long-dapped clothing looked utterly unsure about Naruto’s request.

He had been in the middle of some boring speech when the young boy had burst through the two large doors, dodging the attempt to be stopped by the workers in the hallway.

It was easy enough for a ninja of his level to jump over the desk of the receptionist and zig-zag away from the color lights the wizards shoot at him.

He wasn’t entirely sure what the light did but any kind of justu that was strong enough for the chakra to be seen meant bad news, so Naruto made haste to find the one important person while sprinting down the hall and kicking open any door he came across.

It took a full hallway of screaming chaos but he finally found them. The important-looking people.

Naruto had skipped his way to the front of what looked like a council, and repeated his demand “I challenge whoever is in charge to an Honor Clash or whatever you people have.”

The man wearing the tall pointy hat with small glasses blinked slowly. “No, I heard you the first time, my boy, but I am not entirely sure what you mean by Honor Clash ?”

Naruto squinted at him trying to see if the man was joking or not. There were times where he still tripped over the difference between this world and the one he knew, where something so common knowledge to him was strange or unheard of to others.

“Honor Clash. A battle between two people betting something of equal value and should the two parties agree unbreakable once a winner is decided.”

“...Do you mean dueling and an Unbreakable Vow?” A woman in a purple robe hesitantly asks from Naruto’s left.

“Yes, the highest of challenges and the one way anything can be lost. Including one’s freedom or life.” Naruto nodded staring into the aged man’s eyes who was blinking down at him. They held a strange twinkle, but the ninja did not focus on it, guiding his eyes to the center of the other’s nose.

Even he could spot a genjustu so obvious “I wish to bet my life. If I am to lose, I will be the winner’s property, to do with as they may please, but in exchange, I like the life of Sirius Black if I win. This means no house arrest, no limitations, no restrictions as he will my property. Would you accept my challenge, old man?”

The room held their breath as the words leave Naruto’s mouth, shifting around him in a way his chakra has never done before. However he knows in a deep part of his soul, it is bounding. Final.

An Unbreakable Vow, the woman had said. What a fitting name for this feeling.

“Very well, if you think this is the only way, I do accept.” The aged wizard said after a long pause. Naruto twitches as the muffled feeling of negative emotions hidden behind the downturn of the old man's lips.

He may have lost Kurama, but his Uzumaki chakra could keep him an empath though not nearly as strong as before.

He felt greed and gluttony. The wizard wants to own him. Naruto barely held back a sneer fitting of a real fox.

“Dumbledore! You can’t be serious-he’s only a child! He doesn’t even have a wand!” The woman from before shouts outrage, springing to her feet. A few members on the side of the curved table she sat at are quick to agree.

They shout over each other, following the line of the disapproval and horror of a child dueling someone much more experience.

“This is barbaric, and traitorous at most!” Another man with long blond hair on the other side of the room barks. “If this duel happens it will go against all of our traditions and legal process. What will the public do when they learn they can fight their way out of the law?! You are asking for a silver war!”

“You would know a lot about a silver war wouldn’t you Malfoy?” A red-headed man sneers. “After all, it would be your power that would threaten the most by this duel.”

“How dare you-!”

“I do ask, my boy. That should the duel become a draw, neither life is own.” Dumbledore speaks over the crowd of people with a type of command that comes from a man who is used to being heard and be listen to. At once the room quiets, some of the left side looking relieved.

Naruto tilts his head. “That sounds fair, but adding that rule now after you agree makes me challenged instead of the challenger. I would get to pick the winning condition. Do you still want to?”

Dumbledore's eyes crinkled with a grandfatherly smile. Naruto felt the greed rise, muffled and distant but ever-present. “Of course my boy. What would the winning condition be?”

“The first one knocked unconscious by any means is the loser.” The words felt as natural as any other words in his mouth would but for some reason, it made every adult look suddenly very nervous. All but the wizard he has challenged.

“We have an accord. Let the Vow be forever bonding, witnessed by the Wizengamont.” Dumbledore’s voice rang through the room like a bell, echoing in the stillness of the room.

He wobbled down the spiraling stairway on the side of the podium he was standing behind, coming to a stop before Naruto, his strangely shaped stick raised to split his face in half. “We may duel here and now.”

Naruto bowed at him, in terms of the proper way of Leaf village spars, shifting his weight to get a solid form. He ignores the shouts of the spectators. many claiming the older male has gone mad while a few shout that Dumbledore obviously was going to force the ninja into a draw.

“Start the match” Naruto demanded of the purple lady who looked unpleased but he directed his gaze back to his opponent before he could watch her expression for too long.

“Begin.”

Naruto leaped away from his position missing the red light by mere seconds as the old man whipped out his stick in his direction.

The ninja quickly flashed through seals raising the marble tiles beneath him into a shield as more color lights slammed into it, barely any paused between them. The crowd screamed at the debris which went flying due to one of the lights exploding upon contact but Naruto didn’t turn to look at them.

He instead used the smoke to cover his next attack, summoning clones to rush at the old man each bearing a Kuni shaped from the marble tiles of his last justu.

They hit an invisible shield that reminded him of the main Pain puppet, which meant Naruto had to use different means of attack. He rushed underground, leaving behind a clone to act as a decoy, who engaged the old man with shooting wind Justus against the strange light.

He tunneled his way to where he could feel the chakra of the old man blaze as powerful as any jonin or even an Anbu Captain.

In terms of power, he was outmatched but Naruto would not let that deter him. After all, based on the way Dumbledore fought, he had not seen that many ninja battles and this meant Naruto was not outclassed.

Naruto waited until his clone fell, faking being unconscious as he had done in the battle against Neji, and it wasn’t until another clone pop, letting him know the old man had lowered his wand that he shoots up a Rasengan in one had to tear away the shield and a bag of powder in another.

Naruto had not been able to find a weapons store in this world but he had been able to make some weapons with the little knowledge of various tools he had. One of them was a special blend of herbs and flowers which forced victims to fall for genjustus faster by lowering their control over their senses when inhaled.

This allows the reincarnated boy to overpower Dumbledore’s mind, as he grips onto his face, his chakra running down his arm, through his fingertips, and into the shocked wizard's mind. Soon he falls into a slumber and Naruto lets go only to catch him, as Dumbledore crumbles his stick slipping from his hand to roll on the ground.

The doors slam open as ‘Emus and Dog-man rush in with a horrified “Harry!”

Naruto gives them a toothy grin, twisting his small body to them and shaking Dumbledore's unconscious form. “Great timing! I just won the Honor Clash and now, we can go home together!”

Everyone starts shouting then which really delays Naruto taking his family home and he is very upset it takes so long before the magic people realize he is willing to challenge them to an Honor Clash just to keep ‘Emus too.

Dog-man couldn’t look any happier so it was all worth it in the end.

#Magical Ramen #Part 4 #Hpdabbles #crossover: N/Hp #Albus Dumbledore is not a good person #Naruto fixes things with his two fist #Honor Clashes are the Ninja version of a Unbreakable Vow #No one thought he would win #Anonymous

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