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chemicalpink · 3 years

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대취타 (DAECHWITA) | EMPEROR!YOONGI X READER | FINAL

Pairing: Emperor!Yoongi x Assassin!Reader

Words: 3.5k

Genre: Emperor AU, Historical AU (kinda), smut, angsty

Warnings: mentions of death, mentions of historical public execution, oral sex (male receiving), lowkey breath play, unprotected sex

A/N: FINALLY IT’S HERE. I hope you enjoy, I had a hard time trying to make this not seem lame so here it is! please let me know what you think!

Summary: You used to be an assassin, got caught and works at the palace as a servant up until you are escorted to the main palace, either to meet your inevitable destiny or for a change of plans.

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4

Forehead resting against your own as you found yourselves panting, him sliding out as your spasming cunt dripped with both of your releases onto the floor, placing one more soft kiss on your lips with his eyes closed “Marry me”

You almost sat up with a start. Suddenly the world was bright and hazy. Yoongi had opened his eyes and they were digging like daggers into yours, an unusual look on him. You looked at the emperor apologetically before turning your gaze to the end of the room where there was a pile of books, silently detangling yourself from him.

The silence was deafening.

Then again, who in their right mind proposed marriage while having their cock buried deep inside some assassin turned royal slave. All the same, Min Yoongi wasn’t exactly known for having a right mind. But it wasn’t just the fact that he had proposed seemingly out of the blue, more than it was everything that came with it. The words seemed to tangle themselves inside your brain as you hear him say them over and over again. That he couldn’t think of himself marrying some woman that was inferior to him in mind and spirit. That he had wanted to marry to someone he loved. To think that Min Yoongi had proposed you marriage not in the heat of the moment but fully conscious of his actions would not only mean that he was in it for the great sexual escaped you two regularly went on, but because due to some fucked up mindset the royal had, he believed he could love you.

Yoongi reached for your hand in an attempt to get your attention, face soft with post orgasmic bliss as he repeated the ill fated words “Marry me, Y/N”

You snapped out of his hold. “Yoongi I don’t think you understand the situation”

“What is it then, please do enlighten me, Y/N cause from what I understand is me asking for your hand in marriage, twice now” he blinks a few times, looking at you expectantly, crossing his arms like a petulant child

“FUCKING READ THE ROOM MIN YOONGI ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND”

“Well I’m not, but you seem to be”

“I’m a fucking assassin, my hands? they will forever be tainted red” you look down at your hands and the blond man comes near to hold both of them inside his

“Y/N I couldn’t care less about that, it’s not like I’m a saint either”

“You just don’t understand”

“Then help me out” somehow his ever consistent and aloof tone gave you more chills thana you could’ve imagined if he were to raise his voice at you “Y/N I’m serious with my proposal, the sex is amazing, but you’ve proven to be an excellent addition not only to my court, but to my life”

You are shaking, voice trembling and just above a mere whisper “I was the one that killed your mother on that freezing December night”

He freezes in place.

He seemed oddly composed for someone who had just been told the responsible of his mother's death was none other than the woman he thought he wanted to marry

You remember how a few years ago, he had gone on a killing rampage, exposing heads outside his palace as if they were homemade decorations, swearing to find the person responsible for his mother’s death and get revenge. It had been months of bloodbath. Some had considered the emperor’s son to have gone completely out of his mind.

You storm off. Not before accepting the responsibility of your actions, perhaps Yoongi had also been a good addition to your life “I’m fine with you deciding to execute me for my crimes, I understand whatever sentence is best fitted for me, your majesty” for the first time since you had arrived at the palace, you don’t dare to look him in the ye, opting to follow court protocol and bow deeply before taking your leave, attempting to detangle yourself from your messed up robes and even more messed up string of thoughts.

The following days to that conversation were a blur and for the most part, uneventful, the emperor had opted not to gravitate your way unless strictly necessary, oddly enough, the air wasn’t awkward at all, it was as if nothing had ever happened between the two of you in the first place. Yoongi had retreated to being an aloof ruler, along with regular trips to meet his once very occupied and spoiled rotten concubines, all the while you were kept apart from. Sometimes, you would receive jobs outside the palace and were expected to fulfill them according to instructions. More times than not, you were left wondering if you would make it back to the palace or if it was one hell of an excuse to execute you.

Hearing approaching footsteps, you couldn’t help but hide the best that you could behind one of the hostel’s walls. Hooded and well muffled with the cape, as you did your best to camouflage yourself into the shadows and become a mere wisp of darkness. A maid from the hostel trudged to the open window and closed it, grumbling. Lightning illuminated the landing. You took a deep breath and reviewed the plans that you had so painstakingly memorized throughout the three days you had been guarding that building on the outskirts of the kingdom. Five doors on each side. The target’s bedroom was behind the third one on the left.

Stealthy as a specter, you walked down the landing. You pushed the target's bedroom door, which opened with an almost imperceptible squeak; waiting for another thunder to rumble to close it carefully. A second flash of lightning illuminated the two figures sleeping on the canopy bed. Young Hee must not have been over thirty-five. His son, small and beautiful, slept soundly in his arms.

“I’m not murdering a poor kid’s mother”

“So you’ve gone soft”

“No I haven’t gone soft” “What could a poor merchant woman have done to you for her to deserve such an end to her life”

He sits down on his throne “You didn’t even hesitate when killing my mother, though”

“Yoongi I-” he turns his head to you, a sharp gaze following your every move, as if he was a predator waiting for the precise moment his prey took a wrong turn to jump on them. You turn your gaze to the floor immediately “Your Majesty”

“Listen Y/N- I’m a very busy man, so I’ll make it easier for you” he stood up from where he was sitting, and although you weren’t looking directly at him, you could hear him move around the room until you were able to see him stop right in front of you, a hand you were so familiar with once caresses your cheek as he grabs your chin and forces you to look at him face to face “It’s either her life, or your life. Easy choice, Y/N”

You can feel your heart wanting to burst out of your ribcage at that exact moment, finally understanding the importance behind such a horrifying task, the mirroring in the situation. And the choice was as simple as it could get. “Kill me instead”

You could see the rage inside his eyes, even as he stood still for a few second, steady as ever, unfaltering as he called over one of the palace’s servants to get him the royal seal, the infamous red ink that decorated the skin of those in line to be executed by the royal himself, an utmost sign of rage, of personally wronging the monarch. A sense of longing crossed his gaze for half a second as he locked eyes with you before he took your wrist in his hand and stamped the cold ink on it; you couldn’t keep your body from reacting to the action, whether it was having him touching you again, the almost imperceptible stuttering of his movements when he did so, or the knowledge that you’d have to face an execution, making you shake lightly as adrenaline filled your veins.

Preparations were something the emperor certainly didn’t scattered in, back when he became known as the cold hearted borderline psychopath he had a vaste fame of, ikt was mostly do to the whole antiques that surrounded his personal executions, the way that they seemed to mimic a kingdom’s festivity was almost breathtaking, were it not for the fact that the main entertainment of the day would be having you publicly executed. You had been waiting for that night for a whole week. Sitting in the wooden corridor nestled to one side of the golden dome of Min Yoongi’s personal library, remembering how the last time you had been there, things were so different from how they were now, where the emperor had asked you to marry you in the worst way possible and you had confessed the greatest murder of the dynasty; you let yourself be carried away by the music that rose through the amphitheater. With your legs dangling under the railing, you leaned forward and rested your cheek on your crossed arms. One could almost swear the palace was preparing for a wedding, if the way you were constantly dressed up and down during the week, the way the palace’s servants were constantly bustling around the building to ensure the greatest quality for the evening, the greatest night for the kingdom. The execution of the Empress’ murderer.

“You seem oddly calm for someone who's about to be executed” Jungkook mentions as he approaches where you were currently hanging out, a few minutes to spare before a small group of designated maids were to call you to get you ready for the night.

You look up at him tiredly, without separating your head from where it was laying, catching him taking a seat by your side in the most infantile way you had ever seen the royal guard do, shrugging to no one in particular, you add “You know, accountability and stuff”

“Oh and she grew a moral compass during her time here” if he was expecting a bickering comeback, the way you used to do back when he was designated to look after you, he was certainly not getting anything other than be met by an extended silence that seemed to rise the tension and seriousness of the whole interaction between the two “Why are you letting this happen to you?”

“What are you talking about” this time, you do turn to face him, confused as to where he was expecting the conversation to go.

“You didn’t kill his mother”

“I did”

He huffed out air, sounding a bit exasperated at your response; you could have even sworn you saw him roll his eyes faintly “No you didn’t, you were a mere 15 year old” there was a bit of laughter behind his sentence before he regained his composure and went back to his former self from a few minutes ago, looking at your face quizzically as if there was something hidden in there that held the answer to his question “So why are you doing this”

You try and miserably fail to convey a nonchalant look on your face as memories of your time with the emperor fill your mind, not just the carnal ones, but those where you would watch him work for his place in the royal hierarchy, the soft sides around the rough edges that were publicly hidden on purpose, turning away from the guard you say softly “Yoongi’s a great man”

“Okay sure, he could do with a more...tame temperament, but what does that have anything to do with you chopping your own head off”

You try your best to ignore the way your heart seems to physically ache at the thought behind the answer; you almost don’t get enough strength from within to mutter “I’m hoping to get him some closure, be an even better ruler”

“That’s- definitely not how it’s supposed to work Y/N” Jungkook says incredulously

“I was technically part of the killing so, it’s all the same”

He huffs before going to stand up, dusting off his uniform and already facing away from you, before you can hear him call for you one last time “Yoongi’s in his room, you know, he was looking for you a few hours ago, in case that information helps in any way”

So perhaps you were naive for thinking that he would answer his door, he would have no reason to do so, especially given the circumstances, if it were you, opening the door to the person that had confessed of murdering your mother, and having them come up at your room, you wouldn’t even need to think it once to decide not to further interact with them, but Jungkook had said Yoongi had been looking for you before, so the chance of him wanting to see you alive one last time were there. Unless you were reading it all wrong. You turned your back on the huge wooden door you had come to know as the emperor’s bedroom a few months back, resigned, when you heard the creaking of a door opening and a calm steady voice.

“So you’re going to just knock on my door and run away the same way you entered my life and are now leaving it forever?” his frozen tone still having an effect on your body as you turned to face him properly for the first time in what seemed like an eternity “Came to discuss a bargain for your life?”

“Not at all” you lock eyes with him when approaching him, until you were practically inside the room, his judgemental gaze still on you “I wanted to say my goodbyes properly, your majesty”

“Then don’t waste my time and come in already, Y/N”

The royal wasted no time in cornering you against the door, face so close to yours you could feel his breath on your skin, the tip of his nose nuzzling the side of your face and you knew him enough to know he had his eyes closed to keep his composure as he talked “I’m going to miss you like a fucking mad man”

It felt like falling back into routine, the way he kissed you, down to your neck up to your collarbone, pushing past the robes that covered your skin, in preparation for the ritual, his hands roaming freely in a familiar way, grabbing all the right places as he draws little sounds from your throat, all while he worked the both of you to where his bed was placed, although he was giving your body and pleasure a decent amount of attention, you couldn’t brush off the fact that he irradiated an angry aura, words left unspoken as he got his anger out by pleasuring both of you. Maybe himself more than you, as he removes himself from caressing your body as he usually did and positioned himself above you, his member laying flat on your already expecting tongue,as soon as you realised what his intentions were when he started undressing himself, his hips thrusting a few times in an experimental manner, soon enough finding a pace at the same time as you bobbed your head up to capture as much of his length as you could inside your mouth, your hands captured under Yoongi’s weight, unable to help you work him further, the way you’d done before.

You feel him start to thrust further into your throat at one particular kitten lick of yours to the tip of his cock, your head starting to hang from the edge of the mattress you two were on as he picked up the pace, his cock filling you up all the way until it hit the back of your throat a few times, you trying to whine around him, only further encouraging him to take a handful of your hair and push you further against him, your gag reflex taking the best of you as he held you there, nose close to his navel, deep grunts ripped from his lips, the air leaving your lungs and becoming slightly light headed after a few seconds of you tapping his thigh in a motion to let him know to let you breathe, at which Yoongi locked eyes with you, a mix of anger and longing in his yes as he thrusts a few more times as saliva started dripping from your mouth, tears decorating your pink stained cheeks before he removed himself from you, giving you a few seconds to gain air before he repositioned both of you. A deafening silence taking over both of you, as you were still catching your breath and he positioned his cock at your entrance, his tip, wet with your saliva, playing with your folds for a few seconds, as you take a sharp intake of air when he enters you and immediately sets a slow deep pace. You can feel his member filling you up perfectly, mind racing with flashbacks to all those other nights before where the emperor and you shared endless nights all over the palace.

The knowledge that this would be the last time creeping up in the back of your mind. You feel an unfamiliar wetness hit your neck where Yoongi was kissing your skin, rolling down as you identified it as tears, as he was still passionately thrusting into you.

“I don’t want to lose you” his voice barely above a whisper, trying to conceal the way his chest was tightened with sadness

“You have to let me go, Yoongi” one of your hands comes up to caress his locks as he pushes up to stare at your face, anger long gone and replaced with utter sadness before one last thrust has him filling you up with his seed, warmth enveloping you, a soft whimper leaving your lips as his cock leaves your cunt, a briskly wind coming from the window causing your body to shiver for a second at the loss of body heat on top of you.

“I guess this was it then” his cold and unnerved facade was on again, making the cold shivers in your body that much worse as you watched him adjust his clothes and walk out of the room, leaving you to dress yourself and ultimately face your fated destiny at the end of the day.

The palace’s front plaza is filled to the brim with spectators as the news got out that the Emperor was finally getting revenge for his mother’s killing, people from the kingdom and even some people from neighbouring ones all lined up in the outer sides of the fire marks that decorated the space to illuminate the middle path where you were placed in the end of it to walk your way up, two unknown guards on each side of you as each grabbed your elbows to push you forward, the rope certainly leaving marks on your skin as it was wrapped tightly around your wrists.

You could only catch a glimpse of Yoongi’s blond hair, wrapped in his infamous black and golden hanbok, drums roaring in unison, people screaming as you watched him take the sword from the swordsman that had prepared the ritual beforehand, as someone wrapped a cloth around your eyes and you were promptly pushed forward, legs buckling every few seconds as you came to realise what you were about to face, it hadn’t been clear before, mere seconds away, finally falling to your knees, head bowed down in resignation as you could barely hear the sharp sword cutting the air around you, gasps from the crowd filling the air along with the constant sound of the drums around you. You could only hope your death would bring much needed peace to the monarch and his kingdom. Your heart seemed to want to burst out of your chest, if anything, Yoongi was known for being an espectacular swordsman, which hopefully made the whole execution that much easier. You could hear cheers and a metal cutting the air before your body fell limp to the ground.

But your consciousness never left, the drums couldn’t be heard anymore, cheers were replaced with confusion as a pair of hands helped you up to your knees, fumbling with the cloth around your eyes to come face to face with Min Yoongi kneeling before you, a subtle smile on his face as one of his hands caressed your cheek before helping you up beside him.

“I’m sure you all must be confused right now” he announced to his subjects “This woman right here, has got more courage in her than anyone that has ever worked for me, any of us, for that matter. Which is why I’m asking once again, publicly, for the first time, for her hand in marriage” he turned to face you, as you were still dazed by the whole ordeal, his hand in yours being the only thing holding you down “Marry me, Y/N”

#kwritersworldnet #thebtswritersclub #bangtanarmynet #hyunglinenetwork #networkbangtan #bangtanuniversity #yoongi smut #bts smut #bts imagines #min yoongi imagine #yoongi fanfic #min yoongi smut #bts fanfics #bts fanfic #yoongi fic #yoongi scenario #bts scenarios

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noforkingclue · 3 years

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No Questions Asked (Laszlo Kreizler x reader) Chapter 1

Summary: You operated on a ‘no questions asked, no answers given’ policy. You never questioned anyone who passed through your door in need of medical attention. That was until a certain doctor decided to grace your doorstep.

Pair: Laszlo Kreizler x reader

Warnings: period typical attitudes, violence, mentions of domestic abuse

Author’s note: So I might’ve fallen in love with Laszlo and ended up binging the whole of the series! Oh well, onto series 2!

Everything tag list: @greenrevolutionary

“Come on Doc,” said Polly, “Surely you can give me some good news.”

You looked at the woman in front of you and closed your eyes. She gave you a desperate, pleading look and grabbed onto your shirt sleeve. Cracked fingernails with dirt and grime under them held onto you tightly and all you could do was pat her hand.

“I can’t go out like this,” she pointed to her face, ”Y’know the types of clients I’d attract looking like this.”

“I can’t do anything to speed up the healing,” you replied quietly, “I’m sorry.”

Polly leant back on the bed and glared up at your ceiling. Alice was standing by the door making sure that no one else got in before their time. You gave Polly a sympathetic pat on the leg as you got out a needle and thread.

“The only cure,” you said as you held the needle in a pair of tweezers, “Is to leave that bastard.”

“No.” Polly said firmly, “I can’t do that. He looks out for us.”

“By treating you like a punching bag?”

“Better to get hit by someone you know then a stranger on the street.”

You pursed your lips in displeasure as you ran the needle through a candle flame. Polly looked at the heated needle nervously as you waited for it to cool slightly.

“Do you have to do that Doc?” she asked nervously

“Yes,” you said, “Reduces the risk of infection.”

“Never had anything like that before.”

“And do you want to start now?”

Polly reminded silent as you threaded the needle and went to work stitching up the cut on her leg. You never expected to have ended up working as an underground doctor in New York City, helping prostitutes, criminals and anyone who couldn’t afford a formally qualified doctor, but it was better than Whitechapel. Once you had finished the stitches you leant down and bit off the thread.

“Now for the fun part.”

You grabbed a bottle of cheap whiskey and uncorked it. Polly grinned at you and reached towards the bottle.

“Fucking thank y- OW!”

She was interrupted by you pouring it on her wound. She glared at you from the bed but you just pushed her back down.

“How many times have I done this,” you muttered, “And you never-“

You were interrupted by shouting and gritted your teeth. You were all too familiar with people trying to push to the front of the queue. You turned around and glared at the door. To your surprise it wasn’t your usual type of client. Alice was standing awkwardly by the door, a half finished cigarette waved at the two gentlemen.

“Tried to stop them Doc,” she said, “But they wouldn’t listen.”

“What do you want?” you snapped, “I’m busy. Alice, Polly is done. Can you take her home?”

“Sure.”

“We need information.” Said one

American by his accent and you snorted. You sat down on the bed and took a sip of the whiskey. It was cheap and it burned as you swallowed. You could take a guess at who the men were, you heard many of your clients talk about them.

“You interrupted my night,” you spat, “For information? Why the fuck should I?”

“Because,” the second gentleman stepped forward, “You’re the only person who’d be able to help us.”

You studied the two men intently before sighing.

“I have a feeling,” you said standing up, “That even if I say no you’ll just ignore me.”

You opened you door again and looked out at the people waiting.

“Sorry guys,” you yelled, “Shut for the rest of the night. Come back tomorrow morning.”

You slammed the door in their faces and tried to block out the sounds of protesting. People came to you as a last resort and while you didn’t like turning people away you knew that the two men in front of you would be more profitable.

After all, you still had to eat.

“What can I help you two gentlemen with?” you asked lying down on your bed

“Allow us to introduce-“

“I already know who you are,” you said, “You,” you pointed the bottle at the American, “Are John Moore, which makes you Doctor Laszlo Kreizler. It might come as a shock to you but not everyone like me is completely stupid.”

“I never said that you were,” Kreizler had sat down on the only chair in your small room and laced his fingers together, “What can you tell us about Mr Peter Barker?”

“Him!” you let out a bark of laughter, “He’s a thug and a cheat. I doubt the likes of you would want to get mixed up with him.”

“And would you know where he was last Friday?”

The answer to that was yes. You looked at Moore and Kreizler through narrowed eyes as you took another swig of whiskey. Barker had dislocated his shoulder and like many criminals turned to you for assistance. Usually you would refuse to treat thugs like him but the promise of money changed your mind.

“Why?” you asked slowly

“Just answer the damned question.” Said Moore

“Alright,” you said calmly, “I just wanted to know why.”

“It’s a police matter.” Said Kreizler

“And you think that’ll persuade me to help?” you asked

Kreizler gave you a soft smile and shrugged.

“In some cases.” He said

“What has he done?” you asked, “Is it a death sentence?”

“Might be.” Replied Kreizler

“Barker is a bastard,” you replied, “It would be better for everyone if he did fry.”

“Even if he’s innocent for the crime?” asked Kreizler leaning forward

“There’s a hundred more he’s guilty of. He deserves to die.”

“But you are a man of honour,” said Kreizler, “You wouldn’t let an innocent man die.”

“He’s not innocent though.” you said

“He is of this crime.” Insisted Kreizler

“And how do you know I’m a man of honour, as you so gracefully put it?”

“You help the people who no one else would help,” he insisted, “Even though you hate this man you wouldn’t do that.”

He held your gaze for an uncomfortably long time. As much as you wanted to break his stare you found that you couldn’t look away.

“Yes,” you said at last, “I do help the people who everyone else has rejected.”

“Then you’ll-“

“And that includes Barker’s victims.”

You stood up and folded your arms.

“The men he attacked when they didn’t give him money. The women he raped when they told him ‘no’. The children he had beaten up or sometimes even killed when their parents wouldn’t submit to his demands. If me telling the truth means that he walks free to commit more of these crimes then I’m just as guilty as he is.”

“So you’ll send him to the electric chair.” Said Kreizler not bothering to hide the shock in his voice

“The chair is too good for him,” you spat opening your door, “Now if you’ll excuse me I’m tired. I’d like you to leave.”

Kreizler sat stiff in your chair for a moment before he stood up sharply. He gave you an unreadable look before swiftly marching out of the room. Moore gave you an amused look and nodded at you as he left. You got the distinct impression that he had agreed with what you had said but didn’t want to say it in front of the doctor.

Once they had left you shut the door and leant against it. You ran a hand over your face and groaned softly. You wanted another drink but knew that if you did you wouldn’t be in a fit state to work tomorrow. You collapsed onto your bed and tried to get some sleep. You had a strong feeling that this wouldn’t be the last time you’d be meeting with the doctor or his friend.

#fanfiction #the alienist #reader insert #laszlo kreizler #laszlo kreizler x reader #laszlo x reader

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love-hatred-stuff · 3 years

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>>>part.1 ;; >>>part.3(coming soon)

Title: partners in crime pt.2 } Jin-young [got7]

feat. Ok Taecyeon [2pm] & Kwak Dong-yeon

-> ^Vincenzo^

genre: mafia au

warning: mentions of killing/violence and weapons, a bit suggestive

word count: 1.6k

Third person's POV

It was the next day and already evening. Jinyoung and you had ended the last mission successfully, like always.

Right now you were on your way to your boss, you were about to have dinner with him. So you could talk about things that needed to be handled. But you had a pretty close relationship, so you also talked about private things often.

Taecyeon was ruthless and a little psychotic, but you know him for over ten years now and you were used to his sometimes heartless and violent behaviour.

Although he was unpredictable, he was kind of your role model when it was about business.

He was one of the most successful secret mafia bosses in this world, and of course this had its reasons.

But you cared way more about people's lifes than he did. He even threatened to kill his own brother, even though Dongyeon was always loyal to him.

But when Taecyeon didn't like the ideas of his brother or he wouldn't success in something, he would be punished right away. By the only relative he had left.

You got out of the car that had brought you to the disguised company that was unofficially leaded by Taecyeon. His brother was the official face of it, but everyone in your gang knew, he was just the puppet of the boss.

Then you used the elvator to reach one of the high floors faster. Exiting when you arrived and heading to the large office of him.

You knocked but didn't waited for an answer, since you never did that.

But this time you catched the two brothers; the younger one being pressed on his chair aggressively by the older.

And that wasn't all; Taecyeon was holding a knife against his siblings throat, who had tears welling up in his fear filled eyes.

You could tell at the younger's posture as well, he was scared to death.

You shook your head in disagreement and disappointment.

You were aware of the fact that this wasn't the first time, you boss had threatened to kill him with his own hands. But you respected the other one too, so you wouldn't let that happen.

Taecyeon's eyes found your body that slowly entered the room but he didn't dare to loosen up the grip he had on the other young male, who's gaze wasn't moving away from his brother because he was too scared to do anything wrong.

You let out a 'tsk' and continued to shake your head until you spoke up and stopped you movements, looking at the dangerous scene that was going on.

"Taecyeon, please. Let this poor boy be. What did he do this time to deserve this, huh?" You were asking for a good reason.

But his look only made its way to the terrified face a few inches in front of him now. He smiled, making him look like a psychopath.

"Tell her, brother. What did you mess up this time?" His voice was not rough, he intended on just getting a answer out of him, a knife at his throat was enough, he didn't had to be loud, as well.

You huffed in disbelief. He really wanted to do this in front of you.

The younger began shaking a choking out individual words, but definitely not a complete sentence.

Taecyeon got impatient and growled at him.

"In a whole fucking sentence." He the sharp thing pressed more against the other's flesh, cutting him successfully and letting a bit of blood flood out.

Dongyeon hissed in pain and a single tear ran down his cheek.

You thought he now had crossed the line and stepped a few steps towards them.

"Teac, stop now." Your eyes diggered in his like the knife he had pressed against the younger's neck.

And so your boss finally threw the knife elsewhere and let out a sigh.

His brother's heart hitted like a drum. Of course he was scared of the man that had killed his whole family.

The tall man turned around to keep himself under control as long as you were in the room. But he still wouldn't let go so easy, he hadn’t got a proper answer from his puppet yet.

"Now, Dongyeon. Answer now or I will show you that I don't care when someone is watching." He threatened and looked outside the glass wall.

The male, who still sat there, completely zoned out, looking a bit traumatised, now opened his mouth in hope to be able to form a sentence this time.

"I offered to take care of this company. So it wouldn't be a burden anymore." He stammered.

You smiled, proud at him and approached his seat, earning a scared gasp of him. You stopped immediately, not wanting to terrify him even more.

"Why not, Taec? Let him take care of this building. He learnt a lot from you. And you are still in control. No reason to be angry about. He just wants to help." You spoke to your boss, making him turn back around.

He gave you a grin. He liked you and maybe you were right. So he nodded in agreement, letting it go finally.

Then his gaze went to his brother again, stepping up to him.

And the fear in the man's eyes was back. You were watching and ready to make a move.

"Good, brother. Do a good job. Otherwise it will have consequences, understand?" He asked him.

Dongyeon nodded fastly, tremling under his intense gaze.

You realised under how much pressure he was because of his not so gentle older brother.

"No, Taecyeon. He will do his best, it's human to make mistakes and have failures. Don't expect your brother to make or have none." You made clear and made sure to keep a straight face while looking at him.

"Sure." He gave in. "Go home, Dongyeon. Get some rest." He told him, before getting over to the table and sitting himself down.

You were feeling bad for his younger brother. So you hugged him as you saw how much he struggled to just get up from his seat. He was so surprised but also scared that Taecyeon wouldn't want him to have physical contact with you.

In private the older had always claimed you as his, he remembered.

The man in your arms looked in his brothers eyes, checking his reaction. Of course Teacyeon did not enjoy seeing that, but he kept silent and began eating.

After some good seconds you let him go and he disappeared out of the room fastly.

You sighed.

"Let him rest more, Taec. He needs a break from you." You said while going over to your own seat.

"No, I need his face, to keep mine a secret." He refused.

You were getting angry at his impulsive behaviour.

"Hear me out, boss. Either you will be more friendly to him, or this will have consequences. I want him to have a clear mind when he handles things that involve our safety."

Taecyeon rose an eyebrow. He liked playing with you, too bad you were a good player too.

"What do have in mind for him? Will you make him submit to you and fuck him?" He tried to surprise you with his choice of words.

But you didn't even look up from you food.

"No, I'm not interested in that. I only want him to feel safe and not terrified of you. Stop threatening him, or I will threathen you." You cold voice filled the room.

"You impress me every single time, baby. But I wanted you to come here to ask you if you are still satisfied with Young's abilities." He stated, talking about business now.

"Yes, don't worry, Taec." You assured him and gave him a simple smile.

He leaned back while letting out a comfortable moan.

"You are truly the only one that never disappointed me. You are so fierce. Why won't you be my actual girlfriend?" He suggested, convinced you would obey him perfectly.

"I don't think that's a good idea. You shouldn't get romantic feelings for me, Taecyeon. I'm the wrong person for that." You confessed truthfully.

"No, no. Don't think that. I just want to call you mine already. People keep asking me about it and I'm tired of liying. It's decided already, little one. As you said, I'm in control and today I'm not in the mood to compromise or tolerate another protest. Do I made myself clear?" He checked for your answer.

You gulped. Even if you had a chance against him in a physical way, you could never win completely, if he didn't want you to.

"Yes. But I'm not your girlfriend to satisfy any of your sexual needs. I'm here to work, that's all I want."

He smiled at you words. He would be surprised to hear you tell him the opposite. And he respected that. Even if he would gladly accept it if you would change your mind.

"That's all I want for now, too." He replied while wearing a mischievous grin on his lips.

#jinyoung #kpop imagines #got7 imagines #vicenzo #mafia au #Spotify #kwak dongyeon #ok taecyeon

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thunderstormsandmagic · 3 years

Text

Caged Animal

“Hey, scum, get up,” a guard yelled as they banged their wand against the bars on the door of his cell. “Your presence is needed once again.” Draco Malfoy waited for the guard to walk away, and then slowly sat up from his cot. He wasn’t sure what day it was. Sometime in April or May? The year was 2003, he knew that for certain. He ran his hands over his face, getting ready for what would be another torturous day of life as Death Eater “scum”, as the guard had so eloquently said.

After Harry Potter had beaten Voldemort at the Battle of Hogwarts, the Wizarding world had slowly started to go back to normal. All three members of the Malfoy family had gone back to Malfoy Manor, waiting for the inevitable day when they would be arrested. They all stayed in the same room, as they had when Draco had nightmares as a boy, having their house-elves deliver food and whatever else they needed to them. They never said much, just relished in the fact that for the first time in years, there was not a dark wizard sitting in their home and threatening their lives. Then one day, the Aurors came and all three were arrested. They went willingly, knowing it wasn’t worth putting up a fight. They were all placed in holding cells in Azkaban, himself and his mother in one, and his father in another. His father was quickly tried by the Wizengamot and found guilty, sentenced to life in prison. He passed away shortly after that, his body not being able to handle the poor conditions of Azkaban and knowing he would never see his wife and son again. When Draco and Narcissa were told the news, he held his mother as she cried, praying to Merlin that his mother did not receive the same fate as his father.

His mother’s trial had gone on longer than his father’s, not as clear cut of a case. Her sentencing had required all of the Malfoy vaults to be drained and the money “donated” to rebuilding Hogwarts. That only left his mother with her inheritance from the Black side of the family. Despite the fact that he was upset at her situation, he was eternally grateful that she avoided Azkaban. He had been told by the guards, taunted more like it, that the great Harry Potter had testified for his mother.

When it came time for his trial, he knew that there was no way he was going to leave Azkaban. His father had died and his mother had gotten away relatively unscathed. They had wanted to make an example out of his family and he was their last chance to do so. When he had been carted from Azkaban to the Ministry, he didn’t say anything. During his trial, he listened as the various members of the Wizengamot recited his war crimes, embellishing them to be more than they were, but he didn’t argue. He deserved everything that was coming to him. Bloody Harry Potter testified at his trial, just like he had done for his mother. But Hermione Granger also showed up and he couldn’t believe his eyes when her name was called and she went up to the witness stand. He was still in disbelief as he listened to her share her story of how he wouldn’t identify her and her friends when they had been brought to his home. He watched the way her right hand constantly grasped over her left forearm, knowing full well what was under there. He wanted to shout from his cage that she was wrong. Draco didn’t identify her or her friends because he was a good person. It was for his own selfish reasons. The Dark Lord was out of the house and he and his parents tried to enjoy any moment they could without him there. He just did not want him summoned back yet. He had only just left their home.

He couldn’t look her in the eyes, although he could feel her staring down at him in his cage. He just sat there for the rest of the trail, trying not to let the memory of her torture overwhelm him. Even though two-thirds of the Golden Trio had testified on his behalf, he was still sentenced to life in prison. Not only that, but any money that was his from the Malfoy or Black inheritance was to be “donated” to rebuilding causes from the war. “It’s not like he will be needing it in Azkaban,” he had heard one member of the Wizengamot mumble to another. And so, a week after he turned 18, Draco Malfoy had accepted his fate of life in prison, being someone who the Ministry locked up and forgot about. He had no wand, no magic, no money, and no one thinking of him except his mother.

However, the Ministry did not forget about him. Just about a week after he had been sentenced, a guard had banged on his cell, waking him up, and told him he was wanted at the Ministry. He had been thoroughly confused but was in no place to fight it, so he went. He had been led by two Aurors to an apparition site that went straight into the Ministry. When he arrived, he was placed in a holding cell. After waiting for a while, a member of the Wizengamot arrived and told him that he was here to testify against other Death Eaters. In return, he would receive some time off from his sentence in Azkaban. Draco wanted to scoff at the man, like time shaved off a life sentence would make a difference, but kept his mouth shut and nodded. He did as he was told, testified against Corban Yaxley, and was taken back to Azkaban. This would happen every few weeks, during the height of the Death Eater trials, and then it became every few months when there were fewer Death Eaters captured or the lesser-known ones that needed more preparation to face trial. Although testifying got him out of a cell for a few hours, he still hated going.

It seemed it would be another day of answering questions and doing what he was told. Another few years of his life sentence knocked off for testifying against a rogue Death Eater. “Yes, I do recognize him.” “Yes, he did sit around my dining room table with the Dark Lord at the head.” “Yes, I did watch him torture and kill innocent people.” All while she sat there and watched him testify. It wasn’t seeing his former “colleagues” that upset him about these trips, and it wasn’t that the guards treated him as if he was the dirt in the bottom of their dragon-hide boots. It also wasn’t that his nightmares were always worse on those nights because he had to relive the horrors of the accused. It was seeing her sitting in the stands, looking at him curiously. She was always there and he had no idea why. Maybe she got off on the fact that he was stuck in Azkaban for the rest of his life and came to see him locked in a cage like an animal. Maybe she was there to gloat, although neither of those reasons seemed like her. But then again, he didn’t really know her. He was just the boy who called her names at school. He was just the man who willingly took a mark that branded him as a villain for the rest of his life. He was just a man who couldn’t look her in the eye because he was too much of a coward. Perhaps she was able to sleep better at night knowing that the man whose home she had been tortured in was locked up for the rest of his life. He knew if the roles were reversed, that would make him feel safer.

Draco pulled himself together as best as he could and waited by the cell door for the guards to come back and get him. When they did, they gave him some stale bread and then led him down to the apparition point where they then took him to the Ministry. Draco knew the routine by now and just did what he was expected to do. After the guards locked him in the holding cell and left, he finally let out the breath he had been holding and sat down on the floor, facing the door so he could see if anyone came in. He leaned back against the metal bars of the cell, which was more like a cage than he cared to admit to himself. He took a piece of the stale bread and placed it into his mouth, trying not to eat it too fast.

He was halfway done with the bread when the door opened, and Draco stood up quickly, ready to be taken by a guard to the courtroom. Much to his surprise, it was not a guard who opened the door but Hermione Granger.

“Malfoy,” she said, watching him and waiting for him to do something. Draco nodded at her and responded with a “Granger.”

“I’m sure you are surprised to see me. You are not here to testify today. You are here because I need to talk to you,” she told him and he raised an eyebrow, curious. “First, would you like some tea? I brought some biscuits too.” He wanted to sob. He hadn’t had either tea or biscuits in years and the thought of eating something more than stale bread or cold soup was practically making him drool. But he couldn’t be weak in front of her, so he politely nodded, feigning disinterest.

“I know it isn’t much, but more than you would get in Azkaban. It’s nice to celebrate and I figured you hadn’t done so in years,” Granger said to him as she opened the tin of biscuits she had pulled out of a bag and held it out to him. He tried to think about what could be so important to celebrate, important enough that she would pull him out of Azkaban. She could see his puzzled expression so she clarified. “Today is your 23rd birthday.” His hand froze as he was reaching for a biscuit. His birthday? It was already June?

“You didn’t know,” Hermione said, having noticed his reaction. He slowly shook his head no, embarrassed that he did not know it was his birthday, and resumed picking out some biscuits from the tin, avoiding the fruity ones, and selecting the ones with chocolate. How was he supposed to keep track of time in Azkaban?

She summoned a chair from the other side of the room and sat down, pulling out a thermos full of tea and some mugs from her bag. She poured the tea and handed him a mug. “I apologize, I don’t know how you like your tea,” she told him.

“Not to worry,” he muttered, afraid that his voice would break if he spoke louder. He wrapped both hands around the mug and took a small sip. He hadn’t felt anything this warm in almost five years. He let out a shuddering breath and held the mug right under his face, letting the steam drift up and tickle him. He knew she was sitting and watching him, but he didn’t care. He had forgotten what anything other than cold felt like. He took another sip of the tea and felt the warmth move from his head, downwards as he swallowed and it settled into his stomach. He then held the mug in one hand and picked up one of the biscuits with the other. He took a small bite, worried that a big one would make him sick, and closed his eyes. He couldn’t remember a time when biscuits tasted so good. It was shortbread with a chocolate drizzle on top and he had to stop himself from shoving the couple he had grabbed into his face. After a few minutes of simply enjoying his birthday delights, he looked back up at her, ready for her to say what she needed to say.

“As you know, you have been testifying against Death Eaters for the past few years in exchange for time off your sentence to Azkaban. I have come to let you know that you will be free from that horrid prison in one week.” Draco was thankful he had not sipped the tea again because he would have surely spit it out.

“What?” he asked, not believing what she was saying. One week left? That would mean he would only have spent five years? There was no way the Wizengamot would let that slide.

“I have been working for the Wizengamot Administration Services in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. I made it my job to get you to testify in as many trials as I could. I was able to get you into enough that you essentially have no time left. In fact, the Wizengamot should owe you, but I figured that battle wasn’t worth fighting. They didn’t realize how many testimonies you gave until I wrote up the paperwork, and trust me, they weren’t happy, but they couldn’t ignore it, so ta-da!” She looked very proud of herself for all she had done, but he wasn’t happy.

“Why? Why would you do that for some Death Eater scum?” he asked, frustrated. “You’ve certainly ruined your career, whatever it might have been. What about your friends? I’m sure Potter and Weasley were ecstatic to hear that you have gotten me out of Azkaban. I’m sure they believed I got what was coming to me. What will the world think when they find out their precious Golden Girl got a war criminal out of jail, Draco Malfoy no less? You are mad Granger!” He took the mug with tea and threw it out of the holding cell. He instantly regretted it, having wanted to finish the tea, but he was annoyed and this was the only way he could show it. The mug clamored to the ground by her feet but she left it there. She was shocked, and for a brief second, she let her surprise show. But then it was gone and was replaced with determination.

“I’m not another one of your pity projects,” he yelled at her. “You can’t win me over with tea and biscuits! I’m not a house-elf in need of freedom. I’m not some caged animal.” But the irony was not wasted on him as he leaned back and felt the cold metal bars press against his skin. He looked at her, trying to muster as much hatred as he could into his stare, but just didn’t have the energy to do so. The yelling and frustration had drained him and now he was trying to catch his breath. He realized it was no use fighting when he was malnourished. “I got what I deserved. I didn't ask for your sympathy,” he said to her, this time more quietly and looked down and away from her.

She walked up to the barred cage he was in and released an exhausted but annoyed sigh. “I have no sympathy for you. I do, however, have empathy. I know what it’s like to be treated as less than you are. Mudblood, remember?” She pointed to herself and he flinched when she said the word, and he knew she had seen him. “I am here because you do deserve better. You are a human being and you aren’t even being treated as such. Your trial was a show of political power and it wasn’t fair. There wasn’t enough evidence to support such a harsh sentence. They only did it to make an example out of you and that is not right. I will be getting you out of here next week, whether you like it or not. You deserve to see the sun again. You deserve to know it is your birthday and celebrate it. You deserve a well rounded meal. You deserve your magic back. You deserve to be reunited with your mother.” He continued to look at the ground, thinking he might actually cry if he looked at her and he would not cry in front of Hermione Granger. “You only have a week left, so stay alive and have hope. This time next week, I will be back, and you will be a free man.” She took a step back, away from the jail cell he was in, preparing to leave. She picked up the mug he threw and placed it and its counterpart back into her bag. She took the biscuit tin with her too. She made her way towards the door.

“Thank you Hermione,” he whispered, not sure if she could hear him. Her steps faltered a bit, but she continued to walk out, nodding to the guard who had slipped in when he heard yelling. The guard looked at Draco and left the room, leaving him alone to crumble to the floor and sob.

#dramione #draco malfoy #hermione granger #harry potter #caged animal #forever my otp #im proud of this

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9worldstales · 3 years

Text

MCU Loki: Why so far it had been disappointing how the series has dealt with what the TVA had been doing

Right from when the series started I carried on the belief that what the TVA was doing was horrible, a mix between a Nazi regime and a fanatical cult down to the elements of police brutality, to the extermination and persecution of people they felt different and lesser, detrimental for their own self being all out of blind faith to something they were indoctrinated into.

I was expecting a serious analysis of this from the show since Waldron seemed to be so enthusiast of the TVA as it was his creature

“The TVA is just an entirely new world [with] a new cast of characters, and that’s what felt most exciting about the show: building a new corner of the MCU.’ What if this was the best show ever?’ I think that was literally my pitch. My pitch for the show was kind of a big, crazy, fun-time adventure.”

[‘Loki’ Writer Michael Waldron On Building ‘A New Corner Of The MCU’]

References to the TVA being bad needed to wait till Ep. 3 “Lamentis 1” and where just two lines:

Sylvie: So, naturally you went to work for the boring, oppressive time police. [Ep 3]

Sylvie: It must have started when I spent my entire life running from the omniscient fascists you work for. [Ep 3]

More than focusing on how horrid the TVA is, both sentences criticize Loki for cooperating with the TVA even if he was forced into it as he couldn’t escape, cooperating with them was his only way to survive, the implication being he should have taken the hero route and die instead than accept to join forces with the TVA.

Mind you, it could have been an interesting angle to look at. How people can embrace terrible things in order to survive. After all we saw Loki cooperating with Thanos under the promise if he were to fail recovering the Tesseract death would be a preferable option than failure.

THE OTHER: You will have your war, Asgardian. If you fail, if the Tesseract is kept from us, there will be no realm, no barren moon, no crevice where he can't find you. You think you know pain? He will make you long for something as sweet as pain.

The series could have drawn parallels from both situations, either making a point one should never bent or that sometimes you can’t do anything else but bent because not everyone is born as a hero, or because you’re just waiting for a time in which you can oppose as sometimes getting heroically killed for your ideals can be also very unproductive.

But no, it’s not this series.

Loki will maintain he accepted to work with the TVA not because his other option was being killed (something that’s remarked more than once), but because he wanted to get to the Time-Keepers to steal their powers or something like that. If he’s lying to himself to cope with the situation that’s not a problem the series pose to itself as the series seem to embrace this explanation even if it made clear Loki would be reset if he didn’t cooperate.

Episode 3 also introduces the idea that people at the TVA works under a false belief. They think they were created by the Time-Keepers but in truth they are brainwashed Variants they kidnapped from their timelines.

Okay, it was another possible interesting route. Loki was a Frost Giant raised on the idea he was an Asgardian, there could be a parallel here… though one that, for the TVA, was less interesting.

The TVA members are enthusiastic believers. Most of them show no empathy toward the Variants, no pity. They belittle and humiliate them, handle them as beings with no rights, punish them for not obeying rules they didn’t know existed in the first place. Feelings rage from enjoying doing it to just doing it the way a boot steps over a ant to use a familiar metaphor.

The fact that in episode 4 B-15, after discovering the truth, will go: ‘I looked happy (in my previous life)!’ doesn’t really make me feel very sorry for her on an intellectual plan.

Yes, what the TVA did to B-15 was wrong, but what about what she did to others without a single remorse? Enjoying her work?

But, whatever, not everyone on the TVA seemed to belittle Variants, in ep 1 & 2 Mobius showed some form of pity for them, not enough it’ll stop him but enough we can think he didn’t enjoy what was being done to the Variants so knowing how he’ll react could be interesting, couldn’t it?

We reach Ep. 4 “Nexus Event”.

While we see the TVA did to a child version of Sylvie what they did to Loki and this time there isn’t any ounce of doubt that it wasn’t fun, this isn’t really used to throw shades at the TVA but to underline how Sylvie’s life was miserable.

Sylvie: I remember Asgard. Not much, but I remember. My home, my people, my life. The universe wants to break free, so it manifests chaos. Like me being born the Goddess of Mischief. And as soon as that created a big enough detour from the Sacred Timeline, the TVA showed up, erased my reality, and took me prisoner. I was just a child. I escaped. Stole a TemPad and I ran for a long, long time, which really sucked. Everywhere and every-when I went, it caused a nexus event. Sent up a smoke flare. Because I'm not supposed to exist. Until, eventually, I figured out where to hide. And so that's where I grew up, the ends of a thousand worlds. ( /Scoffs/ ) Now... that's where I'll die.

Thanks to the TVA, so it’s possible to make the connection that if Sylvie was in pain due to the TVA the TVA is a bad guy, but it’s again left vague.

In an episode that feel the need to have Loki define himself as a ‘horrible person’ and a ‘narcissist’, that calls him ‘an asshole and a bad friend’ using ‘a cockroach's survival mechanism’ when he actually says the truth and how he is a ‘conniving, craven, pathetic worm’ who should know he ‘deserve to be alone and always will be’ let’s not talk about how terrible the TVA is.

After all, according to the previous episode they’re just ‘boring, oppressive, omniscient fascists’. Nothing big.

And it’s nothing big, really.

C-20, B-15 and even Mobius, once discovering the truth are solely concerned about how the TVA lied to them, not of how they had been the TVA accomplices into wiping countless lives from existence.

Hunter B-15: I looked happy. What now?

Hunter C-20: "Calm down"? I'm a Variant. So are you. So is every single person in this place. I'm ending this.

Mobius: You know where I'd go if I could go anywhere? Wherever it is I'm really from. Yeah, wherever I had a life before the TVA came along. Maybe I had a jet ski. That's what I'd like to do. Just riding around on my jet ski.

They don’t care about what they had done with the TVA, they are okay with burning the place merely because the TVA has wronged them. But okay, maybe they need time to elaborate, to realize the implication of what they’ve done.

For C-20, who was reset, there’s no more time but…

Hunter B-15: Why am I locked in here?

Renslayer: You freed the Variant. You were disloyal to the TVA.

Hunter B-15: Disloyal?

Renslayer: Did you think you'd escape punishment for that?

Hunter B-15: Disloyal to who? You were in the Time-Keepers' chambers. They weren't real.

Renslayer: And why does that change anything?

Hunter B-15: That changes everything! The people need to know the truth.

Actually what the people need prior to that is to stop. Stop pruning other existences who’re exactly the same as their own. The biggest problem, the biggest CRIME isn’t that the TVA has done TO THEM, as, in doing so, it has at least spared their lives, it’s that they had killed countless galaxies and continue doing so.

So we move to Mobius.

I… I really don’t get what the series wants to do with Mobius. Although he wasn’t perfect, he seemed a decent guy in episode 1 & 2, one that wouldn’t enjoy hurting or scaring Variants without a reason. Yes he believed they needed to be eliminated… but didn’t enjoy doing it.

Yes, the way he ‘interrogated’ Loki in episode 1 was bad… but he believed he was doing only his work, that interrogation might have a point, some of the things he said weren’t meant to be just verbally abusive for the sake of it but were part of his ‘credo’ in which people had to follow the path of the sacred timeline and a side of him might have felt sympathy or pity for him. Although he knew it was risky he wanted to have faith in Loki.

Episode 4 tossed all that away with the worst interrogation scene possible. It contained gratuitous beating, psychological abuse/manipulation, derogatory comments, pointless questions while Mobius defined himself as Loki’s friend in the same episode. That scene has no purpose if not to beat and belittle Loki. What’s worse, when Mobius discovers the truth and goes to Loki, instead than asking him how he feels after such a beating he asks him what he’s doing… and I won’t dig into the rest of the conversation because it’s horrid.

Mobius’ ideas of apology for what he has done to his supposed friend is:

Mobius: You were right, about the TVA. You were right from the beginning. And if you wanna save her, you need to trust me. Can we do that?

Loki: Yes.

Mobius: Okay. You could be whoever, whatever you wanna be, even someone good. I mean, just in case anyone ever told you different.

It was Mobius who told him differently. Okay, he has acknowledged Loki was right and he was wrong but not that he had unfairly had him beaten for God knows how long for no reason. But okay, maybe Mobius too needed time to internalize all that, so let’s look at episode 5.

Let’s face it, no, what Mobius did to Loki won’t come up again with Loki, Sylvie will merely tell Loki (and to us) Mobius ‘isn't so bad’ and that he cares about Loki. Loki will counter Mobius isn’t so good either but that’s why he gets along with him.

I… I’m not sure what the series is trying to do at this point with Mobius, all we get about what he did with the Variants in Episode 5 is this.

Mobius: All that time, I really believed we were the good guys.

Sylvie: Annihilating entire realities, orphaning little girls, classic hero stuff.

Mobius: Well, I guess when you think the ends justify the means, there's not much you won't do. By the way, you did some annihilating too.

Sylvie: I did what I had to do.

Mobius: Yeah, so did I.

Sylvie: You hunted me like a dog.

Mobius: I'm sorry about that.

Mobius admits they weren’t the good guys, which would be great if it wasn’t for the fact the moment Sylvie points out how he was dumb at not realizing it sooner because we finally are told that the TVA is responsible for ‘Annihilating entire realities, orphaning little girls’, Mobius defends his actions!

The ends justify the means, you did some annihilating too, I did what I had to do.

Hey, news flash, no, those aren’t excuses. This is not a game about who annihilated more make penitence and anyway, if this was the case, the TVA wins. You killed countless people and now you’re complaining you aren’t a hero? That others are bad too? That you were forced to do it when you were a willing believer that refused to question things even though Loki immediately pointed out how it all was dumb?

Mobius: Odin, God of the Heavens. Asgard, mystical realm, beyond the stars. Frost Giants. Listen to yourself...

Loki: It's not the same. It's completely different. No. It's not the same.

Mobius: It's exactly the same thing. Because if you think too hard about where any of us came from, who we truly are, it sounds kinda ridiculous. Existence is chaos. Nothing makes any sense, so we try to make some sense of it. And I'm just lucky that the chaos I emerged into gave me all this... My own glorious purpose. Cause the TVA is my life. And it's real because I believe it's real.

It took Sylvie remarking he hunted her like a animal to finally get him to apologize on something… and she’s the only one he apologizes to.

We don’t hear him apologizing to the other Loki Variants and this is his new glorious purpose:

Kid Loki: Mobius, assuming you do get back to the TVA, what exactly are you getting yourself into?

Mobius: I don't know. I'd like to let people know the truth.

Again it seems the biggest deal is the TVA lied to them and took them away from their lives, not that they pruned countless others without a care.

There’s no self reflection, there’s no horror for what they had done to the other Variants who were just like them.

When Kid Loki and Classic Loki say they’ll remain there because that’s their home he doesn’t counter ‘no, this isn’t and I’m sorry we let you believe this.’ It’s Loki who worries for them, pointing out the dangers of the place. Mobius, who’s either directly responsible or connected to the one responsible for them ending there and losing their whole world, says nothing.

So his sympathy toward the Variants, his pity… was it all fake?

Doesn’t he care anymore? This is the road the story decided to go with him?

Since Mobius has gained popularity into the fandom thanks to the first 2 episodes, to Owen Wilson and to those who shipped him with Loki, let’s strip him of what really made him great, the fact he didn’t enjoy mistreating the Variants and turns him into someone who doesn’t care?

What next, is he going to become the new villain?

Damn it, this series started with a full episode questioning what Loki did in New York, pointing out how Loki’s belief ‘he would make it easy for humans’ because ‘freedom is a lie’ is an idiocy, how he was just a murderer and asking him if he enjoyed hurting people and making him say that no, he didn’t that he was bad, that he was a narcissist and yadda, yadda, yadda, then it turns out Mobius annihilated entire realities, orphaning little girls, all because freedom is a lie and we’ve all to do what the Time-Keepers decided and let’s have the guy you call friend beaten up at random for no good reason and… and that’s what we get?

That he rebels to the Time-Keepers because they had dared to lie TO HIM about not having created him?

Is the series trying to make a point about how people at the TVA can accuse Loki of not being good but they’re actually worse because they did much worse and didn’t care at all about their victims?

Is it a critic to society, that find easy to criticize someone but can’t admit they do worse? Won’t even see they’re doing worse and would resent instead for any little slight done to them?

It would be an interesting theme… the problem is it doesn’t seem to be the goal of the series as it tends to overlook the TVA, its fascist behaviour and the annihilation of civilizations at the hands of willing, albeit indoctrinated members, to focus more on how the TVA wronged solely Sylvie (her complain about her being orphaned is more about HER being orphaned than about HER PARENTS having been killed) and the TVA members.

It’s fair to see the TVA members as victims… they are… but what about the other Variants who got erased? What about how the TVA members had been complicit in said elimination, enjoying it, gratuitously mistreating and belittling Variants before eliminating them?

Is it just up to us viewers realize it because the story isn’t going to do the work for us?

I don’t know. I hope the last episode will do something to fix this.

There’s still an episode after all and maybe I’m worrying over nothing, maybe someone, Mobius preferably because I want to go back considering him a decent guy, not perfect because nobody is perfect but decent, and I don’t like what episode 4 has done with him, will regret what was done to way too many people by the ones who were working at the TVA.

I’ll be fine if they still need to internalize what they had done... but I’d like for them to be done internalizing before the series ends because otherwise it’s just skipping over the whole topic.

So... I’ll try to keep hopeful. Maybe they won’t disappoint me.

#mcu loki #mobius m mobius #hunter b 15 #hunter c 20 #loki #loki laufeyson #sylvie #time variance authority #9 worlds study

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honey-hippie-harper · 3 years

Text

through the burning shell

Hello it’s been 84 years.

This is fun :): I wrote this as a Christmas present for @obsidianfr3sk (YES DAWNIE KEEP POSTING YOU CHRISTMAS FICS DURING MARCH. YOU GO GIRL) and it’s a sequel to my other fic “through the bleeding shell” where I basically try to save Simon and Hugh from the queerbaiting MM turned them into by adding a certain degree of complexity to their relationship. This is a story about gays, grief and a dead friend + Simon defending Nova bc I don’t roll with Supernova. Hence, I am not morally obligated to obey canon <3

Anyway afgdhjafghsj i don’t think you need to read the first part to understand this, and I hope you like it <3. I don’t want to give much away, but this sort of turned into a collaboration that got out of control and @obsidianfr3sk might write a third part in the future ;)

through the burning shell

“There have been rumors that the public revealing of Agent N is to include a public execution as well.”

Being all together, right there, Simon saw Hugh narrowing his eyes, staring directly at Genissa Clark, formerly Frostbite, now neutralized, along with the rest of her team.

Well.

Almost all of them.

“That’s true.” Hugh started, and Simon couldn’t help but think he shouldn’t have answered. A part of him was getting a pretty bad feeling from this. “For his crimes against humanity, Ace Anarchy has been sentenced to death.”

“Why stop there?” Said Genissa. “I would argue that his accomplices deserve the same fate.”

The same fate.

His brain struggled to make a connection between that sentence and the one Hugh had uttered. At first, he didn’t understand. A couple of fast seconds later, Simon realized that, by saying “fate”, she was referencing something.

She was referencing, more specifically, Ace Anarchy’s sentence.

A death sentence.

Accomplices.

The Anarchists.

“Nightmare deserves the same fate.” Nova deserves the same fate. “Nightmare must die… And I want to be the one to do it.”

Nova must die.

And I want to be the one to do it.

A child killing another child, publicly, with the Renegades’ permission.

A child they had taken under their wing, Genissa Clark that is, killing another child, who had been in Simon’s house, who had touched Adrian’s heart, and who had made bad choices but was still a person. The official version of the events said she had stabbed Max, and Danna claimed she was Nightmare, but they hadn’t taken any declarations or anything, so that story might as well just change.

Simon couldn’t help but feel she didn’t deserve to die.

Maybe because she actually didn’t. It didn’t feel fair.

One thing was sentencing Ace Anarchy, the man who had lifted an entire city, leaving a ridiculously huge number of deaths in the process, who had stolen, broken and burned, who had killed a man (the mayor) and his pregnant wife, who had killed his own brother, sister-in-law and possibly his two nieces...and another, pretty different thing was to allow this 19 year old girl kill a 16 year old one, who had some crimes that could put her into jail for like 3 or 5 years, but weren’t horrible enough to give her a death sentence. She was a minor. She wasn’t yet beyond repair…

And if she was to be executed, then she was still a minor. She didn’t deserve to be humiliated like that. She didn’t deserve her life to be taken away with so little dignity.

Not by Genissa Clark.

Not like that.

And, stars, please, not now.

Not right now.

It was unthinkable, it was barbaric, it was animal, it was almost as if…

A quiet chuckle.

A quiet chuckle that, suddenly, interrupted his train of thought and, with all the pain in his heart, he was able to recognize in a blink.

Evander was chuckling.

Genissa Clark, nonchalantly, was blackmailing them. She was trading her silence for the legal permission to kill someone, in front of a crowded arena. And Evander was chuckling.

Genissa Clark wanted to murder Nova, and Evander was chuckling.

“Is that all it will take to quit their complaining?”

What else did he want?

“Works for me.”

Simon almost flinched to the audacity. To the severity of the implication. To the way he was saying it. So smug. So relaxed, so….Evander it almost made Simon mad.

That was so Evander lately.

Because, lately, Evander didn’t understand anything. Not even because he had a pregnant wife waiting for him at home. There was life inside that woman. Life that had come from him.

How couldn’t he understand?

How could somebody be so cold?

“These are lives we’re discussing.” Simon reminded him, shooting a look in his direction.

“Villains’ lives.” Evander responded. “Nightmare doesn’t deserve mercy any more than Ace Anarchy does. She was the one who neutralized them, so it seems fair to me.”

Villains’ lives were still lives.

Nova was a person.

Nova was...Nightmare, but before Nightmare, she was Nova, and Hugh and him had met her personally. Adrian had met her personally.

And, besides, with this logic, then all the Renegades were to be executed.

After all, Agent N was meant to be used by Renegades. They were the ones who were planning to neutralize people when they felt threatened. But when Nightmare did it, then she immediately deserved the death penalty.

Hugh would understand that. Everyone would understand that, just like Simon did.

They had to understand it.

Hugh had to understand it.

-.-

Yet, he didn’t.

Some time ago, Hugh had pledged to understand. Not directly per se, but he had pledged it in the name of his cause.

He promised he would understand.

And then, when he needed to understand the most, he didn’t.

He said he would.

Then he fucking didn’t.

“How can we run a city, much less an entire world, if we’re busy dealing with every trivial bit of bureaucratic nonsense that comes up?” He said.

“This solves two problems at once.” He said.

And he said that to Adrian’s, their son, face. Their son, who was just trying to help, by questioning how morally correct was to do something like that, just like Tamaya, Kasumi and himself had done, being ignored in the process.

“We need that right now. And we need to be united in this decision.”

“And why’s that, exactly?” Adrian asked. “Do we not want the world to know this is actually a dictatorship?”

In that moment, Simon knew Adrian had never spoken to Hugh like that. He had always been a pretty calm kid, who liked to question their decisions sometimes because, as a Renegade himself, of course he would feel uncomfortable or have doubts sometimes. But never had he called Hugh out. Not in that tone. Not with that entire bottle of venom flowing out of his mouth, melting his teeth, and mixing with his boiling blood.

Simon felt unable to tell him to stop, after his own voice had been ignored, and Hugh pretended Evander was the only one who mattered in the team. And it wasn’t that Evander didn’t matter.

It was just that he was wrong.

Besides, harsh as that sounded, Simon still couldn’t believe that those stinky, rotting, putrid, nauseating words had come from Hugh’s mouth. His Hugh. The man he had decided to marry, because he loved him so, so much, for him had been able to see him even when he was invisible. Literally.

Right in front of his eyes, Hugh morphed into a caricaturesque villain. His hands, which Simon had held so many times, were suddenly covered in both dry and fresh blood, red as an apple, but smelling like death.

Death.

The same death that was living like a parasite inside of his eyes, the only place that other people could harm. And the parasite was traveling through his system, all the way to his brain, spinning it around like a mirrorball, and eating from it like he was nothing.

Hugh’s hands were tied, too, and the strings were made of rope, a material he could easily tear apart, but seemed to have forgotten about that.

He was like a puppet, as the press, as society, and as tons and tons of eyes pulled from the ropes.

And nobody knew how to free him, not even himself.

“Do we not want the world to know this is actually a dictatorship?”

Adrian’s voice haunted him for days. The way in which he said that haunted him for days, and after a while, Simon just accepted he wouldn’t be able to get rid of it. It had become another one of the wounds he carried, open and bleeding, through life. The worst part of it all, was that Simon knew Adrian was right. That, at this point, everyone but Hugh, Evander and Genissa Clark were right.

But if he knew where had they gone wrong, and if he knew he didn’t agree with this monstrosity...why did it hurt so much?

How did you speak to a person who didn’t want to listen?

And, most importantly: Where were you supposed to get the courage to do it from?

-.-

Nova had spent seventeen days in Cragmoor Penitentiary when Adrian said he wanted to see her. He had been so mad at her, that it caught Simon off guard.

Not that he wasn’t able to understand it.

Adrian had had a couple of girlfriends and boyfriends throughout his life but, from what Simon could see, Nova was by far the one he had been the most serious about, to the point it almost seemed she was the one who would stay. Simon would’ve wanted to see his partner too, no matter how mad he was at said partner, if he knew they had been sentenced to death.

As fast as they could, knowing they were facing an authority (Adrian had asked them to be with him in the room), the wardens brought her right away, in a matter of minutes.

Through the glass, Simon saw her, on the metal platform, with her arms and legs being held, tightly, by braces, which were equally made of metal. For the look in her eye, Simon could almost hear her desperate begs for her visitor not to be Adrian. Yet, he had been, and he wasn’t alone, which, if anything, only made it worse.

Simon, from his part, was staring at two different glasses at the time. The one that divided them from Nova, and Adrian’s glasses, which revealed the pain he was penetrating Nova’s soul with, and also the rage he was entitled to feel.

But Nova looked small.

She, in fact, looked as small as she actually was.

She was almost a kid. She hadn’t yet started living. Yet, she was locked up here, and would only be taken out to be killed.

Nova’s body was shaking, just like Adrian’s. Her chin was quivering so much it almost seemed like she was cold, and Simon felt a twinge in his stomach. He felt nauseous and dizzy. And so evil and so guilty.

For some reason, he pictured a child, because Nova had been a younger child once, full of joy and innocence.

He pictured a child. Just like that.

Maybe she was wearing pigtails, had a gap between two of her teeth, and bruised legs, because she liked to play outside with her friends. Maybe, before she became Nightmare, she had something else to hold on to. Maybe she, like many people out there, had hoped for the Renegades to come, and when they didn’t do it, something became numb, and cold, and she started freezing to death, just like she would remain freezing, suspended in History, as the interrupted life who was the proof the Renegades had become the one thing they promised they would never be.

And Simon didn’t want to be part of that, yet he was still here.

He was still here, thinking about how fortunate he was that Nova wasn’t staring back at him, but at Adrian instead, as selfish as that might’ve sounded.

Simon felt he had lost the right to look her in the eye, having been the one who promised her, on several occasions, that she could look into theirs.

With each one of his limbs becoming tense, Simon took a deep breath. His mouth tasted like bile, and his whole body was pounding along with this heart. It felt like one of those times when you were almost a hundred percent sure you were having a heart attack, despite knowing that, if that was the case, you would already be on the floor crying for help.

Next thing he felt was the sudden and strong urge to speak.

He would’ve liked to talk to Nova, but through this glass, she couldn’t hear anything.

Besides, Simon knew that this moment wasn’t about him, or Hugh. They were involved in it. They were carrying it in their backs like a cross, but it wasn’t about them. It was about Nova and Adrian. There was glass between the two. They could press their hands together through it, but they couldn’t touch the other’s skin. They couldn’t feel the air the other breathed in the short distance. They couldn’t kiss. It was scary. It was sad. And it wasn’t awfully familiar.

But it wasn’t about Simon or Hugh.

“Do you need some privacy?” Simon asked, perhaps to both of them, knowing one wouldn’t be able to hear him, even if she tried.

In response, Adrian turned his gaze away from Nova, staring at Simon instead, nodding.

“I think that would be nice.”

Before Simon could say anything else, Hugh reached for his son’s shoulder, and once he touched it, he caressed the fabric, and the skin beneath the fabric, briefly.

“We’ll be in the lobby.”

Adrian nodded again and then, after gulping, he said:

“I love you, okay?”

The weird thing was, he didn’t look them in the eye for much. He did, but he turned his gaze away pretty fast, barely leaving time to process his own words. For that reason, nor Hugh or him responded.

They left right after that, leaving Adrian alone inside the room.

With Nova, but alone.

-.-

They dropped Adrian at the hospital once they left Cragmoon. There was barely any sound throughout the whole ride, except when Hugh asked if they wanted something from the store, and when they said goodbye to Adrian.

Obviously, Adrian couldn’t get close to Max. Not if he wanted to avoid being neutralized by him, but sometimes, according to Adrian himself, he liked to stay in the waiting room, and help the staff with whatever they needed, for he liked Max to know he came to visit often, and that he wasn’t alone, even if he couldn’t touch, or be in the same room with him. So they just allowed him to stay in the hospital as much as he needed. After all, it’s not like he was hurting anybody.

After that, everything was silent, all the way home, because, instead of driving towards the Headquarters, Hugh drove towards the mansion, leaving Tamaya in charge, under the excuse they would take a two hour break to have lunch together at home. She wasn’t so happy about it, but agreed anyway, because it’s not like Hugh had given her an option in the first place. He had just notified her. At this point, Hugh’s volume was getting the tiniest bit loud. And Simon wasn’t talking about his voice.

Upon arriving into the house, Hugh threw the keys by the entrance’s table and proceeded to walk all the way towards the living room, to lay on the couch, one arm covering his eyes, without even taking his costume off. He didn’t have a reason to, because they were supposed to be back at the Headquarters in two hours and, besides, the elephant in the room was making it cold. Maybe he felt his armor would protect him from what they were doing, and from what they were still doing.

Sadly, the fabric of Simon’s costume wasn’t as warm. And as he took his mask off and placed it next to keys, he felt nothing but cold wind. He was back again at being Simon, and Simon only, without anything protecting him, in the same room as the husband who rarely ever kissed him anymore.

There was an elephant in the room, and it was killing both of them, though Hugh looked like he was already dead.

Simon tried not to pay attention to him, but when he was crossing to the kitchen, he couldn’t help but ask, in an unintentionally harsh tone:

“Are we going to have lunch or did you just want to make Tamaya more stressed?”

Hugh lowered his arm, staring at him with an arched eyebrow, lifting his neck just a little, to have a clearer view. Simon was starting to feel bad for having snapped at him, but not enough to take it back.

Sometimes you had to do the right thing, and sometimes the right thing was not taking it back.

His husband, from his part, looked rather confused, as if he couldn’t recognize the person in front of him.

“Are you feeling okay?” He asked.

The question caught him off guard.

Was he okay? Simon wasn’t sure, nor did he want to answer. In times like these, Hugh wanted people to answer him what he wanted to hear and, sadly, this time Simon didn’t have any answer he would like.

“Did you take your pills, Si?”

Something inside of his body turned into a tight knot, and Simon turned his gaze towards him, in a violent act. He frowned so deeply he felt his skin itching, and though he knew that, under normal circumstances, he would’ve just interpreted this as a routinary question, this time it wasn’t the case at all. This time it felt like an attack. Like something Hugh had to take back immediately because it was not his place to ask it, that is: a question he always asked anyway.

But not this time.

Because ,this time, he wasn’t okay.

“Don’t pull the anxiety card on me, Hugh.” Saying that left a bitter, disgusting firm on his mouth, right under his tongue, which was dry. He felt like he had just chewed on a pill.

“The anxie--” Hugh narrowed his eyes, shifting into a sitting position. “I’m not pulling that card on you. I’m just asking a question.”

“Then don’t ask that question.” Simon snapped again, heading towards the kitchen to get a class of water. His feet were making too much noise when in contact with the floor, and his mouth was too dry. It was making him crazy.

It was only then that he realized they still had something else pending, and for some reason that was enough to make him stay. Simon spun on his toes, facing him. Hugh was breathing heavily, and his brows were almost touching each other.

“You didn’t answer my question, though.” He told him, in a dry tone. “Did you want to have lunch with me or did you just think taking a break while Tamaya loses her mind would be fun?”

“If Tamaya didn’t want to be in charge, she would’ve told me, and you know that.”

“Tamaya talks back when she is given a chance to.”

An empty feeling of freedom filled Simon’s body, pushing his way into the hollow all his mixed feelings had been carving at the center of his stomach.

And it wasn’t just about Tamaya, really. It wasn’t just about how lately none of her ideas were taken into consideration. Rather, it was about how nor were Kasumi’s, or his own ideas, when they tried to speak up. It was about how things were getting weirder and weirder as time went by, to the point where Simon would see a very pregnant Tamaya in the hallway, apparently fine, but stating she didn’t know if her water was breaking or if she just really needed to use the restroom (the restroom where she didn’t fit in); it was about how everyone knew damn well that Kasumi wasn’t good at public speaking and that, if anything, it just worsened her selective mutism, and yet many important speeches were given to her; it was about how Simon felt like he was talking to a wall, and how that made him feel, suspect, even, that Hugh was back to being trapped in a closet he was already too big for.

It wasn’t just about that, in conclusion.

It was just the tip of a bigger and more messed up problem.

“Well, if you want Tamaya to go bathe in her Greek goddess shower-pool-whatever that thing is, then fine. I’ll call her, I’ll tell her to take the day off, and we go back to the Headquarters.”

“That would be great, actually!” Simon laughed sarcastically. “But you know what would be even better?”

“I don’t, Si. You tell me.”

It was a rhetorical question.

The nerve.

“That we would act like a team. That we would stop lollygagging around and take realistic turns to have our breaks, because each one of us have lives, and we’re not the only ones who have needs.” And that was about Kasumi feeling like she couldn’t do it today but having to anyway; it was about Tamaya crying in the BBQ Sunday, explaining to her husband how she wanted her baby to be with her, as a baby bawled into her arms, trying to reach for his father, because she spent so little time at home her youngest son wouldn’t recognize her sometimes; it was about Evander claiming Sandy didn’t feel like being alone with her baby bump today, but showing up at work anyway.

And yes, they had pledged to do this, but they were supposed to be in it together.

“But how should I know?” Simon hissed. “It’s not like we’re a Council or anything.”

The bile was all over his mouth now, and Simon felt possessed. He didn’t know how to stop it, and the words just kept coming, and coming and coming, as Hugh stared, half-startled, half mad.

Simon felt like he was a loaded gun that was ready to kill everything that moved, for a reason and a cause.

All those repressed feelings. All those things he desperately wanted to say but never could. The anxiety. The desperate, insatiable craving for a touch that never came. For a kiss. For anything. For a sign. A sign of whatever. One single sign, that would just let him know Hugh was still here.

“It’s not like you needed the majority of us to agree to sentence that minor to death.” He let it go, and all the air, along with his soul, left Simon’s body. “It’s not like Evander and you needed such thing, did you?”

Hugh’s confusion frown suddenly shifted.

Then, all Simon saw was the embodiment of anger, with his cheeks becoming flushed, and his knuckles becoming yellow.

“So that’s what this is all about.”

There was one word to describe that tone, and that word was condescension.

To Simon, the gut-wrenching feeling of frustration that caused him was indiscriptable, and he didn’t wish it to anybody. He would’ve preferred Hugh to scream at him, or just refuse to answer at all, because he couldn’t take it.

He had had people talking down to him his entire life. He wasn’t willing to keep tolerating that.

And in the moment he stared into Hugh’s blue eyes, Simon knew there was no turning back. Because sometimes the right thing to do was not taking it back.

Others, it was not holding it back.

“No. In fact, it’s not about that.”

“WHAT IS IT, THEN?!”

“YOU TELL ME!” Simon howled, getting one step closer to him, and all the memories started flowing...more likely, overflowing, including that time when he had talked to Kasumi and Tamaya in the living room, just like as if they were teenagers, instead of grown ass people, about how Hugh was leaving, even though he was still right there.

Right there, looking like a corpse.

A blue, stiff corpse.

“Why don’t you ever kiss me anymore?” Simon asked, and his voice sounded way less threatening than he had intended. “Why?”

“Are you really going to pull that card on me?”

“I am going to pull it because I want to know!” Simon barked, pointing at his own chest, which was getting tighter and tighter with every second. “Why don’t you ever touch me anymore? Why am I always invisible to you, even when I’m not? Why are you so fucking cold all the time? Why won’t you tell me what’s wrong?!”

Hugh wheezed, maybe pretending it didn’t make sense, or maybe pretending he hadn’t understood at all. Still smirking, he ran his fingers through his hair, and stared at Simon, scratching his chin, and clicking his tongue.

“So...Sex.”

Simon’s heart was pounding.

“Yes, sex!” He yelled, shameless. “And kisses, and hugs and my husband! That is what am I asking for!”

“WHAT DO YOU EXPECT ME TO DO?! WE’RE BUSY!”

“WE’RE NOT BUSY NOW!”

“SO YOU WANT TO GET LAID NOW?!”

“I’M NOT GETTING LAID WHILE THINKING ABOUT HOW A CHILD WILL BE EXECUTED BY ANOTHER CHILD BECAUSE I WASN’T ALLOWED TO DO ANYTHING TO STOP IT FROM HAPPENING!”

“SHE TRIED TO KILL ME! SHE TRIED TO KILL MAX!”

“FIRST: AN ATTEMPTED ASSASINATION IS NOT ENOUGH TO GIVE SOMEBODY A DEATH PENALTY, AND, SECOND: THAT’S WHAT GENISSA SAID!”

“ISN’T THAT ENOUGH?!”

“THAT’S NOT ENOUGH!” Simon screamed, covering his ears with hands.

He didn’t know why, specifically, the ears, knowing that, in reality, his eyes were the problem, because every time he closed them, he saw Nova in that chair, like an animal. And he saw Genissa standing in the lobby, playing with them like puppets; he saw Evander’s despicable smirk when he told Genissa to go ahead; he saw Adrian’s furious eyes as he called his own dad a dictator; he saw Hugh.

Mostly, he saw Hugh, and the caricaturesque villain version of him, which Simon despised with every inch of his being.

Then he was back at the beginning. At Nova.

Nova, who had tan skin, pitch black hair and slanted blue eyes. And Nova, who looked familiar when she smiled, because she looked similar to that man who had come to the Headquarters asking for help, whose smile looked similar to the other person who carried their blood.

And Simon couldn’t help but consider it as a real possibility. And if he happened to be right, then they were failing her.

For the second time.

“It’ll never be enough, Hugh.” He declared. “Because she…”

Simon’s internal knots became tighter, to the point they were suffocating him.

“How do we know who this girl is?” he questioned. “How do we know it isn’t her?”

“Her, who? What are you talking about?”

“Her. The one we failed to protect.” Simon felt a tear slipping from his eye, as he became closer and Hugh walked backwards. “Uh? How do we know that? How do we…?”

But something stopped him.

And that something was Hugh’s eyes, turning grey as chromium.

He was breathing fast. Faster with every second, and where maybe he saw anger, Simon saw nothing but deep, stored pain, flowing out of him like sweat, or like the tears that weren’t there.

There was Hugh’s bleeding shell again, protecting him like he was a small child curled up on the floor, in a ball, through a polarized surface where Simon and him couldn’t touch, and where nothing could hurt him, while everything could at the same time.

There it was.

The despicable, horrid, bleeding shell.

Except this time it wasn’t bleeding. No. No.

This time, the dense, bubbling blood was falling off it, reaching Simon’s feet, and the shell was in flames. Tall, untamable flames, that were burning the roof and everything surrounding them.

The shell was burning, while Hugh was inside of it, and nobody could get him out before he was burned to death.

Why didn’t he let anyone help him?

Why did he insist the flames weren’t there?

Why couldn’t Simon hold his hand?

Why was he so far?

“We didn’t fail to protect her. She died.” Hugh declared, and when Simon saw his lips quivering, he realized they weren’t talking about Nova anymore.

“She didn’t fail. She died. “ Simon saw the silver painting Hugh’s fingertips, as tears started rolling down his face. “She died! SHE DIED, WHEN IT SHOULD’VE BEEN ME, SIMON!”

The bleeding shell was burning, and Simon still couldn’t find his way in.

“IT SHOULD’VE BEEN ME! AND SHE DIED! SHE DIDN’T FAIL TO PROTECT ANYONE! SHE DIED! IT SHOULD’VE BEEN ME! SHE DIED, SIMON! SHE DIED!”

Their eyes met for a couple of second, and the connection vanished after a blink.

“IT’S NOT HER FAULT SHE DIED, IT’S MINE!”

Hugh was sobbing, like a small child, and Simon was too.

“...It’s...it’s mine, Simon. Always has been.”

And they were so far, despite being so close, that they were left with holding themselves tight.

Because there was no way to get into the burning shell, for Hugh, strangely as it sounded, had never said those words out loud, because he thought the picture on the wall behind him, the one with the woman wearing a floral pink dress with their son -who was also hers- sitting on her lap, would hear him and that would make her sad.

Yet, Simon knew she wasn’t sad at the moment.

He knew her well enough to know she would’ve been disappointed, instead.

Anybody would be if they had to see their family kill the one thing they had died trying to protect.

“No.” Simon declared, calmly. “But I’m not going to go and try to convince you otherwise because I know it’s not the right time.”

Hugh started shaking.

“Si…”

“And I won’t be a part of this, either.” Simon declared, firm, still staring at the picture through the corner of his eye, yet still fully focused on Hugh. “From now on, all you’ll get from me is silence in regards to the issue. I’m not willing to be a part of it. I don’t agree with this. I will never agree.”

“You don’t understand.”

“And I’m glad I don’t. In fact, I hope I never do.” Simon wiped his tears with his palm, and before continuing, he tried to find his Hugh one more time.

He was still there.

Simon hadn’t yet given up on him, but he didn’t feel like telling him that at the moment.

For some reason.

“If Adrian wants to see me, tell him I’ll be at Kasumi’s.”

“Simon.” Hugh grabbed him by the wrist, and a simple wave from Simon’s hand was enough to get it off. Way too easy, for a person who happened to have super-strength. “Simon, please. Don’t do this again. Please. SIMON!”

But Simon did it again anyway.

Later, he wondered what Adrian had felt when he abducted Max from the hospital and left a note for them.

He also wondered what everyone else had felt when the real Nightmare showed up.

Not that he was mad at them.

He just wondered what they had felt.

#renegades trilogy #dawnie writes #renegays #humon #simon westwood #the dread warder #hugh everhart #captain chromium #nova artino #nightmare #adrian everhart-westwood #sketch

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song-of-asystole · 3 years

Text

Crime and Punishment - Soukoku oneshot

Summary:

A demon once whispered to him of crime and punishment. He hadn’t paid it much mind – how trusted can a demon be?

His crime, among others, was betrayal.

The only aspect of the crime he left overlooked turned out to be the most crucial one – the punishment.

And the demon stays amused by the most pathetic Raskolnikov in existence – Dazai Osamu.

The author being an absolute nerd for Dostoyevsky and overanalyzing Soukoku’s relationship. Enjoy Dazai’s late-night thoughts!

TW: death, implied suicide

Author’s note:

I’m taking a break from my usual writing (which I’m super insecure about), so I’m writing this little fic because I hope you will be kind to me. Also, I just needed some comfort and BSD is my go-to place for that.

There’s a couple of references scattered across the fic: the obvious one about Dostoyevsky’s Crime and Punishment, as well as The Brother Karamazov and The House of the Dead. Yes, I’m aware I’m a huge nerd.

I actually got really carried away and I wrote 2 more chapters which I’ll post on AO3. Of course, this chapter will be up there too, I’ll put a link down below, so please give feedback. :D

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30342828

Enjoy!!

A demon once whispered to him of crime and punishment. He hadn’t paid it much mind – how trusted can a demon be?

Dazai Osamu’s crime, among others, was betrayal. He betrayed the miserable life he had led in Port Mafia, the life that had devastated him on the days he remembered he had heart under that cold, colorless ribcage of his. This life, if one may even call it that, deprived Dazai of a childhood, of innocence, of cleanliness: his hands stained crimson red and his thoughts painted pitch black. Would letting go wash away those dark colors, reveal the truth underneath, which was unknown to him? He did not know, but something had to change.

And so he escaped, with the night cradling him and the smoke of a burning car covering his treacherous silhouette. He had fled the winter of his life, days of bloodshed and sin out of sight and out of mind, looking forward to a promisingly bright spring. Betrayal is an ugly thing, but he had never cared much for looks.

The only aspect of his crime he left overlooked turned out to be the most crucial one – the punishment. Never had he dreamed he would feel guilty.

What am I really even guilty of? Wanting to see the light? Wanting to do good for once in this wretched life I lead? The days I spent swimming in the dark waters of despair deserved to see the end. Am I a monster for wanting happiness?

Hard as he tried to reason with his guilty consciousness, it never left him. It just kept gnawing at his thoughts, making him remember what, nay, whom he tried to forget.

The red-haired calamity.

The manipulator of gravity.

To Dazai, the giver of life.

Nakahara Chuuya.

At the time, Dazai could’ve never fathomed the concept of missing the redhead. Sure, Chuuya was important to him – as much as a person who knew everything about you could be. The two knew each other from the tip of the head to the end of the toes.

He could never not be important. Such noise is rarely ignored, Dazai mused jokingly.

Chuuya was what brought him life. The constant cheating, stealing and killing tramples the soul until you cannot make anything of what’s left. It’s what makes Dazai long for death – he’s seen the depths of this cursed city that squeezed his heart to the point he wanted to throw it away. However, Chuuya – just saying his name made Dazai feel warm – he saw it too. He felt it the same way Dazai did. He might act harsh with all his stomping, yelling, and destroying, but underneath all that is a gentle, nurturing nature that he hides. It’s a detriment in his line of work. Having someone understand meant a lot to Dazai. Maybe their partnership was even built on this silent understanding, among other things.

However, Chuuya was not nice. Don’t ever mistake Chuuya’s sensitivity with kindness. Sugar and spice was not to be in the same sentence as his name. He has always been… rough. Sometimes it served as a wake-up call to Dazai. It helped put things into perspective, but it also helped put things into bad perspective. Not a single morning did these two share without a fight – verbal or physical. Dazai didn’t mind it much at first. After all, teasing Chuuya did work like a drug for him. With time, however, the blade of their words never became dull. It only sharpened. Words like poison flung around the apartment, sentences like spider-webs sitting in hidden corners of the bedroom. Love – they never dared call it that, but, oh, what a burning love it was – love, the most sacred of all emotions, was a chore until it became a war. Eventually, Dazai couldn’t find his peace even in the arms of a lover.

So, his craftiness started turning wheels again and – he escaped. Not a word in the evening, not a trace in the morning, only confusion and hurt spelled over Chuuya’s heart.

Dazai knew it was cruel. He never felt right about it. He loved Chuuya, after all, so the best thing to do, he concluded, was to forget.

The demon laughs. Punishment has been passed.

Presently, Dazai Osamu spends his night awake, staring at the dirty ceiling of his room, as the most pitiful of the world’s Raskolnikovs.

Why can’t he seem to forget a man he once loved, a man he soon grew to hate, a man he betrayed in order to find happiness? What twisted force of nature is dragging his thoughts back to the time he was at his lowest? Why is it that now, when all hope of reunion between the lovers is lost, he finds himself longing for the infamous Port Mafia executive Nakahara Chuuya? Why did the ashes find their way back into a flame after he committed the worst of all sins – betrayal of trust and love?

The demon chuckles once again and in a sing-songy voice he says, I told you, Dazai-kun. To love thy neighbor is impossible. The man himself is the ugliest of all God’s creations – how could anyone love such a creature up close? Even the Father won’t cast a glance at him. It takes distance, Dazai-kun, and you’re not exempt from this rule of human nature.

It is irksome, yes, how right the demon seems to be. It is certainly irksome, Dazai feels, as the demon’s words carve into the left chamber of his stone cold heart. What even was it that made Dazai hate Chuuya? Hate Chuuya… it used to seem so impossible and yet, along with Odasaku’s death, it drove him to plan and execute a high-scale betrayal of the entire Port Mafia.

It would take years before Dazai could understand the intricacies of his past with Chuuya at Port Mafia. What mattered now – truly, the only real thing in this world – was the fact that he actually loved Nakahara Chuuya.

Oh. There. He thought of it. For some reason, he didn’t want to think of anything else but that. It wasn’t scary, as he thought it’d be, all those years ago. He finally broke the lock in his lungs and there it was: all that air he never let himself breathe. What was it about that mere word that made two Port Mafia executives shy around it, avoid it like the authorities, dance around it as if it was bonfire in the festival night? Why had they never let the simple four-letter word into their little sanctuary when it so obviously belonged with them? The fear he once felt seemed foolish to him now.

I guess we do learn as long as we live, he whispers in the dark room to no one in particular.

He felt a rush trying to sweep him up, make him stand. However, where would he go? To Chuuya? As if. He hurt Chuuya in unspeakable ways even during the time they spent together. He has no right to show up at his doorstep or in his life. Ever again.

Even if he did, how would that end? They squeezed each other’s hearts dry and called it love. Every day felt like torture, but they swore it was sweet. Why, why, why did they cause so much pain? Was it truly the only method to make them feel alive in the house of the dead? Did the right answer slip between their fingers at some point?

The question Dazai had been stuck on was, Is there any way he could forgive me? If, once in the future, I looked him in the eye and told him the truth – would there be salvation pouring from his lips? Or would he rightfully convict me for my crime?

Thus, Dazai fell into slumber, like every other evening for the past four years. The bed will never feel comfortable to him because it always seems to be missing something, but Dazai will keep denying it. His little room doesn’t even look like a home, but Dazai will tell you that he just can’t be bothered to unpack and decorate. His heart, cold like a Russian blizzard, has not known warmth in a while, but he will tell you it’s incapable to do so.

Those are the only three lies Dazai Osamu tells people and himself – until the night comes again and unlocks a little door in his brain.

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conaionaru · 4 years

Text

Honor and Blood (Ivar the Boneless)

Beginnings and endings

Synopsis: The naming ceremony and Silas’s punishment

Warnings: Murder, angst, fluff, gore

Tags:

@youbloodymadgenius @xbellaxcarolinax @didiintheblog @lol-haha-joke @shannygoatgruff @heavenly1927 @chynagirl13 @queenbeeta @thereareendlessopportunities @astridbaby

I don’t own the gifs. Also, thank you for your support. I really appreciate it. If you want to be tagged please write me<3

Vanya sat in the Great Hall next to Ivar in a new white dress, her hair loose around her shoulders. She observed the marks on the table, trailing her fingers over them. Everyone around her talked, too, focused on their plans of Silas's punishment to even notice her despair.

The man from her dreams, Hoenir, sat on her right, while Ivar sat on her left. Brynja and Margrethe run around their table, serving their meal. It has been two days since Vanya returned home. She got some deserved rest, but her mind was plagued with her worries.

They wouldn't let her see her son; sometimes, when everything grew quiet, she could hear him cry. It tore at her heart, but according to the healers, she was in no state to be near a newborn. During her time on the run, she caught a cold, her fever was high, and she felt like throwing up after every meal.

Listening to the Ragnarsson, Aslaug, Floki, and Helga argue about what to do with Silas wasn't what she yearned to do. "Are you alright, Vanya?" Brynja questioned her a soft hand on her shoulder, steadying the swaying princess. Vanya nodded tiredly and leaned against Ivar's shoulder.

The Viking entwined their hands together and kissed her damp temple.

He asked her to stay in bed, but Vanya knew she had to be there, no matter how much she hated it. She sentenced Silas to death; it's her duty to help choose the way he will die. "Let's burn him alive," Hvitserk suggested once again, causing his brothers to roll their eyes.

"Slit his throat, that's what he wanted to happen to Vanya." Sigurd countered, but the others disagreed again.

"Too kind, it must be more painful and drawn out." Ivar reminded them, his left hand in a tight fist while his right one squeezed Vanya's hand tighter, to remember that she is here.

Floki raised his cup and giggled in the mad way he always does. "Skin him alive." He offered but was shot down as well. Everyone kept suggesting different methods of execution, all rejected one by one. It was getting tiring for Vanya, draining her of the last bits of strength she regained.

"Maybe you should lay down, Vanya. You don't look so good." Ubbe softly told her, looking at her with tender eyes. She looked broken, her left hand wrapped in bandages to cover her cut. There was also a bandage on the cauterized wound on her shoulder. It would scar, which she didn't care about. Ivar was right; it was a sign of survival, a proof of her strength.

She shook her head and straightened in her seat to look healthier than she felt. "I can't sleep or rest anymore. I need to be here so Silas can be dealt with. He needs to die a painful death, I promised him that, and that's what will happen. No arrows or drowning or hanging. My brother needs to suffer as I suffered; at least I am sparing him the pain of not knowing if you will survive." She spat angrily, slumping back in her chair, exhausted. How pathetic was she? She couldn't even talk without getting tired.

She sighed and moved to stand up, Hoenir rising as well. The silent stranger followed her around like a shadow. He sat in front of her hut with his sword drawn, only letting family and Brynja in. The servant found his mysteriousness and silence charming, Vanya found it eerie. She yearned for human contact, not a silent wall lurking around. Ivar spent every waking moment by her side as well, always checking on her and touching her in some way. More for his sanity than her's.

He didn't check on their son either, too afraid to leave her alone. Vanya was thankful for his protectiveness; she missed it. But she yearned for her son as well, what if he was sick as well?

Vanya made her way towards their chambers and laid down to sleep with Ivar by her side, wrapped around her like a vice, but still somehow comforting. She could feel his chest fall and rise against her back, but sleep wouldn't take her. Her eyes were wide open, and her heartbeat frantically, on guard despite being safe. Nightmares plagued her rest nearly every night, dreams of drowning, freezing, or waking up to her son's corpse in her arms.

Everyone treated her like a broken toy, too scarred by what happened to her to be whole again. In the end, Silas had won. Nine months ago, he sent her here to wither and die. And now she looks half dead and feels hollow. With a shuttering breath, Vanya slowly crawled out of Ivar's arms and into the street, walking past Hoenir, who slept by the door. She shook him awake and made him follow her to the hut where Silas is held.

"Are you sure you want to see him?" The Silent wandered questioned her, but the ginger only nodded and ordered the guards to let her in.

The hut was lit with candles and smelled of wine and piss. Two aromas that Silas always despised, how fitting that it would be the last things he would know. "She lives." A voice rasped from a corner startling her.

With some difficulty and grunts, Silas rose from his hiding place behind the bed. He looked just as bad as her. Two days in a cell, and he was filthy, drunk, and pathetic. It suited him, pain, and despair. "You look terrible."

He chuckled and collapsed back into a chair, the furniture nearly topping over from the force. "I always imagined myself immortal. Forever alive and in people's minds. And here I am. Covered in piss, looking like some kitchen rat." He spat on the ground glaring at everything around him.

Vanya took his sorry state in, tucking it into the back of her mind to remember him by. Not the cruel King with a crown on his head, but as nothing better than a beggar with one foot in the grave. "You are human, just like everyone else. Everyone dies, Silas. Even Kings."

Silas scoffs and hurls his cup towards her, the guards and Hoenir barge in but stand back when Vanya raises a hand, palm facing Silas. "It's alright. Please leave." The three men leave brother and sister alone to talk. One last conversation before Silas pays for his crimes.

Her brother watches the display of power that Vanya possesses and reached towards the last piece of bread he had left. He tore at it like a savage, disgusting even himself. All his grace and power stripped away by his sister, how the tables have turned. "You mean Father, don't you?"

Vanya looked at him, puzzled, unaware of what he meant by the comment. But Silas didn't wait for her to question him, he pointed the finger at her and chuckled. "You always talked of that bastard. Alive or dead, you worshipped him, even though there was nothing special about him. You have no idea what kind of inconsiderate prick he was."

"Father was a good person, far better than you or me." Vanya insisted, not letting him insult their late father.

Silas sneered and threw a piece of bread at her, that she batted away before it hit her face. She frowned at his ridiculous behavior, fed up with his dramatics. "Of course, you would think that you were his favorite. You were the obedient child with big sad doe eyes. Do you know what I was? I was the embarrassment, the reject. I was three, and he called me a monster. All because I didn't follow his rules."

The ginger shook her head and walked closer to Silas. "Father loved you, but you were always so quick to start a fight. He tried to make you a good king, but you rejected him, and now here we are."

"Ah, yes, here we are. The Monster and the Gifted one." Silas swallowed the last piece of bread and spread his arms wide in a mocking gesture. He didn't love me, or you or anyone else. Osmond used people, you stupid wench! He married a girl half his age, filled her with seed, and when the child didn't meet his expectations, he threw them both away and fucked everything pretty. And then you were born, perfect little Vanya - the Gracious gift of God. You nodded along to everything and did as he said. Other than me, who had his own opinions."

Vanya scoffed and licked her dry lips to hold back the foul words on the tip of her tongue. "Father was a good King and a better parent than Mother. You spat, beat, and laughed at other children. You were always rotten, Silas. And Father knew it, so did Mother."

"I did it to get attention; no one would pay attention to the reject! Before you were born, I was the perfect firstborn. But not to him! To Father, I was the little monstrosity that refused to keep quiet about his affair. I was three and saw him fucking another woman. I told Mother, and he grew angry with me, by the time you were born, I was a bastard in their eyes. The one that destroyed their marriage, as if I was the one getting his dick wet behind my wife's back."

The princess stared at Silas in shock, Osmond always said that his son was born cruel. To think all of the cruelty, hate, and violence came from their parent's treatment. Siflaed was a neglectful mother, and it turns out Osmond was no better. Vanya always saw him as a smart man with good intentions, when in truth, he was nothing like that.

"He was a good King, true. But a terrible Father, husband, and person. Just like me." Silas smirked at his small victory, while Vanya frowned at him. "He treated you better because you were naive and gullible. All the talk of duty, putting the kingdom first and God. You were born to be a bargaining chip, just like Mother, married off to the highest bidder. Face it; there is no kindness in our blood."

"I am not you or them!" Vanya insisted, causing Silas to laugh.

"If that's what you like to believe."

Vanya slammed her hands against the table, startling Silas. She huffed and got in his face, her eyes as cold as ice. "You did horrible things to me and everyone around you. I am nothing like you."

"If you want to blame anyone, then blame Stithulf."

"Stithulf didn't order men to murder three people!" Vanya spat at him, remembering the blonde man who talked to her about Silas as a King. How charming he seemed, the two-faced bastard.

"He reminded me what a threat you and your child pose to my reign. He told me the only way to ensure my glory and throne was to kill anyone who wants to take it away. First you and your child, then Mother's brother Æthelric. He said I was meant to rule, that the world would remember me. And they will. These heathens of yours will kill me, probably torture as well. And the church will name me a martyr for my faith, and history will remember me as Silas the Great." Silas boasted, throwing his arms around and nearly falling out of his chair in the process.

Vanya shook her head and looked at the cross on his desk, the one he gifted her, their father's cross. "Only those who lived a righteous life can be names martyrs. You executed, hurt, and humiliated people. You are no saint, Silas, and the church won't care for your death. Terrible people don't go to heaven."

The older Saxon rose from the chair and leaned against the table, looking into his wine cup. "Then, I shall see you in Hell. That's where you heathen scum will all go. And we can burn side by side as we did in our cribs." He raised his cup and downed it in one go before letting it slip through his fingers and hit the ground. "Farewell, Sister."

He stumbled towards his bed and collapsed on it face first, his white shirt falling lower, exposing his shoulder blades. Vanya watched his naked back, she then turned on her heel and left the hut to return to her own. She made a decision. Yesterday Ivar explained to her all the ways Vikings executed people, and one seemed perfect to Vanya now.

Her husband sat up in their bed, looking at Vanya with tired eyes. "Where did you go? Are you hurt?"

"Blood eagle," Vanya answered, confusing Ivar further.

"What?"

She sighed and sat down next to him, looking into his eyes. "The way we should kill Silas. You should Blood Eagle him after the naming ceremony." She explained as Ivar nodded, still confused about the sudden decision.

Vanya closed her eyes and took a deep breath, feeling her shoulders get lighter. As if the weight on them dropped, making breathing easier than before. She opened her icy eyes again and stared into her husband's stormy hues. "What is it, Min elskede (My beloved)?"

She chuckled at the tender tone, having missed the endearment more than she thought was possible. "I was terrified out there, Ivar. I thought I would never see you or Kattegat ever again." Tears gathered in her eyes, her lips shaking from the oncoming sobs.

Ivar cupped her cheek and wiped her tear away with his thumb. "You are here now. And nobody will ever take you away from me. I will never let anyone harm you or our son again."

Vanya sobbed and flung herself into his arms, breathing in his scent and hugging him tightly, as if it was all a dream that would disappear if she let go. "From now on, you never have to be afraid, Vanya. I will protect you both. No one, not even death, will ever lay a hand on you again!"

Ivar kissed her temple before she pulled back and stared into his eyes, looking for any sign of lies or uncertainty. But she found none, all she saw was honesty and rage. Anger that he let anyone harm them. "You have to swear it, Ivar! Promise me." She begged desperately, afraid to ever have to fight for her life again.

"I promise and swear on my life and the Gods. I will never, ever let anyone harm you or our son. No matter what it might take to keep you both safe, I will do everything and more to protect you. From now on, you'll both be safe and sound. I oath not to enter Vallhalla if I brake this promise. I swear on my arm ring."

Vanya leaned against his chest and sighed in satisfaction, with one less problem on her mind, she slept easier. Her son's absence still plagued her mind, but the sooner everything was done, the sooner she could have him in her arms again.

The next morning, five days since their son's birth, they all stood gathered in the Great Hall once again, revealing the plan to Blood Eagle Silas. "And who will do it? Ivar can't stand." Sigurd pointed out, making his brother snarl at him.

"It doesn't matter. We can give him a chair, or let someone else do it." Vanya jumped in before a fight broke out. She was in no mood to watch them argue; the most important thing right now is that Silas dies; it doesn't matter by whose hand.

Everyone nodded, looking at the wedded couple glued to each other's hip. Vanya still looked sick and weak, but the more she clung to Ivar, the straighter her back got, and the higher she held her head. She was gaining back the confidence she gathered during her nine months of marriage to their brother. There were still bits of fear and edginess visible, but with Ivar and Hoenir shadowing her, she breathed easier.

"You are on edge." Sigurd pointed out, voicing what everyone was thinking. Vanya locked gaze with him and smiled to reassure them.

"I..." A cry interrupted her sentence; a child was crying somewhere. "I miss my son, that's all. They still won't let me see him."

Aslaug frowned at the information and looked at her youngest son for confirmation. Ivar nodded and took Vanya's hand in his, trying to comfort his sad wife. The Queen rose from her seat and left the Ragnarssons, Vanya, Torvi, and Hoenir.

When she returned, it was with the sound of a crying infant. She opened the door with a babe in her arms, cradling it softly, trying to calm it down. "Mother?" Questioned Ubbe, confused, carrying his nephew towards Vanya.

The ginger looked at Aslaug bewildered, as the older woman laid the child into her arms. "You went through hours of horrendous labor and near death for this child. If anyone deserves to hold him, it is you." Aslaug smiled at Vanya, who hugged her son closer to her, the boy calming down the moment he smelled her scent.

The child reached out with his little hand and grasped a fiery lock, playing with it while staring up at her, sniffling slightly. Vanya smiled at his teary gaze and wiped his tears, stroking his smooth chubby cheek. "Looks like he just missed his mother. What a surprise from Ivar's child."

Aslaug and Vanya frowned at Sigurd's comment but ignored it as Ivar was too engrossed at looking at the little version of himself in his wife's arms. "That is the safest child in Kattegat." Hvitserk pointed out, looking at the calm baby slobbering over Vanya's hair.

Bjorn snorted and patted Vanya and Ivar on the shoulder. "With a mother ready to burn kingdoms down and a father into ritual sacrifice? It only fits with a grandson of Ragnar Lothbrok."

The others nodded along while Vanya looked at Ivar with a raised eyebrow. At Ivar's confused stare, she smiled down at the babe. "Hold your hands out, Ivar. You should hold him too."

Ivar looked at the frail newborn and shook his head. "I will drop him, Vanya."

The redhead rolled her eyes and passed the child towards him despite his protests. "You are holding him with your arms, not your legs. Bond with him, he didn't see that much of you." She spoke softly, not meaning it in a mean way.

With tender eyes, Ivar looked at his son, noting the wiggling legs under the fur. He would walk one day, run around just like Ivar's brothers could. At least in something, the gods were merciful; they listened to his prayers and made his son strong and healthy. Just like his mother prophesied, and his son would be like his grandmother. He would have visions, Hoenir, and Aslaug were sure of it.

"Did you think of a name?" Ubbe asked, watching his serene nephew.

"Yes. But it's a surprise." Vanya revealed giggling at Torvi and Hvitserk, cooing at the babe who frowned at them in return.

In the heathen culture, nine days after a babe is born, the naming ceremony is held. Vatni ausinn is a ritual where the father acknowledges the child and names it. Ivar sat in a chair with their son on his knee, sprinkling the babe with water.

"My son, Aros!" He announced to the room while his babe everyone cheered in delight. Ubbe nudged Vanya, who stood next to him, clapping. The redhead looked up at him with a questioning look at the older males smug look.

"From the river's mouth? Really?" He asked about the name meaning while Vanya shrugged.

"It fits, does it not?"

"I guess it does." He looked back towards his little brother, cradling his firstborn lovingly. "Aros Ivarsson."

After the ceremony, Ivar and Vanya returned to their hut, with Hoenir following behind them. Her husband was about to order some thralls to fill their tub with water when Brynja ran towards them. "Wait, My Prince. Let me do it. I would like to spend some time with Vanya anyway. If you were to permit it."

Ivar looked at Vanya in question, but the ginger smiled at him reassuringly. "Go. I could use a distraction before tomorrow. And Hoenir will be outside; we will be fine. Have fun with your brothers." She reassured him, kissing his forehead and sending him off.

The Prince and wanderer left the hut, the girls cold Hoenir sitting outside on the bench, but ignored his presence. Vanya turned on her heel to look at Brynja, who smiled at her softly, her eyes glassy.

"What's wrong? Are you unwell?" Vanya frantically ran to the other redhead's side, pulling her towards the bed to sit down. Brynja laughed at the worried mother and shook her head, her curls bouncing around her.

"I am just happy to see you again. My life would be very boring without you, My Princess." She confessed, hugging Vanya, careful of the sleepy babe in her arms. Vanya embraced the older ginger with her left arm, enjoying the affection Brynja gave her.

Truth is Brynja is her only true friend here, that she befriended outside of marriage. Of course, Ubbe, Torvi, Hvitserk, and Bjorn are her friends as well. But if it weren't for her marriage to Ivar, she would have never talked to them. Vanya liked to believe her, and Brynja would be friends even if it weren't for Ivar. If she ever were to get divorced, Brynja would still be her friend.

The curly-haired ginger had a pure heart, contagious smile, and shared Vanya's love for children. She gave the best advice and listened to her complaining without any remarks. For every complaint Vanya told her, Brynja gave two. Servant or not, she was a good girl and an even better friend.

"I bought you a gift!" Brynja cheered, letting Vanya put Aros into his crib. Floki made it for the babe from the boat meant to serve as their coffin if they were found dead. It was quite morbid, but Vanya didn't mind it that much, and Aros seemed comfortable.

The Viking girl showed her a present wrapped in a cloth. She laid it on Vanya's lap and mentioned for her to open it. Brynja was giddy, and in turn, Vanya became giddy as well, she unwrapped the gift and looked inside to see the neckline of a dress. The fabric was blue with white lacings.

"You bought me a dress?" Vanya asked, confused, looking up at the sheepish ginger.

"Made actually. It's not as pretty as the ones you make or the ones you buy. I don't know how to make dresses like that, so it's plainer." Brynja apologized, frowning down at the dress, no longer as excited as before.

Vanya shook her head and walked towards the mirror with the gift in hand. Watching herself in the mirror, Vanya marveled at the simple dress. It wasn't as lavish as the dresses Vanya was used to having, but she liked its look. "It's beautiful. I bet it's comfortable as well." She reassured the other female twirling around with the dress to see it flow in the air.

"I made it for your name day, but I didn't get to give it to you." With a bashful smile, Brynja watched the Princess gush over the dress. It took her a long time to make the dress, but the smile was worth all her frustration with the fabric. And all the times her father laughed at her pricking her finger.

Vanya turned on her heel and looked at Brynja, shocked. "You wasted money on me!" She cried out mortified, the fact that the poor girl bought fabric to create the dress. But Brynja shook her head and shrugged the issue off.

The young mother carefully set the dress down on the bed and skipped to her wardrobe to look inside. "You must choose one of mine, even if you sell it. I can't just accept a gift like that and give you nothing in return!"

Brynja shook her head at the frantic Princess and observed her rummaging through all the dresses she owned. "That's what gifts are for, Vanya. You give them out of love, not expecting anything back."

"Nonsense!" Vanya fussed and turned towards the other ginger. Brynja's smile was tired, and her eyes pleading. She didn't want anything in return, but that didn't sit with Vanya. "Choose whatever dress you want. If not for yourself, then for me. You gave me a gift out of love. So chose yours."

Brynja smiled at that and walked to the closet to find a dress for herself. In the end, she chose a purple one with long dark sleeves. "Purple. Like your favorite flowers."

"You remember?" Brynja blinked at Vanya in astonishment while Vanya mockingly rolled her eyes, smirking.

She circled the older female in front of the mirror and stopped behind her, propping her chin on her shoulder. "Of course, I remember. I always remember small things like that. But don't ask me anything important. I do forget these things very easily." Brynja chuckled and felt the soft fabric with her fingers, liking the feel of it. It was obviously expensive, but the servant wouldn't complain to Vanya. "How is your father, anyway? Is he better?"

Brynja hummed and laid the dress on the bed, neatly folding it and wrapping it in the cloth from Vanya's gift. "Stronger every day, which he keeps showing off. I think he fell in love with the neighbor's widow. He keeps running around shirtless and lifting heavy things."

Vanya laughed at the image of Brynja's father only in his breeches, smiling every time he sees the widow. "Maybe he is taking the lack of children in his own hands. Trying to create some little ones on his own."

"Oh, gods! I hope not; he is too old." Brynja gagged and smirked at Vanya, crowding closer and whispering into her ear. "I would rather make some of my own. But there are no men good enough."

The Princess sighed and sat down on her bed, looking up at the cheeky ginger. "And why are you whispering? Are you afraid that the man outside might hear?"

"I saw his face once, quite handsome. A bath would do him wonders. And new clothes." Brynja confessed, gushing over Hoenir. The seventeen-year-old mother shook her head, and teasingly smiled at Brynja.

"My, my, is someone in love?"

"Hush, Vanya! Or I will regret missing you at all!" Brynja joked back, fake glaring at the taller girl, while she laughed it off. It was good to be back and joke around, forgetting what is going to happen tomorrow.

The two girls walked to the door after the bath was prepared, saying goodbye for the night. Vanya watched her go with a small smile, thankful for her visit. She then turned on her heel and sat down next to Hoenir, who looked at her in confusion.

At least she suspected it to be confusion; it's hard to tell in the dark when he has his hood on. "I wanted to thank you for the advice you gave me in my dreams."

"No need to do that. You would have survived anyway; I had a vision of our meeting. It couldn't happen if you died before we met. My job now is to make certain you don't die from here on." His voice was smooth, yet a little bit rusty and monotone like always. She wondered if he felt any emotions or just his them pretty well.

"Then I thank you for that instead. But I wish for you to find a hut, not just a bench or a piece of fur outside of ours."

Hoenir shook his head and looked down at her cold frame. "I need to be near if somebody were to attack you."

"Ivar will be with me."

"Doesn't mean you will be safe."

Vanya sighed and looked out towards the sleepy streets of Kattegat, smiling softly. "I am safe. I am home, surrounded by friends and family. I have nothing to fear."

Hoenir scoffed and leaned back, ignoring the persistent ginger by his side. Vanya looked at him, expecting an explanation of his behavior, but he gave her none. "Say what you want to, Hoenir. If we are to spend a lot of time together, you should be able to say what you want to."

"You are very annoying."

"I know. Get used to it." She smiled at him cheekily, causing him to shake his head and stand up. Vanya looked at him in confusion, till he pointed at a crawling shape in the dark.

"Your husband's coming. And I have a hut to find. I don't want to hear anything I shouldn't." Vanya nodded, satisfied until the meaning behind the words hit her.

"We wouldn't if you were outside! That's so improper!" She scolded him, blushing madly. Did Hoenir really think that she and Ivar would sleep together if he were right outside their door?

He shrugged his broad shoulders and pulled his cloak tighter around his body. "You never know. I believe I have to take a bath, as well."

Vanya looked at him, shocked, and blushed even harder. "You heard?"

"Some of it. I am a better listener than a talker. So get used to it as well, Princess."

"Call me, Vanya. Please."

"As you wish, Vanya. Goodnight, Sleep well. Both of you." With that, Hoenir sidestepped Ivar on the porch and stalked off towards a random hut, entering it and closing the door behind him.

"Whose hut it that?" She questioned her husband, who watched the wanderer walk off as well.

"His. Mother gave it to him." He shrugged, crawling inside with Vanya behind him bewildered. The wretched man had a home all along and stayed in front of their hut instead. She didn't know if to be moved by his dedication or annoyed by his stubbornness. "Did you take your bath yet?"

"Not yet." She had her back turned to him while he sat by the tub. She put the dress away and slowly unbraided her hair. "Did you make a decision on who will kill Silas?"

"I will do it. Torvi went into labor. He will be with her, and I will Blood Eagle the little Monster." Ivar boasted pridefully, making her sigh.

She brushed through her hair and put the tie that kept it together safely away to find it in the morning. "Let's hope the Gods are with Torvi, and the child will be born soon."

"If it's born sooner, Bjorn can kill your brother in my steed. It should be me killing him! I thought I lost two of the most important people in my life. He didn't worry about you two as I did!" Ivar complained as he dragged himself towards the fire chairs by the fire and poured himself a cup of ale.

"Ivar." Vanya scolded, untying the laces of her dress. "Torvi shouldn't suffer so that Silas can die by your hand. She deserves better."

"I think so too, but she is the one who married Bjorn."

Vanya spun on her heel, annoyed by his words. She froze with her mouth open, looking at him sitting there sipping on his cup. He raised his eyebrow at her sudden silence and waited for her mind to start working again.

"Put a shirt on, Ivar! I am trying to scold you!" Ivar smirked at her flustered state and leaned back in the chair, showing off his naked chest.

"Why? Do you not like the view." He asked cheekily, making her pout and skip over to him. Kissing his lips, to wipe the smug look off his face, Vanya pulled back, raising an eyebrow at his satisfied face.

"You are a pain, husband. You are lucky I love you."

Ivar grinned at her teasing words and kissed her knuckles, gazing into her steel-blue eyes. "Good. I would be hurt if you didn't." Vanya chuckled softly and connected their lips again, enjoying being in Ivar's arms once again. "What would I be without my Freyja."

Vanya groaned at his question and slapped his shoulder pouting. The Ragnarsson frowned at her reaction, hurt by her dismissal. "I used to think you were the cleverest man alive. And here you are calling me a goddess like the rest of them. I am not Freyja or Frigg!"

Vanya stood up from his lap, dropped her dress, and stepped into the wooden bathtub. Ivar shook his head and put his cup down, looking at her seriously. "You are perfect, full of light and love. You love me despite everything I am and didn't blame me once for your suffering. Vanya, you are my wife, a survivor, and the mother of my child, far more powerful than you believe yourself to be. Min elskede (My beloved), you are either a gift from the Gods or a Goddess yourself, I have no doubts about that."

Vanya smiled at his loving words, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes. "Do you really think I'm powerful?"

He chuckled at her question and pointed at himself. "I, for one, find you terrifying." She grinned at the answer and bashfully looked down into the water, trying to hide her blush behind a curtain of red locks. "Who else sees you as a goddess anyway?"

"The people do. And Sigurd as well."

Ivar frowned at the last part and sourly drank the rest of his ale, while Vanya silently laughed at his jealousy. "He believes me to be a goddess because I endure you. But it's not such a hard task as everyone makes it out to be. I enjoy your presence quite a bit." She smirked secretly; her head turned to pick up a cloth to clean herself with. When she turned around, Ivar's face was close to hers, startling her.

The rag would have hit the floor if it wasn't for him catching it. The corner of his perfect lips lifted at Vanya's wide-eyed stare. He seemed like a predator, watching his prey, enjoying every second of the hunt. "I enjoy your presence, as well, obviously."

"Obviously." Vanya echoed, hypnotized by his hungry stare, his eyes like a raging storm, pulling her in deeper. She leaned in to connect their lips, but Ivar pulled away and crawled towards the beds to look at their child instead. She scoffed at his teasing and cleaned herself, pouting the whole time.

She expected Ivar to leave her alone after his stunt, but luckily for her, he had other plans. The moment she sat down on their bed, he kissed her and laid her down on the furs, making love to her carefully, in case she was still in pain after giving birth not that long ago.

The next morning, they were woken up by their son, whining in his bed, hungry and rested. They both groaned, exhausted from last night's lovemaking. Ivar sat up in bed, lifted Aros, and handed him to Vanya so she could nurse their little treasure.

"Silas will be bought to the Hall after our meal," Ivar informed her, watching her for any sign of hesitancy. But there was none. She decided he deserved to die even before Aros was born, and the fact that he threatened her son's life was the last nail in his coffin. Silas would die a painful death and burn in Hell for all eternity.

"Then let's go. The sooner we eat, the sooner this will all be over. And I can gust over Bjorn's and Torvi's baby." Vanya spoke, burping Aros while Ivar got dressed. After he was done, he took the babe from her and allowed her to clothe herself as well.

When she laced up her white dress and braided her hair, she walked towards Ivar and took the babe from his embrace, smoothing down the little hairs on Aros's head. Ivar picked up his axe and put it on his belt, so he wouldn't have to return for it later. When Vanya saw this, she frowned. "Wait."

Ivar looked at her, confused, waiting for her to continue. She laid Aros down on their bed, ensuring he was secure and walked over to her husband again. She took his axe and trailed her finger the edge, testing the sharpness. The sharp bite of the blade and the bead of blood that flowed down her finger reassured her that it was indeed ready to be used.

The execution would be smoother this way, which meant the whole ordeal wouldn't take too long. No matter her hate for Silas, she would hate for him to suffer under a dull blade. He always said he deserved the best, Vanya thought that should include the weapon that would kill him too.

Ivar gazed up at her, not sure to question her behavior or not. She seemed like she was in a trance, too deep in her mind to remember that she wasn't alone. He softly pried the weapon from her soft fingers and laid it on his lap, taking her hand into his and sucking on the fingertip to stop the bleeding.

Vanya kneeled in front of him and kissed the steel of his weapon, looking up at him pleadingly. "Make him pay. For everything."

"I will."

After breakfast, everyone gathered as Floki set up the posts where Silas would kneel. Ubbe walked to her side and tried to pull her back, but she wrenched her arm free and glared up at him.

"You don't have to be here, Vanya." Sigurd reminded her from her left, also looking at her with soft eyes like she would brake. As if she was weak, but he was wrong. They were all wrong. Vanya was a survivor like Ivar said.

The ginger shook her head and mentioned for Brynja to join her. She handed the babe to her and ordered Hoenir to take them to Ivar's and her hut. "I must be here. I have to see him die. If I don't, I will never be sure if it's over or not."

Ubbe watched her determined face and nodded, Sigurd on the other hand, scoffed and walked off, obviously displeased. "What is his problem?" Vanya asked, seeing the Ragnarsson stalk off, muttering under his breath.

Ubbe gave her a wry smile and shook his head. "He believes you to be tainted by Ivar. Sigurd thinks that he is forcing you into this. That he was the one who chose to Blood eagle Silas and not you."

Vanya scoffed at the explanation and glared at the retreating figure of the snake-eyed Viking. "If anybody deserves to see Silas die, then it's me. I was the one who spent three days in the middle of nowhere, freezing, bleeding, and starving. Silas made my life a living hell from the moment I can remember. I want him to suffer."

"I understand that. But Sigurd still sees you as that timid Princess who was forced to marry Ivar. Many of us do, but you have changed. You are stronger than before, more confident as well. But you don't have to force yourself. You did nearly faint at the mention of blood only nine months ago. No one would blame you if you needed to get some air."

Vanya smiled up at the worried Ragnarsson and linked her arms with his. "Then would you be so kind as to stand with me and catch me if I do faint? After all, you are my only friend left in the room."

Ubbe chuckled at that and led her towards a place near the door to have a good view and an escape route. Silas was dragged in by his arms, spitting insults at the men in English, not caring if they understood him or not. He was pulled on top of the podium and chained to the wooden posts, while a chair was positioned behind for Ivar to sit on. The Ragnarsson dragged himself up and sat down, looking for his wife, relieved to see her with Ubbe.

After a nod from her, he raised the axe and cut into Silas's flesh, a scream echoing around the hall. Vanya watched the display emotionlessly, taking in Silas's screams. They disgusted her; she wanted to cry but had no tears to shed. It was as if her heart and mind were two different entities, disagreeing with each other about what reaction to give. She hated the sight of blood, hated his screams and pain. But found relief in it.

He was dying in front of her eyes, and she was horrified by the display. But not enough to look away. Ubbe squeezed her hand in a silent question if she was ok. She shrank back but kept looking, cringing from time to time at the violence. This is the last time she would see death; she couldn't handle so much gore ever again.

"Vanya!" Silas screamed out between his cries for mercy, catching her eye in the crowd. Vanya locked gazes with his pleading one, her eyes cold and empty, a coverup of the turmoil in her core. "Please!"

She shook her head, keeping her head held high, not showing any sign of hesitance or weakness. She wanted Silas to see what he caused in her eyes before he died.

Blessed are the poor in spirit,

for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

Blessed are they who mourn,

for they shall be comforted.

Blessed are the meek,

for they shall inherit the earth.

Blessed are they who hunger and thirst for righteousness,

for they shall be satisfied.

Blessed are the merciful,

for they shall obtain mercy.

Blessed are the pure of heart,

for they shall see God.

Blessed are the peacemakers,

for they shall be called children of God.

Blessed are they who are persecuted for the sake of righteousness,

for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

Vanya repeated in her mind, remembering how their mother drilled the words into their minds as children. If Silas is truly a martyr, then he will be reunited with God, which she doubts, but maybe it will give comfort to Silas. The blond King kept screaming as Ivar drew the lungs from his body, putting it on his shoulders, his time on earth coming short. "Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth." She whispered underneath her breath, seeing the life fade from Silas's eyes and his head fall.

He was dead.

#vikings #vikings imagine #history vikings #ivar imagine #ivar the boneless #ivar lothbrok #ivar ragnarsson #ivar #original character #original female character

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hiyorisarugaki · 4 years

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THE BIG BLEACH HC MEME centering around politics, repost & fill out! For anyone who wanted to explore those aspects more, considering it played a big role in the story. Some things may be unknown to your Muse, just think in WHAT IF then & well, have fun and take your time!

BASICS

Name: Sarugaki Hiyori / / / Age: 250+ / / / Gender: female Race: Shinigami / Quincy / Hollow / Fullbringer / Visored / Human / Other Currently lives: Soul Society / Hueco Mundo / Silbern / Living World / Hell Exact Location: Karakura Town Group(s): Former member of the Gotei 13, current visored

QUESTIONS

- Would your muse consider themselves more: GOOD / BAD / NEUTRAL ? - Would your muse consider their group more: GOOD / BAD / NEUTRAL ? - How does your muse think others see them: GOOD / EVIL / NEUTRAL ? - How does your muse think others see their race: GOOD / EVIL / NEUTRAL ? - How does your muse think others see their group: GOOD / EVIL / NEUTRAL ?

- Is your muse considered a threat: YES / NO ? From whom?: Soul Society. Hollow. Humans (?) - Is your muse powerful: YES / NO ? Could they be considered OP: YES / NO ? - Did your muse any crimes: YES / NO ? [ but their existence is outlawed, ] - Does your muse think they are doing mostly the right thing: YES / NO ? - Would society think the same: YES / NO / MIXED OPINIONS ?

- Does your muse think they are treated unfairly: YES / NO ? - Does your muse feel understood from others: YES / NO ? - Is it important for them what others think of them as a person: YES / NO ? - Would they welcome death: YES / NO ? - Will they ever find peace: YES / NO ?

01.0. Do they fully stand behind the group they are part of? YES / NO. Why is that? Explain: Well, it’s mainly out of necessity. They are all the same and this group, the visored, are more her family than just a random bunch of misfits. They were thrown together in exile out of necessity and have grown close due to the injustices they have suffered.

02.0. Do they like as things are in Soul Society? YES / NO. 02.1. Is there anything they would change? Explain here: Hiyori wouldn’t mind changing how life in Rukongai is. It’s too big and and too harsh for any collection of souls that end up there. There is no way out - unless you have the good fortune to be born into the noble families or you’re strong enough to become a shinigami.

03.0. Would they ever actively try to bring change (in general)? YES / NO. 03.1. Is your muse more: passive / active ? Introverted / Extroverted ? 03.2. Does your muse care more about: others / themselves ? 03.3. Do they trouble their mind over a lot of problems, others? YES / NO. 03.4. Do they mostly involve: the world / everyone / themselves / comrades / friends / family / elderly / kids / teenagers / home / workplace / strangers / souls / humans / quincy / shinigami / nobles / fullbringer / visored / hollows / espada / arrancar / (former) boss(es) / pets / animals / zanpakuto spirit / enemies / partner / lovers / soul king / god / other…(add more) 03.5. Name (up to) three which are the most on their mind (optional, adding names): - aizen tbh - family/friends/visored. she loves them. - growing stronger BI

04.0. Do they think frequently about politics? YES / NO / SOMETIMES. Why is that? Explain: She only thinks of it in the bitterest of circumstances. She was used by a system that tossed her out like a useless piece of tissue and suddenly, when they’re in trouble, she’s still saving their asses. She doesn’t like this ambiguity. She doesn’t like not trusting who she is fighting for and therefore... she would much rather cut all her ties with the society that she used to be a part of. Anyone that harms her friends is never going to be her ally.

05.0. How do they feel in their current location, more: POSITIVE / NEGATIVE / NEUTRAL ? 05.1. Why is that?: She’s free... but that’s all she is. Neither here and neither there- very much like her existence. It’s neither hollow, nor shinigami and she has to be brave enough to carve out her own identity in this world. She has to figure out what it means to just be Hiyori -not a soldier for the gotei or someone disgraced from her rank. But just... Hiyori.

06.0. Does your muse have any goal: YES / NO ? BIG / SMALL ? 06.1. Does it involve anything world-changing: YES / NO ? 06.2. If goal or not, any future plans? Share here: Hiyori has no real goals. She knows what she doesn’t want- and that is to rejoin the gotei. She would never rejoin unless Kisuke were her captain again. Hiyori believes she’s living on bonus years anyway so her goal and focus is just on self-improvement. To become strong and protect her friends. Once, she had the goal of becoming someone’s bride and finding love, but it seems that this goal was not her true ending. She most likely wanted family- and she already had it. Except that her family has dispersed somewhat.

She’s still searching for her real purpose in life. She thinks that is okay too- as long as she can protect her friends.

07.0. Does your muse know about the original sin of soul society*: YES / NO ? * curious? Read about it here. 07.1. If they knew, would it change their views on Soul Society: YES / NO ? 07.2. More: POSITIVE / NEGATIVE / NEUTRAL ?

08.0. Who is the worst person in their eyes?: herelf. Aizen. 08.1. What should happen to them? Execution (quick / slow death) / Imprisonment / Stripped of their powers / Torture / Repay for their sins / Pay a Fine / Social Work / lose their loved ones / Exile / other… (add more). 08.2. Explanation: Aizen needs to pay for uprooting her and her friends from their lives. Not only that, but he created this vicious monster that made her hurt her friends. Her shame has disfigured her. Aizen should at least serve the same sentence as she was served-- exiled and disgraced away from everyone.

09.0. Thoughts on the Quincy Massacre if they knew: POSITIVE / NEGATIVE / NEUTRAL ? 09.1. Would they be alright with such thing happening again: YES / NO ? 09.2. Would they try to prevent it: YES / NO / DEPENDS ? 09.3. Explanation: If Hiyori could have prevented it, she would have. She isn’t exactly an anarchist, but there are some things and parts of soul society she was ignorant to before her exile despite being a lieutenant. She equated shinigami with goodness until she became a hollow herself.

10.0. Would they ever switch sides: YES / NO ? // always on the side of the visored

10.1. If yes, What could bring them to do so?: shitty circumstances 10.2. Would they create a new one: YES / NO ? or join a current one? If so, which: - visored.

11.0. Does your muse follow a certain moral code*?: YES / NO / GRAY AREA ? * (ethics) A written, formal, and consistent set of rules prescribing righteous behavior, accepted by a person or by a group of people. 11.1. What does it involve?: Help those that need it. Protect your friends/allies. If you’re strong, protect the weak. 11.2. What does it NOT involve?: to never kill someone that didn’t deserve it or didn’t know why. Hiyori spent a good portion of her time in the Winter War explaining, even to Aizen- why she wanted to kill him. It goes to show that she doesn’t end lives as lightly as she pretends to.

YOUR MUSE’S VIEWS / OPINIONS ON THESE GROUPS ?

Central 46: positive / negative / neutral. ━ because: they ordered their death, as well as sentenced Kisuke wrongfully.

Four Great Noble Clans: positive / negative / neutral. ━ because: anything shinigami is pretty useless. Except Yoruichi. She’s the best thing that came from there.

Royal Guards / Gotei 13: positive / negative / neutral . ━ because: none of them bothered to help her friends or Kisuke during their darkest time. They can all die in a ditch. Of course, when she says this, she still runs to their aid during a fight... only because her friends want to protect them.

Fullbringer: positive / negative / neutral. ━ because: has very little to do with these spiritually aware humans. If they’re not bothering her, she’s not bothering them.

Visored: positive / negative / neutral. ━ because: uhm only the best beings in existence. All her favourite people belong to this race. 10/10

Espada: positive / negative / neutral. ━ because: they serve aizen. A lot of them are also under the assumption that they are somewhat superior to visored? GET REAL.

Quincy: positive / negative / neutral. ━ because: she didn’t care what they did to be honest. She just didn’t like them hurting her friends. If they literally annihiliated everyone in Soul Society except her friends, she wouldn’t have batted an eyelash. They’re Soul Society’s mistake to fix and to be honest, if there were more visored, she would’ve liked an alliance with them to teach central 46 a lesson at least. But... you live and you learn. And her friends were barely stable to launch a revolt.

YOUR MUSE’S VIEWS / OPINIONS ON THESE (IMPORTANT) PEOPLE ?

Aizen: positive / negative / neutral. ━ because: he used her. Hurt her innocent friends and also hurt people that could not/would not fight back. This is people like Ichigo’s friends and humans that cannot pick up a zanpakuto to fight for themselves. Aizen’s plans are not justified.

Yhwach: positive / negative / neutral. ━ because: she’s only going along with what she’s been told-- he wanted to destroy the worlds and this is a bit unfair since she lives in the world. > >

Mayuri: positive / negative / neutral. ━ because: Although he’s a pain... he is part of her division. He was irritating and gross and weird... but he was still from her division and she did become attached to him in her own way. He makes her skin crawl but also, she kind of understands why he is so alienated. He’s different. And different people are the ones that are stepped on first. They feel threatened and have to protect themselves. The things he has done, whilst she doesn’t know all of them and most likely would have words about them -- he’s most likely done it as he’s seen right. At least, for Mayuri he has passion in what he does. He’s not pretentious about being a good shinigami. He calls himself a scientist.

Kurosaki: positive / negative / neutral. ━ because: he’s a dumbass teenage boy with a nice family and a nice home and still carries on this huge responsibility to fight for his friends. And.. he’s their family now. So Ichigo’s family... is her family. She’ll protect it.

Soul King: positive / negative / neutral. ━ because: doesn’t really think he does much to be honest. A king has to be prepared to reunite people and make the world a little better. But their king seems to hide in an exclusive pocket dimension where not even her zanpakuto can talk to Kirio’s zanpakuto. It’s heart-breaking. :(

CONGRATS, you managed till to the end, now tag your fellow bleach partners!

TAGGED BY: @skyvar thank you so much!! This really made me thing! TAGGING: @sphaeraa, @hanabiira, @meishutori , @praedulcis--helianthus @mysteriousshopkeeper & else that wants to do this!!

#memes #meme replies #whew this was so thought provoking

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senboago · 4 years

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BASICS

Name: Kaede Shiba / / / Age: 500+ / / / Gender: female Race: Shinigami / Quincy / Hollow / Fullbringer / Visored / Human / Other Currently lives: Soul Society / Hueco Mundo / Silbern / Living World / Hell Exact Location: seireitei, gotei 13, nibantai Group(s): gotei 13, omnitsukido, shiba clan

QUESTIONS

- Is your muse considered a threat: YES / NO ? From whom?: hollows, wandenreich, criminals - Is your muse powerful: YES / NO ? Could they be considered OP: YES / NO ? - Did your muse any crimes: YES / NO ? - Does your muse think they are doing mostly the right thing: YES / NO ? - Would society think the same: YES / NO / MIXED OPINIONS ?

- Does your muse think they are treated unfairly: YES / NO ? - Does your muse feel understood from others: YES / NO / NEUTRAL? - Is it important for them what others think of them as a person: YES / NO ? - Would they welcome death: YES / NO ? - Will they ever find peace: YES / NO ?

01.0. Do they fully stand behind the group they are part of? YES / NO. Why is that? Explain: This only applies to the gotei 13, not the Shiba clan (who she’s actually most loyal to). She knows of quite a bit as she does work in the stealth force. Having been the former detention unit commander, she’s fully aware of the dangerous people regularly imprisoned, and just how central 46 deals with their disappearances; especially those sentence to the muken. She doesn’t agree with it. It’s hurt many good people with good intentions and exiled a few of her friends too.

02.0. Do they like as things are in Soul Society? YES / NO. 02.1. Is there anything they would change? Explain here: Certain laws, and the punishments for others. She would also like to see an aid to poorer rukongai.

03.0. Would they ever actively try to bring change (in general)? YES / NO. 03.1. Is your muse more: passive / active ? Introverted / Extroverted ? 03.2. Does your muse care more about: others / themselves ? 03.3. Do they trouble their mind over a lot of problems, others? YES / NO. 03.4. Do they mostly involve: the world / everyone / themselves / comrades / friends / family / elderly / kids / teenagers / home / workplace / strangers / souls / humans / quincy / shinigami / nobles / fullbringer / visored / hollows / espada / arrancar / (former) boss(es) / pets / animals / zanpakuto spirit / enemies / partner / lovers / soul king / god / other…(add more) 03.5. Name (up to) three which are the most on their mind (optional, adding names): - friends & family, including her lover - work - themselves (mostly training)

04.0. Do they think frequently about politics? YES / NO / SOMETIMES. Why is that? Explain: As both a former noble and member of the omnitsukido, it’s a part of her daily life. Even if the Shiba clan has no place in it anymore, it still dominates her workplace. She isn’t always the biggest fan of it, but knows better than to ignore it.

05.0. How do they feel in their current location, more: POSITIVE / NEGATIVE / NEUTRAL ? 05.1. Why is that?: Even if she disagrees with the way things are ran, it’s still her home. The Soul Society is where her family is. As for the second division, she’s spent centuries here, made many deep and meaningful bonds. It is and always will be her second home. She will always be loyal to them, specifically Soi Fon.

06.0. Does your muse have any goal: YES / NO ? BIG / SMALL ? 06.1. Does it involve anything world-changing: YES / NO ? 06.2. If goal or not, any future plans? Share here: Maybe settle down eventually; get married and have children. It’s a far off thought though. For now, her biggest concern is the second division and the omnitsukido.

08.0. Who is the worst person in their eyes?: aizen. 08.1. What should happen to them? Execution (quick / slow death) / Imprisonment / Stripped of their powers / Torture / Repay for their sins / Pay a Fine / Social Work / lose their loved ones / Exile / other… (add more). 08.2. Explanation: Originally I wanna point out that Kaede also hates Yhwach. Both men were merciless to both their enemies and allies. They literally used their allies. It’s an unforgivable act, one that deserves execution. However, the main focus here is Aizen, who can’t exactly be killed. Truthfully, his crimes actually outweigh Yhwach’s on a personal level, as it directly affected her friends and a former member of her clan.

10.0. Would they ever switch sides: YES / NO ? 10.1. If yes, What could bring them to do so?: Conflicted values and morals, forced exile, etc. 10.2. Would they create a new one: YES / NO ? or join a current one? If so, which: n/a.

11.0. Does your muse follow a certain moral code*?: YES / NO / GRAY AREA ? * (ethics) A written, formal, and consistent set of rules prescribing righteous behavior, accepted by a person or by a group of people. 11.1. What does it involve?: Basic human decency, respect to other lifeforms, protect the weak, helping those in need. 11.2. What does it NOT involve?: Unprovoked violence, unnecessary killing, ignorance of another’s struggle.

YOUR MUSE’S VIEWS / OPINIONS ON THESE GROUPS ?

Central 46: positive / negative / neutral. ━ because: She has many disagreements with 46′s decisions. But her line of work requires she follows each order. She knows the consequences of insubordination, so her cooperation is granted.

Four Great Noble Clans: positive / negative / neutral. ━ because: It’s neither positive nor negative. She has no feeling of them except her ancestral clan; the Shihoin. They are the only ones Kaede has any hardships, since they cast her mother out while pregnant.

Royal Guards / Gotei 13: positive / negative / neutral . ━ because: She doesn’t know any personally. Nor does she have any real opinion of them. She understands their responsibilities, but it doesn’t mean she isn’t salty about their ever late intervention in the war.

Fullbringer: positive / negative / neutral. ━ because: Again, there’s none she knows personally. They are simply humans with unique abilities.

Visored: positive / negative / neutral. ━ because: She sees nothing wrong about them. They were victims, ones that had every right to hate the whole Soul Society for wrongful accusations. As she’s friends with Shinji, she has much more positive outlook on them. There is still the occasional wariness of the inner hollow, but it doesn’t make her hate the person.

Espada: positive / negative / neutral. ━ because: A former enemy, ones who blindly followed the biggest traitor of the gotei 13. It’s lightened over time, her opinion swayed to a more gray area.

Quincy: positive / negative / neutral. ━ because: Another enemy, but this one of an actual war that killed innocence. [the askin ship only; It’s much more grayed since coming to the comfort of his presence. She’s learned their side, at least from his point of view. Thus she’s less angry towards them.]

YOUR MUSE’S VIEWS / OPINIONS ON THESE (IMPORTANT) PEOPLE ?

Aizen: positive / negative / neutral. ━ because: His selfishness cost many people grievance. It affected her friends and comrades, and even a now former member of her family. She has a strong distrust and hatred of him for the wrongs he’s caused.

Yhwach: positive / negative / neutral. ━ because: There is a bit of a personal bit, as she did face his clone-- who caused the large scar on her side. Other than that, she’s more upset at the lives claimed and near end of the world.

Mayuri: positive / negative / neutral. ━ because: She holds little to no trust in him, and holds caution in his presence.

Kurosaki: positive / negative / neutral. ━ because: He’s saved the Soul Society countless times. His selflessness is admired.

Soul King: positive / negative / neutral. ━ because: He’s simply an entity there to keep the world stable. There’s no other opinion about him.

CONGRATS, you managed till to the end, now tag your fellow bleach partners!

TAGGED BY: stolen from @hirako5hinji TAGGING: @kenpxchi @bazzardburner @krinji @elxfi @equipollency @kazeshinigami @levaer @tatarfora

#hcs. kaede shiba #cut it cause long post

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matronpersephone · 4 years

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(tw: torture, mention of unconsenting intercourse, mention of death)

The man quivered against his confinements and the rope burn restored his conciousness crippled back to him instantly, to return him from the promised lands of dreams to the agonizing hell of reality. Count your blessings, they say. So little his moments of bliss seemed, so quick to pass and fleet through the cracks on his fingers like the river waters, he whaled in protest almost pathetically. He wanted to cry, he wanted to scream, he wanted to plea, but his tears had dried, his throat had turned sore and his remorse was exhausted, upon deaf eyes. The memory of his wife and his son seemed a distant haze, a wild summer dream and the thought alone of reconnecting with his family was no longer written in his stars. Alas, life was short, so short, so much shorter actually than all he had reckoned. And for that, he lost faith, he lost ambition, he lost sorrow and as all emotion turned to mold from the inside out, he was turned into a shell of his former self, a cheap replica of his days of glory and youth. Life was a game that could take the right player anywhere; now she was collecting unpaid debts and there was no cheating this round. Only reckoning.

He was handsome and strong, and his eyes burned with mischief and desire. But who was he now? Or what, really? The man could only just barely see in this sea of darkness and the goddess of the moon was mayhaps feeling merciful for one final time to grace her light, through one hollow crack on the ceiling this one ray of pale silver, taking a leap of faith into the void of his prison, granting him one glimpse of life again. He crouched closer, thirsty for her grace, thirsty for her saviour, and he cupped the silver in the bloodied hold of his palms, trying to delight what tiny beauty remained in the world. When did he become so mindful of nature, when did he finally grow eyes to see the beauty and when did he find the clarity in his mind to treasure the on going moments of mortality? Death truly changes people and those that meet the dead, they are never one and the same again. Perhaps this explained why now, of all times, he did, finally, truly see. And perhaps he owes even gratitude to her.

---

Maymm has always been an adversary for quick, clean kills. The purpose of the executioner is not to bring suffering, but to carry out a fatal sentence. It is never their responsibility to measure guilt and justice; once jurisdiction has been spoken, the executioner obeys. And perhaps she is right. For all her nonsensical blabbering, maybe this one time Maymm was not a self congratulatory fool, but actually precise. Nothing quite compared to a swift, spontaneous kill. To steal their breath, to stop their hearts, to overshadow the light behind their eyes and to let their thoughts and their minds and their hopes and their beliefs all bleed peacefully into eternity forevermore, to end a life and to bring a halt to years upon years of pursuits and endeavours and to all that made a person this one, specific person, all in but a split moment in this infinite line of time; that is orgasmic. Maymm never taught her the amusement in a kill, she just had to learn it her own way. For as long as she remembers, the she had to rely upon her own strengths and efforts to teach herself all the necessary lessons to survive in this world and understand it. Well, clearly enough to turn her into an assassin like no other of her kind. Because who other of her own would ever take joy in such cruelty, misery, suffering than the only one with a brave spirit and a huntress' heart. Quick kills are good; sometimes, prolonged is better. And in the case of such scumbags, who dirtied her land with their crimes and shed the blood of her people, oooh! Prolonged was (really) the better of the two.

The silver in his hands clashes on the smooth surface of perfectly sharp steel, gliding smoothly on the sharp edges of the weapon and reflecting in the four corners of this room. The man flinches with horror and he collapses on the flayed, butchered muscles of his back, to no avail but a surge of pain that paralyzed him again. The woman was quiet, so quiet always, so discreet when she danced in the dark and she moved unseen, unheard and unparalleled in the shadows. He never noticed her, not him and definitely not his companions, albeit their magical properties. Had the woman no influence over the spirit realm, or were they so reckless they failed to detect her? Impossible. Impossible, that with no magic one could ever be so swift, so precise, so deadly. Impossible that one could ever circle seven mercenaries so quietly, move so quickly and kill them, one by one, always with one, perfect blow so efficiently. He watched the six, as they surrendered to the sweet embrace of death all around him, their skin turning pale and cold before they hit the ground, and he was left lone, to face judgement. For the first time in his life, afraid. Scared. Horrified.

She likes the fear. Fear is necessary. There can be no respect and no integrity without fear in the spirits of one's enemies. This was, all along, why Ionia had to suffer before she learned her lesson. The old ways worked for the past, but the future did not adhere to the laws of yesterday and thankfully, someone was making sure the laws were on their side of the field this time. So yes, a bit of brutality here and there? That was just some necessary evil. From Navori, to Weh'le and to Puboe, or anywhere else in Ionia, criminals of the war remained hidden, outcasts that were condemned when their evil dreams sank and their ambitions were met with nothing but the wrath of justice. (Someone) had to pull out the weeds and end this infestation because if no one did so much, there will be no tree for her former masters to Prune. Well, and the thrill of the hunt made it all the more exciting.

She turned him over with the heel of her shoe. Poor bastard did not make a pretty sight no more. For a gang leader and a traitor of his homeland, who gambled on the misfortune of his people and tried to chase privileges in foreign empires, he was quite the charm. But now most of all that was lost and the true ugliness of himself was brought to the light. Of course that required some little help of her kama, that was unsurprisingly quite the effective thing. He was given a choice, after all, to confess his guilt and spurt out his secrets, in exchange for a quick passing; he declined. So why would she feel remorseful for her actions, like for one when she first dag deep her blade into his skin and peeled his entire arm off with the precision of a mad surgeon, or when he tried to strike her for a wild attempt to freedom and she slashed the fingers of his feet? Or when she caught lies in his testimony and he forced her to slice across chest and lower torso, smoothly removing the ugly clothing so that perhaps when his heart would come closer to the light he would at least feel less confident in his escaping efforts? She loved that one, watching the steel glide so effortlessly, like scissors on paper, almost brushing against the bones. Perhaps the Kinkou was not so useless, teaching her all about human anatomy and that much. It definitely brought the two so much closer.

He weakly moved his head, with every fiber of his dying being begging only with his eyes. He had seen a kunai before, it killed all his friends so peacefully and what he feared now he longed desperately for. She tilted her scalp. "Oh this? Yeah, it can probably end the pain," she jabbed with a smirk. "But I'm not sure I should do that little favour for you. You see, you turned on my people and then you tried to hide from punishment. You kind of became my problem. And I'm really good at dealing with my problems."

The ghost closes his eyes and flails weakly, as he cries but his tears come no more. But he can hear her smile. It's wicked, it's cruel and it has a voice of its own, that he will remember even when he reaches the skies, the spirit be good. His whole life he fought for a better future for his child, for a chance to save her from the poverty of their family, the cold of the winter and the cruel hunger. His whole life Ionia turned its back on his child that lived in the streets and when he turned his back on them in return, is this what he deserves? To hell with honour and patriotism, they never kept mouths fed; the invaders did. The invaders sheltered them and gave them seats at the table. So to hell with this righteous wench, to hell with it all, why was he so undeserving of a quick death?

But she never answered, she never asked, she never doubted and she never pondered. Why would she ponder, on a killer of the defenseless? On an enabler of the tyrants? On a selfish fool that brought the blades of the enemy into their land and guided them into the bodies of the weak? They murdered, they usurped, they raped and for what? The honour of dying in the wars of someone else that proclaimed himself a righteous conqueror? Was that it, a life any better? Was that enough to trade the suffering of thousands? Was that worth the trauma that now scars them?

Akali doesn't think so. Now twilight falls, and forgiveness is a privileged the guilty have lost.

#league of legends #akali #short story #ionia #caution advised

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the-observant-frisbeetarian · 5 years

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Chapter 17

Auf Wiedersehen, Sweetheart by George deValier

Ludwig lay beside Feliciano, his scarred, calloused hands entwined with warm, soft fingers, his unwavering gaze locked with shining gold eyes. The morning sun had long since turned to afternoon, streaming through the billowing bedroom curtain and painting lines of light onto the bedcovers beneath them. Feliciano's auburn hair glinted gold on the pillow. Ludwig could not tear his gaze away; could not stop himself from constantly reaching out to touch Feliciano, to bring him closer. Gently twisting that one curl that still refused to lie flat, lightly tracing those lips that still smiled so readily, running his hand carefully, reverently, over Feliciano's shoulder and down his side. Here, finally, was the one thing Ludwig had lived for: the one reason he had survived. The one memory that had kept him alive through four years of pain and horror and utter hopelessness. His bright, precious, timeless Feliciano. Here, lying beside him, sharing his warmth and his breath and listening intently as Ludwig tried brokenly to speak about those four brutal years.

It had been easy enough to tell of the beginning. Being arrested by the military police, charged with treason for aiding the escape of an American prisoner, spared the punishment of death but sentenced to humiliation and disgrace without formality or trial. Being sent to the Eastern Front, to a losing battle which everyone knew was hopeless, with nothing but a barely functioning rifle and an expectation to die. But with the Germans losing ground on all sides, the Russian campaign was already lost. There was no chance of holding the enemy back for long. Ludwig spent mere days in an army unit before its inevitable defeat and his capture by the Russians. And then, as a German prisoner of war, the real hell began.

Ludwig paused and looked down at Feliciano's hands clasped with his. He had never told anyone of those horrific years. Even to his grandfather, he could only manage a few broken sentences at best. And even now, he was determined to spare Feliciano the worst of it.

"It's okay, Ludwig." Feliciano squeezed Ludwig's hand. "You don't need to say anything else, I don't mind, I…"

"No." Ludwig shook his head and took a deep breath. "I need to." Yes, he needed to say this, and there was only one person he could say it to. But when Feliciano smiled like that, and nodded understandingly, and looked at him with such innocent eyes, Ludwig knew he did not need to hear all of it. Feliciano did not need to hear that the marks on Ludwig's wrists were from the chains he wore during the short hours he was not made to work. That he could still see the faces of the frozen corpses, dead men's bodies he was forced to pave over. That the scar on his cheek was from a beating that almost killed him, a beating he received for the crime of reaching a hand to a man who stumbled. Feliciano should never have to know such things. And so, Ludwig spoke carefully.

"We worked. That is it: that is all. Day and night, we worked, building bridges and paving roads through the ice. We starved - there was no food, and the little water we were given was dirty. And we froze. Over time our clothes became nothing but rags." Ludwig shuddered to remember it. The beating, the starvation, the rampant disease – somehow none of it compared to that bitter, tearing, inescapable cold. "Our captors…" Here Ludwig had to stop briefly, unable to describe it. …beat us, tortured us; laughed as we bled, shot us for sport… Ludwig left the sentence unsaid. "They said we deserved it. They said our army did worse to them. Maybe we did – I do not know. The East was not my war."

Ludwig stopped to breathe, to remind himself the horrors he spoke of were now over. The autumn breeze gusted through the open window, lightly buffeting the old model planes that still hung from the ceiling. In the silence, Feliciano brought Ludwig's hand to his lips, then pressed his smooth cheek to the rough, work-hardened skin. A bright, swelling wave of warmth melted the freezing cold, and Ludwig's hand shook slightly at Feliciano's gentle touch. This was why he had survived - why they had both survived. Feliciano said nothing, but his expression was drawn with pain, and Ludwig understood. It took him a moment to go on.

"Every day I looked for a chance to escape. But there was none. The only escape was death. And so many died. Those not strong enough; those who gave up." Sometimes Ludwig thought they were the smart ones. Sometimes, in that frozen hell, he had envied them. "But I knew I could not give up. There was only one reason I didn't. In the end I lost everything, forgot everything, had nothing left but that one reason to keep going."

"What?" asked Feliciano breathlessly. "What was the reason?"

Ludwig blinked silently, then almost laughed. Only Feliciano would ask when the answer was so obvious. Ludwig tucked a stray lock of hair behind Feliciano's ear. "You, Feliciano."

Feliciano breathed a quiet sigh, his lips turning in a small, sad smile. "Oh."

"I would not let myself die, as long as I knew you were alive. I made that decision early. And I made it again, many times, every single day. For four years, I refused to die. Until the day I was not given a choice." Ludwig lowered his eyes, his hands again starting to shake. He was unsure if he could remember this without falling apart. But when he felt Feliciano's fingers touch his cheek and trail into his hair, Ludwig remembered that he could be strong. "When new prisoners stopped arriving, and there were too few of us to work, we were no longer needed. We were taken into the forest. And we were told to walk. I knew then that I had reached the end. And so I walked – I had no choice. Eleven steps… or was it twelve?" Ludwig furrowed his brow, his eyes drifting. "I counted, but I… I don't…" The ice through his boots, the snow in his eyes; his blood in his ears, his breath misting before him… "I don't remember…"

"It doesn't matter." Feliciano pressed a kiss to Ludwig's shoulder and brought him back to this sunny room. "It doesn't matter how many."

"No." Ludwig tried to focus on this room: on the light from the window, the sound of Feliciano's breathing, the brightness of his eyes. "But with each one, I remembered. I remembered you. Every word you spoke to me. Every smile you gave me. The sound of your laughter… the sound of your tears. I could not pray; I could not hope." Every step in the snow, every blast of gunfire, every man who fell dead to the forest floor… "I could only remember. The smell of your hair." Ludwig breathed in against Feliciano's hair. "The feel of your skin." He ran his fingers down Feliciano's wet cheek. "Every touch. Every moment. Of my entire life, all I could remember were the moments I had spent with you. And I was not afraid to die." Feliciano breathed a shaky gasp. Ludwig's focus again started to drift. "I heard the gunshot, but I was on the ground before I felt it."

This time Feliciano choked on a sob, his hands clinging almost painfully to Ludwig's arms. The tears on his cheeks glistened in the afternoon sunlight. Ludwig's heart wrenched at his chest, and he gently brushed them away.

"I am sorry. I will stop."

"No, don't." Feliciano shook his head determinedly, his eyes wide and insistent. "Tell me, Ludwig. I want to hear. And I know it's important, I know you have to tell me, because you only ever talk when you have something important to say."

Ludwig knew now why he could tell this to no one else. No one had ever understood him quite so easily as this little Italian. Ludwig had to kiss Feliciano's forehead before he could continue. "I knew the shot was too low. I knew it would not kill me - not immediately. But the Russians did not fire again. Instead, they left. And I lay in the snow, alone, waiting to die."

"But you didn't." Feliciano spoke as though to reassure himself. "You didn't die, Ludwig, because you are here with me."

Ludwig felt his lips twitch and his chest ache. "No, Feliciano. I didn't die."

"How, then? How did you come back to me?"

Ludwig looked down at his hands. The memories were so real; so cold. "I do not recall how long I lay there. It was until a layer of snow was upon me and I no longer felt the cold. I was holding your photograph, because I wanted…" Ludwig's voice broke away, his throat going tight. "I wanted the last thing I ever saw to be your smiling face."

Feliciano's eyes darkened, his lips parting in breathless wonder. "My photograph…"

"I kept it hidden in my boot. The flower you gave me, though…" Ludwig felt sick to remember the moment a Russian soldier had torn the dried little daisy from his hand and ripped it to pieces. "I am sorry. I lost it." Ludwig swallowed through his tight throat and continued quickly. "But I kept your photograph. And as I lay there in there in the snow, staring at the picture, at your face, just as the world began to turn white… a gloved hand reached out and touched mine."

Feliciano gasped, his eyes widening further. "Who was it?"

"It was a lady." Ludwig said it incredulously, because even now, it was a hard thing to believe. "A lady dressed in blue, with short blonde hair and tears on her cheeks, who spoke at first in Russian. I barely understood. She spoke no German, but she did speak English, and she told me she would help me. Which she did."

Again, Ludwig did not need to tell all of it. But that was because he did not recall much. He did, however, recall waking in a large fire-lit room, in a wide, soft bed, warm for the first time in years. He recalled trying to move, and the gutting wave of excruciating fear when he realised he could not feel his legs. He recalled shouting, frantic, demanding to know where he was and why any Russian would help a German like him. And he recalled that gentle hand brushing his sweaty hair from his face; the sadness in those kind blue eyes; that soft, calm voice telling him he was safe, that he would be all right, that he reminded her of a brother she once loved, a lifetime ago, before revolution and war turned him into someone she no longer recognised.

Feliciano let Ludwig remember in silence before asking finally, "Where did she come from?"

"She lived on an old farmland estate, near where we were working, in the west close to Ukraine. She liked to walk in the woods, which is where she found me." Ludwig again recalled the older lady's words, spoken by his bedside after yet another visit from the team of well-paid Russian doctors: I have failed many people in my life. My brother, my sister, and the innocent lives destroyed by them both. I have waited many years to redeem myself. He might simply have been her chance for redemption, but as long as he lived, Ludwig would never forget the kind, blue eyes of his saviour. "She contacted my grandfather, and when I was well enough she paid for my transport to Berlin."

"What a nice lady," said Feliciano simply. Ludwig's condensed version of events seemed to be enough for him.

"Yes. An angel."

Feliciano smiled at that, running his thumb in circles over Ludwig's arm. "Your own angel, just like Gilbert was for Roderich, and Roderich for me; and Lovino for Antonio, and like you were for Alfred. If only everyone had an angel like that." Feliciano shook his head, his smile turning to a frown. His cheeks were slightly red, and still a little wet. "How can some people do such wonderfully kind things in this world, but others be so awful? It makes no sense, Ludwig. I don't understand it."

Ludwig glanced up, blinking, and watched the model planes circling in the breeze. He knew, beyond any doubt, that he would never know anyone in the world with such a beautiful view on it as Feliciano. "War is nothing but hate. It makes men animals. But love keeps us human."

A long silence fell, broken only by their quiet breathing and the occasional bird call drifting through the window. Feliciano seemed like he wanted to say something, and eventually his eyes lowered and his hand stilled. "I missed you so much, Ludwig."

"I know." So much... Feliciano would never know how much. But that was over, and this was now, and it was forever.

"I'm sorry." Feliciano sounded suddenly uncertain. "I wish... I mean, I don't..."

Ludwig ran a hand down Feliciano's back and drew him closer. "There is nothing you need to say, Feliciano. Thank you for listening."

"Thank you for coming home." Feliciano nestled against Ludwig's chest, and though he could not feel them, Ludwig knew Feliciano's legs were tangled with his. But he could feel Feliciano's warm breath on his neck as he whispered softly. "Ich liebe dich, Ludwig."

Ludwig touched his lips to Feliciano's ear and whispered back. "Ti amo, Feliciano. Forever."

The next morning, Feliciano woke in Ludwig's arms for the very first time. Birds sang outside the window, muted sunlight broke through the curtains, and Ludwig's chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm against Feliciano's cheek. An indescribable, inescapable feeling of warmth and wonder and light, floating joy welled within him. It was like every tear was forgotten, every heartache dissolved. Feliciano reached up and touched Ludwig's cheek, watched as his eyelids fluttered and those blue eyes opened. Ludwig blinked a few times, then his eyes lit up with a gentle smile. "Feliciano."

Feliciano's heart sent fluttering waves across his skin. "Ludwig." His stomach rumbled. "I'm hungry. Do you have pasta in Germany?"

"Germany?" Ludwig stared blankly for a few moments, then looked around as though reminding himself where he was. Finally he breathed out in understanding, smiled again, and ran a thumb across Feliciano's cheek. "Yes. But not for breakfast. Tell me - do you still like chocolate?"

Feliciano gasped loudly and shot upright. "Chocolate for breakfast? Really, Ludwig? Oh my gosh! Germany is wonderful!"

The entire day, Feliciano felt like he was flying. As he and Ludwig had chocolate and coffee in the sunny little kitchen, stealing glances and talking of nothing and occasionally forgetting what they were doing as they just looked at each other. As Ludwig explained how his shiny black chair worked, turning the wheels and moving the armrests and finally giving in and letting Feliciano sit on his lap as he raced down the hallway. As they headed into the garden and wandered through the beautiful, open-air, bird-filled aviary that Gilbert had built years ago. It was wondrous how naturally right and breathtakingly perfect it felt to be with Ludwig again. Feliciano had never felt such easy, natural happiness in his life.

But now, in the wide, green backyard, standing at a distance as Ludwig sat surrounded by three jumping, barking, enormous dogs, Feliciano was starting to feel a little uncertain. Ludwig threw the ball again across the lawn, looking over at Feliciano as the three dogs chased gleefully after it. "They are friendly, Feliciano. Come and say hello."

Feliciano clung to the porch railing and gave a little wave. "Hello, puppies. Can I go inside now?"

Ludwig gave a short laugh. It was the same deep laugh that Feliciano remembered so well, yet it sounded like Ludwig was not used to it. "They will not hurt you."

Feliciano looked uncertainly at the three dogs chasing each other across the grass. One gold, one brown, one black, and all still jumping, barking, and enormous. The gold one reached the ball first, bounding back across the yard to bring it to Ludwig. The others were a little slower behind.

"They are old now," said Ludwig, taking the ball from the gold dog and ruffling its coat. He looked sad suddenly. "I have been gone so long, I have missed most of their lives. But they still have a few years left." Ludwig stroked the dog's long ears, speaking to it in German.

Feliciano felt a flaring glow beneath his skin. His wonderful, kind Ludwig was just as good and gentle as Feliciano always remembered him. Feliciano watched as the dogs crowded around Ludwig, tongues lolling and tails wagging, barely even noticing Feliciano where he stood. Maybe they weren't quite so scary after all. And if they could make Ludwig smile like that… "He looks nice," said Feliciano hesitantly. "The gold one looks nice."

Ludwig smiled over at him, and Feliciano's heart turned in his chest. Anything was worth it to see that smile. "This is Aster. He was only a puppy when I left home. He is very gentle - all he wants to do is play."

Feliciano forced himself to take a single cautious step onto the grass, nervously eyeing the enormous black dog nearby. "All right, I'll pat Aster. Aster doesn't look as mean as the fluffy brown one, or that big black one."

"The fluffy brown one is Blackie." Blackie tried to push Aster out of the way, and Ludwig pushed the dog back playfully. "And she isn't mean. Just a bit jealous, sometimes."

Feliciano took another step closer, biting his lip when Blackie jumped up and placed her huge front paws on Ludwig's chest. "Why is the brown puppy called Blackie?"

"I found her abandoned in an old factory, when I was eighteen or so." Ludwig placed Blackie's legs firmly back on the ground. "She was so tiny, hiding in the fireplace, and completely black with soot. So I called her Blackie, and I brought her home."

Feliciano gasped, horrified, and again walked closer. "In the fireplace? Poor little Blackie! Okay, I'll pat Blackie. But the big black one is still too scary."

"This is Berlitz," said Ludwig when the black dog reached him finally. It had taken him a long time to run back across the grass. "He's not scary at all. Yes, he is big, and has a loud bark, and he is a little shy of strangers - but he is simply caring and loyal, and he would never hurt anyone. He is very old now, and he went deaf in the bombings."

Feliciano put a hand to his chest and felt his lip tremble. No wonder poor Berlitz was so slow… "He's deaf? Oh, puppy! I think I'll pat Berlitz."

Ludwig laughed again, sending Feliciano's heart soaring. He reached out his hand and gave a small tilt of the head. "Come on, then."

Feliciano looked at Ludwig's outstretched hand, at his smiling face, then laughed brightly. How could he possibly be afraid of something so silly? He hurried to Ludwig's side, sat on his lap, and the three dogs immediately jostled for his attention. Feliciano reached his hand out to Berlitz, who carefully nuzzled his palm, furry and wet.

Ludwig put his arms around Feliciano's waist and pulled him close. "They like you." He sounded pleased.

Feliciano nodded happily, his silly fear completely gone. As the three fluffy dogs crowded around them, noses sniffing in curiosity and tails wagging in delight, Feliciano wondered how he had ever thought them scary. He took the ball from Ludwig's hand and threw it across the yard. Aster and Blackie chased after it, but Berlitz just rested his head on Feliciano's knee.

Ludwig's hand joined Feliciano's. "I told you he wasn't scary."

Feliciano sighed with happiness and kissed the top of Ludwig's head. "We should get a kitty."

Ludwig just laughed.

Feliciano and Ludwig spent the autumn in Germany. The little forest-bordered village truly was everything Ludwig had once said it was, amongst those hill-top church ruins in Italy. It was warm, and it was friendly, and it really did feel like home. They spent most days outside, whether in the village streets or the surrounding fields, in the brisk air and the filtered sunshine. Ludwig was usually determined in pushing his wheelchair himself, but just sometimes he would let Feliciano push him slowly along the cobblestoned streets, past pretty shops and peaked-roofed houses and neat, well-trimmed gardens. A few times Feliciano thought he might have liked to climb to the big white castle, but it was up all those stairs, and he didn't want to go without Ludwig, and it probably wasn't all that interesting anyway.

And so, the autumn days passed like a dream. But rather than the numb, nightmarish, waking sleep Feliciano had grown accustomed to since the war, this dream was beautiful, and he never wanted to wake up. Feliciano was amazed at how easily he fit into this strange new life in Germany. Ludwig's grandfather was serious, but kind – he was not nearly so scary as he appeared at first. He showed Feliciano his old war medals, sometimes helped him with his German, and even let Feliciano call him Opa Aldrich, though he did seem a bit surprised by that at first. To Feliciano's great delight, Roderich stayed with them over the autumn. In the evenings, after Feliciano and Ludwig's long walks, they would all drink a spicy wine called gluehwein while Roderich played the piano. He taught Feliciano many wonderful songs, about dreams and tomorrows and lamplights, but Feliciano's favourite to sing was his and Ludwig's 'Auf Wiedersehen.' The glorious autumn days passed in unending wonder and happiness until before he knew it, it was almost winter.

The day before Feliciano and Ludwig returned to Italy they spent the afternoon in the local beer hall. Feliciano had been here a few times now, but he was still surprised at how different it was from the cantinas back home. Long, wooden benches ran alongside carved, heavy tables, stained glass windows adorned the old brick walls, and there was even a big elk head mounted above the fireplace, though Ludwig had assured Feliciano it wasn't real. Waitresses with plaited hair and pretty dresses carried dozens of beer glasses between the tables, and a band played on a stage in the corner, the musicians wearing suspenders and funny hats and playing big shiny instruments.

The only thing that bothered Feliciano about the place was that he did not actually like beer. But this was a beer hall, after all, and that was what Ludwig and Roderich and Opa Aldrich always ordered. They were already halfway through theirs, so Feliciano hesitantly took a sip from his mug, and immediately made a face. Ludwig seemed to be fighting back a smile. "You can order something else, Feliciano."

Feliciano peered at him sideways. "But this is a beer hall."

Ludwig's eyes crinkled and he briefly placed a balled-up hand to his lips. "Yes, but as I have told you before, you do not have to drink beer."

"But…" Feliciano glanced furtively around the hall. The four of them sat at the end of a long table by the wall, their usual spot, to make room for Ludwig's chair. From here, it certainly looked like beer was compulsory - every person in sight was drinking the frothy amber liquid from big, heavy beer mugs. "Are you sure?"

Ludwig nodded. "Quite sure. There is cider, or schnapps, or wine…"

"Oh, I don't know if I should drink wine in a beer hall, Ludwig. That wouldn't be very polite. Besides, Lovino says that I get really annoying when I drink wine, and I usually start singing, and I don't think those musicians in the funny hats would like that." Feliciano leant forward and whispered. "Someone should tell them you're supposed to smile when you play music. Ooh!" Feliciano sat back and motioned to a waitress as she passed, carrying a wide tray laden with food. "Bretzels! Danke, Fräulein. I'm going to miss these when we go home to Italy, although I am looking forward to having proper pasta again. You Germans never make the sauce right, and really, you don't have to have cabbage with everything. But I can't wait to tell Lovino about chocolate for breakfast, he probably won't believe me though… ooh, peanuts..."

Roderich shot Ludwig an amused glance, laughing quietly as Feliciano grabbed handfuls of food from the bemused waitress's tray. "It will be very odd without you around, Feli."

Aldrich shook his head with a familiar expression of bewilderment and faint amusement. "It will certainly be... quieter." He nodded at the waitress as she left, and she flashed him a brilliant smile. Opa Aldrich was just as popular with the local girls here as Grandpa Roma always was at home.

"Oh, but we won't be gone forever," said Feliciano earnestly. He and Ludwig had decided to divide their time between Italy and Germany. It was simply growing too cold here at the moment, and Ludwig hated the cold now. "We will come back for the summer, won't we, Ludwig?"

Ludwig did not reply, but he nodded, and his hand reached for Feliciano's under the table. Feliciano took it and offered him a bretzel with his free hand. Ludwig shook his head, refusing silently, though laughter shone from his deep blue eyes. He was often silent these days, but that was okay. Ludwig did not need to speak for Feliciano to know that he shared this same unfading contentment.

"You are like two little birds," said Roderich, smiling softly as he concentrated on cleaning his glasses. "Flying south for the winter."

"Unlike you, Roderich," said Aldrich, leaning forward and filling his mug from the big beer jug on the table. "This German winter won't be nearly as cold as where you're going. I still don't know why you will not wait until spring." Feliciano knew that Aldrich was not looking forward to being alone again. He had already expressed his disappointment at Ludwig leaving for Italy, and it was obvious he looked on both Roderich and Feliciano as his own grandsons. Feliciano only wished that Grandpa Roma could one day feel the same about Ludwig.

Roderich shrugged apologetically. "I have already waited too long to attend to this matter. I should have left months ago."

"Will you visit us in Italy when you are finished?" asked Feliciano eagerly. "And will you bring me a present? What do they have in Finland, anyway?"

"Vodka?" Aldrich suggested lightly.

Feliciano's lip curled in distaste. "Oh, don't bring me vodka, Roderich. I think I'd almost prefer beer."

Roderich smiled as he set his glasses back in place. "I am sure I will find you something, Feli. And I would be happy to visit you. Perhaps you could even join me, Aldrich."

Feliciano turned to Aldrich pleadingly. "Oh, yes! And then you can meet Grandpa Roma, and Lovino, and Antonio..."

"Antonio," Aldrich repeated thoughtfully, tapping his beer mug. "That is Gilbert's Spanish friend, yes? The one who laughs so much. He used to send you model planes, Ludwig."

Ludwig nodded. "Yes. I am looking forward to seeing him again."

Feliciano threw his hand up and laughed. "Of course, I forgot you would know him already. Isn't it funny how everyone seems to know each other? It is a small world, that's what Grandpa Roma says. I think you would be friends with my grandpa, Opa Aldrich. Have you ever been to Italy before?"

Aldrich looked down into his beer, his expression suddenly strangely blank. "Not for many years, Feliciano. I fought in the north-east, on the Isonzo River, during the Great War."

"Isonzo?" Feliciano slammed his hand on the table and leant forward in surprise. He had heard the name many times, both from admiring strangers and Grandpa Roma's own war stories. He was Maggiore Vargas, after all, hero of the Isonzo campaign. "My grandpa fought at Isonzo! He was the youngest Major in the Italian army, you know." Feliciano gasped, his eyes going wide. Grandpa Roma had been in the Italian army; Opa Aldrich in the German. They had been enemies. "Oh my gosh… do you think you might have fought each other?"

Aldrich paused, frozen, his knuckles turning white as he clutched his beer mug. It took him a few moments to stutter disbelievingly, "Major Vargas. Your grandfather isn't... Augustus Vargas?"

Feliciano felt Ludwig's hand grip just a little tighter to his. "So you did know him! Wow! It really is a small world! But no one calls him Augustus anymore, he punched the last person who did that."

Roderich looked almost as shocked as Aldrich. "You must have commanded on opposing sides of the battle," he said incredulously. "How extraordinary!"

Aldrich did not respond, still silent and staring at nothing. The others waited, silently, until eventually Ludwig spoke softly. "Grosvater?"

Aldrich shook his head slightly then took a long sip of beer as though to steady himself. "I knew him only briefly, Feliciano. I suppose it would be more accurate to say I knew of him. He was a fierce enemy, as well as the most honourable I ever fought." Aldrich looked from Ludwig to Feliciano and let out a short bark of laughter. "Major Vargas' grandson. Mein Gott, I need more beer."

Feliciano's heart raced and his entire body seemed to soar, thrilled to return to blue, pleasant Italian skies from the deep German cold. The train ride with Ludwig was far more pleasant than the first endless one without him, but Feliciano was still relieved to be outside again: in the still afternoon sunshine, on this well worn village road, among familiar sights and scents and trilling birdcalls. Ludwig took longer than usual to negotiate his chair over the country trail, but it was nice to go slowly. Feliciano couldn't help running into the fields and back, throwing out his arms and laughing in the gentle wind. Germany was wonderful, but it was so good to be home.

Further down the road, at the old broken-down tank, Ludwig stopped for a moment to flex his hands. "Look, Ludwig," Feliciano cried as he ran back towards him. "The lavender is still blooming!"

"That's good," Ludwig replied, a tiny reflective smile on his lips. "I could do with a short winter." He sighed softly, looking around and shaking his head in wonder. "Incredible," he said quietly. "It is exactly as I remember it. This tank is even still here."

The big iron machine was rusted over now, tall grass and long tendrils and colourful weeds all creeping up the sides. It had been on the side of this road for so long Feliciano barely noticed it anymore. "I suppose they must have forgotten it was here – it has been here since the war started, and no one ever came back for it."

"It is an old Panzer 1, a 1937 model."

"Oh. Is it?" Feliciano did not know anything about that. He pointed to the tangle of colourful weeds growing over its surface. "Look - there are flowers in it. It's much prettier now, don't you think? And oh!" In the cluster of weed-encircled flowers Feliciano spotted a single bright, red daisy. He reached up and picked it carefully, dusted it off, and pressed it into Ludwig's hand. "Here, Ludwig, that's for the one you lost in Russia."

Ludwig stared at the flower silently. After a few moments he turned his head and blinked very fast. "Thank you," he said finally, turning his gaze back to Feliciano, his thoughts unfathomable behind eyes as blue as the clear, cloudless sky. Feliciano felt his breath catch in his throat – after all this time, those blue eyes were exactly the same. And this was almost the exact place Feliciano had first lost himself in them.

"Come on, Ludwig." Feliciano forced himself to speak, but felt like he was breaking a spell in doing so. "Just up here."

They both knew their destination: there was no need to speak it. A little further down the road, around a small bend in the path, the familiar field rose like a sea of green and gold. And against the background of the mountains, tall and strong and eternal, stood their oak tree; their somewhere else. Feliciano's heart leapt, his blood fired, and he again raced ahead, the once-wild yellow grass barely brushing his ankles as he ran. All these years he had waited here alone, and now, finally, he was here again with Ludwig. Laughter rose in his chest and his head turned light. It was too perfectly wonderful to be true. When Feliciano reached the tree he spun around to call out, but instead he went still, the words dying on his lips. Ludwig did not move to follow. He just watched, unmoving, his eyes fixed on Feliciano and his lips turned in a small, thoughtful smile.

A sudden breeze shook the leaves overhead and a fleeting memory flashed before Feliciano's eyes. An image of Ludwig in his tailored grey officer's uniform, head high and shoulders straight, striding boldly across the field with the sun setting behind him. Just as quickly, the image was gone. But what was left was so breathtakingly perfect, Feliciano felt his heart turn and his breath stop. It was never Ludwig's fancy uniform, or his handsome face, or his tall, easy strength. It was his kindness, his loyalty; it was the way he made Feliciano feel accepted, and respected, and safe. That was why Feliciano loved him. That was why he barely even noticed the shiny black wheelchair. Because it was never about Ludwig's looks; never about his abilities. Even if he was changed, this was the same Ludwig as that pilot in the officer's uniform, and this was still their somewhere else, and Feliciano had never loved him more. He stood waiting, his breath fast and his skin tingling, as Ludwig moved slowly across the field. When he finally reached him, Ludwig took Feliciano's hand and smiled. "Buon giorno, bello."

The words turned Feliciano's knees weak. The wind whipped his hair and he laughed brightly, joyfully, uncontrollably. "Guten Tag, sweetheart!" Feliciano fell onto Ludwig's lap, threw his arms around his neck, and felt Ludwig's strong, safe arms surround him. Their lips met easily, perfectly; elated laughter rising between them. There would be no more goodbyes here.

Five times Feliciano had kissed Ludwig in this field. He knew, beyond any doubt, that he would kiss him many more. But Feliciano also knew that none would ever be as freeing, as wondrous, as beautifully perfect as this simple hello kiss, on this beautiful Italian winter afternoon, somewhere else underneath their oak tree.

It was growing late by the time they headed up the little lane to the farmhouse. He had run up this path thousands of times, with the sun low in the sky and the stars already sparkling. But this time, with the lights on ahead and Ludwig by his side, Feliciano truly felt like he was coming home. And in the fading light, Feliciano could just make out his brother already standing in the doorway.

"Lovino!" Feliciano ran the rest of the way, laughing as he fell into Lovino's waiting arms.

"Slow down, Feli!" Lovino clasped Feliciano close, his embrace warm and familiar and home. "You'll fall and hurt yourself."

"No I won't, don't be silly. Have you been waiting long? Where's Antonio? Where's Grandpa?" Feliciano took a step back, smiling broadly. "Oh, I can't wait to tell you everything, and I hope no one's upset we arrived so late, but it was a lovely afternoon for a walk, and with Ludwig's…" Feliciano immediately broke off. He realised, with a guilty stab to the stomach, that he had forgotten to mention Ludwig's wheelchair in the short letters he had sent home. "I, um…" Lovino just stared straight past him, wide-eyed, and Feliciano turned to see Ludwig approach the doorstep.

"Hello, Lovino."

Lovino bit his lip, folded his arms, and glanced down at his feet. He looked like he did not know what to say: but then, Lovino often did not know what to say. Feliciano wasn't sure whether to reassure his brother or Ludwig, but just before the silence became uncomfortable, it was thankfully broken by a familiar voice.

"Who is that I hear on the doorstep?" Antonio took a few moments to step through the doorway – he walked slowly these days. When he noticed Ludwig's chair he turned his head sharply, a painful expression crossing his face. He took a single deep breath, as though feeling and understanding and accepting. Then the expression was gone, and he grinned instead. "Little Ludwig. It's been a long time."

Ludwig almost flinched when he noticed Antonio's missing arm. Feliciano mentally kicked himself: another thing he had forgotten to mention. But Ludwig recovered as quickly as Antonio, and it was obvious he was glad to see his brother's old friend again. "Ten or so years, I believe. It is good to see you, Antonio."

Antonio leant down and embraced Ludwig warmly. "You Beilschmidts are indestructible."

Ludwig's voice was rough when he responded, his arms around Antonio's shoulders. "I wish that were so."

Antonio squeezed Ludwig's shoulder, stood upright, and for a moment he and Ludwig regarded each other silently. Feliciano could almost see the memories playing behind their eyes. Then Antonio laughed. "But good Lord, little Ludwig, you got so big!" He quickly turned to Feliciano, blinking rapidly. "And Feli! Give me a hug! Uh-oh, I think all that German cuisine has made you fat…"

Feliciano gasped indignantly as Antonio threw an arm over his shoulder. "It's not my fault! They have chocolate for breakfast!"

That got Lovino's attention. "Chocolate for breakfast?"

"But of course!" cried Antonio. "No German breakfast is complete without a block of chocolate, a barrel of beer, and an entire roasted pig!"

"Only on special occasions," said Ludwig, the corner of his lip turned in a tiny smirk.

Antonio placed a hand to his chest and gasped loudly. "Was that a joke, Ludwig Beilschmidt?! Goodness, what has Feli done to you?" Antonio laughed and shook his head in amazement. "But there is so much to ask! How is your grandfather? And Roderich? You have met my Lovino, of course. I apologise if he seemed rude, he doesn't mean it..."

"Don't apologise for me, bastard!"

Antonio giggled. "He doesn't mean that, either."

Feliciano had to choke back the overwhelming emotion rising in his throat. He had never dared to imagine, never even thought to hope that one day he would be standing at this door with Ludwig; that they would be coming home together. Antonio was so happy and accepting, and Lovino would learn to understand. The only thing that worried Feliciano was Grandpa Roma's reaction. What if he was still angry? What if he would not speak to Ludwig? What if he even told him to go away? Feliciano's thoughts started to run away from him. Yes, Grandpa Roma had let him go to Germany, but what if he had changed his mind? What if Feliciano had to choose between Ludwig and his family? He had made that choice once before, and knew he could not handle that pain again. But what if...

"Ah, you've arrived finally."

Feliciano almost jumped, his heart flying to his throat when he realised Grandpa Roma was standing in the doorway. Antonio stepped out of the way and Ludwig nodded politely, though his hands gripped his armrests firmly. "Major Vargas."

"Lieutenant Beilschmidt." Grandpa Roma stood straight and tall, his expression fixed and unfathomable. There was a silent, seemingly endless moment where the two men simply looked at each other. Finally, Roma lowered his eyes and inclined his head. "But let us not use old military titles here." Then, to Feliciano's complete shock, Grandpa Roma leant down and hugged Ludwig. "Welcome home, Ludwig."

Ludwig looked completely stunned. Eventually he patted Roma's shoulder awkwardly. "Uh... Grazie, Signore."

Feliciano promptly burst into tears.

The next morning was colder, the breeze carrying a slight chill as Feliciano walked the freshly tilled fields with Ludwig. It was still early morning, the sun barely risen above the mountains and glistening dew still clinging to the grass. But Grandpa Roma had said the lilies were blooming in the northern fields, and daybreak was always the best time to pick flowers, and besides, it was a far too beautiful morning to waste. At first Feliciano worried the long walk would be too rocky for Ludwig's chair, but Ludwig handled it so easily, and his arms were strong enough to push past the rough patches. Feliciano looked up at the sun rising, turning the sky orange along the horizon. "I can't believe Grandpa and Lovino and Antonio would rather sleep than see this pretty sky."

Ludwig snorted softly. "Well, we did only go to bed three hours ago."

Feliciano shrugged. "That is no excuse, Ludwig. You and I are here, aren't we?"

"Yes, but I prefer it with just you and I."

Funny, how such simple words from Ludwig could still stop Feliciano's breath and make his chest flutter. He brushed back his windswept hair and focused on kicking a rock through the grass. "Me too, Ludwig. But it was a lovely night, wasn't it?"

Ludwig nodded, though he looked a bit incredulous. "Surprisingly. Lovely, and… strange."

In fact, it had been a lovely, strange, surreal, and yet perfectly wonderful evening. With the fire burning and the smell of coffee in the air, the five of them spoke of trains, and Ludwig's village, and music, and Shakespeare, and anything but war. Antonio told old stories about Gilbert and Ludwig that made everyone laugh, even Lovino. And Feliciano had fallen asleep on Ludwig's shoulder, blissful and content. He loved Ludwig's village, but it was wonderful to be home with his family - his Italian family. Feliciano supposed he had two families now.

"I think Grandpa Roma was very happy to hear that you are Opa Aldrich's grandson, even if he did spit his drink all over the place. But I laughed when he said you look exactly alike. You don't look alike at all! Your hair is much shorter, after all." Feliciano reached up to a tree branch as they passed, plucking a green leaf and twirling it between his fingers. "And you smile more."

"I do?" Ludwig sounded rather surprised at that.

"Of course. Opa Aldrich never smiles, he always just looks a bit surprised."

Ludwig let out a short, heavy breath. "Only around you."

Feliciano tilted his head inquiringly. "Am I so surprising?"

"Constantly, Feliciano." But Ludwig said it kindly, and Feliciano knew he meant it as a good thing. Feliciano reached up for another leaf as they passed the next tree.

"Well, that's okay, I suppose. Things surprise me all the time. I'm actually surprised right now. I mean, Grandpa Roma said there were lilies blooming on the north side of the field, but I don't see any lilies, I only see these trees and the grass and some daisies and that cottage over there…" Feliciano broke off abruptly, furrowing his brow and putting his hand above his eyes to peer across the grass. There, on the edge of the field, was the old barn that lived, both sweetly and bitterly, in Feliciano's memory. Only it wasn't the same. It was much larger now, with a colourful, fenced garden and wide windows and a bright green front door. It wasn't a barn anymore – it was a little cottage. Feliciano stopped still, the leaves falling forgotten from his fingers. He was completely astonished. "What… what happened?"

"Is that…" Ludwig stopped, turned his head, glanced around, then breathed out in understanding. "When was it turned into a house?"

Feliciano shook his head, staring, stunned and confused. "I don't know. Maybe someone bought it, or… I don't know."

"It was not like this when you left for Germany?"

"No! It was just a barn! Well, not just a barn, I mean… I…" Feliciano again broke off, those sweet and bitter memories flooding his mind. That one night during the war with Ludwig, in a hay loft by a fireplace, under a rain-pelted roof. That blazing night of closeness and bliss and completeness; that one time Feliciano had joined so perfectly with Ludwig. Beyond the shock and confusion of why this place had changed so drastically, Feliciano suddenly realised one thing: how much he wanted that again. "Ludwig, do you remember…"

Ludwig answered before Feliciano could finish. "Yes."

The cold wind gusted strongly, whipping Feliciano's hair against his cheek. He twisted his fingers, took a deep breath, then asked, "Do you think we could ever do that again?"

This time Ludwig took too long to answer. He looked away when he spoke. "I don't know."

Feliciano nodded, breathed, and smiled. "Let's have a closer look." Feliciano ran ahead to the little cottage, Ludwig following behind. When he reached the evergreen trees that bordered the edge of the wide field, Feliciano turned into the little fenced lane that led to the bright green cottage door. His stomach flipped when he saw there was a note attached to it. "Ludwig!" he called, ripping the note from the door. "There's something…"

You're a grown man, Feli. You can't live with your grandpa forever.

Feliciano was sure his heart stopped when he read the note, scrawled in Grandpa Roma's familiar handwriting. At first he did not understand it, and then he thought he read it wrong, and then he was quite certain he was dreaming. The words blurred on the page and he turned slowly, overwhelmed and speechless, to see Ludwig wheeling down the wide garden-bordered lane. "Feliciano?" Ludwig approached slowly, his expression puzzled and concerned. "What is it?"

Feliciano just shook his head, barely able to believe it. "It's ours."

Ludwig stopped, furrowing his brow in bewilderment. "It's what?"

Feliciano laughed. Once he started, he could not stop. "It's ours!" he cried again, waving the small white note and racing down the lane. An overwhelming joy overtook him and he could only laugh, and gasp, and throw his arms around Ludwig as he fell onto his lap. Ludwig took the note from his fingers, read the words, then simply held Feliciano in his arms.

Feliciano never knew such happiness existed. He did not understand how he could deserve all this. He simply did not know how to contain such tremendous joy.

This was where he would live with Ludwig. Here in the golden Italian fields; here with the backdrop of their mountains and close to their oak tree. Here, there would finally be a place for them.

The Italian winter passed as quickly and joyfully as the German autumn. Feliciano spent the mornings working in their little garden, planting white lilies and red daisies and bushels of basil and rosemary. Ludwig usually watched him silently, listening as Feliciano talked or sang in the afternoon sunshine. In the afternoons they would sometimes walk to the village, shopping at the market or meeting Antonio and Lovino for coffee in the cantina - on these afternoons they usually ended up at their oak tree, where they would talk and pick flowers and Feliciano would sometimes sing. It was a perfect, beautiful life, and Feliciano knew they deserved it. True, at first some of the villagers had a hard time with a former German officer living amongst them, but by the spring most of them had accepted it. After all, it was rather embarrassing losing a fight to a man in a wheelchair.

The afternoon thunderstorm broke suddenly, unexpectedly, catching Feliciano and Ludwig unawares as they walked home from the market. By the time they fell through the front door, wet and shaking and breathless, they were completely soaked through. Ludwig shook the rain from his hair and immediately headed for the fireplace in the bedroom. "I will never get used to this Italian weather," he muttered, hearing Feliciano laugh in response as he followed down the hallway behind him.

"At least these spring rainstorms aren't as scary as the ones in winter!" A sudden crack of thunder shook the windows and Feliciano shrieked, his footsteps pounding faster until Ludwig felt gripping arms around his neck. Ludwig stopped, let out a resigned sigh, then turned his chair and pulled Feliciano onto his lap. Feliciano's look of fear turned first to surprise, then to beaming contentment as he leant happily against Ludwig's shoulder. Ludwig rolled his eyes as he continued towards the bedroom. It was ridiculous, really. Feliciano spent almost as much time in this chair as Ludwig himself.

"What have I told you about thunder, Feliciano?"

"Thunder is the sound that lightning makes, not the sound of old Gods fighting each other in the mountains," Feliciano recited dutifully.

"Exactly. Nothing to be afraid of." Ludwig manoeuvred through the wide bedroom door, the dull afternoon light filtering through the curtains and casting shadows on the rug-covered floorboards. He briskly rubbed Feliciano's cold arms before nudging him off his lap. "Now get changed, you're freezing. I'll start the fire."

The old barn's fireplace was now the central point of the bedroom, opposite the dresser and the bed, bordered by a varnished mantelpiece covered with colourful flower vases, framed pictures, and a simple little wooden box containing two very precious photographs. Ludwig set about starting the fire as Feliciano continued talking behind him.

"If thunder is the sound that lightning makes, then why do you see the lightning first?"

"Because light travels faster than sound," Ludwig explained patiently, placing the kindling in the fire.

"It all sounds very strange, Ludwig, but I'm sure you know more about it than I do. And I don't find the thunder so scary anymore, except when I'm not expecting it, but I can't help that. We will have to go back to the market tomorrow, by the way, because I dropped the tomatoes in the rain and I have to make that flan while the basil is still fresh - oh no, do you think the storm will ruin my herbs? I only just planted new ones!"

Ludwig closed the grate on the crackling fire and turned his chair, ready to reassure Feliciano that his herbs would most likely be fine. The words died instantly on his lips. Feliciano stood at the window, naked from the waist up, holding aside the curtain and peering into the front garden. His wet hair clung to his neck, soaked flat but for that single unruly curl, dripping glistening rivulets of water down bare skin that glinted gold in the firelight. He was absolutely beautiful. Ludwig swallowed heavily, his throat turning dry and his breath coming faster. A wave of heat shot down his back, tingling at the base of his spine, spreading to areas he was no longer used to feeling sensation. Feliciano twisted a bare foot on the floor, wiped the water from his forehead, and smiled as he turned.

"I think it will be okay, I suppose I can just replant them if… Ludwig?"

"Feliciano." Ludwig simply reached a hand out for Feliciano, needing him to take it; needing him to understand. Feliciano only stared blankly for a second more. His golden eyes darkened, his soft lips parted, and he breathed a quiet, shaky, "Oh." Then he smiled again, beautiful and calm and trusting. Ludwig's heart turned in his chest, swift and full, as Feliciano raced forward into his arms. Of course he understood.

In only minutes the rain outside grew even heavier, pelting loudly against the roof as the flickering firelight painted Feliciano's skin in a soft golden glow. Laying back on the wide, low bed, Ludwig gazed up at Feliciano straddling his waist; ran his calloused hands over smooth, trembling thighs and warm, firm hips. Feliciano's eyes did not move from Ludwig's, his own hands tracing light circles on Ludwig's chest. Ludwig knew they were both, in some way, scared to try this. After all, they had tried a few times since the winter, and had so far achieved limited success. But he also knew that he trusted Feliciano, and loved him desperately, and Ludwig wanted this as much for his beloved little Italian as he did for himself.

"It's all right, Feliciano." Ludwig reached up to touch Feliciano's cheek, letting his hand fall slowly over uncertain lips and fragile shoulders and that white bullet scar on Feliciano's chest that still pierced Ludwig's heart. "We will go slowly."

A long rumble of thunder echoed through the room. Feliciano's hand gripped Ludwig's firmly, but then he smiled. "There was a thunderstorm the first time, remember?"

Ludwig smiled back. Of course he remembered. He nodded in reply, then said simply, "Baciami."

Feliciano's eyes flared at the memory and he leant down into a burning kiss. As he did so, he slowly lifted his hips and lowered himself onto Ludwig. Ludwig breathed a sharp breath of surprise as he felt the dull, tightening pressure, a building shiver, the slow beginnings of sensation. Feliciano moaned softly against his lips and Ludwig kissed him again, his hands resting lightly on those smooth, flexing thighs as Feliciano took his own time adjusting to the position. "Oh," Feliciano whispered breathily, the blissful, almost surprised tone of his voice sending waves of heat down Ludwig's neck. "Oh, Ludwig…"

Ludwig moved his hands from Feliciano's thighs to his waist, lifting him smoothly and moving him easily. It was different, and it was slightly odd, this instinctive desire to thrust without the ability to do so. But it was also about something else. The quickening drive of Feliciano's hips, the close heat of his breathy sighs, the darkened gaze of his heavy eyes: all blazed through Ludwig's veins and coiled below his hips, building to something like pleasure. This was about being with Feliciano, as close as their bodies allowed; it was about darkening those golden eyes and drawing those sighs from Feliciano's lips.

Feliciano spread his knees, pressed closer, and breathed softly, "Can you feel me, Ludwig?"

"Ja, Feliciano." Ludwig tightened his grip, again lifting Feliciano and bringing him down. "I feel you."

The look of pure joy and relief on Feliciano's face melted away any last trace of doubt. Because Ludwig did feel him. It was not the same as that first storm-tossed night by this fireplace, and it might never be the same. Yet it was more pure, more real; every radiant glimpse, every touch of Feliciano's perfection drew deeper sensation from Ludwig's broken body. Ludwig lifted a hand to touch Feliciano's cheek, his neck; ran his fingers down the gentle curve of his back; reached across his side and between his thighs. Feliciano cried out, arching up at the touch, and Ludwig felt his breath catch at the sheer golden beauty of him. Ludwig almost lost himself in the rhythm between them, in the consuming sense of unison, until he barely knew where his body ended and Feliciano's began.

By now, Ludwig was used to Feliciano's noise, to his laughter and singing and constant chatter. Yet for these rare moments, Feliciano was silent except for the swift pace of his breathing and his rising sighs that turned to tiny, shaking moans. Ludwig loved Feliciano's noise, and he loved his silence. He loved his wildness and his joy. And when Feliciano's stomach tightened, his cheeks flushed red and his wide eyes locked with Ludwig's own, Ludwig loved that he was the reason for Feliciano's gasping release.

The moment seemed to last both an instant and an eternity, Ludwig's nerves firing with his own steady, unpeaking bliss, until Feliciano's breathing evened and his shaking hands stilled on Ludwig's chest. Ludwig put his hand to the back of Feliciano's neck and drew him down into a deep kiss, enfolding his warm, drowsy body in a steadying embrace. Feliciano's lips were slow and lazy against his, until he broke the kiss with a short, soft laugh. "Oh, Ludwig, um… I, uh, oh."

Ludwig could not help feeling smugly satisfied at that, still blissful that he could make Feliciano feel like this; that he could be the cause of his heavy breaths and tired limbs. For so long Ludwig had been unsure if this union could be possible, and now pure, clear relief flowed through every part of him. Relief that he could still do this for Feliciano. Relief that they still had this; they had each other, and they had everything.

The sound of the forgotten thunder and rain again filled the bedroom as Feliciano fell to Ludwig's side, threw an arm over his chest, and breathed against his neck. Ludwig reached out for the blankets and tried not to make it obvious as he adjusted his legs beneath the covers. Feliciano just smiled against his skin. "Ludwig?"

"Mm?"

"I'm very happy right now."

Ludwig pulled Feliciano back into his arms and kissed his forehead. "So am I, Feliciano." And he was. Ludwig was quite sure he had never been this happy. Feliciano calmed the dark memories and dulled the sharp pain; he gave life meaning and hope. He was innocence in a world of guilt, a spark of light in what would otherwise be nothing but darkness and confusion. Feliciano was strange, and wild, and Ludwig knew that given fifty years he would never quite understand him. But feeling Feliciano's fingers dance over his chest and hearing his breathing turning to an indistinct humming, Ludwig wondered if that mattered. Because he loved him, and needed him, and he would never stop learning him. And surely that was enough.

Ludwig may have fallen asleep, or he may just have lay drifting, focusing on the perfect feeling of Feliciano in his arms. Either way, he was suddenly startled when Feliciano sat upright and jumped off the bed, pulling a sheet wrapped around his waist with him. Ludwig looked up in bleary confusion. "Where are you going?"

"I have an idea!"

Ludwig decided it was best not to ask any further. He knew by now that there would be no way of talking Feliciano out of it, whatever his sudden mad idea. Instead, Ludwig tried not to laugh as Feliciano stumbled across the room to the fireplace, the sheet twisted awkwardly around his ankles. "You can take the sheet off, Feliciano."

"But then I'll be naked!"

"Exactly."

Feliciano made a sound halfway between a gasp and a guffaw. "Ludwig! Don't be rude. Now, here." Ludwig furrowed his brow when he realised what Feliciano was reaching for. He took the little wooden box from the mantelpiece, clumsily carried it back to the bed, then sat heavily as Ludwig pushed himself up a little against the headboard.

"Feliciano?" Ludwig did not know what else to ask.

Feliciano held the box between them and gazed at Ludwig with earnest eyes. "Ludwig, you said you remembered there was a thunderstorm the first time. Do you also remember how I asked you not to say goodbye?"

Ludwig nodded slowly, his throat suddenly tightening at the memory. He would never forget. "Yes, I remember."

"It always hurt so much to say goodbye to you." Feliciano looked down at the little box, his expression turning sad and uncertain. "Every time I did, I never knew if it would be the last time, and… and even now, I still don't like saying it, because it reminds me…" Feliciano bit his lip and his eyes started to redden. "And these photographs here, we wrote our goodbyes on them, and… and they're still there…"

Ludwig let out a breath of understanding. Before Feliciano could get too upset, Ludwig gently squeezed his hand. "Pass me my shirt."

Feliciano glanced up, and though he looked a little confused, he nodded and reached for Ludwig's shirt from the table beside the bed. Ludwig took a pen from the front pocket and Feliciano immediately laughed. "You still have a pen in your pocket, Ludwig!"

Ludwig smiled. "You never know when you might need one." He reached for the box and opened it, carefully taking out the crumpled, bloodstained photograph of Feliciano smiling brightly at the camera. This precious piece of Feliciano evoked so many emotions within Ludwig he almost found it hard to look at it. He quickly glanced up at Feliciano's real face, his beautiful smile, before turning the picture over. Resting the photograph on his thigh, Ludwig ran a single line through the words written on the back: bella ciao. Then he wrote instead, buon giorno bello.

Feliciano stared at the words for a few moments, tears gathering in his eyes. Ludwig reached into the box for the other photograph, then held it out with the pen in a silent suggestion. Feliciano took them both slowly, running a shaking hand over the image before turning it over. He crossed out the scrawled auf wiedersehen, sweetheart on the back. Then, beside the old familiar phrase, he carefully wrote the words guten tag, sweetheart.

"There," said Ludwig lightly, reaching out and running a thumb under Feliciano's eye. "No more goodbyes."

Feliciano laughed and wiped his eyes. He took a deep breath then let it out slowly, an exhalation of acceptance and relief. Ludwig understood. The last time they had lain under this rain-pelted roof, it had ended in goodbye. Feliciano always remembered so deeply; but Ludwig was determined to always find a way to reassure him.

"Now, here." Ludwig placed the photographs back in the box, placed it on the table beside the bed, and drew Feliciano back into his arms. "Will you do something for me?"

"Yes," Feliciano replied immediately.

Ludwig laughed softly at that. "Promise me you'll wake up beside me, every morning – and never say goodbye."

Ludwig felt Feliciano's lips break into a smile before pressing a warm kiss to his chest. "I promise, Ludwig."

"Good. Now go to sleep."

"Yes, Ludwig."

Ludwig's heart swelled in his chest as Feliciano rested happily, smiling, against his chest. Ludwig still did not know how simply trying to do duty to his country had led him to this strange conclusion. To an odd, startling, beautiful little Italian who had turned the world upside down and changed everything Ludwig ever thought he'd believed in. To a life unlike anything he had ever imagined for himself, and more wonderful than he could have ever dreamt. All Ludwig knew was that despite all the obstacles, despite the years of hell, despite the scars and the pain, he would never change any of it. Ludwig would never regret taking that risk, all those years ago. It had all been worth it.

Ludwig looked over at the photographs sitting beside the bed; those old, painful goodbyes scratched out and replaced with words of greeting. It was time to forget the past – time to live their future. It was time to see where this strange, beautiful, unexpected life would take them. All Ludwig could know for sure, as he held Feliciano close and listened to him drift to sleep, was that it would be together. Because they would never say goodbye again.

Epilogue

Disclaimer: This story belongs to George deValier. Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya. I own nothing.

#Auf Wiedersehen Sweetheart chapter 17

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