#I could listen to him yap until I become one with the earth again | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ice-assiest · 4 years ago

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☾ MOON CHILD ☽ Part 2. Bolin x Bloodbender Reader

♡ part one

♡ word count: 9k omg I’m sorry y’all also thank you so much for the positive feedback from the first part it literally means the world to me

♡ requested by: @the-quackson-brothers !!!

♡ “maybe do where the reader is Sokka’s child/grandchild and they have Sokka personality but with more shyness to it! The reader is a waterbender and blood bender but no one knows expect for Korra and Katara. Reader uses it against Amon."

♡ Pairing: Bolin x Bloodbender Reader (Grandchild of Sokka)

♡ Warnings: nothing crazy! the teeniest bit of steam at the end and an old man w sharp teeth

“Let’s check out Bolin’s usual hangout first.” Mako suggested as the both of you uncomfortably shifted up and down on Naga’s back, still getting used to the feel.

“Alright, just show me the way.” Korra skillfully lead the polar bear dog.

The sounds of the city were loud in your ears, reminding you of its busyness. You watched as the shadows of people entered and exited buildings, the chances of finding Bolin seeming slimmer and slimmer.

“I think we should split up.”

“Huh?” Korra turned around, her expression filled with concern.

“It’s just, I think we need to find him quickly. You and Mako can go to where we were going to go, and I want check the Cactus Juice Bar.”

“(Y/N), I don’t know that sounds dangerous. You don’t know the city well and I don’t want you to get lost or hurt-“ Korra began, but it was you who cut her off.

“I’ll be alright Korra, trust me.” She quietly looked back at you, signaling Naga to stop. The three of you got off of the polar bear dog but Korra pulled you to the side.

“(Y/N), I trust you. I know this is something you already think about all the time but no matter what happens you can’t let people know you’re a blood bender. It’s illegal. And I know you like Bolin a lot, just don’t do something crazy.” She said with a whisper, glancing around her before proceeding, “Not that you would do it anyways, just be safe.” A sigh left her mouth and you could see the distress in her face.

You reached up to give her a hug but stopped in your tracks.

Clink.

Your head quickly turned to the direction of the sound, eyes scanning the dark alleyway besides the both of you.

“(Y/N)! Are you even paying attention?”

“Yes! I promise I was! I feel like I should be the one warning you not to do anything crazy, now go have fun on your date with Mako!” You teased, her eyes widened at your words.

“You ready to go?” Mako called out from besides Naga.

“Yeah!” She responded, giving you one final look over before joining him. You waved to the both of them as you watched them ride off into the distance. Now for your destination, the Cactus Juice Bar.

“Excuse me young miss,” An older man’s voice pulled you out of your thoughts as their shoulder bumped into yours.

“You’re fine.” You muttered before feeling something different, your ring. It was gone. “Hey!” You turned around, shouting at the old man that you were sure took it from you. He turned around, eyes wide as he began to run away.

You felt yourself becoming light-headed as your body filled with panic. That was you dad’s ring. How could someone casually take something that important away from you?

Anger flooded your mind as you reached for the vial of water that lay at your side. You thought of water bending but there were too many people around. He began to get farther away from you, almost lost in the crowd of Republic City citizens, but still in sight. The only way to get it back would be to-

The image of Katara’s pain filled eyes became present in your mind, you couldn’t. You simply watched as he disappeared into the sea of people with a heavy heart.

“Not even two minutes by myself and look what happened.” You said with a sigh, now officially en route to the Cactus Juice.

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The air in the back of the truck was thick, a dispirited expression on every bender’s face. Their thoughts may have varied individually but one question bounced between them all, what’s going to happen?

Bolin’s eyes fell downwards, as one more person got thrown into the back of the truck. An old man gagged and bound like the rest of them. His thoughts then shifted to you.

“Hey kid, you want me to take off your tie?” The old man whispered; his mouth no longer confined by the cloth that everyone else had tied around theirs. Bolin looked at him in confusion, eyes wide as he tried to deduce how that happened.

“I got sharp teeth!” The man exclaimed, flashing his razor-sharp smile. He began leaning closer to Bolin’s face, the earth bender shaking his head furiously and releasing muffled grunts of protest, not wanting him to get any closer than he already was. Although it seemed that sharp teeth did not get the message as he grabbed the cloth that was tied around Bolin’s mouth with his own and gnawed his way through it in a way that reminded Bolin of Pabu.

“Oh, uh, thanks I guess?” Despite the fact that the man hadn’t touched him he still felt oddly violated.

“My name’s Rif Raf Rag and I can’t stand silence.” He said with a booming laugh, echoing through the back of the truck. Bolin cringed at the volume of Rag’s voice, wondering when the chi-blockers would come and tie them back up again.

“I’m Bolin! Nice to meet you.”

“Yeah, wish it were under different circumstances.” He looked Bolin up and down. “Just kidding! I would never talk to you otherwise.” He said with another loud punch of laughter, the person next to Rag started to make muffled noises, clearly asking to be reunited with their freedom of speech.

“Lightning Bolt Zolt?!” Bolin exclaimed; the man who had seemed too large to him as a child was now someone he could meet the gaze of albeit still nervous.

“I’d take yours off too, I really would pal, but my jaw needs a break. We have all the time in the world though I’ll do it eventually.” Rag’s words rang true as not one bender felt movement of the truck, wherever they were, they were definitely stagnant.

“Now Bolin,” The old man said, snapping his face towards him. “Talk to me!”

Bolin felt uncomfortable for a number of reasons, one could be largely attributed to Rag’s lack of personal space, the other reason could be that all the kidnapped benders were looking towards the pair.

“Uhhh, why are your teeth so sharp?” Bolin asked, the smiling old man disappeared at his words.

“Get ready for a tale.”

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Outside was a pond surrounded by peaceful turtle-ducks, small flowers and leaves shooting up from the areas around it. The calmness of it being the direct opposite of what was happening in the building that rest behind it.

“Amon sir!” An equalist rushed into the meeting room, shutting the door quickly behind him. When he looked up he was faced with Hiroshi Sato, Amon, and his principle Lieutenant.

“This better be important,” The lieutenant threatened. A meeting between Amon and Sato being quite the occasion to walk in on.

“It is! I promise,” The man began. “I was in the city when I saw the Avatar.” Despite his nerves and hesitant demeanor, his words peaked Amon’s interest.

“Continue.”

“I have reason to believe she’s going to be at the rally tonight, and I have even more reason to believe she’s bringing a blood bender. For the revelation demonstration we took one of the Avatars friends, they’re looking into his location now. I also believe the blood bender has a uh, special type of relationship with their earth bender friend.”

“Why would we need to know about that?” The lieutenant complained, “Don’t just come in here to say funny stuff-“ He began to scold but was stopped as he saw Amon put his hand in the air.

“No, all of that information was useful. Thank you, my brother.” The equalist tried to contain his giddy smile from being complimented by Amon but failed miserably.

“No, thank you my brother.” He said, leaving the room.

“What do you want to do Amon?” The lieutenant asked. Amon simply stood up from his seat, walking until he reached the window. From it he saw bird swoop down into the pond to catch a fish.

“Let’s show people how truly evil benders can be.”

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“And I cried as I watched my true love get married to another man, anyways that’s why my teeth are so sharp. ” Rag said, closing the dramatic retelling of his life with a solemn sigh.

“T-That’s so sad!” Bolin exclaimed; eyes brimming with tears. “You’ve been through so much Rag! But you made it! You made it through!”

Zolt’s eyebrow twitched.

“That is also why they call me the love doctor; do you have any burning questions about romance? Do you have a beau? “

“No? Yes? I don’t know, I just met someone and I don’t know how to officially ask them out on a date but they’re perfect.” He began, eyes dreamily looking to the skies – or at least the top of vehicle – as he began to describe you. “They’re so smart and pretty, they like the same food as I do and they smells like flowers. When they look me straight in the eyes it’s like I can’t function anymore-” He continued, slowly coming back to reality as he noticed that the truck of mostly criminals were staring at him. Clearly embarrassed to be voicing romantic thoughts his voice trailed off. “Oops, sorry. I will now proceed to stop talking.”

“Don’t be afraid Bolin, you can tell us!” A large man said from across the truck, the group of benders had bonded in their short time together.

“Thank you for the encouragement Flaming Hot Death Vishnick, y’know if you hadn’t have burned down all of those hospitals, you’d almost be a good guy.” Bolin responded, the tone of the conversation almost being one of group therapy.

“Awh, thank you Bolin.” The fire bender responded, pleased at his new friends’ words.

“No, thank you Flaming Hot Death-“

“Would you please shut your yaps!” Zolt exclaimed, the only bender of the group that was considerably annoyed with the situation. He had his fair share of kidnappings but none where he had to listen to such, what he deemed to be, garbage.

“This is supposed to be a supportive and caring environment Zolt.” Rag said, glaring at the leader of the Triple Threat Triads.

“Even when you were a kid collecting bets for the pro-bending matches you talked too much,” At that Bolin gulped, still nervous about the fact that it was Lightning Bolt Zolt talking to him, “Listen, I’ve had my fair share of dating experience. You just gotta be confident, and be yourself.”

Bolin’s jaw dropped, did Lightning Bolt Zolt just give him dating advice?

“And make sure to give ‘em something shiny and expensive like this!” At that Rag turned his back to Bolin and flashed the silver ring that fit tightly on the lower end of his ring finger.

“Wha- that’s! How did you get that Rag?” The old man shrugged his shoulders.

“Picked it up off of someone in water tribe clothes, almost got away with it too but they felt it. Luckily there was a lot of people walking around so I lost ‘em in the crowd.”

“Rag! That’s (Y/N)’s ! The person I was talking about! Please, please, please, can I have it to give back to them?”

“But I like shiny things.” He said with disappointment as he felt the ring around his finger.

“And what could be shinier than the thrill of new love?” Bolin asked, getting desperate. Rag sighed, feeling the ring one more time.

“Fine, you can have it kid.”

“Woohoo! Thank you so much Rif Raf Rag, it’ll mean the world to her to get this back.”

“On one condition. You gotta give ol’ Rag a massage.”

Bolin gulped as he looked over the crusty old man.

For (Y/N).

He was going to get that ring back, and as he brought his feet up to the massage the old man next to him he decided if he made it out alive he would ask you out too.

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You burst through the bar doors, surprising everyone except the man who had a little too much cactus juice.

“Carole! Bolin’s in trouble!” With your words she quickly shot up from behind the counter, rushing your panicked self over to her.

“What happened?”

“We haven’t seen him since yesterday, and Mako said it’s unlike him to run off without telling anyone.” Carole stopped, her hand moving to a comfortable position under her chin as she thought.

“He hasn’t come back here since we saw the both of you, I’m sorry sweetie I wish I could tell you more.”

Your heart fell.

“But I do have something for you, let me go get it from the back.” Carole said before quickly making her way through the door that led to the kitchen.

“I saw him.”

Your head turned towards the unknown voice, eyes landing on the same eyes that had glared at you the night before.

“But I wouldn’t tell a bender like you, and whatever’s going to happen to him he probably deserves it.” You slowly stepped towards him, trying to control your anger

“Why don’t you just tell me what you saw and we can all have a great day.”

“What, are you going to threaten me with your bending?” He asked with a smirk, other patrons of the bar now focused on the two of you.

“No, I was actually planning to use my fists.” The words came out of you harshly, paired with a sharp glare on your face.

“Bring it on.” He said, shooting up out of his seat. The hot cup of tea that sat next to him wobbled as his arm hit it, the boiling hot liquid splashing on the exposed skin of his left arm. You gasped as you heard a shout of pain escape the man.

Instinctively your body reacted, bending the hot liquid off of his arm, cooling it, then bending it back towards him.

“Ah!” He shouted, expecting the burning liquid to hit him again at full force, but instead he felt a cooling sensation. “Y-you’re healing me?” He asked, baffled as he watched you focus your swirling of the water onto the red area.

“Yup, I guess I am.” You said with a sigh, “apparently I’m not so good at this threatening people thing.”

“I hope you know I’m not asking you to heal me.” He muttered under his breath, blush fanning across his cheeks.

“Is it that hard to admit you’re being helped by bending?”

“Well, uh, you wouldn’t understand what it’s like! You’re not a non-bender.”

“Yeah I’m not. My grandfather was though, so are my parents. I have no doubt that at some point in their lives they had trouble accepting that,” You said as you continued swirl water on his arm, “But in the end they embraced it! My grandfather not only mastered all of the non-bending combat styles, but also designed machines that would work with the aid of bending.”

His eyes widened comically large, he took his good arm and pointed it towards you.

“Your grandfather was the Chieftan of the Southern Water Tribe!?” You laughed at his shock, nodding your head yes.

“The one and only. He came to see the beauty in bending and worked with it, although Gran-Gran did say he was an ass about it at first. He even told my Uncle Tenzin, one of the last air-benders, to not depend only on air-bending because reflexes and strategy were just as important, maybe even more so. I know he’d be saddened to see what’s happening right now.”

The man looked down, processing your words. In this time, you finished healing him leaving his arm, it was as good as new.

“For all I know you could be lying to me.”

You sighed, beginning to make your way to the door.

“Wait.”

You stopped in your tracks.

“I saw him get approached by Shady Shin yesterday while he was on a bench, I know that’s not much but it’s all I got. I also saw some chi-blockers in the area, I don’t know if it’s connected to Amon or not.” His voice was soft as he spoke, not daring to look you in the eyes. You smiled at him,

“Thank you so much.” You said, only to then see Carole jump out of the back-door clasping something in her hands.

“(Y/N)! Before you leave!” She said making her way towards you while slightly out of breath. “This is my lucky stone, I don’t give it to just anyone now. When you see that Amon, I want you to throw it at him for giving non-benders a bad name! If anyone doesn’t like it, they can eat a scorching hot soup dumpling.” The short shop owner in front of you radiated anger when talking about the masked man. You took the stone from her hand and held it over your own heart.

“I promise.”

She nodded to you as you left the building to find Korra and Mako, now excited at the prospect of throwing a stone at Amon.

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“Korra, fix the scarf.” You said as you looked both Mako and Korra up and down. When you found them and told them you heard Bolin’s kidnapping might be related to Amon they brought up the fliers they got from an equalist at the park with maps on the back.

From there the three of you quickly got disguises and conned your way into the building, finding Pabu along the way. You took a lot of joy in forcing Mako and Korra to pretend to be a couple.

“I knew a lot of people hated benders, but I’ve never seen so many in one place.” Mako said as he watched the large crowd ripple in waves, united only by what you could only assume was fear or hatred. “Keep your eyes out for Bolin.”

The lights snapped on, filling the large stage with a stark brightness as an announcer began to echo through the room.

“Please welcome your hero, your savior, Amon!” The audience burst out in cheers, some screaming so emphatically their faces reddened. The man next to the three of you ripped off his shirt and circled it above his head in excitement, spreading his scent to all nearby. In front of the large Amon poster on the stage shadowed figures rose from the ground, of which you could only assume Amon was one of.

The overhead lighting then flashed on; you couldn’t help the small gasp that you released.

You saw the mask that had been on all those posters. Amon.

“My quest for equality began many years ago.” he said, his hands gesturing outwards. “When I was a boy my family and I lived on a small farm. We weren’t rich, and none of us were benders. This made us very easy targets for the fire bender who extorted my father.” Amon began to pace around the stage, the bright lighting that reflected from his mask leaving a mark of terror on you.

“One day my father confronted this man, but when he did that fire bender took my family from me. Then he took my face. I’ve been forced to hide behind a mask ever since.” Gasps emerged from the crowd and from what you heard they seemed justified.

“As you know, the avatar has recently arrived in Republic City.” He said, the crowd now igniting in fierce boos that reminded Korra to pull Mako’s scarf up.

“And if she were here, she would tell you that bending brings balance to the world.” Amon paused, letting his deep voice resonate within the room. “She is wrong, the only thing bending has brought to the world is suffering. It has been the cause of every war in every era.”

At this you couldn’t help but feel as if he were wrong. There were most definitely benders that were terrible people, but you had a sneaking suspicion even if people couldn’t bend, they’d still find a reason to take advantage of others and go to war.

“That is about to change. I know you have been wondering what the revelation is, well you’re about to get your answer. Since the beginning to time spirits have acted as guardians of our world, and they have spoken to me. They say the avatar has failed humanity, that is why the spirits have chosen me to usher in a new era of balance. They have granted me a power that will make equality a reality, the power to take a person’s bending away. Permanently.”

You gulped, eyes widening as your deepest fear was realized. The three of you looked at each other in disbelief, your hands now both clinging to Mako and Korra’s.

“That’s impossible.” Korra muttered.

“He’s insane! There’s no way.” Mako said, but you felt that his confidence in his own words was wavering.

“Now for a demonstration, please welcome Lightning Bolt Zolt. Leader of Triple Threat Triad, and one of the most notorious criminals in Republic City.” You heard, but your brain couldn’t process a thing as soon as you saw Bolin being ushered on stage. The same Bolin that had been slurping noodles was now displayed in front of a crowd with his hands bound behind his back. The flash of the intense white light that shone across his face caused him to wince. Your heart began beating erratically as the chi-blockers forced him to his knees, his face twisting into one of terror as he went down with the other benders. He was finally here, but you had no way to get to him.

Your gaze fell to the palms of your hands; they were trembling. No, you couldn’t. Although the light peeking in from the full moon suggested otherwise.

“There’s Bolin.” Korra said, beginning to walk forward. Mako put his arm out effectively stopping her. The two of you looked at each other and nodded, now was not the time.

“We can’t fight all of them. We have to come up with a plan.” Mako said, eyes shifting between the both of you and the stage.

“Well then come up with a plan, Team Captain.”

Your eyes scanned the room quickly, landing on the two tanks connected to pipes.

“Those tanks,” you began, grabbing both Mako and Korra. “They’re powered by water and steam; they should connect to the pipes in the back.”

“So, if one of us goes back there and creates cover,” Mako started.

“Then we can grab Bolin without ever being seen.” You finished, the three of you nodded. Korra immediately began to make her way to the back as you could only stand and watch.

The crowd booed at Zolt, causing him to retaliate in not the most mature of ways.

“Oh, boo yourself!” He shouted as the crowd continued their passionate displays of hatred.

“Zolt has amassed a fortune by extorting and abusing non-benders, but his reign of terror is about to come to an end.” Amon announced before turning his head to the side, facing the leader of the Triple Threat Triads. “Now, in the interest of fairness, I will give Zolt the chance to fight to keep his bending.”

Zolt smirked clearly resonating cockiness as he faced the masked man. “You’re going to regret doing that pal!”

Immediately Zolt began throwing fire at Amon, the man with the mask skillfully dodging each and every flame filled burst with fluidity and speed as he approached Zolt. The fire benders eyes widened, a blue cackle of electricity shot out of his fingers in desperation, again Amon dodged it. Then grabbing the arm the lighting was coming from and twisting, Amon had positioned Zolt in such a way that his thumb could find a comfortable resting spot on Zolt’s forehead.

Both you and Mako watched in terror as the lightning coming from Zolt’s fingers began to lessen in power, slowly becoming reduced to flames, then to nothing at all.

Zolt tried to get up, his body weak from the interaction. His fist reached out in an attempt to fire bend. Nothing.

“What did you do to me?” He asked. Seeing the leader of such a notorious gang on the floor in front of Amon was almost symbolic. The power he held so large that he didn’t even have to break a sweat.

“Your fire bending is gone forever. A new era of equality has begun!” Amon said as he raised his fist, the audience did the same while they cheered. Instead your fist lay clasped at your side, sticky with sweat as Amon called the next bender forward.

C’mon Korra. You thought as the numbers began to dwindle, there was only so much time before it was Bolin.

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She took a quick glance both left and right before leaving the main area of the building and sneaking to the back. Her steps were both fast and quiet as she tried to make her ways to the pipes that you had mentioned.

Her nerves were high because of Bolin, but also because of you. With the full moon your power would be unbridled, and if anything were to happen where you exposed yourself… Korra sighed at the thought, just hoping you would be alright. She had to keep it a secret, for you. Blood bending is illegal.

While scanning the room her eyes came across a red wheel connected to the pipes. She quickly made her way over, turning the wheel as hard as she could resulting in a small stream of steam.

“What are you doing here?” Korra turned slowly, slightly hoping that in the time it took for her to turn around he would leave her alone. When fully turned she looked up to see a large man. Shit.

“Is there a problem, my brother?” She asked feigning complete innocence with a smile. Her entire face having to tilt upwards to look at him. His expression was one of undoubted suspicion as he looked Korra up and down.

“What are you doing back here?”

“Uh, looking for the bathroom?” She winced, despite using that line a lot, not once has it worked for her.

Apparently, it didn’t work again as she saw the man reach to his side and pull out a wrench, aiming for her head. She dodged it, quickly leaving harms way as the wrench hit the pipe that was behind her.

Using Mako’s scarf she tied the man’s arm to it, swinging him until she had the momentum to throw him at the three pipes. Steam began rushing out of only one.

“This isn’t enough.” She said to herself, knowing that she lacked time. Frantically she looked around the room, the only way to get enough steam would be to break the other two pipes. She turned to them and started fire bending through one of them.

“I just hope I’m not too late.” She thought.

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You watched as the water bender with particularly sharp teeth next to Bolin screamed in resistance and felt your body cringe as you heard the thud of his hitting the floor.

Bolin was next.

“Mako, I’m going to distract them until Korra gets the steam going.” you whispered, indiscreetly obtaining the attention of the fire bender. “Pretend you don’t know me, it’ll be easier. Go help Korra.”

“(Y/N) what are you talking about?” Mako asked, eyes wide. Instead of responding you pulled out the stone from Carole, kissing it for good luck.

“This one’s for Carole!” You shouted as you threw it onto the stage. The stone in its grandiose hit Amon right on the forehead of his mask, but it wasn’t enough to take it off. The crowd gasped and looked around for the rebel.

“Now give me back my friend!”

The chi-blockers closest to your row immediately tried to grab you, your hands thrusting out and around you bending a harsh wave of the water from your vial towards them, effectively knocking them off their feet. You could feel the power of the full moon surging from within you, and as you looked at the chi-blockers that were now on the ground you feared you would succumb to it.

A wave of new chi-blockers now approached you, there were too many to handle. Despite this you felt relief as you looked at the stage. Amon was distracted, for now. You watched as Mako made his way to through the door Korra had.

“Stop.” Amon’s calm voice said as his settled on you, you felt your skin crawl.

“Let the bender speak.”

Your heart dropped, the eyes of everyone from the audience now on you. You felt yourself begin to sweat, the room becoming smaller and smaller as everyone waited for your voice. You hadn’t expected this, you didn’t know what kind of game he was playing but you did know it would buy you time. The chi-blockers began to close in on you, suspecting that violence was to come instead of an answer.

Taking a deep breath you reassured yourself, “If anyone doesn’t like it, they can eat a scorching hot soup dumpling.”

“Everyone please!” You began, the volume of your voice surprising you as it resonated within the room. “These people are innocent just like you! Well, most of them.” You said as you looked at Lighting Bolt Zolt. “There shouldn’t be such a divide between benders and non-benders. I know there are bad people in the world, I truly do. Taking away bending isn’t the solution; people will do anything to gain power! Who’s to say a man that would use bending to rob a store wouldn’t still rob the store if he wasn’t a bender with like a knife or something!”

At this you looked over the crowd, scanning the faces of those closest to you.

“When one of those bad people are benders their power is exacerbated, it’s a big problem. Although I’d argue that there are good and bad benders just as there are non-benders!”

“Like the bender that robbed my store?! They’re good?!” The shirtless man shouted from the audience, a chorus of yeahs and mhms coming to his support.

“No! That’s completely not my point! Also sir, I think everyone around you would appreciate it if you put your shirt back on.” He sniffed himself, frowning before sulkily dressing himself again.

“Bending has its beauty! There are so many good uses for it including healing,” at this some people in the crowd hummed in agreement. “My grandfather was an amazing non-bender, and so are my father and mother! They’re not helpless because they’re not benders!”

“Then why do you have such a problem with Amon taking peoples bending away!?” Someone from the audience called out.

“Yeah! Is becoming a non-bender that terrible!”

“If we’re all the same then why don’t we all have bending!”

This wasn’t going well. Your eyes began to dart around in panic.

“No! It’s not like that! It’s just- “You started, but more hecklers began voicing their opinions. The room began to grow smaller as your fear doubled in size, like a darkness that was slowly engulfing every part of the room.

“Interesting words,” Amon said slowly, approaching Bolin on the stage. “for a blood bender.” The crowd gasped; how did he know?

Your entire body was trembling, they all hated you and you could feel it. You looked at Bolin on the and saw the fear in his eyes, only he wasn’t looking at Amon.

“No, I’m not!” You defended; he didn’t know. No one knew.

“We’ll see about that.” Amon said, sounding almost as if he was smiling under his mask. With a nod from his head, two chi-blockers held Bolin down and Amon began walking towards him. No, no, no, no. There was no way you could get there in time. Bolin’s face shifted into one of horror as Amon grabbed his chin, looking him in the eyes.

His thumb approached Bolin’s forehead. You were sweating, your heart feeling as if it were to come out of your chest. Vision blurry from the tears that threatened to erupt from your eyes. Nausea blossomed in your stomach and your throat felt tight as your breaths became shorter and more frequent. Your morals. Your reputation. Your promise.

Bolin.

You had to do something. With a deep breath you focused, channeling the energy of the full moon into your body. The time was now. You raised your arms and they moved so naturally it scared you, the chi-blockers holding Bolin down began to contort in pain. Their bodies twisting and spazzing as you raised them above Bolin and flung them to the side.

It felt natural.

Without another thought you bended the water from your vial to make a frozen path to the stage, running on it and melting it before the guards could even blink. Amon backed away from Bolin letting the chi-blockers surround you. In an instant the group of eight were in the air, you slammed each one down onto the stage trying your best to just knock them out.

For some reason, Amon displayed no fear. The two of you stood on stage watching each other intently. You slowly backed yourself towards Bolin while the you and Amon continued to stare at each other. The other chi-blockers stood on guard, waiting for your move.

“She can manipulate our bodies to do whatever she wants, and yet she speaks of equality.” He said. You noticed the bruises that Bolin bore on his body, and the way his arm looked bent out of shape. Anger bubbled within you filling every part of your body, infecting your mind. You wanted them all to face consequences for what they had done.

You closed your eyes, summoning a hurricane of water beneath yourself. Not only the water from your vial, but water from the entire building began to fly towards your form. You needed to hurt him. Your arms raised again, this time with deep intention and purpose.

“(Y/N)! Don’t! It’s what he wants!” You heard Bolin exclaim, but you were too far gone. You aimed all the water that swirled beneath you at Amon, the harsh currents knocking him off of his feet. With the power of the moon you were fast. You began punching hard bursts of water at him, he managed to evade some.

Your attention then went to the chi-blockers that began to interfere after noticing the severity of the situation, your hands began circling the air, moving with the fluidity of water itself. The water around you followed this rhythm, only stopping when you flung them as ice shards at the chi-blockers, pinning them to the wall behind the stage.

Your eyes then flew to Amon standing calmly, it infuriated you. Your arms raised, blood bending him. He paused in his tracks and you could see his eyes widen from beneath his mask. You then saw him begin to struggle against it.

There’s no way.

The audience held their breath as they saw Amon’s body tremble on stage. He seemed to be putting excessive force on every muscle in his body for the chance to move. His body began to shake more, you desperately tried to concentrate harder but there was nothing you could do.

He took one step. And then another.

The audience began to cheer.

You felt something familiar in the way he was resisting your bending, how was it possible. The only was was if-

“Amon’s a blood bender.” You thought to yourself right before Amon dashed up the side of the wall, knocking you down as he did so. You grunted as your body came crashing to the ground, not having enough energy to soften your fall.

“Benders like her are evil, and they should not have the power they do.” Amon said as he slowly began to approach your body on the ground. You were paralyzed in fear as his large figure leaned over you, your tearful eyes darting around only to find themselves completely encompassed by Amon.

He grabbed your chin, pulling your face towards him. You did everything you could to pull backwards, to get away from him, to get away from everything.

“After I take your bending away, you will be nothing.”

The room went silent.

The only thing you could hear was your heart beating against your chest.

Then, you felt the light press of his thumb against your forehead.

The pain you felt was excruciating.

Your muscles seized before your body began to shake. You wanted nothing more than for it to end, the searing and burning that you felt. Your throat began to feel tight as your core tightened with it, the nausea from before now becoming dominant in its presence.

So, this is what it felt like to be blood bent.

Your knees hit the floor, the echo resonating. Through the haze of the pain you could hear muffled yells coming from the earth bender that you had come to know.

“Prepare to be equalized.”

Those were the last words you heard before your world became submerged in water. The only image before your eyes was Amon, and behind him the white light of the moon.

Your world faded to darkness.

ｏｏｏｏｏｏｏｏｏｏｏｏｏｏｏｏｏｏｏｏｏ

“Korra! Are you okay?” Mako asked as he rushed through the door, accidentally stepping on the man whose body had been flung to the ground.

“Yes! I’m fine but help me break this last pipe! Hurry!” Mako nodded and immediately began to fire bend, Korra coming to help him with the copper pipe.

“(Y/N)’s distracting Amon right now.” Korra’s eyes widened at the news, she hadn’t been fast enough. Despite copper having a high melting point, the fire from the two of them released a flurry of steam. Exactly what they needed.

“I’ll go get Naga, you get Bolin and (Y/N). Meet me outside by the ladder!” Mako nodded, about to leave when Korra grabbed his arm.

“Good luck Mako.”

“Good luck Korra.”

The pair held hands for a moment before parting ways, Mako making his way back through the door he came through. The crowd has now completely dispersed, the steam had done its trick. He struggled to see through it, taking careful steps as he made his way to the stage.

At any moment he could run into his brother, or an equalist. His other senses were heightened as he attempted to evade the fog. While walking, he saw two figures. He stepped closer.

“Bolin!” Mako exclaimed as he saw his brother kneeling on the floor, as he further examined, he noticed someone else on the floor. (Y/N).

“Oh no.”

He then turned to Bolin who wore an expression of shock as he stared at the ground.

“She saved me.” He muttered as Mako made his way behind him to untie the ropes that bound him. An equalist saw this as an opportunity, trying to grab your unconscious self. That is, until he was stopped by the harsh clash of a fist striking from under his chin. Out of his ropes Bolin punched the equalist as hard as he could, anger coming over him as he saw your limp body. He picked you up gently, holding you close against him.

The two benders walked out of the building, letting the steam cover the tracks behind them.

ｏｏｏｏｏｏｏｏｏｏｏｏｏｏｏｏｏｏｏｏｏ

A throbbing pain echoed throughout your head.

Water.

Your mouth was dry, you needed water.

Slowly, you opened your eyes. The light in the room was blinding, you raised your arm to block it from your view.

“(Y/N)?” You heard a soft voice ask. Not being able to speak you let a groan out in response, raising yourself up off of the bed. Before you had time to process you felt a presence encompass you, warm and gentle in its touch. You reveled against it letting your body fall limp. Bolin. You were surprised as you felt a wetness on your face, you gripped Bolin even harder as you let the tears stream freely.

You felt the touch of Amon on your forehead, it all came back. The look on Bolin’s face while you blood bended flashed in your mind, still fresh. Hurriedly, you grabbed him. Pulling apart from your embrace just far enough to meet his eyes, noses touching. You cradled his face, pressing your forehead against his.

“Bolin, you’re okay.” You said, smiling feebly. His mouth flew open in exasperation.

“What do you mean I’m okay?! You’re okay!” He said before bringing you back into a hug. He wasn’t used to comforting people like this, but in this moment, everything happened naturally. He brought his hand to your cheeks, carefully wiping some of the tears off of your face. “The others went to go get some food, they told me to let them know when you woke up.” He said, getting up. You grabbed his arm causing him to turn around in surprise.

“Not yet.” You muttered. He gave you a gentle smile as he sat back down on the bed.

“Bolin I was so scared.” You admitted, the panic still fresh in your mind. He began to rub your back in a circular motion.

“I know. I know.” He said, eyes determined. “We’ll never let that happen again.” Albeit a bit dramatic his words rang through your mind.

“You don’t have to pretend you’re not afraid of me.” You said with a sigh, averting his gaze.

“What are you talking about?”

“You saw what I did. I fell right into Amon’s trap.” Your voice so small the earth bender could barely hear it. He fell silent, his eyes focused on the floor as he listened. “It was during the full moon, but I can- or at least could - blood bend at any time.” At this his eyes widened, the were now on you.

“That’s… Possible?”

“I was blessed by the spirit of the moon, except it’s more of a curse. The power I would feel when under it terrified me, I became scared of it. When I was hurting those people at first it was just to protect you but at one point I-I wanted to be doing it. It terrifies me how addictive it became in such a short span of time,” You brought you knees to your chest. “I promised Gran-Gran I would never do it again but, here we are.” You let out a strangled laugh, one that soon turned into a cry.

“(Y/N)-“

“No Bolin, no one should ever have that kind of power. And I thought I was the only one until-“

“(Y/N), listen. Was seeing you blood bend all those guys at the same time as well as Amon super scary to watch, yes! Absolutely! Did I think about it for a while afterwards, also yes.” Your heart panged, of course he was scared. What else could someone be after seeing what had happened, but he continued.

“Did I also see you throw a rock at Amon’s face and tell a shirtless man to dress himself while in the middle of giving an inspirational speech, yes!” With that you laughed, not fully realizing what you had done in the midst of your panic.

“Do I not really care that you were a blood bender and just really want to get to know you because you’re the nicest person I’ve met in a while, Pabu likes you, and now so does my brother I think?”

“Also yes?”

“A thousand times yes.” He said with a goofy grin plastered on his face. “I know we’ve just met but I feel like it’s been ages!”

“Probably because of the whole you getting kidnapped and me losing my bending thing.” You suggested nonchalantly, heart skipping a beat as his hand brushed yours.

“Oh right! That could be a cause of that, yes.” You giggled, causing Bolin’s smile growing wider. All he wanted to do was make you feel better. As your laughing slowed a strange tension filled the room, one you hadn’t expected. Your gaze was locked in on his, both of you feeling each other’s breath due to your sheer closeness.

“(Y/N)!” From the door you saw Korra come rushing in with a pile of bread. Bolin shot up immediately, knocking over the cup of water next to your bed. “Bolin! You were supposed to tell us if (Y/N) woke up!”

“Oh yeah! I was supposed to, wasn’t I?” He said as he filled the room with nervous laughter, “You know me! Always forgetting, right Pabu?” In response the fire ferret chirped at his side. Korra ran to you, throwing the pile of bread to Mako. As she embraced you tightly, she was also examining your injured body.

You heard someone clear their throat, looking up you saw Mako.

“Thank you, for helping me find my brother.” He said. You nodded, instead of being focused on what was being said to you your mind flew into uncertainty. What did they really think of you now?

“Here, let me go get you a tissue.” He said, his attention now on the puddle of water on your sheets.

“No, don’t worry. I got it.” You said, attempting to bend the water away from you. Your fingers moved but water didn’t. “Oh. Right.”

“(Y/N) don’t you worry, we are going to get every healer to try and get your bending back. You could even go to see Katara.” Korra reassured, grabbing your shoulder. The thing is, you didn’t even know if you wanted it back. Maybe Amon was meant to bring balance, maybe he took away your blood bending for a greater good.

The three looked at you, and then each other. Noting the solemn expression on your face.

“(Y/N), I want you to know that I’ll always be here for you. No matter what.” Korra said, the sincerity in her voice made your breath hitch.

“You helped me get my brother back, I can’t thank you enough.” Mako added, coming closer to stand besides Korra. The two looked back at Bolin, apparently it was his turn.

“You’re selfless! Gorgeous! Funny! Kind! Super strong! Compassionate-“He started before Korra cut him off with a laugh.

“I think we get the idea Bolin.” You looked at the three in front of you, all smiling and reaffirming you with their gentle gazes. It was then you knew you had found something special.

“Group hug!” Bolin shouted before taking his large arms and grabbing the three of you, pushing all of you together. As you all glanced between your squished faces bursts of laughter began to arise. It seemed Bolin could cheer you up after anything, although as the laughter slowed you couldn’t hide the feeling in the pit of your stomach.

This time another person came into the room, one you couldn’t be happier to see.

“Uncle Tenzin!” You called out; his eyes filled with relief as he saw that you were awake.

“Wha- Bolin! You were supposed to let me know when (Y/N) was awake!” Tenzin said, shaking his head in exasperation before quickly making his way over to you and giving you a hug.

“Pfft. Awake, asleep, I mean what’s the difference, right?” Bolin laughed nervously but Tenzin’s attention was elsewhere.

“(Y/N)? Are you alright? How are you feeling?” He asked panicked, looking over you the same way Korra had.

“Uncle, I’m fine. Don’t worry.”

“Oh, thank goodness.” He let out with a sigh. “We were all so worried when we’d heard what happened. The kids really wanted to see you but I wasn’t sure if you were ready for all of that erhm…” He paused as he thought of a way to describe his children, “energy.”

“I’m honestly fine Uncle.” You said reassuring him. He gave you a soft smile, he had a special place in his heart for the little water bender that hailed from his uncle.

“Well, you let us know if you need anything at all. I have to leave air temple island for a bit but I’ll see you soon.” You nodded, bidding your uncle farewell leaving the previous four of you in the room with silence. Korra and Mako looked at each other before Korra spoke up,

“We’re just gonna go ahead and give you guys some room.” She said as the two of them exited as well. Just you and Bolin again.

“Oh! I forgot to bring this up before but.” He reached into his pockets, searching deeply for something with his tongue sticking slightly out. “Here it is!”

In his palm you saw your ring, immense relief flooding your heart.

“Oh my goodness! Bolin how did you find this?”

His body recoiled, face cringing as he remembered the massage he gave Rif Raf Rag.

“Let’s not talk about that. But (Y/N), I’m sure you know your grandfather, the councilman himself! The man graced with the gift of science and innovation. We’re talking engineering water-bending power submarines, we’re taking advanced math and geometry skills, we’re talking the man who took down combustion man!”

“Yes, I do know, that’s why the thought of losing this ring made me so sad. It was like I was losing the only part of him that I had.”

“No, (Y/N), that’s not the only part of him you have.” You looked at Bolin in confusion, he moved to come sit next to you once again. “You come from such a cool line of non-benders, I just want you to know how amazing you are even without your bending. You’re so smart it absolutely blows me away. Not to mention all the ten thousand amazing other things you are. I’m sure you’ll be able to get your bending back, but even if you don’t I think you could use your brain to make something awesome like your Grandpa!”

You gave him a soft smile, heart blooming at his words. Just like before you noticed your heart beating a little bit faster now that he was besides you.

“You’re too kind.”

“Nope! I’m just being honest.” He said. “And while I’m being honest…” He began, the way his fingers began bouncing off of each other exuding nervousness.

You just gotta be confident, and be yourself.

“When you’re ready of course, wouldyoumaybewanttogoonadatewithme?” He asked eyes tightly shut, saying his last sentence so quickly that you could barely register it. So much for the confidence.

You laughed at his embarrassment, although he took that as rejection.

“Oh, nevermin-“

“Of course Bolin!” You exclaimed, “I was hoping you’d ask.”

“Woohoo!” He shouted, turning to face Pabu in excitement. With his cheek exposed you decided to give him a surprise, preparing your lips to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. Although as soon as he had turned around he had turned back to you.

You weren’t sure if your heart stopped or time did when your lips met. The flutter in your heart that was present before now becoming overbearing. The only thing your mind could focus on was how his lips felt against yours, and the extreme burning you felts from your cheeks. As soon as it accidentally started, it also accidentally ended.

“What are you doing with my cousin?!” Meelo yelled in an accusatory tone, pointing at Bolin as he burst through the door. Both you and Bolin pulled away immediately, embarrassed beyond belief. The expression on Bolin’s face leading you to think that he didn’t even believe what had just happened but the grin on his face reminding you he liked it.

“I came here to see my favorite cousin-“

“Meelo, I’m your only cousin.”

“Besides the point! Who are you strange man!?”

“So you guys are going to have a bunch of babies!” Ikki exclaimed in happiness, bouncing around the room. You sighed, nothing was ever a secret with these kids. Soon Pema came, grabbing the two of them and leaving with quick apologies.

“They’re cute,” Bolin said with a yawn, his face now appearing very tired.

“They are, aren’t they.” You responded, but when you looked back Bolin had already drifted off into sleep.

You stood up, making your ways to the curtains. Taking a deep breath you opened them, letting the white light of the moon that you were terrified of before stream into your room. It encased both you and Bolin, and for the first time, you weren’t scared.

ｏｏｏｏｏｏｏｏｏｏｏｏｏｏｏｏｏｏｏｏｏ

“I don’t mean to dampen to mood, but there’s a pressing issue at hand.” The four of you looked at Tenzin intensely, waiting for him to continue.

“Word’s got out that you blood bended. The council wants to send you to trial.”

lmao jk y’all, I hoped you like it. Again thank you to @the-quackson-brothers

And to the other requests I have don’t worry! I’m working on them and I really appreciate them it’s just orgo 2 is kicking my behind.

Taglist: @itsametaphorbriansblog @cottage-babe2 @ajwantsapancake @bbecc-a @kiaoizz @ilovespideyyy tysm all of you, you made my entire life w your kind words ahhhhhh

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kitkat1003 · 4 years ago

Text

Where the Sea Meets Earth

Ao3 Link

Summary:

Tang's life has fallen into a steady, comfortable routine, one he feels no need to change.

So he doesn’t.

Until he has to.

Note: Hi! Lowkey used an idea from @ninja-knox-ur-sox-off when it came to Pigsy's rival. They make great content, give them a look! As always, shout out to my beta reader, @imnotcameraready, the most kind and patient editor out there. She edited this all in one night, the mad lad. Send love her way!! She goes by UncrownedKing on Ao3, check out her stuff! Anyway, have fun!

Tang’s routine is simple. Get up, watch Pigsy make breakfast. Steal an egg or two that Pigsy definitely didn’t make in preparation for such thievery. Follow Pigsy around as the noodle shop is set up for the morning. Listen to the hiss of oil in a hot wok, water bubbling in a tall pot, knife against the wooden cutting board, each slice precise with practice.

Admire the way Pigsy’s arms bulge with muscle as he lifts heavy boxes of spices, meat and vegetables. Watch the sweat on his brow build up as he tosses the ingredients in the wok, stirs the broth, sticks a pinkie in before pulling it out to taste the concoction, tilting his head to the side in thought every time before reaching for a different spice—

Chuckle when MK scrambles down the stairs, a second before being late. Wave back when MK greets him enthusiastically. Listen to Pigsy bark orders. Watch MK vanish out the store door, listen to the sound of the delivery cart starting up. Wait for the customers to come in.

Sometimes, between the breakfast and lunch rush, he will vanish into the town. He’ll peruse the shelves of a bookstore, maybe get a book or two. Then, he’ll come back to the restaurant and watch Pigsy work until closing, with the occasional interruption from MK or Mei. Pigsy will make dinner, and they’ll eat while watching TV before ending the night, asleep next to each other.

It’s a steady routine, one Tang feels no need to change.

So he doesn’t.

Routines are brought on by repeated motions and consistent action. He finds himself considering them more and more, these days. Tang follows the lines back, through time, to trace where each routine began, as Pigsy yells at MK to get going.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He lives off a trust fund from his late parents, as well as a few checks from his work in historic preservation. His family has passed down the stories of old for years, and he knows them well and by heart, because at 18 his memories had come flooding in, and suddenly he was older than time itself and yet just old enough to have sake enough that creating books and speaking on historical inaccuracies is easy to turn into a living.

A few years ago, he gave it up because it hadn’t seemed important to bother anymore after his parents died. The next year he’d wasted time coasting through town after town, sharing random tales for a meal, trying to forget that he was alone, until….

Two years ago, he watched Pigsy throw a customer out of his shop, threatening the unruly guest within an inch of his life, and thought Well then. Something interesting.

Tang had actually gone to the rival noodle shop first. It seemed a bit more inviting. Pigsy, for all his culinary achievements, is still very closed off, and his shop certainly reflects that. Sometimes, Tang wonders if Pigsy would get more customers if he’d change his attitude, but he never brings it up, because what would Pigsy’s Noodles be without Pigsy?

He watches from afar a few days, until the Pigsy’s rival shop owner not so subtly nudges him over, and the moment he walks in, he’s knocked to the ground by a very exuberant noodle delivery boy.

“Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry—are you alright?” Tang sits himself upright to the sound of frantic apologies, seeing a kid no older than 18 fretting over him as if he’d been stabbed instead of simply knocked over.

“It’s fine,” he starts, a little annoyed but not rude enough to make the boy more panicked than he already looks to be.

“MK, what did you do?!” Comes the familiar gruff voice from the kitchen, and the boy—MK, Tang has gathered—helps him stand as the chef walks out of the kitchen, hands on his hips.

“I didn’t notice him coming in—I just knocked into him—it was an accident!” Tang worries, then, because MK seems scared, but those worries are swept away when the chef takes a deep breath and slowly, his stance relaxes.

“It’s fine, kid, just get those deliveries out, ‘kay?” his voice is so gentle, Tang remembers now he was taken aback. Now it feels so natural for Pigsy’s voice to be gentle. “I’ll take care of this.”

MK nods to that, jittery and anxious, and walks out with a forced slowness that Tang can tell is from worry and guilt. Once he’s left, Tang turns back to Pigsy, who lets out a breath and mutters something about how ‘this kid is gonna be the death of me’ before looking up at Tang with what Tang later learned is his customer service expression.

“Alright, c’mon in. Welcome to Pigsy’s Noodles, home of the longest noodles.”

At that, Tang has to snort. He saunters over to the barstools and sits as Pigsy goes back behind the counter, into the kitchen.

“I don’t know if long is the metric you want to brag about,” he snarks, settling easily.

Pigsy grunts in reply, already back to cooking.

Two minutes later, Tang gets a bowl of noodles placed in front of him.

“On the house,” Pigsy grouches, before Tang even thinks to reach into his coin purse. “For the trouble.”

“That doesn’t seem like a very sound business practice,” Tang laughs, taking a sip of the broth after it cools a little.

It was the best he had ever tasted.

“Don’t get any ideas about it.” Pigsy fidgets with his chef’s hat, face settling into a scowl, and yet Tang can tell it was all bluster with no substance.

He pulls a pair of chopsticks out of the free container, snaps them apart, and eats as customers flit in and out of the shop.

Despite the fact that he never stays in one place for too long, Tang finds himself sticking around more than just a few weeks, trailing through the streets and eventually finding himself back at the noodle shop. The noodles are delicious, cheap, and he finds the company of the chef a comfortable one.

Things get far more interesting when the delivery boy, MK, comes down late and gets an earful for it.

“Sorry—I stayed up late drawing the autobiography of Monkey King and I missed my alarm!” MK bows in apology, frantic, and Pigsy runs a hand over his face, pointing MK to a dirty table to clean.

MK gets to work quickly, but Tang turns to him with a curious expression.

“You like Monkey King?” he asks, and he hears Pigsy groan from the kitchen.

“Here we go,” Pigsy mutters, but he does nothing to stop MK from turning to face Tang with a wide, blinding smile on his face.

“Do I! He’s so cool, and strong, and handsome, and interesting! I’ve watched the animated series like, fifteen times!” he rushes up to Tang, pushing a very worn, bound together book.

Tang flips through it, more out of politeness than anything else, and finds himself pleasantly surprised by the intricacy of the sketches, the love poured into pages, notes on the stories themselves scrawled out next to the drawings.

“This is...surprisingly accurate,” He glances over at MK, who preens at the praise.

“Thanks! I’ve been drawing these, since, like, forever! It’s going to be Monkey King’s autobiography. Uh, unofficially, anyway,” MK rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. Tang pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“It’s always nice to see the younger generation so interested in history,” Tang grins with pride as he adds, “You know, I know essentially every Monkey King story. I even wrote an academic paper on them. Published.”

He watches MK’s excitement grow. “Really?! Oh my gosh, that’s so cool! Can you tell me one? Pretty please?!” He’s bouncing on his toes, and Tang can’t help but chuckle.

“I could tell you a tale or two,” he starts, watching as the shine in MK’s eyes grow. “But I need something in return. A bowl of noodles, perhaps?”

MK’s smile drops, and he fidgets.

“I don’t know if I have the money…” he mumbles, mostly to himself, and then he turns to Pigsy, a question in his eyes.

“No,” Pigsy says, immediately.

Tang has never seen someone use puppy dog eyes like a weapon before, but MK pulls them off like a pro.

MK’s hands are clasped together. “Please?”

“I got bills to pay, kid! I can’t be giving free meals to strangers!”

“Well, I’m hardly a stranger,” Tang teases, smile widening when Pigsy reddens. “We met yesterday, remember~?”

“Shut yer yap,” Pigsy grinds out, but Tang has seen Pigsy far angrier, from his reconnaissance days at the shop across the street, so he isn’t worried.

Pigsy turns back to MK, mouth clearly open to rebuff the kid, but MK’s puppy dog eyes have been turned up past 100%. Tang watches as Pigsy crumbles beneath their gaze.

“Fine,” he grits it out between clenched teeth. “But this is a one time thing! I don’t have time for freeloaders around here. And not now! I got ten orders to make, that you have to take out,” he points to MK, who is nodding his head so quickly his face becomes a blur.

“Okay! So, in like an hour, okay Mr.Tang?” he turns to Tang, who grins, calm as ever.

“I’ll be here,” he responds, voice even, and MK busies himself with cleaning up the tables before Pigsy hands him the orders.

When MK disappears, Pigsy sighs.

“You know, pretty sure it’s rude to use kids to get free food,” he says, and Tang can only chuckle again.

“I’m not sure what you mean. I’ve used my knowledge to score many a meal before, this is no different. You’d be surprised what people will give for an interesting story.”

Pigsy snorts, at that, and rolls his eyes.“You a good storyteller, at least?” he asks, and Tang puffs out his chest proudly.

“The best.” After all, his papers got him a pretty good amount of wealth, so he’d hope he’s good enough to earn that.

Pigsy turns back to his prep work, shaking his head, but Tang sees the barest hint of a smile, before Pigsy turns away.

Despite protests from Pigsy, Tang comes back the next day with another story and receives the same free bowl of noodles. He doesn’t get noodles every day, not stupid enough to think that Pigsy could afford to give him one daily, but he appears at the noodle shop every day regardless, if only to watch the hustle and bustle of the place, watch Pigsy work.

Pigsy works with practiced motions, not a single measuring cup or spoon appearing in his hand. Pinches, handfuls of colorful spices thrown in with fresh vegetables. Tang watches him string out the noodles from fresh made dough, dropping them in the broth, stirring, always test tasting, constantly adding something else, another pinch of spice, until he’s only somewhat satisfied.

It’s a familiar feeling. The need to constantly make better, the chase for perfection. Is it any wonder, then, that Pigsy’s shop thrives? Customers learn that deliveries are often better than eating in, because Pigsy’s attitude is abrasive and he’s loud in the kitchen. Regardless, he runs a big enough business and makes good money, enough to keep MK as an employee despite MK’s many missteps.

Tang learns, through snippets of conversations, that MK lives upstairs. Pigsy gave him the job and the room. MK doesn’t talk of his parents, or any of his family really, but he has a friend, Mei.

Mei is as loud as MK is, and she’s familiar in the same way Pigsy. These people he meets at the noodle shop who come for company just like he does, lives slotting into each other with ease. Talking to them is like picking up a conversation left off a thousand years ago, stumbling only for a second before falling into the familiar groove.

Tang slowly learns the group dynamic, learns that MK’s parents haven’t spoken to him since he was kicked out, that Mei stays as far away from her home as she can for as long as possible, that Pigsy has nothing to his name besides his shop and himself.

Sees the family, the foundation, centered around the little hole in the wall restaurant, and keeps himself rooted, just for a little while.

The shop is closed every third Sunday of the month. That is the only day that it is consistently closed. Pigsy works seven days a week, twelve hours a day, without fail, except for that third Sunday. Tang forgets, one month, and catches Pigsy heading out in the early morning.

“What, forgot you can’t steal food today?” Pigsy greets him with a frown that softens into something like a smile.

“Maybe I don’t come for the food,” is Tang’s snappy reply, and he watches with satisfaction as Pigsy pauses, thinks, and then turns a dusty rose color.

Turns out, Pigsy’s ears blush with his cheeks. “Anyway, going on a walk? I might join you,” he turns.

Pigsy stares at him, as if he can’t tell if Tang is serious or not, before he sticks his hands in his pockets and starts walking. “I’m going shopping. Don’t get in my way,” is the response, and Tang takes it for the acceptance of the company that it is, and catches up to Pigsy with ease, stepping in time with him.

The perks of having long legs.

Tang watches as Pigsy charges his way into the market, eyes sharp for the best ingredients, the ripest vegetables—or, the vegetables soon to be ripe, to save for the later weeks. He gets a practiced amount for every ingredient that goes into his food.

“Have to get the meat weekly, but the produce can last if I make it,” Pigsy explains, and Tang nods.

“That makes sense. I never notice a drop in quality, regardless of the week,” he comments.

Pigsy rolls his eyes. “Pretty sure anything tastes great to a freeloader,” he grumbles.

“I’ll have you know I have a refined palette,” Tang huffs, crossing his arms over his chest.

Pigsy laughs then, raucous and loud, a sound Tang has never heard from him before. His heart pitter-patters quickly in his chest, and he thanks everything that his scarf hides his face and that Pigsy is short enough to not be able to spot his blush.

“Okay, wise guy,” Pigsy’s voice draws him back in. “You ever cooked yourself a meal before, then?” He elbows Tang gently, or as gentle as Pigsy is able to be, and Tang stumbles a bit before replying.

“Well…,” his voice alludes to the obvious answer, and Pigsy laughs at him all over again.

Tang decides he likes the sound.

A few months after Tang has cemented his spot at the noodle bar, Pigsy goes to usher him out of the shop one evening as he closes for the night and stops, right before heading up the stairs. He turns to Tang with an unplacable look.

“Where are you even staying?” Pigsy asks. “Not a resident, I think I’d’ve noticed a newcomer that was moving in.”

Tang shrugs at the thought. “Wherever.”

Typically, he’ll head out to a busy bar and ingratiate himself to someone, convince them to let him join their party, and sleep on a random couch. He’s always gone before anyone wakes up, to be sure he misses the questions that would come from the house’s inhabitants. If he can’t manage that, well, he’s not above sleeping on a bench somewhere. It isn’t cold out yet, so he doesn’t worry about it.

Tang very well could get an apartment, with the amount of money he has saved. He could, but then he’d be trapped.

He’d have to say that he’s settling down, that a place is going to become home. And no place has really been home, not since his parents died and he walked through empty hallways and empty rooms that once meant something and now meant nothing to anyone besides himself. He’d sold the house, stored the memories away, burned the rest and ran before the smoke cleared.

How could he stay, when there was nothing left? He’d settled in for the long hall, cemented himself as something soft like the earth, and then it had been ripped away from him like roots, tearing up the soil and leaving a mess in its wake.

So he became stone, and left without a word.

Pigsy stares at him, something almost like concern on his face. Tang watches Pigsy’s eyes glance up towards the stairs, and then back to him. Deliberating. Tang tilts his head to the side, ever curious about the concern. He knows Pigsy cares, and he knows Pigsy, beyond the gruff exterior, is pretty soft, but he’s surprised by this development. He didn’t think that care would be extended to, in Pigsy’s words, a freeloader.

Then, Pigsy sighs.

“I’ve got a couch, if you’re interested,” he says, and Tang

Tang just follows Pigsy up to his apartment. There’s a hallway at the top of the stairs, a door they pass by that Tang can hear pop music playing in.

“MK’s place,” Pigsy says, before Tang can ever ask the question.

They reach Pigsy’s apartment door, at the end of the hall, and head in.

It’s a cluttered space. Well, everything save for the kitchen is cluttered. The kitchen is pristine, so much so that the rest of the apartment pales in comparison. It’s not dirty, there’s no trash or dishes left out, but there are just random items, magazines, cookbooks strewn about the rest of the living space.

“Sorry about the mess.” Pigsy says as he pulls off his chef’s hat and coat, hanging it up by the door. He takes off his dress shoes, and pulls out a pair of slippers from a bin, putting them to walk on the carpet. He glances back at Tang expectantly. Tang pulls off his scarf and hangs it up.

“It’s no problem. I wasn’t an expected guest, I’m guessing?”

Tang takes off his shoes and pulls a pair of slippers from the bin. He isn’t surprised by the kitchen being clean, but he is a bit confused by the clutter. Pigsy takes care to keep his work space pristine, scrubbing it to sparking at the end of each work day. Perhaps this is a product of that, and Pigsy just is too tired to care as much in a space that is more his than it is his profession.

Somehow, that makes Tang concerned. He can’t pinpoint why.

Pigsy pulls off the random items from the couch, throwing them aside but scattering them further. He grunts in response to the rhetorical question.

“I’m gonna get a pillow and blanket. Don’t break anything.” Pigsy trudges off, and Tang looks at the clutter, and then at the perfectly good, half empty bookshelf.

By the time Pigsy gets back, Tang is sliding the last book onto the shelf. There’s still the other items that are less easy to categorize, but Tang would be remiss if he left perfectly good reading material to collect dust on the floor.

Pigsy opens his mouth to say something, and then abruptly closes it. He tosses the pillow and blanket on the couch.

“Uh...bathroom’s down the hall on your left. Night.”

Then, he vanishes into his room.

Tang finishes cleaning, and then goes to bed himself.

It becomes part of the routine. Pigsy never demands he come upstairs, but he never shuts the door on Tang, either, and Tang will never shoot down a free place to stay. Pigsy gets used to him, even. Sees Tang sitting on the couch, makes dinner, hands Tang a plate whatever it is and drops down on the couch to watch TV.

If it isn’t making fun of trash TV, Pigsy screams at cooking shows.

“You can’t just throw onion in it and expect it to work out!” he shouts.

Tang laughs. “Very bold from the guy who only serves one type of dish.”

Pigsy turns red. “I can make other food!” The argument is sound.

“I know,” Tang assures him, taking a bite of the steak salad Pigsy prepared. It’s the best he’s ever tasted. “You just choose not to, which I don’t understand. Why only noodles?”

The question throws Pigsy off guard, and Tang waits patiently for him to collect his thoughts. Finally, Pigsy sighs.

“They’re what I like to eat, I guess. Besides, if I made a full scale restaurant, I’d hafta get more cooks, hire waiters, ugh,” Pigsy looks disgusted just thinking about it. “The kitchen’s my place, I don’t trust any two bit cook to get it. I mean, just look at the ones on TV!”

He gestures to the television, as if Tang hasn’t been watching. Tang nods, glances at the screen anyway. “I like how the shop is. It’s small, but it’s good. Bigger doesn’t mean better.”

At that, Tang has to laugh. “You would think that,” he responds, and at Pigsy’s confused look, he gestures to Pigsy’s stature.

“Shut up,” Pigsy says with a blush. Tang can’t stop laughing, and Pigsy cracks a smile.

Living with Pigsy, Tang finds out, means dealing with all of Pigsy. This includes the moments where Pigsy can no longer keep a lid on his already hair-thin temper.

The clutter of the house suddenly makes sense when he comes up to the apartment to see Pigsy throwing books around the room, raging face red and pained and furious in a way Tang has never seen before.

“Bastards!” Pigsy shouts, voice hoarse.

He’s been clearly shouting for a while. His knuckles are bruised, and Tang spots a few dents in the wall.

“I’ll kill em! I-,” He freezes, upon seeing Tang standing by the door.

Tang watches as Pigsy reigns in his rage, somehow, forcing his shoulders to drop, standing up straight, letting out a breath. It looks painful.

“I see something’s bothering you,” Tang comments, direct and gentle as one can be when trying to talk to someone on the precipice of blind rage, as Pigsy breathes heavily.

“Leave.” Pigsy spits it out with a vitriol that is not aimed at Tang, but at something Tang isn’t a part of.

Tang knows this, and he won’t let Pigsy drown in it. He stands still, as the storm rages in blue eyes.

“No,” he is stone, hands clasped together. Pigsy grits his teeth, clenches his fists. The wave rises and crashes down.

“GET OUT!”

It’s loud enough to make Tang wince, but he doesn’t flinch.

“Not until you tell me what’s wrong.”

At that, Pigsy goes boneless, slumping down on himself. Tang steps forward, carefully, quietly, and directs Pigsy to the untouched couch.

Untouched because it’s Tang’s bed, Tang’s space. Because Pigsy would only destroy himself and his things, would only rage at the things he deems worthy, and Tang wonders, why does Pigsy think himself worthy of this hatred, the anger that sits in Pigsy’s heart?

Pigsy sinks into the cushions. Tang takes his bruised hands and holds them, letting Pigsy breathe.

“MK’s folks,” Pigsy finally spits out. “They found out the kid’s got a good job and an okay place, and now they want a cut of his earnings.”

The tone of Pigsy’s voice is nothing short of derisive, and Tang understands the fury now. It’s funny, that he knows Pigsy enough to tell the difference between rage that’s performative and fury that’s real, but it’s not that hard for him.

Fury like this comes from care, and there is no one Pigsy cares more about than MK. MK, the boy with the sunshine smile who likes Monkey King and drawing and will work himself to death for anyone’s approval.

“I’d have told em to shove it, but MK’s got a soft heart, and they told him it was paying back for all the trouble they had raising him.” Pigsy laughs, and it’s very, very bitter. “Like they raised him. Mei probably was a better parent than they were, and she’s his age. Bastards.”

Tang swallows the information, takes a deep breath. He wouldn’t consider himself easily angered, but this? This makes him furious. He doesn’t express his fury like Pigsy does, isn’t destructive, is cold and quiet and deadly. But he saves that for later, for when he can look up MK’s parents and figure out how to ruin them when it comes to their jobs, their social standings, their lives.

“Technically, that could be charged as harassment,” he suggests.

Pigsy snorts at that, at least.

“Yeah, but MK’s only 17. He’s turning 18 in a few months, but until then they could drag him back, charge me with kidnapping, ruin his whole life just because he isn’t their fucking lap dog,” The rage returns, and Tang watches as Pigsy carefully clenches his fists, as if he were too quick about it he could hurt Tang.

It strikes Tang, then, that he has never been afraid that Pigsy would hit him. It never crossed his mind. Because how could it?

“I’m gonna commit a felony,” Pigsy mutters.

Tang snickers. “I’ll drive,” he responds.

Pigsy looks up at him, and Tang hopes the expression on his face bleeds the sincerity he feels.

“As if I’d let you anywhere near the driver’s seat of my car,” Pigsy smirks as he says it, and he relaxes a bit more, the anger draining out of him like water through a sieve.

Tang wasn’t aware that he was tense himself, but he relaxes a bit, too.

“But you’ll get blood on the steering wheel. And besides, it’s no fun not having a criminal record. I ought to start it sometime, right?”

“You don’t know anything about me, if you think this’ll be the beginning of my record,” Pigsy half laughs.

Tang shrugs. “You’re right. But, I’d like to.”

Pigsy looks up at him, then, the red in his face smoothing to something dusty and rosy and beautiful. Tang looks away first. “But, first, you need some ice and bandages for your hands.” He gets up to grab it.

When he comes back, Pigsy tells him all about the boy who would come in with exact change for the cheapest bowl of noodles, once a week every Friday. How the boy would ramble on and on about everything, and Pigsy would listen out of politeness, and somehow that turned to a fondness he couldn’t shake. How that boy came rushing in, half soaked in the rain, hiding out just for the moment before he was going to keep running. How Pigsy had thrown caution to the wind and moved mountains to get the kid to stay.

Tang listens, disinfecting the areas on Pigsy’s knuckles that are cut instead of just being bruised. He wraps them, gentle, and places ice on both. Even then, he doesn’t let go of the hands, lets them settle in his grip like they’d always belonged there.

“You’re a kind person, you know,” he says, when Pigsy is done. And he means it, too, thinking of MK alone on the streets, thinking of MK turning out like he did but without the funds to support him, a drifter with nothing and no one. It makes his stomach churn.

“Nah,” Pigsy shrugs his shoulders. “Just had a lot of time to get into practice with it.”

He doesn’t elaborate. Tang lets the conversation end, and turns on the TV. He cleans up the room when Pigsy falls asleep.

Pigsy makes him noodles the next day, without comment. Tang smiles and eats.

A lot of people miscategorize Pigsy as fire. Tang would like to propose a different point of view.

When he sees Pigsy, he sees the sea.

The ocean is never calm, but it can fall into a rhythm. Small waves, rippling waters. Crashing against the obstacle that is land, constantly pushing, constantly trying, constantly moving.

Pigsy will rage like a storm, he will shine like water in the sun, and he will fall into a rhythm as he works. He will push back against the rock that is indifference, and, like the ocean, he surrounds anything and everything, connecting every person he comes into contact with, as if they were the continents themselves. He ebbs and flows, forcing himself into the issues that plagues those he cares about, and yet pulls back and gives them space, never demanding anything other than their time, if they could give it.

The ocean is not harsh, nor is it merciful, but it is a force of nature all the same. And, if you weather its storms, it will carry you wherever you need to go.

And Tang sees a man who gives MK a reason to stick around when all MK wanted to do is run, Tang sees a man who never lets Mei skip a meal regardless of her status and wealth, Tang sees a man that makes sure Tang has a warm and safe place to stay, and sees the ocean carrying battered ships to shore.

Learning about MK’s family has opened up certain topics. Tang knows it’s only a matter of time before Pigsy asks about his life. That doesn’t stop him from stiffening, from going stone faced, when Pigsy finally brings it up.

“I don’t hear you talk about your folks,” Pigsy mentions offhandedly.

When he turns around and sees the expression on Tang’s face, he frowns.

“No,” Tang responds.

He says nothing else. Pigsy doesn’t press. Just turns back to making dinner. And Tang stares at his reflection in the teacup. He takes a sip. It burns his tongue, but he doesn’t feel it.

“They died. Nearly two years, now,” he finally says, and it’s like dropping a weight off of his shoulders.

Pigsy grunts in acknowledgment. Doesn’t give him the sad stare, the ‘oh I’m so sorry’, he just glances back with something softer than pity and closer to empathy.

Somehow, it lessens the dull ache in his chest.

“They good ones?” Pigsy asks.

Tang smiles, just a little. “Yes,” he breathes, and it hitches, thinking about how they pushed him forward, how they never demanded but always encouraged. Tang wasn’t good at making friends, not close ones anyway. But that never mattered, because his parents were there.

And now…

“Mine are gone too,” Pigsy says, after some time and mostly as an afterthought. “It ain’t easy, dealing with it.”

Tang huffs a wet laugh, pushing up his glasses to wipe his eyes.“No, it isn’t,” He responds.

Pigsy slides a bowl yanduxian soup, with some some skewers of meat, and sugar coated haws for dessert. Quite the array of a meal. Pigsy sits across from him, and starts in on his own meal.

Tang eats. It’s the best he’s ever tasted, as always.

Looking up at Pigsy, something in his chest warms. He thinks about his parents and it doesn’t hurt as much as it used to.

“I think they’d have liked you, if you’d met them,” he says, softer than he feels, because he’s never said anything about love but this is as close as he can get.

Pigsy looks up, cheeks glowing, and he smiles and Tang melts, just a little.

The apartment becomes lived in. During one of their shopping trips, Pigsy gets Tang a different outfit, muttering something about Tang needing something to wear when his clothes are being washed. Two outfits becomes three, becomes four, all hung up right beside Pigsy’s sleep shirts and chef coats. Tang gets his own toothbrush.

He buys himself books and they fill up the empty space on the bookshelves. He buys alcohol, stores it in Pigsy’s fridge and laughs off the comments about his poor taste in baijiu. He was never one to settle in, he never thought he could again, but slowly Pigsy’s apartment becomes their apartment and the change in his mind as he thinks of it leaves him wide eyed and spiraling.

Pigsy takes it all in stride, greeting Tang in the morning with something on his face that looks...pleased? Tang doesn’t understand it, and yet it makes his face feel warm when he thinks about it.

The winter months roll in, because while they have a weather tower to regulate weather it does not mean that they can ignore the need for seasons, and the apartment becomes colder.

“Do you not have A/C?” he curls up tight, beneath his blanket, and still shivers.

Pigsy rolls his eyes. “Maybe if you didn’t freeload all the time, I could afford to use it!”

Later, Tang will find this all as a facade. He knows Pigsy would never blame him for being without the funds to pay for heating. In fact, the noodle shop does better in the winter months, because of the desire for warm, filling food to combat the chill. He will later find out that Pigsy forgoes the A/C in his apartment to save up money to give MK a yearly Christmas bonus, both as a present and so MK can heat up his room.

In the moment, however, he just turns away with a huff.

Pigsy sighs. “The bed’s warmer,” he says.

Tang stares, blankly, until it finally hits him what Pigsy is suggesting. “Why, you cad! Trying to bed me when we’ve barely courted!” He leans back on the couch dramatically.

“Shut up!” Pigsy looks very flustered, and Tang grins, leading Pigsy to snap some more. “You were the one complaining about being cold!”

Tang sips his tea, and shrugs. Pigsy turns back to dinner to hide his blushing face.

That night, he moves to sleep in Pigsy’s bed. It’s a pretty large one, it isn’t as if there isn’t room for the both of them. The move is purely practical, after all.

Pigsy sleeps in a tank top and boxers. Tang wonders if the tank top is for his sake. They both get in the bed very stiff, neither wanting to acknowledge what’s happening. Tang curls up under covers, back to Pigsy. The bedroom is indeed warmer. Tang imagines the small heater sitting in the corner is likely the reason.

He turns his head. Pigsy is already asleep, trails of light from the outside signs segmenting his face. He’s snoring. He looks calm.

Tang stares for longer than he thinks he should, before he lets his eyes slide shut.

It becomes routine.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

As whole, as Tang reminisces on the moments bringing him to his position, he’s quite glad he decided to stick around. It’s a strange place, this city, full of danger and mystery, now that MK is the monkie kid, now that the demons are free, but at the same time little has changed, and that is something Tang can appreciate. Every morning he settles at the noodle shop and lets life continue, predictable, comfortable.

And maybe that’s his mistake. That he thinks he can coast forever. The sea is many things, but predictable is not one of them.

The downfall starts when Mei mentions that one of her aunts has been trying speed dating.

“She made the mistake of signing up for the straight couple’s night. She told me that when she realized, she left faster than the speed date itself!” Mei taps her fingers on the noodle bar, giggling along with MK at the thought.

“Speed dating doesn’t make sense. I mean, how can you figure out if you like someone in a minute?” MK crosses his arms over his chest and ponders.

“Well, I’m pretty sure I knew I liked you in sixty seconds,” Mei boops Mk on the nose, and he laughs, before making a face. There’s a mixture of emotions there—disgust, confusion, fear?

“Yeah, but that’s different. We’re friends,” he stresses that last word, looking at Mei expectantly. “Just friends.”

“Well, duh! I was just saying,” Mei rolls her eyes.

Tang watches the tension roll out of MK like a breeze. He wonders...but will never waste an opportunity to snark, so he sets the thoughts aside for a moment and leans back on the counter.

“I’m sure I could charm anyone in sixty seconds. Where is this happening, exactly?” he asks.

Mei gives him a look. “I’m pretty sure speed dating isn’t for people who are already taken,” she tells him, and Tang blinks, confusion painting his features.

“What do you mean?” he asks.He jumps when Pigsy’s knife slams hard against the wood of the cutting board, harder than normal.

Tang frowns. “Pigsy, you alright?”

“Peachy,” Pigsy growls out, from the kitchen.

Tang stares, before shrugging it off. Pigsy’s moods aren’t entirely predictable, after all, and it isn’t as if anything terrible has happened today. Pigsy’s cooking smells as heavenly as ever.

He turns back to Mei and MK, but they’re disappearing out the door, MK with the next batch of deliveries in hand. Tang tilts his head to the side in confusion, before shrugging.

Oh well.

Pigsy is still stilted, when they head upstairs that night. He’s quiet during dinner, quiet after dinner, and instead of watching TV he goes back to the kitchen to make a dessert. Tang follows, sitting at the kitchen island, watching how Pigsy shuffles about, glancing occasionally at a recipe. Cocoa powder, flour, eggs, different ingredients come out. The oven is preheated.

“Something’s clearly bothering you,” Tang says, finally.

Pigsy stiffens. Runs a hand down his face. Sighs.

He keeps working, throws the dessert in the oven, sets a careful timer.

Tang waits, and waits.

The kitchen is silent, save for the ambience.

“What is this, Tang?” Pigsy’s voice is hard, hands resting on the kitchen counter, shoulders hunched as he finally speaks up. He sounds exhausted, from days and days of work. Tang frowns. “You steal food from my shop, you sleep in my house—you live with me, for pete’s sake, you—what is this that we have?”

And Tang, Tang doesn’t know what to say.

“Is this even something?”

He’s basked in the freedom to be himself, with Pigsy. A label defines, a label makes you inseparable. Tang comes and goes as he pleases, he doesn’t get pinned down, he’s one and alone, with Pigsy by his side.

He has called himself a ‘father figure’ to MK, but that is inherently different. There’s a degree of separation, with that label. He can still leave, and MK will not be too bereft. MK has others, Tang is just one. Pigsy wants more than that, he doesn’t want the separation, and Tang is always unsure.

“I just—” And there’s something quiet and breaking in Pigsy’s voice.

Tang says nothing.

“Whatever you want from me, Tang, you have it. I’ll-I’ll give you everything, just—”

Blue eyes, like the constant tide of the ocean, meet earth in Tang’s brown ones.

Tang is afraid he could erode.

If he stayed.

What would he become, if he shifted his foundation?

“Is there a point to this?” Pigsy asks. “Or am I just something you keep around? To say you have one?”

Tang knows that he is a man of words, of stories, knows he is Triptaka, is Tang Sanzang, and myriad others placed in the body of a single man, knows he has more knowledge in an inch of his brain than most gain in their entire lives, but he has nothing to say now.

His thoughts halt at the wounded expression on Pigsy’s face.

More than just anger and softer than just hurt, settled between an aching heart and a broken one.

“I…,” he starts, and then his mouth clicks shut, because he is, before and now, a coward eventually.

Whether he is captured by demons or putting his foot down against others’ bad behavior, he falters. And he is terrified, because the swell of his heart, the affection that warms him enough to burn, is too much to bear, to articulate.

So instead, he says nothing at all.

And he knows he’s erred, because Pigsy turns his back as the timer dings.

He pulls the set of mini cakes from the oven, sets them down on the counter with forced gentleness. Tang flinches at the harsh bang of the oven closing. Watches Pigsy’s chest rise and fall with harsh breaths that hitch with an emotion Tang can’t place, before Pigsy swallows, steels himself, stills. Clenches his fists as if readying himself for a fight. Tang doesn’t know what the battle is, wonders what side he’s on.

“Forget it.” He hears, finally, and Tang feels his heart jump in his throat.

The words sound like a relent, like something giving way. It strikes him like a spear through the chest, and he suddenly finds it hard to breathe.

The mini cakes cool in a few minutes, but it may as well be hours with how silent and still the kitchen is, and Pigsy sets one on a plate for Tang, placing it in front of him with a fork. Chocolate lava cake, something Tang had mentioned off handedly as an interesting dessert to try. Of course Pigsy remembered. Why wouldn’t he?

Pigsy vanishes into his room. The door slams shut. Tang eats.

It’s the best he’s ever tasted, like always.

He sleeps on the couch. It’s cold.

Pigsy doesn’t open the shop, the next day. Tang leaves early in the morning, before breakfast, to give him some space, and comes back from his leisurely morning walk to a closed sign hanging on the door. Unlike the last time, MK waves at Tang, hopping down the stairs excitedly. Pigsy gave him the day off, because Pigsy isn’t feeling well, apparently.

Tang sees the worried lines in MK’s expression and promises he will make sure Pigsy is okay. MK runs off, to meet Mei at the arcade, and Tang heads up the stairs. He passes MK’s apartment door and stands in front of Pigsy’s door.

He knocks.

“Pigsy?” He calls, loud enough that he can’t be missed. “It’s me. Can I come in?”

Silence.

Tang doesn’t know how to handle rejection, didn’t think it possible, from Pigsy. In the two years they’ve known each other, he has never been rebuffed. Has never been told, in no uncertain terms, to leave. Pigsy has shouted it without heat, before, but it has never rang true.

He stands outside the door for twenty minutes, trying to swallow something akin to fear crawling up his chest, as he slowly realizes the door isn’t going to open. He waits another ten minutes after that, processing the realization, the pain in his chest.

“Alright,” He says, finally, and he prays Pigsy doesn’t hear how his voice shakes. “Get well soon. I’ll see you in the shop.”

He should demand to be let in. He should kick down the door, do something. Be bold, be brave, courageous.

But he never was a fighter, so he turns on his heel, and leaves what is left of their relationship on the welcome mat.

He walks through the city, again, because he has nothing better to do now. There is no comfort from stepping into the noodle shop and feeling like home. There is no barstool with his name on it, no random bowl of noodles appearing at his seat inconspicuously, no begging for a story from MK, no fond looks from blue eyes in the kitchen.

Tang had settled into routines and expectations. The rug has been pulled from beneath his feet as he tries to grasp the idea that the comforts have crashed into dysfunction. He tracks every minute of the two years he’s spent here, tries to trace the beginning of the end like a true crime investigator, and still, he can’t decipher why the equilibrium shattered.

Change is a product of existence, Comes a memory from his days as a monk. You must let life flow like a river, accepting the directions it will take.

But Tang isn’t a monk anymore, and he is not flowing like a river or any such nonsense that sounds far more like what Sandy would say. He is analytical, he is intelligent, he is knowledgeable. Despite all of that, he is stumped by this situation, by what he is to do.

The answer, of course, is the simplest, but Tang is pretending not to be ignoring it, because acknowledging the solution means making a choice he can’t undo. To decide if he wants this to be set in stone. Can he tie himself down like this, can he make that choice to stay, forever if it comes to it?

At the same time, hasn’t he already? Just a day without being able to go into the noodle shop leaves him aimless. A day without Pigsy and he is lost, without much to do or see. He has centered himself about the warm air of noodles and the gruff smile of the chef making them.

And that is so, so terrifying. When you give everything, when someone is your everything, what happens when they leave? He’s dealt with that enough with his parents, and to become a pair, to be a part of something, he doesn’t think he has the strength for it.

But Pigsy gives and gives, and promised Tang everything, if only Tang would stay. And Tang is a coward, but not enough to ruin something so simple, so kind, and so honest.

He makes a decision, and heads to the bank.

The next day, the noodle shop opens. Tang is there when it does, settling into his barstool without fanfare. He follows Pigsy’s movements with sharp eyes, notes the rumpled form of his shirt, how his pants aren’t tucked into his dress shoes, how his feet shuffle against the tile instead of stomping with purpose. Pigsy moves slow, turns to look at Tang and has bags under his eyes—or could they be red from crying? Tang isn’t sure.

His heart aches, as Pigsy regards him with something like heartbreak. Pigsy says nothing, turns back to his work, and Tang watches.

Step one.

He heads to the market between the lunch and dinner rushes, picks out the ingredients from memory. He’s walked with Pigsy enough times to know what it is that he has to get. He comes back to the shop with an armful of grocery bags, heading upstairs to their apartment. Pigsy never locks it during the workday, and Tang uses that fact and knowledge to his advantage.

He has no idea how to do this, but he chops the vegetables and meat and sets the water to boil. Brings forth the memories of two years of watching Pigsy make the same thing over and over, and maybe looks up a recipe or two on his phone for reference.

By the time Pigsy comes upstairs, when the shop closes, it’s ready. Tang pours the servings into two bowls, and nearly jumps and drops everything when the door opens.

“Welcome home,” he says, braver than he feels.

Pigsy stares at him, at the bowl of steaming broth, and sets his chef’s hat on its hook. He pulls off his shoes, puts up his chef’s coat, leaving him in a t-shirt and slacks.

Tang watches Pigsy’s movements instead of thinking about how to approach the situation. He gets a little distracted, until Pigsy hops up onto one of the island chairs, pulling a bowl towards himself. Tang sits across from him, waiting for Pigsy to take a sip.

Pigsy takes the chopsticks offered, as well as the spoon. He takes a sip. His face remains carefully neutral.

Tang takes a sip a few moments after. He promptly sputters into his bowl, and laughs.

“God, this is terrible!” he can’t stop laughing, and he can see a smile peeking at the edges of Pigsy’s mouth. “I tried to make it like yours, but I guess I’m coming up short,” he glances at Pigsy, looks him up and down.

Pigsy’s face is dusted with a pleased blush. “Shaddup. And hey, it ain’t worse than my first attempt at cooking.”

Tang snorts at that one. “I doubt that. But, do tell. I don’t think you’ve ever told me why you decided to become a cook in the first place, anyway.”

This is the start. Tang makes Pigsy a meal, and Pigsy tells him a story.

That night, he sleeps next Pigsy, like usual, and traces the way the moonlight sets upon Pigsy’s face. He needs to do more. He needs to be more, and he’s pretty sure financial support would be somewhat helpful, so he schemes.

Step two.

A few days later, as the air between them settles into something like normal, he appears one afternoon, change in his pocket and bills in his wallet.

“A bowl of noodles, please.” He sets the money on the counter. It’s enough for at least three bowls of noodles, but that’s by design.

“Keep the change.” He evene winks, like it’s a joke

Pigsy eyes the money and then gets the most offended look on his face, as expected. Before he can make a move to either argue or even respond, Tang pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and explains.

“Didn’t you know? This month is my charity month. I go to different establishments and pay to keep them afloat.”

Pigsy rolls his eyes. “Pshh, I don’t need your charity to keep this place runnin’! Pigsy’s Noodles is a thriving establishment,” he rebuffs.

“So you’re refusing my service?” Tang responds, like a challenge.

He raises a brow, and watches as Pigsy gets redder and redder.

“One bowl of noodles, coming right up,” Pigsy manages through gritted teeth.

Tang hides a laugh behind his hand as Pigsy scoops up the money and grumbles, shoving two of the bills into the cash register and one into the tip jar.

Because MK had been bemoaning a lack of sketchbook paper, a lack of money for replacing such, and just like every time MK talks about something he wants, off handed or to complain because that’s how he deals, Pigsy will take some of the money that should go to the shop into the tip jar when MK doesn’t look, smiling to himself when MK excitedly realizes that, thanks to the tip jar, he can get what it was he thought he couldn’t—

Because Pigsy gives and gives and gives, pieces of himself scattered across and holding together the people he’s chosen to keep close, regardless if Pigsy is the one who ends up falling apart in the end, and Tang wants to fill up the spaces that Pigsy has lost from his generosity.

Tang takes his bowl of noodles and smirks, like he’s won. That night, when they’re sitting on the couch and watching TV, Pigsy leans his head on Tang’s shoulder.

“You coulda just said you wanted to start payin’ rent,” he mutters.

Tang snickers. “Where’s the fun in that? You got so red, I thought you were going to become a tomato.”

At that, Pigsy sits up.

“I’ll show you a tomato—c’mere!”

Maybe it’s a bit dangerous to challenge someone who knows all of your ticklish spots. Tang laughs until he cries, and concedes to Pigsy’s victory.

Step three doesn’t really register. He doesn’t think about it, because the first two steps have brought him back into that comfortable routine. Maybe he might have fallen into the same bad habits, if not for his hyperawareness of Pigsy’s moods in the following weeks. He doesn’t want to miss something, like he did before. He wants to be attentive, be kind.

He wants Pigsy to never again think of or ask the questions he did, that night. He wants Pigsy to know, immediately, what they are. Even if Tang is afraid to define it.

It’s a typical day at the shop, but Pigsy is a bit more tired than normal. Some days, this happens. Pigsy would never hire another chef, even though he has enough business to afford it, and being the only cook in a bustling restaurant means little breaks and consistent exhaustion.

Tang still makes them dinner, most nights. He tries a new recipe each day, because why not? Pigsy takes to each one like a food critic, and his descriptions have Tang in stitches every time—

“I never thought you could turn broccoli into soup.”

“Okay, so I cooked it too long!”

“You liquified a vegetable! Without blending! That’s like...did you use magic on this? Tang, did you use magic on this.”

—He’s not a very good cook, yet, but Pigsy eats anything he makes anyway.

Today, Pigsy is already tired, and he clearly doesn’t have the energy to deal with an annoying customer.

He has to anyways.

“This isn’t what I ordered last time! I ordered your original noodle bowl two weeks ago, and it tasted far better than this!” The irate woman slams her empty bowl on the counter.

Tang wonders if she understands the irony of complaining about a meal she finished.

“Ma’am, I make every bowl of noodles the same. I’m the only cook here. You either ordered somethin’ else, or your taste buds changed in two weeks.” Pigsy isn’t polite to customers like these, but Tang has to commend him for holding back, for still calling her ‘Ma’am’. Tang has a few different names he’d call her.

“I know what I ordered, and my tastebuds didn’t change. You clearly made it wrong! I demand a refund immediately!” She shouts in his face.

Pigsy goes from pink to red. “Look, lady, you finished your meal. I ain’t giving you back the money for shit you ate.” He spits, and she leans back, aghast.

“The nerve!” She leans back, aghast. “I don’t know what I expected from a pig—”

She freezes as a pair of chopsticks sticks its way between the two angry faces.

“Excuse me,” Tang starts.

His glasses flash, and he doesn’t bother standing. His arm divides the space, as he leans back in his chair with a bowl in his free hand. He pushes her back, ignores the look of confusion on Pigsy’s face. “I suggest you get over yourself. This behavior certainly isn’t doing anything for your looks.”

The woman leans back, crosses her arms.

“And you are?” She hisses.

“I’m his partner,” Tang says, and surprises himself with how easily the title falls out of his mouth. “And you don’t get to talk to him that way. If anyone is acting in poor taste, it’s you.”

Pigsy’s face is slack, his eyes are wide, and the red of anger on his face has given way to the dusty rose Tang has come to expect as Pigsy’s blush.

The woman opens her mouth, finger raised. Tang raises his eyebrow in waiting. But then she huffs, turns on her heel, and leaves.

Tang doesn’t give her a second thought, turning back to his own bowl of noodles—which have tasted the same in the two years he’s been eating here, so she’s full of it, clearly—before glancing over at Pigsy, who is staring at him with eyes full of something.

He has never seen Pigsy’s eyes shine like that before.

His face warms, and he buries it in his scarf and bowl. Pigsy smiles, and turns back to work.

That night, they’re sitting on the couch after eating another concoction that could barely be called food— “You’re getting better at this.” “You don’t have to lie to me.” “Bold of you to assume I would spare your feelings when it comes to your cooking skills.”—and Pigsy’s hand slides away from his lap and rests on top of Tang’s. Casual.

“My partner, huh?” Pigsy says over the buzz of the television.

Tang flushes. “It seemed an appropriate word to use.”

“Sure.”

Pigsy’s voice holds a laugh, and Tang could leave it here, he could. It would be far too easy to settle, to let it fall complacent.

But Tang has let the ocean lap at his heels, and now all he wants to do is dive.

“Hey,” he turns Pigsy’s face towards his, and—

Pigsy’s lips are warm.

Pigsy’s eyes are blown wide, and Tang closes his quickly, worried about the response, worried about Pigsy’s reaction.

Dimly, in the back of his head, he thinks ‘It’s the best he’s ever tasted’ and he has to squash the laugh that bubbles up his throat, because it isn’t appropriate right now. Pigsy's snout practically crushes his nose, and the sharp hairs on his face prickle Tang's skin.

He breaks away. Pigsy’s smile is blinding, a rare event. His face is flushed, both of them are flushed and Tang fidgets with his glasses. There’s a beat of silence, as they stare at each other, before they both turn back to the TV to avoid the ever so awkward eye contact.

They watch whatever’s on, for a minute of crushing silence.

“Alright,” Pigsy finally sighs, long sufferingly fond, and he leans against Tang as if tang were his rock. The ocean crashes against the sea, and the rock stays steady. “Guess I’m stuck with you.”

Tang inclines his head so it’s resting on top of Pigsy’s. The rock erodes, and becomes something new. Moves with the ocean, given enough time.

“Where else would I get free food?”

Pigsy laughs.

#lego monkie kid #freenoodleshipping #Tang #Pigsy #kitkat1003 #monkie kid tang #monkie kid pigsy

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tristanlovesthequeen · 3 years ago

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The Paddock

Tristan Chase Sparrowe

11/25/2016

The Bull

One day in the fall of autumn, when the moon is high and bright, orange in hue and full in complexion, when the clouds hang oppressively low in the sky I wandered through the meadow to the buffalo paddock, newly installed by decree of the mayor of San Francisco about two months ago.

The headlines in the newspaper were all the same, dismal in hue, recording the afterthoughts of the Mayor. “'The park commissioners expect soon to procure a buffalo cow who will lighten the hours of his confinement,' Harrison says”. Tomorrow the buffalo, Anastasius will be married to his bride-to-be, a new import from a ranch in Wyoming, where my uncle lives with his wife, and a dog, where they have retired and where my uncle hunts and participates in environmental conservation.

It's brisk, with many clouds of smoke blowing from the corners of my mouth into the Fall air. The grass has just been clear cut, and the smell invades my nostrils. The dew from the morning and previous evening cling to the individual hordes of grass scintillating in the dawn evening light. I have been up for a day and a night approximately and everything seems to vibrate around me.

I am here with a specific purpose. No one is around the buffalo paddock the night after Thanksgiving, the city itself is deserted, let alone the park and its many intertwining trails. I could walk for miles on these days in San Francisco, traversing the entire seven by seven without seeing a single person.

I reached into my backpack and extracted a long pair of bolt cutters I had purchased for a penny at Goodman Lumber two days ago.

A swift look to my left, and to my right, and into the stable at Anastasius as he sleeps. The strong bull grunts and twitches in his sleep as steam puffs from his nostrils. His side rises and falls as he breathes and his ears twitch a bit. It is a pity for such a sculptural beast to be imprisoned as he waits for a wedding he has no say in and a migration pattern that is now limited to across the paddock. Either way, an option might be a change of pace for him. A change of scenery, a chance to spread his wings before wearing his proverbial wedding ring around his hoof.

A link in the chain link fence snaps open and then another, and another as I make an archway about the size of an Ort cloud in the distance. Finally the metal links curl like a pad of melted butter to the wet grass. Anastasius sighs deeply and continues his dream. I ponder where he might be in his mind for a moment. The plains with his kin, avoiding native species of humans and the great white hunters of the fields where they used to graze. Possibly butting heads with an alpha male or turning on his heels to run. In space or in a hell like place, with demons floating above his massive cranium. An endless pasture where he sits in a cloud of cow fermones, butterflies braiding his mane.

I find myself walking a few paces ahead, erstwhile extracting the axe from a loop in the lining of my coat. I question my motives one last time before raising the axe above my head and, hearing the blade glint I let it fall into a mass of decomposing wood that surrounds the buffalo encasement. A crack resounds and a group of black birds flutter into the air squeaking as they fly. Anastasius stirs. I let the blade strike again, over and over until I break a hole in his cage. I kick the horizontal beams until they become diagonal and finally...

The bull's eye catches my attention. He has been watching me for some time. I breathe “You're free now lil' buddy,” and continue to circle around back towards the hole in the cyclone fence. Anastasius whines a bit. And grunts again.

I consider my motives and consider this new found freedom that I now share with the bull. It never felt like optimism to free the bull, just felt like a circumstance, a necessity, of the era that I live in. The symbolism of this pack animal now caged by himself, a migratory creature that is now forced to stay in one place. A metaphor for the elimination of the Native Americans who relied so heavily on the existence of the herd. And the grasses that cultivated with the motion of the species, and now wanes due to it's disappearance. What a pity. I wonder why he does not leap anymore, if he is lacking some sort of bacterial family in his gut or if his brain is lacking a certain chemical, why he has accepted his fate as a caged being, why he does not call out or try to create an alliance with a human to help facilitate his escape.

A mild panic surges through my veins and works its way into my knees making me weak for a spell. I tuck all my tools and hike back towards the main road. I decide to wait for a moment by a streetlamp and spark up a cigarette.

I think about the stars for a moment and try to locate Orion's belt. Somehow when compared to the power of the cosmos, my own worldly problems seem immaculately minuscule. And then came a dull rustle from the bushes lining the Fulton street border of the park. Anastasius slowly emerges from the darkness, then pauses, kicking his hind legs out to stretch. One, and then the other. A glow from my cigarette and the plume of smoke from my lungs catches his attention and he freezes.

Now that nothing is separating myself from such a large powerful animal I feel the weakness in my knees again and somehow the cigarette's effects seem more intense. I lower my head a bit to acknowledge his presence and say “fair thee well monsieur.” He lowers his head back at me and then he trots off in the direction of Ocean Beach.

His silhouette pirouettes and fades into the darkness of the night. When I arrive home I undress and lay in bed, and count to slow down my brain. Again I imagine the distance of the night sky, the size and millions of stars in the sky, compare them to the personalities here on earth and the endless multitudes of people. Once again I feel terribly small. Eventually I drift off and I, too am one with the cosmos.

The next day is the opening ceremony of the arrival of the new bison to the paddocks. Anastasius is to have a wife.

I make my way towards the modest crowd of people who have showed up to see the young bull procure a new wife. News teams are there and flashbulbs take snapshots of the Mayor arriving and emerging from his Lincoln town car led by police escort.

No one seems to suspect that Anastasius is not present, then again no one seems to care. The mayor stands up on a soapbox and gives a short speech, then motions like a circus conductor with his left hand to the truck containing the cow. Two men stationed on either side of the truck wearing overalls boots and golfers caps let down a metal ramp and a gate to the flatbed.

The cow, Anastasia, seems to be alarmed by the noise of the cheers of the crowd and the visage of a small excited yapping dog. She immediately starts to gallop into the paddock making a swift round and then charging out of the hole in the fence that I had cut the night before.

The music from the bandstand stops and the crowd gasps. The mayor throws his pork-pie hat to the ground and starts to shout at his assistants. A moment passes and sirens from firetrucks and police vehicles start to whine.

A large gap toothed grin stretches across my face. I laugh for a moment and then my forehead crinkles and I start to grimace. I don't pretend to understand what is going to happen to the bison nor do I feel guilt about setting them free. Seeing this crowd in a frenzy sets me off in an opposite trajectory from the crowd and the escaped cow.

That night at home with a hot toddie sitting by my wood burning stove with the neighborhood cat, Noodles, listening to the radio, the broadcast starts to announce, “In other news, police officials say they located the escaped buffalo which were to be married today on Ocean Beach and Ortega. The bull, Anastasius, and the cow, Anastasia were standing near the sea foam giving each other Eskimo kisses when authorities arrived. The mayor arrived shortly thereafter to find the police troop crying tears of joy. The band played “Auld lang syne” and the mayor hugged his wife. The mayor's assistants opened bottles of champagne and as the corks flew into the air the buffalo walked side by side down the coast.”

Noodles meowed and rolled around on his back.

Bibliography

1) http://www.sfgate.com/bayarea/article/Oldest-bison- at-Golden- Gate-Park- dies-at- 22-

5870761.php

2) http://www.sfgate.com/bayarea/article/Golden-Gate- Park-baby- bison-found- dead-

2443708.php

3) https://localwiki.org/sf/Golden_Gate_Park_Buffalo_Paddock

4) http://www.foundsf.org/index.php?title=Buffalo

http://poormagazine.org/node/5456

http://sheriffmichaelhennessey.com/Sheriffs_Stories/Getting_Buffaloed.html

“12 Short Stories of the Bison in Golden Gate Park.” JSTOR web article.

The Bison or Buffalo in the United States. The Indiana Quarterly Magazine of History, Vol 6. No.3 (September, 1910) pp. 114-117. Trustees of Indiana University. Http://www.jstor.org/stable/27785281. JSTOR web article.

Poaching Pictures Yellowstone. Buffalo and the Art of Wildlife Conservation. Alan C. Braddock. American Art, Vol 23, No.3 (Fall 2009), pp.36-59. The University of Chicago Press on behalf of the Smithsonian Institution.Http://www.jstor.org/stable/10.1086/649775. JSTOR web article.

#Tristan Chase Arcelona

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penwieldingdreamer · 5 years ago

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The Devil’s Daughter

Finally a new chapter for all of you. Thank you so much for the wonderfull feed back and I hope you will like this chapter, too. It will give you a bit of background story of the MC. Let me know what you think and if you want to be tagged. As always, have fun and happy reading.

1 2 3 4 5

Warnings: this is a knid of rendition of the love story between Hades and Persephone, so I’ll leave the warnings at that, no rape or Stockholm Syndrome

Words: 1.4k

Part 6

"Mother, please, tell me a story." your younger self begged, bouncing up and down on the mattress of your bed, Cerberus laying at the foot, each of his three heads bedded on his paws. He was such a good dog, but your father got angry when he saw him running around and playing fetch with you, while he was supposed to be the hound of hell, keeper of the gates.

Your mother smiled, the flowers in her dark hair a stark contrast to the usual surroundings you lived in. She held out her arms, sitting at the head of your bed, watching you jumping around. "Well then, angel, come down and listen." her melodious voice spoke softly to you as you sat down with her. Cerberus crawled over to your lap, laying his three heads down to get his ears scratched. "Now my sweet, what tale do you want to hear?"

Your forefinger tapped your chin, thinking about the possible tale you wanted to hear. "Uhm, a story…about…love." you said grinning at your mother.

"Oh alright." She returned it with a smile, putting her arm around your shoulders. "Let's see. There once was a man, a god, he ruled over a large kingdom, his people were above and underground. He liked it, being worshiped by them and being one of the three brothers to have the 2nd largest world to call his own. He was a just ruler, but he was lonely, all alone, why he grew cold as he carried out his duties.”

Your mother brushed back the strands of hair that fell into your face, a sombre look taking over her eyes. “The other gods and his subjects feared him, not daring to utter a word or speak his name. One day he sat on his throne, glancing up at the world above and saw a young woman playing in the woods. The god was struck by her beauty and her tenderness when she played with the other beings of the forest, that he went back to watch her every so often, his dark cold heart melting each time.”

“What did he do then?” you asked, curiosity coloring your words as the hell hound nipped at your fingers.

A tinkling laugh left your mother’s lips before she laid a kiss on your hair. “Oh, he fell in love. He asked the father of all gods for her hand in marriage, even though he knew her mother wouldn’t approve, so when he saw her again playing in a field, he opened up the ground and pulled her into his carriage. Before she could scream, they already disappeared underneath the earth.”

A gasp came from your mouth and your eyes widened as you listened to the tale your mother told you. She had always been such a great story teller and you could feel the excitement rising in your veins.

“Her mother searched for her, but the beauty was gone and she knew that there could only be one who would have taken her, having been told by a farmer in the field the girl played in. The goddess of harvest grew so angry that nothing would ever grow in the ground until her daughter was returned to her. In the underworld, the daughter was distraught, because she missed her mother and the light of the ground above. The god bestowed her with gifts and was always kind to her, but he was sad, too.”

“But why, he had what he wanted?” you asked and Cerberus gave a chorused whine as if to deepen the question.

Your mother pulled her hair back, the flowers of her dress glimmering in the candle light of your room. “Well, angel mine, the god wanted her to love him, but it was hard for her. So he did everything for her, he made her his equal, let her rule the realm with him together instead of the god sitting alone on his throne, he put hers right next to it. When the beauty suggested to make another realm for the best mortals he did so. He didn’t treat her as his property, but as an equal, as an adult who could become his friend eventually. The more time passed, the more she fell in love with him.” You laid your head on one of the three headed dog’s, smiling as finally the romance came into the story. “Then one morning, the beauty strolled through the gardens of the Underworld, watching as the farmers worked there, when one of them offered a pomegranate to her. She knew she should never eat something offered to her, but being so hungry she devoured six seeds of the juice fruit, when suddenly the messengers of the gods came to her. Because he told her about her angry mother causing the mortals in the above world to die of hunger, she followed him as the only thing to stop the goddess would be her safe return.”

In the corner of your eyes you could see a shadow move inside the door. With a quick look to the entrance you saw your father standing there, a slow smile on his lips. “What is it this time, my love?”

“The same as every night, darling.” your mother answered, returning his smile and held her hand out for him to join you. He moved over and sat next to you, stroking his long fingers along Cerberus coat. “Now, may we continue? It is getting late?”

Nodding his head, he kissed her hand and listened to the words coming from her lips. “Where was I?” she asked, tipping her fingers against her lips, before she grinned down at you. “Oh yes. The beauty returned to the court of the Father of the gods and tried to convince her mother that everything was fine, but she wouldn’t hear it, wanting her to come home for good or shed let every man die of famine. Suddenly the throne room darkened, the god of the Earth and Underworld appearing before the other gods, still shrouded in darkness and the partially eaten fruit in hand.”

“She has eaten the fruit of the Underworld and must return with me to my kingdom, the god said.” It was now the turn of your father to take part in the story. Even though he sometimes seemed to be cold, he loved you very much. “The Gods’ Father watched the pair, asking the ruler of the lowest kingdom how many seeds she had eaten.”

“Six!” you cried, giggling as Cerberus yapped along with you.

Your mother brushed your hair behind your ear. “That is right my angel, she ate six seeds and so the King of Gods decided that she would stay six months with her mother tending to the mortal’s fields and six months with the god in the Underworld, ruling by his side as his wife. Neither were happy with the arrangement but they had to abide the decision of the father of all gods. Each year she would return to the fields and restore them with the goddess of the harvest and after six months her husband would carry her down to the Underworld, leading her to her throne next to his, knowing her mother would mourn her and all vegetation would die. But her daughter loved him and there was nothing she could do to change it, but wait for the six months to be over and the earth to warm again when she returned.”

“Now my sweet, time for you to sleep.” your father said, giving you a stern look, but you knew he could never be angry with you.

Smiling you kissed his cheek, feeling the stubble under your lips, before you went over to your mother, kissing her soft skin. She stood up from your bed and stroked over your head, laying a soft kiss onto your temple. “Sleep tight, my darling angel.” she whispered, putting the blanket over your shoulder as Cerberus laid back down to the foot of the bed.

“Good night.” you mumbled, closing your eyes to the sight of your parents leaving the room.

***

“Y/N.”

“Y/N.” Someone called your name, but it was so far away. It sounded like your mother first, but then it was your father whispering it softly.

“Y/N!” Snapping out of your daydream, you turned to the man sitting across from you, his dark eyes full of concern. “Where have you been?”

You sighed, swallowing the lump in your throat. “The past.”

Taglist

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roraruu · 5 years ago

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wip: friends

twilight au with no context

Python’s always glad when he isn’t assigned to nightwatch. Usually, he sneaks off to the local tavern for a few drinks. Tonight is no different, save for the fact that Forsyth and Lukas are with him. The booth feels too squishy and tight with the two of them on either side, making sure he’s firmly locked in. They don’t want the young wenches coming back around their encampment to scream at Python or to drag his drunken ass back home.

The waitress comes back with another round, spreading ale in front of them. Before he can reach out and sneak a glass between his hands, Lukas deftly pushes it away from him. The knight in red is obviously keeping count and already knows that Python’s a lightweight.

While Lukas and Forsyth discuss the problem of witches and the vampires, Python stares at the foam at the bottom of his ale glass, longing for another taste. He’s already bored out of his mind: if he was alone, he’d more than likely already be with a girl and be drunk, a whole level above sitting between two knights yammering on about how sad and poor that these women have become witches.

Python’s on the opposite side of the court. They wanted power, they got it for a price and that is all she wrote. He stares into his empty glass, thirsting for another drink. He eyes Forsyth’s full mug, and wonders if he will notice if he just sneaks a sip…

“Good evening gentlemen.”

The conversation stops as Silque steps towards their booth. She’s in her white cleric’s robe, but there’s a cowl over her neck and shoulders and gloves on her hands. Overdressed. Could a sister enter a tavern or was there a holy law against that? Pythons sneaks a glimpse at Forsyth who looks as though his eyes are about to bug out of his head. ”Hello,” he stumbles over. Python snickers, and raises a few fingers in greeting. This will be fun.

“Lady Silque, I didn’t realize that you were coming out tonight. We could have escorted you.” Lukas says.

“I had some house calls to make tonight. And I needed supplies for the church.” She says over the din of a whining fiddle and stomps of feet.

“Care to join us?” Forsyth asks, fully returned to earth at last.

“I think I will pass.” She says, eyeing the glasses of ale. “It seems as though you all are celebrating.”

“Just to another sunset.” Python adds in brusquely. Forsyth jabs him between the ribs.

Silque turns her dark gaze towards him. Her lips curve into a warm smile. “That is truly something to celebrate. Life is precious.”

Forsyth forces a laugh and eager agreement and out comes a cacophony of pleads for her to join them, that Forsyth will buy her a round or something to eat. She smiles politely.

“I have already eaten, and I’m afraid I don’t drink. But I thank you all the same, Sir Forsyth.” She says. “Although I do need to purchase a bottle of wine from the tavern keep.”

“If you don’t drink, then why are you buyin’ wine?” Python finds himself asking. Lukas gives him a warning look, but echoes his question.

“Yes, I find that interesting too.” He says. “May I ask why?”

Silque nods and thinly smiles, plying their curiosity. “It will be an offering to Mila. I plan to make a pilgrimage to her nearest house.” She says.

“Do you have an escort?” Forsyth. Ever ready to play the noble knight.

“Yes, that would be wise, what with all the bandit incursions and unrest.” Lukas. Prepared for every minor mistake.

The cleric’s brow crinkles slightly. “No, I had planned to go by myself.” She says. “I had never had a problem before.”

“There are witches here now, and who knows what other undead creatures.” Lukas speaks again. “Allow one of us to accompany you, it would give us peace.”

“If you insist.”

The archer rolls his eyes lamely. He can already see Forsyth jumping out of his skin to play the hero again. No doubt, Python would love the few days of silence and quiet, but the thought of having to hear Forsyth drone on about how “unbelievable” and “shrouded in melancholic beauty” the shrine was. It’s a hole in the ground that’s covered in moss, nothing more, nothing less—

“Python. What do you say to an excursion?” Lukas says.

His head snaps up. “Me?” He asks sharply. “Why should I go?”

“Your resistance to magic is greater than mine or Forsyth’s. Besides, I’m sure Lady Silque would be a wonderful influence on you.” Lukas says. His gaze falls on Python with sharp severity, as if he’s staring into his soul. He knows that look, telling him “pack your bags or go back to the training encampment”

“That is, if you can find the time to leave your camp.” Silque adds. “You have a different duty than my own. And if you wish to join me.”

He feels Lukas and Forsyth’s eyes on him and he sits back against the wooden boards. “Fine.” He says. “Leave tomorrow?”

He can already hear the double lecture coming from Lukas and Forsyth. Gods, his head will be aching until sunset. Then again, something about her is… different, almost attractive. Not in the typical way of dark eyes and a sultry smile. It is almost magnetic, predatory, like the gentle smile and holy aura is a mask, or something akin to the seemingly-gentle looks of a snowy fox.

He wonders if there is anything hiding behind that smile. Her lips turn back up slightly, the smile not reaching her eyes so that it looks forced. It goes over Forsyth’s head for certain, perhaps even Lukas’s scrupulous gaze, but it doesn’t go past Python’s. He’s got the trained eyes of a hunter and a loveless man; he knows a fake smile when he sees one.

“Yes. That is amenable to me.” Silque says. “I’ll come to the encampment and we can leave then. The shrine is southbound from here.”

“Fine.”

Silque bids them farewell, heading to the bar to order a bottle of wine. Forsyth already begins his soon-to-be hours long lecture on how to treat Lady Silque while he is away with her. But Python ignores the drone of his voice and watches as she graciously takes the bottle of wine from the tavern keep into her gloved hands. She draws the scarf up and around her head, hiding her face.

---

Python lays in his tent for a while, listening to the quiet patter of rain against the canvas. It doesn’t come in, thank Mila, but it wakes him sooner than he’d like to be.

He knows Silque isn’t… like them. She’s far from it, from the way she carries herself. In his mind, he tries to recall the hazy memories of childhood fairy tales. None stick, blending together to bastardizations of witch princesses and undead knights and necrodragons.

He rolls over, tugging the scratchy wool blanket to his neck. She’s not a witch, she praises the Mother with every other word out of her mouth. Is there some inverse to a witch perhaps? If there is, he doesn’t know of it.

But she’s not dead either. She’s not like a Terror, but she’s not… Human. She plays a good game of acting like it, but there is something about her that is so… inhuman, otherworldly.

Too many thoughts, and too early in the morning for them.

He sits up and rubs at his eyes. He can already feel a headache coming on and it’s barely sunup. He grumbles, throws back water from the skin by his bedroll and reaches for a pack. He throws the blanket and whatever provisions he’s got hidden in here—just some hard bread and old cheese. In the corner, he finds a half finished flask and hides in the waistband of his trousers. He’ll sorely need it if he wants to make this trip. He assumes she’ll be praising Mila all the way down the valley.

Python stretches out, rolling his neck and throwing the bag over his shoulder. He pokes his head out of the tent and already sees Forsyth sitting up by the dying fire pit. He grumbles as the knight gets up from his seat. He’s barely out of the tent when Forsyth is on his way over. He stretches out again as Forsyth opens his yap.

“You’re not to make a fool of the army or our platoon!” Forsyth coarsely reminds him.

“How am I supposed to enjoy myself then? This is like a mini vacation for me.” Python says as he walks towards the water well. He pulls up a bucket, dunks his head into the brisk water and pulls it out quickly. He can hear Forsyth continue to nag under the water.

“It is far from a vacation Python!” Forsyth squawks as he shakes away the rest of the water. The knight grimaces as cold droplets hit his face. “There are witches out there and they could kill you in a split second!”

“Gee, way to instil confidence in me—“

“This isn’t just you crawling back from the tavern, Python. If something happens to Lady Silque, you are responsible for it.” He says, his voice dropping to a beg. “The Mother would be furious if one of her daughters died to a witch!”

“It won’t happen,” Python says, patting Forsyth’s shoulder. The knight reaches out, taking Python’s shoulder. “Besides, she’s probably got some holy spell about her protecting her from sin and all that shit.”

“It’s obviously not working if she’s supposed to be protected from sin…”

“Hey, I just like to have fun.” He says, pulling his hand away. He turns straight into Lukas, with Silque behind him. The cowl is around her neck, hiding her face. Must be religious wear.

“Good morning.” He greets to the both of them. “Python, Lady Silque is ready to depart.”

“You sure you wanna go in the cold and rain?” He asks.

“Yes.” She says firmly. “There is a cleric covering my patients but only for a short time. I must be as quick as possible.”

“Fine. I’ll be ready in a sec.” he says, glancing back to Forsyth. He leans down, watching the wide-eyed knight and picks up his bag. Again, he feels that magnetic attraction come back, surely something of her own concoction.

He hauls the bag onto his back, fingers finding his bow and quiver. He nods to Silque. “Lead the way Lady.” He says, smirking when he hears Forsyth grimace.

Silque forces another smile and thanks Lukas warmly. She turns on her heel and begins to depart from the camp, their boots slopping in the mud.

“Thank you for accompanying me.” She says, glancing over her shoulder. Python slinks behind her.

“No problem.” He says, more focused on the scarf around her face. It is made of thick material, almost like wool. It is dark blue, and embroidered with silver, the thread swirling and curving to make a design that his eyes can’t quite register. The edge of the scarf falls over her shoulder, the edge swaying against her back. One of her hands, still gloved, rests on the flap of a leather bag. It sloshes quietly, the wine inside.

He’s not a fan of religion or the Mother. Knows little of her tenets or holy texts or rules. He thinks this must be some form of modesty or religious wear as silence falls between them like snowflakes. The cleric clears her throat slightly, as if to get his attention before speaking again. “Sir Python, being blunt—“

“I’m not a sir.” He says. “Just Python.”

Silque pauses, continuing to walk ahead. She doesn’t turn her head this time. “Python, we should not be friends.”

His brow raises.

“I heard what you said, about being a sinner.” She says. “While I thank you for taking care of the witches near my church, I do not want to associate with anyone—“

He feels it again. The aura of inhumanity. She speaks like someone from ages past. Hell, she acts like his great grandmother, what little he can remember of the old bag.

“I got you.” He says.

“Do you really?” Silque asks, turning around. The rain hits her face, sparkling against her skin. She looks almost like a Mila Idol, as if carved from marble and blessed. She looks… holy.

“Yes.” He says. “I have little intentions of being friends with you.”

Lie. He’s curious about what she is. Who she is.

“I am glad we understand each other.” She says, turning back around. The walk is silent and his boots squash against the mud.

---

The shrine is not far down into the valleys of Zofia. By the afternoon, the rain gets a little thicker, making it muddy along the trails. They slip, boots catching. Their clothes are soaked, bags too.

All of this for some stupid offering. He’s glad she doesn’t want to be friends.

He’s waiting at the top of the hill while Silque searches for the entrance. He pauses, focusing on the edge of her scarf. The sun is going down and she loosens the cowl a little. His brow furrows when she comes back up to the top of the hill.

“I’ve found the entrance, come on.” She says.

“What about your scarf. It’s coming undone.”

Her brow furrows as she touches the end. Realization floods her eyes as she pulls it back over her hair. “There.” She says. “Come on.”

He follows her down the hill, watching as she wrenches open the large stone doors. His brow furrows as she lets go of the knocker and steps inside the shrine, letting a worried breath escape her lips. He watches as she breathes a sigh and descends the dark staircase down. It looks like a crypt almost, a mausoleum to the departed souls that once lived close by. It’s freezing gold. Silque lowers her cowl and removes her gloves. Her baby blue hair is damp, turning a darker blue, almost indigo.

He can hear hooting and hollering down below. Inhuman, gurgling sounds like a guts processing food. He looks at Silque who simply hurries forwards, the sounds of her shoes echoing through the hallways.

A Terror moves out from a crypt. For a moment, it simply stares at Silque, who pays them no mind. And even stranger, they pay her no mind too. They look past her, like she is one of them. But when the Terror’s eyes focus on him, a guttural hiss bubbles up and echoes through the shrine.

He pulls his bow, quickly nocking an arrow along the indents of his weapon. With less than a breath, he shoots the Terror in the head, knocking it backwards against the old floor.

“Gods, what are you?” He snaps at her. Silque’s brow furrows now, more emotion than he’s seen her show in front of Lukas and Forsyth. “That thing didn’t even look at you!”

“I am a cleric of Mila.” She says slowly, almost repeating it to herself. “I’m under the holy protection of the goddess.”

“I find that hard to believe.” He says lowly.

“I do not care what plies you or not.” She snaps back, hurrying back down the staircase, into the glow of the shrine room.

Python cusses, makes sure the Terror is dead and pulls the arrow out of it’s decaying head. He follows after Silque, watching as she pulls off her leather bag and prepares to make her blessing.

---

Python didn’t realize he had fallen asleep. He opens his eyes to the sight of a Mila Idol. His eyes lazily flicker around the room until he hears the doors go again. He reaches for his bow, snapping up.

Silque slips in, a smear of blood above her lip.

“Oh, Python.” She greets. “Apologies, I did not mean to wake you.”

“You’re bleeding.” He says.

“Oh?” Her brow furrows again, fingers grazing her upper lip. She stops and wipes it away with the back of her hand.

“What happened, where did you go?” He asks.

“I just stepped out for some air.”

“And what? Did you hit your face or somethin’?”

“Yes, I just…” her voice falters as she steps further into the Idol Room. “I needed time to think and I wanted to apologize.”

“Why?”

“I said that we shouldn’t be friends, not that I didn’t want to.” She says. “I find you… difficult to be around.”

“Not the first person to.”

“But you are doing work for church. Therefore I am indebted to you.” Silque says, the tips of her fingers raw. “I propose that we try to at least get along.”

He finds himself nodding. “Fine.”

“I am glad we understand each other.” She says, bowing her head slightly. Her hair sways again as she stands to full height. So strange, her emotions are like whiplash. He could play it off as a woman’s heart being fickle but it’s nothing so simple. There is something off about Silque, and he needs to know what makes her… different.

#ru writes #wips #forbidden ship #silque #python #twilight au #yeahahah babey!!!!!

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cannotgiveafuck · 5 years ago

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Of Perfect Afternoons and Purposeful Encounters

(Aka, I've been in Good Omens and Constantine bliss for several weeks and this is what my brain made. I may upload it to ao3 later, but here, have a fic. I hope the read more worked, if not I'm sorry.)

They are arguing about ducks.

The spring weather is perfect. Blue sky just clear enough, the sun shining bright and warm, and fluffy clouds rolling by like a true Pareidolia effect. It is a picturesque afternoon only heard of in fairy tales and children's books, and John Constantine trusts it as much as he does the blokes he's watching.

Which is to say, not at all.

Dropped off from the Waverider, he returned to present day London not a week ago when he was accosted by his once feathery shadow. John would have paid a pack of smokes to see Manny as ruffled as he was, if it did not come with the news there that had been an Apocalypse while he was away.

"Almost an apocalypse," Manny had corrected, though he was being rather tight lipped about everything else concerning the near destruction of planet Earth.

It irritated John more than usual, partly because he lived on said planet, but mostly because he worked very hard - read: scammed, murdered, sent to Hell, tricked, etc - to keep Earth from being destroyed, let alone overtaken by a bunch of feather minded twats.

"I couldn't disobey orders, Constantine," and of course that was his excuse, all pompous righteousness and conviction. "We could not let Hell win."

But what about Earth?

John was fairly sure his bland look said as much and kept it steady as he lit his cigarette and blew smoke into the berk's face. "So, what made it almost an apocalypse instead of a real Apocalypse?"

And really, he did not think Manny could be even more ruffled, but boy, was he in for a treat.

An angel. A demon. And an Antichrist.

It sounded like a set up for some terrible joke a youth minister would tell his teenager audience as he tried to seem likeable to the younger generation.

Oddly enough, John found himself greatly amused by it. Or maybe by the fact that Manny was so unamused by it. Either way...

After a titch more prodding and being generally annoying, John was able to get enough information to find the culprits who helped avert the almost apocalypse. He thought it would be difficult, that they would have been in hiding or off world and into the stars.

But, nope. Here they are. All three of them enjoying the perfect afternoon out at St. James Park. The antichrist, literally just a child for Chri- Someone's sake, is running around playing fetch with his dog, whilst the angel and demon, looking incredibly human if not for their aura, are arguing on the proper diet of ducks.

"Because bread isn't what they eat naturally, my dear. They need the nutrients of oats and corn and the like."

"I don't think bread is naturally consumed by anyone, it's just consumed, angel. And where did you get all this from, all this duck knowledge?"

The angel - Aziraphale, Manny had called him - flusters under the scrutiny, but holds his head high when he says, without an inch of irony, "The interwebs!"

"Oh, for Some-!"

"You kept insisting I try the dreadful thing and now-!"

"And the first thing you did was look up what to feed ducks?"

John can think of several better uses of his time than listening to them bicker like an old married couple. As of right now, he is having a complicated time wrapping his head around the fact that these two are even here right now.

Not that they are an angel and demon that disobeyed orders. Not even that they did so because they vastly prefer each other's company. He can understand all that, see, ecause it happens all the time. John's even known a few of outliers much the same.

It's the fact that these two are alive and well and not utterly snuffed out.

John knows this star-crossed lovers bollocks doesn't last. That it doesn't end so much in Shakespearen tragedy as it just ends, painfully and no lesson learned besides the cold truth of Love Doesn't Win. There are no happily ever afters, no driving away into the sunset, not for Tali and Ellie, and not for these three currently on both Heaven and Hell's shitlist.

John regards them with cool distance as he places a cigarette between his lips and snaps his fingers to light it. He almost feels sorry for them, if sympathy didn't mean getting his own neck-

"Those are bad for you, you know."

"Jesus Christ!" For how much he has been watching them, John is surprised the kid snuck up on him. But then again...

"I reckon I'm the opposite of him, actually." The boy, and he does look just like that, a human child, stands next to him under the tree's shade. His small dog yaps at John as if he poses a smidgen of a threat to the Antichrist. Manny said his name is Adam.

"Yeah," John starts as he settles himself back down, taking a deep inhale and blowing it away from the boy. "Suppose you are."

"Like I said, those are bad for you. My dad tells me all the time never to pick one up, they tar your lungs and smell bad." A thoughtful expression passes through on his deceptively charming face as he finally quiets his dog. Then he continues, in that blunt, oversharing way children do. "But then he sneaks off sometimes when my Mum's parents are over. My name's Adam, by the way, Adam Young."

"I know. John Constantine, petty dabbler of magic," he says before he can stop himself from being honest. Something tells him he can trust the kid. John doesn't like that. Still, he talks, "Plenty of ways to die out in the world. I don't believe this will be what does me in."

"No, Mister Constantine, I reckon not. Still, they don't seem like they taste good." And there is a strange tilt to his head, his golden locks shifting as he stares curiously at the trailing smoke.

"I'm not letting you try it," John says. He doesn't know what he expected when engaging with the literal Antichrist, but it's become pretty clear to him that a brat is a brat, no matter their stock.

Adam pouts. "I didn't say-"

"Didn't have to."

The boy crosses his arms and glances towards the angel and demon couple, who have switched topics of conversation but are still very much bickering.

"Well, it's bad for everyone else around you," he says petulantly and the embers at the end of John's cigarette suddenly die out.

"I was enjoying that, you little-"

"And I'm supposed to be enjoying an afternoon with my Godparents. Not getting second hand smoke."

Bright blue eyes pin John in place. He feels himself stuck like stone, unable to move away from under the child's accusing stare. Immediately, his mind starts racing, trying to grab onto enough of a distraction that he can make his escape mostly unharmed.

He should've known stalking the Antichrist was a bloody stupid idea.

"Godparents?" John tries not to let on how terrifying this is. "Those two your Godparents?"

Adam blinks before glancing back at his supposed Godparents. John can breathe again. "Of course they are. I already have human parents, but never Godparents. It's like having some really wicked uncles. They bring me gifts from all over the world, and Mister Fell let's me read in his shop and Mister Crowley let's me ride front in his car, and they both help me out when things happen and I don't rightly know what to do." Adam says this seemingly all in one breath, but he isn't gasping by the end of it.

He stands there, with his perfectly curled hair and his scuffed shoes and his ripped jeans and looks as at ease as ever. The dog sits dutifully between him and John, and they paint a lovely innocent picture. Except John knows who, what, he is and the deeper meaning to his words hidden just beneath the surface. Adam is a child, yet can already dominate a conversation, persuade you to be honest, and can hold his audience's attention just as easily as he can slip away in a crowd.

John knows he is going to be a dead ringer when he's older. If he gets older.

"They stood with me that day, said they'd stay and they meant it." When John doesn't reply, Adam looks up at him and that intense awe that struck him before resurfaces again. Adam is as every bit supernaturally charged as the Antichrist has every right to be, no matter disowning his own Father, and he finally says "I won't let nobody hurt them. Not the other gangs, not their bosses, and not some nosy magician. Nobody."

John stares back at Adam and understands where they stand now. He understands why it took so long for him to get close, why Manny refused to join him, why Adam is talking to him now, why Aziraphale and Crowley get to have their happily ever after.

"Alright, alright," John says, hands up in surrender. "Message delivered loud and clear, boyo. I'm not here to cause trouble, I won't bother you lot none."

Adam stares at him some more, the creepy little bugger, before nodding his head in confirmation. Like either John is being truthful, or it doesn't matter if he isn't because Adam can make it true.

Strangely enough, or probably not, given his situation, John is telling the truth.

"That's fair. I gotta go now, they won't be distracted much longer, and Mister Fell will wants to take us to a fish place for lunch. He calls it shew-sea or something, but he swears by it and I like trying the new foods he shows me," Adam says in that casual long windedness of his. The youthful bounce in his step carries him away in seconds, but not without allowing him to wave back at John, like this was a friendly conversation, like John is some friendly neighbor. "Goodbye, Mister Constantine! Don't light your smoke again till you're outta the park, please!"

And just like that, the Antichrist - Adam - is gone, returning to his safe little world that he guards and protects.

John watches as the angel and demon break from each other to gather their ward, their Godson. He doesn't move from his spot until they've walked out of sight. And even then, he remains under the tree's cool shade from the perfect afternoon's sunlight.

Depite what he was told, or really, in spite of it, John places his cigarette back between his lips and snaps his fingers. It relights to his delight. And just in time for Manny to appear beside him.

"For Go- Someone's sake! Can you lot not sneak up on me?"

"Well?" Manny leads, having absolutely no remorse for his actions.

"Well, what?"

"What did you learn, Constantine?" Manny tries again, exasperated of the human's bullshit.

John stares at him sidelong as he takes a deep inhale. Mixed feelings turn in his stomach, feelings he doesn't want to sort through, but still bubble to the surface as he thinks of an answer. They burn bright in his mind.

He thinks about what Adam said, about Crowley and Aziraphale chattering to each other like love sick fools, about their odd little family. John thinks about almost apocalypes and how despite Manny saying he couldn't disobey, there were clearly some of his stock who did, who stood up for Earth against Heaven and Hell. John thinks about Cheryl and Gemma, about Chas and Zed, about the Legends. He remembers Tali and Ellie and their stolen child.

Finally, with an exhale of smoke to the angel's face, John says with distinct human stubbornness, "Fuck off, Manny."

#fanfic writing #john constantine #good omens #adam young #hellblazer #good omens fic

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fifi-uchiha · 6 years ago

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Born to Live (2/?)

„So, that’s your method? Threatening a woman to marry you?” He stood right before her, closing the last bit of her well built distance as he reached out to capture her chin between his cold fingers, forcing her to look him in the eye. „I always get what I want, Sakura…” To protect Timea, Haruno Sakura builds a strong army who manages to win every war that threatens her homeland. But when the powerful hokage Uchiha Sasuke becomes interested in Timea, Sakura’s life starts falling apart as she has to accept a forced mirage with the cold hokage.However, both shinobi find out that they share a shocking past they never could’ve begun to imagine… ::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::: “RAYO!”

Naruto was angry. More so, the blond jinchuuriki was furious while he rushed up to a brown haired ninja with purple eyes and tanned skin, his blue eyes full of fury. Without warning and uncharacteristically harsh, Naruto grabbed him by the collar and glared at him fiercely. “How often do we have to tell you not to teach the new recruits dark jutsu’s?! There’s a reason why they are forbidden, you forgot that?!” Rayo’s eyes narrowed in disapproval, not showing any kind of fear and seemed rather unimpressed by the blond ninja’s fury. “And just who do you think you are, Uzumaki?!”, he shouted at him. The new recruits looked more than uneasy about the sudden commotion, especially since Naruto, who was known for being a really friendly person, looked absolutely dangerous.

“You know the rules, Rayo. Dark jutsu’s are not to be taught to those who weren’t born with those abilities! That’s why they are called ‘forbidden’, dattebayo-” “Just how naive are you? We live in a world of war, that’s why we need black shinobis. You know that dark jutsus are the most effective ones and without them-”

“NO. For fuck’s sake, no!”, Naruto interrupted angrily. “I don’t give a shit how powerful these jutsus are, because unlike you, the others were not born with them!” Naruto was no fool. He was aware of the fact that black jutsus are more than powerful and undeniably helpful during every fight. However, teaching them was not an option because those who learn to practice them not only lose their hearts… -They lose their very souls. And no one would dare to allow that, that’s for sure.

“Besides, what gives you the right to think that you are obligated to boss anyone around?”, Rayo hissed smugly, the look in his eyes challenging. Really, Naruto hated that guy and cursed fate for making him so strong. Rayo -no matter how much of an asshole he was- was a real enrichment for every army, a real beast who no one could defeat in a fight. That was the reason why he loved rebelling so much for he knew that he was needed here. No one would just kick him out because it would be a loss for Timea. Unfortunately. “The leader gave that order, Rayo. So stop bitching and follow the goddamn rules!” “Tche. Well then, where is the all mighty leader? If he has his so called rules, he should stop hiding and get the fuck out of his shadows and speak up.” Naruto clenched his teach in fury, his eyes flashed in a deep, warning blue. “Okay, that’s it you motherfu-” “What the hell is going on here?!” Both ninjas turned to the side and saw Sakura, Tenten and Kiba approaching the scene, all three of them more than alarmed over the loud commotion. Sakura had already noticed how angry her blond best friend was and considering that Rayo was involved, she didn’t have to think too much about what had happened. “What do you think? That bastard wants to teach his psycho-jutsus again!” “Urgh, really Rayo? Again?”, Kiba just sighed and seemed to be really annoyed by him Sakura’s eyes narrowed and the alarmed kunoichi threw him a dark, disapproving look before she started talking to the brunet. “Dark jutsus are forbidden because of their negative effects on the human body and soul, Rayo. And I’m sure you know that.”, she reminded him and didn’t realize how provoked Rayo was by her strong, warning voice. “And who do you think you are?”, he hissed harshly, annoying the pinkette. “That doesn’t matter.”, she just brushed off, fighting her boiling temper. “Stop being insistent and train the new recruits like everyone else does.” Her voice was filled with seriousness, however, out of nowhere, Rayo started laughing. He laughed spitefully and mockingly at the same time and this time it was the green eyed Haruno who felt provoked by her comrade. “Says who? You?”, he smirked sarcastically. “Don’t act so high and mighty, Pinky. Just who do you think you are?” Sakura swallowed her heavy anger, turning her small hands into shaking fists. “Why they let you be a part of the army will never cease to amuse me, really. A little woman who can’t use nin-jutsu. What a joke...” His harsh words kicked her in the gut and Sakura’s green eyes twitched before she couldn’t control her anger and acted without thinking. Before Kiba and Naruto had a chance to punch him in the face, Sakura grabbed his collar and glared at him with menacing, warning eyes that were burning from anger. “Now listen good, you fucking son of a bitch. I was a part of the army long before your small ass and I won’t take insults from such a little bitch-” She stopped in her tracks and suddenly was quite. After a few seconds, her fingers loosened and let go of the brown haired ninja who was quite shocked by her sudden, angry outburst. Sakura took a deep, really deep breath before she started talking again. “Follow the rules like every other ninja… or leave.”, she hissed calmly. “Stop thinking the whole army relies on you. You probably forgot, but I was here long before you even knew about this army, so you should stop poisoning my time with your bullshit. This was the last time, Rayo, because next time you will be kicked out and you’ll end up as a clown or as the bitch off some rich guy who has a thing for guys like you. It’s your decision and don’t think you will be missed.” To stop herself from punching him, Sakura turned around to leave this place with a proud, confident face. She needed to find a save place in the forest and take out her anger… “Take this, asshole”, Naruto grinned proudly whereas Kiba nodded approvingly. “Don’t mess with Sakura.”, he just added and was really satisfied about her speech. Tenten would’ve really loved giving that bastard a piece of her mind, however, she knew that her hotheaded best friend needed her right know. That’s why she too turned around and followed her, knowing that this incident would prolong Sakura’s process until she would finally be ready to reveal herself as the leader of Timea. Dammit..! . . Sakura was angry, absolutely enraged. Did he deserve to be punched? Yap. Would it have been the right thing to do? Definitely. Would she have felt sorry? No, not before hell freezes to an ice palace for children. However, there was one thing that basically no one knew. She was the leader. And that meant she had to learn how to tame her temper and start acting like a responsible leader, even if people like Rayo made er insane. That’s how a responsible leader should behave, even if the army was ignorant to that fact. “Sakura!” Hearing Tenten’s voice, the kunoichi smiled immediately and felt better when the brunette put her hand on her shoulder. “Hey. Don’t listen to that idiot. We both know he has no idea what he’s talking about.”, she begun seriously while Sakura just looked… exhausted. “I know...”, the 22 year old sighed sadly, looking up to watch the clear blue sky. “But… Comments like those is what I’m afraid of so much, Tenten. As much of a bastard he is, what he said was the truth. If they find out that I’m the leader, they will not only refuse to respect or even accept me, they will surely laugh at me and-” “Rayo is an idiot and you know it. Just because his intelligence is clearly not evolved doesn’t mean that the whole army is that retarded.”, her friend calmly interrupted. “Stay strong, okay? Don’t let that Rayo get to you, that’s exactly what he wants.” That, Sakura knew but it didn’t ease her discomfort and nervousness. “Thank you, Tenten. For everything.”, she then smiled, holding her hands. “You don’t know how much I appreciate everything you do for me. As long as Ino, Naruto, Kiba, Kakashi Sensei, Rin Sensei and you stay with me… there won’t be anything I couldn’t handle.” Tenten really was something special. The 23 year old kunoichi came from a rich clan and lived with her cousin Kiba and her parents in a gigantic house. Starting as a little girl, the brunette found interest in weapons and fighting and she was allowed to be trained until she became an excellent shinobi. She was drawn to weapons, nin-jutsu and tai-jutsu and lived a seemingly perfect life that allowed her to practice that passion of hers. Her parents were distant people, a little cold and disinterested. But that didn’t really bother Tenten for she had her cousin Kiba who was adopted by her parents when he was a baby.

They weren’t related by blood but it never mattered to her. She always loved Kiba, no matter what happened. But Tenten hadn’t been aware of how poor Timea’s condition was. She never knew how cruel reality looked like behind the giant walls that covered their home until that day. The day that changed her and Kiba’s life forever… . . . That day started totally normal and Tenten kept herself busy by cleaning her weapons after her match with her 17 year old cousin when suddenly, out of nowhere, a loud explosion shook the very earth under their home. “What the hell..?!” She immediately rushed to the window and hated how her home was shielded by those godforsaken walls but when she saw the dark, thick smoke, Tenten’s eyes widened. And then the screams of terror followed. Without even wasting one single thought, Tenten took her ninja tools and ran out of her room to the lobby where she was aiming for the door. Kiba was already there, leaning against the wall beside the door while his arms were crossed over his chest while his sword was practically waiting beside him He shared her feelings and knew that it was only a matter of time until they would go out and help those people. “What the hell is going on there?!”, the young kunoichi shouted upset, her voice loud and demanding whereas she earned dry looks from her parents and butlers. “The village is being attacked by three criminals, Tenten-sama.”, one of the maids answered. “WHAT?”, she shrieked angered and shocked at the same time and then opened the door. “And why is everyone sitting here instead of helping to fight them?! The villagers are no fighters-” “Because it is none of our business.” Tenten stood still by those words, looking at her black haired father without finding any sympathy in his dark brown eyes. The 17 year old kunoichi was going to say something inexcusable but was interrupted by horrified screams. “PLEASE! HELP US!” “THEY ARE SLAUGHTERING US, PLEASE!” “HEEEEEEEEEELP!” “WHY don’t you let them enter at least?!”, she hissed at her parents. Not fighting the deadly trio was one thing, but denying those civilians safety was a new dimension of evil. Why didn’t her parents at least try to save them? “The attack doesn’t concern us, honey.”, her mother just replied. “We can’t take the risk and let those people-” “People, mother.”, Tenten underlined. “People, humans are just about to lose their lifes! And while they are being slaughtered, you guys decide to just sit here and do nothing?!” Seeing her strong and burning eyes, Kiba just closed his eyes and smirked proudly. “Watch your tongue, young lady!”, her father warned loudly. “’Watch my tongue’..?” Tenten couldn’t believe her ears, her face was grimacing from all those disgusted feelings she now harbored for her so called parents. “My tongue couldn’t even begin to explain my resentment for you. You all disgust me.”, she barked disappointed and turned around to leave her home. “Kiba?” She looked at her cousin who had just quietly watched the scene before him. Kiba was an adopted son who might lost his real parents, but was able to find a new family. He was thankful for being a part of this family and even though he loved his adoptive parents, he shared Tenten’s opinion. She was his dearest friend and his sister. Nothing in this world would keep him away from her, no matter what. “Are you coming?” A grin touched his lips when she asked him that. “I was just waiting for you, dear cousin.” “If you dare leave this place, you don’t need to return.”, their father snarled. The brunette turned around to look at their parents, her eyes disappointed and bitter. However, she made her decision and knew she wouldn’t regret it. “Farewell, Mother and Father...” . . . Kiba and Tenten showed no fear when they fought the attackers who were indeed very powerful, but no match for the two ninjas. It was this moment that made them realize how rotten Timea was, how dangerous it became to live here as a normal civilian. How was that even possible? Why could it be that no politics, no rules and no leaders were part of this land? Tenten and Kiba had enough and decided to fight for their homeland, fearing that one day Timea will be doomed by it’s own incapability of being strong. It was Kiba who had met Naruto while he was buying something to eat. The fox ninja seemed to be really nice and started talking about Sakura’s and his plan and never realized how curious Kiba became who shared his idea of an ideal homeland. They formed their own group and started taking missions to protect Timea and stop smaller attacks. Kiba was a man who held contact to many people and after a few weeks, he heard of the copy ninja Hatake Kakashi and started looking for him. The jounin was known and feared for this strength and due to the fact that he stopped being a sensei to others, they hoped he would want to join them. Their plan had worked. The silver haired jounin was fascinated by the idea of an own army for he had been part of the first one leaded by Sakura’s parents many years ago. Exciting nostalgia took over him as Rin and him decided to try again and it was more than convenient that they both held contact with many shinobi from back then who would still want to fight. A knock-on effect took it’s course and within a few years, Timea’s army was formed almost too fast… . . .

“Sakura, Tenten, what are you two doing here?” A relaxed, masked ninja approached the two girls, holding his beloved book in his left hand. “Kakashi Sensei.”, they acknowledged, smiling about the ninja. “Didn’t you want to teach nin-jutsu to group C?” “Indeed, Sakura. I showed them the basics. Mastering them however is something they have to do their selves.” “Oh, come on. You just wanted to read those porn books of yours, Sensei.”, Tenten just said knowingly. Kakashi’s eyes turned into little half moons, the only clue that he smiled coyly under his mask about the brunettes little remark. “You call it porn, I call it exclusive literature for adults, my beloved student.”, he just said. “Something children like you two can’t understand, Tenten.” Both kunoichis shook their head and laughed about his laid back personality only people close to him were allowed to see. “However, I couldn’t help but taking notice your… conversation.”, the jounin mentioned, who put his book into his pocked to talk to them. “You know how I think about this, Sakura. Be proud of yourself and keep your promise not for us, but for yourself. It doesn’t have to happen tomorrow but you shouldn’t let Rayo influence your decision.” The jounin sounded assuring, as if he just… knew what she was feeling. “Rayo’s hostility sure is complicate to deal with but this his how life works. There will be people like him who will try to break you, but I wouldn’t generalize his behavior. There isn’t a single human being who is loved by everyone and trust me, I know what I’m talking about. The only important thing is how you deal with that.” Tenten was impressed by his wise words and nodded approvingly. “That’s right. Look at Kakashi Sensei, Sakura. His bored, relaxed ass doesn’t give a damn about what others think about him and he’s more than happy.”, she smiled and petted his head, praising him for this character trait. “Hm… I guess I should just take the compliment.” The jounin said everything he wanted and took the Icha Icha paradise from his bag, waved his hand and left the two kunoichis again, needing time to read this interesting novel. “Really, I love this guy.”, Tenten laughed whereas Sakura smiled softy at the leaving ninja. “Yeah.”, she agreed. “Me too...” . . . ……………………………………….………………………………………………….. In his big throne room, Uchiha Sasuke stood by the round window and looked at the image of Konoha-gakure which was known for being strong and wealthy with a hokage who would make sure it would stay this way. The hokage had raven black hair and onyx eyes that seemed blank and cold, giving no access to anyone who would try to look at his soul. Sasuke was a reckless, cold person who became the hokage four years ago. His parents died too early and the Uchiha, who was trained since he was a kid, took their place and promised to always protect Konoha at any cost. The 23 year old was a natural leader who didn’t only keep political stability, but also won every single war. Konoha never lost a fight. Never. He made sure of that. His army only consisted of the best of the best, only shinobi with excellent abilities were able to be a part of it. Him included. “Sasuke-sama.” The hokage blinked as he heard the voice of one of his best shinobi, Hyuuga Neji. Neji was an exceptional ninja, a genius who was dependable and an enrichment for his army and one of the few people Sasuke really respected. His hair was dark brown, a real contrast to his pale eyes which were a great weapon for the Hyuuga. Like Sasuke, Neji was more of a calm, collected person which probably was the reason why they got along in the first place. “The mission was a success.”, Neji informed him with a calm voice. “Good.”, Sasuke answered simply. “Tell me exactly what happened.” Neji nodded and folded his arms as he started talking about Timea-gakure. “Timea won another battle.”, he begun whereas Sasukes raised his eyebrows at him. “Timea you say?”, he asked. “Are you sure? Just a few yeas ago, this land was nothing but a pathetic mess and just about to be occupied completely. They didn’t even have an army, much less a leader, so how did they manage to beat Oto-gakure?” Of course, Sasuke had heard the rumors about Timea’s growing power, however, he just considered them as what they were. Simple rumors.

But when he heard about the upcoming battle between Oto-gakure and Timea, he couldn’t keep his ignorance and sent Neji and Shisui to gain information. And indeed, the rumors were true. Timea won. “As it seems, the leader of Timea isn’t just a powerful, capable ninja, he also built the army and trains the recruits. The villagers have hope, the entire land seems to be full of life again.” Sasuke nodded understandingly, sitting on this throne as he thought about this for a few seconds. “You don’t say.”, he replied dryly. “And what might be the name of that great leader?” It’s almost impossible to believe a man could be this strong… “Unfortunately, we weren’t able to find him.”, Neji admitted shamefully whereas Sasuke looked indignant. “It seems like not even the recruits know the true identity of him. His face is a secret to everyone and he only acts from the shadows and refuses to expose himself.” Hearing this information, Sasuke’s eyes narrowed in disapproval. He refused to show himself? Was he too proud? Or was he just being a coward? “What a modest man, really.”, he commented dryly. “Who would have thought that such a pathetic village like Timea would become so powerful?” Really interesting, Sasuke thought. Neji eyed the Uchiha, tried to read him and had an idea what the hokage was up to. “What do you want to do, Sasuke-sama?” The black haired ninja was thinking about something, his dark eyes calculating as Neji waited for bis answer. Suddenly, the corner of his moth twitched and Sasuke smirked darkly. “I think we should put an end to Timea’s great history.”, he finally spoke. “Their land is powerful enough to be occupied by us, don’t you think?” Sasuke sounded sarcastic and cold as he spoke, showing no sympathy at all. “It’s about time to expand Konoha and our army, Neji.” Sasuke’s smirk widened devilishly and Neji knew exactly what kind of plan Sasuke had in mind… . . . ………………………………………...………………………..……….. “Hey Rayo.” The brown haired ninja was leaning against a tree as two jounins came to him. “Zoe. Takuya.”, he greeted plainly, not giving them too much attention. “Dude, we need to help the new recruits. Come on, everyone’s waiting for you.” Takuya was a little annoyed by his indifference, but still didn’t want to start another fight. “Takuya’s right, Rayo. Come on, two days passed since your argument with Sakura and Naruto, get over it and stop pouting.” Rayo’s purple eyes narrowed when he heard the names of the people he hated most. “Speaking of, what exactly happened? Why do you always have to provoke fights? We know you’re not quite happy with this army, but we still share one dream. Just what’s wrong with you?”, Zoe asked worriedly without trying to anger him. “This army is a fucking joke.”, Rayo then spitted. “There’s absolutely no structure here. The oh so great leader doesn’t do shit and because he’s not around, some maggots think they have the right to boss me around.” His fists were shaking in fury when he remembered the look on their smug faces. “Our dream was to empower our home, wasn’t it? But nothing has changed at all. We’re still small and weak and the leader does nothing to help Timea getting bigger!” “Rayo, to make our village bigger, we’d have to attack others, do you realize that?”, Zoe reminded him, sounding a little alarmed. “She’s right, you know. We all wanted Timea to be strong again, to keep it alive and safe so we can live a peaceful life. We are safe and happy, isn’t that enough?” “No, it’s not!”, Rayo barked aggressively. “No one understands that we are still considered as weak. Timea is still weak inside and yes, we should be more offensive and attack the others to gain power! Every other village does that. Just look at Hermos and Konoha! You don’t see them acting like little bitches without any guts in the first place!”, he spat angrily whereas Takuya and Zoe sighed heavily. “And that fucking leader is the biggest joke! Why do we even have to follow orders from a man who doesn’t find it necessary to come out! Does he think he’s too good for us?!” That was the only logical reason to Rayo. “I see, you need more time to calm down...”, Zoe said a little overwhelmed. “We’ll see you later. You know where you can find us.” Rayo refused to look at them and didn’t say anything when they left, thinking about his annoying situation. All this fuss about this damn leader was angering him to no end. It just didn’t make any sense that he never showed his face and Rayo had the feeling that there must’ve been a reason for it. Something was… off. It was a secret that he would find out eventually. He was done being patient and would to anything to reveal that guy’s true identity… . . . ….……..……..…..…..……..….…....……..…..….…….……………….

“Hello Mama. Hey Papa.” On a lonely flower field before two round, self made grave stones, a young kunoichi greeted her parents. Her parents whom she had to bury herself in the age of 10. A calm, sad smile touched her lips after she had cleaned their graves and decorated the place with pink and white flowers, feeling somehow peaceful when she was finished. “I hope you didn’t miss me too much.”, she apologized quietly. “I was really busy because we needed to train for a battle. And guess what- We won!” And then she started talking about everything that happened in those last, stressful weeks even though she wasn’t sure if her parents were able to actually hear her. “My tai-jutsu is near perfect and it’s really helpful I created my own style. I’m… My team makes me really happy and I love how Timea turned out after so many horrible years. We build cottages and market places and I really feel like your dream finally came true.” The smile on her lips became even more honest. “Soon, you will be proud of Timea, Mama and Papa.” One single tear dropped to the ground, but Sakura took a deep breath and hold more them back. She missed her parents so horribly much and yearned for their hugs and love, it really hurt her. Her heart clenched and her lips shook while she thought about her fathers big, silly grin and her mothers calm and beautiful smile but still, she felt home like this. To her, her parents were the most beautiful persons in the world who always made her laugh and showered her with love, so much, that it still reached her even after their deaths. If only she had been as strong as she was now. If only her parents hadn’t been so exhausted… No. No, she couldn’t let herself be consumed by those what-if scenarios for they were neither helpful nor healthy. Her parents died by protecting their homeland and daughter and Sakura was proud of them, she was thankful for everything they did. She accepted it because otherwise, she would turn into a mad mess. “I love you so much...”, she whispered against the soft breeze that dried her tears like her mother had years ago. “And I promise you… I will protect Timea and honor your efforts, not matter what it takes.” Her voice was steady again, full of confidence and strength for she knew that tears would never help her. Timea and her team needed her. That’s all that counted for Sakura… . . “Sakura?” The leader of Timea immediately smiled and softly touched the grave stones before she turned around and crossed her arms with Naruto’s who was waiting for her. “We should go before sun sets, dattebayo…” “Yeah. You’re right.” With a calm, content smile the two best friends walked together without speaking a single word. That’s how they dealt with everything after they visited their parent’s graves. But no matter how sad and helpless they might felt, Sakura and Naruto had found each other and even more comrades who made them more than happy. They lost their parents but fate gifted them with a new family. And that was more than enough. . . . When they arrived at their resting place, Naruto and Sakura blinked a little confused. It was dark already but not only were they able to see the unreadable faces of 30 shinobi who stood behind Ino, Kiba, Tenten and Kakashi Sensei, the whole atmosphere seemed… dark. Much darker than the sky right now. They were quite. Too quite. No one spoke a single word but what Sakura realized was how… troubled they looked. Yeah, every single one of them looked troubled, unsure, almost… Devastated. As if something horrible happened. “Uh… guys, what happened..?”, Sakura carefully asked who already felt a heavy, disgusting push against her gut. Sakura’s heartbeat quickened, her breathing hitched and cold sweat covered her pale face even though she didn’t exactly know what had happened. “You all look like the world is gonna end, dattebayo...”, Naruto added nervously laughing, sharing a sorrowful look with the pinkette. It was Kakashi who took the first steps and approached the duo before he handed Sakura a scroll which had been opened before. And still, no one spoke a single word. A needle could’ve dropped and literally everyone would’ve been able to hear it… However, Sakura swallowed the thick lump in her dry throat and opened the heavy scroll and started reading immediately… She read and read and read, repeated hat act for at least fifty times before it hit her. No, it literally punched Sakura who felt an explosion banging inside her body after she realized the words she just took in. Her eyes widened in shock, absolute terror darkened her pale face and for a moment the leader thought she would collapse. Shock, disbelief, devastation, desperation, fear, anger- So many emotions raged inside her even though she tried to fight it. Because this couldn’t be true. No. It must be an illusion, a gen-jutsu, a sick, disgusting joke- No. No… NO! Everything, EVERYTHING but THIS! Her paralyzed eyes met Kakashi’s who didn’t look as relaxed as he usually did. This horrible massage shocked even the great copy ninja who had never felt so stressed before because this massage would change everything. Sakura’s shock stuck so deep that she could not form the right words. She just couldn’t, it felt like her body was frozen without having the ability to get free from that sudden shock. It was Yamanaka Ino who broke the heavy, sickening silence and found the only words to officially explain what horrible incident happened that would silence them all. . . . “Konoha-gakure declared war on Timea.” . . .

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::: Well helloooo! I’m sorry, this fanfic is not that spectacular right now but I promise, you won’t be disappointed :D It’s still so weird to start over, ya know. I mean, I already published 76 chapters and saw my characters developing and doing things without asking for my permission lol However, be prepared. I will only take six more chapters until Sasuke and Sakura meet. And guys, don’t forget. Sasuke and basically everyone is OOC in this fanfic but I have the feeling that you’re gonna like it ;D Thanks for your support <3

Fifi-Uchiha PS: Little tip. Why do you think did I call this fanfiction ‘born to live’? There is a reason and if you find the answer out, you’ll probably know what’s going to happen hehe

#sasusaku #sasusaku fanfic #born to live 2 #naruto

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insomniac-dot-ink · 6 years ago

Text

Puddle Jumper, Ch1

Genre: sci-fi fantasy, wlw, series

Words: 3.2K

Summary: A young woman starts seeing a mysterious figure in the nearby puddles, it’s only a matter of time before she goes looking into them

CHAPTERS: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5

WordPress ⭐Ko-Fi ⭐Patreon

CHAPTER ONE: MARNY ISN’T DEAD

When I was seven I lived in a place with no rain. Dry as dust and thirsty as a man lampooned in the pacific, I thought Arizona would never end. Skies as blue as uncut blood, land bathed in brilliant bleached light from one corner to the next. It was the third place I ever lived, a small tiny condominium with five neighbors and no outlet mall for twenty miles.

All the houses in the town had three things in common: the color beige, tiny blinking wall lizards, and an oblong pool in every backyard. Some of the pools were even filled, those were the people you wanted to make friends with but I never was very good at making friends. You could lose them too easily, upset them too thoroughly, lose them, lose them, lose.

It was a barking hot day in late August when I Arizona become more of an enigma than just the heat and grungy pool bottoms.

It was August and I stare at one of the Arizona house lizards, with it’s muddy green stripes down its back and tiny little hands clinging to our wall. I pinch my lips together and wiggle my fingers, it’s thin scaly body mocks me. My mom always told me to leave them alone- more would just take their place. I’m not very good at letting things go.

I follow the lizard, watching it waddle and blink across my bumpy living room wall, I huff a deep breath, trying to get up the nerve to make a dive at him again. “This isn’t your home,” I hiss and scowl at the thing. “Go make a tiny lizard home outside, shoo.” He doesn’t listen.

The house was empty, my mom had given up forcing me to go to school that day in particular since I managed to kick and scream at the door so much. I was eight, I could stay home alone for just a day. A stalk a lizard along the living room wall and bite my bottom lip so hard it cracks, sweet beads down my brow. I meet the lizards eye and we size each other up, only one champion could arise.

I tense.

“Boof!”

I only jump slightly when a loud bark erupts off to my left.

“Boof!”

I frown and turn around to face our small reddish-brown terrier mix, he stares blandly back at me. He was seven-years old at this point and still hadn’t learned polite conversation.

He was more of a ‘constant screamer’ than the conversational type, I scowl back at him.

“Shush, Rusty, I’m working.” I straighten my shirt like I had seen my dad do last year, right before he left for the office each day.

“Boof, boof, boof!”

I roll my eyes and turn back to the wall, “at least try and eat the lizard. It’s bringing disease!” I didn’t know that, but neither did Rusty.

He goes to the door and scratches at it, “Boof, boof.”

I put my hands on my hips, “It’s so dang hot, Rust, you’ll start panting and whine to come back in,” I wag a finger, “silly boy.”

“Boof, boof-” His eyes are focused on something outside, I don’t check what it is.

I try to reason with him, “it’s just the sun boy.”

“Boof, boof, boof, boof,” he yaps non-stop.

“Fine, fine!” I say hotly and turn toward the sliding glass door, I didn’t know what he was looking at at the time. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.” I open the door and shoo him out into the dry scraggly grass and empty blue sky.

He’s gone in a heartbeat, Rusty was a good dog. He never complained when we took our long road trips with few bathroom breaks, he always put his small head on my lap when I cried.

He didn’t go streaking off into the neighbors yard as fast as a bullet, he didn’t go running out into nowhere. But my mom always said no matter how well you know an animal they’ll still be a whole other world to you. They don’t think the same.

Rusty did take off like a speeding bullet.

I stick my head out after him and for a moment, just a moment, I think I see him falling, falling and falling straight into the neighbors shallow pool.

But that can’t be true.

I dash outside and yelp at the painful spiky dry grass hitting my soft bare feet and go jumping and yelping toward the pool, “you silly dog.” I chastise when I get to the pool, but, of course, it’s empty.

I stand there for a very long five minutes.

We spend the next few days with ‘lost’ posters and circling the town in my mom’s brown corolla.

Perhaps if I had known better I wouldn’t have lost him. I was a responsible child, that’s how I documented it. I didn’t think of my mother’s wrath or the spanking I’d get, I bit my lip and didn’t think about how we could possibly lose a small terrier dog on a street with only five people.

I cry and keep looking for our small terrier mix for three months, right up until the neighbor girl just tells me my dog is dead. That’s just what happens to pets she said, she lost her hamster last year just like that, it’s how it was.

I cry again, I was a big crier, my mom said I’d never get a boyfriend if I kept that up, but maybe she was telling a joke or nursing one of her famous headaches, I don’t know.

When I was 28 I lived somewhere with only rain and sky the color of rumbling grey mush, it was all rain and streets with no sidewalks, and I this time I had hope Marny wasn’t dead.

-------

I’m 28 and it’s a damp fall day with no hope of sun in sight.

A light drizzle wets my cheek and clings to my clothes like a chilly dust sprinkling the earth. The rain isn’t heavy enough to demand an umbrella, but it does send a chill into my bones. I wish I’d worn some more sensible shoes, but I don’t want to go back now.

The neighborhood is silent all around me, crawling with it’s own faceless quiet. I stare around, searching for even the tiniest movement.

I cup my hands around my mouth. “Marny!” I call in a sing-song voice.

Nothing, just the hush of a neighborhood full of overworked young adults and a nuclear family that always made their kids go to school each day (unlike some people).

My sneakers make an uncomfortable squishing sound as I step out of the grass and onto the driveway. I stare right, left, right again. Still nothing.

Other than a bird squawking tunelessly in the distance, it feels like I’m the lone survivor of some nuclear apocalypse. Well, that’s Thursday afternoon for you.

I walk down the street, shoes squishing with every step, stopping at each house to check their gardens and bushes.

I pause at end of the road to hike up my too-loose jeans. Marny rarely leaves the street but I decide to check anyway. She doesn’t know the rest of the neighborhood well, and might have gotten lost. That could explain why I haven’t seen her in days.

My street is about halfway down a steep slope with the neighborhood entrance at one end, beside the cemetery, and the park at the bottom. I remember when I first got here and rode my bike down this slope, crashing into the fence at the bottom. There’s a slight ache in left hand where I skid on the slick street and rammed into the metal, Julie called it ‘over-enthusiasm.’ I called it getting rid of my new bike.

I sniff and remind myself I am an adult that does not resent inanimate objects, I skirt the fence anyway.

“Marny,” I call again, this time a little more weakly.

The road is empty as I begin the slow climb up to the neighborhood entrance. The cemetery is damp and full of uneven patchy ground, annoyingly mundane for a place dedicated to dead bodies. If Marny is sleeping here again though I’ll still be glad I checked, even though I was starting to frown deeply. I would check the benches, and then the park, and then I’ll break out the ‘lost’ posers. Something twinges inside me at the thought.

I sigh and hike up my pants again. I need either a belt or a smaller pair of pants, but I’m lucky to get to the grocery store these days, much less Goodwill.

“Marny,” I call, mindless of anyone who could be listening. “Marny! If you don’t come out right now I’m going to eat all your tuna Meow Mix! Don’t think I won’t.”

I wouldn’t eat it of course. I’ve tried it, and it tastes worse than you would think. Very filling though.

The cemetery is small plot of land that blends mutely into the surrounding area, my friend once asked if I minded living by a dead person plot, but it never really stood out in my mind.

Wild green grass, a collection of crumbling headstones, and a single willow tree that rose in the middle like the citadel of a long forgotten city. No one has been buried here in decades and not not even the local goth kids wanted to bother the Sue’s and Paul’s of the bland graveyard.

Marny likes to come here and sunbathe on the stone benches, ignoring the world and showing her belly to the light. Of course, she’s not here either. I check the hedges along the rear.

“Here kitty!” I call.

A raindrop falls through the air, landing on my nose. I wipe it away with my sleeve.

“Please not today,” I growl at the sky as if it will change anything. I don’t know what I expect of Portland weather.

When I’m sufficiently sure that Marny isn’t in the cemetery itself, I turn toward the muddy creek on its outskirts. I’m starting to get a sick feeling in my stomach, it wasn’t like her to disappear for days. In fact, it wasn’t like her to not be in plain sight giving me hard looks that asked: where is my dinner? And, why aren’t you wearing pants? Where is cat God now? Because, actually, I might be her.

But Marny wasn’t here.

I squeeze my eyes shut and block out the memory of a sharp thwap to the buttocks all those years ago. I take a deep steadying breath, “I’m an adult,” I reassure a ghost of myself, “I can take care of… things.” I spit the last word and keep walking.

I find the road and sturdy cement bridge leading toward the park just a skip away from the cemetery itself. I grit my teeth as the raindrops start to pelt my back, I wasn’t going back. Not quite yet. I survey the park, I check the neglected tables under the gizbo, I only collapse a little bit when despair starts to sink in.

“Marny,” I say softly this time and I’m almost crying. “Goddammit,” I’m making frantic little circles in the park, whistling and calling like a madwoman, “Marny! Marn! Please,” I’m running buck wild back across the bridge when I hear it.

Crystal clear and echoing like a feather-light tap on the shoulder. It hits me like a familiar pop song half-heard, the lyrics just out of reach.

A meow.

“Marny?” I pause, calling softly, “are you there?” Hope lifts like a little buoyant balloon in my chest.

I cross the bridge and I squat in the grass, peering around.

“Meow,” I hear it again and perk up, it’s behind me, I walk back across the bridge.

The sound rings through the silent air, piercing and clear. It’s not a distressed sound. It reminds me more of the one she would use when she wanted out, or wanted to come in the bathroom to watch the facet water.

“Meow.”

I turn in a slow circle, trying to locate the source. I peer over the railing into the creek. The only thing running under the bridge is a thick grey sludge. I wrinkle my nose.

“Meow,” she calls softly.

It sounds like it’s coming from the road. I head out into the street and stop. She’s nowhere to be seen.

“Come on girl!” I call. “Come on Marny.”

There it is again. While before it was distant, this time it’s right next to me. I freeze, standing on the bridge and shifting in place, I look down.

A pair of yellow-green eyes stare back at me. I blink, the world turns in reverse and the whole sky was bleeds red.

“What?” I say out loud to no one in particular.

It’s my cat. It’s Marny. But... it isn’t.

I stare into the puddle, only barely an inch deep, and Marny stares back at me. I glance around. It’s clearly not a reflection. My cat is in a puddle. My ten-pound monster cat is an inch-deep puddle.

I squat down to get a closer look. It’s clearly her, splotchy calico pattern and soft doe-eyes, long white whiskers and overly pleased look on her face, everything.

I don’t know how long I sit there, the rain soaking my hair and dripping down my back. A car roars by and I don’t lift my head to even glance at it.

Perhaps I could have flagged them down and asked ‘are you seeing this?’ Or ‘ubduh duh dah?’ as a more likely question I could get out right now.

Marny stares at me, I stare back, she yawns widely- like this is just a normal day at the office for her. I examine her through the flat circle of water.

It’s only then that I notice the gloved hands wrapped tight around her body, thick black things that are just visible in the image. There’s something else inside the puddle. A person, or a monster, or something, and they have my cat.

The unseen being shakes Marny, as if waiting for me to take her.

I bite my lower lip, and wonder if this is really happening.

They shake her again and Marny squirms in place, looking displeased.

I have to take the cat. I have to reach into the puddle and pull my cat out. I have to reach into a one inch deep puddle and pull out a ten pound cat that should not be able to physically fit inside.

I reach out hesitantly, curiously, like I’m nine again and about ot burn my fingertips off on the stove just to see if I can.

I take a deep breath, preparing to defy my better judgement and not just go check into a local nut house. I reach for the puddle.

“Don’t touch that,” a voice booms from somewhere close-by.

I lose my balance, falling backward into the wet pavement and hitting my tailbone roughly. “Ow!”

I rub my ass quickly and then look back into the puddle with my teeth bared, my mouth falls cleanly open.

A stranger stares at me out of the puddle, all flared nostrils and bushy eyebrows.

“What do you think you’re doing?” the stranger spits.

“What?” I say slowly.

The stranger glances in both directions. “Turn this damn thing off,” she barks at someone I can’t see and adjusts a pair of goggles perched on her short spiky brown hair. I notice a thick red scarf around her neck. “What?” I repeat.

The image in the puddle starts to flicker, she lifts her chin and the color starts to bleed out of whatever I’m seeing.

“Hey!” I yell, “Wait wait,” the colors begin to melt and disperse into ripples, “you have my cat!”

The image disappears like a mirage in the desert, and I’m left, soaking wet and utterly alone. The puddle lay empty, as if I hadn’t just lost my mind (and perhaps my cat) in one single moment.

I take a second to think about Rusty and what my mom would possibly say. Probably something about not crying.

It takes me ten minutes to pick up a nearby stick and poke the puddle, curiously tapping on its surface and waiting for a tentacle to come out of it or figure to announce ‘Yer a wizard Lori.’ Nothing but a few ripples arise.

“Well dammit,” I scratch the back of my neck and I swear I hear another mew. But it takes another ten minutes for me to realize that nothing new was going to rise out of the water.

It takes me five minutes to walk home and put an ice pack on my bruises where I landed on my ass.

It was a long Thursday and even longer evening as I stare at the ceiling and think about nothing. Work would call soon and ask if I was coming back yet.

I’m dozing, a computer open in my lap with several google searches open starting with ‘Top tests for your mental health’ and pages called ‘Is God Contacting you? Take this quiz and find out!”

My consciousness is scattered to the breeze when I hear small, tiny, scratch at the door. I start awake, knocking ice pack down to the floor and sitting up straight.

Another push comes at the door.

“Rusty?” I squint at the door and pause, “Marny.”

I run to the front door to rip it open, a cool breeze hits my face and I stand listlessly in front of an empty perch.

And then another soft mew arises behind me.

When I turn around I see a plump, round, calico cat sitting on my kitchen counter, she’s twitching her tail and blinking at me.

“Marny!” I say her name like a curse this time and fold my arms over my chest as if I plan to ask her what she think she’s doing. She loudly asks for diner in reply.

“What do, how did you, ugh.” I pull at my long black hair and go stomping back over to her. “I hope you have a good explanation for all this young lady.”

“Mrrrrow.”

I ruffle my hair, “that’s what I thought.” I shake my head and reach under the counter for her dish. I push down any other feelings.

She had probably been sleeping in my closet this whole time. Or under my clothes pile from yesterday. Or anywhere not a watery 1-inch puddle on a random bridge.

I’m ready to keep chewing her out and then push my nose into her butter soft fur and inhale, but then, of course, I notice something stuck in her collar.

My eyes go wide, “what have you been…up to?” I furrow my brow and reach slowly, hesitantly, toward a thin white piece of paper wrapped around her orange collar. I poke it.

I exhale, “it’s just paper.” I shake my head and delicately remove it from around the band. It feels strange and soft in my hands, but I ignore any shifting in my stomach as I slowly unroll it.

I frown decidedly at five simple words: Stop. Sending. Us. Your. Cat.

“I’m not sending her anywhere,” I argue with no one, I turn my chin sharply up, “You hear that?” I yell at the ceiling, “she just gets out sometimes.” I grumble and try to shake sense back into my head, I go to toss out the piece of paper.

The neighborhood kids could be very strange I decided. I throw it out, get out the meow mix and lock the doors twice that night. The memory fades like the image in the puddle itself.

That is until the next time Marny disappears.

#writers on tumblr #wlw #science fiction #sci fi series #sapphic #short story #original story #writeblr #Puddle Jumper #f/f #my work

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hsalbum2 · 7 years ago

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Liability - Chapter Six

The Beginning

august 1, 2014 “Is every night this hectic, or are we all just getting the nerves out for the first show?”

I let myself collapse backwards onto one of the large leather couches in the dressing room as I watched Lou brush a matte finishing powder onto Harry’s nose. He was the last member to come through for hair and makeup before taking the stage, the other four rowdy One Direction boys had come and gone, wandering off into one of the multitude of backstage rooms reserved for us in Toronto’s Rogers Centre. I had never been part of a production this large, and was completely thrown for a loop when we arrived at the baseball stadium at the sheer volume of people involved backstage to make this tour happen. Wardrobe, hair & makeup, catering, security, and the opening band all had their own rather large designated rooms. They would filter in and out as they pleased, coming to Lou and I to fix them up just before taking the stage. I hadn’t realized that I had yet to sit down since arriving at the venue that morning until I had finished styling Niall’s hair and he bounded off down the hallway shouting something about having to finish a footy match Louis had started in another room. Everyone was high energy, zipping around backstage in a rush to complete their respective jobs. It was a bit like a circus, watching how this band operated. Everyone had their own set job and when completed seamlessly the whole act came together. Harry was the last one to come visit Lou and I because he had been on the phone with Gemma, grilling her about a date she had just gotten home from. Even from across the pond he was stepping into the role of protective brother. He whined to Lou and I, voicing his displeasure that Gemma had told us about the date before telling him. Based on Harry and Lou’s incredibly tight bond, I assumed he was usually the last one to come through and spent the remainder of his downtime before the show chatting with his hair dresser confidant. Lux was curled up on the couch next to me, eyes glued to a cartoon playing on an iPad. She seemed entirely unfazed by the chaos unfolding around her, way too focused on what I assumed was a rerun episode of Peppa Pig. Myself, on the other hand, I was completely wiped out. “Every night is this hectic, love.” Lou answered back with a laugh, glancing over at my collapsed body as Harry took a break to tussle his own hair into the style he preferred. “Plus this is far from the first show.” Harry chimed in. Of course. This was Trixie’s first show, but this was old news for everybody else. This tour was already halfway to completion and I was late to the party. Realizing that this world didn’t revolve around me was going to be an adjustment. “You get used to it, though. Makes home seem rather dull and boring without all this chaos.” Lou was back to trying to powder Harry’s nose as he continued to swat her hand away. “I’m sure once the jet lag subsides I’ll be back on my game.” It was nearing show time and Preston was sure to bound into the room to collect Harry for his call to stage any moment now. Other than that I had absolutely no concept of what time it was here or even back in England. Although Harry mentioning chatting to Gemma after a date led me to believe it was way passed my bedtime back home in London. “I think I live in a permanent state of jet lag.” Harry spun around in the chair in front of the vanity Lou and I worked at. “Might just register One Direction as its own timezone at this point because we never get to stay anywhere long enough to really adjust.” “You’re all doing an awful job of selling this tour to me.” I groaned dramatically. Lou let out a hearty laugh as she dismissed Harry and began to tidy up the mess that had been left in the wake of all of the One Direction and 5 Seconds of Summer boys. No two members used the same hair products, each desperate for a style that they could brand as their own. Lou had ran me through what everyone liked, all of them tending to stick to a bit of a routine. But Harry was the outlier. Every night he was feeling something different. Sometimes he’d braid his hair, sometimes he’d let her put product in it to bring out the intensity of his natural curls, and on some nights, like tonight, he insisted on doing his own thing entirely. Tonight’s look screamed Keith Richards, with Harry dressed in a sheer black button up, and a bandana tied in his hair to hold back his wild curls. I could see all of his tattoos through the shirt and it took quite the effort to force my tired eyes away from his chest before he noticed I was staring. “You can’t possibly be hating this already, we haven’t even started yet!” Harry seemed distraught, eyes wide as he gawked at me. Without even having to look at her I could just feel Lou rolling her eyes. “Trix is just being dramatic.” “I’m not dramatic.” I crossed my arms defiantly in front of my chest, but I could practically feel my nose growing three sizes bigger over that fib. “I like the theatrics.” Harry’s eyes were wicked with a sparkle at his simple comment. I was unsure if he was referring to me or the theatrics of making this tour a reality. But suddenly my entire body was acutely aware that his eyes were still glued to me. God, did this boy ever have a power over everyone else in the room. He was humble and yet still just his presence in a room demanded all eyes on him. He was a showstopper. Lou paused her cleaning to lean up against the edge of the vanity for a moment. “I’m sure in a couple days you’ll be feeling alright again, you’ll be healthy and loving every minute of this.” I could just tell by Lou’s tone when she spoke she was in mother mode. That was probably the biggest difference between Lou and Sam. Sam was a little more laid back, but Lou was always watching out for everyone. Her words were more of a statement of fact than a suggestion. I knew she was trying to psych me up about this tour, offering a bit of motivation about moving on from Jacks and making the most of this opportunity. I knew this because it’s all Lou would yap about this morning while I tried to sleep in. She was still on the same kick, but she just wasn’t name dropping my ex-boyfriend in front of Harry. I wasn’t that concerned with this cold. I’m sure that tomorrow morning it would fully break and I’d be a right mess, sneezing and sniffling all over everything. Right now my body just ached and I was constantly tired. It wasn’t ideal, but I knew I could survive and keep working. “You’re still ill?” The way Harry scrunched his nose up in confusion brought on an irresistible urge to smile, so I focused my attention on my iPhone that I had left laying in my lap when I sat down. A few messages from Sam wishing me luck on my first show greeted me on the lock screen, as well as a few notifications for new voicemails from Jacks. I’m sure they were just drunken rants when he finally figured out my apartment had been nearly entirely emptied out of my clothes and belongings. When I failed to respond Lou jumped in for me. “Everyone gets sick on their first tour, Harry.” Her tone was strict, coming quick to my defence. “Jet lag mixed with all the recycled airplane air is a recipe for disaster.” I was far too wrapped up in the notifications on my phone to respond, the sight of Jackson’s name on my phone an instant distraction for me. I had never felt like this about Jackson before. I guess you were supposed to get a feeling of sadness or longing when your ex-boyfriend reached out to you, but today was more of just an annoyance. Travelling across the ocean couldn’t even put enough space between us to give me some breathing room. My patience was wearing thin with all of this. My life back in London was filled with daily harassment, and the constant dread of having to risk an interaction with Jacks. Combined with Sam and Gemma watching over my every move as if I wasn’t capable of handling myself. I loved them dearly, but I just wanted space. I was going to be okay on my own. Granted, their hovering was exactly what had taken me away from London and the life that I loved so much. As much as I was thankful for this experience and was going to make the most of absolutely every second, I was also a homebody at the end of the day. I liked my routine. I liked my flat and my short commute to Bleach every day. And now I didn’t have that because Jacks wouldn’t let me. My life recently felt like I was treading water in a storm and I wasn’t sure how much longer I could keep my head above water. Jackson was the hurricane. I found it interesting that the thing you once loved, that meant the entire world to you, could so quickly become the same thing that made your life a living hell. “On a serious note, orange juice helps, Trix.” Harry saying my name brought me back down to Earth, clicking the lock screen on my phone after I typed out a quick text to Sam. I promised I’d call her tomorrow when we figured out a time that worked for both Canada and England. I deleted the voicemail notifications. Maybe I’d listen to them later. Maybe I’d just let my inbox fill up until there was no more room for him to leave a message. “Orange juice?” I repeated in an attempt to make it seem as though I had actually been paying attention to the conversation at hand. Harry nodded his head to confirm, “with all the vitamin C, you know?” I remember my mum saying the same thing to me all the time when I was growing up. I’m sure Harry’s mum had insisted the same thing. “I’ll pop over to catering when you’re all on stage and see if I can find some.” “Absolutely not!” I was caught off guard by how violently Harry began to shake his head no. “You need the freshly squeezed stuff, not the sugary processed shit they’ll have there.” As soon as the word was out of his mouth, Lou’s hand made firm contact with the back of Harry’s head. “Watch the language, knobhead.” “Soz, Lou.” Harry mumbled, rubbing at the back of his head. We all glanced over at Lux briefly, but she wasn’t really paying attention to any of us with Peppa Pig still playing on the iPad. “I’ll put some on the rider for tomorrow’s show for ya.” “You really don’t have to do that, Harry.” I offered. I’m sure there was plenty of juice in catering already, or even just a grocery store near the venue. There was no need to make such a fuss over fresh juice just for me. “It’s fine, Trix.” Harry waved me off, just as Preston appeared in the doorway. “Showtime Haz, let’s go.” Harry jumped out of his chair, ruffling Lux’ hair as he passed the toddler on his way out. “Bye girls, thanks for everything.” He called over his shoulder as he followed Preston towards the stage. As soon as his curls had disappeared out of sight, Lou turned towards the vanity to begin the cleanup process. With the exception of a few essential items that we would use for touchups throughout the show, she began to pack up the rest of the mess that had been left on the vanity in the wake of getting all of the boys ready. Each 1D member had their own clear plastic case for all of their unique products, neatly labelled with their names. Lou had this whole crazy circus act down to a fine routine by now and it was fascinating to watch her. Back at Bleach, I only ever had to focus on one client at a time, most customers coming in with similar requests for platinum hair and pastel colours. “Mummy, I’m all done.” Lux announced, putting the iPad down as the episode she had been watching ended. “I just need to pack up and then we can go get some dinner, alright?” Lux nodded at Lou and then handed me the iPad to put away into her small backpack full of toys she brought with her backstage. She was probably the most well behaved toddler for this crazy situation, but I guess this backstage rockstar life was all she had ever known. Placing Lux’ backpack down on the couch next to her, I stood up to help Lou clean up. Lux grabbed the bag and began to clean up her own mess, placing stuffed animals that she had with her on the couch into the bag as well. “That boys taken quite the liking to you already.” I couldn’t see Lux’ face, but just by her tone of voice I knew she had a wicked smirk. I grabbed the clear plastic makeup bag with Niall’s name scribbled onto it and began to zip it up as Lou placed the last few bottles into Harry’s bag. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Lou.” “Don’t play coy, Trixie.” “We were sat next to each other on the plane, so he just happens to be the guy I’ve gotten to know the most so far on this tour. I’m sure I’ll be close with all of them soon.” “But do you fancy him?” Lou zipped up the last bag, placing it back down onto the countertop. “It’s alright if you do, love.” I gave her the most stern look I could muster, trying to ignore the Cheshire cat grin sprayed across her face. “I’m just hear to work, Lou. That’s it.” “That didn’t answer the question.” She walked away from the vanity to pick Lux up from the couch. With her backpack on, the three of us were going to head down the hall to catering to grab dinner while the boys took the stage. “I mean, I’m sure if he likes you I’ll find out fast. That boy can’t keep a secret to save his life.” I rolled my eyes to brush off Lou’s comments. Harry was attractive, and from the limited interactions I had had with him, he was nothing but a sweetheart. He was also probably one of this most fit guys I had ever laid my eyes on, but he was an international pop star. Practically every girl on Earth fancied Harry Styles, so of course there was a bit of a crush there. But for Lou to insinuate that something was going on was just mad. In reality we barely knew each other and had only spent a couple days together. He had such a warm personality, I’m sure that he was this friendly and welcoming with everyone he met on these tours. There was no need to fuss over Harry and I. There was also no need for me to start overthinking. I had enough on my plate already. I wouldn’t even think of dating another guy until Jackson was finally out of my life, and I didn’t see that becoming a reality anytime soon. Harry and I were becoming friends. Just friends. “All I’m saying is don’t forget who invited you out on this tour when you’re sending out the wedding invites, babes.” Lou winked.

Chapter Five > Chapter Seven

#harry styles #harry styles fan fiction #1DFF #fan fiction #carpe-styles #liability #one direction #one direction fan fiction #fanfiction #au #harry styles au #one direction au #1D au

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heartslogos · 7 years ago

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seas who could sing so deep and strong [11]

Judge’s vision blurs around the edges and the hum of the Orbiter is a sound that’s in his bones, his his skull - the sound of space is a solid and tangible presence in his ears.

He forces his eyes to focus in on the screen in front of him. He’s close to something, he knows.

Whispers trail down the back of his neck, ghosts from a time Judge forcibly left behind. He wishes it could leave him.

The ambient sounds of the Orbiter and all the things it must do to keep him alive, to keep him healthy and able, are familiar and routine.

Judge focuses on the bright light of the surveillance footage that he’s been looking over. There are pieces missing here, to finding out what it is that’s got the Corpus so riled up. There’s going to be an auction soon - and the only thing that could get those old men so excited and sanguine is Orokin technology.

The question is - is it a warframe? Is it a tenno?

Is it something worse?

“Judge?” Kore’s voice rasps out. He turns around, neck stiff and looks at Kore.

Midas is curled up with her in her sleeping bag, the snoring Kubrow is lying on his back, paws flung up and soft little puppy snores coming from his mouth. Judge grins a little.

Kore lifts her head up, her short cropped pink hair messed up in a dozen different directions - her normally flat bangs have lifted off her face to reveal the full almost circle of green-blue Void scars.

Her multi-colored eyes are squinted at him, “Did you even sleep? What time is it?”

“Dunno,” Judge says, turning to look in the direction of the navigation panel and the large windows at the controls. Then he realizes that it wouldn’t help much.

The orbiter is in orbit. Time is measured in shadows and rotations.

“Judge, go to sleep,” Kore yawns, a jaw-cracking thing that makes Judge smile, a little regretful that she even woke up.

Kore’d just gotten back from two back-to-back two hour surveillance drops, and then a four hour patrol of Uranus.

She’d boarded his ship, threw down her sleeping bag, and went immediately into it, zipping the thing all the way up to her chin before Midas started to whine and paw and nudge at her head until she let him in. Valencia had trotted in after a few minutes later, dragging another blanket in her powerful jaws, half tossing it down on the floor next to Kore, sitting on it and turning around in a complex series of motions to tuck herself in.

Judge doesn’t remember when the last time he stood up was.

“I’m close to a break through, Kore,” Judge says, “Do you think I could get into this Corpus auction?”

“You’ve got hair,” Kore groans, “There aren’t any Corpus with hair, Judge. They’re hairless rodents.”

“Shit,” Judge presses his thumb to the corner of his lip, “Wait - what if I wore a helmet?”

“You’re brown,” Kore stresses, “The Corpus are so white that fresh snow looks dirty. And you’re too short. Even the withered husks that are the Corpus rich aren’t as scrawny as Tenno are.”

Judge turns around to tease that at least he’s still taller than her but Kore’s eyes are looking directly at him.

His heart abruptly stutters in his chest.

Kore’s eyes are violet and magenta.

That’s not Kore.

That is not Kore -

It smiles at him, winking. “Something wrong, partner?”

Judge gasps, legs lurching - but collapsing immediately underneath him again as he tries to backpedal away. His legs are useless and numb as the thing that’s pretending to be Kore sits up, sliding out of the sleeping bag - smiling -

His heart pounds in his chest and he feels the build up in his hands and arms and chest before he can even think it -

A blast of magenta void energy bursts out of him. Judge skids back on the floor, back hitting against his mod station and the thing that is Kore raises its arms, yelping as it crashes into the corner of his Orbiter behind the Sentinel charging station.

The thing that has Kore’s face crumples and Judge scrambles to stand.

This is a dream. It must be a dream. Isn’t it a dream?

Kore’s eyes were magenta - Kore’s eyes are yellow-green-pink, just like his are magenta-pink-purple. Kore’s eyes are not the color of his Void energy. Kore’s eyes are the colors of spring, Earth made new.

Judge tries to stand but his legs refuse to work. Is this a dream? Is this the result of staying sitting down for so long, or is this something else -

Loud barking and Judge turns - another blast of energy erupts out of him as he holds his hands up to his face.

The hulking body of dream-Valencia crashes into his foundry, tumbling onto the control panel and view-pane.

Another dark figure in the corner of his vision, Judge turns, hands held up and he hears the whispers of the Void growing louder and louder -

He bites his lip but - but does he feel it? In this moment he can’t tell if he’s biting his lip and the room spins as he tries and fails to stand.

The sound of space, the sound of the Orbiter - the dull drone of machines and electricity fills his ears like cotton.

Midas’ yaps sound so far away.

Judge turns, and the thing that was Kore is gone and there is nothing in the sleeping bag and fear and panic rise in him, building and swelling and undulating and -

“Judge!”

He turns and it is the thing that is Kore and it throws something at his face -

He coughs, surprised as he inhales something that feels hot and warm and he blinks, startled, looking into spring eyes, Kore’s face is pale and blanched and she looks so small without her transference suit, so small and bright against the dark interior of his orbiter.

He breathes in, surprised and starts to cough and wheeze. It burns. It’s hot - and -

“Judge, you’re awake,” Kore’s voice, closer. He wipes at his eyes, shoulders heaving - “Judge, you’re awake. It’s me. It’s me. It’s Kore.”

Judge vomits.

Kore’s hand is on his back, then, the back of his neck, pushing his head down as he struggles to breathe.

Midas sounds closer, now and when Judge’s vision clears he’s sitting back against his mod station, knees drawn up to his chest.

The Kubrow pup immediately runs up to him and squeezes into his arms, yapping confusedly. His grippy little paws snag into Judge’s shirt as the puppy plasters himself to Judge’s chest. Judge’s arms go around the pup automatically and he looks at Valencia who’s watching him, wary and crouched low to the ground.

“Kore,” he wheezes, turning to her. Her eyes are right. Those are the right eyes. “What - ?”

“Red flavor,” Kore says, holding up the empty canister.

“Red?”

“You can’t taste in transference,” Kore says, “Because our frames don’t have mouths. And you can’t taste in regular dreams, either.”

She sets the canister down and goes back to her sleeping bag, picking up Valencia’s blanket and she starts to clean up Judge’s sick.

His ears burn with shame and regret. He moves to help her but she shakes her head.

“I - I’m sorry - I “ Judge tries to find the words.

“You couldn’t tell,” She says, nodding, “I know. It’s gotten worse, hasn’t it?”

Judge says nothing.

“Since Harrow,” She says.

Judge closes his eyes, “Midas please stop licking my face, that isn’t for you.”

The puppy whines as Judge pushes the pup’s face away from his.

“I put water next to you,” Kore says, “While you were out of it.”

Judge reaches down blindly, until he feels the familiar not-quite solidity of a water packet. He opens it eagerly.

“It’s Rell,” Judge says, head hitting back against the mod station behind him. “I keep - I just keep thinking about him, Kore.”

Kore doesn’t say anything but he knows she’s listening.

“What if I turn out like that? Kore - what if I knew him? What if I could have saved him?”

“I’m sure you would have tried,” Kore replies.

Judge startles a little when he feels something large and warm brush against him. He opens his eyes and Valencia’s blunt nose is nudging his leg, golden eyes wary but concerned.

“Sorry,” He says, tentatively holding his hand out to her. Valencia nudges his hand softly, then turns around and curls her massive bulk against his side. He slowly leans against her, palm pressed against her large back, feeling her heat through his skin, and the feeling of her breathing.

“Kore, what if we could have helped Rell? Do you - do you remember him? I should remember him. Why didn’t I help?”

“You might not have been there at that moment,” Kore says, tossing the soiled blanket to the side, sitting across the Orbiter from him. “You can’t help that. It’s over, now. He’s dead. And it’s what’s best. We couldn’t have done anything to change that. We were cruel, Judge. We were cruel on that ship. We were children and we didn’t realize we were becoming something else.”

“Not all of us,” Judge protests.

“No,” Kore concedes, “I knew what I was becoming. But I was cruel, Judge. I was untouchable, you said it yourself.”

“I told you, I didn’t mean it like that - “

“Judge, I have always been looking out for myself and only myself,” Kore cuts in, “I don’t remember Rell. I barely remember you. I know what I should have done. I know what would have been morally right. But I also know that I would have done nothing to help him, or to hurt him. And that is cruelty, too.”

“That’s not true,” Judge protests.

Her eyes soften, minutely, “Judge. The only person I try to do things for is you. No one else.”

This is true, Judge mentally concedes. But it does not make Kore a bad person.

“Judge, you’re awake. You aren’t like Rell. You aren’t responsible for what happened to Rell,” Kore continues.

Judge and Kore sit in silence for a while. Judge trying to piece himself together, Kore waiting.

“Let me see your head,” Judge says. Kore doesn’t move, he beckons at her. “I know I hit you hard. I can see the dent I made in the ship.”

“It’s just a bump, Judge,” Kore says, slowly moving over to him, “I got my shield up in time.”

“In front of you, not behind,” Judge says, “Let me see it, Kore.”

Kore obligingly lets him inspect her head, and the back of her shoulders. Bruises, they’re going to be deep and painful, but he can’t see anything else.

“I’m sorry,” Judge repeats, this time to her.

“It’s fine. I’ve had worse.”

“It really isn’t fine,” Judge replies. “Kore - what - what do you dream of?”

Kore’s eyes are deep and bright. He can feel her trying to see if he wants her to lie or not.

“Ballas,” Kore answers, voice soft, “I dream about Ballas. And flowers.”

Judge closes his eyes and Kore drags her sleeping bag over to him, sticking her legs into it as she leans her head against his shoulder.

Judge’s hand finds hers and he feels the hum of her Void energy against his.

He closes his eyes.

The Void whispers.

#heartsfic #warframe #kadan #otp: space kids

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marumafan · 8 years ago

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Yuuram in Novel 2

Novel 2. ch.1 -Yuuri describing Wolf -

An angel and a demon are standing in the open doorway: the master of this castle, Lord Gwendal von Voltaire, making his entrance to the Love Theme from The Godfather, and a Vienna Boy Choir OB-style pretty boy, Lord Wolfram von Bielefelt.

(...)

Lord Wolfram von Bielefelt, on the other hand, is my twin in stature and physique, but angelically handsome. If you didn't know he was Mazoku, you'd think he was God's greatest masterpiece. Glittering gold hair, white skin, long eyelashes, and emerald-green eyes. But that damn arrogance of his makes him sound like a yapping Pomeranian.

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

Novel 2. ch.1

- Settling things -

I prick up my ears at these dirty goings-on of the adult world, but Wolfram roughly jerks my head back. His lake's bottom green eyes meet mine.

Target: lock on.

"How dare you vanish from right in front of us after saying that you would become this country's king?! I was going settle things with you properly after you were safely done with the coronation ceremony!"

"Se-settle? I told you, I'm fine with a tie!...or no, if you still find it that hard to swallow, then let's just say I lost, okay? 'Cause ultimately that duel was like one of those things where an exchange of blows forged a friendship, you know?"

(...)

"You were pretty strong, and I gave it my best too, so why don't we just leave it at that? We don't have to go into all of that stuff about duels and revenge again."

"That's not any kind of...hey, Yuuri! What is the meaning of this?! You're not wearing the gold bird I gave you, but you have Conrart's pendant...?!"

(...)

"You can't deceive me, Yuuri! You're too lacking in prudence. Well, yes, I guess...you're somewhat good-looking...just a bit...so you can't help but be a temptation..."

------------------------------------------------------------------ Novel 2. ch.2

- Ship -

You're late!"

Why is Wolfram sitting so regally on the double bed?!

I'm guessing that the gob-smacked look on Conrad's face means that he didn't expect this either.

"From the looks of it, this room is normally reserved for newly-weds. I presume Your Ma...my young masters are still in their prenuptial period...?"

"...I have no idea who's responsible for this mix-up either."

The next while is devoted to Wolfram being violently seasick, and so the afternoon passed.

(...)

Wolfram, who stalked us to the ship and smuggled himself on board, ended up in front of the toilet as soon as we set sail. Now he's bedridden and refuses to eat or drink anything, even water. He can't even quarrel with me. With his ruffled gold hair straggling down blanched cheeks and eyes lightly closed, he looks like an angel who's fallen to earth and in despair because he cannot return home.

------------------------------------------------------------------ Novel 2. ch.3

-Just so you know, Japanese people never say anything when you sneeze-

"Achoo!"

"Gesundheit!" I answer on cue in a conditioned response to Wolfram's cute little sneeze, which sounds like something a manga character might make, as I rummage through my luggage and toss everything out of the clothes chest.

-------------------------------------------------- Novel 2. ch.4

-Closet scene-

Even though Wolfram could not have guessed at my feelings, his hand falls on mine. We huddle together in the cramped space of the too-small-to-be-called-a-walk-in closet, shivering.

No, I'm the only one who's shivering.

Wolfram is a soldier, after all. Even if he's not used to playing such a dangerous game of hide-and-seek, it can't be his first time.

"...Are you okay, Yuuri?"

"O-of course I am!"

I grip the hand touching mine, closing my eyes, and hang my head.

"Sorry."

"Don't worry about it."

He's not laughing at me, is he?

It's just...it's not just that I'm frightened, not even that I'm scared stiff—it's this silence, this tension, that is unbearably painful...

My roommate seems to read my mind. He whispers, "Like Conrart said, don't do anything rash if we're found. They're not going to kill you if you don't resist, 'cause you've got such good looks."

"Then you'd better not do anything either. You're several times cuter than me. No one would kill someone as pretty as you."

"No way. I am a warrior of the Mazoku; if I don't fight, I can't be allowed to live."

"That's stupid."

"Shush!"

(...)

"Wolfram! Don't, there're too many of them!" "Shut up!" "I'm begging you, Wolf! Stop it...that's an order!" He freezes and without looking at me allows the sword to drop. (...after getting caught...)

"I hear you're on your honeymoon, an' want to be sold together." Unwinding his turban, Wolfram asks me, "Honeymoon?" "Don't know anything about it," I reply from my position on the floor, not yet recovered from the shock of the sailor uniforms.

-------------------------------------------------- Novel 2. ch.5

- Maou-

He lifts his eyes when he reaches the approximate center of the deck and stares sharply at the man right in front of him with the one black eye not obscured by contacts.

"...Yuuri?" Wolfram calls, forgetting his alias, but Yuuri doesn't seem to hear.

Taken aback, he grabs Yuuri's hand. With the exception of his index finger, it's icy cold.

-------------------------------------------------- Novel 2. ch.6 -Random inner monologue-

The third son is standing in the doorway, still in his bathrobe. His beautiful eyebrows are knit in an exaggerated frown.

-------------------------------------------------- Novel 2. ch.6

-casual yuuram- “(...)His Excellency looks like he's still deep in dreamland."

Pretty boys, like pretty girls, have low blood pressure. Wolfram rubs his eyes adorably and pulls the rough blanket close.

"Wolfram, you'll be late for school if you go back to sleep. You can nap in first period math class."

-------------------------------------------------- Novel 2. ch.6

---Yuuri teaching Wolf the Lamaze technique to stay awake---

The boat starts listing slightly. Wolfram is starting to doze off next to me.

"Wah, Wolf, don't fall asleep! We're turning, we're going to start going around in circles—!"

"Hrmm."

"Not hrmm! Row! Row, come on! Pull-and-push, pull-and-push, heeheefuu, heeheefuu."

-------------------------------------------------- Novel 2. ch.7

-Equally tired-

Conrad and Josak nonchalantly raise the white porcelain teacups to their lips, but Wolfram and I are both shaking right down to our fingertips and don't even have the energy left to slurp our drinks.

-------------------------------------------------- Novel 2. ch.7

-happy times-

"I'll go with you tomorrow." "Huh?" He can't give me any real help even if he comes with me. Even Conrad, who could make short work of any sword master, couldn't move a finger to help me. But Wolfram is indifferent to my private waffling. He folds his arms and says rather happily, "Since you're a total henachoko." "Stop calling me a henachoko!" Ah.

The selfish prince with the angelic features and clear emerald eyes that remind you of the bottom of a lake. Abbreviate half-ironically, and you get selfish Puu.

Wolfram always goes right to the point. He throws himself straight into any challenge.

He bores into both my mitt and my chest, but it's kinder and gentler than a lie.

"What? What are you grinning about?" "...I was just thinking, it's been a while." "What has?" "You calling me a henachoko."

"That's because you left the country. You left your people and your land to the care of others. You have no sense or consciousness of being a king. What's wrong with calling a henachoko a henachoko?" "Nothing."

-------------------------------------------------- Novel 2. ch.7 -Closetting -

"Okay, then why don't I dump you? 'I'm sorry, let's call it quits?'" "Don't you dare! It would be a blow to my self-respect!" "Oh, oh riiight, then why don't you reject me? 'I refuse your proposal.' I think my pride would be able to handle it just fine. I was the one in the wrong, so no help for it." "I can't do that!" "Why not? Is there some kind of rule about that? Some sort of religious reason?" "Shut up!" Wolfram stands straight up and opens the corner door without another word. "Aaah, Wolf! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I was wrong! I'm apologizing, so don't lock yourself up in the closet!"

-------------------------------------------------- Novel 2. ch.7 -Equally frustrated-

Wolfram, who has no interest in human festivals, goes to bed immediately after finishing his wine. I feel like getting drunk and airing all my grievances too, but I'm not going to smoke or drink as long as there's still any possibility that I haven't reached my full height yet. Instead, I lie in bed tracking the moon's course.

-------------------------------------------------- Novel 2. ch.8 -Angel of Love-

So the whole party proceeded to the hospital in the morning and ended up dashing frantically about until noon.

But even though we've run ourselves to the ground, nobody has set off on their last journey yet—in fact, no less than three people revived. We've had gratitude heaped on us, and people have even started calling Wolfram the Angel of Love. But for us it's something of a mixed blessing.

-------------------------------------------------- Novel 2. ch.8 -Misunderstandings-

I pounce, trying to grab it from Wolfram, and land on top of him. This is the exact moment when— "Listen to this, Young Master...oops." "..." "Am I interrupting your fun, by any chance?" Josak closes the door again. "No, no, wait! We weren't having fun, we were not having any fun of any kind, you're taking it the wrong way! This is a massive, majorly massive misunder—ow!" I've bitten my tongue. "My my, Young Masters, it's the middle of the day, so if you're going to have a dalliance, you should at least lock the door. You really shouldn't tempt your elders like this," Josak teases in the voice he uses when disguised as a woman, and enters the room.

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

Novel 2. ch.10 -Sneaking into Yuuri's room for the first time-

"Wolf...what are you doing here?!"

"What do you mean, what am I doing?"

Wolfram, lying on his stomach and dressed like a madam after her bath, kicks his legs.

"I sneaked over for a night crawl."

"Night crawl?! A-as in, when a g-g-g-guy secretly crawls into a bed..."

"For a rendezvous?"

"Yeah, rendezvous...no no no no, that's not what I mean! The guy crawls into a woman's bed...!"

Now he's got me going at his pace.

Wolfram half-rises, scowling, a hand placed imperiously on his hip. He looks like pretty boy who's hit the mat after a knockdown, for those with the taste for it.

"If I had to wait for you, you'd never come to a decision."

"Um, incidentally, what sort of a decision are you looking for...?" My voice trails off as he sways his hips closer.

The Mazoku ex-prince's face brightens, and he pulls me down by the arm.

"Wah!"

"Are we any closer to a decision yet?"

"No!"

I'm terrified just thinking about what sort of decision this might be. I'm not going to lose my life or anything, but I do feel like there's something else I'm going to lose. I desperately extract myself, fly into the bathroom and lock the door.

"Yuuri!"

"Wait wait wait! I gotta take a bath first, okay?! You don't wanna do anything with a sweaty guy either, right?!"

Do...? I blanch at my own words.

My head and nose both prickle, and I stagger, suddenly dizzy.

"Yuuri! Hey, open the door!"

"No!"

Unable to keep upright any longer, I sit down on the rim of the tub

"Blooploop."

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

Yuuram in Novel : 1|2|3|4|5|6|7|8|9|10|11|12|13|14|15|16|17

#kyou kara maou #kkm #maruma #yuuram

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