#I’m supposed to now walk this earth like the entire construct of my being isn’t different because two fictional characters that mean | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

esamastation · 3 years

Text

Roy doesn't know exactly when the new alchemist joins them on the field.

It's a bad time - they're establishing a new camp in the town and the area is under constant assault, it seems. Small strikes on all sides, seemingly from nowhere, taking out a man there, another there, crippling a truck, taking out a road… The Ishvalans are using some sort of network of tunnels, the brass thinks, and it's Roy's job to smoke them out. So that's what he's been doing, seemingly all week… smoking out the supposed tunnels.

There are no tunnels, though. The Ishvalans are just getting desperate and in their desperation they're figuring out new methods. They have home field advantage and new tricks of camouflaging themselves in the rubble that used to be their home. Ruins of a people, blending in the ruins the Amestrians had made of their houses. They're learning to live with it, to work with it, because it's all they have - and they're getting good because they have little choice in the matter.

No one is listening to Roy when he points it out, though. There's a dismissiveness to the higher ups, when it comes to the evolution of Ishvalan tactics. "What are they doing now, praying for better guns?" As though this war, hasn't already gone on three times as long as originally projected.

Roy is thinking about it, staring at a crooked, unlit cigarette someone had put into his shaking hands, when he's introduced to the new alchemist.

"Good news, Mustang," Hughes says, with absolutely no joy in his cheerful smile, and less so in his cheerful voice. It sounds like he's chewing charcoal. "You're getting partner."

Roy looks up, his mind still in the meeting room, thinking about numbers on a map, how they didn't quite capture the reality of charred skeletons. It takes a moment for what he sees in front of him to sink in.

Another blue uniform, still pressed sharp and bright new under the beige overcoat that's supposed to protect it and it's wearer from the dust and heat of Ishval. What stands before him isn't a soldier though - it's barely a man. It's a short blond boy, no older than sixteen at most, with heavy non-regulation boots and silver watch chain at his hip.

The horror and disgust that wells up it's barely a blip before it's smothered under, oh, of course, and shit, are we here already? Then Roy stands up, puts the unlit cigarette away and holds out his right hand.

"Major Roy Mustang - the Flame Alchemist."

The blond boy smiles, crooked and sharp and just as mirthless as Hughes beside him. "Nick Flamel - the Fullmetal Alchemist." His grip is tight and brief, his hand gloved.

He'd be the newest youngest State Alchemist then. Roy had heard his record had been beaten, though he hadn't really paid attention to who or how.

Hughes looks between them and for a moment his eyes show a certain desperation. Then he covers it up and pats Flamel's shoulder. "Fullmetal here is stationed under you until he gets a hang of things - you'll show him the ropes, teach him what's what."

Keep him alive, is what Hughes' eyes say, and no wonder. Being as young as he is, the kid can't have much in the way of training. Alchemists don't need to go through basic, after all - they're not there to march or shoot guns or stand in lines. Flamel had probably just gotten his watch, his uniform, and a one way ticket to Ishval. To one of the worst, most contested zones at that. Shit.

Did the brass send the kid here to die?

"What's your specialty - metallurgical transmutation?" Roy asks.

"I don't have a speciality, really," Flamel says and pushes his hands into the pockets of his overcoat. It doesn't quite fit him right - too wide across shoulders, a bit too long. They'd either left some growing room, or they just didn't have a uniform small enough. "But I'm damn good at environmental alchemy, which I figure is what I'll be doing the most around here."

Roy blinks. "Environmental alchemy," he repeats.

"I can make the battleground my bitch," Flamel says, his crooked smile sharpening.

And abruptly Roy is already exhausted with the kid. He's one of those, then, a cocky little sumbitch, top of his class and talk of the town, so used to being the top dog of his little bubble that he has no concept of what the real world is like outside that little bubble. Guys like him come swaggering in all the time, all big talk and smug grins, so sure they're going to be carrying their little superiority complexes spotlessly over the finish line that they walk into the first fucking landmine that comes across.

Roy sees himself holding the kid's hand after he gets gunned down, still thinking himself invulnerable, and it's exhausting.

"What?" Flamel asks, suspicious at his silence.

Hughes, giving the kid the exact same look Roy must be, clears his throat. "How about you show us?" he suggests. "So we'll have an idea what we're working with here."

Flamel arches a brow at that and then looks around, light brown - or are they burnished gold? - eyes narrowing in thought.

Their camp is still a mess from the last attack - they're fixing the fences and filling the holes in the road that got busted in the smattering of mortar fire from two days ago. The perimeter is more secure now, for a given value of secure. They'd chosen the highest spot in the town, the temple mount, to give them a high vantage point - better than being penned into a valley. It leaves them pretty damn open though.

Flamel looks over the houses they'd taken over, the tents pitched in the streets and the flag of Amestris hung over the prayer hall, and clicks his tongue. Then he claps his hands together, and crouches down.

For a split of a second, barely a blink, it looks like he's praying.

Then he slaps his hands on the street beneath their feet - and in a crackle of alchemical energy and rumble of displaced earth, the street reforms. The dirt flattens, grows perfect paving stones, shifts to form neat walkways on the sides, even forming gutters. Between one breath and the next, they have a perfect Amestrian city street, formed from the dust of Ishval, surrounded by Ishvalan buildings.

While the soldiers on the newly reformed street let out shouts of shock, Roy just stares, his mind trying to jump hoops figuring out how the kid just did that. Circles in his skin, under his sleeves, inside his gloves…?

Hughes whistles, hiding his wild eyes in a squint. "Nice. You know, it doesn't rain much around here," he comments.

"So?" Flamel asks.

"The gutters aren't really necessary."

Flamel looks at the street he'd made, hands resting on his hips, and shrugs. "Eh, can't hurt," he says and motions at the street. "Anyway, imagine that, but spikes instead of paving stones."

Roy swallows and looks at the kid, who's just standing there, seemingly in no way bothered. Fullmetal doesn't look smug or proud of what he'd done, only grinning a little bit at the way the soldiers throw away their shovels, no longer needed. If this isn't something for the him to even brag about, then…

Roy has in his head an image of the kid doing a field of spikes under a charging assault force, eviscerating people by the dozens, and it's clearly not Flamel's only trick. It's probably not even in his top five.

Fuck, the kid would end up with a three digit death toll by his first engagement.

"Right," Roy says. He isn't sure what his face is doing but going Hughes' expression, it's probably not good. "You can make gutters. How about trenches?"

Flamel grins, his eyes like molten metal. "Try me."

By the end of the week - no, by the end of the day their camp is hugely improved by Flamel. The fence is turned into a solid stone wall, constructed within minutes from the remains of bombed out houses. Another pile of rubble is turned into a watch tower. They have trenches, they have pits, Flamel even adds a moat and spikes around the camp, like they're in an ancient fortress or something. Hell, there's even gargoyles in the corners of the wall.

They go from one of the least secure camps to one of the most heavily fortified seemingly overnight. It's a huge boost to troop morale - not so for Roy's sanity. Flamel doesn't even look winded by the end of his improvements.

"How are you doing the circles?" Roy asks finally - bit of a social Faux Pas among alchemists, especially military alchemists, but he has to ask. Flamel made entire buildings, and he hadn't stopped to draw a single sigil.

"In my head," Flamel says, shrugging. Like that makes any sense.

Roy looks at him and then at the changes he's made, and can't say it's impossible - he can see the results with his own eyes. And they're more than impressive, they're…

Flamel isn't going to be here long, he realises. Whether the brass send the kid here to get rid of him or not, the moment word about Flamel's real abilities spread, he'd be snagged by the first general with any fucking sense. The kid's a powerhouse. Roy is too, of course, that's why he's here - but Fullmetal is a different kind of powerhouse. Just by himself, he would be able to establish a secure foothold in the middle of enemy territory and that's not someone you just let sit idle.

Roy looks at the kid and feels torn between feeling sorry, jealous and a little bit bitter. If only he was a bit higher in rank, he could keep Flamel and make a full use his abilities - and maybe keep him from becoming a mass murderer in the process.

"What was your exam like?" Roy asks. There's no way the kid showed even a fraction of these abilities, he wouldn't be here at all if he had. "How'd you end up with a name like Fullmetal?" From what he'd seen something like Earth Moving or Groundbreaking would've been more apt.

"I made a spear in my exam," Flamel says, not looking at him. "And pointed it at Bradley."

"... And they didn't arrest you?"

Flamel smirks a little and looks at him. "What did you do?" he asks. "I bet you scorched something."

Roy had. He'd been welcomed in on the spot. "Training dummies," he agrees, giving him a pointed look. "Because I don't have a death wish."

Flamel shrugs. "It got me what I wanted," he says and stretches his arms. "So, what comes next?"

Roy looks at their newly secure camp. "Depends on the Colonel, but I bet you'll be doing more road work. We need a clear path in and out of the town."

Even though the town is officially theirs, that doesn't stop the guerilla attacks - but now, with a secure camp, all they needed was a clear path for troops to move in and then it'd be only a matter of time. If the two of them weren't already reassigned by then, they'd be after the supply line was secure. Alchemists weren't wasted in safe stations.

"But that's tomorrow's problem," Roy decides. "Come in, kid - let's get something to eat."

- - -

Nostalgia is doing rounds in my brain.

#Fanfiction #Fma #fullmetal alchemist #roy mustang #edward elric #time travel #Ishval war

456 notes · View notes

lilacandladybugs · 3 years

Note

I personally am not religious at all but I've always tried my best to respect those who are and I think it's pretty lovely that you have something like that to help you feel safe and comfortable!

I hope this doesn't come across as demeaning but, I kinda find it interesting?? to have that sort of blind faith and belief is just interesting and kind of neat to me I suppose

I don't understand but I'm happy that you have something like that to keep you up in trying times :]

I'm glad that you feel that way! Also I'm not offended lmao you guys are all really friendly and I don't think you want to offend me so I will always take it that way. I am going to clarify something but I'm pretty sure this isn't what you mean so just for passersby~

Blind faith in anon's words i think means like belief in something that I can't see, which is valid, but some people use it to mean faith beyond reason so I'm going to briefly walk you through some thought process so you know that I didn’t just randomly choose this lol

I think the real reason I believe in God is this realization that we all to some extent believe in something, have faith in something. Even if you are agnostic, people still have to choose how they actively live their lives. Agnostics usually end up functioning as atheists, they don't know who God is, and so they function like he doesn't exist.

So we all at some point end up betting our lives on some belief system. We bet our present life, and any potential future life, on what we think we can understand right now. We bet our lives that God doesn't exist, or we bet our lives that he does. And even if someone chooses not to think about it, they're betting their lives that it isn't important.

We also all have to have a level of blind faith (imo), we believe that we can think, we believe that goodness or badness exists. We believe that reason exists, we believe in logic, in science, in our senses. Faith is just an assumption that something is true, and you can’t use logic to prove that logic is valid, so at some point you have to take it on faith. All premises are at some level an act of faith.

So then the question becomes, since I can’t know anything 100% certainly but I literally have to choose something, what do I choose? What seems most likely?

To me, it seems more likely that God aligned the stars and placed the Earth precisely where it is than that it happened by chance. It seems more likely that information came from an informant than that it came from no where, and it seems more likely that life came from a source than that life came from death.

It seems more likely to me that Jesus was who he said he was than that he was just a good person, because good people don’t lie, they don’t mislead entire populations to bet their lives on a lie. But Jesus claimed to be God and he seemed like a good man. It seems more likely to me that the Bible was the word of God than that it was able to be constructed over thousands of years by people who never knew each other in three different languages and still survived thousands of years.

And the one that hits the most is that I think it is more likely that people matter than that they don’t. It’s more likely in my mind that morality exists than that it doesn’t, and if it does exist it must have been defined by someone outside of ourselves, thus making it more likely to be God.

Here is an excerpt I wrote from this post, that explains a little bit more:

Nietzsche, Kant, and Epictetus are all similar in that i have the same issue with all of them. They all want to put the anchor of meaning within the individual human. But i swear to god when i say that i want to hug my brother again i dont just mean i want to hug a person, i mean that i miss that person, that there was something that was valuable about him not just to me but that was valuable to the entire universe, and that when he died that piece of the universe was lost. epictetus’ argument was that human beings are simply mortal beings, and so grieving them is an unreasonable reaction to that fact of reality - we are all going to die, so why get attached to people like they’re immortal?

Which raises the question for me, why do we grieve like we’re meant to be immortal? Why is it that the world trembles under the crushing weight of death? That even birds miss their mates when they die, that elephants linger by the graves of their ancestors, that dogs continue to look for their masters once they’ve passed? Are we, like epictetus nietzsche and kant too, are we the only possible anchor for meaning? Do things in and of themselves mean nothing except in relation to us, so we can’t say, “death is bad,” but only, “death is bad to me”? it just doesn’t seem true

That’s who I’ve come to understand God to be. Things are complex and full of logic and information and cohesion, because when God spoke the universes into existence he planned it out carefully and tenderly. Things want to be loved and cared for and valued because God is triune, he exists as one God with three persons, loving one another for all of existence, and creating life to share in that eternal love with them. Human beings grieve one another’s deaths like we aren’t meant to die because we weren’t meant to die, death was a natural result of our decision to part ways with the giver of life, and leaving him meant that we die, and it isn’t how it’s meant to be, it’s one of the greatest tragedies to ever occur. When my brother died it felt like the universe lost something that was intrinsically valuable, not just to me, because my brother was created for a purpose by our creator, and his meaning is anchored not in my human flesh that will pass away but in the very foundation of our known universe, in the character of who God is.

Anyway if you’re interested I can send you some philosophy and history behind why I believe what I believe, it for sure wasn’t developed out of no where I’ve spent years questioning it and thinking about it. But most people don’t want to read that much so if you want more you can hmu in messages or send another ask idk XD

Thanks anon! Sorry for hijacking your ask I know you aren’t that interested lol

#long post #religion #religion tw #eslyea #christianity #christianity tw #i save all posts about god to @in the whisper

47 notes · View notes

falcor-thee-luck-dragon · 3 years

Text

Of Monsters and Men

Chapter 11- Much More

Summary: Deciding to let Geralt handle the child surprise on his own and rekindle your friendship with Yennefer while against all odds, fight with mages by your side, it’s time to protect Sodden from Nilfgaard.

Warning: blood, fighting Nilfgaard soldiers, angst, reader going a bit feral, eyy more backstory ft. Geralt

Masterlist

The next morning, in the early hours of the dawn did you, Yennefer, and a handful of willing mages set off in lifeboats for the distant shore. You sat in silence within the tight cluster of other bodies seated all around you, every mage dressed very distinctive from one another, their outfits less then ready for battle if you're being completely honest.

You could almost laugh, what exactly did these magical people have in mind when the time came to stopping Nilfgaard? They travel in their fancy robes and attire like it's time to go to court. But you digress, they may look like a fashionable lot, but they do know how to use their powers for destruction if need be.

Hopefully they won't shy away from turning a soldier to ash.

The boat ride lasted longer then you'd have liked, honestly why didn't you just fly across? Oh right, you wanted information about what's going to happen and you know, Yennefer.

Cursed that damned djinn.

Once the boat safely rested against the sandy shore did you get out with the rest of the other mages. Not caring in the slightest to help them pull it fully onto the grass beyond the sand, though you could have done it with one hand. Instead do you follow Yennefer as Vilgefortz questions her relentlessly about many things she simply brushes off, disinterested and annoyed.

It's another boring cluster fuck of hours before you can hear the telling noise of people as they prepare for battle. Once you find your way out of the woods do you notice the great castle-like structure of the Elven keep upon Sodden's Hill, it's crumbling white stony walls sticking out like a sore thumb against the greenery of the land. On the other side, a long bridge pathway leading to the other edge of the great pass, exactly where Nilfgaard is planning to go.

You follow the mages as you all make your way down to the grassy hill towards the tents below, Tissaia meets up with another mage, a man who welcomes you all with open arms, clearly he did not expect such company. But by the looks of it, is desperately going to need every single one of you.

You walk in step with Yennefer, Triss to your back as you shift your gaze from the spread out mass of tired refugee villagers, orphans, and scared old men. The atmosphere is dreary and tense, they all know what's coming and the sight of your group makes some of them even more nervous.

"These people," Starts the robed mage as he walks in line with Tissaia, "they have been pushed from their homes. They've seen the scorched earth, the fields of corpses stretching between Gemmera and this river. Such cruelty."

"It's Nilfgaards way." Replies Tissaia, "There's nothing like a higher purpose to permit men to do the unspeakable." If that isn't the truth.

"But it's all any of us have left. We have to defend it."

"That's heroic." States Sabrina much to your surprise.

You turn to her, "And stupid." They all stop and stare at you in puzzlement like you'd just kicked a helpless puppy and laughed about it, letting out a sigh you shift your scarlet eyes upon the man and Tissaia, "Take the children and hide before they get here so they may avoid more terror and death."

His brows furrow, "There is no more hiding from Nilfgaard. They have come from beyond the mountains to destroy the world." You stay silent, it's not worth arguing over at this point. He's already made up his mind.

Saving the slightly awkward moment, Triss steps in, "You still believe it can be saved?"

Everyone looks to the mage as he stares off into the distance, a look of hope in his bright blue eyes, "I suppose I do." He smiles before turning back to your group, "With some help." And just like that do you all make your way into the keep to further make use of your talents.

Countless arrays of glass bottles are set out and filled with some type of strangely smelling blue rock, arrows are constructed and set out up by the ramparts as you watch from your perch high atop a castle ledge. The preparations are made throughout the whole entirety of the day, the villagers and mages alike all working tirelessly together in a hopefully fruitful attempt at saving this dying stronghold from the Nilfgaardians.

The sun has kept herself hidden from the world hours ago, the beautiful welcoming blanket of darkness settling across the land for the time being. Your favorite time of the day. You watch as the mages and other villagers find their company with one another on a last night of peace before blood is most likely spilt tomorrow when the soldiers arrive.

Against all odds the atmosphere is quite happier and light, people telling stories over fires under the stars as they take their minds off of the impending doom. You've placed yourself a couple feet from Tissaia and Vilgefortz as they sit side by side on a stone ledge with their feet just about touching the ground, a drink in their hands as they reminisce about better times in their lives. You hold one knee up, your other leg dangling freely as you listen to Yennefer and Triss as they walk into view.

Triss snacks on an apple as she points towards your direction, "Is Vilgefortz to be our new daddy?" A small snort escapes you as your heightened hearing catches her jest. Not a second later does Vilgefortz happen to get up, leaving you and Tissaia alone, Yennefer parting from Triss as she stops in the grass. Unsure of where to go next, Tissaia takes this as a cue to raise her glass, "The ale won't disappoint. We should enjoy it while we can."

Yennefer turns to the two of you, a stoic expression crossing her features as she walks over, "It's the first thing Nilfgaard will destroy." She quips bluntly before sitting down in between the both of you.

Tissaia hands her a spare glass, "Must you always be so fatalistic?"

"It's only appropriate, seeing as we might die." Replies the violet eyed mage before taking a sip of the ale, still rather unenthusiastical about everything.

You chuckle, "Well maybe you two, I on the other hand plan on tearing these dogs to pieces."

Tissaia laughs, "All the more reason to live tonight."

Yennefer sets her mug against her lap, "Mmm. Like you." She retorts, looking knowingly in the direction of Vilgefortz as he converses with some soldiers. You look to Tissaia, a smile upon her slender face as she stares almost adoringly at the raven haired man. The three of you look to one another and begin laughing like young school girls who just found out about their friends secret crush.

It feels nice, oddly so.

Your laughter slowly dies down, a more heavy aurora laying over the three of you as your smiles vanish from your once happy faces. Tissaia sighs before excusing herself from the two of you, no doubt heading to seek out the man of the hour.

You sit back in a comfortable silence as a light breeze caresses your face before turning an eye to your friend, "Are you ready?" Your voice is steady and calm yet holding so much, Yennefer quickly turns to face you, her eyes full of apprehensive wonder, "To die." You finish with a raise of your brow, "If destiny decides to finally take us out that is."

She pauses for a moment to think it over as she watches some kids run by in the firelight, "Yes. I've lived two or three lifetimes already."

"But you haven't been satisfied in any of them." You point out as she frowns, her eyes downcast in the nearby fire light.

"But I've no legacy to leave behind. No family." She says sadly, "It's time to accept that life has no more to give." A tinge of disappointment in her voice as she sits next to you, feeling rather defeated with her life.

"You still have so much left to give." She looks to you now, a kind warm smile pulling at your features, "I know it, and I'm not just saying that because of well, you know. I've never really thought about it but you're kind of like me in a way."

She slowly nods, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips, not sure where you're about to go with this, "How so?"

You shrug, "We're both half of something, two pieces that make us a whole being of vitality and raw power. You're half elf, I'm half vampire, two incredible immortal races that should not be fucked with." You playfully nudged her shoulder, "We don't always get what we want in life, she can be quite the bitch you know, and even though I'll never have a true heir of my own. Well I guess, if I can keep alive some of the good in this world while defeating the evil, that's good enough for me. My legacy is hidden within my actions and who I help along the way, it's all it needs to be."

She furrows her brows, "Thank you Y/N." Sincerity in her voice.

You let out a breathy laugh, clearly confused, "For what?"

"For deciding to come with me to this place, you could have left and fucked off to wherever you chose next. But you decided to stay, and well...maybe I do enjoy having you in my company....no matter how how scary those eyes of yours are." She teases.

You smile, "Not the djinn talking?"

"No. Not the djinn. I swear it." Says Yennefer honestly.

You softly hum in agreeance, "So do I. I think it just makes us want to protect one another, perhaps that's how we're drawn in. It's like I'm a beacon of light and you're a moth," You laugh, "or something like that."

"I think so too. Hopefully we don't end up dying, or well, I don't end up dying that is. Guess I'm not entirely sure if I'm ready." Inquires Yennefer uneasily.

"Is anyone ever? I can't die just yet anyways, I still have to see Geralt again, tell him I'm sorry for leaving and probably punch him for that damned wish. Gods I feel horrible..."

"You had every right to say what you did, and don't worry, I know you Y/N. You'll survive. I'm sure of it."

You lean back into the grass, your arms holding you up as you stare up into the dark starry night sky, "Thanks, very motivational. But hey, since we're out here and unsure for the inevitable future.....got any stories?"

Yennefer takes another sip of her mug before setting it down in her lap, "Got a few, but I'd honestly rather hear something from you." She lightly kicks your boot, "Is there any truth to Jaskier's ballad about when you and Geralt fought a Bruxa? From his tale, it appeared to be quite the story."

Rolling your eyes you scoff, "Oh yeah, that bard loves to make our hunts seem so glamorous and amazing, the famous White Wolf almost got his balls slashed off from the nasty fucker."

She hums in interest, "Do tell." You look at her with the most unamused face you can muster, she simply laughs at your lackluster reaction, "Oh come on, Y/N. Tell me all the gory details, I'd rather enjoy hearing about how your Witcher almost lost his prized jewels."

You stare a her before making a gesture for her to hand you the half filled mug in her lap, with a smirk she generously hands it to you, "Now. I can tell you the story." You add before taking a hearty chug, setting the mug down next to you in the grass as you let out a little hiccup, "Alright, so for this specific hunt we though it best to leave Jaskier or he would have without a doubt been killed on the spot, and blah blah we all would have sorely missed him." You lightly chuckle at the dark thought, "Anyways, the town nearby had been recently dealing with a very dangerous problem hiding in some nearby abandoned ruins of some burned down village...."

(Cue flashback)

It's daylight as you walk down an old dirt road leading to a recently destroyed village, the townsfolk living just across the river had told you and Geralt how some vengeful bandits took it upon themselves to burn and pillage the place after some hero wannabe killed their leader with a lucky arrow to the head. The next thing they new, every wooden house had been set ablaze in the dead of night as they raced outdoors to listen to the terrified screams emitting from within the woods.

The mayor claimed it was a horrendous display of revenge, only a lucky few had survived the torment, but something even worse then petty bandits had loomed over the land in the following month, brought upon by the lingering stench of death and blood. It had begun with high pitched shrieking in the dead of night, right were the ruined village was, some brave souls would investigate the next day to find the mutilated corpse of a male traveler.

More people would go missing for another month before you, Geralt, and Jaskier happened to stroll into town one autumn afternoon. No one at the local tavern, nor the mayor herself, would know what beast was taking all the men hunting for it. So with a suspicious curiosity did you accept her offer of coin in return for the death of the mysterious beast. The next day, with lack of a certain bard, did you and Geralt set off to explore the destroyed grounds.

You kick a loose rock and watch as the little boulder skids across the muddy trail while keeping pace with Geralt, "So, any idea what this hungry fucker might be?" You ask, turning to him with a wiggle of your brow, "I have a few ideas."

Geralt hums, turning an inquiring golden eye in your direction, "Considering this place has gone to shit in the past two months, dead bodies everywhere, could be a ghoul....or a wraith...maybe even a werewolf." His voice gravely and filled with a tinge of dark humor.

You chuckle, "A werewolf huh, now that would be quite the battle to witness, me and the notorious dogman, claw to blade. I'd have its head on a spike in an instant..."

"Would you now?" He teases.

"I would!" You lean in to lightly smack his arm, "What? Don't laugh...grrr ugh okay fine....after it put me through a couple rounds, I'd get there eventually. Then you'd be there to celebrate my victory with loud cheers of praise before taking me on the grass to thoroughly show me your ever loving gratitude." You cackle as he coughs awkwardly on his own spit, sending you an surprised but very amused facial expression at your more sensual implications.

"Right then and there, in front of the headless beast?" Wonders Geralt as you nod, a smile breaking out upon his handsome face, "Y/N, you are quite the woman."

"Course I am, best thing you've got." You sass with confidence before stopping dead in your tracks at the scent of something decaying. Geralt watches in curiosity as you sniff the cool air, your scarlet irises dancing across the burnt ruins of the village now that you're both so close, you raise a brow at him, "New flesh. Someone was just recently killed."

Your feet are quick as they take you past charred wooden houses and broken glass, all the way through the mess before you stand a few feet away from a large half caved in house, its entrance gone as it stands looming over all the other destroyed ruins. You turn to Geralt, "The dead one sleeps in here, the blood is a couple days old." He nods as you cautiously enter through the broken door, your eyes adjusting to the shadowy darkness as you walk into the room.

It's one large area with a crumbling ash covered fireplace at the far middle end of the wooden structure, you walk a couple more feet before stopping, Geralt coming to a halt at your side. "Nothings here." He confirms, his eyes still looking over the ashen room.

You shake your head, a smile upon your lips at his terrible observation skills, you turn around to face him before taking his chin between your thumb and forefinger, tilting his head towards the rafters. His eyes immediately lock onto the incomprehensible corpse of a man, or at least what was left of him, only his guts and a single arm hanging from the ceiling.

"That's lovely." Muses your Witcher bluntly as you release your touch, he lifts a brow to you, "Definitely not a wraith or a ghoul. I'm not even sure a werewolf would have done this, that is the charming work of something incredibly violent and depraved. Some creature that would not care for their victim in the slightest, and the victims...all men.." He looks to the side, trying to think for a moment, "just men. And it showed up after the burning, but then it decided to stay...now it kills for food and apparently pleasure too. Maybe this is a..."

"Bruxa." His golden eyes lock onto your causal stance, he sets a hand on his hip as you simply shrug, "I could smell the bitch before we crossed the bridge, wanted to see if you figured it out first. Wow Geralt, what a monster hunter you are, very good sleuthing work." You tease with a slow clap as he rolls his eyes, motioning for you to follow him out of the dying house so he doesn't have to spend another second in this gloomy old place.

Stepping into the daylight he turns to you, the ghost of a humored smile gracing over his lips, "I would have gotten there eventually." He sasses back, using your own words against you, "Maybe this Bruxa is a family friend."

You scoff, "I wish, these type of bloodsuckers are more feral and less elegant, they're a subspecies so I won't feel bad about killing it, not that that's ever stopped me before. But still, they're deadly cunts who kill whatever has a heartbeat, only silver will take them down." You take a step forward, pushing your pointer finger against his leather armored chest, "So you better be on your guard tonight, I'd rather not travel alone with the bard until he dies." You snort, setting your arm down once again, "Or I kill him first."

"I'll be ready." Confirms Geralt with a knowing tinge of confidence, much to your amusement at his self-assuredness, "The sun doesn't set for another couple hours, why don't we head back into town and tell our bard of the plans, hm?"

"Yeah alright." You reply, beginning to walk back the way you came, "Jask is definitely not joining us tonight. That idiot would be dead in a heartbeat, I mean seriously...these nasty bitches whole thing is appearing as harmless attractive women before...blah!" You pounce at Geralt, squeezing his muscular bicep before letting go just as quickly, "You're ass is dead. And torn to shreds like a piece of meat in a starving dogs cage, not a pleasant way to go at all."

Geralt chuckles at your dramatic antics as the two of you travel back to the town; Jaskier was luckily fine with staying behind, unsurprisingly he happened to have found himself a lady friend, who was all too satisfied once learning her new lover would be staying the night once more. Soon enough, dusk had settled over the land and you and your Witcher began the hunt.

Taking silent steps through the forest as you both walked across the beaten down trail leading into the sad abandoned village, the two of you go to stand behind a large oaken tree while your eyes wander over the broken houses. Your silver dagger clutched tightly in your hand as the other one presses against the rough bark.

Geralt's armored back touches yours as the two of you watch from opposite sides of the tree, "Y/N you hear anything?" Whispers Geralt.

"No."

"Smell anything?"

"No."

"See anything?"

"Ask me something again and I'll shove a stick up your ass."

"Noted."

Another fifteen minutes would go by before your superior hearing would pick up the supposed sound of something brushing past some leaves from the treetops across the destroyed houses. Your hand grips the dagger tighter as you listen more intently, it moves slowly, a branch creaks as it sits atop it. Then the wood creaks again, more leaves are brushed aside as you suddenly realize where this fucker is headed, the town!

"Oh, fuck." You whisper yell, not even aware that you just said that out loud.

"What? What is it Y/N, did you hear something?"

"The bitch is in the trees, she's going for town." You pause searching for your words, "Uh, be ready I'm going to lure her out into the open." You rush before taking a step forward, stopping to turn towards a confused Geralt as he studies your face, "Don't, uh...get bitten or killed. Love you, good luck."

He's left to his thoughts as you swiftly race across the muddy yard in a blur before jumping onto a half standing thatched roof, you stay low as your crimson irises scan the tree line in search of the Bruxa, it doesn't take long before you spot a beautiful pale black haired woman looking in the opposite direction as she stays perched on a thick branch. You smirk, your fangs showing in the moonlight as you decide to be as boldly annoying as you can.

Rising to your full height, you stare at the beautiful bastard before yelling, "Hey! You big ugly horse fucker!" The Bruxa immediately snaps her attention over to you, her yellow eyes glaring down at you before she turns from an attractive young woman into a terrifying lady demon.

She screeches, jumping down from her perch before making a hasty beeline in your direction, you jump, just as she narrowly misses your face with her long sharp nails. You gently land upon the muddy ground, the growling Bruxa eyeing you hungrily as she stands once again, her body facing you with great malice, lips curling in a snarl, hands balling into angry fists.

You smirk, feet planted firmly in the earth as you grip your dagger tight, "Come on you pale faced cunt, come get me." You taunt as she hisses in fury before darting in your direction, you twist to the side, slashing her arm as you skid in the dirt, facing her once more.

Her face whips around to find yours as she grunts in pain, the silver burning her skin as she charges you once more, this time you launch yourself into the air. Just as she grabs for your feet, missing them by mere inches while you quickly flip above her head, you land, facing her. But before she has time to attack you once again, Geralt races out of the tree line and slashes the back of the Bruxa with a fury enough to turn you on if not for the current circumstance. A blood curdling scream rips through the frosty air as she whips around with lightening speed, grabbing Geralt's sword less arm before thrusting him across the yard to your left.

Her feet move inhumanly quick as she follows her downed silver haired prey, instinctively you throw your dagger, it makes a strong thwack sound as it sinks into the pale flesh of the feral vampire's thigh. She stumbles back, falling to the ground as she screams in agony, all before standing up once again and keeping as still as a statue, staring you down like a wolf to her prey.

You ball your fists, not sure what to do now since your only weapon is gone, you shrug, "No hard feelings?" You jest before she growls, her feet bounding against the earth as she quickly tackles you to the ground faster then you're able to blink.

Damn, vampires are fast.

She bares her fangs doing her best to chop at your exposed skin, her hands trying to claw desperately at your everything as you hold her forearms tightly in your grasp, droplets of spit fall upon your face as you grimace in disgust. Geralt where the fuck are you? She angrily struggles in your fists as her face desperately snaps at your own, inches apart she just misses your skin, a moment later do you sigh in relief as she's ripped from your grasp and thrown across the rocky ground.

You jump to your feet, only to watch in awe as Geralt and the Bruxa fight with one another in the center of the destroyed town, she slashes and bites at him as he punches and gets in some hits with his silver sword. But soon enough does she have him on his back, his sword only a few feet away, just out of reach as she pounces on him in a fury.

Instantly she tears at his black pants, ripping them open from his lower right hipline to his knee, he kicks her away before she lunges for him once again. Geralt scoots back just as she smacks her taloned hand right where is crotch was, not even a split second ago.

"Y/N!" Shouts Geralt with wide eyes, "My sword."

Wiping blood from your nose you take swift steps forward, he braces for the worst right as you grab a fistful of black hair, yanking hard as you pull her to the ground, your other hand closing tightly around her throat as her yellow eyes expand in surprised rage.

You pin her down, squeezing tight as she squirms from beneath you, her thin muscled arms reaching for your neck as you force your face away from her sharp nails, "You get your fucking sword!"

He lets out an annoyed huff before scrambling for the fallen blade, grasping it in his strong hands as she digs her claws into your clothed arms, you yelp in pain, losing your grip on her neck. She shrieks again before you suddenly get cracked in the forehead by the bitch's own skull, you see stars as she uses this opportunity to kick you in the chest, hard. You let out a breathy gasp before stumbling backwards across the dirty path, your head falling onto Geralt's boots, he looks down as you stare up at him in a daze. Your labored breaths coming out as a wheeze.

You blink, trying to focus on his blurry physique, "Fucking ouch." You growl through clenched teeth as he hastily pulls you to your feet.

"Watch out." Warns your Witcher before leaving your side to tear into the furious Bruxa.

"Thanks for the forewarning, very helpful." He ignores your annoyed jest, conveniently slashing off the head of the damn bitch before your very eyes. He's breathing heavily as he towers over the bloody mess, golden eyes finding your irritated ones as you pick up your silver dagger, "Great work, bravo, well done." You deadpan, giving your man a less then enthusiastic round of applause.

Lowering the weapon to his side he glances down at his slashed pants before finding your eyes once again, "Almost got me." Chuckles Geralt with a small smile.

Rolling your eyes you break out into a grin, "Oh yes, then we would have really had a problem."

Yennefer snickers as you end the tale, an amused laugh falling from your lips as you sit up once again, "After that we told the town, which of course they were surprised but nonetheless ever grateful, giving us a nice bag of coin. Geralt got some new pants, Jaskier got some more writing material, and I got a solid reminder that I am not invincible when it comes to creatures like a Bruxa. Vampires, huh."

Yennefer nods, shaking her head as she smiles, "That's...more then I'd ever encountered. Better you then me." She muses.

You sigh, a small tired smile pulling at the corners of your lips, "Those were the best times though, hunting, traveling, being with those two idiots. I do miss them, a lot actually."

Her lavender irises fall upon your saddened gaze as you watch people converse happily with one another, a mother tucking her child into a makeshift straw bed, you suddenly feel much sadder then before, "You will see them again, I know it Y/N."

Shifting your scarlet eyes to her shadowed face, you lightly tap the edge of your mug, "Hopefully I won't see a Bruxa again, fucking cunts. But yes, thank you for the words of encouragement and...friendly counselling, I'm going to bed." You scoot off of the grassy ledge, standing on the soft earth as you turn to Yennefer, "Right here's good enough. Also, not to worry, I don't snore."

She watches as you lay upon the ground, others doing the same as the night progresses, deciding to follow your example she moves to lay a couple of feet from you, pulling a foresty green blanket from out of a nearby bag, "Won't you get cold?"

Laying on your back you look up at the stars, "I've never felt cold before actually."

She lays down, an amused burst of air flowing out of her nostrils, "Right, half vampire. Well, goodnight then you odd freak of nature." Playful sarcasm dripping from every word.

You lightly chuckle, "Night, you insane fucking witch." The two of you share a humorous moment together before falling into a comfortable silence, the both of you trying your best to fall asleep before the sun rises, bringing danger on the fiery horizon.

—-

You awaken to the shouting of men nearby, opening your eyelids do you raise yourself up into a sitting position as a massive fiery orange ball of light begins its decent from the great blackness of sky. Right in your very direction, you can hear it sizzling as your eyes grow wide in fear.

"Oh fuck!" You cry just as Yennefer throws her blanket to the side, reaching out her hands just in time to abruptly halt the death ball of enchanted flame before it can incinerate the whole yard of sleeping people. Her face is pained as she throws it to the left in mid-air, the tiny sun bursting into a beautiful explosion over the trees, safely away from everyone else.

In an instant are you up, both yourself and Yennefer screaming for everyone to rise and prepare for the beginning assault. The grassy grounds are covered in racing frantic bodies filled with frightful screams. Another fireball would be thrown at you all, and deflected just the same, nothing more coming about for the rest of the night. Nilfgaard keeping you all on your toes till the dawn.

Now here you are in the early hours of the morning, the sun illuminating the landscape as you follow the mages around the castle while they figure out a plan of attack. Everyone keeps low behind the walls as you'll quickly walk down some stairs, no roof to keep anyone adequately hidden.

"Stay low. We don't know what other tricks they may have." Warns Vilgefortz as you follow behind him, more mages rushing to a halt on the stone steps as you all look out over the forest in the direction that those damned flames came from last night.

"Maybe it's over." Says Triss, but you know better. This is just the beginning.

"No. Fringilla's just getting started." Whispers Yennefer.

"It hasn't been two days yet." States Sabrina, "How is Nilfgaards army here already?"

Vilgefortz gets up, "Doesn't matter. We can't wait for the Northern Kingdoms. We have to fight."

You chuckle, "There's only 22 of you left, those other cowards fled in the night like little mice chased by some housecat. Guess some heat was too much to handle." You quip as one mage stands, claiming with confidence that's he's not going anywhere, others agreeing as well. You suddenly feel uneasy, sorcery in the woods, snapping your attention over to the forest your crimson eyes go wide at the sight of white mist flowing throughout the trees, "Uh, what the fuck?"

"There coming!" Shouts a mage in fear.

"It's starting!" Exclaims another in excitement.

I hate magic.

In seconds is everyone up and moving to their assigned stations right before your very eyes. Leaving you alone to watch the strange unnatural fog slowly make its way closer and closer to the stronghold.

Times seems to go fast, in the next twenty-five minutes has the archers and people with slingshots wrecked havoc upon marching Nilfgaardian soldiers in the woods. No doubt giving them an explosive ending before their time in battle has even begun. Yennefer directs the mages assault from her position high up in the tallest tower with the best view. Your eyes shift from the nearing wood line where the real danger lurks to the grassy courtyard below where people are hustling back and forth, racing to their duties. You walk upon the castle ledges, high up above the sweating foreheads of the mages and archers as you make your way over to the tallest part of the Elven Keep. Gliding up to her level, you softly land with atop the wooden landing.

She appears quite distraught and panicky as you study her body language, she turns to you, tears in her lavender eyes, "Vilgefortz, he's..."

What is that fucking swooshing sound?

"Portal!" You shout, turning your body to look over the other ledge, just as you'd sensed, a large swirling portal has materialized from the earth. A second later do you watch in horror as arrows fly up from its center, thwacking into nearby mages and villagers. Killing them instantly.

Fearful tears fall from Yennefer's eyes as you feel a surge of rage forming within you at these grisly acts of violence. She quickly regains her bearings enough to telepathically speak to Tissaia before the heiress is cut off by something or someone in the woods. You can hear as more and more mages are being slaughtered from beyond the Keep's walls as they run to the stronghold for cover, Yennefer calls out to them but it's no use, they're already dead.

A gate has been breached!

You want to do something but you can't bear to leave Yennefer's side in such dangerous times, but hearing the screams and wails of agony from the brave people around you is enough to shift your mind. You must help them, now is the time.

"Triss! The gate! Can you buy us time?" Shouts Yennefer aloud, though you know she's speaking telepathically to Triss.

Tearing your eyes away from dying Nilfgaard soldiers and mages alike do you place a comforting hand on Yennefer's shoulder, she snaps her attention to you, almost startled, "I'll help Triss. Be careful, Yenn." She tearfully nods as you lend her a small smile in return.

Your feet move inhumanly fast as you run atop the castle roof, jumping down to the wooden balcony where the archers are, you race past them before bolting down the steps and into the grassy courtyard where a gate has been breached. Many armed villagers and a few Nilfgaard soldiers are currently fighting with one another, their swords clashing in desperate fury.

Across the courtyard is Triss who's struggling to cover the opened gate with thick vines as a couple dark armored soldiers get themselves tangled up in the process. A look of pure determination crosses your face as you unsheathe your silver dagger, your legs move quick as you take out a few soldiers on your way to aid Triss in her fight. Knowing you can't do much from behind the gate, you scale the stone wall with ease, falling to the grass below, you land atop the soft earth with the grace of a dancer.

A pained scream rips forth from Triss' throat as a Nilfgaardian soldier thrusts his flaming torch into her neck, in an instant have you sunk your blade into his skull, pulling the bastard away as you look down at Triss from behind the vines. Her screams of agony pierce your sensitive ears as she looks at you through glossy pained eyes, but the thudding of quickly approaching heartbeats alerts you to turn around.

Your scarlet irises lock with the green ones of a rushing soldier, his sword is bared as he charges you, adrenaline and hate coursing throughout his entire vessel. He swings the blade to his left in your direction, twisting around past him, you shove your dagger through his jugular and right back out again, a red spurt of blood bursting forth as a couple droplets dance upon your face.

The fresh scent is almost intoxicating, driving you into a more primal feeling, you turn with fire in your eyes to face three more ugly old bastards, weapons drawn and ready to strike. You hiss at them, bearing your fangs as pure fear flashes across their faces. In a blur do you end their pathetic lives before they even have a chance to realize what hit them. You hear another scream and race to the aid of a fallen mage, slicing through more Nilfgaardian men in a fury of blood and broken bones.

She fearfully thanks you, her eyes dazed as she carries herself to safety, though there is no safety here as moments later does your ear drums burst with the sounds of explosives shattering throughout the battlements where all the glass bottles of blue stone where being kept.

Oh, fuck.

Stones fly past your head as white smoke emits from the destruction, you can smell the blood and hear the cries of the ones most unlucky enough to be so close. No one alive is around you for the time being as you stand among the dead, your chest rising and falling with heavy breaths, some trickles of unfamiliar blood falling down the side of your face and hands. More red dripping off of your sharp silver dagger as you stand in the evening sunlight, the smell of smoke and blood on the breeze.

"Can anyone here me? Is anyone out there?" Calls Yennefer from inside your head, likewise to all the other mages, "If you can hear me, you need to get to the front line. More Nilfgaardians are coming to the woods. We can't give up. We can still fight." Her voice is tired and desperate, heavy with emotion as she makes a last fleeting effort to protect the Keep.

You catch her scent and the sound of her erratic nervous heartbeat as she emerges from the broken gate of vines, white fog pushing to the side as she walks into the daylight. She looks rough, her face and chest dirty, her left hand coated in her own blood from a wound at her side.

Thump. Thump. Thump. Races three unfamiliar heartbeats.

Three more men rush out off the bushes and whitish thick mist, heading straight for her, she thrusts her opened palm into the air. Twisting her hand, the men fall dead one by one at her beautiful display of chaos.

Her lavender eyes trail across the battlefield, landing on you, you're speckled with the ruby red blood of dead Nilfgaardian men. A mess of red coating your lips as a trail of it wanders down your chin to your throat from when you let yourself have a little taste of Nilfgaards finest.

You slowly walk over to her side, she swallows, her throat is dry, nonetheless you lend her a hopeful smile, "You're ability to still look this good covered in dirt and blood is honestly impressive." The tiniest of smiles gives you a small sign of hope on her face, "I've cleared this area but as you've said, more are in the woods. I can still hear them, they're close."

"Thank you." Her voice is hoarse as she lowly nods, her voice becoming distant as she looks out into the wood line, "I need to find Tissaia."

Tagged: @notahappytree @ashleyforeverareject @sokkasdarling @kmuir1@haleypearce @diegos-butt (@auds24 sorry idk why ur name won’t work) @a-girl-who-loves-disney

#the witcher #the witcher x reader #the witcher x you #the witcher x y/n #geralt of rivia #geralt x reader #geralt x you #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt of rivia x you #of monsters and men fic #Yennefer of Vengerberg #yennefer

183 notes · View notes

imagine-darksiders · 3 years

Text

Old Timer.

Chapter 3 - An Old Friend.

----

The maker's footfalls are almost lost beneath the swishing of long grass that sways and whispers in ripples all across the valley, swathes of moonlight turning their blades silver as they flow with the wind. Were it not for the rhythmic thuds sending tremors through your body and coinciding with each step he takes, you'd almost think he was gliding across the vale. You've never known a maker to walk so smoothly.

Unbeknownst to you, even he isn't sure if he's ever trodden so softly before.

Then again, when was the last time he'd held something in his hands that felt as though it might shatter at the slightest jolt or jostle? He can’t help thinking that all it would take is one trip, just one stumble and he might accidentally... A loud gulp disturbs the relatively peaceful walk, and though the sound of it garners your brief and curious gaze, the maker manages to cover it by clearing his throat and keeping his eyes fixed straight ahead.

Your skin feels like silk beneath his inelegant fingertips and it takes more conscious effort than he'd like to admit to refrain from letting his fingers wander up to your bare arms. Even having you pressed gingerly against his pectorals sends an unexpected shiver racing up his spine.

He can't help but beam proudly when he notices that your head is on a constant swivel, staring around at the hills and valley with a look of astonishment plastered on your face, which gets him wondering what in the world your realm must look like. He imagines it must be somewhere beautiful, to produce such beautiful people.

Chuckling warmly, he twitches his thumb against your hip and asks, “So, what're you doing in the Forge Lands anyway?”

He's rewarded by a fleeting glance from strikingly intricate irises. “That's... a long story,” you mutter.

The maker's chest rumbles with an intrigued hum. “My favourite kind!”

His enthusiasm proves contagious and after indulging him in a smile, you look skywards and reply, “Well, since you ask, I'm afraid I'm not exactly here on purpose.”

“You mean you didn't travel here just to get a taste of the local flavour?” he smirks, flashing you a wink.

In spite of yourself, your exasperated smile only grows. “Lewd. And, no, what I mean is... All right, what do you know about portals?”

Okay, so maybe he doesn't need to know that you've come from another time entirely, but perhaps there isn't any harm in telling him the manner in which you came to be here. You're aware that most species in Creation – Humanity notwithstanding – have utilised portals as a means of travel between the connected realms. An unconventional method of getting about for humans maybe, but commonplace for a maker.

He may even be able to help you figure out what went wrong and why Death hasn't come to fetch you yet. Because you're one hundred percent certain that the Horseman wouldn't just leave you here.

...

Would he?

'No.' You tell the doubting voice sternly, giving your head a shake to throw the thought from your mind. He wouldn't do that to you. Nor would he have been bested by a couple of constructs.

So, that can't be the reason you're still here.

The maker's contemplative hum draws your attention and you glance up at the underside of his beard as he muses aloud, “Portals? Mmm, beyond stepping in them and getting to the other side, there's not a whole lot to them, why?”

“Well, that's how I got here,” you explain, “Through a portal in the woods. It wasn't supposed to bring me... uh, here though.”

“Oh?” The maker raises an eyebrow and steps into the entrance of a long, spacious tunnel, “Where were you expecting to end up then?”

“Well, that's the thing,” you say glumly, “It wasn't supposed to happen at all. I... fell into it.” Just then, you find yourself awash in the soft, blue glow emanating from dozens of glow stones that have been dotted along the tunnel walls.

Slowly, he nods, his hair shimmering silver in the ethereal light. “Right. So, erm, where did you fall into it?”

You open your mouth, hesitating for an awkward few seconds before you manage to reply, “On Earth.”

“Hmm.” Carefully sliding a hand out from underneath you, he raises it to scratch at his chin. “Well, portals can be fickle things, depending on who created them in the first place. Mostly, they take you where they're s'posed to lead. Sometimes, they take you where you want to go, but then there're those times when they'll take you where you need to go.”

“Oh great. All the portals I could have fallen into, and I fall into the one with a degree in psychology.”

“Hey, you fell into it by mistake,” he points out, “can't blame the portal for bringing you here.”

“No..” You feel him slip his hand beneath your legs again. “No, I suppose I can't.”

Because you didn't fall into it by mistake, did you? Death had activated it under your feet. He meant to send you... somewhere. For all of his unpalatable qualities, privately, the Horseman is remarkably intelligent. You have no doubt that he did a thousand calculations in those few seconds before he shot you back through time, weighed the pros and the cons, considered all the risks... He's loathe to admit it but he makes it quite obvious that he cares about what happens to you, if not through words then through his actions. He wouldn't have left you here. Not if he didn't think he could get you back again.

“Hold tight,” the maker suddenly murmurs, drawing you out of your thoughts and you instinctively latch onto his thumb, despite being held in perhaps the steadiest hands in the known Universe. As it turns out, he simply steps up onto an elevated section of the tunnel.

Anticlimactic.

Shaking your head with a snort, you turn your gaze to the far end, where a soft, orange glow is seeping in through the arched entrance. Apprehension has you drawing your uninjured leg up to your chest and you’re quite firmly reminded that this isn't the Tri Stone you've come from, and these aren't your friends. They're strangers. You are a stranger.

You take a couple of deep, nervous breaths, stilling when the maker's thumb bumps hesitantly against your side. “Not nervous, are you?” he asks, teasing.

You are, as a matter of fact. Though perhaps not for the same reason he suspects. Truthfully, the prospect of seeing your friend again after you'd watched him die puts the fear of God into you. How on Earth will you react? What will you say to him? Should you warn him? What if you say the wrong thing and he ends up disliking you? What if Death comes to take you back and you find you can’t say goodbye to him again?

Swallowing, you wet your lips and admit, “A little, I guess.”

Your admission brings a guttural murmur to the maker’s throat and his hands cup a bit more securely around you. Whether the reaction is conscious or not, you aren't sure. But you decide not to mention it.

“You think I'd pull you out of trouble, just to let you get hurt on my watch? In my village? Some of this lot might be a bit boisterous, but they're good folk, and any friend of mine'll be a friend of theirs.”

“Oh? And who said I was a friend of yours?” You shoot him an impish grin, which he returns, peeling his lips back to reveal the extent of his gleaming, ivory tusks.

“Seem to recall it being you, you little smart aleck. Called me a boddy, didn't you?”

“A buddy.”

“S'what I said.”

A snort explodes from you before you can lift a hand to catch it.

Encouraged, the giant lifts you closer to his face and continues, “You can laugh, sweetheart, but naming me a friend was your mistake. You'll have a hell of a time getting rid of me now.”

At the back of your mind, a voice that sounds suspiciously like Death's instructs you not to go and start making friends in a place you'll probably, hopefully, be leaving soon - a tricky feat when you're faced with an incorrigible maker who keeps flashing you charming grins and coy remarks. Besides, you're not going to be cold just because you might not stick around. You're a human, not a Horseman.

Dropping your leg back over the side of his hand, you clear your throat to smother a chuckle and say, “You must have no end of friends if you make them that easily.”

It only lasts for a moment, but you don't miss how the hands you're pressed into go stiff and rigid. Then, as though it had never happened, the maker juts out his chest, chin sticking high in the air. “Course I've got friends,” he declares, “But I'll have you know, I'm very selective.”

You raise a skeptical brow. “Really?”

“Aye, really!” Chuckling nervously, his eyes dart away from you and back again and he's a little too quick to point out, “Oh, wouldja look at that! We're here!”

Sure enough, as you turn to follow his gaze, you suddenly find yourself awash in warmth and light. Squinting, you raise a hand to shield your eyes after the tunnel's comfortable darkness, blinking out at a distantly familiar, yet unrecognisable scene.

It's the village of Tri Stone all right, only it looks almost new, at least compared to the village you'd left behind. For one, there's a lot less space between the buildings now. Grey, stone huts are packed almost on top of one another in clusters, running up and down the left and right of the bridge that stretches over the seemingly bottomless gorge below. In the place where Muria’s gazebo will stand, there is instead an enormous, open walled garden, bursting with herbs and flowers that stand much taller than you do.

There are lanterns and glow stones strung up like bunting over the village, leaving everything bathed in that warm, orange light that drapes over you like a comforting blanket. At the far end of the bridge, you spot the distinct doorway leading to the maker's forge and part of you wants to breathe a sigh of relief, drawing small comfort from the familiarity of the stone face carved out of the very mountain itself.

The village's architecture, however, is not the reason for the gasp that escapes you.

Milling about between the buildings – in greater numbers than you've ever seen before – are dozens of makers, all shapes, sizes and ages. There are those clothed in lush, richly coloured robes, those wearing leathers and furs and even some who are fully decked out in silver and gold armour.

Older makers gather in small groups, some of them talking animatedly amongst themselves, though the tones are such an amalgamation of low, gravelly sounds that you can't pick out any specific words from your vantage point at the top of the village. In an instant, you begin to rake your gaze over the crowd, searching with a hesitant desperation for that familiar flash of white beard or sweeping prongs protruding from an intricate headpiece.

Then, you spot something that gives you pause.

Dashing between the adults, almost lost amongst the sea of vast legs, you catch glimpses of far smaller creatures, and it isn't until one of them suddenly emerges from behind a maker's boot that you realise exactly what it is you're looking at.

Without warning, your jaw practically comes unhinged.

They're.... younglings. Proper younglings - not like Karn, who was only called as such because he happened to be younger than the others. These are quite clearly children. And while they'd tower about you by a few feet, some of them hardly seem to reach their elders' knees.

Enraptured and knowing full-well that you're witnessing something secret and precious, you watch them chase each other between long legs and weave around the huts, brandishing wooden swords at one another, save for a few of the smaller ones who cling to the older giants and observe their playmates with shy reticence, content to wait until they're big or brave enough to join in.

It's a community. An entire community of makers.

Your throat is tighter than a vice when you try to swallow.

There's a soft and proud smile tugging at the maker's lips as he observes you, revelling in the dumbfounded expression on your face.

After giving you a few more moments to soak in your surroundings, he leans down and lets his warm breath wash over the back of your neck. “Welcome to Tri Stone,” he murmurs.

It's beautiful, in a tragic way, only because you've seen it in its future state, and compared to this - this lively, bustling village – the Tri Stone you've come from seems so much like a ghost town. To think... one day, most of this will be gone, and in its place will stand a comparatively lonely and melancholy place. At some point in the future, though you can't hazard a guess as to when, your friends will lose it all....

A single tear wells up in one corner of your eye, but you're quick to deftly swipe it away before the maker can see it.

“Here.. Why don’t I... ” His thick, smoky voice trails off and flutters into your ear and you find yourself being lifted up. You don’t say a word as he gingerly tips his palm and watches you all the way onto his shoulder until he’s satisfied that you’re situated securely upon it. At the questioning glance he receives, he merely shrugs, explaining, “Thought you’d prefer the view from up there.”

He neglects to mention that he’ll feel much better the further away you are from the ground, and any, wayward boots that might stomp just a little too close for his liking.

“Now,” he adds, clapping his palms together and already missing the subtle weight of having you held between them “Let’s go and find -”

“Ah. So, you've returned, at last.” A rasping and admittedly rather grating voice rings out above the village's gentle ambiance and the maker below you groans upon hearing it, turning himself to face the empty staircase on his right and subsequently giving you a better view of the haggard, ancient being shuffling towards you.

Honestly, you can't help but to stare, having never thought you'd get to see a person who could make Eideard look young.

It's another maker, a very old maker, draped in stark, white robes that wash out his pasty complexion and leave him looking sicklier than you imagine he really is. There's almost no colour to him at all, in fact, as though all the life has drained out of his body and left him as little more than a pale ghost, dragging himself towards you on crooked legs, helped along by a staff that resembles the limbless trunk of a birch tree, all mottled and white like its wielder.

As he draws closer, you start to make out the muffled grumbles spat from his thin, drawn lips. Without really meaning to, you shrink against your maker's neck, one hand squeezing around a lock of his silken hair. Why couldn’t he have worn a cowl for you to duck behind?

“You're late,” the old giant wheezes, coming to a halt in front of him, raising a gnarled finger and jabbing it sharply into the younger maker's chest, “You were told to return before the suns fell. Your duties have gone neglected. Again.”

Undeterred by the accusing tone, your new friend turns his head to catch your eye and throws you a wink, plastering on his signature grin before he faces the newcomer once more. “Ah, Cruim! Just the maker we wanted to see-”

“That's Elder Cruim to you, boy,” the other maker sneers, stroking his nails down the long, silver beard that hangs from his chin all the way to the ground, “Where have you been? No doubt getting yourself into trouble, as usual.”

“Oh, you know me. I can't help myself!” he replies with a shrug, accidentally jostling you on his shoulder and causing you to let out a soft gasp at the sudden motion.

Unfortunately for you, although this 'Cruim's' eyes resemble the colour of sour milk, they manage to find you without difficulty and once they do, they widen in visible surprise, his mouth falling open to reveal crooked teeth and a missing tusk.

Shyly, you lift one of your hands and give him a tiny wave. “Uh... Hi?”

His razor-sharp gaze snaps to the younger maker and he subjects him to a scathing glare, hissing, “What... is that thing?”

“Errr..” Your friend's smile droops and he shares another quick glance with you before he admits, “Actually, we were hoping you might have some idea.”

Gradually, your heart begins to sink as the old maker gives you another, suspicious look, recognition never once alighting in his eyes.

“It's um, good to meet you, Sir,” you venture weakly, trying not to sound as though you're desperate, “We just thought... someone as ol – uh, worldly as you would have seen someone like me before. In your travels?... Perhaps?” Already feeling small, you let your voice fade into nonexistence.

If nothing else, getting at least a general idea of the epoch you're in might be incremental in getting you back to your own timeline. On the off chance that Cruim has heard of humans before, then you can safely narrow the date down to... oh, within the last four and a half billion years.

You sigh.

One of the giant's wispy eyebrows lifts and he wrinkles his nose, but doesn't otherwise respond to your question, instead electing to squint at you dubiously, sending your heart-rate up a few notches.

“This here's a hoo-man,” the young maker encourages, hoping to perhaps jog his memory, yet all he receives in response is a skeptical 'harrumph.'

“It... it's hyu-man,” you correct him softly, enunciating the word whilst you privately long for the interaction to be over so that you can get back to looking for Eideard, and if not him, then Muria. The pain in your leg may be less severe, but you’re conscious that the wounds still need seeing to.

“A human? Pah! There's no such species!” the old one spits, “Whatever that thing told you, it's lying.”

Beneath your legs, you feel the maker's shoulder tense as he draws himself up, hackles raised. “That thing,” he says slowly, erring on a growl, “happens to be a friend of mine.”

He doesn’t notice the soft, ‘Huh?’ that slips from your tongue, nor the surprised wonder shining in your eyes as you turn to stare at him.

In contrast, Cruim evidently couldn’t care less, and with an exasperated huff, he throws his eyes up to the sky and tuts, tossing his hand out towards you aggressively. “I swear, you always were soft-headed as a youngling. Nothing much seems to have changed with age...” He pauses to reaffix you with a glare, still addressing his younger counterpart as he adds, “It's a glamoured demon, you fool. Nothing more. Now, get rid of it before it causes mayhem in my village.”

Suddenly, a gut-wrenching pit of fear opens up in your stomach. You know exactly what makers think of demons, but just as you try to sputter out assurances that you most certainly are not a demon in disguise, the young maker grunts, twisting himself sideways so that the shoulder you're sitting on is moved further away from his elder, partially hiding you from view behind a waterfall of golden hair.

“Just hold on a whit. This little'un is no demon!” he declares, swelling to his full height until he's looming over the old maker, “You think I wouldn't recognise glamour magic if I sensed it? Now, I might not know what a human is, but I'm inclined to believe that I've met one today - one who needs our help.”

Despite the distant hum of the village, you feel as though you're sitting in a silent bubble of existence miles away from everything else, locked in this one, single moment as the pair of makers stare one another down whilst you watch with bated breath.

Somehow, you get the impression that this isn't the first time they've locked horns.

Your maker stands at least two heads taller than his older counterpart, but the latter has the advantage of being a respected figure, one whose authority is rarely, if ever questioned or challenged. And makers are nothing if not an honourable lot. It's difficult to believe that the younger one is standing up against his own elder in your defence. You, a stranger in their home.

You fully expect him to back down first.

So it comes as a huge surprise when it’s the old one who breaks eye contact and shakes his head, disappointment and contempt radiating off him in tangible waves. “I miss the days when you younglings would listen to your elders.”

“That was 'fore I learned that my elders are capable of being wrong sometimes.”

Cruim's fists clench tightly around his staff, but he takes a step back, levelling the maker with his icy sneer. “Fine. You won't be told... Blind yourself to my warnings. But mark me...” Trailing off to heave his rickety bones around, he begins to shuffle away once more, heading for the staircase that sweeps down towards the lower tier of the village. Upon reaching the top step, he twists his head over a shoulder and calls, “If your little stray causes any trouble, I will be holding you personally responsible....” Then, with a sigh, he lowers his voice and turns away once more, but not before he adds in an uncharacteristically soft murmur, “You can't keep trying to make friends with every creature that catches your fancy. One of these days, your heart will be the thing that gets you killed, Eideard.”

And just like that, with the utterance of a single word, the realm around you grinds to an abrupt and dizzying halt.

The soft-eyed maker doesn't seem to realise that the tiny being on his shoulder has stopped breathing. He continues to watch Cruim descend the staircase until he's out of sight, and only then does he lose his rigid stance.

“Ah, don't pay him any mind,” he huffs dismissively, “Time's made him bitter and suspicious. I know you’re telling the truth.”

But you're barely listening to him. Suddenly, you don't care that the elder hasn't heard of your species. You don't give a damn that you're lost between the fabric of time, billions of years separated from Death and the rest of your friends. Even the ache in your leg is forgotten, drowned out by the cruel knife of grief that lodges into your heart and gives a vicious twist, stealing the breath right out of you. Everything threatens to hit you all at once, disbelief first, then confusion and shock, misery, hope, guilt. It all leaves you numb as your brain tries to sift through the nauseating torrent of emotions until it finally settles upon the one it can most easily comprehend for the moment.

Apprehension.

Stiffly, with your heart jackhammering against your ribcage, you twist yourself around to face the maker properly, the beginnings of a sob catching in your throat. “Wha...What did he just... call you?”

“Hmm?” The maker pivots his neck in your direction, taking in your haunted stare for a moment before he suddenly realises that... That's right. He'd never actually introduced himself to his new friend.

“Oh, maker's bones, look at me, forgetting my manners.” Beaming, he fixes you under his warm, blue gaze which is now so, jarringly familiar that you can hardly believe you never recognised it in the first place.

“My name's Eideard, little one. At your service.”

#Darksiders #darksiders 2 #Eideard #Eidad #Reader #Old timer #Yes obviously there will be bonding with maker younglings in the next chapter ;)#World building

53 notes · View notes

spiritofchaoticdreams · 3 years

Text

A Lantern’s Rage PART 4

Prev Beginning

Based on @cornholio4 ‘s Red Lantern Prompt

______________________________________________________________

When Razer stared into the young girl’s eyes, he looked beyond the anger. What he found was heartbreak, despair, and he saw heartbreak, grief, and hopelessness. He recognized all those feelings, and then for a moment a face flickered over hers...his face. His glare. It was like looking into his past.

“Oh man. What am I going to do with you kid?”, Razer heard Hal groan. “Do I take you to Oa for your crimes as a Red Lantern? Turn you over to Earth authorities? Or to the League?” He looked over at the Green Lantern who was running his fingers through his hair. He looked back at the Red Lantern, she looked so defeated and still so angry.

“Hal”, Razer spoke, the human turned to look at him, “I believe I have a solution. What if I take her to Odym, help her overcome her rage and repent for her actions.” Hal looked like he was thinking it over, he sighed.

“We’ll have to check with the guardians, and the league.”, he said, his ring started glowing and he lifted his hand close to his face. “Hey Big S, turns out the red lantern was a teenage girl.” He walked away from Razer to continue with his conversation. Razer looked back at her, she was still sitting down in the bubble construct he made.

He sighed, aimed his ring at the bubble and unclenched his fist, the blue bubble disappeared into thin air. Immediately, the tiny human girl threw herself at him, he jumped out of the way. She growled at him, “You aren’t taking me anywhere! Not until I make those heartless idiots pay!”

Razer rose his hands up, showing her he meant no harm, her glare faltered for a split second before hardening again. “I am Razer of the Blue Lantern Corp, I am here to help. What is your name?”, he asked, extending his hand in the way Hal used when introducing himself to others. He assumed it was an earth custom, then she slowly began to extend her hand out towards him. When she grabbed his hand, her glare disappeared, and was replaced by an almost blank stare. He still saw anger, cautiousness, and a touch of fear.

“I’m Marinette Dupain-Cheng...of the Red Lantern Corp.”, she said a little too roughly.

Razer smiled gently at her and knelt down in front of her, “It’s nice to meet you.”

________

Marinette stared numbly at her ringless left hand, it had been a week since the ring was removed from her hand. The so-called Guardians had it taken from her but she was to stay on Odym to train under Razer. The ring never left her side though, no matter how far it was taken it came right back to her. Razer said it was because she still had a great rage in her, and until she could let go of this rage the ring would keep coming back.

Despite the meaning behind the ring, she missed it. She missed it’s warmth, it’s light, the feeling of not being alone...she missed it just as much as she missed Tikki. She frowned and rubbed her bare earlobes, a new habit she developed recently. Tikki couldn’t come with her, so she had to give up being Ladybug. “Give up?”, she muttered, “Not like I had a choice.” Tikki made the decision to leave.

“Your entire life has been changed, you need time to heal from this change. And as much as I want to be with you.”, Tikki said as she hugged Marinette’s cheek. “I can’t go with you. But I can guarantee that when you come back, I’ll be here.”

Marinette started to cry only for the door to burst open and a stunned Razer was pointing his ring at the scared Kwami. Marinette immediately hid Tikki behind her,but then Tikk flew out towards the blue lantern.

“Thank you for helping my Marinette”, she could hear the smile in Tikki’s voice. “Please protect her while I’m gone.” She bowed her head and Razer bowed his head.

“I swear on my honor as a blue lantern that I will protect her.”, Razer vowed. Tikki then flew over to Marinette and hugged her cheek tight. Then kissed Marinette’s forehead. Marinette started to tear up as she removed the earrings from her ears, and handed them to the Kwami.

Tikki took them and gave one final smile to Marinette before flying off into the night.

Her eyes began to water and she clenched her fists, then threw herself on her bed. She grabbed her pillow and shoved it into her face, “AAAARRRRGGGGHHHH!!!!”, she screamed into the soft mass. She removed the pillow and sat up straight in the bed. Her eyes stinging from the unshed tears and she quickly blinked any would be tears away. Pulling the pillow close to her chest, she rose up out of her bed and walked over to a window that overlooked the Blue Lantern Corp’s home base.

She sighed and her shoulders slumped, “If I wasn’t stuck on this planet, I might actually enjoy the view.” One and reached up and rubbed an earlobe, “You would’ve liked this place, Tikki.”

She hated that she was here. She missed Paris. She missed Tikki. She missed Alya and Nino. She missed Adrien and Luka. She missed Nadja and Manon. She even missed Chloe. Sighing, she looked at a small glowing device that rested on a table in the middle of the room. She could talk to anyone of them if she wanted to, but what was she supposed to say exactly? That she’s sorry for destroying half the city? She’s sorry for traumatizing everyone? Or how about that she’s sorry that she was so upset that she literally became a mini rage god hell bent on killing their entire class? That would definitely go well. Oh and how could she forget, “I’m sorry for becoming a monster and then leaving without so much as a word because some alien police force wants me to repent for my sins!”

Then she heard a loud beep, oh great her “mentor” was here for their daily walk around the grounds. Groaning, she walked over to her door and opened it. Aaaand there he was, Razer, she gave an obviously fake smile and said, “Well isn’t this a surprise! Razer! How nice to see you!” She then gave him a deadpan look and attempted to close the door slightly, “Thanks for stopping by but I really don’t feel like talking to anyone right now. Bye-bye!”

A bright blue hand construct stopped the door from closing, she glared at it and it’s owner. Razer smiled at her and she found it a bit hard to keep glaring at him. She groaned and stepped outside her room, “Let’s get this over with.”

“I won’t take up much time, today we are expecting some visitors.”, he smiled at her, then started to walk away. Then he stopped, looked at her expectedly and she begrudgingly walked beside him. They walked in silence for a while before she asked, “These visitors...are they from Earth?”

“Yes.”, was the only response she got.

“Are they here for me?”, she asked, this time looking up at him as they strolled in a hallway. Razer looked like he was contemplating how to respond.

“They are here to discuss what happened and the situation in Paris with the miraculous.”, her eyes widened and she stopped walking. Razer stopped a few steps ahead of her.

“They know I’m- I was Ladybug?”, she asked. Razer shook his head, “No, but they believe you know how to contact her. Your friend, Alya, and partner, Chat Noir, both said that if anyone knew how to “reach” Ladybug, it would be you.”

She breathed out a sigh of relief, before staring Razer in the eye, You didn’t tell them?” Razer shook his head again, “It is not my secret to share. And I swore to your friend that I would protect you during your time here. I assumed that me sharing this information would be me breaking my promise.” She nodded her head as a show of gratitude.

“Thank you Razer.”, she said softly. Razer smiled at her and together they walked further down the hallway.

______________________________________________________________

(Author’s note) Hey guys! Thanks for reading the finale of A Lantern’s Rage. I hope you all enjoyed it! If you have questions feel free to ask in my ask box. I plan to do little oneshots to further the story, but for now this is where we leave off. Til next time!

Sincerely,

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* Spirit *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

TAGLIST: @our-preciousss @ @misslenamooney @maskedpainter @silversaphire12 @lassiedanter @vinces-cove @vixen-uchiha

#red lantern marinette #dc x miraculous #miraculous x dc #miraculous ladybug au #miraculous au

88 notes · View notes

summerofspock · 4 years

Text

My patreon alternate POV request for August was an additional chapter of Under Construction from Aziraphale’s POV. I chose to write the night they came back from the beach and found Spider.

After a long day on the road, Aziraphale is looking forward to relaxing by the fire. Maybe having a beer and talking about nothing in particular with Crowley. He finds he likes doing that. Talking to Crowley. He knows how to have a meandering conversation. He knows that Aziraphale doesn't mean anything by his playful teasing, that sometimes it's fun to ask questions without any sort of answer.

Crowley offers to get wood for the fire which is a bit cute really since Aziraphale doubts he could carry more than two logs at a time. But it is the thought that counts.

His nice plans are interrupted when Crowley rockets back into the house stammering about a kitten stuck in the woodpile. It's not the first time Aziraphale has found a stray cat on his property but the woodpile will be a first.

He can hear it crying as soon. as they approach the stack of wood and he does his best not to worry. He can retrieve a kitten. With care, he begins to remove the logs from the stack.

"You poor thing," he says in an effort to calm the crying kitten. It sounds so pathetic. "You'll be alright."

Crowley vibrates behind him, anxiety practically radiating off of him. He does that often. A stack of batteries has less energy than a Crowley in the throes of anxiety.

Finally, Aziraphale removed the perfect log, revealing the cowering black kitten. It blinks bright yellow eyes up at him as he reaches down carefully, ignoring the scurrying spiders, and lifts it into the cradle of his arms.

"There you go. You're safe now," he says softly. He swipes cobwebs from the kitten’s black fur and feels a surge of gratitude for Crowley for finding the poor dear.

Crowley dips closer, skinny torso weaving around Aziraphale like he was trying to get a better look. "What do we do with him?"

Aziraphale strokes two fingers down the cat's forehead and replies calmly, "I suppose feed him and house him for a night and figure it out tomorrow?"

The cat chirps almost in response. Aziraphale will need to go into town and pick up supplies. Shadwell should have a few things at the general store that will do fine for one night. Aziraphale hands Crowley the cat.

Looking lost, Crowley takes it gingerly. His eyebrows furrow as he pulls the creature close to his chest and tries to pet it, albeit a bit clumsily, shifting it from hand to hand as he tries to adjust. His palms are wide enough that they can fit the kitten almost entirely. It’s strange that Aziraphale notices. He sees the tendons flex in Crowley’s fingers as he cups his hand. Aziraphale’s vision narrows to the contrast of Crowley’s pale skin against the dark fur of the cat. It begins to purr, a low satisfied hum.

Aziraphale tears his eyes from Crowley’s hands—good hands, gorgeous hands—and looks at his face. Crowley is staring at the cat in his arms, mouth slightly ajar. He glances up at Aziraphale and his expression does something amazing. His sharp features transform into a disbelieving joyful grin that reveals that one crooked incisor Aziraphale had noticed early on. Unabashed, unashamed, this smile shouldn't have been any different than sitting under the stars and talking about dolphin conspiracies, falling asleep in the truck bed after a night on the town, but it is. It breaks apart the everpresent harsh lines around Crowley’s mouth. Gone is the frown that chases every laugh. Crowley looks happy. Crowley has dimples.

Aziraphale’s heart dips into his stomach.

"Oh my God, it’s purring,'' Crowley says in disbelief, beautiful heartstopping expression shifting miraculously into something that shatters the delicate shell of Aziraphale’s chest. "Do you hear that?"

Crowley glances at him again and frowns. Aziraphale realizes he is staring with his mouth open and closes it quickly. He is supposed to say something. Crowley had asked a question. What had the question been? Aziraphale needs time to think. His heart is racing and he needs to think.

"Right. Yes. I—I can go to the general store and get litter. I'm sure Shadwell has some. I should just...I'll do that. Right now."

Somehow Aziraphale ends up in his truck, driving down the back roads to Pine Grove, his mind lighting up with every moment he has shared with Crowley over the last 6 weeks. Has he been a fool?

He remembers, with clarity, meeting Crowley that first night. Thinking him flash and a bit rude. Clocking Crowley’s attraction to him on sight and thinking nothing of it. People like Crowley are a dime a dozen. Except they aren't. Crowley is kind under all his bluster. He's funny and good at giving as good as he gets despite his clear anxiety. It’s turned him into a good friend. Someone Aziraphale is glad to know. Someone he thinks he will want to know for a very long time.

And yes, he might have been ignoring some signs of Crowley's feelings otherwise. The way Crowley blushes around him. Or secretly buys him books of poetry and hides them in his bags like Aziraphale won’t notice. And while all signs point towards such an attraction being romantic in nature, Aziraphale doesn’t want to assume. He is no stranger to attraction without romance. In fact, he thinks the last time he had a crush on someone was in uni. He’s dated since then, of course, but it has been years since that specific tug in his stomach. That skip in the beat of his heart.

Not that feeling that had entirely consumed him as he had watched a smile bloom over Crowley's face in front of the woodpile.

Aziraphale pulls into the parking lot in front of Shadwell’s and takes a deep breath. Is he really going to try to figure this out tonight? Should he do anything at all? Any potential relationship between himself and Crowley would be difficult.

But Aziraphale never feels like this. This earth shattering, jarring sensation like everything in his life has rearranged just because Crowley smiled.

The bell above the door tinkles and the smell of sawdust and old building greets Aziraphale like an old friend.

"Bit late for an errand run," Shadwell grunts from the register in his out of place drawl. One of the oddest things about this part of America is the strange subset of mountaineers who speak with a different accent. And own far too many guns.

"Yes," Aziraphale says, still dazed. "We picked up a stray kitten out by the cabin and needed to take care of him for the night."

"Your fancy feller is still staying with you then?" Shadwell asks, and Aziraphale couldn't care less for small talk. It seems Shadwell doesn't either because he takes an Aziraphale tumbled yes and turns back to restore the Marlboros.

Crowley is waiting at home so Aziraphale tries to be quick. Except Crowley is waiting at home and Aziraphale isn't ready to face him. He hasn't made a decision.

He looks at the cans of cat food that look like they've been there for at least a few months and inspects the expiration dates without really seeing them because his vision is still swimming with images of Crowley.

Crowley awkwardly looking away when they sat down for lunch at the riverfront. Crowley's gaze lingering on his chest when he got out of the shower. Crowley's shit eating smile when he finally beat Aziraphale at pac-man.

Aziraphale clutches at the meow mix in his hand and breathes through the pain in his chest. He can’t just give this up. Relationships fail for all sorts of reasons but it would certainly be doomed if he never even tries.

Aziraphale places several cans of cat food into his basket. Now to figure out how to tell Crowley. Another memory drifts into his mind, scented with salt and seagrass.

If I were interested in you, I wouldn’t use underhanded seduction tactics like forcing you to share a bed with me.

Aziraphale grips the shelf in front of him. "Oh, good lord," he hisses to himself.

Had he really said that?

And then Crowley had turned red and ran off to the bathroom. Well, Aziraphale probably has some apologizing to do. Some ground to make up.

Maybe he will plan something romantic. Crowley hardly seems the type to go in for being wooed. Roses and truffles certainly aren't the way to his heart. But everyone deserves to be wooed sometimes.

Aziraphale pays for his purchases and got back into the truck. His heart hammers for different reasons now. He is going to tell Crowley. Not tonight. But soon. Somewhere romantic. Somewhere that says I have feelings for you and I'm willing to put in the work.

Pulling up the gravel driveway, his stomach jumps in time with the bumps in the road. He certainly found Crowley attractive before. Or at least thought him the sort that people would find attractive. Thin, tall. Defined features. Well-styled, striking red hair. But he hasn't really thought about it. Hasn't really looked.

His hands shake as he turns off the ignition and he tips his head back against the headrest. He is about to walk into his house and Crowley will be inside. He will be in one of his tight black shirts. The sort that dip at his collar bones. He will be barefoot and Aziraphale will be able to see the delicate bones of his ankles, the rigid tendons of his feet.

And Aziraphale will want to kiss him. He knows he will. And it wouldn't be just any kiss. It would be a back you up against the wall and show you exactly how I feel about you kiss. It would be everything.

But it is most certainly too fast.

This is brand new. Aziraphale doesn't want to rush. He will make a plan and he will talk to Crowley, making it clear that their friendship is paramount and that his ability to sleep on Aziraphale’s couch is not predicated on Aziraphale’s feelings and they could...go from there.

Satisfied with his plan, Aziraphale goes inside and every little nice bit of what he told himself went to pot. Crowley is sitting on the floor playing with the little black kitten with a shoelace. Upon Aziraphale’s entrance, Crowley looks up and grins.

Dimples.

Aziraphale tears his gaze away lest he drop the box of litter and tackle Crowley against the floor. He turns away and kicks off his boots with more force than necessary

“Did Shadwell have what you needed?”

Is his voice going to do things to Aziraphale’s insides now too? Goodness, this is about to become unbearable.

“Yes,” Aziraphale manages, glancing over at Crowley to see the kitten climbing up onto his shoulder. The move has tugged down his shirt and revealed the ginger patch of his chest hair which Aziraphale has an insane urge to lick.

"I was thinking about names," Crowley says, crawling up into a standing position, careful not to disturb the kitten by his neck.. His shirt pulls taut over his thin chest with his movement, rising up at his waist and exposing the line of one of his hip bones. Good lord, how had Aziraphale not noticed the man standing right in front of him?

"Spider,'' Crowley says, draping himself over the back of the bar stool. Crowley does that. A lot of draping. Lounging. Dramatic really.

Aziraphale likes him so much.

Crowley must have interpreted the look on his face for one of confusion because he adds, "You know, like you said. There are spiders in the woodpile."

It is a miracle the Aziraphale doesn't kiss him then and there.

#my fic #lumberjack fic #azcrow fic

375 notes · View notes

candycityy · 3 years

Text

waltz

Synopsis: He'd chase her to hell itself, and beyond, if he had to. Greek mythology/PJO-inspired reincarnation AU.

[Click here to read on AO3 instead.]

The first time, Levi dies quietly, in his sleep.

He does not go out in fire and fury; it is a peaceful death, one he goes into with grey in his temples and sickness in his blood, unbecoming of humanity's strongest soldier. But Levi has never been a hero. Never wanted to.

He wakes to the gentle, rocking motion of a sailboat. It's dark, cavernous, but there is no ceiling as far as he can see, only steep walls of grey rock that stretch into the sky, lined with candle sconces that curve upwards and throw eerie blue light onto the dew-slicked surfaces.

He moves to sit up. His head spins, his consciousness threadbare and fragmented. When he glances over the edge of the boat, he sees a strange reflection in the black water.

It's him, but...different. Paler, younger, gaunter. The ghostly light casts shadows that pool in the hollows of his cheekbones and underneath his eyes, making him look almost skeletal.

Appropriate, he supposes, considering he's dead.

The figure that sits silently at the other end of the boat smiles, a flash of white, pointed teeth in a silhouetted face. "Levi Ackerman," it pronounces. Its voice is soft but grating, like its vocal cords are made of rusted iron instead of soft flesh. "I finally meet you. It's an honour."

"More than I can say for you." His voice is unnaturally loud, bouncing off the rock and echoing into the silence. "Am I supposed to know who the fuck you are?"

"I am Charon." It inclines its head, and Levi catches a flash of its eyes; they're the same strange blue-grey as the flames that light the cave. "You don't know me, but I know you. Oh, if I could count all the times I've heard that name on the lips of the newly-dead...as if you were a demon, or a god."

When Levi doesn't respond, Charon continues, its conversational tone clashing with the rasp of its voice. "But now that I see you here, as dead as any of your soldiers, I see you are no more than simply human."

The boat bumps roughly against the shore. In the distance, a city emerges, like magic, from the darkness. It glows with a warm light, delicate towers of glass rising up into the sky, which is already lightening into a soft, clear blue. As Levi watches, the grey rock of the shore metamorphoses into an endless, rolling green field, blades of grass shifting and swaying in a nonexistent breeze.

"Your fare?" Charon extends a bloodless, expectant hand. Levi stares back uncertainly.

"What?"

"There is always a price to pay, to cross over into death." Charon's withered lips curve into a smirk. "Blood, or wealth, or sorrow...and in your case, that." It nods at his clenched fist.

He uncurls his fingers, revealing a tattered soldier's patch, torn from their uniform, embroidered with the emblem of blue and white wings he thought he'd never see again. It sits among a sea of red, crescent-shaped imprints, carved into pale flesh.

Before Levi can react, the ferryman reaches over and plucks it from his open palm. In its skeletal grasp, the patch shrinks and changes, turning into a single heavy, gold coin.

Charon stands up, its spine curving into a low, mocking bow.

"Welcome to Elysium, Levi Ackerman. I wish you a pleasant death."

Levi doesn't remember much about his death.

He'd died in bed, he thinks—he remembers the sharp, acrid scent of medicine and disinfectant, the way the illness crept into his bloodstream, making his bones brittle and his lungs constrict. But already, his time on earth is becoming a distant memory, colours and textures and emotions once cast in sharp detail softening into a sighing, distant grey.

Such is the spell of Elysium, he hazily guesses. The pain of life has no place in paradise, and his life has been so little apart from pain. Some memories remain, though, either unable or unwilling to be pried from his mind—a strange, lilting lullaby in a language he doesn't recognise. The crisp aroma of fresh tea leaves. Hair the colour of a sunset, a shifting mass of reds and golds. A name.

He struggles to remember, and fails.

The ground is soft, unresisting, under the crunch of his boots, and Levi isn't sure if it's been minutes or years when he finally steps onto dry sand. When he looks up, he's engulfed by the radiance of the golden city—Elysium.

"Welcome, hero." The woman that appears before him smiles. She is undeniably beautiful, and yet not quite right; there is something unnatural, inhuman, to the curve of her mouth and the brightness in her cerulean gaze. Her white dress drapes her every curve and flows to the ground, gossamer-like and almost liquid. A closer look reveals that it is constructed entirely of tiny white flower petals, stitched together with a silky, translucent thread—spiderwebs, he realises with an inward shudder.

"I am Persephone, queen of the Underworld, goddess of spring." She lifts a hand, and a sighing, heady breeze envelopes her, making her hair and dress ripple. "Levi Ackerman—I must admit, I expected you much sooner."

"Sorry to disappoint," he says flatly. "Although, you can't really blame me for trying my damned best to avoid, you know. Dying."

"Well, no matter." She lifts an elegant shoulder, in a guise of a shrug. "You're here now. I'm delighted to welcome you into my realm."

She spreads her arms in a dramatic gesture, and the otherworldly light coming off her intensifies to an almost blinding degree. He winces wordlessly. "Could you turn that goddess thing off?"

"Hmm." Persephone casts him a thoughtful look, and then smiles, catlike. "Maybe you'd prefer this, instead, then?"

As he watches, her statuesque form shrinks until the top of her head reaches just below his eye-level. Her elaborate crown of braids, as pale gold as a wheatfield, softens and falls to her collarbone, and darkens into a honeyed copper. Her features blur and bubble over, revealing amber eyes and a too-familiar smile.

The elusive name—he forgot, how could he forget?—is torn from his throat, a ragged whisper. "Petra."

The word is a hook, tugging to the surface a lifetime of memories, and all at once, he remembers.

The first time he'd seen her, she'd been participating in a titan drill. She'd swept through the air like quicksilver, tumbling past her comrades in a graceful choreography of movement, silvered blades like deadly extensions of her slender arms. But far more arresting was the look in her eyes: her amber irises set ablaze from within, bright with ferocity and triumph.

She'd been the first person in the Survey Corps who'd ever been kind to him; who'd looked him straight in the eye and spoke honestly, defiantly. Levi doesn't know exactly when, but she'd cut a hole into his chest with that warm, reticent smile. And for the first time since he was nine years old, he'd allowed himself to be weak.

An initially uneasy truce had grown into a comfortable companionship, and after months of push-and-pull, polite banter turned into shared moments in the corridors, and evening tea sessions turned into late nights spent in his office, fingers intertwined underneath the table.

And he remembers, with startling clarity, the day he'd been walking in a Sina marketplace and found that silver ring, set with a stone the exact colour of her eyes. He remembers how it'd seemed to burn a hole in his pocket after he bought it, day after day, week after week. Impatient. Demanding.

It'd burned all the more when he'd found her that day, sprawled against the tree, her neck thrown back at a grotesque angle, empty eyes trained at the sky.

"So you do prefer this." The goddess who is not Petra smiles, cold and otherworldly, and the expression looks desperately wrong on her face. "How terribly unsurprising. Humans are all the same, in every age and time...I suppose even being humanity's strongest wouldn't change a thing."

"Is she here?" is all he manages to say. Persephone waves a slender white hand, carelessly.

"Perhaps, perhaps not," she drawls. "But we are not here to talk about your long-lost love, Levi Ackerman. We are here to talk about you, and that all the wildest desires that your fragile little soul can muster." Her lip curls. "You are in Elysium. What is your heart's desire, hero? What do you ask of paradise?"

"Isn't that your job, to figure that out?" he shoots back. She sighs.

"Well, yes, I suppose. I'd hoped you would be different, but you seem just as human as the rest." She pronounces the word in a manner similar to the ferryman, with a kind of amused scorn. "For most humans, it's either love and power—only two things satiate them."

Her ageless green eyes seem to pierce him like knives. "Which do you want, Levi Ackerman? What drives you?"

Kenny once said, everybody needs to be a slave to something. A god, a drug, something to be drunk on, to keep the air circulating through their lungs and to force them to wake up day after hellish day.

Levi doesn't agree. He'd lived years and years without anything, after all; a shell of a man driven by pure survival instinct, by the sheer virtue of a heart that refused to stop beating, all the way until it did.

But Petra had been different. She'd believed in the old stories, the ones in the countryside hymns she used to sing. Of a purpose, a meaning, something greater. Sometimes she'd close her eyes, her lips moving in a soundless prayer, and he'd close his eyes as well and wish with all his heart to believe, too.

He looks straight at the goddess. "Nothing," he replies, truthfully.

Persephone laughs, a too-perfect, bell-like sound, that is so utterly unlike Petra's that it sounds nearly obscene coming from her lips. "Oh, you are just delightful, hero. You're telling the truth, aren't you? That's adorable. And yet—this girl," she gestures down at herself, "I saw her at the top of your mind. Your biggest regret, isn't she, Levi Ackerman?"

He grits his teeth. "So what if she is?"

"She is not here, hero." Persephone smiles, her pale irises alight with an icy glee, and for a second, a wave of cold dread crashes over him—could she have ended up anywhere else? No, she was a soldier, brave to the end. She couldn't have.

"Not anymore. You're too late." An exhale of relief—she had made it here, after all. "Petra has chosen a different path, to be reborn again, and to try for the Isles of the Blessed."

"The what now?"

"It is a paradise above all," she explains airily. "To reach it, you must live and die thrice, and each time reach such heights of heroism or courage that so suffice to earn you entry into Elysium."

Levi exhales, a low hiss escaping his teeth. Of course she would have—she was always so restless, so fierce, a caged bird striving constantly for the sky. She could never stay in one place, never settle down into comfort and domesticity. Elysium would never have been enough for the girl with fire in her eyes and an unquenchable thirst for more.

"What will you do?" She surveys him with her cool, immortal gaze. It rankles him.

"I'm going, too." He straightens, fixes her with a a cold glare. Persephone cants her head to the side, her expression shifting to something akin to amusement.

"Then, will you give up Elysium to follow this girl?" She waves a hand, and the city's glow reaches almost blinding heights, forcing him to turn his gaze away.

"How much does she mean to you, hero? In this city wait so many who you know and love, who have yearned to see you. Your men, who gave up their lives for you. Your friends, who rode with you to their deaths. Your mother, your own flesh and blood.

"Petra Ral has the spirit of a warrior," she adds, almost conversationally. "Do you, Levi Ackerman? You, with your heart that has ever only wanted peace and comfort?” Her lips twist, mocking. “Or is your heroism a mere product of your circumstances? Do not expect to be blessed with Ackerman blood again, this time. And if you fail—you will never see any of your loved ones again."

Some paradise.

"Do I have to make this decision now? Don't suppose I could stop to sightsee first?" His words are gelid but his tone is raw—not that he'd fool the goddess either way, he supposes.

"Of course not. That wouldn't be any fun," she goes, with that chilling bell-like laugh that makes his hair stand on end. He hesitates.

He thinks of Isabel, that trusting, childlike gleam in her eyes. Furlan, arms folded, leaning against the doorframe with that knowing smirk ghosting over his lips. His mother, singing him lullabies in the dark of the brothel. Erwin, who he'd told, in no uncertain terms, to give up his dreams and die.

And Levi knows it isn't there—he'd slid it onto the finger of her corpse, all those years ago, and it'd be little more than tarnished metal against bleached white bone by now—but he feels the phantom heat of the ring in his pocket, scorching hot. No regrets.

He's never had a single regret, except for her.

Levi lifts his head, and meets the goddess's gaze, unfaltering. Decisive. "I'm going."

"If you wish. But know this, hero." Her voice seems to thunder through the city. "If you succeed, upon your third death you may enter the Isles and live a life of eternal bliss.

"But, if you fail to reach Elysium even a single time." Persephone's eyes gleam with a predatory eagerness, "you are doomed to spend eternity in whatever realm you are sentenced to. The light of paradise will be barred to you...forever."

Talk about dramatic.

"Get on with it, then," he almost spits. It figures, it really does, that even in death, he wouldn't get a second of fucking peace.

Persephone casts him a quelling look. He ignores it. With a roll of her eyes, she waves a hand, and immediately, the glow of the city begins to crumble away, even the sand beneath his feet, and he feels himself fall. An incredible wind rises, and he finds himself being shoved backwards, the fields and the cavern roaring in his ears.

"As a final gift to you, hero..." The goddess's teeth flash tauntingly in the fading light, like pearls set against ebony. "I grant you memory."

The last thing he sees is the glint of cruel delight in her eyes.

#rivetra #levi ackerman x petra ral #i was reading madeline miller's circe and it reminded me of this fic which never materialised #much to my FRUSTRATION #candycity writes #levi ackerman #petra ral

16 notes · View notes

imnotusedtobeingloved · 3 years

Text

THAT’S ROUGH, BUDDY.

(PLEASE DON’T REPOST/REBLOG)

Warnings: heartbreak, betrayal.

Pairing: Zuko x f!Reader

Characters: Zuko, Katara, Aang, Toph, Sokka, Uncle Iroh (mentioned).

Requested: I guess?

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, nor the gif. Credit to the owners.

Summary: Part seven of “destiny is a funny thing”.

previous part

A/N: Hey guys! It’s part seven already! Let’s see how long i can keep this up lol. Have fun reading!

The steaming hot liquid in the pot reminded you of a long time ago. Of a small tea shop in the Earth Kingdom to be more specific. And so did the boy that poured it.

“No one can make tea like Uncle, but hopefully I learned a thing or two. Would you like to hear Uncle’s favorite tea joke?” He balanced a tray full of cups as well as a kettle. “Sure,” Katara said. “I like jokes,” Aang agreed and Toph didn’t seem unenthusiastic either. “Bring it!”

“Okay,” Zuko nodded, serving tea to the Duke and Haru before standing up, holding the tray. “Well, I can’t remember how it starts, but the punch line is “Leaf me alone, I’m bushed!”

The group stared at him. Silently.

“Well, it’s funnier when Uncle tells it,”

“Right ...” Katara dragged out the word. “Maybe that’s because he remembers the whole thing,” And as the rest of the group started laughing, Zuko gave a small smile. “It’s nice to get a chance to relax a little. It hardly ever happens,” Toph said, grabbing the cup Zuko handed her, before he approached Sokka. “Hey, can I talk to you for a second?" Your eyes followed the Water Tribe boy as he walked out, shortly followed by the prince. “What was that about?” You furrowed your brows, turning to Katara. “I don’t know,” She shrugged, sipping on her tea. “Hopefully my brother isn’t plotting anything stupid,”

The Team stayed gathered together around the fire until the sun left the sky and the night broke in.

Soon you were cuddled into your warm sleeping bag, the fire long since diminished. Your brows furrowed unconsciously upon a distant rustle, mind still foggy from your dreams. Drifting away once more, your features relaxed, only to be interrupted again seconds later. Sleepily you blinked your eyes open, trying to see through the dark with a cloudy vision.

It was probably nothing, you thought, turning around onto your other side, and the last thing you saw was the empty bedroll next to you...

Wait.

Empty?

You shot up, getting tangled in the sheets and tumbling over before you caught yourself. Careful not to wake the others, you stood up, looking around.

Where could he have gone? Had he left and betrayed you again? But how would he even get away?

You shook your head at the thought before it occurred to you. Appa! He wouldn’t, would he? You ran towards the bisons sleeping spot, heart beating rapidly, as if you didn’t know what to fear more: Finding Appa gone, or the prince.

Your lungs ached as you rounded the last corner, where you found the bison, fast asleep. A breath of relief passed your lips, walking up to him and crawling the soft furr next to his snout, to which he purred quietly. Suddenly a head appeared above the saddle, prompting a startled gasp from you. “(Y/N)?”

“Zuko!” You hissed, a hand over your chest. “What are you doing here?” The shadow questioned looming over you. “I’m the one that should be asking that question!” You pulled yourself up to the saddle, sick of him staring down at you. He grabbed your arm, pulling you up and finally explained when you landed next to him. “I have the feeling that Sokka might be up to something,” He drew his hood back and furrowed his brows. “Up to what exactly?” You searched his appearance for any indications, but he didn’t give anything away. “He asked me about the war-prisoners today. Where they would be put away,” Your eyes widened. “The Boiling Rock,” He nodded. “Exactly. I have the suspicion that he might try to-”

Your whispers where interrupted by silent steps in the distance and a quiet “Shhh,” from below. You and Zuko shared a look as someone climbed up, and eventually peaked over the rim of the saddle. “Not up to anything, huh?” The prince asked, arms crossed. Sokka fell, with a stiffled scream, his bags content spilling out on the floor. He gave you a resigned look. “Fine, you caught me. I’m gonna rescue my dad. You happy now?”

“No!” You exclaimed, while Zuko took an entirely different approach. “I’m never happy,”

"Look, I have to do this. The invasion plan was my idea, it was my decision to stay when things were going wrong,” The prince raised a brow at his words and jumped down from the saddle. “It’s my mistake, and it’s my job to fix it. I have to regain my honor. You can’t stop me, Zuko. And neither can you (Y/N),” He pushed Zuko aside, beginning to climb up to you. ”You need to regain your honor?” The prince questioned. “Believe me, I get it. I’m going with you,”

“No. I have to do this alone,”

You put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it softly. “No, you don’t, Sokka. We’re all in this together. We’re here for you,” Zuko nodded, motioning to the bison. “And besides, how are you going to get there? On Appa? Last time I checked, prisons don’t have bison daycares,” The boy looked between the two of you, before he sighed, shoulders slumping. "We’ll take my war balloon,” Zuko gestured for you to follow him, before leading the way.

The travel to the Boiling Rock remained silent for the most part.

Sokka had sat down on stack of boxes, while you leaned against the railing. Zuko blasted fire into the tank from time to time, making sure it kept moving. But eventually even the silence got deafening. “Pretty clouds,” Sokka spoke up. “Yeah ... fluffy,” You resisted the urge to slap a hand against your forehead, while Sokka whistled. "What?” Zuko said, giving him a look. “What? Oh, I didn’t say anything. You know, a friend of mine actually designed these war balloons,”

“No kidding,” The prince raised his brows. “Yep, a balloon ... but for war,” Zuko blasted more fire into the tank. “If there’s one thing my dad’s good at, it’s war,”

“Yeah, it seems to run in the family,” The firebender gave him a defensive look. “Hey, hold on. Not everyone in my family is like that,” Sokka held his hands up. “I know, I know, you’ve changed,” The prince lowered his gaze, shacking his head slightly. “I meant my uncle. He was more of a father to me. And I really let him down,” He gave you an indefinable look, but he redirected his attention so quick that you wondered wheter you’d just imagined it.

“I think your uncle would be proud of you. Leaving your home to come help us? That’s hard,” The boy argued, fumbling with his boomerang. “It wasn’t that hard,” Sokka’s head shot up. “Really? You didn’t leave behind anyone you cared about?”

“Well, I did have a girlfriend. Mai,” You bit your lip to keep quiet, waiting for his next words. “We tried for some time but it didn’t work out. It wasn’t what I wanted,” He seemed to have more to say, but Sokka interrupted with a sly smile. “That gloomy girl who sighs a lot?”

"Yeah,” Zuko confirmed, giving you a quick glance that went unnoticed. “My first girlfriend turned into the moon,” Zuko’s brows shot up before he briefly looked into the sky. “That’s rough, buddy,” He said, eyes landing back on Sokka. “What about you, (Y/N)?” You grew stiff, staring at Sokka’s face. “Me?”

“Yes, what about you? Any lovers in sight?” You crossed your arms, taking a moment to think. Zuko’s burning eyes roamed over your silhouette, but you didn’t dare meet his eyes. “No,” You answered eventually, lowering your head. “No one,”

By nightfall Sokka had fallen asleep, preventing you to do so with his loud snores.

Zuko was busying himself with keeping the tank full, while you took a look out in the distance.

“There it is!” You alerted the others, pointing towards the large construction. The Water Tribe boy awakened from his slumber, staggering over to see it. ”There’s plenty of steam to keep us covered. As long as we’re quiet, we should be able to navigate through it without being caught,” Zuko plotted. But as you entered the volcano’s steam, the balloon began to lose altitude quickly. “We’re going down! The balloon’s not working anymore!” Zuko blasted fire up into the balloon, but with no avail. “The air outside is just as hot as the air inside so we can’t fly!” You said, grabbing his arm to stop him. “So what are we supposed to do?” His gaze flew from you to Sokka. “I don’t know!” He said. “Crash-landing?”

The balloon skidded along the boiling water, splashing Sokka’s hand, which he shook while you put a hand over his mouth to keep him from screaming. Your aircraft hit the base of the rock, throwing you out in the process. You moaned, getting up and rubbed your sore hip. “How are we gonna get off the island if the balloon won’t work?” Zuko groaned, looking at the destroyed object. Sokka seemed to be more optimistic. “We’ll figure something out! I suspected it might be a one-way ticket,” The fire bender furrowed his brows. “You knew this would happen and you wanted to come anyway?”

“My dad might be here! I had to come and see!” Sokka walked towards the destroyed remains of the balloon. “Uncle always said I never thought things through. But this ... this is just crazy!”

“Hey, I never wanted you to come along in the first place! And for the record, I always think things through! But my plans haven’t exactly worked, so this time, I’m playing it by ear. So there,” He said gathering the balloon and throwing it into the water. ”What are you doing?”

“It doesn’t work anyway,” He shrugged. “And we don’t want anyone to find it,” You sighed. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” You turned towards the prison. “There’s no turning back now,”

By the time the sun came up, the three of you had found a supply room, stacked with reserve guard uniforms.

“I hope these disguises work,” Zuko said, voice muffled by the mask. “We just need to lay low and find my dad as soon as possible,” Sokka said, blue orbs peaking out of the slit. They were just as beautiful as Katara’s. Your head whipped around whe a series of guards ran by, one coming back to look at your team. “Guards! There’s a scuffle in the yard. Come on,” He gestured wildly. Prisoners were gathered in the yard, forming a circle as the guards moved through to the inside.

“I didn’t do anything! I’m going back to my cell,” A tall man called, as a guard whipped fire in his direction. “Stop right there, Chit Sang,” Zuko tried to approach, but your hand shot forward to stop him. “We can’t blow our cover,” You whispered.

“I’ve had it with your unruly behavior!” The guard yelled, getting more riled up by the second. “What did I do?” Chit Sang asked. “He wants to know what he did,” The guard gloated, looking at you. ”Isn’t that cute?" His face grew sour when none of you answered and your tongue felt tied, prompting you to nudge Zuko in the side. “Uh, very cute, sir,”

“Super cute,” Sokka added. The guard walked up to Chit Sang, getting into his face. “You didn’t bow down when I walked by, Chit Sang!” The man looked confused. “What? That’s not a prison rule,”

“Do it!”

“Make me,” The guard growled walking away, but not without whipping fire at the male. Chit Sang blocked it, redirecting the flame to its owner, who broke it with a kick. “Tsk, tsk. Firebending is prohibited. You’re going in the cooler,” He ordered. “You! Help me take him in,”

“Meet back here in an hour,” Sokka whispered to you and Zuko before following the command.

But you didn’t meet in an hour.

In fact, not even you and Zuko managed to stay together, soon being pulled into two different directions due to commands. While you ended up in the weaponry, you had no idea were the others went. “Not your first time doing this, huh?” A guard leaned against the wall next to you, arms crossed. You gave him a brief look, before you resumed sharpening the swords and knifes. “Not really,” He took his helmet off, raising a brow. “How come?” You shrugged, not meeting his gaze. “I’m a non-bender. You need to know your weapons if you want to defend yourself,”

“True,” he inclined his head, taking a knife of his own and starting to prepare it. “I’m impressed. Not many non-benders manage to get employed at the Boiling Rock. Normally they prefer fire benders,” You hummed, grabbing fire the next weapon. “Guess I must be special then,” The guard gave you an amused grin. “You don’t have to wear the mask in here by the way. It’s more of a representative part,” You choose to ignore his comment, instead trying to redirect the conversation. “Hey, can I ask you something? It’s all pretty new to me and I didn’t get to explore everything yet,”

The thought didn’t seem to bother him, featured remaining relaxed. “Sure, rookie. Ask away,” You subtily cleared your throat, attempting not to sound suspicious. “I know the Boiling Rock holds the Fire Nations most dangerous criminals. But what about war prisoners? Do they end up here as well?”

The man shrugged. “If they make it this far... probably,”

“So...” You swallowed. “Any Water Tribe inmates here?” He huffed a short laugh. “You’re pretty interested in those prisoners for a guard,”

“Am I? Shouldn’t I know who I’m watching over?” He shrugged. “I guess so. You’re just very specific about it,” It was time to shut up, you concluded, grabbing a knife. “Well, anyways, thank you for the-” The words god stuck in your throat when you saw Zuko passing by through the window in the door. If you hadn’t been convinced by his amber eyes, then for sure by the time you saw his scar.

“I have to go.” You muttered, subtly slipping the weapon into your pocket. “Hey! Wait up!” The guard yelled rushing after you. You’d just managed to slip through the door, when he grabbed your upper arm. A few seconds later and you would’ve managed to blend in with the others in the lounge. “You can’t just leave. Your work isn’t done yet,”

“Sorry,” you retorted, desperate to reunite with your group. “but I can’t stay.” You rammed your elbow into his ribs, knocking the air out if his lungs. The halls were empty, thanks to the midday meal everyone joined. If you’d manage to lock him into the weaponry you could leave undetected.

You grabbed him, shoving him back into the room and slamming the door shut, before sticking the knife through the handle and using your fire to heat up the metal, sealing it shut. You breathed a relieved sigh as he banged his fists against the door and turned around, colliding with a large chest.

“What do we have here?” The man grinned, locking you in a tight grip that made you squeeze your eyes shut. "I arrive late to the break one time, and there's already trouble," He produced a flame, melting the blockade. The guard you’d locked in opened the door, his face distorted in anger. “She locked me into the weaponry, asked a lot of questions and lied about being a non bender,” He spat, glaring at you.

“Well,” the male behind you said. “What do you want do with this imposter?” The guard snarled.

“Throw her into the cooler!”

tags: @zvkonation @viva-la-millennia @randomness501 @drheinzd @kaylove12 @duh-dobrik @yeetscreetiwannaeat @ ashnkamfeun @hailkyoshi @shortmexicangirl @animexholic @sorrythatspussynal

#zuko x reader #zuko fanfic #zuko imagine #zuko x you

60 notes · View notes

howtowhumpyourhiccup · 4 years

Text

Whumptober Day 24: Silently We Endure

Summary: Written For Whumptober Day 24. A thousand years after the passing of his Rider, Toothless has found him again. This person is both familiar as well as completely foreign to him, but the kind of past he's left behind as he lives with Toothless and the other dragons matters little. He has found him again and that is enough for Toothless.

Rating: Teen and up

Characters: Hiccup, Toothless, Stormfly

Pairing: None

Words: 2 787

Fandom: How to Train Your Dragon

Prompt: "Forced Mutism”

Whumpee: Hiccup

Author’s Notes: MY 100TH SUBMISSION TO AO3!!!!!

Written for the Whumptober prompt: "Forced Mutism" But instead of showing the whumpee being made mute, I have it as something that is just there.

Constructive criticism is appreciated!

Enjoy!

Ao3

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Just like any other day nowadays, today is unbearably hot as well. The sun beats down on the Earth and Toothless finds little solace in the shade, where it is only slightly less hot.

It is late in the afternoon and still the heat hangs on, stubbornly refusing to leave and making all of those trapped within it suffer. He finds himself preferring the chill of the North from so long ago.

It is cooler, though. It is just slightly cooler than it was hours ago at midday and that is the only reason why he is outside in the shade now and not in the cave he and his Rider have made their own.

He's an old dragon. He shouldn't be exposed to such heat when there are places he can lie in that are much more suited to his needs, but his Rider is out here and even after all this time he will still do anything and everything for him.

Now that he thinks of it, he should probably check up on him again and make sure he isn't doing anything reckless when he should be busying himself with making their home livable.

Unlike him, Hiccup isn't old. He's still 18-years-old, a young man, and therefore much too energetic and prone to foolishness.

The home he's supposed to be making liveable is an enormous cave system on the side of a mountain. While the outside is much too hot during the day, the temperature inside the cave is much more stable and thus easier to endure than the outside.

It's a dragon's kind of home, quite suitable for someone who is more dragon than human himself. And safer for him than any human settlement can be, too.

The details are lost on Toothless, but Hiccup wants to somehow bring cooler air into their home through the use of the sun. He has no idea how he's going to accomplish that, but that is the gist of it.

Using humanity's current technology, he wants to create a house specifically for plants, too, a place for animals, a dragon nursery, and so much more. Toothless isn't sure how this will all work, but he believes his Rider capable. This Hiccup will not remember it, but he has proven himself capable of great things before.

He's trying to create an entire village and he's doing it all on his own. Of course, the dragons present are willing to help in any way they can, but much of it is still Hiccup's work. His brain work, at least.

Deciding to get up, Toothless stretches his stiff body, his back and joints popping loudly, his wings in particular before he exits the chamber he and Hiccup have made their own.

There isn't much yet, just the mere beginnings of a home, but it's enough for them for the time being.

The cave system is extensive and it is roomy. Some of the chambers have a sky pocket that allows the light of the sun to come in and it's in such a room that Toothless finds his human.

It is large, dusty, and sandy with little plant life, and in the center is Hiccup with an adolescent Rumblehorn and Toothless remembers him well. He and Hiccup, still insisting on saving every dragon in need, saved this one about a week ago. He has been injured and Hiccup has been nursing him back to health.

He is with him now and tending to his wounds, changing the dressings. Stormfly is there as well, patiently holding his satchel with medical supplies in her beak.

Rumblehorns have thick armor covering their entire bodies except for their underbellies. Hiccup is tending to a wound on the side of this one's belly, using something that sticks to keep the dressings in place.

Toothless' entrance draws Hiccup's attention and he smiles before waving. The dragon responds by coming over with a skip in his step and cooing before he headbutts his Rider and nuzzles him, an affectionate gesture that Hiccup gladly returns with a breathy laugh.

He points towards the wound and Toothless sees what Hiccup wants to show him. The Rumblehorn is well on the mend and the injury looks better than it did when they first found him.

Rumbling proudly at the human's skill, Toothless nudges his back before he lets him work, Hiccup waving him off.

He can practically see it on his face, the "okay, Bud, see you later". He can still hear it in his voice, too, and that while Toothless has never heard him speak in this life before.

His Rider, he can't talk and not by choice.

Though he was walking away, Toothless pauses to watch him get back to work, spotting the faint scar on his throat. The people who did that to him are unknown to Toothless and they should count themselves lucky for that.

"I talk too much," Hiccup had once told him. Or rather, signed to him as he uses his hands to speak now. It's like the hand signals the Dragon Riders of old once used, but much more elaborate. Old as he is, Toothless still manages to understand him even now. His hands have always been very talkative.

Toothless will never understand the reasoning behind a human hurting another human, let alone take away a physical part of them so important to their everyday life.

The dragon returns to his human's side again, who glances at him with a brow raised in confusion. His face is still just as expressive as he remembers.

Lying down next to him, Toothless watches the rest of the treatment instead of going back to the slightly more comfortable room like he originally intended. Hiccup reaches, left hand holding the new dressings in place and a metallic hand comes to land on his head for a quick petting.

Much like his Viking, this one has lived a life already.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Toothless always keeps an eye on Hiccup, feeling more responsible for the much younger one than ever before.

But in the event that they're not together, they still have a way for him to call out to his dragon.

As Toothless is just down the entrance hall of the cave, searching for his rider as Stormfly made it clear that he was outside in the searing sun when he hears a whistle. Since he can't shout, that's his call for him, a high-pitched whistle. It reaches quite far and is quite loud, which makes it perfect.

Toothless comes running.

"Eh? What was that for? You're not alone?" For as temperamental as dragons can be, there's a certain species of animal that Hiccup fears more than the firebreathing creatures he lives with.

Humans.

Toothless comes outside growling, spotting the two giving his rider trouble. It's not like Hiccup is defenseless, he knows how to knock a head or two around. He just feels much safer with a dragon near, with the Night Fury especially.

"Oh shit, is that a dragon?" One of them yelps in both surprise and amazement, both of them stumble backward in fright.

They are both oddly dressed, having too much stuff on their person. But then they also have something Toothless believes is called a "car" with too much stuff. Traders, perhaps? Or are they thieves?

Feeling much more secure with Toothless around, Hiccup faces the two humans who have come, quite literally, to the middle of nowhere for reasons that can't possibly be good.

"I have nothing." He signs, an air of suspicion around him as he doesn't trust these two at all.

"Again, we have no idea what you're saying, kid. Can't you use your words at all?" The one with the blue vest tied around their waist asks. Since they haven't shared their names yet, Toothless will be referring to this one as "Blue Vest" and the other one as "Red Scarf".

"If they could, I'm sure they would've. But they can't, they're mute." Red Scarf points out to the other one, who looks sheepish.

Toothless isn't sure what to think of these two. Despite their mysterious appearance in this area and their unknown reasons, they don't give off any bad vibes. What sets him off is Hiccup's distrust of them and he distrusts any human they have met so far in their one year since their reunion.

He has reasons not to trust them, sad as they are.

As Hiccup approaches Toothless, coming to stand by his side in the crook of his wing, Red Scarf points something out to their companion. They are both staring at the right side of Hiccup's head, where his hair is the shortest.

"You're a slave?"

Blue Vest asks and Hiccup presses himself further into his dragon's side, hand on his scales. Toothless can almost hear his heart beginning to race.

He shakes his head, offended that they would even ask, though the scar they noticed was indeed once a brand. His glare says enough. And for a short moment, the air is tense. What will the two do now that they have figured this out?

"Not anymore. Doesn't matter if he's a runaway or bought himself free either." Red Scarf states and goes to the back of the car to look in the back.

"Explains the mutism." Blue Vest awkwardly says to their friend, rubbing the back of their neck.

"And your location. You're hiding?" Red Scarf asks, but Hiccup isn't answering that, which is ironically the only answer they need.

Red Scarf comes back holding something wrapped in brown in their hands and cautiously approaches Hiccup, who has to stop himself from backing up. Red Scarf keeps glancing back at the dragon, watching for any signs of aggression.

Toothless lets them get closer, not sensing any ill intent in their approach. When they reach his human and push that pack into his hands, they back off again and join their friend.

"We're leaving now, we're going to leave you alone. So take care, okay? Don't run into any trouble?" Red Scarf asks, to which Hiccup nods reluctantly, confused by these turn of events.

Meeting humans has never gone well for him and these two were the first since coming to live here with these dragons.

It surprises him that they are kind and want him to stay safe instead of trying to drag him back to wherever someone like him needs to be.

They drive off, leaving Toothless content with the way this interaction has gone and Hiccup feeling confused and unsure what he should think of this. But he opens the pack and finds neatly packed food with a container of water and he didn't even need to trade anything for it. He's been given this purely out of the kindness of their hearts.

Has his previous low status garnered him sympathy? In hindsight, they seemed nice. But despite this, Hiccup's history with other humans means he isn't sure what to think or feel.

Toothless headbutts his back to tell him to come back inside with the other dragons. It's getting late, the sun is nearly all the way down, it's time for bed.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

He was sold into slavery early into his teens.

He doesn't know why he's not even sure if it's the truth. All he knows is that this is what he's been told his entire time as "free labor" before he inevitably escaped.

Toothless wasn't surprised to hear that the reason Hiccup is now free is that he escaped. He has always been a free spirit, even as a Viking, especially as a Viking. Unable to be pinned down, too stubborn to just give up the fight. He can stumble, but he clearly did not give up until he could taste the sky.

He hasn't given the dragon the details on what happened during that time and maybe he never will. All that Toothless truly knows is that it makes Hiccup wake up and break out in tears during many of the nights they spend together.

There are no loud sobs, no crying. Toothless wakes up to labored breaths and lifts his head to look at the troubled human as he sits within his coils. Curled up, his knees to his chest and his arms wrapped around them, he cries.

He does so without sound, he can't help it without a voice. If Toothless didn't have such a sharp hearing, he wouldn't have even noticed.

Crooning, Toothless straightens and nudges Hiccup's temple to draw his attention. He gives it to him, wrapping an arm around the Night Fury to keep him close. The other, his right, he cradles to his chest. It must hurt and Toothless can guess what the nightmare he woke up from must've been about.

Because his right forearm and hand, just like his left leg once again, is a prosthetic. It's not like any replacement the Vikings he once knew used to have as his new hand looks and works like a hand and his metal foot looks and works like a foot.

He built them both himself from whatever scraps he could find after his escape. Even when he only had one hand to work with, he still created the other without help. Toothless has watched him do it.

And because they are made of scraps, they look like scraps, but to Toothless, they are the most advanced things he has ever seen and his human made them! He can still make everything.

But right now is not the time to think of Hiccup's ingenuity. His right arm is hurting, phantom limb pain, and it's making bad memories resurface. Because whoever used to own him before, they're the ones who took so many parts from him.

"Toothless," A raspy voice, barely above a whisper, crawls out of his throat with much difficulty. The only reason the dragon can hear it is because of his exceptional hearing.

Knowing that a breakdown might be imminent, Toothless quickly wraps a foreleg around him to pull him closer as Hiccup silently sobs and snuggles closer to his dragon in search of comfort and safety. It must've been a terrible nightmare and his arm hurting certainly doesn't help.

Moaning sadly, Toothless holds him closer and lets him cry.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

It took the better part of a couple of hours before Hiccup could calm enough for them to fall back asleep. He'd needed to let it all out and take some painkillers to make the hurting in his arm stop. After that, once the pain in his heart had abated, too, he could finally sleep again.

It's nights like that that the old Night Fury hates the most. When his Rider is in so much pain that he suffers for hours on end and he hates that he wasn't there to keep it all from happening. So he could keep his leg, so he could keep his arm, the trust in other humans that is supposed to be infallible unless necessary, his voice.

They broke him, tore him piece by piece so many times that even he could hardly survive. Whoever thought themselves deserving of his Rider, Hiccup Haddock, and decided they could be his tormentor they are nameless and faceless, but Toothless despises them all the same. They better hope that they never run into him.

But there is one saving grace.

The next morning after a most difficult and emotionally taxing night, a soundless and breathy laugh reaches the old dragon's ears and he looks over at Hiccup and his latest project, the one that is supposed to bring cooler temperatures during the nigh unbearable Summer days. It, too, is made out of scraps and parts collected on their many trips.

But instead of working now, when the day is cool, Hiccup spends his time playing with the few hatchlings that have managed to be born in this cave. Their numbers are dwindling everywhere.

His arm prosthetic gone for the day after the night he's had to let the limb have a break, Hiccup plays with the hatchling by throwing his wrench in a game of fetch.

It always takes a while to come back to him, the little nadders fighting amongst themselves for who gets to bring the tool. And in the meantime, Hiccup continues his work, frequently looking back at the three before he has to inevitably throw the wrench again.

It's the nights that lay him bare, that show him at his most vulnerable and shows the barely glued cracks inside of him. But during the day, that's when he shows that, despite being broken, he can still thrive just fine.

So Toothless can lay his head down again and continue his rest for the moment.

#whumptober2020 #no.24 #forced mutism #httyd #how to train your dragon #fanfics #tw: implied slavery #tw: implied former slave #hiccup haddock #toothless #hictooth #dragon bros #au #alternate universe #futuristic au #reincarnation au #apocalypse au #my fanfics #silently we endure

27 notes · View notes

sweetiejunie · 4 years

Note

idk if requests are open rn, but an angst/fluff soulmate au with Beomgyu would make me really happy. If requests aren’t open then it’s okay^^

—.✿ฺ—

Rewrite the stars

Summary: you weren’t meant to be together. And it freaked you out. But beomgyu? He’s always been your rock.

Genre: angst, fluff

Beomgyu x reader

A/n: huehue thanks for the request anonie!! First time i wrote a soulmate fic 🥴 but hope u enjoyed! I tried :’)

=====================================

The two people connected by the red thread are destined lovers, regardless of place, time, or circumstances. This magical cord may stretch or tangle, but never break. Beomgyu watched as you laid in his arms, staring at the red string tied around your pinky. He knew this was wrong. You weren’t supposed to be with him. But he loved you, and you loved him.

It was a fluke that the two of you met. It was a fluke that you fell for each other. But that faithful day he decided to ignore his instincts, was probably the best decision he’s ever made.

You hated that you lived in a world where ‘soulmates’ existed as a concept. You had always thought it was just a social construct, but you can’t ignore the disapproving looks you got while you walked down the streets hand-in-hand with the boy that wasn’t fated to be with you. Why couldn’t the thread be tied around his pinky instead of some stranger you haven’t met? Faith, and the universe, just had to be a bitch.

Beomgyu, on the other hand, he never cared. He loved you, and that was all that mattered to him. Who cares about what others thought about you? Everyone around him told him that it wasn’t right, but nothing ever convinced him. He swore to be by your side no matter what, and it was a promise he planned to keep. On the days when you started to doubt your relationship, he was there. On days when the harsh reality of society got to you, he was there. He was there with you through thick and thin.

“You’re overthinking about the piece of thread again,” he suddenly spoke, knocking you out of your dazed stated when he caught you playing with the string around your left pinky.

You blushed, hiding your hand in a fist as you apologised, “Im sorry.”

“No need to apologise, my love.”

Beomgyu truly was the sweetest. Through all your panic and doubt, he still chose to stay with you and never expected anything in return.

Even the time you almost broke up with him because of everything people were telling you. How you weren’t fated to last or how he was going to leave you once he met his real soulmate. After all this time, that day is still engraved deep in his mind, stuck with him like the plague. After all, the most painful memories are the hardest to forget — the day he almost lost you.

That evening, beomgyu invited you to dinner to meet his parents. You had been dating for a while now, and he thought it was the perfect time for the most important people in his life to finally meet. There was just one small catch, okay, a pretty big catch. Since you weren’t soulmates, his parents weren’t biggest fan of you.

“Why would you agree to that? You know your parents aren’t typically that fond of me. Now you want me to sit barely a feet away from them for, gods knows how many hours?”

“Come on y/n, don’t worry so much. It’ll be fine, and I’ll be with you the whole time, alright?” Beomgyu replied, pouting at you, hoping that tonight would be the night his parents saw just how loving and kind you were. He wanted so badly for you to get along, but that proved to be just a wish.

“Fine, only for you. But don’t you dare leave me.”

As the night went on, beomgyus parents didn’t do anything too out of the ordinary, asking the usual interrogating questions any parent would ask the significant other of their child. But through the night, you had half a mind that every now and then they would glare at you. Then again, you were extremely nervous, so it could have just been you overthinking or your overactive imagination. But the moment beomgyu had excused himself to use the washroom, your suspicions were confirmed.

“Ill just be a second,” he whispered to you as he pushed he chair back.

The moment he was out of sight, his mother spoke, “listen, y/n. I’m going to be frank with you. I think you’re a really nice girl, but i want you to leave beomgyu,” venom evident in every word.

Her statement caught you off guard, and the only respond your brain could process was, “huh?”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but it’s clear that you two are not meant to be together. After-all, you aren’t soulmates. No amount of love can fix or change that.” She paused, only to continue when you didn’t reply, “and i just want the best for beomgyu. I’m sure you do too. One day, I want him to be able to find true love without being held back by anything... or anyone.”

Her words rang in your head over and over again. Were you really just a burden to beomgyu? Was he really going to leave you one of these days?

“I- er- Excuse me. Sorry, i have to go. Ill see myself out,” you stated, your head hung low as you hurried to gather your thing. “ Thank you for the dinner.”

You made your way to the front door, clicking it shut behind you. Ignoring the sound of the bathroom door opening and beomgyu’s voice as he called your name. Worried, confused, maybe even desperate. In the minute he left, his entire world had come crashing down in front him.

“What on earth did you say to her?!” He yelled at his parents. But before they could answer, he was sprinting out the door after you.

“Y/n!” He called out, running towards you. “Wait! Please!”

He reached out to grab your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. When you turned to face him, the tears running down your face were bullets to his heart.

“They’re small minded people,” he began, grabbing your hands, holding them tightly. “Why do you care what they think-”

“It’s not just them,” you interrupted. “It’s everyone.”

“Not me,” his expression soften when he realised you were starting to sob harder. His thumbs running over to back your hands assuringly.

“It may not be written in stone,” he said, referring to the thread tied around his own pinky. “But i know you’re meant to be mine.”

“Beomgyu...” you trailed off. You hated how fate made you question your future with him. You hated how you always put beomgyu in that position. But you couldn’t help it. “No one ever looked at you the way your parents looked at me. But they’re right, you and i, this isn’t meant to happen. Eventually, you would find your true soulmate. Isn’t it better we end it now, before it’s too late and one of us ends up getting hurt?”

He stood there, staring into your eyes. His grip on your hands never faulted, afraid that if let you go, he’ll never see you again. A millions thoughts ran through his head, but all of them wasn’t the right thing to say. All, expect one.

“I- i love you,” he chocked out.

“Beomgyu...“

“No, don’t. I can see it in your eyes that you love me too. Isn’t that enough? I promised to be by your side. What matters the most is what we think. And we love each other, thats more than what others can ever say about us. Just because this stupid string says we’re not supposed to be together, doesn’t mean we can’t still write out own ending. Don’t leave me, please.”

“But beomgyu, they’re your parents.”

“I dont give a shit. If they can’t accept me and whatever and whoever i love then... then that’s their problem.”

You couldn’t speak, chocking on your sobs as you looked into his eyes. You pulled him in for a hug, and that was all the response he needed before hugging you back.

Bringing himself back to the present, he smiled, admiring the sight in front of him as you stared up at the clouds. Since that day, the road with you was no where near a smooth ride. But from the moment he saw you, he knew that you may not be fated to be with him, but he had to love you with everything he had, for as long as he can.

The journey to be with you may have been long and difficult, but he was glad it was so tough. Cause if he hadn’t gone through hell to get there, he might not have learnt the lessons he did. And he would carry those lessons with him. He loved you through all the hard times, every stupid fight, every pang of jealousy or boredom or uncertainty that came your way. And he would continue to do that, until the very end. Admittedly, beomgyu didn’t know what the futures holds for either of you. But he knew that it included you.

=====================================

Hope you liked this! Not completely happy with this but thought it was still worth posting. I tried ㅠㅠ

Masterlist

#thanks for the request!#txt fanfic #txt fluff #txt imagines #txt au #txt reactions #txt post #txt x reader #beomgyu reactions #beomgyu fanfic #beomgyu fluff

73 notes · View notes

drake-the-incubus · 3 years

Text

This is a gift for @striderhell from the Homestuck Secret Santa 2020 (@homestuckss). I was aiming for 3000 words but uh, Dirk as a muse didn’t want to continue exploring the concept of gender given his rigid but philosophical nature.

I hope this was good, and if not just gimme a shout and I’ll try and come up with something better.

Word Count: 1521 Fandom: Homestuck Characters: Dirk Strider, Roxy Lalonde Relationships: Dirk Strider & Roxy Lalonde (Platonic/Friends)

Additional Notes: Roxy uses He/Him and They/Them, I’ve never finished the epilogues but I love NB Rox. Dirk uses no pronouns in this, as I wanted to try that out.

Please enjoy Dirk exploring his gender.

Sometimes in an effort to define ourselves, we feel trapped to conform to some rigid aspect or label in hopes to reach an understanding of who we are. At times this process can be frustrating and dissatisfying. Other people take weeks or days, and some of them take years or never figure it out.

Perhaps gender, as a construct, can’t be fully understood, but we can understand ourselves as people without it. The tale before you, is only a short of someone who wishes to take a journey many end up doing, and most have never encountered.

Dirk was sitting in a cafe on Earth-C, sipping on a coffee in between tinkering with another pair of shades. The goal was updating and adding a better set of graphics, hoping to add some additional features to make things easier.

It had been a while since the Prince of Heart had seen the rest of the gods. Jake would visit once in a while, and they would have a friendly spar or talk. Roxy would message once in a while, letting Dirk know any spicy news about the rest.

Dave would randomly show up, they would stare each other down before both Striders would give a thumbs up and go their separate ways.

Rose would often come by, trading witty banter and wisdom. Both of them struggled with the massive impact of their god tiers and would often talk about it to one another.

Today though, Dirk decided a change of area would suit this project best, specifically needing to leave the workshop and enjoy some caffeine. Recently a problem developed that would continue to nag at the Prince even through the night. Lack of sleep was the reason why Dirk had picked a coffee shop. It made the most sense.

Gender did not.

Dirk had been going through a lot lately, and when Roxy had come out as trans, it had been taken pretty well by most of them. Not that it would be different if Dirk came out either, but rather that would take knowing what was going on.

This was a laughable moment, since they all had beaten the game, made it out and enjoyed their own little home in the midst of nothing. Creating entire worlds and civilizations with the help of their space and time players, but Dirk was sitting there, in a cafe, trying to figure out what gender even was and how it related to the god’s own identity.

Pronouns were hard, but so was even figuring this shit out. Making a copy of your brain at thirteen was much easier than figuring out if you’re cis or not, and Dirk didn’t know.

The more it was thought about, the more the thought cropped up, what if it turned out the being Cis wasn’t the result. Dirk was absolutely sure about not being a chick, nothing really appealed about that, but then again there was a very similar feeling over the current gender.

Man, agender or woman. Those were the categories that presented themselves currently. Working harder to connect the shades to the newly built chip, Dirk jolted when suddenly Roxy sat down across the table.

“I called out to you, but you didn’t answer.” He said leaning over and looking over the project. “I was wondering what made you change location, you’re pretty adamant to work in your workshop Dirkie.”

“I needed to think, which I was doing when you were calling out to me. Thinking so hard about creating a new line of orange pop with more caffeine than this cup of coffee that the world died out and I was left to only the one set of thoughts for once.”

He raised an eyebrow at that, and crossed his arms. “Really now? You think that I can’t tell something bigger is going on in that Strider head of yours? You’ve come up with projects while having a philosophical discussion with Rose and texting Dave a rap battle. You’re the king of multi-tasking, which also means your attention is usually divided more, and you’re attempting to put a wire on the wrong side of that.”

Dirk frowned and sighed, putting the project down. “Well, I can’t get nothing past you I suppose. I guess one thing that’s on my mind is how much I miss AR, since he was a good source of introspection, then again I have no idea if that would have helped in the first place.” Tapping fingers filled the space between them as the Prince looked outside at the billions of humans and trolls walking over the streets.

“I’ve been contemplating what gender is and how I relate to it since you came out as nonbinary. It’s been making me think about what is my gender, and I’ve come to the conclusion none of them really fit, but that’s also something to worry about since that means I don’t relate to any of the options-“

“Before you go on a long tangent, I want to ask, what are the options?” He interrupted Dirk while cocking his head.

“Agender, man and woman.” Dirk said bluntly, staring at Roxy. The laughter that resulted made the god tip the iconic shades down to stare at Roxy with deadpan orange eyes.

“I get greeted by your eye colour, score! But no, you got it all wrong, gender isn’t rigid categories, it’s a spectrum. You can’t define it by strict labels and there’s too many to count. So you don’t fit in three, there’s millions of genders. Some might not have a word for it right now. I’m nonbinary, but that’s because I’m not a man or a woman completely, I’m somewhere in the middle, closer to a man if I were to describe it as like, a sliding scale. So don’t be in a hurry, and don’t worry if you don’t figure it out.”

“I need to. Not knowing makes things difficult. I know it might be unhealthy to obsess over, but ever since I made Auto Responder, I had the need to understand myself fully and everything about myself.” With an elbow on the table, Dirk took a hand and raked it through the mess of hair. Having done so more than a hundred times earlier, the Prince was sure it was a complete and utter mess at this point, and would need to be taken care of at home.

“Well, I have a list of some of the other more known ones, maybe one of them check out for you?” He offered a tablet.

Dirk took it, and looked over the list of options and each description of it, mumbling under breath before placing the tablet back down with a definite, “I’m going to use Genderless for now and see what happens.” It looked interesting, the excerpt specifically outlined not having a gender at all due to neurodivergence, rather than lacking a gender or having no gender, different from agender. It didn’t feel much different from everything else, but nothing did. Having several of the entries be defined by one’s neurodivergence was weird, but the more thought placed into the concept, the more it felt real to Dirk. Rather it meant that the Prince would have to take Rose up on her offer to get a fully evaluation soon, even if both of them came to the conclusion Dirk was probably neurodivergent and that it wasn’t impactful with how the god had lived life before the game.

“Are there any pronouns I should use for you?”

Pursing lips, Dirk gave a shake of the head. “None preferably. I think I need more time to actually think everything over. I have no positive or negative feelings for anything on there, and so I’m debating on if I’m everything or not. I can figure out how to make an exact replica of my own brain as a teenager, create robots, plot out the exact way I can kiss Jake and even save everyone's lives getting into the game. I’ve designed complex interactions to lead to the outcome I desire, and I can’t even pick a gender. This is quite frankly, ridiculous.”

“You don’t gotta. Dirk, it’s not about just picking a gender, it’s about figuring out a big part of yourself, and something most people don’t do for yours. You figured out you’re gay, now you’re figuring out what else you could be.” He placed a hand on Dirk’s and gave him a smile. “Whatever your result, I’m here for you. Even if you later think you’re a Cis man I’ll still be here for you. We might be siblings but we were friends first and that matters the most to me.”

Dirk gave a snort. “This is so fucking corny, but thanks Rox. I appreciate the love and support. Maybe I can treat you to another coffee since I feel like if I don’t buy one soon I’m going to be kicked out for making a mess of a window table.” Motioning towards the table, and standing up, the god stretched out. “What are you in the mood for?”

“Caramel Macchiato please.”

“Gotcha.”

#homestuck secret santa 2020 #striderhell #I fucking was gonna make this christmas eve but I got busy the past two days #Glad I waited because this Idea was much better #trans nonbinary characters #dirk is amab

12 notes · View notes

ancientechos · 4 years

Photo

Summer Days

For @windup-dragoon, based on a bunch of random discord convos!

Hien/Kirishimi + Emet-Selch/Arianna ♡ 2192 words ♡ some kinda modern au

The scent of the sea is fresh and crisp, circling in Hien’s lungs as he takes in a deep breath. It’s warm, and sunny, and vibrant: a perfect day to visit the beach. Perhaps take to the surf, enjoy the waves...

Unfortunately (or not?), two of his trio of companions have a quite different idea of what “fun at the beach” looks like.

“C’mon, Hien! The day’s not gettin’ any younger!” Kiri waves a hand in front of his face impatiently, shouldering her bright yellow surfboard and gesturing toward the sea. “We’re gonna surf, yeah?” She follows his gaze toward the small construction of umbrellas and towels they’d left and gives a small laugh. “Just leave ‘em, they said they’re fine.”

Emet, lounging on his towel, notices them staring, and gives a hand movement he’d like to assume is a wave but is really more likely to be a shooing motion. The smaller figure a little ways away from him, meanwhile, has most of her face obscured by the hat upon her head and the book held up to her nose.

“Besides, Emet’ll probably break his bones if he tries goin’ surfing.”

Hien can’t help but snort at the woman’s exaggeration.

“And Ari, well -- she’s not really too fond of this sorta stuff.”

It still feels a little off to simply leave their companions -- though really he wouldn’t mind Emet not being here at all, he feels just a smidge bad for Arianna. Whilst he cannot pretend to know the quiet, dark-haired woman very well, he at the very least knows of her through Kirishimi, and at best doesn’t want to seem rude...

But Kiri does know her, so he supposes he should take his chances and simply relax. They had all come here to have fun, after all. Even if their definition of such was not exactly the same.

That was still fine.

Exhaling softly, Hien drums his fingers along his own surfboard, a bright lime green colour.

“You’re right! Let’s enjoy ourselves -- ” No sooner has he finished speaking than Kirishimi has already launched herself across the sand, giving a loud cheer of victory.

“Well? What are ya waitin’ for, slowpoke?!” She turns to regard him, one hand on her hip, pale hair framed by the sun. But what does Hien Rijin in is the enormous, joyful grin that spreads across her face.

Rivalling even the gleaming star behind her, the happiness is enough to spear him straight through the heart. He remembers precisely why he’s fallen for her.

He has just never seen anyone more beautiful and genuine in his life.

“Sorry, sorry.” He lifts a hand in mock surrender. “I won’t keep you waiting.”

The sand grows damp beneath his feet, gets between his toes and he merely kicks them beneath the gentle laps of water. His girlfriend is already nearly knee-deep in salt and fighting to get ever further past the waves, to finally use her board.

“I bet I’ll catch a bigger wave than you,” the woman taunts with a sharp quirk of her lips, glancing back at him over her shoulder with one blue eye. Her black two-piece is already soaked by the water, some droplets courtesy of the children playing in the shallower waters.

“We’ll see about that,” Hien replies, with a tiny smirk of his own. If there’s anything his love can bring about him, it’s his competitive flair.

It doesn’t take them long to find a decent wave; the water here is good for surf, the wind bustling their hair and Hien’s swim shorts as they struggle to find their balance. A swell of water takes Kirishimi away from him -- brings her back just as quickly as he surfaces at the top of the wave and he sees her, arms outstretched, braid streaming out behind her.

He can’t see her face from this angle, but he’s certain that if he could, he’d see that bright, free smile again. Sure enough, she gives a delighted whoop as another wave curls above her, and she tumbles below the surf.

Hien can still hear her laughing and chuckling, but his stomach drops out from underneath him anyway as he sails downward, thoroughly soaked now as he falls into the water. He surfaces with a gasp, grasping for his board before it can bob away from him entirely.

“Wasn’t that fun?!” Kirishimi yells at him excitedly a few feet away. Her laughter fills the air as another wave picks her up, sways her. “Let’s do that again!”

By the time they return to the beach, they’re thoroughly soaked. Hien’s hair is nearly coming undone from its ponytail, and Kiri has long ago lost her braid to the depths.

Emet and Arianna have for the most part not moved, the woman still curled up in her pale sundress. Through the shadows, it’s clear she’s wearing a swimsuit beneath, though she seems to have no inclination to actually put it to use. And the other, well...

He’s not entirely sure, but Hien thinks Emet’s eyes are closed beneath those dark sunglasses he’s wearing.

Kirishimi makes her way onto the towel nearest Emet, sighing loudly. They’ve both propped up their boards nearby to allow them to dry in the sun, doubting they’ll return to the sea for today.

“Man, that was tirin’,” Kiri proclaims, bunching up her hair. “We’re all soaked.” With this she squeezes -- allowing a series of water droplets to spray upon Emet as he reclines beneath the shade.

With a jerk and a stifled sound of annoyance, he pushes his sunglasses off; though Hien can cover his mouth with his hand as he turns away, he can’t quite stop his shoulders from shaking in mirth. Arianna shuts her book silently and eyes them both from beneath her hat somewhat warily; once it becomes clear neither Hien nor Kiri have any intention of spraying her, she relaxes somewhat.

“Couldn’t you have picked somewhere with less noisy brats running amok?” the older man hisses, narrowing golden eyes at Kirishimi in a way that implies he’s not simply talking about the little urchins clambering about the sand.

“Ahahah, sorry.” Not really. If anything, Hien finds seeing his former rival irritated like this amusing. “This just seemed the closest to all our residences...”

Not telling him that he and Kiri are actually, currently, “renting” one of the beach houses here.

…Which is actually owned by the Rijin family, though Kirishimi doesn’t know this, either. It’s fine for her to think it’s just temporary. For now.

Mentally patting himself on the back for being able to keep his composure, Hien finally turns back to his companions.

“Besides, we came here for a bit of fun, right? Stretch our legs a little, maybe let’s walk around -- I hear there’s a sand castle competition further up the beach. It might be nice to take a peek.”

Thus that’s how the four of them end up shuffling down the shoreline, toward the mass of sand and small crowd of people they can see milling about. The sun beating down on their sculptures allows them to harden and set, preserving them for at least until the moment they’re destroyed.

Most of them are quite impressive -- not all of them are grand castles and mansions. Some are cats, dogs, sphinxes, even dragons. It’s hard to believe they could simply be made of sand...

Beside the rows upon rows of majestic and interesting sculptures they’ve just walked through are a few children making their own play at sandcastles, though for the most part they amount to merely mounds of dirt.

“I bet ya couldn’t make anythin’ better than that, Mr. Architect.”

One of Emet’s brows twitches as he pauses mid-step to glare down at the highlander.

“Excuse me...?” His gaze flicks from the cheeky-looking woman to the sorry pile of sand currently being kicked about by a gleeful young boy.

“Ya heard me! I bet ya can’t make anything as cool as what we just saw,”

Privately, she mumbles under her breath that it hadn’t even really looked like sand anyway. Far too realistic...

The man scoffs, rolling his eyes.

“And why on earth do you think I care what you think?”

Once it becomes clear her attempt at challenging him isn’t working, the woman kicks it up a notch.

“Whoever builds a worse one’s gotta pay the tab at dinner later -- how about that?”

The expression on Emet’s face transforms from derision to vague amusement; he gives a shrug and filches a bucket and small plastic tools from one of the pairs of children puttering in the sand.

What seems like hours later to Hien but realistically can’t be, and his rival has already amassed a miniature crowd of his own, much to the discomfort of his date. Whilst Kirishimi and his sculpture is -- reminiscent of a castle, certainly, with no shortcuts taken for details...it’s lopsided and amateur, whereas Emet’s is most certainly...not.

The proudly tall, spiralling castle, decorated with small stones and other gathered trinkets, could well rival one of those built in the competition. Hien can hardly believe the thing the older man’s managed to create in such a span of time. Were it not made of sand, he’s sure it would gleam beneath the sun.

“Well,” Hien says with a nervous laugh as they push through the small row of onlookers, “I do believe you’ve lost your bet, Kiri.”

“Why didn’t ya tell me yer some kinda sand castle champion, Emet?! That’s cheatin’!”

“Mmm? Oh, I’m nothing of the sort.” The man’s tone simply drips with arrogance as he discards his final tool into the sand. “I’ve never built one before, and that was easy.” His smirk doesn’t fade as he grasps Arianna by one of her thin wrists, pulling her closer to him and out of the crowd. Hien pretends not to see the way his normally blade-sharp gaze softens as he presses a hand to her dark hair.

________

They’d all gotten time to change and get ready before heading out to the fancy restaurant. Halfway there, Hien can see Kirishimi beginning to brood about her supposed having to pick up the tab, and tries to reassure her.

“Listen, how about I pay instead? Anyway, it’ll be fine.”

“Huh? You pay? Nah -- it was my bet, Hien. And anyway, I’m not worried.”

Certainly not, that’s why the sun has left her gaze.

They all meet in the parking lot, Emet looking utterly bored whilst Arianna holds her cellphone in her hand. While she still doesn’t speak around him, Hien would at least like to think she seems a little less nervous in his presence than before.

Before they can set foot into the restaurant, Emet abruptly raises both arms, coming to a halt approximately a foot from the doors. The others stop in confusion.

“Do wait a moment.” The smirk is, once again, disturbingly palpable in his tone even without looking at his face. “I need to open the door.”

Comprehension seems to dawn on Arianna, as she rapidly begins to tap at her phone screen; if Hien strains his ears, he thinks he can hear Emet’s phone vibrating in his pocket, though the other man seems to have zero inclination in looking at it. In a last ditch effort to wheedle the man’s attention, Arianna grabs at the sleeves of his coat --

“Open sesame.”

-- just as he says this and takes a step forward.

The automatic doors, of course, open. He gives a ridiculous half-bow that has Arianna, for once, reeling away from him even after he attempts to coax her back. She merely gives a stiff shake of the head, hiding her expression.

“Yeah? Of course it opened?” Kirishimi says aloud, seeming irritated herself.

“You’re very welcome.”

Though he doesn’t bother to explain, Hien has the suspicion that display had not really been for them.

Things are mostly quiet once they find their reserved seating, thumbing through overpriced menus. Hien can feel Kiri deflate slightly beside him, doing mental mathematics or perhaps concerned about her dress in comparison to the other patrons.

But the food is delicious; not even Emet’s subtle attempts to antagonise him can possibly ruin Hien’s mood. He can only be thankful that Kirishimi doesn’t seem to notice, too preoccupied by her meal. He even manages to trade numbers with Arianna, letting her speak to him as opposed to through Emet or Kiri.

And when the check arrives, Emet swipes it with an annoyed exhale before either he or Kirishimi can move.

“Perhaps next time, eh? I did choose the restaurant this time, after all...”

Hien isn’t sure there will be a next time, but nods graciously regardless. Despite his presence, after all, he did quite enjoy his day with Kiri. And perhaps he even has a new place to take her, where they might enjoy dinner together, without his jabs.

16 notes · View notes

nanamicide · 3 years

Text

A life of her own - chapter 8

Read on AO3

Mukuro had set two simple goals for herself: attending the group therapy session Gekkogahara-san had suggested during her last therapy session, and joining Naegi-kun and the rest of her classmates for the picnic they had been postponing for around a week now because of her. Well no, she thought as she mentally corrected herself, it wasn’t because of me. It was because of what happened to me. And it wasn’t my fault I reacted this way.

Mukuro sighed as she nervously paced around the waiting room. She wasn’t sure she really believed it wasn’t her fault, but she and Gekkogahara-san had been working on making her understand that it had been okay for her to not be able to control her fear of Kamukura – she was having a hard time agreeing with that. She knew people didn’t choose what or who they feared, but she still thought that your average person had some sort of control over their reactions. She’d had known of that. And even though it’d now been a full week of discussing it in therapy, she hadn’t stopped feeling responsible for what had happened. And she was ashamed – ashamed that she could have been so scared, and ashamed that she couldn’t see things the way her therapist wanted her to.

On top of that, the idea of having to start group therapy today made her feel uncomfortable. It was already hard enough for her to share her genuine feelings when she was alone with Gekkogahara-san. Adding a few extra people sitting with her in the office would only make it more complicated, she knew it. And yet, when her therapist had suggested it, she’d agreed to it. She’d agreed to it because she’d been afraid it would only disappoint her and make her want to stop trying to help her if she said no.

So here she was, guilt-ridden and waiting for something she was dreading to finally start so she could just get out of here as fast as possible and focus on what she’d be doing tonight. She was actually looking forward to spending time with her classmates, even if she knew she and Naegi-kun wouldn’t be alone – even if Kirigiri-san would be there as well. For some reason, she wasn’t afraid of the cold detective’s reaction. They’d never been friends, but she knew the other girl wasn’t one to be hostile towards others. She was just distant, and Mukuro did not mind that. The only thing that did bother her was how close she was to Naegi-kun, but she was confident enough in how close they’d grown ever since Junko died that she was even considering confessing tonight.

As the Ultimate Soldier was about to think of what she’d tell Naegi-kun during her confession, someone walked into the waiting room. Mukuro turned towards them as soon as she heard footsteps, only to be overridden with guilt as soon as she could make out their face.

Mitarai-kun, huh? I guess him ending up here with me goes to show not everyone here has Ultimate Luck.

The frail, pale, blond boy didn’t seem too happy to see her either. He made sure to not take a second glance at her and sit on a chair that enabled him to not have her in sight. She understood his reaction – she knew what she and Junko had done to him, after all – and didn’t exactly feel hurt by it, but she felt the urge to apologize to him. In the grand scheme of things, he’d been entirely innocent and had only happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, after all.

She took a deep breath and hesitantly moved towards him but was stopped in her tracks by Gekkogahara-san opening the door to her office.

“Glad to see both of you are already here!” Usami excitedly said as she gestured for them to come inside the office. “Tsumiki-chan and Komaeda-kun should be here soon, but it’s nicer to wait in the office than in the boring waiting room, isn’t it?”

Mukuro’s stomach turned as she realized what the group therapy session really meant. She would have to sit with people she’d hurt for Junko for around an hour or so and talk to them about her feelings. What on earth was Gekkogahara-san thinking?

She sat on the armchair that was closest to the door, while Mitarai-kun picked the one that was the farthest from her. The whole situation confused her. She couldn’t begin to understand why Gekkogahara-san would do this to any of them. She was the Ultimate Therapist – surely, she knew that having to spend time with some of her former victims in such a private setting would make her feel horrible. Besides, despite the fact she didn’t have all her knowledge, the fact Mitarai-kun, Komaeda-kun and Tsumiki-san would be scared of her didn’t seem like an overly complex idea to Mukuro.

Ten minutes passed, during which the room was filled with an extremely awkward silent that only served to make Mukuro more and more confused about what would be happening here today with every passing seconds, before Komaeda-kun and Tsumiki-san finally arrived.

“S-sorry t-to keep you w-waiting,” the Ultimate Nurse said, bowing down. “K-komaeda-kun got h-hurt on th-the way so I-I—”

“Now, now, it wasn’t that bad Tsumiki-san,” Komaeda-kun calmly explained, patting his classmate’s shoulder before sitting down on the armchair that was next to Mukuro. “Plus, the construction worker that hit me accidentally dropped some change, look how lucky I am!” He beamed, proudly holding up what seemed to be too large of a sum of money to just be casually dropped on the ground.

Mukuro sighed. This definitely wouldn’t be an easy therapy session.

“Now that you’re all here, I suppose we should get started!” Mukuro focused on Usami’s words and movements. “I know you’re probably wondering why I gathered the four of you here. You’re also probably thinking this was a terrible i—”

“I don’t,” Komaeda-kun protested, interrupting the therapist, and making Mukuro wonder if he also behaved like this during his individual therapy session. “I think it’s so wonderful that you’ve gathered all of us in that same room. After what happened to us, we’re most definitely fit to be the steppingstones to such a bright hope. I can’t even begin to imagine what wonderful things will come out of this therapy session! Gekkogahara-san, I am incredibly grateful to you for this opportunity.”

Mukuro rolled her eyes and smiled to herself when she realized that Mitarai-kun had the same reaction. At least, she wouldn’t be the worst part of the therapy session for everyone. Komaeda-kun was here.

“That’s interesting, Komaeda-kun. Some type of hope could be born from this. Maybe not in the way you expect, but there should be something coming out of his,” Usami kindly explained.

“Why?!” Mitarai-kun suddenly spoke. “Why are we pretending like she isn’t here? Why is she even here? Nothing good can come out of this since she’s going to be with us the whole time!”

Mukuro frowned. She hadn’t expected to receive any kindness from him, but there was still something about his words that hurt her. She understood that he didn’t like her – he had no reason to like her, anyway – but she sensed immense pain in his anger, which only served as a reminder of the guilt she’d experienced when he had first arrived.

“Ikusaba-chan,” Usami called, “do you have anything to respond to this? Any idea why I asked you to be here?”

“I… I think I… I’m here because I’m terrified, too.” Usami nodded, encouraging her to keep going. “My… My biggest fear isn’t your reactions to seeing me, but that doesn’t mean I wasn’t fearing them. Still, I… I understand them. I understand why Tsumiki-san hasn’t said a word since she saw me. I understand why Mitarai-kun is so angry at me. I also understand that right now you don’t even want to be listening to me. I… I wouldn’t want to be listening to him either if he was here.”

Mukuro paused to think of what to say, and the room remained entirely silent. She could feel everyone’s eyes on her, waiting for her to say more. She knew she had to keep going. She couldn’t stop there. She simply didn’t want to say the wrong things – she felt like if she did this properly, maybe she could help them realize that she was just as weak as they felt, and that they didn’t have to fear her anymore. She finally understood what Gekkogahara-san wanted from this, and why this had been an excellent idea.

“I’m sorry,” she eventually said. “I never thought I’d actually say this, but I am so terribly sorry for what happened to you guys. A few months ago, I thought I’d never regret any of what I did but seeing all three of you here makes me realize that I do. I regret listening to her and doing everything she wanted from me. This doesn’t take away what happened, and it doesn’t make up for what I did either, but even if I truly believed it was the right thing to do at the time, I now wish I had never done any of this.”

She stopped talking again as she felt warm tears roll down her cheeks. She hadn’t expected herself to cry during this session – she had assumed that because it wouldn’t be just her and Gekkogahara-san, things wouldn’t get as emotionally intense as they usually did. And yet, she’d been wrong. She was used to being wrong now, and she definitely did not mind it.

“It’s been difficult for me to deal with all these things, but I still don’t think I can imagine how tough it’s been for all of you,” Mukuro continued after wiping the tears away. “Mitarai-kun, we… We took what you loved the most and turned it into what you never wanted it to be. We used that on your classmate and teacher, and we had plans to do much worse than that. I have no idea how it impacted you, but if you’re here, it means it broke something inside of you. And I’ll never forgive myself for this.”

She glanced at him, and he looked like he was about to respond. She wondered if she’d done things right but considering that Gekkogahara-san wasn’t typing anything to make Usami take part in what was going on, she assumed things would be okay.

“I h-hated you for a while,” Mitarai-kun suddenly said. “I hated the fact that they kept you alive even if they knew everything you’ve done. I hated that, although I could tell you were opposed to her getting more people involved in your sick plans, you never worked up the courage to tell her to leave me alone. But I… I think I hated myself, too. You watched my anime, but it didn’t stop you from siding with her. It didn’t have the effect it should have had, and it made me feel like a failure. I couldn’t protect myself or anyone. It was easier for me to tell myself that I hated you than to admit I had also failed. I was also a coward through all of it. But I… I forgave myself, and I think I can forgive you now. We were all doing our best. You should forgive yourself, too.”

“Thank you, Mitarai-kun. I’m really glad you came here today.”

Mukuro and Mitarai-kun smiled at each other, which made her feel better. It didn’t have the same effect as Naegi-kun’s smiles or presence, but this definitely was enough for her to keep apologizing and talking to the people around her.

“Tsumiki-san, we brainwashed you and tried to hurt the people who were coming to save you. I have no idea what happened to you after that, but I imagine that people around you stopped looking at you the way they used to. I imagine it made you feel like you were out of touch with all of them, as if you were an entirely different person, and for that I’m sorry. I don’t know what we would have done to you if Munakata-san and Sakakura-san hadn’t barged in the room on that, but I know it wouldn’t have been pretty to see. And I genuinely want to apologize for this. I hope you’re doing better.”

“Th-thank y-you, I-Ikusaba-san…”

Mukuro looked at her, and even though she definitely looked as though some damage had been inflicted on her, she could tell that she was genuine. She was giving her a faint smile, but it was there. Mukuro smiled back at her, thanking her for coming to today’s therapy session despite how hard it may have been.

She then turned to Komaeda-kun, unsure what to say to him. She hadn’t interacted with him much – he’d only spent a few hours with her and Junko – but she was under the impression that what had happened hadn’t affected him as much as it had affected the others. This didn’t mean that it hadn’t done anything to him at all, but that she was having a harder time pinpointing what the effects may have been because her upperclassmen had always tended to be… Well, a little strange. She had never found out why, but she knew long tirades about hope and steppingstones like the one he had started at the beginning of the session were quite usual coming from him.

“No need to apologize to me, Ikusaba-san,” the white-haired boy suddenly said, making Mukuro realize that she had been staring at him without saying anything for far too long. “Trash like me isn’t worthy of an apology coming from someone as wonderful as you. Besides, it’s all given me the opportunity to see all your hopes bind together today, and it’s been such a great experience!”

“Komaeda-kun, please… Please understand that you aren’t worthless. Your luck is probably what saved us on that day. It’s what saved you when Kamukura tried to shoot you, but who’s to say that Sakakura-san wouldn’t have let Junko’s blackmail get to him if you hadn’t been with us? I can’t let you say you don’t deserve an apology for what happened to you on that day… You… No one dragged you there like the others were, but it almost got you killed. And you’ve seen things that you shouldn’t have seen. For that, I’m sorry.”

There was another pause during which no one spoke – not even Komaeda-kun. Mukuro wondered if she’d hit the right spot when talking to him. In fact, she hoped she had.

Usami suddenly broke the comfortable yet heavy silence that had fallen over the room, clapping.

“Wonderful job, everyone! I’m sure this has helped you see that none of you deserved what happened to you because of Junko, and that none of you were truly responsible for it. You all had your reasons to react the way you did, and this is what I wanted you all to show each other. I’m really proud of all of you for staying here in spite of how emotionally-charged the things that were said were!”

Mukuro looked at everyone and noticed that, just like her, they were all smiling. What had happened today had given her more strength than she had first assumed it would. But strength wasn’t the only thing it had given her. It’d also given her hope – hope that things could change; hope that she could, regardless of everything she did in the past, help people; hope that people could see a good person in her. And for that reason, when Mitarai-kun suggested they have more group therapy sessions together, she agreed to it, along with Tsumiki-san and Komaeda-kun.

#naekusaba #naegiri

11 notes · View notes

izzy-b-hands · 3 years

Text

Assembled Here The Volunteers

Set in 1985. A birthday present for one of Brian's kids has him a broken man (because it comes broken into at least fifty pieces that need to be put together, by him, and said pieces refuse to let him do that.) But he has a team of helpers, at least! They won't necessarily make things better per se, but if the present still gets built, isn't it still a victory?

TW for what took me out midway through writing this and what I didn’t realize I was writing about until it hit me hard: emotional immaturity in parents and the realization and apologizing for that from said parent, due to the accidental harm it’s caused a child. I may have had a minor breakdown while writing this as a result, and that might show. But I hope folks will enjoy it regardless.

My love to all who read/like/reblog!

"If you can put it together, I'll fucking pay you," Brian muttered, gesturing to the play house. "Barely even fits in the fucking yard."

"Breathe," Roger instructed with a smile. "It's one play house, versus four dads."

"Four?"

"Freddie's a dad to his cats," Roger explained, and Brian nodded sagely. "So this can't beat us?"

"Not all of us together," Roger replied. "Tell the kids not to cry, we will have this together within the hour!"

---

"Thanks for stopping by," Freddie said to what felt like the fortieth guest. For a kid's party, it seemed like entirely too many people; he couldn't have imagined having that many people at a party for himself at that age.

"Are they alright?" One of the mums asked gently, gesturing to the corner of the yard.John was fussing with the instructions booklet, Roger was kicking at a piece of the play house, and Brian had taken a break to lay facedown in the grass.

"In a manner of speaking," Freddie replied. "It'll be fine."

She nodded hesitantly as she ushered her child away.

"Daddy looks sad," Louisa tugged at Freddie's shirt. She looked sad too, as it happened, and he couldn't blame her. It wasn't a great fourth birthday, to have your mum and older brother off visiting relatives during it, unable to make it back in time, and then to watch your dad have a minor breakdown over a play house.

"He's not sad," Freddie lied, picking Louisa up as the last few guests left the yard. "He's just tired."

Brian chose that moment to let out an aggravated, weak shout as he sat back up, and Freddie winced as Louisa immediately fell against his shoulder in tears.

"None of that on your birthday," Freddie said softly, walking away from the increasingly loud grumbling from his overly frustrated bandmates. "They'll have that put together soon enough, and things will be better."

"I can help," she offered miserably, and wriggled out of his arms, racing back towards the scene at the barely-put-together play house.

"I don't know about that," Freddie sighed, but followed after her.

She had a piece of it in her hands, nearly as big as she was, and was trying to hand it to Roger. "It's a wall!"

"We know sweetheart, but the wall doesn't want to stay where we put it," Roger said, only half paying attention to her as he fussed with what looked like roof tiling.

"Because you need the floor!" Louisa cried, sounding not unlike her father in tone and level of frustration. She slapped at Brian's leg until he moved away from the pile of pieces, and started to grab and lock parts together as best she could.

"No," Brian laughed. "It's not that simple."

"Looks like it might be," Freddie nodded towards Louisa's progress. "Sure we weren't overthinking it a little?"

"It's a house, you can't overthink how to put together a house," John scoffed.

"Give it!" Louisa grumbled, yanking the small hammer that had come with the kit out of John's hands.

"Ask nicely," Brian scolded.

"Give it, please," she repeated sarcastically, and Brian's scolding turned to the three of them as they giggled.

"Don't encourage her," Brian mumbled.

"From what, going into construction?" Roger asked. "Of course we should encourage that, she's clearly got a mind for it."

"Move please," Louisa tapped at Roger's leg as she retrieved more pieces from where they sat at his feet. The house had a floor, and a wall, and she was only ten minutes into her attempt at constructing it.

"You want help?" Roger asked her gently.

"Are you gonna really help?" she spat back, and there was no hiding their laughter at that.

"I have been pretty useless at this, haven't I?" Roger giggled. "How about you tell me what to do?"

Louisa rolled her eyes, but handed him a piece. "See the wall? Put this on it."

"Your daughter now thinks I'm the biggest moron to walk this Earth," Roger smiled.

"No,"Louisa protested. "You all did a bad job."

"No beating around the bush, hm?" John tutted. "We should bring her in the studio. Can't go wrong with a little 'this is good or this is shit' meter."

"Hold this," Louisa instructed John, as she started to layer parts of the plastic roof tiles together, starting with the one he was holding. "Freddie!"

He strode over, eager to see how she might call him into service.

"Can I have a snack?" she asked sweetly.

"Why are you asking him and not me?" Brian laughed. "Dad is the one here who can say yes or no to snacks!"

Louisa gave him a look, then turned back to Freddie expectantly.

"Think you've been demoted," Freddie giggled to Brian. "Sorry about that, but it's out of my hands."

"She's four!"

"And the foreman of this site, and it's her birthday as well," Freddie said. "I don't know who else I'm supposed to listen to, if not her."

"Please?" Louisa yanked at his shirt. "Birthday cake?"

"It's your cake, of course you can have more!"

"That's so much sugar," Brian hissed. "She'll never sleep!"

"She's been working hard on this, sure she'll sleep," Freddie said as he started towards the house for her cake. "Won't you, Louisa?"

She shrugged and giggled and looked back to John. "The roof is done! Put it on!"

"Oh goodness, sorry," John laughed. "I'm going to get myself fired."

"I finished the walls at least," Roger noted. "That should have been your cue, I think."

"Well you could have said you'd finished them!"

"You have eyes, don't you?"

"No shouting!" Louisa shouted as she took the offered plate of cake from Freddie. "Thank you."

"You're welcome; this is the best," Freddie smirked. "Your dad-"

"Has given up, because I have completely lost control of this," Brian interrupted, flopping back onto the lawn.

Louisa frowned, handed Freddie the plate back, and rushed over to Brian. "Get up!"

"The house is done," John offered. "You could go in it now."

“You go in it!” Louisa shouted. “Daddy’s sad!”

John shrugged, and crawled into the playhouse, banging his hip on the plastic door. “It’s nice!”

Louisa wasn’t paying attention though. She’d flopped onto Brian’s chest, wrapping her arms around him. “Don’t be sad anymore; I fixed it!”

John crawled back out of the house into the tense silence, and they watched as Brian slowly sat up, with Louisa in his arms.

“What do you mean?”

“The house made you sad, so I fixed it,” Louisa whined. “You’re still sad; you aren’t supposed to be sad anymore!”

“You...” Brian hesitated. “You know you don’t have to worry about whether I’m sad or not, right?”

“Yes I do!” she protested.

“No,” Brian shook his head. “You don’t. Only I have to worry about that. You worry about playing and having fun...and your cake, remember?”

Freddie held up the plate, but she didn’t so much as turn her head.

“You and Mummy are always sad,” Louisa mumbled. “I wanted to help. I’m a good helper, you said that!”

“Oh boy,” Roger hissed under his breath. “Brian, shall John and I go in and clean things up for you?”

“Sure,” Brian nodded, but tears glittered at the corners of his eyes. “Thanks.”

“I’ll go-” Freddie started.

“No,” Louisa interrupted. “Stay.”

“But...” Freddie stammered. “Okay, fine. I don’t know why, but fine.”

“You make Daddy happy,” Louisa said, in a tone that suggested he had to be an idiot not to realize that.

“Okay,” Brian sighed. “I owe you an apology, sweetheart.”

“Why?”

“Because you shouldn’t ever have had to feel like this,” Brian continued. “It isn’t your job to worry about me and Mum, no matter how we’re feeling.”

“But-”

“Oh, she’s so much like you,” Freddie murmured.

“Yeah,” Brian sighed. “Yeah, she is. I get it, sweetheart, I do. You’ve been feeling like you should be able to help make us happy again, right?”

Louisa nodded.

“And if you can’t do that, then it must be your fault?” Brian’s voice finally cracked, and the tears fell faster than he could wipe them away.

She nodded again, sniffling herself.

“I don’t know how you got that into your head, but I want you to know,” Brian said. “It’s never your fault. Not ever. Grown ups get sad for so many reasons, so many stupid reasons. But none of that is your fault, and it isn’t your fault if we seem sad a lot. It’s just stupid grown up things, I promise.”

Freddie watched tentatively; he could see the wheels turning in her head. It was like watching Brian mull something over, in miniature, right down to the wrinkled forehead.

“My present didn’t make you sad?”

“No!” Brian laughed. “No, I was sad because I couldn’t figure it out, but the present itself didn’t make me sad. I’m happy you have it, I just felt silly I was having trouble with it. And that was sillier still, because look! We got help, and we didn’t even need it! You figured most of it out yourself.”

“My birthday didn’t make you sad?”

“No,” Brian hugged her tightly. “Your birthday could never make me sad. Nothing about you could make me sad, my being sad or upset isn’t your fault or your job to help me with. And I should have seen that and realized how you were feeling, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Louisa pressed a kiss to his cheek, and for a moment, Freddie could feel the tension slip.

“It isn’t,” Brian said, and the tension filled the air again, but blessedly only for a moment. “But I’m going to make sure it doesn’t happen again, okay? I’m going to be more careful, so you don’t ever have to feel like you need to look after me like that. I’m your dad; I’m supposed to look after you, not the other way around! So you let me look after you, no matter how I’m feeling, and if you ever feel like this again, you tell me straight away.”

She nodded, but hesitantly.

“He means it,” Freddie offered. “That’s what dads are supposed to do. Look after you, and apologize if they mess up.”

He swallowed down his own feelings, that hit like a train. There wasn’t time for those, however. Not right now.

“Okay,” Louisa smiled and wrapped Brian in a tight hug, and the tension finally dissipated completely.

“I think,” Brian stood up with a groan, hanging on to Louisa as he moved. “We should go in, and you finish your piece of cake while we finish cleaning up. “

“I can help,” Louisa said softly.

“After your cake, and only if there’s anything left to clean up,” Brian said. “But thank you for offering.”

“Meet us inside?” Brian asked as he took the plate from Freddie.

“Yeah,” Freddie nodded. “There’s tools all over the grass yet. I’ll get those and bring them in.”

The look they shared let him know Brian understood. He needed the moment alone.

“What a fucking mess,” Freddie tutted as he wrangled tools from the lawn. “And all your fault, you know that?”

The play house, being a play house, said nothing in reply.

“And yet, it was a good thing,” Freddie continued. “What a fucking party.”

The play house stood silent, except for a lone roof tile that slid off.

He replaced the tile, and headed inside. The night wasn’t quite over yet.

#text post #LeeH writes #queen band fic

3 notes · View notes

lostyoursignal · 5 years

Text

@aleiimm said: Analogical, first date?? I need soft boys!!

(send me sanders’ sides ficlet requests and i will do my absolute best to fulfill them to your heart’s content!!)

“Okay. Alright. I’ll bite. What are we doing?”

There’s a sidelong glance cast from the driver’s seat, the hint of a smile at the corner of Logan’s lips as his fingertips slid along the cracks and crevices of the steering wheel. “I’ve already told you. It’s a surprise.”

He can’t see from this angle, but from the way Virgil turns his head to look out the window, the way that his arms cross resolutely over his chest, Logan can almost be certain that the other’s eyes are rolling. “I’ve already told you. I hate surprises. Can I, like, at least have a hint? A clue? A something?”

“You know, one would argue, contextually speaking, that a hint and a clue are exactly the same thing.” Logan shook his head as Virgil aimed a weary glance in his direction. “No. You may not have either.”

The truck struggles as it makes its climb up a particularly steep and daunting hill, and Logan lets out an imperceptible breath of relief when they crest it without issue. The pick-up is a hand-me-down, and while he does his very best to make sure it remains running until he can get his hands on the keys to the Kia that he’s been eyeing up for almost a year, it really is on its last legs. There are parts held together by little more than duct tape and a wish.

Sprawling fields line the roads on both sides, and something like wanderlust itches underneath Logan’s skin. Seeing the sky touch the earth so intimately out here, away from all of the lights and the sounds in the city, makes him want to walk to where the horizon meets the sky, let himself be pulled, upward and away, off to somewhere beyond the midnight blue. (Were these foolish thoughts? Perhaps, but he indulged in them, nonetheless, if only for the momentary reprieve from the disappointing monotony of life here, on Earth.)

Virgil shifts beside him, sits forward in his seat to look out at the sky as well, and Logan is reminded, suddenly, quickly enough to give him a headrush, that not everything here is monotonous, and not certainly not everything here is disappointing.

The truck is turned slowly onto a dirt road, and Virgil grips his seatbelt with both hands where it rests across his chest, sending another suspicious glance Logan’s way. “This is it, right?” he says, forging on before Logan has the chance to answer. “This is the part where you’re all, ‘it’s been great, Virge, but this is where you die.’ You’re totally about to go all slasher on me.” A glance in Virgil’s direction reveals a small smile. Good. Great. He isn’t being serious, then. “Never knew you had it in you.”

“Yes, well, I suppose that was your first mistake. Perhaps you should have been more careful about choosing the people with whom you spend your time.” Logan can’t help but to smile as well, shifting in his seat. After a few moments, he pulls the truck to a stop and puts it in park, cutting the engine. Virgil squints at him, but says nothing, only raising a single eyebrow when Logan says, “Get out.”

“Is this a joke, dude? You’re making me get out in the middle of nowhere, just to, what? Find my own way back? Sucky punchline.”

“No, Virgil, I’m.” Logan sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, swinging the driver’s side door open. “I am also getting out of the vehicle. We’ve arrived at our destination.”

“You sure about that?” Virgil gestures around them as he opens his own door. They are boxed in on all sides by a vast nothingness, a treeline just barely visible in the distance before them. “When I told you to pick the place, I thought you’d actually, you know. Pick a place.”

“This is a place,” Logan insists, hopping out of the cab and onto the dirt below them. He makes his way to the back of the pick-up, dropping the tailgate open and hoisting himself up into the truck bed with a small grunt of effort. Pushing his glasses further up on the bridge of his nose, he sets to work immediately, shuffling forward on his knees toward the large box mounted just behind the cab. It’d once held his father’s toolbox, but when it is opened now, it’s packed to the absolute brim with blankets pilfered from the linen closet in the hall.

“What’s that?” comes Virgil’s voice, floating toward Logan from the back of the truck.

“You’ll see.”

Before long, the bed of the truck is converted from hard and plastic and sort-of dusty to something closer to resembling a poorly-constructed nest of sorts. There are blankets, and Logan tosses a pillow in Virgil’s direction as he finishes up.

“Looking kind of cozy,” Virgil laughs, placing the pillow down on the truck bed, aiming a small, crooked smile Logan’s way.

“‘Kind of?’“

“Can’t say for sure ‘til I’ve experienced it, right?” Virgil pulls himself up, sneakers scuttling against the tailgate as he pushes himself forward onto his stomach, face planted against a pillow.

There’s a beat of silence. “Well?” Logan prompts.

“It’s definitely a truck bed,” Virgil answers, voice muffled into the pillowcase, and Logan’s face nearly falls before Virgil turns to look up at him, giving him the softest of smiles. “It’s nice, L. Really nice.”

Logan clears his throat, glancing away for a moment, before laying himself out beside Virgil, who immediately turns onto his back. “Forgive the cliche,” he says, suddenly extremely self-aware. “I simply thought you would enjoy this. Star-gazing seems like something that is well within your range of interests, and --”

“Logan,” Virgil says with a laugh, kicking the toe of his sneaker against Logan’s, shaking his head. “This is good. This is really cool.”

“Good. Right. Um.” Logan falls silent for a moment, staring up at the stars as if they might have the answer, as if something would be written there for him to read, a map, telling him what exactly to do next. Instead, he lifts a hand, beginning to point out various constellations in the vast expanse of sky above them.

Virgil listens quietly, nodding, pulling one leg up to bend at the knee and kicking his other leg up onto it, foot bobbing in a slow, steady rhythm. After a solid ten minutes of Logan’s rambling, he cuts in. “Wait, where’s Lacerta again?” he asks.

“There,” Logan says, pointing.

Virgil squints, eyes searching. “Wait, where?”

“There,” Logan says, circling the constellation with his index finger. He freezes in place when Virgil’s head moves from the pillow underneath him and onto his shoulder, casually, without mention. “Just on the other side of Pegasus.”

Virgil nods, and nods again, before shaking his head. Logan can feel every movement, the entire way down his arm. “Nah, sorry, still not getting it.”

After a moment of hesitation, Logan shifts, hand moving to lace its fingers between Virgil’s, pressing their index fingers together and lifting them, using them to jointly point toward the sky. “Pegasus,” he says, voice softer now, “and Lacerta, there.”

He turns his head just the barest amount, peeking at Virgil from the corner of his eye, and even outside of the frames of his glasses, Virgil’s smile comes into crystalline focus.

“Got it,” Virgil murmurs.

He squeezes Logan’s hand.

#ts sides #sanders sides #analogical #virgil sanders #virgil #logan sanders #logan #ts virgil #ts logan #my stuff

328 notes · View notes