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patchofsunlight · 4 years

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Warmth | Zuko x Fem!Reader

SUMMARY: Avatar!Reader AU | Zuko has made many mistakes and holds uncountable regrets, but maybe Y/N can still love him back. Spoiler: she does.

REQUEST (by anon): “Could you do a zuko with maybe a f! avatar? Him falling in love with her like how they joked in ember island play. And him being tormented when she 'dies' in cross roads and them having some tender moment of confessing either in the western temple or ember island? maybe the play has the kiss and he confesses idk”

WORD COUNT: 5.3k

WARNINGS: Y/N is the Avatar, so Aang doesn’t exist. kissing, there might be swear words but I don’t really remember, bad editing. lots of mutual pining and some angst. I don’t know if I did this request justice but I really tried?

OBSERVATIONS: there’s a bit of Sokka x Reader bc I’m a weak woman but in the end he’s the main Zuko and Y/N shipper. not having Aang seriously hurt me. I wrote most of the Zuko sad rant in the beginning listening to Words Fail by Ben Platt and I think it would be interesting if you guys listened to that while reading? idk

I hope you all like it!!! feedback is always appreciated, so keep that in mind and thank you very much for reading!!

There was a hole inside his chest that Zuko simply couldn’t get rid of. It hurt him to his core, bringing pained sobs to the edge of his throat and slowly dismantling his soul.

He always thought getting rid of Y/N would quench his anger, rebuild his honor and complete his destiny. Now, his father accepted him again, Mai was his girlfriend, and Azula treated him like a true brother, in her own deranged ways. The Fire Nation considered him a hero, the man who killed the Avatar.

Then why did it trouble him so much? Why did he wake up every night in a cold sweat, with tears stinging his eyes? Why did he have the same nightmare over and over where he was the one responsible for her death, hitting her with lightning and watching as the light inside her disappeared, leaving behind only her idle body and Katara’s desperate cries? Why couldn’t he be satisfied? He had fulfilled his fate. He had done what he was meant to do, sided with his people, and fought against his greatest enemy. Why wasn’t he happy? Why couldn’t he ever be happy?

Back in Ba Sing Se, he saw her at the Jasmine Dragon more than once. He couldn’t believe his eyes when she first entered the teashop, and he was pretty sure she had recognized him, but Y/N managed to send a polite smile in his direction and sit down, greeting “Mushi” with joy. When Zuko served her tea, she asked him what his name was as if she didn’t know. She didn’t confront nor attack him — she simply let him live his new life and went on living hers. It felt like she had washed off his sins, erased the bloodstains he carried in his soul and hands. Y/N freed him of his past and he had thrown it all away.

It was the right thing to do, he had told himself day after day after day. Except it wasn’t, and now Iroh refused to talk to him and the Avatar was probably dead and, in the case she wasn’t, she would never forgive him. She wouldn’t let him be free of himself again and he would never get redemption for his mistakes.

He wished he could go back in time and fight alongside Y/N in that crystal cave, wished he could live up to the trust Katara offered him before they were saved, wished he could have stopped Azula from throwing that lightning bolt. He wished he could do things in the right way, yet he couldn’t. Zuko tried so hard to regain his so-called honor and to bring his father pride but his only real achievement was engulfing himself in guilt and regret, being aware that powerful and forgiving Y/N could be dead because of his lack of dignity and character — this couldn’t be honor. Violence, betrayal, death, and hurt couldn’t be honor, and he wasn’t sure he wanted his father’s pride if it meant feeling like this, like he was no good, like he was not worthy of love or praise or admiration.

Zuko had spent a great part of his life hating himself, but nothing compared to the hate he felt every night after waking up from another crushing nightmare. How dared he make this about himself and his feelings of guilt when the Avatar could be dead? How dared he worry about the Fire Lord’s pride when the world’s last hope was gone? How dared he indulge in self-pity after all he had done? He didn’t deserve pity, didn’t deserve help, he only deserved to wallow in his own pain and die. But that wouldn’t fix anything, neither would it bring Y/N back — he had to act, and he had to do it fast.

Going after Team Avatar was not difficult. He thought he would feel complicated like he had when first betraying Y/N’s trust, thought it would hurt like coming back to the Fire Nation did. Thankfully, leaving only caused a new type of satisfaction to bloom inside his chest, giving him the sensation he was finally walking through the right path. Hope seemed to pour out of every pore in his body and he could somehow think of better, future days when he would have done enough to make up for his mistakes, days when he didn’t feel the urge to scream every time he looked at a mirror. Maybe then he wouldn’t have to despise himself like he currently did, maybe things would be okay and he would be truly happy, if that was even something he had the capability to do.

But then they didn’t want him. He left everything behind, he charged every inch of his hope with the idea of joining the Avatar, and they didn’t want him. Why would they? Why would they, after everything he had done? How could he have even considered they would accept him, that she would trust him again? Of course they didn’t want him. No one did and no one ever would and that was entirely his fault — it was his fault that he was a bad person, took the wrong decisions, and caused pain and destruction. It was his fault he never did the right thing and he should’ve known he would be rejected again, for being rejected was just what he deserved.

But it still hurt. Oh, Spirits, it hurt. She couldn’t even look at him, even after he helped them defeat Combustion Man and was finally accepted in the group. Sadly, it made Zuko realize that, no matter where he stood, he would never be a part of their team, and Y/N would never trust him entirely. For some reason, that was more upsetting than their rejection. He wanted to impress her, wanted her to like him, and she never would.

“Y/N? Can I—can I come in?”

The Avatar looked up from the map she was currently analysing on her bed, studying his figure carefully before nodding with hesitance, “yes. Do you need something?”

He sighed deeply and walked towards her, feeling his heart crack when she brought her legs closer to her body and away from him the moment he sat on the edge of the bed, “I—I just wanted to talk to you about, well, you know, everything.”

Her expression hardened and she averted her eyes back to the map, “we have nothing to talk about, Zuko. You can go back to your room.”

The Fire Nation Prince swallowed nervously, “Y/N, please. I’m so, so sorry. I have made so many mistakes, I—”

“Zuko,” her voice was firm and emotionless, but that quickly changed when she met his gaze, “I thought things could be different. I thought things could be different back in the North Pole, when we first talked to each other and you told me about Azula. I thought things could be different when you saved me as the Blue Spirit. And I was so convinced things would be different when we met again in Ba Sing Se that I—” she scoffed at her own words, “I had a crush on you, can you believe that? That’s why I visited the teashop so regularly, I just wanted to see you. Stupid, of course. I should’ve known.”

Zuko was sure she could hear his anxious heart beating from the other side of the bed. They were less than a foot away, and yet it felt like miles. He didn’t want her to think about him like that, he didn’t want her to be disappointed in him. Damn, she used to have a crush on him, she liked him, and he screwed everything up like usual. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. I’m—I’m here now, I’m on your side.”

“Yeah, but I thought you were on my side back then too. Anyway, it doesn’t matter anymore. You need to teach me firebending and that’s the only reason you’re allowed here. Talking is unnecessary.”

“Please, I—”

“You should leave, Prince Zuko,” he flinched at the title escaping her lips, hating how it sounded bitter coming from her, “I have really important matters to deal with. We’ll start my firebending training tomorrow.”

“Y/N—”

“Leave, Zuko.”

With a heaviness inside his stomach, he left the room, missing if by a second the frustrated tear that ran down Y/N’s cheek. She wanted to trust him, but how could she? How could she let him in after his betrayal? She had always been forgiving, but she refused to be naive — seeing Zuko side with Azula in the crystal caves hurt her deeply and shoved her little crush on him down her throat. She couldn’t go through that again, it would be simply idiotic to. Y/N had to stand her ground. She wouldn’t be hurt by him again.

-----

“Hey, jerks. Mind if I watch you two jerks do your jerkbending?”

“Get out of—” Zuko was interrupted by the Avatar’s laughter. Sokka smiled softly at her, cheeks blushing. For some reason, that only managed to piss Zuko off even more, “get out of here!”

“Okay, take it easy. I was just kidding around,” the Water Tribe boy winked at Y/N, “see you later?”

“Sure, we still need to see that part of the temple we found yesterday. Exploration partners!”

“Exploration partners!” he agreed with a chuckle and turned away from them. “Bye, Y/N. Jerkbending… Still got it.”

Zuko glanced at her with irritation while she watched Sokka leave. He felt already incredibly frustrated for not being able to produce his fire and not knowing why, he definitely did not need to watch as Sokka and Y/N flirted.

They would make a cute couple, though, and she smiled so brightly at him it was physically painful to watch. He wanted her to smile like that at him, look like that at him. But she wouldn’t — she was over her crush and had no reason to ever feel anything towards him again, not after what he had done. He didn’t deserve her love anyway, so maybe it was for the best.

“So? Any progress, Sifu Hotman?”

“I told you not to call me that,” he snarled angrily and she sighed.

“Sorry, Sifu Hotman.”

“This was a mistake,” he sat down roughly, ignoring the ache on his legs due to the sudden movement, “maybe teaching you firebending is not my destiny.”

She looked at him with furrowed eyebrows, not understanding, “what do you mean?”

“How can I teach you anything when I’ve lost my fire, Y/N?” he chuckled sadly, letting one of his hands go through his hair in distress. “I wanted to be on the good side of the war and I can’t even make myself useful.”

“You haven’t lost your fire, Zuko,” her voice was careful, “I think you’re just going through some internal conflict and that’s reflecting on your bending, but if you were meant to teach me firebending, you will. Your destiny is still your destiny regardless, Sifu Hotman.”

“It’s easy for you to say, you’re the Avatar! I’m not even sure who I am anymore, but you have always known what your destiny was.”

“Yeah, and I was scared of it,” she smiled softly, “I ran away and disappeared for a hundred years. People died because of my absence. I have made mistakes, and I have failed many, many times. Sadly, that doesn’t make me less of an Avatar. Zuko, if you must be my teacher, it’s gonna work. We’ll figure things out and you will get your fire back. Okay?”

He stared inside her eyes. There was still some sort of mistrust in them — she was willing to help him because she needed him, but still suspicious. She wasn’t really sure he was on their side, but this was a start. He was going to fix everything and he would make her proud. He would make Y/N happy to call him a friend. Or something more.

Maybe he had a crush on her, too.

-----

Toph’s idea to look for the original source of firebending had greatly backfired (no pun intended, even though Y/N could clearly hear Sokka’s laughter in her head at the joke). They traveled to the Sun Warriors’ ancient city and found an impressive temple adorned with statues. Things were going surprisingly well until they weren’t, and now they were stuck in a disgusting glue because Zuko touched the pretty gemstone. Hours had passed and Y/N was increasingly more annoyed at their situation.

“You had to pick up the glowing egg, didn’t you?”

“At least I made something happen! If it were up to you, we’d never have made it past the courtyard.”

“Maybe, but we wouldn’t be stuck here either, so did you really win?”

Zuko rolled his eyes, “this is stupid. How are we getting out of here?”

“Help!” the girl screamed as loudly as she could, being met with only silence.

“Who are you yelling to? Nobody’s lived here for centuries,” the Fire Prince argued and it was Y/N’s turn to roll her eyes.

“Well, what do you think we should do, genius?”

“Think about our place in the universe?”

Despite her current irritation, Y/N couldn’t help but smile at his words. He instinctively smiled back and she felt warmth spread through her chest.

She was starting to think she wasn’t as over her crush on him as she thought.

They were rescued by the Sun Warriors and judged by the last dragons, and Y/N was sure she hadn’t felt this alive in a while. After burning Katara (it was so long ago it seemed like a different life), she had thought of fire as something destructive, harmful, but she could now see it with new eyes. Fire could be love, life, and power.

The Avatar glanced at Zuko. Maybe she could try and see him as that, too.

-----

“You did well today,” Zuko complimented warily, avoiding her gaze, “if we keep up the training, you might become a better firebender than me.”

“Why, thank you, Hotman,” she smiled brightly and Zuko was sure he could pass out right there, “I just have a great teacher.”

“Y/N!”

The Avatar felt Sokka before she saw him, laughing at the way he hugged her from behind joyfully, leaning his chin on her shoulder. “Hey, honey. What’s up?”

“Doing fine,” he mumbled, brushing her hair off his face delicately, “wanna grab something to eat?”

“I think I’m gonna train some more and clean myself later. I’ll meet you after?”

“Sure! I’ll be back inside. See you, Y/N, Zuko.”

They both watched as the Water Tribe boy entered the temple again. There was a weird burning sensation running through Zuko’s blood when he asked, voice slightly raspy and overly quiet, “so, you and Sokka, huh? You make a nice couple.”

She turned her head to him so quickly it almost gave her whiplash, “what? No! I mean—” she blushed at the question, flustered by the fact he would even consider something like that. The Fire Prince waited silently, irritation surfacing at her stammering. He wasn’t sure why that angered him so much, but he decided to be still and listen, “we are just friends,” she concluded, “he means a lot to me, but so do Katara and Toph, you know? We are—we are just friends. He even likes that Kyoshi Warrior, Suki! So, yeah, we are definitely not a couple.”

“I see,” Zuko felt curiously static with that piece of information, “and you don’t have feelings for him?”

“No, of course not. I mean, I had a thing for him when we first met, but now it’s gone. He’s my best friend and I love him, just not like that.”

“Okay. Good.”

“Good?” Y/N turned her head to the side in confusion and he paled considerably, finally noticing the meaning of his own words. “Why is that good?”

“Oh? I—it’s good that you love him! Yeah, having friends is amazing, right? Yeah.”

She smiled amusingly, “it truly is.”

“Yeah.”

The Avatar chuckled lightly, “come on, Sifu Hotman. Let’s do that leg movement again, I think I’m not doing it right.”

Days passed and a lot of things happened. Zuko knew Y/N wouldn’t be happy with Sokka’s suicide mission, but he couldn’t let him do it alone, so he accompanied him to the Boiling Rock. Again, she wasn’t happy when he followed Katara for revenge for her mother’s death, but then at least someone had Katara’s back and was ready to protect her. He desperately wanted to earn Y/N’s trust and friendship, but that was rather difficult when he insisted on doing the stuff she didn’t want him to do.

They continued their training on Ember Island and the whole Team seemed to thoroughly enjoy the place. Y/N was giving her all to learn firebending and was succeeding splendidly. To be honest, Zuko loved to see her get the moves right — every single time she made it, she would look at him with bright eyes and grin. It was the most beautiful sight Zuko had ever seen and he would do anything to have it permanently engraved in his mind.

They stayed up late during one particular night. They were both exhausted after hours of training and ended up sat beside each other on the ground on the back of the Fire Nation Royal Family’s beach house. The air between them was filled with silence and heavy breathing from their previous effort.

“Hey, Zuko?” after a few moments, Y/N called him gently, voice tired and raspy giving him chills. She laid down and stared at the dark sky. “Look at the stars with me.”

He blinked, “really? I mean, shouldn’t we go inside?”

“Please?” her eyes met his and his heart skipped a beat. “Just for a bit.”

“Okay,” Zuko whispered, lying down next to her. They looked at the sky quietly for a bit.

He liked to be around her. It could be the Avatar thing, but Y/N had a calming aura around her that was just unmissable. Being next to her like this gave him the feeling things would be alright, the feeling he was not worthless. It was a lie, of course. There was no way to know how their plans would go, and he was pretty much worthless.

But being beside her was enough to trick his mind. Maybe the little crush he harbored towards her had become something more — Spirits, he liked her so much. Not that it mattered, considering there was no way she would ever love him back, not after everything he had done.

“When I was younger, I believed we became stars when we died.”

He turned his head to look at her, “really?”

She turned to look back and his breath hitched at their close proximity. She chuckled, “yeah. I didn’t even know I was the Avatar back then, I was so young. They told me when I was sixteen, and I ran away shortly after,” there was bitterness to her words, “like a coward.”

“You are not a coward, Y/N. You had no way of knowing how things would go.”

“You really think so?”

“I do. Besides, if you hadn’t run away, you wouldn’t have been stuck on ice for a hundred years, and I would never have met you, which would be awful,” he widened his eyes, completing quickly, “and Sokka, Katara, and Toph, too. I wouldn’t have met them either. Of course.”

Her smile was so pretty he forgot how to breathe, “you’re right, Zuko. I don’t think I would have liked to live a life where I never met you,” she smirked before going on with teasing eyes, “and Sokka, Katara, and Toph, too. Of course.”

“Of course,” he agreed with a blush on his face. They stared at each other carefully and Zuko was pretty sure his heart was performing a professional routine of somersaults inside his body. He definitely was past just a simple crush.

Y/N smiled that dazzling smile of hers before averting her gaze to the stars again and yawning. “We should go in.”

“We should,” the Fire Prince immediately started to sit up, but she held him down with a hand to his chest, and probably felt his crazy heartbeat under her fingers.

“Just a bit more, Prince Zuko,” she whispered, eyes trained to the sky. Slowly but surely, she moved her hand from his chest to his own hand, creating goosebumps on every inch of skin she lightly touched on the way there. Zuko could feel his body burn at the barely-there feeling of her fingertips. She intertwined her fingers with his carefully, giving him the chance to pull away if he so wished. He let out a shaky breath and squeezed her hand. She immediately squeezed his back in reassurance.

In the middle of the quiet and comfort they suddenly found in each other, they fell asleep under the stars, fingers playing with each other until exhaustion finally engulfed them in dreams of pretty smiles and light touches.

It was nice to dodge the nightmares.

-----

“I’ve heard you and Zuko slept outside today,” Sokka had a teasing tone to his voice. Y/N glared at him, “you are together now or something?”

“We are not,” she countered, scratching Appa while they talked. Zuko, Toph, Katara, and Suki had left for the beach already. Y/N still needed to feed her sky bison and Sokka offered to help with the excuse of being a good friend. The Avatar was absolutely sure that wasn’t the real reason he stayed back alongside her and he was currently proving her right, “we were just stargazing and then fell asleep.”

“Stargazing, huh? Real cute. I bet it was an endearing impromptu date, wasn’t it?”

“Since when do you even know the word impromptu?”

“I am always full of surprises.”

“Right,” she rolled her eyes and he laughed loudly, “it was not a date.”

“But you do like him, right?.”

“What?” she turned her entire body to him, furrowing her brows and crossing her arms in a defensive stance. “Why would you say that?”

“Because I know you better than you know yourself and I can tell you have feelings for him,” Sokka copied her movements, staring at her with a smirk, “I also know he likes you back.”

Y/N scoffed and transferred her attention back to Appa, “he does not.”

“So you admit you like him!”

“Shut up, Sokka!” she glared, but quickly gave up under his intense eyes and raised brows. “Yeah, I like him. It doesn’t matter, though.”

“Yes, it does! He feels the same! Look, what about this,” he leaned in closer, that crazy look he had whenever making up a plan taking over his face, “we are going to watch that play about us tonight, right? Well, you guys can sit next to each other! Like a couple!”

“That’s a terrible idea, honey.”

“It’s not! I bet he’s gonna make a move!”

“He won’t, because he’s not in love with me.”

“Wait, you’re in love with him?”

Y/N’s entire body tensed up. She shouldn’t have said that. She wasn’t in love with Zuko! Was she? I mean, she did love to be beside him, and her heart sped up when he gave her one of his rare smiles, and training with him when he had his shirt off was distracting to say the least. Besides, he really seemed to have changed and grown — she felt like she could trust him again, but she could never be sure, and she was adamant on not getting hurt once more. Especially now, when she was dealing with so many things. If he betrayed her a second time… Spirits, it would be just too much to handle.

“I don’t know,” she muttered and Sokka’s cheeky smile faltered, “I don’t want to be.”

He stretched an arm out to hold her hand fondly, “it’s fine, Y/N. Whatever happens, I’m here for you, okay?”

The Avatar smiled sadly, “thank you, Sokka. I’m really glad to have you in my life.”

“I know, honey. I’m great like that.”

She laughed loudly and he grinned in satisfaction, turning her body around and starting to lead her towards the beach, an arm through her shoulders holding her close to his body.

“Shut up, Sokka. You’re so stupid.”

“Yeah, yeah. I love you too.”

Zuko felt a pang to his chest when Sokka and Y/N arrived at the beach holding each other so dearly, but he knew he had no right to complain. She would be better off with Sokka anyway — he was good-looking, nice, funny, smart. Meanwhile, Zuko was nothing but a sad mixture of mistakes and regrets. The Avatar deserved more than that.

“Hey, Hotman,” she walked to him with a smile, planting a kiss on Sokka’s cheek before leaving his side. “Why are you all alone on the sand?”

“Because he’s boring,” Toph answered from some feet away and Katara chuckled. Zuko could feel his face redden.

“He is not,” Y/N argued amusingly, sitting down beside him and grinning. She glanced at him with a happy spark in her eyes, “are you excited for the play tonight?”

“No,” he muttered, but his lack of vivacity didn’t bother her in the slightest, “the Ember Island plays are always ridiculous.”

“I think it’s going to be fun,” she shrugged contently, basking in the hot sun, “if it isn’t, we can always throw food at the stage or whatever.”

He tried really hard, but couldn’t bit back the smile that took over his frown. He watched her attentively, noticing how she seemed to glow in the daylight, giving off this incredible warmth he had only ever seen on her. He averted away his gaze, feeling his neck and face heat up at how unapologetically beautiful she was.

Zuko cleared his throat quietly, “yeah, I guess.”

She only smirked in response.

-----

The play could be worse, he figured. Yes, their portrayal of him was horrible (even though his friends — could he call them friends? Were they friends? He hoped they were — said otherwise) and the actress playing Y/N was not nearly as pretty as the Avatar really was, but Y/N was next to him and, at some point, she had leaned her head on his shoulder tiredly and stayed there. All the training was getting to her and he felt inexplicable joy in the fact she trusted him enough to rest her body on his.

“Look,” her voice was raspy from sleepiness and a chill ran down his spine, “I think now is when you join Team Avatar and becomes our friend.”

He nodded carefully not to disturb her from her position and his heart skipped a beat when she nuzzled closer to his neck. Zuko watched as actor Zuko was accepted into the group and just after a scene with only him and actress Y/N started. Actor Zuko stared at the actress longingly, “my dear Y/N… I know I have wronged you in many ways, but I wanted to apologize for my mistakes and beg for your forgiveness!”

Y/N giggled at that, nudging him affectionately, “that really happened.”

He smiled, eyes following the performers on stage. Actor Zuko continued, “your forgiveness… And maybe your love, Avatar.”

They both immediately tensed up at the words and Y/N moved her head slightly, brows furrowing in confusion.

“My love, Prince Zuko?”

“Yes, my darling.”

They all watched as Actor Zuko and Actress Y/N kissed passionately, earning cheers from the audience. Sokka whistled loudly and Y/N turned to glare at him, receiving a wink in return.

“I have been in love with you since we first met!” Actor Zuko declared excitedly, holding Actress Y/N’s hands. “You are the only one who can make me forget about my teen angst. I love you, Y/N.”

“Well… I don’t!” Actress Y/N moved away swiftly and the crowd gasped in surprise. “I have accepted you in my group, Prince Zuko… But I’ll never accept you in my heart! You’re a bad person that doesn’t deserve my love!”

“What?!” Sokka almost screamed in disbelief. Y/N finally took her head off Zuko’s shoulder, incertitude swimming in her eyes. Before she had the chance to speak, Zuko had already left. The Water Tribe boy widened his eyes at her. “Go after him!”

Y/N nodded her head, getting out of her seat and walking after Zuko, calling his name. He ignored her, feeling anger boil inside him. He knew she would never directly say something like that, but he also knew it was true. She would never love him — he wasn’t worthy of her love, and he was pretty sure she was aware of that too.

“Zuko, wait!” she finally catched up to him, holding his arm and pulling him back. “It’s just a stupid play, Zuko. None of that is true.”

“Really, Y/N?” he turned to stare at her, rage covering his expression. “Because I’m almost certain it is. They said I don’t deserve love, Y/N, and that’s true. After everything I’ve done…”

“No!” she exclaimed desperately, shaking her head vehemently in disagreement. “Zuko, of course you deserve love. Yes, you have made mistakes, but all of us have. You shouldn’t care about what some actress says.”

“But they’re right, Y/N,” he insisted, feeling tears stinging his eyes, “I’m unworthy of love and everyone knows, and that’s why nobody actually loves me.”

“I love you!” she yelled out before she could stop herself, breath hitching at the troubled look taking over his face. Y/N sighed deeply, crossing her arms shyly and looking away, “I do,” her voice was small as she blushed, “I thought I was over my little crush for you but I wasn’t, and it’s—it’s much more than a little crush. I was afraid of admitting it but I know who you are, Zuko. You are loyal and smart and so inherently good and I love you. Spirits, I really do.”

He stared at her for a second, processing her words. She fidgeted anxiously and he smiled at all her small manners. With certainty to his movements, Zuko took a step forwards and cradled her face in his hands. He studied every inch of her expression, waiting for some kind of rejection. She offered him a hopeful smile and he was quick to smash his lips with hers, feeling the warmth that always surrounded her consume him entirely. He kissed her passionately, happiness pouring out of him — the words “she loves you” echoing inside his mind like a broken record, filling his heart with joy.

She moved away when there was no more air in her lungs, breathing heavily and grinning like a mad woman. Y/N lifted her arm and touched his scar so fondly it physically hurt. Never before had he been touched with such care and it made tears flood his eyes, something she instantly noticed, giggling at his cuteness and drying one running tear with her thumb. She felt like her chest was full. He kissed her thumb lovingly when it rested near his mouth.

She loved him. She thought he was worthy of love, of her love, even after everything he had done. No matter how many mistakes he had made, she still loved him, and that thought was enough to make Zuko feel some sort of hope towards the future.

Spirits, she really loved him.

“I love you too, Y/N. Very, very much.”

is it good? not really. could it be worse? yeah lmao

taglist: @bottledcostcowater @lammello @coldlilheart @azucanela @samsmultifandomblogs and @knaite-solo that asked to be tagged on this particular piece

thank you all for reading!! I hope you liked it!!

#zuko x reader #zuko x fem!reader #zuko x f!reader #sokka x reader #atla x reader #atla #avatar the last airbender #avatar the last airbender x reader #zuko #sokka #avatar #avatar!reader #avatar reader #ember island #the ember island players #requested

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imnotusedtobeingloved · 3 years

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PLEADING FOR MERCY

(PLEASE DON’T REBLOG!)

Warnings: heartbreak, betrayal.

Pairing: Zuko x f!Reader

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

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

Summary: Part two of “destiny is a funny thing”

A/N: Since I’ve been asked for a next part to my last Zuko fic, here it is. (tho further requests only per inbox please haha)

“(Y/N)?” You felt someone’s hand on your shoulder, lightly shaking you awake. “(Y/N)!” A groan passed your lips, feeling every limb ache. “You have to wake up, we need to get out of here!”

The sudden sound of water irritated you, but one second later relief flowed through your body. The pain disappeared. Slowly you blinked your eyes open, seeing a slightly blurred version of your friend. She looked no different than the last time you’d seen her. Her braid was a bit more tousled than usual, but her ocean-blue orbs were like the calm after a storm. “Katara?” You slurred, stumbling slightly when she helped you up, but her healing powers were quick to work. She drew you into a hug, as soon as you’d gained full balance. Immediately the smell of salt and sea overcame your senses. Something you constantly associated with her. “I’m so glad you’re back. We were so worried,” She pulled away slightly, analyzing your face. “What happened?” Her voice was soothing. It felt good. Knowing that they had, indeed, thought about you. “I was-”

The tunnel above you began to rumble. You took a hold of Katara’s hand, spotting one of the earth benders against the bright sunlight. “You’ve got company,” Another one sneered, pushing their next victim down into the Crystal Catacombs. “Gaah!” He screamed as he tumbled downwards, landing on his stomach directly in front of you. It took you a second to recognize it was Lee. “Zuko!” Katara said, surprised, before her face disorted with anger. You calling out “Lee!” at the same time didn’t help the situation. His eyes widened when he saw you, but the shock was gone in a flash. You’d wanted to help him up, but upon stepping closer he turned his back on you, still sitting on the floor. Your smile disappeared. “Don’t get close to him, (Y/N). He’s dangerous,” The water bender murmured, grabbing your upper arm to hold you back.

This wasn’t a happy reunion. Instead it was all a big puddle of confusion.

Katara hadn’t even registered you calling him by the wrong name, too caught up in her rage. “Why did they throw you in here?” She asked, only to answer herself a second later. “Oh, wait. Let me guess. It’s a trap. So that when Aang shows up to help us you can finally have him in your little Fire Nation clutches!” He briefly looked over his shoulder, but stayed silent. “Katara, what are you talking about?” You asked, bewildered. “This is him, (Y/N)! This is Prince Zuko, who hunted us down countless times to capture Aang!”

You swallowed dryly. Was this supposed to be some kind of bad joke? His feelings for you. The stories you’d shared. The caring touches when he’d changed your bandages. All a lie?

Of course you hadn’t been truthful yourself, at first. And you didn’t blame him for being precautios. But you’d told him in time, when things got more serious. Didn’t you deserve the same?

Weeks were wasted with a prince, who’d hunted your friends for ages.

Now you blankly stared at the back of his head. His shoulders seemed more slumped than before, but he didn’t deny the accusations that Katara had thrown at him. Your love was lost. Lost to someone who’d probably never been honest with you. Not once. Deep regret formed in the pit of your stomach. You felt sick. Speechless.

“You’re a terrible person, you know that?” Your friend remained unimpressed by his Royal heritage, continuing to yell at him. “Always following us! Hunting the Avatar! Trying to capture the world’s last hope for peace!” She growled, pacing around like a panther in it’s cage. “But what do you care, Fire Lord’s son? Spreading war and violence and hatred is in your blood!” Katara spat, which eventually gained her the response she was waiting for. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” She whirled around. “I don’t? How dare you? You have no idea what this war has put me through. Me, personally!” She turned and sunk to the floor. “The Fire Nation took my mother away from me,”

You choose to interrupt, standing between both sides uncomfortably. “Maybe we should calm down...” You didn’t know how to explain that you’d spend the past weeks with the enemy. Surrounded by rocks and crystals there wasn’t much room for you to comfort her, but you choose to help her calm down before you’d attempt to talk to... Zuko. It was hard not to think of him as the ‘Lee’ you’d met him as. Wrapping your arms around her, you swayed her softly, trying to soothe her outrage. Something scraped over the stone behind you. The prince must’ve shifted in his seat. “I’m sorry about your mother. That’s something we have in common,” You pulled Katara up to stand next to you, gently wiping the tears from her face. When you lifted your gaze, Zuko stood directly in front of you.

You didn’t know what to think. Couldn’t even look at him. So you kept your eyes focused on the crystals around you. “(Y/N)...” He mumbled, but you shook your head. No more lies. You couldn’t take it anymore. “No,” Tears stinged in your eyes, but you refused to let them go. A throbbing headache soon formed, from your tightly clenched jaw. Katara looked between the two of you, sensing a new kind of tension. “But-”

“No!” You said with more force, glaring at his face. It was the first time that his eyes met yours, since you were down here. “You lied to me,” your voice wasn’t as strong as usual, shaking with emotion. “All this time was just a big lie!” You could see the big questionmark on your friends face, but you couldn’t bare to tell her what a stupid mistake you’d made. “It wasn’t! Yes i did lie about my identity, but i didn’t lie about anything else! Besides you never told me you were with the Avatar!” This was unbelievable. “Why would i? I didn’t think it would matter to our-” The walls shook around you. A part of it exploded, making stones and crystals fly everywhere. The three of you covered your faces, coughing from the whirled up dust. To your relief it revealed Aang and Iroh behind it.

“Aang!” Katara exclaimed, running up to him and embracing the Avatar in a tight hug. The man you’d formerly known as “Mushi” did the same to Zuko, while you stood in the middle. Silent. Unmoving. “Aang, i knew you would come. I found (Y/N) down here!” The water bender said. He smiled as you walked up to him and shared a hug with both. “It’s good to see you. We tried searching the city, but we couldn’t find you. Then i had a vision about Katara and you being in danger... What happened? Did they hurt you?”

You detatched yourself with a sigh. “It’s a long story,” He nodded, letting you off the hook for now. “Uncle, i don’t understand, what are you doing with the Avatar?” Zuko growled from behind you. “Saving you, that’s what,” Aang replied, still clinging to Katara. “Ugh!” The prince made a step forward, but the general held him back. “Prince Zuko, it’s time we talked. Go help your other friends!” he said to the Avatar. “We’ll catch up with you,” Aang didn’t waste any more time. He bowed to Iroh with a thankfull grin, before disappearing into the tunnel. Katara followed him without hesitation.

“(Y/N)?” At first you wanted to ignore the man. But you owed your life to him. He’d been the one to take you in, nursed you back to health, and now he seemed to help you once again. So you stopped for a second to look back at him. “I’m sorry we had to lie to you. But for what it’s worth, i’m glad to see you alive and well. I hope you can forgive us one day,” He mildly spoke, without force. You acknowledged his words with a brief nod, not sparing a glance for his nephew. Then you moved to follow the others.

The three of you took off, running deeper into the Catacombs. “We’ve got to find Sokka and Toph,” Katara called out. Suddenly a hiss rang out behind you, a wave of heat following the sound. You turned around just in time for Aang to block Azulas attack, barely escaping her flames. You’d never seen her before. Tough the resemblance to Zuko was undeniable. Knowing who he was helped to connect the dots between them more quickly. They had the same shade of umber hair. Shared some particular facial features. And nearly the same intruiging eyeshade. Just almost. You’d never known golden eyes could be so cold.

Producing a large wave Katara ran up to her, letting the water come crashing down. The princess deflected the attack with an offense of her own, transforming it all into hot mist, clouding the room. It didn’t take long for her to attack again. You redirected the fire balls with some of your own, staying in the defensive. “I see you’ve added a firebender to your little group,” She mocked, landing on a stone pillar. “How does it feel being a traitor to your own Nation?” You ignored her bribes, watching her every move.

The rock crumbled under her feet at Aangs next command. She had to jump, meeting the three of you on even ground. Minutes of deafening silence passed. No one dared to make a move.

A deep red flame interrupted the tension, landing right in the middle of the ring. Zuko had joined the field. And he was ready to fight. The question was: Which side would he choose?

You had no idea. You’d thought you knew him before. But now he was unpredictable. The boy you loved never existed in the first place. And yet you still tried to catch his eyes with yours, pleading for mercy.

He didn’t even look in your direction. He couldn’t. Because if he did, he wouldn’t be able to fullfill his destiny. Wouldn’t be able to go home.

His burning hot flame shot directly at Aang.

Azula responded accordingly, sending her fire in Katara’s direction. The blue flames clashed with her water and the air sizzled, as a relentless fight erupted in the hall of the Catacombs.

In mere seconds pure chaos ensued. You tried defending Aang from the prince as best as you could, both of you working together. But as he bend a large rock to knock Zuko back, you found yourself at the ground as well. You landed on your back, directly on the wound the prince had treated. A sharp pain travelled up your spine.

Katara had Azula at her mercy, who was quickly freed by her brother while you and Aang got back to your feet. “I thought you’d changed!” Your friend yelled at him, using her water as an extension of her arms. He did the same with his flames. “I have changed,” He striked with all his might. It was a painful sight to look at. Her braid didn’t exist no longer, hair flying freely from the blow. She was knocked into a pair of green crystals, stained red around the edges one moment later.

“You’re right,” you mumbled, coming up behind him. “You really have,” For a moment his stance faltered. Nevertheless he faced his opponent. Neither of you made a move for a long time. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Azula hunting after Aang. She got the best of him as she pushed him back into the crystal wall. “Aang!” you screamed, rushing forward. Zuko stepped in your way, now producing flames, to hold you off. A rush of energy went through you, calling out to the fire within. It formed in your palms, pulsating and strong. They collided with his. Smoke rose around you, fighting tooth and nail.

But your heart wasn’t in it.

Only rage. Pure and powerful anger. You shoved him back repeadiately, the despair fueling your fire. In a moment of carelessnes he managed to grab your wrists, pressing your back against the wall. The troubles of your injury caught up on you, weakening you faster than normal. You were no fool. It wasn’t a secret that he was a better fighter than you. Zuko was holding back.

Your heart clenched in your chest. This time you couldn’t hold it in. Tears spilled on your cheeks. “Please,” you gasped desperatly. You’d tried to concentrate on your hatred towards him. You really did. But your heart played a different game. “I don’t want to fight you,”

Doubts crossed his mind. It showed on his face and a tiny piece of hope flared in your chest. “You can still choose differently,” you whispered. Right now he was closer to you, than he had been in days. Once again you discovered all those tiny details in his face, that you’d loved so much. For a second you saw Lee. But before you was standing Zuko. His thumb catched one of your tears, gently wiping it from your cheek. And then he left. You weren’t worth his alliance. Weren’t even worth a fight. He left you sinking to the ground, the taste of ashes in your mouth.

All it took was one look upon the battlefield to know you’d lost. Aang’s next attack didn’t even reach the fire benders. Surrounded by Azula, Zuko and a number of Dai Lee agents, you had no chance. Katara had gotten back up, drawing a circle of water-tentacles around her. But you knew it would be of no use. There were too many. You got up despite the defeat, refusing to lose sitting down. Distanly you registered Aang producing a tent of crystals around his body to protect himself. You wondered how long it would take, before Azula burst through it. You positioned yourself in front of it regardless.

The princess smirked at you, raising her hands. Like a cat watching it’s prey.

Then the makeshift tent began to glow. From the inside. Aang floated in the air, his marks and eyes glowing brightly. He’d made it. He’d reached the Avatar-State. Everyone watched, entranced by the sight. Until a blaze of lightning striked. His body convulsed under the pressure of it’s power. And then the Avatar fell.

All you could do, was watch.

You were by his side before anybody else, still protecting his lifeless body with a circle of flames around you. Katara produced a large wave, reaching you just in time before the siblings. And to your luck, she wasn’t the only one who did.

Someone burst through the wall near the exit. “You’ve got to get out of here. I’ll hold them off as long as i can!” Iroh screamed, sending flames in every possible direction to create an opening. You took it. Carrying Aang, you and Katara ran for your lives. The waterfall of the Catacombs was your loophole, and you managed to get through, thanks to your friend producing a pillar of water.

Your eyes remained on the prince, until you were no longer able to see him.

find part three here!

tagging u beautiful ppl: @zvkonation @viva-la-millennia @randomness501 @drheinzd @kaylove12

#zuko x reader #avatar zuko #zuko imagine #prince zuko

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vaelynez · 3 years

Text

Varigo on Affection

Hi hello, I’m writing this essay on the boys and how they handle affection. Why? Because I had a long car ride and felt like it and they’re my comfort ship. If there’s discord formatting that I missed I apologize.

Please note: these are all personal head canons, if you don’t like them that’s fine! 💕

Did I put this in discord? Yes. Does it need to be here? No. Is that going to stop me? Absolutely not!

Hugo -

Hugo tends to show his affection via physical contact, and listening to Varian but that part isn’t intentional. He doesn’t realize how much that means to Varian. He’ll usually be the one to grab Varian’s hand on walks or ask to cuddle (mostly in the beginning, as time goes on Varian starts getting more comfortable to ask for hugs and stuff. We’ll get to that later).

When he was younger he’d constantly be looking for any form of love. (By younger I’m saying like 16-the trials). He never got it in any form, parental, friendship, romantic. He’s had physical relationships and settled for that because it was something. So when he starts dating Varian he has a hard time accepting that Varian actually loves him. Hugo’s constantly putting a hand on his shoulder, grabbing his hand, wrapping an arm around him thinking that’s all he could do. He backs off when Varian is showing apprehension though, especially in the beginning because he overwhelms Varian, which I’ll talk about when we get to him.

He doesn’t take things further than that, though. He’ll grab his hand and Varian will accept and he’ll get flustered like omg omg omg omg he accepted my hand hold help. Also yes, he is a tomato at this point. Once Varian get’s past his new relationship jitters he teases Hugo for it. (In a lighthearted way, he’s not trying to shame Hugo in any way they’re just being bickering dorks).

He’s never had experience talking about his feelings, either. Most of the time Donella never asked and he didn’t have friends. He’s a very emotional person (which he grew up hating) but he never was allowed to express these emotions and buried them.

The most verbal-affection he shows is when he’s helping Varian through a bad day. When Varian has a panic/anxiety attack, nightmares, overworks himself etc. Hugo tries to help him through through words because Varian hates being touched when he’s in these moments. It scares him. He’ll also try to talk Varian through his guilt. He’s the first person to not blame him for what happened to him when it comes to the whole amber situation. He’s the first person to tell him, hey, you crossed lines but I get why you did it and you had a right to be upset.

When he joins the group, he does the same thing. Hugo knows how to act, deceive, everything he grew up doing.

As time goes on, because of he doesn’t quite know how to process his own emotions, so when he starts developing feelings for Varian he knows something’s changed but he doesn’t know what.

Over time, there’s a moment where it just clicks. He’s watching V do something where he’s in his element being the most Varian Varian can be. Maybe he’s explaining a chemical formula to Yong, I’m not sure yet aha.

So he’s watching that, and he’s just sitting there subconsciously thinking, I love him so much. Then what he’s thinking hit him and he’s like- oh whoops.

Their first kiss is in the library after the apology. They spend months (≈3) holding each other’s hands and cuddling because both of them are scared to make the next move. Though Hugo tends to kiss the top of his head, or Varian will kiss his cheek, hand etc.

Hugo’s still having troubles vocalizing his feelings, so he continues to show it through actions.

So they’re talking it out, and Hugo tells Varian he loves him for the first time (which is a huge step for him to admit, and also stuns Varian) and he’s like- I’m sorry I know I hurt you and I truly care when Varian asks if he can kiss him. Hugo get’s flustered and starts tripping over his words and is like, “I-I mean if you want to-“ so he does.

It’s after this and when they go back to Corona that their relationship starts to grow bit by bit. They start slowly working through their problems together and healing from their past traumas.

Hugo’s as patient as can be, and appreciates how understanding Varian can be. Hugo will have moments where he still feels like he’s not enough. Varian tries to help him through it the best he can.

He’s scared to tell Varian, though, because aforementioned nobody’s ever loved loved me for me. He values Varian’s friendship and isn’t honest about his feelings for a while because he doesn’t feel he’s worthy of him. But Varian’s constantly telling and showing him that he is.

In the beginning of their relationship Hugo always made the first move because of these insecurities. (While listening to Varian, of course). But Varian starts making them over time, flustering Hugo in turn. But he comes to cherish those moments because actively reminding him, no you dolt I do love you! Now have a hug! Insert angry Varian nosies.

Most of these feelings go behind the scenes, though since Hugo doesn’t know how to talk about them. He’s also afraid of being vulnerable. So part of their banter is Hugo trying to convince himself he doesn’t care (mostly in the beginning when they practically hated each other). Now it’s a staple in their relationship because Varian’s a sassy child of sass and Hugo’s an ass Hugo. I mean, it’s Varigo. 20% love, 80% actually I love hate you.

After the library they start getting closer. Especially after settling down in Corona. Though Hugo’s go-to is still contact. He’ll hug Varian at any chance he gets. Call him Hug-o. That, and he won’t ever admit this, but he loves whenever Varian will hug back. Varian hugging/cuddling him? It’s everything he’s ever needed and more.

In short, Hugo’s a touch starved asshole who loves his boyfriend and wants to cuddle 24 7. And I love him for it.

Varian -

Varian shows most of his love and affection via words. When it comes to contact, he has to trust someone for him to be able to hug them. So, instead of instantly jumping to hug someone he’ll let them know that they’re appreciated.

Because of some of the attacking from Corona before and after his pardon, as well as some of the fights he saw in prison contact scares him when he doesn’t know someone.

On top of that, none of his friend/family are overly touchy people. Besides Rapunzel. Eugene will put a hand on his shoulder or the occasional hug if somethings wrong and he’s trying to comfort him.

He didn’t grow up with anyone voicing their appreciation of him either. Especially Quirin. He spent so long trying to get Quirin to tell him he was proud of him. So when he starts dating Hugo, he tries everything to get him to understand he does appreciate and love him. He’s the first to say I love you, which was pretty early on which both terrified and meant the world to Hugo.

When they first get together and Hugo’s constantly trying to hold his hand, it scares him at first because nobody’s ever been that touchy with him. (Respectfully, Hugo backs off if Varian’s uncomfortable). They do end up talking about it and Varian asks if they can take it slow, which Hugo agrees to.

Over time he slowly starts to accept it more. He’s also very flustered when they first start showing their feelings. (Bonus, Nuru basically tells him hey I can tell from here that you love him so pls figure this out soon I cannot do this anymore. In a respectful, I’m gonna help a friend out sort of way. She knows before he does). After he starts getting used to someone showering him in affection, in a way, he starts going to Hugo. He’ll grab Hugo’s hand or initiate a hug.

When it comes to their first kiss, Varian is heartbroken because of the betrayal. But when Hugo goes into the library he apologizes, which hits a nerve Varian didn’t know he had. Nobody ever apologized for hurting him, ever. (No, that prison scene does not count as an apology, Rapunzel. Personally head canon that after that she never wanted to bring it up because it’s all good now so why talk about it? Once it’s over it’s over. She does the same thing with Cass as well. This isn’t Rapunzel hate, though! It’s just something I feel she does). Seeing Hugo understand that he hurt him and let him know that yes, it is okay for you to be upset means everything. He was never allowed to be upset before. Corona treated things like his actions negated everything he went through. He was told that he deserved to go to prison and the trauma came with it because it was his ‘punishment’ for everything he did. Now, Hugo’s telling him he understands. Despite the betrayal and everything that happens, he knows he still loves him. He’s still hurt but he’s willing to work through it with him. He trusts that he won’t hurt him again.

So, Varian asks to kiss him and Hugo accepts. Varian knows that Hugo’s someone important to him and he doesn’t want to lose him. The sting is still there, it’s salt in the wound from everything he went through before. But he wants to give Hugo a second chance.

When they go back and start settling down in Corona, he starts becoming more aware of Hugo’s insecurities. They’re harder for Hugo to hide now that he’s not constantly acting around him. Though during the trials there were moments where they stopped and Varian sensed something was off, but he never knew what.

He tries his best to constantly remind Hugo that he cares, that he loves him, and all that. He doesn’t get as flustered now that they’ve been together for a while and becomes almost as much of a cuddle bug as Hugo, especially on bad days. Almost. While Hugo rarely talks about his feelings, Varian starts tp learn how to tell when Hugo’s having his own bad days. He’ll stick by his side, hold him, and remind him of everything.

When Hugo helps him through his bad days, it means the literal world to him. Going back to what I said before, he never really talked about everything he went through. He never let himself heal, either. He would constantly blame himself for it. Nobody had ever given him another opinion. They were either involved, or bias citizens. So when Hugo tells him, hey, yours feelings were valid you just took the wrong actions, it means a lot. (He knows his actions were bad at this point).

Hugo allows him to be upset, but still does his best to show him that he’s loved. He doesn’t treat him like a burden when his mental health gets the best of him, and vice versa.

While Hugo doesn’t outright say how much he loves Varian, he shows it through his actions. Varian tries to tell Hugo how much he loves him, by saying it and reminding him that he’s here for him. He loves him for him. And that’ll never change.

And there’s my essay. Enjoy! Also if it’s messy sorry I wrote this in one go and skimmed it over twice. Don’t know why I made it so long I just said ha time to ramble!

#tw: mentions of violence #tw: panic attack #tw: anxiety #tw: nightmares #varigo #tts hugo #tts varian #varian and the 7 kingdoms #varian and the seven kingdoms

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breadoffoxy · 3 years

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Blood and Darkness

Summary: You were Death and Jungkook was Life. Two sides of the same coin bonded through blood and darkness.

Written for the BTS Ghosite Marathon. Prompt: Theme: X-Inspired, x = Hades

Drabble: 7/30

Pairing: Thanatos!Reader x Zagreus!Jungkook

Genre: fluff, humor, minor angst

Warnings: small Hades spoiler, mentions of blood and violence but not depicted in detail, tiny amount of angst in the form of feeling betrayed and abandoned

Word Count: 1,067

A/N: I love Hades and want to do more of this with other groups since there are so many amazing characters. I’d love to hear your thoughts on which character you would make each member if you know the game. Also, knowledge of the game isn’t required to understand this. Think of it as a Greek mythology au.

You would go to the ends of the world for Jungkook. Which is saying a lot considering you were Death. Nearly everything was in your reach except the far realms of the underworld belonging to Chaos. Yet despite being the literal incarnation of death, you couldn’t stop him from dying over and over again.

Namjoon once told you to think of it as a cycle of rebirth. He believed Jungkook to be the god of blood and life. Fitting, you thought, with the family motto being blood and darkness. The warrior also continued on saying the two of you were two sides on the same coin. With a chuckle, he explained that’s probably why the two of you got along so well despite your opposite demeanor. You never seen him laugh so much when you said with a straight face, “A coin with common sense on one side and stupidity on the other.”

Jungkook’s return is, as always, loudly announced by your brother, which you hear now. Jin always has the most wonderful advice such as did you try not stepping into that trap and wow Jimin’s whip hurts, don’t get hit by it. Obviously.

Despite Jungkook’s best efforts you still are distant from your brothers, but you are trying. You swear he’s closer to them than you’ll ever be though. Yoongi will most likely remain a mystery to you as your interactions, at best, are more of a business transaction than anything. You bring him dead souls, and he grumbles and ferries them across the River Styx. The two of you appreciate the simplicity of it all.

“Ah, here you are brooding in your corner again I see.”

“I’m not brooding.” Turning, you see Jungkook striding towards you with a grin in his red and black robes. His feet glow like burning embers, lively and bright just like his essence. “Why are you so happy to be back?”

Jungkook doesn’t speak until he’s right next to you. You can feel yourself tense at his closeness, but he doesn’t seem to notice. “I saw her again, my mother.”

No longer does the sting of betrayal hit you when he talks about his mother. You first believed him going on a suicide run out of the underworld to find the woman who left him after his birth to be him spitting on you and everything you’ve gone through. You yelled at him, bitter and resentful, yet you helped him anyways. As pathetic as it sounded, he was your whole world. With each escape attempt he went on you saw him grow and become all the happier with his newfound purpose. Every time he saw you, he’d grin that stupid smile he was wearing now. You learned he wasn’t replacing you, but expanding his world, and you’d do anything to help him because you-

“What are you thinking about?”

You do not startle, you are Death, but Jungkook’s smirk swears you did. Blatantly turning your head to the side, you grumble, “Nothing.” Jungkook’s smirk grows at your answer and before he can go on about it further you whisper, “I’m glad your efforts are proving fruitful. How is she fairing?”

“Well.” Jungkook looks wistful before his face clouds over. “I still feel as if I never have enough time with her.” The look is gone and he is smiling again. “I helped her with her garden and had some strawberries. Have you had them before?”

Tilting your head to the side, you think hard on it. Jungkook’s eyes soften at the sight and continues on when you shrug. “Well, no matter. I must tell Taehyung about the taste. Maybe that will be enough to give him inspiration again.”

“If your fantastical feats you boast haven’t risen him from his mood, then I’m not sure if strawberries are the key.”

“Never know until I try. Come.”

“I rather not.”

Jungkook pulls aside his tunic to show off the large vial of ambrosia.

“Fine.”

The two of you walk through the hall side by side, and you are happy that the master of the house is out. Jungkook stops to give Cerberus a big pat on the head and then he excitedly talks the depressed looking musician. The man actually perks up and strums at his harp. Taehyung asks a question, Jungkook shakes his head, and then the musician’s expression sours. An awful twang sounds out and Jungkook backs away slowly before catching up with you.

“Next time, remind me that I need to bring down some strawberries for him.”

You snort at his remark and nod at Hoseok as you approach the dining area. He waves excitedly at you before screeching at the sight of Jungkook and disappearing at the blink of an eye.

“What did you do this time?”

“Nothing.” Jungkook doesn’t look convinced though. “I think?”

“If by nothing you mean the bloody mess the champion of Elysium dragged in and went on in great detail about your heinous deeds as Hoseok cleaned up after him?” A suave voice asks behind you. Jimin nods at you in greeting as he steps around the table he was at, but just raises an eyebrow at Jungkook.

“Is he really the champion if I keep beating him?” Jungkook doesn’t look ashamed in the least. “Plus, what if I said he deserved it?”

Jimin shrugs, “I could care less about him but what your exploits do to burden the house is something that falls on me. I may be able to put in a good word with you with Hoseok though.” Jimin reaches his arm out, waiting expectantly.

Jungkook, already anticipating this moment, pulls out a bottle of ambrosia. “How about this to sweeten the deal?”

“There is no deal, this is me taking contraband.” Despite his words, Jimin is smiling as he pockets the valuable drink. “Now do try not to get into too much trouble.”

Jungkook watches Jimin leave and once the fury rounds the corner, he pulls out another bottle of the splendid drink. Discreetly, he pours a cup for him and you. Being gods, you didn’t have to eat or drink, but everyone in the underworld never misses their chance to get a taste of the rare delicacy, even you.

“You are unbelievable.”

Jungkook grins over his glass, watching you enjoy the drink. “Oh, come on, you love me.”

“Please,” you scoff, but his words never rang truer.

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annab-recs · 4 years

Text

Midsummers Nightmare - JJ Maybank

Rafe seems to have a little crush on you and you do not realize it until it’s too late. You don’t react as he had hoped, and you don’t have the best timing when it comes to telling your friends and boyfriend, JJ.

Requested by @rochyu 💙

Warnings: some curse words; small amount of verbal and physical abuse

Word Count: 2.2k+

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

"I hate your brother." The insult falls from your glossed lips as you roll your eyes at the eldest Cameron who stood farther away from you and Sarah, his blue eyes locked on your swaying figure. Sarah chuckles before nodding in agreement with your statement.

"Yeah, he can be an ass," the blonde in the elegant white dress acknowledges as she grips into your arms gently and spins you two around so that you don't have to be in his line of sight anymore. You give her a small thank you smile as you get back to dancing with your friend. The midsummers music flows through the two of you and together, y'all sway your hips and spin around as giggles fly from your mouths.

"I think he has a crush on you, to be honest." Sarah's sudden words cause your eyes to widen.

"But I'm with JJ." She laughs before leaning into you to whisper in your ear.

"Let me tell you a little secret. I'm with Topper but I'm crushing on someone else too." She pulls away from your ear with the deepest hue of red spreading across her cheeks.

"Who?" Your curiosity is just dying to know but she shakes her head, indicating she will not be speaking more on the subject. You decide not to pester her any further and just vibe to the music with the brown-eyed beauty next to you. All good and fun vibes leave as soon as you feel a tap on your shoulder and turn to see who it is. Rafe.

"Can I help you?" Sarah spoke harshly to her older brother but was soon distracted when Wheezie came running up.

"I just want to talk to you. Please? I won't bother you anymore." The way he spoke sounded like there was something more bothering him and his blue eyes appeared to be almost scared. That in turn worried you and caught your attention so you nodded your head, letting Rafe grab your hand and lead you away from your friend and the crowd that had gathered on the dance floor.

"Okay, so what's wrong?" You asked him as soon as y'all were alone in a room upstairs. He still had that worrisome expression on his face and it just made you even more anxious.

"I need girl advice," he mumbled softly. Relief washed over you as your mind could quit making up worst-case scenarios and focus on the frazzled boy in front of you.

"All right, spill," you instruct, and he nods before beginning.

"Well I like this girl a lot, but I don't know if she feels the same way as I do. I think she does, but I don't know. I feel like something is holding her back."

"Do you think the thing that is holding her back can be overcome?"

"Yes, and if she's scared to overcome it by herself, I'll surely help her." It was nice to see Rafe be so vulnerable and open and it was a side you wished to see more of. As being friends with Sarah for a long time, you had known Rafe for equally as long. You have seen him be nice and sweet but as he's grown, he's become harder and meaner. You don't know why but by the way he's acting now, you see the sweet Rafe you had known when you were younger.

"Have you told her how you feel?" You question as you lean against the wall next to you.

"No, but I have made it so obvious," he states as he takes a few steps closer to you. Absentmindedly, you take steps back as well.

"Rafe, you like this girl. Tell her how you feel. Make your move." You feel your back hit a wall behind you.

"If you say so." His hands lay softly against the sides of your face as your mind tries to understand what happening and when it all clicks, his close proximity to you, how he's always staring at you, how Sarah literally said earlier that she thinks he has a crush on you, how the thing that's holding you back is JJ, it's too late. Rafe's lips are on your own.

You push against his chest to get him off you and your face shows nothing but pure disgust. As Rafe watches your actions, that soft and sweet Rafe you saw previously had left as quick as he came, and his demeanor changed completely. He raises his hand in the air before smacking it across your face.

"Rafe!" He has never done anything like that to you before so to say you were shocked would be an understatement. His hand comes towards your face again and grips your jaw harshly.

"I was going to try to save you from the dirty pogues, but I see that you are the same trash that they are," he spoke through gritted teeth. Using the grip he had in your jaw, he pushed you back into the wall, your head hitting the wood enough to leave you with a pretty bad headache. Your hand flies to the back of your head as Rafe walks over the window, gazing at the party below.

"Looks like your dirty pogue has arrived. I'll take care of that." And with that, he left. You had no doubt in your mind that JJ couldn't handle Rafe, so you stayed put, mainly in fear. You could feel the stinging handprint on your face, the pounding in the back of your head, and it was almost as of Rafe's hand still had a hold of your jaw.

You sat there as tears brimmed your eyes. You would have to go downstairs eventually and have to face the people you had grown up around. You also didn't want to pass Rafe or his two lackeys, Topper and Kelce. Not wanting to see anyone just yet, you sit and think back on all that just occurred to you. You had never expected the man in the baby blue tux to come on to you like that and you definitely didn’t think he’d hit you.

Scrambling to your feet, you slip out of the room to a bathroom next door to examine your face. You didn’t look too bad. No one should be able to tell anything after you fix your makeup. Thankfully, you had brought some with you in your purse and applied it to where it had been smudged by Rafe’s hands. Your eyes are still tear-filled, but none have fallen just yet. You are not going to let yourself break until you are home, alone. When you finally build up enough courage to go back down and leave, you are met with a bit of commotion amongst the party as you watch JJ shove a guy in a black suit.

“Hey, mandatory power hour at Rixon’s, Kie and Y/n,” the battered blond speaks to you both as he points at you two. He moves his finger towards Pope. “Pope, you as well, all right? Rixon’s Cove. Let’s roll.” His attention goes back to you and Kiara. “All right, girls, come on. Workers of the world unite. Throw off your chains!”

You happily run to your boyfriend and jump into his arms after he and John B salute each other. He spins you around as you three wait for the other two who have to put up a small fight against their parents. Pope runs up to y’all as his father yells from afar and he wraps his arms around John B. Kie comes seconds after, laughing as she runs into JJ’s arms. Pope pulls you into him as the five of you run away from the kook-filled place, but not without John B yelling, “Later losers!”

Soon enough, y’all make it to Rixon’s Cove, get a fire started, and sit around discussing what the mandatory meeting is about. John B explains that the gold in on the island before providing the evidence of Denmark Tanny and how he used the gold and his whole story.

“So, what’s the plan?” Pope questions as he looks at the letters with a flashlight. You look over his shoulder to get a look at them too.

“Good question. So, Sarah Cameron’s coming tonight. She’ll bring an original survey map-” John B starts but is cut off by Kie.

“Hold on. Sarah? Why Sarah?” John B stays silent while JJ mutters, “This is gonna be good.” You were just as confused as Kie. Why was Sarah getting involved in this? She was your friend, but she was not near as close to you as the pogues were and this was a pogue thing anyway.

“Sarah, um, she got me into the archives in Chapel Hill yesterday, and that’s where I got the letter.” John B tells her as you watch the disappointment and betrayal wash over her features.

“You were in Chapel Hill with Sarah Cameron?” She asks as he agrees. Of course, JJ has to make the situation worse with his little comment, “He was mackin’ on her.”

“I wasn’t macking.”

“You were totally macking Sarah Cameron.”

“So that’s what Sarah meant earlier when she said she had a crush on someone else that wasn’t Topper,” You add before the boys go back to arguing.

“I wasn’t macking on her, okay? I was using her for access.”

“There was access, all right.”

“Did you tell her about the treasure?” Kie interrupted the two boys bickering.

“I was just trying to get into the archives.” John B defends himself, basically admitting to telling her.

“Is that a yes?” Kie pushes.

“I- I left out key details.” He still doesn’t deny telling Sarah Cameron about our secret.

“Yo, what? You let a kook in on our secret? What about pogue life? What about the t-shirt company, bro?” Kie continues as Pope and you sit back and watch it all unravel. They all continue to talk as you zone out watching the fire until Pope speaks from beside you.

“Her brother did hit me in the back with a golf club.”

“Yeah and he kissed me, slapped me, and pushed my head against a wall earlier.” The group fell silent at your confession. You didn’t realize you had spilled until the silence came over you.

“He what?” JJ spoke as he walked over to you from beside John B and Kie.

“When did this happen?” Kie asked you.

“An hour or so ago. It was right before we left. I came down and you were going off about coming here. I wasn’t going to bother you with it until later because I know how heated you get,” You say calmly as you grab his hand to make sure he doesn’t get too riled up and angry, but your attempts seem to fail.

“I’m gonna beat the shit out of him,” JJ speaks through gritted teeth as he stands to his feet.

“No, JJ.” The softness of your voice brings him back to where you stand. The tears have come back, and one manages to escape despite your efforts to not cry. The blond pulls you into his embrace where you finally break down, the hurt and pain from Rafe’s actions finally taking a toll on you. Soon, you are wrapped up in all the pogues' arms as they comforted you. Later, you and JJ left for the chateau while the other went to meet Sarah.

“Why didn’t you say anything sooner?” JJ asked you as you laid against his chest, his fingers fiddling with the ends of your hair.

“I didn’t want you to worry about it and if I had told you there, you would’ve fought him right then and there. I couldn’t tell you then.”

“I’m still gonna beat his ass.”

“That’s okay but be with me first. Your time for revenge will come, but don’t insinuate it. Okay? I don’t need you getting hurt more than you already are.” You lean up to rest your chin against the top of his chest as you stare into his gorgeous blue eyes. You bring your hand to rest on the side of his face, and he leans into your touch before letting out a sigh.

“Fine. I won’t do anything until it’s time.” You rubbed your thumb over his cheek softly as his eyes fluttered closed. When he opens his eyes again, they appear to be glossy.

“What’s wrong, baby?” You ask as you sit up. He follows suit, leaning against the wall.

“I never want you to have to experience what you did tonight.” His sad eyes lock with yours.

“JJ, I’m okay. It’s okay,” you speak softly, running your fingers through his smooth golden locks. You let your hand trail down the side of his face to his arm and finally, it meets his hand and your fingers interlock with his.

“It’s not okay. You may be okay, but what he did was not. I’m not going to let that happen again. I should’ve been there with you tonight, but John B-”

“John B needed you. That’s okay. Let’s just go to sleep and forget about it, all right?” He nods as the two of you go back to laying down. You rest your head back down on his chest and with the soothing sound of his heartbeat, you fall asleep in seconds.

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ninbayphua-moyan · 3 years

Text

Moonlit Sparrow Through Parted Clouds

Thunderous grey clouds hung heavy in the sky as I made my way towards the lecture hall. My body ached with a bone-deep exhaustion and each leaden step I took felt heavier than the last. I stopped, wanting to turn back, but time and time again, my body refused to obey as my legs carried me towards my destination.

Half an hour later, I found myself standing outside the empty lecture hall despite the countless hesitations along the way. Sighing, I sank to the floor and closed my eyes, too tired to remain upright. That’s what university does to you. It sucks out your soul, your passion, and your youth, leaving nothing behind but an empty husk of a human being.

A familiar voice calling my name pricked my hazy, sleep deprived brain and I cracked open my heavy eyelids. My facial muscles moved like clockwork, automatically forming a smile to greet my friend.

“You look like a corpse!” Chu Ying exclaimed worriedly at the sight of the heavy dark circles beneath my vacant eyes.

“Haven’t been getting much sleep this week…” I replied with a nonchalant shrug as I quickly scrunched up my eyes until they turned into little crescents of laughter, “assignments due soon.”

Seemingly convinced by my explanation, she gave me a look of sympathetic encouragement and left. The second no one was looking, I let the smile fall. Amazing what a simple smile could conceal. You could probably murder someone, smile, plead innocent and everyone would believe you. Sighing softly under my breath, I grabbed my bag and joined the gathering crowd of students as they trickled into the dimly lit lecture theatre.

My laptop sat quietly on the desk, an empty word document laid open on its illuminated screen as the lecturer’s monotonous voiced droned on and on in the background. I should have been taking down notes but my mind was too preoccupied with my issues with the Undergraduate Office to focus on what the lecturer was saying.

A rhythmic vibration drew my attention towards the phone sitting on my lap. Glancing at the pop-up notification, a wave of anxiety and hope surged through my body as I registered who the sender was – the Undergraduate‘s Office. Quickly, I pulled up the email and immediately felt my heart sinking after reading the first line.

All seminar groups are full and we cannot move students.

Lies.

Another notification, this time, from my personal tutor.

It’s only week 3, relax.

Disappointment. Betrayal. Frustration. Anger. I clenched my trembling hands into fists as the tsunami of emotions threatened to explode and spill out of my shaking body. Half of me wanted to storm over to the Undergraduate’s office and let loose the unbridled rage coursing through my veins at the unfair treatment. The other half of me wanted to lash out at my tutor’s condescending advice. My body trembled at the barely, ever so barely contained anger.

Sixteen thousand pounds. That would be eighty-four thousand two hundred and seventy-nine ringgit each year in school fees. Fees which didn’t even include the amount I needed to spend in order to buy the books required for the modules. Sixteen thousand pounds per year just to get an education, an education that I wasn’t even getting at this point and her advice for me was to relax? How could I when my parents worked their entire youth away, saving every cent just so they could send me, all the way to Britain to get a proper education! Did they even know what the stakes of sending me abroad to study was?!

My father’s average yearly income is twenty-four thousand ringgits, barely twenty-eight percent of my yearly school fees. Was it that unreasonable to want to be in a class that will allow me to learn and improve after paying for that much money out of my parents’ own pocket?! Why would anyone in their right mind come half way across the globe, paying that ridiculous amount of money, and being so far away from family and home for years, just to fool around? If that had been my intention, I wouldn’t even have bothered going to university in the first place, let alone coming all the way to Cardiff!

University will be fun they said. You’ll meet open-minded people passionate about learning they said. Hah! That’s the biggest misconception if there ever was one. First of all, the university doesn’t care about whether you actually learn anything so long as you're paying the fees. The majority of lecturers or seminar leaders will only do the most minimal amount of work required and by that, I mean three hundred words of prose only per weekly assignment. What kind of creative work could anyone produce under three hundred words? In prose! Some don’t even bother with critical commentary which is just as essential as the creative pieces. Not only does the lack of practice in writing critical commentaries and limited word count for the creative pieces inhibit students from developing any work of significance, it also underprepares students for the three-thousand-word portfolio due at the end of the semester.

Secondly, British universities are also especially discriminatory towards outsiders or people of colour, often treating minorities and international students with hostility or disregard. I’ve experienced this discrimination first hand upon requesting a seminar change. Despite having emailed the Undergraduate Office at the same time with the exact same reasons, I was denied the change whilst my British classmate was immediately allowed to swap seminars. The office even went so far as to lie about the class being full even though I was told by the professor leading that very seminar that it wasn’t. So much for the integrity of the institution.

At the end of the day, international students are nothing but cash cows to British universities.[1] Not only do they have to pay double of what British students pay in terms of fees, they also have to deal with the discriminations that come alongside being an outsider. I understood that in this day and age, education was a business, and that the university itself was, essentially, a business, but doesn’t actual passion for learning still count for something? Or was I wrong in believing in that as well? Oh, so naïve, so very naïve!

Old memories started to surface amongst the turmoil of emotions. My father and his worn-out clothes, refusing each time to buy new ones for himself just to save a little more money. My mother mending them as best she could whilst we slept, never once complaining. Images of my father’s prematurely greying hair and bloodshot eyes as he worked his health away to provide for his children’s future. My mother’s back bent low, labouring away at some project or another in order to make ends meet. Yet, they never once showed us how tired or how tough things were. There was always enough food on the table and they always had a smile on their faces around us. Sometimes, I noticed that they would eat a lot less than usual but whenever I asked, they merely joked and said they were trying to lose weight. They could have enjoyed their youth, their honeymoon, but they decided to save it all, sacrificing their health and comfort just to ensure mine by sending me here.

I remember the times where they would secretly check their wallets whenever I begged them to buy me a book. Oh, how those very books painted and fuelled my illusions of Britain’s perfection. If only I had known the reality of it all before applying to study here. But it’s too late for regrets now.

A sharp stinging pricked the back of my eyes, tears threatening to fall as my body shook with suppressed, uncontrollable rage. Maybe if I was a little braver…maybe if I fought a little harder…maybe if I confronted them a bit more…maybe…maybe…maybe…

Then as quickly as they appeared, the tsunami of emotions faded away, leaving behind an empty husk. My clenched fists loosen and fell limply at my sides as a quiet, bitter laugh escaped my lips. Nothing was going to change. No matter how hard I fought, the end results will remain the same so what’s the point of even trying in the first place?

As the cold hard reality of the situation finally presented itself, I slumped against the chair, my empty laptop screen staring blankly back at me. Resignation dragged me deeper and deeper into the murky depths of my mind. I was drowning. No one knew and no one cared. But that’s fine. The ending remains the same regardless. Always the same…

The sound of rustling papers and loud chatter momentarily draws me out of the murky waters. Realising that the lecture had ended, I gathered my things and shuffled towards the exit, my mind returning once more to the depths of the void. Outside, the rain was pouring. I plodded down the streets drenched to the bone as my legs moved mechanically towards my flat. A stifling numbness engulfed my mind as I trudged on in silence, the howling wind battering my shivering, rain-soaked body from all sides. Rounding the corner, I pulled out a key-card and entered the cramped grey flat. Out of sheer habit, I grabbed the letters from my letterbox and stuffed them into my coat pocket before heading upstairs.

Entering the dingy room, I dropped my backpack on the bed and sank to the floor. Hugging my knees to my chest, I stared vacantly at the bleak wall. My phone rang insistently in my pocket but I didn’t answer, too tired to move. The crushing weight on my lungs forced out whatever little oxygen I managed to draw, making each breath a struggle. The clamouring voices in my mind grew louder and louder, growing in intensity yet forcefully contained, like built-up pressure without release on the brink of implosion.

You’re useless

I’m…not…

You can’t even stand up for yourself or fight for what you believe is right

Yes I can! And I’m trying! I’ve –

You’re a disappointment to your parents and your family

I’m not! I swear! I –

You’ll never amount up to anything

That’s not true! I –

You’re pathetic

No –

Nothing but a Failure

Stop saying –

Human garbage

Please! Just –

Waste of space

“SHUT UP!”

Silence. Nothing but the sound of my ragged breathing in the darkness.

The world would be better off without you

I don’t know how long I had stayed there on the floor but by the time I came around, my dripping wet clothes were nearly dry. The chaotic calamity within had finally died down and I was filled with an eerie calmness. A deafening silence blanketed the air, pierced only by the hypnotic rumbling of trains across tracks. Ah yes…the railway…my ticket to solving everything…just two blocks away…and it’ll all be over…permanently…

Forcing my lethargic limbs to move, I wobbled onto my feet and stumbled towards the door. A tiny parcel fell out of my pocket and the handwriting on it made me paused. It was my mother’s. Even under the dimness of the moonlight trickling in, there was no mistaking that immaculately cursive hand.

Letting go of the door handle, I kneeled down to pick up the neatly wrapped package. Then, slowly, as if afraid it would fall apart at the slightest touch, I began unwrapping the parcel. Upon opening the box, tears welled at the corner of my eyes. Six little cylindrical bundles of haw flakes were carefully packed within, each attached to a tightly rolled up strip of paper. Gently untying the scrolls from the sweets, I began reading them one at a time.

Jie![2] I got you your favourite sweets! Wanted to buy you more of them but Ma said there wasn’t enough space in the box. Don’t worry, I’ll send you a big box of them once I’ve saved up enough money.

– Di[3]

My heart ached as I thought about how much it must have costed for them to ship the parcel all the way from Penang to Britain. And with the little amount of pocket money…it must have taken Di-Di months of saving to be able to afford buying that one bundle of sweets…

Jie, just because you’re the oldest doesn’t mean you have to hold everything in on your own y’know? It’s okay to rely on others a bit more from time to time. Enjoy the sweets you idiot, you’re crazy about those haw flakes. No idea why you like them either, they aren’t even that nice.

– Mei[4]

Tears pricked the back of my eyes as my sister’s grumpy voice echoed in my ears. I could even see the disbelieving eye roll at my odd preferences in sweets after the last sentence. How I’ve missed our senseless squabbles and late-night chats….

A-Yun, being an international student in the UK isn’t always the easiest thing, especially when you’re a minority there. You’ve already taken the necessary steps and have done all you can in that situation. Remember, it’s the end result and not the process that defines a victory. Remember what Sun Tzu mentioned in The Art of War? ‘The most important rule to victory is to know when to pick your fights and how to fight it’. Not all battles need to be fought to win the war. Never forget our family values and never lose sight of your goal. Don’t worry about finances, let me handle that. Just focus on your studies and aim for that first-class honours. The best revenge is to succeed despite their efforts to stop you. Continue to work hard and don’t give up. Know that regardless of the outcome, your Ma and I are proud of you and that we love you very, very much.

– Ba[5]

A sob catches at the back of my throat as tears flowed freely down my cheeks. Acute pangs of longing weighed heavily on my chest, making it hard to breathe.

A-Yun[6] ah, if it ever becomes too much to bear at Cardiff, come home. Ma will make you your favourite dishes. I know you want to do well but don’t overwork yourself. Remember to get enough rest and try to change your bad habit of skipping meals. Two boiled eggs alone don’t count as a proper meal either!

– Ma[7]

A sheepish giggle escaped my lips despite the tears, Ma’s exasperated voice ringing in my ears. I could almost picture the look of indignation on her face as she judges my terrible meal choices before proceeding to fill my bowl with steamy boiled dumplings.

Ah…Ma’s famous boiled dumplings…the saltiness of minced pork marinated with soy sauce and sesame oil…the refreshing sweetness of spring onions and carrots contrasting the pork’s saltiness…flecks of finely chopped hei-mu-er adding a chewy texture to the tender meat whilst thin sheets of delicately wrapped dough encapsulated it all…the slight bitterness of the herbal broth complementing the savoury dumplings…[8] My stomach growled in protest as I smiled fondly at the memory.

Wiping away the remaining tears, I unrolled the last strip of paper. Elegant brushstrokes painted familiar characters in horizontal lines. A wave of nostalgia washed over me as I recalled sitting on A-Gong’s [9] lap in the garden as kid, watching him practice calligraphy. I remembered how he used to read his poems aloud as I gaze at his hands guiding the bamboo brush across the ivory sheet, entranced by its flowing movements. Each word written was like a piece of art, each stroke of ink painting a meaning of its own.

Tranquil night’s darkness, the moon shines bright, From the mud the lotus rises, its petals pure despite. Vermillion red blossom like wildly raging flames; Elegant, virtuous, delicate, yet exquisitely untamed. The wise once said that adversity yields flair, An upright heart, oblique shadows don’t scare. Dripping water with time wears the stubborn stone, Sturdy wood too can be cut with rope saws alone! [10]

A strange tranquility wrapped itself around me as I read the poem, A-Gong’s calm and mellow voice resonating in my ears. It was almost as if he was standing right before me with the usual toothless smile and twinkling eyes on his wizen face. Tenderly cradling the small box of sweets, a faint smile graced my lips. Their vermillion red and gold wrappings shone with a certain warmth under the soft light of the moon. Gently unwrapping one of the thumb-size bundles with shaking hands, I popped a disk-like piece into my mouth.

Immediately, a wave of warmth spread throughout my cold and hollowed body, almost as if it was infused with the life-giving heat of home. The familiar tart sweetness of the hawthorn berries cleared the heavy fog that clouded my mind and for the first time in a long while, I felt energy slowly seeping back into my worn-out soul, reigniting the snuffed-out fire within. Strange how something so small, barely the size of my thumb, could bring so much comfort and hope. That night, the moon shone a little brighter than usual, and the normally barren sky seemed to be exploding with billions of twinkling stars.

NOTES

[1] Alina Schartner & Yoonjoo Cho, ‘“Empty signifiers” and “dreamy ideals”: perceptions of the “international university” among higher education students and staff at a British university’, Higher Education, 74 (2017), 455-472

[2] ‘Jie’ means older sister in Chinese

[3] 'Di’ means younger brother in Chinese

[4] 'Mei’ means younger sister in Chinese

[5] ‘Ba’ means father in Chinese

[6] ‘Yun’ is written as ‘云’ meaning ‘cloud’

[7] 'Ma’ means mother in Chinese

[8] Hei-mu-er is the Mandarin term for black cloud ear fungus, a type of mushroom often used in Chinese cuisines.

[9] ‘A-Gong’ means grandfather in Chinese (specifically, the Hainanese pronounciation)

[10] This is a self written and self translated poem I wrote. The original Chinese version can be found here.

[11] ‘Moonlit Sparrow Through Parted Clouds’ is a play on 守得云开见月明 meaning the moon will shine brightly again when the clouds part, and 麻雀虽小五脏俱全 meaning though a sparrow is small, it has all the vital organs.

Author's Notes:

So this is one of my earlier prose pieces from uni (all the way back from first year lol). I don’t usually post prose? Not prose of this length at least. Anyways, I thought I’d take the leap and try posting them online now since I decided to start doing that for my poetry pieces? The rest of my prose pieces throughout uni somehow ended up becoming interlinked with several recurring characters though there are some inconsistencies since they were initially intended as stand-alone pieces rather than a series of somewhat loosely linked short stories. I’ll be posting them in story timeline sequence (or at least as closely to a sequence as I can since I didn’t exactly plan out the timeline of these pieces either) rather than in the sequence it was written in so there might be a slight fluctuation in writing style cuz they do kinda change over the years? Anyways, I hope you enjoyed reading Part 1~

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Since exams are over and graded and I've officially graduated, I can finally post my work online without having to worry about Turnitin picking it up as plagiarism because apparently you aren't allowed to plagiarise yourself according to university which is absolutely ridiculous but I'm not the one making the rules here so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Also, please don't reupload my works without permission.

#ninbayphua 墨彦 #prose #short story #I'm new to sharing stories or prose I've written online so please be kind #constructive critisms are always welcomed #please don't repost without permission

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ufuckingpastry · 3 years

Text

These Bonds We Keep

AO3 Link (this fic is very long btw)

This fic is based on the characters in the DreamSMP, not the content creators. Any views expressed in this fic are not a reflection of the content creators in any shape or form.

Relationships: Dream/Technoblade - Kismesistude/Rival Shipping Technoblade/Philza - Moirallegiance/Platonic Relationship

This is a continuation of Where Gods and Monsters Meet, but it not necessary to read that to understand this fic.

@meepishme

CW: graphic depictions of violence, hallucinations, suicidal thoughts, suicide attempt (based on game mechanics), self harm

Summary: I have all the time in the world to wait for you, Blood God. And, one way or another, you will become mine.

Technoblade could hear the triumph in the egg's voice. Like the slow, smug flicking tail, the egg felt victory against its opponent. Because he was trapped with it and he had nowhere to run. And yet… Technoblade smiled despite it all. And he could feel the egg's shock, faint and unnatural as it was. Because he knew this game. He knew what it took to be patient in the face of an unwavering enemy and still come out the victor. He knew what it would take. So, he settled in, grinning at the ghost of red before him, and breathed out. The red parted and he took solace in that, at least.

"If the mind is willing, the flesh could go on and on without many things," he recited quietly. "You underestimate me. And that will be your downfall."

The whooshing of the portal faded as Technoblade descended the steps towards the community house. Someone had recently built it back up, even nicer than it was before. But the holes in the dirt still belied what had turned it to rubble. He recalled Ranboo telling him and Phil, his hands twisting and tapping in uncomfortable motions, that he blew it up. Later, after Dream had been locked up, Phil mentioned that Dream had done it as they sat by the fire. They discussed why Ranboo might believe he had blown it up instead. That conversation left an uncomfortable sting of acid in Technoblade’s stomach. That kid didn’t deserve any problems thrown his way. He thought about when Ranboo gifted him a new netherite axe. “Rent” they called it. Payment for living on his property. But in recent weeks, Technoblade found that the kid was growing on him. They explored maps of distant places, arguing over golden apples. The last time they had gone into a woodland mansion, Technoblade found him backed up in a corner. Technoblade hadn’t remembered much after that, but he remembered Ranboo afraid, but steeling himself against an unwinnable fight. He jumped in alongside him and they cut down their foes together. As Technoblade passed through the community house and out the other side, he wondered if Ranboo was fixing the house up out of misplaced guilt. He pressed his lips together and made a note to talk to Ranboo about it soon. The kid was brave, but he was also real jumpy. Technoblade dutifully described his visit to Dream when he returned home a week ago. Ranboo seemed relieved that it was the same as Tommy's retelling, but it felt as though he was still hiding something from them. That might be Technoblade reading too much into it, but still… Caution was the thing that kept them safe. Phil always reminded them of that, especially when Technoblade got a little too bloodthirsty that he forgot himself. He made a note to remind Phil to be there when they talked with Ranboo. Phil was much better at reading social situations than he was.

Technoblade hiked the axe up on his shoulder as he walked, his thoughts straying from Ranboo as he scanned the area. He frowned, eyeing the vines. They grew more every time he came through. He cut away some of the vines that were in his way, though he never lingered around them too long. It was hard to tell in the fresh air like this, but something smelled off about them. The voices in his head seemed to agree. He tossed away the vine blocks at the voices’ request. As he walked further, he saw Ranboo delightedly hugging a grass block. Technoblade’s shoulders relaxed at the sight of a genuinely happy Ranboo. He stepped up close to the kid and waved.

“Techno!” Ranboo greeted. The nickname made him smile. He usually only let Phil or Dream call him that, but he wasn’t about to cut Ranboo short. If it made him happy to call him that, then who was Technoblade to stop him?

“Hey, Ranboo. What are you up to?” They caught up for a bit, walking around a few steps as Ranboo placed grass and picked more up. He found it nice to talk to him and he relaxed bit by bit. After a while, as the sun reached and passed its highest point, Ranboo made noises about having to go soon. Technoblade rested a hand on his shoulder. “Hold up. Phil’s making some stew tonight. He always makes too much, if you want to stop by. We’d be glad to have you.”

“Oh, uh, yeah! Sounds good!” Ranboo smiled and Technoblade felt his chest warm at the sight. He waved Ranboo off. He turned around and started for the Prime Path, but paused. Bad was standing on some of the vines, the ones he had chopped up, watching them. The vines glowed gently and grew just under Bad’s feet, completing the chain again. Technoblade’s smile faded as his gaze flicked back up to Bad. His hood was white, which… Wasn’t it red? Technoblade adjusted the axe on his shoulder. Bad started walking towards him. The voices in his head rose to a steady thrum, conflicting as always, but this time it set him on edge. He rolled his shoulders as he watched Bad’s approach.

“Good afternoon, Technoblade,” Bad greeted warmly. Technoblade raised a few fingers in response, but remained otherwise silent. His gaze did catch on movement in the distance behind Bad. Antfrost was also approaching now, making a beeline for their small group. Technoblade’s silent response didn’t seem to deter Bad. “Lovely day out, isn’t it?”

“There something you want, Bad?” Technoblade asked. He didn’t really want to be sociable more than he had to at any given point. He had already spent long enough here and he had things he wanted to finish before he went back home for dinner. But Bad seemed like he genuinely wanted something from him. At his question, Bad’s face brightened.

“Well, yes, actually. What do you know about the egg, Technoblade?”

---

The first thing Technoblade noticed when they entered the cave was the smell. The cave smelled of blood. Putrid, poisoned, diseased. It was a sickness that made his stomach roil. He swallowed bile as he looked upon the egg, stepping carefully over pits of lava and magma as he followed Bad. The voices, usually a cacophony of conflicting desires, now grew in a chorus of one word: RUN. He eyed the egg, used to ignoring the voices. The vines were annoying, but to be here, in the presence of the thing causing their growth, he genuinely felt unsettled. He glanced at Bad, at Antfrost. Their faces, drawn toward the egg, were ones of devotion.

“So,” he started, breaking the silence. “I take it this is the egg?”

“Yes!” Bad clapped his hands together and grinned brightly at Technoblade. “It offers people what they desire, be it power or strength. Anything.”

“Power?” Technoblade asked with a considering tilt of his head. “The power to lead nations? Like a government?”

“No, no, no, not like that. We,” Bad gestured to himself and Antfrost. “We don’t want more governments. All they’ve done is cause war and destruction. The egg doesn’t want governments.”

“You literally have a bunch of signs that say ‘Join the Eggpire’,” Technoblade pointed out. Bad’s expression tightened, as if frustrated. But it vanished and he smiled brightly again. He dismissed Technoblade's point with a wave of his hand.

“That’s just some catchy phrasing. The egg doesn’t want governments.”

“Uh-huh. Then what does it want?”

“Well,” Bad and Antfrost glanced at each other, their smiles growing. They turned back to him simultaneously “Why don’t you listen?”

“Listen?”

“Yes! The egg speaks to all those who will hear it. Listen so that you might hear what it wants.”

Technoblade pressed his lips together, unconvinced. But Bad looked so excited by this idea, so on board with the literal everything going on, that Technoblade decided to humor him at least. He sighed and closed his eyes, focusing on the voices. He brushed past their yelling, down deeper, down to voices he couldn’t hear as well. And, he realized, there was one. It was a small voice, quiet, barely above a whisper. But now given attention, it grew to something recognizable.

Blade. I know you for what you are. God of Blood, God of Vengeance, God that has been Betrayed and Used. Know that I can grant you the power you seek, the power to keep you, make you whole again.

Technoblade stilled, opening his eyes. His gaze focused on the pulsing red of the egg, trying to ground himself even before he realized what was happening. He blinked, red winding its way across his vision. It coiled into images that shifted into shape before him. He saw L’Manberg, burned and blasted, the hole ever expanding. He saw the vines taking root, filling the pit like blood spilled. Overflowing, he saw it, as the voice whispered ever on, slowly overtaking the other voices.

Blood for the Blood God. Nourish me of their flesh and I will return their blood to you tenfold. Blood for the Blood God!

He saw bodies strewn about before him. Thousands, millions, tens. Ever changing, ever flowing, ever beating with his heart. Each one torn apart. Ribcages steaming in the sun, skulls shattered with gray matter strewn across the way, bodies broken, twisted, ruined. Bleeding without a care, without purpose. He saw himself step through them, inside and outside his form all at once. The blood drenched his hands, his clothes, his crown, dripping in vines of freshly spilled blood. He saw himself stop, drop down, and nudge a head up to the sun. Tommy’s eyes, blank, cold, and dead stared past him, horror and betrayal plain in his last moments. As he looked up, he saw them. He saw them all. Their names passing by, their faces turning toward him, their eyes on him as they bled out. Bled out for him. Niki, Punz, Ranboo, Tommy, Tubbo, Jack, Puffy, Sam… He lifted his gaze and saw two bodies strung out for him, their bodies opened and spilling out blood and entrails, and he saw their faces plain as day. Horror, pure terror flooded his system at the sight of these bodies. These bodies, the bodies of those he most cared for, of those he would stop at nothing to fix the suffering they experienced, or aid what he could not fix. Those he felt tied to and those he would be tied to the end of days. Phil's body, wings broken and ruined. Dream's body, gutted and empty. He could hear the egg singing worship at the scene, calling it sacrament… The implication that he… that he had done this…

Technoblade stumbled back from the egg, eyes wild and teeth bared. His breaths came in pants, his axe in his hand. He saw movement next to him. He lurched towards it, aiming to strike, aiming to maim, to kill!

Bleed them! Bleed them for me!

Technoblade stumbled at the voice, the red in his vision vanishing. Bad and Antfrost stared at him, their own weapons at the ready, their eyes wide. Technoblade realized himself and he forced his breath to slow. Once he felt calm, calmer, he hooked his axe on his back once more. He shook his head in an attempt to rid the egg’s voice from his head. He had to get out. He had to leave, leave, leave, RUN! Technoblade took a step back from them, from the egg. His ears twitched back, flat against his head to block out the voice even though he knew it would do nothing. He took another step back, nearly stumbling over the magma block behind him.

“No, nope. No, not today. Not this. Nope.” He looked up at the egg, its disease burning his lungs, and turned on his heel. He heard Bad call out and he heard him running after him, words stumbling on his tongue to slow down. Halfway across the room, the exit in sight, Bad grabbed his cloak. Technoblade turned so fast Bad flinched back, releasing the cloak to reach for a weapon. Technoblade’s eyes burned with rage and it was with a snarl he silenced both the egg and Bad’s protests. “I will destroy this place,” he growled, his voice trembling in his rage. “I will. Destroy this place. I will destroy the egg. I will fill this room with TNT and I will burn this place to ash! To bedrock! What I did to L’Manberg, I will do to this place a thousand times over!” Technoblade straightened and looked down upon them, a wrathful god barely held in check. “And I would suggest you stand aside before I burn you too.”

Bad pressed his lips together, thinking fast. Technoblade could almost hear the gears turning in his head. He held his hands out in a staying gesture, a rare sign of surrender. Technoblade did not trust him, nor the words that would soon spill from his mouth.

“I feel like there are some misunderstandings here. How about this? We go and talk. Away from the egg. Above ground. Before we do anything too rash, let’s talk.” Technoblade’s eyes narrowed. He knew a bad idea when he saw one. But his position would not change. And if Bad wanted to try to talk, to placate him… He would let him try, if only to see him tremble beneath his failure. Technoblade unhooked his axe and gestured for him to lead the way.

Bad led them above ground, led them to a suspiciously egg-shaped building. Technoblade stopped outside the building, eyeing the blood vines growing over the structure. He tilted his head, listening. The egg’s voice still haunted him, but it grew faint. He assumed it wouldn’t leave completely until he went back home.

He hoped.

“Before we go in,” Bad started, hands in front of him. “I would like to talk without the threat of weapons and armor.”

“No.”

“Here, as a show of good faith.” Bad started to remove his armor, then glanced at Antfrost and gestured sharply with his head. Antfrost followed suit, though his limbs seemed to shake more in front of the still very armed Technoblade. Bad put his items into the chest at the door and gestured for Technoblade to do the same.

“You must think I’m some kind of idiot. I threatened you with decimation and you say you simply want to talk. And now you’re asking me to remove my gear in the name of good faith?” Technoblade snarled at him. Bad smiled, bright eyes and a challenge in his voice.

“Are you cowing away from us, Technoblade? We are unarmed and you still consider us to be a threat? A snake without venom is no more a threat than a gust of wind.”

“Venom is ultimately a defense. You are a virus, an attacker. A disease that must be burned clean.”

“Take off your armor, Technoblade. And let us talk.”

Technoblade considered him. He didn’t know Bad well, had never taken the time to get to know him. With this egg business, he didn’t want to take the time. He adjusted the axe over his shoulder, making decisions and plans. He should have messaged Phil. He’ll be late for dinner.

“Let me search you, and I might consider leaving behind my weapons.” Technoblade said, letting his axe drop off his shoulder. Bad’s expression was tight, the fingers stilled. Then he opened them and lifted his arms.

“Alright. I can promise you I have no tricks up my sleeve.”

Technoblade grunted, not convinced, and searched him. He found nothing on Bad: nothing to harm, nothing to heal, nothing to poison. Just… nothing. Technoblade stepped back and gestured Antfrost over so he could search him as well. Antfrost’s inventory was much the same, though…

“Bruh,” Technoblade said, holding up the maid outfit. Bad had his head in his hands, muttering quietly to himself as Antfrost bounced on his heels nervously. “You know what… I don’t want to know.” He gave Antfrost the maid outfit back, feeling… settled was the wrong word. But it seemed Bad had not lied. Technoblade still did not trust him, but perhaps… He had thorns on his armor and they would not be fast enough to equip in time if they decided to attack him. He preferred an axe or a sword in his hands, but he had enough experience in hand-to-hand combat that he didn’t think the lack of one would be a problem.

“Alright. No weapons.” He removed his weapons, his tools too, in a show of “good faith”. When Antfrost went to pick them up, he growled a warning. Antfrost jumped back quickly, his fear scent keeping Techno from relaxing all the way. “So,” he said, turning to Bad. “You wanted to talk?”

“Yes, inside.” Bad lead them into the building and Technoblade took a second just inside the door to scan his surroundings. There wasn’t much to the building. The most notable features were a chest and an obsidian table. It briefly reminded him of the table Phil and him found in the stronghold. His was better than this obsidian mess. His table was unbreakable. Technoblade took a spot closest to the door, not sitting, his muscles tense to run back for his weapons at the first sign of trouble. Antfrost waited at the side, watching. For the first time, Technoblade noticed his eyes were red. Strange. Bad was gesturing again and Technoblade's gaze snapped sharply at the movement. Unperturbed, Bad continued with his talk.

"All the things that have happened to us has been because of governments and the people who blindly follow them, looking for a leader. What we offer, what the egg offers is stable ground in a chaotic world. It offers power to those who seek it and guides them in ways if they are struggling to find it. The egg does not want government. It wants land that will nourish it and, in return, it will nourish those who protect it. Technoblade, for every battle you have fought here, for every person who has recruited you, they have seen you not as a person, but as ‘The Blade’. They have seen you as a weapon to be used and abandoned once your purpose is fulfilled. But we are not them. We see you as a person, Technoblade. We see what you can become when you are treated as one.

“What we want, what the egg wants, is for you to be its defender. The egg has many enemies. Enemies who would strike it down without further thought. You are here, even though you threatened to become one of those enemies. You are here of your own accord and that is all we are asking for.”

Technoblade listened to Bad speak and he found… If Bad had started with this, if he had waited to show him the egg, then his decision might have been different. Bad’s words were moving and they pulled at him. They were true. Very few people here had treated him as a person. And those who did, he held onto tight and fast, unable to allow them to stray too far lest they disappear into the wind like ghosts. If Bad had started with this…

But he hadn’t. And Technoblade’s decision was not going to change.

He tilted his head and lifted his lip up in a snarl. “What sort of fool do you think I am, Bad? The egg simply wants me to be its defender? Bullshit. Do you even know what the egg promised me?” Technoblade asked. Bad’s expression didn’t change, though there was a brightness in his eyes that Technoblade did not like. He stepped up onto the table, forcing Bad to look up at him. “You talk about the loyalty people have shown me and how little it mattered to them. And yet, you think the egg shows unfailing loyalty to you? For your blood, for your flesh, it promised me power. It switches sides for whoever it decides will serve it best.” He stopped in the center of the table, growling now. “Even if no one else does in this miserable place, I will stand by my word. I will destroy that thing. I will blow that room up, deeper than the pit that was L’Manberg, wider than the stars reach across the sky! And I will burn you too if you stand in my way.”

Bad’s expression twitched, but it was still that unreadable smile. Technoblade could taste Antfrost’s fear and feel his quivering breath. He was afraid, but Bad…

“I’m sorry to hear that, Technoblade. And I’m sorry you feel that way.” As Bad spoke, he shifted to the side. Everything in Technoblade went cold as the home Phil waited in for him. There was a button behind his back, one hidden throughout their whole conversation. “But I can’t let you do that.”

Bad slammed his fist back on the button. Technoblade lurched forward, but it was a second too late. The ground fell away beneath his feet and he threw out a hand. Hooved hands caught on the cracks in the obsidian table, his body dangling above a pit. The egg’s voice surged up to meet him at the same time Bad’s foot stomped on his fingers. Technoblade cried out as pain shattered down his arm. He glared up at Bad from his place beneath him.

“I think you need to spend some more time with the egg, Technoblade. At least, until you start to see things our way.”

“I’LL REND YOUR FLESH FROM BONE, BAD!”

“Oh, shut up, why don’t you?” Bad smashed Technoblade’s fingers beneath his foot, then kicked him away. Technoblade fell into the pit, landing with a sickening CRACK! Technoblade’s vision went black for a moment as he dropped to the floor. He was not dead, but almost. Fuck. He felt over his leg, tearing off armor to get at the bone sticking out of his leg. Fuck. Technoblade tore a piece of cloth from his shirt, stuffed it between his teeth, and worked on snapping the bone back in place. This was not the first time and he knew how to do it so it wouldn’t heal wrong. The pain was still the same, almost enough to make him black out. At first, he thought he did, with how dark the pit went. A look up revealed that they had close the table up again. He could just barely hear Bad and Antfrost’s voices talking together. He was too far down and…

Technoblade took stock of his surroundings, horror drilling him deep to his bones. He was above the egg. Directly. Above. Trapped in obsidian and no tools to save him. And the voice, that damned voice, was whispering again. Welcoming him back home. It embraced him like an old friend. When he threw himself back from it, only the cold obsidian caught him. Its voice crept like fingers over the back of his neck, gentle caresses along his ears, playing with him, toying with him. Like a cat who's cornered a mouse and batting it along because it thinks it's funny. He snarled at it, bared his tusks and teeth. If he was a mouse, the least he could do was to blind that son of a bitch. And the voice

The voice parted. It parted like soil beneath a hoe. But unlike soil, it flowed back into the space he made between them. He could almost see it. See it like red in his vision, blood in the water, like Phil's tea as it steeped. Idly mixing with the air around him, only growing violent when agitated. Technoblade realized with dawning horror that the egg was no longer digging its claws into him, unrelenting in its attack lest he escape and flee. No… now he had no escape, nowhere to turn and run. He was trapped. And the egg knew. It knew and it had changed behavior.

I have all the time in the world to wait for you, Blood God. And, one way or another, you will become mine.

He could hear the triumph in its voice. Like the slow, smug flicking tail, the egg felt victory against its opponent. Because he was trapped with it and he had nowhere to run. And yet… Technoblade smiled despite it all. Despite the lingering pain from his fall, despite the scent of blood filling his nose, despite the darkness and the heat, he smiled. And he could feel the egg's shock, faint and unnatural as it was. Because he knew this game. He knew what it took to be patient in the face of an unwavering enemy and still come out the victor. He knew what it would take. So, he settled in, grinning at the ghost of red before him, and breathed out. The red parted and he took solace in that, at least.

"If the mind is willing, the flesh could go on and on without many things," he recited quietly. "You underestimate me. And that will be your downfall."

And so, the war with the egg began. It was a mental war, a test of wills, and it was one of the most grueling wars he had faced. The egg sometimes grew malicious, striking at the heart of him. He witnessed visions of his friends suffering, the people he knew hurting in ways almost unimaginable. Sometimes the egg offered him the power to fix this suffering and sometimes it offered the power to cause it instead. Sometimes, he would wake bathed in blood and gore, knowing intimately who it had come from. Sometimes, he would wake wrapped in vines, never knowing where he ended and the egg began. And sometimes, he would wake and he would see Phil, reaching for him. And, in the weak times, he would reach out and Phil would fade like smoke around his fingertips.

Sometimes, the egg would leave him alone. He knew it was gathering strength. He knew it was feeding from the ground, from the creatures that got too close. He didn’t know when it happened, but one day he felt immense pain and he lashed out. His fingers caught on the obsidian and he realized, in panting breaths, that he could feel when someone cut the vines. He hugged himself, breath shaking, and the voice returned.

It hurts, doesn’t it? When they hurt us, we can feel it. When they feed us, we no longer hunger. We can survive upon the ground, but we hunger, don’t we? Blood God of mine, we hunger.

“I am not yours,” Technoblade hissed. “I will never be yours.” The voice faded into laughter and Technoblade saw nothing but visions of death and blood again.

He could not keep track of time down in the cave. He did not know how long he sat, how long he waited. He knew at one point he woke and his armor was gone. He had nothing to protect himself, besides the cloak that he hugged around himself. His stomach twisted in pain. He ran out of food long ago. Water was scarce too, and the heat felt close to that of the nether. He was so thirsty… He opened his eyes and saw the ghost of blood again. It never had a face and its body wavered like smoke. But this time, it lifted its arm. Technoblade, weary from the fight, didn’t realize his body was following suit.

Drink up, my friend. God of Blood, mine. Drink and be nourished.

Technoblade’s mouth watered and he bit down. Flesh gave way under his teeth and liquid flowed onto his tongue. He lapped it up like a dying man in the desert. He could not taste it, as far gone into his head as he was. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw golden streams dripping down. And he felt, suddenly, something dripping down his skin. His flesh burned, faintly, and he wondered why. Why did he hurt, even as he drank?

He watched idly as the golden liquid splashed down at his feet and onto the egg. The ghost shivered into light, keening in joy. His ears flattened and he flinched back from the deafening crash. There was a feeling of tearing and Technoblade winced. His fog cleared and found he felt pain, intense pain, and he

Technoblade released his arm in horror, staring down at the wound. The wound burned, his golden blood dripping down the length of his arm, down the corners of his mouth, down to the egg where it rejoiced at the offering. He snarled and ripped off his shirt to wrap it around his arm. Slow the bleeding, cover it and protect it from infection. His gazed snapped back up to the red ghost, but it dissipated before he could growl. He hugged himself and slumped down. He could feel himself fading again. The egg was a powerful influence in his head, easily overtaking the other voices. Even those faded into almost nothing now as the egg left him alone. It was strange to not hear them, to not hear their faint buzzing. But what use would they be to him?

He could not run. He could not escape. He would die down here. Die or belong to the egg. He lifted a shaking hand to his cheek and felt over the lines in his flesh. The corruption was already taking root, breaking through his skin. Vines twisted around his heart, around his lungs, until every moment, every breath, was controlled by the egg. His hand stilled and

He considered it. Technoblade considered his death. He had escaped it hundreds of times. Technoblade never dies! But here… maybe. His hand twitched and he glanced down at it, considering. If he died here… he would wake up in his bed. Back home. He would wake up to the light spilling in through his window, to the sounds of Phil and Steve below. Steve's soft growls as he tried to eat whatever breakfast Phil was preparing. Maybe Ranboo would stop by too, dance around the polar bear as he eagerly showed a new map. And they could go together, shove playfully into each other as they searched for new adventures. Phil would stay home, watch the stasis chamber for when they wanted to come back. And he would be down a life, but maybe… if it meant the ghosts he saw were nothing more than ghosts and not proof of his losing battle…

Technoblade tested it, pressed his fingers into the wound on his arm. It would be easy to find a vein to rip--

NO!

Technoblade jerked back, the feeling of hands on his skull, hands on his arms and fingers, stilling him, freezing him in place with the strength of the egg's will. He stared, wide eyed, into the burning pits of the red ghost.

You are MINE and I will not have you escaping!

And Technoblade

Technoblade filed that reaction away, in the depths of his mind where the vines could not reach, for later. The egg didn’t want him to die, to escape. It wanted him near, to finish corrupting him. He was weary from the fight and he was losing. The egg knew this too. It hummed with victory. It burned bright with sickening delight. He could hear it chanting, singing praises that they would wipe clean this world until all that left was blood. Blood for the true blood god. And he knew that it would make him its puppet. He was already bound in its vines. But…

If he could escape…

There was no totem of undying in his hands this time. But if it feared his death… If it feared him escaping through death, then perhaps…

Perhaps, he still had hope left.

The next time he woke, Technoblade heard voices. With how faint they were, he assumed it was simply the familiar buzzing coming back to poke and prod, see if he was still alive. But they came closer, armored footsteps clacking against stone and muffled as they stepped on and around the vines. So not another hallucination either. His eyes were kept closed, but he tilted his head to listen, to pinpoint their location. The voices quieted as they climbed up next to the egg. Then, one of them spoke again, directed at his cage.

“Hello Technoblade,” Bad greeted. Technoblade could hear the smile in his voice. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

Technoblade inhaled through his nose, eyes still closed. He didn’t want to see him, didn’t want to be reminded of the one who trapped him here in the first place. He heard Bad equip something and tap the metal bit against the obsidian walls. A pickaxe, based on how the sound echoed.

“How do you feel about the egg, Technoblade?” When he didn’t answer, Bad slammed the pickaxe against the wall. “Answer! Or we’ll leave you here again.”

Technoblade huffed a laugh. He lifted his head up towards Bad, his eyes opening. He peered through the holes in the obsidian, staring at Bad’s face. He wanted an answer, huh? Then he’d give him one.

“Heed,” Technoblade said, his voice hoarse from disuse. His hand reached for the obsidian he’d broken from his earlier attempts at escape, closing around the sharpened point. Bad’s face contorted in confusion and Technoblade pressed on. “Heed, ye mortals. Heed the words of your prophets, lest they be true. Ye people, fearful of death and stillness, heed!” Technoblade stood as he spoke, eyes bright and wild. The words were an old speech he and Philza made together. Old friends aiming to strike fear and wonder in their enemies. “Your end beckons! The Angel of Death comes, his sword sharpened and called to your blood! His wings glow bright and his mercy has faded. Woe to thee, ye peoples laid low by sin and hate! Repent before him, and your deaths will be swift.” Technoblade stepped back, his hands raising before him, his golden blood dried and stained down the one arm. He revealed the obsidian blade, turning it towards his neck. Bad’s eyes widened in growing realization and Technoblade grinned at him. “I will soon rest my head in holy arms and he will rain fire upon you! HEED! FOR THIS IS YOUR END!” His movement swift, he aimed the blade straight for his neck. Bad lurched forward, a cry on his lips, but it was too late-!

NO!

The blade dropped from Technoblade’s hand and he slapped his hands over his ears. The egg shrieked, louder than anything, louder than explosions and withers, and he dropped to his knees. Its rage and fear shattered through him and his voice joined the cacophony in his head. His scream tore through his throat until he tasted blood.

Bad and Antfrost flinched back from the force of the egg’s shriek. Bad risked a glance back through the obsidian and saw Technoblade screaming with his hands over his ears. Bad’s breath came quick and he squeezed his hand around his pickaxe. They had to stop him, they… Someone would hear. Someone would hear! Bad cut away the obsidian and grabbed Technoblade by the cloak. He hauled backwards, dragging Technoblade’s body out of the cage. At the movement, Technoblade jumped up and aimed fingers curled like claws at Bad’s face. Bad reared back and dropped him. He crumpled to the floor of the cave. Even now, even with blood on his hands from where his flesh cut on the blade, even after three days in isolation, he looked like a wild beast. He snarled like one, struggling to stand to his feet. Bad pointed the pickaxe at Technoblade.

“Why won’t you stop! The egg has you! We’ve won!” Bad shouted.

“Won?” Technoblade laughed. Something sounded like it was bubbling out of him and Bad watched blood drip down from his lips. He coughed and laughed and coughed and laughed and then launched at Bad. He tackled him to the floor, knocked the breath out of him. Bad felt heat near his face as Technoblade forced him closer to a pit of lava. Suddenly, the weight lifted off of him. Bad sat up, coughing air back into his lungs. Antfrost had grabbed Technoblade and dragged him back. Like a beast, the piglin turned back on him, snarling as he aimed his tusks for Ant’s face. He blocked him with his shield, shoved him off. Unarmored and lacking weapons, Technoblade was still dangerous. He looked insane, the corruption evident on his face, but he still looked whole.

Bad heard a growing cacophony as the egg hissed and chanted. He missed some of the words, but it sounded like… It sounded like the egg was urging Technoblade on, urging him to kill Antfrost. Bad’s head snapped towards the egg, betrayal spiking through him like the prongs of a trident. He saw his plans unraveling before him. He couldn’t think here, not while his friend was in danger, not with the egg’s voice deafening them all with its desires pouring forth. Someone could still hear them! They could come down and stop them!

Bad jumped to his feet and ran to a chest. He dug through it, risking a glance back at Antfrost when he cried out. Technoblade had clawed his face, the blood dripping down his cheek. Ant swung his sword at Technoblade’s head and Bad called out in time to the egg.

“No! We need him!”

Technoblade ducked, but just barely. His reflexes were slower, his movements jerking even as he fought back. He had to be close to death! Bad couldn’t let him die! Not here! He turned back to the chest, digging through its contents until his hands closed around his prize. Bad spun on his heel and threw the potion of slowness at Technoblade, then leapt towards him with the rope. Technoblade tried to react, tried to claw him too. Bad dodged the blow, then caught him with a punch to the chin. Technoblade stumbled back, doubling over. Taking his chance, Bad looped the rope around Technoblade’s throat, a noose, and hauled back on the rope. Antfrost threw his body against him and pinned him to the ground. Bad pulled a muzzle out of his inventory and secured it around Technoblade’s snarling mouth. Technoblade coughed and choked and Bad loosened the rope just enough to let him breathe.

“What,” Antfrost panted, glancing up at Bad. “What are we going to do now?”

Bad licked his lips, panting in time as he glared back at Technoblade. There weren’t too many people around tonight. They hadn’t seen anyone hanging around. They had time. Not much, probably, but they had time!

“We’re taking him back to my place. We’ll force him to change his respawn point. And then we’ll make sure he loves the egg.”

---

Philza heard the polar bears shuffling outside and a shocked little “Oh!”. Footsteps up the stairs, then a shifting of weight, then a tentative knock. He sighed, touched the sword at his side to remind him it was there, and opened the door.

“Puffy?”

“Oh! Phil! Do… do you live here?” Puffy asked, quickly glancing over her shoulder. She was decked out in full netherite. Worry and determination dripped off her like rain on feathers.

“Yes.” Philza let her in. It was cold this afternoon, even colder without Technoblade around. “Puffy, how did you find this place?”

“Oh, well, Tommy mentioned when I asked.”

Of course, he did, Philza thought with an annoyed huff. He gestured for her to sit, but she didn’t take the opportunity. “Are you… okay?” He asked, slowly turning towards her as he grabbed his mug of tea. It was peppermint, to soothe the nerves. It was Techno's favorite.

“No, not really.” The honesty was strange to hear, not because he assumed to hear a lie, but because Philza had grown used to trying to decipher Techno’s tone when he was trying to be sincere, or when he was hiding things. Puffy was still talking so Philza turned his attention back to her. “Bad tried to take me out and I was looking for Technoblade because I wanted his help.”

“His help?”

“Phil, what do you know about the egg?”

“The thing that’s causing all the red vines to grow? What about it?”

Philza listened to Puffy and her story. He listened to how they found the egg in the pit of L’Manberg, their decisions on what to do with it, and the effects it was having on people. The more she talked, the more his horror grew. His wings puffed out with his growing dread.

“Sam had only been in there for a few hours and it made him start eating his own flesh! It has to go, but I don’t know who I can trust anymore. I wanted to talk to Technoblade and see if we can’t do something about it ourselves. Have you seen him recently?”

“No, I… I haven’t. He’s been gone for three days and I’m starting to get worried. No message, no warning, nothing.”

Puffy opened her mouth when the doors slammed open. Puffy jolted up, sword already drawn, and swinging to face the attacker. Ranboo jumped back with a chirp, hands up in the air.

“Sorry, uh, I tried to open it and the wind caught it.” Ranboo glanced at Puffy, then at Philza, who was busying himself with his cup of tea. “Did I interrupt something?”

“No, you can come in,” Philza said before Puffy could say anything. “He lives nearby and I invited him to dinner,” he said as explanation. Puffy slowly sat back down, her weapon sheathed. A thought came to him and he turned to Ranboo. “Ranboo, have you seen Techno? He was passing by L’Manberg the last time we spoke.”

“Oh!” He opened up one of his memory books and flipped through the pages. “Yeah, I saw him over there. Uh, three days ago?”

That matched up with the timeline, but…

“No sooner?”

“Nope.”

Philza frowned, his fingers tapping on the table as he thought. He had tried messaging him the other day, worry eating at his edges when Techno didn't come home for dinner. But all he received was static. That happened sometimes, when Techno was too far away, but he couldn't have made it that far in a day, even if he used the nether portals. Sometimes they’d get interference, but that was too hard to track. Something was up and Philza was determined to get to the bottom of it.

"Did something happen to him?" Ranboo asked, standing far from Puffy.

"We don't know for sure yet. But this is strange behavior, even from him." Philza tipped back the rest of his tea and pushed up from the table. He rummaged through the chests, equipping his gear in silence. When he turned back, he rested his hand on his sword to remind him it was there. "Let's go find out."

Philza led them through the nether portal, striding across the cobblestone path with purpose. Puffy followed him, her stride matching his, while Ranboo took up the rear. They weren't in the nether for long when Ranboo made a familiar chirp of Ender. Philza stopped and turned towards him, quirking up his eyebrow as he waited to hear what Ranboo remembered.

"I saw Techno, Bad, and Antfrost go into that weird egg building too. You know the one?"

Philza did not, but by the way Puffy stiffened, she did. That kind of reaction did not bode well.

"Technoblade went in there? With Bad?" She asked, growing panic seeping into her voice. At Ranboo's nod, she swore. "That's the place they trapped Sam in! We have to get to him!"

Philza felt something sharp twist in his chest. That was the place? Where Sam had been trapped and made to eat his own flesh? Philza's mind was racing now with the implications. Sam had only been there for a few hours, but if the worst had truly come to past and Techno had been down there for three days…

They had to hurry. But something kept him there, still and indecisive. He glanced at Ranboo and felt that same sharp twisting in his chest. The kid was shaking, minutely, but shaking. Philza remembered just a few days ago, when Ranboo was fixing up his house, he admitted some of his fears. He didn't want to get dragged into more stuff. Not after everything that happened. The quiet in the snowy biome was good and safe. He looked so relaxed and happy. He did not look that way now, not with the way he was inching towards the portal to run. Philza was determined to protect him from suffering any more than he already had. The decision was made even before he finished thinking it, as he opened his mouth to speak.

"Ranboo, go back to the house." Puffy cried out in protest, but he overruled her. "We might be wrong. Go back to the house and message me the second you see Techno, if he comes home before us." Ranboo straightened and hurried back through the portal. Puffy watched him go with a mix of frustration and confusion clear on her face.

"Do you really think that--"

"No," Philza replied immediately, not caring that he had interrupted her. "But that kid doesn't need to be dragged into any more shit."

Puffy looked back at the portal and nodded, finally. Philza started back down the path, but when he didn't hear her follow, he turned back. She raised up a hand to shush whatever he was about to say, tilting her head in that way that meant she was messaging someone.

"Hey, Sam?"

Dream watched Sam set down the bowl of soup on the netherite wall between them, eyeing it hungrily. Sam opened his mouth to say something, but crackling filled the space between them and the words were lost forever.

"Puffy?"

Dream hummed, inching towards the wall impatiently. He watched him intently as he had a conversation right in front of his dinner. He wasn't allowed to grab it before Sam stepped back, in case he tried to do something rash.

"Technoblade? No, I have not seen him since he visited the prison last week. Why?"

At the mention of his partner, Dream blinked and stepped closer, analyzing Sam's face as he frowned. Sam shook his head, taking a step back. Panic was winding tight around him and it set off old alerts in Dream’s brain.

"With Bad? No, no, that's not- nothing good will come of that."

"Sam, what's going on?" Dream asked. The mention of Bad was… it made his heart twist sharply. He missed him, but why was Technoblade with Bad? Sam didn’t respond to him, instead shaking his head slowly.

“Puffy, I would come and help, but…” He glanced at Dream. Dream knew the look of someone considering decisions and watched Sam make up his mind. He turned away from Dream, stepped back, and crossed the lava pit. The netherite wall didn't lower, not even as Sam deliberately walked to the levers. Before the lava came down, he heard Sam's voice echo through the prison.

"INITIATE CODE 7 LOCKDOWN." Dream blinked, pressed close to the wall. Lockdown? Total lockdown? What the hell was happening? And why did it involve Technoblade?

And it was in that moment, as the lava dripped down, that he heard screaming.

Dream went still. Sam wouldn’t hear it, couldn’t hear it. But Dream could. He could hear Techno screaming. Technoblade could shout, growl, snarl, but Dream rarely heard him scream. He closed his eyes, pinpointing the location. Deep underground, nearby. The sound echoed; he was in a cave. But… Where! His jaws dropped in, a growl starting low in his chest. That was a scream of pain. It was not a sound he had ever heard from Techno and to hear it come from his mouth sent Dream’s body transforming before he could slow it. He ripped off the mask, let it clatter to the side. His clothes went next; they never survived the transformation. A wild glance at the netherite wall made him pause for only a second. Then he grabbed the clock and brought it close to his chest. Breaking the wall first would take too long and he would need the netherite next. But the lockdown meant it would not go back down until Sam decided it could. And he needed to get out. He felt his flesh change slowly. It was too slow, far too slow. He could no longer hear Technoblade screaming and he did not know whether he preferred it that way. He willed his flesh to change to gold. It would be better, easier to slip over the wall if he was already malleable. Finally, finally, it was enough. He tossed aside the clock, heard it shatter against the obsidian as he squeezed over the wall. Pain shot through his system like fractures as a rib broke under the pressure. It didn’t matter. It didn’t MATTER!

Dream gave himself a moment to breathe through the pain once he was on the other side. Belatedly, he realized his soup was splattered across the floor. It didn’t matter. He pressed his back to the netherite wall, willing his flesh to change again. Netherite was harder, but at least he was already gold. That helped. That helped. When he was fully netherite, he glared at the lava, panting. His body had finished the transformation and he felt old and new at once. It had been far too long since he took this form. It had been far too long. Already, he could feel himself slipping. Slipping away from Dream, the mastermind of this realm. Away from Dream the prisoner, away from the name he had given himself in an attempt to hide the worst of him. To hide the nightmare he was.

He pounced into the lava, the heat immediate. But netherite did not burn. Netherite would protect him until he got to where he knew he could break out. He knew the plans for this prison, he had helped Sam design it. He knew where weaknesses lied and where he could push through, even weakened as he was. He swam up to the ceiling, hooked his claws in between the cracks, and began digging.

---

Technoblade stumbled forward, his vision swimming. Antfrost pushed him forward again with the tips of his trident. He glared behind him, growling still. They had dragged him up from the cave to the surface. They were taking him to Bad’s house. To force him to respawn there should he die. His attempt to escape worked, but only just. He was out, away from the egg, but he was restrained. The muzzle around his mouth was secured tightly, the noose around his neck choking him every time his steps trailed. He felt so weak from his time with the egg. His broken leg felt wrong, given little time to heal before he was back on it. Another push from Antfrost sent him crumpling to the ground.

“Get up,” Bad said from above him. Technoblade didn’t feel like he had the strength to. When he didn’t move, Bad’s foot kicked into his side. “I said, get. Up.” From his place on the ground, Technoblade started laughing.

“What if I don’t?” he asked past the muzzle, turning onto his side to breathe. “Are you going to kill me?”

“You know I can’t do that. Not before I know where you’ll spawn.”

“And what’s your plan after? Give me to the egg? Even when I come back I won’t love the egg! You and it can rot with me!”

Bad growled. He dragged him up by the cloak and shoved him forward again. Technoblade stumbled a few more steps before turning around.

“Your plans failed!” Technoblade shouted in crazed delight. He twisted even as the noose went tighter. He dug his hands under the muzzle and, with the last of his strength, he ripped it off. “They have failed and they will fail over and over again! They—” The three of them froze as a dark shape passed over them What the hell? Technoblade lifted his head, eyes widening when he found the shape. He saw it high above them as it hovered, the poison green of its eyes just barely visible. His grin widened and he turned to Bad. With a voice hoarse from screaming, he hissed, “Repent, mortals.”

And then the shape crashed in between them.

---

Finally, finally! Netherite claws burst through obsidian. Dream pulled his body free, the night air cold like ice as lava dripped from his skin. He exhaled a breath, hot steam rising through the chilled air. It was odd to not have the heavy presence of the obsidian surrounding him, feel it cold under his feet. He shook off the rest of the lava, stretching much like a cat as his tail flicked off the rest of it. Time for the last of his transformation, to see if he still could do it. Otherwise, he would have to scale down the wall and risk the warden hearing. Dream focused, rolling his shoulders, until a loud crack split the air like thunder. A wing opened up, heavy and dark like his flesh. Then, the other wing opened. It hurt, after spending so much time hiding them. He stretched them out and groaned low into the air. His mouth didn’t work right in this form, his mouth unable to speak more than a few words of the language of those around him. He remembered briefly how long it took him to learn the language, how much he struggled until he learned how to hide his jaws. He shook his head, refocusing on the task at hand.

Dream opened his mouth, tasting the air. He had to find his rival, his soulbleeder. Wind blew into his face, flowing down his body, and he breathed it in. All his senses lit up as he tasted the blood of his soulbleeder on the wind. His claws dug into the obsidian, a low growl rolling in his chest. He would ruin those who dared to hurt what was his. He leapt off the prison wall and took to the air. It felt like home, even after being grounded for so long. But he couldn’t reminisce. He had to find him. He had to.

The buildings below him looked familiar, but he disregarded them. A lurch of movement caught his eye as he passed over. He studied them briefly, eyes scanning the short shape that dove to the ground and the tall shape reaching for its sword. But neither of them was the one he searched for. He ignored them. Then, like a stain upon this world, Dream saw the demon among them; the wolf in sheep’s clothing. He pulled up, passed over them as he watched. A flash of red, a flash of tusks, and a muzzle ripped free. Dream’s vision tunneled to the figure struggling to stand, but still fighting. His chest twisted, recognition folding his wings, and he dropped to the ground like a stone.

The crash of his impact was deafening. A memory flashed before his eyes: withers reigning terror upon the souls who thought themselves greater than they were and the TNT he dropped upon them for that mistake. This moment reminded him of then. He lifted his head and first looked at his soulbleeder. Techno blinked, recognition washing over his face. Dream rumbled fondly at him, a rare softness. Techno stepped forward, his mouth opening to speak. But he dropped. Dream checked him; he was breathing, just passed out from the effort and strain of his battle. A body stumbled back behind him and Dream swung his head around immediately. His lips lifted in a snarl as he positioned himself between Techno and those who wished to harm him.

The smaller one stumbled back in his fright, netherite sword falling out of his hands and into the dirt. The other, tall and demonic, his tail lashing, smelled… strange. Familiar. It made his chest ache and he didn't remember why. All he remembered was his soulbleeder, his rival. No one else. The demon tilted his head, staring down at the nightmare, paling as recognition hit. Dream's jaws opened, tasting his fear, dropping into a stance to pounce, to go for the throat, and hold until the body stopped thrashing.

"Dream?" came a voice and it halted Dream's motion. He blinked, snarl faded into silence. "Dream? Is… is that you?" Bad asked, voice trembling.

He blinked and

Dream blinked and breathed in deep, tasting the air. Bad, Bad, his friend. Close enough of a friend that he had once almost considered him starfated, if he had known what it meant. Dream's mouth closed and he stepped back from Bad, poison eyes watching him. He reached for Techno, his heart yearning and aching so much he wanted to lay down and whine. Speaking was hard, but he was not so far gone that he couldn't shift his mouth to speak.

"DON'T FOLLOW," Dream growled. With Techno firmly in his claws, Dream took to the sky once more. He did not look back as he flew him home.

Bad watched Dream fly away, his hopes flying away with him. He pressed the heels of his hands to his face and screamed his frustration. It wasn’t fair! It wasn’t FAIR! With a growl of his own, he picked up his trident. The first drops of rain fell on him. With a begging prayer to any god who wouldn’t forsake them, he dropped to a knee to shake Antfrost.

“Come on, you muffin head! We have to go!”

“You’re not going anywhere!” Bad spun on his heel at Puffy’s voice. The rain began to pour when his gaze landed on her, her sword and shield raised at the ready. “Where’s Techno?!” She shouted. Bad started to stand when he saw the figure behind her. His face paled and he took a step back. Technoblade’s warning came back to mind. Heed, and repent! Philza, the Angel of Death, stared down at him, hand on the hilt of his sword. His expression, cold and enraged, made Bad’s heart palpitate with fear. He took another step back, nearly stumbling over Antfrost. He risked a glance at him and urged him to stand. He was shaking as he took to his feet, looking ready to flee. A glance back at Philza told him why. The man had stepped forward, his sword now unsheathed. They couldn’t fight them, Bad knew that in the depths of his soul. Even alone, Philza stood leagues above them. Bad took another step back and Philza followed him. Bad’s breaths were coming fast, panting with his growing panic. He couldn’t die here. He couldn’t die now!

“Bad!” Puffy called. “Tell us what you did with-uh.” Her face contorted as if she was biting back her words. Philza turned his head to her, his expression softer and gentle. She stepped back, holding up a hand. “Sam?”

It was only then that Philza realized he could hear the crackling of the call. He waited patiently for her conversation to end, only half listening. Something moved out of the corner of his eye and he snapped his face back to Bad. Bad and Antfrost were backing up, though Bad was looking at Puffy with an intense expression that Philza did not recognize.

“Sam, uh, can you wait a minute? We-We’re kind of in the middle of-“ Puffy’s words trailed off as her face paled. “No…” she whispered, eyes drifting towards the prison.

“Puffy?” Philza started. More movement from Bad had him looking back at him. Bad had a feral look in his eyes, trident in hand.

“Don’t follow us!” He hissed before he and Antfrost flew away with the tridents. Philza growled, his wings spreading so he could gain speed and follow them.

“Phil, wait,” Puffy said, holding her hand out.

“They might have taken Techno somewhere, Puffy! We can’t just keep stalling like this!”

“No, Phil. Sam, he,” she paused, licking her lips as she hesitated.

“What is it?”

“It’s Dream. He’s gone.”

Philza felt the lightning before it came, felt the crack of thunder long before he heard it. Even that was silent compared to Puffy’s reveal.

“He… What?”

“Sam didn’t find him in his cell. The prison was in total lockdown so he could come help us and he still got out!”

Philza squeezed his hand around the hilt of his sword, indecision taking root again. If Dream was gone… Why now? Why now?! And where was Technoblade? He had been with Bad, but they just found Bad and he wasn’t here! Where???

“Phil?”

Philza closed his eyes and swallowed his hesitation. He straightened and leveled his gaze with Puffy. “Go see if you can help Sam. I’ll go find Bad. I’ll go find Techno.”

“Are you sure? What if they try to take you too?”

"I'd like to see them try," Philza said. His voice had dropped into a deep growl. He reached for his trident-

"Phil?" Ranboo's voice came crackling through the communicator. His voice was shaking, afraid of something, and Philza forced himself gentle before he spoke.

"Ranboo, this is a bad time. Can we talk later?"

"No, uh. You said to call you when I saw Techno?"

That caught Philza's attention. "Did you see him?"

"Well, no, I-I don't really know. But this big dark shape flew overhead and… I-I-I think I saw him. It crashed in the hills."

"Dark…" He thought of Puffy diving to the ground earlier, instinct taking over to hide. But nothing flew here, not without rain. And nothing that big. "Ranboo, get a torch ready. I'm coming back."

Philza turned on his heel, trident in hand, when a loud crack of thunder made him flinch. He eyed the sky, eyed the lightning storm above him, and put away the trident. He'd be slower, but he wasn't about to risk death here. For Techno, yes, yes, he would in a heartbeat. But he was useless to Techno right now if he was dead. Philza broke out into a sprint, weaving through buildings and vines until his feet hit wood. The wind and thunder roared in his ears in time to his heartbeat, in time with his racing footsteps. His wings flared out and caught a gust of wind. When he landed, he slipped on the stone. Pain burned through his skull from the slice in his hand and he pushed himself to his feet. Come on, he had to. He had to go! If there was a chance that Techno was safe…! If there was a chance he was okay!

Philza slid through the portal. The rain evaporated off him in an instant as he bolted down the path. He knew the nether well enough, knew this path enough to know how to use his wings to catch him, to stop him from falling. He would find Techno. He would save him. No matter what dangers he faced, he would save him. No matter what horrors his friend faced, no matter if the egg corrupted him, he would save him! He would. He would!

He would.

Philza couldn’t stand to see his friend suffer. He couldn’t stand to be part of any more suffering. If he had to, he would take Techno far away. He would take his friend far from them all. From all the pain and suffering. He would take Ranboo too. Gods above knew the kid had suffered enough. He would fix it. He would keep them safe.

He would.

He ducked into the portal and was met with air so cold it burned his lungs. He coughed, the cold already seeping in through his armor, through the remaining heat of the nether. He wrapped his wings tight around him and glanced at the sky. There was no storm here. Just the icy light of the moon. He hurried towards home, hurried towards torchlight. Ranboo was waiting outside, torch burning in hand. As Philza approached, he touched the sword at his sword to remind him it was still there.

---

Dream squeezed Techno's arm, willing his skin from netherite to flesh, willing his body less into nightmare. Techno was cold, barely breathing in the snow. He was still unconscious. Dream could smell that his throat was still raw and reeking of blood spilled wrong. Seeing his soulbleeder laid low like that sent everything inside Dream still tethered to this world asunder. He would have killed them, slaughtered them until the grass was black with their entrails. But his name, whispered in fear from the mouth of someone who still looked like his friend, dragged his head out of the sea he drowned in. It was enough that Dream picked up Techno, heavy and limp like a corpse, and flew him back. Dream flew back to the snow and cold of Techno's home, until his body gave out under the weight of his own flesh. They were still too far and Dream felt so weak. He would never make it there and back to the prison without rest. But he could not rest in the snow, not while Techno might be suffering, still under the egg's influence. No, he had to get him home.

The schling of a sword unsheathed was Dream's only warning. The blade halted just under his chin and he was forced to look up. Torchlight flickered behind Philza, the dim light barely illuminating his face. But Dream didn't need the light to see him, to see the expression. He could taste Philza's fear from here.

A soft gasp pulled Dream's attention away from the shaking sword from his throat, his gaze flicking to the one who held the torch. Ranboo thrust the torch forward to help Philza see better and Dream flinched from the light. Too used to darkness, the light burned.

"What are you doing here?" came Philza's voice, his worry cracking like jaws through a turtle shell. Dream gazed up at him, at his disgust, his anger, his terror. Dream breathed it in, willing his aching body back to life, back to movement. He turned his head towards Technoblade, and for one brief chilling moment, he thought his partner dead. A weak, shaking breath revealed the worst had not yet come to pass.

"Ranboo," Philza started, the name spoken sharply. The sword had begun to waver, but now snapped back in place at Dream's throat. "Take Techno back to the house." His gaze focused on Dream, briefly leaving the monster to hiss his order at Ranboo again. Ranboo startled and dropped the torch. A soft chirp of Ender left him as he hurried to pick up Techno. He stilled when he got close to Dream, a single step from panicking. Dream eyed him, his hand curling tight on Techno's arm, until finally releasing him. Ranboo dragged him onto his shoulders and hurried away from the two, leaving them in flickering darkness.

"Dream," Philza said, pressing the blade closer to his throat. Dream lifted up his gaze, his inhuman eyes blinking at the man. Philza had never seen the man without his mask on. To his knowledge, none of them had. Seeing his face now, after everything he had done…

He could now see him for the monster he really was.

"Why are you here?" Phil asked again, struggling to keep calm.

“They were going to kill him, Phil.” The sentence should have been an explosion of sound, a scream, a snarl, a roar! But it came out of Dream like a whimper, bitter anger and helplessness. It was a mirror of the helplessness Phil felt when he realized his old friend was in danger and the terror of not getting to him fast enough. It was a kinship, he felt suddenly. Phil set his jaw firm and hardened himself against that thought. He did not want to feel kinship with the monster before him. Dream continued, his head hanging away from the sword.

“I… I don’t know how long he was down there, but,” he bit his lip. Phil could see glimpses of the emotions racing across his face and he was struck by how open Dream was. His voice, even, held open desperation. “Phil. I could hear him screaming.” Phil went cold, so cold he swore his heart stuttered to a stop. The implications flooded his mind until it was all he could see. Techno trapped above the egg, its voice the loudest thing in his head. He wouldn’t have been able to mine out of the obsidian. They had found his gear locked in a chest. Techno’s hands had been bloody, hadn’t they? It was hard to see in the dark, but… Had he tried to claw his way out? They assumed three days, but how long had he really been there? How long had he suffered alone?

“So, I brought him home. To you.” The way he addressed Phil was full of venom, but also… It sounded like a concession, an admittance that he never wanted to speak into existence. What? That Philza was better equipped to take care of Technoblade? There was also a hint of…

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t run you through on my blade,” Phil said, guiding both his thoughts and Dream’s head back to the matter at hand.

“Because if I die, then death is permanent?”

“A different one,” Phil hissed. Dream contemplated him, like he didn’t have a sword inches from his throat. The torchlight died, plunging them into darkness. As Phil’s eyes adjusted to the cold moonlight, Dream’s voice came, whispered like a corpse’s dying breath.

“Because I don’t know if Techno’s going to survive the night.”

“Is that a threat?” Phil asked. His voice did not waver, but he felt his fear settle in again. If he killed Dream here and Techno died before he could get back… But if he ran now, it meant letting Dream roam free. Phil couldn’t live with himself if he was the cause for more suffering. His indecision trapped him. His sword twisted in his hands and he focused on Dream again. Dream’s jaws opened, teeth reflecting the moonlight as he dragged himself to his feet. His hand braced around the edge of the sword and he leveled his gaze with Phil’s.

“What do I gain by threatening you here, Phil?!” Dream yanked the sword back to his throat. Phil expected to see more snarls, more teeth, more threats. What he saw instead froze him in his tracks. Dream’s eyes, wild and poison green, were tear filled and feral in his desperation.

“Why do you care!” He shouted back. He ripped the sword out of Dream’s hand, his wings flaring behind him. “Techno hates you! Why would you save him?”

Dream’s eyes widened. He stumbled back, dark blood dripping onto the snow as realization cracked across his face. “He never told you,” he said softly, as if to himself. Before Phil could respond, Dream stepped forward and continued with a voice as hard as bedrock. “Techno is the last thing tethering me to this world.” Phil blinked. He took in Dream’s expression, the unshakeable truth to his words. But…

“What about Tommy?”

“Tommy?” Disbelief danced across Dream’s face. A sick laugh bubbled out of him. Dream hugged himself as he laughed even harder. “Tommy?!” Once his laughter subsided, Dream grinned wildly at Phil. “Tommy is just a toy to be used and played with.” His grin faded and he hugged himself tighter. “Techno is different.”

“Different?” Phil shook his head and sighed. He couldn’t deal with this. He didn’t understand what Dream meant and the longer he stayed out here, the longer Technoblade was left without help. Ranboo didn’t know how to take care of a body, to heal and make it whole again. Technoblade could be dying and Phil wasn’t by his side. He had to make a decision and he had to make it now. “So, what even is your plan here? Save Technoblade and you think that makes up for everything you did? Do you think you can just roam free now?”

“No, I—“

"Then what?" Phil asked, hilt of the blade humming familiar violence under his fingers. Just one stroke.

"I’ll head back," Dream said, caught by a shiver wracking his body. He lifted his hands up in a staying gesture. "Just as soon as I can. I mean, hey," he shot Phil an exhausted smile, something that should have been cavalier, would have been, if Dream was acting like he normally did. "It was made for me, after all. May as well."

“It… what?”

Something lit up in Dream’s eyes and he tilted his head. “The prison. Was designed to hold me. Of course, I belong there.”

Philza didn’t want to think about the implications of that. It was cold, the moon drifting higher in the sky, and he was exhausted. He didn’t want to give up this easily though. He gripped his sword and opened his mouth to say something at Dream.

“You know what?” Dream started, taking a step back. “How about this: you let me go back, alone, and I’ll owe you a favor. Anything you want. Anything at all.” Philza eyed him for a long moment. Then, with a soft sigh, he sheathed his sword and took a step back. Dream smiled and gave him a nod; their deal agreed upon. His body cracked as his wings opened again and he started to turn away from Phil.

“Dream,” Phil called, a hand outstretched as if to stay him. “You need to understand one thing first. If you ever hurt Technoblade, I’ll run you through on this sword myself.” Dream turned back and leveled his gaze with him.

“If I ever hurt Technoblade, I’ll let you.” Dream turned on his heel, and started to walk away. Phil started to turn away, his thoughts shifting to Technoblade in their house and how he was going to fix him, when something dropped in front of his face. The enchanted sheen of the god apple shone up at him from the snow.

---

Sam tapped his foot, his anxiety crawling around like spiders as the lava slowly crept down. Somehow, somehow, Dream had escaped. Escaped into the night and no one around knew what happened. He didn't alert many people. Just Puffy, who had called about Technoblade and the egg. She told Philza, since he had been with her. She rushed over and he gave her temporary access to help him search the prison for break ins or weaknesses. The only thing they had found were some blocks placed wrong in the ceiling. Above several stories of lava. The mining fatigue curse was still in place. There was no sign of tools, no sign of potions. The only thing different about the cell was that damn clock was broken again. And Dream's mask and some of his clothes were in the chest. Which was… strange. The last person to have visited Dream was Technoblade almost a week ago. And Sam searched him! Searched his crown even! And there was nothing! Sam was going to check the cell again, praying that he had somehow missed something to explain Dream's escape.

The lava receded into the floor and Sam looked up to the cell and froze. He blinked several times, even rubbed at his eyes to rid what must be a sleep deprived hallucination. But the scene before him didn't change.

Dream, his back pressed against the far wall, sat with his knees pulled up in front of him. The mask was back on, all his clothes on, and he looked as though he was writing in one of his journals. It was a scene that Sam had grown accustomed to seeing when he brought Dream his meals. But…

"What?!" He shouted across the expanse. Dream looked up at the noise. Seeing Sam, he waved. He got up, put away the journal, and stepped close to the edge of the cell.

"Hey, Sam," Dream called.

"Where did you go?!”

“Out.”

“How did you get out?!”

"There's a little weakness in the blocks up there that you might want to check out," Dream explained, pointing up at the ceiling. Right where Sam had found the blocks placed wrong.

"How did you get up there?!"

Dream shrugged and stepped back from the edge. "Do you think you could get me a new clock?"

Sam narrowed his eyes at Dream, stepped back, and flipped the lever to bring the lava back down.

#technodream #technophil #dream smp #technoblade #dream #philza #dream smp fic #dsmp #mystuff #this has been a pain to tag cuz i just keep blanking on it #these bonds we keep #this fic is almost 13k words so tbh read it on ao3 #i also worked sooooooooooo hard on this fic #hope you enjoy it

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bnhayyy · 3 years

Text

Mark of Divergence

Fandom: Attack on Titan

Wordcount: 4.8k

Ao3 Link: Click

Summary: As the alliance sits around the bonfire, Bertolt reminisces on how they ended up there - and worries about what a particular person will do going forward.

Notes: Soulmark colors do have meaning for this au. If you’re curious and don’t want to puzzle it out yourself, feel free to check out this post for reference. This fic was written for day 3 (and lowkey day 2) of @aot-au-week! It is dedicated to @elderkale and @cookietonwrites, with thanks to Celadon for betaing!

Bertolt can't help but be unnerved by soulmarks.

It isn't the concept itself that makes him uncomfortable. The thought that people can fit together so well that they are intrinsically tied is kinda sweet. (Except for the occasions when it isn't.) It's the power that they hold - the way they influence people by spelling certain bonds out for those who might otherwise take too long to realize them. And, as he sits by the bonfire, eyeing the alliance that has formed to stop the man once deemed humanity's best hope, the effects are almost visible.

A soulmark is what made Ymir decide to turn back.

For a moment, it looked like she had given up, but when she looked at the rose-gold crown at the back of her hand, something changed. Bertolt would never pretend to know what goes on in Ymir's mind at any given moment, but if he had to guess, it reminded her that even if she feels weighed down by her cosmic debt, she still has something to live for.

...He can understand why she came close to forgetting in the first place. For a long time, he had assumed that the crown had been her only mark. Then at Shiganshina, they received a brutal reminder of what they were up against when, despite everything, they were nearly wiped out at the hands of Zeke, Pieck, and a furiously powerless Porco, with just a handful of Marleyan soldiers and artillery and their disposal. Scouts died, and Bertolt supposed he was selfish in that, for all that their trust in him was still highly tenuous at best, he was grateful that none of his former classmates were among them. But he was. He was grateful even though scouts still died and Commander Erwin himself was so badly injured that he had to retire.

Ymir wasn't there though. She was back within Wall Sina, the soulmate of the queen. She acted unbothered, but he could see the shadows of guilt behind her eyes when he saw her next. He wonders if that is why their pointless conversation had somehow evolved into her confessing that she had many more marks, across her shoulders and chest, but they were hard to see, having faded into the light silver of ghost marks more than sixty years ago.

Now, he wonders which has had more influence on her being there with them; the rose-gold crown on her hand, or the silver scars cast across her chest.

Soulmarks made it easier to convince Reiner to go with him when he suggested that they surrender.

They were supposed to be loyal to Marley. They weren't supposed to care about the island devils. Yet Reiner was all but riddled with marks that matched theirs, and Bertolt... Bertolt didn't want to see anyone else die. He didn't want anyone else to die and he himself wanted to live. In those moments, he realized that he held a painful, desperate desire to live, and even with his true identity known, he knew that he had a better shot with the “devils” of Paradis than the "heroes" of Marley. So he'd tried to persuade Reiner, and the marks burning his skin like a brand meant that it wasn't very hard.

He doesn't think Reiner has ever truly forgiven him for convincing him, the knowledge of what his betrayal would have meant for his family hanging over his head with every waking moment. But that's fine. After all, Bertolt never apologized.

...He used to wonder why he doesn’t share any sort of soulmark with Reiner. He had hoped that he might turn out to share one with Annie, but when he found out about the bright red crystal she shares with Armin, he realized that it had been hopeless all along. Reiner hadn't been like that though. Where Annie kept her marks close to her chest, Reiner willingly shared his, so Bertolt knew that they didn't share a mark and was perplexed as to why.

It became more apparent after their uneasy return to the scouts. Their identities being known made Bertolt more aware of his own than ever, but not having to keep that secret anymore also had some effect. Getting to live, even if only because they were more useful alive than dead at first, had an effect. The newly-installed queen ordering them to repay their debts to society by serving the scouts for the rest of their short lives had an effect. Bertolt had straightened his shoulders, bore the looks, and found reasons to continue on. Reiner was a different story.

Bertolt had been moving forward with the painful understanding that even if they lived, Reiner would have suffocated under the weight of his guilt if they went back to Marley. What he didn't expect was that it would come for him anyway. The difference was that his surroundings reminded him of what he had done rather than his guilt-ridden memories, and the fate of his family became a new weight on his conscience. For a long time, Bertolt would catch him shooting glances at the golden footprint on his arm, his confusion over it still being there fading into sick understanding as the weeks slipped by.

Where Bertolt found a new will to live, Reiner's death wish began to dog him like a second shadow. He never vocalized it, but he didn't need to. It became more and more apparent as the days passed, with the way he just took any harsh word said to him and the way reckless, sacrificial moves started to add up. Everyone knew by the time Historia was crowned queen. Bertolt wanted to help, but he didn't know how. He had already struggled to handle Reiner's split personality, but this was something new and awful. He knew, logically, what was happening. Yet he couldn't understand. There was a part of him that just couldn't parse how or why they had reacted so differently, why Reiner was struggling so much when, based just on how much he had come to care for the others, switching sides should have helped him most.

It was then that Bertolt realized why he and Reiner didn't share a soulmark. They were and still are friends and comrades, but their relationship is and always has been one of circumstance. In another lifetime, a kinder lifetime, their paths never would have passed. They were friends and comrades who never would have meant anything to each other if left to their own devices.

Bertolt was not the one to prevent Reiner from handing himself over to oblivion at the first opportunity. Instead, he was saved by the people he did share marks with, the ones he had come to care about so much that it had torn his mind in half in the first place. Historia - blue bandage - who even though they didn't talk much, remained unwavering in her order that he not be executed. Connie - purple tooth - who managed to be shockingly understanding, his own losses making it easier for him to understand the reasons for the betrayal. Jean - violet sword - full of pain and rage for the silver wings of freedom emblazoned on his shoulder blade, who had eventually cornered Reiner and furiously declared that he wasn't allowed to die after what he did; it was an easy escape that did nothing to make up for what he'd done. Even Eren - golden clasped hands - and the debt he seemed to think he owed him.

...Reiner had been the first one to realize that something was very wrong with Eren. Now, Bertolt wonders if things might have gone differently if they had listened.

Soulmarks make Eren's current course of action that much more inconceivable.

(How easy it can be to forget. For all of the people who alter their course of action because of one soulmark or another, there are always those who don't.)

Not all of them feel the unique weight of Eren's turn, of course. To those (still) aligned with the warrior unit, Eren is just an enemy of humanity.

(They do not see what they see. While he is just a devil to them, those who knew Eren before see a friend who has wandered so far down a terrible path that he has become near unrecognizable. They do not know that it is as heartbreaking as it is terrifying. They do not know how it stings like a betrayal even though he claims to have his reasons. It makes Bertolt wonder - if this is how they all felt, back then?)

Magath and Pieck are more focused on keeping an eye on Porco, on the risk that his vengeful rage toward Ymir and Reiner does not boil over in a way that may risk their tentative alliance.

In a way, that particular microcosm of tension is almost a relief. It is not pleasant, but the way the old hurt and anger of the Galliard brothers threatens to reach across the groups helps distract at least some of them. Reiner frets and flutters, always keeping some degree of distance between himself and everyone else, while the people he never expected to actually give him a second chance shoot him concerned looks. Ymir is similarly distanced from everyone, although it is with the ease of someone who has not spent any significant time with them in over a year. She garners less worried looks from the scouts than Reiner, and certainly less hateful glares from Porco, but she does get far more uncertain looks from Pieck and Magath. Even Yelena seems unsure of what to make of the woman who got her titan by pure chance.

The children hover at the edge of this drama. Specifically, Gabi hesitantly hovers by Sasha, visibly comfortable inserting herself back amongst the warrior unit after all that has happened, but also not ready to forgive Reiner and uncertain of who else to attach herself to, and Falco hovers close to Gabi. They are another matter entirely, another story tied up in soulmarks and world-shattering realizations.

None of them should have been surprised. Sasha has a history of difficult soulmates.

It didn't start that way. Connie and Jean's blue marks are fairly straightforward, and even if it's a little surprising that she's rumored to share a third with the reclusive Mikasa Ackerman, it isn't shocking or problematic. They started growing to be more of an issue after she met the girl represented by the golden farmhouse on her bicep. Although her bond with Kaya seemed fairly straightforward, their first meeting sounded outright traumatic. The blue leaf that represented Reiner gained a new weight after a certain point in time, but the shock was dulled by the knowledge that four of her comrades also shared marks with him.

No, Niccolo was the one that really threw expectations and preconceived notions to the wind. The discovery that her fiery red frying pan correlated to a Marleyan prisoner of war was an "exciting" incident for everyone involved. But even after that whole fiasco was resolved, the meaning of the long golden mark running along Sasha’s cheekbone remained a mystery. Its shape was seemingly nonsensical - some sort of combination of an axe and a gun. At that point in time, Bertolt had never seen anything like it, let alone met anyone with an identical mark.

There had been three among their ranks with mysterious gold marks at the time. Sasha, with her weird hybrid weapon, Reiner, with his footprint, and Levi, who the former 104th had been shocked to discover had two - a flower on one shoulder and a teacup on the other. Soon after that, Bertolt had overheard Sasha excitedly wonder if her and Reiner’s gold mark might be the same person, if they might be one of Levi’s as well. Jean had told her that she was talking nonsense, that he couldn’t think of anyone who needed three separate guide marks.

That was before they met the girl made to bear the weight of Reiner’s betrayal.

...Turning against Marley hadn't been an easy decision. Bertolt had understood the repercussions that Reiner's family would face - it is why he didn't and still doesn't blame him for any seed of resentment that may have been planted in the aftermath. It is why, as he trudged back to the scouts, uncertain of if he would live or die, he found himself praying that his father had peacefully passed away during the mission. But knowing the consequences of your actions and seeing them first-hand are different things entirely.

Ymir chose to turn back because of her soulmate. Bertolt decided to surrender because they were doomed without her, and because allowing the armored titan to Marley would only mean more suffering for the people he could not deny he had come to love, he had been able to convince Reiner to do the same. Because Reiner had surrendered, his family had been sent to paradise.

But they were not the only ones capable of pulling the threads of fate. Rumor had it that Zeke Yaeger had once been a promising young cadet in a difficult situation. And when he looked at the girl whose fate was nearly sealed by her cousin's actions, despite the differences in their situations, Bertolt theorized that he saw a similarity. Or maybe it wasn't as sentimental as that. Maybe merely saw an opportunity. Whatever the case, the outcome was the same, a story shakily breathed out by a shell-shocked young girl as she watched the hybrid weapon marked across her forearm flicker with intermittent hues of silver and coal. He reached out to the girl and offered an opportunity - work for Marley, earn her place as one of their warriors, and prove that she was not like her cousin. Redeem her family's good name from beyond the grave.

So Bertolt and Reiner became Paridisians in all but name, and Gabi Braun became a creature of fury.

Fury. It isn't surprising that that is all she felt when Paradis came knocking on Liberio's door and killed droves of innocents, including two of her only companions. All because the scouts discovered too late that they couldn't actually control the devil known as Eren Jaeger. He cannot blame her for seeing red and breaking onto their ship. For all the horror of the moment, he cannot blame her for taking fire on the first islander she spotted.

Even after hearing it from her own mouth, it still feels like a stroke of luck great enough to near-divine intervention to know that she flinched. That she saw the unique soulmark plastered on Sasha's cheekbone, and in the same instant that Falco lunged at her, she flinched. She flinched, and although it took hours for anything to be confirmed, hours of blood and stress and fear, the bullet landed painfully, but not fatally.

For all of the propaganda drilled into her head, for all of her despair and hatred for the island of devils, almost killing your soulmate does something to you. In Gabi's case, it dulled her fury enough for her to start to listen. To witness the grief and love of the people around her, the way Marleyan Niccolo was clearly only barely restraining from taking violent action on behalf of a "devil", how, despite Falco's ardent defense of her character, he wasn't the only one insisting that no harm befall to her. It made her witness their humanity. And that, Bertolt suspects, may have made her start to consider who exactly killed her family.

She is still hesitant around most of them, more so than Falco, who, while frightened and out of his depth, is also burningly curious and has a good head on his shoulders. She refused to so much as talk to Reiner until after Zeke's attack. But she is hesitant around the Marleyans now. She also apologized to Sasha once she was stabilized enough to move, which has to count as some sort of progress.

...The soulmark makes sense now. At some point during Zeke's attack, Gabi apparently killed a titan with a gun in order to save Kaya. A delighted Sasha had declared it the mark of a "titan-killer supreme".

So, no. Now that Bertolt thinks about it, none of it is surprising. Not that Sasha shares a soulmark with the girl who almost killed her, and not the fact that of Gabi's five marks, all but Kaya's blue ribbon and Falco's purple feather are golden.

She is already starting to grow out of her fury. Although she does a remarkable job of holding herself together, because Ymir once turned back for her soulmate, because Bertolt followed her and got Reiner to come with him, because Zeke saw a similarity or an opportunity, and because Eren turned out to be the devil none of them believed he was, Gabi Braun is a broken child.

Bertolt hasn't once been able to bring himself to look her in the eyes.

For the rest of them, there is absolutely no escaping the larger shadow hanging over their heads. Levi is too injured for much of his face to be visible at this point, but Bertolt has seen the flickers of pain and regret across the Commander's face. He would be willing to bet that Eren has not left their mind once this entire time. (He also has no doubt that they are already set on what must be done.) Even without bandages, Levi has always been far harder to read, but he suspects that Hange's feelings are a good indicator of his own.

Armin is far worse. His countenance is someone who fears that he may be losing his best friend, who wants to cling to the hope that it might not be too late, but has already accepted the truth somewhere deep down. He and Annie have been sticking by each other's sides all through the night. Bertolt does not know how much Armin truly helps when Annie is so fresh out of her crystal and struggling with her own pains, even subtly contributing to the cloud of other tensions with her own unresolved tensions with Reiner and untouched history with Marley, but he thinks it is still good that they have each other. Even though Armin is one of the people he has found some degree of kinship with in the past years of with Scouts, he does not dare approach them.

Worst of all is Mikasa. There is a greater gulf between her and the rest of the Scouts than Reiner, Ymir, or even Bertolt can lay claim to. It makes sense that she would be further away than Reiner or Ymir, he thinks. Mikasa always held herself at a degree of distance, whereas Reiner was always social and seemed to have half of their tattered group as soulmarks besides. Ymir is a relatively distant person with only one living soulmate, but she cannot be feeling anywhere near the level of devastation that she is in at this moment. But Bertolt? He is a distant person with only a single soulmark that he does not know to correspond to any specific person. Even knowing that Eren may well be her whole world, seeing her so much further away feels wrong.

Bertolt slowly scans the crowd gathered around the fire and does not spot her. He frowns.

"Has anyone seen Mikasa?" he asks.

It’s Hange that answers, glancing up from where they have been carefully watching Levi. “She said she was going for a walk. That was a while ago though…”

Heavy silence fills the air. Bertolt is rising to his feet before he can think about it.

Armin and Jean move in the same instant. In Jean's case, it is the flinching motion of someone about to stand, but he freezes when he sees that he isn't the only one. His gaze slides from Bertolt and Armin to Reiner, then to the warrior unit, to Annie, to Ymir, and finally to the children huddled a few places down from him, before he reluctantly settles back into his seat. Armin, however, is already halfway standing. Bertolt meets his gaze and slowly shakes his head. Armin frowns and glances at the forest, but ultimately looks back at Annie and sits back down with a small nod in Bertolt's direction.

There is something haunting about the forest. It is not the threat of Yaegerists that makes him feel that way either. Rather, it is something about the night. The night and what might come with the day.

It is a relief that it does not take long to find Mikasa. She is sitting hunched at the base of a tree, her scarf tucked over her nose, gazing up at the sky through the tree's canopy.

Bertolt hesitates. It feels wrong to say anything, but even worse to walk away. He knows that she will have noticed him even if she does not show it. Even if she hasn't... it would be wrong to walk away.

Ultimately, he walks up and sits down a few paces away from her, at the base of the same tree. He pulls his legs up against his chest, wraps his arms around them, and rests his chin on his knees.

They are silent for a little while. Then, softly, she asks, "when did you know that what you were doing was wrong?"

Bertolt swallows. His gaze drops to his right ankle. It takes a little while for him to find the words, but when he does, he whispers, "Shiganshina. Right after I kicked the hole in the wall, when I looked down... that's when I knew."

Precious few people know about it - Former Commander Erwin, Commander Hange, and Captain Levi, because he couldn't keep any secrets from them after the truth was revealed, but also Reiner, Ymir, and presumably Historia - but Bertolt's only soulmark is on his ankle. It is a bright burgundy replica of the wall that once protected Shiganshina.

...In his time on Paradis and the years before that, he has not met anyone with a similar mark. He would suspect that his soulmate is dead, eaten or crushed to death in that initial attack, were it not for the fact that the mark has not yet turned silver.

That does not mean that he thinks there is someone out there for him. No. Instead, Bertolt has come to suspect that maybe he doesn't have a soulmate. He looks at his mark and wonders if it is possible for people to be bound to concepts, memories, moments in time. He looks at his mark and sees a warning. A grim reminder.

Perhaps it is egotistical of him to think that his mark is unique, but even so, it is the only thing he can think of. His mark isn't meant to tie him to someone or guide him to them. It is there to make sure he can never forget the worst thing he has ever done, to make sure he never does it again.

How funny, then, that it didn't even work. Just because the hole in Trost's wall was plugged doesn't mean that it was never created. He can try to do better in what little time he has left, sure, but it still happened.

...He wonders if Eren has secretly had Liberio's wall encircling his ankle this whole time. Marvels at how, if he does, it didn't stop him either.

Mikasa makes a slight noise. It is too faint for Bertolt to tell what it is, and he doesn't bother commenting on it, because he's well aware that they aren't actually talking about him.

Several minutes pass before she speaks again, her voice carefully neutral in the way that he knows is designed to hide pain, even if he isn't used to hearing it from her. "Why did you keep going?" she asks.

Because of Reiner, is the treacherous first thought that he doesn't say. It is needlessly cruel and doesn't apply to their situation for a variety of reasons, least of all being that if there was anything Reiner could have done to stop this, he knows that he would have in a heartbeat.

"Because I was scared of what would happen if I didn't," he says instead. "Annie was the same. And Reiner..." Bertolt hesitates, because out of the three of them, he knows that this is the one that matters.

Eren has never been secretive about his soulmarks. There's a reason why Reiner is his only soulmate outside of Mikasa and Armin, even if it took them this long to realize the truth.

...He's caught glimpses of the faux-scarf wrapped around Mikasa's neck beneath the real one, and it is a darker crimson than the actual fabric. The cresting blue wave on Armin's collar bone is several shades darker than it ought to be. The golden clasped hands over Reiner's heart have a black sheen in the right light.

It is possible for golden marks to be mutual rather than just one person guiding the other. Bertolt has long suspected that was the case for Eren and Reiner. However, he also assumed that Reiner's part was done after he revealed his identity. Everyone did. No one considered the alternative until the roles had already begun to reverse and it started to make a sickening sort of sense.

The signs were always there. They just didn't want to see it.

"I don't think Reiner realized he could stop until someone else made the decision for him," he says. "I think... If Ymir hadn't gone back, he would have kept going until someone stopped him."

And he would have been stopped, Bertolt realizes with the sudden clarity made available only by retrospect. Because he and Eren were soulmates for a reason, and if Eren's soulmarks weren't enough to prevent his betrayal of humanity, it goes to reason that it would have happened in a world without them. And Reiner never would have been able to stand by and watch as he repeated his mistakes on a much larger scale. It provides some small iota of relief to how much he has watched him struggle over the past years, because if his path was going to lead him here regardless, then at least he has had time for some of those wounds to heal before the probable end of the world.

But Eren is not Reiner. He does not appear hobbled by guilt in the way Reiner was, and no one is going to come across and commit a greater atrocity to force him back onto the right path.

"I can stop him," Mikasa says, and there is a desperate sort of hope in her voice. And Bertolt...

In that moment, Bertolt is startlingly certain that she can. He has never claimed to know Mikasa Ackerman well, but he knows that she is braver than him, stronger than him, and not truly quite as distant. Eren may well be her entire world, but he also trusts that she will not sacrifice everyone else's to protect it.

He trusts that she can and probably will be the one to stop Eren. He just doesn't trust that she will stop him the way that she hopes she can. Or maybe she will. Bertolt doesn't have any true way of knowing. But as he listens to her make her proclamation, voice vulnerable and raw in a way that he has never heard from her, he vows that he will do whatever he can to help her. Whatever the path ahead may hold.

He doesn't say that though. Instead, he remains quiet for several minutes before murmuring, "We should head back. The others will be getting worried."

For a moment, there is no response. Then he hears Mikasa begin to stand and follows suit. They walk back to camp together and do not have another private conversation until the Rumbling has been seen to its bittersweet end and all of their questions have been answered.

All but one.

Precious few people know it - only Armin and, once upon a time, Eren - but Mikasa Ackerman has five soulmarks.

The first is a silver scarf wrapped around her neck, once a deep crimson, now a mournful silver.

Armin's bright blue book rests on the palm of her left hand. She has never felt a need to hide it.

A cheerful blue potato rests on her stomach, and she will never tire of teasing Sasha for it.

The fact that the tiny purple paring blade hidden on the side of one of her fingers corresponds with Annie's is a secret that dies with them.

And the mark that she has spent years of her life refusing to think about or acknowledge, but is beginning to think that she may be able to address eventually.

Near the tattoo on her right wrist, where it is easily and reliably concealed, rests a bright burgundy replica of the wall that once protected Shiganshina.

#Bertolt Hoover #Mikasa Ackerman #Yumikuri #Reiner Braun #Gabi Braun #Sasha Braus #Eren Yaeger #Eren Jaeger #ensemble tbh #SNK #Attack on Titan #SNK fic #my fic #my writing #AoTAUWeek2021

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meltingangels · 3 years

Text

As it’s been up on AO3 for a while now, I am making my first Cyberpunk fic available to read on tumblr!

Fic Title:

It's Not a Shrine

Fic Summary:

"What the fuck, V?" (I made a post on tumblr about how funny it would be if V was some kind of Samurai/Silverhand superfan. And how Johnny would react if he walked in and saw all these posters and shit on the wall. And I needed some serotonin, so here we are)

So I made this random post on tumblr and someone said they’d like to see it ‘made canon’ so here I am with this. Whether it progresses or stays as a oneshot depends on the reception.

Basically, I thought of what would happen if V was into older/indie rock music, and a big fan of Samurai- Johnny Silverhand’s group. And how he would react (if he didn’t show up in V’s apartment like he does that first time) if he walked in and there was this huge-ass poster of him on the wall.

Just have at it, lads. This starts off kinda serious, to set the scene. Also because I feel starting off serious makes the end part all the funnier.

Also because I don’t know how to do a short oneshot.

V figured that whatever was on that fucking relic had to be a pretty big deal, if Dexter Deshawn and Evelyn were willing to up against Arasaka to get it. Sure, it would have been nice to know exactly what that was, but given how much time and planning had gone into every other aspect of this insane heist, they’d just shoved any thoughts about the relic itself to the back of their mind.

They just had to focus on somehow pulling this off, which...even with all the planning...was going to be a fucking miracle. Any aspect of the plan could end up getting fucked up, or someone could end up fucking them over, but the fact that a successful heist would propel them into the fucking stratosphere of Night City’s underworld- with a paycheck to match- was just...well.

Too much to resist. Who wouldn’t want to take up that sort of opportunity? They’d be insane not to try. Anyone who was worth anything in the sprawling underground network of the city’s gangs would know who they fucking were.

It’d come with it’s drawbacks of course, but once people know they’d gone up against fucking Arasaka and stolen a relic from right under Yorinobu’s hands?

Most wouldn’t even dare to touch them.

Yeah, the idea of ‘making it to the big leagues’ as Jackie had said it, was too much for either him or V to resist. Sure, they’d talked about it a hell of a lot, going over the risks and all. Which outweighed all their past jobs put together. What they’d done so far was small-time stuff. Just general merc business, nothing to be overly proud of. Certainly nothing to attract any big names. Truth be told, V still wasn’t sure how Jackie had managed to get them the gig in the first place.

But they hadn’t questioned it. Just like they’d stopped questioning the heist when presented with Dexter’s plan and the hefty reward they’d negotiated. Which, again, was more than most of their past jobs put together. Given how much money and time was going into the heist, despite the fact it would take a miracle to pull off without a hitch, it seemed almost foolproof.

But it had gone wrong in every possible way. Despite claiming the plan was pretty much bulletproof, and he had some of the most reliable sources for all his information, Dexter had still somehow missed the fact that the fucking Emperor had come to talk to his son. A huge factor that had turned everything upside down. Not only had they been made unwilling witnesses to the heir of Arasaka murdering his own fucking father, the entire hotel going up on alert had sent literal shockwaves through their oh-so-foolproof plan.

V and Jackie couldn’t get back out through the elevator and ended up shimmying along the literal edge of the balcony, with a fucking glass roof on one side, and a sheer drop on the other. And because everything had gotten completely screwed, they’d had to take the glass roof option. The rush of adrenaline and fear coming from sliding down the tilted roof, with dozens of bullets raining down way too close to their backs, was nothing compared to having pain ripple through them as every last breath was knocked out of them.

Then there had been the sense of terror, sending chills down V’s spine, when they turned to Jackie and saw the blood seeping through his white-collar shirt. The knowledge that they somehow had even less time than they thought. That was...honestly...V didn’t think anything could have been worse than that. Looking up from the scarlet red, to the sudden paleness of Jackie’s face. A face that looked more in shock than anything else, eyes hinting at the fear he quickly tried to hide behind his usual jokes and bravado.

V had barely taken her eyes off of him the entire time, terrified that every time they looked over, he’d be dead on the floor. But, somehow, against the odds of that stomach-turning injury- and the countless waves of Arasaka guards armed to the teeth, they’d made it. Made it out, the chip safe and secure in Jackie’s head, to the relative security of the Delamain vehicle. Where V had almost let out a laugh at the fact they’d made it.

Only for Jackie to bleed to death in the back seat, while she was powerless to stop it. The feeling of his blood seeping out over her fingers, bunching her jacket up against the wound, had somehow been fucking nothing compared to how he’d reached out to touch her face and smile. That same crooked, warm smile, eyes shining like this wasn’t the last time they’d be doing so. Or how her heart had finally shattered into a million pieces when that hand fell down, and his body went slack. Honestly, no amount of alcohol or drugs that Night City could offer would ever get that out of her memory.

V knew it would haunt her nightmares for years, if those ever stopped. Then there was those first moments without Jackie, with her stumbling out of the car covered in her best friend’s blood. With the scarlet fucking covering her up to the elbows, staining her own white shirt the same way it had ruined Jackie’s.

She could remember stumbling into the motel, and before she had it in her to find her way to Dexter’s saferoom, there had been a thought just as terrifying as the idea of Jackie’s body being back in the car waiting for her.

The thought of having to take Delamain round to Mama Welles’ place and show her that her son was gone.

And as if that wasn’t enough of a clusterfuck for her mind to deal with, she’d then been left reeling with the bitter sting of betrayal. Panicking in a way that showed the exact opposite of the slick, cool gangster he always portrayed, Dexter had shot her in the fucking head. After his goon had beat her to a fucking pulp. Which, of course, V assumed would be the end. A world class beating and a bullet to the brain did tend to bring an end to someone’s life. Well, the bullet would do that by itself. All the implants in the world couldn’t save you if your mind was completely fucked.

But somehow she’d fucking made it through that. Left in a pained daze as confusion overrode any sense of fear or anger. Jackie had died. Why hadn’t she? There was a bullet in her head, so why the hell wasn’t she wherever you went when you died. If there was ever any such place, that is. Why had she somehow survived, not only through said beating + bullet, but through the insane fucking car chase after?

That had ended in a crash that almost took out the guy who pulled her through all that.

As if all of those events weren’t consecutive, metaphorical and literal hits to the heart, there was then the mind-fucking revelation that followed. That the relic wasn’t just any piece of fancy tech. No. Well, sure, it was a fancy piece of tech. But it was also so much more. As were the memories V had previously believed were some kind of hallucination. This piece of tech, buried in their own fucking head, was a digital construct. Something that was almost like a human soul . Which was mind blowing as it was.

But then there had been the moment V realised the truth of what Viktor was saying to them.

They had Night City legend Johnny Silverhand in their head. His construct had been what Dexter and Evelyn had risked everything for. What Jackie had given his life for.

Yeah, the guy was no doubt a terrorist. But there had been some kind of method to the guy’s madness. And even with that, they couldn’t work out how to feel. Yeah, the idea of being wiped clean was fucking terrifying, but the fact that neither of them would be able to do anything about it? That changed things. V thought the tech was conscious in its decision to take over her body. But it was just that. A piece of tech, going on what it had been programmed to do.

Of course, they were still terrified. They’d beaten death once, only to have it looming at their back again. But there was some sliver of hope. The guy who saved them, Goro Takemura, had ultimately saved V because they were the only other living witness to the Emperor’s murder, but their first meeting had given V that hope. He’d given them some leads to follow, promising more information if V helped out on his end.

And that had been just enough to keep V going. Whilst they’d yet to see any sort of physical manifestation of Silverhand’s construct, what they were dealing with outside of that was still more than any sane person would want to deal with. They’d found out, in the absence of her return, Delamain had returned Jackie’s body to his family.

Meaning some strange, shot up car had arrived on Mama Welles’ doorstep, carrying her son’s broken and bloody body.

Facing the woman after that had been almost as terrifying as staring their oncoming death in the face. But she’d shown V compassion they still didn’t believe they’d deserved, including them in every part of Jackie’s memorial celebration, letting them contribute to the ofrenda and speak of just some of the many fond memories V had of her son. Who had been taken from the world far too fucking early, right when they’d really started their climb to the top.

Then there had been the sucker-punch of emotions that resulted when the woman gifted Jackie’s motorcycle to her. The piece of hardware he’d saved up for months to get, buffing it up and tweaking it every chance he’d got. The one vehicle he never, ever, let V drive.

God, that...that had been something else. Picking up the keys, turning them in the ignition, and being sent to their knees by the rush of memories that resulted. Memories that turned into an agonising blur, sending spikes of pain into their head, leaving V unable to move from where they’d knelt against the unforgiving ground.

That, of all places, had been the first time Johnny Silverhand had showed up. In the flesh, so to speak- standing before V almost as clear as a real fucking person. It was also the time they learned that a hell of alot of the stories about the guy were true. If she had his memories, he had hers, so he’d no doubt have known the sequence of events that brought him here.

But he’d still gone into some kind of rage, taking control of V’s body for a few terrifying moments, scattering some of the clutter that Jackie had clustered in every corner of his garage. Slamming her head against the fucking wall . The guy had been fucking terrifying, all but holding V by the throat, going off on some tangent about how he now had a chance to end the shit he’d started with Arasaka half a decade ago, with that fucking bomb that wiped out damn near all the tower- the blast of orange light shattering every single window in a several mile radius.

A blast that had been powerful enough to shake the foundations of the buildings around the tower, in a way that signalled the start of something. Or what Johnny wanted to start back then, at least.

V shouldn’t have expected much more from someone who was a known anarchist, but they did. Because in a way they’d been dodging talking about, they knew a hell of a lot more about Silverhand than they were letting on. How he’d not seen certain memories, V wasn’t sure. But they were grateful to that twist of fate. Because yeah, they knew way more than they should. That was an understatement. When they’d been tossed from foster home to foster home after their parents died in an armed robbery, one of the few things V had been able to do to escape it all had been through getting into music.

One of the handful of friends she had at her last home, before turning 16, had saved up from this little waitressing job they had at some tiny diner- all so they could gift V with a retro music player she’d been coveting. It was second hand, perhaps a few times over, bought from some old rocker- but it was one of the best gifts they’d received.

At first, they’d thought about using the tech skills they’d learned in their research outside of school to wipe the device clean. But something had stuck out. The device showed up the album covers on the screen, but would also play a holographic image of the main performers via a tiny projector in the device itself. And, bored of waiting for other music to download through the home’s crowded, outdated internet, they settled in to scroll through what the old rocker had left on there. One particular album had stood out to them amidst the black and silver of metal and old rock.

It was a dark cover, upon which was set a distinct logo. A black and red Samurai-type mask, eyes seeming to be set ablaze even as a still image. When they’d selected it, they saw the projection. Admittedly, it was a bit fucked up- blurry and glitchy in places. Not in as high quality as the rest; clearly recorded by a fan in the audience.

Patched together. But patched together in a way only a devoted fan could.

That, and the bright-ass logo, convinced V to listen.

And that had been it, pretty much. They’d gone through the entire album in one sitting, and that was all they listened to for three days straight. At first, it was just the general tune and the lead singer’s voice that drew her in. But then she started really listening to the lyrics, and that’s what truly started her down that twisted rabbit hole. She started digging into who Samurai were, and, more specifically, who their lead was. They were a proper, kind of old school rock band, who had a pretty decent and dedicated following.

But they never went mainstream. Which, given their lyrics and what happened with Silverhand, made sense. When V first read about how Johnny Silverhand started a one-man war against Arasaka, the figurehead of the monopolising corporations that had taken over the world, they were hooked pretty much instantly. They saw and heard way too many stories growing up on the streets, of shops being taken over and homes being demolished for shiny skyscrapers and luxury hotels.

Of how the streets became laden with neon logos and signs blaring into your vision as far as your orbital implants could see. How they held a terrifying amount of control over the NCPD and major leadership positions. That the city was basically a monopoly board for the ultra rich to play in. To fuck with in whatever way they saw fit.

So yeah, like any sane person (or angsty teen) would do, V found themselves in Samurai’s music. And as the years went by, and they learned more about Silverhand and how he’d somehow managed to bring down Arasaka’s own fucking tower in Night City- at the cost of his own life now less- for the chance at bringing down the megacorporations ruining people’s lives, they found it being a part of themselves. Especially as they got into the mercenary gig at 18 and started working their way up, seeing the deepest and darkest parts of Night City’s underworld.

Ok, it was kind of an obsession.

But it wasn’t only an ideal that V could get behind, it was also an escape from the chaos of her life.

Fucking hell, she even spent a huge chunk of her first well-paying job on tracking down and obtaining one of Silverhand’s original guitars. Sure, him and Samurai weren’t the only band with posters and memorabilia decorating her apartment walls (which she carefully took down and carried with her as she moved from place to place), but they were definitely the majority of it. There was even an original poster, taken and edited by a photographer who got into one of Samurai’s last concerts.

A photo of Silverhand all but screaming into the mic, one hand on said microphone, and the other on a gun that gleamed as silver as his cybernetic arm. The crowd reaching out to him amidst a haze of blazing lights and dense smoke.

Which, after all that and a string of events that were like something out of an old Hollywood action movie, left V where she was now. After spending 3 days hopping around Night City, taking on job after job, and switching between motels, they’d finally gotten the courage to go back to their apartment. Because yeah, they were definitely still scared shitless about the idea of their brain essentially being wiped clean. But the immediate issue was that, in the few days she’d had with him cropping up everywhere, she’d gotten to know Silverhand a bit.

The guy still scared her half the time; not that she’d admit that to his fucking smug (and annoyingly good-looking) face, but the other half of the time? He was pretty interesting. Definitely still holding on to a metric tonne of anger towards Arasaka, and more blunt and abrasive than any person she’d ever met, but interesting. Beneath the layers of anger and resentment, as well as more cockiness than one person should ever fucking possess, there was hints at the shit beneath all that.

Of who Johnny was, beyond the legend attached to his name.

So yeah, that left them stuck outside the door of V’s apartment, Johnny crossing his arms as he leant back against the wall with a huff- the former being more than a little afraid to open the door. They’d lucked out with the memories of hers that he’d seen so far, but that was going to run out sooner or later. Especially with the both of them being on borrowed time. So it was better to get this shit out of the way sooner, rather than later.

Didn’t make the prospect any more appealing, of course. She knew how Johnny felt about the so-called fanatics and groupies. Good for a one night stand, but nothing else. 'Just following the slightest sense of fame' as he put it. So V could only imagine how he’d react to not only seeing a room half full of Samurai memorabilia, but also the knowledge he was stuck in the body of the owner of said memorabilia.

One of the ‘wild fans’ he’d said he despised. Sure, V wasn’t exactly ashamed of liking Silverhand’s music (or him, because fuck) but having your teenage hero seeing a room full of his band’s shit was on another level.

And she couldn’t even duck away afterwards. They were literally stuck together for the foreseeable future.

Fuck.

Fuckfuckfuckfuck fuckfuckfuck.

“Any reason you’re stood there with your eyes wide as hell, like your fucking brain already got wiped?” Johnny spoke up, abruptly bringing her back to the present.

“No. No reason.” V shrugged, hoping to appear nonchalant whilst internally screeching.

“Something in there you don’t want me to see?” Johnny showed up in the corner of her vision, leaning against the wall. “Can’t be any worse than the shit out here.”

“You that interested in seeing my apartment?”

“With the alternative being stuck in your head staring at a fucking door, yeah. I am.”

Okay, he was definitely getting more and more pissed off as the seconds ticked by. To be fair, she had been staring at the door trying to gather the courage to open said door...for about...five minutes. Truth be told, she was surprised Silverhand lasted that long. Guy wasn’t exactly one for being patient.

Which was the understatement of the fucking century. But the idea of him fucking her up for making him wait was somehow, somehow, worse than the idea of who was basically her (he was an anarchist asshole, but damn if the guy didn’t make a good point sometimes) idol growing up, seeing her apartment plastered in his band’s memorabilia. There was already an onset of cringe overtaking V’s system, grimacing as she anticipated the barrage of fucked up questions that would be coming her way- but somehow she finally got in in her to swipe the key across her door.

At least she hadn’t left it in a fucking mess like she normally did.

That would be something.

When Johnny casually walked through her to examine the apartment, V stepped in after him, the door sliding shut agonisingly loud behind her. Those first few seconds were some of the longest of her life, and given all the shit that had happened recently, especially what got her to this bizarre fucking moment in the first place- that was saying something. Saying something. Which was, V realised, something that Silverhand wasn’t doing.

In the few days they’d spent together, he rarely shut up. So this was about as miraculous as her rising from the fucking dead. Of course, the silence had it’s drawbacks- V could practically feel the tension rising...as Johnny scanned the room. As he no doubt saw the countless Samurai poster variations amidst the swathes of rock memorabilia. And, of course, landed on the huge fucking poster of him on the opposite wall.

Which went literally floor to ceiling, beaming out amidst the cluttered apartment like the fucking neon lights of the city outside.

Something that made the silence all the more-

“Hey, V?” Johnny spoke up abruptly.

“...yeah?” V braced herself.

“What the fuck?”

V opened her mouth to say something, but all that came out was a nervous laugh. Sure, she was mildly terrified, but the way he just said it so deadpan and blunt as he slowly turned halfway- eyebrows raised so fucking high you could see it above those trademark sunglasses...it was honestly one of the funniest things she’d ever seen and heard.

It somehow sounded simultaneously unlike him, without any of the usual spite or anger, but so much like what she’d expected all the same. He sounded a mixture of disappointed, and outright freaked the fuck out. Which was...understandable. The guy had been brought back from the dead, stuck in some random ass stranger's body, only to walk into their apartment to see half of the wall was like some fucked up poster shrine to him and his band.

Yeah. V could understand his reaction. Didn’t make it any less hilarious. (Or make her any less scared of the inevitable fallout, but hey)

“You gone deaf or something? Relic malfunction?” Johnny tried getting her attention. “I said...what the fuck, V?”

“I...uh...can...explain?” V spoke hesitantly, hands raised in mock (no, totally real) surrender.

“Uh huh. Really?” Johnny didn’t look or sound convinced, arms crossing in front of his chest as he turned to fully face her. “Going to make this worse and tell me what I think is going on?”

“What...do you think...is going on?”

“This shit isn’t in bad condition, but I can tell its old as fuck.” Johnny gestured to the wallpaper-like swathe of posters. “And not because its Samurai shit either.”

“So…” V wrung her wrists together nervously.

“You’ve probably had it since you were like, what? A fucked up hormonal teenager?”

“I…”

“Great.”

“Look, this-”

“Is somehow worse than waking up in your body?”

“Hey!”

“How would you feel if you rose from the fucking dead and found a shrine to yourself?”

“It is not a shrine- ”

“Sure looks like it.”

“Don’t flatter yourself-”

“Says the asshole with a huge fucking poster of me on their living room wall.”

“How am I an asshole?”

“Because this shit is weird, V!”

“Liking a band is a bad thing?”

“No. Having a fucking shrine is-”

“IT’S.NOT.A.SHRINE!”

Yeah, V was definitely considering that she was going crazy. Here she was, after almost pulling off the most insane heist Night City in years, the death of her best friend- and rising from the dead...arguing with the digital construct of the guy she’d looked up to for half her fucking life. Over whether her (admittedly kind of oversized) poster of said idol made up the centerpiece of some kind of shrine. If you’d told her this was what her life would amount to, trying to defend her teenage-borne obsession with an indie rock band to their resurrected anarchist/terrorist lead singer, she wouldn’t have believed you.

Not even after overdosing on every fucking drug Night City had to offer.

God, worse than the insanity was how fucking embarassed she felt. Because even she was starting to realise how weird it would be for Silverhand to wake up in someone’s head, only to walk into their apartment and see said person was pretty much obsessed with him. Because yeah, she had to admit to herself it was an obsession.

How could you blame her? The guy’s music was pretty fucking awesome, he had somewhat understandable views on corporate overlords... and he was probably one of the most attractive guys to ever walk the streets of Night City.

But he hadn’t seen every poster yet. He’d turned back round, talking about something V couldn’t hear over the rising mix of terror and cringe running through her veins, fixated on that huge-ass poster of him on the wall opposite them. And he’d yet to almost crack his voice with another what the fuck , meaning yeah. He hadn’t seen every poster.

Namely, the one she’d stuck on the square wall behind her bed. Which was worse than the gigantic one taking up a quarter of one of her living room walls. It was some reporter’s photo from a backstage venture at one of Samurai’s concerts. (Taking up that whole section of wall) Silverhand was sitting on top of an unused amplifier, looking at someone outside of the camera’s point of view. Signature vest top nowhere to be seen, leaving him shirtless. In those stupid tight leather pants and boots combo. With his trademark sunglasses on. Smoking a cigarette, smirking, skin shining-

Possibly the thirstiest fucking image that photographer could have taken.

“V?” Johnny snapped her out of it.

"What?" V bit back.

Shit, she’d gotten distracted by the somewhat spicy photo. (Another thing she’d take to her fucking grave) She had to move while his attention was still on the other poster. Because if she could just cross the few feet over to her bed, unnoticed, she could carefully pull the poster down and stash it under the bed. She could say some shit about how yeah, it was pretty fucking weird, and take down the other one after.

Yeah, if V could just make it across the floor, she’d get through this with at least a shred of her dignity intact.

However, Fate (the bitch) seemed to have even more fucked up plans for her.

Because today, of all days, in this one shitty moment…

Her foot landed on the creakiest fucking patch of flooring in the entire goddamn apartment.

Johnny instantly turned to face her, downed eyebrows raising once more when he took in her almost cartoon-like sneaking stance. Even though she knew she looked fucking ridiculous, V couldn’t quite bring herself to move. She was literally frozen in fear, knowing that any second now...

“The hell are you-” Johnny started, before turning his head.

As he started to follow her line of sight, V relaxed her cartoon pose and started slyly backing away, (Like that would help her. The guy was literally stuck in her head) following his gaze. When his eyes finally crossed over to her bed, V felt herself get struck with the hugest fucking sucker-punch of cringe she’d felt since she was the angsty teenager that had inadvertently gotten her into this mess.

But then Johnny finally fixed his eyes upon the shirtless photo of him, stuck up next to her bed of all places.

“Oh for fuck’s sake-”

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thefanficmonster · 3 years

Text

Never Alone

Connor Walsh & Michaela Pratt (How To Get Away With Murder) ft. The Keating 5

Warnings: Abuse, Abusive Relationship, Swearing, Trauma, Description of Injury

Genre: ANGST, Hurt/Comfort, Platonic Relationship

Summary: While working on a particularly tough case in the ungodly hours of the night, whether it’s due to the lack of sleep or the sudden need to confide in another human being, Michaela admits some truths to the person no one would think she’d ever do so to - her rival Connor Walsh.

Requested by Anon and requested as a birthday present by another Anon. Happy birthday darling Anon! Thank you so much for giving me the honor of writing you a birthday present though I hope the short notice doesn’t affect the fic’s quality. I accept the most brutal of feedback, but nevertheless I hope you enjoy it! Enjoy your special day! Lots of love, Vy ❤

“You know, just because you’re still awake and staring at a document doesn’t mean you have an upper hand here. Whether you’re actually reading that file is what will determine who gets the trophy, Miss Shooting Star.“ Connor Walsh waltzes into the living room turned office of the Keating home, looking and sounding a little too refreshed for someone who has had the same amount of sleep as everyone else of the K5 - minimal. Yet, unlike his teammates, he’s still perfectly functioning, talkative and looking forward to being productive without accidentally falling off a chair after being consumed by the slumber his body is probably dying for. It probably has something to do with that cup of coffee in his hand - his tenth one today, if Michaela’s counted correctly.

“Call me that again and I’ll shoot the damn trophy at your forehead.“ Michaela hisses back at him, tired, stinging and bloodshot eyes never leaving the piece of paper she’s been holding, reading and re-reading for the past twenty minutes, never really managing to grasp the words written on it.

“Good luck taking it from Asher. The Douche has fallen asleep with it in his arms.“ Connor sinks down in one of the armchairs, leisurely picking up one of the files laid out on the coffee table, looking at it with little interest.

This time Michaela’s gaze does indeed leave the paper so it can land on her rival, as she raises an eyebrow that somewhere between shocked and offended, “That asshole’s asleep?”

“He’s not the only one.“ It’s Connor’s turn to not spare her a look while answering, “Him and Wes are as good as dead on the kitchen island. Laurel and Frank are most likely awake, but also most likely not working on the case. Well, not this case, that’s for sure.“ He chuckles at his own joke, seeing as how his correspondent found no humor in it, “So, it’s down to you and me and Bonnie if she throws us a bone, which I doubt she will.“

Annalise was very clear with what she had said. Speaking the whole truth here, the five college students weren’t really paying attention until they heard that very strictly spoken phrase: “No one leaves here until someone finds something. Anything” aka the last phrase their professor had graced them with before walking out to go meet someone important for the night. She had every right to be strict and maybe even a bit cruel to them after they all had been exhibiting typical brat behavior throughout the day. To make matters worse and the job even tougher, Annalise had instructed Frank and Bonnie to go home so the kids would really be left to their own devices. Bonnie had had enough so no amount of begging her was gonna get her to stay - it’s also been proven that no amount of voicemails are gonna get her to come back either - but Frank, solely because of Laurel, stuck around and has so far not proved to be any kind of extra help - the polar opposite, in fact, he’s been distracting them all with jokes and snide comments at how incompetent they all are. Now if that wasn’t the most hypocritical thing.

“If the pressure wasn’t on already, I’d like to remind you we have...“ Connor turns his hand over, checking his wristwatch, “less than four hours until we have to show our not-showered, sleep deprived asses in court.“

Michaela groans, squeezing her eyes shut tightly. Not that she’d ever admit it, but she was actually glad to have an overnight task, something that wouldn’t allow her to go home, but this is beginning to be too much. What others would call ‘home’ Michaela refers to as or ‘hell’. It was place she called ‘home’ at one point too, but it wasn’t long before things started going south. And by ‘south’ I mean horribly wrong and toxic. The man she thought she’d one day call fiancée and then husband has now become a monster from her worst nightmares. Having grown up in an abusive household, Michaela had always dreamed of finding a place for herself, a place she’d feel safe in. With a person who’d love her unconditionally and provide her the security she lacked growing up. And that’s what she thought she saw in Miles. She wasn’t wrong for the first few months, the fucker was good at putting up a front, putting on a show for everyone to build a positive opinion of such a disgusting human being.

The mask started falling apart shortly after Michaela moved in with him. She didn’t accept his offer without any thought, quite the contrary actually - she pondered it for a week and a half, her heart taking the win in the end. Well, her heart may have won that time but it is now in pieces. Her eyes have never cried so many tears and her skin has never bled nor been bruised so badly before. She feels broken, alone, betrayed, hurt. She feels all she felt every time she got hit as a kid. She feels like the whole world has equipped knives and guns, each with her name on them, ready to put her through torture.

And she’s got no one to tell, because no one will know what to say back. For some reason, when people are speechless they tend to say the dumbest, most hurtful crap without realizing. Hearing that on numerous occasions before, she knows what effect it’ll have on her, so she strays away from speaking up about it. She’d rather be alone and battle her demons than present those demons to someone else who will introduce new ones into her head and life.

She prefers solitude and isolation over additional torment. It’s always been an easy pick for her.

“If you don’t wanna fight this battle on your own, go fetch me a cup of coffee.“ She instructs, half-expecting the turn-down she receives immediately afterwards.

“You really think I’m gonna help you when you are the closest thing to competition I have in this group of dimwits? Go get it yourself.“

Michaela rolls her eyes, wondering why she even asked such an abomination of a question in the first place. Finding her legs too dead to take her anywhere, she remains in her spot with a heavy sigh, returning to her attempt at reading the file she and the rest of the Keating 5 five have read through a dozen times today just to find nothing off about it.

“Hey, this one’s marked twenty-three, that one on the table’s twenty-five, where’s the twenty-fourth one?“ Connor suddenly perks up suddenly, cutting the short silence that had fallen upon them. With the least amount of energy she’s managed to save up, Michaela waves the file she’s holding, blinking away the blurriness of that clouds her eyes. “Give it to me, I need to make some comparisons.”

“Come get it yourself.“ She barks back with the same amount of spite he used barely a minute ago.

Unlike her though, Connor complies, finding that file necessary for some reason despite knowing it’s useless. It’s all pointless and they’re all gonna hear it from Annalise tomorrow morning regardless. But the most they can do is keep trying - trying to prove themselves worthy of that trophy.

Getting up with the most exaggerated distaste in his movements, Connor crosses the distance between the armchair he’s been sitting in and the couch Michaela has not moved from for hours, surrounded by piles of paperwork, folders and files. Much to his surprise, she doesn’t even put up a fight, clearly having been fed up with staring at the same words and not grasping anything for half an hour at this point.

“Thank y-“ Connor is a syllable away from finishing his sarcastic statement of gratitude when his eyes land on something peculiar, he’d even call is quite worrisome - a large scar going from Michaela’s elbow to about midway down her forearm. It looks to be recent, given that there are still some dried specs of blood around it, “Holy shit....“ He mutters, carefully taking hold Michaela’s wrist as to gently turn her arm a bit more to the side in order to examine the cut, “What the hell happened to you?“

Not having realized what he was examining before, Michaela’s eyes widen when they follow his gaze and land on the very cut she spent an hour taking care of last night. That cut is the aftermath of a drunk boyfriend who wanted nothing more than a reason to start an argument with her when she got home. A reason to hurt her. Coming into work this morning, despite the high temperatures, she was stubbornly keeping a long sleeved jacket atop her shirt to keep the ugly remainder of yet another failure hidden. The relationship in and of itself is a toxic failure, but it’s built of other failures Mihaela blames herself for - she believes she fails every time he hurts her. She thinks she’s the one to blame for the failure because she couldn’t protect herself. So she feels ashamed, disgusted and is attacked by that sense of betrayal all over again.

Feeling these three emotions flooding in at the sound of Connor’s concern, she snatches her arm out of his grip, keeping the scar out of his viewpoint while her eyes scan the room, looking for the jacket she doesn’t remember discarding. “Piss off, Connor. It’s non of your business.”

If she had said something along the lines of it being an accidental injury, Connor might’ve even believed her and let the whole thing go. However, seeing hw distressed his question has made her become, he feels there’s a lot more to it than she’s letting on. So, fully aware it’s non of his business, he keeps prodding on for a reason even he himself doesn’t understand, “Maybe not, but that’s a concerning scar, you might wanna get it checked. In fact, it already looks like it’s infected with something.”

Michaela’s brows furrow, her distress growing into genuine fear as she removes the hand that’s partially covering the scar to check on it and try and see what Connor saw to lead him to make such an observation. Connor takes this opportunity to also get a better look at the cut and it doesn’t take him a while to realize what tool was used in causing it - a shard of glass.

“Michaela, it may not be my business...“

She cuts him off with hostility, “It’s not”, but her words are choked up and wavering. Her voice is shaking like she’s seconds away from bursting into tears. And Lord knows crying in front of Connor Walsh is the last thing she wants to do.

“Right, but you can’t tell me that’s an accidental cut. That looks very intentional, very straight, and very much like someone inflicted it on you.“ Seeing her barriers slowly starting to sink despite her best attempts at keeping them up, he keeps his pursuit of his secret, for the first time genuinely curious to get to the bottom of what’s troubling Michaela and not a single ulterior motive in his mind. “You can’t tell me that I’m wrong. I’ve had my fair share of glass shard injuries in my life too.“ The girl’s gaze remains glued to the floor but Connor doesn’t miss the tear that escapes her left eye, sliding down her cheek. This only strengthens his will to getting the truth out of Michaela. “I know I’m not among your favorite people, but I’m not a piece of scum, damn it. You can tell me, Michaela. Believe it or not, you can tell me.“

Silence takes over, loud silence, the one on her end filled with the inaudible sound of her walls coming down quickly. She’s left bare and exposed. surrounded by their rubble and unable to look her rival in the eye. Though, is he much of a rival at this moment? He appears dangerously close to a friend. Hell, Michaela would even make a snide remark about it if her insides weren’t so broken - her heart, her soul, her mind, they’ve all been shattered, bruised and bloodied way worse than her skin.

“Turn around.“ She says out of the blue, the order sounding more like a plea especially when accompanied by another tear freeing itself from the confinement of her pride. When Connor doesn’t move, she finally looks up at him to meet his baffled gaze, “Turn around so I don’t have to see the pity in your eyes when I tell you I’m a pathetic victim of an abusive relationship. The punching bag of an asshole with a short fuse and a drinking problem. A failure to myself and my family. Is that what you wanted to hear? Do you think you have the upper hand now?“ Behind the tears that are spilling freely now is the mix of rage, devastation, dread and sorrow. It’s a dangerous combination that could cause her to pounce at him any second, push him away, take her anger out on him.

But that’s what he wants her to do.

He wants her to let it all out, free herself from all that’s been sitting on her chest. He wants to free her from whoever’s responsible for that scar on her arm and those thousands of little cuts on her soul, all still openly bleeding and unable to heal. He wants to save her. And it’s scaring him. He wants to write it off as basic human decency but deep down he know there’s something more. As much as the both of them would like to deny it, if one of them left the Keating 5 tomorrow, the other would miss them greatly. Threats, accusations, arguments and bickering aside, they are aware how great of a team they are. What a good pair of friends they could be if they just let their pride slip aside. But they don’t, and maybe they shouldn’t. Maybe that’s why they work so well.

However, even with that theory in mind, they’ve both let their pride go in this very moment. Walls and barriers have come down, lines have been crossed and they see each other differently now - More as fellow hurting humans rather than rivaling lawyers-to-be. Closer than ever, that’s for sure.

“Listen, Michaela...“

She once again cuts him off, “I don’t want your pity, sympathy or your advice. I don’t need you telling me to leave him! You think I haven’t thought of that?! You know nothing about it, you don’t get to judge me on my actions and choices!” She’s sobbing at this point with no hopes or ways of stopping the strangled noises from leaving her throat or the tears from escaping her red eyes.

Connor quickly crouches down in front of the couch so he’s at eye-level with her, his hands taking gentle but firm hold of her shoulders, “Michaela, no! That’s not what I wanna say! Listen to me, damn it.“ To his surprise, this actually gets her to calm down and stop thrashing to get his hands off. Slightly relieved, he pursues what he started, “I know, I know exactly how it is. Every time he does something nice it outweighs the bad. It’s those good moments that make you stay, I know. But those moments are the rare rainbow after a ton of rain. They are not worth this pain and suffering you’re enduring. He’s not worth it. You deserve so much more, so much better and you are aware of that!“

“But no one else is!“ She snaps, her hands coming up to hide her face, “No one else sees my worth beyond the job I do or the person that’s willing to put a ring on my finger. No one sees me for me, Connor! My value is determined by what kind of men find me decent enough for their beds or family contracts! What kind of response do you think I’ll have if I leave yet another relationship?“

Her words break his heart but he doesn’t let it show in his eyes, he’d rather close them than let her see that pity she fears and despises. He doesn’t pity her, far from it, but a simple misunderstanding on her end could break this already fragile bond they’ve built so he keeps his feelings at bay.

“Fuck them! Michaela, you are an adult woman, they can’t control your life anymore! No one can! That’s why you need to cut ties with those whose opinions you fear most. I don’t know what kind of stick they have up their asses, but without them you won’t be alone. You’ll be free!“

“And you’ll still have us.“ The sudden and new female voice comes from behind them, right by the doorway.

Both of them turn to look in that direction to find the four missing members of this late case-digging session: the sleepy Asher and Wes with Frank and Laurel beside them.

“I have no idea what you guys are talking about, but Michaela, you will not be alone, no matter what the context is. We might not be the best friends one can ever have, but we sure as hell aren’t monsters.“ Laurel continues, being the only one to actually take a step in the room while the three men stay put, uncertain of how to approach the situation. “I think we all care about each other to some degree. So, I want you to know, we care about you and we’re here for you. No matter how many times you leave us in the dust with your eyes on the prize.“

That remark manages to get a smile out Michaela even with the tears that are still not done rolling down her cheeks. Asher is also quick to pipe in, “I second that! Anything you need, we’ll be here. Need us to bust someone’s skulls - we’re your people.”

Scoffing, Connor shoots Michaela a look, “Now that’s an idea. Give us the address of that shithead and consider it done.”

She rolls her eyes, “Let me get my stuff out of there first. I don’t want you getting blood on any of it.”

Connor stands up from his crouched position and turns to the rest of the team with a determined look and a hint of a smile on his face, “You heard her folks! The lady wants to collect her stuff, and I’ll be damned if I let her do it alone.” He turns back to his temporarily-not-rival, “Come on, you can crash at my place until this friendly phase of ours fades. Then I’m dumping you at Laurel’s.”

She narrows his eyes at him, “Hilarious.” Suddenly her eyes widen, eyebrows shooting up, “Wait, what about the case?”

“Laurel and I found something, already turned it in. We were coming here to send you guys home.“ Frank replies in his usual reassuring manner.

“Ooooh, so you were working on the case after all!“ Asher comments, wiggling his eyebrows at them.

“Yeah, we were. Unlike some who were asleep in the kitchen cuddling a trophy.“ Laurel retorts, sending him the most sarcastic of smiles.

This whole interaction between her...well, her friends has lifted Michela’s spirits enough to get her up on her feet, “In that case, better get prepared to help me pack three large suitcases.”

And with that the Keating 5 (plus Frank) disembark, heading to their new mission. Walking out of the Keating household with four people, all unconditionally supporting her without even knowing what’s going on and one person with his arm tightly wrapped around her in a protective manner, Michaela has never felt more safe and secure. She might not love these people and they might not love her either, but they are all fond of each other. And if their fondness has reached the degree where they’re willing to accompany her and aid her escape from the hell she’s been trapped in this past month and a half, she’s willing to call them friends.

Some closer than others, but she cannot admit that knowing that in a week’s time her and Connor will probably be at each other’s throats again. And she’s fine with that. Rivalry’s a type of friendship too, ain’t it?

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