#nanowrimo masterlist

[365runesoftheamalgamations]

NaNoWriMo 2022 Masterlist

NaNoWriMo General Content List (here is the tagging post!) | @andromedatalksaboutstuff | @bardic-tales | @lockejhaven | @midnight-and-his-melodiverse | @perasperaadastrawriting | @writingpotato07 |

Welcome to our Masterlist for NaNoWriMo this year! We will be focusing on multiple projects this year, like a true Rebel of the WriMo, so we will have this Masterlist posted so everyone can default to this throughout November!

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Introducing The Goals,

Traditional NaNoWriMo Goal: 50,000 Words Total | 30 Consecutive Writing Days

Since we are going to be using the NaNoWriMo website and everything, our official goal is the normal NaNo one of 50k Words during the month. We are going to be using this as Goal 01, and have our real goals, for the month and per project, be other goals afterwards!

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Personal Goals: 120,000 Words Total | 4,000 Words Daily | 24,000 Project Goal

Our Giant Goals for the Month will be aiming to write 4,000 Words a Day! We have been going through both September and October with these numbers, in order to get ready for things. We think we will be able to do it, if we sit in and focus on our Works, so hopefully we can make this happen!

And with that, if we manage to get to 4,000 per day, our total word count for the month should hit around 120k words! Which, looking at it now, seems like a wild amount, but hopefully we can have some fun with this thought and challenge!

To make it a little easier too, we will be aiming for 24,000 words for every work, so that we can spread out the words a little, and give ourselves a bit more leeway, instead of just forcing ourselves into one work and trying to adding too much to too little! 24,000 isn't a solid novel length or anything, but we are hoping to make progress, more than just throw out one work without anything else, so hopefully this NaNoWriMo will be a wild rebellion!

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Introducing The Works,

Constellations By Orion Tags: constellations.b.orion | Constellations By Orion | nano.01 |

Initial Concept: Orion is the first one she goes for, as he always points North. "I am just saying, your little stowaway is pretty cute." "I don't need a man Orion, I need directions across the sea." "Trust me, if you want a purpose, you should find Ursa Major. She's the guide of adventure, new life." "And where can I find her?" "At the heart of the ocean. She is the Guardian of Polaris and her baby, Ursa Minor." ~ novel, third person present, high fantasy, adventure ~ outlining, scene drafting, worldbuilding

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Bentley's Resolve Tags: bentley.resolve | Bentley's Resolve | nano.02 |

Initial Concept: Bentley Thaddeus Hawkes has always lived under the influence of the Reapers. Giving himself to the soft whispers of Knowledge of his mentors, he has held faith in the abilities of his World and their purpose. Until a mysterious man comes, unraveling more than the Knowledge Bentley has clung to and showing him that even the most orderly societies holds more than just the darkness of the Phantoms. ~ novel, third person present, two perspectives, high fantasy ~ scene drafting, outlined and planned

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The Villain's Hero Tags: villain.hero | The Villain's Hero | nano.03 |

Initial Concept: The villain and the hero end up as cellmates, the villain slowly unraveling a plan that seems to have been in place before the hero was even chosen, and discovering that maybe his role was simply to be the scapegoat, rather than the actual evil. ~ novel, third person present, two perspectives, high fantasy, mature contents ~ outlining, scene drafting, worldbuilding

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The Witch's Mage Tags: witch.mage | The Witch's Mage | nano.04 |

Initial Concept: Zachery didn’t know much about the Forests, besides the fact that the only ones who could safely traverse them were the Herbalists, and Witches would crawl out and eat his flesh if he was disobedient. That didn’t stop the pull he felt to them, the small instinctive desire to run through the Trees and feel his Magicks trudge through the unknown. But something more is pulling him, and when he finds a small shack guarded by wards of a priest, he almost wishes the pull wasn’t so strong to that old abandoned piece of history. ~ novel, third person present, high fantasy, romance ~ outlining, scene drafting, planned and plotted

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When Nature Is Left Behind Tags: nature.left.behind | When Nature Is Left Behind | nano.05 |

Initial Concept: Kind of developing randomly now, but it goes off an idea of being left behind, and how a boy meets a girl who has something that either needs care and attention - my brain supplied a plant - or the girl was the last of something - maybe of a race that is valuable or something - and she was left behind because she was mortally wounded or got sick or something? And the boy is basically racing against Time to get this girl from point A to B so that she can be saved/helped or so she can complete her mission and live long enough to see it through to the end. ~ novel, third person present, two perspectives, post-apocalyptic, survival adventures ~ zero drafted, outlined and planned, scene redrafting

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Links To Remember,

NaNoWriMo Site: Works Page | Profile Page

Support Us: Ko-fi

#Runes of NaNoWriMo #nanowrimo masterlist #writings #writerscommunity #writingcommunity #writing #nanowrimo 2022 edition #nanowrimo #writeblr #nanowrimo 2022 #nano2022

[i-did-not-mean-to]

NaNoWriMo 2023

Here are the prompts for this month!

🍂🍂November🍂🍂

𝑀𝒾𝓈𝓉𝓎 𝑀𝑜𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 - Ori x OC for husband

𝒞𝒶𝓃𝒹𝓁𝑒𝓁𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 - Námo & Melkor & Fëanor (aka Moggy and Feener get a candle)

𝐵𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉𝒾𝒻𝓊𝓁 𝐻𝒶𝓇𝓋𝑒𝓈𝓉 - Aulë x Yavanna (because of this art by @elanna-elrondiel)

𝒥𝑜𝓊𝓇𝓃𝒶𝓁/𝒮𝓉𝑜𝓇𝓎 𝒲𝓇𝒾𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 - Caranthir x Finrod for @dreamychaos

𝑅𝒶𝒾𝓃𝓎 𝒟𝒶𝓎 - Ori (because @elanna-elrondiel did this to me)

𝒮𝓌𝑒𝑒𝓉 𝒫𝒶𝓈𝓉𝓇𝒾𝑒𝓈 - Glorfindel x reader for @elanna-elrondiel

𝒯𝑒𝒶 𝒫𝒶𝓇𝓉𝓎 - Elrond & Galadriel (because I am terrible at gen!fic)

𝒲𝒾𝓁𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝐹𝓁𝑜𝓌𝑒𝓇𝓈 - Russingon for @thatfeanorian

𝒲𝑒𝓇𝑒𝓌𝑜𝓁𝓋𝑒𝓈 & 𝒱𝒶𝓂𝓅𝒾𝓇𝑒𝓈 - Fëanor x Fingolfin, Turgon x Finrod for MoonLord

𝐹𝓊𝓃𝑒𝓇𝒶𝓁/𝒞𝑒𝓂𝑒𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓎 - Haleth (because she's queen)

𝒮𝑜𝒻𝓉 𝒞𝓊𝒹𝒹𝓁𝑒𝓈 - Glorfindel & Legolas x Gimli, Glorfindel & Elrond + kids, Glorfindel x Erestor for my various servers

𝒮𝑒𝒸𝓇𝑒𝓉 𝑀𝑒𝑒𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 - Firebird for @cilil

𝒯𝓇𝒶𝒹𝒾𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃 & 𝑅𝒾𝓉𝓊𝒶𝓁𝓈 - Russingon with art by @the-red-butterfly

𝒲𝒶𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒮𝓅𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓉𝓈 - Nerdanel (to process stuff in my life)

𝒮𝓉𝒶𝓇𝓇𝓎 𝒩𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 - Varda x Manwë & Irmo

𝒮𝒸𝒶𝓇𝓎 𝒮𝓉𝑜𝓇𝒾𝑒𝓈/𝒟𝒶𝓇𝓀 𝐿𝑒𝑔𝑒𝓃𝒹𝓈 - Vampire!Elrond for @maglor-my-beloved

𝐻𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓉𝒷𝑒𝒶𝓉 - Halenthir for @elentarial

𝐹𝒶𝓁𝓁𝑒𝓃 𝐿𝑒𝒶𝓋𝑒𝓈 - Kíli x F!reader for @fandomfaeryreads

𝒜𝓊𝓉𝓊𝓂𝓃 𝒮𝓉𝑜𝓇𝓂𝓈 - Ulmanwë & Celegorm/Aredhel

𝐹𝓊𝓁𝓁 𝑀𝑜𝑜𝓃 - Amras x Finarfin x Argon

𝑀𝓎𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇𝒾𝑜𝓊𝓈 𝒫𝑜𝓃𝒹/𝑀𝒾𝓇𝓇𝑜𝓇 - DaeMags because of this art by @elanna-elrondiel)

𝒜𝓃𝒾𝓂𝒶𝓁 𝒞𝑜𝓂𝓅𝒶𝓃𝒾𝑜𝓃 - Námo & Gorgumoth

𝒯𝒽𝒶𝓃𝓀𝓈𝑔𝒾𝓋𝒾𝓃𝑔 - Ñolofinwë & his descendants for anon

𝐹𝒾𝓇𝑒𝓅𝓁𝒶𝒸𝑒 - Bagginshield for @lordoftherazzles

𝑀𝒶𝑔𝒾𝒸 𝓅𝑜𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃 - Celegorm x Eöl for the server. (Dark!💀 mpreg)

𝐹𝑜𝑔𝑔𝓎 𝐵𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓉𝒽 - Caranthir x reader (because of this art by @sortumavaara)

𝒫𝓇𝑒𝓉𝓉𝓎 𝐿𝒾𝑒𝓈 - Gondolin OT3 for @jaz-the-bard

𝐹𝑜𝓇𝑔𝑜𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓃 𝑀𝑒𝓂𝑜𝓇𝓎 - Elenwë x Turgon x Finrod for @elentarial

𝐹𝒶𝒾𝓇𝓎𝓉𝒶𝓁𝑒 - Fingon and the seven dwarves Fëanorians for MoonLord

𝒮𝒽𝑜𝑜𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒮𝓉𝒶𝓇 - Varda x Nienna, Eärendil & Elrond & Maglor

As always, I'd be happy and honoured to get requests for pairings and ideas from you all!

Lots of love!

Explanation: in red the nsfw, in orange fluff, in green dark (and nsfw) fics, blue for sadness

#og post #IDNMT writes #fanfiction #writing #tolkien writing #jrrt #Masterlist #November #NaNoWriMO #nanowrimo

[wrenwrights]

Blog Master List

Hello! I am Wren, a sassy little writer who is obsessed with video games and funky masked men.

-DM's are open

-Asks are open

NanoWriMo

Ao3

Call of Duty

König Headcanons

Self-Indulgence Things

'Self-Indulgence' is a König x oc fic I'm currently drafting, and to help with inspiration I've been writing little drabbles and snippets here and there.

König meets Iris

Domestic things Iris and König do

Iris Hall Mood Board

König Mood Board

CyberPunk 2077

Afterlife (1137 words) by WrenWrights

Chapters: 1/1

Fandom: Cyberpunk 2077 (Video Game)

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Johnny Silverhand/V, Johnny Silverhand & V, Judy Alvarez/V, V/River Ward, V & Jackie Welles

Characters: V (Cyberpunk 2077), Johnny Silverhand

Additional Tags: Female V (Cyberpunk 2077), Soft Johnny Silverhand, Guilty Johnny Silverhand, Light Angst, Fluff and Angst, Netrunner V (Cyberpunk 2077)

Summary:

After a tough day, V and Johnny like to unwind with a drink or two at the nearest bar. Today, however, their typical after-work relaxation takes an emotional turn.

#creative writing #fanfic #writeblr #call of duty #ao3 fanfic #johnny silverhand x v #v cyberpunk #johnny silverhand #masterlist #cyberpunk 2077 #call of duty fanfic #cyberpunk 2077 fanfic #könig call of duty #könig x you #könig x oc #nanowrimo

[nightshadereaper66]

All of my poems and short stories in one place for you to binge-read. Will be updated when I post new things. Unless I forget.

Stories: The Great Sandwich Adventure: Three dysfunctional animals try to make some lunch. Tomfoolery ensues. Death's Gift: A man meets Death, who offers him a wish. Be careful what you wish for... Reflections: Waking up to something odd. In The Fume Hood: Too much homework. Too little sleep. An overly powerful (and possibly sentient) fume hood. Ethanol and Mothballs: The halls of the museum are quiet at night. The collections are a different story; organisms wake up and begin to explore...

Poetry (from 2024): The Betta Fish What Could Have Been Blurring Together Fibonacci Poems Part 2 My Brain Gnome Is Disorganized The Baby Turtle I'm Still Here Atrophy (Slowly Wasting Away) Recycled I Am A Human Empty Room Hope is the T-Rex With Feathers Self Love Missing Common (Important) Things Leap Day Sticks and Stones The Half-Light Saturation Diver Miss Felicity Overcast Limbo Unknown Land Melted Rock Sensory Issues Zugzwang Perfect Illusions The Lake Behind the Dam Desert UNIVAC LARC Solid-State Computer Cancer Research Who Owns The Moon? Peel Off A Chunk of Skin Maggots I Gave It All Away Upshot-Knothole A Thousand Times The Dining Room Table Sidewalk Chalk Kerflugleshlog Puck Sprite Heatwave Where Graveyard Shift

NaNoWriMo 2023 Poetry from 2023

Descriptions: Inner Peace

#masterlist #writing #stories #poetry #poem #original poem #original character #original story #described #descriptive writing #mental health #original poetry #iambic tetrameter #nanowrimo #writing challenge #creative writing #acrostic #found poetry #poems on tumblr #golden shovel #free verse #poetryblr #writblr #writerblr #blackout poetry

[storkmuffin]

My Fics in AO3 posting order.  They are all Riverdale.

Cake and Coat:  Jugpea, absolutely not canon compliant.

With You In My Pocket:  Jugpea, animal shifter AU, PG Fluffy fluff

Concrete Oasis:  Jugpea.  What really happened BTS at the musical Heathers. (first reader/ workshop member: @taratantsi)

The Minotaur: Jugpea.  Crackfic - Sweet Pea wears a big minotaur mask and Jughead is hot for him.  No reason. Just ‘cuz. (inspo: @mothmanchronicler)

The Hardest Hue to Hold:  Jugpea. Giving Sweet Pea a better send off than canon.  Jughead is not nice in this one and the ending is bittersweet. (first reader/ workshop member: @taratantsi )

Whole Life Trying:  Jugpea, cowritten with @viknikisbae and @juggiespea , spinoff from the peanut toss heard around the world (in S5). Happy ending, kinda! (first reader/ workshop member: @taratantsi)

Liminal (aka Bunker Jughead Is Fun To F*ck): Reghead. It does what it says on the tin. (first reader/ workshop member: @taratantsi)

The Shining Forest - On Going Fic! Fantasy AU Jugpea. Assassin Sweet Pea and Lost Prince Jughead meet in the forest.

#i wrote something every single day of November 2022 for my version of Nanowrimo for the currenr wip! #celebrating by posting a masterlist of my little fics #getting into fic writing as a hobby has been just THE BEST #riverdale fanfic #sweet pea riverdale fanfic #jugpea fanfic #masterlist #masterlist 1 #my writing #the shining forest

[swden-writingcorner]

NaNoWriMo - Masterlist

My writing challenge through the years.

Eine kleine Ansammlung all meiner Posts, die für NaNoWriMo erstellt wurden. Mit meinen Wörter-Updates und meinen Gefühlen beim Schreiben.

NaNoWriMo 2023

NaNoWriMo 2022

NaNoWriMo 2021

NaNoWriMo 2020

Und unter dem Cut noch die Screenshots aller bisherigen abgeschlossenen NaNoWriMos von mir. (just for fun)

NaNoWriMo 2020

NaNoWriMo 2021

NaNoWriMo 2022

NaNoWriMo 2023

#nanowrimo #masterlist

[cvntrlseecvntrlvee]

.

#remember when i said masterlists would get posted this weekend #and then they didn't! #i also haven't written in so long #my poor nanowrimo project lays abandoned #ahhhhhhhhhhhh #just! #so! #much! #to do! #daisee.txt

[blue-manuscript]

The Lucien Project

Hello! If you are here to read excerpts from the work-in-progress, The Lucien Project, look no further than this post here! To keep myself accountable this NaNoWriMo season, I am going to be posting my word count on here every day, with an excerpt from the draft novel under the Read More! This is the master post which will link you to all the updates for the November 2022 NaNoWriMo Challenge!

Total Word Count: 35,698 words

You will notice that there are a few days I missed. I just didn’t write that day, so there are only links included for the days in which I did write. 

Day One: https://blue-manuscript.tumblr.com/post/699776450653552640/the-lucien-project-day-one

Day Two: https://blue-manuscript.tumblr.com/post/699866082057601024/the-lucien-project-day-two

Day Three: https://blue-manuscript.tumblr.com/post/699959851084890112/the-lucien-project-day-three

Day Four: https://blue-manuscript.tumblr.com/post/700042914428026880/the-lucien-project-day-four

Day Five: https://blue-manuscript.tumblr.com/post/700136154169835520/the-lucien-project-day-five

Day Six: https://blue-manuscript.tumblr.com/post/700227703492804608/the-lucien-project-day-six

Day Seven: https://blue-manuscript.tumblr.com/post/700324733743431680/the-lucien-project-day-seven

Day Eight: revisions of previous work and expansion of exposition

Day Nine: https://blue-manuscript.tumblr.com/post/700503028129824768/the-lucien-project-day-nine

Day Ten: did not write, too happily distracted

Day 11: https://blue-manuscript.tumblr.com/post/700682747768913920/the-lucien-project-day-11

Day 12: https://blue-manuscript.tumblr.com/post/700861403411693568/the-lucien-project-day-12

Day 13: https://blue-manuscript.tumblr.com/post/700870895137325056/the-lucien-project-day-13

Day 14: https://blue-manuscript.tumblr.com/post/700955366879559680/the-lucien-project-day-14

Day 15: https://blue-manuscript.tumblr.com/post/701042772417888256/the-lucien-project-day-15

Day 17: https://blue-manuscript.tumblr.com/post/701229856152780800/the-lucien-project-day-17

Day 20: https://blue-manuscript.tumblr.com/post/702128297937715200/the-lucien-project-day-20

Day 27: https://blue-manuscript.tumblr.com/post/702128557891174400/the-lucien-project-day-27

#pinned #masterlist #masterpost #Nano2022 #science fiction #writing challenge #the Lucien project #nanowrimo #national novel writing month

[thefrogdalorian]

The Best of Both Worlds

Din Djarin x Female Reader Modern!AU

Summary: When a new Star Wars TV show called The Mandalorian premiered, you found yourself completely enamoured with the titular character. Enjoyment of watching the lone bounty hunter travel through the galaxy quickly turned to obsession. There was just something about the show that captured your imagination. Now, you spend much of your free time — when you're not working a fast-paced, minimum wage and incredibly stressful job at a prestigious London Museum— speaking to your online friends about your love for the show. There's just one thing... Despite how much you love The Mandalorian, no one knows the identity of the man behind the helmet... either in the show, or in real life. You only know him as Mando. No one has ever seen his face, no one knows his name.  Even after the countless hours of speculation from fans online, which even you have occasionally participated in, no one is any the wiser to the identity of the mysterious man who wears the shiny armour.  Surely, given the depth of your love for the show, you'd recognise if the man who you spend so much time obsessing over online was to ever cross paths with you. Right?

Content Warnings: Reader is AFAB, uses she/her pronouns and in her mid 20s. Age gap between her and Din is noted but not really central to the story. Grogu is human, hints of past trauma/child abuse before Din adopted him are mentioned but not described in detail. Some mature scenes later on in the fic but not explicit smut... because I just cannot write x reader smut! Author's Note: SO very excited to finally share this fic! Thank you to the lovely @suresnips for being my beta. I really appreciate you ♡ This baby was originally my NaNoWriMo 2023 project and was inspired by this post from @toxic-seduction that I saw one evening and couldn't stop thinking about! POVs will alternate chapter to chapter from Din to reader. It was fun to write that way! Set in London for a few reasons: partly because I love the movie Notting Hill and it has some of those vibes (if you squint), also, the village where Din lives is based on Elstree Studios just outside London, where the OT was filmed and ultimately because NO WAY was I writing a modern!AU set in the states, it would've been painfully obvious a Brit wrote it. While there are lots of references to places in London, I don't live there so it might not be truly accurate (Londoners don't come for me). Also, to be political for a sec, reader works at the British Museum and I hate that institution. This was actually the line of work I was interested in when I was at Uni but for many different reasons I did not pursue it. However, it works for the plot of this story and as you'll see, she doesn't exactly love it either and goes on a few rants. Just wanted to make that clear that her job there is not an endorsement of it or anything. I can't stand them or their historical apologist bs and I wish we would give back all the things we stole (including the Parthenon Marbles)! Finally, it was incredibly important to me that the actor behind Mando in this fic clearly be the fictional character of Din Djarin rather than the real person Pedro Pascal, because rpf is not my jam! I hope I did that pretty well but just wanted to warn that if you're expecting me to use Din as some kind of way to write a Pedro fic, this won't be for you! Okay, I'll shut up now! This fic is fully written, just needs editing so hopefully I'll get a couple of chapters up each week, but life happens. I'm very proud of this one and I really hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! Also if you would like to be added to my taglist for this fic, please let me know! Happy reading ♡

❁ My Masterlist ❁ Read on AO3 ❁

Why Does It Always Rain On Me? [Reader POV]: After a dreadful day which saw you drenched by a rainstorm after leaving a hectic day at work, you reflect on your love for Mando and upcoming excitement for the sci-fi convention you will soon be attending with your internet best friend.

He Is My Only Priority [Din's Pov]: The character of The Mandalorian is known and loved by millions. But there is another, much softer side to the man who portrays him that Din Djarin is determined to keep hidden from the world, despite the challenges that presents for him and his beloved son, Grogu.

This Is Why (I Don't Leave The House) [Reader's POV]: Your internet bestie arrives in preparation for the Star Wars convention you will attend together. Everything is set for the greatest weekend of your life! Until you arrive at the con and find yourself overwhelmed by all the crowds and noise. At least you have numerous incredibly realistic Mando cosplays to distract you from how stressed you feel, and there's one in particular which is uncannily accurate...

Curiosity Killed The Cat [Din's POV]: Despite his reservations and against his better instincts, Din heads to a Star Wars convention that he was invited to. Although he fears that his cover will be blown, curiosity gets the best of Din and he can't resist attending a panel. But Din doesn't exactly find the answers he was looking for. Instead, he finds something far more precious. Something that he would never have expected...

He's So Tall (And Handsome As Hell) [Reader's POV]: Being back in the real world and returning to work after an incredible weekend at the convention where you had so many fun experiences is taking its toll on you. The thought of collapsing on your couch in front of The Mandalorian is the only thing keeping you going. However, the universe has other plans for you. News of an out-of-hours tour for a private client that you are asked to lead almost sends you over the edge, but when you finally meet the man, he is the opposite of what you were expecting. Weirdly, he seems familiar...

With A Little Help From My Friends [Din's POV]: Din returns to the set of The Mandalorian to begin filming a new season. Despite his experience and capability, he finds that he struggles to focus as his thoughts remain firmly fixed on a certain someone...

You're The Sunflower [Reader's POV]: Despite feeling certain that you'll never see the ridiculously handsome man you gave a tour of the museum to, a special delivery is about to change everything...

Your Face Hung Up High In The Gallery [Din's POV]: After a difficult few days of filming The Mandalorian, Din is excited to spend time with you as he finally takes you on your first proper date...

Have I Known You Twenty Seconds or Twenty Years? - (Reader's POV):  Despite a messy evening which led to you waking up in an opulent hotel which you have no memory of falling asleep in, memories of kind brown eyes and breathless kisses soon come flooding back to soothe your soul. Your relationship deepens as the two of you spending time together whenever your busy schedules allow. But one night, a turn of events causes you - despite Din's reassurances - to wonder if everything you have been working so hard to build together has just come crashing down around you...

There's A War Inside Of Me - [Din's POV]: The realities of the secret he is keeping from you begin to weigh heavily on Din's mind and he seeks advice from a certain curly haired co-star on what his next move should be. Things don't go exactly according to plan, not least because of the typically awful English weather...

It Could Be Love, We Could Be The Way Forward - [Reader's POV]: With your respective busy jobs keeping you and Din apart, a mystery date after a hectic day at work is exactly what you needed.

The Calm - [Din's POV]: When filming overruns and conspires to keep Din from the fun weekend he planned for you, he agonises over his decision. Fortunately, he manages to salvage the weekend, even after a calamity involving a rowboat...

The Storm - [Reader's POV]: The happiness you feel in response to a question Din posed to you is somewhat clouded by lingering doubts. Yet your affection for each other helps you to push those emotions down, until a weekend spent at his cottage changes everything...

P.S. - I tried to be inclusive for all body types and skin tones in this fic, but if I missed something, I do apologise. If you do spot something that takes you out of the fic, I am more than happy for constructive criticism as I wouldn't want anyone to be excluded on those grounds. I am always trying to do better and would love to know where I went wrong so I can improve and be more aware of these things going forward, so I would appreciate it if you could let me know if you do spot anything. Thank you so much! ♡

#my fics #tbobw #din djarin fic #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x reader #mando x reader #din djarin #pedro pascal characters #the mandalorian fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro boys

[novelizt]

EXPECTO PATRONUM (MASTERLIST) ☁︎ ANTHONY LOCKWOOD

GENRE ➺ HOGWARTS AU [slytherin! lockwood x fem! ravenclaw! reader]. rivals to lovers (and a dash of 'everyone knows but them'). fluff and angst.

WC ➺ 30.8k

SYNOPSIS ➺ after a six year rivalry with lockwood, your patronus suddenly matches his when it didn't before.

DISCLAIMER ➺ reader is implied to be shorter than lockwood. appearance of harry potter next gen characters and a few ocs. lockwood calls reader 'sweetheart' and 'my dearest vexation' (+'my girl'). prefect! lockwood. jessica lockwood lives!! (i also headcanon lockwood being a cunning-flirt, so lockwood might read slightly ooc.)

WARNINGS ➺ strained family dynamics (for reader), love potions (misuse of magic), dragons on the loose, wizard duels, boggarts, and a lot of unpolished dialogue. QUILL KIPPS. blood and injuries (tending to wounds). mentions of kids and marriage at the end.

SWEETHEARTS ➺ @kiyasoup @toddandersondupe @locknco @onecojg @avdiobliss @mentallyillsodapop @mitskiswift99 @mischivana @bella-rose29 @wordsarelife

NOTES ➺ it's been a long time coming. i got lost in the sauce. can you tell? this was originally a oneshot but tumblr's block limit was exceeded lol we can still pretend it's a oneshot!

i hope this finds you when you need it. this is for the girlies who are forever spellbound by london boys 💙 happy nanowrimo !!

CARDINAL STORYLINE — COMPLETE!

PART ONE ! 13.7k

PART TWO ! 17.4k

⌠ @novelizt 2023 ⌡

#— ❨ 🌺 ❩ 𝐋𝐈𝐙𝐙𝐈𝐄'𝐒 𝐔𝐓𝐎𝐏𝐈𝐀 ₊˚.༄ #lockwood hogwarts au #anthony lockwood x reader #lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood x you #lockwood and co fanfiction #anthony lockwood fanfiction #lockwood and co x reader #lockwood x y/n #lockwood x you #anthony lockwood angst #anthony lockwood fluff

[onwriting-hrarby]

About the writing craft — Masterlist

Hello everyone! Since the followers on this tumblr have grown a little since I first started back in March, I've thought about doing a recap on the writing advice / craft posts I've done.

As you know, I am quite picky in calling in "writing advice", so these are much more meant to be like a "behind-the-scenes" "take-what-you-want" kind of posts.

[Disclaimer: the posts refer to a specific fanfiction, but they can be applied to anything—and I do apply them to original stories too)

PRE-PRODUCTION: Plotting, Inspiration, Ideas, Character design

About the fear before beginning to write a long story

Designing characters: The characters and the leitmotivs

On how I plot and divide the chapters

The foreshadowing series (Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 )

On endings—The Last Sentence

On inspiration

POST-PRODUCTION: Editing, rewriting

In killing your darlings when something doesn't work—and how necessary it is

On editing (from a real-life editor): The macro, the micro, an introduction to everyone

WRITING IN GENERAL

On why Nanowrimo doesn't work for me and what I do about it

On why I don't believe in "Writing advice"—and you should just read

On the difference between fiction and reality—and how people nowadays just confuse the tw

A writing year—in which I wanted to become famous, but didn't

If this is of any need to you, don't hesitate to save it or reblog it! I'm still writing about writing, but I thought there was no harm in doing a master list if anyone can find it interesting.

Also, do not hesitate to hit the ask box!

—hera

(pd: taggin @writeblrsupport in case they want to reblog for other writers!)

#writerblr #writing inspiration #writing #writers on tumblr #creative writing #writers #writeblr #writing advice #writing community #writing exercise #writing tips #writerscommunity #writerslife #writersociety #writer problems #aspiring author #author #writers of tumblr #writing life #writers community #hrarbycraft

[duskyashe]

NaNoWriMo Day #2

[masterlist] [part two] [part three] [part four]

Prompt found here

=============‹«⟨·•★•·⟩»›=============

The thing about being the half-ghost protector of a small Midwestern city whose rogues gallery consists of both the inhabitants of a parallel dimension intrinsically linked to the "living" one as well as goons from the government, is that you tend to get a bit lonely. There's never any representation for him or others like him among the well known heroes of the world, he's really got no one to model how he should fight his city's crime. Sure, Superman has a lot of powers that are similar to his own, but he's a beloved alien not a hated eldritch entity. And sure, Danny loves knowing there's other sentient life out there, but when the government is one of his rogues, it's kinda hard to look up to government approved heroes.

Though Captain Marvel was pretty cool, not gonna lie.

But his point was, as far as Danny knew, he was the only eldritch being/cryptid to have taken up heroics, ever, and that… that hurts sometimes, that he was the only one out of a rather large cast of possible "other" beings in the world to decide that protecting others was worth more than his own potential safety. He was both the frontrunner and the sacrificial lamb. If he succeeded in changing the narrative, in convincing humanity that supernatural beings and entities couldn't be defined by a few really well known bad nuts, then others would publicly fly his banner, but if he didn't, if he failed, then, well, no ectoplasmic skin off their metaphorical noses, y'know? It was isolating.

Danny honestly expected the rest of his existence would be defined by that loneliness, by being the only hero to be of a supernatural flavor others were actively terrified of. Until, that is, Sam and Tucker nearly broke his bedroom door down one Sunday morning, breathless and beaming, which was so out of character for Sam that Danny was kinda expecting his ghost sense to go off signaling she was being overshadowed. But no, she wasn't. She was genuinely excited about something, enough to act like the daughter her parents wished she was, not the down-to-earth goth beauty they actually had.

"Woah, guys, what's up?" Danny asked, sitting up from his sprawled out position on his bed. Tuck shut and locked his door while Sam pulled her phone out and showed it to him. He stared at the screen in shock for a few minutes as his friends got their breathing under control. "Is… is that… is that what I think it is?"

Sam nodded, grinning like a loon. "Tuck double checked everything. There's multiple cases with enough correlation between them, buried deep enough in the web, that for it all to be one big hoax or just a huge coincidence would be functionally impossible. This is real, Danny. You're not alone anymore." On her phone was a website, which looked like a newspaper of some sort, with a headline reading, "The Cryptid Known as Batman Strikes Again! Twoface Back in Arkham!" It was posted just last week. Danny took Sam's phone and looked through the open tabs. There were articles and blog posts and Reddit pages and YouTube channels dedicated to what seemed to be a whole clan of cryptids who made Gotham City their home. All of them praised the elusive clan. Thanked them for protecting them. For saving them.

Danny started tearing up. He couldn't help it. Here was proof that what he was doing wasn't all for nothing. It was possible to be a hero loved by those he protected while being a member of the supernatural, part-time though his membership may be.

It was at that point that fourteen year old Danny "Phantom" Fenton decided the entity called "Batman" was his hero, his idol, the being he looked up to most of all. His method of fighting crime was a tad too violent for Danny, but his style was perfect. He couldn't change who or what he was, not without some serious side effects, but if "Batman" and their clan could turn the public's favor to their side despite being so obviously not human, something even literal aliens didn't attempt to do, then screw it, Danny was going to do the same thing. He would embrace his ghostliness as Phantom, instead of trying to pretend he was still human in that form. Maybe that was his problem, anyway? Could others tell he was pretending to still be human as Phantom? It didn't really matter at the moment, but it would be interesting to test that going forward…

=============‹«⟨·•★•·⟩»›=============

In the end, a year and a half is all it took for everything to completely fall apart. Danny would say he was surprised, but honestly, he'd seen this coming as far back as that incident with Pariah Dark, which ended with him ascending the ghostly throne. The way Amity Park reacted to that whole ordeal was rather telling. Although a number of the younger crowd had started shifting their views of Phantom, too many of the adults still saw him as a threat and vilified him, even after he saved all of reality.

Living in Amity Park had quickly become too dangerous for him and his team—Sam, Tucker, and Jazz—, but while Jazz was fairly easily able to get custody of Danny and get the two of them away from the boiling cauldron of tension, Sam and Tucker didn't have that option. His core protested leaving members of his fright behind in such a hazardous situation, but with no idea how things would go down where Jazz and Danny were running to, they had to leave them for the time being. If everything went to plan, then Jazz would call the rest of their fright to them.

Thankfully, with him being the ghost king now, his ghostly rogues had cut back on their attacks on his haunt during the past year, instead scheduling time with Jazz to teach him more about ghost culture, as well as other supernatural beings and their cultures. Due to these lessons, Danny, Sam, and Tucker would often debate what kind of beings Batman's clan had and how many beings the clan contained instead of finishing their homework.

Batman was obviously an entity loosely tied to shadows that had ascended to minor divinity over the past few years, while Robin had to be some sort of fey being, considering their eternally youthful appearance. This theory was backed by Robin's ability to mimic the voices of seemingly anyone. Raven, the next oldest member of Batman's clan, had to be eldritch in origin, though it was interesting that they claimed a name so closely related to death and prophecy. Danny and his friends couldn't quite agree on what kind of eldritch being Raven was, just that they were one.

Condor was an interesting being to debate, as the name also had strong ties with death, as well as rebirth. Sam thought that meant Condor was a Phoenix that wanted to stay on theme with the rest of the clan, while Tuck thought Condor was some kind of zombie. Jazz was actually the one to propose Condor may have been a lich, which honestly kind of made sense. Condor was known to have looser morals than the others in the clan, which fit with the general idea of how liches come into being, especially if those they killed came back as undead servants like some rumors claimed.

Around the same time Condor showed up, whisperings of a being named Oracle started showing up within the forums Tuck had hacked. While there was no confirmed record of appearance for her, there were multiple accounts of the other members of the bat clan sending words of thanks to her, so she might have been the actual spirit of the Oracle of Delphi, which would be so cool.

Ibis was definitely some sort of trickster spirit, possibly even a kitsune. With their tendency to dance around an opponent until victory was assured and their tenuous grasp on the humanoid form, they couldn't really be anything else. Black Bat had to be another entity loosely tied to shadows, though they seemed more eldritch than Batman was. Starling could literally only be a banshee, what with her death shrieks every time she attacked. Weirdly enough, Signal seemed to already have a supernatural theory attached to them, said theory being that they were the bat signal given sentience and humanoid form, though Danny thought they might be more of a vengeful spirit.

There were likely others, those not as well known or even ever seen. There always were. For Danny's fright, that was Ellie, who was constantly on the move, especially now that she'd mastered teleportation and portal making. While most of his former ghostly rogues knew of Ellie, the only humans that knew of her were members of his fright and Valerie.

At the time, spitballing ideas about the members of the bat clan in Gotham was just all fun and games, a way to practice the knowledge they were learning in a more practical and entertaining way than just bookwork. Now, though, Danny couldn't be more grateful they had spent so much time on those debates, countless nights they stayed up late trawling through the deep web to stay up to date on the latest on Gotham's guardian deity and his clan. Because they had such solid guesses on what beings made up the bat clan, they'd be able to appeal for sanctuary in a more appropriate manner than if they had no clue at all.

As his and Jazz's bus drew closer to Gotham on the horizon, Danny anxiously checked that the duffle with their offerings was still secured. He hoped the bats liked their gifts; they had barely any concrete info on any of the more public members, let alone the lesser known ones. He wasn't sure what they'd do if Batman refused their appeal; with the schematics to rebuild the Fenton portal within easy access of the GIW, they couldn't risk hiding out in the Infinite Realms for fear of drawing Danny's subjects into a fruitless war.

Please, he prayed to Gotham's guardian deity, please don't turn us away. You're our last hope.

=============‹«⟨·•★•·⟩»›=============

As Bruce was getting ready for patrol that night, he felt the creeping rise of anticipation. Something was going to happen tonight, something extraordinary. He just wasn't sure if it was going to be a good thing or not. Like usual.

For the past year and a half, Bruce had noticed an odd trend. Whenever something big was going to happen, something that would affect the entirety of his city, he'd feel antsy all day, right up until whatever was going to happen happened. It certainly helped cut down on the number of times they'd been caught with their metaphorical pants around their knees, but not being able to tell if the nebulous something was going to be good or not was annoying. Though, to be fair, there weren't a lot of good things that had happened since he started noticing his new sense.

"Listen up," he sighed as he stalked over to the conference table in the cave. "Something's going to happen tonight, something big. As usual, that's all the information I have, so you know the drill; if you see anything unusual, call it in." Bruce looked over his brood of children, most of them adults in their own right by now. Goodness, the years have flown by fast. "Try to stick relatively close to each other tonight, please. I want to be able to watch each other's backs in case whatever it is manages to get the drop on us."

Dick nodded with a grin. "You got it, B," he said, slinging an arm over Damian's shoulder. "C'mon, baby bird, let's run through our stretches one last time before heading out, yeah?"

"Tt, it is Todd who needs those stretches most, was he not the one to strain his knee last week?"

"You listen here, you little—"

"He's not wrong, Jay. You sure you don't want my stretch routine? It'd do you wonders, y'know."

"You mean your torture routine, Replacement? How you can get your body into some of those shapes and still call it stretching, I'll never know—"

Bruce shook his head, a small smile playing at his lips. He wasn't quite sure when that change had happened, but he'd be forever grateful it had. It pained him when his sons fought each other.

A small hand came to rest on his shoulder, drawing him out of his thoughts. He glanced down at his daughter and smiled at her look of concern. "I'm alright," he reassured her, "just thinking."

Cass looked at him thoughtfully before nodding. "It will be alright. Tonight will be good. We will stay safe. You stay safe, too?"

Bruce was nodding before she finished speaking. "Of course. We should head out, any longer and Stephanie will try banshee striking the first shady person she sees," he said, an amused glint in his eye as Steph cried out in indignation from over by the batmobile.

An hour into patrol, and Bruce's anticipation skyrocketed. Whatever was happening tonight was happening soon. "Everyone, check-in."

"Raven here, checking in, all clear here." Dick.

"This is Condor, everything's normal on my end." Jason.

"Robin, checking in, nothing is out of place." Damian.

"Starling here! Just some run-of-the-mill muggers, currently crying for daddy!" Steph.

"Black Bat. Clear." Cass.

Where's—? "Ibis here. B, I think I found the source of your feeling. Sending Oracle my coordinates now." Tim.

"Understood. En route now. Do not engage without backup, understood?" Bruce demanded, taking off toward the beacon indicating Tim's location.

"I'll try, B, but I get the impression they know I'm here."

The anticipation rose again. Whoever Tim was watching definitely knew he was there. "We'll hurry."

=============‹«⟨·•★•·⟩»›=============

Tim clung to the gargoyle overlooking one of the many rooftop shrines to the Bats and the Birds. There, sitting cross-legged about a foot in the air next to the shrine, was a glowing teenaged boy with snow bright hair and Lazarus Pit green eyes. He was wearing a black and silver armored suit, similar to the suits he and his siblings wore, with a flowing cape that blended into the night hung from his shoulders and a greenish black crown floating just above his head. In his lap was a black, gray, and green duffle bag that looked to be rather full, and in his hand was a beat up looking photograph. He couldn't make out what it was a photo of from this angle, but he'd recognize a well-loved photograph anywhere.

"In position, IIbis, you may initiate contact." Bruce said over comms. Tim didn't bother acknowledging he heard and instead carefully unwound himself from his hiding place in the shadows. Carefully, he danced down the side of the building he was on, contorting himself into inhuman looking positions as he went, until he could silently drop onto the roof with the shrine. He slowly slunk forward, keeping low and accentuating his curiosity. That was the key, here, he really was curious about this kid. That was what sold IIbis as something other, something not human.

Tim was about five feet from the shrine when wide, glowing green eyes suddenly found his own, covered though they might be. Tim froze, holding the slightly exaggerated pose he'd found himself in, crouched and arched in a way that screamed wary curiosity. Cautiously, he rolled his head to the side and chirped slightly.

"You really do exist," the kid breathed in awe before he shook himself and straightened, grabbing the duffle from his lap before letting his feet meet the rooftop. "Hi, um, I was wondering if I could possibly meet with your clan leader, Batman?"

Tim stared at the kid for a long moment as Bruce silently made his way to the shadows of the shrine. At Bruce's signal, a soft tap on the comm, Tim shifted and rolled and contorted until he was standing in a much more human-like fashion, then purposefully turned only his head to look directly where Bruce's beacon said he was. The kid whipped his head around right as Bruce seemingly melted out of the shadows, his size and sheer presence seemingly dwarfing the kid, who sucked in a surprised breath but barely moved an inch. Impressive.

"Yes?" Bruce growled softly, not the unpleasant, gravelly growl reserved for criminals, but the warm, gentle rumble reserved for kids and victims.

The kid's awe only grew more pronounced, but somehow he still managed to pull himself together enough to speak. "H-hi, my name's Phantom, I'm not sure if you've heard of me or not. I'd like to ask for sanctuary for myself and my fright-mates. Our previous haunt has become rather hostile towards us, and I'm not strong enough to keep them safe. Um, I've got some gifts for you and your clan, I wasn't sure how large your clan was, so I'm sorry if I offend you or anything with the lack of gifts for everyone. M-may I pull them out?" He asked, lifting the duffle slightly to indicate what he meant.

Bruce was silent as he waited for the rest of the bats and birds to form a loose circle around Phantom, stances mostly non-threatening, and stepped forward into the glow coming from the kid. At this point, the kid's awe was nearly palpable, glancing at as many of them as he could but always facing Bruce and not moving more than his eyes.

After a further moment, Bruce tilted his head slightly and nodded, causing the kid to outright beam.

"Right! Well, first, for yourself, I have a set of ghost steel batarangs, enchanted to return to their case once they leave a hundred yard radius. They're tied specifically to the case, so you can lend them to someone else, but it's recommended you be the only one to use them for the first ten uses in live combat. Next, for Black Bat, a cloak made by the best undead tailors this side of eternity. Made from the shadows themselves, whoever wears it becomes functionally invisible in low light conditions and beyond. I was also told it grants slight shadow manipulation, as well. For Robin, a shape shifting sword from the fey realms themselves, fitting for a changeling child. All curses and tricks were totally removed, as we weren't certain you wouldn't share it with some of your clan mates, and we didn't want to accidently cause any problems that could have been averted—" Phantom kept going, pulling something from the bag, naming who it was for, and explaining a little about it, before putting it back in the bag and moving on. But what drew Tim's attention, time and time again, was the fact that Phantom seemed to be under the impression they were actually members of the supernatural—he all but called Tim a kitsune, and definitely implied Damian was a changeling! It was both amusing the kid honestly thought they were members of the supernatural, and rather concerning at the same time. They were all human, weren't they? They were method acting every time they suited up, heck, Tim was nothing more than a self trained contortionist that could mimic a few bird calls and knew a bit of self defense. Why did this kid, who was possibly an actual ghost, think they were supernaturally inclined? Were they really that good at method acting? Or was there something more to it than that?

=============‹«⟨·•★•·⟩»›=============

Hey, guys! I literally stayed up working on this until midnight, so already in pushing my self proclaimed boundaries (⁠；⁠^⁠ω⁠^⁠）I had so much help from my friends on the @batpham-discord-highlights discord server, I'll look into tagging everyone that helped in the morning when I'm not struggling to stay awake (⁠´⁠-⁠﹏⁠-⁠`⁠；⁠) I hope you enjoyed this long fic, guys, cuz I was NOT expecting to write 3,266 words today! Good night, good morning, good day!

#danny phantom #batman #dc x dp #dp x dc #dp au #dp crossover #fanfiction #danny fenton #crossover #fanfic #cryptid batfamily #they're method acting. but it's working #a little too much #Danny is ghost king #it doesn't really come into play much #but he is #Batman didn't help found the justice league #Batfam sticks to Gotham #Dick Grayson is called Raven #Jason Todd is called Condor #Tim Drake is called IIbis #Damian Wayne is Robin #Stephanie Brown is called Starling #Cassandra Cain is Black Bat #Duke Thomas is Signal #of course Bruce Wayne is Batman #nanowrimo 2022 #NaNoWriMo Day 2

[thewolvesof1998]

Fuck it Friday

Tagged by @hippolotamus and @daffi-990

Still toiling away for NaNoWriMo and I've been working some more on Alright, Cowboy, Go Get 'Em chapter three (previous snippet and Masterlist):

“I did, didn’t I? Well, I can’t do that if you’re clothes are on,” Eddie says withdrawing his hand from Buck’s underwear. Buck whimpers at the loss of contact before Eddie’s words register, as soon as they do Buck sits up and rips off his shirt. He moves on to his underwear but instead of standing up to take it off, like a sane person, Buck lies down and lifts his hips in the air and pulls them halfway down his thighs. Eddie watches, captivated, as Buck desperately tries to pull them off but they get stuck on one of his ankles. Finally, after a lot of swearing Buck manages to get them off, he throws them on the floor and lies back slightly panting, cheeks pink and avoiding meeting Eddie’s eyes.  “I don’t suppose you can forget you just saw that?” Buck asks Eddie snorts, “I think that will be burned into my memory for the rest of my life.” Buck throws his arm over his face, “Oh good, great.” “Buck,” Eddie places his hand on Buck’s arm. “Just let me die of embarrassment.” “Buck,” He tries to tug Buck’s arm away from his face but it’s like trying to bend metal, goddamn he like how strong Buck is a little too much, “Darlin’,” but even the nickname doesn’t work. Eddie sighs, “Baby please, I need you to look at me.”  He gets a muffled ‘why’ From Buck, “Because you need to see the truth on my face when I say that you being so desperate for me that you couldn’t even wait to stand to get naked is one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen.”  “Say it again?” Buck asks, his arm finally lowering.  “What? You’re so desperate for me?” Buck shivers “Yes-” shakes his head “-No, the other thing.” Eddie feels a smile tug at his lips, “Baby?” Buck practically melts at the term, “You like when I call you baby?” Buck gives a small nod.  Eddie leans over and presses an open mouth kiss to Buck’s pulse point, “Such a desperate baby, huh?”

tagging: @wikiangela @wildlife4life ​ @eddiebabygirldiaz​ @disasterbuckdiaz @spotsandsocks @try-set-me-on-fire @jesuisici33​ @bekkachaos @buddierights @forthewolves @911-on-abc @shitouttabuck @911onabc @exhuastedpigeon @spagheddiediaz @your-catfish-friend @loserdiaz @ladydorian05 @watchyourbuck @king-buckley @chaoticgremlinwholikescheese @fortheloveofbuddie @steadfastsaturnsrings @mangacat201 @theotherbuckley @hoodie-buck @eowon @rainbow-nerdss @nmcggg @pirrusstuff @evanbegins @giddyupbuck @sammy-souffle @smilingbuckley (let me know if you want to be taken off or add to this tag list!)

#9-1-1 #buddie #eddie diaz #evan buckley #buddie fic #thewolvesof1998 writes #fic: alright cowboy go get em #cowboy buck #rodeo au

[nightshadereaper66]

NaNoWriMo 2023

Goal: To write one thing every day

Poetry: Trinity Castle Bravo The First Snowfall Grace The Inside Bread Haikus Those Little Inconveniences The Unraveling The Crusty Spy Watching the Fall Oil Rig Adrift Halcyon Days Can You Hear the Music Familiar Strangers The Old Pin Drawer Number Four Aquarian Poems Back and Forth The Willow Sprout Cereal Spork The Lies of Success See Yew Next Fall I May Look Door-mant Night Owl A Supernova of Memory The Curios Left Behind The Harebell Fibonacci Poems Crusty Star Rust Forgotten Childhoods To You, My Muse

Short Stories: Reflections: Waking up to something odd. In The Fume Hood: Too much homework. Too little sleep. An overly powerful (and possibly sentient) fume hood.

#writing #creative writing #poem #poetry #nanowrimo #nano 2023 #napowrimo #masterlist #golden shovel #free verse #original poem #poems on tumblr #haiku poetry #original poetry #short poetry #poetryblr

[the7thcrow]

Not all that Glitters is Gold -> 07

series pairing: (fem) princess!reader x seonghwa x san x wooyoung. eventual polyamory.

series masterlist | previous chapter

Part Seven: an orphanage, an elemental, and comfort

series rating: 16+

series genre: action and adventure. romance. angst. fluff. suggestive. fantasy au.

series warnings: character death, blood and violence, weaponry, injury, suggestive content, mxm content, elements of misogyny, language, monsters. (will only be using chapter specific warnings for things not included on this list.)

summary: as a princess fleeing a royal assassination attempt, you have no choice but to put your trust in a band of three thieves in order to reach the kingdom of kuroku alive. however, amongst magic, deceit, and the bounty hunters that are hot on your trail, you realize that you might have stumbled upon a relationship far more complicated than what meets the eye.

chapter details beneath the cut ->

chapter wc: 13.2k

extra chapter warnings: n/a

chapter summary:

“Have you ever killed a person?” You ask, and Wooyoung finds he isn’t surprised by the question. He doesn’t want to answer it, but he isn’t surprised by it.

He also believes the answer is something you should hear.

“I have,” he replies. “But sometimes people are monsters too.”

a/n: gave up on nanowrimo bc big surprise, i don’t have the time! everyone act shocked! plus side is y’all get this a bit earlier. this chapter’s a bit of an odd-ball. different, but i think it’s important. enjoy!

“I hate you. I hate you, I hate you, I hate you-”

When Wooyoung awakens, it’s with a start. Flying upwards from his place atop the pillow as if forcefully pulled by an invisible string, he holds himself on the back of his hands, arms trembling as they individually steady on both sides of him.

The tent is dark, too dark. The moon having disappeared beneath a cloudy blanket for the night, he can’t see anything amidst the blackness. The only indication of San’s presence is the sound of his breathing, and Wooyoung acknowledges the steadiness of it. He’s sleeping well, soundly. The pattern is rhythmic, and it’s a relief. Wooyoung knows that the swordsman hasn’t had a solid rest since Gloria, having overhead as San has fearfully muttered Jay’s name in his sleep.

He’d reach out to touch him, to try and comfort him, but San has made a point of sleeping on the opposite side of the tent. Wooyoung has accepted that this is just the way it’s going to be for now, until San decides to tell him why exactly he’s been so angry with him these last few days. Wooyoung thinks he might be embarrassed from his breakdown after Gloria, but while that would explain the evasiveness, it wouldn’t justify the coldness the swordsmen has been inflicting on him.

It irritates Wooyoung, but maybe San just needs time, and he doesn’t have much choice but to grant it.

Even so, it remains true that he’s glad that San is finally sleeping peacefully. However, Wooyoung is not as fortunate. His chest heaves, each breath requiring an almost gruelling amount of effort. His palms are clammy, forehead drenched in sweat. His clothes cling to him as if threaded through his flesh.

It’s been a while since he last dreamed of them. Almost a month to be exact, but no matter how long it’s been, the nightmares always leave him feeling as if his skin has been turned inside out.

Bringing up a hand to wipe the hair that clings to his forehead, his fingers are almost too shaky to manage the task. Falling back onto his pillow, he stares up into the blackness.

Amidst it, Wooyoung sees a face. His face. Those mischievous, affectionate eyes. He sees the blood. He sees the burnt flesh.

Then he sees her. He sees her unbridled, agonizing tears. He hears her broken sobs.

Wooyoung needs to get out of this tent.

Pushing himself back upwards, it takes far more effort this time around, his body wishing for nothing more than to shut down. Yet, he manages, tossing the blanket off of himself - which has begun to feel far too hot, anyway - he rises to his feet. Keeping light on his toes as to not awaken the swordsman, he steps over him, lingering only a moment to gaze upon San’s sleeping form. It’s barely visible through the darkness, but Wooyoung can swear he sees the hint of a smile on San’s lips.

If it weren't for the way it currently feels as if he’s suffocating, Wooyoung would have the urge to smile too.

Sucking in a tight breath, the elemental slips through the tent-flap, out into the brisk forest air. After days of what has felt like endless struggle, the group of you have finally made your way out of the Calanthian Desert and into the outskirts of Morrow Forest, soon to be followed by the Burovian Mountains.

Wooyoung is immensely relieved. He’s considering approaching San and Seonghwa with the idea to take a different path on the way home from Kuroku. Even if avoiding the desert would lengthen the trip almost double-fold, he thinks they’ll all be in agreement that they never wish to touch another grain of sand so long as they live.

The wind of the forest is stronger than he’d expected, its brisk chill almost stinging against the sweat that beads along his forehead. He welcomes it, taking in a deep breath in an attempt to steady himself. It almost works.

Turning towards the make-shift fire pit, he fashions a ball of flame within his hand, hoping to reignite the campfire. However, upon turning around he finds that the fire he’d started earlier in the evening continues to burn brightly, sparks flying as the large flame contests the sharp wind.

You sit, bundled in a woolen blanket as you cling closely to the fire’s warmth, hand resting on yet another log to feed the flame. You don’t notice him.

Wooyoung attempts to take a quiet step backwards and towards his tent, but the branch that crunches beneath his foot betrays him. Echoing throughout your campsite, he grimaces as your head whirls around, eyes locking with his own almost immediately.

For a moment, neither of you say anything. Eventually, it is you who speaks. “I thought you went to sleep.”

Wooyoung doesn’t move, neither closer to his tent or towards the fire. “I did. I woke up.”

You hum at this, gaze drifting from his own and back towards the flames. You toss another log on top of them, and the fire crackles in appreciation, sparks billowing from beneath the wood. They dance around you, the growing flames casting a rich auburn glow over your face. It’s only then that he realizes you’ve been crying.

He swallows deeply, and despite himself, he takes a few steps towards the fire. His mind is not fuzzy per say, the nightmare enough to shock his brain into awareness, but in a way it feels as if he’s still dreaming. As if his body is being led rather than consciously moved.

“What time is it?” He asks, standing before the flames. He extends his hands out to warm them, although he strengthens the fire while doing so, feeds into its energy. It’s not a conscious decision, but instinct. A calling towards the element, a need to wield it. Seonghwa has described his gift the same way.

“A few hours near sunrise, I think” you reply, not looking up at him. Instead, your eyes reflect the flames as he bends them, there’s a certain emptiness to them.

Your eyes have held that emptiness since your run in with the mimic yesterday morning. You haven’t spoken much since then, and as much as Wooyoung wants to pretend he doesn’t, he feels for you.

He gets it, that helplessness. The realization of what horrors you are capable of. The fear that you would do it again.

Or worse, the knowing that you would do it again.

“You couldn’t sleep?” Wooyoung asks, and you laugh, although it’s more of a humourless exhale through your nose.

“I didn’t try,” you reply plainly. He isn’t sure what to say to this, so he remains quiet. After a tense moment, he sighs. He wants to be alone, to bend the flames until his mind slows down to settle back into a weak sort of half-rest. But now you’re here, and that doesn’t appear to be an option.

He can’t bring himself to resent you for it. He thinks that tonight you may need the company of the flames even more than he does.

When you finally speak, your voice is hollow. Defeated. “I killed a person.”

“You killed a mimic,” Wooyoung amends. He knows it won’t ease any of the pain, but he figures it’s worth an attempt. It’s a fact after all. “You killed a monster.”

“He looked like a person,” you reply, before shaking your head. Wooyoung fears you may begin to cry again, but you don’t, simply allow your eyes to fall shut. “He talked and breathed like a person. He bled like a person.”

There was a lot of blood, Wooyoung cannot deny that. Still, the statement rubs him as wrong, and he presses a little harder. “Yes, but he wasn’t a person. He was a monster.”

You don’t acknowledge this. Instead your eyes flicker open once more, staring into his own rather than the flame. “Have you ever killed a person?” You ask, and Wooyoung finds he isn’t surprised by the question. He doesn’t want to answer it, but he isn’t surprised by it.

He also believes the answer is something you should hear.

“I have,” he replies. “But sometimes people are monsters too.”

You blink at this, chewing on the corner of your lip as if mulling over his response, not entirely satisfied. “Does it keep you awake at night?”

Wooyoung does not have to consider the question before answering. “Somewhat,” he says, finally pulling his gaze away from you and up towards the sky, to the blackness hanging above him, to where the faces of his ghosts come alive.  “It’s a part of why I’m awake tonight.”

He thinks you may accept that as answer enough, but you do not. “Talk,” you say softly, and he can feel your eyes still on him even if he can no longer see them. “Tell me about it.”

“With all due respect, Kuroken,” he sighs, shaking his head. “We are not friends. We had an understanding yesterday, a mutual interest. Do not read any more into it than that.”

He thinks you may get angry at his dismissal, but instead you laugh. Genuinely, as if something about what he said was amusing.

“Do not mistake what I say as kindness,” you cut back, bringing your legs upwards and shuffling yourself backwards to lean against the log behind you. A far more comfortable position, as if you’re preparing to be seated there for a while. “I do not wish to comfort you, I wish to comfort myself. I figure since I am hardly more than a stranger, and will be out of your life forever in less than a week, you may be able to grant me that.”

The reasoning is strange, and Wooyoung looks over at you. Eyebrows furrowing together, he scans your expression in search of ill intent, of any falsity. You watch him in return, and your face gives nothing of the sort, only sincerity.

“If you don’t want to talk about it, I won’t make you,” you say, accompanied by a small shrug. “I just need a distraction. Maybe someone to relate to.”

If you had asked Wooyoung for anything similar yesterday morning, he would have laughed in your face. He would have told you to piss off, to leave him alone and talk to Seonghwa, or someone else who cared.

But Seonghwa wouldn’t get this, and San wouldn’t either. Neither of them have killed from fury, from unbridled anger and vengeance. Seonghwa doesn’t even kill the beasts they hunt, merely wounds them with his arrows. San does, but not humanoid beasts. Nothing that can speak to him. San had offered for them to kill the mimic yesterday morning, but Wooyoung knows that he would have been the one to do it. He would have been the only one who could.

Well, other than you. You did it, and you did it with a thirst. Passionate hatred, followed by agony.

And for the first time - not only on this trip, but in the years since the orphanage - Wooyoung saw himself in somebody. The darkest part of himself that he pretends does not exist, the part that would burn Jay alive if he had the chance, that sadistically screamed with a vengeance on that fateful night so many years ago. The part that haunts him with the horrors of what he has done, that keeps him awake on nights such as this one, he saw it in you.

It scares him to know that something so dark resides in you. A rich and pampered girl from Kuroku, who has known little of the danger they have all faced, whose mind is somehow a home to a fury so horrid.

It scares him equally as much how it comforts him to know that he is not alone.

“I don’t know, Kuroken,” he says, shaking his head. A part of him doesn’t understand why he doesn’t automatically decline. He does not talk about his dreams, just as he does not talk about his past. Partly due to the fact that he fears digging up old woes may only give them strength, will only cause them to fester. Best to keep the past buried, where only the subconscious of the night can touch them.

However, his avoidance also has to do with the fact that he doesn’t think San or Seonghwa would understand. They don’t carry that darkness with them, that same thirst for vengeance that he does. Seonghwa longs for his home in a way that reminds Wooyoung of a sailor, dreaming for a past land even though the sea carries him in the opposite direction. Even San, who has been wronged in the most horrific and deprecating of ways does not talk of killing Jay, only escaping him.

They would not relate to his history, nor would they respond to it the way Wooyoung wishes them to.

Which perhaps is why he now hesitates. You will relate to his history, to the horrors of his actions, at least a little more than they would. You would also not comfort him, not take his feelings on as your own responsibility the way they would.

His buried past has always been just below the surface, clawing at the dirt above, poking out a greedy hand whenever he has let his guard down. Maybe now is a chance to dig them up without the consequence, without the immense vulnerability. If he tells you now, in a week's time you will be gone, and then he can pretend as if he never did. Maybe then the ghosts will leave him alone, if he finally takes the opportunity to cast them out.

When he begins, he approaches the admission like descending into a free-fall.

“I grew up in one of the Libaiyan elemental orphanages,” he says, practically bracing himself for the spews of sympathy he’ll surely be given. Instead all he receives is silence, and when he glances up at you, he’s met with a bewildered look.

“The…what?” You ask, and he almost laughs. You must be joking.

“Come on,” he starts, raising an eyebrow as he snorts. He’s still not sure if you’re being serious, even as your confused expression does not change. “You said you’ve been working in the Libaiyan castle for the entire summer, surely you must have heard about the orphanages.”

“No,” you begin, hesitant. He’s not sure why, but the statement seems to strike you deeply, as your frown worsens. When you speak, your tone is almost defensive. “They don’t make orphanages strictly for elementals.”

At this he actually does laugh. “They do more than just that,” he replies, and when your frown deepens, jaw opening in something of shock, he pauses. “Do you actually not know what I’m talking about?”

Your lack of response is answer enough. Wooyoung blows out a puff of air through his lips, realizing that this may be more daunting than he’d expected. When people hear “Libaiyan elemental orphanage”, they’re prepared for the horrors they may hear. They know what to expect, and those are details that are anything but pleasant.

“Alright, Kuroken,” he sighs, finally relinquishing his standing position to seat himself beside you. “Brace yourself.”

“Wooyoung, put that back!” Winter spits, although her voice remains a hushed whisper as to not alert the warden. Reaching out to grab the extra breakfast roll, Wooyoung lifts it up and out of her reach. He’s not much taller than her, just the perfect amount that even as she rises onto her tip-toes, the bread remains just out of reach.

Wooyoung chuckles, pulling the bread back down and shoving the entire roll into his mouth. Winter glowers in response, and he laughs through the bite, little pieces of bread flying out with every individual chuckle.

“You’re a pig,” she mumbles, reaching forward to grab her own breakfast roll from The Caf’s counter. She doesn’t mean it, not exactly. After all, the singular breakfast roll they’re permitted is certainly not enough for any growing child. While she criticizes him for taking another one, she doesn’t truly perceive it as gluttony.

Wooyoung knows that she worries for him, she just doesn’t want him to get in trouble… again. He feels a little bad for the amount of stress he puts her through, as he always seems to be in trouble for something or other these days.

“Do you want me to grab you an extra one?” Wooyoung asks, and before she can irritatedly decline, a voice over Wooyoung’s shoulder answers for her.

“What, and drag her down with you on your quest to royally piss off every single warden?”

Wooyoung is already grinning before he turns around to meet the boy's eyes.

Despite his words, Yeonjun is smiling when Wooyoung turn’s to face him, looking down at him with affectionate eyes. Yeonjun is tall for his age, much taller than Wooyoung. It makes Yeonjun’s grey slacks fit better than his do, more fitted to his body compared to the way his own sag slightly. He isn’t sure why, but something about that makes Wooyoung feel lighter, his cheeks warm.

“Hey, I’m making progress,” Wooyoung chirps, walking past Yeonjun to grab a cup of water. It’s made of paper, as to not grant the children any possible weapons should they break them. The cups are also only half-full, so should they choose to wield their gift, there wouldn’t be enough water for them to do any damage, either.

It’s smart, fool-proof. They’ve had over a decade to perfect the system.  

“I think I only have a couple left,” Wooyoung boasts, waiting for Yeonjun and Winter to grab their own cups of water before making his way over to a spare table. “Well, maybe more. This guy is new, I think.”

Wooyoung nods over to the new warden in the far corner of the room. He looks just like the rest of them, adorned fully in white armour, the Libaiyan sigil across his breast-plate. The only way to differentiate him from a regular soldier is the fact that the majority of his face is covered, an embarrassingly large helmet to hide all of his facial features but his eyes.

When he was younger, Wooyoung didn’t understand why they wore that. It looked ridiculous, especially considering they were tasked with watching and disciplining children. Even if they were elementals, it’s not like they were given access to any elements to bend. Well, unless they were more-so air affiliated like Yeonjun, but even then you quickly learned the repercussions of wielding the elements anywhere outside of practice.

Wooyoung now understands that it is to make them look inhumane. Soldiers, not to be mistaken as care-givers, or a replacement to a parent. They are not here to love the children, they are here to shape them. Discipline them, turn them into the soldiers they are meant to be.

It makes Wooyoung feel sick.

“Well, I’m sure it won’t be long until you can check him off your list,” Winter says, and despite the way she rolls her eyes, Wooyoung can detect a certain amount of fondness in her tone.

“That’s the spirit,” Wooyoung grins. Taking a sip of his drink, he reaches forward to try and sneak a bite of her breakfast roll, to which he’s met with the water in his cup spontaneously flying up at him and into his nose.

Spluttering, he pulls his hand away, and Winter giggles to herself. Bringing her own hand - the culprit to the water’s sudden attack - back down, he hadn’t even noticed she’d raised it in the first place. After all, she has to be sneaky about it, if she doesn’t want to get caught. “Nice try,” she snorts, taking a large bite of the roll, wrinkling her nose at him in a teasing fashion.

“Mean,” Yeonjun says, reaching over from his place beside her and ruffling her dark hair. Winter whines, shoving his hand away. Yeonjun often treats her as the child of their trio, even though she’s only a couple months younger than Wooyoung, who is only a few months younger than Yeonjun. As of now they’re even all the same age, thirteen.

Winter despises it when Yeonjun teases her, which Wooyoung finds amusing.

“How are you feeling, by the way?” Yeonjun asks, shifting his attention to Wooyoung. When he raises an eyebrow, Yeonjun clarifies: “It’s the first day of the autumn season.”

Wooyoung groans, having completely forgotten. “Don’t remind me,” he grumbles, dramatically burying his face in his crossed arms resting on the table.

The first day of the autumn season, or in other words, Assessment Day. The day in which the Libaiyan King makes sure all his little soldiers are being bred and trained to perfection. It’s a day of challenges, of performing different functional tasks and sparring against the other orphans.

For most, Assessment Day is gruelling and tiresome. For kids like Wooyoung, who can barely use their gift, it’s utter hell.

“Who knows, maybe you’ll get it this time,” Winter offers. She’s trying to be kind, but Wooyoung just feels patronized.

“Or maybe I’ll sprout wings and fly us all out of here,” he mutters, and he doesn’t miss the concerned glance Yeonjun and Winter share between one another. They’ve been watching him get his ass-kicked and confidence beaten down on Assessment Day for years now, and Wooyoung can tell that they’re starting to feel as dejected as he does.

“It’ll be alright,” Yeonjun says, reaching over and holding Wooyoung’s hand on the table. The gesture makes Wooyoung’s heart beat a little faster. “You could surprise yours-”

Yeonjun isn’t given the chance to finish the sentiment, as he’s cut off by a loud banging noise. The pounding echoes loudly throughout The Caf, the sound bouncing off its thick concrete walls, and Wooyoung’s hands fly up to cover his ears.

“Chit-chat is over!” A voice announces, followed by another fit of banging. Wooyoung turns to find that the source of the noise is the warden, the new guy. Not necessarily a surprise, considering the mallet and miniature gong he holds in his hand is also new. And loud. Wooyoung hopes it doesn’t become a regular presence during breakfast, he’s already not much of a morning person.

“Everyone stand for the pledge of allegiance,” the warden orders, and for a moment nobody moves. Winter raises an eyebrow, casting Wooyoung a wary look. They don’t pledge allegiance to the king in the mornings, only after dinner.

“I’m sorry, you all must not have heard me,” the warden laughs, before banging the mallet against the gong three more deafening times. “Get on your fucking feet.”

They don’t need to be told a third time, as The Caf is immediately filled with the sound of kids shuffling themselves off of the cement benches. Turning towards the Libaiyan flag that hangs in the top corner of the room - a golden sun cast over a stark white background - everyone opens their mouth in unison, prepared to speak.

“Hold on,” the warden says, lifting a hand up in protest, and the entire room hesitates. “There are going to be some new rules around here, I suggest you listen closely, you wouldn’t want to be caught forgetting them.”

Wooyoung frowns. Who is this guy?

“Firstly, we will pledge allegiance three times per day, at every meal. Assessment Day will no longer be at the start of every season, but every month, and we will focus solely on sparring. When you receive an order, you are expected to follow it, immediately and with no questions asked. Disobedience will not be tolerated, and neither will dawdling. You are expected to-”

“Somebody's got a big ego for his first day on the job,” Wooyoung whispers to Yeonjun, who stifles a laugh.

The warden suddenly pauses. He doesn’t even need to scan the room, his eyes land immediately on Wooyoung.

“Jung Wooyoung,” he says, and the boy freezes. How does he already know his name? “Get your ass to the front.”

He doesn’t move, and the warden’s eyes widen, almost crazed. Wooyoung cannot see the rest of his face through the mask, but he can almost hear the smirk in the man’s voice. “What did I just say about dawdling?”

Winter gives him a small nudge from behind, pushing him forward. He can feel everyone’s eyes on him as he makes his way to the front. It doesn’t really bother him, it’s not the first time he’s been reamed out in front of everybody. He’s been yelled at so many times he’s lost count, and received a belt to the wrist enough that the skin is almost permanently bruised.

He’s not ashamed of it, if anything, he’s proud. They can’t break him, he hasn’t let them. He will never let them.

When he gets to the front, the warden places a hand on his shoulder. His touch is gentle, and yet the gesture feels anything but compassionate.

“Jung Wooyoung,” he repeats, tilting his head as his eyes flicker up and down, observing him. “The other warden’s told me about you.”

Wooyoung knows that he shouldn’t say anything, but he can’t help himself. “All praise, I’m sure.”

The warden laughs, but something tells Wooyoung that he doesn’t actually find his words amusing. “They tell me you’re nothing but a brat,” the warden answers, tone almost jovial. “Supposed to have an affinity to fire, yet can barely light a candle. A waste of a good pair of slacks. ”

Wooyoung stiffins, the comment causing a flare of annoyance to light inside of him. “I could say the same about your uniform.”

For a moment, the warden pauses, entire body stilling. Looking Wooyoung in the eye, the elemental cannot quite make out what he’s thinking, but something about the warden’s gaze troubles him. There’s a darkness behind his eyes, something sinister.

Then the warden grabs him by the back of his hair - which is conveniently tied into a short ponytail, perfect for grabbing -and cracks Wooyoung’s nose over his knee.

The shock of the blow is enough for him to let out a gasp, a few seconds passing by before he’s even able to register the pain. Instead, he feels the blood pouring from his nostril, a steady stream that drips down onto his lips.

Hand still gripped in his hair, Wooyoung is pulled harshly towards the warden’s face. The man’s breath smells of something sweet, almost sickly so. Wooyoung focuses on keeping the tears that dwell in his eyes from falling.

“You’ve been lucky to get away with this piss-awful attitude,” the warden grits through his teeth. His voice is drawn low, but the room is so silent that Wooyoung is sure everyone can hear him anyway. “Fortunately, that ends today.”

At this, his grip tightens, yanking Wooyoung away from his face and holding him outwards to look at the rest of the children. The warden grasps him a little too high, so that Wooyoung has to remain on his tip-toes in order to touch the floor. He feels like a doll, a toy haphazardly being tossed around.

“The King is unimpressed with your progress,” he announces to the room, shaking Wooyoung as if he’s an exhibit to his point. “The other warden’s have been going far too easy on you. You are soldiers, not children. They appear to have forgotten that.”

Shoving Wooyoung forward, the sudden loss of his grip as him stumbling, crashing down onto the cement floor. His knees burn at the impact, skin stinging through the newly-formed holes in his slacks. He grimaces.

“That is why I’m here,” the warden continues, tone almost proud. “Today, I take matters into my own hands, in the name of your true lord.”

Wooyoung turns backwards, eyes locking with the warden’s. The man does not look away.

“Today, the formation of the new army finally begins.”

“Maybe they’ll match you up against Felix  next,” Winter says, gently wrapping a bandage around Wooyoung’s freshly burnt wrist. It stings and Wooyoung can’t help but wince, to which she casts him an apologetic smile.

“Yeah, he can barely form a gentle breeze,” Yeonjun adds, giving Wooyoung a pat on the back. It doesn’t reassure him, it just hurts. He’s really fucking sore.

“They aren’t going to pin me against Felix,” Wooyoung murmurs, shaking his head. “If you haven’t noticed, they only pair people up with the same affinity.”

And because Wooyoung is just so damn lucky, that means he’s paired with those of the fire affinity. Or in other words, the most painful affinity.

He doesn’t think it’s fair, mostly because it’s a joke to even say he has an affinity to fire. It’d be more accurate to say he has an affinity to nothing. Hell, he’s barely even an elemental. He can light a candle on a good day, he’s no more useful than a flint and steel.

It also doesn’t help that Winter and Yeonjun are both extremely talented in their respective areas. Winter has an affinity to water, especially in its frozen form, it’s how she got her nickname. Wooyoung’s seen her lift about a ton of ice from a frozen pond, which had even the supervising warden impressed.

Meanwhile, Yeonjun is talented in basically all elements. He can light a fire out of thin air, redirect a rushing stream, or even separate a rock clean into two. The wardens only labeled him under the affinity of air because it’s undoubtedly his greatest strength. Watching him spar is like watching the wind blow, he has an unmatched elegance, using the breeze to increase his speed and strength behind his strikes.

Wooyoung wishes he was like that. He wishes he could simply light a torch, or strengthen a flame. He wishes the word “gifted” applied to him, because “fraud” is beginning to feel more and more appropriate.

It’s been three months since the new warden showed up, meaning three Assessment Days have come and gone, meaning Wooyoung has gotten his ass handed to him enough times that he’s even been tempted to pray to the gods for a miracle. Well, not a miracle, more so a chance to actually use the gift they supposedly gave him.

“Jung,” a voice pipes up from outside the medical tent, and Wooyoung already knows who it is before turning to face him. Nobody else calls him that.

The warden - or Warden, as they’ve taken to referring to him as based on the fact that he is clearly a level above the rest of them - stands in the entry-way with his mask and thick white armour, arms crossed. “Get in the ring, you’re up next.”

“But he just finished a match!” Winter protests, placing a hand on Wooyoung’s shoulder defensively. Warden chuckles.

“Get in the ring, Jung,” he repeats, shaking his head. “Don’t drag your friends that are actually competent down with you.”

While Wooyoung doesn’t see eye to eye with Warden on much, he does agree that he doesn’t want Winter getting into any trouble on his account. Gently removing Winter’s hand from his shoulder, he gives her a small smile before following Warden out of the tent. Both her and Yeonjun trail after them, keeping their fair-share of distance so as to not irritate Warden.

“Who am I sparring with?” Wooyoung asks, and Warden’s hand falls onto his shoulder, painting the illusion of comfort. He does his best not to flinch, Warden always does this before he’s about to announce something awful. Wooyoung braces himself, maybe he’ll be forced to spar with Taehyun again, his leg is still healing from the burn marks from over a month ago.

“Me,” Warden answers, and Wooyoung stills, feet rendered imobile as his entire body freezes. Warden stops with him, as if he’d expected it.

“What?” Wooyoung asks, and he hates the way his voice shakes, a mixture of both shock and fear. “But that’s not part of the rules-”

“The rules are that we match you together based on your affinities,” Warden explains, leaning in a little closer. His eyes bare into Wooyoung’s, an icy shade of pale blue that feels almost inhuman. “As far as I’m concerned, you don’t have an affinity. Which means I’m the only one here you can spar with. Isn’t that fair?”

Wooyoung doesn’t respond. Warden finally removes his hand from the boy’s shoulder, making his way towards the ring. Wooyoung can’t bring his feet to move.

Warden twists around, blue eyes glinting in the reflection of the fallen snow. “Come on, Jung. Let’s get this over with.”

“He’s a fucking tool,” Yeonjun spits, wrapping a bandage around Wooyoung’s finger. Wooyoung winces, biting hard on his lower lip in hopes of distracting himself from the pain. He’s sure to keep his gaze on Yeonjun’s face, as the horrific angle at which his finger is bent is too sickening to look at.

“We’ve done little to no sword training, and yet he thinks it’s funny to take you on like that in front of anyone? What a prick,” Yeonjun continues. He’s practically fuming, and Wooyoung isn’t sure if he’s ever seen him like this. Maybe when Winter stole his family ring during a particularly bad spat between them a few years ago, but even then he calmed down pretty quick after they sorted it out.

“It’s fine,” Wooyoung says, even though he doesn’t mean it. He’s fuming inside, and frankly doesn’t understand why he’s trying to console Yeonjun considering he is the one with the broken finger. He just doesn’t like seeing Yeonjun upset.

“It’s not fine,” Yeonjun says, gaze flying upwards from the bandages to meet Wooyoung’s own. “Someone should teach him a lesson.”

Wooyoung knows that he’s being sincere, but he can’t help but snort at that. “Who, you?”

“Why not me?” Yeonjun asks, taking his words as a challenge. “If he took off that armour I could beat him in a fight. I could beat him using just one element.”

“And then what?” Wooyoung asks, giving him a sad smile. “Get beaten to death by the other wardens for defiance?”

“Well for you maybe it would be worth it,” Yeonjun grumbles. Wooyoung knows that he’s just mad, that he doesn’t really mean it, but he wishes Yeonjun wouldn’t say things like that. Half because it hurts him, half because it makes his chest swell in a way he can’t explain.

Wooyoung doesn’t say this, instead settling for silence as Yeonjun finishes wrapping his finger. He watches as Yeonjun’s eyebrows draw together in deeper concentration, full lips pouting absently.

“There,” Yeonjun says suddenly, breaking him from his thoughts. “All better.”

Finally looking back down at his hand, he isn’t sure if he agrees with the sentiment. The wrapping is by no means professional, as well as uneven in places. But considering he wasn’t permitted to visit the medical tent after the fight, it’s the best that he can ask for. After all, it does look better, not perfect, but also not noticeably crooked or coated in blood.

Wooyoung stares at the bandage, flipping his hand over and then back again. Then he looks up at Yeonjun, and the words are out of his mouth before he can contemplate them.

“What if we escaped?”

Yeonjun looks back at him, eyes wide in surprise. “What?” He asks through a laugh, assuming that he’s joking.

Except Wooyoung is not joking. Looking out the window to his right, the moon shines brightly upon them. It’s a beautifully clear night for the middle of winter, especially in southern Burovia, where the weather tends to be more extreme. “What if we took off in the middle of the night?”

“They’d kill us, Wooyoung,” Yeonjun says, voice soft. He’s not angry in his disagreement, but gentle, as if he wishes he had Wooyoung’s spark. “They have guards stationed all over the grounds, you know that.”

“But what if we really planned it out?” Wooyoung continues, rising to his feet and moving over to the window. His mouth is moving faster than his thoughts. Until now, he’d never even considered deserting, but now that he’s speaking he can’t believe he dreamed of anything but leaving. Overthrowing the wardens is an impossible task, but escaping them? Now with that they may have a shot.

“If we figured out which areas are the least guarded, which hallway has the quietest floorboards to tread over. We could search for which warden has a trick knee, or maybe a weak ankle. You even said you could take out the strongest warden with just one element, surely you could take out a few weaker ones with all four!”

“Okay, wait, slow down,” Yeonjun says, placing a steadying hand down on his shoulder. “Are you being serious?”

Wooyoung whirls around to face him, mimicking the gesture by placing his own hand on Yeonjun’s shoulder, shaking him slightly. “I’ve never been more serious.”

For a moment, Yeonjun remains silent. Eyes flickering over Wooyoung’s features, he opens his mouth to say something, before snapping his lips shut as if deciding better. He tries again, and this time his tone is hesitant. “I think it’s an awful idea. But if you are going to leave, I’ll come with you.”

Wooyoung’s eyebrows furrow together at this. “If you think it’s stupid then don’t come, Jun. I’m not forcing you.”

“I know you’re not,” Yeonjun replies, almost a little too quickly. Once again, he opens his mouth to say something, but no words come out. Wooyoung feels a jolt of annoyance.

“If you’ve got something to say, then just say it,” he says, crossing his arms. “I don’t get why you have this constant need to protect me. I can take care of myself, whether you come or not, so don’t feel obligated-”

“I don’t feel obligated,” Yeonjun cuts in, tone serious, and Wooyoung eyes him carefully. When Yeonjun’s eyes meet his own, the older one does not look away. “But you’re right that I want to protect you.”

Wooyoung rolls his eyes. “Why? I know I can’t use my gift and that makes me useless by yours and Winter’s standards, but I’m not some helpless-”

He’s cut off by Yeonjun’s lips placing themselves on his own.

Wooyoung blinks, eyes practically glued to Yeonjun’s nose-bridge as he can not bring himself to move. Entire body frozen, he attempts to get the gears in his mind to start turning again, the entire system momentarily on lock-down.

Until now, he’d never been kissed before. He’d imagined it, certainly. Not really with anyone in particular, but rather just what it may be like. He knew it was supposed to be nice, having overheard some of the older kids who were emitted to the orphanage in their teenage years talk about it before, but he didn’t really understand why.

Why would shoving your lips against another person’s be pleasant? In fact, the thought of his tongue being anywhere near someone else’s was utterly repulsing. As far as Wooyoung was concerned, saliva should be reserved to a person’s own mouth, and nowhere else. Spit was considered indecent, so why would people voluntarily ingest it.

But now, as Yeonjun places his hand on Wooyoung’s shoulder in order to pull him closer, he guesses it sort of makes sense.

Closing his eyes, he attempts to reciprocate this kiss. He feels a bit awkward, focusing too much on what his own lips are doing, almost self-conscious. His arms hang inept at his side, and he wishes he had some sort of clue for what to do with them.

The kiss only lasts a few seconds before Yeonjun pulls away. When he does, it takes Wooyoung a moment to open his eyes again. He finds that Yeonjun is already looking at him. There is a small smile on his face, almost amused, but not quite. Affectionate, perhaps.

“It’s not that I think you couldn’t do it without me, Wooyoung. I know you’re fully capable,” he murmurs, hand gently squeezing Wooyoung’s shoulder. “It’s that I can’t stand the thought of being left here without you.”

Wooyoung doesn’t know what to say, as his tongue has apparently decided to lose its ability to form words, so he simply nods.

“It’s dangerous,” Yeonjun continues. “Incredibly stupid, but if you really want to do this, I’m coming along. Whether you like it or not.”

“I like it,” Wooyoung replies dumbly, and Yeonjun lets out a breathy chuckle. The boy may only be a few months older than Wooyoung, but at this moment Wooyoung feels about a million years younger. Yeonjun has always been so confident in everything he does, in combat practice and in conversation. Even now, after taking such a leap of faith, he appears unphased. Maybe a little giddy, yes, but not nervous or afraid.

Wooyoung tries to be the same way, but for him it feels like pretending, like he’s putting on an act. He wishes that one day he’ll hold that same sort of natural sureness that currently makes his own heart race a little too quickly.

“We’ll have to talk to Winter, get her on board,” Yeonjun says, pursing his lips in thought. After a moment he sighs, shaking his head. “She is not going to like this.”

“We’ll convince her,” Wooyoung assures him, before shrugging. “When does she like any of our ideas at first, anyway?”

Yeonjun laughs at this. His gaze drifts out the window, the smallest hint of a smile settling on his lips. Hand suddenly reaching out, his fingers intertwine themselves with Wooyoung’s own, who clumsily accepts them.

“Alright,” Yeonjun breathes, and his tone is playful. Teasing, as he squeezes Wooyoung’s hand. “You better not get us all killed.”

It’s two months after the night Yeonjun kissed him that they escape the orphanage. Two months of planning their escape route, of sneaking out to test the floorboards in the middle of the night, and nearly getting caught a handful of times. Of observing the different wardens to check for any physical flaws, discovering one with a trick knee and another with the slightest hint of limp. Of analyzing their posture and stature in order to figure out which warden is placed on watch duty at the gate of the east entrance, so they can plan which night the weakest will be on guard.

Two months of making sure that their escape plan is foolproof, that there is no possibility for failure.

And as of now, it seems that their persistence has paid off.

An hour outside of the orphanage gates, the forest stands thick around them. Guided by the light of the moon, as well as the ball of fire within Yeonjun’s palm, they creep quietly across the beaten forest past. They aren’t sure where exactly they’re going, never taught the geography of Burovia - or of anything outside of the orphanage’s walls - but they hope that if they follow the path long enough they’ll wind up somewhere more populated.

“I think I hear something,” Winter whispers, grabbing Yeonjun’s arm from out in front of her and pulling him back, before casting Wooyoung a worried glance.

“It’s just the wind, or maybe a squirrel or something.” Yeonjun assures her, chuckling as he pulls his arm free. “You’re being too paranoid. We’ve done it.”

“We haven’t done it,” she argues, although she does start walking again in order to continue after him. “They could still find the guards in the bush and come after us, or check our sleeping quarters. They could be following us right now.”

Yeonjun had been right, Winter did not want to do this. When they first approached her with the idea, she’d told them that they were both insane and that she would have no part in their madness. However, after about a month of Wooyoung and Yeonjun planning their escape, she must have begun to feel left out. Or better, scared that they may go through with it, and then she would be left behind.

Wooyoung feels a little bad for dragging her into this, especially considering it had been his idea, but he knows that at the end of the day she wants this just as bad as they do. It’s been years since they entered the orphanage together, eight to be exact, and they’ve all been forced to deal with the warden’s cruelty. The unyielding obedience, the severe punishment. Just last month Winter was locked in the watch-tower for three days after being a few minutes late to breakfast, and thus the pledge of allegiance.

Wooyoung cannot wait to never pledge that stupid oath again in his life. Maybe the three of them will develop a new oath, one that pledges to never stop seeking vengeance on the King of Libaiya for what he did to them.

“It’ll snow within the next few hours, I’m sure you can feel it,” Yeonjun reasons, raising a hand to let the wind trickle between his fingers. “That will cover our footprints. We’ll be fine.”

Winter doesn’t say anything in response, chewing nervously on her lower lip as her gaze scans the underbrush, barron in its frozen state. “Something just feels off, like it was too easy.”

“That’s because we planned it,” Wooyoung says, teasing. “Did you want it to be difficult?”

“No, I did not want it to be difficult,” Winters spits, as if it is the most brainless thing she’s ever heard. Then she sighs, arms wrapping around herself, more from fear than the cold.  “I just… don’t you think it should have been?”

As if on cue, an arrow flies out from the forest, lodging itself deeply within her shoulder.

Winter lets out a scream, one loud enough that Wooyoung would normally wish to cover his ears, if it weren’t for the sudden ringing that blares through them. Winter stumbles backwards a few steps, eyes blown-out wide as she stares in shock at the wound.

“You’re a clever girl,” a voice speaks out from the forest. A voice Wooyoung knows, with an arrogant tone that has practically embedded itself in his mind. His heart stops. “So much potential. Unfortunate how you got yourself wrapped up in the wrong crowd.”

Warden steps out of the bush, white armour gleaming in the moonlight cast down from above the tree’s canopy, like a king standing atop the equally stark white snow.

“No,” Wooyoung thinks, mind fogging in a haze of shock and horror. “No, no, no.”

Warden is not alone, as almost a dozen other sets of white armour walk out behind him. One of them has a bow in hand, the obvious culprit of the arrow. They filter out of the forest like ants, swarming out around them in a semi-circle, so that if they were to run it would be directly back in the direction of the orphanage.

“I knew you were pathetic, Jung. But deserting?” Warden says, piercing eyes watching him through the mask. “This is a new level of low, even for you.”

Wooyoung opens his mouth to defend himself, but Yeonjun speaks before he has the chance. “Piss off,” he spits, the ball of flame in his hand sparking higher, a testament to his rising anger.

“And you,” Warden begins, eyes drifting from Wooyoung to land on Yeonjun. “You are talented, you actually fulfill the word gifted. And yet you decided to throw it all away for your useless little boyfriend?”

Now this catches Yeonjun off guard, jaw hanging open slightly, eyes widening as if caught.  “H-how did you-”

“You think I didn’t know?” Warden cuts him off, before laughing to himself, a borderline insane sound. “Do you actually think I’m not aware of every little thing that goes on in those walls? In my walls?”

Yeonjun’s lack of response seems to be answer enough, and Warden continues.

“Do you think you actually got away with sneaking through the halls around the sleeping quarters every night? That I didn’t notice the creaking floorboards? Or that I didn’t see you eyeing the wardens, whispering to one another after noticing Carter’s limp?”

Carter. It’s strange, that’s the first time Wooyoung has heard one of their real names. It almost feels too human.

“Did you really think I started putting the two weakest guards together on the least secure gate every Monday night just out of stupidity?”

Wooyoung swallows hard, a sob arising thickly in his throat. They messed up. He messed up, dragging them into this, for thinking they ever could have outwit Warden.

They were just kids, trying to play a grown-up game. Now they’ve lost.

“I knew everything, I know everything, and I will always know everything that happens within my walls,” Warden says, hand suddenly drifting to the sword against his hip, grip tightening on its hilt. “And don’t worry, your attempt at escape will not be pointless. I’ll bring your bodies back to the quarters, send a message to any others who are harbouring any similar ideas.”

At this he raises a hand, snapping his fingers before pointing forward, clearly a non-verbal command as the rest of the wardens begin to move behind him, creeping towards them slowly. Warden stands tall, gaze darting between the three of them, sharp and analytical.

It’s not until now that Wooyoung truly acknowledges how powerful he seems. Aside from his hatred toward the horrible cruelty of the man, he radiates an undeniable sense of command. Wooyoung wonders what his place used to be within the king's army, perhaps a lieutenant or even a captain. He wonders why he left, how he ended up here.

It doesn’t really matter, he’ll never have the chance to find out.

The wardens each unsheath their sword, and Wooyoung finds himself taking a step back. He’s entirely useless, no weapons or magic of his own to fight with. They tried to take a sword from one of the guards, but considering it both weighed a ton and none of them knew how to wield it, it seemed redundant.

Now he wishes they did, at least then he’d have the illusion of being able to defend himself. Maybe he was wrong for getting annoyed at Yeonjun for always feeling the need to protect him, because as of now, he needs it.

Winter raises a shaky hand, attached to the arm that is not currently impelled. Taking a closer look, it doesn’t seem too bad. Well, not exactly. It looks horrible, the arrow sticking out from the edge of her shoulder, but it doesn’t appear to be fatal, as even the amount of blood is limited.

Wooyoung wants nothing more than to rush over to her and check if she’s okay, but something tells him any sudden movements are only going to set the warden’s quicker in motion.

Yeonjun, fortunately, doesn’t have to move much to begin causing damage. Bringing both hands up from his side, he summons a ball of flame in one, before using the other to blow a gust of wind behind it. A sort of make-shift flamethrower, a few wardens take a step back from the flame, as it spreads in a thick line before them.

Meanwhile, although Winter’s abilities are limited due to only having one hand, she begins to use her water affinity to its advantage. The snow around them begins to lift, like a massive white blanket flying above the ground, floating upwards until it hovers at eye-level. Then she clenches her fist, and it all rushes towards them, like a terrifying blizzard limited to only a few seconds.

And Yeonjun does not waste a single one of them.

When he approaches the wardens, it’s like a gust of wind whirling between buildings, sharply twisting and turning with a grace that could only be gifted by the god of the air. When he strikes a warden, it’s less with his fist, and more the gust of wind emitted from it, causing them to fly backwards as if thrown by something far stronger.

Blinded by Winter’s blizzard, the wardens are terribly thrown off, and Yeonjun handles them with ease. They drop like flies, or better, dominos that tumble down one after the other.

It strikes Wooyoung in this moment just how powerful they are. Not him, obviously, but Yeonjun and Winter. The elemental children, just two of them able to take down a dozen armed soldiers. Even if he hates the Libaiyan King for his lack of humanity, he can understand his desperation to cultivate an army from them. Even if there are only a few as powerful as Yeonjun, that is all it would take to create a force that is incredibly dangerous. Indestructible.

Warden stands amidst the center of them, neck twisting back and forth as watches his comrades drop around him. He’s clearly surprised, ego too big to have anticipated his entire force being taken down by two kids, even if elementals. Wooyoung can’t fully blame him though, Yeonjun has never gone full out in the Assessment Day duels, he’s never had to.

Warden crouches down, so that he stands stable on bent knees, likely to improve his balance as well as steady himself to the ground. It surprises Wooyoung as Warden slips his sword back into his sheath, instead opting to hold both hands out in front of him, watching as Yeonjun darts around them.

It all makes sense, however, as in the blink of an eye the warden swings, his fist making perfectly-timed contact with Yeonjun’s jaw. The strength of the punch is multiplied greatly by the speed at which he was traveling, and the elemental stumbles backwards. Tripping over his feet as he doesn’t manage to withhold his balance, he falls backwards into the snow.

However, what surprises Wooyoung is the sharp “crack” that follows Yeonjun’s head hitting the ground.

There’s a thick moment of silence as everything seems to stop moving. Minutes pass by, but to Wooyoung it feels more like hours. Even Warden remains still, hand having drifted back down to his sword’s sheath, although he doesn’t remove it. They all watch as they wait for Yeonjun to either let out a pained groan or miraculously rise to his feet.

Neither happens, and Wooyoung’s feet are in motion before he can even contemplate the safety of rushing closer towards the wardens.

None of them move to attack him, perhaps equally as curious as he rushes to Yeonjun’s side. The boy lays on his back, head tilted to face away from Wooyoung. Wooyoung can now see that his head had landed on a rock, neck tilted at an odd angle as he’s almost lifted up from the rest of his body.

“Jun,” Wooyoung says, giving his shoulder a small shake. Yeonjun doesn’t respond. “Jun?” He says again, this time with more uncertainty.

Shaky hands extending outwards, he gently takes Yeonjun’s chin in his, tilting his head over to face him.

Wooyoung wishes that he hadn’t.

Yeonjun looks at him, except that he doesn’t. His eyes are open, but they show no recognition. Well, not only a lack of recognition, but a lack of thought. They’re completely empty, and Wooyoung feels his heart sink, dropping into his stomach as his entire body freezes, throat seizing.

“Jun?” He says again, hoarse through the way his throat closes, unable to get a real breath in. Shaking him a little harder, his body moves with Wooyoung’s touch, putting up no sort of protest, like a doll being jostled back and forth. “Jun!”

Wooyoung lifts his head up in both hands, and that’s when he feels the blood. Hot and thick all over his fingers, as well as the rock and snow beneath him, its metallic stench floods his nose. Despite the way it repulses him, he can’t bring himself to let go, Yeonjun’s head almost vibrating as he clenches it within his shaky hands.

Leaning forward, he connects his lips with the boy's own, hoping that somehow it may breathe life back into him. That the gods may see two of their supposed “gifted” suffering, and grant them a second chance. A chance to live outside of the walls of the orphanage, as something other than a machine created for slaughter. To go to a real school, to eat a real meal. To love one another freely.

Instead, Yeonjun’s lips are cold and stiff. They do not move to accept his own.

Wooyoung pulls away, staring down at his best friend’s cold face, and he can’t bring himself to look away. They are too young for this. He is too young to feel this loss. Yeonjun is too young to be dying. To be dead.

Wooyoung clutches him tightly, trying to take in the last remnants of warmth within Yeonjun’s skin before the cold robs it from him completely. Just a moment ago he’d been breathing. He’d been thriving, mastering the winds and commanding the earth. Yeonjun was impenetrable, and yet in just a matter of seconds, he’d been taken from him. A cruel twist of fate.

Wooyoung’s grief tears through him, like lightning rushing through his veins and erupting from his mouth in the form of a scream. A lament of anger, of fury and anguish and loss. His eyes scrunch shut, tears simultaneously welling and falling, dripping down onto Yeonjun’s face.

He wants to hurt them. He wants vengeance, thirsts for it. He wants the wardens surrounding him to feel the same suffering as he does now.

He wants them to die.

With his agony the forest around them erupts into flame.

When Wooyoung awakens, he is facing the sky. Eyes bleary, he blinks a few times, only then recognizing the blackness above him as the night, it’s face freckled with stars. His body feels sore, head fuzzy, and he struggles to sit himself upwards, muscles aching in protest.

However, his mind comes rushing back to him when he catches sight of the forest around him. Or well, what was the forest.

The once snowy landscape has been transformed into a barren waste-land. The grass which hadn’t been visible for months is now painted a stark black, the trees horribly chared as smoke wafts up from the few closest to him, obviously dead. The underbrush of the forest no longer exists, all the previous bushes and shrubs the wardens had been hiding behind reduced to piles of soot and ash.

The wardens. They fare no better, their bodies scattered in what is an almost perfect semi-circle. Their armour remains in-tact, although it glows in a fearsome molten hugh, the smell of burnt flesh hanging thick in the air. They were fried from the inside, trapped by the very armour sworn to protect them.

Wooyoung swallows hard. Did he… did he do this?

He must have, and yet it doesn’t feel possible. Trying to ignore the sickening feeling that pools within his stomach, he shakily rises to his feet, before hearing the sound of crying in the distance. It’s familiar, and he quickly recognizes it to be Winter.

Heading towards the noise, he sees her nestled by a tree, clutching onto something as she sobs. Walking past the fallen bodies of the wardens, he startles as something grabs onto his ankle, pulling him down. He stumbles but manages not to fall, whirling his head around to find Warden laid out on the ground.

Warden looks up at him, and the area around his eyes is seared, the remnants of his skin a bright and awful shade of red, accompanied by sickening blisters bulging with yellow puss.

Although even amidst the damage, his eyes remain intact, those inhuman blue bulbs staring back at Wooyoung, almost through him. Warden doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t have to.

Then his eyes dull, and Wooyoung knows that he is dead.

Despite himself, he kneels down, reaching forward for Warden’s mask. It sears Wooyoung’s hands as he grabs it, skin practically sizzling, but he forces himself to endure it. Riggling it from the man’s head, he haphazardly discards it onto the grass.

Warden’s face is badly burnt. Not as horrifically so as his eyes, which had directly been touched by the flames, but enough that his skin swells. Cheeks and chin puffy, all painted that same blazing red hue.

Even so, Wooyoung can somewhat tell what he looked like. Not if he was handsome or fearsome or princely, but at the very least, he can decipher that he was young. With a defined jawline but full cheeks, as well as tight rather than wrinkled skin. Very young, likely having just reached his second decade.

It makes Wooyoung feel ill, bile rising thick in the back of throat. He swallows it down, forcing his gaze away from Warden and back onto his feet. He does not let himself look back.

When he reaches Winter, he rests himself down beside her. She sits atop her knees, fists clenched tightly around the fabric of Yeonjun’s shirt, who she has laid against the tree before her. Wooyoung can’t read her expression, as it’s covered by a tangled curtain of black hair that hangs over her face, but he imagines it as sorrowful as he feels. The arrowhead is still embedded in her shoulder, but the staff has been burnt off. She seems alright otherwise, having her own ability to have protected herself from the flames, which grants Wooyoung immense relief.

However, when Wooyoung’s gaze drifts from Winter to Yeonjun, he chokes on his own breath.

Yeonjun’s face is perfectly visible, although completely unrecognizable. Wooyoung wouldn’t even have known it was him had he not witnessed everything that had happened. Yeonjun’s eyes are now shut, so swollen it appears that they’d almost been sewn that way. His skin bubbles in that same sickening fashion, and his grey slacks are completely scolded, the mere remnants being what Winter currently clutches within her fists. All of his hair is gone, the skin of his head bare and equally as blistered.

Wooyoung turns his face away from both Yeonjun and Winter. This time he actually does vomit, both from the harrowing sight as well as the revulsion towards his own actions.

“You did this,” Winter whispers, so quietly that Wooyoung can barely hear her.

“I know,” he replies, voice shaky. Running both hands through his hair he attempts to steady himself, but he feels the panic rising hot in his throat, rattling around in his head. “I-I didn’t mean to, I don’t even know how-”

“No,” Winter cuts him off, shaking her head back and forth.  “I mean everything. All of this is your fault.”

“Winter…”

“Yeonjun never wanted to go,” she says, the words spoken through a sudden sob that blubbers her words. “He knew it was a horrible idea, but he said he couldn’t let you do it alone.”

“I-I didn’t…” He begins again, only to find he doesn’t know what to say. He wants to defend himself, because surely he cannot be blamed for all of this. For Yeonjun’s death, for the bodies that surround them, for the thick stench of death and burnt flesh that hangs in the air.

But in the end, who is left alive but him?

Only Winter, who wanted nothing to do with this. Who had begged them not to go through with it, who knew they’d never succeed and that it would only bring them trouble.

He should have listened to her, when earlier tonight she asked them to go back. He should have listened to Yeonjun when he told him it was a terrible idea a myriad of times these last few months.

He should have listened to Warden, who knew that he was useless before anyone else.

“He loved you,” she says quietly, grip tightening against the remnants of his shirt. She shakes her head, letting out another sob, although she clearly tries to withhold it for the sake of her anger. “We both loved you, and this is what we get for it?”

“I’m sorry,” Wooyoung whispers, and he is crying too. Tears streaming down his face, he places a hand on Winter’s shoulder, attempting to comfort her. “I’m so sorry.”

She doesn't shove him away, but doesn’t accept the gesture either. Wooyoung remembers the time a few of the older boys tore up her doll - the one thing she had left of her parents - a few years back. Wooyoung held her as she cried for hours, while Yeonjun went out into the training yard and beat the shit out of them.

That’s how it had always been, the three of them. They were each other's family, all they had. Now Yeonjun is gone, and Winter stiffens at his hand on her shoulder, as if he were nothing more than a stranger, or even an enemy.

“Get out of here, Wooyoung,” she whispers.

“What?” He asks, confused.

“Get out of here!” She repeats, and this time it is in the form of a scream. Shoving his hand from her shoulder, she finally turns to face him, and when she does Wooyoung lets out an involuntary gasp.

Her skin is also burnt and blistered. Not as horrifically as Yeonjun’s and the wardens, but enough so that her pale complexion burns red, skin peeling around her cheeks. Her hands are also burnt, and now that he looks closer, he can see that her own grey slacks are spotted with blackened holes.

Winter had never excelled with controlling fire.

“I don’t want to see you again,” she whispers, pursing her lips together to withhold another sob. “Never come back here.”

He knows he shouldn’t say anything, that he should just leave, but he can’t help himself. Worry for her turns and twists within his gut. “Winter, you aren’t going back there are you-”

“It’s none of your business whether I stay or go!” She answers. Her eyes linger on his for a dreaded silent moment. It’s only seconds, but for Wooyoung it feels like days. It’s a moment he’ll replay in his mind in the years to come, in the dead of the night, those dark eyes bearing into his own with a wretched misery.

It’s the moment she gave up on him. The moment she stopped loving him.

“I hate you,” she whispers, finally looking away. Her gaze turns back to Yeonjun, and she pulls the remnants of his shirt upwards, burying her face in it. It’s covered in ash, but she doesn’t seem to care. “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you,” she mutters through her sniffles and sobs.

Wooyoung feels numb. Forcing himself to rise from his knees and back onto his feet, he gets one last look of Winter clutching onto Yeonjun’s destroyed body. The two people he loves more than anything, destroyed by his own hubris, by his own stupidity. For what may be the first and only time in his life, he mutters a prayer beneath his breath, hoping that at least one of the gods may hear him. That they’ll watch over Winter, now that he and Yeonjun cannot.

Then he walks. He walks down the forest trail, even as the smoke that hangs in the air burns his eyes and stings his nostrils, even as Winter’s sobs fade away and are replaced by the sound of wind gently rustling through the forest trees. Even as a village appears before him, the only populated place that Wooyoung has seen outside the orphanage in almost a decade.

“Gloria” the sign outside of the town reads in thick bold lettering.

Wooyoung heads inside.

There’s a dense moment of silence that follows after Woo finishes speaking. You aren’t sure what to say, and perhaps he thinks that’s due to the horrors that he has told you, the shock of what he’d been through. What does a person say after someone tells them they’ve experienced something so dreadful?

Which is partially true, yes. Your heart aches for him, in a way you never could have anticipated towards the elemental, but that is not what renders you speechless.

It’s that the source of his terror, the founder of the orphanage and the employer of Warden, the one searching to create this “new army” of elementals… was your father.

Your head swims at the thought. Why would he want to do that? How could he do something so monstrous, so inhumanely cruel? When did he arrange this, and how could you possibly not know about it?

It’s insane, and it makes you want to almost not believe the elemental. It seems impossible that your kingdom - your family - could do something so horrifically elaborate and you be completely unaware.

But you do believe him. Despite how you don’t want to, despite the image of how kind your father had been during the earlier years of your childhood, it doesn’t strike you as impossible that he would do something like this. It doesn’t even strike you as dubious, which makes your stomach turn in disgust.

“So yeah,” Woo starts, albeit a bit awkwardly. “If you ever feel bad for killing one monster, remember that I killed a dozen men.”

“You didn’t mean to,” you offer. “Not really.”

He shakes his head. “No. But I’d do it again if I had the choice,” he says, voice soft, reminiscent. He looks up at the sky, at the smoke wafting from the fire and up towards the stars. “I think I’m supposed to regret it, that it should eat me up inside and keep me awake at night or something. It doesn’t. They deserved it.”

You pause on this. You don’t judge him, in fact, you understand. You also think they deserved it. Still, you don’t quite believe him. “But you’re awake tonight.”

“Not really because of them,” he says quietly, the very corners of his lips curving upwards into a small, sad smile. “Because of Yeonjun and Winter. What happened to them, it’s my fault.”

“You couldn’t have known what would happen,” you reason, and it’s true. Woo shouldn’t blame himself, there’s no way he could have anticipated something that horrific. Yeonjun’s death was a freak accident, an unlucky fall.

“No, but I think I always knew it wouldn’t end well,” Woo says, and for a split second you think you see his eyes glisten, reflecting brightly in the light of the fire. “Even if I wanted to think we could do it, a part of me knew it wouldn’t work. That little bit of cynicism that those orphanages beat into you, it’s that same part of my friends that tried to convince me not to go through with it. Deep down I knew it wouldn’t work, that they would stop us, but I still dragged them along with me. I just wanted to be able to say I tried.”

Woo laughs to himself, a sad sound. He blinks, and the glistening of his eyes exits in the form of a single tear, sliding down his cheek. He doesn’t bother to wipe it away.

“Well, I tried,” he says, voice plain. “But I’ll never escape it. It will never leave me.”

The silence that follows is thick. Dense, difficult to wade through. “I’m sorry,” you say, and it sounds lame. Feeble.

Woo does not treat it as such. “Thanks,” he says, before finally looking away from the sky to meet your eyes. His expression is surprisingly gentle. “I’m sorry you had to kill something, but I’m far more sorry that you feel guilty for it. Guilt is the heaviest thing for a person to carry.”

If only he knew how guilty you really are.

“My real name’s Wooyoung,” he says softly. It’s a surprise to you, as neither San nor Seonghwa have mentioned it before. “I don’t let anyone call me that anymore. I can’t stand it. Can only hear it in their voices.”

You nod and he sighs. Pursing his lips, he gives you a small nod, before turning his gaze back to the fire. He appears done with the conversation, but you aren’t, not quite yet.

“San and Seonghwa,” you start, hesitant. “Do they know?”

Woo smiles. “No, not really. I’ve never told Seonghwa about any of it. San knows about the orphanage, and he knows about Yeonjun and Winter, but nothing of what happened to them.”

Your chest tightens at that. “Why don’t you tell them?”

Woo laughs, as if something about what you said is funny. “Because,” he begins, looking back over at you, as if the answer is obvious. When you don’t respond, he sighs. “If I tell them, Seonghwa is going to get that look on his face that says: ‘I need to fix this’,  and then offer to take some of the pain himself. Which is bound to piss me off, because why the fuck would I want him to feel this too?”

“And San…” He continues, trailing off. Clenching his hands in and out, he seems almost pained, and the fire twists and sparks with his struggle. “He’ll look at me like I’m broken. He’ll treat me like I’m going to shatter. I just… I don’t think I could handle that.”

You frown, but you get it. Woo has a lot of pride, has acted as if he’s indestructible since the moment you met him. This is the first time he’s told you anything otherwise.

Yet, while he may expect that to make you pity him, it only makes you respect him far more than you ever had.

“For what it’s worth, I don’t think San will treat you any different.”

Woo almost chuckles, a brief laugh through his nose. “No, you will not treat me any different. San will.”

You aren’t sure if you agree with that, but Woo seems set on it, so you don’t bother convincing him otherwise.

“You can’t tell him. Either of them,” he says suddenly, casting you a wary expression. “I’ll kill you if you do.”

Despite yourself, you laugh at the statement. Not out of disbelief, but how incredibly certain you are that he would. “I didn’t plan on it.”

He smiles at this, chuckling himself. Then he pauses, something different wedging its way into his gaze, clearly pondering something. Glancing up from the fire, he holds your own eyes, then swallows.

“Turn around,” he says quietly, and you stop yourself from physically recoiling. Your lack of enthusiasm towards the statement must read blatantly on your face, because he rolls his eyes.

“I’m not going to choke you out or anything,” he says, tone irritated. “Just humour me for a second and turn around.”  

“Alright,” you say, hesitant. Had it been any other night, you would have laughed in his face, but tonight he has been vulnerable, perhaps you can return even an ounce of the same. Turning around, you face away from him and into the dark of the forest. As a moment of silence passes, you consider the fact that if he wanted to, now would be the perfect opportunity to slit your throat, make sure you really never do tell San or Seonghwa.

Instead, you feel as he shifts your hair away from the back of your neck, and the touch is surprisingly tender. Stretching his other arm forward and in front of your face, you suddenly feel something cool against your throat. Not a knife, but a necklace.

Your heart stalls for a moment, the chain familiar, the exact size of the diamond against your collarbone something you could never forget.

It’s not just any necklace, but your necklace. The one your parents had given to you as a child, the one he’d taken from you back at the cottage as collateral.

Feeling as he clasps it shut, you’re quick to whirl around to face him, granting him an expression that exclaims nothing less than: “What the fuck?”

“Don’t look too surprised, Kuroken,” he says, and when you raise an eyebrow, he laughs.

“Okay, listen,” he begins, tone suddenly serious. “When I first met you, I thought you were a spoiled brat. I thought your entire story was shady, and maybe didn’t quite believe that the King of Libaiya had really died. That he could really die. I didn’t trust you.”

He reaches out, fixing the diamond on your necklace which had been sitting crooked, before continuing.

“But then in Stockholm your story proved to be true. Then in Gloria you risked your life to save San. You saved all of us in The Desert Lotus, because even though it makes me feel sick to admit it, I don’t think I could have done that myself. Then you helped me with the mimic back in the village. Even though you didn’t quite believe that it wasn’t Seonghwa, you chose to help me nonetheless.”

Woo finally takes his hand away from your neck, and it’s accompanied by the smallest of smiles. “You’ve been proving me wrong time and time again, and even though there’s nothing I hate more than admitting defeat, I can say I was wrong about you.”

“Woo-” You begin, because although his words are overflowing with the most kindness the man has ever shown you, you can’t bring yourself to accept them. He wasn’t wrong, you are lying to him, to all of them.

“Don’t get me wrong, I still think you’re annoying. Too headstrong, but maybe that’s something we have in common,” he continues, cutting off your protest. “But I was wrong not to trust you, and for giving you such a hard time. I’m sorry.”

You open your mouth to speak. To protest, to thank him and accept his apology, to apologize yourself, to say something.

Instead you say nothing, and Woo shifts himself onto his feet. “I’m going to try and fall back asleep. We probably still have a couple hours until the sun rises, you should do the same.”

He begins to make his way towards the tent, before pausing suddenly. Turning back to face you, he appears almost sheepish. “Rest well, Yeji.”

With that he disappears behind the tent flap, leaving you alone in the darkness of the woods. The fire begins to falter, no longer being stoked by Woo’s gift and now struggling due to the absence of logs. It makes the light breeze feel infinitely cooler, and you shudder, clinging to the woolen blanket wrapped around your shoulders.

‘Yeji’ he’d called you. A testament to his newly placed trust, to burying the hatchet. To putting aside all the little jabs in your direction, the constant disapproval, the endless belittlement.

It’s only until now you realize that you don’t want him to. You don’t want him to stop being cruel, to stop distrusting you and making snide comments that make you want to wring his neck. After all, they’ve made it easier to lie to him.

Yeji, Woo had called you. Or better, Wooyoung had called you. After confiding in you, after granting you a piece of his most authentic self, one that he’s never shared with anyone else. A piece only you hold.

His reward for such vulnerability? A horrible betrayal that will prove he was right about you to begin with.

The fire finally dies, its last burning flame shriveling into smoke and ash. You should go to the tent, the night is far too dark and the wind's bite is far too cold, but you can’t bring yourself to move. Your legs are like lead, shoulders weighed down as if bricks sit upon them, and it leaves you unable to stand.

Woo is right, guilt really is the heaviest thing a person can carry.

~~~~~~~~~

next chapter.

#seonghwa fanfiction #san fanfiction #wooyoung fanfiction #wooyoung angst #seonghwa angst #san angst #wooyoung smut #seonghwa smut #san smut #wooyoung fluff #seonghwa fluff #san fluff #seonghwa x reader #wooyoung x reader #san x reader #ateez fanfiction #ateez headcanons #ateez x reader #seonghwa fanfic #san fanfic #wooyoung fanfic #seonghwa x you #san x you #wooyoung x you #ateez x you #woosan #woosanhwa #seonghwa x y/n #san x y/n #wooyoung x y/n

[shoutaaizawas]

↳ aizawa shouta x reader → ❝cared for❞

summary: you are sick but your husband aizawa is always there to take care of you no matter what. word count: 1.4k+  tags/warnings: fluff and comfort a/n: i'm currently sick and my brain is super out of it so i hope this isn't terrible but i wanted to write something. now that im thinking of it i've actually done nanowrimo while i was sick, november isn't a good month for me lol anyways this was supposed to be a simple sick fic but i gave it a little depth. also i lost my taglist so if you want to be on it please message me.

masterlist

You were in denial. It was flu season but you could not possibly be getting a cold. The sore throat, just allergies. The runny nose, just from the cold weather. The fatigue that made you want to lay down forever, just because you had been working a lot.

You were not sick.

Aizawa on the other hand could see it before you had even noticed the symptoms. He was a teacher after all and nothing bred more illness than a school. Hero Academy included. He would suggest you get some extra rest or take something but you refused.

Pain pulsed in your skull, your throat burned and you had a cough that once it started didn’t stop. Not to mention the haze you were in, feeling disoriented and exhausted.

A hand touched your forehead as you lay in bed suffering the moments after waking up. “No fever, that’s a good sign,” Aizawa said sitting down, the weight of him on the bed next to you. “Sore throat?”

“Yeah,” You said, your voice barely working.

“Headache?” His voice was soothing, not too abrasive for your overwhelmed senses.

“Yeah,” It hurt to speak.

“Here’s some water,” He said helping you sit up to take a sip from your large water container you always toted around. You noted that he must have cleaned it out and refilled it since the water was icy.

“Thank you,” You said.

“Why don’t you take a hot shower, and change into your favorite bed clothes while I make you breakfast, yeah?” He said, his hand gently rubbing along your arm.

“Mhm,” You hummed. “Sounds nice.”

“Do you need help getting to the bathroom?” He asked.

“No,” You said sitting up, your head spinning for a moment. “Actually, maybe.”

Aizawa gave a soft small smile at your stubbornness even now. He helped you up, you were able to walk fine you just felt dizzy. He kept his arm around your shoulders just in case you got too dizzy.

“Thank you,” You said once you reached the bathroom, he made sure you were steady before leaving. You turned the shower water on hot before getting in. The warmth of the water did help your congestion and it was soothing. You stood there for way too long enjoying the steam before washing up. By the time you got out, there was a fresh warm towel and your favorite bedclothes folded on the counter. You smiled, Aizawa really spoiled you. Even more so when he knew you weren’t feeling good.

Returning to your bed you got back in, under the fluffy black comforter. You felt better even though taking a shower had been exhausting. Aizawa always knew best even when you didn’t want to admit it.

Aizawa returns with a tray table filled with food. You sit up, making sure the pillows are perfect as he sets down the tray. There’s miso soup with tofu and a bowl of rice as well as a cup of tea and medicine.

“Eat first and then take this medicine, it will help with the symptoms.” He said.

“Thank you, it looks good. I don’t know if I can taste though,” She joked.

“It will make you feel better that’s all that matters.” He said taking a spoonful of the soup before lifting it to your mouth.

If you told a younger version of yourself about this scene, your loving husband doting on you, feeding you soup, and bringing you everything you need while you’re sick. You would be shocked, perhaps even horrified.

For so long you had taken care of yourself through good and bad, you made yourself soup while you were sick. You pushed through it and did what you had to even if it meant passing out on the couch to take a nap in between taking care of yourself. You could never imagine letting someone dote on you to the point of feeding you.

Yet here you were. The journey had been long and not particularly easy. You could still remember the first time you had gotten sick, you denied it. Even as you struggled to stand, your face hot flushed with a fever. You had passed out and Aizawa carried you to bed. Even when you woke you tried to convince him you could get your own medicine and make your own soup. Aizawa had been patient but firm with you.

It had been hard to let someone take care of you but Aizawa made it easy. He was gentle and not condescending. It was so clear that everything he did was out of love, out of concern. It finally clicked when he had gotten sick, you wanted to do everything for him. You felt so helpless, you had wished you could take his pain away, even if it was just a cold.

Aizawa had struggled with being taken care of himself but with your new perspective, you had been able to convince him.

“I can get it myself,” He had said trying to get out of bed. You had pushed him gently back, he was too weak to resist.

“Remember when I was sick and trying to take care of myself?” You had asked. “You refused and took care of me. I still argued it then but now I get it.”

“Get it?” He questioned raising an eyebrow.

“I love you so much, I love taking care of you when you aren’t sick.” You said. “I hate seeing you like this the least I can do is take care of you since I can’t take this pain away.”

Your hand held his cheek, his dark eyes a bit hazy from the exhaustion of being sick but he was listening. “We aren’t alone anymore, we get to take care of each other, and accepting that care is just as much of a show of love as giving the care.”

Aizawa had smiled that warm smile of his and pulled you into a hug that did lead to you getting sick which meant you had to follow your own words by letting him take care of you when you were sick.

It was a process, learning to let someone care for you. He did it even when you weren’t sick, sometimes little things you almost missed like putting gas in your car or getting stuff off your grocery list. He never declared what he was doing looking for praise or fanfare. That didn’t mean you didn’t make a big deal out of it every time.

You did the same for him, the small things that helped daily life but you also loved shopping for him. The last thing Aizawa did was spoil himself. In fact, you weren’t sure you had ever seen him buy himself anything that was a luxury or a novelty. So you had taken it upon yourself to guess what things he might want if he ever did get it thought. You bought him fuzzy slippers with cats on them or a fictional book you thought he would like. Sometimes it was fancier things like cologne or a watch. Eventually, you got good at figuring out things he likes.

After eating your breakfast Aizawa took away the tray, leaving your tea on the bedside table. He returned and closed up the blinds making it dark in the room which made it a lot easier on your sensitive eyes. He crawled into bed with the remote putting on a show you had wanted to start for a while.

Despite how gross you looked and felt Aizawa pulled you in close, resting your head on his chest where you could still watch the show.

"You're gonna get sick," You mumbled against him, not exactly wanting him to move.

"I work at a school, my immune system is strong as it gets." He reassured you.

“If you get tired just sleep, I’ll pause the show.” He said softly, his hand rubbing your temple trying to alleviate the pain of your headache. “You need all the rest you can get.”

“Yes sir.” You said jokingly. You took his other hand in yours squeezing it gently. “Thank you again, for everything.”

“It’s nothing.” He dismissed.

“It’s everything,” You said moving his hand to your lips to press a kiss at the back of his hand. “You might want to wash your hand."

Aizawa laughed, your head moved against his chest.

“I love you,” He said.

“Love you more.” You replied.

#bnha x reader #aizawa x reader #shouta x reader #shouta aizawa x reader #mha x reader #bnha #mha #my writing #shout aizawa #aizawa shouta