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mysticdragon3md3 · 1 year

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I was looking for a funny old Tweet and found muck instead.

I don't know if the problem is that I can't help reacting, or if the problem is that I'm just so anxious about losing any and all thoughts that I feel compelled to always post about it.

It's probably worth exploring why I have this image in my head of Dimitri being so altruistic, benign, and kind, but I just dislike Edelgard. Not that I think she's unkind, but I don't respect all her bad decisions. So do I let Dimitri off the hook (choose to like him, not let his crimes inhibit my attachment to him) because him killing civilians was off screen? Maybe. Or maybe it's that "KingdomHearts-Riku effect", where if the story spends a lot of time with the character repenting and angsting over their regret for their sins, it just garners sympathy for them (at least it's effective to me). Or maybe it's the "Lelouch effect", where if the antihero spends so much screentime angsting over feeling forced into their horrible decisions, then I'm more likely to sympathize with them. It worked on me for Golden Wildfire Claude and Code Geass's Lelouch. I assumed it's what Crimson Flower did for Edelgard, since so many people are convinced she's nothing but compassion, even though she started an unnecessary war and pushed for imperial colonization of the whole continent. Once again, I'm left wondering, if Claude didn't exist as the formidable competition for my house choice and affections, would I have been an Edelgard fan? Maybe? Everyone compares Crimson Flower to Code Geass, and Code Geass is one of my top 3 favorite anime. But it's too late for that now. She lost her chance with me. And Claude was too good, to divert any attention towards her instead. Now, when I think of her, I get annoyed remembering her fans and her choices. When she drones on about feeling forced into pursuing these wars, I just don't feel it. I don't feel her regret. Both Dimitri and Edelgard get portrayed with plenty of sympathizing angst, but maybe I need that type of regret that I get from Dimitri. He completely changes his actions and forever regrets. But El is too self righteous and determined in her Resolve, to really admit that she was wrong, or to even let the weight of her regret weigh her down or dissuade her from her path. Maybe that's emotional strength, but it's also less emotive sympathy-garnering, as a character portrayal. She certainly doesn't regret to Dimitri's intensity of emotion. She regrets that she was "forced" to do horrible things, but she doesn't use that as a catalyst to change how she acts from now on. She doesn't change. Her regrets are just bumps in her journey, fueling her "sunk cost fallacy". She bemoans to the Gronder sky about how the only thing she can do is continue forward to war, instead of reassessing and changing. As I've said before, she lacks self-doubt, but that also means she lacks meaningful self-reflection. Meanwhile, Dimitri takes his regrets and not only vows to change, but changes everything about himself, from his demeanor to his actions, and his vigilance towards regulating himself from repeating past mistakes/regrets. Maybe that's why I buy the "sympathy for character despite their horrific crimes" from Dimitri, but not from Edelgard. That might make sense. Huh, I wouldn't have noticed this if it weren't for that Tweet.

The weird thing is that I don't feel cognitive dissonance about this. Maybe because I'm only really touchy/defensive about Claude. Plus, I've been through so many FE3H discourse, I've stopped caring. What I care about is that I've found an interpretation of FE3H that works for me. I've found headcanons that enable me to enjoy this series and some daydreams that I may turn into fanart/fanfics, and I don't need anything else. In general, Authorial Intent and canon isn't even as important to me as an artwork serving as a catalyst to thoughts, feelings, and experiences. So if I have to ignore some canon, headcanon some characters as being OOC, or completely paint Dimitri as a benign sweetheart in my head while ignoring his canon crimes, in order to get an enjoyable experience out of this series, then that's more important to me. (Though i dont feel I'm bending Dimitri too out of character in my head.) There's obviously something my subconscious is trying to express to me by favoring certain tropes & interpretations, and I'd rather follow the meanings of those trope patterns and that enjoyment and introspection, than get hung up on Dimitri's crimes or Edelgard sympathizers. I don't need my mind changed about this anymore.

…But I'm beginning to really think that Dimitri's regret over how he was when he was a Boar committing crimes, may have really been enough to convince me to sympathize with him. I hadn't thought about it before now. But that's what really differentiates him from Edelgard. He had such a sudden change.

While she never really did change. Once again, FE3H's writing seems to be saying something about the flaws inherent in the usually lauded trait of Resolve. She certainly has embodied the tragic flaws of rigidity, several times. It's just the flip side of Resolve. So many of her strengths are also her tragic character flaws that disallow her from making better choices, like cooperation, digging further for deeper truths, and avoiding FE3H's tragedy goal/premise of "old friends/classmates now at war". Must be an important story theme for FEH3.

Especially since that single mindedness as "tragic character flaw" is also repeated in Rhea. Man, that video essayist who said Rhea and Edelgard are the same, keeps proving more and more accurate to me. (Referencing video essay "Edelgard will always lose.)

So am I a hypocrite, or is just certain story/character writing more effective on me than others? I'm allowed to have my own tastes. If other people feel it's hypocritical to think/feel this way, then I hope they aren't going against their ideals by acting like me. Meanwhile, the way I'm acting and choosing to interpret and get attached to FE3H/Dimitri, is suited to me and my ideals. It would probably be just as wrong for me to go against my values/tastes, just as much as it would be wrong for others who disagree, to act in ways that agree with my values/tastes instead of their own.

Is what I'm doing with posts like this contributing to "unwanted fandom discourse" if I'm only really talking to myself? Let's hope my tags are unique enough to hide me talking aloud to myself.

#twitter is a hellsite #processing thoughts #please don't pick a fight over this as i don't have the emotional resiliency to deal with internet fights #personal fandom records #fe3hfuukasetsugetsu #confused with myself #elredeaglescrit #dimamityaAB #contrasts #reactions #random thoughts #fandomfrictionfracas #doesntdoubtherselfbutalsodoesntcheckherself #forgive #forgiveness

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nanamikentcs · 3 years

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PROMISE AND DOUBT

word count: 1.2k words

genre: angst / some comfort at the end but it’s really mostly angst

warnings: consumption of alcohol, mentions of death. ( gn!reader )

note: this fic is part of my 400 / birth month event ( requests are still open ). it turned out longer than i intended but i had a really fun time writing it ?? i hope i did kaeya justice with this.

anon requested: How about Kaeya with (001. “I can’t believe you remembered that.” “I remember everything about you.” - fluff), or (007. “You’ve never been loved, I can tell.” and 008. “Could you hold me, just for a few minutes?” - fluffy angst)?

summary: kaeya alberich is a man of many secrets, and you long to see beyond his carefree bravado.

Staving a rising fit of hiccups as the alcohol gradually wound its way through your system, you pressed your back against the Cavalry Captain’s couch in a more upright position, determined to hang onto sobriety given the prematurity of the night. The upper half of your body derived stability from the base of the sofa while the lower half was sprawled onto the floor, one knee propped up to support an arm holding an open bottle of wine. Your lover was seated next to you, mouth twisted into a lopsided grin as he loftily relayed the story of some treasure hoarders who were stunned to have their hideout discovered and busted by him.

You offered hearty laughs and sarcastic quips intermittently, but while half your mind slowly lost its battle against inebriation and manifested its defeat through airy giggles, the other half remained fixated on the elephant in the room. You skirted around the topic the entire time you were with Kaeya, but as the alcohol prodded at your veracity more and more, it became difficult to ignore the gnawing thought.

Today marked the fourth year of Crepus’ death.

The smooth timbre of Kaeya’s voice continued to fill the night air with frivolity that seemed—at least to you—misplaced. He had gone about his day in a manner that betrayed all his indifference, though indifference would imply he at least entertained the thought of his adoptive father’s death anniversary. No, what you saw was not indifference, but avoidance.

Kaeya Alberich was a man of many secrets. Given the time you’ve spent together—both before and after entering the relationship—he revealed so little to you: nothing prior to his life at Dawn Winery, nothing of the history behind his eyepatch, and nothing you would call substantial to the person he truly is. What you know about Kaeya is constrained to the viewpoint of a filtered lens, obscuring all vulnerabilities inherent to him.

It’s consideration for privacy that restrained you from overstepping any boundaries, but it’s curiosity—in conjunction with the liquid courage flowing in your veins at the present—that shattered any notion of inhibition on inquisitiveness.

“Do you miss him?” Your query surged forth before you could register the way your voice streamed out of its own accord, causing the man beside you to halt in his narrative. Enrapt in your abstractions, you did not even realize you’d interrupted him as he went on to tell another anecdote. The arm around your shoulder tensed slightly, before an air of impassivity returned both to his features and posture.

“Who exactly am I or am I not supposed to be missing?” Kaeya treaded around your question with feigned ignorance, half-expecting the indirect answer would dissuade you from pursuing a concrete response.

The fuzziness in your mind elected to ignore this. “Your father,” you managed to say after releasing a shaky breath, once again feeling his hand stiffen. At this, you turned away from his face, directing your attention towards the open bottle before taking a long swig. Had you kept your attention on his visage, perhaps you would’ve seen the flash of melancholy gracing his exterior. “Adoptive father,” you corrected after a short while, “Master Crepus, I mean.”

As you turned to face him once more, Kaeya reverted to his signature lackadaisical expression, revealing nothing of his earlier shock and consequent despondence. “Yeah, I think I know who you’re talking about,” he purposefully deflected your query with the playful remark. In the brief silence that followed, you hoped he would offer more words—an explanation, a response, something. Instead, the stillness was interrupted only by the sound of chugging.

There were no more amusing stories from the Cavalry Captain in the heavy quietude. Though Kaeya’s face remained impassive, the absence of banter was a telltale sign of contemplation on his part. Eager to remedy the tension you created but unwilling to let this moment of emotional vulnerability pass by, you allowed these words to tumble from your mouth, not fully comprehending your own impetus but knowing you had meant them wholeheartedly: “I understand what it feels to be lonely, too.”

His hand receded from your shoulder, pulling away from you slightly to study you with an unreadable expression. You fixated your gaze on the hardwood floors, unable to meet his own as you continued with your alcohol-spurred monologue. “You’ve never been loved, I can tell.” Your voice is dangerously close to a whisper, but you knew he heard it when he offered a nonchalant laugh.

“Everybody loves me,” in true Kaeya fashion, he skillfully skirted around the truth. Although you were ecstatic to hear his laughter, you shook your head as you refused to be carried away by his insouciance. You wanted him to know—you needed him to know—that it was alright to allow himself some vulnerability, even if it were to take place only once every so often.

“They...they love what you allow them to see,” you fumbled over your words, breath shaky as you eyed the bottle of wine only to put it down at the last moment. “People look at you and they’re instantly hooked on your charm. You radiate with a lighthearted aura around you but...” your voice trailed off as you redirected your attention to his countenance, noting the barely visible tremor in his lower lip. You placed a hand on his cheek, stroking gently. “There’s so much more to you. You conceal so many things—hide behind so many masks—believing you have to do this alone, but you...you don’t have to.” The pause in your voice showed your own hesitancy to succumb to such trite statements, though he didn’t seem to notice. Wordlessly, he pressed his cheek against your palm, yearning for the comfort of your touch.

“Kaeya,” you brought his attention back with the firm utterance of his name. The manner in which you had said his name—so much adoration, so much care, so much determination to provide a lonely man with companionship— “You aren’t your secrets. And I...I could love you—and I mean really love you—if you just let me in.”

Kaeya said nothing as he leaned forward to capture your lips in his own. You didn’t overlook the rare gentleness in his actions or the discreet stream of tears that decorated his face as he pulled away only to nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck. “Could you hold me, just for a few minutes?” The request was delivered with such quietness it was barely audible. Nonetheless, you heard him, deferring to the reticent plea as you enveloped him in your arms, one hand resting on his head and tenderly combing through his hair.

You offered him love, you promised him companionship, and you were willing to give all he could ever ask for in this life. He was a traitor, the living embodiment of duplicity, yet you subverted this notion. You insisted he was not his secrets, and he was nearly inclined to believe your words, had he not envisioned the look of obliterating dejection on your face if he unveiled the truth of his purpose in Mondstadt. As he lay in your arms, listening to the genial promises of love you whispered without hesitation, Kaeya vowed: he would bear the burden of secrecy, if only to protect you from the truth.

#kaeya x reader #kaeya alberich #genshin impact kaeya #kaeya x y/n #kaeya angst #genshin impact imagines #genshin x reader #genshin angst #genshin impact x reader #**mine

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warrioreowynofrohan · 3 years

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The Lord of the Rings as a Sequel to The Silmarillion (Part 1)

In one of his letters, Tolkien writes, “it is not really a sequel to The Hobbit, but to The Silmarillion.” I think it would be interesting to go through The Silmarillion and try to piece together the different ways in which The Lord of the Rings can be considered as a sequel to it, in terms of themes, motifs, characters, and plot elements.

But when I start at the beginning of the major events of the core Silmarillion, with the Return of the Noldor, the first pattern I find is The Hobbit as a Sequel to The Silmarillion.

Some of the similarities between the works are already thoroughly observered and discussed within the fandom: setting out on a quest against a dangerous, evil enemy with the aim both of taking vengeance for the death of family and recovering stolen treasure. Thorin and Fëanor likewise have. lear similarities, in pride, determination, self-will, and ultimately an obsession with a particular treasure that overpowers all other goals. And The Hobbit comes very close to a kinslaying at the end! I do not think the Arkenstone is a Silmaril; I think that Tolkien had the general concepts around The Silmarillion in his head, though, when he wrote The Hobbit, and presented some similar ideas there in a different form.

What really strikes me about the resemblances, though, is one key difference. In The Silmarillion, the Valar seek to dissuade Fëanor from pursuing Morgoth, from returning to Middle-earth in a quest for vengeance and lost treasure. In The Hobbit (or rather, as later described by Tolkien in Unfinished Tales), Gandalf - as near as one can get in Third Age Middle-earth to a representative of the Valar, and enturely familiar with the events of the First Age - actively encourages Thorin on his quest against Smaug:

Gandalf: I soon understood that [Thorin’s] heart was hot with brooding on his wrongs, and the loss of the treasure of his forefathers, and burdened too with the duty of revenge upon Smaug that he had inherited. Dwarves take such duties very seriously. [This too is quite Fëanorian - at Fëanor’s death “he laid it upon his sons to avenge their father”.] I promised to help him if I could. I was as eager as he was to see the end of Smaug. [Gandalf was concerned with the possibility of Sauron using Smaug against Rivendell.]

Gandalf advises Thorin - rather vehemently - on methods (a secret mission rather than open war), but he is very much in favour of the Quest. This support is in spite of his understanding of the danger presented by Thorin’s character flaws: “Curb your pride and your greed, or you will fall at the end of whatever path you take, though your hands be full of gold.”

This difference between the Valar and Gandalf, when confronted with a prideful, headstrong individual determined to take on a foe well out of his weight class in a quest for vengeance and treasure, strikes me as quite crucial:

The Valar: Absolutely don’t do that, it’s going to be a disaster and you have no chance of success. We won’t get in your way, but we think it’s a terrible idea.

Fëanor: Yeah, well, screw you, at least I’m not doing nothing, and I’m tougher than you think.

———-

Gandalf: Yes, go for it, I’ll help if I can. Take along this hobbit.

Thorin:…He seems pretty useless.

Gandalf: It is critically important that you take along this hobbit, and you’ll get no help from me if you don’t.

Thorin:…Fine. You’re coming along to babysit him, though.

The Third Age is after Valinor has been removed from the Circles of the World, when the Powers (or their representatives, like Gandalf) need to work with the Children of Ilúvatar, not on their behalf. Gandalf has no choice but to take risks, because he lacks the ability to fix everything by himself; that is, really, the very point of the Istari, that they are there to guide and support rather than to fix everything.

And the risk he takes here is a terrible one, and it very nearly goes terribly wrong. If not for the sudden arrival of an army of Orcs at the Lonely Mountain, it is very possible that his encouragement of the Quest would have resulted in the first Kinslaying (if we’re going to count a battle between broadly anti-Sauron Elves, Dwarves, and Men as a Kinslaying, which I do) in several thousand years. And he knows that Thorin has the kind of character flaws that make this dangerous - he tells Thorin so! And he knows about the Arkenstone. From one perspective, he’s gambling not just with the lives of Thorin & Company, but with Thorin’s soul. (I think this would be Elrond’s perspective, due to having had a front-row seat in the First Age to just how badly such things can go, and I imagine that the whole incident resulted in probably the most heated discussion/argument that Gandalf and Elrond ever had, after Gandalf and Bilbo got back to Rivendell. I don’t think Elrond had, necessarily, all the same context on the Quest and on Thorin’s personality as Gandalf did when Thorin & Co stopped at Rivendell.) From another perspective, Gandalf is respecting Thorin’s free will and the decision that Thorin has already made to go after Smaug, and is doing his best to provide advice and help to improve the chances that things go well. But there are no guarantees that things will go right.

#tolkien #the silmarillion #the hobbit #gandalf #thorin #bilbo baggins #fëanor

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robininthelabyrinth · 4 years

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My fic for Juletide has been revealed! It’s available here on ao3, but I’ll post it for tumblr here as well.

“Teacher, what is the purpose of revenge?”

Lan Qiren was used to Nie Huaisang’s strange questions by now. He reached up to stroke his beard, not lifting his eyes from the weiqi board. The game they had been playing for some time now was going well for him, but he’d learned not to let his guard down too much.

Nie Huaisang had always been an indifferent student in almost every fashion, with a memory that could only be compared to a net if the knowledge that slipped through its many gaps were compared to water, and there was not a single martial virtue that could be ascribed to him. And yet he was as skilled in the four arts as any scholar: calligraphy and painting, music and weiqi, there was not a single one in which he was not fluent, capable of holding a conversation at the highest level.

With Lan Qiren, anyway. As far as Lan Qiren was aware, Nie Huaisang didn’t play with anyone else.

“There are many different opinions on the subject,” he said, and made a move, seeking to draw his enemy into his net. “There are those that say revenge is a part of justice: a balancing of the scales. Repay kindness with kindness, hurt with hurt.”

“And yet pursuing justice is righteous, while an obsession with revenge is condemned,” Nie Huaisang pointed out, and made his own move, slipping out of the net before Lan Qiren could box him in. He had a tendency towards quick moves, as if he’d long since thought over what he intended – once he’d decided, he would not be dissuaded, and if he could not be dissuaded, there was no purpose in delay; it was a very Nie way of playing. “Vengeance is a dead end, while justice is a never-ending road.”

“It depends on the purpose,” Lan Qiren said. “Those who fall into obsession may be led astray into thinking that everything they do is revenge, and therefore justify atrocities well out of proportion to the crime – in the end, they drag others into the abyss that they have made for themselves, and the entire world will condemn them for it. The meshes of the net of heaven are large, and yet none may escape - yet someone must be the tool of that justice. That is the value in revenge: if crime can be committed with impunity, there can be no order in the world.”

“So it may be necessary to seek revenge – to impose punishment – in order to demonstrate to the world that certain actions cannot be permitted?”

“Exactly.”

“Even if there is a cost?”

Lan Qiren thought of his nephews. He had raised them as if they were his own sons, and he loved them dearly – he had tried to teach them everything he could, and protect them from what he could not. He had always stood up for what he believed to be right: he had demanded that Lan Xichen abandon the Cloud Recesses in its moment of need to save their most precious writings, even if it meant leaving his father to death and his brother to imprisonment; he had refused to permit Lan Wangji to throw his life away after the maddened murderer who had turned his back on him.

They might never forgive him for it.

“Even if there is a cost,” he said. He could only be himself, nothing more, nothing less. “Revenge, if done in the name of righteousness rather than selfishness, is a duty we owe to the world: after all, is it not said in Liji, ‘one should not live under the same sky as he who has slain one’s father’?”

Nie Huaisang looked thoughtful at that, as Lan Qiren thought he might. “‘How should a man conduct himself as to the man who killed his parent?’” he said, quoting a different section of the same classic text. “‘Sleep on straw with a shield for a pillow, do not take office or share the same sky; when he meets him in the marketplace, he needs not go back for his weapon but is prepared to fight him at once.’”

“I’m amazed you remember it,” Lan Qiren said. His voice was a little dry, but as someone who suffered as Nie Huaisang's teacher, he thought he was entitled to it. “You never used to remember anything.”

Nie Huaisang shrugged. “Some things stick in your mind.”

Lan Qiren supposed so. Nie Mingjue had spent the majority of his too-short life seeking vengeance for the father Nie Huaisang would have been too young to really recall; Nie Huaisang would have learned the principles of revenge at the knee of the only parent he’d ever had.

It made sense that that would be what he'd remember.

After all, Nie Huaisang always did remember the things that were important to him.

Sometimes Lan Qiren wondered why Nie Huaisang was so determined to hide his light under a stone. He would have long ago grown bored of playing weiqi against the foolish headshaker of legend or the vacant-eyed crybaby that perennially sobbed into his nephew’s sleeve, and yet they had been playing these games for years and years, all throughout the decade since Nie Huaisang had become Sect Leader.

He didn’t ask, though, and he didn’t point it out to anyone.

He’d find out the reason, one day.

After all, he’d learned how Nie Huaisang played: decisive, risk-taking, and with an eye on the long game. Everything would seem as if it were going fine, all smooth sailing with the wind at your back, and then suddenly everything would be overturned in one blow, the peace of uninterrupted victory abruptly turning into loss after loss after loss, and in the end it would be a total rout.

…a bit like this game, in fact.

“You’ve won,” he said.

“There’s still a great deal left of playing to do,” Nie Huaisang demurred. “Look at all the pieces still on the board.”

“That the pieces remain on the board does not mean their end is not preordained,” Lan Qiren said, thinking back over the moves they’d made. “It was the suicide move, wasn’t it? The second you played that, there was no way out for me.”

Nie Huaisang smiled. “Some things are worth a sacrifice.”

#mdzs #nie huaisang #lan qiren #my fic #my fics #nearly forgot about this one

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marzipanandminutiae · 3 years

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For the character ask meme, obviously I have to ask Lucille (or Edith!)

Oh no I have suddenly developed an ocular affliction that causes me to read the word "or" as "and"

What a strange and unfortunate-

Edith Cushing

First impression: My first impressions of this movie are kind of hazy in my memory now, because it's been six years but also because all I really recall is how much I loved it. Like, you know those movies where you leave the theatre and you just feel Changed(TM)? CPeak was definitely one of those, even if my Fandom Spiral for it was delayed.

I do remember thinking, "oh thank god, a Victorian female lead who's strong and independent and compelling without giving the impression that the director secretly hates 19th-century women." That definitely hasn't changed.

Impression now: MY STONE-COLD BADASS BUTTERFLY GODDESS. I love Edith so much. I want to write her more, and I have some stories coming up which will give me that opportunity. She's imaginative but no-nonsense, a keen appreciator of beauty but eminently practical. Edith is the eternal "sir, this is a Wendy's," and the epitome of "do no harm, but take no shit." Also her wardrobe is excellent.

Favorite moment: Any time she's talking about her book. It's so relatable and she's so determined to make her dream come true. Characters do talk to you, and I wonder, if she ever found an earlier copy of the text she'd stashed away somewhere, what Cavendish would make of himself now.

Idea for a story: Edith is secretly gay and marries Thomas just to get to Lucille. That's it; that's my next multi-chapter fanfic. Coming eventually to an AO3 near you!

Unpopular opinion: I don't think she was pregnant at the end of the movie. Or if she was, I imagine long-term chronic cyanide poisoning would make her miscarry. I also don't think she ever saw Thomas' ghost again, but I do think she held onto the land around Allerdale Hall and reopened the mines- half to fulfill his dream as a last gift and half because it never hurts to have another source of income. I doubt she ever went back into the house, though.

Favorite relationship: Canon? With her father. I love the scenes where they interact, because it's clear how much they love each other and understand each other as people. We love a healthy fictional parent-child relationship in this house.

Fandom? I am currently the woman in that math meme, except trying to figure out how to morally break Edith in just the right way that she'd fall for Lucille. Without being totally unrecognizable as herself.

Favorite headcanon: It's not exactly headcanon, but Del Toro said Edith dislikes Christmas in her character bio, and I imagine that's because of just how many parties an upper-class American Christmas in the 1890s-early 1900s would involve. Maybe she can get out of going to some, but she's Carter's hostess, and since he enjoys "social frivolity" as much as she doesn't...I imagine she breathes a sigh of relief when January 7th comes around and she can finally just spend evenings by the fire with her manuscript and a cup of chocolate.

Lucille Sharpe

First impression: If Murder Bad Why Evil Lady Hot?

Impression now: I want to suit up in full body armor and give her a hug. She's such a mess, and she's a mess that you can't help feeling sympathy for. Obviously she does so much that's awful and horrifying, and none of it is justified (except killing her parents- they had it coming). But god...there's just SO MUCH below the surface to analyze and poke around in. That's what makes her so fascinating to write.

...also If Murder Bad Why Evil Lady Hot?

Favorite moment: It's not my favorite, but it's a moment I have many questions about. The part in the park where she tries to dissuade Thomas from going after Edith. Why did she do that? Was she objecting to Edith's youth because she actually has some scruples left? Was it just about her own insecurities in the face of a Sweet Young Thing(TM) who Thomas already seems way too interested in? Was it a slightly petulant complaint that Edith's company would be unbearably tiresome for even a few months?

I feel like the answer could say a lot about her as a person. If only we knew it.

Idea for a story: How long do you have? I'm writing a hurt/comfort fic right now about Thomas bringing her home from the asylum and the immediate aftermath thereof, so that's definitely an idea to explore.

Unpopular opinion: I think her relationship with Thomas is more or less consensual. Or at least, I don't think the fact that his eyes were closed when Edith caught them together means what the fandom seems to think it means (that he was uncomfortable). Like. He was kissing her shoulder and actively pulling her closer to him. His eyes may have been closed, but the body language doesn't exactly say "just getting through it" to me.

The power dynamic is undoubtedly screwed up, especially since they were 13 and 11 when everything started (according to Del Toro) and Lucille is not above laying on the guilt trips about everything she's done for him (according to the novelization). So it's still not a HEALTHY relationship, even besides the codependence and the fact that they're siblings. But I don't think Lucille is outright forcing Thomas to have sex with her, or ever has.

Favorite relationship: Canon- I mean. She has one non-murder-motivated relationship in canon, so...I find the Sharpe siblings somewhat endearing because I think, ultimately, they really do love each other. I bet she has a favorite among Thomas' automata, and I bet she could listen to him talk about his inventions for hours.

Fandom- I don't have to math meme this one. Lucille likes having Her People, to love and possess. Lucille likes women. Lucille thinks Edith is beautiful. Lucille has absolutely no scruples about pursuing what she wants, if she can allow herself to want it. This theme has been lovingly explored by fans many times over, and it never gets old to me.

Favorite headcanon: Lucille is an aesthete at heart. You can't tell me a woman who does housework in silk-velvet and owns that nightgown/robe set isn't hell-bent on beauty even at the expense of practicality. Gods help anyone who tried to offer decorating advice if they ever had gotten the house fixed up- she'd lovingly plan every single room herself, and accept no advice or criticism from anyone. (Except possibly Thomas, but I doubt even him.)

#ask #anon #long post #ask meme #ask game #character meta #crimson peak #child abuse mention #csa mention #incest mention #emotional abuse mention

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bytheangell · 3 years

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You Can’t Keep Safe What Wants to Break - Chapter One, Magnus

(AO3) (Prologue) Chapter One - Magnus Bane Magnus probably shouldn’t be here for this conversation, but Jace is already waiting for them when he portals Alec back to the Institute from Idris. Jace is eagerly anticipating the response from the Council meeting, nervously pacing back and forth along the rooftop where they thought they’d have a bit more time to figure out how to break the news to him before going inside. Alec planned on doing it alone, with Magnus at home preparing the strongest cocktails he can manage short of inducing alcohol poisoning to deal with the aftermath. Instead, Alec shoots Magnus a quick, pleading glance - a silent request to stay - and Magnus doesn’t have the heart to try and make an obvious exit with them both in front of him like this.

None of them are ready for the conversation that’s about to happen.

The look of immediate defeat on Jace’s face is so heartbreaking that Magnus actually looks away for a moment. He knows it isn’t his fault, that the real blame lies with the Clave, but he can’t help but feel like he failed Jace just the same.

“There was nothing we could do,” Magnus tries. “We pulled every favor we had.” It’s true - they really did try everything short of actual bribery to get the discussion and the votes to go their way… and, okay, maybe a little actual bribery Alec doesn’t need to know about, but even that wasn’t enough to get the votes they needed.

“They wouldn’t let go of the fact that the Angels took her memories and her abilities, and essentially kicked her out of the Shadow World. They don’t want to risk the Angels’ anger by letting her back in. They’re scared,” Alec says, not that Jace needs to hear it. The poor boy’s heard that argument time and time again ever since Clary remembered him at her art show that night… ever since Jace started seeing her regularly, and reforming a relationship with her.

Ever since Jace decided he wanted Clary to be part of his life - part of all of their lives - again, and started this mission to get Clary reinstated.

Magnus tried to warn him at the start to keep his hopes low and his expectations even lower, but it’s difficult to dissuade a heart so lost in love. The Nephilim have strict rules about mundanes being intimately involved with Shadowhunters, rules that have to be followed to keep them out of the Shadow World. And without her abilities, without everything that once made her one of them, that’s all Clary is to them. A mundane.

A liability.

Magnus knows the look in Jace’s eyes, though. Jace isn’t letting this go. Magnus had hoped, perhaps naively, to stay as far removed from all of this as possible. He did his best to stay out of the previous discussions between Alec and Jace and Izzy and members of the Council; because despite his personal investment in both Clary and Jace’s well being this isn’t a personal matter, not to the Shadowhunters - it’s a political one. Magnus always knew how this would play out, despite their best efforts: duty before all else, the law is hard but it is the law, and all that nonsense.

Magnus wanted to stay out of this, but now he finds himself in the thick of it, staring into the blue and brown eyes of a Shadowhunter pushed to the breaking point between heart and duty.

For a moment, Jace turns away from the two of them. Magnus thinks that Jace almost sounds determined when he finally speaks again. Is he even holding himself a little straighter? Definitely more resolved, but not in a defeated way - in a defiant one. It doesn’t sit well with Magnus but he doesn’t pry.

He also makes no attempt to stop Jace when he leaves. Instead, he watches Alec take one step forward, pause, then fall still beside Magnus.

“That went better than I expected,” Alec admits once Jace is gone.

Magnus gives a distracted nod, but he doesn’t think the matter is over, not by a longshot. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to let Alec feel a bit of peace in thinking that the worst is over, even if he has a sinking suspicion that the worst is yet to come.

“It certainly could’ve gone a lot worse,” Magnus agrees. “Let’s go home, shall we? I think we could both use that drink now.”

---

There’s no warning from his wards before the knock on the door sounds, so Magnus knows the person is a friend before he checks through the eyehole. Unexpected visits in Idris are few and far between these days, and he’s particularly surprised to find Jace Herondale standing in the hallway when he opens the door.

“Alec isn’t back from his meeting yet, is he?” Jace asks, in a tone that implies he not only knows the answer but fully planned on arriving while his parabatai is still out.

“No,” Magnus confirms. “He’ll likely be another hour or so. Come in,” Magnus says, stepping aside for the Shadowhunter to enter. Jace shrugs his coat off and hangs it on the rack by the door, then toes off his boots to leave at the base of the rack. It’s a habit of Alec’s that carries over to all visiting Nephilim, despite the fact that Magnus can easily magic away any dirt stains. It’s an endearing courtesy, and if Jace takes longer than usual to stall by the doorway Magnus doesn’t comment on it.

Instead of prompting Jace, Magnus remains silent, reading the blond’s body language, allowing the tension held in every muscle and the strain of every movement, to let him know that there’s something wrong. Something Jace doesn’t want to tell Alec if he’s here talking with Magnus first.

“I need you to be honest with me,” Jace says. “Because I already know how Alec and Izzy are going to react, and it isn’t going to be good. And I just--” Jace breaks off there, pacing back and forth. “I need someone impartial to tell me I’m not crazy.”

“I’d hardly say I’m impartial,” Magnus points out.

“But you can be. At least, you can be brutally honest when you need to be, and I need you to be. I need to talk to you as Magnus right now, not my parabatai’s husband.” Jace is pleading

“Alright,” Magnus agrees, ignoring the urge to make a joke about Jace’s ego not being able to handle Magnus’ honesty. Something tells him this isn’t the time. “What’s on your mind?”

“I want to be with Clary,” Jace says.

The words on their own aren’t surprising. Of course, Jace wants to be with Clary. Magnus knows that Jace loves her more than he’s ever loved anyone - save his parabatai - in his entire life. But Clary cannot be part of their world as a mundane, it’d never be recognized or allowed by the Clave. They could see each other in secret, but not seriously, not when Clary could never live at the Institute or in Idris. The only way for Jace to be with her now is--

Oh.

The realization dawns on Magnus and sits like a leaden weight in his stomach. His expression must give away what he pieced together because Jace notes the look on his face and continues quickly.

“I’ve thought about it. By the Angel, all I can do is think about it. She never leaves my mind, Magnus. She hasn’t since the day she left and she’s never going to, especially not now that we’ve reconnected. I can’t live without her. And I don’t have to. I just have to…” but Jace trails off there as if saying it might make it too real. So Magnus finishes for him.

“You just have to be deruned, and leave behind the only family you’ve ever known and the only life you’ve ever known.” Magnus manages to say the words with minimal infliction; no judgment, just facts.

Jace winces. “I did ask for brutal honesty, didn’t I?” he says, though the laugh he gives is forced.

“This isn’t a decision to be made lightly, Jace. I know that you know that, but do you truly understand the gravity of that decision? There’s a reason de-runing is the most severe of punishments for crimes against the Clave,” Magnus points out.

“I know,” Jace says. To Magnus’ surprise, he looks like he really does know. There’s none of Jace’s usual nonchalance or dismissive sarcasm. “But living without Clary for the rest of my life… at least the pain of a de-runing is temporary.”

“But the effects are far from temporary,” Magnus reminds him. At the look on Jace’s face, Magnus adds quickly, “I’m simply presenting all of the angles, I’m not trying to talk you out of it.”

When Magnus imagined what Jace might do in retaliation of the Council’s decision, he pictured more of a fit of rage, a ‘fuck the system’ rebellion of finding a way around their ruling to bring Clary back anyway. Magnus would’ve bet his savings on Jace using magic to hide Clary with a glamour or build her a secret rooftop room to live in at the Institute or something equally ridiculous. This option crossed his mind, of course, but never in a million years would he imagine Jace pursuing it.

Jace is quiet for a moment after that. Magnus takes some small comfort in knowing his words aren’t falling on deaf ears. Jace wouldn’t have come here if he didn’t want to talk this through, after all, but Jace is… well, he’s still Jace. It’s rare to see this serious side of him.

“I know losing the parabatai bond will hurt Alec,” Jace says quietly. “It’s the part I keep coming back to. The rest… I know Alec and Isabelle won’t abandon me if I go through with it, no matter what the laws are. I won’t lose them, not entirely. But the bond…” Jace actually looks close to tears simply speaking of it, and Magnus moves forward to take him gently by the hand and lead him over to the sofa.

“It isn’t a bond broken easily,” Magnus agrees. “You will both suffer greatly for the loss of it.”

Jace hangs his head. “I don’t want to put Alec through that, but… but he will someday anyway, right? One of us will, in the end. It isn’t like it’s inevitable. I’m just… moving up the timeline.”

Magnus can practically hear the number of times Jace must’ve repeated that to himself before now, over and over in his head until he was nearly convinced it’s enough justification. He isn’t wrong, Magnus will give him that. But it’s one thing to lose the bond through an inevitable death, and another entirely to know that you’ve caused that pain and loss intentionally.

The guilty expression on Jace’s face as he avoids Magnus’ gaze tells him that Jace knows that, too.

“And I assume you’ve talked to Clary about this?” Magnus asks.

Jace nods. “She said we could get an apartment together. I can’t tell her everything, obviously, but I wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t think we had a real chance, you know I wouldn’t.” Jace shakes his head. “I don’t want to have to choose. This… being a Shadowhunter, this is what I’m good at. It’s what I was raised to be. But Clary… she’s my future, Magnus. I was trained to be a weapon, but I was born to love Clary Fray.”

Magnus is struck suddenly by the memory of another Shadowhunter he knew who was willing to give up everything for the love of a mundane girl. ‘I was born to be a warrior, and I was born to be with her. Tell me how to reconcile the two because I cannot.’ The words of one Edmund Herondale ring clear in Magnus’ mind, bringing a slow, sad smile to his face. For a boy who only learned of his true lineage a year ago, Magnus wonders how no one pieced it together before then. Jace is a Herondale, through and through, and never more apparent than in moments like this.

“You Herondales certainly have a penchant for sacrificial love,” Magnus observes, not unkindly. Edmund gave up his runes, James his sanity and stability, Will was ready to give up love itself, and now Jace...

“I can give up Shadowhunting. There are plenty of others who can take over for me now, and plenty more to follow after me,” Jace insists.

It’s a strange thing, to witness the blind faith the Nephilim place in their Angels from birth begin to crumble and crack - to question outdated laws and revert back to something more basic, more simply human. Life. Love. Happiness. Desire.

“I’m not concerned about the Shadowhunter’s loss of a soldier,” Magnus points out. “And you don’t have to convince me. I know better than to think there will be any talking you out of this once your mind is made up… and it does appear to be entirely made up. You wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

Jace nods. “I haven’t told anyone yet, but I think Maryse might have an idea. I’ve been asking a lot of questions lately about her de-runing, and what happens afterward.”

Magnus nods slowly. Maryse probably knows, or at least suspects. It says a lot about her growth as a person in the past few years that she hasn’t called Jace out on his plan yet. It also says a lot that Jace risked her piecing things together just to get a few vague answers out of her. If he’s willing to risk that, then he’s sold on the idea, no matter how hesitant he claims to be.

“You won’t be allowed back in Idris again. If the full extent of standard procedure were followed you wouldn’t be able to see any of your family or friends again, but something tells me Alexander won’t let that bit stand.”

He knows that Maryse showed up once or twice to the Institute and that Luke and the rest of the Lightwoods visit her regularly, either at the bookshop or at her home. All of which is highly irregular, but then again, not much about Alexander’s influence over the Clave’s rules and standards hasn’t fought back against their antiquated ways in one way or another. If there’s one silver lining in all of this it’s that Jace won’t be isolated from his past entirely if he doesn’t want to be, and he clearly doesn’t want to be.

Jace sounds uncertain when he replies, “I don’t know, there’s a very good chance that Alec won’t speak to me again after this, law or not.”

“If you think there’s any chance of Alexander abandoning you for this decision-”

“And why shouldn’t he?” Jace cuts Magnus off. “After I abandon him first.”

The harshness of Jace’s tone causes Magnus to wince. This is what it comes down to. Everything else aside, this is why Jace is really here talking to Magnus before his parabatai - before his brother, the person he’s closest to in this world.

“This isn’t a matter of marrying someone and moving away. This isn’t even only about losing my runes. If it was just my own sacrifice there wouldn’t be a doubt in my mind, but…”

“But it isn’t just your own life this choice affects,” Magnus supplies for him, finally realizing why Jace came to speak with him first. These are complicated, deep emotions. Alexander and Jace, when confronted with issues as personal as this, could be a volatile force. Magnus is glad Jace had the presence of mind to try and sort through his own first instead of charging directly into a conversation with Alec all hot-headed and stubborn force of will.

“I took an oath. Entreat me not to leave thee,” Jace huffs out with a broken laugh. Magnus knows the oath. He’s familiar with it enough to know that by doing what he’s planning now Jace is breaking every line of it, every promise. “‘The Angel do so to me, and more also,

If aught but death part thee and me.’” Jace’s eyes leave Magnus’ and fixate on a point beyond him, growing distant. Despite the honesty of their conversation, Magnus can’t begin to imagine exactly what he’s feeling in this moment. “How can I choose? Why do I have to choose? It isn’t fair.”

“Life very rarely is,” Magnus says sadly. He isn’t sure when he shifted from the role of devil’s advocate to a comforting friend - when this turned from discussing a hypothetical to comforting an inevitable loss.

“What would you do, if you were me?” Jace asks.

Magnus considers the question, not taking it lightly. He thinks back to all of the loves he had and lost over the centuries, of the love he has now with Alec. He tries to picture what it might be like if he and Catarina were bonded like Jace and Alec, to have to sever that bond to keep Camille in their prime, or Etta, or Alexander, and thinks that for those few he might have. But in the end, he can only shake his head.

“I can only begin to imagine the intricacies of the bond the two of you share,” Magnus admits finally. “I’ve sacrificed everything for love, more times than many would consider wise, and I’ve been burned every time but one.” It probably isn’t what Jace wants to hear, but it’s the truth. And what follows is also the truth. “But every time was worth the possibility of true love.”

That gives Jace a bit of hope, which is what he needs. It’s what he’s searching for, behind his call for honesty and council.

“If I were you? I’d probably risk what you’re planning now. It’s foolish and reckless, a gamble beyond measure, but isn’t love always?” Magnus smiles softly at that. “And if I were Alexander, and my dearest friend came to me in your situation, I can promise you that any anger or betrayal I felt would be temporary, eventually eclipsed by the joy of knowing they found all the happiness they were looking for in life.”

“You think?” Jace asks, daring to sound optimistic at the mere suggestion that there’s a possibility of Alec being alright with this in the end. Not right away, but someday. That might be more than Jace has allowed himself to hope for before now, but Magnus doesn’t think it’s a stretch to imagine.

“But I’m not either of you, and this is not my decision to make.”

Magnus feels the gentle ripple in his warding that alerts him to his husband’s arrival downstairs.

“Alec’s back,” Magnus says. “I can portal you to the Institute if you’d like to keep this between us for now.” It’s a simple offer, no judgment if Jace wants more time to consider his options, or simply to stall before talking this out with Alec. As difficult as keeping something like this from Alec will be he wouldn’t betray Jace’s trust in coming to him for advice. Magnus watches Jace closely, able to see the flash of panic on Jace’s face and the hesitation as he debates accepting the offer of a portal.

“No,” Jace says with a determined shake of his head. When Magnus thinks back to his similar encounter with Edmund nearly a century ago, he distinctly recalls the feeling of witnessing a disaster, something reminiscent of wreckage. But this is different: Jace Herondale isn’t ruining himself, he’s rebuilding.

“I’ll make myself scarce, then,” Magnus says, standing up to make his way toward the door.

“Thank you, Magnus.” Jace rushes the words just as the sound of the lock turns in the door.

“Magnus, hey,” Alec greets, leaning in to give him a kiss in greeting after he opens the door to find Magnus standing next to it, grabbing his coat off the rack. Alec catches sight of Jace behind Magnus and his brows furrow. “Jace? Is everything alright?”

“I’m heading out for a bit. Give me a call if you need anything,” Magnus says instead of answering Alec. The question isn’t meant for him, after all.

Magnus looks over at Jace one last time before leaving the two of them alone to speak, still surrounded by the ghosts of his past. He sees so much of Edmund’s determination to follow his heart, no matter the personal cost. He sees Will’s enthusiasm and desperate need for the potential of love. He sees James’s consuming passion.

Magnus sees enough of Jace’s ancestors in him to know without a doubt that Jace will be just fine in the end; and if he isn’t, then Magnus imagines he has enough experience assisting lovestruck Herondales to help him through.

#malec #clace #magnus bane #jace herondale #alec lightwood #shadowhunters #long post

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sebastianshaw · 3 years

Conversation

RP meme from "Chapter Four: Aspects and Renown" in The World of Darkness Ratkin Breedbook

"What you can actually do is far more important."

"The experience is little more than a challenging contract to prove one’s mettle."

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"After all, mavericks are known just as much for their quick wits as their stealth and subterfuge."

"Some do this to escape lives they cannot stand; others quest for ideals they may never achieve."

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"Relationships on the road are temporary and superficial."

" A scout or wanderer who hasn’t seen an old friend or lover in years immediately picks up the relationship exactly where it left off."

"Each year, they move from city to city, use and discard temp jobs like old clothes, and evolve a series of personas for different situations."

"Not all of them are impoverished and homeless; as long as you know where to find crash space, you’re never really helpless."

"They are fascinated by places inhabited by other creatures, especially humans."

"Some are smart enough to emulate the people they live near; others come up with bizarre explanations to explain human activity."

"Instead of a straightforward military report on the strength of predators in the area, the data must be condensed into a format even a small child could understand."

"When problems with the physical world grow too great, it’s tempting to just vanish into the ephemeral realms for a while."

"These alternate identities aren’t very flashy, just the sort of quiet identity that no one questions."

"It can also draw attention from police officers, irate merchants, and hostile humans."

"This isn’t my world. I just hide in it. If you’re looking for a place to run, talk to me."

"This isn’t my world. I just hide in it."

"If you’re looking for a place to run, talk to me."

"Seers are the keepers of ancient secrets."

"A human is still a human, and can never be trusted."

"Just because they’re victims doesn’t mean they’re virtuous; they’ll still rip you off when you least expect it."

"They seek wisdom the human race has discarded or left behind."

"They make their lairs in areas where the police fear to go, where the only law in both physical and spirit worlds is survival."

"Her body remains in the physical world; her spirit watches what transpires around it in the spirit world."

"You worry about fighting what you can see. I’ll worry about fighting what you can’t see."

"If they feel strongly enough, they will enforce their beliefs as they best see fit."

"Unfortunately, when passing judgment on their own kind, they have restraints placed on their activities."

"These harsh practices have millennia of precedent."

"They reason that it’s better to have a few small, secure ratholes to hide your equipment and yourself than to go to the trouble of defending a larger turf."

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"Most know they can’t change the world by openly practicing violence; if anything, they’ve got to be really secretive about their revenge."

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"The threat of one of the local politicians getting killed is usually enough to dissuade them from disagreeing any further."

"They do not disguise themselves when pursuing an assassination, as they will not apologize for what they do best."

"We had a contract. You broke it. Now I’m going to make your life a living hell."

"When rage flows freely, violence reigns."

"Some have the wisdom to choose their battles carefully; others don’t care who dies when battle lust seizes them."

"Peace is nothing more than a temporary cessation of the ways of war."

"Developing martial skill involves far more than just killing things — sometimes it involves crippling them, weakening them, or demoralizing them.

"These soldiers don’t just slay; they also use their knowledge of chaos to confuse their enemies, striking in the night when madness reigns."

"All of them pride themselves on discipline and composure. . . until rage overwhelms reason."

"Warriors of both sexes are mildly insecure, and feel the need to show off their martial prowess."

"What? Just because you’ve got an army surplus jacket and a pipe bomb, that makes you a man?"

"Any fool can pull a trigger."

"Saving the world requires true warriors."

"Technology isn’t evil, after all. It’s just in the wrong paws."

"Many are convinced that if they don’t watch their actions carefully, someone from a local laboratory will capture them and experiment on them to find out why they’re so smart."

"Wherever technology thrives, these rats will move in to scavenge it."

"Humans have a fetish about continually acquiring more stuff, newer stuff and cutting-edge state-of-the-art tech."

"The struggle begins with fierce discussions about technological innovations, and rapidly breaks down into name calling and slander."

"Two machines enter; one machine leaves."

"Whether they tinker with ancient computers or rusting cars, they have an insatiable need to fix anything that’s considered unsalvageable."

"Sometimes, she’ll spend the whole day collecting knickknacks just to see what she can build out of them that evening."

"Genius has its price."

"Each one has a physiological trait that identifies him as the gene freak he is."

"Dark powers tutor them in forgotten arts of destruction."

"He’ll be deposed by forces he’s summoned up, but can’t put down."

"Turn your head and cough. Oooh! I’ve never seen it that color before."

"Not all of them are swashbuckling heroes, but all of them are delusional about their origins and their heroic prowess."

"The conflict of egos can become so intense that bystanders get hurt from the fallout."

"Dueling etiquette demands satisfaction."

"Anyone who hears this tale will swear that it is true."

"My good sir, adventure is my middle name!"

"What? You don't believe me?"

"Keep her pointed in the right direction, and she’ll masterfully eliminate your enemies."

"If you’re not careful, she’ll blow up right in your face."

"Any place populated by the desperate, frustrated or down-and-out is another good choice — not only does it make for a good place to hide, but it has its share of potential allies seeking vengeance. . . or potential victims at which to vent your anger."

"They’ll need a really powerful common enemy to unite them; otherwise, each will suspect the other of conspiracy."

"Many come from criminal backgrounds, broken homes, abject poverty or the sort of banal borderline existence that breeds cynicism and contempt for just about everyone."

"Each one has a surprising degree of truth to it."

"It controls all forces of order."

"The balance of the world will not be restored until we destroy everything that smells of stasis, stability or the status quo."

"Hey, nobody saw me do anything. Besides, he had it coming. . . he pissed me off. What? You talking to me? You talking to me?"

"Hey, nobody saw me do anything. Besides, he had it coming. . . he pissed me off."

"Hey, nobody saw me do anything."

"Besides, he had it coming. . . he pissed me off."

"What? You talking to me? You talking to me?"

"You want a piece of me?"

"Chant the creed, kid, and learn. . ."

"I shall seek revenge against those who prey upon my kind."

"I will survive so that I may breed."

"I must respect strength and exploit weakness."

"I shall grow stronger through conflict."

"I will learn from the mysteries of the spirit world."

"I will revel in the visions the spirits grant me."

"I shall nurture, instruct and aid the young."

"I will trust my own kind before I trust outsiders."

"When someone is responsible for injustice, I will make sure someone pays."

"Legality is a subjective concept at best."

"Fighting to survive is difficult enough."

"What else could heal the world?"

"They’re doomed to self-destruct."

"The day that the buildings come crashing down, I’ll dance in the streets."

"Survival comes first."

"Mankind’s days are numbered."

"The strong breed. The weak die. Does that sound harsh? That’s evolution."

"Instinct will tell you when to kill, so follow it."

"We need an army to overwhelm our enemies."

"I still do not know if this is wise."

"If only the strong breed, then you must prove your strength before you can reproduce."

"Don’t be some addle-witted wharf rat who breeds with any half-dead body in the sewers. You, soldier, are the paragon of your race."

"Such egotism!"

"That is nature's way."

"That is nature’s way. If the population of creatures in any one area is too high, a few can be killed or a great number will starve."

“Property is relative. If I can take it, it’s mine. If you can’t defend it, you don’t deserve to have it."

"They buy far more than they need, go to great lengths to defend what they have, and insist that they have the right to determine who owns what."

"If you own more than you can carry, you’re wasting what others can use."

"Betray others before you betray your own kind."

"We’re running into the world together, kid, so we’ve got

to stick together. You ready to go? Um. . . you first. . .”

"You ready to go? Um. . . you first. . .”

"We’re running into the world together, kid, so we’ve got

to stick together."

"I just feel this rage in my blood that’s been there since the dawn of time. And I just feel like acting on it."

"Show me your true face, and it’s my call whether I want to slash it off."

#rp memes #rp meme #rp starters #roleplay meme #roleplay memes #roleplay starters #ratkin #world of darkness #werewolf the apocalypse #out of shirt #okay to reblog #will answer in morning

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startwithbrooklyn · 3 years

Text

THE GREAT ND REWATCH OF 2021 / SEPTEMBER 28-29, 2019 // the bonny scot

posting this a day later than normal because this is one of the rare episodes that shows a passage of time from one day to the next yayy love that for them

-wonder what filming these beginning sexy scenes is like for them in real life

-sooooo can lucy see nancys sexy dream? is she judging? does this mean she likes nancy with owen or nick more? or is she trying to tell nancy that her sex dreams are irrelevant to the mystery at hand and she needs to focus?

-seeing people in the ✨prison chair✨: gomber, carson, karen (voting for josh s3 just saying)

-completely ignores carson's question about herself typical nance

-"or maybe i did stumble across a knife" its like hes trying to make the case against him look plausible while attempting to maintain innocence. this is a slippery slope for carson to try and encourage her to keep her pacified + hide the truth while also trying to keep her from getting involved bc hudsons

-"genetics gets you in the door" aaaaand then she walks in to everetts office to meet him and crashes their family dinner

-ok who tf is dawn and why is she in charge here

-this guidance counselor of nicks is my favorite person

-"i admire your allergy to pleasantries" bess and nancy both have reveals to big families but nancy does not have the graceful, accepting reveal to her rich family like bess does at this lunch. nancys reveal is messy, cold, bloodstained and sticky-fingered, not nice in any way whatsoever. and this little chat with everett (bit of a parallel to lucy's) just highlights how nancy is always bad at bargaining with her grandparents*- always trying to fight on their level but giving up her equal hand bc she doesnt know how to hide it when they bring up something she doesnt know. like confronting celia at the masque: she was so confident with her theory and what she knew, but then we got a "what does that mean?" like. the instant you say that, you lose. and she walked right into the "yes i do have someone, hes in jail" 🤦🏼‍♀️ even in the car with ryan at the end of s1, he literally just fucking leaves her there. like 🤷🏼‍♀️ what did u think was gonna happen sis?? for all she can predict how past things lead to present circumstances shes fucking awful at seeing the direct future *(grandparents except for patrice bc her dementia makes her inaccessable)

-lmaooooo this awko ass portrait...i get the empty space is for nance but who on earth thought this was a good pic??

-LISBETH 🥺💙

-"will u help the claw for me?" george struggles financially to keep her livelihood while nancy is somehow shown as being taken care of even when her parent is incarcerated; both nancy and george live in single parent homes now with mention of both medical debt and george being breadwinner yet nancy has no struggles while george does. (i wonder if ryan had been able to help george here how the story would have changed)

-"when it comes to following people around without their knowledge or consent i am somewhat of a repeat offender" 😂😂😂

-"he wasnt endgame after all" BESS lmaoooo

-"...okay." lmaoooo i fuckin love owen

-i was hoping the girls' faces would be more shocked like with a glance to owen but they just....werent

-"we're the good guys" <---- this statement is soooo interesting in terms of how they structure the show and how the characters see themselves (its an interesting contrast with the more definitive good vs evil with things that are both clearly good and clearly evil but theres also a lot of moral grey area here, the show is kinda swamped in it. are nancy and crew the good guys? are they the bad guys in someone else's story? concerns.)

-"i'd call it more than just stuff" like why did u concede that??? and then the shit about oof that didnt sound like a compliment lmaoooooo why does she suck at arguing?? she and owen wouldnt work long term bc theyre so similar (as mentioned later on)

-i LOVE george slowly falling in love with nick here- hence how upset she gets when nick bails on her for nancy later (which is totally justified!!!)

-i am LIVING for the little nod this driver guy gives bess when she turns back around all nervous 😂

-"i do like buying things" i would so say that too tbh

-"you'd have plenty to talk about" LMFAOOOOOOO SHE KNOWS "marvins dont marry drivers" so diana is totally fine with the gay its just the poor she has a problem with 😂💙fuckin love that

-love how nancy just casually ruins everything for nick/george lmaooo

-"i have seen you at your best, nancy, and there is nothing like it." 🥴😳 i love this still-in-love look nancy gives him thats so strong he had to change the subject

-so is haunting time 11 pm? from that clock of bashiir's?

-how do NO neighbors notice this fucking water and shit

-these are TOTALLY AWFUL fake screams from the bonny scot crew 😭

-"i know well enough not to get involved when he's in play" both carson and ryan avoid engaging with everett even though nancy is willing to do so armed with less info and more balls/ but "could i trust him" and ryan says yes lmaooooo NO honey + that makes ryan 0/2 for helping the girls when they ask this ep

-"find a project of your own" and he does, with his youth center 🙏🏻💙 what s2 foreshadowing!

-"god i wish i still drank" 😂😂😂

-"she is darling." 💙👌🏻

-okay wtf is mirror bay??

-i really wonder about the extent of celia x sebastians relationship here. did she truly care about him or was it just secret and exciting sex? also would love more hints of diana vs celia moments like these. celia doesnt even look upset. i mean shes had time to deal but like wtf. and who exactly is sebastian to diana? not her husband? like damn what if he was. somehow i doubt she'd talk about him diddling celia if diana was disrespected also

-i wonder if celia being so invested in dna testing nancy was bc everrett dna tested ryan to make sure he was his bc of sebastian / other men (which would be totally valid on his part!! but wouldnt it be funny as fuck if ryan wasnt his 😂)

-what a neat hiding place in this frame lmaooo who put that in for them tho? like how do u go about ordering that

-"you certainly are your fathers daughter" this quote is doubly ironic and foreshadowy bc theyre referencing carson here as being a useful hudson attaché but nancy is playing everett just like ryan played celia about putting his house up (but TRIPLY ironic bc carson pulls off the long con of hiding nancy from the hudsons right under their noses this whole time!) the one time nancy is successful against them

-that bess/lisbeth look while lisbeth does something badass (+diana reassessing now that lisbeth has been revealed to be useful)

-"almost as fun as a real fight" why do i believe him? lmaoooo a bit weird that he would enjoy a fight w a partner, but i also think this is an acknowledgement of nancy being an "opponent" who exists at his level. but i also love the "let me take you out" as a direct mirror of her relationship with nick, where she avoids the public acknowledgment/"going out" but prefers the more subtle/hidden arrangements of staying in. but as shown with later eps, owen is way more capable of meeting nancy where shes at, which is so important to her + the only way of getting close to nancy. (the only foil is ace who somehow is able to do both)

-"not always about a guy" <---- this could have been such a powerful statement if the show had thought having nancy end up alone/choose herself instead of pitting her between love interests (nick, owen, gil, even potentially ace, in only 2 seasons) was a more worthy stance to take ; as an aro/ace person i cant tell you how much i would kill to see just one female protag choose herself over a man. and its more realistic to end up alone than have a happy ending anyway, for all that these shows try to be as "real" and gritty grimdark as possible

-"is that what you want?" this is an interesting question to his mother- like maybe he senses her unhappiness? combined with his issues with his father- still trying to look out for his mom? either way it's sweet. (it could also potentially work as foreshadowing of something happening to her, but i think that was played with but then diverted when it was revealed who really killed her) "i think its time i steer this ship" still kind of patriarchal tho. i get that its him coming into his own as a dad technically but still. i also like how he calls her "mother" and not mom

-love that old white people thumbs up at george asking about his clams 👍🏻

-okay fuck dawn tho lmfaoooo

-"stressful dinner huh?" 😂 i fucking love lisbeth so much why didnt they bring her back (wouldnt it be Fucking Hilarious if they brought lisbeth back to bounce bess on her expired visa since the marvins kicked her out and didnt fix it lmaoooooo)

-BESS IS A TOP lmaooooooo i fuckin knew it

-nick says "you can pay me back" wonder if thats gonna come back in s3 considering their "marital problems" (also, those bonds are sosus lmfaoooo if any single person cashing those was looked at sideways they'd confess in 2 seconds that some random guy is handing out bearer bonds they dont even make anymore with absolutely zero proof as to how he got them)

-"you wanna finish what you started?" 👀 (dont mind if i do)

-"i need my dad back" parallels s2 when she asks him to come home

-parent politics: "you are taking your life in your hands / no, i'm putting it in yours" vs "i know well enough not to get involved when hes in play" both carson and ryan try to dissuade nancy from pursuing her pulling this con on everett but go about it different ways: carson is wildly concerned with nancys physical wellbeing but ryan appears to be leaning more towards weighing the odds for her/ like a "you cant win so cut your losses/dont try" scenario which interestingly might have more weight with nancy; its easy for her to brush aside carson's worrying like second nature but nancy has been established to be a determined winner, and ryan speaks to her here like shes a beginners luck prodigy at a blackjack table by encouraging her to keep her record clean by not dealing in this next round. of course she herself admits shes incapable of not dealing in ie "you know me better than that" but i have lots more thoughts on how effective ryans approaches to nancy can be sometimes (saving for the reveal ep 🙏🏻)

-wonder what all carson knows about the hudsons? + that look on his face when he hangs up... wonder if he was just lying to her about knowing anything or just ashamed at having to admit bad things hes done for them

-love nick & bashiir waiting together 🙏🏻💙+ nicks very strong and pointed "good night" as a means of ending his convo w nancy on his terms (gotta reinforce those boundaries man!)

and lastly

-celia + that gossip girl moment when she just throws the whole phone away 😂(wonder if she was just talking to "gus" or whoever that guy was. keep forgetting the bobbseys' dad is in prison too, wonder if he'll feature in s3)

#brooklyn's ND primer #nancy drew cw #the Great Rewatch of 2021 #you best start believing in ghost stories miss drew - you're in one

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ianite-simp · 4 years

Text

dark!karl pt.4

getting wild up in here, angst is slowly ramping up :)

“I’ll try the armour on!” Mianite chirped, eagerly taking the enchanted armour from Karl.

“My lord, I wouldn’t do that if I were you. It’s probably cursed or somethin’,” Karl earnestly tried to dissuade the young god from the risky plan. After recovering the armour the Darkness had worn in their grueling fight, they spent almost an entire day arguing about what to do with it. Personally, Karl thought it would be for the best if they just destroyed the lot. It had a strange, ethereal glow to it unlike regular enchanted armour. It could only lead to trouble. Mianite grinned cheekily, tapping the brim of Karl’s cap, pulled low over his eyes - it was the only thing that could hide the now almost entirely glinting, pitch black depths of his eyes, along with the scarf wrapped tightly across his face to disguise the other side effects of the Darkness’ momentary connection to him. No one questioned them after he claimed he just wanted to upgrade his look - why would they? They just thought he was trying to look like a strange cowboy.

“Don’t worry about it, my champion. I am a god, after all.” Without a moment's hesitation, Mianite pulled the full set of armour on taking a moment to adjust it to fit properly. He spun around with a wide grin, his arms spread out wide. “Well, what do you-” Mid-sentence, his face contorted painfully, and he doubled over, as though struck from behind.

“My lord?” Karl stepped forward hesitantly, reaching a hand out to touch his shoulder. Mianite’s hand shot up, grabbing Karl’s wrist in a vice-like grip. He straightened abruptly, the once sunny face of the god Karl knew and respected twisted into a strange, cruel visage.

“I’d take better care of your god, if I were you Karl.” The Darknesses’ harsh, rasping voice emitted from Mianite’s mouth like some sort of trick a ventriloquist would play. But this was no magic trick. Wrenching his hand away, Karl sprinted towards the beach - a point where he could take off easily enough with his elytras.

“Jordan, Tom, get out of here!” He yelled panickedly over his shoulder, as he shot into the air, the familiar feeling of the wind rushing against him acting as a small spot of comfort. How could that happen? Why didn’t I stop him? This is all my bloody fault. He reached a high point above the islands, and attempted to pull himself into a controlled circle. The weather wasn’t on his side, unfortunately, and gusts seemed determined to send him plummeting to the ground. It only took a moment for him to spot Jordan and Tom, with the Darkness somehow easily pursuing them. There was no way they’d be able to handle him in another fight, especially in the air, and Karl didn’t want to do anything that would harm Mianite. As Jordan shot by him, struggling to bombard the Darkness with arrows, Karl called loudly out to him, “Jordan, get Ianite’s help! She was down there with us, she has to do something!” Jordan, though struggling to maintain his complex flight pattern, did as asked, diving towards the islands. Helplessly gliding far above, Karl watched the Darkness launching volleys of attacks on Tom, as he tried to distract him from Jordan’s efforts.

Within a minute, the Darkness suddenly froze in place, tendrils of black and purple light winding around his torso like a straightjacket. Ianite’s usually bubbly expression was frozen in a small scowl, as she drew the temporarily trapped being towards her, evidently putting all her strength into it. Dropping into a steep dive, Karl stumbled to a stop alongside her, his eyes fixated on the hate-filled expression contorting Mianite’s face. “It’s pointless trying to capture me sister. I have become more powerful than anything you could conjure up in your visions.” The voice was a combination of Mianite’s confident tones and the grating sounds of the Darkness’. It repulsed Karl, yet he stood still where he was. Ianite rolled her eyes at the declaration, turning to the three champions instead.

“I’ll be bringing him back to Asgard to try and purge this thing from him.” Her eyes flitted to Karl, and he heard a soft voice in his head, much more soothing than what he had ever heard from the Darkness.

He’ll be fine. My brother is rash, it was not your fault.

Karl couldn’t bring himself to give any other response than a small nod. But the instant before they vanished, the all-too familiar tones of the Darkness echoed in his mind.

Imagine following a god as weak as the form I am in...

Then with a small pop, the two gods vanished into thin air. “That was insane,” Tom broke the silence, running a hand through his hair. Jordan nodded mutely in agreement, clearly still mulling over what had happened. “Listen, Karl, why don’t you join Cap, Hermod, and I for a round of mead. It’s on me.” Karl shook his head at Tom’s suggestion. He needed to get away, if anything. He needed space to think, to be alone.

“I’m good right now, catch up with you later mates.” Raising a hand in farewell, he turned to trod slowly back towards his house.

Hours later, he found himself in Mianite’s new temple, the temple his god had created after the first one became demolished. Normally he found it a bright, comforting place to sit and think in. But with Mianite gone, it seemed cold and austere, almost like a crypt. A chill stole over him, a chill that sunk into his bones, a chill that reminded him of the sensation that always crept over him when he looked into the neverending depths of the void in the End. His bare feet softly padding across the smooth floor, he made his way to the front of the temple where he kneeled in front of the glistening throne. It was polished to the point where he could see his own reflection staring back morosely.

Dreading to see the extent of the damage to his face, he first removed the wide brimmed hat from his now ruffled hair, then carefully unwound the dark blue scarf from his face. He blinked, his eyes adjusting to the brightness of the room. The amount of light seemed to only agitate the burning sensation in them, a pain that just intensified as the days passed. He had learned not to rub at them, because that only caused thin rivulets of a thick black substance to trail slowly down his cheeks. The stuff stained like nothing else, and he spent hours trying to scrub it from his pillow when he mistakenly swiped a hand across it.. But he was used to the sight of the lifeless, deep black eyes. It was his skin that had started to worry him. At first, the grey skin had only appeared under his eyes, like shadows from not getting enough sleep. But it soon grew darker, spreading further around his eyes and slowly down his cheeks - giving him the look of someone not quite alive. Thin cracks formed, fracturing the skin like a statue about to crumble.

He reached a hand up to lightly touch the infected skin, wincing as a few flakes fluttered down. When the skin crumbled away it felt like hundreds of tiny needles had been stabbed into the site. A deep sigh escaped him, as his shoulders slumped, and his eyes fell to the base of the throne. “What did I do wrong? Why did it have to be me, and my god? I don’t… I’ve been tryin’ and tryin’ to figure it out but I dunno why. Am I not good enough? Not strong enough?” His voice cracked slightly, as he croaked out the words in a hushed voice.

He didn’t expect a reply. He knew he wouldn’t be getting one, what with the state Mianite was in. I failed him. I failed my god. I could’ve protected him, but instead I let the Darkness take him. He squeezed his eyes shut, wishing that he could just cry, just let his emotions escape him. Things would be so much easier if he only didn’t have to feel. A sticky, thin trickle of the black substance inched its way down the brittle skin of his cheek, falling onto his loosely folded hands.

It’s not too late to accept my offer, Karl.

A scoff escaped Karl as he heard the voice of the Darkness rumble in his head. “As if. You screwed with my god, man. That was taking it too far. And have you seen me? I’m a walking disaster after that shitty stunt you pulled.”

If you join me, you will be healed. You’ll be restored to your proper self, Karl. But it will be better, because you’ll have access to powers you could never get with one of those little godlings.

“I’m not looking for power, mate, I just want to be normal. That’s what you don’t understand.”

I know more of you than you would think. You don’t truly want to just be “normal”. You crave respect, to be recognized as someone worthy of it. You fear the memory of old friends will be stronger than any connection you can ever make. If you simply accept my offer-

Karl pushed himself to his feet, snatching up the scarf and hat from the floor. “You,” his voice trembled, but he steeled himself quickly, “have no idea who I am. I don’t want anything you have to offer.” In all honesty, the offers were growing more and more tempting. To be healed, to be accepted, and to simply be happy? The others will never accept you if you make a deal with the Darkness. Don’t you get that? He hesitated though, still struggling to fight the temptation. With that much power, they’d have to accept me. They’d have no other option.

No, no. What was he even thinking? Force his friends to accept him? What kind of lunatic would actually do that? His resolve strengthened, he reassembled his hat and scarf disguise, and turned to stride towards the large doorway.

One last thought for you, Karl. Do you really want to side with a god that would willingly risk himself and his people to satisfy an idle whim? Do you truly support a god so selfish?

Of everything the Darkness had thrown at him, it was the only thing that truly planted a tiny seed of doubt. Out of everything that had happened to him, it seemed like his loyalty and trust in Mianite would always be a constant source of comfort. He’d always be able to turn to him when he was in need - or so he had thought.

The Darkness’ words kept repeating in Karl’s ears, the doubt he felt towards his god growing stronger and stronger. Still, he refrained from doing anything until he could see Mianite face-to-face again. Maybe it was just somehow a misunderstanding. Maybe the Darkness was only saying it to pin him against his own god. He couldn’t just renounce his god as casually as Tom had done. Mianite was still his anchor, and he couldn’t let go of that.

But it all changed the day of the judgments. When he had to capture his own god at sword point, force him into a cell to guard. Staring through the small openings in the door, the god Karl had once been proud to be announced champion of was nothing more than a sneaking, suspicious shell of his former self. Or had he really been like that all along, and Karl just never noticed?

His turn in the tank came too soon, he was too lost in his thoughts to properly process what was happening to him, until he was sealed into the tank. The water surrounded him, pushing down from all sides. He felt like he was slowly being dissolved into nothingness. The rather warm water felt scalding through the scarf he clung to, keeping his face as concealed as possible. The short duration he spent submerged felt like an eternity, and when his lungs began to burn with the need for air, the water was suddenly gone, and he heard the whispering voice of the judgment tank in his ear.

Darkness

#inspired by the cool bros of nerf house #mianite #mianitian isles #lrakinidas #captainsparklez #synhd #mianite fanfic #amethyst writing time #writing

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docfuture · 4 years

Text

Princess, part 10

[This story is a prequel, set several years before The Fall of Doc Future, when Flicker is 16. Links to some of my other work are here. Updates were theoretically biweekly–more realistically, I’m going to try to get the next one out by early July.]

Previous: Part 9

Flicker was going to lose pieces of self. She could put memory summaries in the Database, but that wasn't enough. She could only permanently store her emotional context in her squishy human brain, which was offline. This constricted connections between memory, place, and time. Her older memories should be intact. When the isotope exchanges were complete and she could finally restart everything and heal, everything should still be there. But that didn't help now; anything old that she didn't already have loaded into her speed mind was inaccessible, and any new context would be ephemeral--gone after her next proper sleep. And that 'should'... wasn't a would. Itchy spots in her speed mind hinted at losses on the boundary, reflexes and habits needed for her squishy and speed halves to work together that she might have to relearn. Her speech synchronization problems might return, or her chronic self-interrupting. Old sensory issues might come back, too. Those losses might extend to memory access. Which was a little scary. Moments perfectly preserved in a box did her no good if she forgot where she put the box. Perhaps because the original link to the first box was now in a junk box labeled 'Misc' on a shelf somewhere. But that was life when she wasn't technically alive, with a heart that couldn't beat, lungs that couldn't breathe, and a whole reconstituted flesh body locked down in suspended chemical animation while the isotope exchanger worked. Force fields helped protect everything else from her still-considerable radioactivity. She probably wouldn't remember exactly how the half-pain, half-itching from her speed body felt, or how her claustrophobia was combining with sensory deprivation to make everything more unpleasant. The best she could do was to take notes for the Database, which she could finally talk to again. Slowly. Doc had rigged up inductors to transmit visual signals that her speed mind could sense. They could give her low res video if she slowed down to near human speed, but for anything faster she was limited to text. She was already used to virtual typing, and there were more inductors to pick that up. The biggest problem was lag--if she typed too fast, she had to wait and watch characters slowly appear to catch typos. She was watching slowly updating video stills of Doc as a background while they talked by text. It was way better than nothing. "... too many versions of the 'alien invasion' story out," sent Doc. "It wasn't worth trying to correct them. The Volunteer kept his press brief honest but short and vague--he mentioned non-hostile non-humans who were injured but would recover, he just didn't say they were whales--and then flew off before anyone could ask him any more questions." "Okay," sent Flicker. "Can we go back a bit? No immediate crisis is good. But I'm still missing a lot. It's making my mind itch. More. It's itching for other reasons, too, but this you can help fix." "No problem. What first?" "What was the bit with Breakpoint? He wasn't trying to warn you or me?" "No. I got a notification just as you started your final run. The warning was for Journeyman, he listened, and the danger passed." "More details, please? Did you forward the warning?" "I didn't need to; Journeyman was standing beside him. That was one of the precautions I arranged before you left, and they were quite willing to help. Journeyman had his own detection setup coordinated with the Database, and they had the attack triangulated in a fraction of a second. And then Breakpoint got the danger sense spike, just before Journeyman wanted to port, which delayed them for a second." "A trap?" "Possibly. But I think a potential time loop was more likely." "Caused by what?" "I don't know." "Surely you have a theory?" "Lots. Theories are easy, distinguishing them is harder," sent Doc. "Too many parameters we don't know. But your trap did confirm the attack was based on some kind of foreknowledge--the timing was far too precise for any other explanation to make sense. Perhaps Journeyman and Breakpoint would have caught the attacker, triggering a loop. Or killed it, with the same result. Or they did get caught in a loop and broke out." "How would that even work?" "Several possible ways. Time loop theories are hard to falsify. But after it was safe, they ported in and swept the arrival location for clues. The attacker apparently came from and returned to the Topaz Realm, a common intermediate stop for interdimensional travelers who wish to evade pursuit or tracking. The two of them declined to pursue further, and returned unhurt, though rather drained from the double port. Journeyman went to ground quote 'somewhere safe' unquote, and Breakpoint is with Jumping Spider. I'm sure we'll get additional details later, but the attacker was almost certainly an extradimensional being who portaled in specifically to try to assassinate you, with implications of harm to the entire planet." "And got away. Whee." "An overt repeat attempt seems unlikely. This was a clear worldwide threat, in a way Hermes was not, and now there is a specific event to track from. The compatible world probability background has shifted by quite a bit. There are a wide variety of entities with extraordinary perceptions and abilities that are now aware of the attacker and united in the desire for Earth to keep existing, if little else. The Database has been getting messages from all over the world. Hideki told me he already had to gently dissuade a group of young Japanese superhumans from charging off on an interdimensional mission of vengeance. They vividly recall your help during the quake, and feel inclined to track down whoever tried to kill you given the slightest opportunity. I was also asked to convey their wishes for your speedy recovery." "That's..." Some emotional thing. But Flicker didn't have a working human brain to feel it, and her emulator wasn't up to the task. "...nice." She sent a note to the Database to relay a socially safe thank you. Her mind still itched. "Okay," she sent. "Thanks for the summary. Now... I have a problem. Your UI works--I can talk to you and the Database. And if the exchanger were going to be done in a couple of hours, that would be enough. But it's going to take longer. I can tolerate the physical part--but I'm not so sure about the psychological. Sensory dep, and I have to keep shifting what I'm doing to maintain concentration. I've been recording the more organized parts of my raw impressions and alerts into the Database. But it's as tedious as hand-typing an endless stream of hex codes. That's making my attention wander. I've lost my spot a couple of times already and had to pattern match to find it again. I hate to complain, but is there anything better you can manage?" A pause, and the background picture updated to show Doc with his hands clasped in front of his face, looking somber. Then he started typing again. "I've been fabbing something that may help. I'll let you know when it's ready." The rhythm of the isotope exchanger changed slightly, the ion beams stopped, and the discomfort eased a little. A message from the Database appeared: "First pass complete, left leg." "Well," sent Doc. "Ready to start lowering the tritium load in the bone marrow of your other leg?" "Yes. But it doesn't really matter," she sent back. "It's the next thing. We need to get as much as we can done while I keep my chemistry clamped down or I don't get a livable body back." "Yes. We may be able to speed up later. But at least it's working." "Yeah..." ***** Tedious hours passed. Then there was a pause and shift, while radiation-hardened robots installed a new set of inductors for her head, along with an elaborate set of shielding, wiring and cooling pipes. Flicker took an all too brief run around Doc's test range. Even though she was still blind and deaf, the flow of air and the sudden bright crispness of her mass sense made it a welcome break. But she made a little of that air radioactive--she was still giving off too many neutrons--so it would have been indulgence to stay outside the force fields for more than a millisecond or two. Then tests and adjustments. Fiddly and annoying, but Doc was determined not to set off an immune reaction from Flicker's high speed nervous system, and DASI concurred with the need for caution. Another shift... And a world turned on. A better interface, through a virtual body representation. Audio, distorted but functional. Video. And faster text and data when Flicker sped up. The grinding background of confinement, restlessness and inability to fully relax was still there. As was the discomfort from the isotope exchanger. But her sensory deprivation was greatly reduced. It worked. There was one rather jarring issue. "I feel this sense of cosmic dread," she said. "Like I'm on the edge of a precipice to dimensions I can't even see, and might at any moment slip and lose my connection to sanity, or drag anything and everything I care about into the abyss." "Good," said Doc. "Sounds like your alarm systems are appropriately compatible." The wide video window showing his image floated in front of her. The darkness around the edges was still flecked with the writhing static of closed-eye hallucinations, but they were less intrusive. "Good? It's not exactly--" She blinked and suddenly everything was gone, then the old interface returned--text and a fixed picture. And the static everywhere else. She sped up. "DASI?" she sent. "What happened?" "You blinked for too long, and the interface interpreted it as a user shutdown request. I can adjust that, but the safety shutdown thresholds are necessarily quite stringent. One moment." Another blink and Doc was back, eyebrow raised. Half a second had passed. "--fun," she finished. "Fun was not a design goal," said Doc. "This is a high performance multi-sense cybernetic interface. It's not remotely safe. The basic sensory relays I started you with were already as high-bandwidth as I could manage safely. But they weren't enough. I don't know how to make a full cybernetic interface that's comfortable but not psychologically addictive. I keep the controller in the vaults for a reason. I fabbed spare inductors. They'll probably break frequently. And shut down for other reasons. Don't get attached to the interface. I wouldn't even consider using it if your biological brain was functional. I put together a list of other ways it's dangerous. It's just not as dangerous as risking sensory deprivation for what might be days." "Okay. But if you think the alarm system for my high speed mind is compatible with a cybernetic interface... Don't I already have one?" Doc looked down, then back up. "Possibly. But you'll want to be careful how you conceptualize that. Because right now, if your body has a cybernetic interface, you might be that interface. So it's not a good time to shift your self image." "Yeah, yeah, because my flesh body is dead," said Flicker. "I get it. My internal conceptualization has been pretty consistent. Messed up, but consistent. It's like a meat demon with a little metal bug on the forehead. High speed mind is the bug. And only the demon is dead. The bug is mostly worried about staying sane and connected. And I've got the connected part now, but sane requires something to do. I can't move while the exchanger is working, can't put things in long-term memory, and my emotion emulation is bad, so my options are limited." Doc put a hand on his chin and looked back at her image in the video window. "Could definitely be worse. You'll want to test the interface at speed. DASI will keep monitoring. Perhaps we can tune down the doom response a bit. And Armadillo will be here in a little while. She's rather better at cheering people up than I am. I'm sure she'll be happy to talk about whatever you want." "Might help a little. But I'm not sure talking will be enough. Sec." Flicker sped up. The interface speed lagged noticeably and the temperature of the inductors rose. The temperature in her brain would have gone up too, if she hadn't already been entropy dumping to get rid of the heat from radioactive decay and the isotope exchanger. She skimmed the hazard list. Doc hadn't been exaggerating. And the full interface would not be able to keep up with her mind if she sped up all the way. The problem was cooling, which was the usual problem that stopped Doc after he'd solved everything else. So. Use restraint. Don't push it all the way to the limit, and it would break less frequently. She adjusted some preferences with DASI's help, so the interface would gradually degrade to monochrome text and virtual typing input at higher speeds. That would give her fast responsiveness as well as the increased sensory feedback she needed when she slowed back down. A few tests verified it worked. At DASI's suggestion, she tried taking notes at speed with the better interface as a direct substitute for long term memory. A slower and more structured version of the memory dumps she did before sleeping when her memory was overleveraged and she couldn't stuff everything into squishy brain in time. With the memory dumps, she could put keys into her squishy brain to connect by reference--but not with everything locked down. More tests. The notes were accurate on rereading, though seemed kind of passive-aggressively gloomy. Upon reflection, she decided that was accurate as well. What to do? The data from Speedtest was recorded. Talking was... talk. Little point in reading or trying to learn. Introspection could become a problem fast--her mood was already pretty dark. But she couldn't get renewal from physical rest, so she was going to slowly go squirrelly from lack of sleep and contact with squishy brain. And she already felt the kind of frustrated dissatisfaction that she usually handled by going on patrol. ��Then she might still end up frustrated, but at least she'd saved lives. Now she couldn't even do that. She wasn't helpless. She still had a net connection, her database node, and assorted bots, both physical and virtual. But what was safe to try? She slowed back down. "Interface works," she said. "But the doom abyss is getting old real fast." Doc was studying his own display intently. He tapped out something on his keyboard then looked up. "How's that?" The tension eased somewhat. "Better," she said. "Less cosmic dread, more dangerous machinery in operation alert. I can live with that. But I could really use something to do." He shook his head ruefully. "I understand. Sometimes the hardest thing to do is nothing. But you have a very good chance of surviving your bit of existential roulette if you can manage to keep yourself together and stationary long enough for the exchanger to do its work." She frowned. "Is that what you call the kind of trap I set? I thought you said we're safe now." "No, I said further direct attacks were unlikely. Whether that's because they wouldn't succeed or aren't necessary is still open. We can't be reasonably certain until the next time you sleep, then wake up functional and something approximating sane." "That's disturbing." "Yes. But what's done is done." "So you don't think trying it was a good idea?" "I'm reserving judgement. And if you were going to try, the Moon was a better place than Earth. You minimized direct collateral damage. However..." A crooked grin. "Now probably isn't the best time for critical analysis. Survival and data recording were the right priorities once you made it back. We can hash out details later." "Yeah, but it does give me something to focus on, which I need. I think that finally getting to go fast was so wonderful, so freeing, that I got overconfident." Doc studied her image for a moment. "Based on my preliminary analysis of the Database summaries, I think you may be underestimating another effect. I can explain, if you think it will help." "Well, yeah." "When you left the earth's atmosphere, you were hit with mental changes and a flood of alarms and activations on top of your acrophobia. Which you coped with very well. I think your caution, careful safety compartmentalization, and lockdown checking were absolutely correct and optimal reactions. Having a previously unknown part of your mind wake up and suggest you mess with Planck's constant locally? That would have terrified me. But you handled it." Doc waved a hand. "That was a way more drastic reaction than I expected, and means I need to rework a lot of my theories. Anyway, you took care of everything, and landed safely. You jumped to the Moon. Your landing message sounded like you were euphoric." "I was." "And your fear went away. You had mass again, the alarms stopped, and you were finally getting to run Speedtest. Of course you were feeling great. And I made a mistake. Before you started your final run, I suggested you go as fast as you felt safe. I didn't include a stronger warning because I didn't want to interfere with your joy. But I knew. I know that feeling, it's Now I Am Invincible, it's incredibly dangerous for a superhero, and I knew the way you usually keep it in check is your care for all the people and other living things on Earth, and there was nothing living on the Moon except you." He looked down. "I should have warned you. I didn't. I'm sorry." "Doc, no," said Flicker. "I'd have done it anyway. Nobody died. I got the data. And whoever or whatever that was, we needed to know about them, and now we do. I'm going to keep going." She bared her teeth. "Even when I can't move for a while." Doc kept looking down for a moment, then wiped his eyes and looked back up. "Yeah. On that note, it's time to move the exchanger focus again, and Armadillo is here. Shall I invite her in?" "Sure. And thank you for--" She waved the hand of her virtual body. "This, and the list of reasons why it's dangerous. Both. They both help." The crooked smile was back. "I do what I can manage."

Next: Part 11

#FallofDocFuture #FallMisc

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crushedbyhyperbole · 4 years

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Promises - Chapter Two

A/N: Chapter 2 takes a step back in time to when Bucky and Izzy were kids. This and the next few chapters will be a belated prologue. This and the following 2 chapters had me weeping as I wrote them. I am unrepentant for any emotions invoked lol. Hope you enjoy.

Warnings: Emotional hurt, broken hearts, angst. Grab the tissues folks.

PROMISES MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST | MOBILE MASTERLIST

Belated Prologue Part One - The marvellous Three

Bucky Barnes and Stevie Rogers lived on the same street when they were kids. Six doors down on opposite sides. Their families had moved in on the same day and, at eight years old, they became inseparable. Playing out in the street with all the other kids, getting into trouble. Where you would find one, the other was sure to be nearby. They were, and still are, best friends.

Izzy Freeman and her family moved in a couple of months later, right next door to the Barnes’ (which was Bucky, his mother Dolores and his grandpa Joe), and she quickly became part of their club. They called themselves The Marvellous Three and would play imaginary games of good against evil with the other local kids. Although none were ever as close as the three of them were.

Stevie made the gang so he was the boss. He had this battered old trashcan lid that he painted with the star spangled banner, and a beat up old wooden toy sword. Bucky had a plastic toy gun that had once made a ra-ta-ta-ta noise when he pulled the trigger but that hadn’t worked right since a week after he got it, so he made his own noises. And Izzy, she was the coolest one of the three, she had a catapult that really worked. They would hang out in the field at the end of the street and pelt stones at rusty old beer cans and clouded glass bottles they had lined up in the dirt.

Old memories fondly remembered.

Growing up poor in Brooklyn wasn’t easy at times. Bucky remembered being fourteen and having to save his pocket money for three months just to go to the Summer Fairground down by Jamaica Bay. It was only there for a week in the school holidays and his mother had allowed him to go, stating that he’d have to save up himself, do chores around the house, earn his pocket money. So he had, saving all of his $2 a week. It wasn’t much but at least he’d be able to go with Stevie and Izzy, and actually go on some rides, maybe buy a hotdog.

Izzy’s dad drove them and said he’d pick them up at 7 o’clock. They had freedom, a bit of cash and each other, what could go wrong?

Turns out that plenty of things could go wrong, and Bucky found himself in a scuffle with a much older boy who wanted to steal his game tokens. The sensible thing to do would be to give up the tokens, but Bucky decided to fight. He’d planned on winning enough tokens to trade in for a cute white dog plushie to give to Izzy, but rather than give in and save himself a beating he’d fought, scrapping in the mud with a boy much bigger and stronger than he was. That was the thing about Bucky, he was thick-headed and stubborn.

Stevie was scrawny back then, Bucky was short and Izzy was just a girl. The Marvellous Three against maybe ten older teens was never going to end well.

Bucky scrapped with the kid for what felt like ages, but you know how it is with time and adrenaline, everything slows and you feel like time is treacle; viscous and pensive. He gave as good as he got, for a smaller kid he was fast and determined.

The other kids held Stevie back to make sure he didn’t intervene but left Izzy because girls don’t fight boys. Only Izzy wasn’t your average run-of-the-mill girl, she was one of them and therefore different. She stood apart from them, out of the way, watching as Bucky fought. Later she’d tell him that she knew he could win so she didn’t step in but when the other boys saw he was getting the upper hand on their friend they joined in the fight. Totally unfair.

Izzy had a few small pebbles in her pocket and her catapult; she always carried them even when Stevie had out grown his love of that trashcan shield and Bucky’s toy gun was long broken. The first stone struck one of the boys in the leg – he cried out in confusion, searching for the source. Izzy had quickly pelted the rest of the stones into the group, dissuading some of them from joining in. Seeing that she was out of ammo, one of the boys went for her.

Bucky thought he remembered seeing that happen but he couldn’t be sure it was his own memory or one made from them discussing the events afterward. Either way he was being kicked and punched all over, a pretty bad beating considering they were just kids, and she was about to get a beating herself.

Izzy had a roll of pennies and a bag of boiled sweets which she was prepared to use as ammunition, so she did, loading the cherry-flavoured round and firing at the oncoming boy’s head. There was blood and a busted lip for him, and they’d later learn he’d lost a tooth too.

She burned through the candy and started on the pennies which was dangerous and they all knew it. The coins had been for the arcade machines but there was no chance of them staying to play those after this.

Finally, Stevie was free and the main bulk of the other kids backed away. The big kid was on the ground and Bucky was standing over him with a bloodied face and bloody knuckles. They separated and dispersed. The marvellous Three had won fair and square.

Looking at Izzy then, her skin flushed and a fire in her eyes, Bucky decided that he loved her. A fourteen year old’s crush turned to something much deeper than a nervous fluttering in the chest; Bucky burned for her. He didn’t know exactly what it all meant but he felt it and knew he’d always be hers.

By the end of that summer, Stevie was going through a phase where he wanted to be called Ste and Bucky was starting a growth spurt that made his bones itch and ache. He followed suit with Ste, choosing to be called Jimmy because Bucky was too childish and James was too old. Izzy was still Izzy though she began to change also, in not too subtle ways that both boys noticed more than they let on.

There was one discussion that Bucky remembered where he and Steve had confessed to each other that they had a crush on her. Bucky understated his feelings and he didn’t know about Steve but they made a pact that they wouldn’t pursue her unless she made a choice for herself – if she did, no hard feelings and if she didn’t then the status quo would remain.

After high school two of the Marvellous Three went to college. Izzy wanted to be a lawyer and Steve (now over his Ste phase) wanted to be in law enforcement. Bucky couldn’t help feel that Steve had chosen a law related course to curry favour with Izzy, but she never treated either of them any differently than she always had. Her and Steve were close but she would always laugh more with Bucky, so they were even in his eyes.

Bucky, who was still in the midst of his Jimmy phase, took an engineering apprenticeship that at the time was just a means to an end – a job that paid and didn’t require a whole bunch of sterling grades or qualifications. He was a smart kid but lacked the ambition to do better, he was easily distracted and always seemed to find trouble.

At the end of their final college year, Bucky passed his apprenticeship and became officially employed. Steve and Izzy had both finished their final exams so they all went to an end-of-college house party to celebrate.

He would never forget that night because the next day was when everything changed for him.

Izzy looked amazing in her spaghetti-strap summer dress and ballerina pumps. The hem of the dress moved lightly as she walked, touching her sun-kissed skin a few inches above her knees. Her slender arms were bared and her graceful was neck exposed by her softly arranged up-do. To Bucky she’d never been more beautiful.

He remembered the nerves in his gut when he’d seen Steve flirting and then kissing a girl from his criminal law class. Though they’d both dated girls in college, neither of them had ever thought twice about their ‘Izzy pact’, until Bucky had, right then. Steve had pretty much gotten over his crush but Bucky, well, Bucky was never getting over Izzy. Never.

They danced and drank, talked and laughed all night. Everything about her was effortless, she was perfect, like a doll, and that’s where that pet name began.

She laughed and attacked him with tickling fingers when he first called her that, play fighting on the sofa before settling back in a tangle of limbs and shared laughter. He’d snapped a picture of them together then, her breathless with a mischievous glint in her eyes, him looking like he was drowning in his love for her. It would be a photo he’d keep forever.

At the end of the night, waiting for their taxi home to their neighbouring houses, emboldened by booze and the warm glow of her skin he’d asked her out on a date.

“Ask me tomorrow.” She’d smiled ruefully and squeezed his hand.

It wasn’t ‘no’ but it wasn’t ‘yes’ either. He couldn’t deny the lost and empty feeling that wrenched his insides. Was she telling him that because she thought he was drunk and didn’t mean it? Or was it because he was drunk and she hoped he’d forget? Maybe she didn’t want to hurt his feelings.

He’d just nodded and tried to distract himself by looking for Steve. He was just about to text him when a message came through saying ‘Don’t wait up’. Looked like Steve was getting his end away that night, lucky fucker.

The next day, slightly hung-over, Bucky had knocked on Izzy’s door. Mrs Freeman answered and invited him in. There was a buzz about the place, intense excitement charged the air.

Izzy came practically tumbling down the stairs and into his arms where she hugged him tighter than she ever had. Bucky felt his heart swell, thinking she’d remembered what he’d asked her the night before, and her answer was ‘yes’ after all.

He wound his arms around her waist and pulled her to him, burying his face in her neck. Her soft hair caressed his cheek as he inhaled deeply. She smelled amazing, she always smelled amazing, fresh and clean with a delicate musk underlying it all that was the natural scent of her skin.

She pulled back and looked at him with a huge grin. Bucky grinned back, tucking her hair behind her ear tenderly. His eyes searching hers in disbelief that this thing he’d hoped for since he was that fourteen-year-old boy with a fat lip and bloodied knuckles, could actually be his. That she could actually be his.

“I got into Berkeley!” She said gleefully, throwing her arms around him again.

It was a curious feeling. Having your heart ripped out at the same time as pride bloomed in your chest. Bucky felt like he was dying. There was no air, he struggled for breath and his eyes prickled. His gut ached and he felt sick, like really sick, but he had to smile. And he did, he smiled big, letting the tears that formed in his eyes seem like tears of joy. He told her she’d done great and that he was so happy for her, he wasn’t lying, he wanted her to have all of her dreams come true. But those dreams would take her away from him, to another state, for years. Years!

His brain ran the scenarios. Christmas, Easter, summer, that’s when he’d see her. He could make trips to visit, and he would, spending days driving his motorcycle to California just to spend a few hours with her if he couldn’t afford the flights. He already knew he wouldn’t be able to afford the flights, it would be just like being a kid and having to save his pocket money up to go the Jamaica Bay Fairground all over again. Only this time he’d be saving months and months of wages to visit the girl of his dreams in another part of the country. Two days drive. That’s how far away she’d be. Two days with no rest. His heart broke in half.

Early September. That was when term started. Bucky had seven weeks left with her and then she’d be gone. He sat on the front steps of his mom’s place that night, contemplating life without Izzy. He couldn’t ask her to stay, wouldn’t ask. He wouldn’t be that selfish. But he knew he couldn’t stay in this place without her. Three years, four years? And Steve, he’d be going away too, Bucky just wasn’t sure where yet. He felt like his life was falling to pieces in his hands. He never had much anyway but he always had them. Not anymore.

The next morning, after a night of soul searching and tears, Bucky enlisted in the Army.

That summer was the most difficult time of his life. Holding onto such heartache, keeping it locked away so as not to mar the time he had left. It was an impossible task.

One weeks after enlisting in the Army he told Steve. He couldn’t bring himself to tell Izzy yet but he had to tell someone. Steve was his best friend, his first real friend, one of the only two he kept through his whole life growing up.

Steve understood. He was sad, yes, but supportive. Maybe a couple of years away, focusing on other things would straighten Bucky out. They’d see each other whenever they both had leave. Steve was enrolling in the FBI training program here in New York, with an intensive training secondment down in Quantico, Virginia. His academic course was three years long, including the twenty weeks he’d spend down in Quantico. It was certainly better than California.

The following week, Bucky showed up on Izzy’s doorstep. She’d been texting him to come over but he’d purposefully ignored her. She said she needed to talk to him about something and he was both excited and full of dread.

She seemed happy when she let him in, and they’d went into the den – there were no boys allowed in her room. Maybe this would be good news after all. He was so lost in the scenarios running through his head that he didn’t register her staring at him.

“You got something you want to say?” She asked, taking him completely by surprise.

His mind immediately went to Steve. That little rat couldn’t keep his mouth shut. Bucky’s temper had bubbled. He flared his nostrils in annoyance.

“I do, actually, doll.” His heart hammered in his chest, the nickname, the news he was about to confess, it all had him dialled up to ten on the stress scale.

Izzy smiled sweetly, a glimmer of something alluring right there in her eyes.

“I enlisted in the army, Izzy. I leave in two weeks.”

Her face fell, and right then he knew Steve had kept his promise. Tears welled up in her eyes and her chin gave that cute wobble it did when she was trying to hold back a sob. She didn’t ask why, she just nodded, hastily swiping away the tears that had just started to spill past her lower lashes.

The way she stood, pulling the sleeves of that horrifically baggy cardigan over her hands, nervously tugging at the weave, broke his heart. What was he supposed to do? She was going away, leaving him. She didn’t even know what it meant or what it would do to him and she never would. He’d keep it to himself to spare her. Their friendship meant more to him than anything else and he decided right then that he would do absolutely anything to keep her in his life, but right now he was all kinds of fucked up.

This army thing was just to straighten him out, like Steve said, it would be something new to take his mind off everything. He’d stay in touch, keep their friendship alive, and hopefully they’d reconnect on the other side. He just couldn’t be here, in Brooklyn with all the memories of her and not have her here.

Izzy plucked an envelope from the telephone table and wordlessly handed it to him. It was opened and addressed to Isabella Freeman from the University of Yale, Connecticut.

“What’s this?” He asked. Numbness stealing over him.

“Read it.” Her voice was thick with emotion, but it wasn’t the happy kind that had lightly bubbled from her lips when he’d first arrived.

“Dear Isabella,” he read aloud. “As the admissions officer responsible for your area, I would like to offer my personal congratulations on your acceptance to the Yale College class of 2008…”

His voice cracked as he fully understood what this meant. She wasn’t leaving him, he was leaving her. She would only be two hours drive away from their home but him… He was going to Missouri.

Bucky’s hands were shaking as he clutched the letter. His mouth was dry and he worked his throat wordlessly to try to say something, anything. Finally he coughed, clearing his throat.

“This is great news.” He said, offering her the most genuine smile he could. He was happy that she’d gotten into the best law school in the country, ecstatic that she was able to pursue her dreams, but singularly mortified that he had fucked this up so badly. “Have you told Steve yet?”

She shook her head solemnly, her eyes swam with tears she just stared at him.

“He’s gonna freak the fuck out!” Bucky jumped up with a forced smile, deciding that these last two weeks with her were going to be the happiest they’d ever had. “He might even do ‘the dance’.”

Her hesitant laughter was a balm on the aching emptiness within. His soul was practically keening its lament. Two weeks. Fourteen days to enjoy themselves before The Marvellous Three would be broken up and scattered on the winds.

Bucky wanted to lie to Steve and Izzy about his flight time. He wanted to tell them to meet him at the house at 8am when in reality his flight left LaGuardia airport at 8am, but he couldn’t do it. It would be the last time for a long time he’d see either of them. The ripping out of what was left of his heart was worth one last look at both of their smiling faces. The last time in who knew how long that The Marvellous Three would be together.

“Please stay safe.” Izzy said, her lips brushing his ear as she hugged him fiercely. Drawing back she kissed him on the cheek, the corners of their mouths overlapping, lingering there overlong. Suddenly she was gone and turning away to hide her tears. She couldn’t bare to watch him leave so she fled, a sob breaking loose as she hurried away.

“Don’t die, punk.” Steve hugged him forcefully as he reeled from Izzy’s departure.

“You too, jerk.” Bucky patted his back, hard. “I’ll be seeing you.” He stiffened, swallowing hard.

“See you at the end of the line, Buck.”

“The end of the line…” He gave Steve a half-hearted salute before taking a deep breath and one last look at his friend.

Continue to chapter three >>>

#bucky barnes x ofc #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes angst #emotional hurt #promises #my writing #friends to lovers #cloudy's writing

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goodlifewrites · 4 years

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I wanted to actually respond to this specific review by Celine Griffyndor:

“to me, Harry is a dick, why didn’t he say what he really thinks about the other boy? and also Harry agreed to go with a girl he didn’t even know and threw Ginny to the enemy, I thought Harry would try to talk to Neville to call Ginny. Harry doesn’t really look like James’ son, unfortunately, he has the profile of a withdrawn teenager (as well as growing up with his uncles). I really liked the fic proposal and the plot, congratulations on your creativity and writing. however, this Harry is an idiot and I also agree that he does not deserve Ginny, are you sure he has already kissed and been with other girls? why would Ginny be interested in him? It is quite contradictory. this last chapter left me very frustrated”

I think the review is fair, if a bit tactless. But let’s go point by point:

“to me, Harry is a dick, why didn’t he say what he really thinks about the other boy?”

Of the ways one could describe Harry, I doubt “dick” would be one of them for not badmouthing someone else to another person. But a lot of people have issues with Harry not telling Ginny what he really thinks of Jean-Pierre. For me, I wrestled with whether this felt true to canon Harry. I thought about his relationship with Ginny, why they work so well together. And part of that is their understanding of each other’s needs. This helps me answer the question of why Harry would refuse to badmouth Jean-Pierre to prevent them from dating. Because he knows it won’t work. He knows how stubborn and independent Ginny is. Her deciding to be friends with him is an act of rebellion against her family, even if she agrees not to be so open about it. Harry feels that telling Ginny how awful Jean-Pierre is and how she shouldn’t date him won’t actually work. That Ginny will do what she wants to do, or do the opposite of what other’s tell her. Putting down someone else won’t make Harry look good in Ginny’s eyes, he assumes. Of course, there is also the fact that Harry has stubbornly decided nothing can ever happen with him and Ginny due to their families. So he is doing the “noble” thing in not dissuading Ginny from dating Jean-Pierre. Because in the end, he will never get to be with her anyway, so why fight every boy who wants to date her. Ginny, of course, is aware that Harry is being noble. She isn’t so dense, so keep that in mind when she agrees to go with Jean-Pierre. Ginny has her own game she is playing.

and also Harry agreed to go with a girl he didn’t even know and threw Ginny to the enemy,

Let’s try to avoid treating Ginny as if she has no agency. Harry didn’t “throw her to the enemy.” He did the noble thing and let Ginny make her own decision.

Harry doesn’t really look like James’ son, unfortunately, he has the profile of a withdrawn teenager

I’ll admit I’ve struggled with this a bit. Harry does come across a bit too reserved and passive at times, even for my liking. But I really try to consider the context of his upbringing and what canon shows. Canon shows Harry does not love popularity. And my Harry similarly shies away from the adulation. But Harry in canon stands up to bullies and can be a tad confident and very sassy. I feel like I did show this side of him in my fic. The big issue with Harry is that he is weighed down by his father’s expectations, yet also rebels against them. So its a constant internal struggle between rising to those expectations and shunning them, which often causes indecision, and perhaps some passiveness. But I would hardly call him “withdrawn.” He has friends, he plays Quidditch, he celebrates his triwizard victory. He acts flirty with Ginny. I don’t see him as withdrawn, just that he likes to keep his friend group small. He still is suspicious of others due to his experiences at Beauxbaton and being a Potter.

Having said all that, I do think I can do a better job of showing Harry taking the initiative. Hopefully you all will appreciate that.

this Harry is an idiot and I also agree that he does not deserve Ginny, are you sure he has already kissed and been with other girls? why would Ginny be interested in him? It is quite contradictory.

Honestly, this is a very fair criticism. I don’t think I’ve done enough to show why Ginny would like Harry. In canon she likes his bravery, but to this point, I doubt he has shown much of it. But Ginny and Harry clearly get along well and have a lot of fun together. Ginny also admires his quidditch skills and the risks he takes during the game. So perhaps he is a bit braver than even I give him credit for. Maybe the fact that he isn’t gung ho about competing in the tournament? But in canon he wasn’t really enthused either. And in my fic, he did go up against a dragon with determination. So actually, Harry has demonstrated a lot of bravery.

I think what you mean, and others who have made a similar complaint, is that Harry is dumb for not pursuing Ginny, despite all the signs she is giving him. And to that, I say: Yes, he is but its understandable. He’s being noble and trying to do what’s right by his family. Harry deep down is aware that there is mutual attraction between him and Ginny. He may be telling himself there isn’t, but that’s just self-preservation. It’s easier for him to pretend she isn’t into him because then it makes his decision not to pursue her much easier to follow through on. Also, consider in canon that Harry didn’t pursue Ginny during 6th year in large part because of Ron. He didn’t want to jeopardize the friendship. Is that really much different than what he’s doing now? And all I will say is that in canon, Harry wasn’t going to do anything with Ginny until he got caught up in the moment and kissed her in the common room. Perhaps that will be another parallel???

#Harry Potter

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literallyjustanerd · 5 years

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Hurts to Try, Hurts to Stop - Chapter 2

Writing angst and fluff to distract from your own steadily building anxiety and sense of impending doom is the biggest mood. What can I say? Nightangel comforts me.

Kurt’s tail twitches restlessly over the bedroom carpet as he checks his phone for the third time in ten minutes. The screen is clear of any new messages, and he can see his wallpaper in full: his bright grin as Warren kisses his cheek, both of them bathed in the bright neon of the lights in their favourite restaurant. There is a sharp hiss as he sucks a breath in through his teeth, foot tapping in disquiet against the floor. Three text messages now, and two calls, all unanswered. He’d woken up alone, his back cold and missing the press of Warren’s chest against it. He knows what this means, exactly why Warren hasn’t answered.

First, the unassuming ‘good morning xx’ text, then the less optimistic ‘where did you go?’ ending in a final, resigned, ‘please don’t see him today.’He isn’t surprised that Warren has gone back to see his father, to endure another day of abuse, but the lack of surprise doesn’t come with a lack of disappointment. There is even a slight twinge of frustration bubbling deep in the pit of his stomach—the faintest rumble of thunder from an incoming storm.

He jumps when Scott appears next to him, asking what Kurt’s frown is for. Kurt, as ever, dismisses it with a shake of his head, shoulders shifting with his sigh.

“It’s okay. It’s nothing,” he says. But Scott has had years to get to know Kurt, to come to recognise the slight shake in his voice and the quirk in his lips. Not to mention he has come to feel somewhat protective of Kurt, especially since he knows just the kind of grief Warren is capable of giving. He says nothing, but keeps his gaze through his glasses trained intently on Kurt. The lie withers under this scrutiny, and Kurt cracks easily with it.

“Warren’s gone back to see his dad,” he begins, voice like that of a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Their family has this… this big fancy lunch once a week, and Warren always goes, and it always ends in an argument and him feeling miserable.”

“And you’ve told him he shouldn’t be going?”

“Every time! And every time, he ends up back there.”

Scott sighs, leans back against the doorframe, and balls his hands in his pockets.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what to tell you. Aside from, you know, what I’ve already told you before.”

Kurt dredges up a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and forces himself to stand, patting Scott’s shoulder as he passes by into the hallway.

“I know, Scott. But he’s my boyfriend. We love each other, and we’re not breaking up.”

There comes an unconvinced shrug from behind him.

“Just saying. Still think you could do better than that hot mess.”

“Scott.” There is a chuckle in Kurt’s voice, letting Scott know he has done his job. The pair together leave the bedroom behind, beginning the day a little late, but much better than if Kurt had been left to start it himself.

“Sehr gut, jeder! That’s enough for today. You did wonderfully, I hope you had as much fun as I did!”

That is a lie. Kurt, in fact, hopes his students have had much more fun than he has. As the dozen or so young mutants he’d taken charge of that afternoon pass him towards the Danger Room’s exit, he once again is lost to his own thoughts, the unending debate that tugs at his mind.

It has been three months since he had put his name forward to handle a weekly Danger Room, and, overall, he has relished the experience. The students had taken a shine to him straight away, and the chance to share and teach his skills had proven both heartening and cathartic. Today, however, not even the bright, fresh young faces of his newest pupils are enough to dissuade him from obsessing over Warren, who has still not made an appearance despite the day being all but over.

Once the students have drained from the hall completely, he follows them up from the basement levels of the school and begins towards the living room, hoping to find some conversation to smother his sorrows with. He passes by the window, the last dregs of twilight bleeding into night, the trees an inky black tide lapping at the horizon. Another silhouette catches his attention, this one wheeling high above the treeline. Though barely visible in the dim, Kurt knows the arc of those wings too well, in too much excruciating detail to mistake the shape for anything else. Anyone else. Warren is out there, and he is agitated. His movements lack their usual grace and fluidity. He flies with the air of a man being pursued, and this observation drives a deep unease into Kurt’s chest, like a splinter worming its way beneath its skin that he has no hope of removing. For a moment, all frustration about Warren’s disappearance and foolishness vanishes, replaced only by dread of what horrors the man has endured today at the hands of his parents. The thought stays with him for the rest of the evening, along with the question of when Warren will choose to end his self-inflicted purgatory in the skies and return to Kurt’s waiting arms.

The mansion is dark for the most part when Warren touches down on the front steps. As usual, the heavy, ancient oak door creaks maddeningly loud as he opens it, drawing a wince from the man as he slips inside and locks it behind him. There are people still awake, almost certainly, but the mansion is big enough, its halls long and winding enough that he is able to take himself to his room unseen with ease. But as he nears the door to his refuge, his dull footfalls are cut off. There is a soft, yellow light streaming through the crack underneath the door. Shit. He had been hoping to forgo this confrontation, stayed out until the cold turned his wingtips numb to avoid it. And, of course, with the heightened sense of hearing that comes with his boyfriend’s (frankly adorable) pointed blue ears, he has almost definitely already heard Warren approaching. Dread building to a crescendo in his stomach, Warren makes the final few strides to their bedroom and opens the door.

If it hadn’t been for the situation they were in, the sight of Kurt before him would have filled Warren with warmth, with the addictive calmness and security that Kurt usually provides him with, tense disagreements about family notwithstanding. He is sitting up in bed, curled up against the night’s chill with a book in his lap, rich blue fur bathed in the incandescent light of a bedside lamp. He looks to Warren expectantly when he enters the room, lips parting slightly and then pressing back together as if he had begun to speak and thought better of it. He has grown more adamant lately, more determined not to enable Warren’s more avoidant and self-destructive behaviours. The silence stretches on, fraying and thinning like an overtaxed rope until Warren finally gives in, words leaving his lips with such force that he almost lurches forward.

“It’s not that fucking easy, okay?” he blurts. “I can’t just cut him off whenever I feel like it. That’s not how it works.”

“I didn’t say it was,” replies Kurt, his tone earnest if somewhat dry, with just enough force in it to spark a fresh wave of frustration in Warren.

“But you think it, don’t you? You think I should be able to just snap my fingers and be totally done with him!”

An exasperated sigh from Kurt has Warren feeling like a child again, scolded by a parent, a relative, a teacher, and infuriated by their condescension.

“You do!” he snaps before Kurt has gotten a single word out. The interruption causes Kurt to frown deeply, peeling back the covers and standing up with as much composure as he could muster.

“Is it so bad that I want you to get rid of the single worst influence in your life?”

“He’s my dad.”

“He’s said horrible things to you! He says them every time you see him! Homophobic things, mutophobic things. The number of times you’ve come home in tears because of him… He’s an awful, bigoted, ignorant man and you don’t deserve to have that in your life!”

“It’s more complicated than that! He’s really shitty to me, yeah, I’ll give you that. But he’s my dad. He’s family. And I keep thinking, I don’t know, maybe if I give him enough time... Look, I can’t just— If I tried to—” The words dry up in his mouth as quickly as they had come rushing to his mind, his building agitation tearing an animalistic growl from deep within his throat.

“I know how impossible it seems to give up on the idea of things getting better.” Kurt’s voice is a warning, stepping closer to Warren like a lion tamer, fighting his own anger as it tries to leap up in response to his partner’s. “Trust me, I know. I’ve been through it before. Which means I also know what I’m talking about when I say that taking the plunge and making the tough choices makes everything easier in the long run.”

The words make sense. They sound perfectly reasonable. And this, more than anything, is what angers Warren the most. These perfect, reasonable words coming from a perfectly reasonable man, so well-adjusted and put-together and so fucking adult. The affront of having his own misjudgements and insecurities laid out for him is almost too much for him to bear, and it only hurts more that despite knowing deep down that Kurt is right, he cannot stop his own feelings. Even with full awareness of the problem, he is powerless to unravel it.

“He’s my dad,” he snarls, gaze affixed firmly to the floor, hot, shameful tears pricking the backs of his eyes.

“And? My father is a literal biblical demon! And my mother is… well, my mother.” “That’s different. You had Margali. You had your family in the circus.” “Until I came here. Then, I had a mother who couldn’t figure out whether she was evil or not and a father who wanted to use me and all my other half-demon siblings to tear a hole in the underworld.”

His breath trembles as he steps forward, catching Warren’s chin under one finger and raising it to meet his eyes. Through all his pent-up frustration, the anger and grief, he smiles. Meekly, faintly, but with enough tenderness to melt through all of Warren’s pride. In an instant, he is putty in Kurt’s hands once more, hanging precariously on the silence between them, desperate for shelter from the storm raging within him.

“But I also had the other X-Men. I had you. And whenever Mystique shows up, or I want to feel sorry for myself because of who my father is, I just remind myself that you guys are enough.” The tears are streaming freely down Kurt’s cheeks now, collecting in shivering droplets at his chin and falling onto Warren’s fingers, numb with the weight of all the emotions warring in his mind.

Gradually, and then all at once, Warren is hit with an astounding exhaustion, one that reaches right to his bones. He gives in, gives up the reins he has clung so desperately to, and collapses into Kurt’s waiting arms. They catch him with all the strength in the world, holding his entire life afloat in their firm yet gentle grasp. Warren feels lips pressed against his ear, exults in the hot breath against his skin. The lips and the breath are accompanied by whispered words of comfort, reassurances and promises that everything would be okay. He loses himself to the simple, euphoric feeling—of being safe, of being loved, so absorbed in it that he cannot tell how much time has passed when Kurt lifts those wonderful lips from his ear, pressing them instead against Warren’s for just a moment before pulling back to gaze at Warren with searching eyes.

“I’m sorry I got so worked up,” he murmurs. “I just hate seeing you like this.” Warren nods, slow and short.

“It’s okay. I shouldn’t have gotten so angry. I’m sorry, too.”

Wordlessly, the two of them climb under the covers, retreating all too readily into a world much smaller than the one that had sparked the argument between them. Warren hesitates when he tries to speak, throat catching involuntarily, a remnant of his pride, though the night’s events have left it weakened enough that he can easily push past it.

“I’ll… I’ll work on talking to dad less,” he says, and Kurt can tell that the words are a promise. “I can stop going to so many family things, stop answering all his stupid invasive questions.”

Kurt nods, pausing reverently before he replies.

“I think that’s a good idea. Take it at your own pace. We’ll see how things go.”

Warren can’t do a thing to help the great swell of adoration he feels at seeing those big, thoughtful yellow eyes, the crease of his brow. He presses his head to Kurt’s chest, and even then he feels he cannot get close enough to the man he has fallen so achingly hard for. His wings sweep up and out, blanketing Kurt on both sides, movements as careful and covetous as if he were handling a rare and precious gem.

“Kurt?”

The blue mutant is almost dreaming when the voice stirs him, the rumble of the chest atop his rousing him back to consciousness.

“Mm?”

“Thank you. For sticking with me. Putting up with me.”

“I don’t put up with anything, mein Engel. I love you. I’ll always want to help you when you’re struggling.”

Warren inhales sharply, lips pressed tightly together.

“If either of us is anything close to an angel, it’s definitely you,” he says with the softest hint of a laugh, winding his arms tighter around the warmth of the body he has positioned himself against. Kurt says nothing, heart suddenly bounding with something unplaceable. The feeling stays with him until he loses himself to sleep, lulled into a deep, peaceful rest by the rhythm of Warren’s breaths against his fur.

#nightangel #nightcrawler #angel #kurt wagner #warren worthington iii #warren worthington #nightcrawler x angel #x men #x men apocalypse #uncanny x men #marvel #marvel comics #fanfiction #drabble #hurts to try hurts to stop

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realmofthemind · 6 years

Text

Because of You...

Pairing: Snape x Gryffindor!Reader

Word Count: 1,993

Requested by Anon

"Hello, I love your fics of Snape x Reader and you actually changed my opinion about these type of fics. Do you take prompt/request? If you do, may you write about a shy and slow Gryffindor who appears to love Potion but get scare off by Snape, then he finds out later that she may change her career path (from a Potion Mistress to a different job) because of him? Thank you!"

A/N: I changed it a bit so that the dream career is to be the best at potions and take over the reader’s grandparent’s potions shop. I'm incredibly sorry to the anon who requested this story ages ago. I'm so sorry it took so long and I'm also sorry if it's not very good. I’m also sorry about my disappearance but I’m back and I'm open to hear new ideas for fics.

Every first year at Hogwarts had many things on their minds. The first thing is always wondering what house they will be sorted in. Not you though. The first thing on your mind was wondering what would be the best path to take in order to graduate top of your class in potions. Ever since you could remember, you've always wanted to be a the best at potions. Your grandparents ran a small potions shop and your dream was to learn how to do all of the things they did. Watching them mix ingredients and seeing the different colors, sounds and effects the potion had fascinated you. You were so worried about fulfilling your dream that being sorted into Gryffindor didn't phase you.

Your first week of potions did not go as expected. Everyone was terrified of the dark haired potions professor, but you were determined to get as close to him as you can. You had so much to learn from him. As the year went on, you found it increasingly hard, especially since you were a Gryffindor.

"Your first potion will perhaps be one of the most advance potions you will ever encounter in my class. This is so you know what I expect you to be able to complete by the time you graduate. Today we will be making Amortenia, not that any of you know would know what that is." Snape grumbled out.

Without missing a beat, you proudly replied "Amortenia is a love potion."

Snapes' head snapped in your direction. He paused for a second. "10 points from Gryffindor for interrupting class."

You remained silent for the rest of the class after receiving many dirty looks from your fellow Gryffindors. You silently worked on the potion alone. By the end of class, you have completed it to perfection. Although proud of yourself, you slowly found your desire to pursue a career in potions fading. You leaned forward to smell it. It smelled just like… nothing. You squinted your eyes at the book as you lowered your nose deeper into the cauldron. Your nose almost touched the liquid as you inhaled harder. You still didn't smell anything. You've completed it to perfection. There's no way you did it wrong. Reading over each step again, you started to think that perhaps you weren't cut out for potions. You turned to one of your good friends and asked her opinion.

She leaned in and smelled. She smiled as she looked at you and whispered "It's perfect. I smell….furniture polish? Man I hope he has a good personality."

"How is that possible? I can't smell anything." You replied as you sunk down in your seat.

She shrugged her shoulders and teased. "Perhaps it's because your one true "love" your love for potions." You rolled your eyes and sat back in dismay as you waited for the class to be dismissed.

As the years went on, you decided that spending your time trying to gain favor with Professor Snape, who clearly hated you, wasn't worth the deducted house points, rude comments under his breath, or harsh grading. You decided to give up on your dream career in potions and pursue one in charms.

When the end of your 6th year came around, you were expected to sign up for an advance course. Although the little 1st year in your heart was screaming for you to sign up for advance potions, Snape's words in your head were much louder. You decided to sign up for advanced charms.

The last day of classes came around too quickly. You were sitting in the great hall eating lunch when a letter dropped right in front of your plate. You tentatively picked it up and inspected it. You didn't recognize the handwriting on the front although it did look vaguely familiar. You opened it and read the contents.

"Meet me in my office after lunch

-Professor Snape"

Your heart sank and you did not DARE look up at the teacher's table. You thought after today you would be done with him and the subject for good. Why did he feel the need to bother you one last time? This man was the reason you gave up on your dream career and you were 110% done with him. You ripped the letter in half, envelope and all. You continued leisurely eating your lunch and chatting with your friends.

Once your plate was empty, you got up to leave. Before you could turn around, you heard a chilling voice come from directly behind you.

"I hope you're on your way to my office, Miss (Y/L/N)."

You clenched your fist and gritted your teeth. "Yes professor." You replied. When you turned around, he was gone. You were debating just heading back to your room but decided against it.

You left the great hall and made your way to the dungeon. Knocking on the slightly opened door, you heard Snape's monotone voice. "Come in." He stated.

You entered the office, standing in front of his desk. You had no intentions on sitting because you did not want this to take long. Without looking up from his stack of papers he quipped. "I noticed you have not signed up for advanced potions. Why might that be?"

You blinked, slightly taken back by his question. Why would he care about what classes you took? He should be ecstatic your not in his class anymore. You cleared your throat and confidently replied "Well, I've always did love potions and planned on taking advanced potions but seeing how things have been going in class over the years, I've decided that maybe charms may be my calling.”

Snape completely froze. 'how things have been going in class over the years…' was it him? Was he really the reason that you were giving up on potions. He was a little tougher on you because you were a Gryffindor but he didn't feel like he did anything to completely dissuade you from the subject. Truth be told, you were one of his favorite students. He went hard on you to push you to be better. Sure, he never explained it to you and he couldn't show any sort of favoritism but you were one of his most intelligent students who was proficiently skilled in potions.

He looked up at you, putting his quill in the nearby inkwell. "I'm sorry to hear that I've dissuaded you from pursuing your dream career although I strongly encourage you to reconsider."

You looked down and began to fiddle with your fingers. "I'll think about it." You said in almost a whisper. You looked up to see he was looking at you, deep in thought. Once the silence and intense gaze of your potions professor began to bother you, you turned to leave. You closed the door behind you and paused, thinking about the conversation that just took place between you and your potions professor. Trying not to overthink it, you shook your head and made your way to your dorm.

When the schedules for next yea came out, you saw that you were placed in advanced potions, despite never filling out a form for it. When you walked into the room on your first day of advanced potions, you could have swore you saw professor Snape crack the smallest of smiles for the briefest of seconds.

You finished out your 7th year at Hogwarts, top of the potions class, and went on your merry way in life.

A few years later, Snape heard that one of his favorite potion shops that closed down a few years prior has reopened. He decided to check it out. Upon entering, he inhaled the smell of the potions ingredients along with the familiar sent of someone's shampoo. He strolled into the shop and began to look around the shelves. Upon hearing the sound of a cash register followed by a conversation between a customer and the presumed owner of the store, he turned around. He could not control the smile that grew across his face when he saw you, explaining to a patron how to make a sleeping draught before he left the store.

Once he exited, you turned your attention to the new patron you heard enter the store to see if they needed any assistance. You went wide eyed upon seeing who it was. "Professor Snape!" you exclaimed, shocked that your old potions professor was in your store.

Snape smirked at you and directed his attention back to the shelves as he ran his fingers across the many jars. "I'm not your professor anymore, (Y/N). You can call me Severus."

Calming down slightly, you attempted to treat him like you would any other patron and not the potions professor who almost crushed your dreams. "Alrighty, Severus. What can I help you with today? Not that you would need much help."

Deciding to bother you a bit, he decided to take you up on your offer. "I'm looking for ingredients to make Amortenia but I appear to be forgetting the last ingredient required to make it." He turned to you, "Would you mind giving me a little refresher?"

You raised an eyebrow at him, knowing he knew exactly what the answer was. You played along. "Of course, you're going to finish the potion with Pearl Dust but you should know that. It's only the potion you had me make on the first day of classes and replicate for my advanced potions final."

He picked up a near by jar full of pearl dust as he smirked to himself. "Ah, she remembers. It's nice to see that you've been paying attention in my class."

You decided to play along once again as you giggled. "I mean, potions with you was perhaps one of the most mortifying and life changing experiences of my life. That mixed with running this shop for a while, I'd be damned if I didn’t remember anything."

He put the jar back on the shelf and looked around, taking in the entirety of the little shop. It was laid out exactly as he remembered it. "Well, it's good to see this place open again and run by one of my favorite students."

You caught his confession. "Your favorite student? I was sure I was one of those that you tolerated the least? I was so sure I would be miserable working in a charms shop by now."

Severus felt a tinge of guilt in his heart. He knew it was his fault for crushing your dreams. He looked down at his hands. "I will forever feel guilty for making you feel that way. All I simply intended was to push you to strive for perfection. You really were my most brilliant student."

You froze, your hands gripping the countertop. There was a silence that fell between you two before you heard suffling. You fixed your gaze on the source of the noise. Severus was now standing directly in front of you, only separated by the countertop. He slid his hands across the counter until they were barely grazing yours. He looked down and then up at you with a look in his eyes that you've never seen before. He looked back down at your hands.

"I truly am sorry (Y/N). I really hope you can forgive me…" He whispered, his voice trailing off at the end.

You daringly slid your fingers forward so your hands rested on top of his. "I forgive you." you whispered back.

He looked back up at you with a slight smile on his face. "Would you please allow me to take you out for tea sometime as we discuss restocking the potions room for the upcoming school year?"

You smiled and shook your head. "Wow, I'm shocked. The great potion master is asking for my help."

He chuckled and moved his hands so they were on top of yours. "Don't push it (Y/L/N)."

"Of course. Anything for you, Severus."

#severus snape #snape x reader #severus x reader #snape x you #harry potter #severus #snape #severus snape fanfiction #snape imagine #imagine snape #alan rickman #snapedom #gryffindor

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