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coeurdastronaute · 3 years

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Nerd 14

Previously on Nerd

There weren’t many things considered as decorations in the house on the corner of Inglewood Street. The old stone house, with its black shutters and manicured lawn hid behind a stately oak and the polished Porsche in the driveway, glowed as a beacon in the neighborhood, of perfection and wealthy modesty. Inside, it was less populated than one might expect, never fully lived-in, at least not to the casual observer.

Clarke moved her way down the stairs as she balanced the bag on her shoulder, fully prepared for work and then studying with her girlfriend on a fairly boring Saturday night. For the first time in a long time, she looked at the sparse frames of pictures of her family.

Unsure of what made her pause, she furrowed, pushing her eyebrows tightly together and leaning into the image of her mother and father on a random date when they were together in college. They were carefree and at some bar trivia night. Abby hugged Jake’s bicep and nearly hid in his shoulder as he leaned forward, other arm lifted to interject an answer. He was smiling wide despite his eagerness, the flash ricocheting off part of his large glasses. His hair was floppy and fully, swept to the side and neatly arranged, while Abby was brimming with life. Clarke loved the candid picture because sometimes she looked at it, and these were two people who had entire lives and experiences and she forgot that. They probably got butterflies like she did when Lexa smiled at her. They probably spent hours excitedly waiting to see the other.

In that picture, her mother wasn’t the person she was now, though both seemed insanely far away from Clarke. This college-aged person was alive, vibrant, in-love, awake, eager, and not cheating on her husband. The body language alone showed how much she adored him.

In that picture, her father was the funny, charming man she remembered, not the angry, frustrated man who was skin and bones, who couldn’t eat, who couldn’t swallow, who had difficulties moving most days and remembering his own daughter others. He was alive as well. He was the man everyone wanted to sit beside for some reason, for som inexplicable reason he had this… he had a spark that drew those to him like a moth to a flame, except he was that flame, and he shared his light eagerly with those around him.

Clarke relaxed her face after a few moments of looking and seeing and trying to find some kind of detail in that picture that would indicate that the couple in it would know what their life would like like two decades later. There wasn’t a single indication, and that terrified her.

“Did you finish you math?” her mother’s voice called from the hallway, hearing her daughter shift and move to look at the next picture without seeing her first.

“Yes.”

The next image was a very tiny Clarke on her father’s shoulders and her mother hugging his waist as they all stood beneath a redwood tree. They had hiking gear, shorts, sunglasses, hats and sunscreen. They were all smiling. They were a family.

“Did you email me that draft of your personal essay for applications?”

Clarke gave up perusing, no longer feeling the yearn for that family unit that was far away. She rolled her eyes and stomped her way down the steps to find her mother sorting through envelopes and mail.

“No.”

“Why not?” Abby didn’t look up as she flipped.

“Because I’m a junior, and I have five months before applications are due.”

“That’s no excuse not to be prepared. Maybe if you didn’t spend so much time chasing after some gir--”

“Who am I chasing after?” Clarke scoffed, crossing her arms and peering at her mother. “Do you mean helping Lexa on her submission for film school? Do you mean tennis practice? Do you mean working part time? Do you mean having a social life?”

“Considerate that you can help someone else get into college.”

“It’s going to take her months to edit, which I can’t-- I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

That did it. Clarke knew it would. Clarke new an overt expression of her own independence would trigger her mother. She knew arguing and not appearing to care about college would give her the satisfaction of a righteous fight. She wanted it. It’d been brewing for about a week and a half, ever since Clarke said she was going prom dress shopping without her. Ever since Clark forgot to tell her about spending the night camping with Lexa and the film crew while the powered through the project. Ever since Clarke didn't’ come home for dinner last Tuesday and then raved about Mrs. Woods’ garlic chicken. Tiny things Clarke did with spite because she didn’t know what else to do, because she couldn’t do anything else.

Abby’s nostrils flared and Clarke jutted her hip, shrugging to herself as she dug for her phone, ready to go to work and escape the house and the persistent smell of medical equipment and cleaner that haunted her until she was about two blocks from the house.

“I’ll be home around midnight.”

“Like hell you will. You’ll be home right after your shift.”

“No,” Clarke paused as she turned to leave. “I’m going over Lexa’s to study. We’re watching a Cary Grant movie.”

“You’re under the misconception that you get to make your own schedule and plans without asking permission. But that is not the case, Clarke.”

“I’ve been doing fine.”

“You’ve barely been home. Your father is--”

“Right there, in that room, asleep. I know this because I spent the morning with him. We made pancakes and played a game of cribbage. We talked about school and Lexa and I showed him pictures of the past week of my life. And I helped him with his meds because he’s having a bit of a flare. I told him I’d see him in the morning for omelettes because we’ve been watching cooking shows together and he wants to try the french style. I know exactly what is going on with my father.”

She hadn’t meant to, but her voice began to raise as she spoke. Clarke felt her fist shake. She felt her muscles tighten and her jaw clench. She was okay with being considered lazy and unmotivated, but to be accused of negligence was uncalled for, especially from someone like her mother.

“Don’t you raise your voice! You are greatly mistaken as to the nature of our relationship. I am your mother, and I am sick of your attitude, and your priorities not being your father and your family or your education.”

“Lexa has nothing to do with any of that. Are you just mad I’m dating a girl? Or that I don’t care what you think anymore?”

Slightly taken aback by her daughter, by her words, by her actions, by her entire demeanor over the past few months and frankly just sick of dealing with being the bad guy.

“I don’t even know who you are anymore,” Abby shook her head.

“I could say the same thing.”

The two stared at each other before Clarke shook her head and adjusted her bag. She toyed with her keys in her pockets before checking her phone again.

“I’m going to be late for work. I’ll be back tonight.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Abby insisted again. “You’re grounded indefinitely.”

“Except I’m not,” Clarke sighed and shook her head. “I’m not because I don’t care anymore. I genuinely don’t.”

“You’re going to. Give me your keys and your phone.”

“No.”

“I’m not joking, Clarke. You’re going to need to readjust your priorities and attitude.”

“I think you should take your own advice,” Clarke insisted as she reached the front door. “Or are you too busy fucking Kane to realize that there is no more family here?”

With a satisfying slam, she yanked the door shut. The anger that was stationed in her shoulders dissipated with the noise and movement. Clarke stood there in the quiet of her perfect neighborhood, the flapping of the flag lazily moving in the spring breeze was all she heard at first. Then the birds came. Then a lawnmower started in the distance.

Clarke felt lighter than she’d felt in a long time. She also felt emptier than any other time in her life. It was officially the end, and now she had to deal with that because the anger and the hurt and the betrayal was all she’d had in her for what felt like months. It hadn’t made anything better, and it certainly ruined everything, but Clarke took some solace in the fact that now she could try to fill herself up with something else.

XXXXXXXXXX

The party at Bellamy Blake’s house was in full swing by the time Lexa made her way up the winding driveway and into the belly of the beast. She wasn’t sure how she ended up there exactly, except that her girlfriend texted and said to show up. That seemed to be enough of a reason, though Lexa wasn’t particularly prepared. They’d had plans. Quiet plans. Private plans. Movie plans.

And now Lexa was going to her girlfriend’s ex’s party.

She shoved her hands in her pockets as she moved through the crowd, clearly not getting the memo that jeans were not entirely good enough attire, and in fact she seemed to be extremely overdressed. Her eyes bugged slightly as she watched a girl from her physics class walk by in a very tiny, very teeny lime green bikini. Lexa became suddenly aware of the appeal of such things, as if she hadn’t noticed them before, but then MIchelle who sat diagonally in front of her third period looked like that and she gulped.

The music thumped loudly. The beats were rattling the walls and shaking the windows while the screams and giggles of her classmates sought to shatter glass. It wasn’t like the other parties she’d been to with Clarke. It wasn’t even like thrones Anya dragged her to when she visited. This was a night of debauchery and she hadn’t had time to prepare.

And as much as she saw everyone else wearing bikinis, she hadn’t thought about Clarke wearing one. She’d seen Clarke’s boobs before. That was nice. But there was something to her girlfriend in a bikini that was… good. Very good, even.

Lexa pushed her glasses up slightly on her nose and stared.

“What are you doing here?” Gus asked, approaching quietly. She didn’t move or say anything else, just stared from across the pool, the steam billowing upward to ward the sky while everyone seemed to glow blue and green and red, the lights alternating around them, the flames of the fire pits dancing to keep everyone warm. The warm glow of the lights inside were lost on the white-blue shade to the water.

“Lexa, focus,” he snapped his fingers in front of her face. “What are you doing here? Your sister would kill me if she knew you were at a Blake party.”

“How is it different than any other party?”

“It just is.”

“Because of the pool? I’ve been to pool parties.”

It hadn’t been since seventh grade and didn’t look like an episode of a CW show, but still, she’d been to a pool party with many of the same cast of characters that were currently on display. It was before puberty, but still.

“We need to get you home.”

“Clarke invited me.”

“It doesn’t matter. This isn’t your scene.”

“I can be in any scene. I’ve watched every John Hughes movie.”

“This is more of an episode of Euphoria than an 80s teen flick,” Gus sighed and took another swig from his cup. “And I fully believe you would fit in fine with Molly Ringwald.”

“That’s very kind of you to say,” Lexa nodded. “I’ll be fine.”

She took her eyes off of her girlfriend long enough to assure her friend that she was perfectly fine now. She was dating the head cheerleader. She’d been to parties and seen--

“Gus-- is that cocaine?”

“Okay, yeah, we have to get you out of here,” he shook his head and tossed his empty cup into a flowerbed.

“Is it really?” she asked, craning her neck as he pushed her forward. “I’ve never see that in real life before. People actually do that thing with the credit cards and dollar bills? Astounding. Where does one get cocaine?”

“You don’t need to know that.”

“I’m not going to do it. I’m just curious.”

They only made it a few steps before the ran into a sopping body. A tall, muscular, tan, perfectly chiseled and dripping body. It was the body of an actual god. It was the body of the perfect specimen, with biceps and the long swimmer cuts that pointed firmly toward his… his-ness.

“Gus, long time, man. How you been?” Bellamy Blake grinned before slipping his cup in his teeth as he hugged the other football player.

“Not too bad. Heard you’re heading to Oregon in the fall?”

“Yeah, partial scholarship. We’ll see what happens,” he shrugged. “Staying close?”

“Yeah, St. Johns, about three hours away.”

“Full ride?”

“Yeah. I got offered half to OSU, but would rather not have to pay anything.”

“No, that’s smart.”

The whole time they spoke, Lexa watched Clarke’s ex intently. She frowned to herself and wondered how her girlfriend broke up with him. He was effortlessly cool. He was huge. He looked like he knew how to go down on a girl, and Lexa was still apprehensive. She wished she could fast forward in life until she was really good at sex.

She watched him grin and sip from his red cup, meeting her eyes curiously as Gus explained something about his college recruitment process.

“I don’t think we’ve ever met before. I’m Bellamy.”

He held out his hand. And though she didn’t want to do it, she sighed and shook his hand.

“Sorry, I should have introduced you. This is Lexa.”

“Lexa… Lexa…” He mulled.

“Anya Woods’ sister.”

“Wow, you’re Anya’s little sister?”

“Yeah.”

“How is she? I forgot she had a little sister. I remember her little brother died-- oh shit.”

“Yeah.”

“We were just heading out,” Gus interrupted.

“I was actually just going to go talk to Clarke.”

“Why would you--”

Before anything else could be said, before anything else could transpire between the two of them, before Gus had to interrupt again, Clarke appeared, launching herself into her girlfriend’s arms, wrapping her own around her neck, her body still slightly damp from the pool she must have just climbed out of during the awkward introduction.

“You’re here. I’m so happy,” Clarke hummed against Lexa’s warm neck. She buried herself there, suffocating herself happily, slightly tipsy.

“I told you I’d stop by.”

Clarke kissed her girlfriend’s neck. She leaned most of her body against her there and giggled, oblivious to the eyes, too drunk to care about anything else happening.

“I am have the worst day. Maybe the worst week. Maybe the worst year ever. No, wait. Definitely the worst year, and today I finally told my mom everything and then left. So Yeah. It’s been terrible. I got drunk.”

“Not the healthiest coping mechanism.”

“Not a bit,” Clarke grinned, agreeing eagerly and with a wide grin. She leaned forward and kissed her girlfriend despite her words.

“You can be healthy tomorrow,” Lexa offered. “You okay?”

“As okay as can be.”

There was some throat clearing that happened behind them, and Lexa felt a burning in her ears and chest at the display, unaccustomed to it all.

“So this is your new girlfriend?” Bellamy asked, looking at the pair.

“Lex, I suppose you’ve met my ex,” Clarke gestured.

“Kind of.”

“Is this party a little much?”

“If I remember correctly, this was exactly the kind of thing you liked. We went to many a party in our tenure,” Bellamy shrugged, lazily leaning against a counter. “Things changed since I left, I guess.”

“I enjoyed not thinking,” Clarke offered. “You were great for that.”

Gus and Lexa looked between the two and then at each other. She was almost certain she didn’t know what was happening, but that certainly, something was, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about it.

“You moved on quick, huh?”

“Hey, step back,” Gus interrupted as Bellamy took a single step. “This is Anya’s sister.”

“Woods?” he furrowed. “You’re dating Anya Woods’ kid sister?”

“Yup,” Clarke nodded.

“I heard she was--”

“Standing right here,” Gus finished.

Lexa felt Clarke’s hand move into her own and she smiled despite the fact that she was picking up a drunk girl at her college guy ex’s party. There was a lot in that sentence she wasn’t happy about, now that she thought about it.

“You ready to get out of here?” Lexa asked innocently, ignoring the rest.

“I think we still have a few more shots lined up, Clarke,” Bellamy smiled and Lexa understood the need to punch.

Noticeably torn, she looked at her girlfriend and back at her ex before realizing that she was actually drunk, and that wasn’t good. Lexa smiled softly and rubbed her girlfriend’s back. She kind of imagined how it must have felt to implode and take her mother down with her. Lexa remembered the feeling of telling her father she was gay and sad. Clarke’s implosion didn’t seem as successful as her own, and Lexa was more than happy to try to help in whatever way she could.

“Can I stay at your place tonight?”

“Yeah,” Lexa nodded quickly. “I’ll text my mom to let her know.”

“You’re seriously leaving?” The college football player and terrible ex scoffed. “The night is still young. It’s barely after eleven.”

“Thanks for getting me drunk, but I should probably go do something better.”

“Thanks for showing me around,” Lexa offered nodding her head slightly toward the host before he could argue. “Have a good night. I’ll see you on Monday, Gus.”

“Get home safe,” the linebacker warned.

Slightly dumbfounded, Bellamy Blake stood there, hands on his hips as he watched his ex weave through the crowd of people and disappear. As much s everything stayed the same, he couldn’t shake the sinking feeling of change, and how averse he was to it.

XXXXXXXXXX

“Here, you can, uh,” Lexa quickly moved through her bedroom, leaving her girlfriend standing by the bed. “I have some old sweats if you want.”

Already, Clarke began taking off her pants, and Lexa quickly looked in the drawers of her dresser. She felt the tips of her ears burn slightly as she looked over her shoulder, her girlfriend slumping into the bed, pants lost to the floor.

“I knew I shouldn’t have gone to that party. I knew it,” Clarke sighed, rubbing her face with both hands to ride herself of the spinning. “But I didn’t care. I just wanted to… you know…”

“You had it out with your mom. You just anted to go far away. I get it.”

“Don’t be nice to me. I knew better than to go, especially to anything involving Bellamy Blake.”

“Why?”

“He doesn’t care about any of it. Just has drinks. I should have called you or like done something else.”

“You’re allowed to want to take a night off from a giant secret after a huge fight. And you don’t need my permission,” Lexa reminded her girlfriend, offering an old shirt.

“It was stupid.”

“Do you feel better?”

Gingerly, Lexa tugged at Clarke’s shirt, pulling it over her head until she flopped back down on the bed, her hair fanning out against the pillow. Agitated at herself, at her clothe, at the unfathomable uncontrollability to the entirety of her life, Clarke growled to herself as she tugged off her bra, tossing it to the side and gracelessly pulling on the shirt Lexa offered.

“I don’t feel better at all.”

It was certainly a pout, and Lexa did her best to ignore it. Instead, she slicked off the light beside the bed, and slid between the sheets next to Clarke. Lexa laid there until Clarke turned to face her, until she placed her hand on her neck and cheek.

“I’m sorry you had to pick me up.”

“It’s okay,” Lexa whispered.

“It’s not. I’m not like this… I don’t mean to be… I mean--”

“It’s okay.”

Clarke leaned forward, shifting beneath the blankets until their knees were touching. She moved to only push the hair from Lexa’s forehead and she paused before kissing her lips. She tasted the warmth of the tequila there and she didn’t care. Lexa signed.

“Please don’t give up on me anytime soon,” Clarke murmured. Stunned from the kiss, Lexa blinked in the dark and shifted closer.

“I wouldn’t ever.”

“I know you wouldn’t. I just had to say it out loud.”

“Okay.”

Lexa was certain she was going to get another kiss, but instead, Clarke dug her forehead under her girlfriend’s chin and pressed their bodies together, hugging her tightly and disappearing, being overwhelmed, anchoring herself to a steady force. Lexa rubbed Clarke’s back for a few moments until she fell asleep, and then she allowed herself the option of sleep.

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gummy-friend · 3 years

Note

35 with bench trio maybe? :3 Your pick of who's what size.

Thank you so much for the ask, this was a very relaxing one to make ✌:D

————

"Did they fall asleep on your hand?"

With Tiny Tommy, Tiny Tubbo, and Human Ranboo.

Content Warning: Language :D

—————

The light breeze washed over Ranboo, Tommy, and Tubbo as they ran around the field.

It's a nice day.

It was a summer they lived in when Tommy and Tubbo got founded by Ranboo— who thought he was living alone at the time— after they ate a poisonous potato. Ranboo nursed them to healing, and eventually, they lived together in a no-longer lonely house in the forest.

"Woohoo!" Tommy shouted while running around in the grass, the clear weather made him more visible for Ranboo to not be worrying about not being able to see the two borrowers in the grass.

Tubbo joined in on Tommy running around, carrying an apple he got(stole) from Ranboo's house as a toy. When asked, he said "Ranboo, you'll peel the apple before sharing it, right?" and continued rolling it.

It's a nice day.

Another slow breeze washed over them as they're now playing beside a big tree— Ranboo said to not play in the shade, for he worry he cannot see the two borrowers in the shade— Tommy and Tubbo rolled around the grass on the bright sunshine, and Ranboo blew bubbles. The soap-made shape dancing around in the slow breeze before eventually popping into a small rain— but before that happens, there are already more of them being made.

The three of them has been planning this for quite a few days after summer rolled around.

"Please, Big man, if the sun is bright enough, you can see us clearly in the sun! Me and Tommy has tested it—"

"You went outside??? Tubbo, you do realize it's dangerous, right?"

"Not the point there— but it'll be nice, trust us on this!"

"Yeah!"

Was a conversation (or a one-sided argument, really. Tubbo and Tommy understood their friend too well for him to not be able to decline requests like this) they had one day. It was sundown when they had the conversation— hence the worry practically radiating from Ranboo. But a quick "C'mon, Ranboo, don't be a pussy" from Tommy and and a "We'll be okay, promise!" from Tubbo, made Ranboo took a quick sigh and agreed.

"C'mon Ranboo, your turn! Try finding us!" Tommy's shout quickly brought Ranboo back from his flashback. Right. They were playing hide and seek (The shade is still not allowed for the borrowers) and this time, Ranboo is the seeker.

It's a count to twenty.

"One.." Ranboo counted. Closing his eyes and facing towards the bark of the tree.

"Two.." Ranboo heard grass around him shuffled. Maybe it was the breeze, maybe it was the borrowers running around. Either way, Ranboo smiled fondly at the thought.

"Three.." a strong breeze picks up. Ranboo heard a small "Tommy—!" shout from Tubbo. Oh no, did Tommy got picked up by the wind?

"Four.." Ranboo heard a "What the fuck" followed by a "There you are" From Tommy and Tubbo simultaneously. They're fine

"Five.." A small laugh in Ranboo's voice, picturing the image of Tommy being swept by the wind. "That fucker is laughing at me, I knew it" a small grumble from Tommy. Ranboo didn't hear the sentence, but he heard the annoyed tone in that. Another laugh laced in Ranboo's words as he continued counting.

By fourteen, The small conversation between Tommy and Tubbo has stopped

And by eighteen, The shuffling sound of the grass from the borrower's movement has stopped,

And by twenty, everything is silent.

Ranboo turned around from his position, eyes no longer being shut by his arm— he took a few seconds to adjust his eyes to the bright sunshine, though— and he sees a bright green field. The sun is shining brightly above him (and the tree) and that's why he can see red quickly.

"Tommy, found you" Ranboo called out, walking towards Tommy. Who was laying face-down, trying to blend in with the grass.

Smiling at the sight, Ranboo poked the borrower. Earning an ear-hurting screech from the startled borrower.

"You fucking cheated, didn't you?!" Tommy accused after the screech. Pointing his finger to the human.

"I did not!" Ranboo refuted, holding up his hand "You should consider not wearing red in the middle of a green field, next time"

"You still fucking cheated" Tommy grumbled, while walking begrudgingly walking to Ranboo's open hand, ready to be stuffed in his pocket.

In all honesty, it's hot inside Ranboo's pocket. But if remembering how hot it is if Ranboo is wearing his normal suit, maybe it's bearable. The madman still chose the black suit aesthetic even in the heat of the summer, that's why he wore a thinner black suit, calling it "Summer suit" (which is a fucking stupid name, in Tommy's opinion, but it's not his suit). He and Tubbo tried talking about that with him one day, fortunately, Ranboo seems a bit interested in those hawaiian wear— it's a lot less warm in that clothing, at least.

When Tommy tuned back to the present, Ranboo has already found Tubbo.

"Why are you hiding inside a rock?!" Ranboo cried out. Apparently, Tubbo was hiding inside a hole of a large rock— much to Ranboo's relief and worry "When did you found out this hiding spot?"

"I know a lot of things, bossman" Tubbo smirked. Hopping to Ranboo's hand, about to be placed in the pocket beside Tommy's one. "By the way, did you saw my apple? I think it got rolled away by the wind earlier"

"I'll just take more from the house. It's probably dirty anyway" Ranboo sighed, walking towards his house.

It's an old house, and he lived there alone from when he found this house. According to Tommy, he and Tubbo had lived there before Ranboo 'barged in and inserted himself to their life'— Ranboo was originally about to be adopted by a nice man with two sons, but Ranboo declined. Ranboo thinks having two sons is probably already too much for the man, he shouldn't take an orphan from the streets just because the orphan has no home— and fortunately, the orphan has found a house in the edge of the forest. With a "Now I have a house, so you don't have to worry", The orphan made the nice man gave up with a "I'll send foods periodically. Eat well, okay?" and a nod.

The orphan was Ranboo, and Ranboo's house became a home now. A place where the heart is. He's glad he lived in this house— Being able to meet Tommy and Tubbo.

And as of now, Ranboo is currently getting Tubbo, Tommy, and himself various fruits and two sandwiches (he figured a sandwich is enough for Tommy and Tubbo to eat), and went back to the shade beneath the tree.

"Here, the food is ready" Ranboo said, placing down three plates— each one of them contains a piece of sandwich and fruits (He did peel the apple)— much to the borrowers delight.

It's a nice day. They talked about various of things, funny stories about how Ranboo got lost in the forest, about how Tubbo found the hole in the rock, about how Tommy managed to befriend a moth one time.

It's a nice day. Slow breeze blew softly with them and bright sun being blocked by a tree. Plus, the rustling of the grass and leaves made a relaxing sound. Not to mention Ranboo's soft hand beneath Tommy and Tubbo— acting as a cushion for them to sleep on.

It's a nice day to doze off on a summer day like this.

Ranboo was about to sleep as well, looking at the sleeping figures in his hand. But before he could, he heard footsteps from wooden sandals.

The orphan met a nice man, and the nice man is standing in front of the orphan right now.

"Hey, Phil" Ranboo greets sleepily, the rustling sounds of leaves is so relaxing.

"Hey mate" Phil answered, taking a seat in front of Ranboo. "I was dropping off this harvest season's food, and was wondering why you weren't home" he smiled at the sight— The edge of the forest is a good place for Ranboo to live in, there's no one to bother him on days like these "Did they fell asleep on your hand?"

Ranboo looked towards where Phil is gesturing, and gave a "Yeah, we were having a picnic or some sorts" laced with a yawn.

"Good for you, mate" Phil stood up, giving Ranboo a little pat "You have fun, I'm going home— don't sleep too long out here, alright?"

"Okay, Phil"

After that, Ranboo felt a quick wind alongside the sound of wings flapping. And with a yawn, Ranboo closed his eyes.

It's a nice day.

—————

Again, Thank you so much for the prompt!! :DD

The dialogue prompt is from here. Do give me a prompt! :D

Masterlist (If you're interested in my other writings)

#mcyt gt #mcyt g/t #g!ranboo #t!tommy #t!tubbo #g!philza #prompt ask #anon ask #amacawrites

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miracle-sham · 3 years

Text

Long for Who You Could Have Been.

| {Jasonette July 2021, Week 4, Day 19: Mistakes} |

———

| They might be monster hunters and that might mean their lives are fraught with chaos and danger. But there were moments in between the contracts and courts, fragile and wavering like the dying embers of a flame; where pasts, and hopes, and dreams were shared in the refuge of the campfire. |

| Word Count: 1,764. |

———

| A/N: So this is my second to last Jasonette July fic but the last to actually be posted in July since the other fic (Prompt: Loss) is taking longer than expected to write, whoops! Anyway here's a shorter Witcher au that's mostly fluff with a tinge of sadness here and there. Definitely feels weird to be using/needing so few tags for the first time in a long while! Lastly, thanks to my friend Saf whose reactions to the snippets I send her, absolutely fuel my will to write! |

| Also side note, Don’t Like? Don’t Read. Also also, please do not criticise any of my writing. This was written for fun and receiving criticism, even in a compliment/criticism sandwich, is the exact opposite of fun. |

———

The fire crackled gently, flames flickering in soft almost hypnotising patterns. The light and warmth were all that was keeping the chilling coastal mist at bay, from reaching their little makeshift camp.

Crescent moon and stars twinkled above, shining their silvery light down to mix with the ghostly mist below.

It was almost haunting, in the precious silence, punctuated only by the gentle lapping of waves against the cliff rocks not too far away. And the low hum of the local nocturnal bugs and other such creatures; the flap of bat wings, the cry of an owl, the flutter of moths and beetles, the scuttling of hedgehogs, mice, and foxes. The air was still, not even the faintest sea breeze and yet the fret rolled and crept and seeped into every nook and cranny outside of the protective glow of the campfire.

Jason sat on one side of the fire, on his bedroll and worked on cleaning his silver and steel swords with a rag, not quite humming as he quietly mouthed the words to a jaunty little tavern song, the Fishmonger's Daughter.

On the opposite side of the campfire, on her own bedroll, Marinette had a cloak splayed out across her knee with a needle and thread in hand. Tongue sticking out slightly, in concentration, carefully she darned away at the numerous little holes that had formed from walking through the thorny bush filled forest that their current contract had led them into entering.

With a huff, Jason threw the cleaning rag at the saddlebag on the ground beside him. He sheathed his swords and pulled out his favoured weapon, the crossbow with steel and silver-tipped bolts. Immediately he began checking the bolts for any potential damage and ensuring the shooting mechanism on the crossbow hadn't jammed.

“Something on your mind, Blue Jay?” Marinette asked, glancing up from her needlework for a moment.

He tipped his head back and sighed. “I've been thinking…”

“That's new.” She responded, mirth glinting obviously in her eyes and the bubble of laughter in her tone.

Jason gasped in faux offence, mindfully dropping his crossbow and scrambling for the cleaning rag just to throw it at her face.

Before it could hit her, Marinette plucked it out of the air with two fingers. She hummed mock-thoughtfully. “Your aim's off.”

“You take that back! My aim is impeccable. Alfred said so!” He argued back.

She snorted. “Alfred is biased because he's your grandfather figure. And I'll take it back next time we get through an entire contract without you missing a single shot.” To punctuate her point, she tossed the rag back at him.

He half-dived for it, grabbing it with both hands and with it safely in his grasp, placed the rag inside the saddlebag beside him. Throwing his arms up in mock-exasperation, Jason scowled playfully at her. “C'mon! That's not fair, you've never gone an entire contract without messing up or missing with your magic either!”

“Yeah,” Marinette agreed with a nod of her head and a smirk on her lips, “but I've never claimed to be perfect at magic!”

Her words caused him to falter slightly. “Right,” he swallowed a breath of air thickly, “That reminds me of what I was going to say before we got distracted.”

She frowned, furrowing her eyebrows and putting on a softer tone. “What is it? As much as we joke, I'd never actually judge you for missing shots or anything else, you know that right?”

“Yeah, I know… I just.” He huffed in frustration. Hesitantly, he held her gaze with his own but not a second later, winced and shifted his to stare down at the flickering embers of the campfire pit. Avoiding eye contact with her. He clenched his fists. “D'you ever, I don't know, feel like this was all… a mistake?”

Scrunching up her face in confusion, she squinted at Jason. “What do you mean? As-as in taking the contract?”

“No! Well, yes but no. I mean…” He waved an arm, gesturing vaguely around them, “just everything. Becoming a Witcher. Or I guess in your case, a Sorceress. Do you regret it?”

When she didn't immediately respond, Jason huffed again, hunching his shoulders up and practically bristling like a particularly grumpy and grizzling moggy. “Look, never mind. Stupid question.”

“It's not stupid!” Marinette retorted, “I just… wasn't expecting a question like that at this moment.”

He stared at her expectantly. “Well?”

Tipping her head back slightly, she fiddled with the needle still in one hand and sighed. “I suppose I do, I know I shouldn't… but I miss the easy days. Like before I knew what I was capable of. Before I knew what horrors the world could bring. Back when my only worries were getting stitches right and not messing up when dealing with expensive materials. Or maybe having to worry if the Alderman's daughter was going to harass me at some point during the day.”

Marinette tilted her head forwards again, a frown gracing her lips, and shrugged. “What brings this up?”

There's not an immediate response, as Jason casts his gaze away from the fire—towards where the sea could be heard but not seen. His fingers twitched midair, almost as though plucking the strings of an instrument. “I never wanted to be a Witcher. I was a Child Surprise, dunno who was the one that offered the Law of Surprise though.”

“Ah, I sorta get that. I'm also a Child Surprise, didn't get to choose to be a Sorcerer either.” As she spoke, she nodded in solidarity.

Jason jolted, gaze immediately snapping up to stare at her, completely taken aback. “Wait seriously? You're a Child Surprise too? How'd that happen?”

“Well, my parents' bakery was attacked and Félix, y'know my mentor, saved them. He invoked the Law of Surprise, expecting to get bread or some other baked goods.” She snorted, “he was awfully surprised to end up getting me instead. And when I accidentally cast my first ever spell trying to escape the Alderman's daughter, I ended up teleporting to Félix.”

“So, wait Félix fucking invoked the Law of Surprise to get food? And got you instead. Holy fucking shit that's hilarious!” He wheezed, doubling over in raucous laughter.

Huffing, she cast a spell, causing a vine to sprout up out of the ground beside him and slap him on the knee. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up!”

“Ouch! Hey, no fair!” Jason mock scowled, choking back any further laughter. Quickly, in retaliation, he cast a weak Aard.

The telekinetic wave knocked into Marinette, pushing her onto her back from the weakened force.

“Wha—! Oh, so the vine isn't fair but throwing me to the ground is!” She griped, crossing her arms (carefully as to not prick herself on the needle) but made no attempt to get up.

Half-shrugging and grinning smugly, he replied, “you started it!”

She made an exaggerated groaning noise in response before slowly shifting her position to push herself back up into sitting cross-legged. “Well, now you know how I became a Sorcerer. How'd being a Child Surprise tie into you ending up a Witcher, if you don't me asking?”

“I dunno,” he shrugged with both shoulders this time, “I tried to steal the infamous Bat of Gotham's horse, he asked me my name. Reluctantly and after some bribery of hot food, I told him. Didn't think to give a fake one, at the time. He made a face, invoked the Law of Surprise owed to him and dragged me back to the Bat Witcher school.”

“Huh,” Marinette responded, “so if you hadn't… what would you have done with your life?”

Jason raised an eyebrow at her. “Seriously? This is me we're talking about. I'd have gone to Bard College, obviously. I'd have written poems and shit. And books, I'd have written books.”

Scrunching up her face once more, Marinette glanced down at the needle in her hand. “We're by the coast.”

“What?” He asked incredulously, giving her a bemused and questioning look. “What does that have to do with poetry and books?”

In a rush of words, she rambled, “we could take a holiday. I could find out about the spell to disguise your eyes… and uh hair too. That way no one will know you're a Witcher. And we can go to the bard college-town that's down the coast from where we are. We can scavenge together enough gold for you to attend, and you can write your poetry and books.”

Jason stared at her in shock, tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. Softly, as though anything louder than a whisper would cause the offer to shatter like his childhood dreams once had. “Oh, oh, could you really?”

As warmly as the fire between them, Marinette smiled, “of course! I'd have to ask Félix first of course. But he fell in love with Bridgette and she was a Witcher and he came up with a spell to disguise her whenever they weren't doing contracts or courtly politics. So I don't see why he wouldn't show me how to do it!”

Shakily, he wiped his eyes and smiled back. “Fuck, I'd love that!”

“Okay then! I'll contact Félix on the xenovox tomorrow.” As she spoke, a yawn slipped past her lips. “I think I'm gonna head to sleep now. I'll see you in the morning!”

“Good night, Marinette. I'm gonna stretch my legs real quick first.” He answered, hefting himself up and stretching his arms. “Sleep well, though.”

“Be careful!” Marinette yawned again and packed away her needlework for the night. She then wriggled into her bedroll. “And I'll try, g'night!”

“Night,” he whispered once more.

Quietly, so as to not disturb her, Jason slipped away from camp. Following the direction of the fret, he made his way down the safest cliff path he could find in the dark until his boots hit the sand. Step by step, he walked across the beach until the sea spray spattered against his clothes. He's close enough that the waves gently lapped at the toes of his boots.

Clutching one hand to his chest, just over where his heart was, Jason sighed and gazed longingly at the mist-shrouded sea.

“I never thought I'd get to continue my dreams after becoming a Witcher.” He whispered to the wind. “And now I can, thanks to her.”

He sighs again, heart warmed. And silently in the quietude of the beach at night, he cries alone. For his heart is too full with the kindness of another to contain the feelings any longer.

———

| Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this little fic! Comments, Likes, and Reblogs are much appreciated! |

| Also feel free to send me any comments with any questions you have regarding this fic, I’ll be more than happy to answer! |

| @jasonette-july-event |

#Maribat #MLB x DC #DC xMLB #Jasonette #Jasonette July #Jasonette July 2021 #JasonetteJuly2021 #JasMari #MariJay #Marinette x Jason #Jason x Marinette #Jasonette July Week 4 #Jasonette July Day 19 #Jasonette July Mistakes #Long for Who You Could Have Been #LfWYCHB #Sham's Posts #Sham's Writing #Sham's Fics

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honey-dewey · 3 years

Text

Loving You is a Losing Game

Pairing: Marcus Moreno/Reader

Word Count: 2,602

Warnings: Gore, loss of limbs/appendages, medical procedures, implied experimentation, big Reader whump, Marcus is depressed, this is 99% angst, I’m sorry in advance, I promise it has a happy ending.

Permanent Taglist: @phoenixhalliwell @star-wars-hell

Two weeks before he was going to propose to you, you disappeared from Marcus’s life. With no idea where you went or who took you from him, Marcus devotes himself to finding you, even if it costs him his life. Meanwhile, you’re struggling to keep alive in a cell, wishing you had your hero by your side. What must you lose to reunite with Marcus?

A/N: An anon asked me to write some Reader whump with Marcus after I posted my Marcus whump, and boy oh boy did I deliver! I hope this satisfies you, anon, because I’m oddly proud of it.

Every second that passed was agonizing. Marcus was pacing up and down and up and down, waiting for Miracle Guy to return from his mission. To see if they’d caught sight of you.

You’d been gone from him for six months now. You’d missed his birthday, and Missy’s, and even your own. He’d been planning to ask you on your birthday, the ring heavy in his pocket even now. But you’d been taken, kidnapped by an unnamed threat that hadn’t shown itself again. He had been inconsolable for weeks, but dragged himself to work on the hope that one day there would be news. And today was that day. Or at least, he hoped it was.

“Marcus.”

Marcus looked up. Miracle Guy stood in front of him, worried, holding a piece of paper. A photograph. He surged forward, moved by instinct and instinct alone.

“It’s all we could find,” Miracle Guy said softly, handing over the photo. “They did DNA tests. It’s theirs.”

The photograph wavered dangerously as Marcus took in the contents. Three fingers, bloodied at the ends, lay on the pavement, the blood long since dried up into the ground. They were old.

“Marcus? Are you okay?”

Marcus shook his head. They had you. They’d injured you. They had no fear of hurting you. Would they kill you?

He looked up, vision blurry with tears and anger. “They’ll pay for this.”

Marcus didn’t rest for days. He was fueled only by coffee, anger, determination, and fear. Even Missy, who had mourned your loss as much as he had, was worried for him. He was killing himself to find you.

Finally, he found a lead.

Well, technically someone else found it. A smashed VHS tape found near the fingers. It took Tech-No days to fix it properly, but when he did, no one liked what they heard.

There was no image on the tape. The camera had been angled towards the blank wall, the faded patterns of bricks grey and fuzzy. The sounds though. Oh god the sounds.

It started with suppressed sobs. Marcus clenched his fists, trying not to scream. That was you, sobbing, shuddering breaths so full of fear. Heavy footsteps entered the room, and your breathing picked up, racing quickly to full panic mode.

“No, please,” you begged, voice thin and weak. “Please!” You sounded desperate, and there were rough sounds, the sounds of skin on stone. A sliding noise, like metal on fabric, and then a sound so loud and shocking that everyone in the room jumped.

You screamed, high and bloodcurdling. Frenzy entered your voice as you shrieked and shrieked and shrieked. Marcus was frozen, the complete terror and pain you were conveying with a single noise making him incapable of movement. He vaguely registered someone throwing up behind him, but all he could focus on was your continued screaming.

Finally, the tape stopped, cutting off one of your screams. Tech-No stepped forward, a bit paler than he’d been before he showed the tape. “Given recent evidence, we can safely assume that tape was of them removing three of (Y/N)’s fingers.”

Whoever had thrown up heaved again, the sick splattering sounds tame in comparison to what everyone else had just heard.

Marcus was the first to speak. “We’re finding them. Right now.”

———

You had lost all sense of day and night, and your only indicator of time was when your single meal arrived. A metal tray shoved under a flap in the thick metal door. Your food was typically meager and rotten, but you ate like a man starved. Mostly because in the beginning you had been.

As you crawled towards the tray, the chains binding your thick leather collar to the wall clinking, you tried your best to keep the weight off your left hand. Two weeks ago, the cruel men who’d kidnapped you had cut three of your fingers off and left you with nothing to fix the bleeding stumps. You’d eventually resorted to ripping up a pant leg to bind your hand and staunch the bleeding.

Today’s meal was a few bites of stale bread and a quarter serving of stone cold soup. You kept pace in eating, knowing that scarfing it all down would result in vomiting. And in the first months, it had. Your cell still stank from how much you’d thrown up in there, but it was buried among the other smells. Not that you could even smell it now.

You drank half the water they gave you, and used the other half to wash out your hand. It was the first major injury they’d given you, and you’d tried to take care of you. Despite your tending and the daily washings out, the hand was swollen and red, the site of the injury a sick sort of yellow with spots that were actually turning brown. It was burning hot to the touch and oozed something that reeked, even in the disgusting cell. You’d be lucky if you’d be able to keep the hand. Hell, you’d be lucky to keep the whole arm at this point.

“I’ll be lucky if I don’t die here,” you said bitterly to yourself, ripping another long strip of fabric off your discarded pants with your teeth and slowly wrapping up your hand, biting back tears. The only fingers left were your index and thumb, and they didn’t look good.

When your body succumbed to exhaustion, you curled up on the threadbare mattress and used the single moth bitten blanket to preserve body heat. Sleep was easy and dreamless now, and you often woke at the smallest of sounds. Like the man walking past your cell every so often, maybe every half hour? You wished you had a watch. You wished you had many things. Shivering beneath your blanket, you curled closer into the corner and wished for Marcus.

Marcus was not there when your eyes opened. You woke up to the harsh scrape of the door opening and two men grabbing you to drag you out. You kicked and screamed, but it did nothing. The men were stronger than you, and in your starved state, you were too weak to do much more than flail.

A rough scrap of fabric was tied around your face, killing your vision. A second one followed quickly, sitting uncomfortably between your lips and silencing your voice. Your feet didn’t want to carry you, so the men did it for you, carting around your dead weight as if it were nothing.

Just as suddenly as they’d lifted you, the men put you down, and you whined as harsh lights filled your eyes when the blindfold was removed. You were at the start of a long white hallway, branches of the hall snaking out and around. Had they put you in a maze?

A harsh jolt around your ankle sent you shrieking, kicking your feet to attempt to dislodge the heavy ankle bracelet you wore. It didn’t move, and a sharper stab raced up your leg as you danced around like you were possessed.

Finally, you started to run, racing down pristine white corridors and working yourself dizzy. You unwrapped your hand, hoping the dripping blood and pus would help guide you, like a gory version of Theseus’s yarn. But all it did was confuse you until every hallway was filled with smeared bodily fluids and you had no way to turn.

You had no idea how long you were in the maze. Hours? Days? Time was irrelevant here. Whenever you tried to stop, to rest or to find reprieve from the stabbing pain in your feet, the ankle bracelet would shock you harder and harder until you moved again. The blinding lights never dimmed, and finally, finally, your body gave out.

The anklet shocked you once, twice, three times and then yet again for good measure. All you did was twitch, lying exhausted on the floor, the world underneath you spinning like an out of control carousel. “Marcus,” you croaked, your dying voice a harsh scrape in your throat. You hadn’t had water in hours, was it hours? Spots swam through your vision as two people in white coats came to collect you, putting your limp body on a stretcher and wheeling you away. You were tossed into a cell, this one whiter and lighter than your last one. You had no time to investigate the new room as one person, the woman, poured water down your throat while the other shackled you to the wall again. The woman checked your vitals and wrote down some numbers while the man used white bandages and soft gauze pads to cover the ruin of your left hand. You weren’t coherent enough to tell if he’d put any disinfectant on the wound, but you could guess that he didn’t. No one here was that kind to you.

“Rest,” the woman said, putting a hand on your head in what you assumed was her idea of comfort. “We’ll try it again later.”

You couldn’t even argue as your body shut down, plunging you into the darkness of your dreamless sleep.

When you woke, it was not to the scientists or the bad men. It was to faint gunfire and a large figure bursting into your new cell. You scrambled upright, immediately tossing your hands up to protect your face, knees hugged to your chest to make yourself small and heavy. But no blows came, no rough hands touched your skin. Only soft shuffled footsteps and labored breathing. Braving a peak, you saw a man silhouetted by light, the familiar outline of katanas over the person’s shoulders breaking your heart.

“Marcus,” you said weakly, uncurling. As your eyes adjusted and the door slowly began to close, you were able to take Marcus in fully. He looked a wreck, exhaustion written all over his face and a broken expression twisting his usually kind features. He fell to his knees, and you crawled forward to meet him, throwing yourself into his arms and letting yourself be wracked by sobs for the first time in months. Your malnourished and anemic body shook violently, but you had never felt more steady, cradled in Marcus’s embrace.

“I thought I’d lost you,” Marcus breathed, voice unsure and wavering.

You shook your head. You had no words, no ability to speak right now. Instead, you just pressed yourself tighter to him, tears ruining his shirt. You could barely register Marcus cutting through your collar and discarding it on the floor.

Marcus stood, cradling your broken body to his chest. He carried you out, past other heroes who all fell silent at your current condition. Marcus lay you down on a stretcher once you were outside and rode with you to the hospital, holding your unruined hand the entire time. You focused only on his grip, grounding yourself to it. You would be okay as long as Marcus Moreno was holding your hand.

The next few days were very fuzzy. You were in and out of an operating room, usually asleep and always drugged. After so long in pain, the gentle numbness of not being hurt was worrying. You had been right, half of your left arm had been too badly damaged to salvage. Below your left elbow now lay nothing, no hand to hold and no fingers to squeeze. Marcus held your right hand instead, pressing kisses into your palm and slowly running his thumb over your knuckles while he read.

Aside from the arm, your injuries had been few and far between. A couple scrapes that needed disinfectant, a broken rib that had healed incorrectly and needed surgery, and the rubbed raw skin of your neck that had been healed. You’d slowly begun to gain weight again, no longer skin and bones. Your hair, which had been greasy and matted, had been shorn off and was now regrowing. Your body had finally begun to rework its circadian rhythm, your sleeps lining up with the rise and fall of the sun.

Marcus took a breath beside you, his thumb absently circling over your index knuckle as he read. He’d been touching you in some way ever since you’d been found. Gentle hands touching yours while he watched TV, shoulders pressed together when he told you about Missy, the softest of kisses against your temples when your head hurt. You smiled, turning to Marcus and blinking slowly. He’d been working for weeks to restore your smile, and now you had it back, albeit shaky and nervous.

“What’s that look for?” Marcus asked, turning to you, one corner of his mouth rising slightly in amusement.

Your grin only grew. “You,” you said. “I love you.”

Marcus leaned forward, turning so he was fully facing you. “The day you were taken,” he said softly, taking your right hand in both of his. “I was so scared. It was two weeks before your birthday, remember? And I had been bursting with joy, because we were going to spend the evening together, just you and me.”

“Marcus,” you interrupted quietly. “What are you saying?”

“Hush dear, indulge me,” Marcus insisted, moving one hand to trace his knuckles across the curve of your cheekbone. “That night, on your birthday, I was going to ask you something. Something that would’ve changed our lives forever. I’d spent months planning, making sure the night would be perfect, and then the universe stole you from me.”

You sighed, wishing you could cup Marcus’s face in your hands. Instead, you settled on resting your only hand on his right shoulder. He put his hand against yours, the warmth seeping into your skin. “Now,” he continued. “I wish I could ask you as easily as I had wanted to. This has all brought to light how precious you are to me. How much you make me happy. Darling, my light and my love, I want to be beside you forever, and I want you at my side. We will stumble, that I’m sure of, and there will be days where we will hate the very ground the other walks upon. But I’m willing to risk the fleeting bad for the abundant good.” He reached into his pocket and produced a slender ring made of twisted silver and shining gemstones. “Will you marry me?”

You had no words. Looking at Marcus, who was so sincerely pouring his heart out, you felt some kind of shame that you had no response except shock. Not shock that he was proposing, because you two had briefly talked about marriage. No, you were shocked at his emotion. His heart wrenching tone. The look of worry on his face as you sat there, silent.

It took a minute, but you finally managed to compose yourself long enough for a very strangled sounding “Yes.”

Marcus’s face brightened as you nodded, both of you tearing up. “Here,” he said, sliding the ring onto your ring finger. “It’s beautiful.”

You smiled, pulling Marcus close and hugging him as tight as you possibly could. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Marcus breathed, embracing you as firmly as you had him. “I’m so glad I get to say that to you again.”

The pair of you spent the rest of the day pressed against each other, Marcus getting into your bed with you as you drifted in and out of sleep. While he watched some horribly violent fantasy TV show, you dozed against his shoulder, the gentle hug of the ring on your finger a constant reminder that no matter what threats came your way, you would always have Marcus.

#we can be heroes #marcus moreno #marcus moreno x reader #marcus moreno x you #Pedro Pascal #My writing

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rosesgonerogue · 4 years

Text

I Didn’t So Much Fall in Love - It Kicked Me in the Face

Chapter Nine

Masterlist

Tim hadn’t been sure about meeting Marinette so early in the morning - would he be able to wake up in time? But he wouldn’t miss this for the world, so obviously the solution had been simply not to sleep at all. Tragically his body was used to it at this point, but as long as he had caffeine he would be just fine.

He knew he was stupidly early to their date, but Tim wasn’t willing to waste a single moment with Marinette. He also didn’t have anything to do until his scheduled nap between the coffee date and his first meeting of the day. So, he ordered his coffee - he didn’t even have to speak to the barista, he just gave her the money. Every barista in Gotham knew his order by heart at this point.

The wordless interaction was perfect for so early in the day. Tim paid and sat down to wait for an hour. He hadn’t even gotten his coffee before he spotted Marinette and Leo skipping towards the shop, hand-in-hand. The intense flood of emotions just from seeing the two left Tim flustered - part of him wanted to look away, temper those feelings, but the larger part of him couldn’t, especially when she spotted him and waved. Like the fool he was, Tim flapped his arm back wildly and without abandon.

“Bonjour!” mother and son called in unison the second the shop door opened.

“Bonjour!” Tim greeted back before informing the barista, “I’ll be paying for them.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” Marinette exclaimed. “I asked you out, this should be my treat!”

“I’ll let you pay for the next date,” Tim offered with a smile. He immediately regretted saying it, blushing lightly. Was the sleep deprivation really getting to him that badly already?

But, to his pleasure, Marinette just smiled from across the room. “Well, I suppose that means I’ll have to make sure that we have a second date. You know, because I need to make sure we keep everything even.”

Tim honestly couldn’t bring himself to care about the barista staring at them - if anything went public that they didn’t want to, he had lawyers he could call. Dangerously close to making a fool of himself, Tim turned his attention to Leo and asked in French, “What would you like? I can order it for you.”

Clearly thinking deeply, Leo said in perfect English, “I would like one small hot chocolate, please.”

“Which muffin do you want? You need something other than hot chocolate for breakfast,” Marinette said, also in English.

“Blueberry, please.”

Marinette placed her order as well, and Tim was attempting to reel in his shock as they moved to the table.

“So you can speak English already, Leo?” Tim asked.

“A little,” he said, ducking his head.

“He likes to practice when he’s alone,” Marinette mock-whispered. “The fact that he used English in front of you means that he trusts you a lot.”

Something almost felt like Tim got stabbed through the heart, but in a pleasant way. For once, Tim could understand Bruce’s compulsions to adopt every spare child.

The three settled into a comfortable conversation. Leo was largely content to nibble at his muffin while observing the adults with luminous eyes. Tim somehow got on the subject of his brothers, which Marinette was incredibly curious about as an only child. (If the stories ensured that Marinette could never see any of his brothers in a romantic light, so be it.)

“-and so Dick was trying to get Damian off of Jason, but if we just pulled him, Dick would take a good chunk of Jason’s arm with him. Dick tried tickling, poking, bribing, all to no avail. Jason was convinced that he was going to get rabies from Damian, and we just knew that this all needed to get resolved before Bruce and Alfred got home. Literally two seconds later, Alfred walks in-”

The story was interrupted by a loud crash and someone shouting, “This is a holdup! Everyone cooperate and no one gets hurt!”

It was just Killer Moth - he was such a joke in Gotham that the barista just kind of looked bored. His garishly purple costume was as atrocious as ever, and Tim even heard the sound of sirens coming closer already. He turned to Marinette with a wry smile and a snarky comment about the man’s costume, but looking at Marinette froze him.

She had crowded Leo up against the window, body positioned like she was shielding him from something. Her eyes were squeezed shut and her chest was heaving with erratic breathing.

Looking at her, at the lines of panic in her body, a piece of Tim shattered. All the light and joy he’d been feeling with her was gone, confirming the thought he’d been suppressing for a while.

Marinette didn’t belong in Gotham. It was too much violence and darkness for her to withstand, let alone Leo. Tim’s entire world was poison to the girl he was beginning to love.

*********

Marinette crushed Leo to her chest, all of her worst nightmares flashing before her eyes. She couldn’t let Leo be exposed to Hawkmoth, he wouldn’t know the horrors of-

His small hand touched her cheek, grounding her the slightest bit. “It’s not him, Maman. We’re safe.”

Deeply inhaling, Marinette though fort a few moments - the butterfly miraculous was securely locked away in the Miracle Box, and Gabriel Agreste was similarly locked away in a maximum security prison. When she opened her eyes, the villain in a frankly offensive costume was being hauled away by the police. She moved away from where she was crushing Leo, and slowly, hesitantly she met Tim’s eyes.

What could she say after having a full-blown PTSD episode? How was she supposed to explain her reaction? “I-”

“Are you okay?” he asked, voice lined with concern. Even though it seemed genuine, he was already looking at her differently. His blue eyes were shuttered, and a part of him closed off from her, likely forever.

Of course he wouldn’t want to deal with that much baggage on top of a child. Tim was a truly good man, but he was also a CEO with a limited amount of time in his day. They finished their breakfasts, but what little conversation they had was stilted. Leo kept glancing between the two of them, obviously upset by the way the adults were acting.

When it came time for them to leave, Marinette met Tim’s eyes and offered a feeble smile, even though she felt her heart fracturing in her chest. “I insist you go home and take a nap, Monsieur Tim. You’ve certainly earned it at this point.”

He smiled back, but it wasn’t without pain. “Don’t work yourself too hard. If I don’t see you before then, I look forward to showing your suit off at the gala. I’ll see you there, won’t I?”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Marinette said, attempting to renew her pasted-on grin. “Now come, Leo. We need to say goodbye to Monsieur Tim so he can get a nap in before he has important business to tend to.”

Leo’s face creased as he glanced between the adults. “Why are you both acting weird? What happened?”

“Nothing happened, it’s just time for us to leave Monsieur Tim alone,” Marinette said, her smile beginning to collapse.

Glancing frantically between the adults, Leo looked genuinely distressed. “But you’re supposed to love each other.”

Marinette felt like she was going to pass out right there until she realized that Leo had spoken in the language of the Guardian. Tim couldn’t have understood him, but Marinette already felt exhausted.

In the same language, she said, “Sometimes it isn’t that easy, Leo. We can talk about this later. Say goodbye to Monsieur Tim.”

The goodbyes were brief, and Marinette felt like she was suffocating as she had to drag her obviously upset son away. She didn’t look back to see him, partially occupied with Leo’s uncharacteristic disagreement, but mostly because she didn’t want to see whether Tim’s sad eyes lingered on them or not.

Taglist:

@ii-fox-demon @queen-in-a-flower-crown @novaloptr @saphiraazure2708 @iamabrownfox @smolplantmum @redhoodedtoad @loysydark @slytheringinger300 @finallyaniguana @brokenwordsarehard2 @abrx2002 @mystery-5-5 @zalladane @moonlightstar64 @marinettepotterandplagg @black-streak @purplesundaze @maribat-is-lifeblood @the-fusionist @river9noble @chocolatecatstheron @darkthunder1589 @throneoffirebreathingbitchqueen @dast218 @k-poplunardreams @meanids @changelinggarden @ladybug-182 @pawsitivelymiraculous @zotinha456 @tumbling-down-hills-and-stuff @spider-person95 @zestyzealot @toodaloo-kangaroo @kokotaru @kurogaya913 @tis-i-beanbandit @annapointone @casual-darkness @pheony1882 @tbehartoo @kris-pines04 @thesunanditsangel @constancetruggle @thequeenofpotatoeunicornss @rosalineandrosemary @novicevoice @momothefemur @theymakeupfairies @casual-darkness @the-one-woman-army

Note:

Sorry for the long wait on this chapter! Most of my time was spent writing for Jasonette July, and then I had to move back to college and start my new program, so it's been a little hectic. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy! If you want more mominette content, take a look at my submission for Jasonette July, How to be a Dad 101!

#timinette #timari #maribat #mominette

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eggssontoasst · 3 years

Text

Atsumu had been informed that the squire that had been usually assigned to him would be absent on the day of the joust. They said he’d attended his mother’s funeral or perhaps he had caught the flu. Either way, he’d inquired as to who had been henceforth assigned to assist him during the joust.

“The scribe, Your Grace.”

Atsumu had felt a jolt somewhere within him. A concoction of excitement and a wariness that was hardly discernible.

“We know Your Grace won’t mind. After all, the scribe has as of late been a rather forthcoming companion of Your Grace.”

Atsumu had expressed his acceptance without issue, an inaudible response marked by the most strained tilt of his head. And on the day of his joust, the scribe came to him as promised, the unmistakable dark coils on his head peeking through the flaps of the tent where he asks for permission before Atsumu eventually grants him entry.

“You could have simply walked in,” Atsumu says to him. “I wouldn’t have taken any offense had you done so.”

“I don’t think neglecting formalities at such an occasion would be ideal, Your Grace,” he replies, but he speaks with a warmth that rivals the chill of the outdoors.

Atsumu pushes out a wry laugh, then he turns to him. Kiyoomi, a sought after scribe who had been granted a place in the courts after fervent recommendation. He lived up to the seeds of expectation. Praise trickled in with ease after they found him to be exceptionally diligent and keenly cautious.

The subsequent camaraderie between Atsumu and Kiyoomi had been unintended, a result of Atsumu needing to write letters to his brother who had married a royal of another country.

“But I am not a letter-writer, Your Grace,” Kiyoomi had said.

Atsumu had waved a hand dismissively. “And yet I trust your command of words would still be of far better competence than mine.”

Kiyoomi had acceded and before dusk, he had given Atsumu a folded up parchment.

“May I ask your Grace a question?”

“What is it?”

“Why do you deem yourself incapable of personally writing to your own brother?” he’d asked Atsumu.

And Atsumu had smiled at him, a ruse to conceal his bitterness. “If you continue to meet with me, I’ll tell you.”

An uncanny bond is thus forged between the two. Atsumu had come to appreciate Kiyoomi’s earnestness. Kiyoomi in turn had warmed up to Atsumu’s obstinacy. Their contrasts stark at times, but it is precisely the existence of these gaps between them that had drawn them to each other. Atsumu had once thought of himself as a moth, Kiyoomi the flame. But as their interactions stretched on, he’d commenced to believe that perhaps they were both the flame, feverishly burning from the inside out.

Kiyoomi gingerly picks up the breastplate and he sidesteps to Atsumu’s left. “Your arms, Your Grace.”

Atsumu lifts them and Kiyoomi slips on the solid piece of the armor. Then he proceeds to adjust the straps.

“It’s a bit loose,” Kiyoomi says and his voice has quite nearly dropped to a whisper and perhaps it’s because of their close proximity to each other. Not entirely foreign to Atsumu. Or to Kiyoomi. They’d talked in hushed tones before, strangely when there was scarcely anyone around to even possibly catch wind of their conversations.

Kiyoomi continues to fiddle with the straps. “I think Your Grace has shrunk.”

Atsumu laughs again, this time in amusement. “You’ve always been so scathingly honest.”

Silence. Then the hand on the strap of his breastplate moves to his shoulder. Atsumu’s gambeson suddenly feels stifling.

“What leads you to this assumption?” Kiyoomi murmurs

And Atsumu faces him. “A dishonest scribe would be an absurdity.”

Kiyoomi doesn’t avert his gaze, but he drops his hands and lets them fall to his sides. “I’ll have you know that everything of who I am is not always bound by duty, Your Grace.”

“Should I be concerned?” Atsumu's voice matches Kiyoomi’s. “After you have just confessed to a possible propensity to fibbing?”

And Kiyoomi’s stare softens. “Your Grace should know that you in particular have no reason for concern.”

And Atsumu suddenly feels every ounce of the breastplate bearing him down. He can feel a profound twist in his chest, as if a lance had already been thrust into his ribcage. And in so intending to assuage these emotions, he settles for a taunt.

“You could be a poet,” Atsumu says.

Kiyoomi scoffs at him. “Highly unlikely, You--”

“But as much as I find beauty in your writing,” Atsumu relays, sincerity finding home in his voice. “I wish to never be at the receiving end of any of your letters.”

He anticipates an outburst of equal fervor. After all, Atsumu is not a moth. He does not believe Kiyoomi to be one either. But Kiyoomi wields before him a smile so meek, one that did not necessarily extinguish the flames, but merely tempered them so that these affections don’t burn themselves out in self-sabotaging brightness

“As you wish, Atsumu.”

Kiyoomi affixes the rest of his armor and before he sends Atsumu off, Kiyoomi brandishes a small, squared parchment. A tiny piece likely torn off a larger scroll, and Kiyoomi hands it to him.

"Here. Read it after I leave. Consider it the first and last letter I'd write to you."

Atsumu heeds him and only unfolds it once Kiyoomi has stepped out. Then he reads the neatly scrawled ink.

‘Today, may you claim victory as you have claimed my heart.’

It's the best letter Atsumu has ever received.

(if you liked this one, maybe check out my ao3 shenanigans lol)

#haikyuu #haikyuu fic #haikyuu fics #fanfiction #fic #sakusa kiyoomi #miya atsumu #sakuatsu #sakuatsu fanfiction #sakuatsu fic #sakuatsu fics #sakusa x atsumu #anime #manga #writing #words #poetry

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jaskiersvalley · 4 years

Note

So I was trying to hold off reading Heart's Valley till it was complete because it sounded like something best read when complete but today's notification about an update (yes I subscribe to it and get all notifications if you post I'm that weirdo) but anyways today's chapter hint broke me and I just binge read it all and it's so goood!!!! Why was I depriving myself of the majesty of your writing?!

That is so sweet! I adore that you’re subscribed to Heart Exchange even though you weren’t going to read it until it was finished. The next chapter should be going up this week at some point, it is finished (and the next chapter is started too!). There’s probably about 3 or 4 more chapters to come before it is finished which has me both excited and sad. But that’s enough blathering from me. I want to write something for you as a thank you for cropping up in my notifications so often and always being such a delight.

Fearless. That was what witchers were created to be. They could charge into the territory of any monster and run head first into a gaping maw filled with teeth, fire or acid without flinching. It was something Jaskier had sung about at great lengths and had seen happen over and over again in person. When the opportunity arose to meet Geralt’s family, Jaskier had jumped at the chance. It meant more stories, more voices to be heard by the masses when he sang their tales. All it all, it was a bard’s wet dream for inspiration.

Kaer Morhen was everything he could have hoped for and more. Jaskier was delighted to find that Eskel and Vesemir were quite willing to regale him with stories of hunts and also Geralt’s formative years. Even Lambert settled after a few days, looking less filled with suspicion and much more curious. The sentiment was returned, Jaskier wanted to hear more from the youngest wolf left in the world.

There were definitely unspoken rules in the keep and Jaskier wondered just how he was going to understand them all. Especially when he walked into the great hall one night, on a quest to grab a late night snack, only to find Eskel curled up by the dying fire, looking rather miserable.

“You okay?” Jaskier couldn’t not ask.

“Fine.”

Really, Eskel looked anything but fine, his blanket obviously dragged down from his room and he pouted. Whatever it was, Jaskier couldn’t press because Vesemir appeared in the doorway.

“It is done.” He looked a little dishevelled and as stressed as Jaskier had ever seen him. However, Eskel nodded, murmured a soft ‘thank you’ as he passed Vesemir, blanket wrapped around his shoulders.

Shrugging, Jaskier got back to his original quest and didn’t think much more about it. He didn’t even remember to ask Geralt about it. Not until a week or so later, he found Vesemir shaking his head.

“Go share with Eskel for tonight.”

Curious, Jaskier watched as Lambert sleepily ambled off and knocked on Eskel’s bedroom door before slipping in. Waking up early, Jaskier woke Geralt and asked him what the hell it was about. He didn’t get a reply but he was escorted to Eskel’s room and the door was opened so he could look at the two witchers cuddled up on the bed looking more peaceful than Jaskier had seen them before.

Things only got more confusing when Jaskier made his way down to dinner with Geralt in tow. Eskel and Lambert were by the door, Eskel cradling a quen at the ready while Lambert seemed ready to scorch everything with an igni. From within the dining hall, the sounds of a great battle were emerging. Not knowing quite what to say, Jaskier looked between the three witchers.

A very dishevelled and panting Vesemir burst from the dining hall, panting and shaking his head.

“I can’t.”

Which was something Jaskier had never heard a witcher say about a foe. His heart picked up in fear, unable to fathom just what creature or beast had taken up residence in the dining hall.

“Close the door!” Lambert shrieked, igni flaring bright in his hand.

“Not igni you twit!” Geralt snarled and shoved him out of the way as Vesemir hurried to slam the door shut. “They come for the light.”

There was nothing Jaskier had been able to see in the door before it was slammed shut. Unless it was some new ghost that was only visible to witcher eyes and not human ones, he was absolutely lost.

“What is in there?” Four eyes darted away from him, either to admire the floor or pick invisible lint from sleeves. Non of them dared look at him. “Well?”

Eskel coughed a little before very quietly he mumbled, “A moth.”

“A moth?!” Jaskier almost screeched, uncertain whether to laugh or frown. Found hulking witchers and they were quivering in the face of a moth.

“They flap their wings so menacingly,” Lambert huffed. “Flap-flap. Flap-flap. All night. Like an ominous whisper. And their hairy little bodies, looking so soft yet their spindly legs prick.”

At first, Jaskier thought he was joking but the others were nodding along with all the seriousness.

“The big once can be pushed towards an open window with aard,” Eskel explained. “But the little ones.”

Collectively, the witchers shudderd.

“For all that is sweet and holy.” Jaskier rolled his eyes. “Just one in there? And, let me guess, a small one?”

He barged into the dining hall and looked around. It took a few minutes to locate the moth, fluttering near a torch. Grabbing a chair, Jaskier got near it, hopped up and caught the moth gently between his palms.

Four sets of horrified eyes watched him from the doorway. He stomped back towards them and Lambert dived out of the way with a shriek while Eskel released his quen around them.

“Kill it!” Lambert yelled.

“Or Geralt could be a dear and open a window for me so I can release the poor lost thing.”

He’d never seen Geralt open a window and dart so quickly away from it. Once the moth was back out in the open, Jaskier led them into the dining hall and it seemed that, gradually, the witchers settled into the newly moth-free environment.

Really, Jaskier shouldn’t have thought that was that. Not three nights later there was a knock on his and Geralt’s bedroom door.

“Jaskier?” Eskel’s voice was soft. “Could you help please?”

Half asleep and sleep rumpled, Jaskier pulled the door open, ready to grumble. One look at Eskel looking small and embarrassed silenced him.

“There’s a moth in Lambert’s room.”

“You can’t share your bed with him tonight?” Jaskier asked tiredly. If Vesemir had been allowed to suggest it, surely he could too.

“We could, but all my blankets are in his room too.”

Heaving in a heavy sigh, Jaskier nodded. At least he knew he wouldn’t be absolutely useless to the witchers over the winter. There was probably a great ballad to come of it too - Jaskier the Moth Slayer. It was one he’d only ever sing in Kaer Morhen but it was going to be glorious.

#geraskier #minor eskel/lambert #geralt of rivia #jaskier #eskel #lambert #vesemir #witcher wolf pack #tldr: witchers are scared of moths

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jimlingss · 4 years

Text

Worshipers of the Stars

Part of the Worshipers Series

➜ Words: 9.4k

➜ Genres: 90% Angst, 10% Fluff, God!AU

➜ Summary: The universe was created with four gods to rule and watch over it. But when you take the crown and become the god of all gods, what the future holds is something you never wanted to know.

The universe was once created by a woman who was awoken by her lonesome — a miracle in itself. It was an explosion that happened suddenly when all the things were slotted in the right places at the right time, a one in a billion chance encounter. But it happened and she was the first of her kind to open her eyes. She had awareness and recognition of the empty oblivion in front of her, so in an attempt to lessen her loneliness, she created a home — a sanctuary that could watch over all other places, a Heaven. And in that Heaven, she created the gods to keep her company and care for the things she made once she passes. First, she made Seokjin, God of the Sun. “That’s me!” the god exclaims with cherub cheeks and bright eyes, stirring in the woman’s arms as she reads from her large storybook. “That’s right,” she confirms with a matronly smile that exudes warmth in itself. “The one who helps nourish the living realm, who helps count the days that pass so that no one takes it for granted, that spreads the light for all to see. Also the one who is mischievous and likes to make trouble when no one’s watching.” “I don’t make that much trouble,” the child whines with a pout, making the woman laugh heartily. “Shush, Jin! Let her keep reading the story!” “Fine.” The woman continues on as her children gather closer together. “Then, the woman created Miyin, the Goddess of Dreams, to ensure her children would be able to rest well when they could, so they would not have to be restless and could have a place of peace in the chaos of the universe.” The girl in question giggles when her name is mentioned, blushing from the attention bestowed upon her. The Creator softly smiles and affectionately brushes the long strands of her dark hair away from her face before she continues reading. “With her and to help light the night when The God of Sun is asleep and unable to protect those below, the God of the Moon, Yoongi was born. He who sheds light in the darkness, to help lead those astray back to their homes…” She turns to the boy sitting across from her, a quiet expression but thoughtful underneath those cat-like eyes, and her smile only grows. “What next? What next?!” Miyin rushes, unable to handle the suspense despite having heard this same story for years now. “Be patient,” you murmur. “Then, the most important god was created.” Her voice drops into a whisper, “Y/N, Goddess of Light and Life. The source of the God of Sun and Moon’s power. The force that makes the Goddess of Dreams’ dreams come alive. The mirror of the creator, the Ruler of all Rulers, the God of all. She would someday create more gods and help the world become a prettier, better place.” This was your favourite part of the story. You loved to see the painted pictures on your page and know that you get to protect everyone else. It was an important job, one that you’re excited for, but Jin would say that it was your favourite part because it talked about you…. And that’s only a little true. “Together, the four of them would be trusted to rule. They would live forever to look after the universe that was created by the woman who was no longer so lonely…” “Live forever?” Seokjin pipes up, probably because he knows the story is ending and is trying to buy more time so he doesn’t have to sleep. Jin lolls his head back to your shoulder, looking up at the woman with the fond gaze. “Won’t that get boring?” “Well, you’ll be reborn every once in a while, so you can start fresh and learn the meaning of what time is. Being able to die makes you learn what death is. And being reborn means you won’t take things for granted. Everyone must die someday, even I have to. Gods are no exception.” “Then...when will we die?” you ask, blinking up at her. “Not for a very long time,” she assures in a murmur, caressing your hair. Then she exhales and sits up straighter. “Alright, time for bed everyone! Everyone has to sleep too! No time like the present!” “Awww,” Miyin whimpers and pouts. “Do I have to?! I’m not even tired!” “Someday, you will wish you get to sleep as much as you do now.” The Creator peels back the covers of the bed as the sky becomes darkened, sun long fallen from the horizon — something Jin does each day before story time. “What about Yoongi?” Miyin continues to sulk despite getting in right in the middle of you and Seokjin, three lumps inside the wool blanket and against the pillows. “He just woke up! That’s not fair!” “He has to sleep too. Just at a different time,” she says gently and Miyin relents. The Creator kisses the top of all your heads, wishing you a good night and she walks hand-in-hand with Yoongi, leaving the room and shutting the door. Despite Miyin’s protests, she’s snoring within the next minute. While Seokjin tries to resist the urge of slumber with you, afraid that Miyin will mess with his dreams again and make him lift a bright pink sun, he, too, soon succumbs to the urge. You, on the other hand, are still wide awake. Your eyes pin out the glass windows and terrace doors, watching the silver moon slowly lift up and how its milky luminescence billows into the room. It lights up the entire world in the darkness. If there was something that you liked more than your part in the storybook, it was the moon. Quietly, you crawl out of the covers, away from Seokjin and Miyin who don’t even stir. Once your feet touch the soft carpet of the bedroom, you’re already creeping outside, shutting the door silently. As you swiftly run along, your shadow follows you along the corridor walls. You know where he is, where he sits as he keeps the moon on the horizon. He could always leave, do other things like Jin does once the sun is already risen, but Yoongi once told you that there was nothing to do in the middle of the night, so that’s why he just sits in one spot, staring and waiting.... You sneak around the pillars of the palace, feet cold on the terrace floors, but you peek around the corner to see Yoongi bathed in the soft light. He’s glowing, skin luminous and shining. It’s moments like these you’re amazed at how pretty he is. Or what’s the word that the Creator once used? That word she used to describe the four of you…..beautiful. You’re unable to stare at Yoongi for long. Not when a little moth lands on your nose. It’s tiny, brown wings flapping and fluttering, tickling against your skin as if it were trying to kiss you. And you giggle, watching it float around your head and unable to be caught no matter how many times you jump and try to catch the creature in your hands— “You’re supposed to be in bed.” There’s a low timbre that vibrates in your ear and a grin spreads into your face. Oops. You’ve been caught. “Are you going to tell on me?” You approach with your arms behind your back, knowing full well that Yoongi would never. Seokjin and Miyin would be happy to get you in trouble, but never Yoongi. “I just wanted to keep you company. You’re lonely, right?” “No, I’m not,” he murmurs and looks away. You plop down beside him on the cold tile floor, shoulders and knees brushing, and you look out at the moon together. It made you sad that you don’t get to play with Yoongi much. The only times you get to see him are two hours after dawn and two hours after dusk — right before he goes to bed and right after he’s woken up and it’s your turn to sleep. You wish you got to spend more time with Yoongi or was awake when he was. Sometimes you wonder if he’s sad that everyone else is asleep. You’d be sad if you were him, if you didn’t have Jin or Miyin with you. Yoongi might be quieter than they are, but you like him more. You like him the best. “It’s pretty,” you whisper as you stare at the light with the pretty patterns, putting your head on his shoulder and feeling a bit sleepy. The corner of Yoongi’s mouth pulls into a smile. “It’s because of you.” “That’s not true. I need you to lift it. That’s the only way I can make it shine. Without you, there would be no moon, Yoongi.” It’s the moon that you could look at — it doesn’t burn your eyes like the sun does. The moon is simpler, quieter than the blazing sunlight — but you think it deserves just as much recognition, if not more. And it’s a little different every time you look at it. You love the moon. You love Yoongi. “You do?” he asks after you tell him all the things you love about the moon, leaving out the last little part about loving him. You told Miyin, Jin and the Creator you love them all the time. You’ve even told Yoongi before. But somehow, telling Yoongi when it’s just you and him here feels a bit different. “Yeah! The sun’s always the same and it hurts to look at.” You quickly add, “Don’t tell Jin that.” Yoongi giggles and turns to look at you resting on his shoulder. “I can change it, if you’d like.” Your eyes widen, head lifting and the Child of the Moon blinks several times towards the horizon. Suddenly, the giant sphere in front of you shifts and morphs. The luminescence is almost blinding and the moonlight wash alters, becoming golden rather than milky and pale. You gasp, sitting straight, wide awake again. “It looks like the sun now!” A giant, gummy grin spreads into Yoongi’s face and he laughs at the way your jaw has dropped in amazement. In front of the two of you, the moon shines even brighter. It sparkles in the night. // The life you’ve lived so far is short — especially if the Creator tells you that you’re going to be reborn forever. And apparently forever is a really long time. But right now, you’re really happy to know what you’re supposed to do in this chaotic universe. You’ve learnt that there are so many things, so many people you want to protect and it makes you’re glad that you have the power to. That one day you’re going to watch over everyone else. When that time comes, you’re going to make sure no one hurts Jin or Miyin or Yoongi. You’ll do your best. “And that’s all that’s important,” the Creator tells you as the two of you walk alongside each other down the hall. Her robes sweep the floor and you wonder if one day you will be as pretty and liked. “Someday you will rule all of Heaven and the universe and guide the other gods into a beautiful world.” “You will also create many more gods and goddesses,” she hums. “Perhaps a Goddess of the Sky.” Your brows furrow and your lips become lopsided. “What’s a sky?” “Why, a place where Seokjin can truly shine and help the people that will be below.” The woman smiles as her mind begins to conjure up new ideas, and you wonder if someday you will be able to be as creative as she is. “Perhaps a God for the Seasons, so the Earth may prosper, change, and alter to keep them from being bored. We should also give them more water too, so they have a way to quench their thirst. And maybe a God of the Underworld, so once people pass, they have a place of peace to stay at.” She sighs wistfully. “There are many gods yet to be created. Too little time for me.” You look up at her, feeling scared at the thought of her gone. “What happens when I don’t know what to do or who to make?” “You will know,” she tells you with such assurance. It comforts your worries and eases your fear. “When the time comes, you will know. And Seokjin, Miyin and Yoongi will always be at your side to help.” “Always?” “Always.” She smiles and stops, crouching down to delicately push a strand of hair behind your ear. “Someday, Miyin will accompany your side. Your right hand will be Seokjin, and Yoongi will be your husband. It is my plan and I plan to never leave you by your lonesome as I had been.” At your young age, you don’t truly understand what each word means, but you can comprehend the feeling of warmth she conveys. A smile spreads into your face and you nod. Right then and there, there is a sharp call of your name. You whirl your head over to see the three of them at the end of the hall, Seokjin waving you over with Miyin calling you again to come play with them. Yoongi stands by them, wearing the brightest of grins and it makes the inside of your chest tickle. You glance over your shoulder and the Creator gestures the permission you need to run off. She watches with a smile as the four of you sprint, giggles filling the spaces of Heaven. Her optimism and certainty of a beautiful world relieves the burden of her own worries. She feels at peace, knowing that you will take care of her creations.

When the world was built, four gods were made with it. They were contrived to watch over the lands and protect one another, and for the first two decades of their first lifetime, the universe was truly wonderful. It was simple, happiness spreading across the world with the innocence of the gods untainted. They had yet to learn about greed and pride, wrath and envy. Yet it was not a golden age — not when many gods were yet to be born, when Heaven was still empty and merely a foundation of what it was to become. But it was paradise. A dreamland. Only, dreams never lasted long.

There had been a shift, a change. One you knew you didn’t feel alone. The sunlight dimmed and then the moon was lifting, covering it completely — something you would one day learn to know as a solar eclipse. But it was the first time in history that the horizon was blackened during day, where you felt the light within you tremble and the universe bled with darkness. The fabric of the world was being swept from underneath you, consciousness vibrating around your mind. Time was finally running out. “What’s going on?!” Miyin’s footsteps quicken down the hall, her robes hanging loose from her frame and fluttering behind her. There was a thin ring of light from outside, an outline of where the sun wasn’t covered by the moon, but it barely provided any light. “It’s happening,” you tell her, forming an orb of light within your hands and flicking them towards the candles on the walls. They flare and gleam, dimmer than you’ve ever seen. “Get Yoongi and Seokjin.” “I’m already here.” The husky voice you’ve been waiting for sounds behind you and you find the young god already striding over with a firm gaze. His orbs are glazed over in the colour of obsidian, fluffy strands contrasting against his sharp features, cat-like eyes staring back at yours. His black robes swish behind him along with your servant girl at his heels, fear taking hold of her expression. “I didn’t lift the moon,” he says. You nod. “I know.” The two of you immediately turn down the hall towards the largest room while Miyin sprints in the other direction to call Seokjin. You dismiss the young servant girl and she takes a bow, staying behind when this was a matter pertaining to the gods alone. Once you push the doors open, you find the Creator lying in her bed. The covers are pushed to her waist as she lays with her head on her pillow, eyes barely open. Immediately, you rush to her side and grab hold of her hand. “You are unwell.” “I have been unwell for a while, child,” she wheezes with heavy breath, clasping your hand back in a weak grasp. Yet, the corner of her mouth still lifts. Her hair had gotten gray, colour lost in her features, wrinkles lined around her face. In your naiveté, you had not paid attention to these things, not when it was so gradual. “My ti..me is end...ing….” “There must be something we can do.” The doors slam open and the room fills with immediate warmth. But Seokjin’s hair isn’t as vibrantly gold as what you’re used to seeing. It doesn’t glisten and his pink lips are losing its hue. “There has to be something you can do,” Seokjin declares in distress as Miyin quickly follows behind him and shuts the doors. “You are the Goddess of Light and Life—” “I know what I am,” you snap back at him. “You need not remind me.” “Is there something you can do?” A calm voice cuts through the panic and you find Yoongi seated next to the Creator, placing a hand on her shoulder to perhaps comfort her. “I can feel her life force leaving her. I might be able to gather it and contain it with her being again, but I don’t know how much time that’ll give.” “It’s still better than nothing,” Miyin cries out, but then suddenly the Creator shakes her head and the four of you quiet down to listen to her croaking murmurs. “N...o...don’t do that and don’t argue.” Miyin sobs, her tears streaking down her face. “But—” “Death is inevitable. I provide nothing for you now and if I lived another day, I would provide nothing then. My time….is over.” She looks over to each of you gathered around her, the gods she had manifested carefully and a soft smile graces her features. “You are all grown and ….will...survive….this world will...prosper...I feel comforted over that.” Her chest heaves and she gasps shallowly. “Y/N’s...coronation will happen tomorrow—” “No,” you spit, unable to bear the thought of ruling over Heaven immediately after her death without mourning beforehand. “I can’t do something like that.” “You will,” she whispers in reassurance. “You will do as I say. Heaven...cannot be without a ruler….and Yoongi…” “Yes?” He comes closer as her gaze flickers over to him. “You will marry...Y/N...Seokjin will become the...right hand...and Miyin by her side….it is my plan,” she says, the dying wish put on her lips — one she had spoken about many times. But you know this is the last. The Goddess of Dreams beside you begins to sob harder, Seokjin looking away and unable to bear the moment. Yoongi remains in his place and your hand on her tightens, feeling her life fading. The Creator smiles for the final time. “I...harbour no...regrets…” You can see it — her soul is white. It shimmers, brighter than what you’ve ever witnessed before. More so than the sun itself or what you’ve ever manifested in your hands. It fills the room, blinding your eyes and you know you’re the only one who can see it. It floats as choked sobs break through your throat, her hand slipping out of yours. Around you, Seokjin’s warmth ceases, Yoongi’s skin doesn’t shine and Miyin’s wailing becomes deafening. Then her soul fades above her body. You don’t try to grab it — don’t try anything that was against her last will. You watch as it dissolves, vanishing after a moment like it was never there. Suddenly, a force brushes against your cheeks, kissing through your hair and robes, like a breeze manifested from nowhere. It swells throughout the universe. Seokjin’s warmth returns, his hair golden once more and lips pink. Yoongi’s skin shines again and the moon on the horizon falls, allowing the sunlight to spread across the lands once more. Your own strength restores itself, but what you’re still left with is devastation and grief. Miyin sobs within her hands. Yoongi slumps and Seokjin cries with you. It will never be the same again — and that knowledge lay heavy on your shoulders. // The sun has fallen early today, an hour or so, and you cannot blame Seokjin. But that meant Yoongi had to lift the moon over the horizon earlier. You stare out your glass window to find the moon smaller than usual, dimmer than what you’ve always known to be a bright glow. Perhaps some nights, the moon might not be needed outside — it will have to be something you discuss with Yoongi after your coronation tomorrow. “Your Highness, be at ease. The Creator always said she was happy,” your servant says as she gently brushes through your hair at the vanity. She is pretty, long hair and soft smile, even with her eyes and nose reddened from crying. She has been at your side for years now, to aid you in small matters, but she has always proven helpful and her sincerity is touching. Despite being innocent and young, her tender nurturing reminds you of the Creator. “Yes, she did.” You manage a smile, finding appreciation in her attempts to console you. “Don’t worry. I won’t grieve for long. There are many things that need to be done and I out of all the gods must remain strong. I must protect them now.” You stand on your feet and she follows you, helping you untuck the covers of your bed. “Are you worried about your coronation tomorrow?” she asks in a murmur. You hesitate, not sure if honesty is warranted. But you decide not to confide in her. You must remain steadfast and firm. You are to become the god of all gods, rulers of all rulers. There should not be a weakness within you. The foundation of the world lies in your hands and you must be strong if you are to allow this universe to prosper. “Nonsense. This is my purpose. My responsibility. Why would I fear something that I was created for.” She nods and bows her head once you’ve gotten settled. “You are wise and courageous, Your Highness. Forgive me for suggesting otherwise. Is there anything else you would like from me?” You are about to dismiss her, but then your eyes stray out the windows. There is a pull within you, a childlike urge to go see Yoongi and keep him company. But you are exhausted, grieving, and unlike your words, you do not have the strength to find him. Yet, you cannot bear the thought of Yoongi being alone on the cold terrace. “Please, go see the God of the Moon. Make sure….he is well. Keep him company.” “I understand.” She dips her head again, a promise to obey your word. Then you are left in silence, succumbing to a moment of peace through slumber with the terror of what it means to wear the crown of Heaven. And in your sleep, you are ignorant to how the moon begins to glimmer moments later and becomes that much brighter. // The preparations are finished. It was faster than you had thought was possible and now the moment has arrived. The servants and advisors are gathered in the throne room, waiting patiently for your arrival. But you linger at the entrance, unable to garner the courage that is needed to step forward. “You look stunning.” You turn around, grabbing fistfuls of your golden and white layered robes that ruffle out with sparkles that catch the sunlight high on the horizon. Your hair is fixed into place by tens of pins at the back of your hair, but still spilled over into curls. “I look better than usual, don’t I?” “You don’t look bad on the usual day.” Yoongi smiles softly, sleepiness hinted in his features. He’s dressed in black robes that fades into a milky shade at the hem that reminds you of the moon’s luminescence itself. His black hair is ruffled, shagging over his forehead. As dignified as the two of you look, it’s still a bittersweet moment knowing that this attire is only worn on such an occasion. You grin, lifting your arms with much effort. The sleeves drag with every movement. “It’s heavy.” “The ceremony won’t last long,” he promises and his voice quiets, expression becoming more solemn. “Are you nervous?” “Why would I be?” Your chin lifts and your back straightens. “I’m the Great Goddess of Light and Life. This is my sole purpose and all I’ve ever wanted.” But instead of the respect that you expect to gain, Yoongi is visibly amused. He’s silent and you quirk a brow until he finally murmurs— “You know you don’t have to lie to me.” Part of you wants to object to his claim. A Goddess like you doesn’t need to make up lies to feign bravery, but he knows you too well for you to scrape by with yet another fib. The pair of you have been together your entire lives after all. So you concede, allowing him into your mind. “None of us have had time to grieve yet. I…..don’t know what to do, Yoongi.” “I don’t know how to guide and protect everyone and rule this place. The Creator had a plan for us, but I don’t know how to follow through with it.” You turn around, unable to bear looking at his expression if it will be one of disappointment. Of all gods, you were the one who was supposed to know what to do next. You are what everyone looks to. But you are utterly lost. “You will.” A tender hand squeezes comfortingly at your shoulder and you twirl around to meet Yoongi’s earnest gaze searching yours. “We’ll be there with you, Y/N. Seokjin, Miyin and I. You aren’t alone.” “I know.” If there was one thing you were glad for, it was the fact that you aren’t by yourself and Yoongi being here at this moment was proof of that. “Thank you.” You take his arm and the God of the Moon guides you to the throne room. The two of you walk together and when the servants catch sight of you, they dip their heads and open the doors. The room is decorated for celebration, golden ribbons wrapping the marble pillars and the carpet beneath your feet rolled out. The servants are gathered together, reverent in their posture while the advisor of the late Creator, an old dwarf, is in the middle. Seokjin smiles, standing on the right side of the throne in his own golden robes and his hands folded together. Miyin is to the left, the corner of her reddened lips gently quirked at the sight of you and her brother. Rather than the rowdiness that filled the palace when the four of you were still children, the ceremony is silent, many faces watching and staring at you. You keep your head held high, eyes pinned forward, breath steady in your chest. This is what you’ve practiced for, what your sole purpose is. It is your right and your responsibility. You will serve and protect until the end of eternity itself. This universe will prosper till its dawn. Yoongi lets you go once you’ve made it to the end of the path and he moves beside his sister while you kneel. All the other servants follow suit, bowing as you are. It will be the only time a god ever kneels. “Goddess of Light and Life, mirror of the Creator who stitched this universe together and created the Sun and the Moon. Y/N, the very source of our birth and warmth, you have come today to accept the throne, to become the god among all gods, the queen among all queens, ruler of all rulers. You will protect everything beneath and above Heaven, and watch over the sinners and blessed. Do you swear to take this oath?” “I swear.” The old dwarf continues reading from the scroll. “Will you solemnly promise to never abandon your people and to the utmost of your power maintain the strength and foundation of Heaven?” “I solemnly promise to do so.” “Then with this power, you will be blessed with the gifts of clairvoyance and precognition,” he reads. It is the last present the Creator has given to you, one you had not expected. “You will take these endowments to become the carrier of all knowledge, to know past, present, and future. You will know all, what has become and what will become. Do you vow to take this and use the knowledge for your best judgment in the protection of all living creations?” “I vow to do so.” “Then stand and accept your place in this chaotic universe.” You rise to your feet, glancing at Yoongi who smiles warmly. A breath leaves your lungs and you approach the throne, swiftly turning and brushing out your robes. You take a seat and grasp the armrests — the chair is colder than you expected, but you don’t dwell. You’re close. One second more and the ceremony will be over. The aged dwarf approaches with the crown, dainty and golden. It is simple, but brightly shimmers like the sunlight yet somehow softly glows like the moonlight too. He smiles and you take it from his hands to place on your own head. And the moment it lays there, when the metal finds its place on top of your crown, the crowd erupt into cheers and song, rejoicing for their benevolent leader. But you do not hear them. Your eyes become blinded. Your breath hitches. The gifts of clairvoyance and precognition strikes you, rendering you breathless. Fire. You can see fire, hear the shrieks of mortals crying out for their families and loved ones. It is deafening — the screams of men beseeching mercy, only to be slaughtered, the sobbing of children who have their mothers assaulted in front of them. It is overwhelming. The intense smell of iron, the scent of blood. The burnt land that you stand in, the homes reduced to ash, the gray clouds covering the sun and sky and bring upon the darkness you cannot dispel away. “No, please, let me go!” — “Stop!” — “Mommy! Where are you?!” You see a boy’s head decapitated, another relishing in the death. A baby that cries until it’s silenced when a spear punctures through them. Lovers ripped apart and mutilated. The wonderful world you have sworn to protect — the green grass and flowers, rivers and rolling hills, the laughter and giggles. It doesn’t exist. You have failed. And there is nothing that can change it. The world is on fire. You see more flashes — within one millisecond, you have known past, present, and future. You see a paradise of smiles and warmth. But you also see an empty Heaven, a desolate place that has become darkened with gods who have abandoned their people. You see the people at peace and prosperity, but also see ruin and cruelty, those who are vicious without remorse. And you see an explosion. A man’s irises glazed over in the colour of obsidian, his skin bathed in the milky moonlight and making him glow. Specks of shimmer all around him as he wears an expression of guilt and pity that aches your heart. You cry aloud. Seokjin, Yoongi and Miyin at once turn at the sound and they witness you fall off your throne. // There’s a roaring crash. The servant girl pulls herself away from the God of the Moon once she hears the commotion, her eyes swimming with surprise and worry. The god is also alarmed and the two of them don’t hesitate to rush down the hall, pushing your doors open. “Y-Your Majesty!” Your servant cries out, running towards you, but you shove her away and she winces when the back of her head slams against the wall. Yoongi grabs hold of her, making sure she is uninjured, and you pay no mind to the pair of them. Objects on your vanity are shoved to the floor with the sweep of your arms, the chair thrown over on the ground, your bedroom is wrecked as you pull on the curtains. “Don’t touch me!” you scream wildly at the top of your lungs. “Get out! I don’t want to see you!” “Get out!” you repeat when they remain there, blood-curdling at the back of your throat. You never once look at Yoongi in the eyes. Fire. Destruction. Crashing and burning. “What’s going on?!” A stern voice calls out at the ruckus. Miyin stands at the doorway motionlessly, eyes laying on how you’re losing your mind and she watches in horror. An explosion. Splotches in the night horizon that glitter and gleam. A love never returned. The Goddess of Dreams approaches within three strides, swiftly moving past her brother. Her expression is rigid and authoritative, but her embrace is gentle when she takes you in her arms. You protest, whimpering and sputtering, but Miyin never lets you go and with one squeeze, a mesmerizing incantation leaving her lips, you are falling asleep in her arms, rescued from your own madness. It goes quiet and she turns around, distress evident in her features. “Call Seokjin.” // They are murmuring silently as you are fast asleep in your bed, but you are not ignorant to their conversation when you know past, present, and future. Your current unconsciousness is merely a fleeting sanctuary, a place of temporary peace in the land of dreams that Miyin has stitched together. “I saw it.” Miyin muffles her sobbing behind her hand. “I saw her dreams and they were — awful. Atrocious. I….” “And these are visions of the future?” Seokjin asks, concern taking hold of him. “I don’t know.” The Goddess of Dreams shrugs hopelessly. “They might be.” “Then what did you see?” the God of Sun persists, both curious and anxious. She shakes her head. “Fire. Screaming. A—And people dying….I can’t….” Yoongi puts his hand on her shoulder, squeezing. “You don’t have to say anymore.” He looks towards Seokjin. “We have more pressing issues than whatever may happen in the future.” “We need to know if this...destruction can be prevented or if it’s inevitable.” “How can you still concern yourself with that?!” Miyin’s voice is shrill, distressed. “When Y/N is going mad, the future is what your worries are about?” “Without Y/N, Heaven will fall before the destruction even comes,” he says, glancing at you in deep slumber. “It’s still forming. New gods are being created. We can’t put Y/N to sleep at every moment.” “Then what do we do?” She asks the two gods, at a complete loss. It’s clear that you are being tormented and she doesn’t know how to help. But suddenly a thought comes across her mind and she turns to her brother. “Talk to her, Yoongi,” Miyin pleads, knowing full well that you have always been closest to him. “She’s always listened to you.” “She hasn’t spoken a word to me since her coronation,” he reveals in a murmur, making the other two even more troubled at the change. It goes silent. The gods are helpless. // Their efforts are futile — akin to a tree that provides shade during a violent thunderstorm or a single blanket given during a vicious blizzard. The comfortings given do little for you, not when they are ignorant and you are cursed with this knowledge. Words do not solve wars, they only prevent them. And you cannot prevent what is to come. But there are still things you must say before time becomes too late — before you completely succumb to hysteria, so you gather yourself with your last remnants of sanity. And the door opens before Miyin can knock on it. You knew she was coming. You were waiting for her. “Good morning, Your Majesty.” The Goddess smiles at the sight of you up and about, but you can tell it is forced. The friend she has made long ago is different from the god she sees in front of her. “I wanted to ask if—” “You don’t need to tread carefully with me, Miyin.” Her parted lips close and you shut the door after she enters. “Your room is still a mess,” she quips with a smile, perhaps to lighten the tension lingering in the atmosphere that is suffocating. “Do you need me to call the servant later?” “No. I do not want to see her.” You take your seat, motioning for her to do the same. “You don’t need to preface yourself, Miyin. You came to speak to me, so do so without your hesitation.” The Goddess of Dreams swallows hard and takes your hand. “I cannot say I understand what you are going through, but I have seen it. I have seen your dreams and I have seen the horrors the universe will be put through. But there is nothing that you, Seokjin, Yoongi and I can’t overcome” “There are many things,” you murmur. “You just don’t know them yet.” “Then tell us about it and we….we will shoulder your burdens.” “If I told you, that would only bring forth more devastation. Trying to prevent the inevitable only causes the repercussions to be stronger.” “Surely there is nothing out of the power of the Goddess of Light and Life, of the God of Sun, of the God of Moon, of the Goddess of Dreams. We are meant to rule over all—” You withdraw your hand away from her, diverting your vision elsewhere. “I let you in here not for you to console me, Miyin, but for me to warn you.” “Warn me?” She is taken aback, eyes widened. “We are sisters, not my blood but by bond, so I owe you at least this much. The Creator had spoken about forging a God where those humans can lay to rest.” Your words are a prophecy, one she takes for granted. “He will come to exist someday soon. Human souls cannot wander the land forever, they must have a place to rest, but it will cost your happiness.” “Let him be born.” A tiny smile graces her features, gaze sympathetic and not at all terrified. But you already knew this would be her reaction. She’s oblivious to what will come. If she knew, she would not be so courageous. “I will survive.” “He will damn you into eternal darkness.” “Then let him,” Miyin says. “If this was the Creator’s plans, then I will follow.” “None of this was her plan,” you bitterly mutter. “She didn’t know the future, not like I do. If she did….she would’ve never made any of this. She would’ve made it all vanish with her death.” “Y/N….” “Even if I tried to avoid it, it will happen. I am helpless. As are you.” You look into her eyes. “This is my warning to you.” “I am not afraid,” Miyin tells you sternly. “Even if you tell me an unborn god will bring darkness upon me, I will not live in fear. No god should ever live in fear.” You remain silent. It makes her distressed, knowing her words have little effect. But you know that righteousness and pride will only serve the purpose of the inevitable destruction. // The God of Sun is childish, playful, and argumentative. He sulks and whines, doesn’t like to share and is haughty over petty matters. Seokjin retains his youth and a lighthearted demeanor that others are unsure if they can take sincerely. The golden-haired man in his extravagant robes enjoys making mischief, finds amusement in using his wit to underhand others, but it is never out of malice as it is for his entertainment. Out of the four of you, it seemed like Seokjin has grown up the least. Yet, you know now that underneath his immature and childlike disposition is marble yet to be sculpted. Jin is perceptive and the underestimation of others only serves to his advantage. His greed to maintain the glory of Heaven will someday be the strength to uphold it. He is intelligent, especially because he does not flaunt it and would prefer to use narcissism to hide intentions. Seokjin is many things, but he is not foolish. You come to him before he seeks you out. “Yoongi will be upset if you make the sun fall sooner than it is supposed to.” “Y/N.” He whirls around, coy smile playing at his features. Of all entities, Jin was the only one who did not treat you any differently. It reminds you of a time long ago when you did not wear the crown, when you did not know what you do now. A time of ignorance you impossibly wish you could return to. “But of course, you know that. You won’t be the one waking him up after all. You’ll call a servant.” “Aren’t you supposed to be in bed resting?” he asks, halting the movement of his hands that was bringing the sun down. “I thought I would save you the walk of having to come to me. Miyin has insisted that you spoke to me, correct?” Seokjin grins boyishly. “You really are the all knowing god now, aren’t you?” The nonchalance is a front. You know Seokjin worries silently, that his doubts lie between his sentences. He is merely persuading you to be at ease rather than confronting you directly about his numerous questions. He consoles you through indifference, as if nothing has changed. “To know isn’t to understand, Seokjin. I wouldn’t wish this upon you or anyone. You should never want to be an all knowing god.” His lips fall into a straight line and he approaches with his arms behind him, the sun piercing through his backside. The light shines but it is hardly warm. “What will happen to Heaven, Y/N?” “It will recover as all things do, but not without facing calamity and making sacrifices.” “And what will happen to you?” he asks in a softer tone, brows furrowing. “It doesn’t matter.” “Tell me what happens, Y/N.” The God of Sun’s voice is firm and demanding. “Miyin told us that there was fire and destruction. It’s a war, isn’t it? Between the mortals? Where are the gods then? Tell me everything that you know.” “If I tell you, Heaven will never find prosperity. There will never be a golden age. Not only will the mortals cease to exist, but the gods will no longer have their place in this universe.” You shake your head. “I cannot tell you what you truly want to know.” “How can that be? We are the Great Gods of this world. Nothing….nothing could destroy us.” You gaze at him, your eyes connected. You’re aware that he knows — that beneath the nonsensical dignity, it is possible. It’s possible that Heaven will be saved. “You would make a better ruler than I would,” you murmur, much to his astonishment. “Someday, you will become very wise and mature.” “I do not wish to be the ruler,” Seokjin says immediately and his face scrunches, finding the thought of responsibilities burdensome and distasteful. For the first time in a while, the corner of your mouth quirks. You reach out to him, sleeves falling back until your palms cradle his cheeks. Your touch is tender and you guide him forward until your foreheads are pressed together. Your eyes flutter shut. “With my name known, allow your soul to take this blessing of mine.” It is a symbolic gesture, one made with endearment that you both know well after the Creator has given you many blessings during her lifetime. After you draw away from him, Jin gazes at you. “What did you bless me with?” “The stars.” His plump lips become lopsided, brows knitting together into a frown. “What are the stars?” “They are suns, like you, but farther away. Glimmering specks that fill the night to keep the moon company. They cannot be reached or touched, but they can still watch over you, always.” “They sound beautiful,” he murmurs, entranced. “Will they be your first creation?” “Yes.” You look towards the sky. “They will be.” // The moon hangs in the sky, shedding light in the darkness to help lead those astray back to their homes. The silver colour lights up the entire world that is blanketed in darkness. You know you’re foolish for still cherishing this sight, for savouring this temporary serenity. But still, you wrap your arms around you and step out onto the cold terrace to bathe in the soft light. A moth with tiny, brown wings descends towards you. It flaps and flutters, tickling against your skin before floating around, right out of reach. You watch for a moment and then you feel his presence behind you. If you turned around, you would see him glow in his milky moonlight. He would be ethereal with his soft and sleepy features, ruffled black hair. His eyes would stare back into yours and you would come to realize again just how beautiful Yoongi is. But you are too scared to face him. “Don’t come.” Yoongi stops. He comes to a stand still. You don’t turn around, merely allowing a sigh to leave your lips. “Will I ever be able to look at the moon without you coming to me? Or better yet….perhaps it would be better if some nights there were no moon at all.” “Why have you been pushing me away?” His husky timbre cuts through the air, a question that you have too many answers to, but ones you never wanted to say. Still, you know what the future holds. You know you’ll have to say it, to provide him the explanation that will end up burdening him forevermore. So you shut your eyes and brace yourself, gathering the courage to turn around to face the god who has long owned your heart. “You don’t love me.” Yoongi is taken aback, eyes pierced into yours. His mouth parts, but you don’t give him a chance to speak. You already know. “You will never love me. You’ve given your affection to my servant girl and you are a fool for it, Yoongi. She will not be reborn. She will only live with you for a blink in the lifetimes we have left, but you have chosen her.” The God of the Moon does not utter a word. He is unable to deny these accusations. “But even with her gone, you will never love me while for the rest of eternity, I will.” You can see past, present, future — a responsibility you must bear. But of all the devastation you have witnessed, of all the pain you have felt, what still hurts most is knowing that your feelings for Yoongi will never be returned. The moment you were crowned and the gifts were given to you, you saw your eternity in an instant. The knowledge came barrelling at you without remorse, striking your very being. You have seen your fate and his. From this lifetime to the next — now and in twenty millenniums, even if Yoongi marries you and becomes your husband, he will see you as a companion. He will see you as a friend. And you will always want him as a lover. You will never have all of Yoongi no matter how much you wish. No matter how powerful you become. No matter what title you hold. You are eternally lonely. A mirror of the lonely Creator, but unable to fill the void that collapses your soul. You will have Yoongi’s presence, but never his mind and soul. “I still care about you.” His tone is low, calm and collected. “You are important to me, Y/N. You always will be.” “But it will never be enough!” The god doesn’t know what to say. He simply wears an expression of guilt and pity that aches your heart, one you have seen in visions, one you have grown to detest. And tears begin to shed down your cheeks. The droplets are golden lights, shimmering like beads of liquid gold or fireflies falling. They are not as bright as the moon but more numerous and they drip onto the terrace, lighting up the night. The words hiss out of you, ugly and revolting. “I will never be enough for you.” “Y/N….” Yoongi calls out and approaches. “It would be better if no one knew the future,” your voice booms across the land, wrapping around the God of the Moon, your betrothed, and your unrequited love. “It would be better if no one knew like I knew.” Your skin gleams brightly, glittering like the sunlight and glowing like the moon. The wind suddenly brushes through Yoongi’s hair and the sheer force pulls him back from getting to you. “Y/N!” You gaze at him with softened eyes, relishing in this sight. Your voice ricochets throughout the universe. “Stay on the moon, Yoongi. Be in solitude. Feel the loneliness that I would have felt for an eternity that never ends.” The man’s irises are glazed over in the colour of obsidian, his skin bathed in the milky moonlight and making him glow. You stare at him and then to the darkened horizon, knowing the days that are yet to come, the years of misery and where the world will turn to ruin, the helplessness that will drive you insane. And you succumb to weakness. The lights seem to spill from inside of you. It pierces through your skin. It tears it apart. It overflows at the seams. “Y/N!” Yoongi screams in terror and a smile lifts on your features. You are not Y/N, the Goddess of Light and Life, ruler of all rulers, god of all gods. You are Y/N, the Goddess of Stars and Loneliness. “Please,” the god begs, head shaking, hands trembling — he is the God of Moon you will always adore and keep close to your heart. “Don’t go.” “Let me go,” you murmur gently and begin disintegrating into specks of lights that shimmer all around him. Yoongi falls onto his knees, grasping at the small particles to no avail. Seokjin and Miyin run out from inside, awoken by the shaking of the ground, by the stirring they feel inside of them. But they can’t look at you. The night is seared with light as if the sun itself had risen. “Take the crown, Seokjin.” You smile at him and look towards the sky, taking the gifts of clairvoyance and precognition with you to spare those from the future. Your power of life begins to bleed into the world as well, morphing into a natural force. “I do not wish to be reborn.” “Y/N!” The God of Sun shields his eyes away. The Goddess of Dreams is sobbing, trying to reach you. And Yoongi stays in his spot motionlessly, on his knees, ignoring the pain of your radiant aura. His eyes connect to yours and you smile at him before imploding into a million lights. Yoongi watches as the lights float upwards, becoming splotches in the night horizon that glitter and gleam.

[Present Day] He looks up at the sky — it’s a clear night where he can see the infinite void of darkness and wonder. But while the inky canopy is an endless abyss, it is decorated with tiny freckles of sparkles. The longer he stares, the more that appears. They are twinkling pinpricks of light in the sky, some golden and others silver. They cannot be reached or touched, but always watch over the rest of the universe. The stars accompany the moon, so that it isn’t so lonely. The man with dark hair and obsidian eyes leans against the terrace railings of his empty palace. His pupils connect the constellations together, drawing lines between them to see the shapes. But then a little moth serves as his distraction. It’s a tiny thing with brown wings flapping and fluttering. It floats in front of him and he watches before extending his arms to capture the creature in his hand. But then the God of the Moon uncurls his fingers, letting it go. “What do the stars say today?” A familiar voice sounds behind him, one he has known for eleven lifetimes now. A smooth timbre that has made many decisions and spoken to many great beings. Seokjin joins his side, looking out at the sky with a small smile. His question is still unanswered, but it is not uncommon for the God of Sun to ask him about this. After all, in the entire universe, Yoongi has become the best at reading the stars. “The constellations are shifting. There will be challenges ahead.” Yoongi continues, “The stars are always melancholic. History doesn’t repeat but it rhymes. There will always be pain and suffering.” “But there is also hope.” Seokjin stares at his old friend’s profile, lips graced with a small smile. “And the sun always rises after the night.” There have been many changes since the birth of the four original gods. More gods have come about and the mortals have multiplied even more so. The world is still chaotic — the fire and destruction you had spoken about, like a prophecy, had been fulfilled. The calamity was indeed brought upon Heaven but it had survived. He’s not sure how long peace will be kept, but Yoongi has learnt that it is within the moment that matters most. The two of them have gotten old, or at least it feels that way. But Yoongi is glad he is able to be reborn and refresh himself, allowing sorrow and wrath to fade away in cycles. And while you have become a distant memory for him after nearly a millennium, Yoongi doesn’t think he’ll ever forget about you. Not the way you used to hold his hand when you kept him company on nights he brought the moon out. Not the way you always took to his side. Not the warmth that you gave to him. Yoongi lets the guilt sit upon his shoulders. The bittersweet memories of you keep him grounded. “Do you think she’s watching us?” “Yeah.” Seokjin sighs wistfully. “I do.” The corners of his mouth quirk. “She must think we’re still idiots, huh?” The warm god chuckles, hands behind his back. “Probably. I don’t think she’s ever stopped watching over us, Yoongi.” The two gods smile, bantering back and forth noisily. It’s the loudest Yoongi’s palace ever gets considering the God of Sun is always rowdy and boisterous. He often ruins the calm atmosphere that the God of the Moon creates, but the occasional company isn’t undesired. It reminds Yoongi of the olden days, during simpler times. Except they have become more mature and wise, just like you have said. Seokjin yawns, stretching his arms over his head. He bids farewell and turns to return to his extravagant palace. But Yoongi stops him before he can vanish back to Heaven. “Do you think...she knows?” Yoongi asks while staring out at the stars, wondering if you know about his regret. His remorse, about how he still cares, about how he remembers you the most out of the three of them that are left. The God of Sun smiles. “I do.” Yoongi is left at his lonesome, gazing at the constellations. The moth floats and flutters in front of him. After a moment, it lies on his cheek as if it were giving a soft kiss and then it flies away into the bright night.

#bts fanfic #bts angst #bts scenario #yoongi angst #yoongi fanfic #yoongi x reader #bts x reader #bts reader insert #bts fanfiction

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insomniac-dot-ink · 4 years

Text

The Hopping Lamp Post

The night was thick with sugared darkness that left my neighborhood feeling grainy and unreal in the velvet insides of night. I was hunched over on the sidewalk with my back to the front door.

“You can’t just come home at all hours of the night and expect--” “I told you I was at work!”

“Work my ass!”

“Can’t I come home from a long day without being…”

The voices screeched back and forth like alley cats defending their own piss-smelling crevice of the street they owned. I flinched and knew I didn’t want to go back inside. Never, ever, I could stay outside in the grim darkness for as long as it took no matter how much my mom hollered and pulled out her hair.

I used dirt to doodle circles in the cement in front of me and lost myself to the rough feel of the smeared earth. I was studying it like a painter studies the face of a subject when I heard the front door open.

“Where is that girl?” I jerked myself to my feet and scurried away down the street. My mom wasn’t so determined as to go anywhere past our front lawn. The neighborhood was hushed with little moths zapping at porch lights and windows all but empty black eyes staring out.

I wandered away from our block and it was only when I couldn’t see our house anymore that I let out my held breath. I blinked a few times as mist started twisting off the ground in haunting tiny spirals.

I turned around in circles as I watched the ground grow foggy and it wasn’t until I looked up that I saw it.

I stood up straight like the pads of my feet had been electrocuted. Right at the end of the street standing proudly tall and stiff was something that shouldn’t be there. I rubbed my eyes with my fists until little white spots appeared.

I opened my eyes again to find the same black metal thing with a glittering white light ahead. It wasn’t like any of the other lamp posts on the block-- not tall and tired bent metal and a hanging dull yellow light.

It was finely crafted with indents like a roman column and a curved neck with a hanging lantern at the end that gave off light like snowfall and stars. I took a cautious step toward it. It took a step back.

“What?” My brow folded in.

I edged closer and the thing edged back. I looked down and found that through the mist and unfurling curls of clouds that there was some sort of foot at the bottom of the lamp post. “Well that ain’t right.” I muttered and took a few hurried steps closer.

It leaned back from my presence like a fancy lady from a corner bum, but it wasn’t fast enough. I managed to get a few feet from the lamp post and squint up at its tall metal body.

“Where you from?” I asked as I would any stranger from out of town. It hopped back and I followed. I was on Wilkinson street now with more faceless tiny beige and grey houses that bled out into the highway. I couldn’t hear the busy traffic right then though.

I only had eyes for the hopping lamp post.

“You come far?” I said and circled around the light like a dog with a scent. “What’chu ya doing here?”

Bugs bumped into the glass of it's head and landed on it’s metal top as if to take up residence. I was close enough now to make out the big grey feathery moths with fat bodies and tiny white moths that look like delicate fairies lost from home.

I frowned at the closest moth. It’s wings were frayed and threadbare like it had been through the wash one too many times. Another moth had two sets of wings on its back. A third one was a little firefly that could barely glow it’s little butt at all.

“Huh.” I bit my bottom lip and glanced up shyly toward the light as we strolled to the end of Wilkinson. “They’re like me, huh?” I spoke slowly in a low voice as if not to spook it.

The mist was fuming off the ground in great big fistfuls now like the whole world was a bathtub and it was determined to fog up every single mirror nearby. I couldn’t hear so much as a yapping dog by then and no whir of cars that should still be running at this hour.

I gathered myself a little closer to the lamp that gave another enormous hop forward in a jerking unsteady motion. I glanced up to see that a bat was hovering close to the light. It’s tiny body was fury and it flapped mechanically by the side of the light. From head to foot it was pure white.

“Like me . . . ” I murmured and brought a hand up toward my chest to fist my shirt. “Wrong.”

I had never been wrong in the way people could tell. They couldn’t point at me and say “there’s that wrong girl!” But I had never had a teacher that hadn’t given me funny looks for my questions and hadn’t gone to a family reunion without an auntie muttering “that one’s a little off in the head” to another auntie.

I looked down as to not focus on the white bat or the double-winged moth or any of the other creatures that were pulled to the light of the lamp post. I stopped in place as I peered at the ground, but the ground didn’t seem to be there. It seemed to have fallen away and I gasped.

It was just dark beneath my ratty white sneakers. I looked up and the houses were all but distant outlines from a different life. The mist was growing thicker and the only light was from the silvery glow the lamp ahead.

I clenched my teeth and inhaled sharply through my nose. “Where are we?” I looked up and the lamp was now at least several paces away. “Wait!” I ran after it. “How do I get home?” It gave another mighty hop and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to turn back or find out about more things that shouldn’t be. I gave a small glance over my shoulder and it was all mist and darkness behind us now anyway. I kept following the hopping lamp.

The darkness became almost absolute and I held my breath as the mist grew thick and tangible. It licked my cheeks like a wet kiss and my hair was heavy on my shoulders from the moisture clinging to it.

I started shivering. I didn’t want to keep looking. I didn’t want to see what was beyond that mist and dank gloom. I started to hear things. I heard deep ugly breaths from something that had be bigger than the biggest horse I’d ever seen and bigger than any dog from down the street.

It gulped down air in a deep raspy voice. In. Out. It’s nose was probably the size of a bus and it’s lungs bigger than any whale. I could smell brine and salt in the air and I couldn’t stop shivering.

To my surprise the lamp’s pace slowed. It stopped in place and it’s hanging head turned and faced me. My eyes went wide, “So you ain’t gonna just leave me after all?” I whispered and slowly reached out my hand. I put it softly on the cool metal of the lamp and we began to walk together.

I closed my eyes because I didn’t want to see the monsters we were approaching in the dark. I didn’t want to see what lay ahead. Nonetheless, I felt that warm bath of air hit me across the face and we passed the beasts.

I opened my eyes again to the sound of cars honking and an even stronger scent of salt. I turned and we were standing on a road this time with the mist still thick and dancing off the cement. Something was different.

The road was winding up a huge mountain top and on the other side was the twilight dusk and an ocean that spanned as far as I could see. It was a shifting flatness with pools of blue midnight and frothing white waves out in the distance. I smiled broadly. “I’ve never seen the ocean.” A car passed with it’s headlights blinking and it was like no car I had ever seen before. It’s windows were too broad and lamps too bright. The figure inside was shadowed and strange with hands made out of smudgy murkiness and a shrouded face.

I steadied myself. “Alright,” I put my hand back on the lamp post. “Let’s keep going.” We walked through that world of ocean and ghosts. I closed my eyes and we passed between another darkness with the sounds of sleeping monsters and into new unknown places. We entered a world of dirt roads that led past unkempt green gardens with fruit like diamonds and rubies. We went through nights that were all storms with lightning flashing out on the horizon and people that were shaped like angels flying out toward it.

The sun never rose and we never stopped walking. It could have been a lifetime. It could have been just that night and nothing else. I oohed and awed at the strange sights and smells of ozone and sunshine. It was only in that third darkness that my legs started to complain and my eyes started to droop and betray me.

The lamp slowed its pace to an inching crawl.

“It’s alright.” I yawned. “I don’t wanna go back.” I said softly with my eyes closed. We walked into the darkness of beasts once more. “But I gotta. Don’t I?”

Something landed on my shoulder as we went into a new road made of crushed white shells and with running water the color of mirrors besides us. Little floating lights dancing just above the surface of the river and I blinked at a giant moth perched on me. She had white feathery feelers and wings with grey eyes in the center. She was missing an eye on the right side of her face and I smiled at her.

“Well hey there,” She was the size of a kite and her little legs tickled my shoulder. “You’re not from where I’m from.” I said with a nod, “you’re awful pretty though. You all tangled up about going home too?” She moved her feelers up and down and cocked my head to the side. “It’s not so bad. But it’s not so good either.” I shivered from somewhere deep inside of me and gave her a sad smile. “I just . . . can’t seem to get myself to turn around yet.” The moth gave me a long look before she took off from my shoulder. She flapped away into the moonlight of this strange land and the lamp post simply sat in place. I made a face, “now you feel like stoppin?”

The lamp post simply angled it’s face to the sky.

I followed it with my eyes. It was a long few minutes in the cold damp air with the water rushing besides and lights flitting around. I waved when the moth finally returned with something between her feet. She was carrying something that shone with the force of gold teeth in the mouths of rich men. I opened my hand and the moth dropped a single coin into my hand.

“Oh,” I breathed and held up a golden metal disk. The front held face I didn’t recognize in any way on it.

A queen maybe. She was in profile on the coin with a half-smile, her eyes closed, and crown of light on her head. I made a hiccup of sound as the coin fit snuggling in my palm and gave off a strange burning warmth.

I turned it over and over in my hands and ran my fingers over squiggles on the back that could only be words. I sucked in breath. “What’s this for?” The moth only turned around and suddenly it was flying back toward the way we came. The lamp turned too and I frowned. In a twist that was more ironic than not the lamp started to follow the moth.

"Wait for me!" I trailed after.

We went back through the beast realm. Back through the night garden of jewels and back through the storm lands of angels and mountains of ghosts. We returned to my street with the slanted roofs and scraggly lawns.

I held the coin hard in my hands and turned to the lamp post. “Thank you.” I said with a nod as you’re supposed to for helpful strangers. “I’ll remember this, always.” I wasn’t sure if I was brave enough to return yet, but the lamp bent its long head and the light caught in my eyes. I looked down and the words on the coin righted themselves like soldiers called to duty all at once.

“Be brave,” I read the words and traced them with my fingers. “Because the light will always come.” I blinked and the words remained just as the lamp kept hopping down the street on its endless trek. I slowly waved goodbye in the way of children who are able to accept things that shouldn’t be but are.

I turned and went back into my house just as the night was losing its shape and the sun broke across the heavens. And I was going to be brave for however long it took until the light came again.

--------

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#short story #fantasy #writing #writers on tumblr #writeblr

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emlenvs3000f21 · 3 years

Text

The Hummingbird Clearwing Moth

This summer I had the opportunity to work at a garden center and I honestly loved it. I felt great doing hard work every day and being surrounded by all kinds of wonderful plants. I learned about a ton of plant species, their scientific names, growing conditions, how to prune them back for the winter or during the summer to promote bushier growth, and how they reproduce. It was so interesting to see plants (especially the annuals) go through their whole life cycle from seedling all the way back to seed in August, but what was also fascinating was the relationship these plants had with native pollinators. There were beautiful honeybees, small pollinating flies, butterflies (it was so exciting when the monarch butterflies arrived), and moths. By far one of the coolest pollinators I saw this summer was a hummingbird clearwing moth (Hemaris thysbe). One day I was walking through the rows of flowers when I spotted something taking a drink of nectar from some of the annuals. At first glance, it appeared to be an actual hummingbird, which got me very excited, so I got closer. My next thought was “Oh! This hummingbird has horns!”. It was a smaller creature with brown, fur-like feathers and a flared tail that almost looked like a shrimp’s tail. Its wings were flapping so fast they were a blur and it had two long “horns” which I then understood to be antennae. I watched as this creature unraveled its proboscis and took a drink from a flower, then quickly buzzed over to the next one. I was in awe of this mystery creature because it was unlike anything I had ever seen before, and it definitely wasn’t a hummingbird. I ran over and asked one of my coworkers what it could be and they said it was probably a hummingbird moth.

(These are pictures of a Hummingbird moth that visited me at home! The flower is a Bougainvillea.)

From the family Sphingidae and the genus Hemaris, these moths are also known as hummingbird clearwing moths because of their resemblance to hummingbirds and their wings which feature clear, glass-like patches (Mass Audubon, 2021; Moisset, n.d.). They are only around 1-2 inches long, but they buzz around like a real hummingbird would and use their long tongue to feed on flowers that have long necks such as verbena, honeysuckle, and beebalm (Mass Audubon, 2021; Moisset, n.d.). I find it so incredible that this creature has evolved to mimic hummingbirds which could help defend them from predatory birds and their long proboscis allows them to access flowers that many other pollinators can’t take advantage of.

From then on, anytime I would see the moth hovering around, I would grab any customer nearby just to show it to them because I just couldn’t get over how incredible they were and I wanted to share my new knowledge with as many people as I could. This week our readings talked about the importance of citizen science (when nonprofessionals assist with scientific research (Merenlender, 2016)) and I firmly believe that the more people know about our natural world, the more they will interact with it in a positive and constructive way. There is always a place for those who have been formally educated in scientific fields to lead the way forward, but without the help and cooperation of every individual, environmental research and conservation will only get so far. This is why I will always and forever share my knowledge with anyone who is interested because we should never gatekeep information about the world we live in. We all share in the beauty of this planet, whether we are in a scientific field or not, and things like the hummingbird clearwing moth are too incredible to ignore.

Works cited

Mass Audubon. (2021). Hummingbird Moth (Clearwing Moth). https://www.massaudubon.org/learn/nature-wildlife/insects-arachnids/hummingbird-moth

Merenlender, A.M., Crall, A.W., Drill, S., Prysby, M., and Ballard, H. (24 April, 2016). Evaluating environmental education, citizen science, and stewardship through naturalist programs. Conservation Biology, 30(6), 1255-1265. https://doi-org.subzero.lib.uoguelph.ca/10.1111/cobi.12737

Moisset, B. (n.d.). Hummingbird Moth (Hemaris spp.). U.S. Forest Service. https://www.fs.fed.us/wildflowers/pollinators/pollinator-of-the-month/hummingbird_moth.shtml

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yourdeepestfathoms · 3 years

Text

I Did A Terrible Thing

just a very random AU idea. i like the concept of this curse so i whipped this up

------------------------------------

Pale sunlight filtered in through cracks between the curtains, bathing the floor with washed out yellow rays. The sound of clattering from downstairs awakened Jane, then the empty space in the bed. She sighed, reaching longingly for her husband’s side, only to not find him there. Despite her disappointment, she smiled; that man was probably already up and working. She needed to fall into pace, too.

After getting dressed, Jane walked down the stairs, being mindful of her stomach. She was only four months into her pregnancy, but Henry still wanted her to be careful all the time. She found herself chuckling at the memory of him fretting over her from when she was simply walking.

“Good morning, Joan,” She greeted the young teenager at the kettle.

“Good morning, ma’am,” The girl replied.

Joan was a young, scrawny little thing. She was awkward in size and personality, always fidgeting nervously or picking at her arms. She didn’t have many friends, Jane had noticed, despite the town having quite a few kids her age. The girl was just too quiet and too shy and all too reserved to interact with anyone beyond her masters.

Henry and Jane were in need of a maid when their fortune and property grew the more Henry became more powerful in his work. Although a fifteen year old outcast wasn’t what they had in mind, they took the worker offered to them regardless. After all, they didn’t need to pay a child as much as their paid an adult.

“Where has Henry ran off to?” Jane asked, pouring herself a cup of tea.

“He went to town early this morning, ma’am.” Joan answered. Her voice was wavering slightly; she always did her best to sound mature and appropriate for her status under such a wealthy family. “Runnin’ off because of something with the Howard’s, ma’am. Didn’t tell me what ailed him.” Her eyes flashed a little, weakness reflecting in them for a moment as her voice dipped, “Look like he was gon’ whip me if I dare ask, ma’am.”

Jane hummed. If she noticed Joan’s fear of a whipping, she didn’t acknowledge it. Yes, she didn’t quite agree with Henry’s choice to sometimes take the whip off its hook, but there was nothing to be done.

“The Howard’s?” Jane said, interested. Joan deflated slightly when she didn’t say anything about the threatened beating. “Whatever for?”

“I told you I don’ know, ma’am.” Joan answered. “He didn’ tell me.”

“Ah, right,” Jane nodded. “And what are you plans for the day?”

“Mister Tudor want me to work in the field. With the animals.” Joan said.

“Isn’t it a little cold for that?” Jane commented, watching her servant get her a plate of breakfast.

“Not to him,” Joan shrugged. It was clear she didn’t want to be out in the cold, but she was not one to go against her master. “I shall get it done as quick as I can. Do you think I will have free time after? May I go to town, too?”

“I don’t see why not.” Jane said.

Joan lit up. The girl didn’t smile very often, rather wearing a solemn expression on most days, so seeing her smile was strange.

“Oh, thank you, Miss Jane!” Joan chirped, bowing her head in thanks. She set the plate down and rubbed her hands against her apron, eyes still alight with glee. All the things she wanted to do, like going to the library and getting new books, made her excited. “Is there anything else you need, ma’am? I don’ want to leave you and get to work without knowin’ for sure.”

“No, no, I’m fine,” Jane said, waving a hand, “Go on. Get going.”

“I will! Thank you again, Miss Jane!”

With that, the girl bowed one more time and then scurried out.

---

“Look at you. A sheep with the sheep.”

Anne smirked at the way Joan’s head snapped up from where she was feeding the lambs. Maggie and Maria tittered at her side.

“Anne.” Joan said, slightly sheepish. “What-what are you doin’ here?”

“Came to get you,” Anne replied as if Joan should have known that. “Your master be at my uncle’s house. You know that, yeah? Somethin’s wrong with my cousin.”

“Cousin?”

“Katherine, you idiot.” Anne rolled her eyes and Maggie giggled again. “Your head full of moths?”

“Probably sheep wool,” Maria put in. “She already looks like one. I wouldn’t be surprised if she starts growin’ wool from her ears!” She and Maggie roared in laughter, while Anne just chuckled darkly. Joan shrunk back, her cheeks heating up.

“Anyway,” Anne said, rolling her wrist, “We gon’ go to the Howard’s house and see her. She’s ill, you know?”

“No,” Joan shook her head, “Mister Tudor didn’ tell me anything. She’s sick?”

“Yeah. Real sick. Ain’t wakin’ up. Edmund has been throwin’ a huge fit over her.” Anne explained, “I’m surprised you never heard him howlin’!”

Doing a horrible imitation of Mister Howard, Maggie wailed, “Oh Katherine, Katherine! Wake, my sweet daughter! Wake! Why won’t you wake?!”

Clinging to her arm dramatically, Maria joined in, “God! God! Why have you forsaken me?! What have you struck my little girl with?!”

Once again, they erupted into laughter. Joan’s nose scrunched up at their insensitivity.

“Tell her my pardons and prayers,” She said, grabbing a rake to rid of the muck in the barn, “My master said I gotta tend to the animals. Then I can go to town. But I’m not spendin’ my free time meddlin’ in someone else’s affairs.”

She missed the looks that the three other girls exchanged. However, she did hear Maria mutter, “I told you we shouldn’t have come here” and Maggie’s, “This was a waste of time.” Anne groaned loudly and snatched the rake away from Joan, making her yelp.

“Live a little, will ya? Let’s go see poor Kitty!” Anne urged, “To hell with your master right now. You can’t let him lead you around by a leash all the time. Deal with the consequences later. Let’s go!”

Joan stared into the older girl’s eyes and then sighed, giving in.

“Lead on, Anne.”

Anne, her two goons, and Joan began trekking through the Tudor’s property, making sure they weren’t caught.

“So, what’s wrong with Kitty?” Joan asked. The other three smirk widely.

“There be witches about, Joan.” Anne said. “And we’re gonna find them.”

---

“Anne! We are gonna to get in trouble!” Joan hissed in a whisper as she and the other girls trodded through the darkened forest. This part of the woods was supposed to be banned from entry, but Anne and her goons had apparently found a way into the thicket.

“No we won’t,” Anne said dismissively.

“Yeah!” Maggie agreed, as she always did. She was never not licking on Anne’s boots.

“Stop being such a baby.” Maria said.

Joan blustered. “I am NOT a baby!”

“Then stop complainin’.” Anne said.

“I thought you said we were goin’ to Mister Howard’s house,” Joan said, nearly being hit in the face by a thorny branch.

“I lied.”

The four of them broke through the brambles and into a clearing. There, a small stone cottage, swathed in moss and vines, sat nestled between two towering oak trees.

Smoke that didn’t smell like normal smoke was streaming from the chimney.

“Oh, Anne, no--” Joan said worriedly as Anne strode over to the front door with Maggie and Maria in tow. “This isn’ our home, Anne! We can’t go in!”

“Too late,” Anne said while opening the door with a smirk. “BESIDES, this is a witch’s house! They don’t deserve a home!”

“Even more of a reason to not go in…” Joan muttered.

The inside of the house was filled with strange items. Vibrant flowers and sparkling stones, vials filled with strange liquids and wooden sculptures with eyes that seemed to follow Joan, weird plants and stacked ingredients--and a beautiful bird in a silver cage that was hanging from the ceiling.

“Woah,” Maggie murmured as they approached the cage.

The bird had pure white feathers that seemed to sparkle in the light from the fireplace and a long, flowing tail. Its eyes were a bright, striking blue as it turned to them, clucking softly.

“It’s so pretty,” Maria said.

“It is.” Joan couldn’t help but agree.

“Let’s take it.”

Joan whipped her head around to Anne. “What?”

“Yes!” Maggie yipped gleefully.

“Yeah!” Maria nodded vigorously. “The witch is probably torturing it!”

“No! W-we can’t!” Joan stammered nervously, but Anne was already unlatching the door to the cage and pulling out the bird. “Anne!”

“Finders keepers,” Anne said.

The bird squirmed in Anne’s hands, clearly uncomfortable. It then began to screech loudly, trying to flap its wings in her grip and shaking its tail feathers in irritation. Anne yelped and squeezed it tighter.

“Anne!” Joan yelped.

“Make it be quiet!” Maggie cried.

“Someone is gonna hear!” Maria added, only now sounding anxious.

“I’m trying!” Anne moved the bird into one hand, trying to hold its beak shut with the other. She yelped in pain when it pecked her and grabbed its head roughly, struggling with the thing.

Then, there was the sound of bones cracking.

The squawking stopped.

The bird went limp.

The girls stared in shock.

“Oh god,” Anne whispered.

“You-you killed it!” Joan cried. “Anne, you killed it! You killed a witch’s pet!”

“Shut UP, Joan!” Anne snapped.

“What are we going to do?” Maria worried.

“We’re going to leave,” Anne said. She dropped the bird’s body. “We were never here, alright? Do not speak a word about this to anyone.”

Maggie and Maria nodded, but Joan did not. She went to refuse when a twig snapped outside.

And a beautiful woman stepped into the cottage.

She had dark skin like molten honey and curly brown hair with golden tips. The gold and green robes she was swathed in looked like they were charged with magical energy. Vines and ivy coiled around her arms and neck, forming a bramble crown on her forehead. Her sharp brown eyes widened when she saw the kids in her room, then became anguished when her gaze shifted to the dead bird.

“RUN!!” Anne screeched, and she, Maggie, and Maria dashed out of the cottage, shoving past the witch. Joan was left behind, too shocked to move. She began to quake in fear as the witch approached slowly.

The witch knelt down and picked the bird up, cradling its corpse in her arms like it was a baby. She looked absolutely distraught over its death.

“W-we didn’t mean to,” Joan stuttered. “I-I tried to get them to stop, but they--”

“You killed her.” The witch spat.

Joan flinched and swallowed thickly. “I-I’m really sorry…”

“You’re going to pay for this, little girl,” The witch growled lowly, then began to mutter something beneath her breath. Her eyes lit up bright white, and Joan felt something slithering up through the inside of her body. Her guts and brain grew warm, as if they were being filled with hot water, and she staggered backwards in shock.

Then, it all went away.

And a sound began to fill Joan’s head.

Cawing.

Crow cawing.

It was rebounding through her skull like an echo in a cave, growing lower and louder and louder. With it, a pressure grew behind her left eye, like something was trying to crawl its way out of her head. She clutched at her face, gritting her teeth through a new, sharp pain blooming like a flower in spring.

“You took my familiar,” The witch hissed. “Now I will take something from you.”

Joan’s eyeball felt like it was being torn out of her skull. Perhaps it was because there was a sharp sensation behind her eye, poking, pricking, stabbing, until she thought it was going to pop out.

Instead, it was destroyed.

The cawing got louder and a trio of crows burst from her right eye socket.

Joan screamed in pain, falling down to her knees as her entire body shuddered. The crows writhed in her face, flapping their wings in a desperate attempt to get away but their lower halves were stuck inside of her skull. They struggled and squirmed, somehow not tearing skin, and sent waves of agony roaring through every part of Joan’s being.

The witch stared down at the girl as she cried tears and blood. Her face, so lacking any avians or remorse, twitched. She shook her head.

“Go, child. You’re lucky I let you live.”

But Joan couldn’t move. Not for awhile, so the witch picked her up and carried her back into the forest, where she was left under a tree.

The crows continued to caw.

---

Joan was kicked out of her mistress’ house after returning home, weak and in pain. Henry yelled at her, calling her a witch and a devil, and shot at her with his shotgun.

The bullet blasted a hole through her belly. The pain was unbearable. The crows screeched. But she did not die.

Henry and Jane beat her off of their property, both looking terrified as they did so. Joan tried to plead with them, tried to convince them to let her stay, but they refused.

Everyone in the village did the same.

They all looked at her with disgust and hatred and horror. They all tried to kill her but she would not die. So they chased her into the forest instead, banned her from her home.

Joan was alone with a crow’s nest in her head.

The crows were smaller than normal crows, but still felt massive inside of her. She felt every move they made, every twitch and jolt, which felt as though her head was splitting open like a watermelon. Some days, they were subdued, pressed into each other, tucked in her eye like it was their nest. Other days, they were manic, wings flapping in never-ending distress, feather ruffling and itching places inside of her face that she could not reach.

She tried to pull them out. They pecked her and bit her and they screeched so loud she thought she would go deaf, but she tried.

They did not come out.

She tried cutting them off, next. It worked for a moment, but then they grew back within just a few seconds, even more loud and hysteric. They didn’t shut up for awhile after that.

The constant squawking stopped Joan from sleeping. Without sleep, she grew exhausted and miserable. When she grew miserable, she became depressed.

She tried to die so many times, but nothing ever worked. The curse of immortality was as bad as the birds, but she supposed that was the point. She wondered which part was supposed to be the real punishment.

One day, after a long and agonizing four months of torture, Joan couldn’t get herself to move. The birds were agitated, squirming and squawking more than usual. They never seemed to get tired, unlike Joan, who felt like a corpse. She wanted to be one so badly.

Footsteps approached, but Joan didn’t realize because of all the noise until the witch was right in front of her. She looked up at her, whimpering, crying tears of blood, and the crows quieted down to stare, too.

“You pitiful creature,” Said the witch. “Are you not going to beg for forgiveness?”

Joan shook her head sluggishly, thunking it back down to the thick root of a tree. The birds were jostled and cawed in annoyance, and she let out a tiny sob as the sound echoed in her aching eardrums.

“I deserve it,” Joan managed to croak out.

“Hm.” Said the witch. “What a peculiar child you are. Usually people are kissing my boots, pleading for a reversal to their curse. But not you.”

Joan didn’t think she had the energy to.

“Can you stand?” The witch asked. “My name is Catalina de Aragon, child, and I need an apprentice. You will become that for me and you will listen to what I tell you, and only once you prove yourself will I remove your curse. Now, get up. We have a lot of work to do.”

#six the musical #six the musical au #six the musical fanfic #six the musical fanfiction #six the musical fic #anne boleyn #jane seymour #katherine howard #joan on the keys #maria on the drums #maggie on the guitar #catherine of aragon #i did a terrible thing

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