#//You know it's BAD bad if ice actively starts forming on himself/nearby without him noticing or in spite of him trying to keep calm | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

vldkeith · 3 years

Text

Blackbirds

submitted by our beloved klance day!

The mission wasn’t supposed to take this long, let alone be this dangerous. It’ll be a quick two hour tops mission, Lance. You won’t have to be with Keith for that long, Lance recalls Pidge groaning. He remembers it all so clearly. All the paladins, Allura, and Coran standing in the Catsleship’s bridge, planning their next mission to gather intel on newer planets and species that may have evolved in the past 10,000 years. The group had decided that, because of the agility of the Red and Blue Lions, it would be Keith and Lance who would get to go to the not at at all dangerous icy-rocky planet of Piyak. Not at all dangerous, huh? “You still there, Keith?” Lance huffs into the intercom. “Okay dude, just stay where you’re at. Don’t move. You’re already hurt enough.” In a raspy reply, he gets the “Copy that,” from Keith.

Lance wishes he was next to Keith. Not just because he likes him, but because that would mean the mission would be going ok. Heck, they might have been on their way back by now. But it was wasn’t like that. Far from it, in fact. It all started when they were landing. Coran explained many things about Piyak’s atmosphere and surface, but it’s extremely high winds were not one of them. As soon as the Lions entered the atmosphere, they got separated. Going every which way, they had both crashed a good distance away from each other. Blue had managed to crash a bit more gracefully, but Red can’t say the same. Based on Keith’s intermittent descriptions, his lion was pretty banged up, and so was he. Like, really bad. Lance could only imagine what he must be looking like right now. He pushes the thought away and continues trekking through the terrain with the help of his jetpack. Piyak was a fairly mountainous planet, but the peaks were not steep, and ice filled the cracks of rocks and boulders. It was foggy and cloudy, which obscured his vision a little, but it wasn’t anything Lance’s helmet system couldn’t handle. So far, they hadn’t come across any significant life, and Lance hopes it will stay that way. “Lance-!” Keith suddenly shouts through the intercom. “Where are you?” “I’m here, buddy. I’m going as fast as I can. Remember, I had to first tell the team that we were stranded, and that took a bit of time. I’ve already triangulated your position,” he replies. If only he could run faster. “O-okay. I’m outside of Red now. I found a little cave and I just- ow! There’s this huge gash going down my side and it hurts. Lance, it’s getting bad-” “Woah, okay, Keith! Slow down. It’s gonna be okay. I’m almost there. Deep breaths.” A pause occurs and Lance knew it was Keith just eye-rolling at him. What was “deep breathes” gonna do? Well, Lance didn’t have a better consolation, so it would have to work for the time being. He hears a sigh and then “Copy.” —————– It wasn’t too long after before Lance spots a giant red robot cat who’s size and color contrasts it’s background. Lance basically sprints towards Red and tries to find the cave Keith was talking about. He takes a good look at the lion and understands what Keith meant by “practically dead”. She was collapsed on the ground, and many large and small scratches lined her. Coran and Hunk should probably be able to fix her. Maybe. Lance managed to enter inside, just incase there might be any useful supplies for him and Keith. Finally, he left with some bandages and an artifical lighter that could simulate the heat and look of a real fire. Lance then promptly departed from the damaged robot in search of the boy. He saw a rocky grotto nearby and started heading in that direction. Thankfully, it was the right ‘little cave’ and Lance spotted Keith almost immediately. “Keith! I’m here, Keith!” Lance crazily waves his arms up and down to capture his teammates attention. Keith finally looks up and lifts his arm a little in acknowledgement. He drifts towards the boy and sparks the fire. After it looked big enough, Lance positions himself next to Keith. Keith’s descriptions of his injuries were severely underestimated. Not only did he have a scary large wound going through his right hip, but he have several noticeable cuts and wounds all over his face and body. Keith was breathing more heavily than normal, and it looked hard for him to even keep his eyes open. Honestly, it looked like he wouldn’t make it. Lance decided that was enough thinking for now. “So, how are we holding up, Keithers?” He asks as he tries his best to wrap the bandages around Keith’s biggest wounds. “Well, you already see all my injuries and I feel dizzy, heh. I’ve been better,” he coughs. “Um, I checked the air quality. We can take our helmets off,” he points to his helmet on the ground. Lance removes his helmet, but keeps it close to him. Once he did all he could with the bandages, Lance slides to Keith’s left. Keith leans on his shoulder. “Hey, I need you to stay awake for me, okay? We have to wait for the team to get here, which shouldn’t take too long, but we never know, right?” Keith mumbles affirmatively in response. “I might die here,” he blurts out suddenly. “Don’t say that.” “But, Lance! Listen-” -CRACK hiss! Keith was interrupted by.. something. From the volume of the sound, whatever creature made it must have been large. Both of them snapped silent, eyes wide, and they shared the same horrified glance. “Stay quiet,” Lance whispers. He gets up slowly and tentatively steps towards where the noise came from. Carefully, he pulls out his bayard and the object flickers open to reveal his energy rifle. Lance pulls the weapon up to eye level and waits…. “LANCE!” He quickly turns around to see a giant, black, slim monster in front of Keith. It was definitely not friendly. It’s tongue was flicking in and out, dripping what was presumably poisonous venom. The giant bug looked ready to pounce on Keith any second. Lance starts shooting. Blam! Blam! Blam! The monster falls to the ground next to Keith, barely moving. Lance pushes it away and returns to his spot with Keith. “Well, looks like we found our ‘new and evolved’ species,” Lance sighs. “Are you okay?” Keith nods slowly, now breathing even more heavily. He squishes himself up to Lance, and Lance wraps his arm around him. “Let’s talk about something different,” Lance says. He just needs Keith to stay awake a little while longer, so keeping him talking would be the best way to go about it. ————— The two paladins converse about many things ranging from favorite candy, the garrison days, and even a few childhood memories. The fire had died down by a lot, but the lighter only works once, so the two had to resort to just body heat. Lance assumes about 50 or so minutes had passed, but there was still no signs of the Castleship or his other teammates. He had also noticed that Keith was providing a lot less to the conversation as time passed, which was worrying. “Hey, you still with me?” Lance whispers. Keith only hums in response. “You need to stay awake for a little bit longer.” “I know,” Keith mumbles. “It’s cold. My cut hurts a lot. Are you sure I can’t sleep?” Okay, Keith was really out of it. Lance tried to think of something that would at least give Keith a startle without hurting him. There was only one option he could think of. Maybe the fog of the planet was really getting to him, or maybe it was out of real desire, but Lance closed his eyes and slowly leaned over to Keith’s face, giving ample time for the other boy to push away. However, Keith didn’t do anything, and they kissed. On the lips. It was a quick kiss; not special at all. The action was enough, however, to make Keith yelp with a start. “What was that for?” Keith’s eyes were wide, but his voice was still quiet. Lance’s face flushed a bright red, and he hoped Keith couldn’t tell. Searching for the right words he replies, “I- I just needed you to wake up a little. I’m sorry. Did it help?” “I’m up now, I guess,” Keith looks away. Several silent but seemingly long minutes pass. Lance decides this needed to come to an end, otherwise Keith may be prone to close his eyes. “You know that song ‘Blackbird’? By Paul McCartney and John Lennon,” Lance asks. Maybe Keith would stay awake if had to actively sing something. “Yeah. Pretty sure I memorized it back in highschool.” “Sing it with me?” “Ok.” The two start singing. It wasn’t a perfect harmony, but it didn’t need to be that way. As long as Lance heard Keith’s voice along with his, things would be okay. “Blackbird singing in the dead of night Take these broken wings and learn to fly All your life You were only waiting for this moment to arise” “Blackbird singing in the dead of night Take these sunken eyes and learn to see All your life You were only waiting for this moment to be free” “Blackbird fly, blackbird fly Into the light of a dark black night” “Blackbird fly, blackbird fly Into the light of a dark black night” “Blackbird singing in the dead of night Take these broken wings and learn to fly All your life You were only waiting for this moment to arise You were only waiting for this moment to arise..” “You were only waiting for this moment to arise,” Lance starts. He pauses and waits for Keith to say the last line with him like they were supposed to. “You were only waiting for this moment to arise,” he repeats again. Lance looks over to his side. No. No. No. No. No no no. This can’t be happening. There Keith was, eyes closed and barely breathing. Panic filled Lance. He shook Keith almost violently in to get his attention again. “Hey, Keith! Wake up, WAKE UP! KEITH PLEASE, IF YOU CAN HEAR MY VOICE, SAY SOMETHING!” Hot tears started to form and roll down Lance’s face as he attempts to wake the almost lifeless boy in arms. Keith can’t die. Not here. Not now. Lance kisses Keith again and again on his forehead, left cheek, right cheek, but nothing was working. “Wake.” Kiss. “Up.” Kiss. “Please.” Kiss. Kiss. Kiss. Kiss. Lance buries his face in Keith’s hair and cries. He whispers. “Please, wake up, man. I still need you.” ———- Just then, a bright, teal glow enveloped the shallow cave. Lance jerks his head around quickly and practically laughs he’s so happy. “LANCE!” “PIDGE! SHIRO! Oh thank God you’re here oh ok just take him. Slowly! Keith’s alive but that’s just about it,” Lance yells too quickly. Shiro heaves Keith up and races towards his lion. Pidge stays back to inspect the large dead monster-bug. After taking a few pictures and typing a couple things down, she drifts towards Lance. “Hey, are you ok? Any injuries?” She prompts, ready to take action. “No, I’m fine. Just a couple bruises,” Lance replies absent mindedly. He looks back to the mouth of the cave where Shiro carried Keith out. “It looks like you’ve been crying,” Pidge starts. “Is that about Keith?” “I- yeah. It is. Things got really bad, and they still are, and I don’t even know if he’s gonna be okay. Like, I know I shouldn’t be worrying; he’s in good hands now, but,” Lance pauses. He chooses his next words carefully. “He just means a lot to me, y'know?” “You mean your major crush on him?” The girl swiftly adds on. Lance turns red. “Hey! Wait, you knew about that? Am I that obvious?” “Well…” “Fine okay, maybe I do feel that way, but really, I do care about Keith so much; as a friend or otherwise.” Lance crosses his arms and looks down. He might never even get to tell Keith that. Pidge places her hand on his shoulder, “I know you do.” And just like that they’re hugging. It reminds Lance a lot of when his younger siblings used to hug him. He was taller than them, so the hug was sometimes awkward, but it still felt good. Lance squeezes Pidge tight. ————– ————– It’s been almost two weeks since the whole Piyak fiasco, and Keith was still in the cryopod. Currently, Lance is in the kitchen, trying to get the food goo ejector to, like, eject the food goo, but like always, it’s stuck again. Lance wasn’t even sure if he wanted to eat anything. He hadn’t really been that hungry lately. “He’ll be fine, son,” Coran had told him. “Keith has gone through a lot, and we can’t for sure say when he will come back out, but I’m confident in our healing technologies.” “He’s right, Lance,” Allura chirped. “Go get some rest. You’ve taken quite the beating too.” Well, Lance has been 'resting’ for the past 12 days. “Quiznak,” he mumbles to himself. “Lance! Keith woke up!,” Hunk enters the room, practically breathless. “What?! And nobody even told me! What kind of friends are you?” Lance runs up to Hunk, dropping his plate. “Listen, man. I just got the news from Coran too. Apparently he wanted to keep it a 'secret’ so we don’t overcrowd Keith when he woke up,” Hunk continues. The thought kind of made sense. “Anyways, you can go see him now. Pidge told me about your little, ahem, feelings for him.” “That little brat. Thanks, Hunk!” Lance says, but he wasn’t sure his friend even heard him because he had already dashed through the door and into the hallway. ———— If there was a record for running to someone’s room the fastest, Lance was sure he had beat it. The distance from the main kitchen to the paladins’ bedroom hallway was pretty lengthy, but Lance had managed to get there in no time. He slowed down after reaching his bedroom door to catch his breath. He still didn’t know why Keith had chosen the bedroom right next to Lance’s, but he was grateful that he didn’t have to walk much further. He rehersed his lines in his head, so he was to remain as smooth as possible, and approached the door. Knock! Toc! Toc! “Come in.” The door wooshed open, and Lance slowly approached Keith. It was dark inside, save for the faint teal lights lining the ceiling corners. The boy was laying down on his bed, covers pulled up over him, as if he was about to fall asleep. “I’m sorry,” Lance starts. “Did I catch you at a bad time?” “No, its fine,” Keith sits himself upright, and Lance positions himself on the bed in a way that he was facing Keith, but his legs still touched the ground. “How are you feeling?” “Much better,” Keith sighs. “I guess there really is nothing a good two weeks in the cryopod can’t fix. I have a huge scar on my side where that bad cut was though.” An awkward silence follows. “Um, thanks for staying with me on the planet, by the way. I definitely would have died if it wasn’t for you,” Keith continues. He crosses his arms and looks down. Lance didn’t really try to make eye contact either. “No problem, dude. I mean, who would I be if I wasn’t the one saving your butt all the time?” Lance smiles. Maybe he can lighten up this awkward tension. “Oh, Lance!” Keith plays along, placing his hand dramatically his forehead. “You’re my hero!” They laugh a little and now the silence that followed from that exchange was a little more bearable. “I guess I should go, huh? Mr. Keithy needs his beauty rest,” Lance sighs, still keeping up his playful tone. He goes to stand up when suddenly Keith’s hand grabs on to his. “Wait,” Keith blurts. “Can you stay?” “Hmm? Why?” Lance sits back down and moves a little closer to Keith. Keith let’s Lance’s hand go and shifts a little. Even in the faint light, Lance could see the pink that suddenly lined the other boy’s face. “I want you.” “Dude, I’m like, right here.” “No, I mean. I want us.” “Us?” “Look, on that planet, Piyak, I was so scared that I was gonna die, but I was even more scared that I wouldn’t be able to tell you that-” “You like me,” Lance finishes. He takes Keith’s hand again. “Yeah,” Keith admits. “This is gonna sound really stupid, but I think I want be your boyfriend or something. I don’t know.” He squeezes Lance’s hand tighter. “Hmm, maybe that can happen,” Lance smirks. “Look at me for a second?” Keith glances up. Lance leans forwards, and placing his hand under the other boy’s chin, he kisses him. For real. Unlike on Piyak, this was a special kiss. It was long and warm and comfortable. Lance doesn’t even know how to describe it, only that he just doesn’t want it to stop. They part away. “That was,” Keith begins. “That was wow.” “'Wow’? Is that all you have to say?” Lance smirks. “I was thinking something along the lines of 'wonderfully amazing’, but now that just sounds cheesy.” “You ARE cheesy, Mr. 'Look At Me For A Second’. I mean come on!” Keith is now actually laughing and burying his face in his face. “Shut up shut up! I’m a romantic at heart, okay?” Lance giggles along with him. Honestly, he didn’t mind being called cheesy when it came to Keith. Hearing his laugh was kinda worth it. Hmm, maybe Lance was actually a little cheesy. Keith’s laughter dies down, and he finally looks up again. “Does this mean you will stay with me?” “Pfft, as if I was gonna say no. Move over a little. I’ll spoon you.” Keith gives the okay, and scooches to the left, facing the wall. Lance lays down right beside him and pulls the thick blanket over both him and Keith. He wraps his arm around the boy. Its really warm, actually, and it makes Lance get a little tingly in his stomach. Everything sort of drifts away in a sense. Like there is nothing else in the universe but him and Keith. Lance likes that thought. “You comfy?” He mumbles into Keith’s hair. “Mhm” “Good night.” “'Night.” “Did you know that I really like you?” “Lance, I swear to God.” “Okay, okay. Sleeping mode activated.” And with that, Lance closes his eyes. He wouldn’t mind spending all of eternity like this. Not one bit. -Klance Day

#klance #voltron #klance fanfiction #klance fanfic #I LOVE ITTTTT ITS SO CUTE 🥺🥺🥺#some of the things u wrote are def interactions kenzie and i have had as klance so i love that. so in character in my book #submission

45 notes · View notes

obeyme-kaidii-writes · 3 years

Text

Hot Pepper Challenge

Mammon x poly gn!MC x Leviathan

Words - 2626

Content warnings - humor, some mild language, polyamorous relationship

Prompt/Inspiration - Mammon and Levi engage in a hot sauce battle/hot pepper challenge

Summary - Levi challenges Mammon to a Hot Pepper Challenge and things go about as well as one might expect.

AO3

You weren’t quite sure why you let them talk you into this. Normally, you did a pretty good job of keeping their combined idiocy in check. But for whatever reason, when Mammon and Levi had both come to you, eyes sparkling, full of excitement, you just couldn’t say no.

Levi had heard about a viral trend from the human world whereby you record yourself eating an extremely hot pepper and post it online. And of course, being Levi, he wanted to take things up a notch and make this a contest of sorts between him and Mammon. The prize being a date with you.

How bad could things be? you had thought to yourself. Surely demons were better suited to hot peppers than your average human, right? You would have been correct had Levi been simply intending to ingest human realm varieties. But since he cannot do anything in half measures, he upped the ante by acquiring several varieties of Devildom peppers unbeknownst to you. In fact, it wasn’t until you had started setting up the kitchen with large glasses of milk, with some containers of softened ice cream on standby in the freezer, that you noticed the peculiar peppers Levi was spreading out on the counter.

Not only were they varieties you did not recognize, there were far more of them than you had imagined necessary. It was clear he wasn’t planning on eating just one or two, and you started to have second thoughts about encouraging this activity.

“Um Levi?”

“Yeah?”

“How many peppers are you planning on eating…?”

“As many as I can get Mammon to eat,” he said with a mischievous grin. While he did love the idea of winning an extra date with you, his motives weren’t altogether pure. What he really wanted was to make a viral video for DevilTube...and seeing Mammon suffer because he would be too stubborn to back down from a challenge and admit when he’s had enough? That was icing on the cake.

It was then you realized that there was a good chance Mammon had no idea exactly what he had agreed to, and you knew your sweet, precious idiot wouldn’t be able to stop while he was ahead even after he did. You heaved a frustrated sigh, rolling your eyes at Levi, as you took up your position on the barstool opposite of where he and Mammon were to be sitting. Maybe you could send a text to Mammon, to give him a heads up at least? But no sooner had the thought crossed your mind, than Mammon strode through the kitchen doors, brimming with confidence and smiling broadly.

He walked right over to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders before pressing a quick kiss to your temple. He knew he had this in the bag, and had already bought tickets to a concert he was positive you would enjoy. His smile started to falter however, when he caught sight of the lineup of peppers on display. He glanced down at you, and you just gave him a weak smile, not bothering to explain what he clearly knew.

“Uhh, Levi? Whatsup with these peppers?”

“They’re what we are using, of course,” Levi replied, smirking. This was going to be epic.

“Umm, are you crazy?! We agreed to the human realm challenge. Like that video ya showed me.”

“What’s wrong Mammon? Scared?” You glared at Levi who was looking absolutely gleeful at how things were unfolding. You loved him to bits, but he could be outright devious sometimes.

“I ain’t scared!” Mammon snapped, swallowing thickly, “Just makin’ sure we are doin’ things right is all.”

“LOL ok. Then let’s get started.”

“ Fine.”

“Well, let’s get this over with,” you mumbled to yourself, as you positioned your DDD on the mini tripod Levi had provided you. Mammon and Levi took their seats, with Mammon doing his best to keep a straight face. He hadn’t even touched the peppers yet, and was already sweating bullets.

“You know, you guys really don’t have to do this. I can just go on separate dates with…”

“NO!” They both replied, in sync. Despite the fact that Mammon looked like he was about to cry, he was still staunchly determined to win and somehow impress you. And Levi, of course, was not about to let this opportunity slip through his fingers.

You sighed again. These two were going to be the death of you, you were sure.

“Fine, ready when you are,” you said as you began recording.

Levi started with his standard DevilTuber introduction, before introducing Mammon, and thanking you for assisting. At least the color was returning to Mammon’s face and he didn’t look quite so terrified now that everything had begun and he slipped into the same headspace he used when working his modeling gigs.

Just gotta put on a performance. It didn’t really matter how hot the peppers were, there was no way Levi was going to be able to handle them. All he had to do was outlast Levi, he thought, trying to reassure himself.

“Now for the rules! We will be starting with the mildest pepper here, rated at 2,000,000 SHU all the way up to the hottest variety at 16,000,000 SHU. First one to drink the milk, loses.

Ready?”

Mammon nodded.

“Go!”

And without any further ado, the loves of your life took massive bites out of the first peppers.

And you waited.

And you watched.

Levi was the first to start squirming, his face becoming progressively more red. He immediately regret his decision to wear his usual outfit and quickly removed his jacket, tossing it to the side.

Mammon on the other hand, was nibbling on what remained of his first pepper. He was relieved that this was the variety they started with, because it was the same one used to flavor his beloved Hell Sauce Noodles. And judging by the look on Levi’s face, he wasn’t going to be lasting much longer.

“What’s the matter, Levi? Too hot for ya?” he taunted.

“Shut up. I’m just getting started.”

It may have appeared that Levi had overlooked Mammon’s love of spicy things, but this was all part of his Master Plan to lull him into a false sense of security. At least that’s what he was telling himself. In reality, he had completely forgotten about it and hadn’t thought to check the ingredients for the cup noodles he knew Mammon was so fond of. But there was no way he was going to admit to that.

“Ready?” asked Levi, as he grabbed the next pepper in the lineup.

“Yup.”

This one wasn’t much hotter than the first, so Mammon quickly polished it off, licking any stray juices off his fingers. If things kept up at this rate, he was going to have this in the bag. He just had to hope that Levi gave up long before they reached the final pepper that Mammon knew for a fact was way too hot for something anyone had any business eating.

Levi kept stealing nervous glances at the nearby glass of milk, and you briefly considered offering it to him but decided that would only egg his competitive nature on and have the opposite intended effect. So instead, you continued on in your role as a silent observer and camera operator. At least Mammon was handling things well, so far, which allowed you to relax some.

“Next,” Levi choked out. This third variety was the one he personally had to stop at in his practice runs. He didn’t know what he was going to do if Mammon was able to take it as well as the previous two. “Ruri-chan help me,” he whispered under his breath.

Mammon confidently picked up the third pepper, taking a large bite from it as he had done with the others, flashing you a brilliant smile in the process. But after a few moments, you noticed the heat start to rise to his cheeks as he quickly shuffled off his jacket. It seemed this variety was a good leap up on the heat scale, one Mammon was absolutely not expecting.

Even though Levi was on the brink of tears, it did not escape his notice when Mammon had started showing a reaction. He fist pumped internally, sitting up a little bit taller, having regained some of his confidence from earlier. Just a bit more, he thought, one more was all he needed to break Mammon. He just had to tough it out a tiny bit longer.

“Next.”

This time Mammon was a bit more hesitant, but he wasn’t about to back down now. Not after he had come this far.

So he took his first bite, and the reaction was almost immediate. Tears welled up in his eyes, sweat started pouring down his face, and he could even feel his nose start to run. He sniffled, trying to maintain his composure, not wanting to let on just how badly he was being affected, and shot a sideways glance to Levi.

Levi was sobbing at this point, not even bothering to conceal the pain he was in as the tears streamed down his cheeks. He knew he needed to swallow, to get the pepper out of his mouth, but his body was fighting against him and refusing to let it happen. So instead he simply sat there, as more and more heat gathered on his tongue. He swore he could feel a hole starting to form in his mouth, the longer he kept the pepper there, but finally he managed to gag/cough in such a way he was able to choke it down.

Dumbasses. That’s what they are. Dumbasses.

“Ready to give up, Levi?” Mammon taunted.

“HA! As if. This is nothing,” but his tear stained face was telling quite a different story.

“Next pepper.”

“Right. Next pepper.”

“Yep.”

The boys stared at the next variety before them, neither eager to take another bite. They kept stealing glances at the other, daring one another to reach for the milk. Both were regretting their life choices at this point, and Mammon was saying a small prayer, to whoever listened to demons, that if they just let him win this challenge, he’d walk the straight and narrow and stop stealing from his brothers. Except Levi. Levi deserved everything he had coming to him.

“...are we stopping here…?” you asked. It had been a good five minutes now of them just staring at their peppers and occasionally looking at one another. They both jumped at the sound of your voice, having forgotten completely about you and the fact this was all being recorded.

“Nope!” was all Levi said as he grabbed the next pepper, and brought it to his lips, Mammon following suit. With one final glance at the other, they took a bite.

Mammon was crying now, his nose running, and his whole face and neck flushed. This had to be the worst decision he had ever made, and that included all the shit he had pulled that had resulted in him strung up by the rafters for days on end. Why? Why had he decided this was a good idea? It wasn’t like you didn’t go on enough dates with him already. You spent plenty of time together. He should have just been content with what he had. Now he was going to die for sure before he ever got to take you anywhere again.

At some point Levi had removed his shirt and was now sitting bare chested, bracing himself against the counter top. His upper body was so red he honestly looked more like a tomato than a demon. He was breathing heavily, as he struggled against every fiber of his being that was urging him to just admit defeat like the loser he was and chug the damn milk. But he couldn’t. It would be more humiliation than he could bare if you had to see him give up after he was the one that started this whole thing and had been so smug and confident about it.

Involuntarily, Mammon reached out and grabbed the glass of milk. It felt so cool on his palm. When he realized what he had done, he tried to let go, but his self preservation instincts had reached their limits and were not about to let that happen.

Levi noticed Mammon’s movements, and he couldn’t help but smile. Well, he tried to smile. It looked more like one of those “please pity me” smiles as he psychically begged Mammon to take the first sip. His eyes were blurry with tears, and before he even knew what he was doing, Levi had wiped the sweat and tears away from them.

The moments that followed were pure and absolute chaos.

Levi stared at his hand in absolute horror. What had he done?! Without hesitation, he grabbed the glass of milk and dumped it on his face.

“HA!” Mammon called out, before quickly chugging down his own glass of milk.

“I DIDNT DRINK IT!” Levi whined, scrambling to the freezer so he could start on the ice cream.

“LIKE HELL YOU DIDNT!”

“YOU LOST!”

“FUCK YOU!”

“THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT YOU STUPID IDIOT! YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO STOP SOONER!”

“YOURE THE ONE WHO STARTED THIS, DUMBASS!”

You watched on as Mammon and Levi took turns crying and yelling, hurling insults at each other, through gulps of milk and mouthfuls of ice cream. There wasn’t much else you could do really besides sit there and make sure they didn’t fling anything on your DDD, wondering exactly how long they were going to keep this up for.

As their wailing continued, Lucifer popped his head in to see what all the fuss was about, ready to lay into Mammon. But when he saw him writhing in pain on the floor, shoving hunks of bread into his overstuffed mouth, he realized there wasn’t anything he could do to punish him more thoroughly than how he was suffering right now. He also caught sight of Levi, who was now laying on his stomach, cheek flushed to the floor while he spread out his limbs to get as much contact with the cool surface as possible.

Even though the pain in his mouth had subsided, (whether because he managed to clear out of all traces of the peppers, or because his nerve endings had simply been burnt away, he didn’t know) his body was impossibly hot and at some point he had also removed his pants, leaving him in nothing but his Azuki-tan boxers. He knew he should be embarrassed to be in such a state of undress not only in front of you, but in a public place like the kitchen, but he didn’t care. The only thing that kept him from jumping into Henry’s fish tank was the exhaustion that was weighing down his limbs, and the thought of how much work it would be to access the top of the tank.

A smug smile spread across Lucifer’s face, satisfied with his brother's joint misery. When he turned to look at you, he briefly felt something akin to pity, but you were as much to blame for this as they were, as far as he was concerned. You had chosen them, after all, for reasons that Lucifer couldn’t quite fathom, and you knew exactly what you had been getting yourself into when you had done so.

So, with a wave of his hand Lucifer wished you “Good luck” as he left the kitchen and headed towards his study to relax to one of his favorite records. One that he felt would harmonize perfectly with the sounds of their suffering.

#gn!mc #poly mc #obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me mammon #obey me levi #mammon x mc x levi #levi x poly mc #mammon x poly mc #obey me fanfic #mammon fanfic #levi fanfic #obey me crack #levi crack #mammon crack

72 notes · View notes

knifefather · 3 years

Text

KnifeFather’s Kinktober 2020, 18+ NSFW ➼ Day 21: Knife play or orgasm denial ➼ Pairing: Narancia Ghirga/Reader ➼ Word count: 2.6k ➼ The reader is AFAB and female pronouns are used. ➼ Warning: The following contains blood, violence, guns, and, of course, knife play. This fic follows the canon storyline, so I've aged up the characters for obvious reasons. ➼ Also available on Ao3.

You are a member of La Squadra. You had a bad feeling before Formaggio went after Narancia, and when you turn up on the scene, your hunch is correct. Now you have to stop Narancia before he reaches Bucciarati and the others, but the confrontation takes an unexpected turn.

*Author’s note: Wow, look at me, updating this and shit! Haha, in all seriousness, I hope this isn’t too overdue. I went a bit out of my comfort zone with this one, I hope it turned out well!

Stand Name:『WHEN DOVES CRY』 Ability: Reality bending Info: A Stand ability that allows the Stand user to phase through a different dimension. While in this dimension, the Stand user is invisible to the enemy. They exhibit increased movement speed and are unable to be damaged. Their perception increases. When they exit this dimension, they create a small burst of purple-colored energy. Limit/may be susceptible to: The duration of this ability is limited by the Stand user’s energy. There is a period of about 3-5 minutes that the user needs to rest. Stamina is key in wielding this Stand.

Your eyes burned from the toxic smoke that filled the air. Blinking hard, you pressed your back to the brick wall of the alley and listened closely. Narancia kneeled on the street, mumbling to himself, and you tried your best to listen in. It was hard to contain yourself when your comrade laid dead in the street, his blood seeping between the cobblestones of the road. Formaggio's lifeless eyes gazed at nothing. You bit your lip hard and shoved down the misery for another time. You were a member of the La Squadra Esecuzioni, god damn it. You weren’t there to cry. Your goal was to stop Narancia from reaching Bucciarati and the others. No--your real goal was to destroy the boss at any cost.

The young man got to his feet and began to navigate himself off of the destroyed street. You reckoned that the police would be showing up at any moment to investigate the damage. All of the pedestrians on the street earlier had cleared out when the fight began, so they had plenty of time to contact the authorities. You didn’t want to be present when the cops came. Slowly, you followed him down the street, using the cover of anything you could to hide your form. Energy buzzed around your body, your Stand readying itself for action. In a fight, you had one shot to use When Doves Cry without becoming too tired to defend yourself; you wanted to make it count and take down Narancia while you had the chance. Perhaps that’s why you bonded so much with Formaggio--the rest of La Squadra actively reminded you of how useless your Stands were. You swallowed thickly at this thought. You were very aware of the possibility that Narancia would kill you, but you had to do something.

The purple-haired man suddenly stilled, his back to you. He turned his head slowly, peering over his shoulder. You held your breath and ducked down behind an undamaged car. Not yet, you told yourself, biting your lip. From observing the tail end of Formaggio’s fight, you knew that Narancia could track people using his radar from the carbon monoxide they emit. Your lungs burned, but you didn’t dare to take a breath as the Stand user searched for you. Quickly, he darted into a nearby store, the bell from the inside ringing out. Now is the time. A small, purple burst of energy rippled beneath your feet, and the cloak that contained reality was quietly pushed aside. You were someplace else; the shapes and structures of everything you could see were black and ghostly. Though, you could see everything perfectly--you could see Narancia inside the shop, looking around and making his way into the back room. You could see now that he was in a gun store. He was heading towards a phone on one of the desks, presumably to contact Bucciarati.

You urgently followed him. The bell attached to the door didn’t ring when you opened the door, and the door made no sound as you entered the building. You narrowed your eyes at your surroundings and quickly formulated a plan. When you exited this dimension, you would make a nova. Planning for a way to kill Narancia before you had to stop using your Stand was essential to victory. The answer was clear enough as you picked up one of the shotguns off of the display and moved behind the counter to load it. You prayed that what little bit Prosciutto taught you about guns stuck in your mind. After clicking the shotgun closed and turning the safety off, you moved to the back office. Narancia had just noticed the phone, and let out a sigh of relief as he moved towards the device. Standing on the other side of the desk, you pointed the shotgun at the back of his skull. A clean blow right after you exited the dimension would ensure that Narancia would be toast.

His hand hovered over the receiver of the phone. He stilled for a moment. From the angle you stood at, you were unable to see his face.

You heard a buzzing behind your head.

“Don’t fucking move.”

You swallowed thickly as the buzzing drew closer to the back of you. Narancia’s knife clicked open next to his side. Aerosmith hovered in the air behind your head, its guns ready to blast you away as soon as you stopped using When Doves Cry. Your heart hammered in your chest and adrenaline coursed through your veins. How? A bead of sweat trailed down the side of your face. You exited the dimension with a weak flourish, the nova only pushing the furniture of the room to the walls. Your grip on the gun didn’t falter; you stood perfectly in place. “Turn the safety on and put it on the floor,” Narancia said, turning around and gazing at you with discontent shining in his eyes. Compared to the violent way he was attacking Formaggio earlier, he was oddly calm. He was ice so cold that it burned. You maintained eye contact with him but did as he said. You clicked on the safety and placed the gun on the floor, your movements slow and deliberate.

“Kick it over here.”

You did as he said. The gun thudded sickeningly against the wall. You were defenseless until your Stand recharged, and the reality of that set in hard in your stomach. Narancia moved to approach you, the knife pointed threateningly level with your neck. “That Formaggio guy asked me a ton of questions earlier. Maybe it’s time I start asking questions,” he spat, his voice rising as he stood in front of you. You defiantly stared at him, electricity crackling between the both of you. You said nothing.

“Who sent you?” Narancia squeaked out, anger bubbling beneath his words.

“I’m not telling you anything,” you replied, your voice shakier than you wanted it to be. You weighed your options at that moment: Narancia was going to make you tell him about La Squadra, then probably kill you, either by stabbing you or with his Stand. When Doves Cry was on recharge, so you couldn't defend yourself for the next several minutes. The best bet, you guessed, was to wrestle the knife away from him and stab him first.

“Like fuck you aren’t!” Narancia shouted, shoving you into the wall and pressing the knife to your throat. Your vision blacked out from the panic and your chest heaved with every breath. The sharp edge of the blade was pressing to your skin, threatening to slice you. “Who sent you?” he asked again, harsher, his violet eyes unhinged while he stared you down.

“P-Please, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said, feigning ignorance. You wanted to get his guard down before striking. “I don’t know who that guy was!” you said, tears coming to your eyes. They were entirely for show--on the inside, your mind was racing, looking for a blind spot to strike him.

You saw doubt flash across Narancia’s eyes before he dismissed it. “Bullshit. You showed up right after he did. You have to know each other,” he growled, getting in your face. You looked back at him, faking a tremble, and tried one more time.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you pleaded, your brows upturned. Another pang of doubt across Narancia’s face. You took the opportunity to grab the knife away from your neck and shove him, hard, onto the floor with the lingering energy from your Stand. Aerosmith fired shots, buzzing angrily, but missed. When you rolled on top of Narancia, shoving him down on the tile, the Stand didn’t take a shot at all, but instead buzzed uselessly as its user wrestled with you. Narancia shouted obscenities at you while you clung to his wrist for dear life. Your knee was planted in his stomach, and you threw your fist across his face in an effort to get him to loosen his grip. The gangster snarled and fought harder against you, even as his nose began to bleed profusely from the blow. You finally pried the knife from his fingers, and without hesitation you slashed him across the chest, his leather shirt splitting open. The young man gasped as blood bloomed across his pectorals. With strength that you weren’t expecting, Narancia seized both of your arms and pulled you down on the floor, climbing over you and pinning you down

Your heartbeat was thundering in your ears as your enemy hovered above you. This is it. I’m going to die, you thought to yourself. I shouldn’t have come. I let Formaggio get killed. You blinked away the angry tears and tried again to stab Narancia, this time in the chest, but he caught your strike and ripped the blade from your hand. He pinned your arm down with one of his hands and held the knife to your throat again with the other. “I will fucking end you, whore,” he threatened, slicing your shirt. “Tell me! And you better not try anything funny this time,” he roared. Your eyes went wide as you stared up at him, frozen. You swallowed and realized that wetness was pooling between your legs. Chastising yourself came next; you couldn’t believe that you were feeling like that right now. Maybe it was the adrenaline or the way that he called you names? Perhaps it was the fact that you were a weirdo and fighting for your life turned you on, but you were aroused.

Narancia gave you a strange look. “Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked. You narrowed your eyes and decided to make one last attempt to save your ass. Your body slackened against his and you tipped the knife up to your face. Your pink tongue darted out from between your lips to sensually lick a stripe up the blade. Narancia blushed as he watched the tantalizing muscle go up his knife. “Is this a joke?” he asked again, still incredulous but softer.

“Is this funny to you?” you retorted wittily, looking up into his wide violet eyes. You could see the gears turning in his head as he processed the suggestion. Narancia bit his lip and began to trail the tip of the blade down your front. Your grip on the handle of the knife slackened as you became more sure that Narancia wasn’t going to cut you to ribbons. Still, you were on your guard. The Stand user on top of you began to breathe harder as he cut your top off, reducing your clothing to shreds. You tried to stifle a whimper as the cold air hit your skin.

Narancia nudged your clothes aside with the tip of the blade and gazed at your bare stomach and shoulders. Your bra still remained in the way. He shifted above you before cutting the garment down the middle, the cups falling to the side. The gangster gasped as he beheld your chest, focussing in on your suckable nipples. He wasn’t going to stop there, though--he continued on down to your pants, and he moved the knife between your thighs, teasing your pussy through the fabric. You inhaled a sharp, desperate breath, and rutted your hips against the blade. The way he was gazing at you was lustful, but almost quizzical, as if he couldn’t believe you were enjoying it as much as you were. He focused again between your thighs and cut a sizeable hole through your trousers and underwear. You could hear the blood rushing in your ears as he looked down at your bare cunt, slick and available for his viewing pleasure. “Shit…"

“Let’s get to it,” you whined. You were surprised that you were able to speak. The way that the weapon danced over your body raised goosebumps on your skin. You couldn’t control the insistent throbbing between your legs, demanding to be sated.

Narancia shushed you, grabbing ahold of your hip. “Hold still,” he warned before turning the knife on its flat side and teasing the wet folds of your pussy. You held your breath while the cool metal made contact with your skin. It wasn’t cutting you, but you knew if you made one wrong move that it would hurt. You whimpered pathetically while he toyed with you, a sadistic gleam in his eyes. Carefully, Narancia brought the knife to your lips once, your slick shining on the metal. “That’ll give you something to lick,” your enemy teased, chuckling darkly. You obeyed him and lapped your essence off the blade, keeping your legs spread and eyes on him while you did so. The young man moaned under his breath while he watched you. He took the knife away from your face, not minding your tongue, and pressed it back to your throat. He licked his lips before continuing. “Don’t try anything,” he reminded, unhanding your hip and feverishly undoing his trousers. His cock wasn’t the most impressive thing you’ve ever seen, but it wasn’t anything to dismiss, either. You were certain of that when Narancia began rutting his dick against your wet cunt, slipping in your juices. The head of his cock caught on your hole, and you drew in a breath hoping he would put it inside you. Instead, he teased you, earning little whines and pleas from you.

You impatiently dug your heels into his sides, and he huffed in response before finally guiding his member inside of you. Your chest rattled with an aroused breath, the growing heat in your core finally being soothed. The knife still was pressed to your neck and you shivered before forcing yourself to stay in place. Narancia groaned in satisfaction while he bottomed out in you. He ground his cock into you before pumping steadily back and forth. You gripped his arms as well as you could without getting your throat cut. Narancia’s eyelids fluttered and he picked up his pace, rocking into your hips. His thrusting was uncoordinated and sloppy, but the tip of his cock brushed your insides in just the right way to make you quiver. Narancia’s eyes shone brightly as he cut a thin line near your breast with the weapon, making you wince with pain. “You better take what I give you,” the gangster moaned out before slamming into you harder, rhythmically moving against you. His headband was beginning to slide off his head and locks of dark purple hair fell across his face. His thighs smacked the backs of yours, his cock swelling inside you.

“A-Ah, fuck Narancia…” He growled at the sound of his name and cut you again, making an X on your chest. You cried out and thrust your hips down against him, your clit brushing against his pelvis every time he sheathed himself in you. His lengthy cock stuffed you deep, luring you closer to your orgasm. “Please, again, again,” you begged over the wet sounds that rang out in the room. He growled and obeyed your request, cutting you in between your breasts. This line was long and a bit deeper than the others, making you cry out in pain and satisfaction. A fat tear rolled down the side of your face before you locked your legs around him.

Your cunt convulsed around his cock and you came with a needy shudder, holding the man as tight as you could to your body without being fatally wounded. He narrowed his eyes and gazed down at where your bodies connected, grinning wickedly. “I’m gonna do it inside you,” he said, and you took it as a heads-up. You whimpered out a chant of “please”, getting closer and closer with every snap of his hips. “T-This will teach you to mess with my team!” he exclaimed before his cry turned into a moan. His sack was pressed flush against your lips as he deposited his cum inside you, his grip on the knife loosening. It fell noisily to the floor beside you both. He held you against him, burrowing as deep as he could into your velvety cunt. At that moment, you forgot all about escaping, about failing your mission and your team. The small amount of blood pooling on your chest and Narancia’s cum sloshing inside you made you feel warm all over.

You fucked up big time.

#i be like: 🤡 posting this but whatever #narancia ghirga #jjba #golden wind #kinktober #kinktober entry #not sfw #day 21 #my work #backup #tw violence #tw guns #tw aged up #tw knifeplay

80 notes · View notes

silverdragon-imagines-blog · 3 years

Text

Counter Clockwise - Chapter 3 - Dawn of the Second Day

[Here’s the next chapter of “Counter Clockwise” the second fic in my “Threatening Darkness” series. Again, I’d like to remind you to check the tags and warnings before you read this, just in case. And let me know if I need to change the tags as well. I hope you enjoy ^u^]

Warning(s): description of injuries, slight body horror, lots of Dark Link being manipulative and creepy.

Read it on AO3

The next morning, Time jolted awake, eyes snapping open to see the floor at eye level, having fallen onto his side during the night. Sitting up proved to be tedious as his back protested each movement, quiet cracking of joints sounding much louder in the near-silent room. He turned to look behind him, at the bed he had given up for the still unconscious Warriors. He had refused to take one of the others' beds, having had insisted that he wanted to be there when Warriors woke up. He couldn’t help the disappointment and worry that sprung up when he saw that the Captain hadn't awoken yet.

Time could see that the Captain had put up a fight; bruises and cuts littered his hands and face, not to mention the broken chainmail he had worn when they found him. It was a miracle that he hadn’t been more injured, though Time couldn’t figure out why Dark had gone easy on him. It put him on edge, seeing how easily the Captain had been rendered unconscious and beaten. He stood, slowly as he took in the others in the room, his hands clenching as his mind spiraled into thoughts of the other missing heroes, one worst-case scenario after another.

They were running out of time...

He looked over to where Four had lain, the smaller now sitting up in bed with his knees clutched to his chest. He hadn't said anything, had barely responded to Twilight when he had asked what was wrong. It was worrying.

Time turned back to Warriors and carefully took his hand, holding it as though the unconscious hero would shatter if he wasn’t careful.

'He's fine,' he told himself, repeating it like a mantra, but it had never been so difficult to believe his own words until now.

He gently squeezed Warriors’ hand, knowing he would not get any response despite the small hope for the opposite. He let go, turning back to face the other three. Wild and Twilight looked at him expectantly.

"What's the plan?" Wild asked. Time opened and closed his mouth, finding himself at a loss.

"We need to find the others," Twilight spoke, his gaze moving between the Captain and Four, "but I don't think we should leave them alone."

"You can stop worrying about me." Four glared at Twilight from over his knees. "I can watch over the Captain. You have more important things to do."

Time knew he was right, but he felt a pit in his stomach at the thought of leaving them without anyone else to check on them. He wanted to argue, but he knew that he would need back up if he were to look for the others, especially if Dark Link was truly behind this.

"Okay," he conceded, the other's glare softening slightly, "I trust you, but please, if anything happens, promise me that you won’t do something that puts either of you in danger."

With Four’s agreement, Time left with Wild and Twilight trailing behind him. He passed the reception desk again without looking at the woman who stood behind it. She already knew that they were going to be staying for a few days if the fact that she hadn’t called them over to her yet was any indication.

They left through the East Gate again, and with a look to the imposing Stone Tower Temple in the distance, he led the way to Snowhead.

The cold was biting, though Time didn't react. He could hear the unmistakable sound of Twilight shifting to wolf form and Wild's slate activating behind him. He pushed forward, making his way to the mountain. As they passed the cabin where the two blacksmiths lived, he heard a strangled noise of distress.

He turned, expecting a monster attack, only to see Wild, shaking and staring wide-eyed at what looked like a block of ice, small yet almost big enough to conceal what was trapped inside of it. Time knew what was trapped there, it had been an all too familiar sight back then, even though Twilight seemed confused, glancing between his cub and his mentor for an answer neither would provide.

"Th-there's-"

"I know, Cub. I'm sorry that you had to see this.” Time placed a hand on Wild's shoulder, only for him to duck away and hurriedly pull out his slate.

In a flash of blue light, Wild held a burning orange blade in his hands, and with a soft puff of snow, he dropped the weapon close to the ice. Time could see it start to melt, steam lazily drifting off it. Wild, still shaken by the sight, returned to where Time stood patiently with Twilight. With a nod from the younger, they continued up the trail, and Time noticed the way that Wild pulled his hood further over his face as they walked.

When they made it to the gap that separated the rest of the path, Time reached for his bag again. He knew that he'd most likely need to don the Goron mask at some point, but before he could pull it out, he saw Twilight take a running leap at the cliff.

"Wait-" he heard himself begin to yell, a hand reaching out just a bit too late to stop his descendant.

His fear was short-lived, however, as the wolf managed to hang from the other side of the gap, claws digging into the snow and earth to pull himself onto solid ground. He shook himself off, then turned back around to face the other two, a smug look on his face that somehow was apparent even through his wolf-form.

"I swear everyone in this group is going to give me grey hair one of these days," he mumbled, fully taking the Goron mask out of his bag.

He could see out of the corner of his eye how Wild was looking through his slate, and the gleam in his eyes was telling.

"Whatever you're about to do is a bad idea," he said, but it was too late.

Wild had another flaming blade in his hands and turned away from him to set the nearby plant life on fire. He jumped over to it, unfurling his paraglider and flying into the air on the updraft. Time watched as the other glided over the chasm, landing safely on the other side. He looked smug.

Time put the mask on, feeling the pain of the transformation once again, from Hylian to Goron. His skin hardened to rock, stone-like skin overtaking his back. In truth, it hurt less than the Zora mask had. He soon found himself beginning to roll into a ball and making the leap onto the other side. He looked to both of his companions, lightly smacking them both.

"That's for the heart-attacks you both gave me," he rumbled, the deep voice of Darmani taking over his own.

Time sighed and led the way again up the trail, managing to get rid of the snow-covered boulders that would roll towards them with a single well-timed punch. It was slow going, needing to stop for each one, but soon, they found the entrance into the cavern that led to the Temple.

With a bloodcurdling scream, a White Wolfos appeared, howling at the three intruders. Twilight growled, lunging at the monster, quickly ending it with his claws and teeth.

"Good job, pup," Time said, and Twilight shifted back, rubbing at his chin where the monster’s blood remained.

They passed through a door, into a circular room with a large platform in the center of it. Wild looked over the edge to the bottom, seeing pools of lava. Time grabbed onto the back of the Warm Doublet the other wore, pulling the other back near him.

They stood on the platform, and Time could easily see the switch that he had to stand on to take them up to the room that the Boss had been in. Twilight seemed to notice it too.

"I think I could hit it," he said, and Time raised an eyebrow as his protege pulled out a heavy-looking steel ball attached to a rather long chain from the depths of his bag of items.

Twilight began to swing the ball over his head. It gained speed quickly, and with a small grunt, the ball flew through the air, broke through the metal grate around the switch, and hit it dead on. In a second, the platform rose right to where the staircase to the Boss Chamber was.

"That was so awesome, can I-"

"No. No, you can't." Time interrupted. Wild looked on in disappointment, following behind the other while Twilight laughed behind them.

====

Four sighed from his position by the bed that Warriors was still resting on. He was on the floor, leaning against the bed frame, while his mind continued to spiral. Blue and Red had been trying to get Vio to talk to them again, to get him to explain what had happened back in the Great Bay Temple. Green was the only one who could still focus enough to take control.

It felt strange to have to do this again after so long working as one. Four voices in one body, distinct yet the same. They made up one person, and yet, each attack on their psyche seemed to break them apart more and more each time. It was amazing they could still function. Taking control during each attack was difficult, each time it affected each of them differently, with the most stable one being forced to act as though there weren’t shattered inside. He had drawn the short straw this time.

He was listening closely to the quiet breaths he could hear from Warriors. It was all he could do to keep his mind away from the other three yelling in his mind. The quiet was nice, and it was almost calming.

Almost.

The air grew oppressive, as though he was being watched. He didn’t dare to try and find the source of it, knowing full well who would be lurking in the darkened corners of the room. They seemed to grow with every passing second, extending until the room became void-like and blood-red eyes shone through the darkness.

"You know, that little stunt you pulled back there wasn't very nice."

Green tensed as Dark Link stepped into view, his form shifting to that of Four himself. His grin was sharp as he stepped closer. Green sprung to his feet, sword quickly finding its way to his hand. Dark just laughed.

"Aw, scared of me, little smith?"

"Not a chance. Now, what do you want?” Green spoke through gritted teeth, and Dark's smile only grew.

"So it's one of the pieces. Tell me, how does it feel to not be whole anymore?"

Green could feel Blue's anger welling up, his want to just stab Dark and get it over with. Vio, too, seemed to be listening in now.

"Just leave, you've done enough harm."

"Oh, but I'm not here to hurt you," he spoke, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “I'm just here to offer you a deal."

"We. Aren't. Interested."

And yet, as Green spoke, the others seemed fully focused on the conversation. Vio especially seemed interested in what Dark had to say.

"Ah? But I know that's a lie," he smirked, "I can tell that the traitor piece wants to know."

Green only blinked once, and Warriors was gone. He blinked again, and he was no longer Four. He could see Blue fuming next to him, sword drawn and ready, Red behind him, clutching the fire rod tightly while his knuckles turned white. And then there was Vio at his other side, sword drawn, but no intent to use it. He still looked shaken from the events at Great Bay, but he wanted to know what Dark's deal was.

"Now that you're all together, I can get a real answer,” Dark spoke. The four looked around, trying in vain to find him in the darkened void.

"I really don’t like to repeat myself, but that Hero of the Wilds appears to have kept his mouth shut,” Dark's voice boomed, causing Red to flinch and knock into Blue.

Dark appeared in front of Green, looking similar to Wild, yet without the scars that marred the other's body and face.

"I've been around a long time, and I've seen every single one of your adventures. I know all of your secrets and-" Dark smiled wide as he got in Green's face, "-I know what it is that you desire most."

Blue swung his sword at Dark, only for him to disappear into shadows, his laugh beginning to echo through the void. Red began to tremble, getting closer to Blue for comfort. Green looked back to Vio, seeing how hard he was gripping his sword and the determined look in his eyes.

"Vio. Don't," Green spoke, snapping the other out of his thoughts.

"But there's a chance-"

"I know, but we all know it'll go sideways. There's always a catch, it’s not worth it."

"Oh my, so the little leader figured it out?" Dark mocked, and this time showed himself as a darker Four, an all too familiar form that had all of them falter. Green could hear how Vio's breath halted for a second at the sight. This was bad.

"What are your terms?" Vio asked. The other two inhaled sharply, shocked at how quickly he seemed to want to make a deal with Dark. And Dark smiled.

"I'll bring him back," he replied plainly, and held out a hand, "no strings attached... this time anyway."

Green was pushed out of the way. Vio walked towards Dark, sword lying forgotten on the ground. Blue bolted over to him, grabbing Vio around the waist in an attempt to stop him. Red was begging Vio to stop, trying to say that's not worth it. Green couldn't find the words to say.

Dark's smile only grew as Vio fought Blue's hold on him, waiting patiently. But then he stopped, his gaze looking past the four of them. There was a snap, and a flash of light exploded at Dark's feet. He flinched, surprise on his face.

A second snap and the darkness left. Four was standing, approaching the bed he had slept in earlier that morning, and behind him, he could hear loud coughing. He turned quickly, running to where Warriors was now leaning on his arm, turned towards Four.

"Captain?"

"Deku nuts," he rasped, coughing once more, "good for distractions, makes a hell of a light show, too."

"How did you-"

"Dark Link isn't subtle, I'll tell you that. The bastard deserved it."

Four found himself giggling at that, and for once, all the colors inside his head were unified. All was well.

====

The door closed behind Wild, Twilight, and Time as they entered the circular room that made up the final room of Snowhead. Time could already feel the oppressive atmosphere when they entered, putting both him and his companions on edge. They didn't know what to expect, but Time had a feeling that Dark Link would appear. At this point, it was only a matter of time.

Wild had started to walk around the room, searching for something he didn’t specify. Time merely watched as Twilight followed behind the Cub, making sure everything was fine. Time stood off to the side, keeping a grip on the Goron mask just in case.

It was eerily quiet, and every darkened crevice made him peer closer, checking to see if the damning red glow of Dark's eyes were hiding there. Of course, no matter how hard he glared at the empty pockets in the stone, there was nothing in them besides the shadows.

Wild seemed to notice how the room’s darkened pockets made the elder hero watch them closely, and he grabbed his sword as a precaution. His hand froze in place, hovering over the pommel when an all too familiar chuckle rang in his ears.

He flinched, whipping his head around to locate its source, but coming up with nothing. The other two heroes didn't even seem to react, aside from Twilight looking at him with a questioning glance. Wild merely waved him off, shaking slightly.

"Oh, Hero of the Wilds," the voice--his voice--chuckled, "it's nice to see that you still remember me, despite your faulty memory."

Wild grit his teeth, the memories of that damned deal surfacing once again. He clenched at his sword hilt again, not drawing it out just yet.

"I paid a visit to your friends earlier. Seems no one was in the mood for dealmaking," he sighed, and Wild stifled a sound of relief.

"Though I will say, the Chosen Hero and the Hero of the Winds seemed interested in making a deal." He laughed, the sound loud and dangerous in his ears. "I, of course, let them, and I gave them exactly what they wanted. Why don't I show the heroes of Time and Twilight what those two wanted?"

"Don't. You. Dare," he spat, barely registering Twilight's worried call of "Cub?" over Dark's laughter.

"You know you have no power over me, Champion."

There was an audible crack, and the three snapped to attention, the wall in the center of the room splitting open, a pitch-black portal appearing in its place. Slowly, two familiar figures stepped out, and Wild felt his breath halt as he took in the bloodied and bruised forms of his friends.

Wind's tunic was in tatters, spots of blood dotting it where he had cuts, and bruises where he looked as though he had been hit. Sky was in a similar, if not worse, shape. His sailcloth looked as though it was falling apart, and his shirt and chainmail were wrecked, blood staining the fabric and metal where his skin was visible.

The worst part, however, was how their eyes gleamed red.

Dark laughed again, and this time, the others heard it. He stepped out of the portal himself, his appearance identical to Time's own. He stopped between the two wounded heroes, a wide smile on his face as he took in the shock and anger in the other three hero's expressions. He relished in their barely concealed anger as he put an arm around Sky’s shoulders, his other hand resting on Wind’s shoulder, watching as Wild’s sword hand twitched, as though itching to grasp his blade.

"Why so upset? I brought you your missing companions, didn't I?" He smirked . "And I'll let you take them with you, no strings attached...this time anyway."

"What did you do to them?" Twilight growled, trying to hide the horror in his voice. He quickly drew his blade and glared at Dark.

"Oh, Hero of the Twilight, I merely let them make a deal with me," he chuckled, "and now they have exactly what they've always wanted."

Wild edged closer, timidly reaching out to Wind, the only thought a hope that this was temporary, that it could be fixed. The other looked at Wild, no recognition in his gaze, face blank and unchanging as the hero’s steps faltered. Dark’s smile seemed to grow.

"Here, why don't I let you have them." He snapped his fingers once, and all hell broke loose.

Wild barely had time to react, instinct alone had him unsheathe his sword in one quick movement and block Wind's blade from coming down on his head. The loud clash of steel on steel had him flinching, but Wind’s blank stare made his panic rise.

"Wind, please," Wild's voice cracked, but the other still didn't react.

Wind jumped back, landing a few feet away. Wild could see Time almost hiding behind his shield as Sky began his onslaught. Twilight seemed torn on what he should do, and Wild found himself unable to say anything, unable to call out for help. His words were stuck in his throat, his focus locked firmly on Wind as he began to launch into a spin attack, each hit on the shield threatening it to break.

"My my, whatever shall you do, Wolf?" Dark called out, appearing in front of Twilight, now taking on the form of Twilight himself. "Protect your mentor or your cub? Choose wisely, you wouldn't want to lose anyone else, now, would you?"

Twilight paled at that, thoughts running between his mentor becoming the Hero's Shade and shattered mirrors, goodbyes that never happened, and the fear of things repeating once again. The ever-looming threat of failing his cub or watching as his past becomes true with Time’s death. What was the right answer? Was there even a right answer?

Twilight heard a loud curse from Time, and a decision was made. He pushed past Dark, a chuckle echoing in Twilight's ears, and unsheathed his sword, shield slipped onto his arm. He took a swing at Sky, the other jumping back in time to avoid his blade.

"Thanks, Pup," he heard Time sigh, and he nodded.

Sky seemed to stare intently at Twilight for a moment, a flicker of blue appearing for a second before it was overtaken by red once more. The corrupted hero raised his sword, a familiar blue light causing it to shine for a moment before he swung it down.

Twilight's eyes widened for a moment. His awareness came crashing back as Sky shambled forward and he bolted to the side, knocking Time away from the beam of light. He struggled to call out to Wild, managing a strangled cry that just wasn't loud enough. He watched as the beam of light hit Wind and Wild head-on. He felt a scream building in his throat as they were obscured by the light.

Dark was cackling, though he was no longer visible, the cruel sound echoing as it slowly faded away.

There was a beat, and then the light vanished. On the ground were the forms of Wild and Wind, the latter seemingly passed out on top of the former. They seemed to be okay, and Twilight groaned with relief, the feeling replacing the rush of adrenaline. He looked back over to Sky to see him kneeling, clutching his head, with the Master Sword fallen to the ground.

Twilight raised his weapon, keeping them at the ready. But it seemed as though he didn't have to.

"T-Twi?" Sky croaked out. Time inched forward, his gaze soft but wary.

The red glare in his eyes was gone, Time noticed, and as Sky lowered his hands, he caught sight of the burns that marred his palms, the pommel of the sword seared into his flesh. Time glanced around, noticing the silence and lack of Dark Link. He slowly knelt and grabbed a potion from his bag at his hip.

"Are you okay?" he asked. Sky didn't respond, merely staring at his hands with a faraway look in his eyes.

Time sighed, motioning for Twilight to check on the other two. As soon as they were bandaged and ready to be moved, they would head back to the inn. They all needed a break.

But the idea of Dark still being around, that he was behind all of this and that two of his boys were still missing. It did little to ease his thoughts.

There was only one place they could be.

Time hung his head and sighed again.

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #linkeduniverse fic #linked universe fic #linkeduniverse fics #threatening darkness series #counter clockwise fic #lu four #lu time #lu warriors #lu wild #lu twilight #lu sky #lu wind #Dark Link #//body horror #//manipulative dark link #//description of injuries #[body horror starts at 'Time put on the mask' and ends at 'He soon found']

20 notes · View notes

fairymadnessyeah · 4 years

Text

A Definitely Real Dad

Link to AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24016309

Summary: Gyro seeks advice from an expert when he is faced with his greatest foe yet: Parenting an adorable real boy.

Or Alternatively: Mad scientist feeling emotions for tiny adorable robot needs help from tired and expert parent that is also a sailor.

Notes: This needs to happen.

Also Ducktales Disney right now: "You get a child, you get a child, you get a child, EVERYBODY GETS A CHILD!!!!"

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

"Why do you think Doctor Gearloose invited us to his lab?" Huey asked his companions Louis, Dewey, Webby, Della and Donald as they rode the elevator to the underwater laboratory below McDuck Enterprises'.

The elevator dinged and open its doors, revealing Doctor Gearloose looking at a piece of paper while Manny, Lil Bulb and Fenton working on a turbine.

"Oh, the ducks are here!" Gyro exclaims, folding the paper he had on his hands and pocketing it in his pants. He gently leads the family to where his partners were working as he explains why he needed them here. "I need your assistance testing my new mega super plane turbine powered by gold!"

Almost all the ducks present gasp in amazement and run towards the invention. The only one that looks at it in suspicion is the mature Donald Duck. He eventually shrugs it off, his uncle's employee wouldn't purposely put his kids in danger. But then he feels a feathered hand on his shoulder and a dark aura behind him. He turned around slowly, the feathers at the back of his neck standing up.

Doctor Gyro Gearloose was looking down at him, his face neutral and the light shining against his glasses hid his eyes, making him look extremely intimidating. "You will come with me Mr Duck," The scientist tells him slowly and threateningly.

As the unluckiest duck on the world was being shoved to a side room by the mad scientist, his family, ignorant to what was happening to him, kept playing with the machine. Although it didn't take long for the kids and Della to lose interest. As the turbine got boring, they noticed that the duck sailor was missing. Fenton dismissed their worries though, telling them that Doctor Gearloose probably needed him for something and continued to show them his inventions.

"And these are my spy-bugs," Fenton presents, showing them a bunch of different flying insects robots. Pressing a code on a mini-computer, the firefly one activates, lifting into the air. "With these little guys, we would be able to have 24-hour surveillance. They all work in a hive-mind structure and are controlled by this remote device that can be connected with any sort of memory RAM. NOW CONTEMPLATE!" Fenton uses the remote device to move the firefly out of the room and then turn on the giant computer of the lab and it starts showing what the robot is recording.

"HOW COME YOU WON'T DO IT!?" A shout echoes nearby the robot and Fenton, recognising Dr Gearloose voice, makes the machine follow the sound. They see an office where Gyro is holding Donald by his uniform and shaking him. The scientist then sighs and lets him go. "Well, If you won't cooperate, then you leave me no choice!" Gyro declares as he takes off his glasses dramatically and stands taller over the duck, looking ready to destroy him.

"PLEEEEEEESSSSSEEEEEEEE!"

The peppers let go of the breath they were holding. Gyro had not done anything to Donald, instead, he fell to his knees and begged the other bird as he held his glasses in his hands clasped like a prayer.

"Alright, I'll help you," Donald sighs, his voice resembling that of a normal being. Dewey said he sounded like an actor from one of those comic book movies that everybody got crazy for. "But I can't guarantee results," Gyro got up and, out of nowhere, got top-notch audio recording gear and sat on a stool with a note pad and a pen.

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

"First," Donald started. "You need to listen. Listen to what they say, how they say it and what they don't say. That is usually where the problems appear,"

"You also need to be trustworthy. You want them to come to you with their problems. But until that happens, you need to show them that you can and will help them solve their problem,"

"But if they don't tell me what's wrong how am I supposed to know that something is even wrong?" Gyro asks.

"That is the next tip, notice the little details. For example, whenever Huey drinks chocolate-milk with three spoons of cocoa powder instead of two, means that his junior woodchuck meeting didn't go so well; Whenever Dewey does a dance that consists of two spins, one flip and landing on bent knees and jazz hands means he is proud of something; or whenever Louis gets a wrinkle next to his right eye, means he is lying,"

"But the two most important things you need to remember and never forget is that you are a parent and that your life is not only yours anymore,"

"What do you mean?" Gyro asks again. "I am his parent, what else would I be?"

"It means that you aren't his friend, you aren't his buddy that will never get mad and will do anything for you. You are his parent and sometimes, you have to be the bad guy of the story," Donald tells him.

"And the life-thing?"

"It's his no. You eat what they want to eat, you eat what they want to eat, you watch what they want to watch. Your life revolves around them, they matter more than you or your feelings now,"

Gyro nods and it looks like he is about to say something but the screen turns black.

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

"Hey," Dewey complains as the image disappears.

"I'm sorry little ducks, but that seemed like a private conversation and I refuse to eavesdrop on it anymore," Fenton tells them as the robotic-firefly returns and he leaves it with the rest. "Come, I have more inventions you can play with it," He gently guides them away from the monitor.

The ducks follow him with Lil Bulb behind them, except for one. The grown woman was starring at the screen. Every time she believed that she understood how the last years without her had been for her twin, she found out that there was something she had missed. And Donald's examples, about the tiniest details of the boys, she didn't know any of them, yet Donald seemed to know them by heart.

"Mom?" Dewey called as he turned back for her, after noticing she didn't follow them.

"Comin' honey" She snapped out of her inner monologue and followed her kids.

They spent a whole afternoon testing and helping Fenton, at some point, even Boyd joined them. The kids spent the evening together, playing, laughing and catching up. Boyd was now living full-time at the lab with Dr Gearloose, Manny and Lil Bulb.

The drakes had not taken the news very well, believing that once Boyd left, things would go back to the way things were before him. But the real boy made sure to pass his half of the inheritance to the two responsible adults, leaving Doofus without the power to be richer than his parents. They were all making plans for Boyd to come and sleepover at McDuck when the duck and the rooster that were missing came into the room. Dewey was the first one to ask for the cybernetic boy to come over.

"Well, I have no problem with it," Donald said in his normal voice.

"May I go, Dr Gearloose?" Boyd asks, looking up to the scientist.

"Maybe some other time, we still have to check if there is any residual damage from Beaks viruses on you," The chicken explains and pats the real boy on the head.

"Alright, thank you Dr Gearloose,"

Not long after the duck family is leaving, as well as Dr Fenton. Manny also retreated to his quarters soon enough. Gyro was working on Boyd wiring while the real boy was telling him about his day.

"And Mrs mom was very sad when I got to leave but she told me I can return any moment,"

"Would you like that?" Gyro asks remembering what Donald had told him. ("Make him feel listened to. Do things he likes, and if they want to do anything without you, let him be. You are not the only person in his life.")

"Yes, that would be splendid! Once my programme is clear, could we visit?" Boyd asks.

"Of Course we can," Gyro tells him as he closes the lid on the robot's head. "But now it's time to recharge so that you have all your energy for tomorrow. You have that Woodchuck-thingy you like, right?"

"Yes, my Junior Woodchuck meeting, at 9:30 sharp, remember to bring Ice-pops wood sticks," He says as if reading a remainder on a calendar while the scientist and his creation when to Boyd's room.

The room used to be a storage closet for failed projects, but they put up a sliding door to give Boyd more privacy. The real boy had a closet, a small library with a study table, a laptop, some video-games and a bed. The bed was more like a nest, with a Japanese mattress and a lot of pillows and blankets piled up to make a circular form. Boyd would usually sleep in the middle with the blankets and pillows cocooning him in warmth. Next to his bed-nest, there is a tall bulbless lamp. Doctor Gyro used to have it in his room since it was Lil Bulb's resting place, but the little rascal moved it once Boyd's room started being furnished.

"Alright, I'll drive you tomorrow and we will pick up what you need on the way," Gyro tells him as he connects wires to his back panel to charge him. "If you need anything I will be on the room next door," The chicken said. ("Always remind him that you are there for him. Kids tend to forget that,")

"Goodnight, Dr Gearloose!"

"Goodnight, Boyd!" He sees Lil Bulb climbing the lamp and posting himself on the top, before the light it emitted turned off before he leaves the room.

As soon as he is outside, the renewed scientist with a high intellect punched the air in excitement as the word "Success!" went off in his mind. When he turned to his side, heading towards his room, he saw Manny in front of his own door. The two scientists looked at each other for a while, no one moving, until the rooster fixes his clothes and his glasses.

"Not a tap from you, or your headless behind is fired," He tells the horse as he steps into his room.

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

Another date, another morning, another day where Doctor Gyro Gearloose wakes up to another mistake made by naive and foolish Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera that he had to deal with. This time in the form of a weird duck dressed in so much black, that the scientist is willing to bet its a hobo-emo that his stupid ex-intern picked up last night. The guy looks extremely beat up and not alone. There is also that stupid pilot that hangs around McDuck and a girl duckling.

Gyro sighs frustrated and rubs his temples. He did not have time for this. He had to take Boyd to his scouts meeting and even buy something on the way there.

"Explanation, Now," Gyro demand as he goes closer and checks on the individual better.

Launchpad, Fenton and the kid, who he learns her name is Gosalyn and the daughter of said hobo-emo, tell him that Gizmoduck and Darkwing Duck had a sort of agreement. They each take turns patrolling the city, both day and night, but last night, Darkwing came upon something too big for him and Gosalyn, who Gyro was starting to realize had more brain cells than the three adults combined, called Gizmoduck for back up. The two self-proclaimed superheroes ended the job, but the one not protected by a metallic super-suit, unsurprisingly, got the worst part of the stick and ended up in here to recover.

Just as they finished explaining their night full of shenanigans, Boyd came out into the main room of the lab, wearing his Junior Woodchuck uniform and a backpack.

"Oh, hi! I am B.O.Y.D! A definitely real boy!" The android says once he notices the other unknown ducks in the room.

"I want them out of my lab by the moment I'm back, Crackshell. Understood?" Gyro threatens the other scientist, that nods in response, and then turns to Boyd. "Come on Boyd, we don't want to be late to your meeting," The boy takes his hand and the two walk to the elevator.

"It was nice to meet you!" Boyd tells the others and waves as the elevator doors close.

The two birds head to the central park of Duckberg, stopping on a convenience store on their way. Using his moped is easier and faster than any car, not needing to wait for traffic. And even if Boyd can fly, he had already told him to only use his robotic enhancements when needed. Not to mention that it also helps with one of the tips he was given yesterday. ("You have to prioritize him. Once everything is done with him, you can follow with your day,")

The reach the park fairly quickly, but when he gives Boyd the things they bought for this meeting, he notices that the backpack moves. It takes him a second to realize that Bulb never came out of the boy's room.

"Come on out Lil Bulb," He tells the backpack, and sure enough, said invention comes out of the little boy's knapsack.

"He wanted to accompany me to my Junior Woodchuck meeting," Boyd tells him. "Can he come?" ("You have to set rules, boundaries. There are things that they can't do or can't touch. And you have to tell him so, because even if it sounds obvious to you, it might not to them.")

"He can't Boyd, I need him at the lab," He explains to the real boy.

"Understood. Goodbye, Doctor Gearloose!"

"I'll see you at lunch," The scientist gets back on his moped and straps his helmet on. He notices that Lil Bulb is giving his back to him with his arm crossed, as if offended over what happened. "Oh please, don't be difficult you too,"

As he makes his way back to the underwater lab, he can't help the feeling that those three lunatic and that girl are gonna be there. Not surprisingly, when the elevator's doors ding open, the idiot, the stupid and the girl are marvelling at the facility and its contents as hobo-emo was slowly getting off the table he was laid in and stretching his column back into place.

"Gosalyn, don't touch that! You don't know what it does!" He reprimands the girl.

Gyro sighs defeated and pours himself a cup of coffee. As he sips his revival elixir, his mind wanders at the purple and black buffoon before him. The guy was in a dire need of an upgrade. He didn't scream battle-suit like Gizmo, but maybe a few gadgets and a more protective and lasting outfit would benefit him. If the guy was going to go around and try to be a nameless and unrecognised vigilante, the least he could do was have more than just a costume and a poor ensemble of sidekicks.

"Gosalyn, No, Get down from there!" Or maybe what he needed was something else.

Gyro looked at the girl duckling, who was balancing over an old cloning tube of his, and then back at the nightly superhero, who had red lines over his eyes, enormous black bags under his eyes, a stiff neck and almost ready to drop dead any second now. Analysing the facts he had, he made a decision.

"Gosalyn, Get down from there, We need to go! Now!" The dark avenger of the night kept scolding the younger duck, that still lead him nowhere.

"Here," Gyro, out of nowhere, presented a card to the shorter man. "A parenting expert, it seems like you need it,"

Drake looks between the card and the scary mad scientist twice before taking the card. Gyro left him alone once he took it to keep working on his inventions, leaving Drake to his own devices with the card.

Donald Duck xxx-xxxx-xxxx McDuck Manor's Pool

#ducktales #b.o.y.d.#gyro gearloose #donald duck #fenton crackshell #darkwing duck #gyro dad #darkwing dad #parental figures #ao3fic

137 notes · View notes

teacupfulofstarshine · 4 years

Text

the crossroad of our destinies book one: earth

summary: virgil isn't sure how he got roped into this crazy adventure. somehow, he's traveling around with the avatar, his blind earth bending younger brother, a chipper air bender, and a banished fire bender prince, and they're supposed to save the world? virgil can't even tell them he's a water bender. he's not cut out to save anyone. little did he know, they're cut out to save each other - and maybe the whole world in the process.

(OR: an avatar the last airbender!au, centering around a water bender virgil)

a/n: i . . . wrote the entire first chapter in one day . . . how i still do not know . . . the confusion is real. huge, huge, HUGE amounts of thanks goes to @lovelylogans for cheerleading me through this and also beta reading the first chapter. this wouldn't exist without her, and i love her, and i am so eternally grateful

CW: atla-typical fantasy violence, brief nonspecific allusions to child abuse, angst, background death of minor unnamed OCs, family angst, mentions of burns

wordcount: 5882

read it on ao3!

“This is gonna be so interesting!” Patton says, draping himself on his belly over the ball of air beneath him. “I’ve never seen real earth bending before!”

“That would imply that there’s such a thing as fake earth bending, which there decidedly is not,” Logan says, adjusting his shirt with a huff. Virgil glances up from where he’s sharpening his knife next to the fire, raising an eyebrow.

“I’ve done all kinds of reading about earth bending!” Patton says, seemingly oblivious to Logan’s indignation. “There are scrolls about it all over the Air Nation temples, but I’ve obviously never seen one! Earth benders went extinct so long ago that -”

“What?” Thomas says, lifting his head to stare up at Patton.

“The Fire Nation desecration reaches beyond our home?” Logan asks, one hand curling into a fist at his side. “They have burned more villages to the ground than ours?”

Roman pokes at the campfire with a stick, keeping his eyes cast to the ground. “The Fire Nation is trying to wipe out all other benders. They don’t want anyone left but us. Why do you think I ran away from home? My father told me that the other nations attacked us first, but . . .”

“Falsehood,” Logan snaps. The earth begins to shake beneath him. “We would never do something so horrendous! The Earth Kingdom is a peaceful settlement, we - we would never -”

“Calm down, Rocky, I’m not accusing you,” Roman says. The campfire flares up, and Virgil’s eyes flicker to the waterskin at his side. His hands won’t move fast enough if Roman’s temper causes him to lose control. Something else might, but he refuses. “I’m just saying, there’s a lot of propaganda in the Fire Nation. We’re not all heartless evil bastards. Some of us are just trying to protect our homes. I abandoned a lot when I saved you and your brother from my father’s army.”

“Oh, yes, like what?” Logan snaps. “Like a cushy life in the palace? Like your status as the next in line for overlord of us all and destroyer of my people? Like -”

“Like my twin brother,” Roman says coolly, tone betraying the way the fire surges and sinks in time with his heavy breathing. “Like my best friend, the boy I was to marry. I loved him so much, and he helped me escape, and - and my father probably killed him for his insubordination. I’ll never see him again, and whose fault is that? Mine!”

The fire surges up in a pillar. Before anyone can react in a meaningful way, a vortex spirals to life around the flames. In a flash, all the oxygen is sucked out of the fire. It dies instantly, leaving a pile of half-charred twigs. Patton lets his bending stance drop, and the vortex falls away.

“Everyone,” he says quietly, “needs to take some deep breaths. It’s going to be okay. Everyone here has suffered at the hands of the Fire Nation. Everyone here has lost something. It’s okay to acknowledge that pain, and hurt, but it’s not okay to blame each other or ourselves. Roman, you can’t control what your father did to you any more than Thomas and Logan can control the fact that they’re earth benders.”

“I am an earth bender,” Logan says quietly. “Thomas is -”

“The Avatar,” Thomas says. He studies his hands in silence, and Virgil slides his knife into his boot.

“Yeah, well, Avatar or not, you were born an earth bender,” he says. Everyone looks at him in a surprise that he mirrors internally; he’s not really one for speaking up during moments like this. There have been plenty since they all started traveling together, but Virgil typically keeps his mouth shut.

“What?” Thomas asks. Logan turns his head towards Virgil’s voice. His unseeing eyes bore right through Virgil, as though they’re peering into his soul.

“You were born an earth bender,” Virgil repeats. “That’s the whole damn point of the Avatar cycle, isn’t it? The Avatar spirit gets cycled through all the nations so that each Avatar gets a new and different experience to the one before. No matter what anyone says, you’re an earth bender. Just ‘cause you’re the Avatar too, that doesn’t change your birthright.”

His voice slips away from him, falling into the familiar cadence of his grandmother telling him stories as a young child. “You are an earth bender. You were born with the pull of Mother Earth in your bones. The Lion-Turtles have gifted you with an awareness of what is beneath us, always, a firm and unyielding constant in a world too fluid to appreciate it. You must hold steadfast to what is right and true, because no one else will do it for you. Air, flighty and fluid; fire, scorching and shifting; water, rapid and raging; all these will move from one form to the next as it suits their needs. You must anchor them, or no one will.”

He blinks, snapping himself out of the strange trance he lulled himself into, and becomes aware of the other three staring at him. “What?” he snaps defensively.

“That was . . . something,” Thomas says. “Where’d you get a story like that?”

“My grandmother,” Virgil says, pulling a knife from inside his robe. He makes sure that everyone catches the sharpness of its edge glinting under the half-full moon before he goes back to sharpening it. “She would tell me stories of the other benders all the time, how every element has its strengths and drawbacks. She told me that every element plays a role in keeping the world balanced, and that someone would have to repair what the Fire Nation was breaking without destroying the Fire Nation in the process.”

“And why not?” Logan asks - not accusing, genuinely curious. He shifts one foot a couple of inches and a rock springs from the ground next to Thomas, allowing Logan to sit down.

“Because if we lose fire benders completely, we lose everything we worked to rebuild. We need harmony between all four elements. That includes Princey and his fire bending.”

Roman thrusts a fist forward, and the campfire reignites itself as a small fireball bursts from his fist. “Thanks, Waterboy.” Virgil flinches a little. “What? You’re from the Southern Water Tribe, aren’t you?”

“What? Yeah. What about it?”

Roman just shrugs and goes back to the campfire.

*~*~*~*~*

Logan is amazing at earth bending.

Granted, Virgil knows next to nothing about the techniques, other than the fact that they involve a lot of foot movements and heavy grounding. It seems to be the complete antithesis of Patton’s air bending and Roman’s fire bending, both of which appear to center heavily on movement. Still, it’s plain to see that Logan is something of a prodigy. He moves as though the earth he bends is an extension of his own body, controlling it with an easy, fluid grace that belies his solid stances.

It’s hard to believe, watching him, that he’s the younger brother. It’s hard to believe that he can’t see anything. Roman comments as much, and Logan sends him flying with a blunted earth spike without so much as turning to face him.

“Ow!” Roman shrieks. He’s unharmed, of course; Patton had swiftly leapt into the air to catch him and return him to the ground. “What was that for?”

“I can so see,” Logan retorts. He barely comes up to Roman’s shoulder, but he’s solidly built, despite his young age.

“I thought you were blind!”

“I am. My eyes have never seen a day of my life. That does not mean I cannot see, you moron. I simply do not see with my eyes. I use my feet to see. The ground tells me everything I need to know. You, for example, are currently clinging to Patton like a terrified lemur, and he is hovering approximately as far above the ground as my forearm is long.”

“How do you do that?!” Roman says, dropping from Patton’s arms to land on the ground. “Also, there’s no way that you’re strong enough to take me down.”

“And why not?” Logan asks. “I could so take you down.”

“This is a bad idea,” Virgil says.

“You could not!” Roman boasts.

“This is a bad idea,” Virgil repeats.

“That sounds like a challenge,” Logan says, turning in Roman’s direction and tilting his head in a clear act of dismissal. “Unless you are afraid to face a young, blind earth bender, Prince Roman?”

Roman’s face changes from pride to ice in a split-second. He’ll tolerate Virgil’s “Princey” jabs, but he hates being called by his proper title. “You’re on.”

“Not here!” Thomas yelps. “We are standing in a very flammable forest, and none of us can water bend!”

“Aren’t you the Avatar, master of all elements?” Roman says testily.

“Only in the Avatar state, at the moment, which I cannot trigger on my own! If you guys set the whole forest on fire, people will come and investigate! We can’t risk being found - I can’t risk being found!”

The sound of his older brother’s voice seems to snap Logan out of it, at the very least. He shifts his left foot, and Virgil shivers as a small earthquake rumbles through the ground. It’s low-scale enough that anyone else who notices it will pass it off as normal seismic activity. For their little group, however, it’s much more than that; it’s Logan checking the nearby terrain.

If that isn’t enough to terrify Roman into surrender, Virgil seriously worries about the state of his brain.

“There is an isolated rocky plain not far from here,” Logan says. “I suggest that we have our battle there. Will tomorrow suffice?”

“Fine by me,” Roman spits, stalking away. Patton drops to the ground and begins to croon to his giant sky bison Remy, stroking his nose. Remy huffs out a breath that rustles the trees around them. Virgil is inclined to agree.

*~*~*~*~*

“I have said it before, and I will say it again. This is a BAD idea.”

Virgil tugs his thick jacket on over his loose tunic and pants. Logan sits next to him, controlling a small mound of earth like it’s wet clay. With every shift of his perpetually-bare feet, he changes its shape.

“I will not be injured,” Logan says. “Roman will not intentionally injure me. He considers me an opponent beneath him, and he is too gallant to harm a child.”

“How old are you, anyway? Not judging or anything, I’m just . . . curious.”

Logan’s earth mound trembles. “I am . . . twelve years and six months old.”

Virgil just blinks at him. He’d thought that Patton, newly fourteen, was the youngest member of their crew; he and Roman are both sixteen, and Thomas is seventeen. He’s assumed this whole time that Logan is around Patton’s age, maybe a few months older, despite his slight stature. “That’s . . . younger than I was expecting.”

“Are you going to remove me from your expedition?” Logan challenges. He clenches his fist, and the earth mound shatters into dust. “I will not abandon Thomas. He is my brother, the only remnant I have of my family. Of my village, my people, my culture. He is everything to me. I will not return to an ashen husk of my home because you do not consider me mature enough for this journey.”

“You’re the most mature person here, and anyone who says otherwise is an idiot,” Virgil says, holding up his hands in an “I-mean-no-harm” gesture. He says it because it’s true, because he believes it, but he also says it because he can see the way the earth trembles below Logan. It reminds him of the sea, in a way - calm and quiet, but constantly roiling beneath the glassy surface.

Logan takes a deep breath, air in and out, and the earth calms to stillness on his exhale.

“Thank you, Virgil.”

“You’re welcome. Now that the mushy shit’s out of the way - this is a terrible idea and you shouldn’t fight Roman. Not because you’re young or weak or anything like that, but because if one of you gets seriously injured, it’s not like we can waltz into the nearest village and ask for help.”

Logan shakes his head, smiling. He looks much older than twelve and a half.

“Trust me, Virgil. This will not be much of a fight.”

*~*~*~*~*

“If I could talk him out of this, I would,” Thomas tells Virgil. They’re sitting on a tall mound of earth that Thomas had bended up from the plain. Patton hovers casually behind them, sitting cross-legged on a ball of air. Logan and Roman stand facing each other, arms at their sides.

“The duel will end when one of the participants is unable to bend, or when one participant cedes to the other,” Virgil announces. He’s still not sure how he got roped into refereeing this crazy death match. Patton bends the wind so that his voice carries down to Logan and Roman, but he doesn’t have to. It’s so silent that Virgil could hear for miles. “No attacks shall be permitted which may result in death or grievous bodily harm. Are these rules understood by the participants?”

“They are,” Roman says. They’re different than the rules to a Fire Nation duel, Virgil thinks, judging by the slight confusion that crosses Roman’s face before he settles back to cool indifference.

“They are,” Logan says. He and Roman are an arm’s-length apart.

“Bow!” Virgil calls. Logan and Roman each take a step backward and bow from the waist, a sign of respect between duel participants. Despite their bickering, they do respect each other. (Virgil thinks.)

“Turn and walk! Ten or fifteen paces!” The traditional standard is ten paces, but Logan’s legs are much shorter than Roman’s, so he has to walk fifteen paces to cross the same amount of ground that Roman does in ten. They turn around and walk, and once they’ve made it the designated distance they turn back to each other.

“Ready your bending stances!” Roman squares his shoulders and lifts his hands, curling them into fists. Logan spreads his feet apart, planting them shoulder-width apart. Virgil raises a hand up high, bringing it down sharply to connect with his palm like a knife slicing through a fresh kill.

“Begin!”

Roman immediately launches a huge fireball at Logan. It’s red, the lowest intensity Roman is capable of producing. Virgil laughs internally; Logan was right. Roman is holding back. Thomas makes a worried noise, but Logan is unaffected. He shifts one foot, thrusts his hands out and flicks them up, and suddenly a massive wall of earth rises in front of him. Roman’s fireball slams harmlessly into it, singing the upper layer of dust but otherwise having no effect.

“I knew you would temper your attacks for me!” Logan shouts, dropping his wall. “If that had been your usual strength, my wall would have disintegrated!”

“And you took that risk?!” Roman says.

“Because I knew you would go easy on me! That is not the point of this duel, Roman! Fight me like you mean it!” Logan stamps his foot, and two massive pillars of earth rise up beside him, one on either side. Another stamp, and the pillars segment into disks. Logan begins to move, still between the pillars as he hurls the disks of earth at Roman.

Roman dodges the first few disks easily, but Logan is relentless. For every few disks he throws, he stamps his food again, and the pillars rise up again. He draws more and more earth up from beneath him, and it’s all Roman can do to keep himself from being crushed.

“Are you trying to kill me?!”

“I thought you were a prince! You should be stronger than this!”

Roman stands perfectly still, and Logan sends a disk hurtling towards him. Roman screams and throws his hands forwards, and a massive burst of golden-orange fire roars out. It engulfs the disk, pushing it backwards and melting it. Molten rock splashes to the ground, and Roman runs forward. He has twin flames clenched in his fists, like knives, and Logan grins wildly.

“Finally!”

The ground grows soft beneath his feet. Roman yells, thrusts a fire-knife forward like he’s going to stab Logan in the head, and Logan vanishes. He drops down, sinking below the earth, and Roman whirls around, confused. The pillars sink down into the ground, and Roman growls.

“Get up here and fight like a man!”

The ground rumbles beneath him, almost like Logan is laughing, and then a pillar of earth bursts up beneath Roman and sends him flying into the air. As he falls, another pillar flies up, smashing into him, and then another and another and another. Roman is knocked around like a ragdoll; he fire bends in the air, hurling jets of flame at the earth, but Logan is apparently so far underground that he is unaffected.

Finally, he slams onto the earth, flat on his back. Logan pops up from underground, covered in a layer of dust, breathing heavily. He takes a single step towards Roman and collapses.

“Logan!” Thomas shouts. Roman pushes himself to sit up, placing a hand along Logan’s neck. The earth bender doesn’t stir. Roman says something, but it’s inaudible. “Patton, please!”

“On it,” Patton says, bending Roman’s words toward them.

“He’s alive,” Roman rasps in their ears. Thomas stands, slamming his foot into the ground, and a curved chute carves itself into their observation mound. Another stamp, and a flat piece of earth appears at the mouth of the chute. Thomas leaps onto it and begins to surf down towards Roman and Logan.

“A little help?” Virgil asks Patton dryly. Patton offers his hand, pulling Virgil up into his arms, and then they’re flying.

*~*~*~*~*

Logan sleeps for about six hours before sitting up, rubbing at his eyes. “What hit me?” he groans. “Did I lose the duel?”

“You both lost, morons,” Virgil says shortly.

“You and I are the only ones here - no, wait, someone else is laying by the fire. Roman?”

“Yeah. He’s sleeping off what you two did to each other. Patton and Thomas are off by the river getting water, because if I have to watch Thomas mother-hen over you two anymore I’m gonna lose my fucking mind.” He stabs angrily at the fire. “You over-exerted yourself with that crazy tunneling move.”

“I . . . have never tried it on that large a scale before,” Logan admits, shakily sitting up. “Even now, my bending feels . . . exhausted. My vision is foggy. I - for the first time since I learned to bend, I feel truly blind.” He sounds like a scared kid, and it’s enough to evaporate what’s left of Virgil’s anger.

“Hey, you’re alright,” he says gruffly. “No one’s dead, and you two hopefully have a better understanding of each other’s power now, right?” Logan nods, silent. “Good. Just know that if you ever scare your brother and Patton -” ( and me, he doesn’t say) “- again, I’ll drown you in the fucking river.”

Logan cracks a smile at that, and it doesn’t fade, even when Thomas returns from the river and practically tackles him into a tearful hug.

*~*~*~*~*

Sometimes, Virgil has regrets.

Remy coasts through the sky, Patton seated on his head with a loose grip on the reins. Logan, Thomas, and Roman all huddle together, Roman in the middle so that his warmth exudes out to encompass them like a bubble. Virgil is starfished on his back, staring up at the sky. It’s so different to the one that he’s used to seeing over the Southern Pole.

He misses home.

He misses the familiar sting of ice and snow against his skin. He misses the scent of seal jerky drying out next to the campfires. He misses packing down the firm snow to create walls for the igloo, misses hunting with his friends and family.

He misses bending.

The Fire Nation thinks that they have eradicated water benders from the Southern Pole. They believe that Virgil’s father, whom they cruelly killed on their last raid, was the final water bender.

They think incorrectly.

Virgil’s father sacrificed himself to save his son. The pendant Virgil wears around his neck, carved from the rib bone of an ancient and mighty Lion-Turtle, was the only thing he was allowed to keep when his father’s body was prepared for burial. His mother gave it to his father when they were married. She died bringing him into the world, and the Fire Nation made him an orphan.

“Virgil?” Thomas asks, shifting on Roman’s chest. “Are you okay?”

Virgil exhales, rolling over so that he’s facing his sleepy friends. “Yeah, Thomas, I’m okay. Just homesick, you know?”

“I get that,” Thomas says. He reaches over and gently touches his sleeping brother. “At least I have Lo with me, to remind me of home. You don’t even have that. I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Virgil says easily. “It’s not like I have a family to go back to, anyway.”

A sad look crosses Thomas’s face, but he doesn’t push. Virgil can’t decide if he’s grateful or disappointed.

*~*~*~*~*

It’s amusing to watch Logan drill Thomas in earth bending. Every time Thomas messes up, Logan throws a pebble at him, and not with his earth bending, either. He will literally pick up the nearest chunk of rock and throw it at Thomas. He hits him in the arm without fail.

Virgil snickers from where he’s darning a tear in his pants. He has a bone needle in his pack, and it doesn’t take a lot of skill to find plants that he can twist into sturdy fiber thread. He’s already got a pretty sizable ball of thread rolled up beside him.

“You can sew?” Roman asks.

Virgil flinches at the sudden noise, nearly pricking his finger with the needle. “Don’t scare a guy like that, Princey!”

An upset expression crosses Roman’s face, but he brushes it off. “Still!”

“Yeah, I can sew. In the Water Tribe, you have to learn to do stuff for yourself.” Especially when the Fire Nation kills your parents, he doesn’t say.

Roman bounces eagerly. “Do you think you could teach me to do that?”

“Why the hell do you wanna know how to sew?”

“If something rips, I have to be able to fix it myself,” Roman says firmly. “Teach me, please?”

Virgil sighs. “I only have one needle, so you have to wait until I’m done with this actual work before I start teaching you. You will prick your fingers a lot, and you are not allowed to bitch at me for this. You brought this upon yourself.”

Roman just grins, sharp and wild. It’s the grin of a Fire Nation child, and it should strike terror into Virgil’s heart. He’s almost more terrified by the fact that it doesn’t.

*~*~*~*~*

Virgil quietly creeps away, after ensuring that everyone else is soundly asleep. They’re fortunate enough to have camped near a river this time, despite the fact that they’re still in the middle of the woods as they travel. What their endgame is, Virgil doesn’t know. For now, they’re just traveling so that the Fire Nation doesn’t catch them off guard, complacent in one place.

He steps into the river, and the feeling of water around his ankles is soothing. “Hello,” he breathes.

Virgil knows that his father wasn’t a water bender. He doesn’t think his mother was a water bender, either, although it’s impossible to say. The pendant that she gave his father was carved by water bending, tiny thin streams of water manipulated skillfully along the surface until they etched grooves. It doesn’t make sense that she would have trusted its creation to someone else, but if she had no choice . . .

Despite his insecurities, being in the water always makes him feel closer to both of them.

He slowly lifts a hand, and a stream of water coils up to meet him. It wraps around his wrist, like a vine, like a friend, coiling up towards his neck. Virgil exhales, tips backwards, and lets himself fall into the water. He moves his hands as he falls, bending the river water so that it flows around his head. The water rushes through his ears, and Virgil is at peace.

He stares up at the full moon, pretending he can see his father’s smile staring back at him in the craters on its surface.

*~*~*~*~*

“There are spirits in this place,” Thomas says. His eyes aren’t glowing the way they do when the Avatar State overtakes him, but there is an unnatural shine to his irises. “They are here, and they are angry.”

“Why?” the village leader asks. Thomas turns his head towards the village leader’s young daughter, sees the way she cowers away from her father. Virgil doesn’t have whatever supernatural perception Thomas does, but he doesn’t need Avatar State eyes (or whatever the fuck is going on) to see the bruises that litter her arms under her tight sleeves.

Thomas takes a step forward. The earth shakes beneath him. Logan shifts to a bending stance in a single breath, but Thomas puts a hand out to stop him. Ice-blue wisps of fog coil up around him, and Virgil takes a step backwards as a massive spirit-dragon appears in the village square.

“They are angry,” Thomas repeats, and his voice reverberates with a power well beyond his years.

Yeah. Virgil’s pretty angry, too.

*~*~*~*~*

“I didn’t know you could do that,” Logan comments idly, as they fly away from the village. He’s holding tightly to his brother; without the ground to, well, ground him, he tends to cling to Thomas. “With the spirits.”

“You could sense them?”

“Not with my earth bending. They’re not solid. But I could feel them. I knew they were there, and . . . and once you spoke, I knew they were angry.”

“No child should be hurt,” Roman says darkly. He’s slumped over the side of the saddle, watching the ground pass by below him. “No - no child. No child should be hurt.”

Patton is silent, clutching Remy’s reins with white knuckles. He’s been silent since they left, but Virgil is too attentive to miss the tears streaming down his face. They’d saved the day, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t a pit in all their stomachs.

*~*~*~*~*

When the Fire Nation soldier bursts through the bushes, everyone moves in an instant.

Patton and Logan spring in front of Thomas immediately; Logan is in an earth bending stance and Patton has wind spiraling around his fingertips. Virgil draws a knife from his sleeves and grips it tightly. The soldier looks to be in his mid-sixties or so, with gray-white hair pulled back in a topknot and a beard flowing down his front. He has a round potbelly, but there is something sharp and militant in his eyes.

Roman is the only one who hasn’t moved. “U - uncle?!”

Everyone stops and stares at him. “Uncle?” Patton echoes. The Fire Nation soldier blinks at Roman, and his entire face softens.

“My beloved nephew.”

Roman throws himself at the strange soldier, and the soldier catches him, hugging him and holding him close. “Uncle! Uncle, you - what happened?! After I left, Remus, Dee - what happened to them?!”

“I will explain all in time,” the soldier (Uncle?) says. “But first, perhaps you should tell your new friends that I am not a threat before they kill me?” There’s a wry smile on his lips as he looks at them all, a bedraggled group of teenagers ready to fight and kill.

Roman just hugs the strange man tighter, and Virgil sheaths the knife when he hears Roman’s muffled sobs. Despite their constant bickering, he knows that Roman really, truly does miss his home, and now he has a small piece of it back. Virgil imagines he’d react in a similar way if a member of his family showed up right now (even though he has no one to show up). He can’t begrudge Roman this little scrap of comfort.

*~*~*~*~*

The Fire Nation soldier is revealed to be Roman’s Uncle Emile, brother of the current Fire Lord. “My brother,” Emile says, stroking his beard slightly, “can only be described as . . . a little bitch.”

“Remus,” Roman repeats, sitting next to his Uncle and gripping his hand. “My brother, Uncle, what happened to him? What happened to Dolos?”

“Your father was furious at them for letting you and the young earth benders escape the capital,” Emile says. “He dared not wound Prince Remus, but Dolos is only a noble’s son. He was spared no such courtesy.”

“Is he dead?” Roman whispers. He’s shaking; Virgil wonders if he should attempt to offer some sort of comfort.

“He is not dead,” Emile says. “Your father challenged him to an Agni Kai - a traditional fire bending duel. Dolos barely fought back. He knelt, prostrated himself, begged for forgiveness. The Fire Lord did not grant it. The left side of his face and torso are badly burned. But he will survive.”

Roman blinks, and tears pour down his face.

“Your father banished him, and you as well,” Emile says. “Remus has been sent on a mission to capture the Avatar - to capture you.”

“Where is Dolos?” Roman rasps.

“Remus insisted on taking him with him. He told your father that he would leave Dolos in an outlying colony somewhere, but he remains below deck on the ship. He is healing from his wounds. He will be scarred for life, but he will still have a life.”

“I want to see them,” Roman says.

Emile shakes his head. “Prince Roman, no. It is a bad idea.”

“Why?”

“If you are spotted on board the Fire Nation ship, the crew will have no choice but to take you back to the Fire Nation as a prisoner. You are a fugitive. It cannot be risked.”

“I’ll risk my own safety if I damn well please!” Patton flinches at Roman’s shout, but Emile remains calm.

“I will not risk your safety, Nephew. Will you risk the safety of your twin? Your betrothed? Your new friends?”

Roman’s fire-angry glare shifts to them, to Virgil, who meets his eyes coolly even despite his terror. He won’t let Roman know that he’s afraid. He knows how much Roman hates it when they look at him as though he’s a fire bender to be afraid of. Roman exhales, and the campfire flares but he remains calm.

“I . . . I won’t. But I miss them, Uncle.”

“I know you do,” Emile says. “My status as a disgraced general has finally come in handy, for I have been assigned as your brother’s advisor on this so-called fool’s errand. I will do my best to keep him safe and out of trouble.”

Roman fidgets with his hands. “Could . . . could I write them a letter?”

Emile hums, considering. “I suppose that could be arranged.”

Roman scribbles down two scrolls and passes them to his uncle. “Please take care of them for me, until - until I can come back and take care of them myself.” Emile nods, kissing his forehead.

“I am proud of you, my nephew.”

He disappears back through the bushes he came from, and Roman stares longingly after him. “Roman?” Patton asks. “Would - do you want a hug?” Roman stands stiff, back straight, shoulders pushed back. For a moment, he doesn’t look like their friend. He looks like a soldier.

Then he turns around, and his eyes are wide and wet, and there’s snot dribbling down one corner of his face. “ Yeeeeeeeees,” he wails. Patton smiles, opens his arms, and lets Roman come crashing into them.

*~*~*~*~*

Before they head out the next morning, a bird flutters down to land in front of Roman. He gasps when he realizes what it is, gathering the sharp-taloned bird into his arms and crooning over it. He showers its head in kisses. Virgil is lost.

“This is Dragon! He was my pet back home, he’s a messenger hawk!” The bird chirps, nibbles on Roman’s ear lobe, and presents him with the parchment tied to his leg. Roman snatches the scroll, unrolling it eagerly, and Virgil peers over his shoulder.

The upper half of the scroll is a near-illegible scrawl, with a splotched signature that Virgil can barely make out as “Prince Remus” accompanying some doodles and a splatter that looks almost like blood. The lower half is in shaky but beautiful calligraphy. The opening address is “My darling flower,” and the ending signature reads “Yours forever, Dolos.”

“My love,” Roman whispers, tracing his fingers over Dolos’s signature. “And my brother . . . I love them . . . so much.”

“You gave up a lot to be with us,” Thomas says. “I appreciate everything that you’ve sacrificed. Logan and I would be dead without you.”

“I’m glad no one is dead,” Roman says softly, voice wavering. “I just . . .”

“You love them,” Patton says. “We understand.”

Roman strokes the parchment. His fingers come away slightly black with ink from the upper portion that his brother scrawled, and he exhales. “I am going to write them back. I’ll send Dragon to them. I’m not losing touch with my family, not again. Not this time. Remus and Dolos aren’t going to leave my life, not this time. They’ve got just as big a bone to pick with my father as we do. They can give us usable information.”

“Will that endanger them?” Logan asks.

“Uncle Emile is there, too. He can help them be discreet. I’m not abandoning my old family for this one, but - but I won’t betray you to my father, either. That’s not what a prince does.” Roman squares his shoulders again, and Virgil blinks in surprise. Roman doesn’t look ridiculous, like a child-soldier, or militant, like an enemy. He looks proud and strong and regal.

He looks like a real prince.

“I support you,” Logan says, startling all of them. “You are a prince, even if you are not our prince. I trust your judgement.” Roman seems the most shocked of all of them by Logan’s bold proclamation, especially considering the heated duel they’d had just three weeks ago, but Logan’s milky grey eyes look like they’re staring into Roman’s soul.

Virgil is familiar with that look.

“If Lo trusts you, I trust you,” Thomas says, and he smiles widely. Patton nods, smile bright and bubbly, and Roman looks to Virgil. He offers a thumbs-up and ruffles Roman’s hair. Roman squawks and bats at him, pushing him away. Virgil laughs and falls over easily into a back-bend.

“Once you’re sure Thomas is solid on his earth-bending, we’re going to a sacred Fire Nation site on the fringes of the empire,” Roman tells Logan. “Fire comes next in the Avatar cycle, right? After earth?”

“I think so?” Thomas says.

“I know so,” Logan confirms. “And I think he’s ready.”

Roman nods, and the fire blazing in his eyes is the most reassuring thing Virgil’s seen in quite a while. (It’s strange to say, considering Roman is a Fire Nation prince, but Virgil’s used to people judging him by appearances. He’s learning to reconsider his assumptions.)

“Alright then,” Roman says. “I’ll write back to my brother, try and find out what sites might be relatively empty so that we can camp ourselves out there. Fire Nation, here we come.”

#starshinewrites #avatar!au #platonic TLAMP #sympathetic remus #sympathetic deceit #romantic roceit

311 notes · View notes

softkim2 · 5 years

Text

It Seems my Lonely Days are Through

↳ story header made by yours truly. I do not own the rights to the image used.

» Pairing(s): Number Five & Teen!Vanya Hargreeves

» Genre(s): Angst, Romance, & Humor

» Warning(s) / Ratings: Swearing / PG-13

» Words: 3.3K

» Summary: ❝Sadly…Just like any other promise…It was made to be broken…❞ Just when Vanya felt that she could rely on Five forever, she knew deep down that he always wanted to time-travel. She just didn't know that he'd say something to their father so soon...

Another day of being left behind. Another point added to her mental scoreboard. Then, this oh so familiar emotion entered her mind. This feeling of being unwanted…unloved…unneeded… No one needed her around. No one wanted her around. And eventually, that feeling became her true companion. Her insecurities heightened. A sad smile became a permanent one. No longer did she wanted to smile because she’s happy but smile to get unwanted questions from a certain someone. Out of all of her siblings, Vanya only cared about having certain judgmental stares from her brother, Five. Ever since he’d grown to trust her with his innermost worries and problems, Vanya didn’t want to disappoint him nor worry him with her own personal issues.

So…just like any other – normal – adolescent…she buried them deep within her psyche and called it a day. As long as Five had someone to vent his problems too, then Vanya was content with bottling up her emotions. Maybe her father giving those pills was a blessing in disguise. It helped suppressed her emotions – her feelings – a lot easier. Though, not enough for her to become this emotionless robot. That’s when Five would raise a few questions and more than likely lash out on either their father, their siblings, or a combination of both. And she didn’t want that. There’s already a tiny riff between Five and her and the rest of the family. She didn’t want it to worsen.

Just like with any family…

They needed each other…

They may not need each other right this moment but eventually they would.

It’s only a matter of seconds…

Taking a deep breath and slowly exhaling, Vanya mustered all of her remaining mental strength to compose herself. She took a glance at the clock, knowing that just like the previous days, her siblings would be returning from their afternoon training session shortly. She didn’t want her siblings, specifically Five, to see her cheeks stained with tears. Her eyes almost bloodshot from the number of tears that trickled down the sides of her precious face.

No. She needed to be strong. Unbothered by the constant ridicule and reminder that she’s simply ordinary. There’s nothing special about her.

With a few more breaths. Vanya managed to compose herself. A somber expression appeared on her face as she picked up her violin, that rested against the couch she had been sitting on. She positioned the violin underneath her chin and against her shoulder. Then, she positioned both the bow and her fingers. Her eyes focused on the sheet music before her. With one final breath, releasing any emotions that threatened to spill out, Vanya began playing. The first few notes were light, almost energetic, Then, it became eerie. Practically haunting as the sounds of rushing footsteps echoed throughout the foyer.

Yup. Like clockwork.

“New song?” The violinist heard Klaus ask. A rare interaction whenever he needed a distraction from his ghoulish friends.

The corners of her lips quirked up as Vanya nodded, continuing to play the beautiful musical piece. Shortly, she became lost to the music. This feeling of tranquility consumed her as she executed each section perfectly. Even her brother, Diego, complimented her playing, and that’s extremely rare. He almost never said anything nice to her. Unless Five managed to persuade Diego to apologize for being an asshole.

She’d always appreciate it when Five came to her protection. With him around, she’s able to lower her shields but even then, it didn’t last long. She’d soon remember what her father, Reginald, had discussed with her weeks prior.

“I told you, Number Seven, I do not want you interfering with your siblings training. They already have enough on their minds and do not need their ordinary sister getting in the way…”

God. She honestly lost count how many times she’d been called ordinary by her dear old dad. She could fill up a jar with how much she’d been called that. That’s how bad it was. That’s how much it’s instilled in her precious mind.

She’s just plain…old…

“I know that look. What did our asshole of a father say to you now?” An oh so familiar voice interrupted her train of thought. Her body flinched as she didn’t expect someone to linger around. And because of that, she accidentally played a few sour notes, causing both her and the other person to wince. Their poor ears.

Vanya then removed the violin from her shoulder and hugged it against her chest. She swiveled her body around and came face-to-face with Five. The one sibling she didn’t want to see right this second.

“It’s nothing, Five.” She said shortly before gently placing her violin back in its case and locking it. “I’ll see you at dinner.” She quickly added, brushing past him and heading to her sanctuary. Her safe haven. Her room.

His brows became knitted together. He drew his lower lip between his teeth as confusion glazed over his eyes. He couldn’t help but follow her retreating body, wondering if he had done something to cause such a strange reaction.

Had he unintentionally lashed out on her and forget to apologize? No, because he had been always careful to never take his frustrations on her. Luther and Diego? Yes. Vanya? Never.

Did he forget about an important secret meeting between? Nah. That couldn’t be it as he personally scheduled them with her. He constantly found himself needing her calm presence. Never vice-versa.

So, why did she run away from him? Why did his heart ache a little as she quickly dismissed his act of concern?

Then, thanks to his highly intelligent brain, Five soon realized that it had to do with the monster that they had to unfortunately call, “father”. He felt like an imbecile for not putting the puzzle pieces together sooner. Five wasn’t blind. He knew that there’s indeed a sudden change within Vanya. He just either didn’t have the time to talk to her about it or weren’t able to get some valuable alone time with her. He had been preoccupied with his spatial jump training or working on how to perfect the act of time-travel. Reginald recommended that he practice his spatial jumping, then Five could learn how to time-travel. Yet week after week, Five had yet to see a change in his training regimen. That only pissed him off even more. Now, the icing on the cake was when he noticed a bigger separation between him and Vanya. She’d either be by Reginald’s side or doing her own thing around the time he and the rest of their siblings are training or on a mission.

He rarely had the chance to hang around her and enjoy her presence. Shit. He started to forget how it felt to hug her. How her body fitted perfectly against his. How, right now, they were at a perfect height that complimented one another.

A faint scoff escaped his lips as an amused smirk slowly appeared on his lips. Five found his thoughts to be quite humorous.

“So…this is what a love sick teen feels like…” He thought, shaking his head as he stuffed his hands inside his pockets. Then, his gaze focused on the grandfather clock nearby. He noted the time and quickly calculated if he had enough time to have some much needed one-on-one time with his beloved Vanya.

Luckily…

He did…

Without a second to lose, he activated his spatial jumping, teleporting himself in the hallway that led to his and his siblings’ bedrooms. He remained still; his ears listened for any sounds that could indicate that someone would be leaving their room. Though, he doubted it as his siblings liked to lock themselves away to obtain a moment of peace. They practically spent every single day with each other. A few hours without being in the presence of another wouldn’t kill them.

Five waited a few more seconds before teleporting himself in front of Vanya’s room. Then, just as he raised his hand to politely knock on her door, he heard a sound that he vowed to never hear again…

Vanya’s cries…

To this day, the sassy teen remembered the first time he heard her heartbreaking sobs. It felt like someone got lucky enough to get a clean on him and repeated those punches. His chest tightened whenever he recalled that ”lovely” memory so vividly.

Not wanting to put him and Vanya through this horrendous torture, Five barged right in and slammed the door shut, uncaring if that were to alert his other siblings. If anything, he prayed that they heard, so they could see what their cruel acts and words had done to his Vanya.

No one would be allowed to cause her tears – and this time – he’d do a fucking better job at protecting her.

She’d never have to go through with this alone ever again.

Without saying a word, Five rushed to her side and kneeled in front of her. Just like when he grew enough balls to rest his hand on top of hers, he did it again. His hands grasped hers just as a few tears landed on his hot skin.

His jaw tightened. Her lips quivered. Love and concern flashed in his eyes while hers remained shut as tears continued to fall. She hated herself for reaching this breaking point but after seeing Five and hearing his voice, she just broke. All of her inner desperate pleas came rushing out the gates in the form of sobs.

She hated having to pretend that there’s nothing between them. No friendship. No adoration. Nothing. Not even a blossoming love that’d be considered taboo in the public eye. She had been forbidden to interact with him. Her one source of happiness.

She absolutely despised it, but if it meant that Five would be one step closer to his potential, then so be it. Strangers they would be.

“Vanya…” Her mind registered the softness in his voice. No. No. No. He shouldn’t be in here. If their father caught them – together – like this, then there’d be Hell to pay. No. Five had to leave.

Choking back a few of her sobs, Vanya controlled her breathing, though it’s proven difficult. Her breathing had become incredibly sporadic. Wild.

“You…have…to…go…” She managed to say even though it’s painful to do so.

Five looked taken back. Hurt burned in his eyes. Why was she shutting him out? Just like how she’s there for him, he’s there for her. He’d be her support whenever she felt like giving up.

She had constantly reminded him that she’s there for him. No matter what.

Now…

It’s his turn…

Gently wiping away the tears with his thumbs, Five allowed his hands to remain on her face. His eyes studied her facial expression, also noting her body language, allowing it to relax just a bit before speaking again. He didn’t want to trigger her again.

“Vanya…” He began; his voice almost a whisper, “Talk to me. What’s on your mind?” He asked, concern dripping on every single word.

Vanya remained silent, slightly leaning against his touch. His cold hand felt nice against her warm cheek. Her gaze studied Five’s face, noting how scared yet concern he was. This would be the second time she had seen that gaze. The first time was when he had found her crying her eyes out after she had yet again been ridiculed by her “loving” siblings for being plain. For being boring. She had tucked herself away inside the garden, that’s placed on the roof, and decided to drown out her tears – her sorrows – with her violin. Though, the moment she did, Five managed to find her with ease. His protective instincts were at an all time high after he overheard Diego and Luther saying horrendous things about her, while Allison, Klaus, and Ben laughed. They didn’t bother coming to her aid.

“Assholes…” He called them as he teleported to wherever Vanya held herself up. While, it took several spatial jumps, Five eventually popped up beside her, accidentally freaking her out and causing her to scream. His ear drums were damaged for a few days after that, but he didn’t pay attention because Vanya smiled as she laughed at his face. The snarl and glare on his face for some strange reason was incredibly hilarious in her eyes. Her laughter was highly addicting to the point that Five did everything and anything to recreate that. In that afternoon, he had the chance – the opportunity – to see a carefree Vanya. A side of her that he hadn’t seen in a long ass time.

Now, here he remained kneeling in front of her, offering words of comfort as he did almost everything to get his sweet Vanya to crack a smile. He’d even asked her to play her favorite musical piece for him, but Vanya simply replied with,

“Maybe later…my heart isn’t into it right now…”

Five, then in response, nodded as he said, “Understandable. Sometimes I wish I had that luxury.”

Vanya sniffled, “What do you mean?”

“Just that,” He began as he finally stood up, stretching his leg muscles. Then, he took a seat next to her and wrapped a protective arm around her shoulders, “You don’t realize this, Vanya, but you’re lucky. You have these amazing chances of taking breaks. Doing everything and anything that your heart desires.” A long sigh escaped his lips, “While with me and the rest of the crime fighting siblings, we don’t. It’s training from sunrise to sundown. And when we’re not training, then it’s those stupid, annoying missions,” He absentmindedly pulled Vanya closer. Her head now rested against the crook of his neck, “While, yes, with our abilities, taking down the bad guys is like an afternoon stroll at the local park. However, doing the same thing over and over gets redundant. Basically boring.” He finished his speech before placing an innocent kiss on her head. Innocent enough it could be seen as an act of sibling love in case their father so happened to stumble on them. With their luck, he’d be right around the corner. Seriously. It’s like Reginald had installed sensors on Vanya’s door and Five’s, alerting him of their so called “canoodling”.

Just thinking about the old man’s lecture frustrated Five to the point that his jaw clenched slightly. Everything that old man did only fueled Five’s innermost hatred towards him.

But that’s not important right now. Vanya’s important and would always be important to him.

Gently rubbing her arm, Five and Vanya remained silent, enjoying each other’s presence. Then, after what seemed like an eternity, Vanya pulled back and created some space but not too much since Five still wanted to hold her. Like a little child clinging onto his or her favorite object. An object that gave him or her a sense of security.

That was Vanya. She was his sense of security. She kept his sanity intact while they both lived in that dysfunctional home.

“Thank you, Five.” She said softy with a sweet smile.

One corner of his mouth titled up. Five displayed his signature smirk. A smirk he had developed only for her but not to be confused with his condescending smile. That smile was reserved for his other siblings, minus Ben. Well. It depended if he partook in the ridiculing of Vanya, then, he’d that smirk and his wrath.

But most of the time, it’s usually Diego, Luther, and Allison that got it. How fitting since it’s the top three soldiers in their odd army.

Soon, his smirk grew into a smile. Then, a sweet and light kiss was placed on Vanya’s forehead.

“Anytime, Vanya. You just need to remember that you’re never alone, especially when you think you are. You’re not. You’ll always have me.” He said just as an alarm went off. Time for dinner. With one final reassuring squeeze on her shoulder, Five stood up and then offered his hand. Vanya smiled brightly and placed her hand into his. The moment he felt her hand, he quickly interlaced their fingers. He’d never grow tired with how well their hands molded together.

Recently, they had started to hold hands but only when they’re alone and certain that no one would catch them. One of the many risks that Allison had warned him about months prior. If only her concern lasted, especially towards Vanya.

But…oh well…

“So, I’m thinking of asking dear old dad about time-travel again.” He stated, stuffing his free hand into the pockets of his shorts.

Vanya’s forehead creased. Her jaw tightened slightly. She knew that Five wanted to time-travel, but he never got any practice because their dad would always reject his request. Today, she knew that it’d be his breaking point if their dad were to say no to Five’s request again. And knowing Five, she knew that he’d give in to his short-temper and do something irrational.

Then, she’d be left all alone…

“Are you sure that’s a wise decision? I mean what if he says no?” She asked, stopping right near the stairway but out of sight from the views of their siblings.

Five sighed, closing his eyes for a moment, “If he says no, then I don’t know.” He turned his head towards Vanya, “I’m tired of being told that I’m not ready, especially since I’ve been practicing those stupid spatial jumps like he told me to. I even managed to work out those pesky equations. Like, what more does he want from me?” He ranted; his voice gradually increased in pitch.

Vanya frowned, squeezing his hand in an act of comfort.

“I know but maybe he’s right. Sure, his explanation can be a tad nicer but perhaps he’s onto something. What if you do manage to successfully time-travel but end up somewhere and have no means to come back.” She stated, voicing her worries.

Five cupped her cheek, gently caressing it, “That’s not going to happen, Vanya. After all, I have you waiting for me back here so of course, I’m going to come back. I just want to see if I can do it. Even if it’s a tiny jump in time, I just want to see.” Then, he unlaced their fingers and pulled her into a warm and loving hug, “Then, with more practice, I’ll take you with me, and we’ll be far away from here. No more siblings who bully you. No more dad that constantly berates you for being ordinary. None of them. It’s just going to be the two of us.” He told her, soothing away her worries. Though, she had a point. What if he were to get stuck in a time with no means of getting back? God. Just the mere thought of Vanya growing up without him scared him. Instilled a fear within his mind. Yet he had to push them away. He needed to do this. To try. Then, his future could officially begin.

With one final squeeze, Five released his hold on special violinist. He flashed her a reassuring smile as if he’d told her to not worry about him nor say a word during dinner.

Just as he turned towards the stairs, he felt a tug on his sleeve. He peered down and saw Vanya’s hand stopping him.

He raised a brow, “What’s wrong?”

“Promise me something.”

“Anything.”

“Promise me that if you were to get stuck somewhere with no means of getting back, that you’d find a way to come back to me.”

Five’s breath hitched. She didn’t need to tell him that. He already knew. He’d do anything and everything to get back to her. His sole reason of even endearing the constant training and annoying siblings that he cared for here and there.

“Promise me, Five.”

“I promise you, Vanya Hargreeves, that I’ll do everything in my power to come back to you.”

Sadly…

Just like any other promise…

It was made to be broken…

“Okay. I’ll be holding you to that, sir.”

“You wound me, dear…”

A/N: Wow! This one is a tad longer than my previous one shot! I just had so much fun writing this one, especially since it kind of goes along with the dinner scene during the flashback scene of episode 2 of the series. I just like how Young Vanya shook her head and then look upset/shock to see Five run out. And then the whole Five screaming out Vanya's name first? Yeah. I just had to write a little something that could add to the fan theories/explanations as to why Five screamed out her name first. Anywho, now that this is done. I'm thinking of doing like a mini-series! Maybe even ask you guys to comment something you'd want to see Five x Vanya do behind closed doors. A funny idea I have right now is Five, giving in to his big ego, proving that he's the better protector than Luther, and the two have this weird competition while Reginald is away. So that should be fun! disclaimer: Now, I'm fully aware of the discourse between whether the Hargreeves are considered to be engaging in incestuous relationships or not (I especially acknowledge the arguments coming from people who are indeed from adopted families). I also know that the fandom will always be divided because of it so please do not send any hate comments on this story. If it is not your cup of tea, then do not read it. Simple as that. Anyway, I hope you guys like this!

Don’t forget to leave a kudos/comment on your thoughts! I love hearing them! :)

- Kim

#the umbrella academy #the umbrella academy fanfic #tua #tua fanfic #tua five #tua vanya #number five #number five fanfic #five hargreeves #five hargreeves fanfic #vanya #vanya fanfic #vanya hargreeves #vanya hargreeves fanfic #five x vanya #/mystories

15 notes · View notes

nyangibun · 7 years

Text

Jonsa Week, Day 4: Modern AU

Only the Best Things Happen at 3AM [Ao3]

@jonsa-week sorry, it’s super duper late again!

Summary: When Jon wakes up to Ghost's barking at 3 in the morning, the last thing he expected to see was a beautiful redhead sobbing while cuddling his dog.

Jon likes to think he’s a fairly level-headed guy. There isn’t much that really fazes him. He’s had to grow up fast due to his mum dying when he was young, so life really has already thrown its worst shit his way. At twenty-five, Jon is confident he can handle everything else, so when he wakes up to his dog barking loudly at three in the morning, evidently not in the house, Jon is only a little concerned. Ghost is a big Husky with red eyes and most people tend to take one look at him and run the other direction.

Except it’s three in the morning and those barks don’t sound angry or territorial.

It’s not quite a cause for concern, but it does make Jon apprehensive when he unlocks the backdoor to the garden. He’s not sure what he was expecting, maybe a burglar or one of those annoying students from the nearby university that like to play pranks on the hard-working local residents. But he’s sure as shit wasn’t expecting a drop dead gorgeous girl in a plaid shirt tied in a bow just below her breasts and cut-off denim shorts that are far too short to be appropriate attire anywhere. Not to mention the even more absurd fact that she’s sobbing uncontrollably while cuddling Ghost like he’s some lap dog instead of the guard dog he’s supposed to be.

Not wanting to startle the girl, Jon clears his throat. Instantly, her eyes snap up to his, watery and startled like a doe before the slaughter. He feels guilty for it, like he’s encroaching on something he shouldn’t be, but goddamnit, it’s three in the morning and this is his house. “Are you okay, miss?” he asks because his mum did raise him to be polite. “Are you lost or something?”

She blinks, wipes the tears away with the back of one hand, while the other remains circled around Ghost, who just sits there wagging his tail, tongue lolling out like a bloody traitor. “I –” she hiccups. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry!” And then just like that, the girl starts sobbing all over again and Jon immediately rushes to her side despite the warning bells in his head saying that maybe this is all a ruse and she’s one of those rare female serial killers.

He places a hand tentatively on her shoulder. “It’s okay. I’m not… I won’t call the police. It’s fine. Do you need anything? Do you want me to ring someone for you?”

“Lady!” she wails loudly.

“Pardon?” Jon has to ask because he’s not entirely sure what she’s trying to say.

“Lady,” she repeats, the tears still flowing quickly down her pinkened cheeks. She wraps both arms around Ghost again and nuzzles her face into his fur. “Lady.”

“Uh… is your name Lady? Or do you want me to call someone named Lady?” He is so thoroughly confused right now, Jon can’t help wondering if maybe this isn’t just some really elaborate dream he’s having.

The girl’s head tilts upwards as she glares at him. “No! My name is Sansa.”

Sansa… A pretty name for a pretty girl. Too bad she seems completely insane, Jon thinks.

She exhales loudly, a shuddering sound, but at least the tears have stopped. He also realises then that there is a distinct stench of alcohol on her breath and she probably is one of those annoying students from the uni as well. But she’s here on her own and that can’t be good. Either, she really is bad news or she’s running from something or someone. Maybe Jon should call the police.

“Let me ring someone for you, yeah?” he tries again. “We’ll get you home, I promise.”

“No!” she shouts now, blue eyes panicked. She lets one arm fall away from Ghost to reach out for his hand. Her skin is cold, like she’s been out here in the night dressed in barely anything for hours. Jon makes a decision then, a stupid decision, but there just doesn’t seem to be a way around it at this point.

“Okay, how about this… Let me help you inside. I’ll get you something warm to wear, brew you a cup of tea and you can tell me what’s going on, yeah?” Jon says. As she mulls over his proposition, he scans her for any sign of something sinister, but the smooth expanse of skin reveal she is in perfect condition. More than perfect, Jon is ashamed to think, because really, he should not be checking out the poor girl. She’s clearly in a vulnerable emotional state.

Sansa finally nods and Jon quickly helps her up. Together, they walk into his house and he immediately goes to grab a hoodie and sweats from his wardrobe for her to wear. He also actively tries not to notice how his clothes dwarf her slender frame or the way she’s just pulled her red hair from its bun, its long waves flowing past her shoulders.

Get a fucking grip, Snow.

Once a mug of tea is placed into her hands, Sansa looks a little more put together than she did only moments before. She’s still cuddling his dog, who is lapping up the attention, and eyeing him with suspicion in her eyes.

“So uh… I don’t think I said this before, but I’m Jon,” he says, as a way to break the ice. “Jon Snow. I live here. Well, okay, you probably guessed that.” He swears under his breath. “Do you go to the university?”

She nods. “I’m in my final year.”

“Cool. That’s… cool. What are you studying?”

“Politics and International Relations.”

“Fuck, that sounds intense. Not what I pictured you doing, to be honest,” Jon tells her.

Sansa blushes and something oddly possessive rushes through him. “I know. Most people don’t. I did start with Fashion and Business, but… both my parents are in politics and I guess I just want to follow in their footsteps.”

“That’s nice. Do they approve?” he asks. “My mum was a waitress, so I don’t think she would’ve wanted me to do the same.” He laughs, a little self-deprecatingly.

“Was?”

“She died when I was seventeen,” Jon says, shrugging.

She looks uncomfortable and she turns her gaze back to Ghost. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be so nosy…” She lets out a long breath. “My… um, my dad has cancer. It’s not terminal, but the doctors say the chances of survival isn’t very high.” Tears begin to form in her eyes again and she blurts out the rest of the story without his prompting. “And my dog died yesterday. She was hit by a car and I wasn’t even home to say goodbye!” Sansa then snorts. “As if that’s not bad enough, tonight, I went to this fancy dress party and saw my ex-boyfriend making out with my friend. And I know it’s stupid but I just need to get away so I ran out and I just kept on running till I spotted your dog and…” She hugs Ghost tightly. “He looks so much like Lady!”

With all of the puzzle pieces finally fitting together now, Jon’s heart lurches in his chest. He takes a risk and moves to the sofa she’s sitting on. He doesn’t touch her, doesn’t even sit beside her, but he turns his whole body to face her. “That’s shit, Sansa,” he tells her. “I don’t know what else to say, but that is fucking shit and I’ve known you for five minutes and I can already truthfully say you don’t deserve any of that. But fuck your ex-boyfriend and fuck that driver that hit your dog.”

Sansa sniffles, her lips twitching slightly. “What about my dad?”

“Fuck cancer,” he tells her emphatically.

“Yeah,” she laughs suddenly. “Fuck cancer.”

He lets silence fall between them for a moment. “So here’s the thing, you’re probably still drunk,” he begins. “And you’re in no shape to walk home so just sleep here. I’ll take the sofa. You can cuddle with Ghost in my bed all you want, okay? Tomorrow, I’ll drive you home and you’re going to get through this.”

She stares at him for a long moment before she says, “you should be an inspirational speaker.”

Jon laughs, a loud deep belly laugh that surprises him. “If you really knew me, you wouldn’t say that.”

Sansa pouts. “Why not?”

“I’ve been told I’m a broody bastard,” he tells her, smiling. “I’m not really the rallying type of guy.”

“You are to me,” she says instantly, but before he can really register the weird fluttering in his stomach, she yawns.

“C’mon, let’s get you to bed.”

After Jon gets Sansa settled, which he is silently thanking the gods that he just washed his sheets a couple days ago, he makes himself a little cocoon on the sofa to fight against the chill of his lounge. It’s bizarre, almost downright absurd, how he could care so deeply for the welfare of a complete stranger in the span of an hour, but he truly, truly wants Sansa to find only happiness in her life. And maybe if she wants to include him in that life for the foreseeable future, he wouldn’t object, but Jon is convinced she’s not going to remember their conversation in the morning anyways.

Sunlight streams through the half-drawn back curtains and Jon groans into his pillow. He is cursing every deity he can think of for his forgetfulness over the curtains when his floorboards creak and Jon bolts upright. For a second, he’s unable to grasp where exactly he is, and then in the next second, he’s staring somewhat slack-jawed at a sleep-tousled Sansa still in his hoodie and sweats. She’s in the doorway, Ghost by her side, and there’s a small, shy smile on her lips that makes that weird surge of possessiveness run through him again.

“Hi… um…”

“It’s Jon,” he reminds her.

Sansa chuckles softly. “I wasn’t that drunk.” At his speculative gaze, she rolls her eyes. “Shut up.”

Jon laughs and stretches out his limbs. Sleeping on the sofa is not so great on his back and he turns this way and that to roll out the kinks in his muscles. When he glances back up at Sansa to ask if she wants breakfast, he finds a peculiar sort of expression on her face that he can’t decipher, but then it’s gone as quickly as it came and he wonders if he imagined it altogether.

“Coffee? Cereal?” Jon asks, pushing aside that strange moment. “I’m sorry I don’t have anything else. Eating for one usually means a really shitty diet.”

“I really don’t want to impose,” she says. “You’ve already done so much for me and I… I should probably head home.”

Jon nods, disappointment pooling in his stomach. “Right, sure. I can drive you.”

“That would be great, thank you.”

He turns to reach for his keys on the coffee table when he abruptly blurts out, “you can visit anytime, you know?”

“What?” she asks, startled.

Jon stands up, the duvet falling from his lap to the floor. He rubs a hand over his neck. “I mean… for Ghost. He seems to really like you and if you need company, he’s here for you. I’m sure he’d appreciate the company.”

Sansa blushes again. “That would be nice.” She rubs the dog in question’s forehead, a fond smile on her lips. “It might make missing Lady hurt less.”

“I didn’t think I said this last night, but…” Jon swallows. “For the record, I’m really sorry for everything. You don’t deserve that.”

She inclines her head. “You said that last night too. What do you mean by that? I don’t deserve it. You don’t even know me.”

Jon shrugs. “I have a good feel for people and you’re one of the good ones.”

Sansa laughs before she steps towards him, that expression he couldn’t decipher before returning to her face. He sees it now for what it is though. It’s mischievous; it’s coy; it’s downright fucking seductive. “Would I still be considered one of the good ones if I took advantage of my host?”

“The opposite. You’d ruin my good opinion if you didn’t.”

Wordlessly, they crash into each other, a tangle of limbs, as they both hold tightly onto the other. Jon runs his tongue over her lips, pushing for entrance and being deliciously welcomed when Sansa matches him hunger for hunger. How they had gone from strangers to this in a matter of hours boggles his mind, but Jon is not going to question it out loud. He wants this, wants her, in a way that doesn’t quite make sense. It’s just Sansa. Even broken down and at her tether, she exudes a beauty that goes far beyond the physicality of it. He doesn’t know her and maybe she could still turn out be a really hot serial killer, but he does know himself and he’s never felt this kind of passion before in his life. It’s so wholly uncontained, so consuming that if he even tries to stop this, he’s sure to be burnt.

“Is it still considered a one night stand if it’s in the morning?” Sansa murmurs against him as they stumble into his bedroom, clothes flying off in every which direction.

Jon laughs into her neck as he continues his exploration of every inch of skin he can find. “It’s whatever you want it to be, Sansa.”

Nine months and six days later, it turns out what they both wanted it to be was a longstanding commitment to never letting that night (morning) end.

They try denying it for a long time, pretending it’s just casual and that it didn’t really mean anything but them trying to satisfy an itch. It might’ve worked too if they’d actually acted like normal friends-with-benefits, but Sansa basically moved in a month into their ‘thing’, citing that her department building was a ten-minute walk from his place in comparison to the thirty-minute walk from her flat. It’s just logical, she’d said.

It became even harder to deny when Jon was invited to spend Christmas with Sansa’s family three months later and her siblings all started to regularly text him about their lives. Or when her father was four months into remission and they all decided to go away together to celebrate, including Jon.

But maybe the moment when it becomes clear that what they’ve had has always been serious comes nine months and six days later on the day of her graduation when Jon scoops her up in his arms and tells her how much he loves her for the first time and she says it back with tears in her eyes and that shy breathtaking smile on her lips.

Yeah, he thinks as he kisses her, he’s in this for the long haul.

#jonsa #jon x sansa #actuallyjonsa #jonsaff #jonxsansaff #jonsaweek #jonsa week #my fics #jonsa fic #jon snow #sansa stark #game of thrones #super late #whoops

102 notes · View notes

mazurah · 7 years

Text

Lost in Time Ch. 12: Discovery - An Elder Scrolls Fanfic

Chapter Summary: Ma’zurah and Fayrl get summoned by the Jarl, and Ma’zurah gains a new skill.

Cross posted from Ao3. Chapter Rating: G for general audiences.

First Chapter - Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

Lost in Time Chapter 12: Discovery

The Jarl’s throne room was brighter and busier than it had been the night before. As they passed under the pillared entrance, Ma’zurah saw the court mage, the Jarl’s steward, the Dunmer housecarl, and several people who must be nobles of the Jarl’s court in attendance, one of whom looked like he must be the Jarl’s younger brother.

Glancing up, Ma’zurah caught sight of Nelkir dangling his feet off the balcony above the hall. She waved cheerfully, and this time received a wave in return. Two more children, a boy and a girl, both older than Nelkir, sat at the tables in the great hall shoveling food into their mouths. The girl stared at her suspiciously, and turned to comment to an attendant, pointing at Ma’zurah. The harried looking woman made distressed shushing gestures.

Ma’zurah glanced down at herself in puzzlement. She looked perfectly decent. Maybe the child was unused to Khajiit.

“Ah, here they are, the acclaimed heroes. We were just talking about you. My brother needs a word with you,” said one of the members of the Jarl’s court who bore a strong resemblance to the Jarl. He motioning them forward.

They arrived at the foot of the throne and Ma’zurah and Fayrl both gave formal bows. The Jarl inclined his head.

At that moment a loud noise like thunder rang out, still clearly audible through the windows of the great hall. The ground trembled slightly. All present turned this way and that at the sound, a half panicked, half awed murmur rising up amongst the gathered people.

“Did you hear that just now?” Farengar excitedly asked the Jarl. “It must be the summons. What else could such a sound mean? The Greybeards!”

The Jarl looked thoughtful. “So it is true. Step forward, warriors.” He gestured to the pair.

Ma’zurah blinked, unsure if she had actually heard a voice in the thunder, or if she was delusional. Confused, she stepped forward at the Jarl’s command. Fayrl followed her lead.

The Jarl gave Ma’zurah an evaluative stare. “So what happened at the watchtower? I have heard the other accounts of the Dragon, but I wish to hear the tale from the one who struck the final blow.”

“Ah… Okay,” Ma'zurah replied. “When we got to the watchtower, it had certainly been attacked. There was rubble around the tower, and patches of grassfire. At first we did not see anything, but then we heard the Dragon call in the distance. When he attacked, we spread out to find cover and give him less appealing targets. This one shot ice spikes at the wings to try to bring him down, and used summoned creatures as well.

“The guards concentrated their arrows on the wing joints, and we managed to tear the wing enough that he could not fly, and he was forced to land. Fayrl shot out one eye, and took out the other with his dagger. Ma’zurah summoned a frost atronach on top of the Dragon, and that along with Fayrl’s frost cloak weakened the scales enough that the guards could pierce the hide.

“This one was able to throw an ice spear into the Dragon’s side, and Fayrl tried to open the wound further with his blades, but became trapped under him. This one pulled him free, and used her mace to hammer Fayrl’s dagger through the Dragon’s eye into his brain, which killed him.

“This one is not sure what happened next, but this one saw the soul of the Dragon, and knew the Dragon’s name was Mirmulnir. She understood pieces of his personality, and things about Dragons in general before he disappeared completely. Then everyone was calling this one Dragon-born, but this one did not understand why, and just went to heal Fayrl and any of the guards with injuries within this one’s capabilities. This one was so tired by the time she was done that she ended up falling asleep. That is all she remembers.” Ma’zurah gave a small bow to the Jarl, and stepped back.

“Ice spikes and frost atronachs,” muttered Farengar, scribbling away notes nearby. “Weak at the eyes and under the scales to cold damage.”

“I carried Ma’zurah back to our room at the inn after she collapsed from exhaustion,” Fayrl offered. “The danger seemed to have subsided by that point, Jarl Balgruuf. I hope we have not offended your men or your housecarl.”

The Jarl nodded. “Yes, that seems to fit well with what I have heard from the survivors. Many were grateful for your healing. We generally do not like to rely on such dangerous tools as spells, but it seems when dealing with something large and magical we may not have much choice.”

“And you say you knew its name?” asked the court wizard with rapt fascination. “Was there anything else unusual that occurred? Anything you saw or felt?”

Ma’zurah turned to the court wizard. “Oh! Ah… yes. Ma’zurah supposes it would be considered unusual. As a being comprised of mostly spirit and magic, Mirmulnir could not exist in physical form without his soul, and his body was burned to spirit when his soul left him, leaving nothing but the bare skeleton mandated by the earthbones to exist in Mundus.”

“Fascinating,” Farengar muttered. “Once the body began to turn to spirit, what did you observe occurring to that spirit? Did you notice it going anywhere in particular?”

Fayrl glanced at the Jarl who looked even more confused than he felt.

“The soul was all around this one. She could hardly see anything else. Ma’zurah told him to rest. He was a very old, and very tired ja’khajiit who got too excited at the prospect of play.” Ma’zurah waved a hand dismissively, and turned her attention back to the Jarl.

“Hmm,” Farengar frowned, taking notes of that information as well. “Either the old accounts are wrong, or perhaps you are not the Dragonborn.”

The Jarl interrupted. “Mazra was is? I am curious, did you understand the noise just now? Could you tell what was being said?”

Ma’zurah laughed. “Oh good! This one was not hallucinating! It said ‘Dragon-born.’ Where did it come from?”

The Jarl and Farengar exchanged glances.

“So it's true. The Greybeards really were summoning you,” breathed the Jarl. “I can’t believe it. I never thought the Dragonborn would be a Khajiit. I assumed they would be a Nord, or maybe an Imperial.” He pulled himself out of his thoughts. “You must see them at once.”

Ma’zurah blinked and stared in confusion. “The who, the what?” She glanced back at Fayrl to see if he had any idea what they were talking about. “Ma’zurah has only heard the word ‘Dragon-born’ to mean ‘coming from the Empire’ before. Is there another meaning?”

“Grey beards?” Fayrl asked uncertainly.

“The Greybeards, masters of the Way of the Voice. They live in seclusion high on the slopes of the Throat of the World,” explained Balgruuf.

“I remember something about Dragonborn tales. They are men with the souls of Dragons. I can’t say I know more than that personally,” Fayrl said.

Ma’zurah looked at Fayrl anxiously. “Would not a mortal with a Dragon soul be a bad thing? Are not Dragons forces of destruction? Ma’zurah has a hard time imagining that would go well with the common person. Would they not fear a mortal like that?”

The Jarl gave a loud chuckle. “Fear? Why Talos himself was Dragonborn! A Dragonborn would be seen as a great symbol of the Nord people. Of course, I’m not sure if many would be willing to accept that the Dragonborn of our era was a Khajiit. But if what Farengar says is true, you may not be. Only the Greybeards could know for sure.”

Ma’zurah nodded, though her expression remained confused. “Right. The Dragonblooded Emperors. Ma’zurah thought that was because of the blood of Alkosh in the Amulet of Kings, not that they literally had Dragon blood. And anyway, Ma’zurah read that the last of the Dragonblooded Emperors died in the Oblivion Crisis, no?”

Fayrl started to feel out of place again. He didn’t mind not being the center of attention sometimes. But it felt strange to be invisible when he was not actively seeking it out. He felt awkward. It was uncomfortable.

“Yes, I do not believe there has been a Dragonborn since that time,” Farengar told Ma'zurah. “Of course, there might well have been, but without any Dragons, there was little way for anyone to prove it by absorbing Dragon souls or using the Way of the Voice. Shouting, as it is called.”

Balgruuf nodded. “In the old tales I heard as a young boy, the Dragonborn heroes would use their Shout to defeat the enemies of Skyrim. Wulfharth was Dragonborn. Talos, too--the founder of the Empire, back in the good old days. In the very oldest tales, back from when there were still Dragons in Skyrim, the Dragonborn would slay Dragons to steal their power.” He looked proud.

Ma’zurah’s brow furrowed in thought. “Wait, wait, go back. So if there is no Dragonblooded Emperor, does that mean people have been looking for a Dragonborn to crown as Emperor? Because apparently the only Dragonborn this one knows about were all ruling kings, and now Ma’zurah is confused.”

“Well obviously a Khajiit is not going to be crowned Emperor,” laughed the Jarl’s brother.

Fayrl reached out and took Ma’zurah’s hand. “Maybe it’s best if we don’t discuss this right now. Don’t you recall what we saw when we arrived?” Fayrl hissed under his breath. He couldn’t help but feel like maybe they were making too much of their presence known. Nords were suspicious of Khajiit to begin with. But if things were sensitive with the Empire, asking questions that implied she might be in line for the crown might not be the best idea.

Ma’zurah gave a slight nod to Fayrl, and turned her attention back to the Jarl. “So let Ma’zurah get this straight, Dragonborn are people with the soul of a Dragon, they are human cultural heroes, they kill Dragons and take their souls, and they can do something called Shouting?” She ticked the points off on her fingers. “Can somebody please explain what in the four hells Shouting is? Because Ma’zurah has done a lot of shouting in her life, and nothing special happened then.”

“That is the basics of it, yes,” said Farengar, looking back at Ma’zurah. “From what the legends say, the Shout is a way of using your voice and the Draconic language, called Dovah, to channel the Dragon’s power.”

Ma’zurah blinked. “Dovah? You mean Dovahzul? That sounds more right… Dovah just means Dragon.”

The Jarl’s brother leveled a look at Ma’zurah. “If you really are Dragonborn, like out of the old tales, you ought to be able to Shout. Can you? Have you tried?”

Ma'zurah turned to the Jarl’s brother and leveled a scathing look at him. “Of course Ma’zurah never tried. She only just now found out what Shouting is. She will try. Let her think.”

Fayrl did not like this. He did not like it one bit. All he wanted to do was leave here as soon as possible. Whatever it took, he was ready.

Ma’zurah closed her eyes and thought. She thought about every instance where she had encountered something of potentially Draconic origin. She thought of Solstheim, and the Draugr tombs she had gleefully explored with a reluctant group of friends. She thought of the walls of strange words that seemed to draw her to them and capture her attention until she memorized them, sometimes at the detriment of her situational awareness. She had gotten a lecture from Julan about that...

She remembered the memorized words, and realized she could understand them now. She had five words that had been bothering her for months that finally seemed to make sense. She could use these words. Ven. Nos. Gar. Qah. Gol. Wind. Strike. Unleash. Armor. Earth. The first three went together, even though she had found them separately. The last two were unrelated.

What was it the wizard had said? Words used to channel power? She had done that before. Some Velothi spells used chanting to channel power, but it did not sound quite the same. The chants were a means of focusing, and did not determine the effect. If the Dovahzul words determined the effect, then she just had to put magicka into the word, right? Or was it like traditional spellcasting, where an understanding of the underlying mechanism was necessary to cast the spell? Either that, or willpower. She snickered. Yell at the earthbones to make them do what was needed? That sounded fun. Maybe saying the words out loud was enough? She had enough ideas to start experimenting with at least.

“One moment.” Ma’zurah told the assembled audience. She walked to the entry hall, where there was very little that could get in her way.

“Qah.” she said out loud in a conversational tone. Nothing happened. She tried again, this time channeling her magicka at the same time. “Qah.” Still nothing. Ma’zurah tapped her nose in thought.

Maybe Shouting meant literal shouting? Oh well, worth a shot. The worst that would happen is she would look silly. “QAH!” she yelled. Nothing. She chewed her lip in frustration.

She thought about the word. Qah; armor. What would armor made of magicka look like? Armor made of a Dragon’s magicka? If she were a Dragon yelling at the earthbones and she made them give her armor, what would it look like? She laughed at the thought, but tried it anyway. She closed her eyes, visualized magickal Dragon armor, and shouted the word again.

“QAH!”

She opened her eyes. Everyone was staring at her from the other end of the hall. She gave them a sheepish look. Then she glanced down. She was wreathed in multicolored magickal armor, just like she had visualized. She whooped and punched the air above her head in triumph.

She ran up to Fayrl laughing and grinning hugely. “Look! Look! Ma’zurah figured it out! All by herself!” She grabbed his hands and bounced on her toes.

Fayrl looked on in horror. Without any teaching Ma’zurah had managed to learn a new magic. Something powered by Dragons no less. “This is bloody insane!”

Farengar eagerly came up to observe the armor. “How did it feel to use the Shout? Can you compare it to another school of magic?” The wizard was busy feeling the armor by hand and looking at its consistency.

Around them the guards and assembled nobles looked a mix of awestruck and anxious. It was beyond the magic most of them had witnessed before.

“Uh…” Ma’zurah blinked at Farengar and ducked away from a prodding finger. “Ma’zurah found these words in Solstheim when she was last there, though she could not read them at the time. She has five words. She realized that ‘Qah’ meant armor, so she visualized armor and imagined yelling at the earthbones until they gave her the armor. It is like no other school of magic. Ma’zurah did not even channel her magicka that time. It seems that yelling at the earthbones is all that is required.” She giggled.

Farengar’s face lit up at the new knowledge and he hastily made his notes.

“As much as I enjoy entertaining the Dragonborn, I do need to return to the duties of running my hold,” the Jarl interrupted. “I have a lot of injured men and grieving families to care for. That said, you have done a mighty deed for my people. That sort of service should not go unrewarded.”

Balgruuf stood from his throne. “You are heroes to this hold. With the power I wield as Jarl, I give you both the title of Hero of Whiterun. Please go with my housecarl and select whatever you desire from my armory as a reward of your service. I also urge you to follow the Greybeards' summon. Whatever happened when you killed that Dragon, it revealed something in you, and the Greybeards heard it. If they think you're Dragonborn, who are we to argue? You'd better get up to High Hrothgar immediately. There's no refusing the summons of the Greybeards. It's a tremendous honor. I envy you, you know. To climb the 7,000 Steps again… I made the pilgrimage once, did you know that? High Hrothgar is a very peaceful place. Very... disconnected from the troubles of this world. I wonder if the Greybeards even notice what's going on down here. They haven't seemed to care before. No matter. Go to High Hrothgar. Learn what the Greybeards can teach you. We are honored to have you both as our heros.” He turned away from them, sitting once more. “Back to business, Proventus. We still have a city to defend.”

The man bowed. “Yes, my lord.”

Ma’zurah listened attentively to the Jarl, and turned to Farengar when he dismissed them. “Ma’zurah will need directions to this place. Does the court wizard have a map this one can use? And Ma’zurah forgot to consult an almanac yesterday.”

Farengar smiled. “I would be happy to provide you a map and directions. It’s not everyday you happen upon someone capable of expanding your life’s work.” He led them towards his room. “All I ask in return is that you share all you can of your experience with me after you return.”

“Wonderful! Ma’zurah can answer any questions you like when she returns.” Ma’zurah walked into the wizard’s rooms, and glanced around.

She spotted an almanac on his shelf and removed it. “Is this current?” She looked the book over--4E 201. She did some quick mental calculation and realized it was at least two hundred years after the year she had left. She kept her face carefully neutral.

“Why yes, that is current. The spine reads 201, does it not?” Farengar laughed jovially, taking a seat at his desk, now with a Dragon skull taking up the surface as well as his notes and books.

“Ah… yes, sorry. Ma’zurah overlooked that.”

“I shall have to make a note of symptoms of fatigue after using Shouts,” the wizard muttered, scrambling with his papers. “I wonder if the Dragons themselves feel such effects. Or perhaps it has to do with the amount of power a Dragon or Dragonborn possesses. Oh, this is simply fascinating!”

“What is the date, please?” Mazurah asked, flipping through the almanac. “Ma’zurah has been too long without a calendar.”

“The effects must be truly great,” said Farengar, a little sympathy in his voice. “It is the 11th of Midyear. Sundas.”

“And the map?” asked Fayrl, his voice even, but subdued.

Ma’zurah shoved thoughts of her displacement in time from her mind and frowned at the Dragon skull on Farengar’s desk. She ran her fingers over his curving horns, feeling a sad kinship. She did not want the wizard to have him, but she could not rightfully claim him after the wizard had taken the trouble to have his skull brought to him. “Mirmulnir” she murmured.

Fayrl looked at the way that Ma’zurah touched the Dragon skull and he shivered. It reminded him of how Nabine had sometime touched the bodies of her kills. He looked away, drawing his attention to the bookshelf and busying himself with reading the titles.

Farengar looked up from shuffling through his drawers for the map. “Excuse me?”

Ma’zurah glanced sharply up at Farengar. “Mirmulnir. His name. It means Allegiance Strong Hunt. He was a loyal dovah, as old as time. He hated sneaking and hiding. He was so happy to hunt again. Treat him with respect. Ma’zurah would prefer he be interred somewhere rather than put on display like the poor dovah the Jarl has over his throne.” She could not take his skull with her, but she could ensure he was respected at least.

Farengar seemed taken aback. “You have learned all of this? How!” He was excited as a child on their name day about to get their treat. “I never thought there was a way to learn so much of a Dragon’s history and name without spending years of researching around their burial mound and consulting the legends concerning their deaths in battle!” He took hurried notes.

“Ma’zurah saw it all when she took his soul,” Ma'zurah informed him flatly. “Does the wizard understand? This is like the bones of ancestors. Always treat ancestors with respect.”

Fayrl pulled the closest book at hand from the shelf and busied himself with reading it. It was about early following of the Eight Divines. He closed the book and looked at the title. “Before the Ages of Man.” He shoved it back in the shelf and slipped out of the room instead.

Farengar seemed to finally understand. “Oh, I see. As soon as I am done with my research I shall ask the Jarl for some men to find an appropriate place for a burial. Hopefully the rest of the skeleton has remained untouched and the whole skeleton can be reunited beforehand.” He gingerly dipped his quill in ink, careful not to drip on the skull as he wrote more. “So absorbing the soul you absorb the knowledge of the Dragon you have defeated. My dear, this is amazing! Here,” he pulled out a bound notebook of blank paper. “If you have any information you learn about this or other Dragons, please write it down for me in this book and bring it to me. There is so much to learn. No one has the detailed accounts of each Dragon and their varied lives in one place. You would be helping to produce a type of Dragon lore book unseen before in Tamriel!”

Ma’zurah glanced around for Fayrl, and spotted him headed away from Farengar’s rooms. “Fayrl? Is everything alright?” she called after him.

Fayrl waved his hand. “I’ll be back,” he called over his shoulder to her, not stopping. He listened to the droning of nobles in the hall echoing down the corridor. He brushed passed the servants in the kitchen and down the stairs, coming to a stop before the door he had gotten the Ebony Blade from. He knelt down, resting his forehead on the cool stone floor, his arms raised out before him.

“Ikalam am hla’yivohn, os almese Ohl de ku’or yi muhr edur lohara. Gahmerdehn am farayn, os jikhi de Ohl yi muhrmolkhun en yi albusehr. Alma am minmer, ist os manisehar yilad Ohl, captu yi min gher Ohm baldefuur. Balori as set am as gan'tosh muhri nifi’ag ru Ohm khamir en yi demyr.”

Lady of Whispers, I praise You to whom my life is dedicated. Mistress of Secrets, I offer to You my lifeblood and my essence. Mother of Spiders (Silk people), that I may continue to serve You, take my thread in Your hands. Let the course of the future be changed by Your will and my sacrifice.

He did not expect anything from his god in return. Only the comfort that raising a prayer to her always left him with. He needed that feeling of belonging now more than ever. She was the only constant in his life and he needed her to know he was there to serve her. It gave him a reason, a purpose, for being out of time.

Ma’zurah took the offered book and map and excused herself to look for Fayrl. She cast chameleon to get past the kitchen servants, and found Fayrl in the basement, exactly where she expected to find him. He was in prayer, so she quietly sat next to him until he sat up.

“You did not have to come find me. I was going to return as soon as I was done.” Fayrl felt a bit guilty for having left, but he knew it had been for the best. Now he felt like he was a child come to be scolded for sulking.

“Ma’zurah was worried.” she offered quietly. “Fayrl seemed distressed. Ma’zurah understands. Ma’zurah is more than two hundred years ahead of where she should be. It is… lonely.”

Fayrl gave another bow and rose, caressing the door with his hand. “I did not mean to worry you. Not when you’ve already so much responsibility.” He headed towards the stairs. He did not mention anything about being lonely, he did not want to accept that feeling right now. “So, are we going to head to see these Greybeards?”

Ma’zurah caught Fayrl’s hand and stopped him in the corridor. “Hey. Fayrl is the only one Ma’zurah has right now. Why would she not worry?”

“I will be fine.” Fayrl turned back to her, and the expression on his face changed to a large grin. “Although, if you want to worry after me, I have a terrible pain in my lower back a nice massage with some strong hands could do to sort out.”

Ma’zurah’s sympathetic expression did not change despite Fayrl’s attempt at deflection. “Ma’zurah can do that. But… here.” She pulled him into a hug. “It is a rough situation,” she mumbled into his shirt. “Do not try to handle it all yourself. That is what clan is for, as well as the gods.”

Fayrl placed a hand around her waist. “Are you my clan now?” he asked, a devious smile on his lips. “Care to tell me exactly what all that entitles me to?”

Ma’zurah drew back slightly. “Sure, Fayrl is clan--the closest we have to it at least. And it entitles Fayrl to exactly what Fayrl has been getting. Ma’zurah’s friendship and shared resources.” She cocked her head at him bemusedly. “Why? Does Fayrl think otherwise? Does he desire something else?”

Fayrl shrugged. “I would presume nothing beyond that. Though if you ever wanted anything more, I would hardly object. You are wildly intelligent and fiercely beautiful, though I understand that you have someone already. Still, my offer is open should you ever need to relax.”

He walked onward, flashing invisible to make it through the kitchens, grabbing up an apple into his satchel as he passed through.

Ma’zurah blinked at Fayrl’s retreating form. She was pretty sure he was not offering a relationship. Not like the deeply satisfying relationships she had with her partners at least. He wasn’t even telling her the truth about being alright right now. She wished she could discuss it with her partners. Fayrl’s offer was tempting; he was very appealing--why did Dunmer have to be so damn sexy?--but Ma’zurah wanted to go home without ruining her relationships. Even if that meant many frustrated nights.

She shook her head and walked after Fayrl.

End Notes:

Fayrl’s tumblr: @talldarkandroguesome

Screenshot of Fayrl Screenshot of Ma’zurah Check out my art tag for more pictures of Fayrl and Ma’zurah.

Constructive criticism is welcome. We also really like it if you leave comments on Ao3.

#TES #Elder Scrolls Lore #Skyrim #ESO #Morrowind #My Writing #Fanfic #Lost In Time TES Fanfic #Fayrl Indoril #Ma'zurah the Khajiit #Rated G

3 notes · View notes