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with-love-anu · 4 years

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I’m an idiot

Pairing: Sirius Black x Slytherin!Reader

Summary: Sirius stops talking to you, his childhood bestfriend when you get sorted in Slytherin.

Warnings: Insecurities, mentions of blood and passing out.

Word Count: 2,830

You were patrolling through the corridors on your nightly duties when you heard shouts. You hasted along the path trying to find the source. Avery, Mulciber and Snape were dueling Remus. He was terribly outnumbered but you could still see how good he was. Mulciber cast a stinging hex that finally send him to his knees.

“Expelliamus!” you shouted, catching all their wands.

“Going against your own house, (Y/l/n)?” Avery sneered.

“I think everyone very well knows I am not big on house disparity. You’ll get your wands back from Slughorn. So, go before I decide to blame this thing entirely on you.”

Mulciber was going to protest, but Snape put an arm around him taking them away. You turned to see Remus bleeding profusely. You quickly performed some basic first aid healing procedures.

“Are you okay?” you tried to ask him. He was dizzy, and mumbled something incoherent. “I am going to take you to the hospital wing, hmm? Just try to stay with me.”

You performed some charms and carried him to the nurse. She took one look at him and made you immediately lay him on a bed. You were thankful she didn’t fuss a lot.

“What happened?” she asked after patching him up.

“Some bullies. I saw him and bought him to you. I don’t know everything.” You said as you watched Remus slowly gain conscious. Just then, Sirius and Potter who you knew to be his friends entered the room.

“Moony are you alright? Shit! Those are bad wounds.” Potter said sitting near his bed.

“You should give him some time, he’s barely awake.” You said softly.

Sirius watched you intensely making you gulp. Turning to the nurse, you told her you needed to leave soon and got out of the infirmary ignoring his gaze. You were used to it by now. He hated you. He hated you for being a pureblood and a Slytherin. As if that warranted enough to judge your character.

The two of you used to be best friends. Your parents were highly trained aurors, one of the very best and highly esteemed in the ministry. They had come from a long line of wizards from several parts of the world. As a result, they were invited to every party or ball held by the important households of the wizarding society. It was known that your family did not support the pureblood mania. Still, they were welcomed warmly or people pretended to be pleased to meet them at every gathering. They always took you too, refusing to keep a nanny to look over you. As a result, you met the very regal Black brothers.

You three soon became very good friends telling each other everything. You’d seen Sirius and Regulus grow up along with you. You remembered chasing each other around the Black manor.

“Sirius stoppppp!!” you said as you rolled out laughing making you both fall in the progress.

“(Y/n)! come on we can’t let him win” Regulus tried to pick you up as Sirius snorted and tickled you to death.

You had become as close as family. Sirius, Regulus and you would tell each other your deepest secrets. They would tell you about the tortures they went through at home and you remembered begging your parents to take them with you. Your parents could only provide much help against the renowned Black family. You and Sirius had sat together and discussed how you would be best friends throughout your years at Hogwarts stepping up against people like his parents, becoming aurors. The two of you thought that you would never part ways, but looking back you knew you were the only one who thought as such. Because the moment you were sorted into Slytherin was the moment he stopped talking to you. You remembered chasing after him, writing him letters only for him to tear them apart before your own eyes. Somewhere between him pranking you in the Great Hall, embarrassing you making you cry yourself into the night; you had come to the conclusion you should have long ago. He was not your friend. Never was.

This hadn’t come along easily, because every time you would see him; you would remember the time you both spent together and your resolve would break. You would sometimes see him in classes with his newfound, loud friends and your heart would overcome with jealousy. He laughed and joked around with them not even sparing you a glance. It felt like there was some big hole in your heart and you missed it, terribly. You used to think, he’s so happy without me. He doesn’t need me anymore. And every single time, when you walked through the corridors alone seeing him ahead somewhere in his own world; all you could think was did what was it you did wrong. What was so wrong with you that he could no longer stand being next to you. Did he only ever talk to you because he had no one else?

It took you months to make friends because all you could think about was your childhood bestie. About 2 years to dull the throb that took your heart whenever you saw him, because how do you ever forget a person you once loved? During summer, Sirius never saw you. He either ignored your presence or remained stuck up in his room. Regulus and you having exchanged letters throughout your first year was just as perplexed as you were. He told you how Sirius hadn’t even talked to him properly once he returned. You had tried, really really tried to stop the threatening tears but Regulus sat beside you in a second and said- ��Hey I’m not my brother. I would never leave you. I promise, even if my parents send me to a different school.” And you had cried. For the first time in your life you had cried in front of someone. You sat there weeping as Regulus held you.

Years passed and you found your own little group. Regulus stayed true to his word. He was the best friend you needed when you were at your worst. Your other best friend, (Y/f/n) was there for you through the light and dark times. You found yourself being content, even though the hole Sirius left was never filled, you almost never found yourself craving it. It was simple. Sirius did not talk to you and you didn’t him.

***

You were sitting in the library going through some books for homework when you heard a cough behind you. You turned to see Remus awkwardly smiling at you.

“I-er wanted to thank you for yesterday.” Remus said.

“It was my duty, but okay you are welcome.” You said off-handedly as you continued your work.

“I didn’t even say it.” Remus said smiling.

“Well,” you said finally looking at him. “I understand that you were going to. I just thought your friend wouldn’t like you talking to a Slytherin.”

“Oh. He won’t come here. He is busy with some prank.” Remus said.

You raised your eyebrow and Remus's eyes widened.

“I- mean I don’t – I-“ Remus stuttered. You sighed.

“It’s okay Remus. We all break rules. Even though we are prefects.” You said making Remus relax.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Runes essay. God! This one’s tough.” You said rubbing your temple.

“Oh I completed that long ago. Let me help.” Remus said plopping down beside you.

“Why would you want to help me?” you asked.

“Consider it a payback.”

You spent hours in the library with Remus. He was intelligent and funny. He helped you with runes; the one subject you loved but had problems with. You found your walls breaking easily around him. you joked, you laughed and you completed all your work. You were brought to reality when Sirius and Potter came around. He was Sirius’s best friend. You would never be friends with him. Sirius frowned as he saw you. Of course! He wants you to be away from his friends.

“Oh hey guys! I was just leaving!” Remus said picking up his things. You smiled at him.

“It was nice studying with you.” He said turning.

“You too.” You said as you tried really hard not to look at Sirius who was watching your every move.

As you got to your dorm, you shook yourself. Why was it so damn hard to forget him? His eyes, his laugh that attracted you like a magnet? Why couldn’t you stop wishing for him to talk to you if only it was for a moment?

Over the next few weeks, Remus surprised you. He studied with you in the library when he wasn’t tutoring people. There was something about him that made you comfortable. You joked around easily becoming friends with him; even though you thought it could never happen. You met James sometimes; and loved his goofy personality. You had also seen Peter; whom you couldn’t get much. Everyone basically, except him. The boy who had made you go through the most extremist of emotions.The one boy who you thought knew you like no other.

***

It was hard. It was really hard. Sirius saw (Y/n) almost every other day chattering with Remus or James or Peter. Just not him. He wanted to talk to her. But he did not know how. What would he say? The guilt of treating her like shit ate him alive. He was an idiot for letting his best friend go. He could only imagine how much (Y/n) must hate him. He was stupid. So stupid. All he remembered was her happily hopping towards the Slytherin table and shaking hands with Malfoy. The same Malfoy he hated the guts of. He had thought then that she was just like his family, forgetting every single moment he spent with her. Every single thing she told him about herself.

When he realized his mistake, he was too late. He did not know how to go to talk to her, tell her how sorry he was. It became a habit. Pretending to ignore (Y/n). Even though his heart crushed every single time she walked by. He wanted one chance. Just one more letter. Just one more attempt by her to talk to him. Just one sign that she hadn’t lost hope on him. He whispered into the depths of the night for her not to lose hope on him . Wished upon every single power of earth, remembering how (Y/n) believed in energies and spirits. But it didn’t happen. She forgot about him. The thought made his insides churn and he cried himself into the night thinking about it.

It was like being so close to her yet so far away. He would hear Remus or James talking about her, and all he could think was she hasn’t changed. He craved it, craved her. He would see her in the great hall with him brother and his stomach would twist. He would be transported back to his childhood, when he held her soft hand telling her how she was the greatest friend he could wish for. Running after (Y/n) and Regulus, promising himself to protect them with his life. A promise he broke. And he would never forget himself for it.

***

It was a study session. You, Remus, James, Peter and Sirius were sitting together chattering away. Sirius didn’t know why his heart raced. He was hyper-aware of sitting so close to you for the first time in years. It was a cursed blessing. He got to hear you, remember how you used to be like; but you didn’t so much look at him.

Peter had gone to get some snacks along with Remus. James had seen Lily and went to *charm* her. He was alone with her for the first time since he didn’t remember how long. Sirius looked at you. Were you always this beautiful? He wanted to say something. But what should he?

You picked up your bag and tried to leave. Sirius’s heart twisted.

“You cannot be alone with me even for a moment?” he said in a small voice.

(Y/n)’s head whipped towards him and her eyes widened.

“What?”

“Do you hate me so much that you cannot stand me even for a minute?”

“Shouldn’t I be the one asking this?” you snapped. It felt like everything you had buried long ago would spill. So, you stayed silent. Even though there were a whirlwind of questions that passed your minds. None of you said anything. You sucked in a deep breath.

“Why, Sirius? Why did you stop talking to me?” You said at last.

“Because I was an idiot. And stupid. I thought you would end up just like my parents.” Sirius said letting out a bitter laugh. You opened and closed your mouth several times not knowing what to say.

“I realized when it was too late. I- I didn’t know how to come up to you and apologise. For ignoring you. For treating you like a stranger. For tearing the letters you sent.” Sirius let out a shaky breath as tears prickled his eyes. “You loved writing letters. You always forgot something or the other you wanted to say and you wrote beautifully. I am sorry.” He sniffed.

“What are you talking about? Huh? You were the one who played that prank on me. You were-“

“The prank was on Snivellous. Not on you. You got at the place in the last moment. I wanted to tell you but you didn’t come out of your dorm for days.”

“You could have written me a letter.” you stated angrily.

“Never said I wasn’t an idiot.”

“What about Reg?” you demanded.

“My parents. They didn’t like me at all when I returned. Not that they did before. They punished me. If I talked to him, they would have done the same to him. It was better being the model child than a rebel like me.”

You both fell silent again.

“Why?” (Y/n) asked.

“I- I- It“ Sirius began, but was interrupted as Remus and Peter came back.

“Where’s James?” Remus asked.

“Chasing after Lily” he said with a forced smile.

***

Your head pounded when you reached your dorm. Sirius was sorry? It just felt to much. Just as you were ready to plop in and sleep you noticed a letter on your nightstand. Curious you opened it.

Dear (Y/n),

I never got to finish. I just want to tell you that this is in no way a plea for you to forgive me. I don’t deserve that. I am sorry. For everything. For acting like a asshole, even though you were the greatest friend I could ever have. For breaking god knows how many promises I made to you. I sometimes feel like if I wouldn’t say these things to you soon, I would burst. Because I wronged the one person who loved me like no other. God! I don’t even know whether you’ll read this. But if you are, I’m a pathetic person, you shouldn’t have had to go through me. I’m sorry you did.

Sirius.

You sighed.

***

Over the next few week, Sirius plucked courage to talk to you. Not much, neither of you dared to mention the beautiful forgotten friendship. He asked you how your day was, whether you ate. And that somehow was enough. Enough to make the two of you smile. You were confused, and still didn’t trust him. Sirius knew it and tried his best to mend things. You were awed at the little things he did for you. Saving you some food, when you were late to class; helping you with your week subjects, leaving random flowers pressed in your books. And you slowly started to give in.

***

It was Christmas eve and you had decided to stay back since your parents were travelling. You got up early to open your presents. Your parents had gifted you some paints from their tour. Reg and Remus a huge collection of sweets. James a huge bottle of firewhiskey which made you laugh. Sirius- Sirius had given you a book. Not just any book. Your favourite book. The very first edition and signed by the author. You grasped opening it. You could only imagine what must he have gone through to get it for you. How could he remember it? Your favourite book from when you were merely 10.

You ran. You ran overwhelmed with emotions that crushed you. You couldn’t bring yourself to care that this was the same person who ignored you. You knocked on the boys dorm. They muttered Christmas greetings but all you could see was Sirius. Standing there oblivious of torture he was making you go through. You pulled him into a bone crushing hug. Sirius’s heart paced. You were hugging him! He held onto you as his only lifeline.

“You’re an idiot.” You sniffed.

“I am an idiot.” Sirius repeated.

A/N: Let me know what you think!

#sirius #sirius black #sirius x reader #sirius imagine #sirius black imagine #harry potter #harry potter imagine #marauders imagine #my work

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dramioneasks · 4 years

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HP FESTS: DramioneFanfictionForum (Part 3)

Sounds Like Dramione 2020:

Not fond of asking by Anonymous - M, 4 chapters - The five times Draco and Hermione cared about each other without owning up to it and what happened when they finally did.

The Scars we Share by Anonymous - E, one-shot - Those who survive war never do without any scars. Some however are invisible. Eighth year Hermione and Draco try to make a go of it, but the past doesn’t seem to want to let go.

The Magic in the Marrow by Anonymous - E, 6 chapters - Auror Inspector Malfoy is making forensic scientist Hermione Granger's life difficult.If he's not dragging her to a crime scene, he's invading her dreams.

Healing by Anonymous - M, one-shot - Returning for his final year a changed man, Draco Malfoy finds that everyone suffered and no one is alright Becoming close with Hermione Granger is healing in a way he didn’t know he needed.

fools with hearts that tried too hard by Anonymous - T, 3 chapters - For the 2020 Sounds Like Dramione Competition on the Dramione Fanfiction Forum. My prompt was "Maybe all we are is fools with hearts that tried too hard/And maybe that's just fine as long as you're here in my arms" from Maybe, I'm afraid by lovelytheband.

Loving Her Was Green by Anonymous - E, one-shot - Their secret shag sessions were a means to an end — mutually beneficial and nothing more. But when jealousy takes over, Draco Malfoy should have known better than to think it could have ever stopped there.

Ghosts That We Knew by Anonymous - T, one-shot - Malfoy keeps following Hermione around Hogwarts. She has no idea why.She traced the scar on her left arm, wondering about Horcruxes and curses, and what marks they left behind on one's soul.“Is that from – was that Aunt Bellatrix?” a voice said in her ear, and Hermione shrieked.“Fucking hell, Malfoy!”He looked sullen. “This is the dungeons, you know.”“Yes,” she agreed, trying to remember how to breathe. “If only you spent all your time here –”

Catalyst by Anonymous - E, 5 chapters - Six years after the war, Hermione has a challenging career and fulfilling friendships, and movie nights with Draco are the highlight of her week. But her impending marriage to Ron fills her with increasing anxiety.

Preying on You by Anonymous - T, one-shot - A chance meeting and Hermione finds out a long hidden secret.

Starving by Anonymous - E, 5 chapters - Hermione has everything figured out. Sex is like food. Club nights are far too expensive. And men belong in the category of 'things that are more faff than they're worth'. You know, like hair straightening charms, lingerie, and mathematical integration. This is a story about food and sex, though not at the same time.

Why Can't We Be Three by Anonymous - E, 3 chapters - One was her unlikely best mate, the other a longtime love newly her fiance. And Hermione felt utterly barmy nestled between the two in the back of a pub, the wrong man's hand toying with the waistband of her shorts. But if her fiance didn't mind, who was she to deny that two could become three? Who was she to refuse her fiance the pleasure that she, too, so desperately craved?

Everlasting Light by Anonymous - E, 3 chapters - no summary

Slowly, then all at once by Anonymous - M, 2 chapters - Hermione begins her training at St. Mungo’s the summer after her eighth year. She’s excited to put the past behind her—that is, until Draco Malfoy turns up in her ward and she’s forced to relive the past, if only so he can remember it. Title of the story is inspired by a line in The Fault in Our Stars by John Green.

Add it up! by Anonymous - M, one-shot - Draco struggles to keep on task while on a case with Granger.

Love is a Beautiful Thing by Anonymous - T, one-shot - How can you choose when you never wanted to hurt anyone?

How I Ended Up Inside by Anonymous - E, one-shot - no summary

Make Damn Sure by Anonymous - T, one-shot - Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy may of overcome their differences and fallen in love along the way, but with an impending betrothal on the horizon, will everything change for them?

Lost Souls by Anonymous - T, one-shot - Broken by war and years of secrecy, Hermione and Draco struggle to find true happiness together while hiding behind double lives.

Hold Me When I'm Here by Anonymous - M, one-shot - No longer on the wrong side of the war, Draco finds himself fighting beside unlikely allies, each day about getting through whatever way he can.Sometimes, that way is her.

Guilt by Anonymous - E, one-shot - Getting a nanny in would work wonders.

Deflower Draco 2020:

Mind and Body by sarena - E, 5 chapters - Hermione tilted her head, taking a step back to look him up and down. “Draco Malfoy, is this your first time?” He winced reflexively but he tried to cover it up immediately by shaking his head. “Of course not,” he scoffed.

Something Deeper by kmd0107 - E, one-shot - Draco and Hermione have to consummate their marriage bond. Draco may have left out one not-so-tiny detail.

Something Unexpected by GaeilgeRua - E, one-shot - Hermione learns that the rumours about her new husband may have been exaggerated a bit. It’s a good thing that the Slytherin Sex God and the Gryffindor Princess work so well together now.

A Stellar Collision by Somandalicious - E, one-shot - They were a white dwarf and a neutron star hurling through space and time on an elliptical trajectory with catastrophic consequences.

Prick the Virgin by Klawdee - M, one-shot - 7th year Au, in which, Hermione (not the Head Girl, but knows a bit about head or at least several different slang words for it) asks Draco for his virginity, but NOT that virginity, and yet she gets both, that is if either really exist at all... Canon divergence - Voldy Moldy didn’t return 4th year or in this fic…at all… -Diggory was the only Hogwarts Champion…but also not in this fic… -Umbridge did teach 5th year but was chased out early due to out of control rise underage rituals…hinted at but not elaborated on… - it’s AU; Sargent and really…there is no plot, what plot? Inspired by an incorrect (as I’ve soon learned doing some minor research) tumblr post assumption on what “Virgin Blood actually” means, and I ran with it anyways. Some humour, or at least some attempts at humour. I know my confidence is staggering, hopefully you give it a go anyhow, and humour me.

In the Twist of a Curl by SlytherinHermione - E, one-shot - There she goes again. Draco couldn’t help but to watch, mesmerized as she took a long strand of her hair, and followed its curled path around her finger.He felt turned around, twisted upside down, and he couldn’t really stop himself from falling.

Waking The Dragon by Lilithmorningstar69 - E, one-shot - Draco Malfoy had very few choices, despite being a spoilt brat, as a pureblood and only living heir to the Malfoys, he is expected to uphold some antiquated traditions. That is until he sees an unexpected pair in a very compromised position.

still got you all over me by HawthorneWhisperer - M, one-shot - “Earl Grey,” a deep voice said, and it was like walking straight through a ghost. Her stomach plunged, her veins turned icy cold, and she made herself count to three before turning around.It was worse than a ghost. It was him, warm and in the flesh, cheeks slightly flushed from the summer heat outside. Draco hadn’t noticed her yet, too busy paying for his tea, and she inched toward the door. If she could just scoot past the cluster of witches waiting in line, she might be able to—“Granger?” the barista asked. Dammit. Draco’s face went several shades paler. She gave up trying to sneak out and sheepishly wended her way to the counter. Hermione accepted her cup with a meek smile and nodded to Draco like this wasn’t the worst thing that had happened to her in years. It had been seven years since she had last seen him, standing alone in front of the lake. Everyone else had been crowded into groups, surrounded by their families and loved ones, but Draco was alone. No one had come to his commencement ceremony, not even his mother.

The Infidelity Clause by melanoradrood - E, one-shot - "It ends with infidelity," he said carefully. "If one of us were to have sexual relations with another, then the contract is broken."Draco's future has been written in ink and magic since he was a child, but now that he faces it, a marital contract, he knows that there's only one way out... but the consequences of breaking such a contract are... permanent.Hermione rather likes the sound of them.Written for Deflower Draco Fest 2021

Not Your Average Sex God by GracefulLioness - E, one-shot - Draco's in love. And that's isn't even the most embarrassing thing he's confessing tonight.

Until You by BiscuitsForPotter - E, one-shot - After a potions accident at fifteen, Draco must resign himself to living with an affliction for which there is no cure. Written for the 2021 Deflower Draco Fest.

The Bowtruckles and the Beasts by PurpleSugarQuills - E, one-shot - Molly Weasley brandished a copy of The Bowtruckles and the Beasts in one hand and a ripe, yellow banana in the other. Hermione could only blink, moments away from receiving The Talk from her ex-boyfriend’s mother.This was, as so many things tended to be, all Ginny Weasley’s fault.And eighth-year fic for Deflower Draco Fest

Fortuitous timing by emotionalsupporthufflepuff - E, one-shot - Rumor has it that Draco Malfoy is a skilled and generous lover.He may have started that rumor himself...But when Hermione Granger wants to find out for herself, will it result in another disastrous event for Draco, or is his luck finally turning around?

This fest is ongoing.

#dramionefanfictionforum #Fests/Exchanges/Challenges

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lady-delamort · 3 years

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Red Hood and Komand'r/Blackfire

It has been more than confirmed for a while, since the main antagonists of the third season were announced, which will feature two powerful plots, the first half belonging to Red Hood and the second half to Blackfire.

But what does this really mean?

Join me in raving and theorizing a bit about the path that season three is apparently taking with the information we have so far.

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R E D H O O D

First part of the season

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The Titans have established themselves as a team after defeating Cadmus and saying goodbye to their beloved Donna. The darkness and guilt regarding the Tower's first attempt, Jerico's misfortune, Garth's death, and Deathstroke's ghost have left the tower, and its leader Dick is finally someone else: Nightwing, a new hero...

What else?

Old Titans like Dove and Hawk haven't worked on a simultaneous team in a long time, Kory has lost her powers, Gar is about to experience a transition of his own powers, Rachel is gone, and there are two new Titans (three if we count Joey inside Rose xD👌🏻✨). It still takes a lot of work to be a true team.

My theory is that this stage of Arkham Asylum, Scarecrow and Red Hood will have a resemblance impact on our Titans. Not only facing the old Robin as friend and former Titan, but also, how now they would begin to synchronize with each other as the team they should be, how to cope with a new, more accessible Dick and how they themselves will feel comfortable with each other.

Yes, at the end of the season we saw them all united by the pain of losing Donna, but when that has happened and they really have a goal to stop, just worrying about others is not enough, they are all going to have to be in a line similar to combat.

And all this in the city of darkness, Gotham.

I am one of those who is most excited about Blackfire and all the crazy party that it will bring, but it is more than clear that we have to put our heroes and their team to the test before the real bomb that hits them from where they least expect it, falls . And who better to test their ties and wills than Red Hood himself?

Although not everything seems to be a battle with our former Robin.

This image of Jason was posted by one of the Titans producers. What do we notice in this image? Pain, almost fear.

It is unknown if Jason will die and revive this season, either way he is obviously in trouble.

The last time Jason showed up, he no longer wanted to know anything about the Titans and less about Batman, so to think that he went his own way without asking for help from either of them and doing dangerous jobs as impulsive as him, is not so crazy.

So it was only a matter of time before he got into trouble.

I imagine him calling Dick and abruptly cutting off the call, our boy, scared by his partner, decides to trace the call and locate it somewhere in Gotham. So, all together, they decide to go there.

Taking advantage of the fact that Bruce intervenes at this stage to try to be a neutral point in all the team's disgrace (such as at the end of the old season) and Barbara putting them tense, letting them know that they are actually a threat more than a team. And so Bruce and Barbara go into a shot and loose between the morale of the Titans.

And to top it off, Arkham Asylum with the Scarecrow making Jason suffer to the point of turning him Red Hood.

I find it a bit difficult to see him as a real antagonist to Red Hood in the season when there are other problems crowding out there, but I suppose this first half of the season will end with a great team battle against the scarecrow, along with Red Hood (maybe); and when everything has calmed down, the Titans want Jason to come back, and he would take a different path again; without being able to save him from the violent and bloody path he chose.

A victory on the one hand and a defeat on the other.

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B L A C K F I R E / K O M A N D ‘ R

Second part of the season

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Our team ties were not put to the test enough, but there is certainly greater trust, greater affection, and greater camaraderie between them, as the official loss of Jason (and perhaps good news from Rachel and Donna, who knows) pushes the team to decide to return to their Tower, feeling more like a family than a group of misfits.

Especially Kory, who had felt so lost and alone at the end of season two.

Perhaps more Tamaraneans will begin to arrive, perhaps greater signs of Blackfire will appear, perhaps, several strange objects will even begin to appear that Kory knows perfectly well could be ships or weapons of her people. Whatever the reason, Kory will realize that Blackfire is closer.

Then she starts to walk away.

Because Kory has come to feel too good in the team to put them at risk with a problem of their own, especially now everyone is beginning to return to their own path, their destiny.

Will we see the team wanting to get closer to Kory? Dick trying to get into a very serious conversation with her? Gar, Dick, and Rachel getting in Blackfire's way to protect their precious friend?

I see it very likely.

Blackfire not only comes to pressure Kory to maximize her powers, to face her destiny and her past, to put her life at risk. Blackfire comes to shake all the Titans equally. Leading everyone's lives in danger and questioning their fate.

Being a hero, a vigilante ... is that what everyone really wants?

The threat of Blackfire will be something different than what everyone has experienced before, and with Kory walking away from them (one of the mainstays of the team), things are going to get very, very interesting.

Perhaps at the end of the season we will see the descent of Hank or Dawn as titans, already on better terms than before, because now they are not fleeing from something, but deciding a different fate than the vigilantes.

To all the Titans who find the true meaning of being a Titan. And accept it with all the horrors to come, knowing that you can overcome it, because you are together. And that makes them invincible.

I'm too excited for this season, I am NOT going to allow myself to think about how they could ruin it or how I could be disappointed and hope for the best, always the best for my favorite team of heroes. They deserve it. 💙

B O N U S

Does anyone have a theory or comment regarding how the Rachel and Donna subplot will play out this season? I feel that we have encompassed ourselves in the two big Arches and not in this small plot.

I feel that, as everything is going, they are going to dedicate a single chapter to them and I don't know what to think about it 😂💔. I feel like it's something very important but I can't think of a way to get excited about it when we have Red Hood and Komandr around the corner.

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treeni · 4 years

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Say My Name

Day 1 of Soulmate September

DRLAMP

Summary: When people turn 16, the name of their soulmate appears on their palms in black. When a person meets their soulmate and introduces themselves, the mark changes to a color reflecting that person. However, when Janus turned 16 all that appeared was a big black smudge.

Words: 5229

TW: swearing, mentions of traumatic childhood event, fire

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Taglist: @tsshipmonth2020

It was rude to ask, but that hardly ever stopped people from inquiring why Janus didn’t know the name of his soulmate. Everyone knew the name of their soulmates. When you reached the age of 16, it would literally appear across your palm. Janus remembered that year, all of his class mates, one by one coming in with names written across their palms, some in fancy script, some in large bubbly fonts, some in absolute chicken scratch. He remembered one person’s walked in with gloves on because it turned out the name was written in comic sans of all things. Yet, when he walked in with countless people waiting in anticipation for his big birthday reveal, all Janus had to show them was a large, seemingly meaningless black blob on his hand.

It seemed like no one around him had ever seen anything like it before. The doctors had said it might somehow be linked to his scars, the fire that he barely survived as a kid if not for his father’s near-suicidal rescue mission. They both made it out alive, but Janus was barely holding on. Weeks of hospitalization, monitoring, skin-grafts, and a lot of grief, left a child with scar tissue on the whole left side of his body. He wasn’t teased as much as you’d expect. When he finally returned to school a big, school-wide assembly was held about happened that left him being treated like some hero for some reason. Janus didn’t like the attention at the time, but it had its advantages in the long run. When he didn’t want to participate in gym, he could blame sensitivity and the other students were quick to defend him on it even against the teachers. When his work was late because he took a self-care day, he was never docked the extra time.

However, there were disadvantages too. The sensitivity was something he did deal with, especially against the cold or direct sunlight, the scar tissue didn’t handle the exposure well. It seemed that never knowing the identity of his soulmates, if he even had one, was one of them. Just another way he was different than everyone else.

Then again, the black spot might have been the universe sending another a big karmic “fuck you” his way for all of the times he used his scars to play innocent and garner sympathy. After all, it couldn’t have been Janus who pushed the bully jock down the stairs, not Janus. He was practically crippled after all!

That was how people treated him at least, even his parents. Especially his parents. It was a frustratingly fruitless endeavor to try and prove he wasn’t absolutely useless. So he let people think what they were going to think. If everyone wanted to believe he was a fragile snowflake that would fall apart at the slightest touch? Well, it just made easier to get away with things because general perception became his permanent alibi.

Still, when college rolled around, he took the first ticket out to the farthest, decent university that would take him and a distance he went. Between his high grades and essays he didn’t receive one rejection letter. Universities really ate up sob stories of grievances that had to be overcome and he certainly had a grievance. Still, he liked to think at least part of it was his own merit, even if it felt like a lie.

Though there were a lot of things he had already given up on in life by age 18, when he had first attended the university he had let himself be a little bit excited about it. It was a new place with new people, people who didn’t see the kid who almost burned in a house fire, the kid who would never find a soulmate. He had a chance to start over and be more than his circumstances.

Except, he quickly realized it was more of the same. He tried layering fabrics, covering up as much of his scars as possible so people wouldn’t notice as much. He already kept them mostly covered anyway to protect against sensitivity, so it wasn’t a huge change. He started wearing gloves, one to hide the scars and the other to hide the mockery of a soul mark. It seemed no matter what he tried though, it made no difference. He couldn’t hide the scars on his face.

So there he was, nearly finished his freshman year of college, sitting in the library by himself because he refused to repeat his past experiences. If people didn’t want to treat him like an actual person, then he resolved that he didn’t need them. He had settled on the path of becoming a lawyer and honestly it wasn’t like he needed anyone slowing him down anyway. Truly. Friends would just hold him back by taking up valuable studying time anyway.

Janus took a sip of bitter coffee to refocus himself as he stared blankly at the computer screen in front of him. He knew that his course load would most definitely keep him too busy for friends in the future, but the now was a bit of a struggle. He had actually... run out of assignments to complete and was nearly a month ahead. The professors had laid everything out in the syllabus so it was easy to just work his way through. Sure, when the library started to crowd with procrastinating students scrambling to make the grade, he’d be able to just relax because he’d all but finished his work for the semester. Still, it felt a little hollow. Nearly a month of... basically nothing to do, no one to see, just mindlessly attending classes to be assigned work he’d already completed.

It wasn’t the first time it happened either, Janus had been miserable toward the end of the previous semester as well after finishing early then too. The last few weeks were basically miserable stagnation that continued through the holidays because he refused to go home over the break. He only started to feel like himself again when the new term started and he had a whole new set of work to complete.

With a huff, he angrily clicked the e-learning program closed and was left unsatisfied by finality of it. He needed something, like an old school corded phone or maybe he’d just go key some poor sods car. The university’s president had a dedicated spot and he’d heard she was a real piece of work. He’d never met her himself, but he’d heard some stories that she was a real Jekyll and Hyde, except the Hyde was her default. Somehow her transition only seemed to magically take place when a camera was pointed in her direction. Speaking of cameras, if he redirected the security camera he could probably get away with it too. At least it’d be something to do. Plotting through how best to get away with it, he took a long sip of coffee. It was hot and burned his tongue, but taste-wise it as bitter as his current mood and felt appropriate somehow.

While contemplating if he should raid the library’s staff lounge for sugar (it’s not like they’d do anything about it anyway) a loud noise sounded from his left, immediately grabbing his attention. He realized the almost ‘harump’ like sound was a book hitting the floor. He didn’t think too much of it as he involuntarily looked in the direction of the sound’s source. Occasionally falling books were an inevitability in a place that housed so many. The person closest to the fallen book though caught his attention for more than just a passing glance.

He was tall, lean and muscular and Janus found himself immediately trying to swallow down the gay. It didn’t help that the guy wore low hanging cargo pants with ripped muscle shirt that showed off his midriff. His face was tucked in another book, but Janus could see an odd tuft of silver hair sticking out against a full head of soft dark curls. As he inspected further, he noticed the guy was covered in red splatters of some sort that he sincerely hoped was the ink of a red pen. He had a large smudge of whatever it was up his left bicep. He continued to flip through pages, seemingly at random before haplessly tossing the book onto the floor next to the first and pulling another off the shelf and doing the same.

Oh.

This guy was a bastard.

Well, at least that meant Janus’ guilt over staring immediately evaporated.

In fact, Janus just let himself lean back in his chair, coffee in hand and legs crossed as he openly watched the antics taking place in front of him. Other library patrons started to look toward the bastard as well as the sound of random books hitting the floor continued. Though, while Janus stared in amusement, the others mainly threw looks of annoyance. Not everyone had the leniency of being weeks ahead in their coursework he supposed. As the pile seemed to grow almost endlessly the sound seemed to pause as the bastard took longer with the current book in his hands, sifting through it slower than the others until he shut it with a reverberating ‘bang’ no quieter than any of the books falling to the ground and stuffed it into a backpack that was leaned against the shelves. Now without a blockade in front of the bastards face, Janus could see that he was unfortunately handsome. Even from his position a few feet away Janus could see the high cheekbones of an almost sculpted face. It was only ruined slightly by a nearly cartoonish mustache sitting atop a perfect cupids bow. It was almost as if a generic Greek artist carved the guy from straight marble and some teenager vandalized the statue with ratty clothes, an exploding pen, and god-awful facial hair. The lips he was focusing on stretched in a wide grin as Janus looked up to see the bastard wiggling his eyebrows at him. He scoffed in reply and pretended to gag, like he was uninterested.

You know, like a liar.

The bastard still had the audacity to stare his way with a big, wolfish grin and winked as he walked away... and straight into the banister separating the open concept from the lower floor. Tall, dark, and handsome fell across it, bending at the hips like a rag doll. He let out a yelp as the wind was knocked out of him from the railing pushing hard into his stomach and then he started to slide. Janus was running to his aid before he had even realized he had gotten up, his coffee a forgotten puddle on the floor as his cup was still rolling from the impact. The guy had managed to grab hold of the banister with one hand on his way down, but he was left dangling and it wasn’t clear how long he could hold himself there. Janus reached down and secured his grip by wrapping his forearms around the one gripping the banister. There was no way Janus would be able to pull him up on his own, but he could probably hold the position.

“Can you swing?” Janus asked, putting all of his focus and energy in his grip. Don’t let go, don’t let go, don’t let him slip, don’t let go.

Without answering, the guy did a small test swing that had Janus clenching his teeth and tightening his grip to make sure as hell this guy didn’t fall.

“Oh three then, one, two-” Janus counted and reached further down to lock their elbows straight to make sure this worked. “Three!”

With a strong swing of the hips the dangling stranger arched upward, with Janus using leverage principles from his position above to add the extra oomph needed for the guy to lock his foot underneath the rail and grab hold of the bars with his other hand. Janus let himself be used as a handhold as the stranger crawled over the banister and back onto solid ground. He was reminded of just how unfortunately attractive the guy was a strong hands gripped his shoulders and bright emerald eyes stared down at his own mismatched pair.

“My hero!” The guy yelled and then suddenly foreign lips were pressed against Janus’ own.

The kiss was over as soon as it began, but that didn’t stop Janus from noticing the tongue that had traced over his lips before he pulled away.

“Oh! Sorry! Pattoncake’s always reminding me to work on my boundaries. I’m supposta try askin’ before I start mackin’ ya know?”

Janus knew... some of those words. To be fair, he wasn’t even sure he was processing the ones he did know, still a little dazed between the guy in front of him nearly falling off the indoor balcony and then the sudden kiss. His first kiss.

“I’ve always wanted to do that though and it was just nice to be saved for once by someone who wasn’t Roman. No one wants to kiss that ugly mug anyway,” the stranger said before holding out a hand to him. “I’m Remus by the way!”

Janus was about to take his hand and shake it, the way normal people do. He really was. It’s just suddenly he felt something tingling against the skin of his right hand. It felt... intense, but didn’t hurt, like friction without the burn. Automatically glancing at his hand, he could see something glowing through the fabric of his glove. He immediately ripped it off without a second thought and stared down at the bright light carving out a name on his hand in big, electric green letters.

Remus.

Remus apparently found it appropriate to disregard the boundaries advice and stepped into Janus’ personal space, taking the green glowing hand in both of his own, staring down hard at the name that had appeared for a moment. Without warning Remus dropped the hand to move both of his own to Janus’ shoulders, squeezing.

“What’s your name?!” Remus demanded, his hands trembling as if he was holding back a deep will to shake the boy in his grip.

Janus didn’t answer immediately, he just stared back at the emerald eyes in shock while it felt like his stomach was trying to crawl out of his own throat. Taking a couple hurried breaths through his nose as he tried to push back the sheer panic that had overtaken him in this big what the fuck of a situation, he managed to whisper out in more breath than noise, “Janus.”

They both watched in equal astoundment as Remus’ own hand began to glow as a name that was previously scrawled out in inky black redesigned itself into a bright golden yellow. Janus could see that unlike his own hand that now had green letters against a large blob of black, Remus’ was a rainbow of letters in different colors overlapping each other.

Suddenly Remus’ strong hands had scooped him up into a twirl as he yelled, “It’s you!”

Some poor bastard with a cart at the edge of Janus’ vision had the audacity shush them and Janus flipped them the bird. If it were any other situation, he would have taken note of exactly who they were and plotted how best to ruin their lives in the most intricate way possible, but he was a little preoccupied at the moment. The fact that they were in the midst of picking up the pile of books Remus left behind didn’t buy them any mercy points either.

“Oh they’re going to love you!”

With that, they were off with Remus’ backpack bouncing with each long stride. Janus wrapped his arms tightly around Remus’ neck, holding on for dear life as the man ran like a bullet out of the library, artfully sidestepping anyone in his way. He was clearly practiced at being a general menace. Why not add kidnapping to the list? Not that Janus really minded the feeling of Remus’ chest pressed against his own.

His soulmate’s chest, Janus had to remind himself as he looked back down at the green letters branded against his hand. He felt tears well up in the corners of his eyes.

He had a soulmate.

Janus choked back a sudden sob, and gave into the absurdity of the situation by letting his head rest against Remus shoulder as he was carted off to who-the-fuck-knows-where. He was half certain this was some surreal dream.

He was half terrified that he would wake up.

Before Janus had really caught up with what was happening or even where he was, he found himself being deposited in a lap of someone who looked just as confused as he felt. At least it was comfortable as arms covered in the fabric of a plush hoodie caught him as Remus dropped him while announcing “Lo, I got your book!”

“What the fuck Rem?” voiced the person he was now being held by.

Janus looked up to survey the area. He began internally panicking to find five very attractive boys suddenly looking in his direction. This had to be a dream. He’d wake up and there would be no harem and definitely no soulmate mark beyond the black blob he’s known since he got the damn thing. The check he was pressed against let out a huff and Janus had to lean backwards a bit to see a scowl aimed in Remus’ direction. Scowl or no, he was beautiful. Dark eye shadow and long bangs that couldn’t quite obscure the stunning amethyst eyes.

“I see you checked out more than just a textbook from the library Remus,” said the one apparently called Lo. Even from his strange position Janus could tell that Lo was sat with straight posture, but somehow seemed relaxed. He had sharp, angular features, a pointy nose, and a strong jawline. Thick, black framed glasses did nothing to obscure the picturesque looks of a truly symmetrical face. Lo looked unphased by Janus’ sudden presance, especially compared to the others as he accepted the textbook Remus offered him without so much as a frown.

“Cute right?” He asked, tossing his arms around another boy in the group who was staring at Remus with a frown. He was in a cyan polo with extra floofy hair and a splattering of freckles across his nose and cheekbones. “He saved me from falling off the banister Patty!”

“Again Remus?” Groaned the last boy of the group and glancing in his direction left Janus wondering if he’d even be able to speak if he wanted to. He looked like Remus. He was a little less lanky, a little more top heavy with more defined arms and shoulders especially. There was no cartoonish mustache on this one.

Janus’ mouth had gone dry. There was too much attractive surrounding him.

He couldn’t swallow down the gay anymore.

The unnamed one who looked like Remus and apparently had the same lack of personal space suddenly took his hand and pulled him into a standing position before dropping to his knee and bowing deeply like a god damn fairy tale prince, without letting go of Janus’ gloveless hand.

“You have my deepest gratitude for saving my brother. I, Roman Royal, am in your debt.”

Janus was going to tell him to get the fuck off the groud and stop being so god damn cliche and charming and adorable because guys like that didn’t exist in the real world, but then both he and prince charming were left awestruck as they watched Janus’ hand start to glow again. Because of course it did.

“Whoops! Did I forget to mention my last soulmate mark changed?” Remus asked before cackling as he sprawled his legs across the lap that Janus had vacated.

“Wait, he’s-!” The hooded one exclaimed underneath Remus’ legs.

“Yep!” Remus said cheerfully, popping the ‘p’ sound.

Janus didn’t even realize he was crying until the goddamn prince charming, his soulmate Roman reached out and gently wiped the tears away with a softness that matched every fucking YA novel love interest ever.

His chin was titled up to stare into ruby eyes, only to find that Roman was crying too and how dare he still be so beautiful crying?! Who sanctioned this?

“-please, my dear, please, please, please tell me your name,” Roman whispered, cradling his cheeks on both sides as he wiped away Janus’ tears with his thumbs. Janus wasn’t sure how Roman could stand touching the scars on his face, but Roman didn’t seem phased at all. He didn’t hesitate in the slightest or treat the scarred skin any differently than the unmarred side.

“I’m... I’m Janus.”

Janus wasn’t sure where to look as four lights suddenly appeared, surrounding him from all directions. As the lights faded he found himself swept up for a second time, but now in Roman’s arms as he too twirled Janus in the opposite direction of his brother.

“It’s finally you!” He cried and kissed Janus on the top of the head before setting him down.

Janus swayed on his feet, dizzy from spinning and just very overwhelmed. This was a lot. This day was a lot.

“I’m so sorry!” Roman exclaimed, taking Janus’ hand in between both of his own and looking down at Janus with eyes full of remorse. “I should have asked before kissing you! Or even grabbing you at all, I was just so happy-”

“I-it’s okay... I’m just... this is just a lot,” Janus admitted, trying to push down his strong sense of panic. He had never had this much one on one social interaction... ever. Much less with his soulmates!

“Hey,” said the smooth voice of the one in the hood as he reached across Remus’ legs to grab ahold of Janus’ sleeve. “Breathe okay? In for four.”

Janus turned his attention to the soothing quiet voice, focusing on it and only it as it slowly grounded him. Lo pulled Remus’ legs away, as the hooded boy scooted forward in his seat, taking each of Janus’ hands in his own and rubbing soothing circles into both the bare skin of his right hand and the fabric of his still-gloved left hand.

“Hold it for seven,” he said, keeping strong and intent eye-contact. Janus wasn’t sure he could look away if he wanted to. He felt entranced. “Breathe out for eight. You’re doing great.”

“If it helps you feel any better Ro, I already macked on him without asking first too so-” Remus said with a big grin, like the cat that got the cream.

“That’s not something you should be proud of Rem!” Roman said and swatted his brother on the shoulder.

“Remus, what have we said about personal space?” The floofy that was called Patty said.

“Uggggh,” Remus groaned dramatically and let himself fall backwards. as if the two laps he occupied were a fainting couch. “Roman did it tooooo!”

“I didn’t try to make out with him without permission! Plus, I apologized!”

“So did I!”

Their conversation continued on from there. It was always so strange to be talked about, as if you weren’t there. Still, a deep gentle voice was guiding him away from their squabble, refocusing him on the moment, on hands within his own and the sound of exaggerated breathing that was demonstrated for him to match.

It took a few minutes, but he started to feel as if he was regaining his bearings. Janus looked down at their joined hands and saw colors peaking out at the edges of the palm holding his. More importantly, he saw yellow, the same yellow he saw appear on Remus’ hand with his own eyes.

He had to know.

He wanted to know.

“What’s your name?” Janus asked, tugging gently at the hand that had his name inscribed against it.

“We don’t have to do this now, we can do it later. It’s okay to wait, I promise.”

Janus was almost convinced, almost let it go, but he couldn’t. He had gone years believing he’d spend his life alone and now his own name apparently was written across the palms of five people.

Five soulmates.

He wanted to know.

“Please- I just... never expected this. I thought... I thought-”

“That you’d be alone,” the purple eyed stranger muttered sympathetically and in that moment he knew. They must have been like him, waking up one birthday expecting a name only to find an illegible smudge of ink instead. “I’m Virgil.”

His palm shined as bright purple letters defined themselves against against the black and it was finally enough to be able to decipher the remaining two names still in black.

He could read Patton and Logan.

“It’s so nice to meet you Virgil,” Janus said, squeezing the hand still holding his. “Before today I didn’t believe you were real.”

He heard various laughs around him as Virgil snorted. He even heard a “mood!” somewhere behind him.

Janus glanced back down at his own palm again. He was determined to never see black on it ever again. He squeezed Virgil’s hand once before relinquishing it and squared his shoulders, walking over to the last two he had yet to officially met. Roman scooped his brother out of their collective grasps and deposited him against the currently unoccupied metal bench to the side of the C shape the three formed.

“Hey!” Remus yelled as he was dropped.

“Stay still for once you absolute delinquent,” Roman said, and sat on his brothers back pretzel-style, effectively pinning him in place.

One sat stark still, his hands folded in his lap, but bowed his head slightly with the barest smile touching the corners of his mouth as Janus approached. The other was shaking his leg, drumming his fingers and chewing on his lip with big nervous eyes and he looked toward Janus, like he couldn’t’ sit still if he wanted to. Janus fell to his knees, cautiously putting one hand on each of their legs and looking up at two curious gazes.

“Before today I thought I would spend the rest of my life alone, that there was no one out there for me. I didn’t have a name and now-” Janus said, cutting himself off as his voice cracked.

“And now you have five,” said the one in the dark blue tie.

Janus could only nod in return, trying to will away the need to cry again. He was never this emotional, today was just... an extra bitch on the feelings meter.

“I need to know.”

The one who had been shaking’s hands flow up and covered his mouth as he cooed out an appreciative noise. Janus waited, trying to give him time to gather his bearings.

“Can I hug you?” he squeaked out and Janus couldn’t hold back the smile as he nodded.

Immediately, hands were thrown around his neck as the life was squeezed out of him. After a few seconds though, it relaxed and he was led into a rocking motion that was reminiscent of a boat, swaying listlessly against a gentle river. After hesitating, Janus’ own arms found their way to a waist and then around a back as he pulled the humming boy closer to himself.

They stayed like that for several minutes and Janus wasn’t sure if it was for the his own sake or for the sake of the boy in his arms. Maybe both.

“I’m Patton,” he finally whispered and Janus didn’t even bother to look down at the glow. He preferred to stay with his eyes closed, his ear leaning close enough to the pulse point of Patton’s neck to hear the beat of his heart. Still, as nimble fingers eventually tapped his shoulder, he looked up to find he still had one more person left to meet.

Before pulling away, Janus made sure to take a good look at the cyan that had found itself on his hand. Patton squeezed him tightly one last time before finally letting go of his grasp. Maybe it was revenge for the impromptu kisses he’s already received or maybe like the others he’d simply been lost in the moment but before pulling away completely, Janus leaned down and ghosted a kiss against Patton’s neck, causing the cute sky-eyed boy beneath him to shiver. It only made him more endearing.

Then he turned for he had one last person to meet. Standing up Janus found he was tall and sturdy looking. He wasn’t as broad shouldered as Roman, but he still looked strong and proportionally so. It was like every part of him was carefully curated.

This time, Janus knew his name.

Logan.

The only name left on his palm in perfect typed Arial.

“It is ironic that after struggling to read the names at all, the last of my soulmate’s names becomes more difficult to read upon its reveal,” Logan said, holding up his palm, yet it still took him a moment to understand.

Oh!

Oh.

His name would have been in black before and the yellow would most definitely be more difficult to read.

“Do not misunderstand. I am not displeased in the slightest, I just find it a bit humors. The black was always a glaring and ugly reminder of what I did not have.”

“Tell me about it,” Janus muttered in return.

Logan’s smile grew slightly as he reached down to take Janus’ hand within his own and gently held it up as he traced over the letters he recognized as his own still in black.

“Would you tell me your name?” Logan asked in a murmur before leaning down and leaving a kiss on Janus’ palm unapologetically.

Janus’s cheeks flushed at the care, but blinked as his mind went blank in confusion.

“But... you already...”

“You gave your name to Roman,” Logan whispered and tilted his head gently. “I want you to give it to me intentionally.”

Janus gulped, staring up at the sapphire eyes that were so intently focused on his own. “Janus. My name is Janus.”

“It is a pleasure to finally meet you Janus,” Logan said and bowed just slightly at the shoulders. “My name is Logan.”

The light shined between them as Logan still held Janus’ palm up and Janus watched the various streaks of blue in Logan’s eyes dance like light reflected through crystalline. With the deep blue lettering now situated on his hand, every trace of that ulgy black smudge was finally gone from his hands.

He had soulmates.

He wouldn’t be alone.

“Damn, Lolo’s got more game then you Ro,” Remus snarked despite being squished underneath Roman.

“Shut up Rem!” Roman declared with an indignant huff.

“No, he’s got a point Ro,” Virgil said, chin in palm and a blush across his cheeks as he watched Logan seduce the newest member of their unit.

“Awww, I think you’re Romantic Ro!” Patton declared reaching for Roman’s hand from his current place next to Virgil.

“Patton and Janus are currently my favorites and to hell with the rest of you,” Roman declared, as Remus cackled underneath him. Virgil stuck out his tongue and Logan just shot Roman a smug smirk.

Yeah.

Janus thought he was going to like it here but....

He would have the rest of his life to make absolutely sure.

#sanders sides #roman sanders #remus sanders #janus sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #fanfiction #drlamp #tsshipmonth2020

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thesvenqueen · 4 years

Text

With All My Love

Rating: M

Pairing: Kristanna (as if it would be anything else)

Also on AO3

Previous Chapters

Note: just want to say thank you thank you thank you to all you lovely readers! appreciate all the love and comments and tags and love you all greatly 💕

{Chapter 12}

Days go by, and then a week.

A routine has been made between them, one that came easily. He awakens before her, something he teases her on relentlessly with a smirk, and makes breakfast for them both.

Anna will tend to the chickens while Kristoff gets hay for Sven. They tend to the garden together, pulling weeds, watering and observing the plants to make sure they grow good and strong. They make a new row just for her future flowers, ready for new seeds whenever they come.

She’ll watch as he tends to his sled, help where she can as he makes a fence for the chickens. They both tidy the cabin when it needs it, sweeping and dusting, washing what needs washing.

Most days they’ll finish early, leaving them to their own devices.

Kristoff took it upon himself to teach her how to make bread one afternoon. She’d failed the first time, resulting in a hard, flat brick that even the chickens struggled to eat. He’d tried a piece, and though she could tell it was an absolute disaster he still told her with his lopsided smile that it was a good first try. Her second and third were much more successful, merely four pieces left now to show for it.

Other days they sit by the river, feet soaking in the cool mountain water. Sometimes they sit in silence, other times they chat about anything and everything. More often than not, they find themselves tangled together, kissing each other senseless as they lay on the river bank.

Some days they’ll walk, hand in hand, down paths that Kristoff knows well. Just yesterday he had led her to a small valley nearby where wild flowers were blooming. They’d laid in the flowers, holding each other, talking, kissing, watching the clouds, kissing some more. Anna continued to find stray pieces of grass and weed tangled within her hair.

Evenings become her favorite time. It’s quiet, still within the cabin, nothing but the sound of the crackling fire. They always find themselves sitting in front of the fireplace, a blanket shared between them, Anna leaning into Kristoff’s lap as he holds her in his arms. It’s comforting, soothing to rest in his arms, to feel his chest move as he breathes, to feel his lips against her brow as she dozes.

Before, it used to bother Anna to go to bed early. Especially if she’d had a day where she’d done nothing, it felt as though she was extremely lazy for finding sleep so early. Now though, finding sleep early is rewarding. Something she deserves after doing and achieving so much during the day.

It’s an added bonus when she finds herself nearly asleep in his arms, the feel of him lifting and carrying her to the bed, a soft murmur of ‘I love you’ the last thing she hears before sleep overcomes her.

~.~

Something is different today, Anna can sense it. There is an odd air of tension it seems between them now, one that wishes to snap.

He’d been quiet all morning, making Anna uneasy.

They’ve been so comfortable with each other, a surprising alternative to the awkwardness she was so sure they’d have to get through. Now, it seems, they’ve taken a step back.

As the morning wares on, she realizes it is not an awkward tension that lies, it’s pure tension and she isn’t sure why.

Kristoff avoids her gaze, not wanting to meet her eyes. She’d watched, as she fed the kitchens as he murmured something to Sven, something she couldn’t hear and the look on his face created a solid form of dread sitting in her stomach.

Something was wrong, and whatever it was he was keeping it from her.

He continues to stay silent during their come over of the garden, only murmuring a yes at her offering to go to the river.

It’s then, on their way down, that she finally snaps, completely done with it all.

“Enough of this.” She demands, pulling her hand from his, coming to a stand still on the path. He stops then, a step in front of her. He looks at her confused and it only makes Anna more angry. “What is wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t lie.” She says, arms crossed now as she glares. “You’ve acted distant all day, you won’t even look at me.” At that, Kristoff’s shoulders slump, his confusion falling from his face. “What is it Kristoff?”

The silence annoys Anna but she fights the urge to say anything. She can tell that he is thinking, working through what it is he has to say.

Though the words seemed to come easy when writing, speaking them was a whole other thing for Kristoff. He needed time, a moment sometimes to really get his words in order to be sure he said the right thing.

This was most definitely one of those times.

“I have to go back to Arendelle.”

He looks at her as he speaks, regret in his eyes, worry on his face and the dread that was sitting in Anna’s stomach grows in size, enough to make her nauseous now.

She knew it was coming, feared when the moment would come but it was too soon. They needed more time, just a little more time.

“Why?” Anna manages to say, a lump forming in her throat.

“I have a business to run.” He says, “I have deliveries to make that I have to tend to. Plus, we are running low on supplies I...I don’t have a choice Anna.”

Anna nods, looking down at her shoes, “Ok.” She says, clearing her throat as she looks back up to him with a small smile, “So a day's trip, then?”

“Anna…”

She knew it wasn’t a one day trip. He tended to deliveries on the daily, having multiple shipments to make throughout the week. The fact he’d been able to put them off this long was a miracle in of itself. She wondered how much it hurt him, how much it cost to take so much time away to be with her as it was. To be away from potential income, from money he very much needed.

Anna doesn’t realize she’s begun to cry until he comes to her, wiping his thumb gently along her cheeks to wipe her tears away.

“I won’t be long.” He whispers, “I’ll try to be as quick as I can.”

Anna shakes her head, closing her eyes, “That’s not what I’m worried about.” She opens her eyes to find him confused once more, and her lip wobbles as she speaks, “The princess...I’m missing, Kristoff.”

It’s then realization hits him, his eyes widening in understanding.

The princess of Arendelle was gone, missing in the night. There was no doubt a search would be made, an effort to find her. Especially with a prince on his way to retrieve his bride in weeks to come.

They could be questioning every villager, every merchant, every sailor and ice harvester alike. Including Kristoff, especially Kristoff. No doubt word would get around that they were friends, that they may have been close. They’d want to ask him, talk to him, see what he knew.

Would he be able to lie? To keep the secret that waited for him at his cabin from them?

Anna had faith he would but the risk was still there and so was the guilt that he would have to risk this all for her.

What if they wanted him to come to the castle, to be questioned by the Queen, her sister?

What if they’d questioned Gerda, able to manipulate the truth from her?

What if they were just waiting for him to arrive, already knowing he was a part of it somehow, to take him away, to lock him up never to see daylight again?

What if…

It’s then she feels his thumb brush of her lip, realizing that she had spoken all her thoughts aloud through her tears.

She looks up at him, his eyes so soft, always so soft for her and it makes her heart hurt at the idea of never seeing those eyes again.

“No more ‘what if’s’ ok?” She nods, tears still falling freely. He smiles softly down at her, “If we want to keep suspicions off of me, I have to go back to what I did before. I have to go back or they’ll know something is up.”

“But what about..”

“I asked for this week a while ago.” He says, knowing what she was going to question. “They won’t suspect anything from it.”

“Are you sure?”

Kristoff sighs, his smile falling and he leans down to her. He kisses her, soft and gently, his tongue running along her lower lip. Not for the first or last time, a spark shoots up Anna’s spine at the feeling.

She grabs hold of his wrist, trying to force herself to focus on his lips, on his kiss, on the feel of him and nothing else.

He pulls back, just enough but still leaning his head against hers.

“I knew what I was getting into the moment I said yes.” Kristoff says, “I knew the risk, and I still took them, I’m still willing to take them. For you Anna, I’ll do it for you.”

The tears come again, forming in her eyes at his words. Anna goes to apologize, opening her mouth to speak but he shakes his head.

“No, don’t you dare apologize.”

She can’t help but smile, trying to fight back the laugh that wants to escape at the notion he could already read her so well.

Instead, she bites her lip, and says, “Just come back to me, please.”

This he didn’t expect, as Kristoff pauses. He looks at her, Anna nearly losing herself in his eyes before he finally speaks.

“Anna,” Another promise, another one he will make that Anna knows he will keep. It’s comforting but also worrisome at how many promises he has made her. More promises to keep, more promises to potentially be broken. “I promise, swear, that I will always come back to you.”

The rest of the day goes as any other. They sit by the river, finishing the loaf of bread and eating apples they’d found the day before.

The tension is gone, though the dread sits firmly within Anna. She hides it well, laughing and smiling that she nearly fools herself that everything was ok.

It’s when the evening comes, as they sit by the fire that the fear returns at full force. Anna can’t help but wonder if Kristoff can hear how her heart hammers in her chest, how she has watched him all day. How she has tried to engrain the image of him into her mind just in case.

She doesn’t doze off by the fire tonight, instead she is awake as he carries her to the bed. Instinctively, she curls up to his side, wrapping her arm around him as much as she can. She nuzzles her head into his chest, willing herself to remember how he feels, how he smells.

Kristoff falls asleep first, the hand that was stroking her back stilling and his soft snores following soon after.

Anna stays awake, moving her head gently to look up at him.

She takes in the view, the image of him so at peace, and wills herself to remember.

As she falls asleep, she hopes, prays to whatever gods there are that they will allow him to keep his promise.

#kristanna #kristoff #anna #with all my love #jessica writes

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snow--blanket · 4 years

Text

paper cranes

word count: 4709

fandom: ikemen sengoku

characters: akechi mitsuhide ***

A touch. A touch was all it took to pull the rug under his feet, and the next thing he knew; Akechi Mitsuhide ceased to be. The walls of the temple stretched itself like the growing shoots of a tree—bending, intertwining around him as if he was the sun.

The walls have ears, Mitsuhide thought. The walls were witness to the arrogance that he was forced to discard, the shame at being proven wrong; the way he hailed himself above the rest for not believing in gods and curses. Although the way it regained sentient was unnatural, Mitsuhide thought that the manner he was swallowed into the old, disserviced inches of bamboo was not unlike a mother’s touch—it was as if someone had welcomed him home.

The mere thought was preposterous. He never had such a thing. Plus, to be welcomed home was to connote that he’d have one in the first place.

The winds of season treated him differently now. In spring, the world was a painting. Children wreathed poppies into flower crowns and the kimonos they wore had the buddings of childishness—streaks of colour fingered across a blank canvas. In summer, the wheat that bent golden turned to ash and the veins of rivers dried up like an old well. In autumn, it was the time of passing; where the sun coloured the leaves red and orange, eternal dawn and dusk. Winter put everyone to slumber, and Mitsuhide noticed that the number of people who had come praying to him had increased.

Inari, they called him by the name they gifted. Bless our harvest and I will pray to you for a hundred years. The venomous, seductive lie was one he knew too well, and it was like staring into the mirror.

He noticed that the nobles and lords had no need for gods. After all, why would they rely on prayers when they could afford more medicine, more logs for the hearth when the cursed storm walks among the lands that tore roofs off houses and stole children from their parents?

The old and sickly swore by his name in hoarse voices; although Mitsuhide could not see what they looked like, they would always wear their voice to ruination, throat swallowing sand. it was the mark of the desperate, Mitsuhide knew. He’d heard it many times before, saw the way their eyes looked at him like he was a lantern guiding the path—taking his extended hand as he fell with them to vice.

Mitsuhide was the kind of person who liked to know what was happening, so he often sent his fox messengers into the village, their white fur pale like full moons. Eventually, though, some children follow the foxes back to the temple, and they talk about him, Inari, and how a god became so useless and unliked, and they speak of the curse that had befallen arrogant men.

Mitsuhide pays no heed to their words, instead tucking the information in the back of his mind, where he would revisit them later.

One day, when his messenger has not returned to him, he hears a thin voice cut the silence he’s cocooned in the walls he is trapped in. “Hello?” The voice asks. “Is anyone there?” The question sits in front of him like an opportunity, and he opens his mouth to answer.

“There is.” He could not see the expression on her face, but he is entirely positive she is looking troubled. He feels his smile widen. “What brings you here, little one?”

“I—” The girl fumbles with her voice, as if stumbling with the truth in her hands in an attempt of honesty. She is folding her voice like paper cranes, a sincere appeal. “Your fox was hurt. I only came here to return it to its home.”

Mitsuhide raises an eyebrow. “That is all?”

“Yes,” she pauses, and he imagines her nodding. “That is all.” He hears her feet shuffle towards him, hears the pitiful whines of his messenger in her arms before gently being descended onto the old wooden floors. She takes a few steps back, clears her throat. “Goodbye.” Before he could answer, she has already left, the telltale signs of hastiness kicking up the dust she trailed behind.

His messenger limps to him, whimpering. Mitsuhide can not offer a comforting hand, so he simply says: “Excellent job.” To those who had not known him, the words rang in a condescending manner—however, the fox simply sighs out a content yowl, happy to have been of use.

The next day, a man visits the temple and his head is touching the ground. Mitsuhide can barely hear his voice, what with the distance between them. “Please extend your mercy, Inari-sama!” Now that Mitsuhide is a god, he cannot read people as well as he used to. Did this man look heartbroken? Did desperation carve itself into his aging lines? It was easy to lie when you did not have to face the guilt of bearing it. “Bless my journey out of this wretched village!”

“Oh?” Here was a man of corrupt faith—using prayers as a scapegoat for pure reason, taking actions in the name of righteousness and calling it justice. Mitsuhide hates such a person. Dishonesty with people was one thing; dishonesty with oneself was another. Mitsuhide has long ago accepted that he would never be received with warmth, and here was a man who thought himself deserving of blessings. If he still had a body, he wasn’t sure if he would be able to stop himself from shattering this man’s flimsily built world. “I refuse.” Mitsuhide has never felt the need to raise his voice. He was a man of few words and confusing actions, but no one could deny that when he spoke, everyone listened. It was akin to seeing ghosts amongst trees. You simply couldn’t help but stare. “Disappear from my sight.”

He hears a silent ‘tsk’ from the man before he removes himself off the ground and walks away as if there was a stone tying his shoulders down. “Have you a wish, little one?”

Perhaps the girl has forgotten she was in the presence of a god. She stammers and stutters, and Mitsuhide’s smile comes easy. “Why did you refuse him?”

“Why should I accept?”

There is a brief pause, before she shoots back: “Why shouldn’t you?” The words surprised him. Never in a hundred or so years had a human spoke back to him. It was as if she noticed the same thing, and so she mumbled an apology.

Mitsuhide lets out a light laugh. How fun was she to toy with. “Because, little one, he is a liar.”

He felt her stare as much as he heard it. “What do you mean?”

If Mitsuhide had a body, he would wave his hand dismissively. “‘Bless my journey’? What carefully chosen words.” His little fox messenger sidles itself against the girl’s legs, a happy trill sounding. “That man stole funds from an orphanage and was planning to escape the village with his ill-gotten gains. Dare I say, someone like that needs not blessings, but a curse. No?”

Mitsuhide makes a mental note to thank the girl for this information. Had she not returned his fox messenger to him, he wouldn’t have known. Sometimes, he hated his formless body.

There was silence in between them, the god and the naive human. Mitsuhide stifles a sigh. She could not possibly have understood his reasoning, and he is fine with that. His decisions didn’t stem from what others thought of him, after all.

“Why?” she finally asks.

“Why what?”

The girl steps towards him, and he hears the clip-clop sounds of her sandals as she discards them, sitting down near him uninvited. “The villagers said you don’t care about us.”

Mitsuhide smiles again. “It is easy to assume so when one does not help others in need of them.” Humans are selfish and narrow-minded creatures, after all. From his observation, humans have had to overcome two things: the mentality of me versus everyone, and us versus them. If someone did not help you, you were instantly categorised as the latter part, and consequently treated in hostile manners. Even after living for hundreds of years, this did not change. It was disappointing, but Mitsuhide did not mind being misunderstood.

“Yeah, but—” her voice is hesitant. “You do care. You didn’t want the man to get away with his crimes, didn’t you?”

Mitsuhide cocks a brow. “A bold assumption. What makes you think I care about what does and does not happen to that man?”

“You didn't help him.”

“I do not help wounded animals, either. It is simply apathy.”

“That's different!”

“How so?”

“You—” she gathers her composure. “You can’t help them. That’s why. It doesn’t mean that you don’t want to.”

Ah, again, Mitsuhide wanted to laugh. Humans were so intriguing. He met one man that tried to use him and here was one that wanted nothing more than to believe him kind. What darling creatures they were. “Intentions do not breed kindness, little one. Only actions.”

He cannot see what she looked like, but he imagines her pouting. “I'm not a child!”

“Of course not, my dear.” he smiles, and he almost wished she could see how truthful he was. “It is normal to judge things based on the criteria that we are most used to. You’re not a child, but you do have the innocence and the heart of one. It is not necessarily a bad thing. It is refreshing, almost.”

There is silence again, and he does not need sight to know that she is blushing. “I'm leaving,” she harrumphed, and that brings a smile to his face.

Strange god that he was, he blessed her journey, even though she did not ask him to. Who could blame him, really? He was allowed to pick favourites.

The next day, the girl appears again, in less-than-subtle ways. She did not make her presence known, only making sounds with her straw broom, sweeping away the fallen leaves. Mitsuhide used to have followers, long time ago, that did the same thing, and he distantly wondered if this girl was trying to use him like they did.

“And your wish, little one?”

She stops her sweeping and he feels the distinct, loathing glare she sent his way. “That you stop calling me little!”

“I'm afraid I can't fulfill your wish, since I do not know your name.”

“Mai! it’s Mi-zu-sa-ki Mai! Read as blooming water and dance!”

“With that voice, I am inclined to call you little mouse instead.”

She groans, and Mitsuhide feels himself becoming a little more human again. How long was it since he’d had a playful interaction with a human that didn’t try to leech off him?

“I told you mine.” she huffs out in indignation. “Tell me yours.”

“Your villagers have already given me a name.”

“That doesn’t count!” He hears the sound of wood hitting wood, and realises that she has paused her sweeping to focus on him, instead. The attention almost makes him blush. Being a god is really tremendous work when you forgot you were once human, too. “What is your real name?”

Mitsuhide indulges in her voice, relishing in the way she had expressed true interest in what he was instead of what he was for others. “Mitsuhide. Read as ’excellent light’.”

Even though Mitsuhide does not care much about the opinions of others, he felt a little squeamish at her silence. He instead chose to squash any feelings of returning her interest, boxing those thoughts of “affection” into the back of his mind. Finally, she says: “It's really pretty.”

The praise certainly wasn’t poetic or linguistically intricate in any way, but Mitsuhide feels his heart pound painfully anyways. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” she says, and he wondered what it felt like to be her; sunlight compressed, hearing the smile in her voice as clearly as he could imagine it. Mizusaki Mai. Read as blooming water and dance. In his mind, she was as unflinching as the sunflowers facing north, and even when the gentle spring wind was replaced by the storms—she continued to blossom.

He shuts the lid on these thoughts, swearing to never reveal them to her. “So, little mouse?” He smiles, and he didn’t stop to wonder why smiling around her felt so natural. “Have you a wish for me today?”

“It’s not like you’ll grant it anyways.”

He laughs. “Clever, little mouse.” There was the softness of morning dew in his voice. “Very clever.”

“I'm here,” she says, her words bubbling at the surface like a babbling river, “Because I thought you’d be lonely.”

“However did you come up with that idea?”

“I don't know,” The words were spoken softly and with humility at the presumptuous thought that he was feeling as such. “I don’t know. I would feel lonely if I were you.”

“Alas, my dear, you are not me.”

She hums noncommittally. “I guess.” He feels the floorboards creak under her movements, and her voice is closer this time. “Do you mind if I stay anyways?”

“Are your friends not good company?”

“They are, but…” she trails off meaningfully. He didn’t need her to finish the sentence. Humans are as fragile as they are brash, after all. Some of them are too shallow. Some too cowardly. Some too self centered, some too much of everything for someone like her. “You don’t need my permission, little mouse. It’s not like I can stop you from coming anyways.”

“I would hate it if I was the only one that enjoys talking to you,” Such soft words and chosen so kindly, the noble way she looked for permission out of consideration of his own feelings. It was something he never experienced, even when he was human.

Mitsuhide smiles. “I quite enjoy our talks, fret not.”

Her movements are abrupt, and he can hear her short intake of breath before she spoke. “Really?”

“Really.” One word that contained the warmth and affection of a kindling, heating someone up from fingertips to the ends of each individual hair strand.

“Thank you.” Her breath was a hummingbird’s feather, and it touches him like summer melting away the snow.

“Mai!” The distant yell surprised both of them. “Where are you!?” The voice came from beyond the forest, and it belonged to an adult man.

“Coming!” she yelled in response, and he hears the clackity clack sounds of her sandals in haste. “Bye, then. See you tomorrow, Mitsuhide!”

Before he could tell her the same, the sound of her heels became more and more distant.

Even though she does not wish for it, he blessed her journey back home anyways.

He measures the days not with the help of his fox messengers now, but with her presence. She visited him around afternoon time when the sun was high, and she left him when dusk broke.

It became clear to him that she genuinely enjoyed his company, and he enjoyed hers. He didn’t know what to do with that information, so he simply kept quiet.

“Hey,” she says one day. “Why do you hate the villagers here?”

Mitsuhide pauses to consider it. “Hate is such a strong word. I prefer nonchalant.”

“Fine, we’ll go with that then.” It took her no time at all to get used to his nitpicky way of speaking, and he feels his heart pound strangely at that.

Contrary to the feeling of love in his chest, he says: “Because humans are selfish. they pray and wish and when all is done, they congratulate themselves instead of offering gratitude for the people that helped them.” He knows he was talking about himself at this point, but she didn’t need to know that. “Their ambitions are blood in the water, and they bare their fangs and teeth when push comes to shove. Flighty, selfish, inconsistent—I find such traits tiring to deal with.”

“Hmm,” she stops swinging her legs then, pausing thoughtfully. “So you don’t hate it if they were thankful about it?”

“No, because I have accepted that it’s human nature to think of themselves highly when they’ve achieved something. I only detest their reliance on prayers and wishes. If I want something, I will go get it myself instead of buying good luck charms on new years’ eve, or putting my head on the ground and beg.”

“That kinda defeats the purpose of a god, don’t you think?”

“Maybe so. But it is my truth.”

“Well, to some others, prayers help, y'know?”

“Useless hope?”

“If it’s in something they want to believe in, then it’s not useless. As much as it was wrong of me to assume you were lonely, it’s wrong of you to assume that they are all shallow in their thoughts. True, there are some bad people that will try to take advantage of you, but I say it’s balanced out by the people that help you, too.”

Mitsuhide feels cynicism snaking its way to his tongue, but he bid himself patience, for he wanted to hear her thoughts. “Even something like praying can give peace. Because you believe someone can do something about it, even if you can’t. And to us villagers, who often get walked over by the nobles and kings and sword-wielders, hope is a weapon for the mind.” He felt the breath left him. “Because it’s a sign that we’re not giving up.”

There was silence between them, and he felt like the distance between them stretched an ocean away. Gentle sunflower, he thought. How do you continue to bloom?

She must have interpreted the silence as an awkward one, for she kept apologising over and over again, leaving him in a hurry with a half-baked excuse. He smiles, and blessed her journey back to be a safe one.

She returns to him that night, where only the cry of summer cicadas could be heard.

He recognises her by her footsteps well now; he did not ask or prod when she simply entrusted her weight of her body to the floor, sniffing and sobbing all the while. The sound breaks his heart, and he wishes that his hand would materialise and touch hers in comfort.

When she has finished crying, she sits up, hiccuping. “T-thank you… for letting me cry.”

Maybe some humour would do her good. “I don't recall being asked permission.”

An ugly snort came from her, and he hears her fist thud gently on the wall, a mock gesture of anger. “Very funny. Thank you for trying to help, though.”

Before he can protest, she said: “I know you were trying to make me angry to distract myself from my own sadness, so don’t think you can smart mouth your way out of this!” There was a daring smile at the end of her words, and he feels himself smile too. He smiled often around her.

“You’ve caught me,” he says. For a while, there was only the sound of her breaths syncing with the pulsing of stars in the sky. Nights in summer were lonely and quiet.

Finally, she speaks. “It was because of my cat. She passed away today.” It seemed as though the mere thought of not seeing her cat again drove her to near tears. He wants to comfort her, but he was afraid of saying something wrong or unnecessary. He is fairly new to the business of comforting people, after all. He’d never done it intentionally when he was a human. Oh well. Late lessons, he thinks.

“She was getting old. She died of natural causes, so I’m glad she was granted that wish at least.” She exhales a breath.

Mitsuhide was perplexed. “Why did you come to me? You know I would not have any words of comfort. Would you like me to say ‘she’s in a better place now’, like the rest of them would?”

She laughs. “Actually, no. I prefer you as you are.” she shifts, making herself comfortable. “The reason I came to you is because… there was no one else that I could trust myself to. My whole family is grieving, and me crying to them about it will make it worse, y'know? My friends… are busy. Any words coming out of the mouth of people I don’t trust would sound shallow, and it would hurt me more, I think.”

Mitsuhide’s mind was throbbing, and his heart rate increased. “You trust me?”

“Don’t get me wrong! I’m not trying to make a deal with you to bring her back or anything like that! It’s just…” she sighs in melancholy. “It’s just that there’s nothing I can do about it, and thinking of you, and how you’d say ‘it won’t hurt so badly’, it just bought me comfort. I know it’s just my own selfish expectations, though.”

Mitsuhide pauses. “You’re wrong.”

“What?”

“You’re wrong.” Her assumption wasn’t unfounded, for he had planted those seeds of doubt in her all along. “I wouldn't say that.”

He hears her breath shudder, as if she was about to cry. “Losing someone you love hurts, no matter how many times you’ve become familiar with loss. It doesn’t stop hurting. We just… become stronger from it because we have to keep surviving.” He wishes he could touch her hair. “It’s okay to cry if you’re feeling sad.” He wishes he could cradle her in his arms.

Those were the words that opened the dam once more, and she sobbed and clutched her heart in agony, crying again and again until her eyes were swollen red and dawn gave way, banishing the slightly-less-lonely summer night.

“Tell me your wish,” she says a week later.

She was lucky she wasn’t subject to his facial features, for he was sure he looked like he was balking. “My wish?”

“Yes.”

“Where is this coming from?”

“I'm getting married.”

His heart stops. “What?” Perhaps being in this heavenly form had distorted his hearing. He hopes so.

“I'm getting married,” she says softly, like a secret she didn’t want to tell. “In two days.”

He has to remind himself to breathe. “What does this have to do with my wish?”

“It’s likely that we won’t speak much after I get married.” she sighs. “My husband-to-be isn’t very fond of my habits, you see.”

It was because of him. It was because he had taken up so much of her time that her reputation had become tainted, her name sullied as it mingled with his. How could he have been so careless? He had forgotten of the rift that had held them apart, every barrier gone to give path to mirthful laughter and teasing. What was he doing? Their relationship was forbidden. What was he doing?

“What I wish,” he summons his old human tongue now, recalling the familiar way he used to keep people at arms’ length. “Is for some peace and quiet.” The words were polished sharp like knives.

He felt her falter. “I—”

“You were fun as a momentary pleasure, but unfortunately now that you’re about to be wed, I see there’s no reason to keep you around anymore. I do not intend to harbour hopeless children in my temple.”

Please hate me, he pleads. Please don’t stay.

He hears her choke on her sobs, hears the way she wanted to speak but feared that the words that would come tumbling out were simply pathetic whimpers. Her weight lifts off the floorboards, and he hears the sound of her sandals become distant.

He blesses her with a safe journey home.

This is good, he thinks. This is what’s best.

The days returns to being a blur again, and he had no way of telling the time. Life with her had been so colourful that he became unused to living in a palette of greys and midnight. He sends his fox messengers to check up on her every so often, and they returned to him with stories of how she looked happy, adorned in beautiful robes that were like a painted festival.

It is the day of her marriage, and he hears the crowd cheering and drinking long into the night, truths spilling out like seafoam. They call her a beautiful bride. They call them a perfect couple. They pray that she would birth a child. They blabber about how lucky she is to have found a man that loves her for her silly, childish antics, of her running into the forest, of treating injured foxes.

Her happiness is mine, he thinks. He would be content with this.

At least, he should be.

A week after the wedding, she approaches him again, and her sandals barely make any sound. They are heavy and encourage her to stand straight, her posture one of true grace. “Mitsuhide,” she says, and he almost cries at hearing her voice again. “Mitsuhide, I’m back.”

He feels like holding her close to his body, but he could not. Instead, he summons ice into his tone. “Why are you here?” It was hard, surprisingly. The summer days had melted into his being, making blood out of his marrows and not icicles.

“It doesn't matter.” she sits down on the floors like she had done so many times. “Honestly, I hate my husband.”

He felt his spine straighten, and all his inhibitions flew out of the window. “Make a wish,” he said. “I swear, should you wish to be taken away, I will grant it.”

She laughs, and he was sure that the sound didn’t fit her appearance of a demure and courteous lady. “Nope! You’ve taught me something, Mitsuhide.” She turns, touching her hand against the temple wall. It was as close as she could be without physically touching him. “If I want something, I should grab it myself.”

The wish isn’t for you, he thinks. It’s for me. It’s out of my own selfish desire to keep you safe and happy, and I am sorry for being in love with you.

He has no words to say to that, and he feels his heart pound, heavy with longing and the desire to caress her cheeks. She presses her forehead to the wall, and he swore the phantom of his felt it. “I promise I’ll come back to you. Will you tell me what your wish is?” The words ended in a whisper, so sweet yet tempting at the same time.

“A promise.” It is impossible. “Promise that you’ll always be with me.” It is impossible. She was just a human and he was someone unburdened by time.

He felt her smile then, sunflower incarnate, and his mind went blank. “I promise.” He bids her goodbye under the lonely summer afternoon, and he blessed her journey back home for the last time without knowing.

From summer, it dipped into autumn, and in winter, his fox messenger tells him that she has died of hypothermia. They tell him that she went into the mountains to search for her child, and was found collapsed on the ground as she held her child close to her chest.

Mitsuhide feels his senses numb, and when her family brought her corpse back to him in order to be blessed, he could not stop himself from wishing that he had his sight, if only to stare at the lifeless body of her. Sunflower incarnate that had wilted, a frosted flower now. He imagines her cheeks to be the blue of the sea, and he imagines that her skin is as cold as the day he was usurped into the temple, the stormy afterlife welcoming her as they did him.

The years pass unremarkably, until a young lady picks up a broom and brushes the leaves in the wake of his decrepit temple, forming a path. He does not know her name, but her footsteps are familiar—not at all weighted by heavy sandles.

She approaches the temple, aweing over the way it had held its shape throughout the years and the harsh seasons. “Hello?” she asks hesitantly. “My name is Mizusaki Mai. Is anyone there?”

His smile came easy, for he always knew how to when he was around her. “Yes,” he says. “And your wish, little one?”

#ikemen sengoku #ikesen #ikesen mitsuhide #ikesen writing #ikesen fanfic

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hayleyb100 · 4 years

Text

Idea on Raihan’s dad, Richard!

Click here for Idea on Mom, Aliyah

Richard is a pokemon rescuer. He rescues the pokemons who are injured or abused by people and shelter them at his place. And when the pokemon is fully healed inside and out, he either return them to wild or adopt them to the rightful owner.

He was sickly ever since he was a baby and still is. That's why he is always so skinny. He may look fragile, but he is an iron fist in a velvet glove. He has a generous, benign heart that embraces and heals many. Unlike Raihan, his son, who is competitive, he is an extremely easy-going person who works at his own pace. Maybe too much sometimes.

He has exceptional knowledge of pokemons and medical herbs. Many pokemons who are abused by people refuse any medications made by people or pokemon center. So he had to come up with medicines composed of herbs, without any artificial ingredients. He always keeps various herbs, extracts, herb powders, and berries in the pouch to compose medicine in the spot. Richard has full knowledge on where to pat pokemons to calm them. If it isn't enough, he uses a wooden ocarina to mimic pokemon's cry. And if the pokemon attacks, he uses the strong flashlight to stun them and calm them down.

He is very short considering he is a man, more or less similar to Victor, Gloria, or Hop. His body didn't really find some time to grow tall, fighting to live.

He wears a navy blue cape all the time. There are several reasons for this:

1. To insulate himself. He has a weak body that gets sick easily, so he always has to keep it warm, especially in Wild Area where the weather changes frequently.

2. To insulate others. When he covers the injured with the cape, it becomes an instant blanket.

3. To cover up his scar. Before he became this knowledgeable with pokemons, he got hurt by injured, aggressive pokemons time and again. It left a lot of scars on his body, which he is proud of since they are like medals he received on how many lives he saved. But the scars sure intimidates others which he wouldn't want, so he wears the cape to cover them up.

He decided to protect pokemons ever since he was little. Because he was so weak, he never was able to attend a school or set off a journey like other kids. He had to stay at home all the time, which made him introverted and gloomy. But what changed him were pokemons. The pokemons brought liveliness and joy to his small world in his room. They consoled every time he was sad. Thanks to them, Richard was able to overcome the blue childhood. He was so grateful to what pokemons did for him, and he decided to dedicate his whole life to return the kindness. So he had books as a companion, which made him very knowledgeable on pokemons. Also, because he was studying alone at home, he learned how to be relaxed and work at his own pace. He had plenty of time to sit and question himself, without any competition or others to browbeat him to work faster.

He has two partners who help him with the rescuing: Alcremie named Mildred, and Noivern named Gale. Mildred first met Richard when he was a child as Milcery and was a great partner ever since. She heals the status conditions of pokemons with her Aromatherapy. Gale, on the other hand, was the first pokemon Richard ever rescued. He was injured and was rampaging in the Hammerlocke City, so Richard went to save him. Richard managed calmed him down after getting severely injured too. Gale was moved by his sincerity, so he decides to stay beside Richard and help him out. Gale flies Richard from place to place, since he cannot walk fast. Gale also brings injured pokemons back to the shelter.

He coughs up blood time and again freaking out everyone, but he is careless because it is a daily thing for him.

Raihan got his overall appearance from his dad. The emerald eyes, tanned skin, fangs(rarely seen because Richard seldom opens his mouth big), dark brown hair, even the dragon's glare when he enrolls in a battle. Richard rarely gets mad but he does to those who hurt pokemons and others. He also wears that fierce glare to anyone who is abusive.

Despite being the spitting image, Raihan despises his father. It has a long story. Raihan's mother, Aliyah, was a competitive person who travels from place to place looking for a strong opponent, but unfortunately died from an avalanche in The Crown Tundra. Richard was desperately trying to go there to save her, but everyone stopped him because they know Richard's weak lungs will shatter in the icy air of that place. Young Raihan(8 years old at that time) blamed his dad for how weak he is that he couldn't even save his mom. He didn't mean it, but he just needed someone to blame. That's how Raihan became obsessed with becoming strong. He blames himself too, for not being strong enough to save his mom. He hated his weak dad so much that he walked a completely different path from his dad. But Richard didn't mind and supported his son because he knows that battling is just another method of bonding with pokemons and he has no intention of denying it. Now that Raihan is older, deep in his mind, Raihan knows none of it was his dad's fault, but his pride and guilt for shutting his dad out for so long for the wrong reason holds him back from shaking the hand of reconciliation. Richard has a strong mind that doesn't get wounded easily, but his son's cold back always hurts him.

#pokemon oc #pokemon richard #raihan #pokemon raihan #gym leader raihan #pokemon generation 8 #pokemon gen 8 #pokemon swsh #pokemon sword and shield

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argonas · 4 years

Text

Misguided Justice - Pt. I

[[ Co-written with @kidcatgemini / @sinafay-the-defiant ]]

Evening had descended by the time Argonas set hoof on the small Arathi farmstead. Quaint and simple, the Vindicator could barely believe this is where his wayward student Sinafay had settled down. No measure of justice was served from such a simple life. But then, he knew she’d abandoned such duties in favor of her abhorrent and deviant lifestyle. His fists clenched as he paced up the hill from the fields proper, towards the small cottage overlooking the land. Smoke billowing from the chimney served as a sure sign someone was home. Sinafay… Grakkar… that abomination they called a child… he expected to find all three inside. Disgusting and unnatural as it was, that wasn’t even why Argonas was here. No, Sinafay’s transgressions far exceeded that, now.

Despite Raetos’ unwillingness to do what was necessary, and his efforts to convince the Vindicator of such, Argonas knew otherwise. Anyone who abided such evils as Avehi raising the dead were just as culpable as she was! By harboring and abetting the Death Knight, Sinafay had made her choice. And the Light demanded its justice. It almost hurt to consider; he really had taken pride in training young Sinafay in the ways of the Light, helping to nurture and cultivate her talents into a beacon of strength for their people. Such a waste…

His heavy hand banged against the wooden door - so fragile, he worried it might break if he hit it too hard. Still, the firm knocks echoed through the farmstead, as the Vindicator made his presence known.

“Sinafay!” he called out. “Sinafay the Defiant!”

It didn’t take very long for the door to open, revealing a very angry looking Draenei, brows knit into a scowl. She’d done a great job at losing the baby weight, already a good way back to her Vindicator fitness level. She wore a lovely, yet simple robe, ideal for a busy mother, yet accentuated her natural curves and showed off her Light bound tattoos.

“Argonas,” she scolded, “Do you mind maybe NOT waking the baby I just put to sleep?!”

She pushed forward to try and shove the Vindicator back, but Argonas was unmovable as always, and in his full armor of course! With a frustrated huff, she moved around him, shutting the door behind her as she began to walk down the hill, tail twitching. Best to do the yelling away from Neelah. She couldn’t imagine what her former mentor was doing here at this time of night.

“What the FUCK are you doing here?!” She growled.

Perhaps it was motherhood, the hormones raging through her. Or perhaps coupling with a filthy Orc for too long had boosted her aggression. Maybe, partly, she was upset to see him again after how he left things with her. There were many likely factors, but no matter what or why, Sinafay was being terribly bitchy. It wasn't the attractive sour attitude he cherished in his departed mate, either; she was just being erratic and grumpy. Terribly unappealing!

He followed her a ways down the hill, stern expression his only real response to her demeanor. He looked her over, a mixture of sorrow and regret overcoming him. Oh how far she'd fallen… even glistening with the Light from her Lightforging did little to make her seem redeemable after such a terrible track her life had followed. It pained him to see his former pupil like this. Such shame he felt, clearly having failed to teach her not to parlay with savage orcs, or aide depraved Death Knights. She was his greatest failure.

"... I am told you sheltered and aided Avehi. Is this true?" Argonas asked, bluntly.

Sinafay raised a brow, turning to look at him as the question was asked. She relaxed a bit, having shaken off the anger now that they were a fair distance away from the house.

“She was here a few months ago; came across the farm by happenstance. Hadn’t seen each other for a while, so we caught up. Went on her way after that.”

Sinafay crosses her arms over her chest. Why was Argonas looking for Avehi? She thought back on her conversation with the Death Knight, frowning. She finally took a moment to look the Vindicator over; those dark circles under his eyes… and something looked off in that luminous gaze of his. Something she’d missed in her earlier frustration.

“If that’s what you mean by ‘sheltered and aided’, then yeah, I guess I did. Why?”

“She has dragged you into her terrible misdeeds.” Argonas elaborated, albeit vaguely. “Avehi has been raising the dead for nefarious purposes. If you are a friend to her, she will likely come here to seek shelter again. To hide from the Light’s justice.”

His eyes narrowed, as he reached back to draw his crystalline blade.

“This, I cannot allow.”

Sinafay didn’t wait a moment longer to see where the conversation was leading. She’d seen this exact situation play out too many times, on Draenor, to those suspected of aiding the Mag’har under Yrel’s reign.

She wasn’t about to allow him to use that blade. While she’d taken on a more domestic role over the past months, she’d kept her senses sharp. Having an Orc mate who enjoyed a good spar helped quite a bit.

Her eyes flared, hands slamming into the large Vindicator’s chest with a powerful blast of Holy Light to push him back before taking on a defensive position.

“I suppose I was right to not have trusted you after all.”

It hurt to have her suspicions realized. To know that her mentor was as blinded as the people she’d left behind on her world. She felt justified, in a way, the guilt of hiding her relationship with Grakkar from him washing away.

“Leave us be, Argonas,” she warned, baring her teeth, “This is your only warning.”

The Vindicator’s hooves scraped along the ground, slowing him from skidding too far back. He grunted, frowning deeper at Sinafay. He expected resistance, of course. He’d trained her well enough not to take a death threat lying down!

“Do you think I want to do this? I thought I had taught you better! But you have fallen so far from the path I laid out for you!” he growled, plated fist tightening around the hilt of his blade. “You failed! You abandoned your post! You betrayed our kin on Draenor, breaking your vow to protect them! And for an Orc!?”

“Hmph. Consider it my highest honor.” Sinafay shot back, defiantly.

Argonas grunted. He rushed in, hoofsteps hastened by the Light itself in a furious charge. He swung his sword in a wide arc towards Sinafay. Sinafay shot forward as he charged. She didn’t have a weapon or armor, but knew agility wasn’t Argonas’ strong suit, and planned to use that to her advantage. She rolled as he swung, just passed his right leg to end up behind him, her tail wrapped around his ankle, tugging it back with her momentum as she got to her hooves.

She didn’t turn back to look if he’d fallen forward or not as she kept running; hoping she’d bought herself a bit of time as she headed towards Grakkar’s workshop. She knew there would be a weapon or something there she could use to defend herself with. The Lightbound could hear nothing but her rapid heartbeat as adrenaline rushed through her system, making it impossible to know if he was right behind her or not.

Suddenly, a bolt of Light struck her shoulder, knocking her off balance just as she reached the workshop. She stumbled and fell into the door, crashing through it! The heavy hoofbeats of Argonas closed in, making up what distance the tripping attack bought had cost him.

“And now, you abide by such abhorrence as Avehi raising the dead! Our own people, enthralled by her necrotic powers!” he continued to charge Sinafay, shouting aggressively. “I know not what set you on such a depraved path after we parted, Sina. But it has led to this final judgment! The Light will not tolerate your abusing its blessing to supplement death and pain to its chosen people!”

He brought his blade up for an overhead swing, cutting straight down vertically!

Sinafay barely had time to cocoon herself within a barrier of Light. Argonas’ sword crashed into it, causing sparks to fly and crackle in a near blinding light show as the holy forces fought against each other. The Lightbound woman grit her teeth as the barrier cracked under the pressure of the Vindicator’s strength. She was out of practice, and her former mentor’s conviction was too strong. She knew she was only delaying the inevitable, but she would fight to the bitter end.

And that end grew closer as the barrier shattered. She tried to roll to the side but the blade found purchase in her side, forcing a cry out of her as blue blood oozed out of the wound. She reached out, hands grabbing the Vindicator’s wrists as her hooves kicked out at his face in a final act of defiance.

Argonas stumbled back, but not far. Swift and firm as the kick was, there was an insurmountable difference in stature between the two Vindicators. His face immediately began to swell up at the impact point of Sinafay’s hoof, but that only seemed to infuriate him more. The grinding of his plate gauntlet along the hilt of his crystalline blade rang out sharply as he shifted his grip. He took the sword in his hands, and lined up the piercing point with his former pupil’s chest.

“Through me, the Light’s justice will be served! The mistakes I made in judging the true measures of your character will at long last be corrected!”

He raised his blade, eyes narrowing as he started to bring it down to finish his grim task-- when suddenly a pair of arms wrapped tensely around his waist! From behind him, Grakkar took hold of the Vindicator and heaved him upward and over himself with a mighty roar! The Draenei was caught off-guard, and thrown over onto his back as Grakkar arched and kicked back and away from Sinafay. Argonas came crashing down on his shoulders and the back of his head, driving his chin into his chest plate as the rest of his heavy plated body rolled over the top of him! He was stunned! The wind knocked from him entirely as Grakkar threw him back!

“Get away from my mate, you honorless piece of clefthoof shit!” the Warsong shouted, snarling at Argonas.

He gave little time for the abettor to recover, rushing in to keep up the pressure. As Argonas rolled over and brought himself up to his hands and knees, Grakkar ran up and took hold of his head. Lining it up, he carried his momentum and slammed his knee into the Draenei’s crest!

*CRACK*

Argonas rolled over from both the pain, and the force of the impact to his face! But the assault didn’t end there. Grakkar trudged up alongside the writhing and bewildered Draenei. He knelt down scooping up a small handful of dirt to toss into the Vindicator’s face! Then, he just started punching! Once, again, three times! He bloodied his fist against the Draenei’s plated crest, pounding his face over and over with unyielding fury!

Argonas did what he could to protect himself, but he couldn’t see his assaulter, much less block the barrage of punches! He’d dropped his sword, and couldn’t afford to reach out and feel for it nearby. That would only give the Orc more openings! Instead, he curled in, doing his best to cover his face with one arm as he swatted at Grakkar blindly with the other in hopes of deflecting or softening the next blow coming his way. One wild swipe caught hold of something - the Orc’s forearm. Success! With all his might, he ripped the Orc’s arm towards him, counter attacking with a punch of his own. He felt his plated fist connect, knocking the Orc back and away from him. Only for a moment… but the moment was all he needed.

Bringing his hooves back beneath him, Argonas stood up and quickly brushed the dirt and blood from his face. His luminous eyes set onto Grakkar, who also recuperated from their exchange of blows. For a moment, the two stared one another down.

“The Light… judges you too, Orc filth!” Argonas grunted.

“Fuck your Light!” Grakkar shot back, snarling.

With a furious shout, the Orc rushed at Argonas yet again. The Draenei took up a defensive stance, readying himself as Grakkar drew near. He knew he couldn’t match the Orc’s agility; their fight in Kun-Lai had taught him that, well enough. Instead he dug in his hooves, tail swaying limber behind him to keep his balance. As the Orc took his swing, Argonas brought his forearms up to block the incoming blow. Then the next. Teeth grit as he held firm his position, Argonas bided the Orc’s assault like a statue! He was ready for him, this time. Ready and waiting for his opening. His hands and arms felt raw, jarred and pulsing from the plate gauntlets reverberating each repeated strike. But he held his ground.

Grakkar raged on, throwing punch after punch in the hopes of landing one or two good blows, enough to throw his opponent off of the defensive. But the Vindicator was stoic! Unyielding! The old Orc already felt fatigue setting in. How long had it been since he had a good fight like this? Since settling down with Sinafay, and their young daughter Neelah, he hadn’t been in too many scrapes. His rustiness was taxing him now, exacting the toll of his inactivity. His blows began to slow, punches falling slower and softer against the same blood-smeared plate gloves the Draenei used to defend himself. His knuckles were pulp, each screaming a searing pain from crashing into the inexorable metal again and again. He rotated in a kick to mix it up, hoping to knock the Draenei over, but he might as well have kicked a boulder. One more punch. Another. Until finally the futility of it drained Grakkar entirely. He staggered back, growling.

And that was Argonas’ opening.

The blast of Light illuminated the farmstead, bright as high noon for only a split second. Argonas’ retributive burst was more than enough to knock the weary Orc over. The Vindicator charged, hoofbeats hastened by the Light’s gift to surge the mass of muscle and steel towards Grakkar. He’d barely managed to keep his balance, only for Argonas to slam into him like a rampaging elekk. The Orc felt his body tossed back, and yet he didn’t go far. Argonas gripped him tightly to keep him from sailing too far away from the impact, instead simply slamming him into the ground before him. The Orc’s pained howl was a symphony to the Vindicator. Retribution for so much pain that not only this Orc caused him personally, but all Orcs caused his people! Quickly, he followed up by stomping his hoof into the vile creature’s chest! Still surging with the Light, his plated hoof shoe seared into Grakkar’s flesh, causing him to writhe and moan in pain!

“You have caused enough trouble!” Argonas declared, pressing his hoof down harder. “And now, you will cause no more!”

Grakkar struggled, gripping the Draenei’s leg as he gave all his might to try and push back, but not only did the Draenei significantly outmatch his strength, his plated form weighed a ton! It took all the Orc’s might just to keep the hoof at bay! Even then, he felt his ribs bending and cracking, the hoof melting his skin. It became hard to breath, his cries of agony turning to harsh and hoarse gasps as Argonas pressed harder. He’d been in enough fights to know when he’d lost. And this… this was it. This was the end.

His eyes widened at the realization, his expression of anger and rage replaced by one of fear. Despair. He had failed. He couldn’t protect his mate. His daughter. After everything he’d done, all the effort and sacrifice he’d made to protect Sinafay, to free her from bondage on Draenor… only for her to die here at the hands of another Light-crazed zealot. He strained a little harder, but nothing he could do would be enough to overpower Argonas. But he couldn’t give up. He wouldn’t! He turned his head, looking over towards the workshop where Sinafay was. He couldn’t see her… and that hurt all the more, unable to lay eyes on his mate one final time. His strength began to wane.

“I’m… sorry…” Grakkar grunted, as his grip finally slipped.

*CRUNCH*

~*~

TO BE CONTINUED...

#character story #Misguided Justice #argonas the ironclad #Sinafay the Defiant #Grakkar Gorefang #Warcraft #Draenei #Orcs #To Be Continued...

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atlas-of-a-human-soul · 5 years

Text

Hurt, pt.6 (E.D.)

Summary: Ethan finds out about Y/N.

Warnings: ANGST, swearing, talk of depression and blood and miscarriage

Word Count: 2300

Hurt - Series Masterlist

There are moments in life when time stands still. When great fear and anxiety arise, our brain and body tends to shut down to protect ourselves from the trauma.

For Y/N, it felt like every time she opened her eyes she found herself someplace new.

First, it was on the porch, tucked into Grayson’s arms as he carried her away. She couldn’t hear much aside from the pain that spread through her stomach or the ringing in her ears. She felt his chest vibrating as he spoke but nothing resonated with her. She clung to his scent, the woodsy, grass-like smell he and Ethan would have after being outside all day for it had comforted her.

Second, she was in the back of the car, her vision blurry and her mind hazy.

Third, she was in the hospital. She couldn’t say or do much, but she knew what she needed.

“Henstridge. Doctor Henstridge.” Once the nurse nodded, she allowed herself to close her eyes. It was just enough to keep her strength, to rest up and focus on her surroundings. But she didn’t really want to. She didn’t want to hear them say she’s lost the babies.

There is an infinite amount of things she’d offer the universe for her children to be safe, but none could compare to the guilt she felt. After all, her initial thought was to end the pregnancy when she learned of it. Was this her punishment? Was it a way to tell her she had caused it? Now when she accepted this unexpected change? Now when she loved them?

And where is Ethan? Why does he seem to be gone whenever things go wrong in her life? He started the fire and he didn’t stick around to watch his work as everything she is made of burned to crisp.

She managed to survive losing him, but losing the babies? She didn’t want to survive that.

“So, what now?” Grayson sighed as doctor Henstridge concluded his exam.

Y/N had begun coming to, something she’ll be very thankful for later on because the last thing she wanted is for Henstridge to be the one conducting the exam. She just wanted his expertise, his presence as a way to anchor herself. He was more than helpful the first time around.

“I gave her some medication and we’ll run some tests. She has to stay in bed, with no stress.” Edward turned to her, noticing her eyelids are moving but the medication he put her on would keep her out of it for a while. He was sure of it.

In a sense, Edward wasn’t able to face her right now. She was pretty panicked when they first brought her in, pale and crying. He could tell she wasn’t quite there in a sense, it was more of an instinctual reaction. He felt as if he had failed her. He felt as if he should have seen this coming, especially with the stress of a divorce looming over her head. He hadn’t even talked to her since she came to get her stitches removed a week ago. He was aware he needed to create some distance between them for he had become too attached, but now he wondered if it had hindered his ability to do his job.

Sighing, Edward rubbed his chin.

“I suggest you prepare yourself for everything. Just be there for her. Let her know she’s not alone.”

As Henstridge left, Grayson found himself unable to move. He watched her chest rise and fall and he saw just how frail she is for the first time in a long time. He knew Ethan asked him to stay away, but he couldn’t honor his wishes tonight. Grayson had to see his brother. Lucky for him, Ethan was just three floors down.

“Why are you here?” Ethan didn’t hide his animosity, irritated by Grayson’s visit. He needed time alone and he couldn’t focus on healing when Grayson reminded him of all the things he had done wrong and the woman he had broken because she dared to love him more than he ever thought he’d deserve.

While he’s learned how to recognize intrusive thoughts and to differ them from his own, Ethan was still very much emotionally tortured. He still carried too much guilt and anger and so much sadness than he could take. He prayed his antidepressants would work soon, knowing it takes about a month to start feeling the effect. He had circled the date on the calendar, knowing it would probably be the day he gets to leave and see his wife and hopefully begin building his life back up.

That’s why he needed time alone and why he had been anything but happy about his brother’s unexpected visit just before his evening session.

“Y/N is back in the hospital. Something happened.” Grayson didn’t bother sparring with him, wanting to get it all out in the open. It was pretty clear Grayson felt out of sorts as he picked at his nails and chewed on his bottom lip mercilessly. He was always the anxious type.

“She was bleeding and in pain, so I brought her in. She’s at risk of a miscarriage and they have her on all sorts of pills and IVs and they’re talking about stitching her cervix and she’s so weak and vulnerable and she is carrying your kids!” Grayson got progressively louder, his emotion overcoming him. While he tried to give Ethan time he asked for, Grayson knew this would have gone so much smoother or could have been possibly avoided had Ethan not been so secretive about how bad he got. Had he just been open with one of them, none of the bad would have happened.

“Kids?” Ethan stood, the blood rushing to his head despite his pale appearance.

“Triplets, E. And she’s scared to death. She just checked out…even when she was conscious she wasn’t there. I’m scared of what will happen if she loses the babies.” Grayson’s voice cracked, his head between his hands as he swallowed tears.

“I want to see her.” Ethan walked past Grayson, very aware of the irregularities of his leave. He didn’t care, not when Y/N was all alone in a hospital bed with not one, but three of his babies inside her. She is scared and she is lost and he’s probably the last person she’d want to see, but he has to see her. Just for a moment.

With a pass his psychiatrist lent him, Ethan and Grayson returned to her room, but Grayson didn’t come in. He let his brother have this moment.

When Ethan saw her, the very sight of her had frightened him. She laid unconscious in a hospital bed, her usually rosy cheeks now pale, her soft lips cracked where her teeth broke skin in an attempt not to scream. Her bed was tilted so the head would be lower than her waist, probably a gravity thing to keep the babies in place.

Ethan walked closer, so quiet in fear of waking her. He didn’t know what he’d say if she did open her eyes. He didn't even know would she want him here, by her side. A part of him found the thought of her opening her eyes and telling him she hates him destructive, he wouldn’t be able to bear it.

He lowered his eyes to her abdomen, tilting his head to see if it grew already, but it wasn’t likely just yet. It’s been three months since their last time, she would start showing soon, but not tonight. Ethan wasn’t going to be graced with a small bump, he knew.

Reaching out, Ethan had his mind set on placing his palm on her stomach – carefully, very tenderly. His hand is shaky, hovering above but he can’t seem to put it down. You see, he was afraid. Ethan thought even a light touch of a father’s loving hand would be enough to harm his children – the kids he always wanted and always with her – just her.

“I know how badly I messed up.” He speaks so quietly that the words can’t be heard easily. Not by anyone who could be listening in. “When the guilt comes it takes me down the old familiar path. I want to refuse to walk it, pretend that I am the person I demand that I be – your husband, the man you fell in love with. I want to be who you need me to be, but I’m still so damn torn apart by my own mind and a big part of me is ashamed I let it get so bad…that I let myself hurt you in the process.” Ethan sniffles, retracting his hand. He couldn’t touch her. Not without her permission, not even if it wasn’t sexual. He lost that right.

“I’m going to make things right. Even if you never forgive me, I want to be a good dad. I want them to know I’ll do my best to be what my dad was to me.” Ethan sighed heavily, trying not to cry.

“Even when I’m not here, my mind is on you. Always is.” Ethan turned to walk away, gasping once icy cold fingers wrapped around his wrist. It was a loose fit, a small act of desperation of a girl who struggled so hard to open her eyes to see him – the man she had been missing all along. Even if she was completely certain he’s just a mirage, she wanted to keep this hallucination going.

“Same here. Infinity times infinity, remember?” She smiled meekly, remembering the day they got matching tattoos.

“You sure you want to do this? Once you do, there’s no going back. You’ll be mine forever.” Ethan chuckled, pecking her lips as she nodded. She grasped his hand tighter when the needle first pierced her skin, her wrist burning with the painful sensation. But she had his hand to hold and the infinity times infinity sign had always been theirs – something they could now share.

“Same goes for you, hotshot.” She smiled through the pain, licking her lip. Not only did they both consider number 8 as their lucky number throughout their lives, but they’ve met on August 8th, got engaged on August 8th and planned to get married on the same date. It wasn’t just a coincidence anymore, but they absolutely adored each other and they wanted to make the symbol mean something.

“I’m fine with that. You’re my infinity times infinity – because that’s how much I love you. And that’s how long I’ll love you.”

“Of course I do.” Ethan couldn’t help but smile, noticing her tattoo under the faint lamplight. She had always managed to captivate him, even now when she looked like she stood on death’s doorstep.

“I hope to share that love with our babies too. All three of them.” Ethan clasped her hand in his, a little braver now. He wanted to warm her up, be her sun in this moment of need.

“Now I’m sure you’re a mirage. The Ethan I’ve seen lately would have said they aren’t even his.” Her smile dropped, but her eyes remained on his. “He’d say I’m a whore or something worse.” Her tone is defeated, her voice breaking, her eyes watering.

Ethan didn’t know what to say. He was shocked she saw him that way. Had he really crossed so many lines she’d expect the worse of him? Because he never had any doubt those kids are his – not even for a moment.

“Do you really think that low of me?” He managed to utter, his heart-shattering. There is a mental tornado in his head, which no-one can see nor comprehend. It seemed unfair that no matter how much he strived to be the man his conscience wanted him to be, it would keep taunting him with his failures. Each time his regrets reemerged he would analyze them again, hoping that this time his mind would be satisfied with his self-professed remorse, but it never was. Like an unforgiving ghost, it would be back tomorrow to haunt him all over again. He’d see it in her eyes, in her smile and in the way she’d retract her hand from his. He’d feel it in her half-assed hugs and short, polite answers. She’d always remind him of his mistakes, never intentionally. But they’re there and he can’t make them go away.

“I don’t know.” She spoke with a slight disbelieved smiled on her face. “Because, when I wake up in the morning….I hate you. With all I am, I hate you and I curse the day we met and I want to throw acid on my wrist to remove this permanent mark of my love for you…but as the day goes by and my heart softens…I go to bed loving you…mourning you. So, I don’t know. I’m not sure what I think of the Ethan I’ve come to know in the past months. I miss my husband…the one who married me and promised me a lifetime of happiness and love. That I do know.” A tear slipped her eye so quietly, almost disappearing into the pillow unnoticed. Ethan had caught it just before and while it weighs next to nothing, that tear made him feel heavy.

“I miss that guy too.” He whispered, noticing her eyes are opening less and less, her body tired and mentally frazzled. She needed rest.

“I promise to find him for you.” Without restraint, Ethan leaned in and pressed his lips to her forehead, leaving a warm, longlasting kiss before leaving.

Tags: @melodiesforari @brittttneyyyy @beautorigin @dolandolll @xalayx @godlydolans @heyits-claire @peacedolantwins @dolanstwintuesday @accalialionheart @ethanhes @lanadeldolans @ebbach-03 @dolangels @xxaamzxx @cutestdolans @yaren-ates @dolansmith @vintagebitttch @primadolangirl @caqsicle @jjustjoy @justordinaryjen @graydolan12 @imaginashawnns @graysonslovie @fandomsfeministsandothershit @bdsmdolan @graysavant @ethanspillow @dopedoodes @anything-dolan @sugarfootdolan @joyrivh @reblogserpent @jonesana @emiemille @herewegoagainandagainandagain @adventureswithmell

#ethan dolan #ethan dolan x reader #dolan twins #ethan dolan angst #ethan dolan au #ethan dolan fanfiction #ethan dolan fic #ethan dolan fanfic #ethan dolan x yn #ethan dolan x y/n #ethan dolan x you #grayson dolan #ethan dolan series

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from-etihad · 3 years

Text

Confrontación

Estefania told her tattooed companion that she’d return, and promised to tell him everything once she had a conversation with Hana Yasmin. Estefania pulled Hana Yasmin to a quiet, private area by the woods and once she was sure there was no one else around, she turned to look her, looking troubled. Hana Yasmin crossed her arms, unable to determine how to feel. In fact, she felt a whole heap of mixed emotions.

“I have a feeling you’re not here on some sort of vacation trip,” Estefania finally said sheepishly, trying to give Hana a smile.

“No,” Hana said with a long sigh, “... I abdicated for good, Estefania.”

Estefania’s dark emerald eyes grew wide, and her mouth dropped open. “What?! Wait... What happened?!”

Hana swallowed, feeling a lump in her throat, but began to tell Estefania everything that had occured: Eamonn arriving to her home after waiting around in silence for a fortnight, the attack, the political unrest that followed, and finally, her decision. Estefania put a hand on her forehead, clearly overwhelmed by what Hana had revealed.

“Dear god, Hana...I can’t believe it! So, is Maya...?”

“Yes,” Hana confirmed, “Maya is the new ruler now.”

Estefania chewed on her lower lip, and Hana narrowed her eyes. “So, are you going to tell me what you’re doing here? I can’t believe you’re here -- we thought you were dead, Stef. How could you not send word that you’re here?”

She watched her old friend, and former trusted councilwoman, appear more anxious as she put her hands on her waist, tapping her foot constantly.

“I.. I-uh,” Estefania started, and Hana was a little taken back on how nervous Estefania, a once proud woman, was “...I had a fight with my brother. It...it escalated and I --”

Estefania grimanced, evidently pained by the memories she was retelling, “I-I hurt him. It was so grave, I thought he would die...”

Hana frowned as she watched the petite woman’s eyes fill with tears, her body beginning to shake slightly.

“I-I didn’t mean to .. It just happened. I was so overcome with guilt for hurting him that I...that I... “ Estefania closed her eyes shut, “I jumped into the sea.”

Hana had a feeling Stef wasn’t telling the whole story. But, the revelation that she attempted to take her own life made her gasp in shock, and she took a hold of one of Stef’s hand. “Estefania, wh-why would you do that? You could have come to me!”

Estefania then began to cry, using her free hand to wipe her cheeks. “Because, I never thought I would hurt him that way. I just... I just didn’t want to live anymore, Hana. I was so tired of tragedies happening to my life, to my family, and for me to cause one of them...”

She could help but pull Estefania into a hug, and held her for a moment. She felt her hug her in return, and she heard her say, “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you when the attack happened.”

Hana felt tears sting her own eyes and she looked up towards the sky, attempting to stop them from falling. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for you during that difficult time...” She replied sincerely, rubbing her back soothingly before pulling away, “But how did you get here?”

Estefania wiped the rest of her tears, “That... That is a whole other story, perhaps for another time, but someone saved me. I somehow made it up north, and some men found me. I believe they planned to sell me, but Leviticus, the man you saw me with, got me away from them. I still wanted to die, but he ... he helped me find reasons to keep going, to start over. The friends I made here helped with that.”

Then, Stef cleared her throat. “He’s my husband now.”

Hana’s stared at her, and pointed towards the direction of the blacksmith forge. “That’s your husband?”

Estefania smiled bashfully, and nodded. Hana blinked, crossing her arms yet again. “...Wow. Now, he’s a beautiful man, don’t get me wrong, but ... he doesn’t look like the type of man I thought you’d end up with...”

Leviticus was differently from the clean-cut, dapper men that had been interested in Estefania before. In fact, Caspian Maxson, who courted Estefania before, and this Leviticus were complete opposites -- Caspian was dressed in fine clothing, had his hair cut and was clean shaven, and was of royal blood. Leviticus was tattooed, with a long hair, a long beard and dirty from his work from his blacksmith duties. But, Hana did notice that while Caspian was reserved with Estefania in public, Leviticus was openly affectionate with her, which she didn’t expect from a wild looking man.

“...He really towers over you.” Hana said with a light smirk.

“Oh, I know,” Stef said with a grin, “Besides, men of high class always bore me. He’s the best man I’ve ever met and he makes me happy. We both were two people who stumbled into this town after running away from our pasts and we eventually decided to start over... together.”

Stef’s grin faded, and it was replaced with a serious frown. “I’m not going back, Hana. I... I have found out that my brother lives, and I have a pretty good idea of what he may be up to now, but...it’s best how things are. I’m better off here, living my new life with my husband, with the people who are like family to me here.”

Hana stared at Stef, just knowing Stef was leaving out vital details about her tale. She and Rama Malik had suspected that Ulises had done something terrible, but Stef was putting the blame on herself ... which she always did when it came to her little brother. The woman had certainly changed, as she was more humbled and sensible, along with something else she couldn’t quite put her finger on, but if there was one thing that didn’t change, it was that she still excused Ulises Arazola.

“... Estefania, you must understand. You’re still alive, so that means--”

Hana was interrupted by a giant wolf suddenly appearing from the trees. She jumped in surprise, quickly going to Stef’s side, who seemed unphased. But, when Hana took a good look at the wolf, she realized that the creature looked very familiar.

Soon, Katy Areli appeared, following the wolf.

“There you are.” The blonde greeted with a half smile, “Good to see you, Hana.”

“Oh...Hello! It’s been such a long time!” Hana said, stepping in to hug the woman.

Katy hugged her in return, and once she pulled away, she was frowning. “I’ve been looking for you. You’re needed at Jacob’s longhouse. There’s some news that you need to hear.”

Hana and Stef look at each other and Hana nodded. “Lead the way.”

Katy and her wolf turned around to lead them there, and as Hana began to follow, Stef too began to walk. “I’ll join you.”

Hana smiled and the three women walked down the path towards Jacob’s.

#Hana Yasmin #ayyyy #almost done with this shit #I have like... two more posts or three

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mor-beck-more-problems · 4 years

Text

Without You || Morgan & Deirdre

Deirdre swallowed, lifting her gaze to meet Morgan’s. There was no excuse, and so, she said it plainly: “I killed someone. A young girl. Out of boredom, I suspect. But I killed her.”

“Deirdre--” Morgan reached for her as she stood, trying to pull her back, but Deirdre was stolid and would not move from her path. Morgan pushed herself up from the couch, ready to insist, to soothe her distress away and then-- I killed someone. A young girl. I killed her. Morgan froze. “I don’t understand,” she said, brow knotted with confusion. “That’s...not something you do. It’s just…not.”

@deathduty

There had to be something said for the encompassing nature of remorse. Or else, Deirdre wouldn’t have felt so weighted by it. And how strange, how foreign, the feeling was, and how worse it was made knowing just six months earlier she wouldn’t have felt it. But nonetheless, she moved slugged by it to her door, unlocking and turning it open as she had down countless times before. This house used to be empty, she remembered. She dreaded its silence. She dreaded opening her door to find it waiting at the other end for her, cruel, and patient. She would move straight to her bed, with no sense in lingering inside the ghost of payment for her duty. Perhaps her mother had been right, in that regard, that they were creatures unmade for love simply because they didn’t deserve it.

The home no longer greeted her with silence. She opened her door to find the mewling of cats, the promise of the woman she loved further inside or on her way. Love she found herself unmade for was suddenly overflowing. And for a moment, in this new un-silence, she had convinced herself she could be worthy of it. What a fool she was.

Deirdre held her flowers closer to her chest, the perfect bird skull laid above the bouquet. She stepped over the mewling Moira, desperate for her greeting and lingered awkwardly at the door, wondering if she could call for Morgan or if that was a privilege she needed to learn how to give up now before it would be rightfully taken from her. But there was so much to apologize for, and so little time. There were benefits to being alone, these deliberations were never her concern before. But Moira would not let her move, where she stepped, the kitten went, screaming. “M-morgan?” She called out, her hand forced by the kitten, “Moira isn’t letting me walk.”

Morgan read Deirdre’s letter as soon as she noticed it coming out of the bathroom. She pressed it to her chest, her skin crawling with nerves and relief, and read it again. Again as she nibbled on brains from the fridge, again as she paced the rooms of the house. As soon as she heard the door open she was on her feet and running. “Deirdre!” She could tell by the sound of her voice it was the real her, no mushrooms or magic frying her brain with weird stupid names or schemes to burn off their clothes or fill things with jello. “Deirdre, oh thank the stars--” She didn’t move Moira out of the way so much as she launched herself over her, landing with her arms draped around Deirdre’s neck, legs slipping clumsily for purchase around her hips. She looked heavy and worn out, as if all the nonsense of the past few days had hit her all at once. Maybe Morgan should’ve been more mindful of her fatigue, of her look, more sorrowful than usual, but her only thought was that her love was back. “It’s really you,” she said. “I mean, I knew, I read your letter, but now you’re here and it’s really you and--” Her rush of excitement was cut short by another needy wail by Moira. “I guess I’m not the only one who missed the real you around here.” She pulled back enough to give Deirdre a sheepish smile, but she was too relieved, too overcome to really mind looking foolish.

Deirdre’s lament on whether she deserved this love at all right now was lost in the relief of simply being near Morgan. For a moment, she relaxed, laughing as Morgan’s hug stumbled her backwards until her back thumped harmlessly against a wall. “You’re going to crush my apology gift,” she said softly, pulling the bouquet and bird skull away to preserve its life for a moment longer. And as Morgan pulled away, spurred by Moira’s shouts, Deirdre met her lips in a rough kiss to reel her back in. “Moira can wait.” The kitten mewled again, communicating that she couldn’t. Deirdre carefully leaned down, to pet her, quickly snapping back up to loop her free arm around Morgan’s waist and hold her close. “I’m sorry, usually the rings are not so---” well, normally no one cared if they got the real her or not. “---they’re tempting, let’s just say that.” She grimaced as guilt crept back through her. One last good moment, she begged selfishly, just one. And then she could suffer, but just once she would like to pretend she could keep something she loved. “I missed you,” she mumbled, “I didn’t give you too hard of a time, did I?”

Morgan sniffled, blinking back a tear as she saw the flowers and the bird skull, carefully preserved and complete. It was just the kind of thing Deirdre would get her, romantic and thoughtful, holding a little bit of each of them. “You missed me?” She said, laughing lightly. She pulled Deirdre into another kiss, heedless and hard. “I’m not the one who went away with Mushroom Sally.” She kissed her again and settled into the crook of her neck, squeezing their bodies tight together. “Oh, Earth, Deirdre, I missed you too. It wasn’t too bad, it wasn’t. You were pretty cute some of the time, although, well, trying to keep you from filling the pool with Jello was kind of hard, but it wasn’t awful it just...you just weren’t you.” Moira cried again, louder, rising on her haunches to paw at them both. “Okay, we get it!” she groaned, nudging her away with her foot.

Deirdre set aside the flowers on the small table beside them, picking the skull out from the center of the bouquet to lay delicately on top of the white plastic. She needed both hands to hold Morgan better, tighter, of that she was sure. “I missed you,” she repeated into the next kiss, “it’s like a fog over my mind and I couldn’t see you, not properly. I didn’t like it.” She flinched again at the mention of it, bordering on some excuse she didn’t want for a crime she had yet to admit to. In time, she assured her unsteady mind, she would get to it in time. “I missed you,” she said again, pulling Morgan back enough just so she could kiss her again, urgent and firm. But Moira wanted attention, and Deirdre could see no other options but relenting. “Come on,” she broke away to bend down and pick up the kitten, cradling her. “Why don’t we move away from the door and get comfortable somewhere better, hm?” She directed the question to Morgan and the cat, reaching for her girlfriend’s hand as they moved. “Now, jello in the pool isn’t such a bad idea. I must have really been on to something. I vote that we revisit that,” she grinned, trying to mask the sharp pain that grew inside of her with each sentence she didn’t confess. “But I didn’t...hurt you or anything, did I? I can’t remember everything, exactly. But I…” she trailed off. Fairy rings could make even the gentlest fae malicious, it was the simple nature of the magic. She liked to think she was better than that, but there was a dead girl that said otherwise. “Some fae lose themselves more than others. It’s...hard to tell. But you were okay?”

“You didn’t like it?” Morgan prodded curiously. She brought up a hand to brush back Deirdre’s hair and trace the soft lines of her face, already growing pinker and more freckled with the brightness of June. It was stupid to suppose that she felt any different, but this Deirdre, at least, knew all the little messages of care her touches translated into, when her tenderness was meant to be adoring, when her firm presses and hard grips were full of longing or urgency. And this Deirdre had the stillness and the presence of mind to hold her and touch her in turn the way she needed in order to feel. She held her gaze in that way they now had, silently speaking of the loneliness of their strange separation and how desperately glad she was to have her back. “That can wait until we’re--yeah. And we are not revisiting Jello. I bought so many packets, just to indulge you, and you hated the way they came out in the pan. I told you it wasn’t meant to be made in big batches. Besides, skinny dipping is so much better in good old fashioned swimming pool water.” She pressed in close to Deirdre as they walked into the great room and started the process of making themselves comfortable on the couch. Morgan took the kitten into her arms, scratching her around the collar the way she liked as she moved the throw pillows around. Moira, satisfied, wriggled and jumped back to the floor to supervise the proceedings, leaving Morgan free to crawl into Deirdre’s arms, legs draped over her lap. “You didn’t hurt me,” she murmured with a sigh, kissing down her face. “Not that you could, with your promise, I don’t think, but you didn’t even try.” She squeezed their bodies as tightly together as she could get them, almost getting heady with the pressure around her body, her Deirdre sober and here and loving her the way she wanted to be and not a hair different. “Actually, it was pretty easy to keep you from going back to the mushrooms for more,” she said, pulling away so she could look at her, the fantastically sober calm in her expression, the relief, even the weariness. Morgan wanted to take all of it in at once if only because it was real. “All I had to do was keep telling you I didn’t like it. And you listened. Even high out of your mind you cared about me.”

Having Morgan back in her arms, where she could feel her consciously and comprehend her words, was the greatest relief to a nightmarish week. Deirdre wanted nothing else, and the moments she spent with Morgan, high on the fairy ring, were a haze in her mind. She could remember her only in a blur, the words that she shared and the actions that she took. And of course she didn’t like it, when she treasured these moments so dearly, and wanted to hold as many memories of Morgan as she could, hold as much knowledge of her. To be denied that was worse than she ever could have imagined. “I’ll put ‘skinny dipping’ on the spreadsheet then,” she smiled softly, then couldn’t help the wince that came after. The spreadsheet was for the future, a future that wasn’t certain, and certainly wasn’t deserved. “I didn’t like it,” she repeated in a groan instead. Could she keep this moment for a while longer? She leaned into Morgan’s touches, pulling her closer, urging with her own that she wanted more--as many as Morgan wanted to give, as many as she could have. “Good,” she rasped, catching Morgan’s own relief in her eyes, and meeting her lips in another solid kiss, and then another, pressed to her jaw as she worked down to the collar of her shirt, where no more bare skin could be met. “Because I do. Care about you. And I’m glad I could remember that while...you know. I told you it’s...hard to know what’ll happen. And it’s not always what’s true to one’s character but I suppose...it’s still me. It’s still my actions.” She sighed, reluctantly shifting their bodies to pull them just far enough apart than she could ask this question before her resolve gave way to how much she desired to be close to Morgan. “I have something I need to tell you. It’s not--” she swallowed thickly, “it’s not good. Do you want---Do you want to hear that now, or should we keep..” she pressed her palm firmly against Morgan’s thigh, “doing this? Do you want to stay here for now or….?” It felt kinder, somehow, to offer the option.

Morgan followed Deirdre’s cues, working her hands through her hair, running them down to grasp at her back and sides by the handful. She answered each kiss with one of her own, growing hungrier as it settled in that they were really together again and all the awfulness, however minor, was over. She whined in the back of her throat as Deirdre pushed them apart. All she wanted was to be close again, to be known and recognized again in a way only the real Deirdre could give her. But--stars, Deirdre had been trying to tell her about ‘something bad’ since Morgan had first brought her home from the woods. It was bad enough in Deirdre’s mind for it to press through her reckless euphoria and in the clarity of coming back to herself it lingered. Morgan frowned, stomach twisting with guilt as she weighed the options. “I know you won’t feel better until you tell me,” she sighed, a tear rolling down her cheek. “That’s just how you are, and I love you for it. But can I just--give me a minute, okay? Because I didn’t like it either. I hated you being gone for so long--” And she was kissing her again, hard and desperate. “It felt like so long,” she mumbled. She cupped her face, rubbing her thumbs roughly against her cheek as she kissed her harder. At some point she had the good sense to move a hand down, pressing in hard enough to sense Deirdre’s pulse and pulled away when she felt it spike with a growing need for air. “I love you,” she said, lips tingling. “And it’s gonna be okay.” She tugged on one of Deirdre’s hands and pressed it to her lips, cradling it around her cheek for a blessed moment before letting go. “Go ahead and tell me, babe.”

“Hey,” Deirdre cooed instantly, reaching up to thumb away Morgan’s tear, pressing her hand into her cheek, just the way she knew Morgan could feel it too. “As much time as you want, my love.” She whispered against her skin, easing into another kiss. “It was long for me too,” she rasped. Even in her haze, the part of her that still had sense clawed to be freed, just enough, to love and care for Morgan in the ways she knew best. But she had to wait for the fairy ring to wear off naturally, and she hated each moment of it. They were sacred to the fae, but nothing was more sacred to Deirdre than her time with Morgan, and Morgan herself. Maybe Lydia was on to something, and it was strange of her to wish that she could be with Morgan instead of doing what fae did but-- “I love you too. So much. So very much.” So much so that she thought about pushing her down against the couch, filling in their lost time with the intimacy they were both due. Deirdre tried to catch her breath quickly, eager for another kiss, fighting every desire and pull that begged her to close the distance between them again. But she had something to confess, and at Morgan’s attempt at comfort, she laughed bitterly with the reminder of it. She didn’t imagine she would share this news while still tangled up in Morgan, and she found that she couldn’t summon the words while so close to her--she was too muddied with blood now, too evil to deserve such care. With great reluctance, with more anguish than she anticipated, she tore herself from Morgan and up away from the couch to stand and admonish herself.

“I’m sorry,” she began. “I know you say that I’m a good person and I do--I’ve tried to believe that. I want to. You make me feel like I can, and I want to try, for you. Because it’s good, because it makes me feel like I’m better, like I’m the best person I can be---when I’m with you. You give me that...strength to change. To do that. To be that person. And I’m sorry, for betraying that trust you had in me and I…” she gulped. This was too much beating around the bush. She wanted no excuses, no escapes or forgivenesses from her actions. She bared the responsibility alone for all her actions, for each murder and torture and life ruined. For Emma, and for all those before her. “I cannot confess to a--” she hung her head, clutching her chest in pain. “--any--” she spoke through gritted teeth, “things I may have done in the name of my duty. I’ve sworn not to. So when I say this, understand it was senseless and unkind and unfair and so---” Deirdre swallowed, lifting her gaze to meet Morgan’s. There was no excuse, and so, she said it plainly: “I killed someone. A young girl. Out of boredom, I suspect. But I killed her.”

“Deirdre--” Morgan reached for her as she stood, trying to pull her back, but Deirdre was stolid and would not move from her path. Morgan bit on the inside of her cheek as she spoke, trying not to interrupt. Whatever her crime, it was tearing at her insides. Morgan pushed herself up from the couch, ready to insist, to soothe her distress away and then-- I killed someone. A young girl. I killed her. “I don’t understand,” she said, brow knotted with confusion. “That’s...not something you do. It’s just…not.” Deirdre wasn’t cruel. At her worst, when she wanted to hurt, she could be viscous. That day in the woods would always be a reminder of that. But there was nothing casual about it, nothing pleasurable. It wasn’t who she was since coming to White Crest, if it ever had been at all. “I--I need to know what happened. You can’t expect me to go along with the bare bones of something like that, I need to know everything. Who was she, what were you doing, what did she--why aren’t you even sure why you--” She took Deirdre’s arm. “You need to come back and tell me everything,” she said firmly.

“It sounds like an excuse if I explain it. I don’t want---I killed her. That is a fact. There is no excusing or justifying it.” Deirdre sighed, hanging her head low. She tried to be as objective in her explanation as she could, keeping her voice the apathetic way her mother taught her to. “As fairy ring customs go, you pick a human and bring them in. A fae is never completely in control of what they do inside, some might be malicious, some might simply be a higher-intensity version of themselves. I can’t remember all of the details well, and the motivation is completely lost on me but--” shit, Lydia had been there, right? Deirdre sighed again, groaning as she tried to think of a way to admit this without acknowledging her friend’s involvement. It had been her, in the end. Not Lydia. And she would gladly take any and all blame for her; for all that Lydia had done for Deirdre, she was owed that much. “I threw a knife at her. I truly don’t remember why. I knew it was bad, it felt bad even before we entered the ring. But I didn’t stop it. And it is my fault she died. Mine alone. Those actions were mine and I made them.” Humans didn’t always die in rings, but it mattered so little to the fae what their outcome was. Deirdre had never personally killed a human in a ring, as a toy, but what did it matter if she was just as involved? Or if she watched without comment? If she was too desperate to be among them that she knew better than to voice her concerns, even back then. “And it’s not exactly the first senseless death by my hand. I’ve ruined lives. I am not a good person, by any standard.” She paused, turning her head away. “Emma Mushrow. Did you know her?”

Emma. Morgan’s eyes turned wide and stung with recognition. She went still, Deirdre’s arm still in her grasp, mid tug. Emma was one of her students. Painfully lonely, closeted, and smart. She came in for so many office hours, fumbling with three different questions before finding her way to the one she really wanted to ask. She’d done the extra credit work for fun. Because it was all creative, and it made her happy, not that she ever said so, but Morgan could tell from the way she brightened with hope as she handed it in. The last time she talked, Morgan had promised to look at her first draft if she ever got the nerve to write this time-travel novel she wanted to. And Morgan had heard about what had happened to her on the University forums and the paper. Or at least, as much as any of the humans could suppose. It had just seemed like another nameless White Crest tragedy, but now… “Emma,” she said, voice thick. “Yes. You...Emma? But she’s...she’s Blanche’s age, Deirdre. Did you know that? She’s...harmless. Emma could barely raise her hand in class much less work up the nerve to ever hurt anyone. She would never have hurt any fae. She was afraid she was betraying humanity by wanting to drop out of a pre-med program!” Morgan let go of Deirdre and braced her hands on her hips. Her mind was racing too fast, she needed to focus. She breathed slowly, counting in her head, but her body was cut off from her sense of her lungs. It stayed tense. She looked around the room counting senses: she could see her bare feet, she could see the carpet, she could see the clock, the sunlight coming through the windows, and Moira under the coffee table; she could feel tension in her fingers, a pinch in her hip as she dug her nails in, a fuzzy haze under her feet, an ache in her jaw; the ticking of the clock, birds chirping, Moira pawing the carpet… “First of all, you are not going to hide behind your banshee dead-tone while we have this discussion,” she said at last. “You are going to look me in the eyes and you are going to tell me the whole truth, every detail you remember, and everything that just feels like a lucky guess and you are going to feel it. If it hurts that you--” Killed Emma. Killed Emma and didn’t know why. Morgan clenched her jaw and forced the words out stiffly, “That you don’t even know why you hurt a practical child, you have to feel it. And second of all--” She had to pause and gather herself, to remind herself that this was important and she meant it. For the first time she felt her heart struggle to accommodate its feelings for Deirdre, her anger pushing against her love pushing against her confusion being crushed against some growing principle of understanding, it was so much and nothing wanted to give. But Morgan dug her fingers harder into her side and insisted, “Second of all this is not about anything you did in Ireland. I don’t care. You can make me hear about it later, but I don’t care. I don’t care what you did before we met. This is about a girl, and whatever the hell happened, whatever in the Earth’s name possessed you and your senses to do this instead of coming home to me. Has this happened before, since we met, Deirdre?”

So Morgan did know her. Deirdre figured it was the case, she’d heard enough about Emma’s life from her mother, who sobbed unrelentingly and foolishly thanked her daughter’s own murderer for paid funeral expenses and then some. “I’m not---” she swallowed thickly, “I’m not speaking like this to---If I talk normally I’ll---” her voice cracked and in waves her body was overcome with the anguish she was fighting for the sake of getting the story out in one piece. But not asked to speak plainly, she had no means of subduing her pain. Deirdre stumbled backwards, collapsing into a seat on their coffee table. She had cried in her car too, after meeting Emma’s family, using what she’d learned from her mother to keep from breaking down with guilt in front of them. But here it was again, raw and open for Morgan to see. “I know,” she sobbed, staring at her hands. “I know she---I know.” They were shaking. For all of her mother’s teachings and torture to get them to be steady, they were shaking. And she kept staring at them, kept expecting the blood of everyone she’d killed to spill out of every pore and for their screams and pleas to play out loud for Morgan to witness too. All the promises for what their lives could have been had never ceased to weigh on her, and they weighed heavier since trying to be better. But Morgan was angry, and she could feel it, and the sensation twisted terribly inside of her--worse than how any of the guilt she carried ever did. “That is the truth,” she glanced up, forcing herself to accommodate Morgan’s assertion that she look at her. “That’s it. I felt so terrible about her being there, and then I threw a knife to prove I didn’t. It wasn’t to kill her, but she died because of it so I’m not sure if it matters if---” Taken by another bout of sobbing, she couldn’t finish her sentence and took to staring at her hands again. She had touched Morgan with them, just as she had murdered Emma, murdered Regan’s father, murdered countless others that might have been spared. She curled into herself, lost to her pain. “I killed her. I didn’t mean to but I did. And it--I-I’m sorry. I know you---I’m so---” She cried, the glass shaking around them as her control on her voice wavered. With none of her mother’s teachings left to hide behind, there was nothing stopping the wave of anguish and torment that she had tried so hard to keep for her own private repentance. At Morgan’s question, she thought of Regan’s father, and tried to confess to his death as well. But her promises would not let her, and so she heaved and stuttered and tried to be strong enough to sit and accept the anger and resentment she was due. “Not any---not anyone so young but---but---” bile worked its way up, stopping just short of her mouth, leaving a burning path down her in its wake. “I’m sorry. I know it means nothing but---” She really had tried to be good. She really had wanted to be. She just wasn’t; she never could be.

“Stop,” Morgan said, voice quiet but still firm. “I know what a promise looks like, so stop. It doesn’t count.” What did count, contrary to Deirdre’s insistence, was her remorse. Morgan did her best to be still and impassive as Deirdre fell apart in front of her, as she struggled under the weight of her shame to look her in the face. It couldn’t bring back Emma, it couldn’t re-balance the loss and anguish of grief, but it paid for something in Morgan’s heart. She moved slowly to the coffee table, trying to fit all the pieces she had been given in her head. She had been warned that the fae were unkind, she had been asked and told if she really wanted to know that world. She had assumed, foolishly, that any world that could bring Deirdre into existence had to have a heart in it somewhere. But this--this fairy ring, this, what, some pheromone magic?--this thing was cruel. What world made it a practice to cleave its people’s souls from them, to make them into giddy creatures, into the kinds of beings that could hurt a child for no reason at all. Where was the sense in that? The balance in that? No wonder old guard fae convinced themselves they were better. How else could they live with themselves? But Deirdre knew. Deirdre wept. Deirdre wanted more for herself than this lie and the cold isolation that came with it. Slowly, she put a hand on Deirdre’s head and ran her fingers down her hair. She could not bear to give her full, encompassing comfort in this moment, but she could not bear to stand by while Deirdre cried and grieved either. “It does mean something, that you’re this sorry,” she said. “It’s what makes you different.” She swallowed thickly. “Tell me how you know about her. Did you know her, before you brought her into that...that place,” she could not hide her hatred of the fairy ring itself and she didn’t bother trying. “Did you find out who she was after? How do you know who she was?”

“Stop what? Stop crying? I’ll try--I’ll stop. Do you want me to---I’ll stop if---” Deirdre raised her hands to her face, trying to stop tears that would not quell for her, even as she tried to tell herself that Morgan wanted her to stop. She could not hear the rest of Morgan’s sentence under her concentration to stop crying, convinced this was what Morgan wanted. But she couldn’t, and in her failure, she wept harder, finding each free breath to mumble her apologies. She should have been better, but she wasn’t. Morgan raised her hand and Deirdre flinched in anticipation of the hit she imagined would come, the retribution as it was due. As her mother had, just when she would sob too much. Instead, she felt her working through her hair, gentle, and in the act of kindness she was not deserving of, she quelled her tears just enough to respond. “I knew her name was Emma,” she said, “I-I could tell she was lonely, it was the only reason she came with us. But its---” the way fairy rings work. And it’s harmless, they juggle or dance or play music and then go home. It was the way the fairy rings worked. They begged for humans to be dragged into them, even the thought of them--though she could not explain it--thrummed in her head. They called, they asked for their giddy fun, they demanded their human entertainment. The desire could not be helped. It was as natural to the fae as anything else. It was them. It was their culture. And Deirdre had done nothing wrong in their terms, and yet, even then, she felt guilt course so horribly through her. “I knew she liked to read. I knew she didn’t really like her friends. I could tell she must have had a passion she was hiding but the rest I---” Her body trembled with another sob. “I went to---I--W-what does it matter? It doesn’t. I’m not different. I’m not---I’m a fae. It’s---I killed her. That’s it. I did.” And there was nothing to make that fair. And she shook, horrified by the way trying to be good intersected with the fae life she knew. She had been so lost, for so long, and when a path seemed clear...it was lost again. Where did she go? Where was there a place for her now?

“So you did,” Morgan whispered, her voice hinging. She stopped petting Deirdre’s hair, almost mid-stroke and let her hand fall to her side. “You saw her. You saw who she was and you...when all that shit was in your head, you…” Killed her. Murdered her...sort of. It hadn’t been a lethal wound, that was what made the whole story so weird. And Deirdre, as lethally trained by her mother as she had been, surely couldn’t have missed the heart or a major artery on accident. There was something there, something to think on as Morgan braced her hands on her hips again. “You weren’t you,” she muttered, more to herself than to Deirdre. “You weren’t in your right mind, you were surrounded by fae, and these...fucking mushrooms…” And she hadn’t meant to kill her, even then. And yet Deirdre had brought her in the first place, had seen her, her youth, her hurt. Because it was what fae were supposed to do. Because she thought it was expected of her, or the brain-melting magic asked her to. Morgan counted her way through the room again, breathed slowly through her teeth, but she was running out of objects, losing places to plant her focus on besides Emma and the bewildering double-edged trick that hadn’t just destroyed her life but had wrecked a piece of her and Deirdre too. “And you are different. You are so different from the people you were raised with, even from Lydia and Tasmyn. You have become different since I’ve known you, at the very least. You see people as people, and you are kind and your soul, the part of you that knows better than the things you were taught, is good and that is why this hurts for you. That’s why it feels wrong. And that counts. That weight means something. But that is also why I am so---” floored. Disappointed. Hurt. “Yeah, I’m going to need a minute,” she said stiffly. “I’m leaving the keys. I need you to still be here when I get back. I need to trust you not to hurt yourself while I’m out.” She was already heading for the door but she stopped, aching deep in her dead silent body for them all. “Is any of that going to be a problem?”

She didn't mean to. Emma was just supposed to dance and juggle but not be harmed, she didn't want that. Deirdre could barely remember her motivations or thoughts but she could remember hating the idea. Being opposed to it. But she hadn't done enough, she hadn't stopped it. She hadn't been strong enough under the fairy ring to care. She relented to the first sign of disappointment from Lydia, some need for approval being stronger than the goodness supposedly inside of her. For this, she was unimaginably sorry. But she did not explain herself further, there was no point. She killed Emma, that was that. Lydia's involvement was unimportant, and all blame was hers alone. "It was my fault. I did it," she croaked again, worsened by hearing Morgan try to explain it. To her, she had already condemned herself to the highest crime, and as she burned for some punishment to be delivered, she could accept nothing else. Yes, she was not herself. Yes, she was as far removed from her actions as she ever had been, but they were still hers, and she still accepted all responsibility for them. "But I don't—" want to be different from them. She never did. She wanted to be just like Lydia, just like she was supposed to. But if she couldn't be good like Morgan said, and if she couldn't be like the fae, then what was she? Her world slowly cracked and she rose her knees to her chest, crying into them. But one part remained at least, one last shred of—"Leaving?" She lifted her head just far enough up to catch sight of Morgan walking away. And with it, the last of the world she thought she might keep, might belong in. It shattered, and unable to respond to Morgan's question, she dropped her head and cried, shattering the glass around her. Her wails of anguish were unrestrained, muffled only as she curled into herself. "Take care of yourself," she managed, the last intelligent sentence as she dissolved into tears and sobs. The house she had watched form itself into a home, the silence she had dreaded, all of it returned to her. In some strange way to heed Morgan's words, she did not rise to harm herself as her mind begged, instead she remained curled up on the cracked coffee table, unmoving. Trying her hardest not to think of the emptiness, but unable to focus on anything else. She was alone again.

All Morgan had wanted was a simple answer. Lacking even that, something inside her burned, familiar in ways she didn’t want to welcome. “Yep, sounds great,” she muttered under her breath. She shoved her feet into her shoes, bearing down against the tangle of feeling flooding through her insides. This wasn’t how she wanted to be and she needed to get something out before she could be any different.

#wickedswriting #wr deirdre #wr chatzy #wr deirdre chatzy #without you #wr

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mimiplaysgames · 4 years

Text

Beloved Memories, in Notes (Vol. VIII)

Pairing: Terra/Aqua Rating: K+ Word Count: 11,151

Summary: Aqua and Terra meet Ventus. It's all fine until they have to take care of him. After all, they're just teenagers who don't know what they're doing. Aqua is 14, Terra is almost 16.

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A/N: Happy Valentine's Day to @endlessember! They requested: "I’ve always loved the idea of the way finder trio being a family especially with Terra and Aqua as Vens parents... so I was wondering if you could write something along those lines? It can be either AU or not (maybe you have something clever that could fit this into canon idk)." I chose the canon route. I finished this outline in... November 2018, right after you requested this as part of my celebration of 100 followers on Tumblr. Thank you so much for your patience, and for sticking by me for this long, it's amazing that you're still interested in my stories. Bless you for your support, it means so much. <333 I know that this was way out of my comfort zone, but I honestly had a blast writing this. It was a lot of fun and it's been a long time since a chapter has made me feel this way.

~*~*~*~

A Tale of Three

It shouldn’t be this unnerving to watch someone sleep.

The poor boy had been escorted into the academy by an old man - a Master with a funny name, someone Eraqus knew. After they put the boy to bed, they went off into the office to discuss business, and it left the castle quiet with no answers.

“No progress?” Terra asked behind her. She’d been looking so hard for signs of consciousness - a twitch in the eyelid, some mumbling - that she didn’t hear him come in.

This was looking more like a coma than anything. He was so still that she wondered if he was even dreaming. The sun beamed through his window, glowing up his already golden hair, but he was not bothered by it. It was more like watching someone in a coffin as opposed to being in bed.

She touched his forehead - ten times, already - to check for a fever, but he had none

Terra grunted. He felt bad about bombarding Ventus with so many questions, but the guilt was unnecessary.

He took a chair from across the room and sat down by her side, and they listened in silence. This boy was so young.

The Master repeated in lectures that holding a Keyblade necessitated great responsibility, and Aqua never worried about that. She was always trustworthy

When she asked the Master what had happened to the boy, he only said, This boy has torn his heart.

Aqua lived her life believing she’d never come across such horror. Consequences of wielding a Keyblade seemed foreign, like there was no such thing as accidents.

Today, she witnessed different.

“He’ll be okay,” Terra said when she never responded. He wasn’t even that confident, considering how he crossed his arms. “The Master thinks everything will work out.”

Right now, optimism just didn’t seem appropriate.

Something echoed in the halls, but it wasn’t a round of voices. The sound of piano keys drifted into the room, too soft and distant to understand what story its song was trying to tell, and she leaned over to make sure she heard correctly.

Terra gave her a look. She returned it.

They jumped out of their chairs. There was only one piano in the entire academy, tucked in the corner of the ballroom. No one knew how to play it, so it stayed untouched and dusty.

It never occurred to her that the piano would one day be a spectacle.

Glancing back at Ventus to see if anything changed (it didn’t), they left to see what the commotion was. They kept their steps light, and Terra led the way upstairs.

They snuck into the upper floors of the ballroom, which overlooked the bottom for a grand view of the western mountains. It was one of the biggest halls in the castle though they’ve never held an event here. Otherwise, they used it as a training room, the delicate, tile floor scratched up with strikes of Keyblade metal.

Terra and Aqua crouched behind the gold railing so they wouldn’t be noticed.

Now they heard the melody in full. Solemn, contemplative, maybe a story about a horse who learned how to fly. She didn’t know the song, it was just the picture that came to her mind.

The eccentric bald man who brought Ventus had tuned it. Each of his keystrokes was impeccable, stringing keys together like he was sewing them. If the song was about a horse who flew, strums of the darker notes told a story of how it found itself lost in the underworld.

The old Keyblade Master slouched severely. When she first saw him, Aqua never imagined that he was able to fight anymore, let alone be able to have this kind of dexterity over the piano.

Eraqus stood nearby, and Aqua had never seen an expression on him like that before. He was always very well-groomed, and when he laughed, he did it calmly to maintain power over his breath.

Right now, Master Eraqus looked young and hopeful, listening to the song with his eyes closed, swaying gently enough that no one would have noticed unless they stared at him.

The old man tripped on his fingers, one of them banging on a flat key that made the horse jump. “I have lost some of my touch,” he said, his voice raspy.

If that was the case, he must have been amazing when he was younger.

“Nonsense, it brought life back into the castle,” Eraqus said. “How I’ve missed the shows we used to host.”

“Seriously,” Terra whispered sharply, “how come we never bother to bring people here?”

The old man crossed his hands behind his back like he needed to support it. “It is rare that I tread paths with the piano nowadays. I had forgotten how much I valued time with it.

“I doubt that,” Eraqus chuckled. “You have spent far too many hours sitting on that bench to ever forget that you needed it, old friend.”=

Old friend. Eraqus used such a phrase to describe a person? Judging from the way Terra’s eyes bulged out of his sockets, it was a first for him, too.

“It was a well-deserved reunion,” the old Master said, rubbing the keys like he was looking for dust. “Now I must take my leave.”

That felt off.

It wasn’t that he was impolite - not at all.

What rubbed Aqua strangely to the point that she decided ‘eccentric’ was the right word to describe him was how he suddenly changed gears with an otherwise pleasant conversation.

It was like he decided mid-sentence that he had enough of the mundane.

“Must you go now, Xehanort?”

Xehanort had his mind elsewhere, his eyes firing up like he had something to look forward to.

“I had left an acquaintance with an abrupt exit, and he needs me.”

“... I suppose I can’t stop you, then.” Eraqus crossed his arms, reluctantly following.

“Eraqus, mind your tone. You will lose all your hair worrying, old friend.”

Old friend.

“Why not consider all that you’ve lost.”

Master Xehanort laughed, and Aqua wasn’t sure if he was genuinely amused or if he was offended.

Terra and Aqua scurried out of their own exit to follow, down the stairs where they planned to peek around a corner and eavesdrop some more.

But Terra ran a little too far, skidding on the tile and right into the hallway that left him standing in front of both Masters.

This left them with no choice except to bow and present themselves with proper posture.

“Your two star pupils, Eraqus?” Xehanort approached, and she could smell his age as he crept near. If he stood straight, he would have been as large of a man as their Master.

“My fine achievers, yes.”

Those gold eyes didn’t give away what he was thinking. He took turns to study them, and at first Aqua expected that maybe he had some advice - words of wisdom that any Keyblade Master would want to give students. Some useful critique, or encouragement. At best, a tiny sparring session where they could learn from someone different.

Xehanort patted one of Terra’s shoulders. “This one has much potential.”

Aqua never felt so invisible.

Terra stared wide-eyed. In an attempt to make up for his lack of manners, he stammered, “T-thank you, Master.” Then he bowed halfway, stuck somewhere between shock and nervousness and a need to please.

“Mind your presence,” Xehanort said, smacking Terra’s shoulder several times like he was too tired for a hug. “A Keyblade Master stands proudly. They do not wither, even in front of crippled old men.”

“Will you come back?” Eraqus kept himself composed, like the fact that his old friend leaving so soon (and abandoning a boy) wasn’t a bother.

Aqua wouldn’t imagine why. If Terra was away for that long, she’d be really sad.

“Perhaps for dinner?” Xehanort waved his arm with half a pound of enthusiasm and then went on his way, Terra completely forgotten.

It was abrupt. There wasn’t anything else fit to describe it.

Eraqus crossed his arms. His mind was nowhere near the castle.

The tension in Terra’s shoulders slacked. “Master?”

Eraqus smirked. It was subtle under that enormous mustache, but it was solemn as well.

“My students,” he said. “I have always taught you that power is born within the heart. It is what makes our Keyblades vigorous, our will to overcome darkness unbendable. We need our bodies to be strong in order to serve our hearts, and we need our hearts to be strong to serve greater purpose. We therefore rely on our minds to be strong to keep us oriented.”

He turned to face them. “And yet, what have I always said was the paradox of strength?”

It was an odd time to quiz them, yet he loved taking them by surprise anyway. They prepared their answers with suitable postures.

“Strength alone is needed to walk the right path,” Terra started. They had just studied this last week. “Yet it falters easily to temptation.”

“Strength together is the only force that can stand ground against anything,” Aqua said. “Yet it can corrupt if not with right intention.”

“You need both to find balance where it lacks,” Terra finished.

“Very good.” Whatever troubled his mind threatened to spread across Eraqus’ face, even though they recited his lesson perfectly. “My star pupils, indeed.”

Aqua wanted to ask.

She hesitated. He never really discussed his past with either of them, except for the rare slip up. She knew there was one other student who grew up with him. Judging from what she had just seen, she suspected something had happened between them, and it really hurt.

“Was he that other student?” Terra asked, and it relieved her.

“Yes,” Eraqus said frankly. “And what you shall remember from today is the essence of forgiveness in maintaining that strength together.”

“Sir?”

“Terra… Aqua… It is terribly important that you continue to look out for each other’s best interests if you want to realize your dreams as Masters. One of you must be strong if the other makes a mistake. Stand by this philosophy, and life will reward you with an unbreakable bond that would empower your Keyblades and your fight against darkness.”

“Yes, sir,” they responded.

Master Eraqus sighed. The smile he wore faded away, though he carried himself with such intimidation that those who knew him would never notice the difference.

But Aqua noticed. It left his eyes, first.

“I must admit,” Eraqus said quietly, “I am simply human. I have shown weakness in my own despair.”

Aqua squirmed in her feet. Her Master was strong. Always.

Terra was speechless.

“Come,” the Master said, switching his attitude back to his comfort zone: duty. “Master Xehanort was never a competent caretaker, and that boy needs our attention.”

That boy continued to sleep. Day after day, he was given a new glass of water that sat on his bedside table and never emptied.

They took turns watching over him: Eraqus in the morning to diagnose his condition for the day, Aqua to stay the longer hours and watch for signs of improvement, and Terra at night with his books to study, though he never opened them.

What that boy needed was a miracle, and Aqua called it one when he finally opened his bright, blue eyes.

~*~*~*~

Ventus wasn’t very responsive.

Eraqus took a pen with a thin torchlight that shimmered different colors at its tip. He waved it, testing if Ventus would follow. “Ventus?”

He didn’t even respond to his name, blank eyes staring at Eraqus and yet never really noticing there was someone standing right in front of him.

It was like Ventus had lost his soul somewhere, and was searching the room to find it.

“Master?” Aqua asked nervously. She had prayed for a miracle, and she wanted the stars to respond compassionately - not demand a cost for his consciousness.

The Master shushed her, and Terra this whole time must have held his breath, for he refused to move a millimeter.

“Ventus?” he tried again. “Are you hungry?”

Still, no response, except for a blink.

After a minute, Ventus finally registered that there was someone talking to him, and he cocked his head.

“He certainly does not behave like a boy his age. This is most grave,” the Master grunted, turning off his tiny flashlight and rolling his neck back to stretch it. “I must seek out a colleague of mine. She refuses to name herself a witch, but she is gifted and will be able to nurse him back to health.”

The way the Master said that felt like it had finality, and suddenly the room weighed twice as heavy on Aqua’s shoulders.

“A- Are you leaving now?” Terra shook.

“Yes.”

“How long will you be gone?”

Eraqus chuckled. He paid no attention to them, preparing a small clutch with some munny. “There is no way to be certain. She is difficult to pin down and she, too, travels worlds. But I trust Ventus is in the right hands.”

By now, Eraqus was out the door, a Terra begging with his eyes following him.

“But Master, what can we do to help him?” he asked as though the Master had given Terra a stranger’s baby with a soiled diaper, and claimed it was his.

“Keep an eye on his behavior,” the Master said simply. “Provide for him what he needs. Nourishment, attention, and care.” It sounded like a simple list of instructions and yet there were so many questions. “And whatever you plan on doing for him, if he learns to walk again, do not, under any circumstances, let him leave the castle.”

Those were Eraqus’ only words of advice for Aqua and Terra. He shut the entrance doors, and all that was left was the grinding in Terra’s jaws.

“We’ll be fine,” Aqua said, and finally, Terra breathed.

“He acts like it’s supposed to be easy,” Terra grunted, making his way back to the bedroom where Ventus stared at the wall, his legs still well-tucked under the bedsheets like he had no interest in moving around.

Terra scratched the back of his head. “What’s his name, again?”

“Ventus.”

At the sound of his name, he turned to her. His eyes were blank but curious, maybe even a little confused. She didn’t get the impression that it was his name that caught his attention but the simple fact that she spoke.

Terra held a grip in his own hair as he mumbled. The longer he did so, the more his eyes furrowed like whatever he was concentrating on was a really difficult subject to grasp.

“You ok?”

“Vennnnnn…” Terra cleared his throat. “Veni- Vantis.” He tisked when he gave up.

“It’s not that hard.”

“How about we just call you Ven?” he asked, leaning over with his hands on his knees. “Would you like that?”

Ventus didn’t smile back, but he awed at Terra’s smile like it was new to him.

“It’s cute,” Aqua said, also smiling at Ven. “I’m Aqua.”

“I’m Terra.” He pointed to himself.

Ven glanced at each, back and forth, like their grins were overwhelming.

“Are you hungry, Ven?” Terra asked.

“He has to be,” Aqua said.

“Then what do we feed him?”

“Food.”

“Don’t be a smart - Okay, let’s go get him food.”

That seemed easy enough. They’d cook and clean up together, and in no time, the Master would be back to decide the best course of action.

But when they started to walk away, Ven’s eyes trailed them. He wasn’t adept in expressing emotion and yet…

“He’s so cute,” Aqua whispered.

“He looks so sad,” Terra said.

“... I don’t feel comfortable leaving him all by himself.”

“Yeah, let’s not.”

“Okay here’s the plan,” Aqua said, her voice louder and ready to take command. “I’ll go make his food and you watch him.”

Terra scowled. “No way. I’m not owing you a chore debt.”

“Excuse me?”

“We’re supposed to be splitting all of our chores evenly, remember? It was a blood oath.”

“It wasn’t a blood oath.” She crossed her arms and rolled her eyes. She couldn’t believe he’d forget something so easy to remember. “It was a spit oath.”

“Either way, I’m not falling for the idea that watching him is equal to you actually laboring in the kitchen.”

He had a point.

“Okay, I’ll cook and you clean,” she said. “No argument.”

“Or…” He gripped her arms before she turned over her shoulder, a smirk wrestling with his lips and a glint shining in his eye. “ I’ll go to the kitchen and make some soup… I should make him tea, anyway. You clean up after me. Then we’re even. Okay?”

She rolled her eyes. “Fine. Just make sure to flavor the soup.”

Ven managed to overlap his hands together, like he was waiting for someone to tell him what to do.

“Terra can be such a child sometimes,” Aqua said when she sat down next to him.

Ven didn’t respond. He looked at her eyes, her smile, his own hands, like he was never taught how to speak.

She really hated seeing him like this.

“You really hurt yourself, didn’t you?” She wanted to keep up appearances, and give him a friendly environment to feel safe in…

But it was so hard to keep smiling when he behaved this way.

His hair was still plastered and uneven. Without a hairbrush ready, she took to her fingers, bringing smoothness to the crown of his head, parting his hair asymmetrically for style.

“Very dignified,” she said when she finished. She rummaged through the bedside table and the dresser for a hand mirror, showing him the result.

He didn’t have much of an opinion - not that she expected one. But he was interested in her hand. He weakly reached out, squinting his eyes like he’d never seen fingers before.

He hesitated.

“It’s okay,” she said, opening her palm out.

He pressed his hand against hers, like they were measuring them. He was so much younger than her but his was more calloused, despite the extensive training she's had. Maybe he spent most of his time outside and playing with his hands. His skin was also dry - cracks of discoloration lived in between his knuckles. He must have come from a very dry and dusty climate.

Ven let go of her, and spaced out like she didn’t exist.

It must have been the sound of footsteps approaching and the humid smell of herbal soup that got his attention.

“Lunch time,” Terra said. He tried too hard to be perky, waving a tray with pizzazz. On it was a bowl of soup proudly steaming with various aromas, and a child’s mug of tea.

He placed the tray on the bed, right over Ven’s legs. “There’s saint’s wort for the heavy heart,” Terra explained when he handed Ven the mug. “And basil for mental clarity. But don’t worry, I’ve masked their flavors.”

Ven took it slow, testing the temperature on his lips before taking a sip.

His face scrunched up like he had tasted something sour, his eyes as wrinkled as a cabbage. He was too sweet of a boy to shove it back forcefully, and instead offered it back.

But Terra was dejected. “He didn’t like it?”

“I’ll take it,” Aqua said. Even if it wasn’t for her, it was senseless to deny Terra’s divine teas. He blended peppermint and spearmint for the base flavors, suppressing the basil without removing its presence which gave it just the right kick, and a hint of vanilla to make it sweeter.

Terra eyed his soup - a thick, murky broth with meat and potato chunks, accompanied by floating peppers and other vegetables. “Try this instead,” he said, offering the spoon. “It’s good for your body.” He beat his chest with his fist. “It’ll help you grow strong.”

Ven trusted. He picked up a spoonful, slurping the contents in.

He sniffled. His nose turned red and he took huge exhales in between his chews, carefully smacking his lips as he churned the meat into his mouth.

“What did you put in it?” Aqua asked. She grabbed the spoon from Ven and took a sip herself.

Her nose burned. Her eyes watered. Her throat angered.

“What do you think of it?” asked Terra.

He took her advice too much to heart. “It’s…” Spicy. “Decent.”

Terra’s laugh was breathy, and she nearly smacked him on the shoulder.

Ven reached with both hands for the spoon so he could drink more. No matter how spicy it was for him - there were times where his breaths almost sounded like sobs when his eyes became glassy - he kept swallowing.

“It reminds me,” Terra said softly, watching Ven eat, “of when Kain broke his leg.”

Aqua gave him her full attention.

Much of Terra’s childhood before the Land of Departure was isolated. When he talked about the orphanage, he always did so with a seriousness that told Aqua he really trusted her to keep these memories safe for him.

But this time, he spoke with a calm smile on his face.

“He had a cast,” Terra said. “We wrote our signatures on it and… We skipped rocks with it.”

“Excuse me?”

“We did,” Terra laughed. Ven kept eating, and it pleased Terra more, even though the boy looked like he was suffering. “We would toss pebbles onto his cast to see which ones bounced the furthest.”

“That’s…” Barbaric. Aqua scoffed.

Terra was far away, but he wasn’t. There was a child-like excitement to his eyes, hands reaching over to mess with Ven’s hair, spiking it up. “Do you like this better, Ven?”

It had been a long time since she made Terra smile this much.

She grew up with a friendly Terra, but with age came reflection, and sometimes he took that too far. When he smiled with her, it was with gravity.

With Ven, it was a beam of light.

Maybe it was just the excitement of someone new. It wasn’t Ven’s fault - if anything, he looked like he needed a friend, too.

“What do you think happened to him?” Aqua asked.

“Hard to say…” Terra sighed. “Do you think he committed one of the forbidden acts?”

“No…” she drawled. “He’s too innocent.”

“Maybe he was curious.” Terra shrugged with one shoulder. “Maybe he turned his Keyblade against his own heart to see what would happen.”

Aqua pursed her lips. She was never interested in doing such things, and the fact that Terra even mentioned it made her worried.

Ven smacked his lips a little more, breaths seeping out of each while he savored the last spicy bits of potato.

“I hope we can help him feel better,” she said.

Terra stayed silent. There was no telling if they were capable of accomplishing that.

Their wave of melancholy had an obvious effect on Ven, who stopped chewing and eyed them inquisitively.

“Well,” Aqua said, needing to change the subject and do something to take her mind off of this. She stood up. “I’ll clean the kitchen now.”

“Already did.”

She had half a mind to smack him across the back of the head. “Terra, that’s cheating.”

“Now you owe me a chore debt.”

Terra was pleased with himself, Aqua had no choice but to sit back down, and Ven stared at his spoon when he was finished,

~*~*~*~

It was an ebb and flow.

They took turns between staying with him and running a never ending list of errands: the painting frames needed dusting; the tiles to be mopped; breakfast, lunch, and dinner to be prepared, cooked, and served (only for the dishes to need washing). If not any of that, then they took to the gardens: the flowers thirsted for water, the strawberries were ripe for picking, and the autumnal sprouts had to be saved from weeds.

Yet no matter how many teas Terra brewed, each with its own custom flavor, Ven didn’t like them. Using potions to heal Ven could get dangerous without surveillance, so those were out of the question.

Terra and Aqua sparred and continued their studies at night, when Ven was asleep. If they woke up early enough, they could spend some leisure time together - playing a game of chess, or simply to talk, like they would do if they weren’t taking so much time apart.

But when Ven started to walk, their time escaped them like they never had it to begin with.

“Aqua!”

Terra’s call bounced down the halls one morning, and Aqua heard it in the kitchen. At first she ran - it was faster than instinct - and yet she had to come back to settle the stove down and remove the batter or else she’d waste it on burnt pancakes.

Ven wasn’t in his room. A shocked Terra just stood there with no explanation.

They split up and took laps around the academy: the eastern wing, where the bedrooms were; the back entrance, which led to the gardens; the attic, where the Master kept ancient relics and untamed weapons; the front entrance, which actually worried Aqua because there were many cliffs outside where he could pummel to his doom; and the kitchen, which wasn’t safe. Period.

Aqua finally found him just outside the Master’s door. He looked like a normal boy, walking around like he wasn’t terribly ill.

“Not in there!” she exclaimed.

She held him by the shoulder. “There’s lots of souvenirs and artifacts the Master keeps in there. Some of them are sharp.”

He didn’t understand.

“Come on.” She took his hand. “We just want you to be safe.”

What a life to keep tabs on him at all times.

Ven would watch Aqua bake her cookies, which took her longer than normal because she had to stop him from touching all sorts of hot appliances.

Ven would watch Terra polish old statues, who had to make sure Ven stayed far enough away not to come near, and yet close enough to keep a firm eye on.

When he was with one of them, the other would fill their time with practicing their forms with their Keyblades, or reading one of their mandatory textbooks.

Alone. Aqua now sparred alone, and she worried she would fall behind because of it.

Aqua and Terra’s tradition of studying together at night would also be sacrificed - they’d be so exhausted after the day was over that they’d go immediately to bed.

Ven improved… slowly. He learned to point at orange juice when he wanted it, to hop on one foot, and to dress himself into his pajamas.

And yet after all this time, Ven still wouldn’t speak. Aqua sometimes wished the Master would come home soon and give them proper guidance. Maybe they were doing something wrong.

But it all became worth it, soon enough.

Aqua prepared breakfast: waffles with strawberries for herself and Ven, and a plate of sausages with olives and crushed chickpeas for Terra.

They had a routine: Terra placed plates on the table and Aqua filled them with food.

Instead of taking his seat at the table, Ven leaned on it and watched them. “Hi!” he said.

They gasped. She heard correctly.

Both of them huddled over him, and Aqua forgot that food would cool if left unattended.

“Hi, Ven,” Aqua said, sniffling. It had been a long time since she cried, probably when she was nine years old. She had never expected it to happen again.

“Hi!” Ven said to Aqua, staring at her tears.

“Hi, Ven,” Terra said softly. His breathy laughs began to break, and he swallowed back his weeps. He ruffled through Ven’s hair hard enough to ruin his coif.

“Hi!” Ven said to Terra.

“We’re so glad you’re feeling better,” Aqua said, also taking a hand to his head.

“Hi!” He said it louder this time, like he wasn’t being heard.

“Is that the only word you know?” she asked.

“Hi!”

She and Terra shared glances. From the way Terra chuckled through his nose, he was relieved.

~*~*~*~

If Aqua desperately needed a break, she’d sit in the library with a huge book titled Recipes for a Stronger Keybearer, which wasn’t mandatory but she considered it vital for her own development.

The library was perfect for a quiet repose. Even though the book was interesting, a nap was well-deserved and Aqua found it difficult to sneak one in otherwise.

That didn’t last, either.

One night, Terra paid a visit with Ven trailing closely behind him.

“Aqua, watch this.”

She inhaled sharply when she heard him, shaking her head awake. “What is it?” she mumbled.

Terra crossed his arms and he had a goofy grin on his face.

Her heart fluttered to see it, but she kept her expression firm. That wasn’t what she was supposed to be feeling - she was supposed to be happy that Terra was this excited.

But her heart also dropped to see it. She couldn’t even recall if they even had a conversation to themselves yesterday, and if they did, what they talked about.

Terra quieted his laughter. “Watch, watch,” he whispered.

He took a few steps, pretending he wasn’t scheming.

Ven blinked at first, then followed.

Then Terra stopped.

Ven ran into him.

Terra walked again, and Ven followed.

Terra stopped. Ven crashed.

Aqua had to snort at the sight. It was so cute - so damn cute that her chest crushed itself. It was unbecoming of a Keybearer to be so swayed by emotion, but she refused to fight it. “You’re so smart, Ven,” she cooed, skipping over to hug him around the shoulders.

Even if all Ven could do was stare at her with those big, blue eyes and a blank expression, it made her smile.

“Hi,” he said quietly.

Suddenly, she was perked up and awake.

And Terra was here. What perfect timing, they could all do something together in those last twenty minutes before bedtime.

“You know what I’ve been reading?” she asked Terra. She held the book’s cover up for him to read. Anything that would help him get better at wielding his Keyblade was right up his alley, especially if it was good food.

“That looks interesting-”

Ven tugged on Terra’s pants by the waist.

“Okay, okay,” Terra said, petting Ven on the head. “Sorry, Aqua, I guess he’s tired-”

Ven tugged again, and pointed to the window, whimpering.

The library’s windows were theaters in their own right. As tall as monuments, they were a gateway to the outside, and it was (almost) as if they were standing right outside.

It was a clear night, and they had a front seat view at the stars.

Without waiting for Terra, Ven hurried and pressed his face against the glass to stare up.

So she wasn’t going to have any time with Terra. That was fine. Tending to Ven was more important, anyway.

“Aren’t they nice?” Terra asked, who failed miserably at pulling Ven’s attention away.

Aqua took Ven’s other side, kneeling over so she could speak to him more directly. “Isn’t that one the prettiest?” she asked, pointing a finger against a glass plate at the largest star from this side of the mountains.

Ven pressed his palms against the window, as if he wanted to touch it. “Hi,” he said. Whether to them or to the star, it was hard to tell.

Whatever joy Terra had with him had ran away from his face. “Sometimes I wonder if we’ll never help him heal. He never wants to smile.” Stating that truth hurt Aqua in the heart. “I just want to know what he’s thinking…”

Aqua pouted. Such interest in the stars had to account for something, some proof that he was slowly getting better and wanted more out of life, right?

She smiled at Ven, who only gave her a passing glance. He was still precious. “All we can do,” she said, gently brushing through his hair, “is accept him for who he is.”

Terra nodded firmly, willing his frown into a smile. “We’ll show you the stars on the other side of the castle, Ven,” he said softly. “They’re just as cool, you’ll like them.”

Ven yawned, pressing his forehead against the glass and closing his eyes.

“See,” Terra said, chuckling through his nose. “I knew you were tired.” He grabbed Ven’s hand - the signal that it was time to move. Ven promptly complied and kept close.

“I guess…” Aqua started, making her way back to her book. Would it be a surprise if she didn’t get any pleasure out of reading her book, now that she’d be alone? “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yep.” Terra took Ven on their way out of the library. “Good night.”

The first three sentences on the open page blurred together and Aqua couldn’t recall what any of them said. She could actually just spend those last minutes of the night with them, instead.

Well, she shouldn’t really interrupt bedtime, and Terra was very protective of the chores he shared with her, holding on to her debt for the day he needed it.

But she had enough silence to last a week, and she had no Terra in her life like she used to, and to grasp what little she had left, Aqua couldn’t help herself.

Following them was the easiest choice she had made in a while.

Ven’s door was wide open, its only light shining down the hallway as all of the other bedrooms, hers and Terra’s included, were vacant.

Hiding behind the wall, she peeked inside.

Ven sat on the bed, tucking his knees in. He gazed out at the stars, leaning his entire weight on the marble windowsill to the point that he would fall over if there wasn’t a window in his way. Terra tossed toys aside - stuffed animals, wooden blocks, plastic cars, blankets, and all sorts of trinkets from random worlds that used to belong to him. Pretty soon, she expected the Master to give the same courtesy and get Ven new things from the worlds he visited.

“Gotta make the bed,” Terra said, pulling Ven from his armpits.

He flung Ven around, in circles, fast enough to make Ven’s feet pick up in the momentum, like he was flying, whirling like an umbrella caught in a storm.

It was only Terra that laughed, but if Ven didn’t like it, he’d whimper.

If anything, Aqua’s heart thumped at the sight. Terra was always strong, so picking up a boy half his weight was no big deal. The way he interacted with Ven was sweet and courteous, something she admired and respected.

But it was the laughter that hit her the hardest. She didn’t realize how much she missed it.

“Okay,” Terra said, slowing to a stop. “That’s enough.”

He landed Ven by the table, and went on to make the bed (poorly, he rushed it).

Aqua finally stepped through. “Can I hang out?”

“If it’s not intruding on your personal time.” Terra measured the bedsheet with the comforter, aligning the two. He was surprised to see her, and he gave her a half-smirk. Even that made her draw heat to her ears.

“It’s not.”

Ven rummaged through his drawers, pulling out paper and jars of paint. Finger painting had become his favorite pastime, and despite Aqua offering numerous paint brushes to encourage such an interest, he refused all of them.

“Then you are welcome in my presence,” Terra said, lazily layering the sheets onto the bed.

She sat next to Ven, watching him twist the jars open.

Before he started… “Ven,” she said, “can you draw me a picture of where you’re from?”

“That’s a good idea.” Terra left the bed and the rest of the mess, looking over Ven’s shoulder.

“Hi,” Ven said. It wasn’t inquisitive, it wasn’t confused. The way he said it made him sound content, even if he can’t smile, like a zombie who loved art.

“Yes, hi,” Aqua said, running a light hand through his hair. She tapped at the blank page. “Can you do that for me?”

Ven took a moment to stare at the blank page. He opened a jar of rusty orange, and dipped his finger in, making huge sweeps across the bottom of the page.

His finished painting was very basic: a mass of orange and brown, with a tall plateau in the background.

In fact, Terra stammered, like he expected there to be more.

Aqua looked hard. It offered no other clues. “It looks like a desert.”

Terra cocked his head. “I didn’t think about that.”

“Where are the houses?”

“... It’s creepy.”

“There aren’t any people around, either.”

Terra sighed. “Maybe he doesn’t remember them.”

Her heart sank.

“I’m glad you found us, Ven,” she said, giving him a smile that he didn’t return.

“Hi.”

She sighed, too. She was about to ask if he could draw his old friends, but she didn’t want to make him upset. Eraqus only took children who had no family left, and despite that it had been years since she arrived, she had to be in a specific mood to be able to talk about her parents. She probably already exhausted all of her strength talking about them with Terra.

“Come on, Ven,” she said sweetly. His eyebrows curled up, like he was lost and was waiting for someone to find him. She got the gut-wrenching feeling that his painting made him upset. It was the way he hung his head. “Let’s wash up.”

She guided him by his elbow to the washroom.

“Do you think we could take him out?” Terra asked before they reached the door.

“What do you mean?”

“Outside.”

She stopped. Ven stopped as well, looking up at her with his hands in the air as though he wasn’t allowed to wash his wands. “The Master said we shouldn’t take him outside.”

“It’s not like we’re letting him explore the woods. The gardens are safe.” Terra leaned onto one of the chairs, one hand on his hip. “We’ll keep watch over him.”

“But the Master-”

“Do you actually think,” Terra frowned, “it’s good for him to be locked inside the castle at all hours?”

Aqua paused. She wanted to say that if the Master thought Ven should stay in the castle, then it was for good reason… But what reason?

“I want him to enjoy himself,” Terra said quietly, looking over at the lonely picture on the table. A thought passed through Aqua’s mind that they should trash it. “We can each hold his hand so he doesn’t wander off.”

If they were both holding on to him, then surely…

“Okay.”

She placed a hand behind Ven’s shoulder to continue on their way.

“Hey.” Terra was skeptical, both hands leaning back on the chair now. “He knows how to wash his hands.”

She rolled her eyes - she honestly had more dignity than that. “He still needs supervision.”

Terra clicked his tongue. “It doesn’t count as payment.”

“Of course it won’t. I don’t cheat.” She pointed her nose up at him.

She led Ven to the sink. He was taught to scrub in between his fingers, and to focus under his fingernails. When he was finished, she pointed to her own cheek - there was a spot of paint left on his, and he turned the water on again to finish the job.

Only when Ven put on a clean shirt did Terra take his left hand and Aqua his right. They walked him to the back entrance of the castle, where golden gates designed with grape and vine filigree were kept locked.

Two lamps marked the outside entrance to the gardens, which were split in two by a concrete pathway that stopped at the fields beyond, where evergreen trees cloaked the horizon. It was a clear night, with gentle winds blowing.

“It’s a little nippy,” Aqua said, checking on Ven to see if he was shivering. He wasn’t, but she adjusted his shirt to cover his chest properly anyway (it already was, she was being paranoid).

“Let’s stop here,” Terra said, taking a seat onto the steps the led down into the flower bed.

They held Ven tightly, and when he sat down with him, they didn’t let go.

“Look, Ven,” Terra said, pointing up into the sky.

It took a moment for Ven to look up since he was mesmerized by towers of speedwell flowers and strawberry vines.

But when he followed, a loud “Woooohhhh” left his lips.

And he smiled. He laughed. He laughed harder as he leaned back to look for the stars that disappeared behind the castle, and to the left to find more stars beyond the mountains. There wasn’t a way to count all of them.

Aqua cried for the second time, when that was something she promised never to do again. Exchanging a hand for the one that held Ven’s, she wrapped her free arm around his shoulders and listened to him giggle, felt him hop in excitement under her weight.

A stronger arm held over her and Terra’s head rested on hers, while a young boy shook their hands so they could pay attention and look up, too.

~*~*~*~

The next morning, Ven woke up with a cough.

He also had a runny nose and a fever. Aqua tucked him under fleece blankets up to his chin for the chills.

Terra went straight to work in the kitchen, mixing lemongrass and sage into his chicken broth for the symptoms. He refused help from Aqua.

Aqua knew what he was doing to himself. “It’s not your fault, Terra.”

Terra didn’t reply. He continued to stir with his ladle.

“I can slice some oranges for him-”

“Aqua, I said I’ll handle it.” He glanced at her. “I’m not adding to your chore debt, don’t worry.”

“That has nothing to do with anything.” She pursed her lips. Sometimes when Terra got upset, he needed space - a lot of it - but she already spent so much time away from him. She watched the meat boil from over his shoulder. “Would it make you feel better if I didn’t say, I told you so?”

He smirked. “You have every right.”

“It is good to be right.” She fiddled with her nails, and he smiled. Good. “But I still won’t say it.”

“I got what I wanted, so I’ve already said it to myself.” He added more pepper.

“We all get sick. It was going to happen anyway.”

“...There’s still more for me to do,” Terra said with a low voice. “I have to make amends.”

She highly doubted that Ven would be the kind of boy to blame Terra for this, but she let it go.

Terra asked her to stay by Ven’s side for the time being. She spent the entire day with Ven - Terra would check in every now and then, taking laps between the kitchen and the library as he continued to look up herbs for common colds that he could sneak into food, and even magical ingredients that could speed up the process.

By night, Terra had visited the bedroom only five times for ten minute sessions. Aqua found it hard to believe that researching tea would swallow this much time but Terra liked to be thorough.

Ven took to folding paper in his hands into disfigured halves when he finished his third bowl of soup and got bored of other toys.

Terra came in, this time with sacks filled with bed pillows and couch pillows and throw pillows, some plain, others embroidered.

“We’re building a pillow fort,” he announced.

He left and came back with blankets, clothespins, string, and broken broomsticks. Ven watched on as they went to work hanging and pinning the sheets around his bed, making a deep, tall cave.

“Lights?” Aqua asked as they pinned the last of them.

“Got it covered,” Terra said, a triumphant smile on his face.

Coming back with a lamp and a cardboard box, he announced the pillow fort was ready.

They crawled onto Ven’s bed and pinned the open side of the blankets to a close. With the lit lamp, Terra covered it with the cardboard box, which had several holes cut into it.

A slew of five-pointed stars covered the entire fort. They were symmetrical and slick, as though Terra took the time to sandpaper his carved art.

It made Ven happy, especially since he was able to run his hand against the fabric and trace their shapes, one by one.

Aqua was warm - not just from sitting under so many blankets, but from the gesture. Terra always had a big heart, even though he was too reclusive to show it. He was sensitive, and yes, he took things too personally sometimes, but that was part of his charm.

If anyone had harmed someone he was close to, he’d feel their pain and take it personal with them.

Building a pillow fort was the sort of thing Terra would do when she fell sick, too. She still had the custom cardboard box he carved for her when he was eleven.

“This is beautiful, Terra,” she said softly.

Terra hugged his knee tightly and bowed his head.

“I didn’t mean to make you sick,” he said, watching Ven jab at a star, totally forgetting they were even there. “I’m so sorry, Ven.”

Ven looked at him with a toothy smile. “I’m so sorry, Ven,” he parroted, sounding happy like he didn’t fully understand what it meant.

Aqua was strong enough to hold back the tears this time.

~*~*~*~

The moment she was jerked awake from a dream she didn’t remember, she knew it was going to be an unusual day.

“Terra,” she spit. “What do you want?”

“I need your help.”

She sprung up, throwing her legs over the bed. “What happened to Ven?”

“Nothing, he’s not awake yet.” Terra shrugged and turned over to leave.

“Ugh,” she groaned, slugging over her feet to follow. “Then… why?”

“We got a message from the Master.” He didn’t look back but hurried into his own bedroom, throwing himself onto the floor to grab his clean clothes and stuff them into his bottom dresser drawer. “He’s coming.”

Aqua sighed. “Thank goodness.” Then she perked up. “I can’t wait for him to see Ven’s progress.” Then she worried. “Oh no, he’ll notice he’s sick.”

“Yeah, that’s-” Terra looked over his shoulder, and found one sock. “It’ll be fine. But I need you to help me clean.”

She scoffed. “Seriously? Feeding Ven is so much more important.”

“He’s not awake yet.” Terra gesticulated like he was begging. “You owe me a chore debt, don’t forget that.”

“And this is your idea of a brilliant payment?”

“Aqua.”

She exhaled through her nose and brought herself down on her knees. She wondered if Terra liked to annoy her just because he thought it was funny.

The way he was overstuffing his drawer made her eyebrow twitch - they were all going to get wrinkled. Instead of helping him pick up anything else, she folded everything he put away.

“Why is this an emergency?” she asked with the sarcasm she wanted to slap him with.

“My nanny is coming.”

She stopped folding. “You had a nanny?”

Terra chuckled, crawling around the carpet to grab more random pieces of clothing, handing her two pairs of briefs. “Before you came, yeah. The Master wasn’t going to leave me all alone in a castle when I was six.”

“She’s the witch who’s going to perform miracles on Ven?” Aqua pulled out the matching sock which was hidden behind a roll of shirts.

“Yep.” Terra watched the window. For what sign, she didn’t know.

“If it’s so important to have your room clean,” she said, opening a drawer he just closed to fold the clothes he threw in there, “why didn’t you plan for it ahead of time?”

She heard him gasp. The wind outside was picking up speed, pushing against the windows. “She’s here,” he said, scurrying on his feet and racing out of his room. “We should wake up Ven and get him ready.”

It would have left his bedroom half messy but Aqua considered her debt paid.

They found him sneezing to the point that his mucus ran down to his lips, and Aqua cleaned him up with a tissue. Terra scuffled to throw random toys into a chest, even though some of them belonged on the shelf - anything to make it look cleaner. Ven didn’t have a fever anymore, and Terra guided him to stand up.

Aqua was going to ask what kind of nanny were they expecting, only to hear two voices approaching.

“We will of course accommodate you with the most extravagant room we can offer.” That was the Master’s voice. “Right next to the boy’s room.”

He and his guest didn’t bother to stop in the lounge or the dining room to wind down, instead they came straight here. Upon entering, the woman took a slow, condescending look around the chaos of a bedroom. The most remarkable thing about her was her black boater hat, adorned in flowers. She had incredibly perfect posture, pinned up in a long petticoat, and she parted her feet wide enough to look like it hurt. This woman must have traveled a lot: in one hand was a huge carpet bag, and in the other was an umbrella.

“Terra,” said the woman, “how lovely it is to see you again.” She spoke kindly… yet not too casual or inviting. Aqua had the immediate impression that this woman, however warm, was not to be messed with.

“Ms. Poppins.” Terra bowed.

“Aqua,” the Master said. “This is Mary Poppins, she will be taking care of Ventus until he is clear of his illness.”

“It’s good to meet you,” Aqua said, also bowing.

“Very cordial, you’ve raised them well, Eraqus.” Mary Poppins left her bag and umbrella on the desk to remove her hat and scarf.

The Master stepped forward, inspecting Ven closely. “Everything went smoothly, I presume?” Terra and Aqua threw the quickest glances at each other as they could. “How are you, Ventus?”

Ven sneezed. “I’m so sorry, Ven,” he said, wiping his nose with his forearm.

“Pardon?”

Aqua jittered. She hated lying, and hated the fact that she was getting better at it. “W-we opened the windows for him one night to give him some fresh air.” She rolled her lips inward. “That was a bad idea, we’re sorry.”

Terra struggled to hide a smirk, and Aqua really wanted to step on his foot for being such a bad influence on her.

The Master didn’t seem concerned about it, petting through Ven’s hair. “‘Tis a seasonal thing. I am happy to hear that Ventus is speaking at least.”

“I’m so sorry, Ven,” said Ven again, louder this time.

“Eraqus,” Mary Poppins said, tisking at Ven’s condition and taking a measuring tape with her. “All this time, I believed you were exaggerating, yet I was so suspicious of myself for even considering that of you.”

The Master chuckled, giving her space. “I am ever the serious one.”

“To a fault.” She measured Ven with the tape from crown to foot. “Don’t slouch.”

Ven grabbed the tape. “Hi.”

“Now, Ventus,” she said firmly. “A respectable young gentleman keeps his hands to himself.”

“Ven,” he said, drawing his hand back. “I’m so sorry, Ven.”

Plucking the tape with her thumb, she read: “Sweet-natured, yet disturbed and shocked. Unable to recall where he is. Broken-hearted.”

There was no way a measuring tape told her this. What in the world…?

Ms. Poppins tisked, shaking her head. “Terrible condition, this will not do.” Turning to the Master, she nodded. “I will stay until he grows a proper notch.”

“It is much appreciated.” Eraqus wrapped his arms across each other. “Terra, Aqua, thank you for looking after Ven. Your hard work has shown excellent progress, and I am confident Ms. Poppins will be able to lead him to proper health.”

“Sir.” They bowed.

The Master rubbed his beard. “You may now be dismissed. Please focus on your training for today. I have been wary of being away without supervising your work for this long.”

“Master?” Aqua asked, lagging behind while Terra immediately followed orders. “Will Ven stay with us?”

Eraqus paused at his mustache. Mary Poppins was already uncorking an unlabeled medicinal bottle and preparing a spoon.

“Of course he will,” the Master said. “Granted he will completely recover, I aim to train him as a Keyblade wielder.”

It brought Aqua some relief, yet it did little for the unease left in her stomach. It meant she had to give Ven away to others to be looked after. It meant not knowing what he was doing, or if his coughing got better, or where he was at all hours.

Mary Poppins poured medicine onto the spoon, and Ven didn’t even reject it. He treated Terra’s teas worse.

“You’ve heard the Master,” Mary Poppins said after a second too long of Aqua staying in her place. She corked her bottle. “You are welcome to visit when you are finished, but you’ll get nowhere dawdling all day. Spit spot.”

The authority in her voice kicked Aqua into speed as she hurried out to the ballroom.

But Terra wasn’t very interested in sparring, either. He barely put effort into it, letting his mind wander in between stances and quick duels - especially when they got too repetitive. They were so mindless about their work that they didn’t even scar the gold floor tiles this time.

“Let’s focus,” Aqua said. “If we finish what we need to do faster, we can make sure Ven’s okay.”

“Hm?” Terra rested Earthshaker on his shoulder and a hand on his hip. “Ven’s definitely going to be okay. I’m not worried about that - it’s just weird being away from him.”

Aqua let her smile fall. “... I am,” she said quietly.

“Don’t be.” Terra’s smile was just like she was used to: sincere, but timid. Nothing like what he was showing when they were hanging out with Ven. “Ms. Poppins… has her ways.”

“What kind of witch is she?”

“Don’t call her that. She’ll deny it.” He scoffed. “She’s a prim and proper lady, and she won’t make you forget that.”

“But she’s good at what she does?”

“Definitely.” Terra let his smile soften. “I hated it when the Master left, but she always made it better. We went on so many adventures in the castle.”

That was hard for Aqua to believe - and not just because she couldn’t imagine a prim and proper lady getting her dress dirty. They had addressed each other so formally, like she was just as much of a Master as Eraqus or Xehanort that Terra needed to show obedience to.

Terra read her expression well. “She’s a bit strict and old-fashioned, but you’ll see,” he said like it was a good enough explanation.

“Ah.” Aqua leaned Rainfell onto the floor. “That’s why the Master gets along with her.”

Terra snorted.

They were finally allowed to see Ven later that night - but only after the Master sat them down for three excruciating tests. Aqua performed poorly in one because she didn’t have Terra as a sparring partner, and Terra failed two because he was too busy to read his mandatory textbooks.

The Master promised not to count any of it against them, and they would have re-testing done in the upcoming weeks.

~*~*~*~

“He likes the stars, Ms. Poppins,” Terra said when they found her sitting on a rocking chair with yarn and a crochet needle on her lap.

It was a bit disappointing to see that she completely tore down the pillow fort they had made.

Ven paced around his room attempting to snap his fingers, and Aqua didn’t understand why or how he learned how to do that.

“Very well.” Ms. Poppins looked down on her handiwork before getting distracted. “Ven, kindly sit yourself in bed, please. You can diddle-daddle once you are better.”

Instead of listening to her, Ven leaned on her armrest, tilting his head at the sight of yarn. “Hi.”

She exhaled through her nose as though snorting was beneath her. “I shall teach you to address your peers properly, soon enough.”

“Ms. Poppins,” Terra said, “he’s okay to walk around, right?”

“Terra,” she warned, with a glint of mischief in her eyes, “mind your intentions.”

He smirked. “I do. I’m responsible.”

She let go of her work to open up her arms, Ven picking up one of the tails of yarn.

If she didn’t believe Terra, Aqua couldn’t blame her.

She didn’t know Ms. Poppins well. Aqua didn’t have a clue how to approach the subject, and she found herself with both her fists to her chest. “We haven’t been with him all day. Can we spend some time with him, please?”

Ms. Poppins watched Ven untangle all of her progress, to the point where she would have to crochet from scratch. “I suppose that’s alright. You can take him but he needs to be back in bed before the hour. Do you understand?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Terra said, gently pulling knots of yarn woven over Ven’s fingers.

“Be sure to follow the stars on your way out,” Ms. Poppins said as they left.

Which left a chill up Aqua’s spine, stiffening the ends of her hairs. Did she know somehow?

That had to be impossible.

“What did she mean by that?” she asked Terra, taking Ven down the largest hallway that would eventually lead them to the center of the castle. The further they walked, the darker the hallways became, with barely a lit lantern to light their way. It was as if someone turned off all the lights.

Terra scoffed at the sight of Aqua’s worry. “I told you not to think too hard about it. She always means well.”

He stopped, holding his free hand to his chin as Ven pulled on his other. “Usually there’s some pretty awesome surprises. Maybe we should find a good place to stargaze?”

“She said to follow the stars, though.”

“Like constellations?” Terra snapped his fingers, which mesmerized Ven’s attention. “Maybe the north star. We should go to the north side of the castle.”

Aqua didn’t quite hear that last part. Right past Terra’s shoulder was a glowing light that twinkled up against the wall, riding it up.

“What is that?” she said.

Ven gasped and charged with such a force that he slipped off their grip. He touched it, and it burst into a cascade of shining lights that hit the floor and spread outward.

The floor darkened to a navy blue, and the lights continued to split into halves, until they formed an arrangement that covered the entire hallway, snuffing out the last lanterns as they traveled.

She heard a soft laugh. Terra’s. “Stars.”

“She’s so cool,” Aqua said, touching a cluster of lights by her feet and watching them thrust outward.

“I knew you would say that.”

They followed, hopping on clusters of stars until they exploded in all sorts of directions. If Aqua swiped her hand upward on the wall, they would spread across the ceiling.

When they approached the stairs, the stars would clump together and take the shape of steps so they wouldn’t mistake them and tumble down.

It was like adventuring in deep space.

They traveled from a nebula in the entrance hall, where they searched for hidden stars...

… All the way to the meteor shower that rained in the ballroom, trying to catch them before they disappeared into the tiles.

The only room that stayed the same was the Master’s office, where he obsessed over papers on his desk and trusted one lamp to light his way. To Aqua, it looked like he was reading in outer space, yet he never noticed.

By the time they made it back around to the bedrooms, the stars they first activated had formed their own galaxy, and they spent what little time they had left to name each one. Ven named each of his as “Ven.”

~*~*~*~

Aqua was just about to turn off her bedside lamp when the door knocked.

Terra let himself in and shut it behind him. He had a piece of paper. “You should see what Ven painted.”

Sitting on her bed, he handed it over. Finger paints of very rough outlines of human figures - one blue, one short one that was green, and one tall one that was orange - took the space on the bottom. Above them was an uneven mess of dark blue with white fingerprints that made up the stars.

Aqua was too tired to really giggle but the painting made it easier for her. “It’s us.” She hid her face behind it. “It’s like the one you made me a long time ago, remember?”

“Shut up.” He looked away from her and buried his face in his hand.

“I still have it.”

“Of course you do.” He squirmed, grabbing his thighs. “You should keep this one, then. Keep them together.”

She let it rest on her lap. “It’s going to be nice… to have a new student.”

“I can’t wait to see what his Keyblade looks like.”

“Or what he can do with it.”

Terra leaned back. “He’s so small, but he’s tough.”

Aqua took one more look at the painting, then placed it on her bedside table. “He’s brave, too.”

She started to snuggle into her bed, digging herself into her bedsheets. She expected Terra to get the hint and turn off the lights for her when he left.

But he joined her instead.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

He made himself comfortable and laid on his side to face her. He had a sheepish smile on his face, and he fiddled with his hands under the sheet. His voice trembled the slightest when he said it, but what he meant reached his eyes: “I’ve missed you.”

The tips of her ears flared up. Soon enough, her cheeks would burn red so she saved face by dragging her sheets up to her nose. Her heart pounded, which wasn’t helping.

Sleeping in each other’s beds used to be the norm when they were little, a long time ago.

“Really?” she said.

The way she was behaving made him a little uncomfortable. As if to mimic her, he pulled the sheets to rest right under his chin, packing on blankets in between their bodies as though they were doing something they shouldn’t be doing.

“Yeah.” He tried to make it sound like it wasn’t a big deal. “It’s been a long time since we really talked.”

Aqua thought all this time things were changing forever. It seemed like all the grown ups she ever had a chance to talk to had lost their best friends, so now it was her time. It was a part of life, and whatever came their way, she had to accept it.

With or without Ven, it wasn’t like they could talk like they used to anymore, anyway.

It was a few months ago that she kissed Terra for the first time.

She didn’t mean much by it. At least she didn’t think.

It really embarrassed him, though. When she sought him out to talk about it, all he did was shrug a shoulder and said You’re the most ridiculous person I’ve ever met, Aqua, and stared at a book he wasn’t actually reading.

Like it was all a joke to him.

They never spoke about it since.

“I felt the same,” she whispered.

If it comforted him, she didn’t know. “Can I stay here for a while?”

She blushed.

Hard.

She kept it hidden behind fabric, so he wouldn’t see. “Mm, sure.” Whatever she was feeling, she wasn’t sure if she liked it or not. It made her excited, and yet it was too overwhelming to define.

This was the worst time to be thinking about that kiss.

“But we are a little old for sleepovers, don’t you think?” she added, trying to stall this insane rush of thoughts.

“I guess so.” He was disappointed.

“You can stay tonight.” She rolled over her shoulder to face away from him.

“Thanks.” There was rustling and movement behind her. More space opened up between them, and he flicked the light switch off before settling. “Good night,” he chirped.

All night, she stayed cemented to her side of the bed. Terra laid on his back, his hands interlaced on his chest, and he never moved either.

She fell asleep expecting to crawl around him in the morning.

But she was alone when she woke up.

The first person she greeted was none other than Ven, who was waiting for her in the dining room. Terra sat on the floor right by his side.

“Hi!” Ven’s voice echoed in the enormous metal pot he wore on his head.

Terra burst into laughter. “He loved it so much, I had to give it to him.”

“Ven?” Aqua pulled up from the rim, peeking under. Ven’s eyes glistened in the dark.

“I’m so sorry, Ven,” said Ven.

“I’m sorry for you, too.” She heaved with breath at the sight, changing silent looks of sheer hysteria with Terra as Ven banged on his own pot, the sound of clanging echoing.

The door to the dining room slammed. “Look lively, children,” Ms. Poppins said. She kept her hands crossed over her waist and headed straight for the kitchen, adorning an apron. “The Master is coming.”

Terra and Aqua immediately sprung, lifting Ven by the elbows so he could follow suit. With the Master here, Ven had a long way to go with learning how to pay respects.

“Ven,” Ms. Poppins scoffed. “Such behavior. Take that out of your head, please.”

He slowly followed orders and let the pot hang in his hands, a sad frown on his face.

“Ms. Poppins,” Aqua called, watching the nanny command appliances in the kitchen telepathically. The teapot brewed without notice, and the eggs in the saucepan fried with just a glance. “Thank you for the trip last night. It was wonderful.”

Mary Poppins looked shocked. “I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about.” She left Aqua gaping to tend to the flour.

Terra shrugged at before letting his smile reach his eyes. He loved it when he was right.

“Told you,” he said.

“Think you’re so clever?” she shot back.

“Of course he is,” Ms. Poppins said, and Aqua squirmed at the thought she was being overheard. “I remember to the word what his measurement read when I first met him.”

Terra hesitated to say something, like he was bracing for impact.

“Diligent, sensitive,” Ms. Poppins, recited from memory, motioning to Ven to help her prepare plates though he didn’t understand. “Cheeky. Keeps a messy room and lies about cleaning his room.”

Aqua snorted.

She kept ‘I told you’ to herself, but just this one last time.

#terraqua #aqua #terra #ventus #kh fanfic #kingdom hearts fanfiction #eraqus #mary poppins #this was a long time coming #i'm so glad it's finally done #i hope you like it #my fic

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