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themurphyzone · 3 years ago

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Nova Ch 11

AN: This is gonna be the last of the set-up chapters. The story will start snowballing (see what I did there? Heehee) from the next chapter on.

This chapter includes an art piece I requested from the talented @plutonis, and I’m so glad I can finally show this off because it contains some very gorgeous colors.

AO3 Link

Ch 11: Spectrum

Terran Date 2015.4.28

Yesterday, Pinky showed me one of his favorite pieces of media to thank me for the story of Heikro var Silda, even though he cried for fifteen minutes because of the tragic ending. While indeed sad, I’m proud to say I remained steadfast and controlled my emotions upon revisiting the story. And while I told him it wasn’t necessary, he insisted and I acquiesced to his demands.

That’s how Pinky introduced me to The Lion King. Once again, I remained strong even when the emotional distress threatened to override my logical mind. It was...rather difficult, I’ll admit. We watched the sequel afterward, and though I’ve created five different charts that list the plot points in order, I cannot come up with a satisfactory sequence of events that connects both movies into a cohesive narrative.

Moving onto real life matters...Pinky seems to be under the impression that I will be a permanent resident of the lab.

Celestial bodies above, what use is my intelligence if I’m trapped among heathen, dimwitted fools who can’t tell the difference between left and right! I refuse to be a lab rat, made to do the so-called dominant species’ bidding. Snowball and I shall be taking over this planet and progressing their backwards society far beyond their wildest dreams! That’s what we came here for, and I will not be sidetracked again.

As for Pinky...well, his imagination can make up some personalities for his inanimate object friends once I leave. He doesn’t have any shortage of those. The newest addition to the crew is an eraser nub with the moniker of ‘Gummy’.

Signing off for now,

The Brain

o-o-o-o-o

Brain saved the new transmission to an encrypted, password-protected file. None of the scientists were technical experts, so the odds of discovery were miniscule or nonexistent. He only had five audio files in total, a meager amount compared to the hundreds of transmissions he’d made back on New Selene. The pointer hovered over the Delete All button. He didn’t have a reason to keep making transmissions when he was leaving the lab behind in just a few days.

Still, he hesitated.

Maybe he could leave it as a memento for Pinky. But even a basic level of encryption and case-sensitive password would remain far beyond Pinky’s capabilities.

Perhaps it was best to leave the issue for another night.

He logged off the computer and joined Pinky, who’d surrounded himself with Gummy and the rest of his inanimate object friends as he played a board game called Monopoly. Though Brain had looked up the rules and goals of the game during his online session out of curiosity, he didn’t really understand the appeal or mass marketability of such an unbalanced game.

Although, given the number of different versions of Monopoly out there, creating and selling his own version of the game with the title of Brainopoly could prove to be a viable plan.

Pinky was playing as if there were four players and not just a free-for-all against a nickel, button, and eraser. It became disturbingly obvious that Pinky was either overly generous or just woefully terrible at mental math, because he continually doled out the wrong amount of money from the bank or his own meager cash pile.

And Pinky was far better off if Brain cut in now, because there was no chance that anyone else was catching up to Gummy, who owned the most lucrative properties and had the largest amount of money.

He had to stop anthropomorphizing these objects. He was starting to think like Pinky, and that was an extremely distressing thought.

“You’re losing to an eraser,” Brain said. Pinky only had a few fives in currency, and the three properties he owned were all flipped over and mortgaged.

“Yeah, Gummy’s just very good at this game! Narf!” Pinky said as he rolled the dice for Mr. Button. “It’s so nice of him to let us sleep in his Marvin Garden Apartments though. Otherwise we’d be homeless!”

“Nice indeed,” Brain replied. For his peace of mind, he didn’t dare press for more details.

Pinky threw the dice, then moved the bucket token seven spaces, landing on the Luxury Tax space. “That’ll be seventy-five dollars, Mr. Button,” Pinky said as he gathered the money, which only totaled sixty. And Mr. Button’s four properties were all mortgaged. Pinky realized this too. “Oh...you don’t have enough. Poit.”

Any normal player would’ve tossed in the towel right there, but Pinky wasn’t a conventional player by any means. He frowned, scratched his head, then picked up his own pile of fives and tossed them onto the sixty, bringing the amount to seventy-five, with two leftover fives for Mr. Button.

“You can have that, Mr. Button!” Pinky chirped as he dumped the luxury tax money in the middle of the board. “With a little more for the bus!”

Pinky had completely knocked himself out of the game.

This was supposed to be an extremely competitive game for families and seasoned professionals, right? Though the rules of Monopoly appeared confusing and controversial to most players, he was certain that nobody would willingly lose with such a reckless method.

Well...maybe it was just a fluke. Pinky was only playing against himself, so if he wanted to give up the money to something he was making the decisions for, that was his choice.

Besides, he couldn’t watch this game much longer.

“I’ll be your next opponent,” Brain announced. He’d never played before, but the basics seemed simple enough. And the math involved was basic arithmetic he could do in his sleep. “Reset the board at once, Pinky.”

Pinky’s tail wagged as he gathered up the houses and hotels and tossed them back into the box, then settled down as he skillfully shuffled the Community Chest and Chance cards. From the way he hummed and twirled around, an outsider could easily mistake Brain for a playmate instead of an opponent.

Brain quickly read over the instruction sheet, then divided the game currency into a starting amount for himself, Pinky, and the bank.

“Can I be in charge of the property cards, Brain?” Pinky asked as he organized them by color.

“Yes, but I shall handle all other banker duties,” Brain said. “Listen closely, Pinky. I’ve looked up stories about Monopoly games going on for a long time with no definitive winner, so we’ll stop the game when one of us runs out of money, or if chance has favored you or I enough that we can place a hotel on the board.”

“Chance always has a problem with favoritism,” Pinky said as he moved the horse token to the Go space. Indeed, chance hasn’t always favored members of either of their species, but it could stand to be more merciful during a board game. He hugged the horse token to his chest. “Anyways, Pharfigtwoton is always my choice! What’s yours?”

Brain didn’t understand how anyone in their right mind would want to play as a wheelbarrow or bucket, and the only pieces that interested him at all were the ones that resembled modes of Terran transportation. In the end, he chose the battleship.

He was tempted to call it the Conquistador Two, but he didn’t want to follow the trend of naming random objects.

“Good one!” Pinky said as he pushed the ship over to the horse token. “A gorgeous ship like this needs a name...so I hereby dub thee Battley McBattleface!”

“We’re calling it the Conquistador Two, and that’s final,” Brain snapped.

“The Conquesodor Two,” Pinky agreed.

They tossed the dice to decide turn order, and Pinky won that battle easily since Brain had the misfortune to roll double ones.

On his first turn, Pinky managed to land on St. Charles Place with a high roll. He happily shelled out the money required to buy the property. “I’m putting a nice dog park here!” he declared, placing the unused dog token in the magenta space above the property. “Now Pharfigtwoton can give rides to all the puppies!”

Brain didn’t know if Monopoly required players to create their own storyline, but it certainly made the game more interesting and baffling at the same time. He rolled the dice, sighing when he could only advance to Reading Railroad.

He hoped it wouldn’t be a trend for Pinky to receive high rolls while he was stuck in the first half of the board.

But he quickly changed his mind once he paid up for Reading Railroad and read through the card information. Just like any real life war or corporate strategy, the key to his victory would lie in controlling the flow of transportation and goods!

Pinky landed on New York on his next turn, rambling about taking all the puppies to New York for a double decker bus tour of the city as he slid a stack of bills to Brain. Brain sighed and tossed an extra twenty bill back at Pinky. He wished Pinky would pay more attention to adding properly than the make-believe puppies.

Brain rolled the dice and moved his battleship to Virginia, claiming the property so Pinky couldn’t control one-fourth of the board this early in the game.

“Brain, can I have a house?” Pinky asked as he drew a Community Chest card. He read through the card and grinned. “Awww, I got second in a beauty pageant! Thank you, everyone! It’s such an honor! Oh, and it says I also won ten dollars.”

“You don’t meet the conditions required for a house, Pinky,” Brain said, giving Pinky a ten. He didn’t care about the fake beauty pageant, just that money was either gained or lost depending on luck of the draw.

“Oh, I’ll keep them off the board,” Pinky promised. “I just want a house for Terry to live in.”

He held up the dog token, who was now apparently called Terry.

“Fine, but don’t mix your ridiculous fantasies with the board,” Brain sighed and tossed a green house at Pinky, which smacked him in the head when he didn’t catch it in time. Pinky laughed it off and coaxed Terry to stand next to the house.

Houses and hotels. His Internet searches on the Clarkes led to tons of websites on the Terran real estate market and hotel industry.

Which reminded Brain that he hadn’t shared his research into the Clarkes with Pinky yet. There hadn’t been enough time during the day, where the incompetent scientists poked and prodded them. And in Brain’s case, tried to figure out where the antennae came from.

Their hypotheses, and he was being exceedingly generous when he described their speculation and conspiracy theories as hypotheses, amounted to claiming a Terran mouse and insect had reproduced together.

“I’ve brushed up on the Clarkes so we can properly impersonate them at the party. According to-scrik!” Brain hissed under his breath when he landed on New York and had to pay Pinky.

“Sixteen please!” Pinky chirped. “All proceeds will go to buying toys and treats for good dogs in need!”

Brain grudgingly gave up the sixteen. Probability was not on his side tonight. “As I was saying before cruel fate reared its ugly head, the man I shall impersonate, Anthony Clarke, is an esteemed real estate and luxury hotel mogul, with a net worth in the billions. His success is rooted in savvy, ruthless business against competitors. It appears that he and Lamont are old college acquaintances, which we can spin to our advantage. And...yes! B&O Railroad!”

He claimed the B&O Railroad for himself, and Pinky wrinkled his nose. “I wouldn’t ride on the Body Odor Railroad even if you pay me in cheese,” he said.

Brain rolled his eyes. “The temptation for cheese is too powerful for your empty mind and bottomless stomach.”

“You’re right, Brain. It’s too yummy.” Pinky licked his lips. “So does that make me Mrs. Zoey Clarke then? Unless he divorced her already. I haven’t kept up with them in a while.” The butler on the phone had made a similar comment, thoroughly expecting ‘Mr. Clarke’ to divorce his spouse by the end of the week.

“So you’re aware of the Clarkes,” Brain said. He rolled the dice, and chance immediately sentenced him to jail. He had to push his battleship all the way to the jail space.

But all of this divorcing nonsense was trivial to his goals. Hardly worth a footnote.

The objective was to infiltrate the party, mingle with the guests to throw off suspicion, then steal the military weapon and take over the world, not involve himself in a Terran’s relationship drama.

“Ooh, tough.” Pinky clicked his tongue in sympathy as he bought Waterworks. “But everyone knows who the Clarkes are. Didn’t you see anything about all those divorces when you looked them up?”

“I’m more interested in his business ventures than his messy personal life,” Brain replied. “All this talk about divorce is simply incidental. But now I digress. Escaping jail so I may continue my conquering campaign is of utmost priority.”

“Doubles! Doubles!” Pinky chanted as Brain threw the dice. A two and three faced up, but no doubles. Pinky deflated, but only for a moment. Then he picked up a fifty. “Here, Brain. I’ll bail you out.”

From Brain’s brief skim over the rules, he didn’t recall a single one that allowed players to bail each other out of jail. He wanted to refuse and tell Pinky to focus on winning for himself, but obtaining Pennsylvania Railroad, which he’d missed the first time he’d passed through this section of the board, was just too tempting.

Brain took the fifty from Pinky, put it in the bank, then moved his battleship out of jail and used his draining resources to buy Pennsylvania Railroad. Only afterward did he realize that he’d been steadily losing money every turn and hadn’t gained anything since the beginning of the game.

Contrast to Pinky, who rolled a twelve and skipped over the last fourth of the board, placing him squarely on the Go space and guaranteeing himself a free two hundred. Then he rolled a low number and bought Mediterranean.

A poor investment, given that it was hardly worth anything. But Pinky didn’t think so.

And he wouldn’t stop cooking up new fantasies either. “Now we can host a beach jubilee for your welcome home from jail party! With hot dogs and beach balls and those big umbrellas and-”

Brain lobbed the dice at Pinky so he’d quiet down and allow Brain to formulate a strategy in peace.

Perhaps a pass around the board without purchasing anything would be necessary. He had to rebuild his financial resources again. The downside was that Pinky could potentially take the spaces for himself, but it was entirely possible that he’d miss some of the open spaces too.

So he did just that, finally lucking out when a Community Chest card sent Pinky to Reading Railroad.

But Pinky was incapable of keeping his mouth shut, and soon he was back on the topic of the infamous Clarke divorces.

“-so I think Zoey is number eleven, and I know they all blend together, so when I confuse them I just remember divorce, beheaded, died, divorce, beheaded, survived!”

Brain stared at Pinky, praying to all the ancient Selenian gods nobody believed in anymore that Snowball didn’t have him take the identity of a murderer.

“Oh wait no, no...that’s King Henry, not Clarke. Must’ve mixed them up, poit. Sorry.”

Brain threw another green house at Pinky, nailing him in the shoulder. Pinky yelped, but once he realized he had another house he immediately thanked Brain because that meant Terry’s friend could move next door.

Since there was little point to dissuading Pinky entirely, Brain focused on his game strategy instead.

It was mostly repetition anyway. Roll dice, move piece, board event, repeat. Perhaps it would be considered tedious and monotonous, but the storylines Pinky improvised were what truly made it fascinating, even though Brain could only follow about half of it since Pinky created plotholes within the fantastical yet mundane place named Monopoly City faster than the speed of light.

According to Pinky, he and his sister co-ran an enormous pet supply shop attached to a humane animal shelter next door to the dog park. Meanwhile, Brain was conductor of a magical train and seeking the mayorship because the corrupt mayor was involved with an evil cigarette corporation who wanted to diabolically sell their products to innocent children.

And while Pinky certainly had a knack for improvisation, the matter at hand was that Brain couldn’t resist buying Boardwalk, but he’d used up a third of his money and Pinky wasn’t landing there to make up for the deficit. But Brain also had Baltic, the least valuable property, and Pinky had Park Place, which Brain desperately needed since neither of them had houses on the board yet.

This wasn’t going to be a fair trade for Pinky, but it was the best chance Brain had to etch out a victory. He was going for it.

“Park for Baltic so we can finally build some residences,” Brain said, sliding the card over to Pinky.

And to his surprise, Pinky jumped at the opportunity. “Sure, Brain! If you’ll trade me Oriental for Marvin Gardens. We’re gonna open a Chinatown district!”

He’d be giving Pinky control of the first quarter of the board, but the allure of the most expensive properties was far too tempting to pass up.

They swapped properties, then paused the game to set up their houses. Brain didn’t have enough money to buy houses for all his properties, so he set two houses on Boardwalk and hoped he could deal a staggering blow to Pinky’s finances. And even this decision was costly, for he only had $180 left.

Pinky set four houses on Baltic and clapped his hands together. “They’re beach houses,” he explained, and didn’t bother putting houses on the rest of his properties even though he could afford it.

Brain kept his mouth shut. Best not to give Pinky ideas. So he rolled the dice and got doubles.

Luxury Tax.

Scrik.

Now he was down to $105. But he’d pass Go on his next turn, so he could obtain an extra two hundred and hopefully skip this portion of the board.

Then he landed on Baltic.

He slowly looked at Pinky, and Brain couldn’t tell if Pinky was being perfectly innocent or just very, very good at pretending to be perfectly innocent. “That’ll be $320 please,” Pinky said.

Including the two hundred from passing Go, he’d only have a grand total of $305.

And according to the conditions he’d set, he’d lost the game through losing all his money.

“Can’t pay it,” Brain sighed. “Congratulations, Pinky. You’ve bested me.”

Pinky giggled and threw his play money in the air in celebration. “Aw, thanks for playing with me! I’ve never played Monopoly with anyone before. Never been able to get the board to Pharfignewton’s stable without the play money flying all over the street. It took me a long time to pick it all up. We should definitely do this again, Brain! Troz!”

But there wouldn’t be a next time. No matter how much he wanted to be victorious in another match against Pinky.

“Yes, we should,” Brain forced out, willing his racing heart to calm down so he wasn’t caught in his lie.

Pinky beamed, and Brain only wished it wasn’t so difficult to explain.

o-o-o-o-o

Terran Date 4.29.2015

Tonight, we shall seek appropriate outfits for the masquerade ball. I have been informed that my jumpsuit is not considered formal attire and that we will need to shop for proper clothing. However, I will be bringing my jumpsuit along since I will not return to the lab, and I require my conquering outfit to carry out our plans.

Pinky knows a place that may contain what we need. He’s spent the last two hours finishing his hat for the Kentucky Derby and has proudly shown off the finished product to me. Though I’ll admit that the result can only be considered a hat if one is generous with their definition.

I have not been able to contact Snowball. I can only assume he’s making the necessary preparations on his end.

Signing off for now,

The Brain

o-o-o-o-o

They stood in front of an enormous building with bright neon letters, impossible to miss even with his direction-challenged companion. Thankfully, it was only a few blocks from the lab. After the scientists strapped him to a machine that tested centrifugal force, he didn’t have the energy to walk much further.

“Welcome to Toyz ‘B’ We, Brain!” Pinky exclaimed, and Brain cringed at the horrendous grammar of that name. “It's the most wonderfulest toy shop ever!”

Wonderfulest wasn’t a word, but Brain was given no time to inform Pinky of that fact before Pinky dragged him to the entrance, where a large, cartoonish statue of a Terran bee stood off to the side, greeting customers with a cheerful wave of her magic wand.

“So that’s the mascot, Becky Bee,...let’s see, those are the shopping carts and the baskets and those machines that give you washable tattoos-”

“Focus on the clothing, Pinky. Not all the extraneous material,” Brain reminded him as they entered the store. Unlike their disastrous mall trip, Brain had brought along a source of money, an ACME credit card one of the scientists had carelessly left at their desk after purchasing a chair online.

They had a right to use the card as ACME employees who never got paid for their hard labor in experiments. And he promised Pinky he’d give it back once they were through purchasing the necessary items, so it didn’t catch on that pesky ‘no stealing’ radar.

Based on Pinky’s descriptions of the store, he expected an interior full of wonder, excitement, and interesting objects designed for enjoyment for young Terrans.

Instead, everything was a sterile white, yellow, or black. Rectangular kits of building blocks of all shapes and sizes sat neatly in a row, their price tags dusty as if they hadn’t been moved or cleaned in some time.

Dozens of bee models hung from the ceiling rafters, all of them sharing the exact same dead stare and pose. The whole setup was rather unnerving, and Brain averted his eyes.

He spotted two workers at the registers. They scrolled through their phones, not noticing Pinky’s cheerful greeting as he skipped past them. A third worker called out in alarm to them, and they suddenly dropped their phones and picked up rags, repetitively wiping their counters in circles in a poor attempt to appear busy.

The only one who acted like they were in a store meant for entertainment was Pinky, who oohed and ahhed and zigzagged all over the place to get a look at all the toys.

“Brain, look at this Barbie convertible! It’s so sparkly!” Pinky exclaimed before darting off to admire the box art on five-hundred piece jigsaw puzzles, then crawled onto the lowest shelf to hug a life-sized chihuahua plushie. “Narf! This one’s a cutie! And I also like the polka-dotted lizard, that green unicorn, and that rainbow koala looks really soft too-”

Brain grabbed Pinky’s tail, yanking him out of the shelf and onto the floor.

“This store’s already eroding whatever’s left of your mind,” Brain said, dragging Pinky away from the stuffed animals.

Pinky propped himself up on his elbows, humming as they passed aisle upon aisle of action figures, balls, and building blocks.

It was strange how they seemed to be the only customers here. Shouldn’t there be more snot-nosed brats running amok or haggard parents corralling them so they didn’t destroy everything with their grubby hands?

Still, perhaps he shouldn’t complain.

It was a relief that he didn’t have to worry about people trampling him underfoot for now.

But the peace didn’t last long, since Pinky suddenly peeled away in a completely different direction, forgetting that Brain was hanging onto his tail. Though he tried to dig his heels in, Pinky was too fast and the floor too slippery for Brain to bring them to a halt.

Then Pinky stopped on his own, and Brain only caught a glimpse of a metallic table leg before he crashed face-first into it, his nose smarting from the impact.

“Sorry, Brain,” Pinky said sheepishly, and there were five upside-down images of him. Brain swatted at the one in the middle, but his hand hit empty air instead. He shook his head to clear his vision, and all but the Pinky on the far left vanished.

Pinky didn’t stay put for long, darting past Brain. He hauled himself up the table leg and onto a light blue tablecloth. “You have to come up and see this, Brain!” Pinky squealed, peering over the edge of the table, his tail wagging beside him. “There’s an entire fence made of Legos here!”

Brain sighed, wondering if it was an exercise in futility to get Pinky to focus on the task at hand. “This is the last time I’ll repeat myself!” Brain shouted as he climbed up to retrieve Pinky. “We’re here for the clothes and-”

Though Brain only took fifteen seconds to ascend, Pinky managed to don a cropped, checkered top that showed off his slender stomach and a very short blue skirt in that short timeframe.

“Well, what do you think?” Pinky giggled and twirled in circles, the skirt flying in a graceful arc around his waist. “I could go square dancin’ in this, pardner! Yee-narf!”

Realizing he’d been staring at Pinky’s exposed stomach rather than making proper eye contact, Brain quickly turned away and pretended to find a row of small toy cars interesting. Next to the toy cars, there was a menagerie of small, plastic animals penned in by a colorful fence.

Part of a garden themed jigsaw puzzle served as a lawn under his feet, the pieces leading up to an enormous pink dollhouse.

Pinky took off the clothes he’d tried on, neatly threading a bent wire through the crop top and skirt and hanging them on a piece of string that served as a makeshift clothesline. There were five different clotheslines, each stocked to the brim with a variety of colorful articles.

Brain thumbed through the selection, though he didn’t feel an attachment to any of these pieces. While these clothes were designed for toys, most of them were still too big for him.

Finding something that would fit would be more difficult than he realized.

There was a large empty space past all the clotheslines, but it seemed it would be filled in soon enough. The display had all the signs of being a work in progress, and Brain couldn’t help but wonder who had the patience to put all this together. Certainly not the bored workers at the registers.

It was a welcome splash of creativity from the rest of the dull store.

“Poit. This is exactly how I imagined my dream home to be,” Pinky said in awe. He walked up to the front door and popped it open, revealing a spacious interior. Brain followed Pinky inside and they explored the first floor together, which contained a kitchen, living room, and a playroom.

“I really like the coloring on those kitchen cabinets, and the fireplace is a great touch! Very retro. And the kiddies will have a grand ol’ time in the playroom,” Pinky said as they climbed the staircase to the second floor and walked through two bedrooms and a bathroom.

“Marble countertops would make the kitchen and bathroom more refined,” Brain argued. Really, did Pinky want any visitors to think uncivilized brutes owned the house? “But the fireplace is a welcome touch.”

Pinky shrugged as they entered the master bedroom. “It’s fine as is. Now if the backyard was bigger with a dolphin-shaped swimming pool, that would be really, really amazing!”

And Brain preferred marble countertops, but since he wouldn’t be getting everything he wanted, neither would Pinky.

Brain sat on the large bed that took up half the room, the fluffy covers soft and welcoming. But they were on a mission, and future world rulers didn’t roll around on beds in an undignified manner, no matter how tempting it was.

Pinky threw open the closet doors, revealing more clothing inside. “Oh, these pajamas are lovely!” he said, pressing a yellow nightgown close to his body.

“Anything that would suit our purposes?” Brain asked. In hindsight, doing some research into what people wore for masquerade balls would’ve been helpful. He didn’t know why it slipped his mind. Perhaps Pinky’s scatterbrained traits were contagious.

“Hmmm, it’s all pajamas and casual wear,” Pinky said, flicking through the different articles. He closed the doors and reopened them, as if the formal wear would magically appear if they were out of sight. “No suits for you or the porpoises, Brain.” And he’d been so hopeful too.

“Maybe we can find something in the aisles,” Pinky said.

A sensible suggestion, for once.

Brain tried not to appear reluctant to leave the bed, but necessity demanded it. As he stood up, the fur on his neck pricked, his ears twitching towards the large window in the bedroom.

An odd sense that he was being watched came over him, and when he turned to look at the window, he saw a Terran’s eye peering into the balcony.

They stared at each other.

Then the eye blinked.

And Brain was suddenly very, very glad Snowball wasn’t here to bear witness, or he’d never hear the end of how he’d leapt onto Pinky’s back in his moment of panic.

Pinky yelped, and so did the Terran outside the window. There were several loud thuds, followed by a frantic apology.

Brain released Pinky, rubbing his face to get rid of the blush as he ran down the staircase and out the front door.

“S-sorry!” a young woman stammered as she bent down to pick up several packages of toys, only to lose her large glasses on the floor in the process. She wore the standard uniform of the store. “I didn’t think anyone would be inside! I thought one of the furniture pieces fell over, that’s all!”

Pinky hopped down from the table, picking up the woman’s glasses and pressing them into her hand. “It’s okay!” he chirped. “You scared us good, but now we can laugh about it! Oh, your name tag says Sharon! What a lovely name! I’m Pinky, that chubby alien up there is Brain, and we’re going to a party this weekend where we’ll raise awareness for the plight of frosted animal crackers!”

“That’s not the event’s objective,” Brain corrected, and he had no choice but to let Pinky come to his own conclusions. Stealing the secret weapon on Lamont property would remain classified information as promised. “And if you call me chubby again, I shall have to hurt you.”

Sharon took her glasses from Pinky with a tentative smile, then let him climb up her arm and onto her shoulder. “Zort! You have very good taste in Polly Pocket dolls!” Pinky said, peering down at the packages in her hands. “Do you collect?”

Sharon blushed. “I, um, have a lot of Beanie Babies at home. I’m not really interested in Polly Pockets, but they’d fit much better in this display than a standard Barbie.” She glanced at Brain. “I’m sorry, could you please move? I’m putting a few things in that area.”

Brain moved out of the way as Sharon carefully opened the packages. Then she placed several small tables and chairs in the empty space next to the clotheslines, bending the dolls’ legs into sitting positions and placing them on the chairs. She worked slowly and diligently, taking great caution to not knock anything over or break the items.

“Did you make all this?” Pinky asked. “It’s amazing!”

“Y-yeah, I did. The display, I mean. Not the toys.” Sharon didn’t look at Pinky as she straightened one of the Lego fences. “Store’s been on the decline, and because there’s not really much to do, I’m trying to create a few displays to generate some interest. The toys in this one were supposed to be thrown away since nobody’s buying them, even on clearance, but it just seemed so wasteful.”

She was resourceful. It was a valuable trait, but she seemed more embarrassed than anything.

“Take pride, Sharon. It’s an excellent use of parts,” Brain advised.

Pinky nodded eagerly. “And you’re saving the toys from the evil furnace! I’m sure they’re very grateful to you when you’re not looking!”

“You...you really like it?” Sharon lifted her glasses and wiped a tear from her eye. “Nobody’s ever really noticed my efforts around here.”

“Well, they should!” Pinky declared. “I’ll tell them so myself!”

Sharon smiled as Pinky hugged her face, then rejoined Brain on the table. “Thanks, but I don’t think you came to this store just to invade a toy home.”

“No, we didn’t,” Brain said, seeing his opportunity and seizing it. “We require formal clothes for a masquerade ball, and unfortunately, we haven’t seen anything of interest yet.”

“There’s plenty of interesting things in here, Brain,” Pinky said. “Like the busybody bees up on the ceiling!”

Apparently they had two very different definitions of interesting.

“Well, I can bring out some items from the back,” Sharon offered. “We had to pull the entire line of formal Zuma Ben accessories last week. Some parents found the outfits a little scandalous for their kids, so now the accessories are just going in the trash. But maybe you’ll find something to wear from the pile. Be right back, guys!” She walked away, her steps growing slightly more confident.

“Real Zuma Ben accessories?” Pinky clasped his hands to his cheek. “I’ve never worn anything like that before!”

“It’s just a name,” Brain said. He didn’t see why Pinky was treating Zuma Ben’s name like a sacred object. “As long as we’re dressed to impress, the name doesn’t matter.”

“I just think they’re pretty,” Pinky replied. “And I like looking at them, even if I can’t buy anything. Still, I’m really happy with the clothes I have now.”

But Pinky had a sizable wardrobe. Those clothes had to come from somewhere.

“So how did you obtain your clothes if you never bought them?” Brain asked.

Pinky smiled. “The scientists. They’ll drop clothes into my cage, which is really nice of them! One time, I put on this pretty sundress they gave me and I started itching really bad. I was jumping around like a tiny monkey and I managed to make them all laugh! I must’ve been quite the sight!”

Pinky laughed at the memory, but Brain was more disturbed at how the blatant act of humiliation didn’t affect him in the slightest. Then the laugh faltered and restarted at a higher pitch.

No, that initial assessment was wrong. True, Pinky could withstand many things, but not even the most resilient being could tolerate the sound of mockery for long.

Should he say something? Was an ‘I’m sorry’ sufficient? Was there any act of comfort that didn’t involve unnecessary physical contact?

Brain wanted to be decisive, but dozens of scenarios played out in his head, and none of them led to a satisfactory outcome. Tell Pinky to cease his laughter, embrace him, talk about the weather. He didn’t know.

Emotions led to nothing but trouble.

“Quit staring,” Brain snapped when Pinky wouldn’t stop watching him like he wanted something.

Pinky’s ears fell, but Sharon came back before the pang of guilt could fully settle in Brain’s stomach.

“Thanks for waiting, guys,” Sharon said as she dumped the accessory packages onto the table. “See anything you like?”

“All of them!” Pinky declared, happily tossing a three-pack of formal dresses into the air. He tried tearing it open, but the packaging wouldn’t give. Sharon helpfully tore it open for him, and Pinky made a happy, grateful sound before pulling a sparkly purple dress over his body. He twirled around. “So how do I look?”

“Lovely,” Sharon giggled as she pulled out her phone. She set it against the Lego fence, allowing Pinky to see himself in the camera app.

“I’ll put this as a maybe,” Pinky said. “But I have to give all the dresses a chance too!”

He tried four other dresses on in quick succession, and all of them went into the maybe pile.

Meanwhile, Brain searched through his choices of men’s formal wear. He wanted the best possible option for successful infiltration, but he didn’t know much about Terran fashion. His nose wrinkled at a powdered blue suit with far too many ruffles. He was fairly certain that wouldn’t garner respect on any planet, so he pushed the offending pack away from his other options.

The pure white suit would get stained too easily. He needed something darker. That one was out.

“Hey Brain, what about this one?” Pinky asked. He now wore a long sleeved lime green dress, which Brain found extremely tacky and unappealing to the eyes. Not even Pinky could salvage that monstrosity. Yet in Pinky’s hands, there was a black suit with a white shirt underneath. Not extravagant by any means, but since the coloration was similar to his conquering attire, it was the most probable choice by far.

But while Pinky was comfortable with changing in front of others, Brain wasn’t so keen on the idea.

“I require privacy,” Brain said. He took the suit from Pinky and went inside the house, shutting the door behind him and ensuring the shutters were closed.

Then he removed his gloves and jumpsuit, shivering from the cold air as he laid the items over a chair. He put on the new set of pants first, then the white collared shirt, and finally buttoned the jacket over his abdomen.

Well, it was comfortable. And it hid most of his stomach too, which was also a positive. But he needed to see how it looked in the light before making a judgment call, so he rejoined Pinky and Sharon, who were playing with different filters on her phone while Pinky wore a magnificent feathery pink dress.

“Now you really look like a flamingo,” Sharon laughed as Pinky changed the filter to sepia, the image now different shades of tan. Pinky blew a kiss to the camera. “This one’s my favorite so far,” Pinky declared with a graceful curtsey.

And the sleeveless feathery dress did seem to match his personality much better than all the other dresses. Flamboyant and quirky, but inviting and friendly as well. A darker pink feather boa was draped over his shoulders, and purple feathers fanned out from the back of his neck. A light green choker was wrapped around his neck. Then Pinky added a matching headband with a light pink tuft to complete the ensemble.

“That will certainly make an excellent first impression on the partygoers,” Brain said.

Pinky changed the phone filter back to normal with one hand, playing with the feather boa in his other. “Egad, you really think so?” he exclaimed. “Hold on a sec, Brain. Where’s the rest of your outfit?”

“Rest of?” Brain echoed. “This doesn’t require anything else.”

Pinky shook his head and dug a red bow and matching sash out of the clothes pile. “You need a few splashes of color, Brain! Or you’ll just end up a sad wilty wallflower!”

“They’d really match your circles,” Sharon added.

Well, he’d always looked good in red. It was a bold, attention-grabbing color.

Brain draped the sash over his shoulder and fastened the bow around his ear, checking himself over in Sharon’s phone. Then Pinky and Sharon started giggling for some odd reason.

“What?” Brain asked. He was presentable at a formal event now, wasn’t he?

“You’re kinda wearing it wrong,” Sharon admitted.

His ears flattened from embarrassment. Selenians typically wore practical jumpsuits with minimal accessories, and none of their databanks ever mentioned Terran outfits. They must’ve found it unimportant.

“Don’t worry, Brain. It’s an easy fix! May I?” Pinky exclaimed.

Brain nodded his permission, and Pinky removed the bow from Brain’s ear and carefully fastened it underneath his collar, taking great care to not pull the bow too tightly around his neck.

“So this isn’t a sash. It’s a cummerbund and you wear it around your stomach,” Pinky explained as he demonstrated the proper way to wear it. It was relieving to know Terrans made accessories that would hide the slight bulge, and Brain donned the cummerbund correctly.

The accessories really did match his orbs. For the first time, he was dressed to the nines and it was a glorious feeling indeed.

“Aw, you’re both so spiffy!” Sharon exclaimed. “Mind if I put a photo of this on the Twitter page to boost some interest?”

“We’ll return the favor,” Brain said. She deserved some reward for helping them out anyway.

Sharon turned her phone around, ready to snap the picture when Pinky suddenly darted out of frame. “Hold on! Narf!” he cried, shoving a small blue butterfly-themed mask into Brain’s hands and flipping a pink feathery mask over his face. “It’s a masquerade ball, you know!”

While Brain’s mask only covered the area around his eyes, Pinky’s face was mostly hidden by his birdlike mask, leaving only his bright blue eyes exposed.

“Doesn’t that tickle?” Brain inquired as Pinky stretched his boa out for a picture.

Pinky shrugged. “A little. But I don’t mind!”

“Smile for the camera, you guys!” Sharon grinned.

Brain didn’t smile, but he stood in front of the toy house while Sharon snapped pictures and Pinky struck a different pose with every shot.

Pinky’s laughter rang joyously in Brain’s ears.

He would leave that sound behind in just a few days. But it was a small price to pay for the world.

End AN: Maybe this chapter is a little disjointed, but oh well. Sharon is based off the toy store worker who helps the mice in Brain’s Night Off.

I tried to do the math for the Monopoly game and even pulled out my Monopoly property cards so I could get the amounts correct, but if anything is inaccurate I am hereby excused from responsibility because I am a writer and not a mathematician. Yes i use that excuse every time but it’s true.

Brain's outfit comes from the tuxedo he wore in the reboot's Future Brain episode. Pluto designed Pinky's outfit herself (somehow we both were thinking lots of pink feathers for Pinky) and deserves all the credit for it cause it's so beautiful. I chose a butterfly mask for Brain and a flamingo theme for Pinky.

#pinky and the brain #patb fanfiction #patb nova

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hankwritten · 4 years ago

Text

The Weight of Other People’s Thoughts

Demoman/Soldier, 2k

Request for @lilythedragon05, Scotland

It was a bad idea to follow that tugging cord at the center of his being, the one that called him to Ullapool, and he never would have dared to entertain it if he knew it would have brought him here.

Jane sat by the ocean, stone’s throw from the town, but his distasteful frown kept his eyes locked firmly ahead instead of gazing dubiously at it. What had he been thinking? Coming to Ullapool had only make him feel worse, not better, a smirch against Tavish’s memory if there ever was one. Rubbing in Tavish’s face that he’d never go home again—and here Jane was, free to frolic across the whole damn planet, even if it took him to stupid countries ending in ‘land’.

He leaned further over his knees, barely feeling the sea breeze as he thought about his dead friend.

His murdered friend, he reminded himself. Murdered by someone who he thought he could trust, who now had to carry that guilt with him for the rest of his life.

Everywhere Jane looked it reminded him of Tavish. Maybe that’s why he’d come: self-flagellation. Appropriate punishment. Or maybe he was so desperate not to forget, he’d take the pain that came with remembering. Torturing himself truly, since he could look on the hills and surrounding coast that he had once only known through enthusiastic descriptions, see for himself the places where a young Tavish had played with dummy-grenades. He could imagine him talking to the local shopkeeps. He could practically see him walking up this very path, groceries in one hand, a newspaper filled with fried fish in the other as he took a large bite out of it-

Wait.

Tavish stopped dead, his face enveloped in utter shock. Still mid-chew, he said, “Jdra-ne?”

Jane leapt to his feet. “Apparition!” He pointed an accusing finger at the offending spirit. “Do not think for a second I will be cowed into repentance by the spectral manifestation of my guilt!”

Tavish nearly choked as he tried to swallow his bite of fish. “I…what?”

“Ghosts serve no purpose on my journey to recovery,” Jane continued. “Not even ones that look like my dead friend! Be gone creature of the other world!”

“What I- I’m not bloody dead.”

Jane squinted at him. He definitely didn’t look dead, totally opaque, no fettered chains representing his sins in life and his guilt over failing to help his fellow Man.

“…Are you sure?” Jane pressed.

“You’d think someone would know if they were dead,” Tavish grumbled poignantly, now glaring at Jane for some reason.

“I killed you though. It was-” -pickaxe right through the sternum, crushing, all the red bits coming out when they should have been in- “That was definitely fatal.”

“Aye, was, but I managed to limp my was back into Respawn range. Took a better part of an hour, but I made it.”

There was something odd to Tavish’s voice, something he wasn’t saying, but the realization that he might actually-seriously-really be alive was starting to set in and Jane was too afraid to believe it.

He took a step closer, past the bench he’d been enjoying his solitude at and completing a full circle around the Demoman. Tavish’s head followed him all the while, up until Jane came to a stop in front of him. “…Promise you are not a ghost?”

“I’m not a ghost,” Tavish said, as convincingly honest as he’d always been. Not that his acting skills hadn’t covered for his mendacity before-

-no, no that was a trick, it all turned out to be a lie a damn lie-

“Fine then. You’re not.” Though Jane would keep his eyes peeled for phantasmal anyway. “What the hell are you doing here then?”

“I live here,” Tavish huffed. “Gravel Wars are over, wasn’t going to spend the rest of my years in some blighted desert. Better question is what are you doing here, yank?”

Crap. Well, maybe a half-truth would suffice. “You always talked so much about Scotland I thought…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I wanted to see what all the fuss was about.”

Tavish stood there, one hand still clasped around his groceries. The moment dragged on, vast seas of unsaid things between them, of regrets still festering, to which he ended with, “would you like me to show you around?”

Jane looked down, trying not to stare at his shoes but instead at the foreign soil around them. “…Sure. Why not.”

“Everything is incredibly vertical,” Jane complained as they climbed up yet another hill Tavish insisted was part of the journey.

“Aye, that’s why they call it the Highlands, BLU.”

Jane hated how fucking smug he sounded. Hated, and missed it all the same, missed how this bastard could set a fire in his gut just with one of his damn smiles.

“And there she is,” the Demoman said proudly as the crested the final ridge.

“Damn. Really went to crap in the last couple centuries.”

“Oi, don’t point fingers at me! I’ve only been around for forty of those.”

DeGroot Keep was shriveled and hunchbacked since Jane had last seen it, folding under its own legacy as ages had eaten the tallest spires first and chewed its way down to the cob. Still, he could just make out the choke points, the parapets, the places he used to go charging into with his mêlée weapon held high—all sanded down by the years, the vaguest memories of control points where a portal in time had briefly allowed Jane to witness their existence.

“So what,” he asked, following Tavish into the slight dip in the Highlands where the Keep nestled, “you live in here like some sort of anti-Italian?”

“An anti- what now?”

“Anti-Italians! Despises sun, allergic to garlic, doesn’t show up in mirrors, no sex life. Basic literary reference, RED.”

Tavish rolled his eye. “No, I’m not squatting in the dilapidated castle. Got a perfectly nice home down in the village, I just happen to have inherited this along with…all the other crap.” He waved his hand. “I’ve considered shelling out to having it restored but…dunno. Seeing it go from its heyday to this makes me think that in another couple hundred years it’ll just fall apart again.”

He sat on a piece of tumbled rock, one that used to hang over the Keep’s gate, a bright and shining keystone now used as a stool. Jane joined him.

“Don’t get much of this at home, do you? Old crap. Yer country’s still a wee babe you know, nothing’s even falling apart yet.”

“Incorrect!” Jane amended. “There are plenty of old things in America!”

“For last time lad, Thomas Edison wasn’t immortal, and he didn’t be build a second Shangri-La under Pennsylvania Avenue.”

“Your statements reveal both your ignorance and your compunction, but I was actually talking about mounds.”

“Mounds,” Tavish repeated dubiously.

“Yes! Mounds! Fourteen hundred years ago Americans were building ceremonial mounds in order to track celestial events! They look like animals from the top, lynx, bears, fish, all that crap. I used to walk next to this bird one every day on the way to school.”

Tavish blinked at him, tilting his head. “No offense Jane, but including Native people usually isn’t in your worldview. Where’d you even learn all ‘o that?”

“My mother taught me, so think insinuating more cyclops—lest you show disrespect against her memory and I am forced to take out your other socket!”

Tavish raised his hands defensively, but there was a smile creeping at the corner. “Alright, alright, I get ye. A Mum’s honor is a serious thing.”

“Hm. Good.” Jane glanced ahead, suddenly afraid of lapsing back into silence, as though Tavish would start to slip away from him if they did. “How is your mother?”

“Ah…she passed some years back.”

“…I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s alright.” Tavish paused. “I still see her sometimes.”

“Metaphorically or…?”

Tavish glanced at him, but then away just a quickly, as though frightened of what he might see. “I’d rather not talk about it, if that’s alright with you.” Instead, he stared ahead, the sun setting between its cradle within the mountains. “Heh. At least there’s something that’s the same no matter where you go. Always a sunset.”

“Guess so.”

Still, Jane found he liked this one better than the ones back home. At least, better than all the ones he’d seen before he’d met Tavish.

The next day was spent in the village, and Jane couldn’t help but yearn for more of Tavish’s time, more of his attention. His friend. His friend who was still alive. Tavish had a kind word for every person they passed, all of whom didn’t seem to notice Jane at all, simply starting up a conversation with their fellow local and submitting to the rhythm of the morning. Breakfast was some sort of potato scone, but Jane wasn’t hungry, so he just walked beside Tavish as the other man ate. They found themselves at the same bench where they’d first run into each other.

“So,” Tavish asked. “Ullapool everything you thought it would be?”

“Hm. It’s…nice. It is obviously not perfect for geographical reasons entirely outside of its control, but. I understand how it made you the man you are.”

“Me? Nah.” Tavish wiped off his mouth with his sleeve. “I made myself like this.”

Again, he wouldn’t look at Jane, wouldn’t say what they were both thinking. That things had gone wrong, that they had both fucked up. One of them more than the other, but Jane had found him again, and maybe they could still figure something out, still have time to unearth all that they had deemed too dangerous and buried in the sand.

Jane reached forward, and put his hand over where Tavish’s was resting on the bench.

And watched it pass straight through.

Jane sprang away. “I knew it! I knew you were a ghost!”

Likewise, Tavish stood up sharply. “I am not. I bloody told you I was’t.”

“Liar! I will not be swayed by any more perjury from your ethereal mouth!”

“I’m not lying!” Tavish snarled at him, his eye dark and narrowed, burning hotter than the words would imply. “I never lied. I never wanted any of-”

“Blasphemy!”

“Would you just listen for-!”

“You cannot guilt me apparition! For I know that-”

“Shut up! Just fucking shut up!” Tavish’s fist closed around the neck of his scrumpy bottle, half drained before noon, and threw it full force at Jane’s head.

Jane raised an arm to block the incoming blow, but the impact never arrived. A second ticked by, then two, then three, and slowly he lowered his forearm to reveal the panting Demoman behind it, shoulders heaving and an inscrutable expression tearing across his features.

“How’s that for the truth you bleeding idiot,” he said.

Jane looked to Tavish, then rotated his neck slowly, staring at the bottle that had landed in the grass behind him. He blinked, willing what he was looking at to make sense, to suddenly disappear and go back to where things were a second ago. To believe he hadn’t seen that bottle connected with his own nose.

There was something he didn’t want to do, but he did it anyway, turning his gaze forward inch by agonizing inch, staring down at his own hands. Fully taking how translucent they were.

The moment shattered, Tavish tore his eye away. “Fuck. Fuck I’m sorry. I shouldn’t’ve…”

Jane was still looking at his hands. There was panic, deep and overwhelming rising within him, but there was no raised pulse to accompany it, no sweat on the back of his neck.

He lifted his chin to Tavish. “What? I don’t…”

“I didn’t die,” Tavish said thickly. “You did. I killed you and I walked off and you just bled out for who knows how long and-”

-the pickaxe but also a sword, just as deadly buried two feet into his chest and the man above him trying to shove it in a few extra inches, strangled screaming as it pushed deeper-

Jane hadn’t been paying attention to the last half of Tavish’s muttered confession. The Demoman was crying now, pawing furiously at his one lone eye as stared out valley below them, looking anywhere but at Jane as his sclera turned red.

“I’m sorry,” he sputtered. “Christ Jane I’m so fucking sorry. If you came to haunt me or whatever I just- I just want you to know that you can’t hate me more than I hate myself. That it’s been killing me every day since.”

He collapsed on the bench, curling away from Jane as he buried his face in his hands.

It could have been some sort of trick. A ghost bottle or…no Jane wouldn’t even try. He attempted to remember what flight he had come in on but couldn’t. He grasped for how many years since the Gravel Wars had ended, and couldn’t find the answer.

Jane was a ghost, yet everything still hurt as much as it had when he had lived. Immaterial, and he still so badly wanted to touch Tavish’s hand.

He sat on the bench next to him. “I didn’t come to make you feel bad, Tavish.”

“Then why did you come?” It sounded like it was meant to be venomous, but instead it only sounded empty—empty and wet with tears, like a plastic bag trampled into a puddle.

Jane looked down at his hands. His useless, ghost hands that he could still knit together. “I…I wanted to see you,” he said truthfully. “I missed you.”

Tavish looked at him, bleary-eyed. He whispered, “I missed you too. So damn much.”

“Whatever I was doing before, I missed you enough to come here. To someplace I thought you would be.”

A panicked jolt crossed Tavish’s face. “You’re not leaving, are you?” The same man who a moment ago thought Jane had come to smother him with guilt was despondent at the idea that Jane might go after all, that he wouldn’t get a chance to hurt himself with his own regret anymore.

“No, no not yet,” Jane said. He tried his best to wrap and arm around Tavish’s shoulder. The mortal shivered where their skin met.

“Okay,” Tavish said quietly. “Okay. Good. Thank you. I don’t think I can…When I saw you sitting up here I couldn’t believe it could be fore something good. That the only reason you’d want to haunt me would be because you hated me.”

“I don’t hate you.”

It was true. Even though he remembered now, remember lying there, thinking how they’d killed each other, Jane had only ever hated the man who’d believed the TV’s lies.

“I really did come because I was thinking of you. Missing you.” Jane paused. “Today was fun. I’m sure you have a lot of other places to show me, right private?”

“…Sure. Sure whatever you want.” Tavish wiped at his nose. “I’m sorry Jane.”

“It’s alright Tavish.” He held his head in the crook of Tavish’s neck. “I’m sorry too.”

#demosolly #boots n bombs #tf2 fanfiction

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carllisle · 4 years ago

Note

Your previous Siobhan writing was really touching and beautiful! It definitely made my day! Would you like to elaborate on Siobhan finding out the “Esme’s magic” and perhaps Carlisle and Esme telling the story of how they met and how he changed Esme?

Thank you so much for your ask! I apologise for the delay in response, but I really enjoyed thinking about this. Thank you so much for sharing, and I’m honoured that you’d like me to write more!

Mentions of infant death and abuse.

-----------

“Does it bother you?” Siobhan asked as they made their way along the coast. The sea air was fresher in Ireland than anywhere Esme had before been and she liked it. The sky was so big, the salt so cleansing. The land felt ancient around her. With the old vampire at her side, there was something almost tangible about the sanctity of the world about them.

Esme looked up at the woman running at her side and smiled. “No. Does it bother you?”

“It does bother me a little,” Siobhan admitted with a laugh. “You fight your basic nature and for what? You’re missing out on the greatest joy in life!”

Esme slowed their pace and Siobhan followed her lead. They came to a jog and then to a stop. In the distance, the lights of a seaside town popped into life under the twilight sky. “I’ve... I’ve not found the joy of human blood worth the pain it brought me.”

“Pain?”

It wasn’t easy to talk about, but there was something about the Irishwoman that made Esme want to talk about it. She was very beautiful, and her frightening, kind face invited her stories willingly. Siobhan reminded Esme of Carlisle - when she asked a question, she truly wanted to know the answer. Esme looked away. “I remember the loss of my child. I cannot bear to think of inflicting that pain onto another.”

“Do you think humans feel like us?”

Esme smiled softly again. “Yes. My human life ended not long ago and I still feel the pain in my bones. I will do whatever I can to avoid causing that pain in anyone else. But I make no judgement on those who do.”

“It sounds like you do,” Siobhan pointed out. “You sound like Carlisle.”

“I don’t mean to. But he and Edward are my greatest influence in immortality, it can’t be helped.” Esme felt very watched but there was nothing threatening about it, it was just odd. “I am sorry if I have offended you.”

Siobhan laughed and it was a joyful sound. “You have not, don’t fear. Your husband has been much more forthcoming with his ideas than you and I’ve been offended less!”

Esme clasped her hands in front of her and looked down. Her dress swung in the light breeze and she felt pretty.

“Would you tell me how he found you?” she asked after a comfortable silence.

“It’s not a nice story,” Esme admitted.

“But it has a nice ending, does it not?”

Esme looked at her and nodded after a moment. “Could we go down onto the beach?”

Siobhan took her hand and together they made the running leap off the grassy clifftop and seconds passed as their bodies rushed through the air and they landed side by side on the damp sand below. Esme felt calmer on the beach now. There had been something about the clifftop that felt too familiar.

“Will you tell me?” Siobhan asked as she brushed off her bare feet.

“Yes, if you like.” They began walking along the beach as the sea lapped quietly against the shore some way off. “My first husband did not love me, and when I fell pregnant I ran from him. It was easy to pass myself off as a war widow, you know, American soldiers were being sent home and then back to the Front to rebuild, even in 1920 men were being sent back in body bags.” Esme sniffed. The salt made her nose tingle. “But he found me, and I moved on. After my baby was born, he died. I had two days of bliss, and one day of terror, and the worst happened. I threw myself from a cliff and I was thought to be dead. Carlisle found me and took my body home and changed me.” Esme rolled up her sleeve and then pulled her collar to the side.

Siobhan looked at the bite marks that were usually hidden. “That’s a lot of teeth marks you’ve got there.”

Esme smiled faintly. “He tells me it was a frenzied effort. All of them can be covered, though, so I don’t mind. Seven or eight, I haven’t counted, but I’m glad for them all.”

“Why you?”

Esme wanted to blush. It was a forward question and one that had haunted both she and Carlisle since the day she woke. “We met when I was sixteen. He remembered the girl I was, and I think it made him sad to see how I had fallen.”

“He loved you as a girl?” Siobhan’s eyebrows creased.

“It wasn’t like that,” Esme smiled. “Our paths crossed fleetingly. I think God put us in each other’s way so that when the time was right, we fell into place.”

Siobhan looked like she disagreed completely but she didn’t voice her opinion. Instead, she asked another question that knocked Esme. “You first husband? What of him?”

Esme bit her lip. “He’s dead.”

“Did you do it?”

She shook her head. “Edward did. Charles was his first kill.”

“Good lad. You know, I killed the vampire who turned me?”

Esme looked at her with wide eyes. “Why?”

“He was a man who took what he wanted. He took me and I didn’t want him, so he was presented with a choice - let me go, or die. Three others stood by his side and they died too.” She smirked. “I don’t regret it. It was a small price for freedom. Do you think that’s wrong?”

“Does it matter what I think?”

“It does. I want to know you, Esme.”

Esme’s voice was gentle. “I think it was incredibly brave of you. You were put in an impossible position but you came out of it. And now you have a life that you love. It that not wonderful?”

The taller woman watched Esme and cocked her head to the side. “I think you’re very kind, Esme. I think you’re brave, too. Don’t let Carlisle overshadow that.”

That surprised her. “What makes you say that?”

“I’ve known him for a long time, and he is the best of us, I think. He’s determined and compassionate and intelligent, but you’re still you. You’re still made in the eye of God, like him and like me. Don’t dull yourself for him.”

“I don’t think I will,” she replied slowly, confused with the turn the conversation had taken.

“Men will always try to dull the great women around them, that’s all. Carlisle is still a man, despite his other virtues, but you’re a great woman, I can see that.”

It was humbling for Esme to be stood before Siobhan and be told that. She didn’t feel great compared to her new friend, but there was no reason to believe that she was being lied to. “You’re very kind.”

Siobhan shrugged. “I’m too old for games and lies, I only say what I see. Protect yourself, alright? Carlisle will never intentionally hurt those he loves, I know you know that, but he’s still a man.”

Impossible to know whether she should laugh or not, Esme fell into silence. Their feet were quiet against the damp sand along the beach but eventually Siobhan’s arm made its way around Esme’s shoulder and she felt safe. “How did you meet Liam?” she asked after a while.

Siobhan’s smile was broad at that. “Now there’s a tale to tell. Now tell me, Esme, what do you know of that English bastard Cromwell?”

#anon #ask #ellie writes #esme #siobha #not proof read s u get what u get #teehee #i love siobhan #and i love the idea that people open up to her because she wants them too #also siobhan says fuck all men

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giorno-plays-piano · 5 years ago

Text

Savior

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: yandere, obsession, kidnapping, mentions of COVID.

Words: 2633.

Summary: Nothing goes right in the middle of pandemic while you try to come back home. Luckily, Bucky is there to give you a hand.

P.S. Basically, I typed all the story on my phone, so please forgive me for any mistakes. Hope you'll enjoy!

_________________________

You knew something would go wrong. You had that nagging feeling the whole day right after you woke up and prepared your bags before arriving at the airport. Today you had a flight back to US right in the middle of pandemic. You needed to get back to your sick father as he had no one but you to take care of him, and the urgency made you disregard all the risks related to your travel. You needed to get home at whatever cost.

But nothing was as easy as before, and now you were almost crying, staring at one of Sokovia Airlines officials who blankly stated you simply didn't have enough documents prepared by the Embassy for your travel. Basically, they were implying that instead of taking a transit and flying back home you might stay in Sokovia - of course, you had only a transit visa that didn't give you any right for a long stay. Both company's representative and you knew you only planned to return home, but he simply couldn't let you pass without full set of documents.

"God, honey, how long are you going to stay there?" You heard someone's grumpy voice behind you and turned back to see a huge man with long dark hair advancing towards you.

Who was he? You had never seen him before arriving at the airport. Then you spotted him in the line - his muscular built draw your attention immediately, and your cheeks were flushed when you saw him looking back at you. The crinkles in the corners of his eyes showed you he was smiling at you. But what was he doing now? Did he take you for someone else?

"I'm sorry, who are you?" The representative asked, watching the man suspiciously.

"I'm her fiancee." The stranger barked and took a look at you, his light blue eyes strangely comforting. You weren't sure, but did he just... winked at you for a second?

The man behind the counter didn't look pleased.

"Then why weren't you standing together?"

"Because we had a big fight this morning and were mad at each other when we arrived here." The stranger furrowed. "With all due respect, it's none of your business. Would you tell me what is the issue with her papers, please?"

You gulped, your arms shaking slightly. Although the stranger probably wanted to help you, you weren't sure it would work out - the representative only needed to ask if you knew this man's name to figure everything out. Was he actually travelling to New York as well? Would the officials ban you from entering US at all for your lie? God, anyway, it was too late to confess.

"I'm sorry, dear." You whispered, looking at you shoes and hoping no one would suspect anything.

The stranger let out a sigh tiredly and scratched his head. Instead of answering you, he gave his passport to the official.

"Your fiancee doesn't have the form WS-21, Mr. Barnes. We cannot permit her crossing the boarder of Sokovia without it, unfortunately. Do you have your own form?"

"I'm sure I do." He passed the man behind the counter a pack of his documents and carefully took the papers you held in your arms. Flipping through them, he gripped the phone in his other arm.

"Yes, your forms are alright, but..."

"Just a minute, please."

You watched him dialing some number and shivered at the thought of being trapped in the airport. The only thing you wanted was to come back home, to your father. You prayed to stay healthy and was supposed to take a test right after your arrival. Of course, you knew perfectly you were most likely to stay two weeks at home, but it was way better than staying thousands miles away, nonetheless.

"Hi Steve." The man's voice almost made you jump. "Yes, I'm good, but my sweetheart has an issue with one of the forms... Yeah... Well, you know her, always forgetting one thing or another... The Embassy, of course. Hey, could you?.."

You saw him walking away to the next few counters, keeping his distance from other travellers with their huge bags. His large bulky figure looked scary, his face concealed with a black mask, and you suddenly wondered who this man was. A complete stranger, he was eager to help you. Why? Was he truly a Good Samaritan? If not, what was his motive? Nervously tapping your hip, you felt your eyes watering - your anxiety was getting worse.

The official huffed and puffed, visibly irritated. You saw people passing around you with the boarding passes in their hands, looking for the right direction, and asked yourself why you were not as lucky as all of them. Could that mysterious Mr. Barnes help you? Watching him pacing across the airport hall, you chewed your lip to bits.

'I'm so, so sorry." You whispered to the man behind the counter. "Please, just a few minutes more."

He didn't answer, and you were left to your own dreary thoughts.

However, your frightening savior showed up soon with a smile hidden beneath his mask. Judging by the way he looked, things might be not as bad as you expected them to be.

"Don't worry, honey." He said confidently and gave all your documents to the representative. "Consul will be here in 10 minutes."

You gaped at him, trembling at his words. What? Consul? Consul was coming to save you? This man was able to convince him to drive all the way to the airport just to help you with this goddamn form? You couldn't believe it. It sounded insane.

You realized you were crying only when the man in front of you shushed you gently and rubbed you shoulder with his gloved hand. Thinking it looked odd, you decided you had to say something convincing and mumbled, "I'm sorry for all the things I said in the morning. I was... I was..."

"It's ok, honey." He said softly, his icy blue eyes warming up at the sight of your flushed face. "It doesn't matter now. Everything gonna be alright, let's just relax and wait a little bit."

He was right, of course. Once Consul had showed up and came to speak to the officials, it turned out you didn't even need the form WS-21 because you had the other one to replace it. Bucky - that was your handsome stranger's name - chuckled quietly once he saw the red face of Consul walking to you to offer his sincere apologies. The company's representatives looked like someone just splashed a bucket of cold water over their heads. It didn't matter to you, though, as you got the only thing you wanted from the start - your right to come back to US.

You were the last one to go through customs - your flight was delayed for 15 minutes just to give you time to board after this hussle. Bucky was with you all the time, always keeping the distance. He even gave you one more mask since yours was drenched with tears. It's unsafe to wear a wet one, he said.

It was still hard to believe all this happened to you. Now you were sitting close to Bucky and looking out the window happily. God, you thought you would have a heart attack before this kind man showed up to save you as if he were a prince charming. You were ashamed of yourself for thinking he was frightening. Well, he looked beefy, but Bucky was a former Navy SEAL, and it wasn't surprising he wanted to keep himself in shape. Listening to him trying to make a small talk, you smiled. He was a good man, and you were lucky to meet him.

"Thank you... for taking care of me." You said in a tiny voice. "If you weren't there, I'd never leave this place."

His eyes sparkled with joy at your words, and he laughed a little through his mask.

"I'm glad I was able to help." Smiling at you, he watched the flight attendants coming closer to your row and offering drinks to the people in front of your seats . "I understand how important it is for you to come back."

___________________

The rest of your journey was as stressful as its beginning, but Bucky was always there for you. Still pretending to be your fiancee, he dealt with your new issues so fast as if he had a magic wand, and you couldn't express your gratitude for everything he had done for you. Apparently, meeting someone as good-natured as him was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

In the end, exhausted from your long journey - you spend more than 20 hours travelling - you fell asleep on the way back to New York. Bucky was next to you again, and you finally felt safe. All was good if he was close.

Thinking of the ways to repay him for the kindness he showed you, you closed your eyes and dozed off in a matter of minutes. Everything was going to be okay.

Or so you thought before you woke up in a place you didn't recognize, all you belongings gone. They even changed you clothes! Feeling hazy and tired, you shifted uncomfortably on the bed and looked around a plain room with only a few pieces of furniture. What had happened? Did you fell sick during the flight? But it didn't look like hospital. Why no one had woken you up if anything serious happened? Why didn't you wake up yourself? Surely, it was loud enough when you landed. You weren't even a heavy sleeper!

Still a little groggy, you got your feet on the floor and walked to the door next to the white Ikea drawer. You hoped your were back to US, at least. If you were in Sokovia... God, you didn't even want to think about it.

"Excuse me, is anybody here?" You asked once you entered the corridor, looking for people.

Although you saw no one at all, you heard someone's footsteps and froze, suddenly feeling afraid to move. Why were you so sure it was safe to raise your voice? You didn't know where you were, why you were kept here, and who was the one who brought you to this place. Did you break any laws? Were you confined?

Before you freaked out, you saw Bucky emerging from one of the doors and advancing quickly towards you with a wide smile. He had no mask covering his face, and you saw how handsome he was with his soft chapped lips and a three-day beard. Was he really here with you? You saw his grin and felt relieved. Thank goodness it was Bucky, you thought. If he was here, you two would definitely figure something out.

"Morning, honey." He smiled and stretched his huge hand towards you. "How are you feeling?"

You laughed at his words: he was still playing your little game.

"Hi Bucky. A bit tired, but otherwise I'm pretty good. Um, where are we now, actually?"

He looked at you dumbfounded and helped you walking into the closest room - a nice spacious master bedroom with lots of photos on the walls, a huge king-sized bed, a closet and a table. The room looked a bit unfinished, but better than the one where you woke up.

"We're home, honey." Bucky answered softly when you landed on the comfy bed.

"Wait, your home?"

"What do you mean? Our home, of course."

When you looked at him with wide eyes, he simply gestured to the frames on the wall, and you saw yourself kissing him on the cheek. The other photo was a selfie where you were depicted sleeping on Bucky's shoulder. One more had you two dancing. You couldn't believe your eyes and jumped from the bed to have a better look at the photos, but it was really you there along with him. How could it happen? What did you miss? You could swear you had never seen Bucky before. Was it Photoshop or anything like that? It would be more realistic, really.

"Didn't we... m-meet yesterday at the airport?" You whispered, horrified to the core.

"Honey, we met two years ago." Bucky frowned, coming closer and looking at your face intently. "Listen, I'm going to call the doctor again, ok? I see you didn't recover from your fall yesterday, so let's have you checked one more time."

"What fall?"

"Your bike. Yesterday's evening. You lost consciousness for a few minutes, remember? The doctor said you had nothing serious, but I see he was wrong. Give me just a few seconds to call him, ok?"

You stared blankly at him, unsure of what to do. Was it all true? You felt like you were going mad, watching Bucky walking out the room. Did you really lose your memories because you hit your head? Maybe it sounded quite logical, but you just didn't feel it was right.

When Bucky was talking to the doctor in the corridor, you quickly searched the room but didn't find your cellphone or anything that could confirm your suspicions. On the other hand, you didn't remember anything after you fell asleep during your flight. Anything at all. There was no memories of your father even, although you cared about him more than anyone else in your life. How bad did you have to hit your head? It didn't feel real.

Sighing, you walked to the closet and opened it, finding there just a bit of Bucky's clothes and a few pieces of your own old one. If he didn't know you, how come your clothes was here? Surely, he couldn't bring your unconscious body through the customs, then come to your house, fetch your clothes and bring you here. How was that even possible?

You looked in the mirror, watching you face growing more wet with tears streaming down your cheeks. You needed to calm down. Whatever had happened, Bucky was not your kidnapper, obviously. He only wanted to help, nothing else. Maybe you really hit your head too hard.

Scratching your temple, you looked closely at your face to see if something had changed. As far as you could see, you were the same as before, but you had never been keen on changing your appearance, anyway. Maybe it was all true. Maybe you were now living with Bucky in your new house as a couple.

You sighed again and touched your shoulder with your palm. You were safe. Regardless of what had happened, you were back in US, visibly unharmed - well, almost - and living in a pretty decent house. It was silly to think that Bucky was here to torture you. He was probably no less concerned than you: his honey couldn't even remeber those two years they spent together.

But then you suddenly saw a little blue line on the back of your palm. It was hardly visibly since you tried to rub it off your skin once you accidentally marked yourself with a pen while filling some documents in Sokovia, yet some ink was still there. You looked carefully and saw that it was the very same curved little line. It wasn't a coincidence. It couldn't be.

When you heard Bucky's concerned voice somewhere from the corridor, you backed away to the bed, watching the door with horror. It was all a lie. Those pictures on the walls were really photoshopped, and the clothes... if he could make the pictures in such short time, maybe he had someone to take care of your clothes. Maybe he had never been a Navy SEAL in the first place. Was he a hitman? A serial killer? You didn't know for certain, but one thing you knew for sure: Bucky wasn't your savior. He was your captor.

___________

Tags: @hurricanerin @pandulceamor

#bucky barnes x reader #dark bucky barnes #bucky barnes #dark bucky x reader #bucky fanfic #dark bucky barnes x reader #winter soldier #yandere #mcu

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primasveraas-writing · 4 years ago

Text

And In Darkness, I Stand- Chapter 3

Kallus’ leg is never quite the same after Bahryn. But then again, neither is he.

1 2 3 4 5

3. The Ghost

The day of reckoning arrives.

Thrawn appears in the doorway, and Kallus knows that it is over. The Admiral taunts Kallus with the jamming device, the Fulcrum symbol flashing across the small screen. He has failed, and at best, he will die quickly for this discovery.

But Kallus is not one to resign himself to whatever miserable fate lies ahead. He will go down fighting, and there remains a chance to warn the rebels of the danger, as cryptic and brief as the fragment of his message is.

Kallus surges forward, attacking Thrawn with all his might. The blows are rapid and unforgiving. Thrawn targets his bad leg, yet the adrenaline overpowers the pain. Still, it is not enough to overcome Thrawn.

“Your technique is good. But… limited by your training in the Imperial Academy. Predictable.”

Thrawn is quick, strong, precise. More so than Kallus, but he does not need to win and he does not need to escape.

He throws the helmet first, which Thrawn catches easily. But the blow to his legs knocks the jammer out of his hands, and Kallus crushes it beneath his boot.

It is like clockwork, what happens next. He stands his ground, he is overpowered.

Thrawn is observant, a tactical master. He knows the weaknesses of everyone around him, and how to use them to ensure that he is the most powerful in the room.

It’s no surprise, really, that a series of swift kicks are delivered to Kallus’ right leg, which is healed but not correctly, functional, but not without pain.

Kallus lands on his back and is about to rise again when Thrawn looms over him, and brings his heel down on the barely-fixed bone.

His vision goes white instantly; he’s pretty sure he screams, but that fact matters less than the poison in every cell in his body, than the agony worse than death as the bone shatters.

It is worse than ever before. It is worse than the first break and the flare-ups, and the burning sensation after field missions. It is worse than the night he couldn’t sleep, overcome by the need for more bacta, convinced that he would be better off without the leg, when he desperately wished he had just sucked it up and gone to the medbay after Bahryn.

But here he is. He cannot even think to get to his feet, then Thrawn lifts Kallus by the front of his shirt and delivers a punch to his chest, sending him flying into the night air, where he collides with the durasteel railing.

That might have hurt, he registers dully, but it is insignificant compared to the agony in his leg.

He loses.

But the message got through. He has not failed in totality, and the rebels have a chance.

That he lives is cruel. Thrawn tortures Kallus, hangs him up by his wrists like a slab of meat, and beats him. He asks no questions, and Kallus knows he would not break, but the lack of interrogation is still a relief.

This, he deserves. Under Imperial law, it is only fair that a traitor is punished. Kallus would take this over an interrogation, which is sure to follow after the assault on the rebels, and he can only hope that Thrawn doesn’t deign to do so personally.

He does not want to break. He hopes he dies before he reveals any secrets of the rebellion- not that they trusted their spy with much, in the first place.

At the end of the day, the rebels prevail, as is so ingrained in their nature to succeed against impossible odds. What’s more is that he apparently does have the heart of a rebel- some of their lucky nature passes to him, and he finds himself safely aboard the Ghost, thanked by Kanan Jarrus and Hera Syndulla alike. It is surreal, and strange, but for the first time in months, he is safe. At peace, even, at least for now.

But he is left alone. The rebels are making do with what little they have. They are busy, and Kallus, who once wished for the end of the entire movement and every being involved, remains in a corner of the ship that rescued him, his mind racing.

That is one benefit to it all. He’s particularly sharp now, going over what Imperial Intelligence he has memorized and can share with the rebellion. He feels little pain and can even stand, and the adrenaline coursing through his veins fuels him until the Ghost rendezvous with a rebel command ship.

He’s the last to embark, hanging back until Hera claps him on the shoulder, nearly pushing him out the door.

“Come on,” she says, nodding towards the bustling hallway. If she’s tired, she doesn’t show it, and a small smile pulls at her lips. “I’ll take you to medical.”

“I’m fine,” Kallus insists, because he feels so. “It looks worse than it is, Captain.”

“Hera,” she corrects him instantly. “And I chose to believe that if you come with me to Command then go to the medbay straight after.”

Kallus nods, because he has confronted Hera’s will a great many times and seldom triumphed. They trudge through the unfamiliar halls together, Kallus bowing his head to avoid the stares of those passing or congratulating Hera, who promises a quick debriefing then rest before reorganizing in the morning. He doesn’t imagine it will be as easily delivered to him as it will be for her, but he thinks of sleeping in a room surrounded by people he isn’t actively betraying, and perhaps talking to Garazeb soon, and the thought calms him.

A spike of pain shoots through him with his next step forward. Kallus falters, then grits his teeth and presses forward.

“Agent- Kallus,” Hera says, frowning at him. She touches his arm, gently, and Kallus is surprised at the care. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” he promises. Every step hurts progressively more.

She regards him, wary, and Kallus pretends he does not see the concern painted across her face. However, she continues to lead him towards the command center once he takes another step without wincing.

The pain is too familiar, and logically, Kallus knows that it will overcome him soon. But if he can suppress it for now, if he can confront the Rebellion's leadership first, then he can deal with the injury, once placated by an understanding of his future with the Alliance.

Hera indicates that they're close, her montrals swishing as she peers around the next corner. Kallus inhales sharply once her attention diverts from him, suddenly aware that he'd forgotten to breathe.

She waves him on. Kallus' leg feels like lead. He tries to go through the door, and stumbles, lightheaded.

"Kallus, are you sure-"

"Yes," he wheezes, bracing himself in the doorway. Officials in the command center look up at him- he recognizes faces but can recall no names.

"Kallus-"

He stands straight up, preparing to look Hera in the eye, but his leg buckles under the weight, and he cries out in pain. She's supporting him now, her hands under his arms, and she's saying something, her green eyes filled with alarm.

Kallus tries to look up at her, assure her that he’s fine, but the hurt widens and spreads until it is burning at him yet again and Kallus cannot remember a single word he was going to say. He’s doubled over, and he can’t speak, nor see, and the agony consumes him, and he’s falling, falling- then all goes black.

Kallus opens his eyes slowly. His eyelids are heavy, and his exhausted body begs him to go back to sleep, But he’s here, in the Chimera’s medbay, and he’s not sure if he’s yet safe-

He blinks again. Someone is next to his cot- someone- Zeb.

The Lasat is slumped over, clasping Kallus’ hand. Kallus stirs, reaching for Zeb, and croaks out his name.

Instantly, Zeb wakes, sitting up straight. “Kal,” he gasps, leaning forward. “You’re up.”

Kallus nods, too tired to speak. His brow furrows, but two questions come to mind, and he can’t decide which to ask first.

He doesn’t know where he is, but Zeb is here, so he must be safe. That issue is resolved then, so:

“‘s my leg still there?”

Zeb looks confused, glancing from Kallus to his legs beneath the sheets. Then, he huffs out a laugh and takes Kallus’ hand again.

“Yeah, Kal, it’s alright. You’re gonna be okay, you hear me?”

Kallus nods again, satisfied. That is enough for now, and he lets his eyes slide shut.

He is alone when he wakes again, save for the meddroid fiddling with the tubes in his arm. Kallus groans- his head hurts, and he still feels tired, but other than that, the pain is not bad.

“Kallus,” the droid says, its overly-large eyes peering at him. “You are awake.”

“Yes,” he agrees, then groans as he stretches, running a hand over his face. There’s stubble on his chin and his beard. He’s been out for most of a day, then, possibly longer. And he’s here, on some Rebel ship, and not the Chimera. This explains the droid, which looks ancient, scratched and dented. It appears to have been taped together in more than one place, and Kallus smiles to himself.

“We know nothing of your medical history.” The droid tells him. “Although I have conducted many tests, there are still questions.”

“Okay.” Kallus is pretty sure that his questions (where is he, what day is it, where is Zeb) should have higher priority, but he is too out of it to protest, so he nods. “You may ask them.”

“Excellent.” A beat. “What is your first name?”

He laughs, a deep, rumbling sound emitting from deep in his throat. It’s been a long time since he’s laughed like that, and his voice was already scratchy from underuse. “Alexsandr,” he says, then spells it. Perhaps he is a good spy, after all. He doubts that anyone in Imperial Command knows his first name, either, though this is attributed to a lack of care rather than insufficient information.

There are a few more basic questions about his background and history. Kallus realizes that he’s in the Rebellion’s system now, and he wonders what his file says. Alexsandr Kallus. Coruscanti. Previously Agent Kallus, ISB, Fulcrum. Wanted by the Empire for ten counts of treason; wanted by the Rebel Alliance for one hundred crimes against humanity.

He snorts. The meddroid, which was turning away from him, pauses. “Can I help you, Alexsandr?”

“No,” Kallus says quickly. “I mean- yes. Do you know where Garazeb Orrelios is?”

“The Lasat? He has been here for the last twenty-four standard hours. I do not know where he went.”

Oh. Kallus feels heat flame his cheeks, and a monitor next to him beeps. His blush deepens when he realizes that his heart monitor made the sound; his heartbeat has just spiked.

“I will get a medic to speak with you about your leg.” The droid looks at the monitor, then back at him. “Do not excite yourself further.”

Kallus coughs, unable to look at the droid. “Yes,” he mutters, ashamed. “I will do that.”

The medic is a Rodian, who speaks in a soft tone and seems to barely remember where she is. This fact isn’t particularly comforting, but she is kind enough and patient with all his questions.

His right leg had a severe initial break that never healed correctly, causing weakness in his tibia and impeding the muscles and tendons in his entire leg. The strain that later followed only made this worse, and almost two days ago, the leg was shattered again- he broke both his tibia and his fibula. Bone fragments have punctured both his muscle and his flesh, but in short- it will never heal right, and Kallus will be affected for the rest of his life.

She explains that they operated on him, once Hera and two other rebels dragged him into the infirmary. It was easier to keep him under after he had passed out, and they did the best they could trying to prevent infection and further blood loss. He’s also covered in extensive bruises, including on his ribs.

“How do you feel?” The Rodian concludes, fiddling with one of the machines next to him.

“Like I could run forty klicks,” he mutters, staring down at his leg. Right now, it’s wrapped in bandages and some sort of brace.

She brustles, looking shocked. “I thought I made it clear that wasn’t possible-”

“It’s-” he sighs. “I understand.”

“Well, I-”

“Kal!” The budding argument is halted in its tracks; Zeb stands in the doorway, disheveled but grinning. “You’re awake!”

“I am.” He’s not, technically- he’s hasn’t yet attempted to sit up, but Kallus cares very little about the nuance, and Zeb makes his way over to Kallus’ bedside.

“Good.” Zeb scans him with barely-suppressed joy. “You scared us,” he admits. “Hera says you just collapsed.”

“Yes, well, the adrenaline wore off.” Kallus doesn’t look at Zeb. “I’m recovered now.”

“I know.” A smile creeps back into Zeb’s tone. “I don’t believe you can be kept down for long.”

“I can’t,” Kallus agrees, echoing Zeb’s humor.

“Do you remember anything?” Zeb stops fiddling with his pants and instead smooths out Kallus’ blanket.

“A little.” His brow furrows. “I remember that you were there for me.”

“I was.”

“The meddroid says you were with me for a full rotation.”

Zeb is suddenly very interested in a spare thread on his pants. “I was,” he mumbles, and Alexsandr suppresses another smile, glancing away so that Zeb doesn’t see.

“I didn’t want you to be alone,” Zeb continues, his shoulders slouching. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you woke up.”

“It’s okay.” Alexsandr didn’t know his voice could go this soft, but Zeb’s next words distract him from this point, his tone just as gentle.

“I’m sorry about your leg.”

“Don’t be.” It comes out flat, and Kallus looks away from Zeb.

It will heal. He’ll walk again, but he’ll be limping and limited. He’s going to have a cane adjusted to him tomorrow. He may never do fieldwork again.

“I am.” And Zeb sounds like it too, though his expression is devoid of pity. “Still, I thought you’d like to know that everyone in command is excited to have you here. It’s all anyone can talk about.”

“Really?” A jolt of surprise travels through him. “They don’t hate me?”

He sounds sarcastic, but Zeb looks back at him, completely serious. “You saved our necks more times than we can count. And you’re a goldmine for Imperial information.”

Right. His expression falls before he can help it. “You’re a badass ‘n a hero, Kal. That’s what they care about.”

“I’m not sure if I am. Or that I will be.” Kallus gestures to his leg, bound and immobile before them both.

Zeb’s expression softens, and he rests his hand on Kallus’ arm. “Right. I’m sure that will stop you.”

“It’s different. How can I help that?”

“So are you gonna retire? Hide in the medbay or go to the Outer Rim until the war is over?”

Frustration builds in Kallus, and he sits completely upright, clenching the sheets in his hands. “It’s not that simple! Of course I’m not going to- to kriff off and die- but I can’t walk!”

“Not forever.” Zeb amends. “And you’re one of the greatest minds we have.” Zeb glances around the empty room. “Don’t tell anybody I said that.”

“I’m a former Imperial, a spy and I have months of recovery ahead. I’m not entirely convinced people want me here.”

“I do,” Zeb says immediately, then glances away, scratching the back of his head. “I, er- well, I do. And so do a lot of other people.”

Kallus looks up at him, and Zeb meets his eyes again after a long moment. “Do you want to be here?” He asks softly.

“Yes, I do.”

“Good.” Zeb grins, but there is tenderness in his gaze. “Then you’ll put your mind to it and everything will work out.”

“You sound very confident in this fact.”

“I’m confident in you.”

---

I am distinctly aware of the lack of research that I’ve done. I’m doing my best to be canon-compliant here but sometimes I don’t have the energy to remember that a shower is a sonic and not a shower… so here we are.

Additionally, please take any medical jargon with a grain of salt. I am not a doctor, and I’m mostly going with “yeah that seems like it could happen” as far as realism goes. Nevertheless, thank you for the warmth with which this story has been received, and thank you all for your support!

#kallus #agent kallus #alexsandr kallus #kalluzeb #star wars rebels #sw rebels #sw rebels fanfic #swr #rebels #star wars #star wars fanfic #kalluzeb fanfiction #kalluzeb fanfic #rebels fanfic #swr fanfic #kallus fanfic #kallus x zeb #and in darkness i stand

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crashingmeteorz · 4 years ago

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rich kid runaways (ft. yuexzukoxtoph friendship)

for my 100 Followers Celebration - credit to @aroacebitchboi for this amazing idea!

zuko faces his father in the agni kai, and when he is told what he must do in order to be welcome in his homeland again, he just says “fuck this” and runs away.

he’s not sure where he’s gonna go, just that he has to get out, and fast, because his dad’s gonna kill him. like. for real. so he stows away on a fire navy ship headed Literally Anywhere Else (and maybe the soldiers don’t care! because he’s 13 and hurting children is a disgrace! maybe they sneak him food and blankets idk!)

yue, meanwhile, in the north pole, has just been told she is going to enter an arranged marriage for the good of her people when she turns 16. respectfully, she asks her father what exactly this marriage will do, politically speaking. the north isn’t at war with itself, in fact they’re more united than ever. maybe if it were a southern water tribe boy, sure, but no, it’s going to be a northern boy.

her father just tells her it’s imperative to the stability of the tribe that they uphold tradition. yue, realizing this is bullshit, even at the tender age of 13, says “fuck this”, and runs away.

she is all but screwed without waterbending or any practical survival knowledge - except, she’s been chosen by the moon spirit. when she steals a boat and heads south, the moon takes pity on its ward and keeps her safe, at least on her waterbound journey. once she lands on the northern shores of the earth kingdom, yue depends on the kindness of strangers to survive.

zuko, meanwhile, is angry and mistrustful and afraid when he ends up on the western shores of the earth kingdom, and he depends entirely on his determination to survive. he learns to live off the land the hard way, and avoids major cities and towns for fear of being found out as a firebender. of course, if he’s ever spotted, he’s regarded with pity and empathy because of the festering burn on his face, but zuko doesn’t realize that.

yue never stays in one place too long, bouncing from family to family and learning more skills in a few months than she was ever taught in her whole life up north. she cooks and cleans and sews, yes, but she also farms and skins hunted animals and does house repairs. she is happily taken into homes because of her ability to heal - though never a waterbender, yue still learned basic healing with the other northern women, and can manage even bad wounds all on her own.

afraid she’ll be recognized by her vibrant hair, however, yue continues her journey south, considering running to the south pole for sanctuary. she wonders how their women are treated. zuko, meanwhile, lives alone in the wilderness most of the time, and moves very slowly up the west coast.

they’re 14 when their paths cross. three fire nation soldiers harass yue while she’s journeying along a rural road, asking her for a made-up toll. usually trading in work, yue has no money to speak of. the soldiers threaten violence, and, though he is afraid of being caught by his countrymen, zuko was never one to let bullies have power over the innocent.

he emerges from the forest, swords in hand, attacking the soldiers. at first it seems like he has the upper hand - and then he stumbles, and the soldiers laugh and pull him up to beat him. zuko panics and relies on instinct - firebending at the soldiers and burning them badly. they run away yelling, and zuko panics, certain that he’ll be caught out. he goes to run, but yue stops him.

“you’re hurt,” she says, pointing to where he’d been cut by the soldiers’ swords. “please, let me help you. it’s the least i can do.”

“you’re not scared of me?” zuko asks in confusion, looking around wildly, afraid his father will pop out of the trees and strike him down.

“you saved me,” yue says, just as confused, because between the rescue and the obvious burn mark, she doesn’t really think this boy would have any reason to hurt her. also he’s kinda shrimpy, and yue, who has built up some strength through hard work, is pretty sure she could take him. “come on, i have some herbs. is there clean water nearby?”

shocked that anyone in the earth kingdom wouldn’t call for zuko’s arrest on the spot, zuko leads yue to a stream in the forest. yue silently patches his wounds, and then eventually asks if she can get a look at his eye. apart from the initial work of the fire nation healers, zuko hadn’t really done much to treat his eye, and it’s so badly crusted he can barely see out of it. when yue reaches for him, he jerks away.

“i don’t need your help!” he snaps, standing and shaking himself off. “if it weren’t for you, i wouldn’t be in this situation to begin with.”

“excuse me.” says yue, standing as well, because who is he to talk to her that way? “i didn’t ask you for help, you chose to do that. and you’re mad at those soldiers, not me, so why don’t you try being a little nicer?”

they stare at each other furiously for a moment. then yue sighs and says “i think i can help you with your eye, so that you can see. let me do that and i’ll leave you alone.”

it’s painful, and a very slow process, but with water warmed by zuko’s bending (”just heat up the water.” “someone could see!” “we’re in the middle of a literal forest! who’s spying! the frogs???”) and a few medicinal herbs, yue manages to clear away most of the crust and dead skin over zuko’s eye. when he finally opens it again, he’s shocked to find that he can see.

“well, i won’t bother you anymore,” yue says huffily, moving to leave the forest. as she does, she realizes she doesn’t know where the heck she is. zuko’s still marveling at how different the world looks with two eyes.

“umm, which way is out?” yue asks him. zuko snaps back to reality and says “oh, um. i’ll show you.” because he is, admittedly, grateful.

of course, when they try to leave the forest, they run into bandits and barely escape. then yue reccomends they take a country road, and zuko reluctantly agrees, except they run into more bandits. after the fourth round of bandits in two weeks, they’re convinced they’ve been cursed with bad luck.

“can we just go to a town or a city?” yue asks, panting from their desperate escape. “we’re not having much luck living in the wild.”

“i was fine until you showed up!” zuko retorts, panting as well. “fine! then i’ll leave!” yue yells back.

“wait,” zuko says, and yue turns, tapping her foot impatiently. “i’m sorry,” zuko says, to yue’s shock, because if her few weeks with this kid who calls himself lee has taught her anything, it’s that he does not apologize. “i don’t really...understand, um, local people and-“

“let me do the talking,” yue says, gentle as always, reaching for zuko’s arm. he smiles at her, a real, happy smile, and they make their way to the nearest earth kingdom town.

after that, yue and zuko are inseparable. they argue a lot, naturally, but they become good friends, too. yue says she always wanted a sibling, zuko says he always wanted a different sibling, so it’s nice, to have each other. without going into too much detail, they bond over their shared experiences of pre-determined destinies and overbearing parental figures (“my father said i have to get married for the good of the people! what does that even mean?” “tell me about it, my father got mad that i talked out of turn, so he tried to kill me.” “...he what?” “hahaha just kidding that’s not a normal thing that happens.”) no matter how scary it gets, they agree, the earth kingdom makes them feel freer than they ever have before.

does the food they cook suck because they’ve never had to cook in their lives? yes. do they sometimes put all four feet in their mouths because of how they speak to the poor people of the earth kingdom? yes. have they ticked off a lot of fellow teenagers for acting bratty? yes. (“what, so, you don’t have palaces around here?” yue asks. “yeah, where are the royal gardens?” zuko asks. “leave before we rock your shit.” says Every Teenager They Meet.) but at the end of the day, they’re happy.

at 15 they reach a city called gaoling. by now they can both do enough odd jobs that they always have some pocket money on them, although yue still struggles to behave in a way that isn’t dainty and delicate, and zuko still struggles with basic social skills.

they’re getting ready to move along, when they’re stopped by a girl. she’s young, about 11, and entirely blind. she’s being chased by a loud crowd, who seem to be just around the corner.

“please!” the girl says. “help hide me! they’re after me! i think they’re going to kidnap me!” yue and zuko, who are the captains of the child-protection-squad, immediately move to protect the girl.

“this way!” zuko says, and the three of them run down narrow streets and alleyways, in and around shops, until they’re stopped at the city gate by the mob going after the girl.

“alright, kid,” the leader, a tall, buff man with long greasy hair says. “you’ve stolen from us for the last time.”

“how many time do i have to tell you?” the girl bellows, much different than her sweet and innocent pleas from before. “i won fair and square! you’re just mad because you got your butt kicked by a little girl!”

before zuko and yue can even react, the girl pummels the mob of men with an avalanche of rocks, and then launches the earth they’re standing on into the air, landing them far outside of the city limits in a dizzying display.

“woo! that was awesome!” the girl says gleefully pumping her arms. zuko and yue are both trying to wrap their heads around what just happened. “thanks for the help. not that i needed it, i just didn’t want my parents’ guards to see me bending...i wasn’t really planning on running away, but, i mean, i doubt they’ll even notice i’m gone-”

“just a second,” yue says, collecting herself. zuko’s jaw is still hanging open. “who are you?”

the girl grins smugly. “name’s toph. who are you?”

i cannot fully express how much i love this idea. top-notch. god-tier. thank you again!

#rich kid runaways #100 follower celebration #zuko #yue #toph #atla #avatar the last airbender #life happens wherever queue are

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evienyx · 4 years ago

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I, for one, am glad that someone actually noticed that Tommy's character in the SMP is quite absurd in the way he views himself. Actually, if you look Nov 16th video, after Tubbo became the president, Tommy confronted Dream and said to him (in paraphrase), "How does it feel to always be the villain?" Anyways, my actual question is how do you feel and view L'manburg's independence? Why is it shaky? I have my own opinions but I am very eager to get yours. Thank you.

L’Manburg makes me so upset, because I have so much emotional attachment to it and it is one of the worst active systems of government I’ve ever seen.

That’s not what you asked me, though, so I’ll answer your actual question instead of just ranting about how awful the system of government is (seriously, I’m surprised it hasn’t collapsed, yet).

Anyway, yeah, L’Manburg’s independence is incredibly shaky. I would say that this stems from tension from both internal issues and external threats.

Let’s go back to the beginning of the country. I would say that the L’Manburg Revolution and the time from then up until around the announcement of the election would be when L’Manburg was the most stable. Of course, this isn’t saying much, considering the fact that this is right after the country is established, but, despite everything, everyone in the nation was working together.

Everyone stood behind Wilbur, and respected his authority. He was listened to, and he still listened to other people while still maintaining that authority. While people were still partially riding on the thrill of victory and independence, everyone was also focused on improving L’Manburg and helping it grow. Wilbur, at the time, was diplomatic, and he was a leader that everyone believed in. Part of this was likely because he had been the one to lead them to independence in the first place, but when the Revolution was won, Wilbur was officially declared president without any argument from any of the remaining members of the nation.

People stood together, and they listened to and respected the leader. Despite the fact that this shook a bit when the election was declared and other political parties began to emerge, up until the election, Wilbur’s authority was still strong and respectable.

When the election happened and Schlatt won, internal problems in the government itself arose in a way that they never had before, and yet L’Manburg’s independence still wasn’t shaky. Why is this?

Because both sides in this conflict (Manburg and Pogtopia) wanted for the country to stay standing at the end of it. Taking Wilbur out of the equation after his mental break, both Manburg and Pogtopia wanted L’Manburg at the end of it, and both of them had Dream sided with them at one point or another in the conflict. Even more, though, L’Manburg’s independence wasn’t shaky because, through all of it, up until the end, Schlatt kept a firm grip on his power over the people. He may not have been necessarily respected, but he was feared, and that was enough. At the end of the day, people listened to him, and he knew it.

When Schlatt said that when he goes down, the country goes down with him, he’s right.

On paper, Tubbo being president seems like a great idea.

Theoretically, it should have been.

Tubbo has always worked to make the country the best it can be. He follows the rules first and puts his own desires second. People tend to like him, and he has good ideas, and he has only the country’s best interests at heart.

After L’Manburg is retaken and blown up, in the aftermath, Tubbo speaks of dreams of a city sitting above the rubble, a country raised from the ashes, better than before. He calls on those who have been disrespected and torn down by previous administrations and raises them to stand with him. He wants their ideas, and opinions, and he makes himself as equal to them in power as soon as he possibly can.

This is when those little shakes in L’Manburg’s independence begin to become tremors.

Tubbo should have been the best president the country had to date, but he can’t be, because he can’t even be president.

No one respects his authority. People go against what he says when they don’t align with their own interests. One of Tubbo’s main goals, even if it doesn’t seem that way, is to separate himself as much as possible from Schlatt. We see this right from the beginning with how he says everyone gets equal say in what happens. However, because of this, any time Tubbo tries to exercise the presidential power he has, people don’t respect it, and it doesn’t work, because they simply call him ‘the new Schlatt’ and ignore his pleas to just think.

These internal issues become even more pressing when one considers the external issues. In particular, conflicts with other nations. While L’Manburg is not in conflict with any other nations as a whole, necessarily, they have been at odds with Dream (who, at this point, is a faction all on his own).

L’Manburg’s independence is shaky because they do not respect their leader in any situation, not even ones of conflict, with great consequences. Ones where it is the president’s job to make a choice.

We see this the most clearly at play would be on the day of December fourth, the Exile of TommyInnit.

Before the Meeting with Dream, Tubbo, Tommy, Quackity, and Fundy all talk about what the plan is. Tommy declares that exiling him gives Dream exactly what he wants (and Tommy’s right, but that’s a whole other thing), and that instead they need to make a stand and fight. Basically, Tommy is saying that they should go to war. Quackity and Fundy agree. Tubbo, though, who is the president, says that he doesn’t like this plan. Dream always has the upperhand. They can’t just fight their way out of this one.

As we’ve seen for the two weeks up until this point, no one listens to Tubbo. He attempts to be the voice of reason in the conversation where he should be the one leading. He is the president, after all. The lack of respect that everyone present has for Tubbo’s authority is even more apparent if you consider the fact that just two days before the only reason they got into this situation in the first place was because nobody listened to Tubbo.

If we take all relationships, all emotions and connections, out of the equation and look at the choice that Tubbo needs to make logically, the answer of what to do becomes incredibly clear.

Logically, the right choice to make is to exile Tommy.

This is a choice that the leader of a country is being asked to make that either hurts one person or hurts the country as a whole. I have a whole other thing on the motivations and justifications on Tommy’s character that I’m not going to get into at the moment, but, logically, Tubbo made the right choice.

Tubbo had to make a choice between saving his friend who, despite being justified and having his reasons and the like, still did burn the home of the leader of the enemy nation, and saving his country, full of innocent people who have already lost lives, who are just looking to live in peace and safety, from a war that they would not win. As a friend, the choice he made was not the right one, but as a president, it most certainly was. He cannot sacrifice the good of the entire nation, he cannot pull his country into war, all for the sake of one person who did, technically, make a mistake.

Still, though, when Tubbo ultimately makes the choice (which is, in the end, his choice to make, regardless of what anyone else says), Tommy, Quackity, and Fundy argue against it. As Tommy is led away by Dream, Quackity and Fundy scream at Tubbo, tell him he’s acting like Schlatt, and, despite everything they’ve been saying before, do not respect Tubbo’s authority or the fact that this is his choice to make. They only say that, in the end, it is his choice when Tubbo seems to be on their side.

Tubbo, Fundy, and Quackity are, at the moment, the top authorities in L’Manburg. Quackity, though, is also running his own nation, and engaging in possible wars and acts of terrorism, while Fundy is preoccupied with things like visiting Tommy and working through his own issues. Tubbo is trying to lead the nation, but he isn’t able to because nobody respects his power or authority anyway, so he is unable to do anything because he isn’t able to be president.

There is a reason why L’Manburg’s independence is so shaky, and why whenever he felt like it, Dream could take down the nation and reclaim the land for himself, and that is because Tubbo, as president, does not have the respect of the people, no matter how much they may insist that he does. If a war was to happen, the country would collapse very quickly the way it is, because unlike before with the Revolution and the Pogtopia Rebellion, they would not have a leader who everyone respected and listened to. Instead, they’d have Tubbo, a boy who started off his presidency by watching his home be blown sky-high, who has not gained the respect of the people, who people do not listen to or respect the authority of, and, no matter how much it hurts to admit it, L’Manburg, in this case, would fall.

I have so many problems with just the system of government that L’Manburg is founded upon, but that’s not what you asked, so I won’t go into that right now, lmao.

I hope this answered your question without feeling too much like aimless rambling.

...I’m too invested in these block people.

#mcyt #ask #ask away #dream smp #l'manburg #that is how i spell it #ive decided #tubbo #tommyinnit #dream #quackity #fundy #dreamwastaken #wilbur soot #technoblade #jschlatt #a lot of ppl agree w techno #and this does nOT MAKE IT ANY BETTER #JUST MAKE A WORKING SYSTEM OF GOVERNMENT PLZ

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glassworkspiderlilies · 4 years ago

Text

every ribbon you used (to tie yourself to me)

Genshin Impact | Albedo & Rhinedottir, Albedo/Lumine | AO3 Summary: A life is created within a flask and learns to be human. A shooting star from another world falls to the earth. There are words for such things, and for when such things come together. And when they fall apart. (Sometimes, even when a Prince and a Princess meet against the odds, they do not get idyllic ever afters.) Notes: approx 9k words. another albelumi fic that i basically speedwrote to ride the strength of my albedo feelings before xiao drops bc i don’t trust my own fickleness!! aka...will i abandon my sad good boy for one (1) sad rudeass boy....:'(

“Look at her, touching his cheek to make a truce, her fingers cool with spring rain; in thin grass, bursts of purple crocus—

even here, even at the beginning of love, her hand leaving his face makes an image of departure and they think they are free to overlook this sadness.”

—From “The Garden”, by Louise Glück

Albedo’s first memory is, of course, of his Master. His vision is filled with her when he is newly born, and though the sight from within the flask is a little distorted, he knows the hands that created him. Much later, when he gains the knowledge to formulate opinions, he will describe her as stern and severe, but at present, scant moments after his birth, his Master smiles at him with something that might be affection.

Otherwise, Albedo does not remember much of his early, early life. Still so new to existence as a whole, it was a long process to just learn—to learn to learn. He starts from the very basics on how to function like a human being, especially once he outgrows his flask. By all appearances, he is a human, and the differences are minute, or simply indiscernible by humans proper.

To breathe, to eat, to talk, to move. The constant asking of questions comes much later, when he becomes an actual thinking being—and that is when he earns his name too: Albedo, the stage of alchemy in which change begins. Rhinedottir is exceedingly patient with him, never once growing angry at the crawling slowness of this entire process.

She knew, and still knows, what it means to take responsibility for one’s actions.

Once Albedo becomes—properly situated, he takes to learning anything and everything with a voracious appetite. This appears to please his Master as she teaches him everything she knows—and her knowledge never seems to run out. She seems to have an answer for everything, though she does not always give them to him so readily, preferring that he come to his own conclusions with less guidance now that he can think for himself. Eventually, she starts asking him questions, knowing he does not have an answer. He learns to formulate his own theories and conduct his own experiments in order to find them, and such projects take anywhere from a few scant minutes to several years. Both of them are rarely working on only one thing; there is always some study or another in progress, and Albedo does not think it remiss to think that Rhinedottir is pleased to have another being keep up with her. His Master has had other students before, he learns, but none whom she could impart her knowledge to so fully, for various reasons.

It is a joy, for a very long time, to live his life like this. There is simply so much, to do and see and hear and figure out. But as the months pass, then years, then decades…life begins to grow monotonous.

It is not that he begrudges it overmuch—Rhinedottir still has things to teach, orders to give, and expectations to be met, which only increase in difficulty. Still, he comes to recognize a certain dullness in his pattern, and he cannot fully ignore this knowledge now that he is aware of it.

Nevertheless, his routine has been as such for so long that he does not even consider the possibility of it changing.

But it does, one day, when the sky lights up in a brilliant blaze of solar gold and electric white, and a shooting star plummets to the earth.

It is a phenomenon that even his Master has never seen in all her years, so it is inevitable that they go searching. The landing site of the mysterious star is not so far away according to Rhinedottir’s calculations, which furthers the imperative nature of their search—for how could they pass up such a golden opportunity for an absolutely unprecedented study? Albedo feels excitement beat warm in his chest, primarily owed to his Master’s enthusiasm. It is a new expression on her, this anticipation, which he finds fascinating; it is exceedingly rare that he is able to observe new facets of his Master. Even after all this time, there is still much he does not know about her, and she thus remains one of the greatest mysteries in his life.

Neither of them make any fantastical preemptive guesses as to what they might find from such an occurrence, but they do consider unusual possibilities—though logically, the basis will likely be rock Yet despite their openness of mind, they are not prepared to find what they do: an unconscious young girl, dressed in foreign white clothes, curled up in the center of a scorched crater.

Rhinedottir, usually always so sure of herself, checks her coordinates again to make sure there is no mistake.

“Well,” she says finally, moving closer to the figure, “This is unexpected, indeed.”

She tries to wake the girl to no avail. Albedo half-unpacks their supplies to take out his sleeping bag, unzipping it and laying it over the strange girl in attempts to keep her warm. After she is neatly tucked in, the two of them set up camp a little ways away, so as not to startle her overmuch with strangers looming over her when she does wake.

The girl opens her eyes as they are making dinner for the night, the slight rustling of the sleeping bag alerting Albedo and Rhinedottir of her wakefulness. They watch from the distance as she sits up, slow and lethargic as if every bone in her body hurts. She turns her head to the side a little then looks up to the sky, not yet spotting them, coming to the realization that she is in an unfamiliar place.

A small sound escapes her, like an aborted sob, hopeless and despairing.

It is at that moment that the wood in their fireplace pops, and her head swivels around at the loud noise. She throws herself back when she spots them, a sword suddenly in her hand, her stance combative; she says—something, her voice sharp and demanding, but they do not understand whatever language it is that she speaks.

Rhinedottir raises an eyebrow at the sudden appearance of a weapon from thin air, but puts out her hands in a placating manner to show that she means no harm. The girl glances at Albedo, who inclines his head towards her in greeting and continues to stir the stew that is beginning to bubble.

Her sword disintegrates from her grip as she does so, much to the alchemists’ surprise. To her credit, she seems to work out the situation fairly quickly, and slowly makes her way to the fire. It is not so much trust but logic that wins out—given their already laid out camp, if they had wanted to do her harm, they would have done so earlier when she was unconscious. She does not miss the sleeping bag that had been draped over her either, and brings it with her, saying something that might be a thanks when Albedo reaches out to take it.

Gingerly, she sits down, drawing her knees up and crossing her arms atop them as she stares into the flames, then looks between Rhinedottir and Albedo. She says—or asks—something, but neither Master nor student can understand her, and they reply so in Teyvat Common. She furrows her brows and tries again, as if testing whether or not they are pretending, a lengthy monologue spilling forth. But after a while, they notice that the sounds and syllables change every so often, and realize that she must be trying other languages as well.

But no matter how many she knows, it becomes apparent that she does not know Common.

Her distress grows as they fail to recognize sentence after sentence, and she eventually falls quiet, looking close to tears before she buries her face in her arms. Rhinedottir is nevertheless even more fascinated, for even though they cannot communicate at present, it is evident that the girl is something extraordinary.

Albedo too, is curious, if perhaps in a different way. There is something—familiar, about her situation, something that he thinks he might be able to understand. He finds himself reaching out a hand, lightly touching her arm to draw her attention. She raises her head, blinking as she focuses on him, her eyes both wary and despairing.

He points to himself, then enunciates his name very slowly.

“Al-be-do,” he says, and then, pointing to his Master, “Rhine-do-ttir.”

The girl’s lips purse, and he repeats himself several times, until finally she puts a hand to her chest and stares him straight in the eye. He does not think he mistakes the brief flash of gratitude before she speaks.

“Lu-mine,” she says, and Albedo smiles.

Lumine has nowhere else to go, of course, and so it is a given that she travel with them. She seems alarmed at first when they pack up their camp, but is relieved when Albedo holds out his hand, and tilts his head in question.

She doesn’t take it, but she nods and follows after them.

She is merely a silent shadow for some time, trailing along and watching them perform their experiments, both combined and separate. It is interesting that she raises her brows at the alchemy, yet does not seem entirely surprised at the art.

Even so, she is not dead weight. She is an able fighter, a fair huntress, and surprisingly, a decent cook. For the two alchemists whose meals tend to be the same time after time and primarily focus on nutritional value only, her cooking skill may perhaps be the most valuable skill that she can offer.

Lumine’s most interesting skill, however, is solidly her fighting prowess. It’s the sword-summoning she had done that first night that draws their attention the most, initially, the weapon appearing out of thin air and disappearing the same way. She seems confused by their fascination with it, but patiently performs it a few times for their observation.

The three of them soon form a comfortable routine. Lumine does not speak again for quite some time, and while the alchemists are intensely curious, they give her the space that she needs. There is no point to rushing her.

When she does finally begin to warm, however, it is Albedo that she begins drifting closer to. It is likely because he looks to be of the same or similar age, and compared to the forbidding severity of Rhinedottir’s countenance, he is much more approachable.

Rhinedottir watches, the first time that Lumine engages Albedo first, bringing him an apple and making a questioning noise. He blinks at her, looking at the fruit in her hand.

“Apple?” he asks, and she tilts her head at him.

“Apple?” she repeats, very slowly, adjusting her mouth around the sounds.

“Apple,” Albedo repeats, also very slowly as he touches the fruit, understanding now what she is trying to do.

“Apple,” Lumine says back, with the proper accent, her lips quirking up in a smile.

She says something more, then, and of course he does not understand, but she gestures to various things around her, then points back to herself. She taps two fingers to her lips, then holds them out to him, and then gestures between them both.

“Ah,” Albedo says, smiling back, “Yes, I will teach you.”

Rhinedottir watches this all, and wonders about the results that will come out of this union.

Lumine is a quick learner, picking up the basics of the language in a few scant months. In return, she begins teaching them a little of her own language—the one of her homeland, they learn much later on—but the accents and conjugations are much harder to get down, so utterly different from Common as it is.

Albedo takes to it far better, as he practices it more, fascinated by this new thing to learn given to him outside of his Master’s expectations. Lumine is inordinately pleased once he starts to string sentences together properly, and Albedo finds that he enjoys her pleasure.

In any case, they finally start to learn Lumine’s story from her in bits and pieces. She and her twin brother, Aether, spent their time traveling different worlds, but at some point, they had been blocked by some unknown god, and cruelly separated. The last she saw, the god had sealed her brother into a small red prison, and then done the same to Lumine.

When she woke up, she was here and stranded, without much of her previous powers.

Now, with enough language finally at her disposal, she can finally ask the question she has wanted to since the beginning, though she knows the answer by now.

“Have you seen him?” she asks, and Rhinedottir shakes her head.

“No, child, my apologies,” she says, and despite expecting this, Lumine’s face falls a little before she composes herself.

“I see,” she says softly, looking down.

She hesitates before she speaks again, meeting Rhinedottir’s eyes with determination, and without fear.

“I will leave you one day,” she says, and Rhinedottir smiles faintly.

“We all leave one another someday, child,” she replies, and Albedo glances at her, then at Lumine as well. “But you will stay for now, will you not?”

Lumine looks up at the sky for a moment before answering.

“Yes. I will.”

The years continue to pass less dully. Lumine picks up more and more of the common language, Albedo continues to pick up more and more of hers. She also learns a bit of alchemy during this time, enough to play assistant to the two alchemists proper if necessary.

And—also during this time, she consents to have tests and experiments run on her, in attempts to understand her better and perhaps find a way to regain her past abilities. Though she shows a little apprehension at first, the tests turn out to not be even remotely fearsome; she drinks potions and has her movements observed, and though the potions are not tasty and the physical regiments are sometimes rather strenuous, the tests are almost boring.

It is Albedo who does most of the testing and observing and compiling of research on Lumine, later bringing his notes to Rhinedottir for review. His Master is content to let the two youths spend more time together as she focuses on her own work—and anyway, unbeknownst to them, she is conducting her own new study. Albedo has grown much since his creation, and she tracks each minute difference—which have grown more steadily now—with precision. Lumine still has many unfathomable mysteries about her, but even so, Rhinedottir can see the changes about her as Albedo teaches her the names of various flowers and words like “grace”, “strength”, and “gentleness”.

In return, Lumine teaches him the words for “happiness”, “kindness”, and “warmth”.

These children know not what it is they are doing, Rhinedottir thinks, as she watches Lumine trace letters onto Albedo’s bare palm, but oh, she does, old crone as she may be.

And so, she watches, and does nothing to encourage or deny them.

Albedo cannot yet recognize what the slow molten, seeping feeling is that is growing inside of him, only that it reminds him of rubedo.

Lumine has an inkling of where the path of her feelings could go when she looks into Albedo’s sky blue eyes, but pushes it aside, for she cannot afford to take it.

He is not meant to share the secret of his birth—or rather, creation—carelessly, but Lumine is not just anybody, and nor does she seem particularly surprised by this revelation when he eventually entrusts her with this knowledge.

“Soil is the origin of alchemy, and the basis of all life,” he explains, using Lumine’s native tongue, for he likes the way her eyes shine when he does so, “And chalk, spotless soil, is the substance which primal life is molded.”

She hums, musing over this new information.

“And stars?” she asks, “What about stars?”

Albedo purses his lips, thinking.

“I don’t know,” he admits, “And it may be too difficult to be able to study, when one is so land-bound.”

She chuckles a little, tilting her head back to look at the sky.

“My first memory is of the sky,” she says, “And the light. So perhaps Aether and I were born of stardust. You said, didn’t you, that the day I appeared, I had looked like a shooting star?”

“It was a brilliant sight,” Albedo says, with a nod, “Neither Master nor I have seen anything like it, in all our years. Hmm…chalk and stardust…I wonder what could be created by the two combined?”

Lumine glances at him, eyebrow raised, but he is not looking at her nor thinking about the implications of what he’s said, hand to his chin in deep thought.

“Well, we are here,” she says after a pause, her tone light, “A child of chalk and a…potential child of stardust. What will you call us?”

He looks at her then, responding without hesitancy.

“Remarkable,” he declares, smiling.

Lumine’s eyes widen at his response, and then she throws her head back and laughs, bright and delighted.

“Yes,” she says, “Yes, remarkable indeed.”

There is a market happening in the nearest town, and so Rhinedottir sends Albedo and Lumine on an errand to pick up things they usually cannot get so easily. Normally, the three of them camp out when they can, and head into civilization only if strictly necessary—they cannot conduct the bulk of their experiments in such quarters as an inn. Of course, they must make exceptions when the weather turns for the worse, and there are no caves or such shelter to bunker in. But neither alchemist is overly fond of human interaction, and they avoid it to diminish various complications.

In the past, picking up supplies was a task Albedo had never thought much of previously. But now, with Lumine by his side, he finds that the errand has a new color. They peruse the market, Lumine looking around with more curiosity than he, and Albedo watches her take in the sights and wares. Since the time she has joined them, they have not had many chances to go into towns, and none so far had a market as lively as this—apparently due to some celebration going on.

Just as he is musing what kind of festival might be happening this time of year, he realizes that Lumine is no longer by his side, and has to backtrack a little to find her stopped in front of a taciturn stonecutter’s stall. Her fingers have half-lifted a pendant from his display closer to her as she scrutinizes the stone.

The man’s necklaces are no expert things, their focus mostly on the stones themselves with a chain looped through them, though some are a little more interestingly caged or bound with metal. The rather intimidating stonecutter himself does not push them to buy, and merely watches them with keen eyes as they browse.

“It is a good stone,” Albedo supplies as he steps closer, and Lumine looks to him. The stonecutter smiles faintly as well, pleased that someone is able to recognize its true worth. “I did not know you were interested in such things.”

“It’s the color of your eyes,” Lumine says simply, and Albedo blinks in surprise. “I’ll take this, sir.”

The man’s smile deepens as the transaction is completed, his visage not so frightening like this.

“If I may ask…” Lumine says, just a touch hesitantly, “If I…gave you a stone, could you make another pendant of it, like these?”

The man raises an eyebrow, but gestures for her to show him. She reaches into her pocket, then drops the stone into his palm. The stonecutter’s eyes shoot up when she moves her hand away, and Albedo also blinks at the multicolored facets of a kind of yellow diamond he has never seen before.

“…Best take it to a master,” the man says, but Lumine shakes her head.

“I haven’t the time,” she says, and Albedo blinks at her, unsure why she says such a thing, “Nor do I want this to turn into something too…flashy.”

The stonecutter hums, then shrugs, reaching for some tools, and they wait as he fiddles with the gem. In a few moments, he has it bound up in a simple cage of silver wire, and a chain looped through a little opening. Lumine smiles with satisfaction when he hands it back.

“How much?” she asks, and the man shrugs.

“No need,” he says, “Got to see something incredible. Not every day you get to see a stone like that. I’d like to ask dearly where you got it, but I shan’t.”

Lumine smiles, and pays him for the chain anyway.

They complete the rest of their task with quickly; Lumine says nothing more about her purchases, and Albedo does not ask.

It is Rhinedottir who notices something remiss with her when they return to their camp in the outskirts.

“Oh,” she says, “It is time, then?”

Lumine’s lips thin, her expression mulish as she tilts her head down a little.

“A few more days,” she sighs, not looking at her. “But no more.”

Albedo attends to his chores, and pretends not to know what they are speaking of.

It is a parting gift, the necklace she had made.

She drops it into his palm the day she leaves, looking apologetic. Albedo knew this day would come, of course, but it does not lessen the sting.

He stares at the pendant while Lumine says her goodbyes to his Master.

“You’ve come a long way,” Rhinedottir says, her gaze piercing, “Do you finally feel welcome in this world?”

Lumine glances at Albedo before looking back to the older woman.

“Perhaps,” she says, “But the red god did not call us Outlanders for nothing.”

Rhinedottir shrugs.

“Then make your place,” she says simply, “And you will be an outlander no longer.”

Lumine purses her lips in thought. But she is in no place to consider this with the depth that it needs at present.

“Thank you, Madam,” she says instead, “For your care and teachings all this time.”

Rhinedottir simply cackles and waves her hand before making her way back to the camp, so that the two youths may speak alone. There is no parting gift for her; she has no need for such sentimentality, and she has already been given the greatest gift by being able to observe and test and research this fallen star of a girl.

Lumine turns to Albedo, and the two are silent for a while. Then, she reaches out to take the necklace from his hand, and gently loops the chain over his head.

“Will you stay upset with me long?” she asks quietly.

Albedo looks down at the brilliant stone of the pendant against his chest, turning it this way and that in his fingers. It sparkles in different colors as it catches the light.

“Of course not. It is not—your fault.”

She smiles a little at that.

“Ah, but I am undeniably the cause.”

“We have known since the beginning that you would leave one day, to search out your brother. I must simply confess that I…enjoyed our time together so greatly that I no longer thought of that fact so consciously.”

He finally looks at her, and her breath hitches for a second. They stare at each other for a moment before she reaches into her pocket and pulls out the other necklace she had purchased at the stall, holding it out to him.

“Will you do the same for me, please?” she requests, and he complies.

He steps closer to put the chain over her head, and does not step away when he is done.

“I enjoyed our time, too,” Lumine whispers, her eyes gentle, “More than I thought possible, after I fell to this land. Thank you, Albedo, for…for bringing me back to life.”

He blinks, unnamable emotion welling up inside him, and he does not know what to do.

Lumine reaches out to cup his cheek, her thumb brushing gently across his skin, and he sighs as he leans into her touch.

“Do not forget me,” she murmurs.

“I will not,” he promises.

She smiles, and steps back, his skin cold when her hand leaves him.

“Goodbye,” she says.

“Goodbye,” he echoes.

He grips the pendant as he watches her go, and cannot help but wonder—

If finding those necklaces at the market spelled her departure…if she had not seen them, if he had not received this gift, would she have stayed a little longer?

He mopes afterwards, though he does not know it for what it is. Albedo is ashamed to say that he is unable to properly notice his own behavior until his Master snaps him out of it.

Rhinedottir does not do so in a scolding manner—rather, she brings it up lightly, with amusement.

“Tell me,” she says, her attention more on the bottle in her hand, as she shakes it and considers the changing color, “Do you know what it is you feel?”

He realizes he does not. There is an emptiness inside of him, not exactly great and yawning, but palpable and difficult to ignore. It is heavy even as it is intangible, and though it feels so much like a stone within his chest, he cannot take it and toss it away.

He is not miserable. With Lumine’s departure, his life has simply returned to its old routine with him and his Master. It is not even as dull as he remembers, and he is still glad to be by his Master’s side, learning and working alongside her. There is still value that he finds in his experiments, and meeting his Master’s high (and rising) expectations.

Except—every so often he cannot help but wonder…where is Lumine now, and how is she doing? Has she managed to find clues to her brother’s whereabouts, or has she found him entirely?

At night, Rhinedottir watches her protégé’s face furrowed in deep thought as he reflects upon himself. It is a difficult thing to do, but Albedo has always performed admirably, and this is yet another part of his growth. Distantly, Rhinedottir thinks that for the everyday person in a similar situation, what Albedo is currently experiencing is meant to be part of a rose-colored period in their life.

But she, he, and the one in his thoughts…well, none of them are everyday people.

Rhinedottir tucks a hand under her chin as she muses, ready when Albedo turns to her.

“Master,” he says, perfectly calm, “Is this loneliness?”

Only a faint upward twitch of her lips confirms the correctness of his answer.

“Albedo,” Rhinedottir says, “You have grown up well.”

He blinks, unsure of where this is going. Her praise never comes lightly, and she is not a warm person to give such compliments undue. This acknowledgement makes him…apprehensive.

“And yet, this is only the beginning,” she adds, and Albedo furrows his brows.

Rhinedottir turns away to prevent further discussion. Even with Lumine gone, there is still his Master. Though he has determined what loneliness is, he has not yet realized what it means to be alone.

He has grown well, and continues to do so—but this is not the first of hard lessons, nor will it be the last.

Change comes again some years later, in the form of a letter, delivered to them by the hands of a hilichurl.

It is Albedo who receives it. He’d been trying to observe the unique patterns on its mask that he has not seen before, but when it spots him, it calls out to him. His name is mangled, yet still recognizable, but despite the address the hilichurl is wary and holds out the letter as if it thinks it will be the last thing it does.

But it completes its mission; Albedo takes the envelope gingerly, nonplussed at this sudden, unexpected interaction.

The hilichurl scampers away the moment Albedo’s fingers close on the paper and secures it.

“Master,” he says, when she ambles up beside him, having noticed this interaction from afar, “Have you ever seen the like?”

“No,” she says, her voice absent as she stares at the envelope in his hand. “Open the letter, Albedo.”

He obeys. Inside in a single folded sheet, with a single line in careful print.

I’ve found my place.

“I see,” Rinedottir murmurs.

She looks thoughtful but says nothing else, merely looking to the sky before walking back to their camp.

Albedo stares at the letter, at the familiar handwriting, at the emptiness of the remaining space. He should be glad for Lumine, and gladder still that she has managed to notify them that she is alive and well.

But the fact that it arrives to them after all this time, not from her directly but in the hands of a hilichurl of all things…he knows how to read the letter for what it is.

A severance.

Her place is elsewhere, somewhere out of reach, some place that he cannot understand.

(And yet…to turn the unknown into the known…that is what he does.)

Albedo stays out for a long, long time, until the sun sets, and his fingers turn cold.

Rhinedottir watches as her boy stands outside in the wilderness and navigates through heartbreak.

When Albedo comes back to the fire to warm his hands, she smiles a little at the resolution set on his face. He has nothing to ask her.

Yes, she thinks.

Soon, she will have nothing left to teach him.

Albedo wakes one morning with his Master nowhere to be found.

Her tools are gone. Her notes are gone. Nearly every trace of the fact he had been traveling with another person is gone.

All she leaves behind is a note, a recommendation later, and the Opus Magnum, the ancient alchemical manuscript which she had so carefully protected during their travels.

He reads her note with trembling hands.

Albedo, when you have put your own affairs in order, go to Mondstadt. Find my old friend, Alice, and give her the recommendation letter. Complete your final assignment.

He surveys the camp once more when he is done, still in disbelief. His Master, Rhinedottir, suddenly gone from his life with nary a warning. He had feared such a thing before, that if he had failed to complete the assignment he’d been given, she would leave him—she had threatened to do so before often enough, as a motivator. But he had and has done everything she has asked, met every expectation and even beyond.

He had not thought that the opposite too could be true, that she would eventually run out of things to teach him, and leave him thus. What she deems her final assignment had not been delivered in any unusual manner the other day. The truth of this world…he had thought like any other task—that she already had the answer, and would watch over him like always as he struggled to reach the same enlightenment.

The sun is already high in the air but the morning is nonetheless dark. He cannot move. The routines he performed with his Master are gone, because his teacher is gone. Nothing is the same. He does not know how to adjust.

Albedo reads her letter over and over again, until he finally reads the recommendation letter she has left too. It is an impersonal detailing of his abilities and accomplishments—so like his Master, and not at all unexpected, and yet he feels emptier having read it.

“Master,” he whispers, “Is this what true loneliness feels like?”

It is more debilitating than he could have guessed.

He watches the sun rise and fall, rise and fall. He does not eat or sleep.

He does a study in hunger, in dehydration. In inertness. He presses his cheek to the ground and watches ants and beetles traverse the dirt. He is not looking to die—though he would not be able to die in this manner to begin with. But nor can he bring himself to move.

And then, one day, a sunsettia plops onto his head.

And then another, and another. He peels his eyes open and looks up to see a hilichurl retreating to a safe distance. It watches as he slowly rises to his knees before running away fully.

If he recalls correctly…it is the same one that had delivered him Lumine’s letter, the one with the unique mask patterns.

Lumine.

Do not forget me, she had said, and he promised that he would not. But he confesses he did, for this snatch of time where he could not think of anything at all.

Complete your final assignment, Rhinedottir had said, and as her loyal student, his compliance was inherent. But that is not the path is he currently on, nor attempting to be on.

…There are still things he has to do, wants to do.

Albedo eats the sunsettias slowly, and then goes searching for more when his stomach settles. The hilichurl does not appear again, but the reminder was enough. His studies in stagnation are done; they do not achieve what he actually wants to achieve.

Logically, he knows, but pulling himself back together is still slow going. He takes one step at a time, and begins going through the motions of the everyday life he had shared with his Master. It becomes familiar again in due time, and he realizes, perhaps, that Rhinedottir had prepared him for this for quite a long time. He has everything he needs, including the routines, even if he is alone.

The rest depends on him.

For the first time, he cries. He does not realize he is doing so until the tears drip off his chin and onto the back of his hand. It is a curious feeling; a part of him marvels at this new, uncontrolled response, the force of his feelings so overwhelming that he cannot contain them.

“I am still learning, Master,” he whispers, and wipes the tears away.

When you have put your own affairs in order, Rhinedottir’s letter had begun, and so he shall begin to do so.

The first order of business: to once more find the shooting star that had fallen to the earth.

It takes a few months, though even that is sooner than he expected. He spends that time simply roaming…and attempting to communicate with hilichurls. Not all the encounters go well—he cannot always get close, and sometimes even if he can, it results in battle. He does not know how to begin learning their language, but he can observe their culture. He seeks out the shamans and brings food to showcase goodwill, shows Lumine’s necklace to them if he is able to establish communication. Albedo cannot tell if they understand, but he tries anyway, and continues to try.

It pays off.

After many other failed attempts, this group of hilichurls exclaims after looking at the necklace a bit, and gestures wildly for him to follow. They lead him to a field of sweet flowers, and at first, Albedo takes this to be another misunderstanding, sighing.

But then he sees the Ruin Guard ambling towards it, and the figure perched in its hand.

The Guard stops in front of him, and Lumine’s face is expressionless as her eyes meet his. The Guard lowers its hand for her to step down, and he sees that there are also apples and sunsettias in its palm.

These she gives to the hilichurls, who exclaim in delight, carrying off the fruits immediately. The Guard itself ambles away slowly once its hand is empty.

“You’ve been kind to them,” she murmurs, watching the hilichurls go. “Thank you.”

“Lumine,” he breathes, his voice hushed.

“Albedo,” she says back, turning to face him.

For a moment, it feels like they are meeting for the first time again, though now they already know each other’s names. Like him, she looks the same as she did all those years ago, and yet much has changed since then.

“You’ve been looking for me,” she says, her voice flat, “Why?”

“I felt I was in danger of losing you,” he replies, not at all offput by the coldness of her attitude, “So I came to keep my promise.”

Her expression changes at that, a flicker of pain flashing across her eyes.

“I am not the girl you once knew,” she tells him.

“And yet, my life’s purpose is to turn the unknown into the known.”

Her brows furrow at his response, the corners of her mouth tugging downwards.

“This is not for you to know.”

“All knowledge is worth having. If you will not share it, I will attempt to discover it myself, in due time.”

Her lips thin with displeasure, her eyes bright with anger. He tilts his head a little as he scrutinizes her.

“You let me find you,” he says gently, “Why?”

Lumine tenses and does not answer him.

“You are afraid,” he continues, and she begins stepping back, her eyes wary, “…And you are lonely.”

At that, she hisses and turns away as if she will leave him entirely, but he reaches out to grab her wrist.

She stills at his touch, and does not pull away.

“How funny that I should feel the same,” Albedo says, with something of a self-depreciating laugh.

Her head whips back to look at him, and the two stare at each other before she finally sighs, the tension draining out of her body. She looks…small, like this. Terribly so.

“Madam Rhinedottir left you,” she says, her voice defeated.

“Yes.”

“You almost died.”

“That is not true, though I was indeed indisposed for some time.”

She raises her eyebrow at that, and he gives her a sheepish look. There is not much more explanation he can give about that, and Lumine shakes her head.

“I did not send that letter so that you would come find me.” she says, her voice distant.

“I know. But why did you send the letter?”

She hesitates before responding.

“…I…thought you would rather know, than not.”

“Ah—a kindness then.”

He smiles a little here, tilting his head just a little teasingly, and her face softens against her will before she turns her face away.

“If…you wish to view it as such.”

A few heartbeats pass before they speak again.

“Are you still searching for your brother?”

“…Yes. But so far, it has been fruitless. I suspect I will only see him when the dust settles. In the meantime…I’ve discovered something else I cannot walk away from.”

“And will you tell me what it is?” he coaxes warmly, but her response is icy.

“Do not ask of me such a thing Albedo, when you are not here to stay.”

He pauses, deliberating whether or not he can answer otherwise to hear her answer, but he will not lie to her. Her lips quirk up at his quietude, but her expression grows melancholy after a moment.

“There is something you cannot walk away from as well,” she says, and he nods.

“My Master’s final assignment is to find the truth of this world,” he says quietly, “I…wonder if I will be able to see her again, when I do.”

Lumine blinks, faintly surprised, though she says nothing on the subject.

The two fall silent then, looking at each other. Albedo is still holding onto Lumine’s wrist, though neither of them comment on the matter.

After a while, Lumine sighs, and reaches out a hand to touch his cheek.

“Albedo,” she says, switching to the language of her homeland, “I confess it is good to see you. But it was not…a good choice.”

He blinks at her and leans into her touch, holding her gaze.

“I wanted to see you,” he says simply, and she shivers to hear the language from him in return.

“Do not do this again. The next time you find me, I will kill you.”

He smiles a little at that.

“Then when it is time for me to die, I will come to you.”

She frowns, and drops her hand as if burned.

“Ah, so you intend to make me do it,” she says, shaking her head. “You are cruel, Prince of Chalk.”

“It is not about making you do it. It is about having a reason to do so.”

She looks at him sharply, her eyes and posture demanding. But he smiles, and says nothing more. The bargain for this information is not something she is willing to make at present.

“Don’t come,” she hisses.

“I will, if I must. You have already made the declaration.”

Her jaw is clenched at his refusal, her body trembling slightly, and it is another moment before she speaks again.

“…Then if you must come, at the time, if I am nothing like you remember, if I am no longer who I say…you must be prepared to do the same. You made me a promise. Do not forget me. Me. As Lumine. Do not let a stranger kill you.”

He tugs off one glove, and holds out his hand.

Slowly, she takes it, intertwining their fingers. Hers are warm as his are cool.

“So once more, we make an exchange,” he says lightly.

She blinks at him, then peers at his neck. She reaches under his collar and tugs out the pendant she had gifted him so long ago by the chain, the yellow diamond still glittering as brilliantly as ever. He reaches under her scarf to tug out hers, the blue crystal still beautifully clear and luminous.

Lumine sighs, and leans her forehead against his.

“You make this difficult,” she mutters.

He chuckles.

“Master used to say that if it was easy, you were not learning.”

Her lips quirk up into a wry smile. After a while, she squeezes his hand, and does not let it go when she steps back.

“Go,” she sighs, “This is hard enough already. Do not make it harder.”

He looks at her, then lifts her hand to press her knuckles to his lips.

“Until death unites us, then,” he says, and lets her go.

She does not say goodbye this time, and he does not turn back. She watches him, until he is out of sight, gripping the pendant hanging in the center of her chest so hard it hurts.

Mondstadt welcomes him with open arms, and his skill is so far beyond what everyone else is used to that even without the recommendation letter, he could have easily made a place for himself. Even so, he is new to the city, so to make him Chief Alchemist is too hasty still.

He does not mind; he does not need a position at all, so long as he is still allowed use the resources that they have.

Instead, he accompanies his Master’s friend, Alice, and her little daughter Klee, on various adventures to better acclimate himself to the country. It is very different than traveling with his Master; Alice is rambunctious and destructive, attentions everywhere all at once with whatever new thing catches her interest. Klee watches her mother with big eyes and a wide smile, and listens with rapt focus whenever Alice sits her down to teach her how to make bombs. (Surely that is not conventional, but…Albedo has not exactly lived a conventional life, and does not have “normal” parenting to compare Alice’s to.)

It is chaotic, and yet he does not wholly mind. It is a new experience to consider.

And yet…in three years, Alice too is gone. She leaves Klee with Albedo and the Knights of Favonius, and then she and her partner are gone in a flash, into the depths of the world.

Klee holds Albedo’s hand tightly when her parents leave with nary a backwards glance, and he squeezes it gently back, understanding her feelings. They are similar—an absent mother and an absent Master, the ones left behind and lonely, their abilities just a little too much for Mondstadt’s walls.

He and Klee sleep side-by-side that night, and for a little while to come. But the little girl handles it better than he, ultimately; she is perky and bright within a few days, pouring her attentions into crafting new bombs and terrorizing the fish in Starfell Lake. (He mitigates this where he can, but…Klee’s shenanigans become commonplace and well known amongst the Knights as they all pitch in to watch her.)

During their travels, Alice had said they were now a family, and that Albedo could call her Mother, if he so wished. But he did not, and the word stuck oddly when he tested it.

But as for Klee…it is not so strange to call her little sister. She had already endeared herself to him early on, with an unprecedented affection so whole and pure and innocent. Despite his lack of previous interaction with children, he does well in caring for her, and he cannot help but marvel a little at the responsibility of watching over another life like so, perhaps a little like the way his Master had when he was brought out of his flask.

They are, perhaps unexpectedly, a good pair. With Klee, Albedo learns about a different kind of contentment, and comfort. There are nights, after Klee has had a nightmare and Albedo simply cannot sleep, that they sit together and watch the stars with a hot drink, or go out to catch fireflies. Together, they forget to be lonely.

“Albedo,” Klee says sleepily on one such stargazing and hot-drink night, nestled up beside him, “I’m really glad that you came to Mondstadt.”

Albedo strokes his sister’s hair, and smiles tenderly.

“Thank you, Klee,” he murmurs, picking her up with great care to put her to bed, “I’m very glad I did too.”

Regardless of previous misgivings, Albedo gains two titles, aside from the one his Master left him, very quickly: Chief Alchemist, and Captain of the Investigation Team. He is truly a Knight of Favonius by the time this happens, with even his bladework adjusted to better suit their style.

Besides Klee—and Sucrose and Timaeus, whom he has taken under his tutelage in the past months—he still primarily keeps to himself. He is satisfied with the relationships he has, and is not interested in cultivating too many new or deeper ones. The work that is required for such things…it is troublesome.

The official assignments required from him by the Knights are, quite frankly, easy, just barely requiring five percent of his energy. But this suits him just fine, as it allows him ample time for his own pursuits.

His life in Mondstadt is colorful, and though here too he forms his routines, there is never a dull moment—especially with Klee, and two students to teach.

Albedo wonders if something like this was the reason his Master sent him to Mondstadt. He is…happy here, in this gentle and free city.

He wonders if, as they had traveled the world just the two of them for so long, his Master had been, too.

He is not in the city proper when Stormterror attacks, but he hears about the Traveler the moment he returns. The knights on duty inform him that the young man and his floating companion had been taken to see Jean in her office, and then the group of them had headed out again afterwards posthaste. Albedo walks towards Headquarters with renewed curiosity, but expects he’ll hear more about everything in due time, and simply goes to his workshop as usual.

There is a knock on his door a little while later, and he calls for whoever is on the other side of the door to come in. He is observing the color change of a potion in his hands, and turns only when it has settled into the proper pale shade.

When he finally looks up from the bottle, he nearly drops it in surprise.

A young man in foreign clothes stands next to Jean, about the same height as Albedo, if perhaps a touch taller. He is slim, his long blond hair tied in a braid, his golden eyes open and curious. A small fairy-like child floats next to him, but Albedo’s focus is on the Traveler, and blinks as he takes in his visage.

They are not identical, but nevertheless, Albedo knows him for who he is.

“Good afternoon, Albedo,” Jean greets, “You must have already heard the stories, but this is the Traveler, Aether, who I’ve deemed an Honorary Knight of Favonius for his assistance. His companion is Paimon.” She gestures back and forth as she introduces everyone. “This is Albedo, Chief Alchemist and Captain of our Investigation Team.”

“Hiya!” Paimon says, waving cheerfuly while Aether dips his head politely in greeting.

“Hello,” Albedo returns, finally settling down the bottle into a rack. “Thank you, for your service to Mondstadt. What brings you here to see me?”

“He is looking for his sister,” Jean explains, and Albedo keeps his face impassive. “I was hoping that he might sit with you awhile to tell you about her, and you could sketch her likeness for some missing person posters?”

“Ah,” Albedo says. “Yes, of course. I will clear some space.”

“Excellent,” Jean smiles, making to leave. “My thanks, Albedo. And—Aether, Paimon, please get some rest afterwards. Arrangements with the inn have been made, and they are ready to accommodate your stay for as long as you need.”

Aether bobs his head again, murmuring a thank you, and in the next moment it is just the three of them.

Albedo is curious about the floating child, but…he puts this aside for now, clearing some notes off a stool for the Traveler to sit. He does so gingerly, looking around the workshop with fascination. Paimon floats, of course, but she moves this way and that in excitement.

“We heard that you’re really great at drawing—Paimon can’t wait to see a master at work!” she exclaims, and Albedo smiles wryly.

“I hope I will not disappoint,” he demurs, as he moves around to locate his materials.

“Thank you, for agreeing to do this,” Aether adds, hesitating a little on the words. “I’m sorry—my mastery of the language is…not so good, yet.”

Albedo prepares the proper paper and pencils, then glances at him sidelong.

“You speak it well, but would you prefer to use a language more comfortable to you?” he asks, and watches Aether’s eyes go wide with shock.

A heartbeat passes, and Aether rises from his seat—

And slams Albedo into the wall by the collar, his hands fisted into his shirt.

It is an aggressive action, yet not one fueled by violence, but desperation. Aether’s eyes are begging as they well up with tears, and his entire body trembles. Paimon watches with her hands over her mouth, completely taken aback by this turn of events and unsure of what to do.

“Where? How?” Aether chokes out, his voice raw, “Tell me—you’ve met her, haven’t you? She taught you. There is no one else left besides she and I who know this tongue.”

“It was many years ago,” Albedo says, putting his own hands gently over Aether’s. There is already a lot understood in that statement; neither Albedo nor Aether are quite human, and neither are quite willing to reveal such personal secrets so openly just yet. “The last I saw her was in a nameless flower field, when I was on my way to this city. I know not what she is doing, nor where she is now. I am sorry.”

Aether loosens his hold, breathing ragged, and steps back.

“I am sorry too, for my reaction,” he says, running a hand through his hair, still distressed. He paces a little, unsure of what to do with all the adrenaline thrumming in his veins. “It has been…quite some time, that I’ve heard our language, and from someone other than Lumine.”

“No harm done,” Albedo assures him, though he suspects his back will be a little sore.

The two regard each other for a moment, and Paimon looks between them.

“Will someone please explain what is going on?!” she demands, and Aether rubs the back of his head sheepishly.

“He…knows a language I thought was lost,” Aether says, then pins her with his gaze. “Paimon…you can’t mention what happened here to anyone else, I mean it. Please.

“Wha? Paimon doesn’t get it, but…if you say so. It’s unfair to leave Paimon out, though!”

“I’m sorry,” Aether says, ruffling her hair. “I’ll…explain to you later. And I’ll buy you more Sticky Honey Roast.”

“Yes! Alright, Paimon will do whatever you say!”

Albedo smiles a little, and motions for Aether to sit.

Neither are sure how much to reveal, and also in front of Paimon, so they go through the motions of the situation. Aether describes Lumine in vast detail, and though Albedo does not need it, it is fascinating to hear of her through the eyes of her brother, and match his words to what he knows.

By the end, Paimon marvels over the final drawing, and Aether goes quiet over the portrait. It is a remarkable likeness, down to the way she holds herself and the gleam in her eye.

“Thank you,” Aether murmurs, and Albedo knows he means more than just for the drawing.

“Alright then! Let’s go to Good Hunter now!” Paimon cheers, and flies off first without waiting for an answer.

Aether lingers, as expected, handing back the sketch with reluctance so that it can be copied.

“You may have the original, once the posters are produced,” Albedo tells him, and Aether smiles.

“My thanks,” he says, then hesitates before continuing. “Please…could we meet up again? I’d…like to speak more to you, about…a few things, really, but about Lumine especially. And...I cannot express how much it means, to be speaking this again.”

“I may be difficult to find,” Albedo admits, “But if you can get word to me, I will make time. I would like to speak to you, as well.”

Aether’s smile is brilliant, and he leaves the workshop in a mood just as bright.

Albedo watches him go, and wonders what to tell him, and how much. He looks at the sketch in his hand, unsure of the result of putting up these posters will be. There may be a danger in that it is too good a likeness.

She had said…not to look for her. The next time you find me, I will kill you. But surely that did not apply to Aether, whom she was looking for to begin with all the years.

He sighs deeply and wonders—

Lumine’s goals, and the truths she has found…what are they?

A thousand miles away, underground, Lumine stares down into a pit she cannot see the bottom of, gripping her blue pendant tightly. She holds it over the edge of the abyss, then loosens her fingers, the stone swinging freely.

After a moment, she sighs.

She retracts her hand, holds her fist to her chest.

She slips the chain back over her head.

#genshin impact #genshin lumine #genshin albedo #albelumi #rhinedottir #homunculus albedo #abyss princess lumine #kreideprinz #fanfiction #genshin impact fic #good luck to everyone rolling!!#i pray xiao comes home

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apothecarinomicon · 3 years ago

Text

Spring week 1 part 1

I’m not quite sure how to begin.

I’m not typically one for journaling but it would appear to be part of the gig, as it were. I found this book—the one I’m writing in, heavy and musty and leather-bound—sitting on the table when I arrived, open to a blank page. There are at least a thousand pages filled before it, and no matter how many blank pages I flip past this one I can’t reach the back cover without closing the book entirely.

Mòrag told me things that present themselves for investigation here tend to be worth exploring, and if my gut tells me what’s right not to stray from its guidance. But I’m getting ahead of myself—you don’t even know who I am.

My name is Fionn Gill, and I’m a witch. I know, I know, but I don’t get into all that “warlock” “wizard” shit. It’s just a way to separate and belittle the same practice based solely on the gender of the practitioner, in my opinion. My specialty lies in potion-making, though I’m not very experienced. I’ve really only just finished my training—I’m from Huntsmanland and they’re not nearly as magically-inclined there as they are in High Rannoc. This is the first part of the country I’ve visited other than my tutor’s homestead and I must say, it hasn’t made the most stellar impression.

My tutor Edith received a letter stating that services would be required in the town of Greenmoor, and since the letter didn’t specify her services, she sent me to take care of it. I don’t know if she expected it to be an indefinite position, but here we are.

I didn’t bring a lot with me—just enough for the journey. It was about all I could carry walking. I arrived in Greenmoor with just about the clothes on my back, hoping they had an apothecary of their own so I could get this over with.

I’ve never really been one for small towns, and nor do they have much love for me. I’ve always thought I was meant for adventure—movement, action, peril, all of it. Small town life just feels so… stagnant. Nothing changes, no one grows or changes or has anything interesting to talk about. It’s enough to drive you mad.

Not to mention the natural suspicion of outsiders. I could see it on Mòrag McKinney’s face, even as she greeted me at the edge of town in her official capacity as mayor. Her hair was done up in a huge bun of thick braids on top of her head—a hairstyle with a formality at odds with her armored clothing.

She seemed surprised when I told her I was the witch. That’s not uncommon—like most intellectual and healing work, witchcraft is traditionally the domain of women. Even in the relatively forward-thinking country of High Rannoc, I tend to get some variation on ‘oh, how progressive!’ when I tell people my vocation. Often if you get a man doing witchcraft, his neighbors will whisper certain things about him. My neighbors back home were whispering those things about me anyway, so that wasn’t much of a hurdle to me.

Mòrag (she insisted I call her by her first name once we’d been properly introduced) gave me a brief tour of Greenmoor. It is, to put it lightly, tiny. I’d estimate a population around fifty. Near everyone has a job that serves an internal function to the community, with maybe the exception of the innkeeper. There are blacksmiths, miners, a carpenter, a tanner… she didn’t indicate any artists or poets or anything of that sort to me, which was disheartening. Even when I thought I would only be here briefly, I was hoping to enjoy the finer things the locals had to offer. The closest this town comes is a library, but I sorely doubt they have any kind of collection of works by local authors.

Mòrag pointed out all the magical resources in town, and some of them impressed me—the lunar tower and ritual circle in particular looked useful. She did not show me any apothecary, and following her aforementioned advice, I took that to mean there wasn’t one. Can’t wait to go out and experience the joys of foraging in the wilderness myself.

Once we’d gone through the entire village, she showed me to the cottage where I’ll be staying. It’s a little ways away from the town proper, down a walking path through some trees. It’s little more than a one-room thing, with only the washroom closed off from the rest of the space. The walls and door are made of dark wood, and the outside still has bark attached in many places. The roof is sloped and overgrown with moss and ivy. Inside the main room there is a bed, a large set of shelves which ought to have reagents and potion-making materials on them but are mostly bare, and a table on which this book sits. The washroom has a tub and a latrine—no plumbing to be found. Out back sits the remains of a garden, only one plot of which looks salvageable. A ways back into the trees there’s a creek. Most of the rest of the clearing is in the early stages of becoming overgrown, with trees and bushes and flowers starting to stretch themselves out and remembering how to be wild.

Mòrag told me the witch who was here before me was a bit of a recluse. No one in town knew very much about her, and she seemed to prefer it that way. They came to her for her healing potions and never made it past small talk and kept inviting her to parties and festivals even though she never attended. And then one day nearly everyone in town woke up with a gift from her—the farmers received her animals, the barkeep her ferments, the innkeeper and bakers her crops. As the townspeople tallied their gifts they realized it amounted to nearly everything she owned. They went together to her cottage to ask her why she’d given it all away, and found her cottage—this cottage—empty. The ensuing search turned up no body, no note, not a shred of evidence to speak of. It was as if she’d disappeared into thin air. As the townsfolk talked and wondered what had happened, they quickly realized no one knew her well enough to provide any real insight. They couldn’t even come to a consensus on what her name was.

They had quickly moved on to discussing the more pressing issue: the town was lacking a healer. The general store owner had worked with my tutor Edith in years prior (Edith loved to tell stories of the time she spent pursuing the culinary arts). Thus, the letter and thus, my presence.

Mòrag told me she hoped I might be more engaged in the community than my predecessor. I decided to refrain from telling her not to get her hopes up, and instead expressed my confusion: I’d thought this was a single gig, that I was to heal someone of their illness and then leave.

She disabused me of that notion with rather more intensity than I think was warranted.

She told me that unless my predecessor reappeared, I was all they had. She said Edith had spoken highly of my abilities in her return letter (I doubted that—Edith never spoke highly of anyone). She told me I would receive a base pay of 20 silver per cure to start, and that if I did the townsfolk well and they grew to like me, they’d most certainly be willing to pay more. She told me that the folks of Greenmoor were good people, even if they were a bit disaster-prone and some of them could make good use of a little more common sense.

And, well, how do you say no to that?

When I asked where I would be getting my materials, she told me the areas surrounding Greenmoor were rich in natural resources. So it will be as I feared. I’m glad I brought my off-road boots.

Mòrag left me to get settled in and I immediately took stock. There are no reagents on the shelves (of course not! Why would there be?), but I did find a cauldron, mortar and pestle, and a copper alembic (which is used for distilling)—so at least once I have the reagents I’ll be able to do some basic cooking with them. I also found a small leather-bound book with vague descriptions of some of the areas surrounding the village. I should be able to cross-reference it with my notes on the environments where useful reagents can be found to make searching for materials a bit less painful.

I pulled a matted tangle of weeds out of the garden plot, but it looks like whatever was planted underneath already shriveled away to nothing. Well, at least the land’s clear now.

One thing that I knew I’d need if I was going to be able to handle this was a familiar. I’ve never been one for conjuration but in this case it’s an unfortunate necessity. I was supposed to be getting one within the next few weeks at Edith’s anyway, and I already knew the process. You’re supposed to have a more experienced witch observe your first time, but that’s just academic formality—there’s nothing actually dangerous about the process.

I found what looks to be a quarter cran basket (was my predecessor into fishing…?) under the bed, and set out around the property collecting small rocks and flowers and toadstools that had the right kinds of vibration. They were for use in the ritual, but also collecting them was a good start to cleaning the property up. Because if I’m going to be living here, it cannot stay looking like this.

I took the basket into the woods near the creek and laid its contents out in a circle as wide as I was tall. Before I placed each one down, I held it for a moment and asked it to help me with my task. Then, I sat in the center of my circle and closed my eyes and tried to meditate. Clearing my head has never been my strong suit, but I’m usually able to fudge the process enough to do what needs doing. This time took a bit longer than usual but eventually I managed. I felt my energy (spirit, consciousness, whatever) radiating out from me, pink and orange and bright and loud, first to the edges of the circle and then beyond. All of it asked a single question and listened for the answer.

The response came from much closer than anticipated, when I felt something small hop onto my knee.

I opened my eyes and looked down to see a frog staring back at me, blinking lazily and making small, guttural noises. Her back was green and rough and slimy. One of her eyes was milky, pointing vaguely off to the left, while the other gazed straight at me. The tips of her toes (three on each foot) edged closer to brown than the rest of her body.

Having clearly presented herself, she now asked if my gut said we would be good partners.

I’ve named her Ailean.

And now here I am, writing all of this down. I don’t know if I’ll be able to manage this every day. Whoever reads this may have to settle for a few times a week. With that said, I do think I’d like to go back and read what my predecessor wrote. Maybe it’ll give a clue as to where she’s gone, and help me escape this position sooner. She seems to have been quite the prolific writer—getting through her logs could take months, especially if the townsfolk keep me particularly busy with their various woes. I’ll have to start reading sooner rather than later.

Speak of the devil, there’s a knock on my door. It hasn’t even been a full day and I might already have my first customer. I’ll finish this later.

⇦●〇●⇨

#writing #writers on tumblr #writeblr #original writing #fantasy #apothecaria #entry #amwriting #creative writing #fiction #rpg #roleplaying game #high rannoc #writeblr community #writers #writblr

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jksangelic · 5 years ago

Text

heaven’s winter (m)

RATING: M

GENRE: fantasy, fluff, smut, a hint of a soulmate au, light angst

PAIRING: village daughter!reader x seraph!yoongi (alternatively, an “angel”)

WARNINGS/TAGS: lots of overthinking/past angst regarding both reader and yoongi separately (yoongi especially), tae is involved as an important plot side character but he’s barely in there i’m sorry, surprise aggression from yoongi because u get in his personal space, slow burn smut but the smut is nice and flavorful, explicit sexual content, body worship, oral sex (female receiving), virgin!reader, clumsy cute smut uwu, unprotected sex (wrap it up pls), several positions, unintentional temperature play?, lots of love and respect up in this house and lots of other things i probably forgot.

also i wrote a lot for the intro you can skim idc lmao.

SUMMARY: your duty as the village daughter places you in line for the season’s Offering; a tradition not to tread lightly upon. as the snow falls slow and heavy, and the seraph awaits in the shallows of the mountain, you fail to realize what the winter has in store for you.

WORD COUNT: 18,600

NOTE: welcome to my slice of the Fantastical Stories for Curious Souls Collaboration!

it’s always really an honor to be able to work with other writers and i’m really grateful that they allowed my butting-in )))): thank you all!!! make sure to check out everyone’s stories in the link above and let us know what you think!

(uhhh i just..... i spent way too much time on research and the politics behind this fic for it to still be aLL oVer tHe plaCe but please cut me some slack. might i throw in that this has no religious/cultural affiliation and instead has more of a fantastical theme to it that is entirely fictional. especially for the concept of the Offering and how i loosely throw around the word “angel” and “heaven” and etc.)

((might i add that i recently discovered that i am *terrible* at describing geography and am totally basing it off of video-game visuals........ cough cough zeldabreathofthewild))

(((this last one’s kinda important!!!!: yoongi is described to be larger than you bc he’s this magical bird being. i always try to keep reader insert broad in description but if you’re taller than irl yoongi boongi, pssst, you’re not in this universe sorry but i make the rules)))

((((this is currently unedited. @14statelier get to work.))))

Part One

The snow falls slow and thick. The children catching it on their tongues and compacting it to shoot at each other, screaming and wailing all the same as it continues to pile. It fell particularly early this time around, normally nothing more than cold bitter to the skin and clouds stirring prediction of the oncoming winter. You were always a heavy sleeper despite the beauty of first frost, long past your days of childish amazement through fogged windows and warm fires but you watched the icy cotton substance pile since dawn this morning. Not even drowsiness will overrun your excitement for the day ahead.

“You light three incense and make sure they burn all the way through before you turn around,” Taehee states.

“Find some stones on your way. Use them to hold the tapestry down as you set up. It looks especially windy today,” Mina adds.

Yoona finishes tucking your hair back rather tightly, “You should stop by Jin’s and pick up some extra bread. You know he’ll give you some of his fresh batch if you asked for it.”

You suppose, not even the nagging of your aunts.

You chew on your fingers, a nervous habit. Taehee pulls your slobbered index from your lips with a wrinkled forehead, “You better remember this, dear. You only have to do it once but if you do it right, it’ll be worth much more.”

You recite drearily, “Follow the path, set up the altar, say our prayers, return home.”

“Once the incense is out, Y/N. You mustn’t forget.”

“And you cannot explore the manor. Don’t walk around. Don’t look through the windows—”

“It’s a manor? How big do you suppose?” you ask with newfound interest to your words.

“That doesn’t matter, girl. You don’t wander. You don’t explore. You do what is told of you and nothing more. What matters is that you don’t spot a seraph, and that the seraphs don’t spot you.”

You never understood that rule. If the seraph tribe was so kind as to help your country win a rather one-sided war, then why the invisible boundary? To be in alliance and never interact was an odd sense of unity to you, if any. “Have you ever seen a seraph? Is it true they have two sets of wings?” You’d always been curious to the subject, a fairytale-like existence just waiting below the peak.

“The elders claim they do. A large and small set. Some say it’s necessary for having human proportions. You know, they say it’s bad luck to stare at a seraph’s wings. ” Mina says in awe in correspondence to the way she suffocates you with your robe’s sash.

You swat her away, forcing down a smile, “I don’t believe that, you haven’t even seen one! How do you even know they exist!”

“Hush! You’ll get into some real trouble if an elder catches you saying that. They exist. And they live up the mountain. And you will do the Offering with utmost delicacy and respect. Besides, you’re the only one coming-of-age this year! A girl to do it by herself is surely something the leaders will appraise of you.” You avoid their scrutinous, expectant gazes.

You could say you’ve been cursed at birth. Weak in basic skills in which an adult, regardless of age, is identified by. You lacked time management and a sense of direction, you harbored a bad habit of looking down when you spoke, you couldn’t even wash the dishes without chipping a glass. Your legs worked against you at random times, quite literally tripping you up and deeming you as a clumsy, pitiful thing. As you grew older, the only skills you were able to contribute were to the fields, where things were organic and didn’t require fragility.

“I am not as useless as you think of me,” the words come out unprompted but true and exposed.

The women gawk and babble like hens in a flurry of angered denial or soft apologies but you no longer have time to discuss unimportant matters.

In the midst, rough, giant hands encase your face. You don’t realize you’re looking to the floor until Taehyung props your chin upwards, met with smiling eyes and an ear-to-ear grin. His name rolls off your tongue in surprise.

“Hey, don’t start moping before you even start. It really isn’t a big deal. You hike all the way up to the riverbank more than the others and that’s a long way. This is no different. And think, when you come home everyone will come to realize how much they’ve missed you! Me included.”

“It’s not that I’m…” You start haphazardly. Well, it’s not that you’re reluctant to do the Offering. To adventure otherwise prohibited land and by yourself, to prove that you can handle life just fine and don’t need to be seared by the judgement of deploring eyes. Some time to enjoy solitary peace. It wasn’t even a whole day, dammit, but you’ll take what you can get. You choose to lie, “I guess I am a bit nervous. I’ll make sure to pace myself. Besides, I’d run myself short if I finished in half-a-day like you.”

Tae puffs, a little proud of himself, “What can I say… I’d like for the little ones to look up to me.” You roll your eyes, scanning your bed for your scarf. Taehyung eyes the cloth as you wrap it around, a rare moment of quiet. He stares, entranced, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen him so focused. As you think about inquiring his statue-like manner, you notice that more of the silence is due to the disappearance of the squawking hens. Those sly, evil matchmakers.

You suddenly pull him along and towards the exit, “You can’t be in here. You’ll get us in trouble.”

He blinks dumbly and slumps against your ministrations. “Your aunts seemed to be fine with it. And it’s not like I haven’t snuck in your window a few… several times.”

Your expressed sheepishness is his favorite source of entertainment, “Goodness, as kids! You make it sound so rebellious.” He winks as if you share a grand secret, all to his imagination of course.

Taehyung, on the other hand, was the village’s be-all and end-all. Born to work and carry everyone else on his back. He stands tall with his shoulders wide and prominent, chestnut waves that reached his cheekbones now. Shirt tight around his torso in ways that could excite anyone that risked a glimpse. You can’t help but find it amazing how much of a crybaby he was when you were young and how sturdy and dependable he is now. He was humorously your polar opposite.

You try to shoo him once more, “Anyways. I’m getting ready and you can’t see me. Go wait with everyone else!” His pout is jarring paired with his hard, strong build. Like a teddy bear with abs and palm blisters from years of physical labor.

His body moves on his own at some point, reluctantly reaching for your door handle, “No parting kiss upon my cheek, fair lady?”

It’s obvious he’s being more daring these days. With frequent visits and gifts on your doorstep, and now requested kisses. The whole town knew you were likely to marry him, a relief for most. But on your hand, you’ve just known him for so long. Practically since you were born. You’ve already shared kisses, you’ve already had those butterflies in your stomach; but the kisses were stolen in secret and the butterflies were stagnant. And although it was never a consistent nor official courting, you felt as though Taehyung was already a route taken. You know better to never admit that into the air, though. Not when everyone expected your cooperation with marriage at the least. To care for someone so special, and to bear his children plump and healthy.

What a static life to live, you try not to think. You instead try to blame such thinking on your inferiority complex, to at least ease some of that horrible guilt in your stomach. You should be grateful for your life. Talentless yet adored. A village princess that was easy on the eyes and sought after by those looking for that beauty and its accompanied dowry.

A proposal was near, that much you could tell with his efforts. In his perspective, the sooner the better lest he want someone else to steal you from him. Contradictory to your own reasoning, the only relief you find is that it is him, your dearest friend. Perhaps the only one to disregard your shortcomings and want to fill your empty spaces as much as he can. He cared about you and that could be enough. So you try to convince yourself of that.

You kiss his cheek softly and without hesitation. Not so much as a blush. He suspects nothing less than mutual adoration and takes his leave like you request, leaving you alone in silence for a relieving twenty seconds. Then the hens come back inside and squabble about who will be able to sew together your future gown.

Part Two

It starts under the old pine tree on the far side of the village. A crowd gathers as you wait under the swaying branches, mutters and looks of excitement apparent. A cleric waits beside you with three elder women who prepare your things: a woven satchel loaded with the items that you are to lay out, things like dried flowers, fruits, fine wines, tapestries, collected crystals, baked goods and the incense. A replica display of what little the humans had presented at the foot of the seraphs. Untouchable beings with class and power much above your own. Kindness as well, so it seems; to be provided with just this and offer unparalleled assistance to a hopeless cause in the old wars. You wondered if they still watched from afar, curious to the well-being of their mortal neighbors.

"Dear, keep your mind with us. You'll be off shortly," one of the grandmas whisper, placing a carved selenite athame into a leather holster and slipping it into the confines of your robe, "For protection." You smile and thank her kindly, tuning back into the ceremony and waiting for the second elder. They continue to adorn you in charms and traveling goodies, eventually piling on unnecessary weight that will, for sure, slow you down in the process. The trek was basically a day’s trip. If you moved efficiently, you should be home no later than when the sun begins to set, in time for supper even. As much as you’d like to stay out longer, you dare not risk a night in the mountains.

“—this year’s representative will be just as prosperous. May she bring good fortune and health onto our town just as the many before her has done so,” the old cleric roars into the audience, just about finishing his speech as you start to listen. You hope he didn’t say anything too significant. Can’t possibly hang on to every dry word when you were so close to tasting temporary freedom.

You make your way into the parted sea of people, some who grip your hand as you walk by to invoke strength as you move along. A few grumble good luck’s and come back safe’s. Then an angry baker charging through helpless bodies.

“Take this, you stupid girl. You were supposed to stop by the bakery this morning,” Seokjin whines, thrusting what seems to be a warm pastry wrapped with cheesecloth into your hands.

“Thank—Thank you. I’m sorry, I didn’t want to bug…”

Jungkook pops in from nowhere, hitting your shoulder a little too playfully, “Chin up, love. Don’t be back too soon.” You nod shyly as he distances behind. Jungkook always had a strong nose for your facades but he also always kept your secrets. Clutching your things tightly, you watch your boots as they pick up speed through the mess of attention.

“Good luck!”

“Watch your surroundings, little one.”

“Come home and don’t wander off!”

You leave northbound until you no longer hear their cheers. Until the snow no longer has indented prints and you think you’re alone and off to the races. A sudden tension snaps when you release your sore cheeks from an artificial smile, not even aware you were sporting one in the first place. There was always a heavy pressure when you presented yourself to the public, and while you were no damn princess, everyone ensured that you at least feel the looming responsibility of one. Curse your family’s political ties and all that, otherwise you wouldn’t give a damn if you seemed like an old witch spotted once in a blue moon.

When you reach the border gate is when you see Taehyung for the last time today. It comes as a surprise to see him waiting for you like a loyal dog, dark hair sprinkled with snowflakes, red cheeks a striking contrast against the bright setting. If you were more grateful, you’d think he looks particularly good today. If anything, it strikes you more that you failed to see his face at the send-off.

“Hey. I didn’t want to do this in front of everyone else… and today of all days but if I don’t right now, I don’t think I ever will,” he jumbles. In his hands hold a scarlet scarf, the same one you had seen as a child when his mom would occasionally take care of you, let you help bake, and playfully dress you in her accessories. All but that scarf, folded neatly and tucked into a corner or her closet.

“Oh! Don’t touch that, love,” she said, “That’s something my mother-in-law made for me.”

You had pouted then, a spoiled brat of sorts. But Taehyung’s mother’s eyes were always warm and she spoke softer than cashmere, “I have to give that to my son when he decides to marry. Will you make sure he finds the right one, for me? You are his best friend, aren’t you?”

You remember the challenge you felt, yelling without hesitation, “Taetae will marry me! When we grow up I’ll be his bride and you won’t have to worry!”

She giggled in contentment, eyes squinted in a wide smile and petting you lovingly, “Ah, of course. I know you’ll be a wonderful wife, Y/N. Taehyung will be in great hands.”

“I had been there, you know,” Taehyung chuckles, “When you claimed you’d be my wife when we got older. I was hiding in the hallway and initially, I thought, ‘I’ll never marry my best friend!’. But, now… I just can’t imagine wanting to marry anyone else.”

You grin at him sadly. Of course he had been holding onto this his entire childhood.

“Taehyung…”

“We’re still young, I know that. I just want to give you this for your trip to make me feel more at ease and so you can think about it. You can take all the time that you need. I know Mother wouldn’t mind, especially for you.” You nod. It’s all you can do. Taehyung pulls you into a tight embrace and kisses your hair. When he pulls away, he wraps your neck into the warmth of the scarf you’d always wished to wear. But it’s almost suffocating now, locking in your fate before you even step out of the village boundaries.

“For now, just come back to me. I’ll be waiting for you no matter what you decide.”

You can fathom the communal disappointment of rejecting your strongest suitor. More importantly, you would be shameful to turn down his proposal. Once it was out there, there was no “decision”.

You can imagine your aunts now, squealing in delight and sewing from their best cloths.

Part Three

Though you never had the chance to explore much, this really was nothing you've ever seen before. An ominous stairway carved into rock weaved in and out of your trail which made it fairly easy to follow along. You can't imagine the labor that went into sculpting this far ahead and all the way up the side of the mountain; it was truly something mind-boggling. As the air begins to thin, the amount of snow starts to grow thicker. If you had waited any longer into the winter you wouldn’t even be able to see the path, you’re sure.

You only need to stop twice to catch your breath and sit down. Snacking on the bread Jin gifted you only a few hours ago. It’s satisfying to look back at the area you’ve covered, how small things look from your height and the beauty of a fresh snow blanket. The scenery to the riverbank was nowhere as near breathtaking to that of the mountain. A dreamscape of evergreen trees and varying shrubbery, crossing over a short wooden bridge floating over a near-frozen stream, even occasional wildlife prancing into view. The summit itself wasn’t terribly high. It was manageable to hike for the most part, more so that your goal wasn’t to reach the peak.

You could travel all the time, you think. Hike or take a horse somewhere farther than here but that’s not very practical. There was nowhere really to go and you didn’t have the luxury to just up and leave your household, and now Taehyung. The knots in your brain seem to loosen, blame the inclination and dry air infiltrating your head. Knowing your life was to be faced someday and all your immature ambitions to leave the village now seeming childlike and unattainable. The pessimism had yet to blow out your weak flame of philosophical rebellion but it was surely keeping you in check.

Judging by the sun's position, it's midday. Meaning it shouldn't be long before you catch sight of the "manor" and thus will be halfway finished with your journey.

You nearly walk off the cliffside before you notice the route's abrupt change and how it slithers deeper into the eye of the mountain. The farther you walk, the closer the earthy walls begin to shut in on you in a trench-like structure. It's even more unbelievable coming upon a short archway, perhaps man-made and mined through a boulder that could have fallen from atop one of the peaks. Being here, you realize, makes you feel small. Slithering through the terrain like a fairy in the tales your mother had told you at night. Of beasts and cryptids that could appear in the tangles of forest and vanish all in the same. There was a sort of dreamlike trance you found yourself in as you walked under the rock as if it were a portal.

And, unexpectedly, it's there. Atop a few more dreadful flights of stairs, hidden between an odd bundle of trees and beneath a fresh veil of snow, you can barely make out the silhouette of a house. It's still a bit far and eerily surrounded by fog but it's there and it almost looks as if it's... floating. Like a gateway to a secret nook of heaven.

It's one of those odd, puzzle-like mirages when you climb more steps to think you're only getting farther from the house. The swaying of branches keeps you from determining just how big it is and what it could possibly conceal. Even the atmosphere, chill and intimidating, makes your heart skip in perplexed anticipation. Having been at this for hours, if the staircase hadn't just ceased you would have kept walking straight into the dark wooden door.

But your aching legs find relief in the stretching flat surface of a porch and your exhilaration to reaching such a majestic destination that you could squeal. Of course, you don't, and instead get started at the task at hand.

You kneel onto the cool floor and begin to unload your things, neatly and without the need to rush. You lay stones on each corner of the tapestry to hold it down, you lay out the contents in somewhat of an aesthetically manner, you strike a match to light the incense and you mumble your thanks on behalf of the village, all as you were told. The snicker under your breath comes unwarranted as you finalize the display, even Taehyung couldn't have done this well.

It feels a little anticlimactic; a little short-lived. To have come up this whole way and spend a maximum of five minutes in somewhere you could spend days exploring. Idling, you can practically hear the warning clucks of your aunts engraved into your brain.

"Don't dilly-dally!"

"Come straight home."

"Even think of doing anything funny and I'll have Seokjin roast you alive."

Maybe it's why it's even more satisfying to you when you ignore them altogether, standing from your position and just dying to see the rest of the manor's exterior. One peek, one peek and I'll never stray from instruction ever again, you think. Just my last burst of freedom and then I promise to be a good girl with no more personality than a wet dish rag.

So you tiptoe to the massive door and lean your ear against it as if you could hear anything with its size and the strong winds. You questioned if anyone even lived here, void of any decorations or signs of recent activity. Maybe the deer would get to the food you laid out before someone even stepped foot on the property prior next Offering.

When there are no obvious indications of life do you weasel your way around the corner, an extension of the porch wrapping around the side of the house to much of your assumption and revealing an expanse of space. The cabin was two stories at the least, maybe even three if not had been for the first story windows and how incredibly tall they were. You could only imagine the comfort of being inside such a space, being able to wake and watch the snow behind a glass wall of incredible proportions. While you ogle the window do you, of course, fail to realize that it's transparent and startle a bit when something begins to move.

The reflection makes it a bit difficult to pinpoint, a large dark figure shifting ever so slightly in its confines. Like a complete buffoon, you near the wall even closer with squinted eyes just making out the shapes of an entity.

Whatever it is, it's incredibly large. A heart in shape and composed of monochromatic blacks, reaching the floor and surely much taller than you. It was killing you that you couldn't figure out what the hell it was, well-near leaning against the glass as you peer into the private space.

You freeze in place as the elongated heart is really in the shape of wings, accompanied by a body as they’re dragged behind it like a veil. Long and dark and ruffling occasionally as their owner rotates a bit...

But you don't get to see his face. The man in which you firmly believed could be nothing but a myth; as propaganda by the village elders to keep your actions in check. Rather, the seraphs were more authentic than you could have ever imagined, and as magical and inspiring as it may be, so are the Offering rules that are now proved and justified, and that could only mean that this was very, very unfortunate timing to be snooping around property that was not yours.

Your feet scramble backwards in attempt to flee out of sight, instead graciously slipping against the frozen wood and causing you to land quite harshly on your side. Your hip burns at the impact but more horrifyingly important, the crash rattles the side of the floating stoop and his eyes burn into your pathetic body. The moment is wedged between fractions of a second, eye contact barely existent but it's enough to see the daggers in the seraph's irises. It's enough of a warning for you to get back onto your feet and sprint as carefully as possible away from such a gaze that could light this winter wonderland into disastrous flames.

All that comes across your mind as you rush down the steps is how wrong you were. How you unjustly became more and more skeptical of the stories and legends of the creatures that existed in the crevices of the mountains. How numb you became to the warnings as your age drew near for your rite of passage. How much of a taboo you would become if you were to ever tell a living soul that you witnessed a seraph and its marvelous wings. Not that you would.

Your ability to run brings you to the realization that you forgot your things but it was beyond you now. For once in your life, you cherish the idea of being home and hiding under the covers in the tranquil warmth of a familiar fireplace. To dream away the moment that dark angel caught a sly fox trespassing into his territory and, rightfully so, looking as if he craved to skin it alive.

You yelp at the sudden caw of ravens as they fly overhead. Their screeches send shivers to your bones, a sudden chill slowing you down. Rustling in the nearby trees deem you completely terrified, a gut feeling deducting the possibility of winds blowing that strong in the middle of dense shrubbery. Your heart drops once more; your athame was left in the abandoned bag.

The last time you had seen a wolf was when you were barely a toddler, sleepily held in the arms of a younger (and much kinder) Mina. It lurked in the woods just past the fields, a little young and possibly separated from its pack. But wolves were smart and they knew better than to make trouble in a town of loud humans. You remember the way it pulled its ears back and slinked back into the sanctity of its wild home and never to be seen again.

These wolves were smart too, howling their announcement upon finding a small, weak girl all alone and oozing dread. Two pairs of eyes track you as their corresponding bodies stalk out of the bushes, large and sleek and beautiful. Both grey and both incredibly hungry, they begin to pace around you maybe 100 feet away. You startle back and up a stair, most favored option to return to the cabin and retrieve your bag, maybe stay near for a bit until the creatures leave but then another, black and larger than the other two, barks harshly and stands its ground on your sacred steps. You are royally trapped.

“Stay… Stay back,” you warn dumbly, looking to the only open direction in the woods. You wouldn’t be as fast as on the path as long as you had to maneuver through the snow but you could possibly break off a hefty branch. Enough to ward them off to get back to the cabin and pray that the seraph doesn’t pose more of a problem than flesh-eating hounds.

So you sprint, robes clenched in your fists and boots sinking into the pillows of ice, disappearing into the trees and disregarding the snarls that start up behind you. You look desperately for something, anything to help you. Snow begins to find its way into your shoes each time you trip over yourself, wetting the soles of your feet. Hands scraping against bark with each twist and turn and your fingers burn. You only look back occasionally, seeing no more than one pair of eyes at a time at a short distance. This must have been a fun game to them, howling their contents into brisk air.

The black dog truly appears from nowhere, a flash of teeth from your left peripheral before it tackles you to the ground the same moment you find a dead branch and thrust it into its snapping jaw. It all happens too fast. You yipe as you roll through the fall, wolf teeth still digging through your only weapon and snapping the poor thing to two. In pure desperation, you dig the sharper broken half into whatever it’s willing to hit. Fortunately enough, the wolf whimpers and tumbles off you. Then you’re off once again, adrenaline ringing in your ears as you don’t even care to recall which way is which, as long as it’s away from, what can you assume was, the Big Bad Alpha.

More howls from them, more cries from you.

You’re able to return to the path without another spotting. It turns out you were going the wrong way when you’re also met with the narrow exit and that cursed archway. A gateway to inevitable death.

Halfway through the gap in manic rush and you’re face to face with a beast so pale that it camouflaged with the flurry encasing you both. Eyes clear as water and almost… comforting. Even with the low rumble in its throat and one paw in front of the other in a slow, tantalizing chase. The others growl behind you, an enraged black-furred monster bleeding from its right eye socket turned quite smug now knowing that you were completely, utterly trapped.

It’s when the white wolf soundlessly drags a deep wound into your thigh while the three merely watch is when you ascertain that it is, undoubtedly, the pack leader. You fall back as the beautiful thing toys with you, snatching the front of your thick robe and shredding it with a sickening rip. You scream for the first time this entire chase, grabbing at Taehyung’s scarf in fear that it got caught along with it, caring for it more than your own life at this point.

The scream must have been piercing enough to discombobulate your attacker, it’s large ears flitting around as it jumps away from you. It’s even more of a shock when they all flee out of the divide, leaving you bleeding and too traumatized to move an inch. Whatever alarmed them devastates you even more.

The ravens caw loud and the ground vibrates. Watching the birds circle in the sky, you notice the way pebbles begin to crumble from each peak, how snow begins to over pile on such weak grounds and the way it begins to slide inward.

It’s an odd sound; snow sliding against other layers of snow and having so much weight that it pulls a few small trees with it. And this trench-like area only had so much space and you were positive the amount of white that begins to hurl towards you would fill it like a water cup; bury you with absolutely no chance of being able to dig your way out. Despite your fear, you cower at its charge and wait for the weight to hit.

And then your head lolls back against something wonderfully warm and dry. You were completely soaked but too exhausted to shiver. In your last moments of consciousness, with your neck craned uncomfortably, you see the ground as the sky and the sky as the ground and feathers as feathers. You think of home. Think of warm summers where you would dip your feet in the riverbed. Think of bonfires with Jungkook and Jin and Hoseok and even Taehyung. But everything is still snow and you think you’re beginning to loathe each damned flake. The only comfort you find is the homeliness of the carmine red material that blows softly against your face. With that and the fleeting thought that you might be righteously transported to heaven do you finally pass out.

Part Four

Yoongi wasn’t particularly fond of humans. Unlike his brothers and sisters that sympathized with such weak creatures enough to put their own lives at risk, it was just something he would never come around to understand. Species were organized and separated for reasons and intermingling was a curiosity that died ages ago for him.

Which is all a hypocritical contradiction when he sees you sleep soundly on his common room couch, changed into dry clothes and buried beneath a heap of duvets. Whatever had possessed him to go after you was pure impulse after the stunt you pulled on him. Prowling around on private property and, more importantly, breaking the village’s strict ritual rules. Catching him going about on what would be another unmomentous day in his schedule, creating enough of a ruckus to capture his attention, and then fleeing as a feeble mouse.

It’d be a lie if he had said he didn’t watch you scramble away down the steps from the comfort of his front door and a fresh coffee in hand, watching you stumble over nothing on your way. It was more when you had left your things like a pure imbecile, food and tools and all, and left without even waiting for the incense to finish burning. It was then that he came to the conclusion that you were incredibly clumsy and that served as entertainment to him.

The howls were his test of will. Knowing the dogs were way farther up the mountain than they normally were and supposing they had followed your poor, unfortunate soul during your trek, waiting for the perfect time to strike. And you were practically handed to them on a silver platter, considering you’d left your only knife on the cold wood of his porch.

Maybe he had come down, grumpily disturbed from his peaceful Saturday, more to save himself from cleaning the remnants of someone eaten in his vicinity more than the compassion to save you. But that was a tad bit too cruel, even for him. He thinks it was more of that uniquely curious glint in your eyes as you practically skipped into his sight. Daring enough to ignore those rather ridiculous warnings and try your luck. Delicate as a deer in hunter’s perspective. As often as he’d go out to restock supplies in neighboring towns would he never come across a visitor in his own domain. Call him quaint, but it was a mediocre surprise.

He prods the fire, making it crackle and reflame with more vigor. It had barely been a few hours since he’s saved you by the skin of his teeth, almost caught in the landslide himself.

He checks the wound on your leg once more, cleaning it again before securing it in bandages. If only he had gotten there faster, Yoongi tsks, but you’d strayed from the path and he could only follow the prints so quickly before they were covered by the flurry. By the time he found you again, you were knelt in front of the pack and submitting to your death. Had he not been on a hill, had he not been able to utilize his useless wings to glide down before the snow had claimed you first…

You groan softly, unable to roll around without a searing poker sinking into your thigh with each attempt. Contrast to the icicle state the rest of your body sported. You felt like hell. Like hell in hell guarded by those hounds. Hell in your thigh and hell in your head and hell in—

“Don’t move too fast. You have a fever and I just replaced your bandages,” a disembodied voice orders. Your eyes snap open to tall, wooden ceiling. Sitting up is your first horrible mistake, dropping back down immediately with a pained wheeze.

“I just said not to move too fast. If you can sit up normally, you should drink some water. I have some here,” it speaks again. You try again cautiously, blurry spots ruining your vision the farther up you scoot. A silhouette is kneeling beside you, maybe a cup in his hand but you’re too jumbled to confirm.

Yoongi tries his best to fold in on himself, lowering the obvious limbs stuck to his back and appear as human as possible. You wouldn’t be able to run again in your state but he tries his best to be courteous to your skittishness anyway.

“Where… Where am I?” You dazingly question. You don’t really… recall too much. Last memory somewhat muddled between your send-off and contact with those treacherous wolves, very few in between and serving no importance if you couldn’t remember how it ended.

“You’re safe in my house. In the mountains still. You passed out pretty good out there, been out for a bit. Now drink.”

It’s easy to do as your told with you’re running off little brainpower, downing the water hastily.

The voice scolds, “Hey, slow.”

At some point, you can see again. The blankets that cover you and the large room you inhabit. Of course, the seraph from earlier that awaits by your seat. His seat. But you feel no urgency to scurry into safety. You were discombobulated, sure, but you knew enough that this man was kind enough to bring you into his home and care for you. So you fold back the material slowly and watch his face contort into confusion as you try to stand.

“I’ll be on my way. I’m sorry to have bothered you. Thank you for treating me.”

“Woah now. You’re in no condition to be standing. Besides, the path is blocked. Snow was too heavy and caused a slide. I doubt it’ll clear until the spring,” he informs, looking out the window as if to drag your own attention to it. The snow stopped but it’s fallen a few feet, at least. The path, you remember, chased by wolves and led into an ice trap. The few split moments in which the man must have scooped you up before your demise, remnants of being carried back towards his estate.

His place, in which is even more amazing inside than it was outside, a luxurious wooden mansion of sorts, tall and spacious and filled with those incredible windows that displayed better than you could have ever dreamed. The man himself that sits beside you draws full attention. Despite his position, he was large and still intimidating as the moment you crossed sights for the first time. Hair matching his wings in dark palette, soft and delicate looking. His face anything but, sharp eyes and thick brows, lips that curved into a simper. Above all, he looked more human. Even as radiant and prepossessing as he was, if the cape of wings didn’t follow him where he went he would look just as human as the rest of the population.

“Are you a seraph?” You ask dumbly. Dumb, because he laughs and because he obviously is.

“Are you a human, pretty thing?” He retorts. There’s no condescending lilt to his words but it makes him seem otherworldly to you. With such a provoking question and your lightheadedness, he seemed a blessing to be inhabiting such an earth.

You melt into the cushions once more, leg throbbing and eyes heavy. You watch his wings as they bob with his breath, “They say it’s bad luck to lay eyes on the wings of an angel…”

“Why would that be?,” he scrunches his nose, maybe a little appalled by the idea, “Such a misleading myth. Besides, I’m no angel.”

You don’t know why he stands to leave the room after that, unnoticing how you fall back into sedation a minute later.

Part Five

You wake with clarity. Check your thigh to find it almost completely healed over except a now lingering scar. All’s left is a dull soreness but god it felt so much better. Enough to stand and stretch in the empty room. Enough to coherently realize that you only wear your underwear while the rest of your garments hang torn and sadly on the fireplace screen. It’s not as unbecoming if it had to be done for the sake of your health and wellbeing, right?

Getting dressed is easy when you don’t even bother with your robe, the gash decreeing it useless and instead tying Taehyung’s scarf around your shoulders as a shawl over your tank. You’re lucky it didn’t get torn.

There’s a fleeting moment where you really think you miss Tae, feeling a little regretful to being so afraid of his proposal in light of the recent accident. You’re sure he must be worried sick; must think you’ve perished under the debris and snow if he’s come to look for you. As his best friend, you solemnly wish he was here to hug you close and promise that it would all be okay. To fend off your shame and welcome you back into the village with teary eyes and a warm smile.

“Ah, human. You’re awake.”

You whip around to discover fox eyes in the door frame, poorly lit now that it’s nighttime. The moonlight pairs well with how it sits on his milky skin, almost something out of a painting.

“It’s Y/N. Not ‘human’.” You answer a little sharper than you mean. He notices too, quick to wave it off since he really had popped up out of nowhere. He tries your name once on his own tongue, a satisfying thing to say.

“Pleased to meet you. I’m Min Yoongi, in case you don’t want to call me seraph all the time.”

You suddenly grab your thigh, rubbing it over your pants in questionable disbelief, “How long have I been asleep? My leg is almost fully healed…”

He rubs at his eye, a little nonchalant about the scene at hand, “Only overnight and throughout the day today. It’s probably quarter to nine about now. I had medicine to help your cuts heal over nicely. Call it, uh, advanced seraph technology.”

The gashes hadn’t been incredibly deep to begin with, thankfully not going any further than the first layer of skin and just really causing some bleeding, but it was still amazing. The feeling is short lived. Even if only a day, you’ve overstayed your welcome.

“Thank you, um, Mr. Min. For saving my life and everything after that. I’d like to repay you sometime. But for now I’m afraid I should be heading back, I’ve stayed for too long. I’m sure I can find some way over the path.”

It dawns on you that Yoongi is a little facetious, especially when he purrs a, “Well you can do whatever your little heart desires, but I’m here to remind you that there is no path. Here, look out the window.”

You do, tiny bit distracted when he stands by you to point out the ridges of the mountains that surround you. “See those? How they curve in towards the top and how it sort of resembles a bowl? This area was made only for seraphs to get in and out of generations ago; flight only. Trying to climb it would be suicide on both sides. The path that goes through was strictly for human use, and if that’s blocked, there’s no way out, little one.” You weren’t the shortest in your village but Yoongi truly was massive, both lanky and filled-out somehow. Like there’s underlying strength to his lean build. You’re sure if you were to stand directly in front of him, the top of your head would barely surpass his sharp shoulders.

You disregard his name for you, a bit annoyed at this point, “Could you not fly me over the pass?”

Yoongi repeats in disbelief of such a daring request, “Fly… You over the pass… No. I’m sorry. I won’t do that. If you truly want to figure it out, you should do so soon. It's storm season."

Gritting your teeth, you express your discontent for once. What did he save you for, then? For points? You didn't know members of the almighty seraph clan were so keen to half-completed deeds. "And why not? Wouldn't you rather I be on my way? What am I supposed to do if I can't leave?"

"You forget yourself, Y/N. Did I not save your life? Chase after you and save you from being crushed? Buried alive?" He takes a second to straighten himself out, aware of how you look to your feet in frustration.

"Hey," he starts again, "I know you'd like to go home. I only tell you the truth of your situation in its entirety. If I could fly you over the pass I would but unfortunately, I'm out of commission."

You feel heat in your face, embarrassed of the way you address a complete stranger even after all the things he's done for you. But this was frankly a sticky situation to find yourself in, trapped and unable to get Yoongi to help you any further. Though you do wonder what he means by his last statement...

"I'm... I'm sorry. I don't mean to make demands. I'm just scared and in a place I'm not used to and I'm not quite sure what I'm to do from here. Is there no one else who can help me over?"

Yoongi averts his gaze before he shakes his head, "I'm the last one in this country."

That's even more odd to hear but you don't prod for information that isn't yours to learn.

In silence, you contemplate the work that even went into carrying another human body by use of wings that were structurally built for the owner's own weight and possibly nothing else. Now was not the time to be ignorant.

“What am I supposed to do?” You mumble weakly. Yoongi watches your gears turn warily, stress surely beating down on you.

He rubs his neck, ruffles his left wing, “Listen. I promise I’ll help you back come spring. You won’t be able to make a dent in the landslide as long as it continues to build with snow every night.” He tends to forget that humans are pack animals, often lost without one another and feeble in the hands of species not of their own.

Your doe eyes, beginning to well with tears, convince him over tenfold, “I’ll help you in any way possible to pay you back for all the things you’ve done. I know I’ve caused nothing but trouble but if you have the room, is it possible I stay here?”

And Yoongi had enough vacant rooms to house a whole herd of deer now that he’s been alone for these sum of years. It really was no trouble… and he could make use of you as long as you stayed. His brow shoots up, “You can stay.”

Your grin is enough to light the whole room encased in night’s darkness, looking back down to the ground now knowing you had some hope to hold onto in such an eventful day. A whisper of a thank you Mr. Min is thrown in and Yoongi can feel his fists tighten.

He clears his throat, standing a little taller than he already is and acting strict, “But there are some rules. And you can just call me by my first name.”

Part Six

It's always a little weird trying to adjust to new scenery. Though your past experiences have been anticlimactically different than this; not exactly the first time visiting a friend's house or dropping off delivered goods from Seokjin's shop and awkwardly facing an elder who forces you to stay for tea.

Yoongi had shown you around the areas you needed to know. Offered you the closest room to the main part of the house with a king bed, fresh sheets and your own majestic window to stare out of. The living room which you had rested in before and the kitchen, grand and spacious just like everything else. He showed you a greenhouse out back that was utterly ginormous. Stone walkways and a hot compost keeping it from freezing, rows of plants you both have and haven't witnessed before. And again, he showed you what you needed to know.

That goes onto the chores he assigned you as long as you stay, to help him clean come Sundays and manage the plants throughout the week which served as no problem. At least with horticulture you proved some use, struggling throughout the weekend to do anything else but cause Yoongi a bit of a headache.

Tuesday rolls around and Yoongi stops by your room with stationary. Tells you he has a messenger bird to deliver any letters you desire to send home and you hop on the opportunity quicker than the landslide had tried to eat you up.

Of course, it was an exceptionally long letter. Longer than the papers Yoongi had given to you and he had to fetch more when you looked absolutely devastated sitting at your desk. You began with the simple phrase, "I'm okay." Filling it with a volley of explanations and apologies, how you were nearly killed, how the seraph had scooped you up to safety and how you inhabit his home now until further notice. You write how you talk, sure the recipients are sure to read in hushed mumbles and run-on sentences. You explain that there's no use to try to get home now while the clouds continue to precipitate and gate your only exit from the bowl-like wonderland. You end with how you miss them already, a request to send back an update or two every once in awhile, and a final wish to have a happy winter without you (though you're sure they won't appreciate that joke).

You think, if they really receive the letter, how terribly furious they'll be with you. Taehyung and Jungkook will probably come hiking up the mountain to try to put a dent in the debris and fail miserably. Your aunts and how they must feel even the tiniest bit of guilt for thinking you so small and helpless. Mina and her jealous wonder that you've done it now, how you've seen a seraph before her and you're positive she'll have a flurry of questions when you return. When you return.

You come out onto the balcony to pay your respects to your so-called "messenger", pretty white thing large and wide-eyed. Humorous is the familiar to another winged being, bird of a feather, you chuckle to yourself. Yoongi pays no attention when he murmurs directions to the bird and sends it off, straight in the direction you were hoping.

Thursday and you think you finally have your routine down. No longer unsure in the hallways and able to sit when your work is done without feeling completely out of place. It's only when you're around the other member of the cabin do you feel a little subdued, reminding you that you burden him and quickly finding something to do out of that guilt.

❋

Today you feel a bit sluggish. You drag yourself down the corridor, opting for the bath until you see a dark head in an open room. Yoongi sits in his study, presumably reading with his back facing you. You can't say you've seen this room before, ceilings just as tall and walls just lined with books, journals, art pieces and things of the like.

"You can come in," he snickers suddenly, maybe feeling the heat from your eyes boring into the back of his head and warming the space entirely.

"This is amazing... Your collection, I mean." You force yourself down in a chair, hands trapped underneath your thighs in case they feel like touching anything.

"Thank you. It took quite a bit of time to build it up. Not by myself, of course."

It makes you ponder. If he's mentioned his state of loneliness twice, then your questions were expected.

"There were more, right? Family of yours? Why are you the only one left?"

"One question at a time, yeah?" He swivels around and takes off a pair of reading glasses that you would have liked to inspect on his face a bit more, "I can't leave because I can't fly, remember? They left because they held no other duty tied to this land. That's all."

You quiet. He returns to reading whatever it is on his flat desk. "Why can't you fly?"

"Because I was hurt."

"How were you hurt?"

"Next question."

"What are you reading?"

"A story of a girl with a terrible habit of too many inquiries."

"You know, I loved to read when I was a kid. All kinds of things. Novels, studies, maps even. Now I never have the time for such pleasantries." A wistful sigh leaves your lips.

Yoongi eyes you beneath his lashes, watches as you survey the room with giddiness and hands taut underneath your bum. "Why's that?"

You frown, "Too many things to do. Jobs and cleaning and family and stress. If I have time to read, I have time to be doing something more important."

His lips curl, amused at this little play-thing in his room. Like a child scolded all her life, whining and pouting in front of a stranger. Yoongi stands tall and shrugs his sweater tighter around him, "Well then, you'd better hop to it."

"Hm?" You squeak, chewing on your lip when you meet his eyes. So innocent.

"You only have the winter to read these. I'd get started soon. After work is done and you want to poke around in here, feel free to do so. Take them to your room if you'd like, just please return them."

And he swears he sees damn stars in your eyes before he turns and leaves the room. He hears your immediate footing once he's halfway to his room, little yelps of excitement enough as his thanks. Yoongi can't help but smirk, eventually floating away and speaking way out of earshot for you to hear.

"Nothing is more important than the things you want."

Part Seven

After a month, you find it a little boring. After receiving a teary letter of how your family misses you, not one ounce of scold or chastisement more than it was just wholesome relief to see familiar handwriting, their only wish was for you to stay obedient and not write so often as to waste poor Yoongi's paper. It was typical, somewhat stress-relieving. And that was that.

It was often you spent your quiet interest reading of botany and romance (in what little you found of it) preferably in his study on days he's holed up in his room. At this point, he still remains somewhat of a mysterious entity, conversing when he must and accidentally showing his face once or twice like a ghost. The only times you really see him are for Sundays with idle chit chat.

One particular evening you find an old, ratty recipe book. Handwritten and falling at the seams and that's how you know that there are some golden tips in there for you to test out.

You choose pumpkin bread. Something to warm the palette while ice continues to build outside. And working in Yoongi's kitchen by yourself was oddly fulfilling, no one to correct you or send you off to another job if you fail to do the first. It's probably why your bread turns out perfect, slicing the loaf and placing a piece on a small plate for a friend.

Rather, someone you'd like to establish as a friend.

You haven't seen him once today; not odd but a little lonely. Pacing on the carpets and looking for an open door with any sign of a sly angelic being. Even after a month, it's the first time you've freely made something with intents of sharing with him. Was that rude of you?

Coming upon a jarred entrance, you speak softly, "Yoongi? Are you in there?"

No reply.

You clear your throat and toe the door open just enough to stand in its frame, "Yoongi? I made some pumpkin bread for us—"

Thank your soft voice does it not wake him, still a snoring log in a bed even larger than yours. His limbs sprawled widely, laying on his stomach and breath soft and slow. Sleeping in the middle of the day while his guest slaves over the stove must be quite nice, huffing subtly and placing his plate on his night desk. Sure to be spoiled even more when he wakes to a treat.

As you turn, your eyes can't help but dawdle over the expanse of his wings. One covering a naked back and one hanging off the side of the bed, a marbling effect of muddled sepias and ink blacks, occasional golden ochre pigments seeping through the deepest layers of feathers. It was utterly breathtaking. This has to be one of the first opportunities you've had to inspect them so, equating staring at his monstrously large wings the same as blatantly staring at his junk.

You draw close like a moth to a damn flame, checking to assure he's still sound asleep. Reaching delicate fingers, you dare to lay a palm on the mass. It's surprisingly strong, an odd firmness as you slide your hand down silky plains and watch as the feathers ripple by your touch.

Then, as if you weren't dumb enough to foretell the upcoming events, he wakes.

A whirl of darkness encases you, whips you around so fast that you see stars in the middle of day, completely flipped and pinned to the bed beneath you. The intense heaviness makes you recoil, unable to budge your wrists and legs with Yoongi's strength.

And his face of unadulterated fury is one that would be ingrained into your memories forever. Pupils dilated and nose scrunched like prey warding off predator. Yoongi was surprised to say the least, a scared frenzy of confusion as he growls down at you.

"What were you doing, human?"

Your weeping gains no mercy, "Ow, you're, you're hurting me!"

"What the fuck were you doing?" He spits.

Incoherence is not what he asks for but that's all you can give, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I won't touch them again I was just—"

His wings which were so beautiful to you before, makes you feel nothing but fear now, flapping angrily as he keeps his balance and shrouding you in shallow lack of light. When he lets up on his grip, you gasp like he also held your breath. Immediate relief streams through your blood, though he continues to trap you between his thighs. He asks you again and you sob.

"You know what happened the last time I let one of your kind close? Nearly fucking killed me for no reason. You know why I can't take you down the mountain? Why I'm stuck here by myself? Because a goddamn human stole my ability to fly. I can't fly anymore, do you understand me? That's all that I was and they took it!"

Yoongi sees the pity etching onto your face like some sort of charity case. With your pathetic excuse for tears that claim to sympathize with him and it makes the bile in his throat grow. As for you, you could have never imagined such a travesty. Those words that seem to bounce around in your skull, to be wholesomely one thing and to be rid of it by someone else's doing, you could never relate to that.

You itch to relieve his pain in some way as if he never lashed out on you to begin with. Like you were the one truly at fault here even though you know it's a two-way situation. Your hands struggle to not touch his face, to attempt to alleviate those dark, regretful feelings. "Yoongi, I'm so sorry. I would never—I would have never known--I'm from one of the villages where we look up to the—"

"Yeah, well I don’t trust people," He cracks, lungs filled with muddled sorrow.

Both of your breathing is ragged. He takes his leave off your body and sits on the edge of the bed, wings lamely drooped.

"Leave." So you do.

Part Eight

You find the most beautifully carved wooden bow the next morning. Sun barely risen and adventuring around in nooks you haven't looked through before. You find it, accompanied by plenty of arrows, leaning against the wall right outside the backdoor. Though it's been months since you've last hunted, you ache to make use of yourself. Wearing bundled layers of the clothes Yoongi let you borrow from what was left and bounding through the condensed areas of the woods behind the cabin.

Food isn't scarce to hunt for, you've come to realize. Rabbits abundant and easy to kill once you got the hang of it once more. Two are struck and red seeps through white. You always sink your knees into the ground after each kill, whispering your thanks before you move back to the house.

Taehyung's father had taught you the basics of hunting and fishing and everything that came after that. Skinning and cooking and preserving the flesh something everyone in the village should learn to do, he had said. Even after your mistakes, even after your hesitation for your first kill, he'd always pat you on the back and reward you with the first bite of fresh food.

You miss them all, especially now. It wouldn't be long until you saw them again with maybe a bit of heightened skills. You hope they'll be proud of you.

Yoongi wakes a little after you're finished cooking the first rabbit. He stumbles in quiet and groggy, as if having no recollection of the previous altercation. But he doesn't speak, doesn't so much as look your direction before he plops at the head of the dining room table and begins to sulk in an odd inner-turmoil state.

You wait a minute or two by garnishing the meat unnecessarily; perhaps he was waiting to say something. To apologize. To ask questions. To kick you out once and for all. Well, you'll beat him to it then.

You set his plate down in front of him, the jarring sound breaking his trance enough where he can finally meet your face.

"I hope you don't mind I used your bow. I cleaned the arrows afterward and put it back where I found it," you hesitate. "I appreciate your kindness thus far; to take me in like this. I was a complete stranger and you gave me shelter anyway, so I thank you. I've packed and cleaned and I—I think it's time I leave now. I'll find a way to get over, I don't care. And I'm, I'm so sorry for all the trouble I've caused, Yoongi. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable but I overstepped my boundary way too far yesterday and I apologize profusely."

You find that you dig your nails into your palms as you talk, head craned parallel to the floor and you wonder if Yoongi could even hear you when you were so rudely speaking to the rugs.

"Stop, you don't... You don't have to leave. There's still no way you can get over the snow." He massages the back of his neck, tense in his own skin.

"I'm so sorry," you repeat. "I let my stupid curiosity get the best of me and I can very clearly see how that made you feel alarmed and uneasy and—"

He cuts you off, "You know the myth, right? How it's bad luck to see a seraph's wings?"

Confused, you nod.

"It's not literal. It's a metaphor that it's bad luck to see our vulnerabilities. Our faults. Years and years and years ago, when the war was still active, I got mixed up with a human. Within enemy boundaries. I was naive and trusting and they made use of that. They sought out my weaknesses, ate 'em up and covered my suspicions with false adoration and love," he says the word like it's an illness, "But then. But then one night, they put something in my water. Drugged me. Something was wrong and I didn't fully go under. I suppose their original plan was to take me, probably torture me as a prisoner. But I caught on and still had a bit of composure and when they realized the drugs didn't work, they sought to kill me instead. Used a dagger and plunged it into my back as hard as they could. Right," he reaches an arm behind and massages a spot, "Right in the cross-section of where all four wings meet. I should have been paralyzed but we're tough. I can still move them but I haven't been able to fly since. Thank heavens I wasn't killed but..."

You can tell by the way that there’s no emotion in his statement, how true it rings, "That day, I might as well have been."

You wipe the pools of tears with your scarf, heartbroken for the shattered man that sat in front of you. Having to bear the sight of his wings every day and full-knowing he would never be able to use them again.

His voice croaks, "In their eyes, my own family's eyes, I commit a sin just by making such a fool of myself. The war ended and I was punished. They left me here and claimed loneliness is what I deserve."

Yoongi then realizes he sounds as if he's trying to justify yesterday's actions and literally sinks to the ground, "This isn't supposed to be a pity party. I just thought you might want to know why I am the way I am and how I had no right to snap like I did. I know you're from the north most village. And that you would never try to do what they did and I was wrongfully paranoid."

Then, out of all things unexpected, he grabs a bare ankle and lifts it out of the length of your dress. When you hobble, he grabs your gentle hand with his other to balance you. He can see the marks he left, not too dark but enough to tell and he can't help but despise himself. In pure remorse, he presses his lips softly to each bruise, not lingering for more than a second, before cowering to the ground with his head low.

"My sincerest apologies, Y/N. You don't have to leave if you don't want to. I prefer if you wouldn't. I'd like to get to know you and redeem myself, as selfish as that may seem. Maybe, until spring, I can make up for the things I've said and done—"

You sputter, voice too high and full of embarrassment as you struggle to pull him up, "Please! P-Please get up! I am at fault here! Don't kneel, please! You have nothing to make up for!"

Mouth agape and eyes wide, he watches you yell your affirmations and weakly tug on his arm. It was like watching a little kid throw a fit and that makes him chuckle aloud, how could he have ever suspected you as harmful? When your large eyes shed tears like no other and you impulsively make decisions for others before yourself. You were kind and he could see that. He laughs hard and you stop your squawking.

In disbelief you fall to your knees right beside him, looking plain stupid while you're at it. It occurs to you that you've never heard him laugh like this, smile so wide that his eyes crescent endearingly and it just lights up the room. After watching his handsome face radiate forgiving happiness, you join in too.

You eat rabbit together. The conversations from there on out easier to come up with, more emotional and found in the midst of tranquil understanding. Like you now shared a bit more of each other than before.

Occasionally, you think of all the sadness he must have accumulated until now. Of the things that happened to him that shouldn't have, and those years of isolation and abandonment that he suffered. But now you realize, too, how he's able to laugh and continue on despite those melancholy winters in a desolate place that he once called home. How it's all he can do as his only sign that he's still alive.

Part Nine

The weeks after that seem to breeze past you; time racing when you have more things to do and someone to do it with. Yoongi really meant it when he said he would try to make up for his past harshness; never daring to miss a meal, spending more time in the livelier rooms if it meant that it was to accompany you, going as far as helping you out with your own chores if he hadn’t taken them over entirely. It was a polar opposite of who you knew before.

The first time he joined you to hunt again, in favor of how you had cooked his meat the last time, he layered himself in clothing that made his appearance softer than you’d ever imagined. Leaning towards darker garments that contrasted against his opalescent skin.

In some haughty attempt to show off your archery skills do you aim for a squirrel in a less-than-mediocre angle, letting the arrow fly without a second thought and piercing good ol’ trunk. Yoongi had a fabulous time laughing at your mishap, yanking the wasted arrow from the bark and handing it back to you.

“That was a horrible shot,” he said.

The temperature of your cheeks could have melted the snow, taking the thing with shaky, embarrassed hands, “I was being hasty.”

“You got two rabbits. I know you’re good. Let me just show you some things.”

You walked behind, letting him tread through the snow first so it was easier for you to fall into his prints.

“There. Squirrel,” he whispered. Probably the same one, mindlessly crawling up and down trees like target practice.

“Let me see your form again.” You aimed, self-conscious and probably showed it. You shivered when he swiped a hand under your grip arm, pushing it back.

“Keep it aligned with how the arrow is facing. Completely centered. You can widen your feet a little too,” his voice soft. “Don’t completely lock your elbow but tighten your back muscles before you hold. Does that make sense?”

“Mm. It won’t stop moving though, the squirrel.”

“Watch this.”

Then Yoongi had dug through the snow for a small stone with enough weight to throw. Aiming for a far tree to the right, he tossed just hard enough to cause a knock to echo in its vicinity. The squirrel halts, presumably looking for what caused the noise in its unknowing last thoughts.

“Shoot.”

And it landed perfectly.

He watched you silently each time you had knelt next to the victim and mutter your thanks, both sorrowful and appreciative. It was the first time he ever witnessed someone, frankly, talking to dead animals and at some point he asked you why you did so. You responded with a giggle, briefly claiming how all living creatures deserve the same respect, to be mourned, to not be wasted. Yoongi finds interest in the concept of valuing each as their own and of the same importance in the Grand Circle of Life, probably something his family would never have stopped to think about. The seraphs had always placed themselves above others in a deserving, self-righteous kind of way. It made him think.

❋

A particularly windy night and you caught him in the seat of his study's window, drawn to the mirage of colliding trees and listening to the croaks of the house on its plot. A muddled bottle sat on his desk, its glass counterpart being twirled in his hand.

"Do you like storms?" You asked.

"I didn't used to," he answered, unfazed by your sudden entrance, "Caused problems a lot of times. But I think they're pretty fun nowadays. And you?"

"I like when there's thunder and lightning."

Yoongi faced you at that, your twiddling fingers and the way you scanned the dim room.

"Would you like to join me for a drink?" Although it was a question he poured you one anyway, barely anything more than a few sips worth. Obliging, you took the liquid. Pride a little stung in all honesty, pretty aware of your high tolerance.

He tittered, "Don't pout. You can pour as much as you'd like. But this stuff is ancient, concocted from poison and the desire of Death itself. Watch yourself."

It was always a trait of yours to take on a challenge, though, ignoring his warning and foolishly gulping it down. The burn was subtle despite its awful, awful taste, yet you poured another and let Yoongi watch you spiral down the rabbit hole.

Two stories and one half-glass later and you draped yourself very unladylike on his desk, too warm and too moist and too loud.

"Yoongi..."

"Yes?"

"Min... Min. Mr. Yoongi."

"That's wrong but that's me."

"Yoongi you have to keep a secret. That I'm going to tell you! From Yoo—from Yoongi!"

"Wait, that you're trying to keep a secret from me or—"

You must had forgotten, instead focused on bunching your skirt and tying it higher up your thighs, "Soooo hot. Too warm. I'm going to leave it like this, ‘kay?"

"You don't have to pass it by me. They're your clothes," he said, biting back laughter. His accidental peak of pretty, bare legs could have made him think different though. Reverting his gaze back out the window, he wouldn't have been surprised to see lightning that night.

Taking his eyes off you wasn't his best idea. Hobbled out of his chair and sneaking to his place with hands buried in feathers before he could shy away. Yet the wonder stained your eyes with childlike amusement and he wouldn't dare change that face. So he idled in a flustered mess, relaxed in the way you unknowingly massaged his muscles.

"Pretty wings, Mr. Yoongi... Can I touch them?" You asked stupidly. Yoongi grumbled.

When you finished evaluating, you swiveled awkwardly and tripped over his knee, a yelp escaping your lips as if he wouldn't catch you in one swift motion and onto the safety of his lap. Yoongi could smell the bite of alcohol that stained your breath; could see how swollen and red and beautiful it had made your gentle face. The proximity was deadly and your innocent, apologetic features could have slain him right then and there. You didn't even make another peep, eyes drooped in what he assumed was embarrassment for your clumsiness.

In which he thought wrong, your hands slapping each side of his face and squishing it together horrifically. "Pretty face, Mr. Yoongi."

"Alright, time for bed."

You fought all the way until he tucked you in, out with soft breaths and sprawled arms. Even after he had laid you down to rest and calmed back in his lair, there was no slowing the fondness that grew in his ribs.

❋

You don’t know when you’ve started looking forward to Sundays, springing out of bed in the morning with a green thumb and a will to dig, or so you imagine. You knew Yoongi would be waiting for you in the greenhouse and spent a little extra time rinsing your face, doing your hair, and double-checking nothing was in your teeth.

Yoongi was already checking the pots when you had gotten there, wrapped in black per usual and winking as you walked by. The familiarity by now was tangible. There was always a nice flow to your conversations and Yoongi doesn’t back away when you naturally find yourself in his space like he used to. It was both a prideful accomplishment and an endearing new relationship that sparked joy every time you were able to do something together. To step back and see the difference over your time spent here, the things you’ve done, and the way Yoongi warms up slowly.

He watches you mindlessly hum as you harvest what you can, voice soothing when most times it would have been dead quiet. That’s what it felt like being around you: like a void suddenly filled, his whole being gravitating to your aura. You were addicting, if he had to admit.

The scarf, somehow pristine despite how often you wear it, is shuffled up your neck as you do one thing or another. Like a constant reminder that it’s there, you always feel the need to touch it.

Yoongi points to it, “Did you make that yourself?”

“Hm?” You follow his line of sight and crumple the red thing in your hands, “Ah! No. It… It was a gift.”

“Ooh, from a suitor?” He doesn’t mean any harm when he jests but it prompts the things you’ve left at home. No matter how much you’ve tried to suppress it down and not nitpick on the responsibilities you’ll have to return to. Awful as it seems, it makes you take notice to the sun and how it begins to peak out more with every day. You push the thought down once more.

Instead you laugh nervously. Yoongi knows immediately when you say nothing but, “Mmm…”

His gut twists from a melting of surprise and disappointment. How could he be so dim? To not even hypothesize the mere possibility of someone else being in your life. Though the feeling weighs heavy on his head, he speaks lightly and with a smirk.

“You must miss him then.”

“Yes. Of course. We’ve known each other since birth and have been best friends for as long as I can remember!” You chuckle, “He gave this to me right before I left and claimed we could get married once I returned. I was so shocked that I made myself sick thinking about going back. Just nervous, I suppose.” Taehyung, as expected, never said anything in the occasional letter updates to you. He meant it when he said he would only wait to talk about it for when you came home but you ponder how he feels now; what he’s been doing. If he’s changed his mind once he’s realized how incapable you are that you couldn’t even do the Offering correctly, but you know that isn’t true. Maybe just wishful thinking.

You throw dead leaves in the compost and Yoongi eyes you.

“’Shocked’? It’s not something you’ve been looking forward to?”

You look down, “It’s not that I—I don’t know! I just have seen him as family for so long and then there’s this sudden proposal without even talking about it beforehand… And everyone expects it. For me to just be married and have a family and all of that but I just, I just don’t see that for me so soon.” Your words begin to jumble and Yoongi hasn’t seen you so stressed within the span of twenty seconds before.

“Forgive me and my input but isn’t the most important thing what you want? You could just turn down his proposal,” He suggests like it’s the easy answer, hoping you don’t suspect a hopeful tone in there.

“Does it really matter what I want?” You stop to think about the people who matter to you and what would ease their minds most when it comes to your future. Marrying Taehyung seemed like the only option. “I can’t turn him down simply because I don’t want to. That’s selfish.”

“That doesn’t make very much sense to me.”

“Well,” you sigh, “in the village it’s courtesy to accept a marriage proposal regardless of how you feel. It’s the receiver’s obligation to be grateful towards—”

“Is that how humans treat their women?” Yoongi spits, agitated just by the thought. He leans against a table next to you, arms crossed like he’s simply not having it, “To ignore your own say and force you to think you should just be appreciative? That’s some bullshit.”

“It’s not as serious as I’m making it seem it’s just…” You think of your aunts and the elders and Taehyung’s mom. How you’ve grown into a nuisance, lacking here or there. The time where you were supposed to return to the village after a successful Offering and marry and finally be someone to be proud of. “In my case, especially, it’s probably better off I’m just someone’s wife. I’ve never been much to begin with.”

And that’s truly heartbreaking for Yoongi to hear, so much that he becomes enraged with whatever twisted society you grew up in, “Y/N. What have you been doing these last few months?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“I mean, what have you been doing? Just sitting around? Watching me sweep circles around you? Serve your meals on a silver platter and draw your baths? No, because you’ve been doing that yourself. For yourself. By yourself.” The look of confusion on your face causes him to huff before he continues. “Sure, you were a little rough around the edges with some things but who isn’t? You hunt, you cook, you read like no other, you do a lot of great things and it’s not because you’re trying to do it right. You do it right when you like what you’re doing.”

“Yoongi, I understand. Thank you but you don’t have to—”

He walks toward you, lecturing on. “I know it’s by unwanted circumstances. But has your time here been horrible? Have you despised being here and doing these things?”

Your answer is immediate, “No. Not at all.”

“Has it not been nice to have your own space and do things simply because you want to? Because you were thinking of yourself?”

“I-It has been… I don’t know where you’re getting at.”

Your legs hit the corner of another table and you notice he’s backed you up into it.

“So, you go back and you do what you want like you have here. Don’t worry about what they think. Wait until you’re ready. Marry for absolute, unwavering love. Be a little selfish,” Yoongi hooks your chin with his index and props it up. You didn’t even realize you were looking to the ground. “Look up.”

Your heart stammers, “But Taehyung…”

So Taehyung is his name, Yoongi thinks. He frankly does not care.

“Do you love him?”

“W-What?

“Perhaps I was mistaken. Do you want to marry Taehyung because you truly love him?”

You see his lips before you hear his words, parted and nearing you bit by bit. So close that you feel his warmth, aching to close the distance. “I…”

A shovel clatters onto the stone and Yoongi removes his arm that’s found its way around your back, shuffles backwards and lets your hand fall from his face. It was natural to touch him, you realize, unaware that you feel distant and cold when he’s away.

Yoongi picks the damn thing up and curses. It wasn’t like him to be so forward, close to doing the unimaginable to you. You, who was involved with someone else. Heading towards the door, he ruffles his wings like he’s restarting.

“Forget I said that,” he requests, “I’m going to wash up.”

You nod, frozen in your spot with legs too unstable to dare walk. Without even knowing you had reached for him, so close to doing something you’ve only been secretly daydreaming about of recent and how incredibly wrong it was for you to think this way. But in another sense, you would feel worse lying to yourself by saying you weren’t attracted to the seraph. It was a twisted contradiction of emotions and you could scream.

Needless to say, you don’t see Yoongi until the next day, and even then nothing is mentioned of the almost.

Part Ten

On Tuesday, the bird returns with a letter from your family and Taehyung. It’s brief, with evident relief that the snow is melting and how happy they’ll be to see your face. Your heart sinks at how much you miss them yet how angry you are to receive the letter. To what extent would they be happy to have you home? Until you dare humiliate Taehyung when you turn him down? To dishonor your name and his parents and gain the glances of people who care more about your failures?

You calm and shoo such immature feelings away. Yoongi is confused when you don’t send a letter back and you return to your room early that night.

❋

You haven’t had a full night’s rest that entire week. You’re sure Yoongi notices the tension and that makes you feel horrible, but the lingering necessity to run to him and never go back to the village is too prominent to just face head on.

He’s been checking the trail every day, making dents on the softer parts of the snow when he can and updating you when he returns. You know he doesn’t want you to leave and you know he thinks you feel the same. Maybe it would have been better if you hadn’t said anything about the proposal that day.

Flipped onto your back, you stare at the ray of moonlight that floats atop your bed. You would miss it here, so much that it hurts your throat. You would miss the windows, the kitchen, the greenhouse, the library that Yoongi was happy to share. It goes without saying that you would miss him the most.

Unprompted imaging of a possible future with him interrupt your thoughts, something so uncertain and fortuitous in comparison to the stone-set fate you have now. What the stoic seraph would think if you just asked him to stay a little longer, until you know you would never leave. The landslide and how much you had hated that unfortunate event seems so insignificant now, replaced with a dimmed appreciation for this life detour, no matter how short lived it will end up.

You’re probably on the verge of sleeping now, thinking of the incident and it’s wild connection to your present out of pure lunacy. You could bet your entire existence on the fact that you were meant to meet him; your entrapment by the snow no mere coincidence. Neither was Yoongi’s endless solitude atop this mountain. It had to be fate that you two were to meet at this moment and your heart feels it so strongly.

Even for you this could be too far-fetched, or maybe you were just trying to cover up the way your heart is undoubtingly falling for Min Yoongi.

Final Part

You prod the logs, provoking them to catch more of the fire. In your last night do you decide to pour a glass of wine, kneel on a pile of blankets and snack on the charcuterie board you made for yourself. In the past, you used to be so hesitant about helping yourself to the manor’s amenities, having no problem doing it now.

The lame, weak fire is your only source of light in the large living room, clouds blocking the moon from shining through. You feel, immaturely, just as cloudy. Set in your intentions to leave your feelings locked away as to not cause more trouble, confusion, and inevitable heartbreak.

“You look quite comfortable,” Yoongi surprises you and he can tell when you jolt. Speaking of the devil. He looks great in the dark too, leaning against a wooden pillar with folded arms.

“Well, it feels like I’ve lived here for quite a bit. Just,” you break to sigh with exaggeration, “soaking it in before I leave. Too beautiful to not.”

If not for the crackling between the wood, it’d be dead quiet.

“Would you like to join me?”

He titters, rolling his eyes before he walks your way. Laying on his side, you offer him your glass. “I hope you don’t mind that I used the wine from the ritual contents. With the stuff you normally drink, this must be nothing.”

“Like water to me but I’ll enjoy it nonetheless.”

You cheers to nothing with one glass to share. Occasionally picking off meat and fruit from the board and enjoying how the fire builds up.

“Your family will be so happy to see you.”

You hum. You suppose they would. Avoiding the bitterness you still associate with the thought.

“And I’m sure Taehyung will be too.” He says a little clipped. Not in a way to be facetious or sarcastic but because he feels the need to address it.

Yoongi is caught on the carmine scarf again, downing the rest of your poor wine.

Forcing a smile, you speak faintly, “Let’s not talk about that.”

At this point you both know. He nods to keep you happy, but there is no hiding or pretending. In front of the flames, your lies and justifications seem to melt away unspoken. Changing the subject, you shove him lightly, “You’ll miss me when I’m gone. I don’t think you’ll ever learn to bake as well as I do.”

He tuts, which is refreshing. “I’m great at cooking and baking, I’ll have you know. It was just nice having someone else do it for once.” You feign betrayal and scoff aloud. He mumbles low, “But I’ll miss you for more reasons than that.”

And he breaks an unmade promise not to bring it up again. Feeling the need to throw it out in the open and even with the simplicity of admitting that he’ll miss you, you really know what he means. The seraph feels for you. He feels deeply. Yoongi doesn’t expect a response, just pops more food in his mouth and rests his eyes.

You contemplate, following suit with a bite to a grape and thinking hard. What to do. What to say. How to say it if you did. You weren’t supposed to feel this way and it goes way beyond the rule of even coming in contact with a seraph, let alone unconsciously falling in love with one.

But that’s just it: how you live by assumptions and rules based off the words of the ignorant villagers and the elders, how they all believe the seraphs are all still here, how they think there’s a direct relation to the Offering and a year’s good harvest, how it’s bad luck to see a seraph’s wings when it’s brought you anything but. If you learned anything from this winter, it was that you found you own way of living, thank the curiosity your home curses you for. Making your own path instead of aimlessly walking one that was already paved. You learned to trust yourself a little more while Yoongi propelled you forward and believed you deserved it all. You learned you did deserve more. You learned what love really felt like when it was new and fresh and exciting and real. And Yoongi. Yoongi, Yoongi, Yoongi was the wine to your previously empty glass, and this winter with this man, it was heaven.

You decide the realization is enough for you. Have been gifted with so many things and blessings that you’re grateful for the chance to have met someone like him.

“I’ll miss you, Yoongi.”

Yoongi tastes bitter in his mouth. He felt that if all these years left alone in a manor of silence and rejection was to eventually meet you he would do it a million times, but if all you could reciprocate was this then it just wasn’t meant to be for him. It felt unfair but it also wasn’t his decision. He takes the sourness with him and stands. “I suppose I should head to bed.”

Your sad stare breaks his heart, even more so when you give up and nod. The fire catches your attention as it pops and you leave it at that. He tries to walk away, footsteps haunting, until he stops altogether.

It comes unexpectedly when he wraps his arms around you tightly, pressing his knees into your back. A weird sight it is to see his wings unfurl and curl around your rigid body. “Are you satisfied? Is this enough for you?” His voice is soft, like he could take either answer as long as he heard it from you directly.

“No.”

“Why don’t you ask for more.”

“You’ve already done too much for me, how could I possibly ask you for more?”

He hisses liar into your ear. “Is it your family?”

“No.”

“Is it him? Taehyung?”

Here you are again, faced with a question that tore you apart in the garden while you ached to be with Yoongi anyway. But there were no distractions here; nothing to interrupt your thoughts. Just you, Yoongi and your truth. He loosens his grip so you can face each other, knees between knees. Instinctively, you reach out for his feathers and indulge yourself with their softness. He pushes his wing into your hand as if to bribe you like a child.

He grows impatient, “Do you love him?”

You don’t waver, “No.”

A quick glint in his eye, a sort of relief, and then he finishes what he’s started and kisses you. It’s wrong how right it feels, lonely lips moving in tandem to find comfort in one another. Yoongi leans into it, absolutely devastated by your simple touch. The strength of the wine remains on your lips and he can’t help but lick into the flavor, drunkenly entranced by such luxuries. Yoongi’s hands can’t stay, snaking up your back, caressing your face, dragging his knuckles across your jaw and finally grabbing at the scarf. Carefully, he unwraps it from your neck, slow enough to feel it tickle your shoulder blades, before he folds it respectfully and places it elsewhere.

You sigh, more weight taken off your shoulders than there should be.

“Is this okay?” His voice raspy, speaking into the corner of your mouth. You’re stiff, nodding shyly and lacking the fire you brought up until this point.

He rewords, “Do you want me?” Yoongi feels the need to confirm, waiting for this moment for so long that it seems superficial. Like if he’s not careful, you’ll disappear into another one of his many short-lived dreams.

“Of course I want you, Yoongi. I want you more than anything…” But your eyes flicker to the ground, your lip tucked between your teeth.

“Then what’s wrong, lovely? You don’t have to.”

“No! I want to, I just… I’ve never done this before. I want you so bad but I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing—”

His laughs are light, his hand on the small of your back as he dips you onto the floor. Holding himself above, he plants a soft kiss on your cheek. “You don’t have to do anything. I’ll take care of you. I want you and we’ll go slow and if you decide you don’t want to anymore, we won’t.”

The way he makes you feel, how gentle he is, you couldn’t imagine a more perfect way for this to happen. It eases you slightly, letting your arms snake around him in an attempt to let your guard down. He’s patient and wonderful and you mumble about it. “Mhm, okay.”

The night robe he’s gifted you now poses a problem, his slender fingers looping through the bow that keeps it wrapped, “Can I?” You nod again, and he unties you like his own present. The feeling of being bare in front of him becomes apparent when he sucks in and the heat from the fire dances against your skin. Other than that, you look to the window to avoid his face.

“My love, look at me.”

His commands are easy to follow but you cover your breasts to hang onto your last bit of pride, granting eye contact at the least.

Face flushed, you can tell he, too, is trying his best. “You’re incredible. More prepossessing than I could have ever imagined. You shouldn’t be embarrassed in front of me.”

“Well,” you retaliate, “it’s hard not to be when I’m the only one naked.”

He grins at the challenge, sitting up to shed his layers, never noticing his garments having to wrap around in a way to accommodate to his wings. You just thought it was just a more ornamental way of dressing that the seraphs took to. He’s left down to tight underwear that hugs him incredibly, beautiful milky skin exposed and tinted with golden light. “Satisfied?” He lilts.

“You look like an angel,” you trace indents of faint abs. Wide shoulders that taper into a tiny waist, a slim build that you could study forever.

He kisses your words away, pushing you into plush comforters and pillows. A makeshift nest unintentionally built for the two of you. A groan rewards him when he licks your bottom lip teasingly, taking your wrists swiftly to pin them above you. “Pretty thing, I don’t have a halo.”

He starts from the top, kissing each inside of wrist before moving down your arm, slithering onto your shoulder, then into the crook of your neck with gentle suckles. Teeth grazes before puncturing, eliciting a yelp from you that satisfies him. He does this over and over, decorating the canvas of your neck.

“I want to burn you into my memory. I don’t ever want to forget this,” he moans with a wake left down until he meets cleavage. His muscles were relentless, impatient and eager, wanting to worship ever square inch of your body as you rightfully deserved. Your squeaks serve his purpose, his muse as he continues his ministrations down.

Out of nowhere, “I don’t want you to leave me, Y/N.” The profession makes you giddy, happy you’re not the only one who feels so. A hidden insecurity acknowledged and lifted.

“I don’t have to if you don’t want me to.”

“Let’s talk about it after?”

“Mmm.”

He reaches your stomach and doesn’t hesitate to nibble there too, flinching when your hand flies to his head and buries itself in his hair. He ditches his current plan to grab your hand and plant a kiss to your palm in a second, making you giggle.

He admits, “I like when you touch me.”

“I want to. I feel so useless letting you do this alone.”

“You’ll get a chance if you’d like later. But right now, it’s all about you.” Husking it out. Of course, the idea sounds blissful, but the scene of having you cum by his actions sound better. “Need to cherish what’s in front of me properly.”

So he dips dangerously, laving at the skin above the hem of your panties and hooking his fingers under the sides, “Please,” he breathes.

“You… can do whatever you’d like to me. I want it all.”

He tugs his lip between his teeth, pulling it down. An unexpected wetness strings between your skin and the cloth and you both see it; him amazed, you horribly mortified. You stutter trying to explain yourself, oblivious that you could even feel as aroused as you do now. But his forehead falls onto the jut of your hipbone and you can hear subtle teasing in his tone. “I-I’m just as nervous and that was so incredibly sexy. I don’t think I can go on, shit.”

You laugh stupidly. “Quiet! Not another word! Just hurry up and—”

That terrible habit of looking away becomes your biggest fault, unprepared for Yoongi to filthily bury his tongue into your heat. He flattens his tongue and tantalizingly drags up until he can just barely flick your clit with the tip. Growling in the process.

“You are so sweet. The sweetest I could ever have. You will be the end of me.” Rushed in panted breaths as he does it again. And again. And again. So much that the growing sound of wet against wet echoes in the empty room and renders you paralyzed.

The feeling of it makes you squeamish, like you want to move, buck your hips, pull his hair. Despite the lewdness of having his rough tongue against you and lapping you clean, you could never ask him to stop.

“You just… keep getting… wetter…” He says between turns. “You really wanted me this much?”

“Yoongi—ah! Please, I can’t. It feels weird.”

“You don’t want me to continue, my love?” He asks lightly, blowing cold air onto damp skin and really forcing you to buck.

“No! I just… I have never felt like this. I want you to but I can’t sit still.”

“Oh? Let me help you then. But you have to let me finish.” So you shyly nod and loosen your legs. He uses the prompt to scoop them underneath his arms and attach the back of your knees atop his shoulders, your hips curving up and towards him in a new, tight position.

“Yoongi!”

“No matter how you feel, just let it happen.”

Sultry wails are music to his ears when he brutally sucks on your clit, licking your folds here and there and using all his strength to keep you in place. He spells out his love with his tongue, digs it into you sweetly. His power, though, anything but kind.

“Uncover your eyes,” he orders deeply.

You whimper, begging for mercy.

“Look. At. Me.”

Unveiling your view, his stare immediately burns into your veins. Looking at you under dangerously slanted lids and that sinful mouth. Holding you in place with strength that could leave prints into your soft legs. With one roll of your clit under his teeth, you feel in ways you never knew how, as if all the pressure that built up in your abdomen suddenly overflowed with a tight burst. Choked sobs and hand gripping his hair enough to make him moan into you, vibrating wonderfully as he works you through it.

He lets you go, remnants of syrupy arousal trickling down his chin; watches your legs fall open widely and your chest heave for air. Your features bring him joy, loving the way your hair sticks to your face with sweat, eyes closed, and brows knit together in concentration. He loved seeing you painted in warm hues and although he was never an artist, he could replicate this scene exactly how it’s displayed in front of him.

“How do you feel, lovely?”

You respond with a weak smile. “You’re so cruel… Min Yoongi.” You felt flimsy; weightless. A feeling you could come to love too much if you aren’t careful.

“I just wanted to make you feel good,” slithering back up to rest his head in your neck, giving you more kisses like you haven’t had enough. You’re happy he’s back, massaging your hands over his torso, up his neck, down his spine. And then you hit it and he tenses.

Thick and raised, an area between his wings that softly juts out. It was fairly large and the texture varied from the rest of his beautiful planes of skin. It was a scar. Wide as a dagger.

“I wish it wasn’t there. I know it’s—”

“Yoongi, baby.” You nudge him to lift his head and he does unwillingly, face turned away. “My Yoongi, it’s nothing. What happened was horrible but it’s over. And I will do everything in my power to make it up to you by giving all of me.”

His lips stop you tenderly, a whisper of affection that pours out love, “You didn’t do anything. In fact, you’ve made me better. I wasn’t able to feel anything for a long time until you. So. Thank you.”

Any remaining embarrassment vanishes. Not when Yoongi’s done his part and you would do anything to take care of him.

Sweat molds your bodies together, heat emanating from a fire that’s ablaze now. There’s a private summer in this room while winter continues outside and it feels special to you. It’s hot here, hot when Yoongi scrapes his teeth against yours, hot where his pelvis lays. You take notice to the hard thing twitching against your thigh, making you flinch.

“Ah, I’m sorry. And we’re in A Mood and all.” Yoongi snickers.

“Don’t be,” you purr, feeling a bit lustful and reaching down to grab it through the cloth.

He hisses, “Fuck! Fuck, please, I’m so sensitive at the moment.”

Ignoring him, you unskillfully maneuver your fingers around him. Just touching to be familiarized with it. He surges forward accidentally, sighing in your ear as he shamelessly humps the space between your groin. You use his distracted state to pull his shorts down, the sudden reality of his skin touching yours bringing about sensual noises from the both of you. A sudden spurt of precum makes it easier for him to drag his heavy cock against your hip.

“I’m sorry. It just feels so good.”

“Stop apologizing. I’ll help you.” You stare down as you flick your wrist, encircling him with fingers shaped in an o and pumping him slow.

“Squeeze,” he pleads and you oblige.

“Is it… supposed to be this large?” It’s a stupid question to ask, especially when you’re not entirely clueless. You know his size exceeds average proportions.

“Don’t spoil me. Seraphs have always been larger than humans. Height wise, I was the smallest of my brothers though.” Which seemed unimaginable to you, not when he towers over you and could easily devour you in a hug. Cock hanging low and barely able to keep in your single hand. He must be acting coy.

“Now you’re just bragging!”

“I’m just being honest. I’m automatically pleasing to the likes of you,” he chuckles.

The dampness overflows, smears over your skin in incredible amounts and how you wish you could taste out of pure curiosity, but he has other plans for you.

“I don’t think I can hold myself any longer. Please.”

“That’s… fine. Um, should we? Like this?”

“It’s so hot, could you flip on your side?” You roll and he figures he’s made a mistake. Entranced by the way your weight, breasts and soft curves, naturally gravitate down in a seductive pose.

“Like this?” You ask, unaware that he could simply die right now.

He lifts your leg to rest on his shoulder again, easy to stretch. “Perfect, my love. I’m going to go slow. If it’s too much we can try again another time, okay? No rush.”

Challenged by his kindness, you shake your head, “I’m fine. I’m ready.”

Whatever’s left of the arousal between you both is more than enough to let him enter easily. Head of his member no problem to push past that initial tension.

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

But it’s his shaft that makes you keen, entire length seeming endless as he fills you and overloads your maximum space. You cry, nerves making you writhe, “It’s not going to fit all the way—hah…wait.”

Yoongi struggles to hold himself back, perspiration dripping down his nose, “Are you okay? Does it hurt? It doesn’t need to, I’m pretty close to being all the way in anyway.”

“I’m fine,” you pant, head lolled to the side as he stretches you out in an odd, numbing way. “You can… you can move.”

His hips test it, pulling out so little to only be sucked back in with a leveled grunt. “Baby, you’re barely allowing me to.”

“It feels so tight,” you sigh, worried that if you move it’ll really begin to hurt.

“Ah, really? Let’s do this then.” He quick to please, wanting your pleasure before his own and getting you to flip, propped onto your elbows and filled from behind. Smooth chest meets your arched back, him hiding a kiss below your ear while he’s there. A moan aches in your throat as his dick unintentionally digs deeper inside, easier to move and to the hilt.

“Is this better, Y/N?”

“Hah… Yes. Yes, so much better. So good. Please move.”

His hips roll, just enough to grind into you which feels nothing but euphoric in itself. You mimic each other’s lusty whimpers with every movement. Caving into each other’s kisses and licks and pants that you feel synchronized.

Yoongi grows impatient with himself, exaggerating how he pulls out and slams himself back inside. The mere force that he fucks into you sends you forward, opting to lay on your chest and bite the blankets beneath you to keep from screaming. “You feel so good. So, so good. I’m sorry it hasn’t been long, but I feel like…”

His wings fall at his sides and cover you in shadow. It’s weird to see them like this, in a way you could imagine the perspective of having them yourself. But it covers you in unnecessary warmth and makes you grunt.

“It’s hot,” you admit with a quick breath, “Let me on top. I’ll finish.”

The way his member slides out; the way it leaves you tensing over nothing is a sad, needy feeling. You don’t slow at the chance to lay him down and take control, straddling him and watching his face contort in loving awe.

Sitting on him is an entirely different feeling and Yoongi keeps himself from cumming inside you right away, a choke in his throat. “Fuck, fuckfuckfcuk. Y/N, I won’t last like this for long please—”

“I’ll make it quick.” You lean over him, palms to the ground as you start moving, grinding and using him to your advantage. The nerves start again and you shake with pleasure.

“Yoongi, Yoongi, Yoongi!”

Slender fingers dig into your velvety hips as he forces himself into you with harsh, quick jabs. “Baby, I have to cum.” He smooths his knuckles over your cheek, pulling you down into a tongue heavy-kiss in an impossibly fiery caress.

The ramming he enforces take incoherent sobs from your lips. You feel a ghost of a smile, sure Yoongi is enjoying your shameless display of indulgence; coming undone before his very eyes.

You arch into him, clenching tighter and falling onto his chest. With impeccable timing he pulls out, strings of hot white flooding between your stomachs.

“A lot,” you complain.

“Mmm. Because I’ve been waiting so long to have you.”

Without the pressure of moving, you lay on him despite the humidity. Petting the underside of his wings as they drape so gracefully against the blankets and the rug.

“Yoongi?”

“Yes?”

“I need to go home tomorrow.”

His heart sinks, “Oh?”

“To see my family. To come home and let them know I’m okay.”

“Yes, of course.” He’s afraid that you won’t come back, though.

“And… to turn down Taehyung’s proposal in person.”

Yoongi looks down and can’t see your face but he’s imagined it’s worried. “Y-Yeah?”

“Yeah. And Yoongi?”

He waits. You speak again, “Do you really want to be with me? For me to stay?”

“More than anything.”

He feels the tug of your cheeks on his chest; a wide smile.

“Then I’ll need to get my stuff.” And that makes him want to cry. After traumatic betrayal and years of loathing his punishment of isolation, he’s finally being let out of his cage. Free to be with someone that cares for him as much as he cares for you.

Your last thoughts remain on the fire and how it’s the only other entity to to swallow your talks, plans and confessions. Of his feathers like his arms as they fold in comfortably next to you, feeling like they’re meant to be there. Like you really were fated to be skin-to-skin with this man in his manor. Entwined by trust and love and an unprecedented future that would be everything as long as he’s in it. An irony of a useless girl and flightless wings.

Yoongi watches you fall under, wiping his thumb over your lips, trailing it down your chin and covering your naked body with his wing. Slumber finds him soon after, mind stuck on his self-epiphany that he had to lose his wings to gain you, and how incredibly lucky he is to have it that way.

a/n: ahAhaA, i’m sorry. please feel free to let me know what you think.

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