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hirayaea · 4 years

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ikesen fic - the inevitable correction of treading through time (chapter 2)

Summary: You and Sasuke decide to make the timeline as close to your reality the only way you know how: by making sure the the Tokugawa Shogunate happens, no matter how many tries it takes.

— ieyasu/mc — "Ieyasu-sama has always been so ambitious," Mitsunari's tone is praising, but there is a mettle in his voice you cannot recognise.

[AO3]

[Prologue] [Chapter 1]

正しい時代

"There was a timeline where Nobunaga became Shogun," you tell Sasuke one night, after the adrenaline from the assassination attempt had passed. Ieyasu and Masamune had gone out to reassign guards, and you were left under Sasuke’s care.

The candlelight emphasized the dark circles under Sasuke’s eyes, but still they lit up in interest. “That would be quite a timeline. Nobunaga-sama was known not to respect the authority of the Imperial Court, and being Shogun would have meant he had to be at least civil with them.”

You laugh. “Oh, he still wasn’t.” You remember participating in meetings where the Imperial Adviser would be livid; half the time he would be storming out of Azuchi with smoke coming out of his ears. It was mildly funny until they attempted to burn down the castle.

“The court probably got tired of the power struggle and they poisoned him,” your chest tightens at this memory; Nobunaga was never easy to let go of, and you remember cradling his head on the night he took his last breath.

“It was the sake. From the Emperor himself. Although he probably didn’t have anything to do with it. Ieyasu didn’t sleep for a week, trying to make an antidote,” you pull the memory into color, trying to erase the hurt that overwhelms you as you feel Nobunaga’s touch cradling your face. “But not even Nobunaga is immortal. He told me to take care of Ieyasu because I’m, apparently, the most capable person in Azuchi.”

The purse of Sasuke’s lips are grim. “Nobunaga’s death seems to be a consistent event in all timelines.” He adjusts his glasses. “It is interesting how he always leaves his final will to you, the creator of the original time paradox. By accepting Nobunaga’s death, we bring closer this timeline to our original one.”

You’ve come to realize this truth ages ago, but that doesn’t mean you’ve accepted it. “Ieyasu will never become Shogun if Nobunaga is alive.”

“That is logical.” Sasuke tilts his head. “Will it happen with Hideyoshi still alive?”

You shake your head. “I’m not sure. I’ve never been to a timeline where Hideyoshi died.”

“Historically they both died before the events leading to the Tokugawa shogunate even happened.”

Of course you knew that; it was ingrained in you in every history class: stories about the Three Great Unifiers. The three rays of light of the Sengoku period, whose efforts paved the way to make Japan the country it was in your future. Nobunaga dreamed of peace, Hideyoshi fought for it, and Ieyasu attained it. The political intrigue of the period was the favorite subject of scholars and artists alike. Yet you’ve never heard of the events of your current timeline come to pass. “Did Hideyoshi ever try to have Ieyasu assassinated?”

“Not that I recall. There were rumors that the Tokugawa retainers wanted to assassinate Hideyoshi, not the other way around. But Ieyasu-san wouldn’t have it.”

“Of course he wouldn’t,” you say, because it is the truth. You know Ieyasu best, after all.

別の時代

It was almost winter, and yet Nobunaga has shown no sign of replying to the Emperor.

The Allied Azuchi Forces (a term Sasuke coined) are torn.

Hideyoshi, Mitsunari and surprisingly, Mitsuhide, seem to be all for the idea. Masamune, unsurprisingly, just said he didn’t mind no matter what happened as long as some action came out of it.

And Ieyasu? He was the only one vocally against it.

“It’s not right to go against the Ashikaga at this point,” he explains over dinner. “They’ve secured the seat of the shogunate and Nobunaga has endorsed them. Accepting the Imperial Court’s offer would be dishonourable.”

“Even if it’s the order of the Emperor?”

"They would just think we're making excuses." He pokes at the boiled fish on his plate, tasting a piece before making a face. "Besides, what is honourable is the same, no matter the circumstances or the situation."

You can't help but smile; that was such an Ieyasu thing to say. You open the small jar of spices and pinch some between your fingers.

"Teach me," you say, sprinkling the spice over his fish, "About honour."

Ieyasu scoffs, but you see the embarrassment he is masking. He spreads the spices on the fish using his chopsticks. "What needs to be taught? That's something even a young boy would know."

You glare at him. "In case you forgot, I didn't grow up here," and you make sure to emphasise the words, as if he would forget what they meant. "Besides, my honour and your honour might mean differently."

"That shouldn't be," he says before he takes a bite. You're sure he's content on how spicy it is because he doesn't even glance at the spice jar when you put it down.

You're not sure how to get your point across, so you start with the most uncomfortable thing you can think of: "People during my time don't kill themselves for honour, anymore."

That makes his chopsticks stop in mid-air.

"That just means," he begins, suddenly looking pensive, "That you come from a time where honor can be regained."

Ieyasu begins eating again, but his words have made you pause. “I...” you trail off with a tight feeling in your chest—then, with a burst of color, you recall 21st century Japan: modern, unique, full of opportunities. You think of your first job, fresh out of college, as a clerk in a department store, folding clothes, dreaming of cutting them up and creating something new. You think of your younger self, drawing clothes in the dark corner of a small apartment, knowing someday someone would recognize your work. You think of the day you got transported to the Sengoku, the day you felt your honor was restored because amidst all the discouragement and disbelief, you landed the job you always wanted.

That fateful day, your chest was white-hot with confidence. I'm becoming a fashion designer! But it was more than that.

That day, you felt like you could be anything.

People of the Sengoku had no opportunities to rise to the top. The chances they had in life were decided according to their social class, something unchangeable the moment they were born.

“I never thought of it that way,” you say honestly. "I feel a little silly for taking my Japan for granted."

To your surprise, Ieyasu brightens. "If yours is the future we are fighting for... then these wars are worth it. I would like to see my country have lasting peace, where people can grow and be honorable while being themselves."

The rare, soft smile on his face almost makes you cry.

You take his hand. Your throat is tight, but still you say, "We'll get there."

Ieyasu closes his eyes. His hand tightens around yours.

"Yeah."

正しい時代

Ever since you told them who the mastermind behind the assassinations were, you knew you entered uncharted waters again; a new timeline you have to live through for the first time. You stare at this new Ieyasu, the Ieyasu who proposed his intent make you his wife, and feel the fatigue of time traveling ebb away. All the moments together from this point on feel like accomplishments, and you wonder how much more you need to do in order for this to become your everyday.

Correction: now, you actually know what to do.

You present your ideas to Ieyasu, who, as always, takes working with other people with great reluctance.

"I don't understand," he tells you again, "Why we need ask help from them. They're practically the enemy."

There are many retorts you can say to this, but you choose: "They're not, in the greater scheme of things." You know choosing the high road will win an argument with Ieyasu; after all, he's always righteous... despite the thick sarcasm. "Besides, I don't know everything anymore. The more allies we have in this timeline, the better."

You squeeze his hand, trying to look casual as the two of you wander through the marketplace. Summer rains have made the ground damp and the air cold, but Azuchi is as lively as ever.

You see a familiar stall of women's accessories at the end of the merchant's row.

"Sasuke-kun! Yuki-san!"

As you approach, you see the two men turn towards your call. Sasuke does a small wave. Yukimura's eyes brighten when he sees you, but it all goes south when he spots Ieyasu.

"What the hell is he doing here?"

You hope Ieyasu won't take the bait, but he and Yukimura have always been able to get on each other's nerves even during peace negotiations. "I should be asking you that question. You're the one infiltrating Azuchi."

"Yeah, well, it's not that difficult to."

"Please. You only haven't been captured because you're not worth the time."

"What, you wanna go?"

You know you should break up the fight and tell them to behave, because there are more important things going on right now, but no anger swells in your chest. Instead, you look at Yuki’s scrunched eyebrows and at Ieyasu’s pursed frown and laugh out loud.

“I forgot how similar you two are,” is what you say first.

“W-what are you saying?!” and “Please, I’m not an idiot.” are the responses to your fond declaration. From the corner of your eye, you see Sasuke smile.

“Is this a constant?” He asks you, while Ieyasu and Yukimura bicker in the background.

You close your eyes.

Masamune. Sasuke. Yukimura.

In every repetition, you have determined who to trust.

Masamune would never betray Ieyasu.

Yukimura would never betray Sasuke.

Sasuke would never betray you.

It may be imperfect logic to determine your allies based on what the Sengoku period considers as loyalty, but you remember what Ieyasu taught you: what is honourable is the same, no matter what the situation.

You smile at Sasuke.

Maybe it works the same for a concept like friendship, too.

思い出

The clues that led you to discover Ieyasu's nemesis were scattered throughout the timelines.

In one of the your repititions, you decide to put more of an effort in understanding how Sengoku politics worked.

Perhaps, you thought, having a tactician's knowledge of how clans plotted against each other would give you an insight of who was trying to assassinate your most important person.

Mitsunari was the obvious option for a teacher. It was difficult to explain to him why you wanted such detailed backgrounds on every clan known to Japan, but when you visited him in the Azuchi library, he took the work with his usual academic enthusiasm.

"Ieyasu-sama's history is quite complicated," he begins, "He was sent by his family to become a member of the Imagawa. The Imagawa educated him, but didn't treat him as one of their own. In the end, he felt no loyalty to them, and became allied with Nobunaga-sama because when the Oda opposed the Imagawa."

You nod. You know this part by heart, thanks to Sasuke's occasional bursts of Sengoku 101 facts. Facts about Ieyasu were far by his—and, unashamedly, your—favorite. At the back of your mind, you wonder if you should have invited him when you approached Mitsunari.

"Ieyasu-sama has always been so ambitious," Mitsunari's tone is praising, but there is a mettle in his voice you cannot recognise. "His ideas and leadership prowess cannot be questioned. His strength, however, has always been his patience. He waits for the opportune moment to move. Waits for the right moment to create allies."

Mitsunari stills, and for a moment you think he will hesitate, but with the professionalism of a scholar he continues.

"He also waits for the right moment to betray them."

Every fibre in your body wants to argue, to be on the defensive. However, at this point you knew that any crack in your demeanor could work against you. Against Ieyasu. Instead of making a fit, you clench your hands and rise.

Mitsunari is not wrong.

You knew, of course, that like all clans in this era, the Tokugawa shifted through enemies and allies as fast as gamblers traded cards. Mitsunari was probably referring to the time Ieyasu had fought wars for the Imagawa before betraying them for Nobunaga.

He was called a traitor to Mikawa by many. But you knew the truth. Ieyasu loved Mikawa. His eyes were calmer when he saw the soft light of the eastern sun hit the farmlands. His eyes lit up when he saw the glittering of Aichi's sea.

Out of all his conquests, Ieyasu fought against the Imagawa because he was loyal to the people of Mikawa.

Once Ieyasu decided he would be loyal to something, you knew it in your heart—he would probably be loyal to it forever.

Turning away from Mitsunari, this certainty is what makes you finally say, "Ieyasu would never do that to the Oda."

The silence is thick until you hear him close his book. He settles it atop of the table you both used. When you glance at him, you could see the lines of a general on his face, deep wrinkles of knowledge that were not there before. When was the last time you saw his sweet angel smile, you absently think, as you watch him remove his glasses and stand.

You realise the conversation had turned dark. You decide to change the topic, hoping Mitsunari would accompany you for some afternoon sweets.

The invitation never leaves your lips.

"I believe you," he finally replies, looking you straight in the eyes, "but don't expect everyone to."

正しい時代

"Teach me," You say again, like a lifetime before, "About honour."

This time, Ieyasu's cheeks turn red. You sense his urge to brush you off, but you suppose after his proposal he realises that it would be futile to try and push you away. He lies on his back on the futon you two share and takes your hand from under the sheets.

"Right now, you're chatelaine of Azuchi," he begins, "and Nobunaga has entrusted you with not just the castle, but also the town."

"Well, that would be stretching it a bit," you reply, "He entrusted me to take care of you and the others, whom he entrusted the castle and the town to."

Ieyasu shakes his head. "He sent his will to you, and no one else. Among all of us, that makes you the bearer of his ambitions."

The weight of your role has not been put in words this clearly before, and you realise it is probably because this is the first time you've had this conversation.

Then, he continues, "You, the bearer of his will, and I, the one tasked to accomplished it... we're, well," he looks away, covers his mouth with a hand, and coughs, "involved."

You laugh. "I believe you called me your future wife."

The flush is still on his cheeks. "What? I'm not taking it back."

“And I'm not going anywhere until it happens."

He looks at you as if he didn't expect you to say that, but instead he says, "I know that." Then, still red-faced, he continues, "Anyway. The point is, we both have power in Azuchi."

"Also we're lovers."

Ieyasu sputters, but agrees. "And right now, we're probably the two most influential people in the castle."

You nod; that much was true. With everyone except Masamune back in their own domains, you and Ieyasu made all the major decisions—based on Nobunaga's will, of course.

Ieyasu was getting somewhere with this exposition. "Now, Azuchi has a farm to feed it, an army to protect it, and people to live in it. If you were to give up two of those and only leave one remaining, which one would you choose?"

"That's easy: the people, of course."

"You'd be surprised how it's not so easy for others to make that answer." Ieyasu pursed his lips. "Alright, you've chosen to protect the people. As a leader, that's honourable. What if someone you respected decided otherwise?"

"Well, that depends."

"Depends on what?"

"On who it is."

You can sense his frustration with your tangential answers, but his patience with you does not falter. Pinching his nose, Ieyasu clarifies, "What if it was Masamune? He wants to prioritise the farm."

You scoff, "I don't think he'd want to do that..." but the look on Ieyasu's face reminds you to stay on topic. "Well, I'd fight him on it."

"Good. What if it was Hideyoshi?"

"I'd still fight him on it."

"What if it was Mitsuhide?"

"I'd be scared, but I'd still fight for the people to be the most important."

Ieyasu looked pleased. From his lying position, he turns to you and curls his fingers by your cheek. Your breath hitches as he leans in. You expect intimacy, but instead, in quiet voice he continues,

"What if it was me?"

別の時代

"Run, Princess!"

Masamune's voice is shrill throughout the gunfire. Heat from the flames burn your skin and your senses are overwhelmed by desperation.

"Ieyasu," you're able to shout, "Where's Ieyasu?"

It's not the first time you've been in the heart of a battlefield, but the fatigue is catching up to you. The hands that hold your bow and arrow are shaking, and your lungs feel like they're grating against your ribcage.

Your eyes dart around the area quickly. The smoke is so thick, you can barely see past what your hand can reach.

Panic slowly fills up in your chest.

You're not ready to give up this timeline, you think. You don't want to go through Ieyasu dying again.

"Are you okay?"

Sasuke suddenly appears next to you, kunai at the ready. He casually throws a knife to an enemy soldier five feet away; the knife lodges in the man's forehead, and he drops dead. "Did you get separated from Ieyasu?"

You nod. "When the first gunshot blew up the carriage, he pushed me out of the way. I was with Masamune for a while, but..."

You don't need to say anything more. Sasuke takes your hand and pulls you from the battlefield, into a small clearing covered by trees.

"The next wormhole will appear in Rinzaiji Temple in three days," he says matter-of-factly. As if you were conversing in a safe place, Sasuke cautiously removes his glasses and wipes them against his gi. "If you leave now, you will make it in time."

The suggestion is logical, but you instinctively rebel against it. "We're not even sure if Ieyasu is dead yet," you grit out. "We're so close, Sasuke. Just a little more, and I think I can find out who—"

Several gunshots interrupt your thought, and your head snaps back to the carnage.

You will forever remember that moment. How, with lightning clarity, you saw him. The smoke and the flames parted, and by some god's will there was a straight path from you to Ieyasu. Everything else was white noise. Suddenly nothing else mattered.

You take in his outline: his arm is bent in an odd angle and there is blood spilling from his shoulder. His hands are empty and his sword is nowhere to be found.

He got shot, is what you first think, and your knees automatically brace for a run.

"Princess," Sasuke holds you back, "This timeline may be a lost cause."

You rip your arm away from his grip. "Even if that may be true, I can't just leave Ieyasu."

"The statistical chances of saving him right now are close to zero. However, if we proceed to Rinzaiji and you time jump, we start on a clean slate."

A part of you is angry you are wasting time conversing with Sasuke, but the experienced time traveler in you rationalises the idea.

Before you are able to process any decision, however, you notice there has been a change in the background noise of the battle. A part of the field has gone quiet, and you see three samurai on horses approach Ieyasu.

You feel yourself go cold. "Who... who is that?"

They carried Nobunaga's flag and wore armour so black they would blend in with the night. Their kabuto helmets were the color of a dark void. Their outlines would have been unfamiliar, but you lived long enough in Azuchi to recognise mannerisms and movements.

Your heart cannot believe who they are, but your mind acknowledges it to be true.

You can see Ieyasu's lips moving, can see the proud tilt of his chin stay firm as he speaks to his enemy. His opposite hand is attempting to compress the wound on his shoulder, but the blood gushes out of its own accord, dripping down to the soil. Despite this, he stands up with all the regality and grace you have come to know him for.

Sasuke senses the danger that you refuse to acknowledge. "I do not advise we stay around to watch," his voice is soft as he takes your hand. He attempts to guide you away, but it lacks his actual strength. You imagine he also cannot tear his eyes away.

As the next events unfold, you think of a million things.

Maybe it would be different if you listened to your heart minutes earlier.

Maybe this timeline was the one you shouldn't have given up on.

Maybe you could've saved him.

Maybe this time, Ieyasu could've lived.

You wish you could say you ran to him. You wish you could say you broke through the bushes and tried to stop what was about to happen.

But you did nothing.

One of the samurai drew his sword.

正しい時代

"What if it was me?"

You're not sure if this is a trick question. You and Ieyasu have always been similar-minded when it came to policies, and it was rare you disagreed with each other in a war council.

"I would convince you to see my point," you answer finally.

He shook his head. "Negotiations are noble, but often fruitless. And if I stood my ground?"

You lean into his touch. You're not sure what he wants to prove, but your answer is set.

"I am your future wife. If you go astray, it is my duty to protect the integrity of your ambitions."

If Ieyasu is shocked by your answer, he doesn't show it. Instead he smiles, and it is gentle and true, so much like when he brought you on the flower field and admitted he loved you.

He kisses your forehead.

"Good."

思い出

Everything was a blur after, when you ran towards Rinzaiji, towards the wormhole.

Still, you remember screaming when Hideyoshi took Ieyasu's head.

[/Chapter 2]

[Prologue] [Chapter 1]

#ikemen sengoku #ikemen sengoku fanfiction #fanfiction #tokugawa ieyasu #sarutobi sasuke #date masamune #ishida mitsunari #sanada yukimura #toyotomi hideyoshi #ikesen #cybird #the inevitable correction of treading through time #psychedelic aya #aya writes

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nicknellie · 3 years

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Anonymous requested: willex and one of them confesses their feelings to the other while sleeping

So I wasn’t 100% sure if I’d understood this right and I had two directions I could go, either of which would have been good, so I did the Right Thing and included both versions of how I interpreted this. It’s a little short, but I love it. I got a random burst of inspiration for it in the middle of a maths exam yesterday so that was fun, and this is what came out of it. Thank you for the prompt!

No Going Back

If there was one thing Alex had become certain of in all the time he’d known Willie, it was that the guy didn’t get nearly enough sleep.

At first Willie’s constant state of being so exhausted that he was hyper had been endearing. Alex had looked forward to receiving that inevitable ‘are you awake?’ text in the darkest hours of every night, thrilled that he was on Willie’s mind, anxious to have a late-night deep conversation or for Willie to show up at his house and whisk him away on a midnight adventure. He had loved the spontaneity that Willie displayed, a by-product of his insomnia that rendered him incapable of figuring out when something was a bad idea – though Alex was still bitter about that time they’d nearly been arrested for breaking into a skatepark after dark, something Willie had sworn was perfectly legal.

He still loved all that about Willie, it wasn’t something he could ever stop loving. Willie was like that – once you loved him there was no going back. But over time Alex had started to worry, as he was wont to do, about how little sleep Willie was getting.

“Did you sleep at all last night?” Alex asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes,” Willie said, not looking up from what he was doing. “What makes you think I didn’t?”

“Nothing,” Alex replied, “just the fact that you’re still wearing the same clothes as last night and there’s a marble run spanning the length of your apartment that definitely wasn’t there yesterday.”

It was mid-morning and Alex was stood in the doorway of Willie’s apartment, peering in through the door at what could only be described as chaos. Willie was stood in the centre of the living room, fiddling with a section of the marble run, his tongue poking out in concentration. All around him, the marble run twisted through the apartment, an explosion of plastic in colours that clashed painfully alongside each other. By the looks of it, the run started atop a light fixture, wound its way through the kitchen (including going inside the fridge and back out again), tracked into Willie’s bedroom, linked back around into the living room, and ended in the perfect position to hit the TV remote’s power button.

It was very obvious to Alex that Willie had spent the whole night trying to find the most complicated way of turning his TV on – getting him to admit it would be the difficult thing.

Willie looked around the apartment, eyes wide as if he was only seeing the marble run for the first time now. He looked utterly bewildered, stumped by his own creative genius.

“Oh,” he said simply. “Yeah, well, I did sleep for a bit. And I also made this. A guy can do two things.”

Alex stepped cautiously into the apartment, shutting the door behind him, being careful not to tread on the marbles that littered the floor. Willie quickly got back to tinkering with his marble run, trying to secure two bits of track together. He was stood on a coffee table up on his tip-toes – Alex moved instinctively behind him to catch him in case he fell.

“Did you really sleep?” he pressed.

“Yes,” Willie insisted. “For, like, an hour maybe. I woke up at about half one.”

Alex checked his watch and felt his jaw go slack in shock. “You’ve been building a marble run for eight hours?”

Although he probably didn’t need to, Willie held onto Alex’s outstretched hands as he lowered himself slowly down from the coffee table. He didn’t let go once he was down, leaving one hand gently slipped into Alex’s. Alex felt his heart beat that little bit faster but ignored the feeling in favour of continuing to worry about Willie’s godawful sleeping habits.

“Not the full eight hours,” Willie told him dismissively. “Probably more like five? I built a domino chain first, and then I had to clear it all up.”

He pointed to a box in the corner of the room that was being used to prop up a good chunk of the marble run and appeared to be filled with an ungodly amount of dominoes. He was smiling triumphantly as if setting up dominoes all night was any different to setting up a marble run.

“You say that like it makes this better, but you’ve still only had one hour’s sleep,” Alex reminded him as Willie tried and failed to stifle a yawn. “I think it’d be a good idea if you got some rest now.”

Willie shook his head. “I’ll be fine, hotdog. One hour is more than enough sleep, I usually get less.”

“That’s not something to be proud of.”

Willie just shrugged, but he wasn’t fooling Alex. In recent weeks, Alex had noticed that Willie’s lack of sleep really seemed to be getting to him. He was sleeping less and less, running on energy drinks and sugar highs, spending his time doing nonsensical things like building colossal marble runs all night instead of at least lying in bed. And Willie was pretending that he was fine, carrying on like it was nothing, but there was something in his eyes that told Alex he was struggling with it more than he would let on.

But now, Willie’s face broke into an excited grin and he squeezed Alex’s hand. “Do you want to test it out?”

In his head, Alex knew he should have insisted that Willie just try and take a nap instead, but he would have been lying if he said he didn’t want to see the end result (after all, there were some loop-the-loops in there and he was quietly curious to see if they’d actually work). So he nodded reluctantly and let Willie pull him to the kitchen where he hoisted himself onto the counter and plonked a marble in the start of the tube.

They watched in awe as the little blue marble rolled its way through all the tubes, flipping around the loops, gathering speed in tight spirals. It was oddly mesmerising and Alex was so caught up in watching it that he forgot he was supposed to be a little annoyed that Willie had made it instead of getting some well-deserved rest.

It was going well, the marble run holding out sturdily, but Alex noticed Willie tense as the marble neared the section he’d been fiddling with when Alex walked in. As the marble ran over that bit of track, there was a catastrophic crash and the entire marble run collapsed around them, raining bits of rainbow-coloured plastic down around the apartment like an avalanche. Alex had covered his head and closed his eyes instinctively, but when he opened them he saw that every inch of the floor was carpeted in bits of marble run and crushed dreams.

The marble dropped to the floor with a pathetic clack, the icing on the cake.

Alex turned to Willie, who was still stood atop the kitchen counter, staring at the wreckage with a completely blank expression. He reached his hand up to hold Willie’s and got nothing in response.

“Willie?” he prompted softly.

“I hate everything,” Willie sighed.

He hopped down from the counter and began trying to pick up bits of the marble run to clear it away. Alex could hardly believe how much of it there was when it wasn’t all stacked together – he couldn’t help but admire Willie for putting it all together, but it was overshadowed by the pity he felt now that it had failed.

Gently, he placed a hand on Willie’s shoulder. Willie instantly broke, his shoulders sagging and his head hanging defeatedly. The bit of track he was holding clattered to the floor.

“You take a nap,” Alex said. He wasn’t asking anymore, he was telling, and truth be told Willie looked like he was ready to fall asleep on his feet. “I’ll pack this away.”

“I can’t ask you to do that,” Willie said, rubbing at his eyes exhaustedly.

“You’re not asking me, I’m offering. Go on, you need to rest.”

There was a short pause while Willie looked at Alex, something indescribable in his teary eyes. He broke it to say, in a tired voice not quite like his own, “Will you come and stay with me when you’re done?”

Alex smiled softly. “If you want me to then of course I will.”

Willie nodded, eyes already drooping closed, and made his way to his bedroom incredibly slowly as he tried to avoid stepping on any bits of the marble run. Alex began packing it away, and he could hear Willie’s soft snores within minutes.

He spent at least two hours tidying away all the pieces, mainly because for most of that time he was arranging them by size and colour and trying to get them all to fit perfectly in the large container Willie had labelled ‘MARBLES :)’. Eventually though, when the apartment was clear, the final marble plonked into the box, Alex carefully pushed open the door to Willie’s bedroom.

Willie was tucked in underneath the covers, warm and snug, snoring soundly. It appeared he still hadn’t got changed out of yesterday’s clothes, but at least he was finally getting some rest. Alex crouched down by the side of his bed and placed his hand next to Willie’s where it was thrown out exhaustedly across the mattress.

People often thought Alex and Willie were dating, told them they were such a lovely couple, asked about how long they had been together. And every time they would laugh it off, correct whoever had said it, no harm done. But Alex wished that just once he could reply in a very different way, thank them for the compliment, tell them he and Willie had been together for six months or a year or five. Sometimes he suspected that Willie wanted it too – like when he held his hand, or giggled at Alex’s dumb jokes, or smiled in a way that seemed like it was just for him.

But he couldn’t bring himself to ask.

He thought about it now, how if he had been Willie’s boyfriend he could have held him as he slept, run his fingers through his hair, pressed kisses to his forehead until he dozed off. It was probably wishful thinking, but he wondered if he could have helped simply by being Willie’s boyfriend. (He knew the problem ran deeper than that, but he could hope.)

Willie shuffled a bit in his sleep and his hand came to rest atop Alex’s. He felt his breath stutter and hitch in his throat.

“I hope you can’t hear me,” Alex said quietly before he even knew he was going to say anything, “because all I want to tell you right now is that I love you. And I don’t know if that’s what you want to hear. But it’s true – I love you, Willie, and I’m always going to be right here when you need me.”

There was the briefest moment of silence in which neither of them moved and all Alex could hear was the thumping of his own heart. He couldn’t tell if Willie was fully asleep, and he wasn’t certain if he wanted that or not. He wanted Willie to know how he felt, he just didn’t want to tell him.

But after that moment, Willie’s hand clutched weakly at Alex’s, and he breathed, “I love you too.”

It was so quiet Alex thought he might have imagined it. He blinked, leaned a little closer as if Willie might say it again, but he was already back to sleep. Alex wanted to shake him awake, tell him again, make sure he wasn’t dreaming.

He didn’t though. That conversation could wait until Willie was awake. Instead, Alex sat himself down on the floor next to the bed, hand still in Willie’s, head resting against the mattress, and let Willie finally get the sleep he so deserved.

Taglist (if you want to be added or removed just let me know): @ace-bookworm @williexmercer @willex-owns-my-heart @itstiger720 @the-reckless-and-the-brave @that-one-newsie @bluedarkness @lookingthroughmirrors @teammightypen @salty-star @julieandthequeers @lmaohuh

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calltomuster · 3 years

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oh my gooshhhh my first ao3 friend is doing prompts and is amazing always ahhhhhhhhhhhhh

“I thought I’d never see you again,” with Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan?

I'm so honored to be your first AO3 friend! Thanks so much for the prompt and for your endless patience on this, @the-last-kenobi!

From these caretaker dialogue prompts: 10. "I thought I'd never get to see you again."

"Obi-Wan!"

Anakin's scream was strangely muffled, like Obi-Wan was hearing it from underwater. He felt numb except for the heat spreading in his chest, flooding it with warmth where the rest of his body went cold. When he looked down, he saw the red lightsaber poking through the space just next to where his heart rested.

He blinked, confused, then raised his head to see Anakin running towards him, but now his vision was shifting, lowering, twisting, and Obi-Wan realized his legs had given out from under him and he hit the ground. It did not hurt. Nothing hurt. He just felt that hazy warmth carrying him away, away...

The next moment he was aware, he was in a soft white void. Light and shadows dappled together to form some sort of depth, but beyond that he could not make out any sort of surroundings. What really struck him was the Force in this space. It was stronger here than he had ever felt before. Stronger than sharing a bond with Anakin, stronger than a group meditation with Master Yoda, stronger than being on Mortis. It was like... like it was the Force.

Then it hit him, and he felt dumb for not realizing sooner. The visage that appeared in front of him only confirmed it.

"Obi-Wan?" Qui-Gon Jinn said, sounding confused. "This isn't... You're not supposed to be here yet."

"Master," Obi-Wan smiled, a light peace settling inside him. So he was one with the Force now. That was alright, he supposed. It had to happen sooner or later, and if the Force deemed it right that now was his time, who was he to argue?

He told this to Qui-Gon, who continued to look puzzled and slightly off-put.

"No, it wasn't," Qui-Gon said.

Obi-Wan frowned. "Wasn't what?"

"Wasn't the will of the Force," Qui-Gon replied. "This wasn't the will of the Force."

Now it was Obi-Wan's turn to be confused. "Well, I'm here, aren't I?"

Qui-Gon peered at him, looking down as he always did. Even in death, the Force had not corrected their height difference. "Yes. You are."

"So it must have been the will of the Force."

It was then that Qui-Gon took on a face that was dearly familiar to Obi-Wan. It would appear that they were about to depart down the well-treaded path of arguing differing Force philosophy opinions. "Saying that everything happens because of the will of the Force implies that we have no free will."

Obi-Wan obligingly took up the opposing side of the argument. "Does it matter that the choices are preordained if we choose them freely? That is, that we ourselves still feel that we have that choice, and only the Force knows which one we will inevitably pick?"

"Yes," Qui-Gon pressed, brow furrowing together in the way it only did when he was particularly passionate about something. "Because in the end there really was no choice."

"But we believe we have that choice, and isn't that really all that matters?"

Before Qui-Gon could respond, Obi-Wan shook his head and held up his hand. "No, enough. That's not really the point."

"Of course you leave me without a space for rebuttal," Qui-Gon huffed, but smiled. "Regardless, it's good to see you, Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan blinked away the tears that had suddenly appeared. "I thought I'd never get to see you again."

"Whyever not?"

"Because this isn't what happens when you die!" Obi-Wan exclaimed. "You become one with the Force, not, not," he gestured at Qui-Gon, "this!"

"We are one with the Force right now, are we not?"

Obi-Wan took a breath, then continued. "Yes, but we shouldn't be ourselves still. We should have returned to the endless pool of energy in the universe."

Qui-Gon shrugged. "The sum of the amount of knowledge in the entire universe of what the Force of capable of could fit inside the palm of my hand."

"So the Force allowed you to retain your consciousness?"

Qui-Gon smiled at him. "I thought you said everything that happened was the will of the Force. Why are you questioning this?"

He had to resist the urge to sputter and say because that's not how the Force works! But of course, Qui-Gon was right. They could never hope to possibly understand the Force, and in the end it was folly to try.

"Alright. So what happens now?"

Qui-Gon looked at him. "I suspect you'll wake up soon."

"...Wake up? Wake up where?"

"Back on... Where was it? Cato Neimoidia?"

Obi-Wan nodded, confused. "But I'm one with the Force."

"For the time being, yes, but as I said, this was not the will of the Force."

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. "I thought you said things didn't happen because of the will of the Force, Master."

"Ah, so you are deliberately misunderstanding my argument again. What I said was that not everything happens because of the will of the Force. Someday you will understand, my very young Padawan."

"Not as young as I once was," Obi-Wan smiled softly. He had truly missed this, this banter with Qui-Gon. It took a few years after Naboo for him to stop turning to his side and expecting to give or receive some witty riposte. Anakin eventually learned, and that was greatly enjoyable in its own way, but it was never quite the same as it had been with his Master.

Qui-Gon returned his soft smile. "No, not as young as you once were. You've grown into a fine man, Obi-Wan. I'm very proud of you."

Obi-Wan looked down, away, anything to hide the tears that arose upon hearing those words. Words he had dreamt of hearing, once upon a time. Words he'd hoped to hear at his Knighting ceremony. Words he woke up one day realizing he would never be able to receive. But now he had, and it was the most precious gift he could have asked for. But he knew deep down he did not deserve it.

When he had composed himself, he opened his mouth to speak again, but did not raise his head. He was too much of a coward to say this head on. "I fear I have disappointed your teachings, Master."

"Oh?"

"I have been angry, arrogant, judgmental. I have not been mindful of the Living Force as much as I should have been. I did my best in training Anakin as you asked, but sometimes I think I have only passed my flaws onto him too."

"Look at me, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said gently, and Obi-Wan meekly met his eyes. "You are a sentient being. Yes, you have made mistakes, as everyone has. But you have done your best. And you have done well. You are compassionate, and wise, and brave, and resilient, and you have done your best to spread these qualities to everyone around you. And I am proud of you, Padawan."

Obi-Wan huffed out a laugh, because it was the best of the options in front of him to release the emotion welling up inside. "All thanks to you, Master."

"Oh no," Qui-Gon said. "I gave you tools, but it was up to you to decide what to do with them. In the end, Padawans rise and fall on their own merits." He gave Obi-Wan a strange look at that, but it passed so quickly Obi-Wan half thought he might have imagined it. Qui-Gon finished, "And you have risen."

"Qui-Gon," Obi-Wan said, shaking his head slightly. He didn't quite know what to do with all of this, like he wasn't equipped to carry all these kind words with him.

"I just wanted to tell you that before the Force takes you back," Qui-Gon said, folding his arms in his robes. "It will not be long now."

"Will of the Force," Obi-Wan mumbled as he finished composing himself again.

Qui-Gon laughed. "We'll have another chance to argue this. Perhaps sooner than you'd think."

Obi-Wan looked up at him, alarmed. Would he truly be joining the Force again so soon?

"No, not like that," Qui-Gon said. "You'll see."

He was giving Obi-Wan a very particular smile, one that from experience Obi-Wan knew meant he wouldn't be able to pry any answers out of the man. Best to drop the matter.

All of a sudden, something occurred to him. "Will I remember this when I go back?" Would he remember what Qui-Gon had told him?

"No." Qui-Gon's smile turned sad. "It will be like waking up from a dream that grows further and further away the more you try to hold on to it."

Obi-Wan nodded melancholically. It would have been too much to hope for, perhaps. "Then remind me when we see each other again, alright?"

"Of course, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon replied, getting fainter both in voice and appearance. Or perhaps that was Obi-Wan, and not him. "May the Force be with you."

And with you, Obi-Wan tried to say back, but then his ears were ringing with the chaos of battle and his chest was burning something fierce and his eyes were hazily focusing on Anakin's frantic face, and then he could not remember why he had even been wanting to say the words in the first place.

Thanks for reading! Requests are currently closed!

#prompt fill with a side of philosophy that i completely made up #then again i suppose all philosophy is just made up #mine is especially made up though #this one's gonna go on AO3 I think!#obi-wan kenobi #qui-gon jinn #my writing #prompt fills

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freckledoriya · 4 years

Text

“no flash photography” (midoriya x reader)

WARNINGS: none, just fluff!

WORD COUNT: 1.7k

SUMMARY: You’re a pro-hero photojournalist assigned to capture the number one hero, Deku. But what happens when you start catching feelings through your camera lens?

LINKS: ao3 | masterlist | requests are OPEN!

TAGLIST: at the end of the post, message me to be added/removed!

AUTHOR’S NOTE: this my fourth fic for @bnhabookclub‘s bingo event (see my bingo masterlist here). and a big thanks to @sunflower-kami-boi and @gallickingun for beta reading and supporting me!!

You love Izuku Midoriya: the way his freckles speckle his cheekbones, his ability to smile even through his toughest battles, the mess of green curls that are just begging to have your hands run through them. And then there are his hands: soft, yet calloused from fighting. When you interlock your hands with his, you swear you can feel electricity from his quirk pass from him to you. At least, that’s what you imagine holding hands with him would be like.

No, you don’t love Izuku Midoriya. You love taking pictures of Izuku Midoriya.

That’s the correction that you keep telling yourself. Your job as a hero photojournalist has been a journey, one that started out as a fangirl’s hobby and morphed into a profession as a photographer for the magazine Hero Weekly. More specifically, a photographer who was recently assigned to capture exclusively the world’s number one hero, Deku.

The day that Midoriya was given the title of number one was the day that everything changed for you. You went from a respected photographer to what often felt like part of the paparazzi, following Izuku around the city as he fought villains, but also secretly taking pictures as he went out to dinner with his fellow heroes. That part of your job kept you up at night. You knew it was an invasion of his privacy, but you needed the approval from your boss. The guilt and fear crawled all over your skin, amplified only when you started catching feelings for the hero. But your dream of becoming a renowned hero photographer depended on it. So you pushed aside all the anxiety and did exactly what your manager asked of you:

“I want to know who he’s dating, what he likes, dislikes, details of his quirk, extra bonus if you happen to get shot of him shirtless” your boss rattled off.

Ever since All Might’s retirement, the magazine had been hurting for another star to focus on. It resulted in budget cuts and threatened lay-offs, leaving everyone, including you, on thin ice. And after years of waiting, young upstart Midoriya fit that bill perfectly. His curls seemed to frame his round yet somehow chiseled face. And those freckles. If his beautifully sculpted body wasn’t enough to get the fangirls on board, the freckles always got them. After all, he didn’t become number one solely from his nearly flawless track record with villains; it definitely didn’t hurt that he had a shy and modest smile that any woman would be enchanted by.

You sure were.

But being assigned to Deku was an exhausting task. Following him around from battle to battle was hard enough, and you soon found yourself in a battle of your own-- one with your deep admiration towards the green-haired hero. You began to feel linked somehow with Izuku through your photos. It was as one-sided as you could get, with Midoriya never knowing your existence (a fact that caused an unbelievable amount of pain). Despite this, you felt like you knew Izuku personally, as if he goes on dinner dates with you at his favorite restaurant on the corner. Or that it’s he, not the press, that reveals his ticks and habits. You would sit a considerable distance away, watching through a cafe window, imagining yourself on the other side of the table from him. You’d laugh at his jokes, flirt and cause him to get all adorably flustered, and gaze longingly into his emerald eyes. You hope and wish that one day it won’t just be through a camera lens.

You couldn’t help but feel some kind of intimate connection with the hero. After all, you experienced just about everything he did. His fights, his wins, his loses… every scar, every bruise, you were there for it all. So how could you not feel this way?

It was all inevitable, and you gave right into it: reading everything you could find on him, even going to his regularly visited coffee shop on your day off of work. You knew the chances of running into him were slim, and yet you did it anyway. You were desperately chasing a feeling of closeness with him, and somehow sitting in a place that he visited gave you a piece of what you craved.

You ponder this as you sit in the aforementioned cafe, sipping your coffee and going through the photos on your camera, jotting down notes. It’s crowded, the morning rush, so you pay no mind to the “ding” of the door opening and the tall hero walking in. It’s his voice when he orders that catches your attention, a voice unmistakably belonging to the one and only, Izuku Midoriya.

You quickly turn away and throw your hand over your mouth, wary of any sounds that might come out. This was different from when you would see him behind a camera lens. You weren’t doing work, surrounded by others clamoring to get a money shot. You were here as you, not just a nothing face behind flashing lights.

When you turn back around, you half expect him to be gone, for you to have totally gone crazy imagining him. But, he’s still there. He’s in what must be his work out clothes: basketball shorts and a worn All Might shirt, looking as effortlessly perfect as every other time you’ve seen him. And that’s when it hits you. This is it. This is the chance you have to talk to him.

But what would you say? What could you say? What if he recognizes you as one of the no-life photographers who follow him around? Should you keep that a secret? Will he hate you? A thousand questions fly through your head as you ponder the possibilities. Should you call out to him? Would it be weird that you know his name? Do you call him by his hero name or his real name?

He begins to walk past you after grabbing his coffee order. Your heart drops at the sight of him leaving.

Do something.

“Deku!” you call out, careful to keep your volume as low as possible as to not alert the other patrons around you.

He quickly turns and looks at you expectantly. “Yes?”

“Um…”

Say something.

“I…”

Anything.

“I’m a really big fan!”

Anything but that.

But it’s too late. The words were spoken and reached Midoriya’s ears.

“T-Thank you,” he looks away, smiling as a slight blush appears on his freckled cheeks.

“So do you take pictures?” he asks, nodding down to your camera on the table.

“Yeah,” you reply shakily, still deciding on how much information about yourself you should reveal.

Izuku smiles at you. “What do you like to take pictures of?”

Shit.

You swallow and nervously pick at your cuticles. You don’t want to lie to him, but you don’t exactly want to start off the relationship with him knowing you take secret pictures of him so that a magazine can sell. You tread carefully as you speak.

“Heroes,” you reply simply. “I take pictures of heroes.”

Letting out an awkward laugh, you gesture to the seat across from you, inviting him to join you.

“Can you show me some of your work?” He tilts his head in curiosity as he accepts your invitation to sit down.

No no no no no.

You embarrassingly know that the camera you’re currently holding contains pictures you took of the hero last night as he left his high-rise apartment. Thinking quickly, you pull out your phone and go to the Hero Weekly website, remembering that they ran a picture you snapped of Red Riot in battle last week. It wasn’t anything spectacular, just a photo you captured for fun when you happened to stumble upon the fight. Still, it was better than showing what was on your camera memory card currently.

“Whoa, that’s a great picture of Kirishima!” he says ecstatically. “Is that from Hero Weekly? That’s impressive!”

His praise causes your stomach to do flips. “Thank you. I really appreciate that coming from you.”

“What got you into taking pictures of heroes?”

You sigh and look into your coffee cup, hoping the beverage will spell out the right words to say.

“I’ve always really looked up to heroes. Ever since I was little. But I never bought into the “larger than life” hero personas that the rest of the media seemed to portray. They miss the most amazing thing about heroes: they’re human, just like everyone else.”

You look at Izuku shyly, unsure if you should be opening up to him like this after just meeting him. “When I photograph heroes, I like to ground them, see past the exterior. Capture their magnificent strength and power, but show that they have feelings, wants, and needs. They all have passions and flaws. And that’s what I love so much about heroes. They’re relatively ordinary humans that do extraordinary things.”

There’s a beat of silence that passes as Midoriya looks at you in amazement. He smiles and slightly bites his lip, obviously debating about the next thing he wants to say.

“Is that why you photograph me in private places?”

You feel your heart plummet. “H-How did you know?”

Izuku blushes and rubs the back of his neck embarrassingly. “I kinda of… may have… noticed you a few times.”

You’re stuck in shock, your mind short-circuiting, leaving your mouth slightly ajar with no words coming out.

Deku sees your frozen look and starts frantically waving his hands, speaking at a million words per second. “Not in a weird or creepy way of course just that you’re really pretty and sometimes when I’m out places I notice you trying to get my picture so sometimes I make sure to give you a clear shot, I really hope that’s okay, It’s not because I don’t think you’re capable of getting your own picture, I just-”

A fit of giggles escapes from your lips. “How are you even more adorable than I imagined?”

He blushes as you try to stop laughing.

But you can’t help it. All your worries and fears melt away and you’re left with all you ever wanted: sitting across from the blushing hero Deku in a cafe, pure happiness running through your veins.

You don’t even notice the paparazzi capturing the moment from the bushes outside.

TAGLIST:

@gallickingun @prismaroyal @wesparklebitch @bnha-violetnote @sunflower-kami-boi @shoutosteakettle @strwbrry-lia @ee-blue @shoutodoki @sadistiks @knifeewifee @viceofaladriel @saltie @khemz1312 @frenchspeakingfilipina @tessaisalbright @katsumi-kaminari @pixxiesdust @izukuwus

#izuku midoriya x reader #midoriya izuku x reader #deku x reader #midoriya x reader #bnha x reader

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chiveburger · 3 years

Text

man.... so many things have been happening in the last couple weeks (?) and in full honesty, a lot of those initial problems haven’t been solved but I had a solid 3 hour talk with my mom about EVERY SINGLE POSSIBLE THING and I do feel like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. this is also going to be long as fuck which is why it’s kept under a tab but basically...

I’ve been wanting to move back to hong kong for many many years now. for a combination of reasons, but mainly because I wanted my whole family (and my cats) to be together in one house together. which is something that has never happened for a prolonged period of time. my dad has worked in hong kong since I was a baby and for the last 20 some years we’ve made do just by flying back and forth. I stopped visiting hong kong every summer during the last two years of high school and then subsquently university (and the last time I visited for in 2013 after my high school graduation). so part of me has always held onto the idea that when the timing is right we will all move back, and for the last couple months and starting quarantine really when I stopped working the idea of finally making that decision was starting to be discussed. a major reason why we stayed in canada was because I was still in school, and then I worked up until the last year. I love vancouver, I have my friends here and I’m comfortable here but I also want to find work elsewhere, I want to see how it is in hong kong and more than that... I just want my family to be together. that’s always been something I wanted, but for that to happen there has to be so many prerequisite steps. so many that it’s been such a daunting and heavy subject to approach. for me, my biggest worry is relocating my cats to such a vastly different environment but they’re also the one thing that I can’t give up. I would rather stay here until they died naturally then ever THINK of giving them away, and the only options for me were to 1) relocate them back to hong kong and we all leave or 2) to stay in vancouver with them.

so, after a lot of other events and discussions we did “decide” on the latter and I requested a quote from a pet relocation company in vancouver. It was fairly reasonable and for me at the moment I really thought that this was the first stepping stone in leaving canada... but after MORE discussion with my dad they can’t seem to justify leaving right this moment, especially during the pandemic. which makes sense, and to have the one solid agreed upon decision is a relief. even though to me, it feels like we’re again treading water and we’re back at square one. so I’m in this state of feeling happy because I don’t really have to think about this anymore and my cats don’t have to go through the insane journey of travelling to hong kong verses like, we kind of accomplished nothing and we’re still not together in the same city, same house. It’s a very weird feeling like I’m not mad or upset but I’m also not filled with joy or anything. I think in a way, getting that quote was the driving force for us to really decide what we wanted to do and if I didn’t reach out then this would’ve dragged on for much longer. It’s nice to have a conclusion for now at least, but it does feel like we are prolonging the inevitable of moving back in together because we’re not going to live together in vancouver as a family. that’s like one thing that we do know because my dad and brother’s businesses are in hong kong.

for the last couple days I haven’t had much of an appetite nor do I sleep properly mainly because all this stress and overthinking has really made me go insane. on one hand, this decision feels correct because uprooting your life and moving to a new country is such a huge decision that shouldn’t be made on a whim. yet, we kind of know that we want to live in hong kong together... so why do we keep stalling? I also think this pandemic has amplified all these thoughts of leaving and being as one family and just made everything think differently. It has accelerated my brain damage but in the grand scheme of things, I’m okay with the decision we’ve made. staying in vancouver for a while longer, taking more time to plan how to move and keeping my cats more or less happy in the house they’re in now. It does feel kind of silly making your life decisions revolve around a cat but.... they’re two constants in my life that I can’t leave or not worry about. they’re the only thing I actively cried about, and overthought SO much about. what if they aren’t fit for flight, what if they had an accident on the flight, what if they can’t get used to living in an apartment and the temperature in hong kong. I felt so drained thinking about all those negative and almost pointless thoughts because they weren’t problems that could be solved right away. there was just so much stress circling this topic and so many things that had to be talked about and planned and decided that it’s too much to do in a matter of months or even a year.

to have a night where I don’t have to think about that and just know that I’m going to stay here in vancouver is better than being completely unsure about what I need to do and who I need to reach out to tomorrow. In that 3 hour conversation my mom and I talked about all those irrational thoughts, and all the things that made us feel crazy during the past couple weeks. we discussed the importance of family, how we view each other, what we want and hope for, why we (or at least I) feel and do the things we do, the difference between generations and the general relationship between all of us compared to others. It was longwinded, but it was refreshing. we all know that we love each other and care for each other and sometime down the road we are going to be living together but as of right now it’s just not the proper time to make a huge life altering decision. I obviously have things to do in vancouver other than mope but it’s nice to get all that out in the open and know that we have kind of settled things for NOW at least. chances are my dad and brothers won’t be able to fly back to canada for the time being (just out of work obligations and others), but either my mom and I individually can go back. that’s just how things have to work out and to know that and to not go to sleep thinking about such negative and pressuring thoughts is nice... I’m not even gonna proof read this but that’s what I’ve been going through for the past couple weeks. now I’m going to watch a drama.

#borger diary

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armorsleevedsinglehit · 3 years

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the huge shippuden music meta

no one asked for this but i’m gonna write it anyway. i’m going to focus primarily on the shippuden soundtrack here, but expect some references to the original series soundtrack as well. also before i begin i know approximately two (2) music so some of my terminology is probably going to be incorrect lol, it’s been a while since college. this is a general shippuden meta but it does focus on the uchiha clan, in particular sasuke and madara.

anyway, to start off, you can pretty easily divide the shippuden soundtrack into a few general categories:

traditional and/or acoustic

electric guitar tracks

some combination of these, plus orchestra hits aplenty

there are a few odd ducks here and there, but no worries, we’ll get to them. and then within these general categories we have a series of recurring character motifs (which can be a bit muddled, because certain themes are used for multiple characters. i assume that naruto (the show) isn’t necessarily scored the way a film would be, and so the directors just slapped whatever dramatic/sad/upbeat music they could find onto a scene, esp if it’s a filler ep, which definitely generates some confusion.) but characters and groups in shippuden DO sort of get their own motifs and themes, so here is my very basic list of those as well:

uzumaki clan and its descendants/allies: “emergence of talents/hyakkaryōran” has a very cool melody towards the end that comes back in “narukami/weeping god” and “shoryu/rising dragon”. we can basically call this the protagonist theme. naruto, sakura, kakashi, jiraiya, most of the konoha 11, and even minato get to claim this one. however, VERY interestingly, narukami is what plays when tobi (as madara) is telling sasuke about the glory days of the uchiha clan... possibly hinting at greater connections between the two clans???????????

akatsuki-related themes: i won’t link a ton of these because they’re super obvious. they’re often full of choir and organ (harkening back to orochimaru’s original series theme); they also tend to be slower. not always, though; look at crimson flames, a slapper if i ever heard one. prime example of akatsuki themes: girei, my FAVORITE bit of the shippuden soundtrack. UGH.

general shippuden themes: things like hurricane suite, heaven-shaking event, etc. most of the first ost goes in here. this category also contains the closest approximation to hashirama’s theme that i could find, experienced many battles and departure to the front lines, which both make me cry lol

there are other fun little motifs and bits and bobs that appear in this soundtrack that i won’t get into here for length (remind me to talk about the angelic herald of death sometime), but it’s a remarkably cohesive piece of work to the point where it gets repetitive sometimes; why are all the super interesting tracks unreleased!!!!??? anyway the purpose of this meta is to attempt to make sense of the way this soundtrack works. we’ll investigate sasuke primarily because i feel that he really ties the whole soundtrack together, and you can extrapolate a lot from the way his theme evolves.

sasuke’s theme (wandering/hyouhaku), yes the dramatic cowboy music theme, is this wonderfully atmospheric track that makes use of the kind of negative space between guitar strums to build up this aura, this Essence of Sasuke. this alone makes it stand apart from other mostly-acoustic pieces on the soundtrack, to me. the whole thing is just humming with this simmering frustration and melancholy and it really gives you a sense of sasuke as this tortured figure who has been severely wronged and experienced the world’s faults firsthand. notably, this version of sasuke’s theme lifts its opening notes (and structure, sorta) from sasuke’s original series theme, which i assume was on purpose. it shows that he’s grown jaded as he got older, i think.

anyway, as the inevitable battle between sasuke and itachi draws closer, we get our first variation on sasuke’s theme: black spot/kokuten. it has the same melody and structure as before, but features heavier guitars, more orchestration, and, in the final bars, notes that previously fell on 1 and 4 but now fall on 1 and 3, which bring a heightened sense of urgency to the whole thing. and more importantly, it ends without resolving itself? it leaves us hanging on this almost call-and-response bit with one wailing guitar after another, before winding the orchestration down and fizzling back down to the level of “wandering.” here we see a sasuke in progress, if you will, working towards a goal that some may find sinister, but he is determined if nothing else, and the instruments match his fervor. it’s roughly analogous to “crimson flames” in terms of intensity, but it’s very distinctly Sasuke.

there are several more variations of sasuke’s theme floating around, but the next one i want to talk about is this one called “sasuke’s ninja way,” apparently, never officially released but relentlessly employed by the anime directors. it takes a more subtle turn than “black spot,” but i don’t see it as a direct sequel to “wandering” for a few different reasons. i think it represents the dilemma sasuke found himself after finally killing itachi and learning the truth about him: the realization that this whole quest for power of his was never really about revenge on one specific person, but rather about reforming the shinobi world as a whole. it’s slower than “black spot,” yet darker, more ominous; it treads the same general path as “wandering” but with added electric guitar, and, notably, choir. recall that choir is often used for themes related to the akatsuki, which i think ties in neatly with sasuke’s motivations at this point. he, like nagato before him, wants to remake the world.

the final iteration of sasuke’s theme, “sasuke’s revolution/junkyousha,” brings it all together. the akatsuki is commonly represented through choir and organ, and this theme starts out with both of these cranked up to the max. this is (pardon the pun) sasuke’s rebirth, if you will. just combine the intensity of “girei,” the anger of “crimson flames,” and the determination of “emergence of talents” and you’re there. seriously: this culmination of sasuke’s character development basically pulls from every single facet of the soundtrack and produces this MASSIVELY rich piece full of anger and rage and hate and fury, while STILL managing to include the twangy guitar bits from “wandering” (which have gone back to 1 and 4!!). we also have someone going ham on a shamisen towards the end of the track, which calls to mind the shamisen solo from “emergence of talents” and other tracks. hinting at an eventual compromise with naruto, possibly?

anyway, i started out this meta trying to find a piece of the soundtrack that could serve as madara’s theme, but i wasn’t sure that one existed. i think the susano’o has a theme, and the uchiha clan has a theme, but....madara just doesn’t?? sure there are unreleased tracks like “legendary uchiha,” but i’d argue that doesn’t really go into his character as much as it just says “watch out for this fucking guy.”

but then i listened to hurricane suite one more time, and i was like HOLY SHIT THIS IS IT. for one thing, it’s long as fuck: this track is a whole journey. it really gives the impression of someone who has lived an impossibly long life and become jaded and cruel and hardened. i realize that the argument could be made that hurricane suite is sasuke’s theme, not madara’s, or that it’s a general shippuden theme and doesn’t represent one character in particular. and yes, i think both of these interpretations are correct. hurricane suite represents what sasuke could POTENTIALLY turn out to be, given his evolution from “wandering” to “black spot” to “sasuke’s ninja way” all the way to “sasuke’s revolution.” hurricane suite warns us that sasuke can (and very well may!) make the same mistakes madara did and end up destroying himself in the process. (the middle of “hurricane suite” GREATLY resembles “wandering.”) and recall that hurricane suite is used in the very first episode of shippuden: the episode where naruto encounters sasuke for the first time, AND- are you ready for this- when madara’s name is dropped for the first time in the series.

this is why i think that, along with it being a general shippuden theme, hurricane suite is also madara’s theme. shippuden as a whole is practically suffocating under the oppressive weight of madara’s presence, right from the very first episode. even before he’s introduced, he is VERY much there. so much of madara’s character is established before he even shows up. we hear so much about him from other characters (kurama, itachi, obito, hashirama), and as such our view of madara changes drastically over the course of the series. and guess what plays when itachi shows sasuke that genjutsu of madara stealing izuna’s eyes?

anyway, in my opinion and in my interpretation of the character, the music fits him perfectly. it starts out all low and choral with these slow ominous drums and deep strings, and this violin comes in that sounds like it’s weeping. we hear something like a heartbeat that grows darker over time, before the music comes to some sort of resolution, an inflection point, and the brass comes in heavy. NOW we’re dealing with the orchestra, three quarters of the way into the song, and we’ve got strings and drums set to a marching pace, more choral chanting, climbing strings and shamisen tumbling down the scales. it sounds like grief!!

and note that yes, this track is used in the very first episode of shippuden, during naruto and sasuke’s first encounter. but it is ALSO used during the scene in hashirama’s flashback when izuna is mortally wounded and madara makes the decision to abandon the clan on the battlefield to take care of him, despite his better judgment and hashirama’s offering of peace. the inflection point in the music represents a very real inflection point in madara’s life: the loss of his last brother. (it always comes back to that, doesn’t it.)

#meta #madara uchiha #sasuke uchiha #uchiha clan #almost 2000 words churned out in one evening. [stares at fic] [sighs]#long post

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mutatismutandisx · 3 years

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Shadow and Bone (Netflix Series Review)

No Spoilers!!!

"Be careful of powerful men" - Genya Safin

Welcome to the Grishaverse!

Shadow and Bone is Netflix's big gamble for young adult fiction mega-success, the kind we haven't seen since Jennifer Lawrence volunteered as tribute almost a decade ago, adapting Leigh Bardugo's popular Grishaverse novels (her debut trilogy Shadow and Bone and serving as a prequel for the Six of Crows duology), anchored by an incredibly diverse cast (mostly newcomers) and a huge production budget, showrunner Eric Heisserer, alongside Bardugo who serves as an executive producer, aim for Hunger Games and Harry Potter level phenomenon with their own fantasy epic.

To Heisserer's credit, he manages a great adaptation of Bardugo's novels, even if he falls prey to the same story tropes that made Bardugo's debut novels seem so derivative, Heisserer brings the Grishaverse to life in a (mostly) successful run of 8 episodes, and even if his grand tour of Ravka isn't the most organized or well planned, most viewers will still fall in love with this world.

Heisserer's boldest creative choice, and biggest deviation from the novels, is the introduction of Kaz Brekker and his Crows, Jesper and Inej, in this opening chapter to the story, characters that did not appear in Bardugo's original Shadow and Bone trilogy. Creatively and business-wise, his decision is an obvious one, Bardugo's Shadow and Bone novels, while a solid debut, are the typical young adult fodder that is bombarded to consumers every year, a largely derivative yet charming "chosen one" story that teens and tweens eat up every year and then mostly forget about when the next one comes around (less Percy Jacson and more Divergent if you will), truth be told Bardugo's Grishaverse only became a phenomenon after the release of her superb Six of Crows duology, featuring Bardugo's very own Suicide Squad, a ragtag group of crimials performing incredible, mind-bending heists in the tough streets of a fictional Amsterdam (and beyond!), all anchored by what is (to this day) Bardugo's best creation: Kaz Brekker, a Batman-meets-The Riddler machiavelic genius with a flair for theatrics, Six of Crows and it's follow-up Crooked Kingdom are surely the main reason Netflix even greenlit this series to begin with. And just like in the books, Brekker and his Crows provide a much needed bolt of manic energy to an otherwise very by-the-numbers storyline. Not to discredit Bardugo's talent as a writer, but her skills had simply not been honed at the time of her 2012 debut, a shortcoming that Bardugo would fix later on, in her follow up novels, through ambition and sheer force of will.

And yet, Heisserer stays extremely faithful to the books, whether it's to Bardugo's best ideas or her least creative ones, he adapts it all, while attempting to add his own flair into the mix (with varying results), take our main protagonist for example, Alina Starkov, to those unfamiliar with the novels, Alina is the Katniss Everdeen of this story, a mostly ordinary young woman who, by a struck of destiny, finds herself thrust into the spotlight in the hero/savior-of-her-people role (a most unflattering one might I add), and thus becomes an unwilling symbol to a cause she hardly understands, saddled with all the responsabilities and power that comes with the job, and with the inevitable political players and adversaries that may take advantage of her power for their own gain ("Be careful of powerful men" one of Alina's confidants warns her in episode 5). And did I mention she happens to find herself in the middle of a love triangle? Indeed Bardugo's original novel isn't the most creative, and yet Heisserer doesn't have much to offer as a way to reinvent the character, the best he can come up with is changing Alina's ethnicity (originally caucasian) to that of the fictional Shu Han people (read: China), and yet, nothing is really done with the change, it just sits there, (similarly to Alina everytime a background character hurls xenophobic abuse at her), it's not explored and hardly touched upon, which begs the question why introduce the change in the first place? While I commend the showrunners for casting a female lead of asian descent on a blockbuster property such as this, I would remind them that true diversity is more than simply ethnic tokenism. Perhaps there will be a bigger payoff for the creative change in future seasons (if we get them, season 2 has not been greenlit), doubtfull but I'll remain optimistic.

Tokenism aside, the diversity of the cast truly is commendable, and as expected with a young adult property, it's a very young and very attractive cast, on the one hand it's understandable, they need to appeal to their core demographic, on the other hand they commit themselves to one of the most glaring faults in Bardugo's Grishaverse series, Ravka doesn't seem to have soldiers, politicians or grisha over the age of 25, it seems like a huge oversight on part of a country (and Leigh Bardugo) to have the entire power of the government and the military reside upon a group of teenagers, but be that as it may, most of the cast, while young, is very talented, even if their characters aren't fully developed, they do their best with what they are given, some of the standouts are Jessie Mei Li as Alina, Mei Li is saddled with a character and plot that's as derivative as they come, and yet she finds nuances in her perfomance that are lovely to watch, she brings a sense of joy and determination to Alina that lesser actors couldn't even imagine much less portray, all that helps her stand out from most, if not all, the crowd of chosen one characters that have come before her, and even tho Mei Li doesn't reach Jennifer Lawrence levels with her performance, she certainly surpasses the Kristen Stewarts and Shailene Woodleys that have come before.

Ben Barnes is a surprise as General Kirigan, at first glance you might think him miscast (too young, too pretty to be believed as a stone cold, battle hardened general) and yet he still manages to make the character his own, a possessive, demanding, controlling, master manipulator who always seems to have the upper hand, Barnes is blessed with a tight script and he never misses a beat giving a subtle and nuanced performance. And then there is Kit Young as Jesper Fahey, sharpshooter, playboy, criminal with a heart of gold, Young is a revelation, he is as good in his role as Robert Downey Jr. is as Tony Stark, and that's all you need to know, Young was simply born to play Jesper, anchored by a strong script, he steals every scene he is in and far overshadows his fellow Crows. And as for the other Crows, Freddy Carter acts his heart out as Kaz Brekker, committing to a very physical performance, from scowl to limp, he embodies Brekker visually, but after the first 2 episodes you get the feeling the writers simply don't know what to do with his character, losing the spotlight to other actors blessed with better material, never did I think Kaz Brekker would be overshadowed by one of his fellow Crows, yet here we are. Carter's talent still shines through and his perpetual, omnipresent scowl as Brekker is a beauty to behold, even if his limping is somewhat inconsistent, which makes me hopeful he will improve when given more to do, still it's a shame to have the master strategist/evil genius Bruce Wayne replaced by a lowly con artist and not a very successful one at that. As for Amita Suman, while perfectly cast as Inej Ghafa, her character is severely underwritten, from her past work in The Menagerie, to her faith, to her interactions with Brekker, it's all done in the broadest of strokes, Suman isn't given much to do and therefore doesn't have the opportunity to excel as The Wraith.

You can feel the writers straining for time between developing this world and the large cast of characters they have to work with, inevitably some characters fall of the wayside, through none of the actors' fault. Daisy Head as Genya Safin is all untapped potential, even more underwritten here than she is in the books, which make later revelations about her character (the color of her kefta and shifting allegiances) barely register, hopefully they correct that going forward. Sujaya Dasgupta is another victim of a weak script and little screen time, Dasgupta is simply miscast as the powerful, acerbic, steely-eyed Zoya Nazyalensky, long gone is the regal, no nonsense, silver-tongued Grisha general, in Dasgupta's hands Zoya is just a watered down Grisha version of a Mean Girl, faltering every scene with the exception of one moment, as she makes her way through party goers at the Little Palace and she corrects Inej's ethnicity to a bystander, (her one good line reading in the entire show) "She's Suli", she declares, with all the strenght and defiance that's sorely missing from the rest of her performance, moving forward let's hope a stronger script can lift her performace off the ground, because right now all the wind is gone from this Squaller's wings. And as for Malyen Oretsev played by Archie Renaux, he is the Gale Hawthorne of this story, the undignified love interest, and Renaux is as boring in his role as Liam Hemsworth was in his.

Lastly, Danielle Galligan as Nina Zenik and Calahan Skogman as Matthias Helvar, are equally terrible in their performances, from their accents to their interactions, none of it rings true, and it's particularly jarring when juxtaposed with the talent portrayed by the rest of the cast, we spent way too much time with Nina and Matthias, for absolutely no payoff to their story (yet! Fans will recognize them as 2 future members of Brekker's murder of Crows), but their little side adventure is so disconnected with the events of the main plot that I can't help but feel their story was better reserved for another time, hopefully with some better actors playing the roles. A lovely moment of playfulness between Nina and Matthias while they tread along in a barren, snowy hill, is the only glimpse of hope for Galligan's and Skogman's performances, maybe there is talent to be tapped but it certainly wasn't in display this time around.

The Grishaverse is simply too large and complex, so understandably Heisserer and his writers room have a lot on their plate, but while the character work is largely uneven, his world building is quite solid, based on the impressive foundation Bardugo set out for them, the showrunners are able to bring the world of Ravka to life, the costume design is stunning, from soldiers to Grishas, to royals and diplomats, the costume department does a fabulous job with every piece and every character, one of the high points in the series.

The VFX team also does a lot of the heavy lifting for Heisserer's world building efforts, realizing the different power sets of all the Grisha in a fantastical manner while still maintaining a realistic quality to them, ("you'll believe a man can fly"), but even with a huge production budget, Heisserer strains with this world-spanning adventure, so even though the set and production design is mostly impressive, some sets simply fall out of range for the show's budget, case in point, both Ravka's Royal Palace and the Little Palace are not fully realized, viewers are given a single outside shot of the Royal Palace (and from very far away at that) and the throne room is only visited once, and as for the Little Palace, it's stripped from many of the books most sprawling details, the training grounds, the Grisha school, the fabrikators workshop, the dining room, the palace's towers, all falling victim to obvious budget restrains. Not to mention both palaces are devoid of the classic Russian influences that permeate Ravka's world.

But Heisserer's skills for world building show the most limitations on the lore of the Grishaverse, the three Orders of the Grisha are never properly explained, with Fabrikators getting next to none screen time, Heisserer is never capable to establish a clear view of the world these characters inhabit, most viewers will be very confused about Ravka's shifting borders, the civil war tensions between East and West, and the adversary foreign nations (an inclusion of a map in the opening credits of every episode would have gone a long way), the sociopolitical elements that Bardugo has infused in her books are decidedly complex and the show doesn't do them justice, unfortunately. Perhaps most glaring is the very clear disagreements on what a Ravkan's diction and accent should be, since every actor has their own interpretation of it, an oversight that I hope is fixed in future seasons.

As the few completely negative points of the show, alongside Galligan and Skogman, the sound mixing is terrible (you will need subtitles to watch this show) and the cutaway flahbacks are quite sloppy.

To conclude, Shadow and Bone is a lovingly crafted, beautifully realized, world building adventure, it has a couple of missteps along the way (like all adventures do), but the final product is strong enough to overcome some of its creative faux pas, with a solid script and anchored by a (mostly) talented cast, Shadow and Bone doesn't reach Catching Fire levels of greatness but it far outpaces the rest of the young adult fantasy competition.

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billiejeanisnotyourlover · 4 years

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GREEN — OBX

PAIRING: John B. Routledge x Fem!Reader

REQUEST: “Hey! I was wondering if you could do a John B x reader where the reader is Topper’s ex girlfriend and is now dating John B and maybe a jealous John B at a party or something 🥺🥺🥺 thank you so so much!!!” by Anonymous.

WARNINGS: Mentions of drug and alcohol usage by minors, I think that’s it actually.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: first request! i apologize if this is bad, i literally haven’t written anything in years, so this is quite the throwback. the beginning kind of drags but it gets better (i think) as it goes on. hope you all enjoy!

Okay, listen. It wasn’t like you were planning on going full-Pogue over the summer. No, you hadn’t been mischievously scheming your conversion to the “dark side” at all; you just broke up with your Kook-y boyfriend and started hanging around the local lowlifes a little more than you thought you would.

I mean, between the hours they spent at The Wreck—where, by the way, you’d been working for a good six or so months now after your parents basically told you that you couldn’t leech off of their money anymore—and the number of times you’ve bumped into them on your way home, hanging out with them turned into something a little more inevitable than avoidable.

It started out small, with little conversations that weren’t entirely based on the Kook vs Pogue rivalry that the group of teens were so set on keeping alive.

Kiara, your boss’ daughter, had been the first to show you even an ounce of kindness; another unruly customer had dumped their water all over you (whether or not it was on purpose depended on who you asked about the incident), and she had been the one to take you to the back, let you release some frustration, and then gave you a new shirt to wear.

After that, it had been Pope. While you were serving him and the two other boys one night, he mentioned something about school and scholarships, to which you opened up an entire conversation with him about, seeing your siblings had all gone through the interview process, so you knew a trick or two. You could tell he regarded you a little more kindly after that.

The next to break was John B, the cute, wavy-haired brunet boy. He’d been the easiest to break, even if not the first. While Kiara and Pope still treaded water, John B dove in head-first. You weren’t even sure why; one day, he’d been giving you a side-eye, and the next, he was inviting you around town with them.

Of course, the final Pogue left was JJ. Blond hair, blue eyes, and a total troublemaker. He didn’t take very kindly to you at all; sometimes you could hear him arguing with his friends about how they were associating with a Kook, even if you hardly qualified anymore. Sure, your parents were rich and you wore nice clothes, but all the people in Kooklandia were dull. Shallow. Boring. You wanted depth—and the Pogues could give you that.

Even now, months later, you could tell JJ was still sketched out about you, but you learned to ignore it as time went on, and every once in a while, he would extend an olive branch—with the olive branch being a blunt or a beer, most days.

Though, in all honesty, the hardest part of it all had been Thomas. Topper, as everyone else knew him. The two of you grew up together, practically joined at the hip since diapers, though there was a period of a few years in middle school and freshman year of high school that he would barely give you the time of day.

Maybe that was why you agreed so quickly when he asked you out one day. Maybe that was why the two of you started dating, because he finally was giving you the attention you craved.

Okay, wait, that sounded shallow. You weren’t shallow. You were just... lonely. Missing the human connection. Something like that. Being with Topper filled those holes in your heart and made you happier and happier as each day passed.

Until it didn’t anymore.

You remembered breaking up with him like it was yesterday, even if it had been at least three months ago now.

He yelled at you. You yelled at him. He blamed your new friends. You blamed his ego. It went on and on until, eventually, you just walked away. Told him not to call. Told him not to come by your house. You two could talk about it later, when you weren’t at each other’s throats, but it was still over. You and Topper were over.

Then, the next day, you joined the Pogues on their handy little boat and went off into the marsh. There were drinks and blunts and jokes and laughter. Then the process basically repeated the next day, and the next day, and the next day, and the next day...

...and now, it was July. You and the Pogues were as thick as thieves (quite literally, in JJ’s case). You did everything together, and you finally found the friendships you’d been craving for so long. The friendships that engaged you, that kept you happy, that made you feel unconditional love. You felt like everything was finally complete for you.

And then you fell. Hard.

John B had always been nice to you. So incredibly nice. He let you in on Pogue things. He made sure you were happy. He always made you smile, and with all of that added together, it really wasn’t surprising when you realized that maybe, just maybe, you liked John B as more than just a friend.

Turns out, he felt the same, and only a few weeks prior just as summer break started, he kissed you.

Yes, John B kissed you. And you kissed him back.

Since then, you two were inseparable, always spending your days together and most of your nights, although you still had a family and had to go home eventually. Those nights, though, you stayed up for hours on the phone with him. Literally. Sleep never came to you until three or four in the morning then, and you’d get up at a whopping nine to meet him back at the chateau that very day.

Of course, the hurricane that blew in ruined it all. The island was a mess and the power was out, meaning there was no signal and you were forced to spend your nights at home in solitude.

That’s what last night had been like, but hours had passed and you met up with John B and the Pogues not too long ago, your group of friends and yourself now at the boneyard for an infamous OBX kegger.

“Hey! Watch this!” comes JJ’s voice from a few yards away. The blond boy had situated himself on a tree branch, and once he was certain he had his friend’s attention, he leaned back. He was holding himself up by his legs, now dangling haphazardly above the ground as he... tilted his beer can back and started drinking?

The liquid was going everywhere. All over his chin, dripping to the sand, and covering his face because he kept missing his own mouth.

You, of course, have to laugh. “Does he not realize that’s not going to work?” you ask, looking at the boy whose arm was wrapped lazily around your waist.

John B glances down at you with an crooked grin. The sight makes you mirror the expression. “He’ll realize eventually. After he chokes, probably.”

Sure enough, JJ starts coughing, the beer having gone down the wrong pipe as he struggles to sit up and correct himself.

You laugh even more, sipping from your own beer can and simply enjoying the amusing show. JJ kept coughing, and you and John B kept laughing, joined in by Kiara’s questioning of what the hell were you thinking would happen? and Pope agreeing with her entirely.

A squeeze on your hip draws your attention back up to John B, whose hand has situated itself on the exposed skin above the waistline of your shorts. His gaze meets yours, shining with a happy sparkle that only makes you smile.

“Yeah?” you ask.

“Come walk with me?”

“Yeah, of course.”

The two of your begin to walk away from the crowd, the cheers and laughter and chatter of conversation fading away just the slightest—until a voice calls out your name.

“Y/N!” It’s all too familiar, and slowly, you turn around in John B’s arms to face Topper.

Topper. What was he doing here?

“Topper?” you call back, furrowing your brows before a small pit of anger bubbles in your stomach. You don’t show to outwardly, though, not wanting to give him the satisfaction.

He jogs up in the sand to meet you, now standing just a few feet away. In his hand in a can of beer, but by the way he crushes it, you know it’s empty. You’re surprised he doesn’t toss it behind him and leave it.

“Still slumming around with these guys, huh?” questions Topper. You roll your eyes, and he smirks knowingly. “When are you coming back to the real world, princess? This little fantasy of yours can’t last forever.”

Next to you, John B bristles. “Shut up, dude,” he demands, a shadow now crossing over his face. You’ve only ever seen him upset maybe once or twice, so this was new even for you. “Do you have to come over here and harass us?”

Topper laughs. “You think I want to be anywhere near you, John B?” he scoffs, his gaze flickering to you. “I’m just coming here to remind Y/N what she’s doing. We still have to talk, anyway. Remember?”

“Yeah, I remember. But that was three months ago, Topper,” you remind him, and he stiffens for a moment. “We—” you gesture between you and him. “—are through.”

The blond Kook just scoffs quietly again. He doesn’t have a response right away, but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t digging for one. Eventually, he sighs, “Whatever. You’ll come to your senses eventually and realize that life just isn’t as sweet when you’re hanging around with a few dirty Pogues.” He pauses. “Give me a call when you’re ready for that talk.”

Then, he walks away. The confrontation is short and not at all sweet, but it’s still enough to keep John B quiet even after a few minutes pass. The two of you continue down the beach together, but his arm is at his side and he refuses to even look at you.

You know what it’s about. It’s about the same thing he’s expressed to you time and time again. Why would you leave a Kook for him? Money, a good life... for someone from the Cut? He couldn’t fathom it.

“Hey,” you say gently, stepping in front of him. You’d been in silence for too long. “Look at me, John B.”

He does, and you sigh. His eyes are full and his face crestfallen.

“Just ignore Topper, okay?” you ask. “He thinks he’s some hot rod. He’s not.”

“I don’t like the way he looks at you,” John B replies. “Like—like he thinks he still has some claim over you. Doesn’t he realize he doesn’t? That—that you two are over?”

“He will. With time,” you promise. He’s still tense, though, and for a moment, his eyes flicker over to where Topper is now with the rest of his Kook friends. “John B.”

He looks at you again.

“You,” a finger is pressed to his chest, “are the only one for me.”

“I don’t—”

“No, don’t question it.” You shake your head, then smile as you stand on your toes and wrap your arms around his neck. “You’re the only one for me, John B. I don’t care about Topper.”

At that, he cracks a small smile, and for you, that’s enough. But you still press a little kiss to the corner of his lips.

“Besides, green isn’t your color,” you tease then.

“I’m not... I’m not wearing green?” he states, but the sentence comes out more like a question than anything, and you can’t help but laugh. He’s confused for a moment longer before it processes with him.

He was green with envy, and it wasn’t cool on him. He scoffs, a gateway to a little laugh.

“Okay, that’s it,” he decides, wrapping his arms around your waist and lifting you up with no warning. You squeal, and he lugs you towards the water. “I’ve had enough of your bullying!”

Your laughter drowns out the rest of the party, and you can’t help but feel beyond elated that finally, you’d found your place. Even if your boyfriend is a little green.

#john b routledge imagine #john b imagine #john b routledge #john b #outer banks imagine #outer banks #obx #outer banks netflix

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miss-tc-nova · 3 years

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An Understanding - Xehanort x Reader

I’ve been simmering on this one for a while. The ending didn’t quite come out how I wanted and I’m not sure if I’ll had a part 2 to this or not, but this is what I have and it’s time to move on!

~~~~~

Dirt scorches where I’d been standing not even a second ago. My boots scrape to a halt while I bare teeth at the enemy. Internally, it’s an entirely different story; my spine shudders at that simper while goosebumps infest my skin.

“Gotta be careful, doll,” he goads as if he didn’t just try to fry me. “Unlike me, you might actually end up dead.”

“Fuck off,” I snap, launching a barrage of fire blasts. I hate that miniscule relief I endure when he reflects them.

In a flicker, he vanishes. Instincts compel me to turn around, but as I do, a hand against my elbow halts the swing.

“Don’t be mad,” he purrs directly into my ear. “You know I would never do anything to seriously harm you.”

Despite the debilitating flame alight in my heart, I retort, “The scar on my leg from last month would disagree.”

“Oh come on. I apologized for that.” I can feel every hair on my body bristling at the feeling of his lips trailing the shell of my ear.

Gloved fingers glide along my arm, freeing the weapon from my grasp and letting it dissolve in a flurry of light. Taking its place, his hand lifts my arm to twirl me around. My heart hangs in suspension when I find myself chest to chest with the opposition. The brain reels, screaming at me to shove him back, attack, anything to ruin this invasion of space. In disregard of logic, the body revels in the proximity, craving to erase what minute gap exists and capture his mouth. Behind twisted lips, my mouth waters in desire, spurred by the musk wafting off him. He’ll never hear how much I admire that glittering gaze, not within the lives we currently lead; though based on the number of times I’ve been caught staring, he probably doesn’t need to hear it to know.

He mocks me with a dip of his head, ensuring our lips barely brush together and it takes everything I have not to take the bait. “Or are you implying that you’d like me to leave a few more marks on that lovely skin of yours.”

“As I said, you can fuck off,” I growl, fully aware that he’s taking in my breath ghosting his mouth.

Hopes I had been denying are spoiled by a fleeting peck followed swiftly by retreat. A large part of me demands that I take him to the ground and take everything I want by force, but that would be playing right into his hands.

“Always so heated, aren’t you,” he hums, casually strolling a few steps farther.

It’s always been like this: this taboo banter that inevitably snared us in barbed infatuation. Our first encounter was filled with taunts and retorts and ended with one strange remark on his behalf—a compliment. It was a shoddy, back-handed one, but it was a compliment nonetheless. Intrusive thoughts slithered their way past my integrity, sinking fangs into my focus and injecting delusions of civility and fascination—even in my dreams he flaunted his control over my feelings. And then he conned me into a kiss. Perhaps conned isn’t the correct term—I’d been fantasizing about it long before he ruined the close combat with something much closer. Honestly, I was condemned since that first fight, but my ties to the light—a chosen Guardian—versus his status as a Seeker create the afore mentioned barbs; every move, whether closer or farther apart, creates gashes in my rationality.

“You ask as if I shouldn’t be condemning these affairs.”

“Pfft. Affairs,” he scoffs. “You say it as if we’re in love.”

That statement stabs at my heart but the pain comes in snarls. “Oh? And what would you call this idiocy we’ve partaken in?”

A digit taps against his cheek in faux thought. “Hmm. I prefer to describe it as an intense interest in each other. Though I suppose others may call it adoration, infatuation, fondness—”

“You mean love,” I interrupt.

That thoughtfulness turns into something akin to those synonyms he listed. “And if I do?”

I didn’t expect him to actually admit to it—even if I implied it, I hadn’t outright stated it myself. The tightening grip of those barbs around my heart is almost physical.

It never should’ve gotten this far.

“Then we have one very serious problem on our hands,” I say, finally letting go of all my hostility. There’s no use in pretending otherwise anymore; I love him and we’re screwed.

Haughty attitude faltering, he sighs. “We certainly do.”

Weeks had gone by in my own silent agony, overwhelmed by guilt of things that shouldn’t be. Somehow, right now, even though I’m still drowning in shame, it’s easier to cope with knowing I’m not alone.

“You know that offer still stands.”

“No,” I reply immediately. There’s a glint of disappointment he hides incredibly well. “No, I can’t—not again.”

He closes the gap he made. “From what I hear, you were a force to be reckoned with when you let the darkness guide you.”

An arm crosses my chest to keep the miserable memories in. “It ruined everything I had.”

“Then let me help you fix it.” I’ve seen this sincerity maybe a handful of times and the fact he’s using it chips at my resolve. “If we succeed, everything will be perfect. There won’t be years between us, light and dark won’t keep us apart, we can be together.”

I can’t help resisting. “But there’s no guarantee of that.”

“It’s everything I’ve been fighting for. You have to trust me.”

“And you don’t trust me?” That snaps his mouth shut. “You don’t trust that I know what hell I lived through? You don’t trust that I know the light is better for me?” His furrowing brows poke at raw nerves. “And what about you? You could always defect to the light?”

His arm waves. “Have you seen the Seekers of Darkness? They’re me. Nearly every one of them is another version of myself.”

“So. Don’t you think about being a better person?”

That golden gaze diverts and I think I may have tread on something sensitive. “Who says that person is in the light?”

“Who says they aren’t?” I venture. “For all you know, what you’re doing will destroy everything and there will be no future for anyone, let alone us.”

“You wouldn’t be alive to suffer through that.”

“Just the thought of it doesn’t worry you?” The lack of immediate response confirms his agreeance. “I don’t know if I can jeopardize our chance together on that.”

“There’s no guarantee we’d be happy following the light either,” he says. “I followed that path once and—” There’s painful hesitation. “—and now I’m here.”

I’m not stupid; I know there’s a reason behind all of this, something very serious. However, just as he’s lived in the light, I’ve drowned in the dark and going back frightens me.

The weight heavy in my chest, I drop my gaze. “I guess things are just too different between us…”

An arm sneaks around my waist, pulling me in. Soft leather presses to my chin, forcing me peer up. “I don’t care if we’re opposites, I’m not letting you go without a fight, do you understand?”

Before I can voice my apprehensions, that mouth jams against mine. Immediately, my hands snag into his silver hair, attempting to wretch him away, but his hold is stronger. Desire pours in, consuming any fight I had left; the brain has fallen to the venom the body has suffered for weeks. The tug in my fingers softens, attempting to pull him ever closer. Flutters in my chest become a craving, granted by every move he makes, each one tainted by the desperation of his claim. There’s no fighting anymore, not now, not in the future.

I could never give this up.

“Do you understand?” he repeats firmly.

With every cell in my body, I do. “What are we gonna do?”

His forehead drops to mine, the gold in his eyes molten.

“Whatever it takes.”

#xehanort #young xehanort #young master xehanort #xehanort x reader #young xehanort x reader #gender neutral reader

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astrologywithmeghan · 3 years

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E-book tidbit

Here's a tidbit of the e-book I have been writing behind the scenes in my spare time. It will be geared toward individuals who know a bit about the signs, houses, and planets, but have not quite figured out the nature of transits and how they work in unison with the astrology basics. The Moon

First, let's talk about the nature of the Moon. The Moon is the luminary that rules the night, casting reflections down to Earth as she moves through her many phases. The Moon rules the sign Cancer, and so she can be considered an individual since she does not co-rule any other sign. She is exalted at 3° Taurus. The Moon represents change; as she waxes, she gains in strength; as she wanes, she releases and let's go. The Moon is our comfort source, so she attempts to develop the sign and house she sits in to help us feel happy and peaceful. The Moon is our deepest consciousness, that part of us that observes and recognizes that we are thinking: "Cogito, ergo sum," - I think therefore I am (Descartes, Discourse on Method, 1637). As such, the Moon allows us to receive, experience, process, and understand the information we encounter throughout our lives. The Moon is our individuality, and that part of us that interacts empathizes, and relates to others. The Moon is that part of us that can discriminate and make choices for our best good, and because the Moon rules change, the Moon is that part of us that can discern whether our choices are valid – and make course corrections toward better choices if that is what is needed for our deepest happiness. The Moon wants to be involved with others productively and beneficially, and if the Moon feels discouraged or feels like a burden, the Moon can feel unhappy. The Moon allows us to feel inspiration and creativity, and when the Moon can bond with others through a higher purpose, the Moon displays happiness and motivation. The Moon is ever-changing, and thus, the Moon is adaptable and loves to indulge in the novelties of life. The Moon also rules our home, comforts, mother-figures and parenthood, health, and all things associated with water. Her features are round, slender, and curved, aroused from her dual Kapha-Vata nature, and she is soft, beautiful, and pale. Monday is the day of the Moon, and as such, we can pay homage to the Moon on Mondays when we need to strengthen her to increase our powers of discernment. Saturn Now, let's speak about the nature of Saturn. Saturn is the furthest visible planet in our solar system, and he is lame, dark, and slow. Saturn rules both Capricorn and Aquarius, but he is happier in the sign of Aquarius. He is exalted at 21° Libra. Saturn rules time, and he tends to plod forward slowly, thickly, and steadily. Saturn represents our fears, anxieties, and psychological complexes, and he is that part of us that acknowledges the suffering attached to the separation from the self from Ultimate Reality. He is also the planet that indicates our level of self-restraint. Saturn measures our merit, and if we have worked diligently, Saturn can lead us toward manifesting a higher good, while if we have shirked our duties, Saturn can lead us down a path of difficulty, despair, and fear.

Accomplishment belongs to Saturn, and thus if we are to accomplish anything of great merit, our Saturn placement will be at the root of that achievement. Saturn requires dedication and perseverance; he asks us to steadily perfect our skills and tread relentlessly, timelessly forward until we have slowly built ourselves to a level that brings manifestations of the greatest rewards. Saturn represents that part of us that feels a duty toward accomplishing something in life; he acknowledges our actions when we steadily and resolutely pursue them. Saturn is the planet that allows us to steadily learn through perseverance and attrition – the lessons that Saturn teaches us are pivotal in our personal development, and without Saturn, we would be unable to build upon our skills. Saturn can indicate loss within the house he sits, and when Saturn transits one of our houses, he sweeps out each and every dark corner, leaving nothing unturned. When Saturn takes something from us, we can become resistant to change, and when we resist changing, our fears, worries, and complexes can increase. If we are resistant and continue to attempt to manifest the house that Saturn sits in through quick-fixes, we can increase our fears. On the other hand, if we learn to understand our fears and persist in healing them, we can manifest the house that Saturn sits in later in life. Saturn represents all of our sorrows and pain. Because Saturn is that part of us that acknowledges the separation between the individual self and Ultimate Reality, Saturn can make us feel empty and sorrowful if he is not situated well in the natal chart. There is no such thing as fear, isolation, or loneliness without Saturn's knowledge of separation. It can be difficult to channel happiness and fulfillment wherever Saturn's influence sits in our chart. Saturn is solitary in nature and tends to resolve problems through seeking oneness with the natural world. When Saturn is strong, he represents our ability to persevere even when we are not inclined to perform our duties; he gives us the ability to find joy despite menial labor and hardship. When Saturn is afflicted, we may never manifest our ultimate goals because we cannot persevere in the tasks allotted to us. Saturn is solely Vata in nature and thus is dry, cold, and thin in the constitution. Saturn rules every permanent change, and thus he is a planet that prepares us for the inevitability of death. Saturn's energy is our survival instinct; it operates solely on getting us through challenges and has no personal agenda, inspirations, or ambitions for fulfillment. Saturn rules our weaknesses, and his cycle is long. It takes him approximately 29 years to transit the zodiac, and his influence is strongly felt at approximately 7, 14, and 21 years of age. During these transits from Saturn to natal Saturn, the individual can undergo profound turning points in their lives. Saturn is considered a malefic planet but has a stronger malefic effect within a night chart. He rules Saturdays, and if Saturn needs to be strengthened or appeased, ritually honoring him on Saturdays may be useful.

The Nature of Transit Saturn Conjunct the Moon It is clear to see why transiting Saturn conjunct the natal Moon would result in an experience likened to the soul's dark night. The Moon, sitting in its natal house, has a specific way that it views the world, and that view has been imprinted on the individual through experiences and socialization that form a psyche and consciousness that, although quick to course correct, also has patterns – synapses that have formed in the brain through repetitive patterns. The Moon seeks comfort, and when it experiences any discomfort, it will try to quickly course correct. However, transiting Saturn will not allow for this course correction. Instead, Saturn requires the Moon to stay still and do the emotional and psychological work needed to remap the brain's synapses, insisting that this difficult internal labor be performed step-by-step. We cannot grow as individuals if our ability to perceive the world around us does not change over time. Changing our level of consciousness is deep and laborious work!

The individual is left with the choice to either persevere, develop, and heal the way they have come to view the world and themselves or languish in a heightened state of fear and exhaustion that leads them toward healing in a longer and more indirect way. Saturn is not an easy taskmaster. If we refuse to do the inner work that is necessary for us to ascend to a higher level of consciousness, we are much more likely to find ourselves taking the longer route, and scraping ourselves off of countless rock-bottom situations that we are forced to endure because we are not acknowledging our own responsibility toward healing our state of consciousness - this is something that can only be done by the volition of the individual themselves! Yes, we can have aid from ancestors, guides, God, mentors, therapists, shamans - but if we are not dedicated to our own development, Saturn is quick to clap down on us. We may wind up identifying with a state of victimhood, isolation, and fear that can only be transcended by doing the difficult work that Saturn requires while learning to channel the higher energy of Jupiter. In these dire circumstances calling upon a higher power and finding purpose and meaning is crucial for us to come out of this energy with Saturn's blessings through active and persistent dedication. The feeling of fear and isolation that can overwhelm us during this time can be intense, particularly as it pertains to most of the things that people hold dear: their view of the world, their homes, health, and mother-figures. It is much easier to endure the reformation and upgrade of our consciousness if we walk in this transit with some form of faith and a sense of personal responsibility for transformation. On the positive side, Saturn blesses us exponentially when we are dedicated and show that we can overcome the drudgery of his tasks. On the other side of a productive Saturn transit to the Moon, we can find ourselves with insights and understandings that help us overcome deeply set traumas and an entirely new view of the world around us. When we finally see the light after the storm the inner work is well worth the reward. The quality, placement, and aspects that influence the Moon and Saturn in the natal chart will greatly affect how an individual experiences their dark night of the soul. The quality of Jupiter in the natal chart will also influence the individual’s ability to overcome the fear and isolation that Saturn can bring. The entire natal chart must be assessed together for information about how the individual will be able to persevere through times of hardship – for some people, perseverance is nearly impossible, and for others, it is a welcome and healing journey that leads them to develop higher spiritual consciousness.

#Astrology #Moon #Saturn #Thedarknightofthesoul #transits #psychology

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hirayaea · 5 years

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ikesen fic - the inevitable correction of treading through time (chapter 1)

Summary: You and Sasuke decide to make the timeline as close to your reality the only way you know how: by making sure the the Tokugawa Shogunate happens, no matter how many tries it takes.

— ieyasu/mc — time traveling has robbed you of truly distinct memories, mixing up everything except for the ones belonging to your 'original life'

[AO3]

[Prologue] [Chapter 2]

元の時代

You like to call the first timeline, 'the original world'.

The other timelines you do not associated with any labels, only memories: 'the one where Ieyasu was killed through poison', 'the one where Ieyasu was killed in his sleep', 'the one where Masamune took an arrow for Ieyasu'. It would be unfair to think of them as all grim, though; you recall fairly joyous ones, too, like the time you got fed up and brought Ieyasu on a boat to Europe, but ended up in Kyushu instead. That had been a comedy, especially when his vassals tracked you down and thought you had just gone on a prolonged honeymoon.

Still, though there are moments that stand out, most of the time everything blurs together. As if reminding you of your origins, the time traveling has robbed you of truly distinct memories, mixing up everything except for the ones belonging to your 'original life'.

You can even remember Kyoto in the 21st century; the smell of the sun-kissed pavement in summer and how the city looked under the June twilight. You remember passing through Gion and the Kyoto river, the moon twinkling against its waters, restaurants lining up by the riverbank. You remember taking a picture of Honnoji on your smartphone, moments before you noticed Sasuke and the sudden torrential rain.

You remember all of these with crisp clarity, untainted by love and sadness and guilt; these memories of a girl who traveled through time and just yearned to go home.

You wonder if you'll ever be that girl again.

正しい時代

Sasuke doesn't beat around the bush.

"How many times have you repeated this life," he asks you, tilting his head downwards, as if the reflection of the candlelight on his glasses could hide the concern in his eyes. "Please tell me the truth."

You wish you could. Softly, you tell him, "I've lost count."

You don't mean to be dramatic. Surely it hasn't been a hundred times; you're unsure if you've even reached twenty. But seeing your friends die—seeing Ieyasu die—is more than one time too many.

"He keeps," your voice croaks, because you don't know how else to say it, "He keeps on getting assassinated, Sasuke. I go back to prevent the most recent one I saw, but then it gets more creative every time." Your knuckles are white against your bedsheets. "And they just keep on trying."

Up to two timelines ago, you cried when you revealed this information to him. But now, you just feel exhausted.

"Do you want to stop?"

Every Sasuke is kind enough to ask this. Your best friend is the most consistent man you know, and in caring for you, he never falters.

Still, your answer is always the same.

"No."

元の時代

In 'the original timeline', you were naive.

Though you and Sasuke spoke about making Ieyasu Shogun, neither of you really took action on it. Azuchi and Kasugayama were still at war, after all, and neither side knew about how impactful their decisions would be to the 21st century. Besides, Sasuke said it would be best to let things progress as naturally as possible, to prevent any more anomalies or paradoxes.

You agreed.

The Tokugawa Shogunate was something already permanent to you, after all; and perhaps that complacency was your first mistake. You kept on thinking it was just something that would happen eventually, because that was the history you knew.

Three years in the Sengoku era and you still had the ignorance of a modern woman.

"Stop spacing out," Ieyasu tells you, one day, as you walk hand in hand along the corridors of his castle. His mouth is frowning, but you can detect the concern in his tone. His grip hardens as he says, "It's like you're not with me today."

You realise he was a little grumpy that you were ignoring him, and you can't help feel the rush of affection that courses through you.

"Sorry," you say with an apologetic smile, "You're right. I was just thinking about the future."

He stops in his tracks, making you almost bump into his back. He doesn't look at you but he doesn't let go of your hand. "Our future?"

You blush as you realise what he meant.

"A-ah, well, yes, that too," you stammer, and immediately regret it because it sounded like an afterthought. His neck is red and you know it probably took some internal debate on his part before he was able to mutter those words. So you decide to be honest. "I was actually thinking about... the future, the one that I came from."

You hesitate, because you were actually thinking about what you learned about him in history class, about the time when he was Shogun. Ieyasu didn't like hearing about the future, thank goodness to his pride and principles, but you knew you had to continue your line of thinking before he lost his patience.

"I was thinking about how you were described, actually. What the historians wrote about you."

This is when he turns around to face you. "You know I don't need to hear this—"

You take his other hand and steady him. "I know. I won't say too much. But I just want you to know that you were respected and loved even in my time, Ieyasu. You were strong because you were yourself. If I could have fallen in love with you just because of how they wrote you, I realise now I would have."

You can see his ears flush red at your bold statement, but he does his best to keep his expression steady.

Then, you tease, "I know Sasuke sure did."

This is what makes him do his signature grumble. You laugh at his adorable expression, but he surprises you by suddenly taking you into his arms.

"It's not nice to talk about another man after you declared your love for me," he mumbles into your ear, but you know he is pleased.

You make sure you have a big smile on your face when he lets go. In fact, as his arms drop, you take the chance to grip his shoulders and lean in for a chaste kiss to his cheek.

The flush spreads nicely on his face, but Ieyasu, ever the contrarian, releases you looking sulky.

"Don't look so happy, now you've reminded me of how that ninja invaded my personal space the last time he visited."

You laugh loudly then, not knowing you would replay this conversation over and over again, the only thing in every timeline you consistently did the same because you knew you did it right.

思い出

You suppose you realised the timeline changed on the day the Emperor's adviser came to visit.

The castle was abuzz with noise worthy of a State Visit, though Sasuke would argue that is a modern term. Still, your duties as chatelaine are up to the ceiling, and you haven't seen Ieyasu in days.

All of Nobunaga's warlords are set to come today, however, and you can't deny you're a little excited. You're wearing a yellow-orange kimono with a modest Tokugawa crest on the back, a surprise you thought Ieyasu would like.

Nobunaga orders you take it off before Ieyasu sees it, however.

You almost rebel, but Nobunaga is Nobunaga, and one of the greatest things you appreciate about him is he always makes you feel like you're in the loop. "You are still my favourite Princess in their eyes," he explains, "hence it would do Ieyasu no good right now if the court thinks he has leverage to control me."

The politics of this time were so sensitive; you briefly remember your elementary school field trip to Nijo Castle and how every castle painting and scroll had a purpose: to exert power.

Still, though you understand, you don't hold back your scowl. "That's farfetched! Besides, they should know nobody controls you."

Nobunaga practically guffaws, but it is so elegant you can barely call it that. "You've come to know me so well, firecracker." He does that motion where he makes you feel extremely uncomfortable by moving close, towering over you with his face looming closely above yours, "However, perhaps if it were you, I'd be willing to make an exception."

You know he does this to get a rile out of you, so it's something you treat with exasperation more than anger, which is why you don't automatically push him away. You roll your eyes first, a retort already formed in your mind—

"Oh, are we allowed to be that close to the lass again?" Masamune all but saunters into your close quarters, and the shock makes you move backwards—into the chest of Ieyasu.

He steadies you by grasping your waist. When you look up at him he is already glaring at both Nobunaga and Masamune, but it lacks any real anger; not for the first time, you compare it to how a younger brother would be irked at two obnoxious older brothers.

"You didn't even ask her permission," he simply states.

Nobunaga and Masamune are still smirking and you almost want to thrash at them, but being a chatelaine has taught you proper etiquette, so you don't. You pout at them instead, but this makes Masamune laugh and call you cute.

Thankfully, Hideyoshi comes and puts them in their place.

"Stop teasing," he admonishes in the same tone he uses when Nobunaga has stolen candy from the kitchen. Of course, this makes neither look apologetic. "You know, I'm not going to stop her anymore if she hits one of you."

"Or both of you," Ieyasu adds.

Masamune grins and raises his eyebrows. "Oh, I wouldn't mind it if the lass hits both of us, if you know what I mea—"

"Masamune!"

"You know what, Princess? I'll hold him, you punch."

Despite everything, the entire exchange makes you feel warm, because it reminds you of why these warlords could talk like this: because they were family—and more importantly, they were your family.

You watch as Hideyoshi redirects Nobunaga and Masamune to another room, presumably to distract them. He looks at you and gives a smile, and you thank the heavens for his sensitivity.

Ieyasu's hands are still on your obi even as the others walk away. He doesn't let go, and eventually you feel a little embarrassed because the Tokugawa crest you embroidered must be staring him at the face.

"Nobunaga wants me to change," you start slowly, "because the Emperor's adviser might think it as a form of power play on your end." Gingerly, you place your hands atop his. "But I'm glad you got to see it first. I thought you'd like it."

Ieyasu is still. Then, he leans forward and rests his lips on your hair.

"Nobunaga isn't wrong," he mutters. "But thank you."

Later, when you're all dressed up in a different kimono, sitting at the corner of the dais, facing the Emperor's adviser with all the grace you can muster as a modern woman posing as a Sengoku woman, you understand why they wanted you to be careful.

"I see the rumours about the beautiful Oda Princess is true," the man says, but this is standard fare; every daimyo you have encountered has felt the need to comment on your physical appearance. It's what he says next that shocks you. "When will you marry her off for an allegiance?"

You try not to wince when they talk about you as if you're not in the room. Being sassy to the warlords was one thing, but even you know that messing with the emperor's staff could have grave consequences.

"I'll see her off when I see fit," Nobunaga replies in that powerful, lazy way of his, his underlying tone implying that the topic should be closed. "She's my lucky charm, after all."

You clench your hands, glad that they can't see your tense grip under all your sleeves.

All the other warlords are quiet, but you know they have sensed your discomfort. Ieyasu is as impassive as ever, but you read him well enough to know he's upset. Mitsunari almost gives away his worry when he glances at you far too long than necessary. Hideyoshi looks like he wants to interrupt the conversation, but the adviser changes the topic himself.

"Your methods are strange, as usual," the man says, "but regardless, the Emperor respects you. Hence my visit here." He pulls out a scroll and begins to read from it. "Oda Nobunaga, by the order of the Emperor, you are to seek his counsel and be appointed as Sei-i Taishōgun before the month ends."

The gasps across the hall are audible, but Nobunaga shows little surprise.

"The Mighty Emperor should know I just endorsed the latest of the Ashikaga clan for the Shogunate," he begins, eyes narrowing, "besides, it is my interest to unify the country, not become Shogun. Those are two different things."

You see the adviser scoff. "I think you do not understand that this is an order, not a suggestion."

"I am certain you went here knowing it would be a suggestion."

"Oda Nobunaga, I am warning you, if you do not know your place—"

His voice implies a warning and he begins to stand, but his slight movement causes every other vassal in the room to shift, and if anything else, perhaps that intimidates him.

Nobunaga is unfazed as he rises from his sitting position. He heads for the doors. "I will give the Emperor my reply by winter," he says. "If he truly wants me to become Shogun, he will have to wait until then. He is free to choose another if these terms are unacceptable to him."

There are no calendars in the palace, but you knew instinctively that the heat of each day was because of Japan's sweltering summer. You're sure it's not common practice to make royalty wait that long. Despite being at the farthest part of the dais, you could tell that the adviser is livid.

"I don't think you are in a position to bargain."

"You forget, adviser," Nobunaga's voice holds complete command over the room, "that you came to me. My ambitions are not aligned with yours, and it will take some time for me to consider if this offer is worth my time."

The shoji doors snap open, and he steps out.

Hideyoshi, as second in command, has the decency to end the session formally, and asks the crowd to transfer to a different room where dinner will be served.

When everyone begins to stand to leave, you start to process what happened. Unless you missed out on something at school, you're pretty sure Oda Nobunaga never became Shogun. This seems relevant, somehow, but before you can explore the idea you notice Ieyasu giving you a look.

He must be worried, you think, so you smile at him.

It placates him enough that he huffs and looks away.

Your mind goes back to recall a conversation you had with Sasuke years ago, early on in your stay in the Sengoku. Was this... one of the permanent changes you caused?

You sigh and make a mental note to talk over it with your ninja best friend. There was no use worrying about it until it happened.

The hall begins to empty, and you finally stand to help the servants organise the mess of tea kettles and cups left behind.

"Well, you owe us, Hideyoshi," you hear Masamune say, "Mitsuhide and I were technically right. He didn't accept the title of Shogun."

Hideyoshi's frown is obvious in his tone. "Nobunaga-sama will realize he is suited for this role. He said he'd think about it."

Mitsunari enters the conversation, "Do you really think he'll accept it during the winter?"

"It doesn't matter when he accepts it. The Ashikaga will think we've betrayed them and the clans allied to them will retaliate," Ieyasu snaps.

"Well," and it was the first time you heard Mitsuhide's voice today, "It looks like we have our work cut out for us from today on. Excuse me while I plot in my dungeon."

They begin a small meeting where they stand, and you realise you probably have to remind them to join the festivities in the other room.

As you approach their serious faces, you can't help but be amused.

You have to hand it to Nobunaga: the man's overconfidence really made history.

正しい時代

Ieyasu has always mentioned he loved your straightforwardness.

However, you wonder if telling him the truth was being too honest.

"I know it's a bit much," you try to be gentle in the reveal—well, as gentle as you can be, but how else do you tell your boyfriend that you are a time-traveling girl who jumped realities to save him? "But you know me, Ieyasu." Your voice quiets. "I would never lie to you."

Ieyasu hasn't looked at you once since you began your tale.

Masamune, however, leans back and laughs.

"You are something else, Princess," his tone is jovial, but his body is quick to take his sword out of his sheath and shove it by your throat.

This is what makes Ieyasu move.

"Let her go, Masamune," you rarely hear Ieyasu sound so menacing, but his tone is as cold as steel. His sword is on the back of Masamune's neck. His eyes are so dark in the dead of the night, even against the candlelight, and you recall a time when he started a war for you.

It is this memory that convinces you to be brave.

"It's okay, Ieyasu," you say, even though your heart skips a beat because this is the first instance Masamune really looks like he wants to kill you. But you understand the Dragon of Oshu. "He won't kill me."

The grin that comes from Masamune's face is completely predatory. "Oh? How sure are you about that, lass? You spun quite a tale, there. How do I know you're just letting Ieyasu's guard down so you can take care of him when the time is right?"

'When the time is right'—just by choosing these words, you know Masamune understands the time and effort involved in your request. By asking Ieyasu to unite Japan and be Shogun, you have thrust upon him both Nobunaga's goals and his own—both of which require patience in playing the long game. Aligning the goals would take forever to set up, and if Ieyasu was killed in an opportune moment, the power vacuum it would cause would be tremendous.

Also meaning: the opportunities it would present to other warlords would be endless.

"You know I won't do that," you look at Masamune straight in the eye. "Because you and I are the same, Masamune."

You make sure your words ring the truth.

"You and I don't desire power, only order. Also," and you get to the heart of your declaration, "You and I both believe in Ieyasu."

You see something shift in Masamune's eyes, but perhaps it is only a twinge of embarrassment. You know you have hit a nerve. Still, though it has never been mentioned before, you know it to be true—after all, in all the timelines you have been through, Masamune has never betrayed Ieyasu.

Sasuke takes this very opportune moment to descend from the ceiling.

"It is true," he says in his stoic voice, as if he has not walked in Masamune with a sword pointed towards his best friend while his idol has a sword pointed on Masamune. "Even in our original timeline, Date Masamune was known to visit Tokugawa Ieyasu on his deathbed." Sasuke looks pointedly at Masamune. "You would read him your poetry."

Ieyasu frowns. "I don't even like poetry."

Masamune blinks twice at you before turning to Sasuke. You can sense him relaxing. "Are you sure I didn't cook for him instead?"

"The history books don't record that, but there is nothing to suggest you did otherwise."

Before they can banter about something unrelated to Masamune threatening you, Ieyasu flusters. He shifts his sword which is still pointed at Masamune's nape. "Before you discuss with the ninja, I suggest you lower your sword from her neck."

Masamune's smile becomes a mischievous grin. "Only if you lower yours first."

"If you think reading poetry on my deathbed is going to stop me from killing you while you threaten my future wife—"

This makes the entire room stop.

Even Masamune, who is usually all sharp energy, stills.

Then he sheaths his sword and doubles over in laughter.

"Ieyasu, did you just propose to the Princess while you had a sword on me?"

Ieyasu lowers his sword, and the look on his face is positively mortified.

"Shut up," he mutters, ears flaming. "I haven't sheathed my sword yet. I can still kill you."

Masamune looks like he's having the time of his life. He rounds on you and places his face near yours. "Well, Princess, it looks like I better apologise to you now, while I still can." He then proceeds to place your cheek next to his, like how a cat would show affection to their owner.

You don't know if it is you or Ieyasu who sputters the first indignant, "M-Masamune!" But it is definitely Ieyasu who comes over and shoves him away.

Meanwhile, Sasuke nods.

"I am assuming you told them the truth," he says.

You try to regain some semblance of elegance, even though your cheeks are burning red. You're sure it has nothing to do with Masamune and more of because Ieyasu called you his future wife.

"Yes, well," you begin, straightening out your kimono from invisible creases, "This room has the people I know I can trust."

This seems to make Masamune smirk. "So, going back to jumping across time. Are there any other timelines where Ieyasu proposes to you?"

Ieyasu sits down next to you, still looking like he wants to shove his sword down Masamune's throat. "Of all the things you could ask..."

"Well," you try to say delicately, "There are a few where he implied—well, being together, for, you know, a long time. But this is actually the first time it has happened this way." You take his hand. "This is the first time you've called me your future wife."

Ieyasu looks like he wants to be anywhere else but in a room with Masamune and Sasuke while confessing his love to you, but when he sighs deeply you suppose he accepts that stranger things have happened.

"It's only the natural progression of things," he murmurs, like the contrarian he is, but he doesn't let go of your hand.

"As much as I am honoured to have witnessed the engagement of my most beloved General and my most important person," Sasuke sits next to Ieyasu, comfortably, and you have to roll your eyes because he probably did that on purpose. "I have to press that the four of us being together is rare, and we should take this opportunity to plan our next course of action."

Masamune sits in front of you. With Sasuke's words, his face has shifted from sly to serious. "Alright, fine. Say we believe the lass is from the future."

You scoff. "I am from the future."

"I didn't say I didn't believe you," His one eye is unfazed. "But why did you come back, lass? What was wrong with the future you were in?"

"Besides the fact that Ieyasu was assassinated?"

"Did you see who did it?"

This is where it gets difficult, every time. This is the point where you always stop, and you never tell them any more information than what you feel they need to know.

But look where that got you last time.

"These are just hired men," you motion to the direction of the garden, where two dead bodies lay in pools of blood. "But if you mean do I know who sent them, then," and you take a deep breath, "then yes, I do."

Even Sasuke leans in. "You have not told me this before."

"Because I always believed I could change it."

Ieyasu probably senses your distress. "What I said before—that still stands true. We don't have to talk about the future anymore." He grips your hand tighter. "You saving me tonight… that was more than enough."

You shake your head.

"I’ve tried keeping it from you before. But it’s clear to me now. If we want to save you, if we want to unite Japan, if I want to stay here without the guilt of changing what will happen 500 years from now, then I have to tell you."

There is a grim set to your jaw.

"We have to stop Hideyoshi from trying to kill you."

[/Chapter 1]

[Prologue] [Chapter 2]

#ikemen sengoku #ikemen sengoku fanfiction #fanfiction #tokugawa ieyasu #sarutobi sasuke #date masamune #nobunaga oda #toyotomi hideyoshi #ishida mitsunari #akechi mitsuhide #ikesen #cybird #the inevitable correction of treading through time #psychedelic aya #aya writes

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gryfon-spanish-werewolf · 4 years

Text

Soulsborne!Frozen AU: Great Knight Annatorias, the Abyss Walker

This is @jabs-wocks and @daughterofhel’s fault but I’m also @-ing myself because apparently I don’t need much encouragement to write stories sometimes so…

Before getting started, this entire 3.5k (yes, that's the correct number) brain-on-fire, sleep depriving idea, was inspired by two pieces by @azaffranist and one by twitter user @agongbushou. I highly recommend checking the linked art out before reading, since I reference them at times directly.

Okay Soulsborne!Frozen au, Anna is Knight Artorias, legendary fighter, sent to the Abyss to seek and destroy the Darkness of the world itself.

No pressure or anything.

Anna is a brave hearted woman, shoulder to shoulder with those who fought and killed nigh immortal dragons. Her kind pluck such foul creatures from the sky with arrows larger than trees, with lightning more forked than a hurricane, and slay enemies with the kindness of silver and gold-tipped daggers.

Her own mighty broadsword swings over her left shoulder with ease, a smile on her lips as she walks. The Age of Fire is upon them, but there is fear in the hearts of the gods, and to save those who would, without help, succumb to the evil inside of them Great Knight Anna will stop at nothing.

There are monsters to kill, perverted and misguided souls, each one more disturbing and profane than the last, as each is born from the Abyss itself, a dark, treacherous place where no mortal would dare tread. The city of Oolacile is threatened, sinking slowly into Darkness as an ancient, promethean man eats it from the inside out.

But Anna holds courage in her heart, and should she need a reminder of strength or solace, she need only look to her right and Elsa, her direwolf companion, is next to her, ice-blue eyes speaking more than a voice ever could. Her pure white fur makes the Darkness shrink, her frost-like Light magic a boon in the most murky corridor. Elsa has a nose for danger, and can conjure crystals to warn of dangerous earth, poisoned water, a new rash of weather over the mountains, or the lurking threat of fire. Her pelt is soft and warm, and in the mountains where they camp she’s as cozy as a bonfire, her fluffy tail wrapped around Anna’s middle as the Knight snoozes against her side.

With such skill and determination, and pureness of heart, Anna is more than well equipped to fight the Darkness, especially when Elsa is with her every step of the way.

The Abyss calls itself Manus and it is a nightmare.

For the first time, Anna is overwhelmed. She is battered against the walls of this cave, she is clawed and crushed and flogged with fists of pure Darkness. Her ears ring with primal screams. Elsa’s magic is no more effective than her teeth, and Anna watches as her companion lunges at the Manus’ middle, watches how the Darkness warps impossibly, sees a hand of incredible size form above Elsa’s unprotected back. Anna moves.

She does not feel her arm shatter (that pain will come later) but she hears it, cracking and shredding and splintering, heedless of muscle and skin.

The shield’s magic forces Manus back, screeching into the Dark. A brief respite.

Elsa pants hard, the concussive force of the hit rattling already exhausted bones, empty of energy and magic. Anna knows Elsa will not survive another blow. She is still young, a pup, and deserves to grow, large and strong. A pelt, a life, as bright as Elsa’s should not be swallowed by the Dark.

Anna speaks the runes and the shield ignites with Light, protecting Elsa from the Abyss forever, but also protecting Elsa from following Anna as she hefts her greatsword in her off hand and limps back towards the sound of Manus’ roars. She closes her ears to Elsa’s pitiful cries.

The Dark would not claim another victim.

But it does.

-----

Whatever thou art, stay away.

Soon I will be consumed by ‘Them’, by the Dark.

All of you… forgive me. For I have availed you nothing.

-----

Hundreds of years later Elsa’s ears pick up the sound of an interloper in the graveyard. She rouses herself, shaking rainwater from her coat. The snowflake mark on her brow has dulled, no longer lively purple but a morose kind of brown, the color of bloodied earth long dry.

Elsa is tired. Thieves keep coming to steal what is most precious to her. Could they not see the weapons of their fellows littered on the ground? Monuments to greed, pillars of failure each one of them, a blade planted vertically in the dirt next to small, unmarked headstones. Don’t they see? They seek an object that will only kill them, the wicked artifact that allowed Anna to walk into the Abyss unharmed, only for claws of black to tear her asunder. The cursed item that allowed Anna’s fate.

No one should have the power to throw themselves so willingly onto Death’s sword.

As the thief approaches Anna’s enormous headstone, reaches their hand out to touch Anna’s greatsword, Elsa makes her presence known. She is a formidable sight: a fully grown Great Wolf, she towers, mountainous, over this puny looter. Anger shoots through Elsa, igniting her limbs as she leaps down and tears Anna’s weapon from the dirt. Again. To stop one so desperate to kill themselves. Again.

Elsa howls at the moon, anguish and guilt and fury clashing within her.

Let Anna rest, her work is done. Do not walk in her footsteps, as there lies only suffering.

She repositions the sword in her mouth and swings, long and sweeping as she has seen Anna do many times before.

Blood stains the rocky headstones in crimson arcs.

----

Elsa awakes yet again and everything has changed.

It is dark, unnaturally so. There is no graveyard, there are no trees, no whisper of wind through her coat. She is flat on her back and there is a strange man in a wheelchair to her right, telling her things. Yharnam? An Outsider? He mentions blood and suddenly Elsa’s nose is filled with it, cloying and pressing against her. How had she not noticed it before?

How also had she not noticed she was strapped to a bed?

He begins his so-called transfusion and Elsa sees that her feet do not end in paws and her tail is missing. Her teeth are no longer sharp as she tests them with her tongue and her muzzle does not like to growl but to grumble, too short to carry the sound forward.

But she does not have time to contemplate this as her vision blurs and she falls backwards into the dark once more.

A Beast of blood emerges from the floor but Elsa feels no kinship with it. The Beast is twisted and wrong, and as it reaches out to touch her it bursts into flame, screaming. Perhaps her Light magic still works here… or perhaps Anna’s shield is still bound to her, after all this time. For surely that creature is borne of the Abyss.

So too must these small pygmy-like wretches crawling up her stomach and chest. Fear jolts through Elsa’s heart as these pale things are not deflected by magic and instead reach her head and cover her eyes. A voice whispers in her mind.

“Ah… you’ve found a hunter…”

Anna?

The Hunter’s Dream is serene and soft compared to the Night eating Yharnam alive. Here there are flowers, a pleasant breeze that does not carry wails, and though there are graves it seems a peaceful place of rest for all, not just the dead.

And this is where Elsa finds her.

Anna. Her Knight, her long lost friend, lying against the garden wall. Her eyes are closed, peaceful in sleep. Elsa approaches with great joy but… something is wrong.

Anna… doesn’t smell like Anna. Elsa presses her nose against the woman’s cheek, just to be sure, but is chastised by the man inside a house at the top of the steps, the one who must have brought her here. Elsa remembers a piercing pain in her chest followed by a long dark like a heavy blanket, deep and inevitable. Perhaps she died the night of the thief, and this world is simply the next one. Anna, or perhaps not-Anna, has not stirred in the slightest to Elsa’s presence, and with another beckoning of the old man, Elsa realizes this is a mystery to be put aside for the moment. Besides, Anna is peaceful in this state, and… she was not peaceful the last time Elsa saw her. Maybe this is where she has been sleeping all along, as Elsa watched over her grave in the other world.

Elsa slowly gets used to walking on two legs, though she always misses her tail, expecting it on the back of her calves every other step. She is both taller and shorter than she feels she should be but the little pygmies do not laugh when she misses her target because of this. In fact they are friendly, bringing her trinkets at times. She understands them a little, as they too are non-verbal. Human language still eludes her, though Elsa realizes she has now, the ability to speak it, as clearly and easily as she used to speak to Anna with just her movements. No one seems to mind her silence, and in turn she feels no need to break it.

Except for the Doll.

That’s what the man calls her, the not-Anna. Now awake, she is kind and gentle, and while her warmth kindles familiarity in Elsa’s soul, it is not enough like the bonfire of a spirit Knight Anna always possessed. Though she shares Anna’s face, her voice is thinner, like a creek through reeds, shallow like music from another room. If this is what her Anna has been reduced to, then Elsa will care for her as she always has, her silent companion. But it is the only time Elsa wishes she could speak, align her muzzle and teeth and tongue in the right order for speech. But she, the Doll… Anna… this woman, seems to read Elsa’s eyes well enough, and always wishes her wellness and luck in her hunts.

The Yharnam Elsa now stalks may be new, but it is not unfamiliar. There are monsters here too, but they are not undead but Beasts, sick like the Darkness made humans sick. The town conjures a feeling of familiar unease, it is like Oolacile being consumed all over again. Elsa has been given a strange blade: a cane-sword, they called it a trick weapon. It has a different kind of grace than Anna’s greatsword, but Elsa can admire its stinging, erratic bite as it curls around shields and tears flesh with the same ease as her old jaw.

Elsa resigns herself to the Doll, this copy of Anna, a pale comparison but not an unkind one. Until the day she learns of Lady Anna, an Old Hunter, experienced slayer, and roaming ghost of Yharnam. The man tells Elsa that Lady Anna wishes to exterminate Beasts so that people can live in peace, forever, and she is as ruthless as she is discerning, relentless in her quest. Even the Doll has nothing but admiration in her too-soft voice for this person.

Elsa needs to meet this her, and sets out immediately. She sounds… very much like Great Knight Anna: firmly set in her beliefs and desire for goodness and peace in her grisly work, but Elsa swallows the glass-like shards of hope rising in her throat. Disappointment would be its own kind if dying.

She finds her in the Clock Tower. The likeness is uncanny, but if the Doll was an enthusiastic replacement, this body was a carbon copy. The swallowed glass gets lodged, stabbing into Elsa’s heart, but still, she dared not hope. This person, Lady Anna, was so… still. Knight Anna was never still, so much boundless energy, so much eagerness, the will to do good, to make safe haven, sometimes even robbed her of sleep. The woman sitting in a lonesome chair is not like that at all, she is calm, collected.

Perhaps she is dead.

Indeed, Lady Anna is covered in blood and Elsa does not see her chest breathe, not even an inch. Tentatively she reaches out a hand. Oh, now this would be cruel indeed - to find her Knight only for her to be dead and bloodless and empty of everything once again.

The vice-like grip around her wrist shocks Elsa from her thoughts.

“A corpse… should be left well alone.” A corpse, a corpse!? But Lady Anna is so very alive and her voice--

Unmistakable.

But quickly Elsa realizes she’s fighting for her life. There’s so much noise and movement and blood, so much blood it reeks. Lady Anna’s swings seem to come from nowhere, fire igniting in the wake of every slash and it’s dazzling and swift and uncanny… and yet.

Her stance may be foreign but her prowess is not, she directs her weapons with grace and skill, and the blades dance towards Elsa’s throat with a precision borne from battle hardened assurance.

Just like a knight. Just like Anna with her greatsword.

Suddenly Lady Anna is upon her, grabbing Elsa’s collar and pulling, clutching Elsa to her chest. It’s rough and unfriendly but Elsa knows deep down this is new and startling for both of them. Anna’s breathing is ragged despite her absolute dominance over the battlefield, her voice shaking with some burdening magnitude.

“I know you,” Lady Anna whispers in her ear.

And Elsa, having not made a sound this entire time except in exhaustion or pain, gets her too short tongue working and too small teeth out of the way to say, “And I know you. You are Lady Anna, protector of Yharnam, slayer of the Darkness that lurks in the hearts of men to make them Beasts, and you have done well to make a name for yourself here. But all of that I know only because I found myself here, in a Dream. When I was young, and Awake, I knew you as Great Knight Anna, warrior against the Darkness itself, and you held in your powerful grip a sword as tall as you so that you could always slay something larger than yourself. It flashed as brightly as your smile until it could no more. And the last I saw you was when I had no shared language to warn you, no voice to scream in grief as your arm shattered and yielded to profane horror. Despite your broken body you used your only able limb to shield me against death itself, magical and eternal. But it kept me from you, and you walked back into the Dark where I could not follow and then there was the most terrible quiet. I saw someone go in afterwards, and only then did I hear your voice again, but as it was never meant to be: broken and hollow and defeated. Dark.”

Lady Anna’s hand shakes, her other poised over Elsa’s heart. It could drive right through her chest, seek the Beast in Elsa’s blood and rip it out. But perhaps it was there before the infusion, one of kindred spirit instead of illness and madness. Anna releases her hold without warning and Elsa’s knees hit the ground hard.

“I… have felt a loneliness for so long,” Lady Anna says, almost to herself. “I have searched for years, every nook and cranny, guided by nothing but some deep knowledge of a phantom ‘other’ by my side, etched so deeply it could be in my very own blood. But this presence, this… twin soul, has never showed itself.” She looks at her swords. “They did not used to split, it was one weapon, until I could not stomach the void anymore. I threw it away, and fashioned these. They… somehow I knew I needed two. There were supposed to be two. Two… of… us.”

Elsa goes to answer but the words tangle in her mouth, gargled and guttural and rough. Speech flees from her again, focus gone, and Elsa clutches her throat, gasping. Lady Anna twitches, hands tightening on her weapons.

Anna’s voice holds the tension of a tripwire. “You--... She... I gave someone a name once. My closest friend. She had unique Light magic: small diamonds, blue, beautiful.” Her eyes flashed with her steel. “Show me. Tell me her name, or be not Hunter but Beast.”

And Elsa does.

The Clock Tower fills with floating diamonds, glittering and bright, etched with symbols of safety and protection and Light. They move and spin, arranging themselves into a shape, not a Yharnam rune but an older one, one only Anna would know. Elsa’s name in the language of the Age of Fire.

Anna drops her swords, clattering to the floor and embraces Elsa with arms so fierce and desperate that Elsa cannot breathe, until Anna’s shoulders slump and hitch with sobs and now Elsa holds Anna with tired, grateful hands.

“I thought…,” Anna manages, trembling in Elsa’s grasp, “I thought it was a Dream. All that before… really happened.” Anna clutches at Elsa’s clothes, like burying fingers in thick fur, “I have missed you every moment of my death, including all the seconds from when I Awoke without you, until now.”

Elsa wipes Anna’s tears away, clumsy in her joy but her eyes say everything her stubborn tongue won’t, and it is just like before, when she knows Anna understands her completely.

“In my defense,” Anna sniffs, regaining a bit of control, “I thought you’d be taller. And well, you were a wolf the last time we met.”

Elsa can’t help but smile at that, lending Anna an arm as they stand. The smile turns into quite the wolfish grin indeed when they realize at the same time that Elsa is in fact, an inch or so taller than Anna.

“You really did grow up without me, didn’t you?” Anna says wistfully, as though to chastise for leaving her behind.

Elsa makes a huffing sound that they both know is laughter and presses her forehead against Anna’s.

Finally. Her Knight. Her Lady.

Her home.

This time, neither will face the Darkness alone.

------

Alternate Endings, courtesy of questions asked by @daughterofhel (who patiently let me tell the ENTIRE story of Artorias and Sif AND the Good Hunter and the Doll and Lady Maria to contextualize this… entire… thing)

-Lady Maria!Anna is not immune to Beast blood like in canon and after joining up with Sif!Elsa actually succumbs to the plague and goes feral. Their roles are now reversed, Elsa is the badass Hunter with a Beast companion. They still know each other well enough to communicate but are ostracized from the other Hunters because Elsa refuses to kill Anna

-Because Elsa was a creature in her past life, the Beast blood takes hold very naturally, and it does not change her personality or sense of self. Lady Anna reclaims her greatsword trick weapon and travels Yharnam with Elsa by her side, now a were-beast. The magical snowflake on her forehead comes back and her fur is the same white/white-blonde as when she was a Great Wolf

-Lady Anna actually DOES rip Elsa’s heart out of her chest like that killer parry (for female Hunters only!), realizing seconds too late she has killed her life long friend who crossed time and space to find her. Distraught, Lady Anna consumes Elsa’s heart, drawing upon her vampiric, Vileblood ancestry to bond Elsa’s soul to hers. Other Hunters begin to hear rumors of a unique Beast stalking Yharnam, slaying it’s own kin and leaving behind oceans of blood. It has patchy red and white fur, a greatsword strapped to it’s back, and two different colored eyes: one green, one blue. Some even claim that it speaks to itself, though broken and twisted, and it will leave a trail of blue-glowing diamonds in areas safe to return to, lighting up the dark.

Players who fight this Beast are startled to learn that the heat-up phase is actually the Beast transforming into a much smaller, very human figure who begins to wield the trick weapon on its back with swift, deadly, and ferocious attacks. The figure will sometimes scale walls and launch attacks from above, the air along the cut of the weapon’s blade igniting into flame and leaving explosive blue crystals behind. Upon the boss’s defeat the player gets double the amount of Blood Echos they expect and as the person collapses a white soul emerges to entwine around a red one, dissipating into the ether together

#yeah I had this whole tag paragraph planned out but like -- I literally cannot remember it LMAO #anyway this was fun as HELL and really FUCKING SAD to write because Soulsborne is NOT HAPPY like EVER #obviously I bent the rules a little bit and changed some canon stuff because it fit better as a crossover but TBH #I have so many pages open with references to like. double check my memory on things #and I listened to all the boss themes while writing this and bruh the TEARS #but look I pulled a g-s-w fastball special: I WILL get my mildly happy ending and pluck it from the jaws of snapping depression if I have to #I mean the world of Bloodborne is still PRETTY AWFUL buuuuuut at least they're together and NOT TRAGICALLY DEAD #thank you #azaffranist #for your amazing excellent show-stopping feels-inducing brilliant art work #I had them pulled up in a side window the whole time I was writing so I would never forget them #sending an internet thank you out also to #agongbushou #who as far as I could find does not have a tumblr but thank you for your piece too it was BREATHTAKING #and hey jabs-wocks??? ily and I wanna say thank you to you too for being a TOP NOTCH enabler #this is for you buddy: may it quench some of your Dark Souls/Bloodborne Frozen needs #jabs-wocks #daughterofhel #Soulsborne!Frozen #Soulsborne x Frozen #crossover #my writing #I am GOING TO BED X'D #it is 6am and I have spent many many MMANY hours on this holy cripes

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cottonwoolsocks · 4 years

Text

Jump In, The Water’s Fine

AO3 | Masterlist

Summary: A beach trip on which Roman forgets the drinking water, Patton gets an injury, Virgil wants ice-cream, and Logan blames himself for everything that goes wrong.

Word Count: 8025 Genre: Human AU, hurt/comfort Characters: Logan, Virgil, Roman, Patton Relationships: platonic LAMP

Warnings: minor injury description, the ocean, sharks, sensory overload, panic attack

If I need to tag anything else, let me know!

———

Every page of Logan’s prized copy of How to Be A Stoic was now soiled with a fine layer of sand that burrowed into the spine, nestling itself there for the rest of the book’s existence—which would be a long time, if he had anything to say about it. Sand had a funny habit of managing to creep into every space except those where it was supposed to be.

At least Patton and the others seemed to be having fun.

The beach trip had been Patton's idea, but Roman had been quick to agree and Virgil appeared to be enjoying himself, Roman and Patton adding the finishing touches to a magnificent sandcastle as Virgil paused to wipe his brow. A shovel was in his hand and a large mound of sand sat to one side, courtesy of his last half-hour of labour and the foot-wide moat now encircling the design. Spotting Logan watching them, he waved, Logan half-heartedly raising a hand in response. Virgil motioned him over to them, a question hanging in the air, but Logan was quick to shake his head. Virgil nodded, giving a gesture of understanding before planting his shovel in the sand and turning to help Roman in decorating the castle the eclectic mix of seashells Patton had just returned with.

Logan sighed.

At least they were all enjoying themselves, even if he was feeling more uncomfortable than the time he’d had to sleep in the backseat of a car lodged deep in the middle of a muddy field while Roman attempted to choreograph a particularly violent sleep-dance routine—and he’d had the bruises to show for it.

His book had been a far shorter read than he had hoped, and he had not brought his second book by Patton’s request: they had already packed enough beach bags for a small orchestra, perhaps Logan could forgo his second book in lieu of Virgil’s sun top and a deflated beach ball, rather than adding another to their dowry? Logan had been skeptical, especially since Roman had still managed to sneak in his sketchbook, and neither the beach ball nor the sketchbook had been more than glanced at longways since they had arrived.

But, he supposed, they had only been there for—he checked his watch—two and a half hours. He frowned, checking again and wondered if he had forgotten to replace the batteries—but, he supposed, his perception of time did seem to travel faster when he was enjoying a particularly stimulating book. He had already drunk most of his water bottle, making sure to stay adequately hydrated in the stifling heat, but noted with concern that all but one of the other bottles in the box remained untouched.

Glancing over to the others on the sands, he weighed his options as Patton celebrated the completion of the castle by attempting to clamber on top of it and sending half the east wall tumbling into the moat, and Logan ultimately decided the others’ health was more important than his own comfort. Rolling his eyes a little at their lack of concern for their own wellbeing, he gathered the three other bottles from the lunch box, made sure the towel he was laying on was suitably held down by a multitude of left sandals, and braced himself for the heat.

It was always hotter than he expected.

The heat, which only felt skin-deep in the shade, now seemed to penetrate all the way through his body and then out of the other side, only to hit the sand and bounce back again. Figuratively, of course; there was no way for heat to actually travel in such a manner. That said, had Logan not known the science behind heat and reflection, he would have assumed his previous conclusion to be correct.

The soles of Logan’s feet burned on the sand as he bounced an odd hopping jog towards the others whilst juggling a precarious armful of sloshing water bottles, one sandal holding down a corner of his towel and the other awol, and wondered not for the first time what it was about a large, heat-reflective expanse of crushed seashells that was so very attractive to such a huge number of people.

“Lo!” called Patton as he spotted him approaching and waved excitedly, white sundress billowing with the movement. “We made a castle!” He giggled as he gestured proudly to the sandy mound, which more closely resembled a forlorn pile of sludge than a deliberate structure now it was missing most of the east side.

“I’m pleased you're enjoying yourself. However, you have all been neglecting your own health. It is vital to stay hydrated, moreso when in direct heat.” He nodded to the water bottles in his arms.

“Thanks, Specs,” called Roman from where he had tumbled into the castle’s moat on the other side in an attempt to stop Patton from tripping over earlier. He raised his hand, palm open and facing Logan. “Toss me one!”

Logan could feel the sun beating down onto the back of his neck, and the warmth warned him he'd be getting sunburn soon if he didn't retreat to the shade. His arms were sticky with suncream as he shuffled the bottles around, handing one each to Patton and Virgil—

“Thank you, Lo!”

“Thanks.”

—and tossing the other over the top of the sandcastle and into Roman’s waiting hand.

“Wanna come swim with us, Lo?” asked Patton, screwing the lid back onto his now half-emptied water bottle and giving it an experimental swish.

Logan shook his head, already taking half a step back. Even the thought of the salty water, the unknown creatures waiting within, and the inevitability of wet sand sticking to him was making his skin prickle with discomfort. “No, thank you, Patton. I would— I have my book to finish.”

He could feel Virgil’s hard stare digging into him, but dared not turn to meet it. He could tell he knew he was holding something back, but there was nothing Logan could do but hope it would remain unmentioned, left alone. Surely, the others would get bored soon. Surely, as the height of the afternoon approached, they would begin to feel the heat.

“Suit yourself!” said Roman, tossing a handful of sand towards Patton’s knees and rocketing off towards the ocean waves—but not before making sure to massage a wet clump of sand from somewhere in the depths of the moat into Virgil’s as-yet clean hair.

Patton shrieked gleefully and tore after Roman, and whatever Virgil had been going to say was evidently less important than his revenge as he offered naught more than a farewell gesture and a third pair of footprints joined those already gone.

Logan watched them run for a moment, wistful, as the wind caught in their hair and Patton clutched his sunhat to stop it blowing away. Roman reached the waves first, running in as far as he could before dropping to his chest and beginning to swim, treading water as first Virgil and then Patton caught up with him, out of breath. Virgil kicked a wide arc of water towards Roman, who spluttered as the water washed over his face, but he didn’t seem to mind the salt as he retaliated with a sweeping wake of his own. Patton stood to one side, out of the way of the salty battle, sundress bundled in his hands as he hopped over the smaller waves and cheered.

Logan had half a mind to join them after all, but then he noticed the three water bottles abandoned at his feet, water warming as the temperature continued to climb, and the cloudless sky, their unsupervised bags, the opacity of the water—and banished the thought from his mind. Someone had to be responsible, after all.

So, he gathered the bottles from amongst the discarded buckets and shovels, feet burning on the dust of seashells, and hurried back to the umbrella.

Logan felt a little consolation in the fact they had found this little alcove. The more popular beaches had been a considerably shorter drive, but the four of them much preferred somewhere with a little more peace and room to build sandcastles. Most of this beach was spotted with visitors, but they were generously interspersed, families relaxing in little spots along the sands as children played alongside, and the ocean was free enough of people that Logan was actually able to determine which of the little figures were his friends.

Deciding he may as well make use of his time now that the others seemed thoroughly occupied with their next activity, he packed the bottles neatly back into the insulated lunch box to keep them cool, and cast around for the cool box containing the refill bottles. Not spotting it on the sands, he moved to root around in the two larger duffel bags they had brought for the rest of their things, wondering if Roman had perhaps put the cool box inside one of them so as to lessen the number of items they had to carry down.

Moving aside yet another of Roman’s untouched sketchbooks—how did he manage to get all of these past Patton?—and an assortment of towels, he dug all the way to the bottom, and was unsurprised to see the layer of sand lining the material despite Logan’s certainty that this bag had never, even once before, been near a beach. He didn’t think it had even been opened since they got here, and yet the granules had worked their way into the seams, the towels, even between the pages of the sketchbook.

Logan had no doubt there would have been sand in the cool box, too, had there been a cool box to speak of.

Frowning, he moved onto the second of their bags, despite having been sure this one was only for the more delicate items, like the croissants, and the butter, and Virgil’s insulin pack—definitely not the sort of place you would put a heavy cool box with eight litres of water.

Just as expected, there was no box in sight, and he huffed in annoyance. This had been Roman’s responsibility, but clearly he had been too preoccupied with squeezing as many sketchbooks into as many bags as he possibly could, without even an intent to use them.

But— no, that wasn’t fair. Logan should have checked—it was his responsibility, too, to make sure they had everything they needed. He’d been negligent, and their health would suffer as a result. He should have been more thorough; he would make a note of that, for next time.

Perhaps it was back in the car? It wasn’t impossible. Logan had only made sure of the two large bags coming down to the beach, and hadn’t checked the car for anything forgotten—another lapse in judgement, on his part.

He cast around for his sandals and was not surprised to see neither of them as he resigned himself to two left sandals belonging to Roman and Virgil respectively, folding the towel so it wouldn’t blow away and zipping the bags closed again. The others were still down at the water, facing away from him, Roman having swum a little ways out as Virgil and Patton played chicken with the waves. Logan observed them for a moment, shading his glasses from the sun so the light wouldn’t reflect, and once satisfied they would cope in the few minutes he would be gone, grabbed the keys and set a brisk pace towards the cars.

The sand still managed to work its way between his toes and he could physically feel the heat waves bouncing onto his exposed legs, sweat making his glasses slip down his nose incessantly until he gave up trying to right them and simply held them in place. The long line of parked cars grew steadily closer, heat distorting the air around the metal, and Logan was not looking forward to having to root around inside their very own microwave oven. Somehow, the number of vehicles just kept increasing as families and groups of friends arrived to enjoy the summer heat; Logan could not understand why they had all chosen the height of the afternoon to spend their time here, when the sun was at its hottest and the beach at its busiest, but all the same, there they were, inflating beach balls and unfolding parasols.

Sidestepping a bearded man pushing a double stroller, Logan fumbled for the keys in his pocket, clammy hands almost dropping them as he tried to find the button.

The lights flashed as the vehicle unlocked and he pulled the door open, wrenching his hand away with a hiss as it clicked and the metal seared his skin. He eyed his hand disdainfully, the skin already tinged darker. Balling up his fist, he shoved it into the pocket of his shorts to worry about later as he waited for the more intense heat to circulate out of the body of the car, hoping it would be just a little less overbearing when he had to dive in in a moment.

Satisfied he had allowed as much aeration time as was plausible, he rested one knee on the inside seat, careful to avoid the hot metal of the car’s body as he cast around for anywhere one might stash a cooler box—but every foot space was as empty as the seats themselves and he could only hope that the boot would grant him more luck.

The boot, it turned out, was just as bare, save yet another of Roman’s sketchbooks half-hidden under a blanket they had chosen not to bring down to the beach itself. Logan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and biting his tongue as he tried not to let his frustrations get the better of him.

That said, this had been Roman’s responsibility, and he was very much intrigued to hear what the other man had to say about it.

Slamming the boot and double-checking the door was locked properly, he stalked back to their little encampment, nodding a greeting to the bearded man who seemed to have just realised that a stroller like the one he was pushing was less than ideal for a beach excursion as he handed the two excited children to his husband nearby and began the lengthy process of packing it away in such a way that it would not immediately break when they next tried to open it.

Logan, forgetting the necessity of holding his glasses onto his face, felt them slip, landing in the white sand as sweat and condensation mingled with the grains and created a sticky, sandy shadow over the lenses. Snatching them from the ground, granules crunched in the mechanics as he sorted them back onto his face and continued to march seaward, greatly anticipating the shade and comparative serenity of his blanket oasis beneath the umbrella.

He flopped back down in his pool of shade, eyes closing as he sighed deeply and took a moment to truly appreciate how good it felt to not be stood in direct sunlight. The sand was cool, the shade was deep, and he did not feel as if his internal organs were steadily being fried.

Bliss.

Deciding he would give it a few more minutes before reprimanding Roman, Logan was just preparing to properly unfold his towel again and return the odd sandals to their respective corners when the sound of his name reached his ears.

He looked up curiously, and his heart reared in his chest as his eyes took in the three others, Roman and Virgil supporting either side of a limping Patton, one foot held upright away from the sand and his lower lip wobbling. He offered Logan a shaking smile and an attempt at a wave with the hand looped over Virgil’s shoulder.

Logan’s frown deepened, all thoughts of water shortages forgotten as he moved to rearrange their little alcove, repositioning the towel and dusting away as much sand as he could as the other two arrived and set Patton down.

“What happened?”

“Stood on a shell,” Patton replied through gritted teeth. “It’s— I’m okay, I think. Just stings.”

Nodding, Logan leaned forwards to examine the base of Patton’s foot. There was a small cut—nothing serious, but the positioning left Logan unsurprised by how painful it seemed to be. Taking the first aid kit Virgil offered him—at least they hadn’t forgotten the first aid kit—Logan rooted around for the necessary items and, satisfied that he had what he needed, shooed the other two away. They would only pose a distraction, and Logan preferred to work in peace without them hovering over his shoulders.

Roman protested, but at Patton’s reassurance and a subtle nudge from Virgil, the pair headed back towards the waves to leave him be.

“Is it bad?” asked Patton once they had gone, eyes darting anywhere but his injured foot— Roman and Virgil by the waves, the family building sandcastles to their left, the woman walking her dog along the sands. Patton, despite how much fulfilment he received from helping others, had never been particularly good with objective injuries and blood.

“Not at all,” Logan reassured him, because it was the truth. Frankly, he was more concerned about the fact that, “I will have to clean the sand off before I can treat it properly,” reaching for his still-half-full water bottle and trying not to let his face betray his frustration.

Patton nodded, fingers brushing the cover of Logan’s book. “Can I read this?”

Glancing up, Logan nodded, Patton’s need for a distraction not foreign to him under such circumstances. Besides, he might learn a thing or two, and would perhaps get through enough of it for them to talk about the book at a later date. His heart fluttered at the thought—his reading habits rarely aligned with the others’, and it would be a change he welcomed.

Despite trying to keep the water usage to a minimum, by the end of the process his bottle was almost empty, only a few centimetres of liquid left waiting in the bottom. Logan knew he would have to make it last. He was doing the least physical exertion, Roman would complain of headaches, Patton was now injured, and of the four of them it was most important for Virgil to keep his fluids up lest his health suffer the consequences. It only made sense.

“That should be sufficient for now,” Logan said, brushing off his hands as he pulled the zipper on the first aid bag closed. “You shouldn’t go back in the water, though, and be mindful of the sand. You don’t want to contaminate the wound.”

Patton nodded, setting down the book and thanking Logan. Glancing at the pages, Logan’s heart fell as he saw Patton had only just breached the first page—but no matter. Patton was injured, and now was most definitely not the time to be feeling let down by something so trivial.

Stretching his arms, Patton stood and rummaged in one of their bags, pulling out a second towel and laying it down in the sun alongside Logan’s.

“Would you like to share the shade?” asked Logan, skin prickling at the thought of sitting in direct sunlight and wanting to offer Patton an escape, but also aware that the current location of the sun meant their shade pool would not be getting any bigger, hardly housing one person as it was.

“Oh, no, I’m going to sunbathe for a bit; give you back your shade. Thank you, though!”

“Alright. Make sure to reapply your sunscreen after being in the ocean.”

Patton nodded, reaching for the bottle as Logan smoothed the creases in his towel and settled back down. He could hope that Patton’s injury would hasten the other two to leaving, but judging from how carefree Patton seemed, and that Virgil and Roman were both happily swimming down in the ocean, it didn’t seem likely. Logan’s shoulders curled inward at the thought of the waves, but he supposed that as long as the others were having fun, it was alright.

As long as they left soon, it would be alright.

They had been relaxing—well, Patton had been relaxing, Logan had been baking in uncomfortably languid silence—for the best part of half an hour when Logan heard his name being called. He blinked, reaching for his glasses and drawing the sunhat from his face as he sat upright, trying to blink through the stickiness that had gathered in his eyes as he peered towards Patton to ask what he could help with.

The call came again as he realised it was not Patton trying to get his attention as the other man was sitting up just as groggily, and Logan’s head snapped up to see Virgil speeding towards him, one hand raised urgently and the other cupped around his mouth as he shouted again.

Logan was scrambling to his feet in an instant, eyes scanning Virgil for any signs of injury and, finding none, beginning to scan the ocean line for Roman.

Reaching him, Virgil skidded to a halt, hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath.

“What happened?” asked Logan urgently, still trying to locate the Roman on the coastline amongst the sea of bodies. “Are you injured? Where’s Roman?”

Virgil gestured falteringly back to the ocean as he tried to heave in enough oxygen to form a sentence, managing to break out stuttered words, Roman, swimming, too far.

And Logan was sprinting, leaving Virgil and Patton alone by the bags as he spotted the little splodge of colour that must be Roman, too far out, too distant, and why did he have to swim so far away from everyone else?

His feet pounded against the sand, each beat bringing with it a new thought as he heard Virgil call from behind him and a second pair of footsteps match his own, growing closer as Virgil hurried to catch up despite how much his lungs were already burning. But Logan didn’t have time to think about him. Roman was in trouble: Roman was in need of help. Logan was responsible. Logan should have been watching him.

But it was the ocean. Logan couldn’t go in the ocean. Logan didn’t like the ocean.

It was vast, unforgiving, and filled with all manner of creatures as equally terrifying as they were fascinating.

His footsteps beat against the sand, and he was almost there, but as the edge of the water grew nearer Logan was realising he didn’t even know what he was going to do when he got there. He couldn’t go in the water; he couldn’t help Roman. All manner of strange creatures lurked just below the surface, just out of sight, watching, waiting, searching for their first meal in millenia, some horrid, undiscovered species that would slink away again before they could even identify it.

But he knew he would go in. He knew he had to. He knew he didn’t have another choice.

Thoughts beat through his mind with every step, sand under his toes becoming more solid as it became heavy with water, with salt, with the ground shells and bones and teeth of a billion creatures from aeons past, sea creatures from decades of research bouncing through his mind.

The black swallower, a species of deep sea fish capable of swallowing creatures two times its length and four times its mass.

Chironex fleckeri, or sea wasp, a near-invisible jellyfish with venom capable of killing an adult with a dose of no more than a grain of salt.

The bull shark, among the most likely of sharks to attack humans—aggressive, and often found in Florida, in shallow coastal waters such as this bay.

And even with all of the uncomfortable discoveries scientists had already made, there was still 95% of the ocean left to explore.

...This was why Logan preferred space.

Virgil drew up beside him, chest heaving, face blotchy with exertion. “He’s not— In trouble, sorry—” Virgil huffed, letting his knees collapse under him as he tried to catch his breath on the sand. “The— The inner tube floated out— He went— He went after it. But I’m worried he’s gone too far. He— Can’t hear us, and that got me worried. I— I overreacted. Sorry.”

The grip on Logan’s heart loosened as he processed these words, trying to work himself down from the adrenaline rush as his mind fought to catch up with his body. It was a false alarm. Roman was not injured, or about to be swept out into open ocean, or sinking beneath the waves as he fought for breath.

“I see.” Logan flexed his fingers, trying to regain control of his breathing as the thundering of his heartbeat in his ears quietened, just a little. “My apologies, then. It seems I, too, assumed the worst.”

Fixing his gaze on Roman out in the sea, Logan sank to the ground, kneeling on the sand so as to get as few of the grains on his shorts as possible. He would greatly prefer it if he wasn’t picking sand from the lining of his pockets for the next decade. Virgil sprawled out beside him, chest still heaving as he tried to catch his breath, dyed hair mixing with the sand.

A breeze washed over them, providing a welcome relief from the overbearing heat that so far had not let up even a little. Roman appeared to have almost reached the inflatable, and while Logan was still largely apprehensive of the whole ordeal, his heartbeat seemed to be settling.

Virgil spluttered as sand was blown into his mouth by the breeze, shielding his face with a hand as he jerked upright and scowled, ruffling grains from his hair. “Stupid wind.”

The breeze died down, and Logan was once again reminded of the unforgiving heat beating down on him from every side. The ocean waves rolled, a seagull called, and Virgil prodded him pointedly in the shoulder.

“Hey, so, what’s up?”

Logan frowned, thinking he probably should have reapplied his sunscreen before coming to sit stationary in direct sunlight. “I’m not following.”

“You’ve been sitting under the parasol the whole time. I saw you finish your book, like, at least an hour ago. Not like you to be so...reclusive?” He paused, scratching absently at his shoulder. “That’s not the right word.”

Logan rubbed a pinch of sand between his fingertips, feeling each grain trickle away, returning to the mass of brown and white and gold stretching away all around them.

“I do not particularly enjoy spending time at the beach.”

Virgil eyed him for a moment before sighing gently and ruffling his hair. Sand grains spewed out, pattering onto his sun top and lining the creases. “Shit, Teach, I didn’t know it was that bad.”

“It’s not,” Logan retorted as he squinted towards the small figure of Roman who appeared to have finally reached his goal. Still too far out for comfort. Still too far out to hear them. “It’s nothing. I dislike the heat. It is uncomfortable.”

Virgil squinted. “Alright. Well, I don’t think we’ll be hanging around much longer anyway. Think I’ve used up most’ve my energy for today.”

Logan nodded gratefully as he watched the family of the bearded man he had seen by the cars begin to unpack their things, the two children running circles around each other in some invented game of tag. The girl with the pigtails, the older of the two, had a clear advantage, but the younger one was young enough that she didn’t realise this and was utterly committed to catching her sister despite the power imbalance. Logan winced as she tripped, scraping both knees and palms against the sand, but in a moment she was up again, teetering around the wind guard one of her dads was setting up.

They looked happy.

“Kids, huh?” said Virgil, tilting his head back as he followed Logan’s gaze. “So much energy. Such little anxiety. The golden days.”

Logan barked a laugh. “Back when exploring the galaxy was but the first in a great list of adventures, and you were still home in time for bed.”

“Nerd.”

“Virgil, I have just finished a modern philosophy book; I believe that was rather well established.”

Virgil hummed good naturedly as Logan gave him a soft smile. “Glad to have you around, Teach.”

They sat quietly as they watched Roman edging back to the shore. Every now and again, he raised an arm to wave and shout something excitedly, but his words were lost over the rolling of the ocean and the delighted giggles of the siblings playing on the sand. Virgil commented and Logan agreed noncommittally, mind elsewhere as his skin started to prickle with discomfort and heat and moisture.

He brushed a damp mass of hair away from his forehead, but even the smallest of movements was sticky and humid and gross so he settled for sitting still, doing his best not to breathe too deeply so he didn’t feel his skin unsticking from itself, trying to focus on the way the sand glittered under his knees and not the heat drumming against his neck and the grittiness between his toes and the constant, droning noise of the waves underneath crying seagulls and screeching children. His glasses kept steaming up but he couldn’t move to clean them because that just made everything sticky and clammy and worse so he settled for the half-vision he did have and shivered at the sweat drops rolling down his back, and the way the backs of his knees felt like pools of their own.

He blinked as Virgil’s hand scuffed his shoulder and he saw Roman wading out of the waves, inner tube clasped under one arm as he gabbled on about something Logan didn’t quite have the headspace to comprehend. He shook his head to Virgil’s outstretched hand, finding his own way upright and trying not to shiver in disgust at the way everything stuck to everything else as he moved, and all his senses seemed suddenly amplified.

“I saw a shark!” was the first thing Logan heard upon tuning back in.

“Sure you did, Princey,” Virgil replied disparagingly, offering Roman a pat on the shoulder. “Now, come on, we’ve been waiting for you for ages.”

Roman shoved him back with the inner tube, sending Virgil stumbling a few steps before he righted himself. Virgil looked to be about to shove Roman back, but then his eyes passed over Logan and back to where Patton was waiting by their things, and he thought better of it. For now, at least. Roman would surely pay the price at some later date.

“Hey, Teach!” Roman exclaimed as he properly registered Logan’s presence and slung a damp arm over Logan’s shoulders. His arm was warm but only in that muted, slightly clammy way that arms were when they were wet and you were dry and everything was already far too hot and sticky and humid. “Finally making the most of our beach excursion?”

“Don’t touch me,” Logan said, because he couldn’t think about anything other than the uncomfortably moist weight over his shoulders and the clammy heat and the muddled, overlapping sounds of the water and the birds and the people. And then, “please,” tacked on the end as an afterthought, because he didn’t want Roman to think he was being rude or that he was annoyed at him for it, because he wasn’t, but he really didn’t have much space in his head right now for pleasantries. The sand burned under his toes, the waistband of his shorts chafed against his skin, he couldn’t lift his eyes because everything was white and bright and burning and he still needed to address the fact that they were practically out of drinking water.

Roman’s arm retracted immediately as he stepped a little closer to Virgil to give Logan more space. “Of course.”

Logan’s eyes were fixed onto the sand as he walked, half-listening to Roman’s description of the bull shark that he claimed had swum not ten feet from him in the water, and half trying not to focus on the heat beating against every inch of his body and the way damp hairs stuck to the back of his neck no matter how he pushed them away.

He kept trying to ground his mind, concentrating on the feeling of sand under his feet and the murmur of his friends’ conversation, but with the relentless heat on his face he couldn’t focus on anything else, and anything he tried to latch onto immediately became overwhelming. So he tuned it out, retreating into his mind as he felt the cogs inside begin to lock differently as they shifted onto a different track, making space for him to cope by pushing aside the things that had always required more effort like seemingly trivial social niceties, maintaining an expression of mild contentedness, ensuring he stuck to the ideal eye-contact to no eye-contact ratio for regular conversation.

Patton sat up as they arrived at their things, some of the items that had been strewn about now organised neatly into their bags and the sandals which had been holding down various towels now arranged in pairs.

“Think we’re heading out,” said Virgil, moving to gather up some of the towels to go and rid them of sand in an area less densely populated. “Ready to go, Pat?”

“Yeah, just about! I figured we’d be going soon, so I already started packing up some of the bags. Logan, I left your towel, sandals and book in a little pile there.”

Logan immediately made a beeline for the little pile, towel folded neatly with sandals and book propped on top. He thanked Patton tersely, brushing off as much sand as he could from the soles of his feet before fitting the sandals, then clasping his book carefully to his chest. The whole situation was not great for his book, really, because he couldn’t put it in the bags lest it bend and crease, but the sweat on his fingers was already sullying the cover. Not that it would matter much anyway, he supposed, because every crevice was already ingrained with sand.

The others were at work dismantling the umbrella and tidying items into bags, Roman attempting to let the air out of the inner tube so it would fit back into the car, and so Logan propped himself atop his little folded towel and watched, not quite sure where he could fit in to assist and hoping that if anyone needed anything they would ask him outright.

“Logan, do you know where the water bottles are?” asked Virgil a little while later, running the back of his hand across his forehead. Roman was still wrestling with the inner tube, and Patton was in the process of folding the towels Virgil had beaten out to pack them away.

Logan felt his stomach drop, but it wasn’t like he could deny Virgil water, and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to get all the words out to explain the whole situation properly anyway without coming across incredibly condescending.

“I packed them into the furthest away of the two duffel bags from me. They are inside a blue lunch box. Patton may have moved them since then.”

“Perfect, thanks, Logan,” Virgil replied, shooting him a smile and finger guns as he turned to find the bag Logan had instructed him towards. Logan mentally cringed at how robotic his words had sounded, everything he said at the moment entirely unfiltered against anything that could potentially be read as demeaning or patronising as he did not currently have the mental space or energy to affix things to their regular societal standards—but Virgil understood. Logan hoped he did, anyway; he had certainly seemed to. Not that Logan wouldn’t still bring it up with Virgil within the next few days, just to assure him that he had not meant to come across unfavourably.

He pushed the thought aside. It would serve him no benefit to become caught up in such things right now, when what he really needed was somewhere cool, and quiet, and familiar, where nothing unexpected could or would happen, and he could let his brain unwind, safe in the confines of structured predictability.

Behind his eyes, the familiar throb of a headache began to beat.

As a result of dehydration, stress, or feeling generally overwhelmed, he wasn’t sure, but there it was nonetheless, beating against his skull in time with the heat on his skin. He wound a hand around his arm, digging in his fingers as he tried to focus on anything but the heat and the headache and the sweat drops creeping down his neck as the waves rolled and children shrieked and seagulls screamed. The sound of his heartbeat joined the beating of the sun’s rays and the throbbing of his headache, all three dancing over one another like some sort of crazed percussion piece as the shade from the parasol vanished as it was packed away and the light drilled into his eyes, bright sounds and loud colours pulsing around him every which way.

He wasn’t sure when he closed his eyes, but hardly a moment later Virgil was calling him to leave and Logan was shuffling along the sands just behind his friends, book and towel clutched to his chest, blinking rapidly as he tried to focus on where he was going while not looking at any of the bright and loud and omnipresent everything everywhere that seemed to dance even behind his eyelids when he screwed them closed again.

And there was sand grinding between his toes, and moisture pooling on his back, and a hundred thousand seagulls flying circles around his head and squawking, screaming, shrieking as children jostled each other and tripped and water roared past itself and snapped back again and Logan’s heart beat into his mouth as people swam out too far and sharks circled inches from his knees and his ears rang with adrenaline.

Fingers scarcely brushed against his elbow, sending prickling fire unfurling as Logan snatched his arm away and his vision flared white, blinking and squinting ahead as he tried not to let his breaths shake as a thousand tiny fire ants stung time and again as they scuttled over his skin, nausea rolling in his stomach and venom pulsing in his veins.

He just about identified Virgil in front of him before he was screwing his eyes closed again, arms locked around his book no matter how much he wanted to cover his ears and block out the cacophony of squawking and rushing and chattering all around him because he didn’t want to cause a scene, didn’t want to draw attention to himself, didn’t know where he would put his book and his towel because his hands were sandy but so was the floor and so were the bags and so was the car and they didn’t have any water and his headache was pounding like a drum, trying to get his attention, trying to split his skull.

“Logan,” came Virgil’s voice, but Logan could only shake his head because the words wouldn’t come, the words wouldn’t come, the words wouldn’t come. There was a stopper in his throat, forcing the words to stay inside, and he could force it out, probably, but he was doing so would make him throw up or cry or both. “Logan, can you walk with me to the car or would you like to do something else? It’s just up the steps in front of us. Roman and Patton are turning on the air conditioning inside the car. Do you want to come with me to the car or would you prefer to do something else?”

“Car,” Logan tried to say, gaze swivelling past Virgil and towards the collection of vehicles lined up on the sands, and even though no sound came out Logan still felt the nausea swirling in his throat, threatening to erupt. Just the thought of cool air conditioning was enough to prompt him forwards, following the dizzying shape that was Virgil as he tried to focus on the book in his hands and not the way the sweat prickled at his neck and the sickly thoughts of the others worrying after him and the sound of car tyres screeching as they ground shells and corals into dust.

He could feel one thousand pairs of eyes drilling into him from all sides, judging, criticising, laughing behind hands and beach bags. He could feel the heat rising in his cheeks, dying his face and ears and neck in a wave of panic until he could feel the embarrassment coursing through his veins, a beacon of amusement for every passerby to watch and mock and ridicule which in turn only fueled it more. He could feel the sun bouncing against his back and his heartbeat thundering in his chest and he knew, somewhere, deep down, that this was all just an overreaction, he should have better control over himself, he shouldn’t be making such a scene, but this thought was crushed under the stampede of disjointed sounds and sights and words rampaging in every direction, looping around and around and around in a sickly pirouette that was only spinning faster.

And then the door to their car was open and he was clambering inside and pulling the towel over his head as sand grains showered into his hair and eyes and over the seats and into his book but he only grasped the material more tightly as he melted into the sharp chill of the aircon and pressed his head against the seat in front and finally, finally plugged his ears.

And his mind kept racing, kept rolling and diving and snapping back for a while after that, but he could feel the rubber bands starting to loosen, elastic unwinding and cool air snaking into the cracks and crevices, cooling the metal still hot from overuse. And that freed space to consider other things, like releasing the tension in his shoulders and taking a breath to the bottom of his lungs which didn’t falter or cut off and feeling the texture of the seat under his legs and the way the skin stuck just a little too long when he moved. Cool air washed over his face and he took off his glasses, massaging the indents on his nose and relishing in the cool touch as his senses came back to him in their more typical, controlled amounts.

He could hear murmured voices from outside the car and as he sat upright and ironed out the creases in his back and neck, he realised for the first time that the others were not in the car with him.

That was, to put it candidly, rather sweet of them. Logan couldn’t imagine having to sit outside in the parching heat for even a second longer than necessary, and yet there they were, relaxing by the car bonnet just to give him some space. Roman wasn’t even wearing a sunhat or top to lessen the blow.

With that thought in his mind, their concerning lack of drinkable water suddenly made itself known once more as Logan’s headache began to hammer against his skull. He should get out of the car and usher the others inside before they all got too dehydrated, but that meant going outside, and going outside meant facing the heat, which meant going back to feeling all clammy and muted and wrong. Moreso, he would have to open the door, and to open the door he would have to take the towel off from his head, and quite frankly it was the only thing holding him together. And taking off the towel meant moving his book from his knee, which meant he had to put it somewhere else, but everywhere was sandy and the others needed seats to sit in and he couldn’t remember where he had put his glasses and he needed to move and find his glasses before he did anything else but he couldn’t find his glasses without his glasses.

And all these thoughts snowballed, tumbling atop one another to form a writhing heap of Things from which Logan concluded that getting out of the car was too complicated, after all, requiring too many steps and too many choices, and he was far more partial to Not Doing That.

Luckily, Virgil had always been perceptive, so Logan simply watched as he excused himself from the others and became steadily blurrier as he approached the car. And with the simple and straightforward, single goal of finding his glasses without all the other things weighing on top, Logan scanned the nearby area and found them sitting on the chair beside him, folded neatly just where he had left them a few minutes prior.

The outline of the purple blur opening the driver’s side door became rather more defined as his vision returned and Virgil perched on the chair, shutting the door softly behind him so as not to let too much of the warm air inside.

“Feeling better?”

“I am much less overwhelmed now. Thank you, Virgil. I apologise for my unexpected reaction.”

“Don’t sweat it, ‘t’s not something you need to apologise for, anyway. We can talk about it more later, if you want?”

Logan nodded. “I would like that. My words at the moment are rather...robotic, for lack of a better term. Following that, I apologise if I say anything that comes across cold or condescending. It is...not intentional.”

He just didn’t have the extra head space required to edit his words right now.

“I know,” Virgil assured him, nose scrunching as the corner of his mouth twitched upward. “And actually, talking to you is pretty cool because you don’t dance around your words or make them all fancy schmancy just ‘cause you can, unlike somebody we know. Besides,” he continued, throwing a thumb over his shoulder to gesture to Roman and Patton through the windshield, “Prince in question just admitted he forgot to pack the cool box, so you’re doing way better than him.”

“Yes,” said Logan, frowning. “And I had to use the last of my water to clean Patton’s injury, so I am now dehydrated and have had a headache since we were on the beach. But you have all been doing far more physical exertion than I have, and it is important for you to drink enough water, Virgil, so I am happy to forfeit the little left in my bottle to that end.” And then, because Logan was suddenly aware of how sour he sounded, “Not that I am blaming any of you. I was just trying to say that it is not imperative I drink the rest of my water and that one of you may drink it, despite my headache. I mean— I don’t— You can have it. I am not frustrated with you. I apologise.”

Virgil’s brow creased as he shifted his grip on the headrest. “I know you aren’t frustrated with me, it’s okay. I’m honestly impressed you thought that far ahead already, I’m still sour that it means we don’t have the alcohol I snuck into the cool box.” He laughed, fingers tapping a rhythm as he continued, “Patton says there’s a convenience store next to that ice cream place we stopped at on the way in, so Roman’s gonna hop out when we get there and buy us some water. I’m hoping I can convince him to buy us more ice-cream, too.”

Logan could feel the tension bleeding out from his shoulders, instead relaxing into a deep appreciation for his friends, and for Virgil.

“Thank you.”

“Anytime.” He spun around, drumming experimentally on the wheel. “Ready to go?”

At Logan’s nod, Virgil rapped three times on the windshield and popped open the door. Patton and Roman looked up at the sound, Patton offering Logan a little wave as they made eye contact, and Roman grinning widely.

“Get in, losers, we’re getting ice-cream!”

—x—END—x—

taglist to follow!

and here are some links to interesting info/where i found some cool facts: The Black Swallower Venomous Jellyfish Bull Shark

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