#au: stray saplings | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

umbry-fic · 3 years

Text

“Hello, How Are You?”

Summary: The Great Pasca Tree has stood for millennia, longer even than people have walked the land. It has seen much.

But this is its first time seeing a little girl come up to it, asking, "How are you?"

Fandom: Tales of Symphonia, Tales of Crestoria Characters: Colette Brunel, Lloyd Irving, Great Pasca Tree, Lutesse Relationships: Colette Brunel & Great Pasca Tree, Colette Brunel & Lutesse, Background Colloyd Rating: T Word Count: 10824 Mirror Link: AO3 Original Post Date: 10/07/2021

Notes+Warnings: More Lloyd side story stuff, so spoilers! This is mostly written from the POV of The Great Pasca tree, who I refer to as Pasca and who uses it pronouns. (Sorry if that's confusing.)

Just expanding on some more headcanons I have! (And possibly straying into AU territory too...)

Title from Nanou's song.

~~~

It was born into darkness, having sprouted from a seed carrying the promise of life, ferried to fertile dirt by the beak of a bird, one of many in a flock. That fragile seed grew into a tiny sapling that knew of nothing but the slow and enduring process of growth - new tips appearing, new leaves protruding out of branches, and roots extending further into the dirt.

The passage of time was marked only by seasons.

Spring brought with it flowers, and the fuzzy snouts of animals that nosed and chewed at the tree’s leaves.

Summer brought with it rain, the droplets cool against the tree’s leaves and sating its thirst.

Autumn brought with it strong winds that tore away the tree’s leaves and left it barren.

Winter brought with it biting frost that caked the tree’s bark, making each day a struggle for survival.

Countless seasons passed as the tree grew taller and stronger against the forces of nature. Its collection of branches became wider, its roots forming an unseen labyrinth. It did not mind the passage of time, did not register it at all, for each day was much the same as the last - darkness, and the occasional sensation. The tree simply existed, living out each second, experiencing emotions it was not yet able to describe or understand.

The tree was not aware of mana, even though it had always known it. The sphere of life contained within itself, the energy that ran through the dirt which its roots tapped into, the particles that floated in the air like fireflies, burning bright but going unseen as they brushed against its bark.

Even millennia later, the same question haunted the tree, a question that had never received an answer. Why had mana picked it to be its vessel? After all, there were a dozen other trees just like it close by that were surely all viable candidates. But the collection of mana ignored them all, coming to the tree with no explanation, with nothing but a vow to be made - that the mana was never to be controlled. The tree would act as the source through which mana was equally distributed, and nothing more unless absolutely necessary. To break that vow would mean betraying the essence of the world itself and disrupting the natural order, possibly dooming every living creature.

And so the tree agreed, for it had no reason not to. The existence that the collection of mana proposed seemed to be no different from the one it led now - quiet and peaceful, just with the addition of mana running through itself.

How wrong it had been.

Its insides were flooded with bright, sparkling lifeforce, the flow of energy in its roots reversed such that it was giving instead of taking. The surplus of mana bolstered its growth, causing its trunk to widen ever more, until it was truly massive, looming over all. Its branches and leaves became an umbrella, providing shade for any creature that decided to rest beneath its boughs.

But that was not the only consequence - there was also knowledge. The ability to read the mana signatures around it, the ability to convert the waves of mana that surged through the air into sight and sound, despite its lack of eyes or ears.

The tree came to know the colourful creatures that walked the land beside its immobile form. Creatures who slaughtered each other in a blood-soaked cycle of survival, but a cycle that was built on mutual respect. It came to know its three other counterparts, trees which stood equally as tall as itself in other corners of the world. They communicated sparsely through the channels of mana that connected the four of them. Not through words, for those would not come for another few centuries. No, they communicated through emotions, those that the tree had only now learned to interpret.

Happiness at growth and a beautiful day.

Sadness at death.

And loneliness.

The ever-present loneliness permeated all. For the tree found that it could not communicate with any of the creatures that stopped before it, seeking shelter or hoping to enjoy the bountiful mana around.

All it could do was watch.

And watch it did, as the first people to walk the lands settled down next to the four trees of mana, for the land was fertile and the harvest plentiful. They gave it a name, and so it came to be known as the Great Pasca Tree. It decided to simply call itself Pasca, for that rolled off the “tongue” much easier.

Pasca was delighted to have permanent company, to learn from these interesting creatures the way of words. The people, meanwhile, came to see it as some form of sacred deity. They took to praying before it, in hopes that their wishes could come true, while the shade under its leaves became a favourite spot for children to play in. People from all walks of life, elves, humans and half-elves alike, all coming to gather before Pasca.

It was disappointing to learn that no one could hear its voice, no matter how loud Pasca shouted. Still, it tried to answer every question that was asked of it, to acknowledge every wish that it was entrusted with, even if no one could understand it.

And so a few centuries passed in a blur as Pasca serenely watched. Faces that came and went, eventually all being swallowed up by time, none important enough to be remembered. The people slowly developed, making new and impressive advancements. Small conflicts arose from time to time, but they were easily resolved.

Pasca told itself that it would be content to simply watch for all eternity. The prosperity of the world was something all four of the Great Trees wished for, and watching that wish be granted brought Pasca happiness. Even if that joy could not chase away the shadow of loneliness.

There was a growing frisson between the different species, however. One born of an unknown reason, but one that soon became too large to be ignored, and one that broke Pasca's heart. It hated what it saw: cruelty, the mocking of suffering, belittling. Elves derided humans and half-elves as lesser species, humans saw half-elves as impure and elves as arrogant, and half-elves withdrew completely, trampled by the hatred of the rest.

What Pasca hated the most was its inability to reach out and reason with any of them, to tell them that what they were doing only hurt themselves in the end.

The people began to tear each other apart, each species trying their best to take control of the mana by contesting the territory around the Great Trees. Bloodshed, betrayal, heartbreak... Pasca witnessed it all.

In the end, the elves succeeded in staking their claim on the land next to Pasca, but not without soaking their hands in an endless river of blood. The dirt by Pasca’s roots would forever be stained, even after the blood was washed away by the rain. And the elves did not stop there.

They began trying to harness the mana for much more nefarious purposes, to try and control Pasca itself. Communication with the rest of the trees proved that the same thing was happening everywhere.

This could not go on. All Pasca had ever done was its role: to give. And people had taken, and taken, and taken, and they would not stop taking until they had destroyed everything in their wrath.

To protect that wish for a happier world, to safeguard the vow they had once sworn upon, the Great Trees sealed themselves away with a fog. A fog that would confound any that walked into its endless white, for any who tried would only end up emerging elsewhere, unable to make any headway.

None would ever lay eyes upon the Great Trees again. None would ever try to corrupt them, to harness the mana that ran within them.

It would be better this way, if the knowledge of the Great Tree’s existence were to fade away into nothing, if the memory of their existence became nothing more than a legend.

And Pasca was tired. So, so exhausted, its branches drooping and leaves fluttering to the ground. Heartbroken from people shattering the trust it had placed in the benevolence of all who walked this land, and by the actions of the elves, who had gone so far as to carve directly into its trunk.

It would live out each day in this clearing, doing its job. Surrounded by other, smaller trees that eked out existence day by day, entirely unaware of Pasca’s presence. All alone.

It would have been better to remain in the darkness like those trees. Then it would not have known betrayal, would not have been able to put a name to the loneliness it felt.

With no one to keep it company, Pasca slipped into a slumber, barely aware of time passing it by. A slumber that lasted a few millennia.

At least, it thought so. There was no real point in keeping count.

~~~

What attracted Pasca’s attention was the unique mana signature. It wasn’t that of a bird, or a squirrel’s, or a dog’s. Not any of the creatures that frequented this clearing, for they were spared from the effects of the fog.

No, it was a mana signature that Pasca had never come across before. Which was unusual, considering its many years of existence.

Intrigue was what Pasca felt. An emotion, after an eternity of emptiness. It was enough to get Pasca to open up its sight and hearing again.

Bright colours flooded its vision: the vivid green of the leaves of the trees that formed the border of the clearing, the tiny windows of blue sky that were visible between the criss-cross of its branches, the deep brown of bark. A cacophony of sounds invaded its hearing: the rustling of the leaves in the wind, the cries of birds in the far distance, and the crunching of grass under the feet of the intruder.

Said intruder was a girl. A young one, Pasca supposed, though it was never the greatest at guessing ages. But surely she had to be young, if her head didn’t even reach the lowest of Pasca’s branches. She was wearing a plain white dress that was much too big for her, with sleeves that dwarfed her slender arms, and with a hem that nearly touched the ground. Her short golden hair did nothing to hide the pointed ears that marked her of elven descent. She most likely hailed from the village of elves that was situated outside the forest. If that village still stood after all this time.

Yet her mana signature was not that of an elf, or even a half-elf’s. It reminded Pasca more of its fellow Great Trees. But that wasn’t possible.

There was a large smile on her face, one that Pasca couldn’t help but fixate on. It had been so, so long since it had seen a genuine smile, one that could light up its surroundings in its innocent joy.

The girl came up to Pasca without any fear in her step at all. She lay a careful hand on its bark, pressing her ear against it like she was listening for a heartbeat, in a place where she would find none. For Pasca’s heartbeat was nothing more than streams of mana.

“Hello, Mr Great Pasca Tree, how are you?” she chirped in a sing-song voice.

“How did you find your way here, child? It should be impossible!” Pasca asked grumpily, still trying to shake the sleep out of its leaves.

Why did it even bother talking? It wasn’t like the girl would have any way of comprehending its words.

“Oh, I just walked, Mr Tree!”

“Through the fog?” Pasca replied absentmindedly, before its mind screeched to a halt. “Wait, how are you able to hear me?”

The girl cocked her head, looking utterly confused by its answer. “You’re talking, so I’m able to hear you…? Though your voice does sound a bit weird, considering it's only in my head.”

“You… Who are you…?” How was a mere child able to do this? To understand it, where thousands had failed?

“Me? Oh!” The girl laughed sheepishly, her laughter filling up the entire clearing and chasing away the dreary silence. She spun in an excited circle, her dress flaring around her and the blue ribbons attached to her short sleeves continuing to sway even after she came to a stop. “I’m Colette! Colette Brunel! I’m sorry for not giving you my name first when I already knew yours!”

Pasca didn’t quite know how to react, how to feel, even, in the face of this eager child who was actually managing to talk to it. How did one deal with an excitable child whose full attention was focused on it?

“Ah… You sounded quite tired before.” Colette clasped her hands behind her back, swaying from side to side. “Did I wake you up? I’m really sorry if that’s the case, Mr Tree! I can leave if I’m annoying you…”

“No, it’s… alright,” Pasca answered, finding that it didn’t want Colette to leave just yet. “And you can call me Pasca.”

Easier than calling it Mr Tree all the time...

“Okay, Pasca! That’s a really nice name! Um, but you haven’t answered my first question, so I’ll ask it again. How are you?”

“Fine, I suppose?” Pasca replied, not certain what an appropriate reply was. Nobody had ever asked it that question before. In fact, no one had ever asked it about itself.

“That’s great!” Somehow, Colette’s smile only grew brighter as she clapped her hands together. “Now that that’s answered, we’re officially friends! So let’s talk about anything and everything!”

~~~

Colette had left not soon after, exclaiming about being late for lessons. Pasca had still been in shock, unable to process that a living, breathing person had stepped foot before it for the first time in millennia. And that said person could understand it.

When the girl had not turned up the next day, Pasca had chalked it off as a hallucination, one born of an impossible desire to connect. No matter how improbable it was for Pasca’s mind to have thought up an entire girl, what else was it supposed to believe in? After all, no one should have been able to find this clearing, let alone understand the words of a tree with no mouth.

Pasca had tried returning to its slumber, but found that no matter how hard it tried, it couldn’t succeed. Stupid delusions.

Yet Colette had turned up the day after that. And again. And again. And again! Today was her sixth visit!

Actually, now that Pasca thought about it… Why was it keeping count, exactly?!

Pasca was fairly certain Colette was real by this point - if not for her continued presence, then because her hand on its bark seemed too warm to be fake.

She would always start out each visit by asking how Pasca was. It had not replied since their first meeting, uncertain if it could trust her. Or anyone, really. People had shown the depths they were willing to stoop to long ago, and Pasca was unable to forget. So it was safer for Pasca to remain at a distance, to avoid getting hurt ever again.

Though that was rather difficult to do, honestly speaking, when confronted with her boundless energy.

Even without an answer from Pasca, Colette would forge on, keeping her promise to talk about anything and everything. She would chatter on and on, about the village of elves that was her home, about what she had done that day, about stupid jokes that got a silent chuckle out of Pasca, about the human boy she knew. Mundane topics that piled up atop each other, filling up the time before she left the clearing to go home, ensuring that there was never silence when she was around.

Pasca couldn't help but absorb every word voraciously. It wanted to know about the outside world and how it had changed in the time it had been asleep. The flame of hope that things might be better was carefully tempered, but could not be put out.

Pasca’s feelings were quite the contradiction.

“Hello, Pasca,” Colette called out, settling herself down in a cross-legged position by Pasca’s trunk, laying a hand on the bark as she always did. “How are you?” she asked, saying the words just as eagerly as she always did, yet already tinged with a hint of disappointment at the expected non-answer.

“Good.”

Wait. Wait, it had just replied without meaning to. Oh no, no, no! It was failing in remaining at a distance already!

“That’s great!” Colette pounced on the tiny moment of weakness like a ravenous predator, eyes shining as she stared up at the canopy. “How so?”

Pasca cursed internally. It would feel horrible if it was the one to cause a crestfallen expression on Colette’s face, now that it had gotten her hopes up.

“Well…” it trailed off, casting its mind back to what had occurred over the course of the day. It wasn’t even sure why “good” had been its answer. “There was a nice breeze in the morning before you came. And yesterday, there was a refreshing drizzle.”

“Oh! That drizzle in the middle of the night? It sure left some puddles!” Colette giggled, fingers smoothing against the grass, droplets of water sliding down the bent stalks. “I’m glad you had a good day. I hope your next one is just as amazing, if not more!”

“...thank you,” Pasca muttered, deciding that this was its limit on speech for the day. And maybe the rest of the week.

It did feel good to say something again, though.

Colette didn’t seem to mind the silence that Pasca lapsed into, simply continuing on to her usual topics of one-sided conversation. There was a little more of a spring to her step when she left that day, waving goodbye in a cheerful manner.

Pasca sighed. Now that it had let down its impregnable walls - or, more accurately, Colette had smashed its fragile, hole-riddled walls with her cheerful words, kind smile and gentle touch, there was no going back.

Oh well, Pasca thought to itself. What harm was there in talking to an innocent child, and one as sweet as Colette?

Besides, Pasca still had the power to protect itself if the need arose. And it would do so with no hesitation if Colette proved to be a threat to the vow it held.

That’s what it told itself, at least.

~~~

Pasca came to expect the question of “How are you?” And it began to give actual answers, to tell Colette about everything that had happened in her absence.

For it was now counting the seconds between her leaving, always before night fell, and her next appearance, instead of letting time slip through its branches. Sometimes Colette was absent for two days, sometimes two weeks. But she always returned.

Pasca would tell her of the new nest that a bird had crafted upon its branches, of the family of fluffy squirrels that had made their home in one of its hollows, of the colourful butterflies that had turned up, flapping their wings as they explored the fresh air. They were events that, for the longest time, had been nothing special to Pasca. Yet the mere mention of them was enough to make Colette squeal in delight. The sight brought joy to Pasca, a radiant joy it had never felt before, not even when reaching a new milestone in height or gaining a new circle of tree rings.

And in return, Pasca gradually got used to Colette’s antics. How she would sometimes tip-toe into the clearing, like she was trying to scare Pasca by sneaking up on it. An impossible task, as Pasca pointed out, but Colette never stopped trying, always sinking into a pout whenever she was inevitably caught, promising that one day she’d do it.

Not that she didn’t scare Pasca enough by continually climbing it. Whether it was to look for critters, or just to enjoy the breeze from a higher elevation, Colette would ignore Pasca’s consternated scoldings and take to finding footholds in its bark. Not without falling, of course, both on the way up and on her way down. She had done so countless times, tumbling back to the dirt and never failing to give Pasca a scare. Every. Single. Time. Did this girl want poor Pasca to grow old and withered from all the stress?

But Colette always got away with nothing more than a scratch, eager to get right back to climbing, until she finally managed to scramble up onto a branch like a monkey, where she would sit swinging her legs. Pasca couldn’t believe this clumsy girl’s luck! Even knowing that, it still told her off in an exasperated tone every time she started climbing. Colette would get to a secure perch on a branch with a triumphant yell of “I did it! I told you I could do it!”, before sticking out her tongue to irk Pasca. But she always took care not to exert too much strength on the branches or pull off any leaves, like she was afraid of hurting Pasca somehow, even though her tiny body was unlikely to hold the necessary power.

Their time together gradually accumulated, as Pasca noted the seasons that passed.

Their first meetings were in summer. Colette’s hair would sometimes be wet from the showers, and she would take shelter under the shade of Pasca’s branches to escape the vicious sun, thanking Pasca for the help. She would sit completely still, letting various insects come to rest on her until she resembled a rainbow. A very dusty rainbow. When the insects inevitably brushed her nose, she would break out into giggles, causing a mass exodus of fluttering wings.

In autumn, Colette teased Pasca about its “bald” branches, prompting half-hearted comebacks from it. She would curl up on the natural bed of red leaves, going to sleep. Pasca couldn’t control the rate at which its leaves fell or their trajectory, but it wished more might fall upon the peaceful girl who brought peace to Pasca as well, to give her a comfortable blanket and a rejuvenating rest. Once she left, the wind would blow away her bed, and a new one would be made.

In winter, Colette dressed appropriately for the weather in a coat and a beanie. Her cheeks and the tips of her ears were flushed red, and she would sit with her back to Pasca’s rough bark, rubbing her hands together for warmth. Much to Pasca’s amusement, she also brought along heaps of knitted blankets. Colette painstakingly wrapped them around Pasca’s wide trunk, though she still did not possess enough to go around the whole perimeter. When questioned on why, Colette only giggled and patted the blankets, stating that surely Pasca got cold too. It didn’t make sense, but Colette’s actions rarely did. All that mattered was that it made Pasca laugh. When it snowed, Colette would catch the snowflakes on her tongue, until they melted and disappeared.

In spring, Colette complimented the multi-coloured flowers that bloomed on Pasca’s branches. She collected those that had fallen to the ground - sometimes to place behind her ear, sometimes to make intricate flower crowns that she would hang upon Pasca’s lowest branches, which she could now barely reach if she stood tall on the tips of her toes. Pasca knew that the flower crowns would be ripped apart by the birds that roosted on its branches once Colette left, but it made no mention of this, for what made the flower crowns special were their intent as gifts. Colette herself also brought flowers, little seedlings that she planted around the clearing. “To give this clearing more colour, and to keep Pasca company!” she exclaimed.

But time was marked not only by seasons. It was also marked by Colette - her hair growing longer until it covered her ears, the centimetres of height she gained, the way she slowly filled out the sleeves of her dress better.

Watching Colette grow older and actually caring enough to follow that process… It was not a future Pasca would have thought possible before. But, against all odds, this child had imprinted herself onto its heart. Always looking out for the good of others, even a tree such as itself that everyone always assumed did not possess a soul or dreams of its own. She had touched Pasca’s lonely soul with a kind hand and had been the only one to give instead of take.

Pasca never wanted this tranquil time to end.

But… It would, someday.

It had to.

~~~

Today was one of those rare days where Colette’s voice did not fill the clearing, attracting the squirrels to scurry out onto Pasca’s branches to listen to her. Instead, what did fill the empty space were her sobs, echoing between the leaves.

Colette was covering her face with her hands, her shoulders shaking with her back pushed up against Pasca’s trunk, knees pulled up to her chest.

What to do, what to do...?

It wasn’t like Colette hadn’t confided her troubles in Pasca before - she had talked about difficult homework, about punishments for oversleeping, trivial little things like that. It wasn’t like she hadn’t started crying before - she had done so over the smallest things, like one of the baby birds that had not survived winter, despite it being a death by nature’s fair hand. But she had never sounded this sorrowful, like something was reaching into her chest and twisting her heart.

Colette had started talking about that human boy she’d mentioned before, mentioning how he’d taken a rather terrifying fall off a cliff and how he’d finally woken up after hours spent by his side. Then she’d burst into tears, her sniffles interspersed with mumbles of “It’s all my fault.”

What could it do, really? All the other times Colette had started crying, her tears had disappeared within minutes as she returned to a smile, all before Pasca could even say anything. It didn’t even know what to say, was woefully inexperienced in the field of comforting a child. Couldn’t hug her, couldn’t press a kiss to her forehead like worried mothers had when they brought their sick children before Pasca to pray for their recovery.

All Pasca could do was wield the power of words clumsily, and hope that was enough.

For its wish for a better world had changed, had become a wish for a world where this child who had wormed her insistent way into its heart would be free to be happy. It wanted to see her smiling.

“It wasn’t your fault, Colette. It was an accident,” Pasca said, believing in its own words but not knowing if Colette was even listening. She would never act maliciously of her own volition. Her soul was far too kind to be able to accept doing so. “Besides, Lloyd’s alright now, isn’t he? Then there’s no use worrying over whose fault his fall was.”

“But… Lloyd doesn’t remember anything! What if he forgot something important to him? Like his parents, or the friends he had before he came to the village? I would have stolen those precious memories from him...”

“What’s done is done, Colette. Why not make new memories with him instead of focusing on that which was lost? And you said you helped tend to his wounds. Even if you had some small hand in his fall, I say you’ve done enough to atone for it.”

Honestly, losing memories did not seem to be that horrible of a fate. Especially if those memories held nothing but pain. Pasca would not have minded restarting with a fresh slate, if that meant it could freely trust in people again.

Colette wiped at her tears with her sleeve, rising unsteadily to her feet. She swayed, tiny shoulders seemingly about to collapse under the crushing weight of guilt. For a soul so kind as hers was also one that would accept everything as her responsibility.

“Thank you, Pasca, for the kind words. They mean a lot. Really,” Colette whispered, finally breaking into a smile. It was a weak smile, not fully true, but it was a smile nonetheless.

“I’m sorry I can’t do more for you.”

It was the inevitable realisation that Pasca had come to. Despite all the power that supposedly ran through it, Pasca could do nothing.

“No, don’t say that. You’ve done more than enough!” Colette insisted, her smile turning into a true one. If there was one thing Colette would not allow, it was someone putting themselves down. “So, truly, from the bottom of my heart, thank you. Is there anything I can help you with?”

“No, Colette, I’m all good. But, thank you for asking.”

“No problem!”

Colette always asked if Pasca wished to air anything itself, despite knowing it would always decline. For it did not wish to burden Colette with the mistakes people had made long ago. They had nothing to do with her, and surely her thin shoulders would break under the weight of it all.

Pasca could not save Colette from the dark sorrow that lurked within her heart, the shadow that trailed the both of them and would one day swallow them whole. The sorrow she covered up with a cheery attitude and had let slip today, unable to keep the overbearing pain within.

For even though Pasca may be awkward, it was not stupid. It could easily see the secret that lay behind her refusal to fully answer the question of who she was, even if she had not uttered an outright lie. Pasca held its own theories on her identity, but did not speak of them. And the connection between the two of them allowed Pasca to peek within her heart, just slightly.

Pasca could not shower her with love through physical acts, could not show her affection through anything other than speech. All Pasca could do was make this clearing, the place it suspected was the only one where Colette was free to be herself, as safe and happy a space for her as possible. To keep fear and sadness out of its sacred confines. And on that front, Pasca would do its very best.

Pasca would be happy to provide Colette with a home.

~~~

“Oh, be careful!”

Colette came into view with a merry shout, another presence by her side - a human boy that Pasca reasoned was likely to be Lloyd, easily identifiable because of the bandage wrapped around his head. He appeared a little unsteady on his feet, stumbling occasionally, with Colette holding his hand tightly to ensure he didn’t fall over as they made their way over to Pasca.

So her ability to make her way through the fog extended to anyone who accompanied her, huh? Interesting. That only added to the mounting theories swirling in Pasca’s mind, that it continued to swallow down.

Pasca remained silent, attention focussed on the boy it had not met before. A stranger… But if Colette had brought him all the way here, then she must trust him completely. Perhaps that meant the two of them were friends now?

“Whoa,” Lloyd exclaimed in awe, staring up at Pasca with wide eyes as he and Colette came to a stop. He scanned it from top-to-bottom twice, as if in disbelief that Pasca’s branches could extend that high, up into the heavens. “It’s huge!”

“Pasca is huge!” Colette agreed with a happy nod. “Oh, right! Introductions are in order! Lloyd, this is Pasca! Pasca, this is Lloyd!” she said, gesturing between the two.

“Hello, Lloyd,” Pasca replied, deciding that it would put in the effort to try and get to know Colette’s new friend. After all, it was probably for the best that the two of them got along.

Colette fell into a pout as Lloyd failed to respond for a full minute, squeezing his hand to get his attention. “Lloyd! It’s rude not to reply when someone talks to you! Especially if they’re greeting you.”

Pasca was inclined to agree. Did Lloyd have a bad attitude or something…?

Lloyd blinked in confusion, swivelling his head around. “But… I don’t hear anyone talking to me! And I know you mentioned that Pasca’s your friend, but how does it talk to you without a mouth?”

Ah, right. Colette had been the only soul Pasca had known for so long that it had completely forgotten how everyone else couldn’t hear its voice.

“Colette, he can’t hear me,” it pointed out before this farce could go on any longer.

“Oh. That’s right.” Colette appeared to wilt, shoulders drooping. “But… then how will you two talk to each other?”

“Colette…” Lloyd muttered, seemingly crestfallen at his friend’s disappointment. “Oh! Wait, I have an idea! How about you translate for me?”

“That’s a great idea, Lloyd!” Colette replied, perking up immediately. “You’re so smart.”

“Ehehe, I try my best.” Lloyd blushed, moving a hand to scratch at the back of his head, before stopping once he came into contact with the bandage.

In truth, Pasca didn’t think it was a very impressive idea. In fact, it had been about to suggest it. If this was what passed as smart for Lloyd, then the boy didn’t seem very bright.

But he had made Colette’s smile return, so Pasca would let this slide. Just this once.

Only this once.

“Okay, Pasca!” Lloyd grinned, turning to face Pasca with his hands on his hips. “I’ll be getting to know you today!”

In the end, Lloyd didn’t manage to ask that many questions before fatigue’s claws dug into him. And the questions he did ask were pretty stupid, including the star example: “How do trees go to the toilet?” Pasca’s impression of Lloyd as not very bright was further reinforced. Maybe it was just because of the head injury? Or maybe Lloyd really was just this dumb, all the time. Its memories of individual humans were few and far between, but Pasca didn’t remember them being this devoid of smarts, so it appeared to be unique to Lloyd.

Pasca watched the two - Lloyd asleep with his head pillowed on Colette’s lap as she sat facing Pasca. He occasionally mumbled the slightest phrase, while Colette gently ran her hand over the tips of his brown hair, careful not to disrupt Lloyd’s rest. She was humming a little tune, her now shoulder-length hair swaying in the breeze.

“You’re fond of him,” Pasca said. It had noted the way Lloyd stared at Colette when she wasn’t looking, almost like he was constantly in awe at being in her presence, the way he occasionally reached out his hand as if to grab Colette’s, only to retract it before Colette turned around and noticed. Just one advantage of Pasca’s unique vantage point. Colette didn’t quite look at Lloyd the same way, but she was showing him a lot of affection. “How fond?” Pasca teased, wishing it possessed eyelids to wink with and elbows to nudge with, just like how the children used to do beneath its leaves when gossipping about first loves. This wasn’t as effective with just its voice.

“Uh…?” Colette’s humming came to an abrupt stop, though her hands continued in their constant rhythm. She spoke only in her mind, refusing to open her mouth and wake Lloyd up. “He’s my friend. So I like him,” Colette replied, craning her neck up to stare at the leaves.

Damn it. Pasca felt like it had been shot through the trunk. Was it this out of touch after sleeping for so long? The meaning behind its words had flown completely over Colette’s head!

…

Was it ever in touch in the first place? Gah.

Silence fell within the clearing again as Pasca sulked, not speaking another word. Not that it remained in a bad mood for long, even as Colette fell asleep as well, her head coming to lean against Pasca’s trunk as her arm went slack.

There was a special contentment in watching the two children sleep, utterly at peace in each other’s company. Dreamy smiles played on their faces, their chests rising and falling steadily as butterflies came to perch on their prone forms.

There was joy blooming in Pasca’s heart, at the knowledge that Colette had found another companion. One who was actually capable of protecting her, of giving her the touch and the love she so sorely needed.

Sure, there was jealousy involved - that Lloyd, even as a child, held more power than Pasca ever would. But those were inconsequential bursts of ugly emotion, far overshadowed by the immense relief Pasca felt. Colette had someone that would stay with her now, even outside the boundaries of this clearing. Someone who might even be able to save her from her looming fate. And if that became the reason as to why it and Colette’s time together had to end, then Pasca would accept that. As long as Colette was happy and safe.

Lloyd made Colette smile, and his heart was in the right place. That was enough for Pasca to declare Lloyd good.

Though Pasca would maintain that Lloyd was dumb. It would not give that up.

It would never give that up.

~~~

“I’ve been meaning to ask this for a while, Pasca, but…” Colette laid a hand on a special section of Pasca’s trunk. One that even Pasca itself avoided looking at as much as possible, but one that Colette must have noticed immediately upon first walking into the clearing, for it was far too obvious to avoid detection.

It was a section on the side that had been completely hollowed out, much like how rot and mildew had made quick work of other trees. Pasca’s tree rings were exposed to the elements, free for the coldest of winds to brush against. If it were any other tree, it likely would have died from the damage, collapsing onto its side to become just another fallen log on the forest floor, soon to return to the earth. But the mana had somehow kept Pasca alive all this time, its form too precious of a vessel to lose.

“What happened?”

Colette asked the question not with fascination, but instead out of concern, as if hoping she could somehow make things better. Her finger followed the path of one tree ring, gentle.

Should Pasca answer? That was the question it struggled with. But withholding the truth would only make things worse, would only further strain the already breaking illusion. Besides, Colette, more likely than not, already held the answer.

"The elves took it. A long time ago," Pasca replied hesitantly, unsure what reaction Colette would have.

The shadow that fell over her eyes was the final nail in the coffin, enough to confirm its suspicions over her origins as fact instead of speculation.

But still, Pasca brought nothing up.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

What Colette was apologising for was unclear. The actions of the elves in the past? What she would have to do in the future?

Perhaps she was apologising for everything, small and large alike, that had befallen Pasca in the past, and would befall Pasca.

"It's alright, Colette. It doesn't hurt anymore."

That was almost a lie. Pasca did not bleed, not like deers did when wolves dug their fangs into it, not like Colette did when she scratched her elbow against a particularly sharp branch. It had not bled when the elves used their magic-imbued knives to cut into it, and perhaps that had been justification enough to the elves that Pasca felt no pain. But it had burned, stung as a part of Pasca had been stolen away. The crevice continued to ache, even now, but Pasca had gotten so used to the sensation that it no longer registered it.

"I'm glad to hear that," Colette said, the usual happy expression slipping onto her face in practised motions.

That was where the conversation ended, even as Pasca yearned to say more.

But what? It didn't know. What could make this all better? That inevitable shadow was fast catching up to Colette, and she would not be able to escape it, no matter how far she ran.

Pasca had a feeling that the moment where everything would come to light was soon approaching.

And that, at that moment, things would have no choice but to fall apart, no matter how much it wished to protect Colette.

~~~

Fall apart it did, in the most horrifying of manners.

On that fateful day, Colette did not walk into the clearing, or attempt to sneak into it, or skip into it, each spring full of joy. No, she was dragged in, her feet digging into the dirt in a futile attempt to stop the person who was dragging her. An elf with long flowing blue hair and eyes narrowed into a cruel glare, hand painfully squeezing Colette’s arm. Perhaps this elf had been among the innocent children who had played in the shade of the tree, once upon a time. Or perhaps not. Pasca didn’t know, for the faces from then had all been lost to time, happy memories relegated to nothing more than a fairy tale.

But the scene before Pasca now was no fantasy. This was cruel reality.

Colette’s head was bowed, those blue eyes now dull. Her entire body was shaking, angled to be as far from the elf as possible, but unable to escape the elf’s iron grip.

So this elf was one of the sources of Colette’s pain, of the anguished guilt and the fear that radiated off the child at this very moment.

Pasca wanted to rescue Colette from the elf's grip. Wanted to embrace her, shield her, protect her, even with just its branches…

But it couldn’t even do that.

There was nothing it could do but watch events play out before its eyes, unable to break out of its role of unbiased guardian. At the end of the day, it was nothing but an immobile tree.

“Do it, Chosen,” the woman commanded harshly, her nails digging into Colette’s arm as Colette winced. “Time to see if your lessons have paid off.”

“But - Chief Lutesse, can you not hear Pasca’s voice, feel its wish? That’s not what it wants!” Colette retorted, voice trembling with fear. But still, she spoke up, shoulders tensed, determined. “It wants a better world for everyone, one-”

“Shut your mouth, insolent girl,” Lutesse snarled, interrupting Colette with a slap across the face. “Your childish delusions do not change the fact that that is a mere tree, one that is incapable of thought! And if it could, surely it would lament how the rest of the world is wasting its mana! Are you simply afraid you can’t do it? Because we could simply replace you if that’s the case.”

“N - no!”

“Or do you not want to, Chosen?” Lutesse leaned closer to Colette, making the young child seem even tinier as she cowered. “Because you’re not the only one I can lay my hands on. Perhaps one of your precious friends? How about Genis?”

“W - what…? Genis…?” Colette’s face lost all colour, her eyes widening in horror like she couldn’t believe her ears, like she couldn’t believe Lutesse would ever hurt anyone other than her.

“So? Will you do as you are asked to, Chosen?”

“It’s alright, Colette.” Pasca reached out, reassuring her. It was unbearable, watching her anguish and uncertainty, watching her be torn apart into two. “You can do whatever it is she’s asking you to do. Please.”

Colette screwed her eyes shut and raised an arm, palm facing Pasca. Pink wings unfurled from her back, tears leaking from beneath her eyelids that shimmered in the pink light radiated by her wings, tiny balls of mana becoming visible around her.

I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. That was the sole thought looping through Colette’s head that she was transmitting, akin to a chant, as the mana spheres began to swirl.

And that was when Pasca felt it.

Channels of mana shutting off, like veins being squeezed in a vice, allowing nothing through.

Pain enveloped it, plunging Pasca into darkness. It felt like a rot had taken hold in its core and was slowly eating it alive. It was choking, despite it not needing air. Everything burned, for it was fundamentally wrong for the mana to be restricted. And without a pathway, the mana could do nothing but slam against an impregnable wall repeatedly, screaming in pain at the wrongness of it all.

“Enough, Chosen. This is a satisfying performance.”

Lutesse’s sharp voice cut through the haze of pain, bringing a stop to the chokehold. Mana began to flow freely again, the streams darting around in joy as they returned to their rightful journeys through the earth.

Pasca scrambled to cut through the darkness, clearing away the veil that clung to it just in time to catch the heartbreaking sight unfolding before it.

Colette had collapsed to her knees, fresh tears still streaming down her face. Her wings drooped behind her like dead butterflies falling through the sky, her hand clapped over her mouth like she was doing her utmost to not retch, whimpers falling from between her fingers.

For she must have shared Pasca’s pain, just as Pasca could feel the overwhelming guilt drowning Colette, wave after wave that forced her head under the tide.

What was this emotion that simmered within Pasca’s core? It was not the anger Pasca had once felt towards people, for that had been akin to a gentle wave, slowly chipping away at a stone. No, what it felt now was a tsunami, holding enough power to snap the top of the stone off.

Rage.

For the first time, Pasca was feeling rage. It was unthinkable for anyone to desire to hurt such a kind child as Colette.

The mana shared Pasca’s rage, infuriated that anyone would be impudent enough to try and play God. Pasca had to do its utmost reining in the streams of mana and preventing them from striking out in a blind rampage, to attempt to calm that which could not be held in check, for the only thing Pasca would be allowed to do was remove the direct threat.

And it refused to touch Colette. Perhaps that meant it had finally broken its vow.

Pasca did not care.

“It’s not your fault!” was what Pasca wanted to shout, to pound into Colette’s head. But Colette’s mind was locked behind a door, and all Pasca could do was knock on it with no answer. She almost appeared soulless, gaze focussed on nowhere as Lutesse dragged her to her feet and out into the fog, their silhouettes rapidly dissipating into nothingness.

Left in silence, Pasca could do nothing but muse.

How petty of the elves, to create and abuse a child just so they could hoard the mana for themselves, when mana was something meant to be freely given and graciously shared amongst all. They viewed Colette the same way they viewed Pasca - an object that did not feel, and was not worthy of compassion.

How cruel of the elves to treat Colette as nothing more than a puppet, to heartlessly tug on the strings of her soul and manipulate her to do their bidding, to push an immoral duty onto a child that only wished to be loved without any care of the weight that was crushing her.

How vile of the elves, to force Colette to shoulder the pain of the world, to force her to go against the wish she had inherited at birth. For she was just as much a child of the Great Trees as she was a creation of the elves, and if this kept up, she would shatter from the inside.

Pasca wanted to embrace her, but it had no arms. It wanted to protect her against the coldness of the elves, but it could not move. It wanted to tell her that it would be alright, but it had no power to influence events.

It was utterly helpless, and once again, it cursed that helplessness.

~~~

Colette did not return, even as Pasca waited and hoped. It did not lapse back into slumber in her absence, for it did not want to miss any moment in which she might return, where it could finally tell her that nothing was her fault. And if she chose to never return, Pasca would simply wait for all of eternity, for that was the only thing it could do.

With no one here, Pasca had to endure the silence again. In the past, it had yearned for what it did not have. Now that Pasca had experienced true companionship, even if only for a short while, a time that amounted to only a tiny blip among its many years of existence, it found that the loneliness had become much worse, the silence much louder and drowning out all. For one only learned the hole that someone would leave behind once they were gone, and could only know how precious something was once it had been lost.

It spent each day wondering if she was doing alright, worry eating away at its leaves. Was she with Lloyd? Her other half-elf friend that she had mentioned before? Pasca hoped so, hoped that there was someone there to cheer her up, to wipe away her tears and hold her in their arms. To do what Pasca could not.

Pasca also wondered when mana would choose to find another vessel, to finally leave it to rot and die. After all, it had voided their vow.

But mana said not a word, simply continuing its silent routine.

And so to pass the time, Pasca counted the seasons. Each one brought with it memories, and the memories brought with them fresh grief. A wound that would never scar over.

Seven winters passed, slow and arduous without anyone to pass them with. By now, the time in which Colette had been absent far surpassed the time in which she had frequented this clearing. Yet the memory of the little girl with the sweet words and kind smile persisted, refusing to fade, and Pasca continued to wait.

Until, finally, the silence was broken by hesitant footsteps.

~~~

Colette had spent many a moment with one foot in the fog, even before she met Pasca. There was a thread in the endless white that was invisible to all but her, tantalising and calling for her to follow it.

These days, she would stand at the boundary between clear air and fog, staring into it and unable to take another step. She’d been caught in this position multiple times by her friends - Genis, who just appeared confused, and Lloyd, who asked why she no longer went to visit Pasca. In response to that question, Colette could only shake her head and say that she was waiting to depart on her journey. Just another lie to add to the endless pile - a pile that might be higher than Pasca itself.

In truth, she yearned to return to the beautiful clearing that had once been her sanctuary, to go back and see the first soul she had ever connected with.

But she was chained down by guilt, the inky substance wrapping around her neck and choking her. She told herself that Pasca wouldn’t want to see her, not after what she’d done, but that was just an excuse. In truth, she was a coward, unable to face the reality that Pasca might despise her now. She couldn’t blame it for doing so, for their entire relationship had been built on a lie. A lie of omission, but a lie nonetheless.

The first time she had set foot in that clearing and met Pasca, it had been under orders. Lutesse had asked that Colette try and make her way through the fog. “And if you fail,” Lutesse had threatened her, “you will be replaced, Chosen.”

Fear had been what first drove her to stumble into the fog that no one had ever made it through. It was a common dare among the children of the village, a rite of passage, even, to enter the maze of white and lose all sense of direction. But she had held onto that thread desperately, following the dim light it emitted until she finally emerged.

The sight she had been met with was astounding - a gorgeous clearing wherein a tree that pierced the heavens stood, rays of sunlight filtering through its leaves. All assortment of creatures frequented the grass and the boughs of the Great Pasca Tree, which was far more majestic than even the legends passed in whispers from child to child proclaimed it to be.

The clearing had felt… strangely familiar, like she was returning to a home she had not been to in years, despite her having never left the Elven Village. Or perhaps not strange at all, considering the matter of her birth. Something Lutesse had gone to great pains to constantly remind her of - how she was crafted directly from the Great Tree itself, and owed her very existence to the elves.

Essentially, she had been going home.

She’d found herself calm again, all of her fears and worries forgotten, and had immediately taken to trying to befriend the Great Tree. But all the time she had spent with Pasca was but a facade. She had always known that she existed to ultimately harm Pasca, and yet she had continued to visit anyway, unable to stay away from the one place where her heart was at peace.

Even the time she had brought Lloyd to meet Pasca had been fabricated, forced into existence when Lutesse asked that she bring someone with her to further test her abilities. “And why not Lloyd? Lutesse had suggested, voice bitingly cold, though it had wavered slightly at the end. “It would be no loss for him to disappear.”

And with each visit, Colette only grew more disgusted with herself, that she would be so desperate to return each time. (It was the only place she could go.) Perhaps she might have been able to go through with the mission the elves had entrusted her with when she was still practising on an isolated piece of bark, disengaged entirely from the sins she was committing. But she couldn’t, not anymore. Not when she knew she would be condemning her friends, and not after feeling Pasca’s pain.

For on that final day in the clearing, Colette had felt like fire was burning through her veins. And that had been but a fraction of Pasca’s pain. She couldn’t do that, not again.

Which left her with her current dilemma. There were but two weeks left until she was to depart on her journey, and she had made her decision. She couldn’t go through with tuning the Great Trees, wouldn’t.

But she would still have to put up a performance, and repeating the mannerisms of that fateful day from years past with no explanation would only serve to strike terror into Pasca’s heart. She owed it an explanation, at the very least.

And an apology, for all that she had done, all the ways she had hurt Pasca. If Pasca hated her… Well, that was justified, and she would accept that.

Determined, Colette took a deep breath, plunging back into the familiar white.

~~~

The clearing was much the same as she remembered, even after seven years. The same trees made up the perimeter, perhaps a little taller than before; the same nests lined Pasca’s branches at the same positions, filled with new eggs that would soon welcome hatchlings; the flowers she had once planted were still in the same spots, new flowers having sprouted to form a grove of colour. So many of her memories had been made here, as was her first experience of happiness.

Colette could feel Pasca’s presence brushing against her mind as she made her way to the middle of the clearing, the Great Tree remaining silent as it watched her. It almost felt like a mirror of the day she had first met Pasca, if not for the trepidation in her heart. The air itself seemed to weigh on her, the animals coming to a standstill to stare at her with inquisitive eyes as well.

The passage of time was easily demarcated by the height she had gained and the hair that now reached the middle of her back, the new clothes she wore. Did Pasca even recognise her? See her as the same Colette? Or did it see nothing but a stranger, or worse, a sworn enemy?

Colette came to a stop, taking a shaky breath as she tried to ready words. But what words would ever be enough? How could what she had done ever be forgiven? Pasca had been scarred from past betrayal, and yet she had heartlessly betrayed it again, broken its trust like glass, into a thousand shards.

“I’m sorry,” was what came out of her mouth as she fell to her knees, her heart hurting like it was being stabbed by the jagged shards of her own making. She covered her face with her hands to hide the tears that had started to stream down it, the tears that she had only cried within the safe confines of her bed, curled up and miserable, unable to share her grief with anyone. “I’m so, so sorry. I know you might never be able to forgive me, but that’s all I can say. I’m sorry...”

“Get up, Colette. Please...”

Pasca’s voice was gentle. Far gentler than she deserved. What she deserved was poisoned curses and stabbing words, and even that would not be enough to punish her for her sins.

Still, she did as it said, standing with her head bowed and her hands clasped. She had told herself not to get her hopes up, yet the flame of hope had been rekindled.

“Stop apologising, Colette. What happened was not your fault. Your hand was forced. I have never blamed you, so how could I ever forgive you?”

“Really?” Colette whispered.

“Yes, silly child. I could never blame you for anything.”

An overwhelming sense of relief washed over her, even as the tears came on stronger. She rubbed at them with her arms, but they wouldn’t stop. Despite the bravado she had tried to instil in herself before, she knew she would not have survived the realisation that she had lost her first friend. Her heart would have broken beyond return, unable to be patched back together in the same haphazard manner she employed every night.

“I’m sorry. I can’t stop crying…”

“There’s nothing wrong with that, Colette. Take as much time as you need. I’m just glad to see you again. So… How are you?” Pasca asked, voice rising into a mischievous lilt by the end.

Colette couldn’t help but giggle at that. Her own words had been turned against her, huh?

“Good,” she replied, smiling. “I’m good.”

~~~

Pasca was more than happy to listen to Colette’s plan. It would have been happy to listen to anything Colette had to say, for it was just glad to hear her voice again, to see that she was safe.

Her plan wasn’t the most comprehensive, but her resolve was clear, spilling over in her voice, in the shine of her eyes, in the clench of her fists. Her desire to prevent the world from getting harmed, to allow everyone a place to live out their lives.

She apologised for having to leave so soon after reuniting, but Pasca reassured her that it would be fine. She should do what was necessary - both for the good of the world and for herself.

On the day of Colette’s departure on her so-called journey, everyone seemed to buy the falsehood. No one - not Lloyd, not Genis, not Lutesse, raised a single protest or question. No one caught the mischievous smile playing on Colette’s face. Not a single eyebrow was raised as Colette retracted her wings, proclaiming the tuning done. Even though Lutesse’s steely gaze did not leave the girl’s back, the elf remained silent.

Colette had pulled it off, and Pasca could not be any prouder.

She had grown so much, into a girl who grasped determination in her hand and who held kindness in her heart.

“Colette,” Pasca called out, wanting to say its piece before Colette left for what it knew would be a long time, perhaps even longer than the four winters that had elapsed without her. “I wish you the best of luck. And thank you, for everything. Goodbye.”

Colette, in return, left Pasca with a smile, a wave, and a promise.

“No. Thank you, for everything. I’ll return, one day! So… this isn’t a goodbye, it’s a see you again. And then I’ll tell you about everything I saw! I’ll be your eyes and ears, and I’ll experience this beautiful world for you!”

“I promise.”

Pasca watched as Colette heeded Lloyd’s call, running over to grab his hand and leaving the clearing together. Pasca thought it understood, now, how parents must have felt, watching their children leave into the world.

The fear, but also the joy, from seeing them do their best to achieve their dream.

~~~

Even though Pasca was left alone again, it was not lonely. Its parting with Colette was not sad, for it believed in the promise she had made. If she said she would return, then she would, no matter how many years it took.

Pasca once again went back to counting seasons, but it also began to note down all the interesting things that happened in its surroundings - how a new species of birds with colourful plumage began to pass in the skies over it, how the single family of squirrels had expanded into an entire colony. For Colette would no doubt have countless stories to tell when she returned, and Pasca would like to match that.

Otherwise, nothing much happened. Apart from the occasional message from the other Great Trees, talking of a child who had charmed them. It was just like Colette, to worm her way into the hearts of everyone else as well.

Things had gotten rough when Earhart had reported that Lutesse had shown up, and Pasca had spent an entire year panicking, only to finally calm down when it learned from the other trees that Colette was fine.

It appeared that Pasca’s faith in Colette’s friends was not misplaced, that its decision to leave Colette in their company had not been a bad one. After all, Pasca could tell her friends loved her, and believed they would protect her. The only other thing Pasca could do was cheer her on, and believe in her completely.

So Pasca waited.

And waited.

And waited…

~~~

It was countless years later, so many that Pasca had lost count, when someone stepped foot into the clearing.

That someone was not a girl, not anymore. She was a woman now, the familiar tips of pointed ears poking out of her short hair, a serene smile on her face. There were still remnants of sorrow in those blue eyes, but they were far overpowered by the bright happiness found there. Her fingers were intertwined tightly with that of the human she had once brought here, the two of them standing close together. It was clear to Pasca that they found comfort in each other, and that Colette had found a home in another.

Yet she had returned to this clearing anyway. And perhaps home was not a single place, but every moment spent with a loved one. No matter if she considered this place home or not, Colette was welcome here anytime.

Colette stepped away from Lloyd, walking towards Pasca. The grass crunched under her feet, her hair swayed in the breeze, and she did a little twirl as she approached, the child shining through and reminding Pasca so strongly of their first meeting, long, long ago.

“Welcome back, Colette.”

Colette opened her arms and wrapped them around the bark in her best approximation of a hug. She barely covered an eighth of the trunk, and it tickled, making Pasca let out a chuckle.

There was so much to catch up on, so much to say…

So many memories to make.

But Pasca knew the exact words that would soon fall from Colette’s lips, the words it had heard so many times that it had been engraved into its memory.

“Mm. It’s been a while, hasn’t it, Pasca?” Colette let out a little chuckle of her own, looking up at the topmost leaves with a grin lighting up her face.

“How are you?”

~fin~

#tales of symphonia #tales of crestoria #lloyd irving #colette brunel #lutesse crestoria #great pasca tree #lloyd side story spoilers #everyone always asks where is tree but not how is tree

9 notes · View notes

haruno-sakura-san · 3 years

Note

So I have a thought for an ItaSaku AU. Sakura gets some intel on where Sasuke is headed right before his fight with Itachi. She shows up after they've both knocked each other out. She goes to try and help Sasuke, but Tobi gets between them and takes Sasuke away with him. Which leaves Sakura staring down at Itachi. The man who is the reason for Sasuke's anger and hatred. But she's also a medic. She leans down, assuming that he is dead but she finds the faintest of heartbeats (1)

I’VE FINALLY WRITTEN SOMETHING FOR THIS!

Sorry this took so long to respond too. I love this AU idea and was thinking it over for a while. I knew I just had to write something out for it, the potential was too good! We MUST have more soft Itachi moments and this would be full of them.

Anyway, it strays a little from the prompt, its not finished and I’m not completely satisfied with the last bit (I swear I can’t write Itachi correctly anymore), but its something and I hope you like it! Feel free to send me thoughts, more suggestions or things you’d like different!

🌸🍡

Do No Harm - Part 1/2

Word count: 4,682

It happens so fast, within the time she takes to blink. One second she’s rushing toward Sasuke, the next Tobi is standing over him, then one blink – that’s it – and they are both gone.

“Sasuke!” She screams his name into the empty space, but its futile. They're long gone, and she did nothing to stop him from being taken.

She stops running, hand braced against the uchiwa painted into the only wall left intact from the battle. What is she supposed to do now? She has no idea of where to look for them, and if she goes back to her team and the village empty-handed... Either way, Kakashi-sensei will be pissed. She's such a failure.

Hot tears fall from her eyes, mixing with the freezing rain. She's standing over Itachi's body with hate in her eyes. She never thought in her life she'd have the capacity to truly hate someone like she didn't now. It was his fault. All of it. Her being here to save Sasuke, his fault Sasuke had left, his fault Sasuke had been injured enough to be taken, and his fault Sasuke had festered under his own hatred so much he couldn't love her.

Her hot tears drop onto Itachi's cheeks, and he flinches. He's not completely dead.

Her hands find his skin, still warm, feeling for any sign of life and - there - fainter than the brush of a butterfly's wings is his heartbeat fluttering along.

There's a rush to that discovery and the act of beating back death from someone, and in the face of so much uncertainty on what to do next, her hands automatically start to work. This she knows. This is the only thing she knows. The feeling of uselessness starts to fade away as she gains momentum and his heart beats stronger.

Later she rationalizes that he's the only one who might know where Tobi could have gone and the only one strong enough to face him should it come to that, but it's secondary to that intrinsic need to do and fix. She's so exhausted by the end, it's all she can manage to take them to an inn nearby. She collapses at the edge of his bed and sleeps for hours.

When she wakes, she's staring into the eyes of the man she hates most in the world. She stands quickly, and a blanket drops from her shoulders to her surprise.

"Sorry, did I wake you? You were shivering."

She doesn't expect an apology or that he isn't showing any signs of aggression at all. Her response is uncharacteristically rude, just a cold glare.

"You look familiar, but I don't know why." He says with a lost look, unaffected by her glare, and moving to sit up. He winces, and she's at his side again, checking his injuries even as she scowls. "I can't remember anything, actually." He continues without his eyes leaving her face.

"Excuse me if I don't believe you." And why should she? He was smart, and this could be his best chance at preying on her soft side.

"You don't.. like me." He answers slowly, only because it's written all over her face.

"No."

He looks down at her glowing hands, "But you're still helping me."

She clenches her jaw and doesn't answer. He's clearly tired, but he's trying to learn as much as he can by just observing. The room, her expression, her clothes. His eyes snag on her headband.

"You're a leaf Kunoichi." Her eyes meet his for a moment in confirmation. "I...am also a leaf shinobi." He says it carefully like he's tugging the memory loose from his head.

"You were. Not anymore." She corrects, offended he'd put himself in the same category as her. They weren't the same at all.

"Was? Hmm." He considers it some more. "I remember bits and pieces of my home, Konoha, but that's it. Nothing about leaving. Is that normal?"

"Stop talking so I can concentrate." She snaps, and to her surprise, he responds with a soft apology.

"Yes, of course. I apologize."

He’s healing more slowly than she'd like, mostly because of her own exhaustion and shallow chakra reserves. At the close of this checkup, he asks, "May I please have some water?"

Begrudgingly, she gets him a glass and press it into his hand. He winces again at the weight and almost drop it. Sakura catches it quickly and raises it to his lips, silently helping him drink. She removes it before he has his fill with an explanation, "Drink too quickly, and you'll make yourself sick."

He looks up at her, now much closer than before, and stare.

"What?" She barks.

"I can finally see you clearly." He says it without embarrassment. His eyesight was that bad, and he's just admitted it with the same even tone as one would admit the sky was blue. "You're beautiful for a kunoichi. You don't have any scars."

She stands up quickly, feeling a flare of strong emotion in her. Hate. She hated him so much. This all had to be an act. Playing on her softness and vanity. She stalks go the door.

"Where are you going?" He asks with a note of panic in his voice.

"I'm getting dinner." The first excuse that pops in her head, and closes the door behind her. He won't leave in this state, and even if he goes, good riddance.

Again she's faced with why she's doing this at all. She should be reporting back to the village, to Kakashi, but what would she say. She just revived a criminal and aided him in escaping capture instead of reporting back. But more than that, she was scared. What if they told her Sasuke had been killed? How can she face them after being such a failure? Naruto's disappointed face would break her.

There were too many scenarios to think through. Too many what-ifs, and that was paralyzing. But she did know if she left Itachi now, he would die. Maybe that was for the best anyway. He was destined to die anyway, right, so she should just walk out the door -

She stops short at the bottom of the stairs. At the inn's entrance is a giant man who's skin was ice blue and cloak covered in red clouds, darkened by the rain. Kisame, Itachi's partner. She darts back up the stairs before he can see her, hurrying back through the door to their room.

"Did they not have food-"

"We have to leave." She's already gathering her few supplies, shoving anything useful in the room into her pack. "Now."

She pops a soldier pill and helps him to the edge of the bed, threading his arms through the straps of her plack and dropping her traveling cloak around his shoulders.

"What's going on?"

"Just get on my back." She crouches in front of him, waiting to feel his weight leaning against her before she grabs the back of his knees and stands. They flew out the window into the rain as fast as she can manage.

The weather is awful for traveling but gives them lots of cover, beating away their tracks as she runs with no destination in mind other than away from the inn and the battleground to the north.

The longer she runs, the weaker they both feel. He needs rest and at the warm wetness seeping into her back, she knows he's reopened some injury. But she doesn't know where to stop. She has nowhere safe to take him.

"Miss?" She hears in her ear. She hadn't told him her name. She tilts her head, so he knows she heard him. "I think I remember something. A hideout from when I was a child."

Her gut tells her not to trust him, but what choice does she have? If she's walking into a trap, the worst they could do is kill her, and if Sasuke was dead, well...

"Head to the right toward that Maple tree with the twisted branches. There's a hidden door at the base."

She takes his direction and sees it almost immediately. It's been shaped from a sapling or through some Jutsu has a pair of lower branches twisting unnaturally together in a spiral. She inspects for a door but doesn't see one.

Itachi asks to be lowered, and she does, looping a weight bearing arm under his shoulders. On his hands and knees, his hands sink into the muddy grass, and she feels a flare of chakra. A door snaps upward. She doesn't ask any questions yet, just hurries them inside.

Uchiwas cover the room, including a faded tapestry on the far wall "Protect and Serve" in script at the bottom. It looks to be some kind of secret meeting room, but she figures it doubles as a safe house when she finds enough to last a full year in the back. She hopes they won't need them for that long.

Dragging out a dusty futon that smells like mildew, she makes a comfortable place for Itachi to lie back. No chakra left for healing, she has to treat his reopened wounds the old fashioned way, with antiseptic and stitches. After she's finished, she again hand feeds him water and a quick miso soup she found dehydrated in the back.

He thanks her more times than she can count, and not once does she answer.

Only when she's rinsing out bandages in a sink in the tiny bathroom does she finally stop to consider just what she's doing.

Again she had the opportunity to leave. She could have left him for his partner to find, but she took him and ran. Staring at his blood on her hands, she feels nothing but disgust for herself and confusion. She scrubs her skin raw.

Wandering back to the room where Itachi is sleeping, she props herself up against a wall, glaring at him until she loses the battle against her exhaustion.

His coughing is what wakes her, wet and deep. She pulls his hand away and sees dark blood. A curse leaves her. She'd check before she left for internal bleeding and broken ribs. There was no reason for blood in his lungs. None. Although it will have consequences, she pops another soldier pill and looks again.

It's a disease.

Her hands drop away, and she leans back on her calves. Another chance to give up and walk away. Another choice.

She stands and begins to pace. It was very advance, and this type was something he'd have been born with. Treatable now, but clearly untreated. She turns her back on him, staring deep into that tapestry with the uchiwa. A chink in the great protege's armor. In the strength of the Uchiha clan. Had they left it untreated to save face? Doesn't matter because she needed to decide whether it would be worth it to hide here and heal a man whose very body was fighting against him. A man she hated. An enemy. Should she stay even when she should already be headed back? When Sasuke could be in trouble?

His wet coughs pull her back, and she can't stay away. Her glare is hot on her face as she does what she can to ease his symptoms for the time being.

Team 7 and 8 would have already found the battle sight and have more information than her. They were a team designed for tracking. What would she even add to that? She'd be a spectator. Here at least, she was doing something. She was making an impact. And if Itachi lived, he could give them information they didn't already have.

She leaves to find tea and rationalizes some more.

The second wave of exhaustion from the soldier pills is worse than the first, as she knew it would be. She doesn't know how much time has passed, but Itachi is thankfully sleeping when she wakes. She'd die if he saw her in this state.

Her empty stomach lurches, bitter saliva filling her mouth. Staggering to the bathroom, her muscles tight from overuse and sleeping against a cold wall, she's sick several times. Nothing is I'm her stomach but yellow acid, and when that's gone, dry heaves for several minutes. The cool tile on her face is a relief. She's exhausted, and the weight of her loneliness hits her in full. Her friends don't know she's here. She can't leave. Even if it makes her the weakest shinobi in the world, she just wants to go home and see her mother's face again. She wants her mom to bring her peppermint tea and rub her back softly until she feels well again.

She's silently crying on the floor, holding her breath through the sobs, so they don't escape. Her moment doesn't last long because Itachi's coughs reach her again. She sits up, wipes her face, and focuses on the only thing she can.

She doesn't have enough chakra right now, but he's not coughing up blood this time, so she opts for traditional methods. A warm mug of tea in her hand, she slides behind him and helps him sit up, leaning his weight back against her smaller frame. His breath is less labored sitting up. She stirs him awake and carefully pours tea into his mouth, it's sharp herbal vapors opening and soothing his airways. Then she rubs circles into his back until he falls asleep again, thinking about her mother and her home.

It takes a week before he's well enough to stay away for any length of time. It's restless and agonizing for Sakura, who, left alone with her thoughts, rehashes all her options until she's shredded to pieces. None of it matters. Her life has become a series of reactions and that’s it. The moment he needs her, she's there nursing him without the desire to be. She still hated him with everything in her, and this place was covered with reminders of that. It was inescapable.

His lucidness was as welcome as it was unwelcome. A companion of any kind eased some of the loneliness, but his attempts at conversation left Sakura feeling angry and tired. He maintained that he didn't remember anything when she questioned him about Akatsuki, their base locations, and Tobi. It was very clever given she wanted him only for information at this point. She's sure he's just dragging this out until he was strong enough to run. Another inevitable scenario to worry over.

It's that theory that has her still being uncharacteristically rude to him. She gives one-word answers or none at all whenever possible.

Eventually, he stops asking, taking the hint that she won't answer, and just starts talking out loud, puzzling through any memories he can. It's little things: a particular drill he ran in training as a boy, learning his first Jutsu, the smell his mother had. Most are about training, to her surprise, like he'd spent most of his time doing only that, but his mother began to appear more and more. It didn't matter to her, she told herself. Just the sound of his voice alone grates on her ears, and she grinds her teeth and the monotony of it. She's never hated anyone this much that even that is irksome to her.

But one day, she wakes up, his words are drawn out, sloppy, and stop making sense at all. An infection kept up on them, and it bottoms out her stomach. If she lost him now, none of this was worth anything. She wasn't worth anything!

His words become very important

then because if he was speaking, he was surviving. She asks him as many questions as she can think of as she cares for him, though it's all delivered in a clinical tone.

Can you sit up for me? Yes. What's your favorite color? Pink. Think harder, please. Oh, right, blue. Do you have any persistent chills? Yes. What's your favorite food? Dango. How's your headache? Worse. What’s your birthday? Its in June, I think. Lay back down for me? Okay. Favorite birthday present? Breakfast my brother made me.

She stills at that, pulling the cool, damp cloth from his forehead. He'd never once mentioned Sasuke, and her surprise at him remembering shown was mirrored on his face.

"I had...a brother." He murmurs, his fevered face looking up at hers. "Sasuke."

For the first time, she nods in confirmation at a memory of his. He nods back at her as well.

"For my birthday one year, he made me breakfast. But mother wouldn't let him use the stove, so he took the rice leftover from dinner and pressed it into rice balls for me."

Sakura catches herself staring and dips the cloth in cold water again, wringing it out and dabbing it against his warm forehead.

"He woke me up by jumping on my bed...One of them rolled off the plate and ... onto the floor...We had to split the last one." He’s far away, speech slowing, and that scares her. His eyes slide closed.

"Itachi?" She says a bit too quickly. He doesn't respond. "Itachi."

He looks at her through heavy eyelids, making eye contact for the first time in days—her fault, of course.

"What else happened?" She asks softly, staring for the first time this intently into his depthless eyes. He blinked, and they turned glassy.

"I don't know, but... Suddenly I feel like crying."

Sakura bites her lip, dabbing the cloth at his temple, then over the trail of tears rolling from his eyes.

"I think I love my brother very much." He says, and she sees in his face that he does... or did.

"So did I." She whispers, and his brow furrows. The tense of it is another question she doesn't ask herself. Instead, she cooks the cloth again and asks, "Would you like to hear one of my stories about Sasuke?"

It's hard to maintain hate for someone whose wellbeing is the sole purpose of your life, Sakura finds. That or she was just growing to like him after all. The stronger he got, the more of a real personality started to emerge. He was polite and kind in a constant way that was becoming harder and harder to believe was an act. It was little things, really, like when he stopped her from killing a spider, and she had to let it outside instead.

After the night of fevered delirium, their conversation had become less stilted. He still didn't remember much about Akatsuki or his time after the massacre but learning about his childhood made him unavoidably human.

"My father and I didn't get along." He admitted one day in conversation. He couldn't remember details out of thin air, but once he started down a train of thought, things came to him in the same context. His father didn't often come up.

She nodded for him to continue, but his brow furrowed, and he looked away. Sometimes she knew he was holding back, like now, but why was still a mystery.

"Can you not remember?" She offers, adjusting her seat on the bed.

"That's not it." His eyes are trained on the floor. She waits for him to continue if he'd like but doesn't press. "We didn't see eye to eye on a lot of things. He had very high expectations."

"I can imagine. He oversaw your whole clan, so I'm sure the pressure was -"

"You don’t know what you’re talking about." Itachi cuts in, tone steely cold.

She stiffens. He'd never raised his voice at her once in the weeks they'd been here, and for the first time in a while, she feels wary of him.

"He made me kill a man at 7 years old." Rage sizzled in his voice, but Sakura could only see shame in his eyes. She leaned back in surprise. "It was a traitor among the Uchiha, one of my own clansmen. My father wouldn't tell me what he'd done to deserve death but placed the kunai in my had anyway. He said it was my duty to protect the clan at all costs, even from traitors inside of it. I begged him not to make me. Then he beat me until I agreed.”

Sakura felt sick and presses her fingers into her lips, wondering just what kind of man Fugaku really was.

“I was too weak to hold the kunai myself, so he squeezed his hand around mine. It felt so small in his. He'd only ever shown love to me with those hands. Small gestures like a pat on my back or head. But that day, he beat me and held my hand so tight it hurt and forced me to press a kunai into my own relative's neck until it bled, and he died."

His hands curled into fists that shook as the words finished pouring out of him. Sakura hesitates, unsure what to say to him, but her hand reaches out to cover his, giving it a gentle squeeze. He lets out a breath, threading her delicate fingers with his.

She wonders if he’s misremembering or rewriting his memories into something he can live with. He’d killed every one of his clansmen, so what if he was mixing two memories together? But the emotion in his face, maybe she was too naïve, but it felt too raw to be anything but the truth.

“The more I remember about my life, the less I want to. I’m coming to realize most of it was filled with regret.” His hand clenches hers. “ All I feel is powerlessness. I just want it all to end.”

“Don’t say that.” She commands, scooting closer toward him on the futon. Her purpose had become to keep that from happening, but she wonders if he’d already tried to sending Sasuke after him like he had. She wonders if he’d try again given the chance.

“Why shouldn’t I want to die?” He’s dejected, almost resigned. “I know I’m a murderer. How can someone redeem themselves from what I’ve done? I can’t even remember all of it, but I see the way you look at me and know there are worse things hiding inside my head.”

The pity in her face and the fact that she can’t meet his eyes confirms his suspicions. Itachi recoils from her at the realization, disgust marring his graceful features. This mouth draws tight at the corners, jaw jumping under his skin and he looks away.

"I don't think I deserve to still be breathing. I feel that more every day. I see your face and feel..." He breathes in through his nose and then out in a whoosh. He looks at her again and says, "So undeserving."

If she didn't know the whole story, she might have contradicted him, but she does. Many terrible things had happened because of Itachi Uchiha. But the man capable of doing those things and the man holding her hand now couldn’t be more opposite. She made the decision to be here, so he deserved something from her. The person she knew, or rather the gentle person he was without his memories, deserved to live.

So what if his story was true? What if this is who he was before whatever he had endured as a child made the way he was? Was there more to the story, things out of his control? If he was just a boy who’d suffered abuse until he snapped, Sakura knew she could forgive him for just about anything. She’d forgiven Sasuke for the very similar reasons.

Itachi shrinks a bit more into himself in her contemplative silence. All she can see now is now small and lost he looks, a little boy who just needed someone’s help. Her help. It tugs at her until her fingers curl around his cheek, and he leans into it. Her touch was familiar and comforting now after so much time caring for him. It is quiet for a moment longer.

"You should have left me in that inn and gone home." He finally says into her palm.

She shakes her head but realizes he can’t see it with his eyes screwed shut. "I couldn't do it."

From the way his brows droop, she knows he understands that she had tried. Shame clutches her stomach.

"Why not?" he murmurs, compelled to even if he believes the answer will be unpleasant.

She can't answer, but he gives her plenty of time to. What could she possibly say to that? Even to her, the truth was tangled together with the dozens of rationalizations she’d made so that she could look herself in the mirror every day without hating herself. And those were so impersonal, it would only hurt him more if she did.

He finally speaks again. "We've discussed many things but never how I fit into your life." Her hand drops from his cheek, but he catches it, dark eyes finally opening. This he's not letting this go as easily as the rest. "What are we? Colleagues? Friends?"

There’s an innocence to him believing they could have been friends that again has her stomach in knots. She doesn’t want to think about it or how far she’d gone for him despite what they were.

She tries to lean back. The space between them grown too small to fit his questions and the weight of his stare. He stops that too, hand coming to the back of her neck – firm, but not so hard she can’t break free if she wants. He’s constantly asking her closer so he can actually see her expressions. She tells herself that’s all this was.

"Why are you so invested in me, Sakura?" His eyes jump between her own. When he could see clearly, his eyes never stayed still.

Again, she doesn't have an answer but finds her chest rising and falling quickly, adrenaline tingling inside. It must not be from fear, because she doesn’t feel like running. She’s sure she should feel like running.

Instead she’s drawn forward.

"I can't remember you at all, no matter how hard I try." His eyes trailed her cheek, to the pulse hammering in her neck. His thumb brushes away her hair from the spot. Her cheeks heat. "There must be something, because I...feel something for you. It’s frustrating not remembering why or what you feel for me."

Feel something? What did that mean? She swallows, lips parting after. It catches his attention and his always moving eyes still. Reacting without thinking, her's fall to his now, and even if he hadn’t moved yet, she wondered if they would begin to dip forward. She wondered if with his thumb brushing her neck and his eyes on her lips if he was thinking about kissing her.

Finally, the missing instinct to run hits her full force.

"There's nothing to remember." She says quickly, stopping whatever it was he’d been considering. He finds her eyes again, questioning her. This was too close. She can feel his warm breath on her face, and as she inhaled she could taste the sweet and herbal he’d drank on her tongue. "We never met before I found you."

His forehead creases. "I don't understand. Why would you care for me like this if I was a stranger to you?"

"I don't know." A prickling pressure builds behind her eyes. She doesn’t know anything. Everything she was had spiraled so far out of her control that she was thinking about him without any hate in her heart. With something else in her heart entirely. "It just happened."

"Something like this doesn’t just happen.”

This? There is no this. There is nothing more to this than getting some intel and then going back to her life like it never happened. But she’s faced with the how impossible all that was now and her head spins.

She’d have to tell everyone where she had been. No lie she tried to spin could possibly explain her absence or Itachi’s reappearance for that matter. Sasuke would be furious. He’d never forgive her, let alone love her. And for what? For what was she doing all of this?

“I’m just your brother’s teammate. That’s it.” She breaks away from him, quickly shifting to her knees and springing to her feet. What the hell was she doing?

“I see.” He says in that quiet way he does when he’s sifting through his memories for more information. His hands fall to his lap. “Sasuke’s…”

Sakura turns her back and leaves. She was Sasuke’s, but she’s realizing not once in her life was he ever hers. At this point, she doubted he ever would be.

#do no harm au #part 1 #itasaku #will edit later!

52 notes · View notes

valiant-portabella-pirkko · 3 years

Text

So, when I was digging through my drafts I rediscovered a bunch of stuff I never posted, which is pretty par for the course for me honestly. Most of it has to do with an AU I never really talked a whole lot about here;

Flourish, a direct parallel to Regrowth.

Ages ago I shared a concept of Ceara’s design as a Thief Deadeye, but I don’t think I ever really gave context for how-- or why-- that happens. And boy it’s... Quite a story, actually. It’s effectively a butterfly effect of sorts; one in which she never becomes Scarlet Briar, and the world is much different because of it.

One choice influences another influences another, leading to a complex, interwoven domino effect that reshapes the world itself into something much different. A better, happier, more peaceful world, where even the weeds can find a place to grow.

And yet, the more this world flourishes, the taller the flames will be when it burns. What will you do when the softness to which you’ve grown so accustomed is stripped away, leaving nothing but bare, hard stone in its wake?

They say that hard ground makes for strong roots. When the time comes, will yours be strong enough to withstand the storm?

I’ll give a summary down below, but under the cut since it’ll be pretty long.

AU basics; some of the Firstborn make an effort to connect with Ceara on her own terms... and in return she starts offering some of the knowledge she's gaining from studying asura tech around Caledon Forest. Gradually she winds up bonding with them, one foot in the Dream, one foot not.

It all starts with a single, pivotal choice; Caithe made the same decision the Commander can in her memories, just one subtle act of genuine curiosity and interest... And that act is returned in kind. Sometimes, that’s all it takes.

Because of that, an entire butterfly effect ensues from Ceara’s actions moving forward;

Ceara, having eventually bonded with the mysterious nightbloom, decides to follow in her footsteps and become a Thief. She starts with a pair of pistols then eventually adopts a rifle as well, becoming one of the earliest Deadeyes. Despite quickly gaining quite a reputation as a swindler and cutthroat, none can deny her effectiveness as a fighter and a tactician in the art of war.

She finally tells them her Dream, and the story it tells. She doesn’t care about following it, but finally places enough trust in her kin to not force her hand.

Ceara tells a story of death, destruction, and war. Of interwoven thorns, waiting to entangle her should she stray too far before she’s ready. Of the shadow of dragons that are not hers to fight, and the nightmares they will set upon this world. Nightmares she will face, and guide others against in turn.

She Dreamed of the battles that will succeed because of her command, and the impossible choices no one else can make in her stead. And she knows, deep down, that her decisions will determine the future of many, many people, most of whom she will never even know.

She Dreamed of the power to change the world, for better or for worse.

And that’s where everything really starts to shift.

She accompanies Saoirse's Wyld Hunt against the Nightmare Court, having been encouraged to keep an eye on the inexperienced saplings and help advise them. Her squad, including Gavin, is never captured. Saoirse doesn't leave the Dream to become Soundless. Gavin isn't converted to Nightmare.

Ceara eventually joins the Whispers. Saoirse joins the Vigil. Pirkko joins the Priory as usual.

The three work together much better due to their shared history, and as a result Claw Island is better defended. It isn’t overrun with Risen, though the fighting is still fierce. All is not lost, and the undead are driven out.

Sieran, Tybalt, and Forgal all survive.

All of them take up important roles as the Pact forms. Trahearne remains as the Marshal due to his neutrality and Orrian expertise. Pirkko becomes the Commander as usual. Saoirse and Forgal organize troops on the ground. Sieran assists in the studies of magic artifacts and Zhaitan’s interest in them, while Tybalt works with covert groups involved in scouting terrain and enemy positions.

Then there’s Ceara, the Pact’s Head Tactician. Brutally efficient, and to many, seemingly heartless. She doesn’t care for the Commander, an upstart taking on the role she feels she should have had instead... All because Pirkko Dreamed of slaying dragons and she didn’t. Her resentment leaks out in bitter words, disdainful remarks about this reckless fool who throws herself into danger headlong without a single thought to the consequences.

Yet, over time, they get to know each other better. Pirkko comes to understand someone who, not unlike her, was drawn into a difficult position through circumstance and now has to make careful, calculated choices that will decide who lives and who dies. And Ceara sees someone who took her role not out of a duty to the Dream, but because of the compassion in her heart and a genuine desire to help others, no matter the cost to herself. Neither can bear to let down the people who need them.

They’re very different, but perhaps not as different as they’d first thought.

Ceara cares too, much as she hates to admit it. She just has a far different way of showing it.

Together, the Pact finally does the impossible. Zhaitan is slain, and for a time, some semblance of peace seems to take hold. There are still more dragons to slay, but now they have something they didn’t have before.

Certainty. They know it can be done.

But everything starts to go wrong around the time of LW2... Because, this time, they have NO warning that Mordremoth is stirring or what it can do. Ceara is never claimed by the dragon. Scarlet Briar never ravages Tyria. There are no Aetherblades, no Molten Alliance, no Toxic Alliance, and no Watchknights. When it starts to reach out, whispering, clawing, grasping, none are the wiser.

A lot of the main people in the Pact are sylvari. They have no idea.

But this time, they all have each other... And they’re much stronger for it.

#GW2 #Guild Wars 2 #Scarlet Briar #Flourish AU #fun fact i am filled with thoughts and very few of them are useful #i'll probably make a Ceara based on this AU someday but we'll see #depends on if i get another character slot #i used my last open one recently wheeze #anyway! if you guys would like to see writing for this AU lemme know #i probably should do things with it but i'm bad at gauging interest #exploring the relationship between Ceara and Pirkko would probably be fun tbh #they're definitely foils of each other #two very smart sylvari who are scary as fuck on the battlefield #but one approaches it with a heart of stone so she won't cry over the fallen #and the other cares so so so much because she lets that passion fuel her #anyway as you can see even in the tags i can't shut up #my posts

3 notes · View notes

complicatedandstained · 4 years

Text

Every Rose

A Grass is Greener AU fic, for / inspired by @snowflake-of-destruction and @shaky-mayhemm because their soap opera AU is everything

Warnings for strong language, melodrama, rich people, cheating, minor alcoholism, minor smut, some abusive behaviors, and completely made-up gardening facts.

Axel crouches low to the ground, a bead of sweat dripping down his nose, and gently takes a thorny stem between his thumb and forefinger. He exhales, nostrils flaring, the taste of salt hitting the top of his lip, and carefully shifts one of the vines of climbing roses, more tightly interweaving it with the closest bar of the black iron trellis. The patterned trellis arch casts intricate shadows across his sun-freckled arms, and he thinks back to the better part of an afternoon last week he had spent with those shadows playing across his body, positioning both it and the trellis to Roxas’ liking.

He’d stood just about right here then, glancing up at Roxas. Adorable, clever, sassy Roxas, with delicately rendered and neatly labelled sketches of the garden in hand and a pencil between his lips, had been perched in the mouth of a nearby, low-lying window, offering the occasional “A little to the left,” “What if we trimmed down the shrubbery, just there?”, and Axel’s personal favorite, “God, could you be any sexier?”

This last comment brings to mind a more recent encounter. Roxas’ tongue trying to knot with his, tasting like salt—like the Margarita he’d been sipping was a little on the strong side. He can still feel Roxas’ soft, glossy, dark gold hair between his fingers. Roxas’ hands hot and certain, pawing at denim and then his belt buckle. Roxas below him, kneeling in the grass beside an Andromeda bush blooming with sweet-smelling white bell flowers. Roxas murmuring “God, could you be any sexier?” yet again with something like actual reverence before he’d unzipped Axel’s jeans, tugged away plaid boxers, and licked—

“You’re still here, are you?”

Axel’s entire body tenses and he closes his fist in reflex, clenching the rose vine. A thorn bites through the worn palm of the gardening glove he’d been meaning to replace and gouges the center of his hand.

The slow, regal drawl coming from somewhere just behind Axel continues, “I was certain you’d be finished by now. You haven’t been slacking off, have you?”

“Fuck,” Axel gasps as the pain kicks in and then he bites his lip, tilting his head to gaze up at Roxas’ husband, standing just a few yards away on the front walk. It appears Isa had been watching him for God knew how long, while Axel fantasized about his lonely, jaded, sexy, blond, trophy husband complimenting his yard work and making him moan.

Fortunately, this is not the first time Axel has had to work out such excuses on a dime, and he reaches for the most tried and true one, “No, sir. Just trying to make the gardens every inch as lovely as your home and its owners.”

“Hm…” Isa fidgets with a key ring, and pockets it, the lights of his black Corvette blinking once behind him, as if, Axel feels, in belated warning.

Isa crosses the last few yards toward him. He’s wearing the kind of suit that Axel’s sister Kairi would know the name of, tailored to make him look like he was born to wear it. He walks with the self-important purpose and dismissive confidence only a lawyer can, his brow raising only slightly, as Axel hisses a strangled “Ah, fuck” again, tugging the thorn out, and clutching his hand to his chest.

Axel takes a breath to calm himself, and this time not from the sharp pain, which is proving to be a welcome distraction. It’s the entirely new-to-Axel sensation of paranoia that he wants to send packing—paranoia that’s drawing the acidic taste of bile to the back of his throat.

At least Roxas isn’t out here with him. He’s long gone for the evening at this point, off to “Girl’s Night” with a few neighbors.

But Isa’s asking him why he’s here so late. Isa suspects something—somebody—held up his progress. If Isa finds him out, Axel could lose this ludicrously lucrative job and his entire business and his reputation and his chance to further seduce Roxas.

Okay. So, maybe seducing Roxas shouldn’t be on this particular mental list, but it could be his only shot at getting the sweet but dangerous, hot, blond tease out of his every waking thought.

And, all this aside, Isa, who’s got the body of a cross-fit model and the resting bitch face of a Doberman, might literally murder Axel for touching his bored, stay-at-home boy toy.

Axel scrambles to think of a more specific excuse for why last-minute touch-ups on the trellis and minor maintenance to the hedge would take him this long, but he’s spared from voicing them, as Isa speaks again.

“I’ve heard talking to plants helps them grow...”

Isa comes to a halt closer than Axel was expecting him to. Axel could easily reach out and run a hand down his toned thigh and calf. In other circumstances, the silken gloss of the man’s trousers accentuating toned muscle might make him want to...

“...But I’m not certain that kind of language is what the botanary community had in mind.”

Axel takes a long moment to process this response to his pained swearing, staring up into Isa’s soft blue-green eyes and the light crinkle of the nose just between them. Isa’s thin lips don’t seem as taut as they usually do, curving up just the slightest bit in the corner. Over all, Isa looks almost… Fond?

He had spoken completely deadpan, but rather than the admonishment Axel had expected—almost hoped for—it had sounded more like… A joke?

Had Isa, his latest lover’s jealous, serious, apathetic, workaholic husband, just made a joke? A joke to amuse Axel, his lowly gardener, the one he may or may not have just subtly accused of screwing his husband, or at the very least, wasting his money and time?

Axel’s going to have to reevaluate Isa’s opinion of him. He’d assumed it was low-grade-dirt poor. But the way Isa’s staring down at him right now… Well, Axel knew the guy was gay, obviously, but with his sights set on Roxas, it hadn’t occurred to him that his other employer might have been taking a look.

Axel figures there’s only one way to know for sure. He slips on a practiced, easy smirk. “Didn’t hear you walk up, that’s all.” He slowly reaches back and rubs the nape of his neck with the palm that’s not bleeding, giving his arm a nice slow stretch and watching Isa’s eyes follow with... Admiration? Axel’s smirk broadens. “You ‘bout gave me a fucking heart attack.”

Axel doesn’t usually swear around his classier employers—Xigbar being the main exception—but the slight quirk of Isa’s lip earlier makes Axel think the man might find it charming. And even if Axel has no idea what the hell he’s doing right at this moment, he figures charming can’t hurt.

“Apologies,” Isa drawls without any sincerity behind it, examining the open knuckles of his black leather gloves. The gesture might have come off as bored, but the slight lift of Isa’s lip proves enough to tug up Axel’s own.

“I was just…” Isa’s gaze strays only briefly to the saplings, hedges, and artfully arranged flower beds Axel had slaved over, before landing on Axel himself, raking the muscles of his back through his taut white tank, “admiring the view.”

The fuck am I doing? Axel asks himself as he plucks a soft pink rose from the vine he’s working with and offers it up with his signature blinding white smile, giving Isa a better view of the ribbed tank top stretching across his wiry but muscular chest. “You like what you see so far?”

Isa’s smirk turns patronizing as he accepts the rose, but his green eyes catch onto Axel’s with surprising steadiness, confidence. “I wouldn’t mind a closer look.”

Axel supposes, technically, they could still be talking about the garden, but he’s starting to doubt it. He tells himself a little harmless flirtation with Isa won’t hurt anything. It’s just necessary job security. He’s not trying to hurt Roxas. Roxas doesn’t even have to know. Also, it doesn’t hurt that Isa happens to be turning him on right now with his slow, articulate lawyer voice, his gorgeous, fancy-ass suit, and his incredibly uncharacteristic, mild flirtations.

So, Axel sits back on his good palm, stretches out his legs in front of him and purrs, “Think that could be arranged.”

Isa nods, as if they’ve just shaken hands over a business merger, says, “Very good,” and then checks his antique looking gold and brown leather wristwatch. “It is getting late. You’d best pack up your things.”

“Uh…” Axel, sits up straighter. Maybe they were just talking about gardening after all. “Alright.” Being ginger with his injured left hand, Axel stands and tucks sheers, twine, spray, and the other tools he’s most recently been using back into the bag he’d used to transport them from his pick-up, occasionally glancing back to Isa, who’s alternating between watching Axel and examining the most recent yard work. Gear collected, Axel shoulders the strap of his bag.

“You didn’t stay late waiting around for me, I hope?” Isa asks as Axel steps up. His overly casual inquiry makes the hairs on the back of Axel’s neck stand up. Is Isa still wondering what took Axel twice as long as necessary, or is he hoping Axel wanted to see him?

Once again, Axel opens his mouth to bullshit a response, and Isa starts talking again before he can, shrugging his shoulder, “Hm. No matter. I expect you know you’ve done an exceptional job, Mr. Emberson. And I’m glad I caught you.”

Axel quirks a brow. “Are you?”

Isa scowls mildly, flutters his hand to indicate Axel follow him back toward the towering expanse of his mansion, and then sets off at a brisk pace. “Roxas told me he forgot to pay you earlier.”

“Oh.” That had not been at all where Axel thought Isa was going with that.

Isa spares Axel a backward glance, frowning now, voice softening into something that almost resembles sympathetic, “I do apologize. I can’t imagine what he was so distracted with that he couldn’t manage to do the one thing I…”

Axel’s initial irritation at Isa putting down his husband with an ease that feels like habit gives way to a deeper heat in his chest. Maybe Isa’s tone is sympathetic, and Axel’s heart rate is just picking up because once again Isa is dancing so precariously close to the truth that it feels calculated.

Isa’s thoughtful gaze feels like ice pressed to Axel’s face and he thinks it would suck to stand in court with him, because those eyes alone make him feel guilty as sin.

“Well,” Isa corrects, smirk knowing, if brief, as he taps his chin, “perhaps I can imagine…”

Fuck. He knows.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Axel offers, forcing his brows to furrow lightly.

Isa snorts. “Of course.” He pauses in front of the front door, a broad, darkly elegant wood with an opaque glass window inset with crisscrossing silver. Isa taps at the security keypad and produces his key. “Well, regardless. If you’ll follow me inside, I’ll write you a check for all your, ah, hard work.” Isa’s lips stretch into an actual, full, tight-lipped smile, as he holds the door open for Axel and gestures for him to enter with a sweep of his hand like some sexy Victorian gentleman.

Axel thinks vaguely of that John Mullaney bit. You ain’t getting me to no secondary location.

He thinks vaguely about Roxas straddling his lap on a garden bench, pressing featherlight kisses up his neck like a lovesick teenager, while Axel rubbed his back and whispered “You’re so beautiful” over and over again.

Axel hesitates in the door frame, lips fumbling for an excuse, eyes catching sight of his clunky black work boots. “Probably shouldn’t, boss.” He smiles, lifts a mud encrusted boot, and crosses his arms. “I’ve been known to wreak havoc on the upholstery.”

Isa’s brows rise suggestively, and his thin smile only widens. “Don’t worry about the dirt, darling. I have people for that.”

“I, uh…”

Isa frowns when Axel fails to step inside immediately, and sets his hand firmly on the gardener’s tanned bicep. The thorns of the rose tucked under his thumb snag gently at his skin. “Axel.”

Heat rips through Axel’s veins from the point of contact. Isa has the kind of voice you don’t say no to.

Axel sets his hand over Isa’s and follows him inside.

* *

Isa has the study of a Sherlock Holmes villain. Neatly organized bookshelves studded with the occasional curio fill two walls from floor to ceiling. Above his desk hang twin abstract paintings reminiscent of evening thunderstorms, all blotted hues of blacks, blues, and violets, lit with streaks of flashing gold. An astrological globe printed with constellations sits in one corner and a potted fern in another.

Isa makes his way over to a wide, disgustingly well-organized mahogany desk. The only sign that the space is not sheerly for show that Axel can see is a collection of coffee mugs abandoned beside a powered down MacBook and a single framed photo of a beaming Roxas hugging at a Siberian Husky Axel’s never seen a hair of in real life.

Axel wishes he hadn’t noticed the photo and steps closer to the large fern to his left, crouching to run his thumb along its discolored fronds.

“Can’t help yourself, can you?” Isa asks.

Axel glances up with a start, but Isa is no longer looking at him. He’s pulled a leather checkbook from a desk drawer and begun thumbing through it.

“This little guy could use a bit more sunlight,” Axel glances to the distant window across the room, its blinds pulled down and curtains drawn. “Indirect, don’t need to burn it to a crisp or anything, but… should liven him up a little.”

Isa chuckles, a brief, dry thing, as he picks up a pen and starts to write Axel’s check. “I’ll take that under advisement, Mr. Emberson. Thank you.”

Axel notices Isa’s set the rose Axel gave him in a half-full water glass beside the coffee mugs, and smiles to himself—in spite of himself.

He shuts his eyes, rubbing his thumb between them. What the fuck am I doing?

“Here you are, darling.”

Axel opens his eyes and drops his hand to see Isa holding the check out.

Darling rings in Axel’s ears as he crosses the room to accept it with a slightly bowed head and a gracious, “Thank you, sir.”

Roxas had asked Axel not to call him ‘sir’ within two sentences. Most clients offer him their names on Day 2. Isa seems to have no intention of ever doing so.

“Don’t spend it all in one place.”

Axel’s not sure if he’s imagining it, but he thinks he’s starting to catch a slight slant to Isa’s words that say he’s teasing. He glances up to see the slight smirk again.

Axel chances another flirtatious smile of his own. “No promises, boss.” He takes the check between two fingers, waves it slightly, teasingly, before turning and straightening it, just to double check Isa spelled ‘Emberson’ right. Axel halts abruptly and rereads the numbers a couple times.

“Something wrong?” Isa asks, stepping up behind him, hand on his shoulder as he peers at the check as well.

“This isn’t the amount we agreed on.”

“No.”

Axel glances up to Isa, who slides his hand down his shoulder to his bicep and then pulls him toward the black leather futon adjacent to his desk.

“Take a seat, Axel. There’s something I’ve been meaning to discuss with you.”

Seeing no other alternative, heart rate picking up again, Axel reluctantly sinks down into the expensive smelling cushions. Isa crosses to the double doors of the study and snaps them both shut.

“It’s about my husband.”

Axel’s boots press harder into polished floorboards, ready to spring up. His cock throbs at the memory of Roxas’ smooth hard abdomen hot under his hands, the beachy smell of Roxas’ hair under his lips and the taste of him like salt and coconut and burning tequila. Roxas’ eyes, wide and blue, alternatively coy and teasing and desperately wanting... Sex with Roxas had been like being pulled gently and firmly underwater and drowning in him.

Isa knows.

Axel crosses one leg over his knee. “What about him?”

“It has come to my attention that you have had the misfortune of witnessing a few,” Isa hums, swishes his hand dismissively, “spats between Roxas and I. No marriage is perfect. Some words were said…” Isa tilts his head in implication, frowning, nose crinkling again around his scar.

“Some dishes were broken…” Axel counters, not wisely, but if Isa’s accusing him of something, it doesn’t hurt to accuse back. He’s heard multiple arguments, both hushed and roared, at this point, but what has most stuck with him is the telltale glint of shards of plate and million pieces of a splintered wine glass scattered across the front hallway.

All Roxas had said in explanation that day was: “Watch your step. I didn’t.”

Isa freezes, fist clenching and unclenching and then nods, something Axel wants to call hurt in his eyes. It’s strange to hear a perspective outside of Roxas’ reluctant ones: He’s bored with me. He’s done with me. He doesn’t give a shit what I…

“Yes. Well… We all do things we regret. I assure you, we did not mean anything by them. Some relationships are more passionate than others. It’s our way. At the end of the day, Roxas and I are deeply committed to each other. We rely on each other. The pair of us haven’t always kept to the status quo and there are those who would like nothing more to see us torn down, and we must keep a united front. As far as our family and friends are concerned, we are madly, deeply in love and we cannot afford to put that perception in jeopardy.”

Isa paces forward, closing in, and Axel once again pictures him in court, addressing the jury, telling them what to think and how to think it with a natural authority that offers no space for doubt or disobedience. An openly gay, big shot lawyer with blue fucking hair and a sexy husband with an attitude and a day-drinking problem. Axel realizes not for the first time that Isa has to be better than everyone else, stronger, more cut-throat, more perfect than anyone else just to exist. And it seems like he damn near is.

“As you are all too aware, rumors in this neighborhood spread rampantly as weeds.” Isa’s eyes catch Axel’s. “I need you to prove as adept at killing them at their source as you have with my lawn’s dandelion population. Naturally, I am willing to compensate you for your discretion, and to recommend you to some of my colleagues who may be interested in a wide variety of your services.”

Axel doesn’t miss the half-dozen implications weaved within these words, but he’s also not entirely sure he wants to correct them.

“I trust this arrangement is amenable to you.” Isa’s standing above him, at this point, his knees pressed to Axel’s, his arms crossed, discerning.

Axel has a feeling sex with Isa would be like being slammed back to shore by a cruel wave and then receiving CPR, having his chest—his whole body—pounded back to life. For a moment, with Isa tense and poised like he might pounce on him, striking green eyes staring into him, through him, Axel wants to find out.

“Yeah.”

Axel’s mind floods with relief that apparently none of this actually has to do with his fling with Roxas. He might actually get away with Roxas and whatever the fuck this conversation is.

“Yes, of course, sir. Your business is your business.” Axel waves a hand as if to wave off his own knowledge of the subject and moves to get up. “Say no more.”

A heavy gloved hand lands on his shoulder, stilling him.

“I’m afraid it’s not quite so simple as that.” Isa smiles sadly. “You’ve no doubt noticed that Roxas has taken an interest in you.” Isa’s thumb skims along Axel’s skin, below the strap of his tank top.

Axel finds himself nodding as his throat threatens to close itself off entirely. “Yeah, yeah.” He coughs. “He has shown quite an interest in my work. His designs for the gardens are really quite impressive. We’ve been fine tuning some of the details together to make his masterpiece a reality.”

Isa gives a world-weary sigh. “Yes, he thinks so, at any rate. Thank you for humoring him.” Isa’s gloved fingers knead into Axel’s shoulder in a kind of smooth leather massage, tone turning teasing again, “I hope he hasn’t been too much in the way.”

Axel frowns. Isa speaks as though Roxas is a lovesick puppy nipping at Axel’s heels as he works, instead of the entire reason their garden is going to be the hottest garden in Radiant Garden this season.

“Really, I’m not. His designs are stunning, insightful, and intricate,” Axel remembers a conversation they had had earlier, momentarily pushing aside the rising suspicion of what this conversation is actually about, “If he were interested in taking on clients, I know plenty of folks who’d be interested in seeing ‘em.”

Isa rolls his eyes but then meets Axel’s again with a momentary, indulgent smile. “You’re too generous. Roxas doesn’t need the work, I assure you.” Isa’s hand drops down Axel’s shoulder to his bicep, squeezes. “My husband wants for nothing.”

Isa releases Axel’s arm and Axel’s free hand rises to touch him on the arm in return.

Yeah, Axel’s brain bites back skeptically, except something to do with himself every fricking day.

“Everybody needs their hobbies…” Axel suggests more mildly.

Isa scowls. “He has more hobbies than he knows what to do with: painting, ceramics, equestrian training, amateur bartending…” He paces in an impatient circle, ticking off on his fingers, and then turning on his toe to face Axel yet again, “expensive hobbies that he abandons within a matter of months. This is only the latest. I fear he’d only grow bored and leave your clients wanting.”

Axel may not have known Roxas long but he can tell that his passion for design is more than just a passing fancy, and from what he can tell, the guy had some schooling in the subject as well. Axel forces himself to smile softly, “Well, if he wants. He knows where to find me…”

“That’s what I wanted to discuss with you,” Isa lifts his hand again, pats Axel on the cheek so briefly he thinks he might have imagined it. “I wasn’t referring to his interest in your work…I’m afraid you’ve quite charmed him.” He glances to the ceiling for a moment, grin wry. “At least his tastes remain impeccable as ever...”

Axel decides to play dumb again, since it’s gotten him this far. He spreads his palms open, lifts them in the smallest of shrugs. “I don’t follow…”

But Isa blatantly scoffs, glancing down his front, tight tank top, tight jeans. “Please. Neither of us are stupid. You’re an attractive, well built, welcoming man, Axel, and Roxas is…” Isa halts, reaching out to grasp Axel’s wrist, and lift it up, “Are you bleeding, Mr. Emberson?”

Axel lets him tug at his arm, ignoring the jolting prick as the fabric of the glove shifts against the clotted cut in his palm. “Oh, not so much any more…”

“Unbelievable.” Isa abruptly drops his wrist and gives him a hard glare that makes Axel suspect the rest of the conversation had been going remarkably well in comparison. “Jesus Christ, Axel. Don’t move.” With this Isa sweeps out of the room.

Axel stays put, his back sinking into the swanky futon, deliberating over what Isa does or does not know, and does or does not want from him.

In a few minutes, the door opens, and Isa pushes through, a bowl cradled in one arm and white dish towels draped over the other. He’s hovering over Axel again in moments, their knees pressed together, Isa’s palm reaching out. “Give me your hand.”

“It’s nothing. Really.” Axel winces and retracts it, clenching it to his chest. It’s just a thorn prick. He’d had a hundred of them. It’s strange to see Isa so concerned over it.

“Your glove is filthy. You’ll get an infection and it’ll be on my head. Give me your hand, you senseless, pretty fool…”

Axel gingerly removes the glove, hissing as the dried blood pulls off and the tear in his palm starts to bleed again.

Isa reaches out his hand once more, and Axel hesitantly places his inside it, blood dribbling down the side.

“I’m terrified I’ll drip on that fancy suit of yours,” Axel admits as Isa dabs his wound with warm water and heat seeps up his arm, pain chased with soothing. “Maybe you oughta take it off.”

Isa bites off a smile that makes Axel groan when he realizes what he’s just said.

“Do you often find yourself overly concerned with the welfare of other men’s suits?”

“More than I’d like,” Axel mumbles, though Isa doesn’t immediately reply, rinsing dirt and blood from the towel and then cleaning the rest of Axel’s hand, wrist, fingers, before slowly patting them dry.

“You have the hands of someone who’s worked hard to get where he is.” Isa muses, wrapping bandages in an X across his palm to keep a strip of gauze set in place. “Roxas’ hands are soft as snow. He’s pampered, spoiled. He hasn’t known a day’s hard work in his life…”

Whose fault is that? Axel wants to reply, but Isa doesn’t notice Axel’s expression momentarily darken. Isa’s being sweet to him, but the way he treats Roxas...

“He needs attention, romance... He needs everything to be about him.”

Axel thinks again of the way Roxas had beamed and smothered him with kisses while Axel whispered to him how beautiful he was.

Axel decides he doesn’t necessarily like Isa, despite his attempts to be pleasant, but with Isa standing between his legs, working a fresh towel up Axel’s neck and across his cheek, muscular arm brushing Axel’s chest, Axel can’t deny that his body wants Isa’s hands all over him, or that he does, in fact, want to see how Isa looks without the suit.

Isa continues gently wiping Axel’s face of sweat and dirt and then sets the bowl aside.

“Better?” Axel whispers.

Isa gently cups Axel’s cheek, apparently not oblivious to the heat building in Axel’s chest or the way his pupils have blown out, eclipsing green with something darker.

“What Roxas doesn’t understand,” Isa says slowly, “is that after a hard day’s work, sometimes all I need is a quick, rough, hard, dirty, meaningless fuck. You understand, I think.”

Axel grins. “I think so.” Axel reaches with his good hand to grip Isa’s hip and pull him down onto the futon. He’s aiming to get Isa in his lap, but Isa’s stronger than he expected, and pulls Axel’s back to his chest instead, not hesitating to begin tracing kisses up his neck and toward his ear.

“How rough are we talking?” Axel purrs, reaching back to rub Isa’s thigh.

Isa’s teeth tug at Axel’s ear. “I can show you where to bite Roxas to make him come completely undone.”

Axel breath catches. He tries to twist his head around but Isa’s hand is secure on the back of his neck. “What?”

“It’s only a matter of time before he tries to seduce you,” Isa says and Axel can hear the slant of a smile again. “If he hasn’t already. You ought to be prepared.”

“Isa,” Axel sucks in a quick breath, “we’re just friends. I wouldn’t dream of—”

Isa sweeps the strands of Axel’s bun away from his neck and bites the nape, sending a jolt of pain and pleasure straight down his spine. “Hush, Axel.” Isa’s hands drift down Axel’s chest and lower, fitting their bodies more snugly together, and cleanses Axel’s skin with his tongue.

“God, Isa…” Axel grins and moans, as Isa continues his attentions, rough and direct. All thoughts clear his brain aside from the after image of the last object his eyes landed on before he shut them—across the room, on the desk, a pink rose, a silver glass, black thorns. “Don’t stop,” he murmurs, hoarsely. “Don’t stop. Don’t stop...”

42 notes · View notes

konohagakurekakashi · 4 years

Text

Mãjutsu AU-verse, closed starter 🍂

Thin rays of late-afternoon sunlight trickled in through the windows adjunct to the staircase, warming the pages of Spella Weekly that was draped across the boy’s knees. Grey hues dragged along the pages in a languid fashion, but did not take any note of the moving images or neat paragraphs. It was the same magazine that he paged through that morning at breakfast and all throughout their morning classes; with intrepid headlines such as ‘Britain’s Best Dressed Wizard’ and ‘126 delightful knitting patterns!’ serving as his chosen safeguard against answering questions or humouring attempts at conversation by his peers. It was a tactic that Kakashi perfected at the beginning of his second year at Hogwarts, most of his galleons now tied-up in subscriptions for all of the known (as well as a few lesser known) weeklies.

With his nose constantly obscured, Kakashi found that it was easier to ignore and be ignored. The glossy covers allowing him a faux sense of control; if only over whom he deemed worthy of a response and what salty snack he could sneak passed his teeth. There were a select few who seemed immune to the Ravenclaw’s bold captions (his Transfigurations’ Professor and that irksome Gryffindor with the bowl-cut to name a few) but as Merlin would have it, the insusceptible were few and far in-between....or so the Ravenclaw thought. Shifting in his perch upon the stairs, Kakashi’s lidded gaze altered from ‘Six sure steps to capture a Wizard’s Heart’ to inspect the crumpled piece of parchment currently serving as a bookmark, an accusing frown crumpling the boy’s brow.

The note found its way into his Potions Text-book during second period; a sly slip of paper nestled comfortably between Doxycide and the ingredients for the Wideye Potion. It wasn’t in any cursive that Kakashi was familiar with and the wizard had no inkling how it got there, since he only ever strayed mentally (not physically) from his desk. More confusing still was that the note bore no return details for the writer. It was a half-assed invitation really, a very strange, half-assed invitation, indicating only a time and place.-

‘Favoured Student,

You have been selected to form a part of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry’s most elite, a group with the core intent to cultivate the most promising and talented minds to better abet the Wizarding World and our honoured Ministry of Magic.

Saplings are better bent in the right direction when young.

Meet within room 1408 on the third floor, straight after supper.

All selected students will be required to show their invitations in order to be granted entry into Root.’

‘Root, huh?’ The boy rubbed a thumb across the ink, much like one would a genie lamp, but the answers were diffident in making their appearance; causing Kakashi to shift once more and exhale a sigh. It was a few hours to supper still, yet the Ravenclaw found himself hunched across the locked door and had been since his class was released from Advanced Charms. To his knowledge room 1408 was nothing but an abandoned storage space, a big closet for Homura Mitokado’s self-made, cat mittens and collectables. Kakashi hoped that if he stayed long enough, that he could glimpse the sender of the note, perhaps even gather what the group was really about and then maybe (just maybe) he wouldn’t have to show up and interact with the sender at all.

So far the boy’s plan seemed to be a bust however, lips thinning as he casted a slow, doleful stare at both his bookmark and the rusty lock of Room 1408. The waning rays of sunlight coloured his reading material a burnt orange and served as a reminder that he already missed lunch because of some unknown daring to enter his personal space (his textbook’s personal space! ) if he stayed and missed dinner then his father would undoubtedly do something embarrassing to mark the occasion. Still Kakashi didn’t move from his spot pressed against the stairwell, the passing thought merrily urging the boy to finally turn a page with the roll of his shoulder and the flick of his wrist, the words ‘Which Appleby Arrows player are you meant to marry?’ greeting his gaze in stark, gold Calibri. @senjutsunade @uchihaa-itachi @minaa-munch @himekushinada

#Ugh #Not the best starter ever written demo its a start right?#I didn't want to put too much into it since we've got so many other verses pending #Verse: Mãjutsu AU #Konohagakurekakashi #minaa munch #Senjutsunade #Uchihaa-Itachi #himekushinada #Hogwarts AU

6 notes · View notes

naivesilver · 9 months

Text

when you're throwing ideas around like "haha what if mokku and piccolino were BOTH being raised by august in modern times" and @strange-acorn whips out some INCREDIBLE art for your silly little picrew designs so you go insane a little bit

#pinocchio #piccolino no boken #kashi no ki mokku #fanart #LOOK AT THEMMMM look at them I'm losing my mind #seriously considering making one of them my pfp now that I'm ditching the summer banner #idk WHICH one tho they're all great #also yes they're all banged up because I have IdeasTM don't worry about it #(or do)#(in my inbox tho I love to chat about thee boys)#pinocchio swap #IT COUNTS OK #au: stray saplings

14 notes · View notes

askcarlyle · 5 years

Text

[A contribution (in conjunction with @askbarnum) to FanFicFeb on @theothersidediscord for Prompts #6-8 & 27, “Are you sure?”, “Crossover/AU”, “Ice” and “Hunger”. Edited from the live version, which is continuing on server in a following installment.]

Barnum

I’m telling you, it’s a shortcut. We will get to the Gala faster this way, it’s just a little bumpier that’s all. I let you drive, at least let me give the directions. No point us being late just because the light is getting low.

Nearly falls out of his seat in the small Spider phaeton as the horses pull them over a log as they precariously travel through the forest, now miles off the road. Grabs his hat to keep it on his head and steadies himself back to his seat with the other hand.

As long as we keep heading North we’ll come out on the other side of the forest right onto the back road leading out to the Chadwicks’ estate. Shouldn’t take more than a couple hours rather than the initial six. Watch out for that boulder over there. What’s with that look? Hey! Eyes on the road….lack of road.

Carlyle

directs focus back forwards but continues frowning in disbelief

Are you sure? I think we've passed that pond before. There isn't even a path here, PT. The wheels aren't meant for this.

as if on cue, the carriage bounces violently over another indentation in the forest floor. A dark shape runs across their path, causing the horses to rear back and in turn sending the vehicle veering sideways

Aaaccckk....!

Barnum

Gets knocked violently to one side, crashing into Phillip and throwing his arms protectively around him by instinct as the carriage crashes into the ground, two wheels cracking and skidding across the ground like skimmed stones on a lake, one disappearing into the undergrowth and the other breaking against a large tree trunk.

After the movement stops, takes a breath he didn't realise he was holding and carefully releases the other man from his grip, looking him up and down for injury

Are you okay? Are you hurt? Can you move?

Starts carefully pulling himself up, then becoming distracted when a distressed sound cries from the horses. Looking over just in time to see the two spooked white mares break free of their harnesses and gallop off into the woods. He scrambles up and out of the carriage as fast as he can and chases one for a few feet before realising it's hopeless. Watching them vanish with a breathless distressed stare.

Carlyle

rubs forehead and clambers out of carriage gingerly, surveying the splintered remains in dismay

We just purchased this 2 weeks ago.

turns to see Barnum traipsing back through a stand of ferns after unsuccessfully chasing a horse

...and those would have been our alternate mode of transport out of here.

unhooks the one unscathed lantern from the side of the carriage and holds it up to get bearings

I don't suppose we know where "here" is, do we?

Barnum

I'll buy you a new one, calm down.

Lets out a deep breath and wanders slowly back over to Phillip

We keep going North. We'll make it eventually by foot. You got comfortable shoes on?

Rummages in his pocket for his compass. Then rummages in the other pocket. then, looking distressed, takes his jacket off and shakes it to make sure the compass hasn't fallen into the lining

Must have fallen out while I was chasing them...

Wanders back in the dim light, squinting at the ground to try to find the compass. Deciding quickly that in the thick undergrowth it was a near impossible find.

Alright let's just....go that way.

Points in the direction one of the horses escaped

Carlyle

squints in the direction of broken branches and trampled ferns, holding up lantern. looks upward to gauge by the stars but finds the trees cover too much of the sky

I suppose that's roughly the direction we were headed?

hands the lantern to Barnum and reaches into carriage to pull out a thick blanket before motioning for them to continue onwards

Barnum

Takes the lantern gratefully and leads them onwards. Trying to keep to as straight a line as possible

They walk for hours, the light filtering through the trees fading to nothing and leaving their path lit by nothing but lamplight. He only slows to a stop when the oil in the lamp begins to run low. Feet aching and stomach growling from hunger, he rests the lamp down on an old tree stump and turns to Phillip, barely making out the shape of the other man in the darkness.

I'm not going to lie to you, I think we're lost. Don't think we are going to have much luck finding just about anything without any light either. Have you ever read that book, Robinson Crusoe? I read it to the girls once. I think we need to find shelter and wait it out until morning.

Carlyle

huddles next to Barnum, throwing half of the blanket over his shoulders

It's getting cold. If we stop moving it'll be worse. Didn't we pass some boulders a bit back? Maybe we could make some sort of structure using those as a wall?

starts testing some of the smaller saplings, looking for one that might be suitable to serve as a frame

Back in school, we had botany expeditions every term. We would go into forested areas like this and our instructor, Mr. Bartholomew, would also teach us a bit about survival craft.

pauses, looking off in the distance with a faint smile

He was a very knowledgeable and capable man. We'd call him Bear in the privacy of our dorms. Both because of his prowess in the woods and because he just seemed...

coughs and snaps off a sapling at the base

This should do!

Barnum

Cups his hands in front of his mouth, blowing on them to warm them from the icy air. Giving Phil a appreciative glance for the half blanket

You've been camping before? That's useful. You know how to make a fire? I've made ones with old scraps of paper and trash before but never out in the wilderness like this. Not sure what kinds of wood burns best, or how you locate dry wood. It's only recently been raining.

Starts back in the direction of the boulders the recently passed, squinting in the dim light.

Some kind of shelter, then a fire.

Puts a hand against his stomach as they walk, feeling it grumble

Then food. Figure that out when we come to it. So...

Grins and nudges Phillip with his elbow

You want to tell me more about your school boy crush there?

Carlyle

shrugs and sets the sapling against the boulder as they reach it, mounding soil and rocks around the base to anchor it

It wasn't a crush. We just appreciated how rugged and competent...

grabs several large fern fronds and works them around the wood to provide some shelter from the rain

...and inspiring and a robust and... Hey, maybe you can look for rocks for a fire pit?

Barnum

Inspiring and robust, huh?

Chuckles to himself as he places the lantern down again, reluctantly removing himself from the warmth of the blanket before wandering around the dimly lit area in search of rocks and stones.

I can't believe we are going to miss the Gala. First time we've been invited to anything in the upper class community since...at least since Jenny, I'm pretty sure.

Finishes making a rough circular mound of rocks, then moves on to finding wood, straying out a little beyond the light as he fishes his pen knife from his jacket pocket. Using it to saw off small branches of a nearby sheltered tree.

You know, this gives me an excellent idea for an act. Picture this; I tie eight of Deng Yan's sharpest knives to my fists, then two of the stage performers throw chairs and tables at me from around the ring and I cut them to pieces before they have the chance to hit me. The audience would love it, the sheer danger involved. Especially with their beloved ringmaster.

Dumps an armful of twigs and branches into the centre of the rock mound, wandering out to collect more but getting distracted by a bush covered in little red berries. Pausing to pluck a few and push them in his mouth, grimacing at the taste

Ugh, bitter.

Carlyle

finishes with the shelter and walks over to inspect firepit, just happening to glance over and see Barnum with the berries

PT, SPIT THOSE OUT NOW!

rushes over to brush them out of Barnum's hand with a look of horror

Don't you know those are poisonous?! You don't need knives to experience sheer danger out here. You can't just go around putting things in your mouth indiscriminately like that.

shakes head and stalks back to the shelter

There will be other galas, I'm sure. If we make it out of here alive.

plucks some dried leaves from a crevice in the boulder and carefully lights one from the lamp, then using it to start a small pile of wood shavings smoldering

Galas are rarely worth the fuss. I can count the number of decent ones I've been to on one hand. Admittedly, the Duke of Albany did throw a particularly memorable party...

Barnum

Grumbles and spits the chewed up berries into his hand, dumping them in the bushes.

Thought they were just unripe blackcurrants. Relax, I only had a couple, I have a stomach of steel anyway.

Moves over to warm his hands over the gently smouldering firewood, watching in delight as it grows. Then sits down close to it, admiring the rather impressive little shelter

You made all that with twigs and rocks? Not bad. It looks almost waterproof. Wouldn't want to test that though.

Squints at the tree tops, looking for gaps in which he can see the sky. Silently praying for a dry night

Sorry. Admittedly I did get us into this mess. You were right, just this once. We should have stayed on the road.

Tugs the blanket back over his shoulders and holds one edge open to entice Phillip over

Duke, right? Another school friend of yours? You certainly were social.

Carlyle

tends to campfire for a bit longer, adding larger twigs to the steadily flickering pile as they dry out

The Duke of Albany. Very charming with an unexpected scholarly side that made for excellent conversation. Always ready with a comeback at the tip of his tongue.

gives the fire one last branch and scoots under blanket with Barnum, giving him a small nudge

Reminds me of you, actually. You rather look similar as well, now that I think of it. Any relation?

Barnum

Barks out a chuckle at the suggestion

Albany, huh? I have to say I don't think I have any family roots in England. At least not for a few generations back. I do have an uncle from Australia, I think he might have married an English woman but I don't know the details on that one. Haven't seen him since he visited when I was a boy, strange man. Removed his shirt a lot and spoke non stop about horses and cattle. I should think your Duke situation is merely a coincidence.

Throws an arm around Phillips shoulder to pull him closer for warmth

Charming, hm? Well at least you resisted the urge to run off to England. You'd have been bored with a Duke. You'll never find someone else as creative and exciting as me.

Carlyle

ducks head to hide a grin as Barnum's comment spurs a memory

You're the absolute opposite of boring, true, but he was actually quite creative in his own right. An inventor of odd devices, even. Sound familiar?

grabs another stick and draws a rough diagram in the dirt with several levers, a grandfather clock and a pair of tongs placed next to a fireplace

In the early hours at this particular party, he became so enamored of the idea of creating a machine for automatically browning slices of bread that he built it right in front of us. It worked perfectly, too, though it was rather unwieldy.

sets down stick and huddles back under Barnum's arm

Hmm. Toast sounds really good right about now.

Barnum

Watches the diagram in amusement

That's actually rather good. I hope he made plans to develop that into something one could use in the day to day home.

Puts a hand on his stomach as it rumbles again

It does. Hot and buttery. With thick helpings of jam.

Leans his head against Phillip's head

Tell me, are you bothered by the sight of blood?

Carlyle

turns sharply to eye Barnum with equal parts dread and concern

That's not ever a question one likes to hear. Did you accidentally stab yourself with that knife again?

Barnum

Cocks an eyebrow at him disapprovingly

I told you before, that wasn't an accident it was a failed experiment. There is a difference, I knew the risks. No, It is just that desperate times call for desperate measures and I don't feel like spending the night hungry. I am going to get us some food, just a warning that it is not going to be the five star meal you're used to at home.

Carlyle

grimaces as the point is understood

Ah. Erm...

stomach grumbles loudly

I suppose we can pretend it's chicken, right?

Barnum

Gives him a reassuring pat on the shoulder as he stands up, wrapping the entirety of the blanket around his partner

Sure, whatever makes you comfortable.

Pulls his pen knife out of his jacket and loosens the buttons on his shirt, taking the fading lantern and stalking off into the trees.

If I am not back within the hour, I insist that my funeral be the biggest event of the year and am trusting you to see that nothing can top it.

Carlyle

watches Barnum make his way further into the woods with growing doubt

Maybe we could roast some tree roots or something...?

Barnum

Returns a good half an hour later, casually strolling back and putting the now extinguished lantern on a rock before moving over to Phillip, a rather large dead rat hanging by it's tail from one hand and his top hat under the other arm, he kneels down and unpacks a nest full of eggs from it.

You don't grow up how I did and not learn a few things. Think you can find a flat piece of slate or something we can use for cooking? You can do the eggs and I'll do this guy.

Holds up the rat almost proudly

It's not a lot but I don't know just how much walking we are going to need to do tomorrow, so keeping our energy up seems like a good idea.

Carlyle

hides queasy look with great effort

It's a most admirable specimen. I've never seen such plump vermin before.

hurries off to fetch a suitable rock from the pile at the foot of the boulder and makes sure to avert eyes as he starts preparing the eggs

Impressive foraging skills, indeed. I'm not going to ask how you chased that thing down in the dark like that. Perhaps that's the real reason Ellie's so good at catching them back home.

Barnum

Put the rock into the fire, just at the edge there. Wait for it to get too hot to touch, then you can start cooking.

Turns his back on Phillip to hide the gore in his own preparing, casually taking the skin from the beast and removing the bones with his small knife

Lot harder to catch than city rats. Not much chasing involved though, it's more sitting and waiting. Knowing where to find things.

Picks up a sharp stick to impale his work onto, gesturing for Phillip to look away as he moves it over the fire

Would have been easier in the light. Less intimidating too, I saw a boulder that looked remarkably like a bear and it frightened the living daylights out of me. The mind likes to play tricks in the dark.

Sighs as he sits back, shuffling tiredly while not taking his eyes off of the rat

I hope someone remembered to feed Ellie. She will be missing us, she howls when I leave her for too long. She is still only a pup.

Carlyle

a couple hours later, with the remains of dinner cleared away, settles back under the shelter

You know, it actually was rather like chicken. To think, I was about to suggest digging up worms.

Barnum

I've eaten those and trust me, you don't want to go there if you can help it. Glad you were satisfied though.

Half crawls around the fire to slump next to Phillip in the shelter, tugging part of the blanket over his lap as he sits facing the entrance with an exhausted look

You should get some rest, it's been a long day. I'll keep watch.

Carlyle

shakes head vehemently

Don't be ridiculous. You're just as exhausted, if not more so. C'mere.

tugs Barnum over until his upper half is lying on lap, wrapping blanket closer around him

Dawn's not so long from now. The fire will last until then.

starts humming a low soft melody and stroking Barnum's hair sleepily

Barnum

Hums tiredly, murmuring a half-hearted argument but giving up once feeling the comforting warmth of the other

Mmm. Could be bears though, or wolves. We might get disemboweled in our sleep. Not to mention that rat's friends might come back for revenge and eat our eyes out. Rat bites are not something you want, they get infected and you spend three weeks with a fever as well as a sore foot.

Rubs his eye with his palm, then lays into Phillip and closes them

Guess I'm a light sleeper anyway.

Sighs and subconsciously plays with the hem of Phillip's jacket under the blanket

S'cold out. Gonna be icy in the morning. Stay close, don't need you getting hypothermia.

Carlyle

pats the lightly snoring lump on his lap with a contented mumble

Can't freeze. S'impossible when I've got my very own star right here.

yawns and snuggles in close, eyes drifting shut within seconds

Act I fade to black

#tgs #the greatest showman #phillip carlyle #pt barnum #TGSFanFicFeb2019 #barlye #AskblogTGSFanFicFeb2019

4 notes · View notes

purplehairedhero · 7 years

Text

A Fen/Femhawke Baby Fic List

A Fenris/FemHawke family/pregnancy/baby fic lists. Still a WIP. Only criteria is that it is FemHawke/Fenris, and it can’t be sad/depressing (I’m looking at you “Here Lies the Abyss” fics). Send me recs! Edit: 10/19/17 New stories added, Natural by Cannibal Kats and several at the bottom.

“Hiding, Not Quite Hidden” by Brosca-Pride. Hawke and Fenris, together forever, even if it means hiding themselves and children from everything.

“Was it Worth it:?” by CannibalKats. Just a short piece about Fenris and Dahl Hawke during Inquisition. Bonus Papa Fenris.

“Take Care of Her” by CannibalKats. Anders, Hawke, and Fenris are the only members of the Kirkwall crew still on the run. Fenris catches Anders leaving in the middle of the night and promises not to let Hawke follow.

“Natural” by CannibalKats. A short bit of fluff. The birth of Fenris and Dahl's first child. While not graphic childbirth is described from Fenris' pov.

“Wander Wild and Far.” by Spirrum. After Adamant Hawke leaves for Weisshaupt as planned, but finds instead an entirely different adventure, a stray Fereldan Queen, a dragon, and that being pregnant wile the world is ending is not all that it’s cracked up to be.

“So Much Hinges on a Maybe.” by Spirrum. Hawke and Fenris, and trying to get pregnant.

“Frostling” by Spirrum.You can grow to love a great many things.

“Smaller Flames.” by Spirrum. Their youngest discovers her magic, in true Hawke fashion. With an explosion

Broody Porcupine Snapshot Series by TheFlamingNymph. An AO3 collection.

“Little Monster” by TheFlamingNymph. Hawke just wants a nap. Just one.

Fenris and Hawke’s Family Series by SassyOrlesian. An AO3 collection.

“What I was made for” by MiaCousland. Hawke and Fenris’ child is brought into the world.

“Steal and Shadow” by MiaCousland. Hawke has to find her way throught the Frostback Mountains to answer a letter that has been sent by an old friend from Kirkwall. Note: Haven’t read this one personally yet.

“The Elf and the Babe” by Gaqalesqua. Fenris, romanced by a female Hawke, turns up at Skyhold wearing a baby sling with a baby in it. Trevelyan investigates.

“The Life We’ve Wrought” by ClockWorkSymmetry. Hawke x Fenris is adorable.

Wil and Cro Hawke Series by NovemberOcean (TwilightHawke). An AO3 collection.

“A Change in Principles” by K4t3yk4t. He hadn’t expected things to end up like this. Of course, there had been signs, and of course, they’d planned for it, but he had never expected anything like this to happen. Not to him. He feels rooted; an immobilization worse than any command had ever caused, worse than seeing Hawke nearly die, worse, so much worse. And yet...

“Ardently” by Uniqueinalltheworld.When Marian Hawke decided to leave her children with responsible adults before helping the inquisition, she had counted on being able to find one somewhere. Unfortunately, it seems like Anders and Fenris will have to do.

“Dawn” by Alistairweekend. “Mm...your kid before five in the morning.”

“Hawkquisition Series & other Stories” by Rannadylin. Most of her work has a baby or pregnancy existing somewhere. Special mention goes to Sapling.

Misadventures of Mari Hawke Series by Wintryone. An AO3 collection.

“A Different Kind of Magic” by sevanderslice. Fenris’s thoughts after the birth of his children.

“Finally together, Birds of a Feather, part 1″ by Hatsepsut. Fenris and Hawke are together after three years, and their relationship evolves. Moving in together, falling even deeper in love, going through the paces that are life, having a family, while the world crashes around their ears.

“Come Back to Me.” by Hatsepsut. Fenris leaves he City of Chains after the night he spends with Hawke; heavy words had been exchanged and everything between them looked hopeless. Eleven months later, he is back, determined to win the affection of the woman he can't forget again. But she seems to have a secret...

“On Waking” by loquaciousquark. Years after the events of Act III, Hawke and Fenris’s six-year-old daughter tries to figure out her mother’s past, her place in the tiny town of Wilhaven, and why her father never wakes up. AUTHORS SEAL OF APPROVAL.

“No Labor Like Love” by loquaciousquark. Hawke is pregnant. Fenris copes as best he can; everyone else laughs from a distance. A series of unconnected vignettes spanning the pregnancy of a Champion. AUTHORS SEAL OF APPROVAL. The quintessential pregnancy/family fic.

“Given Respite” by loquaciousquark. Dorian meets Fenris. An interlude set after “Here Lies The Abyss.” Same universe as On Waking? AUTHORS SEAL OF APPROVAL. Honestly anything written by loquacious is amazing but this is a BABY fic list but seriously do yourself a favor and devour their work. Has a “sequel” written by Jade_Sabre called “Memorare” but not very related to this list either.

“A Deafening Sound” by loquaciousquark. Fenris and his newborn daughter.

“Whats that Holiday fic” by loquaciousquark. Carver meets his newborn nephew. This. THIS. This is the story I started this list looking for. I knew I wasn’t crazy! But on tumblr of all places???

“More Beach fic” by loquaciousquark. The fam is at the beach.

“I Mourn your Absence.” by loquaciousquark. Fenris and Leda go after Hawke.

“In Retrospect, a chicken was a bad choice.” by jadesabre301. The title says it all. Features laquaciousquark’s Leda Hawke.

“Always Safe with Us.” by Tadeusz. Hawke thought raising a baby with a trio of parents would be easier than with just two. That’s hilarious, Hawke. Totally cute that you think that. All it does is create more confusion about who has to get up when that baby cries at night.

“Hands and Feet” by Toffle. The revelation does not come in ice, or fire. It comes only with a gentle touch.

“Celebration” by Scurvaliciousbay. Fenris wakes up to Katra making a cake for their daughter’s first birthday. “Three Words” is a sequel. Fenris is putting his daughter to bed when she says something unexpected.

“New Beginnings” by onemooncircles. Heading home after concluding his business with the Inquisition, Varric pays a visit to some friends he has lied through his teeth to protect.

“The Wolf Within” by Ivy_Adair. Five years after Fenris left Marian Hawke behind in Kirkwall, he returns to discover that some things never change but others, like the addition of a little girl with black hair and green eyes, change completely. He mush come full circle to realize that he isn’t his past and that the wolf within him won’t be his future. A modern!AU.

“Medela” by mahuika. It surprises him, as it always has, how resilient a heart can be when he’s so used to seeing them ripped out and half-beating in his hand. Or, Varania is invited to meet her niece. AUTHORS SEAL OF APPROVAL.

“Exhale” by Chalahandra. Rhonwen gurgles, pushing herself up from the quilt. It’s a sunny day, with birds chirping and people talking quietly - and for the first time in a very long time, Fenris lets himself smile.

“A Cold Winter Day.” by Pinkwebby. Hawke has been pregnant for nine months, and she is ready to give birth to this child. Is she really ready to have a kid though?

“Playing in the Rain” by servantofclio. Hawke watches her partner and children in the rain. Has sequal “A Reunion and a Reckoning.” Fenris catches up to Hawke at Skyhold.

Dragon Age: Generations Series by DancingMantis. Roots and Wings more relevant to list.

“She Came Back.” by LittleWritings. Fenris finds Hawke at Weishaupt. Its a little rough but different than most.

While you were Sleeping Series by hollandmarie. VERY CUTE.

“The Hawke Child.” by CaptainStornChaser. "Am I the father?" He asked her, standing from where he had been waiting for her inside the entrance hall of her estate, reminiscent of the night the child may very well have been conceived.Marian merely stared at him evenly for a few moments. "You should go home, Fenris."

“What If.” by RaddishRodya. Hawke and Fenris have a discussion about what would happen if they had children. Also, Fenris learns how to play dictionary tag.

“Hesitations” by wiltedartist. Dehlian Hawke knows one thing and thing only: She has no idea as to how she will inform Fenris he will be a father. Sequel “The Empty Thirst.” How strange, he realized to himself, that he never knew just how much he needed one thing. Control. Fenris!F!Hawke, pregnant sex and dominant Fenris

“Mama Bird” by sparkyarcher. Elia comes home to a suspiciously quiet estate. Adorableness ensues.

“Another Heart” by aryadeschain.One sleepless night turned out to present Fenris a pleasant surprise.

“For What it’s Worth” by Nyessa. Years after Isabela runs away from Kirkwall with the Tome of Koslun, Imogen Hawke catches up to her in Denerim to settle some unfinished business.

“Dragon Age Prompts” by Jawbones. Chap. 4 “Lullaby” "The way you said 'I love you': Not said to me" Might be more in series.

“A Hawkling Tale.” by Sportsoma. Hawke surely does, and there's a little memento in case she wants to forget. However, being a mage and fearing the Chantry will take her expected bundle of joy, Hawke flees Kirkwall. Also a series sharing same name.

“Under the Skin.” by Lavender_Seaglass. After all that she's been through, Hawke doesn't plan on going anywhere else, let alone leaving him behind. This is, however, not something she's sure how to face. Doing things is easy; it's the regrets that kill you.

“Unplanned Consequences.” by Dragondreads. When Hawke finds herself in the awkward position of being pregnant after the only night of passion she found with Fenris, she turns to her friend Varric for help

“Sweet Vermouth” by AngelicSentinel. Fenris would do anything for Hawke—Even conquer the Fade itself.

“I remain at your side.” by Lourdes23. When Kirkwall fell so did its Champion. Changed by betrayal, hunted and outcast, Hawke must find the strength to rise up once more in defense of a world gone mad. Yet humans can only withstand so much before desperation drives them beyond reason. When she's at her breaking point, and the weight of her duties seems too much to bear, who will stand with her and share the burden?Who will champion the Champion?

“New Beginnings.” by Jessica Pendragon. He has dealt in death for so long and now only wants to hold life in his hands.

“Find Your Own Way Back Home.” by locketofyourhair. These books are slim, without names on the covers, and when he opens one, he can see that some of the pages are blank. Others are covered with small handwriting that he knows well, and it feels like a blow to see it again. They are journals; they are Hawke’s journals.He reads them as he finds himself adrift without her.

“Of Sausages and Surprises.” by RedIn. It was one of those evenings when her mother tried to make a noble fragile flower of her. She invited Comtesse Berauear and her two cocky daughters; Lizzeta and Pavetta. It was meant to be a boring, annoying evening or so Hawke thought.Sandal was the last person who she thought would interrupt the boredom of their well-mannered Hightown style party.

“Foxes on the Run” by ms45. Hawke gives birth whilst on the run from the Chantry.

“Milk” by Persephone. Hawke/LI - Lactating. Smut.

“Only You.” by kellbelle. This is a story of Hawke fleeing Kirkwall alone, having never romanced anyone and believing the man she loves could never love her back.

“Isabela and the Dread Pirate Captain Hook” by Dakoyone. Isabela tells a story from her grand pirating adventure days to the littlest Hawkes. No actual mention of Fenris but all her other stories are Fenhawke and there is a father so...

“That Which is Lost” by Niamh_St_George. A decade after the events in Kirkwall, Amelle Hawke and Fenris have made a quiet life for themselves. But when their idyll is shattered, Fenris discovers that while men are dealt with easily enough, it is once again magic standing poised to take everything away.

#fenhawke #fenfemhawke #fenhawke fic list #fenhawke fic rec #fenhawke kidfic #papa!fenris #mama!hawke #dragon age 2 #dragon age 2 fan fic #fenfemhawke fic rec

25 notes · View notes

haisai-haitai · 7 years

Text

Woodpecker Children’s Home

Minor Characters (from Mika’s past edition 6/6?)

*The little house’s official name in modern human AUs, because I like to make references to their original selves. Otherwise it didn’t really have a name in the ancient days

**I’ve tried searching for the Okinawan word for youkai, like the kijimunaa are tree spirits and there are other supernatural creatures, but idk I just can’t find one? The closest thing I’ve found is from my wordbook: yanamun (“demon, evil spirit, apparition; villain; a bad thing”) which well literally breaks down to “bad thing” so no… And then there’s bakimun (cognate to bakemono; “monster, ogre, goblin, witch”).

***part one, two, three, four, five (although this, part six, is pretty much unrelated to the other ones)

Tan-mee

たんめー

Nicknames/Alias:

Tanmee actually. The word itself means “grandfather” however it’s said a toddler started this. They called him something like tana/tanan/tantan (apparently imitating a woodpecker’s knocks), then either that child when they were older, or other children, affixed -mee「前」to it (a respectful honorific meaning “before; previous”) thus creating tan-mee.

Tui-gwaa「鳥小 (とぅいぐぁー) “birdie, little bird"」

Taarii …or at least the children would like to call him “father”

Real name: unknown… kind of. It’s some whistle-chirp.

Species: Okinawa woodpecker bakimun

Looks: Straight wine-red hair, shoulder-length and tied in a low ponytail, straight bangs, and two thin chin-length locks that framed his face. Black eyes, with a tired but kind expression.

The eponymous woodpecker who takes in those in need (mostly children).

More about him will be in a different post.

THE CHILDREN

Most had an affectionate nickname during their stay; these ended with -gwaa or -ngwa (a diminutive suffix in Okinawan; think like - chan for Japanese). For some this was the first name they ever had; others had a name before they arrived. They usually leave with a different name.

Nee-ngwa

苗小 (ねーんぐぁ); "sapling"

Species: Okinawa or Ryukyu flying fox

Admission: deformed/underdeveloped wings, cleft lip; uknown/undecided arrival

Looks: Hair worn in two low side ponytails. She always wore a bandanna over her nose and mouth

The oldest (an adult) of the little house, and de facto "eldest sister.”

Tan-mee would sometimes leave her in charge if he had to take care of something.

Seemingly mute, but she does talk/whisper as she’s passed on information/tales from the past - regarding what she has witnessed, and what the children who were at Tan-mee’s when she arrived had told her.

She willingly keeps on the bandanna even though she’s been told it’s fine to not wear it.

Ami-gwaa

雨小 or 雨子 (あみぐぁー); “rain" or “drizzle, light rain”

Species: half-human, other half is something along the lines of a water or rain sprite/nymph/spirit

Admission: likely for being a halfling; entrusted into Tan-mee’s care as a toddler

Looks: Straight black hair, different locks in braids but with plenty of hair still loose. She had ice-blue eyes with cloudy-gray ring in the middle.

About 8 or 9 years old when Mika showed.

She was very caring but could sometimes demonstrate a cocky wisecracking streak. A confident and responsible girl.

She was Shirunna’s buddy, and was the first to braid Mika’s hair.

She made wunai-tiisaaji (kerchief made by a sister and presented to her brother to keep him safe while on a journey) for Kaaroh (a light blue one) and for Mika (a red one).

Chii-gwaa

釣小 (ちーぐぁー); "fishhook"

Later Name: Chiigani (fishhook)

Species: human

Admission: around the age of 5 or 6 was accidentally separated from family and lost in the woods; was found by Tan-mee

Looks: Straight black hair, a bit spiky. He had a very squinty eye, that half the time was closed.

The oldest boy at the time, so de facto "eldest brother.” About 12 or 13 when Mika showed, and ‘assigned’ to be his buddy. A happy and dependable brother.

Shirunna

蜆 (しるんな); “basket clam"

Species: demon(*?)

Admission: runaway, abuse, fear of men; found by Ami-gwaa around the age of 7 to 10

Looks: Light hair that draped over her face. Light eyes with partial heterochromia.

Incredibly timid and nervous due to trauma, clung to Ami-gwaa who she also spoke through.

About 9 to 11 years old when Mika showed, whom she eventually and very slowly partnered up with to work through some of their troubles together.

Kaa-ngwa

川小 (かーんぐぁ); "river"

Later Name: Kaaroh (both rivers)

Species: Ryukyu scops owl bakimun

Admission: fell from nest, broken wing; saved from a river by Tan-mee as a newborn

About 3 or 4 years old when Mika showed.

A chipper little boy who left a few years later to travel around the coast.

It appears that his nest may have been attacked, as he had a damaged wing. He was originally a mortal owl, but the night after he was saved he turned into a youkai out of grief.

Miitsichi

三月 (みーつぃち); “three moons” March

Nickname: Chijuu (a person with curly or wavy hair)

Species: dog bakimun

Admission: stray, abuse, ill; brought in after collapsing near the house at an estimated age of 9 to 12

A stray dog, of poor health mentally and physically when found. Eventually recovered enough to reveal a boy that was lively, sharp, and feisty.

He left a few years after Kaaroh, but returned decades later.

Ohsa-gwaa

青葉小 (おーさぐぁー); "leafy vegetables"

Species: half-human

Admission: being a halfling + medical complications; left on a path near the little house at the estimated age of 6

Looks: Undecided, but hair was tied in a ponytail that leaned more to one side. Had one leg.

A happy boy who was a little slow, who ended up in Tan-mee’s care after Mika but before Juu-gwaa.

Tan-mee suspected that someone else must have been caring for him, before (for reasons unknown) he was left on a path near the little house.

He suspected the boy had a weak heart from how he tired after a while of playing. He eventually passed away.

Juu-gwaa

尾小 (じゅーぐぁー); "tail"

Species: human

Admission: born with a tail, abandoned out of suspicion/superstition; found by Tan-mee as an infant, likely left in the forest to die

Looks: Dark brown hair and dark eyes

A human baby boy who ended up in Tan-mee’s care a couple of years after Mika showed. It looked like he was becoming a good kid.

*When Mika returned decades later, all "the children” he had known had left Tan-mee’s with the exception of Ami-gwaa. It’s known that Chiigani lived to become an old man with grandchildren; he had passed by the time Mika returned to the island. The size of the house varies across years, and it was rather small when he returned

Saajaa

鷺 (さーじゃー), “white heron"

Species: human

Admission: albino, nearsighted as side effect; undecided/unknown arrival

Looks: Light hair either very light blond or white, and pale blue eyes which looked red/violet under certain lighting conditions. Wrapped a cloth/sheet around his self to protect himself from the tropical sun.

A very helpful boy, always willing to try his best.

Fuu-gwaa

福小 (ふーぐぁー); "good luck"

Species: demon(*?)

Admission: deaf; unknown/undecided arrival

Looks: Short brown hair and hazel eyes

Younger than Saajaa. She was calm and willing to approach people.

Yuuna

大浜朴・黄槿 (ゆーな), "sea hibiscus"

Species: human

Admission: found wandering in the forest in her mid-teens; unknown/undecided reason

Looks: Long brown hair, tied half back. Dark eyes.

A young lady who ended up in Tan-mee’s care a few years after Mika’s return.

(*?) = I haven’t decided if they have human blood too yet, so they may be full-blooded demon or half or idk. Also I haven’t decided what kind of demon they are.

#yaashigwaaぬscraps #(行逢りば兄弟～ no man is an island)#[long post because it's lots of a names #[but each entry is really short okay #[because they're not fully developed especially the later ones]#[i mean... the month of 'march' didnt exist yet...]

1 note · View note

shitfics · 7 years

Text

da au drabbles; nc-17

The sound of Jinki’s light leathers hitting the ground draws his attention to the bank behind him, but he resists the urge to turn. He had learned by now that Jinki would only undress in the dark, and he’d assumed -- rightly, it seems -- that the only way Jinki would feel comfortable cleaning off is if he pretended not to be there at all.

these are some da au drabbles! they take place after as the sapling bends, and before the next part which i will be posting sometime in the next few weeks. (so yes, there is more to this au, and it is longer than as the sapling bends.)

here we get jong’s pov for the first time 8) i hope y’all enjoy it!

The cabin is dark, illuminated only by the meager moonlight that sometimes sneaks through the clouds and the kitchen window.

“Jonghyun.”

A murmur of his name, and he turns over to face Jinki as if pulled by a string. He can see nothing but Jinki’s silhouette, and movement that he can’t tell the direction of until he feels soft lips press against his own.

He gasps before he can stop himself, eyes going wide. They’ve never kissed in bed before -- rarely even shared the same bed.

On Jinki’s past visits, he had alternated between sleeping in a cot at the other end of the cabin and Jonghyun’s bed -- and he usually chose the cot. Tonight, when Jonghyun had heard the pad of Jinki’s feet against the wood floor and felt the covers shift around him as he slipped inside to join him, he’d had to force himself to hide his eagerness.

It’s even harder to hide it now.

Jinki’s hands find his, and the last of Jonghyun’s thoughts leave him when he feels a tongue tease over his bottom lip. He’s afraid that making a sound will ruin this, scare Jinki off, but he can’t help the moan that slips out when the kiss finally deepens.

Jinki shivers, a deep noise rumbling in his throat, and then Jonghyun is gasping a second time as he’s pushed onto his back with Jinki over him. When Jonghyun arches up, fitting his thighs around Jinki’s hips, it feels too right to question.

Jinki’s hands move fast, on instinct, seeking skin. The pads of his fingers are calloused, but the touch is gentle. Warm hands push up the hem of his nightshirt, and the stray fingers that slip over his sides and chest send blood rushing to his cheeks and between his legs.

His breath catches when Jinki pulls back.

Jinki’s eyes shine back at him, reflecting the light, and Jonghyun flushes deeper. Till now, he’d forgotten that elf eyes allow them to see easily in the dark.

Jinki could probably see everything.

The thought is as thrilling as it is nerve-wracking. Jonghyun’s pulse speeds to a loud and heavy thrum. He’s certain Jinki can hear it when their lips meet again, because he brings a finger to his jaw and shifts gently against the large vein of his neck, as if to confirm the sound.

His mouth follows it, and Jonghyun grabs at the bed, when he feels a press of lips followed by tongue. Jinki’s holding him now, hands heavy on his shoulders, and his hips are moving in subtle little jerks that make Jonghyun shake. He’s not sure if Jinki realizes he’s doing it, until the pressure is suddenly more and Jinki is breathing a quiet swears against his neck, nails digging blunt and harsh into his skin.

Jonghyun moans, unable to help the noise now that he’s certain Jinki means to press against him.

Jinki stops then, and Jonghyun almost finds his own string of curses. He should have known better than to make a noise.

“You’re alright with this?” Jinki asks, breath heavy.

“Yes,” Jonghyun says, barely able to leash the eagerness in his voice. He’d beg for it, if he wasn’t so sure that would scare Jinki off.

Bangs brush against his ear as Jinki tucks his chin back against his neck, and -- thank the Maker -- his hips are moving again. Jonghyun bites his lip to suppress a hiss. He muffles the noise in Jinki’s hair, and Jinki reacts to it like it’s an encouragement, thrusts turning into long rolls of his hips that make Jonghyun shake from the friction.

A hot and sharp pant of air hits his earlobe, and then Jinki whimpers, making the heat in Jonghyun’s stomach curl in pleasant knots. The fingers on him tighten, there’s a gasp, and Jonghyun feels a fast series of throbs against him as Jinki stiffens, a surprised keen stilling in his throat.

His hold on Jinki’s shoulder loosens, shock overriding every bodily instinct that tells him to pull him closer. He knows what he felt. Jinki must’ve--

After a few long breaths, Jinki pulls back, but doesn’t move off of him. Even in the dark, Jonghyun can see his eyes are wide and nervous, either on the edge of an apology or a fear of what might come next.

Jonghyun isn’t sure what to do, but his good sense is already gone, and the first thing he thinks of is to make sure Jinki knows he liked feeling him come. He licks his lips, a touch shameless, and murmurs. “I liked that.” His legs are still open, and he slips his own hand between them, eyes fluttering shut. “Jinki, can I...?”

Jinki stares at him, lips parted around words he can’t find. For a long moment, Jonghyun thinks he messed up.

Jinki’s gaze flicks down to Jonghyun’s hand before snapping back up, and he gives a tight nod to avoid words.

With a soft sigh of relief, Jonghyun squeezes himself through his robes, then pulls them up until he can touch himself fully. His hand isn’t the same as the pressure of Jinki’s hips, but it’s something, and when Jinki kisses him lightly, he arches into it, it’s more than enough to make his body flush with pleasure.

He’s not going to last long.

After a quick slip of tongue, Jinki’s mouth leaves his to follow his neck, and that’s all it takes -- a nip and a soft suck along his jugular, and he’s coming into his hand, thighs quivering against Jinki’s as his toes curl in the sheets.

He barely has time to regain his senses before Jinki is rolling off of him. His heart stings suddenly at the thought of Jinki leaving -- either for the spare cot, or worse, for the clan -- but he watches from where he lay, not wanting to push when Jinki quietly cleans himself up.

This is more than they’ve ever done, and he has a feeling it’s a fragile thing.

With as little movement as he can manage, he pulls off his robe and wipes himself down, then tosses it aside to an empty corner of the room. Jinki’s ears twitch in the dark at the noise, and he jumps, startled out of his thoughts.

Jonghyun cringes at his own thoughtlessness. “Sorry. That was just my robe.”

“Mm.” Jinki walks over to where Jonghyun knows he’d left his pack of things, and his heart clenches--

He’s leaving. He’s leaving.

-- Only to unclench when Jinki opens it and pulls out a new nightshirt and pants in hand before returning to the bed. Out of habit, Jonghyun closes his eyes when Jinki changes, and he hears his own pulse slow as it sinks in that Jinki is staying.

A smile blooms on his lips, and Jinki looks at him oddly before returning it and lifting the covers to join him. There’s a touch of hesitance to his movements, but when Jinki settles closer to him, Jonghyun sees no sign of the fear that had been in his eyes earlier.

He’s half asleep when he feels a brush of lips against his shoulder, and before he can react, Jinki turns his back to him, letting out what Jonghyun could only call a content sigh before covering his head fully with the blankets.

The sound eases the last of his worries. He falls fully into his dreams a moment later, even as his skin hums with the last echoes of Jinki’s touch.

---

The ceiling is still spinning. Jonghyun’s chest is sweat-damp as he rests on his back in hope of a cooling breeze, and Jinki’s is too. The summer air had stuck between their skin earlier, as Jinki rutted against him and Jonghyun held on so tight he could hardly breathe.

He smiles at the memory of it though it was only minutes ago, hand seeking out Jinki’s slowly on the mattress to avoid startling him. Jinki had been as quiet as ever, only a few murmured Tevene and Elven swears escaping his lips that Jonghyun had already catalogued and learned to treasure the sound of.

Tonight, there had a been a new phrase. His mind didn’t catch onto it at first -- he was too busy drinking in the verbal slip of Jinki’s control, and enjoying the pressure between his legs -- but now he turns it over.

Fingers still laced together, he turns onto his side to look at Jinki. “What does that elvish thing you said mean? Is it another curse word?”

Jinki stiffens. “What?”

Jonghyun tries to sound out the words. “Ma...something? Vhe-nen?”

His attempt at Elven earns him an amused snort, but he hesitates before mumbling his correction. “...Ma vhenan?”

“Yes, that.”

“It’s a nickname,” Jinki says, too quickly. Jonghyun purses his lips, suspicious, but waits for Jinki to continue. He only shrugs.

“Will you tell me what it means?”

Jinki turns to grin at him, and even in the dark, Jonghyun can see that it’s tilted to the wrong side. “You won’t like it.”

Jonghyun narrows his eyes. “Now you have to tell me.”

“It means ‘short.’ I call you that in my head, sometimes, but I guess it hasn’t slipped out till now.”

Jonghyun huffs, indignant. He knows Jinki is lying, but he knows better than to push. Waiting had worked out well for him so far.

---

The water had taken to the fall’s cold faster than the air. Jonghyun curses and shivers, submerging himself completely as fast he can so he can adjust to the freezing stream. He should have warmed a bath, but that would mean creating ice, then melting it with a fire spell, or worse, lugging some back from the stream all the way to the cabin -- all of which he didn’t have the strength for, after two long days of hunting and foraging for herbs.

At least this year, he had Jinki’s help with the preparations for winter. It meant he had more venison salted and frozen, and company for the chores. Dressing and storing the kills of their last hunt had left Jinki covered in blood up to his elbows, and Jonghyun had taken a fall on the way back that had coated his entire front in mud.

Of course, that didn’t stop his imagination. His cheeks turn pink when he hears the soft ripple of water parting for Jinki -- Jinki, entirely bare -- enters the stream. His cheeks redden, and he hurries his scrubbing, wanting to be out of the water quickly. The sound of Jinki pouring water over himself was already putting a vivid image to the broad muscles of Jinki’s back that he’d only ever gotten to touch.

Before that thought can tempt him, he swallows a lungful of air and dunks his head under the water. The cold erases the thought from his mind, and he comes up with gritted teeth and repeats the motion until he’s managed to wash away the last of the soap from his hair and face.

Jonghyun can feel eyes on him when he surfaces and wades into the shallower part of the stream. He dares a glance over his shoulder, and sure enough, Jinki’s gaze meets his.

He snaps his head back, red-faced. “Sorry, I wasn’t trying to look.”

His apology is met with silence, and he can’t see Jinki’s face to assure that he hasn’t crossed a line. He waits, but no answer comes. Jinki’s eyes are still on him -- he can tell, from the lack of movement in the water and the self-conscious heat on the back of his neck -- and they make him too nervous to keep his mouth shut.

“I really wasn’t trying to peek -- I just thought I felt you looking. I won’t look at you, unless you say it’s alright, but I’m okay with you looking at me -- not that you should, or that you have to, but if you want to, that’s alright -- it doesn’t bother me.”

“You’re babbling.” Jinki’s smile is in his voice, and Jonghyun doesn’t need to look back to see it.

“I tend to do that, when I’m nervous...” Jonghyun admits. The water is only up to his waist now, and the shore a few steps away, but he isn’t sure he wants to leave and dress just yet.

The thought that Jinki’s eyes might still be on him -- that the look in them might be dark and heated, as Jonghyun caught them looking sometimes when Jinki thought he wasn’t looking -- keeps him in the water.

He swallows. “Are you still looking at me?”

“Well...” He hears the drip of water as Jinki squeezes out his hair after trailing off. “It is a bit hard to turn away, now that you’ve given me permission to.”

Jonghyun’s body grows warm, cold water forgotten all at once. Jinki had said it like a joke, but it holds none of the lightness he’s accustomed to with his thinly-veiled compliments.

He doesn’t hold a hope that this will lead to something. He knows that is reserved for the night, when the candles are out and only Jinki with his elven eyes can see something more than shadows in the dark. But his body still thrums with the thrill of being watched, and he treads back to the bank slowly, wondering if Jinki’s gaze is following the same lines as the water dripping down his neck and shoulder blades.

The warmth of the sun that helps abate the chill left in his bones from the water, and he moves the blanket he’d brought into the brightest patch of sunlight he can find to dry off. Keeping his back to Jinki, he lays across it on his side and bites his lip, embarrassed at himself when he realizes he probably looks like he’s trying to be seductive.

He rolls onto his stomach, only realizing then that he’d gotten half-hard just from being watched. That was embarrassing. He hoped Jinki hadn’t noticed.

The splashing of water cuts off that thought, and he furrows his brows, trying not to listen too intently as Jinki washes himself. It takes longer than he’d imagined. By the time Jinki stops, Jonghyun is nearly dry from the sun, and he has to wonder if Jinki had even started cleaning himself before he left the stream.

That realization has him hurrying for his clothes, because as much as he likes the thought of Jinki getting distracted watching, he isn’t sure how long he can handle it without wanting to kiss him. And that couldn’t happen while he was undressed, not when the day was still so bright. Jonghyun pulls his shirt over his head and tugs up his breeches, grimacing at the tight fit of them -- his blood is still in all the wrong places.

Once he’s dressed, he finally hears Jinki wade up to the shallow water near the bank. Jinki seems to have no qualms about putting his clothes back on while still damp, and Jonghyun hears him clear his throat in a wordless assent for Jonghyun to turn around.

“We should head back,” he says casually, the only indication they had just bathed in the same stream a high pink that rests against the topmost carve of his markings. “Sunset’s only an hour or so away.”

“Right.” Jonghyun swallows, trying not to stare as he pulls on his boots. He’d seen Jinki with wet hair before, from the rains that fell in the summer, but this felt different. When Jinki offers a hand to help him stand he takes it, lips pulling up to return the familiar and playful grin on Jinki’s face.

“Don’t want you to fall in the mud again, ma vhenan.”

#jongyu #drabble #da au

68 notes · View notes