#both seem to take place after the 'golden age' of the world and the environments reflect that

[macchitea]

greenpath is so pretty aaaaa, i love nature/overgrown levels in video games and the way its done in hollow knight is so nice; i wanna stay here forever <3

#ted.txt #i jUST #love the background art and design in hk in general so so much #its definitely a similar but different vibe to rainworld's environment #both seem to take place after the 'golden age' of the world and the environments reflect that #but hk gives me more of a hopeful explorer vibe while rw is more melancholy somehow??? i love em both to bits tho #and also!!! i love the blur on distant background elements and the color palettes; they make the game so atmospheric #each area so far really does have its own vibe to it which ilove #and also the glow the player character has definitely adds something to it #very excited to explore more regions hehe #also im rlly proud that i haven't died ONCE!!!! rain world trained me well

[rosie-b]

Fill This Empty Space

1009 words

I decided to post the story I came up with from these prompts on AO3! If you're not familiar with the story, we were doing a writing ask game and I wrote a short story about Marinette dealing with amnesia. It has a hopeful ending; it's not too angsty, I swear!

...probably :)))

You can read it on AO3 or just below!

It had been a warm summer day when the old Marinette died.

The new Marinette woke up surrounded by golden light, soft, green grass, and the soft murmurings of a stream in northern France. It was perhaps the best way for her rebirth to happen, in a calm, relaxing environment far from the place she somehow knew was home.

She met her family there. They already knew her, and called her "maman," or "ma femme," or "my lady."

Marinette was no one's lady. She never had been, but according to video evidence and the testimony of her husband and children and best friend, that was one of the many roles her past self had filled.

Marinette did not know how to fill any of those old roles anymore. But because of the secret, magical way she'd chosen to lose her memories, she couldn't let anyone know this fact. She had to study years worth of business lessons in mere weeks, preparing for her return to Paris and the international company she would soon be in charge of running again.

At least her past self had accounted for this new Marinette's incompetence. But no one else seemed to see that she wasn't the same woman she had been once, back when a kwami lived in her purse and villains of the day (and year) kept plaguing Paris.

Adrien, the man whom past-Marinette had married, still professed that he was in love with her. He saw some of the differences between the new Marinette and the old one, but claimed they weren't nearly as big as Marinette thought they were, and he chose to spend most of his time around her, so maybe he was right. He took the time to learn her new habits; he made her fresh coffee to ease her into the day when she woke up two hours after he did; he stayed out of her bedroom to help her feel comfortable. He whispered his praises and appreciation for each new, scary thing she did, whether it was as big as scheduling an interview for after her return to Paris or as small as braiding her daughter's dark, silky hair.

Marinette could see why her past self had loved him. It was something both halves of her were beginning to share, a love for this man who still found a way to bring joy to her life even when it had been turned upside down.

But that didn't change the fact that the new Marinette was not the same woman he'd married. That fact was written into the vows Adrien and the past Marinette had exchanged; the way they had split up their chores; the daily schedule that Adrien still remembered while the new Marinette did not.

To Marinette, this new self of hers was nothing more than a facade made to cover the void her past self had left behind. She was thirty years old and as empty inside as a newborn baby, with no memories to guide her through this unfamiliar world.

Marinette was an icon, the magazines said. A paragon of virtue in an age of corruption; one half of both of Paris' favorite couples; a woman who managed to be a world-famous CEO and an attentive mother at the same time.

That wasn't the new Marinette's reality. She didn't even know her children's middle names, though she was learning their favorite desserts, sports, and hobbies over this vacation.

Most days, trying to live her new-old life was like learning a foreign language, and it felt just as isolating when she got something wrong or tried to remember something she thought she knew but actually didn't. Sometimes, this new life of hers was crushing, a drain on her already empty self, taking the last bit of Marinette out of her.

But not always.

As out of place as Marinette felt in her own life, the people in it still felt right somehow. They'd been there for her when she woke up; they were there to hug and comfort her when she cried in the night; to help teach her about her own life and tell her about theirs; and to listen when she said she felt different. They loved her, that much was clear, and they promised to love her no matter which Marinette she was; the old one with all her memories or the new one just fumbling through life.

And somehow, even though she claimed not to feel anything more for them than for other strangers at first, Marinette still loved them back. Their presence soothed the ache she felt in her chest, the one she felt when she couldn't remember, and she found herself more than missing them when they weren't there. She looked forward to hearing about their day, to learning their middle names and finally feeling like she was really a part of their family. She held on to the facts which they told her about themselves like sweet gifts of gold and honey; like they were all she needed to survive, to fill the empty space her memories had left behind.

The new Marinette was not the old one, and she never would be.

But maybe that was okay. The new Marinette had a space to call her own, too; it began here, in this remote, rural town near the seashore, and it would reach all the way back to Paris, to the place where the old Marinette had lived before her rebirth.

Marinette's home had always been her family, the people she loved. That was something she knew without having to remember it, and something she was more sure of every day.

So she studied the journals her past self had written; re-learned how to design; baked bread beside Adrien; sang songs with her children and stayed by their side. If her mind was an empty slate, then she was going to fill it with love, the same love she'd chosen before and was choosing again now.

Someday, she knew, this new Marinette would feel whole again.

#ml fanfic #rosie-b writing #miraculous ladybug #amnesia #marinette dupain cheng #gif is from https://dailymlgifs.tumblr.com/post/684468516445962240/i-cant-imagine-being-ladybug-without-him

[karatam]

The Dragons of 'House of the Dragon'

Okay, so a little backstory first. Dragons originated in Essos, particularly in Old Valyria, where the Targaryan family comes from. Certain families have the magical ability to bond and ride these dragons, and this ability is passed down through their bloodline. The Targaryens are the only surviving dragonrider family, having escaped the Doom of Valyria centuries ago when fleeing to Westeros. All current dragonriders have Targaryen blood in their recent ancestry.

The bond between a rider and dragon is largely mysterious, but dragons are intelligent creatures who chose who they bond with. Generally, it's a one-to-one ratio, with a single dragon and rider bond. Dragons can bond again after their dragons die, and riders can as well but it's less common as dragons live much longer than humans. Dragons can feel when their rider is in pain and vice versa. Riders use saddles and reins (though the reins usually just go to a harness around the dragon's chest) as well as vocal commands (usually in the language of High Valyrian) to try and control their dragons, but dragons do have minds of their own.

Dragons can live much longer than humans (the oldest dragon is currently nearly 200 years old). They get larger as their age. They're also like goldfish where they only grow as large as their environments allow. Older dragons like Balerion and Vhagar grew up free to roam and fly, while more modern dragons are penned in the Dragonpit and so seem to be smaller than their predecessors (this is not a firm rule though). They also breathe dragonfire, which can melt basically anything.

Now onto the list! (spoilers for the show ahead)

Important dragons in the show so far:

Vhagar - oldest and largest dragon left alive. Kind of greenish-grey. Her rider is Aemond Targaryen, the second son of Alicent Hightower. Vhagar is the most powerful thing in the known world, able to take on and kill basically any other dragon without much trouble. She's also stubborn and doesn't always obey her rider. Her original rider was Queen Visenya, the wife of Aegon the Conqueror. She is basically a rogue nuke with wings.

Syrax - medium sized bronze dragon. Her rider is Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen. Her egg was placed in Rhaenyra's cradle when the princess was born, Rhaenyra is her only rider. They fully bonded and Rhaenyra was able to ride at age 7, one of the youngest dragonriders in history. Mostly untested in battle, as Rhaenyra was kept away from fighting.

Caraxes - large red dragon with a long neck, about half the size of Vhagar. His rider is Prince Daemon. Very experienced in battle as both Daemon and his previous rider rode him into multiple wars. He has a distinctive whistling noise he makes in the show.

Meleys - large red dragon, probably the fastest in the world, slightly smaller than Caraxes. Her rider is Princess Rhaenys.

Vermithor - huge bronze dragon, second only to Vhagar, very old. Currently unbonded and living in the caverns of Dragonstone. His last rider was King Jaehaerys I, Rhaenyra's great-grandfather. Prince Daemon tried to get him on the side of the Blacks in the show recently.

Arrax - small blue-white dragon, very young. His rider was Lucerys Velaryon, second son of Rhaenyra. He and Lucerys are killed by Vhagar. Likely born from an egg laid by Syrax.

Other dragons who may or may not become important later:

Vermax - small yellow and red dragon, very young. His rider is Jacaerys Velaryon, first son of Rhaenyra. Likely born from an egg laid by Syrax.

Tyraxes - small young dragon. His rider is Joffrey Velaryon, third son of Rhaenyra. Likely born from an egg laid by Syrax.

Stormcloud - small grey dragon, very young. His rider will eventually be Aegon Targaryen the younger, fourth son of Rhaenyra. Likely born from an egg laid by Syrax.

Sunfyre - large golden dragon, fairly young. His rider is Aegon Targaryen, first son of Alicent, now King Aegon II. Generally thought to be the most beautiful dragon in the world, as it literally looks like he's made from gold.

Dreamfyre - medium sized silver-blue dragon. Her rider is Helaena Targaryen, daughter of Alicent.

Tessarion - small dark blue dragon, very young. Her rider is Daeron Targaryen, third son of Alicent.

Shrykos - small green dragon, very young. Her rider is Jaehaerys Targaryen, young son of Helaena and Aegon II.

Morning - very small pink and black dragon, youngest dragon there is. Her rider will be Rhaena Targaryen, daughter of Prince Daemon. Born from an egg laid by Syrax. She will be the last healthy dragon born for 150 years.

Moondancer - small pale green dragon, very young. Her rider is Baela Targaryen, daughter of Prince Daemon.

Seasmoke - medium sized silver dragon, fairly young. His rider was Laenor Velaryon, husband of Rhaenyra. (Truly I do now know what happens to him. Because in the book, Laenor dies so Seasmoke bonds with another rider eventually. But in the show, Laenor faked his death, but the dragon would still be bonded to him, so idk)

Sheepstealer - a wild never-bonded dragon living on Dragonstone. He's big and brown and as his name suggests, steals sheep a lot.

Silverwing - large white unbonded dragon living on Dragonstone.

Dead dragons:

Balerion - the largest dragon Westeros has ever seen. Called the Black Dread. His most famous rider was King Aegon the Conqueror. He had many other riders since, his last being King Viserys I, Rhaenyra's father. He died of old age about 30 years before the civil war breaks out.

Meraxes - second largest dragon Westeros has ever seen, slightly larger than Vhagar. Her rider was Queen Rhaenys, wife of Aegon the Conqueror. Died in battle with her rider.

#house of the dragon #house of the dragon spoilers #hotd #let me know if I made any errors #but I tried to keep book spoilers out except for just the dragon/rider pairings

[btsstufflover]

• I DIDN’T SEE IT COMING • (Park Jimin x Jeon Jungkook •

Hii!! Here is the introduction: https://www.tumblr.com/btsstufflover/728015592795340800/i-didnt-see-it-coming-park-jimin-x-jeon

Chapter 1: Unexpected Reunion

The sun cast a warm, golden glow across the bustling city as Park Jimin walked briskly down the sidewalk. Dressed in a sharp business suit that exuded confidence, he exhaled a soft sigh of relief, grateful for the brief respite he managed to steal from his busy schedule. The CEO of Park's Company, Jimin was known for his dedication and hard work, qualities that had driven his success at a young age.

With a quick glance at his watch, he quickened his pace, his heart racing slightly as he approached the entrance of his company's headquarters. Just as he reached for the door handle, a familiar scent wafted into his senses, and his steps faltered for a moment.

Roses.

Jimin's own scent.

It wasn't a scent he encountered often. Reserved for moments of intense emotion, it was a fragrance that carried his essence and emotions, rarely on display for the world to perceive. He turned, his breath catching as he caught sight of his best friends, Kim Taehyung and Kim Seokjin, strolling towards him, both dressed in casual attire that contrasted with his own formal outfit.

"Jiminie!" Taehyung's voice rang out, and his signature boxy smile lit up his face as he enveloped Jimin in a tight hug. "You're working too hard, as always."

Jimin chuckled, the tension he hadn't realized he was holding melting away under Taehyung's infectious energy. "You two are the ones who keep me sane," he admitted, ruffling Taehyung's hair playfully.

Seokjin grinned, wrapping an arm around Jimin's shoulders. "And don't you forget it. We're here to make sure you take a break every now and then."

As they entered the sleek, modern building, their laughter echoed through the lobby. Little did Jimin know, this seemingly ordinary day would soon bring an unexpected twist to his life.

In another part of the city, Jeon Jungkook stared at the address on the paper in his hand. "Park's Company," he mumbled to himself, feeling a mixture of excitement and nerves. He adjusted the strap of his camera bag on his shoulder, his eyes scanning the impressive building before him.

At twenty-one, Jungkook had already made a name for himself in the world of photography. The opportunity to work with a prestigious company like Park's was a dream come true, yet his thoughts were also clouded by the past he had left behind.

His best friends, Jung Hoseok, Kim Namjoon, and Min Yoongi, had encouraged him to take the job, praising Jimin's leadership and the creative environment at the company. The prospect of embarking on a new chapter of his career was alluring, even if it meant facing certain memories he had buried deep within.

Jungkook took a deep breath, feeling the mango-scented pheromones swirling around him as he walked through the entrance. The scent was his, an unmistakable sign of his alpha status, though it felt strangely out of place in this unfamiliar setting.

As he stepped into the lobby, his eyes widened as they settled on the trio of unfamiliar faces. His best friends had only mentioned their respective connections to the company, not that they knew each other. Yet, there they were—Park Jimin, CEO of the company, flanked by Kim Taehyung and Kim Seokjin.

Time seemed to slow as their gazes met, the air heavy with unspoken words and a palpable tension that could be cut with a knife. Jimin's scent, the intoxicating aroma of roses, hit Jungkook with a rush of emotions he hadn't anticipated.

Jungkook swallowed hard, the weight of their history settling upon him as he realized that his new beginning was intrinsically tied to a chapter of his past he had hoped to forget.

—————

Hiii! This is the first chapter! Why does Jungkook want to forget his past?

#jikook ff #jikook fanfiction #jikook #omega jimin #alpha jungkook

[gladerwolfstarkimagines]

Request: Imagine being Lin Beifong’s daughter and having a crush on Iroh II

Tags: @tincdraws

Growing up as the daughter of Lin Beifong metal and earth bending were your whole life. You learnt to earth bend by the time you could walk and your mother had you in training from a young age so you graduated from the earth bending school at the top of your class with your eyes firmly set on following in your mother’s footsteps whilst also trying to emulate your grandmother’s success. You had a sharp focus and nothing else really caught your attention. You had friends but training came first and dating seemed something superficial you could live without. Republic city was your life and you would never dream of leaving it but your mother had other ideas.

Your mother thought you needed more worldly experience before you joined the police force so she sent you to the fire nation to gain some training as an officer. She claimed the fire nation had some of the best officers in the world and that they would help you learn invaluable real-life experience. You did not agree and protested the whole thing. All your training had revolved around the needs of Republic City specifically and you couldn’t see how you’d learn anything new about how to protect your city by travelling all the way to fire nation but your mother refused to change her mind and that was that.

So you were shipped off to the fire nation fresh out of the academy. Your mother had spoken to Firelord Izumi and it was agreed you’d be staying at the palace so not only would you be unfamiliar with the environment, you’d be in a place where every small look, word or action had large consequences. You didn’t know much about the fire nation and couldn’t really recall the royal family. You were aware your grandmother was very close with the late Firelord Zuko but since then things had changed. Although your grandmother’s friends (mainly Katara) had tried to keep the group close it was hard with everyone scattered across the four nations and so with each generation the group had drifted further and further apart. You knew Firelord Izumi had a daughter older than you and a son around your age called Iroh. You recalled meeting Iroh when you were younger at some event in the south pole but couldn’t remember much more than a serious fire nation child. So you arrived on the steps of the palace utterly out of your depth determined to see these three months through so you could return to your beloved city. You were shown into the palace immediately, your belongings taken by maids who refused to let you carry them yourself as you were a royal guest. You weren’t used to finery so proceeded through the palace partly in awe and partly in utter confusion why someone needed this many paintings of old men everywhere. You were finally shown into a large room. “Ah you must be y/n Beifong” a voice called and you turned to see someone who looked vaguely familiar. You knew he wasn’t Firelord Zuko or Firelord Izumi’s husband as he was too young so figured by his royal outfit this was Izumi’s second child the prince. “Prince Iroh, it’s an honour to see you again” you said bowing and he chuckled “I bet you thought that would be a winning line with any fire nation citizen didn’t you? Because we’re still all obsessed with honour like we were centuries ago?” Iroh asked and you hesitated. “If I caused any offence...” you started but Iroh cut you off breaking out in a large smile “no I was only kidding, it is a winning line we are still obsessed with honour”. You watched as Iroh laughed at his own joke surprised, you didn’t expect the prince of the fire nation to be like this. You figured royalty lacked the ability or the clearance to have a sense of humour but apparently not. “So have I really not changed since we were eight?” Iroh asked and when you frowned he elaborated “you recognised me but the last time we met was just over ten years ago”. You paused “ow no I didn’t actually recognise you, you were young, dressed in fine clothes with royal hairpins, not to mention you’re in the palace...you had to be the prince”. “Good deductions officer” Iroh said saluting you before he grinned “i’m in training too”. That piqued your interest “really? for the fire nation army?”. He nodded “yep! I’m an officer but my hope is to be general one day and to fully earn it, rather than just get it because of who my family is...hopefully in a few years i’ll get there”. “I’m sure you will” you agreed and Iroh led you into a large dining room. “Are we dining alone?” you asked confused and Iroh smirked. “Why? Not pleased with me?” he asked and you rushed to assure him that wasn’t the case when he laughed again “I’m joking again y/n, I know my grandfather told you the whole family would be dining with you in his letter to your mother but he, my parents and sister were all called away to an urgent matter and asked me to fill in as we’re similar ages”. “Ow” you nodded “that makes sense...is everything okay?”. Iroh nodded “everything’s fine just boring fire nation stuff...so shall we?” he asked holding out his arm to you. You weren’t sure if this was appropriate so averted your eyes and only took his arm lightly. Iroh smirked at your caution and led you into the room.

The meal with Iroh was nice. He was friendly, hard-working and interesting. You soon got used to his humour and learnt not to take him too seriously. You hadn’t met many other people your age who shared your passion for a military career and found it was nice, a sentiment Iroh apparently shared. He enquired what you were doing the rest of the week and when you replied nothing as training didn’t start for another week he soon had several of your days planned out with fire nation sights to show you. Iroh seemed to understand you didn’t know much about the fire nation so planned to take you to all the important sites as well as areas relevant to the army to peak both your interests. You enjoyed the prince’s tours greatly and even when training did start you continued meeting with Iroh regularly. You liked his company and were surprised that didn’t fade the more time you spent with him, if anything it grew more and more. You thought he’d be a spoilt entitled prince but he was kind and considerate pleasantly surprising you.

You didn’t become aware that you liked Iroh as anything more until one of your friends at the academy pointed it out. Since starting training you were progressing well, you achieved high grades and were held in high esteem by your fellow recruits. You had made some friends and often trained with them after the academy retired for the day. After a long training session you were heading to the palace when one of your friends called out to you “hey y/n some of us were going into town to celebrate our class’s good progress, do you want to come?”. You smiled pleased they wanted you to come when you remembered you couldn’t go “I’d love to Shani but sorry I can’t I have plans”. “Of course you do” she smirked as your other friend Aizori grinned “is it with Iroh by any chance”. “Actually it is” you said frowning at their shared look “why?”. “Ow nothing just it’s not every day your friend is dating the crowned prince”. “Me and Iroh are not dating!” you cried “our families are old friends that’s all”. “Uh...hu, if that’s true then what are your plans together may we ask?”. “We’re attending a party at the palace”. “Together?” Shani asked and you blushed “yes but he only asked me because it’s a formal event that’s apparently really boring so he wanted a friend there, trust me we��re not dating”. “But how can you resist?” Aizori asked “I’ve only seen the prince a handful of times but he seems to get better looking every single time! How don’t you get lost in those golden eyes and that chiselled jaw? The royal family has some amazing genes not even a Beifong can resist”. You paused considering it. For you looks weren’t very important so you didn’t tend to notice them. You held work ethic and determination as much higher priorities and Iroh scored very highly in both but in looks...you honestly couldn’t say. “I’m not sure I’ve noticed” you admitted and the girls rolled their eyes not believing you.

When you arrived back at the palace your friend’s words were ringing in your head and when you next saw Iroh something felt different. You took note of his looks and were surprised by what you’d found. Iroh was attractive, very attractive, how had you missed that? You stared at Iroh wondering if his eyes had always been that bright? Was his jaw always that sharp? His hair that good regularly when he frowned “why are you staring at me?”. “Nothing” you cried and he paused before shrugging “Are you ready to go?” he asked “the party has already started” offering you his arm. You nodded and took it cautiously following Iroh into the ballroom.

You could see why Iroh had wanted to invite you, everyone in the room was at least 60 years old or some stiff nobel person from an ancient line of fire nation families. All they seemed to want to discuss was old family bloodlines, territories or ancient traditions. After your fifth boring ambush by some old fire nation man Iroh pointedly headed for the gardens. You frowned as he exited discreetly, closing the door behind him, and headed away from the hall. “Iroh I’m pretty sure the party is inside” you commented and Iroh grinned “I know but I can’t take another second in there so humour me? One lap of the gardens then we’ll head back, please? I know you haven’t seen them properly yet so how about a tour?” Iroh holding out his hand to you. You rolled your eyes but took his hand happily. 

Iroh led you around the gardens explaining the different flora to you and their history. “I spent so many parties hiding in here as a kid” he grinned “this place is so huge they couldn’t find me for hours”. You smiled at the thought “my mother would’ve killed me if I did that”. “Mine did” Iroh chuckled “but I’d honestly rather face her wrath than some boring commander who wants to lecture me about our family’s history and why it’s so important...they’re literally my own family and even I don’t care” Iroh cried making you smile. “I see why you escaped out here so often, I’m very grateful formal parties were not a part of my childhood”. Iroh smiled and went to comment when the smile was wiped from his face and he grabbed you, quickly pushing you behind a large fern. “Iroh what are you...”. “Shhh they’ve come for us” he hissed and you frowned when you heard a voice. “Prince Iroh?” a man you recognised as the palace coordinator called “Are you out here? You’re needed inside”. You smirked and Iroh rolled his eyes “they’re relentless”.  “Master Iroh if you’re out there please return to the ballroom, your mother’s orders”. There was silence and then the sound of the butler coming closer. Your eyes widened and Iroh put a hand over your mouth pushing you further into the bushes. “Prince Iroh?” a voice called literally right beside you and Iroh smirked as you grabbed his arm in surprise. You heard a sigh and the sound of the man retreating. When the footsteps died away Iroh dropped his hold on you and you both burst into laughter. “I thought we were going to be caught and then royally punished...literally” you added and Iroh smirked “I wouldn’t let them punish you, it’s not your fault I dragged you out here”. “True but I didn’t try hard to stop you”. “You did encourage me” Iroh nodded thinking “okay it’s all your fault”. You gaped laughing “I never said that! You are such a liar” you cried pushing him and Iroh laughed grabbing your arm “okay okay maybe we share the blame 50:50?”. “No way” you smiled and Iroh paused “60:40?”. “I think 90:10?” you said grinning and Iroh sighed “fine, i’ll take 10% of the blame”. You shook your head at how wonderfully infuriating he was and smiled at him fondly. Iroh grinned back and you realised suddenly how close his face was to yours. Iroh seemed to notice too, he glanced down at your lips and you panicked moving away from him suddenly. There was an awkward tension in the air and you broke it with a cough “so want to show me more of the gardens then?”. Iroh nodded “right this way my lady” the awkwardness gone and led you further into the garden.

When you were safely hidden from the ballroom Iroh stopped walking, explaining this was one of his favourite spots in the whole garden and you gratefully took a break sitting down. “I can’t believe you’ve already been here a month” Iroh commented and you nodded “I know only 2 more to go then my mandatory 3 months work experience is done”. Iroh frowned “mandatory...so you could stay longer if you wanted to?”. “Hypothetically” you agreed and Iroh hesitated “do you think you’d extend it? Hypothetically?”. You paused “I’m not sure, I have enjoyed the fire nation far more than I thought I would but I’ve always wanted to complete my training as quickly as possible, I hope to be chief of police one day and I’ll need many years of service for that...”. Iroh frowned “isn’t the youngest chief like 41?”. You nodded “yeah so i’ve got time I guess, maybe i’ll stay for longer...is this just so you have someone to skirt your royal duties with?”. Iroh laughed “maybe...I like you being here, it’s nice not being the only person under 30 in every room”. You smiled “well i’m glad my presence isn’t displeasing to you...you’ve been pleasant as well” you added blushing and Iroh grinned. “Wait did I make a Beifong blush? That’s like a legendary occurrence, this is amazing!”. “Stop it” you cried but Iroh wouldn’t let you turn away “no, this will go down in history, Beifong blushes are rarer than dragons so I’m soaking up every second”. For the second time that day Iroh stared at you closely and you blushed more under his gaze but this time you didn’t move away. Iroh continued gazing at you before he lightly moved his hand to your cheek “y/n...” he said softly leaning in closer when a figure appeared. “There you are!” a voice cried and you both jumped away from one another. Your jaw dropped when you realised who it was and you dropped into a bow “Firelord Izumi...i’m so sorry I didn’t see you approach”. “Rise child you did nothing wrong” she said warmly “my son on the other hand...” she trailed off glancing at Iroh who paled. “Hey mom” he frowned and she raised an eyebrow “really? That’s all you have to say? No apology or grovelling”. “Erm I’m sorry for ditching?” Iroh offered and Izumi sighed. “Y/n would you please excuse us, I want to have a word with my son”. “Of course” you agreed bowing and you rushed away.

Iroh returned not long after with his mother and told you he had to stay in the ballroom for the rest of the party. You agreed to stay with him and he smiled gratefully at you making you blush and look away rapidly. The night passed and neither you nor Iroh spoke about what happened in the garden. How he’d almost kissed you and how you were going to let him. You couldn’t believe your own recklessness. What good did you think would come out of kissing the prince of the fire nation? You were obviously not an appropriate match and so there was nothing to be encouraged there. You resolved to never find yourself in that situation again and decided to just stay as friends no matter how much you got along or how attractive he was. Getting involved with a fire nation prince was not responsible behaviour. So after that night you made sure to put distance between you and Iroh. You didn’t stop seeing him you just made sure to emphasise it was a friendship. You didn’t let yourself get caught up in him the way you had in the gardens and always kept a level head. Iroh never tried anything or mentioned that night either and you supposed he picked up on your not so subtle hints. You carried on as before but there was definitely an unmentioned barrier between you which you never let fade.

You left the fire nation 2 months later. You didn’t extend your stay as with your feelings for Iroh you didn’t think it would be wise. Iroh saw you off and hugged you tightly before you got onto the airship. “It’s been nice having you around Beifong, I’ll miss you”. Iroh’s words made you hesitate and you hugged him tighter. For that time in Iroh’s arms you imagined what would have happened if you’d kissed him in the gardens that night. Iroh didn’t strike you as someone who flitted from person to person taking what he wanted, you think if he wanted to kiss you he must have felt something for you too and perhaps would have suggested dating. You imagined all the things you’d have done together but as a couple and wondered if you’d made a mistake, maybe you should have just gone for it? But then reality set in. If you really wanted to be chief of police then you couldn’t have short relationships with high ranking members of the fire nation. Other candidates could use it to show you had compromised morals and there was no way it would be a long term relationship due to your lack of fire nation heritage. Sure the fire nation was pretty progressive but that didn’t really apply to royalty. They had thousand-year-old traditions to uphold that couldn’t be broken easily so Iroh was never a long term option for you. Therefore all logical signs said you’d done the correct thing not persuing something with him...so why did it feel so shit? You finally pulled away from Iroh and he noticed your expression. “What’s wrong?” he asked and you shook your head looking away “nothing i’ll just miss it here...promise you’ll keep in touch?”. “Cross my heart” Iroh smiled “you’re not someone I intend to let slip away, expect a visit every time I come to republic city”. You pushed away the rational voice in your mind telling you to keep a distance from him and smiled “you’ll always be welcome and I’m very much looking forward to it”. Iroh blushed “thank you y/n” and you nodded back, just looking at him in admiration before catching yourself. “I should go...” and Iroh nodded “safe travels” and with a final look you walked away.

2 years later

After your departure you and Iroh stayed in regular contact and your letters only halted when he was deployed by the military but the second we was out he would write and arrange to come visit you in Republic City. You still thought about him and your feelings for him regularly and every time you saw him you knew your crush hadn’t lessened. You loved Iroh’s visits and soon they became the thing you cherished most. You told yourself all of this was fine because you’d never act on your feelings but sometimes you wondered if Iroh felt something too? You’d catch him staring at you or he’d blush if you smiled at him in a certain way. The very idea of Iroh liking you made you very excited but you also knew it would only lead to heartache. He wouldn’t be allowed to settle down with someone outside the fire nation so it didn’t matter if he liked you too. So you settled for his friendship which was more than enough for you. When Iroh was posted in republic city when he became general you were thrilled and you only continued to grow closer.

However republic city wasn’t as peaceful. There had been multiple attacks on the city from Amon’s chi blockers to Vaatu’s take over and you and Iroh were constantly pushed into the fray. Multiple times you’d faced staggering odds and every single time you wondered if you should confess your feelings to Iroh in case the unthinkable happened but every time you chickened out. You and Iroh had been safe every time but there was only so much you could push your luck.  

You’d been wary of Kuvira’s take over of the earth kingdom from the very start. Your aunt Su Yin had told you all about her so you weren’t surprised when she set her sights on Republic City but that didn’t mean you weren’t terrified. The avatar and her friends informed you what you were facing and you weren’t sure how you could even think about facing a giant mecha suit with spirit cannons. Iroh shared your sentiment but as general of Republic City’s army he was forced by President Raiko to lead his troops out there. Watching Iroh take to the front line you were swept with the desire once again to be honest with him, to tell him how you felt before it was too late. You decided three was too many times to chance it and so decided to finally tell him how you felt. You made your way to the general’s tent and found Iroh with Korra discussing strategies. You greeted them both warmly before making your way to Iroh’s side “could we please talk? I have something to tell you”. You knew Iroh had a hundred things to do but he nodded warmly squeezing your hand “of course just give me one second to...” when the radio sprang into action. President Raiko had surendering to Kuvira’s demands. Republic City was hers.

The avatar was furious and you matched her sentiment. You and Iroh joined her as she met with other leaders in the city like Tenzin and your mother and they all agreed something had to be done to stop Kuvira. A plan was quickly assembled, it was agreed that airbenders would attack the suit from the sky and earth benders would attack from the ground. You didn’t actually expect to damage the suit, you only had to distract Kuvira long enough for Korra to get inside. You were agreeing fervently getting ready to leave with your cousins when Iroh grabbed your arm. “Wait Y/n are you sure you want to do this?” he asked nervously “that mecha suit is dangerous there’s no guarantee you’ll be able to stop it”. I know but it’s my home, I swore to protect it and I won’t break my oath. I have to try and help”. Iroh sighed thinking and you watched him wondering what he’d say. “I understand why you’re doing it and I want to come too”. You paused pleasantly surprised “You do...but I thought President Raiko told you to retreat and surrender?”. “He told me to surrender the army not that I couldn’t personally engage in fighting, i’m not fighting as a general but as plain old Iroh” he announced proudly and you smiled “there’s nothing plain about you even without your titles”. Iroh beamed at you “Does this mean you agree? We can fight this giant together!”. You nodded your head “okay let’s go meet up with the others”.

You and Iroh rushed after the others and found them all suiting up. “Finally” your mother said spotting you but she frowned when she saw Iroh with you “y/n tell me you didn’t bring the general who is also the prince of the fire nation into this”. “She didn’t, I volunteered” Iroh spoke up “I’m not here as a general or as a prince but as a civilian so, where can I help?”. “You know your mother won’t like this” Tenzin commented and Iroh nodded “I know but some things are worth facing her wrath for” he said shooting you a smile and you blushed.

So it was agreed Iroh would stay. Your mother thought it would be best to place him on the roof with the airbenders, she ordered him to shoot lightning at the joints to try and cause some malfunctioning. When you’d all suited up the teams said their goodbyes and Iroh appeared in front of you. You didn’t have long, Kuvira’s giant suit was already in view and the ground shook whenever it took a single step. Iroh stared at you and sighed heavily “Y/n...”. “Don’t say it like that, we don’t have time and we’re both going to be fine okay?” you said faking a smile but Iroh saw right through it. “What did you want to tell me earlier?”. You froze caught off guard and blushed “I...I just wanted to...it doesn’t matter”. The ground jumped and Iroh looked at it nervously before stepping closer to you “I think I can guess what you were going to say”. “You can?” you asked nervously and Iroh smiled “yeah...you had another Beifong blush moment and I’ve noticed you do them around me a lot”. You went bright red and Iroh chuckled “yeah like that...”. You looked down embarrassed but Iroh took your hand gently “don’t, I blush a lot around you too”. You smiled blushing more and Iroh chuckled softly. “Y/n are you ready?” your mom asked and Iroh gripped your hand tightly. “Wait I want to tell you everything before you leave” Iroh cried but you squeezed his hand gently. “It’ll be okay” you smiled “you can tell me everything later and I think I can guess too”. Iroh grinned blushing “later then...just got to get through this”. “We’ll be fine, this is what he trained for” you smiled confidently “I promise I’ll see you on the other side”. Iroh nodded and stared at your lips, he went to move in when your mother called “y/n are you coming or are we leaving you behind”. “I’m coming!” you yelled and stepped away from Iroh “mothers” you commented and he smiled “go, i’ll see you after” and with a last look you both rushed off to your assigned group.

The battle

The fight went about as good as could be expected. The suit swatted the air benders away like flies and your group’s earth, metal and even lava bending barely slowed it down. But it didn’t matter, all that mattered was the avatar and her team managed to find a way into that thing and your team cheered when you saw she’d done just that. Now the fight was Korra’s so you let your guard down when suddenly the machine began malfunctioning. Your mother yelled for you all to take cover but you were too far away from the building. The suit exploded with a blast and you saw a blinding light and then black.

After the suit exploded everyone assumed the battle won. Half the air benders went after Korra to help her with Kuvira and the other half went to the ground to make sure the others were okay, of course Iroh went with the latter. He saw Bolin, your aunt and cousins but no sign of you or your mother. They told him they were all searching for you and he rushed to join in. With each street he passed his heart began to sink when finally he spotted you! In the arms of your mother unconscious. Iroh ran forward dropping to his knees beside you. “What happened?” he cried and your mother clutched you desperately “that thing exploded and she was too far to get into cover, it hit her sending her flying through the street and now she’s...she’s...”. Iroh saw the blood seeping through your mother’s hands where she held them against you. “No” he said viciously “y/n won’t...she can’t! We need a medic” he yelled loudly before taking off his jacket to wrap around your wound. “Maybe I can cauterise the wound?” he asked “seal it to stop her losing so much blood?”. Lin paused “I think the wounds too big but it’s worth a shot”. Iroh nodded and Lin lifted the bottom of your uniform. Iroh saw a large gash across your stomach and winced. He lit his hand on fire and pressed his hands against the wound. You gasped suddenly and your eyes shot open. “Y/n” your mother and Iroh cried in unison and you blinked trying to make sense of the situation before you groaned in pain. You tensed trying to get away from the burning but your mother held onto you “please y/n just hang on Iroh is trying to cauterise your wound”. “It’s not working” you grimaced resisting the urge to scream “Iroh stop! Please!” you cried and he yelled in frustration moving his hands away from you. “No it has to work if it doesn’t then you’ll.....we need a medic down here” he yelled again but he knew everyone else was spread out and there were no healers in the group. “It’s okay” you said breathing heavily as the situation dawned on you “Iroh it’s alright”. “No it’s not” he cried sinking onto his knees beside you “it’s not y/n, you can’t...you have to fight this, you can’t leave me”. You nodded “trust me i’m trying but Iroh if I do...”. “No y/n don’t even think about it! I won’t let you go it’s not going to happen”. “I don’t think we have a choice” you admitted trying to smile but Iroh just shook his head “but we never got our shot, we never got to talk, I never got to tell you...I love you y/n” he said simply “I have for years, that’s why I never found anyone from the fire nation because the perfect person for me is you. I know there’s traditions and rules but I don’t care, I don’t want anyone else but you. I’d give up anything for you and we were finally heading in that direction and now that stupid spirit cannon”. Tears leaked down Iroh’s face and you reached out a hand to him shakily. He took it and you stroked his face “it’s okay, i’m sorry for being too scared and cautious, I’m sorry for wasting our time together but I love you too, I hope that’s enough”. Iroh nodded “It’s more than I ever hoped, you didn’t waste time you have nothing to be sorry for y/n Beifong, do you hear me?”. “I do” you smiled before coughing in pain and your mother clutched you tighter. “Y/n” your mother cried and you smiled up at her “it’s okay mom, don’t worry. It’s all going to be okay”. You clutched her hand against your chest and took Iroh’s other one. “I’m with the two people I love the most, I’m happy. This is the best way for it to...”. “Stop” Iroh said crying but you just gripped his hand tighter “Iroh look at me”. He blinked through the tears but looked at you. “It’s okay, I promise you everything will be okay”. Iroh just said your name softly and rested his head against yours. Your mother wrapped her arms around both of you and you held onto both of them the best you could when you felt the world fading away. You heard sobbing and your mother faintly saying your name until everything turned dark and it was over.

Epilogue

Following your death the fire nation, earth kingdom and republic city all paid their respects in their traditional fashions. A statue was raised by your mother in the spot of your death and every year on the anniversary of your death both her and Iroh would visit it. Iroh and your mother supported one another following your death being the only one’s who understood how monumental the loss of your life was. They managed to get through it together and although neither of them ever stopped loving you they found a way to carry on. Iroh never married, he couldn’t even consider the idea and his family never pushed him to. He still lived a long and happy life. He was very involved with his sister’s children who he loved dearly and his family never stopped supporting him. If he went quiet and got a teary look in his eye or if he struggled serving in the earth kingdom they understood. Your family also treated him like one of their own, with Lin even calling him her son on a few occasions, and he was invited to all your family’s events in recognition of your love for him. Your memory never faded and when Iroh’s life eventually ended he passed on to find you waiting for him. He knew all the suffering and heartache was over, you were finally together at last. 

____

So initially I was going to write a happy ending as well but then I thought screw it, I want to cry so I killed off the reader...but I can release the happy ending as a part two if anyone wants it. 

Edit: For the happy ending version click here

#iroh ii #general iroh #prince iroh #lok iroh #iroh II imagine #Iroh II x reader #prince iroh x reader #prince iroh imagine #general iroh imagine #general iroh x reader #legend of korra iroh #legend of korra imagine #fire nation #lin beifong #lin #lok lin #lok lin beifong #Avatar The Last Airbender #atla #atla Iroh II #iroh junior #izumi #princess izumi #firelord izumi #firelord zuko #lok izumi

[sleepingdeath-light]

reading the crossover headcanons for TOH was amazing!

i wanted to request a crossover with TOH and Steven Universe if possible! (also with Hunter x Reader) You can decide between reader being half-gem, like Steven, or fully gem! If you can't or don't want to, that's okay! Aand I really love your headcanons! You make them long and detailed! It's truly amazing.

Crossover Headcanons | SU x TOH [Hunter x Gem//Hybrid!Reader]

thank you for requesting, anon

These are written with a gender neutral reader in mind and have a general chronology from the reader’s last moments in little homeworld until they end up with Hunter, so apologies if this gets long!

Note : this is the first time I’ve written for the SU canon, so I’m not as experienced with that universe. Also my portrayal of these characters is still pretty rocky, so I may rework this in the future.

The first few months you spent in Little Homeworld had felt almost like a dream come to life; freedom to be yourself and explore a world full of organic life without the restrictions placed on you by the diamonds? It was fantastic! However, that feeling of unrestricted feeling soon started to grow stale as you realise that the growth of the small colony had already started to stagnate—and that not all humans were welcoming of intergalactic immigrants like your kind.

So to ease your mind you opted to take the warp to the next star system over—craving that same sense of excitement that you had during the gem war

Simply standing on the warp again was enough to get your blood pumping with a reignited vigour for exploration

A feeling so palpable that you failed to notice the array of spindly cracks that spanned the surface of the device, and the way that a sickly dull light pulsated beneath your feet (the sight accompanied by a warning hum far too low for you to notice)

Though you couldn’t ignore the way the warp didn’t immediately go off like usual, nor could you neglect the searing pain that spread through your veins and constricted your throat; leaving you in so much pain that you couldn’t even move or scream before your vision was engulfed in a glitching, sickeningly bright light

It must have been several hours later when you woke up, based on how high the sun was in the sky… was the sky that red before?

Your head was pounding and although your vision was blurry, yet you couldn’t ignore how different your surroundings were from the earth you were used to

The sky was a faint red and the ground beneath your feet was dusted with deep maroon grass—it was soft and warm under your fingertips but with how much organic matter there was you knew that this wasn’t a colony

Hell, you didn’t even arrive on a warp on this end, so either you had been transported to somewhere else because a malfunction (unusual, but likely) or someone had taken you from the receiving warp and dropped you off in the middle of a clearing (far less likely)

Suddenly struck with worry, you sat up and moved your clothes to get a good look at your gem, letting out a relieved sigh when you saw it undamaged (clearly you’d landed where you woke up as most organics would have tried to remove it from your body before dumping you)

Realising that you were mostly safe you slowly rose to your feet and decided to explore your new environment, hand hovering near your gem in case you needed to defend yourself from whatever creatures had made their home here—trying to make yourself appear as small, quiet and unnoticeable as possible as you went

However, your efforts seemed to be in vein as you were quickly greeted by an excitable and loud human girl who practically screamed her welcome to you

You were torn between fleeing and fighting her when she offered her hand and introduced herself as “Luz the human”, her demeanour quite closely mirroring what you’d heard about Steven when he was younger from his mothers—it was almost endearing how much she tried to hold in her joy at seeing another “human”. You almost didn’t have the heart to tell her the truth as she walked you back to her home.

You were accosted at the door by an organic tube with an owl’s face that quickly and gleefully introduced itself as Hooty—the creepy, but rather friendly, house demon

Luz made an effort to hastily brush him off and hurry you both inside where you met with the other two inhabitants of the home as well as Luz’s “awesome girlfriend”, Amity.

Eda, an older witch with grey hair that hardly suited her age, greeted you with muted suspicion, not even taking her eyes off of you as she addressed the human at your side—seemingly unsure of your motives but trusting herself to be stronger than you (if her grip on her staff was anything to go by)

King, however, was much more brazen and blatant in his distrust of you, stomping over and pointing an accusing claw up at you as he threatened you in every way he could muster (even if all that got him was a halfhearted coo from you that left the creature more frustrated and downtrodden than before)

The guest, Amity, meanwhile, looked over at you with disinterest before she caught a glimpse of your (colour) gem peeking out from your clothing—immediately pointing it out and questioning you about it, much to your chagrin

This inevitably led to a very long and semi-complicated conversation discussing the intricacies of your species and how, no, you’re technically not a human

No you weren’t trying to deceive Luz, either, you just felt too awkward to correct her

But when all was said and done (and you were all out of steam after a several hour session of intense questioning and frustration at miscommunications) they seemed much more relaxed around you—even willing to let you stay with them, at Luz’s request, so long as you pulled your weight around the house and helped to keep them safe

And, really, how hard could that be? You fought in an intergalactic war so taking out a few organics should be a piece of cake (as Steven would say)

After spending a few weeks in this strange new world you had come to realise one specific thing; it wasn’t easy. It was, in fact, the exact opposite.

If you had to bubble one more guard you were going to scream

What had they done to make this Emperor hate them so much?

It felt as though half of your time was spent bubbling, blocking or disabling people that had made their way to the Owl House—and the rest was spent painstakingly explaining your abilities and species to Amity, Lilith and Luz

Granted, that wasn’t the most stressful part of your stay

No

That was hands down the stresses that came with visits from Luz’s friends from Hexside: the endlessly kind and protective Willow and the ever-curious and annoyingly quick witted Gus

That being said, you did appreciate their enthusiasm to learn about and accommodate you—even if the look Willow gave you when you spoke about the empire’s treatment of organic life did leave you rather shaken

So what little free time you had was spent learning about the local culture and sharing your experiences with them

Training with Amity and Eda

Helping Willow with her plants in whatever way you can based on your gem

Creating gem clones to help Gus perfect his illusions even further

Teaching Lilith and Luz about your abilities as well as those of your fellow gems, even helping the latter learn to write using gem glyphs

It was heartwarming to see others so passionate about your home, even if their insistence on pushing you to your limits could be rather frustrating (especially early in the mornings when your patience ran thin)

However, the longer you spent there the more members of the Emperor’s Coven (amongst others) you ended up coming across. One particularly memorable instance occurred when you were escorting a fretting Amity through Bonesborough with the twins (who’s presence you had grown rather fond of as their visits became more frequent).

Ed had dragged Em back to the library a good few minutes ago, leaving you and Amity to your own decides as you weaved in and out of the foot traffic—only to stop completely when the youngest Blight suddenly froze before grabbing your hand and darting off to an adjacent alleyway

As you went to protest, she promptly clamped one hand over your mouth and gestured rather violently for you to stay quiet before nodding towards a figure just a bit away from you

From the golden mask and white cloak you knew they were a member of the Emperor’s Coven—but you’d seen them before, on the posters littered around the city, each exploring passersby to join their coven

Golden Guard

That was a definite threat

So you passed the girl a spare cloak and did what you could to mask your own appearance before carefully making your way back home, shopping be damned—one hand over your gem just in case he happened to notice you

Though thankfully he didn’t

Not that it stopped you from filing him away as someone to be wary of anyway; he was the emperor’s right hand man, after all, so there was no such thing as being “too cautious”

And for a while that’s exactly what it was, not that you saw much of him that is, but from what you’d been told about Luz and Amity’s run ins with him you were glad to have never seen him face-to-face. If you had, you were almost certain he wouldn’t come out unscathed—teenage protege or not.

So with all that in mind, the last that you were expecting to see on a relatively peaceful Saturday evening was the unmasked Golden Guard practically unconscious and leaning on Luz and Eda for support as they burst through the door

Completely ignoring Hooty as usual as they carefully laid him down on the seat beside you (after you’d hurriedly gotten up, that is)

He looked to be in an awful state, with his visible skin bloodied, bruised and scarred whilst his usually pristine uniform was tattered and caked in dirt and what seemed to be even more of his blood

Seeming to notice your distress, Eda briefly addressed you and her sister before sending you all off to gather supplies (or heal if your gem allowed it)

“The kid’s been through a lot, but he’s with us now. Trust me, I wouldn’t have carried him all this way if I had any doubts about it.”

And that was that

It took Hunter (as he introduced himself) over a week to even be able to get out of bed and walk around unassisted—and whilst he actively avoided speaking about what had happened to him, you had a feeling that Belos was somehow involved

Though things were still rather tense for a month or so after he arrived, no matter how hard Luz tried to integrate him (and no matter how polite and welcoming Willow and Gus tried to be)

And you didn’t even want to recall the shouting match that occurred when Amity saw him in the living room with Luz….

It seemed as though he was just more content to shut himself away with L’il Rascal and only interact with Luz and Eda; the former to learn from her and the latter because she wouldn’t let him get away with anything but

That wasn’t even mentioning the palpable tension between him and Lilith (she would only say that it was from their time in the coven—and Luz suspected he’d annoyed her a bit too much—but nothing else would come of it)

But the others were worried about him, so you were sent in as a neutral party to talk with him about… things. You weren’t really told what and you didn’t have the time to ask.

Initially he was incredibly closed off and would only address you briefly, barely even acknowledging your presence as he gave his full attention to the scattered papers on his desk, each depicting a different spell and each ever so slightly off

So, as gently as you could you took the quill from him and drew a simple glyph on a spare scalp of paper, carefully leading him through the motions before leaning back and activating the spell (and smiling at his much more openly interested expression)

That then sparked a deep conversation about different types of magic—specifically wild magic and glyphs—as you shared what you knew about the topic with one another, every so often breaking off into laughter or patient silence as he’d run across the room to show you his notes or books he’d found

Naturally this would lead to him asking you about where you came from and you discussing your origins with him

Homeworld

The Diamond Authority

The gem war

Colonies

Soldiers

Shattering

The Crystal Gems

Everything

He was incredibly easy to talk to as he listened with a genuine intensity to what you said, nodding along and even asking well thought out questions about your world where appropriate

Depending on how close you were, he may even ask to see your gem and ask about its purpose

If you let him touch it, he’d be so very gentle, almost treating you as though you were made of glass—maybe even sketching it down and noting down your abilities and weaknesses in his personal notebook and apologising if it was weird

This mutual interest in magic and your shared experiences of either having to conform to a specific role your whole life [full gem reader] or feeling out of place and weaker because of your shortcomings [half gem reader] would be the basis of your friendship turned relationship. The transition between the two would be so incredibly seamless and slow that you wouldn’t even notice it happening—one moment you two were best friends sparring and the next you were hiding your blushing face in his neck as he hugs you and apologises for hitting you a bit too hard with his magic.

Your relationship would be sweet and slow and genuine

Hunter is new to receiving any kind of affection, so you’d probably have to teach him a thing or two—but he’d learn quite quickly so don’t worry

He’d spend hours studying your culture and language just to write you notes or offer you affirmations in ways unique to your culture, even calling you “my (Y/n)” after a while

Likewise, the first time you called him “my Hunter” he was left red in the face for the rest of the day (he loved it, though, so don’t stop)

But the moment someone makes a teasing remark about how soft he’s gotten (usually one of the Blight siblings or his own younger sister figure, Luz), Hunter will partially revert to being cold in public (whilst still being affectionate and openly touch starved in private)

In short, your relationship with him would be built on a foundation of mutual trust, affection and understanding that sprouted from friendship and honest conversations about your passions and pasts

#reader insert #sleepingdeath hub #hcs #headcanons #steven universe #su #toh x su #the owl house #the owl house x reader #the owl house golden guard #the owl house hunter #toh #toh x reader #toh golden guard #toh hunter #hunter x reader #golden guard x reader

[thr-333]

I got this request story idea where quirkless deku doesn't want to be a hero anymore because of bullying that he got from bakugou and wrong saying that he got from all might. So deku decides is a backpacker, travelling around the world experiencing cultures, food, quirks!!! He has even a YouTube account where talk about his travels, meet new people and talk about their quirks.

Here you go @sweetizukufan its set in nz like  you wanted :D

Ochako flopped onto her bed and groaned into a pillow. She didn’t have the right to complain, she knew that. She had been one of thousands of applicants to pass the entrance exam and for the past three years her classmates had been training just as hard as she had. And truthfully she didn’t want to complain. It was her final year at UA. It was only a matter of months until she was officially a hero her dream since a child and she was excited for it!

That didn't change the fact Aizawa had upped their training the last few months. The days got longer the work harder and quite frankly it left her with virtually zero free time. Whenever she tried voicing her thoughts she’d be met by her well meaning, but overly enthusiastic classmates encouraging her to keep her head up. 

She was! That didn’t mean she had to go through hellish training with a wide smile on her face.

“Ugh,” Ochako rolled over as it got hard to breath with the pillow smothering her. She really did need to get some sleep before waking up at five in the bloody morning tomorrow when she hit the gym. But honestly at this point if she didn’t do something to break up the monotony of training, eating and sleeping she was going to lose it.

She blindly grabbed for her phone. The school had funded getting her a newer model than her old flip phone since that had been a hindrance when she started internships. She was provided with the industry standard which her friends had tested by throwing it out a window, where it hit Bakugou’s head, and was promptly exploded then stomped on. The thing came out of it without a scratch.

She brought up youtube, it’s not like she had any games, let alone time to play them. It was probably a bad sign she had forgotten what channels she liked. With little other option she started scrolling trending with only a small amount of hesitance. She flicked past everything that was clearly clickbait, too childish or both. 

Something caught her eye and Ochako back-pedalled to take a look. It looked like some sort of vlogging channel ‘ARRIVING IN NEW ZEALAND! Auckland sky tower!!!’ was written across the screen. Even with all the caps she didn’t really see how that could be clickbait. Maybe the guy was just excited, she would like to get a holiday like that after all. The image had him smiling at the camera sitting down and below him was nothing, nothing but a street far below. Ochako was embarrassed to say her first thought was that he had some sort of floating quirk before realising he was literally sitting on a window. In her defence she had a float quirk.

Partly embarrassed she clicked on the video why not live her traveling dreams vicariously through a stranger? She used to watch her fair share of travel videos, although those were mostly in tropical places so she could research where to take her parents.

The video started with a shot looking over the wing of a plane, a montage of it starting to land. Ochako was vaguely concerned when all she could see was water out the window but just before touch down the tarmac came into view so it wasn't a surprise crash landing. The camera cut off after a few more seconds panning across the airport as the plane pulled in. The music started to fade out as the shot cut to the same guy as before.

“Hey guys Midoriya here again, just got off an eleven hour flight,” He had no right to look so cheerful at that Ochako had never been on a plane but it didn’t look particularly fun, “And let me tell you I was not prepared for the ordeal that is security here,”

Midoriya’s smile faltered a bit, looking sheepish. He was walking with the camera just outside the airport, people milling around in the background paying him no mind.

“I had no idea it would be that tough, I had an apple I got on the plane in my bag and I thought that would be alright, I got it on the plane after all!” Midoriya didn’t look upset or angry but  he was blushing madly. Ochako cracked a smile at that now that she looked closer he was probably about her age, “But no, I swear I thought they were going to arrest me! They started interrogating me, I had to stutter out that I got it on the plane, but that didn’t stop them they gave me a lecture about protecting the environment and declaring food, luckily I got off without a fine, I think it’s because I looked terrified, because I was,”

Midoriya chuckled rubbing his neck, there was a bang and he looked wideyed to the side the camera shook slightly then cut to another shot the setting slightly off from where it was showing a bit of greenery growing at the air port.

“Sorry dropped my bag,” Ochako giggled at that a bit, more that he had decided to keep that in the video than anything else, “So I thought that was the end of it, but apparently not, they started asking questions about my shoes, ‘have you visited any farms?’ ‘have you worn them hiking at any point?’ stuff like that, so that was a bit of a problem because these are my only pair of shoes in this country and I’m pretty sure they’re gonna incinerate that apple,”

A little graphic of a cartoon apple on fire popped up along with a pair of shoes. A speech bubble followed saying ‘save yourself!’ as the apple’s little chibi face screwed up.

“I promised them that no, I haven’t by the way I wouldn’t lie about this stuff the environment here is super cool and unique I couldn’t live with myself if my dirty shoes killed a forest,” The graphic was gone by now and Midoriya was walking through the airport, “But I handed over all the snacks I had in my bag, even if they were ok to bring in the country I was too anxious to risk it, that seemed to appease the border security and I got away with my shoes in tact, my snacks sacrifice will not be in vain,”

Ochako was tempted to laugh but if someone set fire to her snacks or sweets there would be hell to pay.

“Anyway now I’m hungry and have some time before my hotels check in,” Midoriya beamed at the camera, “So I’m gonna do something I’ve wanted to since planning this trip,”

On that mysterious note the video cut to another montage as Midoriya got into a taxi. Ochako let herself enjoy the sights that rolled out the window. She wished she had a computer to watch this on instead of squinting for details on her phone's screen. The montage went onto show the outside of a store then going inside to pan over all the baked goods inside. It was a smorgasbord that stoked Ochako’s envy.

“Here we are,” Midoriya sat at a table just outside the store a few bags laid out in front of him, “These sorts of bakeries are everywhere in New Zealand, I didn’t look for anywhere specific just one walking distance to my hotel room, and here we are!”

Midoriya took something from a bag showing it to the camera to make out the golden crust of a pie. Going torturously in detail as he ripped it open for the audience's benefit. Steam rose and mince flowed out, surprising Ochako as she thought it would be sweet. Breaking it open made a mess as Midoriya was forced to drop the piping hot pastry. The filling pooled across the bag it had come in making the whole thing look sloppy.

“I think my friend would kill me if she saw me do that, Gemma don’t watch this video,” Midoriya warned to late, “She’s the one who told me I had to try a pie, I have a few flavours here but lets start with the basic one, mince!”

Midoriya had some difficulty eating it now that it had fallen apart but managed and his eyes lit up.

“It’s really good, the pastry is flaky and buttery it works really well with the savoury mince the two together make a really satisfying bite, but I guess it would be better if I didn’t destroy it first,” Midoriya said sheepishly, “I won’t do that for the rest of them, promise,”

Midroiya took another bite from the pie before showing off the next one.

“This is Gemma’s favourite Butter Chicken, and trust me it smells so good!” Midoriya, the tease took a bite. Ochako had to wonder what she did to deserve this, “Wow I like this one way better, not that the other one was bad!” Midoriya hurriedly said.

He showed the inside to the camera, a rich looking butter chicken inside.

“It’s really flavourful so you don’t need any sauce that and the texture of the chicken and curry are really complimented by the pie crust,” Izuku took another bite as he talked, “I guess it’s kinda like if Butter Chicken was wrapped up in Nan so there's no way it wouldn’t be good,”

Midoriya talked more as he ate that pie and a steak and cheese one he had brought talking about both until Ochako’s mouth was salivating.

“That’s not nearly all the pie options, but I’ll be touring across New Zealand so this can be an ongoing adventure, now desert!” Midoriya brought out a long bun full of cream, it had a dollop of jam on the top and so much icing sugar Ochako feared for his health. Midoriya however ignored those fears and took a bite anyway, “The buns really soft and the area that the cream’s touched it is just the best texture ever,”

He smiled and there was cream and powder on his cheeks Ochako just knew was going to haunt her until he wiped it off.

“This entire thing is just, ‘ok how can we make this as soft as possible,” Midoriya commented getting closer to the middle of the bun where the bit of jam was, “The raspberry, I think? Jam is really good at breaking up the flavour half way through, now I can eat the rest of it,” Midoriya grinned as he finished it off. He started walking around again waiting for his check in to arrive. That didn't seem to bother him as he pointed out things on the street as he walked.

As he did, Ochako saw someone blatantly jump over the street instead of waiting for the lights. There was another person in the background who casually strolled across the side of a building, feet sticking to it somehow. While people would use their quirks on the street all the time they were usually less obvious about it as police would sometimes call them out and it did depend quirk to quirk. Midoriya zoomed in on a few of these people before it focused on him smiling as he walked.

“New Zealands got pretty cool laws around quirk usage,” He explained, clearly having done his research, enthusiastically by the looks of it, “You have to go through some basic training to prove you can control your quirk, at least so you wont hurt anyone after that you get a license and your free to use your quirk, like I island,” That Ochako thought was cool part of her training had pointed out that some situations heroes were called in for weren't always villain attacks but some public quirk usage gone south, “It’s pretty easy to get by the sounds of it but that does all depend on what your quirk may be,”

The shot cut a bit, Ochako assumed he had rambled on about that for a bit and decided to cut that part.

“In terms of heroes from what I’ve researched the police handle most of that, they’re trained in their quirks kinda like hero schools back in Japan but starting at university not highschool,” That made sense Ochako supposed, and they’d probably have more time to master their quirks too, “There’s a few heroes sure, they’re like a branch of the police department and I think there's a departmental separation between rescue and combat heroes,”

Was she privately pleased he had listed rescue heroes first? Yes, yes she was.

“But honestly there aren’t many, they seem more like the people you call in for really big stuff going on, or international relations, it makes sense the population of New Zealand isn’t all that big,” Midoriya rounded the corner someone made a peace sign at the camera before moving on, “Almost half the population is here in Auckland and the whole country hasn’t reached the five million mark yet, thats crazy to me considering Japan’s population is in the hundred million range and it’s only slightly bigger than New Zealand,”

That did seem insane to Ochako, not sure to be smug about that fact or not.

“So that's probably why heroes are less of a thing here but that doesn't mean it’s all not still really cool,” Midoriya was beaming at the camera, his positivity and enthusiasm practically punching her through the screen, “I’ve rambled enough, it’s about check in time I’ll show you guys where I’ll be staying,”

Midoriya gave a quick tour of his hotel room. It wasn't much, more of a backpackers than anything.

“It’s not big I know but I’ll only be staying here for a few days to explore Auckland then I’m off traveling so a large place wasn't really a worry,” Midoriya flopped down on the bed, bouncing slightly as he hit the mattress, “I’m gonna take a nap because I am exhausted,” His tone betrayed nothing, “But stick around because I’ve got a surprise this afternoon- well I probably put it in the title anyway so it’s not a surprise but it’s still going to be cool, See ya,” Midoriya saluted the camera and it faded to black for a few seconds.

When it came back to light it was an image looking up at a tall tower circling around it and entering the building next to it. There was a continuous shot that was sped up as he walked through the line entering an elevator which literally had a glass floor.

“Wo-” The camera was pointed down at Midoriya's shoes as he hesitated to stand on the glass patch. His foot made contact before he quickly stepped back, “Nope, no, nope,”

Ochako laughed and sank back into her bed. The elevators opened and there was a shot of large windows showing the expanse of the city. The footage sped up as Midoriya did a clean circle around the tower showing it was a loop to give a 360 degree view of Auckland. It was pretty with rolling hills and she could see forests at the edge of it. Honestly it was small compared to the cities she was used to but that made sense given what Midoriya had said earlier.

“Look at this,” The footage went back to normal speed as Midoriya focused on a chart comparing the heights of different towers, “It’s half as tall as the sky tree,”

And that was given the giant antenna on the top.

“Come check this out it’s pretty cool,” Midoriya walked down the steps until he was right next to the window, a few steps more and he came to a patch in the floor that was just glass like the elevator. Midoriya noticeably stood back from it, “It says here that the glass is just as thick and strong on the floor, so reasonably logically,” Ochako snorted, “It should be just the same as walking on the floor… they say that but…”

Midoriya switched the camera around to focus on him, looking a bit pale.

“This might shock you but I’m not really a fan of heights,” He shuddered and shook himself out, “Alright I can do this,”

What followed was a frankly painful process that Ochako couldn't help but laugh at. Midoriya would approach the glass before backing off. He set the camera up on the railing so it looked down enough that she could see the glass and street below. Midoriya tried a bunch of stuff like walking up without looking down. That didn't work and he backed out several meters before he had even reached the glass thinking he was standing on it. He tried to sit down and scoot onto it but couldn't manage more than sitting far from the edge and putting his feet on it. Ochako started howling with laughter when a kid came by running up and jumping on the glass while Midoriya looked on with fear like they were mad.

Midoriya at least had a humor about it. 2D sketches drawn over the video to help exaggerate his struggle and the entire thing filmed rather comically.

Ochako was beginning to believe he had photoshopped the image earlier before he grabbed the camera taking a deep shuddering breath.

“I can do this, I promise I can do this,” He sat down and shuffled back cringing all the way. Ochako found herself strangely proud as Midoriya actually made it onto the glass. He was white knuckled reaching up to hold the railing. He smiled shakily at the camera before turning into a more genuine look of triumph. That was until he quickly rolled off it jumping to his feet and scurrying away, “There! Done! I did it!”

He was smiling brightly now and Ochako couldn't deny she was proud of him. She had struggled herself with heights something she was forced to get over to use her quirk so she knew just how hard that can be.

“Gosh I hope that's easier than what I’m about to do,” Midoriya spun around to show a different window wires running outside and inside a countdown that was about to hit one. It did and there was a blur outside Ochako belatedly realised it was a person. Oh no.

“Now I’m not going to do that but I am going to do something pretty cool,” Ochako blew a sigh of relief but also wanted to hit him for scaring her like that. Under no circumstances should he be jumping off buildings.

They lapsed into another montage Midoriya going back downstairs. This time he had the courage to put a foot on the window in the elevator. Downstairs he went into another area donning a coat and sort of jumpsuit before layering harnesses over the top. He went up an elevator with a few other people this time. They stepped out into another room Midoriya carefully keeping the window out of frame to keep the grand reveal. Their harnesses got latched on and secured to a railing. Once everything was safe the doors pushed open revealing Auckland city, this time not hidden behind glass. 

Midoriya skipped over the likely long process of gaining the courage to go outside cutting instead to him smiling with the city at his back and wind whipping through his hair.

“Welcome to the top!” Midoriya yelled over the wind, the audio quality was bad but that was understandable. She felt worse for Midoriya who was smiling through the fear, “It’s really cold and windy up here and I’m scared!”

“Just go back down you idiot,” Ochako huffed fondly as he kept shouting to be heard over the wind.

“I’m kinda afraid of dropping my camera honestly,” Midoriya laughed but she couldn't hear it, instead he pointed in to a few specific spots across the city, “See those hills? Most of those are actually remnants of volcanoes, you see Aucklands kinda built on top of a giant pit of Magma,”

Midoriya quickly grabbed back onto the railing, slowly shuffling along the sky walk, higher than he had been inside.

“Luckily the volcanoes in this area are dormant, cause if one in this area erupts there's a pretty good chance like 50 more are gonna follow,”

Midoriya stayed up there for a little longer pointing out interesting things in the distance. Ochako could safely say she was glad when he cut back to the bottom of the sky tower. His hair was windswept and cheeks red from windchill. Ochako didn't even need to check the comments to know most of them were gushing about how cute he was.

“That was… terrifying, but I’m glad I did it, who thinks I should try skydiving next?” Midoriya grinned, before his face dropped and paled again, “God please no that was a joke,”

Ochako giggled relaxing back in bed again after the tension of the skywalk Midoriya had been leaking through the screen dissipated.

“Anyway  I’m just gonna go lie down for a while until some friends of mine get here, then we’ve got one more surprise,” Ochako hoped he hadn’t changed his mind and was going to jump off the building after all, she didn’t want to see him have a literal heart attack.

The video cut to Midoriya smiling at the camera again. He had a lot more color to him now and his hair was somewhat tamed. In his defence he had apparently got off and 11 hour flight then walked around 300 meters in the air it was allowed to be messy.

“So the person meeting me is Gemma, I mentioned her earlier, and a few other friends but their camera shy so you probably wont see them,” Midoriya was bouncing in place gaze constantly drifting away from the camera, “This is our first time meeting in person so I’m kinda excited kinda dreading if this has all just been some elaborate joke and I’m about to get stood up or worse,”

“Who hurt you and who do I need to kill?” Uraraka whispered, fully prepared to throw down the gauntlet for a youtuber she had only just discovered.

Luckily for them Gemma and his other not seen friends were spared her wrath. The camera shot was from far away so she couldn't hear or see anything in detail but it clearly showed the two running up to hug each other Midoriya pulling back to excitedly chat. Gemma matched his enthusiasm, sparkles trailing her arms as she made wide sweeping gestures.

“Here everyone say hi to Gemma,” The shot changed to frame the two of them, Gemma waving the motion sending more glittering sparkles falling from her hand and landing on Midoriya’s shoulder.

“Oh no-” Gemma stepped back to look at Midoriya the front of his shirt was covered in lingering sparkles along with his face and hair. Midoriya looked down at himself a little shocked as Gemma covered her face groaning into her hands, “I’m so sorry, I swear they fade out,”

She scrubbed her hands down her face, unaffected as her whole body shone lightly with subtle sparkles.

“I love it,” Midoriya grinned, twirling a bit to show there was a band of sparkles across his back from where her arms must have come around him. He was quite a bit shorter than her so his face also looked like someone had blown glitter in it, it just made his smile all the more dazzling.

“So you know where we’re going for dinner?” Gemma was looking at the camera but clearly asking Izuku.

“Up the tower again!” Midoriya beamed and really him plus sparkles was too unfair a combination.

This time in the elevator Gemma stood proudly on the window as Midoriya yelled at her.

“Are you crazy?!”

“Crazy you say?” At that Gemma jumped up and Midoriya let out an unholy screech as the elevator shuddered, she laughed but it was teasing not cruel. Ochako could make out the vague reflection of someone patting Midoriya on the shoulder and another person's arm came into frame to swat at Gemma.

When they reached the top Midoriya did not focus too much on the view, already having shown it. They stepped into a nicely decorated restaurant, but what was interesting was when Midoriya demonstrated that it was slowly spinning so the patrons could enjoy the view without leaving their table.

“Do you think they could speed it up?” Gemma asked, she was sitting next to Midoriya, both had their backs to the window so Ochako had a clear shot of it.

“Like a dangerous merry go round?” Midoriya questioned, the sparkles still clung to his cheeks and eyelashes.

“Exactly!” Gemma gave him finger guns, that matched her real guns. She may be sparkly but without the coat Ochako could now see she was ripped, “Also the dangerous is redundant,”

“What kind of merry go rounds-” Midoriya cut himself off as a waiter walked by, “... anyway I don’t think thats a good idea, given that the points to you know, eat,”

“Thats just what makes it more fun,” Gemma waved off.

“Uh-huh,” Midoriya raised an eyebrow skeptically before turning to the camera, “Hope you guys don’t mind but I wont be doing much food reviewing this dinner, I’ll show it off but-”

“This is a night for us to celebrate, later losers,” Gemma saluted, Midoriya squeaked telling her off before cutting the video off. Ochako laughed glad for Midoriya that his nerves had been wrong.

As promised he showed a few shots of some fancy looking food. Ochako wondered how much she would have to save up for her and her parents to eat there, not as much as the flights of course… hopefully. 

The camera placed on the table showed the scenery slowly revolving outside, getting darker and lights turning on as the sun set. By the time they were getting up to leave it was fully dark outside and Midoriya spared a moment to linger on a shot of Auckland at night.

“Izuku don’t forget your bag,” Gemma called as she shrugged on her jacket, also glittery.

“Thank-” The camera whirled around to where the bag should be. There was a slight ridge dividing the circle of the restaurant that spun and a ledges lining the outside where all the supporting beams were, “Oh sh-”

The camera started shaking as Midoriya ran through the restaurant. The shot switching to another camera that caught Midoriya as he ran the other way almost bowling over a waiter and profusely apologising. All the while you could hear Gemma and several others laughing off screen.

“Oh? Look what we have here,” Gemma moved the camera to focus on a spot as the restaurant turned around, a bag coming into view that Gemma scooped up. It was probably Midoriya's seeing as it had a couple of All Might pins and Ochako wasn’t sure how popular he was internationally.

Gemma set up the camera to focus on the opposite direction Midoriya ran. It caught the moment he came around the other side, still staring worriedly at the window. Gemma whistled sharply gaining a few glares but a relieved look from Midoriya as she held up his bag.

They left the restaurant with a few apologies at the other patrons for being loud. When the camera switched it was back on Midoriya but Ochako caught a glimpse of Gemma shimmering in the background waiting around.

“Alright that's all for today,” Midoriya smiled, Ochako stomped down the slight disappointment resolving check out his other videos from his easiness and confidence on screen Midoriya must have been at this awhile, “I’m going to be touring all over the country so stay tuned for the series, I haven't showed you nearly how beautiful New Zealand is, I hope I can make it down to the south island too cause they have some really pretty scenery, for now I’m going back to the hotel and crashing hard, see ya!”

The video signed off to the end cards a recommended video and link to Gemma’s apparent channel that looked like some sort of fitness channel with how she was lifting weights in it. Ochako promised herself to check it out.

For now she subscribed to Midoriya’s channel checking the time to see if she could squeeze in another before going to bed. She was feeling like she could get away with it. The change in pace revitalising in a way. But really she attributed that to Midoriya’s natural cheer and charisma. Somewhere in there she had allowed herself to relax and get swept up in this dorky kids mundane adventure. It was exactly the kind of thing she wanted her parents to experience one day. 

This was exactly what she had become a hero for, and now graduation was within her grasp. She just had to push a little more and then she would be out in the world able to do some good for her family and everyone else. 

Ochako smiled at the screen, resolving to get some sleep and maybe she could squeeze in another video tomorrow morning. Before she turned off her phone Ochako glanced at the channel's name, snorting to herself. It was perfect.

Green Bean and Bags

#my hero academia #my hero academia au #mha #bnha #asks #ask request #asks welcome

[x0401x]

Violet Evergarden Short Story

Please feel free to message me about possible corrections. If you can, consider supporting the creators by purchasing the official releases. In case anyone is feeling generous: Ko-fi | PayPal. ( ╹◡╹)っ’･*

The ingredients that led me to my current self were:

A teaspoon of queen’s pride.

Two tablespoons of love for my husband, a one-sided feeling now required.

Plenty of tears shed in a forest capital where I had no supporters.

Mix the tear batter with the stubbornness of a princess from the country of white camellias, then put it in the oven. Once it bakes until it becomes tough enough to give one a hard time cutting it even with a knife, it is done. No one can tear a bite off it so easily.

My adult self was reborn this way.

But then, what about her? I wondered what kind of adult my favorite girl was by now.

Just as I was curious about this, good news arrived.

   The Queen and the Auto-Memories Doll

   The marauder came around the time when the red roses were in full bloom.

Said doll, whose lustrous golden hair fluttered in the wind, had jewel-like blue eyes that nailed people down. A dignified young woman, intimidated by nothing. That was the kind of marauder she was.

If I were to talk about my relationship with her, it would be a long story. If I were to explain it leaving out the many stories that happened between us, I would probably say that she was a key figure who became the mediator of my love story in the past, as well as an Auto-Memories Doll engaged in the ghostwriting business at a certain famous postal company.

Although she was the kind of girl who seemed like she could live in solitude forever, she was different when she appeared before me.

“It has been a while, Lady Charlotte.”

I had invited her into our kingdom as a guest of honor because I heard that she was taking a long vacation and traveling around the world – so the passage of time could change people this much.

“I will rush to anywhere that my clients desire...”

The girl, who used to be so ephemeral in the past, had grown up and brought a man to accompany her on the journey, so was it not fitting to call her a marauder? At the very least, she had opened an air hole in my unchangeable royal palace life.

“No, pardon me. This is Violet Evergarden on break from duty, Your Majesty, Queen Charlotte.”

I whispered with the dignified gaze and voice tone of a queen, “It’s been a long time, ghostwriter. No... Violet. Thanks for coming even though you’re on vacation.” I then fixed my stare on the man standing next to Violet.

My adorable ghostwriter possessed a beauty that shone distinctly even in within the palace, which congregated fine-looking women. Therefore, it would not be strange at all if she eventually had a deep relationship with some gentleman, but by no means could I tell if he had that sort of relationship with her.

He greeted me after Violet. Apparently, his name was Gilbert Bougainvillea.

“What’s the relationship between you two?”

As I asked straight to the point, Violet and Gilbert looked at each other’s faces.

Violet then opened her mouth, “He is my former superior officer.”

“So you are related through work.”

“Yes, but I am no longer registered in the military, so maybe I should say that he is my benefactor, whom I am on close terms with nowadays...”

“So you’re close to your benefactor... enough to go on a trip with him, huh.”

“Well...”

Perhaps unable to precisely define her relationship with him, Violet fell silent. But from this, I was able to catch the glimpse of a womanly shyness that I had the feeling I had gone through before.

“The word ‘benefactor’ alone indeed does not cover it.”

“Dear me.”

“I would like to use a more suitable word if there was any, but even I, who work with ghostwriting, do not know an appropriate term for it...”

“Hum, Violet, I’m sorry.”

“‘Reverence’ is not enough and ‘adoration’ might be too trivial...”

“I’m sorry; you can stop there. He’s also embarrassed. You don’t want other people to ask too much about those things, right? It’s under development, isn’t it?”

He smiled, seeming a bit awkward. He was an adult man but looked slightly childish when smiling.

——Isn’t he a fine man?

Hair the color of dusk, blessed physique and virile facial traits. There was some elegance in him. His looks had a male allure that was capable of exhilarating the courtiers of the palace.

——Such a pretty emerald iris.

He was a stunning man. The look in his eye was grievous and had a darkness to it. A mysterious man with an eyepatch. The hardships that he had been burdened with until now oozed out of him. His scent was different from the one of the palace’s knights, but I could feel a similar air coming from him. His build seemed reliable, which looked even more remarkable as he stood next to Violet. I wondered if he had not been quite the pretty boy in his younger years.

He appeared to be apart from Violet in age. I suddenly recalled that I had asked her in the past about what she thought of age gaps between men and women.

——Did she not say no back then because of her relationship with him?

I had many guesses, but I did not voice any of them. I was an adult now.

“Erm, there was an introduction before you came into the room, but I’m going to introduce myself again. I am Charlotte Abelfreya Fluegel. The queen of this country.”

I was Charlotte Abelfreya Drossel before. My lips were finally used to the greeting ever since my name had changed. Even so, I did not want Violet to call me a queen.

“Violet, you put the title of honor ‘Your Majesty the queen’ on me earlier, but you can refer to me in the same way as before. I want you to do that.”

“Is that not disrespectful?”

“It isn’t. I’m asking for it, after all.”

Silence.

“I will punish anyone who opposes to this. Got it, Violet?”

“Yes, Lady Charlotte.”

Right, that was better. After all, when you called me that, I could feel as if I had returned to the times when I was in my homeland where white camellias bloomed. I asked the same thing out of Mr. Bougainvillea, but he refused it due to it being discourteous. Well, this was our first meeting, so maybe there was no helping it.

   After that, Violet and I were left on our own. Mr. Bougainvillea took his leave, saying that we must have had things to talk about. I also drove all of the ladies-in-waiting out of the reception room and was at last actually able to breathe.

The suffocation I felt from my daily life in the royal palace did not come only from wearing a corset. When I thought that there were no longer any stares keeping watch on us, I made merry like a little girl.

“Violet.”

“Yes, Lady Charlotte.”

“Violet, Violet! You’ve become an adult, huh!”

“Yes, Lady Charlotte.”

We had first met when we were both girls, so when we reunited, I could feel as if we had gone back to those days. But I did not know if she, who was always expressionless, was happy about it, yet just when I thought this, Violet’s lips were faintly forming an arc.

——My, she laughed.

Much too surprised, I forgot about conducting myself like a queen and opened my mouth wide. “Violet! You...!” I touched her cheeks with both of my hands.

I should not be doing something like that to her, as she was a lady and no longer a girl, but I felt like confirming if such a natural smile was not my hallucination. I kneaded her cheeks pliably. Violet let me do as I pleased.

“Lady—Char—lotte—” Violet spoke, sounding like having her cheeks kneaded was inconvenient.

——How soft; so you had such soft cheeks? No, more importantly...

“Wh-Wh-What’s gotten into you? You’re the one who pinched your cheeks saying you couldn’t smile that one time!”

“My per—formance has im—proved.”

At first, I could not catch what she was saying very well. “My performance has improved”. After ruminating for the words in my head, I finally understood it.

“Huhu—hahaha!”

This mood. This sensation that almost felt like a toy doll was talking to me. I could actually feel that, yes, Violet was indeed in front of me.

Overjoyed, I let out a high-pitched laughter, just like a little girl. Then, I took Violet’s hand. I squeezed it tight, putting into it my sentiment of deep affection for her, the possessor of mechanical arms. “Hey, I’m truly happy to see you. Have you been doing well?”

“Yes. Lady Charlotte, you also appear to be in good health.”

“I became a bit of an adult too, right? How do I look?”

“Yes, you have become an adult woman.”

When I said that I was currently pregnant, Violet blinked, and then told me to “please sit down”. Her attitude was as if she were protecting me almost like a knight. But I shook my head. I invited her to a stroll. Once I told her that walking a little was best for a mother’s body, as expected, she offered her arm in a knightly manner and escorted me.

That part of her had not changed.

“My husband is in the middle of government affairs, but you should be able to see him tonight.”

As there was also the fact that I was carrying the child of King Fluegel, I had changed residences from the royal palace and was resting in the royal villa for now. A garden spread out outside of the villa, which was a good place for a walk.

In Fluegel, nicknamed the Forest Kingdom, both the royal palace and the land surrounding it were enclosed by trees and green meadows. The garden also had a feel unlike that of Drossel, its atmosphere somewhat idyllic. If I were to describe just the environment, I would say that it was a nice place for children.

“A dinner party... is too ceremonious, so I’m thinking of just having a banquet in the royal villa. You’ll stay over, right? I also want you to meet Lord Damian...”

Violet’s eyes went left and right, as if searching for vestiges of Mr. Bougainvillea, who was nowhere to be found. “If that person says it is all right...”

He was supposed to be having a tour around the palace’s interior with the chamberlain by now. I had told the latter to convince him to agree, so there would likely be no problem. The chamberlain was a capable person.

“Please. Just one day is fine. One day is fine, so... Violet, I want to spend it with you.”

“Will you not be bored in my company?”

“No way. If I were, I wouldn’t have told you to ‘come here because I want to see you’.”

“Are you still unused to life here?”

“Yeah, I have clashes from the smallest to the biggest things. It’s gotten better in comparison to the beginning of my marriage, but in the end, I’m all alone in this country. It’s probably hard for you to understand how happy it makes me to be able to see a face I know... but I’m really glad.”

Hearing these words, Violet made a face that looked like she was giving it a thought. “Will you not summon Madam Alberta?”

Alberta was the woman who had influenced my life the most – the courtier who had acted as my foster mother. She was also in the position of chief of the ladies-in-waiting, so she could not go so easily to the princess who had married off to a different country.

“I’d like to. Lord Damian is making sure that she’ll come if my child is born safely. After fulfilling my role as a queen, I can finally... finally ask for what I want.”

“So it could be said that the more valuable the person’s circumstances, the more inconveniences they face.”

“Yeah. Besides, Alberta probably doesn’t want to be away from her country...”

“It did not seem like it to me. Though this is my own speculation.”

“Is that true...? Hey, speaking of which, you were in Drossel before coming here, right? Why did you go see Alberta before coming to me? Was it a geographic issue? Did you have plans to come here?”

“No, we did not have plans to come to Fluegel.”

My mouth distorted. Were my feelings unilateral? That was what I thought, but as she added, “It would be a problem if civilians carefreely came to visit someone from the royal family”, I was at a loss for words. It was just as Violet said.

She said with a face that feigned ignorance at my complicated maiden heart, “In a way, there is a reason. Madam Alberta once interceded for me to take the job of private tutor of a certain lady from the nobility, so I also went to the royal palace in order to report it to her.”

“My, you’d started doing that kind of work?”

“No... she... that person was an exception.” Perhaps remembering this person, Violet looked into the distance for a bit and then closed her eyes. “After that, too, she would introduce jobs to me whenever possible... so my company’s president also told me to express my gratitude if I ever had a chance to see her. Even if I had not... I wanted to show Major – my companion – the beauty of that country.”

“Is that so...? I’m happy. The beauty of my country is my pride.”

“Yes. I could not have thought that we would come here as per Madam Alberta’s arrangement.”

“S-Sorry.”

The courtier Alberta was once my wet nurse, and to Violet, she was a work intermediator. Alberta had persuaded Violet, saying that, since she had come nearby, she probably wanted to see me.

Having received the news about Violet’s visit from Drossel, I had sent a carriage from Fluegel to pick her up without thinking about her convenience. As a result, I had hindered the vacation that this much-demanded Auto-Memories Doll probably was finally able to have... as well as the time that she was getting to spend with her significant other.

Calling her over in a way that bordered forcefulness might be an arrogant conduct coming from the royal family.

“Violet... did you not want to come to Fluegel?”

“That is not the case.”

“Really...?”

“Yes; it is the country that Lady Charlotte married off to, after all. I had interest in it.”

“Thank you... I’m not free, so... I can’t go anywhere on my own... I had no choice but to bring you here.”

As I said this, Violet nodded with an “I am aware”.

   Afterwards, we talked about what happened in the meantime that we had not seen each other. About how Lord Damian and I were able to properly fall in love with each other after marrying. About how Violet had managed, through ups and downs, to find the most beloved master that she had been looking for. About the fact that he was Mr. Gilbert. About her wish for two of them, in the life that they would have from now onward, to go to the countries that she had visited as an Auto-Memories Doll, because she wanted him to become acquainted with them as well, even if it took some time. We talked about such things quiet and lightly.

I was so happy for being able to have this kind of conversation with her that I could not help myself.

“Speaking of which, Lady Charlotte, it seems you are funding an orphanage.”

“You think it’s hypocritical of me?”

“No. To tell the truth, a girl who is being taken care of over there is supposed to work with us in the future.”

“Eh, is that so? I... built that orphanage because I was influenced by you.”

We opened our eyes wide at each other’s information, hearts pounding, and then broke into giggles.

Aah, when was the last time that I had been so free of wariness with someone? It was really fun. How many more times would I get to see her like this?

“By the way, how’s the Auto-Memories Doll that was with Lord Damian during the Public Love Letters doing?”

Even though we had barely just started chatting, I suddenly thought about that. It was a bad habit of mine. I was quick to picture the end of things.

“She is doing well. It seems she is... always having fights with her lover, but...”

Life was short. Many things passed in a blink of eye.

“Is that okay?”

I spent my time burying down the intervals in which I could not see her.

“It is. Our company is the same as ever. Everyone is doing fine.”

Even so, we could not be together forever.

We would spend time together today and tomorrow, and once we parted, there was a possibility that we would never meet again. After all, I was a queen and Violet was an Auto-Memories Doll. A woman who could go nowhere and a woman who could go anywhere. As one would expect, our social positions were different.

——Aah, Charlotte, stop thinking, I reprimanded myself. Although this moment was unbearably fun, I was conscious of its end, which caused my chest to tighten somewhat.

I was together with Violet in the time when red roses blossomed. The hours we spent talking in the garden would probably become irreplaceable to me. I might recall it over and over.

——This might not be the case for Violet, though.

Friendships could also be unrequited. That was exactly why this moment was both too happy and too painful.

“Lady Charlotte.”

Having my name called, I frantically raised the corners of my mouth, which had gone down before I realized. A queen had to be always smiling elegantly, as to not make the subjects uneasy.

“Wh-What is it?”

Even though I excelled at faking a smile, for some reason, I could not do it properly right now.

“What is the matter?”

I would end up accidentally showing her my original, anxious self when she was in front of me.

“Nothing; it’s just that my heart is filled to the brim.”

Being overcome with emotion at the irreplaceable “present” out of the blue in the middle of a conversation and feeling sad about it was incomprehensible and nothing but a bother to the other person.

“I simply... thought that I was indeed lonely.”

Violet. I might be no more than a character that had not even amounted to a single page of your life.

“I really wanted to see you.”

But you had played a huge role in mine, so you would always be in my heart.

“Because I’d been remembering the things you said to me whenever I was having a hard time.”

Whenever I was sad and about to burst into tears, your face would appear in my heart and you would speak to me.

“Weird, isn’t it? If you think about it, we aren’t that close. I’m just a client to you anyways. Just one person in a crowd. But...”

But I had never forgotten the things you had done for me.

“But, y’know...”

You had supported my love. Allowed me to be selfish. Told me that I was a crybaby. You were the only girl about as old as me that I could be myself when interacting with.

“But...”

To me, you were my girlhood itself. A symbol of the time when I lived in Drossel, fell in love and was simply Charlotte. It was almost as if I were embracing my child self.

Could you tell? My chest was hurting a lot. What a pain. Why did people become like that when growing up?

“I like you.”

Why did we think that these moments in which we became weak were so bad?

“Lady Charlotte...”

In that instant, Violet came closer, and just when I wondered if she was going to kiss me, she reached out a hand.

“‘I want to stop your tears’.”

And then, the tip of her finger scooped a drop of the tears that were about to overflow.

“If I am certain, I had once told you this, Lady Charlotte.”

I was a bit dumbfounded. I did not think she still remembered that.

“Are you still a crybaby...?”

When she gently asked me that, I felt like one more tear would leak. I suppressed my eyes in a panic. “No way I’d be. I’m a queen already.”

“Yes.”

“I have Lord Damian too. I’m his wife.”

“Yes.”

“I’ve become strong. I... got a bit weak just now, but it was a temporary thing.”

“Yes, I am aware.”

Aah, you. Violet.

“Lady Charlotte, if you like...”

You were extremely insensitive sometimes.

“...if you ever have a chance to travel to Leidenschaftlich...”

And cruel.

“...by all means, do call me. I will hasten to join you.”

But kind enough to make me cry.

“I want to show you that city one day...”

You had no idea that you were saving me with your casual statements.

Before I noticed, Violet was offering me a handkerchief. I accepted it, and while hiding my crying face but making at least my voice sound all right, I said, “I’ll go; I’ll definitely go there one day. And when I do, show me around!”

Violet replied, “Yes” with a tone that indicated she was probably smiling.

“Definitely.”

Surely, even if I managed to meet Violet again someday, the same thing would happen. It was precisely because we could not see each other that I would be both happy and pained once I managed to see her.

“Of course. If it suits you, I can draw up a written oath... Ah, Lady Charlotte. Major is back.”

The contents of our conversations had changed from before. We were no longer talking about one-sided love letters. I would not sulk or curl up on my bed in front of her.

“No way; I can’t show him a face like this.”

Still, it did not matter how many years passed.

“You look beautiful.”

It was not as if my feelings would be gone.

——We were able to meet today like that. Even if we part ways tomorrow, you’ll surely be on a voyage somewhere around the world.

“Aren’t my eyes red?”

“No, Lady Charlotte.”

When I thought about that, I started looking forward to it. Should I try to write her a letter telling her that I wanted to see her by the time that the tales of our journeys had piled up?

“Your Majesty, may I also join Violet?”

“Of course; here, sit down.”

I had already decided on an opening phrase for it.

“Major, I was told a wonderful story. Is it all right to talk about it?”

“Aah, tell me, Violet.”

“The orphanage that Lady Charlotte built is...”

   Dear Ms. Violet Evergarden, Are you doing well?

I want to see you.

#violet evergarden #veedit #fyeahvioletevergarden #charlotte abelfreya drossel #kyoani #kyoto animation #charlotte abelfreya fluegel #gilbert bougainvillea #violet evergarden short stories #akatsuki kana #my translation #novel

[foolgobi65]

varshadhara

one.

Sita has been married a year when there is news of a drought, cloudless skies that refuse to darken and dust that does not become soil. 20 villages chose a single representative to beg for aid from the Emperor himself, and Sita’s husband is drawn when he finally enters their bedroom that night.

“They are dying,” he says quietly, a confession that even later Sita is never sure he meant for her to hear. His eyes close as he begins to remove the ornaments that mark him the eldest, the favorite son, heir to all his father has conquered. Sita, seated on the bed, watches as her husband looks down at the ruby necklace whose clasp he has just undone and calculates how many meals he could buy with what lies so easily in his palms.

“Years,” she confirms, hands playing with the edge of her cotton upper cloth for want of something to do. Her voice startles them both, somehow too loud and too soft for the strange hush that has fallen on the palace so many hours after sunset. “But only because the jewelry you wear is more precious in this city for having been yours.”

He looks up, curiosity a glint in his eye and hands at the heavy earrings the Emperor insists on for court. He seems glad to see her. “Would it help?”

“Yes,” she says, ignoring the way her heart clenches to hear the hope in his voice, “for now. But what about in a year, should the drought continue?”

Her husband glances at the chest which keeps his gold, the fruit of a generation’s worth of tribute from kingdoms that span the earth.

“What a tragedy,” he drawls, fingers slowly teasing out the crown from the wonderful tangles of his hair, “to lose all these heavy jewels in pursuit of my duty as king.”

Sita startles into laughter and reaches out to take her husband’s burden, ignoring the surprise that flickers briefly across his features. He is always so surprised and then so grateful for what to Sita are the smallest morsels of tolerance. She does not think about why this might upset her. “And as my Lord’s faithful wife,” she says cheerfully in response, “I suppose it would be my duty to donate my ornaments as well.”

Both of them linger on Sita’s wrists, the ones she keeps nearly bare save the one golden bangle around each that at least proves her a wife. They smile: tragic indeed.

“My father has proclaimed that the drought stricken will not pay tribute,” Sita hears hours later, low in the moments before she finally closes her eyes, “but there must be something more we can do to help.”

She could live like this, she thinks, at the moment she slips over the edge between the worlds of life and dreams. Sita is content. This could be enough.

----

two.

By now all of Ayodhya must know that Janaki, foundling daughter of the Videhan king, was not expected to marry -- the year that she has spent in the blessed state so far has been tumultuous, to say the least. She grew up a goddess, but more than that she grew up sheltered from palace politics and finds herself embroiled in more than one controversy due to her own ineptitude.

Her sisters, each of them younger than Sita, were married to her husband’s three brothers before they became women true and so are kept as maidens in the palaces of their individual mother in laws: far from their eldest sister who lives, as is traditional, in the rooms of her husband.

What would they say, Sita wonders, if they knew their sister to be equally virginal only weeks before the first anniversary of her wedding?

Sita sets the ceremonial platter on top of a stool and kneels, gently picking up the woolen blanket covering her husband as he sleeps on the floor. The difference in temperature, they have both realized, is usually enough for him to wake and so it is today when his eyes open. Together they fold not only the blanket that covered him but the two others that make what serves as his mattress on the ground, one of her husband’s many concessions to his ungrateful, accidental wife.

“I was never supposed to be married,” she had whispered the night of their consummation, tears streaming down her face and tone as possibly close to a shriek while knowing that servants listened at the door. “I know nothing of how to manage a royal household, much less satisfy a husband!”

The black rimming her eyes must have mixed with her tears, leaving Sita a fright. The combined talents of Ayodhya’s finest ladies-in-waiting ruined by the anxieties of a girl utterly unsuited to serve as their canvas. Sita’s husband, a man who wielded enough power at 16 to force each of Sita’s baying, blood-lusting suitors -- some of them thrice her husband’s age -- to their knees in supplication, had barely walked into the room when confronted with the sight.

“I did not need the protection of a husband,” Sita had said then, back turned. “I would have died before any of those lechers disguised as failed suitors tried to touch me.” She choked back a sob. “It would have been better for us all if I had.” Years later her husband confesses that sometimes he still hears her like this in the moments before he falls asleep, even when they have spent more years than not tangled as one in bed. Sita never tells him how close it all was in the end, how tightly she was gripping the knife when someone heard that a young anchorite had not only lifted, but broken the Great God’s bow. But on her wedding night, when Sita opened her eyes it was to the sight of her husband, his own blade drawn. She flinched, but he only raised his own palm and ran the edge against skin to draw blood.

“A woman,” he said in answer to her unvoiced question, “is supposed to bleed on her first night. The washerwoman will be paid handsomely for her knowledge in the morning.”

Sita flushed, shoulders straightening of their own accord at the implication.

“And as a virgin bride myself, I will bleed as any other” she said, hands fisted at her side in brief, overwhelming rage. “My reputation does not need you to shed blood on my behalf.”

Her husband had only nodded, moving towards the side of the bed opposite to where Sita sat in order to smear his palm once, twice, thrice until he seemed satisfied with his handiwork.

A million questions ran through Sita’s mind. “I hope your sleep is restful,” was all her husband said in response, grabbing a blanket from the foot of what was to be their marital bed and arranging himself on the floor.

Nearly a year since, Sita’s knowledge as to the running of households has not increased, nor, she suspects, has her knowledge regarding the satisfaction of her husband. He keeps long hours, spending as much time away from his wife as possible. The people of Ayodhya, used to the years that might have passed between visits from their woman-drunk sovereign, are enthralled by the near constant access to their Crown Prince, and this during the years when it is acceptable, nay even appropriate to be devoted to naught but one’s own pleasure.

The women of the palace, caught between their desire to honor their collective son and their need to denigrate his strange, uncouth wife, stay silent.

----

three.

“In Mithila,” Sita’s husband begins, breaking their easy silence that has fallen over this morning meal, “what would you do in times of drought?”

Sita startles, the palm frond she was using to keep away insects as her husband ate, slipping to the ground. Though they can now speak of many things, they have never spoken of Mithila -- it is encouraged for new brides to sink themselves fully into the environs of their new, forever home. In this, at least, she is like every wife before her: the ways of her past can have no place in her present. Every day she must attempt to forget who she once was.

“I am only a girl,” Sita answers carefully, eyes lowered as she was told women do. “Such a question may be better answered by my Father, or one of the preceptors versed in these matters.”

There is a silence, but Sita, unable to lift her eyes to her husband’s face, cannot tell if he has accepted her falsehood. The Raghuvanshis, she has been told time and time again, are a line of honor. They do not lie.

“Did you think--” she hears, and then a sigh. “I know who you are, my lady. Are we not friends, at the very least?”

Sita clenches her jaw, picking up the palm fronds once more. She is no longer afraid of her husband, at least not as she was at first. But he cannot want the answers he seeks, not truly. “I am a princess of Ayodhya,” she says, as she has to herself every morning since she woke up next to her husband’s blood on the bed and his body on their floor. “I am your wife, sanctified by the Lord’s Bow and the sacrament of the Holy Fire.”

“Yes,” her husband agrees. Sita cannot help but note that his tone is gentle. “And in Videha, you are considered a Goddess too.”

He says it so easily, as if Sita does not live balanced on the sword-edge between damned and divine. For a moment, she lets herself imagine what it would be like to be known.

There is a story known in Videha, of a drought so ferocious that a King long without child was forced to seed his own lands with the merit of his good deeds. Of the four days of labor that resulted in a baby girl, delivered from the womb of the Eternal Mother Earth. A child covered in an afterbirth of soil where there had only ever been useless dirt.

And yet this too is known: children are the only dead who are buried, their bodies believed too beloved to be consecrated to the fire and burned beyond reckoning. Instead they are covered in wool and laid to rest in the lap of Mother Earth alongside a plea for Death to be gentle.

Sometimes these children are wanted. Many times, the bodies buried are the ones who are not.

This is all that is known: when the King knelt to deliver the child, what had previously been blue sky broke into the first of that year’s monsoon, nearly a decade since the last.

Foundlings left to die do not wear the garb of royalty. Goddesses do not wed.

What would you call me, Crown Prince?

“I am a princess of Ayodhya,” she says, the words suddenly heavy, like stones in her mouth. Her silence protects her sisters from the taint of Sita’s own uncertainty, and Ayodhya has no need for Gods not its own. She waves away an insect that attempts to rest atop her husband’s left ear and resigns herself to her fate: “I am your wedded wife.”

“They are dying,” he says softly, but he speaks to himself. Sita thinks of the easy way they can speak now sometimes; at nights before they retire, or over a morning meal. Her husband is right -- they are friends, if nothing else, and she owes him more than this. Viciously Sita tamps down on the guilt she feels roiling her stomach, rebelling against a stance that suddenly feels like betrayal.

----

Four.

“It is strange,” Mother Kaushalya remarks, as always, “that you were never taught the ways of Royal Women. Is this how girls are raised in Videha?”

Mother Kaushalya, who has only known the Kosala for which she is named, has latched onto the strangeness of Sita’s far-off homeland as a possible explanation for the ways in which Sita grates mountain-rough against the silk of the Imperial Palace. It is useless of course, since a slight against Videha must inherently touch Sita’s sisters, who in the last year have already developed a reputation for grace, gentility, and an overflowing well of kindness towards all blessed with their presence.

Mother Kaushalya, according to the servant-slaves Sita eavesdrops on, has been heard quarreling with Mother Sumitra, begging for “at least one of your darling girls, my Lady, for you know that it can only be selfishness to keep them both when your elder sister has none!”

Sita, tugging awkwardly at the overwrought necklaces she must wear when in Mother Kaushalya’s presence, can only agree. She, more than anyone, knows what she lacks. There have been rumors recently that all three of Dasharatha’s Chief Queens have made a petition to the Emperor to find a new princess worthy of the Crown Prince’s hand.

Sita can only hope that when the time comes, her husband will allow her access to the Imperial Library, or at least will deem it proper to have one wife devoted to the worship of the Gods: philosophy and piety are so easily confused, after all. The best life she can now demand is one where she recedes into the background of the Imperial Palace, unneeded and unknown by all. Never will Sita oversee the workings of a kingdom in the manner she was raised, nor will she sit atop an altar and listen to those petitioners who make pilgrimage to weep at her feet.

Some days, Sita does not even know if she is a woman at all, if these mothers and wives are capable of knowing and carrying the grief of a nation inside their fragile bodies. Every night she dreams of the drought ravaging the villages near the outskirts of Kosala, of how once a year Sita was carried by 50 men to the fields of Videha so that she might press her feet into the soil that made her womb and call forth the rains that heralded her birth.

But then she too dreams of this: a mother weeping, swollen with child like other mothers who have knelt in front of Sita. A mother who delivers a daughter in the ordinary way and buries her alive.

“Goddesses,” the Sage Parashurama had said the year after Sita was installed in the palace of Mithila, “are not meant for marriage. Videha is fortunate that after the reign of Janaka it will be guided by the light of the Divine.”

He paused then, as they all do. “And if the Lady were not a goddess, well --”

They never finish the sentence. The threat is implied.

Sita cannot be meant for love, not in the way of women who are meant for marriage. How can she, when she was meant to sit atop a dais as the physical embodiment of a force of nature, just as easily as inside the hearts of believers? How can she, when she lives her life in the fear that she will be caught out and banished, back into the grave she was meant to die in?

Women are meant for friendship. Women are meant for love.

“My apologies Mother Kaushalya,” Sita says, shaking her head and trying to convince herself that she does not rage against the fate that stretches fallow before her, “I was not raised to be much of a girl at all.”

The real trouble, Sita thinks later, is that despite everything she has somehow found herself liking her husband anyway.

---

five.

“My Lady,” a servant twitters three weeks after the Emperor promises debt relief to the drought-stricken. “My Lady, your Lord husband has need of you!”

Sita looks up from the flowers she is carelessly attempting to string together in a garland, perhaps to festoon a doorway, perhaps to drape around one of the many idols of Surya, the progenitor of her husband’s race. They have not spoken in the week since he asked her about Videha and she refused to answer. “He does?”

“He does,” the servant responds with some relish, ready Sita is sure to reap the rewards of being the bearer of such premium gossip the moment Sita’s back is turned. Sita’s husband has never before indicated such a preference for her company. “He asked that I bring you to him, and not in the garb of royalty.”

“And you are sure that this is my husband?” It is not altogether seemly for Sita to be expressing such doubt that her husband might be asking for her, especially when such a request -- even to appear in plainclothes -- is not unusual for those young and in love, seeking respite from the rhythms of the palace by traveling outside its gates. But really, her husband?

The servant, a girl perhaps only a few years older than Sita’s 16, only raises an eyebrow and widens her grin. “Should I call for one of your maids to help you dress?”

“No,” Sita responds absently, lost in the contemplation of what game her husband could possibly be playing. “Did he say if he had any preference as to what I wear?”

“He did not, my Lady, but if I may I think you had better choose something blue if you have it. The color sets nicely against your skin. Silver jewelry instead of gold, if you have that too. ”

Sita does, buried at the bottom of a trunk of clothes she had carried with her from home. But before that --

“Here,” Sita undoes the clasp of the pearl necklace sent to her by some princeling attempting to curry favor with the crown. There is no true harm in people knowing she has left the palace in her husband’s company, but she is off-center enough to want this a secret as long as she can buy it so. “For your silence, until we return.”

In the time it takes Sita to strip out of silk and re-knot her old lower cloth of coarse blue cotton she has thought of a hundred different potential scenarios. Had she been alone, she might have had to slouch out of her own rooms with her head down so that she might prevent recognition -- in the company of a servant, Sita is passed over as one as well and strolls quite comfortably into the sunshine, following a path she has never taken until they find her husband leaning against the wall of one of the palace’s more minor stables.

“My lady,” he says, seeming to shake himself out of some sort of stupor and leveraging himself fully upright. “Antara,” he says then, turning to face the servant he had charged with fetching Sita, “you have my gratitude.” He leans down to pick up something wrapped in cloth before walking to Antara with a winning smile while pressing the package into her arms.

Sita knows something of her husband, but not like this. She is charmed.

“I came across the mangoes your sister likes when I was making my way back from one of the border kingdoms,” her husband says to Antara. “Tell her that I look forward to hearing more about her adventures when she is feeling well enough to take visitors.”

Antara’s eyes gleam and grow misty. “Oh,” she says, lips trembling as she folds her hands around the parcel and takes her leave, “and we have only just gotten her head to shrink back to its usual size after the last time!”

Alone at last, Sita’s husband’s earlier flash of ease vanish into the ether. Sita tries not to take offense at being more a stranger to him than the woman he sent to fetch his wife. “My lady,” he says again, but cannot seem to say anything more. Sita, feeling the awkwardness of the last week’s silence and her own slight guilt besides, takes pity.

“The girl?”

Sita is rewarded with a smile of her own, small but sincere. “Bedridden, but wonderfully vivacious still. There are bouts of illness where she is worse off than usual, but she believes me nothing more than a particular playmate and I try to see her when I can. The parcel has medicine a far-off physician swore had done a similar patient some good, but Antara would never accept unless I passed it to her like this.”

Sita blinks. “But you are her sovereign!”

Her husband shrugs. “I am her sister’s friend, and I find that everyone is entitled to some amount of pride. It is difficult to accept that you cannot help the one you love best alone.”

She nods, satisfied as she has been in the past with the knowledge that at least she is not married to a stupid man, And, she supposes, not a cruel one either. “How old is the girl?”

His smile widens slightly in apparent reminiscence. “She will be seven in two months' time.”

“Does she have a doll?”

“One,” Sita’s husband says slowly, brow slightly furrowed, “but bedraggled.”

Sita may not know how to comport herself as wife nor princess, but once she was a Goddess who heard the entreaties of those who cared for their beloved ill. Still, she remains a sister. This, Sita knows how to do. “If you approve, I will make her a new one that you can take with you. I used to make dolls for my sisters out of dried grass and cloth when we were children.”

For a moment, her husband looks stunned before he manages to school his features into something like equanimity once more. Still, he slips and there is something helpless about the way he is suddenly looking at her. “You are kind,” he says, but low in a tone that makes it clear that he is not truly speaking to Sita so much as about her to himself. “I am always glad for that.”

Sita blushes, unsure about how to respond to a compliment not exactly meant for her ears. It is not something she ever expected to hear from anyone in Ayodhya, much less the husband she condemns to spend his days wandering the countryside and his nights at rest alone on his own stone floor. “Why did you call me?” she decides to ask instead.

Again, her husband shakes his head as if rising from a reverie. His usual self-confidence suddenly melts into trepidation. What could he possibly want that discomfits him so?

“At the Kosalan border,” he says slowly, eyes focused on some point behind Sita’s shoulders, “there are a few villages that, at some point in the last few years, welcomed some families from afar.”

There is something about the way he speaks that begins to knot Sita’s stomach. She has the beginnings of an inkling, but nothing so concrete that she can speak it aloud. She nods for him to continue.

“Neighbors share stories in times of plenty as well as times of scarcity. These last few months there have been stories about former droughts, experienced by foreign kingdoms.”

Ah. Of course.

“This is not Videha,” Sita says, but she speaks almost as if she is in a dream. She cannot deny her divinity, not without inviting further scrutiny of her orphanhood. But neither has she ever truly believed that it is her feet that coaxed the rains to Mithila. Her father sowed the fields with the merit of his good deeds. Her father found a babe in the trough. Coincidence does not imply correlation.

What would happen if the stories were wrong? If Sita walked the lands but the sky remained a bright, barren blue? In some faint corner of her heart, she feels resentment towards her husband for having made her think of this at all.

“Yes,” her husband agrees, “I told them so. But they insist I bring you to meet them if only to speak as their princess.” He winces slightly, eyes shifting desolate to the dirt. “Hope sometimes means the difference between death or life in these instances, and at this moment I have nothing else to offer.”

Helpless, Sita thinks again. Her husband, Crown Prince of Dasaratha’s empire that extends further and exacts more in tribute than any before, stands helpless before his wife. They are friends, he had said, and even before that, he is the one who has always been kind. She opens her mouth to say something, anything, but no words find themselves on the tip of her tongue.

Her husband, eyes still averted, nods as if he has understood. “It was foolish to ask, I know, and perhaps you even think me cruel. You do not speak of who you were in Videha, and I should not ask this of you as my wife.” His jaw sets. “I will take you back to the palace.”

What would happen if the stories were true? If, as in her dreams, Sita walked the lands here in Kosala and the skies still split?

“How will we go?” she asks quietly, unable to force her voice firm. The words leave her mouth unbidden, but she knows they are right nonetheless. “How long will it take?”

She can almost hear her husband’s neck snap as his eyes rise from their study of the ground to gaze at her with all the intensity of the vicious sun. If before he was stunned, now he can only be described as pole-axed. His face is suddenly host to so many overwrought emotions at once that it is rendered as illegible as the times when he forces it blank. She has never seen him so, but that is not unusual. She had not seen him even wearing the smile he gave Antara.

This, she wonders, if anyone anywhere has witnessed ever before. She wonders, even as in her heart she knows the truth: they haven’t. None but Sita.

“Will you really come?” His voice is almost plaintive, like a child asking something he already knows he cannot have. But what does the most powerful man in the world know of want?

“I will,” Sita says, head spinning with a thousand questions, a thousand fears, a thousand hopes. She bites her lip, suddenly overwhelmed by her own uncertainty. “I cannot promise --” again, she loses her voice before she can finish the sentence that would throw her status into such uncertainty.

“I know,” her husband says, answering her unasked question. “I always knew. It would not matter to me either way.” He too seems to break off, struggling to find the proper words. He takes a step forward, and then another, and then one more until he stands in front of Sita, close enough that if he reached out he could clutch at her wrists. “Janaki,” he says, voice dripping with an honest earnesty that suddenly reminds Sita that if she feels herself a girl in Ayodhya then her husband too is a young boy, aged artificially by the weight he is always carrying on his shoulders.

“Janaki,” her husband says again, and Sita takes a breath. He is very handsome up close this friend of hers, the man who is her husband. “You will always be safe with me.” He smiles slightly, and Sita feels the corners of her own lips curling in sympathetic response. “As you say, you are now my wedded wife. There is nothing anyone could say about you that will change that. You can be more, but from now on you will never be less.”

For years Sita was old as well. More than anything else, she was lonely. She is lonely still.

What would you call me, Crown Prince?

My wife.

“I will try,” she vows, refusing to think about what it will do to the villagers for whom the drought continues after she walks the distance of their land. For once, she knows what will happen: she will remain her husband’s wife. In many ways, this is more the moment of her marriage than the one in which he tied the sacred thread around her neck than the one in which he broke the bow of the Great God.

“I will,” she says again, and Sita is unsure if she is promising to be wife, princess, or Goddess. All three, perhaps. “For them,” she swallows and throws all caution to the wind. “For you, I promise I will at least try.”

---

+1

Sita walks for hours, hair falling out of the twist she had pulled it into after dismounting from the saddle she had shared with her husband traveling by horseback to the place that still believed there lived a goddess that could quench dry land.

She walks and walks, walks and walks and walks until her feet begin to crack and then bleed after such long exposure to the harshness of dead earth. Then, she walks some more. Thirst left her an hour ago, but now she struggles against exhaustion. Every step threatens to pull her down into the dust, and she knows, knew, that this would happen. She knew that she would prove their faith false, and leave them worse for having met her. She knew, and yet --

She had hoped, still.

There are no living goddesses who walk the land like Sita to call forth the rain. It is a ritual that has its roots in her father Janaka’s sacrifice, seeding the earth with the merit of his good deeds. Once, she had asked him what he felt when he had been plowing alone in the moments before he manifested a miracle.

“I suppose I should tell you that I prayed,” he had said thoughtfully, hand coming up to stroke absently at his beard, “but I did not. My people were suffering, and there is nothing even an intelligent man can do to mitigate the effects of a decade of drought. I was supposed to be thinking of all the good I had done, so as to imbue the ground with that goodness. But more than anything, every moment I was there I wanted it to rain -- more than anything I had ever wanted before. I felt like I would have done anything then, given anything, if only it would rain. By the end, I knew it would. It had to.”

In Videha, Sita had walked as ritual. She had lived in times of plenty.

In Kosala, there is a drought. She has seen with her own eyes the shrunken bodies of villagers who have no food. Whose voices are raspy with thirst. Together they had collected all the water they had left and had Sita sit, cross-legged before them as they washed away the dust of the road. Sita’s husband has promised that she will be his wife even if she proves a woman after all, but suddenly she knows why the rain fell. Her father too had known; in his own way, he had even tried to tell her.

In Kosala, Sita wants. She is a woman, and in this moment she wants as she never has before. She wants it to rain, more than anyone ever has wanted anything anywhere. More even than her father must have wanted because she wants not only for herself and her people but for her husband as well. Perhaps for him most of all, whom she has seen wrack his mind for weeks. Who has defied what convention or good sense would tell him and instead placed his faith in his wild wife, bringing her to the outskirts of his kingdom in hope of a miracle. Far from the palace, Sita knows herself. She knows what she wants. She knows now, with blinding certainty, what will be.

She wants to be loved, and she wants to love in turn. She wants it to rain, and so it will.

She walks until her body fails, certain in her knowledge that the rain will come. It has to. She trips, and suddenly she hears the gasps of the crowd that has kept vigil at the sides as they did in the time of her father before her. She trips, she falls, and just as she loses consciousness she hears the impossible roll of thunder on a cloudless day.

Sita hits the ground, and it begins to rain in Kosala.

---

coda. (2, 3, 4)

It is late when Sita wakes, eyes opening to the ceiling of a small hut as the raindrops patter against the roof. Outside she can hear shouts of glee, the beat of drums, the exultant songs of villagers who know that they can soothe their hoarse throats with water.

“Was it always like that?” Sita looks down to the foot of her bed where her husband kneels, hands gently rubbing ointment into her wounds before wrapping them with strips of his upper cloth. She hums in question, uncertain of what he means. “When you would walk in Videha,” her husband clarifies, eyes never leaving his self-appointed task, “was it like it was today?”

She could say yes, and imply that this is what goddesses do. Raghuvanshis do not lie. “No,” she says, and marvels at what a struggle it is to even speak. “Never.”

He nods, as if this was the only answer he expected. “Then it really was you,” he says softly, and suddenly Sita notices his hands are shaking as he winds the last of the cloth around her left foot. “You walked, and the gods answered your call.”

“Yes,” Sita says in a whisper. It is a thought too large to bear. He must have questions, she knows, and she owes her husband an explanation. She wants to tell him everything she remembers, everything she now understands, but in this moment there is nothing she can bring herself to say.

Finally, he looks away from her feet, shifting so that it is easier for Sita to look and see his red eyes.

“You cried,” Sita says inanely, stupid again but now in shock.

Her husband laughs, the sound just on the verge of being a sob. “It rained.”

He looks away.

“Before I found your pulse, I thought you had died.”

---

They leave in the morning once more on horseback, Sita clutching her husband’s waist and content to expose her aching, bandaged feet to the elements having long lost her shoes. The villagers offer breakfast, but Sita and her husband communicate wordlessly like she has seen other married couples do, and say together that they must respectfully decline. It will take another cycle for the crops to truly flourish, and there is more food than anyone can eat at home.

For a moment, Sita is jarred at the realization that Ayodhya is what she means when she thinks now of “home.” Mithila, of course, is home always -- but it is different now. Sita’s father called down the rain in Videha, but it was Sita alone who split the sky for her home last night.

After about an hour her husband brings the horse to a halt and jumps down, walking until they reach a lush orchard. Sita swings her right leg around and falls into his arms. For a moment she feels him lower her before he remembers that she cannot walk and shifts his grip, left arm grasping under her knees as Sita wraps her arms around his neck.

“You like jamun fruits, no? You keep them in our bedroom sometimes.”

Yes, Sita does. “Do you?”

Her husband shrugs. “I like these jamun fruits.”

“And where are we?”

“The crown plants orchards at places along the main roads so that travelers might find some respite.” He smiles, looking up at one of the trees. “This is the one with the best jamun fruits in Kosala. And this,” he lowers Sita to the ground underneath the tree and she lets go obligingly, “is the best tree of the orchard.”

It is a romantic claim to make, that there is a single tree that produces the best fruit in the land, but Sita’s husband does not say it as one might when repeating a fancy. Intrigued despite herself, she asks: “How do you know?”

He palms the bark, fingers searching for something that he finds in a particular divot. “A few years ago a squadron of warriors tested the fruit of every tree. This was the one they liked best.”

Sita is skeptical. “And you believe them?”

“Well,” her husband amends, that same mischief he had shown Antara in his eyes, “this is certainly the one I liked best, and the rest agreed as well. It might not be to your taste, given that you are a woman of refined taste in this sphere and I merely a man who prefers mangos.”

“We shall see,” Sita laughs, bedraggled and thirsty and tired. Still, she feels like she has never laughed like this before. In her past she has certainly felt joy and found laughter, but in her happiness now she floats. She had always felt so heavy before. “Let me have my breakfast, and I will be the judge of that.”

Her husband is graceful in victory -- it is not perfectly the season, but Sita swears she has never tasted so sweet a fruit.

---

“Her feet are bandaged,” Kaikeyi observes when the cacophony that accompanies their return to the palace dies down to a dull roar. It is an easy thing to notice when Sita is being carried in her husband’s arms. Kaikeyi was always the quickest of Dasaratha’s queens and proves herself to be the one best informed when her beautiful face twists in withering disgust. “You cannot possibly think that your wife ended the drought by walking.”

Sita cannot tell if the emphasis is on the words “your wife” or “walking.” Both, she thinks, offend the very marrow of an Ayodhyan sensibility that has spent half a year shoving gold at pandits to fund a sacrifice that will finally please Indra.

This is what Sita, married into a family that does not lie, plans to say: “We are glad to see the rain.”

This is what her husband, whose words at 18 already carry more weight in this family than those of his father, says instead: “She did. I saw it with my own eyes.”

#maya writes #ramayana #lmao found this in my google drive and decided light blasphemy was a really fun thing to do at this point in time #i havent written anything non academic in a year so please please let me know what you think!!

[siemprecr7]

Gio's interview with El País

● In the promo of your new program you say you knows what it's like to go from having nothing to having everything. Are you exaggerating?

"My sister, mother and I have been a family and have always been superunited. It is true that I have never lacked the basics. But it is also true that sometimes I ate better and other times worse just like sometimes we had hot water and sometimes we didn't. At the age of eighteen I wanted to study and I couldn't leave Jaca, the town where I grew up. Then I got a job offer in a hotel in a very small town near Barbastro, two and a half hours from Jaca and my mother left me a hundred euros to leave my town and that's how I began to have a salary, pay rent and lead an independent life."

● Do you remember the exact moment when you became interested in luxury?

"After working at the Graus hotel, it was clear to me that I wanted to go to Madrid because my dream was to study business administration. My sister was preparing for selectivity and we both went together to Madrid. I left the resume at Inditex and started at Massimo Dutti but sometimes I walked along the golden mile and I loved seeing the windows. When I entered a luxury boutique, it was like entering a museum for me. Then I came as a nanny to England and learned English and when I returned I was caught in Gucci. There I already saw the fashion world inside, because it is fashion that interests me, not luxury, because luxury is very relative. For me, it's also my luxury to go to the countryside with a sheet to eat a chorizo sandwich."

● The slogan of the reality show is "Before sold bags, now I collect them." Does that mean that one thing seems better to you than the other?

"That's a phrase that the marketing team has thought but I have enjoyed just as a waitress in Graus' restaurant putting ten-euro menus and seeing that people were satisfied and gave me two euros of tip, as ironing sheets or selling bags. I was hired for doing a job and my daily satisfaction was to go home thinking | had done very well. Then people tell me: "what a joy, what a dream, right? Go from selling luxurybags to being able to have them." And I say, well, yes. It's wonderful."

● Don't you miss anything from your previous life?

"The only thing I miss is going out and people don't recognize you, being able to go quietly without looking in the corners to see who is going to take a picture of you."

● And isn't it uncomfortable to always live surrounded by bodyguards?

"Not at all, because in the end they make my life easier. They do their job very well and respect spaces very much."

● In the documentary you says that you will meet with Ferrari President John Elkann. You doesn't seem to feel intimidated in upper-class environments. Where does that security come from?

"It was just a very comfortable time. He was with his children, as well as I was with mine and everything was very fluid. When I go to places I don't think about those terms. That's classist and since I'm not a classist, I don't care. I feel just as comfortable with such people as with my former colleagues, with the workers I have at home or with the waiter who makes me a coffee."

● And how does it take some people to only be nice to you because they have money?

"Well, it's the same as people who are much nicer when the boss is in front of them. It's something human."

● You says in the documentary that you love to always travel by private jet because if you had to spend two hours at an airport you would prefer not to travel. Is that correct?

"I say that because when I go with Cristiano people don't see beyond him. They throw themselves at him and they don't care if you have four children with you, bags, suitcases. We take many pushes. I care about my children but I guess it's like mothers who go to the park and want to have their children under control and not get lost."

● On your Wikipedia page only Alana appears as your daughter. Do you think that the rest of the children are also your children?

"Neither Cristiano nor I consider her to be my only daughter. My children are four and the four of them call me mom. What happens is that many things that are not true are published on the Internet. That's just one more thing that people don't know."

● However, now with this program you will open up many spaces in your life that until now were totally closed to the public. Are you a little scared of that exhibition?

"I have never considered that just because I am the woman of the best football player in the world I have to open my house and my privacy. But I am also very sure of myself, I always act from my heart and with the best intentions. I am very proud of who I am and where I come from, of my family and the people around me so I am not worried at all."

● Your mother and mother-in-law do not appear. I guess you wanted to protect some people...

"That has nothing to do with it. It is my reality and they have not appeared because the circumstances have not occurred."

● Do you think Cristiano will have a hard time giving up his prominence this time?

"It's just that we don't see it like that at all. He has been mutually agreed, he is very proud of me."

● Would you say that you are the person who most influences Cristiano Ronaldo's life?

"When you fall in love with a person and everything you do together is always so positive for everything, because of course you trust them. But it depends on what for. In the family environment, he obviously takes my opinion into account. In the football and business field, well, no. But in the end, in any case, his opinion belongs to him."

● And you, in the business area, what opinion do you take the most into account?

"Mine. I always look at the pros and cons and study the situation, but the truth is I'm lucky. All the people around me are very good, competitive and polite, they advise me very well."

● It is no secret to anyone that the family relationship with his father was not good. He was a soccer player and coach. Were you interested in soccer as a girl?

"The truth is that I was never interested in football when I was little. I was interested in ballet and going to the countryside. I became interested later because I'm interested in what my partner does but I'm not a football player and the truth is that at home we don't talk about football because I have no idea."

● And what can you two be talking about for hours?

"Well, our care, the care of our children, our training, travel, projects, business..."

● Is the place where you have arrived a product of luck, love or ambition?

"Professionally, I consider myself an ambitious person, because in the end ambition is also what makes you want to make everything perfect and make everything go well. But in my personal life, no. Cristiano is a football player, the best in the world, who financially is very good because he has had a head and done very good business, in addition to being a beautiful and perfect man [laughs]. But it was a coincidence."

● Is it impressive in the reality show how much you insist that you are happy , that you don't have moments of sadness ?

"It's just that I'm a very positive person , more than ambitious or calculating . Life is much simpler than all that and in the end I think things are going well for me because I don't act out of envy , greed or meanness . So , if you're lucky , the road will take you places . But of course I'm happy and I feel very fulfilled."

● Have you already organized a life plan that will allow you to stop worrying about money ?

"You never know because maybe tomorrow I decide to start a business , things go wrong for me and I lose everything . Life is too long."

#georgina rodriguez #gio #cristiano ronaldo #cr7 #👶👶 #family #interview

[rosie-b]

🦮 fill this empty space (ask game)

(link to the summary)

This turned out to be... longer than a snippet, and like the summary, angstier than I expected. It's been that kind of week ig! But there's a promising ending because I needed one :)

It had been a warm summer day when the old Marinette died.

The new Marinette woke up surrounded by golden light, soft, green grass, and the soft murmurings of a stream in northern France. It was perhaps the best way for her rebirth to happen, in a calm, relaxing environment far from the place she somehow knew was home.

She met her family there. They already knew her, and called her "maman," or "ma femme," or "my lady."

Marinette was no one's lady. She never had been, but according to video evidence and the testimony of her husband and children and best friend, that was one of the many roles her past self had filled.

Marinette did not know how to fill any of those old roles anymore. But because of the secret, magical way she'd chosen to lose her memories, she couldn't let anyone know this fact. She had to study years worth of business lessons in mere weeks, preparing for her return to Paris and the international company she would soon be in charge of running again.

At least her past self had accounted for this new Marinette's incompetence. But no one else seemed to see that she wasn't the same woman she had been once, back when a kwami lived in her purse and villains of the day (and year) kept plaguing Paris.

Adrien, the man past-Marinette had married, professed to still be in love with her. He saw some of the differences between the new Marinette and the old one, but claimed they weren't nearly as big as Marinette thought they were. And he chose to spend most of his time around her, so maybe he was right. He whispered praises for each small thing she did, both when they were alone and in public; took the time to learn her new habits; made her fresh coffee for when she woke up two hours after he did; stayed out of her bed to help her feel comfortable.

Marinette could see why her past self had loved him. It was something both halves of her were beginning to share, a love for this man who found a way to bring joy to her life even when it had been turned upside down.

But it didn't change the fact that the new Marinette was not the same woman he'd married. That fact was written into the vows Adrien and the past Marinette had exchanged; the way they had split up their chores; the daily schedule that Adrien still remembered while the new Marinette did not.

To Marinette, this new self of hers was nothing more than a facade made to cover the void her past self had left behind. She was thirty years old and as empty inside as a newborn baby, with no memories to guide her through this unfamiliar world.

Marinette was an icon, the magazines said. A paragon of virtue in an age of corruption, one half of both Paris' favorite couples, a woman who managed to be a world-famous CEO and an attentive mother at the same time.

That wasn't the new Marinette's reality. She didn't even know her children's middle names, though she was learning their favorite desserts, sports, and hobbies.

Most days, it was like learning a foreign language, and it felt just as isolating when she got something wrong or tried to remember something she thought she knew but actually didn't. Sometimes, this new life of hers was crushing, a drain on her already empty self, taking the last bit of Marinette out of her.

But not always.

As out of place as Marinette felt in her own life, the people in it still felt right somehow. They'd been there for her when she woke up; they were there to hug and comfort her when she cried in the night, to help teach her about her own life and tell her about theirs, and to listen when she said she felt different. They loved her, that much was clear, and they promised to love her no matter which Marinette she was; the old one with all her memories or the new one just fumbling through life.

And somehow, even though she claimed not to feel anything more for them than for other strangers at first, Marinette still loved them back. Their presence soothed the ache she felt in her chest, the one she felt when she couldn't remember, and she found herself more than missing them when they weren't there. She looked forward to hearing about their day, to learning their middle names; she held on to the facts they told her about themselves like sweet gifts of gold and honey, like they were all she needed to survive, to fill the empty space her memories had left behind.

The new Marinette was not the old one, and she never would be.

But maybe that was okay. The new Marinette had her own space, too; it began here, in this remote, rural town near the seashore, and it would expand back to Paris, to the place where the old Marinette had lived.

Marinette's home had always been her family, the people she loved. That was something she knew without having to remember it, and something she was more sure of every day.

So she studied the journals her past self had written, re-learned how to design, baked bread beside Adrien, sang songs with her children and stayed by their side. If her mind was an empty slate, then she was going to fill it with love, the same love she'd chosen before and was choosing again.

And someday, this new Marinette would feel whole again.

Thanks for the ask! I hope you enjoyed <3

#ask game #anon #sooo some backstory #this au takes place in the future obviously #after adrien and marinette got married and had those three or four kids they want #marinette didn't want to give up her memories #but they finally got all the miraculous back and the celestial guardian said she had to #(i don't usually vibe with that happening but hhhh it's been a week) #so marinette picked a time and place where she'd feel safest giving up her memories and took her family with her on vacation #gave up the guardianship and gave herself the rest of the vacation to figure out what exactly she'd forgotten and who she is #she doesn't have to stay with adrien and the kids. like they accepted she might want to leave #and sometimes she wants to #but ultimately she's choosing them and they're choosing her and she's starting again #as a new Marinette and as the old one who still lives in her even if she can't see it herself #she's always Marinette and she will always have a place in the world and with her family #ps: if you are still reading. let me know if I should put this on ao3 or not ^^ #rosie-b writing #adrinette #ml au #ml fanfic

[matbenetti17]

General

Name: Hecate Kelley

Name Meaning: Hecate's name comes from the greek goddess of witchcrafts

Nicknames: "Hechy" (by Lamia), "Mom" or "Mommy" (by Tempest)

Age: 36

Gender: Female

Species: Harpy

Occupation: "Harpy Ambassador"

Coven: Emperor's Coven

Sexuality: Bisexual

Diet: Omnivorous

Residence: Boiling Isles, Harpy Village

Magic/Abilities

She can turn her arms into wings, her legs into bird talons and she can fly.  

Singing a sweet and slow melody she can confuse or send someone into trance.

With high pitched sounds she can give people strong headaches.

Like witches, even harpies have developed a sac of magic bile attached to their heart.

As part of the Emperor's Coven, she has access to all types of magic and uses her staff as a channeler for her spells.

Appearance

Hecate has short and puffy dark orange and peach hair. She has sharp canines and incisors, and dark gray claw-like nails.

She has white and light brown feather ears that fade on her cheeks. She also has feathers on her forearms. She also has the symbol of her coven on her right wrist.

She has dark orange eyes with cat-like-pupils and they can turn complitly glowy orange when she's in rage mode.

When she transforms her arms become wings and her legs turn into bird talons.

She wears an Emperor's Coven uniform with a white cape, a dark gray turtleneck shirt, a long white and ocher skirt, black boots and a golden belt.

Personality

Likes: Order, Cleanliness, Stillness, Teas and Herbal infusions

Dislikes: Too loud noises, To be underestimated, Zyler's visits, Pressures from the Harpy Council

Hecate is young woman, calm and quiet but who knows how to be respected, she doesn't like when someone takes it out on her for her harpy nature. She has a strong sense of duty towards her village, her family but also towards her her coven and all this places a lot of pressure on her.

Relationships

Zyler is her ex partner and Tempest's biological father. He and Hecate met sixteen years ago, before she and Lamia became a thing. Hecate had just got into a Demon Hunters' trap and Zyler freed her and healed her wounds.

Even if seemed they could stay together Zyler was still dreaming of traveling around the Isles, Hecate understood it and ended all between them quite abruptly, even if she was pregnant.

Zyler was so close to asking her to marry him but when he told her he was going on a long journey to the Demon Realm with his group of healers and his Coven Leader, she preferred to end their relationship. On the one hand she did it to allow Zyler to pursue his career, for Hecate the work is very important so much that she often puts it before her family and herself. On the other hand she had realized that things between the two of them would not work out, a dreamer like him and a down-to-earth one like her, they were too different. Besides she had realized how reckless and irresponsible Zyler was, he would never be a good father to their child in her opinion. So she got married with another harpy of her village, Lamia.

Lamia is sweet, kind, a true heart of gold and is willing to do anything to protect her wife Hecate and her step daughter. Lamia was next to her in the hardest moments, after the separation from Zyler Hecate threw herself headlong into work, becoming the ambassador of their village in the Emperor's Coven. They became great friends and confidants during that time, until they quickly realized there was something more. It was useless to deny their strong complicity and furthermore the child would have a perfect and loving environment to live in, so they decided to get married and had their beautiful little bird, Tempest.

Hecate named her daughter like that, saying: "This little girl was like a bolt from the blue, she has upset my world and changed it forever... And I couldn't wish for anything better~" Hecate and Tempest are very similar, both in physical appearance and in temperament. They often quarrel but because Hecate's an extremely apprehensive mother, so much that when Tempest was just born she didn't want to allow Zyler to visit her. Hecate gives her daughter some liberties, mainly because Lamia pushes her to do so, but she has practically already planned Tempest's future: in which she will take her place as the next ambassador of the harpies but also becoming part of the Emperor's Coven, which Tempest couldn't care less, seeing how her mother and Hunter live in that Coven.

Since Hecate joined the Emperor's Coven as Harpy Ambassador she looks more and more dejected and Lamia is starting to worry, especially because Hekate is also stopping following some harpy traditions, like eating meat or just wearing bones and worst of all, she doesn't even allow Tempest to follow them. Let's say the pressure is very high for Hecate, from Belos and the Coven duties but also from Juno, Aphroditi and Min.

Juno, Aphroditi and Min are the three heads of the Harpy Council and of the Village, so they are like superiors for Hecate. She is a bit of a spy for them within the Emperor's Coven.Hecate has two younger sisters Apollinea and Artemis who, very kindly, she calls jolly geese. They are really meddlesome, they love gossip and often spread it around the village.

Hecate's palisman is a swan called Swanvannah. Swanvannah (like Rubedo, Cyrus and Thanatos) represents the alchemy phases to create the Philosopher's Stone. Being a swan she represents albedo.

Stats

Strength: 6

Speed: 5 (on ground), 7 (flying)

Agility: 8

Stealth: 7

Wisdom: 7.5

Magic: 8.5

Speech: 8

Extra

Family: Lamia Kelley (wife), Tempest Kelley (daughter), Zyler Goldflee (ex partner), Apollinea and Artemis Kelley (younger sisters)

Allies: Emperor Belos, Kikimora, Emperor's Coven, Chief Juno, Min, Aphroditi and Melody

Enemies: Wild witches and Zyler (from her view, he is :'D)

Pet: Swanvannah the swan palisman

Voice Claim: Sara Bareilles

#drawing #digital art #digital drawing #MY OCs #my art #toh oc #toh #the owl house oc #the owl house #harpy #xp pen #xp pen tablet #fire alpaca #palisman #swan #hecate #hecate kelley #swanvannah #owl house oc #owl house

[chezzzie]

Why Contemporary Women Artists Are Obsessed with the Grotesque

If artists are generally boundary-crossers, a younger generation of (mostly women) artists is going for full penetration—making artworks that speak to something deep in the body, producing responses that range from carnal attraction to disgust.Among the most potently grotesque examples are Tala Madani’s nightmarish babies and dystopian fantasies of voyeurism and violence, and Jala Wahid’s visceral, sculptural allusions to cuts of meat and dismembered organs and body parts. Or take Marianna Simnett’s unsettling, darkly comic videos that bring to life imagined narratives of bodily invasions—including a gruesome nasal operation and a fable about varicose veins and cockroaches-cum-cyborgs. Then there’s Maisie Cousins’s glossy, close-up images of a wet soup of food, decaying plants, and bodies, which recall the more appalling corners of Cindy Sherman’s imagination. In painting and drawing, too, the grotesque is rampant, with elastic, deformed, or monstrous bodies populating works by Christina Quarles, Ebecho Muslimova, Jana Euler, and Dana Schutz.

In recent exhibitions of work by older and historical artists, as well, we’ve seen the walls erupt in freakish, fleshy forms that have threatened the contained space of a room, as in Dorothea Tanning’s Chambre 202, Hôtel du Pavot, on view in her retrospective at the Museo Reina Sofia and traveling to the Tate Modern early this year. The ceilings of art spaces have dangled with multi-limbed, Medusa-like monsters and cyborgs (like the sci-fi-inflected psychic landscape of Lee Bul, who had a retrospective at London’s Hayward Gallery in 2018).

With much of these artists’ works, the feeling of deep dread is often a blade’s edge away from erotic desire. As the narrator of Simnett’s film The Needle and the Larynx (2016) says, as she fantasizes about having her vocal chords surgically altered: “So sharp were his knives, so appealing…this was an irrevocable invitation.” This expression of temptation suggests a calling to make art—to create—as much as it does an inclination toward self-regeneration and other forms of transgression. The possibility of metamorphosing one’s flesh and image—of permeating thresholds—is both intoxicating and anxiety-inducing.

The grotesque is inherently associated with the feminine, long having shaped depictions of the female body—prostitutes, femmes fatales, and sorceresses.

The grotesque, as art historian Frances S. Connelly writes in her book The Grotesque in Western Art and Culture (2012), is “a boundary creature” that “roams the borderland of all that is familiar and conventional.” It is desirous of transformation—an “open mouth that invites our descent into other worlds,” like the underground rooms of Nero’s Golden Palace, excavated in the 15th century, which turned up walls decorated with hybrid figures sprouting bits of plants and architecture, and birthed the term “grottoesche.” (Today, our general understanding of the “grotesque” has been boiled down to mean simply “comically or repulsively ugly or distorted,” but art historians and theorists read more complexity into the term.) It is, in many ways, inseparable from the body, which is the most fundamental of boundaries. “What is most regulated in any culture is the body, particularly women’s bodies,” Connelly said during a recent conversation.

The grotesque, she writes, is inherently associated with the feminine—bodied, earthy, changeful. That thinking has long shaped depictions of the female body, including archetypes of sexual or environmental threat, like prostitutes, femmes fatales, and sorceresses. Even centuries before the term emerged, the ancient Greek philosopher Aristotle “advanced the influential argument that a woman’s body is monstrous by nature, a deviation from that of the normative male,” she writes.The term is fertile, opening up a womb-like space for new ideas and ethical conundrums to accumulate—a conduit through which cultures can play with taboos and shift the parameters of mores and conventions. It is perhaps no wonder, then, that some of the artists touching the grotesque assume a childlike, fairytale language. A fable tells us what is right and wrong, Simnett pointed out when we met. It is also “a game that you can write the rules for,” she said, one through which you can distort or expand reality. The landscape of morality tales and childhood lessons is ripe territory for boundary-pushing perversions to take root.

Very dark fairytales

Children play a central role in several of Simnett’s films, whose absurdist, grotesque narratives are preoccupied with infection, augmentation, and altered states. In her opus Blood In My Milk (2018), the girl protagonist flirts with the outside world, even as adults warn of the risks that this external environment poses.In scenes that take place within an echoey pink space suggesting the inside of an organ, children receive a lesson about the prognosis and treatment of mastitis in cow udders, interspersed with shots of oozing teats being squeezed and dissected. While an officious farm hand dispenses information about how to keep one’s milk clean and pathogen-free, the children engage in playground dares and brinkmanship that include fantasizing about dismantling a girl “into a million bits so she can never be rebuilt.” The children lust after blood in their milk.

Tala Madani is another artist who, in a different way, explodes any veneer of female containment or childhood innocence, making infants and girls agents of the grotesque. In her painting Sunrise (2018), a baby wields a sharp knife at a naked woman’s groin. An infant’s first act, the painting reminded me, is one of violence.In other compositions populated by menacing babies on all fours, withering adults are left in the dust. Shafts (2017) depicts a group of monstrously overgrown tots crawling off into a void-like cyberspace, with beams of light projecting out of their assholes. An aged man in the foreground holds up a flaccid string of feces like a banner of mortality—the next generation might have evolved into light-shitting cyborgs, but we are still blood, matter, and excrement.

The children in Madani’s works also exercise sexual agency. In her animation Sex Ed by God (2017), a young girl with legs splayed is being studied by an older man, a boy, and God (the narrator of this lesson). She reaches out of the frame and grabs her male onlookers, shrinking them down to size and squeezing them into her vagina, along with the rest of the scene. The adolescent counterpart to a baby who explores the world with its mouth, this teenager-protagonist processes the world and corrects its distorted power balances through her sex. (Madani has a corollary of a kind in the work of Ebecho Muslimova, whose ink drawings feature a female alter-ego who fills and consumes the world with her vast and doughy naked body, luxuriantly covering and penetrating objects—a piano, patio furniture—with uncontrollable flesh and organ.)Madani’s universe is one whose grotesqueries seem shaped, at least to some degree, by the thrills and anxieties of sexuality, motherhood, mortality, and technological change. But it is also one in which children subvert the hierarchy between parent and progeny. The grotesque becomes a means to dissolve power structures.

Both familiar and alien

The contemporary grotesque is interested in underlining the way that bodies that are different from the (white, male) norm, or that, in deviating from impossible standards, are treated as aberrant or monstrous. Artists who touch the grotesque subvert and claim power in part by owning flesh and blood.When I visited Jala Wahid’s studio recently, one sculpture she showed me comprised a cast of the artist’s buttocks resting on a smooth liquid-like surface that is based on the shape of a natural oil well. The exposed position of Wahid’s dismembered rear is both “a provocation and a vulnerability at the same time,” she told me, its position on an oil slick alluding to the politics of Kurdistan, where her parents are from. In her work, she is often thinking about the contested Kurdish body, which is continually “under threat” but also resilient—a body that is both powerful and yet subject to power and control. Another in-progress sculpture in the studio, a thick wedge of slick red jesmonite, will eventually approximate the form of a bloody ox liver that Wahid encountered in a meat market in Kurdistan. (It brings to mind the work of Paul Thek, whom she cites as an influence.)

The contemporary grotesque is interested in how bodies that are different from the white, male norm are treated as aberrant or monstrous.

Wahid is drawn to the great diversity of textures and colors that exist in bodies (in flesh, organs, offal), as well as the relationship between butcher and animal. She wants, in some way, to approach her role as a sculptor like a meat handler—with both violence and reverence—and to create forms that are live and confrontational. To frame her work solely in terms of power dynamics is to simplify it, however. She is interested in bodies in states of transformation, in their formal nuances and their vast capacity for expression. (She showed me a picture of an Assyrian frieze at the British Museum, which features the form of a hunted lion, its upper body upright and fierce, its hind legs shot through and flaccid—a single body in which “you have something really strong but at the same time dead and limp,” she explained.) But she does want her sculptures to have autonomy and wield a certain affective power in the room.

When bodies spill out of their boundaries, or when parts are severed from the whole, they become something unsettlingly other. That forces viewers to renegotiate the borderlands between inside and outside, between themselves and the source of their disquiet. In Wahid’s work, body parts and unidentifiable cuts of meat force viewers into a visceral encounter with objects that are familiar, but also alien. “A human corpse is not in itself abject, but one’s encounter with it certainly is,” Connelly writes, describing an idea within the philosopher Julia Kristeva’s seminal 1982 essay on the abject in art. This recalibration of one’s relationship to the object engages the body as it tries to gauge whether the foreign article is a source of threat or attraction—perhaps both.In the work of sculptor Doreen Garner, we see this at play to profoundly disturbing effect. In some cases hung from meat hooks, her hulks of fleshy silicone are neither human nor meat—too dismembered and deformed to be human, too suggestive of the whole to be flesh alone. Upon inspection, the horrifying human steaks, pierced with pins, reveal the fingers of a hand, or a stray breast. Garner’s objects are intended to touch a nerve deep in the viewer’s own body—specifically, to register the trauma visited on the bodies of enslaved black women by members of the American medical industry. This is the grotesque as a means to produce shock and empathy—to expose the transformation of the body into something monstrous as a consequence of the abuse of power.

Garner’s work occasionally recalls the work of a historical pioneer of the grotesque in art—Robert Gober—in particular, works like the artist’s Untitled (1990), a slumped chest cast in wax that sprouts a female breast on one side, a hairy male pectoral on the other. This crumpled human fragment expresses the vulnerability of the human body, and insists on its gender hybridity, while also speaking to another abuse of power that simmers beneath his work—that of the U.S. government’s failure to respond to the AIDS crisis.

A fascination with monstrous bodies

The grotesque, of course, is not owned by women artists. It’s interesting, as well, to note how queer artists, in addition to Gober, have played in this terrain. In his latest show, at Ashes/Ashes, Ryan McNamara presented a sculptural showcase that included I Can’t Even Think Straight (2018), a sad, cartoonish figure practically melting off the wall. Faces dissolve into pools of liquid fish scales (Whispers, 2018); a series of gungey monsters with skin dripping from their brains joyfully snap selfies. The ghoulish group was in part conceived as a celebration of the queer nightclub in Phoenix, Arizona, where McNamara danced with other outcasts and misfits in his youth.But women, too, are deploying monstrous bodies in the world to empower the marginalized, or to satirize cultural norms and behaviors around age and gender. In two of artist Jana Euler’s latest paintings, she seems to offer biting commentary on our culture’s existential angst and exaltation of youth. Global warnings (people who are over 100 years old) (2018) is a mosaic of portraits of the elderly, each with a fantastically warped face. They are melted, pinched, and sunken, with cyclops eyes glaring from foreheads, and mouths swiveled 180 degrees.

In race against yourself (2018), a naked man rides an equine incarnation of himself, hands and feet turned into muscular hooves. This ghastly centaur and its rider are set against a fleshy backdrop composed of a snaking, human-faced colon, squeezed into the painting’s borders. The work speaks to something deeply perverse in human psychology—a propensity to hurtle through our lives at break-neck speed until our bodies crumple and we hit the grave. We can’t escape our own proclivities, much less our flesh and blood.Indeed, a profound awareness of human mortality is rarely far from the surface when it comes to the grotesque. When I asked Connelly about the common preoccupation with degrading flesh and food, she had this to say: “Life is constant change; we’re eating the world, the world eats us. We’re all mortal. We’re all human. We’re all meat. That’s seen as really traumatic.”

Other artists have created distorted, dismembered, and multi-limbed bodies to more optimistic effect. Christina Quarles paints bending tangles of limbs, bodies that insist on setting their own parameters and determining their own identities. Cindy Sherman continues to irreverently expand the possibilities of the grotesque, harnessing digital technologies to create fabulously idiosyncratic faces via her Instagram feed—ones that contort her visage in every direction except towards any convention of beauty; her fictional selfies are gloriously aging, sun-damaged, plastered in makeup, with features too big, too small, too gender-ambiguous.

Sherman expands the aesthetics of the (female, queer) body. In Maisie Cousins’s saturated close-ups of decaying messes of flesh, entrails, petals, prawns, and flies, too, something generative emerges. Cousins’s celebratory collisions of wet body parts, food remnants, and plants give the abject a facelift. Images of mild disgust find a place within the aesthetic of slick fashion magazine advertising. As such, they variously recall Sherman’s glossy, stomach-turning mixtures of waste, Marilyn Minter’s photorealistic renderings of gaudily made-up bodies and imperfections, and Gina Beaver’s paintings of bodies and fast food. (The latter artist will open an exhibition at MoMA PS1 in March.) Cousins’s photographs are full of innuendo, ripe, inviting us to find beauty in things spilling outside of their borders—to see our own bodies in the bounty of organic matter that the world has to offer.

It makes sense that among a generation increasingly comfortable with open, fluid approaches to identity—and fluent in the great toxic and transformational soup of the internet—artists value aesthetics rooted in states of change and hybridity. “I feel that is a constant, to be in a permanent state of transition,” Simnett told me. “In a sense, everyone is undergoing a mutation. It’s where I feel most natural. You get to meet a million more people, species, ideas. It’s like tendrils constantly reaching out, rather than staying put.” This hunger to explore and break down the boundaries of human experience, however anxious or unsettling—to deconstruct and reinvent the body—is generating some of the most vital and complex art being made today. 

Tess Thackara

source

[westmoor]

and above the lilies weep (1/2)

The note was nearly as vague as it was worn where Geralt pulled it from its place on a fence pole by the roadside. 

He had ignored the first few he’d passed, assumed by their weathered condition that they’d simply been left out, forgotten by whoever put them up so far from busier routes.

It had been years since he last passed through this area, if he ever had. Sparse population meant fewer people for monsters to interfere with - and likewise - and it’s location too far from cities or trade routes and lacking resources for industry or agriculture made for low fees.

Regardless, he was here, and heading their way anyway. It wouldn’t do much harm to collect the information, he told himself, even if he didn’t decide to take their coin.

—

Normally arriving in town held a certain routine: Find a place to stay the night and secure the contract, in whichever order. The latter meant seeking out the alderman, or the sheriff, sometimes the mayor, but it soon became clear he would find neither.

Calling it a village would be generous, it was barely a hamlet, an assembly of houses clustered near the riverbank and a small mill. Around them a scattered few farms and sheepsheds made the most of grass-grown hills too poor for proper crops, and beyond their rickety fences and hewn stone walls, lay miles upon miles of cold and desolate moor.

Its inhabitants seemed much the same, from what Geralt saw of them, rugged in a way that people only got after generations spent weathering sour winds and perpetual damp from the wasteland they bordered.

Inquiring about the contract didn’t lead to a mayor or alderman, but into the miller’s kitchen, where a middle-aged man with broad hands and a brow creased even beyond his years set a cup of ale in front of him. 

The room’s interior was for simple tastes but well kept, Geralt found himself noting as he leaned back on the bench, listening to the miller recounting the details.If he still held doubts before coming here, they weren’t eased.

“You mean to tell me, after seventy years, no one knows what this thing is?”

“No one returns to describe it!” The man across the table defended, arms outstretched in exasperation. “Though not for lack of trying, a whole party went out once. Five or six men, only two came back the next morning. Half frozen and mad with fear, both of them. I was just a lad then, but you don’t forget such things.”

“And they didn’t just get lost -” Like people do, Geralt finished to himself, all the time.

“They left tracks.” The miller interrupted, and Geralt stilled. “Boot prints. Not stumbling over themselves, kept a straight line. Right from the cabin and to that damned place.” Sensing the change in demeanour, he pushed on. “The cottage is still serviceable, we’ll provide food and supplies and anything else you may need. If it’s nothing as you say, you’ll have a night of peace and quiet, and if not…” He paused for a breath. “Please, sir.”

The witcher sighed. “Anything else I should know?” 

And for the first time in their conversation, the miller hesitated, gaze skittering to the window and the hills and beyond, before responding in a hushed tone:

“Some nights, when the wind is right, there is music from the moor.”

---

By morning a fog had settled snug about town at the edge of the moor, so thick only the clamor of sheep bells on the hills confirmed the existence of a world beyond its shroud. The air seemed heavy with it, each inhale as damp as the exhale, and Geralt felt a hurry to get moving lest his lungs grow mildew. It would clear soon, the miller’s wife had assured him. They expected rain.

As the hours dragged toward noon only cloudy fragments remained, clinging to rises and hillocks in the distance, leaving the barren vastness clear in view. Its span appeared endless even to a Witcher’s senses, signs of habitation having faded and disappeared behind him as he passed from groomed farmland, through the craggy heath, and onto the great moor proper.

Without the plodding and braying of livestock it seemed deceptively void of life, save for the company of a lone golden plover flitting between diminutive birches that had taken root wherever the turf lay deep enough, rising and writhing from the ground in ever which direction as though growth itself was an agony.

Geralt had left Roach at a farmstead on the outer edge of the village, reassured by roughened but gentle hands on the bridle and a shared pasture with a stocky draught pony. The path he’d been instructed to stay on, while even enough and mostly dry, wasn’t designed for horses and would’ve been arduous had he insisted on bringing her, too narrow and winding, in places only differentiated from the numerous sheep tracks crossing it by foot-tall cairns stacked evenly upon mounds and larger rocks. The importance of staying true to it had been made clear and now he could also guess why, flanked on both sides by occasional ponds and wide mats of moss and cottongrass, an alluring imitation of solid ground.

As it was, on two feet and carrying little but his most basic equipment and what provisions the villagers had supplied him with, the trek was a peaceful one - a slight breeze stirred the blooming heather, its sharp scent mixed with the musk of bared acidic soil. It was pleasant, but for the dulcet undertones of water and decay, the sweetness of rot wafting up from the bogs surrounding him now on all sides, a steadfast reminder of the task at hand.

People getting lost on the moor were, as Geralt had reminded his employers, not typically within the realm of a Witcher’s job description. 

Neither, to be frank, were hunts for notoriously underdescribed and possibly imaginary bog demons in exchange for a cold cut and next to no money. They didn’t concern themselves with campfire stories and cautionary tales. 

Which was why he could almost hear Vesemir scoffing from across the northern half of the continent when the small shepherd’s cottage came into view in the distance, as drab and grey as its environment.

But he was here, there was no denying it, and similarly undeniable was the steadily mounting tugging at his core toward the small single-storey turf-roofed heap of rocks that stood as a centre stage in this bizarre tale he’d stumbled into.

Proper theories or identification of the creature remained absent, but the story of its progression was detailed in contrastn Nearly seventy years earlier to the day, it went - a great storm had blown in that night wreaking enough destruction to be memorable in its own right, they’d had to rebuild most of the mill - some dandy had taken the wrong turn at a crossing up the road. 

Galloping into the village in a terrible hurry to reach an event in a southern court and with the storm at his heels the stranger (a troubadour or some sort of nobleman according to their remaining witness, though she’d been only a girl at the time) inquired about a way across the moor and the inhabitants haltingly relented, but gave ample warning: The path was treacherous even for seasoned shepherds, they’d said, and taking it in such a storm as was brewing it was surely suicide. 

Too stubborn or desperate to heed reason, however, the traveller stole off while farmers secured their livestock and set upon the moor, his absence only noted when the rest of them had settled in against the weather and counted heads. At the first lull in the wind the blacksmith’s two oldest sons volunteered to go searching for the man and headed out, against the pleas of their parents, in the hopes of rescuing the poor strangers whose fate was now hanging by a thread. It was the last either of them were seen alive. 

A search party was sent out as soon as the worst of the storm had settled, the blacksmith and his wife themselves half mad with fear for their children, but to no avail. 

Tracks of the three lead safely to the stone cottage beyond the heath and evidence suggested someone had rested there. But then, to their confusion, the tracks lead back out. Not in the direction of the sturdy trail back, or the riskier one onwards, but west - through marshland and knee deep in peat moss until they sunk into the bog.

They had thought it an accident at first, just a terrible tragedy, but soon enough a pattern emerged: Every now and then, when the moon waned and weather turned sour, people would go missing on the moor, leaving behind no clues of their fate but a sunken trail into the frigid waters of the mire. 

Others would speak of footsteps and knocking, of ghostly lights and roving shadows and sometimes, in the quiet dark, a sweet voice calling out, singing in the night.

Soon enough no shepherd would sleep on the moor, and it seemed the harder they tried to rid themselves of their monster or curse, the more people were lost to the bottomless depths.

#the witcher fic #the witcher au #the witcher ficlet #the witcher fandom #geralt of rivia #geralt #jaskier is with us in spirit #title may change but all constructions are unstable #long post #and above the lilies weep

[sope-and-shine]

Lost and Found

-> Namjoon x Reader -> Soulmate!AU // Fluff -> 6.2k (This fic was at 6,199 before post, and I couldn’t let that happen) -> Summary: In a world full of soulmates and soul marks, you just had to get stuck with the dynamic duo. -> Warning(s): none // maybe just fluff

A/N: I suggested the name to Belle as I was drafting the post, and she said she’d sue me if I didn’t use it.

ALSO! A BIG BIG BIG THANK YOU TO BOTH @multycoloredtaco​ and @purpletigertaetae​ for reading this and giving me some really good feedback! I love you both SO MUCH!

* * *

Soulmates have always come in several different shapes and sizes. They’ve always appeared to each other in various ways. Your mother and father met by their own personal song that only the two knew of, one that played when they spared a thought to the other. Your aunt had found your uncle with a timer on her wrist, and your grandpa had the unfortunate fate of meeting your grandmother while catcalling her. According to him, it was a very eventful day, but at least her words to him finally made sense. Everyone in your family - besides your great aunt who hasn’t aged since the late 1890s - has had the amazing luck of finding their soulmate. Not everyone gets the luxury of being with their soulmate how they planned to. You’re actually friends with a shop owner who lost his soulmate about a year ago and hasn’t seen any color since. You honestly couldn’t imagine the pain he’s been through. Thankfully, your soulmate mark was not as painful.

It was just extremely annoying.

As a child, you never questioned the items that would appear in your room, thinking of them as odd gifts that your parents or your brother would leave for you. You were no stranger to finding a single sock under your bed, the occasional candy bar tucked away in your backpack, or the odd action figure that you would take to your brother thinking it was his. It wasn’t until the first homework assignment with ‘Kim Namjoon’ scrawled at the top that you began to think something wasn’t right. And that was only the beginning of what was to come. 

As the years went by, more and more random items began appearing in your room at your parents house, your dorm in college, and finally your very own apartment. Each item you placed in boxes under your bed as a way to keep a piece of him with you until you could find him. However, you never imagined how forgetful and chaotic your soulmate could really be. You have everything! Clothing items, more homework assignments, various books, glasses, baby photos, and you even have a random girl’s phone number! You were tempted to call her when you first found it, but you figured that would be too weird. Instead, you continued to organize everything under your bed in hopes of giving it all back to him when you would finally meet.

Of course, you were a victim to your soulmate mark as well. Many jewelry items had disappeared from your room without a trace as a result. Hoodies, stuffed animals, and even a bra that you could’ve sworn you put in your gym bag - part of you hoped he’d hide it away because not only was it a cute bra, it was also expensive. Recently though, you’ve both been a lot more responsible. You haven’t seen any new items appear in your apartment for almost a month, and with your soulmates track record of losing 11 items in one day, a month was a huge record on his part. But you were starting to miss the gifts that would give you clues to him.

After you found out what your soulmate mark really was, you started looking forward to what would be left in your room next. Of course, it wasn’t always a win on your part, and sometimes what he lost was very questionable, but it always made you laugh when another item appeared in your room. At first, it was weird to think about someone else’s stuff appearing in your room with no prior warning, but it made you feel special to know that he was ultimately giving you pieces of himself every time he let something out of his sight. They made your long days more bearable. It makes you wonder if he’s the type of person to shower you with gifts when you feel upset or just to show his affection when he felt it was necessary. Especially on a rough day like today.

There was nothing wrong with your job, you loved everything about it! Life as a lead optician was actually a very rewarding job in the end. Helping others choose the best glasses for their face and individual personalities was one of your favorite parts, you loved watching little old ladies try on vibrant, colorful frames to feel youthful. They’re always very excited to see clearly again. Then there are all the little kids who would sit down with you to get glasses for the first time, and the look on their faces when they finally got to see the world clearly was heartwarming. Their soft smiles and wide eyes filled with amazement always made you feel a little softer inside. However, not everyday was a good day, and today was really not a good day.

Everything was going perfectly fine until the 3:30 appointment showed up at 5:00 after the doctor had already left for the day and demanded to be seen. The doctor’s technician was so scared trying to explain to the patient that they’d have to reschedule their appointment, and the poor thing was just trying not to cry over the one person who couldn’t understand how society works. Obviously, as the lead optician on duty you took over, but this patient was one of the most inconsiderate people you’d ever had to deal with. Demanding to be seen, demanding to buy glasses with an old prescription, demanding to speak to a manager - which at this point was actually you, so done and done - and just cursing up a storm at you and your fellow coworkers who all tried to help explain. The whole ordeal just took way longer than it ever should have to deal with, and it probably took at least 25 years off of your life. 

“Why do people feel that they need to be rude to get what they want?” Soohyun had asked you, “Do they think it’ll just magically fix everything?” 

You had agreed, “It’s like they think you’re really just messing with them. Like, “Oh no, sir! You’re correct! I apologize for the inconvenience, let me pull that out of my ass for you!” Though maybe not appropriate for the work environment, you’d at least made her day just a little better with your humor. 

On days like today, a nice warm shower and a cuddle pile with all of the pillows and plushies that cover your bed made everything much better when nothing new appeared in your room. If the odd gifts the universe left from your soulmate couldn’t cheer you up, then you’d do it yourself. And that you did. Nothing felt better than the warm water washing away the day’s pain and suffering, the delicate fragrance of the coconut shampoo you splurged on easing your worries down the drain. The floral body lotion and leave-in-conditioner you’d bought on the same shopping excursion also help your body relax, their scents so intoxicating to you, that you almost topple over onto the tiled floor of your bathroom from the instant pleasure they pull from you. Instead, you make your way to your bed, adorned in your comfiest PJs and fluffiest socks.

However, you weren’t expecting to land on something so hard and uncomfortable when you plopped face first onto your sheets.

“What the heck?” Pushing yourself onto your knees and pulling back the covers, you find a small, golden trophy resting comfortably in the warmth of your sheets. On all sides it reads, ‘MNET Asian Music Awards’ with a small plaque reading, ‘2017 MNET Asian Music Awards: Artist of the Year’ at the bottom of one side. It takes you a moment to understand fully what you hold in your hands before it actually hits you.

Your soulmate is an idol.

A forgetful idol if he lost such an important award, but at least this gave you a lead as to who your soulmate is besides one of the most common surnames and a few measly pairs of mismatched socks.  

Setting the award to the side, you grab your phone from your nightstand and unlock it, clicking on your browser and typing away. You look up the artist of the year from 2017 and find the top result to be a boy band called BTS. According to Google’s nice little summary and AllKPOP’s top article, they seemed to be pretty famous. Of course, you’ve heard of them before, and if you heard one of their songs then there was a good chance you’d probably recognize it! But you’ve never really been one for boy bands. You were more into kdramas if you were to be completely honest, they’re definitely your guilty pleasure and way more your speed than handsome young men dancing on stage in front of screaming girls trying to get in their pants. Could you really blame them? No. Not at all. Given the chance, you’d take it, but it wouldn’t be anything special if it wasn’t your soulmate.

Your soulmate.

Namjoon.

Changing your question, you search for ‘Kim Namjoon BTS’. If he actually pops up, then that would mean you actually know who he is. 

Finding the nerve to press search, you are bombarded with three pictures above a description of him right off the bat - You hate to admit it, but soulmate or not, he’s definitely handsome. You click on a random site you hope will give you some useful information about the man who’s most likely your soulmate and are immediately redirected to something called K-Profiles. The site itself starts off with a group picture of all the members, followed by their names below it, and their social media handles under that. You’d have to look them up later.

The first member you come across is your soulmate himself. He has his blonde head resting on top of his arms with a soft, dimpled smile as he stares right back at the camera. Eyes locked onto his through the screen, you can feel your heart speeding up just from looking at him. You can’t help but smile back at him as if he can actually see you. As if he were right there ready to come out and say ‘hi’. 

He’s absolutely breathtaking, and it isn’t even him.

You continue your hunting, scrolling further down to learn as much as you can about him. How old he is, when he was born, where he was born, what his favorite color is, you want to know it all! You learn that he’s the leader of the group, that he used to be known as Rap Monster before he changed it - that USB in the box under your bed made a lot more sense now. You learn that he has a sister, and that he and his band members are advocates for UNICEF, and that this man was so incredibly intelligent yet also known as the ‘god of destruction’ to those around him. But also listed on his profile is his soulmate mark. 

“As said in a V-Live where RM explained a stuffed animal he kept on his desk, anything RM loses will appear with his soulmate and vice-versa. He has yet to meet his soulmate.” You read. You’ve lost quite a few stuffed animals to Namjoon, hopefully, it wasn’t an embarrassing one that would haunt you later.

You come to the end of his profile and to the top of another handsome man, yet you don’t scroll down. You haven’t learned enough. You need to know more about him, about how you can meet him. You have to know more! And that’s how you find yourself still up at 5am the next morning still wide awake watching yet another video interview of your soulmate just to hear his voice. A part of you is embarrassed for staying awake all night for some guy, but another part of you can’t let it go when you’re so deep already. 

* * *

You called into work after your late night-early morning escapade, telling them you caught something from one of your friends and wouldn’t be in for the next few days. There was no way you were going anywhere with the sleep you just got, and it wouldn’t be fixed in one day either. Even after sleeping the morning away you were still tired from your late night-early morning endeavor. It’s not like you really cared though, you had just found out who your soulmate was. And unlike a lot of other people in the world, you had an entire collection of videos dedicated to just your soulmate and his passion.

It didn’t take long for you to dig your nose back into the screen of your phone just to watch him make that gorgeous, dimpled smile. There were so many videos where he talked about you, sharing some of the items you had lost with his fans like they were his best friends. He looked so proud to be showing off your things, and the look in his eyes when he’d get lost in his own thoughts just looking at them made your heart melt.

You’d heard your mom and dad talk about how happy they were to have a special song just for the two of them. Your mom used to tell you all about the day your father tracked her all the way from the grocery store, pushing through the crowd like a love interest in a kdrama because he heard her humming their song to herself. At a young age you always thought it was sweet and wanted to meet your soulmate just like your mom had, but you eventually realized as you got older that a strange person following you home is not something you want. However, now you kinda wished it could work like that, seeing that your soulmate was practically untouchable. 

Of all the people in the world, you just had to get stuck with a celebrity with millions of girls from all over the world fawning over him. Getting chased in the streets must be on this guy’s workout regimen by now! How were you supposed to get anywhere near him without spending over $1,000 just to look at his face?

“How much are those fan-meet things?” You ask yourself aloud. Innocent enough, but nothing could’ve prepared you for the entire process that came with going to just one fansign. This wasn’t something you could just buy a ticket for. No. You had specific steps that you had to follow or you wouldn’t even stand a chance. There were so many steps that you were tempted to just find his company and blast music until security came to take you away. Maybe you’d at least get to meet him when they filed a restraining order.

No. You HAD to meet him. You haven’t saved all of his lost things just for you to chicken out now.

So, you made a fancafe account and waited for their next promotion to purchase an album, you waited for the lottery winners to be announced, and you almost doubled over when you saw your name on the list from the store. You thought 3 months was long enough, but the 24 hours before the event were the longest hours of your life. So long that you couldn’t even sleep!

That’s where the wrench comes in.

You hadn’t meant to stay up so late at all, but you were really excited to finally meet the man that’s been losing everything he touches - especially now that he’s started losing air pods under your bed. So, when you woke up at 10:30am for the fansign that started at 11, you knew you’d messed up. 

You messed up bad. 

Of all the irresponsible things you could’ve done, staying up late was not the one you should’ve chosen to do. Now, you’d have to wait even longer to see him. Maybe the universe was right to give you both the worst soulmate mark known to man.

It wasn’t like waiting for the next fansign was bad, but it wasn’t the best either. Everyday that passed was another day that you had to watch him through a screen. Seeing his dimpled cheeks smile at the camera - at you - making your heart race. He was so close to you, but he was so out of reach. When the next fansign did come around, you had to make sure you made it on time so you could see it in person for yourself.

That’s what you told yourself.

To your credit, you almost did do that! But you had no idea there would be so much traffic. Not only that, but you’d tripped and dropped the box of things to return to him on the street and had to pick it up before anyone saw what it was you were holding. Because of those small issues, you made it to the venue five minutes after they had closed the doors. 

“Please, I’m only five minutes late!” You beg, breathing heavy and labored. You stare at the worker just doing her job with high hopes that she would have some sort of empathy for you, but her face showed no remorse.

“If you wanted to be let in, then you should have been on time.” She scolds, closing the doors on you and leaving you outside to wallow in self pity once more. 

At least the first time you’d messed up you were in the comfort of your own home where you could cry over your failure. Now, you were left in the open for everyone to see your mistake. You were so close too. He was just behind the doors. Waiting to see the adoring faces of his fans that you should be a part of. 

Yet you’re on the streets.

* * *

“Don’t you think you’re going a little overboard?” 

“What makes you say that?” You turn to your friend from your seat on the ground outside of the shop you’d purchased your album from, dressed in a light hoodie with a coffee in your hand. The light of day just peaking through the cracks between the buildings as the street lamps turn off for a new day. 

At this point in your journey to meet your soulmate, you weren’t going to take any more chances. The store didn’t open for another 3 hours, and the event started an hour and a half after that, but you were going to be sure you had your ticket and made it to the venue on time. You didn’t care how early you were, you were going to see Namjoon if it was the last thing you did.

The poor, tired woman seemed to pick up on your indifference to your change in behavior and sighs, “Nothing in particular. I’m just concerned that maybe you’re taking this to the extreme now.”

“I’ve tried and failed three times already, Bomi. I cannot miss another chance to meet them!” You explain, taking a sip from your warm cup.

“Maybe the universe is trying to tell you that they’re just a boy band and you shouldn’t get so excited over them. They all have soulmates anyways.” Of course she didn’t know that you were going because one of them was your soulmate, but you couldn’t risk anyone finding out and telling your soulmate before you could tell him. 

“I know that, but it’s worth it!” All the hours you’d spent waiting, watching their new content, reading their tweets and various posts from other social media wishing you could see him in person for just a moment. This was the fourth attempt, and you didn’t want to continue this cycle of hit and miss. “I’m not missing it this time.”

“Well, waiting outside of this shop so early just to get a ticket that’s already yours is absurd!” 

“You didn’t have to come with me.” You grumble. It wasn’t like you didn’t know that. You were very much aware of the fact that it was insane. It was something you thought about every time you failed to make it into the venue! Having her reiterate what you already knew did not make it any easier.

However, your acquaintance wasn’t having your response, “I did. You blackmailed me into coming with you so you’d actually do it right, remember?”

The vague memory of sending her an embarrassing picture you had as a way to convince her to come flashes through your mind. So maybe your methods were unconventional, but they worked. “That’s not important!” 

You both continue to wait by the store’s entrance, making light conversation as more people begin to show up for their own tickets. Of course, you knew they’d be here, that’s why you left extra early to be there first. It was a good thing you did too, because as the time ticked on and the line grew longer, it became obvious a lot of fans had purchased their albums from the same store you had. Even as the store owner arrived to start their day, not at all surprised by the line that had formed for them, there were still fans lining up for their tickets.

But in the end, you were first to arrive and receive your ticket, and that made you one of the first to the venue.

“Alright, we made it. This is where I leave you.” Bomi hikes her bag further onto her shoulder and turns to face you one last time before she leaves, “Don’t make a fool of yourself in there. And do not show them your airpod collection!”

‘Oh, I’m returning the airpod collection…’ You think to yourself, sending a quick wave goodbye to her.

Waiting for the doors to the venue to open didn’t take as long as you’d thought it would - security check taking even less time. You found your seat pretty easily as well, being placed on the left side of the empty table in the middle of the sea of chairs. Taking the time you have while everyone finds their seats, you take a peek inside of the box you’d brought to grab your album and just look at everything you’d brought to begin their return to Namjoon. You made sure to bring every pair of air pods you had found - and hadn’t sold on eBbay - a few old homework assignments, USB’s, pictures he’d taken through his pre-debut, and the trophy he’d misplaced that lead to your discovery.

Hopefully his band members wouldn’t be too upset with him.

You’d learned a lot about each of them over the two years you’ve spent trying to meet with Namjoon. So many times you’d been tempted to put yourself on the fan page or DM them on Twitter, but you were too afraid of being drowned out by other ARMYs or one of the other boys blocking you before Namjoon could see. No doubt they each probably had hardships of their own trying dodge fans claiming to be their soulmate. Watching as they each come to the stage individually, you could see why anyone would lie to call them theirs. You couldn’t deny how handsome they all were - you’d be lying to yourself if you said you thought they weren’t handsome - but no one could compare to your Namjoon.

If you get the opportunity to meet his stylist, then you’re going to give her the biggest hug for making him look this amazing! It was just a plain white, button down shirt tucked into a black pair of dress pants, but the top two buttons of his shirt undone and the grey, satin suit jacket with the addition of black, square glasses and his brown hair neatly parted to the left make him look like a god - should they exist. He takes your breath away, even if you’ve seen every picture and fancam you were able to find. The universe really said, “this one deserves the best” and threw you the biggest catch out there. You could only hope he enjoyed the simple pair of jeans and pastel yellow sweater you’d thrown on for the occasion.

It takes a while before they begin the meet and greet part, the boys introducing themselves and asking questions, letting their fan sites take pictures before they turn their attention to the individual fans as they pass them. With every moment that passes by, every row you watch stand and enter the line to the stage, you become more and more nervous. Of course, you knew your soulmate was truly Namjoon, but you were still terrified to reveal that truth in front of everyone. You’d seen a few announcements regarding the boys and their soulmates, talking about how their respective soulmate would be treated like another one of the boys and would be protected by BigHit as soon as they were found. You knew you’d at least have his company behind you, but…

What about his fans?

You can’t help but fester in your own thoughts, letting them consume you even as you make your way into the line with your box. You try your best to muster up the courage you need, but the looming presence of the table getting closer and closer makes your breathing harder. All you need to do is remain calm. They were just people.

The people who’ve spent almost 7 years with your soulmate.

And your soulmate himself.

No biggie.

“Ma’am.” The voice of the staff keeping the line interrupts your internal panic, pulling you back to reality. He points to the table where an excited Taehyung smiles eagerly at you with an empty space in front of him. “You’re next.”

“Yes! Thank you.” Reeling from embarrassment, you quickly kneel down to the space in front of the table. You give a small bow and hand over your album to the boxy-smiled boy in front of you, your hands shaking from how nervous you are. All you had to do was make it through 5 more boys and you’d meet your soulmate. 

5 more people....

...and you’d meet your soulmate.

A hand lands on top of your own, “There’s no need to be nervous!” Taehyung is bright and happy, calmly running a thumb over the back of your hand as he uses the other to sign your album. His eyes shift from you to the paper and back to you, “You’re doing great~”

You felt a little bad for probably ignoring him. He must’ve been trying to introduce himself when he’d noticed you’d spaced out yet again. Yet here he was, acting as though it wasn’t even that big of a deal. Of course, he still had about 50 more people or so to have a minute conversation with, but he genuinely seemed to care. It made you feel more confident.

“Thank you.” You say, a smile gracing your lips. You were still nervous, but at least now you felt calm and somewhat collected to at least make it through the other members. You move onto Yoongi, then to Jeongguk, to Jin, to Jimin, and then to Hoseok. Once again, you’re feeling a little guilty about the time you spend with him. It wasn’t like you weren’t excited to be in front of him, but your soulmate was less than 2 feet away from you looking like he walked out of a Vogue photo shoot with a happy little smile on his face. Hopefully, if all goes well you can apologize to him for being distracted.

The staff moves everyone along and your time finally comes. You bid Hoseok a quick thank you and goodbye and move yourself in front of Namjoon, his box tucked close to your body as a way to keep you grounded. 

Namjoon takes your album from Hoseok before he turns his full attention to you, his dimples that you’d been obsessed with since you’d first seen them making an appearance. His dark brown eyes stare into your own, “Hi, what’s your name?”

You’re so entranced by the man in front of you that you almost don’t respond. You manage a quiet, “(Y/n)...” But you’re so stunned and breathless that you think about repeating it just to make sure he hears it.

“Really?” He asks. His eyes widen for just a moment, and you know he recognizes it from a homework assignment or a book you’d probably lost with your name in it. You watch his shoulders as they tense and then relax as if they’d never lifted in the first place. “I really like that name. It’s one of my favorites.”

You watch him turn to the album in front of him, looking for the page you’d like him to sign. Being in front of him now, you feel your confidence grow. You can’t help yourself, “Really? Is there a reason?”

“I’ve just always liked the name.” He says, looking up momentarily with a tight smile. He probably didn’t want to be too obvious about his soulmate - well, you - so fans wouldn’t go looking for you. That must be the one downside to the life of an idol. You watch him carefully, taking in the way he handles your album with care. You watch him flip through pages, his smile slipping for a confused frown. He looks at you, “You don’t have a question for me?”

You jump at the sudden realization that you hadn’t given him the box yet, “No! I do…” This was it. You look from him to the box you’ve clung onto for two years, “It’s inside the box.”

Carefully, you slide the box forward, feeling the nerves you’ve been feeling all day spring to life. He takes it from you with a grateful smile, probably expecting a bear or something you’d made yourself just for him. But judging by the look on his face, you can tell he wasn’t expecting to find the objects in front of him. His shocked face makes you chuckle.

“I’ve always wondered how one person can lose so many things. I understand homework and socks, the airpods, but an entire trophy, Namjoon? How do you lose a trophy?” You ask. You wait for an answer, but he looks as if he’s completely shut down. His jaw hangs open ever so slightly, and his eyes are wide in disbelief. You see a glisten in his eyes and your amusement turns to worry, “Are you okay?”

The leader turns to you, glistening eyes staring into your own. His mouth opens and closes and it looks like he’s trying to find the right words to say, “I-...I don-...oh my god, you’re actually here.”

You watch as the shine in his eyes turn to tears that slowly roll down his cheeks, his mouth struggling to decide if he wants to frown or smile. You’re more worried than anything, “Wah-! Don’t cry! Why are you crying?!” You reach for his hands that still rest on the sides of the box, mimicking what Taehyung had done for you when you first stepped up to the table. “Please don’t cry.”

“I can’t believe you’re here.” He says softly, his voice cracking ever so slightly. You’re still confused if he himself is happy or not, trying to make sense of why he’s crying when he just met you. You watch his eyes drift over you with an unclear expression. Was he happy? Was he sad? Were you supposed to be reacting the same way?

“You’re beautiful…” He says, teary eyes meeting your own.

“So are you.” You respond. It’s only after the words fall from your mouth that you realize what you said and you try to correct yourself, “Handsome! I meant to say you’re handsome! You’re very attractive in a very masculine way, but that’s not to say you don’t express femininity well when you choose to and you look good all the time and-” Amidst your struggle for the correct words, he’d begun to laugh at your own expense. Not how you imagined this meeting to go, you shrink back to your side of the table, “I’ll just stop talking.”

“No! Please, keep talking.” He begs, moving forward to come closer to you. He pulls on your hands that still connect across the table, squeezing to reassure you that he still wanted you to be near him. It felt so nice to have him hold your hands, so nice and comforting, that you must’ve missed the glistening in your own eyes, “Now you’re crying!”

Your hands pull from his to hide your face, “No I’m not, it’s just raining inside!” 

As you try to wipe away your tears, you hear the voice of Jimin call over the speakers just off to the side of the table, “You’re not supposed to make the fans cry!”

“I didn’t mean to!” Namjoon defends. In all fairness, you did make him cry first, so this was probably fair.

Hoseok claps his hands together, his voice just subtly coming through the speakers as well, “This is so sweet! We’re all witnessing two soulmates meet for the first time!” 

“It’s like a movie, but without the flower petals.” Taehyung adds, having a mic of his own on his side as well.

“Miss.” Another staff member appears next to you, only this time they’re offering a hand and a smile, “Could I have you come with me?”

You’re nervous at first, not sure if going with this staff member would be the best idea. However, the presence of Namjoon’s hand on your own once more draws your attention to his heartwarming smile, “It’s okay.”

You nod and stand, allowing the staff to lead you behind the table and into the hallway to a waiting area. They have you sit on the couch, assuring you that Namjoon and the others would be there to see you soon. This at least gave you a moment to collect your thoughts and come to the realization that you really just met your soulmate after so much hard work to get there. You’d thought plenty of times that you’d regret trying to meet him this way, but now you couldn’t be more elated that you actually got to speak to him and hold his hands. You made him cry - what were hopefully - tears of joy! Even as their manager sits down to make small talk with you while you wait for the end of the fanmeet, you can’t help but to feel as if you’re on cloud 9. 

It’s not too long until you hear that the meeting has come to an end, making your heart rate speed up. Once again, you take a deep breath in and let it out, preparing yourself to face Namjoon again. Only when he does come in, you both just stare at one another. Him from the doorway with his members waiting behind him and you from your spot on the couch. You’d already met, you’d already held hands, but this...he was right there.

“Well, are you going to talk to her or just look at her?” Jin asks, a mischievous smirk gracing his features as he stares at the younger.

It would seem that the small jab at the leader was all he needed to push himself forward, legs moving swiftly across the room in long strides just so he can reach you. You stand, intending to meet him halfway, but he’s already pulling you into a much needed embrace before you even get the chance. His arms wrap over your shoulders, caging you close to his chest as he leans down to rest his head on your own. He smells so nice, and his embrace is so warm, they almost distract you from the wetness you feel on top of your head.

“Namjoon…?” You ask, worried you might make him cry more by asking.

The man himself pulls back, quickly moving to wipe his tears as if he hadn’t already cried in front of you already, “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m so emotional right now.”

“Don’t apologize. I think it’s cute.” You assure him. You look down, feeling a bit embarrassed yourself, “Much cuter than showing up to your fansign with a bunch of your things.”

“How long have you known?” He asks.

“2 long and painful years.” You sigh. Thinking back on everything you’ve done since discovering who and where he was, you can’t help but be thankful it worked out this time around, “I’ve tried coming to a fan sign 3 times before this.”

“Couldn’t win a ticket?” Jeongguk asks from the side, a bottle of water in his hands.

Your sheepish smile turns into a strained one, “Yeah...we’ll go with that.”

Yoongi seems to pick up on your change in attitude, “Don’t tell me…” 

“No wonder the universe put them together, they’re a match made in heaven!” Jin laughs, the sound being much more entertaining in person. The other members of BTS continue to talk amongst themselves, discussing the scene before them as well as how exciting the day had been. But Namjoon, instead, focuses all of his attention on you.

“Please tell me you’re free for the rest of the day.” 

For once, you were more than happy to use your holiday time, “I’m free for the rest of the weekend.”

“Good.” He says, giving you another look at his beautiful, dimpled smile.

“Good...”

* * *

“So, what’s in the box?” 

#fae fic #fae writes #sope-and-shine #lost and found #cypherwritersnet #bts #bts au #soulmate au #bts soulmate au #bts soulmate #kim namjoon x reader #namjoon x reader #rm x reader #bts rm x reader #knj oneshot #knj x reader #bts rm #kim namjoon #x reader #female reader #x female reader #fanfiction #fan fiction #bts fanfiction #fluff #oneshot

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

HASO, “Letting Go.”

Wrote this today, hope you like it, and hope you all have a great day :)

“We have to take him to a hospital.”

His hearing echoed, his ears rang, and his body felt cold and numb. He hurt all over.

“No! That's the last thing he needs right now.”

“Not to be rude but, are you stupid! The last tie i checked, I am the only one here with a Doctorate in actual doctoring.

The world swirled slowly to the left and then to the right.

“Last time I checked I’ve been in his shoes before. You have any idea what they are going to do, they are going to assume he jumped off that bridge on purpose. They are going to strap him down, which is going to make things worse, they are going to bring in psych, who are then going to determine that he should be locked down. That is the last thing this man needs right now, and believe me I have been in his shoes.” he faded out and then back in again.

“Than what do you suggest.”

“You’re a doctor aren’t you, so as long as we have you, he is going to be fine. Let's just get him back to my hotel, but I am telling you the last thing he needs is a noisy smelly hospital room.”

“And how are we going to get him back?”

He faded back in and back out again, “I can carry him.”

“He weights over two hundred pounds.” “Than I will take lots of breaks.”

He faded out again, this time for a long while, waking up only briefly an unknown time later. He was lying, uncomfortably over someone else’s shoulder and staring at the ground as it passed by below him. Little streaks of light dotted his vision from the pain, and he felt back unconscious before he could really understand what was going on.

***

Kier Lindsay stared down at the young man, watching as the strange little alien creature got to work. He had once heard that multitasking was pretty much impossible for humans as the brain was too interconnected to allow for it, but his creature didn’t seem to have any problems. All four of its arms seemed to work independently of each other as it stitched the unconscious man back into one piece. Looking him over the doctor had determined that he had managed to fracture his good leg and some of the bones in his right arm and side, but otherwise he was less injured than they had hoped. 

Then again this was without considering the psychological duress he might be under at the moment.

He grimaced thinking about it.

He had been there before, he had been there and he had hurt a lot of people in the process.

He continued to watch as the alien stitched the other man up with great precision…

Man? 

Honestly he wasn’t much more than a kid, his face was still smooth, unscared by time . Not a hint of white showed in his blond hair, and as he slept, the lines of his face were soft enough that Kier couldn’t shake the feeling that he WAS nothing more than a child.

A child who had had responsibility placed on him far to soon.

To be only in you late twenties and have command of an entire galactic armada.

That was too much to ask for anyone, much less someone like him. Kier couldn’t shake the thoughts as he stared down thinking about how despite technically being an adult for a long enough time, he doubted this man had ever been given a chance to grow up, at least not in the right ways. Turned to the academy at age fourteen, he had been doing adult jobs for longer than most people. He had been thrown into an environment where intelligence and performance mattered but social opportunities were sort of lacking, and then to be thrown right onto the enterprise and into war before trying to recover and immediately turning back to the one group of people that had failed him so badly…..

Adam vir was just a kid, an overly optimistic too trusting kid who had been taken advantage of by the system time and time again. He was like a golden retriever hurt by his master but still loyal enough to come crawling back.

It almost made him sick to watch, but he knew just by looking at him that he would never consider leaving. 

Even if it were for his health.

Kier sighed and sat down by the bed staring at the boy with his chin cupped in one hand.

He had a son about Adam Vir’s age, a boy that was just beginning to pull his life together into some semblance of controlled. It had taken him a lot of mistakes and a lot of experience to figure out who he was, and he ached for the realisation that this man probably never got that.

He knew the feeling all too well.

He shook himself a little, dad mode was something you couldn’t really just turn off, at least not in his case. If there were people younger than him, he felt the automatic obligation to adopt them whether they wanted it or not.

Young people deserved guidance from someone who was older and the more people to do it the better. Lindsay hadn’t seen any of Adam’s family members at the trial, which didn’t necessarily mean anything, but he also got the impression that maybe the had avoided telling them on purpose, which was another red flag he was going to have to discuss with the boy woke up.

If he woke up.

***

He woke up some time later, though he couldn’t have guessed what time. The room was dark aside from the blue light of the TV. A little bit of natural light filtered in from the window, but rain clouds dotted blanketed the sky above. Rain pattered against the window in sheets obscuring the city landscape.

He groaned and tilted his head to the side.

A soft whimper, and something warm and wet ran over the back of his hand.

He tilted his head to the side.

The room was small, only big enough for a queen sized bed, a tv and a small desk. There was adoor to a small bathroom right next to a door that likely lead out into the hallway. The hotel room was small, but clean.

And it wasn’t his.

He turned his head a little further, gritting his teeth against the pain as his bleary eyes fell on the silhouette of a man sitting at the end of the bed. He was slightly hunched forward one hand resting on his knee as he flipped through the channels.

“Adam, can you hear me.’

He turned his head a little further to the right, to where Kril was standing beside him, a look of concern on his face.

The silhouette turned to face him, no more than a balck blob against the light. It was impossible to make out his face.

“Where am I? He croaked

The man stood and stepped forward, stepping out of the way of the TV and allowing some light to fall on the side of his face, “My hotel room, sorry about how cramped it is, but until yesterday I was kind of short on cash.”

Adam blinked, the cogs in his brain grinding to a slow start as he stared at the man’s face, which was familiar but he just couldn’t…

“Cigarette.”

It was the first word his brain could think of to describe the man when he finally recognised him, and in his goggy state it was the only thing he could think of, “Where do you even buy those these days.”

“Lets just say if I could quit my smoking habit than maybe I wouldn’t be so short of cash…. Anyway, how are you feeling.”

“Like shit…. What…. What happened.”

The other man sighed and pulled up the chair from the desk, sitting next to him, “You must have had a pretty bad PTSD attack. Looks like you jumped off an overpass and then rad headfirst into a brick wall.”

He grunted, “that explains a lot I guess….” he paused, “I thought…. I thought I was doing fine. I felt…. Fine and now…” A hand rested on his shoulder, “I know, I understand.”

Adam blinked, squinting at him slightly in the darkness, “Who are you/”

“The name is Kier but most of my friends call me Lindsay. I don’t know why, guess our days in the army just sort of rubbed off on us, now we only refer to people by their last names really.”

“What were you doing at the trial.”

The man smiled a little sadly, “Watching some assholes git their comeuppance, oh, and being awarded about five million dollars compensation.”

It took Adam even longer to digest that, “You….. you’re Steel eye-” The last two words came out as a squeak.”

Lindsay turned on the light by the bed, bathing them both in a warm yellow glow. Now that Adam could get a good look at him, he saw an older man probably in his late forties or early fifties. His hair was steel grey but well groomed, and he had the body of a man half his age. He wore only a tattered flannel rolled up to the sleeves and a white T-shirt. The back and sides of his arms were dotted with familiar circular scars  all with a silver sort of sheen.

And, surprisingly, little silver dots….

Iron eye implants.

He turned his head to stare up at him, “You…. you are one of the five.”

“Yep, we never met during the war but I’ve been watching your career on the news for some time now. Some real impressive stuff kid.” he smiled, smiled and easy smile of someone who actually meant it.

Adam felt a sudden pang of guilt and shame.

For a moment he couldn’t figure out what it had stemmed from, until he realised. This man seemed fine, and here he was a complete wreck.

“How are you….. Ok after all that?” he wondered almost bitterly.

Lindsay shook his head, “Don’t start with that. I've jumped from one war to another my entire life. I have more experience than you.”

Adam went quiet, “So you were fine…. After steel eye.”

The man snorted, “No… no no, not even close.”

“What happened, if you don’t mind me asking.”

The man shrugged, “Lost both my legs in the war, one above the knee and one below. When I got home my family didn’t have enough money to get me good prosthetics, so I was pretty much wheelchair bound for a year or so.” he sighed, “I came back a shell of a man to a family who really needed a father. It was so bad for a time, everyday I thought about just…. Not being there anymore. I didn’t  talk to my wife, I didn’t talk to my kids, and when I did speak I was angry all the time or apathetic.” His shoulders slumped, “For a time, I didn’t have much of a relationship with my middle daughter or my oldest son. I had drug withdrawals so bad I even wheeled myself halfway across town to try and find something…. Heroin maybe, anything that might take the edge off,” He snorted sadly, “I see it as a blessing now that no one would sell to me. I went over the edge drinking, and chain smoking and trying to bum pills off of any doctor I could find. Luckily with regulations on pills these days, I wasn’t given any.”

Adam felt his mouth go dry, “That bad.”

He nodded, “Woke up screaming most nights because of the dreams. For a while my kids moved out of the house because my wife was scared for thor safety.” He held up a hand, “Even during that time I would never have hit them intentionally, but my dreams were getting so bad that I would wake up flailing, and I would jump at the smallest sound. Anything could set me off.”

He sighed sadly, “But my wife bless her soul, is the strongest woman I know.” He reached into his pocket, and pulled out a photograph showing it to Adam with a look of pride so profound  it made even Adam’s heart ache.

What he saw was a nice family. Two younger kids, a teenage boy, and a woman.

She had short black hair spiked up and dark lipstick on, and the look on her face was indicative of someone full of mischievous humor.

“My angel. She stayed by me even though she should have left. I tried to get her to leave, even made my behavior worse at one point to drive her off. She SHOULD have left me, but she didn’t. I had the mot amazing support system. She held me from falling any further into it, and my little girl, my little girl Bethany, that little girl pulled me out by my hair and dragged me back to reality. She was too young to realise how horrible I was being, and she just thought I was sick. No matter how much my wife tried to keep hr away from me, she always came to see me somehow, with ‘medicine’.” 

He smiled, “Generally it was just a tube of baby M&Ms. I refused at first, but she insisted, and the one day I decided to take them just to quiet her down, she told me that I would be all better.”

He waited with pent up breath.

“That night, I slept without nightmares…. The placebo effect is a hell of a thing if a child can convince a grown ass man that M&Ms ar medicine. I woke up and my head had never been so clear in my entire life. I saw what I was doing to them, and to my little girl and to my other kids…. I have never cried that hard in my entire life, but it was just what I needed. Some emotion to break the cycle of anger and apathy. It wasn’t an easy road from there, but I finally got smart and started listening to my wife. Somehow managed to get my kids to forgive me, and from there we worked as a team to get me back on my feet.” he patted the cigarette in his pocket, “This is what remains from those days…. Can’t seem to quit, but working on it.”

Adam was quiet for some time, 

“It was that hard on your family.”

“It was. I am glad they stayed but at the same time I wish they hadn’t been so hurt by me.

He sighed and leaned his head back, “I don’t think that is possible for me.”

A hand turned to rest down on his shoulder, “I know it sounds hard right now but…. I have a theory if you want to hear it.”

He sighed, “Shoot, it's not like I have any other bright ideas.”

“What are you?”

“What do you mean.”

“I mean when all the trappings are stripped away from you, your job and your title…. What makes you…. You.”

He paused for a moment, opened his mouth and then closed it, “I…. Im a….I….” The other man waited, his eyes sad.

The only things Adam could think of were related to his job.

When he was silent for some minutes, the man patted his arm, “All these years of service and you've never taken time to construct a framework for yourself that can survive outside of your job. If you keep defining yourself by what you do and how well you preform than you aren’t going to last. You constantly do everything for everyone else, but why not think about doing something for yourself for once, be completely selfish. Don’t go on vacation because, I bet this will calm me down and make me a better leader when I return, go on vacation because you bloody well want to job be damned.”

Adam opened his mouth to protest, but the man silenced him.

“Even if you love your job, you need breaks from it. You need to set the line to where your job ends and you begin, otherwise you won’t have a personality left when you are done. Take some time to fix YOU before lending yourself to everyone else.”

He rested his head back, “That sounds….. Difficult.”

The man patted him on the arm, “You’ve proven you can do hard things, now is just the time to do another hard thing.”

Adam nodded but inside his head he was beginning to feel a little hopeless. He knew that Lindsay was right. He knew that he was messed up, and everything he had done up to this point was just going to be a bandage. 

And until he was fixed.

He was going to have to give up a few things.

He hated the idea of hurting people like Lindsay had described, so…. So that meant doing something that he wasn’t going to like.

“Do you…. Do you mind if I…. speak with you…. On occasion.”

The man smiled, “I already put my number in your phone if you need me. I work law enforcement now so I might be busy, but if you need my help Ill do my best.”

***

He didn’t want the court’s blood money. He would have tossed it away if he could, but he knew that was just his confused mind talking. Money was money, so he mostly gave it away. Gave it away to his parents for their retirement, and to his brothers and sisters for their kids college funds. He gave some to his brother to get him a better house in a new area, but he kept some for himself. It would have been irresponsible not to buy himself a house, to get himself a place away from his job and the ship.

He didn’t know where to buy it at first thinking that earth was too mundane but anything further out was too far removed. So, he bought a little private property on the moon. It cost a shit ton of money but, he had that in spades now. He only told his family about it.

They weren’t exactly happy with them when he finally told them where he had been. They had wanted to be there to support him, but he couldn’t find t in himself to feel bad that they hadn’t see the pictures and the videos he had been forced to see. He apologized and promised he would do better in the future.

He felt disconnected from himself.

Out of touch.

The crew of the Omen was just as angry with him, perhaps even more so than his family.. The intervening days that led him back to his ship feeling detached was like…. Some sort of horrible dream. He felt like he was slipping backward down a slippery slope and watching the light fade away from him. 

He was scrambling on the rocks but couldn’t find purchase.

Perhaps it was the idea of what he had to do next that hurt  him so much. Hurt him so much that he didn’t want to think about it, but he knew he had to. He didn’t want to but he knew he had to. It was the only way he was going to be able to feel ok about himself, about fixing himself.

Maybe things would change when he finally came back.

Maybe when he recovered, he could change what he was about to do.

And maybe he was about to ruin it forever.

He walked down the hallway of the engineering corridor despondent, like he was watching himself in third person.

He reached out a hand that didn’t feel like his and knocked on the wall of the ship.

A familiar face turned to look at him from her workspace in the dark. Sunny stood and paused to look at him, “Adam, are you alright.”

“Sunny…. We…. need to talk.”

She paused eyes narrowing in confusion.

“Are you ok.” she repeated.

He walked in taking a seat on her work bench and staring down at his hands.

“Is this about, the trial….. I mean yes I am a little mad that you didn’t tell me. Is it because I’m a Drev, is it because it would have looked bad. I know I don’t understand human politics, but maybe….”

He held up a hand, and she grew quiet.

He sat for a long moment fighting himself on the inside,and then forcing himself to look up at her. He could feel hot tears prickling at the back of his eyes though, for some reason he couldn’t get them to fall.

She deserved that he at least LOOK at her.

He felt sick.

He just wanted to throw up. 

This…. This was the hardest thing he had ever done. 

“Sunny…. I… while I was away, at the trial.”

She stared at him slow horror and confusion passing across her face.

“Well, I learned some things about myself. Number one being that, I….. I never recovered from what happened to me. From Steel eye and the war. Ive been bandaging it up for the past few years assuming that I can fix it, but at this point…. I wonder if I ever will.” He took a deep breath and locked eyes with her, “I’m broken, and until I can fix myself…. I think its best if-”

“No, no no no that's not how this works.”

He continued speaking, “I think it's best if we take a break.”

“NO!”

“Sunny I love you but I. I am not Capable of being what you need or deserve.” he stood reaching a hand forward, “I can’t subject you to myself like that.”

She jerked away from his hand, “that should be MY decision it would be OUR decision.”

“Sunny please…. I am so sorry.”

“On my planet, battle pairs fight WITH each other no matter how hard the battle is.”

His voice shook timorous and fading fast, “And on my planet, sometimes loving someone means letting them go.”