Your Ted lasso art actually means the WORLD to me, I just finished the series and I’m so sad it’s over because it’s the greatest show ever made but your art makes me feel less sad about it

THANK YOU!!! im also a little sad that its over now but im still very much obsessed with it so i like to keep on drawing them in silly situations to replace that sadness hehe!!! 💛💛

── THE GLASS PRINCESS // ELEVEN

Series Synopsis: You wake up in a strange room with no memories, broken glass at your bedside, and a prince named Zuko as your only chance at figuring out who you really are.

Chapter Synopsis: Your evening with Lee is cut short by the arrival of a strange boy with hooked swords. Instead, you go to the fountain and reveal your greatest secret to the Blue Spirit.

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Zuko x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 5.0k

Content Warnings: complicated relationships (strangers to friends to lovers to enemies to strangers to lovers to enemies to lovers), amnesia, alternate universe, lots of secrets and lying and mystery

A/N: i hope you guys don’t think i’m insane for how often i’m updating

Something amazing had just happened to you, and there was no one you wanted to tell more than Kuei. Your brother, who you loved more than anything. You could envision his pride already, the way his face would glow when he saw it, the way he’d pick you up and spin you around and tell you how happy he was.

It was as you ran down the carpeted hallway towards his chambers that you heard hushed voices coming from the room where your brother’s council of advisors met. He was still young, of course, a child as you were, and so the daily goings-on of the kingdom were managed by these advisors, who were all specialists in their field and had advised your father before Kuei.

Always more interested than your brother in this type of affair, you rested your back against the wall by the door, holding your breath so that you did not alert the men to your presence. They were speaking quietly, but they had left the door ajar by mistake, and so it was not very difficult for you to listen in.

“That boy is no king,” the first said. “Do you think his father would let Long Feng walk over him like that?”

“He is still a child,” the second said. “We cannot expect much from him.”

“Even as a child, he has no interest in learning statecraft, nor the history of his kingdom. He’s far too busy playing with his sister and drawing pictures of bears in his lesson book to absorb anything of use. I fear his reign will lead to the end of the kingdom as we know it,” the first argued. At this, the second sighed.

“You’re right about that much, to be sure. He does not have the power to back up the few proclamations he makes. What kind of general obeys a king like that?” the second said.

You swallowed, for these were words you knew to be treasonous. They were speaking ill of your brother, of the King Kuei, and they ought to lose their stations for it. There was nothing you could do, though; even if Kuei would believe you, who else would? Who would discharge two premier advisors on the words of a little girl?

“If only he were born an Earthbender,” the first said. “Then he could be trained. Then there would be a way that he could eventually gain the respect of the rest of the council.”

“There hasn’t been an Earth King who could Earthbend in many decades now,” the second said. “At this point, I’d even take a queen, if she could just do that much.”

“What do you mean by that?” the first said. The second huffed.

“You know. That sister of his,” he said. “If she shows some promise…if she can lift even a pebble…then we will do what we must in order for the kingdom to have a strong ruler.”

“You’d kill the king in favor of a queen?” the first said.

“If she can Earthbend, then I’ll kill anyone for her to rule,” the second said bluntly. “It’s about time that the world was reminded of why Shan’s line is so feared.”

“You are more daring than I thought, old friend!” the first said. “Let’s vow to keep an eye on the young princess. The moment she gives us a hint that she can Earthbend, we will strike.”

“And if she doesn’t?” the second said.

“Then we’ve lost nothing but a few spare moments spent caring for our dear king’s heir,” the first said. “It’ll only make us look better in the eyes of the royals. We really cannot lose in this scenario.”

“You’re right,” the second said. 

You didn’t stay to hear the rest of it. Staring at your palms in horror, those very palms which might lead to your brother’s death, you ran back to your room as fast as you could, pressing your hands over your ears as you chanted the same thing to yourself under your breath, over and over like it was a mantra.

“I am not an Earthbender. I am not an Earthbender. I am not an Earthbender.”

“You know, I had a lot of fun with you,” you said, pulling on the end of Lee’s sleeve to get his attention. “Lee, I really am being serious. I enjoyed it.”

The two of you had spent the rest of the afternoon doing random things around Ba Sing Se. You had bought lunch for you both, and Lee had argued with the vendor until he agreed to give you the food for half-price, after which you had sat by the fountain and eaten together. It was surprisingly nice, even though neither of you had spoken much. Oddly, you didn’t mind silence with him. It was alright. It was nice, even.

“Yeah, whatever,” Lee said. “I guess you could say I had fun, too.”

“It wouldn’t kill you to admit that you like spending time with me,” you said.

“It might,” he said.

“Oh, save it. At the minimum, won’t you say that it was better than working the afternoon shift?” you said.

“That much is true,” he allowed. “But it’s back to work for me now. It’s just about time for the evening round to start.”

“For shame,” you said. “Let this not be the last time we do something like this together.”

“Okay,” he said gamely. You were actually taken aback, not expecting him to agree so readily. Lee was one of those particularly contrary people, the type to refuse on principle, even if he harbored no real misgivings, so for him to just say yes was out of character. You narrowed your eyes at him.

“Did you like your lunch that much?” you said.

“Huh?” he said.

“It’s just that I wasn’t expecting you to acquiesce so quickly. Normally, you would’ve pretended to deliberate over it for at least a minute or two,” you said.

“You told me a good story,” he said. “Do you blame me for wanting to hear more?”

“Ah, so I’m your new theology lecturer,” you said. “You should’ve said so from the start.”

“Not exactly,” he said, staring at his feet as he walked. “You’re something else.”

“Something else! And may I be privy to what that might be?” you said.

“No,” he said. “It’s for me to know, not you!”

By his tone alone, you could understand what that something else could represent, but you did not force him to explain further. He always gave you these considerations, never made you talk more than you offered, never demanded you elaborate, so you did the same for him, only humming a song your brother used to sing to you as you entered the tea house.

“This is where we must part, then,” you said when you and he reached the counter. Lee pulled his apron down from its hook and tied it back on miserably, already dimming, though you had not noticed until it was vanished that he had been close to happiness the entire time the two of you had been together.

“Lee, Y/N! You’re back!” Mushi said as he exited the kitchen. “How was it?”

You arched a brow at Lee, jerking your head towards Mushi, indicating that he had to respond in his own words. It was not just because it was polite; you wanted to hear it, too. What would he tell his uncle about the outing? What had he thought of it?

He finished tying the apron behind his back in a neat bow and rolled his sleeves up again, revealing his sinewy forearms. It was something you had always taken note of: he was far more well-built than you would’ve expected of an ordinary citizen. It was closer to the lithe musculature of the higher-ranked soldiers, but you had never come up with a satisfactory explanation for why he was like that.

“We had a good time,” he said shortly. “Am I serving or washing this time?”

“That is great to hear,” Mushi said. “I told you you would! And I think they want you serving tonight.”

He said something under his breath that you could not quite catch, but then he nodded, ducking beneath the counter to produce a tray. And though it meant that you would be late to the lighting of the fountain lamps, where you might meet the Blue Spirit, you found yourself lingering, trying to squeeze out every bit of time you could spend with Lee until you had to go for good.

You weren’t sure why you wanted to. It was a realization you were on the brink of arriving at, but you hadn’t quite reached yet. It just remained that that was how it was, that you preferred arguing with him to speaking fondly with anyone else, that you’d rather sit in silence with him than have an avid discussion with another person.

“Hey,” Lee said, pausing before you with the empty tray in his hands. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Y/N.”

“What a turn of events,” you said. “The very boy who tried to ban me from the shop is now inviting me back.”

“And the very girl who was once illiterate is now telling stories of her own,” he said with a wry half-grin. “Things change.”

The door slammed open, almost bursting off of its hinges, and you all but leapt out of your skin as a boy brandished a pair of hooked swords at you and Lee, a piece of grass sticking out of his mouth, incongruous with the rest of his regalia.

“That’s enough!” he shouted. “I’ve had enough of all of you! Since no one believes me, I’ll prove it myself!”

“What are you talking about?” one of the low-level militia members who frequented the shop said. “You have about ten seconds to drop those swords, boy.”

“That boy and the old man are Firebenders!” the boy shouted. “Judging by the girl’s closeness to them, she’s in on it, too! I bet she’s a Firebender as well!”

You thought it was ironic that he was accusing his own kingdom’s princess of being from another nation, but considering no one knew who you were, you could not share the humor you derived from the ridiculous declaration. Glancing at Lee, you saw that his mouth had set into a firm line.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about! You must be confused,” Mushi said.

“I saw you warming tea!” the boy said. Almost collectively, everyone in the shop rolled their eyes.

“Uh, yeah,” you said, speaking for the entire crowd when you did so. “He’s a tea-maker. They do tend to do that.”

“That’s not the point! How about this?” he said, jabbing his swords at the poor, defenseless Mushi, who backed away in concern. “I’ll just make you Firebend! If you do it in front of everyone, then there’s no way it can be denied any longer!”

As the boy rushed towards you, Mushi, and Lee, the militia man stood in your defense. Before he could do anything, though, Lee was taking the swords of the man’s back and pointing them at the boy.

“If it’s a show you want, then it’s a show you’ll get,” he said. You gasped as the two of them began to battle. Mushi took you by the arm, pulling you out of the way as Lee and the boy leapt atop the tables, slashing at one another with blows that were not meant to solely maim.

“What is happening?” you said as the clash made its way outside. “Since when can Lee use broadswords?”

“He’s a boy of many talents!” Mushi said as you followed the crowd outside. You hid behind him, peeping over his shoulder and clutching the back of his shirt when Lee sacrificed one of his swords so that the other boy would lose one of his.

“Will he be alright?” you said. You couldn’t understand the extent of your nerves, only that you were nervous. You didn’t want Lee to die, of course, but that was a natural reaction which any person might have. What was strange was that every time the boy’s hook whistled near Lee’s face, every time its wicked tip nearly caught on Lee’s arm, your heart leapt into your throat.

“He’s skilled, but this poor boy is confused. Someone, please help him!” Mushi said. “Oh, thank goodness.”

You weren’t sure why he was so relieved, but then you saw those familiar uniforms and squeaked before crouching behind Mushi. It was two Dai Li agents, come to take the other boy away — two Dai Li agents who, if they had turned their heads even a moment earlier, would’ve seen you and known that you had escaped the palace right under Long Feng’s nose.

“Are they gone?” you said as the crowd began to disperse. “Is everyone okay?”

“Yes, it’s all clear,” Mushi said. You looked around his legs, but he seemed to be telling the truth, so, straightening, you brushed yourself off.

“Thank Quynh,” you said with a shudder. “That was so frightening. Lee, are you fine?”

“It was nothing,” Lee said, wiping the sweat from his brow as he handed the militia man his swords back. His expression was still dark as he took off his apron and tossed it at his uncle. “I’m taking the rest of the day off, uncle.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” you said, reaching out and placing your hand on his shoulder to stop him before he could stalk back into the tea shop. He whirled around, and you preemptively cringed back, already feeling sorry for asking, but it was too late.

“I said I’m fine!” he said. Upon noticing how you had already shrank away, though, his eyes widened. “Just…it’s fine. You should go, Y/N.”

“Right,” you said. “I’ll, um, see you around.”

He nodded, and then, before Mushi could convince you otherwise, before anyone could tell you to stop, you were running towards the fountain, the only place where you might find some solace, even if said solace had not come in so long.

Finding that familiar bench, you collapsed atop it, the stress of everything compounding until you were close to tears. What if Lee had really been injured? What if the Dai Li had not come in time and the boy had bested him? What if he ended up in the same state as some of the people you had seen in the Lower Ring? If he lost his arm or his leg, if another scar was sliced into his face, then what?

You had not been crying for very long when there were those same footsteps in front of you, the soft, light ones that you had all but memorized from how frequently you imagined them. Though you did not take your hands away from your face, you opened your fingers, peering through watery eyes at the figure squatting before you.

He tapped your wrists, and you let him pull your hands down, even though you were more than a little embarrassed to be found in such a state by the Blue Spirit, who always seemed so collected. Using your neckline to blot away your tears, you ignored your rational mind’s warning and threw your arms around his shoulders, resting your face against the crook of his neck.

“Things are so terrible, Blue Spirit,” you said, holding onto him as if he were an anchor. He was hesitant in reciprocating, but eventually, his own arms settled around your waist, keeping you in place if not pulling you closer. “My — my friend, have I told you about him? My friend, his name is Lee…I’d never say it to his face, but he’s someone I really admire. He’s so certain of himself and his opinions, and he’s not like Kuei or the servants at all — he’s really very witty, he can actually keep up with me and argue his own points when we speak instead of constantly bowing to my whims or dismissing them in turn! He’s my friend, my only friend, except you, but today he was attacked. Attacked! In my own city, he was attacked!”

The Blue Spirit patted you on the back. It was a little too rough to really be considered comforting, but you understand the intention and found that the effect was not lessened despite his ineptitude.

“I was so worried he might’ve been hurt,” you said. “What would have I done then? Who would I have if not him? You might not believe it, or maybe you might find it depressing, but I’ve really grown attached to him in the short time we’ve known one another. Besides you, he’s the only person who’s treated me normally, without reverence. I’m not her royal highness the princess when I’m with him. I’m just the frustrating Y/N who likes books and distracts him from his work.”

The Blue Spirit pulled away and shook his head at you. You laughed, though it was a thin, brittle sound.

“You don’t know the half of it,” you said. “It’s a wonder he gets anything done at all when I’m there. A testament to his character, maybe. Anyways, I think I’ve upset him.”

The Blue Spirit shook his head once more, but you could only stroke the cheek of his cool mask.

“Thank you for that, but I really have. It’s alright; I will apologize to him tomorrow. I was in the wrong for bothering him when he had been in such peril only seconds previously,” you said. “I’m sorry to you, as well, for burdening you with my troubles. It’s only that I hadn’t realized the truth of Ba Sing Se until now. I was told that the city was more dangerous than I expected before I came here, but until I experienced it myself, I didn’t quite appreciate what it entailed.”

The Blue Spirit nodded, using his gloved hand to swipe away the tear tracks which had dried on your face. You caught his hand and squeezed it.

“I want to show you something,” you said. “It’s a secret that I haven’t told anyone else in all my years of living, but since you’ve saved me twice already, I think that it’s alright if you know.”

He cocked his head as you trotted over to the fountain, fishing around in the water, pulling out one of the little glass lanterns that floated along the surface in the night, when the turtleducks had gone away to wherever they slept. Blowing out the candle, you smashed it against the ground, careful not to cut yourself on the twinkling shards.

“You see, the reason why I’ve been kept in the palace is because I’m a nonbender like my brother, like my father, like most of my family, in fact. It’s because I’m defenseless — or at least, because I’m thought to be,” you said. “But it’s not entirely like that. Er, the second thing is true, sadly. I am defenseless, or nearly so, but as for the rest of it…”

Gathering the pieces of glass in your palm, you concentrated on them, or, specifically, the tiny particles of earth which they were made of. It was not a feat of strength but of precision, and though you held no claim to the former, the latter was something you could proudly call yours.

Shielded by the Blue Spirit’s body on one side and the fountain on the other, the jagged edges of the glass smoothed and curled on your palm, melding together until they formed the shape you wanted them to: a sparkling lily, which you presented to the man.

“That’s the extent of it, I’m afraid,” you said as he held it up to the firelight. “Glass flowers and other such sculptures. I’m not particularly strong, you see, or if I am, then I’ve never been able to cultivate that strength. Bending exercises, repeated forms…I could not practice things like that for fear of what would become of Kuei if I did.”

He was obviously confused; you did not blame him. It was a confusing statement without the context behind it, so, staring at the rushing waters of the fountain, you began to explain.

“I was fairly young when I discovered that I could Earthbend,” you said. “I ran to tell my brother, but on the way there, I overheard a pair of his advisors saying that if I turned out to be an Earthbender, they’d kill my brother so I could take the throne. That was something I could not allow — he is my brother, you know. My only family. I could not let him die, too, so I swore off bending forever.

“I was not entirely successful. Bending is something that those of us who have it must perform frequently in order to be fulfilled, so my compromise was making things like that flower. Little artworks, which were innocuous enough that no one was ever suspicious as to their true origin. I didn’t have a traditional teacher, but Quynh — yes, the bear spirit, the patron of the Earth Kingdom, the great mother, that Quynh. I’m the princess, aren’t I? It only makes sense that she guided me. Anyways, she taught me that, if I could not train my power, then I had to refine my senses, so that I was sufficiently challenged without making my prowess obvious.

“At first, I only bent crystals, which are harder than pure earth but easier than glass to work with. Eventually, though, I grew bored of making small pieces of jewelry for Quynh, no matter how lovely she looked draped in diamonds and rubies. After that, I graduated to glass, and that’s what I do when I’m bored of reading and studying — I practice.

“I suppose you could call me the world’s only Glassbender,” you finished. “Not the first, but the only remaining, as Quynh was the only remaining bear. It’s not a very practical element, but it’s not like I’ll ever need to use it for anything but aesthetics, so for my own purposes, it’s suitable.”

The Blue Spirit admired the glass lily, and you laughed as he turned it over in his hands — a real laugh this time, not a despairing one. He was like a child, filled with such delight at the simple toy you had fashioned. For a while, he played with it, tracing each edge and crevice with his slender fingers, caressing each individual petal, and then finally, reluctantly, he offered it back to you.

“No, it’s a gift,” you said. “You can keep it. It’s not difficult for me to make more, and no matter how pretty it is, it’s really only glass. It’s not in rare supply by any means.”

He did not think twice, carefully tucking the flower away in the folds of his clothing. You smiled at him before raising your finger to your lips.

“It’s a secret, remember? No one can know I’m an Earthbender. No one can realize the truth, lest they depose Kuei and install me in his place,” you said.

The Blue Spirit offered you his hand, and for a moment you stared at it unsurely. It was a strange form of agreement, but then you understood — it was not his hand he was offering but his pinky finger. You interlocked your own with it, so that the deal was made, the secret sworn, and then you let go.

“Imagine how the civilians would laugh,” you said, sitting on the marble edge of the fountain and dipping your fingers in the water. “If they knew the truth. That name they call me is more apt than they realize, isn’t it? The Glass Princess. I really am one.”

He sat beside you, though he did not dip his own hand into the water. He only observed you, and though it might’ve been intense, uncomfortable, awkward, were it anyone else, it felt reasonable with him. Like that was what he was meant to be doing.

“Can I see your hand?” you said. He gave it to you readily, and you cradled it in yours, arranging it so that the palm was facing upwards, before pausing. “Is it alright if I take the glove off?”

You waited. For a moment, the night was utterly still as he thought about the request, and in that time, you came to notice things about the world which you had thus far been blind to.

The precise shade of his mask, which was a deep blue like sapphire-paint. It was something that you could never erase from your mind, the visage of your savior, the color which had stood between you and your death — but it was also the color that had unmasked the truth of your city to you. If it were not for the Blue Spirit, wouldn’t you still live in that same ignorance? You could not yet say you understood anything, but now you knew that there was something there which needed to be understood in the first place. Before, you were not even aware of that much.

The exact scent clinging to him, which was the delicate fragrance of the honey that some used as sweetener in place of sugar. It was not overwhelming nor heady; it was a soft, warm aroma, as gentle and inviting as candlelight.

The shushing rhythm of the fountain in the background, which was melodic in its sameness. It was another one of those sounds, the type that easily faded away when it was not on your mind but which was omnipotent when you paid attention. The steady flow of the water lulled you into another state — not sleep, because you could not sleep when you were so close to the Blue Spirit, but the opposite, a heightened awareness of both yourself and of him.

That was why time passed both agonizingly slowly and yet dizzyingly quickly, up until the moment that he nodded in agreement and whatever trance you had been in was broken.

Anticipation rushed through you as you took your free hand, the one not supporting his, and tugged on the end of the glove. It came off with a swift motion, and for the first time, there was the sensation of your skin touching his own.

“They say you can tell someone’s future by these marks,” you said, dancing your fingers along the creases of his palm. “It’s an ancient art. Very esoteric. I never learned much about it, but now, I wish I had.”

You wished you could read his future, untangle those winding ways into something comprehensible. The roadmap of the Blue Spirit’s life. You wished you could read it, could know if that destiny was one that included you in its course, but you did not say anything along those lines. You didn’t know what that desire meant yourself, and you didn’t want to frighten him, either, in case it sounded like something it was not.

Though his hands were surprisingly soft, there were calluses formed in the places where he gripped his swords. They were incredibly warm, too, though it was in a pacifying way, not with the sickly sense of fever. They were the hands of a warrior, but also the hands of vanity, and it relieved you to see that even the perfect, infallible Blue Spirit was prone to this fault.

“If only I were more like you,” you said. “Ba Sing Se is in such a state of disrepair, and I can do nothing but offer coins to those I come across, in the hopes that I might alleviate their personal struggles. That’s not hardly enough, though. For every one person I can help, tens of others do not get the same chance. Tens of others continue to suffer from a problem that I cannot identify. What princess does not even know why her subjects are in such pain? What princess can do so little about it?”

The love for your kingdom or the love for your brother? If you were the queen, would things be any different? Would Ba Sing Se be in a better position, or would it all be the same? Well, it was a moot point now. You were not an Earthbender in any way that mattered. The advisors had longed to instate you so that you could remind the world of the power of Shan’s line, but as it was, you would only make a mockery of your famed ancestor. The man who had established the entire Earth Kingdom, left with a great-to-the-nth-degree granddaughter who could only bend glass. That was his lineage. That was his legacy.

“My forefathers must be so ashamed of me,” you said. “What have I ever done with my life? What is there that I can still do? I am the Glass Princess, and that’s all I will be remembered as. King Kuei’s sister who would’ve watched Ba Sing Se fall if it meant she could keep her pretty jewels and fancy dresses.”

Taking another lantern, removing its candle, you twisted the glass into a miniature replica of the Earth Palace. It was meticulous and perfect; such was the training Quynh had given you, after all. Form over function. Accuracy over mass. Mental fortitude over physical fortification.

“That’s where I am,” you said, tapping the minuscule window. “All of the time, unless I am with you or in the tea shop. That’s the extent of my world.”

Two finger lengths long. That was your existence in summary. You put the Blue Spirit’s glove back on and gave him the model of the palace.

“In case you ever visit,” you said. “So you don’t get lost. Come see me if you do, won’t you?”

He didn’t offer you his pinky this time, but you figured that when he nodded his head in acceptance, he still meant it as a promise.

taglist (comment/send an ask/dm to be added): @rinisfruity14 @c4ttheart @blacky-rose @shizko @marsbars09 @happyplaidpersonfestival @catborglar @camilleverreault @nerdybouquetofkittens-blog @lovialy @heart4hees @stefnarda @ioonatv

okay so i was on twitter and this video showed up on my tl: https://twitter.com/lunartokki/status/1551882046376656901?t=jNxUZI29PojS2PYnp_26ig&s=19

Rubius: "I promise you for the sake of my Vegettita that ill never steal again"

And i had a thought, that only sleep deprived people have.

Tw: mentions of threats, blood and death (?, Angst lmao

Eventually Quackity gets tired of all the silly little "jokes" the rest of the residents play on him. He has to expect every day to come on in and find his house trashed, spikes placed outside, free fall traps outside and the god forsaken landmines placed everywhere.

Hes tired, but the one thing that makes him snap is when he realizes who tended the traps that day.

:readmore:

Rubius had sworn over and over again, he had sworn over his family, over his pets, over his friends, over his own existance! And every single time he would come back and place another landmine. It became clearer every day, the man couldnt keep a promise even if he wanted to.

Petty getbacks had gotten old by now, karma is a cycle that never breaks and the stakes get higher and higher.

Quackity needed this to stop and to put an end to it all he had to go all in, hes tired of being seen as the naive newcomer, but what could he possibly do to make Rubius listen? What could he do to finally put him in his place?

Whats his weak point?

...

Oh, he knows damn well who it is.

----

Rubius finds a nicely wrapped chest outside his house, inside? a couple of iron and golden goodies, but the thing that got his attention was the purple, neatly wrapped envelope. If there was anyone in this town that could make things look so perfect is Vegetta, his Vegettita.

"Meet me at my house, ive been missing you and i have a present waiting for you"

This man knows how to get his attention.

With no hesitation he barely grabbed the necessary stuff and ran towards his friends house, exitedly awaiting whatever surprise he had tended for him.

He knocked the door sevral times but no one answered, he came in after a few minutes, he was expected to show up so hes really not breaking any laws.

A rustle coming in from the kitchen startled him and as soon as he approached the scene left him in shock.

Vegetta tied to a chair and a meanacing Quackity lingering behind him, an enchanted diamond sword lying in the tble beside them. The expression of his friend, terrified. Quackity’s face in the other hand, blank yet a horrifying smirk lingering, he almost looked happy.

"Quackity what are you doing?! This breaks every single law abided by the gods!"

Rubius tried to get closer and free his friend but as soon as a single foot touched the kitchen floor Quackity had already grabbed the sword. He had forgotten everything at his own, he wouldnt be able to fight him now.

"Since when is tht so important to you, huh? You never cared when you placed the mines in my house, or Staxx's house or anyones house really"

He stepped behind Vegetta once again, smiling when the man tensed when he couldnt see him anymore.

"You never cared when you got diamonds before anyone else, or when you made something from the forbidden pages of the carftmans book. Do you care now that Vegetta is in danger now?"

Before he finished the sentence he placed the sword at Vegetta’s neck and started applying evident pressure. Rubius tried once again to step in but the sword started drawing blood.

"I am sorry, i was just goofing around! You know how i am! Its though love!"

Quackity wasnt even looking at his eyes anymore and insted fixiated in the bit of blood runing from the mans neck.

"Qusckity please! Why are you taking it out on him? What do you want? Whatever comes to mind ill give it to you, just drop the sword!"

Their eyes locked but Quackity’s stare made Rubius take a step back, how could the goofy kid he met months ago be the same monster standing infront of him.

"I'm sorry blondie, but you swore youll never do something like that again."

He spared a glace between the two one last time before smiling and grabbing at Vegetta's hair to keep him in place.

"You swore for the sake of your Vegettita"

The sword slashed trough his neck, his limp body falling to the floor around seconds. Rubius falling right beside him, surely he would come back from this.

Rubius tried to scream but once again cowered under the mans stare.

"You swore Rubius, this are simply the consequences of your own actions."

Apricity

yandere!albedo x (gender neutral) reader art credit - miHoYo cw: nsfw elements, yandere, captivity/restraints, unhealthy behaviors note - please come home to me and take care on the journey, albedo! :D also kindly heed the warnings. thank you!

His eyes are unnaturally pretty. Like twin crystals glittering in an expansive, dismal cave, searching for secrets unheard of within Mondstadt. Somehow you’re always in his peripheral, not too close and yet impossibly far at the same time. The distance is harrowing, terribly so, and Albedo knows it should be nothing short of a coincidence. When he shows up at your quaint stall with Sucrose, claiming to be in need of the exact wares you happen to sell, you pay it no mind. After all, you’ve met your fair share of regulars, and their support is what keeps you afloat. 

But there is more to those beautiful irises than he lets on. Whether it’s intentional or not, you can’t exactly say. You suppose you would rather run into someone as well-respected as Albedo as opposed to an unlikable stranger with ill intent. And it’s always great to see a familiar face, especially when he chooses to peruse your stall rather the others around you. It isn’t all that strange; you’ve even become friends with Sucrose during your short interactions. Albedo has indulged in stiff conversations with you before, but most of them were meaningless. Simple throwaway chatter between two acquaintances. 

Oddly enough, Albedo finds himself wanting more. He doesn’t want to talk about the weather or the transitioning seasons; he wants to listen to you explain how your day was and if you made more profit than the day before that. He wants to stand there and immerse himself in your pleasant voice, ignorant to the hustle and bustle of the people around him. And yet he just can’t. For a variety of reasons that pull him out of the haze of intrigue, you’ll always remain in the background. And he simply can’t bear the thought of that.

It’s rude to deteriorate a relationship that’s only just begun to blossom. If your meager acquaintanceship with him were to wither away into dust, he would feel obligated to keep it going—as if he were simply beating a dead cow with a stick. Although your hobbies differ from his, it’s nothing he can’t handle. A genius must familiarize himself with other areas of study if he intends to craft solutions that are outside of the box.

“Albedo?” 

Your tone is meek and small, tinged with the slightest shiver. Part of him feels bad for lying to you, but you were just so trusting. It’s almost comical how easily you fell into his trap. If he gets to see you in such a delicious way all the time, he’s more than willing to forsake the truth to meet his own desires. A selfish wish, yes, but it’s absolutely wonderful.

“What is it?” 

He eyes you from his spot behind the easel, and even though you can’t see him you can feel his piercing gaze. Like the sun shining brightly in a wintry afternoon, his eyes smolder with unbearable heat and yet his expression is cold with brilliant focus. 

“A-Are you almost done? It’s really cold.” Your bare back touches the wall and you flinch, an instinctual response that makes Albedo’s brow quirk. “And this is sort of...weird.”

“How so?” 

He says that in such a dismissive manner, acting as if your current position isn’t compromising. As if this was a normal exchange between friendly strangers. You have trouble finding your voice in this situation, especially since talking seems like such a chore. You’re worried you’ll say the wrong thing and then it’ll leave a false imprint of who you are on Albedo. But you’ve always been nice, unable to refuse those who are kind in return, and so you’re forced to endure the discomfort that comes with modeling nude for this peculiar alchemist. 

“Think about it.” You distract yourself with a ramble of an explanation—certainly more than what’s necessary, but Albedo doesn’t mind. He finds solace in your voice. “You’re looking at me and I’m...n-naked. And we don’t really know each other. I’m not trying to vilify you when I say this, but I don’t want you to do anything bad to me. N-Not that you would! It’s just—this is really weird. I’ve never done anything like this before.”

“Hm.”

“And do I have to be tied up like this?” You shuffle in your bindings, fingers scrabbling over the cuffs and chains that jingle like horrible sleigh bells. 

“You were moving too much earlier. I won’t be able to get your anatomy right if you’re constantly fidgeting.”

But it’s uncomfortable, you think, chewing on your lip out of habit.

“I guess I understand. It must be an artist thing, right?”

“You could say that.”

His work on the canvas offers a display that’s just as lewd as the real model, down to the way your nipples perk and harden in the cold. He’s not even close to finishing and that’s a blessing in itself. He could stare at your figure for hours on end, committing every inch of your flesh to memory, and he wouldn’t grow weary. 

“Do artists normally blindfold their models? I don’t really know anything about this stuff, but it’s okay if it helps with the process.”

“I find it to be interesting,” he answers, simple and vague as ever. “It adds a mysterious touch to the finished piece.”

“So you draw the model with the blindfold?” You’re used to gazing upon paintings of flowers and portraits of influential historical figures rather than blatant nudity. “Artists are definitely unique.”

Albedo hums in response, secretly reveling in your naïveté. At the end of the day, you’re just a normal citizen of Mondstadt, who stands behind a wooden stall every single day and happily chats with potential customers. You excel in business, but when it comes to the inner workings of art you’re at a loss. And that makes it all the more easier for Albedo to spin all sorts of wild tales. He fears that gullible nature will harm you in the future, yet there isn’t a threat in sight. Not when you’re here in front of him, no longer confined to his peripheral. And you’ll stay there for however long it takes him to finish this painting. 

It’s a twisted infatuation. Albedo knows he shouldn’t take too much of your time or else he’ll become addicted and it will be impossible to focus on his studies. But he can’t stop himself or his wandering gaze, which trails up your midriff. Higher and higher until he’s staring at your face, eyes obscured behind the soft fabric of a blindfold. Your body is a temple he wishes to worship, and perhaps that’s a sacrilegious thought that ought to have him consider the weight of his emotions. 

And yet you’re far too irresistible. His thoughts are dangerously potent, swirling within his brain like a maddening hurricane. Surely your missing presence in the market won’t be questioned if he were to keep you just a little longer. Longer than the boundaries of sanity will allow, that is. There are other vendors who sell the same things you boast; the economy won’t shatter if you’re not there to provide.

The paintbrush moves along the canvas in even strokes and suddenly Albedo’s mind is wandering between subjects. From art to alchemy, love to lust, and the wondrous crevices in your anatomy that call out to him. The brush stills in his hand. If he’s not mistaken, Sucrose will be stopping by to assist him and the last thing he needs is staining his appearance in a suspicious color. 

“Albedo?” His name rolls off of your tongue in such a delectable way; it’s almost sinful how his thoughts race and race in an endless track. “Are you almost done? My back is sore and the floor’s really uncomfortable.”

“Sorry. This will take longer than I thought.” He sets his brush and palette down, and you listen to his footsteps as they draw near. “Something has come up, but I promise I won’t be long.” 

“Wait. You’re not going to leave me, are you? I need to get back to the marketplace!”

Before you know what’s happening, the blindfold is coming off and you’re locking eyes with Albedo, who peers at you with intense scrutiny. Certainly the look of a genius studying a textbook. You grow flustered all at once, just now coming to terms with the fact that he looked at your body for longer than you’d like to admit. Shyly, you shut your legs to obscure your private parts, but it’s not like that will help the embarrassment that claws its way onto your expression like a persistent beast. 

“You’re better off waiting here.” He shrugs off his coat, draping it over your shoulders as if that’ll keep the dreadful chill away. “As much as I would like to finish this now, I have other work that must be taken care of.”

“I get that, but you can’t just leave me here! That’s practically kidnapping!” you protest, hoping he’ll heed the desperation in your trembling vocals. “At least, that’s what this feels like.”

“I wouldn’t kidnap you,” he says, amusement flashing in his eyes. “You’re too funny.”

Yet he isn’t laughing and neither are you as you helplessly watch him depart. The floor is too cold for your liking and the idea of entrapment settles under your skin like a million maggots feasting on a decaying, chilled copse. Devoid of warmth and carrying an air of measured grace, Albedo doesn’t spare you another glance.

He doesn’t need to. He’ll have all the time in the world to study your body like it’s the finest artwork, and you’ll be powerless to object.

horizon zero dawn starters

❝  you can sense it. you already know you’re going to lose.  ❞ ❝  did you want to be alone?  ❞ ❝  you wouldn’t be so eager to speak with me if you knew me.  ❞ ❝  that will draw attention. we won’t have this place to ourselves for long now.  ❞ ❝  it’s a world worth fighting for. not just here. everywhere.  ❞ ❝  trying to live up to glorious pasts has a way of getting people killed.  ❞ ❝  never celebrate a victory before it’s earned.  ❞ ❝  i crave vengeance. do you?  ❞ ❝  my comrades weren’t so lucky. i might shed a tear, if they weren’t all cutthroats and cheaters.  ❞ ❝  i’ll always have a minute for you. maybe even two.  ❞ ❝  you walk on the edge of life and death. i can tell.  ❞ ❝  what is a gift but an award you did not earn?  ❞ ❝  so many voices to listen to, it must make your head hurt. i promise my voice will be soft and soothing.  ❞ ❝  i wish i could borrow some of your courage now.  ❞ ❝  i’ve always wondered. are all your kind hunters and fighters, or just a few?  ❞ ❝  no one doubts your determination. but you need to rest.  ❞ ❝  a bold claim. i wonder if you’ll live up to it.  ❞ ❝  why would someone name a knife?  ❞ ❝  so you’re alive ! we should celebrate! drinks on me!  ❞ ❝  try not to forget me, while you’re out there saving the world.  ❞ ❝  when we spoke earlier, you winced, then looked like you were in pain - or frightened.  ❞ ❝  i’m really not one for crowds.  ❞ ❝  so - how are we gonna do that? oh, wait, i forgot. we won’t. i do all the dangerous stuff.  ❞ ❝  i knew there was something about you. hammered from the stuff they make leaders out of.  ❞ ❝  no matter what happens, i will not intervene. do you understand? you are on your own.  ❞ ❝  it’s always a pain in the neck when you show up, girl, one way or another.  ❞ ❝  you’re bleeding, let me have a look. here, hold still.  ❞ ❝  just don’t think this means i enjoy it.  ❞ ❝  i don’t want to jinx it, but we might be in the clear.  ❞ ❝  when i start a fuss, i like to finish it.  ❞ ❝  i promise to look solemn at your funeral before i hit the bar.  ❞ ❝  what could go wrong? turns out, a lot.  ❞ ❝  let me come with you! i won’t be a bother. i know how to stay out of sight.  ❞ ❝  now i’m supposed to fill ____’s shoes. and instead, here i am, stumbling around in them.  ❞ ❝  we need to talk - alone. and you need to pull it together.  ❞ ❝  i guess growing up means putting what you should do in front of what you want to do, right?  ❞ ❝  oh, are you going to shut your mouth now? because that would be a surprise.  ❞ ❝  i will come to you in secret. no one will see me, so i won’t get in trouble.  ❞ ❝  it looks like something chewed you up and spat you out.  ❞ ❝  these are the true wilds, with threats unlike any you have ever faced.  ❞ ❝  that moment the door opened and you were standing there, and the way you smiled... i had to look away or you were going to see. on my face. what had just... blossomed inside me, you know?  ❞ ❝  i’m not afraid of you - i’m not afraid of anything.  ❞ ❝  stop being evasive? you might as well tell me to stop being charming. it’s impossible.  ❞ ❝  what a waste. at least he died better than he lived.  ❞ ❝  i’ve been looking up at the stars a lot, and the only story i see written across them is that we are small and insignificant and will soon disappear with hardly a trace left behind. it’s a hard story, and i don’t like it much..  ❞ ❝  if i’m going to stand for something, it’ll have to be something i believe in.  ❞ ❝  the strength to stand alone, is the strength to make a stand.  ❞ ❝  soon it’ll all seem familiar. like home.  ❞ ❝  now i see that i was just lucky to get a minute of your time.  ❞ ❝  i know my duty to them - and to you. i’m here. and wherever you go...i will follow.  ❞ ❝  you're really good at making it impossible to like you.  ❞ ❝  i’ve missed our little talks.  ❞ ❝  will change happen at all, while men live in palaces?  ❞ ❝  confidence is quiet. you’re not.  ❞ ❝  you’re not a very convincing liar.  ❞ ❝  i already have all the friends i need. i don’t need the bother.  ❞ ❝  all right, cool your fire. i got nothing to hide.  ❞ ❝  i see you don’t recognize me. well, it was a long time ago.  ❞ ❝  you will turn back - or bleed. your choice.  ❞ ❝  when we met, i thought i was a big shot talking to a pretty girl hidden away in the middle of nowhere.  ❞ ❝  you would speak ill of the dead? truly you have no shame.  ❞ ❝  truth is, i get lonely once in awhile. there. i admitted it. don’t think less of me.  ❞ ❝  do you have any idea how dangerous it is out there?  ❞ ❝  but i don’t know anyone here.  ❞ ❝  come on, stop. you’re going to make me tear up.  ❞ ❝  i feel like i should drop to my knees and worship you.  ❞ ❝  think i’m done? think again. i’ve gotten out of worse scrapes.  ❞ ❝  it’s hard to imagine where we’d be without you - and i don’t want to try.  ❞ ❝  if we’re to fight together on the brink of life and death, i’d prefer to do so with your forgiveness.  ❞ ❝  trust is for fools. it shifts and crumbles like sand.  ❞ ❝  what will you do while i risk my life?  ❞ ❝  you can smile, can’t you? ...no, that’s a grimace.  ❞ ❝  you killed that demon...pulled its guts from the carcass!  ❞ ❝  the sooner you’re gone from here, the better.  ❞ ❝  for now, all you need to know is that i’m a whisper of reason in this howling pit of insanity.  ❞ ❝  i heard the rumors, but i didn’t know for sure until saw you just now. i’m glad to see you’re okay.  ❞ ❝  no barrier can now stay you from your sacred task.  ❞ ❝  i won’t deny i risked your life. but it was the only way.  ❞ ❝  they can’t shoot if they’re dead. keep them busy, i’ll find an angle.  ❞ ❝  comforts are weakness.  ❞ ❝  as for honor, sacrifice-- true sacrifice, the kind rulers know nothing of -- it’s all a fat joke.  ❞ ❝  i’ve been sharpening my blade, anticipating the scent of the fight.  ❞ ❝  you’re not just a traveler. that armor was fitted for you. and the way you hold your bow...  ❞ ❝  i’d expect to see some tomatoes fly, maybe rocks. hopefully not spears. in any case, be ready to duck.  ❞ ❝  i’m not here for the price on your head.  ❞ ❝  for a moment, i was a child again, rapt from stories told by hunters at the campfire.  ❞ ❝  this...attachment to me will only hold you back.  ❞ ❝  whatever you do, don’t let their shabby looks fool you! they’ll kill you as soon as look at you.  ❞ ❝  i’m doing what i love. and what could be wrong with that?  ❞ ❝  when the arrowhead passes between armor and skin - that’s the place i belong.  ❞ ❝  right. why would i expect an answer? it’s so much more exciting to keep it all a mystery...  ❞ ❝  oh, it’s a story all right, but it takes a while to tell. maybe another time, over a drink or three?  ❞ ❝  why are you talking like we’ll never see each other again?  ❞ ❝  i’ll wager you don’t scare easy - it’s a good quality.  ❞ ❝  there will be people celebrating, and feasting. more than you've ever see in one place.  ❞ ❝  i didn’t bring you here to answer questions. i brought you here to deal with that.  ❞ ❝  ...you’ve...put a lot of thought into this.  ❞ ❝  i do not want to hear this talk from you again. doubt is heavier than a week’s snow.  ❞ ❝  bandits are drawn to here like infection to a wound.  ❞ ❝  i guess you’re doing the right thing for the wrong reason.  ❞ ❝  i thought you and i were agreed: only enjoy the killing as much as the challenge.  ❞ ❝  rumors spread like blood.  ❞ ❝  they would steal from us, chase us through the night, laughing.  ❞ ❝  leave it too long, your fingers itch for the bowstring.  ❞ ❝  you’re strong, shrewd, capable... i could use someone like you on my side.  ❞ ❝  you defeated it? alone?  ❞ ❝  grasp your grief. and kill it.  ❞ ❝  at least i’ll have a fire to keep me company.  ❞ ❝  only survivors scar. after everything you’ve been through, you keep going.  ❞ ❝  just stop being evasive and tell me who you really are.  ❞ ❝  i don’t mind putting my worthless ass on the line. but not yours.  ❞ ❝  i’m not here to intrigue you.  ❞ ❝  how about you? who do you think i am? what will you remember of me? ❞ ❝  everything freezing. the ground, the air... me.  ❞ ❝  you lost someone you care about. that leaves a wound. the sort of wound a lot of people don’t recover from.  ❞ ❝  the only thing i know i’m still fighting for is...you.  ❞ ❝  i didn’t earn this mercy, but i will die to make myself worthy of it.  ❞ ❝  to say you have my gratitude feels woefully insufficient. you saved my life.  ❞ ❝  makes you wish you could kill them more than once, doesn’t it?  ❞ ❝  why did you act so strange when we spoke earlier?  ❞ ❝  being smart won’t count for nothing if you don’t make the world a better place.  ❞ ❝  to serve a purpose greater than yourself...that is the lesson you must learn.  ❞ ❝   if a big, meaningful talk is what you’re after, move along.  ❞ ❝  that carcass! what sort of beast was that?  ❞ ❝  what are you doing out here all alone? where are your men?  ❞ ❝  you’ve obviously heard of me. you know what i’m capable of. why do you think this will turn out well for you?  ❞ ❝  there’s so much to discover before the world ends.  ❞ ❝  i couldn’t wait to see you again. it’s like...i’m dead and only come alive when i’m here with you.  ❞ ❝  some even say you have a conscience. how extraordinary!  ❞ ❝  do you always accuse people you’ve just met of lying?  ❞ ❝  if you ever visit, look me up. i’ll show you around, make introductions. it’d be a whole new life, if you want it.  ❞ ❝  it had a name once, not that it matters now. i was born there.  ❞ ❝  i always knew you were different... i think you’re a blessing.  ❞ ❝  no one hears your prayers anyway.  ❞ ❝  this place is difficult even for the prepared.  ❞ ❝  i underestimated you. i won’t make that same mistake again.  ❞ ❝  oh. is that supposed to sound scary or something?  ❞ ❝  look, maybe i shouldn’t say this, but it’s obvious that you don’t belong in this... backwater.  ❞ ❝  were you kept hidden away? did you have overprotective parents or something?  ❞ ❝  hmph. don’t go soft on me.  ❞ ❝  i prefer the company of spirits. or my own.  ❞ ❝  blood spilled calls for blood spilled! if the ground is cursed, then let our vengeance sanctify it.  ❞ ❝  so many people here, all talking at once. how does anyone think?  ❞ ❝  why is it that every time something bad happens to you, someone else tells you something bad that happened to them, as if that makes it any better?  ❞ ❝  i’ve never seen armor like yours.  ❞ ❝  the wrongness here jags at me like an arrowhead.  ❞ ❝  when you found me, i was trying to eke out a glorious death. but now a glorious life seems more preferable.  ❞ ❝  tomorrow, may the sun rise on the world.  ❞ ❝  you saved my epitaph from being ‘a fine soldier but a fool of a man’.  ❞ ❝  i don’t think i know you at all. but i’d like to.  ❞ ❝  i don’t like this. it feels...wrong.  ❞ ❝  oh, i’m grateful for this wound. it’s a lesson i won’t forget.  ❞ ❝  you’re a clever one. but not so clever as to heed my warning, i see.  ❞ ❝  not everyone follows the law like you do.  ❞ ❝  how many times have i pulled you from danger by your neck? made excuses for your behavior?  ❞ ❝  for what it’s worth, i’m glad you’re coming with me.  ❞ ❝  what have i ever given you but struggle?  ❞ ❝  it’s starting to feel real, you know? that we might actually get out of this place.  ❞ ❝  i’ve never been part of anything. i serve my own interests. always.  ❞ ❝  i apologize for my...behavior. i thought i was dead.  ❞ ❝  look, i don’t even know your story. must be a good one. if you ever feel like telling it, look me up.  ❞ ❝  when my anger has thawed, i will feel nothing.  ❞ ❝  i can’t remember when i had this much fun! i should be thanking you!  ❞ ❝  you gave him a quicker death than he deserved.  ❞ ❝  that...could be the last creepy thing you’ve said to me.  ❞ ❝  something’s really bothering you. if you think i’m gonna abandon you, you’re wrong.  ❞ ❝  surprised you saw me, the way you keep looking every other direction to make sure no one’s watching. careful there, or you’ll sprain your neck.  ❞ ❝  remember how the blood pounded in your ears? they’ll ring later, in the calm. it’s a call to arms, from your inner desires.  ❞ ❝  ___’s dead. i was ready to go through anything to make that happen. and i did.  ❞ ❝  is there a reason why you’re acting so cranky today?  ❞ ❝  you hold your grief close, like a tailsman.  ❞ ❝  i hope you can find peace.  ❞ ❝  you don’t know who i am, do you?  ❞ ❝  you know there’s always been dirt on my hands. now there’s blood too.  ❞ ❝  i want to be strong like you. but...  ❞ ❝  i hadn’t given up on hope, but i’ve forgotten the taste of it.  ❞ ❝  just...don’t start singing again.  ❞ ❝  you’re sparing me? after all i’ve done?  ❞ ❝  i don’t intend to die today.  ❞ ❝  it will take many good deeds to make up for the crimes you’ve committed.  ❞ ❝  but why should you have justice, and not me?  ❞ ❝  such a voice... a cold, awful jangle that scrapes your bones and hollows your guts.  ❞ ❝  one more word, and i’ll throw you in jail myself.  ❞ ❝  only in the struggle against death do we find, even for a moment, the spark of life.  ❞ ❝  the war changed you. changed us both. we’re not kids anymore.  ❞ ❝  i can’t sleep, i can’t breathe knowing you could be out there...hurting...  ❞ ❝  now i’m left to wear my sins. for me, at least, they hang heavy.  ❞       ❝  but what does a girl like you know of loss?  ❞ ❝  it’s a good thing you’ve got brains. because your personality could use some work.  ❞ ❝  i was going to ask you to leave with me...to go somewhere out in the sun where no shadow could reach us.  ❞ ❝  they didn’t need to disgrace my name. i did it myself, serving a rotten throne. ❞ ❝  you don’t approve? well, i have a secret for you. neither do i.  ❞ ❝  perhaps you are not an evil man. just a weak one.  ❞ ❝  losses can feel... overwhelming. but they remind us of our connections to others.  ❞ ❝  i don’t exactly see anyone beating down the door to spend time with you.  ❞ ❝  if i had known, i would never have spoken to you.  ❞ ❝  forge a new life. one of better make.  ❞ ❝  impossible odds, fine company, killing without consequence --- how could i resist?  ❞ ❝  look at me. i can’t imagine how you’re feeling, but you don’t have to go through it alone.  ❞ ❝  i wish i had known, all this time, what you were going through.  ❞ ❝  i’m with you. until the end.  ❞ ❝  i thought you just wanted to have tea and conversation! is there a battle coming? i wasn’t informed!  ❞ ❝  we’ve only met a few times, and yet you know me so well.  ❞ ❝  are you going to drive me off, too? it’s okay. i’ve dealt with worse.  ❞ ❝  now i know the kind of person i want to be, watching you.  ❞ ❝  it’s so...bittersweet. like a smile through bloodied teeth.  ❞ ❝  i swear i saw my ancestors... they said: ‘we’re not surprised to see you here’.  ❞ ❝  more mercenaries? what kind of person sells their loyalty?  ❞ ❝  keep moving or you’ll die!  ❞ ❝  this is the kind of place you’d take someone if you want to lose them forever.  ❞ ❝  if that’s destiny, i wouldn’t wish it on anyone.  ❞ ❝  i’ve thought about what you said. every time, the wound you gave me caught on my ribs.  ❞ ❝  i’ve never seen such disregard for personal safety.  ❞ ❝  the most important thing is what you’re not like - your father.  ❞ ❝  i’m never lonely where there’s killing to be done.  ❞ ❝  my past - and my secrets - are my own. you’ll do well to remember that.  ❞ ❝  only to you do i extend the courtesy of a warning.  ❞ ❝  if the war’s not over, i’m not done.  ❞ ❝  a long kiss, the best kind... i can still remember the feel of your hand on the back of my neck.  ❞ ❝  it would be a worse fate to bow our heads to the challenge and say, ‘too much’.  ❞ ❝  let’s not say farewell. i’ve had enough of that to last me a dozen winters.  ❞ ❝  have your wounds even had time to heal?  ❞ ❝  you can stop worrying. the secret’s safe with me.  ❞ ❝  just to be clear, i have no plans to murder you, alright?  ❞ ❝  you’re an idiot. a dangerous idiot, but an idiot.  ❞ ❝  i’m kicking myself for not seeing your potential from the beginning.  ❞ ❝  for your sake, you must go where you will never find me. this is goodbye.   ❞ ❝  so that’s what this is? a tantrum? a cry for attention?  ❞ ❝  change won’t come in a single sunrise.  ❞ ❝  this place may not seem like much, but we’ll make the best of it.  ❞ ❝  no murderers here, if that’s what you’re asking.  ❞

If you’re taking prompts

“You’re really warm.” and

“Come back to bed. Please” for jily pls??

I am laughing at for jily like I'm capable of writing for anything else. I promise you, even if it is about two unrelated characters, I'll find a way to make it about jily

Also finally put the drabbles on ao3 as promised so you can read this there as well

Fretting over Lily Evans was nothing new for James, but this time might’ve put him to his early grave after all.

He touches her forehead discreetly, trying not to disturb her sleep. She went in and out of her slumber all night, giving him a scare half the time with her nonsensical mumblings. He doesn’t recall when exactly he fell asleep too, not long ago according to the rising sun, but that’s how he finds himself next to her now.

Blinking his eyes woozily, he gives himself permission for a moment of bliss before jumping into action, pretending they are lying side by side not because she is burning like a furnace, but like he always wakes up next to Lily, this hair tickling his shoulder not unusual.

He can only guess what prompted her to call him last night. A bitter part of him thinks it’s because she knew he would come running, no questions asked. It’s hard to ignore that part when that was exactly what he did, probably before he even hung up the phone. There is, of course, always the chance that it was the side effect of her running fever. One should not underestimate it, he learned that firsthand all through the night.

The pretense falls apart when he feels Lily’s skin, panic rising inside him all over again. He has spent the whole night trying to make sure her temperature didn’t pass 40 degrees, hand ready over his phone for the minute it did. It feels like it has risen again, her cheeks flaming bright to prove his insight right.

“Aren’t you gonna kiss my forehead?”

She startles him, with the question or her half open eyes smiling dozily at him, he doesn’t know.

“Why would I take advantage of the ill, Evans?”

Her smile gets softer, fonder. “That’s how my mom used to take my temperature.”

He’s never been able to say no to that smile.

She closes her eyes with the kiss, looking content and peaceful, not at all like the bedridden patient she is supposed to be. He lingers one second longer than necessary.

He has forgotten the purpose of the act until she looks at him expectantly, waiting for his verdict.

“You’re really warm.”

She doesn’t care for his furrowed brows or less than satisfactory explanation when she snuggles into him, purring, “Thank you, so are you.”

“That was not a compliment, Evans.” He tries to hide the fact his breath hitches when she burrows her face in his neck. “That means I am doing something very, very wrong. Are you sure you don’t want me to call anybody else?”

Her hold on him tightens even further if possible. She sounds like a petulant child when she whines her refusal. He can imagine, and feel, her pout.

He tries to untangle himself from her, but she looks so offended by his actions that he feels the need to explain himself. “I need to wet these rags again, and you need to eat some breakfast so you can take your antipyretics.”

She opens her mouth to say something, another refusal going by her displeased expression, but he jumps from the bed before she can tempt her more.

He goes to the bathroom first, thinking maybe some cool water would do him good too. She is already asleep by the time he comes back, hand reaching out to where he once laid on the bed. He places the damp clothes on her forehead with a grin, letting it take over his face while she is not able to see it. The pills he found when he rummaged through her medicine cabinet are put on her nightstand, waiting for his arrival with some food.

Preparing some eggs and toast helps him gather himself a little more, the habitual routine putting his brain on autopilot. The morning feels like something out of James’ dreams with Lily cuddling him in the bed and him making her breakfast, he finds it necessary to remind himself the true nature of the situation as he fills a glass of water for her.

She is awake when he enters the room, following his motions silently as he puts the plate on her side too. He is just about to sit on the chair by her bedside when she stops him with a hand on his arm.

“I promise I’ll eat something in a minute. Can you just… come back to bed? Please?”

His will already weakened since he woke up, he finds that it crumbles completely when he hears her voice so weak, tone so pleading. He lays down on his previous place without saying anything, her head finding his shoulder immediately.

A small hand traces patterns on his chest, nails tickling the heart underneath with every swoop. They could probably live in that relaxed bubble forever if the question nagging inside him just hadn’t popped out unexpectedly.

“Why did you call me yesterday, Lily?”

The finger drawing flowers, stars, and initials never stops its movement. “Because I had a high fever, and I didn’t want to go to the ER.”

“No. I mean, why did you call me?”

He holds his breath in anticipation of her answer, and she stills momentarily too before shaking out of her stupor. “I wanted to be with you.” Her voice sounds so small. “I always want to be with you, you know that.”

There is relief ballooning inside him with her words, mixed with something he dares not name. He hums softly as a response, neither denying nor confirming her assumption.

“We can stay in bed for one more minute, then I’m gonna make you eat that breakfast, Evans.”

“Two, because you just took advantage of a sick person’s honesty and I deserve it.”

“Deal.”

He’ll let her pretend like he won’t do anything she asks for. They both know it’s a lie anyway.

"I won't let anyone hurt you, you're safe with me" with eivor please... Maybe he rescues reader from the order after they had been used for different experiments or something

i am so sorry for how long this took, but I had to come up with the right plot bunny to pair with the prompt for some angst(tm). here you are, i hope you enjoy and don't mind the touch of Havi and Frigg, or in which Havi makes a promise to his sweet Frigg and keeps it even in the next life.

m!Eivor x fem!Reader

SÝNIN CIRCLES IN the clear sky above the longhouse of Ravensthorpe, and then you know your husband is not far now. Soon Eivor Wolfsmal will be back in your arms, where he belongs. The raven descends, coming to perch on your shoulder, nudging his beak against your temple —as much as you’ve missed Eivor, you’ve missed Sýnin in equal measure. Things could get surprisingly lonely without a tetchy raven around to croak at all hours of the night, steal your hairpins, and beg for treats. Reaching up, you scritch the blue-back feathers on his belly and are rewarded by a low, gurgling croak. “Have you been behaving yourself?” Sýnin bobs his head, but you have a gut feeling he’s lying for the chance at a few extra treats.

Taking to the docks, you watch along the river bends for the sail and masts of the longship. The blue-and-back sail and shields turn from the west —squinting, you can see him standing on the curved scorpion tail, looking onward to home. With a nervous smile, you rest your hand over your belly, knowing soon it will start to grow. You’ve much to tell him since he’s been gone the past weeks, building alliances with Saxon nobles across England.

“Eivor, my love,” you call, meeting him at the edge of the dock as he steps off the longship. His smile is tired but relieved when he looks upon you with Sýnin perched upon your shoulder —the best ‘welcome home’ he could ask for. You open your arms, embracing him as the crew disseminates among the settlement. Eivor pulls back, his hands —rougher than you remember— cupping your cheeks.

There’s something different in your expression, a new glow surrounding you that he cannot place. Regardless of his racing mind, he leans forward as you urge him down with a hand at the nape of his neck. It’s been weeks, and he sighs against your mouth, the burdens of the world washed away by your touch and kiss. “Walk with me?” You ask, holding fast to his hand. He nods, offering his arm. Word of the recently secured alliance can wait; he has been parted from his wife too long.

You lead him past the longhouse, the people of Ravensthorpe smiling as they see Eivor has returned and know what it is you’re going to tell him. Once Valka confirmed your suspicions, it hadn’t taken long for word to travel by way of two mischievous children.

Everyone is happy; and happy for you and Eivor, knowing you two had tried to conceive many times. Stopping beneath the great tree past the Seer’s Hut, you turn with a smile —hand settling on your middle. “I’ve good news to tell you.” Eivor lifts his brow, and your smile only widens as you reach for his hand, pressing it against your belly. He sucks in a deep breath, heart thudding in his chest and ears as he looks to you, his clear blue eyes wide with joy and surprise. You nod, resting your hand over his. “I am with child.”

Eivor is silent for a moment, gathering his words and emotions. He looks down at your belly, then back to you —overjoyed and uncertain. This is a moment you’ve only ever talked about; that he’s dreamt of when the gods were kind enough to let him have a good dream. “I’m going to be a father?” Eivor breathes, though it sounds more like a question. You nod again, eyes gleaming with tears as he rests his other hand on your stomach too. His smile too large to be hidden under his shaggy golden beard. There’s another moment’s pause, then Eivor slips his arms around you, bringing you into a tight embrace —his face tucked into your neck.

You lose track of how long Eivor holds you in his arms as if it all is only a dream and he may wake at any second. Stepping back, he takes your face into his rough hands, brushing away the tears streaking your cheeks. Eivor dips his head down, his nose brushing against yours before your lips meet —gentle and loving but still burning with fervor from the weeks of being parted from one another.

“You’ve made me the happiest man in Midgard,” he admits. You lean into him again, taking another kiss before he settles onto one knee in front of you, level with your belly. Eivor rests his forehead against your front, his hands loosely holding onto your hips. “Rest easy, little one.” Smiling, you brush back his golden hair —half-unbound from his warrior’s braids and knotted. “I will protect you and your mother.” It’s a promise.

“EIVOR,” RANDVI CRIES as he enters the longhouse, tears still fresh on her cheeks. She should not have let you go riding outside of Ravensthorpe alone, especially knowing you were with child. He clasps onto her shoulders, steadying her so she can gather her senses. “It’s Fulke.” The script is fresh in her memory, having read it a dozen times over to be certain of the ill-boding tidings. Randvi shakes her head, unable to meet her friend's concerned gaze. “She’s taken more than just Sigurd.”

“No,” Eivor breathes, but Randvi presents the scroll as proof. He skims the words —his worst fears coming to fruition. Not only did Fulke hold his brother captive, but now the conniving bitch had stolen you away too. You. His wife. The mother of his unborn child. He’d sworn to protect both of you with every breath in his lungs, and now it is an oath broken.

The sudden anger boiling under his skin is so hot it burns the fear freezing him, turning to determination. Eivor crumples the parchment, his expression twisting —no god can save you now, Fulke. “Send word to our allies.” Randvi nods, stepping back to the writing-table at the edge of the map room. “I will burn all of Wessex if I have to,” Eivor grits out, hands turning to fists at his sides as he leaves the longhouse to gather his men —a part of him feels as though he has walked this path before.

HAVI STRIDES THROUGH Fensalir with a deep sadness in his heart, but his agony cannot compare to that of his sweet Frigg. For three days and three nights, his queen has asked for solitude, and though it pained him to keep away during such times, he and the others respected Frigg’s wishes. Though Havi would not leave his dear wife to grieve alone, sending Huginn and Muninn to keep a watchful eye over the Queen of the Æsir. The two ravens are perched upon a stone bench at the edge of the fen. Thor glances over his shoulder at the approaching footsteps —his expression is weary and grief-stricken as he looks upon his father.

Gently, your son releases you from his tight embrace and rises, stepping back with a silent promise to return soon as he greets his father with a solemn nod before leaving. Havi pushes back his hood, seeing the white flowers spring from the earth with your tears. Baldr will be remembered —in deeds and songs and the blossoms brought forth by his mother’s tears. He kneels, reaching for your hands, and slides the bloody sprig of mistletoe free from your grasp. Through weary eyes, you look upon your husband —his expression twisted into the same display of forlorn grief. It makes your heart ache even more to have pushed him away, for he too lost a son. “Frigg,” he sighs.

“Havi,” you cry, falling into him. He swathes you in his black cloak, tucking you against his chest and holding you tight —a vow of retribution on his tongue. Loki would be punished for this crime. For all the realms felt the bitter void left by Baldr’s absence, and all wept, save for a giantess whose unshed tears doomed your son to Hel. The grief and anger simmering in his blood turn to something else —determination. He will not have his sweet Frigg endure this pain again; his one-armed embrace tightens as he cradles the back of your head. “I will not let another of our children fall,” Havi swears, lips brushing over your temple. “Not until our twilight has come.”

HE TWISTS HIS hands into Fulke’s leather-and-cloth armor, throwing the madwoman to the muddy and blood-slick ground. Fulke spits blood, pulling herself away from Eivor Wolfsmal on hands and knees only to find herself surrounded by his men and allies. All their weapons drawn, trained on her. The price for taking the Jarl of Raven Clan and Eivor’s wife is one to be paid in blood, and there is nowhere for her to run. She will have to suffer the wrath. “Where is she?” Eivor roars, kicking Fulke onto her back. He kneels, knee pressing into the bloody gash on her side, one of his throwing axes withdrawn and held high above his head —ready to strike.

There is no fear in her eyes, only bliss. Her work in this world now complete. “You made a choice,” Fulke laughs, choking on blood, “you chose Sigurd.” She coughs, blood-tinged spittle spattering against Eivor’s face, washed away by the pouring rain.

He roars, teeth bared and eyes burning hot with the rage of the gods. Lightning splits open the sky, thunder cracking like a great whip against the earth. “I will flay the skin from your bones and feed your eyes to my raven,” Eivor hisses.

Her smile is bloody —victorious. She knows you are leagues from here, and now the only ones who know are dead or dying. Eivor Wolfsmal could search the land for years and never find the seaside cave on the shores of Cent. “You’ll never find her,” Fulke says. One final victory before relinquishing herself to darkness and her wounds.

Eivor rises, his shoulders heaving and expression twisted. There is no time for a reunion when Sigurd limps from the fortress —clutching the stump where his hand and wrist once were— reinforcements from Wincestre draw nigh. The cry of war horns and drums echoing above the storm. He turns to Dag and Hrefna, eyes flitting over to his brother, unfit to fight in the coming battle. “See him back to Ravensthorpe,” he tells them before shifting his attention back to his allies. The day is not won yet, and Eivor will not rest until he has his beloved back in his arms.

ABOVE THE BREAKING waves of the sea, there is a whisper on the howling wind. Eivor looks to the sea below, then to Basim —his scouts working tirelessly since the siege of Portcestre nigh a fortnight ago to find leads. The culmination of their work leads him and Eivor to the southern edge of Cent to a cave guarded by Fulke’s acolytes. Eivor knows the gods are with him this day, as plain as if the Allfather whispered the affirmation into his ear.

The echoes of battle fill the air, and through the slivers of light above, you see shadows moving and hear the unmistakable cry of a raven growing closer —Sýnin. Rousing from uneasy rest, you clamber to the upturned bucket at the cell’s center, dragging chains behind you. Trembling, you clutch your swollen belly, then step up onto the bucket, fingers finding purchase on the metal grate above, slick with blood and excrements. Sýnin appears at the edge of the grate, his beady eyes staring down at you in the darkness, tilting his head this way and that. He hops up and down —talons clinking against the metal— before squawking wildly.

Eivor’s focus shifts from the dead littering the beach when he hears Sýnin inside the cave, and for the first time in weeks, you hear your name in his voice —a desperate plea. “Eivor!” His name is only a soft, airy rasp, not strong enough to carry with the raven’s calls. “Eivor!” You cry, this time louder, but your voice is broken, throat raw from days screaming and crying at the hands of Fulke and her enforcers. Sýnin’s squawks grow louder, mingling with footsteps.

The wave of relief almost shatters him when it hits and washes over his body and mind when he sees you —alive. Eivor reaches through the lattice, his fingers brushing against yours. “I’ve got you now,” he breathes, the torchlight showing the tears glistening in his clear blue gaze. You nod, smiling with cracked lips —thanking Frigg and Freyja that your prayers did not go unanswered. Eivor urges you to step down and aside, and when you do, he rears back, slamming the butt of his axe against the rusting lock, breaking it. With a sharp cry, he throws open the grate, sliding down into the darkness with you.

Hands trembling, he unlocks the manacles around your wrists and the shackle around your ankle. Each has left your skin red and raw beneath. Eivor gathers you in his arms. “Let’s get you out of here,” he says, lips brushing against your temple. You nod, eager to be rid of this damp and foul hole in the earth. Sýnin takes to your shoulder as soon as you are free, nudging his head against your temple and cheek. With a tired smile, you lift a hand to scritch the dark feathers of his underside as Eivor pulls himself free of the cell.

Eivor kneels, reaching for your hands, his thumbs brushing just above the broken skin on your wrists, and as you lean toward him, he swathes you with the coarse wool of his cloak —forehead pressed against yours. He feels the dampness on your cheeks as you press your face against his scarred neck. "I won't let anyone hurt you again,” he vows, “you're safe now.” One of his hands settles on your stomach, and you cover it with yours, holding him tightly with the other. “You’re both safe,” he whispers, and it’s only when he feels a light twitch against his hand that the realization breaks him. “I’m so sorry, my love,” Eivor chokes.

You draw back from his embrace, seeing the tears streak his face and the guilt clear on his expression. “Don’t blame yourself,” you plead, cupping his scarred cheek. “Please, don’t.” Eivor nods, though guilt still weighs heavily on his heart and will until he sees you safely returned to Ravensthorpe and tended to. He turns farther into your hand until his lips brush the center of your palm —a soft kiss, another promise.

Sýnin croaks, splashing in a puddle, and breaks yours and Eivor’s trance, reminding you both that you’re still in a cave, far from home and where you belong. He slides his arms beneath your knees and around your shoulders, rising with you. “You’re safe,” he repeats, more for himself to hear than you. Eivor breathes a deep sigh when he steps onto the beach, holding you close in his arms. Sýnin flies overhead, as do a pair of ravens — the same pair Eivor has seen in dreams of late. He smiles as he sets on the path carrying you up the cliffside, knowing Havi and Frigg had both heard his prayers.

[taglist:  @angstygunslinger @vanillabeanlattes @withered-poppies @ananriel @itseivwhore @maximalblaze @dynamicorbit @theelvenvalkyrie @xxdearlybeloved @elizabethroestone @elluvians @letsloveimagines @finick94 @wallsarecrumbling @kitkitvm @thedragonqueenfan @callmemythicalminx @edelae @darkravenqueen98 ] if your name is italicized, tumblr would not let me tag you. if you’d like to be added to my Eivor taglist, just let me know!

Hiii. if you're still taking requests can you do a azriel one? (Can't get enough of him🤭🥰) can you witte one where azriel gets really badly hurt on a mission and barely makes it back and the reader freaking out and being really worried.?

pairing: azriel x reader (acotar)

warnings: angst, graphic descriptions of blood and violence, sad shiz but happy ending

a/n: this isn’t as angsty as I planned but it’s a lil, pls comment if you like it and tell me ur thoughts <33

——————————————————————————-

Azriel had promised you the mission would be quick. In and out were his exact words.

You should’ve known better than to trust him when he spoke so casually about breaking into a palace in the human courts, you should’ve known that something would go horribly, inconceivably wrong. But when he smiled at you and held you against him, swaying from side to side you were too lost in his easy lies to care.

You had started going on more missions with him recently. While you weren’t a spy, you had an incredible knack for lying. Cassian joked that you were just a brat but even he couldn’t deny that you were talented when it came to batting your eyes and pressing a hand gently enough on a soldier’s arm that they would bend to your every will.

You and Azriel had also discovered that the most effective torture method was to trick whoever you had taken into a false sense of security, you would use a gentle tone and motherlike care to make them feel safe. And then they were always willing to speak, believing that once Azriel stopped his ministrations they could fall into the safety of your arms.

It was a good tactic and even Azriel was impressed when you first tried it. But that never quelled his protectiveness, the way an arm would find its way secured around your waist as soon as you had secured the information you needed, or the way he kissed you fiercely in his shadows when he was tired of watching men flirt with you.

The truth was you and Azriel were so completely in love, no amount of flirting could ever take you from the gentle but possessive grip of your mate. In some ways that’s what kept you going, knowing that at the end of the day you didn’t have to plaster on a fake smile and sweet voice.

At the end of the day, in the warmth and comfort of your share home you were yourself. You could wear the same jumper for weeks straight and laugh at crude jokes. You could do your makeup at 3am and then turn to your half-asleep mate with a pout, whining until he caved and let you do his makeup too.

But in the end, your complete devotion would come back to bite you in the ass.

It was your fault, or so you believed. If you had just kept your eyes on the general with bad breath and a crooked nose you wouldn’t be in this mess. But when he got to close your eyes flickered to were your mate stood, concealed in shadows, and through all the generals personal hygiene faults, he had been trained to notice subtle looks that gave you away.

He had grabbed you so tightly that you couldn’t help but yelp, drawing Azriel’s attention to you. And while you had disabled the general quickly you now had hoards of guards chasing you out of an area that was guarded against winnowing.

Azriel hadn’t wasted a second. You were his top priority and so he had abandoned the plan and grabbed you as quickly as he could, gathering you into his arms as he flew to the exit. You had spluttered apologies to him as he flew, your eyes trained on the guards chasing you, the guards who were now drawing bows.

Azriel was quick but the arrows were quicker. You threw your hands out, trying to bat off as many of them as you could with the limited power you held. But as concentrated as you were on the ones directed to his wings, you didn’t see the one aiming for his lower torso until you felt it graze you from where it left his body.

He grunted as you swore, finally out of the barriers as he winnowed to as close to home as he could. But while injured that wasn’t easy and you found yourselves standing in a wooded area, Azriel dropping you down much more roughly than usual, swearing as he leaned against a tree.

“Okay, okay I can fix this, you’re going to be fine.” You spoke, mainly to yourself as the panic inside you grew. You scanned the area, spotting a cave not too far off, not wanting to leave Azriel in the open when you had no idea what could be in these woods.

“C’mon baby, let’s go this way.” You slung an arm around him, just above the wound and began making your slow trek to the small cave. As soon as you had him sat down, you knelt in front of him, tears in your eyes as you cut open his top, so you had access to the wound beneath.

“Why are you crying sweetheart?” you heard him ask and you rolled your eyes, wiping away the stray tears.

“Why do you think dumbass,” you said, forcing a smile when he huffed a laugh.

“You can’t be mean to me right now,” he complained as you set about cutting off both ends of the arrow so you could remove it safely, wincing when he hissed, gritting his teeth.

You finally had both ends cut off and went to pull it out, removing your shawl and preparing to press it against the wound that was spouting far too much blood. You looked up at him with your hands pressed shakily against his wound and saw his skin was pale and sweaty, his eyes drooping as they tried to close. He fell forward slightly but you held him upright with your shoulder, panic rushing through you, white hot.

“Azriel c’mon no, none of that. You’ve got to stay awake baby, you’re too heavy for me.” You begged; your hands pressed tightly against his wound as you let the tears fall freely. You eventually had to pull away, moving him so he was leaning against the cave wall, taking extra precaution to ensure his head didn’t get hurt.

His eyes cracked open when he felt your blood-soaked palm press gently against his face, glassy and barely present.

“Hey, hey I need you to stay with me, okay?” you tried to smile, wanting to offer him any semblance of comfort.

“Always baby,” he whispered, and you smiled, pulling your hands away slightly and smiling when you saw the wound healing externally already.

“What are you getting me for solstice?” you asked, wanting to keep him awake and speaking.

“Not telling.” He muttered and you laughed.

“You have to, we have to talk about something.” You joked, pulling a hand away just long enough to wipe your eyes as you focused on his face.

“I had a few ideas; nothing seems good enough.” He muttered and you laughed.

“Tell me.”

“Well first I thought a necklace, books, maybe art supplies or something but that’s all boring,” he whispered, and you smiled, nodding.

“If it’s from you it won’t be boring,” you smiled, hands still pressed tightly against his wound.

“Well I also thought I could get you your own truthteller, maybe one with a pink handle.” He joked.

“Well you know full well I would love that, maybe baby pink with little white hearts on it,” he smiled at you, his head lulling slightly forward. You reached up to him again holding his head gently in your hands, before you lay him down, covering him in the rest of your shawl.

“You plan that then, I’m going to go get wood and we’ll start a fire okay, keep you warm.” You stroked his face gently, pressing a kiss onto his forehead.

“Be safe,” he grabbed your hand as you stood to leave,

“You first.”

--

Your luck apparently ran out as soon as you looked at Azriel, given as soon as you walked out the cave the heavens opened, and you were soaked to the skin in the seconds. You grabbed as much wood as you could straight away, throwing it into the dry cave.

You then ventured further out, finding a rabbit, and killing and cleaning it out as quickly as you could, practically running back to the cave. You knelt down, starting a small fire, and removing your now dirty and completely soaked dress, ringing out your hair.

You then moved back to Azriel, brining him closer to the fire as you cooked speared the rabbit over it, cooking all the meat you could salvage of its small body.

“You’re so cold,” he muttered, pressing his nose into your bare skin as you shivered, moving even closer to the fire.

“Ah you know what they say, cold hands, cold heart.”

“I don’t think that’s the-“

“Shh,” you muttered, curling into him as you pressed together trying to steal some warmth from each other.

“If I get ill I’m going to kill you.” You whispered into his neck, and he chuckled, clenching his teeth when he moved to soon and your head shot up to him.

“Are you okay? Am I hurting you?” he shook his head, tightening his arms around you.

“No you’re alright,” he whispered. You lay there for a while longer, Azriel’s body limp, all his energy going into healing the deep wound in his side. Yours on the other hand was tense, ears perking up at any sound, half expecting a pack of rabid wolves to come eat you the second you allowed yourself to relax. When the rabbit was finished, you picked it apart, feeding it to Azriel gently, determined to get his energy back.

He was still so pale and no matter how hard you tried, nothing could quell the nausea in your stomach. Every time you looked at him when he closed his eyes your heart dropped, your anxiety telling you that this might just be the last time you ever see him.

You didn’t sleep all night, instead staying pressed against him, shivering in your undergarments as your dress dried by the fire. You regularly checked his pulse, temperature, breathing and whatever else you could, too afraid to take your eyes off of him for even a second.

By the time the sun finally rose, Azriel’s complexion had evened out and the wound in his side was puckering into a pink scar. You were beyond relieved, fussing over him when he woke up like the mother you often pretended to be.

You pulled your dress back on and stumbled to a near-by river to collect him some water, picking a species of berries you recognised along the way, and actively ignoring the cough you had developed over night.

You got back to the cave and almost cried in relief when you saw him sitting up, smothering the burning embers that used to be your fire. He looked over to you as you padded in and swore, standing to come to you.

“You look like shit what happened?” he asked, worry coating his features.

“Hey! I spent all night looking after you asshole,” you shoved him gently but he held tight, holding your chin in his slender fingers as he forced you to look at him.

“Shit it was raining last night,”

“Yeah?” you asked as he shook his head.

“That’s why you were so cold, c’mon let’s get you home you’re ill.” He muttered as you wildly protested.

“I’m fine, you need to rest,” you pointed at him, but he brushed you off, gathering you in his arms to winnow home.

“We can rest together, at home, in bed.” He stated, not leaving any room for argument so you relaxed in his arms, your head pressed against his shoulder.

“Okay,” you conceded, your voice small as he smiled down at you.

“Thank you for looking after me darling,” his voice was filled with sincerity, and you snuggled closer into him.

“Anytime.” You whispered as he winnowed you away, only vaguely aware of the feeling of him placing you down on your bed and curling around your back, arms tight and secure.

The Long Con Part Two

Previous Part | Masterlist | Next Part Pairing: Marcus Pike x Reader Rating: T Notes: Thanks for all of the encouragement on the first couple of parts of this 🥰💕 I hope y’all had a good week! 💖 Warnings: Cursing; some angst Summary: “Shitty liars need to practice, Pike.” 

“Alright, I’ve got a list,” You said, shrugging off your bag and setting it down beside Marcus’ couch. “A list?” Marcus repeated, coming back from the kitchen with a glass of water for you, “Of what?” “Thank you-- Things that we need to sort out before we get to Austin. Look, you’re a shitty liar, right? Your words, I’m paraphrasing,” You tacked on, reaching into your bag and pulling out your notebook and a pen.

“Uh-huh,” Marcus agreed amusedly. “Right, so  hopefully if we sort out our details now, you won’t feel so freaked when we’re down there. And you won’t be trying to cobble together facts on the fly. That would get incredibly messy— especially if we’re going to pull this off all week.” “A full week of lying to my family,” Marcus sighed, “Talk about a long con, huh?” You glanced up at him from under your lashes, amused. “God, you’re such a boy scout. And technically you’ve already lied to them, you started the second you told Marnie that you were bringing me— though that’s technically not a lie anymore. Just...Don’t think about it as lying, pretend you’re undercover or something,” You shrugged, flipping your notebook over to your list of questions. “So I’d be lying to myself about the lie? Isn’t that compounding it?” “You’re overthinking it, Agent.” “You might want to start calling me Marcus.” “Right,” You muttered, “I will...Remember to do that.” “So what’s on the list?” Your eyes darted up from your list as you watched Marcus shrug out of his suit jacket. You’d seen Pike in less-than-pristine states before, especially throughout the Coleman case. You’d seen him with his tie loosened, his sleeves rolled up, and when you were half-tweaked on caffeine in your cramped office, it was… more than a little distracting. You leaned forward, picking up the glass and taking a pull from it before setting it down and settling back again. “Basics first,” You said, “How we met. I say we stick with ‘work’.” “That’s not a lie.” “I know, I thought you’d like that.” “I do.” “Okay. How long have we been together?” “Uh...Few months at least-- Five?” “I can handle five,” You jotted it down, “How come you haven’t mentioned me to them before?” You glanced over at Marcus, smiling a little when you saw his panicked expression. “Or have you gotten this one already?” You added. “No, I haven’t-- Work has been busy? Again, I think that would be sufficient, so-- Hang on.” You raised your brows as Marcus leaned back against his couch. You could practically hear the gears turning in his head. “What’s happening over there?” You asked. “We should change how long we’ve been together to...Maybe two or three months? If we’d been together for five and I hadn’t said anything, my family would be very suspicious.” You nodded, scribbling out ‘5’ and writing ‘2-3’. “‘Kay. Are there any significant past relationships - serious girlfriends, fiancés that I should know about? I don’t need full details, just, like, broad strokes so that if someone mentions something, I’m not completely in the dark.” “One ex-wife, one ex-fiancé,” Marcus answered without hesitation. You nodded a little, jotting that down, and stilled when he added, “My ex-wife will be at the wedding.” “Good to know. Is that contentious?” “No,” Marcus shook his head, “No, it ended amicably.” You considered Marcus, his puppy-dog eyes, soft smile and kind nature, and you couldn’t imagine it ending any other way. “She’s still close to my family,” He tacked on. “Oh,” You laughed a little, “Great. That’s gonna be fun for me.” “What do you mean?” Marcus frowned. You shot him a look. “Your family is still close to your ex-wife. You’re bringing a new girlfriend home. You don’t think this could get a little tense? Or is your entire family just as nice as you are?” Your brows rose as Marcus laughed a little, his head ducking bashfully at the question. “We try not to judge,” he conceded, shrugging, “I’ve brought a couple of other people home since the divorce. They’re not going to jump to conclusions.” You hummed, glancing further down your list. Your stomach twisted at one question, but it was one that you knew that you had to ask. “Speaking of jumping to conclusions,” You shifted in your seat, “Is there anyone in your family that might run a background check on me?” “A background check?” “Yeah,” You nodded, “I mean, I know my records are sealed and wouldn’t pop if someone ran a normal background check on me, but if anyone in your family is in law enforcement like you and...And went poking?” “No, they wouldn’t,” Marcus shook his head. “You sure?” “I’m positive.” You lowered your eyes, biting the inside of your cheek to stopper asking for a third reassurance as you jotted the note down. “...You don’t trust easily, do you?” Marcus asked softly. The question turned your blood icy for a moment. But for as much ire as it raised in you, you were careful not to take offense. You knew that he wasn’t trying to get a rise out of you - you were doing the guy a favor, and it would be pretty ill-advised of the man to piss you off at this point. “What ever gave you that idea?” You teased instead, giving him a look out of the corner of your eye. Marcus’ lips twitched with a smile and you returned it. “Alright,” You added, looking through the rest of your list, “Let’s see what else we’ve got before we start drilling this stuff.” 

“Drilling?” “Shitty liars need to practice, Pike.” “Marcus.” “Hey, it was better than ‘Agent’.” “At least I’m not the only one that needs practice.” -- 

“Run it by me again,” You requested, tucking one leg up under yourself and leaning back against the arm of the couch. Marcus sighed, scrubbing his hand over his face. He’d ditched the tie, had popped the top few buttons of his shirt, and his sleeves had been rolled up around his elbows. The man looked a little haggard - it was precious. He straightened up, brow scrunching before his head tipped to the side just a little. “Okay. Okay, we met a year ago when I moved to D.C... You work with the Bureau, assisting on cases, mostly art forgeries.” You nodded encouragingly, waving him on. “We started dating two and a half months ago,” He’d settled on that, finally, not wanting to pick two or three, “After we spent so much time together on the Coleman case. You’re an art history professor, you...Have been engaged twice before,” He added, pointing a finger at you. You rolled your eyes a little bit. “Keep going,” You ordered. You raised a brow as Marcus’ brow furrowed a little more, his head turning just a bit. “You don’t have any siblings, you’re not close to your family, and we have not set any plans for the future in stone...Yet.” “Why do you keep tacking on that ‘yet’?” “Because my family knows me. They know I think about those things, and they know I don’t get into relationships unless I really think there’s something there. If they feel me pulling back on that, they’ll think it’s because I’m worried about scaring you off.” “You’re bringing me home not only to meet your family, but to stay there for a week and for a wedding-- which your entire family will be attending. I think that’s a healthy fear,” You retorted. Marcus smiled a little bit, raising his hand in concession. “How’d I do?” He asked. “Much better. You didn’t close your eyes halfway through to remember the details and you stopped ticking things off on your fingers. You do this thing, though, when you’re getting ready to lie, it’s like watching someone wind up for a pitch.” “What do I do?” “You do this--” You imitated Marcus’ furrowed brow and tilted head, “It’s subtle, but you always do it.” “You think my family’ll notice?” “Only if you play poker with them.” Marcus chuckled, slouching back against the arm of the couch and scrubbing his hand over his face. “God, I’m beat,” He muttered. You nodded a little, shutting your notebook and getting ready to tell Marcus that you would get out of his hair. “Wanna go get some dinner?” Was his next question. -- “Did you seriously just order pancakes?” You asked, brows raised. You’d wound up at a diner not too far from Marcus’ apartment - somewhere where the staff seemed to know and were very fond of him. “Yeah,” Marcus nodded firmly, “Dinner is the best time for breakfast.” You chuckled a little, reaching out and taking up your soda. “So, engaged twice?” He asked. You rolled your eyes a little. “Once in college, when I was young and...Quite stupid,” You admitted, “And then once a couple of years ago.” “What happened the second time, if you don’t...Mind?” Marcus cringed a little as he asked. It took you a moment to answer, and he rushed to add, “You don’t have to tell me.” You shook your head. “It’s okay,” You promised, “I, um… I told them that I had a record.” Marcus’ expression softened. “You hadn’t told them before?” “We moved really fast, which I usually don’t when it comes to relationships. I don’t know, usually that stuff is always on my mind when I’m with someone, but with them it never really felt like it mattered. When I did tell them, though, it…” Your eyes lowered to the table as regret twisted in your stomach, “It broke everything.” “Did you tell them what happened?” “They didn’t give me the chance.” The two of you were quiet for a few moments - Marcus digesting this information as you sat in the swirl of bitterness that it had dredged up. “Anyway,” You shook your head, drawing the both of you out of it, “Guess it shouldn’t really matter that they left when they did. I realized later that, given their reaction, they were going to leave no matter when I told them… How much of that you disclose to your family is up to you.” Marcus didn’t say anything for a few moments, searching your face. “Know what I never understood?” He finally asked. “What?” “Why they never nailed any of the people buying from you or your grandmother.” You shot him a skeptical look.  “You know that it’s not punishable by law to buy a forgery or be a rich piece of shit.” “You were a kid,” Marcus frowned. You considered this for a moment, directing your eyes to the ceiling to find the best way to order your thoughts. “...I was a minor,” You contended, “But I was old enough to know that what we were doing was wrong. I… I knew that we were duping people, I knew that it was illegal. I knew the paintings were forgeries, and I knew that the people that we were dealing with were dangerous. I’m just lucky I wasn’t tried as an adult.” “You were raised to do all of that and then left hung out to dry by the person that was supposed to protect you,” Marcus argued quietly. You swallowed thickly, hurriedly looking to the table as you felt tears spring up in your eyes. You tried not to think about these things most days. And for Marcus to have this level of empathy, of understanding...You were sure that the man had glanced through your case file at some point when he started working with you, but hadn’t expected this. Most people didn’t look too far past what you were doing to try and understand how you’d come to be in your position. But then, most people weren’t Marcus. “...No wonder I don’t trust easy, huh?” You tried to joke after you’d blinked the tears away and lifted your eyes back to his, a thin smile on your lips. Before he could say another word on the matter, the food arrived.  

The two of you tucked in quietly, After a few minutes, you nudged his foot with yours. 

“Tell me about Marnie? And her fiancé, um… Hazel, right?” You requested. 

Marcus’ face pulled with a fond smile, and you felt ease wash over you again. -- “So, just let me know what the wedding colors are so I don’t wind up wearing a dress that matches them and we should be all good,” You reached for your bag as Marcus pulled his car up in front of your apartment building. “Sure thing.” “And if you think of anything else that your family might ask about us, you know, so we can plan ahead.” “I will.” “Okay-- Oh! Uh… Are you a big PDA guy? Like, is that something your family’s going to expect?” “I tend to be kinda touchy, yeah, but I can tone it down.” “Well, what are we talking about here? Hand-holding, hugging?” “Yeah,” He nodded, “And probably a hand on your shoulder or your back, maybe a kiss on your cheek or forehead or…” Anticipation thrummed through you as his gaze darted to your lips. “‘Kay,” You nodded a little, feeling your heartbeat tick up in your chest. “We don’t have to--” Marcus started to reassure, but you waved him off. “It’s totally fine,” You reassured him, “I trust you.” Marcus smiled at you, a gentle smile overtaking his lips. “Glad to hear it. I’ll get you those wedding colors as soon as I can.” “Thanks,” You smiled, “Night, Marcus.” “Goodnight,” He chuckled as you got out of the car. Tag list: @hufflepuffing-all-day-long​​​ ; @spideysimpossiblegirl​​​ ; @blueeyesatnight​​​ ; @elen-aranel​​​ ; @yespolkadotkitty​​​ ; @artsymaddie​​​ ; @phoenixhalliwell​​​ ; @lunaserenade​​​ ; @winniedaboo​  ; @empress-palpat1ne​​​ ; @randomness501​​ ; @nutmeg-20​ ; @leonieb​​ ; @the-feckless-wonder​ ; @lou-la-lou​ ; @captain-jebi​ ; @supernaturalgirl​ ; @naturenebula21​ ; @evelynseventyr​ ; @giselatropicana​

Day 2 for Diverse Tolkien Week: Disability

Elrond’s Diary: The Gentle Touch

Upon my horrid clumsiness,

An error I have made!

I did not see where I was going;

If only I had stayed!

The metal hand lay on the floor,

Knocked down from a great height;

A ringing clang now filled the air,

Enough to give me fright.

Adar Maedros stood so still.

His gaze fixed on the hand.

Along its side was struck a dent;

‘Twas more than I could stand!

“Adar, adar, adar,” I cried,

“Let not your anger flare!

“Forgive me for I did not see

“Your bright limb resting there!”

Misunderstand me not, I beg:

I had no fear of fists,

That he might handle me with strength

And leave my mind in mists.

For he has never hurt me thus,

Yet what I came to dread

Was disappointment in his eyes;

A horrid land to tread.

But even worse, I knew that he

Still grieved the empty space

Above his stump, where long before

A hand once had a place.

Now several metal hands he kept,

And all for different tasks;

For Curufin his brother made

A-many with his crafts.

To treat his brother’s work so ill,

What Maedros valued dear!

My heart did ache; what else to do

But make my regrets clear?

A glimmer then I thought I saw

A-blaze in Adar’s eye!

My breath came short, my hands now shook,

And I began to cry.

I thought that he might turn away

And leave me to my shame,

Yet now he knelt and set me on

His knee, against his frame.

He stroked my hair and held me close,

And kissed my tear-filled eyes;

His voice was low, all woolly-soft,

And soothed my sorry cries.

“My dearest child, I promise you:

“My wrath you need not fear.

“Now please, if you will let me, I

“Will wipe away your tear.”

I thought his left hand he would use.

Oh, I was still so weak!

For he did raise his right and set

His stump upon my cheek.

And gently thus he wiped away

The fear and grief from me;

His stump was smooth, all flesh and bone,

As normal as could be.

"But Adar dear," I said to him,

"Are you not mad at me?

"That hand is dear to you, I thought;

"A gift from family."

Adar then did look at me,

His gaze all soft and sad:

"A helpful tool it is, and look!

"The dent is not so bad."

“I hold no anger for your deed;

“‘Twas just a simple err.

“It’d take much more for me to rage,

“My Elerondo fair.”

He murmured kindly as he worked,

And softly stroked my hair;

While ‘cross the landscape of his face

His smile wavered there.

And yet he did not turn around

To see the metal hand.

Quite soon my tears lay on his wrist

Like foam upon the sand.

I held his stump once he was done,

And leaned against his chest.

“See, all is well,” he said, “and now

“For you, some rest is best.”

And so we went, me in his arms.

I gladly kissed his face;

While his bright limb we left behind

Unmoving in its place.

***

Whelp looks like I’m doing these days all out of order now loll I initially wasn’t planning to use this for Diverse Tolkien Week, but I ended up going for it once I started the sketch process.

I took inspiration from Gustav Klimt’s “The Kiss” for their poses (which I think most of y’all are familiar with XDD) and put a familial spin to it. I’ve always wanted to draw something inspired by that painting, but I was never able to find the right characters or get the face angles right.

As for the poem itself -- many thanks to @thefifthbattle​ for giving me feedback on the first draft! <333 For its setting, I imagine it might’ve taken place in Maedros’ quarters or somewhere not so public (otherwise they likely wouldn’t have left his prosthetic lying on the floor in a corridor loll). Maybe it’s getting close to the twins’ bedtime, which is why Maedros is wearing casual clothes and also because I wanted it to not look too much like the last painting loll

This one is already up in my Inprnt shop as a print!

more than gold

summary:  A lost Jedi Temple, a riddle, some literature, and feelings that Cody isn't ready to speak out loud. | AO3

note: written for @codywanweek and the alt day 5 prompt Sith/Jedi Artefact Shenanigans! sliding in on the last day with one more thing written than expected, so i’m happy with that! i’m pretty ill today so i hope it actually makes some coherent sense 😂 also if the riddle was super obvious, soz, never written one before and turns out it’s really hard.

-

“You know, I could have sworn I told you not to touch that,” Cody says conversationally, from where he’s splayed out on his back.

“Really? I’m sure I didn’t hear you,” Obi-Wan says, cheerful despite being crumpled in a heap. His elbow is in Cody’s gut. Cody glares at him.

The room they’re lying in is circular, stone, carved out of some Forced-damned mountain and according to Obi-wan, practically thrumming with power. The ceiling is high and vaulted, letting in slivers of light where intricate mirror systems catch the sunlight of double suns and project it deep underground. It takes on a slightly blue cast, reflecting off the huge pool of water they were lucky to not fall into. Four walkways at each cardinal point lead to a central platform, and interspersed between them are four waterfalls.

It should be serene. Except now the waterfalls are travelling backwards, and all the doors, including the one they came in by, are blocked. Cody scrambles up onto his elbows, dislodging Obi-Wan with a grunt.

“What did you do?”

Obi-Wan follows his gaze and gasps, delighted. “Now, will you look at that?”

Cody is looking. Frankly, he doesn’t trust this place enough to not keep his eye on it at all times. Obi-Wan keeps saying that this temple was built long ago, by ancient, peaceful Jedi as a place of learning, and that it won’t hurt them. After they got cut off from the rest of their men at the entrance, however, Cody thinks he could be forgiven for having his doubts.

As Obi-Wan himself proves, peace-keeping hardly rules out danger.

“Amazing,” Obi-Wan breathes, hoisting himself to his feet without a second glance, to walk back up to the plinth and stalk round it, examining the incomprehensible runes engraved there.

Cody is left to peel himself off the floor, and instead goes to prod at the barriers now sealing the exits with the end of his blaster. He tries not to look too much at Obi-Wan, at the soft sweep of his hair and the span of his shoulders. Being on their own like this is something he’s avoided, of late - not because he doesn’t enjoy it, but because he’s starting to enjoy it all too much.

He doesn’t trust the way his heart leaps when Obi-Wan smiles, when he asks him to call him ‘Obi-Wan’, when the cycle draws on and they’re up late again, companionably finishing reports and debating strategy. Or, as they had been doing until Cody got cold feet and started finding excuses, debating novels, which Obi-Wan checked out of the Temple archives and read aloud, one chapter at a time, before they turned in for the night.

He doesn’t trust himself not to ruin this by overstepping. There’s something about his general that makes him lose all control of his tongue, and puts him in danger of voicing thoughts that really he should not be having at all.

It’s agony. It’s bliss. It’s stretching him to breaking point, and this is possibly the worst situation they could have ended up in, really.

“These are made out of water,” he says over his shoulder, grunting as he tries to push his blaster through. He is, of course, unsuccessful.

“Ingenious,” Obi-Wan says. “How did they manage that, I wonder?”

Cody cuts a glance back at him, and grins, despite his exasperation.

“You’re not more worried about how we’re going to get out?”

Obi-Wan waves a hand. “I’m sure the path will reveal itself, in time. Oh, look - Cody, I think this is a puzzle!”

Cody bites back a groan. They do not have time for this. They never really had time for it, but Obi-Wan promised it would be a brief detour on their way to the capital for hyperspace lane access negotiations. He’d looked so excited by recon reports of a lost temple that Cody just hadn’t been able to say no. He’s never able to say no to Obi-Wan, even when he isn’t following orders. It’s probably his fatal flaw.

“I don’t suppose there’s an off switch? A back button?” He asks hopelessly. The Force, at least the Jedi sort, very rarely seems to work that way. Obi-Wan is always talking about moving through problems, about seeking balance and adapting to what’s around you, rather than manipulating it. It’s not Cody’s favoured approach; he was trained to leverage his environment to its maximum advantage, and finds he has little patience for anything else.

Obi-Wan snorts. “This is a defensive mechanism, I’m afraid. Judging by the architecture this was built at the height of the Sith Wars. This artefact is designed to trap us here until we understand the mechanism and progress, or until, back when the temple was occupied, someone would come and deal with the intruder.”

“That doesn’t sound very peaceful,” Cody says.

Obi-Wan shoots him an amused look, the warm, soft kind that makes heat rise from the pit of Cody’s belly right up to his ears.

“Even a pacifist may defend himself,” he says, then leans over the pedestal. “Now, how about you stop grousing and come help me with this?”

Cody rolls his eyes, but goes, slinging his blaster across his back and crossing his arms.

“And stop looming,” Obi-Wan laughs, catching one of Cody’s gloved hands and pulling it down to rest at his side. The simple touch makes Cody’s cheeks burn.

“Don’t see what help I can give you, Sir,” he says, frowning down at the characters surrounding the bright blue artefact. “I was never any good at Ithorian.”

Obi-Wan pauses, then tilts his head up. “Ah. Is that what it is?”

“I - I think so?” Cody was never any good at his language flashtraining; he never had the proper patience for it, but he can usually figure out the basics.

“No, no,” Obi-Wan muses, stroking at his beard with his free hand. “You’re quite right. Goodness me, it's been a long time since I last saw this dialect. Let’s see now…”

Cody steps back and waits, keeping his attention firmly split between their blocked exit points while Obi-Wan ponders. The slow upward movement of the waterfalls is eerie - it still makes noise, but none of it is right. Instead of the gentle patter he expects of water joining a larger pool, there’s a faint gurgling as they move further into each grate, travelling somewhere he cannot see.

Obi-Wan finishes his fifth circle round the platform, and the hand at his chin goes still. Cody stands at attention, expectant.

“It’s a riddle,” Obi-Wan says, and if possible, his delight grows. “Yes - the language is coming back to me now. Do you know, I haven’t looked at Ithorian in maybe 12 years?”

“Sir?” Cody says, tilting his head to look at the characters more closely. He doesn’t have even a passing proficiency at modern Ithorian, and presumably it’s changed a bit over the millennia. His training was focused on the basics, and only the useful bits, at that. He thinks he can make out the words for ‘ water ’, and ‘ enemy’ , both of which are either unhelpfully descriptive or frankly discouraging, but that’s about the extent of it.

“My old master - he loved prophecies. When I was a teenager I could never see the point of it, but it meant I spent a lot of time learning the old Ithorian dialects. They’re known as the most peaceful species, did you know?” Obi-Wan shakes his head. “They’ll exile anyone violent, it’s quite remarkable, really. I suppose in some sort of idealistic emulation, a lot of the early Jedi texts are written in their dialect.”

His blue eyes are keen, his laser sharp focus firmly on the podium. It gives Cody a moment to observe his clever fingers, the long line of his neck, the open delight with which he tackles this new problem. It’s a rare thing, to see him so relaxed, and Cody can’t help the fond smile that creeps up on him despite the circumstances. This almost makes it worth it, and on reflection, he’d rather an ancient temple than the last thing that had made Obi-Wan so happy; a wretched, bioluminescent fungus, which had infected half the battalion and given them hives. Their general had studied it for weeks.

Obi-Wan’s lips quirk up. Cody barely trusts himself to speak.

“I didn’t know, Sir,” Cody croaks, then pauses, fishing for something normal to say. “Didn’t we have to defend the governor’s daughter from an Ithorian bounty hunter on Ganaris-IV?”

“Well,” Obi-Wan grins. “Those exiles have to go somewhere, don’t they?”

Cody huffs a laugh and reaches up to scratch his neck at the seam of his bucket.

“Let’s just hope they didn’t all come here. What’s this riddle, then?”

Obi-Wan shifts to the side, then points at a spot on the podium. “As I said, it’s been a long time, but I think it starts here, and goes something like:

A thing to be forged, where water is thicker,

Worth more than gold, unless it’s pyrite that glitters.

An enemy of my enemy, or in hard times, in need,

Sometimes fair-weather, or in high places indeed.

What are you, traveller? ”

All of Cody’s hopes that it would be something nice and obvious, like “lightsaber” or, given what’s going on around them, “gravity”, escape from him like smoke. Jedi and their metaphors. It’s not just a quirk of Obi-Wan’s, clearly.

“Does that mean anything to you, Sir?” he asks, turning the words over in his head once, twice, then frowning when nothing comes immediately.

Obi-Wan’s brow is also furrowed, but in a leisurely, meditative manner.

“...I have some ideas, I think,” he says. “How about you, my friend?”

What does he think? He thinks that there are other sorts of puzzles he is much better suited to. Word play and idioms...what does a clone have to offer that?

Still, Obi-Wan is watching him, expectant and gentle, and he sifts back through the lines, a little more seriously this time.

“Ice, maybe?”

Obi-Wan nods, slowly. “Perhaps. Walk me through it.”

Cody swallows. “Ice is something that can be made, right? It’s not exactly forged, but…”

He trails off in uncertainty.

“Go on,” Obi-Wan says with another one of those soft, devastating smiles. It fractures all the thoughts in Cody’s head, and he has to stop, clear his throat and gather up all the pieces.

“I suppose...it’s just thicker water, isn’t it? On warm planets it’s a valuable commodity, it’s found in high places, and I suppose if you wanted snow, a freeze would be fair weather.”

Obi-Wan is rubbing his beard again, and he’s still smiling. “Fascinating. I would never have thought of that...only, I don’t think it’s quite there. That mention of pyrite is troublesome, and the ‘enemy of my enemy’, where does that fit in?”

Cody shrugs his shoulders, frustrated, and feels a hot flush creep up his neck. “Don’t know why you’re asking me, to be honest, Sir. Kamino hardly covered poetry.”

There’s a slight pause, then Obi-Wan’s hand is on his again, tugging it slowly down from where he’s crossed his arms.

“I wish you wouldn’t do that,” he says, soft.

“Do what?” Cody’s voice is gruff.

“Dismiss yourself. You do it sometimes when we’re reading together. There is often no right and wrong answer to these things, no secret. There is only perspective, and you see things I never would, if only you would trust yourself.”

Cody looks down and away, back towards the waterfalls and their slow, glacial climb. He isn’t sure that’s true. He enjoys what Obi-Wan shares with him, what other lives he gets to touch in their books, but more than anything they convince him that, beyond war, he knows very little of anything at all. He would like to, someday.

His eyes land on Obi-Wan’s lips briefly, before he tears them away. Particular experiences he would like to know more than others.

There was one book that Obi-Wan had read early on, back when this infatuation was just setting its first tendrils into him, about a forbidden romance at the heart of the old Mandalorian court. Two heirs of rival clans battling to be together against the good approval of their noble relatives. It had been torrid, ridiculous and entirely unexpected when Obi-Wan had suggested they break up their reports with some literature.

But what it had done was give him the words to express the crawling heat in his stomach, the urge he has to reach out, to touch, to soothe, to care for. He’d known what he wanted before that, of course, in a more rudimentary manner, but it had gifted him the language of yearning.

Suddenly, a particular passage springs into his mind and he straightens.

“You don’t think it could mean ally, do you? In Beneath the Armour, Mata threatens Clan Riza by saying he has ‘allies in high places’.”

Obi-Wan pauses, and then a brilliant smile spreads over his face. “Yes, that’s it! Pyrite - Fool’s Gold; a false friend! Brilliant Cody, whatever made you think of that?”

Cody grins, even though Obi-Wan can’t see it, and doesn’t answer.

“Is that really it?”

“I think you’re very close,” Obi-Wan says. “The characters engraved into the platform...yes! Stand close to me, Commander.”

Cody does, watching curiously as Obi-Wan lifts his hands, shuts his eyes, frowns, and pushes . Six blocks that make up the platform lift, the characters on each glowing bright, lurid blue. Under their feet, something scrapes, shifts and clunks, before the platform lurches upwards, spinning gently.

There’s a thunderous gurgling sound, before all of the pool beneath drains away.

“The answer,” Obi-Wan says, slightly breathless, his hair a little out of place. “Was friend.”

“The doorways are still blocked,” Cody notes drily. The plinth with the blue orb that started this whole mess has also risen, and underneath it are a set of very wet, slimy looking steps. “I don’t suppose it’s as simple as just walking down these and getting in?”

“Likely not,” Obi-Wan agrees, then inexplicably shifts a little closer, so that they are sharing space. Cody’s heart skips a beat. “But it’s like I told you, Cody. You are far greater than what you have been given.”

Cody coughs and looks at his feet, at their boots almost toe to toe, pleasure at the praise singing low through his body.

“Now,” Obi-Wan says, too close and not close enough. “How do you feel about another puzzle?”

Cody groans, laughing, and after a moment, follows his General into the dark.

Title: coward :: epilogue Pairing: Y/N x Miya Atsumu Genre: angst, romance, and very slow burn [ex to lovers au] Warnings: Cursing, alcohol, mentions of unprotected sex, unplanned pregnancy, heavy mentions of abortion, and brief mentions of trauma

notes:

we’ve finally reached it guys! the end :”> this story has been one of the things i’m very much proud of. From this chapter onwards, it’s all just fluff and well Atsumu and Y/N content. thank you for sticking around despite the slow burns and see you on the side stories and the drabbles. ill be accepting eight drabbles for this story and it’ll be open after all the side stories are complete, uwu.

previous    masterlist  [ ss;; one, two, three, four ]

“...I wonder how you put them to bed.”

“They usually sleep immediately after I give them a glass of milk.” You blinked, looking up from your paperwork, “Did they give you a hard time again?”

“They chunked a pillow at me and that started a pillow fight.”

Soft laughter filled the room and Atsumu felt his heart soften at the sound of that, such a beautiful laugh you had. 

It’s been a year since that confrontation but it feels so surreal whenever he wakes up to see you lying next to him, snuggled on his chest or the kids suddenly barging into the room to catapult themselves to bed with you two.

Him, you, children. 

A family.

“Are you not going to sleep yet?”

“No,” You breathed, shifting through paper works,“I have to finish this if I want to watch your game next week.”

“Can I lay on your lap then?”

“We have a very big bed.” You deadpanned, you were still stoic and blank as ever but comparing to before, you were more open to him with your emotions and thoughts. Albeit, he didn’t know much about why you ran away -  Daiki says to give you some time -  or what happened with your family, he doesn’t mind because he promised he’d wait and be patient with you. 

Atsumu even suggests that if you can’t talk to him about it, he’d willingly look for good psychiatrists around the area to help with your trauma. The sessions seem to be going well so far, albeit it was slow, you were finally taking the proper steps to heal.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Atsumu grinned childishly and situated himself on your lap. Unknowingly, you’d start playing with his hair. He suddenly feels like he’s about to doze off by the domestic gesture and the familiar sound of your breathing but he is immediately awoken by the small voice of yours.

“Do you want to know why I never introduced you to my family?” you suddenly asked, his eyes slowly turned towards you yet you continue to play with his hair nonchalantly as if you weren’t talking about a heavy topic, “Our situation was a lot like my parents. I was born when my okaasan was in the middle of studying medicine and my otosan was a law student.”

Atsumu remains quiet as he listens to your story.

“They were both from very rich families with promising futures, they dated, they were happy until I happened…” You paused, continuing to play with his hair, “Okaasan wasn’t able to finish her course and she got depressed because of that, her family had turned her back on her. So she begged otosan to marry her even if he didn’t want to so that she could finish her degree and return to her family.”

You continue your story; telling him everything about how your father fell out of love with your mother, how scared you were of your mother growing up, how she quit being a doctor because she was an alcoholic and almost sued for drinking on the job, and how you came to the realization that you weren’t supposed to be born when you were only eight years old, “...that night we met at the frat party was the day of my otosan’s wedding to his mistress, they had called out how the previous wedding and me was a mistake as a joke but it still kind of stinged.” You confessed, “I didn’t know what I’d do if I hadn’t met you that night.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice was soft, comforting even and it made you smile because despite his rather loud attitude, he understood you very well and was very patient with you.

He’s empathetic and it makes you wonder why you even ran away in the first place, maybe Daiki was right that night seven years ago, maybe you should’ve told him and stayed with him.

“Whenever I was with you back then, you didn’t make me feel that way so I didn’t want to spoil it or destroy that feeling. I didn’t want you to see me in that light.” You divulged, recalling the memories you had with him, “I felt like I was supposed to be there with you. You were a reminder that it was alright to be alive. That I wasn’t a mistake.”

Comfortable silence fills the air as he takes it all in.

Atsumu takes a hold of your hand that’s playing with his hair and gives it a comforting peck, “Was that also why you couldn’t tell me back then that you were pregnant?”

“You were being scouted for the jackals that time and I was scared we’d end up like my parents because I disrupted your dreams.” You ran your hands through his hair again, playing with the blonde strands, “I didn’t want the kids yet at the same time I couldn’t abort them because they were yours.It was very confusing.” 

“Would you...Would you have pushed through with it? With the abortion?”

“Probably.” you blinked, recalling that moment you were at the clinic,you recalled the feeling of nervousness as you waited for them to call your name,  “With the past I had, I doubt I would’ve made a good mother. Would you have hated me if I had done it?”

“No. I don’t think I would.I mean, don’t get me wrong. I love those brats, I love this family but at the end of the day, it would’ve been your choice.” He replies softly, drawing small circles on your hands, “It would’ve been better if you went up to me and told me though, at least I would’ve been there.”

“Well, in the end, I didn’t push through. I couldn’t do it. They were yours as much as they were mine and I couldn’t let that go after breaking off with you.” you paused, “I also told myself that they’d never feel that way, that they’d never feel as if they were born out of a mistake.”

“And you did a damn good job at it.” He complimented, “You placed your own okaasan to shame.” 

“You placed my otosan to shame too…” You smiled softly, suddenly a question popped in your head, you might as well ask it now since the timing seemed to be better than ever, “Would you like to get married?”

Atsumu’s eyes immediately widen at what you said and he sits up, “What the hell, Y/N? I should be the one asking that!” He loudly exclaims and you cover his mouth to muffle his voice.

“The kids are asleep.” You choke back a laughter, shushing him, “And I think it should be me the one who should ask for your hand, after all the shit I put you through-”

The blonde setter takes your hands off his mouth and cuts you off, “First of all, that was my choice. Second of all, how many times do I have to tell you that we were both at fault there? We’re doing a damn good job now. Mind you,” he immediately scrambles out of the bed right after before you could say anything else and looks through his sock dresser, he takes out a small box and your eyes widen, is that what you thought it was?

“I was supposed to give it to you when I officially got in the jackals back then.” Atsumu sheepishly confessed, “I couldn’t throw it away after you left, it was the little hope I guess that you’d come back. I mean, I’ll get you a new one now since i got-”

“I didn’t think you were the sappy type.” You glazed, cutting him off, completely enamored by the gesture, “You’re very cheesy.”

“Only to you.”

You scrunch your nose, faking a disgusted look but Atsumu knows better than that and just crawls back in your arms and gives you a chaste kiss on the lips that you reciprocate almost immediately. It’s slow, languid, and passionate. Something people wouldn’t expect from someone like him.

“Don’t bother buying a new one, I think I like this one better.” You smiled, pulling away as you hold out your hand in which he happily puts on the simple band. He looks into your eyes again, the eyes he loved looking at since he was nineteen. The eyes that were filled with so much emotion that it always contrasted your face that was void of emotions. The same eyes that he dreamed his kids (and they did) to have when he asked you that one night if you wanted to have a family.

“I’m in love with you.” you break the silence.

You never said those words out loud before to him but hearing it now, after all that you’ve both been through. It’s worth it.

He’d do it all again just to be in this moment.

“I’m very much in love with you too.” He grins, leaning back in for another kiss.

Finally…

Finally he was able to catch up with you.

taglist [officially closed, if you guys want to be removed for the side stories, feel free to tell me hehe ilyasm and thank you once again, coward wouldn’t be possible without all you people + other readers]

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through the cold i’ll find my way back to you

15x18 coda, 1.7k. read on ao3

The Empty isn't empty.

There's the entity itself, of course, smiling wickedly with the face of a friend lost long ago.

There's Billie, not dead but dying, her every breath a grimace. Her skin is mottled and horrid, and everything about her looks shabbier and more ragged in the not-light of this place.

And there's Castiel.

Castiel, released from the sickly cold grasp that dragged him here, on his knees in defeat and relief in equal measure. Castiel, an Angel fallen in more ways than one, already feeling the tide of his oft-felt misery washing over the joy in his chest but not letting it sink. Castiel, free of the burden he has been all too glad to carry for the last decade.

The Empty looks at him from a throne, and says with Meg’s voice, “You shouldn’t have done that.”

“I disagree,” Castiel says, surprised to find he still has a voice. “I think I should’ve done it years ago.”

The relief borders on euphoric. It’s every hunt-gone-sideways-but-still-survived rolled into one, every life saved, every battered and bruised word of prayer heard in the early hours of the morning. It’s a secret held for twelve years and released at the time it would do the most good for the world.

“There’s no way out of this one,” the Empty promises. 

“I know,” Castiel says, and he believes it. He’s not sure he wants a way out. He’s done his part.

“Are you going to be quiet this time?”

This is a difficult question to answer. For the first time, he feels no urge to argue. There is no survival instinct here. He knows he should, based on track record, be looking for a way out, at the very least. But he feels a kind of serenity in this moment, this afterglow of sorts, that distracts the part of him that would pick a fight in any other circumstance. 

He stands. He almost wipes at his knees, out of habit, before remembering that there’s nothing here to dirty them. There’s nothing here at all.

“I think,” he says, “I just might.”

The Empty says nothing, eyes cold and skeptical, and he walks away.

He finds himself at Billie’s side. She has nothing to prop herself up against, so she is on her back, pitiful and ruined, her scythe at her side. Castiel stares at it, and can’t help but wish she had left it behind. A weapon like that could be a real advantage in the fight to come.

“If you’ve come to gloat,” Billie says, pain tracing the lines of her face, “you can save it.”

“In a way,” Castiel says, and he doesn’t have any bitterness or ill will to give her, “I owe you a thank you.”

He should hate her. He should want to sit and watch her draw her last aching breaths. After everything she’s done - to him, to Dean, to the rest of his patchwork little family - she surely deserves what she’s getting. 

But he hears his own voice in his ears, hears himself say I love you and mean it in every possible way, and he can’t. He can’t hate her, because like it or not, she gave him that push. He will never see Dean again, and he can hate her for that, but he will make peace with that, eventually. 

He’ll have enough time here to make peace with a lot of things.

-

The Empty isn’t empty.

There’s Billie’s scythe, unmoved from the place it lay next to her before she died and disappeared. She took a long time to go, but she went, and that’s all she had to leave behind.

There’s the Empty, still using Meg’s face. Still awake. Still asking for some quiet.

And there’s Castiel, without a word past his lips since the soft, “Oh,” that left him when Billie vanished, just walking. He doesn’t have a destination, because there are no destinations here, and he doesn’t know if it counts as a journey without one, but he walks. 

He doesn’t stop. He could be moving in place for all he knows, nothing but void in all directions, but it doesn’t deter him. He walks and walks and walks, footsteps echoing off nothing, and he thinks. There’s not much else to do.

He thinks of home, of earth, and of the battle that might be still waiting to happen or already come and gone. He thinks of Sam and Jack and the world he’s left behind. He thinks of the Impala and how she purrs like a lioness and smiles like a shark.

Mostly, he thinks of Dean, but that’s nothing new. He would think of Dean even if he were dead and disappeared like Billie. He would think of Dean even if he were standing in front of him.

The Empty finds him, occasionally, or he finds it, or they find each other.

“Aren’t you tired?” it asks. From anyone else, those words might be comforting or empathetic.

In truth, Castiel is tired. He’s been tired for years. But he can’t - if he stops, he knows it’ll be for good. And he isn’t ready for that. He can’t let go yet. He’s not sure what it is he’s holding onto, but he knows it’ll be gone forever if he stops.

“No,” he says. 

He keeps walking.

-

The Empty isn’t empty. 

There’s the quiet, boundless and permanent, a heavy blanket that presses in from every angle.

There’s the Empty, who hasn’t paid a visit in a long time, but still lurks at the not-edges of not-space.

And there’s Castiel, no longer walking. No longer thinking. Very close to no longer being anything at all.

-

The Empty isn’t empty.

There’s the quiet, shattered and jagged.

There’s Castiel, awake, and the Empty, furious.

And there’s Jack.

He is tattered and frayed and glowing like a pyre. He calls out, in a voice made of urgency, “Castiel?”

Castiel stands - he doesn’t remember lying down, or sitting up - and Jack’s eyes, burning with white light, find him. He doesn’t know how long it’s been since they last saw each other, but Jack doesn’t look any different to how Castiel remembers him - apart from, of course, the power that crackles at his fingertips and shines from his pores.

“How are you here?” Castiel asks. He stumbles forward, clumsy and forgetful, toward the sun of a boy before him. “This can’t -”

“We won. I’m here to take you home,” Jack says. His voice sounds like a thousand. Then, softer, as Castiel approaches him, “It’s over. It’s done, Cas, we won.”

The halo of light around Jack doesn’t burn like Castiel thinks it ought to. Jack folds into him, at once ethereal and impossibly human, and Castiel remembers what he’s been missing, all this time on his own.

Over Jack’s shoulder, Castiel sees the Empty, and his blood runs cold.

Jack lets him go and turns to face it, his shoulders square and confident. His jaw sets with a determination he could only have learned from the Winchesters. The kind of determination that says no, you move.

The kind of determination that Castiel fell from Heaven to learn for himself.

“Jack -” he warns. He can’t read the expression on the Empty’s stolen face.

There is a long moment of silence as they size each other up, a cosmic ancient and a boy-shaped god.

Then, the Empty speaks. It says: “You can have him. I want to sleep.”

Jack lays a hand on his shoulder, and Castiel closes his eyes.

-

The bunker library isn’t empty.

There’s one table buried in a mountain of books, another cluttered with bowls and candles and bones, and chairs toppled on their sides.

There’s a small crowd of onlookers, some cowering behind the shelves. Two throwing themselves forward into the action. One going farther than the other, looking like he hasn’t slept in a year.

And there’s Castiel, in love with him all over again.

Dean Winchester comes to a stop a foot away from Castiel. He stands there, his face a swirling, unsure mix of hesitation and relief and astonishment, and doesn’t say a word.

He doesn’t speak for so long that Castiel notices the quiet isn’t just him. It’s everywhere. The room holds its breath, and Castiel holds his too, until the novelty of having breath to hold wears off and he can’t do it anymore.

He says, “Hello, Dean.”

Dean’s face splits into a watery grin. “Hey, Cas,” he says, and crushes him in a hug that pushes all the air out of his lungs.

Castiel’s hands land at Dean’s shoulder blades, snaking up his back to make a home out of rough fabric bunched between his fingers. His eyes close, and Dean holds him tighter, and there is nothing else in the world but this.

Into Castiel’s shoulder, where only he can hear, Dean says, “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For not saying it back.” 

The words sound in Castiel’s ears and in his head. He doesn’t know if the prayer is intentional, but he feels that pull of longing and decides it doesn’t matter. None of it matters, just this.

“Dean, you don’t -”

“No,” Dean says, and he pulls back far enough that Castiel can look him in the eye. “I should have said it back. I should have said it - I should’ve said something a damn long time ago.”

There are hands on Castiel’s face. They’re calloused and hard from a life lived too unfairly, but they’re gentle as they hold him. Tender to match the eyes Castiel knows so well.

“You said - you said it was something you knew you couldn’t have,” Dean whispers. “But, Cas, you’ve had me. You’ve always had me. Ever since - god, who cares since when? You have me. I have been yours.”

The bunker library isn’t empty, but when Dean kisses him, slow and soft and worshipful, it may as well be.

“I thought -” Castiel says, when they part. “I thought you didn’t - I thought you couldn’t -”

Dean smiles, bashful and sweet, and Castiel falls and falls and falls.

“You were never the brains of the operation, Cas,” he says. “We both know Sammy’s the smart one.”

Dean kisses him again, and again, and again, and oh, how wrong Castiel was. There is a certain amount of happiness in saying it, in just being, but it is nothing compared to this. Nothing compared to the having.

-

Dean Winchester’s bedroom isn’t empty.

There’s the pile of clothes on the floor, peeled reverently from their owners layer by painstaking layer, a phone charging in the corner, and the gun he keeps under a pillow.

There’s Dean himself, of course, sleeping soundly for the first time in years, maybe.

And there’s Castiel.

What is a Fairy?

I suppose they probably need some explanation, especially nowadays. Fairies (Faeries, Fay, Fey, Fae, or even Fair Folk) could be considered a type of mythical being. Some have described them as spirits, others as ghosts of the deceased, some deified ancestors, prehistoric precursors to humans, personifications of nature, pagan deities, or even angels and demons in the way of Christian traditions. Often they encompass a metaphysical aspect, being depicted as spirits or beings who transcend the physical universe and world that we know. Or given features of the Supernatural, such as magic or extrasensory perception, which allow them to violate or go beyond the laws of nature. Even sometimes Preternatural, which something abnormal or strange and explainable but still within the boundaries of the natural laws of the universe (for example I could say someone is a preternaturally good cellist, and mean that they are impossibly good beyond expectations or even belief, but I’m not saying that they are actually magical...just that their apparent abilities and how they gained them are unknown and very strange to me.) But what is a fairy? Well you already know what some of them look like. Many people might immediately picture Tinkerbell from the animated Disney feature film, or even from the original Peter Pan novel by J. M. Barrie. And they would be correct, in part. Tinkerbell is a depiction of a Pixie, a specific type of fairy. But there are lots of fairy types, I don’t actually think there’s a complete list. (I should probably try to make one at some point, but no promises.) During some points in history the label of fairy was used to mean magical beings who had a mostly human shape. Gnomes, leprechauns, goblins, pixies, dwarfs, elfs, etc etc etc. And at other points it also included non humanoid magical creatures such as Unicorns, Dragons, Kelpie, Basilisk, and more (Sometimes these were referred to as Fairy Creatures). So where did they come from? Well the funny thing is that Fairies don’t actually come from only one area or set of myths. They are a strange combination of the folklore from all over Europe (and possibly beyond) and include ideas and stories from Celtic, Scandinavian, Nordic, Germanic, French, and English Folklore and Mythology. As these stories were passed around and intermingled and changed they brought about the collective creatures we know today as the Fae or Fairies. The Renaissance, Romantic Era, Victorian Era, Edwardian Era, and even the Celtic Revival Movement of the 19th and 20th centuries all had their influences on the stories and ideas connected with the Fairy folk, some significantly less helpful than others. Even the Fantasy Literature Genre, with Tolkien at its forefront, has added and changed much about people’s view on these creatures. So lets talk about some basic things you’ll want to know when dealing with Fairies. The first thing you might want to remember is that many people view the Tuatha Dé Danann (Supernatural gods, goddesses, heroes, and kings of Irish Mythology) as being the source for Faeries, or at least one of the strongest influences. Celtic Folklore and culture is easily one of the most visible bits of Faerie lore that you can find these days, but there’s a lot more that starts showing up when you begin to dig. Another thing to note is that the Renaissance, Romantic Era, Victorian Era, Edwardian Era, and the Celtic Revival Movement had a massive influence on how people saw fairies. They would mix folklore from different areas of Europe, attempted to prove the existence of fairies through scientific means, created artistic depictions of fairies, and much more. Often they sanitized and shrunk the fairies until they were mostly harmless or relegated to the outskirts of human life as a curiosity. Which brings me to the next point. In a lot of older folklore, from all over Europe, fairy beings are often depicted as being incredibly dangerous. Kidnapping humans or human babies, causing crops to wither, water to dry up, food to rot. They could lure people in with magic into a fairy ring of mushrooms and make them dance forever or make them forget their life. Sometimes they even played with time itself. A person could dance with the fairies only to find that they’ve been gone a hundred years when they try to go home. And many beliefs have depictions of some kind of Otherworld, a world apart from our own, or layered over it like an extra dimension we are unable to perceive or directly interact with. Sometimes its a land of the dead or a hidden underground kingdom, other times is a strange and fantastical country with its own laws and ways of doing things. As these stories meshed together we got what is known as Fairyland. The land which the fairies dwell in. Though some believe they simply live on Earth, hidden in the wild, or among us. Some reoccurring ideas are often connected with fairies, though not all have stayed the same as the original lore they were born from. The idea that Faeries, for whatever reason, are unable to or will not lie. This is a very important idea because the Folk are also simultaneously depicted as deceptive. Like particularly vicious lawyers they will play with words, never quite lying, but purposefully leading you astray or tricking you into a bad deal. They will often obey an oath, promise, or deal exactly to the letter, but ignore the intent behind it in order to twist it to their own benefit or amusement. Whether or not fairies are immortal depends entirely on where you draw your folklore from. Sometimes they are immortal; deathless, not mortal. Unable to die in spite of starvation, terrible wounds, age, or anything else. They are bound to life for all time. But some stories depict the stranger Fae Folk as being Eternal. Beyond time, always having existed and always existing, sometimes cycling, sometimes directionless and boundless and everything. Some tough concepts to get your head around, but nobody really agrees which one fairies are. In some folklore they’re even depicted as mortal, same as you and I, but a lot longer lived and harder to kill. A reoccurring motif in older Folklore is the need of humans to try and ward off fairies with charms and totems. When they were not depicted as outright malicious and dangerous, sometimes being thought to cause illness and death or bring about disastrous misfortune or steal a person’s name and voice, fairies were still mischievous and valiantly unhelpful. So people had all kinds of lucky charms to protect from them: like four leaf clovers, various plants, or actions like wearing your clothes inside out to confuse them. Iron is said in many beliefs to burn them, and certain herbs they view as sacred and will refrain from touching the bearer. A few more things. Christianity plays an important part in this discussion, though many people don’t like that. In many places myths and legends were wiped out by Christianity, either intentionally or simply by the very fact that it was trying to convert people in Europe and old pagan beliefs were seen as nonsensical. But still stories persisted despite this. Many old Myths and Folkloric beliefs were recorded for posterity by Christians, and some stories were altered and we are unable to see exactly how much (Beowulf). A lot of fairy stories remained too, only Christianity painted them as fallen angels or even demons of a kind, who could be kept away from Holy Ground, or were forced to kidnap humans to pay a tithe to Hell (or be taken themselves if they couldn’t pay). So folk beliefs, though generally discouraged by the church as superstition, remained quite strong all over Europe for a very long time. The last three things you need to know. One, there are many people who still believe in Fairies, though their beliefs often vary, sometimes wildly. Witches who claim to work with them. People who believe in them through their religions (usually pagans and other non christian groups). People who claim to have encountered or been abducted by them. And many others. While I personally do not believe in Fairies (though I like to keep an open mind, just in case), I do believe that the beliefs, cultures, and and rights of these people ought to be respected. Which leads me to other mythical beings that are similar to Fairies but hail from cultures and peoples outside of Europe. It might be tempting to label some of the spirits from various Native North American Tribes or from Chinese Folklore (or many others) as fairies. Don’t do that. If Fairies are real, you have to consider that there might be other mythical beings who fall under different categories and groups. And even if they are not real, it is extremely disrespectful to the people of those cultures to take their stories, myths, beliefs, and folklore and try to mesh it in with European Folklore. (this is exactly what the Victorian and Edwardian Era were guilty of.) And finally... Some people might tell you that they know everything there is to know about Fairies. Don’t believe them. Even I, who have spent years and years studying European Faerie Folklore, find new things about them every day. I have sources I’ve found and haven’t yet had the time to look into, areas of study I’ve had to neglect. There is so much about Fairies to explore that it’s quite literally impossible for any one person to know all of it. Personally I’m doubtful that a single person can even know an eighth of it all, you can hardly imagine how much there is. And while there is a great deal of it buried on the internet, there is even more offline. Books which are out of print or have never had their contents uploaded, cultural stories passed down in various European groups which are saved from oblivion only by the oratory tradition, and the remains of all kinds of long dead or vastly changed civilizations who believed in the Fairies and tried to work with or avoid or appease them. All the misinformation and personal gnoses out there also make it a lot harder to find accurate information about traditional folklore. And that’s not even counting the multitude of inventions and ideas spawned by fictional literature surrounding fairies. There is simply too much. But of course... Since when has something being impossible ever stopped a human from trying anyway? If you’re still interested, then who am I to discourage you? Go, jump right in. There’s so much to learn about the Faerie Folk.

(Part 3 of Stay, the MY time travel fic. Read Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 )

It’s several more weeks before he meets Qin Su again, and it’s like having a sword shoved through his gut a second time.

He thought he’d gotten over her death in the weeks since, but apparently not.

Meng Yao’s skills at administrative work, honed to perfection over years of managing Jin sect, had resulted in a series of rapid promotions, as more and more people realized that Meng Yao was not only capable but willing to do boring meticulous drudge work and do it well. By the time Qin Su returns from her mother’s small, secluded clan, Clan Liu, Meng Yao is one of Qin Cangye’s personal aides.

He keeps his face when she thanks him for saving her life just barely. It’s so hard, when she looks so young and carefree, untouched by the grief for a lost child, of a secretive husband who never turned to her.

Meng Yao had done that to her.

I didn’t have a choice, he’d cried to Er-ge, in a temple and felt justified. In front of her sweet face, that defence dies a quiet death.

She’d killed herself, when she heard the truth, and for one moment, in between the grief, the rising terror of an unknown enemy stalking him, he’d hated her for it. Do you think you have suffered more than I? How dare you take your own life, while I still didn’t give up?

But he owes her better than that, so he smiles, and promises the Young Mistress Qin that it was Meng Yao who was honoured to have been of assistance to her. He remains perfectly cordial, always, in her presence. He doesn’t hide away, doesn’t take paths around the buildings that she frequents, even though every time he sees her again, it hurts.

This pain, at least, Meng Yao deserves.

He’s careful not to get too close though. He makes his excuses not to join her where he can, and never shows her the attention he had in a previous life. He didn’t expect this to be noticed, but as he’s learned the hard way, some eyes are always sharper than Meng Yao would give them credit for.

*

When Qin Tianyu approaches him for tea and a discussion of the talismans that Meng Yao has been reworking to be more efficient, he thinks nothing of it. When they’re working on writing some together after, and the talisman master carefully broaches the topic as if it wasn’t intentional, Meng Yao can see the Sect Leader’s interest in the matter.

“Meng Yao has been noticeably cold to Su-sizhi,” says Qin Tianyu.

Meng Yao looks up, sharply. “I have no quarrel with Qin-guniang.” How did I miss this?

“I said cold, not a quarrel,” he returns calmly. “She is the only one you do not call shijie.”

“She’s the heir, it’s polite, Qin-shishu,” Meng Yao says, even though he knows it’s not good enough. Everyone else calls her Su-shijie, quite enthusiastically. He endures the carefully considering look that Qin Tianyu sends his way. His mask had held up beneath Wen Ruohan, Nie Mingjue, Jin Guangshan, and Lan Xichen. He would not be unmasked by the a simple elder of Laoling Qin.

But Qin Tianyu just nods, as if confirming something to himself. “The idea was floated that Meng Yao joined Qin sect for Su-sizhi.” he says, and Meng Yao freezes, wary. “After all, Sect Leader Jin does not need another spare heir.”

Meng Yao sits in silence, work ignored as he tries to decide on a response. He had briefly considered before approaching Sect Leader Qin that it may look like this from outside, but had reasoned to himself that as long as he showed no interest in Qin Su, it would blow over, and he’d look like any other disciple. That people would find it suspicious that Meng Yao was not angling to marry her to become the next Qin Sect Leader is a surprise.

So, what should he say to turn this suspicion astray?

“This humble disciple is merely Sect Leader Jin’s bastard son. Young Mistress Qin deserves better,” he says, hoping that was vague enough to be acceptable.

“Meng Yao professes to be remarkably unambitious,” returns Qin Tianyu, lightly. Liar, he’s saying, even though for once Meng Yao isn’t actually lying. Qin Su did deserve better than what he’d given her. He’d loved her enough to know that. But unambitious people cannot do what Meng Yao did to keep his place at Wen Sect. Couldn’t remove the head of Wen Ruohan and end a war.

Unambitious people would not do all of that, just to become one of threw personal aides of a minor Clan Leader.

“Maybe I used it up,” says Meng Yao. From the way the elder glances up, he realizes that he had been silent long enough that he believed he wouldn’t get an answer. But Meng Yao has found his words, and there’s nothing to do but continue, “My mother wished to be a Jin concubine. She wanted me to do anything it takes to secure a place within Jin Sect. That it was the only way for me to live well.”

And she was wrong. She was as wrong about this as she was about Jin Guangshan. It had been a constant, grinding pain, to know again and again that the person he loved above all else had been so incredibly wrong. Meng Yao had thrown himself life and soul into trying to prove her right, into gaining his father’s regard and living well. He’d fought desperately, thinking that if only he gathered a little more influence, that if he did just a little bit more, then he’d succeed. Get the recognition his mother craved for him.

At some point, spite and fury had taken the place of love and duty, but he had not wavered in his goal. But he’d still never proved her right; had murdered his own father, and sat in mourning like a filial son, truly mourning how much he’d failed.

Nothing that he did could ever make up for it. This time, he knew better than to even try.

“It was my mother’s ambition,” he says aloud for the first time. Perhaps to a broken woman who did not even own herself, it had been liberating to imagine owning so much, to be in control of her own fate. “It was hers, but I…”

He falls silent, and after a few moments Qin Tianyu returns his attention to his paused work. For several minutes, he just watches the hypnotic way that the talisman master draws the same talisman again and again with the most minute of differences, to be tested and ranked according to efficacy.

“But you?” he prompts, when the stack is complete.

I want to live. That single, animalistic need, that had kept him alive through so much that would have killed others. I will not die here. Not now.

“I want to live,” says Meng Yao. And then continues, unable to stop, “I wanted her to live, too.” And when she didn’t, when illness wasted her away, taking her from him in pieces, unable to save her for want of something as immaterial as gold… something had broken in him.

Qin Tianyu nods, serene, as he gathers up the completed talismans. “Meng Yao would do well to think about why.”

Why?

You think your life is worth more than theirs? All the people you sacrificed, to live just a few years longer?

“Why shouldn’t I deserve to live?” asks Meng Yao, sharp. “Why shouldn’t we… why are our lives to be discarded at the whim of those stronger than us?”

“Silly child,” he says, “You have survived. You are alive. Now what?” Meng Yao just stares. “Perhaps Meng Yao should consider getting on with other things.”

Get on with what? Meng Yao had turned down Sect Leader Jin’s offer, had given up the name Jin Guangyao, just to escape the tragedies that that would precipitate.

But he was alive now. He was alive, and had time – perhaps even unmeasured time, so long as he stayed out of his father’s way. Perhaps he wouldn’t cultivate to near immortality, like those stronger than him, but he could live nearly a century more. Now what? Why are you alive?

It was so unlike him to not have a plan, but for once he hadn’t really. He didn’t…

“Meng Yao,” Qin Tianyu snaps, and when Meng Yao looks up, he’s leaning forward over the table, hand out and hovering over Meng Yao’s wrist.

“Master Qin?” asks Meng Yao, but rather than answer, the elder gently touches his fingertips to Meng Yao’s wrist. The pressure of foreign qi is familiar; light and diagnostic, before it withdraws.

“This old teacher apologizes,” he says, when he’s done. “I did not mean to cause you distress.”

“Not at all, this martial nephew is glad for his elder’s guidance,” says Meng Yao, taking his hand back and holding it to his chest. “I will meditate on how to prove myself more useful to Qin sect in the future.”

“Meng Yao, you misunderstand. No, rather, it was this master who misspoke. I did not mean to imply that you must prove yourself.”

“I understand,” says Meng Yao, after a beat. Spoken aloud, it must have sounded more cruel than he wished. But that was still what he meant.

There is no resolution after that. Qin Tianyu seems unable or unwilling to explain better, though he clearly thinks about it for a while. Finally, he dismisses Meng Yao, who leaves with the talismans. The lingering unease of a conversation that went poorly is left to fester in the room, while Meng Yao retreats to the disciple quarters immediately.

He resolves to work harder.

[AN: What do you think? Too OOC? I'm hoping to give MY a proper and slow redemption story, but it’s a toss up whether it’s going well or not. Thannk you for reading, please drop a comment in the replies if you have writing advice! I’ll be so grateful!]

[Click here for part 4!]

Morose

Movie/Game/Show: Danganronpa: Goodbye Despair Dynamic: Hajime Hinata/Reader Warnings: subtle(?) spoilers aside from the despair disease, once again i don’t write with plot :), and yes I DO know Nagito’s supposed to faint but no I didn’t write it in here Summary: Hajime can’t help but be worried as his friends’ personalities are flipped upside-down.  ~~~

“Hajime!” (Y/n) cheered, a smile lighting up at the sight of the boy, waving him over as he went towards his cottage, “It’s been a bit, huh?”

“We spoke this morning,” he awkwardly pointed out.

Giggling to herself, the girl’s hands flew up as if to shrug, “So we did! I can barely keep track anymore, we’ve been on this island awhile, ya know?” 

“I know what you mean,” Hajime muttered, shaking his head, “What did you need though?”

“Oh, well,” fanning herself off with her hand, (Y/n) looked to the side, “I’ve been feeling a little hot all day. Kinda worried I’m getting sick,” she sighed, “It’d be awful if someone took advantage of me being sick to kill me.”

To be completely honest, Hajime wasn’t expecting that - usually, the girl before him was incredibly cheerful. Barely even said the word ‘kill’ unless they were in a trial, and even then, she was hesitant.

“No way,” he immediately refuted, “You won’t get murdered. Not now, not later. Nobody else will be killed.”

“You can’t really promise that,” she grumbled, rubbing at her temples, “Sorry, this headache is really biting me right now.”

Hajime waved off her apology, “Shouldn’t you be lying down then? I could get Mikan.”

“No, no!” she smiled weakly, shaking her head, “I don’t wanna bother her, besides, I’m already feeling better just talking to you!”

“I don’t think that’s how illness works, at all.”

“Maybe,” she all but sang, drawing out the ‘y’, tossing her head back slightly to look at the darkening sky, “But I can’t lie. You’re a good distraction, Hajime.”

“Thanks?”

“I just mean that you make me forget how much this all sucks,” she grinned, watching as the stars blinked above her, “You’re a good friend, Hajime. I don’t know where we’d all be without you. Maybe that’s your Ultimate, huh?”

“Ultimate Friend?” he didn’t want to laugh in the poor girl’s face, but even she should be able to admit it was ridiculous.

“It is kinda silly,” (Y/n) pouted, clasping her hands behind her back before lighting up once again, “Or the Ultimate Hope! Or maybe the Ultimate Detective? Or the Ultimate- “

“I think that’s good for now,” Hajime settled his hands on the girl’s shoulders, “It’s getting dark, I think we should head to our cottages.”

“Oh, alright!” (Y/n) bounced out of the boy’s grip before dashing towards her cottage, “See ya tomorrow, Hajime!”

~~

Waking up the next morning to Monokuma’s voice, (Y/n) pursed her lips at the uncomfortable dryness of her throat. And then the heat. Absolute sweltering temperatures with a headache to crack open her skull.

She stood from her bed, immediately going to the bathroom and cupping her hand under the running sink, hoping that drinking some water would ease her throat. It succeeded, temporarily.

Deciding that, sadly, no matter what she did it was hopeless - (Y/n) managed to put herself together before dragging her way down to the cafeteria. She just barely pressed towards the dining area before growing quickly irritated at the sound of loud wails that only seemed to get worse when she went inside. Akane was sobbing, breaking down into nothing before all her classmates.

Hajime had crossed arms as he watched the woman cry over poor Nekomaru, “Doesn’t something seem a little… off about her?”

“Like I give a shit. Who cares? Let the bitch cry.”

(Y/n)’s eyes widened at her own words, Hajime staring at her in shock before shaking his head and leaning closer to the girl, “Are you- are you feeling alright?”

“Fuck off, I don’t need your bug-eyes staring at me,” before she could stop herself, more insults were hurling out of her mouth - almost alarmingly fast.

Ibuki hummed thoughtfully, “You know, Hajime’s eyes always did look a little fly-ey.”

“I don’t have bug-eyes,” Hajime glared weakly at (Y/n), “Do you still feel sick?”

“Puhuhuhuhu!” interrupted any more conversation, Monokuma giggling loudly, “It seems some of your friends have caught the Despair Disease!”

Mikan jumped slightly, “Despair Disease?!” she walked to (Y/n) and Ibuki, placing a soft hand on their foreheads, “They’re awfully warm.”

“Whore,” (Y/n) spat as she knocked the nurse’s hand from her forehead.

“W-whore?!” Mikan jumped back, curling into herself, tears bubbling at her water line.

"Surprise! It's your next motive!" Monokuma exclaimed, clearly proud of his plan,  "Ibuki has the Gullible Disease, Akane has the Coward Disease, Nagito has the Liar Disease, and (Y/n) has the Morose Disease!"

Glancing over to where Nagito was avidly dismissing any possible feeling of illness, Hajime nodded slightly before looking back to the sulking, brooding girl beside him, “I guess that makes sense.”

With a final warning of the disease being contagious, Monokuma left and Mikan was quick to emphasis that the sick should be taken to the hospital.

“I don’t need to be looked after,” (Y/n) sneered, utterly horrified at the words her mouth was spewing without her consent, “Especially by Little Ms. Piggy.”

“If (Y/n) doesn’t need to be looked after than neither do I!” Ibuki shouted.

Hajime rolled his eyes, “Yeah, I know. Everyone, just follow me.”

“I hope this never ends!”

“Shut your mouth before I stitch it shut, hope boy.”

After everyone was settled into their own rooms, with their own caretaker, (Y/n) tried to keep her mouth shut as Mikan, Fuyuhiko, and Hajime stood around her room. Chiaki was still busy calming down Akane from a cry-fest over stepping on Hajime’s foot earlier in the day.

Hajime sat by (Y/n)’s bedside, eyes flickering from the girl to Mikan as the nurse checked her vitals, “If I knew you calling me the Ultimate Friend would lead to this, I wouldn’t have gone over,” he tried joking. Just to ease the tension of the room.

Once again, without fail, (Y/n)’s lips flew open before she could stop herself, “Ultimate Friend? More like Ultimately Useless, get me a fucking doctor. Not some whiny-bitch nurse and two cuckolds.”

Silence festered in the room, (Y/n) tossing herself back to try and fall asleep as fast as possible. No longer wishing to live with the consequences of her own actions.

“This’ll be a long-fucking-while, then,” Fuyuhiko huffed.

Placing her head in her hands, (Y/n) sighed, flinching slightly when she felt someone pull her hands away to uncover her face, Hajime doing his best to give the girl a comforting smile, “We’ll get over this, like we always do. Nobody else is dying, right? We said it ourselves.”

Nodding, (Y/n) did her best to keep her mouth shut to refrain from ruining the moment. 

Nobody else would die.

Nobody… 

“See?” Hajime looked up to the nurse, “Don’t you agree, Mikan?”