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idontknowreallywhy · 6 months

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Estera Ch 5 - Lesson

(Prologue, Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3, Ch 4)

Have I finally got them out of the cave?

Will there be drama when they get to the surface?

Only one way to find out :)

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“Et tu, Brute?!”

“Then fall, Caesar” Estera muttered as a reflex. It always drove her crazy when the line was unfinished.

“Liberty! Freedom! Tyranny is dead!”

Her head snapped up in surprise to see him grinning. Well! She hadn’t expected him to actually know it. Laughing, she gestured behind him.

“If I promise not to stab you, can I have a quick look? I am a qualified first aider, maybe I can help?”

He backed into the wall.

“Honestly, it’s fine, just a little scratch and a bruise I can get it sorted when we are out.”

“It would be a good opportunity to demonstrate some of the lessons the children have learned in class? And it would keep their minds off other things.”

Right on cue, Sam appeared at her side with an eager expression and the smaller, more portable first aid kit she’d stowed in her rucksack just in case. If only she’d brought the large one.

“Oh wow that’s a big kit… you like to be prepared huh?”

She snorted derisively and beckoned him forward. There was a pause. She raised an eyebrow and waited.

His shoulders sagged and he walked towards her with a wry smile and a whispered “I am never going to live this down.”

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Having checked there were definitely no hitherto hidden exits he could take advantage of, he reluctantly sat down where she indicated and allowed her to step behind him, hoping it she wouldn’t pass out again. The rock had clearly nicked a couple of enthusiastic vessels because the sticky sensation had crept all the way down to the small of his back and it probably looked way more dramatic than it was. He plastered on a reassuring smile for the kids but none were looking at him because they were all crowded around a large bottle of hand sanitiser. Wait, what? Little Alex had a gleam in his eye as he scrubbed up to the elbows like a surgeon preparing for a transplant.

The smile became a little fixed. He wasn’t sure he had consented to a team approach.

The teacher was explaining something and had their rapt attention. He let himself be carried along by her voice too, it had a musical quality to it that was soothing. Lucky that, for someone who worked with little kids. He drifted a little then jumped as her face appeared over his left shoulder and he suddenly realised she’d been talking directly to him.

“Can I cut your suit? It’s got a little mangled.”

“No.”

“Oh. It’s already quite damaged I’m afraid…”

He shook himself.

“Sorry, I mean you won’t be able to… Here, use this.” He palmed the micro laser cutter from his baldric. “Um… maybe don’t give that to the kids.”

He winced as he felt the air on his back. Fortunately it was only the one pair of hands that proceeded to clean the wound, the small ones had paired off and were enthusiastically swabbing each other instead. Her hands were cooler than Virgil’s, but had a similar level of confidence… He forced himself to relax.

Suddenly, the eager mini-medics all crowded round, watching intently. Then retreated like a wave and started covering each other in steri strips.

“Right, should we use warm or cold for bruising, everyone?”

“COOOOOOLD” came the unanimous reply.

She reappeared over his shoulder, accompanied by the cracking of instant cold packs. “I’m going pop a couple of these over your ribs then tape your suit up to hold them in place. I think it would be best to put your arm in a sling to reduce the chance of you pulling the shoulder wound open again.”

For the sake of being a good example to the children he agreed. That was the only reason. Nothing to do with the power of the teacher voice. He sighed… “Yes, Miss”.

A little hand slipped into his and he looked down at Alex who was looking back at him earnestly.

“It’s ok for rescuers to need rescuing sometimes isn’t it, Mr Scott?”

He was saved from finding an appropriate response by his brother breaking through the wall.

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There had been a LOT of hugging and relieved tears. The rescuer who introduced himself as Virgil had finally gathered the parents to give them some quick advice on symptoms of dust inhalation and when they should seek assistance. Meanwhile the blue-eyed one, Scott that was it, was left-handedly signing the kids’ tattered worksheets and distributing tiny die-cast thunderbird models to many squeals of delight. She chuckled to herself as Alex excitedly snatched a model of the red rocket ship before reconsidering and replacing it with the silver and blue one, gazing adoringly at his new favourite-person-in-the-whole-world.

With any luck, much of the trauma of the situation the children had experienced would be overshadowed by the wonder of meeting their heroes. As she watched the injured man pulling funny faces and offering high fives she realised that was entirely deliberate on their part.

She really should find out more about them. The kids, apparently, had encyclopaedic knowledge and it would be best if she could keep up with what was going to be the primary topic of conversation for the foreseeable. They might not forgive her ignorance as quickly as with the plesiosaurs.

It wasn’t that she had deliberately ignored the Thunderbirds’ existence, hard to do that when they were all over the press (and she had to keep confiscating the trading cards until the end of the school day). Scott certainly seemed a bit familiar so she must have seen a press conference or something at some stage. But, well, she’d generally tried to shield herself a little from constant news of disaster and destruction that she could do little to fix. She threw herself into small scale things. She tried not to get overwhelmed by a world determined to drown her in that same sense of helplessness she’d battled against as her country collapsed around her, as she’d stared into the horrified eyes of a soul who knew he was about to die...

Ahhhh, she shook herself, that was the third time today he’d slipped through her defences. She really had to practice her exercises more. Screwing up her face then relaxing it into a pleasant smile she began to approach the group of parents who were beginning to disperse after their medical debriefing.

And got hijacked by two EMTs keen to ask her about her fainting fit in the cave. One of the children must have tattled on her.

She smiled politely, assured them confidently that she had no head injury but suffered from mild claustrophobia and that plus the shock of everything was probably all it was. Feeling it would be hypocritical to refuse, she allowed them to check her vitals and make some notes while she finally looked up and took in the bizarre scene around her. Her eyes drifted past the gleaming silver rocket towards the huge green cargo ship she’d heard so much about. Plenty of room for pockets indeed… she stifled a laugh and her gaze settled on the two international rescue operatives sat on the side of the ramp leading into the ship. The second man had seemed nice, if somewhat harried and oddly concerned about his colleague.

Beyond the temporary floodlights the sun was beginning to set, the sky was clear and the early stars were visible. She was struck by how close she had come to not seeing them again and felt a wave of gratitude for the second chance.

Third, actually.

She looked up the stars and wished she could have thanked the person who’d given her the second.

And then gasped, she had nearly done it again! They were about to leave and she hadn’t actually managed to find the time to express her thanks. She extricated herself from the attentions of the EMTs and hurried over to the two men in blue, running through a few potential phrases in her mind. They’d probably heard it all before.

“Excuse me, I’m sorry to bother you again”

Scott half looked up from where he was perched on a boulder and smiled distractedly while his colleague fussed over him with a medi-scanner. Without his helmet on he looked older than she was expecting, maybe early 40s, a hint of grey shot through the chestnut at his temples and the shadows under his eyes and cheekbones made her wonder just how many “long days” the guy had experienced recently. There was a deep sense of tiredness about him.

“I didn’t want to let you go without properly thanking you for all your help down there” she unthinkingly stuck out her right hand, realising too slowly that he wasn’t going to be able to take it.

Before she could withdraw it he’d reached out with his left hand, twisted his wrist to grasp her right and shook it awkwardly.

“Well thank you for patching me up, you left this little guy with not a lot to do.”

There was a huff behind him prompting another grin which this time reached his eyes as he looked up at her. Blue… vivid, unmistakable blue, sparkled with amusement and a spike of adrenaline hit her like a train.

It was him.

He was still holding her hand but hers was numb and she couldn’t feel it. The ground she was standing on tilted suddenly and she tried to hold on tighter to steady herself but her muscles wouldn’t respond

And she was going to fall.

And she heard him scream.

But he was still smiling and hadn’t noticed the world was collapsing. His eyes held a question.

“Thank you for rescuing me” her voice cracked

“Again.”

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“Virgil, please, it’s alright. Look it’s just a bit of bruising and a few cuts which you’ll note are already expertly dressed.”

His brother scowled at the scanner which, for once, was backing up Scott’s assertion that he was fine.

Virgil’s litany of grumbling was interrupted by the reappearance of the teacher.

She was younger than he’d thought, probably early 30s, and he was amused to see that amongst the dusty strands of dark brown hair that had fallen from the practical knot at the back of her neck was a lock of bright blue. A little rebellious streak perhaps?

He gave her a tiny wink along with the backwards handshake and wondered how hard Virgil would kick him if he asked for her number.

The blood drained from her face as their eyes met. Huh, not the usual reaction to his attempts to flirt, he noted wryly, maybe he was losing his touch.

Wait, what did she mean “Again”? He frowned in confusion. When had they…?

The sense of unease rushed back into his bones and brought all of its howling friends.

The smell of rust, the taste of blood, a decade of phantoms.

Without conscious thought he was on his feet and had dragged his arm from the sling to grab her by the shoulders as he studied her face… it couldn’t be…

She visibly flinched but lifted her chin to hold his gaze.

Realising his mistake he hurriedly released her and tried to find words, any words… but none would come. His lips moved soundlessly as he stared. It couldn’t be, could it?

“Miss Hermaszewska, mummy says have you got my inhaler?”

She blinked and turned to follow the child who tugged at her sleeve.

Virgil had him by the good arm and was leading him back towards the ships, his concerned voice rumbling questions Scott couldn’t focus on right now. He tried to follow her and his brother’s grip tightened, restraining him. Fury and panic raged through his veins. He snarled and shook the unrelenting hands off violently, spinning to face the aggressor before the shocked face of his brother snapped him back to the present and his heart plummeted.

He ran for his ship and One was in the air before the seat had fully retracted.

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#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #scott tracy #virgil tracy #idontknowreallywhy fanfic #estera #TB Estera

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scruffandyarn · 2 years

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Take My Hand, I'll Start My Journey (6)

Fandom: The Mummy and The Mummy Returns Pairing: Ardeth Bay x f!reader Warnings: Reader's backstory, recounting of her father's and sister's death, recounting the injury that makes her unable to bear children, none of which is super in-depth.

We're starting to get to some feelings here, folks!

Take My Hand Masterlist

Part 6:

“Where did ______ go?” Evelyn had seen your hasty departure down below, and felt a pang of guilt. “Is she alright?”

“I…” Ardeth had upset you, he knew. What he wasn’t aware of was what he’d said to do that. “I do not know. We were merely talking about whether she’d be starting a family and--”

“Oh. Oh no.” She covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh, Ardeth, you didn’t know.”

“Know what?” He needed to apologize to you and he needed to know what he was apologizing for so he wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. “If it is about your son, we are doing everything we can to--”

Evelyn shook her head. “It is Alex, but it isn’t.” She sighed. “It’s not my story to tell, but I made the same mistake, broaching the subject of family with her. It’s…it’s a hard subject for her, but please do not take it personally.”

“It is difficult not to when almost every conversation we’ve ever had results in her not wishing to speak with me.”

“She’s…you know she was a nurse before she became Alex’s governess, right?”

“It is how she was able to help Faraj with her injury, yes.” He already knew you had knowledge of western medicine.

“It didn’t…all I can tell you is it didn’t end well for her. I’m sure there are parts she hasn’t told me, but what she has, it was not good.”

Ardeth felt his heart break, knowing you’d experienced something that had caused you great pain. While he could not reverse time, he wished you would allow him to help you carry such a burden.

“You love her, don’t you?” Evelyn’s smile was soft and knowing.

“I…I care a great deal for her. I could not tell you if it is deep enough to call it love, but I feel it could easily grow to become that.”

“When you first met her--”

He couldn’t stop the corners of his mouth from rising, even if he’d tried. “When she told me I was ‘pretty.’ Though, I’m not sure I could ever come close to her beauty.” He scratched Horus absentmindedly. “And before you ask, I would never hold against her what took place after she’d finished Faraj’s drink. I have felt its effects before and my behavior was much worse.” His smile dropped. “But she did not even speak to me or Faraj once she was no longer affected by it.”

“She was embarrassed. She was sure she had committed some sort of offense to your position as the leader of your people. As soon as we returned to London after that dig, she immediately began researching the Medjai as best she could, trying to find a way to properly apologize.”

“Oh, sweet girl.” Ardeth sighed, realizing that must have been when you’d learned about the twelve tribes.

“Look, she’s already quitting, so it won’t make the situation any worse if I tell you--she feels the same way about you.”

“She has told you this?” Ardeth couldn’t help the skepticism in his voice.

Evelyn merely shrugged. “When you’re the only two women for miles, days and weeks on end, you need someone to talk to.” Truth be told, she honestly considered you closer than any employee could ever be, and the whole situation of you quitting weighed on her. “Please don’t tell her I told you any of this. She is already upset with Rick and me.”

“Why?”

“Well…we haven’t really gone out of our way to push the two of you together, but we haven’t exactly tried not to.”

“Oh. She is embarrassed.” He paused. “Of how she feels about me?”

Evelyn was quick to shake her head. “Not at all. She’s convinced that you would never feel the same way about her.”

“Sweet, naive girl.”

It was only about an hour before you had to make your way back up. Traveling was fine, as long as you could see where you were going. The darkness below had left you only able to feel the rocking of the vessel and only able to think of the conversation you’d abruptly deserted, both of which had increased the queasiness of your stomach.

As soon as your feet hit the deck, a small bundle of feathers flew at you, perching on your shoulder. “Nice to see you again, too, Horus.” You scanned the boat until you spotted Ardeth, who was sitting next to Jonathan in front of the helm.

Right next to your duffle.

No way to avoid him now.

Sighing, you made your way over to him and sat down next to your bag. Thankfully, Jonathan seemed to have passed out in the midday sun. You weren’t sure you could deal with both men at the moment. “You have a very interesting friend here.” Recalling the way Ardeth had held Horus, you offered up your hand as a perch.

“Hold on.” Ardeth looked up from his pack, which he’d opened, revealing the blades encased inside, and immediately began to tug at his leather glove. “It is not his intention, but his talons will hurt if he grasps your bare skin.” Once he had the glove off, he took your hand and began sliding it on you. “There.” He smiled as soon as it was in place. “Now try.”

You had to close your eyes to refocus yourself, that damn smile of his getting to you. “Alright.”

Horus immediately hopped to your hand as soon as you held it up again.

“Oh!” He puffed out his feathers, causing you to grin. “Yes, you’re very lovely.” You reached up with your bare hand to lightly rub down his back. He chirped, his whole body moving with your hand. “You’re quite like a cat, aren’t you?”

As if he could understand what you were saying, he immediately snapped his beak in your direction.

“Horus--”

You ignored Ardeth’s scolding tone. “Apologies, Horus. You are better than any cat could ever be.” He chirped again. “I’d say better than any other bird, as well. My sister had these canaries and all they could do was scream and make a mess.”

“I didn’t realize you have a sister.”

Your face dropped. “Had.”

“I am sorry, ______.” Ardeth made to reach for your hand, but wound up hovering when he realized both of your hands were occupied. Instead, his hand simply dropped to the space between you.

Not thinking of anything other than the dejected look on his face, you placed your ungloved hand on top of his. “You didn’t know.” Seeing his gaze drop to where your hands were had you yanking yours back, suddenly needing to go back to petting the bird you were holding. “I’m sorry.”

“Please don’t apologize for me bringing up what is clearly still a painful memory.”

You nodded, both of you staring at your own hands.

Several minutes ticked by before either of you spoke again. “You do not have to answer if you do not wish to, but could I inquire about your sister?”

“Um…” you kept your eyes glued to your hands as you spoke. “Her name was Faith,” you paused, willing your voice not to break. “We were both nurses--our mother served as a nurse during the Great War and I guess we were both in love with the stories she told us of her time there. Our father had actually been drafted to fight, and when she learned of his death, she decided to do what she could to prevent any more families from losing husbands and fathers.”

“She sounds very brave.”

“She was. Left Faith and me in the care of her sister and went to help.” You smiled a little when Horus nuzzled against your fingers. “She came back…different. Less affectionate than she had been, but I suppose anyone would, after what she’d seen and gone through.” You glanced over at Ardeth, only to come face-to-face with that intense stare he’d given you back when you’d been bleeding out in front of him. Immediately, you diverted your focus back to Horus. “She hadn’t wanted us to go into nursing, but then she passed, and Faith and I decided to uphold her memory and follow in her footsteps.”

“Did you also go to aid--”

You nodded. “Nothing as big as the war mom survived. Except, when we were overrun, we weren’t as lucky as she had been. My sister was wounded and…and she died before the doctors could save her.” You knew, if you closed your eyes, you’d be back in that ramshackled medical tent, holding her hand, feeling it go cold in your own, so you forced yourself to keep them open. “I tried to keep going, to carry on in their honor, but I messed up.” You took a deep breath--you’d come this far in telling him--might as well go all the way. “The next time I assisted in surgery, I panicked. All I could see was my sister, lying there on the table.” Another deep breath. “I’m not proud of it, but I ran. Right out of the operating room. Ended up…ended up costing the soldier his life.” You hung your head in shame. “I was sent home after that. Although, by that time, I didn’t have a home. Not really. Everything reminded me of them. So I sold what I could, and…I guess I kept running. I ended up going to many different places, but I couldn’t run fast enough to escape my mind.”

“Memories are hard to outrun.”

You nodded, feeling exhausted from everything you’d just shared. You wanted to curl up and sleep for a year, but there was still something that you needed to explain. “I’m sorry for leaving earlier, when you were talking about starting a family. I--” you hesitated. “It’ll make this long story even longer.”

“I do not mind hearing you speak,” he paused, before hastily adding, “but only if you’d like to.”

“Alright,” you sighed. “It actually wasn’t long after my sister and I were assigned to our medical unit. We had gone to the closest town to trade supplies for food. Every soldier we treated needed food to eat and we were quickly running low. On our way back, we were robbed. A couple of scared kids with a pocketknife. And Faith, she had quite the mouth on her.” You smiled at the memory of her scolding the two young boys who clearly had no idea what she was saying. “The problem was, they didn’t understand English, and our grasp on the local language was not very good.”

You looked up at Ardeth again, and instead of the intense stare you were expecting, a look of fondness had taken over his features.

“Eventually, we just decided to give them a loaf of bread, but we didn’t know how to tell them our plan. When we pulled a loaf from our bags, they must have thought we were pulling out a weapon because the next thing I knew, one of them started swinging the knife. I’m still not entirely sure how he ended up hitting me in my pelvis, but they took off as soon as they realized they’d gotten me. Faith threw the bread at them, then had to help me limp back to the hospital, all while trying to keep from dropping the rest of the food along the way.” You sighed. “The doctors fixed the wound, but they weren’t able to fix all the damage it caused. Although, according to Faith, at least I did get a souvenir from the encounter.” You patted the pocket you kept your knife in with your free hand.

“I don’t think I under--”

“I can’t have children of my own.” You blurted out, suddenly wanting to get this conversation over with as soon as possible. You didn't want to see the pity in his eyes that you'd felt from everyone else who knew. “The damage from my wound made that an impossibility.”

He stared at you for a moment. “I’m still not sure I understand why that means you cannot start a family.”

Before you could respond to Ardeth, Horus made a sound that you took as agitation. “I’m sorry, love. You do deserve my full attention,” you cooed, happy to have a distraction from your darker thoughts and memories. As soon as you started scratching, he nuzzled once more into your hand. “Anyway, after a while, I needed employment to continue to keep food in my belly. I happened to be in London when I read an advertisement for a governess for ‘a bright young child eager to learn about the world around him.’” You remembered the line because it had come as a very welcome surprise to find that you’d actually be joining in on the expeditions taking him ‘around the world.’

“That’s what led you to the O’Connells.”

You were grateful that he followed your change in the subject. “Correct.”

“And once the creature has been stopped and Alex has been rescued, you’ll continue running?”

His tone wasn’t accusatory, merely inquisitive. Still, it unsettled something inside you. “I…I suppose I will. I’m not really sure how to do anything else.”

“Even the falcon tires and must eventually nest.” He reached out and stroked his fingers along Horus’s spine. “I hope you, too, will find a place to rest someday.”

“I--thank--er--thanks?”

He just smiled like he knew something you didn’t.

#the mummy #the mummy returns #fanfic #ardeth bay fanfic #ardeth bay x reader #ardeth bay #scruff's stuff #look ma #two parts in one day!

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throughfartheststars · 1 year

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Invocation

Death, blood, abuse. Don’t eat it if you can’t swallow it, this is record keeping.

"No, you come back here. You don't just say that to me!" Fury and indignation in the one calling to me, for once the vessel calling me was easy to drop in. One of those 'I'm done here and it's your job now' agreements.

"I'm.... sorry? What is it you heard me say?" Rounding on them with what I am certain was a different expression than they-- than he expected. I was faced with a rather entirely naked man when I turned, tensed through his battleworthy frame for but a moment before he leapt backwards with teeth bare and claws latching him to the wooden wall in the way of a clean exit.

"What the fuck Iridanya?" Glaring at me while I did not register the threat he seemed to think he was posing with a fear posture.

"Iridanya.... must be my name. Okay... so you're..." I rattled the brain, pacing to get my bearings of the feet and the hips and the weight I had to work with. "You're her... boyfriend? Side piece? This is a nobility body and this is..." Studying the architecture with as much a care for him as a spider had for a flea. "A resort room isn't it? Some kind of vacation space. Not what I meant by that comment this morning..."

"What the fuck is this Iri?" Snarling under his voice now. It appeared I would be on my own figuring out where I was.

"Alright so your name is Fuck? Puck? Cuck?" Arms crossed over notably petite chest. For nobility I was impressed the woman was built for agility and strength as she was. Also a belated realization of being QUITE naked myself.

"You... aren't Iridanya. She'd never say something so crass." This did not seem to calm him at all. But I nodded the affirmation to his assumptions, digging around in the vessel for her magic stores. "Alright, who are you?"

"What planet is this?"

"Planet?"

"Planet."

"Thia is Cordi-aeon 5..."

"Cordi.... Alright that's.... So this is... Hmm. I'm not due here yet. What'd you do to piss the Apoc off?" Standing quite still as the body ran Apocalae diagnostics to plug in for Radiance and Ai.

"The... Apoc? Iridanya is the vessel of... oh." A thud when he dropped rom his position on the wall. Recognition and he was padding off to the other end of the suite, came back with clothes for both myself and him to don. "Whatever, we have to get you back to the castle and the husband."

"Not going to finish the lover's quarrel with me, then?" Wriggling into the shift dress and her over cloak readily enough before winding strands of silver hair back into a comb twist. "I'm almost disappointed. You seemed very passionate."

"I'm her problem, not yours." Curt and still posturing in power.

"I don't think you'll be seeing her again. I can't leave an Apoc until it finishes the job it's alive to do. Iridanya is gone." Blunt, final and with no particular emotion in voice or face. I experienced no passion for him and had a great many questions what he could have done to incite such an exit from Iridanya.

"What?" Hissed out between his teeth as he took both my shoulders roughly under his hands, forcing eye contact and receiving a deep dive into all the inner functions the vessel was undergoing when he triggered the trance from it's eyes. Many things were different than he knew of the woman as he spiraled unprepared into the telepathic feedback, clinging too tight to my shoulders before he cast me out of his grip to break the state and vomitted on the spot.

"That's about right... So there's a castle you mentioned, and a husband. Iridanya is a Lady? A Queen?" My hands moved through the question, emotive and unphased by his discomfort.

He kept his eyes down when he wiped the bile from his lips. "She's a... Grace. Above the regency, the High Religious Lady of the planet. She communes... communed with things like you. To varying degrees of anyone believing what she could see and know she leads the Church." He shuddered and stepped around me, going to the door and pulling some sort of communicator down to request us transportation.

"Oh. That's an awkward position for an Apoc." Consideration.

____________________________________________________________

"Warden Lucas, how strange to see you with my wife in these hallowed floors. I thought you were ordained in a different Caste for your last tasteless incursion upon our marriage." The rolling growl of the rather plain looking man insinuated some dangerous understanding of his place and power over woman, position and person delivering her. It was a moment before he turned his attention to me, and then his eyes darted back to Lucas uncertainly. "This is not Iridanya, what did you do?"

".... That is of little import. I think you need to understand that this is the Apoc you stand in the company of. Iridanya will not.... or can not return until the duty of this is done." Lucas' arms folded and his gaze averted from the much more confident husband, no clear apology under the vagrant frustration over how Iridanya dealt with whatever he had said to get me here.

"The whomst?" Eyes back to me and his posture from lurking serpent to proper Lordship, one arm over his banner and the other hung limp until the fist at his hip. He registered the stance of me, feet bare under the regal dress and hands loose at my hips, chin confidently high and back loose over firmly set hips.

"Oh, my turn to talk now? You're fine to think of letting the High Grace talk last but I'll have to teach you boys better manners than whatever this petty lover's triangle was. Who are you, Castle Keeper?" My tongue sharper and my eyes studying him with similar formality. "I'll need to know your name before I can assign you to preparing quarters for Warden Lucas and more appropriate dress from the tailor for me."

Flabberghasted expressions on both of them that turned to indignation and offense. They stammered and growled over one another in enough commotion it drew out the butler, who I immediately stepped around them to greet.

"Hello, you might be more helpful than.... those two. Grace Iridanya has invoked her rite as Apoc and I am not due to be here yet. I need to be informed of my social obligations in her stead and shown to my stations and quarters." My voice gentle and my eye contact quite less dangerous now, the butler seemed less surprised than the men about meeting me at least.

"I see, she made her decision then." His right hand outstretched to take my right hand and offer a polite kiss of fealty to the knuckle as part of his bow. "Lord High, Ilkyr. It is a pleasure to meet you, and I will show you to all you have asked to attend after I explain the situation to your gentleman companions."

"I think I'll watch you do that. Be so gracious to introduce us all, please?" A grin to my lips and a bounce about how I turned to look at the dumbfounded Lord and Warden. He bowed his head in assent and stepped between the three of us, poised and proficient in socially leveling a space.

"Lord Vaisen Der Thordel, the Second Seat to the Grace of the Church and Lord of this the Castle Reiynheit. He is formally husband to your vessel, Grace Iridanya Feliche of the Celestial Ordinance and Apoc of Cordi-aeon 5. You were brought home by Warden Lucas Deigh, one of the guardians of the Celestial Ordinance Castles, previously assigned as Formal Guardian of Grace." Prattled off and let me know plenty, before he turned a stern paternal stare on the men and introduced me. "Gentlemen, within the Grace Apoc there now resides the Lord High and a Tyrant of the Stars. Here we name him Ilkyr, the War. You will behave, you will take your reassignments gracefully, and you will not give me cause to report misconduct to the Council."

____________________________________________________________

"How many attend in Reiynheit?" Curious tone as I'd climbed up one of the feature pillars in the castle to claw sigils in for a ward base. Not the most unhinged place I’d scurried up to while the butler, Vanderbaun, gave me a grand tour of my base.

"There's a team of forty various skilled maintenance folks that upkeep the kitchens, manage the grounds, maintain the walls, clean the quarters, manage the affairs and guests, handle the stables and Miss Iridanya's various familiars and pets. All hand picked while she was channeling your link to ensure you would have a trusted crew." The butler prattled this off from where he leaned on the wall watching me etch. The man was delightfully unshakable.

"Any offensive folk or do we only employ workhands?" My tone still even and my gaze cast to him in the question while I continued to pressure stone with claw.

"Everyone hired for your eventual arrival was fielded for unique battle capability before our hobby work, even myself. It was a strange day that I applied to attend the place and was asked first if I'd ever killed or fought before." I caught him grinning, the war in his spirit enchanted with the nature of me.

________________________________________________________________

"Hello, how the fuck did she get you in without nuking that stupid hotel?" A woman dressed in loose pants and a braided leather bands over her otherwise naked chest. She had a wildness about her, and on her arms were insulated bite guards... so one of the beast handlers. Someone with the status to be cursing casually with the Grace.

"Not sure if I should say 'intentionally' or 'spitefully' because the Warden was being an ass when I got here and refused to elaborate." Honest answer as I strode up to her, eyes locked together and wild grins pairing with a song of trills and chirps between a dance of interlocked hands and bare feet. There was no physical hesitation between our bodies, a childish tango of flexing muscle and extended limbs making a greeting like we'd known one another from the womb to the marble we now stood.

"You're unlike her, so intuitive and intimate, so much a beast!" Delighted in her tone as she released from our dance, teeth bare in smile and eyes flared with excitement.

"You're unlike any other I've met since I came here yourself!" Equally joyous as knuckles drew lightly down her jaw, readily trusting and deeply connected with her after the impromptu waltzing. The butler was hardly concealing his amusement and approval. "Introduce me to them?"

"Aye, we should take to the pasture next. You're too much for just her, and you need to call in your folk." Half a conversation, she knew I sought to meet the beasts that were gathered for me.

_____________________________________________________________

"The dragon didn't respond to me, or to her. I don't know that you'll have better luck, he just sleeps over there." Tebes, the tamer, was standing with a much more manageable silver pegasus who's blue eyes had assumed a ring of gold on the iris when connecting to me rather than Iridanya. He was stamping his feet and fluttering his wings about the intensity, eager to go on a flight for me and held in place by his muzzle. "We had just brought Amatium here in and the dragon came days later to roost."

"Shh, shh Ama~" Softly as I set my hand to his shoulder, black dapple and stripe markings blooming in his fur and tinting his feathers and mane at the contact. There was a vibrant screaming whinny and Tebes let go of him as I moved in front to grasp his cheeks by the bone, forehead to forehead while he kicked hindlegs and buffeted the pasture with vagrantly darker and stronger wings. Bulk built on him quickly under my influence, a graceful pleasure mount made into a war formal beast before he stopped kicking out his excitement and settled down to heavy breathing. "There we go, there you are. Hello Amatium, my beloved. This vessel suits you I hope?"

The golden eyes of the now apparently feral beast blinked and the head dipped in respect and greeting before he trotted away to adjust to the musculature and weight of meat.

Tebes was much more surprised than I was that the dragon had slithered closer when she took her eyes off the horse.

"Now you don't belong to me, do you darling?" Questioned as I lowered to crouch and the narrow caiman length snout followed, grey and black scales decorated the thing in a rough hide of unsettling symmetries and perfect diamonds.

The four dominant limbs were on the ground as the thing followed me dancing around it, side stepping to let me get a full look while I was listening to it's low throat ques to respond in kind. Wings were absent the beast, but not pricklefur and teeth and frills. A sea dragon by the look of it. Certainly not mine.

"What's your name love? I'm always happy to assume a new friend." Purred my voice rather than Iridanya's... the pasture gave a deep rumble at the impact and Tebes quirked her brow about the need for all of that while I crooned at the dragon.

"Sheebaat." Rattled out in a not-quite-voice from the open maw, showing me the forked tongue and the venom glans as I tilted my head to study his pallid interior. "Sheebaat"

"You are Sheebaat?" Curious as I dared closer, ignoring the hesitant stances that the butler and the beast tamer both assumed. Ready to extract me for being entirely too confident. The dragon replied by letting loose a frustrated howl-wail, thunder cascading in the sky for it before the beast turned unerring silver eyes to me. Gold had begun to streak in it's gaze, accepting me.

"I need your name to seal the connection, beauty. We will know each other as deep." My hand almost touching, grazing the air over his face quills. Patient and fascinated

"Wait - DON'T!" A moment too late the roar from the Castle window came, Lord Vaisen clambering through an open tower window and descending the walls with a flare of alarm in him that incited such athleticism.

Tebes and the butler shifted focus from me to instead intercept the oncoming Lord while my elegant hand touched dragon chin and we both whispered to one another "Pyrifaxius"

Flame in blue and violet for a ten kilometer radius of the place I stood, scales burning off the dragon and form making a grotesque change from snout to tail into human adjacent. Tebes and Vanderbaun took Vaisen with them as they fled the sudden dragonfire, all three presenting various degrees of concern in their expressions as I stood in trance with the beast during his compacting down to a narrow faced humanoid kneeling naked on the scorched earth before me.

He was massive when my hand left his chin, standing tall over me at just over nine feet off sleek muscle wearing the symmetries of his scales in tattoo. Tebe took longer than she needed to to dash over with one of the saddle blankets from the barn for his hips, unabashedly fascinated that he kept his draconic loins and sported such intricate marking on the rich ochre tones of his skin.

“Apologies, the feral state is quite difficult to shed alone. I am Pyrifaxius, and I am here to offer my service to Ilkyr of War.” His tone still mostly hiss and venom as it came off the fork of his tongue through the dark of his lips. He wrapped the blanket around his hips willingly enough, though I didn’t get much sense he cared about being naked on two feet.

“You’re easily forgiven, beauty. Thank you for waiting on my arrival so patiently. You’ll talk with Vanderbaun about accomdations for your needs, and we’ll rejoin in a while. I need to talk with the Lord.” I did not miss the vengeful expression that crossed the dragon’s face at that statement, but he assented with a nod to walk away with the attending beastmaster and butler.

________________________________________________________

He walked with me out to the edge of the castle where the trees were thick and our conversation wouldn’t be listened to before he started to talk at all.

"We're married. You'd do well to remember that means something in your position as Grace. I won't have--" He placed a rough hand on my arm and emerald energy skittered out from bare feet, the branches of the nearby trees quivering and the roots creaking an answering warning as wood began to free from deep soil. I cast eyes on his hand first, then with my brow raised my gaze to his face.

"I see. This is why she was bedding a better mate. Take your hand off me or lose it." There was a moment of hesitation, but he did as asked. The moment he wasn't touching me the trees ceased their encroaching and I dusted the sleeve of the robes I wore while standing firmly in front of him. "I am not whoever she was. Your abuse of your position is over, you are the second seat to the Grace. You serve me in matrimony, not the other way around. If you want to continue claiming any position at all in court rather than ground and grave.... you will remember you are second at very best. Are we in understanding, Vaisen?"

"You can't change what's been, and you have no more right than she to--" He began to ague, fury compiling in his muscle and frame.

"Pyrifaxius." The summon in my voice and the mass was there at my side, snarling at the man in front of me and awaiting command.

"Are you threatening me? And with a familiar rather than your own power?" Sneering and looming forward, over me. Quickly reminded by a hiss that he was under the threat of the Dragon whether he wanted to ignore it or not. He shrunk back.

"Amatium." And the hooves landed in thunder before the boughs of the trees tangled in a dome over us and Vaisen. Sound would not be leaving between the leaves or the branches and the only light present was emanated from the stripes of radiance on my skin.

"What is this, Iri?" He was backing up now, a recognition that he was out of escape routes and power, and a realization I was not a creature interested in being argued with.

"I didn't marry you, and I am not Iridanya. I am Ilkyr of the fucking stars and I deal with enough human isolation planets where I am not respected for my position, child of the Edens." I was unfurling my spideresque limbs and exposing my fangs as I spoke, moving to him with more blade like spindles than legs. "You seem like you chose death. Make your final words better than a power play."

"Wait, wait, are you insane?" His piss running down his legs while he staggered yet further back and his hands were on the branches. Those which became vine and vice around his wrists, wood demanding access to vein and dragging out a panicked scream when he ripped free of the carnivorous inclination of the trees.

"I'm a war god. So probably." Agreed as I loomed above him, my familiars poised behind me waiting for command or his move out of my reach.

Before he could run roots shot up his feet through his shoes and my foreclaws slashed open not just his chest but his ribs and with them his lungs. He was dead before he could scream, suspended on two of my limbs for a thorough feasting before he could fall to ground. Fascination colored the expressions of the familiars while I stained my face and robes in viscera.

______________________________________________________

I left the scene to my familiars and the trees to tidy up, cleaning the red off myself on my walk to the castle before I strode my way to the library. "Ilkyr, we have guests coming." The butler's voice as I flicked through the family record in the castle library to do with the Der Thordel line. I looked up with a bright smile and my finger pointing at the mother and father recorded. Marta and Falel.

"Them?" Vanderbaun nodded and quirked his brow.

"Them, as in the High Lady Marta Der Thordel and the Warlord of Grace Falel Der Thordel, yes. They've just sent word to us that they'll be here in a few hours." The butler did not seem delighted with my twisted smirk at the news, and he was following my barefoot step with suspicion. He hadn't seen Vaisen in an hour or two already.

"Is there a reason the War house would need to make a sudden visit to the Religion house?" Pressing me for any kind of information as he trailed along behind me into the main hall.

"Tebe, bring the lions in for me." Called out to her where she was half dozing in her breezeway hammock. There was a furrow of her brow, a tilt of her head at my expression and body language. The beast tamer cracked her own mad grin and flung her way to command her charges.

"Vanderbaun, please do me two favors. Do we have a tailor attending?" A shake of his head, and therefore the weave of my Ai into the silk and not-quite cotton on my body, reshaping a battleworthy mail of the fabric and keeping a rank cape on shoulder while hair spun into a bun via thread. "That's fine, this will do. We'll find one and I'll teach them to loom like this. Secondly I'd like you to gather the groundsfolk for me. We'll be taking our guests in the Throne hall. Which way is Lucas?"

"Lucas was... in the western courtyard. He was training, today is a leisure day. No one but myself will be in dress for whatever it is you're planning, not in time for the arrival of the War House." Exhasperated in his tone, thinking of the image of the caste rather than the image of the social move.

"Darling, please -my hand ever lightly on his suit, and a smile reassuring him- I want them dressed as themselves. This is not a place of rank, after all, but of skill and faith. Yes?"

The expression on his face went bone white at the question. He knew exactly why the in-laws were coming after that.

____________________________________________________________

Into the courtyard to find Lucas trying to tease the cloth off me with a blindfold tied around his head and two daggers in his grasp. Sweat from every pore and his breathing easing in tides through his practice. I recollected my thoughts and cleared my throat.

Ears I had not yet noticed as pointed twitched and he swept the tip of a dagger through the ribbon holding his hair up as well as the blind around his eyes, focus sharp on me.

"You're... also divine." Acknowledged with a bow of my head and a gesture of respect from my right arm. "Forgive me for this morning. May I know what was said?"

"I told Iridanya the bruises had to stop. She was... covered in them. The moment before you came into her body she was broken at cheek and arm and leg. Bones. She said 'I have to go back to him'. And then she was you." He grit his teeth and spat on the courtyard ground, averting his eyes from me. "I was shocked at the way everything about her changed. The fear left her body and so did the brokenness."

"I came in somewhat uninformed of those facts. You fielded that well given the change. May I count you as an ally and perhaps ask you to take throne with me?" I watched the words process twice... three times. His face scrunched, slacked... firmed and furrowed... and slacked again into a blank stare of realization.

"You murdered him. That's why he hasn't been seen for hours posturing around the halls and gloating." Dull in his voice.

"There are soon to be consequences for my actions. I'm gathering the present attending to the throne hall, would you like to have a seat in the throne beside his?" Asked without missing a beat or any of my enthusiasm.

"You're insane." Softly after he sheathed his daggers and put his fingers up into his hair, showing those points again and giving into the mad grin I was getting used to seeing in these hallowhalls. "You're going to start a war with the Der Thordels. What have you done with his body?"

"There was nothing left, and they will prove no crime here. But we will mount a war anyway, I seek to cull the weak branch of Grace." An offer of my hand and Iridanya's smile, something in the dark eyes of him going between feral and quite unabashedly possessive. We left the courtyard hand in hand toward the throne room and convened with forty of the most clearly powerful exhibits of personality and figures I could fathom. I spoke my realization as I counted weapons with heads. "She's been preparing to do this for years, hasn't she?"

___________________________________________________________

"Lady Ilkyr, they will arrive soon. Folks, positions." Vanderbaun again, his gloved hands gesturing that the gaggle of seated, leaning and noisy castle attending in their tribal and casual wear split like a sea. His power in the fact they did, cleanly down the middle with twenty on the west hall side and twenty on the east, arranged according to the lands they came from and with their weapons of choice fastened loosely in their holsters.

Faces of various warpaint arrays stared the regal walk from cathedral door to Throne stage, where I lounged in my pants and cape upon the king seat and Lucas propped himself lazily upon my former throne. The butler brought us red wine and a platter of fresh red fruits were laid on the stage between us, cherries, rose petals and all manner of deep red berries strewn crushed across the pale white rug that ran the length of the black slate floor. When they came in, his mother screeched at the very moment she recognized me in his seat.

"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH MY SON?" Howling and falling to her knees in her billowing court skirt, already grieving, already wounded.

Her husband took better stock of the image of the hall, assessing his enemy. Measuring the distance and the gauntlet, holding fast to kneel with his wife and hold her delicate hand where they were. He whispered to her for a moment, squeezing her hand while I luxuriated in a melon that ran blood red juices down my chin to stain my fancy dress. "Does he hit you, Lady Der Thordel? I wonder this because your son was hitting me for the past 14 years. It kept me from lending an heir, from providing for the Holy Grace. I was ruined by your son and I truly hope he learned such from his father, that you might be spared." The speech falling out easily, and the line of my attending who had not been explicitly told what nature of bullshit we were on turning their heads in unison to the throne, already putting grip to weapons.

I stood.

They paused.

Lucas held his breath and I heard the cherry in his hand pop.

I started the level pace of an executioner walking the red stained path.

As I walked the sobbing woman shut up, her eyes going blank and darting to her husband. In the turn of her head I saw the swell of her cheek. And back to me, her body trembling while I paced as patient as death and with all the grace of any god she had ever praised. In me was salvation, I watched fear finally take ice into her husband when I passed the tenth row of my people.

"He has always struck me, Your Grace..." Admitted breathless. She was struck for it, hard enough she went unconscious beside him.

When he tried to turn and run he found the doors closed.

When he tried to gather her for hostage he found the snarl of a full grown lion to stagger him backwards.

I did not change my pace, although my arm lifted and the light in the hall was drawn out, shadow beckoned despite the sun while every thread and mote of illumination came to the call of my hand in the form of a curved longsword.

"I want you to know, this is for me. It has nothing to do with mercy for your wife. A grudge about your son. This is because you have the audacity to pray to me." I had the sword under his chin, and his skin was blistering from the heat. "Name me."

"Ilkyr." Fin. With a sear his head was severed and it rolled upon the rug, cauterized so his body nor his neck bled.

#wargod things #idk if I'll chronicle more of this #excerpt from a book i'll never write

1 note · View note

ohtobeleah · 3 years

Note

Can we please get an enemies sort of deal going where Bucky and the reader just don’t get along. Maybe something happens? they at least become friends at the end?

Warnings: Graphic Content, Angst.

Word Count: 3.1k

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You held her against you. Her back against your chest, arms locked around her protectively. There was nothing you could do to save her. She’d bled out a while ago, there in your arms. You were still holding the pressure against her wound. Still trying to keep her safe. Your eyes were glassy as you just sat there—surrounded by dead assailants and your best friend Casey. It was meant to be an easy get in get out detail. One you were meant to be on with Bucky. He’d told you to swap him out for Casey—you’d had an argument earlier that morning and he’d made an executive decision. Knowing if it came down to the wire he’d take a bullet for you, however after the way you’d spat pure venom at him earlier that same morning? He wasn’t sure if the tables where turned if you’d be there for him.

“You are one of the most arrogant pieces of shit I’ve ever meant Barnes, you know that don’t you? You’ve got the whole fucking world fooled with this ‘I’m not the Winter Solider, I am James Bucky Barnes bullshit your therapist told you to say—well guess what?” You threw a knife his way as he ducked. “I’m not buying it!”

“Are you out of your damn mind Agent!!” Pulling the kitchen utensil from the wall behind him.

“Have to be!! My detail is babysitting a fucking 100 year old lunatic with psychopathic tendencies—“

“Your detail is with me because Fury thinks your a crap Agent with no real ability.” Bucky’s words were cold as he neared you. “Be thankful I let you stay here, this is my home! Be thankful I’m entertaining Fury and his fucking pathetic plea to help him spark some fire in you! Sam too!—you want out? Then leave! I don’t need this, I don’t need this in my life!” You were taken aback. Bucky looked like he was holding back tears. He sighed. “Get Casey to go with you on this Boy Scout mission, at least she won’t stab you in the back.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Your hissed, Bucky turned on his heals and pressed you against the wall with a thud.

“It means if given the fucking chance so help me god I’d snap you like a twig.” You knew he didn’t mean it—but it stung all the same.

“You’re gonna be alright Cas.” You cried as she coughed blood down her chin. Her back rising and falling as she struggled to breath. “Gonna get you outta here—Bucky’s coming, so is Sam and” your chocked back a painful sob. “Gotta get you home so you can tell the guy who works at the bar how you feel.”

“You’ve gotta tell Barnes you love him before he pops a blood vessel.” Casey looked at you as you held her as tight as your could. Her eyes trained on yours. Her skin pale and colourless. She was dying.

“I don’t love Barnes, you’re an idiot.” You smiled, trying your very best to keep Casey awake, distracted. “He—“

“He loves you, I see the way he lo-looks at you when you walk in a room.” Casey wheezed as she smiled. Blood in her teeth as she coughed. “Please just love him, you deserve to be loved.”

“Even if I did love him.” Your tears where falling down on Casey’s face. “He’d never love me—I threw a knife at him.” You let your head rest against the wall when there was no answer—just silence. “I’m not leaving you, not quitting on you.” You cried, holding Casey tight as you grieved. Holding your best friend in the entire world dead in your arms. Her blood on your hands. You could hear what sounded to be like Sam calling your name. It was muffled, like he was on the floor above.

“Agent Reed?” He called, panic setting in more with every body he passed with no response—you couldn’t find it in you to speak. You were nursing a shoulder wound that you wished would take you out. A through and through no doubt but still with enough blood loss you’d be able to see Casey again. “I can’t find her Buck—Didn’t Fury say this was a simple mission?”

“He did that’s why I didn’t go—but this is just an utter massacre.” Bucky looked around at all the bodies. He’d seen a lot but this was a blood bath. What were they hiding that was worth this much distraction—this much carnage. He couldn’t help his mind from wounding back to what he’d said to you before you slammed his front door on the way out this morning—Bucky didn’t really means it. He was still learning how to manage emotion and you threw a knife at him! What was he supposed to do. “This isn’t looking good Sam.” Bucky looked a down the hall to his left—there was nothing. “What’s Fury got us doing his damn dirty work for?”

“There’s always gonna be dirty work Buck.” Sam responded as Bucky looked to his right. He caught a mass against the wall up ahead, gun drawn in his hand he whistled. You cocked your gun his way—eyes trained on the man coming towards you. Shaking, you fired. Bucky ducked.

“I wouldn’t come any closer if I were you—I’ve got nothing left to lose.” You fired again. Not even sure who were were firing at.

“Agent Reed! It me! It’s Bucky!” Bucky shouted, his voice echoing from the walls. “It’s alright, stand down, Agent.” At the sound of Bucky’s voice you dropped your weapon. Letting everything you were trying so hard to hold in go, a painfully scream bellowing from the depths of your soul. You were broken. “Is that Agent Ramirez?” Bucky asked as he walked closer. Realising too little too late, is was in fact Casey. Leaning down to press his fingers against a pulse point.

“Don’t touch her.” You sobbed, jolting back slightly when you saw Bucky’s hand. He stared at your state—your were in shock. “Don’t you dare touch her.”

“Reed.” Bucky calmly tried to draw your attention to his face. “Look at me?” Your eyes were red and wide, full of pain and anguish. “What happened?” He noticed the blood dripping from your tacticalgear over your shoulder. “You’re in shock.”

“Am-Ambushed, we were ou-outnumbered.” You whispered, Bucky swore you weren’t even home behind your eyes. “I tried, tried to save her—“ Bucky knew you were about to settle into full panic and shock. Cupping your face with his hand as he confirmed Casey’s death. Distracting you.

“We have to get you out of here Reed, can you walk?” You didn’t respond. Just stared blankly ahead as tears streamed down your cheeks. Bucky absentmindedly swiped a tear with his thumb. “Reed?” He swore under his breath softly. “Okay—okay, Reed, I’m gonna get you—“

“I hate you.” You whispered, your eyes locking onto Bucky’s as he did his best to remove Casey slowly from your lap—you held her hand. “It should’ve been me, if it was you and me it would’ve been me.” Bucky could feel the metaphorical knife you’d stabbed into his back. He felt as if he deserved it. “You did this to me—“

“Reed, I’ve gotta get you up and out of here.”

“Don’t you fucking touch me.” You screamed. Bucky didn’t have a choice, you couldn’t find it in your to stand on your own so he’d drag you out himself. “DONT! Just leave me here with her please!”

“Not an option Agent.” Bucky sighed, throwing you over his shoulders as you screamed and cried in agony. In pain. In utter shock. “Sam, I’ve got Reed, Ramirez is down.” Bucky gritted his teeth together as he ran towards the exit. Passing men you’d fought against in piles.

“I heard man—I’m sorry.” Bucky groaned in response. “Just get her on the jet, we’ll go update. Fury’s gonna wanna report.”

“I hate you so much.” You sobbed. It broke Bucky just a little more every time he heard you say it. “I hate you so much.” Your voice grew softer and softer with every sentence—like you were giving up.

“Reed? Stay with me alright, you’re gonna be fine.” You didn’t answer, slightly heavier on Bucky’s shoulders. “Agent Reed.” Bucky swore as he picked up the pace. “Fucking shit.” Racing towards where the jet was landed—Sam now having the mantle of Captain America sure did have its perks. Although Bucky still longed for the more laid back life—he knew deep down he was needed. He was apart of a team, a team of people who were able to make a change.

“I’ve got you—“ he sighed as he laid you down, your eyes fluttering as you reached for his hand. You had a layer of sweat over your face—everything was coming crashing down on you. The weight of the world on your shoulders. “Hey—I’ve got you Reed, you’ll be alright.”

“I don’t really hate you.” You whispered through tears. Bucky just held your hand. Tight. “I don’t hate you.” You repeated softly. Bucky watched as your head fell back against the table, his eyes trained on yours before your eyes fell shut. You were out.

“I don’t hate you either, Reed.”

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***

It had been a long day—getting to finally say your goodbyes to your best friend. Casey’s funereal was the last place you ever wanted to be—but live and let go, she would always say. You were the last one to leave. Just sitting next to the newly patted dirt, not even a gravestone to kiss goodbye. You had no more tears left to cry. Empty and hollow, you couldn’t stand the way people looked at you. With sympathy and sadness. Like you would break at any second. It was true, you might. But the idea of being treated like a victim boiled your blood more then the man who you blamed so harshly for Casey’s dead. Although with time you’d come to realise there was nobody at fault—just a case of wrong place wrong time, wrong intelligence.

You huffed as you knocked on the door. A six pack of beer and a plastic bag full of Chinese takeout containers dangling from your good hand. The other still healing. Something of everything on the menu—you didn’t know what Bucky liked, but knew enough to know everyone liked Chinese. You knocked again more desperately when there was no answer. Sighing at your own pathetic-ness. Your arm ached—the sling you’d been told to wear for six weeks already giving you trouble. Your shoulder was always throbbing. You hated being restricted. It felt like a restraint jacket the way your arm laid against your torso so limp in its new home.

“Barnes, it’s me open up.” You huffed. “I have beer and takeaway.” You waited a moment in pure silence before realising he was either ignoring you or wasn’t home. Turning on your heels you felt your heart ache just a little bit more. You weren’t the type of person to surround yourself with hundreds of people. You had a very small circle of people you could count on when you needed a hand. That circle being Casey.

You waited by the elevator, waiting for it to hit Bucky’s floor—you didn’t peel your eyes from the ground until the doors where open. Instantly regretting your Decision to do so when you saw who you saw.

“Reed?” Bucky questioned when he saw you. Walking out of the elevator, a bag of random groceries in his hand. “What are you doing here?” God you wanted to run, this was your chance to just dip and never speak of this awkward situation ever again. But you really couldn’t—you needed someone to look at you like you weren’t about to cry, someone to talk to you like a normal human being who just didn’t leave her Best-friends corpse in the ground to decay over time.

“I brought Chinese.” You held up the bag. Bucky smirked slightly as he walked back to his apartment, you walking next to him. “And originally a six pack, it’s now a five pack. The shame consumed me on the walk from your door to the elevator.” You admitted. Bucky just laughed, shaking his head softly as he unlocked his door. Gesturing for you to walk in before him.

“What brings you by?” Bucky watched as you placed the bag full of Chinese on his kitchen bench. Adjusting your sling with a grunt. Obviously annoyed.

“I can’t stand to be around anyone else at the moment, you’re the only person i know who won’t look at me like I’m some porcelain doll.”

“I don’t know if I should take that as a complement or as an insult.” Bucky watched as you opened a bottle of beer, smacking the top down on the side of the counter to pop the top off. Bringing the bottle to your lips as you fished out another bottle to pass to him. Bucky accepted, throwing his keys onto the bench and gently setting the bag that held his groceries beside the empty bowl he’d decided he’d put fruit in. Because you know—health.

“It’s the only compliment you’ll ever get so I’d run with it if I were you.” Bucky smirked as he sipped his beer. Watching you mindlessly open container after container. Opening the draw he kept his utensils in—passing you a fork with a timid hand. “Thanks.”

“You doing okay?” He asked, knowing your answer to everyone else would be ‘I’m fine’ or ‘yeah I’m good’

“Besides the fact I wanna jump out your window right now I’d say the Chinese is a good enough reason to keep me here.” Bucky chuckled at your response, watching as you shovelled a mouthful of beef in black bean into your mouth. “I’m just not used to a world without her.”

“Believe me, feelings mutual.” Bucky sighed as he leaned on his elbows. Reaching over for some sweet and sour pork. “The world can be a lonely place.”

“When did you get over Steve?”

“I haven’t, just gets a little easier to get by when you allow people in your life.” Bucky looked at you as you shook your head with a smirk. “Sounds cheesy but it’s true, you been talking to anyone? A therapist maybe?”

“You got one on retainer?” You could feel the tears in your eyes welling, you took a deep breath in and exhaled slowly. Closing your eyes. “when did it stop hurting—and don’t say it doesn’t because I can’t breathe enough as it is.” Bucky only watched as you collected yourself. Fixing your sling again. He didn’t say it stopped which was a loud enough answer. “Casey was good people Barnes.”

“I know she was, she was a damn good Agent too.” Your heart physically ached at Bucky’s words. Remembering what he’d thought of you the same day Casey had taken a bullet for you. “You wanna talk about it?” You shook your head no in response. Stopping your tears from rolling down your cheeks with the backs of your thumbs as you looked around the place.

“You gotta invest in an interior designer.” Your joke fell on deaf ears, Bucky just stared at you with a somber look to his face. You caught him from the corner of your eye. “What?”

“You’re not okay Reed.”

“Jesus Barnes, you think I’d be here with you if I was?” You hissed. Slamming your fork down on the counter. Bucky just put his hand over your first—a comfort to you, you knew despite everything, he was there. He was listening. “She died with an insane idea in her head! That my life was worth more then hers and somehow I’d be okay without her here! Do you know how fucked up you have to be to think that?” You sobbed. You were doing it—breaking down in front of the only person you never wanted to see you cry, he’d have so much leverage now.

“You’re mad at her.” Bucky spoke softly, as if he was trying his best not to startle you. “You said it yourself Reed, Casey was good people, she only did what she thought was best.”

“She’s a jerk.” Your slight chuckle cut through your sobs. “She’s such a jerk face, I just don’t wanna do any of this without her, I can’t—“ your knees were heavy, giving out just as Bucky moved to break your fall. Carrying you to his bathroom. Once again in a position where he’d listen to the pain in your cries—he knew better then most what pain was like. But loosing someone you loved was another level of trauma everyone deals with different.

“Reed—“

“Why? Why did she leave me?” You whaled, almost inconsolable—Bucky just dropped you softly to the ground. Rushing to turn the lukewarm water of his shower on. Dragging you in, your clothes drenched as Bucky stepped in behind you and sliding down the wall. His legs on either side of your body as he held your head to his shoulder. You let the water run over you. Crying so loud you didn’t even know yourself.

“You’re gonna be okay, I’ve got you, just let it out.” Bucky whispered as he felt your hand squeezing his thigh. Bringing his hand over yours. “Let it out Reed.”

“She sacrificed herself because of you.” You sobbed. Bucky frowned his brows in response. Just listening. “She wanted me to love you as much as she thought you loved me.”

“Reed—“ Bucky tried to interrupt.

“She knew I loved you, she knew if I died that would be it for you—she-she died believing we love each other which is utter fucking bullshit Barnes.”

“You talking for me or yourself here Reed, because I wouldn’t be here, with you, attempting to calm you down—if I didn’t love you.”

“You’re just saying that.” Your sobs slowing down.

“You said you came here because you knew I wouldn’t treat you like you’re broken.” Bucky cooed in your ear. “I wouldn’t lie about that.” You just sunk heavier into Bucky, allowing his touch, his presence to soothe your soul. Eyes closed as you calmed your breath’s. “I wouldn’t lie about loving you.” Bucky repeated as he kissed your temple, his lips lingering against you.

“I’m a fucking mess Buck.”

“We all are, I’m a semi stable 106 year old man, don’t wanna love me? Don’t? But I’ve got you, I’m here, I’m not going anywhere.”

“I wanna love you” you whispered. “It’s so much easier then pretending to hate you.”

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #ohtobeleah #bucky barnes fluff #marvel mcu #sebastian stan #bucky barnes angst #bucky fic #tfatws #bucky barnes x female reader

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chudleycanonficfest · 3 years

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Heart-Shaped Wreckage

Day 16, Story #2 is by @adenei

Title: Heart-Shaped Wreckage

Author: adenei

Pairing: Ron Weasley/Hermione Granger

Prompt: Songfic

Rating: T

TW: implied violence and near-death experience (but nothing explicit)

A/N: This is the part two follow-up to Rewrite the Stars.

************

Hermione’s hand trembles as she reaches over to her nightstand and turns on the light. She can’t sleep, which is a common occurrence as of late. Where she once relished in the quiet of her flat, now the serenity is too much to bear. She is running out of changes to make that will erase the worst, most painful decision of her life. The ultra-soft linens she purchased for her bed are anything but comforting and luxurious. They feel scratchy and cold, and the fresh and clean look of the white comforter with its floral patterns gives off more of a sterile vibe than the new slate she’d been hoping for. Instead, it serves as another stark reminder that all the vibrancy and color had evaporated from her life when she pushed Ron away.

It’s been 62 days since the disaster of the Auror gala, and 50 since Hermione’s received any form of contact from him. Ron has honored her wishes to break things off no matter how much it pained them both to do so. Part of her still wishes he’d floo into her fireplace or knock on her door, begging her to give them another chance. But she knows deep down none of that will ever happen. He is a man of respect, and he will always abide by her requests, even if she no longer wants to keep them herself.

It’s better this way. She reminds herself of the constant scrutiny they’d face if they stayed together, and the hurt and discomfort even at the mere thought indicate that her feelings haven’t changed. There is no way she could put him through that sort of subjection just so she can be selfish and happy. Their lives are too different, and they live in a world where the acceptance of all kinds of love doesn't exist.

So, in the grueling months since they ended things for a second time, Hermione has worked to make changes, some drastic, some minute, in an effort to force herself to move on. She is too proud to let anyone in her life know the pain that she feels with every conscious breath that she takes. Hermione has thrown herself into her work, staying at school late to mark papers, redecorate the classroom, or develop new lesson plans to benefit the students and create more hands-on experiences.

And once she realized that her preparation was complete through the end of next term, Hermione turned to her flat. Weekends have been spent on home projects. Painting the walls, updating the decor, and cleaning every square inch of her flat, all to help her forget.

But the problem is, her heart doesn’t want to forget. Every book she sits down to read reminds her of time spent with Ron. Her renewed efforts in the kitchen never fail to bring a smile or a chuckle to her lips as her mind traitorously wonders what Ron would think if he were here to observe the barely edible mess she’s created. Yet, Hermione is not naive enough to believe that it will change anything. She knows it won’t.

As she sits up in the enormous queen-sized bed, she reaches for the parchment that lays in tri-folds on the nightstand. The paper is worn, with visible wrinkles preventing it from lying flat and tear stains causing the corners to curl as she unfolds the delicate sheet. Hermione’s not sure why she’s opening the letter to read. She knows it won’t bring her the comfort she craves or the answers she desires.

The messy scrawl gives way to Ron’s only correspondence with her since the last time they spoke, and she latches onto it as if it’s the only life preserver on a capsizing vessel. It’s the only thing she has left. The only reminder of the life she could have had.

I’m not scared to tell the truth.

I went to hell and back and I went with you

Remind me what we were before,

When you said you are mine, and I am yours

Hermione,

There’s a lot I want to say and I’m not sure if I can fit it all in this letter, but I’m going to try. I never meant for any of this to happen, but I did mean everything I said that night. I’m not afraid to tell you how I feel. What we have, er, had, I guess, is special. I’ve never felt this way about anyone in my life, and I don’t think I ever will. And it’s not just about the case and finding comfort in each other.

When we broke things off after graduation, I felt like a part of me was missing. The Auror academy kept me busy, and sure, my life moved on, but I wasn’t really happy. Not as happy as I was when we were together. And then fate brought us back together and we decided to make another go of it, that’s when I realized that you were what was missing. You make my life so much brighter, so meaningful, and I’m sorry if I sound like a sap, but I need you to know how I feel.

I would give up everything for you. Social status means nothing to me. If the Aurors sack me because of my personal relations, then so be it. I’ll work with George, or find something else. If my family can’t be supportive, then it will be their loss. I’m not willing to live in a world that doesn’t have you in it, and I refuse to give in to the Ministry’s stance on bloody purity.

I know this is all probably ‘too little, too late’ or whatever that Muggle saying is that you like to use, and I promise you I’m going to respect your wishes. But I had to tell you. I had to let you know because...well...there’s this mission that’s come up. It’s going to be bloody dangerous and Robards asked for volunteers because he knows how risky it’s going to be. Anyone who goes isn’t guaranteed to come back and, well, I won’t go into the details, but I volunteered to go.

I know, I know, I can hear you in the back of my head telling me that it’s probably the stupidest thing I’ve ever done and not to throw my life away because we’re not together, but Hermione, it’s been twelve days and I can’t go on day to day like this. I can’t. Working is the only thing that eases the pain and gets my mind off of everything. I’ll be as safe as I can be, I promise.

I hope you find the happiness you deserve. You’re brilliant, always remember that. Just know that I love you, and it’s because I love you that I’m going to try to let go.

Ron

Tears threaten in Hermione’s eyes once again. It’s no different than every other time she reads the letter. Nothing has changed; Ron’s gone, still on his mission six weeks later and no end in sight. Hermione is sure this is the reason she’s not sleeping. With every passing day and no news of Ron’s whereabouts, she turns to the only object that can provide her with any source of comfort: the letter.

After three weeks of constant worrying and bags under her eyes so prevalent that even her eight-year-old students noticed, Hermione caved and wrote to Harry. Even though they can’t be together, she knows deep down that she can still care about his well-being.

Harry’s response had been timely and brief. He didn’t have details of the mission but reassured Hermione that no news is good news. Hermione thanked him and asked for updates if it wasn’t too much trouble. The two had been friendly in school, growing closer as her relationship with Ron blossomed as well. She didn’t expect his alliance to stray from his best friend but still appreciated his willingness to be cordial with her after everything she’d put Ron through.

“Please come home to me,” she whispers into the darkness.

Her heart aches more as her eyes hover over the parchment once more, searching for the three words that she knows she’ll never read too many times: I love you.

For some reason, this three a.m. readthrough hits differently. She carefully folds the parchment, places it back on the nightstand and turns off the light. There are still a few more hours left to find sleep.

Hermione tosses and turns as she attempts to focus on sleep and quieting her thoughts. At some point, a flash illuminates the night sky, and that’s when the pieces begin forming more vividly in her mind. The clap of thunder follows seconds later, and with it, a realization is born. As the rain begins its slow cadence of pitter-patters on the window, the brevity of Hermione’s decision hits her with the force of the storm strengthening outside.

I don’t know much, but I know myself

And I don’t want to love anybody else

So let’s break the spell and lift the curse

Remember when we fell for each other head first

There is only one question that forms in her mind. One question that surpasses any of the other thoughts she’s managed to cope with over the last two months.

What have I done?

None of her previous attempts to move past this matter anymore, even though it’s too late, and there’s nothing she can do.

Three days later, Hermione is finishing up her night-time routine when there’s a knock on her door. She looks at the antique clock on the wall that reads 10:45. Her heart plummets to her stomach. No one calls this late at night with good news. She stands frozen in place, amazed that the glass of water in her hand hasn’t spilled to the floor as a result of her shock.

Another knock, and Hermione manages to lift her feet from the floor. She reaches over and sets the glass on the counter before pulling her dressing gown tight around her waist. The carpet feels thick and heavy, as if her feet are wading through mud and sludge as she makes the torturous trek to the door. Five steps feel like five thousand. She’s sure all of this has happened in a matter of seconds, but it feels like minutes. Maybe the caller will be gone by the time her eye reaches the peephole.

Her hope is instantly quashed when she peers through the tiny circle to see an older gentleman that she doesn’t quite recognize at first. He’s wearing an overcoat and tan bowler hat, and is looking down at a torn piece of parchment. A pair of cerulean blue eyes drift back up to the number on her flat’s door, and that’s when the familiarity hits Hermione like a muggle slamming into the brick wall that separates platforms nine and ten at King’s Cross Station.

She can feel the blood drain from her face as dizziness overcomes her. Falling forward, she clasps onto the doorknob to steady herself. The noise catches the gentleman’s attention.

“Er, Ms. Granger. Are you home? It’s very important that I speak to you. Please, I mean no harm if you’ll open up.”

Hermione struggles to find her voice to respond. Her hands are shaking so violently that she can barely latch on to the deadbolt that has been fastened for the evening.

“Oh, er, please forgive me. We haven’t formally met, but it’s Mr. Weasley out here. Ron’s father.”

Hearing Ron’s name gives Hermione the strength that she needs to click the deadbolt to the left as she manages to turn the door handle with her other hand. Pulling the door open, she slowly looks up at the elder Weasley.

“Is—is everything okay?” Her voice is raw and weak, and she’s sure the shock is the only thing preventing the tears from pooling in her eyes.

“Er, no, it’s not. May I come in?” His eyes dart around, as if he doesn’t want to discuss the matter out in the open.

Hermione opens the door wider to let him in and manages to shut it when he’s through the entryway. Her free hand fiddles with her wand that’s still inside her pocket—just in case—though she fears no imminent threat from Ron’s father.

"Ms. Granger, I’m sorry for calling so late. I wouldn’t be here at all, actually, if it wasn’t for Harry mentioning—ah, well, that’s no matter...”

Mr. Weasley is rambling, and Hermione has trouble processing his words. Her breath catches at the mention of Harry’s name, which draws Mr. Weasley’s attention to her, helping him get to the point of his late-night visit.

“Ron’s been gravely injured. He’s at St. Mungo’s now. They brought him in an hour or so ago. Molly and I met Harry and Ginny there as soon as we heard. He’s stable for now, but the Healers are unsure if it will hold.”

Hermione grasps the back of the couch to keep from collapsing to the ground. A sob bursts from her throat as the tears that threatened moments ago now spill freely down her cheeks.

“Wh-what happened?”

The words are spoken with great effort.

“We don’t have many details. The Aurors are still trying to clean up loose ends on the mission, but it sounds like the operation was successful thanks to Ron’s efforts. One of the target’s accomplices hit Ron with an unknown spell before he was caught.”

Even through Hermione’s own devastation, she can hear the tremor in Ron’s father’s voice. He’s scared, though he’s hiding it well as he continues to explain what he knows. There’s a sheen in his eyes as the moisture appears, emotions raw as he finishes bringing Hermione up to speed.

“Everyone was apprehended, and Ron appears to be the only one who got hurt. We should know more in the coming hours.”

Hermione can only offer a blank stare as she processes the information. His letter said it would be a dangerous mission. He didn’t sound as if he was hopeful that he’d come back alive. Or maybe he was hoping—no, don’t think like that. It was her fault that he’d gone in the first place. By some miracle, he was still hanging on, and the haziness of Hermione’s previous decisions about their relationship begins to give way. The fact that his father is there in her flat informing her has to mean something.

“Why are you here?”

It comes out harsher than Hermione intends, but after their less than amicable meeting at the gala, Hermione can’t be bothered with pleasantries. Even if his wife’s behavior was ruder than his own.

The older man pulls out a handkerchief and wipes beads of sweat off his brow as he sighs deeply.

“Ms. Granger—”

“Hermione.”

“Right, yes, Hermione. I am aware that we did not get off on the right foot. I’m sorry I never introduced myself on the night of the gala. We weren’t expecting Ron to have a date. I’ll admit that Molly and I were ignorant in the way we treated you that night, and for that, I am sorry. Nothing can take back our words, nor can it change the way others view you based on your blood status, but please know how wrong we were.

“Ron was devastated after you broke things off after the gala, and I suppose that was largely due to our behavior. It’s clear to us how much he loves you, and we don’t want to stand in the way of that. So, when Harry mentioned you had asked for news and wanted to come tell you, I insisted that I should be the one to see you. Please don’t let our ignorance stand in the way of your happiness.”

Hermione stands there, listening to Arthur’s apology. While she appreciates the olive branch, part of her can’t help but feel that it’s too little, too late, and a new wave of tears flood her eyes as she sees those exact words in Ron’s letter. She offers a curt nod to let him know she appreciates the gesture, even as her voice can’t find the words.

“I won’t keep you. I should be getting back, but Ron is in room 408. You are on the approved list as a family member if you decide you want to see him, and Molly’s agreed to let you stay with him if you’d like.”

Arthur gives a weak nod as he dabs his forehead once more before making his way to the door. It takes Hermione a moment to realize what’s happening, and as soon as everything processes, she’s pushing herself off the back of the sofa and calling out to Arthur.

Look at this heart shaped wreckage

What have we done?

We’ve got scars from battles nobody won

We can start over, better

Both of us know if we just let the broken pieces

Let the broken pieces go

“I’m coming! Please, er, if you don’t mind waiting. I just need to get changed—”

“Of course.”

Arthur offers a paternal smile as Hermione rushes into her bedroom and throws on the first thing she can find. She almost forgets to grab her bag as she throws on her coat and locks the door behind her.

Moments later, they’re entering St. Mungo’s, and Mr. Weasley leads the way through the main hall to the lifts. It’s only as the gate shuts that nerves begin to bubble up in her stomach. She’s been running on the adrenaline of the news, and now she can’t help but wonder how the rest of Ron’s family will react when they see her. Or, what’s worse, how Ron will react if and when he wakes up.

When. It has to be when.

As if sensing her trepidation, Mr. Weasley places a reassuring hand on her shoulder. The lift opens, and the first person she sees is Harry in the waiting room. Her feet gravitate toward him of their own accord, and when Harry sees her, he meets her halfway and wraps her in a tight hug.

“He’s going to be okay. He has to,” Harry whispers in her ear.

Hermione nods, forcing her brain to believe his words. When they let go, Ginny hugs Hermione next, which helps her feel more relaxed.

Maybe this isn’t so bad after all.

After one final squeeze, Ginny lets go so Hermione can follow Arthur down the hall to Ron’s room. He opens the door, and Hermione enters the sterile, white room. The most color she sees is his shock of red hair against the fluffy white pillow that’s cradling his head. Her heart begins beating faster as she spots his mum sitting vigil at his side.

Mrs. Weasley looks up to see the two standing there. A hard, stony look immediately sets on her face in defense before it softens slightly. She stands and walks over to Hermione. She knows that she’ll have a harder time winning over the Weasley matriarch based on this interaction, but if Ron wakes up—and will take her back—she’s willing to do anything to make it work.

“Let’s give her some privacy, Molly. The healers will call us in if he wakes up,” Arthur coaxes his wife out of the room as he gives Hermione one last reassuring smile.

When the door closes behind them, Hermione walks up to the chair Molly was perched at and takes a seat. She moves the chair closer to the bed as she observes Ron in his sleeping state. A tear slips down her face as her hand reaches out to take his. It isn’t cold, but it’s also not as warm as she’s used to.

“Please wake up. You have to wake up,” she pleads, choking back a fresh wave of tears.

I can’t find you in the dark

Will we get back to who we are?

And I can’t fix this on my own

Our love is still the best thing I’ve ever known

She’s not sure how long she sits there, watching his chest slowly rise and fall as he breathes. No matter how hard she tries, Hermione can’t look away, for fear that his breathing might stop if she does. She’s so focused on his chest, that she doesn’t see his eyes flutter open.

“Er-my-nee.”

His voice is breathy, with more rasp than she’s used to, but she’d have given all the gold in her Gringotts vault to hear her name on his lips again if she had to. He lifts the hand that she’s holding, and Hermione leans in closer to press her face into it.

“You came,” he whispers.

Unable to contain herself any longer, she lifts off the seat and leans over him, capturing his lips with hers. They’re cracked and dry, no doubt from being undercover in who knows what kind of conditions, but none of that matters. Ron’s alive, and he’s kissing her back.

Look at this heart shaped wreckage

What have we done?

We’ve got scars from battles nobody won

We can start over, better

Both of us know if we just let the broken pieces

Let the broken pieces go

“I’m so sorry.” The apology seems frail as she mutters the words against his lips.

His other hand reaches up to tuck her hair behind her ear and wipe the tears from her face. “It’s okay.”

“Don’t ever do something that stupid again.”

“Only if you give me a reason not to.”

Let the broken pieces go

Just hold on to each other tonight

“I will, I promise.”

She pulls away to look into his tired, bright blue eyes that carry the hope she feels in her chest.

“Does that mean…?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“I don’t know what life is going to throw at me, Ron, but I only want to take it if you’re by my side.”

“It’s about time you came to your senses.”

The hand that’s still cupping her cheek adjusts to pull her back to him as he does his best to crash his lips into hers for a searing, though still tender, kiss. His breath is hot as he groans against her mouth, solidifying their reunification. There’s an unspoken agreement to let the broken pieces of the past go.

Tonight, they’ll start over, rewriting the stars to match their love story the way it’s meant to be.

#chudleycanonficfest2021 #HP fest #hp canon pairings #canon fest romantic #submission #tw: implied death #tw: implied violence #romione #ron weasley x hermione granger #hermione granger x ron weasley

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strooodl · 2 years

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gonna write a drabble in the text post editor while i’m hunting balloons in animal crossing and waiting for my friends to reply to the amphibia freeze frame i sent them all without context

olivia & yunan spoilers

“Complicated creatures, these humans are,” the salamander king observed, bending over the vessel as it sat stiff upon the throne, staring lifelessly off nowhere in particular, as if it saw something the king couldn’t. “Fascinating, but complicated, I’ll say. They’re intelligent creatures, they really are, but no matter how smart an individual can be, they still lack the ability to differ from their biological necessities and... their emotional desires.”

There was no audible reply. There was a crack as the vessel tilted its head in what could have been curiosity, or it could’ve simply been trying to loosen its neck from weeks of comatose.

The king shook his head and gave a disappointed chuckle. “The poor girl. She had promise, you know. In fact, I was almost certain she’d have her logical priorities sorted out.” He clicked his tongue and stood up so he no longer stood bent before the vessel. “Without her peers holding her back, why, I’m sure she could have been quite an asset yet.”

Love makes her blind.

The king blinked in surprise. The first time he had heard the voice, others had been there. The core fell silent and the king had simply assumed the words it wished to say were simply not meant to fall upon mortal ears. It was less of a single voice and more a cacophony of voices, fighting for dominance among each other but still forming proper words in perfect synchronization.

It was... horrendous. The king felt a shiver run down his spine all the way to the tip of his tail. “Why, yes, my lord. Of course it does. No creature as intelligent as her could have made such an irrational decision without some sort of external motivation-”

She is blind, she cannot see. We see nothing... but them.

The king had to catch his breath yet. “This... won’t put a stop to our plans, will it?”

Eliminate.

“I’m trying, my lord, it’s just...” the king kneeled before the vessel and bowed his head. “They’re stronger than you think. I understand they, well, for the most no longer possess the powers of the gems, but... it’s almost like their bond alone allows them to find each other and do whatever it takes to escape my grasp. I don’t understand it, my lord, I’ve tried to-”

Eliminate those who cloud our vision. Eliminate them so we can move forward.

“I-”

Eliminate.

The king sighed. “I will do what it takes.”

Good.

The king stood up. “It’s really unfortunate, though. The girls clearly have some sort of power together, we could use that-”

Eliminate those who cloud her vision. She cannot see, but we can help. We can show her a new world, one without pain, without sorrow, without the burden of her peers. We just need to eliminate them, the both of them. Am I clear?

#amphibia #amphibia fanfic #my writing #amphibia spoilers #marcy wu

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forasecondtherewedwon · 3 years

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Dolls’ Eyes — A Jaws AU

Pairings: established Peggy/Steve, developing Brunnhilde/Carol Rating: T Chapters: 14/14

Summary: Tony Stark snapped his fingers and the vanished half of the universe returned, but Thanos escaped the battlefield, fleeing into space. Now that he’s virtually powerless, most of the Avengers consider chasing him all over the universe a waste of resources, but Peggy Carter—newly deposited in the 21st century—is determined to finish the job. Brunnhilde and Carol Danvers have the same idea.

When scattered rumours of fresh killings escalate to the death of one of their own, the three women team up to defeat Thanos once and for all.

read the prologue

read ch. 1 one / 2 two / 3 three / 4 four / 5 five 6 six / 7 seven / 8 eight / 9 nine / 10 ten 11 eleven / 12 twelve / 13 thirteen / 14 fourteen

After everything, Carol wasn’t surprised that Brunnhilde put up a fight over being told to just rest. Carol reminded her that she was lucky to be alive, to which Brunnhilde responded that it wasn’t anything like luck, and went on to list the incredible, lifesaving properties of her fine armour, explain the enhanced durability provided by her Asgardian biology, and enumerate all of the injuries she’d previously sustained that were apparently worse than being electrocuted half to death, and then nearly drowning while incapacitated. Carol didn’t believe half of it, but it was kinda hot when Brunnhilde bragged.

So, in spite of Carol’s efforts, Brunnhilde kept getting up the second her back was turned in order to haul bodies off of Thanos’s ship. As they started to fix everything Carol had broken (including a patch job of that hole in the roof), a scan of the local environment informed them that almost all of the life on this planet was aquatic. They left the stack of corpses on land. Whatever water critters were around, they didn’t need toxic eyeball goo leeching into their habitat.

Carol caught Brunnhilde shaking out a twitching arm and made her sit to do electronic repairs rather than manual labour. (Carol had that handled anyway, plus, she knew where all the bodies were because she was the one who’d left them there.) Brunnhilde protested that she was the captain. Carol came way too close to saying not of this ship, but stopped herself. Instead, she suggested Brunnhilde do like any other captain would and let her underlings take on the grunt work. That got a smile, if not verbal agreement.

Thankfully, Peggy was a fast learner; Carol explained the basics of what she’d done to wreck something and Peggy quickly understood how to walk back the damage. They worked their way through the ship, staying at neighbouring stations so Carol would be there if Peggy had questions, and Peggy would be there if (when) Carol had messed something up so badly that it needed four hands to fix.

“Maria would’ve been great with this,” she said without thinking, holding up a fistful of wires while Peggy tinkered beneath.

“Maria?”

It was easier to talk about her than it had ever been before. Like with the repairs, she could tell that Peggy understood without Carol having to do much more than gush over how good Maria had been at fixing stuff, how thorough she’d been with the plane she’d kept in the hangar on her property, how reliable, how trustworthy, how patient…

“Yes,” Peggy told her with a smile. “She sounds like she was wonderful.”

“She was.”

But when the two of them had finished their circuit of the ship and Carol went to tell Brunnhilde they were good to go, she wasn’t there. Carol panicked, worried that Brunnhilde had overheard all her praise of Maria and somehow missed the tone of a person who was in the late stages of grief, who had accepted the worst and was keen to keep living, maybe even loving.

When she couldn’t find her on the ship, she jogged down the ramp, intending to look for her outside. The second she turned to face the water, she spotted Brunnhilde coming towards her from the escape vessel. Carol ran out to meet her.

“What’s all this?” she asked in a tone of amusement, because Brunnhilde had her arms full.

“Food, Peggy’s jacket, a couple beers that didn’t get smashed when Thanos rammed us, uh…” She tried to examine the rest of the pile she was carrying, but it teetered and slipped; laughing, Carol scooped a few things out of her arms before they could end up in the shallow water.

“I thought you might’ve taken off on us,” she said lightly.

“I didn’t think you thought I’d be capable of that after getting zapped.”

“I was just…”

Brunnhilde walked close, pressing her arm into Carol’s.

“I know. I would’ve been the same way if it’d been you.”

“I don’t even know if I can get electrocuted,” Carol said.

“I’m not gonna recommend trying it for fun,” Brunnhilde told her. “Anyway, I used all my discs on Thanos and I dropped the remote in the water somewhere… You’d have to go to Thor with your request, ask him to bring the lightning down.”

“Straight to Thor?!” Carol laughed. “That seems a little extreme.”

“Or you could just stand around outside in New Asgard during a storm and wait for it to happen naturally.”

“And why would I need to be in New Asgard specifically?” Carol asked in a teasing voice. “I could get struck by lightning anywhere.”

She watched Brunnhilde flounder but couldn’t get an answer out of her, not on the way to the ship, not while she was distracted with Peggy asking her a slew of health questions, and not while they were trying to figure out how to get this humongous spaceship off the ground with a crew of only three people.

As they made their rocky assent, Carol was too busy to wonder whether Brunnhilde had heard her talking about Maria before she’d left the ship to scavenge from the escape craft. They had just broken through the atmosphere, blue sky giving way to black, when Brunnhilde spoke.

“Love’s like war.”

It was so sudden that Carol snorted a laugh.

“Ok, poet,” she said. She was tempted to devote some time to getting Thanos’s ship to play her music, if only to put on ‘Love Is a Battlefield’ for Brunnhilde. To let her know what had been said on the subject already.

She smirked to herself when Brunnhilde continued, clearly not giving a shit about her interruption or joking criticism.

“It is.”

“What do you mean?” Carol asked more seriously.

Brunnhilde shifted in her seat, engaging different protocols for outer space travel. Carol noticed the tremor had gone from her arm.

“You do better in both because of experience,” Brunnhilde said, looking straight out the viewport. “Anybody who can’t appreciate the benefit of falling for someone who’s been in love before is a fucking idiot.”

“And you’re not a fucking idiot.”

“I hope that isn’t a question.”

Carol smiled and shook her head. They flew in silence for a while.

“When we get back,” she said eventually, peering shyly over at her captain, “I owe someone important to me a visit, but then I’m coming to see you. Just a heads-up.”

“Vaguely threatening.”

“Sorry.”

“No,” Brunnhilde told her, grabbing her forearm to get her full attention, “I liked it.”

Heat raced up Carol’s neck until she was blushing as bright red as her suit, or the dumb acid burn on her arm.

Just then, Peggy’s agitated voice came from the other end of the wide flight deck.

“Someone’s coming right at us!”

Before Carol had the chance to say what the hell? or who? or again?, an incoming message threw a distantly familiar face up in front of them, hovering in the form of a hologram.

“Hey,” Carol greeted. “Small universe.”

—

Peggy had never thought to imagine what Gamora might be like. She’d had an account of Peter Quill’s affection for her from Rocket, but had recognized that a portrayal of the woman that crew had known—the woman Peter had loved enough to forfeit his life in the quest for reunion—couldn’t be fully accurate. At best, the Gamora they described would be one layer removed from the real person. The Gamora they had known and the one whose hologram had just appeared before Peggy, Carol, and Brunnhilde were a handful of years and a thousand experiences apart.

It seemed absurd to Peggy that this woman may wish to harm them, but she really ought to have considered it.

“Was it your distress signal I picked up?” Gamora asked flatly, eyes locked on Carol in the pilot’s seat.

“Umm… yep.”

“And you still require assistance?”

Carol glanced at Brunnhilde, then over to Peggy, who nodded. They certainly had worked wonders, she felt, in getting this massive spaceship off the planet, but who knew how many things could go wrong between here and Earth? Peggy doubted either of her shipmates had told her the half of it. They were simply short-staffed, too few fingers available to plug any metaphorical leaks they might spring on the journey.

“Yes please,” Carol told her.

With a nod, 2014 Gamora went from unknown quantity to ally. Peggy sighed in relief.

The three of them were transported directly from Thanos’s ship to Gamora’s. The process was quite indescribable, Peggy thought. Tingly, quick, with a bit of a lurch as she rematerialized on an entirely different flight deck from the one she’d just left. Had the transfer been instantaneous? Had she, perhaps, ceased to exist for a moment or two? She was full of questions but unsure to whom she should direct them.

Gamora, while welcoming in deed, was somewhat inscrutable when they met her face-to-face. Standoffish. Unsure of herself, Peggy realized. Immediately, she warmed to the woman. She had been in her place herself once, sort of, if not precisely in her intimidating boots. It hadn’t been so long ago that she’d been ferried through time to find the world completely changed. What Gamora needed was a reason to trust them the way they were trusting her.

“I take it you killed my father?” Gamora asked plainly once they were aboard.

Oh dear. It seemed they weren’t off to a very auspicious start.

Brunnhilde stepped in front of Carol, who’d just been opening her mouth to speak, presumably to claim responsibility.

“I was the captain,” she stated. “Thanos was killed on my orders.”

“Uh, no, not explicitly,” Carol argued.

“Anyway,” Peggy piped up, “I’m the one who shot him in the head.”

“And he was only vulnerable to that because I electrocuted him to within an inch of his despicable life and his helmet fell off,” Brunnhilde countered.

“On a planet I flew us to,” Carol reminded them.

“We’ll be sharing the blame,” Peggy informed Gamora on behalf of her crewmates.

Gamora cocked her head consideringly.

“And if it’s approval?” To their universal silence, she explained, “I know what he was capable of in my time, and I saw enough of Earth to get a general idea of what he was set to accomplish if he wasn’t stopped.”

“Were you out here hunting him too?” Peggy took a step towards her.

Directing her gaze away from them, Gamora blinked rapidly, looking momentarily confused and upset. In the next second, she’d hidden any outward hint of those feelings.

“I should’ve been,” she said, “but I’ve never been able to stand up to him like I should have. After I left your planet… for a while, I wasn’t looking for him. But I began to see signs. And then Peter Quill came.”

“Peter!” Carol said. “You saw him? Did you talk to him? Rocket never said—”

“No. I just watched. I followed him for a while. I knew he was looking for me. He was so… loud.” Gamora made a face. “Leaving word for me everywhere, telling traders and transports that he was my boyfriend. He was an idiot, but an entertaining idiot… I barely noticed that I’d stopped keeping track of Thanos until he just showed up…

“I was a coward,” Gamora went on. “I saw my father intercept Peter’s ship and I knew what would probably happen, but I couldn’t put myself between the two of them. Was I supposed to stand up for this guy when I’d never been able to stand up for myself? I was raised to be cruel, to think of myself, that attachments formed to accomplish anything but the acquisition of power make you weak. I know Thanos killed Peter. It’s my fault he’s dead.”

Peggy stood in front of her, refraining from placing a reassuring hand on Gamora’s shoulder when she gave her cagey eyes.

“It’s not,” Peggy told her firmly.

“I only heard your distress signal because I heard Peter’s first,” Gamora said. “I went onboard after my father had left; it was days before I could force myself to do it, maybe longer. I used his communications system to speak to his crewmates on Earth.”

“You must’ve just missed us leaving,” Brunnhilde said.

“That’s what he told me. He said three more morons had left the planet, on their way to hunt down Thanos.”

“And you’ve helped us,” Peggy said, tone insistent. “If you do feel any responsibility for what happened to Peter, then surely you should also believe that you’ve redeemed yourself by saving our backsides.”

Gamora’s eyes squinted as though she were in pain.

“I owed him more than this and I hate it,” she said, jaw clenched. “He was no one to me. He knew someone I’m never going to become.”

“Shhh. I know,” Peggy said soothingly.

“I don’t see how that’s possible. Have you ever had someone tell you they love you when it feels like it’s impossible that they even know you? That whoever they loved had to be a different person from who you are?”

Peggy’s shoulders fell. She could feel the bittersweet smile on her face.

“Actually, yes.”

Gamora appeared surprised to have been brought up short in such a manner.

“Do you have any advice?” Peggy urged softly.

For a minute, Gamora was quiet, staring hard at the wall. Peggy could feel that the others had backed away, giving them time and space when Gamora’s stream of information had been diverted by the confusing grief she was obviously experiencing.

“Whatever lengths he goes to because he thinks you’re better than you are…” Gamora finally said, turning her head to look Peggy in the eye. “Try to be worth it.”

“Got it.”

Peggy folded her hands together, pressing her right palm to her wedding ring.

—

They were about to get underway, their new crew of four on a significantly smaller, though sleeker, ship. (Brunnhilde didn’t mourn for the one they’d left in the shallows; it had served them well, first the Asgardians and now the team responsible for the death of Thanos.) However, staring out the viewport from the seat in which she’d been installed as the effective second-in-command, Brunnhilde didn’t feel right. The sight of Thanos’s ship just hanging there in space unnerved her. It would be better if no trace of the Titan remained.

“Let’s blast it,” she suggested to the deck at large.

“Thanos’s spaceship?” Peggy checked.

“Yes.”

“Well,” Carol said, “we aren’t near anything. There’s nothing for the debris to hit…”

Brunnhilde smiled slightly and looked to the captain.

“Gamora? Do you have any weapons on this ship that could do the job?”

“There is one thing I’ve been saving for a special occasion,” Gamora said, gaze fixed on Thanos’s ship. “First, we’re going to need to get clear.”

She piloted them away—away from the planet, away from the ship. Part of Brunnhilde wanted to request the honour of launching the torpedo Gamora was setting the coordinates for, locking it onto her late father’s final vessel, but she was already satisfied with the role she’d played. Let Gamora take this final, symbolic step. It was like Thor’s hideous couch; Brunnhilde had helped him lug the thing into the open air, but permitted him to drop the match (once she’d soaked the cushions in lighter fluid, just in case it wasn’t sufficiently saturated in spilled beer). She would content herself with watching it go up in flames.

And it did. It was an impressive explosion, scattering wreckage in a wide perimeter Gamora had kept them outside of. They were briefly silent as jagged hunks of metal twisted in the void.

“That’s one way to get the stink of dead bodies out,” Carol noted, and Brunnhilde turned to her, shoulders shaking with laughter Carol quickly joined in on.

They flew for some time, and it was good just to relax, to stretch in her seat and tilt her head from side to side so that her neck cracked horrendously and Peggy said things like “good lord!” while Carol laughed her ass off. Brunnhilde remained alert though. She couldn’t help it. In the old days, with the Valkyrie, there’d been a certain relief when the battle in which they’d been engaged was done, but they’d only known true rest once they’d returned to Asgard. Home. The last time she’d been on a ship bound for Earth, the atmosphere had been one of intense grief, muffled weeping in the corridors. They’d known Earth as Midgard and had little admiration for its country of Norway, chilly with fog and swathed in the bleak colours that reflected their inner emptiness. Nothing they loved was there—not their people, not their gleaming towers and soaring statues. How could it ever possibly feel like coming home?

Brunnhilde had honestly believed she’d lost her ability to experience that feeling, that, without her sisters-in-arms, the sensation was lost to her. Yet, despite the tension she still carried from the fight, she felt it easing. She felt herself longing for home, her little house at the water’s edge. For the chance to return to her people as their king and announce a great evil defeated. Maybe this tension was only anticipation after all.

In contrast to the fruits of her own contemplation and revelation, Gamora’s private thoughts had left her expression mournful and roving. Brunnhilde exited the deck to relieve herself and find something to eat in Gamora’s stores, and when she returned, she addressed her.

“You’re not taking us all the way to Earth, are you?”

Gamora flicked her gaze sideways to assess her. Brunnhilde knew there was no judgement to be found in her face, so she stared back calmly.

“I’m taking you to Quill’s ship. Thanos, in his infinite arrogance, didn’t damage it. Maybe he thought he might like to return to it some time and claim it as part of his fleet. It’s a tribute to how much I continue to feel my father’s influence that I planned to do the same. Not build a fleet, but go back. There’s something about that ship… I find it comforting.”

Brunnhilde frowned thoughtfully.

“Are you sure you don’t want to take it and leave this one for us?”

“No. What I felt when I was onboard, examining it and… and removing Quill’s body for space burial… that was just a feeling of, I don’t know, another life. There’s a group on Earth for whom that ship means something. And it’s the only thing they have of him. I couldn’t keep it.”

“One of those people is your sister,” Brunnhilde said carefully.

“Yes.”

“I tried to talk to her, but she doesn’t like me very much. I don’t blame her,” she added as Gamora gave her a wary look. “She was upset.”

“Nebula is at her most dangerous when upset, and she’s always upset, so she’s always dangerous.”

“She was upset about Peter’s death. But I think also because, without him, no one was out here looking for you.”

Gamora stiffened.

“If she really wants to find me, she can come look for me herself. I’ll be ready.”

“She doesn’t want to fight you,” Brunnhilde said. “She misses you. I think. It’s really none of my business.”

“Why would you wish to get involved in our family affairs?” Gamora’s voice was more curious than accusing. “Besides murdering our father, of course.”

Brunnhilde sighed before answering.

“I’ve lost many people I cared about. I don’t have a family anymore.” She glanced over to see Carol and Peggy bent over a screen together, Carol’s sudden snort infecting Peggy until they were both laughing. “I mean,” Brunnhilde corrected herself, “I didn’t.”

When they arrived at the Benatar and Gamora transported Carol and Peggy off her ship, Brunnhilde motioned for Gamora to hold off a moment on removing her.

“If we don’t meet again,” she said, sticking out her arm for Gamora to grasp.

Gamora gripped her tightly and nodded.

“I think we might though. I thought about it and realized it’s easier for me to find Nebula than for her to find me.”

“I may have left you her coordinates.” Brunnhilde released Gamora’s arm. “Enjoy Missouri.”

She joined Peggy and Carol on the Benatar, pausing to bend over Carol’s seat to surprise her with a deep kiss before she took up her own position. She brushed stray strands of hair back out of Carol’s dancing eyes.

“I’m going to have to redo your braid,” Brunnhilde told her.

“Oh, we’ll have time. We’ve got quite a road trip ahead of us. Luckily… Peter left us his tunes.” Beaming, she started up a song with a bright beat.

Brunnhilde smiled and went to her seat, fastening herself in as Carol readied the vessel for launch.

“You know,” Peggy said thoughtfully, slinging her jacket over the back of her chosen seat, “before all of this, I was actually quite afraid of outer space.”

Carol laughed.

“I can’t imagine why.”

#my writing #Dolls' Eyes #MCU #Avengers: Endgame #Peggy Carter #Brunnhilde #Carol Danvers #Valkyrie #Captain Marvel #Steve Rogers #Nick Fury

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slimy-eye · 3 years

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We need a Meridia Chapter!

Now it’s on my brain, I gotta say it. Elder Scrolls Online has been painting Meridia as the villain since the base game was released. Molag Bal himself foreshadows that there are ‘far worse masters than I’ in regards to Meridia. But it’s Molag Bal, right? He’s a liar and a manipulator, so of course, at the time, we couldn’t take his words at face value. The dude is a monster.

But then, later DLCs start rolling out that really begin painting Meridia in a wicked light, revealing that she isn’t quite the benevolent goddess that she would have you believe. Summerset, for example [HEAVY SPOILERS AHEAD], has us meeting Darien once again, where he slowly begins to discover that his entire life may very well have been a lie, painted before his very eyes by Meridia herself. He wonders what he is, who he is, and we as the player are there to witness this heartbreak as Darien does everything he can to hold on to the pieces of himself.

Darien ultimately ends up sacrificing himself to restore Dawnbreaker after Nocturnal’s champion corrupts it. It’s an emotional scene that is only made worse by the journal that Darien later manages to sneak out of The Colored Rooms (Meridia’s Realms) and into the path of The Vestige. The journal is titled “Words of the Fallen”, and it’s a tragic read. I’m going to copy paste some of the text here, so you can read it for yourself, but essentially, the journal goes on to express that Meridia is a liar, and cannot be trusted. Take a look at this excerpt from the journal:

“Never trust a Daedric Prince. If there's anything I learned from all this, that's it in a nutshell. I used to think I had a purpose, a part to play in the grand scheme of things. I suppose I did, sort of, but the way things turned out, it wasn't at all the way I imagined. Meridia said I was her vessel. I guess my fate was sealed from the moment she brought me into existence.

Now, here I am, back in the Colored Rooms. I thought that when I gave my energy to restore the sword—and I did that for my friend, not for Meridia—I thought that was the end of me. I'm back, though, but this time is different. My light, it's fading. I can feel the darkness getting closer, pressing in. I expect that once the light goes out, that will be the end.

I need to tell you something about Meridia. She's a deceiver. She promised that if I served her faithfully, I'd earn my freedom. She never told me that freedom was just another word for the void. Don't trust her. Don't trust any of the Daedric Princes. Not ever.”

If you want to read the rest of it, it’s just Darien saying his goodbyes to the player and his other friends. You can find the book here. Anyways, it’s pretty cut and dry that Meridia lied to Darien, and now he’s potentially lost to us forever. But with Summerset foreshadowing the fact that Meridia may very well be far more wicked than she’d have you believe, I’m really hopeful for a future chapter where Meridia will be the major villain, and we will have the opportunity to rescue Darien from her clutches. It might seem far fetched, but I suppose we won’t really know until it happens, if it happens. I’m hoping it will, though!

#elder scrolls online #summerset #spoilers #myramblings #meridia #darien gautier #the elder scrolls #elder scrolls

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avatarquake · 2 years

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If you haven’t read TSS’s episode 41 yet, blacklist ‘tss spoilers’ if you don’t want to deal with me and my thoughts just yet.

Okay. Okay. Where to even fricking start?!

Mr. Thorne, the theatre guy that hired them to hunt an alleged ghost and never informing our two heroes about Ryan and Colin, is a grade A nut job. He is attempting to create a vessel of some sort so he can communicate with those from beyond ‘our realm’ and Ryan was a failure, even if the runes did seem to react favorably at first. The end result was...quite the sight. That seems to be similar with Oberon and Titania’s plans, albeit in a very early stage. (Now we know what made a pumpkin look horrified, and let me tell you, same. Trigger warning for trypophobia.) He seems to be more knowledgeable about Ether and how it works than an average person should, even if he is part of an one-man-cult, even being in possession of an Ether disruptor of all things.

Now, with that shitty sort of introduction out of the way, to the crux of the matter; Ichabod. According to Thorne, he is a working vessel, an older model, as well, that is deteriorating, quite fricking rapidly if I may add, because only four episodes ago, Ichabod’s hand was a very healthy pink, now looking mummified. Maris has been trying to preserve him, not just his connection to the Ether, but that isn’t going to work for the long term. Obviously.

Now, what I find curious, is what Thorne says next; “No visible markings. Her technical skills are impressive as always.” He is either referring to Maris’ skills to keep Ichabod alive, or to whichever witch brought Ichabod back to this form of living. Because it is highly probable to be a witch’s work at hand here. There is a chance Alice did the bringing back, since he is an ‘older model’, but also might be some other witch that doesn’t have any other role. Honestly, though, I doubt Alice had anything to do with Ichabod, because considering how powerful she is supposed to be, Ichabod wouldn’t be in the predicament of drying up. I am certain it wasn’t Maris, because she’d know what was going wrong with his continued existence and wouldn’t revert to regular applications of ‘stay the frick alive’ spells. (There is also the dark theory that Ichabod was created by Titania and Oberon, which, slightly doubtful -considering they didn’t seem to realise he was a vessel- but would lead to such sweet, sweet heavily emotional drama.) I’m leaning towards Maris’ skills to keep pumpkin-head alive.

There are still so many questions about Ichabod, but what we can surmise it to with what we have so far is this; he is an older model of a vessel, that while well-made and well-preserved, is still rapidly mummifying, that is practically running on Ether, and as he dries up, his connection weakens, leading to a vicious circle of regular reapplications of ‘preservation’ spells, since that connection to the Ether makes it hard for spells to stick.

Of course trying to harm to Ichabod in front of -or behind, let’s be honest here, Ellie would have gone ballistic either way- Ellie, is obviously a Really Bad Idea and Mr. Thorne is about to find out just how much. In 7 days. A week. (Please tell me; did she punch him or is she holding him at gun-point with Ichabod’s shotgun?)

#tss spoilers #Third Shift Society #s02 ep41 #webtoons #comics #personal #captain's log #*Ron Weasley voice: Can we panic now?!*#I'll come back to this later today #I need to sleep and put my thoughts in some semblance of an order

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teshamerkel · 3 years

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Pokemon Mystery Dungeon: Seekers of Soul

Chapter 11 (25 Pages)

<< First | < Previous | Next >

Nia begins her aura training with Val and considers her rocky relationship with Tobias.

“You are too tense.”

Nia sighs and relaxes from her position on the floor of the training area, carefully untangling her legs. Who knew having dog limbs would make sitting cross-legged so difficult?

Val looks down at her with her usual unreadably blank expression, arms crossed. Nia’s just glad for her seemingly endless patience. “You are worked up. Emotionally upset. You cannot channel into your aura abilities in such a state.”

Nia nods, avoiding the medicham’s gaze and glancing over to the cause of her emotional duress. Tobias is sparring with Azami, the flowery Pokémon helping him to work on battle tactics other than “run yelling into danger.” The charmander seems frustrated, but Azami just takes a defensive stance and goads him into trying again.

“Partner problems?” Val asks, not bothering to lower her voice.

Nia winces. “Y-Yeah.”

Val nods, watching Tobias attack. “He can be difficult to work with.”

That’s an understatement. Nia thought that she’d be able to handle the charmander’s forced distance and temper, his sharp personality and cruel remarks. But they’ve only been partners for a couple of days and have only taken on a handful of low-level missions, and Nia can already feel herself wearing thin.

Clearing out an old den for a bear Pokemon and her cubs to use for the approaching winter? Nia gets snapped at for “not digging right” and taking too long to clear out the old leaves and moss. She’s still getting used to having paws for hands!

Escorting an elderly, drooling flower Pokemon across the forest? Nia gets blamed for their small reward because she “kept wrinkling her nose” at the smell. Her new nose is sensitive! She tried her best to be polite!

Bringing medicine from Fen’s office to a sickly family of plant-like turtles living in the woods? Nia gets rushed along, falls into a hole, and then has to listen to Tobias complain the whole way that she’s “slowing them down.” Slowing them down from what? They’re meeting turtles, for God’s sake! They aren’t going to outrun them!

She’s doing her best, but Tobias is just so...ugh! Impatient and angry, all the time! He doesn’t listen, and he doesn’t seem to care about her or anyone else. They’re partners! They don’t have to be best friends, but they should at least be friendly with each other, right? Every time she tries to start up a civil conversation with the charmander, tries to learn more about him as a person, he immediately shuts her down.

Even worse, Nia desperately wants to follow the lead that Hadley gave her and go to Afon’s Cap to find Hazel, the former human. But every time she’s brought it up in the past few days, he’s dismissed it without even giving her a chance. She even tries to pick missions that (according to a map in one of her geography books, at least) would lead them close to the port town, only for him to override her opinion completely and pick something else.

Nia’s a patient Pokemon (a bit too patient, according to Andyn) but she’s already getting sick of it. Is it too much to ask for her partner to treat her with a little decency and respect? She’s seen Tobias with the little kids of the guild, with Luca and Leor and Laine and the others. He’s like a completely different person with them! Patient and kind and fun, joking and gentle.

But with everyone else, he’s so...sharp. So far they’ve only been completing basic missions in the area around the Haven, but she thinks he would have her back if it came to a physical fight with another Pokemon. But that doesn’t do much to ease her hurt feelings and increasing frustration with the charmander’s temper tantrums. Now it’s even interfering with her training!

“Focus on meditation,” Val suggests. “Relax.”

Nia slumps. “Okay.”

The medicham walks over to Tobias and Azami to watch and add her own expertise. Nia focuses on crossing her legs, resting her hands on her knees, and relaxing her body. She’d already run through a few basic fighting drills with Val today, and since the medicham taught her the basics of meditation during their last session, Nia’s mission for the rest of the afternoon is to start her aura training. She tries to go back and run through her meditation notes one by one. Relax. Part by part, muscle by muscle. Deep breaths. Clear her mind. No stress. No negative emotions. No thoughts at all. Calm.

It takes a while, Nia concentrating on her breathing to block out the commotion of the room around her, but eventually, she thinks she’s getting it. Distantly, she notes the relaxed, loose state of her muscles. Her mind feels comfortably blank.

A few minutes later, Val’s quiet voice pipes up from beside her. “Good.”

Nia peeks her eye open to see the medicham sitting in a similar meditative pose. When did she get there?

“You are relaxed?”

Nia hums an affirmative.

“Close your eyes. Continue breathing. Listen to my voice.”

Nia does as told, trying to let her mind stay blank as she listens.

“Your body is a vessel for your energy. Breathe in. Feel the air flow into you. Feel it energize you. Breathe out, and let your body relax. Good. This flow of energy is constant. It allows you to move and live. Imagine that energy gathered at the center of your body. The core of your being. It may appear as…a light. It is what fuels you, pushes you, makes you who you are.”

Nia’s mind starts trying to butt in, tripped up by Val’s words. A light? Does she mean literally, or—

“Do not think,” Val reminds. “Let yourself be. Relax.”

Nia sucks another deep breath in through her nose, and then releases it, imagining her racing thoughts going along with it. Blank her mind. Calm.

“Good. Look to your light. Feel it in your heartbeat. It is your fire, your soul. Picture it.”

This all seems so…strange. The riolu is supposed to be learning aura training, but so far she’s only been learning breathing exercises and weird visual techniques. Still, Nia trusts Val’s knowledge, even if that means doing weird yoga. So she tries to listen to the medicham and let the words paint the picture of a small flame in her chest. A light.

“What color is it?”

Nia’s brow furrows. She can’t really see the light, of course, so maybe she gets to decide? Her favorite color is yellow, but for some reason that doesn’t...feel right. When she pictures this light, pictures who she is as a flame in her chest, small but steady, it’s...blue. A bright, turquoise sort of blue.

“Blue?” Nia says, hesitant.

“Good,” Val says. Nia knows she must be imagining the note of surprise in the Pokémon’s voice. She’s tempted to open her eyes and peek for an expression, but doesn’t want to lose her focus. “Can you feel it?”

Nia frowns, unsure. She thinks she can imagine what Val is talking about in a theoretical sense, but it’s nothing tangible that she actually thinks is there. She can’t literally see the flame in her chest.

“Do not overthink. Feel. Focus on it like a physical part of your body. An organ. It is your soul. Your aura. What pushes you in life. What is important to you. Who you are, what you feel.”

Nia almost opens her mouth to protest—she thought the point of meditation was to empty and calm her mind, not work it up—but thinks better of it and simply tries to follow Val’s advice.

Her fire. Her motivation. Who she is.

She is...a human. Right? But she’s in the Pokémon world. No, no, she’s definitely human, and she desperately wants to return to her old life, to her family and friends and all those she loves so much that her chest aches at the thought of losing them for good.

But for right now, she is...a Seeker? An adventurer. Sort of, at least. She has to admit that some small part of her already loves seeing this world, helping others, experiencing so many amazing things. She’s a curious sort, and there’s new things to learn every second in the Pokemon world.

Her motivation, though? Well, she supposes it’s to become a Seeker, technically, but only so she can reach her ultimate goal. She just wants to find answers, and to go home. To become human again.

What else is there? Oh! How she feels. Well at the moment she’s…frustrated. Frustrated and upset with Tobias, for not giving her a real chance and for being such a bitter person. Disappointed, after she’d been so sure he would be nicer as a teammate. But she’s also…hopeful. Hopeful and curious about the human-turned-Pokémon in Afon’s Cap, excited to meet her and maybe find someone who truly understands her predicament. Who can remind her of home.

Home. The people Nia knows she left behind coming here…they give her so many emotions. She still can’t quite place any real details about them, but she knows the heartbreak she feels is real, the longing and the warm affection in her chest ballooning so large it feels as if it’ll break her ribs.

She needs to get home. So right now, she’s determined to figure out this aura thing. She’s Nia, and she will figure this out. She feels the determination swell in her chest, imagines the blue light in her growing stronger and brighter. Can almost feel it.

“Open your eyes.”

Nia frowns but follows the direction, eyes blinking open. A faint glow catches her eye immediately, and she looks down to see her chest glowing with the faintest blue light, lining the edges of her fur in an almost ethereal way. Nia yelps, flailing out of her pose. When she looks back at her chest, heart pounding, the light surrounding her is gone. That was—her light isn’t real, she just imagined it, so how—?

Val hums a quiet sound, and Nia looks to her with wide eyes.

“That was your aura.”

“I-It’s real!” Nia says, flabbergasted. “I mean, I read about it so I knew that aura had to be real somehow, b-but it looked like how I imagined my light to be, a-and…did I make it real? How did I do that?”

Val shrugs. “It is innate to Pokémon with psychic or aura abilities. I simply guided you to it.”

Nia blinks and looks down at herself, raising a tentative paw to touch her chest. “H-How...how do I do that again?”

Val falls back into teacher mode. “You have been convinced of your power’s existence. You should be able to access it more easily now. Focus on the aura within you, on the core of your being. Imagine it moving out to other parts of your body. Try to concentrate it into your paw.”

Nia nods, sitting again. She closes her eyes, holding out a paw and trying to imagine that light back in her chest. Burning. Not painfully, but just...warm. Powerful. Bright and blue. When the light she imagines at her core seems strong and steady, she squints open her eyes, disheartened to see her hand looking as it usually does. No light. A glance down at her heart confirms the same.

“Aura stems from emotion,” Val offers. “Focus on what makes you feel strongly.”

Nia closes her eyes and nods, brow furrowing. Right. She’d been thinking of her home in the human world before. She focuses on that light, her light, thinks of her family that she can’t remember and the aching in her chest. Finally, the fire grows, flaring as if she’d thrown lighter fluid onto it. She feels herself smile. The riolu thinks of Tobias next, of how frustrated he makes her feel, how he hurts her feelings when he snaps, and she feels the light grow larger. She thinks of Maggie and Xander and Andyn, of how she wants to get to know them more, of how much she appreciates their kindness, and—

“Look down.”

The riolu does, and bites back a gasp. Her chest is glowing with a faint blue light.

“Gather it in your paw, like drops of water into a pool. Manifest it.”

Nia tries, tensing the muscles of her arm and focusing her energy, the light, into the palm of her hand as if she were pouring it down her wrist and into her palm. Slowly, the light seems to grow brighter, stronger. Then, the tiniest flicker of light, beautiful and fragile like a candle flame, shivers into existence in her hand.

She just stares at it, mesmerized, until Val says, “Return it.”

Nia swallows and focuses, trying to absorb the light back into herself. It’s a little difficult, as if the energy had become more solid outside of her body, but eventually it does dissipate. As the light fades, Nia’s surprised to note her breathing is heavy.

“Training with energy is as exhausting as training your body,” Val explains.

Nia nods, looking up at her. “S-So that was okay?”

Val nods, although she isn’t smiling. Nia is starting to learn that doesn’t mean the medicham is unhappy. “You are doing fine. You are a stranger to this body. Do not fret.”

Nia straightens up at the encouragement, beaming. Val moves to sit down right in front of the riolu, legs crossed. Nia copies her relaxed posture and waits, ready to learn more.

“Emotion is connected to aura in another way. Not just as a power source, but through detection.”

Nia blinks, surprised. She remembers reading something about this, but didn’t think it meant it literally! “L-Like...an empath? Reading other people’s emotions?”

Val nods. She must see Nia’s discomfort, because she tilts her head. “You are troubled.”

“I-It just...sort of seems like an invasion of privacy? Being able to read people like that without their consent? I mean, that’s how it works, right?”

Val’s gaze darkens. “You must control your power and use it as you see fit. With practice, you will be able to turn your emotion sensing on and off. It will be up to you to avoid reading others without their permission.”

Nia swallows. “That’s a lot of responsibility.”

“A responsibility that I trust you not to misuse,” Val responds, not quite a threat. “Seeing through words to feel honest emotion is an invaluable skill that could save your life. Not all Pokémon have good intentions.”

Nia frowns, recognizing the truth of that statement. It could certainly help, and she knows she wouldn’t use it for any immoral purposes. So…

“O-Okay. Please teach me.”

Val nods, seeming satisfied. “Aura sensing is different than manifesting your aura into energy for attacking. As a psychic type, I do not have the same capabilities in that sense. I can only give you the basics of aura reading.”

Nia looks back down at her hands, closing them into fists and feeling amazement rise up in her. She knew all Pokémon were different, but... “S-So...only riolu can do aura stuff? Like reading emotions?”

Val nods. “The riolu line, yes. Lucario as well.”

Nia frowns. When she’d read up on riolu, it had mentioned the lucario species a few times. Apparently riolu...became lucario somehow? They called the process “evolution”, but it clearly wasn’t the sciencey evolution Nia knew from biology class, done over generations. Maybe it’s a maturation process? But she’s already an adult, so when would this happen? The riolu considers asking Val, but decides to hold back and question Maggie about it later. Val’s already teaching her so much today.

Val shuts her eyes, so Nia follows her lead.

“Find your aura once more. Breathe, relax, and focus.”

Nia takes a deep inhale before releasing it again, relaxing her body. She imagines that little blue flame in her chest, and concentrates on it.

“Channel into that energy. Expand it outward until you come across my own aura.”

“Expand it?” Nia echoes, uncertain. She tries to flare the energy, make it burn larger, but it doesn’t even get close to the edges of her body. The flame is too weak, barely even leaving her chest in short spurts.

Val hums. “Try to relax your aura. Do not flex it. Let it flow from you like a breath. Like a limb. A veil.”

Nia furrows her brow. How in the world is she supposed to do that? It took her a full afternoon of flexing her butt muscles just to figure out how her tail worked, and that’s an actual limb! She mentally prods at her light, her aura, tries to stretch it out. It simply flickers brighter before shrinking back to normal.

“Do not use it as a blast of energy. Try to thin it out.”

Nia bites back a frustrated whine. She wants to question Val more, but knows that the medicham is doing her best to teach something she herself has never exactly experienced. So she tries, over and over, to stretch that light and make it grow.

“Stop.”

Nia does, peeking up at the medicham. She realizes she’s panting hard, heart racing and muscles tense.

“Take a rest,” Val commands, before her dark eyes slip past Nia. The riolu follows her gaze to see a steaming, out-of-breath Tobias and a cheery Azami walking over. The two sit down near them.

“How’s it going over here, ladies?”

Val nods. “Well. Nia learns quickly.”

Nia straightens up at the unexpected praise.

“Wish I could say the same for this one,” Azami teases, giving Tobias a playful nudge with her elbow. The charmander growls, looking like he wants to set the flowery Pokemon ablaze. “You’re pretty set in your ways, Spitfire!”

Tobias doesn’t answer, pointedly looking away.

Azami smiles at Nia. “So you’re getting the hang of aura, huh?”

Nia laughs. “U-Uh, sort of. Trying to figure out how to stretch out my aura right now. For aura reading? I think?”

“You’ll get it figured out in no time, I’m sure.” Azami turns her grin on Val. “You’ve got yourself a great teacher, after all!”

Val gives Azami a nod of thanks. “Having a riolu or lucario available for teaching would be ideal. Unfortunately, we must try to translate these abilities without one.”

“There aren’t any other riolu near here?” Nia asks, curious.

“Nope! You’re actually a pretty rare Pokemon to see around the Haven,” Azami says. “Riolu and lucario tend to stay in isolated packs, so we don’t usually run into any around here!”

Nia isn’t sure how to feel about that.

Val and Azami call an official stop for a snack break, so the four of them munch on the berries that Nia and Toby had picked up in the morning before arriving. As usual, the charmander doesn’t answer Nia’s attempts at conversation, so she takes to chatting with Azami about the other guild members practicing nearby.

There’s a tiny brown fox pokemon dodging bursts of water from her partner, a wooper, and a lone purple monkey-like Pokemon…juggling? With its feet and tail, nimbly cartwheeling around while managing to keep the berries it’s using in the air. Maybe some sort of agility or dexterity training? Or maybe he just really likes juggling.

The loud crack of splintering wood garners their attention, and they all turn to watch as a lime green gecko with a leaf for a tail strikes at one of the training dummies that Tobias apparently has a reputation for destroying. The gecko pauses, stance wide, and holds his hands close together, almost like he’s holding an invisible ball. A moment later a bright green energy starts to build in the gap.

“Soren’s finally starting to get the hang of energy ball,” Azami explains, fondly. “Knew he had it in him! He’s going to kick tail once he gets it under control.”

Right on cue, the energy swirling in the lizard’s hands seems to come unraveled, dissipating in a flash of green. The Pokemon—Soren—slumps in clear frustration. Azami sighs. “Poor kid’s been working on that for weeks now. He can call up the energy, but can’t seem to get it to keep its form afterwards.”

Val calm, half-lidded eyes lift with interest. “He learned to form the energy in his hand first, yes?”

Azami sits up at Val’s attention. “Uh, yeah. He can use a grassy force palm, more or less. But that’s it for now.”

Val sets her meal aside and turns her whole body to Nia. The riolu would say she almost looks eager, at least in her own stoic way. Nia puts her own berry aside, curious.

“Perhaps we are starting too ambitious. With your aura,” Val says. “Pool your aura into your paw.”

Nia swallows, nervous as she closes her eyes and finds her aura. It’s still strange and takes a few moments, but she thinks it’s getting easier the more she does it. After finding that blue flame, she once again sends it towards her hand, feeling it move slow as honey into her fingertips. She peeks open her eyes, pleased to see the now-familiar blue glow. But what now?

Val reaches out her own hand, slow enough for Nia to track what she’s doing, and then touches the riolu’s palm. Nia bites back a gasp and squeezes her eyes shut, suddenly understanding what Val’s plan is. Nia’s aura is right there, under the skin of her hand, and when she touches Val—

She can see her.

Not in the normal way, not by sight, but she can see the medicham’s…energy? Val’s is bright orange, flickering faintly throughout the shape of her entire body, not nearly as concentrated as Nia’s aura is. It’s just a stable sort of life, a pulse thrumming under the other Pokemon’s skin. Nia turns her attention to the orange color, and somehow feels like she can read what this aura represents, like she can read the very DNA of what makes Val who she is, how her soul is shaped.

She’s orange, but not orange like a mournful, bleeding sunset or the soft, hopeful orange of a flower’s petals. Instead, she is the orange of a bright, ripe, tropical fruit. Nia thinks of the sharp, sweet tang of biting into an orange, the powerful warmth of a summer sun, its confidence and sharp, stern solidity, with a soft, sweet undertone. She understands, but she doesn’t know how she does.

Val’s hand yanks away, and Nia collapses forward, suddenly all too aware of how she’s wheezing for breath and her heart is pounding in her chest, her fingers shaking as they clutch at the ground. Her aura rebounds sharply back into her chest. She takes a few moments to gasp for breath before looking up at Val. The medicham stares back, and for a moment Nia’s terrified that she did something wrong, that she went too far somehow and betrayed the trust that Val had so kindly entrusted her with. She doesn’t know what she’s doing, how could she have stopped it—

But then the medicham just leans closer, reaching out a tentative hand as if she wants to place it on her back, and asks, “Are you all right?”

Oh. Nia hasn’t seen the medicham concerned before. At least, she thinks that’s what it is. She nods, trying to reign in her trembling and her roaring pulse. She glances past Val, seeing Azami watching with her own worried expression. Tobias stares at her with something uncertain and closed off, like he doesn’t know how to react to all of this. Nia almost laughs, because that’s been her reaction to her entire life the past week.

“I-I’m…I’m fine?” Nia rasps, more question than assurance. She looks back to Val. “I saw you. I saw your aura.”

Val leans back, intrigue starting to edge out the quiet concern. “Explain.”

Nia slowly manages to sit back up, feeling herself stabilize a bit. She feels sore, and exhausted, but it doesn’t feel like she’s on the verge of shaking apart anymore. “You’re, um. Orange?”

“What does that mean?” Tobias asks, almost aggressively.

Val doesn’t answer, giving Nia an encouraging nod, so the riolu does her best to recall the sensation of Val’s soul. How does she even describe something like that in words? She’s still not even sure how to logically understand it herself.

“I…don’t know. I don’t know how to describe it. It was just like…I could see what kind of person she is?”

“Not too terrible, I hope,” Val says.

It takes a beat for Nia to realize the stoic Pokemon is joking, and she laughs, maybe a bit hysterical. “N-No, not at all! You felt, um…like, stern and strong, but warm.” And a little sweet, she adds silently, already embarrassed. It sounds so dumb when she says it aloud. She should have suspected the medicham has a sweet side—she offered to take on their team, after all, and that’s a heck of a tall order.

“Sounds dumb,” Tobias snorts. “What’s the point of being able to read aura? You could just talk to someone and know the same things about ‘em.”

Val hums. “Sensing a Pokemon’s true character could be invaluable among strangers and potential enemies. It appears you will have to use physical contact for now. But it could be a very useful ability as your aura powers grow stronger.”

“Oh! Yeah!” Azami cuts in. “And aura can be used for battles too.”

Val nods. “And for sensing emotions.”

Nia perks up at that. “Y-You seemed to think I would be able to sense emotions right away. But I don’t think I did?”

Val shakes her head. “I believe you must look at the aura differently, for that. I am not quite sure how, unfortunately.”

There’s a beat of quiet, save for Tobias going back to munching on his food and the ambient sounds of Pokemon practicing their moves around them.

“Could I try again?” Nia asks. A subtle frown pulls at Val’s face, so she hurries to add, “I’m okay! Really!” Was the medicham actually worried or just annoyed? It’s so hard to read her.

A beat more of hesitation, then Val gestures at Nia’s abandoned berry. “Eat first. We will try again. I have an exercise in mind.”

Nia nods and eagerly returns to her meal. She’s nothing if not curious, and this aura reading ability is unlike anything she’s ever experienced. She thinks so, at least. It certainly doesn’t compare to anything she remembers about her human life. Maybe some crazy technology stuff, but nothing she could do.

When they all finish their food, Azami drags a reluctant Tobias back to where they were training before. Val and Nia face each other again, and the medicham holds out her hand. “I have an idea. I will think of different memories, and you can watch my aura. See if it changes with my emotions.”

Nia nods, takes the other Pokemon’s hand, and closes her eyes to let her aura pool down into her paw. As soon as it gathers into her fingers and reaches Val’s skin, the medicham’s body lights up into a silhouette of bright orange behind her eyelids.

“Ready,” Nia says.

“Go. We must be quick so your power doesn’t drain.”

Nia frowns and focuses on the faint orange aura swirling through the medicham, and the longer she looks, the more her eye is drawn to the medicham’s chest, where the energy is brightest. Oh. Oh, of course. Just like Nia’s aura sits in her chest like a heartbeat, so does Val’s. It’s a tiny flame, like hers, but also strangely liquid. As she watches it, the aura shivers and slows, dimming, and a piece of emotion that Nia has no reason to feel sinks into her own chest.

Sadness. Melancholy, maybe. Something heavy and suffocating. Nia’s breath catches. That isn’t her. That’s not her sadness. She’s feeling it, but it doesn’t feel quite right, isn’t coming from her. It’s alien, foreign, like a mildly ill-fitting sweater borrowed from a friend, or an unfamiliar car she doesn’t know how to use by muscle memory. Something muted that she’s experiencing only through a window, not directly.

Before she can say anything, Val’s energy shifts again, spiking out fast and sharp. Nia almost winces at the feeling prickling at her own energy. Anger. Annoyance? Something along those lines, for sure.

Again, the energy morphs, calming itself into something steady, but flaring brighter, something almost playful in the way it flickers and shakes. A warm happiness washes over Nia, and a breathless giggle slips past her lips. The next moment, the aura sours and pulls itself tight, shuddering and recoiling (fear?), and Val’s hand is ripped away again.

Nia falls forward, barely catching herself on her hands before faceplanting into the ground. Oh, ow, her aura rebounds back into her chest with a snap, and those borrowed emotions evaporate like mist, leaving her with harsh, heaving breaths and a bit of nausea. Why do her muscles hurt?

This time, Val’s hand does find her back, resting there as a comforting, anchoring warmth. Nia remembers the short blip of fear she’d felt (was that for her well-being?) and lifts a shaky hand to give the medicham a thumbs-up while she catches her breath. She worries that she’s going to throw up (she hates throwing up), but after breathing for a minute or so, she feels better. Still exhausted, but at least able to sit up.

“You are okay?” Val asks, meeting her eyes.

Nia laughs. “Yeah! Yeah, I am. I...I think it worked?”

Val finally sits back, relaxing. “Tell me.”

The riolu nods, eager to explain but opening her mouth only to lose her words. How…how does she explain what she just felt? What she experienced? She can’t explain how she understood the aura, felt those emotions herself even. Somehow, she just knew. It’s like knowing how to breathe, like babies knowing laughter without understanding the idea of joy. The waves of aura spoke to her in a way she intuitively knew how to understand.

It’s incredible.

Val must pick up on her issue, because she nods. “I understand. I cannot explain my powers well, either. What emotions did you feel?”

Nia feels her ears flick back as a shyness overcomes her. It still feels so personal to talk about someone else’s aura, all of their deeply held feelings. Even more so with Val, who is always so controlled on the outside. “Uh. I think first you were…sad? And then angry. Or annoyed, maybe? Then you were happy!” Nia hesitates, and then adds, “Right before you pulled away you felt kind of…afraid? I think.”

Val nods her confirmation, and Nia feels a burst of pride. “Correct, mostly. Frustration, not anger. But practicing will better your accuracy and precision.”

Nia can’t help a happy little wiggle at her success. This is so cool!

“Reading different auras will improve your ability. Remember to ask before practicing on someone else,” Val says. “Unless they are an enemy.”

Nia nods, happiness dying away into something more serious. “Of course!”

“Did I hear a success over there?” Azami calls. Tobias is flat on his back and surrounded by scorch marks. He’s glaring up at the ceiling. Yikes, that must not be going well.

“Y-Yeah!” Nia calls back.

The tsareena walks over to them, Tobias rolling his head to watch with narrowed eyes but not rising to follow. “Would you like to try it on me?” Azami asks. “If you aren’t too worn out.”

Nia perks up, but catches Val shaking her head out of the corner of her eye. “No. No more for today. Riolu almost passed out earlier.”

Azami meets Nia’s crestfallen look with a smile. “Cheer up! We can always try it next time.” She turns to head back over to Tobias, calling a cheery “Good job, by the way!” over her shoulder.

“So you are aware,” Val says, catching Nia’s attention again. “It is obvious when you use your aura powers. Others will be able to tell, physical contact aside.”

Nia blinks. “Oh. Could you, uh, feel it?”

Val shakes her head and points to the tear-drop shaped things on either side of Nia’s head. “Your body glows with your aura, and those lift. I believe they aid in channeling and controlling aura.”

“They do?” Nia feels them, curious. Huh. She’d been wondering for days what they were for.

“With practice you should be able to hide such obvious visual tells,” Val adds, thoughtfully. “Eventually.”

Val climbs to her feet and Nia tries to do the same, only to fall back to her knees as her head suddenly spins.

“Rest for the remainder of the day,” Val says, voice distant to Nia’s ringing ears. “You are not used to the strain of aura.”

“But...” Nia glances over at Tobias, now back to slashing wildly at Azami, who neatly dodges each strike. It feels unfair for her to go back to their room and rest while he still has to train, even if she is upset with him.

“Go rest. If you must do something, practice meditating. Or read about moves. Magnolia has told me of your love of books.”

Nia sighs and nods. She has a few questions for the meganium, anyways. “Got it.”

As she carefully rises to her feet, making sure she’s steady enough to walk, the medicham nods approvingly. “Good job today.”

Nia beams as if the medicham had written her a glowing review. “Thank you! I’ll see you later!”

The medicham goes to help Azami with Tobias, and Nia slowly makes her way out of the training area. The stairs are going to be killer. Sure enough, it has to be nearly twenty minutes later that Nia finally makes it to the medical floor. She passes by Fen’s office, glancing in.

The leafy Pokemon is hard at work at her desk—wait, no. Their desk, Nia corrects. Tobias had snapped at her once already for messing that up. Fen has always been such a warm, inviting face when Nia says hi to them in passing, and for a heartbeat, Nia itches to interrupt and ask if she can use her newfound powers to see the leafeon’s aura, to see what color it is. But that would probably be rude on a number of levels, and Fen definitely wouldn’t like Nia potentially throwing up or passing out from the strain. Still, she’s curious. She bets their aura is a comforting pink, or maybe a chocolate brown, like their eyes. Can auras be brown?

Nia shakes off the urge and moves on quietly, making her way back to Maggie’s room. The meganium looks like she only recently returned from gathering herbs, intently sorting through fresh plants on her desk.

Nia hesitates at the doorway. “Hi, Maggie.”

“Hm?” The meganium seems distracted, but then lights up at the sight of Nia. “Hello, dear! Back from training?”

The riolu smiles. “Y-Yeah. Sorry for bothering you.”

“Oh, hush, you’re doing nothing of the sort. Come over here, tell me how training went. You look exhausted. Is Tobias not with you?”

“N-No. Val sent me back early. We did a lot of aura training today and it wiped me out. I-I can see people’s auras now, though! And read their emotions. Kinda.”

Maggie smiles and pulls her vines away from her work to tug Nia against her side in a hug. “That’s fantastic, dear! Would you like to show me? Or are you too tired?”

Nia’s exhausted, and she knows that Val would shoot her a disapproving look for even thinking about trying out her aura powers again so soon, but there’s no way she can turn Maggie’s enthusiasm down! Or her own curiosity, for that matter. “S-Sure! Uh. Give me a sec.”

Nia closes her eyes and puts her hand on Maggie’s leg before reaching for her aura, for that ball of energy in her chest. Despite it getting easier to find, to call to her, she immediately feels the strain put onto her body. She hurries to send her energy down to her palm, letting it reach out to brush against Maggie.

The meganium’s silhouette bursts to life behind her eyelids. Her color is a lively purple, like fresh lavender. It’s beautiful, soft and vibrant and organic. It brings to mind the comfort, the peace and protection, of lying down in a field of flowers on a warm summer day, where nothing bad can happen.

When Nia brushes her aura closer to find Maggie’s emotions, ignoring the distant screaming of her muscles, her connection almost snaps back in surprise. There’s a bit of that same fear that she’d seen in Val, right before she pulled her hand away (worry?), but more than that...Maggie’s aura is almost overwhelming in its warmth, in the genuine affection that settles over Nia like a soft blanket straight out of the dryer. It’s like a wave of fondness, a protective and nurturing feeling.

And in this context, with Maggie focused entirely on her, there’s no one else the meganium could be directing it at. This love is for her. To say that Nia is unprepared for it is an understatement, considering Maggie has only known her for a week.

Nia’s aura finally rebounds, and she falls back to reality as her legs buckle underneath her. Blinking away bright blue and purple after-images, Nia notes that she’s breathing hard again, and that the nausea is back to churning in her stomach (Oh God, not listening to Val was a bad idea). Maggie is fretting over her, near-frantic, vines hovering at the edge of Nia’s vision like the meganium is afraid that somehow she did this, that she’ll hurt the riolu with her touch.

Shoving down her nausea, Nia looks up at the meganium, meeting wide, worried eyes with something like awe. Her throat chokes up. Tears blur her vision not due to the pain, but at the familiarity of the older Pokemon’s warm aura. It reminds her of her mother.

“Nia? Please dear, tell me what’s wrong. Did you hurt yourself? Should I get Fen? Val?”

The riolu laughs, still catching her breath, her voice watery with tears. “N-No, I’m fine. It’s just...”

Some of Maggie’s panic dies out when Nia speaks, and she hesitantly pets Nia’s head with a vine, patiently waiting for her to catch her breath.

“Y-You’re so full of love,” Nia chokes out, recognizing how corny the words sound.” You just...you already care about me. Like, actually care. It caught me off guard.”

Maggie looks surprised, but then her honey-gold eyes soften. “Of course, dear. Don’t ever doubt that.”

Nia has no words, so she just laughs through her tears and hugs the meganium, burying her face in Maggie’s leg. Maggie soothingly strokes her fur with a vine.

“Your aura’s p-purple, by the way,” Nia says, words muffled. “It’s really pretty.”

Maggie laughs. “Well, that’s good to know! Too bad I can’t show it off. It sounds like a lovely color.”

Nia giggles too, feeling an overwhelming burst of happiness and fondness for the meganium. The two stay like that for a while, Nia’s harsh breathing calming down only to be replaced by sore muscles and a pounding headache. She’s never ignoring Val’s advice again.

Nia eventually manages to pull herself away, wiping at her eyes. “S-Sorry for crying all over you. Did you get a good haul today?”

“Don’t apologize for feeling, dear.” Maggie, seeing that Nia has recovered, goes back to sorting her plants. “I found most of what I need, yes, but I do miss Tobias’ help. My eyes are not what they used to be. I would hire a new hand to assist me, but I don’t want Tobias to get upset and feel like I’m replacing him.”

Nia, sitting on the ground and leaning back against the desk, sighs at the mention of the charmander. God, what is she going to do with him? They’ve only been partners for a few days, so maybe he just needs more time to open up, but…Nia’s not sure if she can manage to wait that long. She doesn’t have as thick of skin as she thought she did.

“How is everything going with him?” Maggie asks, voice carefully neutral.

For a heartbeat, Nia considers lying. Then, she rasps, “Honestly? Not great.”

“Mm. I was afraid so. Would you like to talk about it?”

“...Aren’t you busy?”

“I can talk and sort at the same time,” Maggie says.

Nia huffs a quiet laugh. There’s a few moments of silence, and then Nia groans, pressing her palms into her eyes. Her head is pounding. “He’s just...I think he hates me.”

“He doesn’t,” Maggie says, sounding sympathetic. “That’s just...how he is.”

“But that’s not fair! He shouldn’t treat people like that!” Nia says, a little sharper than she means to. Maggie is clearly taken aback by the outburst.

“Sorry,” Nia says, quieter, pulling her knees up to herself.

“It’s fine, dear,” Maggie says after a moment. “You just surprised me, is all.” There’s a moment of quiet, and then Maggie sighs. “Tobias has been...withdrawn since the day I met him. I can’t say how he was before he was found in the mountains. He wouldn’t talk much, initially, and I didn’t push him. He’s always been distant. Distrustful.”

“That’s understandable, if he went through something traumatic,” Nia murmurs. “But...”

Maggie looks sad, eyes distant and dark. “I know. I thought he would open up as time went on. Learn to trust again. Become less bitter. When I brought him back to the guild, he made...far from the best impression. Understandably, the other children did not much like the new Pokémon who was either curled up in bed crying or snapping at them for no reason. He picked fights constantly, and it didn’t help that many of them were weak to his fire. So the others ignored him and sniped at him in return. It turned into a vicious cycle, and now the poor boy’s made enemies of most of the guild. At least those his own age.”

Nia frowns, looking at her feet. Tobias’ horrible attitude is starting to make a lot more sense, but that still doesn’t make it right. But how is Nia supposed to say that to the Pokémon who has pretty much raised Tobias for years? She’d feel horrible. Plus it’s not like she would’ve known what to do instead.

“I’ve just tried to treat him with as much love as I can. I see him as my own son, and I just hope that one day he will soften up, grow from his past and make amends. I just want him to be happy.” Maggie turns to Nia with a soft smile, and Nia’s gut turns over. “That’s why I was so glad to hear that you were willing to give him a chance. He needs someone understanding like you to help him. Someone kind and patient.”

Nia nods, avoiding the meganium’s eyes and hugging herself uncomfortably. Maybe he does, but...she’s starting to wonder how kind and patient she actually is.

“However, that does not mean I wish for you to sacrifice your own feelings. If you need to disband your team with Tobias, I understand. Put your own well-being first.”

Nia sighs, feeling more mucked up than she had when this conversation started. She thought talking with the older Pokémon would make her feel more at ease, not less. The headache isn’t helping, she’s sure. “Right. Thanks, Maggie.”

“Of course, dear. Why don’t you get some sleep? You have a lot to think on and you must be exhausted.”

Nia mumbles an agreement and gets up to go into her and Tobias’ shared alcove. She plops her aching body down into her nest and looks over at her stack of books, thinking about reading to escape her thoughts. Instead, her newly-dyed attack scarf catches her eye. It’s bright red, like Tobias’ own. She still hasn’t worn it, not quite sure how to make it work with the thick collar of fluff around her neck. She scoops it up with a paw, feeling the soft material between her fingers and looking at it thoughtfully in the dying evening light.

She wants to make this work. She really does. She just doesn’t know if she can.

#pokemon mystery dungeon #pmd #pokemon #riolu #pmd seekers of soul #tesha draws #tesha writes

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umbry2000 · 3 years

Text

It's the last day of ace week (this was supposed to come out on day 2 ahaha) so I thought I'd expand more on my ace Colette HC. Slightly long post (cough), and it basically devolved into talking about Colloyd by the second half...

My post on my ace (and aroace) headcanons can be found here. (In truth there are like more, I didn't even include my anime ones, but then that list would be way too long as well.)

In this essay I will -

Haha no, this isn't an essay, just me covering a few things that have been floating around in my head for quite a long time. Mainly Colette's experiences growing up, her difficulty in coming to terms with herself post-canon and how it affects her relationship with Lloyd, and how her aceness intersects with her role as Chosen and her position in the Church of Martel. I have a lot of thoughts but I'm bad at organising and a lot of points overlap so warning for the mess (TM). The tense is definitely all over the place, so sorry about that. (There’s probably some overlap with my demiro HC for her, it’s a bit hard to separate sometimes for me since you just get the package deal of no attraction to anything.)

This will also contain some of my thoughts on what the Church of Martel could be like, so it delves into some religious territory.

Colette as ace in canon would mean she occupies a rather unique position. She's the Chosen, so presumably she'd have to embody all of the Church's qualities and follow all the rules set down in the scripture far more strictly than anyone else, since she has to be "the perfect vessel". And considering most religions have a tendency to view virginity as purity, she was probably strictly warned off doing any sort of "fooling around"...

A side note: I personally don't think Mithos wrote any of these particular rules in, because I don't think he considered any of this at all. My personal HC for him is greyrose, greyromantic greysexual, and romance-indifferent. I really like to think of him as a person who valued friends and family a lot, and didn't get the point of romance, because his "crushes" were both infrequent and so short-lived that it didn't matter much to him - he had no desire to pursue them. So these issues probably didn't cross his mind at all when writing up the sacred text for the Church. I think someone else added it in sometime in the 4000 years that passed, slowly changing the meaning of the text.

If I base the Church of Martel off real-life religions, the scriptures would likely have stuff about how sex before marriage is a sin, how marriages must be consummated to be legitimate, etc... (Consummation laws are still a thing today... Though it's been voided in most places. Not where I live, though :/) Colette would have memorised all of this, because she was supposed to know the entire text back to front. And it would be hard not to memorise it when she's made to read it almost daily.

She might have wondered, when she was younger, why "not having sex" is considered a challenge as the priests seemed to imply it was as they warned her not to, or why the marriage laws seemed to imply that sex was necessary in marriage and it was the duty of both sides to provide it to the other. Because the idea just never really came up for her, and she's never wanted to. But she just shrugged and brushed it off as slightly weird. Maybe she even thought that the act of sex was something people just started doing once they became adults, that no one actually wanted to do it and just did it because they were supposed to. Therefore she didn't have to worry about any of this because she would never become an adult (something that she might have subconsciously been relieved about). She thought that everyone else was like her, because there was no evidence to think otherwise at this time.

Then she gets a little older. And realises that, no, everyone else is not like her. In fact, she's the only one like this. The only one who doesn't express any interest in sex, who doesn't want to take part in the gossip taking place in whispers around class. This was something all of her classmates were far more interested in, obssessed with, even. She's the odd one out. What she thought was normal was actually abnormal.

And she would start scrambling. For any reason to explain why she was different. Some way to reject the idea that this was innate to her instead of something caused by external factors, because then there would be no way to fix whatever had gone wrong.

I think it's possible Colette connects her asexuality to her religion. It's only logical, right? She's had no interest in anyone before this because she was always told not to by the priests, because she was Chosen. Maybe if she wasn't Chosen, she wouldn't be like this. That's not how attraction works, but no one ever explained that to her.

Maybe, on the surface, she considers it a good thing. She can be a better Chosen this way, facing less temptation to stray off her path. She can protect the world better like this.

But under all that, she might start resenting this part of herself, even if she isn't aware of it. Because all Colette has ever wanted is to be like her peers, and this is just another thing marking her as different.

And she expects none of it to matter, once she's dead. But she doesn't die, because she is saved, so she has to contend with everything she's internalised and never said over the years, because she never thought it was safe to tell anyone.

In the years after she returns from her journey, her life gets a lot happier. She's free, now, in a way she has never been before. To make any choice she wants, in a way that's completely new to her, and is very daunting.

And as a Colloyd lover I obviously have to say she gets into a relationship with Lloyd :3

But she still doesn't tell a soul about how she feels, not even Lloyd. No one has ever told her that it was alright to feel this way, that there were others like her, that she's not broken. In fact, all the world has ever told her, directly and indirectly, is that it's wrong to feel this way, because everyone under the sun should desire someone.

She's happy with Lloyd (they love each other lots and they always have and always will), but at the same time feels incredibly guilty all the time. She might have hoped, at the start of their relationship, that this might change something inside of her, fix her somehow. But it didn't. And she had to throw out the "waiting till marriage" card pretty early on, because she's certain no one would love her or stay with her if they knew the truth, but she doesn’t want to put herself through the deed. And she wouldn't blame them, because she's not worthy of love. Yet she's not willing to let the happiest days she's ever known slip away, even if she feels horrible. It's a thought that's always at the back of her mind, forcefully pushed down during the day but re-emerging on nights when all is quiet and she lies in bed, unable to fall asleep as she listens to Lloyd's steady breathing. On those nights, the dread she keeps so carefully kept away overruns her, and she can only cry silently, drowning in everything with no one to keep her afloat.

And she only grows to hate this bit of herself even more, knowing that it was why she was letting Lloyd down, why she would never be good enough for anyone, but especially for him, who she loved so much but couldn’t love in the right way. It would never be enough to make up for that which she couldn’t give. Why can’t she change, why can’t she get better? It should be so simple, and yet she can’t do it.

She knows she's only delaying the inevitable. She can't hide the truth forever, and neither does she think she can stand lying to him forever, because she’s already being crushed under all the guilt. But she also can't help but hope that marriage will somehow fix everything, that maybe she can't stomach the thought of sex because being Chosen has just irreparably damaged her to the point that she can't contemplate premarital sex without an immense amount of guilt. She knows what she feels isn't guilt, it's just repulsion, and that she has never desired him in the way she should, but this is her final hope.

To add to things, she probably has a very complicated relationship with religion. She might have felt the need to throw away everything that was linked to being Chosen, because to her that's the simplest way to distance herself from the life she's left behind and has no desire to return to. Yet there are parts of that old life she may miss. I do honestly think Colette enjoys the sense of unity from being in the Church of Martel, and might even enjoy faith, just doesn't enjoy being Chosen and having to follow so many rules and restrictions to a tee when most everyone else in the Church doesn't - that, and the painful memories entangled with everything the Church is and represents, which would take time to separate. Throwing everything away is the easiest thing to do, but it would make her grieve, even if she tries to deny otherwise. She hasn't yet understood that the entire point of being free is that one gets to choose. What parts of that life to keep, what parts to shelve away. If she likes only certain aspects of something, there's nothing stopping her from choosing to experience only those few aspects. But as I've said previously, choices don't come easily to someone who's never been allowed to choose.

And as she still thinks her aceness is linked to religion, she might distance herself from it in the hopes that it might make things better. It doesn't, of course, because nothing could change who she is. She is only making herself miserable by refusing to tell anyone and letting frustration build over the futileness of it all, but courage does not come easily to someone deathly afraid of rejection.

Things come to a head once Lloyd proposes, and instead of getting a yes or a no, faces a petrified Colette who only gets paler by the second. She's realising, all at once, that there really is no changing this part of her. Nothing has worked so far, and she has to concede that likely nothing will - she's simply shattered beyond repair. And she can't lie to him anymore. It wouldn't be fair to either of them. She can't be a good wife, because she can't give him what's supposed to be a given in marriage (hammered into her head since young, but even then, she knows people would expect certain things even outside of religious reasons), what she promised him. And if she kept quiet and went along with it, he would be hurting her, even if it was never his fault to begin with, and he could always tell when she was hurting, the kind, kind soul that he was. She didn't want to put him through that.

She should have told the truth years ago and spared them the pain of separation after years of linking their hearts together, for rejection would leave a far smaller scar than ripping apart the flower of love they'd tenderly cultivated together. There was no other outcome she could envision. All the mornings, when she'd wake him up with a cup of coffee, the lazy afternoons where she'd lie in his embrace, the two of them on the grassy hill, the evenings where they would eat dinner together, lit by gentle candlelight. She would lose everything, but this was all her fault for playing this game of deception for so long, so it was a pain she would bear, for she was not willing to hurt him.

Yeah, no, obviously Lloyd doesn't leave her. It's a long conversation they have, one that involves a lot of painful confessing from Colette and tears from both sides, probably. They both acknowledge that now is not the right time to get married - and not any time soon, they have a lot to work through first. Lloyd makes it very clear that he didn’t get into this relationship expecting anything from her, and that was never going to change. But she should have told the truth earlier. He understands why she didn’t, but still, he would have wanted to help her, to do something about the unknowing amount of pressure he was putting on her, even if it was never his intention to do so. And Colette can do nothing but tearfully apologise for lying, because she knows that even if he's forgiven her, or rather had never thought that she'd done anything wrong in the first place, that she had misled him. And to her, that would never have been the right thing to do.

But it's communication, and that's a start. And they don't need to start from scratch or anything - just anew, with a better understanding of each other. And they can help each other along the way :) Lloyd helping Colette to accept that this is her, and that there was no changing that, and there’s nothing wrong with who she was. Even if this person she is now is because she used to be Chosen, was influenced by that time, there’s nothing wrong with that. That person is who he loves, and he wouldn’t change that for the world, and he hoped she could love herself too, someday. And Colette can of course help Lloyd better understand her boundaries, what is okay and what isn’t. They can experiment in a safe manner now that the air has been cleared. (The exploration and setting of physical boundaries plus physical intimacy was something else I wanted to cover, but this post is already way too long lol.)

Also, I like to think that when they do get married some more years in the future, they don't do it under the Church of Martel. I think by that time it's probably a more common thing to do, and Colette doesn't want the pressure of the laws governing marriage from the Church, even if she has started reclaiming small parts of her religion by this point (the distinction that she is herself even outside of her religion helps). It just doesn’t sit right with her. Lloyd is more than happy to go along with what she wants. Hm, maybe they get married under dwarven tradition instead? Sounds fun! I have no concrete ideas on what that entails other than a bunch of incomprehensible ideas about rivers.

Ok, I think I’ll stop here. I originally wanted to cover QPRs (both Colette and Lloyd as well as Colette and Zelos, I am a big sucker for both :D), but I’ll leave it to some other day.

I do want to cover most of these in fic? But it's all so complicated and multi-layered that I have no idea how to go about it at the moment. I also have no time :( One day maybe.

This was originally supposed to be done by Tuesday but as you can see it's Sunday now. Whoops. Hope this made sense lmao and didn't devolve into an incomprehensible mess.

#ace week #hi welcome to my colette essay #i did not mean for this to get so long #but i finally finished it!#i don't dare tag this though #haha...#umbry says stuff

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chaseatinydream · 3 years

Text

pirate king (12) || atz

The two of you stop outside a dark, smoky cabin.

It’s dark now, the sun having sunk behind the waves a while ago, the moon taking its place in the sky. Shifting shadows are cast in the gloom of the shop, and the dead snakes hanging at the doorway really isn’t encouraging you to go in any further.

You turn to stare at Jongho dubiously.

“To be fair,” Jongho says as he looks over at the eerie, shoddy establishment with equally doubtful eyes. The rickety bamboo frame looks like it could collapse on itself any moment. “It didn’t look this creepy the last time I was here.”

You swallow uncomfortably. “Maybe we should go back-”

“There is no fear in stepping forward, only moving back…” A hiss comes from deep within the shack and you jump, hand clenching around Jongho’s wrist in a vice grip. A bead of cold sweat slides down your neck and you turn to the young battlemaster with a silent plea in your eyes.

He nudges you towards the entrance gently. “I’ll be with you. There’s no need to be scared.”

That does make you feel better about your chances of leaving the dingy building alive, but you still don’t feel very eager to step inside. With Jongho’s hand on your back, you step cautiously into the fortune teller’s booth.

The small space is dimly lit, the only light coming from the flickering stubs of candles on the rough wooden table at the very back. Even as short as you are, you have to stoop underneath many of the strange things hanging from the ceiling. You hear Jongho’s muffled cursing behind you as he bumps into everything and anything in his way, things that you’re lucky to have been small enough to avoid.

There’s a small hearth at the side, coals still glowing red from a recently put out fire. Dried herbs and animal parts lie scattered everywhere on the floor, and to your left you see a stack of wooden cages stacked upon each other, every one holding some sort of rodent or gigantic spider. You inhale nervously and the pungent smell of burnt hair and animal excrement fills your lungs.

But there is no sign of the fortune teller.

You glance nervously at Jongho, who’s dusting the cobwebs from his shoulders. “It seems like she isn’t here-”

“Customers...” You shriek in horror as you see a pile of rags that had definitely been unmoving just seconds before burst into life, wheeling backwards as hysteria washes over you for a moment. Then Jongho catches you from the back firmly with strong arms, and calm washes gently over you once more. You catch your breath slowly.

“We’re here for a reading.” The young battlemaster’s voice is unwavering. You can’t quite make out her face underneath the tattered hood she’s wearing, but you can smell her breath all the way from across the table and see the light reflected in her near maniacal eyes. The fortune teller grins to reveal a mouth of yellowing teeth.

“Sit!” She demands, pointing dramatically a rickety seat in front of the table. You eye it doubtfully, unsure whether that can really hold your weight considering that it looks like it’s on the verge of collapse, but Jongho nods you forward.

Surprisingly, the seat doesn’t shatter under you.

“Fortune favours the fair.” The fortune teller leans across the table to take a closer look at you. You can count every single decaying tooth in her mouth, she’s much too close for comfort. Your skin crawls with goosebumps as you feel her eyes rake across your face.

“Don’t touch him.” Jongho snaps, his unyielding hand stopping the fortune teller in her tracks. She hisses at him, more animal than human, slinking back into her seat like a feline.

You clear your throat nervously, even though you’re honestly terrified at this point. You can feel phantom fingers brushing up your spine and neck and there’s an unsettling feeling in your stomach that feels like a coiling snake.

“You’re a fortune teller?”

“A magician, dearie.” The way she says it, so sickly sweet, sends a shiver down your spine. The room seems to drop in temperature. “It depends on what you want to know.”

“How much will a reading be?” Jongho cuts across her and the woman doesn’t look at him, eyes instead fixated on you. You don’t like it at all.

“You have a pretty face, my sweet.” The old hag croons, stroking your face with bony, coarse fingers. You resist the urge to scream out loud as ice creeps over in your veins. “I’ll give it to you free.”

Then a knife flashes out of nowhere.

This time, a scream does leave your lips, but then you realise that she’s only hacked off the end of your braid, leaving your hair tumbling around your face to above your shoulders in messy waves. Jongho’s hand clenches around the hilt of his cutlass. “One more time, magician, and the next thing getting cut is your neck.”

“You young ones are so skittish, like mice…” The wizened crone cackles as she hobbles to the fire, breaking a few twigs and setting them alight in a bowl. A strange, heady fragrance begins to fills the room, the air seeming to thicken as smoke spirals between you. You cough at the smell and spot the fortune teller sniffing your hair appreciatively.

You try your best to force down the bile in your throat.

With the same dagger she’d just used to cut your hair, she stabs an unfortunate rodent from a cage and you wince at its dying shriek. Its blood splatters across the table and seeps into the wood. You wonder exactly how many fortune and deaths it has seen.

The fortune teller then tears a sprig of dried plant from a bundle of herbs. Mistletoe, you recognise from your many lessons with San. She throws it over the fire and holds her hand out expectantly.

“Your finger.”

“She’s going to take my finger?” You whip around to stare at Jongho in horror, but by then the fortune teller has already grabbed your hand and yanked you forward.

To your relief, she simply pierces the tip of your index and squeezes three drops of your blood into the bowl. Then you hear San in your head lecturing you about the filth and dirt and grime and how you’re going to die from a thousand different illnesses and you shrink back into yourself, trying to clean the wound as well as possible as the fortune teller throws in a few strands of your hair, tucking the rest in her sleeves.

The fortune teller suddenly tosses everything in the bowl into the fire and to your shock, the flames turn bright green. You scramble backwards, nearly falling off your chair, but Jongho steadies you by the shoulders, hands warm against your freezing body.

“Watch.” He says seriously, and so you do.

The fortune teller leans over the fire, inhaling deeply for a long moment. When she speaks again, her voice is soft, disembodied, as if she is underwater.

“Oh nameless one…”

Your eyes fly wide with shock at her first words. How does she know that you have no name?

“Child of the sea… you’re missing something very, very important to you… The secret you keep will ruin the trust you have built...”

Goosebumps prickle on your skin. You thought this witch merely wove fortunes that people wanted to hear, but she seems like so much more than that. Her eyes slowly blink open to stare at you with wide, dark eyes.

“To pass the trial, one must cross into death and awaken in life.” The fortune teller shudders, her arms trembling from the effort of holding her trance. “The biggest obstacle to overcome is yourself… I see a jewel resting in a jar of clay… Clay!”

“Clay?” You repeat after her, puzzled, but then she lunges for you before either you or Jongho can react. Her bony hands grab for your collar in a vice grip, her eyes searching your face hungrily. A scream leaves your mouth as you try to pry her from you.

“Let go of him!” Jongho snarls, but the little shack is too small for him to reach around you to remove the fortune teller's hands. The old woman ignores him completely, fingers stroking at your cheeks and nose haphazardly.

“How beautiful you are.” She breathes almost reverently, completely ignoring your frantic struggling and fear creeps over your skin. “I never thought it was possible, that I would see one like you… One as perfect as you…”

What?

“What are you saying, you old hag?” Jongho snaps, trying to remove her from you, but her grip on you is surprisingly strong.

“Such a new creation, such a perfect work of art!” The fortune teller almost sobs, and at this point terror seizes you. “I can't believe I got to lay eyes on a vessel that has only existed for a moon!”

Your heart stops beating inside your chest.

Jongho stills besides you, deathly silent. “What did you say?”

“Who made you?” She begs you, shaking you back and forth. You simply stare at her blankly, unable to comprehend what she's saying. Made you? What did she mean, made you? As in your mother? The person who had given birth to you?

As if in answer, the necklace you wear around your neck slips out of your shirt, and everything stands still for a moment.

Maybe it’s because you’re so close to the fortune teller, but you see every expression that crosses her face. First curiosity, then recognition, then shock. Her eyes fly open, as if she’s just been struck by some sort of divine revelation and her pupils instantly dilate with raw fear, the black almost swallowing the brown of her irises.

The fortune teller shrieks and yanks her hands back from you as if she's been burned. “You're one of hers! Leave! Leave before she finds me!” You’re too shocked to move.

Hers?

“Let's go.” Jongho urges you, clearly as stunned by the encounter as you are but in control of his wits a million times more than you’ll ever be. But you fight your way back to the fortune teller, who's slumped in a pile of rags against the wall.

“Who is she? And what do you mean by 'who made me’?” Your voice cracks at the last question, torment ripping at you from the inside. What did she mean, made?

“Leave me be!” The woman screeches and Jongho claps his hands over his ears. The people walking past outside must think that there's a murder going on. “I have no wish to meet your mistress!”

Mistress?

Desperation snaps in you. You have no idea what she's talking about, but you need answers to the hundred questions spilling over in your mind.

“Answer me or I'll stay here till she comes for you!”

“You fool!” The woman wheezes, curling into a ball. “I am unworthy of looking upon her face, the one who you have made a deal with, the sea witch!”

Deal.

“What deal?” You snap, furious. The one clue you have to who you are, and she's unwilling to tell you what it is. You made a deal? A deal for what?

Sea witch.

Jongho clearly has had enough of this voodoo talk, because he pulls on your hand a little more insistently. “Come on, let's go.”

“How do I find her?” You shout at the fortune teller, as you're dragged out of the shop. “Tell me!”

The old crone meets your gaze one last time, her eyes crinkling with madness. “You don't find her. She finds you!” She cackles aloud, shaking her head and rocking back and forth like a woman possessed. The glint in her eyes has turned crazed, unhinged, completely off her rocker. On the other hand, her voice remains strong and steady.

“But I'll tell you one last thing, my love.”

You jerk forward, insistent on hearing whatever her last words are to you.

“You will never find what you so desperately seek as long as you live.”

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softkuna · 3 years

Text

Yuuji Itadori | Sukuna || Interest || Fic

Everyone always says that they would absolutely enjoy and accept Sukuna taking over Yuji in heated moments. But what if someone didn't? What if they pushed him away, wanting and waiting for Yuji to come back?

Content ║ Yuuji Itadori x Insert x Sukuna. The curse within startled, chin lifting from clawed fingers. The brat had an interesting question. For someone so idiotic, his emotional competency was a fascination. Had Sukuna been too blatant in his emotions? Had he let thoughts escape into the nether that was their shared mind space? He had protected his own realm with his domain… surely Yuuji couldn’t have snuck his way into it without Sukuna noticing. The inner dwellings of his mind had ceased as her crystalline voice graced ears that weren’t entirely his.

Count ║ 1,660 words.

Consider ║ Pole Dance. Part 2-ish of Dancer. Mention of sex work. Mentions of sexual assault (not explicit but as a topic). Fem insert. Third Person (she/her).

Creator ║ Aight let me express real quick that this inspired me to continue part of that dancer fic so if it’s a little confusing please. I’ve also decided that the dancer series will probably be disjointed stories revolving around the same insert. I won’t put in names and shell retain she/her and third person. Hope you don’t mind! Also, this fic in particular doesn’t wholly answer this ask, but spoiler it will come. I was just naturally going with the flow here. I really hope you don’t mind.

She stood off to the side of the pole, hand pressing to her mouth as Yuuji climbed the beast. It was quite impressive. He used pure arm and grip strength. It didn’t take him long to realize that he couldn’t get any leverage when it came to jeans. His hand gripped at the rafter connecting to the pole, humbly showing off as he did a single pull up before completely dropping to a crouch on the ground, “Did I do it?!” the puppy-like excitement teetering in his words was beautifully accompanied by the toothy grin.

“Ah, sure,” She pressed her lips to the side, swallowing back laughter as he pouted, face scrunching into some sort of a scowl, “What?”

“C’mon! What didn’t I do?”

“You really want to know?”

“Yes!”

With false exasperation, she whined, “Fine,” She approached the pole, both hands gripping the steel, “for one thing, you didn’t climb it pretty enough. Sure, you climbed it, but it’s got a different vibe.” Lean arms pulled her up in a seemingly effortless motion, core tightened to maintain her posture, legs together. Forearms braced the leverage on the pole, “Lifting like-whoo” she dropped back to the ground with an exhale, “that, is different from a climb like this,” Her right arm reached up so that the pole made one leg of an ‘x’ with her forearm, “Your fist should be just above your line of sight.” Her bare shin of the left leg made a similar ‘x’ with the pole, “Your opposite leg should be raised so it makes a 90 degree angle with your hips.”

Yuuji watched, enraptured by the instruction. She spoke so clearly and was so well versed in ~the ways of the pole~ that its general sexual context was nearly gone. Then again, she did say that it was more than just ‘erotic’. He watched as her right leg came so that the ankles compressed the pole between them, “Is this why strippers wear underwear?” It was a revelation! The light bulb went off!

She shot him with an incredulous bullet from her position. It was something like a squat, weight distributed between the leverage of her leg while her grip kept her from leaning back, “It’s not underwear, you neandrathal! It’s costume. Although some girls wear lingerie for their shows…” Her expression fell flat, “You know what, that’s not important right now.” Her hand lifted from the pole, waving off the debate topic for another time, “you wanna learn how to climb this or what?”

The pinkette nodded, taking a seat and criss-cross apple-saucing his legs. She continued, telling him the importance of a pointed toe. Much of it was more than he’d ever thought about before. It took a lot of skill and concentration. He even learned that there’s more than one division of pole dance: Exotic (the sexy shit), Flow (the spinny shit), and Strength (self explanatory shit). For competitions, there were levels. So much of it was so far above his head, he’d need to climb to even reach it.

As she continued, there was a languid fluidity to her limbs. Something that he only half took note of amidst the awkward staring during her first performance that he saw. He recalled an odd sense of déjà vu and the bizarre way in which Sukuna had acted. While they didn’t wholly share thoughts, the entanglement of their beings bled through from time to time. The King of Curse’s indifference often led to nothing, but when it came to her, he seemed to be ready for anything. It created an unease in the pit of Yuuji’s stomach.

“Hey…” His voice trailed, a hand coming to clasp the back of his neck, “You know I’m Sukuna’s Vessel, yeah?”

“Uh-huh, what about it?” She pulled her body close to the pole, right arm now by her chest, legs straight. Left arm now crossed the pole. Both legs swapped their previous position, creating an elegant illusion of ribbon unfurling. She continued to climb.

“Have you been around one of his fingers before?”

The curse within startled, chin lifting from clawed fingers. The brat had an interesting question. For someone so idiotic, his emotional competency was a fascination. Had Sukuna been too blatant in his emotions? Had he let thoughts escape into the nether that was their shared mind space? He had protected his own realm with his domain… surely Yuuji couldn’t have snuck his way into it without Sukuna noticing. The inner dwellings of his mind had ceased as her crystalline voice graced ears that weren’t entirely his.

“Don’t think so, why?” Muscles worked as she placed a hand under the coccyx of her tailbone, thumb pointed down. Her legs straightened horizontally to sit along the pole, as though it were nothing but a lounge chair.

Yuuji scratched his cheek, “I dunno. I get a feeling that he knows you. Or maybe I saw you walking down the street? Sometimes I feel that déjà vu feeling when I’m with you.” He didn’t bring up the awkward bodily response he got that surely wasn’t his own like the melancholic heart ache.

Sukuna was silent, awaiting a response. He knew he could speak for himself, but he felt no need to. This situation was new and he needed to acclimate to it. This vessel was experiencing him second hand. The swirl of memories and emotions this woman brought to the forefront of the now-curse’s contemplations leaked out to the vessel. A pot to hold ashes. Would she be able to feel the connection behind the ceramic?

The woman tipped so that she rest along the pole upside down, hair flowing with the weight of gravity pulling it down. A pink flush came to her cheeks as blood followed the same course, “Honestly, you reminded me of an ex.”

Sukuna’s eyes flickered open. Ex? Was that like the English letter Yuuji had to study? There were so many modern words he was unfamiliar with. He closed his eyes, focusing purely on her words, “The thing is, I didn’t date anyone,” there was a somber lick to the tone, “I saw you and felt… *something*. You know when you watch a movie and you know something bad is going to happen? Like that.”

Yuuji’s head tilted one direction before flipping to another. His expression was contemplative. For someone who seemed so filled with unbridled energy, it caught her off guard whenever he showed this side. It hadn’t been all that long since she joined Jujutsu Technical College, but her blossoming relationship with Yuuji came about as naturally as bees made honey. The kid was about as sweet as it, too.

Her attitude had been bitchy after the first full day. During work, she chat him up – was saccharine sweet. It was her go-to. Maybe I can get a buck out of him, she had thought. When she couldn’t and when they left, she caked herself in the mud that was her bitchy personality. She didn’t particularly enjoy being the way she was, but it was necessary protection. Despite this, Yuuji still dug through the dirt to get at her core.

“Hey, can you do that flagpole thing?”

“Yeah. It’s called a western flag.”

“Show me! Please. You know… if you have time.”

Men always made her cautious. She like the attention of it all, the lustful looks she’d get during a performance, the way men would try and literally buy her time when she play-flirted. She was a top performer both in talent and in business. People requested her, savored slots of solo shows. In her line of work, while she didn’t partake in the more lewd activities herself, it was still assumed that was her position, especially when they paid well.

“Sorry bucko. No private showings.”

“No no! Not like that. I really want to learn how to do that! I wanna see Megumi’s face when I show him that I did it first!”

Her brows scrunched up, lips pressing into a suspicious perch. If the guy were a dog, it didn’t entirely seem like he was barking up her tree that same disgusting way. His genuine interest was so whole heartedly pure.

“Fine.”

“Haha! Yes!”

After a moment of silence, Yuuji rose, placing his calloused hands along either side of her cheeks. His dashing smile riled up squeeze in her chest, gaze averting his. He pressed his forehead to hers, “I don’t want anything bad to happen to you,” His voice was soft, whispered almost, “His interest… I just want to be careful.” While she couldn’t see, she knew that his lips would be pressed into a line, eyes probably trained on a shoe scuff on the hardwood.

“Don’t worry. I have no interest in a murderer.”

Sukuna saw through Yuuji’s cheerfully slit gaze, the gorgeous expression of the woman he once knew. Proud. Independent. She always did throw caution to the wind, even when he would say her life was on the line. Even so, his chest ached. Not with sorrow or desire, but knowing those were the words she had said to him when she was brought to his shrine. Said in the same way, with the same disinterested glint in her eyes.

Bonus:

Yuuji’s lips connected with hers, gently pecking and barely touching. As he pulled back, the remnants of his prior expression melted into a smile, “Need to get down, Mary-Jane. I’m getting dizzy hanging like this.”

He barked a laugh, hand grasping the pole as he bent at a 90 degree so that his back exposed to her. She used her core strength to pull her legs away from the pole, minding her shoulder’s ability to rotate. As hand released their grasp, she landed on his back, legs wrapping around him. Yuuji came to a stand, his new-found partner wrapped at his shoulders and waist, “Does that mean you’re spiderman?”

“I shoot white stuff and get a spicy kiss? Hell yeah it does!”

Taglist:

@auroria @wasabito @juliansbby @missalexbaskerville @3rdgymbros

#⛩.fic #⛩#🍺.fic #🍺#sukuna #ryoumen sukuna #sukuna x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #itadori yuuji #yuuji #yuuji itadori #☄️.fic #☄️#jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #yuuji x reader

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actingwithportals · 3 years

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I have regained the will to live since losing my huge ass post I wrote up about my thoughts on Herrah, so here I am writing out a new one because dammit I love this spider so much and I have THINGS TO SAY ABOUT HER

So to begin, I think Herrah is first and foremost just,,,, the most loving mother. She absolutely adored Hornet and would do anything for her if it was within her power (and honestly she'd still give it a go even if it wasn't). Hornet was someone who meant more to Herrah than anyone, and in her later years much of what she did was motivated by her love for her daughter.

But she wasn't a perfect mother, and I think she knew that. She brought Hornet into the world knowing she was going to leave her someday, far too soon, and she would have known this would only serve to hurt Hornet. But she made the deal anyways, because Herrah could justify that it was for the ultimate good, and that Hornet existing at all was worth the price of future pain she would have to endure. And whether or not Herrah was wrong to do so,,, that's really up to Hornet.

I think Herrah and the Pale King would eventually come to be friends. I don't think the feelings regarding their dalliance were much beyond "this is business and we're both here to get what we want", but between having and raising Hornet, Herrah would probably come to respect PK more, and I think he would feel the same for her. There would always be that sort of teasing nature from Herrah towards him - a need to keep him on his toes a bit because Herrah knew well that she was always playing a dangerous game, attempting to gain equal footing with gods, but it was a game she enjoyed and really he was someone she could grow to care for, as the father of her child and as a respected friend.

Her feelings towards the White Lady were probably similar in that early on things were strictly business but overtime after getting to know each other better they would grow into a genuine friendship and respect. The White Lady was far older and wiser than herself and Herrah would treasure what she could learn from her, and the two probably did find pleasure in time spent together.

But both with WL and PK... there would always be something that Herrah could never truly look past, could never truly just.... pretend away. I don't think PK told the Dreamers at first (except for Monomon), but eventually I think he would clue them in on just what the vessels were, just what Hollow was. And that would strike a nerve with Herrah. Because she's a mother, and Hornet is her world, and the knowledge that PK and WL could take these actions towards their own children.... that would never sit well with Herrah. No matter how close the three would become, how much she would respect them as rulers and allies and even friends,,, she couldn't ever forget that they were killing their children. That they were sending them off to a horrible, eternal fate. And she was playing part in that.

It's an itch that would forever tug at the back of her mind, but ultimately she would look past it. Because she had to make the world safe for Hornet. Everything she had done was all for Hornet. And so she would go down complicit in this crime, just like PK. Just like WL.

As for Herrah as a queen, I think she was well-loved and extremely competent. She led the people of Deepnest well and in earlier days were formidable adversaries against Hallownest. Strength and power were things she held in high regard but they weren't the only things, and those who were weak by typical standards were still considered useful and valuable to the Deepnest society that Herrah hoped to sow. If one couldn't fight then they could weave. If they couldn't weave then they could hunt. If they couldn't hunt then they could care. And if they couldn't care then they could exist and those who did fight or weave or hunted or cared would help cultivate a world where those who could not would be able to exist. But one had to want to survive, one had to be willing to try. Honesty and earnest and determination were things Herrah valued greatly, and that showed in the way she ruled. And I think for the most part, her people respected and admired that of her.

But she wasn't perfect as a queen, either. She was hotheaded and quick to stab before negotiate. She didn't trust easily and her patience wasn't bountiful. She made mistakes and some of those mistakes cost lives that didn't have to be lost. Herrah wasn't born into power, she clawed her way up to it, and so she constantly had to learn along the way. But in spite of her mistakes and her shortcomings, Herrah always tried, and that was something others could respect.

I think she and the old Sire of Deepnest were close. I don't think they were in love, at least not in the traditional sense. I think Herrah loved him and he loved her, but it wasn't quite the same way that PK and WL loved each other, and it took a while for Herrah to realize that (long after he passed on, tbh). He was one of her dearest and most cherished friends, and she would have given him the world (and he to her). Losing him was one of the worst pains Herrah endured, and it would leave a permanent scar, but that didn't mean she Loved him, not like that. But that love was still valuable, still powerful and deep and real, and it wasn't something she would ever forget.

Herrah would have realized the difference in that love once she fell for Vespa. It was unexpected and exciting and for a while a "would they won't they" situation, and that almost added to the thrill, tbh. Herrah fell for Vespa first, in a startling realization of "oh I don't want to stab her I want to win her heart". They would eventually make their feelings known to each other (Herrah made the first move) and from there it would be pretty well known that the two of them were as good as wives. Of course nothing official ever took place, there were too many political hoops to jump through, other world shattering threats to face, the Hive wasn't even one to culturally have much acknowledgement of such unions, so they were married in word alone, and really that suited them well. It wasn't a secret, but it wasn't broadcasted news either, and they liked it that way.

Knowing she would be leaving Vespa behind too was yet another one of Herrah's deepest pains. But she knew she could go to Dream more easily with the knowledge that Vespa would be there to watch over Hornet, and likewise for Hornet to give life and hope to Vespa.

As for Midwife, I think Herrah and her always were and always would be the best of friends. They grew up together - hardly knew a time apart - and both supported each other in their many endeavors in seeking out a life for themselves and discovering who they wanted to be. As queen, Midwife was Herrah's closest and most trusted confidant, and she knew she could always depend on Midwife to be honest with her, even if that honesty hurt. And likewise, Herrah was always ready to offer Midwife the same.

I don't think Herrah had the easiest upbringing, and neither did Midwife. So having always had each other to depend on, even in their darkest moments, there was a bond between them that nothing could really match.

As for personality, I think Herrah is someone who loves fiercely, fights relentlessly, takes no shit but does no harm, fails spectacularly but always rises to try again, and never settles for seconds when she believes she can get what's first. Not just firsts for her, but for anyone who depends on her, whom she is responsible for. And that's part of what made her such a loved queen. I think Herrah is serious and stern and terrifying and fierce, but she's also thoughtful and considerate and fun and tells the worst dad jokes and has a weakness for puns and can't cook or swim wake up early for the life of her, she took years longer than most to learn to weave, math confounds her, and fire makes her skittish in any quantities larger than the candles gifted to her from Vespa.

She's so multi-faceted and I just. I just fucking love Herrah so much and I know that pretty much all of this is my own headcanoning but DAMMIT THAT'S WHAT WE ARE HERE FOR AIN'T IT.

Love Herrah. What a good spooder. 10/10 would live for her.

#hollow knight #hollow knight herrah #didn't proof read any of this cuz i'm so fucking tired so hopefully it's comprehensible #god the thing i originally wrote was so much longer too and i'm still so mad about losing all of that #but alas #here is my subpar infodump on herrah thoughts

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pagingdoctorbedlam · 3 years

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My final potion for @quirkyseastone ‘s “Brew a Love Potion” event is complete! Hope you’re ready for the fluffiest darn thing I’ve written for this fandom (and possibly ever).

Characters: Franky x Reader

Genre: Sci-Fi AU, Fluff

TW/CW: Mentions of loss/death

Inspiration: Kudos to “A Long Way to a Small Angry Planet” by Becky Chambers for inspiring this fic~

Word Count: 2.7k words

"Alright, we've successfully docked. Good job, crew." You sit up from the captain's chair and gaze out at the starport outside your window. It's been some time since you'd landed on one of the Sabaody Moons, but you've always found the view breathtaking. The moons are more tree than earth, and bubbles slowly float from the roots up toward the stars. While some of the moons are still hives of scum and villainy, others seem almost paradisiacal as beings from far-flung galaxies intermingled in the Sabaody ports.

Before you can get too far from the bridge, the intercom of the Thousand Sunny buzzes to life. It's Franky, the A.I. that runs your ship. "Hey Captain, can I nab a word with ya' before you go on shore leave?"

"Sure thing. Need me here, or down in the core room?"

"Core Room, if ya' don't mind. I've got a super new design to run by you." Though Franky works admirably as a ship A.I., he'd originally been coded to design ships, including the one he now ran, the 1000 Suns (colloquially the Thousand Sunny to you and your crew). Even though his focus is now centered on ship diagnostics and flight procedures, the A.I. still delights in crafting new machine schematics, and you have a rule that he needs your approval before he modifies the ship.

You wave off the rest of the bridge crew, and they're all too eager to touch solid ground again after months in space. You are too, but if Franky's waited this long to check on you, it's likely something for your ears only while the rest of the crew is offboard. You stride through the winding metal hallways that make up the ship's guts, flashing your clearance badge here and there until you are down in the deep bowels of the ship, close enough to the engines that you can hear the machinery thrumming as the ship went through cooldown procedures. It's familiar. You come down here more often than others would expect, enough that you've got a futon and blanket stashed nearby for nights you don't spend in your own cabin.

"Franky? Said you wanted to see me?" You call out as you entered the Core Room. The entire room is covered in segments of a giant computer, with retractable screens and limbs for interacting with others; all of this is Franky. In a way, you're standing in his brain, which is something you try not to think about too much. What catches your attention is that all the screens are down, a rarity when Franky has company.

"Sure do!" His voice echoes, but not from the speakers. "Got a surprise for you. Close your eyes a sec, alright Captain?"

"Franky..." You're sure no other ship A.I.s play games with their commanding officers, but then again, you've yet to meet an A.I. with half the personality Franky has. You close your eyes and cover them with your hands. "Alright, ready when you are."

You expect to hear wheels, a cart with some sort of prototype wheeling into the room. Instead there are footsteps, heavy and so in-sync that it borders on unnatural. Then a hand on your shoulder, warm and soft. Too curious to resist temptation, you open your eyes and peek through your fingers.

"Franky, is this...?"

"An android body? It sure is!" He spins you around and takes a step back so you can take in his full visage. He looks human for the most part, even if the muscles in his forearms are overemphasized and patches of metal poke out from his skin. Still, he has skin, the medical-grade sort often used for replacing lost flesh in humans, and hair that's sculpted into a bright blue pompadour. He must have borrowed clothes from someone in medical too, though he's only wearing a floral patterned shirt, sunglasses, and a speedo. You suppose he was too excited for the big reveal to finish getting dressed.

"You made this, Franky?"

"Yeah, alongside Dr. Chopper and the rest of the medical team, plus Usopp over in Engineering. Surprised none of 'em spilled the beans." He flexes to show off the musculature of his arms. "We'd talked about what happened to your last ship, and figured we should make me a back-up body in case I ever needed to leave the ship with you all. Not that I plan for anything to happen to the Sunny..."

"But better safe than sorry." You still miss Merry, your sweet A.I. lost with your previous ship. She and Franky would've gotten along well, you think. "It's a good plan, I approve."

"Excellent! Now I just need to take it for a spin, test it outside the ship. Seeing as we've docked for the time being..."

Ah. Now you see what he's getting it. Pretty sly, for an A.I. "As your Captain, I'll accompany you on your first excursion out on the spaceport, to make sure everything's in working order." You offer an arm. He raises an eyebrow. "Loop it with mine. Like this...there we go. Now let's get going, shall we?"

Even among the strangest aliens, Franky stands out in his own way at the space docks. This is only partially due to his lack of pants: he claims this is because he designed his legs to vent most of the heat his body builds up, and you wouldn't want him to overheat and faint on his first outing, would you? No, he stands out because even though he's clearly an android, there's an excitement to him that would rival even the most starry-eyed space explorers.

"Would ya' take a look at this, Captain?" You'd expect to find Franky gawking at any number of the docked spaceships, and indeed he's gushed about many of them already. Instead, he directs your attention to one of the tree roots. A trail of iridescent beetles scurry up the bark, and overhead, a couple smaller Southbirds (rare here, likely escaped cargo from the planet Skypiea) call to each other as they watch the busy port below.

"Thought you'd studied all these, Franky." After all, he's a powerful computer who can research multiple ideas at once, and innately curious as any inventor tends to be. And he's asked you and the crew many, many questions about the world beyond his metal hull.

"Yeah, but no matter how advanced the notes and visuals might be, it doesn't compare with the real thing. I mean, look at 'em!" He points at one particular beetle as its shell reflects the lights of the spaceport back with an opalescent sheen. "Even if you could theoretically simulate all this on a computer, most wouldn't think to do so on their own. Out here, stuff just...happens."

You have never seen an A.I. quite so excited about life outside, but then again, you've never met an A.I. quite like Franky. "Yeah, I guess that is pretty exciting when you put it that way. Part of the wonders of space travel; you never quite know what's going to happen out here."

Then a realization hits your brain with the full-bodied force of a supernova. "Franky, you've spent so much time traveling through the stars, but have you ever actually seen them the way we do?"

Franky looks up at the sky overhead. "Hard to see 'em from up here, even if I zoom out my eyes to max. Watch this!" His eyes...actually telescope out of his head. That's a bit disturbing with how human he looks. "Figure that's due to light pollution, though. Pretty bright out here."

"Sure is." You offer your arm to him again. "Come with me; I'll show you how folks groundside go out to look at the stars."

Years ago, you'd come out of the harshest space battle of your life. Your crew narrowly avoided becoming space dust, and after giving her all to save you, you lost Merry. The ship that had been with you since the beginning, the A.I. with the biggest heart you'd ever met. As her files corrupted and her hull fell apart, you'd honored her final wish and set her ablaze once you reached planetside, cremating her as one would a human. You still carry a vial of her ashes on a necklace, so you never forget what you've lost to get this far.

You'd wandered through the streets of the moon of Water 7 in a daze. Hadn't even paid attention where you went as the rest of the crew licked their wounds. Before you knew it, a robotic voice called out to you from the depths of a starship demolition yard.

"What's got you down, Captain? Can't be you're sad to be out among the stars!"

You'd blinked, not recognizing the source of the voice. But you called back, "I just lost someone important to my crew. My ship." You didn't care if most folks didn't see A.I.s as people. Merry had been more than a crewmate to you. She'd been a friend.

Even though the voice emanating from the demo-yard was auto-tuned monotone, it took on a warmer tone somehow. "I'm sorry to hear that. But you say you're looking for a ship? I might be able to help with that." A crackle of static. "And if you'd like, you can tell me about your lost pal. I can't bring 'em back for you...but I've heard that talking about these kinda' things helps."

"You don't even know who I am."

"No one does when they first meet, do they? Speaking of which, call me Franky."

Somehow, pouring your heart out to a stranger was easier than talking to your crewmates. You'd wandered into the heart of the scrapheaps and talked to the mysterious Franky, his voice surrounding you from so many static-filled speakers. You'd watched as overhead, he controlled cranes to start putting pieces of a mighty vessel together. He'd asked about your specifications, what you'd loved about Merry both as a ship and a friend. You'd cried. He did too. And when you'd asked how much the ship would cost, he said the only charge would be that he could come along.

You agreed willingly, overjoyed to have such a skilled shipwright onboard. It was only when you talked to the demo-yard owner that you learned that the person you'd poured your heart out to was an A.I.

That didn't stop you from doing so again once the Thousand Sunny was complete, and Franky took to his new home in his core room. You'd wander down into the depths of the Thousand Sunny whenever you needed a second opinion on the ship or a mission, and soon after that just to talk. You'd spent hours surrounded by the computer that served as Franky's brain for so long, talking and laughing just as you used to with Merry. Except, it was more than that with him. He wasn't just a friend, you'd realized over time. But you'd shoved those thoughts away. It was ludicrous, falling in love with an A.I. whose brain you could walk through, whose body was a starship you controlled with the push of a few buttons.

But now he has a body. You can squeeze his giant hand, and he squeezes back so softly as he gets used to his own strength. He smiles the way you always imagined he would, grinning with pearly white teeth and eyes that (literally) glow with joy.

He follows you with infinite curiosity as you weave through the Sabaody streets and gather supplies for your excursion. You ask about his body's capabilities and discover his fuel source is...astonishingly close to soda, so you pick up a few colas along with some food for you. Franky gets to carry a blanket hand-woven by the locals, and you catch him marveling at the texture when he thinks you aren't looking. Finally, you rent a small paddleboat to traverse the moon with, and a map that lays out the canals and waterways of this particular moon.

"You know, it'd be a lot faster if I rowed," Franky says, mouth quirked into a lopsided grin as your comparatively tiny arms pull the oars back and forth. It's amazingly, how perfectly imperfect he looks, more human than any other android you've seen even with all the metal bits.

"There's an old human adage about the journey being more important than the destination, Franky. Take in the experience."

You watch as his attention zeroes in along the waterways, eyes zooming in on every detail until they're pulled away to something new. You expect him to be interested in the flora and fauna, as opalescent leaves bigger than your boat stretch over the water to shade you from the encroaching moonlight and soft purple creatures vaguely reminiscent of otters circle your boat before chasing each other down the river. But the entire world is new to him, and you find him fascinated by even the dirt or the buzzing insects swarming your head.

"Aww, look. I think it likes me!" Franky lifts one giant finger, where a mosquito (why did those have to be a universal constant?) tries and fails at piercing his skin.

"It probably thinks you're human and is trying to suck your blood," you point out, as the bugs try to use you as a personal juicebox. This only gets Franky to smile. Must feel validating, having even nature recognize him for what he is in his heart.

It takes a bit more rowing, but you finally arrive at your destination. A small island, mostly shore, with a small field and a lone tree with leaves that glow silver in the moonlight. You dock the boat on the shore, then set up the blanket and food for a small picnic. You motion for Franky to sit with you, and can't help but laugh a little at the faces he makes when touching sand for the first time. Then you lay back on the blanket. Franky joins you, and his eyes go wide.

A ribbon of starlight glimmers overhead. Hundreds of constellations twinkle overhead. You'd ask if he knows any, but you keep quiet so you don't break his wonder-filled gaze.

His giant hand encases yours. "Space seems even bigger from here than it does when you're in the middle of it. I mean, look at all those stars! I read that you could see 'em from so far away, but seeing it in person..."

"This is what inspired me to go into space," you say. Your finger drifts up to the brightest star in the sky. "I'd look at that one and say, I'm going to go there someday! Didn't care how far away it was, or even what might be around it. Just wanted to head to the brightest star I could."

Franky narrows his gaze up at that star. "That's over eight light years away. Might take a bit, even with a warp drive like mine. But if that's where you wanna' go? I'll take you anywhere, Captain. Long as we're together, I'll explore every corner of the universe with you."

For a moment, both of you are quiet. The air fills with the gentle rhythm of the flowing water, the buzz of insects, bushes rustling as creatures move in the night. In the distance, the hum of a starship engine taking off from the port; you soon see its lights trail across the sky as it ascends back into that void above, the space that's so comforting because it holds planets and stars and spaceships and you and Franky all together in its embrace.

"I think this is the part where one of us says 'I love you'," Franky says softly.

You smile and squeeze his hand back. "You're such a romantic. But yeah, you're right. And I do. I love you."

"Love you too, Captain. And thanks. For, y'know, helping me be human."

"Franky, you've got more heart than most anyone I know. You're plenty human already. I'm just here to steer you steady. And I always will."

You pass the rest of the night watching the stars overhead. And for the captain and A.I. of a starship, you wouldn't have it any other way.

#seas brew a love potion challenge #bedlam writes #cyborg franky #franky x reader #scifi au #fluff

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