#if I did the first draft of the promise where Jet's still alive would be canon

[dont-leafmealone]

My take on the ATLA comics: nothing besides the Faith Erin Hicks comics and Ursa's backstory (up until marrying Ozai, not the weird contrived mother-of-faces thing) are canon <3

Oh and the 'Zuko's Story' comic from the movie-we-dont-speak-of. That comic was the only good thing to come out of that dumpster fire.

#the anthology comics can stay i guess but they're on thin fuckin ice #atla #I think when a MAIN CHARACTER gets so thoroughly assassinated the way zuko sokka and Aang were #that's grounds for decanonization #at least in my heart it is #atla comics #this is mostly /j I know I don't control what's canon #if I did the first draft of the promise where Jet's still alive would be canon

[blissfulparker]

Pointing The Gun→ Bodyguard!Tom

Pairings: bodyguard!tom x royal!reader

Warnings; mentions of guns, mentions of being shot, isolation, smut

Summary; the daughter of one of London’s most royal families always has a gun pointed at her, Freedom restricted and never having one true friend or love in her life. Although one bodyguard, one safehouse makes everything change.

Wc: 6kish??

A/n; This has been sitting in my drafts for months but and I had a hard time wrapping it up but I finally figured it out(somewhat) Anyways, bodyguard!Tom is one of my fav AUs so I hope you guys enjoy

Staring out the window of the large office you had sat in waited in was an all too familiar feeling.

The tea served in front of you grew cold as it had now been an hour since you received it from the front desk assistant. You envied her, The women who only worked in the front of the building, an assistant probably not even earning more than 15 an hour, you envied.

She didn’t have to worry about her life on the line every second of the day. She didn’t have to worry about if her family was dead or alive. There wasn’t a red dot pointed at her chest nearly every second as a price tag held the hunt for her high.

Even if it wasn’t the most perfect life the front desk office assistant lived, the idea of going home to an animal or a lover, heating up leftovers and going to sleep peacefully was an action you wished you had.

The two men talked outside. One being your father, the other being a new possible bodyguard for you. The last one wasn’t the best, he didn’t get To know you that well and he was more of a robot than a human as he stood tall by your side, talked when needed but shut up the other half.

He quit to go work for some celebrity who’s name you never got. You only hoped she would hear him speak more than two words as you’re almost positive that the only words he ever spoke to you were ‘hello’ and ‘goodbye’ as he left.

Your heart didn’t break though over that bodyguard that left you. your heart broke as your youth was stolen from you and in the next 48 hours you will be sent off on a private jet to a safehouse. A safehouse with some random new bodyguard promising to keep you safe until whatever threat was on you this time was cleared.

“She will be ecstatic to work with you.” You hear your fathers voice on the other side of the wall. Working was a poor term, ecstatic was even poorer.

“Thank you.” And there you listened as the poor boy signed away his life as he didn’t know what he was getting himself into. Thinking he’s only shaking hands with one of London’s most important family heirs to royalty and thinking he gets to have a getaway with the princess, he'll be lucky to even be alive in the next two weeks.

“(Y/n),” your father opened the door. Besides him stood a broad frame, a boy who looked to be around your age, you prayed for him even more.

A frown forms on your face when you realize his blood will be on your hands. His family will hate you and blame you for the loss of their boy.

He wore a tight black shirt that showed how strong he was, probably to show off that he is capable of helping the damsel in distress. Wears an expensive watch around his wrist, an older one, looks to be a family heirloom. Along with a ring on his finger, his fingers and hands look as if they’ve been broken before. You can tell he’s been in a position of a bodyguard before, the way he stands and holds himself. You could see him with a A-list celebrity but none that can harm him. Maybe a famous model who thinks she needs protection but she only needs to be protected from how many shots at the club she takes. Or maybe he’s worked for some actress who thinks she’s worthy but it’s just average. All of those things were Making his past jobs easy.

He thinks he knows what he’s doing, you tell yourself, what an idiot.

“Meet your new bodyguard, Mr. Thomas Holland.” Your father introduced and you only let your tired eyes glance over to the innocent man.

“You don’t have to call me that, Tom is alright.” He doesn’t reach out his hand. You mentally furrow your brows as the man always reaches out his hand to kiss yours as if this was the 17th century and princesses were the most respected people in the world. You could go as far to say that the office assistant was more respected than you.

You don’t say anything, you only look at him when he walked in but then turn your attention back to the city that rushed outside. Wishing you were one of the people running down the street late to work. Wishing you were normal.

“She’s a little distressed.” He mumbled words to Tom and then went into explaining the next 48 hours. The next 48 hours where you would be away from London and most likely on a remote island with only a radio to call back to land.

You knew the long painful drill all too easily. A new safehouse, a new start, a new everything you keep you safe.

Before you knew it the two of you were being walked out of the room. Pushed into a car and driven to a nearby airport where the two of you would start a new life for two weeks.

A new life where Tom would get himself killed.

-

The first night spent together was long, the two of you found yourself on an island, there were people, locals that didn’t speak English but you would most likely never see them again.

Tom led you into the house. You had to admit, maybe if you weren’t so caught up with the pain of thinking of the way you could die or the way your new and shiny bodyguard could possibly die, you thought he was attractive. He had a large frame, clearly fit. He had a sharpen jaw and deep brown eyes, curly chocolate hair and when his skin brushed against you it was soft, soft and he smelt of cedarwood and oak. A deep forest scent and soft skin, his teeth were white and straight and his lips...his lips you already knew tasted of the mint chapstick he had applied numerous times during the plane.

He held your bags for you even though you tried to hold them yourself. Even at one point protesting that if anything did happen, his hands were full.

He was a gentleman through and through as he helped you with most things already. He was more of a comfort than a bodyguard. He made dinner for you and reminded you that he was just down the hall. The thing you liked was that he cared and didn’t push. He didn’t try and push you into confessing things or sharing your life story—as some bodyguards did.

He also wasn’t too quiet, he offered you his care beyond just his strength and guns. He reminded you he was here, asked if you needed anything wherever you guys were, and had a small spark in his eyes that showed he cared.

“Good morning.” His words are sweet. You felt awful as he was kind to you and you were cold to him. “I made some coffee already.” He told you and you smiled at him.

“Thank you.” You mumbled. If he was going to be your bodyguard, alone in your safehouse for the next two weeks, you needed to get to know him. You knew the cold distant thing didn’t work, for it never did.

“I’m sorry.” You mentally cursed yourself as those were the first words that came out of your mouth. You hadn’t said much but the first thing that did come out was that.

“Why would you be sorry?” He looks over. On the couch, he has the news playing. Local news in a different language, they talk about farmers markets, local crimes, sob stories that you hate hearing about because it makes you sound spoiled.

“You’re getting yourself killed.” You told him and he got up from the couch, his coffee cup empty and he places it in the dishwasher.

“Oh yeah?” A stupid smirk formed on his face, it didn’t take a poet to read his face for every time that smirk appeared he was ready to tell a bad joke at an even badder time. “I don’t see you pointing the gun.” His arms fold.

A stupid smirk as if this was all a game. But This is the closest he’s been and the most he’s talked to you as a conversation.

“Still.” You walk past him and before you could go far he catches your arm. His smile slowly dropped as he sees nothing works with you. No amount of space or time would you seem to open up to him. Even if it’s only been a few days, he knew the longer he stayed quiet the longer you did too.

“I’m here to help you.” He promised. You never heard it from someone’s mouth. He was here to help you, didn’t mean he wanted to help you. He was being paid to keep you alive. You had to remember that.

“I know.” And you slipped away from his grasp and walked out of the room. “But you’re going to die trying.”

Leaving him alone, frustrated, and able to check off a few more things from the list of things you were said to be: Stubborn.

Tom knew exactly what he was getting into when he was asked to work for you. The daughter of a wealthy family with a dark past. Your father was a successful politician and businessman, your eldest brother becoming the CEO of a company he started, then there was you. The heir to everything they owned. If both your father and brother were to die, you would be the richest women in London, possibly even the world.

So people wanted you dead for a good reason, money. With the money you were the heir to, you could do anything in the world with.

There were companies out to kill you, people who were promised half the money if they were to kill you. Kill you like they did your mother, they killed your mother in hoping to get your father and brother and take over but it was too quick, they only killed her.

The man who murdered your mother was never found. He was rumored to be seen, rumored it was a family member, rumored to be many things but all Tom knew was that at eight years old, you were in the house with her and were the one to find the body. Now you were destined to have the same faith.

So when Tom stepped into that interview with your father, he knew he was signing his life away. He knew everything there was to know about you but he also thinks deep down there was a girl who needed help, that to keep her alive he had to listen to her.

Tom had found comfort in the large safehouse, it felt like more of a mansion than a safe house, he spent half his day in the gym, another half he found himself finally having time to read as this was his first bodyguard job where he wasn’t constantly on his feet. All in between he checked in on you, you who only came out of your room to get water, food, or any other thing you might need but you didn’t talk to him. You also were the first person he thinks he’s ever protected that he didn’t hear talk.

Once he protected a D list celebrity who was so far in her head all she talked about was herself so he guessed that being with you was a change of pace. But he wanted to know. He wanted to know what there was beyond what the media had presented of you.

-

The smell of spices and the heat that filled the house drew you out of your room that night. Tom, Tom wearing another tight shirt and sweatpants, cooked in the kitchen. He wore glasses, you didn’t think he wore glasses. You looked at his file, of course you did, he didn’t have any eyesight problems. He was allergic to daisy’s though, that made you laugh. Such a tough guy allergic to such a dainty flower.

“Do you need help?” You say as you lean against the kitchen door. He jerks his head up, shocked that you came out of your room as the past few nights have been dinner with himself.

“I-Uh-yeah,” he clears his throat. Step 1 of being a bodyguard, never let your client get you flustered. He just broke step one. “Can you cut the chicken?”

You nod, taking the knife from him and going over to the cutting board. Cutting the raw chicken into smaller chunks while he worked on peppers, adding them into the pan before taking the cut chicken from you and throwing it in there as

“Do you miss home yet?” You start a conversation, you were willing to get to know him. But not fall in love with him like he had maybe hoped you would. You would break his heart—quite literally as he would die.

“No,” he states. “My family knows I’m safe wherever I am, my best friend and brother is taking care of my house and my Tessa.” He comments.

My tessa, you think. Of course he has a girlfriend at home, someone as charming and attractive as him, he had a girl.

“Tessa?” You repeated and he nodded as he stirred what was in the pan.

“She’s beautiful, found her when I was around 14–“ found was an interesting way to say you got a girlfriend. Slightly disrespectful even. “She’s always excited to see me and is so spoiled, I mean she takes up half the bed and—“

“Tessa is a…”

He lets out a soft chuckle, turning to see your worried and confused face.

“A dog, darling. Tessa is a dog.” Your heart starts to beat normally again and you let out a soft breath. You shouldn’t even care if he had someone at home or not. If he was talking to someone or if he was more of a hookup man than relationship or relationship more than hookup. None of that should’ve mattered as you remind yourself he is only your bodyguard, you could control your hormones and control everything for however long you stayed here as you’ve done it before.

“She sounds lovely.” You say. “I’ve never had a dog.” You admitted. It was true, no dog, no cat, not even a fish as you were always gone, never around to take care of it.

“Really?” He has a higher pitch to his voice.

“No, we always moved around so much that I guess I never really got to settle down to have one.” You shrug and he leans against the counter. For a moment he takes in your beauty, something he didn’t even get the chance to do as he first met you. And you were gorgeous, he knew that from the pictures but seeing you in real life was different. Even if you just wore an older tee shirt and sweats, you had eye bags as he assumed you weren’t getting the best sleep. You were scared, he knew that.

“Maybe when this is all over I can introduce you to mine.” He offers before turning around and continuing to stir the meat.

“I hope you like burnt tacos.” He jokes and for the first time he sees a small smile and the small sound of a laugh leave your lips. If only he knew he was the first one to make a laugh leave your lips in a long time.

-

Tom was a funny man. Over dinner he told you joke stories about past bodyguard jobs he had. He told you about his childhood and he made you feel normal. Even though you knew it was wrong, you saw him as a friend. He made you feel normal, his cooking could use some work but it was the thought that counted—you had bodyguards cook for you before and it was way better but Tom allowed you into the kitchen letting you hold a knife without thinking you’re going to accidentally stab yourself.

“I feel so safe under the arms of a criminal.” You laugh as he finished telling you the story of when he was a kid he would steal candy from cinemas and small shops when he didn’t have any money.

“I was 11 and I know the wrongs now.” He laughs as he swallows the last bit of food before coming over and touching the small crumb that managed to get on your cheek.

For a moment, his touch was so soft and so settle you almost forgot what the feeling of butterflies felt like in your stomach. For the feeling of butterflies were forgien to you since relationships were mostly restricted. You’ve snuck away a few times as a teen, just to feel an act of rebellion but nothing romantic. Romance was almost laughable to you as something so sweet and so nice could never truly last like it did in the books and movies.

He clears his throat realizing he was too close, he leans back and looks down at his plate that was nearly empty but he didn’t want to stop talking to you. He liked hearing your voice and he knew in this moment, he was seeing the true you.

“So what about you? What crimes have you committed.” He teases and you let out a soft laugh.

“Not really able to commit crimes when you can never leave the house or never go anywhere. I guess my worse crime would be sneaking out.” You joke and he makes a small face.

“I guess that is rebellious.” He laughs and you do too. He feels bad for you, you had never had the normal childhood everyone else did. He told his whole story and he could see a small light in your eyes like you’d hoped for that too.

“Sorry I was...distant for a few days.” You don’t make eye contact with him. “My dad is super protective of me and I guess it just gets exhausting knowing there is a threat but always hiding, always being away, you never get a night out you know? I don’t think I’ve ever had a night where I’ve gone to a pub or even just a day where I’ve casually walked through town. I want that, you know?”

He doesn’t nod because he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know what it’s like to always have a red dot pointed at his chest, well, he does but not the target they truly want.

“Yeah.” He moves his legs and offers to take your plate. You hand it to him with a thank you before getting up to help him with the dishes.

“You can go get some rest, I’ve got this.” You only stayed silent because you didn’t want to argue with him. You also didnt want to push your limits.

He was a bodyguard. Not a friend, not a lover.

-

Two weeks pass and you and Tom learn to know each other more and more. In the mornings you two have coffee, the afternoon you have lunch and go for a small run in the forest—you wear a hat and sunglasses for protection. Evening you two make dinner together and late at night you both find yourself reading in the living room—two nights ago you fell asleep and tom carried you to bed.

Tom was the kindest person you had ever met and you had met a lot of people. Not only was he kind but he was selfless, he put every need of yours in front of his even if it wasn’t apart of the job. He was the most of a friend you had ever had and quickly became your best bodyguard.

What worried you about Tom is how when you got back home, when the threat was cleared, he was most likely to leave as your father wasn’t fond of the idea of you having a bodyguard for too long. Your father claimed it was so you were better protected, that if they were a mole they couldn’t figure out that much.

So two weeks into living with him felt like the longest bodyguard you had. A bodyguard who actually said goodnight was nice as he helped you to bed when you were too drunk or tired.

“Careful Tom!” You had started using his name with less spite and more care. You two loved to find youselves in the kitchen seeing just who could fuck up dinner more.

“I'm not even doing anything!” He holds his hands up, maybe it was all the hormones but you dreamt about gripping on his muscles while holds you—

“You’re stirring too quickly.” You quickly snap yourself out of whatever thoughts would make you awkward for the rest of the night. “You'll burn it.” You come behind him and take the spoon. His eyes slightly red as he had already drank a little bit too much tonight. You found that your Tom drunk was giggly, playful, and teasing.

“I don’t think one could stir too quickly, Princess.” There were plenty of pet names. Princess, darling, Angel, peaches, he had an array of names. He seemed to love the one Princess.

“I think you are.” You take a sip of your wine and he turns down the temperature of the stove before grabbing plates.

Assembling two plates of food for the two of you. As you go to grab silverware, you stumble over the tile and Tom is quick to catch you.

You hiccup as maybe you’ve had enough for the night but still wanted to drink some more. Toms hands around your lower back is a forgien feeling. For the last time you think a man had touched you was when you lost your virginity at 17. Toms hands were large, rough, but at the same time so soft.

“I got you.” He says and you look down at his arms, the small space between your chests and then his lips but finally you make it up to look at his eyes. His eyes where he even the tiny of red, the glossy finish over them as you knew he was tipsy. You could tell something deep in his eyes saw something as well. He saw hope with you, hope that he knew he shouldn’t have.

“Think that’s enough drinking for you.” He takes your wine glass and takes a sip from it. You huff as he was much stronger so when you tried to grab the cup, all he did was put his hand out and stopped you.

Dinner was sweet as usual, you two talked and laughed. Having dinner with Tom at the small wooden table was the first time you had a home cooked meal at a dinner table since your mom died. Since you were eight years old. It was strange to laugh like this, you feel bubbly as you never expressed yourself like this to anyone else before and all it took was a few weeks, bottles of wine and many failed dishes.

“I think your cooking skills have improved.” You teased and he swallowed his bite before cocking his eyebrow.

“Darling, I am a good cook, I just...am rusty.” He jokes and you smirk at him.

“Sure…” you tease and he scoffs.

“Give me time I swear!” His words were harmless but you hated time. Time was limited. Tom was limited.

I’ll give you all the time I have, you think. If you could you would. You would give him all your time.

As you tried to get up from the table you nearly trip over your feet once again, catching yourself on the table but Tom is quick to come to your side and help you.

“Okay,” his laugh was so soft yet deep, you could fall asleep to the sound of his laugh. “Now we know for sure you’ve had enough to drink. Maybe we should get you to your room.” He teases and you roll your eyes.

Even though you’re completely capable of walking yourself, Tom walks you down the long empty hall to the bedroom with the slight crack to the door.

“I can walk myself.” You joke and he lets out a soft laugh.

“Yeah, you tripped twice tonight.” He teases and as you got to the door you stood in front of him. He wasn’t towering over you like other bodyguards you’ve had in the past, he was just the perfect height. Being this close you could see everything better, even if the hall was dim and only lit with the moon that was full and bright.

He had soft pink lips, a freckle on his lower lip and though they were thin they were a slight shade of red from the wine and the faint smell of mint came from the chapstick he wore.

You don’t even know you’re doing it, your hand subconsciously goes up to brush the soft scare in between his eyebrow. It splits the hair and creates a soft dent.

Your thumb brushes over it and tom doesn’t move, he only watches your face as you become amused by it. He becomes amused by every part of you.

“You have a scar.” You comment the most obvious and he takes a soft hold of your wrist.

“I hit my eye on the monkey bars, had to get stitches.” He told you and you move your hand down from his brow but he still holds your wrist. He doesn’t even realize that your hand now rests on his cheek.

You hold his gaze, the two of you were completely frozen. He can’t kiss you, he knows this. He was your bodyguard and nothing more, he was here to protect you and that was it. When he gets back to London, you and him will be parted and the only memories he can hold onto are the ones from the magazines.

“Tom.” Your voice comes out as a faint whisper. Almost as a squeak.

“I-I can’t.” He blinks away. He lets go of your wrists and turns around as if he were to walk away from you. He was so close and now he was walking away from you.

“Please.” You reached out for him and he clenched his jaw.

He didn’t know how long you two would be here, he also started to see you as something more. Morning runs filled with laughs, your afternoon reading sessions filled with blanket sharing and often times you falling asleep on his shoulder. Dinner was always the best, dancing and laughing over most of the time half burnt food.

“Your dad will kill me.” He comes back to being face to face with you. He was right, yes, but that was the last thing you wanted to think about.

“He’s not here, is he?” Your hands rest on his shoulder and he swallows hard. Hard enough you see his Adam’s Apple go up and down and his eyes find yours.

“You’re going to be the death of me.” He says. If only he knew his words were quite literally. You may one day be the death of him, and that was why you knew you shouldn’t do this.

“I’m not pointing the gun.” You use his own words back at him and before you can say anything else, he presses his lips against yours. His hands come around your lower back to press you against his body. You are already pulling at the lower ends of his hair, tugging at the nape of his hair as he’s pushed you up against the hallway wall.

He’s quick to take you into the bedroom and have you in your own bed, quivering under his touch as the moment he removes your shirt he is met with no bra, this entire time you have been walking around this house braless and that drove him crazy.

“So fucking soft,” he touches up your stomach and takes each nipple into his hand before taking attention to each one.

As he kisses down your body, he kisses over a faint scar, a scar that resembles one of a wound, a bullet wound. He looks up at your face and he sees how your eyes are screwed shut so he doesn’t take anytime ro question it. For maybe it was something better left alone.

To think that this entire time you were living with a sex god made you mentally slap yourself. He was selfless in every way as he paid all his attention to you.

“Shit darling, fuck you’re tight.” He comes down to plant a kiss on your lips.

“P-Please Tom, f-faster.” You cried and your wish was his command as he buried his face into your neck and your nails dragged down his back.

“I want to hear you,” his breath isn't even shaky as he pounds into you. “Let me hear who’s making you feel this good.” He told you and you didn’t hold back.

For nothing was around except trees and nearby lakes, although even the trees whisper, the trees head everything but the two of you don’t know that.

First it was one, then two, then three orgasms until you begged him to stop. Everything felt so good but so much, it amazed you how long he could go.

Moments after you two lay in pure silence, he cleans you up and makes sure you’re alright, you had never had someone take so much care after you two were together, but Tom took all the time with you.

“Was I too rough?” He asks and you shake your head. Your head rests against his chest and you trace soft circles over his chest.

The soft moonlight falls into the room, your bodies sweaty and intertwined with each other and for a moment you forget where you are. You forget that you are hiding in a safehouse and that Tom was your bodyguard and that when you got back to London he would be nothing but your protector. The closest he would come to touching you would be his hand pulling you out of danger.

“Do you want me to stay?” he looks at you, his hand comes to brush your face and for the first time you look at a bodyguard, look at him with such passion and answer,

“Stay.” With your sweet words and his soft touches, for once you feel a sort of calm. For once you don’t have to feel like you’re dying.

-

The next two weeks you spend with Tom in pure bliss. Feeling each other’s love everyday, each day was filled with more and more excitement.

You hadn’t had much updates on your threat, not much at all as the only messages Tom received were ones telling you guys to stay safe.

But everything had been too quiet. as you felt safe, Tom hated himself for not telling you the nights he woke up in a sweat with you by his side, swearing someone was watching you. Swearing someone watches as you slept. He neglected telling you that after you fell asleep, he looked around the house as something was off.

He no longer left his gun in one room as he always had it on him. You thought he was being over dramatic but he told you it was to keep you safe.

“Your hair is so soft.” You kisses along his neck as your hands are tangled in his hair. As he loves the feeling of your lips against his neck, he feels something is different. Someone was watching the two of you.

The feeling he felt as you woke up, restricting you from your morning jogs. The feeling he felt causing him to keep the blinds closed a little bit longer.

As he tries to keep his attention on you he fails. His grip tightens on you but even you know it’s not in a good way.

“What’s wrong?” You look up and his eyes are locked at the back door. Your eyes look over and you see nothing. you always could tell when a bodyguard sensed something. You knew when Tom woke up, pulled you closer and in the morning blamed nightmares, you knew where all the guns were even if they were ‘hidden’. The way you felt him tense like there was someone else in the room.

“Tom, you’re scaring me.” You move closer towards him and he snaps his attention back to you.

“Someone's here.” He says and gets up from the couch quickly and his hands were wrapped around you still. He had one hand on your lower back and his other hand reached into the couch and pulled out a gun.

“Go in the bedroom.” He ordered and you looked at him ready to protest. “This isn’t a argument Princess, go.” He nearly barks at you and you do as you’re told. You run to the bedroom and get the phone, the only phone that you’ve been able to have signal with and you make the call.

For years, you never cared about your life being on the line. Knowing your faith would go out the same way your mother did, you only hoped you hadn’t a child to watch you die. Now, you knew toms life was on the line and for the man who made you feel something for the first time in years. You couldn’t let him go. Your life had been filled with death and tom was the last person you wanted to see go.

The door opens and your head snaps up and you point a gun. Tom holds his hands up, he holds back a smile as he taught you well. Taught you better. How in the middle of the day he would teach you how to point a gun, how to shoot in case he failed you.

“You won’t fail me.” You remember saying. “You’ll never fail me. Although I might fail you.”

“We’re clear, for now.” He came to you. Helping you to your feet as you huddled in the bedroom corner. “You’re okay.” He promised. He was the first bodyguard to pull you into a hug, kiss the top of your forehead and make you feel safe. You swear, under the muffled sound of his lips pressed to the top of your head you heard him say, were okay. You wanted him to say it louder but this would do for now.

“Don’t go dying on me.” You held him tighter. “Please.” His heart broke at your words.

He didn’t know if it was right, he certainly knew that his job wouldn’t allow it but deep down he knows if you allow him, more than sex, he’ll love you. He can love you.

“You’re not getting rid of me that fast.” For maybe his jokes in serious times weren’t the funniest but he was here.

He can’t hear it, maybe it was his mind playing tricks on him but he swore he heard the soft I love you from your lips. Nuzzled into his shoulder tears fall and he holds you close.

He wouldn’t die on you, not unless you were the one pointing the gun. With him you were safe and for once, with you he was safe.

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#bodyguard!tom #tom holland imagine #tom holland x reader #tom holland fluff #tom holland smut #tom holland au #tom holland angst #imagine tom holland #tom holland x you #Tom Holland fic #tom holland x y/n

[daisylovesatla]

very rough draft of the start of a zutara fan fic

AU where Aang and Katara don't end up together cuz it doesn't make sense that it would be written that way but anyway, I wrote some pages about what would happen if Zuko's lightning bolt actually hurt him a lot more than it did...my ADHD brain can't remember where I saw that AU from but when I do I will tag u I promise...anyway it's Katara by herself at the palace healing Zuko and then the rest of the Gaang arrives from the Earth Kingdom, where Aang and Suki and Toph and Sokka were all fighting against the fire nation's ambush, cuz it would take more than like. a week probably to get to the same place as Zuko and Katara. Anyway I hope it makes sense I'm tentatively posting the first chapter in case everyone hates it but it's only 3,000 words I think.

(eta the ao3 link)

Book 4: Reconstruction...:)

Book 4: Reconstruction

I need some fresh air. She sighs to herself, rubbing her sore wrists and rising up from the cushion she was kneeling on. Keeping her eyes closed, afraid of the emotions that would flood through her if she snuck a glance at him while she wasn’t intensely focused on his injury, pouring all of her energy into that one spot, both emotional and physical.

It has been two weeks since the comet, and she has been doing all that she can to support him, to try to do something that could in some small way, return the favor for his sacrifice. As soon as her back is to Zuko’s bed, she opens her eyes, and is confronted suddenly with the bigness of this place. The tall, melodramatic metal doors that weigh way more than they need to, the beds with far away canopies rustling above them. Just the mattresses here are the size of her entire igloo back home, and even though it isn’t the first time she has been surrounded by superfluous opulence like this, something about this place feels particularly daunting.

She can sense his pulse, slow, but steady, consistent, as his blood flows through his veins and with it, water. Even when it isn’t a full moon, Katara is able to feel the water in everything, including the people she is surrounded by. She has yet to decide if it is an advantage, or only makes it harder to navigate through the world.

Her legs feel like lead, and she struggles to ignore the dryness of the room, the fires lit in their mantles 10 feet above them sucking all of the moisture out of this space, the lack of water, of that familiarity, making her feel like she is choking, as her breaths become more and more shallow and her heart continues to beat faster and faster, only worsening whenever the memories of that fateful, final Agni Kai come rushing back to her, making everything feel so much worse.

No, I can’t think about that right now. Katara closes her eyes again, and takes a deep breath, trying to replicate the breathing technique Aang taught her the first time he saw her meditating. In through my nose, out through my mouth, that’s what Aang taught me. She tries not to think much more about Aang than this. Too much has happened. Aang is expecting an answer, she is sure of it, an answer she can’t give him. Yet there is a hope swimming just below the surface in her, that this now or never attitude leading up to his battle with Ozai would no longer be there in him, that fire gone, the flames put out.

I have no answer right now, she decides, as she finally gets her legs to take the final steps towards the door. Yearning for a sense of coolness against her increasingly warm skin, she presses her hand against the door, and lets it ground her as she pushes it open, nearly jumping as it creaks and struggles to with each inch that she can shove it open. What is it with rich people and big doors? She chuckles to herself as she remembers storming Ba Sing Se, when things were so simple and yet not simple at all.

Running her fingers through her thick, curly hair trailing down her back, she sucks in all the air that she can in this hallway with much better circulation, finding it easier to keep her balance and move forward. The war may be over, but she is anticipating many battles are going to be fought in the coming weeks and months, battles over territory, freedom, the right to the throne. She has to heal Zuko so that he can advocate for himself, she determines, as she envisions Ozai’s loyal courtiers’ unfounded complaints with Zuko taking the role of the fire lord. She worries for him and she worries for herself. A water tribe peasant, Azula called her during the Agni Kai. Despite her strong demeanor, her ability to inspire other people to recognize their own worth, it is still difficult for Katara not to internalize this when she knows she is surrounded by enemies, no matter how much Iroh tries to reassure her and the rest of them that this is not the case. She has spent far too much time being attacked and assaulted by members of the Fire Nation to naively assume that with a change in power, a change in attitude amongst the people will quickly follow.

Many citizens are still loyal to Ozai. They still see her and Sokka and the rest of the Water Tribe as peasants, as savages with too much power. They are still afraid of waterbenders altogether, as gossip and rumors spread around the nation about Hama in the weeks following her imprisonment. She feels a pang of guilt for how it turned out with her. A Southern Waterbender, alive after all these years that she feared she was the last one, the only one, the one expected to carry on this legacy all by herself. Finally, somebody who understood her struggles, intrinsically, who had fought for so many years to be free, suddenly imprisoned again by people from the same nation that had stolen her away from her home, because she could not let go of her anger against them, like Jet.

She does not want to think about the revenge Hama tried to take on that people. How misdirected it was. How she never wants to be as full of rage and anger and resentment that she would start to do something as heinous.

It doesn’t change that that is how many people from the Fire Nation see her people. She can’t blame Hama for that, it would be wrong to expect any one person to be a representative for their tribe, their culture. “This is all so complicated,” Katara mutters under her breath, as she struggles to breathe, to let herself be free of these thoughts. Her anger, always there, ready to burst out from inside her in the form of an uncontrollable explosion.

Katara barely notices how far she has walked from Zuko’s room, until suddenly she hears a familiar voice call out to her. Startled, she looks up from the floor where she was mindlessly staring as she strolled and sees Sokka and Suki waving over to her from the other side of the hallway.

“Sokka! Suki!” She cries out, as she runs over to them, as fast as she can. “You’re here! You made it!” As she gets closer, she notices the crutch Sokka is leaning on, and her stomach feels like it is full of sand. “Are you okay? I can try my best to heal it, but I’m pretty worn out right now…” She glances at his bandages on his leg and starts to think up the best method for healing him after so much time has passed since his injury. “I’m sorry, I wish I had gotten to it sooner…” Katara begins, but she is interrupted by Sokka,

“Hey, it’s okay! For most of my life you haven’t been able to heal me when I get hurt, so it’s not like I’m not used to being in pain,” he teases, and then lets go of Suki who he was leaning on, as he goes to embrace Katara.

She can feel hot, somehow still dry, tears flow down her cheeks as she relaxes into this hug. While news had spread quickly from the Earth Kingdom to the Fire Nation about Toph, Sokka, Suki, and Aang’s victory in Ba Sing Se, her stomach had been twisted with worry the entire time they had been apart. A lot of it could have been hearsay, and until she got to hug her friends and brother in person, she could not let go of her unease. Hell, the talk of Caldera City was Zuko’s honorable triumph, but nobody who knew the truth of the aftermath of this battle had let it slip to the public that Zuko was in critical condition right now. Only Iroh, Katara, and some of the servants who were helping take care of meals and other menial tasks knew. It would throw this world into even more chaos if every day citizens knew there was a chance that Zuko wouldn’t…no. I don’t want to think about that future. I simply can’t. The guilt overwhelms Katara, but she pushes these negative feelings away and struggles to focus on the present. Sokka’s voice brings her back to the present, as she can feel his quickening heartbeat against her chest, and his tears dripping onto her robe. “We were so worried about you and Zuko, Katara. I’m glad you’re okay.”

She stammers, as she realizes it’s time to break the news to a few more people, wishing Sokka hadn’t let go of her as quickly as he did. She desperately missed her brother, and they hadn’t ever been apart for this long before, in all their side journeys in the past year, and hunting trips prior to that.

“Yes, I’m ok,” she lets the words spill out of her before she has a chance to choke on them, “But, well. Zuko...Zuko got really hurt.” Immediately, she can see the blood drain from both of their faces, and she grabs their hands, trying to comfort them despite not having the ability to comfort herself. “I’m healing him, but it’s still going to take a while. We have to just wait for him to recover.” She smiles, weakly, and fears it looks more like a grimace. “I’m glad you guys are back, though. It’s just been me and Iroh watching over him since the fight.”

Suki squeezes her hand, and the sadness and sympathy mix together in the look she gives Katara. “I’m really glad you’re okay. We’re here for you guys,” her smile sweet and boring into the deepest parts of Katara as she finishes speaking. Katara is taken aback, as her skin crawls with the thought that Suki understands, already, what happened at that Agni Kai, even if she doesn’t know the full details.

Sokka furrows his brows, and she can feel his warmth and fear as he nods in agreement with Suki. “Toph and Aang are in the courtyard with the Turtleduck pond, can we go see him with them?”

Of course, a practical response from Sokka. She knows better though. He is close with Zuko in different ways than Katara, but this was crushing for him too. She tries her best to smile reassuringly, as she fights back tears that are full of frustration and fear and anger and a deep, hollow grief that she hasn’t felt since Aang was struck by Azula, what feels like years ago but was only 4 months ago. In these four months, so much has changed, including feeling ready to face Aang. That kiss, just up and leaving, wasn’t ok and Katara wasn’t going to accept any excuses about it, just apologies.

He left everyone to go off on their separate missions, never really knowing whether or not those separation missions would be worth the danger they were putting themselves in, and that blind faith she was able to put in him when they first met was starting to get really old.

“So?” Suki chimes, pulling Katara out of her own thoughts.

“Oh, sorry,” she blushes, “I spaced out for a second. Um…” she tries to come up with an excuse for her sudden zoning out. “I’m worried about leaving Zuko by himself for a long time, and it’s been about twenty minutes so, I better get back, but stop by with everyone, sure.”

Suki gives her a quick squeeze of the arm, as they both walk off a few minutes after listening to Katara’s directions. Her chest feels tight, and she turns in the opposite direction as them, going back to Zuko.

They still don’t know how he got hurt. She doesn’t want to tell them, after so many instances of Toph teasing her about Jet and Haru, and well, she doesn’t want to hear it. Especially when Toph can feel her heartbeat. That damn seismic sense, she chuckles to herself, trying to let herself joke around a little bit.

Suddenly she is back in front of the door. She tries to shake off her anxieties and pulls the door open, the cold handle no longer soothing her but sending chills down her spine. This time, she keeps her eyes open as she walks back in, and all of the feelings she had been able to push down while talking to Sokka and Suki started to bubble up to the surface again, her cheeks feeling hot and dry, too dry. She wished she could bend a cloud of mist around herself, but knew that all of her energy had to be devoted to healing Zuko.

His familiar heartbeat suddenly found itself back on her radar, and she tried to hold back her tears and desire to just collapse and give up. But it was her duty to heal him. Her duty to heal him, the Fire Lord, just like it was hers to heal the Avatar. There was no way that any Northern healer would be willing to come down to heal the Fire Lord, nor would they be able to get there in time. So even if there were people more skilled, more capable, she knew that in order to maintain balance, it was her job to keep his heart beating.

#atla zuko #prince zuko #firelord zuko #zuko and katara deserved better #avatar the last airbender #team avatar #the gaang #zutara #anti kataang #toph beifong #toph #sokka #aang #avatar fanfiction #fanfic #ao3fic #book 4: reconstruction

[mybiasisexo]

Reverent

Genre: Angst | Fallen Angel!au

Pairing: Suho x Reader

Length: 1.8k

Warning: Religion (?) | Blasphamy (?)

Summary: Suho’s dull life takes quite the turn when he stumbles across a beautiful demon

Author’s Note: @byunfirstlady here is the roughest of rough drafts of the angel!suho fic I promised like 2 years ago smh. I really need to give it the attention it deserves bc it could really, truly, be something great. Until then, here is what I have for now. Mind you it is not edited and I plan on changing a lot of things about it, but I really like the narration, idk, its kinda beautiful???  Title is also a WIP

MASTERLIST

credit

What do you miss?

That was the question Suho thought constantly. It repeatedly flowed through his brain. Oh, so many answers to the question! But, undeniably, being in good grace was the most regretful.

He made his choices, fair enough. Some would say he shouldn’t had been able to do that much, he knew all too well, free will wasn’t of his domain. Yet, look where it got him.

Trapped. Stranded on an insignificant sphere that twirled around mockingly as a cruel reminder of all that he had lost.

Time to him meant absolutely nothing. It was yet another thing out of his domain, but some years such as this, he dreaded the slowness of it. Dreaded the reminder that he was stuck in this vacuum they called Earth, waiting for a day that will never come.

For him to finally be forgiven.

His eyes squinted as he took in the corn yellow sun. It was almost blindingly white, as if life itself had sucked away all of the vibrant hue. This part of the world was like that: dreary. Filled with washed out blues and browns, dusty and dry. It wasn’t a place he preferred, he found himself more at home in large metropolises, surrounded by people too busy to recognize such a raw entity, although they could still tell when around his presence that something was…off.

It was a blessing and a curse, Suho supposed, his soul. If he even had one. If he could even call it that. That was the one thing that reminded him of who he truly was. After being stripped of everything, that was all He left him with. Naked, shaking in humility, bleeding for the first time, and radiant.

He could leave the holy place, but it would always reside within him.

Lately, he felt lonely.

That’s what had brought him here—the loneliness. Being imprisoned upon the Earth for as long as he had, you grew to become lonesome. There were many ways to try to compete with it, but as long as he was an outcast, he would forever be lost in his isolation.

His closest friend throughout it all was the sun. The bright mass of energy that warmed his hard skin always reminded him of the love he once had—that he still had. The sun kept his faith alive. And as it rose in the morning, it brought with it the start of a new beginning.

He could never turn back time.

That was probably why he disdained the word so much.

His attention was pulled away from the hovering orb, brought to the young man of which he came for. The boy with the brazen skin.

He was beautiful, this could not be denied. As he rushed out of his house, keys clanking in his awkwardly large hand. He was late again. Suho tisked, but his eyes widened with what followed after the boy.

An unfamiliar woman trailed behind him, not nearly in as much a hurry as the one before her. Her face was otherworldly beautiful, built to invite, built to seduce.

The boy was in the car in no time, speeding away in a hurry, leaving dust in his wake.

The woman stopped, not taking after him. Instead, she lifted her head and locked eyes solidly with Suho.

He gasped as she smiled angelically and then the dust lifted, barricading her from view.

Once it settled again, she was gone.

~*~

Suho could barely recall the last time he saw another one of the Fallen. About fifty years, give or take. A demon? It had been a bit longer. There were fewer of them, although some of the fallen seek refuge under the dark wings of the under lord. It was why they were created after all, to follow, to serve. If not to Him than to his enemy. The two of them were more similar than they thought, although Suho would never dream of telling either one—not like he would ever get the chance to. Lucifer terrified him and God… well, they weren’t exactly on speaking terms.

Even though it had been a while, he recognized a demon when he saw one. What did she want with the boy? Puzzled, Suho pondered what drew the creature to him in the first place.

Speaking of places, this wasn’t Suho’s at all. He never considered himself a vigilante, as many other Fallen do. Their sense of purpose and protection overwhelming them to do right. That was mostly those who were guardians in the past. Suho was not in that field. No. This foreign sense of concern drew from something else entirely. He bit his lip, curling the warm mug in his hands closer to himself as he fought off the strange feeling fogging his mind.

The demon, right.

Demons were sent to Earth from the Under Lord to do his biddings. Simply, to coerce as many humans as they could. Drag them back to hell so that He could mourn the loss of yet another of his fragile creatures. Suho understood enough to know Lucifer took great pride in hurting Him however he could. Another lost soul was a victory to him.

She must have saw something within that boy to make her decide to latch. Suho had been watching him for a while now, and this was the first he had seen of the dark entity. Maybe she felt it…. No, there was no way. Suho was being careful, meticulously so. There was no room for error as far as his involvement and he meant to keep it that way.

He was that boy’s protector, now more than ever, he had a duty to him.

It felt good, having a purpose again. He had lost it centuries ago—a real duty, a call to be good.

Maybe after all of this was done, he would again be in His good grace. But it was still a wistful wish, one he refused to humor until it happened.

“Would you like another one, Sir?”

Suho lifted his head to the waitress and despite being a regular at this point, she still stuttered at his beauty.

He smiled, white teeth on display and her breath caught in her throat. “Please.”

~*~

A week had gone by without any sight of the demon. Suho tried to mask his disappointment with relief. It wasn’t as though he wanted anything to come to the boy, but it had been so long since he had been in contact with one of his own, demon or not. She had to have some sort of connection to their shared past.

He knew how demons worked.

Once they found a person to leech off of, they attached until their job was done, or the person fought them off. Suho watched an exorcism once. It was one of the hardest things he ever had to witness. That was a long time ago, using different methods, different practices. All the same, it was a memory that, to this day, gave him chills.

The boy was a religious man, oddly enough. Suho didn’t understand how, but every Sunday, he found himself at the local church, sitting in the back, listening to the spoken word.

He used to pray, but hadn’t in years. He wondered if it were his place too, if God ever listened to him or others like him. Or, like everything else, if it were only for them.

He was running late this Sunday. It was well into mass when he rushed towards the small, yet still elegant tan bricked church.

His quick steps came to a stop when he saw someone leaning against the wall, cigarette in hand. She wore torn leather pants that hung dangerously low on her wide hips, an equally as torn black wife beater that appeared more of a well-used rag than anything else as it barely covered the swell of her breasts, though her toned stomach was exposed. Her belly botton was pierced and a faded tattoo splayed over her abdomen. He couldn’t make out the word from this distance and the ink blended into her skin. A small black denim vest sat on her shoulders, leaving her arms exposed, tattoos dotted the limbs as well. Her jet black straight hair hung loosly. It was time for her to wash it. Her face, again, was angelic, despite her best efforts to be anything but. Big stunning round eyes surrounded by long eyelashes that brushed her chiseled cheeks whenever she blinked. Nose a button on the center of her face, lips full and pink, cheeks rosy, and skin flawless, not a blemish in sight.

He had her full attention as well. She took him in with a pleased smile, holding the cigarette up. “You think this will kill me?”

Her voice was just as attractive as her face, and the way she tilted her head left Suho breathless. He couldn’t seem to find his voice, struck dumb by her large presence. It had been a moment since he saw one of his kind, but he never felt a presence as strong as hers.

She noticed.

Never breaking eye contact, she dropped the small stick, putting it out with the heel of her boot. Than she motioned her thumb towards the building she currently leaned against where he could faintly make out singing.

“They won’t let me in. I thought this place welcomed all.”

“Why are you here?” He worked up the courage to ask. He knew why, but wanted her to say it.

She shrugged. “Thought our old man would be happy to see me.” She shoved her hands into the pocket of her jeans. “Guess not.”

“Do… Do I know you?” Suho pressed. There were hundreds of angels, all with a specific role/job. It was impossible to know them all, especially if this were someone who fell after him, but her energy was strong—too strong to be newer than him.

She shrugged again. “Maybe. When did you fall?”

“When did you?”

“Oh, so you’re the one in charge here I see.” She laughed, pushing herself off the building to come closer. “What’s your name, tough guy?”

Her breath smelled sweet. He hadn’t been this close to a demon before, refusing to have anything to do with them. They were everything He hated, everything He feared. He wanted nothing against those who had turned their backs completely from Him.

All the same, he felt complied to answer. “This land refers to me as Suho.”

“Suho,” she repeated, letting the word swirl around her wet tongue. “Korean, correct? Makes sense, that’s where we are.”

“It means—”

“Guardian.” She interrupted. “Fitting. You must’ve been one in your past life.”

His jaw clenched and she noticed.

“I’m sorry,” she said, not sounding apologetic in the slightest.

#Suho scenarios #exo scenarios #suho #suho scenario #exo scenario #suho drabbles #suho drabble #exo drabbles #exo drabble #suho oneshots #suho oneshot #exo oneshot #exo oneshots

[glacierbash]

“So glad you didn’t die”

(Alt title: chasing butterflies

So this is the first draft of a chapter of a story I’m writing for a friend, using some of our Skyrim characters! There might be (quite a few) of errors (for example, Edre might’ve mentioned her age incorrectly- she’s 54, not 43), But I will B

Word count: 3,420

Summary: after following an imperial legion cart full of prisoners, Edre is certain of one thing: that blond girl is important. So when a dragon attacks Helgen, Edre sees her chance. Run in, and take the girl. What she wasn’t expecting was for this girl to be a total dumbass.

******

Something about that little Breton girl was important. Even from her hiding spot Edre could tell she was unique. She was the only girl on that cart, for one, and she seem genuinely confused. As two of the criminals bantered on, the girl simply looked at her surroundings. It was amusing, the way she tried to get her surroundings. Knowing where she was going, she wouldn’t have any use for her awareness. Edre pulled her hood over her head, her body shimmering before it completely disappeared. Chameleon was a powerful spell, and one she used to its fullest advantage.

She continued following the cart for a while, until they pulled into the walls of Helgen. While she could jump and creep along the wall tops, her enchantments worked best when she was in dense areas. So instead she waited outside, watching as well as she could. If she climbed the right area she could see inside, but not very well. Eventually she gave up and just waited outside.

The only plus side to where she hid was that she was the first to see the dragon flying towards the hills.

Oh yes, it was undeniable; that was a dragon, flying straight towards the city. She wanted to run inside, interrupt the execution, take the Breton girl, and run… but this would be a far better distraction. So she saw the dragon flying forward, landing on the tower.

And she heard the dragon’s first shout, opening the sky to a torrent of flames. The second the dragon shouted, Edre took off sprinting, clutching her hood to her head as she dashed inside. She skidded to a stop at the execution block, but there was nobody there. Everybody had scattered. Although it was smart, it made Edre’s life a helluva lot harder.

She looked around for any sign of the blond Breton, clinging to her hood nervously as she scanned the area. Then she saw her. She was jumping out a window, brushing right past the dragon. The dragon, presumably stunned, just backed up and flew away. The Breton girl rolled, and was engulfed by the house she landed in. Edre groaned and ran forward. She almost made it to the girl, when some imperial dog started yelling at her to follow. That was just annoying and unnecessary.

Edre tracked after them for some time, until they ended up In a small alleyway under the dragon. The woman was about to follow after the imperial kid, but finally Edre had her chance. She wrapped a hand around her body, pulling her back. “Follow me,” Edre hissed as she dragged her away. The woman didn’t really fight back, save for a small whine.

Eventually they found a small corner to hide in. Edre pulled her hood off, grumbling. Up close, calling the woman a “woman” seemed generous. She looked young; crazy young, no older than twenty. And her eyes blazed with childlike energy. Edre groaned. This was gonna be fun. Just as she was about to explain everything, the young woman spoke up.

“So, Are you the next person that’s planning on trying to save me?” She asked, crossing her arms. Edre could already feel her patience running thin.

“Yes… yes I am. And if you follow me, we can make it out before anybody notices you’re missing—“

“Well I wanna go with Ralof. We were being carted away to our death together. Why didn’t you speak up then, anyways? You aren’t some… thalmor spy, are you?”

“By the nine… chill out, kid!” Edre pinched the bridge of her nose. She had been dealing with the worst headache, and this kid chattering on and on wasn’t helping. “Listen. I’m not a thalmor agent, and I didn’t try to save you for reasons. I value my life. And if you value yours, you’d follow me.”

“You look like a red guard. Are you a red guard?” The girl asked as Edre grabbed her hand. Edre instead pulled her along without another word, actually biting her tongue to keep from snapping at her. She’d heard of being “young and dumb”, but this girl took it to a whole new level.

The dragon roared above them, shooting out a jet of flames right beside them. Some poor imperial soldier got caught in the fire, burned to a crisp almost instantly. Edre sucked in a short breath. How fun.

The second the flames started to subdue, Edre started running with the girl in tow. They both sprinted across the road to the next safe spot to catch their breath. Then the next, and the next, up until they came to the prison keep. Some blond guy was yelling at a person in imperial armour, before he noticed the girl. He tried to wave her over, before the imperial man tried to get her attention. Edre swore under her breath, tightening her grip on the girl.

“Do you trust me? I can get you out of here, right now… if you trust me.” Edre took her hand off the girl, opening her calloused palm. She offered her hand to the girl. “Please.”

“You never even told me your name, or if you’re a redguard or what. I’m going with Ralof.” The girl turned around, and promptly ran away. It was then Edre noticed her hands were still bound together. She groaned. Now she was going to have to make some grand escape. She fucked up, big time.

Reaching into her bag, Edre pulled out an invisibility potion. She popped the cork off, drinking it quickly. She recoiled at the taste. Potions always sucked, save for healing potions. But they worked, and soon Edre found herself losing all colour before she simply faded away. And after that, it was as easy as sprinting to the gates and getting out.

Edre came to a stop by a rock outside the gates. There was a loud crash, followed by some crackling and screaming. People were still trapped inside. Edre shook her head, sitting down by the rock. Her lungs were sore, as were her legs. Her hands kept shaking.

“Holy shit… that actually just happened…” Edre whispered, closing her fingers into a fist. She felt she didn’t have enough strength to do even that, as if she was on the verge of passing out.  Slowly she could feel her breath coming back to her in short, quick puffs.

As the time passed, Edre could feel her strength returning to her. Eventually, she felt strong enough to actually stand up and move to a better hiding place. She soon found herself by a cave, where faint shouts could be heard. At least there would be people, even if they did end up hostile. Edre took a spot between two trees, pulling her hood down and placing a hand on her sword.

The time ticked by, and the shouts grew louder, until they turned into talking. Finally, after what seemed like forever, two people walked out. It was that blond man, and the woman. Edre’s breath caught in her throat; she was right there! They suddenly scurried to hide behind a rock, and there was a ground shaking roar. The dragon circled around them, before it flew away towards the mountains. The two people came out from hiding and exchanged a few words. Then, the man jogged away, leaving the woman alone. She fell to the ground with a sigh. Edre crept from her hiding place, somehow remaining undetected right until she was next to the woman.

“Well… glad you’re alive.”

“WHAT IN THE—“ The woman nearly jumped back, a small spark igniting in her palms before it flickered away. She let out a sigh of relief. “oh, it’s just… you… hi there, I’m surprised you’re alive.” The woman laughed weakly.

“I could say the same for you. I’m surprised you took such a long way.” Edre smirked, pulling the hood off her face. “Though, what can I say? The empire and the stormcloaks are both pretty dumb. They didn’t even know how to handle a dragon.”

“Oh, and you do?” The woman retorted with a huff. Edre laughed, mostly at her.

“That’s the thing, I don’t either. But I wouldn’t have tried to fight. I would’ve done so many things differently.”

“...fine, sure. Whatever you say, creepy old lady.” The woman crossed her arms.

“I’m not that old. Anyways, looks like we’re stuck together, and seeing as you actually survived, introductions are in order. I’m Edre. Thane of Whiterun, adventurer, mercenary, companion, and merchant in training. Oh, I also actively fight against the empire, the stormcloaks, and the thalmor. All at once!”

“So… you’re a mad woman?” The woman tilted her head. It was enough to get Edre to chuckle.

“You could say. Who are you?” Edre crossed her arms, her armor clinking together. The woman huffed again.

“Well, if you must know, I’m Zinnia. I’m a mage. I do magic. Now can I please get going?” The woman—Zinnia— stood up. Edre hummed.

“Nope. You’re coming with me. Like I said, we’re stuck together. Something about you has intrigued my associates, and they wish to talk to you. So come on. It’s a long walk.”

“But I never agreed. Therefore, I’m not going.” Zinnia crossed her own arms, turning her head. Edre sighed loudly.

“Let’s go… I don’t have all day.” Edre started to walk away, only to notice Zinnia was keeping her promise of not coming. Edre forced a smile. “If you follow me, we can get to wherever you’re going. Trust me.”

“I mean, I don’t trust you… I’ll come with you, but only if you walk first.” Zinnia raised an eyebrow. “Deal..?”

Edre could feel the pounding in her skull. This brat really made her want to tear her hair out. But instead, she forced another smile.

“Sounds perfect. Where do you need to go?” She asked through slightly gritted teeth. She was about one snarky comment away from snapping.

“I need to go to Riverwood. Then probably Whiterun.” Zinnia waved her hand around, signaling for Edre to start walking. The Breton woman sighed loudly again and took the lead, walking down the beaten path.

Was it possible she had made a mistake? What if this random brat wasn’t some important person? What if she was just some random brat Edre found at the wrong place? Edre shook her head slightly, trying to push those doubts away. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t shake the thoughts. Eventually, Edre found a place of piece in her mind. All thinking ceased for her, silence filling her mind. Oh, blissful silence. Even Zinnia had stopped talking, instead humming a small tune.

But that peaceful silence eventually went away as they approached Riverwood. Two guards were “patrolling”, though it seemed more like they were going for a walk together. They both nodded at the two travelers before they continued their heated discussion. Edre snorted, biting back a snarky comment. Zinnia pushed past her, walking at a quickly and bouncy speed. Edre lagged behind, before she was completely separated.

Now, how fun was it going to be telling Zinnia that Edre didn’t work with anybody? That she just did work wherever it was needed? Because that’s how it goes for her. The imperial legion pays her? She does a job for them. The stormcloaks pay her? She does a job for them. At least it kept the coin rolling in.

Zinnia walked into some store, still bouncing. Edre sighed, walking to the door of the store. She leaned against it, folding her arms. People gave her sideways glances, but they mostly minded their own business. Only a couple of people asked any questions.

“What brings you to Riverwood?” One man, Sven, asked. Edre shrugged.

“My friend wished to come here, so I followed. But does it matter what brings me here? I'm here, and I'm not actively slaughtering every man, woman, and child I see.” Edre narrowed her eyes. “So I think I'm fine.”

Sven held up his hands in a defensive manner. “Just curious. We don't get many travelers here who don't just walk through, or go to some store. I was just asking. Is that a crime?”

“Just… Don't go sticking your nose into strangers business, okay kid?” Sven wrinkled his nose as Edre called him “kid”.

“Learn some respect, lady. I'm not a kid.” He turned around, ready to walk away. That's when Edre pushed herself off the pole, uncrossing her arms.

“Kid… I'm way older than you. You better get your damn head outta the clouds, before somebody knocks you down.” Edre narrowed her eyes. Sven looked her up and down, before he turned to gave her. He seemed to flex his muscles.

“Are you trying to start something? We don't like it when strangers come up trying to start trouble.” Sven cocked an eyebrow. Edre shook her head, stepping closer to him again. It seemed that was the moment he noticed just how short Edre is. He had to bite back his laughter.

“Hmm? Listen, kid. I don't usually do this, but I feel bad for you. Why don't you try and swing first. Don't worry. I may be older than you, but I'm not fragile.” Edre opened her arms like she was going to hug him, before she dropped them. Sven cocked an arm back, and swung.

Edre caught his fist as it came flying towards his face. He yelped as she squeezed his fist. She then pulled him forward, and swung her own fist. She connected with his face, square on. He cried out as she sent him staggering. At this point a tiny crowd had gathered, watching the scenewAA couple kids were chanting.

“Had enough yet?” Edre asked, having adopted a more fight-ready stance. Sven shook his head, gingerly touching his face. Edre smirked and lunged at him. She grabbed him, picking him up with only a quiet grunt. She then threw him down. He hit the ground with a thud and a groan. He didn't try to get up.

The crowd started to disperse, muttering and watching Edre nervously. It was then that Zinnia walked out, having donned new armor and a new weapon. She glanced at Sven with a slight hum. “Oh. I guess I missed a bit.” She walked beside Edre.

“Let's go, kid. I don't wanna be here any longer. I kinda--”

“Wow, you beat him up that quickly? Cool! I guess you really are that strong!” Zinnia grinned. “Yeah, we should get going. Apparently Whiterun is only a short ways away. We could even get there by today!” The smaller girl grabbed Edre's hand, and started to drag her away. Edre followed after her without a word, blinking slowly. This girl… was a damn mystery.

They exited the small settlement, walking at a nice, chill speed. Edre managed to get her hand free, leaving them walking side by side. They “chatted”, which really meant Zinnia talked about literally everything she saw.

“So like, how did you get so strong. Did you wrestle saber cats? Oh look, there's a deer! Saber cats eat deers, right? What if deers ate animals. Can you imagine a deer eating a butterfly? Oh hey, butterfly! Its pretty! I wanna see!” Zinnia pointed to a blue butterfly just floating around. Edre sighed quietly.

“Alright…” Zinnia didn't even have time to utter a confused squeal before Edre was chasing after the butterfly. She managed to catch it, making a slight cage in her rough hands. She was surprisingly gentle as she took it over to Zinnia, the slightest smile gracing her lips. Zinnia's eyes widened.

Edre opened her hands, and the butterfly flew out. Zinnia gasped quietly as it flitted around. For once, she was absolutely silent. She just watched it. Finally, it flew away. Edre turned towards Zinnia.

“You asked what I was… not that it matters, but I'm a Breton. And a refugee. I came to skyrim looking for a better life. The ship I was on wrecked, and then I was stranded. Saved by a dunmer woman. She had this tattoo on her neck, and an accent. She would sing all the time. And then one day, she was taken captive by the stormcloaks. I managed to sneak in, and saw just what they did to her. Spoiler alert, she was lying in a pool of her own blood.” Edre's voice was softer now as she spoke, almost as if she was reliving everything. Zinnia listened silently, staring off at where the butterfly had went. The sun was going down now, bathing the world in an orangish hue.

“... What was she like?” Zinnia asked softly. Edre laughed.

“She was… amazing. She was kind, she was caring… she was like a mom. I met her long before you were born, so we were really close when she was kidnapped. We lived together, had a small farm… she even took care of this one kid. A young orc boy. Raised him to be a good, honest man. And she was young. Same age, around twenty.��

“How old are you now?”

“54. We lived together for a long time… we both cooked for each other, we gave each other gifts… she taught me magic, I taught her sword fighting. She brewed me potions, I smithed her armor. Sometimes I could hear her crying in the middle of the night. Sobbing, loudly. It took me three years before I worked up the courage to try and comfort her. And then it took another three before she opened up to me about why she cried.”

“Where did you live?”

“A small settlement outside of Windhelm. I grew a deep hatred for Ulfric. Then he started the rebellion. We had to live in fear. Her son had to leave. He joined the imperial legion to try and fight.” Edre sighed softly. “We spent many nights hiding together rather than watching the sunset like we would.”

Zinnia kept watching the sunset. She blinked slowly, as the land was now purple. The rays of light were fading away, and stars could be seen twinkling up in the sky. She swallowed. “Did… did you care about her?”

“Of course. She was my best friend. We went through so much together… and then I just… had her ripped away from me. It tore me up, turned me bitter… it filled me with a hatred I’d never felt before. Not even my previous hatred for Ulfric could compare. I got scared. I stopped trusting anybody. The world was out to get me… I just knew it.”

“Did you love her?”

“Huh?” Edre seemed taken aback by the question, turning to Zinnia with a frown. Zinnia winced.

“I mean… I’m not gonna hate you if you do… I just feel, I dunno… maybe you were more than friends?”

“That’s ridiculous. Two women, in love? Zinnia, we were friends, that’s it.” Edre shook her head, a smile returning to her lips. “You’re crazy…”

“Yeah, sure, totally…” Zinnia pursed her lips, turning to face the sunset again. By this time, the sun had sank completely, stars glittering in the sky. Edre looked up, sighing softly.

“I miss her every day, though… come on, let’s get moving. I have a house in Whiterun, we can sleep there.” Edre started walking, motioning for Zinnia to follow. And she did, walking beside the old woman.

To Edre, Zinnia was a mystery. A young girl with a strange energy. She seemed far too young and happy, too ready to live. She seemed… fearless. And something about her marked her different. She wasn’t just some ordinary girl, that much was clear. But just what was so special about her?

And to Zinnia, Edre was a mystery. She was an old woman with a past, and even with as much as she had just shared Zinnia couldn’t help but feel there was more to it. Why did she leave her old home in the first place? And that dunmer woman, why would Edre deny how she probably felt towards her? Why wasn’t she telling the whole truth?

But as they walked, Edre would find Zinnia inching closer to her, and Edre would find herself looking for any possible danger.

They were in this together now, after all. They had to learn just how to get along.

And maybe then, they would finally tell the truth.

#Edre is an older lady lesbian #skyrim #tes #tes oc #skyrim ocs #skyrim story #elder scrolls #elder scrolls skyrim #skyrim elder scrolls #zinnia is a total dumbass and I love her #Edre becomes mom don’t worry

[forwhatdoestjstand]

Chapter 1, Draft 1, Incomplete

Chapter 1

Three small shadows swept over a sand dune, swaying back and forth with the wind. They bounced about chaotically, randomly, but with a strange sort of rhythm about them. As they moved in broad strokes across the sand, they would stop to observe every glint, every reflection they would find. Wherever one of the shadows came to rest, sand would kick up frantically, only to catch the wind and fall back to the ground slowly, with a tinge of disappointment.

The three shadows had already been searching for hours, but today the desert was more harsh than usual. It wasn’t the heat, or the sand, or even the blinding sun that bothered them: it was the frustration of a fruitless day. With a buzz and a pop, Gaia was the first to step out of his shadow.

Through thick goggles and red lenses, Gaia surveyed the desert before him. He had always been able to navigate the shifting sands well enough, but the lack of progress forced him and his brothers further out than usual. Ortega took form next, crouching upon a mound of sand, while Mash appeared next to him. Gaia could feel Mash’s impatience as he searched intently.

A sudden pang struck him from Ortega’s direction. Gaia and Mash turned to the third brother as he raised an arm to point at something. The wind picked up and the three disappeared, shadows again, racing towards whatever Ortega had spotted. It wasn’t long before Gaia saw what had drawn Ortega’s attention.

Gaia spied something light, like cloth, resting over a darker denim. The contrast against the sand made the find rather obvious. Ortega was the fastest, and the closest though. As Ortega neared, his excitement rose, as he recognized a much more promising glint of metal, and a colored glow that could only be from jewels or precious stones.

As Gaia and Mash arrived at the body, Ortega was already crouched over it, carefully considering the prize before them. In the sand lay a young man, with jet black hair and tanned skin. His complexion wasn’t uncommon in the area, but it was more like those of Asian, even Pacific Islander descent. Aside from a light layer of sand, his clothes were unusually clean for being in the middle of a desert. The basic shirt and jeans were also out of place, even inappropriate for travelling such a harsh region.

Ortega’s fingers twitched as he neared the true prize that had caught his attention: a short staff across the young man’s back, with gold caps at each end, and in the middle of the shaft. Gold also ran between each cap, in the shape of a tiger on one side, and a dragon on the other. Each animal wrapped around the staff, tail and tooth stopping just short of each cap.

Closer inspection also revealed the colored glow Ortega had recognized. Small sapphires rest in the tiger’s eye, and several of its stripes. The dragon had rubies to match, in its eye, and along its body, with a few empty settings in between. As Gaia moved closer to inspect the jewels for himself, his view was obscured by Ortega’s leather wrapped hands taking hold of the caps at the center of the staff.

With a click, the caps separated, exposing a pair of perfectly polished blades. The blades rang as they separated, piercing the air with a fierce cry. Ortega was stopped as he tried to pull the blades completely free; whatever the young man used to keep them slung across his back held firm, and would not allow the blades to be drawn properly. Disappointed, Ortega sheathed the blades again, causing them to click back into place.

Mash was already on the opposite side of the body, inspecting the belt and pouches along the young man’s waist. He opened one and grunted, finding only a mess of wire. He looked up to Gaia, who nodded, directing Mash’s attention to something else along the waist. On opposite sides of the belt were two empty holsters.

Ortega tugged at the shirt, revealing 6 magazines for a handgun arranged symmetrically along the young man’s back, held together by a hard plastic casing in an elastic band. Mash quickly turned the body over on its side, finding one gun lightly clutched in the young man’s hand, and a second half-buried in the sand. Mash plucked the gun from the desert floor.

It was a design from a time long passed, but it looked fresh off an assembly line. Mash pressed the slide back, just enough to view the round already chambered, then held it up for Gaia to see. Gaia didn’t recognize the logo, but he could make out some of the characters along the black slide.

“18C. Austria.” Gaia’s voice was low and gravelly, like one rock being dragged against another. “Old, and rare. And…”

“Valuable.” Mash’s voice was higher in pitch, but slower in pace. He often liked to let the last syllable hang as he spoke. Mash reached for the second gun, almost exactly the same except for a polished silver slide. As he pulled, the young man’s grip tightened, and he began to shift. Ortega sprang to his feet and Gaia took a step back. Mash stood and looked at his brothers. “This one is alive.”

As the body shifted, Ortega noticed a mark hiding below the young man’s collar, almost at the top of his spine. He had seen it somewhere before: a stylized M ending in sort of a ribbon shape. Gaia already knew what had caught his eye.

“A symbol. Zodiac. Scorpio?” Gaia suggested.

“No.” Ortega finally spoke. He knew where he had seen it before. “Virgo.”

—

The sound of waves crashing resonated in Virgo’s ears. He couldn’t tell if he remembered, or had simply dreamt about water; flowing, crashing around him, being submerged but not drowning in it. Virgo thought he remembered washing up on a beach. He did remember feeling cold, hitting his head against something solid, like metal. He also remembered sand, but hot and dry sand, not what one would normally find at a beach. And then he remembered being swept, or carried away.

Virgo felt something tapping against his fingers. It was consistent and rhythmic, almost nagging. He tried to move. His fingers twitched, but there was pressure on his wrists. Virgo’s biceps were resting against scraps of leather, and he felt his feet dragging through sand. As the rest of his senses returned, a voice scratched against his ear drums.

“…heavy, this one. Should have killed, taken stuff.” The last word was either excessively dragged out, or Virgo’s hearing hadn’t quite caught up yet.

“Worth more alive, I think.” Another voice spoke, opposite the first, this one just a bit lower, and more concise.

“Only if he is that one,” the first voice complained. “Not even sure he is.”

“Enough.” A third voice joined the conversation. This one was as low as it was unamused. “We take him to the doctor, as planned. Mash, I will carry, you walk.”

Virgo felt his left arm being transferred to an almost identical set of shoulders, also covered in leather scraps. In the shuffle, whatever was tapping against Virgo’s right hand came to rest against his fingers, and he could finally recognize what had stirred him awake: the polymer grip of one of his handguns.

As the two figures carrying Virgo adjusted, the wind picked up, sending sand everywhere. Even though the weapon was at his fingertips, Virgo’s muscles felt strange, almost less familiar than the gun. Virgo decided he would wait and let them carry him a while longer.

He wasn’t sure how much time passed. As far as Virgo knew, it could’ve been hours, and it could’ve been minutes before feeling had fully returned to his limbs. However long it was, it didn’t seem like his present company talked much. Still, his latent empathic sense told him they never stopped communicating.

The one to his left was unerringly steady, projecting an impenetrable sense of calmness. Between the aura and the earlier conversation, Virgo gathered that this was probably the leader of the group.To his right were were more inquisitive feelings, like someone was contemplating something, even searching. Every so often Virgo could feel slight shifts in one of the shoulder under his right arm. The figure was twiddling his fingers as if he were counting his thoughts as he tried to make sense of them.

The third member of the group also seemed the most erratic. Virgo sensed excitement, anger, and a terrifying sort of glee. Virgo could also feel the third’s presence moving about, and even more strangely, shrinking and then growing. He tried to open his eyes to get a better idea of what he was sensing, but almost as soon as his eyelids parted, Virgo knew all of the attention was on him.

Before his eyes could open completely, a face, or something like one, was staring back at him. Red lenses covered a piercing gaze, surrounded by a hood, and a mask hobbled together from more torn leather. Whatever was staring at him, either the mask was very thick, or it wasn’t breathing.

Virgo coughed, hacking up sand and dust. The figure in front of him was unfazed.

“Awake, are we?” This was the one that liked to drag out his speech. “Don’t be shy, friend.” The extra emphasis on ‘end’ was disconcerting, to say the least.

“Wh…” Virgo was still coughing more than speaking. “Where?”

“Lost, lost in sands. Lucky you, brothers and I found.” That terrifying glee crept into every word.

“Yeah,” Virgo’s throat strained from dehydration. “Thanks. You’re brothers, you said?”

“Yes,” came the hissing reply, “Gaia left, Ortega to your right. I am Mash, and your name, friend?”

“It’s, uh…it’s…” Given what he had heard earlier, Virgo was hesitant to give his identity away. “Sorry, things are a little hazy right now.”

“Worry not, friend. Perhaps, we help you? Ortega says mark on your back. Mark of…?”

“Virgo.” Ortega was quick and quiet in his response.

“I…yeah, yeah that sounds right.” Virgo was somewhat relieved. Few people knew him by that name. Typically he used another moniker altogether.

“Maybe,” Mash continued, “also said you look like someone. Someone from stories long ago.”

“Stories?” Virgo cleared his throat again and managed to look up. Six eyes were staring at him intently, unflinching except for Mash, who was shifting from left to right inquisitively, tilting his head to inspect everything he could about Virgo.

“Yes. Stories of someone called Psyche.”

Fuck, Virgo thought. That was quick. At least he didn’t pronounce the -e.

“Same mark,” Ortega started in this time.

“Oh, it’s a popular one I guess. A lot of people…”

“Same hair, same color,” Ortega cut him off mid-thought. “Same weapons.”

“Doesn’t ring a bell, sorry. Must be quite a coincidence though.” Virgo started to shift his shoulders against Gaia and Ortega. He managed to plant his feet in the sand, but could feel the hands on either wrist tightening. “Hey, guys, I think I can walk it out from here. I appreciate the help, but…”

“Nonsense, unconscious when we found you. Dehydrated, most certainly. Carry you rest of way, see our doctor friend.”

Gaia maintained his impenetrable calm as Mash spoke, but Ortega suddenly became more attentive at mention of the doctor. Ortega couldn’t help but let the very slightest of chuckles slip.

“No, it’s okay. I’ll go with you guys, but I’d much rather walk if you’ll just let me…” He struggled more, trying to pull his arms free. Feeling had returned to Virgo’s legs so he was able to pull more aggressively, causing his belt on Ortega’s shoulder to swing back and forth again. The brothers were strong though, holding him in place as Gaia nodded to Mash.

From beneath his tunic of scraps, Mash produced a syringe, removing the cap and taking care to remove any air bubbles.

“Relax, friend.” Mash’s voice gave Virgo no comfort. “Give you something, to help you relax.”

“No, really guys, it’s not, you shouldn’t…” Virgo continued to struggle. Saying he was in a tight spot was a generous conclusion. The three brothers were clearly armed, an unusual amount of small blades hidden on their persons. Virgo’s swords were still slung across his back; clearly the brothers hadn’t figured out the trick to pulling the swords free. Still, they were too far to be an effective option, but a much more viable answer was at Virgo’s fingertips.

“Shouldn’t what, friend?” Mash was quick, driving the needle into Virgo’s left arm. He stopped, thumb on the plunger. He looked up at Virgo, curious what he would say next.

“Shouldn’t have left the guns so close to my hand.” Virgo kicked Ortega behind the knee with all the force he could muster. It felt like kicking a bag of cement, but it was enough of a surprise to loosen the grip on his right wrist. He grabbed one of his guns and twisted, pulling it free of its holster. Virgo hoped, and prayed, and squeezed the trigger.

The gun roared, one round flying straight into Mash. The slide cycled, the trigger reset, and Virgo squeezed again. Virgo loosed three rounds in total, but before the third flew, all three brothers disappeared, and Virgo found himself in a sand storm. He fell, catching himself on his knees and hands. He ripped the syringe from his arm and forced himself to his feet, twisting the swords on his back and drawing one of them.

The sword sang as it left its sheath. The sudden storm sounded like a swarm of locusts surrounding Virgo, ready to devour him; but the sword’s cry was deafening and familiar over the cacophony of sand. Virgo brought his arm and his sword up to cover his face, blade down, and gun forward. He closed his eyes and tried to sense the three brothers.

They were everywhere. Everywhere, but nowhere in sight. Virgo did what he could do tune out the buzzing and focus his senses. He could feel three shapes darting about, like hummingbirds or dragonflies, when suddenly the first one flew at him.

Virgo turned and opened his eyes enough to see sparks, and Gaia appearing from nothing. Gaia lunged at him with a large kukri, intent on drawing blood. Virgo stepped outside of Gaia’s path, ready to counter, but not before Ortega appeared, slashing at him with another blade. He brought his own sword up to parry, diverting the blade away from anything important.

Clever, he thought. Avoiding the first attack put me in a prime position for the second, so that probably means…

He swept Ortega’s blade aside and brought his pistol level with Ortega’s face. Ortega disappeared, almost immediately replaced by Mash, but Virgo was already lunging forward. His blade caught Mash diagonally, across his throat and chest, causing the last brother to stop his attack and drop his blade. In a flash, Virgo drew up, then drove the sword down through Mash’s shoulder and out through his rib cage. Again, it felt like stabbing a sandbag.

Mash just laughed. Virgo furrowed his brow, confused, but undaunted. He could sense Gaia and Ortega lining up for another attack as Mash continued to laugh. As Virgo tried to detect the other brothers’ next position, he realized one of the hummingbird-sized shapes was in Mash’s chest.

“Alright,” he said, “let’s try this.” Virgo pressed his gun firmly into Mash’s chest, and flicked a switch on the slide downwards. He brought his left arm down to brace his wrist and squeezed the trigger again.

In less than two seconds, fourteen rounds emptied into Mash’s chest. Most went through, burying into the sand, but one sounded different. It was incredibly faint, and almost impossible to detect in the sand storm, but there was an unmistakable sound of metal striking metal, and glass cracking. In the same moment the glass cracked, Mash stopped laughing.