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rhetoricandlogic · 2 years

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To Make Unending

In the twenty-second year of the Seventh Bale, six thousand years since the last High King of Men and Elves fell beneath the waves, and twelve thousand more since the wilting of the Rose, on a cold autumn day beneath the silvern trees in the Lady’s Seat of Calberthrel, Celabrim Cindercloak returned from long ranging in shadow to find his son playing with a calculator.

“Calculator,” pronounced Eriac the Wise, when, after the High Council convened on Celabrim’s return, they retired to the balcony with fluted cups of metheglin to overlook the glinting sunset valley of Calberthrel. “Sounds orkish to me.”

“It’s darkcommon,” replied Celabrim. “Means a device for making stones, I think. Though I am no loremaster.”

“Making stones. Fine pursuit for a boy. Shame young Feas doesn’t still have the Highforge running. Produced wondrous stones there, three in particular I recall, bright as the Rose Itself in the forever spring.” Which he remembered, as did Celabrim, though Celabrim had been but a century old at the wilting, too busy with duels and singing contests and the joy of the Ladies of the Blessed Isle to spend much time in contemplation of the Rose or Its Beauty, until It was gone.

“Yet recall what befell Feas.”

Eriac’s face darkened and he raised the metheglin to his lips. The Sixth Bale was still a fresh wound, even into the Seventh. “Nonetheless, stones are a fine occupation.”

“It doesn’t make stones. It adds numbers. Slower than an abacus, but it seeks less skill.”

“An impressive little widget.” The word he used in the High Speech was cistlethelialminaron, in the fourth inflection, to signify a novel creation without aesthetic durability. “Numbers are useful. Divination. Poetical analysis.”

“You say it right,” Celabrim replied, “and yet it weighs upon my heart.”

“Come,” said Eriac. “Rest easy. You have ranged far, and your legs are stiff for want of dancing. I have acquired a supply of the finest smoked small-leaf. Shall we retire and seek once more the joy of our youth beyond the seas?”

There was a merry light in his eyes, but Celabrim beheld it not, for his gaze lay fixed elsewhere. Eriac the Wise turned and saw.

The Lady walked among them, fair and terrible, and brought the moonlight with her in the still weight of her regard.

* * *

In the thirty-first year of the Seventh Bale, when the smoke of Olodrim the Fire-Mountain smote the sky and cast even the sunsets of fair Calberthrel a bloody red, Celabrim, wounded in the shoulder by a fell blade, returned to the silvern grove to heal. Walking there beneath the drifting boughs where once he had chanced to meet a star-eyed maiden who favored him with a rare smile, Celabrim found his son.

The boy was in company, seated in a circle with Golfilden’s jade-haired girl, and Eriac’s second child, and Armolas, scion of the Forest King from those woodenheaded folk to the East, and Tilmenoreth of the line of Feas the Fallen, once-smith of Eldaron. Pleased, Celabrim approached to hear what passed among them. He did not wish to disturb their conference, but he was a lord of the folk who ranged far through shadow and Bale. He had once laid his hand on the back of a drinking faun. He could walk unseen if he wished.

At first he thought them engaged in debate. Then he saw that their debate was punctuated by the throwing of faceted gemstones into a box. These throws yielded groans of pain, or shouts of glee, or puzzled consultation of one of the many lore-tomes scattered about them on the grass.

Divination, then, as Eriac had claimed. None could hear the song of the stars, but many tried. There were so many questions even the young might ask, about when the Bale might pass and the folk throw back the shadows, for a time.

But when he drew nearer, he heard the words they spoke, and found himself mistaken.

“The client needs a strategy update by the ten o’clock,” said his son, consulting a tome of notes.

“‘Needs’?” asked Tilmenoreth fiercely. “Or ‘wants’?”

His son turned from his tome to read some figures off the back of a low wooden screen erected between him and the rest of the group. “Roll . . . organizational knowledge? No, sorry. Email interpretation.”

Tilmenoreth of the line of Feas the Fallen uttered a word Celabrim himself had only ever voiced with an arrow embedded in his stomach. “You sure it’s not organizational knowledge? I have a plus eight in that.”

“That’s for, I think, figuring out who to talk to. This is about understanding context. Unspoken rules. Communication.”

“Like a Sending!” said Armolas.

Golfilden’s girl rolled her sea-gray eyes.

“Is there a base stat I can use?”

“Interpersonal.”

Again, the word of the arrow in the gut. “That’s bad, guys.”

“May I render assistance, fair maiden?”

“I’m not a maiden, I’m your boss. Anyway, you’re not even in the scene, because you snuck out with Cel to go day-drinking.”

“I had to! I’ve been working too much, my husband’s sleeping around, my Stress is way high.”

“You wouldn’t have so much Stress if you didn’t spend every downtime in the bar.”

“My prestige class lets the intoxication bonus to social rolls stack with my skill bonus. I didn’t see you complaining when I closed the PTC deal.”

“Broken,” said Golfilden’s jade-haired daughter.

“It’s in the handbook!”

Tilmenoreth of the line of Feas ran one hand through her raven hair, clenching it between her long fingers as if to pull it strand by strand from its roots, and spoke a new word, which Celabrim had only uttered once, on the day the Grimwing had swooped down upon the hosts of the Free Nations, at the crest of the Fourth Bale. “Fine. I guess, untrained at minus three it is.”

“You have minus three Interpersonal? How are you my boss?”

“Shut up, Armolas. That’s a . . . seven.” She looked upon Celabrim’s son, but he did not answer—for he had gone still, staring into the depths of the forest—directly at Celabrim. Who, soundlessly, and ashamed for some reason he could not explain, withdrew.

“It is a child’s fancy,” Eriac the Wise assured him as he lay beneath the singing trees in the Healing Hall, with a mossy poultice upon his wound. “You and I indulged in many, as I recall. Still do!” Smoking was forbidden in the Healing Hall, so Eriac, in his wisdom, had prepared small-leaf pathbread, which he nibbled upon, and brushed the crumbs from his beard and robe.

“But you and I sought joy in the world,” Celabrim replied. “We made fools of ourselves here, and played our court here. I do not understand this strangeness that draws him. If I were not so often away, ranging, then perhaps—”

“But you are not his only parent.”

“His mother—”

“Has her duties, as have you,” acknowledged Eriac. “You are a dutiful family.” The star-eyed maiden of the silvern wood had grown into a star-eyed votress of the Lady, seated in the crowning trees, straining to hear the heavens’ changing song, of what was and what was yet to come. Even when she descended, some part of her remained ever in the sky, much as, Celabrim supposed, some part of him remained beyond the borders of fair Calberthrel, ranging against the shadow. “If his rearing were entirely in your charge, perhaps there would be trouble. But we all watch him and care for him, as we care for one another.” He offered a corner of pathbread, which Celabrim refused. Ranging, he might consume pathbread alone for months at a time. What folly, to eat it here, where one might dine on fresh fruits and aged cheeses and all manner of nectar, and honey. Small-leaf or no. “Talk to the boy. He is young, but he speaks the High Speech just as well as I. Better, actually.”

* * *

Celabrim sought the boy’s chamber in the Home Tree that next day, and discovered him at his desk, worrying over a scroll, quill in hand, lore-tomes stacked on the floor beside his chair. When Celabrim stood upon his threshold, the boy turned, and gazed upon his father with star-blue eyes, so like his mother’s, yet expectant and still in a way that was all their own. He had grown cautious. The thought made Celabrim’s heart ache.

“Father,” the boy said, and bowed in gentle greeting.

“Son. Shall we walk beneath the silvern wood?”

That, at least, prompted the old and brilliant smile.

They walked together, the son’s footfalls as light as his father’s. When the boy was a child, they had been thus, together and content. The boy’s feet were surer now, his step yet gentle. Still, the old contentment did not come. Unsteady space lay between them now.

“You have not asked what it was you saw,” the boy said.

“I do not know what to ask.”

“It does not call us from our studies. It brings us together as we train.”

“And what do you train?”

The boy drew his bow and loosed so fast that Celabrim himself could not have bested him with ease. The arrow flew with an owl’s peculiar silence. “There is a knot,” he said, “four spans up the trunk of the tree a half mile past the rill, which flowers blue in the spring of the year. It will rest to the left of that knot.” And so it did. The boy broke into the same toothy smile he had when first he learned to climb from his creche in the Home Tree.

“I do not know five who could shoot as well.” He did not, perhaps, know three. “Do you seek such games, then, for release? To entertain odd notions and pass the hours? Joy takes many forms, and these are not subject to deep questions.” He did not altogether believe this, but the boy’s silence troubled him, and framing it thus offered an easy path to settle the issue.

The boy did not take the easy path.

So Celabrim found himself still speaking where silence would have been wise. “Such visions avail us little, and aid us less. An archer aims to see what is. Even now a shadow grows across the lands. Dust and cobwebs stir in the Pale King’s empty tomb. Olodrim belches poison fumes and the great kingdoms of men, even white-walled Serrias, are as ancient trees gnawed from within by worms. Now is a time of such peril that the mind shudders to conceive. Yet we must face it—not flee into fancies.”

He had said too much, he who walked in silence beneath the shadow. The boy watched him still, with those starry eyes. “I have written something,” he said. “It is a kind of poem. Would you read it?”

“I would be honored,” he replied.

* * *

The poem was longer than Celabrim expected, and was not a poem at all as he knew them, lacking rhyme and of errant rhythm. It ran to several small bound volumes of thin paper in his boy’s elegant script. It was signed William, which was not his boy’s name, nor any name among the folk. But he brought them with him into the dark.

Before he left, he climbed the crowning tree. There upon the loftiest boughs he found the Lady’s votresses, clad in spidersilk and silver, catching the secrets of the stars in their finely wrought mirrors. Among them he sought one whose face he had seen upturned and smiling in the silvern wood in the spring of time. The stars even now were in her eyes.

He embraced her. He kissed her once upon the cheek, and saw, or imagined, a trace of that smile. But then the cold light of the Lady rose through the crowning trees as she ascended the winding stair on her high purpose, and he must be elsewhere, and so he was.

The books weighed as much as the rest of his kit. His son’s script was neat, but often hard to interpret, for beyond the strangeness of the tale there were many corrections and amendments, sometimes to the point where a little slip sheet of clean copy had been pasted over the original.

He read the books by such sick moonlight as reached the shadowed lands. By Olodrim’s fires he read them as fell beasts circled on leather wings above and sought him with keen dead eyes. He read them high in the Wirepeaks where he spied upon the Pale King’s massing armies. He read them through the cruel winter of the thirty-seventh year of the Seventh Bale, until white-walled Serrias fell at last, and he reread them in memory while he remained behind, striking from the shadows at wolf-riders sent to harry refugees afoot.

There was no homecoming in glory. The Pale King waxed. Olodrim’s fires blotted out the eastern stars. The folk stood, as ever they did stand, against him, for care and growing things, but the children of Serrias retreated past the mountains, singing songs already old when the last High King sank beneath the waves. The other lands of men and free folk made what stand they might. He was weary when he staggered home to the Healing Hall.

The boy came to him. He sat by Celabrim’s bedside, and held his hand. That hand was so young. Not yet fifty, and warm, but Celabrim felt the bowman’s hardness and thickness there. So young, and he had given himself to this study. He had known it would be called for.

The winter lay upon his heart. Even the leaves of the silvern wood were turning. “Why,” he asked at last, “do you not use quotation marks?”

The boy blinked. “You read it.”

“It is strange to me. I cannot say what is speech and what is the world.”

“It seems to me that the lines between the two are not always so well drawn.”

“Your invention is great. Your wonder. That city with those, what did you call them? ‘Trains’? Ray-dee-ohs. The seeing-mirrors. Dead things that fly.”

“Not all my invention,” the boy said gently. “Others described them first, the concepts, the style of language. I put my own twist on it, I guess. What did you think of the characters?”

He had feared how he would answer that question. “I do not understand them.”

“I see.”

“The world,” he said, though his wound pained him and he was forced to stop, until the boy returned with an ewer of water cool and clean. “The world is a story. We stand within its unfolding. Evil rises. The shadow grows strong. There is a shape to it. We are who we are. These people in your poem, who wander so—who make love from boredom, who make art that copies life that copies other art, who cannot speak their own minds—who may not even know them—not once—is this how you dream?”

The boy spoke with care. “The world may be a story,” he said, “but we do not know its end, nor even our place and role therein. Did the last High King know, I wonder, at the moment of her fall, as the waves closed around her, that her people or her story would endure? We sing her name, and her children’s children’s children and their kin live still, removed by endless generations of men. But she did not know. Nor do we. My mother and her fellow votresses, they watch the stars and hope to know some small piece of the great story, but they are often wrong, or right only when seen at centuries’ remove. So I dream of wanderers. They are pieces of a tale but they cannot know it, and do not know even that their ending is an ending.” In the boy’s eyes Celabrim saw a hunger, and wished he could fill it as easily as he had fed the boy milk from his fingertip when he was a newborn and could not yet latch. He felt old, and tired. “I am afraid for you,” the boy said.

“Do not fear” was his reply. “All is well.” But the cough seized him, the dust and glass of Olodrim so long in his lungs—and then sleep.

He woke to a soft light in the Healing Hall.

The boy slept in his chair. The others in the other beds lay breathing, easy, still. There was no sound, no death, in all the world.

The Lady sat beside him, and she bore a silver cup. He had not spoken with her, he realized then, since the Seventh Bale began, and perhaps not since the end of the Sixth, though all this time as he walked the lands, he worked her will.

She offered him the cup. He drank, though he could not look upon her face. When he woke, she was gone, and he lay healed—in body. He knew why she had come to him, and who must have interceded on his behalf. They both ranged out, he upon the earth and she among the stars, and each faced dangers there.

He set out before dawn.

* * *

When next he saw fair Calberthrel, she was in flames.

He was weak and weary, and pierced by many wounds. Smoke strangled the stars. The silvern wood burned, and there, against the bloody moon, he saw the crowning trees go down.

All through vale and glade he heard the cries and metal tread of the Pale King’s minions. Their touch spread killing frost, and their footsteps stained the earth with poison.

His eyes burned. He could not breathe. He roved among the trees with blade and bow, all stealth and craft forgot, crying the names of friends, and hearing only screams in answer.

How had this happened? There had been defenses, and plans, and watches set. Yet, upon his inbound ranging, he had seen smoke on the horizon where no smoke should be. None remained to answer him now, save the foe, and these he slew as, cored and numb, he sought the Lady. He sought she of the starry eyes. He sought his boy.

In a silvern glade, he found Eriac the Wise.

The sage lay still, his garb in tatters. His flesh spoke with the many mouths of wounds. Over him stood two of the Pale King’s lesser servants, plucking at his raiment, unbuckling the belt of his sword, the capering dregs of the great heap of their kind it had taken to pull the wise one down.

Celabrim slew them.

Others came in answer to their dying shrieks, and these he also slew. The night was red. He could not breathe. When all his arrows were spent, he used their own twisted barbs, tearing from the ground at his feet and from his own flesh. He fought with art and blade, and death walked with him.

He felt weary, amid the mounds of his slain foe, beside the body of his friend. He could see no stars but those in her remembered eyes, and his.

A shadow closed out the bloody moon and, folding its wings, smote the earth before him with its landing. He smelled carrion. Eyes burned far above him in the night, and great wings spread. In all those years of ranging the Pale King’s land, he had never seen one of these fell beasts face-to-face, nor stared into the black blades of their teeth.

He raised his sword, too slowly. A claw snapped his arm and battered him down. He lay gasping beside Eriac. He tried to stand and could not. The fell beast roared. With the fire and the screams and the gibbering and the falling of the silvern trees it made a wash of meaningless and senseless sound.

The world is a story, and we do not know its end.

The beast’s great maw descended.

There came a silence over the wood, like that which glides upon an owl’s wings.

The beast stopped, and, perhaps conscious of the irony—fell. Only the arrow’s fletching protruded from the roof of its gaping mouth.

No other archer could have made that shot.

Hands found Celabrim, lifted him with care. His eyes, long used to darkness and smoke, carved the shadows into shapes: Golfilden’s jade-haired girl, her hands and rings flickering now with arcane and commanding light; Armolas, his blade wet and eyes grim; Tilmenoreth bearing a bloody, smoking double axe with blades as long as a horse bow. Eriac’s child knelt by their father, weeping, their thornblades, in this moment, forgotten.

They were weary, the young ones, and wounded, but there was a readiness about them as sweet to him as the Lady’s own draught.

That which his heart desired to look upon first, he sought last, not certain he could bear the sight. There, stepping from the shadow and flame, was his own boy, who had signed that strange poem with that odd and alien William. With him, silent, walked once more the girl Celabrim had met in the spring of the world, the girl with the starry eyes.

—We have to leave, the boy said. There is a path. There is a way even now if we can reach it, into the mountains, ahead of the Pale King, and then who knows? Together we can make it, at least, that far.

We do not know the ending. It is framed Somewhere we cannot grasp, beyond our time, its framer’s reasons unknown—but must they not, somehow, seek beauty? What else might a Being so great require, save a deeper comprehension of Itself and such Fellows as It may have or seek? Though what Its beauty means for us, we do not know, and cannot say.

His son stands between the fire and the shadow and all these children, too, and he does not understand them, but neither does he understand the world. He hears: there is a way, and he says, Yes, he says, Yes, we are not done, and together, from the grove of flames, they move on into what comes after.

#Max Gladstone #To Make Unending #short story #long post

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darling-cas · 3 years

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Hoax (an original story)

I amaze myself sometimes.

My therapist says I need to go back to things that bring me joy, says I need to find happiest in life again. During one specific session, I was asked to name a time when I was truly at peace, a time I felt moments of pure joy outside of my partner and friends. The first thing that came to mind was a time years ago, when I would post stories here, on this website, for you all to see.

This surprised me honestly, because if you knew me personally (*cough* hi @ilikebigbooks-and-icannotlie *cough*) you would know the amount of stress and pressure I put myself under when it came to writing We Are Young, Whatever It Takes, etc, etc, etc. But despite all the negative emotions, the moments that always stand out to me is sitting on my laptop after I clicked post, watching all the love and adoration pure in from each and every one of you.

I say this monthly but, I really do want to get back into writing. Thanks to my therapist and business major partner, I’ve been dipping my toes into editing for others as a side job. But I want to make my way back to writing my own stories and sharing them with even the smallest corner of the world. This story, Hoax, I wrote actually one year ago, when I first started therapy and after a hard heartbreak. It helped me feel like myself again and lifted me out of the darkness.

I hope, for even the smallest number of you, it does the same. I hope you can feel the same magic that I felt when I wrote it. Take this as a thank you for, years ago, bringing me such joy and happiness.

Until next time...

Cas.

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The air was midsummer sweet.

It was an Indian summer of blue sky dreams and late evening tears, with the weather shifting moods in the blink of an eye. Grey clouds would eclipse the setting sun with their mighty fists, soaking up the colour of the earth like ink drenching a cotton ball.

And with the continuous alternating weather came the busty smell of sunblock and wet grass. Summer scents combined with the salty air and pungent fish that cling to Jake’s senses from the moment he started his journey along the coastal towns.

His mountain travels started just mere days ago. The task of hiking the grand peak was something he was finally going to cross off his bucket list. Dipping into his savings and requesting a week or two off work was a small price to pay when it came to the tranquility and beauty laid bare before him.

Born and raised on the outskirts of the city, there hadn't been much nature for him to appreciate and admire growing up. But from the moment Jake entered the first small, close-knit fishing town, all he could seem to do was appreciate and stare in outright awe.

The land laid undisturbed all around; the mountains, the trees, the ocean, they had all planted their roots, dug in their heels, and refused to surrender. Cities had been conquered, the vast expansion of country fields and towering summits were placed in chains, forced to give themselves to man. But here, on the coast of fishing villages, it seems as if Land and Man came to an agreement, a compromise, an understanding, to live in peace as one.

Roads of all kinds swerved, twisted, curled up and down along the coast, between the trees. Houses of unnaturally charming bright blues, yellows, oranges, and greens sat gracefully against the mountain rocks, climbing up the forest-speckled cliffs. Homes and buildings of sea-weathered colour rested on the broken shoreline. Boats bobbed in the water, their docks reaching out towards the horizon like fingers longing to reach and touch a disappearing lover.

In the coastal towns, driving along the sunset stained ocean, Jake swore he would never see true beauty again.

Even now, when the sky wept tears of sorrow, its beauty never vanished.

The weather came on suddenly, as he passed the welcoming sign for Higdon's Harbour. The roads became slick, a ghostly fog settled in, and the colours were muted a few shades darker by the clouds above. Rivers trickled down the mountain side, disappearing into shallow ditches. Waves started to leap and jump to catch the increasing wind. All while the sky cried on and on.

Jake drove on through the town. Classic rock thumped softly in the background and raindrops tapped on the roof of the car. He had planned not to stop for the night until the next town over. He had driven through several rain storms since the start of his trip, and this was nothing.

But the cracks in the sky's broken heart continued to grow with exceptional pain. Tears of despair quickly turned to tears of anger. The beating on the car became more aggressive as the wind wailed daunting threats and the ocean frantically waved its arms.

It became too much, too quick. Jake was used to driving through bad weather, but not seaside storms. Not gusting winds and sideways rain. Plus, he decided, he was already making good time. So when the flashing green neon sign reading Beaumont Motel came into view, he didn’t hesitate to pull off the road, into the parking lot, and turn off his car.

A bell jingled above as Jake pushed open the door. He stepped into the warmth of the lobby, drenched through his clothes and soaking the carpet under his feet.

“Turned nasty out there real quick, didn’t it?”

Jake threw off his hood, shaking out his damp, blonde hair as he caught sight of an older woman with long grey hair smiling at him from behind a wooden desk.

She pulled her beige cardigan closer around her, brown eyes crinkling in the corners. “Looking for a room, hun?”

“If you happen to have one available,” Jake replied, walking towards the desk and setting down his backpack. Judging by the lack of cars in the parking lot, he was more than confident there were plenty of empty rooms. Still, he glanced at the woman’s name tag and flashed her a smile. “Vera.”

“Oh, hun,” Vera chuckled. Her fingers tapped away on the computer that looked too new to be in the small, tacky, lobby with flower-patterned wallpaper. A lobby that was decorated with simply a small sitting area off to the side, a dusty fireplace warming the room, a dark wooden desk, rouge carpet, and outdated lighting fixtures. “I think I have one or two available. For how long will we be seeing your handsome face around?”

“Only a night,” Jake said. “I’m just passing through.”

“Storm pushed you off the road, huh?” Vera turned around and grabbed a key off one of the hooks on the wall. “It should only last the night. Nightly storms are common for us during this time of year. Here you go, hun.”

“Thank you!” Jake took the key before picking up his bag once more, throwing it over his shoulder.

“If you’re looking to warm up a bit, Kay & Elle, the pub next door, is open for a few more hours,” Vera informed him, fixing her wool cardigan on her shoulders. “A lot of the locals inhabit the place, but we’re friendly folks here. I’m sure they’ll keep you entertained for a bit.”

“Thank you for the suggestion!” Jake pulled his hood back over his head. “Have a good night, Vera.”

She waved him off with a dazzling smile. “Enjoy your short time at Higdon’s Harbour.”

Rain beat down around Jake as the lobby door closed behind him. The sticky air promised an onslaught of thunder and lightning, but it had yet to develop. With a glance at the metal key in his hand, Jake made out a marked 9 engraved at the top. His toes were cold as he quickly made it to the door and inserted the key before pushing the door open and stepping into the musty smelling room.

It was just as drab as the lobby. The double-bed was dressed in off-white coverings. Cream walls, dark carpet, and tacky seaside pictures. Along with two side tables by the bed, a small TV on top of a mini fridge, and a bathroom door on the far wall.

It wasn’t the nicest looking room he’d ever stayed in, but he would also be lying if he said he hadn’t stayed in worse before.

With a tired and uncomfortable sigh, Jake tossed his bag onto the bed, peeled off his wet coat, and padded off into the bathroom.

He never really thought of going to the pub Vera had mentioned. His only plans that evening consisted of taking a scalding shower before crawling into bed. Maybe watching some TV or reading the book at the bottom of his bag to spice up the night.

Yet, once the two former items on his agenda were checked off, an uneasiness fell over him. Neither the TV nor his book could hold his attention. The bedsheets itched his legs. His heart thumped in his chest, just fast enough to be noticeable. He couldn’t sit still.

Lightning flashed outside and Jake’s head whipped in the direction of the window. The pub came into view; the two porch lights twinkled in the dark and laughter sounded in time to the pounding storm. It shimmered in the lightning’s afterglow, the rain creating a silver mist of magic around the stone building.

Jake tossed off the sheets and threw on some clothes and his damp jacket. The pull in the pit of his stomach pushed him towards the front door without Jake even really realizing what he was doing. But he chalked it up to boredom and the anxiety of being knocked off his schedule.

He left the warmth of his room behind, almost crashing into a figure as he gently closed his door. An apology was on the tip of his tip tongue when a feeling of nausea washed over him. He felt dizzy, stomach turning. But it was gone between one blink and the next, along with the person. Jake got a glimpse of red hair out of the corner of his eye followed by bells and laughter as the door to room 8 snapped closed.

The thunderous weather started to overload Jake's senses and the urge to get to the pub was greater. With his head down, the figure fading from his memory, Jake made his way across the parking lot.

A drink or two would kill some time, he thought to himself. At least it would help settle the uneasiness and put him to sleep.

The mist around the pub seemed to glow as Jake drew closer, but he was too busy keeping the rain out of his eyes to pay much mind to it. Warmth shot up his arm as he pushed the door open, a jingle filling the room.

The smell of liquor and smoke tainted with the slight scent of sweat greeted Jake as he stepped over the threshold of Kay & Elle. The low rumble of a banjo filled the space, bouncing off the wooden rafters, mixing with the low mumbles and chuckles of the clusters of people scattered around the room. It wasn’t a full house, but crowded enough given the storm outside.

With his footsteps sounding off the wood floors, Jake made his way to the dark-oak bar. He received a few stares and nods of acknowledgment as he walked by men and women alike, sitting at tables and standing by pool tables. As he walked past, he took in the stone walls, the empty stage in the back, the shimmering yellow lights, and the photos of fishermen, smiling ladies, and vast landscapes littered throughout the walls.

He took off his jacket, his heart having settled from the moment he entered the pub. Jake wasn’t a man who believed in faith, but in his bones, deep in his marrow, he knew this was where he was meant to be, for whatever reason.

“Well ain’t you a fresh face,” the elder man behind the bar remarked as Jake sat in one of the barstools, just a few seats down from a hunched over figure nursing a glass of whiskey.

Jake placed his wet jaket on the chair beside him as he chuckled. “Hard to be a stranger in this town.”

“Small-town life, my boy. Everyone knows everyone.” The man threw a towel over his shoulder, his dark hair pulled back in a low pony-tail, causing the wrinkles on his slim, tan face to be on full display. His green eyes sparkled in welcome and his smile pulled at the faded scar on his left cheek. “Passing through?”

The dim lights jumped and danced off the many bottles lining the wall behind the bar. A muted glow hugged the bar, the music changing to the beat of a fiddle.

“I am, but the storm took me off the road for the night,” Jake explained.

“You staying at the Beaumont?”

Jake nodded. “The woman, Vera, recommended I stop by for a drink.”

The words tasted bitter, full of half-truths and false tales. But Jake wasn’t sure why, just as he wasn’t sure how to explain his need to be sitting in the pub at that particular moment.

“That woman,” the elder man chuckled with a shake of his head. “She sends more business this way than any billboard ad ever could. Well, have a drink while you’re here…"

“Jake.”

The music skipped a beat as the fiddle played a harsh note. The air turned bitter and cold. Jake’s limbs urged him to run, screamed that he made a mistake, scolded him for giving his name so willingly. But it was a reflex; the word leaving his lips before he understood what was happening. An impulse came over him, the same one that pulled him to obey the man's demand and order a drink.

No one seemed to notice the odd behaviour, aside from the hunched over figure a few seats down. His depthless brown eyes flashed to Jake, grey hair falling across his pale, sweaty forehead. There was a look of pain and madness in those eyes. Jake opened his mouth to say something when a draft of beer appeared in front of him. And suddenly he couldn’t remember why his limbs felt tense or why there was a cold sweat on the back on his neck.

“Nice to meet ya, Jake,” the bartender smiled with a gleam in his bottle-green eyes. “Name’s Murphy.”

“Likewise,” Jake raised his drink before bringing the glass to his lips, downing half of it in a few gulps.

The hunched man tipped back the last of his whiskey, slamming the glass hard on the bartop.

“Murphy,” he spoke in a husky voice, like the sound of asphalt and gravel.

A flash of irritation, with just a hint of sadness, came over Murphy's face. He didn’t say a word as he quickly prepared another glass, sliding it gently in front of the stranger.

“Take it easy, Harold. That’s your third now.”

Harold grunted, shooting back half the glass without a word.

Murphy sighed, every other emotion but worry washing from his face for the smallest moment, before he turned back to Jake with a smile on his lips.

“So, where were you headed before the rain knocked you off track?”

After another smaller sip of beer, Jake explained his mountain travel plans and his desire to reach the great peak that waited for him at the end.

“Good on ya. Do it all now while you’re still young and can move about,” Murphy said with a chuckle. “This a solo trip? Or are you with someone special? Perhaps they’re waiting for you back in your room?”

“No,” Jake chuckled, ignoring the grunt of clear annoyance from the man a few seats down from him. “Just me.”

A glimmer appeared in the old man's eye. “So no one speical then? No sweetheart waiting for ya?”

Glass rattled as Harold slammed his empty drink back down on the bar.

Jake cast a sideways glance at the stranger. Restlessness rushed through him as he slowly sat up straighter. Tension gripped his limbs as Harold turned to look at him. Those unnaturally dark eyes shined with intensity. They held so much knowledge, so much pain, so much fury that Jake couldn’t look away.

“Don’t waste your time with such things, boy,” Harold grumbled, voice rough and firm. His brows were pulled together so tight they were touching, as the bar cast his face in shadows of back and grey. “Love is pointless.”

He said the word love with such hatred, Jake felt as if the stone structure surrounding them would cave in and collapse.

Murphy, for his part, looked just as on edge. It was a fact that did little to calm Jake's sudden nervousness.

“Harold,” he sighed. “Let’s take a moment-”

“There is one thing that is certain when it comes to love,” Harold continued, eyes gazing unblinkingly at Jake. “It is nothing but pain. Love is made up of pain and heartbreak and bitter ends. It is a useless and pointless part of the whole damn human existence.”

A hush fell over the bar, as if even the other guests could sense the mood Harold had brought about. The upbeat tone of the fiddle suddenly switched to a soulless wail. . A shiver ran up Jake’s spine and he begged his body to turn away, to dismiss the man and be done with it. But he couldn’t. His unmerciful gaze pulled him in and suddenly Jake was drowning in the scent of liquor and smoke and dead leaves and depthless seas.

“You fight so hard." Harold gripped his glass, and a crack started to appear. “You fight with all you have and give yourself completely and it's no good. It doesn’t matter. Nothing you do is good enough. Love is about fighting a losing battle and in the end, only one person suffers the consequences. And it's usually the one who fought the hardest.”

“Harold.”

Murphy’s voice was firm, loud, booming over the music as Jake jumped back in his seat. He didn’t realize how intently he’d been listening to Harold. How he was hanging on to every word like it was air. Or how, while talking to the terrifying man, for the first time since entering the town, Higdon’s Harbour glowed with colour.

An angry, remorseless, pulsating red colour.

Harold held Jake's gaze for a moment longer, intense eyes cast in complete shadow, before turning back to the bar.

“Thanks for the advice,” Jake found himself saying, voice shaking more than he'd like to admit. He didn’t mean to speak, the words simply rushed out of him with an aftertaste of smoke.

Clearing his throat, Jake downed the last of his beer before pushing the glass towards Murphy for a refill.

A hush fell around them for just a few moments, the tension already starting to subside. Jake felt his shoulders drop as he slowly sipped his beer and Murphy slid Harold a glass of water. After some small talk with the old bartender, Jake felt himself able to breathe once more. His body started to relax, the fog lifting from his head. He was breaking the surface and forgetting all about the darkness of the ocean and the murdered limbs of the trees on the forest floor.

While on his third drink, Murphy started to get busy with the other parties of the bar. Tables started to ask for refills, and drenched couples walked through the door, the wind roaring behind them. He drifted more and more between the bar and the tables. And it was about that time that Jake decided he would soon be calling it a night.

“You shouldn’t have stopped, boy.”

Ice crawled up Jake’s spine at the sound of that sandpaper voice. Murphy was off to some seemingly remote corner of the bar. Jake couldn’t help but notice that every new body who walked in stayed far away from the bar, from him, and from Harold.

Jake gripped the tall draft in his hand, foam and condensation running through his numb fingers.

He turned to face Harold, those black soulless eyes dragging him into the abyss. He was in a freefall, too much rushed through him all at once. A thumping started at his left temple and his heart dropped to his stomach as he fell and fell and fell from the bowels of the sky through the open arms of the corpse-like trees.

“You shouldn’t have stopped,” Harold spat, teeth clenched and head hung low. “You should get out of this cursed town before they get you too. They know you’re here. They knew you’d be here before you knew you’d be here. They got to the rest of this damned town. They got her. Get out before they get you too, boy.”

Fear rooted Jake in place. Fear for what, he couldn’t tell. But in the back of his mind, in the depth of his soul, he knew Harold was right. He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t have stopped. Yet, the thought of leaving caused his heart to clench and spots to form behind his eyes. Without his control, he found his lips forming the words -

“Who are they?”

The lights flickered with the time of the thunder clashing outside. The fiddle faded out and the haunting strings of a violin floated through the room, accompanied by a soulful woman's wail.

He knew he shouldn’t have asked. He shouldn’t provoke this man. He should just pay his tab, get up, and leave. But it was unexplainable, much like the whole night had been. He simply couldn’t help himself.

Harold completely turned to Jake. The harsh lines on his face caught the glow of the dim lights. His eyes burned with unattainable wisdom and passion. Jake's heart started to race, limbs locking into place as he noticed the music slowed. Along with, somehow, every other body and soul in the bar. A haze filled the room, a mist blurring and engulfing everything that was not Jake and was not Harold. Even the storm seemed to hush, with only the woman's cry continuing on.

“Let me tell you a story, son.” Harold’s voice turned mystical, the words floating in the air between the two. “Cause I’ve lost my friends, my family, this whole damn town, and yet no one will believe me. They think I’m a nut-case, a man full of grief. But I ain’t, you hear? And maybe you’ll believe me. Maybe you won’t. But they took my wife-”

“Your wife is missing?”

Jake’s pulse jumped as Harold leaned in close, his blood-shot eyes burning crimson red. “For years now. Cause they took her.”

“They?” Jake repeated, feeling physically ill.

Harold nodded. “The fairies.”

He should have laughed. He should have backed off. His mind should have been yelling at him that the man was senile, crazy, insane. He should have bid him goodbye, called over Murphy, and been done with this place, this man. This man who was staring at him with all the earnestness in the world.

Fairies.

The word danced around in his head, bells and whistles suddenly joining in with the escalating violin. Suddenly, the whole town made all the sense in the world and yet, none at all.

“Fairies?” Jake spoke slow and steady. “They’re just folklore. A myth.”

Even as he said it, the words turned to dust on his tongue. He wanted to wash the taste out with his beer, but found he genuinely couldn’t move.

“The Harbour Fairies,” Harold whispered. “Nasty creatures. And if you believe they’re just a myth, you’re as foolish as the rest of them. If you believe there isn’t more to this world, that we’re the only beings here, you’re blin. These aren’t just some little buggers who pick your berries and sprinkle dust. They are savage, mischievous demons.”

Jake started to shake his head, mostly to clear the fog that had started to form. “I don’t-”

“We here grew up wearing our clothes inside out and carrying bread in our pockets to stop the little people from leading us astray,” Harold spoke with more urgency than Jake had heard all night, “But little good it did. Everyone was blinded by what was right in front of them. These creatures play tricks. Oh, they love tricks. And not the fun kind. No, the kind that leads you over a cliff or dead at the bottom of the sea. They are unpredictable forces of nature who lead you in the woods, and suddenly you're never heard of again.”

“And they got your wife.”

“They stole her,” Harold spat the words into the air. His gaze flicked towards the red-head who walked past them, beer in hand, before he spoke again. “They took her from me. Everyone here believes she ran away, but I know. I caught them you see, I saw it with my own two eyes. One day she was in the garden, the next…”

… she walked into the woods, never to be seen again. Jake knew because he saw it himself. He watched it play out in Harold’s aged eyes. And suddenly he was inserted into a story that was not his. He didn’t feel right; too tight in his skin, eyes unable to properly focus on the greys, blacks, and whites of the world. But he still watched.

A grass-stained seven year old boy cradled the arm of a pretty girl with messy blonde hair. They sat in a treehouse, feet dangling over the edge, kicking at the clouds. The girl had tear-tracks running down her cheeks and dead flowers stuck in her hair. She was biting her lip, nodding as the boy spoke.

“I told you not to make your papa mad,” he whispered sternly.

“I didn’t mean to,” her lips trembled, gaze moving to anything but the boy before her. “It wasn’t my fault.”

The boy shook his head as he ran his hand over the forming bruise. “You gotta be more careful Cathy. What if something were to happen to ya?”

“Then let's get out of this town, Harry,” a seventeen-year old girl twirled in the headlights of an old pick-up truck. The waves crashed against the shore in the distance, the sun tenderly kissing the horizon goodbye. The girl’s blonde, messy braids whipped around her shoulder, dress bunched at her ankles. She stood before a brown haired boy, grass-stains on his jeans, leaning against the red truck. “Let’s pack up and leave after graduation next week.”

“And go where, Cathy?” The boy shook his head. “I have a job lined up on the boat and you have-”

“Nothing! I have nothing!” She threw her hands in the air. “I ain’t got nothing lined up. Just my next shift at the diner. I want to go to school, you know I do. But papa-”

“Don’t worry about your father,” the boy grabbed at the girls skirts, pulling her so close their hips touched. “I told you, I’ll protect you from your papa.”

The girl bit her lips, forest green eyes glancing over the boy's shoulder. Her face was tender but the look of caution never left. As if she wanted to believe the boy holding her but her heart refused to pay heed. “Promise?”

“I do.”

Applause thundered across the crowd, the waves beating against the rocky cliffs. The man lifted the woman's veil, tucking a piece of messy blonde hair behind her ear before gripping the back of her neck. He leaned in and placed a kiss on his lips. Whistles and wails filled the air, a screaming violin starting to play as the newly-weds walked down the aisle.

She held on her husband’s arm like a life-line, biting her lip as her father clapped the bride-groom on the shoulder. Her eyes darted around the crowd, the same look of caution from five years ago still masked her face.

It was a look that never left her face, a look that was forever present in the back on her eyes. It was the only thought Jake found he was able to form; the look of a woman who was scared. The look of a woman who was holding a secret.

And maybe she was, for that look stayed with her for all the years to come, Jake noticed. He watched Harold's and Catherine’s life play out before him, just as Harold described. The twenty plus years together. The moments of tender love, the moments of bitter fights. The squealing laughter and howling sobs. The funerals and the weddings, The slamming bottles and doors leading to nights together and alone. It wasn’t the best marriage, but what marriage is, Harold said.

They never had kids, their life centred around just the two of them, their fading love and the growing tension. Every second leading up to that moment, in a garden of muted yellows, reds, and oranges.

Flowers in her messy hair, a near fifty year old Catherine knelt before a bed of dirt. Sunglasses covered her eyes, dirt stained her knees, finger nails, and cheeks. She was silent as she worked.

A door slammed in the distance. “Catherine!”

The tension became electricity in the air. Catherine’s head snapped up as footsteps made their way to the backyard.

Jake noticed it at the exact moment she did. The wind switched directions, bells jingled off the tree tops, mystical laughter floated out from the forest on the other side of the garden.

Catherine turned slowly. The flower fell out of her hair. She tossed the sunglasses onto the ground and her bruised, deep green eyes glowed against the muted world. She walked towards the tree line, footfalls light. Laughter bubbled past her own lips and, between one step and the next, she was gone.

“... the forest swallowed her up and I knew they got to her.”

Jack was back in the bar. Everything rested as it had, and he himself wasn’t even sure if what he had just witnessed was real. Surely not, but the description and details felt real, tangible. As if, for a moment, he truly stood in Harold's memories.

“The forest was the only way out,” Harold’s eyes were wide, urgent, and the brightest things in the whole bar. “It was either through the house or the forest. And she’d been acting out for years. Always in the garden, out on her own. They got her, it's the only answer. But,” a pause, eyes shifting. “I know where she is.”

Jake swallowed, throat dry as sandpaper. “You do?”

“An island just a few miles out in sea. A rocky cliff, that's where they stay,” Harold nodded, talking more to himself than Jake. “She's there, with them. I’m taking my boat out tomorrow morning. I’m going to get her and-”

“Harold.”

Murphy’s voice was enough to make Jake jump back. He never noticed how close he had been leaning towards the old man. Just as he never realized how tightly he was holding his warm, untouched third glass of beer. He pulled his hand back, wiping it on his jeans as the pulsing in his left temple grew stronger.

As he looked around the pub, Jake took in all the faces looking his way. Eyes bounced between him and Harold, whispers and murmurs accompanying the flute and violin pair. It was only when Murphy loudly, purposely, cleared his throat that the inhabitants of the bar started to look as if they weren’t listening.

“Harold,” Murphy spoke softly, placing a hand on Harold’s tense shoulder. “I think it's time to head home, friend.”

There was a fight in Harold’s eyes, Jake could see it. That bloodshot, haunting, soulless gaze held a fire and life to them, ignited by the hatred for creatures that couldn’t exist. But the moment Murphy spoke, the moment Harold looked around the pub and saw all the eyes on him, the fire vashined. It was as quick as releasing a breath, there one minute and gone the next.

Harold held Jake’s gaze. There was still so much left unsaid, unanswered, and Jake found he didn’t want him to go. His mind and soul craved to know more about fairies and their secret world.

A laughter echoed off the rafters, and Jake realized for the first time that night how terrified and exposed he truly was.

“Tomorrow morning,” Harold grunted as he stood, the invitation loud and clear. Jake didn’t understand why Harold was inviting him along but it somehow made all the sense in the world.

With no other parting words, with not so much as a glance at any other living soul in the pub, Harold walked out. Back hunched as he disappeared over the threshold, rain and wind howling as they swallowed him whole.

A hush carried on throughout the pub for a few heartbeats. Until the flute faded back into the plucking of a guitar. Someone cheered, laughter followed, and soon the lively atmosphere of the bar was back once more. As if the haunted man with an implausible story wasn’t present a few moments before.

“Is it true?” Jake found himself asking, tongue sliding across his chapped lips. He turned in his chair, facing Murphy, who now stood behind the bar. He hoped his shaking hand wasn't noticeable as he raised his beer to his lips. “About those… about the fairies.”

The word tasted like strawberries and metal on his lips.

Murphy glanced up for the glass he was cleaning, scar strained across his cheek as he pursed his lips. “They’re urban folktales. Myths passed down through all the generations of the Harbour.”

“And his wife?”

Murphy paused. He let out a sign, placed the glass under the bar before turning to Jake. Worry and concern shinned in his eyes.

“She left him,” he explained softly, mindful of the ears around. “Packed up and left, just like that.”

“Just like that?” Jake raised an eyebrow at Murphy’s hesitation.

“There were… rumours about cheating and drunken fights but…” Murphy took a breath, crossing his arms on the bartop as he leaned in close. “Look, Harry's a good guy, difficult but good. Our families know each other well. And Cathy… well she had a hard life with her father. She wasn’t all there before she left and Harold took it hard. He still won't get help and has himself convinced the Harbour Fairies are behind it. Says he’s seen things with his own eyes that explains it.”

Jake swallowed, leg bouncing restlessly. “He’s going out tomorrow morning-”

“Yeah,” Murphy nodded solemnly. “We’ve tried to stop him, talk sense. But he won’t listen. And he’s at the age and point now where we've given up - what can ya do.”

A lot. Jake glanced around the pub, taking in the numerous people laughing, chatting, drinking. He didn’t know these people, he shouldn’t judge, but they could be doing something to help that man. He may be talking crazy but… was he?

The more Jake studied the bar, the more it felt like a fog was lifting. The pieces were falling into place. The math was suddenly starting to make sense. And Jake refused to acknowledge the answers that were before him.

“Where is she then?” Jake asked, breathing through his nose to calm his racing heart. “His wife. Catherine.”

“No one knows,” Murphy admitted. “She got out of this town, that's for sure. And no one has heard from her since.”

“No one checks in?” Jake couldn’t hide the disbelief from his voice. “No one’s tried to find out where she is or what happened.”

Murphy watched Jake for an uncomfortable moment. His eyes looked him over, mouth twisting as if to say something. But then his lips shut, he blinked, and he shrugged before pointing to the still full glass in front of Jake. “You want another?”

Jake's breath caught in his throat. Claws bit into his spine. His skin felt too tight as a breeze brushed the back of his neck, red flashing in his vision. The room was too small and too big all at once. He didn’t know why he was feeling such a way or what had brought it on. But his gut knew it was because of this town.

And he knew he wanted to get out.

The door to the pub shut as a couple walked out, but the noise still rattled against Jake’s bones as he shook his head.

“No,” he stood up, hand shaking as he pulled out some bills and tossed them on the bar. “I think I’ll call it a night actually.”

Murphy picked up the money, either not noticing the odd behaviour or choosing to ignore it as he smiled. “Well, Mr. Jake, I hope you enjoy the rest of your short stay. Maybe someday we’ll get to see you passing through the Harbour again.”

“Who knows,” Jake gave a nervous chuckle, “It seems anything is possible.”

He left the pub in shambles. The smell of ashes and fowl fish followed Jake as he made his way to the door. Tables were knocked off centre, chairs were tipped over. The banjo played too loud and slightly off key. Men and women alike stumbled over one another, drinks spilled onto the floor. Even Murphy’s slicked back pony was a mess, falling into his dark, sweat covered face.

The illusion was breaking, the corners being pulled back to show something ugly and monstrous. Something those who inhabited Higdon’s Harbour refused to acknowledge.

Jake stepped over the threshold, blood pounding through his veins. He welcomed the rain beating down on his face, the wind biting through his damp jacket and nipping at his icy skin. The door to Kay & Elle closed with a thunderous bang. The banjo and hysterical laughter was replaced by sorrowful wind and wailing rain.

He stood there for a moment, face turned towards the sky as he tried to will air into his lungs.

He needed to get out of this town.

Whatever force pulled Jake towards the pub earlier was controlled by a demon. He didn’t know what purpose it served him, to hear about Harold and the fairies… fairies that shouldn’t, didn’t, couldn’t exist…

Someone squealed and giggled across the parking lot. With a jump, heart in his throat, Jake started to make his way back to the safety of his room.

And he was almost there, just a mere few steps away, when his body suddenly felt as if it were stretched too thin. Nausea overcame him and his head spun. The rain pierced his skin like devilish needles and the wind sang a woman's lullaby in his ear. He could hear his blood pounding in his ears, thunder crashing as someone bumped into his shoulder.

It was an innocent tap, the woman clearly too captivated by the lady on her arm to notice him. But it did all the damage in the world.

“Oh!” She gasped, the sound like a thousand bells. She grabbed his arm, full-lips pulled back in an apologetic smile as all the air vanished from Jake's chest. “I’m sorry.”

He couldn't breath, the pulsing in his left temple was suddenly magnified by ten. The warmth of her hand on his arm spread through his whole body. He no longer felt the wind and rain beating against him, he was too allured by her auburn curls, high-cheekbones, and hazel eyes that glistened like moss coated in morning dew.

She was the most hauntingly beautiful creature he had ever beheld. And every part of his being begged him to run.

“Are you okay, Jake?” Her partner spoke up. They were holding one another so close, arms locked tight, it was as if they were one. Gravity pulled them together; where one moved the other followed. A simple stranger such as himself could not doubt their adoration and love.

Jake ripped his gaze away from the red-headed woman and looked at her partner. He took in her slim face, the dirty dress, and messy blonde hair pinned back with a flower.

It was then that Jake noticed that both women were completely dry.

It was then that Jake realized they knew his name.

It was then that his eyes met the blonde’s green ones, and he saw it all.

“I told you not to make your papa mad,” a seven year old boy with grass stains on his knees told the six year old girl with a bruised arm.

“I didn’t mean to,” she trembled, and Jake realized she wasn’t avoiding the boys gaze. She was looking at someone else. She was looking at the young auburn haired creature standing a few feet away, invisible to the boy and eyes tense with worry. “It wasn't my fault.”

Be more careful, the boy told her at the exact moment the creature met the girl's gaze and said, I know. I’ll protect you.

“I told you,” said a seventeen year old boy as he gripped a sixteenth year old's skirts. “I’ll protect you from your papa.”

You know he can’t, Cathy, The auburn creature said, standing over the boy's shoulder as she held the girl’s green-eyed gaze. I’ll protect you from them both.

The blonde trembled. “Promise?”

With all the power of the forest and the sea. I promise.

She was there, always there. She did all she could to keep her promise. But it seemed even she was limited in her abilities.

Jake watched Harold and Catherine's life play out once more. As the twenty plus years faded together, the moments of tender love vanished. The fights were more frequent, more aggressive than Harold let on. He stumbled home in the dark more than once, eyes bloodshot and words slurred. There were many years of fights and screams. Fists were thrown and bones were broken. And the red-head was there through it all, helping as best as she could. She cared for Cathy, tried to protect her, but it wasn’t enough.

Run away with me, Cathy. It's the only way.

And run she did.

It wasn’t a laugh that called Catherine to the forest that day in the garden as Harold’s raging voice bellowed off the walls of the house. No, it was not a laugh at all, but her name, spoken in bells and chimes, love and warmth.

Catherine stepped over the threshold of the forest, laughter on her lips, as she jumped into the arms of the beautiful red-headed fairy.

She didn’t leave, wasn’t taken. She willingly left her delusional old life for one of magic and wonder and respect.

Jake stumbled back a step, shaking off the hand of the creature before him. His head was spinning, his stomach turned and his vision blurred as he truly saw the two ladies before him. As he noticed the glow around them, the electricity that danced in their wake.

This town, these people… how could anyone let a woman suffer as Catherine did and not do anything? How could they not see what was right in front of them?

And these creatures, the fairies, Harold painted them as the demons and yet, this fairy was Catherine’s saving grace, her lover, her protector...

They shared a look, the two lovers, before turning back to him. They didn’t say another word as the fairy smiled at Jake, white teeth flashing, and blew him a kiss. They turned to leave, Catherine giving him a wink over her shoulder, before disappearing into their hotel room. Right next door to his.

Jake stumbled as fast as he could to his room, slamming the door behind him as he tried to catch his breath and will his mind to understand what the hell was going on.

It took him a few moments to realize, for the first time all night, he was completely dry.

----------

Light had yet to transform the morning sky when Jake sped out of the Beaumont Motel parking lot. The rain had stopped and the winds were whisked away. Grey clouds lingered in the sky, suffocating the rising sun on the horizon.

What was once a piece of art to Jake was now the ugliest thing he had ever seen.

The mountain reached its claws to the sky, holding all the trees and buildings in the palm of its hand. The roads swerved in and out of its fingers, weather-worn homes running up the forest-speckled hills, trying to escape. The ocean leaped for joy as it played with the rocky cliffs, trying to capture and destroy anything it could reach. The boats bobbed in the water, begging to be let free, while the docks pointed their fingers to the open sea, luring in any desperate and lonely souls to the corrupt town.

The ocean was painted an angry blue against the grey light. The white-capped waves pounded against anything in their way. What Jake once thought was a place of harmony, he realized now, was an illusion.

The image had been shattered, broken beyond repair.

The land had won after all, he realized now. It had conquered Higdon’s Harbour and all within it. There was no agreement, no compromise to live in peace. For nothing could truly defeat nature.

The land cackled against the last remains of the raging storm winds. For it knew the game it was playing; it knew who truly ruled the town. And it was not man.

Jake made it out before the first kitchen light flickered on. Before the inhabitants of Higdon’s Harbour woke and started about their delusional lives. His heart pounded in his chest the whole way, hands shaking as they gripped his steering wheel. Even when he passed the city line, his body refused to relax. Not as the sound of chimes echoed on and on and on in his head.

By the time Jake remembered Harold, he was long gone. And he was too far out to turn back. Too far out to hear the news, or see the headline of the Higdon’s Harbour newspaper that morning. And to hear the otherworldly laugh that accompanied it.

Man Crashes Boat Off Rocky Cliffs In Desperate Search Of His Wife.

#oringinal character #original writing #original story #fairies #tog #acotar #fanfiction #tog fanfic #tog fanfiction #acotar fanfiction #acotar fanfic #cas writing #personal

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batgurl1989 · 3 years

Text

The Heaviness

Summary: Henry helps ease your depression

Word Count: 1566

Warnings: Talk of Depression

A/N: It’s been a hard week. This is what came out of it. I hope those who feel depressed are seeking the help they need.

Taglist: @rmtndew @henrynerdfan @cynic-spirit @princesssterek

I watched the shadows dance across the wall. The sun was starting its descent, and with it the guilt eating me up deepened. With this sunset, it will have been three days since I got out of bed for more than to go to the bathroom. If it weren’t for the water that kept appearing on the night table, I probably wouldn’t even be hydrating enough anymore to have to keep going. The food that kept appearing went mostly ignored. Every once in a while, I could convince myself to eat one of the protein bars that made a nice, neat pile on the table, but only when my stomach gave out loud protesting growls. But then heaviness returned, and I had to retreat.

I could hear Henry moving elsewhere in the house, Kal’s nails clicking on the hardwood as the Akita followed his owner around. Henry tried to be as quiet as possible, trying his hardest to not disturb me, which I loved about him. Of course, my love turned quickly into guilt about not being able to get out of bed. The guilt. Always the guilt. It weighed on me constantly. Usually followed by tears. Unexplained tears that soaked the pillowcase under my cheek and tempted me into changing the sheets on the bed. But no amount of temptation could convince me to get out of the cocoon I built for myself.

The comforter was pulled up over my head, only my face exposed. My hands fisted in the blanket, holding it tight around me, hoping to ward off whatever depression hadn’t already taken over me. My knees were pressed to my chest, cramping my muscles as a self-punishment for feeling this way. It wasn’t my choice, and I felt anger rise in my chest, but it would go unreleased and unanswered.

It was because of the comforter muffling my ears that I didn’t hear Henry enter the bedroom. The bed dipped under his weight as he crawled in silently behind me. This was the first time he had joined me in my mess without asking first. He knew that if he asked, I wouldn’t let him in. My depression was something I didn’t like sharing with anyone, but especially someone who brought so much light to my life.

Henry didn’t touch me; his arm didn’t come around me like it normally did when we slept at night. The guilt took a bite out of my heart; I knew it was eating him up that there wasn’t anything he could do to help me. He worried about me when I got like this. The first day I didn’t get out of bed, he checked on me numerous times, trying to coax me out of bed with promises of rom coms on Netflix and all the popcorn my stomach could handle. The second day, he understood this was going to be like last time and made a call to my doctor. My meds held off most of the depression, but sometimes they just weren’t enough to keep it all at bay.

It was the weekend. A message was left. Tomorrow would be a different day. My doctor would make a house call if he had to. But today… Today was what it was.

His strong big body radiated heat, warming me as it took over my cocoon. It wasn’t just a physical heat. Henry was sunshine and lightness that warmed the soul from the inside out. He wasn’t going to force me to come out of my shell, but he wanted me to know he was there if I needed him. Tears stung the back of my eyes as I realized I DID need him. Wanted him to be close.

The weight of the guilt and sadness that had become who I was the last couple of days eased as I rolled over and took in his beautiful blue eyes. The wrinkle of concern between his eyebrows. He carefully raised his hand to cup my cheek, giving me plenty of time to pull away if I didn’t want his touch. The second his large hand covered my cheek my tears started to fall.

I couldn’t stop them once they started. The dam had broken again, though I didn’t think I had many tears left in me. I had been wrong. His thumb swiped away the first few, but when they started to come faster, he decided to risk my anger and hugged me to him, tucking my head into the crook of his neck. He rolled, pulling me on top of him, hugging me tighter.

I shifted so I was straddling his waist, my hands fisted in his shirt as I let out all the sorrow that had built up in me. His hands stroked my back, soothing me but also not trying to stop me from crying. He didn’t say anything, just silently held me, being a safe harbour for me if I wanted him to be. And I did.

I don’t know how long we stayed like that, but eventually my sobs died down to soft sniffles. Awareness slammed into me, shocking my system. I had just ugly cried all over my boyfriend. Mortified, I tried to sit up, to run away from him. At least get to the bathroom and fix my greasy hair, maybe blow my nose. But his arms tightened around me, holding me in his comforting warm embrace.

“Don’t worry about it.” Henry whispered, reading my mind in that way of his. He had always been able to read my feelings on my face, and after we moved in together, it seemed he had gotten even better at it. I tried one more time to get up, but he didn’t budge. My mind had a hard time wrapping itself around the idea that Henry wanted me in his arms. “Relax. I don’t mind.”

I sighed, settling into him again. It was easier to just give up than to fight something I wanted. His shoulder and neck were soaked with my tears, so I shifted to his other shoulder, tucking my face back into his neck. His fingers drew small patterns on my back, working their way up and down my spine. My depression hadn’t left my body, leaving me still feeling heavy, but something had moved in my mind as I accepted Henry’s help bringing me back to myself minutely.

“Is it time to get out of bed?” Henry asked. He wasn’t going to force me, I knew that. If he had to, now that I seemed willing to have him around, he would live in this bed with me, probably invite Kal in too. But I felt different now, like the fog was a little less dense. More aware of what was going around me.

“Shower first.” I nodded but made no move to get up. With awareness came the realization of just how gross I felt on the outside as well as the inside. Maybe I would feel more like myself after a nice long shower. I didn’t think I deserved to ask him for anything else, so my question came out small and barely above a whisper. If I was being honest with myself, I didn’t know what I was going to do if he said no. “Will you help me?”

“Of course, love.” Henry kissed my forehead, putting my fear to rest. He seemed able to ignore the fact that I hadn’t showered in a couple of days, and probably smelt like it. My hair was barely held back in the ponytail I threw it up into three days ago, with chunks of it sticking up at weird angles, but he seemed able to ignore it. I don’t know how.

Carefully I eased my cramped body off the bed, standing up straight slowly. Henry moved with me, ready for any unbalance I may experience. I offered the only smile I could, a small one, before shuffling to the bathroom. He followed me, making sure not to rush me. His patience seemed endless, and I appreciated him all the more for it.

The real challenge came when I got into the bathroom and seemed to forget how to remove my clothes. I got tangled up in my hoodie when one of the arms somehow managed to fall into the neck hole as I tried to pull it over my head, my other arm caught in the arm of the hoodie. I fought the tears readying to spill again when I felt Henry’s steady hands carefully start to weave me out of the sweater. He dropped it to the floor once I escaped and decided to help me with the rest of my clothes.

We climbed into the shower, where he helped me shampoo my hair, getting the shampoo deep into the tangles of my hair. The conditioner he massaged into my scalp helped with the tangles as well. I sighed, leaning into his magic hands, wishing they would never stop. Though I felt the guilt and the sadness and the emptiness still, the warm water and my caring boyfriend seemed determined to chase them into a corner for now. And now that I was accepting help, it seemed like there was hope it would stay in the corner. It might only be for a few moments, but any light under the dark, heavy clouds was worth it.

#Henry Cavill Fanfic #Henry Cavill Fanfiction #Henry Cavill x reader

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jokertrap-ran · 3 years

Photo

(光与夜之恋 Light and Night) Main Story Chapter 3-1: 海水与火焰 Seawater & Flames Translation

“The flames of the sunset flicker within your orbs; and the leaves flutter, falling upon the water surface that is your soul.”

*Light and Night Master-list *Spoiler free: Translations will remain under cut *Join the Light & Night Discord (＾▽＾)~ ♪ *CG Image used with permission from 蓝咕咕 ☆ *Main story tag will be #For Light and Night

Brother Mao: It's soooo god-damned hot out today! A new coffee shop opened down the east street with huge grand opening sales. Come on, come on, everyone grab your share!

Brother Mao had just returned to the office after completing his out of office assignment. He didn't even have a minute to spare to put the bag of goodies down, only wiping his sweat before giving said goodies out to everyone.

MC: Thank you, Brother Mao!

Brother Mao waved his hand in dismissal and threw the neatly folded plastic bag into the bin, only for his eyes to suddenly stop on the handle of the door. He incredulously widened his eyes.

Brother Mao: Since when did our door handle get all fixed up?

Li Man'man: No idea. It was already fixed when I came in in the morning.

Hao Shuai: Sister Zheng Lin, did you nag at the administrative department for this?

Zheng Lin: She fixed it. I saw her fiddling around with it when I clocked in this morning.

Zheng Lin retrieved her documents from the photocopier and jerked her chin at me.

Brother Mao: So this is our beloved heroine of the day! Do humbly pardon me!

MC: I'm the one who broke it after all. Plus, it didn't take that long to fix anyway.

Brother Mao poked his head in front of me, curiously twirling the sleeve of the formal dress I was currently fixing up and doing corrections on.

Brother Mao: You're changing it up that much again? You don't have to reply to me, but you're adding these butterflies? That's real creative! ...And they're all made of twisted metal wire?

MC: Yeah. I started out using soft tulle mesh, but it was all droopy and didn't seem very nice for wings that are supposed to look powerful and lively.

Brother Mao: Now not only does this give it a dynamic feel, but also brings about a romantic yet cruel one!

Brother Mao: Not bad, not bad! Keep at it, and you'll definitely be able to finish fixing it up before next week!

MC: But the Deadline got brought forward… She's going to be doing the fitting tomorrow morning, so I have to finish it by today...

Brother Mao: No way! Don't tell me it's that agent again...

He glanced around, checking that no one had their attention turned to us, before leaning down to my ear.

Brother Mao: I asked around about it earlier, and I heard that the agent has a pretty foul temper.

Brother Mao: Not just to the staff, but her daughter as well. She'll start scolding people at the drop of a hat, even if they did nothing!

It felt as if I could hear the piercing and horrid lashing from that day resounding in my ears again. Her words had been ingrained into my very brain like a needle stuck into a pincushion.

Brother Mao: Geez, Lin Yao's such a brilliant kid. What's there for her to be so unhappy about?

Brother Mao: My mom always told me not to blame myself, and that health always comes first, whenever I fail the promotion. She even said that if I couldn't make it big, then I could just go back home and she'd raise me.

MC: I don't know either. Maybe all these feelings we take for granted come on a conditional basis for her, I guess.

He'd stared at the table and spaced out for a long while. It was almost as if he'd retreated into his memory palace as his expression turned a little sad.

Brother Mao: I'll help you twist them into shape too. Just treat it as my way of thanking her for helping us get out of the pickle we found ourselves in that day.

MC: Okay.

Time passed silently, and it wasn't till nightfall that we finished our work. The office had already cleared out a long time ago, and sporadic stars glimmered in the ink-blue sky up above.

Brother Mao: Done!

I nodded at him in gratitude and kept the now completed dress away. That was when a message notification popped up onto my phone screen.

Housing Agent: Miss (Y/n), don't forget that we're supposed to sign the agreement today at 8 PM. Be there or be square!

Brother Mao: What's wrong?

MC: I'm supposed to go check out the new apartment I'm getting with my agent at 8 PM today, and sign the agreement if all goes well.

And the time displayed on my phone right now was… 7:28 PM.

MC: I should run! Thanks for today, Brother Mao! I'll treat you to food next time!

Grabbing my bag and my work ID, I made a mad dash downstairs.

❖☆———————————★❖

I thought that I'd make it there right on the dot if I'd left now, but who knew that the taxi-hailing app had 80+ people waiting in line! Seeing as how the app wasn't an option anymore, all I could do was to run to the nearest taxi stand.

MC: Why's it not here yet…?

I paced back and forth at the stand, but no taxi ever made an appearance. Just as my anxiousness was about to reach a tipping point, a black sports car drew to a stop before me. The car's windscreen slowly rolled down.

MC: ...Evan?

Evan: Waiting for a ride? Headed somewhere?

MC: Yeah. I'm going to take a look at an apartment. The place I'm renting right now is too far from here, so it isn't terribly convenient.

Evan: Location?

MC: Guangqi-Century City.

He slightly inclined his head, glancing at his watch before getting out of his car and opening the door to the passenger seat for me.

Evan: Get on. I'll send you there.

★Night Choice: Turn him down

MC: No need. I'd be causing you too much trouble.

Evan leaned his arm atop the door of the car, beaming as he looked at me.

Evan: Not at all.

Evan: Besides, I don't have anything on tonight. On the other hand, you seem like you're in quite the rush.

Evan: It'll be bad if you end up late for it because you dawdled here.

His eyes were filled with such sincerity that it made me feel like I'd be doing him a disservice if I refused.

I eventually nodded, seeing as there was no way I could shimmy myself out of this without feeling bad about it.

MC: Thanks.

☆Light Choice: Accept his offer

I glanced back at the taxi stand. It didn't seem like a taxi was coming anytime soon. And I'd really be late if I didn't get a suitable ride soon…

MC: Thanks. Don't mind if I do then.

8 PM, right on the dot. We reached the entrance of the housing estate where the agent was already waiting.

MC: Here it is. Thank you for this! I'll treat you to a meal someday!

Evan: Sure.

❖☆———————————★❖

I hurriedly got out of the car as the two agents quickly rushed up to me upon seeing me.

Agent A: You have a good eye, Miss! This apartment's a hot favourite! 10 over people booked slots to come check it out the moment the listing went up!

Agent B: We've kept this apartment for you till now since you seemed especially keen on it!

Agent A: Let's get the contract agreement signed tonight if there are no problems lest it keeps you up at night!

MC: Sorry, but I'll still have to confirm with you again later. Let's go check the house out first.

Both agents sidled up side by side, enthusiastically explaining and introducing things to me on either side as they urged me forwards.

Thud.

The sound of a door closing behind me made me turn, only to see that Evan hadn't left, and had gotten out of his car.

MC: ?

Evan: I'll go with you.

The agents continued their endless stream of marketing chatter as they pointed out every selling point of the apartment.

Agent A: —And that's all from us. If you sign the agreement contract today, then we can persuade the landlord to give us a little discount...

MC: Okay, then I'll-

Evan: Sorry, but we'll think it through a little more. Could you recommend us some other apartments as well? Sorry about that.

I looked at him in surprise, but he gently shook his head. Hence, I calmed my initial excitement down and turned down their request to have the contract immediately signed.

❖☆———————————★❖

The night was already deep into the throes of darkness by the time we returned to the car park.

The riverbank was coloured with streams of yellow light from the streetlamps above in picturesque disorder. I could smell the refreshing scent of blooming greenery that hung in the air.

MC: Was something wrong with the apartment earlier?

Evan: I don't think you'd like to stay in an apartment filled with construction noises, yes?

MC: But I didn't hear anyone renovating anything?

It was only after the words left my mouth that I realized something.

MC: Oh, right. It's nighttime right now, so all the construction workers should be off work by now… Still, how did you know?

Evan: I noticed that there were paint stains at the edge of the neighbouring apartment's door frame upon entering, and it looked rather fresh too.

Evan: Plus, that housing estate was built 10 years ago, yet the elevator has its interiors boarded up with temporary protective boards.

Evan: So, I'd garner that the neighbouring apartment's most likely, not the only one undergoing renovation recently.

MC: I'd never have realized if you didn't point it out…

Evan: And adding on to that, I observed the surroundings a bit when we entered the housing estate and the security personnel stationed nearby seemed rather sparsely spread.

Evan: So it wouldn't be too safe for you to be staying here alone.

MC: Yeah…

Evan continued talking about the pros and cons of the apartment as the enchanting lights from above reflected in his eyes, melding into the smile that wavered within.

MC: You're so knowledgeable when it comes to this. Did you rent an apartment before?

Although, for someone with his family background, he shouldn’t ever need to rent an apartment on his own.

However, Evan nodded, affirming my suspicions.

Evan: I’ve rented a couple of places for my company back when I was in university.

MC: You mean, the company you founded back when you were studying in Lordton?

Evan: You know of it?

MC: I’ve heard of it before! It’s truly a legendary tale!

Evan: Looks like I’ll have to personally clear up the rumours for you then. It wasn’t exactly a smooth experience.

Evan: I, too, encountered a great many difficulties that I hadn’t thought of before during my first time renting an office.

Evan: For example, unreliable agents. The relevant renting procedures never came to pass for a long time due to that.

Evan: Hence, the office wasn’t ready even if all the employees were already in place.

Evan: And another example would be poor property management, with robberies aplenty as a result.

Evan: Also, I had no choice but to take drastic action and relocate the entire office to a new location since I hadn’t initially considered office expansion.

MC: Wow, I never knew that starting a business would be so hard. You’re amazing to have done it!

❖☆———————————★❖

Suddenly, my phone vibrated.

[Guangqi Rental] Whole apartment for lease. Felin Avenue, 199 Street. 1 bedroom and 1 living room. [Guangqi Rental] Whole apartment for lease. Changle Heights. 1 bedroom and 1 living room.

It was the agent, recommending me a couple more apartments.

[Guangqi Rental] How about any of these?

MC: Now that's way too many…

Evan: You can forward them to me if you don't mind. I can check them out with you.

Evan: I might not be very experienced in this, but nothing will go wrong with having another person to think it through with.

MC: Thank you, Evan.

The night breeze blew past, gently ruffling the loose hairs that had fallen out of place in front of Evan’s forehead.

Evan: We've been talking for so long that I forgot that it's already 9 PM. Are you hungry? Do you want to eat anything?

MC: I said I'd treat you! How about we do it now?

MC: Is there anything you'd like to eat?

Evan: Just pick anything you want to eat. I'm fine with anything.

MC: Don't say that! I'm going to need a proper answer from you today.

Evan: Alright then. I'd prefer for it to be something cooling, if possible.

MC: Hmm… Something cooling?

I glanced around, my eyes sweeping past the signboards of teahouses, food stalls, fast food outlets… until it finally stopped on an old and aged sign that stood not too far away.

MC: I know! Wait for me for a while!

❖☆———————————★❖

MC: Auntie! Can I get two servings of red bean ice and two servings of fruit soup?

Many customers surrounded the small shop. The owner stirred the pot of soft red beans, filling the air with a delectably rich scent of sweetness.

Due to the auntie being the only one manning the store, the demand for the red bean ice far exceeded the available supply. Hence, I had to wait for quite a while before my order finally got done.

Just as I happily took the icy delights from her, the pitter-patter of rain sounded from behind.

The rain came down hard and vicious.

The raindrops that pelted against the roof were akin to silver metal wires, trapping me within the confines of the narrow eaves.

With no other option in sight, I held the two cups of icy treats to my chest using my wrist and freed a hand to shoot Evan a message to inform him of my predicament.

However, before I could fish out my phone… a silhouette had come to a stop before me. He put the umbrella away.

MC: I was just about to ping you. What are you doing here?

Evan didn’t say anything, only smiling gently as he took the icy treats from my arms, quietly standing by my side.

Evan: The rain should cease soon. Let's wait together.

MC: ...Okay.

The curtain of rain secluded us in our own little world, and the puddles, reflecting the neon lights of the signboard above, rippled from the night breeze of summer.

And like a domino effect, this soft and gentle ambience made our moods calmer and much more relaxed in turn.

❖☆————— ⊹ For Light & Night⊹ —————★❖

Previous Part: (Chapter 2-24 Light) / (Chapter 2-24 Night) | Next Part: (Chapter 3-3)

#光与夜之恋 #Light and Night #Otome #Translations #Tencent #萧逸 #Osborn #齐司礼 #Sariel #陆沉 #Evan #查理苏 #Charlie #夏鸣星 #Jesse #For Light and Night

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dakotacrisis · 3 years

Text

Topsy Turvy (3)

By popular demand and my current Ladrien fixation I bring to you part 3 of this fluff fest. Enjoy!

---

Plagg was this close to throwing an extra large wheel of cheese at Adrien’s head. After Ladybug left last night he had been skipping around his room with the biggest, dorkiest grin imaginable. Every once in a while he would stop to contemplate how hurt his friend Marinette would be about this before he perked up again. Now he was standing in a pile of clothes trying to pick out an outfit for the movies tonight.

"What about this?" Adrien held up a black button up. "It's nice but understated and it would match Ladybug’s costume. Or is it weird to coordinate? Or maybe too fancy for a movie date? I have a black v-neck that may be better. What do you think?"

"It all looks the same to me," Plagg answered, not bothering to look up from the comic book he was reading.

"Plagg! Come on! Just give me an opinion. This is a big deal for me!"

Plagg grinned, a wicked thought entering his brain. "Oh I just don't know, Adrien. I don't wear clothes so I don't have the best source of judgement. Why don't you ask the designer friend of yours? I'm sure she would love to help you."

"That's actually a great idea--hey, wait a second--Plagg!" Adrien torn the comic out from under him like a tablecloth, "I can't ask Marinette for help regarding my date with Ladybug! Are you mad? Did you forget that she's the one that I need to reject after this?"

"Oh? Is she?" Plagg feigned ignorance. This was just too good to pass up. If only this poor little kitten of his knew the truth. He was rejecting the same girl he was going on a date with. He had to mess with him a little.

"Yes, Plagg, I have gone over this at length already." Adrien sighed, with a shake of his head, "Just work with me here and say button up or v-neck."

"Nude,"

Adrien tossed the comic back down. "You’re not funny."

"Really? I'm pretty sure I'm hilarious. You are just too young to appreciate my humor."

"Yeah, sure, that's the problem." Adrien looked between the two shirts he had before tossing the one aside. "V-neck. Definitely the v-neck."

He cradled the shirt close to him and Plagg had a moment of sincerity. Adrien was really happy about this date. He had never seen him so excited before. For decades Plagg had watched humans fall in love over and over. He could never really understand it since kwamis were incapable of the romantic love humans felt but he knew what familial love felt like. He knew that he loved Adrien as his chosen. If romantic love was anything like that then he wouldn't spoil the experience for Adrien anymore today. Tease him about any funny slip ups he may experience later, yes. But for today he would let the boy be. He deserved it.

---

"You really didn't have to see me off for my date, Alya." Marinette said, "I'm fine."

"You know I had to come. It's your first date with Adrien. No way was I gonna miss this." Alya kicked her feet excitedly, "I wanna hear all about it when you get back."

"What? Are you just gonna hang out here until I get home? Are you that interested in how my date goes that you’re going to wait up for me?"

"Duh, was that not obvious?"

"Well then," Marinette transformed, "how do I look?"

"You look like Ladybug."

"Right…" Ladybug looked at herself in the mirror before pulling the ribbons out of her hair to let it loose. "There, a little more casual. Right?"

"Sure, girl, a superhero wearing her hair down. Casual to the max." Alya rolled her eyes. "Now get going or you'll be late."

"Okay, see you later." She jumped through the trapdoor of her balcony and was off. Her heart was thundering loud in her chest the closer she got to the theater. She stopped at the building across from it and searched the faces heading inside. Then like a beacon under the neon lights she saw him. Adrien.

Okay. Be cool. Don't do anything stupid.

She fixed her hair and jumped off the building. She landed in her best hero pose across the street from him. When she looked up he was staring at her in awe.

Nailed it!

She then promptly tripped on the curb crossing the street.

"Watch it!" Adrien caught her by the arms before she could collide with the concrete, "You okay?"

"Yeah! Thanks! I've taken much worse tumbles than that." she laughed it off. "Guess you saved me this time."

"Uh yeah, I guess," Adrien fidgeted with his ring, "You look really nice. You're wearing your hair differently."

"Heroes gotta let their hair down sometimes, huh?" she chuckled to herself. "Consider it my unofficial off-duty look. Not that I'm ever really off-duty but you get what I mean."

"I get what you mean." They stood for a moment just staring at one another in mutual lovestruck awe before either of them remembered they were here for a date.

“Should we head in?” Adrien pointed back to the theater.

“Right, yes, we should do that.” they wandered inside and immediately gazes were drawn as they made their way to purchase their tickets. Despite her arguing that she could buy her own ticket Adrien insisted on getting it for her. She played truce and bought the snacks instead.

They followed the crowd into the theater. A few people stopped Ladybug to get some pictures or an autograph. Adrien patiently waited with the snacks as he scanned the room for good seats. It was surprisingly packed for such a late showing. “Uh Ladybug,” Adrien called for her attention, “I’m gonna go save us some seats so you come by whenever you’re done.”

“I’ll be right there. Thanks.” she gave him a thumbs up before going back to her fans. She really didn’t mind when fans came up to her, she was always honored, but she was here for a date. It didn’t feel right to let him go off on his own so she could take pictures.

The lights started to go down and she used that as her excuse to take her seat. She edged past the other theater goers and sat down in the chair next to Adrien. “Sorry about all that,” she whispered as the movie started, “You have my attention for the rest of the night. Promise.”

“Don’t worry. I totally get it. People stop me when I’m out with friends from time to time.” Adrien assured her. “I’m just glad to be here with you at all.”

Marinette blushed red hot and she found herself thankful for the dark theater. “I’m happy to be here with you too.”

The movie started in ernest and they drew their attention to it. Every once in a while she would catch him watching her instead of the movie or he would spot her staring at him. They’d quickly look away and smile, trying to keep their attention on what was happening on the screen. At one point she went to put her arm on the arm rest between them and nearly jumped out of her seat when she fully laid her hand overtop Adrien’s without noticing.

“Sorry,” Adrien blurted out but was quickly shushed by the audience, “sorry,” he whispered in a quieter voice, “you can have it.”

“No, no, you can have it--I just--”

“No. Really, I’ve been hogging it all night. You take it.”

“I don’t need it. Please, just take it--”

“One of you had better take it and shut up already.” someone behind them hissed.

“Sorry,” Ladybug squeaked. She moved to put her arm back and bumped into Adrien who was doing the same thing. They giggled for a moment. Then Adrien rested his arm on it with his palm facing up.

His eyes met hers with a shy, expectant smile. Oh! She bit her lip and laid her arm on top of his and interlaced their fingers together. Tonight was the best night ever just for this!

They stayed holding hands for the rest of the movie and when they got up to leave they were still interlocked. Neither wanted to let the connection break just yet. They walked out of the theater and into the cool night air.

“This was a lot of fun.” Ladybug said, “I’m glad you agreed to come out with me.”

“I’m still surprised you asked me out in the first place.” Adrien said, his gaze traveled down to their interlaced hands, “This was really nice.”

“Do you have a ride home?” Ladybug asked.

“No chauffeur tonight,” Adrien looked down the street then back at her, his voice dropping low to a whisper, “Between you and me, I’m not supposed to be out here.”

“How rebellious!” Ladybug scoffed, with a mock scandalized face, “Did you sneak out to come here tonight? I don’t know, Adrien. That’s top tier felon behaviour. I may have to turn you in.”

“Oh please, Ladybug, have mercy.” he pleaded with the same level of theatrics, “I meant no harm! Don’t send me to the slammer!”

“Oh alright,” Ladybug giggled, “I can’t throw a pretty face like yours in jail. You wouldn’t last ten minutes with all those other big bads. All those jaywalkers and litterbugs, they’d tear you apart.”

“You underestimate me, I could have control of the yard in five.”

“I bet you could.” she shook her head. “So since you don’t have a ride home did you need a lift? I can get you back lickety split.”

“How about instead of a lift you give me an escort.” Adrien asked, his big green puppy dog eyes blinking down at her, “As fun as the movie was I didn’t really get to talk to you which is the one thing I wanted to do most tonight.”

“How can I say no to that?” she squeezed his hand tighter, “I want to get to know you better too.”

They left the theater on foot back towards Adrien’s house. Neither had anywhere to be and no rush to end their date just yet so they kept the pace slow and let themselves take the long way around.

“Let me start simple,” Adrien said, “What is your favorite color?”

“Pink. But not like a hot neon pink, more of a soft sunset pink. What about you?”

“Blue. It’s just so relaxing to look at in almost all its forms. I think my favorite shade would have to be a soft sky blue though.”

“That’s nice. Alright, my question.” Ladybug pondered it for a moment, “What is your most treasured memory?”

“Wow. Starting off strong huh? I feel kinda ridiculous with my color question.”

“Don’t be. Sorry. I should have said something a little simpler, shouldn’t I?”

“No. I like your question. I just need to think about it. Gimme a second.” Adrien said as he started to think. He was really thinking this through. “I think my most treasured memory would be Christmas Eve when I was six.”

“Not Christmas morning?”

“The morning was great but I’ll never forget the night prior.” Adrien’s eyes took on a far away look, “It was as basic as Christmas Eve’s go. I wanted to stay up so I could meet Santa. My parents said that he wouldn’t come if I stayed up though and sent me off to bed. It was around midnight and I heard a noise coming from downstairs. I assumed it was Santa so I swung out of bed and raced out of my room to catch him before he could leave.

“I got down there and I found presents under the tree but no Santa. There was a light on in the kitchen and I figured he must be getting his milk and cookies. I go up to the door and push it open. There’s no Santa in the kitchen but there are my parents. My mom is sitting on the island munching on a gingerbread cookie, father is looking in the fridge, there’s quiet Christmas music playing on the radio next to them.

“My father closes the fridge and holds up a piece of mistletoe he must have hidden in there. Mom laughs and when he went in to kiss her she held up the gingerbread man so he kissed that instead. Father looked grumpy and bit the head off. Mom gasped and was all like, “I cannot believe you decapitated Mister Gingy! He had three kids you monster!” which made me laugh. Of course now they know I’m there and father picks me up and tells me I should be in bed and all that stuff. I wasn’t listening and instead I grabbed the mistletoe and held it up to mom. I meant it so my parents could kiss but instead they both kissed my cheeks instead. We stayed up for at least another hour eating cookies and drinking warm milk and hot coco before I fell asleep and they put me back to bed.”

“That is so cute!” Ladybug gushed, “I can see it all in my head. Squishy faced kiddie Adrien sneaking out of bed and eating cookies with his parents. That’s a really sweet memory.”

“I’ll never forget it.” Adrien sighed. For a moment he looked so sad and Marinette wondered if maybe she shouldn’t have asked him. The memory of his mom probably hurt to think about. “What about you? What’s your most treasured memory?”

Now that was a tough one. She couldn’t really go into childhood stories since it would give away too much as to her identity. It was then she thought of the perfect story. “There is one memory I hold really close to my heart.” she said.

“I was on patrol one evening by myself. It was raining but I didn’t want to go home cause I was going through some stuff emotionally and I didn’t want to be cooped up. So I’m running and running and I almost slip off the roof. I realize I should take a break so I huddle under this awning of this closed cafe to catch my breath and see if the rain lets up. I’m waiting for maybe five minutes and because I’m not moving my emotions from before I starting to catch up to me. I’m on the verge of breaking down when out of nowhere Chat Noir lands on the sidewalk in front of me. I say land but he more or less faceplanted. He has a box covered in a plastic bag to keep it dry that he’s holding off the ground. He pulls himself up like he didn’t just have an intimate meeting with the concrete and walks over to me like it is the most casual thing in the world. Now mind you, I was not expecting to see him. I didn’t tell him I was coming out here nor did he have any idea where I was but he found me nonetheless.

“He huddles under the awning with me and takes the plastic bag off the box. I realize at this point it is a wrapped present. I ask him what this is supposed to be for and he tells me that since we don’t know when each other’s birthdays are he was going to pick a random day to give me a birthday present. And apparently this rainy evening was that day. I tried telling he didn’t need to but he insisted so I take the present and unwrap it. When I tell you, this idiot actually gifted me a black cat onesie with a cat ear hood and little toe beans on the feet. I started laughing and asked if he had a matching ladybug onesie and he told me he did. I start laughing harder and I can tell he thinks that I’m laughing at him so I quickly assure him I’m not. I tell him I really love the gift and I give him a hug. To him he probably thinks that he just gave me a nice present but in reality he pulled me back from a really sad place without even knowing it.

“Of course the second I got home I put the onesie on and started thinking of a birthday present I could get for him. I wanted it to be perfect as a sort of thank you for cheering me up when I was in a really bad mood. I never told him just how much that one little present, that one encounter, helped me but it did. I like to think about it whenever I get in a bad mood. Remembering his mop of drenched hair and that big expectant smile never fails to cheer me up.”

When she looked back at Adrien he looked close to tears. “Oh hey, are you okay? Did I say something? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he wiped at his eyes with his free hand, “It’s just, your friendship with him is great. I think that the next time you see him you should tell him how much that meant to you. I’m sure it would make him really happy.”

“I think I will,”

They got to Adrien’s house and they both stood frozen on the sidewalk. “Guess it’s time to say goodbye now.”

“Guess so,” Adrien stared up at the tall stone walls. “All good thinks must come to an end.”

“There are always more good times to come though.” Ladybug said, “Speaking of which, would you be interested in going on a second date sometime?”

“I would love to.” Adrien answered with a bright smile. “How do I get a hold of you?”

“I’ll come to you.” she let go of his hand to wrap around his waist. With a flick of her wrist she sent her yo-yo up and pulled them off the ground. They swung into his room and she deposited him back down safely. “Goodnight, Adrien. I had a wonderful time and I’ll be by to see you again soon.”

“Goodbye Ladybug. Tonight was...it was perfect.” He leaned in closer or maybe it was Marinette that leaned in but one of them leaned in. Then just as quickly they withdrew. Arms hugged close to their sides.

“I should get going,” Ladybug stumbled back towards the window. She poised to throw her yo-yo but she made the mistake of taking one final look back at Adrien. He was watching her with such a soft and loving expression. She couldn’t just end it like this.

She rushed back to him and kissed his cheek. “See you later, bye!” she fully vaulted herself out the window the next instant and booked it as fast as she could back home. She dropped down onto her balcony. Her heart was beating fast and her face ached from how hard she was smiling.

---

(Part 1) (Previous) (Probably another part cause I know no self control and you people enable me)

#long post #miraculous ladybug #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #plagg #alya cesaire #ladrien #topsy turvy #writing

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passable-talent · 3 years

Note

i see z nation in your fandoms... 👁 could i possibly request a 10k x reader in which the reader and 10k have a heart to heart about something or in general have a soft moment? thank you... 💕

thank you @dreepiez, the best ever, for the lovely ask 💕, and for being my best friend and knowing exactly what i felt like writing today. I’m so soft for this boy its not even FUNNY.

Eight months since the world had ended, roughly. All things considered, you’re in a pretty good place- definitely a better one than you’d been in on Day One.

On Day One, you were absolutely alone in the middle of a national park near your home. You hadn’t known that the god damn zombie apocalypse was about to happen, so you were taking a walk- which wasn’t so unusual for little fifteen year old you.

You’d been ambushed and chased by Z’s, and managed not to die, but walked away with an extremely broken ankle.

And, that day, you’d met 10k.

He was leaving the area late at night when he happened across you, in the truck he couldn’t quite drive. Well, an ally with a broken ankle is better than none at all when facing the zombie apocalypse.

In the months following, you’d stuck together, becoming strong allies and close friends. You’d trust him with your life, and he you. You were the only person, in fact, who knew his real name. In the eight months since his father died, he hadn’t told a single other soul.

You weren’t like anyone else. You were there since Day One, you’d never left his side. Even when the two of you were found by a survival group, you stuck together. It was the two of you against the world- no matter how many others offered help, neither of you would ever let your guard down far enough to be without the other. Or, rather, neither of you would ever let your guard down far enough to leave the other alone.

You hated to admit it, but 10k was the only person that mattered to you. In the darkest of nights, when you laid in a bed that wasn’t yours and stared up at a ceiling so far from the home you’d grown up in, when you wondered if survival was worth it, thoughts of 10k would pull you through. No matter what you had to live through, you could never imagine leaving him alone. You’d stay alive, for him, for as long as you needed to.

Maybe it was a little sad. You’d only known him for eight months, you really had nothing keeping you friends other than necessity; it’s not exactly like the two of you went to movies together. Still, he was the most important person in your life- the only important person.

Your parents were gone, you didn’t know where. Your friends, from school, you didn’t even think about checking up on them before skipping town with 10k. There was no one left for you, other than him.

Still, you knew that no matter who you met, you’d always come back to him. It wasn’t like you didn’t get along- he was funny, and kind, and loyal, and, uh..

Well. You’re a teenager. And he looks like that.

You’d never act on it, even though you know he feels the same. Every time he looked at you, chose to eat sitting next to you, wished you goodnight before passing out on a couch, you knew he felt the same. After all, he was a teenager too. He was easy to read.

It was unspoken, really, how much you cared for each other. Neither of you would never dare to bring it up, no matter how much you felt it. Instead, you just showed it, checking up on each other, keeping each other safe. You rarely even talked- with each other, that is. It was a silent companionship, affection obvious through the way you always sat beside each other, even when there was no reason to.

It confused a lot of people at this safe camp, especially when you first arrived. Why are they always together, people would say amongst themselves, when they don’t even seem to like each other?

Little did they know that all of your time alone together was worth far more than the time you spent together in the presence of others.

Camp New World, as it was called among its survivors, was as safe a place as one could ask for. It was situated on the top of a mountain, right at its peak. In the time before day one, it had been owned by a single family, who built three homes on its peak as the generations passed. There was only one road up to the top, which made security from humans quite simple, and there were straight drop cliffs on all sides except for the road, which made security from Z’s easy enough. It was safe, and had been since the day it was made into a safe haven.

Thanks to its position on the mountaintop, Camp New World had some spectacular views. And thanks to your age, you and 10k were very rarely sent on missions outside of camp, such things being given to adults rather than the two of you.

And you did love going on adventures, you always had. The word had been well-soured by this eight month long, horrifying adventure, but sometimes you felt just a bit of that love when you sat back from the edge of the cliff and looked out across the valley. You could see to long-away mountains, turning blue with the horizon, and you could see roads crossing the fields that were once bustling highways. Looking out across a world that didn’t seem so much different than how it had been when you were fifteen, you always had just a little bit more to talk about. And with 10k sitting next to you, you always had someone to talk to.

You glanced over your shoulder, making sure no one else was nearby the two of you.

“It almost looks the way it used to,” you said, fixing your eyes on the silhouette of a town that must be miles away.

“What do you mean?” 10k asked, turning his head slightly toward you, but not looking right at you.

“All of it, out there,” you said, leaning back just a bit onto your hands. “If I didn’t know better, I wouldn’t know anything was different. The homes are in ruins and the towns deserted and the people scared, but from up here...” you trailed off, giving a light shrug. “You can’t tell.”

“But you do know better,” 10k said, and this made you look at him. He looked the way he often did- pulled away, reserved. But you knew him better than anyone wandering the earth, dead or otherwise.

He was comfortable. He was at least happy to be sitting with you instead of splitting wood, as they often asked him to do. He was interested in what you were saying, even if what he brought to the conversation was a little bit of cynicism.

You looked back across the world, lifting your chin.

“Yeah,” you said, “I do.” Another few minutes passed in silence between the two of you, being serenaded by the October air rattling through the trees that had begun to lose their leaves, and the sound of the raging river far below that was responsible for the steep-cliffed mountain.

“Still,” you said, “It’s peaceful. I’d be much more scared if I stood down there than I am sitting here.”

“I’d rather you be here than down there,” he said, choking on his words just after they’d left his mouth. You came to his rescue as best as you could.

“Well, last time I was down there, I had a broken ankle. I don’t want to be doing that again, either.”

All too used to it you were, reeling him back from the conversation that neither of you wanted to have. You had to assume that if the situation was different, he’d be a romantic- the way he gave you an extra blanket or let you borrow his jacket made you sure of it. So sometimes, when you were alone, little things would slip out from between his lips, little things that told you just how much he cared for you.

But caring for someone in this world was dangerous. You both knew it- he, who had had to mercy his own father, and you, who hadn’t seen your parents since the day it began. It was a lesson that held onto the two of you like burrs, hooking and holding deeper every time you tried to pull it away.

Even though the two of you cared for each other, would die for each other, that little stinging burr kept the two of you from saying it out loud. If it was said out loud, it was real, and that reality would be much more dangerous.

So you always deflected the attention away from his little confessions. Not maliciously, not to push him away, but to protect you both. It was the least you could do. After all- he’d saved your life, all those months ago.

You’d returned the favor, of course, a few times. The first being when he drove you back to your home to find your parents, and instead found a Z with its arm stuck to the front door.

The door was still locked, there was no forced entry, other than this Z on the outside of the front door. But your parents were just... gone. And there was nothing to suggest where they went.

You scooted a little closer to Tommy, trying to get refuge from the wind.

“Hey, Tommy,” you began, eyes cast over the edge of the cliff and to the riverbanks far below. “Do you ever think about what would’ve happened if we’d found my parents?”

He knew how much it stung that you didn’t know what had happened to them. He knew how much it had hurt you to leave your home town and travel to Camp New World, leaving behind the one place you might find them. But you’d been injured, and young, and vulnerable, and you’d had no choice. He knew that it was a particular crack in your heart that was still raw, and likely would be for a long time.

So he put his arm around you, letting you rest your head on his shoulder.

He still smelled like the cigarette he’d swiped from one of the men around the camp earlier in the day. At one time, you hated the smell of tobacco. Now, it just reminded you of him.

“No,” he said, “I don’t think about things like that.” His first finger drew little shapes on your furthest shoulder, and you let out a breath. “But I guess I would be a little happier if you didn’t have their loss on your shoulders.”

That one, you’d let him get away with.

The sun was near setting, the first brushstrokes of orange and yellow beginning to touch the western horizon. The sunsets from Camp New World were almost always spectacular, thanks to the wide expanse of horizon that one could view.

But you turned your head, laying your cheek on his shoulder, closing your eyes. This was the most you ever let your guard down; when you were alone with him, and the world was safe enough, for the moment.

“I hope they’re dead,” you breathed out, and you felt his arm tighten around you. “So they don’t worry about me the way I worry about them. Is that bad?”

Slowly, carefully, you felt Tommy lower his head down, resting his temple onto you.

“No, I don’t think so,” he said, and you pulled one knee closer to you. “And even if it is, I still can’t blame you.” You let out a heavy breath, leaning further into him.

If it hadn’t been for the zombie apocalypse, you never would have met him. And maybe you wouldn’t choose him over putting the world back to the way it was, but you’d definitely think hard about the decision. He was a bright side to the blackness that the world had become, the only person who kept you alive, who gave you a reason to stay alive.

In moments like this, in which you sat with him, felt his fingertips run over your arm; in moments like this, all of the pain, the death, the mercy, all of it- it almost felt worth it.

-🦌 Roe

#reader insert #angst #10k #10k z nation #Tommy z nation #z nation #10k x reader #Tommy x reader #Alvin Murphy #fics

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d4gotten · 3 years

Text

Title: Don't Count the Stars

Pairing: Midorima x Takao

Rate/Tags: Teen above, fluff, established relationship

Summary:

Once Oha-asa declared Scorpio was at the last place, and that the best way to achieve good luck was to go to a place that reaches the stars, Takao knew his weekend plans were done for. Midorima rang him the second the reporter finished, requesting formally that the raven haired be prepared for a hundred- foot journey up a mountain.

"But why the mountains!?" he guffawed, already walking with Midorima to the train station in their hiking apparel with their backpacks on and Midorima still itemless. "I get it, we need to get your lucky item from a souvenir store at the foot of the mountain-"

"A Hannya brimstone is more likely to be effective coming from its original store location."

"Pffft. It's not like luck dimishes with delivery. That's how you get your other items! But seriously, a planetarium is less of a hassle."

"Takao," the ace said, voice reprimanding, "To do the best--"

It was drowned out by the sound of the train that wheezed past them and the two boarded with Takao laughing at how Midorima's legs will always be too long for the accomdating seats. Midorima found nothing funny. He was restless throughout the ride, only comforted once they secured his lucky item to which Takao commented "scarier than any apparition up the mountain peak."

"This is yours." the ace proceeded to hand him a Tengu brimstone charm.

"It's not my lucky item, Shin-chan. It's something about stars, remember?"

"Of course I remember-nandayo. It's a partner of mine, they must not be separated."

"I don't think this will save me getting lost in the mountain, though." he took it gratefully.

"Why do you think you will get lost?" Midorima asked before shooting his boyfriend a devastating look. Of course Midorima knew the reason. Takao only gave his ace-sama a grin.

The trail was dry given the approaching summer. The sky was the bluest with ample clouds that shielded them from the glaring sun. Much to Midorima's chagrin, the hike proved to be challenging, not because of the leg excercise (they have Shutoku training menu that could kill the unfit), but of Takao's innate skill to be care less. Midorima knew Takao was not immune from being, well, Takao. It was like the point guard wanted nothing to do with the safe trail. Once or twice, Midorima had to chastise him from pointing at paths no feet had ever treaded upon with an obvious look of excitement on his face.

"No. Don't forget your rank for today."

"You're right, but wouldn't it be awesome to know if there were hidden lakes or waterfalls in unknown webbed corners?"

"Unlikely. It would have been spotted by aerial cameras for geographic purposes. There are no such things here."

"That's why I said hidden."

"Do not forget our goal here, Takao." Midorima said, pulling Takao by his back collar for trying to casually go off to another path. The ace had kept a careful eye on the pointguard who naturally was pleased with the attention. It was one thing to invite his ever so firm boyfriend to embrace the sense of adventure and live life a little since they rarely hike up mountains, but it was another to convince Shin-chan that with his Hawkeye, he could definitely get them back on the trail in no time.

"Don't you trust me?"

"Let's not tempt fate," Midorima said, running his long taped fingers on Takao's hair and smoothing out a leaf that had gotten stuck there. The flush that rose to the point guard's cheeks was easily covered by his already red and perspiring body after two hours of walking.

Takao behaved after that.

The summit was empty when they reached it. Takao dropped dead on the ground while Midorima proceeded on fixing their tent. Everything was alright when Takao volunteered to get the woods for a bonfire. It seemed what hikers say was true, there is a different energy for when you reach the top of the mountain.

Midorima sighed and went with him anyway.

"You really don't trust me, eh?" Takao said bitingly. Midorima only pushed his glasses back at the bridge of his nose.

"It's not a question of trust, but of ranks."

Takao hummed, then glanced at his ace-sama thoughtfully, "So the best thing is to really stay with Shin-chan after all."

Midorima agreed. His luck would have to help Takao get through it. Plus, they were indeed, near the sky.

Dusk found them outside the tent, Midorina reading a book as he leaned on a tree while Takao chatted animatedly. They did not miss the sunset, the orange orb sinking in the horizon, bringing with it the light of the day, while around it the sky swirled of colours, red and pink then purple as darkness began to reign and consumed everything. The first star appeared just as they were preparing their dinner, cool breeze enveloping their skin as they watched the stars occupy the black veil like glitters. They stayed around the bonfire a few hours after cleaning up dinner, Midorima taking out an extra clean blanket to use as cover for the ground. The best hours to stargazed was between midnight and twilight and that they did not miss. It was a party of stars in the milky way to behold.

"They're all really up there," Takao said in awe, speaking for the first time since Midorima woke him up for the promised starshow. "There's so many no one would notice if one of them dropped out and fall to the ground. I mean look, even if I count-"

"Don't." Midorima said quietly, his glasses reflecting that star light, "It's been said it's bad luck to count the stars. A legend said you'd die when you reach 100."

Takao considered chuckling, only to find his breath taken at the spectacular view.

"Who'd count those anyway,"

"You can with your sharp eyes."

"Oh yeah-"

"Don't."

"You realized you just tempted me to do so?"

"I'd rather not have my long life partner to be haunted by badluck."

"Oh, Shin-chan? Did you just propose to me? Again? " Takao snickered while Midorima only gazed back the sky. It was nothing surprising. Midorima, from the time they became a couple, had been threatening to propose every minute of the day. Takao was baffled at first, but it was just like Midorima... To do everything he can as best as he could once he set his eyes upon something. So Takao could never feel he will ever be unlucky. Not with this, not with what they have. Maybe until Shin-chan gets tired of him, something which Takao didn't have the heart to deal with. As long as Shin-chan was still happy with him.

"Hey, Shinchan-" he pointed up. Midorima quickly wrapped his taped hand around Takao's knuckle.

"Don't count. Takao, know I don't want anything close to badluck when it is about you." Takao pressed his lips at how affected Midorima was about it. He does care about their relationship to the extent of paving the way to even make fate agree.

"I'm not," Takao whispered, gulping at the warm touch that gradually slid off his skin as Shin-chan let go but the lingering feeling remained, "But I was saying... that's Cancer right?" he pointed at the pattern on the sky. The mountain was too dark, the stars were like lamps, they all could be seen like fire.

Midorima was quiet.

"Yes."

"And that's Sagittarius?" there was a pause where Midorima frowned.

"That's not your sign. That's Akashi's."

Takao chuckled. "I know that. We both know all the Generation of Miracles' star signs, we even know their Oha Asa! What I mean is... Look at that? Cancer and Sagittarius are much closer up the sky than say... Scorpio beneath Sagittarius. Even the Zodiacs declares it. It's really not close, yours and mine." then as an after thought, a whisper to himself, "I wish our signs are closer."

The stars twinkled with no care for his melancholy. The world continued to revolved and he remained a tiny speck.

"Where are you looking at, Takao. Your Cancer is right here."

He glanced beside him. Shin-chan's eyes were on him, fiery and firm. The ace reached for his hand again and held it tight, knocking out the air from Takao's lungs as they gazed at each other, long and meaningful.

The stars were there in Shin-chan's eyes.

"It's closer, isn't it?". Midorima demanded quietly. Takao blinked, then brightened a she beamed and drew closer to the warm of his ace-sama, butterflies awoken in his stomach and flapping even to his ears.

"That's right. We didn't really have to go here, Shin-chan. I have all the luck... because Shin-chan is my star."

Midorima's silent agreement could be seen in the crinkle of the corners of his eyes and his soft smile that made Takao feel like stars just exploded in his chest. He entwined their hands together and tugged Midorima closer.

"The tent looks cozy now," he whispered, glad for the darkness that masked the blush of his cheeks. Midorima raised himself on one elbow, leaned to him and captured his lips. It seared hot Takao's body, ridding of any part of his skin that remained cold under the cool twilight breeze. Midorima continued to set fire in his body, crawling on top of him, Takao clutching the front of the shootingguard's shirt as they made a mess under the milkyway with stars as their witness.

"You just dragged me here for the milkyway makeout," Takao accused once Shin-chan pulled him to his feet, his lips still burning from the passionate kiss.

"The weather did say it is the best date for stargazing."

"Well, it is the best date so far." Takao let himself get wrapped around Shin-chan's long arm as they headed to the tent. "But if Shin-chan is my lucky item, even if we really did go off the trails, with you beside me, we're bound to get lucky!"

Midorima grimaced as he prodded Takao into the tent, leaving the zippers open as the bonfire danced outside, helping Takao out of his clothes while the raven haired chased his lips to continue where they left off.

"I would not recommend it. Not after we're done here until dawn." Takao's burst of laughter was music to his ears.

"Oh, Shin-chan, you animal!"

The Hangul and Tengu charms left outside the bonfire reflected the blazing fire, grinning up manically at the night sky.

#written for takao #midotaka #takao kazunari #knb #midorima shintarou #knb ficlet #wanted to practice in character #i guess its in character lol

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redorich · 4 years

Text

We Didn’t Start the Fire (part 4)

ao3 link

part 1

part 2

part 3

part 5

Wilbur receives some shocking news, and calls in the cavalry.

Wilbur pulled his phone from his front pocket. The other three men present in the clearing were taking care of the traumatized young man as best they could, and though Wilbur felt it was remiss of him to not join them, he knew this call was more important.

“Hello?” Grian picked up the phone.

“Hi, Grian…” Wilbur didn't know where to begin. He and Grian hadn't known each other for most of their lives, and when they found out they were half-brothers… They were glad to have found each other, but Wilbur didn't want to live in the shadow of his older brother. Thus, their relation was kept a secret, though both were quick to emphasize that they were most certainly not ashamed of the other. It was easier, that way. Almost like being an only child again.

“Wil, are you alright?” The frown in Grian's voice was evident even through the distortion of a long-distance call.

“We found out what happened to Tommy and Tubbo.”

“That's great, then!” Grian said. “But you don't sound happy about it.”

Wilbur looked over his shoulder as though someone were spying on him. He fervently whispered, “It was a Watcher.”

The line crackled with static. “I see,” said Grian stonily.

“Please, I need your help,” Wilbur begged. “I know you left that behind you, but you're the only person I know who can help.”

“For a child, Wil, you don't even have to ask.”

Before Wilbur could so much as thank his brother, Grian hung up. Wilbur couldn’t decide if that was a good or bad thing-- he didn’t know what to say anyway. He watched as an exhausted Tommy leaned into the side of a very stiff, awkward-looking Techno. Dream and Sapnap had taken to playing some sort of violent pattycake game in an attempt to lighten the mood.

I hope you know what you're doing, Grian.

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

Techno squinted at the sunset. The group from the clearing had moved to spawn, to better accommodate whatever drama was going on. Techno wasn’t entirely sure, to be honest, but both Dream and Wilbur were hiding something-- that much he was sure of. Whatever. They were both morons, so he’d find out eventually whatever the hell it was they were trying to keep secret.

Hm. Something about the sunset was off. The longer he spent analysing it (because, like all intelligent individuals, Techno’s hobbies included staring at the sun) the more apparent it became.

“Dream,” he said, “is it supposed to rain soon?”

“No, why?”

“‘Cause there’s a giant miasma of death and despair on the horizon,” Techno deadpanned. “Actually, it seems to be approaching rapidly. Yay.”

Dream blanched-- not that Techno could see it, of course. At least, not on his face, covered as it was. It was in the defensive raising of his shoulders, the half-step back he took, the minute fumbling for a weapon he didn’t have. While the black cloud of unrestrained summer fun drew closer, Dream seemed to be debating with himself internally.

“Techno,” he finally said, “protect my body.”

With that, Dream promptly passed the fuck out, leaving Techno to catch his body. Right as the Watcher (he presumed) made it to spawn, another Watcher materialized with enough force to create a minor earthquake.

Looking up at the second Watcher directly above him, then down at Dream’s unconscious body in his arms, Techno muttered to himself. “What is it the guy says on Danny Phantom? He’s going ghost?”

Dream-Watcher shrieked at not-Dream-Watcher. The other watcher shrieked back, and Wilbur's return went almost unnoticed. He was panting, hands on knees. He was too far away to tell for sure, but Techno was near certain that Wilbur had sprinted all the way from wherever it was he'd been. Who in their right mind would sprint toward a Watcher without a reason-- ah.

“Grian, no!” Wilbur shouted. Ah, so the not-Dream-Watcher was Grian. Good to know. Techno hadn’t seen the guy since the last MCC.

“Mine,” Dream-Watcher hissed.

“Mine,” Grian-Watcher replied, pointing a weird shadow-tentacle-thing at Wilbur. Techno's eyes narrowed. Where had he seen that before..?

Dream-Watcher lashed out with a pointy appendage. The sheer force of it tore entire branches from nearby trees. Quackity was running around like a chicken missing its head, Nikki was clutching to the side of a hill for dear life, Wilbur was Panicking, et cetera. Grian-Watcher was gearing up to do some sort of attack which would obviously be noisy and cause lots of property damage. It was at this point Techno realized, hey, I’m the only one who’s figured out that these dumbasses are OUR dumbasses. He stood up to clarify the situation, ready to shout over the noise that these Watchers were known allies and friends, when he remembered with a gasp exactly where he had seen Grian-Watcher’s shadow-tentacle-thing. “Hentai!” he shouted.

Everyone stopped dead in their tracks, staring at Techno.

“N-now that I’ve got your attention,” he continued, hoping his red cheeks didn’t betray the fact that he hadn’t meant to say that, “the Watcher guy to the west is Dream, and the Watcher guy to the east is Grian. If you could please not destroy the server fighting the guy who is on your side, I think we’d all appreciate it.”

Right before their very eyes, everyone watched in disbelief as the bigger Watcher shrank, coalescing into the friendly builder they all recognized. It was impossible to tell Dream-Watcher’s expression, being a gigantic cloud made of void, but Techno imagined that the weird chuffing noise Dream-Watcher made was indicative of some sort of moue of distaste. His entire semi-corporeal mass flew straight at Techno at mach speed, so Techno dumped Dream’s body on the ground like a sack of potatoes (except no, Techno treated his potatoes far nicer than that.)

Dream groaned, sitting up. “Did you seriously just yeet my body into the dirt?!”

“Did you seriously just yeet your body into my arms?”

Grian walked over, intercepting Dream and offering him a hand up off the ground. Warily, Dream took it.

“If you’re here to help us,” Dream said, “why the fuck did you show up as a Watcher?”

Grian suddenly found his shoes very interesting. The tips of his ears were red. “Well… it’s faster, for one. Jumping from Hermitcraft to the MCC as a human is difficult enough, I don’t even want to think about how long it would have taken to get here. As a Watcher, I can jump straight to my territory, fly through some void, and make it here through some bedrock. I took off as soon as I got Wilbur’s call--” Grian gasped. “Oh no, did I leave Mumbo’s iron farm on?!”

“...Right,” said Techno, who understood some of those words. “Anyway, how are we going to get Tubbo back? That’s the important part.”

“Can you fix Tommy?” Dream demanded.

Grian took a step back. “I'll see what I can do for Tommy. If it's what I think it is, we'll need Tubbo along. Which brings me to my next point…”

“We're attacking an unknown Watcher in its own territory, aren't we?” Techno asked.

Grian smiled humorlessly. It had too many teeth. “Why yes,” he said. “Yes we are.”

#mcyt #watchers au #watcher!grian #watcher!dream #watcher!tommy #watcher!tubbo #hc x dsmp #dreamwastaken #technoblade #tommyinnit #tubbo #sapnap #quackity #nihachu #me.txt

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jtrokujo · 3 years

Text

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐁𝐎𝐎𝐊

paring: Tobio Kageyama x fem!Reader

word count: 1.7k

warnings: none

genre: fluff (i think)

summary: Through their long and healthy friendship, Kageyama decided to meet with (Y/N). But what was the real reason he wanted to meet her or maybe there was no reason, but one thing is clear; (Y/N) is head over heels in love with him.

—

She stands nervously and unsuspectingly in front of her closet and is still thinking about which outfit she should display for her first date.

But not with anyone, no, but with Tobio Kageyama himself.

Hard to believe, but true.

Because since the earlier years, the now big stubborn head, had been her crush, but in the last few days she wondered whether it wasn't just a bad joke or something like that.

Or whether he would dump her and much more, even when her friends tried to give her courage or that it was not like him, the same thought kept coming up, 'What if ...'

Still with this ulterior motive, she took any outfit and slowly changed.

However, she did not know that her crush would be with her in a few minutes.

She was just fixing her hair, which looked a bit messed up when it was put on, until the doorbell paid her attention.

She quickly grabbed her cell phone and bag with everything necessary already inside and now made her way to the front door.

Just as the black-haired one wanted to press the blades again, the door opened.

The first thing he saw was not like in the typical films, the outfit, no more the hair, but instead of staring at her strangely, he looked at her lovingly and quickly fixed her hair.

The pounding of the heart of the person opposite could apparently not be overheard.

The silence among them is so pleasant, but she curses herself for the fact that her heart is beating quite loudly at the moment.

Is that still healthy at all?

"Let's go?" he asked her and held out his hand to her.

"Yes, in a moment. I just have to put my shoes on very quickly, then we could go." she said with an extremely normal tone and took out the shoes which she is now putting on.

While she is about to tie her shoelaces together, the thought of Kageyama came to mind when they first met.

A warm grin could be seen on his face and he didn't even try to hide it, because if he shouldn't feel well he just has to think about this one moment, where any bad emotions in him dissolve like in the elevator.

"... yama? Kageyama? Tobio Kageyama!"

"Huh?" he looked at her in amazement, while she looked at him in amazement.

"Are you all right?" she asked worriedly, touching his forehead as his cheeks made a pinkish tone.

He gently took her hands away from him. "Yeah, I'm fine. Shall we go?"

Nodding, she took his hand which was stretched out in front of her - so they made their way to the amusement park.

TIME SKIP

As soon as the teenagers had paid for the ticket, they entered the amusement park when suddenly something particular caught Kageyama's attention, and he immediately pulled his good friend with him.

"Kageyama?" she asked him in amazement, but looked at the other stands, from extraordinary sweets to the weirdest cuddly toys, but you are now standing in front of one of these stands. "Doesn't she duck look extraordinary?" he looked her in the eye.

Nodding, she agreed.

He paid for the balls to win them, but just before he could throw a ball she told him it wasn't necessary "A little reminder wouldn't hurt anyone." he answered with a small grin and already positioned himself.

But how unexpectedly - he only threw one ball and immediately all the empty cans fell down, the seller gave the volleyball player a compliment and immediately afterwards got the cuddly toy he wanted.

"Here." said the black-haired one and showed the cuddly toy under her nose.

Thankfully, she accepted this, after which the two would visit one or the other booth for a long time.

Until Kageyama's hand was pulled, he looked at his companion in amazement when she stopped and looked up.

Likewise, looking up, keep his jaw open.

A haunted house.

As reluctant as he would admit it, he's not a big fan of it, as long as that doesn't mean he's scared of it now.

He just doesn't like it.

"Kageyama, are you okay?" she told him which he only answered with a 'yes'.

She saw this as sufficient and thus paid for the tickets.

Still not enthusiastic they were allowed in and then Kageyama wondered why he was in such a bad mood all the time, it's not that bad, no, rather normal.

If only he only knew.

Because immediately after the sentence of his thought ended, two zombies came, who scared both of them and screamed so loud that the probability is that the other from the outside had heard it.

After what felt like an eternity they left the haunted house together, although they look more horrible than normal, but if you have to be honest they would say that it was a fun time which they will soon be able to laugh together.

Even then they were so different, but still so the same.

Sounds strange, maybe it is too, they will only understand.

ABOUT 6 YEARS BEFORE

While the boys are once again playing a sport together and the girls are playing with dolls while talking about the boys, there is one girl who is sitting alone on a bench and doing the process that she has been doing since she started school.

Every day at the same time and in the same place, she takes the coloring book from her backpack that her mother gave her and the pens that came with it and began to paint as always.

Of course she was alone, but what could she do now?

Do the activities that don't make you happy, no thanks.

In addition, the boys were conceited and the girls bitchy, is understandable but doing the same thing over and over again?

Certainly all the children have disappeared after all or have different interests, so why are they doing exactly what is probably not making them happy?

Or maybe it's better not to know everything, because you never know.

Scrawling on the coloring pad, she didn't hear the small footsteps coming at her until the person draws her attention.

"You are (Y / N) right?"

The little girl was astonished to see who she was talking to.

Unfortunately, she didn't know his name, reluctantly she nodded and painted the elephant with the next color she could grab.

"Do you have friends?" he asked puzzled and looked at her, she was still paying attention to the coloring book - still answered with a shake.

"Oh, well then, let me help you paint." the black-haired gave her the offer.

She thought for a long time so that she had forgotten the doorbell.

"Let's go inside." he said and helped her with packing, but instead of going with her he was jogging in while she was taking all the time.

Weird.

PRESENCE

At the moment you are now in front of a booth where you can buy the most delicious sweets in Japan, but the queue is not short for that it is so popular.

It's quite long, you could say there are 30 people waiting crazy for their turn just to be able to buy a candy.

The friends are in the middle of the long queue, but while Kageyama is talking to his good friend about the new film that is just before it, the little encounter occurred to her, whereupon she asked him, "Kageyama, you remember back in elementary school when you knew me asked if I had friends, why did you come up to me so suddenly. "

Immediately, in silence, he considered that day.

"Every day you were alone. Every day while the other kids had their friends, you were the only one who was alone. I didn't know what to say so I decided to ask if too really had friends. In the beginning it was only because of pity that I always kept you as a little company, but when we went to a new school you were so different.

You had friends, you could laugh, and you didn't have a coloring book with you. I'm happy to be friends with someone like you, I don't know myself what makes you so special, but one thing is clear. You are unique."

Is that real, Kageyama? "

Shocked by what he said keep her jaw open, said nothing but stared at the floor.

Immediately after Kageyama paid for the candy, he showed his girlfriend if she wanted to go to the Ferris wheel with him, she only agreed when she was allowed to pay for the tickets.

After a few minutes of discussion, he was dejected and so they set off.

When she had paid for the tickets, she ran up to Kageyama who was standing in line, but it didn't look like they'd have to wait forever, which made her sigh in relief.

In the middle of the conversation, a member of staff drew attention to the young people because they were apparently allowed to be on the Ferris wheel.

Like a gentleman, Kageyama stood by the side so that his girlfriend can enter this first.

From now on you are allowed to go on the Ferris wheel for 5 laps, but when you reached the top you saw the blue sky getting an orange tone, the sunset.

How she loved them, the atmosphere between them was so beautiful, because the silence was not at all uncomfortable, no.

"(Y / N)." he said.

She turned and saw that he had something in hand, possibly a small box.

"I would like to thank you for being such a great person, who always kept my back free. The person who made me laugh a lot. The person who gives me security. The person with whom I, to be myself However, in the meantime, the feelings also came.

My heart beat madly against my chest every time I only think of you, hear your name or even when I see you. But your touch takes me to another world, where there are no worries, where there is no one but us. So I asked you would you like to be my boyfriend? "

When he said his last sentence, he opened the box to see a chain.

The chain was engraved with its initial letter, "You over here, (Y / N)."

He pulled the chain out from under his sweater and you can see that he has the same chain, only that it is engraved with its first letter.

"I would love to be your friend." she said and so her lips touched his.

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foryoumyheroes · 4 years

Note

hi! I dont know if you are still taking request, or even active but if you are, could you do a headcanon with todoroki having a s/o that loves drawing him ? they could be already on a relationship or not ur choice

Hi anon! If you're reading this I previously replied that I am sort of taking requests, but I was inactive until recent. In order to make that up to you I'll give you both a scenario fic and headcanons since I was struck by inspiration to write this! Hope you enjoy!! I kinda spiraled off topic asdfgh

Pls accept my word-vomit like I’m a cat giving you a dead rat.

The Campos

Todoroki x Artist!Reader

"How is it possible for anyone to be that handsome."

Even you were surprised by the words tumbling out of your own head, stopping your pencil in its place and as you froze like a still frame. It wasn’t long before you felt heat creep up your body, painting your cheeks all the way to your ears with a red like the sunset.

It was always like this.

There was nothing artistic from the way his image always flowed from your pencil in hurried lines and messy scribbles, and there was no beauty from how you always hunched over into the collar of your shirts whenever you felt the burning of your emotions. You wrote Todoroki [Name] and [Surname] Shouto in the margins of your notebook as if you had reverted back to primary school, doodled among little tiny hearts and sketches of his side profile.

Maybe your parents were right. You should’ve just gone to art school like they had said and fallen down the path of them and so many of your other relatives. But at fourteen you were just so caught up with wanting to be different. You had to be. You had to get off the beaten path and flow out of the frame you were confined in. You said that in this family you would never be the best artist, but you could become the best Hero that the [Surname]s had ever had. You were a Hero-in-training, but you knew that at heart you would always be an artist.

And now at sixteen you were at a loss. You were at a loss because whenever you looked over at the last window seat in 1-A, your talents always fell short. There was nothing you could draw that could bridge the distance you felt, to calm the foreign feelings in your body. Your drawing skills had not diminished while you practiced war, but you were backtracking now. Perhaps you really should’ve gone to art school instead.

Maybe then you would find a way to express how you truly felt.

Nothing you wrote or drew now could match up to the endless admiration you had for one Todoroki Shouto.

Everyone else was mere background noise to Todoroki when he set his gaze on you.

Although Bakugou and his group of friends were in the common room shouting and making a ruckus and Todoroki’s own friends were giggling at the back of him, tossing frosting, floating bowls of batter to Iida’s ire.

His eyes always sought you out.

It was difficult to explain why. Even now, with you in a baggy sweatshirt and loose jeans rolled at the ankles, Todoroki wondered why he was paying you so much attention. The world around you was spinning and you were at an impasse. You were only writing in your notebook, probably jotting down notes at a speed he couldn’t comprehend. Your head was always buried in that Campos notebook.

With a loud screech, Kirishima bumped his hip on the dining table, jostling both you and him from your standstill, pencils rolling across the wood. Your eyes immediately flashed up and met with his wide heterochromic ones. A deer in the headlights. The two of you turned away as quickly as it came, ignorant to the pink that bloomed on both of your cheeks while a spark flickered across his left cheek.

“Whatcha drawing there, [Name]?” Kirishima asked boisterously, pulling out the chair beside you while you heated up like a furnace, waving your arms around wildly and sputtered like a train engine. You couldn’t snatch it away fast enough and his dark eyes fell on your doodle-ridden pages with a soft, “Oh.” His lips formed a small O shape. His eyes carefully looked up at the hot-and-cold boy before dropping back down to your page. You carefully averted your eyes, fixing [e/c] orbs on some faraway wall until he carefully pulled your notebook toward him and quickly scribbling something down, pushing the pages back toward you.

When you snuck a peek at the drawing of a blond gremlin with spiky hair like a porcupine, and a crude drawing of a K and B underneath an umbrella, a loud laugh tumbled out of your mouth.

It was as if Todoroki didn’t exist anymore as you gave Kirishima your full attention, laughing to whatever jokes he made or witty one-liners.

He wasn’t a poet. He didn’t know the words.

Others could talk about how selfish he was for having his mother’s pretty face and his powerful Quirk; boys and girls have tried before, handing him letters in his locker and bouquets of flowers, but that never mattered to him. Only you have stayed on his mind. His attractive features and his Quirk only had stock to it if it helped him win over your affections.

In crowded places and busy gatherings, when he stood in solidarity, when his hands hung by his sides and his eyes were left with nothing to see, he wondered what primitive part of him was always acting out. How his hands wanted to cut off all connection with the logic in his brain and reach out to grab yours. How he always silently watched you from faraway, physically unable to tear your visage away from his eyes. His body always acted without reason — the heavy palpitations against his rib cage, the rose against his skin, the sweat on his palms, the dilation of his pupils.

He wondered how he was in Heaven just by being near you.

He wondered what it would take to get you to look at him for once.

But your eyes would just be deep within the confines of your Campos notebook, impervious to his lingering thoughts of you.

Surprisingly it was Todoroki who offered to clean up after his friends while they went into the showers to wash away the flour and frosting that coated their hair and skin. The night had already been long by the time they turned in, heavy and drowsy after making several tins of uneven, ugly cupcakes. He had to do something with all of this energy, he thought, scrubbing away at stubborn stripes of sugar that painted the counter tops.

The lights were off and only the streaks of moonlight filtered through the large windows of the dorm room. You had left with Bakugou’s group several hours earlier, accepting Kirishima’s invitation to go to the nearest konbini for ice cream with an open hand.

Now it was just him.

Tossing the rag in the wash bin, he was about to make his way back to his room when his eyes fell upon the dining table and he found your notebook.

How could he not know it was yours. He had seen it within your hands more times than he could count, more obsessively than Midoriya’s Hero Analysis for the Future No. 13. He wondered if that was why he was so interested in you. Your dedication to your studies were admirable. Nearly twenty-four-seven.

Carefully, he crept closer to it, as if it was a bomb going to detonate before he picked it up.

The pages curled and crinkled in his hands, and he debated opening it.

It was just a school notebook, right? You probably only had notes and worksheets hidden inside of it.

Maybe he could get an answer to your time. He could discover the subjects that you were struggling at, or even find one that you were better than him at. You were a couple ranks below him in the class grades. When he returned your Campos to you he could ask to study with you.

He flipped it open and his heart stopped at the sight.

Shit, shit, shit! you thought, running down the stairs, taking two at a time. It was late enough that the elevators were locked for curfew and you cursed Aizawa-sensei for putting your room at the very top of the building. After you had gotten back from the konbini with your friends, cheeks hurting from how hard you were laughing at Kaminari’s antics and Sero’s sarcasm, you had completely forgotten that you left your notebook on the kitchen table. You only remembered when you dug through your bag only to scramble around when nothing came up. If anyone like Hagakure or god forbid — Mineta, found it, you would never live it down. You were lucky enough that Kirishima was a good sport about it. He knew how to keep his mouth shut, but everyone else?

You wondered if it was too late to transfer schools.

Your feet landed harshly on the carpeted ground after the final step, head snapping back and forth for your notebook, but froze at what you saw.

Even in the dim light of the moon and past the hand clamped over his face, you could see the heavy pink on his cheeks.

Your heart dropped.

“I — “ His hand fell to his side and you were given a full view of the strong flush on his face. “That’s my notebook... Todoroki-kun.”

When the Campos dropped to the floor and he dashed across the common room, hand around your waist and his lips on yours, you found that you didn’t need flowery words or an arsenal of artistic techniques to express how you felt.

Your hands wrapped around his neck, locking him deeper in the embrace, fingers cording through his soft red and white hair.

The instinct to be closer to him would be all you need to overcome the division between a desire for him and the stillness of your body.

Headcanons:

After you two get together and it becomes more obvious that you’re drawing him, he’ll coax you out of doing it in secret.

He’ll ask to take pictures of the drawings on the margins of your notebook or if you’re drawing it on scrap paper, he’ll ask to have it after you’re done with it.

He keeps it in a box uwu and he has to upgrade every year because it keeps on getting full.

Even if you’re not drawing him, you ask him to pose for you so you can take references for your other drawings. He’s just so proportionate!!

It makes him so happy every time he sees it!! He nearly catches on fire every time.

The fact that you’re expressing your affections in this special way makes him so soft??

He once tried to draw you in return but he has like zero to none art experience. Even had no experience in his childhood because all he wanted to draw was All Might and Endeavor wouldn’t allow that.

Instead you offer to teach him the basics on how to draw and you two continue bonding that way!! You sit on his lap because that’s the best spot to be close enough to guide him and show him how to draw while you drone on and on about shadows, anatomy, perspective, and he’s just nodding along without a single word going to his brain because he’s just staring at you the entire time.

[“Shouto-chan, did you get that?”

“Yeah...boxes?”]

If you draw him complete pictures he keeps it on his wall, and eventually his dorm room looks like he’s about to string red yarn around it because it’s blanketed with paper all over like he’s uncovering a murder conspiracy.

A/N: The picture that I used for the page breaks is Anselm Feuerbach’s “Peonies” and I actually saw it in real life at the Neue Pinakothek!! It’s one of my favorites and I even got a mousepad of it bc I’m a dork asdfg

The Kirishima and [Name] scene is inspired by this comic by marbitss and I was inspired to write a lot of prose after reading Nicole Krauss’ The History of Love!

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lemonietrinket · 4 years

Text

Coward ||| Chan & Reader

Summary: you and your best friend that have been conjoined at the hip since you were little got into an argument 3 weeks prior, and you can do little to escape it Genres: Angst, but a happy ending with fluff Warnings: consequences of and therefore inferences to a big argument (actual events left vague), one explicit insult, poor language (2x f**k) Word Count: 2,099 Theme: Not a song, but this edit inspired the fic AN: guess how long I’ve had this here in my drafts? September 9, 2019. finally got round to writing it, even though I knew exactly what would happen this is my brain’s bs I don’t write angst super often so, I hope you enjoy!

High school/non-idol AU

~~~

With a sigh you let your chin fall onto your arms. You stared at your own muffled reflection in the glass as you sat on the windowsill, brain in a haze. The cicadas were chirping away below your hunched body, their chorus at its opening hook, and they would continue long through the night—much like the chaos next door.

You supposed, through the thicket of your thoughts, that you should be grateful that the swathes of bodies were just chatting loudly to themselves, instead of screeching to some awful trap beat like they’d been doing the week before. The speakers were playing full blast however, and it didn’t help a single bit that it was one of your favourite songs. In fact, that was part of the reason why you felt so heavy.

Had things been normal, you would have been there, dancing and smiling and joking with anyone who would listen. But you weren’t.

He hadn’t invited you. Your best friend. Didn’t invite you—his best friend—to his birthday party. Over something so petty too.

You could barely recall the intricacies of the argument. All you could remember was his terse scowl, his soft eyes going from sweet to sour in a second, and the words that cracked like a whip and branded you. Your best friend was so gentle, with a heart of gold—you had seen him at his worst once before, what you’d thought was his worst, and even then you couldn’t imagine he could even contain the spite that then flew from his lips. Even if there had been warning for what could come, nothing further still could have prepared you for it.

He’d become a sort of cold vicious, insults thrown carelessly that then cut deep as if they’d been heated in a bare flame. “How can you be such a fucking coward, Y/N?” had been the one that had twisted as it was pulled out. It still snuck up on you, pounced when you thought you’d calmed down, and then left you reeling in unsettled hurt all over again.

It never made you cry though. Not during the day. As night crept over the horizon however, it was a different story, and the cicadas’ call became a tepid siren.

You let the warm night air hold you, as if it would work as a suitable replacement, though you knew it would never come close. Breathing in the night air, you sank deeper into the arms of your jumper. It smelt of comfort, of home, of happiness, and the loose hairs there tickled your nose. It was as if your reactions were on a set delay, as it took you several seconds to realise that it was dog hair that was on your sleeves, and that scent was from the person that had taken the comfort away from you.

‘He doesn’t want you anymore,’ you had to remind yourself, ‘you shouldn’t spare a thought on him.’

But there you were, moping nevertheless, your thoughts practically consumed by him. You couldn’t blame yourself entirely for it, because even as soon as you tried to lift your head away from the memories embroidered in your sleeves, you were still hit by the realisation that you were sat by your bedroom window—the very one that he’d clambered through unprompted years before. He’d been so desperate to escape being forced to tolerate his uncle’s ramblings about roadworks and his pitch to him to get him to come and work at his business instead of music. “Silly songwriting,” had been what his uncle had referred to it as, and your best friend always got a kick out of impersonating the man’s wily poshness.

You used to chuckle every time your brain procured the memory randomly for you. Now, it just stung.

He’d always wanted to do music, and he refused to give in no matter what anyone told him. His parents had always been supportive, and you figured that was partly why he was so determined with it, though the sentiment wasn’t shared with his extended relatives that often visited. You’d always thought he was brave for standing up to them, it was something that you’d always wanted to do to your own for other reasons, but never found the words to.

You caught yourself in the loop, shaking your head miserably at yourself and the situation before you. How were you supposed to move on when everything around you seeped with him? The caps you shared were slung on the bedposts, the mess of homework scattered upon your desk, the guitar in the corner easing gradually out of tune. Even the night itself was his time. How were you supposed to hide away from the night when you’d spent pretty much every other one before with him.

The ember heat of anger rose in your throat, your thoughts spiking at the distaste of how no one seemed to take the jagged loss of a best friend seriously, at least to enough to help you. The heat grew wilder then; it was never directed at him.

With the sun set below the horizon you felt your lower lip quiver and you loathed its tenderness. You’d watched the sunset with him so many times, you could conjure the exact shades of gold and crimson in your head, it was just a hindrance that you couldn’t paint it without his messy dark curls in the corner.

A knock came from the front door, ad you found yourself counting its beats. Three, no sharps, just drawled pauses in between. You immediately questioned yourself on as to why it mattered. But you knew exactly why. Wishing one of your parents was home to go and answer it would not fix the problem no matter how much you yearned it to, and so you convinced yourself to trundle down the stairs to see who it was. It was probably only a delivery guy after all. Hopefully they wouldn’t try and talk to you unnecessarily.

Biting the inside of your cheek and settling your shaking lips into a firm scowl you swung open the door with a warning glare already in your eye.

To your surprise, it was no person holding a stack of pizza or a parcel of any kind, just a boy you knew too well, with his fallen-tipped eyes all downtrodden.

“Chan, what the fuck are you doing here?” you snapped, your hand itching to slam the door straight back in his face. The only thing that stopped you was his bitten lips. You hated how you knew him so well and that it left you vulnerable.

He drew a smile upon his face, but it was too tight-lipped to be convincing. You wondered if he thought you a fool to try and lie, but still you left the door open. “Too many people,” he finally managed, one fist curling in the cradle of the other’s palm.

“It’s your party!” you snarled, your heart’s leniency not transferring across to your words. You watched his lips hammer shut as his sad eyes glanced away, explanations or excuses—how were you to tell—pooling behind his barricade. You let him stew, the vengeful spirit seeking some joy in his utter discomfort and you didn’t have it in you to hold it back quite yet. The weeks he’d left you in turmoil etched across your mind, the insecurities he’d played on that he couldn’t use the ignorance-card for in the slightest too. You weren’t ready to forgive him, but you couldn’t bring yourself to tag a ‘never’ no matter how much you tried.

His response broke through the blockade of his silence. “I realised that I messed up Y/N, and it’s not my party if you’re not there and,” his gaze came back to yours and you indulged him, meeting his eyes and how they glistened, “and I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

The vengeful sprite vanished from your shoulder, and you were left without a clue as to what to do. You wanted to forgive him, and he seemed genuine. He’d never pulled a stunt like this before, and you’d known him ever since you were little. But neither could you put his words to bed, and the actions that followed. You’d been to every single one of his birthday parties, you’d been such a staple to him that this wasn’t actually the first time you strictly speaking hadn’t been invited—because there was no way you wouldn’t have been at his side to begin with. But this was a first, and it hurt.

You took in the sight of the boy that you’d refused to even look at for the past three weeks. He looked exactly how you’d left him, only emptier. His shadow grew in the flitting light of the dying day sky, much like the ones beneath his eyes had already done. He was closed in on himself, the subtle confidence he always oozed nowhere to be found. You couldn’t picture his high tone catching laughter tumbling from his lips like this. Neither could you hear those sharp edged words on them.

“I’m sorry, Y/N, I didn’t mean it, it all just happened and... and this doesn’t fix it—I made you cry, and I hate that I did! It... it’s my responsibility. I accept that it’s my fault, and I’m sorry, I really am—”

You stepped from your doorway and took him into your arms. Three weeks was too long of a time to be from them after all, and you couldn’t stand the way the tears threatened to spill over both your eyes and his.

He held onto you as soon as you fit against him as perfectly as you always did, hands clutching at your jumper while he nestled his head into your hair. Your tears dampened the collar of his sweater as you sighed, a staggered breath that only just pulled you back from crying entirely. You focused on him, just like you had done before, only this time it was less painful. You realised he smelt different than before, and it soon occurred to you that it was your scent that was missing. It surprised you to discover just how much of your perfume ended up all over him. It wasn’t like you were super affectionate and cuddly friends either. Your lips twitched into a smile without a single thought discarded.

The two of you stayed like that for a while, swaying before your wide open door as Chan slowly regained his stability. All the midges were probably fleeing inside but this once you didn’t mind. You had your comfort back, and even though things weren’t perfect, you could begin to move forward as things should.

“You better make it up to me,” you ordered, a feeble laugh filtering through.

He sniffed and its stunned you just how close to crying he’d been. “I know, I will, I promise.”

Rubbing his back soothingly, you eased him into swinging gently with the song. It earnt you a warbled laugh, but it meant his usual self was returning. “Do you want to play Mario Kart and see how long it takes for someone to notice?”

You pulled away gently hearing him chuckle awkwardly. Peering up you saw his pink tinged cheeks and wet eyes that he half-covered-half-wiped with his hand. He was the same old Chan you’d known for years after all. “Sounds perfect!” You smiled, helping him wipe his tears with the side of your finger which caused him to sheepishly smile and repeat ‘I’m ok, I’m ok...!’

Unsure how to handle the next part, you ended up leading him inside his second home with an awkward shimmy of your arms. It was meant to be a dance move, but it didn’t look much like one and it barely fit the theme of the song pummelling across the air. It didn’t matter to you though, it was really a test of the waters, and fortunately: it worked.

Your restored best friend giggled shyly as he followed, steadying his breath as he watched you shuffle through your front door. He would make all his words up to you, he vowed he would. They’d all been misplaced, all been resentments with himself that he’d sprung weakly on the first other he found, and of course that was going to be you. He was going to make it right, never let you down, help you with whatever you asked—no excuses—and maybe let you win a few times at Mario Kart. And maybe one day he would finally work up the courage to tell you the truth.

~~~

AN: i wrote a thing! go brain!

[edited: may 31]

Masterlist

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apothecarinomicon · 3 years

Text

Spring week 2 part 1

Gowan Leckie appraised the stone golem silently for a long time. He circled its still form, sometimes running a finger over its cylindrical torso or roughened limbs.

He asked me where it came from. I told him where I’d found it, and how it had come to be here. I mentioned I suspected that it had belonged to my predecessor. He said he’d never seen it before—but then again, he’d never been behind the cottage before today. I asked if he visited my predecessor frequently, and he said (a bit defensively?) that he hadn’t interacted with her more than anybody else—perhaps even less than others, he added, since his constitution was hardy enough to keep him from getting sick.

After he finished appraising the golem, we returned to the cottage and I put on some tea. He said there wasn’t much he could do in terms of the golem’s energy—that that was more my domain than his (I was inclined to disagree that it was my domain either, but I didn’t say so aloud)—and nor could he do much (or even tell much) about any damage to the stone portions of its body. However, he said that he could certainly clean and repair the metal extremities. He told me it would be easy enough to clean off the rust and fix any dents. He said he could probably get the work done before the day was out. He set his fee at 8 silver, which I agreed was more than reasonable (even a little low, but given I don’t have much silver to spare yet, I wasn’t about to protest).

I wanted to ask him if he’d heard any rumors, or what people were saying about me. I restrained myself, though, thinking that appearing too curious might make me look suspicious. I told myself the townsfolk were uneducated and I shouldn’t care what they thought. It was purely a safety thing.

We made small talk and then Gowan left to retrieve some tools.

────⊱⁜⊰────

There was only one remaining area for me to explore: Hero’s Hollow. I didn’t know if the adventurers were still inside, but I reasoned it was a large enough place that we’d be unlikely to cross paths anyway.

The outside of the dungeon is marked by an enormous, ancient skull. It looks vaguely draconic, but dragons don’t exist. Actually, scratch that. It has four eye holes. After last week, I’m not going to tempt fate in that way. You have to walk into the mouth to enter the dungeon, which does seem… intentionally foreboding. When I did so, there were two guards posted outside the entrance to the cave—townsfolk whose names I didn’t know. One of them asked my business inside the dungeon and how long I expected to be inside. I answered them: just exploring and no more than a few hours. The other one asked if I had a map. I told her I didn’t. She handed me one and warned me not to try and venture too deep my first time inside. That did seem wise.

Inside, Hero’s Hollow doesn’t seem to have one unifying theme. Parts of it look like natural caverns and tunnels, while other parts look like man-made catacombs (some complete with skeletons embedded in the wall). Other parts, still, resemble mines or sewers or nests. It’s all clearly unplanned, expanded over time by hundreds of individuals with their own uses for the space.

At one point in my exploration, something that appeared to be attached to the wall caught my eye. It turned out to be an ancient rusty gauntlet, mounted on an actual skeletal hand sticking out of the wall. I delicately lifted it off to get a better look at it, leaving the hand bare. It was useless as armor—clearly brittle and rusted entirely through in places. On the part that would have covered the back of the hand was emblazoned a stylized sun.

As I turned it over I heard something rattle inside, and then a small impact on the ground at my feet. Looking down, I found a small spiral shell, orange and chipped. It must have fallen out of the gauntlet. I squatted and picked it up between my fingers. It had clearly once belonged to a hermit snail, though it was now long-abandoned. I couldn’t remember off the top of my head what it was useful for, but since it had presented itself I acquiesced.

When I stood to return the gauntlet to its place, I found a path branching off from the opposite wall. I knew it hadn’t been there before, and I found it wasn’t represented on my map. It travelled about four meters straight before ending in a dark wooden door.

I crept down it, and as I drew closer to the door I was able to make out faint, tuneless tenor humming coming from behind it. Well, I supposed, why not? I pushed the door open.

The room was circular, with a domed ceiling. Around the entire circumference the floor sloped up to a raised level at the center. Books of all sizes were scattered around the edges of the room, and set into the back wall was an empty shelf. The walls were white, but as they curved into the ceiling they gradiated into a deep blue, like the sky just after sunset.

In the center of the room sat a humanoid being. Their torso and face was like a human’s, but their legs were slightly too short and their arms slightly too long. Their hair was overly long and unkempt, and their nails extended to jagged claws. Their skin had a slightly purple tint.

They looked up as I entered, and the first thing they said was “holy shit, a person.” After that came a deluge of questions—all about the outside world, the village, the politics, people I’d never heard of. I stopped them and asked what was going on.

They introduced themself as Morna, the resident of this room. They spoke in an old-timey dialect, but I’d read enough of the great works to make it out. They said they rarely got visitors and were a bit starved for interaction. I asked how they came to be here and they said I had to answer one of their questions first. So, I turned to leave and just like that they were willing to tell me.

Morna said they had been trapped here by a demonic parent, sentenced to isolation for one thousand years. I asked how many of those had passed and they said they didn’t know. There was no way to mark the passage of time in the room.

I wanted to ask what they had done to be trapped here, but I found myself pitying them too much to keep up an interrogation. I told them my name was Fionn. They reacted strangely, and said “how auspicious,” but I didn’t understand what they meant. I told them I was a witch, and the de facto healer of Greenmoor. They said the last they heard, the town was called Grainmuir.

They asked me if I liked salmon. I said I’d never tried it. They shrugged and said they were just curious.

Curious myself, I made my way around the room looking at each of the discarded books. Though they all looked brand new (or at the worst gently used), the newest one was over five hundred years old. I asked if they’d read all of them and they said they’d finished ages ago.

I honestly felt bad for pressuring them earlier, so I mentioned that Greenmoor had a small library, and I might be able to bring a few books for them to help pass the time. They made their interest in this proposition abundantly clear.

It was at this point I heard a voice behind me shout “You! Come help us!”

I whirled around and I was back in the dungeon corridor. The gauntlet was on the wall. There was no branching hallway. Approaching me were three figures. The two on the outside were each supporting the one in the middle, who had both hands covering her nose. The one on the right, the large one who had spoken before, admonished me not to ‘just stand there,’ and ordered me to take them to town so they could find a healer.

I sighed. It was time to get back to work.

⇦●〇●⇨

#writeblr #writers on tumblr #original writing #fantasy #fiction #writing #writblr #amwriting #apothecaria #entry #creative writing #rpg #roleplaying game #high rannoc #writeblr community #writers

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lnc2 · 4 years

Text

baby please (come home)

Summary: It’s the first Christmas after Hawkmoth’s defeat and Adrien is struggling without his lady.

A/N: This is an @mlsecretsanta gift for @dailyplagg who requested ladrien. I hope you like it!

AO3

The words bah humbug never had a place in Adrien’s vocabulary. But as he hit the snooze on yet another alarm he felt he was as close as he ever would be to sympathizing with its originator.

Ebenezer Scrooge had nothing on him.

Adrien didn’t need corporeal manifestations of the past to haunt him into the holiday spirit. He had enough ghosts hanging around as it was. His father’s empty house, his father’s empty chair. He was used to missing his mother this time of year but burying her in the spring reopened old wounds.

Reporters stopped calling months ago but Adrien still saw the occasional photographer in the bushes across the street. No amount of quiet menacing from the Gorilla could keep them all away but then again who could resist the tragic son of a convicted terrorist?

Not the tabloids.

The first few weeks were the worst.

The shock, the pity, the speculation.

The trial.

Adrien didn’t think he would ever be able to explain just exactly how it felt to testify against his father, not once, but twice. The press was quick to point out how somber Chat Noir was in those days, unable to muster a smile even for his lady.

His lady.

Hah.

His third and final ghost sat like a weight on his chest, an ache in his hand, a phantom limb. She’d never understood why Hawkmoth’s reveal had rattled Chat Noir as much as it had, but she’d rarely spent a night away from him in the beginning. His days were filled dodging reporters and hiding out with well meaning friends like Nino and Kagami and Marinette while his evenings were spent racing across rooftops with his partner who didn’t know his reasons but knew his hurt.

Until she left.

“Just for the semester,” She’d assured him, quickly taking his hand in her own as they ignored the city laid out before them in favor of each other’s eyes. It had been that way for a while now, long enough for Adrien to hope that maybe his lady was finally his lady. A fledgling desire that was quashed the instant she told him she was leaving.

“I have an opportunity… I can’t turn it down.”

Adrien understood. He did. Even if his heart didn’t quite believe her when she said,

“I’m not abandoning you.”

But the last thing he wanted to do was hold her back. Wherever it was Ladybug was going, whatever it was that was taking her away from him, well, she deserved it. Paris was safe now. He knew she was in university like him. She couldn’t keep her life on hold forever.

But that didn’t mean he didn’t miss her.

Some nights he’d wonder where she’d gone, who she was seeing, what she was doing. If she were happy, if she would stay.

If she were thinking of him.

Those last thoughts sent him into a melancholy spiral that even Plagg couldn’t pull him out of.

And as the days turned into weeks into months, he found himself sinking further into his despair. His therapist, an Alya-Nino-Marinette intervention insistence, told him it was only natural to feel low as the holidays drew near.

“After all,” She’d said, fixing him with the best earnest, non-judgemental glare money could buy. “You’re coming up on some big anniversaries.”

The happiest time of year indeed.

Sighing, he snuggled deeper beneath his covers, ignoring his alarm as it once again filled the room. Plagg would take care of it when he was irritated enough- right now Adrien couldn’t muster up the energy to reach across the bed.

Maybe he should just skip the party tonight.

Even as that tempting thought crossed his mind he knew it was a nonstarter. Nino would skin him alive if he bothered sending the sorry bro i’m just not up for it text he was already mentally drafting.

“It won’t be the same without you,” His friend had said when Adrien tried to reject the initial invitation. “Don’t bail on us at Christmas. Between you and Marinette the group has been pretty small lately.”

Nino wasn’t wrong.

Audrey Bourgeois had offered Marinette another opportunity to intern with her in New York and this time she’d accepted. It had been tough, missing not just one but two of his closest friends these last few months. But Marinette had been in constant contact through group chats, instagram, and on one particularly rough night three weeks back, a two hour long phone call to talk him down from a panic attack.

At the time she was the only one who would answer her phone but in the end Adrien found she was exactly who he’d needed to talk him down. He’d panicked later, texting her apology after apology, but her long string of emojis and all caps insistence that that’s what she was there for went a long way to easing his guilt. Still, he was dying to thank her in person.

But Marinette wasn’t due back in Paris until after the New Year. Making it that much harder for Adrien to drag himself out of bed and into the shower so he wouldn’t be late.

“Do I even need to shower, Plagg?”

His kwami gave him a sniff.

“You smell great to me.”

A shower it is.

Groaning Adrien rolled himself to his feet and shuffled off to the bathroom. If he hurried he could still meet Nino at Alya’s place before they left for the bar.

It was hard to leave once he got there though and he found himself lingering under the hot water. If he hadn’t given the Gorilla the week off he might have asked him to drive him over but as it was his best bet was probably taking a cab. Bribing Plagg to transform was always an option but with Ladybug out of the city Chat Noir was making fewer and fewer appearances. Transforming tonight was guaranteed to attract attention, which was the last thing he wanted these days.

Resigning himself to a cab and a stranger’s curious stares, Adrien stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist. At this rate he was going to have to meet his friends at the party. He stepped out of the bathroom to grab his phone and update Nino only to stop short.

Ladybug was sitting on the edge of his bed. She was kicking her feet together, agitated, as she stared down at her fidgeting hands. Her hair was longer and pulled into a ponytail but she was otherwise the same as he’d last seen her yoyoing off into the fading summer sunset.

Something like a whine escaped his throat and her head snapped up.

“Adrien!” She squeaked, jumping to her feet. “I– you– oh .” Ladybug’s face flushed pink and her eyes roamed over him once, twice, before resting firmly on his forehead. “Your w-window was open so I…” She gave a jerky wave. Adrien glanced towards his windows and then back to her, not entirely believing she was actually here.

“ Lady- bug?” He said, voice cracking on the second syllable. Her eyes, blue and familiar and dear, flicked down to his. She bit her lip, a nervous habit he didn’t know he missed, and nodded.

Something tight and painful eased in his chest.

“I thought you left Paris.”

Ladybug’s smile was too sad, eyes too knowing when she said

“I came back early.”

“Oh.” His hand found the back of his neck and he gripped it tight to keep himself from reaching towards her. “When…?”

“My plane got in an hour ago.”

“I see.” He said, not seeing at all. How heres and why mes flooded his thoughts but before he could even begin to give them voice Ladybug shifted, averting her gaze away from his.

“I didn’t mean to catch you at a bad time.”

It took him another moment to realize he was still wrapped only in a towel. Adrien yelped and crossed his arms over his chest only to scramble back to grip the towel again as it threatened to slip down his hips.

Oh god this isn’t happening.

“I– can I have a moment?”

Ladybug nodded, eyes focused somewhere above his head, and Adrien rushed to his closet to pull on the first set of clothes he could find. It wasn’t until he was already running back to her that he realized he’d pulled on the red and black Christmas sweater Nino bought for him as a joke. The sweater was a monstrosity that read Jingle Bug in bright gold letters with every black spot adorned with a matching gold bell. Adrien loved it when he unwrapped it but wearing it for his friends and wearing it for his lady were two entirely different things.

Horror filled him as he jingled back to her.

Ladybug’s lips twitched.

“Please don’t,” Adrien groaned, running his hands through his hair. “It was a gift from a friend.”

She giggled, shoulders shaking with poorly suppressed laughter and even though it was at his expense, Adrien’s heart flipped at the sound.

How many months had it been since he’d heard her laugh?

“I missed that,” He said, smiling softly.

Ladybug’s eyes sparkled in the overhead lights as she met his smile with her own. It wasn’t until the silence stretched between them that he realized there was something wrong with this picture.

“What– um,” He coughed, blushed. Tried again. “What are you doing here?”

Ladybug’s smile fell and he rushed on.

“Not that I’m not happy to see you. Because I am. Happy, that is. But, um… why...” me? He swallowed. “Why here?”

It’s not like they’d never spoken before. Adrien found himself caught up in several akuma attacks over the years, unable to transform and rescued by his lady. And even after his father… well, after , Ladybug made it a point to stop by every once and a while to check on him. More so in the early days, when the press and police and speculation about his own possible involvement in Hawkmoth’s schemes were under scrutiny, but still. It wasn’t completely out of the question that she would drop in on a random evening.

Just not like tonight.

Even in his wildest daydreams, he couldn’t delude himself into thinking Adrien Agreste was so important to Ladybug that she’d be his first stop on her return to Paris. Not before checking in with friends and family. Not before checking in with Chat .

Adrien’s heart beat an unsteady tattoo as he searched his partner’s face. Ladybug’s eyes were soft, her smile kind as she reached forward and took his hand in hers.

“I heard you needed me.”

Always.

The word, fierce and quick, stuck in his throat. It’s what he wanted to say. It’s what Chat Noir would say.

Adrien could only tremble as she entwined their fingers together.

“I’m just sorry it took me so long to get here.”

“My–” He stopped, his hand squeezing hers tight. Her figure blurred behind the tears in his eyes and he was horrified to find some had already escaped down his cheeks.

Ladybug reached forward to cup his cheek with her free hand, thumb brushing away his tears, her spandex cool against his heated skin.

“It’s okay, chaton,” She whispered and even as the words left her mouth Adrien found himself collapsing into her arms, clutching and pulling and holding her to him. His shoulders shook with sobs and he buried his face into her neck, relief and joy and exhaustion overwhelming him.

Ladybug’s knees buckled beneath their combined weight and Adrien sank with her to the ground. Arms clasped tight around her waist he planted frantic kisses across her cheek, her ears, her forehead until they were both reduced to a teary, giggling mess.

“Silly kitty,” She murmured when he’d finally calmed down enough to pull away from her. Adrien’s ribs felt tight around his chest at her sweet smile. She tapped his nose, once, twice and shook her head. “I told you I’d come back.”

“How though?” He stared at her, his beautiful, wonderful Ladybug. “How did you know?”

“You told me.”

“What?”

She blushed and made to push herself away from him but Adrien held her tight.

“My lady,” He coaxed, pulling her closer and rubbing soothing circles across her back.

“You, um, you called me.” Her eyes flicked to and away from his. Adrien buried his face in her hair. “T-three weeks ago. You were kind of upset and let some things… some Chat things... slip and I… put it together.”

Adrien’s hands didn’t stop their movement even as realization crashed over him. Three weeks back and a panic attack he couldn’t control. A late night phone call with one of his dearest friends, abroad for an internship and absent for the last few months. Incoherent rambling about his father, the press, his lady.

The breath fell out of him and his grip on the stiff woman in his lap tightened all the more.

“Marinette,” He breathed. Slowly, realizing he wasn’t about to push her away, she returned the embrace.

“Marinette.” He said, again, for the joy of it.

“Adrien.” Ladybug, Marinette, said and he could hear the smile in her voice.

Not wanting to miss seeing the real thing, he pulled back and grinned in return.

“You’re home.”

“Yeah, kitty.” She murmured, shyly playing with the bells of his sweater. “I’m home.”

#miraculous ladybug #lnc2 writes #christmas #dailyplagg #ml secret santa #ladrien #identity reveal #ho ho ho mer chrysler everyone

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herald-divine-hell · 3 years

Text

And Nothing More

Leliana did her best not to jump into Alexandra’s arms when the Inquisitor took the final steps up the Rookery, with the same leisure smile that often made the spymaster want to slap or kiss her. From what she wore, Leliana assumed she had made a stop in her—their—bedchambers. Cladded in a double-breasted, high-collared black coat, with golden buttons gleaming amber by the fluttering scarlet-golden torchlight, and golden sprawling vines over the collar, and the turned cuffs, alongside black breeches which clung to the curve of her supple and lean thighs, running long down to knee-high black boots glittering with a few encrusted gems. Black hair fell in long wavy curls, gently brushed by drips of light, a rippling golden foam on waves of shadows.

A lock slipped down, falling near her eye, and Leliana had to clasped her hands together on the surface of her desk to keep the urge from dragging the woman closer by her collar and fixing that fallen strand. But she did not, even as the effort was cumbersome. They must keep appearance up, and fretting over the Inquisitor so openly would have caused stares and rumors...though, Leliana did not mind a few getting past. Especially when some had to do with the sounds Alexandra made when those lovely waves were tugged at the right moment….

Warmth rushed to Leliana’s cheeks with the speed of a wind in a summer storm, and it nestled there despite all her efforts to push it away. As much as she would try to deny, Leliana always felt a touch warmer whenever she saw Alexandra, especially when she smiled or grinned in the way she did now. There always came the dangerous urge to kiss her when she suddenly appeared from her journeys, to make sure there were no lingering wounds she had refused to heal out of pure stubbornness—those often occurred more times than she would have liked.

Instead, Leliana bowed her head and rose to meet the Inquisitor half way. She was only half-aware of the extra sway she added to her hips, and pleasure bubbled within her as she watched as the golden-rivered emerald eyes flickered from her eyes, to her lips, and down into her hips. Leliana could have swore her smile grew a little, but it flickered back in that pleased, joyful grin.

Arms tucking behind her, the soft clinking of the silver chain of her armor echoing in the quiet of the Rookery, Leliana bowed, one leg kicked out, the other slipped behind, an arm crossed over her chest. She only held it for a moment or two. Rising with her smile still upon her lips, Leliana spoke in a voice a touch more warmer than she would usually allow. “Inquisitor.”

Alexandra gave a little bow of her own, cresting down at the waist in a small angle, and offered her hand, palm faced up. The heat growing at her cheeks, Leliana offered her leather-gloved hand. Even with it on, Alexandra’s heat pummeled through and filled her with a soft comfort. It always felt nice to hold Alexandra’s hand. When the Inquisitor kissed the back of her hand, the gold melting the green like the light of the sun was held within a multifaceted gem, splattering with shivering light, Leliana swore her heart was near to bursting. “Sister Nightingale,” replied the Herald, with her smooth, sultry voice, a gently rolling purr. Suddenly the heat rushed down and nestled between her legs; a throbbing which danced with the beat of her heart. Alexandra’s smile only seemingly grew, more wicked and soft at once.

Clearing her throat as Alexandra released her hand, Leliana slipped the hand behind her back and clasped the other around it. “It is good to see that you are well, Inquisitor.” Nodding toward the window. “Shall we discuss the details in your latest report...in private.”

“Of course, my lady.” Alexandra offered Leliana to step forward first with a sweeping gesture, that adoring smile which Leliana so wanted to kiss never leaving her face. For a few moments longer, she stared, capturing that smile and tucking it deep into the back of her mind, not too far that she could summon it if need be. She knew that they both had worked to do, after their...meeting...was over, and it would only be at the darkening hours of night they would be able to have some proper time alone. A warm thrill raced coiled down between her legs, a sudden desire of the promises Alexandra had written from the weeks she had been gone. An effort was made and partially succeeded to keep Leliana from throwing herself into Alexandra’s arms and tearing the double-breasted coat off. The urge still lingered.

The door out to the balcony creaked open with a soft shrill, and Leliana took a heavy breath as the cool mountain air rushed to rustle her copper locks. The sky was melting in the west with scarlet and bronze, sunlight fading away as tiny specks of silver light peaked in the graying and purpling east, like swelling splashes of paint flowing in thin tendrils. Letting the cool wind wash over her like the waves of the sea, Leliana stared up at the darkening sky, as shadows fell in wide strides over the keep. Still, there was enough light in the growing dusk from the sunlight and the spilling gold light on black iron-wrought sconces and from windows in the tavern and Great Hall. Some specks even came from the watchtowers, bright like the stars waking overhead.

But Leliana turned away as she heard the door closed, finding her Inquisitor smiling that faint, almost shy, smile she wore whenever it was just the two of them. Emerald darkened to a deep jade as the gold twined with the brightness of the lights knitted in the stars, and they lost all its teasing sharpness and calculating hardness. Her gaze were softened bubbles of light, airy and kind and filled only with love, for Leliana, and all that meant. A kindness and love that she did not think she deserved, but Alexandra Trevelyan was always the one to fight the odds and resist what she believed to be right. That stubbornness is one of the many things which Leliana so adored about her.

Lacing their fingers together, Alexandra drew her hand up to her lips, this time lingering for a moment longer, eyes fluttering close. Black locks in waves were lifted up by the wind, and left swaying a little while. The itching at Leliana’s fingers and her palms returned. Alexandra’s hair truly was lovely—lovely to run her fingers through, to braid...to tug if need be; and there was plenty to tug with.

Glancing at the window nearest to the door, the one which sat close to Leliana’s own desk, and which she used to often gaze out from when work grew too tedious to focus on, Leliana made sure that no one had been peeking through. Smiling a bit at that, she drew her hand away from Alex’s lips, slipped onto the tip of her toes, and brushed her lips against Alexandra’s. She heard a soft inhale of breath from the woman as she pulled away, and Leliana was only dimly aware of the hands suddenly at her hips, grip firm and secure. A touch of rose blossomed on her love’s cheeks.

Not letting her smile leave her lips, she slipped out of Alexandra’s hold, taking light steps as she followed the curve of the terrace to the very end, where the outer walls of Skyhold met the castle, mended together. A little enclave where no one could see them, not even those on the walls could.

Her smile grew as she felt hands back on her hips, familiar hands with their long, strong fingers securely holding onto the chainmail. Then, suddenly, she was turned around, the only light was the gold lacing through the emerald, a deeper and brighter green than before, as if alight by the last fingers of sunset. Before she could stop herself and continue the teasing, her hands were already stroking Alexandra’s sharp cheekbones, cupping her cheeks, feeling its warmth burn through her leather gloves.

Time bled away, as Leliana gazed deep into those eyes, the ones which stroked the fire in her heart, who was the light that dispelled the darkness about her. Many claimed that it had Alexandra’s charm which had stolen her heart; and while it was partially so, in truth it was those eyes that showed the true Alexandra beneath all that charm and wit and brilliance. The true Alexandra was brilliant, but brilliant in making her laugh, in making her smile, in making her feel safe. Safe...how long had it been since she had felt safe with another? Years, perhaps even decades.

Suddenly, and with a little gasp that Leliana would later refuse never left her lips, her feet were swept off the ground, lifted up by strong arms, with hands resting beneath her thighs. Instinctively, her legs wrapped about Alexandra’s waist, as did her arms, and warmth burned up as well at her cheeks, as she was pressed against the cool stone wall. “Alexandra!” snapped Leliana, with a shaking softness she wished did not grasp her voice.

The scent of vanilla with a hint of something else, a flower she could not quite name, wafted into her senses, and any sudden tightness of her arms, from years prepared to be ready for combat, laxed with the smell. That faint smile of sweetness shimmered into the smirk of teasing. She was enjoying that sudden rise far too much. If only Leliana could get a grapple on the blush on her cheeks; it would erase that smugness right off! Even if Leliana did enjoy it…

“Yes, mon amour?” asked Alexandra, in that sultry voice that sent shivers up her spine and warmth between her thighs. She was pressed up closer to the woman, Alexandra’s lips stroking gently over the curve of her jaw. “Is something the matter? Are you sick? Shall I take you to bed?”

A little gasp fell from Leliana’s lips as she felt Alexandra’s teeth scrap gently at the skin, before laying another kiss there. Then she moved up, and Leliana tilted her head with only slight realization. Her fingers grasped fistfuls of her jacket. “You can be very insufferable at times.” But she did not tell her to stop. Her heart threatened to leap from her throat, and warm feelings lodged her throat as Alexandra whispered how much she had missed her; how she missed hearing her lovely sounds; how she cannot wait to spend the rest of the week with her.

When Alexandra pulled away, Leliana felt gentle throbs at her jaw and a little at her neck. She’ll need to cover the largest ones no doubt in the morning, especially the ones Alexandra would make later that night. But all thoughts of covering and such nonsense faded away when she met Alexandra’s gaze. That fond smile returned, albeit offset by the hints of teasing in her eyes, dancing with the love and affection which only served to make Leliana’s face erupt even more in flame. “But you love me, and I have missed you.” And Maker, there was so much earnest in that. Despite all her flirtation, all that strength of her facade, Alexandra could never hide that she only ever wanted to be loved, and how willing she was to give it to her, a broken shamble mess of a woman. Leliana did not deserve her, and yet here she was, holding her up as easily as she spun words, with all the fire in her eyes that could make the sun look like a dying ember. The only thing she could think of was if she had eaten or drank enough during her travels. A question she would no doubt bother her lover on after they were finished here.

One hand slipped out of the tangle of the dark locks Leliana so adored, to cup a cheek, and returned to stroke a cheekbone. “Yes,” Leliana admitted, her voice a touch breathless and with a slight tilt of teasing added in, “I sadly do.”

“Sadly?” Her smile only grew larger, a bit more wicked.

Smiling in return, Leliana slipped her thumb over Alexandra’s lips, playing at her bottom one. “I do get distracted whenever I see you. Work will be pilling up on my desk for days.”

Alexandra kissed the pad of her leather-covered them, eyes dancing playfully like that of a cat. “I’ll help you with that.” She turned her head, pressed a kiss to her palm, all the while staring deep into Leliana’s eyes. “I simply wish to spend as much time as I can with you.”

“How long will you be staying?” asked Leliana, her breath a bit more pitched at the sight.

Alexandra did not answer her question. Instead, Leliana’s lips were captured in a searing kiss, pressing the Orlesian further up the wall. Leliana’s hold in Alexandra’s hair tightened as tiny moans left her lips. For how long they kissed, Leliana did not know, but she melted nevertheless in her hold. Her tongue swept over Alexandra’s bottom one, asking for entrance, which she received. Pleasure bubbled inside her at the soft moan which tumbled against Leliana’s lips.

When they pulled away, they heaved heavy breaths. As soon as she had caught breath, Alexandra’s lips were on her again, and she welcomed them willingly. She missed this, being held by Alex, knowing what exactly to do to release those sweet noises only she could hear. It was maddening and wonderful, all boiled as one.

Once more, they pulled away to catch breath. This time, however, Leliana did not wait for her to start again, though she so wanted Alexandra to. “We should return. We have work to do, and the others will be wondering.”

Leliana knew Alexandra more than most, and she knew when she pretended to take something in consideration even if she was not actually planning to listen to reason. Her nose scrunched up in that adorable way she sometimes does when she’s thinking, with that little furrow with her knitted brows. But all she said was, “No, not yet. I want some more time with you.” The gold twinkled like great suns. “A lot of time with you, Leli.”

Smiling in that sweet way that could thaw ice, Alexandra’s lips were once more on hers, before Leliana could have a chance to argue. And any argument she could have had was shredded away by the intensity of the kiss. Her fingers laced in those dark locks, her legs tightening around her waist, pulling Alexandra closer. Little gasps and moans escaped her, but Leliana did not care this time. All that she could think of was Alexandra, of the ferocity and intelligence in her eyes, of the softness of her black hair, of the sweetness of her lips; Only Alexandra, and nothing more.

Only safety and love, and nothing more.

#tim wrote something wow #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #da #dai #dragon age ocs #my ocs #dragon age leliana #leliana #leliana x inquisitor #inquisitor x leliana #alexandra trevelyan #dragon age fanfic #my fanifc #my writing #fluff #soft #fluff fanifc

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writers-thoughts09 · 4 years

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True Mind, True Heart

Act 1 Chapter 2 (Part 1)

Title: True Mind, True Heart: Act 1 Chapter 2 (Part 1) About 5.7k words Pairing: Zuko x OC (or reader idk, mind you this is like a mega slow burn fanfic so i hope you’re okay with thaaaaat). I don’t own Avatar or the character’s except my OC. Rating: PG, maybe some 13 later on Warning: Mean Zuko, uuuuuh i think that’s it. A/N: I’m so sorry for the majorly late update! I’m doing my best I have a lot planned for this story and I plan to finish this, I hope you guys will follow Lila’s journey with me! :) <3. I apologize if the fight scenes are choppy and unclear, I’ve never written or broke down a fight scene in writing before. I might go back and fix this later. Tomorrow I’ll post part 2. Anyway without further adieu enjoy the read :)

|Prologue| 1 | 2 part 1 | 2 part 2

Act 1: Salvation

The sunset was quite a breathtaking sight to see if someone were to take the time to stop and stare. With the sun warm and low on the horizon, lovely rays of orange light sprawled softly across the sky, creating pink orange and yellow hues. A gradient of shades, begging to be admired. The white clouds that slowly rolled by basked in the mix of colors as they too took some of the sun’s golden tinge. Of course, no one was around to witness this natural piece of art since everyone was busy going about their business, especially on Prince Zuko’s ship.

For hours Lila sat silently in her dingy quarters, no hitch detected in her breathing. Quiet and still like a swamp with dark murky water. Untouched and motionless. Ever since Prince Zuko’s morning lessons, no one’s asked for Lila’s assistance with anything, so, for the remainder of the day, she’s been in her room.

If anyone, say Iroh, were to see her meditating, they would’ve thought she looked exactly like prince Zuko during his meditation sessions. Mimicking what she remembered the night she brought him his dinner Lila sat with her back straight, eyes closed, accompanied by nothing except deep breathing. Even though she imitated the prince’s form and tried to follow Iroh’s teachings from this morning’s lesson, it was like there was a block between her and her element. Like her fingertips would come so close to grazing that certain feeling but were still out of reach from fully grasping it. No matter how hard she’d concentrate to connect with that energy lying dormant inside her, nothing worked.

But finally, after sitting on the uncomfortable floor for who knows how long, Lila began to feel an inkling of that same euphoric peace build within her body again. It was similar to what she felt earlier above deck but slightly different. It was softer, less…magnetic as it ebbed the presence of her emotions away. Specifically, impatience and frustration when lieutenant Jee came knocking and interrupted her a while ago.

With meticulous breaths, Lila drew a smooth inhale in through her nose, filling her lungs, traveling down, expanding her belly, and gently expelled the air from her mouth, the water in her cup rippling in sync. Her heart maintained tempo with her breathing, which was strong and consistent as each beat pulsed through her being.

Though her body was at ease, patience evaded Lila’s mind, blinding her progress as she huffed in irritation. Eyes still closed she shifted her bottom for the umpteenth time. Soft like a feather but sharp like a beak, she drew another breath in, doing her best to maintain what little connection she felt with her element while keeping her frustrations at bay. Just when she was about to exhale, that breath turned into a yelp when a loud boom exploded from beyond the ship.

Like the snap of a rubber band, Lila’s concentration was broken yet again as her eyes flew open. With a start, the sudden noise made Lila jump and pull a small amount of water, which she didn’t notice as she stood up in alarm. Confusion and fear clouded her as she listened for what could’ve possibly made a noise that loud. It sounded like a flare, but Lila wasn’t so sure. “Is it an ambush?...No it couldn’t be; we haven’t had any problems or run-ins with anyone for a long while.”

Lila’s thoughts were going in circles as she rushed to her drawer to grab a fresh piece of cloth she cut up weeks before, tied it over her marred eye before reluctantly opening the door. Silently, a tawny-colored iris peeped down the metal hallways, no benders or guards in sight. However, even if they weren’t down below they might’ve already been above deck when whatever it was went off.

Noiselessly and carefully, with nimble steps like an alley cat, Lila crept through the corridors and up the familiar set of stairs. Mangled fingernails trailed along the metal wall to aid her lack of sight. Once Lila climbed up to the main deck and felt fresh air ruffle the fallen curls from her bun, Lila’s suspicions were confirmed. A bright naval flare signal was falling far out in the snowy distance. She watched, her good eye following its downward path, musing to herself, “Where did it come from though?”

Noticing the absence of prince Zuko, Uncle Iroh, and their men who were usually out and about above deck around this time, Lila glanced around the empty ship then turned to the command tower. Squinting her good eye Lila’s gaze raked up the length of it and stopped at the observation deck’s balcony. As clear as the golden sky she caught sight of the Prince. Half of his scarred face obscured as he peered through the telescope attached to the railing in front of him. Although she couldn’t see gauge what he was feeling, she was certain he figured out what or who signaled that flare and was already directing his next course of action.

When suddenly that same foreboding sensation from before when they first saw the beam of light, roiled around her chest and stomach, leaving Lila uneasy. Why? Well, she didn’t know what to expect. Was it the avatar? A false alarm? She didn’t know and not knowing left a nasty taste in her mouth.

After Prince Zuko finished barking orders at his men, solar colored eyes caught a glimpse of the curly-haired servant below seconds before he continued looking through the telescope. The girl stood by herself with half her face covered, the setting sun illuminating her tanned skin, and looked up at him with -what he could detect- nervousness. Prince Zuko didn’t know as to why nor did he care. The entirety of his focus on capturing the Avatar.

A brown eye fluttered as Lila snapped from her thoughts. Hurriedly she turned and hastened down below to the kitchen. She knew now was not the time to get distracted from her work. Earlier the chef told her he was ill and asked Lila to fill in for him tonight. She agreed though something told her he was lying. Through the maze of corridors and staircases, a passing conversation of a few men could be heard as they rushed by.

One man bumped her shoulder as he hissed, “hurry, we have to dress the Prince, the Avatar’s hiding place has been found. We’re going to the southern water tribe.”

Lila’s eye widened as her breath hitched at the mention of her mother’s sister tribe. If the Avatar is truly alive and has been hiding there for the past hundred years…worry gripped her heart over the safety of the tribes' native people. Although prince Zuko hasn’t engaged in many battles with other ships or neighboring nations, the Fire Lord’s son was a wildly stubborn and determined boy who’d stop at nothing to get what he wanted. Lila didn’t doubt he’d probably leave a trail of chaos in his wake with no regard for the consequences or how it’d affect the lives of others.

Once she entered the empty kitchen Lila rolled her sleeves up and got to preparing dinner, the red dye of her uniform reminding her of the clothes she wore as a child in the palace. As she cooked, she blinked back thoughts she knew all too well. Red uniform

Screams of fear echoing in the palace gardens

A girl in royal garbs

“You’re useless.” ... “Holy-ow!”

A sudden stinging pain roughly pulled Lila from the haze of old memories. In her stupor, Lila didn’t notice how close the knife was while cutting the spring unions and managed to slice her pointer finger. Quickly, the girl staggered away from the kitchen counter, removing the steaming pots and pans with her uninjured hand, and flitted about the kitchen looking for anything to stop the bleeding. She checked all the drawers, cabinets, and pantries as bright red blood continued to ooze over her finger and onto her hand. The throbbing and stinging continued to intensify making Lila bite her lip in pain as she tucked her finger beneath her thumb. Unable to find any clean rags or towels-

“My eye cloth…”

A tug on her heart stopped her search momentarily.

To her, that cloth was like a barricade of some sort to Lila. Sheltering the small girl from being reminded of it…the day she lost-

In summary, her eye patch was the only thing that blocked out the reality of what happened that day. Regardless of how vulnerable she felt without the cloth now was not the time or the place to start feeling insecure or hesitant, she knew that. There was work to be done; rice and meat filleting.

With the cleaning basins for the dishes nearby Lila went toward it to clean her finger and avoid food contamination. It should’ve been cleaned and refilled now that it was close to dinner time. Ready to dunk her hand in the water and wash her bloodied wound she stopped abruptly. The whole bucket was still dirty from lunchtime. Bits and pieces of rice, chicken, and other scraps floated about in the water. With a rough sigh and a curl of a plump lip, Lila closed her eye for a moment.

“I can’t catch a break,” she groaned lowly. Never again was she going to fill in for the chef.

Still, she was a servant…what could she do? Nothing. Before she could change her mind, Lila briskly grabbed the knot of the cloth from behind her head and pulled it free, a few strands of curls ripping from her bun. The milky white of her blinded eye on full display, free of any covering but chained to inhibition. Gloomy hands of her past groped and reached for Lila, but she slapped their searching palms away as she began wrapping her wound. Gentle but sure fingers tied the end of her cloth into a firm knot and she inspected her handiwork with a wistful smile. The memory of her mother’s soft hands dressing the wounds of a child rolled like a movie, replacing the ones Lila usually remembered.

“Lila, you fell again?”

The playful timbre of her mother's low voice filled their backyard. Lila’s childish eyes bubbling with tears raised from the cut on her knee as her mother calmly squatted in front of her fallen form.

“I didn’t mean to mommy. The tree was in my way,” cried her indignant daughter. Laughter rang from her mother, a white bandage appearing in her dark hands,

“Of course, but you also have to be careful where you’re stepping too, my love.” Knowing her mother was right but still unhappy with that answer, Lila huffed out a sniffle. Tenderly her mom cupped the back of her daughter’s freshly scraped knee and began lecturing, “Here, let’s teach you how to fix wounds, big girls are good at that-”

“Big girls like you, mommy?” A squeaky voice interrupted.

Nuna glanced up at her daughter’s question. Brown innocent eyes that held such curiosity reflected in Nuna’s blue ones she just had to laugh.

“Yes Lila, big girls like me and you.”

Lowering her newly wrapped finger, Lila’s lips fell back into a straight line. She had no time to get lost in her thoughts. Deciding to try and cover her eye with her hair, her uninjured hand pulled her hair free from the fire nation styled top knot. Onyx curls tumbling down the length of her back in one fell swoop, kissing the top of her hips. The overwhelming urge to moan in relief had goosebumps tickle Lila’s spine as the tension of her tight bun dissipated almost instantaneously. She brought her hands up under her hair and aggressively massaged her scalp, both eyes rolling back in pleasure.

“Ahh, yes…” A soft groan rumbled from the back of her throat.

“Ahem.”

“Oh, my goodness!” She gasped.

Whipping toward the kitchen door, hands tangled in her roots, the men from earlier in the hallway were standing there watching her as if they’d found an earth kingdom stowaway. Though the more she watched them with increasingly flushed cheeks, the more she realized they were staring at the eye. Tanned hands flew from her scalp to shake her curls and obscure their sight, but it was futile, they already saw the clouded pigmentation. Involuntarily closing her eye, the servant girl clasped her hands over her stomach and curled into a bow.

“Um, hello,” Lila stuttered but caught herself, remembering her place. Kind professionalism coating her soft question, “how may I be of service to you?”

The man who she heard speak in the corridor collected himself faster than the rest and cleared his throat before announcing,

“We are close to our arrival of the southern water tribe and Prince Zuko has requested your presence to dress him for the capture of the Avatar.”

Alarm colored Lila’s features when she recalled the last time she was alone with the prince. Streams of tears and memories he unintentionally triggered that night played before her. Swallowing down the building discomfort in her throat, Lila straightened up and schooled her worry lines into a controlled smile. She had to remind herself, “The Prince didn’t know.”

Apparently, for the men, Lila’s forced smile mixed with the ghastly mismatched color of her eyes was too much to handle, unable to hide their distaste. Faster than she could stop it, a pang of offense and hurt yanked at her heart, but she managed to stifle and shove the feelings away as she gave another trained bow. Though a question did come to mind.

“I beg your pardon, but may I ask why he requested me specifically? He has never requested this of me before,” words mousy.

Her question only seemed to cause the man to grow irritated, his eyebrow ticking in impatience as major attitude gripped his words, “The prince claimed to be displeased with our services in preparing him. Now, would you please stop talking and do what prince Zuko has asked of you? He’s waiting.”

“What about the food-”

“Servant girl, what did I just say?” The man angrily snapped.

With a flinch, Lila mumbled, “My apologies,” before bowing one last time.

Throwing an “Unbelievable” over his shoulder, he and his two companions turned to leave the kitchen.

His snarky tone made Lila frown and furrow her brows. Oh, this girl had no idea of the colorful range of words Prince Zuko used to describe him and his men! Comparing them to fire ferrets! Ha, the nerve of that prince! On top of a bruised ego, the man now had to deal with a servant who couldn’t even see right and didn’t know when to be quiet and simply serve! Lila watched them exit the kitchen, soft frown still intact as she cocked her head to the side.

With them gone, Lila moved the last bits of uncooked food away from the fire as she rushed to the prince’s quarters. With one hand on the wall, Lila hotfoot it through the twists and turns of the dim-lit hallways and up the main stairs. The frigid wind stung her cheeks, her servant's uniform doing nothing in keeping her warm as she speed-walked toward the command tower. However, it did help now that her hair was unrestrained, long curls shielding her arms from the nights southern cold. All but running into the tower, warmth immediately licked at her body. The fire emanating heat and light from the wall torches eased the stiffness of her shivering joints. Her relief was short-lived when she remembered that Prince Zuko’s room was still a few floors up. With a pout and a whimper, Lila began jogging the rest of the way toward her master’s room.

Once she reached his metal door, a winded Lila lifted her bandaged hand and softly knocked, a throb of pain shooting down her finger as she waited. Like usual, the gravelly voice of the prince commanded her to come in.

Using both hands, the petite girl turned the large cogwheel and pried the door open. Identical to last time, she peered into his room, took one cautious step in and hesitantly called out,

“You’ve requested my assistance, Prince Zuko?”

Mindful of the eye, Lila discreetly pushed some hair and hid it from view. The reaction of the men before told Lila it’d be better to keep her disability hidden if it was that distracting.

“Yes, come quickly. I want to be ready by the time we reach the southern water tribe.”

Judging from the clam raspy tone of voice, Lila concluded that The Prince wasn’t angry and carefully entered, closing the door behind her.

Near his meditation table, Prince Zuko stood like any fire nation soldier would with the usual scowl on his lips. As Lila inched in front of him she could already see that the straps holding his fire nation armor together were tied in all the wrong places. Being alone and in such close proximity to the brooding prince, Lila felt her nerves begin to quake. No way did she want a repeat of last time, anxiety sprouting from her chest. The tension was palpable in the room. The lack of conversation didn’t help either as she thought of what Prince Zuko and his men might do to the people living in that tribe. Though she’s never been to the northern or southern water tribe, they were still her mother’s people, thus making them part of her kin.

“Will they do what the fire nation did to my village, too? We didn’t even have the Avatar either and they still ravaged my village.”

In an attempt to silence her thoughts, Lila gingerly grabbed the chords holding the chest piece of his armor together and set to work. Her eyes trained solely on his battle wear. Cautious of her injury Lila made sure to keep her finger from touching him. Any bump or jostle hurt. Though her fingers, minus her pointer, were moving, her mind remained on the tribe's native people.

Zuko looked straight ahead as the shaky but lithe digits of the servant – Lila, was it? - untied and retied the straps in the correct places. The reason why he called for her specifically was that he figured she’d know how to do this from her years of servitude at the palace. Before his banishment, before that fateful day. As thoughts of his family started to prod the strongholds of his mind, Prince Zuko didn’t see Lila peek up at him from the side of his shoulder until he heard her low voice fill the thick quiet of his room.

“What’re you going to do to them?”

Like an arrow, sharp and precise, prince Zuko’s stare shot to her own, making Lila’s eyes widened in surprise. She expected him to be looking straight ahead if he were to answer her.

Breaking eye contact with him, Lila looked down and closed her blinded eye desperately hoping he didn’t see it as she went to fix the strings behind him. Erratic. That’s how Lila’s heartbeat felt. But yes, Zuko fully saw the milky hue of her eye. He too had a similar reaction like the three men, but not one of distaste or disgust. Just surprise, but he soon discarded what the feeling once he processed what she asked.

“I don’t see how that’s any of your concern, servant.”

Cold with an edge of warning. That’s all Lila could sense wrapped around his heated words. Especially when he said her name. Now onto the left shoulder greave, Lila peeked at him again. He was looking straight ahead, his face taut with contemplation? Lila couldn’t tell. With a beat of hesitation, she licked her lips. She could already tell he was beginning to lose patience. If she were to say another word, she didn’t doubt he’d snap. Her brain was telling her not to say anything, she was walking on thin ice that was melting fast, but her mouth felt differently.

“May I speak Prince Zuko?”

“No, you may not. Finish fixing this and go. I don’t need to hear what you have to say,” Prince Zuko snapped in restraint.

All while arguing with herself, Lila moved to squat in front of him and began tying the laces of his shin guards. She did not want to witness another fire nation attack on any village again, especially when innocent people are involved. Though she felt if she were to talk out of turn, prince Zuko would surely lose his patience and probably punish her. Besides, what could someone like her do, realistically? No one has ever listened to her. She has no voice, but still. They are my people, too. I have to try.

Opening and closing her mouth Lila fought to push the words out.

“The water tribe did nothing-”

Unnaturally warm hands cut through her sentence and seized her wrists as she was forcefully pulled up from the floor and against Prince Zuko’s armor-clad form. Strands of curls unintentionally tangling in his grasp. Chest to chest, with Zuko holding her wrists and hair between them, he glared down at Lila. Fear radiated off her body in waves. She felt way too exposed without her eye patch and a dull ache throbbed from her finger when her hands bumped against his armor. White and brown eyes flickered between golden ones before looking around the room to avoid his stare, but to no avail. Calloused fingers laced with hair firmly, but not painfully, gripped her jaw turning her face to his, thumb pressing into her cheek.

Patience completely evaporated, Prince Zuko ground out, “I told you not to speak, didn’t I?”

With shuddering breaths and petrified eyes, Lila could only nod faintly. Paralyzed by his overwhelming build the words on her tongue melted, sliding down her throat. Releasing her jaw, Prince Zuko let go of her wrists, strands of hair snagging on his fingers as he dropped his hand. Lila winced from the sudden plucks of her curls. Shaking the hair off he rubbed the bridge of his nose, shut his weary eyes and sighed,

“Finish the last shin guard and leave.”

No reply came from the young girl as she dropped and tied the shin greave. A slight tremor in her hands. Once she was done she stood up with her head hanging low.

“I’ve finished Prince Zuko, do you require anything else before I go?”

“No.”

Long hair cascaded over her shoulders as Lila bowed. Rising back up she somehow managed to calmly exit the prince’s quarters, his eyes narrowing on her retreating form the whole time. With the loud thud of his metal door closing, both Lila and Prince Zuko let out a breath they didn’t know they were holding.

Lila had half a mind to go to uncle Iroh’s room and talk with him about what his nephew was planning to do. Talk with him about how the Prince was nothing like what Iroh describes him as but decided against it since he was most likely napping. It was hard for her to believe there was kindness in the Prince’s heart when all she’s ever seen from him was anger and rage. You could see his brutality and hate in the way he bended, too. Once she exited the command tower the sun was still hanging onto the horizon, waiting for someone to look at what it created, but a thick mist now covered the expanse of the water the ship navigated. When out of the blue, loud crackling emanated below the ship. Lila ran to the front and hunched over the edge of the railing to see what was going on.

Squinting through the mist, she saw the ship’s hull was no longer sailing on water but breaking and cracking through solid ice. Snapping her head up Lila saw the ground splitting toward the water tribe’s village! One large jagged fault traveling right through the middle of it. Prince Zuko’s ship rammed through the iced floor like it were a piece of paper. Lila couldn’t help but panic internally, they were coming extremely close to the water tribe!

“If this ship doesn’t stop we’re going to run right through!” she gasped in horror.

From what she could see in the vapory haze, the southern water tribe was quaint. A wall made of snow circled the tribe, acting as a barricade. Small igloos littered within. From behind, the sound of the Prince and his men’s shoes clanked across the deck toward the front of the ship, preparing to disembark. Anxiety, fear, and apprehension swirled within her. This scene hitting way too close to home for her liking. She never signed up for this, well she didn’t sign up for this at all, but still. The three years she’s been on this ship she never really thought about what capturing the avatar looked like or being there to see it. All Lila knew was she didn’t like where this was headed at all. The prospect of the past repeating itself right before her eyes scared her.

When she turned to watch them pass Lila’s eyes caught prince Zuko’s for a brief moment. Again, he found nervousness swimming in her stare, and again, he didn’t care.

Finally, the ship came to a halt with an ominous screech. Powerless, Lila watched with bated breath. Her eyes flitting between the native people down below and Prince Zuko’s men. She swore her heart was going to pop out of her chest from how hard it was pounding it almost hurt. Suddenly the hull of the ship dropped, turning into a makeshift ramp, a loud thud resonating in the air. The ship's metal easily overpowered the tribe's barrier, the snow crumbling as it gave into its weight.

Faintly Lila could hear a feminine voice yelling for someone to get out of the way. The shrill scream making Lila’s heart drop and then kick up in speed, assuming the worst. It felt like her feet were bolted to the floor as she helplessly watched the Prince and his firebenders disembark the ship. Visibly shaking, Lila leaned over the front of the ship again to see, legs feeling like they were going to give out any moment.

From her spot, she could see Prince Zuko and his guards disembarking and a young water tribe boy with war paint coating his tanned skin, belt out a war-like cry as he charged up the ramp at Prince Zuko. The boy’s weapon of choice, a water tribe club, raised high over his head. He was easily overtaken. Lila winced when the Prince’s leg side swept the boy's club out of his hand, then kicked him in the face, sending the boy flying off the side of the ramp and into the snow. Lila could hear Iroh’s voice in the back of her head talking about how he knew his nephew wasn’t as corrupted as his other family members, but what she was seeing now proved otherwise. He was unlike what Iroh always tried to tell her. The Prince was brutal.

Zuko continued walking down the ship as if nothing happened. His steps were powerful and determined. The people of the tribe huddled up in one big group, trepidation and terror embedded in all of their blue eyes. With the men of the village off to war, Zuko was unsurprised to see the ones that remained were the women and children, except for the war-painted boy if you’d count him as a man. However, the longer no one spoke the more time was wasted in capturing the Avatar. The silence was so tense Lila felt it up on the ship. Zuko stopped in front of the crowd, his eyes sizing up each woman and child until his glare stopped on this one girl holding onto the arm of an elderly lady.

“Where are you hiding him?”

When no one spoke, both Lila and the young girl gasped when the banished Prince roughly pulled the elderly lady from the girl’s grasp.

“He’d be about this age? Master of all four elements?” Zuko demanded, shaking the woman by her for emphasis.

Again, no one answered him, they were all stunned in silence and fright. After a beat of quiet, Prince Zuko carelessly shoves the old woman back into the young girl’s arms. Both water tribe women gasping. Lila watches worriedly, praying up above that this village will be spared from the fire nation’s fury. Even from the ship, Lila saw the Prince tense up in frustration and knew what he was going to do next and whispered “no,” as he launched a wave of fire inches above the villager's heads. The women and children screamed and cowered before him.

“I know you’re hiding him!”

Below her, Lila saw the water tribe boy free himself from the snowy confines he was kicked into, the majority of his face free of paint as he picked up his club and ran at Zuko once more with another loud battle cry. At the last second, Zuko turned toward the annoyingly loud boy and dodges the boy’s attack, flipping him over his head when he swiped at the Prince. When he hit the ground Zuko punched another blistering fireball at him. Luckily, the tanned boy gathers himself rolling away from the blast, swiftly retrieving a boomerang that was strapped to his back and throws it at the Fire Lord’s son. It surprised both Lila and Zuko with how fast and strong he threw it, the air whistling as it narrowly missed the Prince’s face. Even where Lila was standing the boomerang would’ve whacked her in the face if she didn’t duck in time. All the while her eye followed the boomerang’s path. The boy was stronger than he looked.

“Even without bending,” Lila hopefully thought, “he’s handling himself well against the Prince. Maybe…this village won’t be ransacked.”

A growl erupts from the Crown Prince’s throat before he can shoot more fire at the irritating boy who just won’t quit, a little water tribe child cries out,

“Show no fear!” Throwing a fishing spear made of bone at his opponent. Again, he charged at Zuko, the spear positioned like he was going to run him through, but the Prince was prepared. “He lacks training,” Zuko gathered, easily breaking the spear in half with his wrist guards. He then snatched the bone rod from the boy’s hands, poking him repeatedly in the head with the butt of it until he fell on his bottom, and broke it in half again before throwing it to the ground.

On the ship, Lila’s eye followed the boomerang as it curled back around and headed back to the owner who threw it. With her eyes still on the weapon, she gradually turned and watched it spin at dizzying speed before it slammed into the back of Prince Zuko’s helmet with a loud thwack. Her eyebrows quirked in surprise as she wondered if the water tribe boy planned for that to happen, but her face fell when she saw the Prince standing menacingly over the boy’s fallen form. Fire jet out from his tightly clenched fists, the orange embers creating a dagger-like weapon.

For a moment, Lila feared for what Prince Zuko would do to him, but surprise quickly overtook her as another younger boy, maybe about twelve or so, with a bald head and peculiar clothing zoomed through the middle of the fight out of nowhere riding on the back of a penguin. In the child’s hands was a staff as the penguin flew right under Zuko’s feet, sweeping his legs out from under him. The young servant girl gasped when the Prince fell over, the village children cheering for the child all the while. The said child sped past the kids sending up a wave of snow splattering them all in the face, their cheers ceasing for a moment at the unexpected smattering, but continued yelling anyway. At this point, as much as Lila was concerned over the fate of the water tribe, she didn’t know if it was morally okay for her to laugh at the ridiculousness of what just happened.

Still, relief filled her heart knowing that Prince Zuko’s plan of capturing the Avatar wasn’t going according to plan. No village, town, citadel, or nation should be destroyed in finding the Avatar. Her heart and mind were conflicted. Although she did want the Prince’s banishment to end, she didn’t think this was the right way of doing it. She remembered the stories her father told her about Fire Lord Sozin killing all the airbenders to find and end the Avatar cycle.

Briefly, Lila faintly heard the kid happily greet the boy and girl, their names being ‘Katara’ and ‘Sokka’, with Sokka dryly thanking the child, who she heard him call ‘Aang’, for coming. Lila’s eyes flicker between Prince Zuko and Aang, both of them assuming a defensive fighting stance as Zuko’s men circle Aang, closing in on him. Suddenly the kid swings his staff, and with each swing, he sends snow at the guards blowing them away. With the Prince being the last one standing Aang sends another blast of snow at him, but he was unmoved, uncle Iroh’s firebending lessons paying off.

“Looking for me?”

Processing everything the child managed to do in under ten seconds, Lila’s brows furrowed. He managed to disarm and beat all of Prince Zuko’s men like it was nothing just by throwing snow at them. At first, she thought he was a waterbender but he didn’t move like one. His fighting style was different from what her mother tried to teach her and different from what she’s seen earthbenders and firebenders do. It was unlike anything she’s ever seen. On top of that, the arrow on his head and the unusual choice of clothing he wore was vastly unfamiliar from the clothes in her hometown and the fire nation. Her eyes widened in realization. No, this child couldn’t be- Prince Zuko voiced her incredulity, the snow Aang bent at him melting off his shoulders and fists, “You’re the airbender? You’re the Avatar?”

A/N: OKAYYYYY!!! Just so you know I want you guys to keep Zuko’s “Contemplation?” face in mind. There’s a few things I want you guys to catch in part 2. Sorry if it was slow paced. I hope you enjoyed it and please excuse any grammatical errors. Have a blessed day! Chapter three may come later cuz I have a zuko request I want to write!

Taglist (If i missed anyone PLEASE let me know :))

@bangtanboyswriting123 @bookedforevermore @agentsofblinks @lilmou5ie @eury-dice3 @shephard17895 @duh-dobrik @yourlivewire @luleck @oraclebirds

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