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veresiine · 1 year

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Headcanon and thoughts dump; the vast majority about Leon because I've been having almost nonstop blorbo thoughts for over half a year, but there's some stuff on some other SwSh characters too in the background.

Topics:

Ages

Battle Tower

Leon as League Administration

Darkest Day and Eternatus

On Dragapult

Hop and Leon's Family and Early Childhood

Consequences of this

Others' Family Backgrounds

Rose

Relationships and Orientations

How I got to be so obsessed anyway

Actual content under the cut due to length

Ages:

At the time of the game, Leon is 22, and Hop and the protagonist are 14-15 years old. Sonia is the same age as Leon, maybe a few months older. Raihan is maybe around two years older than Leon and Sonia. Nessa's around the same age but I'm hoping she's closer to Raihan's age than Leon's and Sonia's, because I sincerely hope she wasn't dealing with the double whammy of being a child athlete AND a child model for a long time, because that's just FAR too much pressure to put on someone, even if she seems so well-adjusted.

So this means that Leon was Champion for 12 years. Yes, in the fic I wrote, I'd had him 20 years old and champ for 10, but I have since changed my mind after thinking it over for a while.

Battle Tower:

In addition to actually winning and losing, Battle Tower gives points for battling style / showmanship, and takes points away for damage to the surroundings.

Leon is in charge of operating the tower and is also its final boss (most of the time; sometimes other pro trainers like Raihan or Mustard might step in briefly), but he's graded on the same system as everyone else, and he had lost quite a few points for damaging the battle area before he and his pokemon re-trained themselves to be more restrained and less destructively showy. It's a different style from how he battles in the stadium!

Leon also considered that the gym challenge requiring endorsements means both a lot of nepotism and also, talented trainers without connections being SOL; he's since added the ability to get an endorsement from Battle Tower performance.

Battle Tower supports itself financially both from a small entrance fee, and from virtual tickets to higher-level matches; all this gets turned around into paying the staff and providing prizes. This is not a for-profit thing; this is a "let's have fun and make each other stronger!" thing that has to be financially solvent to justify its existence to the League

Leon as League Administration:

Instead of one single assistant in everything (i.e. Oleana), Leon ends up with a group of 4-5 senior League staff he goes to for advice a lot, and who help keep him on track.

He's known half of them since he was a kid so at this point they're basically extended family

He was still pretty emotionally conflicted and fragile for a few months after the whole Darkest Day thing and then losing his title, and needed some time to regroup and find himself again. Leon was in touch with the League during this time, and trying to do his part to untangle the League and Macro Cosmos and deal with the fallout of the Darkest Day, but he wasn't doing anything in any official capacity; he just kind of stuck himself in the middle of things and did what he could, mental health permitting, in between training sessions.

And he wasn't actually offered the chairman position until those few months had passed and Leon had had some time to sort himself out, and some of the investigations had wrapped up, helping to clear the League's image.

Rose had Leon attend all kinds of events and sometimes listen in on meetings while he was Champion; it wasn't Rose's intent to train Leon to be his successor as chairman, but it does mean that Leon's not going in completely blind; he has some prior experience.

Leon is concerned about the League, yeah, but he mostly just wants the region's trainers to have fun as they reach for the top, provided they play fair. He's a lot more hands-off than Rose was, with one major exception:

During the gym challenges, he lets meetings slide a bit so he can watch as many of the battles as he can, and has taken to delivering little notes to the challengers, encouraging them or telling them an aspect of their style that really impressed him. And if a trainer is really struggling, he'll praise their perseverance. He aims to get each challenger at least once in a season so no one feels left out; part of this is thinking back to Sonia.

And in the years after that, he extends the note thing to gym trainers and League staff as well during the challenge season, since they need encouragement too!

He really wishes there were more battles and fewer meetings, but that's part of what his involvement in battle tower is for; getting him to blow off steam so he can tackle more admin stuff.

Darkest Day and Eternatus:

Leon was up there fighting Eternatus for a few hours by the time Hop and the PC arrived to save the day; after all, the protagonist and Hop had time to fly to the opposite side of Galar, wander through the Slumbering Weald, get the artifacts, fly back up to Hammerlocke, battle Rose, and THEN finally confront Eternatus. With a battle that long, mistakes are inevitable.

There is security camera footage of the first 15-20 minutes of Leon vs Eternatus, but the cameras got knocked out after that.

I think the anime mentioned something about Galar particles converting to electrical power? And presumably they do so naturally at some rate, but can be more efficiently converted with the power of technology.

Before Dynamax bands were introduced to the stadiums, Magnolia had made SURE to test that the Galar particle exposure involved in using a Dynamax band had negligible side effects on trainer and pokemon, and had introduced some kind of shielding to make it even safer. The one dynamax per side per battle rule is also there out of an abundance of caution.

But that's Galar particles from a Power Spot, not a source of INFINITE Galar particles. Exposure to the levels Galar particles and electrical effects released by a rampaging ETERNATUS cannot be healthy, never mind whatever type of poison Eternatus is packing. Exactly what effect, temporary and lasting, all this had on Leon and his pokemon, I don't know, and I frequently change my mind and up the stakes, but whatever it did, it was bad, and some of it was permanent.

The player character, Hop, and their pokemon weren't facing Eternatus for anywhere near as long, so they shouldn't be as affected.

... Physically, anyhow. Everyone who was present for that battle is probably more than a little shaken-up, psychologically.

On Dragapult:

I love Charizard as much as the next person but I feel that Dragapult as a pokemon is a better representation of Leon

Dragapult is Galar's pseudo-legendary, and pseudo-legendaries usually go to / reflect champions.

Though it is not 1:1, as Hoenn had 2 pseudo-legendaries and while Steven and Metagross fit to a T, Salamance is just kinda there, vibes-wise. Being awesome without being linked to a trainer

Also Dragapult gives Leon 2 repeat types on his team; 2 dragon (haxorus and dragapult) and 2 ghost (aegislash and dragapult) and it's nice to have that theme/consistency.

And Dragapult's evos match his story a bit. Dreepy are super weak; Leon started out as a kid out in the middle of nowhere with only one friend and not much else going for him. Drakloak look after their younger evolutionary relatives, it's their whole Thing; Leon was left to raise his younger brother, and also his entire dream is to look after / inspire all Galar's other trainers to encourage their growth. And then Dragapult is a pseudo-legendary; Leon's a champion for a long time, and Dragapult have the whole thing about lock-on and targeting; pokemas Leon has a special skill that makes his moves NEVER MISS, regardless of base accuracy (this only applies to Leon's sync pair with Charizard though).

Also I like the idea of there just being Dreepies everywhere, and all the Dreepies flocking to Leon as much as they do to Dragapult; he's totally their dad too.

Hop and Leon's Family and Early Childhood:

Leon and Hop's grandparents' are their mum's parents; their dad married in and wasn't particularly well-liked by the grandparents. When Leon was little, they tried not to argue in front of him, for his sake, but Leon probably picked up on some of the tension anyway.

Then the dad got sick when Leon was around 5; mum was busy being his caregiver, and the grandparents were busy with tending the wooloo flock and also errands; this left Leon to pick up some of the household labor in the form of more chores than expected of a kid that age. Mum was concerned about offloading too much onto her kid, but the grandparents didn't really care.

Then mum was pregnant with Hop and that meant that she couldn't do as much around the house, and so more work fell to Leon. Then Hop was born, and their dad was taking a turn for the worse, and it was not a very happy situation to grow up in, even if Hop and Leon's actual parents did care about their sons and wanted them to have a happy childhood, but unfortunately, circumstances didn't work out that way, and the grandparents were borderline neglectful, in part because of their feelings about their daughter's husband.

So yes! Leon does have some domestic skills! Like cooking and cleaning and the like! He's not great at it, since he hasn't had much practice since he became Champion, but the basics are in there somewhere!

This is also where we get Sonia's observations, both in-game and in the anime, that Leon didn't have time to spend with other kids, because he was busy helping around the house and with his little brother, and 'practically raised' Hop. Which isn't to say that their mother did nothing! She certainly tried, and after the dad finally passed away, and she'd had some time to mourn, she made a point of trying to do more for her kids and to get them to have more happy childhood memories.

This is how Leon ends up going somewhere and getting his Charmander. I've heard theories that he must've gotten him from Mustard on the Isle of Armor (and that's probably when he trained there) and I am definitely not opposed to this (it makes sense!) but also haven't directly addressed it.

Hop would have been 3 years old or so at the time Leon left on the gym challenge, old enough to remember his promise about becoming Champion.

Consequences of this:

Hop never knew his father; he died when Hop was too young to remember. Leon is the closest person to filling that role for Hop.

Leon does remember his father, but not very well. He mostly remembers how much his father meant to his mum, and how much his death broke her. He does have a few good memories of his dad playing with him and reading stories to him, but as the years passed, he realized that Rose had ended up being more of a father figure to him than his own dad had a chance to be.

No one in the family really talks about Leon and Hop's father; Hop learned quickly that asking his mum made her sad, asking his grandparents made them angry, and asking Leon mostly got him shrugs as answers.

Mum is very protective of her kids' health after what happened with their father; this is part of what caused Leon to take such an interest in fitness, as a way of saying 'don't worry, mum!' He does really enjoy being physically active in general, and always has, but that's an additional layer on top of it.

Leon probably had her worried sick with all his wandering around lost; she was extremely grateful for Sonia (and Yamper) for bringing him back from wherever he'd ended up. She's glad that Hop doesn't have the same issues, and only ends up in the middle of nowhere if he wants to.

Because Hop didn't bear as much witness to hostilities from his grandparents, he takes more interest in them and their Wooloo flock than Leon did, and his grandparents are the ones to let him pick his favorite Wooloo to be his own personal pokemon.

Leon actively tried to keep Hop away from the spotlight so he'd have a chance to have a normal childhood; Rose encouraged this as well, but Leon eventually decided that Hop was ready to give it a shot (as of the start of the game), since he wanted his little brother to have a chance at having an adventure with pokemon, too, as much as he hoped Hop wouldn't have to deal with all the pressures and expectations of the public. This caused some friction with Rose, but they talked it out and smoothed things over eventually.

Others' Family Backgrounds:

Sonia is not Magnolia's only grandchild, but she is the only one who's stayed in the area. Magnolia had a few kids; at least one of them moved to a different region following their career path. Some of her grandchildren probably did, too.

Sonia is also one of, if not the oldest of Magnolia's grandchildren.

Raihan has a sister who works in the archives. He lived with his sister, away from his parents, for a few months, before going to live entirely on his own. The circumstances behind this change pretty much every time I bounce them around in my head.

At least one of Raihan's parents is/was an architect.

Rose:

HHHHHHHHHH

I've considered the possibility that Rose gave Leon his Aegislash (either at its current evolutionary form or earlier ones), since Rose is a Steel-type specialist, and also there's Aegislash's whole pokedex entry about it sometimes being manipulative.

Macro Cosmos and the League being so closely tied together is only a recent development, and it's Rose's doing. Separating the two entities is going to be a long process.

Rose genuinely feels terrible about how things turned out. He didn't want anyone to get hurt (physically, anyhow); though he had accepted it as a possibility, he wanted to avoid it in possible, and thought that no matter what happened, it would be worth it in the end. Spoiler alert: it wasn't. He screwed up big time, and I hope he realizes WHY he screwed up.

That said, I HC he was the immediate successor of that one Chairman who tried to rig matches, causing Mustard to leave the League, and because of that, Rose is very popular for having 'drained the swamp' in his own time. League veterans like Opal and Kabu really appreciated him for that. Opal appreciates him significantly less now that she’s gotten Bede to open up to her.

Relationships and Orientations:

Nessa and Sonia are in a relationship

Other than that it's just a big murky mess of 'I make every character I get my hands on bi and/or aspec, though exactly what flavor combination depends on the weather, the day of the week, and what's on sale at the grocery store'

How I got to be so obsessed anyway:

I didn't actually like Leon at first. He and Hop gave me name-related psychic damage (I could explain but that would require at least 3 paragraphs of personally identifiable information as context), and his initial interactions with Sonia rubbed me the wrong way.

After that rough introduction, it was 'ah it's this guy again;' he existed and I had no strong feelings one way or another. He still annoyed me slightly, but he was helpful and clearly trying his best.

Then he had Charizard shield Hop and the player, and I decided that if nothing else, I appreciated how much he cared, and what he was willing to do.

And then

AND THEN

His losing animation hit me right in the feels. When I saw him pull his cap over his eyes, my first thought was "I understand this man on a spiritual level". Everything about that animation was perfect. I could see myself in him. Everything fit into place. Terrible sense of direction? Check. And that's not something I often see in fiction; I guess there is Ace from HnKnA but I'm not a fan of yanderes, thanks. Hiding emotions behind a hat? Check. That was a staple of high school me. The anger, but forcing it down and letting it go? Over the course of a few seconds? *chef’s kiss*.

More importantly, pushing himself to be the strongest, to help others, to bring them up to his level, to entertain, and to protect the region? That's the exact kind of power fantasy I used to try to live in MMOs and part of why I (almost) always play a tank. And of course, with being a tank comes having an ego, but Leon doesn't put people down to build himself up, which is really nice to see in such a confident character.

Then everything I learned about him after that just made me love him more.

TWILIGHT WINGS. All of it. That honestly made me go from loving Leon to loving all of the SwSh cast, honestly; it even got me to sympathize with Oleana! I mean yes, what she did to Bede (and to Goh and Sonia in the anime) was beyond messed up and I am not justifying her actions, but at the same time, I appreciate her character.

Battle Tower outfit 12/10! A solid half of my blorbos over the years are fancy bastard wizards and battle tower Leon gets to look the part too! It's great!

I love how the anime and pokemon masters fleshed out his interactions with other characters, especially with Sonia and Raihan.

I could go on and on and on but I won't, especially as there's some self-recognition through the blorbo I'm not ready to admit to

#Pokemon #Leon #just putting out the things that have been rattling around in my skull for a while #I don't have the energy to write another fic or even re-visit the one I wrote a few months ago #but I figure this whole list might give someone some nice food to chew on so I might as well put this out here #Champion Leon #My writing #to file it for my own purposes even if it's not actually a fic

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zorilleerrant · 2 years

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Words, words, words

Nothing can touch him, if he can just make it to the library. That’s always been safe. It’s always – when he would have a bad day, he just had to wander between the shelves and it would wisp away like so much mist in the morning sun, literature beaming down at him as he tried to hold his breath just so he didn’t scream. (He can’t scream. Screaming is never just screaming, not in this house, and nothing is really wrong, is it?)

There are worlds on worlds in the library, and none of them has ever been beholden to the one they’re in, better than he could’ve dreamed of before the words wrapped around him like a comforter, worse but with such a skillful blade he shivered in relief, the same but beautiful, always beautiful, lights and shadows no one ever saw unless they were specifically looking. (Except authors have pasts. Everyone has a past. Everyone is a product of the world that built them and broke them and asked them to do more anyway.)

He could pick up a book, and it wouldn’t matter that all the kids in school mocked him for getting good grades too easily, that he never felt like he earned what he got unless he studied, that it hurt to study when he just wanted to sleep, that staying awake made him slip up on a test, that the test score was too low for a question that he knew he knew the answer to, that he didn’t always know the answers to because so much school got taken from him, that it wasn’t fair who did and who didn’t. (But then he did learn after all, didn’t he? Just different things. It’s alright to learn different things or no one would have anything to talk about.)

When everything was cold and new, nothing but scents of dust and stale air in room after room, even when the furniture polish in the hallways tried to keep everything bright and safe, the library smelled the way libraries always do. Dust, yes, some of it, inevitable in someplace that vast and that old, and ink, and leather, and bookbinding glue. Yellowed parchment, old as the home they were housed in, bittersweet and oaky, hints of coffee and perfume and life. Soft cream medium weight, new as the boy who found them, sharp and sour, sawdust and the plasticky hint of a printing press running full capacity. (Dust and faint sweetness like wet concrete, bitter ink and sour glue like hot metal, like wires, like blood.)

When everything was warm and overly familiar, hallways lined with photos new but all the same, room after room opened, aired out, filled with light and laughter and love, the library looked the way it always did. They were never of a height except on the French shelf, uniform bindings like ducks in a row, the mass markets bought so he never had to worry about smudging or wrinkling or spilling, spines uncreased as if waiting for him all these years, the series books, neat and tidy, numbers standing out bright on their spines. And still, different colors, every one, dark and light and swirled, grayscale and bold and pastel and carefully painted scenes. (Green, always green, the biting acid green of spilled batteries poisoning the earth.)

He wants to run his hand over their spines. He wants to run laughing through the stacks, taking in the heft of them, the weight of centuries of knowledge and imagination and the burning need to share with everyone in the world, the need for everyone to know, to understand. He wants to pull out an old favorite, worn along the edges, and spill it open gently, eyes alighting on words like landmarks, pulling him along. He wants to grab a volume at random, crack it open with a thunderclap and only learn by doing what secrets it has to tell him. (He wants to stand up. Uncurl fingers, unclench fists. Pull away from the wall. Body language open. Feet apart, arms out for balance, push up from the thighs, not the ankles. Up. Step by step. Please.)

Books are there even when no one else is. Books never fed him, but they told him they loved him when his mom couldn’t anymore, taught him how to feed himself, reminded him it was okay that he had to, and okay when he didn’t have to anymore. Books never protected him, but they never hit him either, taught him how to hurt and how to heal and how to make sure it never happened again, not the same way twice. Books never tucked him into bed, but they still echoed his father’s words in his ears as he drifted off to sleep. (He’s not here. He’s never here. He isn’t supposed to be, that isn’t how the timeline worked out, so he wasn’t and he isn’t.)

“Jason?”

(Bruce?)

#look i said something #my writing #fanfic #batman #jason todd #wayne family adventures #wayne family adventures spoilers #sorry for using a Shakespeare title I know I'm basic

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dreamerstreamer · 3 years

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Into The Woods

Pairing: werewolf!Dream / Clay x human!gn!reader

Summary: [Werewolf!AU] It’s love at first sight when you move into a quaint, little house by the forest’s edge, but you soon find that there’s more waiting for you in the woods than you originally thought.

Word Count: 10k

A/N: my third commissioned story! this work has been altered so everyone can read it, but the plot remains the same. this story was a blast to write, and i hope you all enjoy it! <3

With a step back and a firm tug, the back door slammed shut with a satisfying click. You grinned as you turned the key in the lock. Slipping the silver keyring into your pocket, you turned on your heel, your gaze sweeping over the vast open forest that stretched out before you. Viridian green leaves loomed over the earth, standing in stark contrast to the clear, cerulean blue sky that stretched across the horizon overhead. On the ground below, the occasional wildflower sprouted up and out of the earth, their soft petals shyly unfurling and fluttering in the warm summer breeze.

For such a lovely view, you never would have guessed that you would be able to afford a place like this for so cheap.

Then again, Elmwood Ridge wasn’t a particularly notable town. Best known for its countless acres of elm forests and the large lake that laid at its centre, the town had become something of a nature reserve unto itself, despite being anything but. It was a quiet, quaint region, somewhere you had always distantly dreamed of visiting, if only because of its peaceful atmosphere. You never thought that you would end up living there, though.

It had been a split second decision made on impulse, and looking back, maybe it wasn’t the smartest move you’d ever made, but you didn’t regret one bit. Your new house was two stories tall and built with lovely stone bricks that looked like they came right out of a fairytale. The triangular sloping roof hung just over the sides of the house to provide some shelter from the rain, and the second floor had two balconies—one in the front and the back. Needless to say, you were sold in a heartbeat. Not only was the house pretty, but so was the price tag. You vaguely remembered hearing something about complaints of noisy wolves in the forest, but you weren't deterred. A little noise never killed anyone, and you were more than happy to share your space with nature.

Hopping down the back steps, you gently tread across the soft grass, careful not to step on any flowers as you walked. After moving in two days ago, you had planned to take the day off to hike and learn all that you could about your new backyard. You would head into town tomorrow and look for a job then—right now, all you wanted to do was explore and appreciate your new home.

Gazing up at the rustling elm leaves one last time, you smiled to yourself before stepping out of your lawn and into the forest.

In the distance, a faint howl rang out across the trees.

Between stretches of chestnut wood, a flash of tawny brown and golden fur dashed across the earth, powerful paws pushing off the ground with each leap. Landing atop a fallen log, the wolf raised his head, his muzzle raised toward the sky as he inhaled sharply, his nostrils flaring.

Fresh. Clean. Warm. The faintest scent of flowers.

He exhaled, emerald eyes blinking as he scanned the open forest around him.

Carrying out routine morning patrols around the pack’s territory was one of the alpha’s many duties, but Clay still wasn’t quite used to it.

Stepping down from the log, he let his tongue hang out of his mouth, his ears flicking as he took in every sound. Somewhere above him, a bird flapped its wings, chirping as it took flight. Along the breeze, he could pick up the distant scent of deer coming from the south. His eyes flashed at the smell. He would have to report that to the pack when he returned—it had been a few days since they last had a large hunt. Sniffing one last time, he began weaving between the looming trunks, his entire body rapt with focus.

He had only been appointed as alpha a little less than a month ago, and although he had technically been taught the ropes, it took more than just a few lessons for a wolf to truly become alpha. He could still remember how the former alpha had pressed his nose to his side, nudging him onto the rock peak in front of his pack with an aging howl. He had been getting older, and everyone knew it—it was only a matter of time until a new leader was selected, but Clay never would have dreamt he would be the one who was chosen.

Only a few people were as surprised as he was, though. He was one of the larger wolves in the pack, and while he wasn’t the tallest in his human form—that title belonged to the young, curious Ranboo—he was by far the strongest, having led more than his fair share of hunts before. It was only natural that he ended up in his position, and he was welcomed into the upper ranks with open arms.

A glimmer of warmth washed over him at the memory, and he would have smiled if he wasn’t shifted. He had never felt such pride before, feeling everyone’s excited gazes on him as he howled up at the gleaming, full moon. The shouts that filled the starry night sky made his heart swell in his chest, and he just knew he was going to do his best to make everyone proud. He would protect them to the ends of the earth, if he had to.

Kicking away a stray branch, his eyes quickly flicked over his surroundings. He recognized this area, and he knew that he had almost completed a full circle around the pack’s perimeter, by now. There was only a tiny stretch left before he would return to the camp and fill everyone in. Raising his head, he let his jaw fall open to catch any aromas that travelled along the breeze.

All of a sudden, a new scent wafted over his nose, an unsettling sense of unfamiliarity striking deep within his core.

There was something in the woods—something that did not belong here.

In an instant, Clay’s lips were pulled back in a snark, his sharp canines bared as he sank his paws into the soil below. His claws latched onto the dirt, his grip firm and unwavering as he pressed himself closer to the ground, careful not to let his scent travel in the air.

They weren’t common, but every now and then, hunters would venture into the woods with their heads held high and guns drawn. Most of them came hunting for game, shooting down the occasional deer or elk to bring back to their own families. Clay didn’t have a problem with those hunters, but as for the ones who came in search of wolves?

Clay wasn’t sure he could be so lenient with those ones.

Prowling forward, he kept his haunches low, his tail brushing over the shrubbery as he took step after step toward the strange, new scent. Ever so slowly, he crept closer, his pupils dilated in focus. Suddenly, he stopped, freezing in place.

He could hear footsteps.

Inhaling deeply, he let his eyelids fall shut.

One, two, three...

His eyes shot wide open, and he whipped his head up, only to go stock still as a silhouette came into view.

It was a person, a regular person.

He blinked as he lifted his head, his expression growing neutral as he watched you crouch down to examine a small pile of stones stacked beside a tree, one that he vaguely remembered being made by Tommy and Tubbo when they went exploring a few weeks ago. There was no gun strapped to your body, no pack hanging off your hips as you rose back up to your feet. You didn’t seem to be a threat at all, and from the back, he couldn’t tell if you were even carrying a weapon.

Just then, you turned to the side, and he felt his breath hitch in his throat.

The world suddenly fell away, his surroundings melting into nothing more than a hazy blur as his eyes locked onto your face. His heart came to a screeching halt in his chest.

You were beautiful.

The light framing your lovely face made your cheeks seem all the more lively as you rose. He watched as you brushed your fingers delicately over the bark of a tree, your brilliant eyes meticulously tracing over the curve of every leaf as you walked past. Your feet never lingered in one place for long, constantly moving and skittering across the forest floor like a rippling stream. It was almost as though your every movement cast streaks of dappled sunlight everywhere you stepped, the marvelling spark flickering in your gaze making his head spin with wild abandon.

Clay felt something warm and tight curl against his insides, unmistakably soft and affectionate. It was almost hard to breathe with the way his lungs squeezed and shook behind his ribs. He hadn’t felt this feeling before, but he had heard enough stories to know exactly what it was.

His mate—you were his mate.

There wasn’t any one way to truly describe what a mating bond was, but the most commonly accepted one was that it was a connection that tied people’s souls together, uniting them in perfect harmony. Every werewolf had a mate, and most of the time, they would find their mate in another one of their kind. But right now, as Clay stood in the forest, his gaze glued to the most beautiful human he had ever laid eyes on, he knew that he wasn’t going to find his mate in some other shifter like everyone else had said he would.

Having a human for a mate was rare at best, and unheard of at worst. After all, not every human had a mate, and he had heard stories of shifters being rejected by their human mates. Some of the elders in the camp still refused to believe that having a human mate was even possible, but nearly all of the younger shifters had accepted it—embraced it, even. But never in his pack, at least, had someone learned that their mate was a human.

It looked like he was going to be the first.

For a few long moments, he simply stood there, watching you silently with wide eyes as you slowly made your way deeper down the path. A part of him wanted to chase after you, yearned to walk by your side for as long as his legs would let him. But as soon as he raised his paw, he quickly lowered it again, a pang of guilt shooting through him.

He couldn’t go up to you—not like this, and most certainly not now. He didn’t have nearly enough experience under his belt as an alpha yet, and bringing you to his world could just make everything even worse if he wasn’t careful about it. He swallowed, taking a single step back as you slowly slipped out of view, disappearing into the trees and carrying your lovely scent away with you.

Anxiety gnawed at the inside of his gut, and he couldn’t help but wonder if you would even return. Surely you must live around here to be hiking in these woods—maybe you would hike here again, if not even more often.

He paused, then nodded to himself before whipping around, his tail swishing behind him as he clenched his jaw.

Tomorrow. He would come back tomorrow.

A few feet deeper within the trees, the sound of a stick snapping shattered the forest’s silence.

Along the lightly-treaded path, you whirled, your head pointing toward the sharp sound. Pausing, you raised your head, your gaze darting to the forest canopy above. The sun peaked down at you between swaths of vibrant green, and you squinted, raising a hand to shield your eyes. The trees remained quiet around you, only whispering with the soft rustles of their leaves.

A moment passed in silence. A robin warbled.

You let out a long exhale and shook your head. Turning once more, you stepped over a small crack in the ground, humming as you walked further into the woods.

It was probably nothing.

Sapnap grunted as he dropped the pile of sticks onto the ground, the wood clattering at his feet in a heap. He scowled at the sight, resisting the urge to kick the pile down. He couldn’t believe Wilbur had actually tricked him into doing something as simple as collecting firewood. It wasn’t difficult or anything, but he was the beta, for crying out loud! He could have at least passed the buck to someone like Tommy, that brat.

“Sapnap.”

Sapnap blinked at the familiar voice, turning to find himself standing face to face with Clay. His dirty blond hair was disheveled atop his head, and his cheeks were flushed with heat. A smile tugged on his lips at the sight. “Oh, hey, Clay. Welcome back.” He squinted at the way Clay’s chest heaved, his breaths coming out shaky and uneven. “Um, you good, there? Did you run back here or somethi—”

“It happened,” Clay blurted.

Sapnap blinked, raising a single brow at him. “What happened?”

Clay swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “I met my mate.”

Sapnap paused. “Oh. Oh.” A wide grin stretched across his face, and he reached over to clap a hand to Clay’s back. “That’s awesome, man! I’m guessing it happened on your patro—”

“My mate’s human,” Clay said suddenly.

Sapnap paused again. “Oh. Oh.”

Letting out a deep sigh, Clay’s shoulders went slack at his side as he ran a hand through his hair, pushing it away from his scalp. “I, um,” he said, his words coming out in a hazy rush. “I don’t think I’m ready to—” He stopped, feeling Sapnap’s patient gaze rest on him, then opened his mouth, again. “I can’t just reveal our world so soon. I’ve only been alpha for what?” He gestured vaguely. “A month? I’m not experienced enough, yet.” He slumped forward, a hollow, wistful look settling onto his features. “It would be too much for both of us.”

Sapnap nodded thoughtfully, understanding flooding his face. “It’s okay, Clay. Take your time.” He fell silent for a brief moment, then quietly added, “Did you reveal yourself or anything?”

He shook his head. “Not at all. I was too surprised to even move.”

Sapnap’s lips quirked up into a tiny smile. “Then there’s no rush,” he said. “You’re allowed to build up your confidence first, dude. Your confidence as a wolf. As an alpha.” His eyes flashed with soft reassurance. “As a mate.”

Clay raised his head, blinking as Sapnap gently nudged his shoulder with his. “You can do this. Plus,” he added, his tone growing more lighthearted, “I’m your beta. You know I’ve got your back.”

The chuckle that escaped Clay’s lips was low and short, but he could already feel the tension seep out his shoulders like a leaking dam. “Thanks, Sap.”

Taking a step back, Sapnap hummed, offering him a lopsided smile. “Anytime.”

Clay turned on his heel, jerking his head toward the centre of the camp. “Well, I need to organize today’s hunt, but I’ll catch you later. I trust you’ll keep things under control while I’m gone.”

He nodded. “Of course—you know me.” With a short wave and a small grin, Clay began walking off in the opposite direction. “Oh, also,” Sapnap suddenly shouted after him, “don’t forget to grab something to eat before you go hunting today, yeah? I know you missed breakfast.”

Clay didn’t look behind him as he shot a thumbs up at Sapnap from behind his back, but Sapnap could already picture the way he would roll his eyes with a smile. Shaking his head, he turned back to the firewood scattered around his feet, a new glower creeping onto his face.

He was so getting back at Wilbur for this.

Every morning after, Clay dutifully woke up early and strolled deep into the woods, shifted into his wolf form as he scented the air and patrolled the area just as any good alpha would. But time and time again, that one sweet scent never seemed to return, almost as though it had vanished from the forest entirely. At times, he thought he caught the faintest whiff of it, but some further exploration would only reveal a small patch of flowers, never you.

Needless to say, his disappointment was palpable.

It had been a full week now, and Clay was running out of hope. Maybe he was wrong—maybe you wouldn’t ever come back. His heart ached at the thought.

He had been too hasty, wasn’t he?

Hanging his head, he whimpered to himself in the quiet forest, sniffing absentmindedly as he ambled about almost aimlessly. He still had a duty to fulfill, he knew, but he couldn’t ignore the empty feeling burrowing deeper and deeper into his chest.

But right then, just as he paced another few feet forward, he heard it.

A melody.

It was soft, the singing travelling down from the west in a distant murmur, or perhaps a hum. If he hadn’t been paying attention, he surely would have missed it. He didn’t know this song, didn’t recognize it one bit, but he could already tell that it was sweeter than any thrush’s song or any loon’s call. He felt his heart flip in his chest, and just like that, he knew.

In a flash, he was racing across the earth, his paws flying out beneath him in a blur as he ducked under branches and darted past deer, missing the way they startled at his sudden approach. The song was louder now, and he could smell it—smell you.

It was only a few seconds later that he came to a stop, his paws digging into the ground as his heart leapt into his throat.

Soft hair. Bright eyes. A dazzling grin.

You were back.

You had headphones on this time, he realized, and you were humming aloud to yourself, your feet most likely moving in time to the beat of whatever song you were listening to. You were a little off-key and occasionally stumbled over the refrain as it came around, but he found himself entranced nonetheless. Even when you were doing something as simple as humming, you were stunning.

Why come back today of all days? he distantly wondered to himself. What made today so different from any other day?

He wracked his mind as he felt the sun shine down on him gently, warming his back as he crouched down a little. He rarely kept track of the days—that was Sapnap’s job—but he knew that there hadn’t been any special events or holidays going on in the human world. Pressing his ears flat against his head, he scratched his paw at the ground in confusion. Just what made today so special?

That was when the realization slammed into him.

It had been a week since he last saw you.

Once a week—you must hike here once a week.

If he could smile in this form, he already knew that he would have the biggest, stupidest grin plastered to his face. He wanted to leap for joy and howl like there was no tomorrow, but he didn’t want to alert you of his presence just yet. Again, it had only been a week, and he was still far from being a worthy mate for you.

Once a week, he thought once more, his eyes glued to you as you skipped further down the trail and out of his sight. I can wait another week.

The wind sang in his ears as a gentle breeze brushed over his tawny fur, the forest murmuring a silent lullaby into his ear as he whirled back around. As much as he wanted to stay with you forever, he had a patrol to finish and a pack to defend. He let his eyelids flutter shut for the briefest of moments, your face engraved into the rosy crevices of his heart as your humming filled his ears once more.

He couldn’t wait to see you, again.

One week later, you grumbled to yourself as you stomped through the woods, complaining about your new job under your breath. Clay wished he could comfort you, but stayed put with his claws buried in the dirt.

Two weeks later, you watched with wide eyes as a doe and her fawn drank from a nearby stream. He made sure not to hunt those two down in particular later that week.

Three weeks later, you were snapping photo after photo with the camera hanging around your neck, your eyes absolutely brimming with curiosity. He thought you were prettier than any view the forest had to offer.

As one week stumbled into the next, the months began to pass in a blur. Summer collapsed into autumn as the leaves turned gorgeous shades of crimson red and golden orange before tumbling from the sky. Shortly after that, the forest was covered in a blanket of ivory white snow, leaving the branches bare and awaiting the return of spring. The snow soon melted into rain, and puddles littered the forest floor while flowers began to bud and bloom once more. In almost a whirlwind of seasons and waiting, summer rolled around once more, marking the first anniversary of your arrival in Elmwood Ridge.

With each passing season, Clay continued to watch you from afar with a tender gaze. Some days, he would listen to you hum as you trekked along while other times, he would only manage to catch the tiniest of glimpses of you between the trees. No matter how short the instance was, every second he got was well worth the wait, and Clay could feel his affection bloom like a new spring flower. As the trees grew larger, as did his confidence. Time was the best teacher the forest had to offer, and it didn’t take much longer for Clay to grow comfortable with his duty as the alpha of his pack. But despite his newfound strength, he still didn’t feel ready enough to approach you outright, to reveal himself to you as he was. Doubt swirled in his mind like a raging storm, eating away at him like a gnat digging through mud.

He was beginning to fear he may never be ready.

Lifting his head, he sniffed the air, the now familiar scent of his mate drifting across the new summer breeze. You were taking a new path today, he noted in an instant. Perhaps you were doing some exploring.

Padding through the trees, leaves crunched beneath his feet as he leapt over logs and puddles, following after your scent as it grew stronger and stronger. It only took a few moments for him to find you standing atop an elevated rock face, your head lifted as you gazed up at the light scattered between the tree leaves. Your face almost seemed to be glowing in the pale, morning sunshine, your eyes looking like two dewdrops as they curved into tiny crescents. Clay’s heart rattled in his chest, and he resisted the urge to howl to the heavens above.

You were lovely, his mate. If only he could work up the courage to properly tell you.

Basking in the sunlight, he watched as you took a few steps forward closer to the cliff’s edge, your eyes still trained on the sky above. It wasn’t a terribly deep fall, he knew, but the fall was most certainly far enough to hurt someone if they fell at the wrong angle. He narrowed his eyes as you stopped dangerously close to the edge, halting just a few inches from the drop. Surely the stone was strong enough to support your weight, even as old as it was, right?

Apparently not.

Clay saw the cliff crumble before you did.

Terror shot through his body like a bullet as he watched the rock face collapse under your shoes, your feet tumbling out beneath you. Your hands desperately reached for the cliff face, but he could tell from the way your scream cut through the forest’s silence like a sharpened blade that you weren't going to be able to grab it in time.

There was no time for him to think—his body moved first.

In one moment, he was standing with his mouth slack and his emerald eyes blown wide with horror. In the next, he was lunging across the rock face, his jaws wide open as he reached for the lower collar of your shirt. The moment he felt his nose brush against the back of your neck, he snapped his jaws shut, careful not to pierce your skin with his sharp canines as the cloth caught between his teeth. Your weight bounced beneath him once, and the gasp that escaped your lips made his head spin dizzily.

Close—you were so close, and your scent was intoxicating.

You turned your head ever so slightly, and he felt it the moment your eyes locked onto his. You were scared, he could tell, but as you took in the sight of the wolf holding onto you, you almost seemed to relax in his grip. Planting his paws firmly against the rocky earth, he tugged his jaw up and backwards, pulling you away from the cliff face and over even ground. Your hands scrambled to latch onto the cliff edge, helping to pull yourself up until finally, he let go of you, your now torn collar resting against the back of your neck.

Heaving a sigh of relief, you let yourself collapse against the rock face, lying on your back as you gasped for breath. Your chest felt tight like a wound-up spring, and adrenaline pumped through every vein in your body, yet you felt oddly calm. After a minute or two, you slowly pushed yourself forward on your arms until you were just barely slouching forward, looking over your shoulder. A few feet away from you, the wolf stood, his eyes trained intently on your face as you swallowed.

“Um,” you breathed, your eyes desperately scanning him up and down. “Hello?”

He didn’t say anything in return, simply shuffling further away from you. He was giving you space, you realized after a brief moment, and you blinked as you scrambled to sit completely upright. His fur was a soft, golden brown, and you had half the mind to distantly think that you wanted to run your fingers through it. Something about him seemed comforting like that.

“Hi,” you whispered once you were seeing him eye-to-eye. “Ah, um, thank you for saving me.”

Maybe you were just imagining it, but you could have sworn his eyes widened in an almost human-like manner. He didn’t move from his spot a few feet away from you, and you swallowed. You thought you would be more scared than this, more terrified of the beast standing before you. But as you sat there, watching as he blinked at you, you felt as though you were anything but. An unfamiliar yet strangely comforting warmth curled around in the pit of your stomach as you tilted your head at the wolf.

He felt so... safe. So familiar, almost like you had met him before.

“Are—are you a nice wolf?” you asked after another moment, your voice faltering the tiniest bit. “I’d like to think you’re a nice wolf, since you just saved my life.”

Once again, you were greeted by silence, the only indication that he had heard you at all being the way his ears flicked. What am I doing? you suddenly thought, your mind running at a million miles a minute. I’m talking to a wolf—an animal. I’m not a Disney character.

This was weird—or at least it was supposed to be. Yet, as you stared at this wolf who simply stared back at you with these bright, stunning green eyes, you couldn’t help but feel that everything in this moment was just perfect. Like you had been waiting your entire life for this moment to happen.

“You’re really pretty,” you suddenly blurted. In an instant, you were slamming your palm over your mouth, your cheeks flooding with heat. “Oh my god, that was embarrassing,” you murmured, your voice coming out muffled. “I’m sorry.”

Your heart hammered against your ribcage like a caged bird begging to be let out, and ever so slowly, you lowered your hands from your mouth, offering the wolf a shaky, sheepish smile. “Um, thank you, again,” you said gently, honestly. Leaning forward, you pressed your hands against the cool stone to balance yourself, your fingers digging into the rock as you spoke. “I don’t really know how you knew I was there or how you knew I was going to fall, but I really appreciate it.”

The wolf blinked at you once more, then took another step back, subtly dipping his head. Your smile widened at the sight. Pushing yourself upward, you rose to your feet, brushing off the dust from your frontside before standing upright, fidgeting almost nervously.

“I—I,” you stammered, suddenly feeling awkward, “I think I’m going to go home now, but...” You swallowed, raising your hand in a small wave as heat rose in your chest. “...thank you so much, again!”

Before the warmth in your heart could burst, you whipped around, sprinting away as fast as your legs could take you. You didn’t see the way the wolf practically crumbled into a ball on the ground, whimpering to himself as you disappeared out of sight.

Bolting down the hill and past the trees, branches blew past you in a blur as you dashed between the trunks and over patches of wildflowers. Your heartbeat pounded in your ears like a beating drum, and your chest felt oddly light. You couldn’t shake the memory of how intense that wolf’s gaze had been on yours, his eyes swirling with something that made your stomach churn and your mouth go dry.

He really was pretty.

Sapnap yawned as he stretched his arm behind his back and above his head, rolling his neck as the joint popped back into place with a satisfying crack. He couldn’t remember the last time he slept in like this, but he did not regret it one bit. Clay had given him the okay, after all. One late morning wouldn’t hurt anyone.

“Sapnap, you are not going to believe this.”

Sapnap yelped, whipping around with eyes as wide as saucers as he stumbled back a step. The drowsiness left his body in an instant, almost as though he had never been tired to begin with. Clay’s hand shot out to grab his arm, steadying him as he swallowed, relaxing once he realized who he was looking at.

“Holy crap, Clay,” he gasped, pressing a hand to his racing heart, “you scared me! I know you’ve gotten better at this whole stealth thing, but that was just straight up terrifyi—”

Clay’s grip on his arm tightened. “I saved them today,” he whispered.

Sapnap froze, and there was a beat of silence. “You did what, now?”

Just like that, Clay had flung his arms up and around his head, his fingers buried in his hair as he began to pace, his tone frantic and rushed. “There—there was this steeper area with this cliff but it was kind of hidden, and then it was breaking and I just knew something bad was going to happen, and I couldn’t just let that happen, so I moved without thinking and I was pulling them back and—”

A pair of hands suddenly grabbed onto his shoulders, stopping him dead in his tracks. “Breathe,” Sapnap instructed calmly. “You need to breathe, dude.” Clay opened his mouth, but Sapnap spoke before he could. “You are talking so quickly right now, and I can’t understand you when you talk like that.”

Clay closed his mouth, mulling over the whirlwind of thoughts and emotions steamrolling through his head. After a few moments, he finally spoke once more. “I still can’t believe it,” he murmured, suddenly sounding completely and utterly awestruck. “My mate actually stopped and thanked me. And called me pretty.”

Sapnap’s fingers loosened around Clay’s shoulders, a ghost of a smile gracing his lips. “Yeah?”

Clay sighed, sounding absolutely lovestruck. “Yeah.”

Pulling his arms back to cross them over his chest, Sapnap eyed him up and down, cocking his head. “So,” he began gently, “how are you feeling?” When Clay opened his mouth, Sapnap quickly added, “Slowly, please.”

Clay groaned, teasingly rolling his eyes before leaning back on his heels, rocking back and forth as he began to speak. “I only revealed myself as a wolf,” he said softly, “so I don’t know if they know about the mating bond yet. I don’t even know if humans can feel it like we can.”

He tilted his head back, gazing up at the cerulean blue sky. “But there’s something about the way we looked at each other that makes me feel like maybe, just maybe, humans can feel it,” he whispered, sounding breathless all at once. “Call it a gut feeling, I guess. I don’t know.” He cast a glance over at Sapnap, his eyebrows furrowed. “Do I sound crazy?”

A thoughtful look flickered across Sapnap’s face. Then, he grinned. “A little bit, yeah.”

Clay sighed, something he noticed he had been doing a lot more, lately. “I just…” He swallowed. “I just don’t want something like that to happen ever, ever again.”

Suddenly, he fell quiet, his lips parting as the wheels in his head began to turn. Sapnap watched as a tiny spark came to life within his focused gaze, small but oh-so vibrant.

“You got an idea there?” he prompted after a few seconds of silence.

Clay blinked once. Twice. Then, a smile stretched across his face—a smile as bright as the full moon.

“Something like that.”

It was probably a dumb idea for you to return to the forest for your weekly hike as if nothing had happened, but you couldn’t quite quench the curiosity that bubbled up inside you every time you thought about the wolf who had saved you. His gaze had been fiery, yet compassionate, and he had been purposely so gentle when tugging you away from the cliff. You weren't a fool—you knew how powerful a wolf could be. Then why did he treat you so kindly?

You had to find out.

Marching through the brush and shrubbery, you whipped your head this way and that, scanning every strip of forest you could lay your eyes on. Wolves were good at hiding, you knew that. After all, if they weren’t as stealthy as they were, they would never be able to catch a meal. But you had been hiking for almost an hour now, and you still hadn’t seen a single glimpse of the wolf. You couldn’t say you were completely surprised, since it wasn’t like you knew every inch of the forest, but you were frustrated to admit that you were at least a little disappointed. Maybe this was a lost cause.

But then, you heard it.

The sound of a stick snapping.

Freezing, you paused, turning as you glanced to the sides. Nothing out of the ordinary stood among the bushes. You stopped again, then pursed your lips.

No, something was there.

A tender curiosity sparked between your lungs, but it was coated in a thin layer of reluctance. Sucking in a deep breath, you whipped around, squinting at the seemingly empty trees around you as you opened your mouth.

“Wolf?” you called out slowly into the quiet. “Is that you?”

At first, all was quiet, and you held your breath. The leaves rustled around you almost tauntingly, and you distantly heard the caw of a crow. You were just about to give up and go home when a flash of gold caught your eye.

Standing motionless a single yard away was a wolf—your wolf.

A grin stretched across your face, joy surging through your body as you carefully took a few steps forward. Oh, this was definitely a dumb idea, but you was more than brave enough to keep going.

“Hi, there.” You shuffled your feet, a tentative look passing over your face. “You’re, um—” You gulped. “You’re not going to hurt me, are you?”

Clay’s eyes went wide, and he took a step back. No! he thought, hoping you would be able to read his expression, even as a wolf. Never. Not in a million years.

You stared at him for a long moment, blinking slowly as you scanned his face up and down. Then, your lips quirked up into the tiniest of smiles.

“No,” you murmured in the softest of voices, and he felt his heart melt in his chest. “If you were going to do something, you would have done it by now, wouldn’t you?”

Clay nearly sank in relief, and he barked. You raised a brow at the sound, furrowing your brows slightly. “Do you want me to keep you company?” you asked, beginning to walk up to him. “Is that what you’re doing?”

You had only made it a few steps when he suddenly barked again, taking a step toward you. In an instant, you froze, watching with bated breath as he curled around to your other side and gently nudged at your leg with his nose. You shot him a curious glance, stumbling forward the tiniest bit. “Hey,” you said, “what are you...?”

You trailed off, a cut rock face suddenly catching your attention from the corner of your eye. The stony grey wall was nearly perpendicular to the ground and looked almost eerily similar to the one you had nearly fallen down the week prior. Just like that, it clicked.

There was another small cliff right there. He was trying to keep you away from it.

“Oh,” you breathed, your lips splitting into an even wider grin as you made sure to steer away from the short cliff, “you don’t want me falling again, do you?”

He snorted, and you blinked at him. That sounded far more human this time—almost too human. It almost reminded you of a dog, if anything. A triumphant smile slowly crept onto your face, and with your head held high, you turned on your heel, marching onward and away from the rock face.

“Well, wolf,” you said, a teasing arrogance seeping into your tone as you glanced over your shoulder at him, “I promise you that I’ll be much safer this time arou—woah!”

The toe of your shoe caught on a protruding stone, and with a sharp yelp, you stumbled forward, gravity pulling you downward with a harsh pull. With a flail of your arms, you only just barely caught your balance as your hand shot out to grab onto a tree and steady yourself. Your heart flipped in your chest as you planted your feet firmly against the ground, the soles of your shoes pressed flatly against the earth as your fingers curled into the bark. Your chest heaved with surprise as you stood upright, turning to look over your shoulder at the wolf. He blinked at you, and while you knew wolves couldn’t quite smile, something about his gaze almost seemed cocky—like he was laughing at you. Heat crept up your neck and onto your face, your cheeks bursting with warmth.

“Y-You did not see that,” you sputtered, coughing into your sleeve as you brushed off your pants dismissively.

Almost as if to spare you some embarrassment, he turned his head away from you, although you could see his eyes glance your way every few seconds. Pouting, you huffed, whirling on your feet as you continued to trudge down the path. Soon enough, the sound of soft footsteps trailed after you, and you couldn’t help but smile at the sound, knowing that he would follow you even if you weren't looking.

That night, you dreamt of whispering trees and a pair of bright, viridian green eyes.

What had once been a weekly ritual of watching from afar soon turned into an amicable companionship between human and wolf. You weren't afraid as you walked into the woods to see a familiar pair of eyes waiting for you, your eagerness to see him only growing with each passing week. Clay himself could hardly contain his excitement. Actually walking beside you was so much better than simply watching from the woods, hidden by the trees. He loved your company and absolutely basked in your presence, even if you sent his heart into an absolute frenzy.

“Sometimes,” you said aloud one day, “I really do think you can understand me.”

Clay stiffened, praying you wouldn’t notice the way his ears pressed flat against his head as he turned to look at you. You sat on a tree stump while he padded atop the fallen trunk it sat beside, your gleaming gaze slowly blinking at him as he silently circled around you.

“I think it’s got something to do with the way you react to some of the things I say,” you murmured. You watched the way his tail flicked behind him, the soft fur brushing gently against the low-growing plants. A second later, you sighed, waving your hand. “Ah, I’m probably just imagining things.”

Clay nearly heaved a sigh of relief, continuing to pace. You would say surprising things like that every once in a while, and it would send his heart racing. Well, you usually only said one absurd thing per week, so you probably weren’t going to say another thing like that toda—

“Can I pet you?”

His paws came to a halt. Perhaps he thought too soon.

Before he could even properly process what you had said, You were backpedaling, shaking your head with an apologetic look. “Agh, that’s a terrible question. You’re a wolf, not a dog. There’s no way you wou—”

All of a sudden, he was crawling up to you, jutting his forehead toward your hand. His muzzle was clamped shut as his eyes bore into yours, and you gaped at him, the realization beginning to dawn on you.

“Wait,” you breathed in disbelief, “you’re actually going to let me?”

He didn’t move, lowering his eyes to the ground almost shyly as his ears curled toward you. Slowly, you raised your arm with a shaky hand and reached forward, letting your fingers gently brush over his tawny fur with a feather-light touch. You nearly gasped at the feeling, not noticing the way his legs trembled beneath him.

“Wolf,” you whispered after a few seconds, “you’re really soft.”

Clay nearly combusted on the spot. Perfect—everything about you was just perfect.

With your hand buried in his soft fur and the summer breeze ruffling your hair, You smiled, sighing with warmth lighting up your heart as the wolf at your feet melted beneath your touch.

Sapnap tapped his foot impatiently, squinting up at the glaring sun. George slept in, again. He was kind of used to it now, but even though he wasn’t surprised, he wasn’t afraid to admit that he was more than just a little ticked off.

“My mate pet me today.”

Sapnap tensed for a split second, turning to see Clay staring at him with wide eyes. Relaxing once more, he stared at him for a long, long moment before speaking. He really needed to start giving him some sort of heads up at this point.

“Dude,” he said, “I know that the last time you asked me if you sounded crazy, I said a little bit, but I feel like I might have to change my answer.”

Clay shot him a glare, and he couldn’t stop his lips from twitching in amusement. “Sapnap,” he said bluntly, “you act like you don’t talk about Karl and Alex like this.”

Sapnap looked taken aback for a moment, raising a finger, then lowering it with a defeated look. “Touché.”

As Clay walked off with his head held high and a bounce in his step, Sapnap chuckled, watching him leave with a small smile. He recognized the gleam in his eyes, the rosy hue of his cheeks.

Love—Clay really was in love, wasn’t he?

“I’ve been thinking,” you said one day, a few months later.

Clay perked up at the sound of your voice from where he lay at your feet, soaking in the first few rays of sun. It had been well over a year since he had first laid eyes on you now, and a little over a few months since you began walking together. It was only a matter of time until the leaves would turn golden brown once more as autumn descended upon them.

“I dunno,” you murmured, knocking your legs back against the stone you sat on. “I feel like I should give you a name instead of just calling you wolf all the time.” You flashed him a shy grin, your gaze darting this way and that. “It feels kind of awkward, you know?”

He cocked his head. A name? Chances were you probably weren't going to guess his actual name. He supposed he wouldn’t mind a nickname. Then again, he didn’t think he would mind anything that you might do. Lowering himself closer to the ground, he let out a quiet bark of approval.

Your lips twitched the tiniest bit at the sound, and you hummed, drumming your fingers against your thigh. “How do you feel about... Aaron?”

His emerald eyes flashed as he took a step back, ducking his head the slightest bit. Your lips pursed into a small pout, and you leaned down to rest your chin on your hand. “Alright,” you murmured, “not Aaron, then.” You chewed on the inside of your cheek for a second. “Roy?”

Clay didn’t even have to think about it for more than a second before he was whimpering, pressing his head to his paws as he dropped his haunches close to the ground. You snorted at his obvious disapproval, tapping the toes of your shoes together with a pensive look.

“Okay,” you said slowly, drawing out the vowel sound, “maybe we should try some less... human-sounding names.” You tilted your head, letting your gaze trail up the tree trunks and up at the sky above. The sun wasn’t shining directly into your eyes this time, and you blinked with surprise to see a puff of white fluff blocking out the light.

“What about,” you offered with a hum, “Cloud?”

You glanced down again, only to see the wolf staring back at you blankly. You couldn’t quite read the look in his eyes, but you had a feeling he wasn’t quite satisfied with this one, either. Lowering your chin, you puffed your cheeks, glancing this way and that across the forest around you. You couldn’t just call him something like Leaf, or Sky—those would be too obvious, too plain for a wolf as lovely as him.

Sighing, you let your eyelids flutter shut, letting the sun wash over your cheeks and warming your skin. He was... special, even if you knew you were biased in your opinion. There was some special quality about him, something that made your chest swell and your heart skip a beat, almost as if he came straight out of a—

“Dream,” you whispered at last.

Clay’s ears perked up at the new name, and he lifted his head, flicking his ears at you. Maybe it was the name itself, maybe it was the way you said it, or maybe it was just you, but something about it just felt right. He barked once, lifting his tail as he stepped toward you.

You blinked at the sight, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Dream?” you repeated. “You like the sound of Dream?”

He barked again, leaping up onto his hind legs for a moment. You grinned, giggling at the sight of such a large wolf acting almost like a dog around you. “Alright,” you murmured, reaching your hand out toward him, ��Dream it is.”

Leaning closer to you, he sank into your touch as you rubbed your hand over his head, scratching behind his ears as he let out a soft whine from the back of his throat. Your eyes softened, and you curled your knees a little closer to your chest, resting your chin on them.

“It probably doesn’t matter to you since you’re a wolf and all,” you said softly, your voice almost sounding shy in the quiet of the morning, “but my name is [Y/N].”

Clay felt a tender warmth blossom in the cracks beneath his chest, heat unfurling from the depths of his soul as something inside him swelled beyond belief. Your hand continued stroking his fur all the while, not at all noticing the way he pressed his head a little closer into your soothing touch, yearning and longing for more.

“[Y/N],” his heart sang, shooting from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. “[Y/N], [Y/N], [Y/N].”

Had a name ever sounded as beautiful as yours?

Sapnap was going to wring Skeppy’s neck. Skipping out on a morning meeting was one thing, but skipping it to hang out with your mate? Not even he did that.

“[Y/N].”

Sapnap didn’t bother flinching as he turned to see Clay standing in front of him, panting like his life depended on it. This was far from the first time this had happened, and he was sure it most certainly would not be the last. “What?”

Clay shook his head, half-looking like he was about to collapse on the spot. “My mate’s name is [Y/N].”

Sapnap blinked, then his lips curled up into a smile. “Congrats for learning what it is, man,” he said honestly, patting Clay’s shoulder with his free hand. “That’s fantastic, really. You’re making progress.”

Clay swallowed, and he reached up to drag a hand down his face before letting it drop loosely at his side. “Sapnap,” he said slowly, his voice sounding quiet and raw, “I don’t know if I can do this anymore.”

Sapnap’s eyebrows knit together, confusion rippling across his features. “What do you mean?” he asked. “You can’t keep visiting?” Something uncomfortable and cold tugged at the back of his mind. “There’s no way you’re just gonna give up like that, are you?”

Clay’s jaw dropped. “What? No! I mean that...” He paused, squeezing his fist for a moment as he sucked in a deep breath. “I don’t think I can keep showing up in only my wolf form.”

The cogs in Sapnap’s whirred to life as he took in his friend’s clenched jaw. Then, his eyes went wide. “Are you saying...?”

Clay nodded, pursing his lips as he swallowed thickly. “I’m going to reveal who I am.”

His eyes flashed with determination.

“Who I really am.”

You hummed as you twisted the key in the hole, the back door locking shut with a click you had grown used to hearing every week for the past year and a half, now. Whirling around, you could already feel the smile start to spread across your face as you leapt off the porch and ran toward the well-worn path, the forest beckoning you forward with a distant howl. You didn’t remember when exactly your weekly hikes grew to become your favourite part of the week, but you couldn’t imagine life without them, anymore.

Sucking in a deep breath, your chest swelled at the fresh air rushing into your lungs, excitement flickering through your body with every step you took. You couldn’t wait to see Dream again, as strange as it may sound. He had grown to be a greater comfort than you would have ever imagined, even if he was just a wolf. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but you knew your feelings were true—you couldn’t deny the warmth he made you feel.

Whipping around a tree trunk, you felt your heart skip a beat. You already knew Dream would be waiting for you at your rock—the one he had saved you from all those weeks ago. It had become a sort of meeting spot for them, and every week without fail, he would appear there, no matter how early or late you were.

As the shrubbery gave way to a clean, dirt trail, you lifted your head, squinting your eyes. You recognized this part of the forest, and you knew that you were getting closer. Just then, you saw it—the familiar streak of grey stone slanting up from the earth in a small cliff face. Usually, Dream would sit at the cliff base, his ears already pointed toward you. But today, your brows furrowed when you didn’t see a pair of ears facing you, but a head of hair.

Someone else was at your rock.

Slowing your pace to a walk, you paused for a moment, eyeing the figure sitting at your usual meeting spot. It was a man, you realized, and he was facing away from you. He wore a simple white shirt with jeans, and his hair was a shade of dirty blond with streaks of gold. Even if only from the back, it looked almost oddly familiar gleaming underneath the morning sun.

Taking a tentative step forward, you curled your fingers into your palm. “Hello?” you called hesitantly.

The man startled for a moment, then turned toward you, his face coming into view. As his gaze locked onto yours, he opened his mouth and uttered two simple words.

“Hi, [Y/N].”

You felt your breath hitch in your throat.

His voice was soft, gently wrapping around you like a soothing blanket. Your gaze only briefly raked over the comforting smile gracing his lips, instead focusing on the gleam in his eyes that danced with something warm and inviting.

His eyes were green—a shade of green that you had grown to know and adore.

No, you thought, your heart trembling in your chest. He couldn’t possibly be...

You took another step forward, closing the space between them by another few inches. With your eyebrows knitting together, your voice dropped to a small, curious whisper. “Dream?”

He shot you a crooked grin, chuckling softly. “That’s my name—or at least the one you gave me.” Leaning forward, he rose to his feet, the sun casting a bright streak of light across his cheeks. “My real name is Clay.”

All of a sudden, you felt as though all the air had been sucked out of your lungs. “Clay,” you repeated, your mind slowly growing murky with confusion, “but you’re also Dream. How...?”

A sheepish look skittered across his face, and he ducked his head. The way he lowered his chin was familiar, looking almost far too like a certain wolf you knew. “I—I guess you could say I live in two worlds with two forms,” he began. “Sometimes I’m a wolf, sometimes I’m a human.” He shrugged nonchalantly, but you didn’t miss the way his shoulders remained tense. “You already know one of them, but I didn’t want to keep hiding this form from you, so...” He gestured to himself with a bashful look. “...here I am.”

You blinked at him slowly, the muddled fog in your head slowly giving way to a strikingly warm clarity. But before the clouds could fully part, your lips began to move.

“You’re still pretty,” you blurted, your eyes going wide as soon as the words left your mouth.

In a flash, Clay’s cheeks flushed crimson, a haze of rosy pink dusting his freckles. “H-Huh?”

Waving your hands in front of you, you took a step back, embarrassment shooting up your spine. “I-I mean to say that you’re still pretty as a human! Because you’re pretty in both of your forms!” You stiffened, exasperation soaking your features as your knees buckled. “Wait, no, oh no, that’s also embarrassing... wait, please, um—”

Suddenly, he began to laugh. You fell quiet as you watched Clay clutch at his stomach, his lips split into a wide grin as peals of laughter tumbled from his lips. A familiar pit of warmth flared up in your stomach, one you had felt standing here with Dream so many times before.

He really was Dream, wasn’t he?

As his chuckles finally died down into silence, he stood upright once more, wiping a barely there tear from his eye. “I’m sorry for laughing,” he managed with an apologetic smile. “You must be confused about, well, everything.”

You offered him an honest, lopsided grin. “A little.”

His smile slowly melted from his features, and he cleared his throat as he turned to face you head-on. “Well, this is probably going to sound weird, but you and I...” He swallowed, his gaze flashing. “We’re mates.”

You blinked, your lips parting in surprise. Something in your chest slowly expanded. “Mates?” you repeated softly.

He nodded, his expression firm yet hesitant. “Yes, mates. It means that in one way or another, our souls are connected.” Inhaling deeply, he screwed his eyes shut before continuing. “It’s a lot to take in, I know, but I just want you to know that you don’t have to accept the mating bond.” His voice was trembling now, growing quieter by the second as he squeezed his hands into fists at his side. “You don’t owe me anything. I know this must be scary for you, and the last thing I want is for you to feel pressured because of m—”

“I’m not afraid.”

Clay’s eyes shot wide open, and he raised his head, shock etched into his features. “You aren’t?” he whispered.

The smile on your face was open and kind, and you shook your head. “No,” you murmured, sincerity lacing your every word. “Not at all. Dream, Clay... no matter what your name is, you’re still you, and I know you.” You took another step forward, your eyes never leaving his. There was hardly any space between them now, and Clay could feel his shoulders begin to shake with the sheer gravity of the moment. “I can’t explain it, but I just know I do.”

He swallowed, a whirlwind of anxiety and affection brewing just beneath the surface of his skin. “You don’t have to do this,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “I know I’m just a stranger to you.”

You shook your head, again. “You’re not,” you said quietly. “Not to me.”

Before he could even register what was happening, you were reaching for his hand, clasping your palms around his fingers and holding them gently. His heart flipped in his chest at the feeling of your skin against his, and something stung at the back of his eyes.

You were so warm.

“I want to do this,” you whispered, just for him to hear and him alone, “I promise. I—” You gulped, your gaze remaining steady. “I might not know anything about your world yet, but I want to learn.”

You squeezed his hand. “I want to learn more about you.”

Clay sucked in a ragged breath. With shaky fingers and a gentle touch, he pressed his other hand to the back of yours, squeezing back ever so slightly. “I want to learn more about you, too.”

The smile you flashed him easily outshone the sun and every star that scattered across the night sky, and for a moment, he thought his heart had stopped in his chest.

“I’m glad,” you said, your eyes gleaming with delight. “I think we’ll have plenty of time to do that on our hike.”

Right then, a breeze came drifting past, the distant scent of rain filling the air. The trees murmured with rustling leaves and flapping wings as two birds landed on a hanging branch above, gazing down at the two silhouettes standing at the base of the rock face. Just for a moment, or maybe even two, the entire forest went still.

And unbeknownst to you and Clay, right between your feet, a flower began to bloom.

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warrioreowynofrohan · 2 years

Text

Fanfic - Passion

I wrote this for Passion Week (the week before Easter), though technically I'm posting it a day early.

.......

“No,” said Frodo, “we shan’t need much on that road. And at its end nothing.” ~ The Lord of the Rings

He had left his arms and armour aboard ship; they were needed no longer, and could serve no purpose here. Without having set foot in this land before, he seemed to know his path, by instinct or foreknowledge.

He knew that he had come here to die.

His path led high into the mountains, shrouded in low cloud. As he climbed, the world faded around him into chill mists and pale grey light, shapes visible only for a few steps in front of him; a phantom in a phantom landscape.

The mists seemed to swallow the lands and seas he had left far behind him.

He had loved Middle-earth from the first moment he opened his eyes in it. Gondolin had been easy to love: a place of beauty and splendour at every turn, with a mother and father who loved him more than aught else on earth, a stream of honorary uncles and aunts who delighted in him, a grandfather who doted on him. It had been a paradise for a child. When they had fled its destruction, and all mourned it, Eärendil, as both child and mortal, had been quicker to recover joy and wonder at the lands they passed through than the other exiles, staring in awe at the great river, wider by far than any he had seen before, and seeking around camp for new plants and flowers to show to his parents and see the sorrow in their eyes lighten a little. And, more than anything else, more even than Gondolin the fair - the Sea. The smell of salt, the cry of gulls, the strange creatures that bloomed like flowers on the shoreline - the ship-deck under his feet and the craft guided by wind and skill, moving under his command as easily as skilled horse and horseman - the great whales, dwarfing his ship and yet gentler in nature than any of the great beasts of the land - from the moment he first looked on it, the sea had been his home.

And then, the far lands of his journeys. Seeking Valinor ever, being ever driven back to strange shores, wishing he had been born at another time when all the world was not in peril, when he might live in these lands for a time and learn to know their people whose homes and lives he could only glimpse from afar. Vast deserts of sand, with pools of water in the distance where the towers of great buildings rose up. Great forests of brightly-coloured birds, and men and women growing grain by the shoreline, of a kind he had never seen. The Helcaraxë, fair and deadly, gleaming in the sunlight.

The thought of the shadow of Angband, spreading beyond Beleriand, swallowing all.

He would never see those lands and seas again, never speak to new peoples and learn new tongues and ways, as he had from the Iathrim and Falmari of Sirion and the remnants of the houses of the Edain. He had known it, always, as the price of his journey should he succeed; but the chances of success had seemed so faint that the losses from success had been eclipsed by the losses from failure.

The damp mist chilled his hands and face. He stumbled, catching himself against the cliff-edge.

He let go of the world he had known.

He climbed farther, his breath visible in the cold air and mixing with the mists.

They swallowed his people.

Rule and governance had never come naturally to him as they had to his mother, but he had loved the people of Sirion - the clamour of voices in many tongues, the pride of craftsmen in trades employed not merely for adornment but for use, carpenters and shipbuilders and weavers and fishers and those who knew the animals of the shoreline and the times and places of collection for food.

His mind found it difficult to accept that they were all gone now, that everyone he had known was dead, the homes and workshops and gathering-places ruined and abandoned. He had seen them when he last departed; surely they were still there. But they were gone, gone; destroyed not by the forces of Morgoth, from whom Ulmo could still protect them, but by elves, distant kin he had never met. The last free remnants of the Three Houses of the Edain, of the Doriathrim, of the Gondolindrim, dead. His friends and companions and teachers, dead.

He lost his footing and caught himself, hands and one knee on the path, scrapes leaving behind small flecks of blood.

He had no people now to be lord of, to lead and to safeguard, to work beside and learn from. His plea could not be for them, but for others he did not know. Any Falmari who yet endured on Balar. The last of the House of Hador, living as thralls in Hithlum. Any Laiquendi who survived in Ossiriand. And all the peoples beyond the mountains to the east, beyond the seas to south. His people were all peoples; for them he would speak, for them he would plead.

He pushed himself back to his feet.

The path grew rougher, with loose stones underfoot, jagged cliffs to his left and open air to his right. The mists closed in further, so he could see no more than a step in front of him at a time.

Ghosts appeared in the mists.

He and Elwing had not intended children, in times of such danger and fear, knowing that Eärendil must leave soon on a desperate journey that, in success or failure, could have no return. But none had known whether chikdbearing among the Peredhil followed the rules of men or elves; the only other such person in the world had been Dior Elúchill who had been killed while his daughter was still an infant.

When Elwing began throwing up every morning, a thing unheard of among elves, they had feared some illness, until the gossip rapidly spread among the people of Sirion and an Edain fisherwoman pushed her way into the room, asked some pointed questions, and gave them the likely answer. Eärendil had delayed his journey until the birth of their sons, and for the first year after their birth, and had been lost in wonder at their smiles, the soft word ‘adda’, tiny hands grasping his fingers.

For the first time in his adult life, he had not longed for the sea.

He and Elwing had talked, she weeping but speaking aloud the same words that his wisdom counselled: if you do not go, if you do not succeed, there will soon be no safe place for them.

He had gone.

Sirion had not been safe.

He had been too late.

Their sons were dead.

He’d never had the chance to see his boys grow, to talk and play with them, to teach Elros to swim (Elwing had done that), to hear Elrond’s first attempts at poetry. And now they were dead, killed by people who had claimed to come to Middle-earth to save it from Morgoth, killed by the same people who had killed Elwing’s brothers at much the same age.

For the first day after her flight to Vingilot, Elwing had scarce been able to speak for weeping.

That elves could fall to evil had not been a revelation to Eärendil; he had known it since his childhood, when his cousin had nearly killed him, a blur in memory of screaming, kicking, biting. In later years he had grown to regard him with a mix of fear and pity. Orcs were miserable creatures; how horrible it must be, to be an elf who of their own will behaved as an orc.

You came here to plead for all the peoples of Middle-earth. He could not tell if the voice came from the air around him or from within his own spirit.

His foot caught on a jagged place in the path and he fell again, tearing his hand open on a sharp stone. He had become so numb from the mist that he scarcely felt it, looking at the red blood welling up and dropping to the ground as if it belonged to someone else.

This time, he did not try to rise.

Why was he here?

To plead mercy for the people of Middle-earth.

Why were the Noldor barred?

Because they were kinslayers. Because they had sacked and ruined another seaside town long years before his Sirion, ere ever they had arrived in Middle-earth, and parted parents from children and husbands from wives.

Why should the Valar offer pardon for murder when not even the person asking it could do so?

The world closed in around him, and he saw nothing, not even the stone beneath his hands.

He could not be a father and not be angry at those who had killed his sons. He could not be a husband and not be angry at those who had shattered his wife’s spirit. He could not be a lord and not be angry at those who had slaughtered the people he abandoned.

He had once seen a barbed fish hook cut out of a man’s hand, tearing the skin around it to pieces. He tore out his own soul, ripping out hatred, and everything around it.

He was not the father of Elrond and Elros. He was not the husband of Elwing. He was not the lord of ruined Sirion. He was about to die; and for the last and most important thing he had to do, he could not be. His children, his wife, his people, were the people of Middle-earth, all, known and unknown, friends and enemies. Even those who had taken his sons from him.

He desired mercy for all of them.

He climbed to his feet again, his hand leaving a smear of blood against the stone.

He felt both lighter and wearier than he had ever known; empty of himself, and full of the world.

It took only a little space further for the mists to clear and reveal a city, fair yet barren, abandoned.

The messenger hailed him.

He came to the Valar.

He offered his plea in all the tongues he knew, and law the world at their feet.

They accepted it and took it up.

He was empty, and ready to depart.

Elwing chose to stay, and looked at him with tears in her eyes. He stayed. He did not know how to explain what he had done and who he had made himself; he did not know how to answer the rage and grief that still blazed through her spirit with pity wrung from his hearts’-blood.

The Valar gave him a new ship and sent him back to Middle-earth, to see and to give hope, but not to touch, not to live.

He heard the griefs and fears of the people of Middle-earth, and wonder breaking through despair at the appearance of the new star; he reached out to answer, to offer hope and comfort.

He heard a conversation.

“Surely that is a Silmaril that shines now in the West?”

“If so, then let us be glad, for now its glory is seen by many, and yet is secure from all evil.”

He looked down, and saw his sons. They were well, sleeping peacefully and wrapped in many blankets. He wept, for the first time since the end of his journey through the Calacirya; shaking, racking sobs, the star standing fixed in place. He reached out to them in their sleep. It will be all right, it will be all right. We are coming, we love you.

He could feel the spirits of the two Fëanoreans beside them, and compassion filled him, compassion that did not need to be chosen or struggled for but appeared as naturally as clouds produced rain.

It was as though he was looking into a burnt and broken mirror. He had emptied himself, and been filled with light as a gift. They too had emptied themselves, and were left with only ashes.

He reached out to the minds instinctively. One was entirely closed, so much so it might scarcely have been there at all. The other perceived him, and flinched away from the pity as if it were a brand, closing in around itself like a startled sea-creature in its shell. Grief cut into him, as if the refusal came from dear friends rather than erstwhile enemies, and he could scarce tell if he rejoiced more for his sons or mourned more for their captors.

…..

Centuries later, as he passed above Middle-earth, he heard amid the petitions and invocations an anguished voice that was scarcely a whisper, and knew it instantly.

“I am sorry.”

I forgive you, Eärendil returned with delight, but the mind remained shut to him and could not hear. As many times, as many nights, as he reached out, he found the way closed. Over millennia, over ages, the words repeated, whispered or only thought as a prayer, but every time he reached out with forgiveness he met only the locked and barred door of the mind. It tore at his heart, like watching a man starving to death while refusing the food that was offered.

Ages later, of an afternoon, Eärendil stood in the living room of his tower in Valinor and heard a knock on the door.

A figure entered, only ever seen before at vast distances, but instantly familiar.

“Lord Eärendil,” he said uncomfortably, eyes flicking back and forth between Eärendil’s face and the floor. “I am sorry.”

Eärendil stepped forward and embraced him.

#tolkien #fanfic #christianity #earendil #elwing #maglor #the silmarillion

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misteria247 · 3 years

Text

Night Raven College was a lot different from what you'd remembered. Then again after six years of not seeing it, it was bound to change in some way. While the buildings remained the same it was quite clear that the Ramshackle Dorm had changed. Following closely behind Grimm with Elliott trailing behind you, you couldn't help but stare at your old dorm in awe. The once somewhat decrypted building was now somewhat restored, the grass area was kept clean and the garden by the graveyard in the back was in full bloom. As you looked at your old home in stunned silence, your beloved son Elliott peeked his face from behind you to get a better look. His bright green eyes seemed to sparkle as they landed on the graveyard and with it it's massive gargoyles that sat on display.

"What is this place mama.....?"

Elliott asked his tone curious and full of wonder. Grimm was the one who answered his question.

"This is Ramshackle, me and your mom's old dorm. Back in the day she was my minion, helping me become the greatest mage within our school!"

Grimm said with a large smirk. You rolled your eyes at the feline's words but didn't bother to correct him. Elliott's eyes seemed to widen even more, making your heart twist slightly as the expression made him look so much more like his father. Even though he had your luscious (H/C) locks, everything else was completely his father's. Grimm seemed to do a double take at Elliott his ears flickering.

"Wow.....he really does look like him doesn't he?"

Grimm asked sounding slightly dazed. You gave him a small smile feeling a sense of pride hit you.

"He definitely has his looks doesn't he?"

You mused much to your son's confusion. Grimm just gave you a small look and led the two of you into the dormitory. As soon as you stepped inside you were ambushed, three familiar ghostly figures coming at you, Grimm and Elliott. Your son let out a startled shout as he clung to you while you jumped before smiling brightly.

"Is that anyway to greet me?"

You asked somewhat teasingly. The ghosts froze before their faces broke out into large grins.

"(Y/N)!!"

They cried in joy quickly surrounding you to welcome you back. Elliott clung to you tightly obviously uneasy and you were quick to break it up. Three confused faces glanced at you before catching sight of your little one. Bringing Elliott gently in front of you, you gave them a smile.

"This is my son Elliott. Elliott these are the ghosts that me and Grimm roomed with while I stayed here."

You introduced them. Elliott shyly clung to your hand feeling suddenly put on display. The ghosts took a good look at your child their eyes widening.

"He looks like your one friend!"

The first ghost exclaimed in shock.

"Is he....?"

The second one asked tilting his head towards you. You gave him a nod to confirm his question and were met with startled looks. Before anymore questions could be asked Grimm stepped in.

"Speaking of Elliott, would you three keep an eye on him? I need to speak to my minion here."

Grimm said his tone surprisingly mature sounding. The ghosts were quick to agree and with an encouraging push from you for Elliott along with a thinly veiled threat to your old roommates regarding your son's safety, the trio left dragging Elliott along with them to show him around the Ramshackle Dorm. Once you were completely alone Grimm all but turned to you his gaze serious.

"(Y/N) how are you going to keep him a secret?? Just from one look alone anyone can tell that he's Tsunotarou's!"

The monster feline exclaimed startling you slightly. You couldn't help but feel a sudden sinking feeling hit you. You knew that in reality it wasn't possible to keep Elliott's existence a secret like you'd wanted to. It was nearly impossible to given that much like his father, Elliott had a tendency to disappear and explore different places. Anyone in Twisted Wonderland could see him and quickly connect the dots of who exactly his biological father was, given how famous Malleus was in this world what with him being the literal king of the Valley of Thorns. But the illogical side of you wanted to try. You wanted to keep Elliott's existence quiet, you wanted to keep him safe from the possible dangers that he could face should he be discovered. Not only that but you were afraid.

You had no idea how Malleus would react to the knowledge of having a son. While in your heart you wanted to believe that he'd love Elliott you knew that logically it might not be the case as much as the thought crushed you. What would he even say? Would he even accept Elliott as his son? What would those of his kingdom think? That their beloved king technically had a bastard child, who wasn't only part dragon fae but part human as well? What if......Malleus had already moved on? It'd been six years after all and a lot could happen in six years. For all you knew Malleus could already be married and have several children, having completely forgotten all about you and the feelings you both shared (the thought nearly made your heart shatter into pieces and your throat tighten). As if sensing your thoughts Grimm put a paw on your cheek. You blinked back the sudden sting in your eyes and sniffled.

"I.....I know I can't keep him a secret but Grimm it's.....it's been six years. What me and Malleus had.....is probably long gone. I can't just barge back into his life and tell him. It wouldn't be fair to him....."

You said sounding somewhat desperate. Grimm gave you a small saddened look before turning away, biting his lip.

"Well.....you may have to....and rather soon....."

Grimm said trailing off. You stiffened slightly at his tone, the sinking feeling you'd been feeling getting bigger.

"Grimm......what do you mean soon....?"

You asked nervous and slightly on edge. Your companion gave you a somewhat guilt filled expression.

"Well there's a reason why I'm here......the Headmaster Crowley has invited everyone from our old classes back for a reunion. So......Tsunotarou might be here sometime soon....."

Grimm mumbled ears flickering nervously. You on the other hand had seemed to stop functioning, barely able to process what Grimm just revealed to you.

'Malleus was coming back......Malleus was going to be here......he's going to see Elliott.....!'

The thought made you snap out of your terrified stupor and with an almost panicky response you grabbed Grimm and shook him slightly.

"Why didn't you say anything sooner?!?! For hell's sake Grimm!!! I've got to get Elliott and we need to leave now-!"

You were cut off mid panicked rambling by one of the ghosts.

"(Y/N)!!! We're so sorry!!! We only turned around for a moment-!!!"

The ghost exclaimed sounding extremely upset. You turned towards him, the world seemingly tilting as you realized that Elliott wasn't with them.

"Where's Elliott....?!? Where's my son?!?"

You asked fear creeping into your voice. The ghost flinched guilty before finally answering your question.

"We....we lost him."

That one sentence threw your world into chaos.

~~~~~

Being a magical being had it's perks, especially when you wanted to go off and explore. For Elliott it'd been an easy task for the six year old. Now said child was currently walking around what was considered a courtyard, taking in the sights and sounds. Despite being nervous and on edge from this whole endeavor, the fae child couldn't help but want to explore the place. It was rather large and vast and had many things a young boy his age wanted to see. Walking past the fountain he caught a glimpse of a pathway that was lined with statues. Curious he changed his course to explore the pathway, taking in the strange statues that decorated the trail. The first statute was that of a woman. Her stature was short and somewhat stout, a large, strange dress covered her. The gown was covered in hearts and in her hand was a small wand with the same pattern. A strange dark spot covered one of its corners, almost as if it'd been burned at one point. The second statute was that of a lion, its fangs pulled up into a sinister grin and a lone eye was covered in a jagged scar.

The third statute was that of a woman whose lower half was of that of an octopus, a piece of paper held in her grip. The fourth statue was a man dressed in robes and a turban, a staff shaped in the likeness of a snake held in his boney grip. The fifth statute was of a beautiful woman who carried an apple in her hand. The sixth was of a man covered in robes and flames, a sharp toothed smile on his boney face. The last one was of that of a woman, a large staff held in her grasp. A long robe like gown covered her but there was something else about her that made Elliott stop in his tracks to look at her. With wide shocked eyes Elliott sucked in a sharp breath at the sight of her head.

Horns.

She had horns, just like him. Without thinking about it Elliott removed his bangs from his face, revealing the small horns that grew from his forehead. Touching them he looked at the statue, a sudden feeling of confusion and awe hitting him. Elliott wasn't the only one who had horns. There was someone out there who had them too. It blew his mind, questions racing about in his head.

Was there anymore like her? What was she? Was she someone his mother knew? Did......did his father know her?

Elliott didn't know much about his father. His mother rarely talked about him, getting upset whenever the subject was brought up. All Elliott knew about his mysterious father was that he was someone who his mama loved more than anything in the world and that he could use magic just like him. Everything else was a mystery for the small child. Elliott felt his heart sink as he recalled all the nights he'd hear his mother's quiet sobs when she'd thought he was asleep. The lingering sorrow that always seemed to surround her no matter how hard she tried to hide it from him.

'And now mama's gonna be even more upset because you brought her back here. You don't even know if your papa is even here.'

The nasty thought made his chest hurt. He'd only wanted to make her smile, and while she'd been smiling quite a bit since they'd gotten here, his mother had also looked uneasy. Like she was expecting something bad to happen. Seeing his mother like that made him want to protect her even more, especially from this mysterious Tsunotarou the cat Grimm had mentioned. Getting lost in his thoughts the child hadn't noticed the sudden shadow that covered his form until a voice spoke up.

"Oi what's a kid doing here??"

The voice made him jump, the boy whirling around to see who had spoken. Having moved so fast he'd accidentally tripped over his own two feet causing him to fall into the statue and scrape his elbow against it. Pain shot through it and the scent of copper filled his nose. Elliott felt himself start to tear up and before he knew it he'd begun to sniffle. The owner of the voice, a young man quickly grew panicked at the sudden tears.

"O-oi! Are you alright?! I'm sorry I didn't mean to scare you!"

He said panicked as he bent down to help Elliott up. As he reached out to grab him Elliott took notice of the man through his tears. The man looked to be at least a few years younger than his mother, large reddish brown eyes gazed at him with concern and guilt. Over one of his eyes was a heart that decorated his cheek, and his head was covered in unruly red hair. Elliott let out a loud hiccup as he tried to get his crying down, however given the stress and sudden injury he'd received it was rather difficult to. The man meanwhile watched him, uncomfortable and lost when another voice called out.

"Oi Ace! What are you doing-is that a kid!?! What did you do to him???!!"

The second man asked sounding instantly protective and scolding. The first man Ace sent a panicked look at the other man gesturing towards Elliott in an lost manner.

"I didn't mean to! I startled him and he got hurt and I have no idea what to do!"

Ace said panicked. The second man let out an exasperated sigh and with a practiced ease took over for Ace.

"It's okay little guy, we're not going to hurt you. My name is Deuce. Deuce Spades and this is Ace Trappola."

The man Deuce introduced himself. Elliott sniffled gazing at him before muttering back in a shaky manner.

"Elliott.....my name is Elliott."

Elliott said. Deuce gave him a small smile, helping him up the rest of the way to his feet.

"Elliott that's a cool name. Tell me Elliott are you lost? Do you know where your parents are?"

Deuce asked somewhat concerned. Elliott froze when he realized that he was indeed lost making him get upset again. At the small cry Deuce gave him a small hug, picking him up and holding him close.

"Hey, hey it's okay! No need to cry! It'll be alright we'll help you find your parents okay?"

Deuce said soothingly. Ace gave him a baffled look.

"We will???"

Ace asked only to be met with a dark teal gaze. Realizing that Deuce was serious he bit back his groan of frustration.

"Yes we will. Elliott do you know the name of your parents? Maybe me and Ace can help you find them quicker."

Deuce asked rubbing his back. Elliott gave a rattling breath and nodded.

"I.....I know my mama's name....."

He said in a watery way.

"That's great! Can you tell me her name?"

Deuce asked. The duo listened carefully as Elliott pulled himself together somewhat, unaware of the chaos that they'd be met with.

"Her name is (Y/N)."

*I know I'm supposed to be on hiatus but after doing the Thirteenth chapter for the Princess and her Dragon I was struck with inspiration for our lovely little family of two. I can't help but treasure my twst children sgdgdgdgg. Anyways sorry it's so short and crummy, but I hope it'll bring y'all some entertainment!! Anyways if any y'all read this I hope you enjoyed it!!!! Now back to my hiatus. But first!!! Tagging list!!!! @genshin-idiot @ditsy-anime-thot @ctannth @reaperfeels.*

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misha-moose-dean-burger-lover · 3 years

Text

destiel, 2.4k, mild hurt/comfort, happy ending. for @wormstacheangel who wanted a fic with anemic!Cas <3

"Cas?"

Dean hears a flump from the direction of the bedroom right as he finishes shaving his left cheek. It takes him about five seconds from there to dashing out of the bathroom, sink hastily turned off and half of his neck still covered in white, wearing an expression of worry that doesn't quite go with the foam beard.

Cas seems to hold the same opinion because his face splits in a wide grin the moment Dean enters the room.

A grin almost distracting enough for Dean to not notice that Cas is back on the bed, and suddenly wearing a blanket.

Almost.

"Goddammit, Cas." He sighs, huffing as panic slips away to make room for exasperation. He walks up to the bed, sets about righting the blanket around Cas.

Cas lets him.

"I should've known -"

"- Dean, I forgot -"

"- you were going to ditch your meds the first night after I stop bugging you 'bout them." Dean mutters, ignoring Cas completely as he makes weak attempts at protesting when Dean tucks one corner of his blanket all the way round at the other side, effectively turning him into what he mentally likes to call a Cas-burrito.

He doesn't like to call it anything at the moment though, cause right now, it's just proof of how Cas doesn’t listen.

Friggin' ex-angel of the lord, billions of years old, with libraries worth of stories and history in his head — but taking his meds when they're supposed to be taken, he forgets.

"It wasn't on purpose." Cas insists in a small voice, and Dean shoots an annoyed look at him before stepping back, finally finished with the blanket routine.

If you could call it that.

Well, Dean does call it that.

Because it happened often enough times after Cas's return from the Empty, human as the day Dean was born, to prompt both a title, and a reason to investigate why in the first place.

And not a lot of road to cover from typing in Cas's symptoms in a search engine — headaches, spells of dizziness, fatigue and feeling cold in general (things Cas had dictated to Sam who was typing, while Dean seethed from the next chair at not having been priorly informed of most of those things that warrant being informed about) — to ending up at the conclusion of a few billion (but actually just the first four) results, just minutes after.

Cas had anemia.

(The doctor Dean took him to the very next day, and Sam's completed research on the Novaks' medical history by the time they got back, confirmed it.)

Now, as far as the Winchesters were concerned, that was practically a relief — especially since their next place to look would've been old, tired books of curses, and the meekest of those would've been several times more worrying than the awfullest case of anemia one could possibly get - and Cas's, thankfully, wasn't even that bad.

However, curses are reversible. Or at least, equally as destroyable as their curse-rs are — who, usually, tend to be pretty destroyable when it comes to Sam and Dean.

Mineral deficiencies, on the other hand, are neither.

So supplements it is, as the doctor said and then prescribed — or so it should have been anyways, except for how the love of Dean's life was a giant baby when it came to taking pills.

"Sure it wasn't." Dean rolls his eyes, continuing in his exaggerated 'Cas' voice. "You just forgot."

Cas squint-frowns at Dean with all the ferociousness of a tired, cold and anemic four-weeks-old human, and Dean perches next to him on the edge of their bed with a sigh, the exasperation wearing off too.

(If he hadn't already wrapped them up, this would've been about the time Dean would've taken Cas's hands in his own.)

"Cas," He says, softer now.

Truth be told, Dean can't imagine what it must be like to go from being a - a being, that can heal itself and everything else, to a human who gets shivery and lightheaded cause of things inside of him he can't even control.

It's got to be terrifying, and obviously awful, and Dean's proud of Cas for the way he's been handling all of it — but dammit he's supposed to do the things that make it easier.

Just like he's supposed to let Dean take care of him.

"Dean," Cas replies, looking sideways at him with most of the stubbornness melted from his expression as well. "I'm a little cold but it's okay. I'm fine." He says, like he can still tell exactly what Dean needs to hear.

What he needs Cas to be.

There's a pause and Dean looks down at his hands. He can't help his next question, it's been on his mind for some time.

"What about the first time you were human?"

Cas noticeably withdraws into himself on hearing him, and Dean feels immediately a pang of guilt. It may have gotten easier to read him since he became human, but an accidental display of emotion was still a novelty. (Being difficult to read was apparently more of a Cas trait than an angel feature.)

"What about it?"

"Shouldn't you, uh," Dean pauses. "Shouldn't you also have been anemic then?"

Cas turns away from him, slow enough that Dean knows he's not taken offense, deliberate enough that he's thinking.

He finally answers, facing the wall ten feet away instead of Dean.

"I guess I was."

"But," Dean frowns. "I thought you had no idea you had anemia until last week."

"Dean, I didn't even know there was anything wrong with me until last week." Cas returns, his tone steady. "And back when I was human for the first time, I didn't either, because I'd never known what healthy felt like before, so I had no idea if I was or wasn't it. Of course I knew in an objective sense, say, the ideal temperature of the human body, but the ordinary amount of chilly one should feel on the streets in winter, or how hard or easy falling asleep is supposed to be, I couldn't have told you."

"Oh."

"And I still wouldn't have been able to," Cas turns back to him. "Had you not been the one to point it out."

Dean scoffs.

All he'd done was ask why Cas had been shivering in the middle of the day. That was it. Honestly, how could he not have seen it sooner?

"So you just," Dean lets out, afraid of the answer. "You just thought the cold spells and the, uh," he falters. "The being tired all the time — you thought that was part of being human?"

Cas smiles wryly. "It is for a lot of people."

"But —"

"And it was, Dean, anemia or not, for a lot of the people I lived with back then."

Dean's stomach bottoms out. He knows Cas is right. Six years ago, he'd been living on the streets, living in a bus. Dean remembers him — homeless, cold, sleeping on the floor of a Gas 'N Sip in his only set of clothes, Cas. And he knows he's responsible for it — knows he deserves to be hated for it, and it messes with him everyday that Cas doesn't — but did Cas really not even know what Dean had done to him? What Dean had — and Jesus, he detests himself — made him go through?

"You really thought all of us were going through that," Dean blinks. "And none of us was saying a thing?"

Cas doesn't look away this time and Dean goes on.

"I mean, I know you put humanity on a pedestal it doesn't deserve, and you think we're all capable of things you're capable of, but Cas, I can't believe you associated being human with being cold and tired, and —" Dean scrubs his face with a hand. "Goddammit, Cas! How could I have let you go out there on your own when you — h-how did I not see it, and — and you should never have had to deal with it all alone, I should've —"

"Dean."

It's not until Cas interrupts him that he realizes he's been rambling. Ranting, really, because it's not fair that Cas only got to see the worst of humanity, and it's not fair that Cas was so used to feeling awful that he just figured everyone felt that way all the time. That Cas was all alone at a time Dean should've been there for him, should've been at his side, been there to make sure he was warm, and make sure he ate spinach and seafood and whatever the hell else is rich in iron — hell, Dean should've looked it up sooner — and Dean should've been able to tell that Cas was sick, even if Cas couldn't, because that's his job.

He hasn't felt this way in a while — this particularly familiar fear of failing Cas, and losing Cas, entwined horribly, returning to him; seeping back in through his skin, and settling on his bones like the vast sediments of guilt and loss he's been carrying for most of his life.

Cas is supposed to be okay, and Dean's supposed to make sure he is.

But so far as upto here, turns out Dean's just been failing in more ways than he'd even known.

"Dean," Cas repeats, pulling him out of his reverie with determination in his voice, and a hand on Dean's left arm, his blanket now hanging off of one shoulder.

Dean immediately reaches to make it right but Cas holds him right where he is. Physically and not-drowning-in-his-own-head wise, and he's the only one who can do that.

"You're not listening to me."

Shit, Cas had been speaking this entire time, hadn't he? "Sorry, I was -" Dean looks Cas in the face to apologize, and lets out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding, cause thank god, Cas isn't that pale. "Sorry."

"It's okay." Cas smiles, and it's not lopsided anymore, it's just Cas.

(Dean wonders if he should try to mirror it.)

"I was just saying that now I know that that's not the only part of being human."

"What do you mean?"

"The pain and the suffering, Dean. That's not all." Cas says. "There's also love, and kindness, and worry of the non-lifethreatening kind that dissipates with a smile, and warmth."

Dean stares at him.

"And sure," Cas shrugs. "I knew those things before too — I've read books, I've watched you and Sam — but now I've felt them as humans do, for the very first time, so it's a different kind of knowing."

Cas takes Dean's hand in his, and Dean's the one who squeezes.

"I believe the human expression is 'knowing it in my bones'."

Dean lets out a strained laugh in spite of himself. "Dunno, man. I don't think that's exactly what that means."

"But I do know it in my bones." Cas says simply, and Dean's heart does that thing where it feels too big for his chest. How Cas could go through so much, and still be so full of kindness and good, is one of the mysteries of life Dean's never going to solve — but it doesn't stop him from falling a little bit harder every time it happens.

"You should've gotten to know it the last time too, Cas." Dean tells him, sighing again. "I'm just — I'm sorry I wasn't there."

"Well, you are now." Cas tilts his head. "And I prefer the things I'm learning this time over the last time anyway, and I believe it's you who's always taught me that the present is what matters the most. I'm just glad you're here this time."

"And I'm not going anywhere." Dean squeezes their hands tighter, and Cas's smile grows. God, he deserves the world and he keeps settling for Dean, doesn't he — and Dean hates it, and loves it, and couldn't live without it. He puts his other hand on Cas's face, gloving his cheek. Cas leans closer.

"I love you."

Dean's throat constricts. "You're too good to me."

"I think that's the point."

Dean can't help but smile, and he really can't help the tears.

"I'm okay." Cas says, once more. "Are you?"

There's only one answer, and nothing to fight this time.

Dean closes the gap.

"I love you too."

It's not their first kiss, nor is it the first time they've ever said it — but it feels more significant than anything's felt before. It's more them, too — not sickly-sweet or angry and fighting, just them, coming around to the end of a hard talk, falling into each other's arms with an ease they reserve for each other only, and sinking into each other, slow and perfectly synced, like they're made for it.

When they pull back, a moment later, Dean leans his forehead against Cas's and licks his lips. Breathes.

"There's so much more to being human," he hears himself saying. "Than you'd ever find out just living here in the bunker with us."

"Dean," it's Cas's turn to sigh. "I've already found everything I need."

Dean's cheeks heat up. "I thought it was never too late to learn."

"It isn't." Cas leans back, hands falling back to his sides from where they were wrapped around Dean's neck. "But sometimes, practising old things is more important."

Dean immediately dissolves into laughter. "Yeah, no, great going. Call me old before you go to town practising on me."

Cas ignores him save a twinkle in his eyes. "And some things, I'd like us to learn together."

Dean grins.

"And some things," Cas concludes, with a wide smile. "Aren't taught anywhere else in the world."

"Yeah?"

Cas shrugs.

"Why so?"

"Well, rumor has it the teacher's afraid of flying."

Dean freezes for a moment, silent, and then snorts — because yeah, that's funny, Ha Ha, but okay, if Cas is fit enough to make jokes, then he's fit enough to take his meds now, and Dean tells him that gleefully, resulting in Cas's grin immediately turning upside down as he tries to scoot away from Dean, except Dean's kinda expecting it so he's prepared to launch himself on the bed if he has to — and he does have to, cause Dean might love him for his heart, and his courage, and his kindness, but remember how Cas is just a baby in a trenchcoat?

Yeah.

(And that is just a regular morning in the Winchester household.)

#destiel #destiel fic #angst with a happy ending #destiel kiss #deancas fluff #cas angst #well. minor angst.#long post #i really hope you like it Rubi <33 #it got considerably longer (and sadder in the middle) than i'd expected it to be?? but oh well :'))#nyrawyra #userpris #userdee #spncreatorsdaily #dean pov #kashmircastiel #friendshapedcastiel #rambleoncas #oh writing my writing

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shemarmooresfedora · 3 years

Text

Rebuilding Family

Summary: Y/N and Spencer were college sweethearts at Cal-Tech but once Spencer got accepted to the FBI Academy, he ended things deciding it was not fair to make Y/N wait for him. When they meet again years later, he discovers something unexpected.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Warnings: mentions of gun violence (just references to what happened last chapter, nothing new), hospitals, one swear word

A/N at bottom

Masterlist

Chapter 22

You managed to make the nurse feel bad enough for you that she gave you lots of extra Jell-O.

“Happy birthday, dear Jo,” you and Spencer sang, “Happy birthday to you.”

“Blow out the invisible candle!” you encouraged her.

“I promise we will get you an even bigger cake than before soon,” Spencer kissed her head as she ate a spoonful of the green Jell-O.

“It’s okay, I like Jell-O,” Jo said, outreaching the spoon towards Spencer.

“Me too,” he smiled, taking the bite off the spoon.

Spencer’s phone rang and you saw it displaying Hotch’s name. Spencer grabbed the phone and stood and you nodded at him in acknowledgement.

“Hey, Hotch” Spencer said as he stepped out of the room, quietly closing the door behind him.

“Reid, is there any way you could get back to the BAU?” Hotch asked.

“I really don’t feel comfortable leaving my family until the unsub is caught,” Spencer stated, watching you feed Jo another cup of Jell-O through the window.

“Not even if we sent two guards over,” Hotch asked.

“No sorry, I’m not leaving them. Can you fill me in over the phone?” Spencer responded.

“Yes, of course. I’m going to have Garcia call the hospital and fax some documents over to you so you can look them over. I’m setting you up on speaker in the conference room now,” Hotch stated.

“How’s everyone over there?” JJ asked.

“As good as can be expected. Y/N is sitting up now and she says her discomfort is minimal. And Jo seems to be enjoying the vast supply of Jell-O here. Oh also, Y/N and I are engaged,” he added.

“WHAT? Boy Wonder, you can’t keep springing huge news on us like it isn’t a big deal. You’re getting married!” Penelope squealed.

“Yes, I am,” Spencer smiled.

“Dr. and Mrs. Pretty Boy,” Derek grinned.

Everyone else gave their congratulations before getting to work.

“This unsub obviously has a vengeance against specifically Reid because we were all there and they only aimed for Reid’s family, probably because they knew it would inflict the most pain for him,” Emily stated.

“Garcia, search all past cases in which Reid was the primary on the takedown,” Hotch said.

“Sir, he was at the bureau for nearly seven years. There’s still hundreds,” Garcia replied.

“Garcia, filter out anyone who is still in prison. Focus on unsubs that have been recently released or escaped,” Spencer said.

Spencer heard Penelope clicking away at her keyboard through the phone.

“There’s no one you have put away that has escaped or been released in the past six months.”

“An unsub that has this much rage against Reid would have taken action before then,” Derek countered.

“Get a list of everyone I had to kill and focus on their friends and family. Maybe an anniversary is coming up that triggered them” Spencer spoke softly.

“Got it. We’ll update you later. Tell Y/N we all are sending our best,” Hotch said.

“And a muffin basket!” Penelope added.

Spencer was curled up on the tiny hospital bed with Jo and Y/N who were both napping when his phone rang.

“Do you remember the L.D.S.K. in Des Plaines, Illinois about 5 years ago?” Hotch asked.

“Yes, Phillip Dowd. He was an E.R. nurse taking shifts at multiple hospitals and wanted to save the people he shot to look good,” Spencer spoke softly.

“This unsub is exhibiting the same M.O. and you were the one who shot him in the hostage

situation. So, I had Garcia look up his relatives. He has a younger brother, Damon, who served in the army as well but was just recently dishonorably discharged after a long mission. That explains why he would target you now.”

“Of course. How did I not see this?” Spencer rubbed his eyes out of frustration.

“Your girlfriend, or should I say fiancée, was just shot. I think you have the right to not be exactly clear-headed right now,” Hotch assured him.

“Is he in custody?” Spencer asked, watching you start to stir next to him.

“Yes but he wants you to take his confession.”

“I’ll be there soon,” Spencer sighed and hung up.

“Who was that?” you whispered.

“They got the guy but I have to take his confession,” Spencer whispered back.

“Why?”

Spencer looked you in the eyes guiltily. He had to tell you that he was responsible for you getting shot. He was the one that the unsub was angry at.

“It’s all my fault,” he whispered, a tear rolling down his cheek, “It’s the brother of an unsub I had to kill five years ago.”

“Love,” you wiped the tear off his cheek with your thumb, “you were not holding the gun pointed at me. This was not your fault. You were only doing what was right during that case,” you spoke softly but in a serious tone, “I need you to say it for me, please.”

“This...was not my fault,” Spencer sniffled.

“Good,” you gave him a kiss, “now go get the bad guy’s confession and then come back to us.”

Spencer entered the slightly chilly interrogation room with a file in his hand.

“Dr. Spencer Reid,” Damon smirked.

“Why did you do it?” Spencer asked flatly, taking a seat across from him.

“Try to kill your family at your daughter’s birthday party? Eye for an eye, Doctor,” he replied.

“Why wouldn’t you shoot me though? I’m the one you have a problem with,” Spencer asked, already knowing the answer.

“You’ve been shot before. That’s nothing new. Even if you died, your pain would be relatively minimal compared to watching a loved one bleed out in front of you knowing that you were the cause.”

Spencer’s mind flashed back to earlier when you made him state out loud that he was not responsible for any of this.

“This was your fault, not mine,” Spencer spoke firmly.

“Too bad, I’m not as good of a sniper as Phillip. Next time, I’ll have to practice more,” Damon made a fake gun with his fingers and pointed it up to Spencer’s head, pretending to shoot it.

“And I’ll make sure Mommy isn’t around to stop the bullet….you know what, maybe I’ll actually take two shots next time.”

“You son of a bitch,” Spencer leapt up from the table and tackled Damon to the floor.

Damon wasn’t in handcuffs but was already pinned to the floor before he knew what was happening. Spencer landed a few good punches on him before Hotch and Derek pulled him back.

“Stay away from them,” Spencer seethed.

“Are you going to do something about this rogue agent?” Damon demanded, wiping the blood from his nose.

“Technically, he’s a civilian and I’m only responsible for my team’s behavior so no. And it’s doctor, not agent,” Hotch put Damon back in handcuffs and escorted him out of the room.

A/N: so many people thought the unsub was cat adams but i already planned it to be like the LDSK in the park. i wasn’t originally planning on having cat be in this fic but should i write her in (this fic will still have a happy ending). also, this is a bit of a filler chapter but the next chapter is gonna be really long and i’m so busy this week so it may not be out until this weekend. i will post an update on here when i have a better idea of when it will be out. anyways...did you hear that??? i think it’s wedding bells...

#spencer reid x you #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #reid x reader #spencer x reader #cm fanfic #criminal minds

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stop-breaking-my-heart-telltale · 3 years

Text

Can we take a moment to talk about what a tragic character Minerva is? Y’all know that for the longest time I haven’t been the biggest fan of her, and honestly I’m still not? but I think I might’ve had a breakthrough on why that is.

Whenever I’ve asked around to see why people find her so appealing or why they consider her their favorite, I’ll get answers like, “she’s such a complex character and she deserved a redemption arc!” or “she should’ve come back to the school with us! Let Minnie be happy, you cowards! Telltale did her dirty! I could write paragraph after paragraph about her!” all sorts of things along those lines… but like, no one seems to want to actually talk about her. I find that interesting? Since when I do follow up with a “care to explain further?” I get nothing. Radio static. Like…. no, talk to me please, I just wanna understand-

Minerva within the context of TFS is such a tragedy. She grew up in a school for troubled youth where all the adults left them for death at the start of the breakout, they had walkers trying to eat the living all around them, and I’m sure she saw her fair share of traumatic violence and despair… but on the bright side, she always had her twin sister, Sophie, and little brother, Tenn. She had her friend and eventual girlfriend, Violet. She had music, and a dorm full of pretty paintings done by Sophie. She and Louis composed a song together to make everyone feel better. There are worse places to live than the school.

Then one day she got traded away to a bunch of raiders against her will, having no idea what the hell these people were gonna do to her and Sophie. They were made to be soldiers to fight in a war that had nothing to do with them. The delta fucking broke her. If we’re to believe Lilly’s story about the twins, they started their brainwashing process early on when Sophie was still alive, and it seems like Minerva was easier to control as Sophie was still planning a way out and causing trouble. Then, when Sophie convinced her to steal a boat and get the hell out, they got caught and the delta forced her to murder her own twin sister.

Like…. I’m sorry, not only did Minerva kill her own sister, but she was made to believe that was the right thing to do? That line she says about how she had to prove her loyalty to the place she calls home? That shit’s ingrained in her brain, you can tell that isn’t the first time she’s heard or said that very thing. That is what made her family to the delta. Delta is her home now, her family. Sophie was just a thing that needed to be dealt with. You keep your head down, do as you’re told, and you survive. You survive and you get to go home, eat a hot meal, take a shower, and be with your delta family. If not, you end up like Sophie.

What’s also fucked is that Minerva actually cares about these people now. Think about that. After everything they did to her and made her do, she’s been trained to see them as her family and obey. When you save Louis and he kills Dorian, Minerva actually cries out and is visibly hurt by her death. When she’s with the other raiders on land, she's screaming at walkers to get away from them. She cares about the people who made her kill Sophie… and no one ever talks about that??

She fucking hates Clementine. Clementine is just another thing in Minnie’s way. I know the part of the fandom likes to ship these two together and they think it’s hot when they fight and shit, but within the canon text, Minerva wants Clementine gone. Dead. She is the thing stopping her from having her old family merge with her new family. If Clementine hadn’t made them fight, they all would’ve been captured and they’d all be a delta family now. She would’ve had Tenn back.

Clementine is the problem, she made everyone fight back and that’s why people are dead. Minerva hates her for it… it’s not a “I hate you but like the sexual tension, y’know?” that I see people pretend it is, it’s “you are ruining everything and if I have to, I will kill you myself and I won’t give a second thought about it when they toss your body overboard.”

Like….. seriously, think about how fucked up all of this is. Minerva is a husk of who she was before she was taken away. Sure, you do have to keep in mind that when Tenn and Violet are describing her, their sights are a bit clouded, y’know? But I do believe that she was someone who was kind and cared about people, she wanted to make people feel safe and comforted.

Now she’s a brainwashed soldier who won’t help the people she used to call friends when they’re about to get limbs cut off. She won’t hesitate to knock someone unconscious or threaten a child. She’s willing to trick them into being captured with no regard for what’s going to happen to them. … all she knows is this was the mission, and now they all get to be together again back at the delta.

Then when she finds out there’s a bomb on the boat, she ditches Violet to blow up with it in order to make it to land herself. She loses her shit seeing everyone die and gets her face chewed off by a walker… and then she tries to blow Clementine and AJ up with a grenade.

Oh, and who can forget the fact that she tracks the group down with plans of murdering Tenn so that they can go to a better place together? And she’ll take down anyone who gets in her way?

Like….. jesus christ, Minerva’s waaaaay too far gone. It’s awful.

I think that’s what stumps me about why she’s so loved in the way that she is. It’s not that I don’t understand why she’s complex and well-written, I get that perfectly fine. She’s a compelling character study when you comb over all her scenes and take different factors into account.

What I don’t understand is why we tend to just throw everything interesting about her away? For what?

These days, I never see anyone talking about any of this unless they’re insisting she deserved a redemption arc which…. Eh, I’ll touch on this later. What I mostly see here and mostly other platforms is how great it would be if she and Clementine made out, or hey what if she and Violet got back together if she did come back to the school? Or they just….the best term I have for this is “uwu-ify.” As in she’s reduced to a caricature of a tall, pretty, mean, white lesbian who has “good damage.”

People insist that Telltale are cowards or bastards because their predictions of her turning on the delta to save Clem and crew didn’t happen. Instead, Minerva ends up being the final baddie you gotta get away from, and she ends up taking someone down with her. But did you really expect to just do a 180 and suddenly decide being brainwashed for over a year was lame and Clementine and friends are cool? Gonna help them out and be with Tenn again? Sure, there’s some left over trauma but love conquers and fixes everything, right?

Uh…. no? That’s not how people work? Honestly, if we entertain the idea that Minerva wasn’t bit and somehow didn’t murder Clementine when they all got back to the school…. romance is the last thing she is ever gonna think of??

I think that’s what bothers me most when reading these au’s and rants about redemption and the entire idea of clemerva as a whole. It’s the same thing that I see happen with Violet- Minerva only has value to fans if she’s in a wlw relationship. By herself, she doesn’t matter. They don’t care about her canon story, they don’t care about Sophie, they don’t care about discussing what could’ve happened if she and Tenn reunited under better circumstances or had a healing recovery together. But why?

Throwing a girlfriend at her isn’t some band aid that’s gonna cover up all the bad she went through?? Having an enemies to lovers romance with Clementine isn’t going to fix a years worth of brainwashing, trauma or the fact that she murdered her own sister and the delta told her she's proved her worth to them??

Having the support of those around her is a good thing, don’t get me wrong. The idea of the Ericson crew as a whole trying to help her out and do the best they can to accommodate her is bittersweet since there’s only so much they can do. They’re not trained therapists, which is what Minerva would need and plenty of years ahead of her to work through and come to terms with everything that happened as well as taking steps forward. I’m not saying that she shouldn’t have friends or that she couldn’t have a healthy romantic relationship someday... but that isn’t the solution, y’know?

I don’t know how else to explain this, but it makes me feel weird that all of this stuff is flat out overlooked or doesn’t appear to matter to fans of her.

Look, I get it. We all want these characters to be happy. AU’s are a thing, after all. Sometimes we want to forget about the bad things and focus on the good that bring us comfort. You wanna gush about the idea of an AU where the twins never got traded, the raiders didn’t exist, and Clementine got to meet them the way they were before? I feel that, AU’s are super comforting and fun to explore, and my point isn’t to try and shame anyone who has an AU you like this.

Hell, you think I don’t have days where I pretend mute Louis isn’t a thing because the whole concept of Louis having his tongue cut out of his mouth breaks my fucking heart? No, lot’s of days I just want to forget everything about that route, I want to set aside all the bad and just intake as much clouis fluff as I can get…. But that doesn’t mean I always ignore or refuse to acknowledge the bad just because I don’t like it. I fucking hate the fact that Louis loses his tongue when you don’t save him, but guess what? That’s a canon route you can play, just like any other route, and the possibilities that come with a mute Louis are vast and compelling.

This is how it is for me… my favorite characters are my favorite for a reason, and I take all the bad with the good. Louis isn’t perfect, and I don’t want him to be. I was to dive into his backstory about why did that to his parents, I like to talk about what he went through with Marlon’s murder and his feelings about AJ and Clementine at the point, I like to view his love of music as bittersweet. He can stand on his own, and while he is a love interest for Clementine, that isn’t his only purpose.

I know everyone’s different, they express their love for characters in their own ways, but I do have a genuine question: do you guys actually like Minerva?

Believe it or not, I’m not trying to step on toes or make everyone feel defensive which I know is how people will react to this. “You’re just saying all of this to make us feel bad for shipping clemerva! You don’t even like Minnie so you don’t get to say shit!” yeah yeah, I hear you and look, it’s true that she’s not my favorite character. I know I’ve said I hate her in the past but upon reflection and throwing out fandom interpretations.... I don’t hate her. I get it now. She’s a great character study to dissect and analyze and I think she deserves more than what the writers and the fandom have given her.

And yeah, what I do hate is clemerva, and I’ve explained why. It’s not for me, it makes me uncomfortable, but at the end of the day, who cares? Me not liking it doesn’t mean anything to those who create AU’s for them. They have their reasons, they can do as they please as long as they’re not hurting anyone. I’m just here pointing out things I see and things that bother me in hopes of starting a discussion.

There’s my ramble about Minerva. I’m gonna go make some tea now.

#twdg minerva #twdg clementine #twdg sophie #twdg tenn #twdg violet #twdg louis #twdg marlon #twdg lilly #twdg aj #twdg

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theoriginalcarnivorousmuffin · 3 years

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One thing that has always bothered me about the magical system in HP is how much it... doesn’t exist? No one questions anything, there’s almost no theoretical exploration, and Hermione Granger (someone I’ve always found to be of average intelligence at best) is the brightest witch of her age.

Some characters seem to be inexplicably more powerful, but I wonder if it isn’t simply a matter of discipline and will-power.

What are your thoughts on magic? We never really see what light vs. dark entails, so fanfic authors tend to make it up as they go along, but do you have any head-canons about how magic works in HP?

I mean, to be fair, it wasn’t really the point of JKR’s series. She just wanted to write about a kid going to a magic boarding school in Scotland with this quirky witch aesthetic.

No need for her to placate us uber nerds who demand a sensible explanation to the minutia of her magical system.

Right, but yes, it clearly bothers me too. No one questions anything, there’s no understanding of why wands and spells even work, or why it has to be in this weird pseudo-Latin. No one even bothers to learn Latin, for that matter, and you think they would given the damn spells.

Hermione Granger is the brightest witch of her age given that “her age” is either around 30 people (the amount of people in her year) or else around 300 (the population of Hogwarts at a given time) which is a pitiful amount. She also is an extremely hard worker and actually reads her textbooks, sadly I think this gets you ahead of 95% of the population.

Part of the reason I think the Wizarding World thinks like this is that they’re this incredibly tiny, cut off, insular society. Generally, when you have a small society cut off like that you tend to lose innovation or even understanding of technology you have.

But that’s not what you asked. Right.

Personally, I think there is no light and dark magic. Magic is just this part of the natural universe that muggles, for whatever reason, are not able to directly access. It’s neither good nor bad, it just is. For that matter, I don’t think spells themselves really exist, or rather, they’re not what magic really is in its purest form but instead a way that humans can easily access and control magic to perform a certain task. Kind of a glorified API if you will.

So, dark magic and light magic are instead arbitrary labels that wizards apply to their own tool box based on the functions of that tool. If you have a tool that is only designed for/can be used for the murder and torture of sentient beings: well, that’s bad, we’ll call that dark. That said, do I think the spells themselves are inherently evil? No. It’s like if you open up your tool box, pick out a sledgehammer, and go, “This, my child, is an instrument of pure evil and you must never touch it.” Well, that’s a bad comparison, it’d be like taking a handgun out of your tool box and saying “this is a dark weapon”. Now, this gets into a debate I don’t want to get into, but to me dark spells are a lot like handguns (they’re designed for only one purpose and there’s no squirming your way out of what that purpose is).

Now, I think wizards have forgotten this (mostly because they don’t understand what spells or magic is), and so they get very hung up on the labels of spells or even just your odd genetic trait (i.e. parseltongue). So, we have these weird moments where someone uses, say, the severing charm to cut somebody open in the middle of the street. And it’s less bad than if they had used the killing curse to kill them painlessly and easily, because the severing charm’s not dark magic.

It’s like... If someone were to walk out and bash someone over the head with a sledgehammer until it kills them it’s less evil than if they shot them in the head with a handgun.

Wizards seem to miss the point of this.

As for what magic is, I believe it’s... direct energy that wizards are able to access in a way that muggles (thus far) cannot. What do I mean by thus far? Well, look at electricity. In ye olden days, I’m sure that if you asked a wizard they would say that making artificial light without flame is a property solely done by magic and muggles are not capable of it. Well, muggles then did it, and suddenly the definition and parameters of magic change. Wizards are kind of like chess grand masters who suddenly lose to your AI du jour, who say that it doesn’t count because the AI didn’t really do it like a human would. It’s not real intelligence.

I don’t believe people have magic in and of themselves, any more than anyone else does at any rate, because we see too little differences between powerful and mediocre wizards. You’re either a squib or you’re not, there doesn’t really seem to be a spectrum, and those who struggle with spells appear to do so for other reasons (Neville has severe confidence issues and is traumatized, Harry’s an idiot, etc.)

I think what separates the great wizards from the rest is hard work, the ability to read books and learn from them, even an inkling of understanding of how spells really work and how to create them (and this makes you Voldemort level right here), and a good ear to be able to pronounce your ridiculous pseudo Latin.

The wand is a tool specifically designed so that, with repeatable easy to understand steps, you can perform a whole array of tasks and even use them as building blocks to develop a new spell (combine swishes, flicks, and various garbled sentences together in such a way and BAM new spell).

Your wand, in other words, is your API to direct and access untold amounts of energy from the universe.

But people have forgotten that so instead what you memorize are very specific function calls that will prove useful in your daily life.

As for the wand and spells themselves, well, here’s my hokey ridiculous theory on how that came about. A long time ago, a brilliant foreigner enters the Roman Empire with a revolutionary idea that puts him on the level of Einstein/Newton/Feynman Name Your Stupidly Brilliant Physicist. He says, hey, how about instead of doing these time consuming magical rituals we develop a tool that, in a matter of seconds, allows us to perform truly complicated and powerful magic any time we want. No more relying on having the right ingredients about, virgin sacrifices, the full moon, etc.

Everyone probably laughs at him, but then he goes off and designs a rudimentary wand, and through probably some uber ritual that was dangerous as hell implements this system by which by flicking your wand a certain way and saying basic commands like “levitate”, “repair”, etc. you can perform these tasks.

Only, the guy’s foreign and Good Will Hunting (no formal education in the empire), so he doesn’t actually speak Latin. So what you have instead is this weird half-Latin like, “Leviupwards Fly”, “Repair-o”, etc.

It sounds dumb as hell, but goddammit it works, and more it gives Roman wizards an unheard of advantage against their enemy wizards who are all stuck doing these stupid rituals. They suddenly have a vast military might, so long as they use these wands and spells this guy came up with.

Everybody who’s anybody, who wants to win a fight, is now using wands. Wandcraft becomes a huge deal and people specialize in fine tuning these things exactly so as to get the maximum efficiency for a particular user.

And they probably go up to our guy and say, “Hey, buddy, can you make this in actual Latin? I can barely remember what it is I’m supposed to say to get this to work” and after the hours, and hours, and hours he spent making this thing that nobody helped him with he goes, “DO IT YOURSELF, BITCH”. And they never do because they’re too damn lazy/have no idea how he actually did it and any attempt to recreate it ends up with something that’s pitiful and doesn’t work.

So, they’re all stuck with it, and thousands of years later they forget this guy even existed and while there’s a recognition that not all magic has to be performed by wands there’s just this feeling that the wand is the magic. And so no one will ever come up with an English/French/Whatever version where when you say “Up” the thing goes up.

And that’s “The History of Magic” as brought to you by The Carnivorous Muffin.

#ask #harry potter #magic #headcanons #anti hermione granger #anti harry potter

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schrijverr · 3 years

Text

Promises You Made to Me

Chapter 1 out 3

Aragorn falls for Boromir on their journey. When they realize they share their affection, they also know that the time is not now to act upon them. Both promise to share love once they see the quest done, a promise that long seems a broken oath. Still, the horn was heard in more lands and the Elves have not yet forsaken this world

A Boromir lives AU where they fall in love before Boromir falls at Amon Hen, but Aragorn only learns of his survival after the defeat of Sauron.

On AO3.

Ships: Aragorn x Boromir

Warnings: thinking someone died, injury

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 1: I Can’t Promise You Fair Sky Above

It was hard not to like Boromir, Aragorn had soon found. Despite their introduction and the vast amount of unspoken issues between them, he could not help but like the Son of Gondor.

The man spoke of his home easily and with much enthusiasm, keeping the Hobbits entertained with stories from his youth and history. He walked without complaining, making sure everyone could walk with him and watching over them steadily when it was his turn.

He was always ready to lend a helping hand and Aragorn appreciated how he would help think about the next step and wasn’t afraid to speak his mind and offer insight or protest when he thought a foolishdecision was being made.

Not only that, but he had taken up the duty to teach the Hobbits to fight. Merry and Pippin took the most interest in the craft and it was a joy to see Boromir in his element when he taught them. He would grin and a proud aura would surround him.

Boromir kept the spirits high and was unmissable when muscle was needed.

It didn’t hurt that he was not bad to look at eitherand Aragorn found his eyes often wanderingto Gondor’s finest. Though he would look away when their eyes met, for he felt guilty about the reason behind his gaze, since Boromir was a Lord and not someone for Aragorn to gawk at.

However, it didn’t come as a surprise that Boromir had noticed this. He was a trained soldier and was aware of how to read people at a court. So one day, he came up to Aragorn keeping watch and sat down, saying nothing for a short moment.

“I know I did not make the best impression when we first met, but I had not realized that my behavior caused this much strife between us,” Boromir opened. “I apologize. I hope we can move past this.”

Aragorn still looked up in surprise. He had not realized that this was how Boromir would interpret his gazes and it startled him for a moment. “Yes, I see your gazes,” Boromir chuckled sadly when he saw Aragorn’s reaction. “I’m no Ranger, but I know when someone is avoiding my eyes.”

Quickly gathering his bearings, Aragorn replied: “I- It was not my intent. I do not have hard feelings about our introduction, I know I cannot ask blind following when I have not been present in Gondor. Legolas gets ahead of himself.”

“Ah.” It was clear Boromir had not expected that reply and he took a moment to rethink his strategy. “Well, then I do hope we can come to some agreement in companionship. Unless there is another reason for your avoidance of my company...” he trailed off, not in question, but in request of Aragorn to speak up if there was something else bothering him that prohibited any further friendship.

“No. No, there is not,” Aragorn said, for there was no reason to deny Boromir’s friendship, save for his heart speeding up as he felt Boromir heat beside him.

“I am glad,” Boromir smiled and Aragorn thought to himself: ‘I had not yet seen him smile at me before now. I should change that. It is a very good smile. His eyes crinkle and the feeling of kinship comes to mind when I look upon it.’ And what else could he do, but smile back?

The smile still lingered on his face as he looked back out into the wild for threats and it did not seem to leave until sleep claimed him once his watch was over. Since Boromir had watch after him, hedecided to keep him company until that time came.

As they sat next to their camp, keeping watch in the day for they only traveled through the night, they talked of such normal things that the contrast with their mission seemed absurd.

Boromir, for example, recalled the drunken tale of him and his brother, who had left a farmer very confused as of why his goats had bows upon their horns. In turn, Aragorn told Boromir of his foster-sister Arwen using him in a plot against their brothers, for they dared not to turn against the youngest of them all, who they viewed as innocent and how the he and Arwen had used that against them for manyyears.

It was a merry hour and it saddened Aragorn to see it over. But he did not deem it wise to stay seated next to Boromir any longer, since looking at him with a reason, made it harder to look away when there was none.

The other man was hypnotizing in a way Aragorn had not encountered before. He was sturdy in his frame, open in his manner, both smiling easy, while hiding a thousand burdens in his eyes that Aragorn longed to understand, but did not feel entitled to unwrap.

Looking at Boromir seemed both simple and too complex.

Aragorn yearned for a friendship with the other, a relation beyond mere traveling companions, but he did not know how to keep it a friendship, nor how he should hold himself around Boromir whilst knowing that at one point in their journey, he might become Boromir’s King.

Was it wrong for a King to look upon one of his subject with more affection than platonic? Most Kings did not marry out of love, but politics. And in dark times like these,would allowing the possibility be wise?

Questions Aragorn did not know how to answer kept him busy while they marched ever closer to the Misty Mountains over which they would have to travel.

During their journey, Boromir was frequently closer than before, choosing to walk at the rear alongside Aragorn and sitting next to him during the small leisure time they had.

And when Boromir was close, he had the tendency to talk. It was something most of the Fellowship had noticed early on, but the Son of Gondor did not like the silent marches and would often strike up conversation or talk to everyone in general, leaving it up to his audience whether they would listen or tune him out.

When Boromir talked, Aragorn often found himself amongst the ones who listened. Boromir had a nice, soothing voice that was great for telling tales of splendor, while at times being near philosophical as he pondered the goings of the world in times like these.

Listening to Boromir was both stupid and smart, for if he listened, he would not have to talk and mess things up, but listening made the affection he already harbored for the other grow.

Where he had first believed Boromir to be more muscle than brain, he was soon disproven. From his tales it became clear that Boromir had a sharp mind. He was a sound strategist and he easily weaved in the social complexities of history into the tales he told of the valor of Gondor.

It was interesting to talk to Boromir and Aragorn did so gladly. He found himself talking of his own home and the Dúnedain as well as the way of the Elves that housed him for so long along with his days as a Ranger. And while he talked, Boromir listened.

That was another factor he had not counted on when he had first met Boromir. The man had seemed steadfast in his own ways, stubborn to a fault and unwilling to listen when needed. Yet, here he was disproven once more.

Boromir would remember little details conversations later and recalledpeople that Aragorn had mentioned sparsely before. Aragorn did not know this was a skill the Steward’s Son had picked up as Captain, for men are more willing to follow you into battle when they know you care about their well being and person.

So, they both talked and both listened, until Aragorn sought out Boromir’s company of his own accord. He had not noticed he did so, until he came back from gathering edible plants and found that the seat next to Boromir had been saved for him, since it was his usual place in the camp.

It made him still for a moment, before walking on and settling down, focusing more on dinner than his company that evening.

And that night as they walked, he was amongst the ones tuning out as Boromir started his talking again. At this point he must have recited his entire military career, moved through much of Gondor’s history of the Third Age and gotten to know everyone’s life. Aragorn now knew more of the Toby Leaf’s history than he ever thought was needed for one, but Merry had been happy to explain in detailand Boromir had listened equally content.

But Aragorn did not know which tales he graced them with that night, for his mind was wondering when he had become so close with Boromir.

He did not recall when he got used to settling down next to Boromir every day, nor when listening to Boromir became more important to him than listening for threats, but he found it to be true. The affection he had for Boromir had blossomed into natural closeness.

At first he thought that the embers of a crush he had before, were nowextinguished ashe got to know the other man and form a friendship with him. Upon closer inspection of his feelings, however, he found instead that the opposite was true.

The speeding of his heart had become normal whenever Boromir was near and he felt the heat upon his cheeks with every grin send his way. His feelings had shifted, sure, but they had shifted from attraction to a deeper affection. He had become more infatuated with Boromir through their friendship.

It was a startling discovery, for while Aragorn was used to appreciating the physique of those around him, it did not often happen that he was enthralled beyond their features.

Yet here he was and he had discovered that it was not just Boromir’s strong arms or handsome face that kept him ensnared. Instead it was the crinkles around his eyes when he smiled, the gleam in his eyes when he talked, the softness when he listened and the comfort in his presence. He cherished their talks more than their practice fights.

He caught Legolas’ eyes and the Elf smiled quietly, eyes quickly flitting between Aragorn and Boromir, before turning away. It would seem others had caught on quicker to the will of his heart than he himself.

When Legolas held watch that day, Aragorn checked to see if those around them were asleep. With Boromir laid next to him, it was easy to determine his steady breaths as true.

“So there is still time for old friends, I see,” Legolas jested, mirth in his eyes when Aragorn sat down next to him. Aragorn looked away in shame, for he had not realized how much he had been ignoring the Elf.

“Do not be so dour, Aragorn,” said Legolas. “No one here blames you for being drawn to the Son of Gondor. And your oblivion has been my entertainment for the past weeks. It’s been long since a story like this has beenwritten.”

Aragorn glared at Legolas and huffed. “No story like this is being written, for it would not be just for a King to look upon his Steward like this.”

“I did not know you had accepted your destiny, my friend.”

“I- I don’t. I haven’t,” Aragorn protested. “But it is a path we might walk on, no matter our beliefs or desires and if that is to become my future, I should know better than to act like there is something owed to me that is not. I will not put him in a position where his choices are to ignore the wishes of his King or do something he does not want to.”

Legolas was quiet for a moment, mind processing Aragorns outburst. Then he smirked: “I do not think he’ll be doing anythinghe does not want to, if you were to ask him.”

“What?” Aragorn looked up in shock. He had not detected any reciprocation in the eyes of Boromir, just friendly affection that he shared with everyone of the Fellowship.

“You are blind,” Legolas sounded surprised. “For one who claimsElven decent and senses beyond normal men, you havenot seen that Boromir loves you too?”

He had not yet used the word love to describe his affection for Boromir, though the word had been echoing in his mind, but he did not think it wise to use that word, for it made what he had been attempting to avoid more real.

“I do not, nor does he,” he answered. “And we know my senses were not meant for internal factors, but threats.”

“If my Elf eyes are not mistaken, you have not been watching for many threats as of late, my friend,” Legolas had again that knowing look in his eyes and Aragorn found that he did not care much for that look upon his friend’s face.

“You do not know what you are talking about, Legolas.” It was a pitiful attempt at deflection and Aragorn knew it.

Legolas raised a pointed brow, but said no more of it, save: “We both know that is a lie, but I shall not further pressure you, for it is clear to me that you are not ready for it.”

And after that he stayed true to his word and said no more during his watch of Boromir, no matter if it was Aragorn, who opened up the topic. Instead choosing to comment on the landscape and the many nature wonders he had seen on this journey.

Aragorn did not try then, just taking the opportunity to talk to his friend, but the conversation had left much on his mind.

Did Boromir carry the same affection?

He did not think so. Still he watched Boromir carefully as they climbed the Caradhras. The man did not act differently than before, he walked with Merry and Pippin, making sure the two Hobbits did not falter. From time to time, he looked back, checking the rear like a good Captain would, smiling when his gaze met Aragorn’s.

Much to his embarrassment, he found that he smiled back without thinking whenever it happened. So, he focused on Frodo in front of him, the Ring-bearer should be his biggest priority.

Still it was hard not to let his gaze wander back every time. It was a strange thing to look to Boromir like he was a puzzle instead of his friend. He did not know which clues to look for, there were not tracks for him to read and he found himself thrust into unknown territory.

He started to wonder whether Boromir’s gaze on him was the same as the gaze he had for the Hobbits, a glance to ensure they were okay. Or if it were a gaze for Aragorn alone, one of special weight, with deeper meaning.

Aragorn could not decipher it. After all he had seen in his life so far, this was the mystery that stumped him. No matter what Legolas said, he could not see in Boromir’s eyes what had seemed obvious to the Elf.

It was a frustration, he did not know how to deal with.

Much to his chagrin, or maybe not (he did not know how he felt about it), Boromir noticed. It was even more frustrating that that was the only part he was able to pick up on in regards of Boromir, the fact that the man noticed he was watching him.

He loathed a confrontation that might come of it, so he kept close to others of the Fellowship, hoping that being with another person would discourage conversation about the topic.

Luckily, despite the misfortune, the topic was soon of the least import in their mind, for the evil will of the mountain had turned against them. Snow came down heavily and soon they had to cease their ascent and wait until they could turn back.

Boromir kept Merry and Pippin close, pulling his cloak around the three of them as they huddled close to the fire. Aragorn did the same with Frodo and Sam. Boromir had not lied when he’d called outthat this would be the death of the Hobbits.

If they made it through, it would be a miracle. This was a truth that was heavily felt throughout the entire Fellowship and it was not the moment to talk about trivial things as a few extra gazes. So instead Boromir tried to keep up the Hobbits’ spirits by telling them of the snow men he and his brother had build in the past and the epic snow battles they held.

As was custom, Aragorn couldn't help but listen, smile stretching over his face as the image of a young Boromir, already thinking himself a great Captain, leadinga charge in the snow came to his mind.

Soon the Hobbits’ slept, but the two men could not rest, for they feared that if they did not keep watch, their fickle lives would slip through their fingers.

So they sat in the cold of the mountain, counting the hours until the snow let up enough to turn back, a tactical retreat as Boromir called it. He also spoke again of going through the Gap of Rohan and again Aragorn had to refuse.

“The Gap is too dangerous a road to take now, Boromir,” he said.

“And this is not dangerous? Was it not folly to try this mountain? We are snowed under and our Ring-bearer might not make it through. Was this not a mistake?” Boromir countered. “And what other road can we take?”

Aragorn understood Boromir’s frustrations. From a tactical standpoint it would seem wise to seek out allies, for their road was already full of perils and a place to replenish strength would be a good place in the eye of any captain.

But they did not know how far the hand of Saruman had reached in those lands and they could not risk exposing more hearts to the clutches of the Ring. It would be unwise to think they would be safe in those lands.

Now just to make Boromir see that.

“Our road is dangerous, yes,” Aragorn said. “And this was a risk we should not have taken, but the Gap of Rohan is a risk we cannot take also. Saruman has betrayed us and it is not worth it to test how well he protects his borders.”

“I do not hear you offer another road. We also cannot risk staying on this side of the Misty Mountains. We have to cross.”

Aragorn had no answer to that, but he did not have to, for Gimli answered: “There is another road that we can take. We can go through the Mines of Moria.”

Both looked up in surprise. They had not realized anyone was listening to their conversation and having the private moment broken up startled them. So they said nothing as Gandalf replied: “I have told you before, Master Dwarf, that I hope to avoid that passage, but it will be up to the Ring-bearer to decide.” And both stayed silent after those words.

The next morning Frodo decided their fate and Boromir and Aragorn busied themselves with clearing a path back through the snow.

Neither said a word to the other, both too exhausted by their labor and unwilling to talk. Though, much to his dismay, Aragorn found himself getting distracted by Boromir doing his part and would sometimes have to be snapped back to work when Boromir looked his way.

Still, they made it off the Caradhras and safely down to the entrance Gandalf did not agree with, which made Aragorn uneasy, though he tried not to show it.

His unease was validated by the Watcher, lurking in the water. Yet, he was glad, for it was Boromir at his side when he charged and he knew Boromir would not falter in the face of this danger and have his back.

And in the darkness of the Mines, it was Boromir once more that eased his mind. He was there with him as they walked through thepitch black and while Gandalf had urged them to be quiet, it was the familiar steady footfalls of Boromir that kept Aragorn focused on the road ahead.

They had not spoken again since the Caradhras peak, but despite Aragorn’s attempts to avoid any lone conversation, it was during his watch that Boromir came to him once more. He was aware that Boromir used strategy of trapping him while on watch and he couldn't help but smile at the tactic solution Boromir had for such a simple thing.

“First you have been looking at me, then you have been avoiding me. I do not know what I have done to earn your suspicions, but any ill willed accusations you have of me, say out loud, for I am not welcoming of this backhanded wariness.”

Again, it would seem, Boromir had misinterpreted his gazes and again Aragorn found himself having to choose between Boromir’s hurt or opening a bit of his heart. It was an easy choice to make.

“I do not distrust you, Boromir. You are a dependableally and I am grateful for your presence.”

“Then why do you avoid me? Why do you first stare only to avert your gaze a moment later? You smile at me only to fight me then evade me after. What am I to think of that?”

Aragorn was glad for the darkness, for he did not think he could have lied, if he had seen Boromir’s gaze restheavily on him. And he did not think he could have been honest, when looking into those piercing eyes.

“It is not easy, Boromir. I might become a King one day, but I do not wish for that to be my fate, for my blood is that of a weak man, who gave in to corruption. Yet it seems that I am the one of my bloodline that is to reclaim the throne. It is difficult for me to know how to act around you and getting a glimpse of who my people are, is confusing at times.”

Boromir was quiet, the words churning in his head. The he hesitantly said: “Are you judging our people based of me? Am I an assessment to decide if you’ll go through with you destiny? Because I care not for being a pawn, when you have done nothing to protect Gondor and her beauty.”

This was not how Aragorn had envisioned thisconfrontation to go. His mind scrambled for something to say, so that he would not lose the companionship he had with Boromir. In that moment he cursed his cowardliness that had made him lie and not tell Boromir the truth.

“No, Boromir. No, that was not my intent with my words. I- Let me think how to explain,” he begged. “I hold you in high regard, but I know you do not wish to see me on the throne of Gondor. If more think like you, then I do not see why it is my destiny to take a throne no one wants me to have. I know not what you think of me nor how I am to act around you and it seems my attempts to try and figure it out have not been as subtle as I had hoped,” he finished helplessly.

Again Boromir was quiet and Aragorn braced himself for whatever reaction he would get from the Captain. Then, softly at first, then a bit chocked as Boromir tried to quiet himself, he started to laugh.

Relief washed over Aragorn at the first sounds of the joyful giggles, though confusion was on his mind for he knew not what humor Boromir found in his explanation.

“I- I apologize,” he finally got control of himself. “There is no humor in your attempts to try and better understand your position in the world. I merely find amusement in how we manage to misinterpret one another yet again. And the fact that a skilled Ranger such as yourself has difficulty with the subtlety of signs, you would think came normally.”

The latter part was obviously a jest and Aragorn found himself flushing at the teasing, once again grateful for the darkness that cloaked him.

He chuckled as well and said: “It would seem so. The tracks of people’s faces are quite different than those of animals in the ground.” Then he got serious once more. “I do not know, if I’ll fare well in a court with my skills.”

“I think you’ll fare as well as any man,” Boromir said. “Maybe even better. If you truly want to know my thoughts, then I think you have much to learn, or maybe much to show you already can do, before you are ready.”

“Aye?” While it had not been his primary reason, now that Boromir was offering, he was curious for any input to the other issues that had been plaguing his mind.

“It is clear that you are a great warrior, though I have not yet seen you in a proper battle, nor with men under your command. I have not seen you negotiate, though I have seen at the Counsel that you are willing to listen to those with expertise. I know not how you will be with the people of Gondor, nor that you know of her customs, but you seem to listen to my tales, so there must be a willingness to learn,” said Boromir. “For now, you are too much on an unknown, who has not been there for Gondor in her darkest days. I cannot judge you wholly, but you have earned my respect and I am also grateful for your presence.”

Aragorn thought that a just assessment. He had told Boromir that he did not expect blind following when he had done nothing to earn it and it would be fair to say that Boromir did not need to see him as King until he had proven himself worthy of the title.

“Thank you for telling me, I will try my best to get ready for the burdens that come with a title I might one day carry,” he said. “It is good to have you here, Son of Gondor.”

He could not see Boromir smile, but the bump of their shoulders was friendly and it was audible in his voice when he spoke: “You’re as much a Son of Gondor as I am, Aragorn, but I still welcome your efforts. I will not gift my City lightly.”

“Will you tell me more of her people?” Aragorn asked. He was not sure if the question came from genuine interest or because he wanted to please Boromir and liked listening to his stories.

Still the gesture was appreciated. “I will, but only if you promise to tell me more about yourself. I am quite curious about the Ranger of the North that dwelt in Elven courts.”

And to that, Aragorn agreed. There in the darkness of the Mines of Moria, with no other indication of the other beside light touches and the warmth that the other radiated, they talked softly.

Boromir told him of the markets, the people of the lands, the Lords in their mansions and the soldiers when in their barracks. In every word he spoke, Aragorn could hear the fierce love Boromir held for his people. He heard how Boromir was not just a prince in a castle, but a man of the people, who loved him dearly for that. He got swept up in Boromir’s tales and a part of him wanted to see the City as Boromir described it, instead of the one he had seen long ago.

Aragorn supplemented Boromir’s stories with tales of his own. Small stories of the people of Bree and his fellow kinsmen, who protected the North. It was easy to talk to Boromir as he had long since discovered. Boromir was approachable and likable.

In fact, it was hard to keep much from him. It was as if he subconsciously interrogated you, easing your mind while asking probing questions. And Aragorn found himself wanting to tell Boromir the less than proper thoughts that had been on his mind.

“Boromir, I-” He did not finished the sentence, unsure of what to say. ‘Boromir, I actually have been in love with you since Rivendell? I thought you were merely attractive at first, but you’re also kind and I cannot help but fall for you? I’m afraid to become King, because then it would be more stupid for me to love you?’

It seemed he had been quiet for too long, for Boromir inquired: “Aragorn?” with concern tinting his voice.

“Oh, uhm, well-” he started out once more, mind torn between telling Boromir it was nothing or confessing. He never got to choose, because the sound of a stone falling into the well came from behind them and soon the armies of Moria were upon them.

They fought, they won, they ran, they lost.

Gandalf fell and for a while grief and getting further was all that Aragorn could think off. Boromir was on his radar, but more as someone to keep everyone going and watch the rear as Aragorn now had to lead.

It was much later, in Lothlórien that they even considered talking normally again.

“Take some rest. These borders are well protected.” Aragorn did not like Boromir’s posture, normally so proud and tall, now miserable. He wanted to ask what was plaguing his mind, but he did not dare for it was not his place.

“I will find no rest here,” said Boromir, stubborn set of jaw, yet anxious in his speech. “I heard her voice inside my head. She spoke of my father and the fall of Gondor. She said to me ‘even now there is hope left.’ But I cannot see it.”

Aragorn’s heart clenched for the utter hopelessness that was in Boromir’s voice and he wondered what had happened that had made Boromir so distrustful in the hope of others.

“It is long since we had any hope. My father is a noble man, but his rule is failing and our people loose faith.” It was clear Boromir was partially talking to himself and needed someone to listen to him more than someone to talk with, “He looks to me to make things right and- and I would do it. I would see the glory of Gondor restored.”

The burden that Boromir carried was clear, though he seemed to cover it up by want. As if he was proud for the weight on his shoulder, not willing to acknowledge that it was too much and Aragorn did not know how to ease it.

Boromir took a breath. “Have you ever seen it, Aragorn? The White Tower of Ecthelion, glimmering like a spike of pearl and silver, its banners caught high in the morning breeze. Have you ever been called home by the clear ringing of silver trumpets?”

“I have seen the White City. Long ago.” Aragorn sensed that Boromir needed a bit of familiarity, someone, who could understand his home. While Aragorn was not wholly that person, he longed to be it, so he tried.

“One day, our paths will lead us there and the tower guard shall take up the call: The Lords of Gondor have returned.” There was again that glimmer in Boromir’s eyes when he spoke of his home and Aragorn’s heart gave a fond beat, wanting to keep that look there. “One day we will,” he agreed, “but it might not be for many months that we may do so.”

Boromir looked desolate again. “No, it might not be.”

“Hold your head high, Lord Steward. Our road may not lead to Minas Tirith, yet we do serve her and her protection,” he said. “You’ll see your home in due time.”

“Aye, you are right, Aragorn. Still, my heart tells me that I will not see my home as it is now ever again and my fears would have me believe that the next time I see it, it will be in ruin,” Boromir confessed. “There is not much else to think now that our wisest member has fallen. What chance is there to succeed now?”

While he had not dared to ask what was plaguing Boromir’s mind, the man had offered up the answers himself. Now Aragorn was left with a raw soul that he could not soothe. He could only offer platitudes. “We will try our best to do what we set out to do,” he replied, knowing it was nothing.

“That is your answer? We’ll walk into our death, for there is no other road you’ll consider?” Boromir asked, bitter anger dripping from his tongue. “What more do we have to loose before you realize this is folly?”

On a rational level he could understand that this anger came from the grief of losing Gandalf, but his mind was not ready for the rational and he snapped back: “I am not a punching bag for your grief, Boromir, son of Denethor. I know your opinionsand just because you are hurting over the loss of Gandalf, does not mean that I am not. I miss him, he was my friend. But he is gone now and I will see his will through to the end, no matter how much I love yo-”

He cut himself off, eyes becoming big as he had realized the revelation that had plunged from his lips in his moment of upset. He had never meant to tell Boromir. He had decided so when the darkness claimed their leader. There was too much to loose and he could not risk getting more attached. It was only grief fueled anger that made him confess.

“…Aragorn.” Boromir had equally wide eyes as he reached out to him, but his fingers never touched the arm that was quickly retreated, for Aragorn fled.

Behind him Boromir called out again, but his attempts to follow were made in vain, since Aragorn was more familiar in Elven lands and his longer legs with long strides carried him away. He could not believe how foolish he had been, nor how he would face Boromir or the rest of the Fellowship again.

Swiftly he walked through strange, yet comforting woods, until a small alcove hid him from prying eyes that would notjudge his tears to be from something other than grief.

Today he had made another mistake to go upon his list of regrets. Boromir did not love him, he was still on trial to become a King, love would not be considered by Gondor’s favourite Son. It was but a wishful dream in his mind and now he would have to endure the rest of this quest, with painful distance and obvious rejection.

It hurt more than he had expected, even if he had prepared himself for loving in silence. Not knowing if it could ever be, was less hurtful than knowing that even if everything had been different, it still would not come to pass.

He curled up into himself, reminiscent of hiding in the halls of Rivendell when he had been upset as a boy.

Of course, in Rivendell Arwen or Elrond or even Elladan or Elrohir would come find him and cheer him up, but there was no one to cheer him up here. He was all alone once more and the crushing loneliness had never felt more prominent.

He had not wanted to tell Boromir, for he feared he’d get too attached that it would cloud his judgment. However, a part of him had known it was too late and he was already attached to the smile of Gondor’s finest. Now, he just had to bear the fact that the smile had never been for him at all.

Why had he let his emotions get the better of him? He should know better as Isildur’s heir, he should have learned that desiring something did not mean he got to keep it. Was he not meant to learn from the mistakes of his forebears?

What if this ruined the quest? What if his mouth got them all in trouble and the rift between him and Boromir would never truly heal? What if Boromir would not have his back anymore, now that he knew what was in Aragorn’s heart?

Aragorn let himself linger in the halls of doubt that were inside his mind, never realizing that he had never confirmed his rejection before he fled.

So it came to be that familiar footsteps broke Aragorn out of his exile of self-pity when it was already far too late to turn back. He still attempted to do so, but before he could flee, a heavy hand stopped him in his tracks. “Please stay for a moment, Aragorn.”

And Aragorn stayed, for he had not yet mastered the art of saying no to Boromir on the little things regarding himself.

He sat Aragorn back down onto his seat and took the one next to it. Boromir was quiet for one antagonizing moment, before in an unsure voice he spoke: “I do not know if it was but a trick you are playing on me, but your reaction to your own words seemed genuine enough that I am inclined to believe them to be true. Would that be correct, Aragorn?”

Boromir stayed quiet and it became clear to Aragorn that he was indeed waiting for an answer. After a moment’s hesitation, Aragorn softly confessed: “Aye.”

“Then why did you run?” Boromir asked.

Aragorn snapped his head his way and fixed Boromir with a glare. “Do you really have to ask?”

“Aye, I want to understand, Aragorn.” Why did he have to sound so earnest?

“Because, I might become your King one day, Boromir. Because you would have to choose whether you shall obey me or defy me, while you know not whether you shall accept me as a King at all. I cannot expect my feelings to be reproached when you still need to judge my worth. Not to mention the dangers of the road. I cannot love you only to loose you, Boromir.”

Once he had started speaking, he found it hard to stop and Boromir listened attentively as was his custom. For once Aragorn did not know whether he was grateful for the quality or if he wished Boromir would shut out the too honest words.

When all the words that had been bottled up inside him had deserted him, he breathed heavily and awaited Boromir’s response.

“You are a fool, Aragorn.” At this Aragorn winced. “You are a fool to think that I would judge my King by the same standard as my lovers. You have earned my respect long ago, my affections maybe earlier. And I am not of the kind that will do something against their will. As I offer myself to you, know that I mean it wholly.”

Aragorn looked up in shock and Boromir chuckled at his face. “Yes, Aragorn. I never indented to act upon it, but it is hard not to fall for your charm. The tales of your exploits in Lord Elrond’s Halls make me smile fondly and your tracking skills make me awe. You also are closer to being my King than you believe, I just wish to see Gondor in good hands. I hope you can forgive me for that.”

“Of course.” It was easier to react to the part least concerned with his heart while his mind spun to incorporate this new information. “I- I can’t- I can’t loose you, Boromir,” he repeated.

“I know, Aragorn. I know,” Boromir said. “It would kill me to see you gone as welland I know not how to proceed from here. I would have you as mine, if the time was so not dark and the hour not so pressing.”

He leaned his shoulder against Aragorn’s and Aragorn rested his head upon it, his hand clasping Boromir’s. If he could be granted a wish, he would have wished to be in that moment forever, his body warm against Boromir’s as he thought. Secure that in the quiet, Boromir loved him.

Then he slowly moved to loosen the clasp of his necklace, before gently gifting it to Boromir’s neck, fastening the clasp with tenderness. “This was given to me by Arwen,” he explained. “It is so that I would not forget the Elven Halls that were my home.”

“Aragorn, I cannot take this,” protested Boromir.

“It is mine to give to whom I will, like my heart. And Igive this to you as a promise,” Aragorn pressed on. “I promise that I will try to see this quest through alive and keep you alive through it also. I swear by this that once our land is safe, we can try to see what can happen between us in times of peace.”

There were tears pricking in Boromir’s eyes, for he knew Aragorn was right. While they were on this quest, they had not the time to act upon the affection between them, save the conversations that were already commonplace and their bedrolls besides one another.

He grasped the Evenstar brooch softly in his hand. “I swear to live to see your promise to me fulfilled.” Then he smiled and his face became less formal. “Still, I hope you’ll allow me one kiss, before we start our agreement.”

That Aragorn could most certainly agree to and he leaned in closer waiting for Boromir to close the gap between them. His lips were chapped, yet soft. They pressed firmly against Aragorn’s, but they did not demand more than Aragorn could give as his tongue swiped over his bottom lip, asking for permission to deepen the kiss.

It was a permission, Aragorn granted eagerly and he was swiftly carried away by a gentle hand cupping his cheek, while the other clutched at his clothes. He lost his breath in the kiss, yet he had never felt more alive.

When it was over and Boromir pulled away, he had to gather his wits about himself for a moment. As he did so, Boromir smiled: “That is one memory to keep me walking on long roads ahead. We should head to dinner now though, I do not think Pippin will forgive us, were we to miss a meal now that we have it. Hobbits are quite peculiar about food.”

Aragorn remembered four Hobbits wanting to stop for a second breakfast, now already ages ago and smiled. He would not let go of the memory of the kiss either, but he knew better than to linger on it while they emotionally could not. Instead he agreed: “They very much are,” before leading the way through winding paths.

At dinner it was only Legolas, who noticed the jewel now sitting on Boromir’s neck and raised a brow at Aragorn, who shook his head softly, urging the Elf not to ask.

And so they lived with the knowledge of a potential future held close in their heart. It might be war, but was war not the place for love? For if there was no love in war, who did they fight for?

The only indication of their newfound closeness that was kept platonic for the sake of the quest was their bedrolls that found their waycloser to each other when they camped on the shores and watchesspend together, gazing at the stars and the eyes of the other.

Yet not all things that were good, were meant to last. The darkness was ever growing and no matter the love Boromir held in his heart for Aragorn, he had long since learned that his duty came first. Andthe voice of the Ring had twisted that love for his people into something ugly beyond recognition.

Still Aragorn had not yet accepted the gleam in Boromir’s eyes as corruption, perhaps blinded by love and unwilling to accept it as something other than the proud stubbornness he knew the other man held as well, perhaps it was the Ring influencing him to be blind.

No matter their affections, there were points they fundamentally disagreed on. “Minas Tirith is the safer road. You know that. From there we can regroup. Strike out for Mordor from a place of strength.”

Aragorn pictured the Ring surrounded by hearts that had been corrupted like Isildur’s, the land that had been the origin of the weakness in his own blood. “There is no strength in Gondor that can avail us.”

“You were quick enough to trust the Elves,” Boromir shot back and Aragorn said nothing, while rolling his eyes mentally, willing Boromir to see his point of view. “Have you so little faith in your own people? Yes, there is weakness. There is frailty. But there is courage also, and honor to be found in Men. But you will not see that.”

In that moment Aragorn found himself becoming irrationally angry yethe did not want to snap at Boromir, even if he bristled at Boromir judging him to be less of his perception of men, when he already judged him if he was worthy of a throne he had not asked for. How much more judgment would Boromir need to pass on him?

However, Boromir was not done with him yet and gripped his tunic, his touch for once not comforting, but aggressive. “You are afraid! All your life, you have hidden in the shadows.” And Aragorn was trying not to react as he let Boromir rave. “Scared of who you are, of what you are.”

With that Aragorn wrenched himself free. He was not listening to this. He was trying so hard and Boromir knew that, Boromir knew what was stopping him, what scared him. He was being viscous on purpose.

He began to stalk off, but a small dark voice whispered in his mind to snap, to make Boromir feel that hurt pit in his chest that Aragorn felt now. “I will not lead the Ring within a hundred leagues of your City.”

That night their bedrolls were on opposite sides of the camp and neither held the other company during their watch. They did not speak the next day either.

As they peddled he did not look at Boromir, though his eyes wanted to stray over to see if the Son of Gondor was safe still. He fought it. While he might have said things to hurt, it had been Boromir who started the confrontation and took it too far. It had always been Aragorn apologizing or explaining himself on this journey and he would not be the one now.

So with clenching heart he kept to himself, hoping that this would not unmake whatever chance they had at an us.

“Where’s Frodo?”

Merry’s words snapped him out of his despairing thoughts and his eyes scannedthe campsite for their Ring-bearer. Instead of a Halfling, they fell upon an abandoned shield and a cold wave washed over him as he realized what it had been that made Boromir unnecessarily cruel yesterday.

When he found the Ring-bearer, his words made the cold that was already upon him, burrow into his bones and flow through his veins. Would Boromir ever recover from the corruption of the Ring or would he never again be the man Aragorn met and fell for?

It were not questions he had the time to ponder, because Uruk-hai were marching ever closer and he had to ensure he would see Frodo to safety for as long as he could. Still, he could not help but think of his promise to Boromir as he tried to stay alive on the hills of Amon Hen.

As he was driven back Legolas and Gimli joined him and he looked back frantically for Boromir, fear clouding his heart as he envisioned an out of his mind Boromir, encountering Frodo aloneonce more, or even the other Hobbits alone and unprotected.

Then a loud horn blow echoed over the hills and another outcome he had not considered gripped his heart and twisted it. It was undoubtedly Boromir’s horn, the same horn he had blown when they left Rivendell for he refused to be a thief in the night. The horn that meant Boromir was in trouble too large for him to handle on his own, while they were with three.

A new vigor he did not know he possessed settled intohis soul as he ripped through the forces of the enemy, trying to reach the sound in time.

Boromir had multiple arrows in his chest and a large Uruk-hai pointing a killing shot at his face when Aragorn arrived.

Laterhe could not tell how he got there, but soon he found himself dropping down next to the body ofBoromir, eyes filled with unshed tears and a thousand apologies upon his lips. If only he had talked to Boromir, if only he had seen, if only he had paid attention.

Still as he laid there, it was his Boromir. He knew that no Ring could ever care about the well being of the Fellowship, especially the Hobbits, the way Boromir haddone. And even if he laid there, pierced by many arrows, he said: “They took the little ones.”

It was not Aragorn’s concern for now, as he desperately tried to staunch the bleeding of too many wounds.

“Frodo?” Boromir was panicked, which was not helping his condition. “Where is Frodo?”

“I let Frodo go.” Aragorn would not lie to him in what might be his final moments. He squashed the thought, but it was still prominent in his mind.

“Then you did what I could not.” It was a laboring speech, lungs filling with blood. “You need not worry about your blood, for it was I, who was weak and gave into corruption. I tried to take the Ring from him.”

His words about Isildur reflected back at him in this moment soundedout of tune in his ears and he cursed himself for giving Boromir the idea that he was ever weak. Aragorn knew he had not been free from the Rings voice and it was mere luck that saved him from being its main target. “The Ring is beyond our reach now.”

“Forgive me. I did not see… I have failed you all.”

Aragorn hated to see Boromir like this. He had always been so sure of himself, relishing his history with the pride of a man, who valued his honor. He would not let him lie there and speak ill about himself, not while he was still breathing. “No, Boromir. You fought bravely. You have kept your honor.”

He could not let it end like this. He would not let it end like this. They both made a promise and the jewel on Boromir’s neck was a token of this. He would not allow this to be the end of the tale of Boromir the Bold.

While he did not have much, he made the best attempt to bind the wounds, but it was a foolish attempt and cloth colored deeply and fast.

“Leave it! It is over… the world of Men will fall and all will come to darkness and my City to ruin… Aragorn…”

No, Boromir could not give up on Gondor. Aragorn knew the hope had been fading from Boromir’s heart for many years, but not a day ago he was telling him about the courage and honor of Men and when he spoke of the White City, he only spoke with love. Aragorn would not let him die, thinking all he loved was lost. “I do not know what strength is in my blood, but I swear to you… I will not let the White City fall, nor your people fail…” It was an oath he intended to keep.

“Our people,” Boromir corrected. “Our people.” And Aragorn could cry. He had stopped trying to tend to the wounds, but this made him try again. He could not give up on Boromir after he had given him so much of himself.

Still, when Boromir’s hand reached for his sword, he helped him even if he knew why the other reached for it. He chocked through the blood his final words: “I would have followed you, my love… my Captain, my King.”

And then Boromir was no more.

For a moment the world did not move. All was silent around him as he looked upon the fair and quiet face before him.

A bout of aggression came over him and he shook the limp form of Gondor’s favourite Son as he cried and raged. “You promised me you’d live. I promised you that I would protect you. I command you to live, Boromir. Do not make me an oath breaker. Do not make me loose you… love, please, come back to me.”

No matter his rage or cracking voice, there was no reaction.

Aragorn suddenly felt far removed from the forest, the hills, the stench ofthe dead. He was floating above it, not grieving, but pausing, as if he could make the world rewind until it was right again if he just distanced himself enough.

From above he saw himself kiss the forehead of his beloved, the skin still warm under his lips as it had been in Lothlórien, yet completely alien. “Be at peace, Son of Gondor,” he whispered and left athelas on his wounds, even if he knew it would not bring Boromir back. It was a waste of resources to make him feel like he had done something for Boromir when he had failed him so.

Behind him Legolas and Gimli appeared, both seasoned warriors and understanding what had just happened to their comrade. They fell silent. Legolas knew what Boromir had meant to Aragorn and Gimli had most probably put the pieces together as well.

Softly Aragorn brushed the hair out of Boromir’s face and straightened the jewel on his chest, before taking the bracers of his arms and strapping them to his own. It felt fitting, a piece of his home in exchange for a piece of Boromir’s.

“They will look for his coming from the White Tower, but he will not return,” he said, swallowing hard.

Yet he knew what he had to do. They had not the time to bury Boromir like the Kings of old and Aragorn vowed he would return for him. If not to bury what was left of him, then to build a monument in his honor where he had fallen.

For now he had a promise to fulfill.

“Boromir did not die in vain. I will not let him,” Aragorn said. “While Frodo, Sam with him, is beyond our help, Merry and Pippin still need us. I will not abandon this Fellowship so easily. Take only what you must. We travel light. Let’s hunt some Orc.”

Within minutes they had ditched all that they must and were on the run, an hopeless rescue mission that was mind-numbing in the chase, while vital for Aragorn’s heart. He would not fail Boromir, he would win in Boromir’s name and be the best King he could be for their people.

What the three hunters did not know was the soft beat in Boromir’s chest, for he had not been an oath breaker and he could not disobey a command from his King. Brought back from the brink, he lay there with athelas keeping him on the edge of life.

They also did not know about an Elven group, hurrying down the river to answer the call of a horn that demanded aid.

The three hunters could not know that slowly Boromir was heaved into a boat, loosing his horn to the river as the Elves rowed him to their forest, where the one who could heal him resided, if he were to survive the trip.

So, they fought for a friend they thought dead.

A/N:

Thisis not really based in canon, but I like the idea of Boromir talking during marches. It might have started as a way to ease the minds of the soldiers under his command, or just something to stave of the boredom and a habit he picked up after marching often.

Also I like the idea that Aragorn is a great King, who is v good at negotiation and stuff, but the moment it’s abt Boromir, he looses all chill and skills he has. He’s a gay disaster, ur honor and I love him.

It has not as much dialogue as I would like, but there seemed no place to fit it in and this style of story comes natural to me now and I am quite happy with it still :D

I tried really hard with Tolkien’s writing style and while some parts are better than others, I am happy with my attempt bc it was a bit of an experiment.

The title and chapter titles are from Hadestown, the number Promises, bc I have emotions about it.

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taizi · 3 years

Note

Hi! I love your works! 71 + 72 for Luffy and Jinbei?

PROMPTS LIST

71. “I’m going to protect you.”

smile again

As a watchdog journalist, Jinbei's work takes him everywhere. He isn't always in the best position to receive phone calls. Sometimes, depending on what story his group decides to chase after and what far-flung corner of the world it leads them to, Jinbei goes weeks without internet access.

By the time he gets news of the accident, Luffy has been out of the hospital for a month and Ace has been dead just as long.

Jinbei has to go home.

His colleagues-- a group of solid, hard-working people he's known for going on twenty years, has worked with on the field and off, in smoke and fire and claustrophobic office spaces-- are entirely understanding.

Tiger drives him to a small airport, the truck bouncing along a bumpy gravel road. There's a single, hastily-packed duffel in the bed of the pickup. Jinbei isn't even sure what he shoved in there, having only made one mindless pass through his room. He would have left without his passport if Hatchan hadn't shoved it into his hands on his way out the door.

"It may be time for me to retire," Jinbei says aloud. His mind is ebbing and rising like a tide, a vast ocean of grief. Thoughts go bobbing away like loose buoys before he can get a grasp on them.

All he can think of is the last video-call he made home, over a month ago now. Ace and Luffy, pressed cheek-to-cheek so they'd both fit in-frame, competitive in all things and unwilling to take turns, even as Jinbei laughingly promised he had plenty of time to talk.

They made him promise to call again soon. He meant to.

"Don't worry about us over here," Tiger says. His eyes are on the road, hands tight around the steering wheel. He carries Jinbei's grief like it's his own. "Just worry about your boy."

His boy, Jinbei thinks. Not by blood or by law, certainly, but by something less quantifiable than that. Those scrappy kids that spilled into his yard one muggy summer evening, hiding in the hedges from their well-antagonized CPS caseworker and somehow claiming a piece of Jinbei's heart from the moment he first laid eyes on them.

Ace was so angry back then, and Luffy was so easily frightened, and they clung to each other in a practiced way, as if they were so used to the world trying to claw them apart that they didn't expect anything else, even from a perfect stranger. They didn't seem to know what to do with kindness. Ace watched Jinbei like a hawk for weeks, long after Luffy warmed up to him. His trust, when he finally gave it, felt like a prize.

Jinbei was working long, unpredictable hours, and knew it wouldn't be fair to drag two children into his household if he couldn't afford them the time and care they deserved-- but after school? Weekends? Holidays? Those he gave up freely.

His days gained some semblance of routine again, for the fist time since he finished college. His kitchenware came down from the cupboard, the pockmarked kitchen table was often set for three. He made dinner at home, more than he ate in the office with his colleagues.

Hell, his colleagues ate dinner with him at home more often, too. Within an hour of meeting the boys, each of Jinbei's friends, to a man, would have taken a bullet for either of them, no questions asked.

The sense of structure did wonders for the brothers. With a safe place to return to when they needed it, and someone to fall back on, Ace stopped looking at every potential foster home as if it was a threat. Luffy came out of his shell, bolder with each new day. He made a friend in the village, a boy with vivid green eyes, and they hardly spent a moment apart.

They were finally placed with a couple who lived nearby. Shanks was wry and good-natured, and Benn had the patience of a saint. After a few weeks, when Jinbei asked how they were settling in, his worries were soothed: Luffy clearly adored them, and even Ace grudgingly admitted they weren't so bad.

And when the time came, and Ace applied for emancipation as well as custody of his brother, he had a small army in his corner. A patchwork family collected in little bits and pieces, ready to support him through anything.

"I will always be here for you both," Jinbei had promised him, countless times. "You'll never be alone as long as I'm alive."

"Thank you," Ace said, a little bashful. But he was so pleased, and so full of hope for the future, and he said, "I'll feel better, knowing someone's around to look after Luffy if I can't."

He immediately got shouted down by his entire strange extended pseudo-family for daring to suggest they'd ever let anything happen to him, and it made him laugh so brightly, and now the memory sticks like needles in Jinbei's throat.

Tiger hugs him hard before Jinbei boards the plane. In the back of his mind, where there is a tiny corner free from drowning, Jinbei can't help but wonder when he'll see his friend again.

He keeps thinking of that last video call. He can't remember everything they talked about. He doesn't think he said enough. He almost certainly didn't tell Ace everything he deserved to hear. Foolishly, he assumed there would be another time.

He's learned from this. He won't take it for granted any more.

"Call me when you land," Tiger says. "Give the monkey our love."

"I will," Jinbei replies. His heart is so heavy he doesn't know how he manages the steps onto the plane. He doesn't know how the pilot manages to lift them up from the tarmac. It's a wonder they aren't sinking, straight through the earth.

Nami and Usopp are waiting for him at the airport, wide-awake even though it's well past two o'clock in the morning. They're familiar to Jinbei from the stories Luffy has told him, from the numerous video calls they've bullied their way into over the years, and the handful of birthdays and holidays Jinbei was able to make it home for.

"Luffy wanted to come with us to pick you up, but he fell asleep," Usopp says, apropos of nothing, as they're waiting for their Uber. "Sanji said it was a small miracle, and Zoro looked like he was going to hunt us for sport if we even thought about waking him up, so--"

"He hasn't been sleeping, then?" Jinbei asks quietly.

"After he came home, he was on some pretty heavy meds, and he slept a lot," Nami says. Her arms are folded tight against her chest in the nighttime chill, her eyes trained somewhere far away. "But he had bad dreams and he would wake up disoriented. Now he fights sleep tooth and nail."

"We've all sort of become the insomnia squad," Usopp pipes up. "Thank god I'm not taking any classes this summer."

"Sanji's gotten really good at making lattes," Nami adds with a small smile. "Wait till you see his shiny new espresso machine."

"I'm like eight-five percent sure he stole it from the Baratie."

Jinbei listens to their chatter, feeling at once anchored by them and adrift at sea. It makes sense that they would be ahead of him. They've been here all this time, practically from the moment of the accident, facing it with all the bravery and endurance of sailors in a typhoon. Jinbei, meanwhile, had been living in an unchanged world.

For the last month, Ace has been dead. How many times had Jinbei thought about him? Mentioned him to a friend? How many times had Jinbei wrongly said his name in the present-tense?

The house is warmly-lit when they arrive, but quiet. An old blue Irish wolfhound greets them at the door, wagging his tail. Robin looks up from the papers she has spread out on the coffee table and smiles. Chopper is fast asleep beside her, his head on her shoulder. Behind them, Jinbei can see Sanji at work in the kitchen, shaping dough. Something is baking that smells of cinnamon and apples.

They weren't kidding about their sleep schedules being a mess.

"Hello, Jinbei. It's good to see you," Robin says. Her voice is soft, in deference to the sleeping teenager. "Luffy is asleep, but you can see him if you like."

"Please," Jinbei replies hoarsely.

"I'll take him," Nami says. "Usopp, would you bring his bag to the guest bedroom?"

"'Course," Usopp replies, but he makes a detour into the kitchen first.

Nami takes Jinbei's hand and leads him toward the stairs. "I feel really stupid about this, but I was so angry at you," she admits as they make their way up. "It's hardly the first time we haven't been able to contact you, and I know why that is. But-- I don't know, I think I was going crazy. I wanted Luffy to have everything he wanted. I wanted everyone who loved him to be here every time he woke up. So I-- so there might be some angry emails waiting for you, but please don't hate me for it."

"I won't even read them," Jinbei promises gravely, his heart cleaved clean in two. "I can't imagine how-- how hard it must have been. I-- if I had gotten the messages sooner-- "

"I know," Nami assures him, pausing outside a closed bedroom door. "Franky spoke to you like six hours ago, and you're already here. You dropped everything to be here. We know the kind of person you are."

She stands up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek, and Jinbei bends to accommodate her, the same way he does for Koala. Then Nami reaches out and pushes open the door.

Zoro is awake, sitting against the headboard with his phone in hand and earphones in, and his eyes are as bright and sharp now as they were when he was a child. He looks up when the door opens, and seems to relax when he sees Jinbei stepping in behind Nami.

"Go to sleep," Nami whispers, pointing at the second bed across the spacious room.

"Don't tell me what to do," Zoro replies, just as quiet, but he pulls his earphones out and extracts himself from the bed with all the exacting precision of a bomb disposal technician. Nami takes him by the arm, helping him get up so carefully that the mattress hardly moves. It's such a well-practiced maneuver that Jinbei thinks he honestly might cry.

"If one of you would stay for a bit, I'll grab a shower," Zoro says.

"Sure, stinky," Nami says, nudging him toward the door. "Jinbei?"

He nods, unsure of what he's agreeing to. Now that he's finally next to Luffy, nothing else seems to exist. He sinks into the chair beside the bed, only half-aware of Nami and Zoro leaving. Their murmured conversation is cut off by the closing door. The room is silent, save for the gentle, unobtrusive sound of Luffy's steady breathing.

He's lost weight since Jinbei saw him last. There are shadows on his face that don't belong there. He looks both older and younger than he has any right to, even now, when his face is untroubled and slack with sleep.

"Hello, little monkey," Jinbei says. His voice is quiet, but it still breaks. He's crying, he realizes, thick tears rolling down his face with abandon. "I'm sorry it took me so long."

He thinks of two little boys, spilling into his life on accident, taking up room in his home and his heart as if they always belonged there. They weren't his, not really, but he loved them anyway. Loves them still.

"I'm here now," he whispers. His hands are shaking. "I'm going to protect you, like I promised. I'm here, Ace. Please believe me, wherever you are. I won't fail you again."

#one piece #op #opfic #knight of the sea jimbei #cat burglar nami #god usopp #my writing #smile again #i woke up and chose violence #but i mean a couple people were wondering where jimbei was so u brought this upon urselves

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soyeahitsmiddleearth · 3 years

Text

Killer Good Looks pt. 2

The Company/Reader

Goblin tunnels, scapegoats, and life-threatening adventures... Oh, and you're still supposed to kill these guys, hm.

Angst, Humor, Action

----

The fall from your little cozy cave down into the deep dark depths of the Goblin Tunnels was not a pleasant one, and you're almost certain that a concussion is in the makings with how many times you and your companions have smashed your heads against walls, each other, and rocks alike.

You got lucky for the most part, and they've got pretty thick skulls so they'll be fine too.

Once the twisting tunnels and dead-drops are done, you all lay at the bottom of some sort of cage, groaning and recovering from the shock of it all (you're fairly certain there's a period there where you're all unconscious).

Damn it, you should've known better.

You've known for ages about the goblins that reside in the Misty Mountains, but you, for some reason, thought you'd be safe enough with the horrible weather to make it in and out of the mountain range before they even knew you were there.

The goblin king won't see you, will he? He won't recognize you, right?

Yeah, so, there was a time there where you worked freelance, having no assignments from The Brotherhood or anything to do, and you caught wind that the goblins of the Misty Mountains came across something desirable.

Something... shiny... and... possibly magical.

Your kleptomania went positively wild at the mere thought of finding something so pretty and sparkly in such a dreary and dismal place, so you set out for the Mountains, staked out around the entrances for a few days, and then snuck in and stole that 'thing'.

The 'thing' ended up being a radiant, beautiful ring stolen from some poor traveler more than likely. Whether they wiped out the kingdom or stole it in silence is unknown to you, but you didn't really care.

You snuck in at night while countless goblins went out to hunt and enjoy the evening, and then you swiped the ring from the goblin kings finger while he slept when day came about, hid in the tunnels until night once more while he flipped out in search of it, and made your escape the following night.

Only after you stole it did you find out that it was magical.

It morphed to fit your finger as soon as you fit it on, and granted you some enhanced senses.

The enhancements weren't vast or grand, but it was a very slight adjustment that helped to polish your already honed skills.

You could hear a little better, see a bit further, and increased your 6th sense for detecting others.

They probably went through numerous hardships to acquire such a useful item, and, now, it was all yours for free.

That day you spent hiding away in the tunnels, waiting for night so you could escape after stealing it in the day, was boring, but also a little frightening. The way the goblin king screamed and screeched about a thief and needing to find his prize made you briefly fear for your safety, but it didn't take long for you to realize they're too dumb to spot you.

You may not be the strongest in terms of physical strength and brute force, but your willpower and cunning got you through it almost effortlessly. And, if you did get into a physical altercation, your agility and reflexes would help you go down while taking them out with you.

Anyways, your point it that, he may not recognize your face since he never saw you, but if he sees the ring then it's over for you.

So, once you regain your rational thought after your daze, you slip it off your finger and shove it into one of the hidden pockets in your shirt. Who knows if he'll recognize the ring or not.

In no time you are being hauled up to your feet and dragged away with the rest of your companions, though you are a fair bit taller than all of them so it's harder for these nasty bastards to keep you under control.

No matter how vast or grand your skills are, you'd never be able to take on all of these guys; you're a stealth master for a reason after all.

The lot of you are taken down a series of paths to an audience with the horrendous Goblin King, and along the way you manage to kick quite a few of those grabby little monsters down into the dark depths below.

A minute or so passes that ends with all of you, ultimately, in front of the Goblin Kind and helpless.

"Who would be so bold as to come armed into my kingdom?" His voice booms in front of all of you, echoing throughout the caves, "Spies? Thieves? Assassins?”

Something like that.

You are, technically, all three, but none of you are there for him.

One of the small, ugly creatures steps forward and informs him of who you all are, "Dwarfs and a human, your Malevolence."

His face morphs into one of disgust and he practically spits out, "Dwarfs?"

"We found them on the front porch." The lacky confirms.

“Well, don’t just stand there; search them! Every crack, every crevice.” He cries, slamming his fist down which makes the wood tremble beneath all of you.

A bunch of words are traded and the Great Goblin exposes his knowledge about Thorin and the fact that his greatest enemy, Azog the Defiler, is still alive and kicking.

“Send word to the Pale Orc; tell him I have found his prize.” A twisted smile takes over his huge face and causes that skin beard to shift, a disgustingly entrancing movement, and he looks down at the searching goblins expectantly.

You've had a 3 of your knives tossed aside and your short sword has been stolen, but you're happy to report that some of your hidden weapons and the stolen goods are still hidden.

Suddenly, one of the goblins loses it's head and throws something in front of the group, screeching and screaming with horror.

The Great Goblin recoils and he hisses out fearfully, "I know that sword! It is the Goblin-Cleaver, the Biter, the blade that sliced a thousand necks."

Whips and nails, teeth and palms, the dwarfs are abused with every limb, weapon, and thing possible, and before you can even think on it, your voice demands the attention of them all.

"Wait!"

Silence, stillness, attention.

God, you hate it.

You slip the ring from your pocket and onto your finger and take a step forward unobstructed from the enraged goblins, slightly nervous but blank in expression.

"I cannot hide it anymore. Every second that passes weighs on my soul, for the desire to be recognized for my deeds is too strong."

"Speak your piece, human, what do you want?"

You raise your ringed hand and brandish the smooth metal off to him, "Do you recognize this? The ring I so cleverly stole from you all those months ago?"

"M-My ring!" He bellows, taking a step forward, "How- You thief! You were the one who stole from me? You?!"

You say nothing at first and betray no emotion in your face, lowering your hand back to your side. When you do speak, you push arrogance into your voice, "I took it while you indulged yourself in sleep, and then I hid right under your nose for an entire day, holding my prize and listening to your whining and petulant screams." The insults are all well aimed and meant to enrage him, for you're hoping to take his attention off of the dwarfs before he can have them all killed. "If I had known you were so pathetic and slow-witted, I would have taken it during the night and saved myself the time."

Someone calls your name, Thorin, and he hisses with confusion, "What are you doing?"

You ignore him.

If he weren't so pale and colorless he would've been red with anger at your taunting words. The Great Goblin is seething and spitting, his huge, clawed hands clenched into fists as he tries to form a coherent thought.

"You dare speak down to me? You will be punished!" He cries, pointing a long nailed finger at you, "Cut the ring from those thieving hands, and then take those hands as well!"

Your expression shifts when you're shoved forward and onto the ground on your hands and knees, taking on a more defiant look despite the hint of fear in your eyes.

It's not like you want them to cut off your hands, you kind of need those, but you're fairly confident that this groups luck will strike once again and save you from a life of picking things up with your feet and wrists (if they don't kill you, that is).

"No!" Someone yells from the group of dwarfs and goblins, followed by shouts and calls from others as well.

Unfortunately, the roaring in your ears is too loud for you to make out individual voices, but it's nice that they aren't apathetic towards your fate.

Before you know it you're being shoved face-first into the ground and your arms are being wrenched out from beneath you, stretched out and poised for being cut off. Your finger with the ring on it is pulled from your fist, and when you glance up, you see a sword poised above the head of a goblin, ready to relieve you of your hand.

There's lots of screaming and yelling, and at some point you squeeze your eyes shut since you're no longer confident in your assessment that you'll be saved in the nick of time.

Finally, right when your fate is about to finally be sealed, a bright light blinds you all and renders the goblins immobilized momentarily.

Gandalf the Gray stands there with his powerful staff in hand and an aura of white surrounding him, meanwhile you all just stare in awe.

“Take up arms. Fight. Fight!” He demands, slamming his staff on the ground which shakes your very souls.

You, and everyone else, require no more prompting.

In one swift movement you roll back onto your feet and steal the discarded sword aimed to take your hands, and then you jump right into the action.

You and the entirety of the group make a swift and action packed escape where you spend the majority of your time protecting the Durin's, sticking close to them and keeping the goblins away.

Everything passes by in a blur of limbs, blood, and violence, and it isn't until you've killed the Great Goblin and escaped back out into the light of the soon setting sun that you have a moment to breathe and think about all the things that just took place.

It's at this time that everyone finishes running and takes a moment to catch their breath that you all realize Bilbo is missing, and you immediately curse yourself for not keeping a closer eye on him.

A couple of the dwarfs begin to blame each other and there's some mumbling amongst themselves, but Thorin has another idea entirely about what really happened.

"I’ll tell you what happened. Master Baggins saw his chance and he took it! He’s thought of nothing but his soft bed and his warm hearth since first he stepped out of his door! We will not be seeing our Hobbit again. He is long gone."

You purse your lips but say nothing despite your disagreement with his words; arguing with the people 'paying you' isn't the brightest idea, so it's better to just keep your mouth shut.

And then, quite the peculiar thing, said hobbit steps out from behind a tree and states matter-of-factly, "No, he isn't."

There is varying amounts of surprise and shock that wash throughout all of your expressions. Hell, your eyes even widen slightly when he appears so suddenly. How did you not notice him even with your ring on?

"Bilbo Baggins! I’ve never been so glad to see anyone in my life!” The gray wizard exclaims with a grand smile on his wrinkling face.

Kili speaks next, informing the little hobbit that there was little hope surrounding him. "Bilbo, we'd given you up!"

"How on earth did you get past the goblins?!" Fili wonders.

"How indeed..." Dwalin sounds suspicious almost when he repeats Fili's question, but you're entirely worried about something else.

"Are you alright, Bilbo?" You chime in before he can explain himself, stepping closer to give him a quick once over.

You were hired to protect the Durin's, but you need all of them to get access to that mountain with ease.

Or, at least, that's what you tell yourself.

The hobbit looks up at you and offers a slightly nervous smile, "I am fine. Just a few bumps and bruises."

"I want to know...," Thorin's voice breaks through your conversation as he asks, "Why did you come back?"

A quick moment of silence passes as you look down at your feet and listen carefully, actually a bit curious yourself.

It isn't like you couldn't do his part of the job for him, though your assignment is something else entirely, and he expressed his desire to leave right before you were all kidnapped by the goblins... so why would he come back?

"Look, I know you doubt me, I know you always have," Bilbo begins with a slightly grim face, "And you’re right, I often think of Bag End. I miss my books. And my armchair. And my garden..." He trails off as a faraway look momentarily blurs his vision, probably imagining what he could be doing at home right now, and you all watch and listen carefully. "See, that’s where I belong. That’s home. And that’s why I came back, cause you don’t have one - a home. It was taken from you. But I will help you take it back if I can.”

Your eyebrows furrow together when he finishes speaking his piece, because his words are... greatly troubling.

He was ready to leave it all behind before, mere seconds away from leaving back towards The Shire and Bag End, but here he is now. He came back because he genuinely wants to help; he wants them to reclaim their home and find their wandering origins.

Everyone is silent as they think over the words Bilbo speaks, and while it awes most of them, you only feel more bothered.

Such a kind hobbit who you may likely need to kill.

"That's foolish." You find yourself saying that before you can even think about it, something that's been happening too often for your liking.

You get several shocked looks, hell, you're shocked yourself, but you don't take back your statement.

Where did this disdain come from all of a sudden? This disdain not towards the kind hearted hobbit, but towards yourself?

"You are not the person to be calling the actions of our Master Burglar, foolish." Gandalf scolds, eyeing you with a pointed look. "I know your taunting and teasing towards the Goblin King was no accident or arrogance driven necessity. And I also know that you could have easily broken yourself free before harm befell upon you. I brought you along to do a job, and do this job you have - much too well. I thank you for the distraction, but your methods may have proved to be a mistake had I not arrived on time."

You look back at the gray wizard with an unwavering stare, eyes slightly narrowed as you attempt to glare him into submission; only, he doesn't relent and stares right back at you.

"You came in time." A weak defense.

"And if I hadn't?" He asks, voice raising slightly. Gandalf doesn't much like backtalk. "How far would you have taken it? Were you going to allow them to take your hands? To cut that trinket from your finger?"

This time you hesitate in replying, something akin to a pout tugging at your lips. "Of course not. I had faith that you would come, and you did...," you trail off, then add begrudgingly, "And if you hadn't, then I could have escaped quite easily."

Another silence filled by the two big egos facing off against each other.

Gandalf's ego wins, unfortunately.

You relent and look away, catching the troubled gazes of Fili and Kili.

Did your actions really bother them that much?

"Well what do you suppose I should do? Let them harm you all?" You wouldn't let that happen.

That thought that lingers behind your words makes your eyebrows knit together in confusion once again, and your gaze wanders away once more.

Now that you think about it, why did you do it? I mean, why did you really do it?

You knew they weren't actually going to die just like that, he's too scared of the pale orc to do that, but you did it anyways. The possibility of harm befalling upon these dwarfs actually... affected you.

Gandalf pauses and observes you carefully, then realization sparkles in those infuriatingly wise eyes of his.

"Well, no matter. I did not mean to scold you, for you are a very capable person, so I thank you for doing your job well and diligently." He lets those words hang in the air for a time, then he moves on, "Now, we must discuss where we are and where we must go."

"I say-" Thorin begins, only to be cut off by howls and the sound of a gravely voice speaking in another language. "Out of the frying pan..." He sighs with a weary face.

"And into the fire! Run! Run!!" The gray wizard snaps.

You all begin your hasty retreat down the mountain, and at some point the sun begins to set.

The sky turns all sorts of vibrant shades of orange, blue, and red, and the light delicately kisses the peaks of each tree, mountain top, and surface. The air smells fresh, as it usually does following a hard rain, and the grass and leaves glisten healthy because of the drink offered to them by the sky. It's a magnificent sight to behold, but none of you are able to appreciate it, for the beauty of nature is being darkened and tainted by the evil intent and fear.

Those nasty wargs chase you all down like prey, maybe that's exactly what you are, meanwhile your feet take you as far away and as quickly as they can.

You jog behind the two youngest Durin's, being as Thorin takes the lead as per usual, and keep a slow enough pace to avoid taking over them (they're not the fastest group of dwarfs, after all). You can't have them becoming warg food when you still need them to get you into that mountain...

"Pick up your feet more when you run!" You command, glancing behind you briefly to gauge just how close those bastards are.

They heed your advice and end up running just a bit faster, something that relieves you somewhat.

The land begins to thin out and the ground you run on narrows, thus forcing all of you onto a cliff filled with trees and a precipice topped with a leaning tree.

“Up into the trees, all of you! Come on, climb! Bilbo, climb!” Gandalf demands, jumping up to grab one of the low hanging branches and pulling himself up.

You stay planted firmly in place and wait for everyone to find a spot in a tree and climb to safety, and while everyone else, even Bombur, finds somewhere to avoid the bloodthirsty wargs, Bilbo is still running for the tree line.

A frustrated curse passes through your gritted teeth, but you waste no time in rushing forward and yanking Bilbo away from the jaws of an awaiting warg. You foot shoots up and crashes into the side of its face, successfully knocking it off course since you nailed it in the eye which gives you two enough time to sort things out.

"Quickly!" You hiss, leaning crouching down with your hands clasped in front of you, "I can boost you up, but you mustn't waste anymore time!"

The little hobbit nods his head and steps his big right foot into your awaiting hands, and, once he's secured, you launch him up and into the awaiting low hanging branches.

"Y/N!" Fili screams from above you, panic lining his voice.

Your gaze snaps forward just in time to see sharp teeth and brown fur, but right before those razor teeth can sink into the soft flesh of your neck, a rock comes sailing through the sky and nails the nasty beast right in the nose.

It whimpers and jerks its head off to the side, but you don't waste anymore time in watching it freak out and instead roll around to the other side of the tree and jump up to grab a branch and pull yourself further up so they can't get your feet.

You reach up to grasp another branch, but someone catches your hand instead and easily hauls you into another layer of the tree.

"I've got you." It's Dwalin, and he doesn't let go of your hand right away until you're secure.

"Thank you." You dip your head after voicing your thanks then do a quick once-over to make sure everyone is safe in the trees, only, you don't get the chance to finish that before those wild dogs begin to rip at the roots holding the strong pines into place.

One by one do each of the trees begin to lean and fall, creating a domino affect that forces all of you to hang vicariously over the edge of the cliffside.

A quick glance down shows you the imminent death that awaits you below, and, for the first time since this chase began, you fear for your and everyone else's lives.

"Catch!" Kili yells to you, tossing a flaming pinecone your way.

Where did they get flaming pinecones?

Gandalf of course, you should've known even before you looked up.

You turn your attention ahead once more and pull your arm back, poised to throw the pinecone with all your might, only to stop mid-swing when something, or rather, someone, gets in your way.

Thorin Oakenshield stands on the trunk of the sinking tree with his weight distributed to maintain balance, and just ahead is Azog the Defiler, staring him down with an arrogant, sick smile.

Oh Jesus... this dwarf sure doesn't make your job easy.

You throw the pinecone since the flames began to lick at your gloved fingers and move to stand up, but the branch you sit upon cracks and creaks, groaning under the sudden movement.

Shit.

If he dies the dwarfs may give up on the entire journey altogether and decide to leave the mountain alone, and then where will that leave you?

You don't even want to think about it.

Another attempt is made to pull yourself up onto the thick trunk, but this time the entire branch cracks and breaks, falling out from beneath you as it hangs by the sparsely attached strings of ripped apart wood.

You just barely manage to throw yourself into the trunk and hang off the side, feet dangling in open air with nothing to leverage yourself with.

Panic blooms in your chest as you completely loose control over the situation, unable to even swing your legs up because of the way your arms can't completely wrap around the trunk.

"No!" Dwalin screams just above you, catching your attention briefly despite your panic.

You look over to the side and see that Thorin has lost his fight against the pale orc. He lays on the ground, unmoving and defeated as another one of Azog's companions raise its' weapon above its' head to kill the dwarf king.

"Damn it!" You hiss helplessly, pawing uselessly around the rough bark in search of any sort of leg up. "Thorin!"

This is it. They're going to kill him and all of you are going to fall to your deaths, soaring through the sky for a brief time before you become nothing more than bloody splatters on the ground below.

The sound of metal hitting metal and the clashing of weapons draws your ear as you begin to slip further down the circumference of the trunk, but you can't even turn to look because there's nothing left for you to do.

The rest of your body drags your arms from around the tree and, in a last ditch effort to avoid the drop, you grasp the broken, hanging branch.

It snaps of as soon as your weight yanks it down, and then... you're free falling.

Someone screams your name (is that Bofur?) but you don't do anything.

You don't writhe or scream; you don't flail your arms or cry; you just stare up at the horror stricken faces and your partners in falling (Dori and Ori) as numbness overtakes your whole body.

Yes, your stomach drops as the feeling of falling sickens you, but in your heart, in your soul, you feel nothing.

It's not like you've led a particularly good life or anything, but still, you don't want to die. Even if there is nothing for you, no one that cares, you still don't want to go; because once you're dead, the only thing anyone will remember you as is a ruthless monster, a puppet of The Brotherhood.

You don't want to die.

Maybe you should've rejected the job in the first place; maybe you should've made better designs in general; maybe you should've allowed yourself to let those foolish dwarfs and sweet hobbit close if to just feel a moment of belonging.

Little do you know, all of these thoughts will prove to complicate your mission further, because this is, in fact, not the end.

One moment you're falling to your death while having an existential crisis, and the next you're being snatched out of the sky by one of the Great Eagles.

#the company x reader #the hobbit fanfiction #the hobbit #reader insert #thorin oakenshield #fili #kili #killer good looks pt. 2 #assassin reader #angst #bilbo baggins #kili x reader #fili x reader #thorin x reader #bilbo x reader #bofur x reader #dwalin x reader

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forthehpfanboys · 4 years

Text

Sweeter Than Sugar

Pair: Cedric Diggory x Reader; they/them.

Summary: Cedric knew he shouldn't. Everyone knew he shouldn't, but he did. He fell for a Slytherin and there was really no going back. Luckily for him, you were.. Soft. Towards him, anyway.

Warnings: Swearing, pining Cedric.

Notes: Reader is badass/kinda punky. My first Cedric story so please enjoy!

~DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE~

Cedric couldn’t answer the most basic questions about you. All he knew was that he really, really wanted to get to know you. Like so bad his friends were tempted to throw him into the Black Lake with how often he spoke about you. He wanted to tell himself that the reason he was pining fascinated with you was because of the rush he received when being so close to someone the half-bloods and muggle borns called a ‘bad boy’, but he knew it was so much deeper than that. He wanted to hate it, he wanted to hate you, but he couldn’t.

You were special. It was clearer than crystal. You were from a pureblood family, no shock there, and sorted into the house full of snakes but once he saw your fist connect with Goyle’s jaw, he, and everyone else at Hogwarts, knew you were different. The brunette found himself questioning so much every time he gazed at you. Your painted nails, the vast abundance of bracelets covering your arms like sleeves, the black boots, the confidence- you knew you were powerful.

The one thing you didn’t know, however, was how you wiggled your way into Golden Boys head like a dumb muggle jingle and basically held free real estate there. He wasn’t one for sitting and watching on the side lines, but you were intimidating. He wasn’t scared of you, but more so scared of being on your bad side. Cedric did not want to be on the receiving end of that hit. He could still hear the thunk of Goyle’s body crashing to the ground, and see the soul leave Draco’s body after the thunk.

The brunette shook his head at the thought and awkwardly cleared his throat. He planned on talking to you for the first time today, determined to get some of those basic questions (what’s your favorite color? Favorite animal? Do you prefer snogging boys or girls? Are you good at potions?) answered. He fixed his scarf and uniform for the fifth time, his eyes casted down to the fabric to make sure it was perfect and ignored the groans of annoyance from his friends around him. Cedric’s head shot up when his friend nudged his shoulder rough enough to knock him out of his head. He followed the gaze of said friend and suddenly found it a lot harder to breathe in the cold air. You were walking right across the courtyard to the bridge entrance to his right, no scarf to cover your face from the cold, leaving your cheeks and nose the cutest shade of pink. He noticed you didn’t really dawn.. Any protection besides your school robes to protect you from the cold.

“This is it.” He spoke up, adjusting his uniform again. In his head, he was walking over to you, already introducing himself and offering his scarf to hopefully create a nice impression, but he was stuck. The usually confident male didn’t move. Did you even notice what you did to him without even looking him in the eyes? Oh, pygmy puff droppings, he had to look you in the eyes-

With that idea now in his head, the Hufflepuff simply decided maybe later and turned in the other direction. He didn’t know if he could genuinely look you in the eyes without crashing and destroying his chances to get to know you, but one of his friends grabbed his scarf and all but threw him down the hallway, leaving him stumbling after you.

“Hey!” he called out way too loud from behind you, wincing at how his voice echoed in the tunnel like structure. He adjusted his scarf again, avoiding your confused gaze as you turned around, this time loosening it. The scarf didn’t stop his body from heating up in embarrassment. “Um-Hi.” He cleared his throat, now only a few steps away from you.

“Hello.” You chuckled out, as you cocked an eyebrow. He almost didn’t notice how your eyes looked him up and down before a grin spread across your lips. He looked over your shoulder before talking the final few steps forward.

“How are you?” His gaze soon met yours, his eyebrows furrowed as if he was expecting you to freak out. His short greeting had you snorting into the back of your hand. “I’m sorry, did I say som-”

“No, no!” You cut him off, your hand moving from your lips to your hair. “It’s not you, just.. An interesting choice of greeting.” Snickering, your fingers ran through your (h/c) locks before falling to your side. “No offense. As for how I’m doing, it all depends on who wants to know.” Your hands found their way to your trouser pockets as your head tilted out of curiosity.

“Cedric. Cedric Diggory.” He rushed his hand out while mentally shaming himself for not saying his name before asking how your day had been. He chewed on the inside of his cheek, a nervous smile spreading across his lips as you shook his hand- hopefully his palm wasn’t sweaty.

“Well, Cedric, (Y/n) is doing quite well!” You casted him a warm smile that had his heart melting inside of his chest. His nervousness was quickly melting away, thank Merlin. “What did ya need?”

“Oh, just wanted to get to know you, is all. Sometimes you look like you could use a friend or two.” Cedric smiled right back at you. He really wanted to know how you ended up in the house filled with snakes if you were such a sweetheart. Little did he know he was about to find out.

“Well, some people don’t like how I carry myself.” You shrugged, shifting your bag filled with books to your other shoulder. “But ya know I don- ..What?” Your tone shifted drastically as you peered over his shoulder. Your eyes hardened at Draco and his pathetic gang of idiots as they started their usual trouble making.

“Found yourself a boyfriend, eh?” Draco called out, while Crabbe stuck his tongue out at you. The problem with taking down one of them the first day they harassed you, led to you being a target they pursued from a distance. “That’d be cute if he was worth your lousy time.”

You turned back to Cedric, casting him a quick smile before speaking an apology and cracking your knuckles.

“I’d love to continue our conversation, DigDug, but I gotta handle some morons who don’t know tit for tat.” You put a hand on his shoulder and gently stepped around him before advancing toward the group slowly while ripping off your shoulder bag and throwing it off to the side. The Hufflepuff watched you the entire time, ignoring the tingling of his shoulder.

“Um-Yeah, no- go ahead?” Cedric's eyes followed the bag, watching it slam against the wall with a deafening thud, your books sliding free, before turning back to you.

“Oh yeah? How’s your pathetic boyfriend doing? Reckon his nose stopped bleeding shortly after I broke it.” You loved watching Malfoy turn pale as you advanced. “Maybe you’d like to see how it feels.” You grabbed the front of his robe and yanked him to your chest.

While you were threatening to beat the snot out of the pureblood idiot, all Cedric could think about was A: how strong you had to be to throw a bag filled with textbooks that hard and B: how he already had a cutesy nickname. He came back to focus just in time to see Draco wiggling from your grasp and the group sprinting away, which triggered him to hurry over to the bag and father up your stuff. When you turned back around, you noticed the Hufflepuff politely holding the bag out to you.

“Oh, thank you!” You smiled, taking it from him and putting it over your shoulder again. “Sorry you had to see that. Malfoy can be a git.” You laughed a little, rubbing the back of your neck.

“I totally understand. He deserves someone to put him in his place.” He grinned like a love sick teenager when a huge smile spread across your lips and you bounced on your feet.

“Come on! Walk me to my next class!” You grabbed his wrist and tugged him down the pathway in the winding bridge. He didn’t realize how hard his heart was beating until you spoke up again. “So, you’re fine with my methods of putting idiots in their place?”

Merlin, he was smitten for you.

Since that fateful day, you two spent almost everyday together. It ranged from helping each other study, patching you up after a fight and even singing off key right at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Eventually, your friendship molded into a partnership. Not much changed, as you both expected, but it just became romantic. Singing muggle love songs while gazing at the stars, double the cutesy nicknames and even going to the Yule Ball together when the time came.

Eventually, the cold season shifted to a warmer climate, leaving students trying to hide from the soldering sun and less than helpful warm breezes. Currently, you and Cedric were sitting down by the Weeping Willow, using it for shade. It was perfect. You were leaning into his side with his arm wrapped around your shoulder, allowing you to play with his fingers while he read.

“Hey, DigDug?” Your soft voice broke the silence as he nodded his head, silently telling you had his attention. He let out a soft hum, telling you to continue on. “I have a secret to tell you.” You put on a guilty expression, in case he was watching and turned toward the lake across from you.

“Whatever it is, love, I’m still gonna be by your side.” His arm tightened around you in a secure manner, worry flooding his mind when you let out a shaky sigh.

“Ok, well.. I.. I wanted to tell you I.. I love you.” You smirked at him, the guilt one big act. He stared at you blankly before slamming his book and setting it beside him. “Babe?” You spoke up when he didn’t say anything. “Ced?” Your eyebrows furrowed in worry. You felt it drain just as quickly as it hit you when he lightly shoved you over, a chuckle leaving his lips.

“I love you too, sugar!” Cedric laid down on top of you, a smile across his lips. You ran a hand through his hair as you let out a grumble over it not being fair. He snorted, laying his head on your chest and just hearing your heartbeat. He ran his hand down your free arm and interlocked his fingers with yours. “I seriously love you so much.”

“I love you too, you big softie.” You laughed, which sounded more like a wheeze. Probably because of the pressure of him across your abdomen. You were the big softie, whether you wanted to admit it or not. You were sweeter than sugar, but you could turn sour so quick you could make a dragon dizzy. Luckily, he always favored those kinds of candies.

#cedric diggory x non binary reader #cedric diggory imagine #cedric diggory x male reader #cedric diggory #hp imagine #hp x male reader #hp x non binary reader #non binary reader #x non binary reader #Ronny Writes #fic #hp male fic #hp fic

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kaibacorpintern · 3 years

Text

the wound

word count: ~2500

summary: kaiba has some pointed thoughts about yuugi’s recent cooking injury. platonic rivalshipping. post-DSOD

a/n: a woman has too many unfinished one-shots in her google drive so i’m making time to finish them instead of overthinking them (and never finishing them.) yes this is about cooking and yuugi and kaiba and depression. yes i have already written about this. whatever man. enjoy.

++++

Same time as usual. Two in the afternoon, on Saturdays. Same place as usual. The picnic table under the massive oak in the park, two blocks away from the Kame Game Shop and twenty minutes by subway from the station under the Kaiba Corp tower. Seto took the subway mostly out of scientific interest, taking a professional curiosity in the world Atem had wanted to live in, and because Atem had told him to enjoy it. What had he seen here, in the faded orange seats and bright pastel advertisements and the quiet scattering of human-not-Puzzle bodies? What had he felt, as the subway swayed around the curve in the tunnel, unseen in the darkness and known only by its momentum, making everyone sway with it? Hands curled around handrails and books. Fingers on phones. The train burst into daylight. The side of that girl’s head against the glass, watching Domino slide by with an equally glassy look in her eyes. Two layers between her and the city. Missing someone? Or just bored of life?

He slunk off the subway, unnoticed and unknown, in an immaculate white hoodie and aviators, stainless steel water bottle dangling from one hand. Yuugi was waiting for him at the park entrance, as usual, wearing some kind of fashionable belted dark purple romper, with the usual tote bag full of games hanging from one hand. On the other hand, something unusual: his fingers stuck out from a half-formed mitten of gauze, giving his slender hand a clumsy, snub-nosed silhouette. He was having trouble holding his iced tea, thumb and fingers alligator-clamped around the lid. Someone had drawn a pair of flowers in pink marker across the back of the mitten, a bumper sticker of cheerful admonition: 🌺 BE CAREFUL! 🌺 Not Yuugi’s handwriting.

“Hey,” Yuugi said. “How’re you doing? You sleeping better?”

Seto pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head, over his bangs, crown-like.

“On and off,” he said, which was true. His nights were now vast, tossing oceans of insomnia between shores of just good-enough sleep. Last night he’d simply given up trying to swim and instead, for the first time in years, read a book for amusement instead of education. Some sci-fi novel Yuugi had mentioned and Seto bought on a lark from the bookstore in the subway station. Most of his amusement came from correcting the bad science in the margins, until he woke up at dawn with his glasses bent and his bed linens blotted like calico cats with black ink. “What happened to your hand?”

“Oh, this?” Yuugi said, lifting his mitten-hand. “So, I was making a ceviche yesterday…”

He told the story as they walked through the park to the oak tree: the protagonist was a ripe avocado, its tough, disingenuous alligator hide concealing a soft, buttery-green flesh. The arc of the conflict: avocado against knife, a natural antagonist. The climax: the knife, ignorant of its own bluntness and made arrogant by the shine of its own steel, slid off its trajectory like a failing rocket and plunged at speed through plant skin and plant flesh straight into human skin and human flesh. The resolution: two identical cuts, a half-opened avocado and a half-opened hand. Man versus fruit.

"There was so much blood Otogi almost fainted," Yuugi said, thumping the tote bag onto the wooden table and straddling the bench sideways. "So we went to the ER and they stitched me up, and then when we got back home I finished making the ceviche. What game? You pick."

"Hive," Seto said. He couldn’t stop looking at his bandaged hand. It drew his attention like a glitch on a screen, an inescapable aberration. “Does it bother you?”

“I mean, it hurts, but whatever, you know?” Yuugi said, digging into his tote bag for the drawstring bag of wooden tokens. He spilled them onto the table in a clattering cascade of wood against wood. They rapidly sorted them out. “It’s not my first cooking accident.”

Seto raised his eyebrows. It was a testament to the amount of time they’d been spending together lately - every Saturday afternoon for a handful of hours, until he made some excuse to leave, and Yuugi accepted it not because he was gullible but because he knew Seto had a battery and it ran low - that he didn’t even need to ask a question, and Yuugi simply provided an answer, with examples.

“So, here, I was frying onion rings for Jounouchi, and I splattered hot oil all over my arm,” Yuugi said, lifting his hand and pointing out a haphazard constellation of white scars over his forearm. “Then here - I was baking cookies for Shizuka’s birthday and touched the tray fresh out of the oven with my bare hand, like a moron, I dueled Jounouchi after and drawing my cards was like, ow - ” he waggled his fingertips - “and this one is another burn - ” a long white ink-stroke across his wrist - “from when I was making ramen for Anzu, ‘cause she was home from New York. And this one - ”

More interesting than how and what were who. This burn for Honda’s birthday barbecue, that cut for Otogi’s game night. A violent kiss between blade and fingers behind a frothy veil of soapy water, cleaning up after a movie night. Another spray of oil splatters, frying tempura for his mother. A lot of meals for her, his grandfather, Jounouchi. Every scar Yuugi showed him had a name attached, almost all of them below the elbows, as though collected there for easy reference. Seto frowned as Yuugi's fingers flew over this map of friendships and family, their routes landmarked by midnight breakfasts, lazy brunches, beautifully-wrapped bento boxes. Something about it tasted sour to him, his tongue held tight and bitten between his teeth. All of his own scars had only one name.

“You probably think I’m a klutz,” Yuugi said, with a sheepish smile, sliding one of the wooden tokens into place around their hive.

“I told you to stop doing that,” Seto said briskly. “I’m not some dumpster for all your insecurities. You think you’re a klutz. You have no idea what I think.”

“I - ” Yuugi started, and huffed, with another smile, his chosen defense against causing offense. “Sorry, force of habit - ”

“Forget it. You don’t ever cook for yourself?”

“Duh. Of course I do. And I eat what I make with everyone else. It’s not like I make a pizza for all my friends and just sit there watching them while they eat it,” Yuugi said. “But I like cooking for people. I love... nourishing them. Knowing they’re not going to go to bed hungry or anything, and I can make something for them that makes them feel good.”

Seto tapped a wooden token on the table, under the guise of thinking about the game but really thinking about the kind of friends Yuugi made, and how he made them. Jounouchi. Honda. Atem. Himself.

“Did you ever cook for Atem?” he said, because he couldn’t help it, and braced against the soft look that came his way, with a default smile, a pre-emptive look, I'm fine. this didn’t hurt me smile.

“Yeah,” Yuugi said. “I did.”

Like what? Did he like it? Did he help cook or did he just watch? Just the two of you or with everyone else? Tell me. What did you nourish him with? What do you think he’s eating now? I ate pomegranates when I was there. Bread and honey and figs and garlic and beer. Nothing I ate makes me spend six months with the living and six months with the dead so instead I trade off day and night. Sometimes I leave for a few minutes, mid-afternoon, and I can hear my own name clattering through me as Mokuba calls me back. Seto kept all these comments to himself. There was only so greedy he could get with Yuugi’s grief; only so much he could share of his own.

He slid his wooden token into place around the honeycomb of pieces. Yuugi swiftly countered. Seto lapsed back into thought.

Yuugi took a quiet slurp of his iced tea, gave it a shake, rattling the ice until it settled, and took another, watching ducks paddle into the reeds at the edge of the pond and paddle out, a portrait of calm patience. It had taken him some time to get comfortable with Seto’s long silences. In concession, Seto made the effort to shorten them.

It was the kind of day where stepping into the shade made a difference. The air was darker and cooler under the trees and the flowering bushes that lined the park paths, while the rest of the earth baked in a cloudless dry heat. Seto made his move and pushed the sleeves of his sweatshirt up to his elbows.

“How about I cook for you sometime?” Yuugi said brightly, nudging another wooden token against the others with a single fingertip.

Seto scowled, not at the suggestion but at the way his thoughts splintered apart, like two halves of a wooden log split by an axe. He had no doubt Yuugi would pull out the stops for him, slave and sweat for hours over some seventeen-course feast of modern art finger foods. Or maybe something cozy that made him feel like he was just nineteen instead of nineteen and exhausted. Whatever it was, Yuugi would put in the effort. But.

“No,” he said, and made sure to clarify this refusal before the clouds finished gathering over Yuugi’s face in a dejected overcast grey: “I don’t need one of your scars named after me.”

“I - what?” Yuugi said, flashing him an uneven, sideways smile, and Seto felt a flicker of irritation. Atem would’ve understood immediately. But, in fairness to Yuugi, he was being a little obtuse.

“You have a way of suffering for your friends,” he explained. “And I think part of you likes it.”

Yuugi straightened up in his seat, suddenly electric.

“What the hell? It’s just cooking,” he said, with a stormy flash of lightning in his violet eyes. “You’re reading into this way too much. I cook because it’s fun and artistic and I like feeding people, not because I like… self-flagellating or something. Seriously, you can’t just spout off - ”

“You misunderstand me,” Seto countered. “There’s no reason to… hurt yourself on my behalf. If you want to eat together, I’d rather go to that kitschy little ice cream place down the block and get a fucking waffle cone. I don’t want you unable to duel because you burned your hand trying to pan-fry a steak for me.”

Yuugi opened his mouth, brows furrowing together… and scoffed, a surprisingly affectionate sound. He rolled his eyes around the park, his gaze swinging across the sunlit grass, and looked back at Seto.

“Okay. First of all, I've mastered the art of the pan-fried steak, and you should try it,” he said. “Second of all, what makes you think you’re not someone worth suffering for?”

Seto snorted, masking his inwards flinch. Mokuba already suffered enough, thank you. And for what? A ghost of a brother. A black hole, a perpetual collapsing. Things went in and they crossed the event horizon and the pressure squeezed them for eternity without ever letting them reach the center and nothing ever came back out, as much as it wanted to. The scientific term for such distortion of effort, stretched to an immeasurable length without breaking, was spaghettification. Even a black hole needs to eat!

He slid one of his tokens back and forth with his fingertip, short, scraping jerks of wood against wood, thinking.

“Direct attack on my life points,” he muttered.

“Yeah, you also got me pretty good,” Yuugi chuffed. “Let’s call it even. But relax. It’s just cooking. I love the process, and I love the result, and I love doing stuff for my friends. It’s not some big… metaphorical… symbol of something. This - " he lifted his mittened hand - "doesn't mean anything except I mishandled a knife. It’s not like… you and Duel Disks.”

But Seto also loved the process and the result and more than once he'd injured himself, machining parts or fiddling with wires that, like all wild living things, bit back in fear of his touch. He splayed his hand over the table, watching blood drip onto his work station, knowing he should get up, clean it, bandage it. But it was only two in the morning and there was work to do.

“The Duel Disk is a symbol of Kaiba Corp’s future,” he said, closing his hand into a fist. "I know what you've done for your friends. I’ve seen it. Doesn't that merit the same... mythology?"

Yuugi gave him a funny look, half skeptical, half knowing.

"That’s nice of you, thank you," he said, and an uncomfortable blush crawled up Seto’s neck. Sometimes he did understand. “Are you sure you don't want me to cook for you?”

Seto opened his mouth, closed it, folded his arms on the table. He felt like he was trying to explain the feeling of the color blue, or the arguments for why numbers do or don’t exist, or what it was like to dream. Well, you see, the last time I saw Atem, he told me - correction: the last time as in the most recent link in a chain of time, not the last time as in the end of the line, because he also told me we’d see each other again - he told me to enjoy this, and you know me, I never do what I’m told. And I can’t do what he told me to do because he was my friend, and if friendship is just getting caught in a great sticky web of small cuts and large cuts and burns and bruises and tears and suffering because they’re here and suffering because they’re not, then just go ahead and let the spider drink me up and dump what’s left of me in the dirt. I am so sick and tired of pain. Mine. Yours. Ours.

But he did enjoy these afternoons. He was enjoying the process of making this: he had more with Yuugi now than he ever had before. He reached across the table and took Yuugi’s bandaged hand between his own hands, running his thumb carefully over the inked warning. Yuugi's hand relaxed in his. Yes, Yuugi was wrong. It was the same as Duel Disks. In any act of creation there was pain, there was power, and there was glory. What difference was there between a hologram of a dragon and a steaming bowl of soup? Both nourished something. Both were an answer to hunger. Discovering an emptiness and filling it.

“Okay,” he said, releasing Yuugi’s hand. “Alright. Cook for me.”

“Yeah?!” Yuugi said, with rising excitement, beaming. “What should I make? What do you like?”

“Make me a steak,” Seto said, smiling. It felt good to see Yuugi smile. His hypothesis neatly undermined. See? It’s not all damage. “No. Surprise me.”

#fanfiction #intern memo #rivalshipping #a lite snack... once i've written up a few more i'll cross post to AO3 #okay good Night i am. wiped the fuck out

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