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bokettochild · 3 years ago

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Legendary Cousins

So... I promised @peachy-scars that I would write them this a while back when they posted this, and after consulting y’all (I think it was @attllhak and several anons who helped the most) I finally had enough to just go ham and write this beautiful piece of garbage.

Hope you like it, Peaches!

They had landed in a new Hyrule, and Legend’s instant reaction was to blink and stare about with a conflicted expression on his face while the others had stared in confusion at their surroundings.

“Why’s this look so weird?” Wind demanded eloquently as he pulled himself out from beneath a giggling Hyrule, who always laughed nervously when they landed in a new Hyrule and seemed particularly giddy today.

“Wind, manners.” Time chided softly, pulling himself back up and working with Wild to pull his protégé back up, Twilight looking around dizzily as he leaned on his mentor for balance. “You don’t know whose home this might be.”

“I do.” Legend hissed softly, hooded eyes staring towards a nearby path while a slight smile touched his lips. “New Hero everyone.”

Glances were exchanged before shooting to the vet in confusion. “How...”

“You knew there were more heroes?” Warriors sputtered, staring at the vet in surprise while the hero in question pulled himself to his feet and shook out his limbs, knuckles crackling painfully and making the others wince.

“Time travel mixed with world hopping and the occasional visit to other countries.” Legend answered in a low voice, stretching towards the sky and standing on the tips of his toes (eyes turned away as the vet’s already short tunic rode higher). “I’ve met plenty of other heroes. Five- maybe six? Not sure.” He shrugged, arms falling back to his sides as he moved further into the forest. “Come along, if we want to check up on things we’d best get headed to the castle. Monsters out here are brutal, even if they are bloody crazy.”

Glances were exchanged again, Wind’s wide eyes growing wider as he mouthed the words ‘six other heroes’ to his brothers.

“Who met Legend before all this went down?” The captain hissed, pulling Four up onto his back. “Because it sure as heck wasn’t me.”

No one answered, and they didn’t have much of a chance to as the Vet’s voice broke through the forest, a harsh hiss for them to hurry. “You stay there all day the ‘blins’ll eat you!”

Eight heroes pulled themselves along, following after as Legend trailed silently through the forest.

Each stumble or loud noise earned a glare from the vet, and if it didn’t come from them, it made him freeze, steps stopping immediately as his ears would prick towards the sound. More than once, Twilight or Sky had to muffle a laugh in their respective wraps as the image of a bunny starting to alert entered their minds.

Maybe it’s the laughter. Maybe it’s just their dang Hero of Courage luck, or maybe it’s just because Hylia thinks it funny, but even with all Legend’s glaring and stopping and sneaking, they are attacked just as they reach the edge of the forest.

The monsters are... horrifying. Nothing most of them have ever even seen, and the only thing they can do as they fight is to take the vet’s advice. “Aim for the eyes! And if you can’t reach them, the ankles!” The vet shouts as he kicks into a spin attack. The other heroes follow suit, ripping into the beasts as Wild pulls back from the group, setting off volleys of arrows as best he can do by himself, and successfully blinding a few of the monsters.

They’re thick into the song of battle when an unknown voice rings out. “Good golly! Hang on there, sirs!”

It’s hard to see past the swarms of monsters (seriously, they’ve never been this thick!) but blonde hair and a swinging sword assure them that whomever it is, is likely the hero Legend had told them about. Enemies fall as bombs explode and various weapons pierce through hearts and heads.

Once the dust has cleared, they take careful stock of their injuries and weapons (Wild’s shattered another sword and Four is sighing wearily) before turning their attention to their unexpected help.

Legend and the other hero stand over a dead bokoblin, shaking hands in a friendly manner while the one chatters to the other, the vet smiling thinly but genuinely as he listens.

“Vet, who’s this?”

“Ah! You have friends!” A bright smile is turned their way as the swordsman releases Legend’s hand. “Greetings! I’m Link.”

“The Hero of Koridai.” Legend adds on, rolling his eyes.

“Aw, come on, Other-Link!” The newcomer grins, jabbing Legend playfully in the side and effectively stealing his breath. “I’m just Link is all.”

“That’s all of their names too.” Legend wheezes, glaring up at the other.

The chain of heroes takes in the newcomer, who, much to the captain’s dismay, seems to share Legend’s opinion of pants, as well as a preference for pegasus boots. Bright brown eyes stare back at them, a dopey grin on the hero’s face, but beneath the welcoming grin there's a glint of something sharp and dangerous that has Warriors shuffling back warily.

“What adventure is this? Finish meeting up with your lovely cousins?”

The vet huffs a breath, clearing his throat as he straightens up again. “Thereabouts, this’ll be adventure seven.”

“Ooh, seven. Ouch.” Bright brown turn towards the vet with a sympathetic wince. “Sorry about that.”

“You had your own quests.” Legend dismisses, as if his words don’t confuse the others. “How’s Zelly by the way? We haven’t heard from her.”

Link, for lack of a better current name, smiles cheerily. “Half a minute yet there.” Turning to the others he offers yet another impossibly wide smile, it’s very nearly uncomfortable to look at, and Legend is the only one who seems unaffected by doing so (he has seen far, far worse from this world). “We should skedaddle over to the castle.” A halting motion is made towards the castle just in front of them as the newest hero laughs nervously. “As long as you’re there, you won’t be attacked.”

And for lack of anything else to do, they agree, following after as Legend and the new Link chat in the front, Legend with an amount of patience that has never in their memory presented itself and the new Link with an almost irritating amount of pep and cheer. “Zelly’s doing great, and we’re hoping to visit all of you soon too! Or, we were, but the monsters started getting real bad an’ Zel figured we’d better stay behind to make sure they didn’t cause too much trouble.”

“How bad?” The vet’s brows quirk with concern and Warriors nearly stumbles at the gentle expression on Legend’s face.

“Just a bit stronger.” The new Link shrugs, but smiles brightly up at Legend. “It’s not as bad as last time though, so don’t worry your pink head about it.”

And Legend... Legend actually laughs, reaching up to tug the cap of the other Link as they cross into the shadow of Hyrule Castle’s walls.

“What the-” Warriors is cut off with a blaring ‘Beep!’ from Wind, who looks up at him cheekily when the captain looks down at him.

“Censoring.” Wind chirrups.

”Soooo...” Twilight drawls, a smile pulling at his features as he looks between the duo, the heroes all relaxing as they enter the castle gates. “How do you two know each other?”

“We’re cousins!” Link chirrups happily, shooting another smile over his shoulder that’s just a bit too wide and a bit too sharp.”

“Third Cousins or...” Legend waves his hand vaguely. “Somethin’. Their father is my second cousin or some sort of thing, it’s unclear honestly, all we know is that Zelda is my cousin somewhere down the line and with those two dating-” The other Link flushes at the statement, face as dopey as Sky’s gets. “He’s bound to be thrown in there somewhere too.”

“Wait!” Four looks from one of the cousins to the other (there is a bit of resemblance, uncannily enough, even though Link smiles far more than Legend). “Whose time is this?”

The two share a look, nodding firmly before turning to the others and speaking together. “Both.”

“Two heroes? In one time?” Time cocks a brow.

Legend throws his hands up. “You can talk to Hylia about that!”

“Oh!” Link’s grin widens further as he bounces in place. “And how is Aunt Hylia? Golly, I haven’t seen her in ages!”

“Aunt Hylia...” Sky blinks slowly.

The vet huffs. “Fine. She’s letting Fable back into the fighting ring this weekend, figured since the Master didn’t mess things up that it’d be okay to let Hylians head back out there. Hide the evidence if they send me an invite, yeah?”

“Will do!” Comes the chipper reply, but the other heroes aren’t done.

“Wait, wait, wait, how many heroes are there in this time?” Warriors looks from one to the other with panic building in his gaze.

Link frowns in what seems an over-the-top expression of thought. “Do the colors count?”

Four chokes.

Legend flushes. “They count.” His voice is strained and nearly wheezing as swirling hazel stares a hole in his head.

“And then there’s the Hytopian wannabe, who might very well actually be one.” Link continues. “And the two of us. Does Great-Grandfather Raven count?”

“Not in this time, he just traveled here briefly when Nayru became corrupted.” Legend drawls with a head tilt, as if talking about meeting your ancestors and de-corrupting a goddess was normal for this world, and with the way Link just nods along, they are all beginning to worry that that is the norm here.

“Right, so five heroes.” Link nods slowly. “And then we have great-gramps Raven, and whoever- wait.” The new Link’s eyes fly wide open as he motions to Time. “Isn’t that Great-Gramps?”

Legend and Time both splutter as the vet hurries to correct the other hero. “No! He’s...” Legend looks from the startled Time to his cousin. “That’s the Hero of Time.” He whispers gravely, and Link’s eyes blow even wider as he looks to Time, who winces. They’ve all heard of what happened to the Hero of Time in this world.

“Oh!” Link breathes, before another smile stretches over his face. “Great-Great-Gramma Lon’s husband!”

Legend just facepalms while Time stands with his mouth flapping and fingers twitching, the old man now trying to calculate exactly how many children are now officially his while Warriors proceeded to have all the color drain out of his face.

“How are there two heroes of Courage here!!!!” The Captain hisses, and Link and Legend both look at each other. “And for the love of Hylia! Stop looking at each other all the time, what, can you read minds?!?!”

And both stare at the captain with the deadest of dead expressions, which actually makes Link all the more unnerving and Legend all the more intimidating. “Yes.”

It takes a while, but once they meet Zelda, she takes the time to explain.

“Our fathers are cousins.” She says, smiling at the heroes as they all sit and have lunch in the courtyard, motioning to Legend as she speaks. The vet is currently pulling his hat back off of his face after having it tugged down in vengeance for earlier. “Once both had married into the royal family, there was contention in the kingdom so Auntie Hylia sent Mapa and Papa out here to take care of this part of the kingdom while she handled things in central Hyrule.

“Most folks call Papa a king because they forget that it’s one country, but what with the high borders and all, it may as well be its own country.” She shrugs as she pops another piece of food in her mouth. “And there aren’t two Courage Wielders, technically. I mean, there are, but Link isn’t one of them.” She smiles in a sly sort of way, too wide, too knowing, too creepy for many of the heroes to be comfortable. “He just happens to care a lot and does what he can.”

“Oh yeah,” Hyrule nods knowingly, chewing slowly on his own meal. “My brother is like that too.”

The others, even Legend and Link, turn to Hyrule in shock. “Your what???”

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ofoceansandtombsanew · 3 years ago

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chapter list 🧣 next chapter

summary: believing your father's concerns as a black family living in the secluded mountains of Wall Maria to be simple paranoia, a you naively set out on your own to discover the world and what it truly holds. yet after encountering another family secluded in the moutains, the Ackermans, you realize that maybe his concerns weren't so unfounded in the terrifying yet beautiful reality you live in. befriending their daughter, a fellow survivor in what it means to be the last of their kind, you finds your path leading to the horrors of the fall of maria and the 103rd cadet corps.

tags: fem!reader, black!reader, canon typical violence and maturity, replies and reblogs appreciated, the reader is older than mikasa by one year, reader is also a hunter by family trade so if you don’t like that i wouldn’t read

a/n: and here we are to commence the very first chapter of this fic. Uba means ‘father’ in Hausa, Uwa means ‘mother’. that is the extent of my Hausa knowledge. this chapter is also brought you by the childhood naivety of believing that just because something isn’t that far by map, doesn’t mean it isn’t actually that far. dumbass kids amirite???

|| Chapter 01 ||

Year 844, Age 10

"I'll be gone a couple of days."

"I know, pop." You called over your shoulder, curled into a tight ball. You hoped your voice sounded like that of someone who was truly tired.

"I really don't feel comfortable leaving you that long on your own." Uba continued doubtfully.

You felt your stomach lurch. Slowly, you sat up before looking at him, blinking as groggily as you could. "Uba, you said we're low on food. You really need to go hunting."

Uba nodded taking heavy steps to your bed. "The hunting is always best when we're together." He said, reaching over to squeeze your left ankle gently. You made sure your wince and recoil didn't seem too extreme to be fake. It wasn't entirely, your ankle was still a bit sore from your staged fall a few days prior. "You promise me that you remember to stay inside, there's enough food for you to take care of yourself."

"Yes, Uba." You nodded.

"Don't answer the door for anyone if they knock." Uba continued in a more grave tone.

"I know, Uba." You repeated. It was like Uba didn't realize you knew his many rules inside and out already.

"Hide immediately, don't let anyone see you. And make sure-"

"To always keep the curtains closed, Uba, I know. I know!" How could you forget when it was like Uba made sure to repeat these nonsensical rules to you everyday like you would somehow forget.

Uba's expression was sharp and unrelenting like the earth itself, "I know it all seems like a lot, but it's all to protect us. To protect you. Your mother-" Would feel like you're driving her crazy too. But you decided to keep your disagreeable remark to yourself, lest Uba abandoned his hunting trip altogether to re-educate you about their ancestors. About how when the Titans first arrived, your family had been among the few to find refuge within the three Walls protecting them from the giant monsters roaming the world. "would agree too. Humans like us," Uba gestured to your matching dark brown skin. "you don't find many of. We might even be the last ones. There are many who would want to steal those like us away."

You stopped yourself from rolling your eyes, you had heard the same story all your life. The same one every year, and every year nothing happened. You hadn't so much had seen another person besides yourself and Uba in these mountains lest you went to town to sell furs.

"These rules might seem strict, but it keeps the two of us safe." Uba said yet again. "I'll be going now, remember everything I said. I'll be gone only a couple of days, you have the rifle if anything goes wrong." But nothing should. With that, Uba stood up and left your room.

It was only when you were sure an hour had past and that your father was most certainly gone did you finally toss the blankets off of you. You had only two days days, maybe three at most, to make good on your plan to put as much distance between your home as possible. Uba would be heading east down the mountains and you knew his routine by heart after so many hunting trips. Uba wouldn't turn you back home until they had as many as a few rabbits and a few ducks to spare. If you were especially lucky, there’d even been a deer or two.

The ducks would be plucked raw, feathers washed and used for pillows. The deer would be skinned and most of the meet would be hung to dry. Then the furs would be sold for the extra income. Oko willing, the prey would be bountiful this season before the rain would arrive and there would be no chance you to run off.

You felt slightly guilty, rummaging through the kitchen for the loaves of bread. But there was still plenty of yeast for Uba to make even more bread for himself and he'd have plenty of meat coming back from his trip. Your ankle hurt with the dull throb of a sprain you’d given yourself by tripping over a hill. You knew this hunting trip would be too important for Uba to skip, it was the only opportunity you had to finally leave this place and go to the city.

Uba can't keep me hidden here forever. You willed the guilt to leave you. You would be going west to Leipmold, the closest town from where they were that you saw on the map of your father's study. You had traced it over many of time on your own parchment. You had always been indifferent to hunting, but now you appreciated the knowledge. You could hide your own tracks and hunt for your own food, then you would sell any furs you could skin herself in the markets. Only once you were satisfied would you go back home, maybe Uba wouldn't be as mad that you ran away if you brought back enough coin to make him forget that you had broken all of his rules.

You stuffed your blanket into your knapsack. You could sell rabbit fur, rabbits were always abundant in the mountains! You rubbed the back of your head, wondering if there was anything you might be forgetting. Your scalp was bare, Uba shaving it only the day before. He never allowed your hair to grow long. You couldn't even wear dresses. He said the pale-skinned humans would sell you off to do the unthinkable if they knew you were a girl.

You were sure that if Uwa were still alive that she would have let you wear dresses the color of the sky at dawn and let your hair grow wild and coiled. You felt a prickle of anger surge through her. You’d grow your hair out in the city and buy a dress. No more pants. Then when Uba realized he had nothing to worry about, he would let you do as she pleased.

You slung your rifle over your shoulder and packed the few bullets Uba had spared in your sack. In its place, you left a note.

Uba, I've gone to Eppelbog. I know you think that I'm just a kid, but I'm 10 years old. I'm going to sell our furs there and come back with money. Just wait here for me, okay? Eppelbog was south from their home and nowhere near Leipmold. When Uba decided to track you down in his fury, he would head there first and that would give you plenty of time to get to Leipmold before he realized that he was duped. If he realized. If was always good.

Heaving a deep breath, you opened the door. May Uwa be watching over you.

Uba is gonna be gone for at least 2 days, 3 if I'm lucky. Your pace was quick and you relished the sound of the grass crunching beneath your feet. You hoped Uba didn't suddenly realized he had forgotten something and turned back around and ended your journey before it truly had a chance to start. There's another mountain path I can take between here and Leipmold and I can get to it by tomorrow morning. Traveling through the mountain chains would be your best chance at throwing off Uba when he realized you were gone.

You had two loaves and a half of bread and around five bullets. A wineskin full of the freshwater you could spare without taking too much from Uba. This should be able to last until I get to Leipmold. Any rabbits you caught could be cooked completely, saving half the meat for the next day to stretch it out. You were sure that it would be at least a week before you got to Leipmold, the distance not seeming too far on Uba's map when you looked at it.

It would only take a few days tops, you were sure.

But it didn't take long for your optimism to vanish nearly a week later.

Your hands were paper dry and your feet ached.

The rabbits had been scarce and you only had a few chunks of bread left.

Your stomach growled but Akunna refused to stop and eat. You needed to save what you could until you could spot another goose. You’d seen one yesterday, but by the time your rifle was ready, it had flown beyond the opening of the trees and the hunger pangs kept you up most of the night. You would catch something today, you thought determinedly as you looked at your tracing of Uba's map. You’d been walking the path for a few days now, it couldn't be that much longer before you got to the base of the mountain. Maybe there you could find some berries or mushrooms to eat, you hadn't seen much that were edible on your trail so far.

Maybe you should have grabbed some of the meat they still had, after all. Uba was going to come back with plenty of food for himself, he wouldn't have noticed the leftover venison missing.

You sighed and put your traced map back in your bag and stood up, wincing at the aching sensation. Soon you’d would be at the base of the mountain, she reminded yourself.

There’ll be less undergrowth hiding food and there'll be berries and mushrooms that aren't poisonous. It would definitely be easier finding rabbit burrows without all the shrubs. The path east that you and Uba took for hunting always seemed clear and kept in comparison to this wild path. Maybe Uba had been clearing it himself to make it easier to hunt. You at least wished there was a snake rattling somewhere in the bushes, it tasted alright. Uba caught a few a year and the taste was interesting and flavorful whenever he made it.

Your stomach rumbled again. No more thinking about food. You groaned.

It was then that you smelled apples and you stopped in your tracks.

You licked your cracked lips as the smell continued to waft through the air. Those were a rare treat back home. Uba had planted a few seeds on your land but their trees seldom had a good harvest making you treasure them whenever you could manage to get a good few. You followed your nose to where the scent was coming from. Your aching feet were suddenly easier to ignore.

It didn't take long for a small cottage to be seen through the trees. The back door was wide open and from where you stood and saw a window that was open with a pie sitting in the sill. No one else could be seen from where you stood.

Who on earth leaves a perfectly good pie unattended?

Your belly growled something fierce and you grabbed your stomach. You should just leave. Hungry as you were, your mother would curse you if you stole from someone.

But no one is even here. You argued with yourself. If the pie was that important, it’d be inside with the door closed. You licked your lips again but they somehow felt even drier now. You were like a fox stuck in a trap, starving, with its own paw starting to look delicious after days of not eating and the desperation to escape setting in. When your stomach rumbled again, your resolve solidified. Uwa might be upset you stole a pie, but she’d understand if you did it to avoid starving to death.

With that, you dropped your bag and rifle behind a bush and stumbled out of the bushes, your pant leg catching on a few brambles and tearing at the fabric.

You would worry about that when you were finally in Leipmold. You’d eat as much as you could before running away, that would at least hold you off the rest of the day if you ate half. And if you really could eat half and could fold the tin over, you could carry it back to your bag. Two days worth of food.

This meal could be two days worth of food!

You rushed up the few stairs leading into the house, weary of the creaking of your boots on the floorboard as you searched for the kitchen. You were glad that the cottage wasn't too big, only two rooms were in the hall before it led to the kitchen and dining room area. There was another door, you assumed was the front door.

Even better was if the family was in front doing something else and would be distracted long enough for you to leave without much of a trace. Your guilt raised with each step, but so did the growls from your stomach. I’m really sorry!

You stood on a conveniently placed stool and grabbed the pie with ease, reaching for a spoon in the sink that looked like it had been rinsed off recently and dug right in.

You froze mid-bite of your third spoonful when you heard a soft gasp and you turned around so quickly you thought your neck cracked. Behind you was a girl your age, her hair long and with eyes nearly the color to match. The girl’s mouth was agape widely as she took in the sight of you. You in her kitchen, mouth full of pie.

You blinked.

You and the girl only continued to stare at each other.

You promptly ignored how your hands burned when you picked up the pie tin, you could feel bad about stealing this family's pie later.

Your actions caused the girl to break out of her stupor. "W-wait!" She cried, storming after you. "Stop, you pie thief!"

"Mikasa?" The voice of a woman approached closer and you felt her stomach and heart lurch. "What's going on?! Are you alright?!"

"Some boy is stealing our pie, Mom!"

When the steps leading to the back door came into view, you prepared yourself to jump over them. You’d just have to hide under a shrub until they gave up their search outright before you could leave. That was when a third person arrived, a tall man with blond hair, holding his arms out wide to prevent your exit as you skid to a halt in surprise before stumbling forward clumsily and crashing on the floorboard. You winced as your chin hit the wooden floor and your teeth clashed, the pie tin tumbling forward and landing into a crumbly and sticky mess.

"Oh no!" The young girl sounded disappointed and emotional. "Mom, your pie..."

"Mikasa, come back here." Her mother called after her. "Please be careful."

You groaned and clasped at your jaw. You struggled to sit back up, your vision was cloudy was from the hot tears welling in your eyes. "Ow ow..." You garbled but it didn't feel like anything was broken. However, that didn't mean it didn't hurt any less. You sniffed harshly, trying to blink away the watering of your eyes. You didn't want to cry in front of these people.

Your parents really had cursed you for stealing the pie.

Mikasa peered through the crack of the door.

Her mother and father had told her to stay in the kitchen after they had caught the boy trying to steal their pie, but she was still worried. She felt part disappointed and part angry looking at him as he clutched a brown hand to a swollen chin. That had been a pie she had helped her mother make and her first real experience baking and it was ruined. It wasn't often that her parents felt comfortable enough letting Mikasa fiddle in the kitchen.

To see it stolen so callously and then spilled onto the floor put a damper on her spirits.

Now she wondered what her parents would do next.

Brown suddenly caught gray and Mikasa flinched, ducking in order to avoid the boy catching her spying.

It wasn't really spying if it was in her own house, was it?

He was the stranger here.

She didn't feel brave enough to look up again, fearing she'd be spotted again instantly. Mikasa placed a small hand over her chest, hoping it would calm her heartbeat.

"I'm sorry about your pie." The boy's voice was soft and barely audible from where Mikasa stood. "I shouldn't have tried to steal it. I don't have any apples to give back. Please don't be mad."

"Where is your family?" Mother didn't sound angry, so much as she sounded worried. Like when she thought Mikasa had gone too far into the forest to play. She was always worrying about something, Mikasa's mother. "What's a child as young as yourself doing alone in these mountains?" Her voice was gentle.

"Uba went to Eppelbog." The boy answered after a few seconds. "He wanted me to go to the Leipmold to sell furs."

"'Uba'?" Mother repeated, sounding as confused as Mikasa was. She'd never heard that word before. "Is that your father?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Father sounded surprised, "your father decided to send you on your own to Leipmold? That's at least two weeks away from here! How old are you?"

"10." That was a year older than Mikasa's 9 and he had looked so different from her and Father and Mother. He was slightly taller than her, maybe from the boots he was wearing, and his eyes were a bright amber in contrast to his skin that was the color of Ms. Penny's feathers, their oldest hen who died the previous winter. Mikasa felt her courage return enough to attempt her peeking once again. She'd never seen anyone with skin that dark before, maybe he needed a bath.

"10?" Mother brought a hand to her mouth. "Who sends their 10 year old to sell furs that far away?"

Father glanced at Mother with a reproachful look, "that isn't too young an age for some families to have their boys work, Shiori."

"13 is one thing." Mother argued, crossing her arms. "10 is another, Mikasa's only 9! He needs to be home with his mother, Abelard."

"Don't have one." The boy shook his head. "Uwa's gone, been gone since I was three. It's just me and Uba."

Mikasa shuddered as her eyes widened in horror. His mother was gone? She looked to her own parents, unable to imagine a reality in which either of them weren't with her everyday. No longer seeing her mother's embroidery or welcoming her father home when he was gone after a few hours of hunting, bringing back something that would make her heart jump as she tried suppressing the vague feeling of fear witnessing it.

"Is this your first time going to Leipmold on your own?" Father asked the boy who nodded. "Your father was irresponsible to send you on your way without enough food to last you an entire trip. You're going on foot the entire way?"

"I was supposed to catch rabbits on the way, I thought I could eat them on the way." The boy explained before wincing briefly. He rubbed his chin again tenderly. "There weren't a lot of rabbits though. I thought Leipmold was closer on the map Uba had in his study."

At that, Mother and Father both exchanged a look that Mikasa didn't understand. From what it looked like, neither did the boy whose expression was one of worry as he looked between the two of them. "Please don't tell Uba about the pie, he'll be mad." He begged.

"We'll keep the pie to ourselves if you answer some more of our questions." Father reassured him with a smile. "When is your uba going to return home?"

"A few weeks." The boy's answer was slightly muffled. "He has a lot to sell."

"And you're absolutely sure he'll come no sooner than that?"

The boy nodded.

"What's your name?"

The boy hesitated at that, looking elsewhere. Mikasa was prepared to duck again if he was going to look in her direction again. "It's alright, dear." Mother's voice was soothing as she spoke. "You can trust us."

"... _." The boy said after another moment passed. "_ Okoro."

"_." Mikasa's mother repeated, copying the syllables slowly. "That's a lovely name, did your uwa pick it?"

"Uba did."

"Well at least your father has a good sense to pick a decent name. The same can’t be said for his decisions about you working now..." Mother said, though it looked like she was saying it mostly to herself. "How about this, instead of going to Leipmold, you work here for us for a few weeks while your uba is in Eppelbog and we pay you for it. Then you can leave for home from here and we won't even have to mention the pie."

You blinked in surprise at that, hand falling away from his chin for once. "Really?"

Mother and Father nodded in unison. "It would be a lot safer for you to do this instead, I think your father would understand."

"The mountains are no place for a child to be traveling on their own." Mother continued. "We'll have no problems letting you stay here in exchange for help with the chores around here. And you'll have to get along with our daughter, of course." Mikasa bit her lip and had to stop herself just barely from shuffling her feet. "She can be a bit shy, so you'll have to be patient with her."

"I- um-"

Mother smiled, "you can call us Abelgard and Shiori. Please make yourself home."

Father looked at the door and Mikasa took a few steps back, but it was too late. "We know you're there already, Mikasa." He said with a knowing look on his face. Mikasa groaned quietly at the failure of her hiding place as she slowly opened the door, the creaking sounding ten times louder than normal. "There you are. Say 'hello' to _, he will be stay with us for a little while to make up for the pie, okay?"

Mikasa hid behind her mother to avoid looking you in the eye. "Okay." She grumbled quietly, hoping that would suffice.

"_ will stay in your room while he's here, okay, and you can sleep with Mom and Dad, alright?"

"Mmhmm."

"Um." You piped up awkwardly.

"Yes?" Father turned his attention back to their guest who would now be staying in Mikasa's room with her favorite dolls and the perfect view of the flower patch she had planted that was finally starting to sprout.

"I'm not a boy." You coughed as light glinted on your shining head from the window. "Uba just shaves it off all the time."

Mikasa looked from behind Mother to stare at the girl curiously in her dirty shirt and pants and shaved head. "Ow!" She hissed when she was pinched.

"It's rude to stare, Mikasa." Mother warned but her voice wasn't harsh. "Remember? We're supposed to be polite when someone is in our house."

I know that already! Mikasa looked down at the floor embarrassed to be scolded in front of someone so publicly. "Sorry." She murmured instead.

"We should get you some fresh clothes so you can have those washed." Mother looked back at you as if there were no interruptions. "Do you like wearing dresses, dear?"

"Um..." You just shrugged with no real answer.

"We can set out some clothes for you to pick between after you have a bath. Dear, you should get some water and heat it up over the fire for her in the mean time." Mother's attitude had shifted completely and Mikasa felt her embarrassment fade away as she watched in awe of how her mother seemed to command the room. Father had already given her a playful salute, leaving to do exactly as she asked. Mikasa could only hope that one day she would be just like her. Someone everyone could respect. "Mikasa, you should show our new guest to your room and maybe you can even give her a tour afterwards. Do you think you can do that?"

Mikasa nodded, not wanting to disappoint her.

"_, where are your belongings?" Mother asked.

You pointed out of the window. "I left them under a bush."

"Alright, then you should get those before anything else." With that, Mother clapped her hands together to signal she was done for now. "Go on now." She placed a hand on your back and gave you a few pats on the back to encourage the you to stand. "It shouldn't take but twenty or so minutes for your bath to be ready and the warm water should help with any soreness. Then you can relax for the day before you can help with chores tomorrow."

You stood gingerly on your feet. Your face was full of disbelief, but what ever you were thinking, you never said anything. You only left the room to get your things.

"Why would her dad cut her hair off, mom?" Mikasa asked when the girl was out of an earshot.

Mother only sighed, placing a warm hand atop her head gently. "I don't know, dear. And you shouldn't ask unless she tells you it's alright, she might be very sensitive about it. Her father might have his reasons for it. So we need to be kind until we're able to get her home safely, alright? Can you do that for us?"

Mikasa didn't understand completely, but she nodded anyway. "I can."

Mother smiled brightly, "that's my girl."

~;’;~

You fidgeted uncomfortably in your dress and at how it felt strange to not feel fabric hugging your legs closely. The dress, one of Mikasa's, was pretty. A simple yellow, but it was nothing like how you’d imagined wearing dresses to be like. You spun around in the full body mirror the Ackermans had.

This dress didn't seem to be meant for someone with no hair, but Mrs. Ackerman had seemed happy enough lending it to you that you didn't dare take it off.

"Um..." You saw another face looking back at you in the mirror's reflection looking at you cautiously. "Mom asked me to give you a tour around our home right now."

Mikasa, Mr. Ackerman had said her name was. "Oh, um, hi." You replied, turning around to face the girl properly. You hadn't expected y ourattempt at theft to turn into this, but it was a lot better than getting in trouble and going to jail over it. And it was even better than immediately being taken to Uba who would be furious with you in more ways than one. Not only did you run away but you interacted with people he had always told you specifically to avoid, then to add to it, you tried to steal from them.

"You're Mikasa, right?"

The black-haired girl nodded, "and you're _."

An awkward silence past between the two of them before you spoke up again. "Thank you for letting me wear your dress, Uba never let me wear them before. It's very pretty."

Mikasa cracked a small smile at that. You were still sure that she was upset about the pie though.

"I'm ready for your tour now." You gestured to the door. The warm bath really did help out.

Mikasa led the way with her flats tapping nicely against the wooden floors, your own footsteps in her boots sounded heavier. But you both still made your way outside while there was still plenty of sun gracing the cottage. The air smelled sweeter now that you weren't stinking among shrubs anymore as she followed Mikasa to a small coop of chickens. "This is Eunice, Bonnie, Claudette, and Dana, our hens." Mikasa's voice was light with a small smile gracing her face as she pointed at the birds. "We don't eat them because they lay eggs for us."

"I like Claudette the most." You said after giving them a lookover, fond of the the black hen's speckled-with-white feathers.

Mikasa shook her head. "Eunice is the prettiest." She gestured at the burgundy hen with gusto.

"Claudette."

"Eunice."

You shook your head resolutely. "Claudette."

Mikasa only puffed out her cheeks before leading away from the coop to a garden area. "Eunice." You thought she had heard under the girl's breath, but Mikasa was made sure to get your focus on the garden. Your belly grumbled when she spotted the blackberry bushes.

You coughed. "Did Mrs. Ackerman plant everything?"

Mikasa shook her head and knelt beside a small patch of dirt separate from the main garden, small sprouts sticking out of them. "These are the flowers I planted." The girl said proudly, the sun beaming down on her. You knelt beside her as best you could without getting dirt on your borrowed outfit. "Mom let me do all by myself and she said they'll finally be flowers in a couple of months!" You knew you wouldn't be there long enough for that but you smiled anyway.

"Can you eat them?"

Mikasa looked aghast at the thought of eating flowers. "Of course not!"

"You can eat some flowers though." You pointed out. Like lavender, you knew Uba liked to use that from the wild plants that grew near their home. He would collect other flowers like chamomile for tea he would brew when it was especially cold.

"These ones are for being pretty." Mikasa looked at her plants proudly again. "Mom said we can make flower crowns with them and press them too and that I'll be able to keep them forever that way." She stood up, dusting what few specks of dirt managed to get on the bottom of her dress. "The rest here are vegetables Mom grows and the berries are still okay to pick too." As if to prove, Mikasa plucked a berry right off the bush and handed it over. "You can try it, if you want."

You took it all too eagerly, relishing the sweet taste on her tongue. "Can I have another?" You asked, but Mikasa was already picking more.

Despite the rocky introductions, you were sure you were going to like working for the Ackermans.

#look she's writing #snk #snk x reader #aot #aot x reader #mikasa x reader #mikasa ackerman x reader #mrs. ackerman #mr. ackerman #black writers of tumblr

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tgarnsl · 2 years ago

Note

He saw no poetry in the slowly rolling fog, nor had he ever seen it.

Putting below a cut for spoiler-ish reasons.

He saw no poetry in the slowly rolling fog, nor had he ever seen it. There was nothing of beauty to be found here on the shore of this lonesome island, nothing of comfort, only the quiet lapping of the loch and the damp mist that coated everything it touched. Colonel Keith Windham drew his cloak tighter around himself, ignoring how his joints ached from the cold, and waited as night closed in around him. At last he saw it, through the fog: a light, and then at last the kilted figure of Ewen Cameron appeared before him, a lantern in his hand. Ardroy was as handsome as Keith remembered, with his plaid pinned over his shoulder and an eagle’s feathers in his bonnet, tall and strong and looking not a day over seven-and-twenty, as though not a day had passed for him since the day he died, almost forty years ago.

“Windham,” said Ewen, a gentle smile on his lips, setting down the lantern. “How long has it been?”

“Eight years,” said Keith heavily. “I was fighting in the colonies again.”

Fear and sorrow flickered across Ardroy’s face in quick succession. “Has it truly been so long?” he asked, sitting down beside Keith and removing his bonnet.

“Yes,” said Keith. “Can you not see it by the lines on my face and the grey in my hair?” He laughed bitterly. “I have grown old, Ardroy, while you—”

“I am young,” said Ewen, his hand stealing into Keith’s. It was as cold as the grave, yet Keith did not let it go. He could not. “But in truth, Windham — when I look at you I do not see the lines on your face nor the grey in your hair, but the beautiful young man who came to me that night in the hut.”

“I am not, nor have I ever been beautiful,” said Keith gruffly, looking away. “Though I appreciate the intent of your words.”

Ewen gave a quiet laugh. “You never heed my words,” he said, more to himself than to Keith. “The next thing you will say is that you are too old for me and that I should find a lover nearer to my own age, as though such a thing were desired or possible.”

“I am too old for you,” insisted Keith. “But I will not begrudge you of a lover for the night, not when—” He bit his lip, suddenly afraid of what he knew he must say next. “I do not know if we will meet again. My heart is… failing, the physicians tell me, and I fear I am not long for this world.”

“I know,” said Ewen, his blue eyes very calm and very serious.

“Will you wait for me?” asked Keith.

Ewen smiled gently. “I have waited for you this long,” he said. “What is another year or two? But Keith—” His demeanour became very grave. “There is one thing I would ask.”

“Anything.”

“Lay your bones to rest beside mine. Let our ashes mingle until we are as one. For if you are far away, I fear I will not find you.” He touched Keith’s cheek. “And I love you too dearly to cross to that far green country without you.”

Keith covered Ewen’s cold hand with his own. “I have taken a house in Maryburgh,” he said. “The doctors tell me I would be better off in warmer climes, but I would rather spend my last days here, near you.” A terrible sorrow came over him, and he turned away from Ewen, breaking free of their connexion. “I fear, Ardroy, that the life I leave behind is little and inconsequential.”

“Hardly inconsequential,” said Ewen. “You kept my memory alive and cared for those I loved in life as though they were your own kith and kin. Was it not you who gave my Alison a dowry so that she could marry her Frenchman? Was it not you who paid off in secret some of Ardroy’s debts, so that my aunt and my heir were not forced to make difficult choices?”

“You were never meant to know of those,” muttered Keith.

“You brought me home to Ardroy,” continued Ewen. “You arranged for my body to be brought back here and buried on this island.”

“The burial ground of your parents and ancestors is a bleak and barren spot,” said Keith, his voice thick with emotion. “I thought you might find peace here. It would seem I was wrong.”

Ewen was smiling. “I have found peace,” he said. “I could have crossed over long ago, but I was not ready to leave this place, or you.” He looked out over the quiet waters of the loch, the mists parting a little as he did so. “There is not a place in all the fields of Heaven that is so lovely, I reckon,” he said softly. “I am glad that when I leave this spot of earth at last that my bones will remain. If you had buried me at Morar…”

“I would not have,” said Keith. “You belong here, on your lands. You…” His voice wavered. “You gave your life for me. I would at least see you buried where you belonged.”

There was sadness in Ewen’s smile now, sadness and regret. “I wish we had been given more time,” he said.

“You always say that,” said Keith, clearing his throat. “You are far too sentimental.”

“I am dead,” said Ewen. “I am allowed my sentiment.” He rose and offered his hand. “Come lie with me, Keith Windham, for our time is short and I would know you before dawn steals me away from you once more.”

Keith accepted Ewen’s hand and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. He glanced around at the tidy grave, the flowers lying before the headstone, the makeshift bed just beyond. There was comfort to be found in the thought of his grave lying there beside Ewen’s, never more apart. He was so very tired…

“Lead on,” he said to Ewen, and followed his beloved friend into the swirling mist.

#the flight of the heron #my writing #ask meme #thank you for this!#apologies for getting a nice prompt and writing ghost fic #but that's just who I am

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quillyfied · 3 years ago

Text

Day Thirteen: Spirits! Story time: my first exposure to Good Omens was the show (as if that wasn't obvious enough); my first bingeing of the series, when we got to the scene of Newt and Anathema kissing, I was actually really pumped and charmed bc "yes! They're subverting the witch/witchfinder relationship as set forth by their ancestors like two or three episodes ago! They're making Adultery Pulsifer roll over in his grave! They're--they're--oh, dear me, okay, I guess--um--okay--" And every time I watch the series again, I'm reminded of this first impression of Newt and Anathema's relationship (bc critical thinking is for later viewings, not the first), and how peeved Adultery Pulsifer would be and how smug Agnes would also be. So for the last day of Racket's 13 Days of Halloween this year, I decided to pay tribute to that concept. This is 100% canon don't @ me.

Thank you for joining me for another fun spooky season, and thanks as always to the incomparable @racketghost for facilitating our fun! If there's another one next year I'll be there! Thirteenth Night chapter here!

#good omens #racket's 13 days of halloween #quillartist #and now i rest #hand out candy to trick or treaters tonight #and watch that garden wall cartoon while i do #ooh still have to catch the muppets haunted mansion film too #might be an all day spookfest yall! what fun!

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whisperthatruns · 3 years ago

Text

Love Your Niggas

I am again considering how I sit inside the space between two gs as I did when the officer thumbed the handle of his weapon & asked

what you boys doing out so late one night on Livingston while the skin of me & two of my niggas hushed the brightness of the streetlights

& we were old enough boys to know when someone wasn’t actually calling us boys & look at how these fools put dancing shoes on all that language

like my niggas ain’t write the book & then have the book stolen & then take back whatever pages they could before slipping out a window & what you have

to realize is that fire knows no master beyond whatever hands summoned it & in virginia the torches sprayed a mist of sparks across the sky & in ohio me &

my niggas threw our hands over a fire & let the flame turn meat brown & cracked jokes until somebody’s mama got to rolling over in her grave & some niggas might say

to force movement out of the dead is another way to keep the ancestors close & so I sin & I sin & I sin & I know & I hope when I die there are some niggas

still kicking it & willing to yell something heavy & improper about my living so that I too may know what it is to roll over & to roll up on a nigga is another type of intimacy

& once, we rolled up on some niggas over a card game or over some weed or over loneliness & I guess loneliness is another type of debt & there is no cure for the ache

of living like running with some niggas who might actually get your ass killed & speaking of absence I am considering how the space between the two gs is where we might congregate

those who love us & those who want to see us dead. oh, how we’ve both found ourselves wedded to the way the g sits in the back of the throat for a swift moment before tumbling

down the tongue & out of a car window in a town where you might be far away from your niggas & I am wondering if this is the common ground I have been hearing so much about. It seems I love

my gs as you do, executioner. & what a tool this is for both of us. the way one can wrap their fingers around the letter’s open mouth & use its bottom to dig a grave. during the q&a, the old black woman

who could be my kin in the way that anyone who has outlived my kin could be my kin asks me what I think about putting the word nigga in my poems & in another voice, she is asking if I know

who had to die for me to be here with this ungrateful tongue & who am I to curate the small space between love & violence & I think of this when I say I love you nigga & slap a hand so hard that the blood vibrates underneath my palm for hours. I want the ghost of every type of love I have for my niggas to echo for days like these, where it is raining in a city & I make mirrors out of every surface so that I am both me & all my niggas. & I am considering the g again. all my gs done dirt & some have become it. my gs wish to be made into ash upon their leaving but we bury my gs anyway. my niggas ain’t ones to miss a chance to get fly & a funeral will do if nothing else will. god grant me a good grave in your gracious ground. let someone else be kept awake at night by the sound

of my body moving the earth in the name of my niggas & all of their breathing & iridescent sins.

Hanif Abdurraqib, A Fortune for Your Disaster (Tin House Books, 2019)

#hanif abdurraqib #love your niggas #a fortune for your disaster #poetry #anti black racism for ts

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rotzaprachim · 4 years ago

Note

Not to be sappy but I'd love an Andy/Quynh first kiss, if and when you have the time.

This was a GREAT prompt and I hope you enjoy <3

touch the threshold, it is ancient

teen, 1.8 k, ao3 here

How long did you walk together before you walked together someone will ask, and she doesn’t have the answer. Long. Too long, maybe, but by the time she and Quỳnh find each other, they have a good idea of the kind of thing they’re in for, battles survived, even more, hunger and thirst and storm survived, skin that scars and wrinkles no further, hair that goes no more grey over the years. Family five and six and seven and then uncountable generations to their graves. They understand, maybe, how time will move honey-slow through their lives as it crashes down around the rest of the world as a wave from the sea slams the shoreline, leaving whitewater in its wake.

And maybe this is why, why it it takes so long for them to come to that calm morning in the town by the so, so many- not years, for them really, so much as cycles of the land, death and life and death that feels close enough to hold together in the palm of a hand, the sturdy rhythmic pattern of the gods beating out a dancing rhythm against the earth. Winter-summer-winter-spring. Fall in winter, rise in spring, and every time you turn your head, another generation has gone to the back to the earth or the ash or a sky above, the baby who took her mother in the birthing now an honored grandmother with many flocks and fruit trees and grandchildren at her feet. It does not take much to untie yourself from the earth and feel like you and this woman in front of you are the only people alive, walking blood-bound and human through the world of ghosts. So many have now worshipped them as gods, given them the finest lodging in their temples and brought them the finest woven linen fabrics and cowrie-shell necklaces, pounded gold anklets and jugs of honeyed wine, looked in their eyes for the salvation of rain and a good growing season, and so many others have bound then to the burning pyre when they could not bring the end to the hunger. They are always having to walk on. Quỳnh does not think they are gods. Anath does not know if gods know they are gods.

Anath only knows this: the music of the earth, and the woman in front of her, whose burning-spark soul she carries beneath her skin alongside her own. She knows she feels this woman in her heart, and that no number of her own deaths is too many to see her well and safe, and that when their skin trails against each other in the desert-cool night it is the fire of the world itself. That she is kind and soft of heart and always extends an open hand to the stranger and that she cries after every battle as they do their best to honor and say the burial rights of the dead so that the fallen can walk to the next world, even if it is different from their own, and yet she also knows that this woman is knife edge sharp, prefers to bring a tyrant down with a joke and a lampooning poem shouted from the palace roof than with a sword- though of course, she can very well do that as well. Anath knows that it does not matter if she is a god or not, for all that is divine rests in this woman, and she will stand next to her forever.

And like all amongst gods and men she has her rituals, the ones to honor her ancestors that she has carried with her from her first life and the other smaller daily ones, the neat arrangement of their shoes and clothes next to their bedrolls when they make camp. The precision of how neatly she plaits her hair in the mornings and secures it with twisted copper pins. And then the carelessness with how she undoes it in the night, running her hands through the soft braid-bends and letting it fall luxuriously around her shoulders. They are in a town that is one of the beginnings of cities at the edge of a great sea, a decisive turn in the braid of the great human story they are only beginning to fully see the threads of, becoming human again after a long trek through the desert dealing with roving bandits who tried to take the young men to be soldiers and even more worryingly, shattered the walls of cisterns and burned the fields. Anath stopped praying a generations past being the only one who could remember the names of her gods but she calls out to whatever may exist that she and Quỳnh will not return in years time to bury those claimed from the hunger that always comes knocking after war, even when the blood has been drunk thirstily by the earth.

“Shhhh,” Quỳnh says, running her fingers through her hair. “Your thoughts are extremely loud tonight. I need peace in my sleep.” She undoes a final braid and it unravels, and it strikes Anath how the moon on Quỳnh’s hair reminds her of the moon on the rippling night sea. “And I will kill you if I am disturbed.” “You wouldn’t want to clean the blood from your sheets.”

She shrugs. “Maybe so. I am fond of this shift.”

Anath too is fond of this shift, simple in the extreme and with a sharp cut across Quỳnh’s collarbone, leaving her muscle-strong, sun-goldened arms to the cool night air, but her tongue will not let her say anything, so she only nods. Only watches Quỳnh finishing combing out her hair and then brush in oil to keep it strong and safe from the desert wind, same as she does every night in which they are free to do as they please and have their own home to make. The breeze rustles the tips of her hair as she gets up from the place at the edge of the room she’s crouched upon and climbs the ladder back to the sleeping room beneath, and Anath follows her. Unrolls the sleeping roll, even though it is not quite cold enough for the blankets, not with the heat of Quỳnh beside her, burning like her own sun.

“I have not had peace in my own mind since that night at the cistern,” Quỳnh says suddenly, to the back of Anat’s neck, her breath curling warmly there, and she grabs her hand and wraps it tight around her own and brings it to her lips, lightly presses them to the knuckles. Quỳnh shifts behind her. They do not say anything more.

The morning sun comes too early, as it always does, and Quỳnh is still asleep when Anath wakes, curled like an ally cat. Anath climbs down to the narrow street below, barters for weak beer and rough barley bread and, treasure of treasures, fresh sweet figs, milky sap sticky on their stems. She comes home to Quynh and lays these treasures on the low wooden table and tears the bread apart as Quỳnh finally rouses, stretching luxuriously, still all ally cat even with her messy strands of hair sticking up around her face, crinkled nose forever angry at the basic passage of the sun. For all time. For forever.

“I thought you had abandoned me for the barley malter down the street,” Quỳnh teases, like she always does. “You say he has the sweetest brew.”

“I will not leave you until the end of all things,” Anath says, like she always does, and she has never meant words more.

“We must know peace for a while before we again see war,” Anath says says, and Quỳnh nods, knows that it is true, even though it is always a most difficult decision to make when their bodies bear no scars from the war and the soul is not a visible thing and there are still so many out there suffering. It is Quỳnh who makes her stop, makes them both breathe, take long slow days from their lives to breath and listen to the songs of the marketplace, and if it were herself alone, Anath would never stop. But in the deepest parts of herself she knows she must take care of this one beside her, for all their days.

Anath wipes the few spare crumbs from the table and Quỳnh pulls out her carved-wood comb, her most valuable possession apart from her bow and arrows and knives. She has an eye for these sorts of things, jewellry and cloth, that Anath does not. Quỳnh carefully separates her hair into strands and then plaits them, her movements sharp and precise with the experience of time. Pins her hair with the copper pins. Anath watches her easy grace.

Quỳnh finishes and is about to pack the comb away again when she says, suddenly, “Why do I not braid your hair?” She has not made such an offer before.

Without words Anath sits in front of her, crossing her legs against the floor. Quỳnh’s hands are practiced and do not hurt, but even so, it is hard for Anath to keep her breathing steady, keep her thoughts within her head as she feels the steady pull of her hair back from it’s usual mess into a neat plait working its way down her back. She does not like this business of hair, prone to cracking or tangling or catching fire, would cut all of it off if it would not attract undue notice. The cool pass of air at her scalp and neck once it has been done back is a relief.

“There.” Quỳnh’s hands are at the bottom of the braid, tying it back with a strip of cloth. No extra pins. The calm morning silence. And then suddenly the lightest brush of her lips against the top of Anath’s head, even though she must have to push herself up to be able to do that. Her breath hitches, pauses, and so does Anath’s. Live long enough and know change swells across the land slowly, but this- this is different. A sudden shock, like lightening forking from the heavens to the world of man.

“You take care of me, and I will take care of you. That is the only way we can continue upon the earth.”

Anath reaches out and links her fingers through Quynh’s, turns so that their foreheads are to one another. Places a hand at the back of Quỳnh’s neck, and suddenly the storm that has been massing thunder for one thousand years breaks free and their lips are to each other, both familiar and shockingly, bracingly new. The kiss is chaste and then it is very, very hungry, and it tastes of the malt-bitter of beer and the sweetness of figs.

#andy x quynh #andromache of scythia #quynh #the old guard #the old guard fic #my writings #prompt fills #wlw tag #also did u see what i did with the sappiness? did you?

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translations-by-aiimee · 3 years ago

Text

Dig a Grave to Dig Out a Ghost - Chapter 26

Original Title: 挖坟挖出鬼

Genres: Drama, Horror, Mystery, Supernatural, Yaoi

This translation is based on multiple MTLs and my own limited knowledge of Chinese characters. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter Index

Chapter 26 - Photograph

From the South Third Ring Road overpass, turn right and cross a small road covered by empress trees to reach Shenjiayuan.

The fragments of low-rise buildings and the chaotic street stalls on both sides of the street were standoffish in such a modern city. However, this was one of the country's famous antique marketplaces, and tens of thousands of people came here every day with lots of money to spend, risking being baked by the sun and getting heatstroke by lingering around each of the stalls, hoping to find one or two hidden treasures stashed away in a corner somewhere. It was an industry gaining some traction. There were many speculators, collectors, tourists, calligraphers, painters, and even gamblers among them. They firmly believe that a city thousands of years old hid unknown wealth somewhere. It was this mentality that gave them a similar look; intoxicated and wild-eyed with a long outstretched tongue, drooling over the crude high antique imitations on the stalls.

This was the place where Lin Yan made countless memories when he was a teenager. The middle school he went to was nearby. After school, he often came here alone with his schoolbag on his back. Back then, there weren't as many people. There was a very polluted river nearby that hadn't been turned into a landfill yet. The air was always filled with the smell of stinky salted fish. The vendors who set up stalls hadn't yet learned to casually laze about while sneaking glances at the faces of customers to judge how much money they could cheat out of them.

The old days were like rolls of yellowed newspapers. A young man in a light blue school uniform walked through it, exchanging his pocket money for a piece of colored glaze from the late Qing Dynasty. He squatted in front of a stall to sift through the options. The old man at the stall was smoking a cigarette while telling the story of Liulichang in the late Qing Dynasty. Lin Yan didn't know why he was only interested in street stalls when kids his age were saving up to buy posters of celebrities. Just like when they were gushing over the Belgian chocolates their relatives brought home, he was still obsessed for years with the pot full of honey hard candy the old lady in front of the school had.

The wood, rice paper, and the dusty rusticity of the old objects held a taste of time, and teenage Lin Yan couldn't help but be immersed in it. Like a lone fish in the stream.

The sun was shining on the ground at 3 o'clock that afternoon. Lin Yan carried a bulging bag in his left hand and a cup of roasted sencha milk tea in his right. He paced slowly in the crowd, the grass green V-neck T-shirt and cotton calf-length pants standing out. He didn't know why antique hunters liked to wear black, the dust on their clothes making them look like they had just crawled out of the ground.

"Here, it's weirdly hot. Do you want a sip?" Lin Yan shook the milk tea, the ice cube hitting the wall of the cup with a soft thud. Onlookers thought he was talking to the air when actually there was an invisible person next to him helping take off some of the weight of the bag. That mean, even though Lin Yan was carrying a lot of things, it didn't take much effort.

Xiao Yu lowered his head and took a sip where Lin Yan had touched. He bit on the straw a few times and turned his head.

Lin Yan wanted to laugh a little, and brought the cup back to the corner of his mouth.

A-Yan said that Xiao Yu might remember more following him around, so Lin Yan took him to the antique market after breakfast, hoping that something from his own time period might bring something back. Who would've guessed that, after going through all these stalls, lots of purchases were made but there was no progress with the ghost's memory. Lin Yan glanced at the bag in his hand. It was stuffed with clothes bought from a well-known Hanfu store in Shenjiayuan. They were well-made and expensive. Most people only bought them to complete a Hanfu set for their collection. For Lin Yan to buy these kinds of clothes on a daily errand, that was really a rare sight. Even the clerk couldn't help but do a double take.

Xiao Yu didn't understand the time they were currently living in, so he stood his ground and refused to adapt his style to the times. Lin Yan rolled his eyes and glared at him bitterly. He thought, you're the boss here making me throw away my money while I'm just your servant who follows behind you and pays.

Right after they left one store, before he could recover from the purchase, Xiao Yu suddenly stopped when he passed a woodworking shop. Lin Yan looked at the store’s gorgeous decorations and pieces of pearwood and red sandalwood furniture, whining that he really couldn't afford this stuff. Xiao Yu ignored him and dragged him inside. Thirty minutes later, Lin Yan swiped his card to check out under the watchful eye of the clerk and bought a beautiful Tongzhi wood guqin.

"Oh great ancestor, what more do you want?" Lin Yan tucked the order slip from the woodworking shop into his pocket and glared daggers at Xiao Yu.

Xiao Yu shook his head nonchalantly.

There were more people on the street. Some of them didn't know the treasures that they had found, and they couldn't hide their excitement, sneaking a peek at what they have just bought. Some of them had grim faces, looking like they had been ripped off. There were also groups of foreign tourists wearing Lei Feng hats gathered at the roadside to buy shadow puppets. Occasionally, they turned around and curiously look at the antique city, which was built in the traditional Chinese-style.

In the market area to the south, there were large ancient buildings imitating Ming and Qing style architecture. The bustling narrow street seemed like scene straight out of the Water Margin. The wooden window on the second floor were pushed up, supported by a short stick. Looking up, he could see customers sipping tea. The shopkeeper was a short man, busily carrying a large teapot back and forth.

The narrow street lead to a large emerald-green stall covered with plastic tarps to offer shade from the sun. Lin Yan and Xiao Yu walked under the shadow of the tarps when they heard a familiar voice yelling loudly.

"Look at how green the colour is and how good the water head* is! You won't be able to find another one at this price anywhere in Shenjiayuan!" The peddler selling jade pieces had a round belly, one foot on the stool, holding up a transparent fortune bracelet, spittle flying everywhere. The plainly dressed middle-aged woman in front of the stall looked hesitant. She took the bracelet and took another look at it.

*(T/N: Water head [水头] refers to how light shines through jade. Kind of like how the light would look if it were shining through water. There's a list of transparencies if you want to look at how jade is graded, but basically the best jade has a vivid colour with even transparency across the whole piece.)

"It's too expensive, lower the price a bit." The woman said sincerely.

"It's so green, so transparent, I can't go any lower. Miss, if you want a lower price, it'll affect my livelihood. Don't waste my time." The peddler grabbed the bracelet, his eyes bulging.

"I wanted to buy it for my daughter as a birthday gift. It's too expensive. It'd be a pity if she dropped it. Give me the lowest you can go."

"Here." The peddler rolled his eyes. He took out his calculator, punched in a few numbers, and showed it to the woman in front of him, "Is this all right? I can't go any lower!"

Lin Yan couldn't help but lean over and glance at the numbers on the screen. He let out a laugh.

The peddler squinted at him.

Lin Yan shook his head. He took the bracelet and said to the woman: "Don't buy this, he's fooling you."

"Hey, hey, what are you trying to say? I'm running an honest business here. If you don't believe me, go around and ask. . ."

Lin Yan smirked. He put the roasted sencha tea cup on the stall and held the bracelet at a different angle. The curved surface reflected the light from the plastic roof. He said to the woman buying the bracelet: "Look at the blurred edges of the reflection. If you look closely, you can see that there are very fine meshes on the surface." Lin Yan raised the bracelet to let the light through. "There is purple fluorescence inside, indicating that the reason this bracelet is so transparent because of acid washing and a glue filling."

"Also, notice how the green is only sitting on the surface and doesn't reach the middle. That means it was dyed after the fact. This thing is worth one or two hundred yuan. Don't buy it."

The peddler's nose and eyes scrunched up. At first glance, they looked like a dried walnut.

"Oh." The middle-aged woman hurriedly stuffed an envelope containing the money back into her bag, repeatedly thanking Lin Yan.

When she left, the peddler huffed. Pissed, he turned his head away, not looking at Lin Yan. Even his swollen belly seemed to be flatter than before.

"What else should I do when I notice that someone with money on the street?"

Lin Yan roughly flicked the peddler's forehead: "Everyone here has money. It's embarrassing to lie like this, there's no skill in it."

Several surrounding stalls burst out laughing. The peddler rolled his eyes back to normal. He grabbed Lin Yan’s milk tea and poured a few mouthfuls out of the plastic lid. He muttered while he crunched on the ice cubes: “I don't fool people in this business. It's not my fault their eyesight is poor. No refunds is the standard."

This much was true. Antique jade sales rely on good eyesight. Figuring out which store has more genuine products than fake depends on the customer. They can't return them either so the shop doesn't have to admit they were fakes. Lin Yan clicked his tongue: "These people don't know what to look for. You're just trying to make your father think you're good at this job."

The peddler rolled his eyes, knowing that he was in a bad position and couldn't say anything.

Lin Yan had been a frequent visitor to this antique market since he was a child. Since choosing his major in university, he preferred to come to the small stalls to practice his appraisal skills when he had nothing else to do. See what was selling for a high price but was bought for a low price. He was also kind and helped others pick out the best items, so many peddlers knew him. For example, Lin Yan first met this guy's father, a very honest old man. He even took out the receipt with the price he paid for it when he bargained with customers. Unfortunately, when Lin Yan graduated from high school, the old man fell ill and his son took over the business. and this was the leeching peddler in from of him.

Lin Yan wasn't polite with him. When he walked around the stall, he took out a copper box from under the table. Inside were piles of Ming and Qing paperweights. These objects were all family heirlooms that the original stall owner received from nearby residents’ homes when he was young. Lin Yan had just remembered this box of objects then dragged Xiao Yu over to look at them. Brass mirrors, jade bracelets, thumb rings, snuff boxes, tobacco pipes; Xiao Yu looked over them all and just shook his head. Lin Yan threw the last piece back into the box and patted the dust on his clothes, a little frustrated.

"That box has been there for ages and no one's ever touched it. What are you looking at it for?" The peddler kept squinting at him and was too curious not to ask about it.

"Looking for Ming Dynasty artifacts for my classes." Lin Yan actually didn't know what he was looking for. He moved on and put the box back.

"Ming Dynasty?" The peddler didn't care about the bracelet anymore. "Old man Liu has lots stashed away."

"No, no, no. . ." Lin Yan hurriedly refused, but he thought about it and sighed, "Forget it. I've been shopping all day and haven't gone there. I'll give it a try."

"Don't say the wrong thing. Good luck." The peddler made a face.

The shop run by old man Liu was quite famous in Shenjiayuan. Not just because he was the only antique peddler to sell only sell antique pictures, but also because he was notoriously grumpy. Every day, he'd leave the shop and hang up his old camera in the park to make money. Whenever he went to the shop to buy something, the owner was never there. Walking down the street, he ran into him wearing an old Mao suit, cursing and waving around. His thin mantis-like face was slanted and a pair of glasses rested on his nose at an angle. Sometimes the lens' were shattered like cobwebs, and sometimes the lens' weren't there at all.

His shop sells old photographs of the old city, hung densely from the floor to the ceiling. Because old photographs were difficult to reprint, they were also very expensive. The sub districts of Qianmen, Dashilan, old gardens in the setting sun in 1872, passers-by in long gowns with thin faces and numb eyes. The TV station came to interview him, but only half the program was filmed. From photographers to reporters, old man Liu chewed them all out without exception. The interview never went anywhere, and the shop still didn't have any business. The old man still walked around outside with his camera everyday.

The shop was in the northwest corner of Shenjiayuan and its location was considered unlucky. There was a symbol meant to ward off evil spirits designed by a famous Feng Shui master hung on the door. Xiao Yu couldn't enter and stood at the door waiting for Lin Yan.

Lin Yan looked at the ominous storefront. For the first time, he felt reluctant to part with Xiao Yu.

Unsurprisingly, Old Man Liu wasn't in the shop. A seven or eight-year-old girl in a red jacket was facing away from him. She was pointing at a photo on the wall and muttering something. When she heard someone enter the door, she turned back and grinned at Lin Yan.

Lin Yan was a little surprised. This little girl was his neighbor. Although he didn’t know where she lived, he often saw her running around in the yard downstairs in a dirty red dress. Sometimes when Lin Yan went out to buy dinner at night, he saw her playing with cats in the yard, no one coming to bring her home. He hadn't seen her often in the past month and he didn't expect to see her here.

Was it possible she was related to that strange old man? No wonder no one cared about her playing outside everyday, Lin Yan thought.

"Why are you here by yourself?" Lin Yan knelt down and asked her in a soft voice.

The little girl was lean, her eyes staring straight at Lin Yan, grinning silently. Lin Yan suddenly felt that the little girl’s smile probably made people feel uncomfortable. It didn’t seem right to call it a smile, but just a casual grin. The corners of her mouth were upturned but her eyes were dull. Wearing such an old jacket in summer, she seemed to be left behind by the times, like the rest of the photos in the room.

Lin Yan hesitated on whether he leave and wait outside for the strange old man.

"What the hell you XX, I XXXX. . ." Lin Yan was distracted, and suddenly there was a thud. Old man Liu hugging his broken camera fell through the front door. He fell on all fours in an extremely embarrassed posture, landing on the only part of the floor that had sunlight hitting it.

"A-Are you okay?" Lin Yan rushed over to help. Unexpectedly, the old man gave him a sour look. He rolled over and sat on the ground, patting the dirt on his knees, and continued his tirade of curses towards the door relentlessly. Lin Yan stood awkwardly off to the side, neither leaving nor staying.

The old man felt he had cursed enough. He grunted and got to his feet. When he turned his head and saw Lin Yan, his eyes widened like he had discovered a whole new world, and said with a quacking voice: "What are you doing here?"

"I came to buy something." Lin Yan didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Shouldn't that be the first thing the shop owner thinks of when he sees a customer in the store?

"Leave. What is there to buy? Young people are clueless." The old man held his stern gaze and walked around behind the counter, irritated: "Why are you still standing there? You have no business being here!"

Lin Yan didn't want to talk nonsense with the old man, so he pat his back and turned to leave.

"Hey! Wait!" The old man yelled. Lin Yan had just reached the door and was so frightened by the voice that he came to a halt.

"You look good, I'll take a picture of you." The old man suddenly walked out from behind the counter with his camera in hand. He grabbed Lin Yan by the collar and pulled him into the room. After couple of pushes, he stood beside the little girl. He squatted down involuntarily, and the shutter sounded with a few clicks. The old man's furrowed face appeared from behind the camera and he smacked his lips with satisfaction.

After the shutter, several photos appeared from the top of the camera. The old man took one in his hand and glanced at it. He pulled one out and shoved it at Lin Yan: "You take it."

Lin Yan was shown the strength of this old man. He turned his face angrily, trying to walk out, rubbing his shoulder: "I don't want to."

"Take it!" The old man yelled in Lin Yan's ear, making his ears ring.

Lin Yan took it and glanced speechlessly. He saw that in the black-and-white picture he stood like a wooden pole, staring expressionlessly at the wall. The background was dimmed, and the entire thing looked like a horror picture people would share online.

What's wrong with. . .

Lin Yan eyes widened and a nerve in his head popped. He couldn't help taking a step back, looking at himself in the photo. When he looked at the spot where he was standing when the picture was taken, it felt like a bucket of ice water was poured over his head.

The little girl who took the picture with him just now wasn't in the photo. He was the only person in the black and white background straight out of a horror movie.

Lin Yan hesitantly looked up. The girl in red was standing where he stood, wearing an out-of-date ragged jacket, grinning at him biting her fingernail.

"Hehe, hehe." The old man held up the camera to his crooked eyes and a piece of the lens fell to the ground. "Perfect, great picture."

Lin Yan crawled out of the house.

The sun was bitterly hot and the bustling street was swarming with people. Xiao Yu was standing casually by the doorway. Lin Yan couldn't say a word, swallowing hard. He rushed over and wrapped him up in a fierce hug.

#dig a grave to dig out a ghost translation #dig a grave to dig out a ghost #english translation #chinese bl #chinese novel #yaoi novel #yaoi #bl novel #danmei novel #danmei

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peach-pops · 4 years ago

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song and movie: i see the light from tangled || 1.4k masterlist

warning(s): light swearing

author’s note: here’s the first 1.4k event! this request is directly based on the actual Toro Nagashi Festival in Japan so if you guys wanna read more about it, click here! maybe just maybe this is a bit ooc for bakugo but i did my best to try and stay along the lines of his character while focusing on the song! let me know if you want to be tagged to the celebration and if you guys liked it!

word count: 1.5k

lyrics: All those days chasing down a daydream. All those years living in a blur. All that time never truly seeing things, the way they were // Now she's here shining in the starlight. Now she's here suddenly I know. If she's here it's crystal clear I'm where I'm meant to go

★━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━★

Bakugo rubbed the material of the lantern between his fingers as he waited for his classmates to pass around the pen. The rest of 1-A talked amongst themselves, getting ideas on what they could write on their lantern and the possibilities seemed endless.

Ever since Bakugo was old enough to go to the Toro Nagashi Festival, he wrote the same wish on his lantern to send down the river: to surpass All Might and become the number one hero. Of course, after the events at the Kamino Ward, he had to change his wish up slightly.

Even though Bakugo looked disinterested, he paid close attention to what his classmates were going to write down; Sero and Kirishima gave honor to their ancestors by writing down their family name while others like Iida and Todoroki wished for their families health. It came to no surprise that Kaminari had written a wish to do well in his upcoming exams which only sent the rest of the group into a fit of giggles.

After Uraraka had written down her wish on prosperity for her family, she passed the pen over to you and Bakugo couldn’t help but look over your shoulder as you carefully wrote something that made little sense to him; to my sun, my moon, and all my stars.

You heard Bakugo let out a ‘tch’ underneath his breath so you looked over your shoulder and gave him a curious glance,” What? You don’t like it?”

“ It sounds like a shitty line out of a romance manga,” Bakugo cringed but in the back of his mind, he was hoping you would indulge him on the meaning,” what does it even mean?”

Everyone knew how much of a tough guy Bakugo was to crack but somehow, you had managed to find a way for him to consider you a suitable friend and you both were okay with these set terms. In fact, you were the only one who could drag and beg Bakugo into coming along to the lantern festival to begin with.

“ Well if you’re gonna be mean, I guess you’ll never know,” You hummed as you handed Bakugo the pen.

Your fingers brushed against his only for a moment before he swallowed hard and yanked the pen to his chest, letting out a grumbled response as he wrote down his own wish that made you laugh.

“ What the hell are you laughing at?”

“ Nothing! It’s just very on brand of you, that’s all,” You smiled as you read his dream over in his voice,” to become the number one hero. You’re like a broken record Katsuki! Why don’t you wish for something like everlasting peace or success for your exams like Denki?”

“ I can pass just fine on my own and when I’m number one, I’ll make sure there’s everlasting peace or whatever the hell you said,” Bakugo retorted boldly even though your comment made him feel wary of his wish,” and don’t call me that dumbass.”

Before you could reply back with an even more insulting nickname, a soft chime rang throughout the field where others were waiting with their lanterns. Everyone started to slowly make their way down the hill to the water’s edge and once the class found a space along the water, Todoroki started to help light everyone’s lanterns.

Once your lantern was lit, you sat by the edge of the water and held the lantern in your lap as if you were soaking it all in.

Bakugo said nothing but as he was getting closer and closer to getting his lantern lit, he felt something he hardly ever felt. Anxiousness.

He had no reason to be because in his mind, this was all just some tradition he never second-guessed. For years, he had written down the same dream because even as a child, he had always wanted to be a hero. Things were different now, he still wanted to be a hero but his gut was almost telling him that it wasn’t all that he wanted.

His hand had a mind of his own as he quickly fished out the pen that was still tucked into his pocket and crouched down to write something else along the opposite side of his first wish. He felt his cheeks heat up as he finished writing it and even though he felt himself become somewhat embarrassed, he made no attempt to cross the fresh words out.

The anxiousness he felt faded almost instantaneously now that he was comfortable with his wish but he still didn’t hesitate to threaten Todoroki’s life if he even tried to flip the lantern to the other side to read his new wish.

(Todoroki paid no attention to Bakugo’s threat but obeyed his wishes nonetheless since he had no intention of reading it anyway)

“ Hurry up before this lantern sets me on fire,” You urged Bakugo as he realized you were waiting for him this whole time.

Bakugo only huffed in response but made a rather quick pace towards you and sat down beside you with his lit lantern. He did his best to keep his new wish facing his chest and away from your eyesight and you were none the wiser.

“ Okay, ready?” You asked as Bakugo nodded, waiting for you to make the first move.

You carefully placed your lantern in the cold water and Bakugo followed pursuit after. You let out a small gasp as you watched a part of Bakugo’s lantern start to crumble from the weight of the wrinkled side and you immediately reached out towards it.

Bakugo almost swatted your hand away, in fear that you would see the new wish but you swatted his hand first.

“ Oi baka! Leave mine alone-”

“ Oh shush, I’m helping you!”

His eyes followed your steady hands as you carefully reached down into the water to straighten up his crumbled lantern and became just like new.

“ There ya go, all better,” You said softly as you gave the lantern a helpful nudge to guide it down the slow current,” aw look, our lanterns are floating together!”

Bakugo looked out toward the direction of his lantern and sure enough, both of your lanterns sailed slowly out towards the current of the bay. The action alone made Bakugo’s chest tighten up but your attention was cast out to the sea of lanterns.

The stars along the satin night sky reflected off the water and meshed with the city lights in the horizon, making it look like the whole sky and earth were filled with infinite stars. In your eyes, nothing could compare to the view of specks of various golden shades that rocked slowly along the dark sea but Bakugo would disagree-there was someone who could outshine the view.

There was something about how each lantern represented a person with a dream that made Bakugo feel comfort like no other, almost as if his wish didn’t seem as obscure as someone else’s was bound to be.

And yet, with all of the infinite lanterns that were cast out into the water, Bakugo knew there was no one else in the world who wanted their dream to come true as badly as he did.

“ For as long as I can remember, I’ve always gone to this festival yet every time I come, it completely takes my breath away,” You sighed peacefully as Bakugo understood exactly what you meant,” I will never get used to this, isn’t it beautiful?”

Bakugo’s eyes never left your face as he carefully studied your glowing expression, the flow of the lanterns illuminated your face in a soft light. His chest swelled with warmth and he couldn’t help but let out a soft breath,” Yeah, beautiful.”

Bakugo didn’t mind the comfortable silence between the two of you but knowing you, it wouldn’t last long and he was right.

“You know, I really like what you wrote on your lantern,” You said as you looked at Bakugo, who was already looking back at you,” I hope your dream comes true Katsuki.”

Bakugo let out another ‘tch’ at his name but made no effort to correct you.

He thought you were praising the hero wish so he only nodded. Number one hero.

He had always wanted to hear that sort of praise from people but he wasn’t even thinking of that wish. In all honesty, Bakugo was thinking of the one he had freshly written moments ago after thinking of you, one that he would take to the grave, or for however long the lantern would float along the bay for.

“ Me too...and I hope yours comes true or whatever but I still think it’s stupid,” Bakugo replied as you smiled to yourself before nudging Bakugo’s shoulder playfully to which Bakugo nudged you back even harder,” you ever going to tell me what it means dumbass?”

You shook your head and watched as Bakugo rolled his eyes,” Nope but you’ll find out soon enough.”

Bakugo was fine with your answer as you two both looked out to the bay, watching the infinite lanterns bob up and down across the water.

You couldn’t help but smile to yourself as you thought back to Bakugo’s lantern.

There was never a rule against taking an innocent extra peek at someone’s wish so that’s just what you had done when you adjusted Bakugo’s lantern when you swore you saw extra words that weren’t there the first time.

“ To Y/N, my new dream.”

taglist: boosyboo9206

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elderbloodlore · 4 years ago

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Calanthe was not a racist homicidal tyrant: a useless and bitter rant of someone whose favourite character ever got mercilessly butchered.

WHY ARE YOU WRITING THIS?

Well, let me give you a little bit of a backstory. I first read the Last Wish and the Sword of Destiny in 2012, when I was 14 years old. I instantly connected with the character of Calanthe, and after her death, it took me nearly a year to be able to pick up the saga itself. Ever since, she remained my favourite fictional character ever. As a little girl in misoginistic Poland, I was so lucky to have her as a role model. Because she fought for herself, she took no shit from anybody, she had love and respect of the people around her, and yet she had such tenderness and kindness about her that many strong woman-trope characters are missing these days, and that is exactly what happened to Calanthe when she was being translated to the screen. In 2015 The Wild Hunt was coming out and there were rumours of Ciri being included, so you can imagine my absolute glee and the hope I was filled with to have some more content with that one woman that meant so much to me growing up. And you can imagine my disappointment when all we got about her were a couple tiny mentions, even though the events of the Wild Hunt happen not even a decade after her death. Then the show by Netflix was announced and, once again, I had super high expectations. I wanted to see the wise, kind, beautiful Queen brought alive. December 2019 rolls in, and my hopes are being steamrolled. So here I am, 22 years old and crying over a fictional character, because one of the best written female characters ever (in my opinion) entered mainstream as a bullish, racist, homicidal tyrant. So let me address the biggest changes the show made to my beloved Calanthe Fiona Riannon, the Lioness of Cintra.

THE LOOKS

That was obviously the first thing that threw me off. I was quite enthusiastic when the cast was announced, but then as the first promo pictures were released, my enthusiasm was slowly dying down. In the books, Calanthe’s looks are adressed very often:

“As before, the queen wore emeralds matching the green of her dress and her eyes. As before, a thin gold crown encircled her ash-gray hair.” Sword of Destiny.

I tried to convince myself that Jodhi May won’t be a bad Calanthe so hard that I actually made this poor ass EDIT to feed my delusions and cheer myself up. In comparison, HERE is my personal favourite art of Calanthe that I find is the most accurate to the book portrayal.

Even when the first trailer dropped I was still trying to convince myself that even though she has none of her Elder Blood features or her iconic emerald green, that she wore exclusively in the books, she couldn’t be that bad. Right? Wrong.

THE DEMEANOR

This is probably the biggest change. Calanthe was one of the wisest, most gracefully-written characters in the entire saga, and I really hoped to see that on screen. She was quick-witted, calculating, but at the same time caring enough to let her daughter choose her own destiny in the end (even if it was to be with a hedgehog-headed man twice her age). Her smiles were said to always be full of kindness, she was acting very proper and clearly cared about her image. I’m not going to be getting too much into it with my own words, let these examples speak for me:

'Ah, Geralt,' said Calanthe, with a gesture forbidding a servant from refilling her goblet. 'I speak and you remain silent. We're at a feast. We all want to enjoy ourselves. Amuse me. I'm starting to miss your pertinent remarks and perceptive comments. I'd also be pleased to hear a compliment or two, homage or assurance of your obedience. In whichever order you choose.' [...] 'Hochebuz,' said Calante, looking at Geralt, 'my first battle. Although I fear rousing the indignation and contempt of such a proud witcher, I confess that we were fighting for money. Our enemy was burning villages which paid us levies and we, greedy for our tributes, challenged them on the field. A trivial reason, a trivial battle, a trivial three thousand corpses pecked to pieces by the crows. And look - instead of being ashamed I'm proud as a peacock that songs are sung about me. Even when sung to such awful music' Again she summoned her parody of a smile full of happiness and kindness, and answered the toast raised to her by lifting her own, empty, goblet. Geralt remained silent. The Last Wish.

'Aha,' said Calanthe quietly, clearly pleased. 'And what do you say, Geralt? The girl has taken after her mother. It's even a shame to waste her on that red-haired lout, Crach. The only hope is that the pup might grow into someone with Eist Tuirseach's class. It's the same blood, after all. Are you listening, Geralt? Cintra has to form an alliance with Skellige because the interest of the state demands it. My daughter has to marry the right person. Those are the results you must ensure me.' The Last Wish.

‘Very well then. As queen, I shall convene a council tomorrow. Cintra is not a tyranny. The council will decide whether a dead king's oath is to decide the fate of the successor to the throne. It will decide whether Pavetta and the throne of Cintra are to be given to a stranger, or to act according to the kingdom's interest.' The Last Wish.

'Pavetta!' Calanthe repeated. 'Answer. Do you choose to leave with this creature?' Pavetta raised her head. 'Yes.' The Force filling the hall echoed her, rumbling hollowly in the arches of the vault. No one, absolutely no one, made the slightest sound. Calanthe very slowly, collapsed into her throne. Her face was completely expressionless. The Last Wish.

Guards, armed with guisarmes and lances, ran in from the entrance. Calanthe, upright and threatening, with an authoritative, abrupt gesture indicated Urcheon to them. Pavetta started to shout, Eist Tuirseach to curse. Everyone jumped up, not quite knowing what to do. ‘Kill him!' shouted the queen. The Last Wish.

CINTRA, RACISM AND MURDERING HER OWN PEOPLE

In the books, Cintra was often mentioned to be obiding by the rules of the elves:

‘Dear child,’ said Vesemir gravely, 'don’t let yourself get carried away by your emotions. You were brought up differently, you’ve seen children being brought up in another way. Ciri comes from the south where girls and boys are brought up in the same way, like the elves. She was put on a pony when she was five and when she was eight she was already riding out hunting. She was taught to use a bow, javelin and sword. A bruise is nothing new to Ciri—’ Blood of Elves.

There were many elves and dwarves living peacefully within its borders. Calanthe’s two names - Fiona and Riannon, come from her ancestors that are respectively a quarter and a half elf, and known to be that. Calanthe was the one who taught Ciri that non-humans are not dangerous:

‘I’m not afraid at all!’ Ciri suddenly cried, assuming her little devil face for a moment. ‘And I’m not parrotised! So you’d better watch your step! Nothing can happen to me here. Be sure! I’m not afraid. My grandmamma says that dryads aren’t evil, and my grandmamma is the wisest woman in the world! My grandmamma… My grandmamma says there should be more forests like this one…’ Sword of Destiny.

There was no actual reason nor basis for the showrunners to make her racist and make her murder elves. Having her walk into her own daughter’s birthday party, bathed in elven blood, while she knows that the same blood flows in her own veins, at least partially, was completely unnecessary. Even in the polish version of the show from 2001 Calanthe said:

RELATIONSHIP WITH GERALT

This probably hits me the most on personal level, because I feel like Calanthe had a huge impact on Geralt’s growth as a character, and with such a drastic change to their relationship, I’m unsure as to he will now proceed to develop. Calanthe was, in large, one of the first people in the books that treated Geralt as anything more than a mutant. Here are some of my favourite scenes between the two, in comparison with how their relationship was portrayed in the show:

"At times, no, for years at a time, I deluded myself that you might forget. Or that for other reasons you might be prevented from coming. No, I didn't want anything unfortunate to happen to you, but I had to take into consideration the dangerous nature of your profession. It is said that death follows in your footsteps, Geralt of Rivia, but that you never look behind you. Then... when Pavetta... You know already?" "I know," Geralt said, inclining his head. "My sincere condolences..." "No," she interrupted, "it was all long ago. I no longer wear mourning clothes, as you see. I wore them for long enough.” Sword of Destiny.

He slowly pushed the cup on the table so that the clink of silver on malachite would not betray the uncontrollable trembling of his arm. "You don't deny it?" "No." She bent to seize his hand with vigor. "You disappoint me," she said, giggling prettily. "This isn't voluntary," he responded, laughing as well. "How did you guess, Calanthe?" "I did not guess." She did not release his hand. "I said it at random, that's all." They broke out in laughter. Sword of Destiny.

"I will not take it. It is too great a responsibility, one that I refuse to assume. I would not want for this child to speak about you the way... the way I..." "You hate this woman, Geralt?" "My mother? No, Calanthe. I doubt that she was given a choice... or perhaps she had no say? No, she had, you know, enough formulas and elixirs... Choice. There is a sacred and incontestable choice of every woman that must be respected. Emotions are of no importance here. She had the indisputable right to make such a choice. That's what she did. But I think about meeting her, the expression on her face then... it gives me a sort of perverse pleasure, if you understand what I mean." Sword of Destiny.

A rosebush grew next to the gazebo. Geralt plucked a flower, breaking its stem and then knelt, his head bowed, presenting the flower in his hands. "I regret that I did not meet you sooner, white-haired one," she said, accepting the offered rose. "Rise." He rose. "If you change your mind," she went on, sniffing the flower, "if you decide... Return to Cintra. I will wait for you. Your destiny will be waiting for you, as well. Perhaps not advitam aeternam, but for some time, no doubt." "Farewell, Calanthe." "Farewell, witcher. Look after yourself. I... I sometimes feel... in a strange way... that I am seeing you for the last time." "Farewell, my queen." Sword of Destiny.

FALL OF CINTRA AND CALANTHE’S DEATH

We were robbed of so many epic scenes that truly took away from Calanthe’s millitary accomplishments and showed none of the strength and determination she originally had:

"The Nilfgaardians dealt the first blow," he began after a moment of silence. "There were thousands. They met with the armies of Cintra in the Marnadal valley. The battle lasted all day: from dawn to dusk. Cintra's troops valiantly resisted before being decimated. The king died, and that's when the queen..." "Calanthe." "Yes. Seeing that her army had succumbed to panic and scattered, she gathered around herself and her standard any who could still fight and formed a line of defense that reached the river, next to the city. All the soldiers who were still able followed." "And Calanthe?" "With a handful of knights, she covered the troops' crossing and defended the rear. They say she fought like a man, plunging into the thick of the battle. She was impaled by pikes when she charged against the Nilfgaardian infantry. She was then evacuated to the city. What's in that flask, Geralt?" "Vodka. Want some?" "Well then, gladly." "Speak. Continue, Dandelion. Tell me everything." "The city wasn't properly defended. There was no headquarters. The defensive walls were empty. The rest of the knights and their families, the princes and the queen, barricaded themselves in the castle. The Nilfgaardians then took the castle after their sorcerers reduced the gate to cinders and burned down the walls. Only the tower, apparently protected by magic, resisted the spells of the Nilfgaardian sorcerers. Even so, the attackers penetrated inside four days later without making camp. The women had killed the children, the boys and girls, and fell upon their own swords or... What's is it, Geralt?" "Continue, Dandelion." "Or... like Calanthe... head first, from the battlement, the very top... It's said that she asked to be... but no-one would agree. So she climbed up to the crenelations and... jumped head first. They say they did horrible things to the corpse afterward. I don't want... What is it?” Sword of Destiny.

I understand that this happened because of limited screen time, probably, but the whole Fall of Cintra had been squeezed into what seemed to be a single day, a crushing defeat for Calanthe’s forces, and probably in some way, punishment for her pride.

AFTER CALANTHE’S DEATH

While reading the rest of the saga, these little snipits of people talking about Calanthe, mentioning her, often with respect and reverence, mentioning how her people mourned her and swore revange for her, truly kept me going through. I wished that, at the end, Ciri would find it in herself to return home and liberate it, as back then I had no way to spoil myself the ending. In the books, you can really feel the outrage almost all of Continent feels after the murder of Calanthe:

[...] Cintra is a symbol. Remember Sodden! If it were not for the massacre of that town and Calanthe's martyrdom, there would not have been such a victory then. The forces were equal — no one counted on our crushing them like that. But our armies threw themselves at their throats like wolves, like rabid dogs, to avenge the Lioness of Cintra. Blood of Elves.

[...] Bear in mind that these men left their homes and families, and fled to Sodden and Brugge, and to Temeria, because they wanted to fight for Cintra, for Calanthe’s blood. They wanted to liberate their country, to drive the invader from Cintra, so that Calanthe’s descendant would regain the throne. Baptism of Fire.

In the show, there is none of that. In fact, people seem to be full of disdain and hatred for her, saying things such as:

which, in turn, fills me with dread for the upcoming seasons, because I can already feel all the further butchery coming my beloved Queen’s way.

IN CONCLUSION

In all honestly, there is very little the Calanthe from the show has in common with the one from the books, the one I originally fell in love with. Which is not to say that Netflix’s Calanthe is not a great character in her own right, because who doesn’t love a badass sword-wielding Queen, but as a portrayal of the greatest ruler within the Witcher universe, and one of, in my opinion, best written female rules in literature, she falls flat, and that’s what pushed me to write this useless and slightly bitter rant, in hopes to maybe interest more people in the original version of Calanthe and maybe, just maybe, prompt some of you to read the saga or, at the very least, the short stories.

#Calanthe fiona riannon #queen calanthe #anti-netflix #rant #ask to tag

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thethreemages · 4 years ago

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W O O, so I'm back a bit from the art-grave to finally upload this piece I had completed a lil while ago... the pic in question being some slight redesign/touchups for two of my central side characters of TTM, Noira and Raider Crane~ 💙 Just to keep things a lil fresh and reflecting a bit better of their current character portrayals, so I hope you all enjoy! ^^

More info about both characters can be found below (and here on DA too)~

-Noira Crane (age 16) is Raider's younger sister, Princess Zia's best friend and currently enrolled at St. Ravilda's Mage Academy. A generally stoic and poised young lady with a rather sharp tongue than many would expect... often expressed through well-placed snark at those trying to interrupt her and Zia's "fun" (aka: sneaking around and setting up pranks around the school). When she's not busy hanging with Zia and keeping up their rather limited cheer squad these days, Noira could often be seen competing heavily for maintaining her place up above the top ranked students (of which a certain white-haired prince keeps trying to secure that spot for himself). Underneath her "well-to-do" exterior, however... lies a deep-down insecure girl who often feels pressured to bottle up her feelings, especially with the amount of pressure her parents (Lachlan & Vinia) put on both her and her brother Raider growing up. Combined with the strain put on from Raider's falling out with their parents a few years back... it's left Noira rather scared to delve too much into her own natural Water Mage abilities for fear she can't measure up (even with her folks trying their best to "dial back" for her sake, since she's their only remaining child living with them now). The few things in life that can truly bring a sense of peace and smiles to her face are Zia's company, the success of beating her rivals, and the never-ending bond she and Raider share between eachother... no matter the distance, no matter what. (Fun Facts about Noira): -She's usually never seen walking around without her beloved dog companion, "Misty Belle" (courtesy to my pal @littlechaoticwitch for helping to come up with the name :3 ). The fluffy pup given to her as a gift from her folks a few years back, Misty is quite a sweet lil lady for most who are allowed to be near her. Always eager to follow her mistress around faithfully, snuggling and goofing around the room when left idle, and occasionally chewing at the ankles of those who try to mess with Noira (like, again, a certain white-paired prince who never ceases to push his luck lol). -She was named after one of the earlier Crane family ancestors, "Noira the Victress". Said to have been quite a powerful blood pirate, the present-day Noira Crane has... always been a bit unsure of how to feel about her namesake, despite her father and some other distant relatives seeming rather proud of it. She's still a lil curious to try and research more about her ancestor though, given how popular she was as a subject for numerous campfire stories. -Noira has been diagnosed as nearsighted from the time she was in elementary school, and thus is never seen without her favorite pair of horn-rimmed glasses (an aesthetic picked up from her favorite aunt, Freya). -While her parents have officially stated for Noira to be the heir to their Crane Corp Industries business, Noira is still conflicted in herself of what she wants to do in life by the time she graduates. Whether it'd be to try out being a traveling Mage, or join more of Zia's royal court down in Asteria... its hard for her to decide atm. -Being born a rather tiny and frail baby, Noira was always watched like a hawk by the family-hired medical professionals to keep her safe and protected. She's required to carry a couple EpiPens with her on the day-to-day with how many allergies she has, and Zia always tries to remember to keep a nice lil bag of snacks with her too in case her friend's blood sugar dips too low (as does Raider when he and Noira get to hang out on their own). ============= -Raider Crane (age 21) is Noira's older brother, one of Kain's old school friends and currently making it big as an extreme stunt performer/traveling Electric mage. A bright, cheerful and fun-loving young man who lives to make others smile... whether it'd be for his own friend group or the crowds of audiences who clamor to come see his shows. Yet even with so much going well for him now... it wasn't always the easiest for him growing up before. Living under the roof of his folks who

always kept a tight grip

on him being "the best" (especially by his father), and even facing it worse with some bullying by Kaz's crew at school... it left Raider pretty timid and reclusive for the longest time. Only once others like Kain, Lyra, Briar and a few others taking the time to approach him did his true loveable goofball nature started to sprout for good... but at the same time, something just felt "missing" within Raider that didn't really sit right with him. Knowing how much of a rut he'd be bound to stay in if he kept up things how they were now... he decided by his last few years of Ravilda's to "change" himself for the better. From getting a new "bolder" punk look, working out and bulking over the summer, and taking some social sessions with fellow popular girl Dyani to gain some confidence in himself... Raider returned to the halls of the academy with a brighter, more-outgoing outlook on life now. He started gaining popularity left and right, taught Kaz's crew a thing or two when they tried one last chance to mess with him, and by graduation he was already on his way to make it big after getting signed on by an aspiring tv crew. All was going fine for once... yet back at home, things escalated between his parents (who still didn't seem understanding of Raider's personal dreams over their family business) to where Raider just... couldn't take it anymore. Many words were exchanged that night that prompted the young man to up and leave the family home for good... and never turning back except to now and then check up on his baby sister Noira. As the few years passed up until now, things are still going good for Raider in terms of his work and bond with Noira... though things remain relatively strained and awkward in regards to him and his parents. Whether things will ever truly improve or not with them is unclear as of now... but for the time being, Raider is at least content with himself on being able to finally shape his life the way it should be; fun, free, and fulfilling in its own way~. (Fun Facts about Raider): -Back at his own personal trailer, Raider has a trio of cats he adopted awhile back named "Sprocket", "Buzz", and "Zipps". Having always been a strong cat person since he was a boy (but never getting the chance to own one growing up, given his mom's allergy to them), it was a big dream of Raider's to get his own feline companion by the time he moved out of the house. He went to the shelter to find three kitten siblings who were tossed aside and overlooked among some other animals... and being the big sweetie as he was, Raider was all too eager to scoop them up to adopt them all together. They're quite a funny bunch who tend to get into some trouble if left unsupervised, but are very much loyal to Raider either way with how often they'll form some "snuggle piles" with him once he's off-of-work. -Raider gained his name from his paternal great-grandfather, Raider "The Swiftest" Crane. Originally was going to be named "Odin" (after Lachlan's own father, as was the old man's request many years ago)... but due to a falling out between the two not long before his son's birth, Lachlan decided against that and gave his boy "an even prouder name" to look up to instead. As for the present-day Raider himself, he's always been curious to know more about his great-grandfather given some accounts about him being a "commander of the skies" (via-riding dragons). -From birth, Raider has carried an eye condition known as "Anisocoria"... in which one of his pupils is permanently smaller than the other eye and thus leaving him with some partially-blurred vision. For certain shows of his that take place in some heavy-weather conditions, Raider is required to wear some specialized goggles to help him see through his performance. -His current neon/cyan blue hair isn't his natural haircolor, as Raider was actually born with darker/blackish-blue hair instead. Used to grow it out pretty shaggy and long up until his teens (in where he often hid his face behind his locks at times when he was down on himself)... but by the time his last

few highschool years rolled around, he cut most of it off and styled it to the look its at now as a nice change of pace. Got quite a few compliments on it's initial debut, so Raider has long since kept it around as his own lil "brand". -As most of his friends have all long since went their separate ways after Ravilda's, Raider is the main one who likes to keep arranging for them to meet up on the few downtimes they're able to take off from their schedules. Often likes to greet any of his buddies with the biggest, crushing hugs imaginable (being lowkey touch-starved as he is)... and while not always the most logical thinker in terms of planning, he's the main heart to keep the group afloat in times they start bickering or feeling lost with one another.

#the three mages #the crane family #my art #raider crane #noira crane #my ocs #oc art #side mages #side characters

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minuteminx · 4 years ago

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Revolutionary

Pairing: Preston Garvey/ Female Sole Survivor

Summary: In the aftermath of personal tragedies, Preston and Charlie both seek to make a difference in the Commonwealth and those around them. They could never anticipate the impact that they will have on eachother in the process.

Chapter Five: Old Appalachia

Chapter Summary: Charlie's not sure she's cut out for the Commonwealth, but fate thinks otherwise.

[First Chapter]

[Previous Chapter]

[AO3 Link]

“By being natural and sincere, one often can create revolutions without having sought them.” ― Christian Dior

Outskirts of Concord, December 2287

Charlie had always been somewhat of an idealist. She had to be, growing up in bumfuck Appalachia in a family just high enough above the poverty line that the government wasn’t legally required to offer financial assistance. Her dad was an overworked, underpaid line worker in some automotive factory, and despite never once stepping foot in a coal mine, he carried his ancestors’ resentment toward anything and everything “nucular,” as he called it. He’d always pop off with these wild conspiracy theories about atom bombs and the end of times. It seemed laughably prophetic now.

Her mom had stayed at home, reading books to her and her little brother, and promising them they could change the world if they wanted to. It was those words that kept Charlie going, pushed her towards that Ph.D. that had seemed so monumental back then, so important. Now, as she stomped around an irradiated wasteland, caked in blood and aching from head to toe, she realized how fruitless it had all been. All those years training to help other people only to spend over two centuries in cryostasis and wake up unable to even help herself.

Thank God for Preston. She didn’t know what would have happened to her if she hadn’t almost died trying to help him at Concord. She really had no business in a suit of power armor or holding a minigun and fighting a fifteen-foot tall lizard. Even nearly two months later, she couldn’t come up with a single logical reason why she volunteered so readily. Was she now going to throw her life away just because a friendly face asked her to? She laughed at herself. Probably.

Charlie found herself doing a lot of things simply because Preston asked her to. Grueling, difficult tasks like “eating enough,” “staying hydrated,” and “getting a good night’s sleep.” He drove a hard bargain, that Garvey. What did he take her for anyway? Someone stable?

In the past month, he’d been taking time away from the laundry list of other things he had on his plate, just to teach her some excruciatingly basic Commonwealth survival skills. She’d learned the names of all the things that could possibly kill her: Raiders, Gunners, zombie-like creatures called feral ghouls, supermutants, various types of wildlife threats, and radiation. Everything was irradiated, from the food to the water to the thunderstorms . At this rate, she just figured she was either going to die or grow an extra ear on her forehead. It was a tossup.

She’d also asked Preston to help her learn to protect herself. She didn’t like the idea of guns or violence or any of it, but it was foolish to walk through Hell defenseless. He tried so hard to teach her to shoot one of those god awful laser muskets, but it took too long to ready a shot that she was inevitably going to miss anyway. He had eventually given up on trying, and instead placed a 10mm in her hand. It was nicer than the one she’d used in Concord, with glow sights and an extended mag. Apparently Sturges had fixed it up for her. She was beginning to believe there was nothing that man couldn’t do with a roll of duct tape and half an hour.

“MS. CHARLOTTE!”

Charlie jumped as Codsworth abruptly hovered in front of her face. She’d almost forgotten the Mr. Handy unit had accompanied her on an assignment for Preston, out in Lexington. Once she’d shown some proficiency with a weapon, he thought it would be good practice for her to take out a “small” band of Raiders who were troubling a nearby settlement. It was not small, and while she dealt with the issue and convinced the Tenpines settlers to throw their lot in with the Minutemen, Codsworth knew she’d not gotten out of the ordeal unscathed.

“What, Codsworth,” she asked, more annoyed than he deserved.

“Mum! Oh thank goodness you responded,” the robot exclaimed giddily floating about in front of her, “You have been staring off into nothing for the past hour of our journey despite my efforts to entertain you with conversation.”

She had not noticed him speaking once, well, at least not since he’d mentioned Nate and Shaun when they’d passed by the rusty remains of a playground. Maybe she’d tuned him out after that. “Sorry Codsworth. I have a lot on my mind.”

“Are you aware that you are bleeding?”

“What?” Charlie glanced down to the large tear in her vault suit, and the blood pouring from a bullet wound in her thigh. She hadn’t even felt it since she used one of those stimpak syringes. She’d almost forgotten she had it. “ Shit. ”

“Such language, mum! Hardly befitting of a lady of your stature.”

“Find me a lady of any stature who doesn’t curse when she’s been shot in the leg,” Charlie quipped, grunting as she sat down to redress the wound, “Do you still have that gauze you picked up at the plant?”

“Yes, of course,” came his quick reply as he produced a bundle of cleanish gauze in one of his metal arms, and handed it to her.

“Thanks,” Charlie said, taking the cloth from him and beginning to work, wrapping it tightly around her leg. She just needed something to stop the bleeding until they made it back to Sanctuary. They weren’t too far now, maybe a mile or so from the bridge.

Once she found her amateur wound dressing to be suitable, Charlie continued on back to the settlement, Codsworth prattling on endlessly about the bliss of pre-war life. She understood where he was coming from. That didn’t mean she wanted to hear it.

She stopped suddenly in her tracks when she spotted movement ahead of them, off to the side of the dirt road. It looked like a man in raider leathers, digging for something.

“What is it, Ms. Charlotte,” Codsworth asked loudly and without an ounce of tact.

Charlie shushed him, but it was too late, the man had already heard them, rising to his feet and moving his hand to draw his weapon. She didn’t let him have the chance, firing several rounds into his chest before he could. She hated that she was getting good at that.

She approached the body, prone and lifeless, and knelt down, beginning to rifle through his pockets for anything useful: ammo, stimpaks, caps . Yes, caps . If anyone had told her that in the future the formal currency would be Nuka Cola bottle caps, she wouldn’t have tossed so many of them in the recycling bin.

It wasn’t until she looked up that she noticed that there was another body, a young woman lying in a shallow grave also donning the signature raider attire. Her arms were crossed ceremoniously across her chest, hubflowers scattered across and around her body. Charlie looked down at the man she’d just killed and remembered that he had been digging.

She felt sick. In her mind, she conjured an entire tragic scene in which a poor, mourning raider had simply been trying to bury a loved one and was startled by the obnoxious shouting British robot. When he reached for his gun, just a reflex, he’d been shot in the chest by some cagey redhead with an itchy trigger finger. If she’d only paid more attention, she might have noticed sooner and she and Codsworth could have taken a wider arc around the man. He wouldn’t have had to die.

Pocketing her looted items, she holstered her gun and bent down to pick up the shovel, starting first by filling in the grave of the lady raider. It was the least she could do.

“Pardon me, Ms. Charlotte,” Codsworth asked, attempting to be gentle, “What are you doing?”

She sniffed her nose, fighting back the tears she wanted to cry, and pointed the shovel at the woman. “He was just trying to bury her.”

Charlie swore she could hear the gears in Codsworth’s massive metal head clicking and smoking as he tried to make sense of her behavior. After a moment, he spoke. “Need I remind you that these scoundrels would have murdered us on sight?”

She shook her head and stuck the shovel into the dirt. “Doesn’t matter.”

As she worked, her memory was flooded with painful, frozen flashes from the vault. Images of the callous man who killed Nate and stole her baby, of Nate’s stiff, frozen body that still lay in the cryochamber, perfectly preserved with the exception of the fatal gunshot wound in his chest. Charlie had opened the chamber, hoping she could save him, or at the very least say goodbye, but he was already gone. She’d slipped the wedding ring from his finger and left him there, entombed along with the rest of her neighbors who unwittingly signed themselves up for a sick science project. When Preston learned what had happened in 111, he offered to help her lay everyone to rest properly, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. She couldn’t stomach the idea of walking back into that frozen hell.

She could, however, offer some absolution to this Raider.

“I’m going to bury him next to her,” she announced, looking at Codsworth before moving over several feet and beginning to dig a new plot.

The robot protested with an exasperated huff. “I applaud your sentimentality, mum, but it is getting quite late. At this rate it will be completely dark before we return to Sanctuary Hills.

“If you want to go on ahead, you can,” Charlie said with a dismissive wave up the road, “Tell Preston I’ll be along shortly.” “Perish the thought,” Codsworth retorted, properly offended. “I will not abandon you to the wasteland at night. Just… do please hurry.”

Charlie worked as fast as she could, but her body was weary from her days of journeying and fighting, so digging and filling in the grave had taken longer than it should have. When she finally finished, the clock on her PipBoy read “23:00,” and the sky was completely dark, well except for the stars. They, at least, had survived the apocalypse.

It was after midnight before Charlie hobbled across the bridge and into Sanctuary Hills, Codsworth zooming past her, a cacophony of buzzing and whirring and shouting for Preston. At this rate he was going to wake up the entire settlement. She managed to make it over to the home where Sturges had set up his workshop, and flopped herself down on the concrete with a grunt. The effects of the stimpak had worn off, and with the bullet still lodged firmly in her leg, it hadn’t healed entirely and it throbbed like a bitch.

There was a hurried rustle of footsteps, accompanied by Codsworth’s voice complaining about how she’d “foolishly buried some raiders against all good judgement.” If anyone needed a chill pill, it was that robot.

“Thank you for taking care of her, Codsworth,” Preston said, a gentle laugh falling off the ends of his words, “I’ll handle it from here.”

“You’re most welcome, Mr. Garvey. I apologize for my mistress’ recklessness.” His words were pointed and Charlie couldn’t believe she was being tattled on by her own Mr. Handy. He zoomed off to busy himself with the fruitless task of trying to restore their old home.

Preston shook his head, and continued to laugh as he approached Charlie, “Man, that machine is something else.”

“No joke,” came Charlie’s weak reply, as she attempted to adjust herself to sit more comfortably.

“Whoa,” Preston exclaimed and rushed to her side. “You okay?

He hadn’t noticed the wound, and for whatever reason Charlie didn’t want him to. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

He frowned, warm brown eyes flicking down to the blood seeping through the gauze on her leg, and then looked back up at her. He smiled, but she could tell he was worried. “That’s funny, ‘cause you don’t look too fine.”

“I beg your pardon,” she bantered. Deflection. She couldn’t stand the way his concerned expression made her feel. “I know I’m not a supermodel or anything but--”

“Charlie.”

She faltered under his gaze, tears immediately bubbling up in her eyes. She took a deep breath and fought them back before speaking. “There were more Raiders than we thought. Codsworth and I got overwhelmed and I got shot in the leg, but I’m fine. People get shot around here all the time, right?”

“We try to avoid getting shot,” he remarked, his exasperation not quite as shrill as Codsworth’s, “How many raiders were there?”

“Fifteen, maybe twenty.”

“Jesus.” He rose to his feet and walked over to the metal cabinets just past one of the workbenches. He knelt and opened one of the doors, reaching far back inside. He emerged with a full fifth of Old Appalachia and a medical kit that was, like everything else in the world, held together by duct tape. He returned to his previous position at Charlie’ side and sat down making an almost concerted effort to make eye contact. “You know I wouldn’t have sent you out by yourself if I’d--”

“This isn’t your fault, Preston.” She lay a hand on his arm, and offered him a smile. “If anything it’s mine for rolling in the front entrance, guns blazing.”

He laughed. “Man, you’ve got to be more careful.”

“No promises.” Charlie lifted her hand from his arm and pointed to the bottle of whiskey. “What’s that for?”

“You,” Preston answered, picking it up and handing it to her, “We have to get this bullet out of you before it gets infected, and you’re going to want something to dull the pain. So, start drinking.”

“Say no more.” Popping open the bottle, she kicked back a long, burning swig. The whiskey tasted like home and two-hundred years ago. She watched as he opened up the medical kit and dug through the items inside. “Have you ever done this before?”

“What? Dug out a bullet,” he asked, bitter smirk on his lips, “Yeah. More times than I would have liked. Like you said, people get shot around here all the time.”

Charlie took another drink and swallowed hard, the alcohol not working fast enough to keep her pulse from jumping at the sight of metal tweezers and rubbing alcohol. “How bad does it hurt?”

Preston laughed again, glancing over at her this time. “Bad.”

“Well… that’s comforting.”

“I’m just being honest,” he explained, positioning himself so that he had a good look at her affected leg. He took his gloves off and looked up at her, “May I?” She nodded nervously, and watched as he unwound the bandage and cut away the remaining pieces of vault suit. She hadn’t gotten a good look at the injury until now, and she was thankful that the bullet seemed to be of a small caliber, like those that turrets fired, and wasn’t lodged too deeply. Under the bright lamplight, she could see it’s dull metal reflection. Preston sighed in relief, most likely noticing the same thing.

That it would hurt “bad” had been an honest understatement. Even after several shots worth of whiskey, the sharp burning pain of alcohol and tweezers pulling the bullet from her thigh was enough to make her light headed. Even Preston’s gentleness couldn’t spare her that much, and she squirmed and held her breath just to keep from screaming and waking up the others. When it was all said and done, she was trembling, out of breath, and sobbing like a child.

“Congratulations,” Preston said softly as he began to dress the now clean wound, “You survived your first Commonwealth surgery.”

Charlie let out a weary laugh and let her head fall back against the wall behind her, looking up at the ceiling, eyes unfocused. “Thanks, doc.”

“Don’t mention it.”

There was a long pause in which she heard him inhale as if he were going to say something, and then exhale as if he thought better of it. She brought her eyes down to him, effects of the alcohol really hitting her, along with the endorphin high. “Something on your mind?”

He stopped what he was doing to meet her gaze. “Why’d you go to all that trouble to bury those raiders?”

“I…” She began, but hesitated, worried that he’d disapprove of her compassion for members of a group that’d terrorized him for days on end at Concord, who killed some of his friends. “I thought it was the right thing to do. When we walked up on him he was in the middle of burying a comrade. He’d spread flowers over her and everything…”

She choked on the last words and trailed off, but Preston seemed to understand, as he nodded and went back to dressing her wound.

“I feel sorry for them sometimes too,” he admitted, as he tied a neat knot in the bandage, “They might be messed up, but they’re still people.”

“Right.” Charlie nodded.

“You’re a good person,” he stated, eyes fixing on hers. “I’m… I’m glad you decided to stick around.”

Her face became hot. It must have been the whiskey finally getting to her, she told herself. After all, it wouldn’t make sense for her to get all flustered over a compliment. She carelessly let her hand fall on his arm again. “Me too.”

Charlie awoke the next day, more afternoon than morning, tucked neatly into a bed that she could scarcely remember crawling into. In fact, everything from the time Preston had finished dressing her wound was blurry and she made a mental note to avoid the Old Appalachia from now on, or at least to refrain from drinking half a fifth in one sitting. She crawled out from beneath the thin blanket and sat up, leg aching more than it had since she’d gotten shot. Damn.

Glancing down, she noticed she was wearing a pair of faded jeans that were too short for her and an old white tee that exposed her navel when she raised her arms to stretch and yawn. They were not her clothes, and she’d no idea whose clothes they were, or how she got out of her vault suit and into them. She snorted out a laugh at the thought of poor Preston fumbling around in the dark trying to help her change. She doubted that’s what happened, but her memory was too fuzzy to say it hadn’t.

Across the room, folded neatly atop her dresser was a familiar blue and yellow fabric, and she hopped up-- too quickly, wincing at the pain in her leg-- and limped over to take a look. Picking it up and unfolding it, it took her a moment to realize that it wasn’t her whole vault suit anymore, missing an entire bottom half, and split open down the front. She also noticed that there were neatly stitched seams along the edges. A jacket? Someone had gone to the effort of making a jacket from her vault suit and she didn’t even know who to thank.

She slipped one arm in and then the other. It fit like a glove, a much more comfortable, less skin-tight glove than it had previously. A quiet knock on the doorframe nearby drew Charlie’s attention and she darted her head up to see Marcy standing in the doorway, smirk in place of her signature scowl. Suddenly, Charlie remembered.

“I’m glad it fits,” Marcy said as she looked Charlie up and down. Preston had woken the other woman up the night before to ask if she had anything Charlie could wear. Marcy had cursed and complained, but ended up shooing him away and helped her get changed and into bed. Apparently she was also the culprit behind Charlie’s new jacket. “Couldn’t salvage the whole thing.”

“You did this,” Charlie asked, examining the sleeves.

“Yep,” Marcy stated, looking down at the ground as if she was embarrassed, “Couldn’t get back to sleep after Garvey woke me up, and figured it might be good to have. Considering none of my clothes are quite long enough for your beanpole ass.”

Charlie laughed, and tugged at the bottom of the t-shirt. “Thanks, Marcy.”

“Yeah, well don’t get used to it. I still think you’re useless,” Marcy retorted with a huff, but it was clear she didn’t mean what she said. “And I want my clothes back as soon as you find something else to wear.”

Charlie nodded, and Marcy turned to walk away, but stopped and pivoted back around on her heel, pointing an index finger at her. “Mama’s been waiting for you to wake up. She found some Jet this morning and is off her rocker talking about some bright glowing heart shit. Just a heads up.”

Before Charlie could even say her thanks, Marcy was gone. Turning her attention back to herself, she realized she had no clue where she’d left her PipBoy. She scanned the room, and saw it sat on the floor near her boots. Picking it up and examining it for damage, she fastened it to her wrist and then slipped on her boots before heading out into the hallway.

It was a bit disorienting at first. She wasn’t in the place where she normally slept, instead she stood in the house that had become the common area for all of the settlers. She must’ve been too woozy and injured to make it farther into the cul de sac. She turned to her left and spied Mama Murphy in the open living room, sitting in her specially crafted chair, feet dangling happily just a few inches from the ground.

“Hey kid,” she hollered, motioning for Charlie to come closer, and Charlie obliged, secretly hoping that her doped up insight would give more answers about where Shaun had been taken.

“Mornin’ Mama,” Charlie answered and made her tedious way over to the old woman and sat down on the sofa near her.

“The Sight,” Mama croned, “It’s shown me more about your boy, your sweet boy.”

Charlie winced, unsure if she wanted to know now, but leaned forward and took the old woman’s outstretched, weathered hand. “What is it,” she pleaded.

Just as Marcy said, Mama Murphy recited a prophecy about Diamond City, and people with chained up hearts refusing to provide Charlie with answers about her son’s whereabouts. With the exception of one. One heart that would lead her way, “so bright against the dark alleys it walks.” It didn’t make sense, but she’d never been to Diamond City, didn’t have enough information to even begin to decipher it.

“What does that mean,” she asked clumsily

Mama smiled, and shook her head. “Beats me, Kid. I only know what the Sight shows me. Maybe you get me some mentats, maybe I--”

“Now, Mama,” grumbled a familiar voice nearby, Charlie followed the old woman’s gaze to where it had been preemptively fixed on the door Sturges had just entered, face covered with smudges of oil, “You know Ms. Charlie’s not gonna fall for any of that nonsense.”

She shrugged. “Meh, you never know, Sturge. Seems like she wants to find her boy.”

“Not sure the boss would like it too much if he knew you were abusin’ her good graces,” Sturges scolded her playfully as he popped open a bottle of Nuka Cola, and sat the cap in a pile with others on the counter.

“Preston's not my boss,” Mama scoffed, and then turned back to Charlie, “He’s waiting for you though, kid.”

“Preston?” Charlie asked, taken aback by the sudden change in topic. “Me? Why?

Mama and Sturges exchanged a glance before Sturges spoke up. “Don’t really know to be honest. He doesn’t really say much about how he’s feelin’, but he’s been worried ever since you left.”

“He sees your promise,” Mama chimed in, “He sees what I see.”

Even with the analgesic effects of a newly injected stimpak, walking the length of the neighborhood had proven to be a slow, awkward process for Charlie. Her leg was weak, throbbing, and numb, but at least it still worked. At least she was still alive.

The more time she had to think about her escapade at Corvega, the more she realized how she’d survived on nothing but pure, unadulterated luck. She’d seen it in Preston’s eyes the night before, his bewilderment that she’d managed to take down a raider gang of that size. She’d also seen his guilt, as if he intended to blame himself for something that had not happened. For all she knew of him, that was normal. Whatever had happened before she ran into him and the others in Concord really did a number on the guy.

Charlie heard him before she saw him, humming and making an effort to tune a two hundred year-old guitar. A smile twitched on her lips, heart warming at the sight of him sat on a rusty patio chair, surrounded by an audience of lawn flamingos. He had his hat off and laying on the table. In her two months of knowing him, she’d never seen him so relaxed.

“Your G’s a little sharp there Garvey,” she called out to him playfully as she made her way over and sat down in the chair across from him, propping her good leg up on the table. He didn’t flinch or show any other signs of surprise at her approach, and continued to fiddle with the guitar.

“I know,” he answered, tearing his eyes away from the instrument to look up at her, “I can’t get the damn thing to cooperate.”

“It is at least a couple of centuries old.”

He sat the guitar down and turned to face her more squarely. It was the first time she could remember getting a good look at him with his hat off. Objectively, of course, he was handsome, with soft features and a smile that he definitely knew how to use to his benefit. Preston was nice. He wasn’t naive. How could he have been, growing up in a world like the one she’d woken up in? The scar that ran from temple to cheekbone on the left side of his face was more prominent than it had seemed before, masked in shadows. It looked like an old wound, and she wondered how he’d gotten it.

“Well,” he said, amusement plain on his face, “Being a couple centuries old hasn’t stopped you.”

“It certainly tried,” she replied, ignoring the knots in her stomach and back of her mind telling her it might have been better if it had stopped her. “Damn near got the better of me at that plant.”

Preston nodded and let out a breath. “About that… how are you feeling?”

Charlie looked down at her injured leg and then back up at him. “Like shit,” she stated, “But I suppose that’s better than the alternative.”

“That’s for sure,” he said, sort of absentmindedly, gaze seeming unfocused and off in the distance. There was a long, heavy pause before he spoke again. “I don’t think I ever got around to saying thank you last night. I really appreciate everything you’ve done for us since Concord. Without your help...well, I’m not sure we would have made it.”

“I…”Charlie began, but trailed off, “You’re welcome, Preston.”

There was another pause and he leaned forward and grabbed his hat, tracing his fingers across the brim. “I know that I told you I’m one of the last Minutemen, but I don’t think I ever mentioned how it ended up that way.”

She shrugged. “I figured you would tell me when you were ready to talk about it.”

“I’ve started calling it the Quincy Massacre,” he said somberly.

“Quincy. That’s where you and the others are from, right?”

“That’s right,” he answered, “Sturges, Mama Murphy, and the Longs all lived in Quincy when the Minutemen got a call for help dealing with some Gunners who’d been scouting the area. I went with Colonel Hollis, my commanding officer at the time, and several others to answer the call. It all went downhill after that.”

Unsteadily, Preston opened up to her, explaining how his contingent had been the only to arrive, and their numbers were too few to handle an assault by the much more heavily armed Gunners. Colonel Hollis had called for help, only for a traitorous Minutemen veteran named Clint to show up and lead the Gunners right through the gates. Preston told her how he had to watch settlers and his own comrades die, helpless and running through the streets. He’d made a knee jerk decision to evacuate, and take as many survivors with him as he could along the way. Apparently, that wasn’t where the trouble had ended though. He and his group traveled for over a month without finding anywhere safe to settle, facing disaster after disaster until finally getting trapped up in the museum at Concord.

The story was heartbreaking, but to watch Preston tell it was even more so. Charlie could tell that he blamed himself for each and every loss that happened under his leadership. He wore his guilt all over his face.

“I’m sorry that happened to you,” she said softly, “And I’m glad that I showed up when I did, although I really have no idea how I managed to do… all of that.”

“It’s almost like it’s fate... or something,” he muttered. His words were followed by an embarrassed laugh and a shake of his head as if he couldn’t believe his own mouth. “Sorry. I’ve been spending too much time around Mama.”

“Hey.” Charlie laughed, and slid her leg off the table, leaning forward to pat his shoulder reassuringly. “Hope’s addictive. Just like the chems.”

Preston sighed. “Damn it if that’s not the truth.”

“Also, I think the old loon might be onto something,” she added, tapping a finger to her temple, “The only reason I limped out to this end of the settlement to see you was because Mama said you wanted to talk to me, something about you seeing my promise?”

“Well I’ll be damned,” he said appearing genuinely surprised, as if Mama Murphy’s clairvoyance was something new, “She’s out here stealing all of my thunder.”

The way he looked at her, as if she held the entirety of his hope in her trembling hands, made her shift uncomfortably. The weight of Mama Murphy’s words now settled on her shoulders like a lead blanket. She had never been one to believe in coincidences, but it was hard to accept that any of this was her destiny.

She cleared her throat, attempting to be nonchalant. “So, what’s this promise of mine everyone is so certain of?”

“The Commonwealth desperately needs the Minutemen,” Preston explained, “Now more than ever, and I plan to rebuild them stronger and more organized, without all of the petty squabbles and infighting that have plagued our history.”

“Sounds like you just need to find a good leader,” Charlie remarked, feeling helpful.

Preston eyed her intently and she suddenly regretted her words. “Exactly,” he said with a grin.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” she protested, waving her hands in front of her in a panic, “You’re not suggesting that I should lead the Minutemen, are you?”

“I am.”

“On what qualifications?” She was nearly shrieking. “I know next to nothing about the organization, it’s history. I can barely hold my own in a fight. I--”

“Charlie,” Preston remarked, rather directly, “The Minutemen aren’t an army. We’re citizen soldiers, people of the Commonwealth banded together to protect ourselves and decide our own futures. We fell apart because our leadership forgot what we stood for, but you could bring us back together, bring the whole Commonwealth together.”

“Why me?” Charlie was flattered at his faith in her but so confused. “Why not you, or anyone else?”

“You helped us at Concord and every day since, without anything in it for you,” he explained, “You had your own problems to deal with and you helped us anyway. Hell, you even won Marcy over. That kind of compassion and selflessness has been in short supply around here for a long time.”

“Preston, I am flattered by all of this, but I’m not sure I can take on that kind of responsibility right now.”

“Listen,” he said, offering her a reassuring smile, “If you really don’t feel like you’re up to it, I’m not going to twist your arm. I get that it’s hard to deal with other people’s problems when you’ve got your own.”

Charlie pondered for a moment, and asked, “What would I have to do?”

“Just what you’ve been doing,” he answered as if it were obvious as day, “Help people. Recruit. Spread hope. And I’ll be behind you every step of the way.”

She couldn’t deny that it was tempting. As much of a mess as she was herself, she was compelled to help others. If anything, it could give her something to focus on, a sense of purpose, a way to use her skill set. She brought her eyes up to meet his, chased away the nagging doubts in her head, and nodded. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

“You’re sure?”

“As sure as I’ll ever be.”

“Well, the leader of the Minutemen has always held the title of General, and since I’m the last of the Minutemen, there’s no one here to argue with me when I say it belongs to you now.”

“So I’m General Smart now?” Charlie laughed at the complete absurdity of the situation. Leading a bunch of neo-colonials to resettle Massachusetts wasn’t exactly how she pictured her life turning out. “Does that mean I get a cute little hat?”

Preston returned her laughter, relief washing over his face at her decision. “If you want one, General, then absolutely.”

Perhaps her mother had been right all of those years ago. Maybe she really could change the world.

#preston garvey #fallout 4 #preston garvey x sole survivor #preston garvey x f!sole survivor #revolutionary #fanfic #my writing

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prettywordsyouleft · 4 years ago

Text

Bloodstone | Part 7

Summary: You knew all about the ring your grandmother had told you about and yet when the stone fell from it one fateful day, you weren’t truly prepared for its return, nor who it came back with.

Pairing: Kim Namjoon x reader

Genre: fantasy / romance

Warnings: bit angsty in this part

Index: Prologue | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10

You hadn’t been one to believe in the stone’s love story but when Namjoon’s lips met yours, you definitely felt something between you. It was a current so strong that whenever you weren’t connected to him in some way, you felt lonely and cold. He was the source to your warmth and your smiles now.

You knew what you were feeling wasn’t realistic. There were age-old powers at play here. The stone had hooked you both together and you could understand Eliza a whole lot more now. Even if you didn’t want to look at Namjoon, you found that’s all you did.

However, Namjoon was still puzzled by your ancestor’s response to his father. Glancing up at you and smiling gratefully at the tea you handed him, Namjoon then sighed. “I don’t understand. Given how magical this feels for us, how could Eliza do such a thing to my father?”

He had been reading the journal most days now that you were certain the pages would disintegrate from all the turning back and forth he was doing. Reaching out for the journal after sitting down beside Namjoon, you placed it on the couch before taking his hand and linking your fingers with his. “Maybe what they felt was different.”

“She speaks of how strong the feelings were. I doubt she was underwhelmed by him in any way.”

“I’m certain ours is more than just the stone,” you offered and watched his perturbed frown curl up into a slow smile. You grinned and leaned over to kiss one of his dimples. “For one, Eliza wasn’t as lucky as I am to see your dimples every time you smile.”

“My father didn’t have them,” he agreed, turning to brush his lips over your forehead tenderly. “But you’re right. I’m sure my father thought she was rather fetching but to me, you’re…”

“I’m…?” you prompted cheekily when he trailed off, now drowning in your gaze for the umpteenth time. It made you giddy whenever Namjoon looked at you as if the whole world was visible within your eyes.

“You’re breathtaking,” he whispered and abandoned the mug of tea to the coffee table before pulling you into another mind-blowing embrace.

Maybe Eliza gave his father up because she was worried one more make-out session would end her. You certainly wondered the same each time Namjoon captured your lips and reached out for your soul. Each time you arrived at Nirvana quicker and decided if this was the end, it was a beautiful way to go.

Thankfully, just when it felt like you couldn’t take anymore, Namjoon pulled away, breathing heavily. “Enchantress.”

“You kissed me first,” you pointed out and Namjoon grinned.

“I still stand by this apartment, as you call it, being magical. It seems when we’re alone together all I want to do is be wrapped up with you.”

“Shall we go get some fresh air?” you proposed, nuzzling him with your nose when he tickled your skin with his staggered breath. “We could go and see Yoongi at his comic store. I’m sure he’ll have some new information for us as well.”

Namjoon seemed reluctant initially but the prospect of further knowledge on the stone and your situation did intrigue him enough to clamber to his feet, pulling you up with him. You mentioned to him that you’d just get changed and darted down to the bedroom, stopping in front of the photograph on the wall of your mother and grandmother. You beamed at them both as you fingered the glass pane that kept you from touching the photo beneath it.

“I’m not sure what you meant by challenging every part of me, but I’m grateful you entrusted me with the bloodstone, Grandmother.”

“So this is a comic store?”

Smiling at Namjoon as you led him inside Yoongi’s store, you nodded. “Pretty neat huh?”

“I’m not sure what to think of it.”

“I think this place is wonderful. A nice retreat from the world outside these walls at times,” you mentioned, waving at Yoongi when he stepped into the front of the store, pushing his glasses back up his nose before sighing.

“Nice of you to visit finally, Y/N. Normally you’re retreating here every day. Thirteen days away is rather impressive.”

You flushed with colour, glancing at Namjoon before stepping over to your best friend. “I’ve been otherwise engaged.”

“I’m sure you have. The stone will have infiltrated all of your measly sensory system by now.”

Namjoon stepped forward protectively when he sensed Yoongi’s sour expression. Placating him with a shake of your hands, you then rolled your eyes at your longest friend.

“Don’t be salty.”

“Why should I be salty? You’re the one falling into your own grave.”

You recoiled with his sentence, narrowing your eyes on Yoongi. “Grave? What are you-”

“I’ve found some more hidden gems in those books of yours. Come out the back, you definitely need to know what you’re getting yourself in to.”

Yoongi wasn’t Namjoon’s favourite human to be in the company of. He was prickly at best, and whilst you seemed unphased by his tone changes, Namjoon wondered how you could be close friends with someone like him. Perhaps, since he saw Yoongi’s feelings as a problem in your current predicament that didn’t exactly make Namjoon thrilled to be in his company anyway.

However, when Yoongi took you behind the counter of his store and motioned that he stay behind, it bothered Namjoon more than he liked to admit. He eyed the rows of colourful book fronts with distaste, kicking his feet up across the floor immaturely.

You weren’t gone for long, and when you rushed out from behind the counter and grabbed onto his hand, you felt like ice.

“Are you okay?”

“Yoongi, I’ll talk to you later, okay?!” you called whilst you dragged Namjoon outside, walking as fast as you could down the sidewalk away from the store.

Staring at the side of your head, Namjoon watched as you battled with inner turmoil, gradually smoothing your expression over, your steps slowing with this effort also. When you were some distance from the store, you began to smile and finally glanced up at him.

“There’s a park nearby, do you want to go for a walk with me?”

“Will that calm you down?” You nodded immediately and Namjoon smiled gently. “Then yes, I would love to go for a walk with you.”

It was mostly silent aside from a few remarks at the flowers in bloom. Namjoon, however, cared nothing for the flora around you both and wished to know what was going on in your head. You had barricaded yourself mentally, and even the stone couldn’t help him connect with your inner desires right now. It left Namjoon concerned for your reaction. Why weren’t you telling him of what was discovered today?

He had considered perhaps you had fought with Yoongi and that was why you weren’t talking about it. However, with the stolen glances in his direction that he caught, he could tell the anguish you were attempting to mask away from him had nothing to do with Yoongi.

But more with what he said about you both.

Gesturing to a bench under a tree, Namjoon then guided you to sit down beside him. Turning towards you, he clasped both your hands within his and gave them a gentle squeeze.

“Do you feel better?”

“Some.” You swallowed and pasted your smile back on your face. “Would you like to come have a picnic with me here tomorrow? I think the weather’s meant to be nice.”

“That sounds-”

“Maybe we could go see a movie too. You know, the television at home shares of them there but at a movie theatre, the screen is the size of an entire wall. And we can eat snacks and snuggle up together and watch something you can’t see on TV yet.”

You continued hastily. “And ice-cream! We should definitely go for ice-cream after the movie. It’s a must. I wonder what your favourite flavour will be? Mine’s vanilla chocolate chip. Yoongi always says how boring I am with having such a basic flavour as my favourite, however…”

Namjoon merely stared at your breakdown when you realised who you had spoken about. Blinking your emotions away rapidly, you tried to salvage that of your positive ideas with a nod of your head. “The nightlife. You haven’t experienced any of that yet!”

“We have time to do it all, Y/N,” Namjoon patiently answered, rubbing circles over your hands. They trembled within his grip. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“No. You’re right. I won’t let you go,” you answered in a clipped tone. He could sense the desperation behind your words and frowned.

“Y/N, what’s going on? What did Yoongi show you?”

“Oh that?” you answered, waving it off and laughing. “It was fiction, just a silly old story he had found. I don’t believe in it at all.”

“Then why are you upset?”

“Me? I’m not upset. I just want to do everything with you.”

“We can do everything together, I promise.”

Staring up at him vulnerably, you then shifted your gaze to the faint glow under his shirt and nodded. “We will, won’t we? Everything will be fine.”

Leaning over to hug you, Namjoon tried to remove the chill from your bones. “I won’t ever leave you, Y/N.”

No matter how long Namjoon held you, it didn’t seem enough to convince you, however.

_________________

Part 8

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#kwritersworldnet #kim namjoon #namjoon fiction #namjoon fanfic #namjoon romance #namjoon fantasy #namjoon au #bts #bts fiction #bts fanfic #bts romance #bts fantasy #bts au #pwyl; bloodstone #kpop fiction #kpop fanfic #kpop romance #kpop fantasy

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