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jamaisjoons · 3 years

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of oleanders & honeysuckle I ⤑ knj | m.

⟶ 𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦:〝 when one of your coven sisters, malise, had first mentioned your soulmate, you’d been young and unbothered - preferring to chase the elusive seduction of power. now, you’re twenty-five, and having established yourself as a powerful witch of the sisters of elysia, you've grown tired of the cold embrace of power. looking to settle down, you move to carelia in search of the one destined for you. within days, you come across the charmingly handsome apothecary owner, and warlock, kim namjoon. something about him magnetises you. but is he the one the universe has fated for you? 〞strangers to lovers au. supernatural au. witch/warlock au. soulmates au.

❥ 𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: witch!reader x warlock!namjoon

❥ 𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒: angst ∝ fluff ∝ future smut

❥ 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 12k

⟶ 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: mentions of death, oc has a traumatic™ childhood, oc is also an orphan so mentions of parental death, brief mentions of religious persecution? (yn’s parent’s coven is destroyed by knights from a new religion), brief depictions of fighting/violence, there’s no smut in this part but namjoon is hot as fuck, namjoon in leather which needs a warning in itself, use of magic ofc, namjoon is I N S A N E and im simping for him

➵ 𝑎/𝑛: this was,,, supposed to be a oneshot but fneorifnge i’ve been so lazy and i haven’t been writing as much so in order to post something I’ve decided to split this into four parts! also sorry there’s no smut in this chapter but the next three parts all have smut yeehaw 🤩

⏤ beta read by the lovely @yeoldontknow, @nightshadevinter, @inthecrescentmoonight and @jjungkooksthighs

⟴ Series Masterlist

It’s the dead of winter. Snow crunches under your soles; the muffled sounds of your footsteps intermingling with the odd cracking branch, and crinkling leaf-litter as you navigate through the Forest of Ingredeen. The sky above you is bleak: faint wisps of smoke-grey clouds obscuring the otherwise stark, white canvas; and the harsh light causes your eyes to squint in the slightest. The thick blanket of snow that surrounds you doesn’t help; the pristine-white coating only further reflecting the brightness. Despite the austereness of the sky, life continues thriving around you. Barren skeletons of deciduous trees are juxtaposed by evergreens of pine, fir, and yew – the latter of whose verdant branches still boast succulent needles of jade and viridian. Some of them, most notably the yew trees, still bear fruits: the scarlet berries adding a splash of colour to the contrary dreary scene.

Stillness befalls the entirety of the forest, and the eerie silence only amplifies the sounds of snow crunching under your feet. The air is equally stagnant, with not a single gust of a howling gale, nor a gentle wisp of a susurrus breeze, drifting through the atmosphere. Though, that's a small blessing you’re thankful for; because even with the absence of the wind, the frigid bite of the cold settles into your bones. As a matter of fact, you’re dressed in a thick-piled winter cloak - the black material lined with fur – as well as your woollen dress and leather boots. Yet, you still feel the brisk chill kiss your skin, the surface turning icy as it prickles with goosebumps.

Curling further into the warmth of your cloak, you pull the piled fabric further around your body and continue walking through the dense thicket of trees. The quiet is strange, and heavy, and if you didn’t know better, you’d think the woodland was devoid of all life. Nonetheless, every now and then, the shrubs around you move: their foliage rustling as hares and squirrels scuttle about, and wintertime birds flit through the canopy: sweet chirps of birdsong and languid flaps of wings resonating through the air. Albeit, they come infrequently, with long, gaping silences between. But they still come, and that settles the inkling of unease that flutters through your stomach.

You’ve only just moved into the large province of Carelia; the nation nestled between the much smaller territories of Alphana and Eyres; the latter of which had once been your previous home. Of course, in spite of Carelia being a large country – abundant with diverse wildlife and vast expanses of wilderness – the population of inhabitants itself was fairly small. In fact, throughout the entire country, there were only five human settlements; a significant decrease from the almost overpopulated country of Eyres. Naturally, that wasn’t the only difference. No, here, in Carelia, magic was bountiful – the very essence of life so palpable that you could feel it thrum in the air. Not that any of that was surprising by all means. No. After all, nature was plentiful here, and as a result, it meant that the innate magic of life was equally as powerful.

Taking a deep breath, you watch as your breath fogs in front of your face, causing your nose to scrunch at the sight. You had chosen to leave your previous coven, of your own volition. It had been a spur of the moment decision, after one of your past sisters, who’d specialised in oracles and premonitions, had suggested through thinly-veiled euphemisms that you’d find your destined soulmate here. When she’d first prophesied her vision, you’d been but a young wiccan, at the tender age of eighteen, a mere two years after your initiation into your coven, and you hadn’t cared too much. Back then, the idea of love, soulmates, and destiny had been far out of your mind. Rather, your entire being burned with the need to learn, to hone your magic and see just how far you could take it.

Your past coven had been a famous one, known by the entire world as the Sisters of Elysia. It had been an elusive coven, shrouded in mystery and repute, and one that was only open to the most powerful, or promising, female witches. In fact, it had been so exclusively prestigious, that it could only be joined by invitation from the High Priestess herself; a powerful seer with the ability to seek out the potential, innate magic of a witch or warlock. Though of course, the Sisters of Elysia had only been interested in an all-female coven, and even the most powerful warlocks had been turned away. Not that they’d even consider joining, though. No, they had their own coven for that – the Brotherhood of Requiem.

Being discovered by Mardella, the High Priestess, at the age of fifteen had been a blessing, and an honour; and having been told you’d had an incredible affinity for the Destructive Arts and Alchemical Restoration, two powerful schools of magic, had been even more of a privilege. As such, Mardella, and the rest of your sisters, had taken you under their wing, and taught you all about witchcraft for a year. And then, the very day you’d turned sixteen, you’d been formally initiated into the coven.

After that, you’d spent years upon years training your two schools of magic, honing them to the skill they are today. For the vast majority of your young adulthood, you’d chased the beguiling essence of magic – learning as much as you could about the two different archetypes – and soaking every ounce of the information into the very fibre of your skin. Power was a seductive thing, something far more enticing than the notion of love, and readily, you’d fallen into its clutches. Naturally, it was only made easier by being part of the Sister of Elysia.

You see, your previous coven had been a nomadic one – and its migratory nature had made learning all the more easier – especially since at the age of twenty-five now, you’ve traversed almost the entire world, and seen more things than an ordinary witch of your age would have. At first, the vagrancy of your previous home had been exciting. You’d loved travelling the globe, visiting different countries, and learning all types of cultures while simultaneously acuminating your magic. As a matter of fact, you had craved it – and wandering about the different kingdoms had whetted your own innate wanderlust; as well as the desire to learn as much as you could.

The Sister of Elysia had been your home, and you’d loved the family you’d created – after all, the blood of the covenant was thicker than the water of the womb. Or so, you’d been told all your life. Nevertheless, despite all your attachment and adoration for your coven – you couldn’t help but find that something was missing. You see, your blood-related family had been torn from you at the young age of ten, the coven of your parents razed to the ground by Knights of the Seven Lights: a new religion that had swept through Eyres, and in the bloodbath that had followed, you’d lost everything.

Orphaned from childhood, you’d spent the next five years living in the abandoned church that your parents’ coven, Mages of Mirror Lake, had occupied when they’d still been alive. Thankfully, the Kingdom of Eyres had a warm temperate, and winters were non-existent. Hence, even though you were essentially homeless, you’d somehow survived. By all means, you’d had to forage for scraps of food, clothing, or any other basic necessities – sometimes even needing to find a neighbouring human settlement and stealing whatever you could get your hands upon – but you’d survived. Moreover, you’d even continued sharpening your skills in witchcraft, using the ruined library of the church in order to continue your schooling.

For five years, you’d lived like that. Using the school of Destructive Arts, you’d kept those who would harm you, typically members of the Knights of the Seven Lights, at bay. And using the school of Alchemical Restoration, you’d heal and look after yourself; as well as the odd human who was desperate enough for a treatment to an ailment that they would turn away from their new religion and back towards the Magic of Old. Eventually, though, you’d met Mardella, who’d sought you out and brought you back to the Sisters of Elysia. And that was where you’d found your home, happiness, and solace.

That was, until now.

In the recent years, your magic had grown listless, and you, yourself, had grown restless – until eventually, you found yourself at an impasse.

You no longer found joy in travelling, and considering you’ve travelled everywhere there was little more you could learn that way, and even less that you could discover. You’ve reached the peak of your power. You’ve spent an entire decade garnering your knowledge, immersing yourself in the seductive lure of the Black Arts, only to hit a culmination. And now, there was nowhere else you could go except down. Of course, you could always consider learning a new school of magic if you so wished to continue chasing power. Except, lately, that deep, insatiable need for it had started diminishing; the searing fire dwindling until it was nothing more than weak flames licking at your being.

You still loved to practice your witchcraft, of course you did. You’d never really lose your love for power or magic. But your hunger for it had ebbed, its cold seduction releasing you from its tantalising embrace – and the moment that had disappeared, you’d found yourself lost. For the longest time, power had been your only vice, the only thing you had sought after, and cared for. But with that thirst gone, you had no idea what to do; or where to go anymore. More than that, you'd found yourself craving for some sense of home, of belonging. You had that with your coven, of course you did. But it just wasn’t the same.

A while now, there was a small, distant part of you that craved what had been stolen from you from a young age. A family. Love. You craved a sense of belonging; the affection of a lover, and the comfort and safety that they afforded. Something that was out of your reach with the Sisters of Elysia. By all means, it wasn’t as if there were rules that forbid romance. No, of course not. It was more, with how elusive the coven was, and with the doctrine that knowledge was power, and power was prestige; it meant that while romance wasn’t frowned upon, it just wasn’t something that was frequently entertained. Especially since the Sisters of Elysia had no room for men. Though, of course, if you fell for one of the sisters, that was a wholly different matter.

Which had all been well and good when you were younger. But now, you’re older, and you no longer covet power. Rather, you yearn for a sense of security, of home, of stability.

And thus, lately, you’ve found yourself going back to Malise’s oracle; the seer having foreseen of your soulmate almost a decade ago. You see, everyone in the world has someone fated for them – the knots of destiny tied by the Moirai long before even your own grandparents were born. Naturally, not everyone who was bound together actually found each other; after all, the world is large, and the universe was rarely ever so kind. No, more often than not, soulmates could be born miles apart, or even countries apart – and as a result – very few people found love with their soulmates. That is, of course, if you’re a human with no ties to the Magic of Old.

For witches and wizards, it was different.

The natural essence of the universe – the energy that made up the Magic of Old – was what guided practitioners of the Black Arts, and it was that very power that had bound the two beings together. And as such, for witches and warlocks, it was easier to find soulmates. Easier. Magic was mysterious, and the universe very scarcely answered definitively. Oracles were particularly attuned to the cosmos, hence their ability to catch glimpses of the future. But that’s all they were, mere glimpses and vague inklings. It was very rare for a seer to be able to clearly see the future – which is why Mardella was so powerful: she was particularly harmonious with the world.

However, Mardella very rarely involved herself with matters of the heart. As the High Priestess of the Sisters of Elysia, she embodied the fundamental teachings of knowledge and power; and as such her prophecies were seldom about the frivolities of romance or soulmates. Malise, however, was another matter. Frequently, the seer would have visions about soulmates, and she could even control them to a degree – having them at will. The first vision she’d had of you and your destined lover, had been involuntary; the fortune triggered randomly. She’d tried to speak to you about it, even offering to look further into it. However, you’d quickly dismissed her. After all, back then, you hadn’t cared.

Now, though, was a completely different matter.

Thus, a week ago, you’d sheepishly slunk into her chambers, and quietly asked if she’d be able to find out more about your soulmate. Her response had been eager, and she’d conducted her divination swiftly. As usual, her vision had been vague – veiled in euphemisms and cloaked with mysticism – the universe purposely responding to her questions with ambiguous answers. All she could say was that it was a man, a warlock to be specific, and that he lived in Carelia. It wasn’t much, but it was something. The idea of moving and settling down in Carelia – a kingdom so rich in nature and magic – immediately had excitement flourishing through you. Your earlier listlessness quickly faded, and with a new sense of purpose, you’d formally, and abruptly, left the Sisters of Elysia before you made your way to Carelia.

Naturally, there’s not much you know about your soulmate – because, really, living in Carelia and being a warlock was barely any information to go off of. Nevertheless, as mentioned before, despite how large of a country it is, Carelia only had a small population of humans inhabiting it. More than that, despite the abundance of magic, there was only one coven that was still prolific in the nation: Coven of the Evening Star. Moreover, out of curiosity, and before you had moved, you’d brewed the Essence of Venus; a potion that took on the scent of your destined lover. Each fragrance is wholly unique, customised purely for the individual, and completely memorable. In fact, you doubt you could ever forget the scent.

Thick notes of a pungent scent made up the bulk of your soulmate’s fragrance. Despite the sharpness of it, it was fruity and warm; with subtle hints of rich honey and ripe citrus. The fragrance was sharp, deeply intoxicating, and incredibly comforting. The telltale scent of honeysuckles in full bloom. Undercurrents of morning dew and fresh soil cut the effluvious aroma, adding a depth of light freshness and earthen musk to it that had your stomach flourishing with warmth. The first time you smelled it, you'd completely melted into the scent - something about it calling to the very recesses of your being, and soothing your soul - and you'd wanted nothing more than to sink into it.

After that, you'd immediately found yourself daydreaming about the mysterious warlock it belonged to. Lost in your fantasies, you wondered what his name was, what he looked like, and what he was like. You wondered what kind of magic he practised, and what he liked to do in his spare time. Moreover, you wonder just why he smells the way he does - and whether the scent of honeysuckle was wholly natural to him or artificial. Momentarily, you wonder where the fresh soil and morning dew comes from too. Mainly because, none of the notes that make up your soulmate's scents are common, or ordinary. Though, that's something you're thankful for, because hopefully, just hopefully, it would make finding him all that bit easier.

Distracted by your thoughts, you don't notice the dense thicket of woodland start to thin: the space between the trees growing further and further apart; until, all of a sudden, you're thrown out of your thoughts by the sight that greets you. Out of the blue, you find yourself in a large clearing. The glade is spacious, fringed by shrubs and bushes that make up the understory of the forest. Above you, the once thick canopy has cleared up, allowing dense beams of stark-white light to flood the ground: the sky's radiance bathing over the forest floor and casting its harsh brilliance over the structure that makes its home in the middle of the meadow.

When had you reached home?

Your cottage is moderately sized, and homely, but nevertheless, a sight to behold. The roof is gabled: made up of thin, multi-shaded hues of black slate, and the walls are smooth: made up of clay and stone of varied shades of beige. Flowering vines scale the exterior of your home, from the climbing roses that frame the oakwood entrance to your home, to the branches of clematis and moonflower that intertwine together over the side walls. Trumpet vine hangs over the edge of the roof, the lush foliage draping over the large windows that peek into your home. A wooden fence encloses your land, with the only entrance a small gate that breaks up the stakes. Bushes fill the space between your home and the timber barrier, however, being the dead of winter, only a few still bloom: the large shrub of daphne in the corner by the chimney, little clusters of violas nestled between clumps of cyclamen, and the vines of winter clematis that creep over the walls.

Carelia is large, and there are few settlements littered around the wild expanse of the wilderness. Nevertheless, your home is still secluded from even the nearest community - your new coven. Most people would be daunted by the fact that you're living alone in the woods. However, you? Not so much. After all, with your proficiency in the Destructive Arts, it would be hard for someone to get the best of you. Not to mention, that you had lived by yourself in the woods from the ages of ten to fifteen. No, to you, living alone in the forest, is somewhat comforting, and nostalgic.

At the comforting sight of your home, the corners of your lips curl into a slight smile, and you begin walking down the thin, winding dirt path that leads through the gate and to your home. Getting to the entrance to your cottage, though, you abruptly stop; the smile on your face falling. A small wicker basket sits on the shallow concrete step at the foot of your door. Curiosity colouring your being, you place your own basket of firewood and food down, before cautiously pulling back the soft linen cloth that covers the contents. Seeing the items inside, however, your curiosity is swiftly replaced by surprise.

A pot of lilac makes the centrepiece, the four-petaled flowers blooming in soft shades of periwinkle and blush despite the mid-winter atmosphere. Next to the pot lies a bundle of dried lavender, wrapped in a piece of plain brown parchment and tied with silk black ribbons. A few of the desiccated petals litter the base of the wicker basket, and in spite of its dryness, the thick, piney-floral scent of the bulbs intermingle with the cloying - almost sacchariferous - scent of lilac into a delicate floral aroma. The last items in the basket are three muslin sachets that contain a mix of rosemary, sage and cloves - the bag tied shut with red thread.

Thanks to your background in Alchemical Restoration, you’re well versed in the craft of herbalism, and from your extensive knowledge, you know that all the items signify protection. Lavender for purification and healing of the soul, lilac to banish malicious spirits or malevolent intentions, and the sachets to ward off negative energy. Having only moved into your new home yesterday, you haven't had a chance to properly ward off your property, and as such, the protective charms that keep you safe are basic and easily penetrable. Thus, the gift of the flowers and herbs is incredibly sweet. If a little strange, considering you have yet to meet any of your new coven members, or even announce your arrival. Nevertheless, you don't sense any negativity radiating off of the basket. In fact, if anything, you can feel a soft aura of safety enclosing the items - the gifter having clearly cast a few more wards of protection around them.

“Hello,” a voice suddenly speaks, and not expecting it, you immediately startle. Instantly, a rush of adrenaline surges through you, causing the hairs on the back of your neck to stand on edge, and a swell of power to flood through your fingertips. Before you can even consider your actions, lightning begins crackling around your fingertips: small bolts of bright, purple-hued sparks arcing around the pads of your digits; your magic involuntarily manifesting itself in a bid to protect you.

Spinning on your heel, you thrust out your hand on instinct, causing a large bolt of lightning to appear out of thin air. The moment you turn around, however, your eyes blow wide and despair courses through you. The newcomers are dressed in two large cloaks, their coats effectively hiding their forms from you. However, from the design of the brooch that fastens their coverings - the emblem of an intricate silver star - you know that they’re members of your new coven; most likely coming to greet you. Nonetheless, the damage is already done - your magic having flooded out of you and into the air.

The lightning bolt surges towards the two and you watch as the female’s hands move in a flash, a spell immediately slipping from her lips as she erects a shield in front of her and her partner. It appears just in time - your own magic colliding directly into the middle of the barrier. To the witch’s credit, the shield manages to deflect your attack, and the force of the collision causes the lightning to bound into the stratosphere. A large flash of blue blazes through the sky, accompanied by the thunderous sound of lightning cracking, before your magic dissipates and ebbs back into the atmosphere; a terse silence once again shrouding the forest.

The moment it disperses, the aura of power around you fades away, and your shoulders immediately tense. Clambering to your feet, “Sweet Earth Mother, I am so sorry,” you quickly splutter. Adrenaline still coursing through you, your heart continues beating rapidly and your hands turn sweaty. Though, this time, rather than fear, it’s out of trepidation: a ripple of nervousness fluttering through you. This was not a good way to greet your new coven members.

The shorter of the two, the woman, pulls down her hood, and you’re met by mesmerising, cat-like eyes and a mischievous smile, “It’s okay. I kinda startled you on purpose,” comes her coy response. Nervousness replaced by confusion, your eyebrows furrow as you regard her in puzzlement. Beside her, the taller of the two lets out a little sigh and pulls down his own hood. The first thing you notice is that both of them have identical features: the same, sharp eyes; smooth, glass-like tanned skin, and small, pouty lips. Twins, no doubt.

“Yeah, and you almost had us killed. I told you not to startle her,” he chides, causing the woman’s cheeks to puff in a pout.

“Hey! I saved us, didn’t I? If it weren’t for my shield, we’d both be ash,” she backfires. The man simply scoffs and shakes his head.

“If you hadn’t scared her, we wouldn’t have needed the shield in the first place,” he retorts. The woman opens her mouth to retaliate, however, not having a comeback, she quickly closes it.

“Fair enough,” she concedes with a simple shrug of her shoulders.

“Purpose? Test?” you reiterate softly, breaking their little spat.

“Well, yes, of course. Your reputation precedes you, ____. I just had to see if the famed Witch of Ruin was truly as powerful as the rumours made you out to be,” the woman replies. Hearing her words, you let out an awkward chuckle.

Witch of Ruin.

Gods, you hadn’t heard that in a while.

You’d first gained the epithet during your years in Eyres, after you’d single handedly defeated a small group of the Knights of the Seven Lights, who’d come to ‘purge’ you of evil. After that one event, you’d gained infamy as the Witch of Ruin; rumours of a child born of chaos, lightning and fire, spreading through the country. As a result, more and more groups of the Knights would come looking for you, and one by one, they would fall at your hand. By all means, it had all stopped once you’d been rescued by Mardella. Nonetheless, being initiated into the Sisters of Elysia, of all covens, had only caused your fame to grow. After all, it was a coven that prized themselves on power.

Still, you haven’t heard that epithet in a while; having stayed your lust for power a while ago, and falling more into your love of Alchemical Restoration in the recent years. In fact, if you were being completely honest, you’d tried your hardest to put the nickname, Witch of Ruin, behind you. Mainly due to the fact that it had been born out of your need for survival. Not to mention, your anger, and what could only be considered ‘teenage angst’, over your circumstances from when you were an adolescent.

The man in front of you bows, the movement breaking you out of your reverie abruptly. “I’m sorry about my sister. I’m Min Yoongi, and this is Yoonji. We’re here to welcomeyou to the coven,” he apologises. Then, straightening out his back, he glares at his twin pointedly through the corner of his eyes, “Welcome. Not test,” he mutters. His words cause Yoonji to pout and stick her tongue out.

Eyes blowing out, you quickly shake your head while waving your hands dismissively. “No, no. It’s okay! Would you like to come in?” you ask as you gesture towards your home. This time, it’s Yoonji who shakes her head.

“Usually, we’d love to. But we don’t have long today. We need to get back to prepare for the coven meeting tomorrow,” she replies, her mischievous smile curling into an apologetic one. “We’re only here to drop off your initiation robes, as well as let you know that your formal induction into the coven will take place tomorrow, at evening’s twilight, in the Lunar Grove,” she continues.

Eyebrows knitting together, you cock your head to the side, “Lunar Grove?” you repeat, causing Yoongi to smile at you kindly.

“Someone will come collect you around dusk and bring you to the meeting spot,” he supplies, and you nod in understanding.

“Do we not have a building to convene in, or…?” you find yourself asking before you can stop.

A tinkling laugh slipping from her lips, Yoonji shakes her head. “The Coven of the Evening Star reveres nature first and foremost. We feel that buildings impair our ability to connect with both nature and the universe. So, while we aren’t a nomadic coven, we do not have an official church building to worship in either,” she explains. Mouth forming a little ‘o’, a ripple of sheepishness washes through you. You remember Malise telling you something about that, however, in your excitement to move and settle down, you hadn’t completely researched your new coven; a blight on your part.

Sensing your mortification, “Don’t worry about it too much. Our coven is very different from your old one, so I’m sure it’ll take you a while to get used to everything anyway. In the meantime, we’re here to help you with whatever you need,” Yoongi speaks, his voice low and comforting. A grateful smile curls onto your face as you thank him.

“Not to mention, everyone is excited to meet you. It’s all anyone can talk about lately. About how we’re not only going to meet a previous member of the Sisters of Elysia, but that she’s also joining our new coven. Not only that, but she’s also the fabled Witch of Ruin… I can assure you, that almost every member of the coven will travel to view your initiation tomorrow,” Yoonji chuckles lightly. The moment her words slip out her mouth, you let out an awkward laugh, and hearing the sound, Yoongi rolls his eyes.

“It’s not that daunting, don’t worry. And Yoonji is exaggerating, I doubt that many people will turn up,” he says while pointedly glaring at his sister through the corner of his eyes. Before she can say anything, however, he’s cutting her off, “We really must get going now, though. We still need to complete preparations for your initiation,” he continues before thrusting a neatly wrapped bundle of fabric towards you. “These are your Initiation Robes for the ceremony tomorrow. We look forward to having you join us,” he finishes.

Taking the bundled material from him, you smile at him once again, “I’m looking forward to joining,” comes your reply. With their business complete, the two of them turn on their heels and begin walking away. All of a sudden, however, a thought springs to mind, and you quickly call out to them. Immediately, they stop and turn back towards you, a look of interest on their face. With a wave of your hand, you gesture towards the wicker basket still laying on the porch of your door. “Did you send me this, by any chance?” you ask as you point towards your gift.

The twins glance at each other, a knowing glint flashing in their eyes as they silently communicate amongst one another. Simply watching them, you await their response. You don’t have to wait long, however, because a few short moments later, they’re both turning back to look at you; their heads moving eerily in sync - almost as if they’d planned it.

“It’s not from us, no. It’ll be from Namjoon,” Yoonji explains.

“Namjoon?” you dumbly repeat.

“Mhm. Kim Namjoon. He’s a warlock in our coven. He specialises in Herbalism, and he runs the apothecary that supplies us with the ingredients we need for our rituals, spells or potions. It’s probably a gift welcoming you to the neighbourhood,” she explains. For the umpteenth time today, confusion colours your face.

“Neighbourhood...? I didn’t think I had any neighbours,” comes your response. The land you own now, once belonged to the human settlement that borders the Forest of Ingredeen. When you’d purchased this area of land from the chief, he’d tried to explain that it was a secluded property and that a powerful coven lived in the Forest - and one that could take offense to a strange witch moving into their territory. Of course, once you’d explained that you were soon to join the coven yourself, you’d assuaged his fears and he’d easily bequeathed the land to you.

“Oh, theoretically, you don’t. But Namjoon’s home is the closest to you; he’s about a ten, maybe fifteen minute walk north-west from here. The rest of us live deeper in the forest,” Yoongi explains, his hand lifting as he points towards the general direction of Namjoon’s home. Eyebrows quirking, you turn your gaze back down to the gift as you look at it in interest.

“It’s a wonderful gift,” you mutter under your breath. Despite it being the middle of winter, the pot of lilacs are in full bloom: the velour petals still brightly coloured despite their pastel hue; the leaves still succulent, and a vivid shade of pine-green. Not to mention that the quality of the dried lavender is some of the best you’ve ever seen. Fully dessicated lavender usually tends to lose some of it’s scent, and with the deep, dusky-mauve shading, you know they’ve had all the moisture removed from them. Nevertheless, the camphorous scent of it is still strong; wafting into the atmosphere in soft waves.

“He’s incredibly skilled in what he does,” Yoongi responds, his voice laced with pride. Then, after a short pause, he continues, “He’s similar to you. He was raised by the Brotherhood of Requiem, but moved here and joined the coven, hmm… maybe two and a half years ago?”

Stilling at his words, your eyebrows shoot up into your hairline. If he was part of the Brotherhood of Requiem, he’d have to be incredibly skilled as a warlock; not to mention powerful. Mind casting back to Malise’s oracle, your heart flutters at the discovery. Could Namjoon be the one you’re destined for? Suddenly, you find yourself itching to go look for him. Though, of course, you wouldn’t know unless you smelled him. And it’d be a bit odd to walk up to a stranger and simply sniff him. Especially if it turned out he was not your soulmate. Still, his gift was sweet, and generous, and that in itself is enough of a reason for you to go meet him.

“If that’s all?” Yoonji asks, her words cutting you out of your thoughts. Startled by her voice, you snap your head back up and grace them both with a sheepish smile.

Scratching the back of your head, “Yes! Sorry to keep you,” you quickly respond. Neither of them say anything. Rather, they smile kindly before once again turning around and walking away. You watch their backs retreat, until their figures disappear into the dense woods that surround your home. Once they’re no longer in sight, you bend over and pick up both your gift, as well as your basket of firewood and food, before entering your home.

As soon as you’re inside the warm comfort of your cottage, you let out a soft sigh. Considering you’re about to leave soon, in order to go thank Namjoon for his gift, you leave on your heavy cloak. Instead, you pad further into your home - dragging in the snow on your boots with you - and into the kitchen. With a casual wave of your hand, the two baskets begin floating in the air before following your figure, and with another flick of your wrist, the firewood sails through the air and towards the fireplace; your food sorting itself out into the pantry and fridge.

Left with only the gift, you carefully place the basket onto the wooden counter of your kitchen island. Gently, you pick up the lilac pot, and the moment you touch the ceramic vase, your eyes widen. A soft thrum of magical essence flitters through your fingertips - travelling from your extremities and down your limbs, only to settle into your core. A sensation of comfort fills you, as well as a spark of energy, and immediately, you know that both spells of protection, and vitality, have been cast upon the pot. The former is obvious - the protection wards boosting the natural magical essence of the lilacs. The latter, however, probably explains just why the lilacs are still in bloom; their life force is most likely supported by the magic cast into it.

Thoughtlessly, your fingertips graze up the side of the vase, along a plump leaf, and towards a supple petal. Another spark of magic jolts through you, and as the calming sensation washes over you, a smile unknowingly curls on your face. It wasn’t often that witches and wizards could imbue feelings into an object; and even less often into a living organism. He really must be a powerful wizard. As you place the vase onto your windowsill, a small frown mars your lips. How are you going to pay him back?

Suddenly, a thought crosses your mind. Swiftly, albeit carefully, you empty out his wicker basket and once it’s empty, you wave your hand; summoning small empty mason jars and your own blend of different tea leaves. The items soar towards you, and with another wave of your hand, they precisely land onto your kitchen counter. Eyes flicking over the different tea leaves, you promptly decide on three different blends - your most favourite ones. In the first one, you scoop in your special blend of cardamom, nutmeg and cinnamon: the laden scent of aromatic spices diffusing into the air and flooding your senses as you fill the jar. The second one, you fill with a blend of chamomile and jasmine; a soft aroma of a floral fragrance replacing the previous, headier one.

With the first two done, you turn your attention to the third, and final one. A mischievous glint flashes in your eyes. Lavender and oolong. A fine homage to his own gift. Opening up the last container, you fill up the last mason jar: the delicate, fresh scent of the lavender intermingling with the sweet, elegant one of oolong. When you’re done, you quickly shut all three jars, wrapping the neck of the containers in a satin ribbon, before attaching a manila label to them. Summoning a pen from one of your drawers, you quickly scrawl on the names of the teas in blue ink.

Once your thank you present has been packed, you cover them with the cloth and grab the handle of the basket, before making your way back out. As you step into the cold once more, the gelid air kisses your skin, causing a soft shiver to run down your spine. Huddling further into your fur coat, you begin walking in the general direction of Namjoon’s home. You’ve no idea what it looks like, or how far it realistically is. Yoongi had mentioned a ten, perhaps fifteen minute walk, but considering you didn’t know the forest very well yet, you weren’t sure how long it would take. You hope it really is a ten to fifteen minute journey. And, of course, that you don’t get lost.

Thankfully, after faithfully sticking north-west, it’s not long before you happen upon what you believe to be Namjoon’s home. The glade of the property is similar to yours: the dense woodland clearing up into an open expanse. In the middle, and a little towards the left, sits a quaint little cottage; with a gambrel roof made of dark brown wood shake, and stone walls of greyed-white to match. Unlike your home, this one has large square windows around the entire property, allowing thick shafts of light to filter through. Yet, despite the panes of glass, you can’t see into the building: the thick cotton curtains blinding your view of the interior.

The area surrounding the cottage is wild, and almost overgrown - in a strange, coordinated way. An organised mess if you would. Small trees skirt the property, growing near the moss-clad, brick fence that separates the forest from Namjoon’s own land, while smaller brushes and shrubs litter the spaces between. One section is covered in flowering perennials, another with potted plants and herbs, and the last third with low growing blossoms. Eyes widening at the sight, you take in a deep breath, only to be filled with a renewed sense of vigour.

Breath hitching in the middle of your throat, you look at the property in surprise. The magic in the air is thick; so palpable that you feel the very cells of your being begin to vibrate with power. Not only is it potent, however, but also pure - the quality of life’s essence so refined that it’s almost suffocating. In fact, you have to physically keep your magic in check, lest it fritz and grow out of your control. Taking a deep breath, you purposely subdue your inner magical core - dulling it towards the vigor of the energy in the air.

Fingers clenching around the woven handle of the basket, you grip it tighter as you step onto the property, a faint ripple of nervousness fluttering through you. With the potency of magic in the air, you desperately hope you don’t trigger any protective wards surrounding the land. When you safely cross the boundary between the forest and Namjoon’s home, your shoulders tense and you immediately come to a halt. The hairs on the back of your neck stand on edge, and a nervous edge tinges at the corners of your being as you wait for something to happen.

After a few moments of silence, you let out a relieved breath. The wards, if there are any, have accepted you. With that knowledge, you begin your descent down the brick path, from the outskirts of the property and towards the arched front door. Stopping by the dark wood entrance, you lift your hand and gently rap your knuckles on the surface, before stepping away as you wait for an answer. Long, drawn out moments pass, and when you get no response half a minute later, a frown descends upon your lips.

Is he not home?

Lifting your fist, you knock once again; and just like before, you don’t get an answer. Eyebrows furrowing in confusion, you shuffle to the side and towards a window. Then, stepping onto the tips of your toes, you attempt to peek into Namjoon’s home; looking for any signs of life. However, with the curtains drawn shut - only a sliver of an opening between the two, thick pieces of fabric - you barely have a sufficient view of the inside. Shoulders drooping, you let out a deep exhale and flick your gaze down to the wicker basket in your grasp. If he’s not home, there’s nothing you can do about it.

Disappointment settles into your bones, and for a moment, you consider abandoning your gift on his front porch - just like he’d left his. The thought only lasts a brief moment, however, because suddenly, you hear a small commotion from the back of his home. Startling at the muffled cluttering noise, you raise your eyebrow. Maybe he ishome. Intrigued by the noise, you follow after the sound. It leads you around the perimeter of his home, and getting towards the back, surprise colours your face as you see another building behind his cottage.

The emporium is fairly small, almost the size of a large shed, and made of a beautifully preserved walnut: the timber panelling still ripe with its rich colouring. Walking further towards the building, and to the front, you come to a halt at the entrance. Large panes of glass fill up the front wall, but in spite of the glass, your view of the interior is partially obscured: the dark-tinted, translucent surface preventing your complete view into the shop. Two large pots of firs sit on either side of the door, and just above the tips of the tree, hangs a banner made of dark linoleum. ‘The Blackthorne Codex’ it reads; the letters gleaming in burnished shades of bronze under the stark brightness of the sky.

Steadily, you approach the shop, and placing your hand on the brass handle, you push it open. The tinkle of a bell chimes through the air, and the moment you enter, you're assaulted by an onslaught of sensations. A balmy heat greets you immediately, the warm air rushing past your face and immediately heating up your numb skin. Following the heat is a sacchariferous fragrance: notes of a fruity tartness flooding your senses. Currents of a warm, woody scent coalesce with the stronger aroma; the piquant spiciness of what you know to be cloves weaving with that of dried black cherries into an amalgamation of intoxicating aromas. The incense is strong - almost overpowering - and wholly unique: perhaps a blend of his own concoction. It's so potent in fact, that you can almost taste it on the tip of your tongue: tinges of a pungent sweetness dyeing your tongue and causing you to salivate.

"Sorry, I'll be with you in a moment." The deep voice comes out of nowhere, the sound breaking the silence and causing you to jump.

Taking heed of the voice, however, you walk further into the shop, simultaneously letting go of the door handle and allowing it to shut behind you. Once you're into the heart of the shop, prickles of heat sting at your skin, the chilled surface quickly warming up - and from the magic charged in the air, you have no doubt it's thanks to some warming enchantment. Carefully placing your woven basket onto a table near you, you unclasp the heavy cloak around your shoulders before quickly shrugging it off and draping it over your arm. With the thick material off of your body, you let out a sigh of relief - your body quickly cooling down.

More comfortable with the temperature, and with the man - who you assume to be Namjoon - still keeping you waiting, you take a moment to look around the shop. Neatly stacked shelves of mahogany line the entire perimeter of the shop, the surfaces chipped and faded with age. Nonetheless, despite their worn appearance, they're not decrepit. Rather, they're antique - with a rustic feel to them. Glass containers of all sizes line the shelves: large jars of preserved tree barks and animal products occupy the top shelves, smaller sized flasks of various herbs, botanics and minerals fill the next few ledges; and little vials and ampoules of oils, extracts and essences litter the final racks. Each one is faithfully marked with a black label, the nature of their contents scrawled in gold ink.

Hand sketched drawings are strewn across the very tops of the walls, the drawings depicting a variety of beautifully illustrated, and incredibly detailed, plants and flowers. Looking closer at them, you can even spot labels, along with scrawled annotations, pointing out to different parts of the plants. They’re vivid, and colourful: the dazzling hues contrasting with the darker shades of the interior. Turning your gaze, you carefully peer at the counter that separates you from the back of the shop.

Similar to the rest of the store, it's made up of wood, with a white marble tabletop that offsets the walnut wood of everything else. One half of the wall behind is filled with a stack of drawers, each one labelled in black ink; the other half holding a door that undoubtedly leads to the back. A cash register sits in the left corner; the till glinting in polished shades of murky gold and varnished oak. On the opposite side, sits a small book rack stacked with aged tomes and grimoires. Next to it, are a few pestles and mortars, some made of marble while others are made of stone - each one with its own specific purpose.

As you’re admiring the interior, a man suddenly slips out from the back. He appears out of nowhere, causing you to jump. The moment you spot him, however, you freeze. He’s tall. Incredibly so. And his size is only emphasised by the corded, bulging muscles that fill his frame. He’s dressed in black leather trousers - the tight material clinging to his full thighs - and with each step he takes, you could swear the material threatens to tear. Moreover, the snugness of his trousers only emphasise the length of his legs: the toned limbs seemingly going on forever. His top is simple, a plain white t-shirt. Yet, despite the simplicity of it, you find yourself swallowing thickly.

Similar to his trousers, the cotton fabric of his shirt clings to his broad chest, highlighting the smooth, yet prominent, outline of his pecs. From how taut the material is, the garment straining against his upper body, you can spot the faintest hint of his dark nipples - the sight of them causing your cheeks to tinge with specks of heat. A simple leather apron is tied around his hips; the hide straps emphasising his trim waist and slender hips. Gaze travelling further up his body, your eyes lock onto his, and this time, you gulp audibly.

He is, perhaps, the most handsome man you’ve ever laid your eyes upon.

And you’ve traversed the world.

Tanned skin - as smooth and delectable as dulce de leche - glows under the ivory light filtering through the window. It casts a halo of argentate around him - the silvery hue juxtaposing his delicious, honey-kissed skin in the most enchanting way. Dark locks of silk, as black as coal, fall in choppy waves around his face, the front tips kissing his eyelids, and the back ends grazing the nape of his neck. They frame his face, accentuating the elegant slant of his cheekbones, the gentle slope of his nose, and the angled definition of his jaw. His eyes are hooded, and heavy, with a deep-set crease at the inner corners that only highlight the sharpness of them.

Irises of obsidian peek from between his keen eyes, the inky depths freckled with specks of silver and jade that only add to his allure. Eyes glimmering, he radiates an air of power: waves of soft, yet dominant, energy seeping off of his being. If you didn’t know better, you would say his aura practically thrummed with the same lively essence of the very forest itself. Sucking in a sharp breath, the cloying scent of black cherries and cloves floods your senses as you lock eyes, and effortlessly, you sink into his dark gaze.

A look of surprise paints his features, and in a once over, his stare sweeps over you. In one, long glance, he takes you in in your entirety, from the very tips of your boots, to the top of your head, and then back onto your face. His features are carefully stoic as he observes you - his eyes giving nothing away. But then, all of a sudden, it changes. A strong, thick eyebrow rises, and sensual, voluptuous lips pull into an impish, lop-sided grin. It’s wolfish, practically predatory, and almost as if he could devour you whole with a single look.

In two, swift strides, he moves closer, and pressing both hands onto the edge of the marble counter, he grins at you. The movement draws your attention, and your gaze immediately flicks from his eyes and towards his sinewy arms. So enamoured by his handsomeness earlier on, you hadn’t noticed the identical tattoos that brand each of his biceps. Three bands make up each tattoo. The outer ones are simple - embellished with geometric patterns and alchemical runes - and made up of the blackest ink; the colour so rich, it soaks up the light into its ebon void. Framed by the two simplistic bands, however, is an inner one - this tattoo more intricate, and vibrant. Thick, unassuming vines of pine-green form the bulk of the design, with supple foliage of fern-green and moss engraved between.

“Hello. Welcome to The Blackthorne Codex. I’m Kim Namjoon.” The man greets. His voice breaks you out of your trance, and instantly, your eyes lock back onto his. Then, features twisting into one of apology, “Sorry about the wait. I had a slight issue with some stock in the back. How can I help you?” he asks.

For a moment, you simply stare at him, your mind completely blank, and your face effectively illustrating it’s emptiness. His voice is low, and baritone, with a mellifluous undertow that threatens to drag you under and drown you in its beguile. Of course, the enchanting lure of his magic does nothing to help. Neither of you say anything, Namjoon waiting for you to reply, and you waiting for your mind to process the Adonis-like man in front of you. Eventually, and once you realise he’s staring at you, your brain finally kicks itself into gear.

“Oh. Oh!” you quickly splutter out, your cheeks tinging with embarrassment. “I’m sorry, I just didn’t… expect you to be so young,” comes your reply.

Arching an eyebrow, “Young? I’m twenty-eight years old,” he replies, a playful inflexion to his voice as his smirk deepens. Finally getting a hold of yourself, you simply roll your eyes, a coy smile curling onto your own lips.

“Hmmm. Well, when I heard about the man who lived in the forest, and was dropping off welcome gifts at my house, I couldn’t help but assume he was an old man,” you counter. That has Namjoon pausing.

“Wait. You’re ____? The Witch of Ruin?” he asks, his strong eyebrows disappearing into his hairline as he gazes at you in incredulity.

Taken aback by his surprise, you cock your head to the side, “Is that such a surprise?” you ask while lightly waving him off. Scoffing in response, he simply shrugs.

“I just expected you to be…” he begins, only to halt as he ponders his next words. After a short pause, “More menacing,” he finishes.

Once again, you roll your eyes, before waving your hand dismissively, “Well, I guess we both had incorrect assumptions about each other.”

“Touche,” Namjoon laughs. “So, what brings you to my humble apothecary? Need ingredients so soon, already?”

Placing your basket onto the counter, you slide your present over to him. “Hmmm, no. I come bearing a thank you gift,” you reply. Namjoon chuckles, and for a moment, you feel your abdomen stir with a fuzzy warmth. The sound of his laughter is enchanting: deep, rich, and thick like honey as it drips from his mouth like viscous ambrosia. His eyes flash with mirth, and he angles his head down to look at you through his sharp, hooded eyes.

“A thank you gift in response to my ‘welcome to the neighbourhood’ one? Your parents must have raised you right,” he jokes. His tone is light, and airy, and you know he means well - realistically knowing nothing of your past. Yet, you still find yourself gracing him with a rueful smile. Though, there’s only a faintest hint of bitterness laced through it.

“They did. Up until their final moments,” you respond. At your words, Namjoon immediately halts, and visibly, you watch every single one of his muscles locking; the corner of his jaw simultaneously twitching.

Face immediately dropping, Namjoon glances at you for a moment - his eyes carefully guarded, and giving away none of his inner thoughts. Unconsciously, you bristle; in preparation for his pity, and the meaningless words that tend to fall out of people’s mouth when you speak of your traumatic childhood. They mean well. You know they do. But it’s been close to sixteen years. And you’re tired of the constant condolences and well wishes. Tired of the way they walk on glass around the issue of your parents. After all, you’ve long since come to terms with it.

To your utter surprise, however, Namjoon’s face immediately relaxes, and his - what you assume to be trademark at this point - wolfish grin once again creeps onto his pillowy lips. “Well, then I’m sure they’re happy you’ve retained your manners then. Or they’d probably rise from their graves and haunt you,” comes his breezy response. That’s it. No ‘I’m sorry’s’ or sympathetic looks, or that tone people take when they find out you’re an orphan. Just a lighthearted joke. Perhaps, to someone else, he may seem insensitive. Perhaps, someone else would be offended. But you? You appreciate it more than he could, or would, ever know.

“Hmmm. Considering my mother was a necromancer… you’re right. She’d definitely be the type to raise herself from the dead just to lecture me on societal etiquette,” you deadpan - your voice purposely flat as you retort. Eyes bugging wide, Namjoon splutters as he chokes on his own spit.

“A necromancer? Please tell me you’re joking,” he replies, a look of bewilderment colouring his visage. Features twisted almost comically, it’s all you can do to laugh.

“Of course, I’m joking! What do you take my mother for? She birthed the Witch of Ruin. There’s no way she’d be foolish enough to practice necromancy,” you laugh in response. Hearing your reply, Namjoon immediately relaxes, and seeing the relief on his face, you can’t help but laugh harder. Necromancy was a false school of witchcraft, one only perpetrated by humans who wished they could practice magic. However, they had one thing wrong. There was no magic that could raise the dead. None.

After all, magic came from nature, and the cosmos, and life itself. It’s why most, if not all, witches and warlocks worship some aspect of the natural universe. Some worship the sky, others the sea, a few the mountains, and many the earth and forests. But no self-respecting practitioner of the Magic of Old, would ever worship the dead. Or even consider bringing the dead back to life. Mostly because it was an impossible feat.

Once a living creature reaches the end of its life, the magic that sustains it fades away. Instead, it returns back to the universe, only to be rebirthed into a new form of life. Sometimes that’s in humans - the species having faint tethers to the universe - or what they’d call their ‘souls’. Sometimes, it’s in witches and warlocks - a child born particularly talented in an archetype of magic. More often than not, though, it’s into the very cosmos, as the sea, or the plants, or the stars. Or really, any component of life, or power, that makes up the universe.

“You have me there,” Namjoon concedes with a chuckle. Then, turning his attention to your gift, he gestures towards it. “So, what do we have here?”

Cheeks flushing with heat, you pull your lower lip between your teeth and begin to chew on it while Namjoon unravels the cloth from the wicker basket. When he spots the three, neatly wrapped jars, he flicks his gaze to you in surprise. Suddenly feeling far too self-conscious - was the gift too much? - you suppress an awkward smile. “I don’t know if you drink tea… but these are some of my own special blends,” you explain, your voice a few decibels above a whisper, and laced with your unsureness.

You watch as Namjoon picks up one of the jars, only to open the lid and take in a deep breath of the aromatic fragrance. “God… that smells good. Is that lavender… and oolong?” he asks, his eyebrows rising in surprise.

Floored by his deduction, “How did you even… you can barely even smell the oolong,” you point out. You’re not lying. The scent of lavender is always strong - and overpowering - and no matter what ratios you blend of the two ingredients, you can’t seem to find a way to bring out the oolong. At your obvious shock, Namjoon laughs.

“I spent my day tending plants, or selling them, ____. I know what most of them look, and smell, like. Even if it’s subtle,” he replies.

Intrigued by his words, you look at him curiously. “If you don’t mind me asking… what school of witchcraft do you practice?”

Snapping the lid back onto the jar, he places it back into the basket. Then, eyes flashing mischievously, his lips curl into a teasing smirk. Gazing at you with his smouldering eyes, “How can you not tell? Weren’t you raised by the Sisters of Elysia? I thought they were supposed to be incredibly knowledgeable. Or perhaps… they don’t hold a candle to the Brotherhood of Requiem,” he provokes. Jaw dropping in surprise, you instantly bristle.

“W-What’s that supposed to mean?” you splutter in indignation. “The Brotherhood of Requiem is not better than the Sisters of Elysia,” you continue with a hiss.

“Hmmm… not if you can’t guess what my magic is,” he backfires easily. Huffing at his response, you roll your eyes. Though, there’s no real ire to it.

“Well it’s obvious you practice Herbalism. But with the potency of the magic surrounding you, that can’t be all you practice,” you reply smartly.

Laughing, “I guess you’re right. Botanic Arts. I also practice the Botanic Arts,” he explains. Ah. That would explain the aura of life that surrounds him.

Contrary to your Destructive Arts - a discipline that was focused on elements of chaos, such as lightning or fire, in order to bring about calamity; the Botanic Arts was a discipline focused around the elements of life, such as earth and nature, in order to bring about life. Nonetheless, even with their juxtaposing natures, they were both two incredibly powerful schools of witchcraft, and if used correctly, even the Botanic Arts could be wielded as a cataclysmic magic. A notion only emphasised by his incredibly imposing presence; as well as his sheer confidence.

“How about you?” he asks, his words breaking you out of your thoughts.

Lips twisting into a wry smirk, “How can you not tell? Weren’t you raised by the Brotherhood of Requiem?” you mock, throwing back his own words at him.

With a snort, Namjoon looks at you pointedly. “Well, everything I know about you is from rumours. The witch of ruin, a child of chaos, birthed from lightning and fire. So… I’m assuming you’re proficient in the Destructive Arts. But… considering you just brought me tea leaves I doubt it’s just that,” he says, imitating your own sentiments. Tongue poking out, you swipe it across your lips as you feel the corners of your lips twitching.

“Alchemical Restoration. The teas have healing properties,” you reply as you try to suppress your grin.

You can’t help it.

Namjoon is unlike any other witch or warlock you’ve ever met. In your life, you’ve travelled the world, and you’ve met many of your kind; from all different walks of life. As such, you’re not new to a little flirtatious banter, nor were you unknown to the pleasures of sex, or a budding romance. Nonetheless, it was rare for it to go past that. The moment they found out who you were, who you truly were, they would immediately lose interest in you - either by their own jealousy, or intimidation, or insecurities that you were most likely better, and more powerful, than them.

However, here was a man, who knew who you were, and still continued showing an interest. Or well, at least what you hoped was interest. Though, with the way his eyes subtly roam over your figure every now and then, and with how he keeps his attention focused on you, and only you, you doubt you’re wrong. Namjoon is different. Because even knowing who you are, and knowing about your past, his demeanour hasn’t changed. He’s not the least bit intimidated, nor insecure, or resentful. If anything, you have a feeling you’ve only stoked his interest. And that has a fuzzy warmth blooming within the pits of your stomach.

“A remedial discipline? Didn’t take you for the type,” comes his immediate answer. Then, eyes flashing in mirth, “Though… I can’t say I’m mad. I don’t even want to thinkabout what your gift would be if you just practiced the Destructive Arts… perhaps you’d set my apothecary on fire for daring to intrude on your property?” he teases, and as the words slip out of his mouth, you can’t help but hear the flirtatious intonation.

Your conversation is ordinary, and full of pleasant niceties. Yet, buried between both your tones, is a touch of something deeper; something heavier. Perhaps it’s the playfulness of his entire demeanour, or the coquettish nature of your own replies. But no matter what it is, you can’t help but feel the spark between the two of you. You don’t know where it’s come from, or why. After all, you’re both strangers, and this is your first time meeting. Nevertheless, you can’t help but feel drawn to him - a baser need, something more corporeal pulling you towards him. A flutter of excitement flits through you,

In response to his words, you childishly stick your tongue out. Then, “Yes, well, as much as I adore the Destructive Arts and the power trip that comes with it… I’ve just… somewhat grown tired of it,” you find yourself confessing - the words falling from your lips before you can even stop them. That has Namjoon’s devilish disposition dropping, his features twisting into one of inquisitiveness.

“Oh? Why is that?” he asks.

Once again, and before you even realise what you’re saying, you find yourself shrugging. “Honestly? I don’t know if I ever really even wanted to learn the Destructive Arts. But after my parent’s coven was destroyed, and once the Knights of the Seven Lights began hunting me… I had no other choice, you know? I learnt it because I had to. Because I needed to survive. It was born out of my need to prove something… that I could endure everything, and that I would still come out on top,” you confess. All of a sudden, you pause.

Eyelids widening in the slightest, you quickly halt your tongue as you realise what you’d just blurted out. It’s not often that you talk about your past. You’re over it. Or well, you’re more numb to it. But it wasn’t often that you brought it up - wanting to leave the past… well, in the past. Hell, the only reason the Sisters of Elysia had known, was because they’d saved you from that life. But you never spoke about it. At least, not of your own accord. And certainly not to a random stranger you’d just met. So really, you’re not sure why you’d suddenly, and completely out of the blue, truthfully spoken about your past. Especially in a casual meeting like this.

Nonetheless, something about him calls to you. You don’t know what it is, and you can’t accurately place it. But there’s something about him that you find reassuring. He’s a stranger, and realistically, you know nothing about him. Yet, still, you can’t help but trust him. There’s an air of power around him, yes. It pulses around him in an enticing fashion: a refined aura of magic that is both completely sensual, and commanding. However, woven between that presence, is a sense of solace. The kind that’s filled with a promise of safety, and home. The kind you’ve been desperately searching for all your life. It beckons to you, and effortlessly, you find yourself magnetised to him.

Momentarily, Malise’s words echo in the back of your mind. About how you’d find your soulmate here, and fleetingly, you wonder if it’s him. A part of you is desperate for him to be. For him to be the one you call your home. Yet, even with that yearning that tingles through you, you can’t bring yourself to put any real hope on it. He’s enchanting, and you’re completely enamoured by him. But that doesn’t necessarily mean that he’s your one. The universe has a twisted sense of humour, and seldom did it ever play to one’s hand. Soulmates aren’t perfect. And just because you’re fated for someone, doesn’t mean that you’d work out. Love wasn’t that simple. Thus, with the attraction that you do feel for him already, a weird, twisted part of you doesn’t wantto know. Just in case, he’s not the one destined for you.

A heavy air befalls the two of you; the tension intensifying until it’s so thick that you almost suffocate within its hold. Jittery under the sudden pressure, your hands turn clammy as you begin shuffling from foot to foot. You want to say something, to make a casual joke and immediately diffuse the stiffness in the atmosphere. Nonetheless, your throat is tight, and your mouth dry, and you simply can’t bring yourself to force the words out. Sensing your awkwardness, however, Namjoon quickly comes to your aid. The corners of his lips tugs, and the plush petals of his mouth pull into an easy smile as he points back towards your gift.

“Well, they seem really well-made, and I can already tell just how high quality these are. I’m looking forward to trying them,” comes his airy response. Then, after a brief pause, an impish smirk teases at his lips. “... And giving you my honest opinion,” he taunts. A sense of relief washing over you at the return of his playful demeanour, and with the tension quickly diffusing, you grace him with your own coy grin.

“I’m sure you’ll find them to your standards. It’s not like I could give you something subpar after your lavish present, after all,” you counter. Eyes lighting up suddenly, “Which, speaking of high quality, the lilacs and lavender… where did you get them?” you question. A deep, throaty chuckle emanates from the middle of Namjoon’s chest, and you watch his speckled onyx eyes glint in amusement.

“I didn’t get them anywhere. I grew them myself,” he responds. Taken aback by his answer, you blink at him owlishly. He’d… grown them himself? Well. You hadn’t been expecting that. Though, now that you think about it, it makes sense. Initially, you’d thought that perhaps he’d only enchanted the lilacs, in order to keep them blooming. However, with the sheer life imbued into them, you realise that for that level of magic, he’d probably have to grow them himself. Which, with his mastery in the Botanic Arts, paired with his expertise of Herbalism, would be a feat easier said than done.

With a fleeting glance, you flick your gaze around his shop, only to catch his eye once again. “Do you grow most of your stock?” you ask, astonishment evident in your voice. Once again, Namjoon chuckles, before nodding easily.

“A lot of it, yes. If not most. The things I can’t grow, I have to source from the human settlements. Though, it’s mostly animal products or minerals,” he begins, a look of thought crossing his face. “The minerals, because I don’t have time to go mine for that… Nor do I want to,” he laughs. “And I can’t bring myself to hunt for animal products myself because everytime I do, I end up not wanting to hurt them and letting them go. So I rely on humans a lot for those kinds of things. It’s why, unlike the rest of the coven who lives deeper into the forest, I live closer towards the edge… and also why I’m your only neighbour,” he continues his explanation.

Mouth forming an ‘o’, “That makes sense,” you reply.

“Why do you live so close to the edge? I’m sure High Priest Torin would have offered you a home in the coven’s territory?” Namjoon questions.

With a nonchalant shrug, “I just needed a change I guess. With the Sisters of Elysia being nomadic, we never had an actual home. And so we’d always live in temporary homes while sharing living spaces. Moving here, I knew I kinda just wanted some more privacy, you know?” comes your answer. Once again, there’s nothing but truth in it, and internally, you wonder just what kind of bewitchment he’s cast on you, for you to be so honest. Though, it’s probably just his natural charm.

“Plus, I’m focusing more on my Alchemical Restoration, and I want to be able to help as many people as I can. Both, our coven, and the humans in the country,” you continue. Then, letting out a sigh, “Except… I’m still new to the area and the Forest of Ingredeen is huge and I have no idea where the human settlements are,” you finish. Then, after a small pause for thought, “Other than the Sundale settlement, that is,” you ponder out loud.

“Oh. There are a total of five in the entire country, and they all border the Forest of Ingredeen since it’s the oldest and most ancient woodland,” Namjoon points out. Taking his hands off of the counter, he shuffles towards the book rack on the tabletop, and pulling out a large scroll from the corner, he unravels it flat onto the surface. A large map greets you; the parchment yellowed and the ink faded with time. Still, you can make out all the details of the cartograph. It’s of Carelia, you note, with the human settlements clearly illustrated, as well as the paths to them.

“These are the general routes that you can traverse. Though, not all of them are in use anymore. And newer ones have been created. There’s also no real roads to follow,” Namjoon explains, a small frown marring his lips. Then, flicking his gaze towards you, he looks at you through hooded eyes. “If you’re free tomorrow, I can show you around? I doubt anyone knows these woods as well as me” he boasts.

Lips pulling into a flirtatious smile, you loll your head to the side before cocking your eyebrow. “Like a date?” comes your glib suggestion. Your voice is light, and airy, and your tone completely casual. And of course, you don’t expect him to actually agree. Still, to your complete disappointment, Namjoon shakes his head

“Not like a date,” comes his quick response, his voice causing ripples of devastation to tinge at your being. However, “A date,” he continues. Instantly, your disappointment is replaced with delight, and your heart simultaneously flutters.

Pulling your lower lip between your teeth, you chew on the soft petal in a bid to suppress your grin. “I’ll look forward to it.”

a/n: SCREAM god fneorngeoirgnoeig i dont know why that was so long when absolutely nothing happened but i hope y’all liked it ahhh 🥺👉🏼👈🏼 i’m hoping to get the next part up next weekend but jfneronorign no promises rip ♡

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#bts smut #bts fluff #bts angst #namjoon x reader #kim namjoon x reader #bts namjoon x reader #namjoon angst #namjoon fluff #namjoon smut #bts namjoon smut #kim namjoon fluff #kim namjoon smut #kim namjoon angst #bts imagine #namjoon imagine #bts fanfiction #namjoon fanfiction #i fucking hate coming up with tags on god

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bbugyu · 3 years

Text

of all the views you had seen, there was little that could compare to him.

6.2k | cavalry captain!jeonghan x gn pyro!reader, genshin impact au, fluff, adventure, drinking, so much flirting, mentions of trauma, honestly this is the sweetest i'm ever gonna write jeonghan

happy inazuma release day!!! it's your local kaeya trash, because i predictably fall for gay bastards that lie straight to my face (example: jeonghan), and i'm here to give you a fic i wrote AGES ago and just polished up a bit to celebrate the release of what is likely going to be my FAVORITE region in genshin impact. i'm japanese so 😅 i have a soft spot. if there's any other gaymer carats out there, enjoy this one. if not, sorry! you can actually probably still read this and understand it for the most part, though you might miss a bit of context of the landscape and the lore.

ps. go tell @babiemingoo that wonwoo xinqiu 🤭

your work with the adventurer's guild was always efficient. you received your commissions, you carried them out, then returned for your reward, usually before the sun had even peaked. the rest of your day was generally spent either basking in the eternal sun of mondstadt, feeding cats in inazuma, or enjoying a hard earned meal in liyue, depending on where you decided to stay that week, finding board and paying for it with the commission you had earned that day. your tendency to wander came less from choice and more from nature - you could call yourself a nomad, but generally, you just got bored, and preferred seeing everything teyvat had to offer rather than settling in one place. adventuring was simply what you were meant to do, your mother had told you at a young age.

she, too, had wandered for most of her youth, and didn't stop just because you had come into her life. you remembered getting scooped up because you had wandered off a bit too close to the railing at wangshu inn as a toddler, playing with dogs at the docks of liyue harbor. you remembered the ludi harpastum and the first time you had ever had a sweet honey roast, and the way it made your eyes grow ten times in size before you dug in for more.

when your vision was bestowed upon you, you already knew how to use a sword. it was important, your mother told you, that you knew how to protect yourself. she had a vision as well, younger even than you had, and you had come to recognize the static in the air as a sign that she was angry - whether it was because of an altercation with someone on your journey or because you had secretly eaten the last hashbrown without consulting her first.

she used her vision and a sturdy blade she had owned since before you were born to protect the two of you on the road, but when she felt you were old enough, she taught you how to weild. a two handed weapon that was far too big for you when you were only fourteen, but when your reckless abandon got paired with a spark, you suddenly became far more dangerous than even your own mother. she scolded you for nearly starting a forest fire when you tried to pair the two skills for the first time after receiving your vision, and you both agreed that training was a beach activity from then on.

your mother settled eventually, after you were old and skilled enough to take on the road alone, pulling the many favors she had gathered in her travels to build a home in a small neighborhood south of liyue harbor, nestled in the foothills of mount tianheng, where you visited as often as your wandering allowed.

you had become much better with your vision. more careful but just as hot. quick to scan situations and strategize in the moment, hardly taking a second before jumping into action, slaying hilichurls like you were getting paid. well, you were, you supposed, but you had been doing this long before you had discovered the benefit of joining the guild. you were good at it. you were built for adventure, but revelled in leisure. there was good reason you were able to take afternoons off, and you milked every last second of it.

"you're back in town?"

you grinned, leaning your sword against the wall and dropping your bag off your shoulders before settling at the bar. "for now."

rubin often served you alcohol - when you were in mondstadt, at least, however often that may be - but never questioned you deeply. he would ask how your travels were, and listen to your stories from regions beyond his knowledge, of the cultures that he had only heard of from people like you. he enjoyed them just about as much as any, if not a little more, purely because your tenacious personality brought something more to the table. he wondered, though, how long you intended to keep living day by day, sleeping in different beds every week.

"what's wrong with sleeping in different beds?" you teased, laughing into your wine glass. "if i didn't know any better, i'd think you were shaming me, rube."

rubin simply laughed, knowing your tone by now. "i just wonder if you ever intend on digging in your roots, or if you'll continue travelling forever."

"if i dig roots, you may never see me again. is that what you want?"

"what," he said. "you don't like mondstadt?"

"i love monstadt," you assured him. "but i also love inazuma. and my mother is in liyue, though she might be upset with me if i try to settle too close to her. perhaps natlan would suit me more?" you shrugged finally, the door behind you opening as you finished with "i suppose i'll settle when i've found a reason to love one place more than the rest."

rubin shook his head, a chuckle falling from his lips. "a wanderer through and through." his attention was quickly drawn to the man entering the bar. "ah, captain! the usual?"

"please," the decorated man said, quickly taking a seat beside you despite the rest of the bar being available. "would you like another, wanderer?"

you eyed him cautiously, studying what you could see if his face around the black eyepatch, gaze skimming down his elaborate clothing before looking down at your emptied drink. "sure."

"another for your wandering friend, rubin, on my tab, please." your brain swirled, considering the brief information you had been given and wondered how you had never managed to meet this regular during your past visits. "are you just drinking dandelion wine, or something more fun?"

"more fun?" you asked. "what are you drinking, then?"

"well, a death after noon, of course," he stated. "don't tell me you haven't had one."

you blinked at him. "i haven't."

you turned towards rubin when he laughed at the back and forth. "shall i make two, then?"

"definitely," your new drinking buddy said, then gestured to you. "you trust my taste, right?"

you said nothing, but he accepted your silent smile as an agreeance. "captain," you said finally, thinking of how rubin had addressed him. "of?"

the man turned towards you, his elbow planted on the bar and his cheek on a fist. despite his get up, he had a playful smirk across his lips. "you mean, my reputation doesn't precede me? you really are a wanderer. everyone in mondstadt knows my name."

"everyone but me," you corrected. "as i'm currently in mondstadt."

his teeth shone behind his smirking lips before he sat up straight. "well, allow me to introduce myself." he saluted, his arm extending from his side at an angle - a salute you recognized from the guards around the city. "i am jeonghan, the cavalry captain of the knights of favonius."

"ah, the knights," you smiled briefly, before letting your eyes wander as you thought, crossing your arms over the bar. "i don't see much of a cavalry in the city, though."

he let out an amused exhale. "so i have a bit more free time these days."

"i'm sure the acting grand master is jealous of all your free time," you teased. "poor guy, looks like he's staving off a panic attack every time i see him. you should probably help him more."

"so," he sighed, leaning against the bar again. "you know of the acting grand master but not me?"

"jihoon?" you asked. "of course i know of him. he's all anyone ever talks about around here."

jeonghan nodded once, thanking rubin when he placed two drinks before you. "people talk about me, also, you know."

your lips stuck out in a pout. "jeonghan, you said? doesn't ring a bell."

he rolled his eyes and picked up his drink, holding it out for you to cheers against. you giggled, clinking your glass against his before taking a sip. the golden liquid was sweet, but not like the dandelion wine you had grown to love in this region. it had more depth, a subtle bitterness to it, and a refreshing bubble. you stared after the glass when it left your lips, then looked over to find jeonghan grinning at you.

"i see why it's your usual," you said, taking another sip before placing the glass on the bar. "i could drink too many."

"will you?" he asked.

"not tonight," you replied coolly. "i haven't asked sana to put me up at the guild yet, and if i get there too late, i'll get a cot instead of a bed. unless rubin finally wants to come clean about something?"

the bartender laughed. "how many times do i have to tell you? we don't even have rooms to board."

you squinted at him. "i know there's something upstairs. i'll learn your secrets one day, rube."

"i wouldn't be a very good bartender if i didn't know how to keep them."

"so you're in the guild?" jeonghan asked as rubin attended to another patron. "an adventuring wanderer."

you smiled vaguely at him. "i am. i have to pay for my travels somehow."

he shrugged. "there's other ways to make money. probably more profitable, too."

you eyed his teasing smirk. "i'm not sure i know what you're implying."

"as a captain of the knights of favonius, i assure you, i'm implying nothing at all," he said, exhaling sharply and adjusting on his stool. he leaned over towards you before speaking in a quieter tone. "but as jeonghan, i think you know exactly what i'm implying."

you only laughed, recognizing the thinly veiled attempt to worm a secret out of you. "i outgrew those means a long time ago. besides, when mora gets tight, i can always board up with my mother. i like liyue enough."

jeonghan studied you as you drank again. "liyue's home, is it?'

"for her, yes," you said, looking over to him, but you found yourself looking away again when his steely blue gaze met yours. you thought carefully about how much of yourself you were willing to reveal to this stranger, especially considering how important he was in the rule of the city. "she was a wanderer, too, and ended up falling in love with liyue harbor."

jeonghan made note of the way your face softened as you spoke about your mother. "and what about you?"

you met his intent look again, thinking about how his covered eye somehow made him even more intimidating. perhaps that was its purpose. "what about me?"

"what have you fallen in love with?"

a smile crept onto your lips as you processed his question. "oh, archons, what have i not fallen in love with? the smell of the open ocean in inazuma, the breathtaking temples in sumeru - have you ever been to waterfall city?"

jeonghan merely shook his head at you, the corners of his mouth turning upwards as he put his cheek on a fist again, leaning against the bar. "beautiful?"

you exhaled, eyes wide as you thought of the towering falls and the light mist that covered the city, trying to come up with an apt description. "humbling. there's nothing like it."

he watched your expression, head tilting further. "what a wonderful way to describe a place. tell me more."

your gaze went to him, then away briefly, feeling suddenly shy as you noticed his look. "about waterfall city?"

he shrugged a fur covered shoulder, shaking his head lightly. "about anywhere. describe your world, wanderer. i'd like to hear whatever you have to say."

you wondered if the heat that ran through you was because of the alcohol or the man, but you just took another drink and cleared your throat lightly, thinking of more places you had discovered in your travels. you thought of qingce village, one of your favorite places to visit, because the people are kind and welcoming and the fields are so beautiful. you told him about a tea shop owned by an old man - he insisted you call him pops so fiercely that you weren't even sure you had caught his given name - and it was probably the most relaxing cup of tea you ever had.

"it's been a while since i've gone," you sighed. "i think i'm overdue for a chat with pops and his tea."

jeonghan was smiling when you looked at him again. "the tea in liyue is unmatched," he said, reaching for his drink. before taking another sip, he gestured for you to continue.

so you did. you told him about sakura pond, about celestia city, about the volcanic black beaches. you told him liyue had your favorite people, but inazuma had your favorite food. he clicked his tongue at you.

"what about mondstadt? do we have one of your favorites?"

you smiled, genuinely. "sunsets. the night sky is different here than it is anywhere else. i think mondstadt is the closest we can get to the stars without joining the archons."

jeonghan studied you briefly, his blue eye flicking over your face as you finished your drink. "i think that's an apt observation. it seems your eyes are always wide."

"i travel for the views," you exhaled. "i don't plan on missing any."

he thought a second. "have you been to starsnatch cliff?"

your eyes lit up. "not in years," you said, in complete shock that you could have forgotten such a place. you pushed from the bar slightly, turning towards him, and he noticed the flash of a red gem strapped to your right thigh for the first time. "my mother took me there when i was a kid, but i haven't gone since."

"it never gets old," he said, sipping at the end of his drink. "i've yet to see that view and not be in awe."

"i'll go before i leave mondstadt again," you decided.

he looked to you. "when will that be?"

you sighed. "not sure, yet."

he just chuckled. "would you like another drink?"

"oh, no," you said, standing and stretching your spine. "i should make my leave. i don't like sleeping on cots. i just came by to let my ol' pal rube know i was in town again."

jeonghan watched you pull your pack onto your back, grabbing the handle of your sheathed claymore from where it was leaning against the wall next to the bar. "perhaps i'll see you again tomorrow?"

you looked at him, a vague smile on your lips as you strapped your sword back on. "perhaps you will, captain."

"jeonghan," he corrected. "but i don't believe you ever shared your name?"

"that was by design, captain," you said, and he swore he caught a glint in your eye as you bid rubin a farewell and stepped out of the angel's share.

jeonghan spun back around on his stool, immediately looking to rubin. "do you know their name?"

"no, sir," he said, looking at the closed door. "they've never said."

jeonghan's gaze went to the empty glass you had left behind, thinking about your stories, your sword, and the signifier of your vision on your thigh. "fascinating."

you got lucky - sana had a private room for you, and said you were welcome to rent it for your stay. she said not many people were travelling to mondstadt these days, and that more often than not, the adventurer's barracks in headquarters went unused. ever since the fatui had holed up in the grand goth hotel, it had been harder for you to make extended stays in mondstadt, but it seemed that something was telling you to stick around longer than usual. you laid on the hard mattress - a feeling that was more comforting than most, thanks to your continuous travels - and thought of the charming captain that had made a night of questioning you. you wondered if he really had any interest in anything you had to say, or if he had been hoping for details about something pertinent to an investigation.

you packed a lighter bag in the morning, only bringing along the essentials as you set out for your commissions for the day. that afternoon, you wandered around mondstadt and asked questions. questions about the simultaneously well-discussed and mysterious cavalry captain that had listened to your tales of travel, and answers came easier than expected, though they didn't contain all the details you were looking for. that night, you waited up at the angel's share to brag about your newfound knowledge to the captain that never showed, and you did your best to not let that hurt your ego.

the next day, you made a detour on your way back to the city after completing your commissions, stopping by springvale to enjoy a well deserved lunch and catch up with some locals. you sat in the grass with a skewer of grilled meat, watching the windmills of mondstadt steadily spin in the distance as time passed, thinking about how rubin had asked you if you didn't like it here.

you did, you decided. mondstadt felt different than anywhere else you had been. untouched, almost. wilder. freer. despite being born in inazuma, your first memories being in celestia, or your mother being in liyue, mondstadt felt comfortable. felt like a home. you wondered to yourself what that might mean.

sana greeted you happily when you returned much later than you normally did. she told you to go ahead to the guild and come back, filing away your reports and retrieving your rewards. you dropped off your things in your rented room, quickly, practically galloping back down the steps towards the entrance of the city to continue your conversation with the adventurer guilds' mighty receptionist without your sword weighing you down. you crossed your arms on the counter, comfortably lounging as you chatted with her, having always enjoyed her conversations more than most. like rubin, she was a reason mondstadt always felt comfortable.

"fancy meeting you here," an all too familiar voice said, and you pulled your eyes from sana to find jeonghan leaning his side against the counter next to you.

"good evening, cavalry captain!" sana chirped, placing your reward - your room free already removed - on the counter and bowing politely. "can i help you with anything today?"

his icy gaze flickered from your lightly curved lips towards sana. "oh, no, my dear. i'm just coming back from an investigation near springvale"

"interesting," you said, eyeing him. "i was just there and didn't see you."

"i wouldn't be very good at my job if you did, wanderer," he grinned. "knight business, you wouldn't understand. got the assignment yesterday."

"ah," you shifted to your side to face him, making him eye the vision on your thigh. "is that why you never showed? rubin was worried."

he looked you up and down. "rubin was, huh?"

you rolled your eyes and adjusted your posture to face away from his smirk. sana looked between the two of you twice before clearing her throat as quietly as possible, making jeonghan let out a chuckle before he directed his attention to the guild's receptionist.

"how goes holding the post, sana?"

she looked almost frightened when the attention was directed back to her. "good, captain! in fact, one of our most capable adventurers-" she gestured to you, "-just returned from taking care of some of our more difficult commissions - no one else would take them."

jeonghan looked at you. "why did sana have to tell your secret?"

your eyebrows quirked upwards. "what secret?"

"that you're good at this. shouldn't you be bragging?"

a chuckle spilled from your lips, and jeonghan watched you as you looked away. "i'm not the bragging type."

he studied you a moment. "what type are you, then?"

you considered the question, wondering exactly how to answer. what type were you? if not a teller, than surely you must be a shower, but that didn't seem right either. you exhaled. "the quiet type. see you later, sana."

he laughed, pushing off the counter as you tucked your mora into your waist bag, wishing sana a good evening and following you towards the fountain. "you sure talk a lot for being the quiet type."

a smirk landed itself on your lips as he fell into step beside you. "maybe private is a better description."

"that one i can see," jeonghan said, looking over to you. he thought of how you had spent nearly an hour telling him about the best views in teyvat, yet he still didn't know the most basic information about you. "do you share your name with anyone?"

you thought. "my mother."

he scoffed. "anyone else?"

you looked to the sky. "rubin."

"wrong," he retorted. "he doesn't know your name, either."

you laughed, looking over to him as you came up to the fountain, spinning and sitting back on the ledge. "you asked?"

"of course i asked," he said, planting one foot on the ledge beside you and placing his arms on his knee. "i asked other people, too. almost everyone knows you, but they don't know anything about you. bits and pieces, but never the full picture."

you just smiled up at him from your relaxed posture on the concrete. "what's wrong with a little intrigue?"

he just smiled back at you. "nothing. i tend to keep a bit myself. did you know there's a large number of people in this city that were shocked when i said you wield a claymore?"

you hummed, dipping the tips of your fingers into the fountain. "did you know there's a large number of people in this city that consider you the most eligible bachelor in not only mondstadt, but in all of teyvat?"

his lips parted slightly as you spoke. "so you snooped, too."

"i was bored yesterday. it wasn't hard," you exhaled. you flicked a drop of water towards his foot. "jeonghan yoon, the cavalry captain of the knights of favonius since he was only nineteen. who loves wine and whose adopted brother runs the biggest winery in teyvat, yet they're hardly ever seen speaking. who comes from a far off land on a different continent, but has come to love mondstadt like it was his home. who wears an eyepatch but has never told anyone why."

he chuckled at the assessment and pulled his foot off the ledge to sit beside you. "so when do i get to learn about you?"

"i told you about me yesterday," you said.

"you told me about teyvat," he corrected. "and while i was able to infer some things about your character, i still know close to nothing about you."

you thought for a moment, realizing no one had ever noticed how little you truly shared despite always being willing to tell stories. "sometimes it feels like i am teyvat. it's hard to think of things that are just about me."

"you could start with that vision," he said, nodding at the strap across your thigh. you looked down at it, exhaling.

"what's there to tell? you know what it means, and that's more teyvat than me, too."

he leaned back on a hand, looking you up and down in curiosity. "how old were you."

you chewed your cheek. "fourteen. you?"

his lip quirked upwards. "sixteen."

you bumped his shoulder with yours playfully. "beat you."

he laughed. "how'd it happen?"

you paused. "you go first."

he just chuckled and looked away, watching a dog wander past the general store. "another day, then."

"no fun," you sighed, brushing your hands together as you leaned forward. "what about the eyepatch?"

he met your eyes, mouth slanted in a smirk. "another day."

you clicked your tongue. "if you wanna learn about me, you have to be willing to give up some details, too. i value a fair trade."

"then stop asking questions that you know i won't share the answer to." jeonghan noticed the color of the sky, then suddenly pulled a pocket watch out, checking it quickly to confirm that there was enough time and stood. "come with me?"

you stared up at him. "where?"

he grinned, extending a hand to help you to your feet. "you said mondstadt's sunsets were your favorite, correct?"

you generally weren't prone to following mysterious men into back corridors, but jeonghan easily convinced you with no words at all that sneaking around the sight line of the acting grand master was completely normal behavior, sushing you with a grin as you giggled, taking refuge around a corner after the two of you made it up to the second floor of the favonius headquarters. he tugged your hand with his, pulling you into a steep maintenance staircase behind a door.

"this feels like it's against some rules," you said, climbing the stairs behind him.

"nonsense," he said, looking back at you and grinning. "are you suggesting that a knight of favonius would break rules just to impress a mysterious traveler?"

you laughed quietly, wondering if he really meant that he wanted to impress you. "not most, but maybe this one."

he only thought for a split second. "if anyone asks, we're on official knight business."

he opened the door and you found the sky again, beginning to glow orange as the edge of the sun began to hide behind the cliffs. you stared in awe at the way the few fluffy clouds reflected pink and gold, then readjusted your focus when jeonghan spoke again.

"i hope you aren't afraid of heights," he said, walking over to the parapets that surrounded you. "the best view requires a bit of a climb."

you looked up at the tower, and while it wasn't much higher than where you stood, you also recognized that you were well above most of mondstadt already. "you climb up there?"

he paused, studying you. "we don't have to, we can just sit on a merlon-"

"no, we can climb," you said, walking over to where he was and eyeing the small gap between the parapet and the adjacent roof. "hop over?"

he laughed, stepping over the gap and holding a hand out for you. "watch your step."

and though you didn't need it, you accepted the hand anyways, and it stayed on yours as you walked over the roof to the tower, as if making sure you didn't misstep several stories in the air.

"would you like to go first?" he asked. "i'll catch you if you fall."

you rolled your eyes at him, dropping your hand from his grip. "you go first. i want to see where the handholds are."

he just grinned at you. "very well," he said, tugging on the wrists of his fingerless gloves to make sure they were taught against his skin before taking hold of a brick. you watched him as he took foothold after foothold, and he resisted the urge to show off by speedily scaling the wall in favor of making sure you had the chance to see where he gripped. when he reached the opening in the tower, he pulled himself up and spun around, exhaling with a grin as he seated himself at the ledge with his legs dangling above you.

"your turn."

you adjusted your waist bag as you sighed in amused annoyance, spinning it to be behind you and out of your hips' way to climb the wall. it wasn't much - a couple meters, maybe - and you had definitely climbed further, but jeonghan's presence made you slightly nervous. that nervousness, however, just fueled you to prove yourself.

you scaled the wall easily, making jeonghan whistle and jokingly call you some kind of adventurer, and your only hesitation came when his hand was in your face. despite your initial inclination to ignore it, you put your left hand in his, allowing him to help you pull yourself up on the ledge and sit beside him.

"impressive," he commented.

you laughed, brushing off your hands. "you, too."

"c'mon," he said, gesturing his head over his shoulder before making moves to stand. "the view's on the other side."

you sighed, looking over the view of mondstadt shrouded in golden light as he stood and walked to the other ledge. "never a moment of rest with you."

"if you want to miss the sunset, be my guest."

you leaned back on your hands and laughed, pulling your gaze away from the city to look at where jeonghan had seated himself on the other end of the tower, and subsequently the view of the rolling hills beyond him that were glowing golden in the evening sun. you blinked for a second, realizing you hadn't seen the sunset the night before, and quickly got to your feet to join him before you missed this one, too.

he gave you a soft smile when you sat beside him, and you briefly wondered how many he had in his repertoire. the wind was stronger higher, whipping gently through his hair and alleviating any uncomfortable warmth you may have had from exerting yourself on the way up. you watched the dregs of sunlight skip across the grassy hills and the sky turn deep orange and bright pink, feet swinging lightly over the edge of the tower.

"i was fighting with my brother," he said suddenly, causing you to look at him with a start before you realized he was telling you about his vision. there was a slight smile on his face as he looked out on the fields. "hyungwon. it was bad. he already had his - he's a pyro, like you - and we were both young and stupid and just lost our dad. we were sword fighting and it came to me when i needed it. it probably saved my life, honestly."

you blinked at him. "you think he would have killed you?'

he exhaled, leaning back on his hands. "i think if the roles had been reversed, i would have tried to kill him, too. i'm grateful it didn't go that way, though." he coughed abruptly, clearing his throat. "we're on speaking terms, and i do love him as a brother, but i generally avoid him."

you let that thought ruminate as you watched the sun sink, halfway beyond the horizon. "my father was in a gang in inazuma, but my mom ran away when she found out she was pregnant. didn't want to raise a kid in that world, i guess? we ran into him when i got older and he wasn't very understanding." you paused, remembering the detail too well. "they were going to take her vision. that's what they did to traitors. probably take me, too. they weren't expecting me to start setting fires."

jeonghan's gaze was on you as yours was on the horizon. "just a couple of survivors."

you looked over at him, a smirk on your lips. "a couple?"

he laughed waving at your implication, thinking he would have said the same thing in an attempt to fluster you just as you were to him. "like, more than one and less than four."

you only laughed back. "fortune favors the weak, i suppose. the archons saw we needed help and extended a fig branch."

"is that what it was?" he asked, a laugh on his lips. "we were both fighting people. that's hardly an offer of peace."

"look for the deeper meaning, jeonghan. we were fighting for our lives," you pointed out, and he realized it was the first time you had addressed him by his name rather than his title. "i was fighting for family. for freedom. is that not the greatest pursuit of peace?"

he watched you as you pulled your knees to your chest, putting your feet on the edge of the stonework surface you sat on. he studied the way the golden rays lit your skin and made your eyes sparkle. "i suppose so."

you paused in that moment for a long while, and jeonghan allowed the comfortable silence as the two of you watched the sun disappear beyond the cliffs of mondstadt. the sky was turning a deep shade of purple when you told him your name, and jeonghan thought that it was quite possibly the best news he had ever received, but he kept that joy to himself as he confirmed your name, and you rolled your eyes.

"are you gonna answer my other question now?"

he scoffed. "about the eyepatch? is it really that interesting?"

"not any more interesting than my name," you retorted.

"completely untrue," jeonghan insisted. "i've never been so excited to be told a secret, and i get told a lot of secrets."

you eyed his smile warily. "my name may be unknown, but it's no secret."

he sighed and shook his head lightly. "you really wanna know the reason i wear it? it's probably not as dramatic as you're hoping."

"yet you hide it?"

he laughed. "what's wrong with a little intrigue?"

you looked away, recognizing the parrot of your own words. "whatever you say, captain."

"no!" he whined and grabbed your arm, making you start and look at him with big eyes. "you just started calling me jeonghan, don't go back to captain."

you stared at him, only breaking to laugh, dropping your legs over the edge again. "you won't show me what's under the eyepatch, so i thought we weren't on first name basis."

his hand on your bicep was warm and gentle, but his gaze was piercing as he thought it over for a bit longer. you did your best to hold it, but you felt yourself shrinking when he quietly muttered, "go on, then."

it took you a second to register what he meant, and you reached out slowly, fingers hesitating before they brushed upon his cheekbone. jeonghan closed his eyes, resigning to your touch as you gently lifted the eyepatch. his eyes opened again, slowly, and you thought your heart might have skipped a beat.

"like chocolate," you commented, and a smile spread across his lips.

"that's the kindest reaction i've gotten."

your fingers fell upon his temple, brushing down gently as you inspected his singular brown eye. "since birth?"

he nodded, his eyes flicking down to your lips briefly before he spoke. "heterochromia. it's a characteristic of my family."

you studied his face. "not the one here?"

he sighed. "not the one here."

the icy blue of jeonghan's eye had always struck something in you. it made him mysterious. commanding. it felt like he saw more than you despite having one eye covered. but now, you felt warm. you felt his gentleness. there was comfort hidden away behind that black patch, and you told him that you understood why the cavalry captain had chosen to hide the eye he did.

but to you, he was willing to show anything that would keep you around longer, he said.

"why me?" you asked, studying his expression when he looked away. the sun had retreated behind the hills, leaving the sky a deep blue.

jeonghan didn't respond right away, and you wondered if he himself even knew the answer. "we're birds of a feather, you and i."

you looked out to the view again, watching the subtle movements of the wild hills. "did you travel much before you came here?"

"it was all i knew," he told you. "i was thirteen when my father left me here."

your neck snapped, your eyes on his profile when he leaned back on his hands. "left you?"

he almost laughed, a smile on his lips when his eyes met yours. "i was slowing him down, i suppose. hyungwon's father found me and took me in."

"so you stayed?"

"i didn't always want to," he assured you. "i had the itch to leave for years. as soon as i was able, i always told myself." he paused, eyes dropping. "then father died. then hyungwon turned down his position with the knights. and i was their second choice."

you pursed your lips. "you stayed for a job."

he laughed. "it's not that simple."

you smiled at him, enjoying the warmth of his eyes on yours as the sky cooled. "are you sure we're birds of a feather?"

"listen," he said, getting off his hands and brushing them off on his thighs. "i accepted the job so that i could set the story straight. i didn't want to run from the people that believed that hyungwon tried to kill me to avenge our father."

you studied him. "i'm sorry."

"don't be," he said, nudging your shoulder. "i was still planning on leaving, but then i fell in love."

you looked away, trying to sort out the way your stomach flipped. "are they still around?"

"not with a person," he laughed, then nodded towards the now dark hills. "with the views. besides, i get free reign whenever i leave for missions. i have fun adventuring, and come home to the best sunsets in teyvat. there are worse places to call home."

your eyes scanned the horizon, remembering the brilliant rays of sun you had just seen skip across it. "that is tempting."

"how tempting?" he asked.

you thought on that for a moment. "almost as much as a death after noon right now."

jeonghan laughed, slightly proud that he had hooked you on his favorite drink. "shall we go see rubin, then?"

you hummed, smiling at the captain. "as long as i don't have to sit alone again."

"that's a promise," he told you as he stood, holding out a hand that you took without hesitation, though he withheld his intention to make sure you were never alone again.

#hehe i came up with a whole thing #this was basically me wanting to write kaeya fanfic but knowing i would wanna post it so writing it about jeonghan instead #caratwritersclub #jeonghan scenarios #jeonghan imagines #jeonghan fluff #seventeen fluff #seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines #hannie #genshin impact au #jeonghan is kaeya and im just right #i wrote dis

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pinknerdpanda · 4 years

Text

Reunited

Word Count: 3,530

Characters: Sam x Reader

Warnings: ANGST, fluff, a curse word or two...i mean, it IS me.

A/N: This is my (extremely late) entry for @atc74’s Duets Reboot Challenge. Sorry I didn’t get it done sooner babes! Thanks for your patience! My prompt was the song “I Knew You Were Waiting” by George Michael and Aretha Franklin and I used some of the lyrics below. They are bolded. This is also the first in a long time that I have written Sam Winchester and I realized how much I missed him. This takes place between seasons 7 and 8 in a world where the awful Amelia didn’t exist. Flashback is in italics.

Beta’d by @shy-violet-soul and my twinny @hannahindie I love you dearly. Thank you for supporting me and reading my words and loving me.

gif not mine - x

Reunited

Sam Winchester knew the taste of victory; tangy and bittersweet, and somehow a bit stale. He’d fought and won so many battles he’s lost count, and even in the darkest of times, savored the flavor on his tongue like a memory. But this was not victory. This was agony.

He’d seen Dean die many times - a fact that still perplexed him after all these years. It was always the same; excruciatingly painful to watch and powerless to stop it. But even as Dean’s last breath drained from his lungs, Sam had hope. Hope that if there was something he could do - some spell or deal or alliance - Dean could come back to life again. But Dean hadn’t died - at least not that he could prove. It was like he vanished into thin air. Nothing Sam had encountered up to that point could have prepared him for the realization that he was well and truly alone.

Dean was gone.

Leviathans, Dick Roman, Crowley, Cas’ betrayal; he could have handled it all and dealt with the fallout after the dust had settled as long as Dean was by his side. But he wasn’t and Sam couldn't.

Sam felt hollow, a battered and crumbling shell of the man he’d once been. He found himself lurking in the darkness, consumed by the shadows of his old life. What the hell was he supposed to do? Go after him? All well and good if he’d had the slightest idea of where Dean had gone. Or was he supposed to continue the work his father started all those years ago? Dean or no Dean, the monsters remained. And as far as he could tell, no matter what he did - how much he sacrificed himself and his body - the monsters would always be there. So why should he try?

And so Sam stopped, allowing the numbness to overtake him instead. He was numb in a way that brought on thoughts of frigid winter evenings and toes nearly frostbitten. Numb in a way that was so much the opposite of the humid evening air that hung heavy around him. Sweat beaded against his hairline, dampened his undershirt and collected in places he’d rather not think too hard about. But the breathtaking summer heat did nothing to thaw the frozen rock inside his chest.

Long hours of aimless driving brought him to this town and when the familiarity settled on him, Sam frowned. Out of all the places in all the world how had he ended up here? There was a reason he’d planned to keep this place in the rearview mirror, but apparently his subconscious had disagreed.

Nothing had changed much in his years since high school. The same aged brick buildings loomed hauntingly around him as his feet carried him down what has once been a well-worn path. Ancient street lamps flickered helplessly above, their lights providing the bare minimum of defense against the darkness of night.

Looking up, Sam checked his bearings as he brushed the sweat from his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt. If he remembered correctly - and if nothing had changed - Sam should be coming up on the shop that…

Sam’s internal monologue came to grinding halt as his eyes roamed over the figure in the window ahead of him. Surely not. It was his mind playing another in a long line of cruel jokes on him; it must be. How else could he explain the sight of her...here?

She hadn't changed much that Sam could tell from this distance. Her hair was a little longer, but still the same shade of deep violet she had ways loved. Gauging from the fringed, lace duster, leggings, and boots, her affinity for black clothing hadn't changed either. A man approached her and Sam watched in awe as a smile bloomed on her lips; the very same one he'd fallen head over heels for long ago.

It was like the last 18 years were nothing more than a breath behind him.

Before he realized it, Sam found his long legs had carried him closer to the shop; to her. His breath hitched and his heart jumped as he opened the door.

Her lilting laugh sent chills down his spine, but the abrupt silence that followed made his hands shake. Her eyes nearly bulged from her skull and her dark purple lips parted on a bewildered gasp. The look shared between them seemed to linger for hours, both frozen in place as memories danced behind their eyes.

The man she’d been speaking with before cleared his throat and ducked his head. The sound shook Sam out of his haze enough to register the need to move from in front of the door so the man could pass. The bell tinkled as he exited, leaving them alone in a room thick with unspent tension.

“Sam,” she breathed. “Is that really you?”

Sam nodded, mesmerized by the way his name still sounded like velvet on her tongue.

Hesitant steps brought her around the counter and mere feet from him. Chipped black nails dug into the skin of her palms as she clenched her fists and released.

Sam smiled. He’d seen her face a million times in his head over their years apart, but time had slowly eroded the image he’d retained. He was suddenly overwhelmed by the realization that his own memories had betrayed him, leaving him only a poor substitute of the exquisite beauty she was.

His heart thrumming erratically, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her before he could even process his own actions. She hummed, her own arms snaking around his waist and her face pressed against his chest. Sam’s head dropped, his nose pressed into her hair and he inhaled.

Something inside him shifted then. Weeks spent hanging on by a thread, barely able to hold himself together enough to keep putting one foot in front of the other; pain, anger, hopelessness, exhaustion, fear - it all came crashing down on him in that moment. She held him as uncontrollable sobs shook his massive frame, her palms kneading soothing patterns against his back and soft, comforting words fell from her lips in a whisper.

Only once the tears stopped and his breathing returned to something resembling a normal cadence did he pull back. She smiled up at him with sad eyes for a moment before she untangled her fingers from the fabric of his shirt. Sam watched as she moved behind him, locking the door and flipping the “open” sign. When she finished, she grabbed his hand and he let her drag her through the shop and into the back room.

The room wasn’t large, but it fit a desk, couch, small fridge and some filing cabinets. She motioned for him to take a seat before grabbing two bottles of water from the fridge and the box of tissues from the desk. She sat next to Sam, handing him a water and placing the tissues between them.

He chuckled, the sound watery to his own ears, and thanked her.

Silence lingered, but not in an uncomfortable way. Despite having not seen each other in nearly two decades, Sam found himself at ease with her as he’d once been. He felt safe.

“What brought you to town, Sam?”

Long fingers played along the lid of his water as Sam huffed a laugh.

“I’m, uh,” he pursed his lips, eyes trained on the bottle in his hands. “I’m not exactly sure, to be honest. I just kind of started driving and ended up here.”

She hummed and Sam chanced a look at her. Her brows were drawn in up consideration and she chewed absently on her lower lip.

“Not that I’m complaining,” she mused, not looking at him. “But of all the places you could have wound up, you sure picked a pretty crap town.”

Sam laughed, the sound much closer to sincere than it had been in weeks.

“I don’t know, y/n. It’s not so bad.” He met her gaze. “Some of my favorite memories are in this place.”

Y/n smiled as she ducked her head.

“What about you? I thought you were gettin’ the hell outta Dodge as soon as graduation was over?” Sam’s voice held a hint of teasing in his genuinely curious words.

Sighing, y/n sat back and tipped her head toward the ceiling. Sam wondered if it was the question in general that made her uncomfortable or the fact that it reminded her of the promise he’d broken.

“I tried. Left for a while, but you know what they say. There’s no place like home.” Rolling her head toward him, she shrugged.

“That is what they say,” Sam echoed hollowly. He was in no position to empathize, having had no real home of his own. But he tried. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh don’t be, Sam.” She laughed, sitting back up and tucking a foot under her thigh. “I’m happy, for the most part.”

Sam nodded, unsure how to respond, but needing to address the guilt weighing heavy in his mind.

“Y/n, what happened...back then...I wish...” Sam began, but she waved him off.

“Water under the bridge.” Her smile was relaxed and warm.

“No,” Sam shook his head, his eyes scanning the carpet fibers as though his thoughts were written there. “No, you deserved so much more. I never would have stood you up at prom, if I’d had a choice. I was furious with my dad for moving us that night. I begged him to let us stay one more night, or at least call you and explain, but there was nothing I could do. My family has always been a little...uh...nomadic. We never stayed in one place for too long, but it was my senior year, and Dad said it would be different…” Sam shoved his fingers through his dark hair roughly.

“I know, Sam.”

Sam scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Not really.”

Y/n placed a hand on his forearm, drawing his attention to her. “I’m really sorry about your brother, Sam.”

Sam froze.

“What are you talking about?”

“Your brother? Dean?”

Sam nodded slowly. “Uh-huh. And?”

Narrowing her gaze, y/n bit her lip, thoughtfully. “Did you happen to notice anything different about the store when you came in?”

“Am I having a stroke or something?” Sam stared at her, his face scrunched and his eyes wide. “What does the store have to do with Dean? And what does Dean have to do with prom?”

Y/n shook her head, chuckling lightly. She stood up, hand outstretched toward Sam. He looked between her offered palm and the amused expression on her lips.

“Come on, I want to show you something.” Y/n smiled, tipping her head toward the door.

Sam took her hand and was surprised to find her actually succeeding in bringing him to his feet. He shot her a wry grin and she shrugged.

“I’m stronger than I look, Sam.” Winking at him, she pulled him back into the empty store.

He had been so intently focused on seeing y/n that evening that he really hadn’t paid any mind to the interior. Looking around now, however, he realized how much things truly had changed.

“When my dad started this shop, it was a simple used book store.”

"Yeah, it's where we met," Sam blushed.

Glancing around, he spotted a familiar brown chair and the memory of that day came flooding back.

"It is." Y/n smiled.

Sam saw the flicker of something in her eyes and he guessed she was reliving the moment in her own head as much as he was.

The first day in a new school was never easy and Sam found himself seeking the comfort in the form of paper and ink and the musty smells of adventures waiting to be had. He’d seen the bookstore on his way to school that morning, and he had a sneaking suspicion it was just the place he was needing.

The overhead bell tinkled as he walked in. The sheer number of books crammed into every inch of the shelves lining the walls was incredible. It would take him ages just to find a book in this place, and Sam couldn’t have been more excited about the prospect.

He quietly surveyed the shelves, trying to decide the best place to start his quest when his gaze fell on her.

She looked so serene with her nose buried in the yellowed pages of a worn paperback and legs sprawled sideways across an enormous, overstuffed brown chair. Sam recognized her from school earlier in the day; the shimmering violet hue of her hair, brilliant even in the dim lights of the store, was enough for her to stand out, but it was her eyes - wide and full of mischief and wonder - that he’d been drawn to first.

His first instinct was to turn around and pretend he had never been there. But before he could, those same wide eyes found his and he froze.

“Hey! You’re the new guy, right?” Her inky black lips drew up in a heart-stopping smile. "I saw you at school earlier. I think we have a class together."

Clearing his throat once, and again for good measure, he introduced himself.

“My name’s Sam,” he grimaced at the way his voice cracked slightly around the single syllable of his name. “Sam Winchester.”

“Nice to meet ya, Sam! I’m y/n.”

Y/n snapped her book closed and stood, tossing it in the now vacant seat.

“Can I help you find something? First book’s on the house,” she winked at him.

Sam opened his mouth, intending to refuse the offer when a stocky, mustached man appeared in the doorway behind the counter. The man nodded at Sam before turning his attention to y/n, a gentle chiding expression washing over his face.

“Sweet pea, you’ve gotta quit saying that,” he tsked softly. “We can’t sell any books if you give them all away!”

Y/n’s face scrunched up in guilt, but Sam noticed the playful glint in her eyes that seemed to contradict her expression.

“Sorry, Daddy. Last time, I promise.”

Sam stepped forward. “I’m sorry, Sir. I didn’t mean to...I was gonna pay for…”

The man waved him off.

“Don’t worry about it, son. Y/n’s just got a big heart and I can’t exactly fault her for that,” he huffed a laugh and shook his head lovingly. “Just like her mother.”

Y/n cleared her throat and shook her head, a smile playing at her lips.

"Anyway, a few years back, before he passed, some folks came in asking about these strange texts. Dad was never one to pass up the chance to learn something new, so he researched it a bit. It took some time, but he was able to track down a copy for them.

“A week later, a husband and wife came in saying someone had told them we might be able to help them. Jump forward six months and our little used book shop had become a hunter’s library and spell apothecary. Need a hard to come-by text? Missing that one ingredient for a binding spell? Look no further.”

Sam’s jaw went slack as she spoke, his hazel eyes growing wider and wider. Looking around now, it all made sense. Tall shelves still lined the walls, but rather than tattered paperbacks and crumbling spines, the shelves held large, leather bound books, document boxes and an assortment of glass jars lined up neatly. The space above the door was littered with faint, though recognizable protection sigils and, looking closer, he found the window sills lined with salt. Y/n gave his arm a gentle squeeze and continued.

“Imagine my surprise when I overhear a few people talking about Sam and Dean Winchester, the men the angels and demons fear,” she shrugged. “I asked around and heard all about your harrowing adventures. Starting the apocalypse, stopping the apocalypse, dying...like a lot. I kind of made it a habit to check up on you from time to time. It was strange because some days I felt just as close to you as we were in high school and others...it felt like there was this insurmountable mountain between us. Sounds kinda creepy saying it out loud, really. I can’t really explain it, but I always had this feeling that I’d see you again.”

Sam blinked, his mind desperately trying to make sense of what she’d just told him. Somehow y/n knew; about hunting, monsters, him. She knew. And at that realization Sam felt the tightness in his chest ease ever so slightly, the frost that encased his heart slowly ebbing away.

“So, all of that to say...I am really sorry about what happened to your brother.” Her brow furrowed as she met his gaze. “That Dick Roman was really aptly named, wasn’t he?”

Despite the confusion and the pain and the sheer absurdity of the whole situation, Sam laughed. Not the sad, pitiful sound he’d grown accustomed to making. No, Sam laughed. The sound rumbled through his chest and forced the dimple in his cheek to show. A small rush of warmth flooded his chest as he sucked in a breath, dabbing at the corners of his eyes.

“So you know, then? You know everything?” Sam eyed her.

“I mean obviously I don’t know everything, but thank you for assuming it’s possible that I could.” She nudged his shoulder playfully and grinned. “You flatter me, Sam Winchester.”

Sam shook his head, the gears in his brain still trying to click into place. “I can’t believe this. Any of it. I never thought I’d see you again, but now I’m here and you’re...I don’t have to make excuses or lie. You understand.” Sam frowns. “I wish I had known sooner. I have thought about you so many damn times over the years. I wanted to look you up, but I didn’t want to drag you into any of this. I wish I could go back to that day...”

Y/n stopped him.

“Listen. I don’t regret a single moment. Sure I can look back and see all those disappointments; prom, graduation. Any more, I just laugh. If any one thing had gone differently - if you’d convinced your dad to let you stay, or if you’d looked me up - I’m afraid the world would be an even darker place than it is now.”

Grabbing Sam’s hand, y/n squeezed as her eyes found his. He studied her gaze, surprised but relieved to see the mischief and wonder hadn’t waned over the years. But there was something else. Something Sam recognized, but couldn’t even begin to hope for; love.

“I believe in free will, Sam. But seeing you walk through those doors tonight? For a second it felt like we were drawn together through destiny.”

The frozen pit behind his ribs thawed - little by little - as she spoke. All this time she was just out there, waiting until they met again. Waiting for him.

Sam cupped y/n’s face, his thumb brushing lightly over her cheek. Y/n’s eyelashes fluttered at his touch and she sighed, leaning into his palm.

“Ever since Dean,” Sam paused, swallowing the lump in his throat. He closed his eyes and steeled himself before looking at her again. Her gentle gaze grounded him further and he found his voice to continue. “Ever since he disappeared, I have felt so lost. Dean was all I had left and I didn’t think I could go on without him. And then I wound up here. Finding you, knowing you understand...it’s the first time I’ve felt anywhere close to being whole.”

Y/n placed her hand over his and turned her head to kiss his palm.

“You don’t have to be lost any more, Sam. I can help you. We can find Dean together.”

Sam’s eyes burned at her words, at the promise she was offering him. “Y/n...I can’t ask you…”

Y/n cut him off with a press of her lips against his, he felt her smile into the kiss as his body went rigid. When she moved to pull away, he stopped her, his large hand cradling the back of her head and urging her closer. He kissed her back with everything he had, pouring out every emotion he’d felt in her absence from his life. She swallowed down every fear, pain, anger and frustration that Sam offered up.

When Sam broke the kiss, gasping for air, he found her smiling back up at him. Her eyes glassy and her lipstick smudged lips beautifully kiss-swollen, she traced his bottom lip with the tip of her finger.

“You’re not asking me to do anything, Sam. I’m offering.”

Sam’s shoulders sagged, this time in relief as the final dregs of ice melted away from his heart. As though she could sense his need, y/n wrapped her arms around him and held him tightly. Sam pressed a kiss against her crown before she tilted her head back to look into his eyes.

“Welcome home, Sam.”

Like what you see? Want more? My SPN Masterlist is here, and MCU is here. Thanks for reading! :)

A/N 2: I am using my new and improved taglist. If you want to be added, see this post.

Weirdos:

@hannahindie @amanda-teaches @ellen-reincarnated1967 @feelmyroarrrr @masksandtruths @princessmisery666 @jamielea81 @foxyjwls007 @becs-bunker @super100012 @shy-violet-soul @emoryhemsworth @impandagrl

Hunters:

@deanwanddamons @iwantthedean @pretty-fortune @sgarrett49 @defenderrosetyler @sandlee44 @deanwanddamons @lyarr24 @akshi8278

#Sam Winchester x Reader #Sam Winchester #sam angst #supernatural fanfiction #spn fanfic #sam winchester fanfiction #panda writes

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kolak-magiya · 3 years

Text

Disclaimer: All names are of my own creation and are not to be considered canon characters in FFXIV.

Tags: tw: violence , tw: family death , tw: child death

Summary: An excerpt from Ryce’s past. (long post under the cut)

“There, that should be the last of it.”

Arasen dusted his hands off after setting down the last sack of rice that they’d traded with another passing clan. It was an easy deal made - they needed furs for the coming cold season, and in return, Clan Hotgo needed a food that was filling and easy to make. He had to admit, he was impressed that they’d even managed to get their hands on it, considering their nomadic lifestyle. Still, trade worked wonders.

A soft laugh earned the tall man’s attention to another male who sat nearby, also wiping sweat from his brow. “I swear, Arasen, I could watch you lift heavy things all day. Ye make it look so easy.”

“Well ye might not be so winded if ye’d listen to me. I did say that ye were lifting them wrong.” He easily shot back, placing his hands on his hips and quirking a brow at the other teen. Jakha, leaning back against a pile of rice sacks to rest, rolled his eyes with a smirk, even as Arasen took a seat next to him to also take a break.

“Guess you make a good point.” Jakha sighed, leaning up against the slightly taller male, pale orange eyes looked upward toward the matching sunset as his head rested against Arasen’s shoulder. “...Think it’ll be enough to get us through the cold season?”

“It’ll have to be. We’ve been smart about it before, I’m sure we’ll manage.”

“I dunno, with how much those twins of Kura’s eat, we may run out of stock ‘fore half the season’s pass.” He grunted with a laugh when Arasen elbowed him, but still smirked at the playful jest.

“Need I remind you of our midnight snack heists when we were kids? Heard your mother gave you quite the scolding when she found out.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me.” Jakha shuddered at the thought, earning a laugh from Arasen.

Quiet fell upon them, then, as they looked upward toward the sky. All around them, their camp bustled with folks getting settled for the evening, finishing the pitching of tents and the starting of dinner fires. It seemed to be a peaceful evening thus far, and the sun sinking beyond the western mountains simply helped as the stars came peeking out.

Glancing down at his friend, Arasen couldn’t help but smile. He and Jakha had been friends since birth. As it stood, their births were just hours apart, with Arasen being older by just two. Jokes had been passed around that Jakha was so desperate to be friends, that he kicked his mother, wanting out. He never denied the joke, either.

They basked in the cooler evening air for a little while longer, before eventually they stood and bade each other a good rest. Arasen found his family-tent easily, his father outside making his final adjustments (of which he willingly aided), and his mother and sister inside preparing some food.

He greeted all of them with a gentle nudge of their heads, and allowed his ten-summer-old sister sit in his lap while their mother rested amongst some pillows and their father handed out their supper.

“I heard you oversaw the trading, son,” Kurome, his mother, spoke smoothly, a hand resting around her stomach, swollen with a third child that was due by mid-spring. “How did it go?”

“Well enough.” He answered after chewing some of his food. “Jakha and I had just finished loading everything into the carts before I returned. They were certainly generous with their trade.” He paused, frowning slightly. “I hope it doesn’t mean they’ll be short on food for the cold season.”

“They seemed sure that they needed the furs more than the food. They’ll manage.” His father, Torbei, responded curtly. Arasen supposed that it made sense, but he also didn’t miss the stern tone of his father. Showing compassion for other clans outside of trade was usually not considered at all. He’d always said that Arasen had a soft heart.

He was going to say something else, as he parted his mouth - only to jump when a distant scream pierced the quiet. All heads turned to the entrance of their tent, as more sounds began to join in a crescendo, until it became obvious what it was: The sounds of war.

Torbei rose to his feet and quickly made for the door of the tent, while Arasen urged Kiyo, his sister, to join their mother. By then, their father had already left the tent, and the shouting was apparent. Arasen needed no confirmation: They were under attack.

This wasn’t the first time they’d found themselves ambushed, whether it be from a different clan or some wild animals. That his clan survived this long meant that no attempts were successful. But when Arasen exited the tent, his eyes were met with a horrifying sight. Fires blazed from tents across the camp, screaming could be heard even from nearby as battle ensued. Though many were only just now gathering their bearings under the roaring voice of Atsuaki - the Hotgo Clan leader - and Torbei.

Arasen also joined the fray, running forward - weaponless - toward the first figure that he knew was not of his clan. Much to his horror, he instantly recognized the signs of Clan Dotharl. They weren’t too high in number, but were still widely feared for their thirst for bloodshed. They killed others for the sake and joy of killing.

They had the upper hand, having surprised the unsuspecting Hotgo clan. Arasen could already smell blood and rounding a burning tent, he could see a number of corpses and marked figures of his clan being cut down. Grabbing a blade from a downed figure and friend, Arasen let himself be driven by his rage. The blade sank into the form of the nearest Dotharl. Then another. And another.

Finally, he met up with his father, who bore his own battle wounds. The elder man pulled an arrow from his shoulder and threw it to the ground as a warrior from Dotharl charged. Torbei bellowed a shout as they clashed, but the Dotharl was no match for the elder Au Ra, as they were cut down with a swift blow from Torbei’s blade. Arasen felt his feet carry him toward the scene.

“Father-!”

Eyes widened as Arasen staggered to a halt. An arrow from the shadows came whistling through, piercing Torbei’s throat - then another meeting its mark on his chest. Another Dotharl, hidden in the shadows, emerged as Torbei toppled over.

A scream of rage belted out from Arasen’s mouth as he charged. The Dotharl moved to ready another arrow, but was found useless as the younger figure was upon him in seconds. A head rolled to the ground shortly after, but Arasen paid it no mind as he ran to his downed father.

The glint of fire off of another blade was his only warning, as he turned to another Dotharl figure snarling at him. She bore toward him with murderous fury - only to be halted by an arrow that pierced her eye. Arasen turned, eyes wide. Kurome scowled, and came forward to the clearing where she grasped her son’s arm. She was sporting her own battle wounds, though nowhere near dire enough to fear for her life.

Behind her, Kiyo kept a watchful eye, despite the fearful tears that rolled down her cheeks. Arasen couldn’t blame her, for even he had tears streaming down his face. Kurome’s own eyes were glistening as fires blazed around them, even as she refused to look at her mate’s still body.

“Arasen, you must take Kiyo and flee-”

“What!? Mother-!”

“I am not asking you, Arasen! I have lost my dear mate this night, and I refuse to lose my children! Go!”

Wide-eyed, and in shock, he could do little else but listen to her. Her usually soft-spoken and wise tone was wracked with anger and grief - but mostly fear. Seeing his mother like that struck him hard, but he took a moment to wipe his face, smearing the paint on his face; Then he moved past her, to grab his sister and.. he ran.

Despite his sister screaming for him to stop. He ran.

Despite the pain in his heart. He ran.

He ran for what felt like an eternity. All he knew was that he needed to get away. So he focused on running until the stars began to fade and the sun began its ascent in the East. When the familiar sound of the One River met him did he allow himself to rest.

“..I think this is a safe place to rest..” He muttered. Arasen looked downward to his sister, who had stopped crying just an hour earlier. “Kiyo I should check you for-...”

His feet stopped entirely, heart sinking into his stomach. How had he failed to notice the thrown-blade embedded in his sister’s chest?!

He felt the weight of his failure heavily on his shoulders. Arasen barely registered the ache in his legs as he sank to his knees, still clutching his young sister in his arms.

The heartbroken cry was hard to keep quiet, but thankfully the sound of the river would have covered it well enough. Even as he cried for hours, well into the late morning. Suddenly, Arasen felt so terribly alone. All he could do was look up at the morning sky - clear as though nothing were wrong. As though it would not soon be filled with clouds of smoke. He could no longer bear his clan name. What could he do now?

He decided first, to lay his dear sister to rest by the river. He knew he couldn’t remain here, lest he be found. So, after he was finished, he spent only enough time to wash the paint from his face, and the blood from his clothes. Then.. to the West, he walked.

If nothing else, he’d simply keep moving. It was all he could do...

Ultimately, a new life garnered a new name. He supposed Ryce would have to do.

#;Drabble #tw: violence #tw: family death #tw: child death #feel like this is a little rushed at the end but #I have dnd in 15 minutes so I had to finish it before then lol

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mamthew · 4 years

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Been playing the Final Fantasy: Crystal Chronicles remaster some since it dropped, and I have some thoughts on it. It’s been a…really long time since I last played the original, and I never was able to get too far in, since I was so new to video games that I was unable to intuit most of its mechanics. Despite this, I fell in love with the game. For quite some time, it was the only game with “Final Fantasy” in the title that I had played. I played, enjoyed, and beat its three sequels: Echoes of Time, Ring of Fates, and The Crystal Bearers (neither of the My Life As spinoffs, but eh).

This remaster is not a good remaster, but mostly not for the reasons I’ve seen put forth online. The developers didn’t do much to improve the visuals, sure, but honestly the art direction of the game was pretty enough anyway that it skates by on that alone. The load screens are not nearly as long as I’d been led to believe. The gameplay is unchanged from the original, and like…I like the gameplay of the original? That’s why I played the remaster? I want to play the game?

My biggest issue with the remaster is how the online is handled, but reviewers have straight up lied about problems with the online? Like…you have a permanent friend code you can give people. The temporary online codes you can generate are different from the permanent one. Why are reviewers saying your online code changes every 30 minutes and you can’t save permanent friends when that’s demonstrably false? Seems like a thing you maybe shouldn’t be writing in your official review.

I’m going to put my own issues with the online aside for a moment, though. I promise we’ll come back to it, but my issues with the remaster are only understood in the larger context of what the game did as a piece of art and what it no longer does now as a result of the changes. First, then, we’ve got to lay down what Crystal Chronicles did as a piece of art. Crystal Chronicles, I’ve come to realize during this playthrough, is a game about storytelling as collective memory, and much of the game’s mechanics work in service to this theme.

In the world of the game, something happened long ago that released poisonous miasma into the air and made much of the world uninhabitable to the four major races. The game follows the players’ customized characters as they take annual pilgrimages to collect enough “myrrh” from magical trees, which is used to maintain the barrier that keeps their town safe from the miasma. The game is broken up into years; it takes four drops of myrrh to maintain the barrier for a year, each dungeon’s tree only provides one drop of myrrh, and it takes several years for a tree to replenish that drop, pushing the characters’ caravan further and further out each year in search of trees that are not yet spent.

I’ve compared this setting to Death Stranding a few times in the past, and I think the comparison holds up. The game’s story has only gained something from the current moment, too. I go out and risk myself to get groceries, which I then bring back home so I can continue to hole up safe in quarantine until I run low again, and I think the game fairly accurately simulates the rise and fall of that pattern, the balance of risk and safety, and the way the dangerous unknown eventually becomes the mundane with time. Most of the locations in the game are old products of civilization that have been lost to nature, and walking through former farmland, abandoned roads, and empty towns in the game do remind me of walking down empty city streets back when coronavirus was still keeping people off city streets.

The game has several stories running in tandem, but the most central one is the ongoing story of the characters’ caravan, chronicled in a journal. After every new encounter, new area, or completed dungeon, a new entry is added to the journal, and at the end of the year, all the entries are incorporated into a cutscene, so the player can read them and relive the year’s events. The entries are very short and written in a simple style, but they still give the player an idea of how their character viewed the events. These end-of-year cutscenes are actually really enjoyable little rituals, and I’ve been avoiding reading the journal entries specifically so I can experience them for the first time in these retrospectives.

As the years progress, the character’s entries show that their memories of earlier years are fading. “Whenever I close my eyes, I vividly remember all my adventures,” says the entry at the end of the first year. By the end of the fourth year, however, “so many memories from my earlier adventures have dimmed, from the joys of chance encounters to the suspense of my first battles.” The entries also show the ways the annual pilgrimages have changed the player character. “It was an easy fight, so I spent a peaceful interlude over a light meal,” says an entry after revisiting an older dungeon. “I was a little surprised. I never considered myself a fighter.”

The written and oral records of the past permeate this game in so many ways. Before each dungeon, a narrator who is presumably another caravanner who went to the same places in the past introduces the location with either a history of the place or an anecdote about the place. The Mushroom Forest, to her, evokes a childhood memory of her mother. She introduces the Veo Lu Sluice by explaining the history of who built the sluice, what conditions allowed for its construction, and what its irrigation has done for the people since. After each dungeon, the player character receives a letter from a family member, telling them what has been happening in the town while they were away. At the beginning of each new year, the town’s patriarch tells your character a story about the previous caravanner, who mysteriously disappeared after announcing he had found a way to remove the miasma entirely.

It feels like history, generally, has been put on hold. The Lilty military once dominated most of the world, but had to shrink back into their capital city due to the miasma, and the city eventually diminished to a small trading post. The Yukes once were at war with the Lilties, but they’ve allowed trade between their towns again, so caravans can have safe havens to stay in while collecting the precious myrrh. The once-nomadic Selkies were unable to find a new homeland before the miasma spread, and now most are stuck on an island that was supposed to be a temporary stop. We hear much of this history throughout the game, but we don’t see any of it. It’s recorded and known but has little bearing on the culture or lived experiences of the inhabitants of a world where no one can leave their homes.

The moogle adventurer Stiltzkin asks the player character where memories go once they’ve been forgotten, and it’s a fair question in a world where everyone is as alienated from the past as they are from each other

The problem is, this isn’t supposed to be a game about alienation, exactly. It’s supposed to be a game about shared experiences and the ways we experience and remember the same events differently, as different individuals. It’s supposed to be a game about combatting alienation through shared experience. This is supposed to be a game in which I share a screen with three other players even as we each also have our own personal screens providing us with different objectives and showing us different letters from our different families. In the original game, the multiplayer was devilishly difficult to actually set up, as each player had to have their own Gameboy Advance, attached to the Gamecube and used as a controller, to control their own character. The players’ characters lived in the same town and were on the same caravan together but competed over who unlocked which powerups and picked up which recipes, meaning everyone’s stat spread and armor was different. Players had slightly different experiences within the larger shared story, and the use of the Gameboy Advances were meant to highlight those differences.

Which leads to my issue with this remaster. In the original, characters were saved to the same file, and every player’s character lived together in the same town. Their families each had different houses in the towns and would eventually provide the party with different supplies, depending on their jobs and the responses they received to their letters. At the end of each dungeon, the player characters would sit together in a circle and each receive a letter from their families. At the end of each year, the retrospective cutscene showed the characters and their families celebrating their return together. Your characters explored towns together, and your fellow players watched the random encounter cutscenes with you.

In this game, you can’t play local multiplayer at all. You can only play online multiplayer in dungeons, and clearing a dungeon with other players only counts towards the host’s file. At the end of each dungeon, the characters sit in a circle as the mail moogle tells all but the host that there is no mail for them. At the end of each year, the retrospective cutscene shows an almost entirely empty town; the character and his immediate family dance alone. Certain secrets have now been relegated to the single-player experience only, and the minigames you could unlock and play with friends were removed entirely. Towns are also exclusively single-player. The game is no longer a shared multiplayer experience so much as a dungeon-crawler where friends and strangers can jump into dungeons to offer brief help.

This creates a strange two-minded state of play, where I see and remember the vestiges of the game that once was while playing a game that’s in thematic opposition to it. As my character explores Tida Village and sees signs of the population that once lived there, I play this remaster and see leftovers from now-removed game mechanics. It’s a deeply unsettling and alienating experience.

The online isn’t inherently bad, then. It reminds me of FFXIV, where dungeons and bosses are their own separate experiences, removed from the rest of the game. But this online is inherently unsuited to the game it is in. Crystal Chronicles is not FFXIV; the developers put together a system of online play for a different game than the one they were remastering.

It would have been possible to change the game to suit this online system, too! The journal entries for dungeons could have also included the names of players who joined them for those dungeons. The online players could have still received letters, but from the host character’s family, thanking them for keeping their loved one safe. New random encounters could have been added between different online caravans, allowing them to trade items or play minigames with one another. The party at the end of the year could have included the families of randomly selected online companions These changes could have could have given us a synthesis of the old and new, and helped to center the chronicles over the crystals.

Instead, though, we have this incredibly flawed remaster, after almost a year of delays, that serves more as an empty reminder of what the game once was instead of actually allowing us to experience that game, or instead of, god forbid, actually building on that game’s premises and promises. I’m still enjoying the game a lot, but the experience is hella soured by my knowledge of how the game used to play. I’m not sure how enjoyable this remaster would even be to someone unfamiliar with the original.

This remaster feels like a purposeful nail in the coffin of Crystal Chronicles; an excuse to show that the franchise is no longer a potential seller. Whether that’s its actual intent doesn’t really matter, though, since I fear that will be its ultimate effect either way.

#Final Fantasy #final fantasy crystal chronicles #ffcc

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chickensarentcheap · 4 years

Text

Sanctuary - Chapter 23

Warnings: profanity

Tagging: @innerpaperexpertcloud, @alievans007, @valkyrie-of-the-light, @c-a-v-a-l-r-y

Brilliant sunshine streams through the windows, tearing her from a peaceful and much needed sleep. Despite the years of living like a nomad while travelling from job to job, the past five of being a wife and mother content in her own home have spoiled her; it had been extremely difficult falling asleep in a strange bed. Even with the that warm and solid body beside her, the familiarity of his smell, the smoothness of his skin, the sound of his breathing. The mattress was foreign, feeling strange and uncomfortable underneath her, despite the obviously high quality. She missed the way the one at home moved and dipped underneath her; those little grooves long ago made by their bodies, the pop and the squeak of the springs, the clean and refreshing scent that lingered on the fabric. The room had seemed eerily quiet, even with Tyler’s soft snoring and the way he mumbles in his sleep. She is used to the sounds that come with living in an old house tucked away from the rest of civilization; the owls that hooted, the bats that screeched and called to each other, the settling of old pipes, the dog’s tag clinking against his collar as he switches positions at the foot of the bed.

And most of all, the sounds of children; the little voices waking her up in the middle of the night as they climbed into bed between her and Tyler, the baby fussing in the room across the hall, the crying and the complaining when they’ve had nightmares or aren’t feeling well. For five years that’s been her life; tending to the needs of others. Her ‘mommy senses’ far keener than those she’d ever developed on the job. The ability to snap awake at the even the creaking of a loose floorboard or a car speeding by more than a thousand miles away. Perhaps it was the job that had caused her mother instincts to be so sharp; she’d already been used to being on high alert.

Eyes still closed; she blindly reaches for him; fingers coming in contact with cool, empty sheets instead of warm, hard body. Frowning, she pushes herself up onto one elbow, using her other hand to push her hair away from her face and clear sleep from her eyes. The sliding glass door is open several inches; a crisp, refreshing breeze tumbling into the room, the rain from the night before leaving behind cooler temperatures. And she reaches across the bed for the night table on her side of the bed, pulling her cell phone from the charging cord and checking the time.

8:47.

She pushes herself up into a sit; still groggy from lack of sleep, shoulders and back aching from trying to get used to an unfamiliar mattress. And she leans over the side of the bed and reaches for the t-shirt that had been discarded in the early hours of the morning. When the sun had just been peeking over the horizon and Tyler had stirred beside her, wrapping his arms around her and pressing his front against her back, that impressive morning erection pressing against her backside. It was one thing about being away from the kids; you could make as much noise as you wanted, take your time, no worries of interruptions or having to make sure you’re at least partially clothed before falling asleep so you weren’t caught naked and unaware by the little humans that would come bounding into the room the moment they woke.

“Tyler?” she calls into the room, as she shrugs into the t-shirt. Listening for any signs of his whereabouts. Out on the balcony drinking coffee and getting fresh air. Or even getting in a ‘do it yourself, no equipment’ workout. She listens for the shower or any other movement coming from the bathroom; the door slightly open, the sunlight tumbling through the window above the tub and its rays cast across the bedroom floor. “Tyler?” she tries one more time, voice louder, then with a groan climbs off the bed

“Men,” she huffs, she heads for the bathroom. They lay out the ‘don’t go anywhere on your own’ rules but never want to follow them themselves. It is typical of him; protective and almost possessive. To a fault.

She’s just returned to the bedroom area and rummages through her bags for something to wear when she hears it; harsh whispers coming from the hall. She can see the movement of two distinct sets of feet through the gap between the bottom of the door and the floor, the slight shadows that are cast on the wall as figures move in front of the seam. Her hands freeze on the zipper of the backpack and she strains her ears to listen. One very obvious Irish accent, male. The second voice belongs to a woman; husky in nature, a subtle yet noticeable New York twang that Esme is able to pinpoint as Brooklyn. She’d spent eighteen months in the Big Apple; hopping back and forth between Brooklyn and the Bronx. Successful infiltrations of well known and very powerful families. Old money. Organized crime connections. The mature faces on the drug and weapons smuggling scenes.

She waits for them to knock; watching those shuffling footsteps from underneath the door, unable to make out any of the conversation. The actual words are muddled, their tones too quiet, too rushed. And ever so quietly she opens the zipper on the backpack and snags a pair of yoga shorts, still pulling them on as she makes her way towards the door. Resting a palm against the smooth cool wood, the fingers of her other hand curling around the metal door handle. She feels no anxiety. No panic. Just a quiet, composed calm as she listens to the soft rustling of clothes and the shuffle of footsteps and the whispered conversations. There are many things to take into consideration; someone mistakenly be giving this room number instead of their actual own, thinking perhaps maybe this was where a friend or family member had bedded down but weren’t one hundred percent sure. Hotel workers, maybe. Cleaning or maintenance staff. Porters. Room service clerks.

The conversation now moves away from the room; the voices becoming quieter, footsteps muffled against carpet as they head away from the room. And she counts to thirty before finally opening the door. Cautiously glancing to left and then the right; nothing but unmanned cleanings carts at either end and room service trays full of dirty dishes and cutlery in front of some of the doors. To the right comes the soft rumble of the elevator motor, and as the door opens with a chime, she’s just able to see two figures step out of a doorway across from the lift and hurriedly make their way towards it. Neither of them glancing in her direction as she scurries in her bare feet towards them.

****

“Shit!” she snarls, slapping her palm on the elevator door when it closes, cutting off any contact between herself and the occupants. And she’s suddenly aware that a maid is watching her curiously from several feet away as she hovers over her cart of cleaning supplies. “Did you see who got on the elevator?” she inquires, her tone far more tense than she intends it to be.

“No, miss. I just got out here from cleaning a suite. Why…?”

“Who is staying that room?” she nods towards the door she’d seen the strangers step out from.

“No one. It’s empty.”

“How long has it been empty for?”

“A couple of days now.”

Esme frowns. “Are you sure? Are you a hundred percent sure?”

“Yes, miss. I cleaned it myself. When the guests left.”

“Are you sure you’re not mixing it up with another room? Because I just saw two people come out of there. A man and a woman. They were outside my door. That’s five rooms away from here. I heard them talking. Are you certain there is no one staying in there?”

The frazzled housekeeper nods.

“And you didn’t see anyone got on the elevator? Not even a peek at them?”

“Like I said, I was just in a room cleaning. You can call down to the front desk if you like and inquire about that room, but they’re only going to tell you the same thing I am. There hasn’t been anyone in there for a couple of days now. I’d know. I’m the one that has to tidy up after people.”

Esme gives a polite, albeit curt, thank you and moves towards the room in question. Facing the door, taking as many steps forward as she can until her bare toes touch the wood. There wasn’t enough room for one person to hide in that small of an alcove, never mind two. She tries the handle on a whim, finding the door tightly secure. Then presses her ear to the door and listens for any sign of life.

Nothing.

It’s disheartening. Even maddening. She knows what she heard. What she saw. Yet there’s absolutely no proof that any of it actually happened. There are no faces to connect with the voices. No bodies to place with the footsteps. There’s nothing but two strangers getting on an elevator. And the questions they’d left behind.

She turns to head back to the room, realizing that in her haste to catch whoever had been in the hallway, that she’d inadvertently locked herself out. The key card tucked securely inside of her wallet. Back in the nightstand on her side of the bed. And she’s muttering to herself about when she steps out of the shallow alcove, nearly jumping clear out of her skin when she nearly collides with Tyler’s broad, solid torso.

“Jesus Christ!” she cries, having to fight back to urge to either knee him in the groin or punch him in the throat. A natural instinct when startled by God knows what. Or who knows what. “What the hell is wrong with you? You scared the shit out of me!”

“What are you doing? You’re not supposed to leave the room alone.”

“So that gives you the right to sneak up on me and nearly make my pee myself? Fuck, Tyler. You could have at least said something, so I didn’t nearly kick you in the nuts. You didn’t have to creep up on me like that.”

He isn’t amused. His brow furrowed and his nostrils flaring as he curls his fingers around her upper arm and pulls her out of the doorway and practically shoves her down the hall; grip on her tightening as he propels her towards their room.

“I don’t have my card,” she reluctantly admits, and he heaves a frustrated sigh and nods down in the direction of the left-hand pocket on his flack jacket. His own hands already occupied, one with the painfully tight hold on her arm, the other with a carry out tray of beverages and a bag of food. “I didn’t think it would lock behind me,” she attempts to reason, as she plucks the card from the jacket and slips it into the slot on the door.

Letting of her arm, he pushes the door open, holding it for her. “Just go,” he orders, voice low and menacing.

She pauses on the threshold, a hand on her hip as she glares up at him. “We are NOT fighting about this.”

He smirks, eyeing her up and down with that utter condemnation that uses for those that especially piss him off. Then nods in the direction of the interior of the room. “Go.”

She arches her eyebrows, as if silently challenging him, but his deep inhale and slow, measured exhale tells her that this is not the time to be testing the limits of either his patience or his temper. Instead she holds her hands up in surrender and stomps past him. Taking a seat on the edge of the bed as she watched his every move; the way he lets the door slam shut and does up both the deadbolt and the chain, that condescending smirk that tugs at the corner of his mouth as he walks past her, that calm yet utterly unnerving way he unpacks the carry tray and the bag and places the contents on a table near the window. She’s had five and a half years of this, whether it be the silent treatment or abrupt one or two word answers, or outright blow outs. Yet he’s still hard to read sometimes. A master at hiding his true feelings. That expression steadfast.

“You aren’t supposed to leave the room on your own,” his voice is calm. Too calm. Like the eerie stillness right before a storm.

“I only stepped out for a couple of minutes.” It sounds lame, even to her own ears.

“We talked about this. I told you not to anywhere by yourself. You said you wouldn’t.”

“It was only a couple minutes,” she repeats.

“Do you know how much can happen in two minutes?”

“Don’t talk to me like that, Tyler. I’m not one of your kids.”

“You listen just as well as they do. Actually, I think they listen better than you do.”

She frowns. “What’s next? I can’t go to the bathroom without you holding my hand?”

That smirk again. “I thought you said you didn’t want to fight about this? Because it sounds like you’re trying to start a fight.”

“I can’t leave the room, yet you can leave the hotel by yourself?” she challenges, and he gives a derisive snort.

“I can handle myself. If something goes wrong, I can take care of it.”

“I’m not a child. Don’t talk to me like one. I am more than capable of taking care of myself.”

“You mean like you were able to take care of Jason by yourself?” he counters.

“That was five years ago and under totally different circumstances.”

“You stole my gun, stole my car, snuck out of the house and flew to Dhaka. While you were pregnant. You’re right. Totally different circumstances. In fact, they’re even worse than these circumstances. I told you not to go anywhere by yourself. I asked you to listen to me and stay in the room. At all times. Unless I’m with you, you don’t go anywhere. And you said okay. You were fine with that. So what the fuck is the issue? I’m gone for half an hour and you totally go against everything I told you?”

“I was fifty feet away.”

“I don’t give a shit!” he bellows, and she blinks at the vehemence in his voice. “I don’t care if it’s five feet away! I don’t care if it’s the next fucking room! You don’t leave by yourself! You did this shit back in Dhaka and you’re doing it now. I told you back then not to leave my side and you did and you’re still doing this shit now. Why do you have such a hard time listening to what I say?”

“I’m a human being, Tyler. Not a thing. Not some object you own. So…”

“You’re my wife!” he snaps.

“Yes. I am. But that doesn’t make me your possession. You don’t have ownership over me.”

“That is not what this is about. This isn’t about me wanting to own you or having possession of you or whatever weird shit you have in your head. This is about keeping you safe! This is about making sure that at least one of us gets home to our kids! I’d rather it be me that something happens to you than you. I asked you…I told you…not to go anywhere on your own. Not because I think I own you. But because you’re the mother of my children and I love you and I don’t want anything to happen to you!”

“Well I don’t want anything happening to you either and you’re out that by yourself.”

“That is not the same thing and you know it.”

“Because you’re the big bad mercenary who can kill people with his bare hands and I’m just some vulnerable little girl that needs you to protect her at all costs.”

“Esme…” he sighs heavily. “…just stop…why are you even arguing with me about this? You know you fucked up. Just own it. I told you not to go anywhere alone and you did. You can try turning it around all you want. You can try and make me look like the bad guy. Which you’ve been doing for five years every time we get into a fight. I’m always the one that’s wrong. The one that’s controlling or possessive or treats you like a little kid.”

“Well you do. Treat me like that.”

It takes all he has not to storm across the room, grab her and shake the shit out of her. Instead he takes his voice down a notch, able to rein in his temper, standing in front of her, his hands on her shoulders. “I am trying to protect you. Do you know what can happen in a couple minutes? How wrong things can go in just a few feet, never mind forty or fifty? Or a hundred? What if someone had have been out there just waiting for you? What if you’ve already been made and someone is just waiting for you to fuck up? What then?”

“I wasn’t thinking about all of that,” she admits. “I…”

“All the rooms you had to walk past to get where you were. What if someone had have just been waiting in one of those doors? Just waiting for you to walk by? You would have ended up just like McMann’s wife and kids. And then what? Then what the fuck would I do? Then I would have to say fuck them and extract my own goddamn wife. Did you even stop to think about that? What the hell would happen to you? What someone would put you through? Especially if it’s someone after me? Do you know the shit they would do to you?”

“I didn’t think of that stuff. I just…”

“They’d torture you. They’d beat you. They’d rape you. And they’d do all kinds of other sick, twisted shit to you. I have seen what these kinds of people do. I’ve seen it firsthand. So don’t ever question why I am the way I am with you. Why I want to protect you like I do. Because I’ve seen what do to women tied to mercenaries. And I’d never forgive myself if it happened to you,” he pushes hair behind her ears, cradles her face in the palms of his hands, then leans down to kiss softly. “Now are we done? Can we stop fighting now?”

“Well it was pretty one sided because you were the one doing the yelling, but…”

“Stop,” he implores, and pecks her lips. “I was just worried. I didn’t mean to freak out. But this is serious shit and I don’t want anything happening to you. Are we still friends?”

“It depends.”

“Yeah?” he grins, and runs a fingertip down the bridge of her nose. “On what?”

“What you brought me for breakfast.”

****

They sit on the balcony to enjoy their feast; bowls of fruit salad, bagels with cream cheese, cups of fresh, piping hot coffee and tea. It’s a beautiful morning; fresh, cool air replacing the stifling humidity that had blanketed the city just the day before, a brilliant blue sky with enormous, stark white low hanging clouds, a steady stream of cars and pedestrians on the streets below. A busy metropolitan area, but a far cry from the dusty crowded streets of Dhaka.

Aside from that short trip to Cuba together -when the twins had been conceived in a bar bathroom- the last time they’d holed up together in a hotel had been five years ago in Dhaka. That run-down flea bag establishment with its rodent and insect problem and its stained walls and foul smell that clung to every inch. Yet despite the state of the place, that was where everything had begun. Where two lonely and broken people had discovered that their tattered and weather halves could be put together to make a slightly tarnished and dented whole.

“Have you ever heard of the Buckman family? Tyler suddenly asks, as they sit side by side in plastic lawn chairs, his legs stretched out in front of him, sunglasses on his face, coffee in one hand, her hand clasped tightly in the other. “From New Zealand?”

She’s silent for a moment, her bare feet perched upon the top railing of the balcony. “We’re talking organized crime here, aren’t we.”

He nods.

“I know of them. I’ve never had anything to do with them personally because I only dealt with things in North America. But yeah, I’ve heard of them. Why? How do you even know that name?”

“McMann’s wife is related to them. Her father was the head of it, I guess.”

“Alphonse Buckman? I used to hear all kinds of stories about him from colleagues that had run ins with him and his people. All kinds of crazy shit. We’re talking things like attempted murder, conspiracy to commit murder, forcible confinement. And that is just the tip of the iceberg. I wouldn’t even have believed half of it had I not actually seen the guy’s rap sheet for myself. Even the people I got close to were afraid of him. Who would have thought of a crime family in New Zealand of all places? His daughter? Really? How did you find all this out?”

“Yaz ran a background check on her. Remember those videos I showed you? Of the wife and the kids?”

She nods. “I remember you thinking it was strange because the kids were in some dumpy place and she looked like she was somewhere just as nice as our hotel room.”

“I have to show you something,” he gives her hand a squeeze and then stands up, grimacing at the pain in his knees, the small of his back aching and stiff as he heads bare foot into the room. Returning a minute later with the file folder in hand. “Someone came to the hotel I was at before. Middle of the night. Gave me these.”

She takes the item offered to her, then pushes her sunglasses up onto the top of her head and opens the folder. “Proof of life pictures?”

“Apparently,” he grabs his chair and places it in front of her, so they’re face to face. “Tell me what’s weird about them.”

“Well at first blush, the kids are obviously the target of whoever has them. They’re the ones that are the main focus of revenge or rage or whatever you want to call it. Whoever is doing this are sick fucks,” she fights to control her emotions; her thoughts immediately going to her own children thousands of miles away. And Tyler reaches out lays a comforting hand on her knee, squeezing gently in an attempt to keep her calm and focused. “They’ve definitely been getting the worst of things. And wherever they are, it’s run down. Brick walls, exposed pipes and electrical. Almost…industrial…like a warehouse or a basement.”

“What about the wife?”

She moves the photos of the children to the bottom of the pile. “The place is clean. Tidy. A couple of stains on the walls and chunks out of the plaster but nothing gross.”

“What else?” he presses.

“She has a few bruises but nothing major. It looks she’s sitting on a wooden chair. Only her ankles are restrained which is weird as hell. I haven’t physically gone into an extraction and seen one for myself, but it doesn’t seem too productive to only restrain someone by the feet. And the kids are in metal chairs. She’s in a wooden one. Looks antique almost. Or a good knock off. Looks like she tried to give herself a hair cut and failed miserably. Like someone tried to hard to make it look like her hair was hacked off. Even Millie did a better job when she tried to cut her own bangs when she was three.”

“And? What does that tell you?”

She holds a photo of the children and one of the mother side by side, chewing pensively on her bottom lip as she studies. “Tyler…this…” she holds up the picture of Heather Buckman. “…is fake. Not the photo itself. That’s very much real. But the situation surrounding it. It’s not real. It’s totally a hoax.”

“You’re sure?”

“This and this…” she holds the photos side by side, facing him. “…do not go together. What the kids are going through…what’s being done to them…that is very real. But Heather Buckman is lying. She is not being held. She’s acting. There is no way that someone…no matter how sick in the head…would do all that to children but barely make a mark on an adult. Adults they can inflict more damage on. Which they want. They want to be able to prolong it.”

“God, I love you,” he declares, and leans over to kiss her.

“I mean, I’m no criminologist but I’ve seen enough in my own time on the job to know when something isn’t on the up and up. And this is as fake as it comes. But why? Why would she do this? To her own kids? I can’t even begin to wrap my head around that. I would die for my kids. In a heartbeat. I can’t imagine doing something like this. I can’t…” the emotion becomes to difficult to control and she stuffs the photos back into the folder and hands it to them. “…I don’t want to see these ever again.”

He nods in understanding, then presses a tender kiss to her forehead before tucking the folder underneath his chair.

“So is McMann involved in this too?” she asks. “Are they both in on this? Is this some screwed up way of getting back at you for something?”

“I don’t think this has anything to do with me at all. This isn’t someone looking for revenge. I have zero ties to these people. Or the IRA or the Buckman family. This has nothing to do with me. I’m just the guy that McMann wants help from. I don’t think he’s involved. I think he’s being straight with me. That his wife and his kids were taken, and he needs help getting them back. He has no clue his wife is even involved.”

“Have you mentioned any of this to him?”

“Only people that know anything about this are Nik, Yaz, me, and now you. I’m supposed to have a meeting with McMann tomorrow morning to see where everything stands. I’ve got nothing to give him. I can’t get any information out of anyone about the wife and kids.”

“Because you’ve been made.”

He nods. “That’s where you come in.”

“It still doesn’t make any sense. Why? Why would the wife do this?”

“McMann told me that they met when he was going an extraction in New Zealand. That his wife was a shop keeper that would feed him information.”

“Okay…”

“It was a lie. Her grandmother was the shop keeper. Her mother…Heather McMann’s mother…kidnapped her to get her away from the old man. Because of how dangerous he was. She was seventeen when it happened. McMann was thirty-three.”

“That alone is fucked up but go on.”

“He didn’t meet her on the job. She was the job. She was his extract.”

“Wait…. wait…” she pinches the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. “…what?”

“He was working for her old man. To get her back. Only once he got her, he never returned her. He took the money but never brought her back.”

“So he fell in love and hooked up with the person he was supposed to be extracting?”

“Exactly.”

“Jesus,” she shakes her head in disbelief. “I never thought I’d say this, but that makes what happened between us on the job sound totally normal. But why is she doing this to her husband? If he saved her back then…”

“It was a hit. On her old man. Either McMann did it himself or he had some IRA buddies do it.”

“But why?”

“He was taking jobs for the old man and some of his friends, pocketing the money, and never actually getting any of the work done.”

“So he’s pissed off a lot of people. First the IRA for defecting, then the Buckman family and whoever is caught up with them.”

“Yaz thinks the wife found out. That her husband killed her father. And that he’s been cheating on her.”

“Kind of overkill for adultery don’t you think? To stage your own kids’ kidnapping to lure your husband into a trap to kill him? Why not just make things easier on yourself on and just cut his dick off? That’s what I’d do.”

“Wait…what?”

“I’d totally cut your dick off if you ever cheated on me. I wouldn’t even think twice.”

“Not that I ever would cheat, but seriously?”

“You cheat on me and you’re going dickless for the rest of your life, buddy. That’s just the way it is. None of this is making any sense. Or maybe it is and my brain is mush. Maybe my mommy brain is worse than I thought. So what you’re saying is that McMann took for an extraction and instead of actually extracting the girl, he fell in love with her and married. I’ll leave out the part that she was a kid at the time, because…ewwww…”

“You’re right. It does make what happened between us seem sane,” Tyler concludes.

“…he takes the money for that but never gives her back to her father. He starts taking jobs and the money for those jobs but never actually does anything. Pissing off a lot of people, including her old man, in the process. He puts a hit out on his father in law…or does it himself…the wife eventually finds out and mixed in with the knowledge he is screwing around, she goes off the deep end and seeks revenge.”

Tyler frowns. “I feel like I need to write this down. Should I be writing this down? I’m starting to confuse myself.”

“She goes totally Mommy Dearest and uses the kids in the most horrific way possible in order to lure her husband in and kill him?”

“Yeah…that’s pretty much it.”

“Tyler…this is messed up…way beyond anything I’ve ever heard of. Please tell me this is the weirdest shit you’ve ever dealt with.”

“I’ve seen and heard some weird things, but not this level of weird.”

“I feel like I’m eating at the buffet of strange,” she sighs. “So why is the IRA involved in all of this?”

“They’re not. That’s what whoever is doing this wants us to think. They didn’t claim responsibility and they say they had nothing to do with it. Whoever is doing this, wanted us to think that so we’d stir up a whole lot of shit with the IRA and take the heat off of them.”

“You realize what could have happened? Had you just gone in on McMann’s word and tried taking out the IRA? Jesus Christ, Tyler. You would have started a whole bunch of shit for no reason. And you would have not survived that mess. And how did you get those pictures? Someone showed up at the hotel?”

“Some girl. Showed up at my door at in the middle of the night. Claiming she worked for the IRA.”

“And you don’t think she did?”

He shakes his head. “She works for the wife. I’m sure of it. She said that ‘they’ know who I am. They know my name, the things I’ve done, why I’m here. She said they know everything about me. Including about my wife and my kids.”

Esme’s eyes widen. “That’s why you had Nik come to the house with those guards. Because of a threat?”

“I don’t think it’s a legit threat. It’s probably just to scare me off. Get me off their scent. They think I’ll head home and forget all about what’s going on over here.”

“Maybe you should. Maybe we should go home.”

“We can’t. I need your help. I can’t find those kids without you. I don’t care about the wife. I don’t care about McMann. They can kill each other for all I give a shit. It’s about those kids.”

“You’re going to extract them, aren’t you.”

He nods. “I need your help. I can’t find them without you. I need you to find out where they are.”

“And you honestly think I can do that? That I can find my way to these people and make them talk?”

“I don’t think you can. I know you can.”

She gives a small smile and reaches out to push his hair from his eyes. “You have a lot of faith in me.”

“If anyone can get the information, it’s you. I need you to do this, Esme. I need you to help me find those kids.”

“Okay,” she says with a nod, and then leans forward to kiss him, a hand on the side of his face. “Where do we start?”

#tyler rake #tyler rake fan fic #tyler rake fan fiction #chris hemsworth character #extraction #extraction fan fiction #sanctuary

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the-yellowturtle · 3 years

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The Curious Case of Master Katara (Pt.5)

Summary: In the sixth year of Fire Lord Zuko’s reign, Katara of the Southern Water Tribe is assassinated. (OR: Katara Becomes the Painted Lady! AU)

Rating: T

Chapter Summary: Zuko remembers Katara & has an encounter with the Painted Lady.

Note: you can read the chapters as a standalone if you want

Part 1 (Toph), Part 2 (Toph & Gran Gran), Part 3 (Sokka), Part 4 (Suki & Katara), A03 Story Link & special thanks to @levitatingbiscuits for enabling me :)

Reflective of the Reconstruction Period’s changing values, Fire Nation plays and stories originating from this time often depicted protagonists as virtuous and noble. Even the most popular romances of the period featured characters who were willing to sacrifice their chance at true love for the sake of others. This is clearly seen in Mou Ren’s Love Amongst the Spirits :

FIRE LORD. (Pleadingly, on his knees) Please tell me that it is not our love that has led to your current state! That the time we shared has made you unable to pass on to the next life!

PAINTED LADY. (Resting a hand on his shoulder) I loved you, but it is not my attachment to you nor any other man that has led me to this position. I simply cannot sit by while there is still the opportunity to help one more person, one more individual. Only when there is peace will I be able to fully detach myself from humanity.

- Culturally Significant Works of the Reconstruction Period

Zuko gets to say goodbye.

In fact, it’s the last thing he says to Katara before her passing.

The morning after they fought about how to best resolve the water pollution problem, he had found her getting ready to set sail from the docks. She had won. She would be going ahead of the rest of the relief despite his concern over reports of the New Ozai Society potentially being in the area. However, Zuko knew it was futile to get her to stop once Katara had even the slightest suggestion that there were people out there who needed her. That’s just who Katara was.

And so she had smiled at him and said goodbye, and he had replied the same and given her a hug. And that was it. That was the last time Zuko saw or heard from Katara.

___

The officials and citizens would talk about it sometimes. About how they thought it was obvious that he was in love with Katara. About how they spent too much time together to simply be friends, how Zuko was too considerate of her opinions for it to simply be platonic affection.

The hearsay used to always make him scoff; caring for his best friend did not make him in love with her. Zuko had read all of the great romances and devoured the scripts of all the plays as a child (and admittedly re-devoured them as an adult looking for some stress relief). Zuko had read about love and he had heard Sokka go on about it in length; Zuko knew what love was supposed to feel like, and what he felt with Katara was nothing like it. When he was with her, he did not get sweaty palms, his face did not flush a scarlet red and his heart did not feel like it was going to escape from his chest. With Katara he was at peace, not agonizing over his words and yearning for her lips.

So Zuko had thought it was a ridiculous notion for him to be in love with Katara. After all, he was far too busy with his duties as Fire Lord to be falling in love with his best friend. Besides, if he was afflicted with eros, then surely he would have noticed the symptoms.

After her death, Zuko doesn’t think about the great romance his people think they shared. He orders the construction of the Southern Waterbenders Memorial because it is the right thing to do. He builds the Katara Public Park because his citizens deserve to have more public spaces and Katara always did like the flora of the Fire Nation. He funds more shrines and temples in honor of the Painted Lady because her popularity among the people has exploded in the post-war period. Depictions of the Painted Lady in these places of worship always look like Katara because it’s based on firsthand accounts of the Spirit, and because Zuko heard the truth from Aang.

He orders the installation of a Painted Lady shrine in the royal palace because sometimes he likes to believe that there’s the possibility she can hear him when he talks to her in the middle of the night.

Zuko is aware that his actions further encourage the rumors of his tragic love affair with Katara. He’s seen the posters for the blatant adaptations, and accidentally attended the showings of the ones with more subtle advertising. Zuko knows that everyone thinks he was madly in love with her, but he wasn’t. He was not in love with her. He would have known. And she certainly was never in love with him.

___

Eventually he finds a semblance of happiness in his life as Fire Lord. The New Ozai Society is demolished and similar groups become insignificant threats that are easy to handle. The economy begins to pick up again, and international trade flourishes. The Four Nations are in a relative state of peace when he meets his future wife.

Tian is a non-bender from one of the surviving Air Nomad enclaves that hid themselves in the Earth Kingdom’s far south. A proponent for the equality of benders and non-benders, the first time he meets her she informs him that he needs to change the Fire Nation’s rules of succession to allow a non-bender unless he wants to alienate the non-bending population. She’s right, so he finds himself proposing the change when he returns to court.

Over the years, he finds himself seeking out her company more and more at peace summits. Tian is passionate and empathetic and just cares so much. He falls in love with her, and somehow she ends up feeling the same.

They have one child together, Izumi. She grows up loved and immersed in both of her parent’s cultures. Tian teaches her chi-blocking and frequently takes her out on shirshu rides. Zuko meditates with her every morning and performs bedtime stories —with the voices!— every night. In a way, Tian’s first words to him end up being prophetic when their non-bending daughter is officially declared the heir to the Fire Nation.

He loves both of them, but it is this love and decades more of lifetime experience that makes him realize that perhaps the rumors had been right all those years ago. That he had been in love with her then. That maybe a part of him would always love her.

Katara did not make his heart race nor did she make him stumble over his words, no, when he was with her he felt safe. Accepted. Loved.

Maybe his true feelings had and always will be seared onto his chest.

___

When the palace doctors declare that his granddaughter is unlikely to make it through the week, he steals her away in the middle of the night and brings her to the royal family’s private gardens. He brings the baby girl to the Painted Lady shrine by the lake he had commissioned all those years ago.

Zuko has never personally encountered the Painted Lady, but he has heard the tales from his citizens, the ones of travelers from abroad, and from his own friends. When the Painted Lady is not busy influencing the weather to attack polluting bodies, she will most often be sighted healing the sick. Zuko knows that a Spirit has a limited influence on the human realm, but just this once Zuko prays for a miracle that she will hear his call.

He cannot bear to watch his daughter lose her own child.

Holding his granddaughter in his arms, he gets on his weary knees to bow before the lake and beg. “Please help her. Please.”

“I need to be able to see her to do that,” whispers a woman.

Zuko jolts up to find a veiled figure floating on the lake before him: the Painted Lady.

Words don’t come to him, so he simply follows her instructions and presents the bundled up child to the Spirit. The Painted Lady is silent as she reaches out to smooth the black tufts of hair on his granddaughter’s head, soon after a blue glow emits from her hand.

When the Painted Lady is presumably finished, she steps back and the child stirs for a moment in her sleep. The movement brings tears to his eyes as he takes in the improved complexion of her chubby cheeks.

To his surprise, she’s still standing on the lake when he looks up. He can’t make out her face from beneath the hat, but he would recognize her necklace anywhere. It really was her. She was not reborn among humans, but made a guardian of them.

“Katara,” he gasps, causing the Painted Lady to tilt her head, surely confused about why a human was directly calling her personal name. “Her name is Katara,” he clarifies, holding his granddaughter to his chest.

Zuko had been surprised when Izumi informed him what she was naming her second born. It was no mystery when she named her eldest after Uncle Iroh; they had been fairly close when he was still alive. However, Izumi never had the pleasure of meeting Katara, and had only heard about her when Zuko could bring himself to share the memories he had of their short time together.

“I want my daughter to be the type of person who never turns away from the needs of others,” Izumi had explained, “Surely the name of the woman who helped save the world is fitting.”

So when Zuko has the spirit of the woman he had loved in front of him, he has to let her know in some way. She may be revered as the Painted Lady, but there were still those who knew and loved her as Katara. Long before she took up the position of Spirit, she was already saving others.

“Her name is Katara,” Zuko repeats.

The Painted Lady slowly glides forward, only stopping when he can make out her cerulean blue eyes. He can barely breath as she reaches up to rest her palm on his left cheek. “Thank you, Zuko,” she smiles.

He can’t stop the tears that rush down his face. “I think I’m the one who should be thanking you.”

#zutara #zutara fanfiction #zuko #katara #the painted lady #mine

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ineffably-good · 4 years

Text

Faeted (2/15) - Good Omens AU

Summary: Ezra fell is an English professor at a prestigious academy for boys. Crowley is the lord of the Unseelie court in the lands without sunrise or moonfall. Somehow fate will bring them together.

Read Chapter one here

Read it on AO3!

Chapter Two - Into The Woods

Monday morning came soon enough, and Ezra spent the morning preparing for the outing he was taking his afternoon literature class on. He’d reserved one of the school’s vans and was driving the twelve boys out for a ramble in the local hills to visit several key points mentioned in some of the recent readings. This term’s subject had been early British and Celtic mythology, and they’d covered everything from the Irish Ulster cycle with the great warrier king Cuchulain, to legends of the little people who supposedly predated the human occupation of the British Isles, to the great early versions of Arthurian legend. It was just the thing, he’d found, to stir the interest of early adolescents in literature, with their focus on heroic feats, dramatic battles, and of course, magic.

The twelve boys from his class piled into the van in a raucous explosion of noises and smells, and kept up lively conversations (consistently largely of insults, as far as Ezra could tell) as they visited an ancient cathedral built on the site of an old holy well from pre-Roman times. They stopped to examine a battle site that was supposed to have been involved in Arthurian legend, which the boys found quite a bit more fun than the church had been. He let them beat each other with stick swords while shouting out bits they remembered from Le Morte D’Arthur for a good half hour, and then he gathered them back into the van and made their way to an old conical hill that had a reputation as once having been the home of the little people, the fae themselves.

“This it, boys, last stop!” Ezra called as they pulled off onto the side of the road. “Bring your snacks and your notebooks – we’ll be walking for a little while to get to the site!”

Twelve gangly boys tumbled out of the van behind him, and he quickly arranged them into scouting format.

“You, Adam, take the compass,” Ezra said, “and Brian, you’ll carry the blanket. Wensleydale, you’ll be rear guard. Everyone ready? Off we go.”

After a few minutes of concerted hiking through light forest, they emerged into an open field covered in grass, with a large, round, flat-topped hill before them. An ancient, picturesque tree was its lone companion – a hawthorn, perhaps? There was a peaceful stillness to the site, broken only by birdsong.

Ezra gathered the boys and explained that this was a site worthy of respect, likely a burial site at a minimum, and that no one was to dig or pick up rocks or otherwise take or change anything at all about it. He met each of their eyes in turn to emphasize this closely. And with a few more dire warnings, he set them loose to explore while he laid out a blanket nearby and set out of a few of their provisions for their missing tea time.

A half hour later, Adam Young flopped down on the blanket beside him. Ezra smiled. Adam was one of his favorite students, mischievous but highly intelligent, always asking an unexpected question or surprising him with an unusual turn of phrase in a paper.

“Do you really think the fairies lived here, Professor Fell?” he asked.

“I don’t, really,” Ezra said, “although it’s lovely to think about. I think most of these hills are the remains of old ring forts, or perhaps burial mounds.”

“Why did they build these stories up around them, then?”

Ezra thought for a minute. “The fairy legends, as I interpret them, are representative of a loss of innocence as the world moved from nomadic into more settled lifestyles, with the coming of farming and larger settlements,” he said. “I think civilizations codify their losses into stories, and stories hold that grief for them for the things they can no longer remember.”

Adam looked thoughtfully at the landscape around them, then grinned. “Would be wicked cool, though, if it were real, wouldn’t it?”

Ezra smiled. “I suppose it would,” he said, just as an enormous clap of thunder pealed overhead.

A moment later, a torrential rain began to fall. The boys near him pulled their blazers up over their heads and ran squealing into cover under the nearby trees at the edge of the clearing, and Ezra quickly made his way up to the top of the hill to make sure everyone was off of it. He paused in shock for a moment to watch an enormous bolt of lightning strike much too close by for comfort, then quickly spiraled counterclockwise down the sides of the tor until he reached the bottom and headed off to follow the voices of the boys into the woods.

Oddly enough, he couldn’t seem to locate them, despite hearing their voices seemingly just up ahead. The air around him had gotten significantly darker with the coming cloud cover, and it was difficult to see under the thick branches. The rain and the odd quality of light gave everything a slightly greenish cast.

“Boys!” he called, beating a little deeper into the woods. “Adam! Everyone, please stay together!”

“Professor Fell!” he heard someone call from worryingly far off. “Where are you?”

A branch hit him in the face as he turned towards where he thought the sound came from. “Here!” he called. “I’m here! Please stop where you are and stick together.”

He heard no further sounds, but continued to move forward towards the last direction he had heard the boys from. Rain dripped down off the leaves of the trees and ran unpleasantly down his neck. He stopped to pull his tweed coat a little closer around himself, then took a few more steps before realizing he had no real sense of the direction in which he was traveling.

He turned in a slow circle and looked around him, but he saw absolutely nothing but trees. Strange, he thought. I don’t remember the woods being quite this deep here.

A branch cracked behind him and he whirled to find himself eye to eye with a large horse.

A horse. With a rider.

A rider who happened to be a beautiful woman with long, flowing brown hair, dressed in a green gown with golden accents. Her horse was decorated with flowers and bells and appeared unusually tall and glossy. She looked like nothing so much as the living embodiment of Spencer’s faerie queen.

“Greetings, fellow traveler,” she said in melodious tones.

Ah, Ezra thought, of course. It’s a prank. The boys have decided to prank me with an actual, genuine fairy encounter of my very own. How very droll of them. He suspected Anathema had had a hand in this as well. The boys wouldn’t have achieved this level of detail on their own. He took a peek around to see if he was being filmed on one of the boys’ infernal phones, but he couldn’t see anyone. He decided to play along, just in case.

“Why hello, fair lady,” he said with exquisite politeness, offering her a smile. “I seem to be lost. Have you seen my students?”

She studied him for a moment. “I have not,” she said gravely, “but I can offer you assistance if you’d like.”

He had to give her credit, she was taking her role very seriously. “Did Anathema put you up to this?” he asked sotto voce. “I must say, you look wonderful. The detailing on your gown is exquisite! Where did you source your materials?”

The woman looked perplexed. “What nonsense you speak,” she said. “Do you require assistance? The woods can be treacherous in such a storm and you appear to be far from home.”

“I’d be most appreciative,” he said, “if you could help guide me back to the clearing.”

“Very well,” she said, leaning over and offering a hand, clearly indicating that she expected him to climb up on the horse beside her.

“Oh no, I couldn’t,” he replied, taken aback. “Horses and I – well we don’t really get along. I’ll just walk beside you, if that’s all right.”

She laughed in surprise, and gently guided her horse around to face to the west, then offered Ezra the reins to hold. They set off at a gentle pace, the horse leading the two of them through the woods for longer than seemed reasonable and Ezra walking at the side of the lady until they began to see more light between the branches. Finally they emerged into the clearing where he’d been before, at the base of the hill.

He glanced around quickly but saw none of the boys he was hoping to find. Instead, he saw a half dozen people, similarly attired in old-fashioned outfits of green and gold, many with equally fine mounts. Four were men and two were women; all of them were so attractive it nearly hurt to look at them.

Ezra revised his opinion for the moment – this was undoubtedly too elaborate for a prank. Perhaps what he had chanced upon instead were role playing enthusiasts out for a day in the woods? He knew some of Anathema’s friends partook in this peculiar hobby, often dressing up in costume and spending a day or two acting out some elaborate fantasy storyline out in the countryside. Never one to laugh at another’s hobby, Ezra was inclined to respect the thoroughness with which these particular people hewed to their chosen personas. They were tip to toe the exact image you would think of for the fae.

“Lady Griane!” one of the menfolk cried. “We feared for you when you did not return immediately.”

His companion, a tall, broad-shouldered man with odd violet eyes, looked Ezra over thoroughly. “But we see now what detained you,” he said with a smirk.

“I have found a lost traveler,” the woman said, dismounting gracefully. “He asked for our assistance.”

“Hello,” Ezra said politely. “You all look quite lovely in your costumes. What game are you playing today?”

The purple eyed fellow eyed him in distaste. “My Queen, this one is clearly of inferior intellect. Perhaps you should return him to the bush you found him under.”

Griane made a shushing gesture with one hand, and the purple-eyed man fell silent. “I have taken him under my protection. Although I do admit he speaks an unusual amount of nonsense.” She laughed musically, and her companions echoed it.

One of the other women moved forward. She held a pouch in her hands, and smiled at Ezra with brilliant white teeth. She had dark skin and a smattering of what looked like a golden-ink tattoo across her left temple and onto her cheekbone. “I am Uriel,” she said. “Would you like refreshment?”

She reached into the pouch and pulled out a small cake and a flagon of what appeared to be wine. The scent of the pastry wafted through the air enticingly, making Ezra realize that he was quite extraordinarily hungry.

The entire woods seemed to still, as if the trees themselves were watching him closely to see what he would do.

Ezra looked from Uriel to his host, Griane; they both looked back at him with pleasant, expectant faces. He felt a brief tingle in the back of his mind, as if there was something he should be worried about, but he felt hot and thirsty and tired and could not, for the life of him, summon the energy to worry about what that might be. A group of role players was offering him what appeared to be a very nice snack. He liked snacks. He liked little cakes. He especially liked wine.

What, he thought, could be the harm?

“Why thank you, Uriel,” he said politely, reaching out to take the offered cake. He brought it to his lips and took a small bite and was rewarded with an explosion of effervescent flavor upon his tongue that made him close his eyes and moan. When he heard quiet laughter, he opened his eyes again, feeling somewhat embarrassed, but Uriel moved to his side and met his gaze kindly.

“Have a drink as well,” she said, offering him the flagon. “Being lost in the woods is thirsty work.”

“Er, thank you, my dear,” he said, taking it from her and bringing it to his lips.

The wine, he thought, almost burned with its goodness. It was the best wine he had ever tasted. It was light and golden and rich and playful all at once, tripping its way down his throat. As it reached his stomach, he was filled with an immense sense of peacefulness, making him feel as if nothing could ever be wrong again in his world. His arm which held the flagon dropped to his side of its own volition, and he felt someone removing the flagon from him without rousing himself enough to care.

“Pardon me,” he mumbled, as his knees folded, “but it seems I simply must sit down for a moment.”

“It’s no trouble, Ezra,” he heard Grian say, as gentle hands helped him to the ground. “Sleep now; you’ve chosen well.”

Ezra cracked one eye open and saw the faces leaning over him filtered through an odd greenish cast of light, almost as if it were suddenly twilight, and he struggled for just a moment before giving in to the deep pull of sleep.

“Cake,” he heard the purple-eyed one say in a disgusted tone. “He didn’t even pause. Imagine if we’d offered him an entire feast.”

Ezra slept.

#good omens #good omens au #good omens fanfiction #slow burn #fae AU #crowley is unseelie #aziraphale loves cake entirely too much #ineffable husbands #angst with eventual happy ending

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hino-of-the-dawn · 4 years

Text

Supergiant Secret Santa

Surprise @jodaaariel , I was your Secret Santa for this year! You asked for a fic about the Archjustice post-exile and the Reader doing some Rites together, and I did my best to deliver.

- The blackwagon is far quieter without a good handful of the Nightwings, but the Reader doesn't find the silence unsettling. In fact it's a comfort; each moment of precious time spent without sound a sign that their friends have made it home, back to the Commonwealth where the revolution has taken place, and the new Sahrian Empire has come into power.

"Honestly Reader, how can you stand such cramped quarters?"

Well it's quieter, but not silent. The Reader sets down the book they're tending to and slowly gets to their feet, feeling their aching bones protest as they shuffle from their chair to the sleeping quarters. There stands the Archjustice- Former Archjustice, seeing as he'd been stripped of all his titles by Volfred in the revolution before being cast downriver. He looks quite different outside of his golden robe and mask, with short blonde hair and a patchwork jumpsuit that does not suit him at all.

Calmly, the Reader comments that the quarters are not cramped, and that Brighton (a name they stress much to the annoyance of the man) must be too stuck up and pampered to deal with 'commoner quarters', relishing in the irritation that Brighton wears.

He crosses his arms. "That is not the issue," he says, although it is. Being cast down twice does not do the body any favours, and the corruption that the Downside brings to Nomads and Moontouched seems to have come back in full force, greeting Brighton with slightly sharper nails and the beginning of horns in little less than two months. "There's just too many beds packed together."

It is not the first time Brighton has stayed in the wagon, the Reader reminds him, clambering into their own little bed. There's enough room for them and for a shelf of knick-knacks left behind by their fellow Nightwings. They continue, explaining that in time, he will have to get used to such small spaces.

"It's undignified," Brighton complains. The reader informs Brighton that his mother is undignified, much to the surprise of the man.

"I'll have you know that your father is undignified, Reader!" he shouts back for lack of a better insult. The Reader has kept their name under lock and key, and it seems with the amount of Exiles the Commonwealth was turning out, Brighton has forgotten theirs. They like to use it to their advantage.

Before their argument can go any further, the blackwagon lurches to a halt. Brighton groans, having only just settled down in his quarters. "Are we there already?"

It seems so, the Reader says as they hop to their feet. It's not a smooth action, but it happens. They say they're going to feed the Imps, and go look for Barker. Brighton merely hums in acknowledgement.

The ladder to the Imps is rickety and narrow, but the Reader manages just fine. They have a small bag of feed to give them, and as they reach for it, Brighton enters the common area.

They call out to him, asking what he's doing. Above them the Imps are getting impatient, so they make sure to dish out some food while also trying to keep their attention on Brighton.

He doesn't answer them. Instead he stands by the Beyonder Orb, his hand set atop it. Whatever conversation he's having is quiet, enough so that even the Reader can't hear it, nor can they sense anything that Sandra is radiating.

As they finish feeding the Imps, Brighton finishes his conversation. "She's just as bitter as ever," he grumbles as the Reader passes them by, looking for their Raiments. Ever since the Rites had finished for good and Barker had started up his own mockery, the Reader had taken every chance they could to participate. They weren't good at it by any stretch of the word, but their attempts earned cheers from the spectators.

Pulling the Raiments off the wall, they turn to Brighton and ask if he will be participating.

Brighton scoffs. "Of course," he answers, taking another set from the wall and holding them close. "I was a champion back in my time. Earned my own freedom, even without the help of..." he trails off, the words heavy on his tongue.

As the Reader dons their robes, they look to Brighton and ask a question they have had for a long time. Did he see it happen? Did he see Erisa push Oralech from the Shimmer-pool.

He slips the robes over his head and doesn't answer, covering his face with the mask of a Nomad as he steps out into the dusty plains of the Jomuer Valley. After a moment, the Reader follows after him.

The heat that usually assaulted the valley is gone under the moonlight, but the humid, thick air is still present. Despite it, there's a decent crowd around the Cairn of Ha'ub as chairs are filled and empty spaces are taken up by those who prefer to stand. Blackwagons are parked around the area, with some exiles choosing to sit atop them for a better view of the field.

The Reader wonders what Tariq and Celeste would think of their commodification of a once-sacred place. This particular site doesn't mean much to the Reader, but they do not enjoy playing on the Ridge of Gol, nor atop Mount Alodiel.

"I can't believe that Barker defiled such a place," Brighton grumbles, startling the Reader. He's right beside them now, having somehow appeared without a sound. "Anyway Reader, I suppose we must find a third for our team, and mayhaps a Reader. Although, considering the name you chose, you might be our best fit."

It's a surprise, so much so that the Reader laughs. They state their surprise at Brighton permitting them to read for him, which makes Brighton sigh. "You were an excellent Reader, one I had thought to be my successor. If someone has to boss me around, I would prefer it be you."

That's oddly flattering of him. It's the closest thing the Reader will get to a compliment anyway. They don't say that aloud however, and instead motion for Brighton to join them as they look for two more to join their Triumvirate. There are still some Nightwings in the Downside, but they have their own lives to attend to, and the Reader doesn't try to bring them to these False Rites unless they're asked.

Finding two others for their Triumvirate is easy enough. There's a small handful of hopefuls who attend the False Rites as backup players, ready to make a team if nobody shows up, or to fill a space if someone is lacking players, much like the Nightwings are.

Soon enough, Brighton finds himself with a Wyrm and a Cur on his team. They won't be big scorers on their own, but their speed might make up for that, he supposes. "Surprised you didn't opt for a Demon, Reader."

Looking over their copy of the Book of Rites, the Reader quips that Brighton's build still falls into that of a Nomad. Just a very slow one.

He bristles at the comment. "That's rude."

The Reader raises an eyebrow, face not obscured by a mask. They say that hypocrisy isn't smiled upon in the Downside, and Brighton sighs but doesn't answer.

Their conversation has no time to continue as Barker's voice rings out over the masses. He stands atop one of Shax Six-Shoulder's many ribs, looking down on the field. "Alright kids, we're ready to go! Our teams tonight are veterans, so lemme hear you all howl!"

A cacophonous sound rises up, startling Brighton. The Reader bites their lip to hold back a laugh.

"With the blue pyre, we have our Nightwings!" Barker motioned to the pyre; a hoop with blue streamers that danced in the air, reaching up towards the Sahrian Union. Brighton stood front and center, with his two new comrades at his side. The Reader stood on one side of the field, giving them a nod of encouragement.

The crowd cheered for the Nightwings, falling silent as Barker continued his announcement. "On the other side with the pink flame, we have The Chastity!"

Once again the crowd came to life as The Chastity appeared. Their team consisted of a Nomad, a Sap, and a Harp. They played without a Reader, which in most cases meant they had a Reader on their team.

Brighton gave the opposing team a once-over, turning his gaze to the Reader a moment later. He would trust their judgment and gave them a nod, signifying that fact.

"Are we ready to go? When the Orb hits the ground, we're on!"

A cur standing on the sidelines opposite the Reader readied the Orb; a glass orb purchased from the store Bertrude had once operated, which meant it was almost impossible to shatter. The cur looked to both teams carefully before tossing it into the field.

All eyes fell on the orb as it fell in a perfect arc, hitting the dusty ground with a thump. Barker howled, and the Reader raised their voice, ready to shout their commands.

As it turns out, Brighton is rather good at the Rites. The Reader's word is law in the Rites, but without the forceful guiding of the Reader overriding the free will of the Exiles, some of the moves Brighton makes precede the Reader's own decisions.

The Nightwing's Cur passes the ball to Brighton, who catches it without any effort. His motions are fluid as he dodges the thick weighted ribbons thrown at him to represent a cast aura, and the hoops attached to the Exiles which represent presence. It's like a dance, and the Reader finds themselves invested in each of his steps.

They call out for Brighton to plunge into the flame, but before the core of their sentence can get there, he casts the orb into their Pyre, netting them twenty points. "The Nightwings score first! Just like the old days, hey boys?" Barker's voice rings out over the field and the remaining members of the Dissidents all howl in glee.

With the ball in the hoop, the Chastity and Nightwings return to their respective sides, and the Reader waves Brighton over. As he approaches, they raise their voice to shout over the howling and hollering of Barker's crew, explaining that Brighton should have leapt into the Pyre.

"What, and leave us disadvantaged for the next turn? They weren't even close!" Brighton answers with crossed arms. The Reader shakes their head, explaining that the Chastity's Sap had a Sapling nearby, and that it could have taken him out if he wasn't careful. Brighton removes his mask. "But I was careful. I'm not a bumbling idiot like your Nightwings."

Irritated, the Reader covers their face. Brighton should behave, they say, which makes Brighton scowl. "You should make better decisions with your Triumvirate," he says forcefully. "Maybe then they wouldn't feel Banishment Sickness as much as they did."

Taken aback by his bluntness, the Reader states that Brighton agreed to let them read for him, and Brighton laughs. "You didn't tell me you could play with a Reader in the team, did you?" His gaze is critical, but the Reader does not flinch under it. "Maybe if you did-"

"Excuse me mates."

Barker appears beside them, causing the Reader and Brighton to put their arguments on hold. "As much as I like a good fight, we got some Rites here t'conclude. If you wanna throw hands after, then you'd better tell me and I'll have payouts ready." There's a smile that shows Barker is genuine, which makes the Reader and Brighton sigh.

"We'll talk about this later," Brighton says, sliding his mask back on. "Don't make any stupid decisions."

The Reader nods, and kindly informs Brighton that every decision he makes is stupid, so surely hearing their advice is a step in the right direction.

Barker snickers and trots off to find his betting table.

#sggsecretsanta19 #Pyre #Supergiant Games #Jodaaariel

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lusie-king · 4 years

Text

Shepherd

Sheep are, without a doubt, troublesome creatures.

My flock consisted of five. They were my family, which I meant quite literally, for they were the reincarnation of my beloveds, and I was their protector. Their Shepherd.

That smallest one was my little brother. The plump one was my older sister. The stocky one was my father. The dizzy one was my mother and the clumsy one was my little sister. It is an odd thing, I know. Just as I know I am not crazy for when I look into their gentle eyes, I know its them. I can see their faces, though details slip my memory with each passing day.

I have lived a life far longer than most. I have been many places, assumed many faces, and loved even more.

I live in a world where gods are benevolent yet, unforgiving, and the ones that watch over us have cursed me within reason. Sometimes I know my mother aches for me. I simply scratch beneath her chin and tell her everything will be alright, for even if this is not how she intended her baby to live, I am living. I can count myself one of the lucky few.

Being a shepherd is a full-time job. Not only must I protect my sheep from the wild things seeking to tear out their throats and make a meal of their insides, but I must also keep track of them. And that is a feat in itself. My brother likes to dash down to the docks of the merchant village and watch the ships as they come in, eager to meet a lovely new ewe. My little sister spends her time in the fields letting the wind ruffle her wool as she grazes on the tenderest stalks of grass, often mingling with individuals from other flocks. My mother spends her time basking on the shore of the coast, letting the sunlight warm her wool. My older sister likes to try all sorts of new vegetation, and this often takes her up the unknown winding paths of the mountains and far from the rest of the flock. My father likes to gamble with the cows and hens in the merchant village. I’d scold him more but, damn, is he good.

We spent our time in the mountains. By day we climb, looking for the best pasture. By night we snooze, one large pile of cozy fluff and fuzz. I try to live off the land as much as I can. I suppose I could be considered a nomad, dressed in the shabbiest trousers and tattered shoes. I do like the short cloak I acquired somewhere along the line. The hood keeps out the weather and it is multipurpose. I can fasten it into a pack when I need to carry what I have purchased back from the merchant village. Life on the move suits me, for home is where your family is, and mine is always with me.

Occasionally, I get a rather aggressive farmer looking to buy one of my sheep, but they're not for sale.

“How much for the ram?” one asked.

“Not for sale,” I muttered and nudged the sheep on their way.

“Give you three,” he proposed, catching the coins he repeatedly tossed.

Still, I shook my head. “Not for sale.” I'm not the most intimidating person. And I hate being rude, which might be why people sometimes think they can take things from me and expect nothing to come of it.

The famer laid a hand on my father, knotting his fingers into the wool. My grazing sheep seemed unbothered. The same could not be said for me.

“Three,” he said again, offering the coin. to me. “You won’t find a better deal, Shepherd.”

Before he could think, my crook snagged his neck and I yanked it forward, forcing the famer to his knees.

“Not. For. Sale.”

My reflection was visible in the whites of his eyes. The sweat now beading along his forehead glistened with fear as he saw how inhuman my snarl suddenly became. The teeth were just a little too sharp for a girl. The growl following my words was just a bit too ferocious. Oh, how I loved the smell of terror. With a sharp inhale, I shoved him away, watching the panicked man scramble off. I hated to be cruel. But I would do whatever it took to protect what’s mine.

My extensive life has taken me all over the globe. I have lived in numerous climates and places and different stages of wealth and I had to say, there is not much I would choose over where I am now. When the sun settled above the horizon, it painted not just the sky, but also the river below. If we stood on the highest peak together, we could see both in their fullest form.

And if I timed it right, we also got to see a few stars.

By gods. I could never tire of a view like this.

Neither could my flock, for all eyes were on the swirling oranges and violets spanning forever around us. This was where I belonged. Up in the fresh air, away from everyone and everything, guarding the few things I loved.

While out on a walk one afternoon, I was approached by someone I had not seen for a long, long time. Someone I had not thought I would ever see again.

“You're looking well, Shep,” Flete said.

A smile cracked over my face as I gave the middle-aged fool a hug. “You're looking old.”

He giggled, flicking my chin. “Not a single new wrinkle. Are you sure it’s a curse?”

I gave a dry chuckle. “I'm sure. What can I do for you?”

His smile faded. Immediately I knew this was not a social visit.

“It's Begonia.” Flete said. I raised my eyebrows. Another person I hadn’t thought about in ages. “We're not as young as we used to be.”

“But you're still fighting,” I said with a nod.

“You know us too well. If it takes until my death, the king will never see victory.”

I sat down on a rock and gestured for Flete to join me. Before us, my sheep family grazed on the mountainside. Counting quick to make sure there were five fluffy little bottoms, I turned to Flete.

“Tell me what happened.”

“Five days ago, we were on a stakeout mission. We'd heard rumors that the king’s soldiers had been shipping things through the blockade we set up, and we were not sure how, since none of our men reported seeing anything nor were there any bodies.”

“They had someone on the inside,” I said softly.

Flete nodded. “Our thoughts exactly. So, we decided to watch from a distance, for everyone was a suspect and questioning them would set off flags. It was a small operation, just Begonia, me, and a few others we knew we could trust. Things went sideways fast. Unfortunately for us, they knew we were coming. They knew exactly where we were going to be when we were going to be there. We fought with everything we had but by the end of it, they had Begonia. There was nothing I could do—nothing anyone could do. And if anything were to ever happen to our leader, we were to come to you. Begonia’s orders.”

I scoffed. “Of course the fool would say such.”

“Begonia thinks very highly of you,” Flete said. “We all do.”

“What have you tried so far?”

“Everything.” Flete’s gaze dropped. “Everything but do exactly as Begonia said. The furthest we got was receiving a message from Begonia, with only your name on it. We thought we could get our leader back on our own. But we were wrong. And now I am down twenty men.”

“Twenty?” I repeated with wide eyes. Twenty lives laid down for one.

“You're the only one who will succeed,” Flete said. “Please.”

I shook my head sadly and stood. “You know I don't do that anymore. The war is not my mine.”

Flete got to his feet quickly, hovering above me just a bit. “Shep, you're the only one who can save our leader. We can't do this without you. We need you. Begonia needs you.”

I bit my lip, taking a few steps toward my sister. I owed Begonia my life, that much was true. But I was done with the war. Staring into Flete’s begging eyes, I knew what I had to do. He would not have come here if he had any other options.

“Please Shepherd,” he said again, and it was enough for me to cave.

My lips twisted. “Very well. I will help you, but not for the war. For begonia. I don't choose sides.” Absentmindedly, I stroked my sister’s side. She paid me no attention, carrying on as normal sheep do.

“Why?” Flete called after me. “Because meditating upon this mountain has given you clarity?”

“No,” I snorted, half glancing over my shoulder. “Because I've already fought for both.”

His eyes widened. Begonia must have kept that information secret.

“Where is Begonia being held?”

“About a mile away from the blockade, in one of the king’s most guarded fortresses,” Flete said. “Not far from our camp.”

“We leave now,” I said. We needed to be there at sunset. Darkness would be our ally. A pang of sadness nudged my chest. It had been a while since I missed a sunset up here. With a sigh, I gave my sister a pat and straightened. Was it too much to ask to just live on the mountains with my sheep?

Flete was smiling behind me. I would regret this more if I had sent him away empty-handed.

“So…the sheep?” Tremor asked, his features weaving in confusion. The twig of a man was turned in the saddle of his mule, eyes bouncing between each of the sheep trailing at the back of our party. Sitara snickered in front of me.

Flete shook his head, glancing back. “Don’t ask.”

“If they bother you,” I said calmly, using my crook to keep my brother in line, “You’re welcome to return to your camp. We do not need six anyway.”

“Nonsense. I love livestock,” he grinned, tossing an apple slice to my older sister who caught it with an accuracy that startled even me.

I tugged the reins of my own mule, slowing the animal so I could steer my mother in the right direction. For the most part, all five of the sheep stayed close to the five mules. Our sixth member was meeting us at the rendezvous site.

“Looks like a full-time job,” Gravi said, his mule keeping pace with mine.

I shrugged. “Keeps me busy.”

The moon shined full and bright over the fortress that night. We tucked the mules away in the dense vegetation surrounding the structure. Tremor was going to stay behind with them. He was our man on the outside, in the off chance none of them made it out alive.

As he set up camp, I snatched his head in my crook, pulling him uncomfortably close. “If anything happens to any one of those sheep…” The familiar look of horror overtook his carefree face when he saw my animalistic snarl, and the fear wafting off him delighted me. “I will gut you slowly and steadily, taking my time with each entrail and bone.”

His hands gripped the crook until his knuckles were as white as his face. “Un-un-understood!”

I released him, ignored the looks from the other party members, and knelt beside my family. I had to gently pick their faces up from their grazing in order to look into their eyes as I said soft goodbyes and told them to be on their best behavior. Their response was to continue chewing cud despite my hand cupping their little jaws.

We left Tremor behind and ducked into the brush, lying flat on our stomachs as Flete used a spyglass to better see what we were up against.

“There are armed guards at every tower and every few feet along the high walls.”

He handed me the spyglass, and I counted another three-dozen patrolling the various levels of the courtyard.

Gravi loaded his crossbow beside me. “Not going to be a problem.”

We went over the short, simple plan again, making sure everyone would remember. It was then, conveniently, our sixth member had decided to join us. As he slid into the dirt between Sitara and I, his eyes lit up the moment they landed on me.

“Hey,” Paco said. “Aren't you the crazy girl who thinks the sheep are reincarnations of her family?”

I turned my head slowly to glare at Flete who shrugged quickly.

“It wasn't me. It was Begonia who told them. Well…maybe I said the part about the sheep, but Begonia talked about the reincarnation stuff.

“It’s real,” I growled, in no mood to defend my beliefs.

Paco laughed. “So, how does it work, since they’re sheep and you’re human? Are you convinced you can understand them or are they animals that do something that reminds you of your family?”

“We should focus on the mission,” Flete said.

“Yeah, Paco,” I hissed. “The mission.”

“It's not the craziest thing I've ever heard,” Sitara said. “Especially considering Shep is immortal, and reincarnation is just another form of immortality I one day hope the gods bless me with.”

“I am still skeptical. Are we sure she just doesn't have a phenomenal moisturizer?” Gravi asked. “I mean, after all, how is immortality a curse?”

I close my eyes painfully, more memories than my mind could manage in that moment merging behind them. “Yes, I've gotten to try every food and travel to just about every nation in the world. Yes, I've read every book multiple times and taught myself so many skills it's annoying at this point. After the first hundred years, the novelty was gone. Everything is repetitive. There's no new stimulation for me. Not at the bottom of the bottle. Not when overdosing on hallucinogens. Not even after drowning my hands in blood. For centuries, I've walked to this earth in an unchanging body. I've been many things, and each of these things always seem to lead me back to people that I've loved and eventually lost for there is no escape from death for those who remain unpunished. I'm not sure if these coincidences are a cruel reminder of the life I'll never get to have or if this is fate trying to keep me sane, but I do know there is no purpose. I crave death more than peace. So I ask you, Gravi, do you still think it's a gift”

His gaze fell, followed by a muttered “no”.

Flete inhale sharply, getting our attention. “We do not have much time to get inside. If we do not reach Begonia before they are made aware of our presence, we will fail.”

Adrenaline began coursing through my legs. I was ready to run, crook clutched tightly. We had to wait for Sitara’s signal. She had climbed the nearest tree and watched the guard towers closely. Soon, they would change shifts, and we would make our move.

She dropped down. “Now!”

We were off running as fast as our bodies could go. I pulled ahead of the soldiers, leaving every one of them surprised except Flete, who had known me back when I was one of them. Paco was beside me, his crossbow hitting its target at the top of the wall. He gave a firm tug and when the rope held snuggly, vanished behind the stone banister. I gave everyone else a boost after him, then held my crook to the night sky. Flete grabbed the hooked end and swung me up beside him.

We kept to the shadows, moving quieter than darkness. Once we had made it past the guards on the walls, we regrouped on a small landing in a dim stairwell. Gravi kept his crossbow poised out the little window, his attention never leaving our surroundings.

“There will be another twenty guards between us and the dungeons,” Flete whispered. “Sitara, you, Paco and Gravi go west. Make as much noise as you can and then high tail it to the rendezvous spot. Shep and I will proceed to the dungeons. We’ll slip out the back, hopefully unnoticed, and join you.”

“It sounds so simple when you put it that way,” Paco muttered.

“Watch each other’s backs. The king’s soldiers are not to be underestimated.”

“We know,” Sitara nodded, resting her hand on top of Flete’s. “Begonia taught us well.”

“They were trained for speed, not stamina,” I said quickly. Everyone looked at me. “If you find yourself in trouble, fight defensive and try to wait them out.”

“How do you—”

“Let’s get moving,” Flete said, cutting off Paco.

We moved downstairs to the hallways. Our party disbanded, the others loudly taking off into the corridors where echoes of their arrival caught the attention Flete and I did not want.

We moved like we were intangible. No sound followed our footsteps, emitted from our clothing, or rose from our nostrils. With our allies distracting, they never knew we were here.

Nearly all light was snuffed out when we reach the entrance to the dungeons. I descended into the noticeably colder environment first, Flete’s hand on my shoulder for I could see very well in the dark. Groans of agony mixed with moans of misery greeted us from the dungeon packed with prisoners. I could smell them all. Flete took an almost extinguished torch from the wall and brought the flame back to life.

“Flete?”

I whipped around to the man who had uttered my ally’s name. He reached for us from behind the bars. Flete brought the torch closer, casting light over the unkempt man.

“Mart?” Flete’s eyes widened in surprise. “You’re alive!”

“We all are,” Mart rasped, trying his best to focus on Flete despite how out of it he was. He was dehydrated and starving, that much I could smell.

Flete backed away from the cells filled with his soldiers. He was prepared to make a sacrifice; I could see it in the way his eyes flitted to the damp floor.

“We can free them all,” I said.

He shook his head. “I don’t think we can.”

I laid a firm hand on his shoulder. “We can, and we will. Begonia wanted me to help you, so let me do that.”

I had known from the moment Flete first said the name why Begonia chose me of all people. “You get them out. I’ll find Begonia.”

Flete nodded, hastily setting to work on the locks. I dashed down the corridor, my nose leading me to someone I thought would be dead before we ever spoke again. The scent was strongest in the last, most secure cell. Fitting for the leader of the free people. Shadows filled the space. At first, I could not see a thing. My eyes had to adjust to the new level of darkness, and I clutched the freezing bars in anticipation, willing my pounding heart to slow. After a few seconds, I saw my old friend, and an immovable smile stretched over my face. He was filthy, emaciated, dehydrated, beaten, bleeding and bruised, all of which I had seen before and all of which he had overcome on numerous occasions. But the exhaustion on his worn face was enough to break my heart. Never, had I seen someone look so defeated.

“Hey,” I said, squeezing the bars harder.

Begonia shot up, the smile I so loved removing any trace of fatigue. It even reached his faded eyes. “Shepherd!” His voice cracked when he spoke, as if he hadn’t used it in a while. “You came.”

I yanked the bars, snapping them clean from their bearings. Begonia gladly accepted my outstretched hand before pulling me into a tight hug, despite how frail he had become.

“I never thought you'd make it into your old age.” I wrinkled my nose at how he smelled, but the warmth of his arms kept me from pulling away.

“And I never thought I'd see you again.” He clapped me on the back with surprising strength.

“Come on.” I tugged him after me. “We're only half done.”

Flete had opened two of the six cells by the time Begonia and I found him again. I finished the task for him, using nothing but pure strength to tear the doors from their hinges and frightening the few soldiers coherent enough to notice.

“I take it you did not follow my orders,” Begonia said, crossing his arms as he looked over the men surrounding us.

Flete grinned nervously. “Eventually, we did!” He gestured at me.

“This isn’t going to be easy.”

I glanced at Begonia. “I am prepared to do what it takes.”

We would not be able to sneak out the back, as we originally intended to, with twenty extra people. We would have to fight our way out of this one. Flete tossed a dagger to Begonia and drew his sword. I tensed on my crook and led the way up to the surface.

The first guard to see us was the first to fall. I wacked him with my crook, sending a stream of blood down the side of his face. Begonia and Flete charged on either side of me. At least we had the element of surprise on our side, for the guards were just now noticing us. A battle erupted. I watched Begonia in amazement, remembering suddenly just how skilled he was as he effortlessly took down two guards at once. A sword colliding with my staff grounded me. The guard smelled of adrenaline and anger, which turned to fear when I showed my teeth.

We fought with everything we had. A few of the better faring prisoners joined us, picking up the weapons of fallen enemies.

“You and that crook move well together!” Flete shouted as I pulled myself to the top of it, balancing neatly while a guard slashed where I had been seconds ago. I let my weight lean to one side, landing on my feet just in time to take another guard off his.

“It makes a surprisingly good weapon!” I answered, pulling a feeble prisoner to safety and sending a guard into Flete’s sword.

Pain abruptly tore through my upper arm, knocking the crook from my hand. With a howl, I wrapped my fingers around the arrow sticking out of my flesh. My eyes shot to the watchtower it had originated from. The archer loosed another, which I evaded more clumsily than normal. Before he could fire a third, he plummeted from his watchtower with a scream, taking his crossbow with him. An arrow protruded from his chest, and I looked for its source. Paco saluted me, Sitara and Gravi behind him.

“This was not the plan!” Flete cried as they lunged into the fighting.

“Clearly!” Sitara slid between two guards, cutting their legs with her sword. Begonia pulled her on her feet, and they fought back to back, becoming a relentless force. Even Flete couldn’t hid his smile.

Gravi and Paco continued to take out the guards with the high ground. I clenched my teeth and yanked out the arrow, roaring as blood poured from the wound. Immortality did not come with invulnerability.

“I never thought I’d see the day…” a voice uttered behind me. I whirled around to see yet another familiar face. But this time, it was not joy that filled me. “The Beast that Brutalizes the Bay, fighting for the mutineers. I knew the mountains was too quiet a life for a monster such as yourself.”

“I am here of my own free will, Garbidi,” I hissed to the king’s most decorated soldier. My gaze betrayed me as I glanced to Begonia, ruthlessly slaying any guard that stepped onto his path.

Garbidi looked too, a smile crossing his face. “Ah, yes, rescuing the man who gave you back your life. How predictable.”

“I do not want to kill if I do not have to. Let us go and you may keep your pathetic life.”

“I don’t know if that tiny brain of yours allows you to remember, but there was a time when you stood beside me instead of beneath me.” Garbidi stepped closer. He was always one of the few never fazed by my snarl. Usually, that was enough to turn aggressors away. I smelled no fear as he took another step, his grin broadening.

Suddenly, his hand was around my throat. My feet no longer touched the ground. I gasped for breath, my own hands gripping his wrist. Last time we met, Garbidi was not this strong. Nor were his hands so cold. Nor…

He had no heartbeat!

“I bet realization is just now dawning.”

“What did you do!” I sputtered, unsuccessfully prying away his fingers. I had heard rumors. Never, in a millennium, would I have thought them true.

“I wanted what you have. You refused to tell me how you achieved your gifts, so I sought it on my own. While I never quite found it, I came pretty damn close.” His eyes became bloodshot and the skin around them cracked and crinkled. Two long, sharp, glistening fangs framed his smile.

For the first time in my life, I smelt my own fear.

“Welcome to the new era of immortality. I like what I have become better than what the gods forced you to be.”

Garbidi hurled me into the ground with such force I left a crater. The rattle of the courtyard was enough to draw the attention of everyone. For a moment, the fighting stopped.

“You should have stayed on your mountain with your stupid sheep, Shepherd.”

The sword sank into my torso. I threw my head back, wailing in anguish. Garbidi licked his lips at the sight of the blood dripping down mine.

Flete, Sitara and Begonia charged Garbidi with a scream. Paco and Gravi shot their arrows. The unholy creature tossed the three back without breaking his focus on me, and caught the onslaught of arrows, snapping each one with a speed not even I could not match.

“I know I cannot kill you,” Garbidi leaned down as he spoke so none but me could hear. “But I can make you suffer.” He dragged a jagged nail along the wound on my arm and licked the blood soaking into it.

“Get up, Shep!” Begonia cried, dragging himself to his feet.

“Take them,” Garbidi ordered, nodding at his men. Their forces became overwhelming.

My allies fought as best they could despite the sheer number of guards suddenly swarming the courtyard. Torches and tempers flared. Garbidi seized the nearest prisoner, an unarmed woman, and sank his fangs into her neck, draining her body of all life within seconds.

A growl bubbled in my throat. Ignoring the pain searing through me, I hauled my heavy body to its feet and stood strong with my crook in hand. This fight was far from finished. The crook found its way around Garbidi’s neck before his fangs could fix into more flesh. Blood sprayed from his lips as I yanked him back, slamming the aggressor into the nearest wall with such force it crumbled.

Another guard was on me, his sword moments from meeting the wound already festering on my side. I blocked his attack with ease, giving him a vicious smile.

Paco made his way to me, his back against mine as we kept the guards from the unarmed prisoners. Gods, I hated Begonia for getting me into this. But I understood why.

“You've heard the one about the wolf in sheep's clothing, I assume?” I shouted over my shoulder to Paco. “But have you heard the one about the wolf in shepherd's clothing?”

He raised an eyebrow, meeting my glowing eyes.

My lips curled into a feral snarl. My clothes and cape and shoes shredded around me as my body grew and grew and deformed. Bones snapped and bent. Bristly fur sprouted along my skin. My face protruded into a snout. My ears became sharp pointed and a bushy, wiry tail wagged behind me. Teeth sharper than daggers and claws finer than knives knew what they had to do.

Paco screamed, as did many others, for I was a monster. The gods hadn't just cursed me with immortality—that would have been too kind. They made me a beast, since that was the only thing that would dare threaten gentle, loving, gods. What else but the young girl taken before her time, who had rage in her heart and wrath in her bones, who entered their domain with threats on her lips? She told the gods that if they did not send her back to her family, she would slaughter them. She would slaughter them all. She showed them the side of humanity they feared most and earned herself an eternity alone.

Paco scrambled away. The familiar scent of terror greeted my damp nose. I howled in agony. And then I lunged. My teeth latched onto their first target. Blood poured down my lips. Blood poured down my throat. It was warm in my mouth and warmer in my stomach. I tore into flesh. I shredded skin. I ripped out throats. Slashed off limbs. I slaughtered anything that moved and stopped only when I heard Garbidi cackle.

“I thought you’d forgotten how to unleash the beast!” The glee on his face hardened my anger. He removed his cape and beckoned me forward.

I landed on top of him with my full weight, pinning the wicked creature to the ground. He was strong enough to keep my jaws at bay, hissing as bloody saliva trickled onto his skin. One swift kick to the chest sent me flying. I landed on my feet, sliding to a stop long enough to launch myself again, a full roar accompanying the assault.

It was obvious Garbidi and his newfound immortality had never faced anything like me, for he was no match. All the times I had been the king’s weapon, the soldiers had never really seen me in action. I was too dangerous to be around. Instead, I had gone ahead. They only ever saw the aftermath. And Begonia never asked for the wolf, only for my wit and will.

I was the perfect predator, no ounce of humanity left within once the transformation completed. Garbidi still had his few flaws. Hubris. Vengeance. Pathetic human emotions which fueled his actions. Animals did not have these restraints. There was only my teeth and my prey, and one perfectly timed bite was enough for me to tear out his throat. I howled triumphantly as he choked on his own blood, flesh becoming even paler.

The remaining guards, as few as there were, immediately put down their weapons and scattered, leaving nothing between me and the prisoners huddled int the corner beneath the faint moonlight. Paco, Gravi, Flete and Sitara raised their weapons. I could smell their fear. I desperately wanted to taste it.

Until Begonia stepped before me, gesturing for all survivors to stay behind him. He was one of the few who knew the full extent of my awful curse. He knew how hard it was to maintain control. The best I could do most times was aim myself in the direction with the least number of casualties. The only way to protect what I loved was to become this horrid, horrid monster.

Begonia held out his hand. “Easy, Shep.” His voice was soft and calm. There was no fear within him. Only a longing. “It's me, your friend.”

I stalked toward them. The armed survivors raised their weapons higher, forcing a low growl from my throat. Begonia quickly shoved the swords and crossbows away.

“She’s in there,” he said, never breaking eye contact with me. “You all need to trust me. And so does she.”

I remembered why he was so important to me. He was the only person I had ever met who saw the humanity I was convinced did not exist. My eyes softened. They no longer glowed like the moon. They were mine. Begonia could see it. Gods, I loved that smile.

“No matter what anyone has ever said, I have never thought of you as a monster.”

It was difficult for anyone behind him to agree as they stared at our massacred enemies. I hoped they understood why I no longer did this sort of thing. Begonia moved forward until inches of space separated us. He stayed very still, not out of distrust but out of respect. Knowing that, I dropped my giant head to his height, letting a single palm rest on my forehead as we said our goodbye.

“Thank you for saving me. For saving us.”

Then I turned and disappeared into the moonlight. It was time to go back to my mountains and my sheep.

Tremor got his share of a fright when I barreled through the trees, covered in blood, and swept the sheep up. Guilt would find me later for making him feel incompetent, but I moved so fast he never had the chance to draw his weapon. Begonia would tell him, no doubt, that the wolf who took the sheep was their Shepherd.

I never saw Begonia, Flete, Paco or any of them again. I don't think they wanted to see me. Part of me hated that their last memory of me was me slaughtering an entire group of king’s soldiers, even if they were enemies at the time. It’s hard for most to cope with living, breathing monsters roaming the earth. I know I never would have believed someone if they described some of my more violent adventures. But most monsters are made of mistakes, and if I could undo the past knowing what I do now, I would not hesitate to accept another life as a sheep, living blissfully on the grassy mountains of a carefree life.

Not everyone gets to be sheep. Most of us want to be wolves, hunting and dominating, sinking our teeth into our desires and running off with what we deserve. But there is a fine line between wolf and monster that no one sees, and the longer you stay a wolf, the more of yourself you lose, for we were never meant to be one thing exclusively. That’s the beauty of humanity. That’s why, if you watch closely, my sheep don’t always fall into line like I want. They have minds of their own, and they use them.

As I lick the blood from my paws, as I feel the wounds closing faster than any normal living creature’s should, I know that I do not belong in this world and will never be a part of it, no matter how I masquerade by day. I hoped if I stopped acting monstrous, they would no longer call me a monster. But it is nearly impossible to deny one’s nature. Maybe I lie to myself so I don’t notice how good it feels to howl at the moon, to taste the blood of those who threaten me, to watch the life from something horrid leave its dreadful eyes. Perhaps the only way to destroy a monster is with another monster. Isn’t that how the saying goes? Fight fire with fire.

I have some control over the beast within. That’s how I manage to keep it at bay every waking hour of every waking day, only relaxing when what I love is threatened. When that happens, I do not hesitate to become the monster. If there are more like me out in the world, I might be the only thing that can stop them. The moon glows brightly overhead, so bright I squint for a moment. Is it possible I misunderstood the gods’ intent for me? Is it possible I missed fate’s purpose, all this time? The moon glowed brighter, as if responding to my jumbled wolf-thoughts.

Then a scent struck my nose, a scent most foul. It was foreign, reeking of horror and evil, and about to crash through the trees and into the clearing where my sheep were resting, half a mile from the slumbering merchant village with all its innocent. My eyes began to glow. I stepped into the moonlight, taking on a powerful stance.

Time to protect what is mine.

#short story #supernatural #pass the time #writing #original story #original work #werewolves #writers #writer

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feralhogs · 4 years

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ALL THE COLOURS

HERE WE GO BOYS

zinc white; how are you really feeling today? no one-word answers please!

I’m feeling tired because I’m supposed to be in bed. But happy because I did the work and I can get away with sleeping in and things are just chill right now. I have devised a way of sneaking waste food at work. If you put it in these little metal containers and hide them under the fridge, nobody notices them and throws them away. This eve I dined on garlic bread and prawns.

cadmium yellow; when you think of the word “happy” what’s the first thing that comes to mind?

Walking with coffee and tunes. I’m trying to appreciate things in my life I will feel nostalgic about later in the moment, so I don’t regret anything. This is one of those things. Although I might not have the tunes part for long because I fucking broke my headphones and they may or may not start playing my music out loud for all the world to hear. I hope people like disco!

lemon; what’s your comfort food?

Food from my old workplace. I have trouble finishing food usually but not this stuff. I will probably scream while eating it. You know this and you love me

hansa yellow; what’s your guilty pleasure song?

“I Will Survive”. People were singing it in the Office and I guess it’s so famous and ironic and cringey now or something. But then I remember that one fucker

yellow ochre; name an artist/band whom you just discovered & can’t get enough of!

Herbie Hancock. I don’t know if I’ll listen to every single thing from him but I was just listening to some funk as you do and his like solos? I was vibing. We were having brain to brain communication. It was an experience. It was so so good. It was good fucking music. Listen to this shit. Herbie Hancock - I Thought It Was You This stuff makes me want to wiggle on public transit.

naples yellow; where do you feel most at home?

Bonsais and my quiet neat fucking room. Or not giving a fuck in other people’s mess.

raw sienna; with whom do you feel most at home?

YOU HO

golden ochre; describe the relationship you have with your closest friend.

We reblog asks and send each other all the asks. ADHD disaster energy finding balance. The worst posts I’ve ever seen followed by revenge. Two gay best friends who are best friends. No seriously I am so grateful for your unconditional love and your warmth

golden deep; what’s your favorite season?

Autumn. When the leaves were falling and the sun was shining all bittersweetly I was running around taking so many pictures because there’s like this golden time and then it’s gone.

cadmium orange; what do you like to do on your days off?

I like to buy too many plants and pretty rocks that are just vibing. I just like to wander around with coffee without a schedule. Listening to funk and disco. Seriously I’m the coolest person ever

orange lake; do you have anyone you can turn to when you’re sad?

U HO. And some online mutuals of course :) I feel like I don’t turn to people when it’s real sad hours though. I just give my ocs more PTSD.

titans; do you prefer slow mornings or relaxing evenings?

Relaxed evenings. Fuck mornings. All my mornings are slow buddy.

shakhnazaryan red; are you currently binge-watching anything?

No, because I had to go and cancel my Netflix as all my favourite things got more episodes.

red ochre; are you more right-brained (creative) or left-brained (analytical)?

Oh right brained bitch.

burnt sienna; is there a painting that brings you peace when you look at it?

No, paintings are stressful. It’s always like “Holy shit, that must have been so much work! I don’t enjoy painting myself! This person is better at painting than me!” I have much love in the heart for Van Gogh.

english red; what animal do you relate to most?

I know what you’re trying to do and it’s not going to work. I could say a cat, because I want to lie down in a patch of sun, knock things over, and complain loudly. I would say a dog because I think people are way better than they really are, am tenaciously loyal to them, and get excited about going for a walk.

vermilion; what’s your favorite accent?

Whatever this one hot guy at work has.

cadmium red; do you have a “type” when it comes to a significant other?

FOR FUCKS SAKE okay I’m going to google what my type is

You got: Mr./ Mrs Perfect

You like someone that truly has is all. You need someone who is well rounded in all aspects of life. When it comes to looks and personality, only perfection receives your affection.

Wow, what does that mean at all

scarlet; describe your current crush/es.

Ok, one of them gave me cheesecake, one of them offered me pizza, another one is the guy whose Facebook you stalked for me and we still couldn’t find his birthday but I laugh about one adorable photo still (the car one), and one of them I spent half an hour trying to find where I put the birth chart of and we’re actually really compatible. I’m sorry, if you want more information I’ll have to ramble about it in your messages.

ruby; what does your ideal first date look like?

OH I JUST WANT TO WALK DOWN A STREET HOLDING HANDS AND GO TO A RESTAURANT WEVE NEVER BEEN TO BEFORE AND TRY SOME FOOD AND LAUGH A LOT, AND THEN MAYBE GO ENJOY THE VIEW OF THE OCEAN AT NIGHT. IS THAT TOO MUCH TO ASK? IS IT?

carmine; what does your ideal second date look like?

I don’t know, fuck it let’s go to the aquarium!

madder lake red; would you ever kiss someone (or accept a kiss) on a first date?

I dunno man. I feel like I wouldn’t if it wasn’t socially acceptable but I’m also wild and crazy.

rose; what’s something really positive going on in your life right now?

I REALLY ACTUALLY LIKE MY WORKPLACE. And my living situation is pretty okay. It’s not great I guess but I’ve been coming a long way.

quinacridone rose; what’s something you’re really looking forward to?

Literally what are these colours. Okay, I’m looking forward to putting wires around crystals to make them into jewellery. Then, I want to give the jewellery to my friends.

violet rose; what does your dream house look like?

An old as fuck, old fashioned as fuck haunted-looking mansion I can give some love.

violet; is there any place in particular you’d like to settle down?

I need the outdoors bro. I need those trees. I gotta live in the countryside again someday.

blue lake; what would you like to do/accomplish before you settle down?

Write some books! Run rampant in the city…

cobalt blue spectral; what is the most beautiful place you have ever been to?

I think it would have to be the hills where I grew up. It was bursting with biodiversity, there was a rustic sheep farm, everyone shut the fuck up, there would be frogs, the smell of the fresh air in any season, some days would just be heart-stoppingly beautiful and I ache for it sometimes. Birdsong? I heard some birdsong today and I wanted to cry. I remember our hedges would be deafening with the birds in it.

ultramarine; when was the last time you were in a good mood? do you know/remember what sparked it?

Today, it finding something I maybe could sit around and read and then finding it in me to actually get out of bed lol.

blue; what’s the most recent dream you remember?

The one I just had. A lot of it is blurry, which is frustrating because I got some strong almost-memories of it throughout the day, but it sticks out to me because I was bawling my eyes out a lot in the dream, and I also hurt myself the way I used to and I had to check that I hadn’t done it in my sleep. But I think it was a very expressive dream and those are my natural emotions.

bright blue; what does your dream family look like? any kids or pets?

I like the idea of a husband and some dogs, cats and chickens. Kids maybe.

how many of each?

A lot of chickens, but not too many please.

blue cobalt; do you like your name? would you give yourself a different name if you could?

I do like my name, and I did give myself a different name. Even if I knew how annoying everyone would be about pop culture Gordons, and I did. I still would choose this name.

prussian azure; what’s your favorite scent?

I’m running out of things to say as my favourite scent. OK, Nomad from Old Spice. I don’t know why, I think it must suit me or something. Maybe it’s the citrus… stuff going on there.

azure blue; what’s your favorite type of tea, if any?

Red Rose, my mom made it for me as a kid and she drank it all the time while teaching me piano or reading books.

turquoise blue; if you could start a garden, what would you plant?

Flowers, to show off to everyone, and then I don’t know, maybe some fucking pumpkins and easy things like corn and peas.

cerulean blue; if you were guaranteed to have a viewership, would you start a youtube vlog?

I think I’d be happier to have one if I knew no one was watching my antics LMAO

glauconite; describe your body without using any negative adjectives.

Best of both worlds

yellow green; picture yourself walking in a field. what do you see & hear in this scenario?

I’m still thinking of where I grew up. I see the sun through the branches of very old maple trees, and hear the wind in the long grass.

green light; are you in a comfortable place in life? if not, what do you think might make it better?

Yes, but I could make it better by moving in with cleaner roommates and getting a cat. And maybe work at something I’m actually interested in, or go to school or something.

green; name three countries you want to visit; do you have any actual plans in place to visit any of them?

I don’t have plans, but I’d like to visit Mexico, France, or Japan.

emerald green; do you speak any languages besides english? are there any additional languages you want to learn?

Kinda French. I want to learn Spanish… now Portuguese because everyone at work speaks it… literally, any very popular language. I want to learn so many languages

oxide of chromium; what’s your favorite book?

BRO WHAT IS A BOOK

olive green; are you currently reading anything? how do you like it so far?

Yeah, I’m reading a personal account of a Satanic cult. I had to stop reading it because I wasn’t ready for the graphic details.

mars brown; what’s a movie that always puts a smile on your face/makes you laugh?

Megamind/Thor Ragnarok

burnt umber; what’s something you plan to do before the day is over to take care of yourself?

Wow I feel really called out right now. I was going to eat some chicken because I’m hungry. Because that’s what I should be doing at 3AM.

umber; have you drank enough water today?

Yes, but probably not. I’ve been trying really hard today though.

voronezhskaya black; what or who is your go-to outlet for when you need to vent?

Probably you again, welcome to the salt mines!

sepia; name five things that always make you happy.

Buying a plant, rolling around on my fuzzy blanket, videos of cats being idiots, little unexpected thoughtful gifts, people sharing food.

indigo; what’s the best/sweetest compliment you have ever received?

A Treasured Mutual once spontaneously said I was a really good person because I was chill and they felt free to be themselves, to be vague.

payne’s gray; describe your aesthetic?

Looking around my room, it would seem to be whatever those studying people organizing notes with the window open on a sunny day have. I don’t know if this is me, but my room looks… vaguely feminine and organized in that way.

black; post a selfie because you are so beautiful!

I’m in my PYJAMA CLOTHES. I only want to take a selfie with GOOD NATURAL LIGHTING and the DAYTIME DARK CIRCLES around my eyes not the NIGHTTIME DARK CIRCLES. Maybe I have one hanging around

#chatty tag #zee5tarbug #ho #asks

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angermango · 5 years

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[slides into inbox] wanna talk about those elementals real quick

OH BOY WOULD I !!!

so i dunno how much detail i should put out here on the get go, especially with the whole thing where i’m still unsure as to whether or not I should use them as Mortal Kombat OCs/fan interpretations of canon characters or just OCs on their own (in which case they’d be just ordinary elementals although i guess they can still be gods? :V)

Regardless they’re all supposed to be ageless immortal non-humans in human form sort of dudes who are basically the embodiments of the classical elements with so much power they’re basically deities by any other name so take your pick

Down here’s a guide to your friendly neighbourhood elementals (cut because it got LONG):

Ohona

Earth elemental/deity

Name based on a Japanese earth god named Ohonamochi (though he doesn’t really share much in common with the myths etc surrounding that guy, just the namesake)

He has control over the element of earth but also can manipulate anything under the earth so that includes metal and even minerals/gems

He’s the definition of a ‘gentle giant’ like he’s well over 7ft tall and broad like an ox but he’s the chillest and loveliest guy you’ll ever meet

Ohona’s kindness is freakin’ legendary. Even the nastiest of people would be hard pressed not to admit he’s such a nice guy they feel bad going up against him. If someone pulled a knife on him and demanded money Ohona’d fuckin give them his entire purse and then invite them for a meal and tea.

His big friendly giant thing means he’s probably classified as a pacifist, or at the very least one of those “Martial Pacifists” who doesn’t kill or use more force than necessary

His fighting style prioritises defence, the kind of Big Beefy defence trading on speed where he aims to outlast his opponents and keep his own attacking to a minimum. He’d much rather see his enemies give up than be forced to hurt them, sometimes deliberately letting them wear themselves out so he can approach and possibly talk it out with them without having to raise a hand

That said if he does ever have to attack he hits like a freaking bus on a train. He knows proper martial arts forms and everything so don’t think just because he’s a tank he doesn’t have skill or strength

He likes using his element to form shields and even armour around himself. He got the standard rock armour look down, but if the situation calls he can even scare up full metal or even diamond armour and shields

He is able to transform into a purely elemental form which is like a huge golem made of rock (like the MK Earth God). He’s even bigger and tankier in that form, but he rarely cracks it out unless it’s Serious Business and the situation calls for being huge and strong

He can also change up his elemental form if given enough time so sometimes y’all get metal golem Ohona or diamond golem Ohona stomping around. good luck if you ever go up against that.

Something of a nomad when he’s out and about in human form. He loves travelling, mostly for the hiking and scenery. I mean yeah he can teleport (usually as a small sandstorm or sometimes in a sort of ‘sink into the earth and pop out elsewhere’) but where’s the fun in that? He’s very much one with nature and his element and lives off the earth sort of thing, enjoying the great outdoors and sleeping under the stars

Brilliant gardener despite plants not being his domain, mostly owing to his naturally excellent care of the earth

Absolute animal lover and friend to everything that moves

That also includes the super freaky and dangerous animals. catch him treating a 13ft gator like a dog and getting it to roll over for belly rubs or calling one of them bird-eating giant tarantulas his hairy baby.

He’s really friendly and warm to humans he meets regardless of whether they acknowledge his power or not. He likes spending time helping them out however he can with his powers be it helping them do some gardening or fixing stuff up

He’s a talented hand in sculpting, carving, jewellery and pottery craft to name a few. He’s got a rather infamous habit of making some incredible pieces then just giving them away and fucking off, leaving people with these beautiful pieces of art which are completely anonymous and literally priceless

He always makes time to visit Hinoka and Suijin either separately or as a get-together. They’re his two best buddies and he is always happy to keep Hinoka company or keep an eye on Suijin.

Hinoka

Fire elemental/deity

His… is actually not a real deity’s name, I think i remember seeing some fan names for the unnamed MK fire god using it and liked it. sorry oddball

(ED) o I think i found the origin it’s probably from the Shinto fire kami Kagutsuchi who is sometimes known Hinokagutsuchi or Hi-no-kagutsuchi waddayaknow - he doesn’t share the same myth as Kagutsuchi tho but now we know his name isn’t completely random hey-oh

As a Fire guy he controls flame but also heat, being able to thermoregulate his body and the air around him. He can also absorb fire and heat so he’s like immune to burning too and can put out fires by standing in them.

His elemental form is of course basically a humanoid bonfire, though he’s able to not make himself wholly flammable so he can walk around indoors and around people without making everything catch alight, but his elemental form can also still burn people on contact through radiating heat. it’s elemental magic man he don’t got to explain

He’s a very capable fighter in both martial arts and also swordfighting as his weapon of choice. cause you know what’s better than a sword? A FLAMING sword. He also mixes in the classic fire-bending tricks where he can, fireballs and flamethrowers and so on.

Got a very fast and ‘keep away’ sort of fighting style where he favours AOE kinds of moves to keep people at a distance with the threat of getting barbecued or beat to hell. Expect rings of fire, explosions and sweeping fireballs sort of thing, as well as a lot of constant moving around to make it hard to pin him down.

kind of a hermit so he doesn’t actually really go out and interact with people a lot save for his fellow elementals. and even then he’s pretty quiet and shy and it takes a lot to coax him out of his shell

If you do manage to get through to him he’s quite a nice guy. perhaps still not the most talkative, but he’s not going to be rude or anything

He has a thing where if he gets startled or embarrassed he sometimes accidentally lights himself on fire and Shenanigans Ensue. It’s often a bit of a chain reaction because say you surprise him and he flares up, and then he gets embarrassed for flaring up, then he gets embarrassed that he can’t stop flaring up etc.

The reason for his reclusiveness is pretty sad actually. He’s cripplingly afraid of hurting people with his powers because he knows he can deal some serious damage with them. That’s the thing with fire, it doesn’t need a lot to get going and can spread very quickly. But because he isolates himself and stews in his fear he doesn’t have much control when he is around people and loses control when he’s stressed and then continues to fear being around people…

And the reason why this fear started is even sadder. A very, very long time ago, Hinoka once lost control of his powers in a blind rage and made a desert. A really, really big desert. Out of land which was once fertile and thriving. And inhabited. He still hasn’t forgiven himself for it and it’s really not a good idea to bring it up.

Because of what happened, that’s why he only hangs out around the other two elementals and any other immortals, because he knows he can’t hurt them that badly if something ever went wrong.

He tends to retreat to extremely remote regions and in very basic conditions, like a cabin or even a small cave, far from civilisation.

He prefers temperate to hot climates but like even if he was in the Arctic he is always warm himself so it’s not a big deal.

He spends most of his free time meditating and practicing forms in an attempt to de-stress and get some control over his powers. He also reads sometimes (though he fears for his books) and has gotten fairly good at cooking as a past time (even though he doesn’t quite need to eat like a human).

Speaking of his food the other two elementals always like dropping by to keep him company over a meal or to share new recipes/try his new recipes. Always an evening well spent.

Despite popular beliefs and stereotypes, he doesn’t like spicy food. Too much spice will hurt and then he’ll become stressed and because he’s stressed his fire aura will flare up and so yeah he doesn’t do spice.

Suijin

Water elemental/deity

Named after Shinto water kami of the same name

To put it bluntly Suijin’s like. a massive jerk.

Of all the elementals Suijin is the one with the lowest opinion of humans/mortals.

His reason is because he mostly spends more time in the sea and not integrating with humans.

And also because humans keep dumping their crap in the oceans and he’s left choking in it and clearing it all up so STOP DOING THAT YOU OIL PISSING FUCKMONKEYS

oh yeah he’s got an atomic temper and a vocabulary to match. being immortal just means he’s had more time to pick up some fantastic new curses to try out.

speaking of his temper he’s seriously got waayyyy to small a fuse and he’s so extremely hot-blooded there’s no in betweens when it comes to chill or no chill. one moment you could be talking about ice cream the next he’s chokeslamming you because you put sprinkles on it.

fun fact when he gets mad he often literally steams with anger

He also puts zero effort into his appearance when around mortals, his robes always looking scruffy and half-undone. see if he gives a shit what you think.

He prefers being in his elemental form most of the time, which is just a human-shaped mass of water. In this form he can melt into bodies of water and travel as a puddle, letting him go pretty much anywhere he likes. However he’s also vulnerable to extreme heat or cold in this form since it will dry him out or freeze him solid

His control of the element of water means he’s also technically got power over all water in all its forms including vapour e.g. steam and clouds. He’s also not limited to the water which is immediately around since he can call up water from any source or even move some clouds over for a top up. He could even create water on the spot from the air or dump a tidal wave on your doorstep even if you live inland. don’t try him. He’s also picked up some ice tricks, which also helps make him less vulnerable to being frozen

True to his personality and element he’s got a very aggressive and fluid fighting style that attacks on all sides and constantly moves and changes to take everyone by surprise. One minute he’s in your face with his fists the next he’s using Hydro Pump from a distance and then stabbing you from behind with his spear and calling you a bitch.

Okay so i said he’s a jerk and he is, but he’s also kind of a ‘jerk with a heart of gold’ guy in a way. For all his temper and foul mouth he can be decent to people when it matters. He’s still a surly grouch even around friends but he makes the effort not to be needlessly cruel and if his yelling and cursing genuinely upsets anyone he’ll dial it back and even apologise if he overstepped.

He’s also very loyal to those he is actually friends with. He may be a little intense about it, but he’s super ride-or-die and will tear anyone who threatens, upsets or insults his friends a new one. And he might not be the best with his words, but he would want what’s best for his friends and won’t hesitate to speak his mind with advice or criticism in their best interests.

He mostly keeps the company of the other elementals and non-mortals, though whenever he does make contact with humans who haven’t ticked him off it’s by the sea since he rarely roams far from his element.

Believe it or not, he and Hinoka are best friends. Hinoka is like Suijin’s one soft spot who he’ll move heaven and earth to keep happy and safe.

When Suijin is around Hinoka he basically does a 180 and becomes super considerate and careful around him. He won’t raise his voice and minds his manners, though he knows Hinoka doesn’t mind him grumbling and cursing a bit and it’s more he will be more mindful not to sound all negative and get loud and mean around Hinoka because he knows Hinoka doesn’t like it.

He knows about why Hinoka is so afraid of going outside and has been doing his best to support him ever since the incident. He visits often to check in on him and keep him company. He also knows Hinoka feels safer with him around because he is the only person Hinoka can’t actually hurt with his fire powers (as in Suijin can’t even get burned where Ohona can still) and Suijin can always put out fires quickly.

Hinoka is also Suijin’s biggest berserk button. Don’t ever insult let alone hurt Hinoka in front of him or Suijin will actually tear you in half.

He’s also just as close to Ohona despite not seeming it at first glance. He often seems like he just gripes a lot to Ohona but he genuinely appreciates Ohona’s consideration and patience around him and being a loyal friend. Suijin will just as easily jump in to defend and fight for Ohona too like he does Hinoka, but less often since he knows Ohona can handle himself and barely has problems.

#igot2ne1problems #asks #my ocs #suijin (oc)#hinoka (oc)#ohona (oc)#wow that really got bigger than i anticipated #once i got going i just couldn't stop ^^;#i really love them but i am so indecisive about them #not that i'm very good with my other ocs who are just floating in private creative limbo in docs and doodles you'll never see #just realised that despite giving them japanese names (at least 2/3 of em) i been dressing them in chinese clothes :U #that's totally on me man i really like them in traditional chinese fashion #i know the mk fire god had noticeable clothing in his elemental form but i just chose not to put hinoka in it in my pics for simplicity's sa #it's like armour and stuff but i wanted him to also have some casual wear #>>mangowaffles

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harryandmolly · 6 years

Text

i could write it better than you ever felt it - one

A/N: I’m dedicating this fic to the author of the first fics I fell in love with as a curious middle schooler on Quizilla, soxlongxjimmy. Thanks for the memories.

Warnings: Language, miscreants being miscreants

Word count: 3.2k

Val rolls over, blindly scrabbles for the cherry red Sidekick blaring “Miss Murder” under her tufted black PB Teen comforter.

“Raf Calling”

Val stifles a knowing smile, though she’s alone in her bedroom. She answers, lifts the phone to her ear.

“How much do you love me?” he asks, a self-deprecating chuckle in his voice.

Val giggles back. “Enough.”

Rafael and Valentina Moreno were born at 6:43 and 7:04 (respectively) on the morning of April 22, 1985. From then on, it was chaos.

Two was quite enough children for ambitious professors Miguel and Fernanda Moreno. They were scholars, children of knowledge, who wanted a small, quiet family. They envisioned docile walks on the beach, Saturday trips to museums, maybe the occasional University of Miami football game.

They got Raf and Val instead. The twins were at each other’s throats nearly from the time they were born – Miguel tells a story every holiday season of placing both babies in the same crib to bond when they were a few months old. The new parents turned around for a minute and looked back to see Val rolling on top of Raf trying to smush his face into the cushions.

From then on, separate cribs.

But the twins, despite their ongoing hostilities, couldn’t be separated. It was as though their energies thrived on one another. One summer when they were 12, Raf left for sleepaway soccer camp. A few days in, Val woke her mother up in the middle of the night in tears begging them to bring her brother home. He came back at the end of the summer and two days later she threw an ice cream cone in his face.

Miguel and Fernanda were faced with a new reality – noise. Their kids were loud before they even picked up their respective instruments. The Morenos thought music lessons would be a good outlet for their wild children, so they had them classically trained from a young age. Once again, their good intentions wrought chaos. Valentina was a menace on the drums – though a very talented, well trained menace. And Rafael was a gifted guitar player.

It wasn’t until they were 14 and started sharing practice space in the Morenos’ garage that they could be in the same room without ripping each other’s heads off.

And then, against all odds, they joined forces. The Moreno twins finally discovered they were stronger together than apart. That’s not to say they didn’t still fight like cats and dogs, but they loved each other just as viciously as they bickered. Miguel and Fernanda could live with that. They had to.

Streets of Gold was a stupid pet project, it wasn’t supposed to be anything. Until it was.

Val was original music buff of the family. She used to sit in her closet with the door shut and the lights off listening to her dad’s record collection. It made her feel cool, listening to old vinyl. But she didn’t really get it until she got around to hearing The Ramones’ “Rocket to Russia” for the first time. Everything changed then for the Morenos.

Raf was hesitant at first – could he really let himself like something Val discovered, something Val thought was cool? But he couldn’t hold out long. Because it was cool. It was really cool.

Valentina became the Encyclopedia Brown of pop-punk. You could name a song and she could tell you what band, what album, what year it dropped, whether or not it was a single, and what label released it. She was a goddamn savant. Raf started using her like she was a walking party trick with his friends, some of whom also started to think pop-punk was cool.

Streets of Gold started, as many shitty garage bands do, as a blink-182 cover band. They played birthday parties, then house parties, then veteran halls, then underground Miami clubs. They were signed by Stuck in the Suburbs Records in 2002 and struck out on their first supporting tour. They’ve barely been home since.

Everything changed once again for the Moreno family when Val took a step back. She loved the band, loved the music, even loved touring, but there was a piece of her that was more like her parents than she ever realized or wanted to admit. She craved learning and missed academia after she finished her GED. She secretly applied to the University of Miami and sought out her replacement for the band, gearing up for a fight.

Raf lost it, at first. They had the worst knock-down, drag-out sibling fight of their entire lives. It ended in tears with Raf holding Val against his chest as they sobbed. They started training her replacement Naveen the next day.

Among Val’s fondest memories of drumming in Streets of Gold are the two years she spent with the band on Warped Tour. Warped was every scene kid’s wet dream, every garage band’s Woodstock. It was the be all, end all of pop-punk music. Warped is a fickle mistress – it makes and it breaks, it gives and it takes and it’s not for the faint of heart.

They call it rock band summer camp, and it is. It’s day after day of heat and sweat and drugs and sex and music, so much fucking music. But the showers are scarce and sleeping in a van with five guys, driving through the night to reach the next stop, it wears on you.

But it’s all about the kids. They come in droves, self-professed outcasts in girls’ skinny jeans, hair Manic Panic-ed and razored past the point of recognition, the uniform of kids without a cause. They gather like the Island of Misfit Toys for a chance at community, to throw themselves into a world they recognize, a world they’ve created for themselves. It reflects them, it accepts them, it inspires them, and Warped Tour is where it truly comes alive.

The kids wait for hours in the heat, withstand insane conditions to see their favorite bands. They go hard, they leave it all out on the fields, in the amphitheaters, screaming their lungs out as thanks for giving them somewhere to belong. It’s a chorus of angst and otherness and, somehow, hope. It’s Valentina’s favorite song. And she misses it.

Raf dropped the hint two weeks ago that there might be a chance at return for Val. Things are different now – Streets of Gold is starting and finishing the 2007 Vans Warped Tour on the main Lucky Stage, a far cry from their humble beginnings playing to a handful or a dozen curious onlookers from Hot Topic Kevin Says. They have a bus now with a shower and actual air conditioning and, holy shit, they have actual bunks.

And their merch guy Jamie, Raf told her casually, has to step away from the tour due to a family financial situation. Can’t be avoided. They’re checking their network for replacements, but, if they can’t find someone in time, could he beg her to come along? One last summer on the Warped Tour before she leaves for the UK in the fall?

Val played it cool – “I’m exhausted,” she reminded him, “After everything this year…” (And she doesn’t need to elaborate, because he knows all too well) “And I just graduated…”

But the truth is, Val found herself wondering about it. She hasn’t been on tour in three full years. She’s gotten her fixes visiting their shows, bobbing her head from side stage singing the words she still writes for the band with her brother, but it’s not the same. It’ll never be the same.

After only a few days, Val wasn’t just wondering – she was hoping. She had it wrapped around her heart now, this idea of returning to something that always brought her hope and comfort when she needed it. And like she told Raf, after the year she’s had…

She got the call four days before the first stop in Pomona. Raf needed her. She’d better start packing.

She couldn’t wait for the summer at the Warped Tour, she remembers the first time that she saw him there.

“Oh, thank fucking Christ!”

Shawn rolls his eyes and throws the lurching white van into park. It scuttles to a stop.

“Shut the fuck up, dude,” Shawn mumbles, wrenching his rusty door open and stepping out onto the grass to survey the area.

Francis’s head pops up over the roof of the van wearing a disapproving glare.

“All in favor of banning Shawn from driving for the rest of the tour, say aye!” Francis crows.

A chorus of ayes fall out of the sliding doors of the 15-passenger van as they open and pour smelly 20-somethings out. Shawn sighs and plants his hands on his hips.

“I got us here an hour before we were supposed to be, I deserve credit for that,” he whines, sliding his Ray Bans up into his dark curls.

Francis looks unimpressed. “You nearly killed us all at least four times. You don’t get shit.”

“Maybe this was his strategy,” Bobby offers with an eyebrow lifted conspiratorially, “Maybe he pretends to be a shitty driver so he can get out of driving the van between stops.”

Shawn smirks. “I’ve been a shitty driver since I was 15. That’s a long con.”

“Alright, assholes, time to start unloading,” calls a voice from near the trunk. Shawn groans and licks his lips, flicking at the black enameled ring he got pierced there a couple months ago.

He ambles back to where the truck has pulled up beside their rickety van. Andrew climbs out and runs a hand through his hair. “Shawn, man, you’re fucking impossible to follow. You were doing 85 on the freeway, you know that?”

Shawn opens his mouth to defend himself when the rest of his band starts choking on laughter. He holds up his hands in surrender. “Fine, fuckers. Drive yourselves.”

Shawn turns and looks around at the Pomona Fairgrounds. He’s never seen anything more beautiful in his life. There are stages going up left and right, tents and skate ramps and those inflatable floating human-shaped things that flop around and wave at car dealerships. It’s mania, and he’s so fucking excited about it.

Warped Tour has always been the dream. It’s always been a reality just out of reach. Always a spectator, never the spectated.

He’s been nomadic for the past few years since he first picked up a guitar and started playing old The Starting Line and Jimmy Eat World covers. He’s been in at least eight different bands, all of which showed promise at the start and ended in various states of the decay of teenage boredom. No one wanted to go the distance with him, not until he met Francis, Bobby and Seth through friends of friends of friends. Then suddenly, Warped Tour wasn’t just within reaching distance, it was fucking happening.

Shawn’s a sentimental sap so he’s standing on the hill overlooking the manifestation of his dreams. Seth, the band’s fan-anointed “quiet one,” claps a hand on his shoulder.

“We fuckin’ made it, man,” he reminds Shawn breathlessly. Shawn chokes on an emotional inhale and nods.

They’ve gotten good at load-in now. Everyone has their assigned tasks and Andrew’s a seasoned enough tour manager to be able to wrangle them into efficiency. Or, near efficiency. They’re a little distracted today, overwhelmed by the magnitude of it all.

They’re quieter, too. They’ve felt big in their britches for awhile, having been invited out on tour supporting bands like Valencia, My American Heart and All Time Low. But this is a new ballgame. They’re very much little fish in a giant fucking pond, a very intimidating pond.

They stare at the buses of pop-punk legends as they wade past with amps and instruments and risers in hand, feeling like it’s the first day of kindergarten and the eighth graders are all settled in and looking cooler than anyone ever has ever. Shawn actually, embarrassingly enough, nods in reverence at Streets of Gold’s bus. He’s glad none of his band and crew notice and razz him for it.

Being new and not a huge crowd draw, they’re one of the first bands of the day on their designated Smartpunk stage. Shawn doesn’t so much mind playing Smartpunk. It’s a small stage but plenty of amazing bands have gotten started there. He’s just happy to be on the tour. And if they impress and end up drawing in some attention and wind up spending a couple of tour dates on Hurley.com or even, dare he dream it, the Hurley stage, he’ll be a happy kid.

But at 19, with his best friends at his side and their sophomore album release date coming up in only a month, Shawn feels like he’s at the edge of the world looking at the start of something he can’t quite make out yet, but it feels so fucking good.

Val is already sweating her balls off, no surprise there.

She’s had some merch girl experience, naturally, having been with the band since its infancy, a time where everyone wears a lot of hats. But now that Streets is a bona fide Warped Tour Band, a destination, a band people make the trip to see, it’s a new ballgame.

She unloads box after box of shirts, hats, hoodies, wristbands, CDs, booty shorts, whatever else they can hawk at an upcharge. Raf and Naveen eagerly help her and she suspects they’re trying to play nice because they know she didn’t have to come on tour and help them. Val doesn’t want to get used to it – in about a week, they’ll be a lot less eager to haul boxes around and will make themselves scarce.

As she’s setting up the tent above the table, she looks around with a smile.

Returning to Warped feels a little like coming home. It’s a dry, hot, smelly home with sun-scorched grass underfoot and an overabundance of men in women’s jeans but there’s just something about it—

“BABYYYYYY!” cries a voice that belongs to a woman who soon careens straight into Val’s side.

“Oh my fucking god!” Val squeals, throwing her arms around the violet haired cling on. She bounces back and forth as they laugh and babble incoherently.

Finally, she pulls away and Val holds her by the shoulders to look at her.

“Why, Bea Easton, look at you!” Val giggles.

Bea, all four-foot-eleven inches of her, strikes a pose complete with duck face and popped hips in her low-slung Bullhead skinnies. She breaks into a laugh, shaking her head.

“Miss me, Moreno?”

“So much that I’m back on tour with these hooligans again,” Val sighs, angling her head at her bus where her tourmates are arguing over the Xbox.

Bea chuckles. “Thank god. It was getting dull in the scene without you.”

Val shoots her a suspiciously amused glance. Bea makes an exasperated noise, throwing her hands up.

“Well the scene is never fucking dull, that’s kind of the point, but I missed you, kid! You’re not so easily replaced, you know.”

Val scrunches her face and pulls Bea into a proper hug, tucking her face into her freshly-dyed hair and rubbing her back. “Ditto, dude. College was cool but… I couldn’t really resist one last shot at all this.”

Bea stands back and loops her arm around Val’s waist as they observe. After a moment, Bea pinches Val’s side gently.

“Hey, how are you?”

Val’s body tightens instinctively. She knows Bea feels it. Bea only asked a question everyone’s been asking her for months. And Val’s still shit at pretending it doesn’t bug the fuck out of her.

“I’m fine. Really. I went to the doctor recently and he did some tests and confirmed that I’m human and not a big walking china doll.”

Bea’s bleached eyebrows lift as she smirks. “Point taken. Have you started checking out the talent, then?”

Val scoffs. “You and your locker room talk.”

“This is what equality looks like, bitch. But seriously, tell me that’s not half the reason you’re here. A little palette cleanser.”

Val runs her tongue across her lower lip. Bea knows her oh so well.

She elbows Bea gently. “Stop that, I already have a reputation,” she hisses teasingly.

“Mmm, that’s right,” Bea replies, playing along, “The biggest slut in the scene is back on Warped Tour. Better start lining up for a taste.”

Val laughs heartily, shaking her head. “I swear to god, Bea, you—”

She stops dead in her sentence, words have failed her. Her brain fritzes out. She stares straight ahead, exhales in a loud puff. Bea notices and turns to look at what, or who, Val has spotted.

He’s tall. That’s probably the first thing anybody ever notices about him. He’s really fucking tall. He’s also not as scrawny as the rest of the twiggy white boys that populate the scene these days. He’s built – broad in the shoulders and the thighs. He’s wearing the uniform black skinnies, though, so he’s probably a band member rather than a volunteer. And he’s got the presence, somehow, of a frontman. Maybe it’s because Val’s pretty well versed in scene guys, but she can just tell he’s a lead singer.

His dark curls are tucked under a backwards Blue Jays hat and his eyes are unreadable under black Wayfarers. His facial structure is sinfully architected, marred only by the black lip ring that’s pierced through his full lower lip.

His hands are tucked in the pockets of his impossibly tight jeans as he cruises easily on a skateboard through hordes of bands and crew prepping for the day. He seems unbothered by the hard work going on around him, content to observe and take it all in. It gives him an ethereal sort of glow, that he’s untouched by reality.

Val swallows like a fucking cartoon character and watches his mighty leg strike the ground, black leather high top Chucks kicking up a cloud of fairground dust as he propels himself past the tent without a glance. She feels like a ninth grader who’s caught her first glance at the senior quarterback. She sniffs. It’s been a while since she’s felt like that at all.

Bea elbows her again. “Holy damn.”

“Say it again, sister,” Val chuckles, watching the back pockets of his jeans stretch over his very fine ass as he launches himself down the sidewalk, weaving and bobbing through the crowd.

“HOLY DAMN!” Bea crows, throwing an arm around Val’s shoulders and shaking her. Val sniggers and peels her eyes away, nibbling on her pillowy lower lip.

“I’ll do some recon, find out who he is,” Bea offers, smirking. Val isn’t about to turn that down. Bea’s the most well-connected merch girl on the tour, being as seasoned as she is, having toured with New Found Glory since ’97. She nods her thanks and waves goodbye as Bea rushes off to check on the status of her own merch tent.

Val turns back to her table, fumbling through price tags and pushpins. Her mind is elsewhere. Specifically, it’s somewhere in the back pocket of that skateboarding guy. She can smell trouble on him from here.

She doesn’t mind. She could use a little trouble.

Boys, raise your glasses/Girls, shake those, go, go, go/We're the party, you're the people/Let's make this night a classic

Taglist: I literally don’t know who my taglist is anymore so lmk if you want to be added but for now here @smallerinfinities @the-claire-bitch-project @stillinskislydia @achinglyshawn @infiniteshawn @alone-in-madness @alone-in-madness @singanddreamanyway @accioalena

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes fan fic #shawn mendes fanfiction #shawn mendes fan fiction #shawn mendes au #shawn mendes fic #shawn peter raul mendes #punk!shawn #warped tour

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lykegenia · 5 years

Text

The Things We Hide Ch. 23

The Southern Water Tribe stood for a hundred years against the Fire Nation, indomitable until Sozin’s Comet tipped the balance in Fire Lord Ozai’s favour. Now, as planned, the South is decimated, Chief Hakoda is a puppet on his throne, and Princess Katara is a political prisoner held in the Fire Nation capital to ensure his good behaviour. But Ozai has little time to gloat. A vigilante masquerading as the Blue Spirit is causing unrest among the people, rebel ships still hound his navy, and right under his nose the South’s most powerful waterbender waits with the patience of ice to strike at the very heart of his empire and bring it crashing down.

Chapter 1 on AO3 This chapter on AO3 Masterpost here

The old man moved unhurriedly about the room, taking tea from a small tin on a shelf, and then a plate of sweet rice balls rolled in sesame seeds, which had been sitting by the window sill under a laminated paper cover to keep them fresh. Zuko watched him, examined the unhurried cant of his walk and the certain, delicate movements of his fingers, searching for trickery, or illusion. Perhaps the guards had hit him over the head on the way up, and this was a symptom of concussion. Whoever he really was, the Grand Master glanced at him often, measuring him with more thoughtfulness than caution as he bustled about the small room. Every time the aged brown eyes flickered to his scar, Zuko’s temper wound tighter and tighter until he could no longer stand the silence.

“Who are you?” he demanded.

The old man smiled at him. “It has been a long time, Nephew. I understand this must be a shock you.”

“A shock?” he repeated. “The Dragon of the West is supposed to be dead! Where have you been? What are you doing here? What happened to you?”

“Be calm, please,” Iroh replied, holding up a fire-callused palm. “I will explain matters to you, but first, I would be neglecting my duties as a host if I did not offer you tea.”

He ambled over with the kettle of boiled water and knelt opposite Zuko, careful not to spill. This was the Iroh Zuko remembered, the general who liked everything in its proper order, in war and at home, and who could not be rushed or dissuaded once he put his mind to an action. How, then, had this meticulous man ended up here, perfectly calm and collected as he poured hot water over the porcelain to warm he cups, the leader of the rebellious faction working to disrupt everything the Fire Nation was working towards? He had breached the walls of Ba Sing Se, had been lauded as a hero and blessed with honours bestowed upon no other general in history, poised to take the throne of the greatest nation in the world, so why had he not come home? Zuko knew enough of the official line of events to understand he had somehow colluded with the avatar to gain his current position, but that was as far as reasoning could take him.

“Does this mean Cousin Lu Ten is alive as well?” he asked. The implications for the line of succession if so –

“No,” came the muted reply as his uncle scooped tea into the pot. “No, my son died six years ago, at the siege of Ba Sing Se.” The old man cleared his throat. “This blend of tea is particularly fragrant, mixed and dried with jasmine flowers from the slopes of Lu Long Shan. It pairs particularly well with Air Nomad sweet pastry.”

“All tea is just hot leaf juice.”

“A member of my own family, saying such a thing.” Iroh shook his head. “I see your cultural education has slipped in the years since I have been away.”

Zuko only frowned. A lot of things had happened in the time since they had received news of the Crown Prince’s death before the walls of the Earth Kingdom capital – a lot of things that, now with hindsight, had been allowed to happen. The left side of Zuko’s face itched. He ignored it, and dropped his eyes to watch the smooth, practiced motions of the tea ceremony that took years to fully master, first the initial pouring to wash the leaves of impurity, swirling the water around the teapot with precise rotations of the wrist before it was discarded, then the second pouring to steep the tea until it was ready for the drinkers to taste.

“This is one of Katara’s sets,” he realised as his uncle completed the last movement and filled two delicate cups with the finished tea. The porcelain was of finest translucent quality, with intricate patterns painted in blue beneath the glaze, and the more he looked, the more of the interweaving lines resolved themselves into the shapes of animals at play.

“She is a most agreeable young lady,” his uncle said. “Quite the scholar, and skilled in her element. She told me she spent time with you while she was staying in the capital.”

Zuko scowled, then scowled harder at the sympathetic look Iroh gave him, ignoring the ache of stretched, healing tissue in the left side of his face. “Did she tell you she tricked me, and then betrayed me?”

“No, she did not. How is your tea?”

The cup remained untouched on the mat in front of him. He recalled a sunny afternoon, back in another life, when another person had served him tea, and then mocked him with a wry smile for thinking the drink was poisoned. Had he been caught even then? Had she seen it, and spun her web of lies accordingly?

“It’s very… fragrant,” he allowed as he took as sip and put the memory from his mind. “Uncle, all this time, why didn’t you ever come back?”

“I could not.”

Rage boiled inside him. “Why not?”

A sigh. “Prince Zuko –”

“Don’t call me that,” he snapped.

“Please be calm,” his uncle repeated. “I know you are angry.”

“Angry?” Zuko scoffed. He slammed his teacup back on the table and shot to his feet. “What do you know? You’re a traitor! You’re working for the enemy – no, you’re leading them! You could be ruling the Fire Nation and yet you’re – you’re here, drinking tea, acting like everything’s okay! Do you even know what –”

The door burst open. Flames sprang to Zuko’s fists, to defend or attack he couldn’t say, but before he could move, Iroh darted between him and the intruders, palms out to ward off fire from both sides.

“Grand Master – we heard shouting –”

“All is well, Juro,” he assured. “Please, leave us.”

The two guards glanced at each other, expressions wavering between uncertainty and obedience, but finally they bowed and retreated back into the corridor.

“Please, Nephew,” Iroh continued once the door closed with a clang, “master yourself. I am aware of what my brother has done, what he continues to do to our people –”

“Our people?” Zuko sneered. “Your orders are killing Fire Nation soldiers.”

Iroh folded his hands across his stomach, hiding them in the ends of his sleeves, and sighed as he shuffled back to his seat, no longer the proud general but an old man who had seen too much, who felt the cold in his bones. For an instant, all tension dropped out of Zuko’s limbs to see such an abrupt transformation, such a difference from the larger-than-life figure of his childhood memories. That, however, only led to a confusion that once again stoked his anger. He wanted to fight, to demand an explanation or at the very least shout blame down upon the one person who could have stopped it all, from the destruction of the South Pole to his own disfigurement. And yet, his would-be opponent offered nothing for him to rail against; he only sat and watched the lazy curl of steam rise from the pot of fragrant tea, frowning at it like a diviner waiting for inspiration.

“When Lu Ten was killed,” Iroh began, “I began to reflect on what I had done, what we, as a people, had done. My eyes were opened. I retreated into myself, let my captains take over the campaign while I grieved, and for a time my madness allowed me to wander farther than most humans ever do. It was in the spirit world that I met the avatar, who was still a young boy at that time, pushed into war before his time. He is the link between worlds and between people. Reflected in him I saw all the evil the Fire Nation had ever done, but also hope that the world could see an end to it.” He looked up. “I am grateful that a similar tragedy was not needed for you to take action.”

He was talking about the Blue Spirit.

Zuko looked away, his skin itching under the steady gaze. “You should have come back,” he repeated, bitterly.

“No.” Iroh shook his head. “The moment I read the message that told of Fire Lord Azulon’s passing, I knew what my brother would do if I returned, and I knew that I could not stop it. So instead, I came here to fight alongside the avatar and help him restore the balance the world sorely needs.”

“It’s that simple, is it?”

“It might be,” the old man replied. “It would depend, however, on the reason why you are here.”

In one of the lower courtyards, the snow had been cleared away and turned into a training yard. While White Lotus guards patrolled the outer perimeter, they left the centre space clear for the avatar and his inner circle of friends and bending teachers, having learned the hard way that despite being young, Aang’s masters possessed formidable skills and the will to use them to devastating effect. Word had spread of Katara’s feat with the three Fire Nation troop carriers, her control of blood, but besides her there was Toph, a prodigy discovered scamming and pickpocketing her way through the southern Earth Kingdom. The full story there was unknown, but she had no issues with bending whole boulders at people nosy enough to intrude on the avatar’s training.

At that moment, a cacophony of explosions shook the surrounding walls, echoing with shouts of encouragement and grunts of effort by turns as the avatar battled air with water. He evaded well, stepping in circles, throwing gusts of air to redirect Katara’s attacks, but unlike the solidity of earth or the charge of fire, the water only twisted around it, folding to the shape of the wind and relentless as it drove him back. Toph had blindfolded him, trying to mimic her own way of sensing the world to train him out of limitations, but so far, thrown off-balance and struggling not to evade the barrage of attacks, the results were… mixed.

“Spirits, Katara, let up a little, will you?” Haru cried. He was one of the few White Lotus who dared to show up to their training, mostly because he was of a similar age to them and felt more at ease in their company than among the older guards. He had wanted to join up when he heard his father had been broken out of prison and joined the Water tribe to fight through the western wilds, and had proven himself.

Toph punched him on the arm. “How’s he gonna learn then, huh?”

“Do you think the Fire Nation will let up?” Katara demanded breathlessly as she redirected a water whip towards Aang’s head. “Do you think the Fire Lord would just let up?”

“He won’t get the chance if there isn’t an avatar left,” the young guard answered, and winced. The water whip solidified into an ice dagger at the end and ripped through the trailing edge of the avatar’s robes. “You’re meant to be sparring, not doing Ozai’s work for him.”

Katara only growled.

“Keep your guard up, Twinkle Toes!” Toph yelled.

Aang groaned from the other end of the yard. “Do you really have to keep calling me that – whoa!”

“You’re the one who persuaded me to leave Daejeon, don’t complain,” she shot back, just as he rolled to avoid a wave coming to freeze him in place.

“Come on, Katara, what’s going on with you?” Haru pressed, ignoring the familiar argument.

She puffed loose strands of hair out of her eyes and didn’t look at her friend. “Nothing.”

“You’re a terrible liar, Sweetness.”

“It’s that guy in the mask,” Aang said, taking off his blindfold and ducking away. “The one who tried to sneak in here.”

Katara growled again. “We’re not finished yet.”

“Nah, I think it’s time to call a break.” Toph’s smirk cut a devious line behind the hang of her hair. “Get over here.”

Aang eased a sigh of relief and carefully stepped around the carnage wrought by the mock battle. A few years ago, he might have used an air scooter, but the time since the siege at Ba Sing Se had worn away the short, bright-eyed boy and left in his place a tall, lanky young man who had witnessed as much as any seasoned warrior. His pace was measured, his gaze on Katara sympathetic in a way that felt heavy on her shoulders. She thought about the gold of Zuko’s irises, how earnest they could be, and how last time she had seen him they had been narrowed in livid, violent hate. That scar…

“It’ll be alright,” the avatar said, laying a light hand on her shoulder. “Sifu Hotman is with him now. He’ll sort this out – he always does.”

“You do know who that is, right?” Haru asked. “Prince Zuko, heir to the Fire Nation throne? Son of the man who keeps sending people to try and kill you? He’s probably here to have a go himself or something.”

“Or maybe he’s here to join our side,” Aang reasoned with a frown.

“Keep dreaming, Twinkle Toes.”

“It doesn’t hurt to try.”

Katara shook her head and stepped away with a placating smile and a roll of her shoulders. “Toph, do you mind stepping in? It’s getting a bit too hot to train and I promised Sokka I’d go find him.”

The earthbender cocked her head, listening to her heartbeat, or maybe just considering whether it was worth her entertainment to be perverse. Finally, the younger girl shrugged and waved her away. “Do what you gotta do. He was getting too used to dodging iceballs anyway.” She grinned. “Time for the big leagues.”

Aang groaned again, but Katara barely heard what he called after her as she collected her things and wound through the maze of corridors that made up the Northern Air Temple. Truthfully, she had no intention of finding Sokka – he was probably holed up with the mechanist anyway, coming up with new war machines that grew ever more inventive by the week. The work kept him focussed, distracted from the march of the Southern winter and the slow countdown of what little time she had bought with her months of being a Fire Nation puppet. With just a few more ships, a few more weeks to let the rescued waterbenders recover, they might have taken the capital. With Ozai deposed, they might have been able to rebuild without fear of having it all torn down again. The war here too was one of attrition, a slow glide meant to slow down the enemy while they figured out a way to get the avatar within striking distance of the Fire Lord. As far as Katara could tell, nobody yet had a plan for what would happen afterwards.

And now Zuko.

She huffed, and started down a twisting path that led away from the temple complex towards a spring she had discovered while collecting herbs. The place was in a grotto screened from the nearest overlooks by thick trees and tall cliffs, and it was her secret, as far as she could tell. The only tracks besides hers belonged to fox-mice and the black, spiral-horned goats that made the mountain their home, and of everywhere she had been since coming to the Earth Kingdom, it was the one place she felt peaceful. The wind through the trees created a white noise like the sea, while the sweet clearness of the water pooled under its thin film of mountain ice like the pond in her garden. Another life.

“At least it’s not snowing today,” she grumbled as she stripped off her outer layers and settled into a beginning stance. The altitude made her a little lightheaded – gave her nosebleeds every now and then – but out here that mattered as little as everything else. She pressed through her forms, lost herself until the sway of her muscles occupied her whole mind. She definitely did not think about the meeting taking place in the Grand Master’s tower room, or about Zuko’s snarling accusations, or the feel of his ruined flesh under her fingers and the unavoidable, unnerving fear that it was entirely her fault.

#zutara #zuko #katara #zuko x katara #katara x zuko #avatar #avatar: the last airbender #a:tla

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nakamotoyutakemybreathaway · 6 years

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Fireboy and Waterboy Chapter 2: On thin ice.

Avatar!Mark and the dream team go on a quest to save the world from an evil entrepreneur and some salty spirits.

“Hurry up, loser.” Jaemin panted, “If we don’t get to the ship on time, we’ll miss the sunrise.”

“What do you mean? The ships not about to go anywhere” Mark reasoned, looking at his cousin confusedly. Before he could even take his next step, Jaemin pelted his face with a small snowball.

“No, but the sun is. It only rises once a day and I am not waking up early twice in a row just because you made us late the first time.” Sometimes, Mark wondered why he chose to hang out with this loser outside of family gatherings. Oh right, it was because no one else lived in their village.They continued walking as the old, abandoned ship came into view.

About 80 years ago, a bunch of fire nation merchants got lost on their way to Kyoshi Island, bypassing the southern air temple and ended up in a small bay in the southern water tribe, where their ship froze into the icy water. The elders don’t let children come here because the ice on the lake is thin, but also because they believe that the crew still haunts the ship. If the elders knew they were out here, they’d be sentenced to spend the rest of their lives shearing buffalo yaks. Jaemin stopped short just in front of the ship, and Mark thought it was the perfect opportunity to return the favour, using his foot to hurl a snowball into Jaemin’s butt.

“Hey! I swear next time your clumsy arse slides across the ice, I won’t even heal you” Jaemin threatened. Mark felt small pulse of regret, because usually when he got hurt, Jaemin would heal him and their parents would never find out what they got up to. He couldn’t just go and ask his dad to get rid of the bruises and not explain to him how they got there.

The pair walked up the gangplank and around the cabin to the other side, being careful not to lean over the crumbling handrails. Mark breathed a sigh of awe as the morning sun gently rose over the ocean, giving off a pale golden glow which reflected majestically off the ice. Nowhere else in the southern lands could a sunrise be observed with such a breathtaking view, and mark believed that the fire benders that lost their lives on this very ship were the reason why the sun was attracted to it. He recalls when he and Jaemin would be sat around the table for family dinners, listening to his uncles stories of the time he spent as a hunter in the isolated villages of the true pole, where it was dark for half of the year, and light for the other. Lucky we live here, he thought. Their village was on the coast of the southern water tribe, far enough north for sunrises and some seasonal difference in temperature, about 3 degrees warmer in summer.

“You know, I’d never thought of it as lucky that we live here, but this view is one good thing to come out of this place” Mark said to Jaemin, still lost in thought. Its not like the south pole was a bad place to live, there just wasn’t much going on. It was snow upon snow upon ice, and if you’ve seen a bit, you’ve seen it all. Only because the village was so boring were they up here now, on a dangerous ship- the one place they were forbidden to go- longing to go somewhere with lush forests, sandy beaches, rugged mountains; they craved adventure.

Mark absentmindedly shifted where he stood, leaning to grab hold of the guard rails around the stern of the ship. That was a bigmistake. The rail he was gripping suddenly gave way, the rusted bolts freeing it from where it was once firmly planted, falling with a crack onto the thin sheet of ice below. Without Mark even knowing what he was doing, he extended his arms as if to cushion the fall that was sure to kill him anyway, but instead his back slammed against the cabin of the ship behind him. It was as if a strong gust of wind had propelled him backwards and prevented him from falling.

“I’m not sure if this cold is making me hallucinate that I saw what I just saw,” Said Jaemin, looking concernedly at Mark, “but we should get back to the village before the elders notice we’re here. This ship isn’t safe for your clumsy arse”. Jaemin gripped Marks wrist firmly and started back towards the gangplank, pulling Mark who was still too in shock to make a move on his own along with him.

After having regained his equilibrium, Mark started to feel a sort of negative energy seeping out from the ice. This had always been a talent of Mark’s, when they were ten years old he had told Jaemin that he felt like he had some kind of connection to the spirits; he always got strange feelings when in close proximity to spiritual activity. Of course, Jaemin had told Mark to stop being silly, the spirits never involved themselves with humans. Over the years however it became harder to deny, Mark always got butterflies when an unseasonal blizzard hit the area, and after having spent a summer in the northern tribe learning advanced healing techniques Jaemin learnt that some injuries just couldn’t be caused by natural means.

Over a mound of snow that barricaded the view of the village from the ship, they observed what looked like a regular penguin waddling toward them, only that it couldn’t be. The creature was twice the size of a regular penguin, and a soft blue glow emanated off its otherwise translucent body. Just as Mark and Jaemin were about to ask each other if they knew what it was, it spotted them. The negative feeling in Mark’s stomach amplified tenfold, and a streak of pale blue light shot rapidly in their direction. This was definitely not a regular penguin. It had 4 eyes and housed rows of sharp teeth between its small but sharp looking beak. It was flapping wildly and aiming right at Jaemin. He luckily reacted quickly enough, and a jet of water shot up out of the ice to form a kind of shield between himself and the ghost penguin. It was not enough however to repel the full force of the creature, and Jaemin was flung sideways, skidding to lay limply on the ice ten metres away. It immediately turned its attention to Mark.

Now Mark’s immediate reaction would normally be to try and restrain it with water tendrils or something of the sort, but his instincts unconsciously told him that this thing probably didn’t like fire. The penguin was a mere few feet away when Mark was finally able to snap out of his thoughts and act. He raised his fists and pushed them outwards from his chest and, much to Mark’s surprise, bursts of white hot flames shot out. By the time the flames subsided, the creature was thoroughly disgruntled and had clearly decide to retreat, zipping away from the boys to slide away on its burnt belly.

“I think it’s time we discussed something I’ve suspected for a long time now” stated Taeyong, the village elder and Mark’s father, as he held his skilled hands over Jaemin’s body on the table. Following the fight with the penguin creature, Jaemin was left rather bruised and weak and Mark had to support him over his shoulder to walk back to visit their parents. When they’d entered the council building, Taeyong was immediately up with a worried expression on his face, coming to attend to his nephew. Thankfully, Taeyong was the best healer in the south pole, except for maybe Jaemin who showed a lot of promise, and managed to have him back in commission within minutes. Mark on the other hand could barely mend a paper cut within an hour. As Taeyong was working on Jaemin, Mark explained all about their early morning adventure to the ship, the terrifying ghost penguin, and Mark’s strange abilities, ready to face the consequences of breaking the rules, but the guilt of disappointing his father still weighed heavily on Mark’s mind.

“Thanks, uncle Taeyong” Jaemin thanked, standing up to stretch his long limbs. Even now, at only 17 and 18 years old they were both significantly taller than Taeyong. “but more important than me, I think Mark might be the next avatar”.

“Don’t be silly! The avatar is supposed to protect the world, I can’t even protect you from a silly penguin…it can’t be me!” Mark cried, riddled with doubt despite all of the evidence.

“Come on think about it Mark! Avatar Taeil the air nomad died 18 years ago and no one’s heard from the new one since. Going by the avatar cycle, the new one should be an 18 year old boy from the water tribes, and there aren’t too many of those”. Jaemin was right, the world had been without an avatar for 18 years too long.

“You may not remember this Mark, but when you were 4 years old, when you were told to blow the candles off your cake, you blew so hard you took out the fire burning in the hearth on the other side of the room.” Taeyong informed him. “The other elders and I had suspected you would be the next avatar ever since then. I also have reason to believe there is an imbalance in the spirit world. Something is causing them to stir, and if the issue isn’t rectified they could wreak some serious havoc”. So he knew. Both Mark and Jaemin’s parents, Taeyong and Jaemin’s mother being brother and sister, and a quiet, bookish man named Jungwoo who was the youngest of the elders had known all this time.

“But if I’m the avatar, why would my other powers only surface now? Don’t most avatars start training when they’re still children?” Mark questioned his father, as if he could possibly know the answer.

“I expect it is because the world needs you now. You must go to it.” Taeyong breathed a sigh as though this statement physically hurt him. “You two should go collect any personal belongings you will need for your journey. I will inform the other elders and have some of the villagers prepare a ship and supplies. You will set off for the earth kingdom this afternoon. When you arrive you should head to the great city of Ba Sing Sei to find an earth bending master. Only once you have mastered all the elements can you put the spirits at ease, as is your duty as the avatar.”

“Wait. The two of us? Why does Jaemin have to be involved in this?”

“Well, you’re not about to travel the world alone. Jaemin is a skilled bender and healer, you still have much to learn about your native element from him. Besides, he’d go insane here alone. So long as you are together, you will both survive.” Taeyong said with a sense of finality, and ushered them out of the council building and towards their houses.

They stepped into Mark’s house first, gathering a few extra clothes and some animal skins for sleeping. Mark didn’t normally carry any personal effects, but as he turned to leave his room something caught his eye. Glistening from a shelf above his bed was a small silver ring, engraved with the emblem of the water tribe. It had been his grandfathers, who had then passed it on to Taeyong, who had gifted it to Mark after he’d learnt the water whip. Mark slipped it onto his finger and left, collecting Jaemin from the kitchen where’d he’d been talking to his aunt and heading next door.

At Jaemin’s they also didn’t grab much, only some clothes and Jaemin’s spear. That was Jaemin’s prized possession. At first glance it looks like an unsuspecting staff, but a latch near the top allows Jaemin to flick it forward, and about 5 extra inches and a sharp spearhead emerges. A year ago it was taller than Jaemin, but now it only reaches up to his chin, seeing as the tip is hardly ever extended. It was carved with delicate images of flowing waves and fish swimming beneath them, in the middle was a depiction of two koi fish, swimming at each others tails in a circle around a round, full moon. It was also a gift, from Jaemin’s extended family (his father hails from the northern tribe) whom he stayed with when he went North for a while. That had been the most boring few months of Mark’s life, but at least Jaemin had fun and extended his skills far beyond what he could here in the village. Jaemin never usually went anywhere without it, and perhaps if he had had it this morning’s events may not have happened. After collecting the essentials, the pair said emotional goodbyes to their mothers, who couldn’t bear to see them off on a ship and would rather pretend they were just going outside to throw snow at each other as they had when they were children. It was midday by the time they finally headed off towards the bay to board their ship.

As they approached the jetty where their ship had been docked, they seen both their fathers come in to view, along with Jungwoo and some other villagers that they recognised. They were met with several hand shakes and claps on the shoulder, as the men took their stuff and put it on the ship with the other supplies, a series of “good luck”s and “congratulations” being hurled their way. They walked to the edge where their fathers stood. Jungwoo stepped forward first, holding a large book out to Mark.

“This book has complete maps of every region and details the types of flora and fauna native to each area, including which ones are edible or have other uses. I think you would find it quite useful” Jungwoo explained shyly, stepping back and looking down as soon as the book was securely in Mark’s hands.

“Thank you”, he responded “I will use it well”.

At last he turned to look at his father, who was trying and failing to conceal the tears threatening to burst out of his eyes. All at once he was swept up in a tight hug, with Jaemin being pulled in beside him, and Jaemin’s dad coming to surround them all in his vast arms. For a moment, Mark stayed, wishing it could last longer, before they finally broke away and jumped onto the deck of their boat.

“Please… just be safe, and do what is right” was Taeyong’s final statement as they pushed away from the jetty with a bit of a water bending boost and started northeast, towards the earth kingdom.

At a glance, they had enough food to last them about 4 days, and according to his uncle, it should take them 3 days to get there, so long as they stayed on course. After that they will either have to hunt and forage for food as shown in Jungwoo’s book, or try to make money somehow, probably by doing odd jobs for little old ladies. After about 4 hours of travel, they were in the middle of the ocean with no land in sight in any direction and exhausted from the effort of speeding up their trip using water bending, so they decided to tie down the sails and go to rest in the small cabin in the centre of the ship. Mark fell asleep to thoughts of both home and what lay before him, anticipating the moment when they touch land and their adventure truly begins.

#markhyuck #nct #nct dream #mark lee #sparklee #lee donghyuck #hellchan #na jaemin #lee jeno #huang renjun #zhong chenle #park jisung #hyungs communal tag #it's dinnertime

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