#wisp details too. could they have done more? sure but at the same time I cant think of what they could do so I think it makes the thought | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

blues824 · 1 year

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Could I get Dorm Leaders + sweet boy Jamil being given homemade chocolates and an extra special gift (Riddle gets heart shaped chocolates and roses, Jamil gets mixed chocolates and curry bread) from their s/o?

For this one, Reader confesses to them using the gifts they brought the character. Gender-neutral, btw. Eat up, my Will-o’-the-Wisps!

Riddle Rosehearts

He was pretty excited when you had asked to meet him at the wishing well in the courtyard, as it was legend that a princess wished for love and received it there. So, he had very high hopes, but he was also nervous. Did you know the story? Were you confessing your love to him?

His heart rate went up even more when he saw you making your way towards him with a box and a bouquet of red roses. You even looked a bit shy as you approached him, but you held your head up high just like he told you to do so many times.

“Hey, Riddle! I wanted to give these to you!” You gave him the box and the flowers, and he leaned himself against the edge of the well so that he could open the box easier. He did, and he saw a bunch of heart-shaped chocolates that had icing on them saying I Love You, Riddle.

The blush that erupted on his face put his own hair to shame as you started telling him about your feelings for him and how you’ve had them for a little while now and how you made the chocolates yourself as a way to confess. He placed the items down gently, reached for your hand, and kissed the back of it as he thanked you.

Later, Riddle told Trey about the whole thing, and the Vice Housewarden was surprised that the Prefect of Ramshackle loved the Heartslabyul Housewarden. He even got a glimpse of the chocolates, and they looked professionally done. Riddle took the roses and chocolates up to his room, where he ate them (still in disbelief that his crush just confessed to him). He started coming up with ideas to repay you, and his first thought was to take you out.

Leona Kingscholar

You had asked if you could meet up in the greenhouse, and he was already there napping so it was very convenient for him to just wait for you there. He was wondering why you couldn’t just text it to him, seeing as that would be easier than actually going over to where he was.

However, he understood why when he saw you with a gift bag. You looked very shy and nervous, and he could sense it as well. Did he have this effect on you? Well that just boosted his pride and ego past where it originally was.

“Hello, Leona. I wanted to give this to you, and I’ll explain why after you open it.” You handed him the bag, and he took out the tissue paper to reveal a custom made plushie that was of you and him, your hands attached, as well as a box of something. He opened that to reveal chocolates, detailed with gold accents and scratch marks to symbolize the lion that he was.

Then, you began to rant about how you had feelings for him for a while, ever since you both met in the same spot you both were standing. He cut off your rambling by placing a passionate kiss on your lips, telling you to be quiet and that he liked you too.

Once he had returned to Savanaclaw, he was just staring at the plush and chocolates as he recalled what happened in the greenhouse. He was glad that his little herbivore got the courage to confess to him, but he then started to realize that he needed to step up and get his act together if he was going to be your boyfriend.

Azul Ashengrotto

You asked if you could meet him in his office, and this man was freaking out. He wanted everything to be perfect. He made sure there wasn’t a single speck of dust and that the twins would be away doing their jobs. He did not want any interruptions.

The moment you walked in, Azul was so nervous. He did not know what to do with his hands, if his hair was out of place, if his suit was wrinkle-free. His heart rate was through the roof. However, you seemed to be in a similar state as you placed a box and a reversible octopus on his desk and sat down.

“So, Azul, I’ve come to talk to you about something,” you started off saying. The cecaelia opened the box to reveal a bunch of chocolates in the shape of seashells. He looked up at you and saw that you were looking down and messing with your hands.

You told him about how you had a crush on him and hoped that he would accept the chocolates that you made as a confession, and the shade of red his face was becoming was brighter than Marilyn Monroe’s signature red lip. He went around the desk and pulled you out of your seat and into a kiss, signifying that he accepted your confession.

That night, Azul was talking to himself about what he could do for your first date, and he came up with a multitude of ideas. Going on a walk seemed too simple, and going to a fancy restaurant seemed a bit too grand for a first date. He then realized that you might appreciate dinner at the Lounge, just the two of you.

Kalim Al-Asim

If you wanted to find this man, he’s probably at his dorm. So, you texted him and asked to meet him at the Scarabia Lounge. He was bouncing around in excitement as he waited for you to get there. He loved you and your company, and he always looked forward to when the two of you got to hang out with each other.

When you went through the doors, he jumped up and almost tackled you in a hug. You just barely saved the box you had brought with you, along with the flowers you bought for him. It was a bouquet of assorted flowers, since you (read: author) weren’t aware of what flowers he liked.

“Kalim, I brought you some stuff!” You exclaimed as you handed the items to the Housewarden of Scarabia. He thought that the flowers smelled absolutely wonderful, and he opened the box to reveal chocolates in the shape of scarab beetles (representative of his dorm), sprinkled with coconut shavings. You remembered that he loved coconut!

As you explained that you had a crush on him, he was so overcome with joy that he just sprinkled your face with soft kisses, like the rain that is a part of his unique magic. Mans had no shame as a few dorm members walked by, as he just finished by placing a big kiss on your lips as he shouted thank you thank you thank you.

This guy was just buzzing with excitement as he took the gifts back to his room later that night. He ate a few of the chocolates, and he thought it was the most delicious chocolate that he had ever had. The beetle shape was definitely unique and intricate as well. He was just so happy that you returned his feelings.

Jamil Viper

Since he was usually all over the place, you had to set a place and a time to meet him, and it was in the kitchen of the Scarabia dorm. He really wanted to spend some time with you after a stressful day of running errands.

He saw you enter and he let out a sigh of relief, but then he noticed the different things in your hands. You had a box and a bag of curry bread. You also seemed very shy… did he intimidate you, little mouse? He liked the fact that he made you feel like this.

“Hey, Jamil. Brought you some things. I’ll explain once you see.” How mysterious. He set the curry bread on the counter, and gently took the box from your hands. He opened it to find a few pieces of chocolate. The lid had your handwriting, explaining that the chocolates had different fillings. However, that wasn’t what caught his attention. It was the message on the chocolate, saying I Am Yours.

His hands started shaking as he read and reread the message over and over again, making sure that this wasn’t a dream or some sort of trick. You grabbed his hand in yours to try and steady it, but in a flash he placed the box down and pulled you into a tight hug. He whispered to you thank you, and just continued to hold you close.

That night, he was in his room when he looked at where he placed the chocolates, and he started blushing so hard. You were his. He finally had someone to call his. It still didn’t completely sink in, but he had the best dream when he went to sleep.

Vil Schoenheit

You both had a hangout where you sat as he did your skincare and makeup just to allow him to be able to talk about his issues (Neige) and how stressful running his dorm (Epel) was. You were the only person who he felt he could be transparent with.

One of those days, you walked into the Housewarden’s room with a box and a bouquet of lilies, and he asked you what it all was. You then got a bit nervous, and he could tell. He watched as you told yourself to get it together, and it was very amusing to him.

“So… Vil… I got a few things for you…” You started off as you handed the items over. He quickly went to grab a vase to put the flowers in before going to grab the box. He opened it, and saw that there were a few pieces of chocolate. You assured him that it was dark chocolate, and therefore was a tad healthier.

You started to ramble about how you caught feelings for him and that you wanted to get to know him as his significant other. He was very flattered, since he was very attracted to you as well. He was actually planning an elaborate plan to confess, but it looks like he didn’t need to. He placed a kiss on your palm as he thanked you.

Later, he could be seen in his room enjoying the chocolates that were so expertly made by his beloved Y/N. He was weirded out by that thought… his Y/N. He smirked a little at finally being able to call you that. It would take some getting used to, but he did like it.

Idia Shroud

You would most likely be able to find this man in his room because he doesn’t like going anywhere. However, because he has such a huge crush on you, he will probably stutter and falter and malfunction whenever he sees you.

So, you decided to let Ortho know that you would be making your way to Ignihyde. He sent a notification to his older brother, who was freaking out once he read the message. Before he knew it, you were at the front door and with gifts it looked like.

He opened the door, but his hair was a bright red. You seemed to be in a similar state of nervousness, but minus the hair. You handed him the box and the pomegranate-scented candle that you were holding, and let him open it.

It was chocolate. More specifically, chocolate that you had made. The blush on his face worsened (if that was even possible at this point). You started rambling about how you were using these items to confess your love for him, and he passed out.

When he had woken up, you were there and dabbing a damp cloth on his head. His blush came back when he remembered what happened. The way you hugged him when you saw that he woke up took him by surprise, but he decided to let himself indulge in it and he hugged you back.

Malleus Draconia

When you told him after class that you desired to converse with him during your nightly walk, he had to admit that he was both nervous and excited about what you had to tell him. In fact, he needed to talk to you about something as well. He wanted to ask if you would enter a courtship with him, and he wanted to give you the emerald that was the heart of his hoard to symbolize and solidify his love for you.

He arrived at Ramshackle’s gate, and he was surprised when you led him inside. However, he understood when he saw the box and the ice cream beside it. The smile on his face reminded you of a small child, and it was so adorable.

“I got these for you, Tsunatarou!” You brought out two bowls and some spoons and served you both some ice cream. He was about to take a bite when he remembered the box. You slid it to him, and he gently opened the lid to reveal chocolates with silver and gold accents, some of them having the crest of Diasomnia.

You started telling him about how you loved him and how you wanted him to accept your confession but that he didn’t have to if he didn’t want to, but he cut you off by pulling you in a long but sweet kiss. This was the happiest goddamn day in his very long life.

That night, he kind of just floated around Diasomnia in a state of bliss. Lilia was very curious as to what had happened, and he already guessed that it had something to do with you. Silver and Sebek were both confused until their ‘father’ explained that you might have confessed. The former knight was happy, but the latter knight was absolutely appalled.

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snuffhorse · 2 years

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Do you think Dredge will have a mommy waifu form?

So I was thinking Dredgy is actually a lot of fun, genuinely I'm having a blast in ways I never really had before. Even on my most frustrating games I feel great being able to just zoom between lockers and get the same thrill Billy players get when they just wanna go fast.

They're also super nice aesthetically, humanoid enough to feel relateable but disgusting and wretching enough to feel like an absolute monster in the pre-game or to feel anxious by its existence as a survivor. I'm also digging that whole mannequin/doll costume, the art team should be insanely proud of what they've accomplished. The attention to detail, the variety, it's incredible! After the $10 linked cosmetics that Jill had with identical heads I thought the art team was beaten down to not caring, but they've shown that they are as passionate about being a piece of horror history as we are about playing it.

Now the idea, and I know this isn't an original idea because as long as people have a heartbeat people will want things easy on the eyes and that definitely includes horror. If you think about it horror has always been equal parts lust as it has horror, and in ways that culmination creates an irresistible recipe that keeps people coming back for more. Come for the misery, stay for the Pyramid Daddy, you may be able to escape Momma Huntress' hatchet but you know that flutter in your heart will remain forever.

Continuing this logic, I would love to see a Mommy Dredgy GF skin. Obviously the whole 'eldritch void cloud' is a part of their aesthetic, but I think that can be included in their overall design. You could absolutely create a sleek dress with the negative space in the void, and even have some trim, frill, or texture from the wisps and billows to give a very feminine appearance.

The whole bulging meat and veins is typically not something you'd want to see in a cute killer, but that's fine too! We have body horror with the Artists impossibly long neck and disproportionate almost fluid arms, we have Charlotte and her gut-wreching writhing screaming mass that falls off every so often. We have the Hag who looks like beef jerky. Who can forget the delightfully disgusting vommy mommy who has equal parts disease as she does beauty. Obviously all of these are brilliant and make up the gorgeous diverse cast that keeps us coming back for more.

I think taking inspiration from that doll cosmetic would be a great start to make a nice obviously feminine inspired Mommy Dredgy, all it really takes are some luscious lips and eye-lashes and you've hit the jackpot and total mommy gold. The mannequins definitely have been done before, but how about masks? Theatrical masks, tribal masks, masquarde masks, ritualistic masks, ceremonial masks, utilitarian masks. All of them are deeply embedded and rooted in culture and absolutely lend themselves to male and female archetypal forms.

Wouldn't you love to see a Waifu Dredgy like that? Sleek, curvaceous, many feminine faces with eyes that track and looks that kill? Maybe some can be contorted into a perpetual scream, or an endless mania that moves and cackles while it chases.

In closing, make Momma Dredgy real please! I would be so excited every time I saw them come at me with death in their many impossible eyes.

P.S. Dredgy is already considered a they/them by the rest of the community, so while gender ambiguity is fine I feel as if having more masculine and feminine presenting forms is just as valid!

yea sure

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yostresswritinggirl · 3 years

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Seers' Miscellany

Prologue: Origins of the first bloom

A circular fic for the Dainsleif mini-series I'll be working on. This will be the introduction; of the evanescent bough keeper of the new world. "Observers of the North do not usually wind up in personal business, but when they do, in their wake comes great shifting of the plates of the timelines." Logs of the stag and the delicate flower.

Pairings -> Dainsleif x Reader; Reader is NOT Traveler

Word Count -> 1579

Themes -> Pretty sad, but also fluffy

Chapters -> 1

Warnings -> Story progression takes a while, oh dear why am I doing this now, I'm so busy

"500 mora; and three answered questions."

He's not really sure what lead him to indulge the requests of a simple adventurer when he made his rounds around the city of freedom. Was it the simple need for currency? It couldn't be, he was better off with other commissions that Katheryne could offer.

Was it the desperation in your voice and eyes? You looked at him like a prophet, your only salvation, and perhaps in this context that may be true. You were but a lone adventurer and the way your weight leans heavier on one foot shows your struggle to those who have keen eyes like him, no other person wished to indulge your needs and you were getting desperate.

Or was it the three questions? Dainsleif have yet to hear such contractual obligations before, but it felt as tho it was the most important part of the agreement he took the moment you pleaded with that soft voice. Humble yet resolved, not letting him walk away without at least considering it once.

And so he found himself traversing the land of the wolves through a dangerous path, where you skip ahead with a gait of happiness, bubbly and energetic enough to surpass even his long legs. You hummed without consideration at the glee of finally having a companion, and he did not mind it at the slightest despite the attention it may bring upon your little party.

"First question," Dainsleif fleeted his gaze away from the horizon to turn to you whom slowed your pace to match his, head looking over your shoulder with a wide grin. "How are you?" So innocent.

He huffs in amusement, the most emotion you've seen of him. "You don't need to waste a contract question for such a simple question, you know," he stands behind you as you crouch down on a shrubbery filled with Wolfhooks. Your main objective for visiting Wolvendom in the first place.

You assured him that you meant your question in every way possible as your hands carefully pick at the herbs, wary of the thorns and the intrusive prickly leaves. Despite your attention turned away from him he knows you await his answer. Dainsleif hums to himself and stops—

How is he? What does he truly feel in this moment of his time?

A simple question yet risked for one of the three inquiries agreed upon definitely holds a deeper meaning. His train of spiraling thoughts halts upon the sound of otherwordly grunts and chants as he turns away from your still busy form (you seem very focused on your foraging) to find three Hilichurls approaching with ill intent.

Dainsleif squints at the impending threat before shooting a final glance to make sure you weren't looking. His arm glows blue as he raises it, power in the form of blue swirling mist surges around him - how are you? The feeling brings him back to vague memories of his past, of the energy rising through him at his expeditions with an old companion, of the thrill spent upon encountering the unexpected. Such thoughts are not vivid but the familiarity of what he is experiencing right now was enough for him.

Though he was sure that there were no camps before they went through this route.

"You asked me how I am," he spoke when you finally turned from the bush with an armful of Wolfhooks on your arsenal, confusion on your face at the sight of downed Hilichurls and the side profile of the bough keeper.

His cerulean eyes were fixated at his left hand that he repeatedly closes and opens for a few seconds, before he fully turns to you (your eyes did not miss the blue glow from underneath his cape, where his right arm should be) with a wisp of a smile, "I feel alive right now."

You reciprocated the gesture with a wide grin, "I'm glad to hear that!"

A majority of the wolfhooks gathered where given to the little Botanist Chloris, the seller of flowers, who looked relieved and ecstatic upon your arrival. Something Dainsleif took great notice of. Carefully handing over the berries and some which you had to pluck singularly from your companion's flowy cape, the little girl gave you her Valberries in exchange.

It was sweet and familiar, something Dainsleif took note as he accepted your offer of the fruit despite his none need for sustenance.

Your little chewing sounded through as you two settled on the humble camp you managed to setup with your supply for a single individual. There was a little hole in the middle for a campfire Dainsleif had made the effort to prepare knowing the coldness the night will bring soon enough, and your fragile form is not something he wishes to bargain now. Is that really the reason? Perhaps in the back of his mind, he was really just working on forgotten routines.

"Second question," his footstep at the edge of the camp halts as he turns once again, where you sat on the mat as tonight's bedding, hands flicking to remove the stray juices of the berries. He stood still in wait before he goes back to his mini mission of getting fire wood.

"Go on," he urged when you stood a minute longer in silence.

"Do you like traveling, Dain?" Easy enough, he simply said yes and left when you ended the conversation with a nod.

When he came back with the wood and tinder bundle for easy spreading, out of the corner of his eye he watched your hands work on the mortal and pestle as you grinded the remaining wolfhooks on your person. The fire started the moment he was done setting up the kindling and your face filled with admiration at the sudden and immediate spark, praising him for his quick work.

Dainsleif is both talkative and not, and at times he finds himself rambling to the wind. The moments of the night passed without much details until he found himself talking about his past adventures with his old companion, of the world they've seen together and the now estranged relationship between them.

His responses were sometimes cryptic unintentionally, and he apologizes when there are things about it that he couldn't answer simply because he could not remember. When silence struck after he finished his tales and meal, the beautiful spike in his eyes found yours gleaming despite the drowsiness pulling at your whole feature.

"I'm glad you're very fond of traveling. If not, I wouldn't have met you," and he wouldn't have taken the commission. Dainsleif's eyes flashed in recognition, finally understanding the meaning behind your second question. Somehow this little commission deal turned into a silent back and forth quip of him understanding past your simple inquiries.

Like a little game he muses on with his curious mind.

That night you rested with the extra comfort of his eccentric cape, something you needed more than him as he gazes over the clear night sky. His eyes silently traced the galaxy of stars while the sound of your whispered breathing accompanies his sleepless night.

The last question and that last of your very quick expedition came the next day at the cliffside overlooking the lair sealed by winds.

Your fingers were dusted by the violet paste of grinded wolfhooks long consumed the night prior, stained fingers gripping the thin and fragile stem of the yellow dandelion in its grasp. It was his great observation that let him realize the disaster that happened now but even his foresight could not prepare him for what has to come.

"Third question," his head snapped down to watch your ethereal face don a calm smile, the sun's setting light kissing your cheeks in the right angle that matched that of the clean clouds above. Your eyes silently questioned his unfocused gaze but he only shook his head.

Don't worry about it. "I know this last question would end the commission with you," your voice trembled in both fear and fatigue but Dainsleif didn't force you to preserve your strength like he should. "But I wanted to ask, maybe tomorrow again,

do you want to be my traveling companion?"

The hand that clutched the Dandelion found it way to the side of his mask, the petals brushing against his eyelids as he looks down at you with an eye. A ghost of a smile lingers on his lips as he leans on your hand.

"It would be my pleasure."

Life momentarily flashed over your orbs before you let out a sharp exhale and a breathless, joyous laughter. Relief overtook the tension that laid on your shoulders, and your hand would have dropped to the ground immediately if he had not gripped it on the last second.

"That sounds good. I've always wanted to travel the world," he pulls the cape closer around your form as your eyelids droop to a close. And he witness another breathe, "It was supposed to be today, but I feel really tired today, I'll rest early too if that's okay."

He rose from the ground with you in his arms, "I'll be here."

"Mmm thank you... good... night."

"Good night, little dandelion."

And perhaps that distant memory from faraway had urged him to invite and indulge, when he saw the same spark of intrigue and desperation, of the warmth of carefree days in front of him.

"But I will require advance payment,

500 Mora, and three answered questions."

Dainsleif SUPREMACY MWAHAHAHAHAH

@genshin-idiot : here's your Dainsleif content

@moaa @dandelion-dreams @witchsungie @lehra @zelos-simp @legionqueensav @snackgod @rxsalinee @cala-ran @wind-wheel @lilydewi22 @yellowflowre @traveler-lumine @nonniechan

#genshin impact x reader #Dainsleif x Reader #Genshin impact #Dainsleif #genshin impact imagines #exile.goblet #exile.flower #exile.pocketwatch #gender neutral #art by @cwilock

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whatifxwereyou · 3 years

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The Oncoming Storm Part 5: Peace of Mind

Liu Kang x Reader and Kung Lao x Reader (gonna do both, two paths!)

I've decided that when I get to a point where the "choice" is made between Liu and Lao, the stories name will change to help avoid confusion. That way you can follow either path or both. Then I will try to update those as much as I can. I know where both are going for the most part. God, I'm such a cock-tease lol.

This bit is a bit shorter than usual but I plan on updating AGAIN tomorrow! Surprise: Kung Lao will be back tomorrow. Side note: should I draw MC? Anyone into that? And as always, open to suggestions and will include any I like.

Part 4 Part 6 Chapter Index

You jumped upright in bed, the breeze from the window making your sweat covered body shiver. Wiping your face, you searched the room and found that you were utterly alone. In your mind’s eyes you could see the writhing of bodies that had woken you.

It had been a dream.

A wildly inappropriate dream.

Hands trembling, you held your head in your hands. Your face was red and hot and when you closed your eyes, you could see Liu Kang’s strong body over yours and feel his familiar hands. You blinked your eyes and kept them open wide. “Oh boy.” You laughed at yourself and then flopped back against the bed with a frustrated whine. It had been miserably difficult not to let your imagination run wild the day before but apparently all your self-control disappeared when you slept. After the day you’d had and the tension that had built like static when you were fighting, how could you be upset with yourself?

You knew Liu Kang well at this point. Well enough that his touch was familiar. It was cruel and unnecessary of your imagination to do that to you during your sleep. How were you supposed to find your arcana when your brain was made of Liu Kang spaghetti? The attractive, confident, and kind Liu Kang was your teacher and you had to find a way to set a boundary between that and whatever this was. “Calm down, Y/N.” With that you took slow and deep breaths.

Adjusting yourself on the bed you crossed your legs and closed your eyes to meditate. But your imagination betrayed you, and you could feel his breath on your neck and hear his voice in your head. Pinching the bridge of your nose you laughed at yourself but flopped again on the bed and stared at the ceiling.

This was a natural thing. To be attracted to someone you were forming a new relationship with. You were finding your footing as friends and the draw between you would change with time. Deep down you were certain it was more than that and you were dismissing a very obvious attraction between them.

No matter what it was, there was no chance you would trust your imagination to let you sleep. You would have to clear your thoughts and find some peace before you could rest again. Getting up, you changed into the red and black flowing hanfu and decided to take a walk. That would get your mind off the day before and erase the memory of Liu’s, well, everything.

There were very few others walking through the temple that late at night. You decided that you hadn’t slept for long before your dream had woken you. Not dwelling on the memory of it, you kept walking until you were utterly lost and honestly nothing had felt quite as good or wondrous in some time. Raiden’s Temple was beautiful and ancient. Exploring it made you feel like a curious child, which in your opinion, was better than a frustrated adult.

There were many sprawling hallways and you felt that this one was particularly high within the ravine. You caught sight of the night sky through an archway and leaned against the stone. A monk walked behind you with a polite bow carrying a heavy pot filled with water. You nodded in greeting and then stepped onto the platform. At the end of the short platform was a huge statue of Raiden, seated cross legged in meditation.

The sky was radiant, and you wished to be closer to it and considered the roof but instead you set your eyes on the hat of the statue. You carefully climbed up with a few skilled jumps and then sat atop the edge of the hat, overlooking the ravine. Below you could see the fight pit, but it appeared small from there.

Seated atop the statues wide brimmed hat, you got comfortable and admired the brilliance of the night sky. The glassy moon filled the night around it with brilliance, dimming the stars in its halo. Wisps of pale clouds traversed the sky as if carried by invisible birds. You could see the milky way and the sparkling of stars that you had never seen before. You couldn’t remember ever thinking that the sky was this magnificent. In those moments you felt lucky to be alive and privileged to see the world in such a way.

It seemed funny then that your home popped into mind. There had been times where you’d sat on the roof of your apartment above the dojo and watched the sky, but it had never felt like this. That life felt so foreign now that you were oddly detached from it. Hopefully, your sister was okay. Your mother had passed away years ago and your father had stayed with your sister while you took care of the dojo in his honor.

Did they think that you died in the fire? What had become of the dojo? Had any of it survived? Did they think you’d done it and murdered those men? Were you a wanted criminal now? Had Kung Lao told anyone what had become of you? You had a thousand questions for your childhood friend, but you weren’t sure that you were ready for the answers either.

“Y/N?” You sat upright and turned in search of the voice. Liu Kang was staring up at the statue curiously. You peeked over the edge and offered him a wave despite your stomach doing a flip at the sight of him. With a confident grace, he leapt atop the statue and joined you. You returned to your spot, sitting comfortably on the hat and he sat next to you. Together you stared into the starry night, admiring the beauty of Raiden’s Temple. Every so often you heard the footsteps of another monk making their way but there was little else besides Liu’s controlled breathing and the occasional shifting of his prayer beads from his hand to his wrist. “Are you okay, Y/N?”

“I couldn’t sleep.” You decided to be honest. You weren’t a big fan of lying but telling Liu the absolute truth of your dream was a level of embarrassment and honesty you weren’t prepared for. “My mind and heart were all jumbled up, so I came to find some peace.”

“Did you find the peace you were looking for?”

“I did.” You decided with a smile. What you were feeling toward him wasn’t a bad thing, you’d decided. It was a conflict in your mind still, but not all conflict was bad.

“Seated atop a dangerously tall and ancient statue overlooking the most perilous of pits?”

“The view can’t be beat. And it’s private.”

“And yet I invaded your privacy as I often seem to do.” Liu turned to face you, his arm rested against one knee.

“It’s only an invasion if it’s not welcome, Liu.” You reassured him. Silence fell again but it wasn’t the warm and comforting silence you’d become accustomed to with Liu Kang. He radiated with both fire and uncertainty. “Are you okay?”

“I couldn’t sleep.” He brushed his fingers again over the prayer beads. “I decided I would check on you and as I made my way, I felt that someone was up here.”

“Oh?”

“Your energy is tangible,” he said all while avoiding your eyes. Your eyebrows shot straight up your forehead.

“So, you knew it was me?” The butterflies were back. He was good at that. Liu nodded. “That’s remarkable.” So much for peace of mind. Were you ever going to manage sleep again without your renegade thoughts getting carried away? “I’m glad that you found me.”

“Your energy reminds of a shadow flickering beneath the lamplight. I’m curious. Can you sense my energy, as well?” The confidence had returned to him. There was still something beneath his confident exterior that you couldn’t decipher, and you watched his thumb carefully brush over each of the beads in his hand. “I think it could be common to sense others with a dragon marking.”

“Yes, I can.” You chose your words carefully. “I always thought that your presence was fiery, but I didn’t realize that was literal until earlier.” Liu turned to face the edge of the statue again and his brief smile faded. You adjusted to face him better, careful of your footing. “What’s on your mind, Liu?”

“You were in my dreams.” He seemed sad. Inwardly, you panicked. He’d been in your dreams too, but something about his demeanor made you feel as though it were in a quite different context. How were you supposed to process any of this? “I lost you.”

You made sure not to let the sigh of relief be audible. “You lost me?”

“Not the best phrasing but no less the same. You died.” Liu said this with such finality that it shook you, and a chill ran down your spine. “I couldn’t go back to sleep with that image of you in my head. Selfishly, I needed to see your living and breathing self.”

“Liu…”

“I know that you’re capable, Y/N. I can see why Kung Lao values you so highly. I suppose that it is natural to fear for someone that you’ve bonded with. And we have bonded, haven’t we?” You were at a complete loss for words. He’d said a lot without saying much at all and you were left to interpret it as you would. What terrible timing. Your heart was so confused. “Am I wrong?”

“No, you’re not wrong. We’ve bonded.” You decided then to confess at least part of what was keeping you awake that night. No details, just a small bit of truth. “I dreamt about you too. It woke me up and when I couldn’t find the peace to return to sleep, I wound up here.” You smiled weakly and turned back to face the sky. “I tried to meditate the stress away but in truth I’m used to meditating with you, so it brought me no peace.” Liu seemed oddly relieved by your confession. If only he knew the truth. You weren’t sure how he would react. In fact, your face burned just thinking about it.

“I assure you that I’m capable, Y/N. I’ll be fine.”

“I know.” You said nothing else on the matter. He hadn’t been in danger in your dream, in fact, quite the opposite. You sat in silence again and much to your surprise, he shifted, scooted closer and slipped his arm around you shoulder. His hands were warm even through your sleeves.

“Until you’ve mastered your arcana and healed then you are the one that we should worry about. There’s still time before the tournament, but it doesn’t mean that we will be entirely without danger.” Liu gave your shoulder a comforting squeeze. “The sooner you can control your arcana, the better.”

“I know that with your help I’ll manage sooner rather than later.”

“That’s a lot of faith in me.”

“In us both.” You smiled at him. He adjusted, arm falling away from your shoulder. You missed it instantly. His arms were warm and strong. “This is a hurdle we will conquer.” You turned to watch the stars again and pulled your knees closer to your chest, resting one arm over them, the other resting between you and Liu. Liu’s eyes were on you. You could feel them watching you rather than the sky. He needed to see that you were okay and that his dream was just that. Whatever came next, you were ready for it. One way or another, you would fight. Still, he did not turn his gaze and you were distracted by him. “You’re staring.” You let your gaze flitter to him out of the corner of your eye.

“You get this look on your face while you’re thinking. It’s fascinating to watch your expression shift and change even minutely.” The fondness of his voice was overwhelming. To be spoken of with such reverence made you feel better than anything ever had. “You feel your emotions very deeply. It is a gift.” He turned his gaze back to the night sky, right arm rested on his knee. His left hand then found yours between them and rested atop it.

You swore you might be blushing for the rest of your days at this rate. The fondness of his voice and the gentleness of his hand made your heart race. You supposed that when you thought about it, you had flirted on and off. At the very least you had grown fond of each other. There’d been plenty of close calls the last few days, but you hadn’t been sure if you were overthinking or not. But this moment was far more transparent. An arm around you. His hand over yours. Deliberate displays of intimacy.

You weren’t sure you could sit still much longer thinking like this, so you turned to ask him if he wished to study. Instead, you clammed up and found him far closer to you than you had anticipated. You could feel his breath, the warmth radiating from his energy, surrounding you like a distant and welcome flame. He admired your face, stopping at each of your features with his dark eyes, and then brushed your hair away. This was an intimacy that you had grown quite fond of but also it was different than before. His fingers left a ghost of a touch against your forehead and your cheek, gently tucking your hair behind your ear. The fear in his eyes had gone, the nerves and uncertainty had gone with them. All that was left to his stare was warmth and admiration.

His hand brushed against your jaw softly and then rested against your cheek, his thumb brushing just beneath your eye. He tilted you closer. Your heart stopped in your chest and you didn’t breathe for fear that it would stop him. It was a moment you never wanted to end. Eyes half-lidded you caught a glance of his lips, parted ever so slightly and nearing yours. Then a horrid crash echoed from behind the statue.

In an instant, you were apart and both sliding to the other side of the statue in search of the sound. Liu leapt from the statue gracefully and you peered over the side, catching your breath. Below you could see a monk there, speaking with Liu. There were pieces of something shattered on the ground. You carefully climbed from the statue to join them.

The monk muttered his apologies. Liu had bent down to clean up the shards of the pot that had been dropped. Water was spread over the stone floor. Your fingers were numb and the action of helping clean up the shattered pot felt surreal. Honestly, the entire night had felt surreal. From waking up from an inappropriate dream, to staring at the stars with Liu. The monk bowed his head and took the shards with him as he made his way to wherever he was meant to. You stood upright and fixed your hair. You could feel that Liu’s eyes were on you again. Even though you were no longer seated close together or even touching, the tension hadn’t faded.

“We should rest.” The fog of the moment had at least cleared, and you knew that if you didn’t go to bed now then you’d likely wind up doing something irresponsible with Liu Kang. Why were you resisting this obvious tug? It seemed oddly taboo, though you couldn’t place your finger on the reasons why. You were both consenting adults, so why shouldn’t you embrace this? Oddly enough, you felt guilty even at the thought.

These emotions were far too complex for the middle of the night.

“I’ll walk you to your room.”

“Thank you, Liu.” Together you walked through the hall of the temple and you were suddenly grateful to have him guiding you. You’d wandered so far and so aimlessly that you had no idea where you’d wound up. It would have taken you ages to find your way back. You opened the door to your room and leaned against it with a smile. “Try and get some rest, will you?”

“You too, Y/N.” He peered behind you into the room, and you followed his gaze to where the book laid on your desk.

“…did you want to read?” You were sure sleep wouldn’t come easily and Liu seemed reluctant to leave. You were reluctant to let him go.

“Are you sure? It’s late.”

“I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t.”

Liu didn’t ask twice and so you opened the door the rest of the way and allowed him inside with you. You sat on the floor, leaning against the bed, and Liu picked up the book and joined you at your side. His familiar voice was like a lullaby and only a few minutes past before you were drifting in and out of sleep with your head on his shoulder. If Liu noticed, he didn’t say anything or move you. He kept reading. Before you knew it, you were out cold.

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furblrwurblr · 4 years

Text

Moppet!Douxie x GN!Reader, Soulmate AU | Hurt/Comfort, Fluff

Warnings: Fire/Explosion, lots of crying, self esteem issues, misunderstandings cause a lot of emotional turmoil

Note: This is my first fic! I know fics have it worse than art, but if you'd consider leaving tips in the comments, I'd be super grateful! Thanks for taking a look!

It was springtime in Camelot, near the turn of the season. The sun was high, the birds were singing, and you... were late. As a magic user, your life was in constant jeopardy regardless of your employment as the Crowmaster, Crowlord Corbin’s apprentice, penning and sending letters for the kingdom. And in this kingdom, tardiness was not appreciated. Racing through the castle halls with the king’s letters in hand, you noticed movement on your forearms.

“I wonder what color their eyes are. I bet they’re lovely.”

Your lips curled in a tender smile at the curling words that appeared on your skin. Similar musings crossed your soulmate’s mind daily, not leaving your body free of the enigmatic “ink” for years.

No one, not even the renowned Merlin Ambrosius, knew the precise nature of the words that would mark people’s skin, only that they were your soulmate’s thoughts about you. Soulmates were a fickle thing, their connections varying with different cultural beliefs and changing as countries developed. In England, the written words made finding your soulmate a tad difficult as one couldn’t know if their other half was paying any mind when they tried to share personal details. It was said that once you know them wholly, you’re complete in all things. Whatever that means.

You’d once been impatient to meet your own, to know what it means to be complete, but after years of black markings coming and going, covering your body in kind words of admiration, you deemed them worth the wait.

You were shocked from your reverie in a flutter of parchment. You’d bumped into someone, the king’s letters falling to the ground right into… was that slorr juice? You didn’t even apologize to the raven-haired young man whose spell material you’d just gotten all over the floor. You were far too panicked. Knowing your animal magic was of no help here, you scrambled to salvage what you could.

Hisirdoux was in trouble. Merlin would have his head when he told him he lost the slorr juice to another bout of soulmate pondering, and have it again when he discovered that said juice is the reason the king didn’t receive his news regarding the upcoming royal summit. Douxie leaned forward to help but instead opted to frantically search his brace for anything that could help the poor apprentice in front of him.

When he’d finally found the rune, the Crowmaster had just finished shaking off what liquid they could from the sensitive documents. He quickly dried them hoping to save the ink on them as best he could, long fingers flitting over each. In a hurried frenzy of apologies and farewells, the hallway was emptied.

Merlin was less than pleased, and frankly, a little concerned. Douxie usually gets so cautious after a mistake that even Merlin feels his stress, but this was the third time this week. Why was he so focused on his soulmate? After a right scolding, Douxie retired to his room to study. Merlin nearly did a double-take at what was written on his young apprentice’s neck.

“He was quite kind.”

So they’d met. Did his soulmate know? Did Douxie know?

Over the next few weeks, you two kept running into one another. A passing here, an acknowledgment there. After about a month you’d come to look forward to seeing the boy trip over himself en route to Merlin’s study. You helped him carry supplies when the Crowlord was away and talked when he dropped off Merlin’s letters to the court magicians across England. For some reason, you found yourself hanging on his every word and smiling whenever you caught a glimpse of his adorable manbun weaving through the streets.

He felt the same. It was never enough to speak to you in passing and he even left long conversations with you feeling wanting. He doesn’t quite remember how he started, but it’d become a habit to watch you work through the large western tower window. He’d admire your tenderness with the crows and was warmed by your bond with your hawk familiar.

As you left the tower to retire for the night, he always thought you might be cold, but never gathered the courage to walk you to your chambers.

Douxie was concerned. The day was halfway through, winter clouds covering the high sun, and you were nowhere to be seen. He’d watched you enter the western tower at dawn and the candlelight hadn’t been extinguished once. He was principally done with Merlin’s tasks for the day, perhaps he could pop his head in? “just for a minute,” he decided.

He exited his chambers (Merlin’s storage closet) and rapped a knuckle on his master’s desk, pulling his attention from some blueprints. Merlin didn’t speak, just gave an expectant look.

Douxie ran a near-trembling hand through his tied black hair before cautiously speaking up. “Master, may I have the rest of the day off?”

“Whatever brought this on? After the way you’ve been acting these past months?”

Douxie averted his gaze, suddenly finding his shoes far more interesting. “I’d… I’d like to see someone today.”

After a beat, the master wizard quickly scribbled something down on a piece of parchment and handed it to the boy.

“Finish these and I’ll consider your time served for the day,” Merlin sighed.

Douxie had been sure he would shut down. He quickly snatched the list and ran to the door, uttering a rushed ‘thank you master’ before it shut behind him. Merlin watched him leave, fondness in his eyes.

The sun was just dipping past the high kingdom walls, turning the town a vibrant orange. Douxie hung the herbs he’d just gathered, heaving a sigh of great relief when the last one was in place. He raced across the west side, eager to visit his… friend? Is that who you were to him? He banished the thought as he came upon the west tower, dark eyebrows shooting up in surprise. Citizens, a lot of them, stood in a line from the tower out down the hallway.

“What’s going on?” he asked a young woman.

“I’m here with my children, the Crowmaster is penning wishlists for Saint Nick. Just a shilling each!”

Douxie nodded and thanked her, then made his way to the tower. He gently pushed past the mob gathered in the doorway, stammering apologies. At last, he reached the Crowlord’s desk. The man himself was nowhere to be seen and you were alone, writing away at the whim of an excited child. He caught a glimpse of your face, you looked tired. Had you really been doing this all day?

Exhausted wasn’t a big enough word to describe how you felt. The only thing keeping you going was reading the various forms of concern written on your skin. By now, you knew you’d met them, but you couldn’t place who it could be. However, thinking was only making you more fatigued as your aching wrist swept across the parchment.

Douxie said nothing, just pulled out the Crowlord’s chair, and sat down. You looked at him, eyes wide, but the only explanation offered was a kind smile. He picked up a quill and called out for the next person to step forward. You turned back to the young girl asking for a sword, your smile wide and heart swelling.

By the time you two finished, the sun was half past the horizon. The last patron left the tower and you both heaved a sigh of relief.

“I can’t than-”

“Um, do you think-”

You looked at one another and laughed, waiting for the other to speak. Douxie hesitated, then took a deep breath.

“Uhm, do you think you’ve some time? I’d like to show you something,” he asked, lifting his eyes to your face.

“Sure,” you replied, smiling and holding out your elbow.

He beamed, quickly grabbing two pieces of parchment, a quill, and an inkwell. You raised a brow but let him be as he threaded your arm through his and started walking.

The young wizard’s apprentice couldn’t bring himself to speak, he was far too nervous. Thankfully, you found the silence comfortable as he led you up a winding staircase at the corner of the castle. Once you both reached the top, he gestured to the sea. It was breathtaking. The salty breeze floated through your hair as you admired the sun’s glow over the water and the colors of twilight.

Douxie broke the quiet. “I thought you’d like this. Hmm, it isn’t enough light to write by though.” He waved his hand, sending blue wisps to swirl around you both. You watched them float about, eyes finally landing on Douxie who was making himself comfortable in a crenel, placing the supplies he’d brought with him on the merlon in front of him. You settled across from him, reaching for the quill.

His slender hand caught yours and laid in on the stone, gently massaging your wrist. “You’ll injure yourself at this rate. Let someone else write for you today.” His gaze caught yours, hazel eyes full of concern, and… something else you couldn’t place.

A gentle smile spread across your face as you reveled in the sun on your skin and the breeze on your lips. Douxie shuffled his papers around and spoke up again a moment later.

“So! What’s your wish?” Douxie asked, smiling wide.

“What?” you said, puzzled.

Douxie rose a brow, pointing out “All today, has anyone penned you a wishlist?”

“I suppose not,” you said, the smile settling back onto your face.

He beamed and set the quill to the parchment again. “Fantastic. Not that I think it’s fantastic no one’s offered, I’m just glad I get to- oh, I never even asked. I should have asked first, I’m so sorry-,” His shoulders tensed, but he stopped abruptly when he felt your hand on his.

“Hisirdoux, thank you. I’d love it if you did, there’s no need to worry.”

You started telling him things you wanted for Christmas and conversation flowed from there. Teasing banter and loud laughter filled the sky as it turned to night, blue magic floating around you both excitedly in time with your synchronized heartbeats as he finally walked you to your chambers, even offering you his hood. What could he do? He thought you looked cold.

It was just past noon on Christmas day. The ground sparkled a bright white and children’s laughter rang through the air. You took a deep breath of the crisp air and let it out in a contented sigh, taking a sip of the warm cider your master bought you before he left to celebrate with his family. He invited you to join them, but you opted to celebrate it yourself. You placed the cider on the table next to the window you were sitting in and picked up the small wood block you were fashioning into a present for Douxie. The small wooden cat-dragon only needed his hind leg to be freed from its timber prison. It wasn’t perfect, but it’s the thought that counts. As you worked, sentences curled up your arms and swirling letters kissed the base of your fingers. You paused your whittling with a frown. The only feeling behind this gift was love. You’d accepted you loved Douxie after that night bathed in twilight and lonely smiles, but you felt so incredibly twisted about it. You’d already met your soulmate and they thought about you often. Did your soulmate also worry they’d fallen in love with the wrong person? You shook your head, clearing your mind at the sound of wingbeats. Your hawk familiar landed on your raised knee and began to preen themself, looking at you smugly through pristine feathers.

“I can feel you overthinking things from across the castle,” they spoke, masking concern under teasing.

You scoffed, knowing they were right. “What am I meant to do? I can’t go on like this when I’ve got a soulmate out there. I can’t even try, it’s against the law! They know we’re bonded, what if they see me with him? I don’t want to hurt them like that. Not to mention, what if he’s not perfect for me? I want the soulbond to experience all of another person, but should I give that up for love?”

Your familiar shook their head and flew away, leaving you with your question hanging in the air. Watching them leave, you noticed someone walking towards the slorr’s stable. The manbun was too recognizable for there to be a shred of doubt: Douxie was being put to work on Christmas Day. You turned the wooden Archie in your hand and pushed off the windowsill. Just because you love him doesn’t mean you can’t stay friends.

Douxie was in flux. Archie saw the boy’s neutral expression turn sour as he read what he could of his soulmate’s thoughts. They loved someone else? Would they give him up for someone they’d already met? He couldn’t exactly criticize, he was in the same boat. Y/N was so important to him, but if he found his soulmate, could he quell the confusing little thing they had together for someone he barely knew? He decided he’d understand if his soulmate didn’t love him, he’d want them to do the same. He loved Y/N too much to let them go.

He looked up from his arm and startled. You were waiting for him, leaning against the slorr’s gate, your hawk familiar preening themself. While you laughed at his absentmindedness, he frantically rolled his ¾ sleeves down over the words that betrayed his true heart.

“Y-Y/N! W-what are you doing here? Aren’t you- um, aren’t you meant to be celebrating?” Douxie stammered out as his heart rate slowed.

You pushed off the gate and grabbed the pail he was holding in his hands that were still light with adrenaline. “I am! I opted not to celebrate with Master Corbin and his family, take the day for myself and see where it leads,” you said, a hopeful grin rising to your lips.

Douxie broke into a giddy smile, his heart afloat. They had all of Christmas to enjoy the town and they were here with him? He couldn’t believe his fortune. “Then I’m glad it led you here!” he exclaimed.

Archie curled himself around your leg, butting his dark head into your calf. “Are you here to enjoy the show?” he asked with a purr.

Your laugh was the only thing keeping Douxie from strangling his bespectacled familiar, so he settled for a pout you internally cooed at.

Both of you paused in front of the gate, reluctant to enter. He swung it open with a bow. “Ladies first.”

“Cheeky,” you said to him over your shoulder.

Archie and your familiar started playing with one another as you two prepared to take on the slorr together.

Hm. This was a mess. The slorr seemed to enjoy the happy atmosphere you’d both created so she was a tad more cooperative, but it took longer for her to calm down. You and Douxie were covered head to toe in the glowing blue liquid, trying to remove what you could into the pail Merlin gave him. Your shared laughter slowed to silence as you noticed him staring at you, eyes slowly roving over your face. Did he look… sad? No, that wasn’t it. Before you could scrutinize him further, you felt it. Gentle fingers caressing your cheek, going up, up… Your breath hitched as he laid his palm to your cheek, thumb slowly moving across your face. You let out a shaky breath and he jolted, noticing your wide eyes fixed on his and quickly withdrawing his hand.

He shook some juice from his hand and gesticulated wildly, stammering through an apology. “You- you had some juice on your cheek, I’m so sorry, Merlin’s tower, I shouldn’t have done that-”

“It’s okay, really. Thanks for getting it for me,” you interrupted. You wanted to say more, but his sleeve had risen in his fervor, swirling lines reminding you he wasn’t yours to comfort. Hisirdoux was such an emotional and empathetic being, he wouldn’t leave his soulmate. Especially since his soulmate would have to be an absolute saint, it’s no less than he deserved. Taking a deep breath in, you looked back at him. “Don’t bite your lips, you’ll chap them. Was that your last task for the day?”

Douxie released his lip, fighting the urge to continue chewing it. “It was, and I’ve no clue how I’m going to use the rest of the afternoon,” he said, watching as his familiar and yours playfully wrestled for a mouse.

Your heart leaped, this was your chance! “How would you like to spend it together? There are tons of things to do in town and I’ve saved up my pay for a while so I’ve some wiggle room. Not to mention, I’ve made you something.”

The nervous cloud around you both dissolved as Douxie eagerly agreed and begged you to reveal what you had for him. You denied him with a laugh, smile widening with his every impatient groan. Your familiars ran ahead of you both, swirling in a frenzy of playful fighting and laughter as you walked out of the castle, arm-in-arm.

The town was a sight to behold. Holly curled around door frames, red berries nestled among twisted wreaths. Mistletoe hung from building corners, tracks disrupted the perfect layers of fresh snow, and children weaved and ducked through throngs of people gathered around street musicians. Snowballs were flying at the end of every street, laughter and song floating in the air with the excited chatter of families buying wares for their families, and lines of crushed berries stained the ground. It was an English tradition to wish to meet your soulmate sooner by spreading holly berries in a line on Christmas as a nod to the Chinese legends of the soulstring, a red string that connected soulmates there. Sure, it made a mess of your shoes but you always found it cute.

The first few minutes were unsure, both of you fishing for ideas on what to do first. Archie and your familiar were already deep in conversation, but you and Douxie were struggling. That is, until, the smell of sweet buns reached him. His stomach let out a mighty grumble, a testament to how he’d been working for longer than you and likely hadn’t eaten lunch yet. He covered his pale face with his free hand, too embarrassed to bear seeing you fight a rising smile. You slid your hand down his forearm and grasped his cold fingers, pulling him towards the source of the heavenly aroma. A fiery blush rose to his ears when he registered your fingers lacing with his while you waited in line. Reaching the front, Douxie’s protests fell on deaf ears as you swatted his hands away, insisting you’d pay. The baker gave a soft smile and handed you two of the high coveted baked goods, bidding you both a happy Christmas. Just two apprentices walking hand in hand, browsing stalls, eating together, and enjoying one another's company.

Douxie heard something on the wind and perked up. Lively music came from the town square and Douxie wasn’t about to miss the chance to dance with you. He pulled you from the daggers you were eyeing, making a note of which you lingered on before pulling you close and weaving through the other partygoers. Soon enough, you made it to the musicians, seeing the space before them where a group was dispersing as the song ended. The vocalist started up again, solo for a few lines until the band swelled. Douxie bounced on his heels, recognizing the tune as The Bear and the Maiden Fair. His excitement sent a wave of courage through him and he slipped his fingers from yours, instead grabbing you by the wrist to drag you to the open space. Others joined, forming a circle. Claps and stomps interrupted the smooth movement of the ring. Laughter mixed with the joyful notes of the flute. Hisirdoux couldn’t stop looking at your joined hands, sometimes lifting his gaze to your eyes closed in a laugh. When the vocalist reached the line “lifted her high into the air”, Douxie broke his hand away from the person opposite you, lifted you by the waist, and spun. Your clothes fluttered and for a moment, you were weightless. Douxie’s laughter rang in your ears, lingering just like the feeling of his fingers intertwined with yours. His hands were warm and firm on your midsection, the heat replaced with a chill as he set you down. You absently continued the dance, happiness clouding the passage of time. Douxie kept your hand in his, allowing your arms to fall to your sides. You looked at each other, breathless smiles lingering on your faces as the song changed once more. You both walked on, catching your breath and coming down from the high.

A few hours later, you’d both had more interaction with each other than you’d had with anyone else all year. It was a welcome break from the same hallways, the same people, and the same routines. You’d bought each other dinner, talked about everything under the sun, and danced through seemingly all of Camelot, only separating for maybe an hour to buy gifts that may or may not have been for one another.

The day was coming to a close, the sun once again a deep vermillion, the snow reflecting it like gems. As you were heading back to the castle, you passed a holly berry stall. Douxie saw you looking at it, sobered by the reminder you were both promised to complete strangers. Just today, he’d fallen so much more in love with you than he thought possible, and if you wanted your soulmate, who was he to deny you? He tugged on your arm, wordlessly offering a pound to the vendor. The woman raised a brow at your intertwined fingers but offered the small basket of berries without a question. You looked at him quizzically when he drew his hand from yours, pouring a good amount into his hand and giving you the remainder. Enjoying the bittersweet silence, you two took turns placing the berries in a line. Archie swatted your familiar’s eager beak from the line of red that was stark against the slow-melting snow. Once you’d finished, Douxie sent you a sad smile and asked if you’d like to exchange gifts in his chambers. You agreed, once again arm-in-arm, streets quiet except for the soft crunching of snow beneath your heavy feet and the pound of heavy hearts.

Hisirdoux lit all his candles as the sun peeked just over the horizon. Archie made himself comfortable on his wizard’s pillow, curling around a tired hawk familiar. Your own wizard associate preened themselves while you and Doux sat on the bed, eventually opting to preen Archie when they were satisfied. Archie let out a yelp when she preened the edge of his ear, earning a look from you. Douxie pulled out a handful of items from his satchel with a flourish and showed you all the things he’d found one by one. Polish for Lancelot’s sword, a garlic braid for one of Galahad’s more ambitious brews, cooked salmon for Archie, and other things spread out in front of him.

He gave a nervous smile. “Close your eyes,” he breathed.

You smiled as your eyes slid shut. His slim, cold fingers touched your hand, causing goosebumps to rise on your arm as he pressed something small into your palm.

“And… open!” He slid his hands from yours and into his lap, an expectant look on his long face. Looking down, you gasped. There laid a ring that looked to be made of vines, weaving around each other and wrapping around the base of a tiny white flower.

“I found a curltrap in the forest on my last herb run and thought you might like it, so I made it into a ring. It won’t wilt. Um… do you? Like it, I mean,” he asked, brows pinching.

You slipped it on and looked at him in awe. Leaning forward, you softly put your arms around his neck and pulled him into a hug. “Douxie, it’s beautiful. No one’s ever given me such a thoughtful gift, thank you for making it.” He laid his hands on your back and laid his face in the crook of your neck to return the gesture, hand trailing after when you pulled away.

“Your turn!” You reached into your bag and paused. “Close your eyes.”

Douxie pouted but held his hand out after doing as he was told. He felt something hard and contoured, slowly curling his long fingers around it. He opened his eyes and stared at it in awe. It was wood whittled in Archie’s likeness, complete with small green gems for eyes and tiny glasses frames made of wire. His wings were unfurled, his posture inquisitive. Archie looked at it, speechless.

“I wasn’t sure what you’d like so I played it safe. When I told the carpenter it was for you he offered to inlay the gems for free. You’re more appreciated than you think!” you exclaimed with a smile. He whispered a “thank you” as he turned it over in his hands, admiring the details. In all honesty, he’d already committed every dip and groove to memory, he was just replaying your words in his mind. “You’re more appreciated than you think!” He never thought about the impact he had on others, he was too busy being concerned with Merlin’s opinion of him. That’d be something he’d have to work on if it made you smile like that.

The rest of the evening flew by, laughter and the sound of a lute seeping through Douxie’s chamber door and into Merlin’s study. By now you’d fallen asleep on his bed having drifted off while Douxie softly sang a folk lullaby you’d requested. He lifted the blanket over you and laid down, the blanket layered between you two. He stared at you while you slept, soaking you in. The shadows your eyelashes cast on your cheeks. Your chest rising and falling in tandem with his. The black lines swirling to your collarbone- wait. Douxie watched as a thought appeared on your skin, hidden under your shirt. Archie moved in circles at the foot of the bed and stopped abruptly feeling Douxie’s sudden fear. He was so tempted to look but he couldn’t risk you hating him… it’s just to see what they think of you. To see if they deserve you. Yeah, that was a viable excuse. Archie hissed quietly at his friend, watching Douxie’s trembling fingers gingerly expose the skin towards your shoulder. He looked at the two words, puzzled. “They’re breathtaking.” Did they see you in the square? Had it been when you’d separated? Douxie was torn from his own thoughts when you made a noise, your brow furrowing for a moment and relaxing. His hand still had your collarbone exposed, and he watched in equal parts elation and horror as his own thought scrawled itself onto your skin.

“I don’t know if I can let you go.”

His blood ran cold, breath hitching and mind flailing.

You were his. You were fated to be his. But you loved someone else.

Spring had returned to Camelot, plants thriving in the sun’s warmth. The flowers were happy, fluttering in the sea breeze. You furrowed your brow when your heart clenched at the thought of such beautiful blossoms mocking you. A shadow passed over your face as you looked to the flower that still curled itself around your finger. It’d been three months since the best Christmas you’d ever had, but the memory was now stained. Douxie and you still talked, but for some reason, he made excuses to avoid you and felt distant when you were able to cajole him into a short walk. At first, it seemed like he was busy with the amulet, but then he was absent even when Merlin said he was stuck and didn’t require his apprentice’s help. You were disappointed and confused, feeling hurt every time he blew you off with some excuse of running errands for Merlin.

Hisirdoux wasn’t feeling any better. He missed you greatly and seeing what you thought of his excuses only deepened his guilt. But wasn’t this what you wanted? Why would you be so disappointed he wouldn’t spend as much time with you if you loved someone else? He chalked it up to the soulmate bond, ignoring Archie’s concern and attempts at advice. His eyes were sunken in and puffy, due in part to crying himself to sleep watching your pain at his sudden distance write itself on his skin. He’d go to bed with swirling lines of magical ink torturing his dreams and awake a blank slate, ready for it to start all over again.

Archie couldn’t take this. For the past week, he’d been pushing his magic through their psychic bond, pouring parts of a sleep spell into his charge, but that would only work for so long. Douxie was destroying himself from the inside out, all because he couldn’t be selfish for once and speak up. The shifter waited for Douxie to leave for the day, telling him he’d find him at noon. Archie stayed in front of the door until the young man’s voice faded. He sighed, whispering an apology. Douxie wouldn’t want anyone to know, but the boy needed an intervention.

“Merlin? We need to talk.”

Merlin had noticed Douxie’s exhaustion and had purposefully lightened his load, but the boy kept working regardless. Merlin thought less work could allow him to spend more time with the Crowmaster (who at this point couldn’t be anyone BUT Douxie’s soulmate considering how quickly they bonded and how much time they spent together), but he’d come back to his study to see the books sorted a different way every week, the suits of armor impossibly polished, and the herb rack overflowing with all kinds of magical flora. As Archie relayed the events of the past few months, Merlin felt his chest constrict tighter and tighter. His heart bled for the boy, growing angry at just how oblivious you both were. And then, an idea. Not one of his best or subtlest, but it’d get the job done fast and serve as a bit of punishment for confusing his apprentice’s heart.

It was that time of year again. The yearly royal summit had you and the Crowlord running circles around one another, both of you rapidly penning and sending letters and the occasional need to coerce the grumpiest crow, Corvus, to carry just one more letter for the day. Between your familiar’s regular several-day flights to Spain, your scurrying around the castle, and the magic you were giving the crows for some extra juice, you were exhausted. Your eyes were sunken, you weren’t sleeping properly, and you missed Douxie. You didn’t know why, but his absence made your heart hurt. Every time you collected letters from Merlin, your throat closed at seeing his apprentice’s chamber door. Catching a glimpse of him through doorways and windows made your mouth dry. Both Master Corbin and Galahad had noticed your change in attitude, asking you to rest and why Douxie wasn’t with you, confused why you were no longer attached by the hip. You were tired. Everything fell by the wayside as you rushed from official to official. The king himself was concerned for you. Well, as concerned as he was willing to be towards a mage.

Finally, there was a lull. You were able to rest for a while but didn’t dare leave the tower, knowing something would pop up eventually. Sitting down for what felt like the first time in weeks, you let everything go. The “mother hen” of the tower crows, Corinth, coaxed it out of you bit by bit until the dam burst. She preened your scalp while you cried, hot tears rolling down your twisted features. The feeling was comforting, helping to ease your upset. Finally, you were able to speak.

“...I love him, Corinth. I don’t know how I hurt him and I don’t know how to fix it, but I love him. He isn’t mine and he never will be, I know it, I do, so why does it still hurt so much?” you whimpered, drawing your knees to your chest.

“Perhaps he’s blind,” she said sagely.

“He can see perfectly well,” you whispered with an insincere chuckle, still not trusting your ability to speak without breaking down again.

Her eyes glinted in the noontime sun. “Stupid, then.”

You laughed, eyes crinkling and forcing tears that were left on your lashes to fall. “Douxie may well be stupid, but he isn’t simple. It’s one of his many charms.” A soft smile lingered on your face, heart lighter than before. “Thank you Corinth, you listen well.”

She shook out her plumage and settled on your knees, cuddling into your bosom. You stroked her gently, the silence pushing in on your curled form.

༓・༓・༓・༓・༓・༓・༓・༓

Poor Hisirdoux was in flux again. He sat on his bed turning the wooden Archie over in his hands. Merlin had left not too long ago and given him the day. Douxie’s hands felt light without a task. Come to think of it, his head felt light too. He couldn’t sleep yet, but he desperately needed a pick-me-up. A sigh escaped him when he realized his basin was nearly empty. He’d wanted something to do so he might as well refill it. Upon picking up the basin he dropped it immediately, water splashing violently across the floor along with the clatter of wood on stone. Archie yowled, shifting into his dragon form. The boy’s eyes were wide in horror as he recalled his reflection in the water. You see, in England, not only are the words of a soulmate tie important, but their placing on the skin holds equal meaning. Douxie had only ever gotten them on his limbs and the base of his skull when he was younger, but ever since he met Y/N, they began showing on his torso and the left side of his chest. But this… this couldn’t mean anything good. Scrawled black lines, no longer smooth and flourished, curled around his throat. They began from seemingly nowhere and writhed downwards in a creeping spiral, the end reaching for his heart.

“Arch!” he cried. “What’s happening? Why are they like this? What do they say? Arch, Arch, please I need to know what’s wrong!” Tears welled in his hazel eyes as he dragged his hands down his throat, futilely trying to smudge the twisted lines.

Archie felt his fear so strongly his back arched on its own accord, but he found his way to Douxie quickly. He scampered to the boy just as he fell to his knees, his mind nothing but questions. Archie shifted, paws pulling Douxie’s frantic hands into his lap as he curled his wings around the boy’s shoulders. He sniffed and shuddered to a halt, shaky breaths drawing in and out as he lifted his head for Archie to read the swirling text.

Archie’s reaction to your thoughts was well hidden. He knew you two loved each other, but this hurt him just as much as it did Douxie. “...I love him, Corinth. I don’t know how I hurt him and I don’t know how to fix it, but I love him. He isn’t mine and he never will be, I know it, I do, so why does it still hurt so much?” The next bit made him breathe a laugh, but he realized that while it wouldn’t be easy to tell Douxie just how much you were both hurt by each other’s assumptions, it was just the proof he needed. Archie tugged the reluctant apprentice out into Merlin’s study.

Hisirdoux approached the mirror, looking back at Archie before he confronted the letters snaking down his collarbone. He twisted this way and that, heart falling to pieces over and over with every word.

He shifted his hood back into place, fluffing the collar to cast the letters in shadow. One look at Archie’s concerned face was all it took. He sank against the wall, gathering Archie into his arms and burying his face into his familiar’s side. Glistening tears wet Archie’s fur as the cat dragon purred loudly to offer comfort.

Hisirdoux’s breathing evened out. “Arch, what have I done? What can I do?” he whispered, clutching the familiar ever closer.

Archie placed a large paw on the boy’s chest, near his heart. “You can go after them. Tell them what you know.”

Douxie nodded after a beat and gathered himself, quickly walking out of Merlin’s tower and towards the western wing of the castle.

༓・༓・༓・༓・༓・༓・༓・༓

The king and his court mages piled into a carriage in preparation for the trip to the port where they’d depart to Spain for the royal summit. Merlin and Morgana sat next to each other and shared a look when the carriage lurched forward. Of course Merlin enlisted Morgana’s help, she’s a trusted source of chaos. He felt for the Crowlord’s aura in the tower and nodded to her once he confirmed Corbin was away. While Arthur was distracted, they sent their magic out. Tendrils of light bobbed, weaved, and merged to form two fluorescent lime balls. They floated around as if to get their bearings, then flew at the west tower. Nestled just below the ridge leading from the doorway was a sack of Dworkstone, its contents belonging to various trolls imprisoned in the castle dungeons. One ball started to vibrate just before it pushed to the center of the sack, starting the movement needed for a mother of an explosion The other flattened into a shield, curling itself around the sack. And they waited.

༓・༓・༓・༓・༓・༓・༓・༓

You were still curled on the floor, Corinth in your lap when the crows began to beat their wings against their cages. Corinth was panicked but managed to push what coherent thought she could into your mind.

“The door… danger... hurry…” She struggled, taking off out the window in a flutter of black.

You felt the disturbance, dread rising in the pit of your stomach. Scrambling to your feet, you barely managed to stand before a loud boom shook the tower. The shield swelled, Trollfire stretching the ward into the room. Your frantic hands undid locks and bonds as quickly as they could, ushering the crows to safety through the large window. The ward began to thin, crackles of green sparks coming undone as the fire fought against Merlin’s magic. You barely managed to throw the last crow out the window before the ward burst into a violent, moving wall of green flames.

You were pushed into the far wall, falling and splitting your brow on the cobblestone. All you could hear was ringing as your vision went white, slowly fading back to normal. You were trapped under the desk and a few chairs, too weak to lift them off. The screech of a hawk sounded far off as your hearing faded in and out. Fire blazed all around you, easily spreading along the hay bedding in the open cages. You coughed, smoke already in the air. Wait. It shouldn’t be this low yet, it’s only been a few moments since the explosion. You quickly sobered into a panic when you realized the wood piled on top of you was burning. Great. Now you were scared and disoriented. A perfect mix for getting out of sticky situations. The only thing to do now was wait.

Douxie could swear he felt his soul leave his body. He was on his way to tell you-- well, everything. You were his everything. He felt it before he heard it. The tingle of troll and human magic filled the air before a loud explosion shook the western tower. The western tower? Fuzzbuckets, you were on duty today! Crows flew from the open window, a whole murder blackening the sky for a few moments. They’d dispersed by the time he made it to the tower entrance. There was a small crowd a few paces back, Lancelot and another knight inspecting the swelling ward full of fire. Douxie pushed through the crowd just in time to see Lancelot raising his sword.

“No! Everyone run!” he screamed.

Lance was already going full swing when he heard it, looking back at Douxie in fear. Douxie grabbed the knight and made the best ward he could on short notice before the shield burst. They were all blasted backward, a few serfs’ tunics setting on fire. His dark hair was thoroughly windswept, his entire body frozen in shock on the ground. Lancelot might have been screaming, but Douxie couldn’t hear it. Blood dripped down his pale face, but Douxie couldn’t feel it. He could have been floating, his head was so light. Sure, his ears rang, his hands trembled, his chest heaved, but all he could feel was you. Your confusion, your panic. You were definitely inside. Douxie struggled to his feet and stumbled forward into the tower, ignoring Galahad’s voice yelling for him to stop.

If he wasn’t suffocating before, he sure was now. Douxie brought his hood to his mouth to filter some of the air and began searching for you. It wasn’t a very big room, but between the fire, smoke, and items strewn throughout, it was proving more difficult than he’d hoped.

You let out a groan, the table pushing splinters into your leg.

He whipped his head towards the source of the sound, hoping to catch a glimpse of movement. “Y/N?! Y/N, where are you?” he cried.

Weakly, you spoke through a great cough. “...Douxie? Is that you?”

He hurried to the large pile of wood and began tearing it apart. “It’s me, it’s me, love. Please be alright, please, please, please, you can’t die. You’re not going to die, love.”

Hisirdoux heaved the table off you just as you slumped to the floor. He lifted you by the arms with a mighty roar, dragging you towards the open doorway. Galahad and the knight from earlier ran to catch you both as Douxie slipped into unconsciousness.

༓・༓・༓・༓・༓・༓・༓・༓

Two days. You hadn’t stirred for two days. The sun shone softly through the long linen curtains. Your familiar was perched on the headboard, asleep. Douxie was sat up by your bedside, bandaged hands gingerly holding one of yours while Archie slept on your legs. The boy had gotten burned pulling the debris off of you. He hadn’t left your side, save when the castle nurses forced him to eat, bathe, and sleep. They knew him well, uncoordinated as he was, and it broke their hearts to see him look so tired although the past couple of days were the most rested he’d ever been. He was scared. Everything had gone downhill when he found out you were soulmates and he blamed himself.

“None of this would have happened if I’d just told you. You could have been away from the tower, safe with me. I was too afraid of losing you. All I knew was you loved someone else and I couldn’t let you guilt yourself into abandoning ‘him’ because we’re bonded. I was on my way to tell you, you know. I saw what you were thinking to Corinth and Archie convinced me to go after you. I-” his voice cracked, fresh tears coming to his eyes. “I love you, Y/N. I have long before I knew about the bond. I hurt you. I hurt us both. If only I wasn’t such a coward…” He was weeping now, head hung low and shoulders shaking. “I love you so much, and I still let this happen,” he stammered between quiet sobs. He brought your hand to his forehead, cradling it as if it was the most precious thing in the world. And to him, you were.

He jumped when your hand slowly withdrew from his. His head snapped up, and there you were. Sun shining behind you like a halo, your eyes glinting in a tearful smile. You wiped the tears from his cheek, just like he’d done to you with the unruly slorr all those months ago, and let out a yelp of surprise. Douxie had thrown his arms around you and buried his face into your shoulder.

“Doux! Your hair tickles,” you croaked, bringing your arms around him. He was crying again, just a little. His chest felt light. You were here. You were okay. Archie had woken when you jumped and was padding up to your face, pushing himself against your cheek. You sat up slowly when Douxie released you and patted the space next to you on the cot. He settled and looked up at you, eyes still sad.

“So, uh. How much of that did you hear?”

“Enough.” You cupped his face. “Douxie. I didn’t fall in love with a coward. I fell in love with the bravest, most selfless wizard in Camelot. Not to mention his adorable manbun. I love you too, Hisirdoux Casperan. Soul bond or not, I want to spend the rest of eternity with you.”

He brought his hand to yours, feeling the tiny curl trap blossom on the ring he made you. Gently, he took their hand in his, admiring the accessory. “Even after all I did, you kept it on.”

“And I don’t plan on ever taking it off,” you smiled.

He slowly removed the ring, taking hold of your left hand. His eyes were hopeful and a little scared when he looked up at you, fingers pausing. Tears welled up in your eyes.

“Promise?”

“With my whole heart, love.”

You placed your hand on the back of his neck, pulling him into a soft, loving kiss as he slipped the promise ring onto your finger.

༓・༓・༓・༓・༓・༓・༓・༓

Lance had lost his arm in the explosion but was rather excited about his new prosthetic. You two had healed as well, soon going back to work. Every time you passed one another, fingers brushed, kisses were stolen, and smiles were shared. The entire castle ended up hearing about how you two became so close, and soon enough, you were somewhat of a folk tale amongst the townsfolk. Now, every Christmas, soulmates exchange handmade gifts while sharing sweetbuns, now deemed a good omen for true love.

Even now, 900 years later, you’d hide your smiles as Arcadian couples surprised one another with things they’d made while ordering an eclair at Benoit’s. It’d been so long, but it seems some things stay the same, you and Hisirdoux included. Sure, you’d both grown in character, but around you, he was still the same lovesick fool he had been all those years ago. You still had your ring, which he’d embellished a bit on your wedding day. Douxie still thought about you as much as he did then. Today, while you were at your job at HexTech, you smiled adoringly at the words on your wrist.

“Your eyes are such a lovely color. Oh, how far we’ve come from clumsy accidents and runny ink. I love you, darling. More than you can ever know.”

#douxie #douxie x reader #soulmate au #x reader #hisirdoux x reader #hisirdoux casperan #hisirdoux casperan x reader #toa wizards #tales of arcadia wizards #wizards douxie #wizards archie #toa merlin #toa #idfk what tags to use man #furbleart #it counts #furblewrites #yayyy writing tag for all the ideas ive got but will probably never be done

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kyberphilosopher · 4 years

Text

Iɴ ᴛʜᴇ Nɪɢʜᴛ

“ Late night conversations always seem to hold more weight and teach you more about a person than you knew before. They seem to reach a deeper more truthful form of honesty than talking to someone during the day. “ Word Count: 3452 Requested: no. i just... seriously appreciate this character.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*

Sleep seemed to follow you around, but never catch you. You weren’t running from it, you weren’t even teasing it in some way. Hell, you were standing still and sleep was still trailing behind. So, if anything, it was the one teasing you.

It had no affect on your demeanor or travels. Your shots were just as precise as ever, your agility never wavering. While you may have felt sluggish, it was confined only to the inside, and your movements were as fluid as before. Your irises did not dull from exhaustion. Skin did not pale, throat did not dry. Food didn’t become ash, water was no more a necessity than it was before. It was all the same.

This bothered you more than if the lack of sleep actually took a toll on your life. If it had, that would’ve at least meant that it was possible for you to sleep. It meant that you had to sleep at some point. But with life going on the same, it left you to wonder if you were now bound to a life without some shut eye. It was like torture. No, it was torture.

“You alright?” Greez asked at breakfast. It was your fourth day without sleep, fifth night.

The Latero piles some yellow, scrambled food onto his plate heavily, looking up at you as his beady eyes. “I’m fine,” you assured as you took your own fill. It wasn’t as much as Greez’s, but that was okay. He was always hungry.

“You sure? I thought I heard some noises from your room,” he continues.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Alright, alright,” Greez says. One of his four hands waves you off as you take your plate and turn towards the table. “Just keep it down next time, eh?”

“Oh, I’ll do my best.”

You take a seat, your boots scuffing the floor slightly. Cal raises an eyebrow at you as his chewing comes to a slow. A few wisps of hair had fallen around your face with your movement, but that wasn’t what had intrigued him so.

“You were making noises last night?” Cal asked, his spoon half raised. His pale orbs were trained on you, pink lips flushed.

“I guess so,” you said, without looking at him. In truth, you had been messing with your sniper when a shock burned your finger and you knocked over your chair. While you prayed no one heard the commotion, it was clear the endeavor had failed.

You stuff your mouth with a big bite of the yellow stuff. It wasn’t Greez’s best work by any means, but it was hot and better than many other things you had eaten in your life.

You were a bounty hunter, hired to help Cere Junda and the Latero on their quest. It helped having extra ammunition and someone to help out in combat... and, of course, someone to be the deciding voice in arguments.

You didn’t care too much for their mission in the beginning. The Jedi Order was made up of a bunch of cruel and ignorant fools who were responsible for more taken lives than saved ones. But while you weren’t big on helping these people, you were big on the pay Cere offered.

Over time, you actually came to enjoy the pairs presence. Greez was fun to joke around with, and Cere had interesting stories. The both of them respected you for your quiet demeanor and efficient skills. When you ran into trouble, you were the defense. All was well.

Then Cal Kestis joined the crew. “Okay,” you thought. “A real Jedi this time, that’s fine.” And it was. You never really had a problem with each other- in fact, you found him quite attractive. You always had a weakness for redheads, of course. But the words spoken between you and the Jedi were always short and necessary, never for pleasure.

You weren’t sure why this was. He had saved your life several times, and you had saved him in turn. Even when you thanked each other sincerely, things felt stiff. Perhaps you were intimidated by him for what he was, or maybe he felt discouraged by you for what you had surely done in the past. Suppose it didn’t matter at all, and you were just forever destined to feel anxious about looking him in the eye.

“You sleep okay?” Cal further inquired, finally taking another bite. His eyes were still glued to you, taking in your profile. It was a very nice one, in his opinion.

“Yeah,” you quickly lied. “You?”

Cal looked up and down, from your lips to your upper lashes. He could sense you were lying, though he wasn’t sure to what extent. “Yeah,” he eventually said. “Yeah, I slept fine.”

You didn’t need to be a Jedi to feel that Cal was lying too. You met his eyes briefly, taking note of the multicolored flecks in the iris’s. It mesmerized you, their color. Somewhere between green and blue and grey. They were like their own little planets, circling in miniature orbits and glowing in white light.

Greez lumbers into his own chair. “I am starving,” he grumbles. One of his hands goes to reach for some spice, causing your eyes to snap away from Cal’s. “Mmm-mmm. You won’t believe what I’ve cooked up today.”

You loaded another bite into your mouth, glancing at Cal from the side.

He was no longer focused on you, instead shifting his eyes about food and Greez. Locks of his fluffy, orange hair fell out of place. His long eyelashes looked soft as he gazed down. Faint freckles faded in and out with the shadows. Little divots in his lips were like details of a painting.

“Well, thanks for breakfast, Greez,” he said.

“Course, kid.”

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*

Sleep continued to evade you for three more nights. Your normal mood did not budge nor falter, much to your silent frustration.

You felt more anxious around Cal than usual. Seeing him made something in your stomach spark and fly around, daring to escape your throat in a series of coughs. His eyes seemed more piercing, skin paler. Easier to catch your eye. His voice rang clearer, muscles seemed more noticeable. It was like he was standing out against your reality now, forcing you to see him.

This was no fault of his or yours, nor the lack of sleep. It was simply a fit of anxiety that impaled your air and haunted your thoughts.

You catch the wooden ball in your palm, then throw it back into the air. Laying with an arm behind your head and your other hand in the air, your muscles still feel tense. It wasn’t under the weight of your armor, but the weight of stress. You missed sleep so much. You missed dreaming.

The next time the ball is caught in your hand, you do not toss it upwards. Instead, the ungloved part of your thumb runs over it subtly. A sigh escapes you as you memorize the swirling pattern within. How could something so small and simple evolve into something so complicated?

Narrowing your eyes slightly, you let your fingers go lax. The ball floats up and away as if on invisible strings, setting itself somewhere on your desk. This did not faze you in the slightest, as it was something small you had been able to do since you were young.

You sit upright. Your eyes flit over to your door as a thought crosses your mind, daring you to answer it.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*

“Cal?” you ventured out softly. You did not wish to wake Greez or Cere as well. “I know your awake,” you said. You could feel his presence from the inside of his chest.

There’s a pause, then the crackling sound of a chair creaking up. Faint footsteps coming closer and closer... finally! The door whizzes open with a beep. Cal’s eyes widen slightly at the sight of you, his lips parting slightly. “You’re awake,” he observes, almost to himself.

You partly want to make a sarcastic remark, but your relationship truly isn’t comfortable to do that yet. “So are you,” you say in return. Your left fingers pick at its nails, chipping at the black polish.

Cal is still in his day attire. A hand rustles the harness on his chest, while the other arm leans against the doorway, above his head at the forearm. “Fair enough,” he says nervously, with a small smile and breath.

“I uh...” you look down, shuffling your boots. You can’t believe the words you’re about to force yourself to say. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“Ah, just having one of those nights, huh?” he says with another nervous breath.

“Yeah,” you mutter. “One of those nights.”

Cal has known somethings been off with you. He can recognize the signs of sleep deprivation, no matter how good you were at hiding it. He can’t remember how many nights he’s spent wide awake, thinking of his old life and his losses. Sometimes it would last for weeks at a time without stealing anything from him, which bothered him to the greatest amount.

Sleep was precious, though it seemed people like you and him were fated to live without it. It was somewhere between a cruelty and a blessing, resulting in a painful and cursed way to live for long periods of time.

“I guess I was just bored,” you began to say, though Cal started speaking at the same time.

“You want somebody to talk to?”

You locked gazes, butterflies fluttering around in your chest. There it was- the anxiousness. It was drumming inside the both of you now.

“Sorry I didn’t mean-”

“Sorry-”

Your eyes widen further.

Cal smiles softly, his own chest swelling. “Need someone to talk to?” he repeats kindly.

“I do,” you nod, your shoulders sinking with his politeness.

Cal moves out of the way, closing the door behind you as you look around. “Hey BD-1,” you say. The droid beeps and whirls around excitedly, bouncing between legs.

“Yeah, Buddy. I know,” Cal says. The droid gives a long beep in response, prompting a little smile to cross your lips. “It’ll only be for the night, BD. You can go back to sleep.” The droid whirs again before stilling himself.

“Sorry about him,” Cal offers as he turns to look at you with hands on his hips. “Just gets excited about visitors.”

“No, it’s okay,” you say sincerely. While the anxiety hasn’t left, your heart is warmed by the interaction between BD-1 and Cal.

Cal watches you silently for a moment, examining your details. Part of you is wondering if he can read your thoughts, while the other is concerned he’s mapping out how ugly you actually are.

He shakes his head, remembering himself. “Uh, you can sit anywhere,” he offers, gesturing around.

You glance behind you to Cal’s “bed”. A slab of metal with a comforter and blanket and a pillow, similar to your own. Upon sitting on it, however, you find that his is much comfier. It feels soft on your bum and you wonder how it would feel against the other muscles of your body, if you could get tangled up in it.

“Is something on your mind?” the Jedi asks curiously, his pale eyes gazing into yours. You can’t tell if it’s the shade or not, but they always look like they’re searching for something. No matter who or what they’re looking at. It was, in a word, mesmerizing.

Then you feel intimidated by him all over again. Cal was a Jedi. The Jedi were good. Your work as a mercenary... often led you down a different path. Cal made you feel guilty, even if he hadn’t done anything too obscene. You’d never killed a child, you’d never killed anyone who didn’t deserve to die. But Cal didn’t kill anyone at all- unless they were servants of the Empire, of course.

“Nothing,” you said instead, eyes wide to give away your lie. You felt so mesmerized and entranced with the person in front of you, intimidated and unworthy.

“So you’re up because of nothing?” Cal questions, fingers dancing at their spot on his hips. When you don’t answer, seemingly stuck in between the aquamarine flecks of his Cal’s eyes, he continues his dialogue. “And if I don’t believe you?”

You take control of yourself with a snap. “When have you ever known me to be a liar?” you joke nervously, hoping he doesn’t feel it. You let out a breathy sigh as you speak.

“Since the moment you came in here,” he says softly. And you think he looks like the most beautiful person in the galaxy.

You’re at a loss for words again, for multiple reasons.

“Can I ask you something?” Cal questions.

Now, it’s not a big deal to ask for permission to do something. Sometimes it’s just a minimal, polite line. But for you, in this particular instance, it means everything. He’s not just saying it to say it, or because it flows nicely. Cal Kestis is asking permission because he actually cares if you’re comfortable with what’s about to happen or not.

You nod without skipping a beat.

“What was your life like?” the boy asks. “Before the Empire?”

Cal’s eyes flit down to watch your hands ball into tight fists at your knees. Your sweaty palms burn with the friction. Life before the Empire...? Well, you were young when it came about.

“I was alone,” you start, looking down and averting your gaze. Nobodies really asked about your childhood before, and the fact that Cal has both asked for permission and the question is almost overwhelming. Such a subtle and simple amount of kindness from the right person, can sometimes grow larger than it should. “I guess I was born on Nal Hutta. I don’t really remember my parents or anything.”

“You were born outside the bounds of the Republic?” Cal asks, almost with disbelief. He steps forward once with urgency.

“Not everyone has the luxury of being born within it,” you say quietly.

“What about your parents?” the boy further speaks.

You take in a breath, your shoulders dropping farther. You look up to meet his gaze again, and you tell him, “I don’t know.”

Cal feels bad for asking. He knew it wasn’t any of his business, but he’d pushed anyway. He should not have brought it up.

The Jedi can feel your sadness creeping through you. It starts in your chest, right at your heart. From each of the strings, it moves outward like waves on a shore, slowly washing up and away. When it reaches your veins, it spurs faster, making your hands feel cold and your toes wiggle for warmth in your boots.

“I, uh...” Cal crosses to the bench next to his bed. It’s just to your right, closer to the door and surrounded by some shelves of trinkets. He sits down on it slowly, keeping his eyes away from yours out of guilt. “I didn’t know my parents either. If that helps.”

You peak up at him. A smile a little as you watch the nervous young man. “It doesn’t help, but thanks.”

Cal looks up at you, scared that you’re angry. But you’re smiling! Making a weak attempt at a joke! He lets his lips turn upwards as well, just as soft as your own.

“What about you?” you venture in return, attempting to ease the awkwardness away. “What was life like before the Jedi?”

Cal sighs out and leans forward, elbows on his knees as he thinks. Then he snaps back upright and moves his head slightly as he talks, in that cute little way that he does. “Can’t say I remember,” he says. “The Jedi took force sensitives when they were young so they could train them before it’s too late.”

“Too late?” you question. The memory of all the times you’d been able to push and pull things away from you pops into your mind, but you usher it away before you think about it too hard.

“Well, the theory is the older they are, the more difficult they’ll be to train.”

“And you? Were you difficult to train?”

Cal wouldn’t be surprised if someone described him as a brat in his youth, even if he had gone out of his way to avoid that. “I sure hope not,” he admits.

He snaps his head up after out of fear. His words are like a confession of some kind, and he feels more vulnerable than before. He feels more vulnerable with you now than anybody else, and it’s disturbing because you’re relationship has been so blocked up until this point.

He knows you feel it too, but you’re smiling softly again because you want to make him feel comfortable. Returning the favor to some degree. “I don’t think you were difficult to train,” you muse. “I bet you were a softie.”

Cal’s smile cracks through, and it’s the realest one he’s given in a while. “So what does that make you? A... a hard-y?”

Your face stills. Your eyes light up and sparkle as a big grin comes over you. The laughter falls from your lips, slipping past the fingers that raised to stop it. It’s musical and full of life, making anyone’s black and white picture of you illuminate like a rainbow and kaleidoscope.

The redheads smile gets bigger as he watches you. He likes seeing you laugh, and he likes knowing that he’s the one that’s made it possible. You look peaceful and true, even though it’ll only last a few seconds.

Your chuckle dies down soon enough, but Kestis still wishes it had lasted longer. “Maker, don’t ever use that word again,” you sigh out. Your head rolls back against the wall, giving the Jedi a good view of your throat and jaw.

“You’re a good man, Cal.”

Your tone is sincere, and your face is wiped clean as a show of honesty. You continue to gaze up at the ceiling before your eyes roll over to watch him. Cal glances down, and then back up at you. His throat feels dry and parched all of a sudden, for the warmth of your words has the ability to make everything else evaporate.

Cal’s big, broad shoulders heave up and down once before he speaks. “Am I?”

Your eyes twitch in curiosity, silently urging him to continue as he’s peaked your interest. Of course Cal was a good person. Probably one of the best there was. He was thoughtful and quiet, and had the ability to empathize with anything and everyone. Even when he doubted himself, his insight was valued and made clear.

Cal continues. “My master died because of me. If I had been better, maybe I could’ve saved him. And sometimes I just... I just think back on it. I get stuck in it. Then I can’t breathe.”

“I thought Jedi couldn’t have emotions,” you said stupidly, half to yourself.

“We’re not supposed to,” Cal admits. “But sometimes I just feel so-”

You cut him off, just as he’s about to say the word ‘angry’. “To have feelings is to be human, Cal.”

Cal shakes his head, which is still dropped down in disappointment, and the weight of it. “I’m supposed to be better than that.”

“Nobodies better than that, Cal. Truly. If they were, none of us would be here.”

Cal looks up to meet your eyes. The truth in them, the sincerity, the empathy is undeniable. Too many people in the galaxy spread hollow words as easy as air, and maybe you’re one of them. But these words aren’t hollow. You believe them. That’s just about enough credibility and kindness to make anybody woozy with disbelief.

“Don’t you ever wonder if you’re a good person, too?” he dares to ask. Another bold way of overstepping bounds, but it’s too late and full of darkness to stop either of you.

Cal feels the weight sink into your stomach. Your eyes drop again. “I think it’s a little late for me to wonder about myself at this point. I already have my answer.”

“I don’t think you’re so bad,” Cal says, without thinking. “I don’t think you’re so bad at all.”

When you look up at him again, it feels like the first time. It feels like what should’ve happened the first time. It feels steady and real, and like if you guys do it right, the time that you guys can fall in love for real. Cal would certainly like to. Would you?

You would. But not now.

“You’re not so bad either,” you promise softly. And for the next moment, Cal’s eyes don’t leave yours as you form your bond in the dead of night, this time in the right way.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*

@omg-we-really-doo @haztory @chokemeanakin @anakinswhore @fanficsforheartandsoul beonuwhg9utwr i can’t remember if this is everyone again. i should make a list.

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romiithebirdie · 3 years

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Epilogue for the Lost - Chapter 3

"Never fear, for I am here!"

That was the cheerful catchphrase of the children's television icon, All Might. When anything bad happened, All Might would arrive and save the day. He always won with a bright beam worn proudly across his face, radiating pure joy not only in the show but for children all over the nation who tuned in to watch him.

But for Toshinori Yagi it was a part of his past that he'd rather move on from. Living in solitude as a wealthy retired actor with only a few friends and family members made it difficult for him to genuinely smile nowadays.

Something he could still not grasp to this day;

He had everything.

Money, fame, properties and adoring fans all around the world.

Yet, his heart felt so hollow. Like somebody had reached in and torn in from his chest, discarding it like the useless piece of flesh it was.

If you asked him, he'd be surprised if he even still had a heart under his paper-thin skin.

During the last few years of his starring role as the smiling superhero, he had been involved in a major car collision that damaged his internal organs beyond repair. After months of surgeries and other frequent visits to the hospital, he had retired due to his declining health.

His adoptive father-figure Sorahiko Torino always made it a habit to visit frequently, though Toshinori himself preferred to stay in isolation. Far, far away from the prying eyes of his stern and no-nonsense father and his constant lectures about bad habits and whatnot.

Though he knew it was deeply childish, Toshinori still felt a rebellious thrill from aggravating Sorahiko just as he had done in his youth.

While Torino had always been known for his grumpy attitude, he took up to eleven after the incident involving his closest friend, Nana Shimura. Like Sorahiko, she had worked as a high-ranking member of the Police Force and had taken a squad to raid the hideout of a dangerous wanted criminal.

The notorious A.F.O killer.

He had been given that name due to the fact that all of his victims had the three initials carved into parts of their bodies.

However, it hadn't gone as planned and the entire building went up in flames. The majority of the squad had escaped with minor injuries, but Nana inhaled far too much smoke during her attempts at fleeing to safety which caused her to fall unconscious. Several hours later, she had passed away in the ER department.

It was a massive shock to everybody. Nobody could have seen it coming.

The criminal's body was never found or recovered, the authorities eventually pegging it down to have burned into nothing during the inferno due to the fact nobody had come forward with grievous burns in any of the hospitals in Japan.

A fitting way to end the life of such a cruel and evil man. Scorched into a smudge on the ground, leaving nothing but joy to the civilians who had feared for their lives during his spree.

While many would call it a horrifying end, Toshinori called it justice.

Losing Nana was truly a tragedy and both Toshinori and Sorahiko suffered badly with mourning the kind woman's death. While Sorahiko took to his study and spent many days and nights alone, Toshinori's behaviour grew more challenging and he had started fighting at school and in public.

He wasn't a bad kid.

He just hadn't known how to deal with his own grief. It made him feel hollow inside, like his heart was devoid of anything.

Nana Shimura was like a secondary parental figure to Toshinori. She would watch movies with him, take him and Torino out for long drives in the city and countryside while always proudly wearing a smile on her face.

The television hero All Might's constant beam was a complete homage to Shimura in every way.

If only she had been around to see him in his hayday…

Would she still be proud of him now?

Knowing how far he'd fallen.

Turning to drinking and not taking care of his health properly… Every time he'd cough up the coppery taste of blood from the back of his throat, he truly felt as if the Grim Reaper himself was slowly approaching, waiting for his final breath before tearing his soul and taking his spirit to the afterlife.

No. What he'd thought about Nana...

That wasn't true.

Nana would have never judged him. Back then and even now.

She was kind-hearted and had so much empathy, especially for somebody who worked in the field that she did. It was something Toshinori truly admired about the woman, other than her fierce passion for her work.

Glancing at the IV cord that was attached to his arm, he let out a deep sigh before heaving himself from his own hospital bed and beginning to hobble out of his private room. A coffee from the café downstairs sounded pretty good right about now…

Whisky would have been better but beggars couldn't be choosers.

.-.-.-.-.

Izuku rushed through the hospital entrance, clutching the leather straps of his backpack as his crimson shoes squeaked along the polished floor. He'd been given the brief details of what had happened at his apartment by the police officers after his mother had been taken away in an ambulance.

The kind officers had then given the teen a ride to the hospital where they had accompanied Izuku with getting the name of the ward where his mother had been taken. After giving a quick bow of thanks, Izuku had shot across the car park and towards the building at lightning fast speed.

From the looks of the ward names, it seemed his mother was on one of the higher floors so Izuku decided to take the elevator up; only to almost crash into a tall, blond haired man holding a steaming paper cup who was also waiting for the elevator doors to open.

"I'm so sorry!" the boy yelped, ducking his head while the blond chuckled, fondly shaking his head at the teen. Izuku noted the IV drip and was stricken with more guilt, so much so that he ignored an unpleasant feeling wash over him while being in close range of the stranger.

You nearly knocked a patient over, you complete idiot.

Ding!

As sweet as mercy, the elevator doors opened and the two entered with Izuku allowing the older man to go in first out of respect. It was the least he could do after almost barrelling into him.

"Why thank you, young man," Toshinori smiled, taking a sip of his coffee while watching Izuku fidget around the elevator buttons. He chose to step in, "I'm going to the fifth floor, my boy."

"Ah, that's great, I'm going up to the ninth."

Izuku pressed the buttons and stepped back, feeling the weight of the floor lift underneath his feet. For a few awkward seconds, nobody said a word until a familiar, unwanted chill blew into the boy's face.

He knew it all too well.

They wanted to communicate with him again.

The tiny space of the elevator only did more to trigger an overwhelming feeling of utter claustrophobia, it felt like the silver reflective walls were closing in on him. Izuku suddenly wanted nothing more than to shrink into himself and cower away with his face covered.

Please go away.

Izuku's desperate emeralds met with Toshinori's dull blue, the two immediately connected as the teen bit back a choked gasp that he tried to fight. Foggy imagery immediately began taking over his senses as the familiar raven-haired lady held onto the blond's shoulders like she was embracing him.

No, no, no.

Izuku was seeing them once again, just like all the other times.

Usually he'd see them in short-timed wisps like the smoke of a dead candle flame. A few whispers in his ears and cold spots but nothing as humanoid as what he was seeing now.

He immediately reached for his bag and fumbled around for the zipper, shakily trying to fight against the fabric trapping his zip in the same position. Upon ripping it open, not caring whether or not he'd broken the lining, he began frantically raking through the contents inside.

Where was that damned medication?!

Various whispers combined into one ghostly chorus entered his ears, making them ring like a loud case of tinnitus as he stepped back, trying to compose himself.

"Tell him. Please. Tell him."

"Please," Izuku pleaded as he squirmed, hand darting out and snatching the blond stranger's striped pyjama sleeve. They wouldn't leave until he did what they asked, "She says she's proud. N-never think otherwise."

Toshinori's mind screeched to a complete halt as he whirled around completely on the teen holding onto him, "What?" he spluttered, not quite sure he'd heard what had just come out of the kid's mouth properly. Surely he'd misheard?

"She's proud," Izuku squeezed his eyes shut, as if speaking the words pained him. "Nana says she'll always be proud of you."

Toshinori turned his head around so fast, Izuku's own neck ached at the sight.

Finally, he spoke; "How do you know Nana?"

"I don't," Izuku wavered, glancing at the ghostly hands clutching the thin fabric covering Toshinori's shoulders. "But she said you knows you."

Knows? The older male frowned, unsure of what that even meant.

"Let me rephrase," Toshinori's grip on his IV tightened, a small wave of nausea threatening his weak body as he tried to steady himself. "How could you know something like that?"

The words that had come out of the kid's mouth were enough for him to pray for the doors to open;

"Because she's standing behind you and telling me what to say."

As if by magic, the elevator doors opened and allowed the blond to shuffle out of the small space at the fasted speed he could. In silence, Toshinori dragged his IV along with him while keeping his gaze fixed on the boy.

As the doors began to close, he finally chose to speak again suddenly finding his voice, though it was barely coherent;

"What's your name, kid?"

"Izuku," the greenette answered immediately, "Izuku Midoriya."

"Toshinori Yagi," the blond responded, just as the twin doors shut and cut off their sight of one another.

Toshinori set his cup down and covered his mouth, muffled exhales echoing down the empty corridor as he attempted to compose himself.

Did that really just happen?

.-.-.-.-.

"Mum!"

Previous issues with his unwelcome undead buddies immediately dropped the moment he saw her. The teen dropped everything and launched himself forward, sliding to a halt beside his eerily still mother. The heart monitor beeped slowly, duetting with Inko's raspy gasps for air from her oxygen mask.

"Izuku?" Inko croaked, her face ghostly pale as she shakily attempted to lift her head from the pillows supporting her. Izuku immediately grabbed her hand tightly, fearful of letting her go.

"What happened?" he stressed, trying to force down the hard lump in his throat. He couldn't cry in front of her. She needed him to be strong.

"A man," she whispered, gently giving his hand a squeeze, "red eyes. He knew about Mitsuki, said I deserved it."

"Deserved it?" Izuku repeated, dumbfounded. Deserved what? His mother had nothing to do with the Bakugou tragedy…

"He knocked me down a-and did this," she used her free hand to shakily imitate stabbing motions. Her eyes welled up and Izuku fought back his own tears at seeing his mother so broken. "Tried to start a fire in the lounge b-but couldn't, the neighbours heard the commotion and he ran away."

Inko heaved out roughly, each breath sounding painful as she shifted slightly, wincing every now and again while the monitor beeped beside her.

"I'm sorry, Izuku," she whispered, mother and son's eyes meeting before she began closing them slowly. "I'm so sorry."

"Mum?" Izuku released her hand and gave her a few gentle nudges. She moaned softly, streaks of tears lined down her cheeks as her chest slowly rose and fell.

She was alive. Injured but alive.

The teen pushed himself away and slowly made his way out of the ward, feeling like his head was filled with cotton wool. The second the doors to the ward shut behind him, he allowed himself to break down, sobbing quietly against one of the off-white walls of the long and empty hospital corridor.

Who could have done this?

His mother was the most gentle soul he had ever known, rarely raising her voice or getting angry. Why had somebody attacked her?

The mystery person was wrong; his mother didn't deserve what had happened to her.

Izuku thought back to what the police had explained to him, about the attacker. According to the report made, he had mentioned Mitsuki Bakugou. Which was not only confusing but odd too.

Then there was that weird guy with the unusual red eyes back in his neighbourhood, he was wearing a hoodie so his hair was completely concealed. His mother had mentioned red eyes hadn't she?

Izuku only knew one person with that rare eye colour and then there was another thought playing on his mind;

Who truly knew Mitsuki Bakugou besides the Midoriya Family?

Aside from…

"Kacchan?"

#my writing #epilogue for the lost #bnha fanfiction #mha fanfiction #my hero academia fanfiction #bnha #izuku midoriya #all might #dfo #afo is hisashi midoriya #inko midoriya #dad for one

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45paperplates · 3 years

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More about Olivia Rodrigo: On her Lyrics

Starting some time in 2018 or maybe a little earlier, Olivia Rodrigo began to play original songs, or more often pieces of songs, one verse and a chorus, apparently unfinished, for her followers on Instagram Live. She was about fifteen at the time, although one of the more complete songs (“Naive Girl”) can be confirmed to date back to 2014 or 2015, when she was twelve years old. I began to listen to these songs, all but one of which are available to hear conveniently compiled into a single twenty-five minute Youtube video, when my appetite for her music was only beginning to grow to its present size, after I had listened to the album on repeat for a good three or four days straight. They are the kind of thing only obsessive fans can really gush over, something akin to Bob Dylan’s early Minnesota Hotel Tape from 1961: badly recorded and casually created by a young artist who never intended them to be anything more than they are, a fun and easy way to show off their talent at a time when a wellspring of inspiration was already pouring forth with no better available outlet.

youtube

These little pieces, however, establish finally for sure what a major label pop debut with other ambitions, no matter how special it may be, can only hint at, which is that something within her is driving a preternatural attention for detail, currently unmatched in it’s free naturalism, imaginative power, and consistency, only possibly consistent as a result of its being deeply possessed and long established, despite her youth. I have already touched on what I think that something may be in my first post about her. But whatever it is, it is immediately apparent in her performances here, an instinct that had already cemented deeply considered vocalization as her default, as a simple creative necessity, although a few of the earliest recordings have added even another layer of Broadway-like drama that has since been stripped away, I am guessing as a result of the nascent growth of some level of creative confidence.

Songwriting, then, is to some degree shown to be a third result of that engrained ability, after said holistic sincerity and its resultant vocal intuition, and yet a good chunk of the songs are lyrically composed as well with a just as holistically sincere and intuitive affect, presenting very well-understood conundrums, pared down to koan-like solids one would think by years of rumination. A few are, I would dare to say, more tightly constructed and figuratively multivalent than the songs on her album, many of which share their succinctness but not the violently prismatic irony that seems to be able to overpower the sincere creative drive that gave it life in its brightest inspired flashes. “drivers license” in fact excels by flattening that figurative prism into a simpler and more benign shape, allowing the casual listener to both easily understand and retain some wisp of hope in the end, even if it is only implied.

I would not be so stupid as to claim that Olivia intended these best-written of her unreleased bedroom productions to be metaphysical poems somehow toeing the line between classical balance and baroque terror in their meditation on the reciprocal quality of human sin. That would be silly, not because I don’t think a teenager is capable of such a thing (teenagers have, in fact, always been capable of making high art) but because these few songs focus on themes common to all of her songs: teenage insecurity, uncontrollable jealousy, and betrayal both social and self-inflicted. The depth of her imagery comes instead, I think, from an intuitive understanding of where the cultural meat of an issue lies, and when she writes a song her drive craves and so aims for power and gets rid of whatever there is that lacks it. Perhaps working with a co-writer somewhat slows that drive.

youtube

“Pretender” is a song about being “fake” and how it works both outwardly and internally. It’s personification, the “pretender” of the title, is accused, envied, pitied, and ultimately, understood. It moves through four key lines.

Pointing her finger at this automaton, about whom she alone knows the truth, Olivia first wishes vindictively,

If only they knew what I knew.

But then, now envious of the figure, she prays,

I wish I knew what you knew.

Maybe as a result of these two contradictory desires, she is forced to admit with regret that the pretender can only be a fantastic image rather than a full person, a strawman created by her mind to both embody her sublimated desire and reflexively maintain her own superiority when it goes unfulfilled:

I created you to be plastic and deadly.

Finally, in a relentlessly logical conclusion, she must admit, as the construction falls to pieces, that this is obviously all about herself:

I created you to hide my own envy, ... Maybe I’m a pretender like you.

With her catalog in mind, the canonical interpretation is pretty obvious. The pretender is someone who is perfect and happy and Olivia is jealous of that. By the guilt left in the wake of her accusation, she realizes, indeed it should have been quite apparent from the start, that perhaps the person who seems to be happy is actually not happy. She perceives by juxtaposition that maybe others see her, Olivia, the same way, and in a sinking conclusion, perfect happiness, the other’s and hers as well, is shown to be only truly possible in image and never in the fullness of experience. It is a song about the difficult process of empathy and its bitter personal rewards. This interpretation prevails in Youtube comments, specifically in reference to her other songs about the jealousy encouraged by social media. “I’m happy for them, but then again, I’m not.” Maybe Olivia’s own fun and carefree public-facing presence is just as false?

The genius behind this songwriting, however, is that this other person does not need to exist for the song’s structure to function. This is by design, no doubt; she could very well be speaking only to herself the entire time. If Olivia is pretending too, as the final line suggests, then why could she not have been the pretender all along? Indeed, how else could Olivia be the only one who knows “the truth” about this figure in the first place? A personal struggle with identity, that is the meat of it all.

Her first wish for the pretender’s exposure is based in personal remorse, for lying to the world about who she really is. That her own social facade might be justly but violently forced open to expose the truth would be a painful but cathartic release. She makes her second wish as she recoils in the face of such an embarrassing prospect, hoping against reason that maybe it’s somehow all avoidable, that by abandoning any loyalty to the truth and to herself altogether she might in fact achieve the paradise that the pretender affects, soulless but free of the pain of having a soul too. Third is the realization that this is evil, that her desire is sinful, both grotesque and inhuman (“plastic”), and cruel (“deadly”). Fourth and last she can no longer pretend that her original finger-pointing isn't itself the result of this same worldly desire, as narcissistic an attempt at personal redemption as the outward facade is itself. Insecurity and jealousy, no matter how embarrassing or ugly, no more compose an understanding of identity than any more knowingly-constructed and performative self-image, and are just as self-serving in their own twisted way.

So in this song she is deconstructing herself, from outward composure to cryptic narcissism, shattering layer after layer in an alarmingly accelerating regression. Unfortunately, all that is left in the end is what she has done after what she is—performatively, emotionally, intuitively—has fallen away, specifically the intended result of the accusation she threw at the pretender to begin it all: once again, guilt. What else but guilt is exposed now to be the substance left of the human individual? For Olivia, deep down at least, guilt is always the together creator and eraser of human pleasure, the identity that is desire, and the only thing that fears the emptiness that would be left without it.

That a teenager could write such a penetratingly self-critical work is of course impressive, but the fact that guilt, desire, pleasure, happiness, identity, and fear are shown ultimately to be one and the same generative source is far more exciting. Here she exposes the potential versatility of her created and creative ability, that in maturity this raw power without singular definition could be manipulated into many other things completely new, things only Olivia and not I can imagine now.

#Olivia Rodrigo #sour #drivers license #pretender #hsmtmts #bootlegs #bob dylan #metaphysics #john donne #existentialism #pop music #catholic guilt #taylor swift #lorde #billie eilish

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buttmano · 4 years

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Halloween w/ Spain

Request: "63. "I’m the tall, dark stranger your parents warned you about” with spain"

Rating: Smut/Lemon, Halloween

Smut Tags: Female Reader, Slightly Intoxicated, Size Difference

The music of the party thumped through your body, allowing you to feel the bass in your chest. Lights flashed in sync and you moved your hips hoping you were keeping the beat like the lights were. Your friends were off getting more drinks and left you on the dance floor much to your relief. The last thing you wanted to do was try to exit the dance floor and then try to reenter. With all the moving bodies around you it was obvious that task would be almost impossible.

Your slutty version of Minnie Mouse was quite a hit and gave you exactly the attention you were trying to get. Eyes scanned up and down you, boosting your ego with each look you got. Eventually, your thighs burned from dancing too much and you left the dance floor in search of your friends. The large house that was hosting the party was fun to look at and take in all the intricate, fancy details that your cheap apartment didn’t come close to boasting.

As you were wandering down a hallway you took a moment in your fuzzy tipsiness to pretend that you were a woman of importance, a princess, a queen, a total badass, the specifics didn’t matter. The fading of the music helped immerse you into your vague fantasy, the clicking of your heels on the marble floor feeding into your boosted ego. As you wandered you realized this wasn’t exactly a large house, it was a full blown mansion. The pillars in the hallway, the ridiculous staircases, the almost laughable statues. It was better to see in the hallways rather than the huge dance room most of the party was confined to.

You rounded a corner and gasped when you bumped into the chest of someone, “Oh, I’m so sorry.”

A warm smile on an even warmer face greeted you, “Ah, it’s fine. What might you be doing all the way over here, away from the party?”

“I was just...wandering...,” you admitted sheepishly, fearing you weren’t supposed to be over in this part of the estate, “who are you?”

The brunet man grinned and for a moment you noted that the prince outfit he was wearing fit him almost too well, “I’m the tall, dark stranger your parents warned you about.”

He leaned down towards you, hand resting on the wall next to you. You pulled your lip in between your teeth and appreciated how well the man in front of you smelled. The small amount of alcohol in your system took hold and your face turned into a grin as you leaned up towards him, “Well I don’t think they warned me enough.”

Your comment caused a hearty laugh from him and you almost felt yourself go weak in the knees, “You, my dear, may call me Antonio.”

“I’m Y/N”

A hand reached for yours and brought it to his lips. Your cheeks heated up and you held your breath. How dare this attractive man make you so flustered?! His lips were warm on your hand and you half wished he would have kept them pressed to your skin. After a moment you let out the breath you were holding and returned the smile that he was giving you.

“We should... We should get back to the party.”

Antonio smirked and shrugged, “I’m sure they won’t miss me while I entertain a gorgeous lady. How about I take you on a tour of the house?”

“A tour? Are you sure the owner won’t mind?”

“Hmm, I’m positive he wouldn’t mind.”

He began to walk down the hall in the direction you had been heading and you scurried after him in your heels, “How can you be so sure?”

Antonio paused and looked back at you over his shoulder with a bright smile, “Because I am him.”

The look of bewilderment on your face almost made him laugh, but he refrained. You two continued to walk as he pointed out the movie theater, the gym, the indoor pool, the outdoor pool. As you two continued you allowed yourself to wonder how someone who looked as young as Antonio could own such a house. Perhaps he inherited it? Oh! Or maybe he was an inventor? Anyways, he was attractive and rather funny and the way his large arm felt draped around your shoulders felt nice.

After your tour was done Antonio looked down at you, “So, do you want to go back to the party?” he paused for a moment, “Or would you maybe like a more intimate tour of the master bedroom?”

“Bedroom,” the choice was easy and you happily turned back around to face the direction you just came from.

Your eagerness made Antonio laugh and he walked briskly back towards his room, making you nearly jog to catch up with him. Giggles and laughs left both of you and the second his bedroom door closed you were both feverishly kissing each other. His hands wandered up your curves and easily spread over a large amount of your body at one time. Your lips trailed down from his lips to his neck, determined to leave hickeys on his gorgeous skin.

Antonio easily lifted you from the ground, your legs wrapping around him as he carried you across the huge room. His hands gripped your ass and he boldly used your body to grind you against him. Your lips only parted from his skin to let out a quiet moan. Gently, he laid you on the bed and without a word he knelt on the floor and pulled you closer until your ass was even with the edge of the bed. You laughed softly before he slowly pulled your thong off, smirking at the fact that you wore one underneath your skimpy little skirt.

One of his large fingers ran up and down your slit and you sighed, leaning your head back onto the bed. If Antonio had been sober, he probably would have teased you until you were begging desperately for him to do more. But alas, he was also a bit tipsy and therefore couldn’t help but immediately dive in. His tongue now ran up your slit, collecting some of your wetness on his tongue and happily lapping it up. A thick finger slid into you as his mouth wrapped around your clit, sucking gently.

You muttered a curse as a hand wandered down to tangle in his thick, luscious locks. His free hand wrapped around your thigh, pulling you even closer to his face. A second finger joined the first inside of you and already you could feel a pleasurable stretch in your nether regions. His mouth was skilled and as he easily worked at your clit while curling his fingers in you he relished in the sounds of your heavy pants and moans. Antonio was determined and within ten minutes he had you gasping, your hips going into spasms as you were dangerously close to your climax. Just as you were about to both warn him and possibly pull him off of your pussy, Antonio doubled down and quickened his movements, easily sending you over the edge.

After you came down you saw Antonio grinning stupidly, now shirtless and a condom laying next to you. Carefully, he began to take your costume off as he kissed you roughly. Once your tits were bare Antonio wasted no time and began to play with them, loving how the action made you squirm and grind yourself against him. Again, had he been sober he would have teased you and called you playful pet names, but for now, he was lucky he wasn’t blackout drunk. Once he had his fill of your boobs, and once they were successfully covered in hickeys, he tugged his pants off and finally joined you on the bed, moving you to lay in the middle of the big mattress.

While kissing you again Antonio opened the condom and rolled it on before slowly pushing into you. Both of you groaned in unison and his large body easily hid all of you beneath him. His elbows rested next to your shoulders as his hands ran through your hair, his hips slowly thrusting in and out, dragging his cock along your walls. Occasionally he dipped down to kiss you again and you briefly noted how soft yet rough this man above you was. Perfectly contradicting.

You whined his name and lifted your hips up to meet his, silently pleading for him to do more to you. And he listened. His rhythm quickened and more importantly, became harder. His cock pushed in and out of your walls, the stretch nearly making you squeal in pleasure. The sounds your body made as they collided made your cheeks heat up, but ultimately it was so lewd it just turned you both on more. Hands grabbed at his back, nails digging into his skin while your legs wrapped around his waist as much as they could.

Antonio was moaning in your ear, your name falling from his mouth every now and then as his hands gripped your shoulders, allowing him to thrust even faster. Until one of his hands left to once again stimulate your clit between your bodies. His other hand now slid under your shoulders, effectively holding onto both your shoulders. Antonio was desperately trying to hold his climax back so you could at least cum right after he did. Though if he were to be honest it was hard, you looked so gorgeous sprawled out beneath him and moaning his name that it was difficult not to cum right then and there.

Your thighs tensed around his waist and his fingers did what he was hoping for - within minutes you were once again calling out his name while climaxing. He groaned as he felt your pussy clench around his cock and he finally let himself go as well. You wish you could have burned the image of Antonio’s orgasm face into your mind as you felt his cock twitch inside of you, filling up the condom.

For a moment, Antonio stilled, and you both caught your breath, your legs untangling themselves from the taught body above you. Then Antonio slowly pulled out with a quiet moan and left the bed. He discarded the condom and pulled a pack of baby wipes out of his night stand. You laid on the bed looking at the ceiling as your chest still rose and fell heavily. After a moment the pack of wipes came into view as he wordlessly offered you one. Sitting up, you took one and it served its purpose.

Antonio crawled underneath his covers and he was happy when you did the same. You figured hell, you two just had sex so you earned the right to stay the night. If he really wanted to kick you out he’d have to drag you. The wisps of hair on his chair made your thighs clench and you sighed, ignoring the horny thoughts to instead cuddle next to him.

“My parents should have warned me more.”

A deep laugh came from your partner and he rubbed at your shoulder, “I have to admit, I’m glad they didn’t.”

#hetalia #aph #axis powers hetalia #hetalia axis powers #axis powers ヘタリア #quetalia #reader insert #halloween #character x reader #hetalia x reader #x reader #smut #hetalia smut #lemon #aph spain #antonio fernandez carriedo

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janekfan · 4 years

Note

trying to think of a good prompt bc um. i love ur writing so much and looove some good angst/beating up jarchivist... do u have a take on the classic ‘i really loved you, you know’ possible misunderstanding (jon thinks martin doesn’t love him like that anymore, beats himself up about it & tries his hardest to respect what he perceives as martin’s boundaries/to not make him uncomfortable w the love he doesn’t think he wants from him anymore for reasons he can only guess at, tries to hide the toll everything is taking on him, martin thinks jon just saved him from the lonely bc he’s Jon, still thinks jon doesn’t feel that way about him, doesn’t let himself reach out for the comfort/contact he still needs & maybe has another scary brush with the lonely? cue self deprication mutual pining angst misunderstanding awkwardness distance maybe some tears! but then like. communication and realization and comfort and love love love?)???!

@transcendentalbf Thank you so much! It’s missing some detail but I hope it’s okay!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26803027

He doesn’t want to see you.

Jon looked down at their hands, clasped tightly together in his lap as Martin slept against his bony shoulder. It couldn’t possibly be comfortable. It couldn’t. That was never a descriptor applied to Jonathan Sims. He worried at Martin’s fingers with his own, rubbing warmth back into them though he had none to spare. They were headed to Scotland. To a safe house, if anything could be called safe these days with eyes all around and everywhere and watching, watching, watching.

He doesn’t want to see you.

That’s alright. He wouldn’t have to. Jon would deliver him, protect him, do whatever he needed as long as it kept Martin here with him. He didn’t need anything more than that and while Jon was quite possibly the worst liar in the whole of the population, he would make sure he didn’t take anything more than that. Selfish and monstrous and Martin had to suffer his company. He couldn’t ask for more. He couldn’t ask for more because he was too late.

I really loved you, you know?

And he hadn’t, he really, really hadn’t. Not until it was too late. And now.

Loved.

Loved

He'd taken too long, and maybe that foolish part of him always thought Martin would wait until--

Until when?

It was too late to love him because there wasn't much left of him to love. He wasn't worth it. Not anymore. Maybe not ever. Jon pressed a secret, trembling kiss to the top of his head. He’d committed so many crimes, what more harm could it cause to add one more to the list?

But he wouldn't abandon him again. Not for anything. And he would keep his own love a secret so Martin wasn't burdened with guilt. He could do so little for him, but he could do that.

“Up you come, Martin.” The train lurched to a stop.

“...Jon?” Exhausted and cold, wisps of fog clung to his hair, escaped his mouth with a sigh. It was like an infection, the Lonely. It would take time to recover. Lucky that. They didn’t have much more than time at the moment.

“Hm.” Jon hummed his assent, staggering under Martin’s taller, heavier bulk until he managed to get his feet under him. “Good, good. You’re doing so well.” The praise was clumsy, foriegn on his tongue and ill fitting in his mouth. Martin didn’t seem to notice, just shivered where they stood, and it was a relief. Cajoling, tugging, Jon got him off the train, bad leg beginning to buckle under their combined weight and he grit his teeth against the pain and pressure. “I know the way.” Voice light, Jon trudged forward, limp agonizing, slow, and they were a pair of ants scuttling up the hill under cover of darkness.

Finally, Martin was tucked up in bed, every spare blanket Jon could find piled on top of him, and he even got a glimpse of tired eyes before he lost him to sleep. Sinking to the floor, Jon tugged at his curls, distracting himself from the ache in his hip with a different sort of pain but with nothing else to focus on save for the slow inhale, exhale of Martin’s peaceful breathing, Jon couldn’t do much else other than endure. An exhausted sentinel trapped with his own spiraling thoughts.

He’d meant it. In that moment surrounded by fog and mist and menace, he meant it. He wanted more than to just survive. He'd known nothing but raw survival for what seemed like an eternity. He wanted so much more for the first time.

And he'd thrown away his chance.

Too hot, Martin shoved at the covers, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and staring up into unfamiliar rafters. The last thing he remembered was the smell of salt and the sound of the sea, wrapped up in a cloud’s soft, cloying embrace. It had been gentle there and he’d been there long enough that being so present, here and now, was overwhelming. There was an echo of a hand in his, smaller, fine boned and familiar. Pulling. Dragging. Leading. Him out of that place.

Jon.

Where was Jon?

Martin sat up, swinging his legs out of the bed and finding clean clothes laid out on the end of it. The scent of strong tea lingered in the pleasantly warm air and he followed it to the small kitchen, the familiar figure doing the washing up loosening the knot tied around his heart. He was here. He was safe. They were safe. At least for a little while.

“Jon.” The naked relief flooding through his veins was embarrassing, the little jump of surprise he’d caused endearing

“M’Martin!” Turning swiftly, Jon almost lost his footing, catching it quickly, mouth quirked in a half smile. “You, you look so much better.”

“I feel better.” Surprised when he found it was really true. A beat of silence passed between them, Jon growing more and more uncomfortable if the caginess about him said anything.

“Oh! Uh! Th’there’s tea. It, I’m sure it’s not as good as yours, it couldn’t possibly be.” He made room for Martin to pass by, jittery and shaking. “I’m sorry, I. Wasn’t sure what you’d want to eat but there’s some--”

“Jon.”

“--Nothing in the fridge of course but--”

“Jon.” With a little more force, punctuated by a step forward, and Martin heard his teeth click when his jaw snapped shut. “I’m sure whatever we have is fine.”

“Ah. Alright. Yes. Of course.” He wrung his scarred hands, something unidentifiable in his expression. “I’ll. I. Of course.” Jon practically fled the room, skirting Martin as if his touch might hurt him, and the ache it left in his wake was debilitating. But Martin had pulled away from him for a whole year; it was no wonder Jon didn’t want anything to do with him. He was altruistic. He saved people because that's what he did and he’d be the first to deny it.

So of course he’d saved Martin.

It wouldn’t do to attribute it to reciprocated feelings. Martin could barely remember what he’d said in the Lonely, what he’d said to Jon. But it felt like a confession. Was that the problem?

Did he Know his infatuation? Was he disgusted that someone like Martin dared love him?

Martin poured his tea, savoring it because of whose hands made it and found Jon in the sitting room, curled up with a book in an overstuffed chair.

“It’s good.” Jon chuffed, laughter like music.

“You’re too kind.” And the wry tone was so familiar and so Jon Martin chuckled along with him. They fell into a comfortable silence, at a comfortable distance.

And this was enough. Martin would make sure it was enough.

When Jon insisted on taking the couch because it wasn’t like he slept much anyway, that was enough too.

Days passed.

Jon withdrew.

Skittish and wan. A ghost skirting the edges of Martin’s periphery, and he wanted so badly to hold him close, ease his trembling, help him find even a measure of peace if there was any left to be found.

Jon thought he could do this. Thought he was strong enough to at least give Martin this one, small thing but the profound ache of what he’d lost without even knowing he’d had it in the first place carved him out and he hugged himself tighter lest his useless heart fall from the gaping wound that was his ribcage. Raw and empty, he wasn't strong enough to hold himself together against the sheer amount of love in him with nowhere to go and it was tearing him apart.

It’s only you. It’s only you. It’s only you.

When it overcame his childish sand castle walls, eating through them like the hungry surf in all directions, from all sides, Jon let the tears come. Quiet. Be quiet. Shh, shh, shh.

But I love him. I love him. I love him.

It wasn’t fair.

“Jon?” You idiot, he needs to rest and look what you’ve done. Selfish. Stupid. Please. “Please what, Jon? How can I help?”

“N’no, no. Go, go back to bed, y’y’you need to--” a sob choked him and he couldn’t finish speaking, could barely breathe, drowning in an unfamiliar want. Fingertips touched his jaw, applied pressure to lift his face and the look in Martin’s eyes stole the rest of the air in his lungs. “I love you.” He slammed his palms over his traitorous mouth, curling forward and inadvertently into Martin’s waiting arms and he was too weak to resist, instead babbling, crying, words night unintelligible. “I love you! And I, I know. I know y’you don't feel the same and I'm too late but. But I want in a way, in, it's frightening how much and I'm afraid I'll do s’something foolish when, when all I, I, I want to d’do is keep you safe.”

“Breathe, Jon. Breathe, it’s alright.”

“I've. I've t’tried to give you space. And. A’and not. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I've. I shouldn't have said anything and I'm so, s’so sorry.”

“Hush now, hush and look at me. Look at me, Jon.” Demanding carefully, and Jon turned to him like a worn and weathered bloom seeking out the sun. Martin immediately, desperately wanted to fold him back up again, touch him softly, kindly, because no one has done that for him in so long. Gently, Martin swept his thumbs beneath red eyes wrung with dark shadows, brushing away tears even when they showed no sign of stopping. “It’s alright, shh. It’s alright.” It’s not. It wasn’t alright and Jon shook his head, stiffening in his arms when Martin pressed him into his shoulder.

“M’sorry, m’sorry, M’Martin.” Greedy, never content with what was offered, always had to take. To take and take and take and he took more now, leaning heavily into Martin, pressing as close as possible, winding his arms around his waist and clutching his jumper.

“Okay, okay. Why did you think I needed space?” Soothing, his broad palm weighed heavy on his back, up, down, repeated. “Why so sorry?”

“I. I--you. Loved me.” Saying it like this was torture, a knife twisting in his gut. he never wanted to hear it again. He could. He could pretend. If he never heard it again. “And I. I never knew. Not until it was too l’late.”

I really loved you, you know?

You know?

Jon was exhausted. Upset and aching. Completely limp in his arms and so confused. Why hadn’t he pushed him away? He wasn’t obligated to keep holding Jon together. Especially not after he’d fallen into so many pieces.

“Jon. I think.” Martin hummed, lips close to his ear, breath a slow warmth against the shell of it. “I need to make something clear.”

“You don’t need to do anything.” Jon closed his eyes, stray tears slipped between damp lashes. “I understand.”

“I’m not sure you do.” Sweetly, Martin cupped the back of his head, brushed a kiss to his pulsepoint. “Because I do love you.”

“You don’t, you don’t have to say that.” Shaky, small.

“I do.” Martin pushed him back by the shoulders only to press their foreheads together. “I do. I love you, Jon. In the Lonely, I. It’s not important. Not right now.” Martin leaned back, bringing Jon with him, tucking him under his chin. “I love you. I’m excited that you love me too.” Muffled in a tight throat still choked with too much emotion.

“I think I’ve loved you for a long time, Martin.” Chaste, gentle, he pressed a kiss to the corner of Jon’s mouth, smiling when his lips turned up beneath his own.

“And I’m so glad for it.”

#TMA #The magnus archives #jmart #jonmartin #mutual pining #unrequited love #kinda #they're foolish #tmafanfic #love #first kisses #jon sims #martin blackwood

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wallwriterstuff · 4 years

Note

If you're available I would love to see a Twilight request! The reader has a one or two year old child. She falls asleep with the child in a nearby playpen napping as well. Edward, Jacob or Emmett(Or even the Cullen family returning home from a hunt) arrive and find the child awake, out of their playpen, face covered with marker marks and in the process of coloring sleeping mom's legs. Thank you so much in advance!💖💖

So this took a while because I really struggled to think of a way to write this at first, but I finally got an idea I was happy with because it combines a cute request with some quality Emmett and Rosalie fluff! I hope you enjoy it chickadee :D

Dream A Little Dream

Words: 2756

Warnings: None, just a simple bit of fluff!

Summary: Emmett needs a reprieve from Rosalie’s temper tantrum, so he goes to check on a DIY project, only to find someone else is living their dream.

“C’mon Rose, talk to me, just tell me-“

“Get out Emmett!”

The door had slammed between them before he could dare say another word, but Emmett was nothing if not persistent. He had spent 66 years married to the woman after all and if he had learned anything from that experience, it was that Rosalie’s temperament was as precarious as an unweighted seesaw - he was confident she’d be cuddling him by tonight.

“Babe.” He rapped his knuckles against the door to the garage but the only reply he received was the loud and sudden blast of a bassline from the CD player. His eyes rolled and he puffed out his cheeks, exhaling in a huff and turning away from the garage to leave his wife to cool off. Edward remained seated at the piano, grinning down at the keys while his fingers diligently moved across the ivory keys.

“No, I have no idea what’s wrong with her.” His voice drifted through from the music room, carrying on the sweet notes of the song he’d composed. He hadn’t played for quite a while but it was a nice, soothing change to listen to the melody he plunked out, Alice’s sugary soprano harmonising beautifully with the key he played in. Emmett scowled in his general direction, moving through the house towards the front door.

“Where are you going?” Carlisle’s voice made him stop and turn, his hand on the door handle.

“Out. Rose needs space.” He answered. Carlisle’s brow furrowed, his expression troubled. Emmett couldn’t quite understand it himself. He had never really seen the downsides to vampirism, not when it had gifted him an eternity with his very own angel, not when it came with the added perks of agility and strength and speed he could only have ever dreamed of in his human days. He didn’t have it in to lament for his soul or whatever the rest of them seemed to do. They were vampires, and vampires drank blood – accidents were inevitable. So what if the Swan girl fell prey to Edward’s temptations? They moved on and returned in a few decades when the memory of her had faded, as they had done before and would no doubt do again.

It really wasn’t rocket science! They all knew the laws and neither option was a particularly bad one to him. Either Edward got a good meal, or he had a chance at finding his epic love, his Rosalie, and he might stop brooding for the first time in over a century. Rosalie’s desire to kill the girl was understandable but so was Edward’s urge to protect her, but Emmett didn’t need to be Alice to know there was no future in all the realms of probability that could ever exist where Bella Swan would grow old and grey. Isabella was destined to die one way or another.

“Be safe.” Carlisle’s words made him snort, a smug grin crossing his lips as he opened the door.

“Me be safe? I’m the most dangerous thing out there.” He quipped. Emmett left without looking back. The forest flew past him in what should have been a blur of greens and murky browns, but his eyes saw every detail. Each crack in the bark, the dew glistening on cobwebs, the smallest of insects scuttling up the stems of leaves…it was all a gift to him. He would kill for Rose to see the beauty in it all as he did but she never would. Rose had had all her dreams taken from her by Carlisle long ago, and she was forever going to be bitterly frozen, trapped in her own cycle of self-loathing. He’d burn the world if it put the faintest smile on her face; had taken her to the most incredible places with the most astounding views, bought jewellery so expensive it made even the richest men shudder in disgust at his actions. The one thing that would make his love truly happy was the one thing he could never give her, but he had been thinking of ways to at least soften the heartache.

There was a house (a small ramshackle thing a few miles out from their own sleek residence) that he’d visited once or twice. He’d taken photos and done some minor fixing up of the place, making sure the roof no longer leaked, that the walls were weather-proof and so on. Emmett had laid floors, plastered walls…he’d made the small house viable once more and the only thing he had yet to do was take down a portioning wall between what he envisioned would be the kitchen and lounge space. It would be his anniversary gift to Rosalie, a place she could truly make her own, where she could build her own home. There may not be little feet pattering on the wooden floors, but he could give her two out of three couldn’t he? Renew their vows so they were confirmed husband and wife once more, help build her a home…

He slowed when he neared the site, his nose twitching. Emmett inhaled deeply, an odd mix of smells drifting up his nose. He didn’t remember peonies, and…was that lavender? Emmett approached his little project cautiously, straining all his senses to read his environment, predatorial instincts rising to the surface. A heartbeat, odd rhythm…no, two heartbeats? One slower, one faster, neither the same sort of pace or rhythm as any animal roaming the woods. Humans then? Emmett frowned deeply, struggling to understand why hikers would come all the way out here as he picked his way over the tree roots trying to trip him up, hand dragging over moss covered bark.

A billow of white was the first thing he saw, a sheet in the light breeze. It fluttered, surrounded by bright coloured clothes much too small to be adult sizes, and damp towels. There had been a brief moment of sun this morning but Emmett still had to scoff. Whoever had stolen his project from him was clearly no native to Forks or they’d have known better than to hang their laundry on the line at the slightest bit of sun. Sunshine rarely lasted in Forks. Emmett paused, looking at the fence now enclosing the house he had transformed with his own bare hands. He definitely hadn’t put that up, nor did he recall painting a fence bright green. He hadn’t installed a laundry line either but someone had driven that stake into the ground, the line coming from some sort of contraption nailed into the exterior of the house.

Someone was definitely living in his DIY project, and he was not-

“Shhhhh!”

Emmett was paralysed briefly by the little giggle that followed. It was a soft sound, full of innocence he could never recall having, and it came attached to the sound of scratching and squeaking. His brows pulled low over golden irises, his body moving of its own accord. It had to be a child, but who would leave a child alone in front of their house? Was it even supervised? His curiosity had piqued and though he wanted to be frustrated he just couldn’t be. Maybe Rose wouldn’t ever get to live in this house with him but someone else had clearly made it their home, someone who had achieved the dream Rose had always wanted. He wasn’t quite sure how he had managed it but he had to sigh, because only he could attempt to resolve his wife’s bitter disposition and end up adding to it instead.

He didn’t recognise her. From the exterior alone Emmett could tell that in the few weeks it had been since he’d last visited this place, she’d put a lot of effort into making the house a home. The outside had a fresh lick of paint, the windows clean and windowpanes a freshly painted grey, the front door a bright green to match the fence surrounding the house. A wooden picnic table had been added just in front of the kitchen window, and she was sat folded over with her head resting on her arms, eyes closed and skin peppered with goosebumps. Stray wisps of hair blew about her face as his eyes tracked down her figure, noting the gentle, even breathing and the way her eyes twitched about under their lids in her sleep. Beneath the picnic table was the source of the musical laughter.

Emmett crouched, forearms resting on his knees and lips curling into a small smirk as he watched a curly haired little boy press a marker pen to her leg, scribbling a design into her skin. She didn’t even appear close to waking, but the temperature had dropped and clearly the little boy had escaped from the playpen across from the picnic table, the door open and the locking mechanism snapped, paper strewn about the garden by the breeze. Emmett could see the dirt under her fingernails as he got closer, a pair of gardening gloves on her opposite side. She’d clearly done her laundry and a bit of gardening while the sun was out, leaving her son to play in his playpen, but the little boy had seen an opportunity once she’d fallen asleep and took it.

He had the cutest little dimples when he smiled, green eyes shining bright with mischief. Emmett chuckled lowly, zipping about the garden to clean up the papers he’d spotted before approaching the picnic table and clearing his throat.

“Excuse me, miss? Miss?” he called. Her eyes fluttered open, confusion evident in them for a second before she jumped, straightening in her seat and watching him with wary eyes. Emmett watched her glance to the playpen, her eyes widening. He could hear the way her heartbeat leapt in her chest, the panic stricken expression she wore telling.

“Oh my – no no no –“

“Erm Miss? Don’t panic, he’s under the table.” Emmett smiled, flashing his own dimples in an effort to calm her. He was a naturally unnerving being after all and most humans tended to be either hopelessly attracted to him or deathly afraid – there wasn’t really an in between. She whipped her legs out from under the picnic table, moving so swiftly Emmett was left in awe. She very quickly scooped her son out form under the table and swung him onto her hip, cradling him close and closing her eyes. Her heartbeat began to calm, her breathing growing less rapid now she knew where her boy was.

“Oh god, thank you. I…I guess I fell asleep, the weather was a lot nicer earlier,” She shivered a bit, hand cradling the back of her sons head until he wriggled in her grip. “Not now baby just – really? Oh Damian!” she groaned exasperatedly. Emmett watched amusedly as she licked her thumb and rubbed furiously at his cheek.

“No Mama! No!” the boy cried, squirming in her grip. His face was covered in marker pen, a mixture of blacks and blues and pinks all swirling over his cheeks and down his nose. Emmett couldn’t help but chuckle.

“He’s a real mischief maker huh? He got your leg to.” He informed her. She looked down to her leg with another soft groan, her cheeks turning pink.

“Sounds about right. Have you ever tried to renovate with children?” she questioned, shaking her head. Emmett shook his head, his eyes stuck on the little boy. He shared his mother��s dark hair though not her eyes. Emmett wanted to be upset his plans for Rose’s anniversary surprise had fallen through, but he had been stupid enough to not check the market for this property and it had gone to someone who clearly needed it, though the property was fairly out of the way and an odd choice for a young woman and her child. She seemed intent on making it somewhere nice to live for them both though, and for that he couldn’t fault her.

“Never had any of my own, but your boy sure is a handsome guy. I did renovate this place though, I’m glad it went to someone who needed it.” He admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. Her eyes widened, the surprise in them obvious.

“Oh! It was you! The real estate agent said they had no clue who had started the renovation’s, but it didn’t stop them selling it to me…we didn’t know it was taken.” She bit her lip, hoisting her son higher up on her hip. Damian was still wriggling slightly, looking up at Emmett with wide, curious eyes. It was clear what she was worrying about it, but Emmett shook his head, hands held up before her.

“It’s yours, really, me and my wife live nearby, this was a second property we didn’t really need. It wasn’t like I checked it was for sale or anything either, you won it fair and square.” He promised. The relief was palpable in her eyes as her son squirmed again. She set him down, hand running through his curls briefly before he darted back into the house. She watched him go with a small smile.

“Well I’d be happy to give you the tour of the place, if you like? Show you what I’ve done with it Mr….”

“Cullen, Emmett Cullen.” He introduced himself with a nod, knowing his frigid skin would put her off if he dared shake her hand, and he didn’t want to put her off. Emmett’s brain was spinning a hundred miles an hour, and he was starting to form a plan. Rose might not get to live in the house, but she could spend time perhaps with the one thing she wanted more than anything. Her smile brightened.

“Y/N L/N. Maybe if you give us a little time to clean up first you could drop by later? Neighbours seem rare out here, it’ll be nice to know someone.” She admitted, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. Emmett tilted his head slightly, glancing up at the house.

“Yeah. Yeah I er, would you mind if I bought my wife to? She had plans for this place, think she’ll enjoy seeing how you designed it for yourselves.” He said. She didn’t hesitate to nod and he tried his best not to feel too pleased with himself.

“Of course!” she agreed, and with a time organised between them Emmett sped off home to barrel his way into the garage. Rose was stuck beneath a car still, her BMW to be precise, though Emmett could never fathom what exactly she found to tune up on that thing – he was sure she spent more time under the car than under him. When she didn’t respond to his tapping on the hood, he pulled on her legs till she wheeled out, her expression sour and a smudge of grease across her cheek.

“Emmett.” She huffed. Emmett grinned down at her, completely unperturbed by her pouty glare.

“Rose. Come on, shower, dress up, do whatever it is you do, we got an appointment to keep.” He told her. Rose’s glare was enhanced by the way her nose wrinkled.

“An appointment? Emmett I swear if you’re trying to get me to go to marriage counselling again-“

“I’m trying to make you smile again.” He groaned exasperatedly. Her expression fell immediately, her golden irises softening from hardened topaz to gooey caramel. Emmett sighed, pulling her to her feet and reeling her in close. She was made for him, her body fit perfectly in his hands, against his. She was his shining light but she had been so dim since Bella had come to Forks.

“Emmett-“

“Rose, babe…I know you. I only have eyes for you. Who cares about some human? This family is immortal, we’ll survive it like we’ve survived everything else that comes our way. For one afternoon, just one, can I please, please have my wife back?” he pressed his forehead to hers, running a hand up and down her back. Rose remained tense for a while, but slowly her arms wound around his torso.

“What did you have in mind monkey man?” she tilted her chin, her lips a fraction of a centimetre from his own. Emmett’s smile returned.

“How’s about I take you to meet a really cute baby?”

By the end of the afternoon, seeing Rose smile at the young boy in her arms while he pretended to admire the newly fitted kitchen in Y/N’s house, Emmett started to understand what made her dream so beautiful, and so painful to wake from.

#twilight #twilight fanfiction #emmett cullen #rosalie hale #cullen family #emmett x rosalie #reader #Emmett is an absolute dumbo but he loves his wife #Rosalie is just stubborn #I bet he's really good at DIY secretly #this man knows plumbing like Mario

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anonymous0writer · 4 years

Text

I Wanna Be Yours II JJ Maybank

Author: @anonymous0writer

Requested: Yes!

“I love you songfics, can you do another one with JJ, but this time with the song "I wanna be yours" by Arctic Monkeys?“

Warnings: Nothing. Maybe one swear word and a tiny bit of smoking..

A/N: Ahhh, I love writing angst :) lol I hope you like this anon!!

Tags: @jayjaymaebank @rudys-pankow @maaybanks @everydayimfangirling @outrbank @thelocalpogue @decap-quadrant @ahhireallydontknow @never-ever-too-many-fandoms @kylosleftbuttcheek @insanitysparkles @divcrdown @youfookendonut @dpaccione @outerbanksbro @jjs-housekeeping @teenwaywardasgardian @traumaflavouredjuulpod @magnuolia @sarapage89 @emsma11 @bxbyyyjocelyn @teamnick @jjmbanks @thesurfingsnail @lulubutton34 @obxsummer @katiaw2 @poguecollins @notaninstagrammodel @danicarosaline @timmyswrld @gmwlover100 @koufaxx @bellaguarneri @diverrdown @drewswannabegirl @lordsagittarius

Lyrics look like this

I wanna be your vacuum cleaner Breathing in your dust …. You call the shots babe I just wanna be yours

Day faded around you, the heavy cloak of the starry night falling around you swiftly, enveloping you in nightfall. The only bright light in the blanket of darkness was the flickering flames of the dying fire. The orange wisps of flame licked the sky in a desperate attempt to get free. It crackled and popped as embers floated around you, light little fireflies in the night. They danced around your legs and lit up the sand under your bare feet. Laughter and cheers filled the air, heavy and intoxicated.

Five teens sat around the fire, the flames casting weird shadows dancing over their sun-kissed skin. Their faces were split into wide, drunk joy and eyes lighting up with the intoxicated haze of awe. You stood at the edge of the coals, them shining brightly back up at you, furious in their simmering. The dark, burnt coals and the pure heat of deep oranges and angry reds fuming under them. The sight was intimidating, but you, with your determined eyes and drunken mind were quite a force to be reckoned with. Your breath caught and your eyes zoned in on the end point. Your finger curled into a fist and you drew a deep breath before you darted forward.

Bare skin danced over the smoldering coals. They were fast but not fast enough, the sizzle of burned skin and the flash of white-hot pain in your feet sent you farther over the coals. Dancing painfully but carefully, picking your way rapidly over the fiery embers. And then you were done. Hurting feet finding haven in the cool, soft sand, digging. Your pent up breath escaping your lips and your eyes betraying the hurt coursing through your blood. But the whoop you let out masked the hurt, adrenaline still strong in your veins.

JJ’s cerulean eyes found yours, both a calming feeling and a stir of wild chaos releasing in your chest. The feelings were weird in their own right, but JJ had both of them spilling in your chest. He lit you up in ways that scared the living shit out of you. The butterflies in your stomach were stomped out as you broke the eye contact. You didn’t like the feeling the butterflies brought. It was almost like heaving on an empty stomach over the toilet, alcohol trying to leave your system. You knew what the butterflies meant, and that's exactly what made you turn the boy away time and again.

Feelings weren’t your forte, never mind love or falling for someone. And no matter how much you didn’t want it or were terrified of it, you were pretty sure- as much as you could be- that you were falling for JJ Maybank. And you didn’t want any part in it.

JJ’s lips turned down slightly, his dimples fading from his skin, the only sign that he was upset. He craved your attention and the ways your eyes seemed heavier than any other gaze. He loved the way you laughed, eyes lighting and your nose wrinkling. He loved the way you talked, slower, but intense enough to have you on the edge of your chair even if you’re talking about your day. He loved your attitude, and the way you walked and the way you laughed at his comments. He loved everything about you. He loved you.

You whooped, the calls breaking the silence of the night. Soon all five of you were screaming and cheering, the screams erupting into the air. The fire seemed to glow brighter at the fierce calls of happiness.

JJ grinned and screamed along with you, but his eyes were rapt on you. He loved that out of all of them- even him- that you were only one brave enough to run across the smoldering coals. He loved how you matched him in so many ways. Crazy thoughts and wild actions. Unfiltered mouths, reckless behavior.

JJ’s joy was muted by the memory of your refusal of his kiss. His lips quirked down as the muscle in his jaw flickered. He finally cast his eyes down, now focusing intently on the fire. He just wanted you. He wanted to be allowed to love you and have you love him back. He wanted you to love him. And he wanted so badly to be yours.

Secrets I have held in my heart Are harder to hide than I thought Maybe I just wanna be yours I wanna be yours, I wanna be yours Wanna be yours, wanna be yours, wanna be yours

It was hard, harder than you could imagine. The thoughts roared in your mind and your fear was huddled in the cavity of your chest and your throat was clogged with unsaid words.

JJ was sitting in front of you, bruised knuckles and scabbing fingers laced together, mouth pulled into a thin line, his usual bright eyes dulled by the weight of your silence.

“I-” You started, the words catching in your throat and your breath getting stolen.

JJ’s eyes flicker up to meet yours, brief and embarrassed. Embarrassed yet again that his heart was out on his sleeve and you ignored it.

But you didn’t ignore it, you saw it and ached at the sight, but you couldn’t bring yourself to answer the desperate call for love. You looked down, unable to even catch a glimpse of the boy before you. But his scent filled your nose, evading your senses. Sea salt and a hint of weed wrapping you in a warm hug.

You felt like sobbing. Words tangled in your chest, choking you. It hurt to know that this boy was loving you like he’d loved nothing else and you were too scared to reciprocate, but not giving him the words he needed to hear and understand was even worse.

“I’m sorry,” The words flow past the barricade of the others, moving easily and spilling out of your throat.

You hate the words once they hand in the air. Hate that they sound fake and forced. And that that’s the only thing that will pass through your lips. You hate the fact that those two words are the most used and overused. And empty. After a while, the words lose their feeling, yet that seems like the only thing you can say.

JJ’s throat bobs. His eyes are stinging and he feels like he’s about to lose it. Either to break something or scream. JJ runs a shaking hand through his hair. It happens every time. JJ comes to you, grin wide, eyes bright and heart clear as day on his sleeve. You ignore it, terror and sorrow closing your throat. His eyes dimming like a light flicked off, and his smile fading from his lips like a ghost. And then you are left to cover up the reopened wound and desperately fail. Just like every other time. And this time is no different.

So why does it still hurt like barbed wire tightening around your heart when the boy stands and leaves? Why does it feel like the sun has passed behind a cloud, leaving goosebumps erupting on your skin, chills running down your spine and leaving you in the cold shadow of it’s ghost? Why does it feel like your heart is breaking at the same time as your shoulders sag in relief?

And let me be the portable heater that you'll get cold without I wanna be your setting lotion (I wanna be) Hold your hair in deep devotion (how deep?) At least as deep as the Pacific Ocean I wanna be yours

JJ was left cold and alone. Chills settling deep into his bones, not leaving any time soon. A dark moody cloud of regret and heartbreak hovering over the boy. He felt as if he was dancing in the rain, not caring if he got soaked to the bone, the chill entering his body that never left and went inside, unable to warm up or shake off the darker feeling roiling in his gut. And he was left alone. Without Kie and her worried eyes and supportive words asking- no, begging- him to move on. No John B. to clap his back, say his condolences and offer a beer. Even Pope was absent, his wise words and his weak attempts at the joke like a familiar sight.

And of course, you weren’t there, which felt like a slap in the face. Like when it was so cold outside, it made your skin numb, but the slap of skin against skin had his face stinging. He gritted his teeth, trying to ease the pain that seemed almost physical, with the blunt. The half-assed rolled blunt sat loose in his hands. Part of JJ didn’t want to numb himself from the high of the drugs but the other screamed at him. And hey, if it eased it for at least a while, it was worth it. Right?

Smoke escaped from his lips and the boy was soaring. Cloud Nine looked pretty good from where JJ sat. A small laugh escaped his lips as his eyelashes fluttered against his cheek.

Memories that were more dreams and hopes of the future came to life from the depths of his mind. They came forward and erupted with color and life. Your laugh rang through his ears as you curled into his chest, his fingers brushing through your hair.

He could feel everything as if his senses were heightened. The silky smoothness of your long locks of hair, the brush of sunlight against your skin, highlighting your eyes. Making them look like pools of gems, shining and paler. He could feel the shift of his shirt as you snuggled against him. The rising and falling of your chest and the soft sound of your breathing hanging in the air. Every detail of the moment blared at him, jarring him into another ‘memory’.

You danced in front of him, dressed in a white bikini with flowers patterned onto the fabric. Your figure became smaller as your feet carried you to the ocean, giggling and water spraying your legs as you crashed into the serene waters.

A soft gasp escaped the boy as his pale eyes blinked rapidly, clearing away the cobwebs of the dreams.

“Jesus,” JJ mutters, hand running over his face. But the only thing in his mind is you. I want to be yours.

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teacupfulofstarshine · 4 years

Text

the crossroad of our destinies book three: air

cw: mild angst, cartoon violence, manipulation/betrayal, detailed fight scene including minor character death, blood, injury, weapons, sedatives, and manipulation, swearing, nightmare mention, references to past child abuse, mention of potential genocide

to skip the fight scene, skip the section that starts “There’s no need to be difficult, Roman.”

wordcount: 6926

book one: earth // book two: fire // read it on ao3!

“I’m hardly a master of air bending,” Patton says nervously, fidgeting with his hands.

“You’re the only air bender that we know,” Thomas says, pressing his hands together and bowing his head. “Please, Pat, you have to teach me! Who else will do it?”

“There are plenty of air benders in the temples where we live, Thomas, much more skilled than myself. I still think you’d be better off going there and seeking out one of the monks to train you.” Patton fidgets nervously with his hands. “I’m . . . not exactly a master airbender. I’m just a kid.”

“We’re all just kids,” Thomas argues. “None of us chose to be thrown into this war, but we’re here now. Please, Patton. The sooner I learn air bending, the closer I’ll be to ending this war.”

“And what happens when you do end the war?” Virgil asks.

“What do you mean?”

“We’re all from different nations, different histories, different cultures. We never would have met without this war. What will happen when it ends? Don’t get me wrong, I’m more than ready for peace, but are we just . . . never going to see each other again?”

“That’s stupid,” Roman says. “I’m not going to just stop being friends with you all once the war’s over. If anything, with my bitchass dad dead -”

“Language.”

“- I won’t have to worry about getting murdered for having friends. You’re all my friends, and I fully expect all of you to be at my wedding ceremony when I marry Dolos.”

“Really?” Logan asks softly. “You would want us to come to your wedding?”

“Of course I would,” Roman says. He reaches out and gently touches Logan’s shoulder. Logan smiles, and Virgil feels something tight in his chest begin to uncoil. “Somebody has to walk me down the aisle, after all.”

“I volunteer as tribute!” Patton chirps eagerly. “And - and Thomas, I’m not an air bending teacher, by any stretch of the imagination, but if you’re willing to put up with me, I can try and teach you what I know.”

*~*~*~*~*

“How many times have they done this now?” Roman asks.

“Counting this? Sevent - nope, eighteen,” Virgil says. Thomas tries to copy what Patton is showing him, and he falls flat on his face. “I think the problem is that earth and air are on opposite ends of the bending spectrum, so their movements are the antithesis of each other. Earth bending is all solid movements and grounded footing, and air bending is about being light and detached.”

“So what are you saying? Thomas won’t be able to learn how to do it?”

“No, he’ll be able to learn. Every Avatar before him has mastered all four elements, there’s no reason that he can’t do it too. It’s just gonna be particularly difficult to do this stage.”

Thomas falls for the nineteenth time, screams in frustration, and punches a massive fireball into the sky. “Impressive size, poor technique!” Roman calls.

“I’m not working on fire bending right now, criticism is unwarranted!”

“This isn’t going to work, is it,” Logan says dryly.

“Have some confidence in your brother,” Virgil says. “But no, I don’t think it is. We might need to try a different approach.”

“Such as what? Patton’s the only air bender that we’ve got.”

“Technically, we have Remy, too.”

“What in the fresh hell are you smoking?” Roman says. Virgil ignores him, reaching out to gently pat Remy’s nose. The flying bison huffs out a puff of warm air that nearly knocks Roman over and gently pushes his nose into Virgil’s hand.

“Fire benders learned to bend from the dragons, earth benders learned to bend from the badger moles, water benders learned to bend from the moon, and air benders learned to bend from the flying bison. I’m not saying that Remy has the temperament to be a bending master, mind you, I’m just saying that he could be a teacher.” Remy makes a disgruntled noise and shuffles off to flop down and sleep a few yards away.

“He might have better luck than Patton is currently having,” Logan says. “I am sure he is trying his best, but Thomas is not showing promising results.”

“Yeah, but think about how long it took for him to first make a flame when I was training him,” Roman argues.

“We no longer have that kind of time,” Logan says. “The reports from your brother are getting more dire every day. Your father is speeding up his plans of conquest, and we cannot let him harm any more innocent civilians. We must stop him in his tracks, and that may necessitate accelerating my brother’s training schedule.”

Thomas hits the ground again. Virgil winces at the noise. “We should have a team meeting about this.”

*~*~*~*~*

The team meeting takes several days.

This is mostly because people (namely Logan, Thomas, both of them, and occasionally Patton) get fed up and storm away to blow off steam without taking it out directly on other people. Virgil does his best to maintain a neutral voice-of-reason position, but no one in their group has ever been particularly inclined to neutrality. (Logan claims that he is, but he is also the most prone to losing his temper.)

Eventually, they come to a collective consensus that while Patton is doing his best to teach Thomas the ways of air bending, it may not be enough for the time frame they’re working with. “I’m doing my best,” Patton says, staring firmly into the campfire, “and I know that Thomas is doing his best, too. But I don’t think our bests are moving fast enough, given the timeline of the Fire Nation’s attacks.”

“According to Remus, my father is moving up the attack schedules every day,” Roman comments. “The faster Thomas can master air bending, the better.”

“I agree,” Thomas says. Logan makes a face, rocks trembling at his feet, but Thomas reaches out and squeezes his wrist. “Hey, Lo, stop it. It’s not a personal attack on me. I’m not mad, he’s right.” Logan huffs, but lets himself calm down. “We have to find someone qualified to teach air bending and hope that they can help me.”

“We should see which Air Nomad temple we’re closest to,” Patton says. “I think that’s our best bet. The monks there spend their whole lives training acolytes to bend air, they’ll be able to help you.”

“Are we sure that’s the safest option?” Roman counters. “Remus said that Air Nomad dignitaries were meeting with Father, and if that’s true then -”

“We’re pacifists,” Patton says stubbornly. “We only fight if absolutely necessary. We would never side with a tyrant who’s trying to take over the entire world.” The fire flares a little, and Patton winces and takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry, I - I didn’t mean to insult your dad, Roman. I just -"

“It’s okay,” Roman says. He lets out a long, slow, controlled breath, and Virgil watches as the fire returns to its original size. “It’s okay, you - you’re right. You’re right, Patton, you don’t have to apologize for that. My dad is a tyrant and he is an abusive asshole and he is trying to take over the entire world. You don’t have to apologize.”

“But he’s still your father,” Patton says. “It only makes sense that you would have an emotional attachment to him.”

“I don’t want to have an emotional attachment to him,” Roman pouts. “I barely want to have a genetic attachment to him! He’s a dumbass and he’s useless and - and I don’t need him or his validation!” He pushes to his feet angrily and throws a fireball towards the surrounding trees. Patton swiftly bends a vortex around the fire to suction out its oxygen before it can cause any significant damage.

“We know,” Logan says softly. “You are more than your father’s son, Roman. You have grown to be more than he could ever be.” Roman’s shoulder shake, chest heaving as he turns away. Virgil reaches out and touches his shoulder; Roman flinches, but when Virgil starts to pull his hand away, he whimpers and leans back towards the touch.

“We know you’re not him,” Virgil says quietly. “I know you’re not him.”

“He’s hurt all of you so much,” Roman whispers. “He’s the reason you lost your father, Virgil. He’s the reason Thomas and Logan’s village was razed to the ground, he’s the reason that Dolos had half of his face burnt off, he’s the reason my mother abandoned Remus and me and - and he did so much bad shit and - and I have to fix it, I have to -”

“You don’t have to do anything,” Thomas says. “I’m the Avatar, Roman, and it’s my job to restore balance to the world. I know that you have your own reasons for wanting to dethrone your father, but you are not responsible for what he did.” He grips Roman’s hands and gives what Virgil can only describe as his best “I’m-the-Avatar-and-everything-is-okay-now” smile.

Virgil has trouble pulling comfort from it, but Roman seems to. “Thanks, Thomas.” He squeezes Thomas’s hands back, and he smiles. Virgil is still uneasy about pretty much every aspect of their situation, but he can at least relax in the knowledge that their little group’s uneven edges have settled comfortably against each other again.

*~*~*~*~*

You are in more danger than you realize.

Virgil lifts his head, and suddenly he’s not curled around the campfire sleeping with the rest of his friends. He stands in the middle of a vast expanse of black nothingness. Wisps of smoke curl around his ankles, creeping up towards his knees. He swats them away hurriedly, whirling around and watching a puff of water vapor appear where he’d just breathed out.

“Who are you?! Where am I?!”

You are safe, little water bender. I am a friend, one you have rescued before.

The mist stirs in front of him, forming a small dragon shape coiled in front of him. “You’re . . . the dragon I saved from the Fire Nation temple?”

The very same. Your fire bender friend is right to be suspicious. The Air Nomads are acting strangely. There are disturbances in the Spirit World. Proceed with caution and make sure that you protect those close to you.

“Disturbances? Isn’t it Thomas’s job to balance the natural and spirit worlds as the Avatar? Should I tell him about it?”

This is not a disturbance he can heal, not yet. You must keep him safe until he matures enough to help us. Protect him, little water bender, and keep your eyes peeled. If the Avatar falls, the world is doomed.

The darkness surges up around Virgil, and he wakes up screaming.

*~*~*~*~*

“And you’re sure that you’re okay?” Patton asks, gently touching his shoulder. Virgil rubs his arms, shaking softly. “You were screaming so loudly . . . you were so scared . . .”

“It was just a nightmare,” Virgil says. Patton wraps an arm around Virgil’s shoulders, hesitantly, as though he’s going to push it away. Normally he would, but Virgil is still shaken, and he leans into the soft touch. Patton makes a soft noise and pulls him closer.

“I know it was,” Patton says. “But it’s okay. You’re awake now, and we’re here. It’ll be alright. We’ll be at the Western Air Temple in a couple days, and then we’ll be totally safe.”

Virgil doesn’t know how to tell him that they won’t be safe, that they’d be safer in the Fire Nation’s outlying villages than in the temple, because he’s seen the way Patton gets more excited the closer they get. So he stays silent, pressing close to his friend.

*~*~*~*~*

Remy swishes his tail irritably as they glide closer to the mountains. “Is he okay?” Virgil asks. “He seems kinda . . . upset.”

“He doesn’t like flying close to the mountains,” Patton says. “The winds are a lot stronger, and it takes more effort for him to course correct. He has to do it a lot more frequently, too.”

Remy makes an exasperated huffing noise and veers sharply to the left. “It’s so pretty up here,” Roman wonders, leaning over the side of the saddle. “Isn’t it beautiful, Logan?”

“Beautiful,” Logan deadpans. “There are so many different shades of black to see up here.”

Roman winces, but Logan is smirking, so Virgil pats his shoulder reassuringly and turns his gaze to the mountains. There’s a large, elaborate structure built into the crevasses of the largest mountain, spires and peaks and buildings, some of which blend so seamlessly into the mountain they’re difficult to see. If he squints, he can just barely make out tiny figures flitting around the mountain.

Remy lands at the base, rather than taking them all the way up to the top. “The head monks take turns bending the air currents around the Temple itself, so we can’t approach unannounced. We’re just gonna have to hike up there.”

“Why would we hike when Thomas and I can bend us up the mountain?” Logan says. He hops off of Remy’s saddle and wiggles his toes, happy to be back on the ground. “It will not take long at all.”

“But I don’t just want to leave Remy alone down here . . .”

Logan squares his shoulders and leans into an earthbending stance. Within five minutes, he’s created a cave in the side of the mountain for Remy to settle into. “I promise we’ll come back for you,” Patton says, pressing his forehead against Remy’s nose. The bison huffs, but licks Patton back anyway.

“I don’t like this,” Virgil says. “What if something goes wrong? We’ll be all the way up there, with no quick escape, I . . .”

“Are you expecting something to go wrong?” Patton asks softly. He looks upset, Virgil realizes, like he was expecting pushback.

“Of course not, Pat,” Virgil says, reassuring. “I didn’t mean to say that I don’t trust your people. That’s not what I’m tryin’a say at all. I’m always nervous that something will go wrong. Anxiety, remember? It’s kind of my job to worry about stuff like this.”

“I know,” Patton sighs, reaching over and patting at Virgil’s shoulder. “I appreciate you, Vee. But you know you don’t have to be worried, right? These are my people. They may not be the temple I grew up in, but they’re still my people. They won’t hurt us.”

Virgil smiles, and wishes he believed Patton.

*~*~*~*~*

Even with a master earth bender (not that he’d ever call Logan one to his face) and the Avatar himself, it takes them a good while to get up the mountain. Virgil gets more and more anxious the farther up the mountain they get, and Roman looks pretty antsy himself. He’d ditched his more traditional Fire Nation clothing for some of Thomas’s spares and he’d let Virgil style his hair to obscure his face.

“How much farther?” he asks. Patton is bouncing eagerly on the tips of his toes.

“Not long now!”

When they finally crest over a ridge and into the temple, they’re greeted by a group of school-age children. They all stare at the strangers with expressions ranging from confusion to wariness to outright terror, and then Patton steps forward. He says something in a language Virgil doesn’t speak, but it must be some kind of Air Nomad greeting because all of the children parrot back in unison.

Patton pushes his bangs off his face, showing them the arrow tattooed on his forehead. “My friends and I have come to seek sanctuary,” he says. “We do not mean to cause alarm.”

“What temple are you from?” one of the children asks. The others cluster behind her.

“I am from the Eastern Air Temple,” Patton says. “My friends are not air benders, but we come seeking sanctuary.”

“You have to come with us,” she says. “You have to speak to the Head Monk about that.”

“Of course,” Patton says. “If you would be so kind as to lead the way?”

One of the children tugs on Patton’s flowy skirt. “Why do you have hair, mister? Is that a Eastern Air Temple thing?”

“It’s not an Eastern Air Temple thing, dummy,” the leader says. “All Air Nomads shave their heads. I dunno why he’s weird.” Patton doesn’t flinch at the insinuation, but it’s a very close thing.

“It’s because I have not been in a temple for quite a while, little one,” Patton says instead. “We’ve been traveling for many months, and I haven’t been able to take care of all this.”

“Well, we can cut all your hair off here, mister,” the leader says. “C’mon, the Head Monk is gonna be interested to see you.”

Virgil looks at Roman, who looks exactly as nervous as Virgil feels, and swallows. Logan looks normal, but he’s also pressing closer to Thomas than he normally does (probably unintentionally).

Yeah. Virgil has a bad feeling about this.

*~*~*~*~*

The children take them to a large hallway. A single woman sits inside, eyes closed, meditating. Virgil is about to suggest that they come back later, so as not to bother her, but she speaks without opening her eyes. “Hiroshi. Kanna. What are you doing here?”

The girl, apparently named Kanna, recites a greeting and performs a strange bow. The boy, who must be Hiroshi, copies her quickly; the rest of the children had scattered long before they reached this hall. “Visitors, Head Monk. We brought them to you.”

The woman opens her eyes, standing up and sweeping her robes around her. “I see. Thank you. You are now dismissed.”

“Yes, Head Monk,” the children say, bowing again before scuttling out of the hall. The woman approaches them slowly, letting the anxiety in Virgil’s stomach rise to a rolling boil.

“I am Kya, Head Monk of the Eastern Air Temple. We welcome you, visitors, seekers of sanctuary.” Her words are kind, but her voice disturbs Virgil. It’s too calm, too devoid of emotion. “What brings you here today?”

Patton reveals his tattoo to her as well before performing the same strange bow Kanna and Hiroshi had. “I am Patton, of the Western Air Temple. These are my friends, they -”

Thomas steps forward, brown eyes gleaming slightly. “Head Monk Kya, my name is Thomas, and I am -”

“The Avatar,” she breathes.

“I’ve been trying to teach him air bending,” Patton says, “but -”

“You could not. I am unsurprised. You have clearly fallen out of practice.” There’s something strange in her eyes, and Patton seems to wilt away from her. “Allowing your hair to grow over your tattoos? Shameful. It is any wonder you can connect with the element which breathes life into your body. I am disappointed.” Her voice is like frost, and Patton grows smaller with every piercing word.

“Hey, that’s not fair to Patton,” Virgil says, stepping in front of him. “We’ve undergone a lot of challenging circumstances, it’s not like shaving was a priority compared to staying alive.”

Kya turns her gaze on him, but Virgil doesn’t falter. He’s faced winters colder than her gaze.

“Who are you to tell an air bender what is proper?” she says. “Do you even bend?”

“I do not bend,” Virgil grits.

“Then you have no place speaking here.” Kya turns back to the Avatar. “I am surprised that one of your station would travel with those who are not in touch with the elements, but I suppose I cannot make your choices for you. If you wish to spend the night here, you may, and we will make arrangements for your training to begin in the morning.”

Virgil glances around the hall while Thomas and Kya speak, frowning when he catches sight of someone lurking behind a pillar. “Who’s that?” he says loudly. Kya frowns at him, but she turns to look at the figure.

“No one of your concern,” she says. “You are dismissed. Leave my presence.”

Thomas turns around and walks out. Roman presses close to Patton, who’s clearly trying very hard not to cry, and Logan turns his face in Kya’s direction. If he could see with his eyes, Virgil would suspect he was glaring at her.

As they reach the doors, Virgil lifts one hand up deceptively, as though he’s going to stretch or scratch his face. The knife hidden in his sleeve gleams against his inner wrist as he angles it to spy on what’s going on behind him.

The figure steps out from behind the pillar, dressed in the blazing crimson colors of the Fire Nation, and begins to speak in a low voice to Kya. She nods, face still impassive and stony. Virgil feels his heart drop straight through his stomach and tumble right off the mountain.

*~*~*~*~*

“Are you sure?” Roman asks, for the sixth time in as many minutes.

“I know what I saw!” Virgil snaps. “I travel with a Fire Nation prince, Roman, do you think I don’t know what fucking Fire Nation clothes look like?”

“Kya . . . she sold us out?” Patton says. He’s curled into a ball on one of the beds in the little tower room they’ve been allowed to inhabit. “I - I don’t -”

“Remus said that Father was trying to broker some kind of peace with the Air Nomads,” Roman says, “and this temple is closest to Fire Nation territory. What if . . . what if he wasn’t looking for peace at all?”

“You think he’s colluding with the Air Nomads?”

“We have no proof of that,” Logan says, running his hands along the stone wall. “I’ll tell you this, though. They locked the door behind us, and there’s two guards at the bottom of the stairs.”

“But we don’t have guards! We’re pacifists!”

“They do not read like Air Nomads to me,” Logan says. “They appear to be Fire Nation, judged on their stances and breathing patterns.”

Before anyone can say anything further, Thomas makes an aggressive “shhhhh!” and beckons them over to the window. The moon, newly full, is only a few days into its waning gibbous phase, and the courtyard below them is illuminated enough to see Kya and the Fire Nation man Virgil had seen earlier.

“Can you bend their words to us?” Thomas mouths at Patton. Even though he looks miserable, Patton nods, stepping forward lightly. Kya opens her mouth, and Patton begins to bend.

“Are you sure this is what the Fire Lord requires?” Kya says. “We do not wish to participate in this war, Ruon-Jian. We would ask that he leave us be, in peace.”

“The Fire Lord wishes nothing more than to accommodate the wishes of his most trusted neighbors and trading partners,” Ruon-Jian says. His voice is silky smooth and oily, and Virgil hates him immediately. “He of course understands your cultural traditions, and he had nothing but the utmost respect for you and your people. He admires that you share a goal with him, to protect your people and promote their interests and well-being.”

“However?” Kya says, tiredly.

“However,” Ruon-Jian says, “there have been rumors of a plot to overthrow our most gracious Fire Lord. Conspiracies against him, originating from his own people. The traitorous Prince Roman has, of course, been exiled, as has his betrothed, and the cursed Prince Remus has been sent on a fool’s errand with the disgraced General Emile, but you can never be too careful. You can understand why the Fire Lord might wish to keep tabs on those he suspects may be involved in such . . . foolishness.”

“What do you want from me, Ruon-Jian? What will it take for you to leave us?”

“The Fire Lord requires a sign, Head Monk Kya. A token of goodwill, as it were. In order to spare you and your people, he must know that you are not conspiring against him. You are currently harboring traitors to the crown, including the Fire Lord’s most reviled offspring and the Avatar. These are dangerous insurgents.”

“I can handle them.”

“We do not doubt your capacities, but the Fire Lord would hate to foist the responsibility of punishing and detaining his fugitives onto our most honored neighbors.”

“They are children, Ruon-Jian. How much damage can they possibly do?”

“Enough,” Ruon-Jian says, and his voice drops sharply. “Do not underestimate the Avatar. Do not underestimate the Fire Lord. The terms of the agreement stand before you, Head Monk Kya. Turn over the fugitives to me, and the Fire Lord will spare your temple. Otherwise, you will be engulfed in flames like your Southern brethren. We wouldn’t want that, would -”

Patton drops to the ground as though his legs have given out from under him, tears spilling down his face. “No,” he whispers. “No, they - he - they can’t have - they - the Southern Air Temple? They can’t have -”

“I am so sorry,” Roman says softly. “I know my father, and I know that guy down there. He’s the most ruthless of Father’s generals. He brags about things like that, he wouldn’t lie. He - he probably did, Patton.”

Patton bites back a sob. “They . . .”

“Kya is going to sell us out in order to protect this temple,” Virgil says. “We can’t stay here and get captured, but we can’t let the Fire Nation attack this temple, either. We need a plan.”

“What kind of plan?”

“We’re going to have to draw the Fire Nation away from the temple. If we escape, they won’t blame Kya, especially since there are Fire Nation soldiers guarding us, and they’ll have to give chase.”

“We’ll need a plan,” Logan says. Virgil grins, sharp and wolfish.

*~*~*~*~*

Predictably, things rapidly go downhill.

They make it out of the Temple, but they’re pursued so tightly by Fire Nation soldiers that they can’t immediately circle back to Remy for fear of getting him captured. Instead, they divert into the forest, splitting up to avoid detection.

Virgil ends up pulling Thomas along, gripping the Avatar’s wrist and tearing through the trees. He’s not accustomed to forests, but he’s travelled glaciers and snowdrifts before. Dangerous terrain is no stranger to him. Thomas stumbles along blindly, tripping every few steps, but Virgil just pushes forward.

They stop dead in their tracks when they hear someone scream. It’s high and frantic, and it sounds an awful lot like -

“Logan,” Thomas says. His voice rumbles deep in his chest like an earthquake, and his eyes begin to glow blue.

“No!” Virgil hisses, slapping Thomas to snap him out of the Avatar state. “Sorry, sorry - but you can’t do that, you can’t! You’ll draw attention, and you don’t have control of that state yet! You won’t be able to survive, you’ll get captured and we’ll never get you back!”

“That’s my brother,” Thomas says plaintively. “That’s Logan, I - I have to protect him, I -”

“I know, Thomas. But we have to protect you, too. Come on, come on, I -”

Virgil pulls Thomas after him, tearing through the forest. He stops a good distance away from his best estimate of Logan’s location and instead begins to pull Thomas after him into a tree. “You stay here.”

“Wh -”

Virgil slams his hand over Thomas’s mouth, pointing to the ground. There’s a heavy thudding noise, like booted feet, and Fire Nation soldiers rush past the tree. Once he’s sure they’re gone, Virgil uncovers Thomas’s mouth. “Stay here. If they catch you, it’s all over. I’m gonna go after Lo and the others.”

“And what if they capture you?” Thomas says.

“They killed my father, Thomas. They took the only family I had left. It’s taken me this long to build another one, I’m not going to let them take it away again.” He hugs Thomas tightly, quickly, before he can change his mind. Thomas is surprised, but he squeezes back just as tightly.

“Save them,” Thomas whispers, voice wavering. “Please, Virge.”

“I will. I promise.”

*~*~*~*~*

“There’s no need to be difficult, Roman.”

Roman stands, frozen, staring at a man he thought he left behind. Ruon-Jian has the clearing surrounded with his men; his tone is level and soothing, like he’s speaking to a frightened animal or a rambunctious child, like he’s presenting the only logical option. His face gives him away.

One of his goons stands behind him, holding Logan tightly. His massive arm is like a vice grip around Logan’s fragile torso, and he has a controlled flame-knife pointed at Logan’s throat. He’s holding Logan up so that he can’t touch the earth, and they managed to tie him up somehow. Without his bending, he looks like a blind, scared kid, struggling weakly. Patton is on his back on the ground, a spear point pressed against his throat, arms and legs bound with ropes.

“Come with us, and I promise I will be lenient towards your friends. Why you choose to travel with children is beyond me, quite honestly. Then again, most of your choices are . . . beyond me.”

“How did you find me?” Roman asks. He knows he should be fighting, knows he should be bending right now, but he can’t. The fire inside him has turned to ice as he stares at his captured friends.

“Your brother is not known for his subtlety, Roman. It was no secret that he was sending messages on your hawk. All I had to do was track it, and the stupid bird led me right to you.”

This is all Roman’s fault. He’s gotten his new friends captured, and he’s going to get his brother killed. “What did you do to Remus?”

“Nothing, yet. For all his lunacy, he’s popular with the crew. But once I bring you and your friend the Avatar back as proof of his treachery, I will have enough support to stage a mutiny. Your brother will die at sea in a tragic accident, and I will be the Fire Lord’s right-hand general.”

“Never,” Roman croaks, but it’s a weak protest and Ruon-Jian knows it.

“You are no threat to me, princeling. I will end you and your brother, and your father does not care enough to stop it.” Roman knows that it’s true. He knows he has to get them out of this situation before they all get killed, but there’s nothing he can do. He makes eye contact with Patton, trying to convey his apologies through his eyes alone.

Patton shakes his head, mouths It’s okay before the soldier holding a spear to his throat kicks him, and Roman hates himself just a little more. Ruon-Jian holds up a rope, and Roman starts to lift his hands to be tied up, and then -

Creak.

There’s a rustling noise around them, too pronounced to be normal forest noises, and Ruon-Jian frowns. “Did you capture the Avatar and the Water Tribe brat yet?”

Two soldiers stumble into the clearing, carrying a third between them. Both of the standing soldiers have a knife sticking out of them somewhere, and the sagging soldier looks barely conscious.

“What happened?” Ruon-Jian snaps.

“It - out of nowhere, the trees -” one of them pants.

“Before we knew what hit us, there were knives, and - and they attacked Shoji with some kinda weird punches and he couldn’t bend anymore! He collapsed, we’re lucky we got outta there alive!”

“There’s no such thing!” Ruon-Jian protests. “You can’t take away someone’s bending!”

There’s a sharp whistling noise, and one of the Fire Nation soldiers cries out in alarm. A slender blade sticks out of his arm, and his eyes roll up in his head as he collapses. “Poison?!” Ruon-Jian hisses. More sharp whistles, and four more Fire Nation soldiers fall. Ruon-Jian snarls and thrusts his fist forward, vaporizing the blade that hurtles towards him.

“Show yourself!” he roars. “Do not hide in the trees like a coward!”

“Who are you calling a coward?” a voice snarks back; familiar, but also lower than Roman is accustomed to. “After all, I’m not the one who felt the need to attack children in the woods. You have, what, a teenager and a pre-teen tied up like prisoners of war? Did you really think you couldn’t handle them? God, you’re pathetic.”

“Come down here and fight me like a man, then!” Ruon-Jian challenges.

“If I can defeat your minions so easily, what makes me think you’re any more of a challenge?” the voice taunts. “You’re not so bad.”

“Prove it!”

The trees all rustle at once. If Roman strains, he can faintly hear the lightest of footsteps and grunts as something leaps from tree to tree. Knives appear out of nowhere, and a soldier screams as one pierces clean through his hand. There’s a gleaming ribbon attached to the hilt, and it gets yanked back before anyone can process what’s happened.

“No match for me,” the voice lilts. “Too bad, so sad.”

Ruon-Jian screams and thrusts his arms out, creating a fireball that he hurls at the nearest tree. He keeps screaming as he burns all the trees surrounding the clearing, and Roman cowers down to avoid a serious burn.

“Where are you now, without your precious tree shelter to protect you?!” Ruon-Jian shrieks. “You’re nothing!”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” the voice says. A shadow steps forward from the wreck of the forest, knife glinting in the moonlight as they hold it between two fingers.

Virgil steps into the clearing, and Roman gasps a little. He can’t help himself. Ruon-Jian stares at him, and then he laughs.

“Another child? Pathetic.”

“I’ve taken down too many soldiers for you to call me that,” Virgil says coolly. “Also, destroying the forest? Not cool, asshat. The spirits are gonna beat your ass.”

“Spirits?!” Ruon-Jian snarls. “What can a spirit do to me?”

“Count yourself lucky that you won’t find out tonight,” Virgil says, “because I’m dishing out justice on their behalf tonight.”

“Where is the Avatar?”

“Safe from people like you,” Virgil says. “I disabled your soldier’s bending, and you think I’m not the biggest threat in this clearing?”

“You are a child!”

“So are the benders you have tied like dogs,” Virgil says. He looks angrier than Roman has ever seen him. “Let them go, and let Roman go too. Don’t think I won’t fuck you up.”

“What can you possibly do to me?”

Virgil spins a cord rapidly, and the knife on the end gleams. “You sound scared. Fine by me. Send your minions to fight me if you’re so scared. I’ll take them down and then I’ll come for your pansy ass.”

Ruon-Jian snaps his fingers and three Fire Nation soldiers step in front of him. He retreats to the edge of the clearing with the soldiers holding Logan and Patton, and Roman steps back as well. Virgil’s eyes gleam as he steps forward.

Roman sees the cord wrapped tightly around Virgil’s wrist as he throws one of the knives. It sticks in the shoulder of a soldier, who cries out in pain. Another soldier throws a burst of fire at the cord while it’s still stretched out across the clearing, and Roman winces, sure that Virgil is about to lose a weapon.

Instead, he smirks, yanking the cord and pulling the knife free. “What, did you think that I was going to fight a crew of Fire Nation soldiers and not use my fireproof weapons? Morons.”

Roman quickly realizes that Virgil has far more of an upper hand than he thought. He has a knife-on-a-string in each hand, and he wields them with terrifying efficacy. He spins the knives and uses them to keep the soldiers a good distance from his body. They retaliate with fire, but Virgil just evades them almost effortlessly with an impressive display of gymnastics.

“Stop playing around and kill him!” Ruon-Jian shrieks, presumably to his own men. Virgil rolls his shoulders back and grins.

“Great idea, idiot. I should stop playing, shouldn’t I?”

His knives disappear into his clothes and he runs straight towards the nearest soldier. They shout in surprise, and Virgil shifts to a stance that’s strangely similar to earth bending. He narrows his eyes and tilts his head slightly to the left and lays out a series of jabs, one-two-three-four-five, quick and staccato like Roman’s terrified heartbeat. The soldier wheezes in shock and collapses to the ground in front of Virgil.

“Use your fire bending! Set him ablaze!”

“I - I can’t,” the soldier says, “My bending - something happened, I can’t - I - it’s gone!”

Virgil grins, cracks his knuckles, and bares his teeth.

“Who’s next, motherfuckers?”

*~*~*~*~*

It’s short work after that, disposing of the soldiers.

The leader, that slimy Ruon-Jian, gets away, but Virgil does manage to disarm the rest of his men. He does his best to only use non-lethal combat tactics, but when he gets to the men that had tied up and hurt Logan and Patton . . .

Well, it’s not his fault if a knife ends up in their exposed throats.

It’s short work to slice through Patton’s binds, and he hugs Virgil fiercely the second he’s free. “That was so scary,” Patton breathes. “I thought they were gonna kill us - I thought they were gonna kill you -”

“Am I forgiven for swearing?” Virgil teases. Something wet seeps into his shoulder.

“Yeah, Virge, you’re forgiven.”

Logan is practically mummified in ropes on the ground, but he hasn’t made a single move to free himself. He just lays there, catatonic, and for a moment Virgil worries he’s been injured. “Lo?” Logan flinches, tears spilling down his face. “Hey, buddy, it’s me. It’s Virgil. Can I cut you free?”

Logan nods. “T - Thomas?” he rasps.

“I hid him before I came,” Virgil says. “We’ll go back and get him, Lo, I promise. Let me get you out of these . . .”

Logan stands up once he’s been cut free, stumbling forward one, two, three steps before collapsing. Virgil catches him, quickly sweeping him up into his arms. “Whoa! Are your legs sore from the ropes?”

“Y . . . yes.”

“Okay. I gotcha. Come on, I got you, you’re safe. I’ll take you to Thomas, okay?”

Logan tucks his head into Virgil’s shoulder, breathing shakily. Virgil presses his face into Logan’s hair reassuringly and politely ignores the way his shirt becomes damp.

*~*~*~*~*

Thomas throws himself out of the tree the minute he hears Virgil call to him. “Where’s my brother?! Logan, what happened?!”

Logan has been still and silent since Virgil cut him free, but now he shifts and reaches for Thomas, hands opening and closing rapidly in a childish gesture he would normally never use. Thomas pulls him into a tight hug, and Logan’s breath hitches as he sobs into Thomas’s neck. Patton presses his face against Thomas’s shoulder, and Virgil smiles.

“I’m sorry,” Roman murmurs. Virgil turns, confused.

“What? Why?”

“I froze. If I’d fought back, if I’d done - something, maybe - maybe this wouldn’t have happened. Ruon-Jian was right. I am a coward. I couldn’t stand up to my father for Dee and Remus, I couldn’t stand up to Ruon-Jian to save Logan and Patton, I . . .”

“You are not a coward,” Virgil says firmly. “You’re a victim of shitty circumstances and a shitty upbringing. Doesn’t make you any less of a person. It’s not your fault you were conditioned into this.”

“That would have been me,” Roman says. “If Father hadn’t threatened Remus and Dee . . . It would have been me.”

“But it wasn’t,” Virgil says. “And I refuse to believe that you would have stepped onto a battlefield full of innocents and decided to kill them. You’ve got a conscience, Princey, and you’ve got a good heart. You’ll be okay.”

Roman smiles, just a little, and touches Virgil’s shoulder. “Thanks, Vee.”

“No problem, Roman. What are friends for?”

“Are you finally admitting we’re friends?” Roman probably meant to be teasing, but his voice quivers. Virgil smiles softly, leaning forward and bumping his head against Roman’s cheek.

“Yeah, Ro. We’re friends.”

*~*~*~*~*

They make it back to Remy, waiting in his cave with Dragon. Roman writes a quick letter filling Remus and Dolos in on what happened, telling them not to reply and begging them to take care of Dragon, before sending the hawk off. Patton climbs onto Remy’s head, and they fly away.

Logan is huddled up against Thomas’s side, face blank. “Lo,” Thomas coos, “are you okay?”

Logan doesn’t speak, tucking himself more closely against Thomas. “Go to sleep, okay? I’ll keep you safe.” Eventually, Logan’s eyes slide shut, and Thomas exhales heavily.

“Has he ever done that before?”

“Once. After we escaped our home village, when it was on fire. He just . . . shut down. He’s never been good at dealing with emotions, so he doesn’t deal with them at all.”

“Not healthy,” Patton says from Remy’s head.

“You’re telling me. But I can’t force him to talk about his feelings. He deserves to work through things at his own pace.”

“I can respect that,” Virgil interjects, “but that kinda implies that he’s dealing with his feelings, doesn’t it?”

Thomas pulls Logan into his lap and shifts so his brother is cuddled against his chest. Logan exhales softly, mouth open in a little “O” as he breathes. He’s never looked younger than he does right now, except for maybe when he’d been tied up by Fire Nation soldiers.

“I have to take care of him. It’s my job. He’s the only family I have left.”

“The only blood you have left,” Virgil says. “Don’t think for a second that he’s your only family.”

“Who else do we have?” Thomas whispers.

“Me, obviously. And Ro, and Pat. You have us now.”

“He’s tellin’ th’tr’th,” Logan mumbles sleepily. “Don’eed bendin’ f’r that.” Thomas smiles at Virgil, watery and honest, and Virgil smiles back. It might be ragtag, but it’s his family, and anyone who threatens it has him to answer to.

#starshinewrites #avatar!au #thomas sanders #virgil sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders

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thefanficdude · 3 years

Text

The Winter Months: OCTOBER, Part 1

The wind blew through the barren trees, the only petals left from the previous season struggling to stay on their branches. The ground was no longer grass, but rather a medley of yellow, orange, and red leaves that fell from the looming forest above. The soft yet violent breeze was cold with a familiar change, yet it usually didn’t come this early. He knew this was all but good.

Wilbur walked back to the village, navigating through the masses of bark and stumps that were all too familiar to him. After all, this had been his home for his whole life. While on his way, the wind picked up and he adjusted his coat and hat to conserve heat. Leaves from the ground flew up into the air and created a swirl that could be described as a tornado of fall colours. The leaves wisped past Wilbur with the effortless force of the breeze. He watched them pass, admiring the beauty of the changing seasons while also knowing the winter would not be kind to him and his people. He continued to walk.

Eventually, he got to the town he called home. There were 8 buildings made of sticks, stones and mud, all designed to withstand the four seasons. 7 of the buildings were the houses of the 7 people that occupied this area, but the last building was the Community House, a place where they held meetings, discussed local issues, and planned their strategies for war (They were all generally peaceful people, but when threatened they were some of the best fighters in the land). Wilbur was making his way to the last, which was the biggest of the 8 and located right in the middle of the town. A voice stopped him before he could step through the door.

“Wilbur!” A young boy about 17 years old with golden hair ran towards him with a smile on his face.

“Tommy, right on time!” Wilbur said as Tommy slowed his pace and stopped in front of him. “I was just about to call a meeting. Round everyone up for me and tell them to meet here.” Tommy’s smile was replaced with a more serious tone.

“Is it about winter?” He asked. “We still have quite a while until snow comes. At least 8 weeks if I’ve been counting right.”

“You’ve been counting right,” Wilbur said. “But the leaves have fallen much quicker than normal and the air is getting colder every day, much more than it should.” Wilbur sighed, thinking about his next words. “Just get everybody to come as soon as possible, alright?”

“Yeah yeah, I’ll get everyone here in less than 5 minutes” Tommy said dismissively.

“Thank you,” Wilbur stepped inside the Community House as he heard Tommy’s footsteps run through the village.

There wasn’t a single soul Wilbur knew that was more stubborn and determined than Tommy. Sure, these traits often lead Tommy to most, if not all of his problems, but they were also his greatest strengths. When something needed to be done, Tommy was always the first one on the case, despite being the youngest out of everyone. Wilbur admired that about him. He wished he was like that when he was Tommy’s age.

Wilbur looked around the Community House, taking in everything about it; the nostalgic smell of the wood and charcoal, the mural painting that went all the way around the four walls, the chilled air inside, the-

Wilbur suddenly realized how cold it was inside. He looked at the fire pit in the center of it all with frustration. It would have to be lit sooner this year, maybe even tonight. Of all the seasons, winter was the one Wilbur hated the most because of how impossible living conditions were, let alone the sheer vulnerability and complete inability to fight. Being the leader of these people, he had to reassure everyone that everything was going to be ok, but in reality he was always on edge during the snowy months.

Wilbur looked up from the fire pit to the door, where the first resident silently stood in the frame.

“Will,” The resident stepped through the door, struggling to get his giant wings through the average-sized frame. “Tommy knocked on my door saying you were calling a meeting. If this is another prank of his, it’ll be the third time this month.” Wilbur chuckled.

“Keeping track, eh Phil?” Wilbur sat at the head of the Community House, right before the fire pit and directly across from the door. He gestured for Phil to sit. He did, tightly yet effortlessly folding his black wings behind him.

“Oh yeah, been keeping track since he was 10.” Phil said. “He’s always been a trickster, but at some point I decided to start keeping count. It’s been keeping me busy.” Wilbur nodded with a smile. It was true.

Philza was the wisest person Wilbur knew, and that wasn’t just bias because Phil was his father. Out of everyone Wilbur had ever met (and he met a lot of people), Phil was the one that taught him the most, from how to hunt and skin a deer, to how to flirt with the ladies. Regrettably, he was teaching all this wisdom and advice to Tommy since Wilbur had heard everything he had to say.

“What’s the meeting for this time?” Phil asked after a moment of silence. Wilbur snapped back to reality and realized he had been zoning out. He looked at Phil.

“I want to give all the details once everyone is here,” Wilbur said. “But it’s about the coming winter.” Phil nodded in understanding.

“Ah,” He said. And that was all. Phil was probably the only one who understood the stress Wilbur was under, for he was the leader of this town before Wilbur was. Usually a position of power is given to someone else when the current leader passes away, but Phil didn’t want to wait until his deathbed to teach Wilbur how to properly and successfully lead an army and protect his people. Instead, he retired from his position to teach Wilbur everything he knew. Many people, including himself and Wilbur, would agree that he did a good job raising a pretty awesome kid and leader.

“Tommy said there was a town meeting,” A young woman with pink hair came through the door and sat herself down on one of the benches.

“Yes, I told him to round everyone up for me,” Wilbur said. “I’m glad you could join us, Niki. I hope I didn’t disturb your baking.”

“No, you didn’t disturb me at all,” Niki said. “I actually just pulled a batch of muffins out of the oven. I put them by the window to cool right as Tommy knocked on my door.”

“Ah, perfect! Make sure to ration some of those for winter.” Wilbur said.

“Winter?” Niki asked. “Isn’t that still two months away?”

“...Well-”

“What flavour are the muffins?” Phil asked. Wilbur silently sighed and looked at Phil in thanks. He always somehow knew the right time to insert himself into the conversation.

“Blueberry. They were the last I had of what we picked this year. Any longer and they would’ve gone bad.”

“Good,” Phil said. “With winter coming into our sights soon, it's good to conserve food as much as possible. Those blueberries will last a little longer in those muffins.” Niki nodded.

“You’ll have to split one with me after the meeting.” Wilbur said, smiling at Niki.

“Of course!” Niki replied. “I’ll make sure to set aside the best one for you.”

Niki was the sweetest and kindest person Wilbur knew. You’ll never meet a more caring soul. She spent most of her time baking and making food for the whole village. It was mostly her work to make rations for winter. If it wasn’t for Niki, everyone would’ve died of hunger during the first snow.

“And you remembered to put out the fire in the oven this time, right?” Phil leaned his elbows on his knees and adjusted his wings. Niki gave a nervous laugh.

“Yes, yes!” Niki buried her face into her hands in embarrassment. “How could I forget after nearly burning down the whole village?”

“Hey, I already said don’t worry about that,” Wilbur said. “It was an honest mistake. And as the saying goes, ‘we learn from our mistakes’.”

“Yes, I recall you saying the exact same thing on that day.” Niki moved her hands down and rested her chin on them. The three of them laughed as they looked back on that day, which then was nearly a disaster, but now was just a funny story.

“Hey guys!” Another man entered the building. His hair was brown and curly, and he wore a navy blue dress that went all the way down to his ankles. Over the dress was a grey, light-weight jacket.

“Eret!” Wilbur greeted.

Eret was the plant-keeper. She didn’t want the title of a farmer because it sounded like he did more work than he actually did. So, his title was made the plant-keeper. During summer, he grew plants that grew various kinds of food, and that was when the plants most flourished. But during winter however, Eret had to do everything he could to make sure they were at the very least still alive for the next summer. It was a miracle if one or two of the plants could make a single serving of food during the snow.

“Welcome to the group! Stylish as always I see.” Niki said. Eret looked down at the dress he was wearing and gave a quick spin. The dress's thick fabric flew into the air effortlessly.

“Ah, ya know. I gotta present myself nicely to the plants.” Eret said, taking a seat beside Niki.

“Speaking of the plants, how’s the greenhouse going?” Wilbur asked. Eret copied Phil and rested his elbows on his knees.

“Very well, actually! Just a few more weeks with fall temperatures and we’ll be all set for winter.” Wilburs expression dropped. He cleared his throat.

“Has Tubbo been helping you?” He asked.

“Yes,” Eret replied. “He’s been a great help, especially with his ability. It’s made things move along much faster.”

“Good.” Wilbur said, folding his hands on his lap. “Once Tubbo gets here, I’ll discuss it further. He’s the only one left besides-”

Tommy burst through the door arguing with a boy who looked about the same age as him.

“What the fuck were you doing Tubbo!?” Tommy yelled.

“I was trying to get into his house! Meanwhile you were trying to burn his house down!” Tubbo yelled back.

“Yes because all he does is sleep all day and Wilbur told me to get everyone!”

“You were going to kill him Tommy!”

“Hey!” Wilbur stood up and everybody looked up at him. Tommy and Tubbo stopped fighting and stood still. “First of all, stop arguing with each other! Especially in the Community House! This is not a place to be joking around, do I make myself clear?” Tommy and Tubbo nodded, but Tommy was more hesitant. “Good. Second of all, Tubbo, explain what happened.”

“I was trying to-” Tommy began, but Wilbur put a hand up to stop him.

“I didn’t ask you.” Wilbur said calmly. “I asked Tubbo.” Tommy looked at the ground with the same energy as a 2 year old about to have a temper tantrum. Wilbur looked at Tubbo.

“Well,” Tubbo started. “Tommy knocked on my door saying a meeting was happening and that he was put in charge to tell everyone about it. I asked if there was anyone else he needed to visit and he said George. So I offered to come with him, just because.” Wilbur nodded. “We got to George's house, Tommy knocked, but nobody answered the door. A few more knocks, still no response, and Tommy started getting... impatient.”

“I was not-!” Tommy tried defending himself but Wilbur gave him a stern look that made him stop talking again. He looked back at Tubbo.

“So I proposed we could calmly go inside to see if he was ok, but Tommy interpreted that as ‘use my ability to cause the most amount of damage I can get away with’. I stopped him before he could do anything.” Of course he did, Wilbur thought with a sigh.

“Thank you for controlling him, Tubbo,” Wilbur said, sitting himself down again. “You two can have a seat.” Tubbo sat beside Phil, and Tommy sat beside Tubbo. Tommy was angrily mumbling to himself. “And Tommy, could you do me another favour,” Wilbur said. Tommy looked up, still pissed. “Would you mind lighting up the fire pit?” Tommy looked confused.

“What do you mean? It’s still October. We don’t light the pit until late November.”

“I said what I said. Light it, and I’ll explain.” Tommy rolled his eyes but did as he was told. With a flick of his wrist, sparks and flame emerged from his hand and engulfed the few pieces of wood and charcoal that remained from last year's winter. It wasn’t much, but there was enough fire there to heat up the building to a good room temperature. Wilbur cleared his throat.

“As you all know, it usually doesn’t snow until December. Late November at the earliest…” Wilbur looked around the room and could already see people's faces change as they realized what was happening. It wasn’t as hard as telling someone the news that someone they know has passed away, but it was still hard because it meant telling your loved ones that just simply surviving will be a lot harder this year. Wilbur continued speaking.

“And, as always, I’ve been taking weekly trips into the deep forest to examine the natural changes of the environment. This time around however…” Wilbur looked to Phil for support. Phil simply took a deep breath and gestured Wilbur to keep talking. Wilbur did exactly that. After a deep breath, he continued.

“It seems like the snow will be coming a lot sooner than other years.” Everyone had different reactions, but they all had one thing in common: worry. Everyone started either talking to themselves or the person beside them. And, as per the duty of any good leader, he needed to reassure them that everything was going to be ok, despite all the odds.

“But, I’ve already created some plans of what we can do to make sure this winter is just as good as the ones before.” Everyone looked up with intrigued and hopeful expressions. “However, it requires everybody's effort and ability.” Everyone nodded in agreement, and Wilbur was now hopeful himself.

“Firstly, Tubbo and Eret, the people on greenhouse duty.” Tubbo and Eret straightened and paid close attention. “Eret, you said with a few more weeks, the plants will be strong enough to withstand winter. However, I don’t think we have weeks. I predict we’ll have snow in the next 5 days.” Eret and Tubbo looked at each other with a common thought. How are we gonna pull this off?

“Tubbo, your ability is Earth, meaning you are especially knowledgeable about different types of dirt, fertilizers, and more. With the little time we have left, I’m requesting you find something that will make the plants grow faster to be prepared by next week.”

“Yes sir.” Tubbo replied.

“Eret, with your ability of light manipulation, I need you to store as much light as possible, more than what you normally prepare. With winter starting earlier, we should expect it to last longer too.”

“Of course.” Eret replied.

“Phil, if it starts snowing before the plants are ready, it’s your job to use your air ability for as long as you can to keep snow away from the greenhouse. And if it’s also possible, see if you can keep a piece of the sky cloud free so we don’t have to use up the stored light source right away.”

“Can do.” Phil replied, stretching his wings back.

“Niki and Tommy, I need you to scavenge for as much scrap food as possible. If you can find more ingredients for your baking Niki, even better. As I said before, we should expect this winter to last longer, so we need to prepare more.”

“Got it.” Niki replied.

“I have a question,” Tommy said. “By food scraps, do you mean like… dead rats and birds?” Wilbur sighed.

“Unfortunately, yes. But it will only be a last resort if we run out of our main rations.”

“Ugh, alright.” Tommy groaned. “Niki and I will be on the lookout for dead shit.”

“Fantastic.” Wilbur clapped his hands together and looked around the room. “Does everybody have a job?” Everybody collectively nodded, but Niki raised her hand.

“What about George?” She asked. “He isn’t here, so what’s his job?”

“Don’t worry about George.” Wilbur said. “Once dismissed, Phil and I will stop by his house.” Wilbur looked at Phil and he nodded. “Any other questions?” The room fell silent. “Alright, that’s that! Meeting dismissed.” Everyone stood up from their seats and started making their way to the door. Tubbo and Eret went to each other to discuss their job, as did Niki and Tommy. Wilbur and Phil were left alone in the Community House together.

“What do you have in mind for George?” Phil asked. Wilbur sighed as he got up from the bench.

“Well, because George doesn’t have an ability like the rest of us, his job will be a little easier, but just as important. He’ll be in charge of making sure the pathways and trails in the town and forest are clean before the snow comes. And when the snow does come, I’ll have him help shovel the snow off the roads.” Wilbur made his way to the door and turned to wait for Phil, who was only getting up now.

“Makes sense,” Phil said. “But why do you need me?” Wilbur and Phil started walking through the town.

“You’re aware of what my ability is, right?” Wilbur asked.

“Of course, mind reading. It was a big problem when you were younger, you know. I could never keep a secret.”

“Yeah, sorry about that.” Wilbur laughed. “But I’ve been noticing George has been missing more and more meetings due to his ‘sleep schedule’.”

“And you think it's not just that?”

“Yes.”

“But what else could he possibly be doing?”

“I never like to assume. I need more proof first.” Wilbur and Phil stopped in front of a house with red accents. One could say it looked like a mushroom house, a little home for fairies.

Wilbur knocked on the door with enough force that if anybody was sleeping, they definitely would have woken up.

“George!” Wilbur yelled. “Wake up! I got a job for you!” No response. Phil came up to the door.

“George!” Phil knocked harder than Wilbur did. Still no response.

“We need to go in.” Wilbur said. He turned the door handle, but it stopped with a sudden halt. “It’s locked.”

“Here, let me try.” Phil stepped in front of the door and took a deep breath. In the blink of an eye, his foot was floating in an open doorway. Phil calmly walked in. Wilbur stood outside in confusion for a moment, but stepped in soon after.

“George!” Wilbur called again. The main area of the house, which was the kitchen and living area, was empty. The only other place in the house was his bedroom. Wilbur slowly opened the door.

George’s bedroom was actually quite nice. A small, quaint room with shelves filled with antiques and found treasures and a bed with a red and white dotted blanket. The blanket was not flat though. There was something under it.

“George!” Wilbur went into the room and came beside the bed. Phil came through the door and watched. “George! How heavy of a sleeper are you, man?” Wilbur stripped the blankets off the bed. It wasn’t George under the sheets. It was a pile of pillows made to look like a human.

Wilbur looked at Phil.

They both knew.

~~~

George’s cloak caught on the barren branches as he ran blindly through the thick forest. He was used to having a trail to guide him, or a map at the very least, but not this time. The place he wanted to go was only marked as no-man's-land on all the maps he’d seen. He was headed in the general direction, but he didn’t have a specific route to follow. So blindly he ran, his cloak being wrecked and snagged by the trees around him.

Unlike the others, George didn’t have a power, or an ability as they called it. He was just a normal guy, and all he wanted was a life of luxury and peace. George always felt he was belittled and not taken seriously enough when living in Wilburs town. He was seen as the weak one. The useless one. The burden that others were forced to carry on their shoulders. So he went to the only other place he knew. To the people Wilbur constantly worried about. Wilbur was going to worry about George now, but not in the way of pity. For the first time in his life, George understood what power felt like.

It didn’t last long.

George stopped in his tracks when he heard a rustle in the bush beside him.

“Hello?” George said, creeping towards the bush. “Who’s there?” An arrow burst through the leaves, stopping only mere inches away from George’s throat. The person holding the bow emerged from the shrubbery, not taking his eyes off George.

“State your business.” The man with the bow said. George was still in shock from the life-or-death situation he found himself in, he was unable to speak. “Now!” He said. “Before I shoot this right into your throat!”

“Ok, ok!” George put his hands up for the man to see. “I’ve come to visit your leader. I have no weapons or ill intentions. I just want to talk.” The man slightly lowered his bow and looked at George’s face more carefully.

“...George?” Unfortunately, George was pretty oblivious most of the time.

“...yes?” He responded. A smile came across the man's face and he dropped his bow to give George a hug.

“George!” The man pulled away. “It’s me! Fundy!”

“Fundy?” George hadn’t seen Fundy since he was a small child. Wilbur would put George in charge of babysitting him when everyone else was busy. But now that he heard the name, George saw it: the fox-obsessed boy that could talk to animals. “Fundy! Oh my god! How are you?”

“Ah, well, surviving like everyone else.” Fundy said, picking up his bow again. “How about you?”

“About the same, I guess.” George said. “But I’m trying to look for a better place where I can live my life.” Fundy became skeptical.

“Did Wilbur send you? Is this some sort of way for him to get information on us?”

“No,” George replied. “Nobody knows I’m here, but nobody would care if I was gone either. That’s why I want to talk to your leader.” Fundy thought about it for a moment.

“You would have to be checked for weapons.” Fundy said.

“That’s fine.”

“You would have to be escorted by as many guards as they see fit.”

“That’s fine.”

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

Fundy walked George through the forest until they got to a town, but it was nothing like Wilbur’s. There were many more buildings, all of them bigger than the ones back home. They were made of concrete bricks instead of sticks and stones. It was better than George could’ve ever imagined.

A resident saw George and Fundy and ran towards them.

“Fundy,” He said. “What’s going on?”

“He’s requested to see the leader.” Fundy gestured to George. “I already checked for weapons.”

“And?”

“None, Technoblade. George said he just wanted to talk with him and nothing more.” Technoblade thought for a moment and then called for some more people. He looked back at George and Fundy.

“You may take… George, you said?” Fundy nodded. “You may take George to see him with two other guards. If anything goes wrong, it’ll go on your record.” Two other men came up beside George while Fundy took the front.

“Yes sir.” Fundy said, leading George to what looked like their version of the Community House.

It was a large building, possibly bigger than all of Wilbur’s buildings combined. It looked old and tested by nature, but it still held strong. Fundy, George, and the two other guards went in.

Large fire-lit torches hung on the walls inside the giant building, and in the center was a table that took up most of the building. Strewn on it were maps, weapons, and small bottles of god-knows-what. George didn’t dare ask what it was.

At the head of this table was the man George was looking for. He stood hunched over a piece of paper on the table with a quill in hand. Even without doing anything, his presence was the scariest thing George had ever witnessed.

“Sir,” Fundy stepped forward. “There’s someone here who wishes to speak with you.” The man at the table looked up and straightened to get a better look. Suddenly what looked like a 4 foot tall dwarf was a 6 foot tall warrior. George’s throat tightened.

“Is that so?” With the quill still in his hand, he walked over to George. “What’s your name?”

“G-George.” He stammered out. The man with the quill raised a brow as he stopped in front of George, just inches away from him.

“You’re from the other side of the forest, right?” He stroked the underside of George’s chin with the soft feather which made George instinctively look up at him. “That’s a long way, especially for a one-man army.”

“No, you’ve got it all wrong. I haven’t come to fight. I have no weapons, I…” George swallowed as the man leaned in closer. “I’d like to offer my services to you.” George said.

“I want to join you, Dream.”

#dreamsmp #dsmp #dreamsmpfanfic #dream smp fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #fantasy #action

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atinytokki · 3 years

Text

Across the Night

iii. The Truth

“It all began when I was hired on as Prince Junhee’s nurse years ago,” Mother began. Seonghwa tucked up his legs and tried to get comfortable in the chair. This would likely be a long storytime.

“As you can imagine, the process was grueling and intense and I was trained even from adolescence as a courtier to care for small children in the hopes that I could land the job,” she went on with a sigh. “I was, of course, ecstatic when I did, and even more so when I met the handsome, noble, powerful man that was— is— the King.”

Here she glanced down at her lap and shook her head before finding her voice again. “It was just one of those things, a moment you wish later that you could change, but at the time it occurred I had no control. My heart drowned out my head and behind the Queen’s back, the King and I grew close. Too close. Two children were born to him the same year, one was the Queen’s and one was mine. But instead of making me a concubine, the King decided instead that to keep me quiet he would send me and my child— his child— here to live in the city, strangers to him even as I raised the princes and maintained a professional relationship with the royals. To this day, the Queen knows nothing.”

Seonghwa caught his breath at the implication of all this. Some of the details were beyond his understanding but it sounded like what Mother was saying was that the King was his father.

“I know what you’re thinking,” she snorted, cracking a small smile. “That this explains why I never speak of your father, and that all this means you’re part royalty.”

Again she could only shake her head and avoid his gaze, tears welling in her eyes and scaring Seonghwa.

“But it gets worse,” she confessed. “While I nursed both infant sons through five years, I began to notice a difference. My boy was deformed, misshapen, poor and neglected while we starved on the King’s meagre pay. The Queen’s second son was lovely, sweet, and perfect in every way. I tried so hard to move on and to just love my son but every day I saw that little prince and his beautiful face and jealousy stirred within me.” She gave him a fragile smile but her voice cracked as she went on. “So I stole him, and I raised him as my own, and now here he sits at my kitchen table when he should be sitting on a throne.”

Somewhere along the way, Seonghwa’s eyes filled with tears as well and a strange sort of calm settled on him.

This woman was not his mother.

“Yes, Seonghwa,” came the tortured whisper. “The boy they call the second prince is my child, and you, sweet boy... are hers.”

He opened his mouth as if to say something, but not a word would leave his lips. Memories swirled around in his head.

The beautiful room where he grew up, Mother feeding and teaching him, the older boy that came and played sometimes, the smell of perfume and the taste of delicacies...

He had grown up in the palace, not just a fancier house that he had later left. That boy had been his brother and moving to another house hadn’t been a move at all... it had been a kidnapping.

Seonghwa tried to breathe through the shock, getting to his feet and going to the window, leaning on the frame for support. The distant silhouette of the palace was bold against the stars and his head began to pound from the ferocity of flowing memories.

“You know this already, don’t you?” Mother’s voice floated after him.

But she wasn’t his mother, and everything was all wrong.

The feel of satin and the twinkle of crystals in his deepest most turbulent dreams was real.

“Why?” He finally uttered, pure raw emotion coursing through him. “And why tell me now?”

Mother scoffed and came to stand beside him, reaching out to touch his face but thinking better of it when he flinched away.

“I was there for your first steps and your first words. I was the one who fed you, changed you, put you to sleep, taught you everything you know. Why shouldn’t I be your mother?”

“It was wrong!” Seonghwa yelled through tears, moving even farther away from her as everything unravelled— past, present, and future dashed to smithereens all around him.

“I know!” She shot back before closing her eyes and dropping her head into her hands. “I knew even as I switched you, while I lured you away to my house and every day since when the royal family went on with their lives unknowing and I realised the consequences of what I’d done.”

Her voice was softer now, and Seonghwa clung to the hope that she was repentant, that she could set things right somehow, but she continued to speak and dash his hopes with every word.

“I’ve made a grave mistake. There I was, idolising you and wishing you were mine instead, but despite all I had already done for you, there was something I could never teach you. I had no idea how to train a prince. What I failed to realise was that even with you as my son, I could never be uplifted to a higher status or lifestyle. Swapping the two of you did nothing at all but make your life worse. My poor, sweet Seonghwa... you don’t know how to do anything.”

Seonghwa raked his hands through his hair and fought back tears even harder. He could be preparing to help lead a kingdom right now, and instead he had run wild through the city for five years behind his Mother’s back. She hardly knew him, no matter how much she had done to make him hers.

“I-I’ve failed you as a mother, thinking your perfect looks and sweet voice could survive in this harsh world of work and more work and death. You’re completely unprepared and it’s no one’s fault but my own. To be disciplined in the palace and then expected to live as a peasant... it’s wrong and I don’t know why it took me so long to confess it to you but now that I’ve told you the truth, I see only one way forward.”

Seonghwa held his breath and finally turned his head to look at her. Her face was stone cold.

“You can never be a prince again. You must learn a trade and forget where you came from.”

“What?” He cried. “And refuse everything that is rightfully mine?”

She had washed away his early years with constant lies and constant manipulation, and now she expected him to continue on as if nothing was wrong between them?

“No!” He refused. “No, I have to go to the palace, I have to see the King. Maybe my true family will recognise me, five years isn’t that long—”

“They will not,” Mother insisted without so much as an eyelash out of place. She was completely certain. “In all this time, they have never once realised that their second son is the wrong child. No matter how deformed he is, no matter how ill suited for princehood, your real parents have never so much as suspected that he was switched. Royalty spending time raising their children is simply not the custom. You have no claim to the throne, going there would be a waste of time. No, you must never visit the palace again.”

Seonghwa couldn’t believe it. With all the lies she had told him, surely this was just another, some desperate ploy to keep him from running and leaving her.

“I’m to go on living a lie then?” He asked hoarsely, feeling so very beyond his years.

“Seonghwa,” Mother sniffled and finally drew him in close. “This is your life. I love you, don’t you know?”

Out of force of habit, he let her embrace him. When the alien feeling inside grew too strong, he pulled away and walked outside, sinking onto the garden bench and trying to regain control of himself.

Mother followed him out at a distance, probably to make sure he hadn’t fled, before handing him a slice of bread left over from dinner and retreating to the house.

Seonghwa needed space to work through everything he’d just been told.

As much as he tried to hold it back, the floodgates overruled him and he ended up trying and failing to rub the wetness off his face.

He couldn’t help but feel like his life was poisoned now.

Every feathery light kiss to heal a bloody scrape, every tune he learned to sing himself to sleep, even the knowledge that baked the bread in his hands— it all came from her.

And it seemed there was no escape.

He clutched the bread so tight it left a hand print and finally let the tears roll down his cheeks.

There was one more thing his mother could teach him.

When the candlelight in the window was snuffed out, Seonghwa peeked in to check that his mother had gone to bed and then made his way into the kitchen.

He could dig up the past or make his own way in the world. And deciding to make his own way, he began with making his own bread. He followed the recipe he’d learned the week after his birthday and kneaded all his frustrations into that dough.

The moon was obscured by the time he was done, but still feeling awake, he snuck out to Chaeyoung’s house and rapped on her window until she came out to meet him.

“What’s this?” She yawned, accepting the bread as they walked down to the fountain together.

“I just felt lonely,” Seonghwa shrugged, trying to disguise his shaking voice. He needed someone who wasn’t his mother to talk to, even if it had nothing to do with his recent discovery.

“In the middle of the night?” She laughed, taking a bite and making a sound of satisfaction. “This is still warm, did you just bake it?”

Seonghwa nodded and sat on the lip of the fountain, pulling off his shoes and dangling his feet in the water. “I couldn’t sleep,” he told her, and it was more or less true. “But I suppose Chan and Donghyun will be jealous we came here without them, won’t they?”

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell Chan anything,” Chaeyoung snorted, brushing off the crumbs into the water and joining him. “And Donghyun is busy, remember?”

Seonghwa sighed wistfully. If only there was some master that he could impress that would sweep him away from all this confusion with Mother. “I don’t blame him,” he said quietly, sitting back to look at the stars that came in and out of focus between wisps of cloud. “We both have to grow up soon, too.”

“And will you be a baker?” Chaeyoung inquired, looking as if she wanted more bread.

“Maybe,” Seonghwa couldn’t help but smile at the way she was looking at him. “Apparently it’s one thing I can do.”

“You’re great at it,” Chaeyoung insisted and nudged him playfully. “You could probably expand your repertoire to cook as well.”

Seonghwa wanted to roll his eyes at the big word but decided to take the focus off of himself for awhile. “What will you do when you grow up?”

She was silent for awhile, looking at the faint glow that came from the palace lights.

“You know, I think it would be wonderful to be the Queen,” she decided. “Living in the lap of luxury seems much more appealing than it did last week, now that I’ve been on the palace grounds.”

Seonghwa furrowed his brow. “But I thought you wanted to be a soldier?”

“Maybe I’ll just do both,” Chaeyoung shot back, sticking her nose in the air. “Riding into battle with a crown on your head is a very glorious profession.”

Even while he laughed along, Seonghwa began to wonder if Mother had fancied herself a Queen too and the creeping thoughts brought his mood down again.

“So what is your tutor teaching you these days?” He asked as he pushed his legs back and forth through the water, making ripples that drifted lazily to the other end of the grand fountain.

In typical Chaeyoung fashion, she rambled on and on about school and her various interests and soon Seonghwa was feeling better, content to chat candidly until the pair of them became sleepy.

Eternally grateful for her unwitting encouragement, Seonghwa walked his friend home and bid her goodnight before climbing into bed himself and forgetting everything for a few hours.

The next day brought an uncomfortable atmosphere but Mother agreed to teach him to make dumplings. The next week it was streusel bread.

By age twelve he had mastered baking. Donghyun had moved away to Namhae to live and work as an artist with master Kwangsuk. Young Chan was enrolled in boarding school, and his and Chaeyoung’s father was deployed to the colonies, though she stayed behind in Doljeon to train to be a lady in waiting.

Seonghwa didn’t really know what that meant, but it was a job in the palace with the Queen that required combat knowledge for security purposes, so he approved. As much as she wanted to sneak him in to see the palace with her on days when she was working, he always refused. He didn’t need to catch any glimpses of the royal family— his family.

More and more he began to feel lonely, and when Chaeyoung was busy he had no one to talk to other than the bread.

He decided to move on to cooking.

Mother was tired and worn down most days and by the time Seonghwa was fourteen, he had learned all of her favourite dishes and perfected them.

Days blurred together. From the moment the morning tutor left to the moment Mother returned from work, Seonghwa dropped his perfect façade and tried to be himself. He wasn’t really sure who he was now, with his honest work on one side and his shrouded lineage on the other.

Wandering the streets gave him no answers, although a cute little stray cat followed him around from time to time, and cleaning the house until it was spotless didn’t help either.

“Do you want to belong somewhere, son?”

Seonghwa looked up from his bowl of stew at the guest sitting at their table.

His name was Mr. Hwang and he was an acquaintance of Mother’s.

“Yes,” he admitted, gauging Mother’s reaction. “It would be nice to get out of the city.”

Mr. Hwang was apparently a cooper who worked on a merchant ship, making the barrels they transported goods in. “My wife is terrified of water so she won’t join me, and I don’t know the first thing about food,” he proposed, sitting back and motioning to his empty plate in approval.

Seonghwa had cooked the lettuce wrapped fish with expensive ingredients from Kon. Only the best for Mother’s guests, because by sixteen he knew they were all apprenticeship candidates.

Even better, he was resourceful enough to save the bones and make broth out of them, lopping any other fish remains into a spicy soup. He was the perfect candidate for a seafaring culinary position. And even better it was away from the palace, away from Doljeon, away from Mother.

“How would you like to cook for me, and learn to be a cooper as well? You’ll be able to see the world.”

That last line was dangled tantalisingly in front of him, and without a second thought, Seonghwa agreed.

When he looked out his window at the palace that night, shutting out Mother and her anxious prattling, he didn’t feel crushing doubt for once. He felt hope.

And if he had his wish, he would never see that palace again.

...

A/N: Surprise! A big timeskip happened and you might be wondering why, but stay tuned and you'll see ;) Thanks for reading and as always don't forget to kudos and comment!

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