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forestlingincorporated · 3 years

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Teen Titans #29

So, one of my favorite types of fics to read is Different First Meeting fics between Jason and Tim. I looooove reading Enemies To Caretaker, of which I fed handsomely on fairly recently. Big Brother Jason fics give me warm fuzzies, and Tim Drake needs a hug, and I feel like if these two actually got to know each other and worked past their preconceptions, they’d get along surprisingly well. And Still A Jason!Robin Fanboy Tim Drake is just a fun concept.

Also, it just FEELS right for the middle siblings to band together after Damian comes along, lets get those abandonment issues in the party.

So, for mysterious and very secret TimKon Week 2021 reasons, I was rereading some Teen Titans, and I stumbled over the Original Tim+Jason First Meeting, and I just sort of wanted to talk about some interesting things I found in there rereading it after several years.

First thing right off the bat, when reading fics, normally it’s either the Core Four at the tower that Jason puts to sleep, or it’s Tim alone for the night. In the comic, none of Tim’s close friends are even at the tower, Jason waits for Bart and Cassie to leave, and Conner actually hasn’t come around for an in-universe month, because this is after the Superboy’s Birthright arc where Lex mind controls Conner.

The people Jason knocks out were his own teammates when he was a Titan. He specifically says he never got to work with Beast Boy or Cyborg directly, so he doesn’t feel bad electrocuting them, but he feels bad putting Raven under much more gently because she used to worry for him.

Tim has just gotten off the phone with Bruce when Jason shows up. It seems like Bruce might’ve been picking Tim up, but something’s come up with Martian Manhunter going missing, so Tim tells him he’ll catch a ride with Cyborg.

This is actually really interesting to me, because it’s a small moment of Bruce letting Tim down. It’s a conversation he’s probably had with his biological father many times when Jack’s canceled on him.

Gonna acknowledge this abomination real quick. This is So Stupid, and I’m glad as a fandom we just all agreed Jason didn’t do this. It makes me ask so many questions. Where did he get that oversized Robin costume? Why’d he tear off his perfectly good clothes? Why did he do this? Why the yellow tights? WHY?

A lot of things are actually happening here that are actually Really Interesting if you just look past the stupid fucking outfit. Because this comic actually flew really close to greatness, they just ended up dropping the ball by not continuing to do more with it.

First off, Jason doesn’t beat around the bush. He’s immediately like “yeah, yeah, yeah, Red Hood, whatever, I’m Jason Todd, bitch! Fight me.”

Secondly, Jason’s done his homework. He knows A LOT about Tim. He knows his name, he knows he has a dad, he knows he went to prep school, and he knows the story of how Tim became Robin. How he GOT that last bit of information, I’d honestly like to know. But even HAVING the information isn’t enough; he’s still letting his preconceived ideas get in the way. The surface level information about Tim’s life only served to fuel his jealousy and anger (thanks, Lazerus Pitt!). He’s so focused on Tim’s privilege that he’s looked past evidence of hardship; if he’s done this much research on Tim, he’s no doubt seen records of multiple boarding schools, lengthy travel records, news reports, a death certificate.... He can’t even bring himself to BELIEVE parts of Tim’s story that aren’t lining up with his world view, like HOW he became Robin.

Jason has convinced himself that what he’s discovered about Tim and the period of time when Jason was dead - the fact that Bruce was spiraling after his death, that his family mourned him, that Tim had to step up to the plate at a weird suicide prevention buddy system - is all a lie. Despite the fact that he’s beating Tim’s ass, he speaks to him with the assumption that Tim’s a child who’s been manipulated and lied to.

Meanwhile, it must be SO PAINFUL for Tim to hear Jason say these things: I bet he said the same thing to you he said to me, didn’t he? That you have the talent to make a difference in Gotham. That he needed someone he could trust in his war on crime. That you were one of a kind. The light in his darkness.

Bruce never said any of that to Tim. Bruce rejected Tim, he didn’t want Tim, and begrudgingly accepted Tim.

Going back to Jason waiting for Tim’s other young teen friends to leave the tower before going in, only drugging his own former teammates, is much of his anger seems directed at THEM, not just Bruce. To Jason, it looks like they didn’t mourn him either, he has no statue. I find it interesting that he smashes Donna Troy’s statue, who died after him, and I believe she came back before he did.

Unless he was keeping track of the news from the League of Assassins, to Jason, Donna never died.

And most importantly? Tim shuts Jason down. Tim “Bitch, Please” Drake out here like: you’re a fucking idiot, he loved you to death, he barely let me audition for the role.

Tim shows some deep resentment towards Jason in this scene. I mean... earned, Jason literally came into his house and starting hitting him, but Tim’s relationship towards the Idea Of Jason has gone through a few changes. At first Jason was ROBIN! THE BOY WONDER! And if maybe Tim thought Bruce wasn’t AS happy with Jason as he was with Dick, there was still SOME hero worship early on. But it only takes Bruce and Alfred and Dick using Jason’s death as a cautionary tale a few times to get Tim to see Jason AS a cautionary tale - the kind of Robin NOT to be. But the more Tim craved Bruce’s paternal attention and approval, and the more Bruce withheld it or made Tim work for it, knowing that Bruce did that, in part, because of his love and grief for his dead son (Tim having an actual living breathing father plays a part, too), and those feelings towards Jason have started to fester.

Jason can’t let it go, though, he thinks the concept of Robin was a mistake and had always been a mistake, and if he can hurt Tim, so can Scarecrow, Penguin, The Joker.

This is a good time to bring up that one thing I think Jason probably doesn’t know is Tim is injured. It is a little over a month since since Conner shattered Tim’s right arm. Tim is still healing from a comminuted fracture in his forearm. And looking at this picture that is - ah, yes, that is the injured arm Jason is swinging Tim by. Tim is probably healed by now, the cast IS off and he’s a child, but bones don’t fully return to full strength for 3-6 months.

Jason is conflicted. This is clearly, in part, a fucked up way of “protecting” what he sees as a manipulated child, to convince him to leave Bruce. But there’s also clearly some deep, deep jealousy thrown into the mix to complicate matters and cloud his judgement. Ultimately, Jason isn’t there to kill Tim. Tim would be dead if he was. He’s there to “beat some sense into him,” and he ultimately fails, and fails badly.

Tim is found by the older Titans, awake by now, though it seems Jason knocked him out to, uh, fuck with the memorial chamber, and Tim... does not beat around the bush. No secret identities here just “yeah, Jason Todd beat the shit out of me.”

And their reactions are HILARIOUS.

One more little sidebar, in the comic, Jason gets in with a D.N.A. check that never removed him from its permissions. Usually in fic this is a unique pass code. I’m not sure which version I like better, honestly. There’s something about Jason physically inputting a code that accepts him even though he’s supposedly dead that I really like, and just feels better than a dna scan. A dna scan sounds SAFER, sure, but there’s something about the Titans leaving in an honest SECURITY RISK out of sentiment that I like.

Lastly, I really like how it ends. Jason honestly thinks Tim IS a good Robin, and it seems like Jason’s done some research on the core four, mentioning Tim’s “real friends” again while the “camera” is on Conner and Cassie, suggesting that Jason KNOWS about them and possibly that targeting the tower while they were gone maybe wasn’t an accident or out of convenience, but fully intentional. And again, Jason’s real problem is highlighted: he feels alone, forgotten, unmemorable, no family, no friends.

Thank you for coming to my TedTalk.

#Jason Todd #Tim Drake #Teen Titans #Teen Titans (2003-2011)

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ohmightydevviepuu · 3 years

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the part of a swan

for @cshistfic (an extension of one of my august prompts)

It should be clear that Emma did not, by any means, regret her ruination. She did not miss the person she had been before that night; the eager, naive girl, brought up always to behave a certain way, to speak softly, to do as she was bidden, to be what she was told.

Emma no longer believed in allowing people to tell her who she could be.

But Killian Jones is not concerned with who she was--he's interested in who she is. And he might be the only one smart enough to uncover the truth.

AO3 part 1/? ~2.6k

Emma was twenty-eight years old when she stepped into a ballroom for the first time since she was ruined. The first time she was present for the judging stares, the awkward silences. For the public shaming and the elaborate ritual that surrounded it.

Emma no longer believed in allowing people to tell her who she could be.

Lady Emma Nolan—for that was who she was, though she barely deserved the descriptor and never claimed the surname—delighted in her ruination, and had done for years. It had given her freedom.

It had given her Henry.

Emma had faded into the background as she was expected to after her fall, after her scandal—watched the man she thought she loved continue to live his life as the toast of the ton, the darling of his father, the scion of a powerful family—and swore to herself it was the last time she would do what society expected her to do.

Until tonight.

Emma stood before the crowd, acutely aware of all of the eyes upon her, assessing her, from the style of her coiffure—a ridiculous confection of curls and white feathers—to the tips of her shoes. Surely, they were saying to themselves, surely it is her brother’s money that supports her.

Emma could read them as easily as if they were speaking.

But they were wrong, and that was her secret.

Still, they whispered to each other, muttered remarks hidden discreetly behind fans and glasses of Champagne, and their eyes followed her. Judged her for her past.

And for her presence.

They knew why she was here, and they hated it.

(So did she.)

“Lady Emma.”

The voice was lush and warm with roughness at its edges. Dry—acerbic—the syllables drawn out. He seemed to appear out of nowhere and Emma could do nothing but hold his stare, watching him as he watched her. Dark hair, blue eyes, sharp cheekbones unfashionably marred by unshaven shadows.

It suited him.

“Sir,” she said. “We have not been introduced.” It was both a rebuke and a lie, for she knew who he was. Killian Jones, the son of no one of name, who had made his career in the navy, nearly cashiered out of the service but not before making his fortune in captured prizes; now the writer of several prominent newspapers.

More importantly, a broker in the most potent currency of all—information.

“And you are lurking in the dark.”

“Then do allow me to rectify that on both counts,” he said, stepped forward and bending low over her hand. His breath tickled her skin even through the elbow-length gloves as he looked up at her through his eyelashes.

She pulled away. “What need has Killian Jones for an introduction?”

His eyes glittered. Blue, like the place on the horizon where the sky met the sea, made brilliant by sunlight; Emma held her breath and prayed he would not notice her slip.

Lady Emma Nolan was not the kind of woman who should know—or recognize—Killian Jones.

Finally, he said, “I see my reputation precedes me.”

Emma exhaled. “Why should mine be the only one?”

He laughed, a short bark that seemed to escape him unwillingly, and Emma smiled. It was a small, tight smile. She gestured at the ballroom and said, “I should return to my sister-in-law.” “How is the Duchess?” His tone was conversational, his eyebrow raised. “Not dancing, I hope? In her condition?”

Emma’s smile tightened. She shifted, uncomfortable in the ill-fitting corset her sister-in-law had pressed upon her, and started to walk away.

He followed her movement, his gaze traveling from her neck to her navel, and Emma blushed.

“Let’s not play games, Lady Emma,” he said. “You’re here for a husband. You’re here for your son.”

He leaned in, coming closer, and Emma held her breath. Anywhere but here—now—she might have welcomed this battle, this back-and-forth—welcomed him, for he was devastatingly handsome—

But she had felt that way before, and fallen for it; left broken, and alone, though it had not been Neal who had destroyed her. She had never said his name aloud since the day he’d left, never told anyone the identity of the man who had, however unwittingly, given her freedom.

Fathers’ sins, after all, never stuck.

It had been them—the gaggle, the gossips, the matrons. The glittering ballrooms of the beau monde. She had chosen not to play by their rules, and paid the price for it. Emma’s scandal became both entertainment and a cautionary tale. She’d been exiled by all save her brother and sister-in-law, the duke and duchess married in a scandal of their own, the stars of a different tale.

Love.

But even that had come at a cost: The respect of their late father, and of the ton.

And now, ten years later, here she stood. “Do not,” Emma said, stepping forward and nearly baring her teeth at him, “mention my son.”

He stepped back, slowly. His eyes did not move, and neither did hers. His tone did not change when he said, “Lady Emma, I understand your urgency. With the duchess increasing—”

Emma did not answer, but she made no move to leave this time.

Because he was right, the perceptive bastard.

All of the joy she felt for her brother and sister-in-law did not assuage her suddenly urgent need to see that Henry was properly taken care of—by a father. Someone with a title—someone who needed an heir, now that her brother no longer did.

“There are other dowries, Lady Emma,” he said. “Why yours?”

Emma’s eyes widened. Perceptive, and too clever by half. Maybe that was she answered him honestly. “There are none so large as mine. And none that come with as much freedom.”

“Freedom?” For an instant only he looked confused. Then he spoke, softly. “Ah. You have no expectations. No dreams of a convenient husband turning into a love match. You’re awfully young to be so cynical.” He chuckled, a sound utterly devoid of humor; his eyes once more took her measure. “But then again, wounds made when you’re young do tend to linger.”

He, too, spoke honestly, as if he knew. As if he, too, had wounds. He lifted his hand as if he was going to touch her again—and if he touched her, she was going to like it.

“No one has ever done what you’re about to do,” he said, his hand falling. “And I wish for you to succeed. In fact, I want to help you.”

Their eyes locked.

“You do?” Emma challenged him. “Why?”

Some of the scandal sheets that had delighted in her fall had, after all, been his.

“My reasons are my own,” he said. “There is little love between me and Society.”

She should end this conversation, Emma knew. She’d been away from the crowd, and from Mary Margaret, her sister-in-law, long enough to be noticed. Another black mark for the record-keepers.

But Emma stayed. Said, “You keep them entertained.”

He smirked. “And you, Lady Emma, are the entertainment in question.”

—

Killian Jones stood on the edge of the ballroom and watched them. Watched her.

Emma Nolan was every inch an aristocrat, born and bred into this world; a true diamond of the first water. Everyone in this room should be on their knees at her feet and instead they whispered, waiting to pounce—waiting to destroy her all over again.

He shouldn’t care. He should stay focused.

“You should not have flirted with the girl.”

Killian did not turn. “What do you want with her?”

The answering chuckle was dry and unpleasant. “Let’s just say I’m keeping my eye on young Miss Nolan.”

“Lady Emma,” Killian corrected, only to be granted with another chuckle that had him biting back a curse.

“Of course.” Robert Gold’s words were soft, delicate—silk wrapped around a knife.

“What do you want with her?” Killian asked again.

Gold tutted. “So cold a greeting from my oldest friend.”

Killian had known Gold—now Lord Boyle, Baron Ross, Earl of Glasgow—for almost fifteen years, and hated him for every moment of it; one of the King’s most trusted advisors, with tens of thousands of acres that earned him close to thirty thousand pounds per annum.

The man was as rich as a fictional king, but that was never enough for him.

No amount of power was enough for him.

“I could kill you right here,” Killian said.

“You could,” Gold agreed. “And you would hang for it.”

“At least it would be for a crime I actually committed.”

“Big words, Captain. You and I both know that you are not in any position to move against me.”

Killian finally turned to face him, ignoring the shiver of fear that went through him as he did so; hating it. “I won’t ask again.”

“And I won’t answer. Your only concern is that she interests me. It is so tiresome, having to threaten you. You would do better to just accept our arrangement. I command, you act.”

As though Killian could ever forget.

But Killian was not the only one with secrets—Gold had them, and deeper and darker than any one man should. Secrets that would see Gold, not Killian, at the end of a rope.

If only Killian had proof.

Snarling, Killian backed away from the earl and made his way through the ballroom for the exit.

And found—

“We meet again, Mr. Jones,” said Lady Emma Nolan. Her bright green eyes sparkled and her voice—somehow it brought light with it. Killian was helpless to do naught but smile back as he inclined his head in greeting.

“My lady,” he said, and enjoyed the surprise in her eyes at the honorific.

The night was still young and they were the only two preparing to leave. Emma’s maid stood discreetly behind and the duchess, her chaperone, was nowhere to be seen. “Are you for home already?”

Her nod made the feathers in her coiffure tremble. “Believe it or not, Mr. Jones, I am unaccustomed to this sort of evening. I find myself quite exhausted.”

“I noticed you found the energy to dance,” he said, and wished he hadn’t.

She had stood up for every dance, had played her part brilliantly; Killian had noticed several of her brother’s titled friends called in to do a set with her in the hopes that all of their combined wealth and power might blind Society to the lady’s sins.

She was all anyone talked about, but it was neither her brother’s chosen champions nor her beauty that fueled the whispers in the ballroom.

If Gold wanted her—

“Did you?” She adjusted her wrap around her shoulders but could not hide her smile. “And yet you never thought to ask me?”

“Lady Emma,” he said, affecting shock, “when we have not even been introduced?”

Her laugh seemed to reverberate; as if the street lamps themselves would dance to her tune, and for a long moment there was silence between them, neither of them moving to break the moment. The sound of approaching hoofbeats and carriage wheels emerging from the neighboring mews was both an irritation and a welcome distraction as she made to leave him.

“The duchess does not accompany you?”

The feathers trembled again as she shook her head, still smiling. “I’m for home, Mr. Jones. I wonder, what shall you write about this evening for your Scandal Sheet?”

She meant the words to amuse, he was sure—a perfect combination of wit and boredom—but underneath it all, Killian heard something else. Something, he thought, no one was meant to hear: Sadness. Loss. Frustration.

“You don’t want it, do you?”

She watched him, weighing, calculating, as the carriage waited before them to take her away from this place and this life, if only for an evening. If she was surprised by how easily he read her, she gave no sign of it. “This is my bed, Mr. Jones. I must lie in it. And to do that—it seems I need you.”

The words landed, harder than she ever could have intended, his silly promise of social redemption echoing hollow. It was cold comfort to know that the earl was already married and could have no designs on Emma’s dowry.

The man had a terrible track record when it came to his wives.

Killian thought that it must be her family—her brother—that interested him. The young, golden-haired duke had clawed his way back from his sister’s scandal and his own marriage based, as best Killian could ascertain, solely on his charm.

“Lady Emma—” he began, but he did not know what else to say.

“Good night, Mr. Jones.” She was already moving, down the steps to the waiting carriage.

He watched her, the way she moved, fascinated by the way the pale fabric of her skirts seemed to swirl in the night air, the way her arm balanced as she smiled at the footman handing her in, a glimpse of ankle in a silver slipper before the door slammed shut and her outrider climbed onto his perch.

He imagined what he might write about her as his curricle pulled up to the mounting block and he took the reins, so lost in his thoughts of her that he did not realize he still followed the lady’s coach until they were well past the turn out of Mayfair and toward her brother’s town house.

He followed her down Bond Street toward Piccadilly and then St. James before he allowed his curricle to fall back, watching the lanterns on the carriage as they navigated the back alleyways behind Duke Street toward the men’s clubs of London.

Lady Emma Nolan, sister of a duke, with a dowry big enough to buy a palace, desperate for a restored reputation and a father for her son—that he had determined to secure for her—was in a parked curricle behind the most exclusive men’s club in Britain. More than a club—the most expensive, high-class gaming hell in London.

Lady Emma Nolan, behind Killian’s own destination, behind his club, The Swan. A club run by some of London’s darkest men on behalf of the club’s owner, who went only by the name Swan. Killian had never seen nor spoken to Swan in spite of their years-long profitable relationship in the trade of information.

Of secrets.

Just the person, Killian had decided, to turn to in order to free himself from Gold’s yoke once and for all. If anyone could access Gold’s secrets, it would be Swan, and Killian was willing to pay any price for what he desired.

Emma’s outrider—a giant of a man, Killian suddenly realized—was stood in front of the heavy steel door that marked The Swan’s back entrance, banging in a specific pattern to gain entry.

He should stop her. He moved to, just as the carriage door opened and Killian strained for a glimpse of her pale slipper, her white skirts.

But that was not what he saw.

The slipper was high-heeled and dark—the skirts a silk the color of the purest red rose—a corseted bodice that put on display a décolletage of perfect proportions. Painted lips, kohl-rimmed eyes, and a dark wig that hid every golden hair.

Killian Jones watched her disappear into the club’s back entrance and he smiled.

Here was a story.

And—just maybe—an answer to all of his problems.

@katie-dub @profdanglaisstuff @thisonesatellite @optomisticgirl @spartanguard @shireness-says @pirateherokillian @stahlop @onceratheart18 @kmomof4 @mariakov81

#cs fic #cshistfic #regency AU

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smallblip · 3 years

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You know those scenes when the girl/guy is leaving and the other person follows them to the airport to stop them and declare their love? Typically the person leaving never told them or they broke up beforehand. That but in Levihan 🤣

@bluesylveon2 omg💖🥺💖 thank you for this prompt? I love airport scenes because I’m a SUCKER, I hope this doesn’t disappoint! I’m combining this with another ask:

Thank you anon💖

Ivy

This isn’t an allegory… There’s no lesson to be learnt, nothing to put on a pedestal, nothing to emulate.

Hanji Zoë’s parents loved each other.

“It’s like a chick flick really…” Hanji had said, making a face. After all it’s her parents they’re discussing, and they’re just kids so this is kinda gross.

“My mother loved my father so much she dropped everything. She had a career, a house, she dropped everything to travel the world with him- to sell heart stents… Do you know what a heart stent is, Levi?”

He shakes his little head.

“Me neither!” Hanji throws her hands in the air. The concepts slipping past her little fingers. Heart stents? Sacrifice? What is this a telenovela?

But Hanji thinks of this now in the cab. The cab driver has the music on so he doesn’t hear her sighing. She’s just another passenger heading to the airport. For a holiday maybe? A business trip? Too much luggage. Maybe she’s moving.

“Mars?” Nanaba had exclaimed, “you’re moving to Mars?” Then a quieter “what about Levi?”

What about him? We broke up. Had been the answer. Because the mere thought of him- his stupid face, his stupid little mannerisms, his stupid inconvenient love confession and them finally dating and the way they get along so goddamn well-

Hanji wipes at her face.

“Everything okay back there, love?” The cab driver asks. He presses pause on the stereo. Hanji offers a smile- “yeah… I’ve never been on a rocket ship before, have you?”

“That where you’re headed? The international space centre?” He chuckles, “didn’t peg you for the space travel type.”

Hanji thinks the man deserves some context. She’s going there to grow drought-resistant plants that are attuned to the climate and seasons on Mars. But she settles with a “ha! Me neither…” because her mind is desperately trying to cling onto the last of her city.

That’s the street she grew up in, when her father finally decided to settle his small family down in the quiet suburbs. That’s where she went to school and met Levi. That’s the corner store they used to frequent for snow cones. And that’s the grimy back alley that Levi first kissed her in.

She sighs like the defeated hero of a chick flick, except she refuses to believe she’s in one. Her parents on the other hand- her father still comes home with flowers every other weekend. And she will watch her mother’s eyes light up with child-like wonder.

But Levi doesn’t bring her flowers every other weekend. Instead he brings her weird little trinkets from all around, and he tells her that she has to leave this town, to travel the world. She cannot change the trajectory of her life for anyone. Least of all for him.

“I’m not about to be the guy who tells the girl to stay.” He had said, carding his fingers through her hair, listening to her sniffles die down. And Hanji knows. They’ve skirted around the topic for years. It seems Levi’s destiny is in the little tea shop he has opened downtown, and Earth is too small for Hanji. So she wonders why she thinks about this now- about Levi sitting on the curb with her. They are seven and Hanji is telling him about space.

“They’re sending the first colony to Mars, Levi!”

He’s focused instead, on wiping the chocolate off her face.

Later they talk about space travel- well, it’s a conversation on distance specifically.

“What will happen if I go away one day? Very far away?” Hanji asks, shoulders bumping with Levi’s as they head home.

“I‘ll go with you.” He says, matter of fact.

Hanji cries herself to sleep that night. There’s this little turn and twist in her gut. Something that’s only addressed when they’re grown and he’s in her bed and she’s telling him he can’t follow her. She knows he’s worked so hard to open his tea shop. She knows how much it means to him. She can’t be selfish.

“I’m breaking up with you Levi…” she whispers through another flood of tears streaming down her cheeks. And her boy- who kisses her in a dodgy alleyway and tells her he’s loved her ever since they were children- wipes them away gently.

“Okay…” he says, pain in his voice unmistakable. “It’s for the best, four eyes…” he says. And Hanji thinks it is, but it also hurts like a bitch.

She inhales deep, then exhales when she steps out of the cab. This is what she’s always wanted. Nothing can change that. But she can’t deny the heaviness in her heart. Heartache? Sacrifice? What is this a telenovela? Hanji huffs.

She thinks of her parents as she’s about to step into the departure halls. “Whatever you choose, we love you sweetheart…” her mother had said. She thinks of them dancing in the living room when it’s past her bedtime.

And she thinks of Levi, his head on her chest even though he says he doesn’t like to dance. They’re swaying to a tune she’s humming.

Ugh.

“Hanji wait!”

She turns, eyes scanning for him. The world stops turning. It’s just them, and the low humming of the crowd.

“Levi?”

“Hanji…” he’s a little out of breath, but he made it. He’s here now. But why? She told him the story of her parents as a cautionary tale- there’s no lesson to be learnt, nothing to put on a pedestal, nothing to emulate. So why is he here?

“We’ll work this out…” he says, “I won’t ask you to stay but we’ll work it out…”

“What is this a chick flick?” Hanji says, chuckling awkwardly. But really all she can hear is his stupid “I’ll go with you” and his stupid “I’ve liked you since we were kids, idiot…” and the way his eyes light up when he sees her, the way he feels like home. He scoffs, but his face pulls into a smile because he’s never thought himself to be a cliche, but here he is, at the airport, in a last ditch attempt to tell Hanji that her relocation to Mars and his proclivity for Earth cannot keep them apart.

“I’ll come visit.” Levi suggests. Because he knows it’ll be hard for Hanji to take time off her job.

“Okay…” she says, “okay…” because she’ll always be the girl telling her best friend about space. And she doesn’t want him to be her only regret in life. They will text, she will call him and he will complain about the bad connection, he will send her memes even though he doesn’t quite get them and she will return the favour with a couple of nudes. She smiles.

“I’ll wait for you…”

#bluesyiveon2 #did you know I thought your user was blue Ivy like Beyoncé’s child?#pancakes won’t let me live it down #also this fic is Ivy like the frank ocean song because it’s cute #also a homage to me thinking your user is blue Ivy #I’m an idiot #levihan #inbox #anon #Drabble #levi x hange #levi x Hanji #mine

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words--into--the--void · 3 years

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Prayer Delivered 1/17/2021, Read at 12:05 AM

I’m the cautionary morality tale, the one that ends in tragedy, the girl with too much duality, the one who can’t just pick a side, trembling on a tightrope. Girls/boys, good/evil, faithful/apostate. One wrong breath and I’m flailing my arms in panic because dancing up here is excruciating but falling is worse.

I’m the body on the altar, faithful Isaac, looking up at his father as his trust slides into panic, my knees apart, pale thighs bare, terror and desire mixing until love tastes like blood and pleasure is copper-flavored. How much am I willing to give and who is holding the knife? Me or God? I have faith, I’m shrieking to the sky, I believe. But faith without works is dead says the book on my nightstand and I taste shame like soap suds in the throat. Forever unclean, forever full of filthy animal desire that sees a woman and wants in the way that leaves my hands stuttering and my hips aching. How much are you willing to give, the sky asks. And some days I say everything and some days I say nothing and the sky says it’s cute you think you have a choice.

I’m pounding my fists against the door of God’s office screaming open up asshole you have a lot to answer for and I want a hug you bastard why won’t you hold me. You know, you could fit in, says his secretary. Don’t you want a man who holds you close at night and does the dishes and plays with the children? We never have to talk about the other parts. And I bite my lip because marrying that man means interviews with old men in suits who weigh my value by a signed slip of paper and a list of questions in a spiral ring binder and a white dress I don’t deserve and a registry at Amazon and and endless gifts of dish towels and eight children who all need to be taken to soccer practice and the secretary says yes now you understand, now you’ll fit in.

I have to romanticize my own religion because they stripped all the glory out of it long before I was born. Now it’s just a house I can’t afford in the suburbs and mommy blogs and 9 AM church and smiling so wide your cheeks hurt because you just remembered you need to bake a casserole for Family Home Evening and you need to pick up your Prozac prescription so you don’t drive into traffic and before that, it was grey-faced women in faded calico aprons as they buried children in rocky graves along the way and thought maybe now God will speak to me, maybe now I am worthy of it. They call us saints and maybe we were once but we’re not anymore because I’m happy to die for my religion, to be a martyr once and get it over with, but I can’t live for it, can’t spend the rest of my life scraping myself into the right shape and listening to the clink of a sacrament cup and wondering if this one means absolution, means now I will have the strength to go on, if maybe now Heavenly Father will live up to his name and hold his daughter as she disintegrates under the weight of all he’s asked.

They call us saints and we don’t name our children after virtues anymore because they’re all the same. Every women is Perfection and every man is Priesthood and these are their children, Eternal Family and Celestial Kingdom.

I’m the failed cautionary tale because I don’t know how the story ends. That girl up there on the wire is going to fall one day and she might just fly or we might just be scrubbing her blood out of the carpet. But who cares? It makes for a good tragedy either way.

-Ryn

#ryn writes #ryn's poetry #original poetry #spilled ink #queer poets on tumblr #queer poetry #LDS poetry #lds #queerstake #tumblrstake

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sad-sweet-cowboah · 3 years

Text

A Tail for Two

Summary: You often seek solace in the form of the most unusual of company. So one day after you find out your father pawned you off to marry some rich man’s son, you release your woes to one of your closest friends. Thinking you had no way out, you never expected your life to take a complete 180.

Warnings: Very mild and brief mention of n.udity, otherwise this is some adventure and fluff.

Word Count: 6k exactly

A/N: Second prize for my giveaway for @nuvoleincielo! I apologize for this one taking so long - I had trouble figuring out what to do plot wise for this. I also didn’t want to surpass 5k words, but it happened anyway and I’m pleased with how this turned out. Enjoy!

Damp sand sifted with your footsteps, a trail soon washed away from the gentle lapping waves of Flat Iron Lake. A steel toned mist settled heavy amongst the surface, giving no leeway to dry land. The bleak atmosphere obscured the sinking sun. It was early evening, and soon you’d be engulfed in total darkness.

Yet you didn’t care. The tears flowing from your eyes didn’t allow much for sight anyway. Running aimlessly across the shore, you didn’t stop until your lungs burned for air, struggling to breathe properly from the exertion and crying combined. Slowing down to a walk, you breathed in the humid air and finding no physical relief.

You cast your gaze at your surroundings for the first time, though spotting hardly anything in this dense fog. The shore stretched before you, reaching into the endless depths of the lake. The calm waters lapped around the soles of your boots, dampening the leather.

Water always calmed you in the darkest of times. Staring into the murky depths instilled a sense of serenity, an escape from this cruel world, even temporarily. Swallowing the painful lump in your throat, you bent down to sit on the sand. It was cold, except you couldn’t care less. It felt soothing.

Wrapping your arms around your knees, you allowed your vision to focus on the turbid waters in front of you. Fish darted beneath the surface, occasionally jumping up to catch a bug. Oh how it must be so simple to live like a fish, not having to conform to society and just relying on basic instinct.

Even without much light, their scales held a certain iridescence to them. On a sunny day they glittered like freshly polished jewels, inviting you in for a swim amongst them.

A flash of movement caught your eye, a glance of color amongst the opaque green, brown and silver. A much larger object swimming amongst the smaller schools of fish. You heard the water surface break, and something splashed. You squinted your eyes to see a figure amongst the dim. Who was swimming in this weather, while the air was this chilly?

The figure drew closer to you, and your muscles tensed. You weren’t sure what to expect, until a familiar face appeared through the thick curtain of mist. A face you hadn’t seen in a while.

“A-Arthur?”

The being known as Arthur rose halfway from the surface, exposing his drenched, naked torso. Strings of lake weed adorned his neck and upper arms, some strung with clam shells. Beneath the water lurked a shimmering presence, the lazy treading of his beautiful thick tail.

Sailors often told the cautionary tale of these creatures, though many people put it off as hogwash and silly dreams. Once as a young girl you dreamed about mythical creatures, and what it would be like to meet them. You supposed that wish would never come true.

Arthur was a merman you met some years ago, after an argument with your father had driven you to seek solace in this very lake. You’d come across a lonely dock that you sat upon, letting your tears fall into the waters below. Somehow your crying had been heard across the lake, attracting the most unusual of company.

From countless tales, you knew merfolk would generally avoid humans, unless they were seeking blood. However Arthur was a different sort, his curiosity plain as he spoke with you. Somehow it was easy to converse with this stranger, openly admitting your woes. He couldn’t offer a solution, though you found yourself comfortable to unload to someone who wouldn’t judge.

You hadn’t expected to call that same merman your friend. After that night you ventured out again in hopes to see him and to convince yourself it wasn’t a vivid dream. At first unsuccessful, he appeared just as you gave in, and thus kindling your friendship with him. Often sneaking out at night to call upon his company, away from the eyes of the curious.

Though as these past few years went by, you’d see him less and less. At no fault of either of yours, he had his life to live and so did yours. He didn’t tell you much about his life beneath the waves, other than he traveled frequently. Though his accent was heavy, indicating he must’ve settled somewhere ages ago.

Now the merman before you smiled in recognition. “It’s been quite a while,” He mused.

You nodded in response. “Yes, over a year since we last spoke,” You responded, though your voice thick from crying. You sniffed in attempts to sound clearer.

“Seems something’s troublin’ you again,” he rumbled, swimming even closer. “I heard you.”

A small smile tugged at your lips. Taking a shuddering breath, you spoke again. “My father… he’s trying to force me to marry this man. I didn’t want any part of it.”

Arthur frowned at this news. “Why is that?”

“Some stupid debt he has to settle,” you explained while shaking your head in disgust. “He drank his savings away and took a loan from a rich businessman. Well when it came time to pay, he had nothing to give, except me.”

Arthur’s thick brows furrowed in concern, the frown deepening. “That don’t seem right, what kinda father would give up his daughter over a debt?”

“Mine,” you grumbled, glaring down at the sandy ground. “We had an argument, a bad one. I couldn’t change his mind.”

The merman let out a sigh, shaking his own head. “Not even my people do that, no one would be happy.”

“Unfortunately it’s common up here on the surface,” you continued, toeing at a shell half-buried in the sand. “Women aren’t respected.”

“So I’ve seen,” Arthur mused. “Humans are a strange breed, pawnin’ off their young over money, yet they call us monsters.”

A bitter smile crossed your lips. “Well, your kind also eat sailors, or so I’ve heard,” as you spoke, a darkness crossed his eyes. “Ah, I’m sorry.”

A smile of his own appeared on his face, though rueful. “S’okay, I can’t blame you. Those stories are as old as time.”

You’ve since learned that tales like that were more hogwash. Sure, Arthur did imply that perhaps other mer-tribes would hunt down humans, but far and few in between if normal hunts were unsuccessful. Merfolk would prefer to stay away from humans, as their curiosity would cause more harm than good in sparking hunts of their own to bring one or more back for money and show.

Though out of the multiple times you’ve met Arthur, by some miracle you were able to avoid the company of others. Usually you two were in your own little world until other obligations called either one of you back home. Sometimes you wished you could join him, hoping one day your legs would mesh into a beautiful tail and you’d swim after him, letting him bring you to his home far beneath the surface.

Dreams would remain dreams. Hell, if God himself would grant you the impossible, you’d leave with him right then and there.

“Couldn’t you run away?” Arthur asked, breaking your train of thought.

You blinked in surprise, wondering if he somehow could read your mind. If that were the case, would he have heard your thoughts from times previous? Your face flushed at the mere consideration, and you were glad it was slowly getting darker. “I couldn’t survive on my own,” you finally answered. “Mama always told me it weren’t proper for a lady to be outside.”

This seemed to confuse Arthur, as he cocked an eyebrow in bewilderment. “That don’t seem right at all, how are you s’posed to learn anything?”

“I learn how to be a wife. To cook and clean, how to make my future husband happy,” you sighed heavily. “Guess I’ll be good for one thing.”

“Don’t talk like that, maybe there’s hope for you,” Arthur said quietly.

You shook your head slowly, your vision blurred once again with a fresh bout of tears. They fell freely, soaking into the already dampened earth. “Unless someone could whisk me away, there’s no hope.”

---

That night, you succumbed to a restless slumber. Your subconscious seemed to be on a loop, playing the same tumultuous argument between you and your father. The warped face of your future husband loomed from the depths of your mind, standing before you with a smirk. Then, you there next to him, staring at yourself in a mirror. A wedding dress bound to your figure, nervous hands clutching a wilting bouquet while your spouse held an iron grip on your waist.

The waking world served no enlightenment. A few days have passed by with no offer of escape. One mid-morning, your father sent you out into town for groceries (and alcohol), a chore he’d usually do himself if he wasn’t already waist deep in inebriation.

Iron-clad hooves tapped against the worn cobblestone street of Blackwater. Dark clouds overcast the sky, and the smell of rain hung heavy in the air, deterring most other citizens. You were nearly alone in the street, aside from the occasional wagon passing you by. You weren’t in a hurry regardless of the impending storm, your mind too wrapped up in your own thoughts to shift focus on nature.

Within the next week, you were to be wed. You’d met your future husband only a handful of times prior to the agreement – he was a few years older than you, outwardly handsome though seemed to have an affinity for gambling. Coming from wealth, money was merely a secondary thought for him. He��d flirt with you, flash a charming smile and run his clean fingers against his neat hair, slicked back with pomade.

Any other eligible woman would be keen to marry such a charming man. Those who congratulated you were ignorant of the true reason, and you didn’t have the heart to remedy that. You supposed the truth would show itself sooner or later, especially since your father’s poor financial decisions were somewhat of a known issue.

Drawing closer to the general store, you slid from the saddle just as the first few drops of rain began to fall. They felt unseasonably cold, which only indicated a miserable ride home. You sighed and hitched the horse before hurrying onto the sidewalk and pushing open the glass door of the general store. You were greeted by the smell of coffee beans and dried goods, shortly followed by a verbal welcome of the shopkeeper. You nodded to him in response and turned your attention to the shelves.

Out of the corner of your eye, another patron partially caught your attention. He was on the opposite end of the shop, back facing you as he perused the shelves. He was tall and broad-framed, with long sandy hair flowing like water to just above shoulder height.

Something about him seemed familiar. Perhaps you’ve come across him before in town? It wasn’t smart to dwell however, and you didn’t want to get caught staring. You instead turned your attention back to the tiers of canned fruit.

After a few minutes of picking through the shelves, you paid for a crate worth of goods and stepped out just in time for the drizzle to turn into a steady rain. You peered over at your horse, the old stallion shaking his head as if to rid of the droplets falling into his ears. You approached him, placing the crate on the ground to transfer everything to the saddle bags.

Behind you, the door opened again. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see the man from earlier. He was too out of view to see him clearly, and it would be too impolite to look over.

Within a few minutes the groceries were tucked into the saddlebags, thankfully transferred over without becoming too wet. You wiped away a layer of precipitation from the saddle and mounted, casually throwing a glance the man’s way. He was leaning up against the building, his head turned away from you. He had no coat nor hat on, nothing to shield him from the ever hastening downpour. You shook your head and steered your horse the opposite way down the street.

Later that day, the rain failed to lighten which confined you indoors for a few hours. However, it was nearly time for the animals to be fed their dinner. Wrapping yourself in a thick shawl, you stepped outside of your back door and hurried toward the run down barn on the far end of the yard. The horse nickered in response from his small pasture, knowing exactly your destination. Chickens pecking restlessly at the ground ruffled their feathers and scattered away from your footsteps, only to follow you just a few feet behind.

Stepping through the threshold, the surrounding dampness increased the musty, stale hay and bird dropping aroma trapped in the old wooden walls. Your nose wrinkled as you approached an opened bale of hay, first grabbing a few flakes and making your way back to the pasture. Stepping into the shallow mud and focusing over to the horse, you noticed his back was turned – his attention on a person petting his neck.

It wasn’t a strange sight to see, as you lived right next to the road and the ever so friendly old stallion would attract children and urban tourists for some affection and treats. You didn’t mind; they weren’t hurting him and he was happy regardless.

You could only partly see the visitor, and with a prick of surprise you recognized him, somewhat. You sidestepped for a better view, thus confirming your suspicion. It was the man from the store. Your movement caught his attention and his head turned toward you.

Wait…

You frowned and furrowed your brow. This man seemed too familiar. A face you’d only associate with certain times, surrounded by murky water.

No, that wasn’t possible.

A small smile formed on the man’s lips, a very familiar smile you’d seen countless times when greeted by a friend.

Truly this couldn’t be reality.

“Arthur?”

The smile widened and he gave a small, single nod. “Hey, Y/N.”

Your body seemed to be rooted in its place. Aside from your slacked jaw of shock, your muscles seemed to be frozen. How could the merman you’d come to know stand in front of you, on dry land? You must be dreaming, perhaps you fell off your horse and hit your head somehow –

“You alright?” he asked, breaking through your mental attempts to make any sense of this.

A million words flitted through your mind though none were able to pass your lips. Finally after ten seconds of silence, your mouth moved to utter a singular, “How?”

Arthur gripped the fence and hopped over with such ease it almost seemed like he floated, crossing the pasture to come closer to you. Your breath hitched, watching him move so fluidly as if he walked his entire life. This simply didn’t make a lick of sense. He stopped just before you, mere feet from your placement. Your eyes refused to leave him, wide and unblinking despite the rain softly splattering your cheeks.

“I’ll tell ya later,” he dropped his voice to a murmur. “Right now, I want you to get ready.”

“Ready?” you repeated, your throat choking on the word. “Ready for what?”

“What we talked ‘bout the other day,” he reminded you.

You blinked in confusion, your mind still attempting to process the sight before you. With a short moment you recounted the conversation, explaining to him about your arranged marriage, how you can’t run away, and how you wished –

Oh.

“Arthur, you can’t just show up and take me away!” you hissed under your breath.

Confusion settled on his handsome face. “Why not? You said you wished for someone to do just that.”

“I wasn’t being serious!” you exclaimed, throwing your arms in the air and turning around, running your palm across your damp face. It was a wishful thought, yes, though you’d come to terms with this marriage knowing you had no other options. Perhaps you were dreaming after all, your subconscious mind attempting to reach for your deeper desires to further harp your emotions.

“Wasn’t you, though?” Arthur said quietly. A gentle hand reached to rest on your shoulder, a small action that caused you to flinch. “I saw how miserable you are, you couldn’t have jus’ changed your mind in the span of a few days.”

You pursed your lips, head tilting to give him a sidelong glance. “I didn’t change my mind, I just accepted my fate.” You sighed.

A frown crossed his lips. “Why?”

“What else have I got?” you said with a shrug. “I’ve told you before, I don’t have the skills to live outside of…this,” you raised your arm and gestured to the small house before you. “I could never – ”

“Why do ya think I’m here?” he interrupted. “You wouldn’t be alone.”

His words halted your next response. Turning to face him again, you narrowed your eyes at him, a frown of your own forming. “And where would we go? Are you gonna take me to the lake? I don’t have a fin, you know.”

His shoulders shuddered with a deep chuckle. He shook his head and grinned lopsidedly in amusement. “I know, Y/N. We ain’t goin’ to the lake, I’ll tell ya that much.”

This only further befuddled you, and more questions arose in suspicion. “So where the fuck – and why do you have – ”

“I ask you to trust me here,” he spoke again, his voice soft and even. “If you come with me, I’ll answer any question you have.”

You simply stared at him, a small part of your brain still attempting to make any sense of this. You have to wake up if this was a true dream, mentally willing yourself to open your eyes. “I must be asleep,” you grumbled to yourself, shaking your head.

“You ain’t.”

Your eyes met his, seeing his ever so patient gaze. What other explanation would you have other than a trick of your own mind? Maybe you’d fallen off your horse and hit your head on the ground. Holding your hands out in front of you, your fingers flexed and curled. Everything seemed the same.

His own hands appeared in your field of view, taking yours rather gently. Wet from the rain but warm and calloused, your skin tingled where he touched. It wasn’t the first time you’d had physical contact with him, though you were used to the sheen of lake water covering his skin accompanied with a texture that reminded you of the surface of a fish. Even though he was damp, his skin was dry. “I know it’s strange, Y/N. I ain’t lyin’ to ya here, I will take you elsewhere if you really want. And I know you want that,” he stated plainly. “But if that ain’t true, then I will go back to the lake.”

You’d fallen silent then. The logical process would be to turn away, to tell him that he was wasting his time and go back to his home. However, the tiny part of your brain you’d tried to suppress throughout this ordeal was screaming. Clawing its way from the mental rocks of which it was buried beneath. Yearning for that chance to live as your own woman.

And possibly living with Arthur?

Your chest expanded with a deep breath, shutting your eyes as drops of water fell from your lashes. He promised he’d tell you the questions burning in the back of your throat as long as you’d come with him, and what reason did you have to not trust him? He wasn’t a stranger, had always been nice to you, never gave you any indication you’d be in danger while in his presence.

It still however was a huge risk. What if your father or fiancé came after you? What if either of you ran into danger? What if you would be turned into a mermaid in some way?

“Listen,” you nearly jumped when his voice sounded closer, opening your eyes to see he leaned in. “I don’t got much time out here, I’ll be back by midnight. You can give me your answer then.”

Before you could say anything, he hopped over the fence once again, leaving you gaping after him.

---

As the cloudy day transitioned into night, you relentlessly mulled over what you’d just witnessed. Arthur the merman walking and speaking to you, offering a way out. After multiple pinches and other obscure ways to convince yourself it was a dream, turns out this was very much reality. Afterward, you weighed your options over and over. You weren’t the first to be forced into marriage and certainly wouldn’t be the last. Concurrently, you wouldn’t be the first to flee from an unpleasant lifestyle. Marriage would mean financial security and a fixed, mundane duty. Running away would unlock a door to a world full of secrets and adventure, though can be proven dangerous.

You could be safe for potentially the rest of your life, yet bound by societal laws and left to be only dreaming of what your life could have been.

Your father’s lumbering sounded from the floor below, accompanied by a sharp bang every once in a while. Since your mother died, he was never seen without an amber bottle in his hand. He was simply a mere shell of what he used to be, no longer the man you grew up with. Perhaps this arrangement was his way of caring, assuring you’d never come across any trouble.

But you were tired of bargaining with yourself, trying to make sense of this decision other than the most obvious. He was a stranger to you now, as he has been for years. Should you continue to subject yourself to his wishes, to be miserable until the day you die?

No, not anymore.

When the sounds downstairs finally quietly, you began to pack your essentials. You kept an eye on the time, grabbing a few days’ worth of clothing and a few coveted trinkets: some jewelry and a photo of your mother, along with whichever else you could fit into the old leather sack. When you’d finished, the time was 11:30.

Arthur showed up on the stroke of midnight exactly. You’d spotted him in your backyard again, keeping to the shadows of the barn. You snuck downstairs as quietly as you could, giving a sidelong glance to your father, who was passed out at the kitchen table with an empty bottle dangling from his hand. Silently, you bid him a goodbye as a bittersweet wave overcame you, blinking away a hint of tears. Maybe you will see him again someday, if he were to ever sober up.

Passing through the back door and closing it as carefully as you could, your heart pounded loudly. Arthur’s dark figure became clearer as your eyesight adjusted, along with an unfamiliar horse on the opposite side of the fence. You met him halfway. He eyed the sack slung over your shoulder, and a small smile appeared on his face.

“Seems like you’ve made your decision,” he stated.

Nodding enthusiastically, you replied, “Yes. It took me a while to figure it out, but yes. I’ll go with you, I’m trusting you.”

Arthur nodded quietly, his eyes leaving you to sweep across the landscape before turning his attention back to you. “I found a place we can stay for a while over in New Austin, ‘less you got somewhere else in mind.”

This piqued your interest. You weren’t too far from the state border, although it would take a substantial amount of time to reach it. There was no way Arthur had gone there within the time slot he allotted, unless he’d been on the surface previously.

More and more questions grew in the back of your mind, though you had to staunch your curiosity. You couldn’t dawdle for long, in case some night owls nearby grew curious of your conversation. “Then let’s go,” you finally said, glancing at the horse you assumed was Arthur’s ride. However you paused, turning your attention toward the stallion resting in the pasture.

Arthur followed your gaze. “Somethin’ wrong?”

You looked at him again. “Is it alright if we take him with us? I don’t wanna leave him behind.”

Without hesitation, Arthur nodded. “Sure, you won’t hear me complainin’.”

---

The clear full moon cast a silver hue along the tan landscape of Great Plains, illuminating the paths perfectly. The two horses loped quietly along the rolling hills. Arthur assured there was no rush, and so you had to quell your anxious excitement.

However, this didn’t stop the questions. As soon as you’d exited the outskirts of Blackwater, the first question was, “How are you here on land?”

He explained that merfolk had the ability to grow legs, though not many of them truly took advantage of it due to the fear of humans. It’d been at least a century since any notion of them stepping onto dry land, with Arthur being the exception, only he kept it a secret.

“So…how often do you come onto land?” you asked next.

“Been on n’ off since I was a boy,” he answered. “Truth is, my mother used to do the same. Loved humans, came to shore often. She met my father that way, he was human.”

This news surprised you. Who knew that merfolk and humans could have children together? And if that was possible, how many others out there were like Arthur?

“I spent a lot o’ time on land, lot o’ time in the water. Learned how to live as both, but my father was killed when I was young, so I took to the waters, until my mother passed.”

“I’m…so sorry,” you said automatically, your heart falling to your stomach.

To your surprise, Arthur chuckled. A small, humorless laugh. “Never understood why humans say that, they ain’t the cause of a particular tragedy, so why apologize?”

You couldn’t really answer that question yourself. It was ingrained into your mind that you never had any further consideration. It was an odd thing to say, really. You shook your head as if to clear those thoughts, wanting to focus on him again. “Where do you prefer living?”

You could see his broad shoulders shrug. “Can’t really say, I enjoy both since I can live jus’ fine on both. Don’t take too much to adapt since I’m already familiar.”

“So…what does that mean for me?”

He turned his head toward you.

“Are you going to live on land with me for the rest of your life, or are you gonna leave at some point?” you reiterated.

Arthur slowed up his horse, falling in step with yours. “I’ll be around for as long as ya want me,” he answered seriously. “But I couldn’t leave knowin’ you had no options.”

Those words tugged at your heartstrings. Arthur had been your friend for years, perhaps your only true friend. He left the waters for you, with no second consideration for himself. A small smile tugged at your lips.

---

Within a few hours you’d reached your destination: a small shack on the edge of the San Luis River with a dock. At the bottom of a cliff and surrounded by scrubby brush, it was enough to deter any unwanted company. Even though the shack was fully furnished, Arthur mentioned it had been abandoned for a little while now. He would swim here with the intention of cleaning it up for you, assuming you’d go along with his idea. It was cozy; one small bed in the corner and a furnace on the opposite end. Only fit for one person. Arthur insisted he was just fine sleeping in the water when you mentioned there was no room for both of you.

The first few days were a strange adjustment. You’d never been on your own, at least like this. You were used to preparing hot meals for yourself and your father with purchased goods. Arthur provided the food, bringing in fish or venison for either of you to cook. He didn’t wander too far from you in concern to leave you vulnerable, and you weren’t keen to wander out into the wilderness. Some nights you definitely heard the howl of a wolf or the snarl of a cougar in the distance.

After the first week passed, you were almost accommodated to this new life. Arthur offered to teach you how to hunt and fish, both in and out of the water. He was already swimming around one morning whilst waiting as you approached the glistening surface from the docks, his beautiful tail gleaming in the rising sun.

But what surprise you had when he made it to shore completely, naked as a newborn baby. You hadn’t seen him transform officially yet, and he seemed to lack modesty when he asked you why you were suddenly flustered in his presence. He was certainly nice to look at, even though you had to quickly shoo him inside to get dressed, for your own sake.

Within a month, Arthur turned you into a wilderness expert. Soon hunting for the dinner table, learning to track and cover, you were no longer nervous to step past those surrounding shrubs. You kept busy by picking herbs and catching game to sell to passing merchants, though avoiding coming too close to West Elizabeth.

One evening, you’d come home from hunting to find Arthur sitting on the end of the dock. Only half-dressed, lacking a shirt. His damp hair indicated he’d been in the water recently. You curiously approached him, wondering if something was on his mind.

At the creak of the boards, he turned and smiled at you. “Hey.”

“Hey,” you responded, taking a seat next to him. “What’re you up to?”

“Ah, just thinkin’,” he responded, casting his gaze across the river as the last of the sun’s rays shone across the surface.

You tilted your head. “Of?”

“Lot o’ things, these past few weeks,” he said lowly.

“Why’s that?”

“Well,” he slowly turned his head to look at you. “You were sayin’ that you didn’t know how to live like this, now you do.”

You nodded in agreement. Many times he’s expressed how proud he was for you to learn a new skill, and you were proud of yourself to adapt so quickly. “Thanks to you, Arthur. If I’d attempted this on my own, I’d probably be dead within a week, or somehow found and dragged back home.”

“It won’t come to that anyway, least from how far you’ve progressed,” Arthur pointed out.

Smiling at him, you said, “I’ll be forever grateful for taking me away.”

He half-smiled at you. “I’m grateful you agreed,” he replied, his eyes suddenly falling to the structure beneath you. “I jus’ hope that…” he murmured so quietly you had to strain to hear.

“What?”

He sighed deeply. “It’s silly, but I hope you still want me ‘round. You’re more than capable of livin’ on your own now, you don’t need me.”

You blinked in surprise from his confession. “Why wouldn’t I, Arthur? You’re my friend, you’ve done so much for me already. Why would I just toss you away like that?”

“You don’t need me,” he repeated. “You can go on n’ do whatever you want with your life now, ain’t fair to stay here n’ –“

“Arthur,” you interrupted so sharply he stared at you. “I…I don’t need you, I but I want you here. You gave me this opportunity, and now I’m choosing to do this. Do you know how much you mean to me?”

He didn’t answer, only giving you a look of faint surprise. You stared back evenly, your words still fresh. You and Arthur had gotten so close since arriving here, having opened up in new ways toward one another.

Perhaps even closer than friends.

Those lingering glances, those quick moments of affection, a light touch here and there. The weight of his words when he bid you farewell for the day. Little moments that would make your heart soar. A new emotion arising within you every time you woke up to see him.

What you said next flowed from your mouth without hesitation. “I…I think I love you, Arthur.”

It surprised you how easy you admitted it. His blue eyes widened in his own shock, his lips parting as if to say something. Instead his mouth sat slack, eliciting no sound. You waited for a reaction, a change, a word, something.

A full moment passed and nothing, your heart dropped. Have you misinterpreted his signals? Maybe they meant something else to the other half of his world. Either way, you started to feel foolish. You took a shuddering breath and looked away, beginning to move. “I’m sorry, I’ll just – ”

A calloused hand grasped yours at an instant. An automatic flinch suddenly swept away when Arthur’s other hand cupped your chin, a firm yet tender hold to keep you in place. You turned your head back to him, observing the soft smile on his lips, and the gentle hooded gaze he gave you.

You relaxed in his touch, allowing your body to shift closer to him. The hand that held yours wrapped around your waist, tugging you closer and meeting no resistance. He leaned toward you, placing his lips upon yours.

Kissing him seemed natural. Your previous suitor was forceful and hard against you, but Arthur, as large and solid as he was, melded to you. Your hands reached for him, tangling in his damp hair, wrapping around his thick neck. He moaned slightly against your mouth, a low sound rumbling within his chest. Finally, he pulled away from you, the smile still remaining.

Fire licked at your cheeks, your mind in a haze as your smile mirrored his. You almost couldn’t believe it happened. No singular phrase passed your tongue as you mentally scrambled for your next words. “I…” you finally uttered, unsure how to continue.

He chuckled, smoothing his thumb across the ridge of your upper lip. “I think I love you too, sweetheart.”

Your smile only widened, the heat brushing against your face only increasing. This was a first for you, a rush of excitement and a whirlwind of emotion overtaking you. “Well, what now?” you bashfully asked.

Arthur glanced out at the water with a look of contemplation. Only a short moment passed before he stood up, and held his hand out. “Wanna go for a swim?”

You blinked, not expecting this response. But you took his hand anyway, allowing him to help you to your feet. “Now, here?”

“Only us out here, ‘sides, I wanna show ya how beautiful it is from my eyes…” he said, quickly shedding his pants. With nothing else on, he dove into the water with a graceful arc. Even in the dying light you watched as the skin of his legs slowly began to shimmer and mesh together into his tail beneath the disturbed waters. He surfaced just seconds later, peering up at you expectantly. “It’s nice n’ warm in here, you’ll like it.”

You were hesitant and admittedly a little nervous as you hadn’t swam in years. “Um, I don’t have a swimsuit…” you weakly pointed out.

“Neither do I,” the paper thin edges of his fin appeared, splashing playfully. “That don’t matter.”

You opened your mouth to argue, except you knew he was right. No one was around to see you, and you would be submerged if some random boat decided to pass by. Besides, you were itching to see how Arthur viewed the world, or at least his world. “Alright, you convinced me.”

It wasn’t too long before you too were bare, though Arthur was kind enough to not stare. Peering down at your reflection, you took a deep breath and plunged in.

#Arthur Morgan #Arthur Morgan x reader #merman!Arthur #merfolk AU

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faerytale-au · 4 years

Text

A Darkness Lingers Pt.2

Word Count: 6,750 Fourth Prompt Place: During and After “Promises and Tokens” Rating: M TW: Mentions of Past Abuse Cross Posted Here Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

Instead of crying or letting the hurt get to her she chose to sit on the couch, and before she knew it she was being called. “FRISK?”

She jerked in place, snapping from the daze she’d been unknowingly aiming at the wall. Forcing a smile she glanced up at Papyrus, a curious tilt of her head somehow only deepening the uncharacteristic frown on his face.

“YOUR MAGIC IS ALL OVER THE PLACE, IS SOMETHING WRONG?” Instead of answering she flicked her eyes over to the front door. Papyrus followed the look before letting out a deep sigh.

Papyrus smiled as he took a seat beside her. “IF YOU NEED TO TALK YOU KNOW I AM A VERY DILIGENT LISTENER MY DEAR SISTER.”

Like he wanted the gentle use of her new title made her smile more genuine. He could see a fragment of the tension ease from her shoulders as she looked down at the ruby ring on her hand, a concentrated furrow of her brows making his smile nearly falter.

“Were you…” She paused thoughtfully. “Do you miss your dad?”

Papyrus didn’t move, didn’t so much as breathe as he looked at her. After a moment his hands, resting unassuming on his knees, curled into tight fists even as the rest of him remained loose and relaxed in appearance.

His tone fought to keep it’s cheerful inflection. “SOMETIMES!”

And then it was hard to keep his voice steady. “Other times…”

Frisk watched as Papyrus glanced away from her, his teeth pressing together firmly as his sockets dipped with a softness she couldn’t decide on being sadness or affection. When he spoke he still kept his gaze averted, locked on a bit of peeling wallpaper he hadn’t noticed before.

Redecorating was definitely on the agenda.

“Truth Be Told...I Don’t Really Remember My Father Too Well. If There’s Anyone Who I’d Worry About Missing Him, It’d Be Sans.”

Frisk didn’t comment, and Papyrus looked back over with a timid smile. “They Were Really Close. Well Maybe Close Isn’t Right...They Both Had A Habit Of Acting Close But Being Distant. Only When They Told Me Stories Of Mom Did They Seem...Not Far Apart.”

“Sans hasn’t ever mentioned your mother.” Frisk frowned curiously. She was sure he hadn’t, trying to think over their many conversations she couldn’t even recall a moment where he might’ve hinted at her.

Papyrus chuckled so quietly she could’ve almost mistaken the laughter for Sans’s. “I’m Not Surprised. Her Passing Was Always A Sensitive Subject.”

Frisk hesitated but decided to risk asking. “What happened?”

Like a switch had been flipped a haunted look flew over the Seelie’s expression, Papyrus’s sockets dulling and turning a shade darker than she knew they could ever go. He shut them and in a very high falsetto he forced his words out.

“I Killed Her.”

Frisk thought her heart stopped.

“Her Soul Shattered While Giving Life To Me.” All she could do was stare at the floor. Frisk couldn’t think of what to say, what reassurances to give. How do you comfort someone when you hadn’t the first clue as to how they were feeling?

“I’m sorry you lost her like that…but it wasn’t your fault at all Papyrus.”

“HMM MY BROTHER OFTEN TELLS ME THE SAME THING. AND WHILE IT MAY BE TRUE...That Doesn’t Change My Personal Feelings On The Matter. IT’S JUST SOMETHING I’VE LEARNED TO DEAL WITH.” Frisk had to blink back the tears that wanted to fall from her eyes. Papyrus always seemed so cheerful and upbeat, she never would have guessed he held such pain close to his heart.

“Why do you think that?”

Here Papyrus hesitated. “Because...I’m Certain If She Hadn’t Died Our Father Would’ve Never Went Down The Path He Did…Our Lives Would Be Very Different.”

He sounded oddly like her; if she had tried harder to be good maybe dad would have loved her, if she had been a little more quiet, more invisible, maybe her mother would have cared. Maybe Frisk’s life could have been different from what it was now. They were thoughts she used to have constantly and that sometimes still plagued her at night.

Frisk didn’t like hearing something so similar coming from Papyrus.

She didn’t know what to say. Why did she never know what to say?

“Would you be happy...having your father back?”

Papyrus looked thoughtful, his expression scrunched in concentration as he thought on Frisk’s question with the most honesty he could give. He eventually shook his head and let out a huff of air.

“I’M NOT SURE. BUT I THINK SANS WOULD. STUBBORN TO ADMIT IT HE MAY BE. BUT THE PAST IS THE PAST THERE’S NO CHANGING THAT, IT’S SOMETHING WE HAVE TO ACCEPT.”

And little did he know Papyrus had just made a decision for her. Maybe...she could repay them both by offering what she had never had herself back in her world.

“Thank you Papyrus. Talking helped.” They both looked at each other in a soft and comfortable silence, his sockets taking on a less darkened hue as he unclenched his fists.

He pulled her into an unexpected hug. “ANYTIME!”

Frisk stiffened on instinct, her expression becoming awash with shock before she slowly smiled and hugged him back. Papyrus was the greatest Seelie she knew next to her husband, and he deserved everything, they both did.

Sans barely saw the grove in front of him from the ring of mushrooms; his mind was wandering and his sockets were bottomless pits. He hadn’t wanted to leave Frisk the way he had, he already felt so guilty over it, but he...couldn’t take another second talking about his old man.

It was a given he would’ve had to tell Frisk eventually. But he had wanted to do it on his own time and terms, he hadn’t wanted the reason to be because the Unseelie was plotting something.

Sans had wanted to live with Frisk in ignorance for just a bit longer.

Now all he could think about was not only how to explain his other job to his wife, but what preparations he’d have to take to prevent whatever drawback Gaster’s sudden activity would cause.

He was silently cursing himself, he was usually better prepared than this.

“Your foolish fancies will get you into trouble one day.”

The last time he’d seen Gaster in person...

How long had it been exactly? Sans couldn’t remember. He hadn’t tried too, in fact he’d gone out of his way not to think about him. But now alone and sitting with nothing to distract him his thoughts took over...the memories he’d long repressed surfaced.

He could remember vividly how angry and hurt his father had been, the way he had sounded when he’d spoken in a voice not entirely his own to condemn Gaster for what he knew was the greater good, and how broken that had made both him and his still very young and impressionable brother.

Papyrus had suffered from nightmares for years after witnessing the fight that had broken out, Sans still suffered from them on occasion with flashbacks to boot, but he handled them better now and as far as he knew Papyrus didn’t even have them anymore.

But that didn’t mean the wounds were no longer there.

Sans shut his sockets, and all he could see was how Gaster’s gaze had turned vicious and loathing when Sans had told him he was selfish. Gaster’s shock when he’d accused his old man of loving only himself without regard to his family and those around him.

Gaster had been many things...always cold, standoffish, hard to relate too. But even then Sans had known in his youth, his father had been different deep down. He had been kind, patient, and always full of a tame but strong energy that he had little doubt wasn’t where Papyrus got his own wild flame from.

Papyrus ironically took after the old bones, both of them had difficulties socially, both of them had more to them than others typically saw or bothered to look for. Sans was sure if Gaster had been there for all the years he missed, he would’ve likely loosened up and been softer, Papyrus too would have learned more decorum.

It wasn’t hard to imagine.

At least with how Gaster had been before...

There wasn’t a night where Sans hadn’t questioned if he’d done the right thing. A day where he wondered where everything had gone wrong. And Frisk had reminded him of that so painfully he had almost snapped.

He couldn’t...handle admitting his doubts.

Gaster had been his first Unseelie case, and he could still remember being horrified as his father had morphed from the corruption right in front of him and Papyrus both. His little brother in tears as Gaster’s arms had melted and evaporated away leaving behind nothing but floating hands and how his face had grotesquely cracked in a bone rattling snarl.

His father hadn’t even looked like himself anymore.

It had been too much for such a young child to see, it had been to much for himself, and it had been traumatizing in how it had made Sans wonder if he’d look like that if he ever let his own darkness take over. If Papyrus…

Sans had hated Gaster in that moment.

It had killed a part of Sans when he’d flung him through the Unseelie gate; his soul threatening to fracture under the sorrow he’d felt at the shock and surprise in his father’s gaze right before the doors had slammed shut behind him, it had also been relieving.

But Gaster had stopped caring, had stopped being the Seelie he and Paps had once so admired. He’d been a fae dedicated to family, a Seelie sought after not only for his dedicated work ethic but also for his wit when it came to negotiating and deal making.

Gaster had been the very image of their society, no less than the Queen herself.

So his darkness as it had consumed him had been not only a blow to Sans and his sibling but to their world as a whole. There wasn’t a soul alive that didn’t know about the Seelie’s fall from grace, that didn’t get told of Gaster not as someone to idolize but as a cautionary tale.

The day he’d emerged from his lab donning that haunting eye piece, his eyelight wide and pulsing with a silent victory Sans had felt sick, could tell something was off. He’d seemed so mad, entirely out of his skull with knowledge and insidious intent that had made it hard for Sans to even breathe.

Could he have done something then?

If he had tried, could he have kept Gaster on the right path?

But more than anything Sans now silently wondered...why after all this time? Why appear now and go after Frisk? Gaster never pursued anything unless it had been to his benefit or to that of his ambition.

A protective anger flared in Sans’s soul.

Was it revenge? A way to escape? As much as Sans tried he couldn’t think of a valid reason or guess the intent behind his father’s sudden interest. If he didn’t already know the drawback to going into the Unseelie realm Sans would’ve been there already confronting the other.

He refused to let Gaster ruin anything else with his greed.

A small stinging sensation tugged at Sans’s chest, pulling him from his thoughts as his eyelights came back with a harsh flare.

He clutched at his chest with a frown before pulling back his sleeve to stare down at his wedding bracelet. The moonstones along the back of it were lit up a furious red, oscillating between different shades and tones, but all meaning the same thing.

An image, sheer and thin like looking through lace flashed in his mind.

Golden doors, a hesitant step...

Frisk was before one of the gates...an Unseelie gate.

Sans felt his soul quiver, the magic between his joints tightening in panic as sweat coated his skull. She was trying to not only leave the realm but to open a gate to the corrupted fae? A possibility so logical and most likely true made him sick.

She had said she wanted to help Gaster.

Had he messed up?

Again?

Sans never should’ve been harsh to her that morning, he had never acted that way with her before, of course he would’ve upset her. Of course she’d rebel against him when he was so out of character with her.

Panic, thick and unrelentingly harsh overcame him.

He was back through the gate and rushing to shortcut in a single breath as guilt and worry shot a bolt of ice down his spine.

He prayed he wasn’t too late.

Frisk was uncertain as she stood at the abandoned post, her mouth dry and chest heaving with thick breaths. She already knew Gaster was standing on the other side, waiting. His presence she could feel like a weight on her chest.

He’d known she’d show hadn’t he?

She swallowed thickly, she didn’t know if she could even open the gate, but she was more than sure if she did not only would Sans know, but every Seelie in the realm would too.

A glance up at the thick bells hanging ominously above her made her heart give a painful skip in her chest. There were so many it felt like, but in reality only six stood guard, three to either side of the arch overhanging the entrance. All wide enough that Frisk imagined if one were to fall it could encompass a whole village in it’s depths.

Her eyes drifted down to a pair of hand prints embedded within the golden doors, one on each side of the doors seam. The tiny indentations were like specks to it’s immense stature but Frisk could feel the powerful magic swirling out from them like a hot breeze, coiling and calling with a phantom caress.

She shut her eyes as she tried to get her breathing under control.

“Second thoughts?” Frisk’s eyes snapped open and she frowned as she looked down at her hands, wispy sparks of muted fire tracing along her palms and fingers, as if her magic was trying to soothe her.

“I...need your word.”

Gaster was silent, but soon his voice was echoing in her mind again. “Has my son not taught you the dangers of an Unseelie deal?”

Frisk clenched her hands and let them fall to her sides as she stared ahead, her eyes boring into the door as if she could see Gaster just behind it smirking at her. But she refused to let his words antagonize her.

This was a front for him, she felt it in her soul, she’d seen there was more to him.

“He has, but I’m willing to bet you would never truly harm those you call family.” She couldn’t see him, but the sudden thickening of the air around her told of his annoyance...and his power. If he could cause such such a shift locked in another realm there was no doubt he could cause unfathomable damage when present. She wanted to believe in him, truly she did, but she wasn’t naive enough to overlook his taint.

“...What do you ask of me?”

“I know better than that Gaster, I know how deals work, your word or I walk away.”

There was a long stretch of silence.

“...Place one hand to the door…” Nervousness made a knot form in Frisk’s stomach but she managed to take another step forward, careful to avoid touching the spot her hand was to rest when opening the gate she pressed her palm flat and firmly to the smooth surface.

Warmth and chill mixed, curling like ghostly tendrils through the thick door to wrap her fingers and wrist. It stung, burned her flesh enough that she hissed painfully. It had never felt like this when she’d made a deal before; like her hand was slowly blistered and then quickly dunked into freezing water.

His magic was this potent?

“For my freedom, voice your request.”

Her heart hammering Frisk spoke slowly, “You are not to bring harm or death to a single soul in this realm.”

The air became suffocating, laced with bitterness and fury so engulfing Frisk covered her mouth and nose to keep from choking on the suddenly foul air. The magic binding her hand nearly had her knees give out with how intensely it constricted around her.

She’d angered him, but just as quickly as that anger had come it just as quickly soothed and withdrew. The overpowering feeling in her arm was still there but had gone down to a dulled throb.

“...Is that all you demand?” The curious tone in his voice had her shoulders hunching suspiciously.

She took a second to think over her words and was sure there were no loopholes or room for him to betray their deal, but she was still learning. Hesitantly she chose to say something else instead of trying to add to her conditions, something told her she needed to.

“That’s all I ask of you...as family.”

For a moment it felt as if Gaster had softened, something warm and yet sad filling the bond being manifested between them. If she could see him, she’d have seen how haunted he looked, how empty and bitter he was.

Gaster was to be denied even his vengeance.

...For family…

How manipulative, and thoughtful.

“I see now just how perfect for my son you are.”

Frisk wasn’t given the chance to respond as an acidic burn of pain shot up her arm and straight into her chest, sending her vision tunneling as her soul was constricted and squeezed in the onslaught of a corrupted deal struck.

Gaster felt her try to topple but his magic still scorching itself in an unseen contract kept her up and firmly on her feet. He couldn’t help the smirk on his face. The repercussions and consequences from what she’d just done caused her to suffer, which pleased the darkness in his soul.

It was just punishment for the rules she’d just imposed on him.

When he could sense the tie on her being firmly in place he released her.

Frisk crumpled, fell painfully to her knees, and tried to keep her balance by resting her hands and forehead against the doors where she panted as if she’d just ran a marathon. In all her years she’d never felt something so nasty and horrible as what had just happened.

It was almost as if she’d dirtied herself…

“Quickly now, I highly doubt my eldest didn’t feel the violation to your soul.”

Violation?

She must’ve said it out loud because Gaster answered, “An unfortunate side effect. I can explain more after you hold up your end to our agreement.”

Swallowing down what felt like cotton Frisk pushed shakily to her feet and narrowed her eyes at the door’s seal. Taking another deep breath she moved her hands into the imprinted grooves and let out a gasp as her palms settled almost perfectly into them.

A cool breeze, comforting and warm wrapped around her as her magic flared to engulf her hands and rapidly climb her body. Flames that didn’t burn or singe flowed around her and flared into a fiery typhoon, whipping her clothing and hair as if she was caught in a hurricane.

“That’s it! Focus Frisk.” Gaster’s encouraging call echoed.

She squeezed her eyes shut as they began to burn, tears running from their corners only to be lifted into the air in a bizarre loss of gravity. The air distorted and bent, a heatwave or time magic rapidly grew the grass at her feet and wilted it before reverting it rapidly to a youthful green.

She--she didn’t know if she go on--the doors gave but it felt like her energy was a battery, fluctuating between full and powerful to weak and drained--

No!

She...she could do this!

Frisk could set Gaster free; she could give Papyrus and Sans their father back. She could prove she was more than just Sans’s wife and a human, she was capable of so much more than sitting around day in and out with nothing but the worry and fear of being a burden that being a mage brought.

She could prove she was more than anyone had ever given her credit for.

Frisk cried so loudly her voice rose above the ringing the bells began to give as she poured all her frustration and deep buried regret into pushing the door’s apart. Foul wind and diseased air bathed her in cascading flows of evil intent that made her almost collapse with nausea.

Another inch--

And she fell, her magic going out as the doors swung wide enough Gaster reached forward and caught her easily. Moving quickly he passed the entry way and glared back at the feral Unseelie that had been alerted, their charging forms barely visible before Gaster coalesced his magic and slammed the doors back shut with a resounding crack of thunder.

Frisk was gasping and barely coherent as Gaster knelt with her and pressed his forehead to her own. She shivered as a feeling pushed in and started to replenish her but nearly made her gag at the bile it raised in the back of her throat.

Despite how gross it felt her breathing evened out, and thankfully Gaster pulled back before standing fully again. His hold on her only released once he was sure she could stand without shaking. It took her a second to get her thoughts straight but once they were she looked up at him cautiously.

“Thank you.” He hummed before turning.

Frisk froze.

Sans was still and at a distance but his whole frame tensed the moment his eyelights locked with Gaster. She watched as his sockets narrowed in disbelief and his grin trembled at the edges.

Gaster looked amused.

Her heart dropped.

Frisk felt the air take on a sudden chill, ice spiraling out from the bottoms of Sans’s feet to coat the ground as the wind picked up and billowed his cloak and clothing. Her husband’s smile, so often soft and adoring, suddenly widened and...felt as if it went empty of all feeling.

A bolt raced down her spine as his eyelights snuffed out, the left socket flaring bright like a raging inferno lit up with yellow and blue light coalescing violently in hostile intent. She was shocked as Sans spoke with the voice that she heard in her dream.

“Y O U D O N ‘ T B E L O N G H E R E.”

Gaster’s smirk dropped.

“Sans wait please!” Frisk tried but her plea died in her throat as he glanced over at her, the weight of the power she could feel in his gaze suffocating and stalling her thoughts.

It felt like he was seeing right through her.

Frisk locked in place, her and Sans both staring at each other with vastly different expressions and intent. There was apprehension and...she didn’t have a name for the way his face shone with false warmth in his smile but yet felt so condemning.

She didn’t know rather to be afraid...or worried.

Gaster took the opportunity to slip an arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer to his side, the abrupt motion jarring her enough into breaking eye contact as she looked up at Gaster.

It seemed to be enough to affect Sans.

Instantly his eyelight went out and he looked absolutely petrified as the whirling wind of his magic died. The sight of his wife in his deranged father’s arms sent such a painful spike through his soul that he had to fight not to let the magic in his joints constrict.

“don’t you dare--” Gaster gave a dismissive snort.

“So, it seems the risk to her well-being is what can temper you, duly noted.” Frisk tensed but the reassuring rub of his thumb into her shoulder relaxed her. The gesture was unexpected and it confused her how such warmth could come from him while he still glared Sans down, bitterness and cold detachment livid in his one good socket.

Sans glanced over at her and then back to Gaster, like hell he’d risk Frisk’s life for his job let alone his anger.

His demeanor became forced as he hitched his grin higher in one corner and held his hands up in a shrug. “no need to get so handsy, why don’t we go ahead and sit down for a talk. seelie were we can compromise?”

Frisk perked up hopefully but Gaster wasn’t fooled by the sudden attitude change. He could see his son’s tell with the magical sweat drop that subtly slid down the side of his skull.

Unlike Papyrus, Sans wasn’t good under pressure, it’s why he so often relied on his magical abilities when push came to shove in high tension situations.

An unfortunate flaw in his eldest.

“Your acting is about as poor as your puns, lacking in dedication and effort,” Sans’s expression darkened. “Rather disappointing given our race. But not nearly as disappointing as the thought you’d honestly believe me capable of intentionally hurting my daughter-in-law.”

It took Sans a moment to register Gaster’s words and slowly his body unwound as he blinked in confusion. Of course he thought that, if he could betray both him and Papyrus when they were younger, what was stopping him from hurting Frisk who he didn’t even know?

Sans wasn’t stupid.

Frisk took a deep breath and her voice was gentle.

“I’m sorry I hurt you by bringing Gaster here.” Sans’s skull whipped in her direction and he looked as if she’d slapped him but she continued, her eyes bright with her determination that it kept him rooted to the spot in which he stood.

“He just...misses you and Papyrus, his home. Don’t you miss him too?”

Slowly Sans’s eyelights panned over to his old man’s face, and the slight twitch of his frown, the way he had a hand absently adjust his monocle was telling. If only Sans couldn’t see the grudge his father still carried on his soul he might have relented.

But Gaster’s sins were countless.

He looked back over to Frisk, his kindhearted and stubborn wife, with a gaze soft but somber. It was too late for what she was trying to accomplish. Gaster was banished, an Unseelie who refused to give up the very conviction that corrupted him.

A Fae that had sacrificed everything that should have been precious.

“frisk--you can’t save him.”

She looked ready to defy him but he cut her off. “surely even he’s told you that.” He shot Gaster a glare. “my old man has always made it a point to make sure everyone knows reality from fiction.”

Gaster...looked away as his hand tightened on Frisk’s shoulder only the slightest bit.

If he hadn’t been holding her she would have thought he was ignoring the way Sans was speaking about him, indifferent to how hurt and angry his son sounded. And though she could tell he was becoming more angry himself, more tempted to lash out still he held to his word and didn’t.

“my old man died years ago frisk.” She could sense the ache, but it sounded so final.

Frisk looked down at her feet as she collected her thoughts before facing her husband again. Sans’s sockets were locked on Gaster but his attention was so clearly on where she was held it was impossible to miss the nervousness with which he hid his hands in his cloak.

Seeing how distressed he was it felt as if she’d wronged him, and doubt began to settle in her chest. Was she really doing the right thing? Couldn’t everyone be saved? She didn’t know what to think.

Frisk felt herself fade out, the world turning grey and loud. Shadows both sharp and blurred ran across her vision as hopelessness and desperation struggled with the fire of her hope and fought to quench her resolve.

She felt her body vanish.

Sans almost flinched at the cold and detached look that took over her face, it was horrifying to him how washed out her skin turned with her eyes going so dull it felt as if her soul had fled. It hit him in the most painful way to watch her wilt like a doll whose strings had been cut, but it wasn’t nearly as painful as her words.

“You saved me…” She muttered through numb lips.

And that made him question...if he actually had.

Gaster looked down at her, a mix of intrigue and surprise quirking one of his bony brows as he took in her state. It twisted Sans’s magic with disgust as he recognized the look in his father’s sockets.

no, don’t look at her with curiosity, like something to dissect, this isn’t--this wasn’t okay--

“sweetheart, that’s not the same thing, not by a long shot.” His words were hushed, gentle as if she might shatter. He wasn’t even aware that he’d gotten closer until Gaster held a hand out between them and nearly touched him.

Sans fought not to instinctually lash out with magic and shot Gaster a deadly look, but it went ignored as his father fully turned and adjusted Frisk to face him at arm’s length.

The longer Frisk stared at nothing and Gaster examined her the more Sans felt his anxiety grow, the more he tried to come up with a way to separate them without somehow accidentally harming her.

Eventually, “Ah, you’re traumatized. Classic dissociation associated with PTSD.”

Then Gaster did something Sans hadn’t witnessed since he was a child.

The former scientist got down on his <em>knees</em> and kept his gaze intentful and measuring as he spoke with the same authoritative voice he’d often used when he’d had to calm Sans down in his worst moments.

“Memories and feelings are just the mind’s way of storing information. None of that applies to the here and now, you don’t need to remember Frisk. Focus.”

”Family is everything Sans, greater than even yourself, never forget that.”

Sans felt his soul give a violent thrum and he had to do everything he could not to take his sockets off of Frisk. He hadn’t thought back on his father’s encouraging words in years. But now it was all he could think about as Gaster worked to bring his wife out of her stupor.

The doubt he’d carried all this time in the back of his skull came to the forefront.

Had Gaster...wavered in his depraved dedication? Was he changing? Had he...ever changed really? It was so hard to believe anything else as Frisk’s eyes slowly began to brighten, and her lashes fluttered away her daze.

Sans felt his stance on his father give.

Frisk sucked in a breath as her body lit up with warmth and her mind slowly cleared. She was confused to see Gaster kneeling in front of her but that quickly turned into mild embarrassment as he smirked at her.

“Good.”

Soon as she was coherent Sans moved to hold her, but was met with Gaster stepping forward and blocking the way. His guard went up, and the softness Sans had felt bloom in his chest hardened upon seeing his Father’s malicious smile.

Frisk stiffened at the sudden mood shift. “Gaster, we had a deal!”

“And we still do my dear.” He chuckled. “Nowhere did you state I couldn’t fight him.”

Frisk reached forward, her hands grasping and burying within the smoke that composed Gaster’s form as she tried her best to gain his full attention, anything to buy her precious seconds to try and convince him not to go through with the sudden whim.

Gaster however simply peered over his shoulder at her, “That’s enough of that, stop acting so childish.” and spawned a hand into being.

“frisk!” Sans panicked and tried vainly to teleport to her but found himself frozen in place, a dark and corrupted purple surrounding and suffocating his soul. Gaster looked back towards his son with a shrug as he snapped his fingers.

Frisk’s eyes went wide as dark light erupted from the ground around her, exploding upward and encasing her in a dome of pure blackness. Her cry went muffled and silent as it formed a cocoon around her, flipping and deafening her senses.

Sans began to sweat as he visibly struggled to break free, “F R I S K!”

His old man had gotten stronger through the years.

Gaster took a step forward, the last five of his hands appearing and enlarging as he prepared for combat. Sans was gasping, his eyelight bright and flaring with rage. His father was unperturbed and merely looked at him boredly.

“Is that all you plan to do? Act dramatic for your human? Come, let’s see what the years have taught you my boy. Best hurry.” He gave a snide smile. “Dear Frisk has, at best fifthteen minutes of air.”

Sans’s smile went so wide it threatened to crack his skull.

He should’ve known better. He should’ve acted as soon as he’d seen Gaster had returned.

Instead Sans had let nostalgia and his worry for Frisk make him weak.

The air turned chill, frost and snow whipping into a flurry around him as he glared his father down with tears in his sockets...as his second eyelight lit up with equal power to the first.

Gaster smirked as he easily dodged the first barrage of bones, his body morphing and shifting to allow the ring of projectiles through his form without a single scratch. He chuckled as Sans took the opportunity to break the hold his magic had on him and shortcut away.

Predictable.

The taller fae didn’t even have to turn as a frustrated cry echoed from behind him. Smirking he looked over to the shorter Seelie’s enraged snarl as a thick wall of impenetrable darkness kept him back from where Gaster held Frisk hostage.

“Fourteen minutes.” He taunted.

Sans’s shoulders slumped as if in defeat but Gaster easily sensed the pool of magic building beneath him and leapt, just barely missing a circle of sharpened bones protruding from the ground in a spray of cold fog.

“Ah, intending to actually kill me are we?” Sans slowly turned to face him, one hand still firmly pressed to the wall between him and his wife, his smile gone and replaced with a firm line.

“let her go old man. i didn’t like your games when i was a kid, and i don’t like them now.”

Gaster frowned and leveled a cruel glare at him. “Who says I’m playing?”

Sans vanished, the area around Gaster becoming awash in black before snapping into sharp clarity as the judge swung an elongated humerus bone. Gaster dodged with ease and the area once more turned black before returning with Sans coming down from above.

“Your shortcut’s effects will only do so much to aid you.” He remarked as an equally cold black wall of bones spawned above him blocking his son’s blow. Shards of ice like that of shattered glass rained down, catching the glow of Gaster’s corrupted magic and reflecting it with ethereal light as he shot Sans a narrowed smirk.

“Stop being lazy.”

Sans’s eyelights flared and quicker than Gaster could blink reality dissolved and snapped back in furious and rapid succession.

The monocle Gaster wore lit up and pulsed.

A blow aimed from the side, met with a gigantic palm.

Bones from beneath his feet while Sans struck from behind, blocked and evaded.

His son’s frustrated smile going wider as he summoned a blaster and fired only made him chuckle at how childish the Seelie’s ultimate defender looked as the powerful beams were easily absorbed by the holes in his hands.

Each time Sans tried to strike or entrap him Gaster simply thought ahead of him and prevented it, his monocle allowing him to peer moments into the course of his son’s actions to determine the best way to counter.

Gaster would be lying if he didn’t admit he was mildly disappointed.

This fight was too easy.

The moment Sans appeared again and lunged at him, humer raised in defiance, Gaster merely glanced up and shot a hand out from the darkness of his body.

Sans was shocked as he was locked in place, his forehead glistening with magical sweat as the hand, thoroughly cracked like a jigsaw puzzle and looked as if it was barely held together kept him from finishing his attack.

Apparently his father had seven hands instead of six. Sans wondered if he’d bothered trying to salvage it as a reminder of just how angry and bitter he was at him. It wouldn’t have surprised him.

Sans felt his arms strain as he pushed the humerus stubbornly against it.

Gaster knew he had won, all without barely lifting a finger, he could see it in the way Sans’s smile threatened to falter as it wobbled in the uppermost corner. Logically this was where he should stop. He had made a deal with Frisk after all.

But this was so tempting.

Before him was the very reason he’d been forced to suffer more than he had even when they’d all been locked in the void, the Seelie responsible for sending him to a place where he couldn’t feel the call of nature or the binding of magic that composed their very existence.

Sans could’ve purified him years ago...instead he had chosen to send him away.

He had damned him.

“I owe Frisk an apology.” He stated lowly.

Sans’s sockets narrowed in confusion and Gaster’s smile broke into a horrifying and twisted leer as his glee and eagerness outshone the calm composure he'd maintained throughout the entire confrontation. “...For making her a widow.”

Sans barely registered the words as Gaster’s palms rose up to encircle him from all directions, their hollow centers lighting up as they prepared to eviscerate him. He went to shortcut but his soul was pinged as Gaster used his magic to cancel his own.

Pulling from his magic started to exhaust him as he summoned another rain of bones but groaned as Gaster once more scattered and shattered them before they could impact. Sans didn’t even have the energy to call another blaster.

His sockets slammed shut as he tried to think but he kept coming up short on figuring out a way to escape, his magic was racing along his leylines and he was gasping as the world went impossibly silent except for the roar of his incoming death.

...Was..was he really this weak?

He didn’t realize he was so out of practice.

Couldn’t he manage to protect one person?

Sans opened his sockets and looked up passed the Unseelie to the wall standing between him and Frisk, his soul shuddering in agony as he envisioned her floating unconscious and vulnerable, completely at another’s mercy without anyone to help if she cried out for it.

His frisky…

His wife…

Sans could only ever fail to be there when she needed him.

A shout pulled Sans from his spiraling thoughts and he whipped his head around just in time to see a giant orange bone come flying and connect sharply with the side of his father’s skull.

Gaster was caught off guard, his body lurching and soaring with barely any effort into the wall of a building that broke and collapsed around him in a grotesque version of a fairy mound. Sans fell to his knees as Gaster’s magic broke and looked up with relief.

“hey bro...what took you so long?”

Undyne was smirking along with the rest of the guard as Papyrus slowly lowered his hand, his magic thick and undulating around him in a burnt orange aura as his cape levitated beyond gravity's hold in crusted ice.

Papyrus frowned. “HONESTLY BROTHER, YOU KNOW I DETEST FIGHTING.”

Sans smiled, battle ready and bringing backup?

His bro was the coolest.

#frans #sans x frisk #gaster

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dangermousie · 4 years

Text

2019 END OF YEAR KDrama Post

Wow, I haven’t made one in years. This is going to involve only dramas that came out in 2019 because I watched a hell of a lot dramas made prior to that and trying to figure out which ones will give me a headache.

DRAMAS WATCHED (In order of liking from most to least as opposed to pure quality; I am including if I’ve seen at least two eps AND feel it was enough to make up my mind; yes I realize that’s inaccurate, but that’s my list)

Extraordinary You - A philosophy and religion course AND a love story, and perfect at both.

My Country - a brutal, passionate, intense masterpiece of a sageuk. This is how they should be.

Crash Landing On You - the two eps that have aired brought my joy in watching kdramas back to me so vividly. This is everything.

Encounter - the perfect noona romance of the year for me. It seems to have little plot (powerful older woman, idealistic younger man) but the characters made me love them with an unhealthy amount of attachment and the mood is just perfect.

Haechi - smart traditional sageuk with a heart. This one will make you love it but also respect it in the morning :)

Queen: Love and War - Period, romance, mystery, helpless king and feisty heroine. It’s everything I love in one package.

Chocolate - if, like me, you like slow old-school melo with genuine grown-ups, this one is for you. Ha Ji Won and Yoon Kye Sang are both incandescent in this.

One Spring Night - a rare slice of life that worked for me so so much. I rooted for the main OTP like crazy (I did skip all the sister stuff though because boring to me.) It’s just a breath of fresh air.

The Tale of Nokdu - a rare funny youth sageuk that worked for me (except, ironically, for when they tried to be politics-heavy and serious about it.) Wonderful OTP, funny situations and just generally a delight.

Memories of the Alhambra - I can hear people screaming that I put this so high, but this is a faves ranking, not objective one, and I loved the unusual premise (it ultimately fell apart but it tried), and Hyun Bin’s performance was out of this world and the aaaaagnst and I enjoyed waiting for it each week until almost the end. That ending though!!!!!

Psychopath Diary - this is black comedy at its best and hysterical and smart and somehow got me invested in the hapless protagonist.

Hotel del Luna - clever and funny and smart. Hong Sisters largely back to form. I found the sageuk parts more engaging than modern ones, but what else is new.

Search WWW - some parts of it worked for me more than others, but it had solid writing and cool characters and some interesting OTP(s).

Love is Beautiful Life is Wonderful - has the weekend drama slowness but it lovely and fun.

When the Camellia Blooms - it was well made and the OTP was great and the acting top notch, I just don’t tend to go gaga for slice of life dramas, especially ones involving market ladies, much.

Flower Crew Joseon Marriage Agency - competently done, pretty period piece about nothing. It was enjoyable and forgettable at once.

Catch the Ghost - I put it as high as I did because the OTP really did have lovely chemistry but the story was a complete mess, the police work made no sense and the heroine’s character was like nails on a chalkboard for me.

Joseon Survival - I got about four episodes in and liked it a lot but then Kang Ji Hwan turned out to be a convicted rapist, they replaced the lead and I didn’t go back. I kind of want to because I liked what I saw and I am madly curious as to whether they changed the main character or just said he had a different face now, no explanation.

The Last Empress - pure inconsistent trash but so entertaining!

Vagabond - I made it eight episodes in before I realized that I would have as much fun staring at traffic. It’s a competently done actioner but without more, actioners never work for me, so this was a viewer/drama mismatch.

Arthdal Chronicles - incoherent, visually odd and boring, this is arguably the worst drama this year but I am giving it higher place because the cast really tries (even if it tends to fail because it has nothing to work with) and because it attempted something different even if it failed spectacularly. SO BAD.

Melting Me Softly - yes, my brain was fully melted by this soulless, charmless waste of Ji Chang Wook and my limited free time.

VIP - Any drama that makes the main mystery and thrust of the story who the husband cheated on his wife with is BORING. Seriously, this is not exactly Hercule Poirot. They wasted their cast - I have NO idea why Lee Sang Yoon agreed to be in this as a one note character and Jang Nara is playing a second scorned wife in a row but without even the entertainment value of her previous outing.

Abyss - aptly named. The best thing I can say about it is it didn’t offend me but oh boy was it dull.

Absolute Boyfriend - I loved the manga but it’s time to accept this can never be adapted well. They wasted the cast and that ending was just an insult on top of a trash heap.

The Lies Within - you cast that cast and deliberately have no romance. You are dead to me.

Woman of 9.9 Billion - competently made, but it’s everything I dislike - dour unpleasant bored people behaving as if they are in a particularly dreary art-house French movie but without any nuance or interest the latter came provide.

Love with Flaws - shrill, dumb, neither acted nor written by anyone trying at all.

Rookie Historian Goo Hae Ryung - objectively, it’s not the worst drama on the list, but it’s everything I hate in one package - willfully ahistorical but not cleverly so, male lead incapable of acting, the characters so one-dimensional they disappear, this purports to be a period drama but about as period as a space ship. God, I loathed this.

FAVORITE DRAMA

Extraordinary You - smart (so mind-bendingly smart) and moving and totally unpredictable and with so many things to say about free will and religion and self and nature of memory and narrative, this had an insane impossible premise and yet somehow managed to do it full justice and stick the landing.

WORST DRAMA

People with Flaws - this is different from least favorite because even if I loathed e.g., Rookie Historian or Woman of 9.9 Billion, I recognized some positive features; it’s just certain things really rubbed me the wrong way due to personal preferences. But this shrill hot mess of a drama is really everything that’s wrong with dramaworld.

FAVORITE MALE CHARACTER

Prince Yeoning, Haechi - fiercely smart, strong, tormented by the duality of his birth (royal father, servant mother) but not letting this distract him from his purpose, loyal to the bone, and with integrity nothing can shake but where you can feel that it’s not easy and that it costs him.

FAVORITE FEMALE CHARACTER

Eun Dan Oh, Extraordinary You - a go-getter who remakes the world (literally); smart, cheerful, strong, beautifully human. She feels so real and yet is larger than anything around her.

NEEDS TO BE MURDERED

Yi Seung Gye, My Country - a sociopath destroying lives in his quest for power and control, even the destruction of his own family barely gives him anything but momentary pause. He is the reason for the tragedy of MC.

FAVORITE SHIP

Eun Dan Oh x Haru, Extraordinary You - their love is literally universe and god-defying. They have loved each other as different people in three separate worlds (and counting), and have defied loss of memory and even loss of self as well as death, the end of worlds, and their god and the narrative and literally anything and everything, to be together.

Runner Up: Soo Hyun x Jin Hyuk, Encounter: tender and decent and his bringing her back to vivid life and the way they love and support and compliment each other.

Probably gonna be on list if doesn’t go haywire: Crash Landing on You: she is a SK heiress, he’s a NK officer, they have mad chemistry and so much potential.

NOTP:

Tae Mi x Morgan, Search WWW - love the actors, love the chemistry, love the characters in terms of the way they are written, but they are absolutely wrong for each other and there is no future of any sort but misery ahead. None of their issues are resolved but are swept under the rug. It’s a cautionary tale, not a romance. I did a long rant before so not repeating.

BEST SECONDARY OTP

Scarlett x Ji Hwan, Search WWW - they stole the shippiness in the drama for me. Cooky and adorable and noona romance done right.

FAVORITE SCENE

Haru’s final disappearance, Extraordinary You - the lights start to go out, the world literally dissolving, Eun Oh and Haru clinging to each other, with his telling her she was his beginning and the end. His name, the one she gave him, is the last thing he hears. In a drama full of amazing scenes the very gist of which was defying the very creator and universe and meaning of existence, this was the one that stayed with me the most.

BIGGEST CRUSH

Seo Hwi, My Country - I have a thing for deeply honorable, deeply tortured period badasses with long hair and a death wish (see Choi Young in Faith etc.)

BEST SCENE STEALER CHARACTER

Yi Bang Won, My Country - he started out as an antihero and ended up as arguably a tragic villain (or maybe still an anti-hero) but oh boy, was he magnetic and fascinating and sucking out all the oxygen whenever he was in the scene.

NEEDS A SEQUEL

Memories of the Alhambra - WTF ending was that?! All that misery and no real resolution?! Dammit!

TROPE THAT NEEDS TO DIE

Youth Sageuk - I hate most of them! They are anachronistic and dumb and honestly, what is the point of having fully modern people in period clothes? Just make a modern show and call it a day.

BIGGEST DISAPPOINTMENT

Melting Me Softly - Ji Chang Wook’s first project back from the military was an unfunny, unmoving, pointless mess with not an ounce of genuine enjoyment despite the excellent pedigree of everyone involved in front and behind the camera.

Arthdal Chronicles - the makers made excellent Queen Seon Duk, Tree with Deep Roots and Six Flying Dragons. The cast was uniformly A grade. The result was an open-ended, boring, incoherent mess that looks like a bad sort of a drug trip and made about as much sense.

BIGGEST GOOD SURPRISE

Extraordinary You - I had zero interest in yet another high school drama with no actors I recognized. By the end, EY was an emotional brainy twister of a marvel that became my favorite drama of all time. I’ve been watching dramas for over 13 years so that’s saying something.

2019 DRAMAS I HAVEN’T SEEN THAT I MOST WANT TO WATCH

The Crowned Clown - I love sageuks and cast and it looks so smart and emotional

Angel’s Last Mission: Love - my next contemporary - I watched a little and loved what I saw

Fates and Furies - I saw a few eps and classic melo is so up my alley.

Clean with a Passion for Now - I like the cast and it’s a year of falling for hot weird bosses apparently.

Graceful Family - I love makjang and Im Soo Jung.

The Secret Life of My Secretary - downmarket Beauty Inside and I loved BI.

Love Affairs in the Afternoon - artsy adultery FTW

Item - I don’t like crime stuff but I am here for Joo Ji Hoon.

My Strange Hero - seems a little cooky but I am fond of Yoo Seung Ho.

MOST ANTICIPATED IN 2020

King: the Eternal Monarch - Lee Min Ho and Woo Do Hwan and parallel worlds and written by Kim Eun Suk. Yes Please.

I should probably make one for cdramas too though that one would be rather shorter.

828 notes · View notes

chestnut-b · 4 years

Text

Himawari Chapter 10

“Is he happy there, Kakashi?” Sarutobi asked.

The man had looked oddly sheepish.

“Frankly, if I didn’t know better, I wouldn’t have thought we were talking about the same person.”

Then Kakashi cast his gaze down in thought. Looking up again, his eye turned into a thin crescent.

“When he’s with the children, you couldn’t tear the smile off his face even if you tried.”

Chapter 10 of a Demon Slayer AU

“Please make yourself comfortable, Hatake-dono. I’m afraid the Master was called on some urgent business, but will be returning shortly.”

The servant bowed apologetically, and left Kakashi, who had just arrived at the Sarutobi estate, to his devices.

The former Flame Hashira was one of the lucky few who had lived to retire, with most of his parts intact, having lost only a leg vanquishing an Upper Moon demon. After he was sure the performance of his successor and students were satisfactory, he’d taken the ridiculous salary afforded to his position, and charted what was one of the first expeditions West by ship. For all his worldliness, Sarutobi was soon dubbed ‘The Professor’.

The collection of paraphernalia and tomes from his years abroad was proudly displayed in the room he favoured for entertaining guests, and Kakashi was only too happy to browse.

Grabbing the nearest book, curiously bound in animal hide, he found it unsurprisingly filled with words foreign to him. The illustrations; of man-bull beasts, winged men, one-eyed cyclops’, of ships rocked against cliffs, all seemed to depict epic myths and cautionary tales.

Between its pages were several loose sheets of paper, and as soon as his eyes settled on the writings, his lips quirked into a smile.

The language, familiar. The handwriting, even more so.

Ever the studious one...

He could easily see a younger Iruka listening intently to Sarutobi narrate these fantastical tales, enthusiastically writing these down for his own future references. Browsing through the notes, it seemed the book was about ancient mythology, of civilisations long past.

He closed the book, not wanting to deny himself a chance to quiz the teacher about it later.

Kakashi turned his attention to a shelf along the edge of the room, lined with framed pictures. Products of one of the more fascinating curiosities Sarutobi had returned with. The first time he’d had his photo taken, it was on his last visit here together with his Father. A camera, he’d called it.

Among the photographs one seemed to draw his attention. A grinning boy, and a young child with dark eyes, sporting the traditional doll-like hairstyle, dressed in kimono woven with wisteria motifs typically worn by the Senju girls.

Before he could conjure any particular thoughts about it, he heard a happy giggle from the corridor. He turned to see a brown-haired toddler staring at him from the doorway. His appearance was followed by the sound of mismatched footsteps, and the child was quickly scooped up from the floor, into the arms of the person who had summoned Kakashi in the first place.

“Excuse my lateness, Kakashi, I had some troublesome things to attend to.” The master of the house called for a servant, and one came running in, taking the baby from his arms and retreating just as quickly.

Soon, he was sitting on the tatami floor with a cup of tea before him. Sarutobi always took pleasure in the ritual, something Iruka had obviously inherited from his master. Kakashi wasn’t nearly as fond of it, but the grateful smile that usually followed his efforts was not something he disliked.

“I appreciate you taking the time for the detour.” The elder started, reaching for his pipe. “How is Oyakata-sama?”

Still alive, for some reason. Is what he would have liked to say, but Kakashi was here on a little mission of his own, and so he reconsidered.

“His condition was not as favourable as it was on my last visit, I’m afraid. But it’s been nearly a year since I’ve seen him, things might have changed.” Kakashi replied. Sarutobi’s brows furrowed unhappily.

“That is unfortunate to hear, but I suppose it is unavoidable. Tell me Kakashi, how fares that foolish student of mine?”

He’d expected a little more fondness, and a little less frustration. It only served to prick at his curiosity.

“Iruka seems to be managing just fine.” He said jovially. “Last he wrote, he was having some fun with gunpowder.” There was a series of coughs, and the smoke made his own nose itch, but he resisted the urge to react.

When he recovered, he flashed Kakashi a considering look, but instead of asking what he really wanted to, he grunted.

“Trouble and him are never far apart, as usual.”

“It is as you say.” Kakashi followed, secretly hoping for him to divulge a little more.

Sarutobi directed his attention past Kakashi, towards the rock garden beyond the room, bathed in afternoon sun. The troubled look on his face erased any doubts that he was recalling something unpleasant.

“Iruka has already told you most of it, I presume.” Kakashi nodded, affirming his suspicions. There was a deep, long sigh.

“It’s been nearly three years since he left here with Naruto, and frankly, I still get ulcers thinking about it.”

“Then why let him go?”

“Hmph, you think I wanted to? Of course not.” He scoffed, taking another drag of his pipe. “I thought he would have moved past it, but his reaction ended up being inexcusable. Still too impulsive, too hot-headed.”

Kakashi thought of the person he’d come to know. On the surface; easy smiles and laughs, a warm hand. Sincere.

But then he remembered the flickers of darkness, the wildness of his gaze, barely reined in when it was directed at Kakashi one night, but completely unbridled when he’d met the demon in the cave. The teacher had known full well Kakashi was there, he could have requested help and spared himself further danger and potential injury, but chose not to.

He’d seen many warriors in his time, and the need to prove oneself was something he’d witnessed again and again. They didn’t always survive it.

“That much I told him. I suggested he return to the Senju where his skills would be of some use, and what does he do? He proceeds to prove my point!” Sarutobi seethed, and Kakashi waited with bated breath.

“The fool steals a horse, disappears for a month, and comes back near death with that scar on his face, and a complete map of the forest, Gods!”

If Kakashi weren’t himself, he’d be smiling, rubbing his hands together while urging him to continue, but he figured he’d have a lot to answer for if their meeting had induced an aneurysm.

His friend would be most unhappy, and not in the fun way.

With a cool look that belied his interest, he took a sip of tea.

A few minutes passed, and several drags of a pipe later, the elder had calmed down, somewhat.

“So you did too good of a job, perhaps.”

It induced a regretful sigh. The man got up from his seat with practiced ease, despite the wooden prosthetic. He walked towards the shelf of photographs, and stood nearly in the same spot Kakashi had. He was even looking at the same photograph, he realised.

“This is not what his parents intended for him.”

It was subtle, but he could feel Sarutobi’s heckles rising as he stared at the photo.

Kakashi recalled the Senju girl in the photograph. Familiar dark eyes. His mother, perhaps? He could see the resemblance. But he quickly realised his mistake; there was no way it could be her. At that age, Sarutobi hadn’t yet acquired his camera. The boy’s grin was familiar too, and in hindsight, obviously belonged to that of a Sarutobi. So who-

“Asuma was a terrible influence.”

Ohhh.

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

“I trust you’ll make sure these reach him, Kakashi.”

“Why of course, the Hashira Delivery Service always comes through.” Kakashi murmured as he finished securing his sandals, furoshiki tied and slung across his shoulder.

“Hmph. Make sure the demons don’t get your tongue, boy. Unlike theirs, ours don’t grow back.”

Kakashi stood to take his leave, but Sarutobi quickly retreated back into the room. He began to rummage through one of the more well hidden cabinets, and having found what he was looking for, emerged once again.

“There is a saying in the West, you know,”

Kakashi turned to face the man.

“Care will kill a cat.”

“Oh, I suppose it’s a good thing I’ve always been more of a dog person.”

“I wasn’t referring only to you.”

Sarutobi continued.

“I’d ask you to be a friend to him, Kakashi, but it seems you already are. You have my thanks.”

“None necessary, really. I happen to enjoy his company.”

There was a laugh, and it disturbed Kakashi somewhat, to see Sarutobi smile at him so smugly. The elder held up whatever it was that he’d fished out, and Kakashi took it from his calloused hand.

Almost against his will, his gaze softened.

What could only be a younger Iruka, his features just a bit rounder, cradling a sleeping Naruto in his arms. The toddler was dressed in more clothes than he’d probably ever been in, and was obviously spent. If Kakashi wagered a guess, they’d just returned from receiving the blessings for his third year of life at the temple.

To anyone else, it was a sweet, touching momento. A pair of mismatched brothers, on a memorable day.

To anyone who knew the story, it was...complicated.

Set in the garden during the day, implied that it’d been taken not long after the youth had learnt of Naruto’s true nature, and just over a month past the anniversary of his parents’ deaths.

Iruka’s visage still lacked the distinct scar that highlighted his eyes; the line that moved like a wave on the shore in tandem with his ever-changing expression. But unlike the smiling self that Kakashi had come to naturally associate him with, the boy in the photograph was looking upon the child’s sleeping face with an almost unreadable expression.

Vaguely, it brought to mind the portrait of a merciful, motherly deity.

His eyes were warm, yet burdened with melancholy.

Kakashi recalled Iruka’s confession, as he recounted everything he’d lost, and later lived for.

Looking at the scene, it made something in his chest ache.

“Are you sure about this one? Might be a bit of a downer, you know, considering everything else.” Kakashi asked cautiously.

Sarutobi did not rescind.

“Tell that foolish son of mine, not to lose his way.”

“Which one?”

“Both, if you happen to see the other one.”

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

Sarutobi watched from the gate as Kakashi left the estate with his hound.

“Well, you might not need to worry about that. Iruka’s probably got the best sense of direction I know of.” The Hashira had said without turning back.

Yes, but tunnel vision is a fearsome thing.

He felt a tug on the sleeve of his haori, and looked down to see Konohamaru gazing up at him. Once again, he scooped the toddler into his arms.

The boy sends you and Konohamaru his regards, sensei.

He remembered his meeting with Jiraiya seasons prior. His former disciple had arrived with news that only added to his worry for his two former charges, along with Iruka’s specific request in writing not to divulge any of it to Kakashi.

Frankly, he did not know why he was agreeing to it at all.

Carrying his grandson back into the guest room, his gaze settled again on a single photograph, to a pair of eyes that were once free of the terrible burden of loss and guilt.

He wondered what they looked like now.

After a newborn Naruto had been delivered to him, he’d searched everywhere for Iruka, but there wasn’t a trace left amidst the chaos and destruction. He’d spent a year thinking he’d failed Kohari, who’d been like a daughter to him, and Ikkaku’s empty scabbard, delivered by the Kakushi, loomed over his conscience like a phantom.

Then came a cold autumn day; a boy arrived at his doorstep, clothes threadbare and mangled with tears, and without so much as a pair of sandals on his feet. Almost unrecognisable, if not for the nichirin blade he carried, rusted and chipped, and a kunai hanging at his waist.

“Now that I’ve been left behind, what should I do, Jii-ya?”

His eyes then were devastatingly hollow.

It was a memory so vivid, the bitterness was still palpable in his throat. When Iruka had accepted his proposal to stay with him as his student, he’d stopped calling him “Jii-ya”, as his mother did when she wanted to tease him.

He’d never told him, but the day they’d found out about Naruto’s immunity to the sun, Sarutobi had been ready to commit seppuku for having allowed it to go that far. If not for Hashirama’s intervention, he wasn’t sure if they’d both be alive today, with him carrying Konohamaru in his arms like he was doing now.

“Sensei, please allow me to go with Naruto!”

Soon after, upon hearing Naruto would be sent to the Forest of Death, he had barged in, pleading desperately with his forehead glued to the ground, but he’d been staunchly, repeatedly denied. The eyes that looked at him held the same terrible hollowness, just as the day he’d learned of Naruto’s origin.

It was the look of someone who’d been once again, stripped of a reason to live.

A month passed.

When he’d ran, stumbling, to Iruka, collapsed outside the estate near death in a slayer’s uniform that was clearly too large on him, his eyes were gilded with a fierce determination he’d not known the boy was capable of.

They burned, just like Kohari’s had when she told him they had deserted.

“There has to be...some reason why I’m still alive, sensei. Let me stay by his side, please.”

He was utterly defeated. It was the moment he knew he’d have to let go.

“Is he happy there, Kakashi?”

The man had looked oddly sheepish.

“Frankly, if I didn’t know better, I wouldn’t have thought we were talking about the same person.”

Then Kakashi cast his gaze down in thought. Looking up again, his eye turned into a thin crescent.

“When he’s with the children, you couldn’t tear the smile off his face even if you tried.”

That alone was worth having called the young Hashira here.

He looked at Konohamaru, who had fallen asleep in the nook of his neck, much like in the photo he’d sent along.

It brought back memories of a time when he’d carried Iruka like that too.

Take care of that foolish child of mine, Kakashi.

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End of Chapter 10

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Author’s Notes:

Ohh, another fun chapter to write! I can’t wait for Asuma to get in here (though it won’t be for another 2 chapters or so). I really wanted to explore the relationship between Sarutobi, Iruka and Naruto more, so I was quite satisfied with this.

As usual, I’d love to hear what you think! Is it moving too slow? This is all very self-indulgent, I know, haha.

See you in the next chapter!

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Fun facts and Terminology:

Shichi-Go-San (7-5-3) Festival

In Japan, ages 7,5,3 have always been celebrated as prosperous milestones for children to have reached, even way past in the Heian period. They’re dressed up and brought to the temple to receive blessings. It falls on 15 November, and Naruto’s Birthday (and by extension, Iruka’s Parents’ death anniversary) are in October. So yeah, just over a month between them.

“Care will kill a cat.”

The origin of the phrase “Curiousity will kill a cat”. I didn’t want to use it in that exact phrasing here (it also wasn’t recorded till 1868, which is a bit later than the setting of this story anyway)

In this case, care = “worry” or “sorrow for others”.

I felt it fitting for both Iruka and Kakashi. :D

Jiiya - An affectionate way of referring to elderly men. Kinda like “Gramps”

Photography/Cameras - The first camera was imported into Japan in 1848 through a Dutch Port. The story takes place a few years earlier than that (more or less)

#kakairu #iruka #umino iruka #iruka umino #iruka sensei #kakashi #demon slayer au

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jupiterdrabbles · 4 years

Text

Cautionary Tail

Gender-neutral, Hylian reader has recently returned from a long-winded and incredibly taxing journey that has them blundered and bruised. This is what they live for though, so if a couple of scars appear than there’s no real hurt done.

Prince Sidon, however, has a different opinion on the matter.

(Yes, the pun was necessary.)

You can also read this on my ao3 here!

You trudged through Zora’s gates, your horse’s reins in one hand as you tried your best to stand up straight. A once dull throbbing in your jaw and ribs had somehow increased tenfold on your journey back home, but you powered through it. You lived for the thrill of battle, adventuring and discovering new lands and people only to bring such pretty gifts back along with you. Your latest trip to Gonponga Island had not gone particularly as planned, with being ambushed and having to turn back when you were so close to your destination.

But nonetheless, you were home now. Safe within the arms of the city that had grown to love you, and ever closer to being with that dork you adored ever so much.

As you walked along the path to the stables, a group of young pups ran up to you and began to tug on your clothing, all demanding your attention. They cried your name and giggled, brandishing little wooden daggers or newly grown fangs, or even a small shell that had been picked up off of one of the many shorelines.

“Look, look here! My momma made this new crest for me, isn’t it pretty?”

“I’m gonna be just like you when I grow up! I have my own sword already!”

“Will you tell me a story again?”

“Have you ever met mister Link? He did cool stuff like you!”

“Alright, alright!” You called, laughing a little under your breath as you tried to calm the hyper group of children. You placed one of your hands on one of their heads- a girl who was currently hugging your leg like it was a statue of the Goddess herself. “I will tell you my tales and admire your treasures soon, alright? First I have to go and get the rest of my errands done.” Truth be told, you were currently sporting an ear-splitting headache and really needed a moment to yourself, but the pups around you were just too damn cute.

The children whined a little in protest and many pinkie promises were dished out as they reluctantly made their way back to their homes or other friends. You put your horse into his stable and pet along his face gently, thanking him for assisting in your journey. You made your way into the castle throne room, where Sidon and the King were waiting for you.

Upon your arrival, Sidon was at a loss for words. It was true that he admired your strength, but this was too much! You carried yourself well, but he could see the pain you were in- the slight limp in your left side and the black and purple splotch that decorated the arch of your jaw. The circles under your eyes lay heavy and your eyes were dull. He ached to hold you, but he stayed firmly planted as you talked with the king.

You told his father of the marshes and heavy rainfall, plucking a map from your pocket and unfolding it to show him the route you took. Your job as head of the royal guard was to scout the land beyond the kingdom’s borders, to keep up relations and offer safe passage to newcomers or merchants. You had thought that the Lizalfo had cleared that area and left, but there was a group that remained behind. Sidon’s eyes widened as you described their camp, and winced when you coughed lightly. As soon as the king dismissed you, he ran and scooped you into his arms and took to the medic’s wing.

“Woah- Sidon!” You giggled lightly, pushing against his chest to look up at his face. “It’s nice to see you too!” The prince smiled fondly down at you but kept going with a determined glint in his eye.

“My love, you know I adore your antics, but could it wait? My mind’s been abuzz since you walked in like- like that.” You cocked an eyebrow at him in confusion.

“It’s just a couple of bruises, Sidon.”

“I want to be sure. I am confident in your abilities and strength, don’t get me wrong!” He clarified when your expression turned defensive. “It’s just sometimes you downplay your ailments and emotions. I want to be there for you.”

The softness in his voice warmed your heart, and a small smile crept onto your face. You nodded at him and rested your head against his chest, not expecting sleep to take you so quickly.

…

You wake with a struggle, the bright light of the setting sun streaming in through the window shining directly on your face. You try to move your hand to block it, but you can’t. There’s something pinning your hand to the mattress (mattress? Weren’t you just being carried like twenty seconds ago?) and keeping it from rising. You push yourself up- or attempt to before a sharp white pain shoots through your abdomen, causing you to cry out and try to curl up into a ball to block as much of your surroundings off as possible. There’s a flash of bright red in your peripheral as Sidon’s head snaps up, his sleepy expression vanishing when he sees you in pain.

“Ah- take it easy! The healer said you would be quite exhausted and sore when you woke.” Sidon pressed a gentle hand to your shoulder, guiding you to lean back against the bed and relax. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding when you saw his kind eyes looking into yours.

“...How long..?” You asked, voice hoarse and quiet. “You’ve been asleep for a couple of hours, my love. You were right- the wounds aren’t drastic, but the lack of rest has also taken a toll on your body, and isn’t supplying the strength it needs to heal.” Sidon ponders for a moment, then addresses you again. “How many nights have you gone without rest or proper food while away?”

You look away, feeling a scolding build in his tone. You shrugged and he sighed, bringing his hand to hold one of yours. You are completely dwarfed by him.

“You need to take care of yourself. If not for yourself, then for me!” he exclaimed, causing you to look back up at him. “I admire your work, I truly do, but sometimes when you go out beyond my reach I cannot help but pray you won’t return with nothing more than a scrape- and even that is enough to worry me!” He looks to your hands in his, stroking a thumb along your palm as his shoulders slowly lost their tension. “I love you, ever so, and it burns me to see you like this. Any of the greatest warriors would crumple to their feet if they neglected their basic needs.” He brought a hand to cup your cheek and you leaned into it. “So please, just try to look after yourself when you’re out there. And when you’re here, when you’re home, I can take care of you! It’s the least I can do for our fearless protector.” He threw in a cheeky grin to lighten the mood a bit, showcasing a few pointed teeth. You giggled softly, then nodded.

“Alright, fine. If you insist, my prince.”

That night, and for many nights after that, Sidon pampered you like no tomorrow. He personally dressed and rebandaged your cuts and bruises, pressing small kisses atop them when he finished, he would learn some of your favorite recipes and attempt to cook them for you before handing them off to one of the chefs nearby, and he would even draw baths for you and made sure you were always clean and warm. He would take you to the hot springs and bring you to open markets- whatever it was that would help you regain your strength, it was done. And you did it together, hand in hand and smiles on your faces.

When your next task arose he packed an extra bag and clipped it to your horse’s saddle. If was full of fruits and an extra waterskin and even another flint-match set to light your fires. You smiled as you thought of him and for once, set up a decent camp and got some sleep.

#loz breath of the wild #loz fanfic #prince sidon #prince sidon x reader #gender-neutral reader #male reader #fem reader #give this fish man some love #fluff #like tooth-rotting fluff #but also some whump because i have a problem

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everlarkficexchange · 4 years

Text

Operation: BREAD (Bring Revenge on Everdeen to Avenge Dad)

Written by: @alliswell21

Prompt 23: Rumor: MrEverdeen crossed fence dividing Town and Seam, kidnapped Mrs Everdeen making her his common law wife. Years later, Mellark sons plan to avenge their father by raiding Seam and kidnapping one of Everdeen’s daughters for one of them to take as a wife! Does Katniss “volunteer,” does she escape, how do the 3 brothers decide what to do with her since they didn’t plan it all out well? [submitted by @567inpanem]

Rated: T for now, for language.

Author’s Note: So, I resigned myself that this prompt won’t be completed by the new dateline of May 10th, because believe it not, quarantining with the husband and children at home makes for a very busy day… everyday. I haven’t been able to write anything for days at a time, and everytime I come back, I reread what I’ve written so far, and find faults that need fixing and what I hoped to be a short story is turning into a long one shot because I’m incapable of keep things simple… and now I’m ranting about everything instead of thanking everyone— from the EFE administrators, to @567inpanem for the prompt, and y’all dear readers— and wishing all moms a happy Mother’s Day, even if you celebrate it on a different date in your country… and I a belated happy birthday to Katniss Everdeen and Also a happy Mother’s Day to her, because she deserves it… anywho…

Here’s is the very first part of this story, that can’t make up its mind on what it wants to be (it’s leaning into romcom territory right now), I’ll post all my submissions soonish (hopefully finished), and I apologize for any formatting defects since I’m posting from my cell phone, otherwise I’ll forget to post it at all.

Sorry this is messy! I love y’all! Stay healthy.

————

“Quiet, you morons!” Bannock… whispers?

Is that the right descriptor for the harsh, low sounds that comes from his mouth? I’m not quite sure, but I look at him sheepishly, since I was the one to trip on air this time around and nearly knock down a clothesline, poles and all.

“S-sorry…” I stutter drunkenly.

Rye shrugs, uncaring. Asshole!

Bannock glares at us with his bloodshot, angry blue eyes before turning around and creeping forward.

It’s a chilly night out, with no stars and just a sliver of moon casting minimal light over us, ideal to maraud and raid… if we lived any place else, that is.

If we were to find ourselves face to face with the flashlight of a Peacekeeper patrolling the streets, things could go anywhere from awkward to deadly, and I really hope we don’t have to find out how it’ll truly go. We’re wasted, outside our house after curfew, and facing our mother’s wrath would probably be as terrible as any punishment the peacekeepers would inflict on us.

The later option has me swallowing thickly.

I’m no coward by any stretch of the word… but I do enjoy being alive, so… yeah.

“Don’t mess around, no more!” Bannock chides.

As soon as Bann turns around, Rye mouths his words back, mockingly, and I wonder— not for the first time— how can my brothers be so immature? Bannock just turned 25, while Rye has the mind of a 13 year old trapped in the muscular body of a 24 year old man; leaving sweet, little me, the 21 year old baby sibling, to bring the rear.

Rye burps, mostly quietly, earning another warning glare from Bann. All things considered, I’m a little impressed at how stealthily we’ve been moving so far, being as enebriated as we are and all. But who knows? Maybe we really aren’t as slick as my alcohol soaked brain thinks we are, and I’m just too skunked to know any better.

“D’you think we’ll be back before father wakes to take care of the ovens?” Rye slurs a little, squinting his eyes at a cat trotting across the alley in front of him. A second later he’s frowning down at the cat, shushing it obnoxiously, as if it’s soft paws are the ones making the stopping sounds coming from his own boots.

Bannock shrugs, “Who cares!”

I’m about to raise my hand and respond that I do, I care, but Rye starts laughing like an idiot, already distracted by something else. We turn to catch him picking up a stick and throwing it at the poor, unsuspecting cat. As soon as the stick hits it’s side, the animal loses its balance, making it fall into a trash can, with a terrified cry.

It’s awful. And loud.

“Knock it off!” Bannock growls as quietly as he can. “You’re gonna wake up the whole town, asshole!”

The cat meows indignantly, climbing out of the trash. He jumps to the other side and it’s gone in the next moment.

I sigh, rubbing one hand over my face. “Guys, I think we should go back. I don’t think Father will approve of this.”

“Shut up, Peeta!”

“Yeah! Shut it, runt!”

I grunt in aggravation under my breath. “I’m serious. We shouldn’t be out here… at all!” I insist.

“Why did you come then?” Bann hisses.

“You dragged me out with you, jackass!” I counter, pointedly. Plus, I’m the least drunk out of the three of us, and I figured I should keep an eye on them two, make sure they don’t get hurt in this idiotic quest… but I don’t say that out aloud. “I still don’t understand why, are we stumbling across town in the middle of the night, risking getting caught outside after curfew.”

“You know why, Peeta! We’ve gone over it to death,” snaps Bann, twisting his whole body to face me and almost walking into a potted plant sitting by somebody’s back door. “Father doesn’t know how to take care of himself, let alone how to defend his honor!”

“Our hands have been forced, runt. We need to pick up the slack, that’s why!”

I roll my eyes at my brothers.

It’s true though. For the last 26 years, our father has been both the butt of every joke said in the streets of district 12, and the victim of a tragic cautionary tale, people somehow feel the sadistic inclination to bring up to us, Mellark boys, as if we needed the reminder.

“Geez… save it for Everdeen, Bann. Let the runt keep his head instead of chewing it off him!”

Bannock frowns. It’s not everyday Rye comes to my defense, which means he really must be hammered.

Cool! I love brotherly affection… even if given under the influence.

“Whatever.” Bannock mutters under his breath. “We’re here anyway.” He signals to the fence dividing our district into two unequal sections: the merchant quarter, where we live, and the Seam (our destination), the largest— yet poorest— side of 12.

It’s unclear why the government erected the fence running right through the district in the first place, but the effect of having a literal barrier separating everyone in our small district, couldn’t be any clearer: we have a huge social divide amongst our people, very distinct and hard to overcome. Both sides distrusting the other, despite there never being a tangible reason why.

Personally, I think the most logical explanation for the creation of the internal fence, was just sheer desire to create hostility and antagonism between the citizens of 12… maybe it’s easier for the Capitol’s long arm to control a podunk place like here, when there’s an unbridgeable social chasm between our own denizens; how can we band together to demand better treatment and fair representation from the mighty Capitol, when we’re fighting with each other?

Of course, I keep my opinion to myself, because speaking of such things is just a sure way to find oneself in prison, facing charges of public agitation and whatnot.

Bann cuts through my musings, “Alright… let’s find a spot to cross over.” He says determined and still very intoxicated.

The worst kept secret in District 12, is how some sections of the fence are too close to the houses in the merchant side. If one really wants to cross into the other side over the fence, one only needs to look for a low wall adjacent to the top links of the fence to climb on, and after that, it’s all a matter of gravity pulling you down. Its been done before too…

Everyone speculates that’s what happened the day our father fell into disgrace: A man from the Seam found a weak spot to exploit… and the rest is history. Never mind the fact that jumping the fence is a common enough hooligan deed; how else can teenage couples reach the Slag Heap at the edge of the old coal mines to engage in their secret affairs?

It only takes us a few minutes to find a brick wall circling the backyard of a random house, just two feet shy of the fence.

We climb it with all the grace of a pig crawling up a greased pole, but after much huffing and puffing, we manage— with great effort— to drag ourselves over the barrier. We’re sweating and swearing, but who could blame us for that? We Mellark boys are just too broad and heavy with muscle, add to the mix the fact that we’ve drank our body weight in white liquor right before Bann had the brilliant idea of dragging us out here, and you have an uncoordinated— mostly clumsy— sad excuse, trio of vandals.

Rye goes first, then I go; finally, Bannock splatters down like a bullfrog, falling on his ass. He’s disgruntled and I suspect in dire need of a nap.

“Come on!” He commands, dusting his behind sloppily.

We’ve been walking aimlessly through unfamiliar dirt roads and dark unpaved alleys. The place is littered with produce crates set upside down in neat circles every other road… I vaguely wonder if that’s what passes as a socializing hot spot here in the Seam, like the square with its concrete benches is for us in town?

Sometimes I forget how things can be so shitty on this side of the District. It makes my stomach twist unpleasantly with guilt, realizing I take certain privileges for granted.

About five minutes into our stupid intrusion into Seam territory, Rye speaks up.

“Dude… do you know where they live?”

Bannock’s head snaps up, clearly annoyed. “How hard can it be to find the Seam’s apothecary?”

Very, actually.

First of all, The Seam consists of row after row of seemingly identical shacks, in varying states of shabbiness, arranged in a huge matrix of sorts. Each row is made of three to five houses with a slim road in between the next set of homes.

For what I gather in my limited liquor-addled brain, each horizontal row has a designated letter, and the vertical street goes by number. Other than that, there are no other distinguishing signs, telling us where we are or how to find the ‘Seam apothecary’ as Bann inarticulately dubbed it.

Rye groans in annoyance, seeming ready to overrule Bannock and call the whole thing off, himself; but my drunk ass is too stupid to keep my big mouth shut.

“They live close to the electric fence. Right before the meadow. They probably have a fence-in yard, too.”

I wince, regretting my words right away. I shouldn’t have said anything, but like an idiot, I couldn’t help spilling out the small bursts of information I’ve gathered over the years on the Everdeens.

I’m ashamed to admit it, but the Everdeens are a bit of an obsession to me… for all of us Mellarks, really. Given our entangled past with them, it shouldn’t be so much of a revelation, but this thing between our families has been a nuisance ever since I can remember and while my brothers and mother use it as a focal point of hatred and animosity. For me, is a curiosity driven thirst for knowledge on everything Everdeen. Anything that could shed light on our sordid past, I would gobble up, trying to answer why something that has virtually nothing to do with me and my brothers, still haunt us everywhere we go.

Rye frowns. “Fence-in yard?” He looks around the houses we are passing, realizing none of those have fences.

“Goat.” Bannock grunts, nodding thoughtfully. “Good catch, runt.”

“Huh?” Rye is scratching his head, confused.

“The blonde girl,” Bann says with mild irritation.

People from the Seam have a very specific look to them: dark— usually straight— hair, gray eyes, olive skin… ‘blonde’, blue eyed and pale, is more of a descriptor for people from the merchant class, like us… like Mrs. Everdeen.

The poor woman must stick out like a sore thumb in here; probably the same goes to her merchant-looking daughter, Primrose.

“What about the blonde?”

“She makes goat cheese.” Bann huffs as explanation, but since Rye still looks like the concept is too hard to fathom, Bannock grunts, expanding. “She trades the cheese in town. Mainly with Father. Which means, Everdeen has to keep at least one goat for the girl to have access to milk.”

“M’kay… goat, fences, meadow.” Rye lists clumsily on his fingers, following after Bann. “Got it!”

We quickened our steps in the direction of the electric fence. I’m still kicking myself for saying anything when we reach the last row of houses before the meadow.

I really hope I’m wrong about them having a goat, although I find it hard to believe Primrose steals milk from other people for her cheeses. She looks so sweet and innocent.

Alas, I’m too clever for my own good sometimes.

The very first house in the row at the edge of the meadow, has a pen connected to the house on the strip of backyard allotted to them. A tiny but sturdy shed stands against the back wall of the house, and if my eyes don’t deceive me, I can barely make out the snout of a goat, peeking out of the narrow opening of the shed.

“This is it!” Rye crows excitedly, rubbing his hands together and licking his chops like a hungry, humanoid wolf.

“Yeah. Finally!” Grunts Bann, “keep your voice down, doofus.” his reaction, both frenzied and anxious.

“Let’s do this!” Rye’s smile is deranged.

“Great!” I hiccup with fake enthusiasm. “What are we doing?” I deadpan, staring at my siblings with all the aggravation I can muster.

My brothers speak excitedly at the same time:

“Taking one of the girls back home with us!”/“Beating the shit out of Everdeen!”

My brothers look at each other, perplexed, and go, “”What?!” At the same time.

“Fuck!” I groan to the skies, noting its near dawn. “You better be joking! We came all the way out here, and you idiots didn’t plan what you were going to do once we arrived?”

“No… I mean, yes! No. it’s simple,” Slurs Rye trying to stare me in the eye and failing miserably, “We’re dragging Everdeen out here. Then, we’ll beat the snot out of the bastard, and have you doodle the whole thing out for Father… you’ll finally use that art talent of yours for something we’ll all enjoy… not just you,”

“No, no, no, no!” Snaps Bannock. “We’re taking one of Everdeen’s daughters, bring her back home with us, and avenge father.”

“What? Why?” Rye whines much too loud and even I shush him. “I thought we were just gonna jump the bastard and rearrange his face a little,” Rye sounds disappointed.

Bannock answers right away, sounding like our mother when she’s chiding us for some thing or another. “Dude… the guy stole Dad’s girl! You know what they say about repaying a slight with the same coin and all that shit. It stands to reason, the course of action here is to take one of the girls home with us, sleep with her, and get her pregnant or something, then she can’t come back to her daddy.”

I throw my hands up in the air, “That’s it! I’m out!” My brain practically short circuits with the outrageous shit my brothers are spewing out of their mouths.

Sure, beating the lights out of an unsuspecting man in front of his house in the middle of the night is already crazy, but Bann’s idea to take a girl away from her home, it’s beyond preposterous!

Instead of lashing out, I turn around and stalk away as fast as my legs can carry me. I’m still tipsy, so I stumble a little, but I’m determined to leave.

“Hey! Where are ya going?!”

I get grabbed by the bíceps and pulled back to ‘hide’ behind a scraggly bush overlooking the house we assume is Everdeen’s. My brothers push me down by the shoulders roughly, until I’m sitting on my ass.

“The hell is wrong with you two?” I snarl, trying to punch and kick either one of them.

“Shut up, runt! They’re gonna hear you!”

“Good! Then someone will call the Peacekeepers over.”

“Wha— No! Why would you want that?” Rye whines.

“I didn’t sign up for any of this crazy shit!” I spit enraged.

“Dude, you can’t bail on operation BREAD,” Rye scrunches up his face.

“Operation Bread? What in the hell, is operation Bread?” I wrench my arms free from them at last, glowering up at both.

“Bring Revenge on Everdeen to Avenge Dad!” Rye says proudly, a lopsided smile brightens his face, and all I want to do is punch his nose.

“You’re insane!” I sputter.

“No… I’m cle-ver!” Rye grins, tapping a finger to his temple.

“Come on, Peeta. You know this needs to be done!” Bann cuts in.

“No! It doesn’t!” I argue. I still feel woozy from alcohol though, so it’s costing me too much effort trying to get up. “This is just insane, Bannock! What you’re proposing is just… heinous!” I hiss.

Bannock’s face hardens, “Nobody will see it like that.” He assures, “An eye for an eye, baby brother.”

“So what? We’re gonna kidnap and rape an innocent girl in revenge, and you think that’ll fix anything? Will it bring peace? It’ll help you get Madelynn’s parents to back off and let her marry you?” I’m so pissed off, I’m pretty sure spittle is flying out of my mouth. “It won’t do anyone any good! Not us, nor father, and especially not Katniss or Primrose!”

“Shut the fuck up!” Bannock flies at me, and all I have to do is lift my arms to shield my head.

Rye is an equal opportunity asshole most of the time, but in this moment, he’s the one stopping Bannock from breaking my face in two, and I’m very grateful for my middle brother manhandling our eldest for me.

“Rape is a strong word, runt.” Rye gasps with the effort of keeping Bannock from kicking my ass. But if the wrinkling of his nose is any indication, I think maybe my words are chipping away some of his complicitness in this mess. “Maybe, what Bann meant, was, one of us will… you know… spend time with the girl, and then… make her his common law wife or something?” Rye looks at Bann expectantly.

Bannock nods. Rye lets go of him.

We all stay silent, breathing heavily for a moment.

“Same coin. Simple as that.”

If the stories are to be believed, Sorrel Everdeen crossed the fence dividing the merchant quarter and the seam, kidnapped my father’s betrothed— Lily— and made her his common law wife, despite being common knowledge, that the woman in question was engaged to our father since they were very young.

It’s an old rumor, really, with no real way to fact-check the events that led to this moment in time, but there’s always been some nasty whispering churning around town; tales varying in height and perjury, sometimes scandalous, others depraved, always with add-ons and full of conjectures flavored by the speaker in turn, but never the whole truth.

The worst thing is that the stories die down for a while when something juicer comes up, but then resurface, like a persistent oily stain on cement… It’s been 26 years since the real events leading to the Everdeens controversial marriage took place, yet the old gossip mill in District 12 has waxed over and rewritten the sordid story through the lense of judgemental people over and over again, until even our mother has started to repeat the outlandish tales, as if she wasn’t an active participant of the story herself.

Still… “I just can’t!” I say both exasperated and grossed out. “We should just go home—“

I get cut off when the door of the Everdeen house opens spilling faint candlelight into the almost blackened-out street.

My brothers rush to huddle around me, crowding on top of me like a pair of boulders… or worse: a pair of sweaty, heavy, alcohol doused men. Disgusting!

The door of the shack closes softly and to our shock, a very angry looking Katniss Everdeen stomps in the direction of the sad excuse for a bush we’re hiding in.

“Hmm… guys… I think she sees us.” I mumble calmly, yet terrified. Katniss Everdeen, eldest daughter of Sorrel and Lily, is coming our way with fire in her eyes.

TBC on AO3…

#Springtime Edition 2020 #alliswell21 #567inpanem #prompt 23 #submission

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inessencedevided · 4 years

Text

The Untamed, episode 41 - watching notes

Only 10 episodes left 😭😭😭

And we're now entering Nie Mingjue's memories. I have a feeling there's going to be some serious "oh shit!" and "wtf is happening???" going on

Jgy's backstory still moves me, no matter what he did later

I feel like both his and wwx stories are cautionary tales of what happens when you combine a rigid class-system with a mob mentality and top it all of with a healthy amount of "manners over morals"

I feel like JGY main strategy is "hold your tongue and bite your time". I completely fell for his sweet facade in the first few episodes of the flashback

Jo, did NMJ just ram his saber into a stone wall? 😱

NMJ may have anger issues, but he's a good dude

I think he took the "the more perfectly you should be, to leave them with nothing to say" to heart. Like, he never outwardly complains.

Another perfectly timed screenshot I thought I should share :D

Oh, we've seen that before!

How can this be the same person that I thought would be the designated fandom cinnamon role in ep 2/3?? 🥺

I know I'm praising actors left and right during this commentary,but ALL TGE AWARDS for how smoothly JGY changes his demeanor from humble and sweet quasi-servant to "you're not worthy of breathing the same aor as me"

This

And this

Might as well be two different characters

I wonder if, when the NMJ send him away, he realised and regretted, that he had just lost one of the only people who were truly on his side and if he thought it was worth it

One thing I find very interesting in the scene in the Scorching Sun palace is that, jgy is still wearing his hair in the braided style that is customary for the Nie clan. I think I'll try to spot when he changes it

Okay, scratch my earlier musings about if JGY feels genuine regret over how he had to leave NMJ. He clearly doesn't 😐

Gotta give it to him though, he puts gollum to shame with how he switches his personality

Only it's deliberate

And he's not insane

... don't know where I was going with this

So we're at the point where Nie Mingjue wakes in Lan Xichen's arms. Seen that before

Which leaves me asking: WHAT PART OF THIS IS THE ACT??

I wonder though, how they could convince NMJ to become sworn brothers with him after that while story

He does not seem like a man who forgets a grudge easily ^^

That scene of the three of them meditating and playing the Quin is weirdly domestic :D maybe it's just because, so far, we've only seen wwx and lwj in a similar situation together 😅

Why do I still ship Lan Xichen and JGY after all that happened? Because of scenes like these!!!!

JGY *plays Quin ominously*

Didn't know that was possible :D

The fuck???

Why is he coughing blood?

Lwj is playing "Clarity" in the present time to calm him down! Ten points for parallels!

Poor Lan Xichen. Why do I have a feeling that he's the designated buffer between them? 🙈

Sorry for the lack of intelligent commentary, but I'm trying to wrap my head around how much of a puppeteer JGY is ...

I've already mentioned this, but I appreciate the parallels between jgy and wwx and how they differ. Both operate very much outside the orthodoxy, in large part due to them not being born into it. The crucial difference is their goals. One seeks to gain power to not only find his place within the system, but rise above all those who ever looked down on him, too. The other wants to change the system for all those others who are also hurt by it.

Two characters with very similar backgrounds diverging on very different paths

And I appreciate it that it's spelled out in his rant to NMJ here

This is SO telling. I adore this scene! Before I would have calked him simply selfish (and he is, don't get be wrong). But he also probably grew up in a world where he could never be truly save and never feel equal to anyone. Everything be has, he had to fight for.

I just wrote that he and wwx had the same background? I retract that because there is one huge difference. Wwx was loved. From what I've heard, his parents loved him. Then, of course, he has to endure live as a homeless kid, but he was adopted by a foster-father who loved him and had siblings he shared everything with. Of course, he still never felt as if he quite belonged or was enough (Madam Yu saw to that) and that left it's own scars, culminating in all gbe times he rather took on all burdens himself rather than ask for goddam help once. But he was loved. Loved and appreciated and cared for. It seems, that jgy never knew that, probably until NMJ took him as his Vice General. So he learned to survive in the shadows and bite his time until the opportunity arose, never fully trusting anyone.

Does that excuse anything or rid him of responsibility? Nope. But it makes for a damn interesting character

I AM SHOOK!

That exchange between Nie Mingjue and Jin Guangyao was such a brilliantly crafted piece of dialogue!!! 😱😱😱

Because, if, and I think by now that that's likely, jgy turns out to be the main villain of this arc, then he is one o can at least partially understand. He's right in saying that NMJ has no right to claim that his actions are all just. He's gained his position by virtue of his birth and he's working within a system that justifies itself through mixture of imagined moral high ground and the virtue of blood heritage. No action to uphold that can be truly just.

At the same time, I believe, jgy turned those believes into a self-fulfilling prophecy. He himself schemes and uses other people's worst impulses and the faults in the cultivation world to his advantage. Proofing to himself, again and again, that he is right about them and thus justified in his actions. Enter wwx who tries, who really tries to shove the error of their ways in their faces. (I think I just answered my question from a few episodes back about why jgy seems to be working specifically against wwx 🤔)

Sorry for going on such a tengant

NMJ, did you have to call him a son of a whore? 🙄

The hell is happening to NMJ?

Oh shit, what did he do with the song of clarity? How could you even use that to harm someone??

So he tweaked it?

Oh no 😥😥😥

Let me get this straight. JGY intentionally brought NMJ to the point of qui deviation? 😳

Oh no Huaisang!! 😭😭😭

Xue Yang??? He worked with JGY? 😱😱😱

So he didn't doe of Qui deviation!!!

Fuck, JGY spotted paperman-wwx 😳

Honestly wwx, maybe it's not the best idea ever to put your conscious into something that can be crushed by accidentally stepping on it 😬

That's his sword!!!

Didn't wwx just reveal who he is???

Maybe don't do that?!?!

HE CAN WIELD HIS SWORD AGAIN!!! 😭😭😭

but jgy definitely figured out who he is ... 😐

Still, I'm weirdly proud of him :')

But wait! Why does jgy have his sword to begin with???

Aww, little exhausted paperman-wwx flopping down into lwj's hand 🖤

This episode liveblog has been far too serious so far. Here, have my favourite lan Wangji mood:

I really appreciate how seamlessly this show moves between serious scenes and comedy

Jin Ling going "what do you want?" followed by 5 beats of silence and then

had me wheezing 😂

Oh no, he's hidden everything already, hasn't he?

Wow, even Xichen is defiant now. I sense drama!!!

@sweetlittlevampire @fandom-glazed @elenirlachlagos @allhailthedramallama @luckymoony @kyrrahbird @i-love-him-on-purpose (this episode was enlightening, but still raised more questions. Feels like we're honestly entering the final arc of this show 😔)

#the untamed #sophie watches the untamed #wei wuxian #wwx #lan wangji #lwj #wangxian #jin guangyao #lan xichen #nie mingjue #nie huaisang #jin ling #the untamed liveblog

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plantbruno · 4 years

Note

Ur avpol dads au has me thinking about not only avpol giving gio a chance to grow up with caring parents but avpol meeting the rest of the bucci gang as youngsters and looking out for them. Kak or one of the other crusaders visits one time and is like hey did u know ur house has a gremlin infestation I thought u guys only had ONE

“So, what’s with the teenagers?”

It was the question that had been haunting Kakyoin all evening. Maybe he’d dropped by unannounced, yeah, but that had never been an issue before. However, instead of being greeted with Giorno holding a geriatric and implausibly still-kicking Iggy in his arms, a young man in the worst crop top Kakyoin had ever seen in his life (which was saying something---he did know Joseph Joestar, after all) opened the door, nearly pulled a fucking gun on him, and then cheerfully invited him inside for pizza at Giorno’s distant call of hello. There, Kakyoin had faced a whole cluster of unfortunately-dressed teenagers.

Avdol and Polnareff glanced at each other. “They’re Giorno’s friends,” Polnareff finally said.

“Funny, I did manage to gather that much. Since when does Giorno have friends?”

“Excuse me?” Avdol said, eyebrow twitching.

“Friends like that,” Kakyoin amended. “Friends who invade his living space.”

“It’s a fairly recent development,” Avdol admitted.

“We should tell him,” Polnareff said, shifting to face Avdol better. Kakyoin felt his eyebrows climbing up.

“Tell me what?”

Kakyoin watched warily as Avdol absently took Polnareff’s hand in his prosthetic one. “Giorno runs the Italian mafia now,” Avdol said, and if Kakyoin couldn’t tell his frank tone apart from his bullshitting tone by now, he’d have thought that his friends were being assholes.

“What,” he said.

“Remember when I, like, was presumed dead. Throwback to that,” Polnareff began, and Kakyoin narrowed his eyes, refusing to take the bait and show a single sign that him being “dead” had affected his life at all. “Well, Giorno took liberty to avenge me.”

“From the stand user mafia boss that fucked you up,” Kakyoin added.

Polnareff shrugged. “Yes. And now, well...”

“Our son is a mafia boss,” Avdol finished, looking a fascinating cross between vaguely nauseated and horrifically proud.

“Huh,” Kakyoin said. “Frankly, I’d have expected Josuke or Jolyne to develop mob ties before Giorno. I’ve always thought your kid is kind of an angel.”

Polnareff pinched the bridge of his nose. “God, please, for the love of god, knock on wood. I cannot have a mob feud between Giorno and Josuke or Jolyne. I won’t survive it.”

Kakyoin snickered and obligingly leaned across the coffee table between them to lightly rap his knuckles against Polnareff’s skull. Polnareff batted him away.

“Don’t lose sleep over it, my love, Giorno would win anyway,” Avdol said, taking a sip from his tea.

Kakyoin opened his mouth to make a good case for Jolyne in all her ten-year-old glory, but closed it when Giorno walked down the stairs and into the kitchen. He returned to the living room with a glass of water and sat next to Avdol. “We were just talking about you,” Polnareff said.

“I know. I could hear.” Giorno turned his gaze on him, and Kakyoin was suddenly reminded of the first time he’d met him, back when he was five years old and didn’t talk to anyone and Kakyoin had been terrified that he was going to do something really fucked up like recount his fight with Death 13 to a traumatized toddler. Kakyoin felt a reminiscent sort of fear, looking at this teenager who held the kind of power that had poets writing cautionary tales against hubris for centuries. “How long are you staying, Uncle Kakyoin?”

Kakyoin shrugged. “Not sure yet.”

Giorno nodded. “I will properly introduce you to my friends tomorrow. Would you like to see what I do?”

Avdol and Polnareff went very still in that weird married couple way they had of telepathically communicating some dire message, and Kakyoin, as he was usually wont to do, ignored it. He gave as wide a smile as he could and said, “I would love that.”

Giorno nodded, seemingly satisfied. “I am going to sleep,” he announced, then gave his fathers each a kiss on the head before going back upstairs.

Kakyoin shook his head in silent wonder. “How often does he have all his friends over here?” he asked, returning to the original question of the night.

“Frequently,” Avdol said. “We don’t mind. Most of them are orphans or have an unstable homelife. We enjoy providing a resource of stability for them.”

Kakyoin resisted the urge to laugh at Avdol and Polnareff being a source of stability, because it was not only probably true for those kids, but it was probably also true of himself. He never showed up at Joseph Joestar’s house unannounced, at any rate. “So, you’re going to adopt them, too, huh?”

Polnareff choked on his next breath. “No.”

“Don’t fucking lie to me,” he said cheerfully, crossing his legs. “I heard Narancia say he has a room here.”

“They all have rooms here. It is a big house,” Avdol deadpanned.

“Whatever, I know I’m right.”

“You’re annoying,” Polnareff complained, beckoning to Iggy, who had just hobbled drowsily into the room, and picking him up to put on his lap as he approached.

“I liked them,” Kakyoin admitted. “They were weird, but I think they’re good for Giorno. They draw him out of his shell.”

That got him twin soft smiles that seemed reserved for proud fathers alone. “Yes,” Avdol agreed. “They do.”

“Well, I’m exhausted. I think Mista nearly killed me when I knocked on the door, and you know me, near-death experiences always get me a little bit sleepy,” he said, standing up and stretching, feeling his joints pop. He reached for his cane. “Is my room still mine?” he teased, smirking.

“Yes,” Polnareff said with an eyeroll. “Though Sheila did use it once.”

“Who’s Sheila? You’re telling me Giorno has more friends?”

“He is a charismatic boy,” Avdol said rather defensively.

“Ah, whatever. Good night, dads.”

“Hey,” Polnareff protested, while Avdol laughed and said, “Good night.”

#jjba #jojo's bizarre adventure #vento aureo #noriaki kakyoin #muhammad avdol #jean pierre polnareff #giorno giovanna #avpol #avpol raising giorno au #I LOVE YOU BASTARD UNCLE KAKYOIN

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redwallthoughts · 4 years

Text

Redwall Midwinter Miracle: Day 3 part 3

As always, huge thanks to @raphcrow for her help with beta-reading and editing

*looks back at previous chapter*

Ch. 6 might be a little bit longer in coming...

I promise I didn’t actually mean that it would take three years. That was an accident.

However, I don't anticipate new chapters of RMM returning to the original once-a-month schedule. You see, during the three-year break, I have begun working on a piece of original fiction. It's still in the early stages of development (first draft hasn't been completed and there's still a lot of world-building to do), but I've been trying to work on it diligently. I'll be posting small updates on it at the end of new chapters from now on, but if any of you lovely readers would like to see more in-depth info on it, please feel free to follow the blog I've started for it, Moiranvall-official.

FF.net, AO3, DA

[Ch. 1] [Ch. 2] [Ch. 3] [Ch. 4] [Ch. 5]

Rose followed Martin through the cellars and up the passageway toward Great Hall. He was talking animatedly about the collection of books, new and old, in the Redwall library. Rose smiled as she listened to him talk. When she first met him on the northland coast they hadn’t had time to discuss books and reading. They’d been far too focused on the rescue of the other slaves to be bothered with such mundane activities. Now she wished that she would have shown him her father’s books. Perhaps Urran Voh would not have reacted so strongly to him then.

“I'm hoping Vurg and the others will be up there,” Martin was saying as they walked up the sloping passageway that led to Great Hall. “I think they'll enjoy meeting you.”

Rose shook herself, recalling her mind back to the present as she placed a steadying paw on the wall of the passageway. Her footpaws were feeling a bit sore. “Who?”

Martin grinned at her over his shoulder, matching his pace to hers as she slowed down. “Vurg, Denno, and Dulam were all good friends of my father when I was a baby. They came back to Redwall with us after we found them in the North two summers ago. Though I should warn you that it may be a bit rowdy if Beau is up there too. He and Vurg are always engaging in friendly arguments.”

Rose giggled. “Sounds like Rowanoak and Ballaw,” she said, smiling at the thought of her two friends. Wanderers though they were, they had become quite fond of Noonvale, even coming to call it home.

“Do they argue often?” Martin asked.

Rose rolled her eyes in mock exasperation. “All the time. Oh!” She nearly ran into Martin as he came to a sudden stop at the end of the passageway.

“Sorry,” Martin murmured. He peered around the corner into Great Hall looking both ways before he stepped out of the passage. He held up a cautionary paw, still looking around the hall.

Rose peered around at the empty room. There was nobeast in sight. “What are you looking for?”

“Dibbuns.”

Rose rubbed a paw in her ears, not entirely certain she’d heard right. “Dibbuns?” As far as she knew, all the abbey youngsters were engaged in the scavenger hunt.

Martin nodded. “Call it habit,” he said, “You never know where they're hiding. Normally it wouldn't be a problem, but they’ve figured out that I usually award the prize for the scavenger hunt. A few of the rogues have taken to trying to find it in my pockets before the game’s finished.”

Rose grinned. “So that's why you've got those candied chestnuts with you. Tintin said he saw you pocketing them on your way through the kitchens this morning.”

Martin nodded. “Aye, and I don’t want you getting caught in the crossfire if they spot me.” He peered around once more and began across Great Hall.

The sandstone floor of Great Hall was warm from the heat of the kitchens below. Bright spots of color danced about on the stones, cast by the sunlight streaming through the colored glass in the windows. Rose could hear dibbuns laughing somewhere in the distance.

Martin, it seemed, had heard them too. He turned back toward the steps that led down into Cavern Hole, staring briefly into the shadows of the passage before grasping Rose's paw. “Hurry!” He hissed, walking faster

Rose did her best to keep up, but her footpaws were beginning to ache.“Ow!” Rose's footpaws twisted beneath her and she nearly fell to the ground. Martin caught her before she hit the ground, his face creased with concern. Looking over his shoulder Rose saw the shadow of a great cat climbing the stairs from Cavern Hole. She struggled upright, her left footpaw still twinging painfully as she pointed at the approaching shadows.

“Hold on!” Martin hissed in her ear. Looping an arm about her waist, he swung her up and carried her into a nearby alcove.

Rose froze as Martin pressed her against the pillar, keeping her close as he peered around the edge. They were in no real danger, but the short, sudden run and the intensity in Martin's eyes had startled her, to say the least. Martin still had a paw around her shoulders, pulling her close. He had gotten taller, Rose realized with a start. They'd been nearly the same height when she first met him at Marshank. But now, pressed close as she was, she realized that he was at least half a head taller than her. She caught his eye as he glanced away from the dibbuns, and found herself captivated by the soft grey stare. He did not look away. She felt as though her heart might beat out of her chest. Martin's stare intensified, and for a moment Rose thought she saw a faint trace of recognition in his gaze. If her heart had been pounding like a drum before, then Rose thought surely it must be doing a decent impression of a percussion ensemble.

“Hoi, what's all this?” The moment was shattered as Tintin's voice carried across the hall.

Rose found herself shaking as Martin looked back to the dibbuns. He whispered in her ear. “We'd best make a run for it while your nephew has them distracted.”

Rose was about to remind Martin that she couldn't run, when he threw one arm around her waist and the other behind her legs, swinging her up once again as easily as if she were a dibbun herself. She barely had time to grab hold of his shoulders before the warrior mouse took off toward the stairs, grinning broadly.

It took only a pawful of moments to reach the stairs. Martin did not set Rose down until they were sufficiently hidden from view of Great Hall. “Sorry about that,” he said, still grinning as he caught his breath. “I had to take the chance while we had it.”

Rose leaned against the wall, the rush of the moment having left her breathless. Now in the relative safety of the stairs she could finally catch her breath. A sudden burst of giggles overtook her, and she clamped a paw across her mouth in an attempt to stifle them.

Martin looked at her in confusion. “What?”

It took a moment before Rose could answer. “Look at us, two grown mice running away from dibbuns.” She broke off as the giggles returned.

Martin soon joined her, chuckling at the supposed danger they had just escaped. “I suppose if dibbuns are the only thing I have to run from for the rest of my life, it'll be more than enough for me.” He held out a paw for Rose to lean on, and the two of them continued up the stairs, still laughing.

Brome froze, temporarily robbed of breath. The silence of the infirmary hung in the air nearly as tangible as a sheet of dust brushed from something long forgotten. He swallowed, trying to think of a coherent sentence. How had the abbess known? Taking a shaky breath, he forced a smile onto his face and shook his head. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what you mean.”

Abbess Germaine smiled knowingly at him, her dark eyes shadowed by sadness. “Come now young one, there is no need for secrets.”

The smile fell from Bome’s face, and he stared at his paws in shame. She was right, of course, there was no need to keep her in the dark. “How did you know?” he asked.

“I may be old and hard of hearing,” the Abbess said, leaning forward with a smile, “But I still have my wits about me, and my eyes have yet to give out. I saw you and your sister the night you joined us here in the abbey, when Martin came into Cavern Hole. Any other creature who had not seen a dear friend for some time would have run to greet him, yet you did not. I also saw the look on your sister’s face when Gingivere told of how Tzarmina broke Martin’s sword before throwing him in the dungeon. Many passing travelers have heard that tale, and many of our own. And yet, until that night I had never seen a creature whose face, upon hearing the tale, so perfectly mirrored the agony our warrior must have felt at the loss of his sword.”

Brome nodded, blinking back the tears that threatened to fall each time he thought of how Martin must have felt when the sword snapped. “Rose knows how much that sword meant to Martin, and how much it cost him to retrieve it.” He stood, and moved to sit next to the abbess, staring out the window at the snow-covered wall beyond. “Many of the creatures I travel with believe it a good thing that the sword was reforged. They feel that remaking the blade has removed the tarnish on it from the seasons spent in the paws of a warlord. I only hope Martin would agree. He doesn’t remember us, but he doesn’t remember the seasons he lived as a slave either, and I can’t decide if that’s a blessing or a curse.” He fell silent, waiting for the Abbess’ response, still watching the sun play upon the snow on the wall.

Dust motes floated gently through the air, dancing through the sun like specks of gold while the silence stretched on.

Finally, the Abbess spoke. “Perhaps it is not for you to decide. Martin may not remember anything from his time as a slave, but that does not mean that he does not know that he once was one. Scars may fade over time, but they do not always disappear. It is a noble thought to try and spare him unnecessary pain.” She sighed softly, and, turning to her, Brome saw the hints of a smile playing across her mouth. “But a part of me wonders if perhaps it is akin to my wish to spare new mothers the pain of childbirth. Sometimes a bit of pain makes the joys of life that much brighter.”

Brome nodded, turning the thought over in his head. “I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

“I cannot blame you for that,” the Abbess said. “You’ve only just recently learned of Martin’s lack of memories. Two busy days is hardly enough time to consider all the different ways you might approach the problem.” The smile fell from her face. “A part of me worries, though, that if you leave without telling him his past then he may never regain those lost memories. Martin is a strong creature, and quite brave. But even the strongest and bravest among us have their struggles.” She paused, as though considering her next words. “I cannot tell you what you should do, that is something you will have to decide for yourself. But I do hope you will consider telling Martin what you know about his past. In the past few seasons he has begun to stress over his lost memories far more than he had previously. After the events of this past summer I fear it has begun to affect his health.”

“What happened last summer,” Brome asked, his chest suddenly tight at the thought of his old friend suffering in any way.

Abbess Germaine smiled reassuringly. “Oh, not to worry, he’s perfectly fine now. Had a nasty summer cold that turned into a fever and had him bedridden for the better part of the season.” She laughed quietly. “Although I wouldn’t be surprised if part of that was because of the dibbuns that kept sneaking in to play with him. I had to threaten to have him moved up here to the infirmary before he agreed to tell them to leave him alone so he could sleep.”

“He does seem to be quite popular with the youngsters,” Brome said with a chuckle. He wiped his eyes briefly with the edge of his sleeve. “I’ll ask Keyla and Yarrow what they think we should do. They spent a good portion of their dibbun days together with Martin, and know better than I do what all he’s forgotten.”

Abbess Germaine nodded. “Very good. You might talk to Gonff as well.”

“Gonff?” Brome asked. “The Mousethief?”

“He was largely responsible for helping Martin remember their journey to Salamondastron. He might have a few tips on how you could jog Martin’s memories now,” Abbess Germaine said with a smile.

Brome considered her suggestion for a moment before nodding. “I’ll do that.”

“Thank you, Brome,” Abbess Germaine said. She lay back against the pillows. “Would you please tell Bella that I’ll be taking a short nap up here before dinner? To much celebration and not enough sleep wears down on these old bones of mine.”

Brome nodded, standing and walking toward the door. “I will. Sleep well, Mother Abbess.”

A hush lay across Cavern Hole as Gonff emerged from the kitchens later that afternoon with a bundle under one arm and munching on a honey biscuit. Dibbuns sat clustered in groups of three and four around the hall, some huddled around adults, others off on their own as they pondered over scraps of parchment and slate.

Gonff spotted Columbine sitting with a group near the stairs to Great Hall and made his way to her.

“How goes the scavenger hunt, my Dearest Darling?” he asked her when he got closer.

He was answered by a round of shushing from the nearby dibbuns, and one baby squirrel who glared sternly at him.

Columbine stood quickly and beckoned for him to follow, guiding him onto the stairs. Her eyes shone with laughter.

Gonff looked back over Cavern Hole, whispering, “Goodness me, Columbine. What did you give those babes to make them so ferocious?”

Columbine laughed aloud then, shaking her head at him. “They’ve nearly solved their riddles for the prize,” she said. “You distracted them.” She looked at the bundle under his arm. “Have you finished moving Martin in from the gatehouse?”

Gonff nodded and patted his bundle. “Aye. Found the last of Brother Scrittum’s measuring tools too. Figured I’d bring ‘em up with me and save Martin the trip.”

“How very kind of you,” Columbine said, smiling at him. “If you happen to see Martin, could you let him know the dibbuns are nearly finished with their quest?” She didn’t wait for his response but kissed him briefly on the cheek before returning to her group.

Gonff smiled after her for a moment before continuing on his way upstairs.

He found Brother Scrittum in the library, in the company of Sister Amyl. The pair were pouring over some old text on the desk in front of them with extra quills, ink, and parchment arrayed on either side.

The library was a cozy little room situated on the western end of the second floor of the Abbey. Afternoon winter sun streamed in through the single window above Brother Scittum’s desk, tinting the air with a warm, golden glow. Candles supplemented the fading sunlight and banished shadows from the corners of the room.

Soft murmurs sounded from one of these corners, and Gonff turned to see Martin and Rose sitting together pouring over a book. He recognized the book immediately not as the Legend of Sheodin, which he had expected, but rather as the hefty tome Denno, Dulam, Vurg, and Beau had written on the last quest of Luke the Warrior. They looked so natural sitting there, with Rose wrapped in a blanket and snuggled next to Martin while he held the book so they could both see, that Gonff almost would have thought that they did this regularly. Martin had a soft, quietly content smile on his face. A smile Gonff had seen before, but only rarely. He cleared his throat softly, making his presence known.

The pair looked up quickly with matching quizzical expressions. Gonff couldn’t help but laugh.

“Shall I have the kitchen send yor supper up ‘ere?” he teased. “You two look comfortable enough to stay there for hours.”

Martin scowled at him, although Gonff knew the look well enough to know that there was no real weight behind it and merely continued to grin. A moment later Martin’s resolve cracked and he began to grin as well. “Is it that late already?” he asked.

Gonff shook his head. “Not quite. But Columbine wanted me to let you know that the dibbuns are nearly done with their scavenger hunt. They’ll be wanting their prizes soon.”

“I s’pose I should head down to hand them out, then,” Martin said. He set aside the book and stood from the pillows he and Rose were seated on, stretching languidly. Turning, he retrieved the book and offered Rose a paw to help her up. “I hope I haven’t bored you.”

Rose shook her head as she stood. “Not at all.” She smiled at him. “I enjoyed it immensely. Thank you for sharing it with me.”

Martin stared at her for a moment before turning sharply on his toes to put the book away, his ears practically glowing red.

Gonff let out a hearty laugh and patted Rose on the shoulder. “Ahaha! I don’t think I’ve ever seen anybeast fluster ‘im so quickly.” He turned to Martin. “Don’t hide yor face, you great lump. The maid’s being sweet, you’ll make ‘er think you took it the wrong way.”

Slowly, Martin turned back to them, his ears still red. He glanced around for a moment before motioning to the bundle Gonff carried. “What’s that?”

“What, this?” Gonff held it up. “Dinny found th’ last o’ Brother Scittum’s writin’ tools for you. I figured I’d bring it up ‘ere.”

“Thank you,” Martin said. “I’m sure you can leave it with Brother Scrittum and Sister Amyl.” He turned to Rose. “I’m going to head down to Cavern Hole to give the dibbuns their prizes, would you like to come along?”

Rose sighed and lifted a footpaw. “I’d love to, but I’m afraid I need to fetch my crutches first.” She shooed Martin toward the door. “You go on ahead and don’t worry about me. I can still walk, I’ll just have to go a bit slower.”

Martin nodded slowly, reluctantly making his way to the door. “Gonff, could you-”

“I’ll stay with ‘er ‘til she gets ‘er crutches,” Gonff said. He mimicked Rose’s shooing. “Now off you go, those dibbuns won’t wait forever.”

Martin nodded. “I’ll see you both downstairs in a bit, then,” he said and left the room.

Gonff watched him leave before returning the measuring tools to Brother Scrittum. The elderly brother patted his paw several times and tried to offer him a candied chestnut.

“No, no, really, I don’t need anymore,” Gonff said, waving his paws.

“What he means--” said Sister Amyl, taking the candied chestnut and placing it back in Brother Scrittum’s pocket-- “is that he’s probably already filched a few from you.”

“Oh yes, I see,” said Brother Scrittum, winking at Gonff. He patted the mousethief’s paw once more. “You take care of yourself now, lad.”

“O’ course, Brother,” Gonff said, carefully extracting himself and returning to Rose. He doffed an imaginary hat and swept into a deep bow. “Might I have the pleasure of escorting you to Great Hall, miss?”

Rose giggled and bobbed a curtsy. “Why thank you very much, my kind sir.” She took his offered paw and they swept out of the library, both still giggling.

Once out in the corridor, Gonff allowed Rose to set the pace as they meandered their way down to Great Hall. She was humming a happy tune to which Gonff began to whistle once he caught the pattern. After they’d repeated the tune three times, Gonff turned to Rose and said, “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a beast turn Martin red that quickly. You’ll have to tell me yor secret sometime.”

Rose giggled. “I’ll be sure to tell you when I discover it for myself,” she said with a wink. “It was a good story.”

“You didn’t get all the way through, I assume,” Gonff said. “It took Denno most o’ the night to read the whole thing to us when we found ‘em on the Arfship.”

“No.” Rose shook her head. “We only just made it past the part where Luke left on his voyage.” The smile faded from her face and she stopped walking. “It explains a lot, really.”

Gonff cocked his head to one side. “Y’mean like where he got ‘is sense of honor an’ such?”

Rose nodded slowly, her eyes looking through Gonff to some distant past. “And why he didn’t believe me the first time I told him he was a warrior.”

Gonff scratched his ear. “I must’ve missed that conversation.”

Rose shook her head, opening and closing her mouth a few times.

Gonff didn’t press her, but simply stood in the silence, waiting for her to speak again.

Finally, Rose let out a long sigh and looked up at Gonff resolutely. “I-”

“Rose, there you are!”

Both mice turn to see Brome making his way up the stairs. “I’ve been looking for you,” he said, “And Gonff.”

“Is something wrong?” Rose asked.

Brome shook his head. “No. Were you on your way to somewhere?”

“I’m escorting Miss Rose to Sister Amyl’s room to retrieve her crutches,” Gonff said, standing up straight and striking a pose.

Rose and Brome both giggled at him.

“Shall I join you, then?” Brome asked. “We can talk while we walk.”

Gonff nodded, once again offering his arm to Rose. “Very well. Now, why’re you looking for us?”

Brome fell into step on the other side of Rose. “It’s a bit complicated.” He turned toward his sister. “You recall that I was helping Abbess Germaine in the infirmary this afternoon?”

Rose nodded. “I remember.”

“She’s a rather sharp old mouse,” Brome said.

Gonff chuckled. “That she is.”

“Anyways,” Brome went on, “she told me that she’s figured us out.”

“I see,” Rose said, nodding slowly.

“Figured out what?” Gonff asked, dropping his usual joking manner.

Rose turned to him. “Figured out that we knew Martin before he came to Redwall,” she said quietly.

“You’re not surprised?” Brome asked when Gonff didn’t react.

Gonff shrugged and pulled some pieces of paper from his pocket. “Nearly had it figured out m’self after finding these.” He handed the sketches to Rose, who in turn handed them to Brome.

Brome examined the sketches of himself and Rose before handing them back to Gonff. “Martin’s work, I assume?”

Gonff nodded.

“So he hadn’t completely forgotten us,” Brome said.

Rose shook her head. “But he doesn’t seem to consciously remember us, either.”

The trio had reached the bottom of the stairs as they spoke and entered the bustling noise of Redwallers and travelers preparing to descend to Cavern Hole for the night’s feast.

Gonff motioned Rose and Brome off to one side. “I take it you want my help in jogging Martin’s memories?”

Brome nodded. “Aye. Abbess Germaine said you were the one who helped him regain lost memories after the war with Tzarmina was over.”

Gonff frowned. “I was. But that was pretty soon after he lost those memories, and he still doesn’t remember everything we went through. Gettin’ ‘im to remember now will likely be a bit harder.”

Rose’s face fell.

Gonff smiled at her. “Now, now. Don’t give up hope. I didn’t say it was impossible.” He looked back and forth between her and Brome. “Tell you what, I’ll think this over for the evening and we can meet again after brekkist tomorrow.”

Brome grinned and held out a paw. “We’ll gather the rest of the Players together and let them know what we’re trying to do. Thank you for your help.”

They shook paws and parted ways, Gonff heading off to Cavern Hole, and Brome and Rose to find the rest of Players after retrieving Rose’s crutches.

Gonff found himself distracted during the night’s performance, trying to watch both Martin and the Players as the feast progressed. He did, however, notice that Martin was in unusually high spirits, joining in the laughter and applause with far more energy than he had the previous two nights.

“Are you quite alright, Gonff?” Columbine asked him as they prepared for bed in their little room. “You’ve been a bit quieter this evening. Tummy ache?”

Gonff shook himself and pulled his wife into an impromptu dance. “Wot? Me, quiet? Never!” He spun her around the room until they both collapsed, giggling, onto the bed.

“Hahaha-hu-haha-hush, Gonff!” Columbine gasped. “You’ll wake Gonfflet.”

Gonff smiled at her, cupping her cheek with one paw and planting a kiss on her nose. “The little rascal’s already fast asleep. No need to worry about ‘im.”

Columbine giggled again and sat up. “Maybe not, but you still haven’t told me why you’ve been quieter this evening.” She put her paws on her hips and fixed a stern expression on her face. “Now you’d best tell me before I’m forced to tickle it out of you.”

“No! No tickles!” Gonff cried, throwing his paws in the air in mock horror. “I’ll tell.” He sat up, taking Columbine’s paws in his. “Just a conversation from earlier today that I haven’t quite figured out an answer to yet,” he said. “That’s all, nothing to worry about.”

“You’re sure?” Columbine asked.

Gonff nodded. “I am. Now-” he grinned and flung himself backward onto the bed- “We’d best get to sleep ourselves to make tomorrow come sooner.”

Columbine giggled and joined him. “If you insist, my Prince of Mousethieves.”

“I do.” He blew out the candle next to the bed and they both went to sleep.

#Redwall #Redwall Midwinter Miracle #Martin the Warrior #Rose of Noonvale #Gonff Prince of Mousethieves #Brome #Abbess Germaine #Redwall fanfic

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