#(thank you Drift for snapping me to serve as a reminder to post this i hope your day wasn't too terrible 🥰)

[lifemod17]

straight up "watching it". and by "it", haha, well. let's justr say. the sunsets my friends sends me.

[tallymonster]

Memories of Us

Chapter 1 (you are here!) || Masterlist

So, I like many others had seen this gorgeous fan art by @cheesy-cryptid and I was utterly hypnotized by it. I couldn't stop thinking about it and from that constant thought growing came my silly fic.

This has been a labor of love for the last month. I'm still working on it and so far I have about 10 parts 🙃 depending on the feedback is how quickly I'm going to be posting since it's still a work in progress. I want to thank my best friend and my main support for this @micropoe10 ❤️ without her I wouldn't have pushed myself to even post this, so thanks boo 😘

This is also my first long fic, so please be gentle 🥺

Summary: Octavia is a new assistant at the Baldur's Gate Museum of History, her new boss is elusive and mysterious. Good thing his right hand man, Gale, is there to help her out for the first few weeks.

Tags: Nothing too bad for the first few parts, fluff, establishing storyline mostly, generational lineage mentioned.

Chapter 1

Never Caught My Breath

The day Octavia was incredibly nervous about had arrived. After her graduation (which seemed like a lifetime ago), endless stack of paperwork and at least 3 different interviews; Octavia made it to the Baldur's Gate Museum of History, the end of her long and difficult studies.

Here, she would start as the new assistant curator. What's strange though, is that after the last interview she thought she'd get to meet her boss, but it was his main assistant, Gale.

"I must apologize", he begins, "but our lead is currently out of the office for another week, maybe two, so I must conduct the final round, I hope you understand."

Strange, but not unheard of. The majority of the work would be with Gale directly, but it was at the least, the most basic courtesy for her boss to introduce himself by this point.

As she walks into the museum, relics from the past line the cabinets; old armor and gloves from heroes of legends from long ago, tons of jewelry and books, rare spell scrolls, and most prized of all, paintings recovered from the fall of the Szarr Manor prominently hung on the walls. Their subjects long gone, they now serve to be viewed by those who would be their victims under different circumstances.

Octavia stops at one of the many paintings of a pale elf, his silver hair in perfect tendrils, piercing red eyes glare back at her and she feels a slight shudder run down her spine, it was probably just a little bit of nerves. Still, she couldn't help but notice that same subject surrounding her in other works. If not as the main feature, but in the background of at least a dozen. Who was this person? She drifts off in thought.

"Miss Octavia? Hello? Can you hear me?" Snapping back from the daydream, she sees Gale standing beside her. His positive attitude ever present, notebook in hand he greets her with a small wave. "Lots to do this morning! We got a delivery of religious artifacts from a Sharran temple in the Underdark that was previously thought to be lost." His eyes glimmer with excitement.

"We're looking at at least a day to see what was delivered, another to catalog it all, and then, my favorite part, writing the plaques for all of it." He chuckles "Altogether at least a month of work, maybe two if there's a particular item that's more mysterious than the others." He finishes his explanation with a tilt of his head.

Octavia nods, her mind still on the portrait, "Quick question, Gale? Do you know who that subject is? They're featured in a lot of the paintings, but there's no information about them?" He glances up, "Well, we've done some research into the subjects of all the paintings, luckily we've put some names to faces..." He trails off, brows furrowing slightly at the face staring at them both "that particular subject, though, unfortunately not."

He turns wearing a wistful smile "I do wish to put a name to that face, and I intend to, but our wonderful curator often reminds me that not every mystery has to be solved." He scoffs with a grin and shrugs "Of course he would, he loves to give me a hard time about my dedication to the museum, you'd think he would appreciate the tireless research but to each their own."

Octavia relaxes a bit and ask "Have you known each other long? I mean, since he's been gone this whole time I haven't gotten to meet him yet. Is he....nice?" She says the last word quietly, almost a whisper.

Gale picks up on the anxious question and lowers his notebook, his eyes softened as he leans in, "There's nothing to be nervous about with him, he's much more bark than bite, as they say. He's really wonderful once you get to know him. Just a little rough around the edges...you know these eccentrics..they're all so guarded but deep down, they're just like us regular boring people."

He grins in assurance and goes back to his notebook, "Before I forget, said eccentric has reached back out to me and he'll be returning tomorrow evening! He'd like to make your acquaintance as soon as possible and apologize for his absence." Oh, shit. "Wonderful!" She does an okay job at hiding the crack in her voice, she clears throat, grimaces a bit and adjusts the badge clipped to her smock. "When and where?"

[watch-grok-brainrot]

A Good Sword

Written for @mdzsnet 1 year net anniversary event. Request sent in by @susuwatari-kompeito​

Rated: G

Word Count:  4392

Characters: Lan Zhan | Lan Wangji, Wei Ying | Wei Wuxian, Jiang Cheng | Jiang Wanyin, Suibian (Módào Zǔshī), Lan Yuan | Lan Sizhui, Lan Jingyi, OC character mentions

Other tags:  Post-Canon, sentient weapons, cw blood, cw injury, Night Hunt, Yunmeng, Post-Canon, Established Relationship WangXian, Gusu, Jiang Cheng being difficult, I stan the least Lan of Lans who also happens to be the best Lan, food mentioned

Summary: Wei Wuxian is forming a golden core in Mo Xuanyu's body. He realizes this means he can wield Suibian again but Lan Wangji reminds him it's with Jiang Cheng in Yunmeng. Their help is requested to subdue supernatural disturbances on Mushan Island so Wangxian head there with some juniors. During the night hunt, they run into Jiang Cheng who happens to have Suibian with him. How will Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian resolve who gets to keep the sword?

Thank you @merelhyn and Aube for the beta!

[Gusu, Cloud Recesses]

A warm spring breeze drifted through the bamboo forest outside the Jingshi, rustling the leaves. As the wind ebbed and flowed, the rustling rose and fell, mimicking the sound of ocean waves. The soothing sound of the bamboo served as stark contrast to the stillness of the Jingshi. Cool sandalwood smoke curled up from a small ceramic incense burner, tumbling up and dissipating into the air. Lan Wangji knelt before his desk with his back straight and shoulders relaxed. A small mountain of letters piled to his right. Three stacks sat neatly to his left. He took a letter from the pile to his right, skimmed it twice with his pale colored eyes, and carefully set it in the appropriate pile to his left. The sandalwood smoke continued to rise as Lan Wangji methodically moved through his work. Only the occasional crinkling of paper and the wave-like sound of bamboo could be heard. The stillness was interrupted when Wei Wuxian charged into the building. Lan Wangji looked up at the sound of quick footsteps. “Lan Zhan! Look what I noticed today!” Wei Wuxian shoved his wrist in front of Lan Wangji. His shirt was half open, showing his bare chest, and his cheeks flushed from exercise. “Mn?” Lan Wangji asked, setting down the letter he was reading. He looked up at Wei Ying’s face and then his gaze drifted to Wei Ying's bare chest. “Feel, Lan Zhan! Feel my pulse!” Wei Wuxian waved his wrist in front of Lan Wangji’s face as he plopped down next to Lan Wangji. Lan Wangji caught the flailing limb, set Wei Ying’s hand gently onto the desk, and pressed his fingers against the other man’s pulse. Wei Ying beamed as Lan Wangji assessed his pulse, feeling along the paths of the shorter man’s meridians. Lan Wangji’s qi was met with Wei Ying’s own energy and ferried to Wei Ying’s core. A golden core was forming inside his Wei Ying at last. “It’s coalescing.” “Yes! And at a decent pace too! Before you know it, I’ll be able to fight with a sword again! Are you looking forward to sparring with me?” “Mn,” Lan Wangji felt the corner of his lips pull back slightly. “Hey, Lan Zhan, speaking of swords, do you know what happened to Suibian? I haven’t seen it for months. Did I misplace it somewhere in Jingshi?” “Jiang Wanyin has it.” “What? Since when?” “When we left Yunmeng.” “Huh. I don’t remember this.” “Do you remember Jin Guangyao provoking Jiang Wanyin about the core transfer?” Wei Wuxian’s eyes darted up towards the ceiling briefly. “He could pull Suibian from its sheath. I remember that now! Hm… I wonder if he’s planning on keeping it or if…” Wei Wuxian trailed off as he turned around and leaned against Lan Wangji’s shoulder. “Lan Zhan, were you working this morning?” “Perusing correspondence. I should continue,” Lan Wangji responded as he wrapped his left arm around Wei Ying. He placed a kiss on the other man’s hair and breathed in — musk from exercising, dust from outside, pine resin, and hint of prickly spice. “Wei Ying always smells good.” The other man laughed. “You always smell good too, Lan er-gege.” Always active, Wei Ying reached towards Lan Wangji’s desk. “Lan Zhan, watcha reading now?” “We received a letter seeking help from Wuhu Gong Sect.” “Wuhu? Where is that?” “Between Gusu and Yunmeng, east of Hefei.” “What did they want?” “Disturbances on ChaoHu’s MuShan Island near Hefei.” “What kind?” “Unclear.” “Are we going to go help?” Lan Wangji waited, choosing not to answer. Wei Ying will figure it out. “Silly question. You go where the chaos is,” Wei Wuxian turned and kissed Lan Wangji. He then laughed, “And here I thought I was the chaos.” Lan Wangji huffed out a small snort. “Alright, alright. We should write back and go help out. I’ll find Chenqing and pack our stuff. You can finish your pile of letters.” “Check between the bed and the window.” “What?” Wei Wuxian hopped from where he was sitting and bounded over to the bed. “You left Chenqing there earlier in the month.” “You really remember everything, don’t you, Lan Zhan?” “No. Only if it pertains to Wei Ying.”

[Yunmeng, Lotus Pier]

Jiang Cheng snapped his head up at the sound of running. “Zongzhu! Help is requested urgently from Hefei!” A young disciple charged into the room waving a letter. “Is there the need to yell and run? Will a few additional moments change the outcome?” Jiang Cheng scolded as he snatched the folded message from the frantic disciple. “Go practice ‘Picking Lotus Roots in the Mud’ in the courtyard at one fifth the standard pace.” “Uh… One fifth?” “Do I need to repeat myself?” Jiang Cheng looked the boy in the eye. “No Zongzhu. Right away,” the disciple scurried off. Jiang Cheng watched the retreating figure and wondered if he himself could even perform the form at one fifth the speed. No matter, the boy was supposed to practice and it would teach him patience. Jiang Cheng turned his attention to the message in his hand. It was from Hefei’s Mi sect, a small sect allied to Yunmeng： “Seeking help from Sandu Shengshou Jiang Wanyin and the Yunmeng Jiang Sect. Mysterious yao disturbances on ChaoHu’s MuShan Island. Hefei Mi and Wuhu Gong attempted to subdue to no avail. Many spiritual weapons were lost in the process. The disturbances have been intensifying over the past three months. The people suffer. Area sects are forced to seek aid from major sects. Hefei Mi Sect Mi Tayan” Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes and refolded the letter. Why can’t minor sects be more competent? He and Wei Wuxian were probably subduing yao of that caliber when they were thirteen. Then again, Gong and Mi have had decent reputations lately. Maybe he should not underestimate the yao. Jiang Cheng’s right thumb began idly spinning the violet ring on his middle finger. ChaoHu was large. Yao thriving on those resources could be powerful. Such situations would be best approached with caution. A pity he couldn’t simply ignore this. As the Mi sect was Yunmeng’s most loyal supporter, Yunmeng was obligated to help. Luckily he had at least one spiritual weapon to spare. He stood and swept out of the room.

[MuShan Island]

Dusk blanketed the island in the middle of Chaohu. As the long shadows of trees merged into deep blue darkness, a full moon rose to cast a crisp white light over the party of cultivators on a night hunt. “Lan Zhan! There’s something over here!” Wei Wuxian said as he threw out a talisman towards a large tree. They had been scouring the island since lunch time and Wei Wuxian was growing hungry. The talisman flew forward, glowed bright red, and expanded into a spiritual net, aiming to capture an unidentified target. Wei Wuxian followed his talisman attack by pulling out Chenqing, twirling the flute in his hand once to adjust positioning, and bringing it to his lips. As the high pitch trill of the black bamboo flute pierced the air, the red glow of the spiritual net flickered and flared. Shadows pulsated against the net and Wei Wuxian closed his eyes to focus on pushing his will onto the creature with his infamous demon flute. “Sizhui, flank right with your group. Jingyi, flank left with yours. Aim to subdue, not kill,” Lan Wangji instructed the group of juniors. He then summoned Wangji qin from his qiankun pouch and set about sending spiritual energy towards Wei Wuxian’s net. Sizhui and Jingyi had developed enough experience that they were leading small groups on their own in major night hunts. The two juniors directed their groups to take up positions based on the Seven Stars of the Northern Dipper. Then, they all unsheathed their swords and sent them towards the being under the net. The spiritual blades danced around Wei Wuxian’s talisman. As they flew, the swords collided continuously. “PoZhangYin!” Wei Wuxian opened his eyes and exclaimed after a few collisions, realizing the clanging of the blades played out Gusu’s famous battle melody. “That’s a clever use of swords! I see someone has been teaching useful things like creativity and practical application of known skills!” “Wei-qianbei has a good ear!” Jingyi said as his sword hit Sizhui’s. “It was Sizhui’s idea. He remembered that awful blade of grass you used and thought we could do the same with our swords. We have been practicing!” “Jingyi, focus,” Lan Wangji chided, sending another wave of qin energy towards the target. “Wei Ying, do you know what it is?” “Some sort of old waterfowl yao. I can’t quite get a sense of it yet. Possibly a duck. Hey, Hanguang-jun, do you want to have roast duck for dinner?” “I prefer sampling local delicacies,” Lan Wangji responded, his voice steady as he sent another wave of energy towards the trapped yao. “You do have a point, Lan Zhan. I hear the Binjiong cakes here are good. We should give them a try.” “Mn. Focus so Wei Ying can eat later. It’s loquat season.” Wei Wuxian laughed, “Alright! Your treat, Hanguang-jun!” He turned his attention back to the trapped yao. As the nine cultivators poured their energies into the talisman and sword formation, the shadows emanating from the net began to subside. After a stick of incense worth of time, the last notes of PoZhangYin clanged from the swords and the talisman net’s bright glow softened to the dim light of embers. Anguished quacks could be heard. “Wei-qianbei! You’re right, it is a duck yao!” The noises continued and Wei Wuxian’s brows furrowed. Something did not feel right. The sound was not… Wei Wuxian cursed and bolted to the yao. He hurriedly started casting a silencing talisman while explaining, “This isn’t a duck yao. It’s a mandarin duck yao and she’s calling for her mate. He’s probab—” Something fast crashed into his back, knocking him forward. He fell, crushing the talisman net and releasing the yao inside. “Wei Ying!” Wei Wuxian heard Lan Zhan yell as energy waves from Wangji washed over him. Both yao being hit by the chord attacks reared up and expanded in size. The smell of rotting fish, stale lake water, and decaying wood filled Wei Wuxian’s nose. The two yao propelled themselves into the air, their attention diverted from Wei Wuxian to Lan Wangji. “Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian yelled as he scrambled up and brought Chenqing to his lips again. The strong melancholy notes from Chenqing pushed towards the yao, attempting to control them. “Sizhui, Jingyi, Bagua formation! Contain them. Vanquish if necessary,” Lan Wangji ordered, Wangji still in hand. He swept his fingers over the seven strings, sending out seven separate chord assassination attacks. The juniors took positions in accordance to Bagua with Lan Wangji at the Qian position and Sizhui at the Kun position wielding their respective qin. The other juniors’ swords wove around the two yao. Marsh, Fire, Thunder, Wind, Water, and Mountain anchored between Heaven and Earth. The Bagua formation shifted between its permutations, drawing upon these primal aspects of nature. The two yao, trapped in an ever-mutating array of sword and qin energies, struggled against the Lan sect attack at first. The female soon calmed. She flew around the male, calming him as well. They hovered in midair observing the attacks. Then, the two yao moved. The female allowed herself to get hit by an attack from Lan Haoye. The sword stabbed into her left side but seemed to do little damage. Instead, the sword became embedded in the yao and Haoye lost control of her sword. Then, the female dove for the youngest cultivator, Lan Pinshu, who stood halfway between Lan Sizhui and Lan Wangji. The male, similarly, took a hit from Lan Runchan and dove for Lan Jinglin. Haoye stood on the water position and Pinshu on fire. Lan Runchan was on marsh and Jinglin on mountain. Wei Wuxian cursed again, “Everyone be careful. They’re taking hits aligned with their nature to strengthen themselves and attacking the opposite element to counter us. The female is cunning.” Wei Wuxian gathered his qi and pushed off the ground towards Pinshu. Times like these he missed his old body. This one was still too slow and had too little reach. To accelerate himself further, he slapped a talisman onto his lower back. He was closer to the boy than the female yao. He had a chance to protect the boy if he could just move between them. The force of the magic boosted his speed, giving him just enough time to step between the yao and the boy. He tucked Chenqing into his qiankun sleeve and grabbed Haoye’s sword jutting from the yao’s side. The yao screamed, strong resentful energy burst forth from her body. Gusts of resentment whipped around Wei Wuxian and Lan Pinshu, lifting up small pieces of foliage and debris. Wei Wuxian stood firm, putting himself between the yao and Pinshu, using his body as a shield. He clung onto Haoye’s sword and sliced down, aiming to split the yao in half. The yao screeched for her mate. The male yao abandoned his trajectory, shifting his body and arced towards Wei Wuxian. In flight, his form flattened into a blade with his beak elongating and sharpening into a point. Wei Wuxian saw the male yao approach but stood his ground. Haoye’s sword cut through and broke free from the female yao as the male yao’s beak pierced Wei Wuxian’s left side, sliding between two of his ribs. Before Wei Wuxian could redirect Haoye’s sword to slice towards the yao embedded half way in his chest, a bright flash of purple accompanied by a loud pop grabbed the tail end of the yao and forcibly pulled it out of Wei Wuxian’s chest. Wei Wuxian bit down on a scream. There was no reason to scare Pinshu right now. Wei Wuxian heard his name through a daze as something zoomed towards him. He lifted up Haoye’s sword to deflect the projectile but instinct took over and he found himself catching the object at the last moment. Suibian, his old sword, rested in his hand. In his previous life, Suibian’s hilt fit his hand so perfectly it was as if the sword had formed knowing it would be his. Considering the inscription on its sheath, maybe it did know. In this new body, his hand was just a fraction too small to wield Suibian with that old familiarity and ease. Wei Wuxian tightened his grip on his old friend. “Wei Wuxian, pay attention!” The sound of Jiang Cheng yelling shook Wei Wuxian from his thoughts. The female yao charged at him with half her entrails spilling from her body. Wei Wuxian unsheathed Suibian, pulled spiritual energy from his newly forming golden core, and sliced towards the yao. After a few exchanges, Suibian decapitated the creature, its body falling to the ground with a splat. Wei Wuxian smiled, “Suibian, looks like we still got this.” He thought he felt the sword shiver in response. Looking around, he saw Jiang Cheng and the Lans had disposed of the male yao as well. Lan Wangji and Sizhui were putting their qin away; Zidian was receding into Jiang Cheng’s ring; and the juniors were all sheathing their swords. Wei Wuxian watched Lan Wangji give instructions to the five unseasoned juniors to cleanse the area of residual resentment. Everyone was safe and well. He let out a sigh of relief which turned into coughs. Blood dribbled from his mouth and he fell to his knees. As he toppled forward, his right hand shot out to support his weight as his left hand pressed against the suddenly searing wound on his chest. Footsteps and people yelling his name closed in around him. “Wei Ying!” “Wei-qianbei!” “Wei Wuxian!” “I’m ok. Just a small wound,” Wei Wuxian tried to wave everyone off. Lan Wangji knelt by Wei Wuxian and started examining his puncture wound. “I can’t believe you let that yao hit you. What were you thinking? What if it were trying to curse you?” Jiang Cheng walked up and started scolding. “I was fighting the female.” “You’re coughing up blood.” “Jiang Cheng, you try having something stab you in the lungs. I’m sure you’ll cough up some blood too,” Wei Wuxian retorted, making himself cough up more blood. “Jin Guangyao did a few months ago, remember?” “Wei Ying. Stop talking.” “Jiang-zongzhu, maybe it’s not the best idea for you to antagonize Wei-qianbei right now,” Sizhui spoke up, giving Lan Wangji nervous glances. Lan Wangji stymied the blood flow by hitting a few choice acupoints. He then disinfected Wei Wuxian’s wound with a stream of qi and sprinkled some wound sealing powder to help accelerate clotting. He wrapped his right arm around Wei Wuxian’s waist, “Can you stand?” Wei Wuxian gave a nod and let Lan Wangji help him up. He looked at Jiang Cheng awkwardly. “Um…” “I’m just here to retrieve my sword.” “Sandu?” “The one in your hand.” Wei Wuxian felt his grip on Suibian tighten. “Suibian has always been my sword.” “It unsheathes for me.” Wei Wuxian paused. What argument could he use? They both knew Suibian would unsheathe for Jiang Cheng because Jiang Cheng has Wei Wuxian’s golden core. Because it was what Wei Wuxian owed the Jiangs. Because Wei Wuxian did not believe Jiang Cheng would be able to survive without one. But that was not an argument he could make. His chest was hurting and he did not need to revisit Jiang Cheng’s reaction. “I’m taking your silence as agreement,” Jiang Cheng reached for the sword. Wei Wuxian pulled Suibian out of Jiang Cheng’s reach. “Suibian also unsheathes for me.” “Suibian was given to you as the head disciple of Yunmeng Jiang. You’re no longer in the sect. You defected. I should have taken Suibian with me then,” Jiang Cheng drew himself to his full height and looked down his nose at Wei Wuxian. “Suibian is sentient. It knows Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji spoke up, glaring down at Jiang Cheng. “Suibian is made from the trees of Yunmeng, its blade quenched with our waters. It belongs in Yunmeng. And it knows me as well.” “Suibian has always been Wei Wuxian’s sword. You did not take it when Wei Ying moved to the Burial Mounds. It is not yours to take right now.” “Wei Wuxian would not even have it had I not brought it as a backup to Sandu today.” “Jiang Cheng, why are you here anyway? And why bring Suibian?” Wei Wuxian asked. “Mi Tayan wrote Yunmeng seeking help. Apparently the Gong sect and Mi sect could not handle these two on their own. Suibian served as a spare since the yao had been taking spiritual weapons,” Jiang Cheng answered frankly. He then looked Wei Wuxian up and down. Wei Wuxian shrunk into Lan Wangji, hearing Jiang Cheng’s unspoken words: Your new body is weak. You don’t have a golden core anyway. You can’t use it for long. “A few days ago, I felt the beginning of a golden core coalescing.” Jiang Cheng raised an eyebrow. “Why are you telling me this? Why would I care?” “I will have the strength to wield Suibian again. Suibian is mine.” “You can take it when you can and are willing to take the golden core inside me back,” Jiang Cheng spat. His ring crackled as Zidian sent forth a warning shock. “You know I would never do that.” “Then give me back my sect’s sword.” Wei Wuxian pushed Lan Wangji away and placed his right hand on Suibian’s hilt. “I don’t want to fight you Jiang Cheng but I’m not someone you can bully.” Zidian crackled. “Suibian belongs to Yunmeng. I will not let Lan-er or any other self-righteous, headband wearing, cultivator take what belongs to my sect. Yunmeng will not back down.” Sizhui interjected, “Wait. Fighting now is unproductive. Jiang-zongzhu, Wei-qianbei, is there no other resolution? If Suibian is sentient, can we not ask it to choose?” “Yeah! Even if Jiang-zongzhu beats Wei-qianbei, it wouldn’t reflect well on Yunmeng. I didn’t think Yunmeng would be the type to pick on someone who was just injured and without a fully formed core,” Jingyi added. Wei Wuxian scoffed, “You’re not holding back, are you, Jingyi?” “Sorry Wei-qianbei. Fighting Jiang-zongzhu right now would be so unfair to you.” “Ask it to choose?” Jiang Cheng scoffed at Sizhui. “Suibian isn’t some spirit you can just ask with WenLing who it is, how it died, what it wants. It’s a sword that has bonded with a person.” Jingyi laughed, “Well, then we just have to show if it’s bonded more to the soul or the golden core.” “And how do you propose to do this? I’ve never heard of such an assessment.” “Jiang-zongzhu, we just need to be a bit creative. Would you mind performing some initial tests with us?” Sizhui asked. “I’m not here to play games.” “We are serious, right, Sizhui? We are simply trying to apply our new-found creativity and practical application of known skills!” Jingyi beamed. Sizhui did not roll his eyes at his smug friend. “Jiang-zongshu, has Jin Ling ever spoken with you about the events that transpired at Yi City involving Xue Yang, Song Lan-daozhang, and Xiao Xingchen-daozhang? “Some.” “Are you aware that Xue Yang had Shuanghua at the time? And Hanguang-jun was able to take it from him?” “Jin Ling did mention something like that.” “Shuanghua was aware that Xue Yang did not align with Xiao Xingchen-daozhang’s world view and thus abandoned Xue Yang. I believe if you and Wei-qianbei are both able to wield Suiban then it becomes a matter of seeing if one of you can override the other’s will.” Jiang Cheng pursed his lips into a line. Sizhui added, “Jiang-zongzhu, you have the advantage here. Considering Wei-qianbei’s lower cultivation, he would only be able to override your will if Suibian is truly loyal to him. You have very little to lose.” “Fine,” Jiang Cheng scowled. “Let’s get this over with.” Sizhui then turned to Wei Wuxian, “Wei-qianbei, would you mind sending Suibian out to encircle that tree, approaching from the left, and returning it to its sheath?” Wei Wuxian performed the task. “Wei-qianbei, hand Suibian to Jiang-zongzhu,” Jingyi ordered. “Jiang-zongzhu please do the same but approach from the right.” Jiang Cheng performed the task with a bored expression. “Jiang-zongzhu, please hand Suibian back to Wei-qianbei. Now, Wei-qianbei will perform the same task as he did earlier. You goal, Jiang-zongzhu is to get Suibian to circle the tree from the other direction.” Wei Wuxian stared at the sword that was too big for his hand. Are you really mine? Or have you bonded with Jiang Cheng in the last few months? He closed his eyes, sighed, and sent Suibian flying. Suibian flew true and returned to Wei Wuxian. Jiang Cheng scowled, “Is that it? This proves nothing.” “There is at least one more step,” Sizhui answered respectfully. “Wei-qianbei, give Suibian to Jiang-zongzhu. Your turn to try to make Suibian fly the other direction!” Jingyi said, shaking with excitement. “Jiang-zongzhu, if Wei-qianbei is able to divert Suibian, then it is likely bonded with him more than with you. If not, then we will need to find a different way to assess the ownership of the sword.” Wei Wuxian nodded and whispered to the sword, “Suibian, you sealed for me for thirteen years. I cannot ask for more. But maybe do me a favor this one time.” He then handed it over to Jiang Cheng. Sizhui stared Jiang Cheng in the eye. “You may proceed.” Suibian flew out from Jiang Cheng towards the pre-appointed tree. It started veering right but wobbled. Jiang Cheng’s brow furrowed, driving it back on course. Wei Wuxian bit his lip, his eyes narrowing slightly, shoving his focus into the sword. The distance between where they stood and the tree was only ten zhang or so. He didn’t have much time. He could feel Jiang Cheng urging the sword to the right. Wei Wuxian shifted his weight onto the balls of his feet, mentally reaching for Suibian. Suibian, I miss you. Please. Wei Wuxian could feel Jiang Cheng’s connection to the sword snap as Suibian swerved in mid-air, circled the tree from the left, and flew into Wei Wuxian’s grip. Jiang Cheng let out a startled grunt. Wei Wuxian almost laughed at the familiar sound. It reminded him of childhood in Yunmeng, of waking up to that sound and a thud as Jiang Cheng rolled off his bed. A grin spread across Wei Wuxian’s face. “Incredible! Suibian really is sentient,” Pinshu sighed in admiration. “I thought only cultivators who had bonded for a lifetime with their swords had that sort of loyalty!” “Suibian has always been loyal to Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji explained. “Its inscription is indicative of its devotion. Sizhui, Jingyi, good work." The two juniors stood up straighter and grinned at each other under Lan Wangji's praise. Jiang Cheng handed Suibian's sheath to Wei Wuxian, “Yours. Don’t be too smug. I don’t want it if it doesn’t belong to Yunmeng. And stop leaving it places.” “Jiang Cheng…” “What?” “Thank you.” “Whatever. It’s not like it’s that good a sword anyway,” Jiang Cheng said and stalked off into the darkness to look for the other members of his sect. Wei Wuxian clung onto Suibian, “Welcome back. I’ve missed you.” He suddenly lifted up Suibian and stared at the sword in awe. “Wei Ying?” “Lan Zhan, is my hand suddenly bigger?” Wei Wuxian asked, holding up a hand that once belonged to a man named Mo Xuanyu. Lan Zhan held up his hand as well. Wei Wuxian’s hand was smaller by the same familiar margin. “No. Why does Wei Ying ask?” Wei Wuxian gripped Suibian by the hilt and held out his fist out. “My hand was a bit too small earlier tonight. And now it’s perfect for my hand again.” “Mn. Suibian is a good sword.” “Suibian really is a good sword,” Wei Wuxian echoed. “Hey, do you think you can treat your poor wounded husband to some roast mandarin duck and Binjiong cakes now?” “Loquats as well. My treat,” Lan Wangji nodded once with a hint of a smile.

Author’s notes: 

1) For SHL/WOH fans, I was working on this request and trying to find a place between yunmeng and gusu. I ended up seeing Hefei, Chaohu, and Mushan Island. As I was zooming out, I noticed Wuhu was a town pretty close by… so I decided to shove a reference to Gong Jun and his Wuhu singing into my story as an easter egg. I’m not sorry.

2) Poetry references: A - The name of the form JC asks the disciple to practice is 泥中采藕 in chinese. I pulled it from this poem: 元 · 丁鹤年 水上摘莲青的的，泥中采藕白纤纤。 却笑同根不同味，莲心清苦藕芽甜。

B - This is completely me being derp. Hefei is a location where the name fertile (in terms of soil)/fat is part of the name. I chose the sect to have a last name related to grains. And then I looked up that character in poetry to name the sect leader: 黄庭坚 (宋） 嚼冰进糜餐，冲雪踏层巘

C - Since CR’s name is from a Jia Dao poem, I chose to pull all the names of the OC juniors from Jia Dao Poems as well: Pinshu is from: 《让纠曹上乐使君》 瓶汲南溪水，书来北岳僧。

Haoye is per: 《上谷旅夜》 月到寒窗空皓晶，风翻落叶更飕飗

Jinglin and Runchan I took inspiration from: 《升道精舍南台对月寄姚合》 月向南台见，秋霖洗涤余。 出逢危叶落，静看众峰疏。 冷露常时有，禅窗此夜虚。 相思聊怅望，润气遍衣初。

3) Seven Stars of the Northern Dipper is the big dipper. It’s common in wuxia as a formation. Same goes for Bagua. Both are daoist but so is Xianxia type cultivation. I know the Lans are Buddhist in origin but they really aren’t that way religion-wise.

4) Mandarin ducks are yuanyang and a term/symbol of a loving couple and monogamous faithfulness.

5) 滨炯一品玉带糕 are binjiong yiping (first ranked) jade-belted cakes. They’re a famous pastry/cake in the area. Idk if it’s period accurate but mdzs isn’t period accurate so i’m using it. 姥山枇杷 (mushan loquats) are supposed to be large, sweet, thin skinned with lots of flesh and super juicy. It was a good thing to include since this story is so heavily wangxian. And i don’t know if people eat mandarin ducks, but I would want to if i were wwx after that night hunt.

[starkerotic]

i melt in your mouth, girl, not in your hands. [part 1]

[based on the stress-baking prompt from this au post.]

If anyone had asked Bucky only three years before, he never would have thought that he would eventually end up here, back in the same apartment complex from his youth - updated and much more expensive than the fifty dollars or so he remembers Steve’s mother fretting over so many times before she died, his own mother patting Sarah’s frail hands as she reassured her that everything would work out in the end, but very much the same.

(It’s… comforting, in a way he’s not felt since he went off to The War, pride in his heart and fear buried deep below, his mother’s tears wet on his cheek and the warmth of Steve’s farewell - or, at least, see you soon, as it turned out - hug still surrounding him, his heart beating strong, as quick as a hummingbird’s wings, as he boarded the bus and sat with the other men ready to lay their lives on the line for their country and their god and their loved ones.)

“Buck! Open up, I’ve got pizza!”

New floors, news appliances, new owners… same old Steve. (Well, still a punk that picks fights too big for him, anyway.)

“If you knock down my door again, you’re explaining to Stark why he’s paying for the same damage a third time.” He doesn’t have to raise his voice much louder than his normal speaking volume. Steve’s enhanced hearing is just as good as his own - even better, perhaps; he is, after the original super soldier, while Bucky’s serum was hardly more than a diluted mimicry with a side of mind control.

Steve’s big, dumb grin greets him once the door opens, as bright and carefree and happy as Bucky remembers from before The Fall and before The War and after Bucky could hear his trigger words (longing, rusted, seventeen…) and keep his mind his own. (Once upon a time, that stupid grin would have fluttered his heart, sent his pulse a little higher, set his smile a little wider, but too many things have changed between them for Bucky to feel that same connection now.)

“I don’t think he’d mind, because it means I’m not busy-” Steve frowns, carefully setting all four pizza boxes down on Bucky’s small kitchen island. “-‘killing his vibe’.”

The pleasant aroma of chocolate chip cookies (it’s been faint all evening, but with the door open, it hits him full-force) drifts from the apartment across the hall, just like it used to when he and Steve were boys and one of their mothers (and, in one disastrous incident, Bucky’s sister) had enough spare ingredients and time to bake a baker’s dozen or two. It makes Bucky long (longing, rusted, seventeen…) for those days so far gone, when things were bad but never dismal and his mother’s soft humming and his sister’s giddy laughter rang through the halls, sweet and familiar and-

The door snaps shut, Bucky’s vibranium fingers curling over the wooden frame. It does nothing to remove the scent of the other tenant’s baking, but he feels better with the flimsy barrier.

“Buck?”

Sleek metal shines in the light as Bucky releases the frame and flexes his fist for a moment, careful to take the deep breaths his court-appointed therapist (and, god, what a joke that is, expecting him to open up to a woman with no idea of where he comes from, of what used to make him Bucky that the serum and HYDRA stole away from him) recommended in their first session. It never helps, not really (he has too much anger built up, he surmises, ready to boil and burn and destroy in all the same ways he was once ordered to by both his own government and the enemy), but he’s trying.

“Sorry,” rasps Bucky. He swallows down the sudden lump in his throat, but offers no excuse or explanation for his behavior. (He doesn’t owe anyone anything - not even Steve.)

The grin isn’t quite as wide anymore, but the blond doesn’t look like he’s readying himself to attack, so Bucky moves nearer, flesh hand reaching for the nearest box: a simple cheese with extra sauce. “Thanks,” Bucky mutters and downs half a slice in one bite, the cheese almost too hot, the sauce with the exact right consistency and flavor. The simple pie is Bucky’s (unofficial) favorite, a reminder that not everything has changed.

“Any time.” Steve stares at him for a few moments longer - long enough that Bucky’s back stiffens - but he only offers Bucky a slice of a second pizza (red peppers and ricotta and Italian sausage) before he holds up the stack of boxes he’s supporting with his left hand. “I’ve got Sorry! and Scrabble and,” he sighs, put-upon in a way only Steve Rogers can be, “Clue - the Avengers version.”

Bucky snorts, and his muddled mind clears of familiar feminine laughter and warm chocolate chip cookies.

“It’s always the Widow.”

*

(Natasha, in fact, is the culprit two times out of three. Bucky has more fun in the two hours they play, bullshitting his questions and pretending to think much too long on Steve’s when he only has one of the answers to give up, than he’s had since he first woke from his programming.)

*

Steve has been gone for at least fifteen minutes when there’s a knock at his door.

“I told you the last slice was mine when you left, punk, so don’t-”

He’s let the familiar surroundings lull him into what bit of security he can still feel because, rather than Steve on his doorstep, it’s… Well, he isn’t positive who it is, but judging by the open door across from him and the overwhelming scent of home and freshly-baked cookies, Bucky makes an assumption. “You must be the baker.” His words are gruff, but he tries to keep his tone level and as kind as he can make it without his usual scowl creeping over his face.

Perfectly rosy cheeks look to darken even further as his neighbor looks up from Bucky’s chest, surprise and awe appearing and disappearing, quick as a flash across his face. Brown eyes (they remind Bucky of autumn, of warm days and cool nights and leaves crunching along a woodland trail) widen for only a moment on the black-and-gold vibranium weapon that serves as his arm.

Bucky braces himself for a flurry of questions about the arm, the Avengers, Captain America-

“I’m sorry. Do the smells bother you?” Perfectly straight teeth, pearly white except for the slightest smudge of chocolate on the left canine, show in a nervous smile. He hides his eyes, ducking his head just enough to avoid Bucky’s, as he rambles, “I’m really sorry about that; it’s just an easy way for me to destress, I guess - ha - and I didn’t think it would be an issue with anyone because I usually bake a ton and give them to everyone in the building and-”

“It’s not a problem,” Bucky interrupts, and the other man smiles and- Wow. Bucky can’t remember ever seeing another person so delighted and… cute.

“You’re sure?” Cute Neighbor asks. His arms shift, muscles flexing just the tiniest bit as he tightens his grip around a Tupperware container in his hands.

Bucky takes a moment (two, three, four…) to soften his features, to relax his tense shoulders and look less likely to snap someone’s neck. “Positive,” he reassures and, just to see those cheeks pinken up a second time, he winks. “Reminds me of home.”

The blush comes along with another smile, bright and kind and much less big and dumb than the one Steve had greeted him with earlier, though a tinge of sadness dulls it. “Same,” he murmurs, almost to himself, before he startles and shoves the Tupperware out in front of him in an offering to Bucky - homemade cookies for the feared Winter Soldier. “Everyone else has already gotten theirs,” he tells Bucky. “I just wanted to make sure you didn’t go without.”

And that’s just-

Bucky’s chest expands on a breath, holds… and releases. “Thanks, doll.” The endearment slips out like it’s nothing, as easy as it always used to back in the forties.

His neighbor only laughs, a little breathless, and says, “I’m Peter. Peter Parker,” before going on his way, blessing Bucky with one last smile before he shuts the door to his apartment.

Peter Parker.

The cookies are a small taste of whatever heaven may exist after this life, the chocolate chips melting as soon as the cookie touches his tongue, and Bucky can’t help but to hope that Peter finds himself stressed again sooner rather than later.

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 144

After much demand, Kink Night at the Undine has arrived. This chapter is really fun, was informative to write, but if you need to skip it, you won’t miss out on the overall story. So, trigger warnings on this chapter for:

- Bondage (mentions of)

- Pegging (possible mention of?)

- Impact play (discussed, both done wrongly and demonstrated correctly)

- Topping and bottoming

To be clear: These are all mentioned from the perspective of a non-participant, non-voyeur. I would probably overall rate this chapter appropriate for 14 years and older, but your mileage may vary. However, kink in general can be very healthy if done correctly, and this chapter was double beta-read, not only by @baelpenrose but also by @charlylimph-blog for accuracy of the scene.  This actually prevented a PROFOUND mistake from making it to queueing, so I am super grateful for their help.

Once I was released from medical after an unnecessarily long lecture from Noah, I found I had a message waiting from Charly with a date and time to meet at the Undine.  Right below that was a message from Sebastian with a uniform-slash-dresscode of sorts.

Aw nuggets. I had forgotten what night it was. 

There wasn’t time to grab clothes from my quarters, but my office was on the way to the bar, so I stopped by to change.  Socks and shoes were a bit of a challenge, since I generally didn’t wear either, so I had to find a vendor to help me fill in the gaps.  Granted, shoes weren’t specified in Sebastian’s list.  However, there was exactly a zero percent chance that I was going to lend a hand at a kink party while barefoot. Just… no. Nope. Not happening.

I wiped my palms nervously against my slacks when I arrived, not sure exactly what to expect.  Charly and I had talked about it, but none of that knowledge wanted to make its presence known at the moment, apparently.  Instead, my mind kept drifting to what in the actual hell she had roped Arthur into doing.  The door opened entirely too soon to reveal a smiling Charly, who grabbed my arm and dragged me behind her to the small group already gathered.

All of my nerves were forced from my body by the sputtering laughter I fell victim to when I saw Arthur - I still had no idea what he would be doing, but he looked like someone took a post-apocalyptic movie hero and hit a button labelled ‘make him a villain’ a few too many times.  The leather jacket and motorcycle pants were fairly innocuous, since I knew he actually owned both and neither were terribly uncommon on the Ark.  Same thing held for the boots - they were just practical in the After and several people held on to that preference with a death grip.

“Cloak’s a nice touch,” I snorted, trying desperately to ignore the campier bits of his outfit.

I was dangerously close to losing it when he scowled and adjusted the laurel crown - I mean, really? - resting on his head. “I knew I shouldn’t have cut my hair this morning,” he muttered. “Damned thing won’t sit right anymore.”

Charly clapped her hands to get everyone’s attention. “Okay, one more run through of what everyone will be doing!”

Sebastian nodded seriously and flicked a towel over his shoulder before handing me an apron. “Sophia has kindly agreed to prep the snacks, while I serve and clean behind people. She’ll clear any dishes in between batches, and one or the other of us will do a lap of the floor every fifteen minutes to ensure everyone is hydrated and there’s no need for medical attention.” He winked at the relief on my face.

Cooking, clearing plates, and momming people into staying hydrated. I could do that.

Arthur brushed off his pauldrons, only forcing me to confront the fact that they were shaped like skulls again, before straightening with aplomb. “I will be Dungeon Master, keeping an eye on everything from there,” he pointed to a scaffold that had been put into place over the bartop, “And intervening as needed if things get out of hand.” Without so much as a twitch of question from me, he explained. “Charly and Coffey can’t be everywhere at once, so I get to perch on high, look ridiculous, and play bouncer if Coffey can’t get there first.”

“Yep,” Charly nodded seriously. For all that she normally seemed built out of chaos and energy, this was Boss Lady Charly. “Let’s keep it safe, sane, and consensual across the board. Speaking of!” She pulled two badges from seemingly nowhere. “Soph, Bash, these are for you.” I took one and immediately grinned when I read it. Staff Only - I Do Not Consent. “If either of you want to play, go for it, but otherwise, probably wear those.  Sexy librarian and millionaire CEO are tropes that exist, so ya know - no confusion for anyone.  Any questions, concerns, cries for help?” When we all shook our heads, she clapped again. “Okay, off you go! Thanks everyone.”

Sebastian tilted his head toward the kitchen and I followed, wiping my hands on my legs again. “Thank you for agreeing to help with snacks.  I know Charly already told you, but I am not the greatest at finger foods that don’t make a mess or won’t be too heavy.”

I hummed for a second before making a few suggestions. “Macaroni and cheese bites, they’re about this big.” I made a circle about an inch and a half across with my fingers. “Just pop and go. Pigs in blankets, the kind with cocktail sausages… meatballs, but probably with lamb instead of beef.  Dumplings.” I shrugged. “Charly swears people actually bring food to these, so once that stuff starts coming in, it would just be portioning it and sending it back out.  We shouldn’t have too much actual cooking to do.”

He nodded and started grabbing ingredients. “So that leaves drinks, plates, and utensils.” When I reached for a rack of glasses, he stopped me. “No.  If one of us drops anything that can break, people can get injured.  I’ve been stocking up on fiber-based plates, forks, and spoons.  Drinks are going to be in those corn-starch gel pouches.”

“Dude,” I groaned. “Those things get so gummy.”

“Straws are real and do exist.”

“Besides, I can already tell someone is going to find alternative uses for those,” Arthur called from behind us. I swear, I could hear him smirking. “You can’t put humans, sex, and flavored liquid in the same room and not expect that.”

I shook my head with a smile, but he had a point. Once we shooed him away, work on the snacks went pretty quick.  Judging by the sounds coming from the main room, it was a good thing, too - furniture being dragged, then Arthur’s voice ringing out to welcome everyone.  Soon, Sebastian was swinging out of the kitchen door with the first trays, and true to Charly’s word, he came back carrying a plate of neatly stacked fudge, followed by Arthur carrying a covered container.

“Scratch the meatballs, someone brought an actual mountain of sausage balls,” Arthur grunted as he slammed the container on a flat surface before retreating.

“Not even a joke?” I mused.

“Must be slipping,” Sebastian grinned. “I mean, he said ‘balls’ twice…”

“Low hanging fruit!” a voice called from the main room.  It must have seemed entirely out of context to the crowd, but Sebastian and I were laughing as we started plating so he could carry more food out to the spots Charly had designated.

A timer went off, so I took the mac and cheese bites out of the oven, snagged a tray of drink-blobs, shoved a fistful of straws into my apron and took off to do my lap of the event.  There were already people taking a break, reaching gratefully for hydration.  Several times, someone would reach for one and pour it in a partner’s  mouth, and on one occasion, a woman offered it up like a gift to a bound man, both biting into it and drinking greedily.

I almost stepped on someone before I realized there was an actual pile of people on the floor. I diverted my eyes quickly from what I thought was an all-out orgy before my brain registered that I wasn’t hearing sex noises - just whispers.  Snapping my eyes back up, it took a moment to figure out that I had nearly stepped on the largest cuddle pile I had seen since my apartment on Insert Winter Holiday.  Crouching, I balanced what was left of the drink blobs on one hand while holding out the straws with another.  In no time at all, the tray was empty and I was heading back for more.

This time, food on one hand, drinks on the other, I exited the kitchen to see Charly wrapping up her rope-bondage safety lecture before starting to demonstrate different knots on a volunteer, with Charly in the role of the top for this scenario. Watching her calmly contort and restrain another human being while calmly explaining the psychology behind it was… kind of terrifying.  I had to constantly remind myself that this person volunteered and that Charly was experienced on both ends of the rope.  

One more sweep of the room landed me with only a dozen or so drinks left on top of a pile of empty trays.  I backed into the kitchen to sanitize and re-load the trays, only to hear Sebastian swearing. “Who the hell brought chili!?”

“Apparently someone thought it was a good idea,” I shrugged, baffled. I mean, it didn’t seem like a good idea to me, but this wasn’t exactly my area of expertise.  “Maybe we put it in bowls, set up a little station in one of the break areas, with toppings? Let people help themselves?”

“Bondage potlucks and chili…” He shook his head. “Trying to remind myself that I’ve seen weirder things, but…”

“I can promise you, they are having fun. And they’re hydrated!” I shook my mostly empty platter of blobs at him.

Sebastian went out to retrieve more food from the people who brought it, and I kept rolling sausages in dough.  “More fudge!” he crowed. “I snagged a piece of the first batch, and it was amazing.”

“You clearly do not see the irony,” I muttered where he couldn’t hear me. “Oh, heavens, no chili! But fudge… fudge is fine…”

The next time I was able to break free and take my designated lap, a slight bit more chaos had descended as everyone had gotten more comfortable.  Several of the more experienced were examining and complimenting each other on their knots and arrangements of their subs. Ivan and Jokul were doing…. Something… that involved Ivan in a gorgeous evening gown and Jokul with a gag in his mouth.  I was almost done with my circuit when a thud reverberated behind me and a black cloak whipped by.

“For the love of…” Arthur growled. I thought he was going to dribble the cowering man he was glaring at like a basketball, but instead he brandished a marker and made two quick X’s on a bare pair of buttocks. “Here and here. Only here and here.” With an irritated flourish, he wrote NOT HERE across the small of the attached back. “This will give someone kidney damage.  Specifically you if I catch you doing it again.” Ducking around to the face of the person he had just used as a whiteboard, he shook his finger. “And I’m not even going to apologize, because you have a safeword and you need to use it. First, last, and only warning, you two. If that hit had been any more than a nervous first tap, you wouldn’t even be getting that.”  Without a word, he snagged the cane sitting on the table nearby and took it with him. “They aren’t getting anywhere near the cane, fucking idiots. Gotta talk to Charly about those two…” he muttered as he blew back past me, so angry he didn’t even acknowledge that I was standing there.

I almost dropped the stack of empty platters when the Imperial March started playing while Arthur stomped back into his position over the bar. “Attention, Deviants!  Courtesy of some poor practices I’ve seen, I would like to invite Sir Coffey and his pet fae Charly to give us a tutorial on safe and proper impact play!”  Applause started as he beckoned them forward, Sebastian theatrically adjusting the lights to center in front of the stage.

I ducked back into the kitchen as Coffey’s voice rang out over the crowd, explaining yet again safewords and consent before launching into what toys were used how and where.  A little public humiliation never hurt anyone, I joked with myself. At least not for some of the people out there.

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[fanfalc-616]

The Rights Of A Nindroid

Chapter Twenty-Six

(Previous Chapter Here)

Yeah okay this took forever,,,, have fun with it! (;

Also it was too long for one post again so I’ll reblog this with the rest-

Cryptor struggles to find the solution to the latest puzzle they gave him, doing his best not to let frustration show on his face as he ignores Kyle and Martha talking in the background.

He hates this. He just… he wishes that there was some way out, some way to be free, some way to be okay again.

But there’s not. He’s stuck here, and there’s nothing he can do about it.

He feels tired. So tired. Nothing even seems to make sense anymore, so his only real choice is to just… keep going. Even if the only way he can do that is to follow their orders.

Exhausted, he takes a moment’s pause from the puzzle, absent-mindedly listening in on part of the conversation going on behind him.

Martha is the one speaking. “- and when Sentry is here, we’ll be able to-“

Hold on. Did he just hear what he thinks he did? Did she just- Sentry? She’s going to bring Sentry here?!

He whips around, turning to face them. “What did you just say?!” He demands, ignoring the voice screaming at him to just do what he’s told. He can’t sit there and do nothing, not while his friend is on the line!

Kyle seems to wince some, but Martha glares. “It’s nothing you need to be concerned with, General.” She snaps. “Do not speak out of turn again, and go back to your task.”

He completely disregards the order, only staring at the two of them. They- they’re going to bring him here?! No, no, Cryptor’s been behaving, he’s been following orders, why would they-

“General, calm down.” Kyle interrupts his train of thought. “You knew it would come to this eventually, right?”

Cryptor can only stare in sheer horror as he struggles to come to terms with the implications of what they’re saying. “I- no. No, I didn’t- I-“ He abruptly stands up, pushing the small bench he’s on backwards as the metal screeches, but he ignores the loud sound, barely even able to hear it over his racing thoughts.

“No!” He shakes his head rapidly, struggling to figure out what to say. “You- you can’t-“

“Sit down, General.” Martha orders, her expression one of annoyance.

Fear and anger take over him, leaving him trembling. “You can’t hurt him!” He shouts, trying to come up with something, anything he could do to stop this.

“General! There's nothing you can do about it!” Kyle snaps, an aura of almost unease around him. “Calm down or you'll get hurt yourself!”

Okay, there’s something going on here, usually he doesn’t get so many warnings, why would-

Oh, who cares about what’s going on with that?! Sentry is at stake here!

His words showcase his fear and anger, his voice trembling as he snarls the words out. “I- I can’t just sit here and follow orders when- when you’re going to-“

Martha’s voice is dark as she narrows her eyes at him. “That’s enough, General.” There’s a clear threat to her tone, and just that is enough to make him start shaking…

For a few moments, all he can do is stand there, fighting against the urge to cave, to do what she says, to hopefully avoid punishment-

It’s a struggle, but he manages to hold his ground. “No.” He gets out, making himself hold her gaze. “No, I can’t. It’s not.”

He forces the words out even as he feels his power source kicking into overdrive- he’d rather have it ripped out than let them do what they’ve done to him to the innocent nindroid back at Borg Tower.

Shifting on his feet, Kyle seems to want to say something- but after a moment, he minutely shakes his head, looking over at Martha- likely for instructions.

Every gear and wire inside him feels abuzz with the mechanical equivalent of adrenaline, but he can’t think of what to do or say. His mind is running so fast that he can’t catch up, leaving him only able to stand and stare as the fear floods through him.

“Take it to the training room.” Martha turns to some guards as she speaks, still seeming annoyed. “It appears it needs to relearn an old lesson.”

The words send their own kind of fear through him, the thought of a punishment leaving him shaking even more. But he does his best to shove the feeling down, letting himself be escorted back to the training room and tied down once again.

There still seems to be something off about the blond as he dismisses the guards, but in all honesty, he doesn’t have enough processing power to even try and think about what it might mean.

Kyle sighs, but it doesn’t seem to be out of annoyance. “Okay, use the usual method. Just shocks for an hour.”

Wait- what? That’s it? Well, he- he doesn’t want to be punished more, but usually he gets in more trouble for this kind of thing.

He starts to voice his confusion out loud, but the shock he gets serves as a reality check, reminding him of his situation.

He’s not allowed to speak unless spoken to.

There’s silence, for a while. Which is surprising in its own way- Kyle usually gives him a lecture about what he did wrong while he’s being punished, but this time he’s… oddly quiet.

After all this time, you’d think that Cryptor would have grown numb to the pain. With everything he’s gone through, some shocks are hardly the worst thing in the world.

But somehow, he never seems to be able to quite adjust to it. Every blast of pain is just as bad as the one before it- and sometimes worse, when they start accumulating.

Breathing deeply, he looks down at the floor, struggling to hide how much it hurts. It’s- it’s not really real, anyway. It’s just… just a digital reaction designed to warn him that his circuits might be in danger. But he’s not in any real life-threatening danger, so all it does is-

A particularly painful shock jolts him from his train of thought, and he grinds his teeth as he struggles to push the pain from his mind.

In all honesty, he’s lucky that he’s had the life he did. With all the abuse he suffered from before the facility, he had actually gotten the chance to learn how to cope with this kind of thing.

But Sentry, on the other hand…

No. No, he can’t think about that. He can’t- there’s nothing he can do at the moment, he just needs to keep breathing, needs to not think about it, needs to not imagine what Sentry’s screams would sound like, needs to not picture the way he would curl in on himself as he struggled to cope, needs to not even consider what he might look like after going through even half of what he and Zane had-

He’s pulled from his downward spiral by Kyle, the blond suddenly speaking- and loudly, at that.

“OKAY! Okay, that's enough! An hour is way too long for that small of a mistake, I- Stop!”

When the shocks die down, Cryptor still can’t figure out what’s going on. Something is going on here, but Cryptor honestly doesn’t have the energy to piece together what.

He knows that he’s shaking like a leaf, and it makes his gut churn thinking about how damn weak he is, but he doesn’t dare lift his gaze.

It takes a moment for him to remember what he’s supposed to do. Right, they finished a punishment, he- he needs to confirm that he learned from it.

“ ‘m sorry, Master.”

The words are choked out and pathetic, and just hearing his own voice like that makes him want to cringe.

For some reason, Kyle seems to look uncomfortable, almost regretful in a way. “It's okay, it's- here. Let me-“

He trails off in favor of taking off Cryptor’s restraints- and after he does, he turns away, looking at the far wall.

For a second, the door tempts him. No one is watching, it would be so easy to-

No. No, he can’t do that. He has to stay, to follow orders. He gets hurt if he doesn’t follow orders. And while this punishment wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been, that just means that the next one will probably be worse.

A hand comes to clutch at where one of the chains had been pulled a little bit too tight- with the shocks, he actually hadn’t even noticed the way they were digging into his plating until now.

Once again, he remembers what he’s supposed to do. Kyle let him go- and early, at that. He’s supposed to acknowledge that.

There’s no pride left for him to ignore as he speaks. “Th- thank you, Master.”

Kyle doesn’t react, looking almost lost in thought. He brings a hand up to his face, and if Cryptor didn’t know any better, he’d say the blond was trembling.

Alright, something is definitely up here, but Cryptor isn’t going to risk getting punished again for asking. Whatever it is doesn’t seem to be causing any immediate harm, so he’d be better off leaving it alone.

With no orders or distractions, his mind begins to drift. And unfortunately, his stupid processer takes him back to Sentry.

He really, really doesn’t want him to get hurt, but no matter what he does, it won’t make a difference. They’ve proven time and time again that he’s too pathetic to stand a chance, and… it’s hopeless.

Well, he- he could try to, at the very least, minimize his suffering. There has to be something he can do for that, right?

He could try taking punishments for him, but they’d catch on pretty quick, and then they’d just start hurting Sentry to get to him more. He could do something worse after every mistake Sentry makes to make them put it in kind of perspective, but that would just prolong it.

He- he could… help them. Help them- help them break him. If Sentry’s not really there anymore, then he won’t be suffering. He-

A feeling of disgust wells up inside of him as he realizes what he was even considering. No, he can’t do that, he can’t do anything like that! He can’t help them do that to him, he- he just-

Cryptor forces himself to keep breathing, trying to get his shaking under control. He doesn’t want anything bad to happen to Sentry, but if push really does come to shove…

He’ll cross that bridge when he gets to it.

There’s an almost numb feeling spreading through him, but he’s thankfully given something else to focus on when he hears Kyle’s quiet murmur.

The blond’s voice is strained, even breaking a little as he talks. “...'m sorry, Gav…”

He seems to be trying to shove the feeling down as he clears his throat, and Cryptor could almost swear that he’s near tears.

“I'll t-take you back to your locker. You'll say you- you'll say you learned your lesson if anyone asks. This is a one-time thing, okay?” His eyes narrow as he finishes, but with how he looks, he’s hardly threatening.

The words he’s saying aren’t making any sense, but Cryptor isn’t going to turn down a break when it’s offered.

“Y- yes, Master,” he nods. The confusion is eating away at his processor, but he forces himself not to show it. If he does, he’ll be dragged right back into the training room.

Kyle starts to take him back to his locker, and Cryptor keeps his gaze on the floor as they walk, trying to keep his mind away from Sentry and what might happen to him.

He’s shaking, trembling, and he shouldn’t be- showing emotion this much isn’t a good idea, but for some reason, he’s still just being taken away from the training room.

Stepping inside the small cell, he still can’t wrench his mind away. All this time, all this sacrifice to protect Sentry…

“... all of this to protect you, and it didn’t make a difference…”

Crying.

It’s something he hated before. A sign of weakness, of something that could get in the way of a task.

But now?

Cryptor wishes he was allowed to cry.

The door is abruptly slammed shut in front of him, Kyle using much more force than necessary. There’s clearly something going on with the blond…

His confusion intensifies some, but in the end, does it really matter? Kyle was right. There is nothing he can do. Sentry is going to be brought here and broken whether he likes it or not.

He can only hope that he breaks before he has to watch the one he loves do the same.

{ { { { { { { { { { ~ } } } } } } } } } }

[goodlucktkachuk]

Frantic -- Matthew Tkachuk (Pt.3)

a/n: here we are back at it again with part 3! this was honestly my faviourite one to write so far so I hope you guys enjoy it!

Part One  Part Two

It was a lively Saturday night in downtown Toronto. The streets were full of people shuffling into restaurants and bars. The boys were away on a roadie down the east coast which meant you had your best friends all to yourself. You loved Nick to death but it was good to get some quality time with Emily. Hand in hand, the two of you shook off the cold as you entered The Loose Moose.

This place was an absolute institution for you guys, it was packed full of memories. Endless arguments over that night's game, many wins celebrated and losses mourned. Stupid fights over who was covering the tab and countless nights of Auston or Mitch throwing you over their shoulder because you were getting a bit too feisty. The sweetest memory of all though was Nick meeting Emily for the first time. She had just moved to the city for school so you took her out with the boys to show her some fun. The second Nick saw her he was down for the count and in love ever since. You wondered if Matt felt the same way about you.

It wasn’t overly crowded tonight giving you guys the chance to sit in your regular seats at the end of the bar. It had become a tradition for you and Emily to go out to catch the game while the boys were away.

Nursing your first beer while you looked at the menu, Emliy huffed beside you.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t understand why I’m wearing a flames jersey” She played with the sleeves, a sour look across her face.

“Because I wore Muzz’s jersey the last time we went out.” Your voice extremely uninterested.

“So? You love Jake!”

“Yes but I also love Talbot, listen, Calgary's playing tonight too so you just gotta suffer.”

“God you suck” She said, taking a long sip of her Tequila Sunrise.

“Do you want to split a poutine or just share some apps” She scoffed at you and you just flash her a toothy smile as she begins to pout.

The rest of the night went smoother. After many plates of food and maybe one too many beers you felt good. The Leafs won their game and you guys got several dirty looks for cheering a bit too loud. You couldn’t help how excited Emily tends to get when Nick does anything and several drinks made you more than proud of Mitch.

The second period of the Flames vs Kings game had you on edge of your seat. Given his history, you knew Matty was going to cause some trouble but you hoped to god today he wouldn’t. You made sure to message him before the game but you weren’t sure if he actually saw it. Looking away for just a second  as you signaled the bartender for another drink was enough time for gloves to be dropped and for Matt to start throwing punches.

Keeping your eyes glued to the screen you couldn’t move. You had seen him get in a million  fights before but this felt different. You couldn’t help but feel something twist in your stomach and your cheeks started to get hot. You weren't a fan of the violence but watching him really turned you on. Watching a smirk cover his face as he headed to the box, you’d give anything to know what was going on his head. Distracted from the fight you had missed Emily taking pictures of your concentrated face and getting someone to take a picture of you two from behind in your jerseys.

As the game went into intermission, you took to instagram posting the photos. The first being the Talbot and Lindholm jerseys the two of you had on followed by the photo of your intense concentration. Captioning it, ‘when the boys are away the girls get too into the game’ you hit post.

After a few minutes comments started flooding:

marner_93: gross

morganrielly: @marner_93 second that

nickrobertson01: I really hate you Y/N, we all know Em looks better in blue

Emm01: @nickrobertson01 I was forced, I’m wearing your sweater under this

matthew_tkachuk: getting closer, the right team but still the wrong last name!!

austonmatthews: @matthew_tkachuk nah it’s the wrong everything

fredrikandersen31: I feel so betrayed

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

After a bitter fight, the Flames came out with a loss and you had come out of the bar way more drunk then you had intended. Being pushed into the uber and having Emily lay your head on her lap you closed your eyes and sighed heavily wondering how Matty was doing. The more you thought about Matt, the more you thought about how Auston was acting about the two of you talking. Tensing your shoulders, a frown covered your face. Your friend could feel you tense up and she started rubbing small circles into your back. Talking to you drunk was like talking to a full grown toddler.

“Whatcha thinking about there, mini.” she hums softly.

Mumbling slightly you said, “Auston”

“Why's that?”

“Mm-making me feel weird about Matty” A smile crossed your lips as you said his name.

“What do you mean hunny?”

“Calling me a pest, looking at my phone, getting way too protective, very uncool of him.”

“I thought him and Matthew were friends though? Why would he care what Matt does?”

“Aus heard us talking after the game.”

“Y/N sweetie, he can’t be mad about that.”

“Heard me say Matty needs to see what is under my jersey.”

“Excuse me!!!”

“Shhhh Emmy. Too loud.”

“Sorry love. Why would you say that?”

“He told me to go to the game in red.”

“When did he tell you that? Did he DM you?”

“The morning before the game when I did pregame coffee. Ruined his hoodie” Pausing you turn slightly to look up at Emily. “I really like him.”

Emily decided you had answered enough questions for the night and just smiled back “Oh Y/N, I’m sure he likes you too.”

The rest of the ride was silent as Emily played with your hair, letting you drift to sleep until you guys got home. She brought you upstairs and helped you get changed. As she did you spoke soft whispers about all the reasons you liked Matthew which made your best friend laugh. In the five years she’s known you, she never had seen you be this head over heels for anyone. It was refreshing. She tucked you into bed and told you she was going to call Nick and to just yell if you needed her. Once your door was closed, you got the brilliant idea to call Matthew. After what felt like struggling forever to find your phone you finally got it and listened to the rhythmic sound of the phone ringing. His voice was rough when he spoke almost as if you had woken him up. Which of course you did.

“Hello?”

Chirping almost like a baby bird you dragged out his name. “Matthewwwww!”

“Y/N? What are you doing up so late?”

“Emmy and I went to the bar to watch you play baby!” Suddenly everything clicked into place in his mind and he realized how trashed you were.

“Awh thank you princess. Did I make you proud?”

“The PROUDEST babe but your fight made me feel…” Trailing off in the middle of the sentence.

“Feel what sweetheart?”

“Ya know, feel…” You added a little spicy to your voice.

“Oh,” he said as everything fell into place in his mind “did I turn you on princess?” His voice became raspy as he waited egerly for you to say something.

Your side of the phone remained silent for a few seconds before you sprang into another topic.

“Ou! Ou! Ou! Wanna hear what I told Emmy tonight!?”

He laughed slightly as you avoid his question. “Sure sweetheart, lay it on me.”

A smile crept onto his face as he placed his phone on his chest and relaxed into his bed. For the next ten minutes you proceeded to tell Matthew everything you liked about him. You liked the way he wore bandanas to push his hair out of his face. How good he was with kids. You spent at least half of the time reminding him how hot he was when he got into fights or when he went to the gym or for just existing. You talked about how good he was at hockey and how much he cared about his family. As you came to the end of your rant you took a quick pause.

“Would you like to know what I like most about you Matty?”

“What’s that Y/N?” He said sweetly, a stupid grin plastered to his face.

“You make me smile.” Matthew couldn’t help but blush thinking about how happy you were.

“Good. I hope that’s all I ever make you do princess.” Giggling madly, you snap a picture of your smile and send it to him.

“You’re beautiful Y/N”

“Thank you.” You take a slight pause just listening to his breath. “Goodnight Matty.”

“Goodnight princess.”

Meanwhile, down in Boston the boys were out celebrating another victory. The bar they were in was packed with people and everyone was having a good time. They were all packed into two booths in the back of the bar each taking turns getting pints of beer for the tables. Auston made his way to the bar with Muz trailing close behind. As they waited to be served Aus put his head in his hands.

“What's wrong buddy?” Jake asks with a confused look on his face. Auston was never one to be stressed around the group

“I’m just worried about Y/N.”

Putting a firm hand on Austons shoulder, Jake just shrugged “Listen man I get what Chucky said was a little much but the kids always doing stupid shit like that.”

“I don’t know Jake.” He sighed as he reached for the pitcher of beer. “I did team USA with him and he broke the heart of every girl who looked his way. I don’t want that happening to Y/N ”

Jake just nodded and they headed back. Auston had good intentions but his execution wasn’t going the way he had hoped.

[scapegrace74-blog]

The Second First Christmas

A/N Despite the fact that I’m posting it after Boxing Day, this little fic is about Metric Jamie and Claire celebrating their first Christmas as a couple.  It is unadulterated fluff, and in keeping with the season of giving, I’m going to give this an Explicit rating.  You’re welcome.

With special thanks to @lady-o-ren, for Jamie’s gift idea!

All other parts of the Metric Universe are available on my AO3 page.

December 24, 2018, Spitalfields, London, England

Claire could hear her phone vibrating loudly on the metal shelf inside her duty locker.  Overcoming fatigue so severe it blurred her vision, she entered her combination and yanked open the door, thumbing the screen just before the call went to voicemail.

How did he do it?  Jamie had an uncanny, and frankly slightly unsettling, ability to guess her whereabouts, even remotely.  The past week he had found her in the massive Spitalfields Market merely on the hunch that she would be craving sushi after her Pilates class.  At one point she’d found his prescience disturbing, but now it soothed her.  Someone cared for her enough, knew her well enough, to plot the passage of her days on the virtual map of his mind.  And that someone was on the line.

“You’ve reached the voicemail for Claire Beauchamp’s circadian rhythm.  Press One if you’re a cortisol suppressant, Two if you’re an espresso machine, or Three if you’re Claire’s boyfriend, last seen in the flesh prior to the winter solstice.”

Jamie’s low rumbling chuckle filled her ear.

“Ye’re verra funny for a lass goin’ on twenty-four hours wi’out sleep, Sassenach. How was yer shift?”

Having worked most holidays in the A&E since graduating nursing school, Claire knew they went one of two ways: either complete bedlam, or utter boredom.  This one had been the latter, for which she was thankful.

“Surprisingly calm, but that means no lovely adrenaline to keep me awake.  I may sleepwalk into the Thames on my way home.  Are you at the station already?”

“Aye, jus’ starting my shift.  Can ye be at the main entrance of the hospital in five minutes?  I’ll call ye an Uber.”

“Jamie, that’s really not necessary.  I’m quite capable of walking...”

“Claire...” he interrupted, and needn’t say anything more.  They’d had numerous conversations and minor confrontations since becoming a couple over what Jamie termed her “wee addiction to self-sufficiency”.  She was trying to learn to accept help when it was offered, but it was an iterative process.

“Thank you.  I’d appreciate that.  Will I see you tomorrow morning before I go back on duty?”

Both Jamie and Claire were working extra hours over the holidays to offset the cost of refurnishing their flat.  Every minute spent together was therefore doubly precious.

“Aye, I’ll wake ye when I get in an’ we can celebrate our second first Christmas t’gether by tryin’ tae keep the other awake long enough tae open our presents.”

She smiled, but it morphed into a yawn.

“Get some rest, Sassenach.  And Claire,” he added in a serious tone, “t’would be a fine gift tae find ye in my bed, preferably naked, when I come home on Christmas morn.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” she husked, suddenly much more awake.

***

There was a puff of cool air and then the Earth moved.  Straining to hold onto slumber, Claire rolled away from the disturbance, gripping the blanket beneath her chin.  A low chuckle preceded a solid warmth radiating along the entire length of her spine.  Something bristly abraded her shoulder and she flinched away.

“Has anyone told ye ye look like a wee hedgehog when ye sleep, Sassenach?”

“I’m fairly confident they haven’t,” she retorted, rolling onto her back and stretching before opening her eyes.  The room was mostly dark, but Jamie’s auburn curls glowed in the dim lamplight escaping their living room.  His bare shoulders were humid and pink from the shower.  “What time is it?” she asked.

“Gone four.  We have a few hours afore ye have tae be back at the A&E, aye?”

“Mmmm,” she hummed affirmatively, caught up in tracing the ligatures of Jamie’s upper arm.

“Good.  That should leave us jus’ enough time.”

“Just how many presents are we exchanging?” Claire laughed, mesmerized by the eager passage of Jamie’s eyes over her face.  The hand that wasn’t bracing his head aloft began a lazy exploration beneath the blankets, touching her naked skin so softly that it almost tickled.

“Only two.  An’ the first one’s already unwrapped.”

“How fortuitous,” she teased before leaning upwards to capture his waggish lips in a warm introductory kiss.  “Merry Christmas,” she murmured as they parted some time later.

“An’ tae ye as well, Sassenach.  Ye canna imagine how many times I thought of ye t’night, yer beautiful skin warm against my sheets.”  Jamie’s free hand was on the move again, firmer now along the contours of her body as it came alive to his touch.

“Slow night, then?” she gasped as his knuckle found her nipple, slackened with sleep.

“Painfully so.”

There was no further conversation for a time, mouths being employed far more enjoyably.  Four months of intimacy had bridged the span from friends to lovers, replacing hesitation with ardour.  They were still learning each other’s tells; when to lead and when to follow, how to ask and how to demand.  It was a giddy education for them both.  

Tonight, Jamie’s fatigue and drawn-out anticipation left him shaking with want, a sensation akin to sharing a bed with an earthquake.  His broad torso was outlined in the light from the door as he knelt between her thighs, lust pinwheeling like sparklers in his eyes.  Fortunately, condoms were no longer a necessity after they both produced clean blood tests and Claire had an IUD implanted.  So when he slid into her body, there was nothing but the needy clasp of flesh on flesh.  Her sigh of pleasure mingled with Jamie’s groan of relief as they began their dance.

“Yer breasts, mo nighean donn,” Jamie growled past the iron clench of his jaw.  She dragged her pupils down from the back of her eyelids to observe the twin objects in question, undulating in time to their meeting and parting.

“Touch them for me,” Jamie commanded.

Aware that her every movement was being minutely observed, she made a show of arching her ribs and running her hands first beside, then below, and finally between her breasts.

“Seadh, mo ghaol.” The words snuck unbidden between Jamie’s strained lips.  She didn’t have the Gaihldig, but his meaning was clear.  Go on.  So go on she did, dragging fingernails over the creased flesh of each areola before giving both nipples a sudden pinch.  Whatever tectonic fluctuations her actions caused, Jamie felt them, for he let out an ecstatic whimper.  A worried furrow now marred his brow.  Her fluent eyes read the desperation written on his face.  He didn’t have long, and he needed her to go before him.

Her right hand drifted down to where they were joined.  His cock was thoroughly coated in her moisture as it emerged from her body.  Wetting her fingertips, she began to trace the intricate geometry of self-pleasure against her flesh.  Breathy moans filled the air.  Jamie’s teeth were bared in a snarl of panicked concentration.  She wasn’t going to overtake him in the wire sprint to the finish, she realized.

“Do it, Jamie.”  His crazed glance snapped upward to meet her own certain one.  Doubt clouded the seascape of his irises.  “God, please,” she begged.  They’d spoken of it.  A fantasy.  A mental titillation not yet brought to life.

Resolution came just in time.  Slipping from her heat, he grasped himself and with two hard strokes erupted all over her skin with a hoarse cry, anointing the final acceleration of her fingers as she echoed his climax with a convulsion and a sob.

Minutes later, they lay side by side, still recovering their breath.

“Don’t fall asleep,” Claire warned.  “We still need to exchange gifts.”

“Greedy wee thing,” Jamie groaned, already halfway to slumber.

***

A shared shower and two cups of strong coffee later, they sat on their new sofa.  Claire’s carefully wrapped gift for Jamie lay on the coffee table before them.

“I can’t help but notice that there’s nothing under our tree for me, Fraser.”

“Och, ye mean ye expect me tae serve ye and give ye a wee present, Sassenach.  Ye truly are greedy,” he groused dramatically.  Standing, he extended his hand and confused, Claire allowed him to lead her towards her bedroom.  For a moment she considered that he might actually be taking her back to bed.  As he turned on the light she understood his intention.

As a lifelong wanderer, Claire could count on the fingers of one hand her precious material possessions.  Her mother’s emerald earrings.  Her father’s pocket watch.  A jade fish from the Cat Street night market in Hong Kong, a lucky talisman she carried in her pocket for every test and exam.  And a beautiful antique print of Persepolis left to her by her Uncle Lamb.  All but this last had survived their apartment fire unscathed, but the water and smoke damage to its parchment had been irreparable.  Or so she had believed.

“Jamie,” she gasped upon seeing the lithograph once again mounted in its frame on her wall.  “But... how?”

“Well, I willna bore ye with the details, but suffice it tae say that there’s an antiquarian o’er in Bermondsey who can work miracles.  There’s still a wee bit o’ smudging near the edges, but I reckon it adds to its character,” he explained.

“A palimpsest,” she said, taking his hand.  At his questioning look, she explained, “when one story is written overtop of an older one.  This print is a remembrance of my Uncle Lamb and his love for me.  And now, when I look at it, I’ll be reminded of your love as well.”

“Aye, just so,” he agreed.

***

Claire was unaccountably nervous as Jamie began to unwrap her gift.  She’d felt certain she’d picked just the right thing for him; personal without being sappy, meaningful without being extravagant.  But with eyes still misty from the thoughtfulness of his present to her, she was having doubts.

“Tis rather heavy,” Jamie observed as he lifted the rectangular package onto his lap.  His eyes were alight with childlike glee, which was a gift unto itself.

“A chess set!”  His smile was genuine, but Claire’s heart plummeted.  What kind of woman bought her lover a chess set?  She began to stammer.

“I... ummm... I thought you could invite your friend John over to play.  You mentioned missing the challenge, and ummm....” she broke off, floundering, but Jamie paid her no heed.  He was lifting each wooden piece from its velvet resting place, inspecting its shape with a look of utter fascination.

“Where did ye find this, Claire?” he asked at last.

“Oh, uhh, online, actually.  It’s from a store in Inverness, but of course I wasn’t able to...”

“It’s Culloden,” Jamie interrupted.

“Errr, yes.  I thought, you know, a chessboard is a tactical battlefield.  And with you being Scottish and your family’s Jacobite history...”

“Claire, this is the most amazing chess set I’ve e’er seen.   Look here.  See this wee knight?  Tis a Scotch Hussar.  An’ the white king is the Duke of Cumberland.”  Jamie’s finger traced the words and images carved on the plinth of each piece, going on and on about the clans represented by the tacksmen pawns and his own grandsire, Lord Lovat, symbolized by a tiny strawberry carved on the base of an ebony rook.  Claire’s ribs began to loosen their vice-grip on her lungs.  Maybe she hadn’t horribly miscalculated after all.

“Sassenach, thank ye.  Truly.   Tis a grand gift.”  The chess set had finally been set aside and they sat facing each other, hands gently caressing as the winter sun slowly warmed the room in tones of blush and grey.

“You’ve very welcome.  I’m so relieved that you like it,” she replied with candour.

“I love it.  But no’ half sae much as I love ye.”

“I love you too.”  It was only after the words had taken flight from her lips that she realized she had never said them aloud before.  Not to Jamie, whose sudden stillness indicated that he had heard her.  It was too late, then, to pluck her soaring words from the air and cage them once again inside her heart.  Too afraid to meet his gaze, she concentrated on smoothing her palms over the backs of his hands in a hypnotic rhythm. 

His response, when it came, was whispered into the secret stronghold they had built together.

“There’s naught on Earth tae compare wi’ the gift of yer heart, mo nighean donn.  I want ye tae ken that I shall treasure it, an’ ne’er give ye reason tae regret placing it with me for safekeeping.”

Jamie lifted her hands to his mouth and kissed them both sweetly.  Still looking down, she nodded her acceptance of his pledge, a single tear escaping from the tip of her nose.

It was well past sunrise by the time Claire rose from their bed a second time, kissing her sleeping lover goodbye before creeping out of their flat and into the gemstone light of a perfect Christmas morning.

[athina-blaine]

hey kids wanna see a fic preview??

(howdy! for readers of my tma fics wondering what the heck ive been up to the last month, here’s a little something for you-- yes, you! the full chapter will be posted next week)

(preview under the cut!)

Once upon a time, in a faraway land, there was a man who wanted to save the world, and instead, nearly destroyed it. 

Before he was forced to commit this great evil, the man fled-- but the failed ritual inflicted him with a terrible curse, and he concealed himself inside a dark, lonesome manor. As the years passed and the solitude ate him, he never ventured to the outside world, ever again.

But that was alright. The man preferred it this way. For there remained not one person, living or dead, who was better off for having known Jonathan Sims.

-

"Aren't you lonely, Mister Blackwood?"

THE MONSTER OF MAGNUS MANOR

CHAPTER 1

THE FOG

“Blackwood.”

Martin lurched upright, unfinished letter sticking to his sweaty face. Mister Griffiths was standing in the doorway, his scowl deepening by the second as Martin scrambled out of the desk chair and onto his feet.

“If you’re finished with your nap,” Griffiths snapped, “make your way down to the kitchens at once. Lord Barclay’s guests will be arriving soon.”

“Of course, sir. Sorry, sir.”

With one last, withering look, Griffiths turned on his heel out of the servants’ quarters, and Martin’s shoulders lost some of their tension. He wasn’t sure if he should be relieved, or find a good rock to curl under.

At least he’d only been glared at this time.

Martin sunk back into his chair, eyelids threatening to slip shut again. Hard wicker had no right being as comfortable as it was. In all fairness, though, the cold stone floor of the refrigerator would be just as soft right now.

Peeling the letter off his cheek, he flipped it over and groaned. Oh, perfect. He’d gone and completely smudged the thing. Half his face was probably covered in a splotch of ink.

No wonder Griffiths had looked at him like he was dog shite underneath his shoe. At least the dog shite wasn’t going to be late to its shift, now.

He huffed.

At least he’d snuck in a few winks before he needed to get ready. Something was always better than nothing– even if the thick, pulsing needle driving itself through his temples disagreed. Hopefully, it would be enough to get him through today’s shift.

Especially today’s shift.

He tucked the letter underneath his pillow; he’d have to rewrite it later if he wanted it ready to send out tomorrow morning. 

A new uniform was waiting for him in the communal wardrobe, one that Lord Barclay had ordered just for the occasion. His dormmates must have already grabbed theirs– aside from his, the wardrobe was empty.

Bit annoying that they hadn’t even taken the time to give him a quick tap on the shoulder. ‘Hey, Martin, rise and shine, big day today, don’t want to be late!’

Perhaps they’d figured it was best for him to sleep as much as possible. This wasn’t  the day to get sloppy, after all.

Or maybe they hadn’t considered him at all.

He hoped it was the first one.

Uniform slung over his arm, Martin hurried toward the servants’ washroom. He was making good time; with any luck, Griffiths’ scowl would never graduate higher than mildly disappointed. On the scale of the head butler’s ranking displeasure, it wasn’t the worst place to be.

In his haste, however, he bumped into the shoulder of another server. Martin turned, an apology already on his lips, then paused.

“Charles?”

Charles spun around, and his eyes brightened.

“Look who decided to make their way out of bed,” he said, giving Martin’s shoulder a playful pat. “You know Jefferies is going to have your hide if he sees you like that, yeah?”

“Please don’t tell him. He’ll kill me this time, he really will.” His eyes flitted down Charles' figure, brows shooting up. “You … you’re wearing the new uniform.”

“I am, indeed. How do I look?” Charles asked, smoothing down the front of his chest. “Fetching, right?”

“I-I, uh, you …”

It was hard to get the words out. Anyone would look good in a uniform like that; that was why Lord Barclay had bought the bloody things. But the dark red jacket, white gloves, and navy tie complemented Charles’ ginger hair and smile in a way that tangled his tongue something fierce.

Martin’s face warmed, and he hoped it wasn’t obvious.

“You look wonderful,” he said. Then, face growing even hotter, “I mean, um,” he coughed, “it looks really good.”

Charles’ grin widened, and Martin had to stop himself from slapping his own face. Get it together. There was something more pressing here.

“But you’re going to start serving? Today? You’ve barely even finished your apprenticeship.”

“Griffiths needs all hands on deck. I’ll be fine. You’re such a worrywart, you know that?”

Of course Martin was worried. Charles had only been working in the castle for a few months, and Griffiths was going to have him start now? On the night of Lord Barclay’s autumn soirée?

Martin was about to remind him of that when a wave of dizziness crested over him, weakness shivering up his legs. He would have tipped over if Charles hadn’t grabbed his shoulder.

“Whoa, hey, are you okay? You’re looking a little …”

If Martin’s face was hot before, it was nothing compared to now.  “Didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“Again?” 

“I’ll be fine once I’ve had a wash up.”

Charles’ eyes lingered on him so long that Martin was sure he’d well and truly pass out. After a moment, Charles gave his shoulder a quick squeeze and withdrew.

“You’d best. Well, I need to be off. Ol’ Griffiths is on the warpath. Good luck tonight, yeah?” He winked. “Drinks on me at the pub later.”

“Y-yeah. See you.”

Martin tracked him until Charles left the room, eyes drifting on the corner where he’d disappeared until another dizzy spell swept over him.

Focus. Charles hadn’t been kidding about what Jefferies would do if he knew Martin still hadn’t changed yet.

The reminder had Martin rushing through his wash. Throwing the new uniform on was a struggle; all those foreign buttons and straps kept tangling together, and he got stuck twice before securing the last tie. 

Martin paused in front of the mirror to check himself over. It was... nice enough, he supposed. The most expensive thing he’d ever worn, that was certain. Despite the custom fit, though, the torso still hugged too tight around his chest, and the material scratched at the sensitive skin on his neck.

Luckily, he’d only have to wear it tonight.

With one last glance, he smoothed down his hair and hurried out into the main hallway.

Chaos. The corridors were packed wall to wall with other servants, confused about where they should go, what they should be doing. The crowd smothered him; how had he managed to sleep through this? Now, in the thick of things, his ears were beginning to ring.

“Martin!”

Pausing, Martin scanned the sea of twisting faces. Angelica was elbowing her way through the swarm, drawing sharp cries of pain from her victims, but her expression of dogged determination didn’t change.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” she said, as soon as she was within earshot. “I just wanted to say thanks for setting up the guest bedrooms last night. I would’ve been up ‘til dawn if I’d had to do it myself.”

Martin, who had finished outfitting the last of the guest quarters just as the sun was rising, smiled. “I’m glad I could help. Wasn't really fair to you, getting assigned something you aren't used to.”

She nodded in agreement, sage-like. “I swear, Griffiths is out to get me. I’d rather stay in the laundry room where I belong.” Then she reached into the pocket of her apron, pulling out a bundle of cloth. “We had apple slices for breakfast this morning,” she explained, holding the bundle out. “I saved you mine. You know, as a thank you.”

Woken by the mention of food, his stomach spasmed. He hadn’t even spared a thought for breakfast– based on the sun’s height, the servants’ meal hour had long been over. 

Eyes burning, he accepted the gift. “Thanks, Angie. I really needed this.”

She beamed up at him.

From somewhere within the clamour, an authoritative voice rose up. “Come on then, to your stations!”

The tide of the crowd was pushing them apart before the last word faded. “Good luck, tonight!” Angie called as she turned to follow some of the others into the laundry room. Martin waved back to her, and once she had disappeared from view, unwrapped the cloth and bit into one of the apple slices.

Sweet and refreshing. Martin let his eyes slide shut, savouring the crispness. Thank God for Angie. There was no telling when his next meal would be; Griffiths had informed everyone last night that they wouldn't have time for their regular lunch. 

He finished the last slice just as he reached the kitchens. If the hallways had been chaotic, this was a scene straight out of a nightmare. Servers were shouting orders to the kitchen staff, the kitchen staff were dancing around the servers, and everyone inched a hair's breadth away from colliding into one another. It was only through sheer level of experience on the part of the servants that they managed to avoid absolute disaster.

And in the centre of it all was Jefferies, shouting directions and helpful threats in equal measure.

“If a single one of you even so much as serves a smudged glass,” he roared, “the Lord’ll have all our heads!”

The ringing in Martin’s ears had gone from loud to stringent. Bracing against a countertop, he dragged a hand across his face.

Focus.

Plate the food, take it to the dining hall, serve. He’d done it a thousand times. This was the exact same thing.

He just needed to stay focused.

“Here, Blackwood.” One of the servers pressed a tray of champagne flutes into his hands. Taking one more bracing breath, Martin shouldered his way back into the corridors.

Time to get this over with. The frantic noises from the kitchen fell away in increments until, at last, he reached the ballroom.

[umbry-fic]

To you, with love (2)

Summary: Mother's Day is a difficult day for all of them, and one that they each choose to spend differently.

Fandom: Tales of Symphonia Characters: Lloyd Irving, Colette Brunel Relationships: Colette Brunel/Lloyd Irving, Lloyd Irving & Anna Irving Rating: G Chapter: 2 of 3 Word Count: 6325 Mirror Link: AO3 Original Post Date: 09/05/2021

Notes: This chapter covers Lloyd and Colette. I haven't written the third one yet. Hopefully someday!

Previous chapter

~~~

Blue. Blue was the only colour in his vision. Everything was blue. The paper, the desk, his hands -

Alright, it was official. He’d been staring at the blue paper sitting on his table for too long. Lloyd groaned, hiding his face in the crook of his elbow and nearly knocking his pencil off the table. He needed to look away and do something else before he drove himself completely insane.

The only upside was that the shade of blue was close to the colour of Colette's eyes. He could almost imagine he was staring into her eyes...

The piece of blue paper was just as mockingly empty as it had been when Genis had handed it over. Lloyd could almost see the imaginary words meant to fill it up but which could not be found, forming utter gibberish in his head. He had half a mind to just start stabbing holes in the paper with his pencil with all the pent-up energy in his hands, but that felt like a waste of perfectly good paper. Perhaps a paper aeroplane would work? Those were fun to watch fly through the air, though his aim was abysmal. The last time he’d thrown one, it had flown straight into Professor Raine’s face and landed him in detention. Maybe he could ask Colette to throw it out of the window of his house the next time she came over…?

“What do you think we should do with these?” Colette asked, tapping him on the shoulder with her pencil. Her head had been turning between her assignment and the other sheet of blue paper on her desk, deliberating what to attend to.

Lloyd sighed, rolling his pencil from side to side with a finger. “I don’t know. Genis just gave the extra paper to us without any further explanation.” Sneaking a peek at Genis showed that he was engrossed in writing his note, occasionally erasing full sentences with hard rubs of his eraser before slashing more words across the paper. Genis was doing something important and was not to be disrupted. As for the two of them... That was a completely different story.

“It’s not like we have anything to write…” Colette muttered, resting her chin on her palm and staring off into the distance.

Lloyd was still a little worried over what Colette had said minutes before. The same smile as always was on her face, but it was missing… something. He couldn’t put his finger on what exactly was different, only that it was missing the essence that brightened her surroundings and could warm his heart without fail.

Mother’s Day was a sore spot for both of them, but more so for her. Every year, she would spend the day with him by his mother’s grave, silently watching him tell his mother… whatever he felt like saying. It wasn’t exactly a special occasion for him, just a day like any other where he might choose to visit his mother’s grave and tell her about his day. He'd wish her a happy Mother's Day, maybe plant a few more flowers, but nothing more than that. What point was there to writing a card or getting a gift when he could only place it by his mother's grave and watch the weather wear away at it until nothing was left?

Colette couldn’t even do something as simple as visit her mother, let alone send her a message… He wanted to help her, somehow, but what could he do? He didn’t control the Church’s customs. He certainly couldn’t bend them. If Colette as the Chosen was helpless, what power did he hold, as someone who wasn’t even raised under the Church of Martel?

He hated it, being powerless to do anything for Colette. She never spoke about how she felt, either, refusing to spoil the day for him, instead locking it all away. He wanted to return that cheer to her, wanted to banish her melancholy… But his mind was empty, devoid of any solutions to this complex problem. As it always was. He wasn't known for problem-solving, only for the creation of new problems.

Wait, no! There was something he could suggest they do, an idea finally coming to him after racking his brain hard. Now his head hurt, but it would all be worth it if he could help Colette.

“How about we write a note to our mothers as well?”

“Us?” Colette’s attention snapped back to him, her gaze focused again instead of drifting a thousand miles away. “But how would we ever deliver it?”

“Leave that part to me. I’ll tell you more later.” He grinned, leaning closer. This could work! This could actually work, and cheer Colette up... “Trust me?”

“Alright.” Colette nodded without any hint of resistance. She trusted Lloyd completely. If he said he could do it, he would. “Now to just get to writing?”

“Right…” Lloyd groaned, leaning back in his chair and picking up his abandoned pencil, not willing to press it to paper just yet, the blue once again sucking him in as he stared down at the paper. He’d forgotten that he actually had to write something first, his mind skipping over that step completely in his hurry to conceptualise the delivery method. He was already dreading how this was going to go. He was terrible at writing the essays Professor Raine asked for, mixing up words, screwing up grammar and writing with the worst vocabulary known to mankind. And those were in response to simple scenarios like “Timmy went into the forest”, not the complex question of what he even wanted to tell his mother, given how little he knew and how much he yearned to know. This was going to be horrible…

“It doesn’t need to be some eloquent masterpiece, Lloyd,” Colette encouraged, having picked up on his hesitance, as she always did. She patted his shoulder with a comforting hand. “Just write from the heart! I believe in you.”

There were so many things he wanted to tell his mother: a thank you for saving him, appreciation for bringing him into this world, questions about what kind of person she was, what she liked, whether… whether or not she was proud of him. Those were the questions that always simmered in the back of his mind but were occasionally brought to the forefront, especially when he was reminded of the untimely death of his mother. The desire to get any concrete answer burned whenever those questions presented themselves, enough to choke him sometimes with its surprising intensity.

And of course, that final question he didn’t know if he had the courage to voice. What was his father like, and… was he still alive?

But there would be no letter if he didn’t start. So it was time to get to it, as Colette had said.

To write from the heart…

~~~

“Hi, Lloyd!” Colette waved cheerily. Her shoes sank into the grass before his house, making little crinkling sounds as she ran closer. Gripped tightly in her other hand was her Mother’s Day card, folded into a neat and tiny square, as well as the stems of a few pink carnations, their sweet scent suffusing the air around her. The flowers must have been freshly-picked from her grandmother’s garden.

“Do you have everything on you?” He asked, grabbing her free hand and beginning to tug Colette towards the tiny stream that ran by his home. In his pockets were the materials he’d need: the card he’d touched up in his free time, and a few sprigs of herbs, namely rosemary and lavender, plucked from where he grew them by his bedside window and which Dad sprinkled liberally into the stew he made. Slotted under his arm was the pan that he’d whittled out of wood over the week, a little rudimentary with its elliptical shape and rough surface, but good enough to serve its purpose.

“Yep!” Colette waved her card in his face, the words hidden by the folds she had made, the petals of the carnations tickling his nose and making him sneeze. “I brought enough flowers for the both of us. Grandma told me that pink carnations represent a mother’s love, so I thought they were perfect!”

They'd both decided on flowers as a separate gift. Most people bought a bouquet of flowers as a Mother's Day gift. It was a perfectly fine gift, especially since neither of them knew their mothers' likes and dislikes. And it was as he told Genis. His only fuzzy memory of his mother was giving her a handful of wildflowers, freshly picked from the fields. His mother's breezy laughter was all he could recall, and the ghost of a warm smile, lost to time.

“Thanks! Pink carnations... Have you heard the story behind them before?”

Lloyd didn't remember who he'd first heard it from. A story of a mother and two children trying to escape from the wrath of a group of Desians, but who couldn't run fast enough to ditch their pursuers. The mother had asked her children to run, as fast and as far away as they could. She alone had stayed behind to lead the Desians astray for as long as humanly possible. Eventually, she'd been caught, but even under threat of torture and with a sword at her throat, she had refused to divulge the location of her children. Her blood stained the carnations at her feet, turning them forever pink. And that was how pink carnations were born.

It wasn't exactly a kids’ story to be told at bedtime. It was one of those popular stories spread around school a few years back, he didn't know what for. Scaring people?

He knew it was a story that had been passed down for hundreds of years, perhaps longer. According to Dad, however, some elements just didn't add up. The location being a fantastical forest that, as far as he knew, didn’t exist in Sylvarant, the children somehow being able to use magic to help them get away when the mother was powerless… All stories had an element of truth, but this one had its truth buried under millennia of hearsay, the original words mangled, perhaps beyond recognition, by the passage of time. What was the true form of this story, and what was its purpose?

"Yeah. That story… It's really tragic, but… I guess that's just how far a mother would be willing to go. Like yours…" Colette muttered, gaze drifting to the floor.

"Oh!” She cried out seconds later, realising that what she’d said had been insensitive and could have wounded Lloyd. That was the last thing she wanted. Her gaze snapped back up to his, voice frantically leaving her throat and filled with worry. “Oh no, I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have said that -"

“It’s fine, Colette. It’s the truth.” The past could not be altered, no matter how much he wished that he could see a different present, one where his parents were alive and well. If that came to be, however, where would he be now? His life would have taken a far different path. Would he have ever met the people who had become his closest friends, the ones who he trusted with everything? Would he have met Dirk, who had provided him not just a roof over his head and food on a plate, but had given him a loving home and taught him everything he knew now?

He would not wish his life any different, for that would mean forfeiting the blessings he’d received despite the bumpy start. Living a happy life did not mean burying his past or forgetting the tragedy that had occurred, but rather, was the best way to honour his mother. That was what Dad said as well, along the same vein as Colette’s words yesterday. All any mother wanted was to see their child grow up happy.

“All I can do is honour that by continuing to live,” he finished, hoping he was on the right track.

“Oh, that’s good. I still shouldn’t have said it though...” Colette muttered with regret, squeezing his hand.

Colette, strangely enough, seemed to have some sort of obsession with his mother’s sacrifice, blurting out a random question once in a blue moon before immediately retracting with awkward apologies. There was no malicious intent there that he could detect, just a frenetic desire for something that he didn’t understand, so he didn’t really mind.

He wondered why, though. What could be so interesting? It wasn’t altogether that foreign of a scenario. Perhaps it was in Iselia, but not across the whole wide world.

“Come on, forget about it,” Lloyd insisted, coming to a stop on the bank of the stream. The clear stream water, a little higher than usual due to last night’s rain, rushed merrily by with a faint gurgling sound mere centimetres from his feet. He’d have to take care not to get too close, and to remind Colette to do the same. He wanted to avoid either of them slipping in the mud and falling in. Controlled swims in the river were fun. Not uncontrolled dives into the water. He didn't want Colette catching a cold, either... “We’ve arrived by the river!”

“So, what does the river have to do with anything? You never explained any further after class!” Colette asked, cocking her heads. The heads of the carnations drooped towards the grass, the stems beginning to bend in her hands.

“Well,” Lloyd said, retrieving the wooden pan and placing it onto the grass (at a safe distance from the mud, where it would no doubt slide into the river and never be seen again, even if that was the point) and rummaging through his pockets for his card. Feeling the familiar, smooth sensation of paper under his fingers, he pulled out what he thought was his note, only to find himself faced with the designs for Colette’s birthday present that he’d doodled in class, looping curves forming the basis of the pendant he’d decided upon.

He hurriedly stuffed that back in. He would not be spoiling the surprise. Back to searching.

“Dwarves have their own set of beliefs, you know?” Lloyd continued, starting what he knew might be a lengthy explanation. He hoped he could remember everything Dad had said; it would be kinda disrespectful to get things wrong. Oh well, nothing much he could do in that case. “Could you set the flowers and your card on the pan?”

Colette hummed in agreement, doing as he directed. Lloyd, having finally found his folded-up card in the labyrinth of his too many pockets, placed it on the pan as well. Thankfully, it had somehow been saved from the fate of being crumpled. Not like his last assignment, which he’d somehow shredded in the workshop… At least it hadn't been eaten by Noishe.

In the end, he’d given his mother a detailed account of the interesting happenings of the past year and wished her a happy Mother's Day, as he would have in the past, sitting by her grave. But he'd also written down all the questions he wanted to ask, and expressed the message that he was doing well, as well as the hope that she was too.

He wondered if, one day, he would actually get to learn more about his mother.

“You’ve mentioned in passing that dwarves worship the Earth summon spirit. Gnome, I think his name was?” Colette let out a little huff of laughter, squatting down next to him to watch him arrange everything on the pan and making minor adjustments herself. She didn’t need to ask him for permission to do so. He trusted her. “If Genis were here, he’d have murdered us already. Pair of idiots,” she mimicked his mocking tone, making a silly face, “as he would say.”

“He’s not here, so it doesn’t matter how many names we forget. Seriously, what is the purpose of remembering so many if we’re never gonna meet the face behind them, anyway? I don’t have that much space in my head like that genius has,” Lloyd grumbled, doing the finishing touches. It looked good, the cards sitting in the centre with the flowers lying together at the top, the herbs completing the picture at the bottom. Aesthe... Aesthetic... Aesthetically pleasing? That was the right word that Genis would use, probably...

“It’s fun to listen to the various stories! They’re so interesting! I also think it’s important to know that history, but…” Colette sighed. “I agree. It’s really hard to remember everything, it makes my head hurt. So, what about Gnome?”

“Dad said that underground, all rivers lead to the centre of the Earth, where Gnome is said to reside.” That always created quite a funny image, since Gnome was said to take the form of a giant mole. Lloyd had never seen a mole before. He didn't know what they looked like, so he couldn’t help but substitute the mole for Noishe. So whenever Dad told that story, all he could visualise was an even more gigantic Noishe, sitting in the middle of a sphere. He couldn’t help but crack up, and Dad would give him a funny look every time, not able to glean what went on in his head. “It’s tradition to send offerings or messages down the river so that it reaches Gnome. Instead of conducting a burial as we do here, bodies are also sent down the river.”

“And Gnome as the guardian deity helps to deliver the messages? Much like the Goddess Martel will hear our prayers and answer in some way, or send the offerings we leave at the church to those who have passed.”

“Yes! That’s it! And the herbs are an offering to Gnome. Apparently, he likes to feast on them?” Lloyd replied. "Don't understand why anyone would chew on herbs alone..." Dad had described the experience before - an entire community would gather by the river to send off their blessings, the subterranean caverns lit by luminous moss and the torches set in their sconces on the walls, the ceiling reflecting the river, shining the ceiling in a pale green, wavering light. Afterwards, a festival would be held, where everyone could eat and drink to their heart's content, for the dead would wish for the living's happiness and the living should celebrate. It sounded like a beautiful experience. Maybe one day, he and Colette could witness such a sight too...

Lloyd was, more than anything, relieved to know that Colette understood. As the Chosen, she should have been the one at the forefront of upholding the almighty nature of the Church of Martel, having that duty entrusted to her, but… She had never condemned him, or tried to convert him. In fact, she was the complete opposite. She never shied away from hearing about Dad’s religion from him, always with an inquisitive shine in her eyes.

As for him… He was torn between the two. Dad hadn’t forced his religion upon him or anything. Neither had he been raised under the teachings of the Church of Martel like Colette or even Genis had. But if Colette was the Chosen… then surely the Goddess must exist for the journey she was to undertake to have purpose. That was as far as his beliefs went. He didn’t know the scriptures or the prayers. Didn't have space in his head for that, or the patience to learn them. Honestly, he probably knew more about Dwarven religion than the Church of Martel. Where did that leave him?

“I know you’re not allowed into the sanctum, so I thought we could do this instead. We’re aboveground, so I know it’s not really the same… Sorry if it’s just a stupid idea.” That was all he was good for, after all. Pranks and shenanigans. He wasn’t insightful. Or smart. Or… thoughtful.

“No, Lloyd, it’s perfect,” Colette whispered, placing her hand atop his comfortingly, those gentle eyes fixed on his, calming him down. “I love it. Let’s send it off, shall we?”

“Alright.”

Together, their hands side-by-side, they pushed the pan down the bank. It slid down the mud and onto the river, where it wobbled from side to side, causing Lloyd’s heart to leap into his throat as he lunged forward to save everything on it from a watery grave - only for the pan to stabilise seconds later, the water lapping peacefully at its sides. That was a close one.

Unfortunately, he’d forgotten about the slippery mud and stepped too far, one foot landing in the mud - only for it to send him sliding forward, straight towards the river.

“Oh!” Colette cried, coming to his rescue and pushing him forcefully in the opposite direction so he landed on his back on the grass with a painful thud. At least it wasn’t face-first into the river.

“Thanks for the save,” he muttered, sitting up and rubbing the back of his head, pain blossoming out from where it’d come in contact with the dirt. The fall had been somewhat cushioned by the soft layer of grass that covered the dirt, but his skin was still going to bruise. “Are you hurt?”

“No! I’m perfectly fine. Not a single scratch on my hands.” Colette, whose momentum had landed her on her knees in the grass as well, slowly crawled closer. “You’ve saved me from falling so many times, so I’m just returning the favour! Though you’ve fallen a lot these past few days… Oh no, did I transfer my horrible luck to you?” Colette gasped, shifting her face incredibly close to his in concern, her nose nearly brushing his.

Lloyd leaned back immediately, heart racing at a thousand miles an hour. This close, he could make out everything - the flecks of darker blue scattered throughout her irises, like tiny oceans scattered across a light blue sky, three in the left and six in the right as he'd memorised a long time ago; the small black circles that were her pupils; his own face reflected in her eyes, looking like a deer that'd been caught in the middle of a spotlight. Her eyes almost seemed to draw him in; he could spend the next eternity just looking into them, losing himself in the blue pools...

No! Now was not the time! Lloyd shook his head to break himself out of his trance, turning his head rapidly to the side so he didn't have to look into her eyes anymore. Don’t blush, don’t blush, don’t blush… He repeated in his head like a mantra. Would it be effective?

“Probably not.” He stood up, brushing blades of grass off the back of his legs, thankful for the extra distance it put between him and Colette. He’d barely saved himself from turning into a stuttering mess, knocked completely off-kilter by her proximity. Not that that would clue Colette off. She seemed utterly oblivious to all but the most obvious of cues. “I’ve just been a little clumsy recently, that’s all. And your luck is not horrible.”

Lloyd gave an internal sigh of relief for escaping detection once again, scanning the river for the pan. He spotted it some distance away, being pushed along by the current. It was already nearing the bend in the river. Once it passed that bend, it would be obscured by the thick greenery of the forest, whose trees began to sprout out of the ground at that point.

“Over there. See?” He pointed the pan out as Colette stood. It was getting smaller and smaller… “It’s leaving.”

Her fingertips brushed his, an unvoiced invite to hold her hand that he obliged, interlocking his fingers with hers, their palms pressed firmly against each other.

“I hope it reaches them, somehow,” Colette whispered, the words brought by the wind to rest against his heart.

If he was being honest, this was nothing but a foolish dream held by two children at the cusp of becoming adults, where such dreams melted into ashes and were washed away by cynicism. But... it was one he wished could be granted, either way.

“I hope so too.”

~~~

It was peaceful here, every year without fail, sitting before Lloyd’s mother’s grave. The clearing was visible from the path leading up to Dirk’s house, but hardly anyone ever came here unless they needed the dwarf’s services, and those were few and far between. Most of the time, customers appeared right before winter, to hire Dirk to repair any holes and shore up the walls before the cold arrived. The path was barely travelled by anyone, maintained only by Dirk and Lloyd and slightly overgrown. Right now, it was deserted, leaving Lloyd and Colette alone in each other’s company.

The clearing itself was calming, and held its own strange beauty. Anna’s grave was erected in the centre, the words on it having been masterfully carved by Dirk over a decade ago and still easily legible, even after the slow passage of time. A thin layer of moss grew over the top, a result of years of rain and sunshine. Surrounding the grave was a circle of flowers that Lloyd had planted with careful hands to keep his mother company: ranging from daisies to peonies, creating a rainbow whose heads swayed in the wind and kept expanding with each year that passed and each seed Lloyd nurtured with gentle hands. Sunlight filtered through the branches and leaves of the trees that rose into the sky some distance away, forming golden squares that danced across the grass.

They were resting side-by-side on the stools Lloyd had left out here since… forever ago, to give him a comfortable place to sit whenever he came to talk to his mother. The rain from last night had left a little puddle on the seats, which Lloyd had helped tip off onto the grass before inviting her to sit.

Colette rested her hands on her lap, watching the ants by her feet traverse the ground, avoiding the stagnant pools of water in their neverending journey. Lloyd was silent, having clearly said all that he wanted to in his card, and was content to just enjoy the peace.

She was grateful that he hadn’t asked what she’d written, in the same manner she’d respected his privacy. The contents of her letter were… complicated. She loved her mother, but... At the end of the day, she would have to die. What could she tell her mother, then? Even if her mother were still alive, she would one day have to see her daughter walk willingly to her death. Was there anything more difficult for a mother to bear, that a mother would do everything to prevent? Nothing she said would ever take away that pain.

The letter was also a good place to vent. After all, no one alive would ever read it. Even if it did reach her mother, she wouldn’t get a return message. That was a foolish hope that could not be granted, for the Goddess had more important things to do than listen to the selfish request of a little girl.

She had drawn a self-portrait, despite her absolute hatred of doing so. She couldn’t even look into a mirror without that sense of hopelessness bubbling to the surface, attempting to destroy her resolve to go through with everything that was necessary. The only thing that had guided her trembling hands across the paper to do a decent job was the desire to let her mother know just what she looked like. Every mother deserved to know what their child looked like.

Once again, sitting here in the safety of Lloyd’s company, she couldn’t help but feel the ugly flames of envy, licking at the walls of her heart.

Her mother was buried in the inner sanctum of Iselia’s Church of Martel. Every church across Sylvarant had such a room, the grandest, most imposing and lavishly decorated, comparable to none except the prayer hall. It wasn’t decked out in pews, however, but instead with graves, reserved only for the Mana Lineage and… what grisly remains the clergy could find of the Chosens who’d failed to reach the Tower of Salvation. For those who’d been cleanly wiped off the face of Sylvarant, a commemorative grave was erected, the insides utterly empty. Colette had nightmares, sometimes, about being trapped there, alone and unable to breath, the darkness closing in on her as the clergy buried her alive. Just another nightmare from the wide menagerie that haunted her.

The inner sanctum was not to be visited by random strangers, only fellow members of the Mana Lineage, and only on select days where the Goddess’ blessing was strongest, in order to preserve its sanctity. How those days had been decided on, Colette didn’t know. They didn’t feel any different to any other day in the year. But those were the rules, and she was not to question them. Mother’s Day wasn’t one of those special days, so she couldn’t bring offerings on the one day of the year that specially commemorated mothers.

Wasn’t it lonely? No matter how beautiful the inner sanctum was, with its stained glass windows that turned the filtered light into a rainbow of colours, and the chandeliers cut from crystals that reflected the sunlight; it was a cold sort of beauty, enough to make her shiver and feel out of place every time she entered. She was tiny in comparison to her mother’s grave, the headstone in the wall polished and spotless, reflecting her own pale face back at her. There were no impurities or mistakes to be found. It was nothing like the common graveyard right outside the church, which family members of the deceased frequented, bringing gifts and offerings, telling tales of the lives that had been passed while their loved one was absent.

It was nothing like this clearing, so full of life breathed into it by a loving son. Sometimes, she swore she could feel the love of a mother long passed, wrapped around her like a warm blanket, capable of keeping even the most biting chill away. Lloyd must have been able to feel it too, being able to visit anytime, whenever the desire presented itself. Quick and easy, without traditions and regulations holding him back.

It was horrible to feel this way, yet another ugly emotion that she shouldn’t let herself experience. She was meant to be magnanimous and compassionate, with no space in her heart for envy.

Some days she wished she had never been born the Chosen, that her mother had never been part of the Mana Lineage. She didn’t want to be different, didn’t want the “honour” of having an ornate burial ground or special treatment. She just wanted to be able to visit her mother’s grave and tell her mother the most mundane of things: how her day went, the friends she’d made, the dreams she held, the life she would never get to live.

Maybe if she’d never been her mother’s daughter, her mother would still be alive today, smiling and laughing and blessing the world with that beauty Father said she possessed…

“Do you think our mothers can see us, down here?” She asked, leaning her head on Lloyd’s shoulder, wanting to forget the thoughts that swirled in her head like a tornado, overpowering all else in its path. The only thing that could possibly be stronger was Lloyd's comforting warmth, seeping slowly through her from their point of contact. That was a slightly risky move on her part, but they were close enough for her to be confident she wouldn’t accidentally send them both toppling to the ground. She wasn't that clumsy.

“Why not?” Lloyd answered, placing an arm around her shoulder. “Dad believes that the spirits of those who have passed go back into the earth. They form the very dirt beneath our feet, helping to support new life. Wouldn’t they be able to see everything we do, then? And what do you mean, down here?”

“Oh, that’s a really interesting belief!” She really needed to have further discussions with Lloyd about religion. They were always so fun! The Church so often preached that Martel was the only Goddess and believing otherwise was heresy, but she didn’t really believe that. There were so many different groups of people throughout history that had held their own beliefs. They must have believed with all of their heart that their religion was the one true religion.

Lloyd wasn’t raised as a believer. He wasn’t the smartest person, just like her, but he wasn’t irrational. And he would always be her friend, no matter what he believed.

She wanted to keep an open mind - pushing people away just because they held their own set of beliefs sounded like the exact opposite of being accepting.

“Well, the Church of Martel says that everyone who believes in the Goddess will ascend to heaven and become an angel when they die. That’s what I meant.”

“Heaven, huh? Is that in the sky?” Lloyd pointed upwards, towards the cloudless azure sky, the sun winking down at them.

Colette couldn’t help but break out into laughter at that. A ridiculous statement, but one that she’d expect out of Lloyd’s mouth. “I don’t think it’s supposed to be in the sky, but sure! Why not?”

“Well, then your mother should be able to see you. If you’re so high up and you can fly around as an angel, surely you can see everything across the whole world, right? Your mother must be so proud of you.”

“Ah… Really? I’m not smart like Genis or sensible like Professor Raine. I’m not good with my hands like you… I’m just an average girl. What is there to be proud of?”

“Did you forget you’re the Chosen, Colette? You’ll save us all from the Desians someday. That’s plenty to be proud of!”

Her hands clenched into fists as she bit her lip. If all her worth came from being the Chosen… Would her mother still be proud of her, then, when she sometimes wondered what it would be like if that duty wasn’t hers to carry? She was nothing more than a child who wished to shirk her all-important duty, unworthy of the praise everyone showered upon her. She didn’t deserve anything…

How hard it must be for her mother. Once again, Colette could do nothing but make things worse.

“Besides, you’re not average. You’re really kind, and understanding -”

It’s kind of Lloyd, to see good in everything, even her. But she didn’t think those qualities were particularly outstanding. That was just how everyone should be, right?

“ -and you draw really well -”

A blatant lie. It was nice of Lloyd to be so encouraging…

“ -and you’re so pretty…”

Eh?

She shifted away from Lloyd, hands clasped atop her chest as her cheeks warmed. Had she heard right? “What - what did you just say?”

“Ah -” Lloyd blanked, his arm falling uselessly back to his side. He stared at her in silence for a few seconds as his brain caught up to his mouth, which had been running on auto-pilot. An expression of utter horror overtook his face as he shook his head frantically. “I didn’t say anything! At all! Just pretend the last minute never happened!”

“I -” She tried her best to calm her racing heart, taking deep breath after deep breath. It was nothing more than a stray compliment that Lloyd was feeling a little awkward over. That was all. There was nothing more to be found there, nothing to read into. Just Lloyd being his nice self, as usual. “I, uh… Thank you?” But it was common courtesy to show gratitude, as her father had taught her.

“I meant it…” Lloyd muttered, leaning back slightly. He was staring at a single blade of grass with enough intensity to possibly set it on fire, face slowly flushing red.

“Ahem,” Lloyd coughed, refusing to meet her gaze. “To get back on topic, if your mother has become an angel, then won’t you see her again someday? Your actual father is also an angel, isn’t he? So that would make sense…”

“I guess so!” Colette said, purposely trying to inject cheer into her voice. “My job is to become an angel, after all!” Lloyd didn’t know the true meaning behind his words. She would see her mother again, for she herself would soon go to heaven… Would she qualify, she wondered?

It’s not like she even wanted to go… It was said to be an eternal paradise, but how could any place without her friends be that incredible? She couldn’t imagine it. No matter how serene, no matter how fluffy the clouds or how endless the fun, how could it be anything but devoid of soul when she could never know Genis’ wit again, never know Raine’s harsh but fair judgement again, never know Lloyd’s boundless loyalty and his smile again?

“This has been nice. Thank you so much for the great idea, Lloyd! I would have never thought to do this if it wasn't for you,” she said, cocking her head and smiling, hair falling down the side of her arm. Was Lloyd stealing glances at her, or was she imagining it? A bit hard to imagine the way his head kept see-sawing between the grass and her face... But why...?

“Yeah!” Lloyd replied eagerly. “Shall we do the same next year? I’m sure there’ll be a lot more things we’ll want to tell our mothers then.”

Next year… Would she even still be here, next year?

She didn’t want to get Lloyd’s hopes up, not when they could be easily shattered in nothing but seconds. She couldn’t make any promises, for she would no doubt have to break them, but…

Colette took Lloyd’s hand, praying with all her heart that she would see another year, and maybe another after that.

“I’d like that.”

[headfulloffantasies]

Clone Mountain

Obi Wan left the Jedi Order. He follows the Force to a mysterious mountain where a troupe of rogue clones are hiding. 

Ao3 link

The Force led Obi Wan to a planet on the Outer Rim. He watched from the window as the shuttle dropped into a village nestled between the mountains. As he stepped off the shuttle, Obi Wan breathed in the sharp cold air. He smelled pine and smoke from the village. Obi Wan wrapped his robe tight around himself to fend off the chill of winter. No snow had fallen yet, but the wind bit at his skin.

Obi Wan followed the other passengers from the shuttle into the bustling village marketplace. He kept his eyes peeled and his ears pricked. He had no clue what he was doing on this planet. But the Force had brought him here, he was certain.

Obi Wan paused at the edge of the market. A stooped old lady waved him over. Intrigued, Obi Wan stepped up to her stall. She had a cart displaying warm woolen mittens and hats and blankets woven from bright colours.

“Hello there,” Obi Wan greeted her.

The old woman smiled, revealing broken teeth. “Hello yourself. You like a man on a mission.”

“In a sense,” Obi Wan admitted.

The woman stuck out a wrinkled hand. “I’m Jan Qui.”

“Obi Wan Kenobi,” he shook her hand.

Jan’s eyes narrowed. “Your cloak looks familiar to me. Are you a Jedi?”

Obi Wan huffed a laugh. “You are very perceptive. I used to belong to the Order, yes.”

“Not anymore?”

“I left the Jedi,” Obi Wan left it there. No need to burden this poor woman with his troubles.

“Really?” Jan lifted an eyebrow. “Didn’t know you could do that. Thought you were enslaved for life or some such.”

Obi Wan rankled at the comparison to the abhorrent slave market, but he elected to ignore the insult.

“What brings you here, then?” Jan asked.

“I’m following the Force,” Obi Wan answered honestly. “I don’t really know what I’m looking for. I suppose I’ll know when I see it.”

“You’re not heading towards the cliffs, are you?” Jan stabbed a gnarled finger at the looming mountain. Her urgency startled Obi Wan.

“To the South? Yes, in fact.”

“You be careful,” she warned Obi Wan. “That there is Clone Territory.”

“I beg your pardon?” He frowned.

Jan nodded. “They landed here, a whole platoon, a couple years back. They never come into town, but they got a settlement of some sort. Mighty fierce about keeping it for themselves.”

“I see,” Obi Wan shaded his eyes and peered towards the South. The cliffs climbed up the side of the wooded mountain. The Force must have led him here for the clones.

“Do you know any of them?” Obi Wan asked.

“No,” Jan shook her head. “Like I say, they don’t come to town. Not right sure what they eat out there.”

Obi Wan bowed his head. “Thank you for your time, my friend. I hope to see you again.”

“Hang on,” Jan snatched up one of her colourful blankets. “Take this if you’re so determined to go up the mountain.”

“No, I couldn’t,” Obi Wan tried to fend her off.

“Young man,” Jan snapped. “If you freeze to death, I won’t forgive myself. Go on and ease an old woman’s mind.”

“Thank you,” Obi Wan accepted the soft blanket. A pattern of yellow and orange sunbursts unfolded under his fingers. “I will return.”

Jan waved as Obi Wan set off.

Obi Wan left the confines of the village and found a trail leading through the trees up to the mountain. Pine needles softened Obi Wan’s footsteps. The massive trees grew so close together they almost blocked out the view of the mountain peak. Obi Wan took a steadying breath of fresh air. He closed his eyes and focussed on the flow of the Force inside him. The thread that had led him here tugged Obi Wan forward. That settled it. Obi Wan hiked up the mountain.

The sun set behind the mountain faster than Obi Wan expected. He found himself climbing in the dark. For a moment he considered turning around. But he couldn’t even make out the lights of the village through the trees. Oh well, nowhere to go but up. Up the mountain. Legs burning. Lungs straining. Shivering. Obi Wan reached into his pack and drew out the blanket Jan gave him. Wrapping it around his shoulders, Obi Wan soldiered on.

Obi Wan put one foot in front of the other. He couldn’t feel his toes anymore. Something wet fell on Obi Wan’s face. He lifted his head. Snowflakes drifted down among the trees. A sense of trepidation filled Obi Wan. He suddenly felt very foolish for trying to climb a mountain in winter in the dark. Obi Wan reached into the folds of his cloak and pulled out his lightsaber. He ignited the blade, letting the light guide him like a torch. He wished the glowing gave off heat, but it wouldn’t even spark a fire if he tried to camp for the night.

The snow had started piling up around Obi Wan’s ankles. Obi Wan stopped walking. Freezing to death in the snow sounded like a horrible way to die. He needed shelter, now. The snow was getting worse. Obi Wan blinked flakes of white out of his eyelashes. He was surrounded on all sides by thick evergreens.

Obi Wan shuffled to the nearest towering tree. The pine fronds scraped the ground. He switched his lightsaber off and clipped it to his belt. Obi Wan bent and wormed his way under the branches. He tucked himself against the trunk of the tree and folded the blanket over his legs. His breath puffed out in a cloud in front of him, but at least the snow no longer fell on his shoulders.

Shivers wracked Obi Wan’s body. He rubbed his stiff hands over his arms, trying to keep the blood flowing. His boots were wet, but he still couldn’t feel his toes. The wind howled, rustling the branches hiding Obi Wan.

Obi Wan’s mind drifted. He caught himself dozing. Stay awake, he shook himself. He had to stay awake. But he was so tired. Too tired. Just a quick nap. He wasn’t even cold anymore. It was all fine now.

Voices woke Obi Wan. His eyes felt heavier than a star destroyer. He knew that voice.

“Cody?” Obi Wan mumbled. His throat scratched. His eyes still wouldn’t open.

The voices stopped. A warm hand touched Obi Wan’s forehead. Someone lifted his head and brought a cup to his lips. Obi Wan drank gratefully. He tried to mumble his thanks, but he could feel himself slipping away again.

When Obi Wan woke again he was alone. He shivered. He tried to sit up, but an avalanche of blankets pinned him to the cot. Obi Wan’s limbs held no strength to lift the blankets strangling him. He laid back and glanced around the room. It looked like a cave. A lantern in the corner illuminated rough stone walls. A few crates seemed to serve as tables and chairs.  

Obi Wan really felt too hot though. Sweat clung to his temples. He pushed at the blankets covering his burning skin. The motion dislodged a cough in his chest. The cough turned into a fit. Obi Wan choked and hacked as the coughs racked his whole frame.

The door set into the stone at the other room opened. A clone entered the room. Obi Wan’s coughing subsided into soft wheezing. The clone looked him up and down but said nothing.

The clone came close enough for Obi Wan to search his face for identifying marks. He looked like most clones, his skin tan and his eyes brown. He wore his hair short and his face shaved. Obi Wan couldn’t see any tattoos or scars. He didn’t wear armour. Instead, he dressed in his blacks with a rough stitched cloak like a poncho.

The clone pulled up a crate to the edge of Obi Wan’s cot and lifted a bowl in one hand. He dipped a cloth in the water and placed it on Obi Wan’s brow. Obi Wan almost sighed in relief. His skin still burned.

Obi Wan cleared his throat. The clone’s silent treatment made him nervous.

“What’s your name?” Obi Wan asked. His voice croaked.

The clone’s jaw flexed. “Jare,” he finally said.

Obi Wan lifted an eyebrow. “Literal or a joke?”

Jare snorted. “So you know Mando’a.”

“A bit,” Obi Wan admitted.

Jare stood as though to leave.

“Wait,” Obi Wan tried to grab Jare’s hand. The clone flinched away from his touch. “Please,” Obi Wan asked. “What happened?”

Jare scowled. “The mountain almost claimed you as its own. You were an icicle when we found you.”

“You saved me,” Obi Wan rasped. “Thank you.”

Jare’s frowned deepened. “It’s my job as the medic. But that was before we found this,” he held up Obi Wan’s lightsaber hilt. “You’re a Jedi.”

“I was,” Obi Wan’s voice grated his throat.

Jare sneered. “We don’t like Jedi.”

“Then it’s a good thing I’m not one anymore.”

Jare hid the lightsaber in the folds of his cloak. He left, leaving Obi Wan in the dark with his feverish thoughts. How did a whole platoon manage to survive on a remote mountain without the Republic knowing? They had obviously been here a long time. Why had they not tried to return to their post? It was not far to the village. Obi Wan’s eyelids fluttered. He fell into fitful sleep.

Obi Wan woke to Jare sneaking furtively into the room.

“What’s going on?” Obi Wan pushed himself up onto his elbows. He could hear shouting voices.

“York and Digger are arguing.” Jare closed the door quietly.

“About me?” Obi Wan guessed.

Jare’s eyes landed on Obi Wan. “Be careful, jetii.”

“Not a Jedi anymore,” Obi Wan reminded him.

Jare crept closer. He sat on the crate beside Obi Wan again.

“Tell me how you came here,” Obi Wan asked.

Jare scowled. “I don’t take orders from Jedi.”

Obi Wan was too startled to argue his position with the Order. All clones were programmed to follow the Jedi. That was their purpose as the Republic Army.

“What happened to you?” Obi Wan breathed.

Jare looked away. “We’re tired of the war, jetii. We left. No one will come for us here.”

“I found you,” Obi Wan pointed out.

Jare bared his teeth. “You will not live to tell the Republic.”

For the first time since waking in the cave, fear spiked down Obi Wan’s spine.

“Jare,” Obi Wan tried to sit up. He didn’t make it far. “I don’t answer to the Republic anymore. If you don’t want to be found I won’t tell them where you are.”

“It’s too late,” Jare said. “York and Digger are arguing about whether or not to kill you. York thinks you will go on your way, but Digger will not relent. Digger will overpower York if he has to.”

“Jare,” Obi Wan said urgently. “Where is my lightsaber?”

Jare shook his head. “I cannot give it to you.”

“Jare-,” Obi Wan growled. He was cut off by a coughing fit.

“Hush,” Jare’s hands grasped Obi Wan’s shoulders. “If they know you are awake, they will come to kill you.”

Obi Wan tried to stifle his coughs in his hands and hold his breath, but it just made the wheezing worse.

The door opened. A hulking shadow stepped inside.

Oh, Obi Wan thought, He’s Digger. Digger towered like his own small mountain. He turned one eye on Obi Wan. The other eye was a ruin of scar tissue. He rumbled towards Obi Wan.

Another clone, who must have been York, darted into the room and grabbed Digger’s arm. His thick beard and long hair hid most of his face.

“Digger, don’t,” York growled.

Digger spun, picked York up off his feet, and tossed York out into the hallway. Digger slammed the door and bolted it. Obi Wan heard York’s fists banging against the door.

Obi Wan tried to push himself upright. His head spun and his breaths rasped. He clutched the edge of the cot for support.

Jare put himself between Obi Wan and Digger, blocking Obi Wan from view. “I can’t let you do this,” Jare said.

“Get out of the way,” Digger reached a massive hand to push Jare aside.

Blue light and a sound Obi Wan knew in his core filled the cave. Jare held Obi Wan’s lightsaber between himself and Digger.

“He’s no threat to us.”

“You hold his Jedi weapon,” Digger argued. “He will turn us over to the Republic. If they don’t exterminate us, they will send us back to the war.”

“I won’t,” Obi Wan promised.

Digger sneered. “Lies.”

“I’m not a Jedi anymore,” Obi Wan tried.

Digger ignored him. He advanced. Jare lifted the lightsaber. “Brother, don’t make me do something we will both regret.”

“Too late.” Digger moved faster than Obi Wan would have thought possible for his bulk. He kicked Jare’s legs out from under him. Jare hit his knees, dropping the lightsaber. Digger’s fist cracked against Jare’s skull. Jare crumpled to the ground in a heap.

Digger came at Obi Wan. Obi Wan pulled himself up. If this was how he ended, it would be on his feet. His legs almost gave out, but Obi Wan managed to stay upright.

Digger stared down at him. Obi Wan ignored the roll of sweat down his spine.

“This will not be quick,” Digger said.

Obi Wan swung a fist. Digger didn’t even flinch as the punch landed. Digger’s fingers closed around Obi Wan’s throat. Obi Wan grabbed his meaty forearms. Digger lifted Obi Wan off his feet. Obi Wan kicked wildly. He gagged. Black edged his vision. Over Digger’s shoulder, Obi Wan saw the wavering image of Jare struggling to his feet.

Obi Wan took one hand from Digger’s wrists. He closed his eyes and focussed. The pain ebbed for just a second. The Force flowed through Obi Wan. Obi Wan reached out. He felt the lightsaber in his mind. Obi Wan lifted. The lightsaber spun through the air.

Jare caught the lightsaber just as Obi Wan lost control of the Force. Jare ignited the blade. It slashed across Digger’s back. Digger roared. He dropped Obi Wan.

Obi Wan hit the ground hard. He choked on blessed air. For a long moment he could only focus on gasping oxygen into his lungs.

A hand closed on Obi Wan’s shoulder. He jerked on instinct.

“Hey,” Jare admonished. “It’s me.”

Obi Wan looked up. Digger lay in a heap the size of a small village.

“Is he-?”

“He’s fine,” Jare growled. “I’ll fix him.”

Jare helped Obi Wan sit on the edge of the cot. Obi Wan shivered. Jare grabbed a blanket and tossed it over Obi Wan’s shoulders. Obi Wan clutched at it. He realised with a start that the pattern of orange starbursts was the blanket Jan had given him.

Jare went and unbolted the door to let York in.

York shoved his way into the room. He frowned under his beard at the unconscious Digger. His scowl deepened as he met Obi Wan’s eyes.

“So, you survived, Jedi.”

“I would not have if not for Jare,” Obi Wan answered.

York surveyed him closely. “When you are fit to travel, you will go.”

Obi Wan dipped his head gratefully. “I will speak of you to no one,” he promised.

York shrugged. “Tell who you like. We will not be here. It’s time we moved on anyways. Perhaps we will find somewhere we won’t have to hide.”

“I very much hope so, my friend.”

York’s mouth twitched something close to a frown. He jerked his head at Jare. Together, they lifted Digger from the room and left Obi Wan alone. He fell back into his nest of blankets with a sigh of relief.

Two days later, Jare deemed Obi Wan fit to travel. York met him at the entrance to their cave. They had collapsed their whole camp into packs big enough for a small shuttle. York pointed down the mountain.

“Stay to the north side of the cliff face and you’ll make it to the village by noon.”

“Thank you,” Obi Wan offered his hand in thanks. York shook it and went back to loading up the shuttle.

Obi Wan shouldered his pack. Jare suddenly appeared from inside the cave.

Obi Wan changed course and made his way over to the clone. “Thank you. You saved my life,” Obi Wan said.

Jare dropped his eyes and shuffled his feet. “I did my duty as a medic, Jedi.”

“Kenobi,” Obi Wan offered his name.

Jare’s head shot up. “General Kenobi?”

Obi Wan gave him an ironic smile. “Not anymore, I told you.” Obi Wan lifted his hand in farewell. “May the Force be with you.”

Jare stood and watched as Obi Wan made his way down the mountain. Obi Wan looked back only once. The trees had already swallowed the clones from view.

Obi Wan arrived at the village before noon. He made a beeline for Jan’s little cart of warm clothing. The old woman looked up at his approach. Her wrinkled face broke out into a toothless grin.

“Obi Wan Kenobi! I thought the clones had eaten you.”

Obi Wan laughed. “Not exactly.” He pulled the sunburst blanket from his pack. ‘I wanted to return this to you. I believe it may have saved my life.”

Jan’s hands pushed the blanket at him. “It was a gift.”

“Thank you,” Obi Wan bowed his head.

Jan gave him a shrewd look. “You find what the Force wanted to show you?”

“I did,” Obi Wan said.

“And the clones?”

Obi Wan feigned ignorance. “There are no clones on your mountain, dear lady.”

Jan narrowed her eyes and smiled knowingly. “Pleasure to have you with us again, Jedi Kenobi.”

“I’m not a Jedi anymore,” Obi Wan reminded her.

The sound of a shuttle engine startled them both. Obi Wan shielded his eyes. A plume of snow and smoke rose from the mountain top and rocketed through the atmosphere. Obi Wan watched until it was gone.

“So, where will the Force lead you next?” Jan asked, drawing his attention again.

“I do not know,” Obi Wan admitted.

Jan smiled. “I’m sure whatever it is will be an adventure.”

[abbacchiosbelt]

A Reason to Stay | Ren Hana x GN! Reader

original date this story was published on AO3 — 5/10/2017. this story was also previously published under my main account.

summary — Ren said he'd take care of you forever, and he intends to keep his promise.

cw for stockholm syndrome, dub-con, blood, minor injuries, and a yandere character. please heed these warnings!

Lay your hands on me (Like you did a hundred times before) Is this what you need from me?

-

Your hands found purchase on his back, his claws digging into your sensitive skin as you grabbed on. You felt the familiar sensation of blood trickling down your arm and almost thought nothing of it. It was a feeling you had become acquainted with well the past few months. His mouth was suddenly next to your ear, his loud pants sending a chill down your spine. “I’m almost done, it’ll be okay. Just a little… longer...” He whispered, his voice sounding more menacing than soothing. When you had met Ren at the bar that night, everything about him seemed soothing. His soft demeanor and cheery expression compared to him, well, it made Ren seem that much better. You had tried to make them laugh by taking his drink, but it had ended up being the biggest mistake of your life, next to stepping foot in the bar itself. You wondered occasionally what it would have been like to go with him, a man whose name you had erased from your memory. You couldn’t think about it anymore. Ren’s sudden shift on top of you pulled you back into reality. You automatically rolled your head to the side, exposing your neck when you felt Ren’s nails digging into your skin even harder, and braced yourself for the end. You felt him move on top of you again, his mouth on your neck and fangs in your skin. A moan escaped from your lips, but you weren’t sure whether it was from pleasure or pain. Dizziness washed over you as the teeth in your neck sank in even further. Just as quickly as it started, it was over. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Ren said, placing a kiss on your sweaty forehead. His mouth was covered in blood, your blood, and nausea washed over you. You had been through this before, but something about this time was different. You felt Ren’s body lift from yours, and suddenly felt a sense of yearning. His weight was comforting. You heard him mutter something about getting dressed and getting you cleaned off, and heard him leave the room. You were just thankful this hadn’t taken place in the basement.

The tapping on his feet on the floor alerted you to Ren’s presence as he came back in, carrying a fluffy robe with your shock collar placed on top. He almost looked sympathetic, but you knew he wasn’t. Not really. Your eyes drifted over to the shock collar as he placed the items on the bed. It wasn’t often you got to take it off, but occasionally Ren would let you. He knew you wouldn’t leave, and so did you. Your eyes shifted back over to Ren as you watched him fish his phone out of his hoodie. “You look so good… I need to take a picture of this!” He said, lining the camera up. You didn’t bother trying to adjust. You heard several snaps go off before he lowered his phone, his fingernail tapping against the screen as he swiped through them quickly. You felt the nausea roll through your stomach again at his satisfied expression. “Don’t worry, I’ll block out your face when I post these.” You nodded weakly. He often took pictures of you and the mess he left on you. Your skin was always covered in bruises, though it had far fewer scars than Ren’s had. He always seemed hesitant to do permanent damage, as if you just being here was enough. The heart he carved in your chest served as a reminder of what he could do, though. You finally sat up, though you still felt a spinning sensation in your head. Ren walked towards you again and reached forward to tuck a strand of hair behind you ear. “Let’s get you cleaned up, hm? I’ll start the bath for you!” He smiled that infectious grin at you, irresistible and menacing all at once. You could have sworn you saw him hop once he thought you couldn’t see him anymore. You glanced down at the white sheets, now covered in blood. The contrast was striking. If it hadn’t been your blood, or blood at all, you might have thought it looked beautiful. You figured you shouldn’t keep Ren waiting for long. You grabbed the robe and the collar on your way out, although the thought of throwing the collar out the window crossed your mind for a brief second.

You got the faintest whiff of cherry blossoms as you walked down the hall towards the bathroom, the smell becoming more pronounced the closer you got. Once you finally got in the bathroom, you noticed the tub was almost overflowing with bubbles. There were even a few candles set up around the bathroom. He must have started it when he went to get the bathrobe in the first place. The room could have been picture-perfect for a relaxing spa day, but you were quickly snapped out of that thought as you looked at the shock collar in your arms. You quickly placed it on the counter. Ren’s tail was still swishing back and forth, and he beckoned you forward from the edge of the tub. You stepped forward and tentatively put a toe inside the water, testing the temperature. Somehow he had gotten it just right, usually, you ended up with scalding hot water if Ren started the bath. Though, you wondered if he did it on purpose. You lowered yourself in the water, your injuries sending a jolt of pain through your body. They weren’t that bad, you thought. He’d done worse. Mostly on the first day you were here. Other than the slight sting against your cuts, the water was comforting and the light floral smell made you feel at ease. The tub was rounded, leaving Ren enough room to sit on the edge and move around. You noted he was wearing a thin pair of boxer briefs, but nothing else. You found yourself staring at his scars often.

Ren had once told you that he wasn’t going to be like him, the man you had seen in the basement. (The very dead man in the basement.) Ren had shown you his videos, the screams of the unlucky victims pictured haunting your nightmares. Though Ren said he wasn’t going to be like him, you knew what he did to make money. It was unspoken, but you knew. After what Ren had made you do to him, he never involved you. At least, not yet. You shuddered at the thought.

Ren’s hands were suddenly on your shoulders, his hands gently brushing over the bruises he had left earlier. You scooted back towards him, resting your back on his legs that were submerged in the water. You felt him reach for something besides him and then felt the warm water on your neck. Your eyes closed as he worked until your hair was wet enough to wash, his extra careful movements as to not snag your hair making your heart jump. This creature, whatever Ren was, had your heart. You knew if you tried to leave, he would literally have it. He had told you as much once. Ren was softly humming something as he washed your hair. It was almost endearing.

“I really love you...” He said softly, his hands still trailing through your hair. “I’m so glad you’re mine.” Mine. Your hands clenched under the water, a deep sigh leaving you. He took that as a positive response and didn’t press for an answer like he usually did. You knew all too well the consequences of not returning affection to him or returning it the wrong way. He had settled down from the first few months you had been here, but the edge of possessiveness in his statements never left. At times like these, when he outright stated you belonged to him, it was hard to respond.

You started to drift off as he continued to work. The first few weeks you had been here had been like a testing period for Ren. First, he was gentle but was quick to anger when you showed fear. As the weeks went on, and you realized you weren’t leaving anytime soon, things began to almost look normal. Ren began to trust you, and in turn, you opened up to him. You and Ren had a lot in common, minus the murderous tendencies. His quirks were quick to make you laugh, like the countless holes he left in the backyard from digging. You felt a smile cross your face as you thought of watching him out the window while he jumped around in the snow one winter evening.

Ren’s hands left your hair and snapped you out of your dozing state, and you felt him move behind you again. His hands were quickly at your shoulders again, urging you to stand up. You noticed a washcloth in his hand. He began to move it over you, the suds leaving trails on your body and temporarily covering your cuts. Ren was so gentle, placing a kiss on the back of your neck as he worked. He had really meant it when he promised to take care of you. You winced as he wiped over a particularly deep cut from earlier, the thought of being taken care of quickly vanishing.

He finished washing you quickly and you sat back down, letting the bubbly water wash away the soap. There was the slightest tinge of red in the water now, and you leaned forward to drain the tub. You wanted to get out as fast as possible. Ren grabbed a towel from nearby and handed it to you, grabbing one for himself in the process. You moved slowly, dreading having to put the collar back on. Ren caught you looking at it out of the corner of the eye, and tutted. “I know, you don’t wanna put the collar back on… but it’s for your own safety.” He smiled, but his eyes didn’t. You handed him your wet towel and stepped out, your hands moving to tie your hair up. The cold air on your neck made you feel a deep sense of longing. For what, you weren’t sure. You glanced in the mirror, noticing that Ren had really done a number on your neck. It was peppered in bruises and bite marks, one mark particularly deep. The rest of you wasn’t in much better shape. Not only had Ren cut up your arm with his nails, but your body was covered in deep bruises from the pressure he put on you. Bite marks littered your thighs. The only untouched part of your body was your face if you didn’t count the deep circles from lack of sleep. “So beautiful.” Ren mused from behind you, your eyes catching his in the mirror. If anything, at least he was complimentary. He stepped towards the counter and grabbed the collar, opening it back up. You stepped forward and turned your gaze up so you didn’t have to watch. He slipped the cold metal around your neck, placing one last kiss on your throat before snapping it shut. The weight was almost comforting, just as his weight had been earlier. You slipped into the robe he had set out and made your way to the living room, nestling yourself in your favorite corner. Ren must have followed closely behind, as he sat on the couch soon after you did, laying his head in your lap. You reached down to pat his head, a gesture that almost felt automatic at this point. Your finger played with the soft fur on his ears absent-mindedly. He fell asleep like this more often than not, his tail wrapped around himself. He looked up at you, his contentment was hard to hide. “I love you so much! I know I already said it… but I just do. Please don’t ever leave me.” You almost wanted to laugh at his words. Like you could leave. You didn’t even have the option. But at the same time, you found yourself unable to entertain the thought. You loved him too, in whatever way you could. You put your hand on the side of his face, cupping it. “I won’t, I promise. I love you, Ren.” His tail started swishing again at your words, and he sat up to wrap his arms around you. His face nuzzled against your neck as he started to pepper light kisses against the bruises there. He was going to take care of you. Forever.

[oatsn-honey]

fragile

ao3

masterlist

summary: 

Zelda just doesn't understand why he can't admit that it's his fault they're in this whole "Calamity Ganon" mess. But, maybe she just wants someone else to blame.

or: Link and Zelda get into a fight, both running off into separate directions. Eventually, Zelda seeks to find him and apologize

notes: i'm rlly hesitant about posting this, just because i worry it won't be well received, but i figure i need to share it at some point.this is a vent-fic, so it is technically me projecting onto a character, so if you have a problem with the sensitivity to the content, i ask that you please simply stop reading instead of coming for me. thank you. for readers who are sensitive, this does contain references to self harm (although none actually occurs).

Turning the fish skewer absently over the open fire, Zelda observed the lake in front of her; Link leaping in and out of the frigid water, still fully clothed. His head bobbed up and down as he swam, dashing towards fish and capturing them in swift motions, securing a hearty lunch.

She would’ve found the sight amusing, had it not been for a single thought plaguing her mind. That, and the fact that not even Link himself was smiling — not even in the slightest. It was annoying. It was annoying that he could look regal and refined when doing something so seemingly foolish (any other person would’ve looked either insane or ridiculous). It was annoying that she could never do that.

“Link! I think we have caught plenty!” She called, eyeing the pile of assorted fish at her feet with disdain — just another reminder of her own incompetence. He nodded, lips still that hard line, rising out of the water, catch in hand. Zelda sighed, turning back to the flames and adjusting her grip on the stick.

She could hear his sloshing steps as he approached, clothing dripping and hair soaked, and feel the splash of water when he sat down. “Here,” She thrust the skewer out to him, giving not the briefest glance upwards, before puncturing another fish. “Take it. After all, you were the one to catch all of them,” She could hardly keep the indifference from her voice.

She had to refrain from rolling her eyes when she received no answer and her arm continued to hang in the air, food still very much held in her fingers. The softest touch met the back of her hand — he wanted her to look up. “What?” She hissed, launching up, the contempt too obvious to miss or cover up.

His hands stopped, suspended in the air, ready to sign, fingers curled back in resignation. His expression remained neutral, flat as ever, but there was a flash of hurt across his ocean eyes. Barely detectable, his shoulders drooped, and his hands went limp.

Zelda ran a hand down her face, harshly blowing air through her lips, before asking more gently, “What?”

He pushed the skewer toward her and began to move his hands slowly, carefully so that she understood, “It’s for you, Princess.” The words were kind, but she felt no different. This was probably just another ploy — a way to make her feel guilty.

She narrowed her eyes at him, yanking the fish away, sinking her teeth into it in a single aggressive bite. “Fine by me,” She growled. And he had the gall to continue on with that straight face. Had she been paying any attention, and she wasn’t, most definitely not, she may have guessed there was a small smile on the corner of his lips.

Link grabbed a sharpened stick of his own, sliding a large Hyrule Bass onto it and roasting it over the fire. Zelda slowed her bites (she reminded herself to remain calm), watching the flames lick the food as Link turned it in his hands. He seemed fairly satisfied when the fish reached a golden brown, taking a mouthful of it.

Zelda finished her own meal, stabbing the skewer into the soft ground. She wiped her hands on her dark trousers (her father would’ve been mortified), shifting to rest her elbows on her knees. The princess placed her chin in her hand, blankly watching her knight  — within mere moments, her teeth were already grinding in unfounded anger.

“You know, Link,” she started, voice too innocent and unassuming, “Why does everything come so easily to you?”

She waited for a response, the moment only filled with the sounds of the lake’s water stirring and the creatures flitting about the area. Her patience was wearing thin.

“Well?!” She snapped, face filled with annoyance, “You don’t know how to answer?” She stood up, clenching her fists in rage, “You’ve probably never known what it’s even like to work hard, or to not excel at something! Because you’ve never had to try at anything, right?”

She gave a hysterical laugh of repudiation, “You are the chosen one, after all! It makes sense, you were able to become a knight as a child, no effort, no sweat! You pulled the sword from its pedestal as if was hardly a stretch!”

She turned to fully face him, eyes misty but harboring a deep animosity, “I bet you look at me and laugh, ‘Why is everything so hard for her? Why can’t she just figure out how to unlock her blasted powers? Wasn’t she supposed to be born with them?’”

She gave him no room to argue, her fury passionately forcing his protests back, “I wouldn’t doubt it if you’re sick and tired of waiting around for me. I bet I just slow you down and annoy you to no end!”

“That’s probably why you never talk, right?” Zelda insisted fervently, “Because there’s no way that you could ever say anything to me without insulting and breaking the knight’s code! I’m sure that you say horrid things behind my back.”

Each assumption stung like a poisoned weapon slicing through Link’s skin, but he had already lost the right to fight against her.

“Nothing to say, chosen one?” She sneered. “Well, I’ll have you know, it’s your fault that we’re even in this mess! This mess of Calamity Ganon, this mess of unlocking some accursed sealing powers. If you hadn’t pulled that glorified blade from its resting place, none of this would be happening!” She waved her hands around emphatically, every word stressed by the motions, “That’s right! Maybe you should tame your foolish avarice and realize that not everything is some childish game that can be easily conquered!”

Her final words were accentuated with a sob and flying tears, “This is your fault!”

Zelda heaved, still reeling from her outburst of raw emotion. “Well?” She cried breathlessly, “Don’t you have anything to say?”

Link’s jaw quivered, expression withdrawn and head hung in surrender. His knuckles had grown a bone white from the force of his clamped fists. Silently, he made his way over to discarded weapons — “that glorified blade.”  

“Where do you think you’re going?!” She demanded, foot stamping in agitation. He didn’t respond, continuing to sling the sword across his back. There was a quiver in her voice as it bellowed after him, “Link!”

Her response was boots pounding on the ground, drifting farther away.

With an infuriated huff, she turned on her heels, her arms crossed and teeth grinding in agitation. “Fine then-! If he wants to be immature then so be it!” Scooping the discarded Shekiah Slate into her hands, her thoughts escalated, “Just wait until Father here’s of his behavior — he will no longer think so highly of a knight that can’t handle the truth!”

The princess stamped out the remainders of the fire, each stomp in time with a jab at her ‘protector’. With fire burning at her tongue, waiting impatiently to be released, she mounted her steed, urging it forward. A speech of malice was already racing through her mind, only pushing her onward towards the castle. She didn’t even look over her shoulder to ensure that Link’s own horse was following her.

Foreboding clouds formed only 2 minutes into her journey — or perhaps they had been there the whole time, unnoticed and overpowered by her boiling temper. The promise of a storm only served to further damper her mood.

When the first drop splattered across her nose, she wanted to scream, “Well isn’t this just my luck!” Instead, she dug her heels into her horse’s sides. Galloping towards the castle, Zelda anticipated her arrival, her anger coiling painfully in the pit of her stomach.

“Oh, when Urbosa hears of this…”

By the time hooves collided with perfect stone slabs, the storm had begun, water flooding Zelda’s vision and thunder peeling through the sky. Without a thought, she leaped from her horse, leaving it to the guards, and took long, heavy strides towards the gates.

Bursting through the door, she dismissed her father’s reprimanding comment, quickly scanning the room for a single person.

“Ah, little bird—“ Her strong voice rang before she caught sight of Zelda’s expression and stiff body language — the girl was nearly boiling over. “Please excuse us, your highness,” Urbosa apologized. The king waved his hand, using the other to rub exasperatedly at his face.

Steps confident, Urbosa followed after Zelda, peridot eyes cold and calculating as she observed the young princess. They ascended several flights of alabaster steps, twisting through familiar corridors, illuminated by flames and adorned with ornate tapestries. When they reached Zelda’s quarters the princess heaved open the unwieldy doors, her lacy top nearly ripping at the shoulders with her impassioned strength. The blonde stomped into the room, furiously tugging her braid from its place. The Gerudo woman followed her, curiously cocking a sharp eyebrow at the girl’s huffing and agitation.

“Ugh, Urbosa!” Zelda groaned, hands tensing as she began furiously pacing the room’s length. “I just can’t believe him -- the audacity!” She turned to her friend, who had taken a seat in Zelda’s plush desk chair. “He’s just so, so,” she stuttered, mind muddled by her fury, “so irresponsible! And disrespectful! I am the princess, I am royalty, he can’t just ignore a question!” She let out a choked scream, “And he has the gal to just leave! How unbelievable!”

Urbosa’s face remained calm as she began to speak, relying on her intuition to fill in the blanks in Zelda’s ranting, “Now, little bird, please take a moment.” Zelda shot her a deceitful glare, but Urbosa simply raised her eyebrows, unintimidated. “I don’t see why royalty matters in this instance. Isn’t your anger caused by the envy you feel towards his ability to discover his foretold destiny when you have yet to?” Zelda stuttered, forming a rebuttal that had no chance to surface, “In that case, shouldn’t you treat him as an equal, and give him the respect that you desire from him? Besides, his whole life has been respecting others, and you are no exception to that.”

“W-Well, I--” Zelda stammered, hands clenched as she hoped to conjure a response.

She wasn’t given a moment to try, “You know, that boy hasn’t quite had an easy life either. There’s no plausible way a child could’ve advanced the ranks to knight without grueling training and  a strict upbringing -- I’m sure he has struggled. Being the “Goddess’s Chosen Hero” is certainly less than it is envisioned as, and I doubt it’s what he wanted from his life. Just as you despise being the Goddess Incarnate. Trust me, I’m certain there is more to his silence than timidity and conduct procedures -- he’s probably seen his share of the world’s darkness, just as you and I.” Zela hung her head as Urbosa continued, “We do not possess the knowledge of what plagues his mind and heart, the burdens he carries -- for all of our ignorance, and who’s to assume differently, his lively-hood could be dangling above destruction, and it could easily be caused by what others, or even you or I, say.”

“Urbosa, I apologize, I spoke out of m-” Zelda started, before a harsh glare from Urbosa caused her to teeter out. After a moment, the look softened out.

“Life is a lot more fragile than we think. So you should treat others in a way that leaves no regrets.”

“I understand…” Zelda resigned in defeat, hands limply clinging to the sides of her dirty trousers.

Catching her off guard, Urbosa commanded with a thunderous voice, “Now! Go find that boy!”

Nodding determinedly, Zelda snatched a coat on her way from the room, heart beating with the pelts of rain against the castle. She set out on horseback, galloping across the plains and forests of Central Hyrule.

An hour of searching, soaked to the bone by the frigid rain, all to no avail, left her feeling hopeless. Steeling herself, guilt still rampant in her spirit, encouraged her to begin again.

She found herself drawn to the Applean Forest, the small wooded area beckoning her towards its trees. Zelda was certain that he was there. Dismounting from her horse, she hesitantly approached the wood, her clothing and shoes plastered in mud from the wet ground.

After weaving through the trees, a soft sounds piqued her attention, and she sets out to follow it. She rounded a tree carefully, eyes coming to rest on Link (as she had suspected and hoped) huddled up against it, his knees pulled close to his chest and arms cradled between them.

“Link?” She asked ever so quietly, moving so little that she refrained from blinking. He made a muffled, surprised noise, choking on his cries, before backing away from her like a frightened animal, avoiding her eyes.

Then, she saw it. A knife to his side, cast away, glistening with rain water.

“For all of our ignorance, and who’s to assume differently, his lively-hood could be dangling above destruction, and it could easily be caused by what others, or even you or I, say.”

“Oh, Goddess, Link!” She collapsed before him, praying that he didn’t have so much as have a scrape, forcefully grabbing his arms and pulling them forward for her to see. When she threw the dripping sleeves forward, she was met with… smooth skin, untouched.

He gazed up at her, hot tears still trailing down his face, before he looked at the knife. His voice wavered as he spoke, “I couldn’t do it.”

Zelda’s heart swelled with tumultuous relief, “Thank Hylia,” She breathed before dropping her head and lightly kissing his arms in a beholden act.

“I’m sorry,” She heard him mumble, soft voice bubbling with emotion, tears blurring is vision. “You’re right, it is my fault, if only I hadn’t--”

Throwing her arms around him, Zelda refused his admission, “Shut up, you dummy! I’m sorry! What I said was so, so wrong. It’s never been your fault, ever. I’m so sorry, I just wanted someone else to blame, and I never, ever should’ve said that. I was so wrong, I know that life hasn’t been easy for you, either. I never should’ve assumed that. I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, Link.”

He didn’t return her embrace, but he eased into her hug, his crying slowing to gentle sniffles. She mumbled apologies repeatedly, tears soaking into his uniform.

“Link, can you forgive me?” Zelda pulled away from him, looking into his swollen, but brilliantly blue eyes. The knight nodded softly and she pursed her lips, hoping to hold onto the memory of his voice, for she had never heard it before. Why is he so silent, the princess asked herself.

Shrugging the thought off for later, she stood, extending her hand down towards Link. “We should probably head back now.” He hesitantly accepted her offer, hand cold in her own. “It’s late and you’re shivering quite a bit.” His lips pressed together in embarrassment, a vain attempt to quell the chattering of his teeth.

As she helped him mount her horse, this time the role of guard belonging to her, Zelda felt her stomach knot with apprehension and her senses overwhelmed by a strong bout of protectiveness. She smiled up at him briefly before grabbing ahold of the reigns. As they set out towards the castle, the rain still bombarding the earth, her eyes set with cold conviction. She would come to understand him.

“I am fragile. He is fragile. All of life is fragile.”

sorry >< i know that it's not the best and that it's probably not everyone's favorite topic,,,,

but, since i did mention that this was a vent fic and that i was projecting onto a character, link in this case, i would like to let anyone who is curious know that i have been doing much much better (and that this is from a couple months ago)

thank you sm for reading! i love all of you! please stay strong!

[theazkabandreamer]

Of Christmas Dinners and New Friends

Another one of my old works that I haven’t posted to Tumblr.

____

The Fireplace in the empty Gryffindor Common Room crackled merrily as snow fell outside. But Lily Evans wasn't in a festive mood. For the first time since she started Hogwarts, despite the increased workload that Sixth years have to endure, despite the fact that it felt like she was studying for exams every day, she dreaded going home.

Her Sister, Petunia had gotten herself a boyfriend and she was bound to be insufferably smug at Christmas Dinner. Lily knew that she would have to endure taunts from her, claiming that no normal man would ever want to be with a freak like her. Lily hoped that she might be able to make things up with Petunia, but so far, she had ignored every letter that she had sent her.

What with her bad relationship with her Sister and the situation in the Wizarding World where a Pure-Blooded maniac calling himself Lord Voldemort was steadily gaining power, Lily thought that she was going to be in for a truly miserable Christmas.

She was still shaken by the news about a Muggle massacre about seven miles from Cokeworth. She had promptly Owled her parents to see if they were alright and got a reply to say that they were fine. She was relived but still shocked that the Death Eaters struck so close to home.

'What if they had been killed?' She thought miserably. The fighting was getting far more intense lately and she had eighteen months left at Hogwarts. She briefly considered teaching and asked Professor Slughorn if she could stay on and help him teach Potions, but he turned her down.

"Now, Lily" He had laughed, wagging a sugar coated finger. "You're still young. There are far more exciting things in life then teaching Potions in a stuffy Dungeon. Why don't you get out there and enjoy life's wonders before putting your neck on the block, so to speak. Dumbledore's not too keen on students becoming teachers right after they leave school. I've got some excellent contacts in the Potions industry. I could arrange you a meeting with them. With brains like yours, you could go far! Why you even give Severus a run for his money!"

Severus. She had not spoken to him since he called her a Mudblood by the Lake, last June. He had been drifting away from her and getting more and more involved in the Dark Arts with his Slytherin friends.

Despite him begging her for her forgiveness, she had turned him down. 'He made his choice and I made mine. If he wants to run around with his Death Eater pals, then I'm not going to stop him." She thought firmly. But her heart still ached for her first friend. Her friend that introduced her to the Wizarding World. 'Don't start feeling guilty!' She reminded herself. 'His friends are evil and he would sooner wash his hair then change his ways.'

All in all, it was a truly rotten Christmas.

Lily put down her Charms book after spending hours looking at it and not taking in the words. She shouldn't be doing any studying, anyway. Not when it was only a couple of days before the Christmas Holidays.

Lily heard the Portrait open and someone stumbling through it, muttering under their breath. She looked around to see a soaking, dripping wet James Potter on the threshold, glasses askew. He shook himself and made his way towards the fireplace.

Lily tensed. James Potter was the last person that she wanted to see tonight. Potter was the reason why she wasn't talking to Severus. If it wasn't for Potter and his idiot pals, Severus wouldn't have called her a Mudblood. 'Although I shouldn't be too hard on Potter.' She thought. 'Severus was already getting bad before Potter humiliated him at the Lake.'

Lily had refused to even look at Potter after that. She happily ignored him all year and he seemed to have taken the hint. He even stopped asking her out on dates. Although, she missed screaming at him.

Potter stopped by the fireplace and proceeded to warm himself. He didn't even notice Lily sitting there, lost in her thoughts. But Lily was soon jerked out of them as he blocked the fire, trying to dry himself. She noticed that he was wearing his Quidditch robes.

"Do you have to do that?!" She snapped.

Potter jumped, accidentally causing some ash to fall on the rug.

"I didn't see you there." He said guiltily.

"No wonder you wear glasses." She remarked waspishly.

Potter gave her a sheepish grin, far different from his usual cocky one.

"It's rather wet, that stuff," He remarked airily. "The snow."

"You don't say?" Lily spat sarcastically. Potter looked even more sheepish, to her delight. 'Serves him right for thinking he could just barge in!' She thought savagely.

Potter gave her another sheepish smile and just stood there, dripping wet and looking rather pathetic. Lily felt something in her stomach that she finally understood to be pity. She was feeling sorry for Potter. She withdrew her wand and Potter looked at it with apprehension.

"Here," She said shortly and gave it a little flick. A jet of hot air shot out of it, instantly drying Potter so that he wasn't dripping wet. Potter sighed in relief.

"Lily! You're a lifesaver!" He said weakly.

"I didn't do it for you!" She snapped defensively, dimly noting that he addressed her by her first name. "I did it because I don't want to be soaking wet, thank you very much."

"All the same, thank you!" Potter said gratefully.

Lily was taken aback. Since when did James Potter ever thank anybody?

"You're welcome?" Lily said uncertainly. Thinking Potter would change his mind and say that it was a joke.

Lily looked out of the window and watched the falling snow. Potter just stood there, looking sheepish and uncertain and so unlike his usual self. She was about to tell Potter to go away before his spoke.

"Is it alright with you if I sit down?" He asked politely. "I'm still quite cold."

"If you must." Lily said coldly.

Potter smiled at her again before sitting down on the other end of the Sofa. Lily didn't mind him being here. Truth be told, she was feeling quite lonely, lately. She didn't mind having a bit of company. Even if it was Potter.

Lily didn't have much energy to read her Charms book, so she just stared into the flickering flames. Mind spinning and dreading going home.

Potter just sat there, warming his hands and occasionally glancing her. Lily was enjoying the silence, when he spoke.

"It's beautiful, isn't it? The Snow?"

Lily nodded. She didn't feel like speaking at the moment. She had no energy for it.

"I was just going for a Broom ride. Clear my head, you know." Potter was saying.

Something finally seemed to work in Lily's brain.

"So that's why you were late." She said. "Black, Lupin and Pettigrew went up to bed an hour ago and the rest of the Quidditch team came back an hour ago, as well."

"I had a lot on my mind." Potter said seriously. Lily frowned at him.

"Who are you, and what have you done with James Potter?" She asked suspiciously.

Potter laughed and jerked his right arm as if he were going to run a hand through his hair but thought better of it.

"It's hard to believe," He said slowly. "That we're already Sixth Years. I mean we've got eighteen months before we graduate and that's it. We have to go out there and face it."

"I know." Lily admitted in a small voice. "It's quite daunting."

Lily wondered whether or not she should tell Potter about her fears. She had been bottling them up for a while now. Potter seemed to be quite serious, right now. Not his usual arrogant self.

"I asked Slughorn whether or not I could teach Potions with him after I leave Hogwarts," She confessed. Feeling relieved that she was getting it off her chest. "He told me to get out there and enjoy life."

"So he should." Potter said. "You're a brilliant Witch, Lily. But you have a lot more to offer then just teaching Potions. With brains like yours, you could go far. I think you could even invent a cure for lycanthropy. You've got the potential for it."

Lily gave him a small smile, touched by his words. This wasn't the same arrogant Potter that used to hex everybody he could. Was it possible that he had changed since she last spoke to him? At any rate, she felt that she could at least confide in him.

"I've been a bit worried lately." She told him "You know about that Death Eater attack at Ironminster? Well that's just Seven miles from where I live. My Mum likes to go the Market, there."

Potter's face whitened. "That's too close." He muttered. "Is your Mum alright?" He asked after a moments pause.

"Oh, yes. They're fine. My Mum and Dad. They thought that it was a gas explosion or something. I had written to them after I heard the news and I got a reply back, saying that they were fine."

Potter exhaled in relief. "That's good. I wouldn't want anything to happen to you or your parents."

Lily smiled at him again, astounded that he was being mature. But she stared at the fire again, feeling glum. Potter seemed to notice.

"Are you okay, Lily?" He asked softly. "You seem rather down."

Lily thought for a moment. Should she tell Potter about her private life? He had been quite mature tonight. A side of him that she hadn't seen before and a side that she quite liked. She decided that it wasn't something that she should bottle up. So she took a breath.

"Not really." She said in a flat tone. "Something's been bothering me, actually." She told him all about Petunia. How Petunia wasn't answering her letters. Petunia's loathing of Magic, Petunia's Boyfriend.

"And now she seems to be dating what looks likes this bad tempered Aberdeen Angus. I haven't' even met the man but I just know that at Christmas Dinner, she's going to rub it in!" It felt good, getting it off her chest. Talking to someone about it. Potter was a good listener.

"That's terrible." He said sympathetically.

"It's ever since I received my Hogwarts letter and she didn't." Lily burst out. "She even wrote to Professor Dumbledore, begging him to let her go. But that didn't work and she's been jealous of me ever since."

"That's no reason to call you a freak." Potter said reasonably.

"I know." Lily sighed. "I've been trying and trying to make things up with her, but she seems determined to pretend that I don't exist. I don't know why I bother, sometimes."

"Keep trying." Potter insisted. "You'll regret it if you don't. She's family, isn't she? My parents taught me that family should stick together."

"That's all very well." Lily said. "But when she claims that I'm abnormal, just because I'm a Witch… It just makes me so miserable sometimes."

"Don't give up." Potter said. "Look, I don't have a sibling. Sirius, Remus and Peter are the closest things to brothers that I'll ever have. But the point is, that if you make an effort, then somewhere down the line, Petunia would probably take notice and respond and even if she sends you a horrible present, wouldn't that be a start? "

Lily gave him another small smile.

"Yeah. Maybe." She said quietly. "Things would've been better though if it wasn't for Severus." She spat out his name as if it were poison and Potter tensed.

There was a moments awkward silence as the tension became thick. Potter seemed to be trying to speak. He seemed to finally manage it.

"L-Lily. I just want to say that I'm really sorry. You know. At that day by the Lake. He was your friend, wasn't he? Snape?"

"He was the one who told me what I was." Lily muttered, staring into the dancing flames. "Petunia never liked him."

"You were right." Potter was saying. "I was a bigheaded, conceited, bullying git."

"You've got that right!" Lily snapped, firing up. "Hexing people in the corridors, ruffling up your hair, thinking you're superior to everyone, just because you play Quidditch! It makes me sick!"

"I know." Potter said solemnly and he actually had the decency to look ashamed as well. "But I've been trying, you know. Not to be a big headed, arrogant toerag."

Lily smiled at the label he give himself, recognising that it was the one that she used to frequently give him.

"Well, you haven't asked me out at all, this year." She said slowly.

Potter muttered something about thinking she wouldn't want that.

Lily fell silent again. The need to discuss Severus was welling up inside her. Potter had been quite mature, lately. He had even apologised for his behaviour. How would he react if she brought Severus up again?

"He was getting worse." Lily said abruptly. "Severus. Before you…Before the Lake."

"He was your friend, wasn't he?" Potter asked tentatively.

Lily gave a hollow laugh. "He used to be my best friend." Lily said bitterly. "But ever since he got in with that Slytherin lot, we've been drifting apart! But I've been making excuses for him, for years!"

"He doesn't deserve you." Potter said quietly. "You are the kindest, bravest, most wonderful person that I've ever met. You touch people's lives in ways you can't imagine. Snape doesn't deserve someone like you. If he really was your friend, he wouldn't have called you….That…word."

"Mudblood." Lily said tonelessly. Potter winced.

"Yeah. That." He said darkly.

"He calls everyone of my birth, Mudblood." Lily said. "Why should I be any different? He's a bit of a hypocrite, anyway." She added with another hollow laugh.

"His Dad's a Muggle and here he is, acting all holier then thou. It doesn't matter, anyway. He made his choice and I made mine. As far as I'm concerned, I've washed my hands of him."

"They're loonies, those Blood Purists." Potter said wisely. "So what if you're Muggle born? You're just as good as anyone else. You're really good at Magic. I love watching you in Charms. You really shine you know. When you cast spells."

"Thanks." Lily smiled, touched by his words and pleased that she was able to get the large weight of anxiety off her chest. Thinking that it would be a little rude not to compliment him back, she added.

"You're very good at Transfiguration. You make it look easy."

"It is easy." Potter grinned. Not his usual cocky grin, but a genuine grin that seemed to enhance his features and make him look warmer. "I could help you sometime, if you're struggling."

Lily smiled at him before returning to look at the fire. A thought occurred to her. Something that often came to her when Potter and his friends played pranks on people. Something that was far different then anything that Severus or his Slytherin friends.

"You don't use Dark Magic, do you?" She asked Potter. Potter's face darkened as he answered.

"I hate the Dark Arts." He muttered. "Always have."

"You're not evil, though. Like Mulciber and Avery. Some of the things you do, are actually quite funny."

"I don't see us as evil," Potter said slowly and thoughtfully. "I see us as Purveyors of Magical Mischief."

Despite herself, Lily burst out laughing at Potter's name for him and his friends. Potter watched her is awe, before joining in.

"You're laughing." Potter noted softly. A genuine smile on his face that seemed to light up his hazel eyes.

"You know, you four should open up a Joke Shop when we leave Hogwarts." She told him after she calmed down. " It could be called..um.. What are those names you call yourselves? Hang on. Oh yeah: Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs: Purveyors of Magical Mischief."

"Oh Merlin!" Potter snorted before he burst out laughing as well.

"I can't imagine Sirius working in a shop. He'd be slacking off with me. Peter would probably mess everything up and poor Remus would be doing all the work. I think we should leave the Joke Shop thing to the next generation of Mischief makers."

"You'd be really good at it." Lily insisted.

"I don't think it would be the right time for it, though." Potter said seriously. "What with the war going on. Doesn't mean we're going to stop laughing for that. Life's too short. You never know, we could be dead in ten years time."

Lily shivered, feeling a great sense of forbidding at his words.

"Don't say that." She said in a small voice. Potter looked guilty and scooted closer to her.

"Sorry." He said sheepishly. "Forget the war, though. It'll soon be Christmas. Merry Christmas, Lily."

Lily smiled at him again. "Merry Christmas, James." She said. James felt far more softer then Potter. A name that she often spat out with anger and venom. James suited the person before her. The person who helped cheer her up and offer her words on comfort.

"You called me James." James smiled. Hazel eyes twinkling in the firelight.

"I've noticed you stopped calling me Evans." Lily replied.

"Cracker?" James asked suddenly.

"I think you are quite crackers." She smiled. James laughed.

"Nah. Sirius is the one who's crackers. I'm the sane one."

"You wish!" Lily snorted.

James took out his wand and conjured a Wizarding Cracker.

"Here." He said, offering her one end. She took it and together they pulled. The Cracker let out an almighty bang, before several live, white rats came scuttling out of it and went through a crack in the wall.

"That's a shame. Peter would've liked to have had one of those. He's always had a soft spot for rats." James quipped. Lily laughed again.

"Thank you." She said to him. "I was feeling utterly miserable before you came in, but you did a surprisingly great job of cheering me up. And you seem so mature as well. It's amazing."

James shrugged. "You were right." He said. "I was big headed. I want us to be friends, Lily so I changed. For you."

Lily sat there, stunned that James Potter would have done such a thing for her.

"That's the sweetest thing anyone's ever done for me." She breathed. James looked delighted.

"I do want to be your friend. It's been really great chatting with you, tonight and I'm glad that you were here so I could get these things off my chest. I can't thank you enough."

The next thing she knew, she was hugging James and James seemed to be at a loss for words. He patted her back.

"I'd do anything you for you." He said. Lily pulled out of the hug to look at him.

"Like I said, you touch people's lives in ways that you can't imagine. I hate seeing you sad and I hate the fact that I might have been the one to have made you sad."

"Being mature really suits you." Lily told him. "I'd like to see more of that."

"I can try." James told her. "Think about what I said about your Sister, though. Keep trying. Because, I've got the feeling that one day, you're going to be very thankful that you have a Sister."

Lily shivered again, despite the fire. But she no longer dreaded Christmas day. James was right. She should keep trying. Maybe one day, she would be pleased that Petunia Evans is her Sister but at this very moment, nothing. Not even the impending Christmas Dinner would puncture her happiness of having a new friend.

[taetaespeaches]

Hello! Im not really sure if youre taking requests 👉🏻👈🏻 but i wanted to ask if you could post something with Jimin soon?:( ((i also had this idea since he has so much love to give, i think he'd treat his s/o in the best way possible, but he can also get insecure so something like he gets both of them the promise rings cuz he's scared that s/o might want to look for someone better than him once he goes on tour:()) really like your writing!!

“Aren’tpromise rings kind of a big step in a relationship? We should probablyconsummate this”

Jiminx Reader (or oc)

Wordcount: 1,721

 a/n: I hope you enjoy this! This idea was so cute! Thanks for sending in the request :)) 

Asyour mind slowly awakened into consciousness, you could feel soft touches onyour cheek, then your nose, then your other cheek, finishing at your forehead.You groaned as a hand found your lower back.

“Areyou awake?” Your boyfriend’s voice whispered into your ear as his plump lipstickled the lobe before pressing a kiss to it, reminiscent to the touches onyour face moments before.

Groaning,you nuzzled your head into your boyfriend’s chest, which vibrated from hisquiet laughter.

“Ah,you are awake.” You could hear hissmile in his voice.  

“No,I’m not,” you mumbled into his chest, making him giggle more.

“Ohreally? I could have sworn my kisses woke you up. I guess I’ll just have to trysomething else,” he singsonged. The teasing in his voice alerted you to what hehad planned before his fingers even made their way under your shirt to grip thesides of your waist.

“No,Jimin, don’t…” Suddenly, he rolled on top of you as his fingers worked attickling your sides mercilessly.

Throughfits of laughter, screaming, and squirming underneath him, you managed to grabhis face in your hands and kiss him hard, halting his attack. He shifted hisbody so he was no longer lying directly on top of you, his fingers softeningagainst your waist as he held onto you. As his lips worked on yours, the kissbecame gentler but deeper.

Separatingfrom his lips, you planted a kiss to his chin. “I’m awake now,” you whispered.Looking up at his face, you admired his sparkling eyes, still slightly swollen froma night of rest, and the way his happiness displayed itself on his sleepyfeatures. You had never seen a more beautiful sight than Jimin’s smile,spreading across his face, making his eyes turn into crescents.

“Good,”his smile transformed into a small toothless one before it left his facecompletely. “I don’t want to waste a second of the time we have left.”

Smilingsadly at him, you pushed his messy hair off his forehead.

“God,I’m gonna miss you,” he said, sorrow evident in his tone, as he nuzzled hishead into the crook of your neck.

Runningyour hand through his hair, you nodded, barely whispering out a “me too”.Feeling tears build up in your eyes, you squeezed your eyelids shut. Both ofyou were struggling with his impending departure for tour. With approximately fourhours until he had to leave to the airport, where he would board a plane andfly halfway across the world, every tick of the clock felt like anotherfracture in your breaking heart.

You’dbeen through tours before, but this was the first tour since you’d made amends with each other for past mistakes. The tour was serving as a reminder for your worst times together. 

Youfelt Jimin take a deep breath, the warm air hitting the skin of your neck in ashaky exhale. He moved his head away from your neck to rest his chin againstyour shoulder, his face smushed into the pillows underneath you.

“Hey,”you tucked your chin in as you tried to look down at your boyfriend. “Are youok?” After a moment, he shook his head and you felt his body tense. Frowning,you rubbed your hand up and down his back. “Baby, will you look at me, please?”

Rollingover, he laid next to you, his teary eyes meeting your own. Gently, you placed yourhand on his cheek, running your thumb softly against the smooth skin.

Sniffling,he grabbed your hand in his and placed a soft kiss on the inside of your wristbefore rolling over to reach inside the bedside table drawer, wiping his eyesas he did. After a few seconds of pushing the contents of the drawer around, herolled back over to look at you once again, being met with your confused expression.  

Helet out a single breathy laugh at your face. “Here, sit up,” he said as hemoved himself into a sitting position. You faced each other, both of yousitting cross-legged on the bed. As you raised your eyebrows expectantly athim, he looked down to his hand, your eyes following, falling on the smallblack box he held in his palm. “I got you something,” he said shyly. “Well,us.”

Confusionset across your face again as you tried to decipher what was happening. When heopened the box, you were met with two small silver rings.

“Theseare promise rings,” he shyly explained.  

“Yougot us promise rings?” Surprise was evident in your voice, but the tone wasgentle. Jimin nodded in response, a nervous smile pulling at his lips. They were just simple bands, but they hadsomething etched into them. Squinting your eyes to inspect them, you made outthe initials PJM on one of the rings,and the other had your initials carved into it.

“Iwanted to make a promise to you. That while I’m gone on tour, my feelings foryou will never lessen, but instead only grow stronger.” You could hardly seeJimin’s shy smile through the distortion the tears in your eyes had caused.

“Jimin,”you pouted as the emotions wet your cheeks. “I promise you that my feelings foryou will never lessen either.”

“Areyou sure?” If you somehow missed the doubt in his voice, you could definitelysee it written across his face.

“Ofcourse, I’m sure.” Leaning forward, you placed your hands over his, which stillheld the box with the rings. “I really love this gesture, and I’m gonna cherishthe shit out of this ring when you’re away, but, Jimin… did I do something tomake you doubt my love for you?”

Jimin’shead snapped up at your question. “God no, y/n. No, Dear, it’s not you, I promise. I swear I haven’t doubted you in so long. It’s…” he pushed his lips together ashe tried to find the right words to express his feelings. “It’s my own stupidinsecurities,” he frowned, disappointed in himself. “They’re hard to kick.” 

You nodded understandingly as he continued. 

“It’s like, when I’m here with you, I feel so secure. But, whenI’m away, I don’t know… maybe seeing this ring on my finger, feeling itsweight… maybe it’ll stop the doubts. Sometimes when I’m on tour, I just… you know,” he drifted off. 

“I know,” you said simply. 

“Istart to feel like I’m not enough for you. You know, sometimes I think you should findsomeone else. Someone who can dedicate more of themselves to you and more oftheir time…”

“Jimin,stop…” you shook your head.

“But,god, y/n, I’m selfish,” his reddened orbs met your own. “You probably dodeserve someone better, but I really don’t want you to find someone else whileI’m away.”

“Better?”Shock was etched across your face and laced in the tone of your voice. How long had he been feeling this way? “Baby,there is no one better than you.” Crawling towards him, you sat yourself in hislap, enveloping your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist. Droppingthe box onto the bed, his arms immediately wrapped around your waist.

“Doyou know how much I love you?” You whispered into his hair. “How much I respectand adore you? How much I cherish every single thing about you?” You pulledaway from him, grabbing his head in your hands to make him look at you. Yourhands cradled his jaw as you spoke to him. “Dammit, Jimin, I already have thebest person in the entire universe. I will never look elsewhere. I know what Ihave, and I’m never giving you up. I lost you once, I’m not doing that shit again.”  

Emotionstook over as tears ran down Jimin’s cheeks, his grip on your waist tighteningeven more. The both of you stayed still for a moment as you held each other.When the tears slowed, you lifted Jimin’s face to look at you once again.Wiping his cheeks, you tilted your head to the side and smiled softly.  

“Ionly see you. Whether you’re right here in front of me, or halfway across theworld, I only want you. I promise you, that no matter how far apart we may be,it will always be you. Now and forever.”

Releasingyour hold on Jimin’s cheeks, you reached down toward the box and took out thering with your initials on it.

“Ipromise you, that no matter how far you go and how long you’re away, I’ll waitfor you.” You placed the ring on his finger before kissing the palm of hishand. “No matter how far apartwe may be, it will always be you.” Finally, a smile graced your boyfriend’sface, your heart sighing in relief.

Reaching forthe other ring, you placed it into Jimin’s hand before gesturing to it withyour head and holding your hand out to him, clearing your throat for emphasis.“Your turn,” you whispered with a teasing smile.  

Eyes turningto crescents, he threw his head back in laughter. Oh how you love thatprecious childlike laugh. Smiling at you, he gently took your hand into hisas he placed the ring onto your finger. “I promise you, y/n, that no matter howfar away I am, I will always love you with my whole being. No matter how longI’m gone, I will always come home to you.”

Placing hishands on your cheeks, he pulled you towards him, your lips meeting in a sweet kiss.As you pulled apart, he rested his forehead against your own. “And, I promiseto always cherish you and never take you or your love for granted. I know howlucky I am to have you. I promise to always make you feel appreciated.”

“I’m thelucky one,” you told him as you gently caressed the side of his face.

Shaking hishead, he mumbled a “nuh uh” onto your lips before kissing you again. Suddenly,he pulled away, breaking the union between your lips, leaving you surprised. Lookingat him with wide eyes, you took in his excited expression. 

“Aren’tpromise rings kind of a big step in a relationship? We should probablyconsummate this.” He looked at you with big expectant eyes as his hands grippedyour hips.

Smacking himlightly on the chest, you feigned shock. “Oh my god, Jimin,” you laughed.

“Is that a nothen?” He giggled.

Biting yourbottom lip, you leaned into his lips again. “I didn’t say that…”

[crystalrequiem]

The Voice that Urged Orpheus

[Part 2/6(?)] [TRC] Summary: Kurogane is very hot, reasonably paranoid, and adds tallies to his running total of failed proposals. Tags: Kuro/Fai, Canon Universe, Post-Canon, Warnings:  suggestive thoughts and implications (nothing graphic), So fluffy you may cry, Is it still slow-burn if they’re already in a relationship? because that’s basically what this is. [Part 1] [Part 3]

Hello again. Wow! the reaction to this was WAY stronger than I thought! I really appreciate all the love and feedback. It’s really kept me going. Hope you like this one as well! Still planning on eventual citrus content of some sort. we’ll see when we get there. This thing has the loosest outline I believe I’ve ever written.

He doesn’t manage to ask before the end of the night. They retire to their shared room, and Kurogane tries fruitlessly to summon meaning in the shape of words. Of course, alone with no one to interrupt them he has an even more difficult time staying focused on talk. Fai interrupts his thoughts with every breath—a gorgeous distraction he wants to lose his wits to again and again. Kurogane winds up forgoing verbal communication mid-sentence, finally overwhelmed by the sight of his love bathed in moonlight. Fai’s… enthusiastic response suggests he may have battled similar frustrations throughout Tomoyo’s soiree. So, he doesn’t regret putting the discussion off a second time.

But then he can’t ask in the next day either. Or the one after that. Somehow, every time he tries to mention ideas of certainty and forever, his tongue locks in place and he loses his footing. Or worse, he knows what he wants and how he means to ask, but someone or something steps in before he can complete the thought. Before he knows it, they’ve already moved on to the next world and he still hasn’t managed to broach the subject for more than two phrases of a sentence.

Gods, it shouldn’t be this hard. “Hey mage, can we settle down together after all this is over?” or hell, even something as simple as, “I want to know what you want from this,” feels beyond him. He keeps running it over in his thoughts—over thinking it. He starts to worry less about his own proposal, and more over Fai’s imagined response. Things like ‘marriage’ don’t even exist consistently across every world, and he doesn’t know how such customs were handled in Celes. Maybe there’s no point to putting a name on their relationship and he’s just complicating things unnecessarily. Or maybe—

Kurogane shakes his head, as if that will empty it of the tangled logic that plagues him. Dithering over what to do isn’t something he makes a habit of. No sense trying to guess at what Fai will say—He wants to ask, so he’ll ask. Simple as that. Whatever comes after… comes after.

For now, he has to keep his focus. This new world they’ve landed in doesn’t bear any familiar faces, and they have no idea what sort of dangers it might hold. In architecture and climate it reminds him of Clow, though the air boils even hotter here. Unfortunately, it doesn’t share a language with Sakura’s home. Whatever basis for its elegant, connected scrawl, Syaoran can’t read it and it looks nothing like the letters of Nihon or Celes. They find themselves in the uncommon and unenviable position of illiteracy, without local currency or any obvious way to earn it. On the other hand, strangely shaped humanoids and talking creatures wander the streets feely, so at least they don’t have to hide Mokona.

Or…. He doesn’t think they do. As far as he can tell, the traveling clothes they got from the Kingdom of Clow echo the styles he sees on the street, and he spots hair and skin colorations of nearly every shade in the milling crowd. Still, they garner stares from everyone they pass. His fingers twitch, itching for the hilt of a sword.

“Ah, so you’ve noticed too,” Fai murmurs, dropping back a step and leaning his way. Mokona maintains an obliviously cheerful soliloquy perched on Syaoran’s shoulder, but the kid looks tense. Good. He might have to try to figure out some kind of awareness training regimen otherwise.  

“Hard to miss,” he grouches back. The mage hums in agreement, his face a placid mask for his hardened gaze to hide behind. “Should we skip town?”

“Not yet I think—I’d rather not sleep in the desert if we can avoid it.” Fair enough, he supposes. Still, the eyes on the back of his neck make his skin crawl, and he marches forward tense as a strung bow.

Wide swaths of pale fabric stretch between the rooves of the white-washed abodes overhead, granting a measure of merciful shade to the market-goers.  Even so, the heat is enough to swell his joints and set his shoulder aching where it joins the prosthetic. He does his best not to give any hint of his discomfort to their audience, but the effort takes its toll.

By the time they find something that looks like a curio shop, even the manjuu has noticed the stares and the burning desert sun sees all of them wilting in the heat. Syaoran lifts the sheet that serves as the store’s front entrance aside and they step into the cooler space with a collective sigh of relief. Kurogane pauses just a moment longer in the doorway to watch for followers, but despite the plentiful staring it doesn’t seem they’ve picked up a tail.

“Wao~ so much to look at! Mokona wants to touch everything—”

“Maybe not everything? We have to be careful, okay?” He heaves a tired sigh at the kids’ antics and leans against a narrow space of wall just at the door, careful not to jostle the wrong arm. The room is deceptively large and stacked with rows and rows of shelves. It appears to be empty. Not so huge he won’t be able to tell if they get into trouble, but large enough he can afford to hang back and let his arm rest a while.

“How about you just don’t touch anything.” He grouches to the empty air they leave behind. If they hear, they give no indication. With a tch, he shakes his head and turns back toward the center of the room, only to catch Fai’s narrow-eyed glare. “…what?”

The mage doesn’t say a word. He simply reaches up, taps once on Kurogane’s shoulder, and watches nonplussed as his whole body recoils in pain.

“Stubborn man,” Fai murmurs. Frustration colors his voice, but the look on his face is so fond it pulls at Kurogane’s heart.

“You’re one to talk.” He takes a deep breath and tries to smooth his expression back to something unbothered. Looking at his worried jerk of a partner helps. Fai’s hair is a tangled mess, even pulled back. Wisping strands escape the hold of his ribbon and stick to his face, glittering with sweat and already just a touch too pink. His fair skin certainly won’t do him any favors in this world… “I’m fine. It’s just the heat.”

“Is that all?” Fai grins and looks both ways, makes sure that no one is there to see before he starts weaving a spell. His hands are a blur of motion, tracing familiar characters in blue and white.

It probably says something that Kurogane doesn’t even think to duck away or put a stop to whatever the mage plans to cast. When did he start trusting Fai so completely? He can’t point to an exact moment. He just knows it feels strangely natural to watch without worry as Fai’s spell lights the space between their bodies, cradled between them like a secret.

“When are you going to learn to ask for help, Kuro-sama?” Fai chides just as he traces the last rune, and his charm snaps into place. Magic sinks into Kurogane’s cloak. He doesn’t usually have much aptitude for sensing the stuff, but like most things, he’s tuned to Fai. It flashes like ice water through the fibers of his clothes, leaving an echo on his skin that sees him shiver for more reasons than one. “Not too cold, I hope? It’s supposed to give you something on the cool side of normal. Maybe—” This time when he feels Fai starting to pull the magic forward, he stills his lover’s hands with his own.

“It’s fine, I’m just—” Just. Just what? “Somehow still learning how amazing you are.” True, but embarrassing as hell to say out loud. “Distracted by how hot that was,” also true, also embarrassing for different reasons. “Glad you’re here,” “shocked you can always read me so well,” and “trying to figure out how to ask you to marry me,” all slide firmly into the mental trash.

Kurogane sets his jaw, shakes his head and starts over, shifting his hold on Fai’s hands until the two of them stand linked like a pair of dancers about to begin. The distant sounds of Syaoran and Mokona speaking together somewhere nearby drift muted and muddled through the air—a quiet reminder that he has other things to worry about. They still don’t know whether this world is safe. That hasn’t changed. He takes another second’s breath, wishing he could convey this messy tangle of sentiment bundled in his chest, and mutters only, “thanks.”

“Yeah,” Fai sighs, seemingly caught in the sincerity of the moment. Minor sunburn makes him no less beautiful when he smiles, quiet and slow, like dawn breaking. They waste a good handful of seconds staring into each other’s eyes like fools before Fai re-discovers his senses. “Or—I mean you’re welcome! Of course. You’re always welcome. I only… wish I could do more.”

The way his gaze drifts towards the false arm as he talks leaves a sour taste in Kurogane’s mouth. There he goes again, blaming himself for a decision that wasn’t his to make. It shouldn’t be so frustrating. In all fairness, if it weren’t Fai saying the words—if he didn’t know exactly what foolish paths the mage’s mind sees fit to walk, it wouldn’t frustrate him. But he does. And it does. More than that, it frightens him. Left alone with his demons, Fai has a nasty habit of abandoning the will to live. He can’t let that happen again. He won’t, embarrassment be damned.

Kurogane growls, veins surging with an angry heat Fai’s charm can’t cool. He pulls his idiot in closer, determined not to let Fai’s doubts fester.

“You do enough,” he blurts, but even to his own ears it sounds like a chastisement and not the reassurance he desperately wants to communicate. Swallowing frustration, he tries to clarify for his wide-eyed audience of one. “You do—you are enough. More than enough. No matter what. even if you never cast another spell in your life.”

In the breathless moment that follows, he watches tears form, heart twisting in his chest as they gather and darken Fai’s long eyelashes. He wishes he could eradicate them at the source—somehow convince Fai of his own worth despite the long years of tragedy that constantly tell him otherwise. Kurogane doesn’t know if he can, but he knows he wants to try. He’ll keep trying forever if that’s what it takes.

He frees the fingers of his good hand from Fai’s and lifts them to brush away the first tear track that snakes its way downward, heart so full of love that it aches. He could say it now, he thinks. He really, really could. His lungs fill with air, the words flow from thought to throat and he opens his mou—

“Sorry about that! Had to take care of a few things in the back. Welcome to The Enchantress! What can I do for you?” A third voice mixes with Syaoran and Mokona’s conversation and Fai falls back into his careful persona with a jolt. He pulls away, stepping backwards so quickly he nearly careens into an over-stacked shelf. Damnit.

“Fai?” Kurogane wants to reach out and steady the blond, but not at the risk of startling him worse. Nearby, he can hear the kid stumbling through the process of introductions and asking whether they might sell a few items. He knows they need to head over there.

“Sheesh, Kuro-wan, you can’t just spring things like that on a guy.” Fai’s cheerful tone rings hollow. He doesn’t look back until any evidence of tears have been scrubbed thoroughly from his face. “I’m fine,” he lies. Kurogane just stares, one eyebrow raised in clear disbelief. “Alright! Alright, you… Later. Okay?”

Later. Sure. Why not? He huffs and trails in Fai’s wake through the shelves. The pain of his shoulder lessens with every second as the spell works its magic and helps him cool down. Kurogane curses his own stupid inability to communicate and wishes he knew how to weave charms for emotional hurt.