#because it felt like there was no real evidence aside from a purple glow (which Moebius already has lots of)

[anxious-lorf]

U G H H H H

[kryativelogos]

The Young Six's Elements

Hi hello! Since MLP G5 is coming out soon, I thought it’d be fun to explore and discuss the Young Six’s elements from G4! This may or may not be long based on how you look at it. I would also say spoilers but guys, this show ended nearly 3 years ago.

Let’s get something right off the bat, these elements will be different from the Mane 6′s for two reasons: (1) the Pillars had different elements from the Mane 6 which leads me to believe they are stemmed from one another but not 100% identical and (2) that based on the colors from S8E26 when they pulled out the artifacts, Gallus isn’t- magical, not in the old-fashioned way that Twilight or Starswirl is at least. So I will be coming up with “new” elements that encompass the Young Six’s character while staying true to their predecessors. I also want to focus on the idea that each of these groups had an underlying goal, the Pillars were protecting a ‘primitive’ time for ponies, while the Mane Six were focusing on relationships between ponies and later extending out to other species. I want to believe that the Young Six’s goal would be to strengthen relationships between different species and unifying them under friendship based on how they’re all different species themselves and are connected to the rulers somehow.

Gallus - Guidance Gallus glowed purple, which means he is most closely related to Twilight (Magic) and Starswirl (Sorcery). Which might not make much sense here since again, while he is considered a magical creature, most creatures in the MLP universe are considered as such (and honestly the definition of what is and isn’t a magical creature is a completely different discussion all on it’s own). But because Twilight’s strongest magic is ✨The Magic of Friendship✨ I’m going to run with that. In S8E22 Gallus’ fear was being closed in / tight spaces, which I personally believe this to be physically closed in but also metaphorically closed off from people around him. In S8E15 Gallus explains that there really isn’t much of a family at home and that he really believes he found his family in the Young Six. So I picture him as both the leader of the Young Six because of Twilight’s and Starswirl’s own status of their groups and also that he values family the most. I want to also add that in the future (S9E26), he also becomes a guard for Twilight’s Kingdom. I believe that because of this, Gallus is basically ‘the head of the family.’ He is the supporter, the protector, and therefore is the one that would want to guide and help others around him to the best of his abilities. He even showed this while helping Silverstream conquer her own fears in S8E22. Gallus is the element of Guidance because while every-creature is capable of learning and making mistakes on their own, having someone there to help and just support them is always something nice.

Ocellus - Inspiration Ocellus glowed white, therefore closest to Mistmane (Beauty) and Rarity (Generosity). Ocellus’ fear (S8E22) was being feared again - as a species - and being “ugly and hideous” because she looked like Queen Chrysalis. However, the beauty Mistmane represents is not skin-deep, it’s the beauty within a person and Ocellus learns to love herself as a ‘reformed’ changeling - you can see this in S8E1 when she tries to pretend to be a dragon and pony to blend in and learning to just be herself and share her talent to help in the best way possible (see S8E2 + E9 at least). Her generosity comes from her love of learning and studying, giving her time and love to help the other students study and share the information she learns with others (S8E22). I see this as almost being a mentor or tutor, and giving your time for others is the greatest form of generosity in my opinion. This is why I believe Ocellus’ element would be Inspiration because as a changeling she is inspiring others through teachings and also sharing her past with others, and potentially shapeshifting into other creatures to show them all what they can be.

Silverstream - Curiosity I think Silverstream’s might just be the easiest one to explain. She shares characteristics of Laughter (Pinkie Pie) and Hope (Somnambula). Silverstream's past involves the Storm King and hid all her life underwater, so the problem here is she doesn't know anything above the water until the King's defeat (see MLP: the Movie). So when she is above the surface, she's constantly interested in everything (see S8E22 where she gets excited over plumbing) and wants to learn about everything. She gets excited over everything (see S8E2 for excitement over stairs) and this is a really good tie into laughter as part of her core characterization. Hope is also a really indicator for Silverstream because she and the rest of the hippogriffs really believed that staying underwater was the safest way to keep from the Storm King's rule. It wasn't until his defeat did the hippogriffs ever had a sense of hope of being able to live back on land. Curiosity is Silverstream's element because of her desire to learn.

Yona - Courage Yona is honest (AJ) and strong (Rockhoof), we didn't even need to know her elemental predecessors to know that. However, while her development as a character really isn't all that deep, we do see a softer side is S8E22 and S9E7. In S8E22, Yona can be seen terrified of spiders, but instead of just conquering her fear by smashing the spiders, she takes that extra step to befriend them instead, asking them for help to get out of her current situation. In S9E7, Yona is worried about embarrassing Sand Bar at a dance (I can't remember the name of the event sorry). She goes out of her way to learn everything 'the pony way' so she can fit in better. While this whole thing makes sense, it strips away Yona's identity of being a yak and that the dance was adapted to suit all creature. It takes real courage to step out of your comfort zone to change for someone, but also more so to just be yourself. Seeing that in Yona in both scenarios and also seeing how she can admit that she's scared of flying/falling (S8E1/2?) takes real courage. Because of her honesty, I think she wouldn't be afraid to speak her mind - or hesitate - and in that sense can also be quite courageous especially if it's something they don't want to hear (see basically every episode where there are consequences to not telling the truth). It takes courage to step out of the comfort zone and I think Yona really encompasses this idea.

Smolder - Integrity You may be wondering: Yona and Smolder have their elements backwards! Not quite, and here's why: Smolder's elemental predecessors are Flash Magnus (Bravery) and Rainbow Dash (Loyalty). I think it was a fun addition how her element is strongly tied to dragons (see S7E16) since the beginning and it's a nice touch. Smolder is the roughest of all six members and while she shares a lot of personality traits with Rainbow Dash (like being cool) she's also very honest with herself. In S8E22, Smolder's fear isn't really a fear and more of a wake-up call to herself. She likes cutesy things. She admits it and even joins the cheerleading team which is considered a more feminine sport (S9E15). I think it's really interesting how she also evokes characters to be more true to themselves such as Garble (S9E9) and even Rainbow Dash (S9E15). With these ideas in mind, I think Smolder's element is integrity for the sole reason that she is just really good at making people realize that there is no reason not to be true to yourself. She sees how other creatures perceive dragons, and does her best to allow characters like Spike and Garble be the dragons they want to be (liking pony-things like sewing and pillows S2E21 and S9E9 for Spike and slam poetry for Garble S9E9). How these tie to her predecessors is as such: it's brave to be yourself in a world (or in this case, species) that may not appreciate the full you, and it takes a loyalty to stand by your side while you admit to yourself who you truly are.

Sand Bar - Patience Finally, we have Sand Bar. Sand Bar was the hardest and yet easiest of the six to come up with an element. He has the least character development and also not a lot of personality aside from being very chill and being a really good ally to the other creatures. Because of this, I think he is the element of patience. His predecessors are Healing (Meadow Brook) and Kindness (Fluttershy), and both are key in being patient. This pony took his time with the other creatures, sharing his culture and making them feel welcome. He went out of his way to find Yona and listened to her, making her feel better by letting her know how he felt (S9E7). It was interesting to see the juxtaposition between Yona and Sand Bar, since Yona is very impulsive while Sand Bar is a 'go-with-the-flow' type pony and this just confirmed the idea that he is very patient, especially if he [romantically] likes Yona of all creatures. Aside from that though, there isn't many other eps I can reference that can support this decision. FINAL THOUGHTS--- So with everything said and explained, overall I think these elements are really necessary for both friendships but also could be helpful for them to be ambassadors or something along those lines to their kingdoms or go around helping stop feuds among kingdoms. The idea that these elements could be used to stop evil through artifacts is also something that could be further explored into although there's not much I could look into since there wasn't much information about all of them to begin with. One final thing, this is all just my interpretation and obviously can be up for debate, I only ask that if you do want to counter or even bring more evidence to the table that you do it kindly. I thought about this for a long time and tried my best to provide references as much as possible, so please respect that! Other than that, thank you for reading up to this point, I hope you enjoyed it and maybe sparked some conversations!

[minghaoss-archive]

when we were young• sicheng (m)

summary : it’s the year 2000 and you fall in love for the first time.

warnings : implied smut, angst.

dong sicheng x gender neutral reader

Sicheng. His name is the first and the last thing that you think about. His face you find in between old newspapers, photographs and the honeyed scent of Beijing’s rain.

You remember the day you met the boy. Just a few days after he moved to the area. In that little local market of the rather vast city, with music tucked away in your ears. The ruby tent towered over a line of vegetables fencing around a newly built, rather little store. Amongst the dirty, dilapidated wooden boxes people have been lounging in for years and years, the shiny white of the storefront stood out like a sore thumb. And if the sore thumb could be deemed more sore, it would be because of the grinning boy standing before it.

Sicheng, at first sight, was still, albeit unintentionally, a very shockingly beautiful being. Every little thing about him, even the pearly raindrops caught in his lashes , his face alight, peachy, childish, his coal black eyes, which found yours suddenly. Through a wall of dotted raindrops. A reminder of how you had been staring at him all too long. "You should come in." said he, aloud, ringing, muting the soft plops of rain sloshing and splashing about.

He was the best at mathmatics in your class and you the worst. He was the least expressive, least talkative and you the most: he was the best liked and you the least. Sicheng was classified as the teacher’s pet, the perfect son, the perfect everything, he was kind and intelligent and the boy who blushed peachy when you as asked for a pen.

He was the boy your grandmum gushed about at the dinner table. People who love you always remember. He was the boy who made you deep fried tofu because you liked it better than soggy, he was the boy who had unravelled and even learned religiously, every little thing about you, from something as secretive, acute as your fear of drowning to something as open, trivial as your hate for porridge. He could name your favorite song, the entire CD, the bought for you on your birthday. He was your best friend and he remembered. The littlest of things, the biggest of things. He was your best friend, your first love and last love.

And you remembered, how well he sang, how his face shone, buttery honey, in the sun, you remember his scent, like something sweet, earthy, something real. You remember admitting to him, on your toes, in your uniform, sweaty hands pressed behind your back, when he stared back at you with wide eyes, in his khaki shirt, with surprise spreading all over his face before he smiled that smile of his, he told you he likes you too.

The feeling of his hand, the way those lithe fingers held yours still remains engraved in your bones. Sicheng excelled at riding the bicycle. One day he made you sit behind his bike, the w pavement wet , the sky darkening and the droplets rain sat against your clothes. You remember stopping by the footpath, with him spotting your favorite sweet dish, two steamed sweet potatoes, bought from a street corner shop.

That day, the smell of mud, the whooshing wind in your hair, Sicheng hooked his umbrella’s holder to his bike, leant it against a tree so it would shelter the two of you from the bullet like raindrops. That day you recall, how you two shared songs from his mp3 player, two beating hearts, bodies leaning close so the earphones don’t strain.

Sicheng had a peculiar look in his eyes, like he was the happiest boy, like he’d waited a long long time to be yours, like he were diving head first into an endless sea of his dreams. Passion. Love.

He brushed a loose strand from your face. Lost in the color of your pupils. Cool fingers travelled along the curve of your jaw and cradled the shape.

His fingers brushing against the little wisps of hair curling along your neck. Teeth and tongue. A loving peck which sent ten million electric bolts travelling all over your body. And the boy smiled after, the kind of smile he always smiled when he was genuinely, the kind of smile which reached his eyes, a smile which widened and widened when he spotted the nervous tap of your feet and the fluster evident on your face.

Sicheng was your first kiss.

And he bought you a violin, something you can’t play so well. Something he taught you by the beach, something which helps you aid your fear of the waves gobbling you up.

Your toes sunk into the wet sand and you supposed it would be convenient if it swallowed you whole. See, the sea had always been a petrifying monster. Blue and nipping and enormous. Foamy waves arrived at your toes and pleaded to wash all fears away, little by little. But it wasn't enough, of course. The spark of courage would always dim down you gazed upon the battling blues ahead. It isn't enough.

Not until he joins you.

“Hey, wait,”He sneaked his thin fingers into yours and held them like you'd slip away, had he not. When you looked up at him, his lips briefly curled up in a grin. The pink specks of dimming coloured his face.

It touched his plump, bitten lips first and spread across his cheeks, reached his golden orbs. Quartz sky, and the scarlet sun melted into the blue sea, like lovers who’ve been apart for too long. The horizon turned purple. The sun departed. Take away with her, your fears. You told yourself it’s not so bad a day to fall in love with Sicheng. The blue and the nipping isn't a bad thing.

Sicheng was your first love.

Your relationship was sweet, saccharine and all too perfect, the ride all too nice, euphoric even, but you think, it's funny how you'd forgotten, how happy things have a horrendous way of becoming unhappy, how sweet things rot and how rides could come to a screeching halt.

Sicheng’s university application sparked a new phobia in you. He told you there’s no way foreign universities would take him in with so much competition. Though, it’s only a temporary consolation because you knew, just as anyone in school, that his grades were one of the best in class. Still, you buried your kicking subconscious deep under layers of laughable expectations.

What is buried alive will find a way to claw itself out.

Your conversations with him became shorter. Visits rare. You asked him what the cause of his hollowed cheeks and reddened eyes was. You asked him why he kept pushing you away. And a mouthful of words, nothing short of horrific, Sicheng remains silent.

That day, in mid May of 2000, a season of battling winds, came the breaking, the crumbling, the smelly rotting point.

You desperately reaching out for him. It felt like Sicheng was a phantom. Standing across from you, with the same face and the body and the same hands and the same smile. Only bitter words. A stranger.

You drove yourself away from him, driving your bike at an inhuman speed. Sicheng had been dragging his fingers through his hair in a frustated manner. Suppressing the urge to tear it all out. Alone, he was. On the same pavement you’d kissed for the first time.

You had cried a good amount. Home alone with the rain threatening to make its way into your room. Thunder rumbled overhead and the yellow glow of your room finally burnt out, followed by a knock. A candle sat on your table and streaks of its light crawled before you, defeating the dark. “Great.”

You sniffled, dubiously opening the door to a rather drenched Sicheng. A Sicheng who pathetically attempted to catch his breath. His greenish brown shirt has turned a dark brown.

“What are you doing?" You asked coolly, moving aside to let him in. And Sicheng kissed you with his hands around your face, like he always did, except this time the kiss is urgent, craving, greedy and ravenous. Feet shuffle into your home and the door closes with your back against it.

He pulled away to catch his breath and kissed you again, as if enough was a foreign word in his vocabulary. He begun to kiss your face, your eyes, your nose, you cheeks. Arms wrapped around your waist. Bodies pressed tightly against each other. “I got into Harvard, my parents are forcing me to go. I was upset..I didn’t know how to tell you.”

"You're going to leave me?" You asked, lines of searing tears rolled down your heated cheeks. You remember how he touched you, holding your head against his chest. You remember how his arms brought you closer, closer and closer till there were no gaps between you two. You peeled wet tee shirt off of his body and placed your fingers against his abdomen.

Sicheng doesn't answer.

"I want to be your first." Said you, you hope Sicheng never forgets you.

A desire in him blazed so fiercely in him that he got to kissing you again. Hungry, desperate, needy. He touched you like he might lose you. Like he wanted to leave fresh scars, an open wound, a gaping split, everywhere he touched you. The sea. The battling waves.

A rut of his lips. The rush of losing. A goodbye.

Sicheng had always told you that he loved you. And you remained silent, as if to say I can't love anyone else. You can't love anyone else.

Sicheng was your first time.

Love is an awful. Disgusting. And cruel.

Especially when it slips right through your fingers.

See you hugged him close. But the tug of fate, the ugly yellow taxi, a flight and two continents had sworn to pull you apart. You hadn't cried, you couldn't cry. You dug your nails into his shirt instead. You breathed in his scent instead. You wanted to forget him instead.

Sicheng promised you he'd always love you. Sicheng promised you that he'd always think of you. Sicheng promised and promised and promised. But never does he crack your skull open and pour honeyed dreams in. Never an I will come back and always an I love you.

(Sicheng never makes promises he can't keep.)

So you'd watched his face, behind the shield of a splattered rear window. His face youthful, his smile curled, that smile of his. His smile, pearly raindrops, caught in his lashes, young, you wanted to remember him like that.

Sicheng dragged away into the wet roads of China, turning to a mere dot against the background of awful traffic and undulations of ageing buildings.

Sicheng was your first heartbreak.

Sicheng.

His name is the first and the last thing you think about. Somewhere in between dusty books, fading ink and forgotten poetry, you find bitter truths you'd rather not see. You'd read goodbyes are forever, they are syllables for people who never meet again, these words followed you around like reminders, to cinemas, to the library, like the ghost of his promises. An absence more apparent than it should be. An atrocious trick the universe had played on you.

You find yourself wishing those words, a goodbye, too many years and a heartbreak away,

were words you'd forgotten to say.

[bellatrixobsessed1]

The Art Of Remembrance (Part 38)

Her world is tainted in purple, she can only see purple. When she closes her eyes it is still there and, though it is a muted version of the color. Purple drips in her eyes,  and she sees the world as though she is peering through a window freshly spotted with rain.

And she is cold. So horribly cold. She can’t feel her fire.

They are all around her and this time they have faces. One is Ting-Lao’s ugly bearded mug. The man’s face is narrow and shrew-like. The one next to him is a woman, fairly young and with short hair. And the man next to her is bearded and somehow both burly and scrawny at once. She realizes that it is his chest that is burly but his arms are significantly less so. Those arms reach out to place a gag in her mouth, they have tired over her shouting and infuriated cursing.

She realizes with horror that they aren’t gagging her for the sake of doing so. But rather they are stuffing the veins into her mouth faster than she can safely swallow them. She can’t breath, she can barely even manage faint choking sounds.

Her mouth is filled with the taste of rancid water and fish and a tinge of something more earthy. The texture is slimy and slippery and all around unpleasant. She grasps at the air, reaching for some involuntary snatch for air. They show no mercy and less regard for her humanity as they pile more vines into her mouth. They catch in her throat and tighten her chest. She kicks her feet as far as the restraints will allow.

The purple in her vision fades as tears slip from her eyes, twin trails of agony that closely resemble the trails of saliva and swamp water that leak from the corners of her mouth. She isn’t sure how long this has been going on for but she is well aware that she should be dead having been deprived of oxygen for this long. Yet she continues to suffer and they continue to pile vines down her throat.

They begin to slide unpleasantly down the entire length of her throat, which is swollen and bulging with them. Her mouth is overflowing with them, spilling vine juices and Agni knows what else. She finds that she wants to just suffocate already, if only to be done with this. But slowly, the vines work their way into her stomach and some relief comes to her throat. It is short lived, they are heaping more vines into her mouth to replace the ones that have just left.

She almost wishes that they would begin slicing and cutting as usual. At least she is familiar with that brand of torture. This...this is new. This is terrifying. Like drowning but without the comforts of liquid. She feels bloated and fatigued and utterly hopeless. She knows that no one is coming to help her. She knows that she can’t help herself. She can now feel them coiling about in her belly. She worries that they may erupt from within her.

At some point she becomes desensitized to the vines being forced into her mouth. That sensation is all but gone when she begins to feel wriggling under the flesh of her arms and legs.

The unstrap, hoist her to her feet, and tell her to bend. She eyes them desperately, almost pleadingly but they insist, “waterbend.” But she can’t. She can’t even firebend. She can barely even hold herself upright, she feels so tired and heavy and nauseous.

She falls to her hands and knees and hurls. She doesn’t try to stop herself, she needs to purge at least some of the vines before they kill her. But they fight back, they latch themselves to her innards and cling until she is only dry choking.

She flops onto her side too weak to muster even a tormented moan. Azula lies in a heap, simply breathing. Breathing until a clump of vines sloughs out of her mouth. They are glowing purple. She notices now that her arms are as well and her tummy, and likely her neck as well.

She feels the vines pushing against her as though she is with child. She know what is about to happen. She knows it and she is horrified. She can only manage a small whimper before it does.

She is reduced to a ribboned version of herself, with vines wiggling from the bloody mass. They peer over her as if their experiment has been a success.

.oOo.

For the fifth night that week, Azula wakes in a state of potent dread, her face slick with nervous sweat. She is grasping reflexivly at her throat, a phantom burning lingers within it. The nightmares are back and they are twice as vivid and with real images to play upon. These are more paralyzing than the one she had just awakened from. At least this one she can say is out of the realm of possibility. Not like the ones where she watches them dissect her; a sleeptime replay of the truth. On most nights she wakes with her heart racing and her eyes watery and this time she has no one to reach out to.

Between the nightmares, the re-acquired loneliness, and the real fear that she is being persecuted, Azula’s head pounds constantly. The last time she had slept good was a week or so ago. This time no one has come to check on her, setting in stone that she has burned a very delicate bridge.

She thinks that she may lose her mind at any moment. Perhaps she is already in the process, she certainly doesn’t feel right. A disconnect, similar to what she felt with her memories, is beginning to settle in. She wanders the palace in something of a haze.

She is getting jumpy again, the thought that Long Feng might be sneaking people into the palace is becoming pressing. She can’t imagine that Zuzu will put much thought into thoroughly checking who he newly hires, especially not for her.

Azula notices that she is pacing and brings herself to a halt. The scars on her arms and belly seem to flare up and inch more intolerably than ever. She feels faint and leans herself heavily against the wall, slumping to the floor with her hands gripping her head.

She thinks of Sokka. Of how he had held her so close, of how he could usually talk her out of the chaos in her mind. She decides once and for all that she has made a mistake. Despite it all, despite any history, she is sure that it no longer matters. Not when he had been so good to her in a moment of weakness when he very well could have taken her down permanently. He had been so caring and she had pushed him away over what? Things that happened years ago, a silly feeling that she was supposed to hate him.

Azula isn’t sure how long she’d sat there, mind racing uncontrollably, but there is a sensation of pins and needles in her arms and legs. She is both thankful and distraught that no one has taken notice of her.

She forces herself to her feet, her legs are wobbly as she makes her way down the hall. With a deep sigh she resigns herself to what needs to be done. It will be a whole lot easier to take herself to Dr. Yu-Kang than it would be, to be forcibly escorted. Anyways, she needs someone to talk to.

A tap on her shoulder barely registers.

“You don’t look so good. I can tell, and I’m blind!”

“Why are you talking to me?”

Toph shrugs. “Just because Sokka and Katara are mad, doesn’t mean I have to be.”

The relief she feels is almost palpable, but she refrains from completely unloading on Toph. That’s what Dr. Yu-Kang is for. Instead she replies, “I’m fine.”

“Okay, you’re not even putting effort into that lie.”

“I’ll be fine.” Azula insists. “I just need to...I need to speak with Dr. Yu-Kang.”

“Your therapist?” Toph asks.

Azula nods.

“What for?”

“A lot of things.” She mutters.

“Like how Sokka’s mad?”

“Among other things, I suppose.” She replies matter of factly. The urge to unload everything onto the earthbender persists. But she can’t afford such a display of weakness at the moment. Not when so many people are furious with her.

“You wanna talk about it?” Toph asks. “I’m not a comforting person but I can tell you to man up.”

“I’m not a comforting person either.” Azula shrugs. Evidently she has been trying to tell herself to acquire herself some thicker skin. “I can take care of myself.”

“If you say so.” Toph shrugs. She begins to walk away and Azula wishes she had said more. Though she isn’t sure what to say. Regardless, Toph turns back around. “Hey, if you wanna, I don’t know, light stuff on fire and throw rocks at stuff with me, just ask.”

“I’ll...consider.” Azula says. Though random acts of destruction isn’t what she constitutes as a good time, she is willing to part take if it means having at least one person who doesn’t resent her.

.oOo.

Sokka has long since learned to sense anxiety on the fire princess and she is exuding it very strongly. He has a nagging and impulsive itch to go and comfort her as he normally would but he is done playing games. He is certainly done wasting his time on someone who would throw him aside over things that happened so far in the past.

From the room over, he observes her slip into a chair and wait for her lunch. When it is set before her, she stares at it for a good while before actually eating it. After she finishes it, she pushes the bowl aside, rests her arms on the table, and buries her face in them. He doesn’t think that she is crying. If she is, she is doing so very silently and unnoticeably.

He thinks that she might have fallen asleep.

“You doing okay, Sokka?” Katara asks.

He shrugs, “still pissed.” He folds his arms over his chest and fights to keep his voice low, Raava forbid he wakes that dragon. “I just wasted so much time. You told me so. You all warned me but I thought that maybe helping her out would make a difference…”

“To be fair, it did with Zuko. No one blames you for having hope.” Katara smiles. “And no one is mad at you for being a good person.”

“I am!” He shouts. He flinches and looks in Azula’s direction. She must be out cold.

“I know that Aang was happy to see you so optimistic.”

“And he wonders why I’m a pessimist.” Sokka grumbles.

Katara rolls her eyes. “If you keep crossing your arms like that they’re going to get locked in that position!” Katara declares. She nudges him lightly, “come on, let’s go walk by the turtle-duck pond.”

.oOo.

Azula takes a deep breath as she approaches the guest bedroom. This idea, this new idea is probably a much better one. Yet she dreads it all the same. She gives the door a knock before she can second guess herself.

She hears footsteps approaching and very briefly locks eyes with Sokka before the door falls open and she is beckoned inside. She catches the briefest flicker of something in Sokka’s eyes, it is probably hatred.

She slinks inside and slumps down on the sofa.

“Is everything alright?” Dr. Phang asks. “Have the side effects not cleared?”

“The treatment went fine. Perfect in fact.” Azula responds.

He tilts his head in confusion. “Then what are you doing here?” He clares his throat. “I inquire with all do respect, princess.”

She waves the apology off. “I’m here because it went perfectly.”

Again, Dr. Phang looks almost comically perplexed.

“I…” She trails off. “I want you to erase my memories again. All of them if need be.” She never takes her eyes from him.

The man parts his lips but remains silent for a time. “Would you like to speak with Dr. Yu-Kang, princess?”

She swallows, “that is my backup plan.”

“Then it is a good thing that you had a backup plan.”

“I am your princess and I am telling you…”

“Having your mind and spirit energy tampered with just once is extremely dangerous. Twice, is treading very dangerous waters. Thrice…” He pauses. “What you’re asking me to do is to ravage your mind. Forgive me, princess, but I study chi and spirit energy to aid people, not destroy them.”

Azula finds herself massaging small circles on her temple.

“I can contact Dr. Yu-Kang, if you would like.”

“Yes, please.” She says very softly.

.oOo.

Sokka steps back from the door, his stomach fluttering with secondhand sadness. He knows that this is a conversation that he wasn’t supposed to have heard and he doesn’t think that he should stick around and let it be known that he had.

He should just make his way back to his room and forget about it. She made it very clear that she wants nothing to do with him. He lightly raps on his forehead with the heel of his hand. But why would she ask him to wipe her memories again if she didn’t feel some sort of regret? He answers himself with a forward, she doesn’t want to remember what happened in the compound. Still, something keeps him rooted in the hallway.

Just as he makes up his mind that he is going to mind his own business, the door opens and he finds himself looking her directly in the eyes. Exhausted, weary eyes.

He opens his mouth to speak but she shoves past him, Dr. Phang in tow. He has an impulse to catch her wrist but he knows that taking her by surprise is never a good idea. At best she’d jerk away, at worst he’d be met with a faceful of fire. Anyhow, he doesn’t think that he should care.

But he doesn’t like her posture. The way she is almost slouched as though her head is too heavy for her neck. He supposes that he has invested too much time into this, whatever it is, to just let it fail. With a long sigh he catches up to Azula. “Why can’t you just apologize like everyone else does?”

Azula’s frown only deepens and her eyes grow dimmer.

“I’ll stop being mad if you just apologize.”

She presses her lips firmly and stubbornly together.

“I’m serious, I won’t forgive you if you don’t say it.”

He didn’t realize that an expression could get that dark and forlorn. He tries a lighter tone, “You did it the last few times.”

She holds her silence.

With the old Azula reawakened and in the way, he is almost sure that he isn’t going to coax an apology from her, not now that her mind is rooted back in old habits.

She turns back to Dr. Phang and quietly requests, “perhaps I should go to Dr. Yu-Kang.”

“Okay fine, you win!” Sokka bursts out, his hopes plummeting rapidly. “We can talk about things.” He doesn’t think that she will take him up on his offer.

He watches her take a place propped up against the wall. “You’re dismissed for the moment, Dr. Phang.” He isn’t sure how she can still sound so authoritative.

The man offers a slight bow. “I will be in the guest room, you know where to find me.”

He takes his leave and Azula lets herself slide down the wall. For a while she only stares blankly at the opposite wall. He can tell that she wants to cry but she doesn’t He wishes that she just would. She is always calmer when she just lets it out. “Talk.” Sokka finds that he has no dialogue to offer, he didn’t think he’d get this far. He didn’t think that he was going to even try. “You said that you didn’t want to talk to me.”

“I didn’t.” She sticks to her word. “Not at that moment.”

“Then why did you tell me that I was wasting my time?”

She is quiet for another very long stretch of time and he thinks that it is his cue to leave. He shifts his weight and she speaks up again. “You made me angry. I wanted to be left alone.”

“And I left you alone.” He points out.

“Not that alone.” She mutters.

“Well then when would you have wanted to talk to me?” He asks. “I wasn’t going to wait forever.”

“I can force Dr. Phang to get rid of my memories again, it will be easier…”

“Since when have you ever taken the easy way out of things?”

“Since the hard way became unmanageable.” Azula replies. “I know when to back out of a fight that I can’t win.” Somehow she looks tireder still.

“You can win this one though.”

.oOo.

Azula swallows. She should have kept walking. She should have just hustled onto that boat and back to Fire Lake. “Can I?” She asks. “It’s been over three years since I started it…” She feels so drained. So spent. “I’m tired of fighting.”

Sokka’s fingers seem to twitch. She speculates that he has just thought better of placing his hand atop hers.

“I think that I lost my memories because the universe knew that I couldn’t deal with them anymore.” Her soul feels as heavy as she had in her dream. She feels just as suffocated too. Each and every instinct she has screams for her to shut the hell up. To stop admitting weakness. But one single, particularly loud instinct pushes her to continue. “I don’t want to be alone again...it only took me a few days with my memories and one conversation to push everyone away.”

Sokka blinks.

“I can keep doing this or I can erase everything again with a note to myself that I don’t want my memories back and then I can move on.”

Sokka rubs his hands over his face.  “I can be patient.” He says. “I should have been patient. It takes time to get used to...everything.”

Azula shrugs, “patience wears thin eventually no matter how long the supply is.”

“Do you really think that it will take you that long to get it together?”

He truly does have such a way with words. She rolls her eyes, “yes, I do.”

“I don’t think so.”

“You need to back your claims with proof.”

“You wouldn’t have sat down and talked to me like this before, would you have?”

She considers. “No.”

“Well then…” He nudges her.

“Don’t do that.” She scowls.

“Sorry.” He mumbles.

A part of her almost feels bad, he is trying which is more than she can say. She wants to joke and jest but she can’t. She isn’t comfortable with it anymore. She doesn’t know why she can’t just be comfortable with it. It used to be so easy. She rests her face against her knees. For a moment she clutches her head but then she releases her hold and simply hovers her open hand slightly above her head.

“It would be better if I just…” She trails off. “I was easier to be around. People liked me more when…”

She doesn’t need to look up to know that grim, tightlipped expression is on his face. “If I can’t love the real you, is it love at all? I want to love you, not a half version of you.”

.oOo.

She looks up. Her lower lips seems to tremble. Still she doesn’t cry. He really, truly wishes that she would. He finds himself saying, “just let it out.”

“What?” She utters.

“Just cry already.” He laughs.

She shakes her head, “not a chance.”

“I’ve already seen you cry several times, I can list them off if you’d like.”

At this she cringes and her nose scrunches. “Don’t.” For a moment she looks faintly humored, but this fades quickly.

“I won’t.” He replies lamely. “But I don’t think any differently about you for crying. You’re still the most terrifying person I’ve ever talked to.” She misses the affection in the comment completely and seems to grow dim again. “I mean that in a good way. You’re fierce! You know, like dragons!”

“You’re horrible at this.” She mumbles.

“I’m trying, doesn’t that count for anything?”

She catches him off guard with an affirmative nod. “Yes.”

[lowat-golden-tower]

I sent one like this to another but now I want your take with my other favourite ship! So here we go- Roman is smitten with his flatmate Virgil so he tries to summon a demon at the crossroads to make a deal so Virgil will fall in love with him. But the demon that's summoned ends up being his flatmate and hoo boy this is awkward!

(I saw the other prompt you sent to @secretglittersauce and specifically didn’t read it so as not to be influenced. XD Too bad you specified Virgil as the demon, I was leaning more towards Roman for shits and giggles… but now you get Southern!Roman, so there’s that. :D

This took me like fifty years, and wound up way too long, but I hope you enjoy it @fangirltothefullest! I might do one with demon!Patton and Logan as a follow up, if you’re interested?)

Honestly, Roman wasn’t entirely sure this would work. According to folklore, one could summon a demon at a crossroads to broker a supernatural deal. It was a legend spinning around the South for decades, sung in the Blues and whispered between old men in rocking chairs on front porches and store stoops. Hell, Roman had heard it from his own next door neighbor as a mere child. The man, a retired musician and one of young Roman’s many inspirations, used to tell all kinds of stories and fables. Really, it became evident in Roman’s later years that he’d just wanted someone to talk to, or listen.One of those tales had been about the crossroads, and his own experiences with chatting up a demon for a foothold in the music business. Roman had been positively dazzled, though his mother had warned him not to believe in such “nonsense.” She especially warned him not to go wandering about intersections in search of some monster or spirit; that he could pave his own path to his desires.

He really never gave her enough credit. Her advice had pushed him through to adulthood, to where he was now, just the star attraction at the local theater but soon, soon Broadway would be knocking. No, it wasn’t furthering his career that brought him to the crossroads.

Skin white as snow. Hair the color of roasted chestnuts, but fluffy as a newborn chick. Lips that were always chapped because their owner wouldn’t stop chewing on them, pulling them between his teeth and oh, how many times Roman had envisioned his own lips being there instead-

He, may have had a… small thing, for his… roommate. They hadn’t known each other for exceptionally long, but already Roman simply knew they were meant to be. Putting out that ad for a roommate had been the best decision of his life, besides auditioning for his first theater role. They’d hit it off like oil in hot grease, gunpowder and flame, shoving aluminum foil in a microwave and watching the sparks fly. The phrase “opposites attract” had never been more appropriate and Roman knew, he just knew, Virgil must have felt the same. It was a gut instinct, intuition, a feeling in his very bones.Yet, strangely, no matter how hard he tried the man was positively infallible to his advances. Roman liked to think of himself as a romantic; truly the cream of the crop in the flirtatious crowd. He was young and handsome with a smile that gleamed and a voice smooth as silk on the skin. Men and women alike swooned at the mere sight of him. Heartfelt serenades had left more than one romantic prospect weak in the knees.Not Virgil. No pickup line, affectionate gesture, thoughtful song or bold action would sway his roommate. There was the banter, of course, the core and life blood of their relationship, but the mutuality of the spark ended there. Virgil either shrugged off his efforts or outright turned his back on Roman, avoiding it all in the same stubborn manner he’d avoid a proper sleep schedule. It was infuriating at first, but as the weeks went by with zero progress, Roman felt himself growing more and more disheartened. He was desperate.

Which brought him to the crossroads.

Of course, it wasn’t all so simple as wandering to the nearest intersection. No, Roman had to do a little research, and tried to recall details from the story he’d been told as a child. This was going to be quite the grim undertaking, but Virgil was worth it. Roman would do anything to at last break through that gloomy shell and harbor his roommate’s subtle affections.

First, he needed a dirt crossroads. That would be a slight drive to the countryside, but nothing beyond his abilities. Next, he needed a photo of himself- again, hardly a problem. Roman took enough pictures and selfies for ten people. The other two “offerings,” however, were the real test of his mettle. Dirt from a graveyard; morbid, and he’d nearly gotten caught, but luck was on his side. Who knew having a historic graveyard just a few blocks from his residence would be a good thing? The last was the worst. He couldn’t even comprehend why this particular ritual piece would be necessary.

A bone from a black cat.

Roman didn’t like to think about how he’d obtained that one. He hadn’t killed any animals, obviously, thank god. But the alternative wasn’t much more desirable. Still, at the end of the day, he’d claimed his prize and was ready for the event itself.

He wasn’t nervous.

That’s what he told himself, as he shut the items away in a box and pulled the shovel from his car. He kept the mantra up as he found the exact center of the dirt crossroads and dug a shallow hole. Were it not just before midnight, he might have gotten in trouble for this. Thankfully, there wasn’t a residence in sight for at least a mile, and only one lone street light illuminated his desecration.

In went the box. That wasn’t his anxiety spiking, it was adrenaline. This was a big power move. How many people summoned a demon to attain true love? Virgil would probably love it, with his dark affinities and creepy interests. He definitely seemed like the occult type.

Burying the box, Roman patted down the dirt, then returned the shovel to his car. From there, it was just a matter of waiting. Pulling out his phone for a quick game of Candy Crush or a scan of his social media feeds would have been the best time passer, but somehow it felt wrong to bring technology into such a place, during a touchy process like this. He didn’t want to risk anything going wrong. Roman’s knowledge was already shaky at best and at its core this was all nothing but pure rumor and folklore. There was no guarantee it would work.

In the quiet of the countryside, it was just him and the crickets, and the frogs. They chirped away in the field, paying him and his endeavor absolutely no mind. He caught the hoot of a nearby owl and assumed the creature must be up in the old oak tree beside the road. It was the only thing around, besides the streetlight and telephone poles.

The light’s presence came as a relief, honestly. Roman had no idea what phase the moon should be in that night, but it didn’t matter, because the whole sky was clouded over. Not a single star could be seen and thus without the streetlight he would have been stuck in pitch blackness. The heavy shadows outside its circular beam, a metaphorical sanctuary from the unknown, made him uneasy enough. And as the minutes stretched into nearly an hour, he started to wonder if this really was such a grand idea, after all.

In hindsight, it was rather foolish. Go to the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night and bury something in the road, hoping to summon a demon? What was he thinking, exactly? There had to be better ways. There had to be a safer, more sane method to have Virgil fall for him. He didn’t need to do this. He shouldn’t be doing this.

It was when he reached towards his pocket for the car keys that it finally happened, because of course that’s when it did.

The loose dirt where he’d buried the box shifted. It drew his attention instantly, and he blinked. Nothing else happened for nearly a full minute and Roman started to wonder if he’d just seen things, if his mind was indulging his wishful thinking. He shook his head. Anything could have made the dirt move. Maybe he’d buried a beetle too, on accident. Maybe gravity or the wind had finally knocked a few bits of sediment loose. Maybe… maybe…The dirt shuddered again, and then it swelled, rising and spilling out in a circle as something broke through it. Roman knew the hole he’d dug was too shallow for even an animal, let alone a person. There had been nothing this large inside when he’d dropped in the box. The sequence he was viewing with his own two eyes didn’t make any sense.

Yet there it was, a looming shadow with glowing purple eyes. It didn’t look to be much larger than Roman, but its shadow stretched far longer, crossing the boundary of the streetlight to meld with the surrounding darkness. It was holding the box he’d buried. Stunned almost breathless that the stories were true, Roman could only gawk at the thing as it popped the lid off, rummaging around the contents. A hiss bubbled forth from it; Roman swore he could hear the sneer there, even if he couldn’t see it.

“Is this an animal bone? Dude. Nasty.”

Roman blinked again. He recognized that voice. Yes, it was distorted and gravelly, but beneath that was a core cadence he found all too familiar. He squinted, inquisitive, some of the shock ebbing away so that he could push off his car. “I was merely followin’ the necessary ritual! Are ya tellin’ me I didn’t need to include the bone of a black cat?”

The culmination of shadows tossed the bone aside in distaste, snatching up the photograph before callously dumping the graveyard dirt onto the ground. “I mean, if you wanna be all old school about it, sure, I guess. Hope you didn’t kill anything for it.”

Good lord. What place did a demon have to be so damn judgmental?

Roman scoffed and puffed out his chest, confidence returning swiftly on the wings of defensive indignation. “’Course not! Just what kinda person do you take me for, creature of the night?”

He swore the demon rolled its eyes at him, but it was difficult to tell when there were no visible pupils. It stared at Roman’s picture for what felt like ages, not saying anything else, merely scrutinizing his visage. Was this part of the ritual? Did it have to do with the deal Roman would be making? Why didn’t the demon just look at him instead? Then there was the matter of that voice, which Roman still couldn’t pin down. He just knew he’d heard it somewhere- though, that was impossible. This was a demon. How could he know its voice?

At last, the picture abruptly went up in violet flames, not exactly turning to ash but instead disappearing before Roman’s very eyes. The demon performed the equivalent of rolling its shoulders before locking Roman into place with its piercing gaze. “Alright. You summoned me. What is it you want? Fame? Fortune? The hand of some girl who couldn’t care to give you the time of day?”

Roman gasped and pressed a hand to his chest, rightly offended. “Bold of you to assume I like women.”

“Oh, please.” The demon snorted; actually snorted. That sounded familiar too. “I know your type. A dime a dozen; brazen young men who know ‘exactly’ what they want but can’t seem to get their hands on it. So they cut corners, and they summon me, and get me to do their dirty work for them. Or were you just feeling lonely and wanting some company out here, in the middle of nowhere?”

Roman sputtered. He’d expected some derisive comments, perhaps something sinister about the ritual and his soul, but this? This was an absolutely outrageous and unwarranted level of sass. From a demon! He was positively gobsmacked. In fact, there was only one person who so thoroughly thrashed him like this. Ironically, they were the cause for this entire debacle, yet if Roman didn’t know any better he’d think Virgil were there making fun of him. The uncanny similarities were really beginning to grate on his sanity.

Was this part of the demon’s ploy? Did it already know his deepest desire, and was playing on it to wear Roman down? Make him more inclined to accept a grave deal? Swindle him straight out of his soul without actually providing a lick of compensation? What had Roman gotten himself into?

Apparently, the demon didn’t have much patience. It growled softly at Roman’s lack of verbal response. “Well? What do you want? I don’t have all night.”

Roman was surprised by that comment. “Don’t have all night? Whatever do you mean? You’re a demon. What else could you possibly have to do but make deals with people? What, do you have some angels to terrorize? Candy to steal from a baby?”

Oh, the demon was scowling, Roman could just feel it. “I thought maybe, just maybe, viewing me in this form would make you even a tiny bit less annoying. This is what I get for hoping. I should have known hell nor high water would get through that thick skull of yours.”

“Uh. Excuse me?” Now Roman was really confused. “Do I… know you? What do you mean, ‘this form?’ Are you not always a walkin’ ink blot, Bendy the Depressin’ Demon?”

“Like you just said, I’m a demon, princey. I can change my form at will. One of the perks of being a monster. Usually, I just can’t be bothered, so I show up like this and get the deed done with.” The demon sighed, its voice edged with another sneer. “You would be difficult.”

Roman stared. He couldn’t even find it in himself to be offended again, because there was only one person who used that nickname for him: “princey.” Virgil had coined it after coming to one of his musicals, after begging and pleading with the reclusive grump for days. Roman was playing a prince, and after returning home Virgil had commented how fitting the role was. After a bit of banter regarding whether the title was a compliment or not, the nickname had stuck, and it retained a small soft spot in Roman’s heart.

Had the demon read his mind? It was speaking to him with such stark familiarity now, though. The menace and eerie factor were fading in the wake of a growing sass and gruffness. As if directly affected by the change, the elongated shadows were coalescing as well, framing a more distinct silhouette. Roman paled.

It couldn’t be.

“Oh, don’t look so surprised, Your Royal Arrogance. You’ve labeled my appearance as ‘concerningly demonic’ before.”

“Virgil?”

The shadows melted away, revealing pale skin and brown hair and smudges beneath glimmering purple eyes. Virgil’s clothes were nothing out of the ordinary; just his usual ripped jeans and thick, patchwork hoodie. Were it not for the circumstances, Roman might think his roommate had simply snuck along for the ride. Instead, the reality of the matter was starkly reaffirmed for him when Virgil parted his lips to reveal two rows of sharp, pointy teeth. More could be seen behind them as he spoke, the distortion gone from his voice. “In the flesh. Well, relatively speaking. This still isn’t my true form.” He shrugged.

Roman gaped, eyes so wide they could have popped right out of their sockets. He had to be dreaming. Maybe he’d never actually left the apartment. Maybe he’d changed his mind, been sensible and just gone to bed, and now his brain was conjuring up what going out to the middle of nowhere to summon a demon of all things would have looked like.

Which was why it looked like Virgil, because dreams were messed up and jumbled together and never, never made a lick of sense. That was the only explanation. He refused to believe this was real.

A blink, and suddenly Virgil- the demon- no, the dream demon- was in his face, mere inches separating their noses. The demon had raised a fist to mime knocking on the empty air and there was mirth glinting in his eyes. “Knock knock, Prince Gawking. Anybody there?” He gave a dark chuckle when Roman understandably leaped back, hitting his car with a loud “thud.” “Okay, I take it back. You are difficult, but this is also really amusing and totally worth the trouble. You look like a mouse.”

Roman spluttered, his indignation returning as he felt an embarrassed heat rush to his face. “I beg your pardon! I am no mouse!” He hurried to straighten up and dust himself off, tugging down his shirt hem. “An’ you will cease usin’ the visage of my cru- of my roommate immediately!”

Virgil- the demon- snorted, still clearly amused. Every time he so much as smirked, or sneered, Roman got another good look at all of those sharp teeth. The sight of them sent chills running laps along his spine. “Oh, but princey. This is what makes you comfortable, isn’t it?” He spread out his arms. “The person you spend the most time with, the one who’s always on your mind. Oh yes- I gleaned enough from those shoe box offerings you buried. This, is precisely who you want to see.”

Roman paled a bit and swallowed hard. “Listen here, Bruce. Cloakin’ yourself in his skin doesn’t make you any less of a shark. Much as I might compare Virgil to the demonic sort an’ the occult, you are besmirchin’ his name by puttin’ on this little act! I won’t stand for it!”

Abruptly, the demon rushed up in a violent surge of purple flames. Roman was so stunned he stumbled back and landed on his butt in the dirt, all bravado expelling from his lungs in a rush. The sass really made it easy to forget he was speaking with a denizen of hell. “Then sit for it! Because guess what, princey, this is no act.” The demon bellowed. Clearly, it was exasperated and possibly frustrated.

Well, it wasn’t the only one. “Stop callin’ me that!”

“Calling you what? Princey?” The demon sneered, though it was simmering down, returning to its more humanoid form.

“Yes, princey!” Roman snapped. He scrambled to his feet, determination burning in his brown eyes as he worked up the courage to stare the monster down. His fists had clenched at his sides. “You’re not allowed to use it. Only he is.”

The demon quirked a brow. “Who? Virgil?” Another dark chuckle and the demon shook its head. “Oh, princey…”

“What did I jus’-”

“Who exactly did you think you were talking to all this time? A doppelganger? Tough luck.” A blink, and suddenly a more realistic, spot-on Virgil was standing there. The sharp teeth were gone, the eyes had dulled and the sinister aura which had been whipping about the creature had disappeared. “Virgil is already here. It’s me, I’m him. So, that means I can say what I want. Princey.”

“That’s impossible!” Roman exclaimed. “Virgil isn’t a demon. He’s my roommate! He’s always been perfectly human, this is jus’- ’s some dream, ‘r a sick joke. You said it yourself, you can shapeshift! This is jus’ a trick to steal my soul!”

“Uh, newsflash, Drama Overlord. You came here and summoned me. To make a deal. Exactly what were you planning to barter with if not your soul?”

“Well- that’s, uh…”

“Trust me when I say you’re not dreaming. I know that first part- trust me- might be a hard pill to swallow, but this is real, and you’re no Sleeping Beauty. You’ve already hit your ass twice. Don’t you think you would’ve woken up by now?” Virgil was starting to circle Roman, eyeing him up like a wolf or a butcher.

Roman would really like to know just where his bravery had run off to. He had a few choice words for it. “I mean, that’s… that is…”

“And you’re right. I can shapeshift. But I’m not gaining much by taking this form, am I? I could’ve stayed a shadow and gotten this crap over with. I just wanted to see the look on your face at realizing you’ve been sleeping under the same roof as a demon all this time. Real hellspawn. I could prove it, if you like.”

He swore he felt something brush against his back; did Virgil have a tail? Horns, too. Was it on purpose? Was Virgil just messing with him?

“You always hide the spare key under the loose step instead of the doormat. You won’t admit it but there’s a bunny sticker still stuck to the sliding glass door for the balcony from when you put them up as Easter decorations and didn’t realize they’d be a bitch to peel off. All of your shampoo smells like a fruit salad, you have an entire stash of Lush bath bombs hidden under your towels, you spend at least one entire hour every morning getting ready, even if you have nothing planned for the day.”

“Now jus’ hold on a minute-”

“You sleep with a stuffed Build-A-Bear you dressed up like a prince, his name is Sir Growls-a-Lot. You refuse to drink anything carbonated, even sparkling water, and you always put Crofter’s on your breakfast- even when it’s not toast. You prefer cinnamon toothpaste over mint like the damn Extra diva you are. I can go on. And trust me, unless I’d been targeting you, I would not know all of this.” Virgil grumbled, “I sort of wish I didn’t….”

Roman was gobsmacked- again. He stared at Virgil for a long period of time before finally, slowly, bringing a hand up to press against his own chest. His eyes stung with the wetness of unshed tears and his expression was the epitome of fondness. “You… remembered all that… about me?” His voice squeaked a little.

Virgil immediately looked like he’d swallowed an entire lemon. He glowered at Roman and shoved hands into his pockets. “Shut up.” His voice reverberated and echoed, like it had while he was ensconced with shadows. “Point is, I’m a demon. The dude you’ve been rooming with is a goddamn demon so now the question is, what are you gonna do about it? I’m still waiting to hear what you want. But then are you just gonna go back? Pretend this was all a dream and look at me the same in the morning?”

Roman blinked. Oh. Right. The entire reason he’d driven out here in the middle of the night, and gone through the trouble of gathering the ritual items. He’d almost forgot. In an instant, it felt like a stone had been dropped into his stomach, and his next swallow was around a dry throat. He began to fidget, no longer able to look at Virgil, those soft feelings gone from his face. He awkwardly cleared his throat. “Ah… yeah. About that. You see… it’s… um. Right, the thing is… I….”

Virgil released an aggravated sigh. “Get on with it, Your Shyness. I don’t have all night.”

“What do you mean you don’t have all night? You’re a demon- nevermind, nevermind, gettin’ off topic here.” Roman cleared his throat again, desperately coughing into his fist as if it would make this any easier. How was he supposed to know the demon he summoned would be the same person he wanted to fall for him? This is what he got for messing with the supernatural. “I wanted… to… have someone fall for me. As hard as I’ve fallen for them. You see, they don’t seem to really notice me, or my advances. I’m… jus’ about at wit’s end.”

Virgil scoffed. “I can see that. You summoned me for help. Pretty desperate.” He brushed some of his bangs out of his face with a soft huff. “Should’ve known it’d be something love related, if not fame. You always were the worst type of romantic.”

Roman winced. He tried not to shrink under Virgil’s scrutiny, but it was hard. Because he knew which question was coming next.

“Surprised you’re so embarrassed about it all of a sudden. Or that you didn’t rant to me about it. You ramble about all your other passions in life. What makes this guy so different?” He eyed Roman a bit longer, partially just to make the man squirm, before shrugging his shoulders. “Whatever. Not like it matters. What’s the poor asshole’s name?”

“Ah…” Roman rubbed at the back of his neck and shuffled his feet. Never before had he been so nervous, even before his very first on-stage performance in front of a real crowd. He was basically confessing here- not even just that, he was admitting that he cared for Virgil’s affections enough to seek out a demon. Hoo boy. He’d really stepped in it this time. “His name… is… Virgil.”

It was Virgil’s turn to blink. He stared at Roman, taken aback, before cool indifference slid over his face again with a shake of his head. “Wow. Figures. Same name as me, this is gonna be fun to deal with.” He sighed. “Last name? Gotta have the whole thing if I’m gonna mess with their head.”

Roman wrung his hands together. Well, there was no real backing out now. Might as well go the whole nine yards. “Virgil Deimos.”

The silence which instantly engulfed their little ring of light was palpable. The tension from Virgil’s initial appearance, which had slowly ebbed away, returned with a nasty vengeance and then some. It was so thick in the air Roman swore it was trying to choke and suffocate him. He wanted to cough, but he’d admit it- he was too scared. Virgil was staring him down with such a blatant intensity and disbelief that it stole away his last remaining breath.

Why the hell did he still find him so beautiful, even like this? He must have a death wish.

At last, the silence was broken by the sound of tinkling glass. Except it wasn’t glass, it was Virgil, and he was beginning to laugh. The demon laughed, tilting his head back, the sound warped and distorted and just a touch hysterical. Roman thought he saw a glimmer of tears rimming those smudged eyes and he grimaced. He hadn’t even known it was a thing for demons to cry. He’d certainly never seen Virgil do it, but then, Virgil usually hid away in his bedroom whenever he was feeling upset about something.

The laughter subsided, and Virgil brushed away the tears with a careless finger. They must have been from pure mirth because he didn’t look sad at all when he focused on Roman again. “You’re joking. Okay, I get it. You find out I’m a demon, you know I’ve been scaring the piss out of you on purpose, so you try pulling my leg. Good one. Now what’s his real name?”

Roman sputtered. “That is the name! Virgil Deimos.” He stared the demon down, even as he felt that heat return to his cheeks. “…you. It’s you, alright?”

Virgil’s eyes glinted purple for a brief moment, and then he took a step back. His expression shifted to shock. “You’re serious. Holy shit.”

“Uh, isn’t it an oxymoron ‘r somethin’ for a demon to use the word holy-”

“Shut up.” Virgil snapped, before running clawed fingers through his hair. “Holy shit. Holy shit. You mean it. You mean… me. Me. Why?” He turned to look at Roman again, his eyes narrowed with newfound suspicion and paranoia. “…why?”

Roman bit at his tongue for a moment. Lord, hadn’t he gone through all of this trouble to avoid blatantly confessing his feelings to Virgil? Still, now that he knew Virgil was a demon with untold power, he was far more inclined to just answer the question. He only hoped Virgil didn’t get insulted or something and decide to rip his guts out. “Why? Why? Because you’re soft-” He tensed as Virgil hissed and hurried on. “-a-an’ attractive!”

Virgil scoffed. “You call me things like ‘Emo Nightmare’ on a regular basis, princey. And constantly judge my ‘look.’” Virgil raised his hands to use air quotes for emphasis.

It was Roman’s turn to huff. “Jus’ because I might not… agree… with your fashion choices, that doesn’t mean you aren’t attractive. You’ve got this sort of… broody, dark allure about you.”

“Wow, you really only hit half of that ‘Prince Charming’ nickname, don’tcha?”

“Shut up an’ listen to me!” Roman snapped, and he was a little surprised when Virgil actually blinked and shut his mouth. Well… good. Maybe he could actually get out more than one sentence at a time now. He tugged down his shirt a bit and straightened his shoulders. “From the moment I saw you, I was smitten. Downright lovestruck, do you hear me? Cupid took one of his frivolous little arrows an’ jabbed it straight into my heart!” He mimed the act of being stabbed in the chest.

Virgil rolled his eyes, but there was the barest hint of a smile on his face. “Nice choice of words there.” At Roman’s glare, he held up his hands. “Couldn’t resist, couldn’t resist, go on.”

Roman pouted at him. “Laugh an’ be amused all you want, but I speak the truth. There are many things I like about you, Virgil.” His tone softened, along with his gaze, and he offered the demon a hand. Of course, Virgil only proceeded to stare at the appendage like Roman had lost his mind, and maybe he had. He continued speaking nonetheless. “I like how your hair is an utter mess in the mornin’, but you don’t seem to care. I like how meticulous you are about your eye liner, an’ your hoodies, but little else. I think it’s adorable that your favorite color is purple, that you doodle little storm clouds any time you get your hands on paper an’ a writin’ utensil. I like how intense your voice gets when you’re passionate, an’ how witty you can be with your sass. Few can be a match for me, after all.

“I like how you always curl up into a ball, no matter what you happen to be sittin’ on. How you always hug the throw blankets an’ pillows. You’re never cold, you jus’ like to be cradled in soft things, an’… I’ve always wondered if that could include my arms.” Roman dropped to a knee. He wasn’t entirely sure why, but it just felt right. This grand gesture and confession of love needed the proper pose! “I’ve wanted you, Virgil. I’ve wanted you for weeks an’ I’m at my wit’s end.”

Virgil actually looked uncomfortable, but not in a bad way. More like he’d never dealt with this sort of affection before, or the feelings it caused. He was flustered. “You can’t be serious. Crushing on me for weeks? All we ever do when we’re in the same room together is butt heads.”

“That’s jus’ it!” Roman exclaimed. “I absolutely live for our banter, the heat of a verbal battle, each of us vyin’ to have the last clever word! That’s when you’re at your most fiery, your most enticin’. I tried comin’ onto you in several ways, but you always mistook my flirtations as a gag, ‘r a tease. You always completely missed the point an’ you never took me seriously- just like you’re not takin’ me seriously right now!” Roman’s eyes might as well have been aflame. “Well, it doesn’t matter if you believe me or not! You’re here to make a deal with me, right? I want Virgil Deimos to notice me. I want him to feel things for me. Or at the very least, see my motives for what they truly are.”

Virgil seemed to be at a loss, and Roman knew he had him. The demon squinted at him, scowling hard and shoving his hands back into his hoodie pocket. “You realize that means I get your soul, right? You’re not even asking me to fall in love with you, or be yours. You’re asking for a chance. That’s all.”

Roman smiled, and his voice had gone soft again. “I know. But even if you are a demon, I wouldn’t want to force you into anythin’. I wouldn’t try to make anyone love me. What’s the point, then? Is it really love? I just want a chance to earn it. I want that initial spark, an’ then time to see if I can fan the flames into somethin’ truly marvelous an’ worthwhile. An’… if I fail at that….” He dropped his gaze. “…I suppose it would at least have been worth the adventure, in the end.”

Virgil pursed his lips. He looked legitimately torn for a moment, which was odd. For him, as a demon, surely this must be a real win-win of a situation. No matter what, he’d get Roman’s soul, and he might not even need to pay the full price for it. So why did he look so conflicted? “I….” He stared at Roman for several moments longer before sighing. “I… can’t. I can’t make this deal with you.”

Roman was immediately on the defense. “Why not?! I summoned you! You’re supposed to take whatever deal I’m offerin’, that’s how it works, you can’t jus’-” A cold finger pressed to his lips and his brown eyes widened.

“Shut up, princey.” Virgil growled. He was quick to remove his finger, clearly uncomfortable with the gesture but desperate to stop Roman from talking. “I’ll still make you a deal. Just… not that one. Not one for your soul.” He grumbled, “At least not immediately.”

Roman blinked. “What… do you mean?”

Virgil sighed. “Listen. I might be a demon, but I’m not heartless, and I’m not as cruel as I could be. I’m not… just gonna let you throw away your soul on me. But I am obligated to make a deal with you. So how about this? I’ll… give you your chance. To swoon me, win me over, whatever. If… if you fail at that, like you decide to give up and move on, I… I get your soul then. But if it works, deal’s off. You won’t owe me anything.”

Roman could do nothing except stare at Virgil, wide-eyed. He belatedly realized he was still on his knees. Something about that minute detail made the situation all the more poignant. “But… why? Why do this for me?”

Virgil wasn’t looking at him, but he did provide an answer; sort of. “Don’t worry about it. Demon business. You wouldn’t understand.” Roman had a feeling that was a load of bull, but Virgil barreled on so he couldn’t call the demon out on it. “Anyway, do we got a deal or not? I can’t refuse to make one with you, but… you can change your mind. Now’s your last chance to do it.” Virgil stuck out his hand.

Roman’s stare shifted to the appendage instead, while the gears churned away inside his head. Technically, he was still getting what he wanted. Now he just had the chance to skip out on eternal damnation. He couldn’t even be paranoid about it being a trap or a trick; Virgil had clearly lowered his odds at getting Roman’s soul. It really didn’t make a lick of sense to him, but… who was he to look a gift horse in the mouth? Perhaps Virgil had a change of heart. Maybe he already saw Roman in a new light, after all. His stance on trying had hardly changed, so… he had nothing more to lose.

Decisively, Roman took Virgil’s hand, giving it a firm shake. “Deal.”

A flicker of anxiety passed through Virgil’s face before it dimmed back into indifference, and he retracted his hand. “Alright. Cool. You just made yourself a deal with a real life demon, Sir Desperate. How does it feel?”

In a single, fluid motion, Roman rose to his feet. One hand pressed fingertips to his chest, while the other swooped out in a grand gesture towards Virgil. He was giving the demon his very best smolder. “Like I’ve got a chance in hell.”

Virgil’s eyes widened, then he snorted, shaking his head. “This is gonna be hell. For me, anyway.” He looked over at Roman’s car and quirked an eyebrow. “You drove all the way out here in the middle of the night? You really do have a death wish.”

Roman laughed and spun on his heel, hands rising up towards the sky. “Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn!”

[tri-point-bruiser]

B ( default or MNYC Raph is ok)

B: Birthday (Describe birthday sex)

[[Because we have a thread in the MNY AU I will base this there. Also describe always makes me want to write a story.]]

||Because people are overly sensitive about t-cest I am putting this under a read more||

Raphael was always one to spoil others on their birthday, but was always surprised when he was spoiled himself. It didn’t stop him from ramping up his efforts year after year, and after the year he and Donnie had had, Raph felt he needed to do something extra special to show his love. The emotional roller coaster they had been on was enough to almost ruin them and it was more important now than ever that Raph reinforce his feelings for Don. 

He had planned everything carefully. He took Don to one of his favorite nice restaurants, insisting they both dress up. Dinner and desert, followed by a night trip to the planetarium to wander around and then enjoy their nighttime space exhibit where they sat in a room with what looked like a large number of mostly couples, and watch as galaxies surrounded them. It was only a 3d light show, but Raph swore you could actually touch the stars. 

The best part of the surprise he had set up in secret before they left. Once they were done at the planetarium Raphael took them both home and lead Don to his apartment. Grabbing a strip of cloth from his pocket and blindfolding his brother, Raph lead Don to the bedroom where he had everything almost ready to go. “Stay here, don’t move ok?”

Raph moved around the room making sure everything was in place. Quiet music filled the space as he dimmed the custom lights he had installed to give the room the soft glow of candlelight without the risk of actual candles and potential fire hazards. Stripping off his suit jacket Raphael stepped up behind Don and began to slowly undress the taller turtle until Don was in nothing but his boxers. 

Kissing Donnie on the side of the neck Raph tugged off the temporary blindfold and let Don see the room. The lights were perfectly dim, dark purple silk sheets covered the bed, which was littered with dark red rose petals, a perfect combination of their signature colors. 

Raph ran his hands slowly over Don’s body as he whispered in his brothers ear. “I am gonna make slow, sweet love to you all night Donnie. Gonna show ya how much I love ya, want ya, need ya.” He nipped the skin of his brothers neck to tease, then bit harder to mark him. “Now get on the bed, lay on yer back, and just watch.”

Raphael already had his suit jacket off, but that was all. As the music played he began to loosen his tie taking it off slowly and tossing it on the bed. He might use it later, might not, it all depended on Donnie. After that he slowly unbuttoned his dress shirt, pulling it out of his pants to show off his lower plates just a bit. While he wasn’t going to dance, he figured a strip tease wasn’t beyond his abilities.

The whisk of his belt being pulled through the loops of his pants, followed by the muffled thud of it hitting the carpet seemed overly loud in the room. Don was quiet, but his eyes were locked onto Raph with intense hunger. Occasionally his tongue would dart out to lick his lips and Raph just smiled that same cocky smile. 

Wanting to tease Don just a bit Raph unzipped his pants, but then switched to kick off his shoes and tug his socks off. Not the sexiest move and the grin on his brothers face was evidence of that, but it didn’t bother Raph at all. He liked to make Donnie laugh. That amusement faded when Raph’s hands moved back to his slacks and slowly slid them open and off. Now he was just in his boxer briefs and he moved closer to the bed. 

Crawling onto the bed and over his brother Raphael leaned down and captured Don’s lips in a heated kiss, pressing his body close, grinding their cocks against each others as he sucked on that talented tongue. “Fuck Don, I just wanna be inside ya so bad, but I gotta make it last, gotta make it slow just for you. I need ya ta know how much I love ya.”

Panting Raphael kissed down Don’s body pushing his brothers boxers off and tossing them aside. He preferred receiving head to giving it, but he would do anything for Donnie, even this. Licking and kissing along his brothers cock, he pulled the lube from under the pillow where he had stashed it and coated a finger liberally with it. Slowly he teased around Don’s tight pucker as he swallowed his brother’s cock, waiting for Donnie to relax before slowly sliding a finger inside of him.

Raph knew Don would not last, but they were both capable of multiple rounds, having quite a bit of stamina, and he knew that the orgasm would help relax his brother enough for them to have penetrative sex. Something they had not actually done yet since becoming a couple. That was the real surprise. Raph knew that Don wanted it, but he needed to make sure they were both ready before trying it. 

As he swallowed Don’s seed Raph curled his finger and continued to stretch his brothers tight hole. Pulling back and rising up to his knees he slicked up his cock with lube, squirting more onto his finger and ensuring Don was well lubricated. Pain was not his goal tonight, maybe in the future they could try that, but not tonight.

“When I said I was gonna make love to  ya Donnie, I meant it. I love ya, and I don’t want anyone else.” Raph’s words were rough but sincere and he could see Don’s eyes getting a little shiny. Leaning in he kissed Don slowly, softly, as he pressed the tip of his cock against Don’s entrance. With a gentle push of his hips, slowly he entered his brother. There was a loving tenderness to how slow and gentle Raph was being. As desperately as he felt the need to go faster, he wasn’t going to ruin this moment with his own need.

Pressing their foreheads together right as Raph was fully sheathed in his brother he let out a shaky breath. His voice had a note of almost desperation to it.  “Fuck Donnie, I love ya so much. Fuck I need ya.”

[theolddarkmachine]

Kingdom- Chapter Ten

Gajeel has had the dream about dying for the blue haired girl for as long as he can remember. Which is weird, since he’s never met anyone with blue hair in his life.

Levy has always loved myths and legends. So much so, in fact, that she was currently getting her master’s in mythological studies.

What neither of them realized was that they were living a legend all their own.

AKA the one with a knight, a princess, and a curse that keeps bringing them together just to pull them apart.

PREVIOUS CHAPTERS

AO3

Weeeee another chapter! I’m gonna stop pretending I’m back on weekly updates now, because clearly, I am not XD I JUST KEEP ADDING THINGS TO THE TO-DO LIST WAH I’M SORRY. Anyway, so here’s a wild fun fact, we’re six chapters from the end of Kingdom. Can you believe?! Me either lol Another fun fact? This is the last chapter of questions. After this there are answers. Lots, and lots of answers. And possibly pain. (Read: Lots, and lots of pain.) So uh, enjoy the calm before the storm lol also hi yes also in case you missed it theres a gajevy vday fic coming which is partially why the delay in this update

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Why?

The single word had tinged his existence a darker shade of grey as Gajeel was haunted by the continuous replaying of his talk with Lily.

Why?

The story has changed so many times, I can’t be sure, but it is said that the queen was the one that did it.

But why?

If it’s true, she wanted Levy to feel the pain of loss, stretched across all her lifetimes.

Growling under his breath, Gajeel threw his weight into a particularly difficult spot that marred the top of his bar as he let his frustration bleed into the force he exerted. No matter how many times he’d asked, and no matter how many times Lily had replied, he still wasn’t any closer to a real answer.

All that Lily had known was nothing more than possibilities, the truth trapped within the binding of a single book that had been lost to time. Hypotheticals were the only tether to a past he’d only seen glimpses of, and wasn’t even quite sure he believed existed. Even with all the evidence, he still reeled against the possibilities of his impossible truth.

Days had passed since the discovery, and Gajeel wasn’t necessarily avoiding his problems. At least, that’s what he told himself as he’d put his phone on silent and taken on more shifts at the bar than he normally would have. No, he just needed time to work things out. To work out what exactly it meant to be cursed to die for a woman he hardly knew.

What it meant to know, and not be able to do anything about it.

Worst of all, what it meant to know that he would die, and not even care.

Because when it came down to it, Gajeel would die for her. Hell, he’d already thrown himself in front of a truck for her. His problem wasn’t with the situation at all, so much as the realization of his own feelings. Being a reincarnated knight, he could figure out.

The way his stomach dropped each time he checked his phone and didn’t see Levy’s name on the screen, he could not.

With a sigh, he pulled away from the mark, its dark stain stubborn as it stared back at him with all its smudged glory, lit only by the dimmed lights of the bar. It had been days since Levy had walked out of his apartment, leaving him alone with the memory of her blue hair as she disappeared through his doorway.

They’d exchanged numbers, and aside from a quick text that she had made it home in one piece, he hadn’t heard from her since. Something about the hollowness that bled out over his chest felt wrong, leaving behind the biting tang of unease. The only thing that kept it from wholly consuming him was the small voice that reminded him that she wasn’t his.

Yet, he bit back.

Gajeel’s black shirt vibrated against his skin with the force of the bass that danced around his body. It felt ominous in its own right, its growling coming louder and closer than it ever had, wrapping itself around him like a beast behind the bar where he stood.

Ironside itself felt animalistic.

Standing at its entrance had felt like standing in front of a monster and staring down its gaping jaw without any form of defense. It had been enough to make his skin prickle with foreboding as bile worked itself upwards towards the top of his throat with its burning bitterness. Everything about the bar felt wrong.

Almost as if it too, was in on the plot to end his life.

“Hello, handsome,” a voice purred, curling around the edges in a sharpened caress as a taloned hand ran over the stained spot that had held his attention. Ripping his thoughts away from death, Levy and the stubborn mark, Gajeel let his eyes slip up from the wood until he found his crimson gaze caught by one made of amethyst.

The woman that stood before him looked completely misplaced against the backdrop of the bar behind her. Dressed in a black dress cut more for business instead of pleasure, she stood straight with her chin raised high. On anyone else, it would look snobbish. As if she was looking down at those beneath her. In her, however, it gave her a sense of regality. It suited her, and if Gajeel hadn’t known better, he would think her something closer to a queen than someone looking to spend her night at the bar.

With the red lighting that drenched everything along his countertop crimson gracing the sharp points of her face, she carried all the beauty of a wild tiger. Stunning, but dangerous. 

Her lips pulled back over her teeth in a blood colored impersonation of a smile as she dragged the purple of her stare up and down his body. Heart seizing in his chest as if frozen by the sudden grip of fear, Gajeel tried to breath around the feel of sudden panic burning through him.

“What can I get ya?” He pushed through the fear as it coated the back of his tongue with its acrid sting. Everything in him was telling him to run from the hard cut jewel stare. They stood in silence, the thrum of the music falling away from him as they looked each other over. She didn’t make any move to answer, instead opting to run her pointed nails back over the bar.

After allowing the moment to stretch uncomfortably long, Gajeel opened his mouth to ask his question again, sure she hadn’t heard.

“You never change, do you?” She finally spoke, voice lower, and darker. Almost as if it had been mired in shadows. Another pang of something like dread heaved itself against the walls of his gut.

“Have we met before?” He asked, searching his thoughts for an recollection of the woman, only to find himself hitting a wall each time he felt himself get closer. The woman moved forward, settling herself onto a bar stool as her smile widened. Underneath the friendly exterior, he only saw frost. It was a look filled with the knowledge of something he was not privy to.

“My mistake, dear,” she soothed with all the same comfort of a venomous snake as she shook her head. “You just look like someone I knew a lifetime ago.”

Caught under the weight of her biting smile, Gajeel reached for a glass, mindlessly trying to place his attentions on something other than the way the glimmer of her teeth cut into him like sharpened knives.

“He must’ve made an impression,” he muttered, finally tearing his eyes away as he grabbed for a towel.

She probably just needs someone to talk to, he told himself as he started to wipe at the smudges on the cup. It wouldn’t be the first time someone had walked into Ironside looking for a cheaper and more enjoyable alternative to a therapist. Easing himself into the comfort of the barely veiled lie, he stole a quick glance of the woman just in time to see her mouth twitch downward.

“Quite,” she said sharply, her expression twisting with shadows cast from the ever moving lights of the bar.

“Didn’t end well, I take it?” Gajeel prodded, hand twisting the towel around the now pristine surface of the glass, if only to give himself something else to preoccupy his mind aside from that voice beating inside his mind. Pushing back against her words and the mad thump of the music, it kept on in its insistence that something was wrong.

“Not for either of us, I’m afraid.” The words were a hiss that cut into him. His hand stalled as they wrapped themselves around his throat, choking him of air.

“Bad breakup?” He managed around the tight grip that cut off his breathing.

It’s okay, he told himself as he dragged air down into his lungs, fighting back the sudden burn in his chest.

“I suppose you could call it that,” the woman’s voice dipped back into her earlier purr as she bore holes into him with her stare. Gajeel’s grip tightened around the glass, his knuckles turning a stark white, as he felt the sharp sting of a pointed claw dragging down the back of his neck.

A static moment stole his senses, dipping him into silence as he found himself held like a mouse staring up at a snake. In the distance, he could hear the strain of a voice calling his name as if he was caught underwater. That voice sounded so familiar. And it sounded like it was crying.

And then, it was gone. Air burst into his lungs as the sharpened sensation disappeared from around his throat. The music came roaring back to life, nearly deafening him as he set the the glass down onto the counter, using his newly freed hand to steady himself with the hard surface.

The woman, in turn, just smiled.

It’s okay, he repeated, ignoring the smaller voice that contradicted his own thought.

No, it’s not.

“Well, you’ve come to the right place to forget him for awhile,” Gajeel said, aware of the way his voice wavered as if he’d just run a marathon. All he needed to do was get their conversation back on track. If he got her her drink, she could leave, and then he could slip out to catch his breath. Her eyes glowed with the red light, her gaze becoming amethyst mired in blood as she replied.

“I hear you make a great cocktail.”

Another breath.

It’s okay.

No, it’s not.

“You’ve heard right,” he said with a smile, aware that it would probably look more like a grimace. If she noticed the way it hadn’t quite touched his eyes, she didn’t say anything.

“I’ll take a Blue Princess.” Flicking her hand through the air with the same flourish of the royalty she seemed to embody, she gave her order with feigned nonchalance. Even with the thick covering of indifference, he could still hear the hint of something else. Quickly fishing out the alcohol and mixers needed to create the drink, Gajeel filled her glass with the swirling blue liquid.

Setting it before her gently, he took the money she had set before him.

“Keep the change,” she soothed, licking across her bottom lip as she grabbed the drink. Running a finger across the rim, she regarded it with a strange fire in her eye before she brought it to her lips. With a quick flick of her wrist, and a tip of her head, she threw it back, nothing but ice clinking against the glass when she dropped it back on the counter.

It’s okay.

No, it’s not.

“It was good seeing you, Gajeel.” Carefully stepping down from the barstool, she fixed him with a final smile touched by razorblades and ice. Turning away, she started to make her way towards the crowd of swaying bodies, throwing her last words over her shoulder before she disappeared amongst them.

“Thank you for the drink.”

It wasn’t until much later, after he had disappeared into the supply closet under the pretense of needing more glasses, after settling the spinning feeling that had left him reeling, and after he’d returned home from the bar more exhausted than usual, that Gajeel realized something.

It was good seeing you, Gajeel.

The sound of the deadbolt sliding into place a loud click in the otherwise silent apartment.

He hadn’t told her his name.

Vibrations erupted from his pocket as his phone went off with a message alert, sending his heart up into his throat as he grabbed it. Across the screen, he saw Levy’s name, and accompanying it was a simple line of text.

Hey, can we meet up? I was hoping we could talk.

**************************

[thatmudblood]

Pretty translation of a drabble of the song I feel pretty, from West Side Story, that I wrote 98429348 years ago so it’s probably the crappiest crap that ever crapped. 

Imagine a castle. A big one. Now imagine a room. Imagine a dimly-lit room, illuminated only by the sunlight that seeped through the thick curtains, of a dark red color, and by the only candle who’s light, despite the hours, refused to fade. Imagine that, in that same room, there were five beds, a door that lead to a small but cozy bathroom, a mirror, and a vanity made of the same dark wood as the rest of the furniture.

Imagine that in that room, five girls used to sleep every year. Five girls that didn’t survive the war… but that’s another tale.

In that room, that afternoon, there were four seventeen year olds. Two of them, sitting in the same bed facing each other, went through the darkened pages of a book with a furrowed brow, and raised their heads from time to time, looking at the vanity. The third one, that refused to fake interest on another subject, leaned into a window and stared directly at the fourth one.

The fourth one, redhaired and owner of a pair of bright green eyes, sitting in front of the vanity, took different hair adornments that were in front of her, tried them on and then discarded them. She created others with the help of her wand, and made them disappear as quickly as she formed them. She laughed from time to time, giving small jumps on her chair, fidgety. Her fingers clumsily played with a jar, opening it to tap its contents against her lips, that became glossy in an instant.

Because if women were a mystery, Lily Evans was a full extended encyclopedia of those, illustrated and divided in different tomes. There was no soul that knew Lily as much as her roommates, and they still stared at her with a puzzled look.

Yet, when she decided to wear a cute, wide purple hat and started blowing kisses and making gestures to the mirror, the one that was leaning against the window broke the silence.

“Seriously. Seriously and sincerely, what the FUCK did Potter do to her?” Mary asked, walking a few steps towards her, staring at her roommates with pure frustration.

For a few seconds it seemed that Lily, submerged in her own world of daydreams, haven’t heard her. Her three friends stared at her, expecting. She tilted her head slightly to the side, without moving from her spot, and spoke with a soft voice.

“Potter? Why Potter?”, she asked, without stopping the staring at her own reflection.

“Maybe she’s just dolling up for us. Gracias, querida” said Marlene, one of the roommates that were sitting on the bed, with some irony, accentuating the last sentence in a correct Spanish. She got up and folded her arms, demandingly so.

Lily had to understand what they meant when they talked about her brand new boyfriend.

She reacted suddenly, but neither of her roommates thought it had to do with the conversation, but with some sort of personal epiphany. She ran to grab their hands and drag them to the center of the room with her, as she switched her weight from her toes to her talon, like a jittery infant.

“Mary, Marlene… My adorable friends” she said, solemnly, as if she was about to give a great speech, “Can you keep a secret?”

The three girls took this as the sign they were waiting for, and got closer to her as if they were magically granted with a jet or if some disgusting ant found its way into their underwear. She stared at them for a few seconds, as if debating with an inner voice. After an instant, a wide, playful smile appeared on her face, and with a quick gesture, she placed her purple hat on top of Mary’s head.

“No, I won’t tell you. I’ve changed my mind”

Having said that, she walked back to the window, laughing and moving her feet as if she was dancing. Her three roommates stared at them with incredulity, as if they were giving themselves the time to form a logic, coherent theory about their friend’s behavior.

Mary took her hat off with a long sigh and extended her arms to the sides, with a gesture of pure frustration.

“That’s it! We lost her!” she scoffed, tossing the hat on top of the bed, “The poor girl is out of her mind!”

This seemed to entertain the redhaired one, that leaned forward, moving her arms back to rest her hands on the sill of the window. Some dark red waves escaped from their place behind her ear, adoring her face gracefully.

“In fact, yes, I am” she conceded, moving a hand closer to her mouth to softly bite her index finger’s knuckle, “Crazy”

Marlene scoffed, staring at her.

“If she’s not crazy, she’s… let’s say, five minutes away from it”, she said, earning a nod from her friends.

Lily, without paying attention to them, touched a flower pot with her wand, that, when in contact with the magic, jumped from where they were and transformed into a head piece of roses. She wore it, apparently having the time of her life, and walked until she was facing the mirror to look at herself.

She looked pleased with what she was seeing… and the rest of her friends couldn’t ignore that: she was glowing. She irradiated light. It wasn’t normal.

“I think she looks… different”, Marlene said, exteriorizing what the three of them thought, her gesture growing softer.

“I do?” Lily asked, cocking an eyebrow and leaning to stare at her friend.

“And I think she’s up to something”

“I am…?” she replied, giggly.

Overcome by the situation, Dorcas placed her hands on her hips, staring at her intently.

“‘I do’, ‘I am’, she talks like a parrot!”, she spitted, “She’s crazy, I’m telling you, she just went full mad! Dating Potter fried her brain!”

Lily, that was apparently back inside her mind palace, took the scarf with the Gryffindor colors from her own bed, where it was neatly folded, and wore it as a shawl, impersonating a Hollywood star.

“What is going on with you, Lily?” Marlene asked, defeat clear on her voice.

Lily turned on her heels to stare at them… As if what happened to her was completely obvious.

“I feel… Pretty”, she confessed, without a trace of shyness, “Like, really pretty”

Marlene had to help Dorcas, pushing her chin with her index finger to close it. Mary talked fast, almost without leaving space between the words.

“And is that supposed to be a novelty?”, she questioned, switching her weight from one foot to the other, “The daily prophet, extra, extra… The entire school knows that, redhead! If you need glasses—”

“No, you don’t understand”, Lily cut her, fixing the shawl with half closed eyes, like a proper diva, “Beautiful. Really pretty. So. Pretty”

Mary turned around quickly to face her friends, and bent into a quick bow with a smile of self-sufficiency that her classmates understood as a ‘If you needed evidence, this is proof that Lily has just reached the St. Mungo admission stage’

“And I pity any girl who isn’t… well, me” she spoke again, staring at the mirror with amazement, as if it were the first time facing her own reflection.

Pleased with what she saw, she twirled around the room and stood in front of Mary, that couldn’t help but smile at the show Lily was giving them.

“I feel fucking charming” she explained, with a half smirk that made her friends laugh, “To alarming levels”

She bent forward, tiptoeing to stand a few inches away from Mary’s face, as if about to tell her a secret.

“For real… So pretty and charming that I find it hard to believe I’m real”

She tilted her chin up with pride, and with a soft movement from her hand, she pushed some strands of red hair in a dramatic gesture. Mary covered her mouth with the palm of her hand to stop laughter from escaping her lips, and Dorcas stretched her hands to catch her redhaired friend that sneaked away from her attempted grip.

Shaking her red mane she walked until she was facing the mirror and stared at herself thoroughly. Mary followed, and watched their reflection as if expecting to see things from that strange Lily’s perspective. Lily pointed with her finger at the reflection.

“See that pretty girl in that mirror there?”

“If I hadn’t spent the whole day with you and knew as a fact that you didn’t have any alcohol, I’d swear in front of the whole Wizengamot that you’re completely wasted, Evans”

“Who can that attractive girl be?!” Lily asked, ignoring Mary, performing a small ballet jump to stand closer to the mirror, “Such a pretty face… such a pretty attire…”

Saying that, she fixed the scarf again, emphasizing her story.

“Such a pretty smile…” she opened her eyes widely, “Oh, wait. It’s me!”

She placed her hands over her chest and stared at the girls as if they were all witness of huge science discovery. They, seeing that Lily moved around the room, waving and twirling like a ballerina, moved aside to grant her space. They laughed hard, like they haven’t done in a long time. What in one moment was fear over a possible insane episode, had transformed into a show.

“I got it”, said Dorcas, sure that she had the right deduction, “She drank her own love potion, and the first thing she saw was her reflection”

Lily kept twirling and dancing, puffing her chest with pride as she spoke again.

“I feel like the most bright, beautiful thing that ever set foot on Hogwarts!” her last twirl made her dizzy, which made her lean into the wall until the floor stopped spinning.

But that didn’t let her down. In fact, she looked as entertained as ever. She stared at the door, longingly so, as if she wanted to look through it, and bit her lower lip. Her friends knew that Lily kept that gesture for the situations that really got her, for good and for bad. And during the past few weeks, she had even managed to make it bleed, thinking if she should or shouldn’t say yes to him. James and Lily had been dating for a month—and every day, Lily came back to her room saying she felt her heart pressing against her throat, her lip tightly bitten by her teeth, because he, again, had done something incredible/irresistible/prince-like/adorable/etc.

“I want to run. I want to dance… on top of Dumbledore’s desk. I want to sign the Hogwarts’ anthem on Slughorn’s office” she confessed, letting her body slowly slide down the door until she was sitting on the ground, “Out of pure joy. I’m just… just… happy”

Her classmates smiled at the sight. The messy hair, the slightly parted lips, the lost gaze, the soft color on her cheeks… Lily was stupidly, madly in love with James Potter. And in their previous years, the three of them would have given their left kidneys if they told them that, in the future, they’d have to witness Lily like this— but there she was.

“Because he loves me. Because I’m loved… so much, with such strenght… Really” she hugged her knees, with a dumb smile on her face that was surely about to give her cramp, “And he’s wonderful. Did I mention he’s wonderful?”

“About five hundred times this week, I think”

“And did I mention I regret denying my feelings for so long, even if I was right when I said he was an arrogant toerag?”

“About seven hundred times this last three days, but I lost count, I have the actual chart on my other robes”

Lily rose to her feet suddenly, and jumped to one of the beds. From there, tossing aside the flower garment that adorned her head and the scarf she wore as a shawl, she started dancing without any trace of rhythm.

Mary took a few tentative steps until she stood in front of the bed. She took the white pillow case cover, tying it up in a way that resembled a long white beard.

“Professor Dumbledore!” yelled Dorcas, clapping.

“Thank you, thank you—Yes, I would like to introduce to you our head girl, prefect, Hogwarts’ pride… Lily Evans!” she stretched her arm, pointing at her classmate that kept dancing on the bed, “Most of you know her as the girlfriend of Gryffindor’s quidditch team captain, but, in case you don’t know who she is, she’s the one that’s right there in an advanced state of shock”

Lily let out a giggle and dropped, taking a second there, lying on her bed, but only to, within the blink of an eye, raise again and reassume her dancing, grabbing her skirt with her hands to wave it around, emphasizing her dance moves.

Marlene, laughing as well, took some clothes that were scattered on the floor and stuffed her sweater, creating a huge belly. She took one lock of her hair and placed it under her nose, in a perfect imitation of Slughorn’s.

“Yes, yes, Lily, my dear Lily… She’s that one over there, the one that’s lovestruck. Because she thinks she’s in love, but its s because her screws loosened and she’s merely insane”

The redhaired girl laughed loudly, jumping out of the bed to dance around her friends. Dorcas quickly moved to grab a towel from the bathroom, and placed it over her head exactly as Madame Pomfrey did.

“It must be the heat, what fried her brain. The heat of the summer clouded her mind and made her think that yes, indeed, the one guy she constantly invited to throw himself from the nearest tower without a broom for years, it’s an marvelous, strapping, adorable handsome young lad that deserves her lovey-dovey sighs each five minutes, even when she’s asleep”

Lily laughed like a child and bowed to Mary-Dumbledore, that waved at her imitating their headmaster.

“Or maybe he used a love potion, but improved…” Marlene suggested, stroking her round belly and her fake moustache, trying to use her manliest voice.

“Maybe she ate too much?” Mary added, “You know how it goes— A full belly and a happy heart. She ate enough to ignore years of rejection, death threats, trips to the infirmary because of her own blunt objects tossed, yell—”

“Fine, I get it” said Lily, cutting their theories, as she ran across the room.

Mary, Marlene and Dorcas tossed their costumes aside, and hugged each other in a corner.

“Keep away from her! Maybe it’s contagious!”, Dorcas said, covering her mouth and nose with her hand.

“Call Potter! This is his fault, after all!” Mary yelled, stretching a hand with solemnity, as if guiding a rescue mission for Lily, that hid behind the canopy of her bed, laughing as loudly as she could.

“This is not the Lily we know”

“Modest.”

“Pure”

“Polite”

“Refined”

“Well bread”

“Mature”

Lily came out of her hiding spot wearing the candlestick that was transformed into something that resembled a crown.

“… And out of her mind!”

Marlene, as if a brilliant idea had stuck her, started to clap vigorously.

“Miss Britain!”

Mary and Dorcas started to clap with her, echoing the ‘Miss Britain!’ effusively. Lily waved her hand as if she was the queen herself.

“What a beauty!”, said Marlene.

“Bravo, bravo!” yelled Dorcas, waving her wand to produce a bouquet of flowers that was quickly placed on Lily’s hand.

Marlene and Mary helped Lily, pushing her a little to make her stand on her own truck. Lily took the curtains of the canopy of her bed and wrapped her body around it, making it look like a tight and pretty dark red dress, while in the other hand she held the white flowers.

“Speech! Speech, Miss Britain, speech!” echoed Mary, clapping fervently.

Lily ceased the applause with a gesture of her hand, and after a bunch of bows and waves from her hand, she spoke.

“I would like to thank everyone that gave me this title. It’s a great day for me, and an even greater day for you, peasants, that get to rejoice on my beauty that is worthy of Hogwarts’ keys. The city’s as well. I mean, the whole country’s too.”

The three girls nodded and clapped their hands as Lily bent slightly.

“In fact I am so pretty that I think the Ministry of Magic should organize a committee… to honor me.”

“Clearly”

“You’re absolutely right, Miss Evans”

Lily dropped the curtains and kneelt, facing her friends.

“I feel so damned pretty that Miss Britain can just resign, right now”

The girls laughed and helped her step down the truck.  Now the four ladies were standing together, right in front of the mirror of the vanity. And their reflection left them speechless for a moment: their cheeks were flushed, their hairs were messy, and they had that glow that only a person that had laughed could possibly have.

“Now, can you see that girl in that mirror, there?”

“Which?”

“What?”

“Where?”

“I wonder who it could be…” Lily asked, almost whispering.

“Whom?”

“Whom, Lils?!”

“Yes, whom?”

And Lily stepped aside, letting them stare at their own reflections. And minutes passed as they realized what Lily had meant.

“Well,” Marlene started, fixing a few strands of blonde hair, “Honestly, I’m pretty hot myself”

“I’m not half bad either”, added Mary, placing her hands on her waist and posing for her own reflection.

“Devastatingly beautiful, that’s me”, said Dorcas.

Lily smiled sincerely and took her transfigured crown off from her head, setting it aside. Her friends whispered to each other, entertained with what they saw on the mirror, as if they never had the time to feel better about themselves by doing so. Lily sat on her bed, and allowed her body to fall back, staring at the ceiling while biting her lower lip.

And she cursed James under her breath. The handsome, wonderful James Potter. She smiled again.

Because James made her feel like the prettiest girl in the world.

Because Lily, that day, was the prettiest girl in the world.

[cosmere-drabbles]

allergies

if there is not enough mindless, plotless fluff in the world then i will write it myself

Word count: 1618

Relationship: Shakadolin

[AO3]

A hacking cough to his left woke Adolin far before he would have liked. It was still mostly dark; the light outside was barely a dusky glow. None of them had to be awake for some time today. On his other side, Shallan grumbled and pulled a pillow over her head. “Did someone track dust in here again?”

Adolin made a vague attempt to kick in her direction. “That happened once, and I didn't.”

“Why's Kaladin coughing, then?”

“It’s nothing.” Kaladin sounded very stuffed up, quite contrary to Shallan’s claim of dust-caused coughing. “Go back to sleep, I’m fine.”

“You don’t sound fine.” Adolin propped himself up, concerned, and placed the back of his hand on Kaladin’s forehead. “And you feel hot.”

“Or maybe you’re just cold.” Kaladin sneezed. “Besides, you’re always saying I’m hot. I fulfill and exceed expectations.”

“Kaladin, it feels like you have a fever.”

“I feel fine. Who has the medical experience here, you or me?”

“I didn’t know Radiants could get sick. With Stormlight and everything…” Adolin glanced at Shallan--or, rather, the pile of blankets and pillows that Shallan was buried beneath--uneasily. Perhaps this was serious.

“I’m not sick,” Kaladin insisted, just before sneezing again. “I’m just… I’m allergic to lighteyes.”

“Strange that this should crop up now,” Shallan said dryly, as Adolin simultaneously deadpanned, “So you’re allergic to yourself sometimes?”

“Storms take both of you.”

“He probably knows exactly what it is,” Adolin told Shallan’s blanket lump, resigned. “The man can diagnose most people fairly accurately based off of what he can see and hear. Feeling symptoms probably makes it even easier.”

“I can hear you,” Kaladin grumbled.

“Perhaps he's in denial,” Shallan said flatly, still muffled by the blankets.

“I'm not in denial. I'm fine.”

“He hasn’t had Stormlight in a bit, so he could’ve caught it in between periods of using it, when his immune system wouldn’t have been bolstered,” Shallan continued, voice colored with a tinge of curiosity under the annoyance. “Or perhaps Surgebinders getting sick has a purpose. Build up immunity to spren that create illness, in case there are spren that can affect even Radiants. It’ll make him stronger and less susceptible to those diseases later.”

Kaladin narrowed his eyes. “Have you been reading medical books?”

Shallan ignored him. “Maybe Stormlight will help, but maybe we should only do that if it gets serious.”

“It’s not going to get serious, because I’m fine. Why are you talking about me like I'm not here?”

“Kaladin, darling, any evidence linked to your well-being points to the contrary being true, and if you're not going to acknowledge it, we will.” Shallan yawned, turning over to squint in his direction.

“It’s fine. I'm fine. In fact, I need to start getting ready for training.” Kaladin shifted, evidently trying to get up.

“No, no, no, no, you don’t.” Adolin scrambled to sit up fully and pushed Kaladin down. “No, you need to rest.”

“Do not. I have things to do.” Kaladin pushed against him, scowling.

“Yes, you do, and those things include getting rest right now. It’s still really early. Shallan, help me out.”

Shallan blearily reached across Adolin and held one of Kaladin’s arms, which did effectively nothing to help Adolin hold down the rest of him. Kaladin wasn’t fighting much, but it was difficult to keep him down while next to him, so Adolin eventually just shoved Shallan’s arm aside and sat on Kaladin’s abdomen, holding his shoulders down. Kaladin grunted in protest and tried to knee him in the back, so Shallan lethargically moved to drape herself across his legs.

“We can ask Syl when she gets back if she thinks you need to heal up. But until then, you should stay here.”

“No, I shouldn’t.”

“Kaladin, love,” Adolin coaxed, “Stormlight of my life--”

“Almighty, whatever you're about to say, you can say it without the gushy nicknames,” Kaladin groaned, rolling his eyes as he continued to try to wiggle out from under Adolin. Shallan snickered.

“What, you don’t like gushy nicknames?”

Kaladin went limp for a moment. “Oh, Stormfather. What have I done?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, you Ryshadium of a man,” Shallan said, tone innocent. “I would think you would have more faith in us to come up with suitable compliments, you picture of Heraldic Radiance, you rare and stunning chasmfiend gemheart. You ferocious and beautiful skyeel. You stubborn, elegant Shardblade.”

Kaladin snorted, quite obviously smothering a laugh. “You're ridiculous.”

“You're ridiculous, refusing to realize you need rest,” Shallan countered.

“I don't. I am rested and I am fine, and there is nothing you can do to convince me otherwise.”

“Nothing, you say?” Shallan’s tone became dangerously sweet, and Adolin felt the need to brace himself for whatever was coming. Kaladin set his jaw.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing, he says. Hm. You know,” she said, in mock thoughtfulness, “you breathtaking, spontaneous collection of rockbuds, we never did officially establish whether or not you’re ticklish anywhere.”

Kaladin froze, just for a second. “I’m not.”

The second was enough. Adolin turned around just in time to see Shallan grin maliciously and reach for Kaladin’s feet. Kaladin yelped, probably the most undignified noise Adolin had ever heard him make, and tried to kick her. She just laughed and pinned his legs down, tickling the bottom of his foot relentlessly. Adolin nearly fell off of him in the resulting explosion of laughter, but he couldn't help a smile--Kaladin laughing was rare, and Kaladin laughing beyond an amused huff was about as common as shalebark growing purple. Which was a shame. Kaladin had a lovely laugh, despite what he claimed; while it was often hoarse, it was spontaneous and infectious and real. But Kaladin’s uncontrollable laughter quickly deteriorated into a wheezing cough, and Shallan let up, concern evident on her face.

“Okay! Okay, maybe I do need to get some rest,” he finally admitted, once the coughing stopped. Shallan nodded and flopped back down. Adolin hummed in satisfaction, and Kaladin opened his eyes a slit.

“It’s not because of the compliments.”

“Mhm.”

“Or because of the tickling.”

“Okay.”

“Or your efforts to keep me immobilized.”

“All right.” Adolin heaved himself off and snuggled next to Kaladin again, ignoring how hot his skin felt.

“You two lightweights are nothing, compared to a bridge,” Kaladin continued, automatically pulling Adolin closer and worming an arm under his shoulders.

“Undoubtedly.”

“I could fling you both across the room if I wanted to.”

“I’m aware.”

“Without Stormlight.”

Adolin laughed. “I know you could, love.”

“I, for one, doubt it,” Shallan interjected, still lying across Kaladin’s legs. “The momentum and force that would be required isn’t quite possible with what you could pull off lying down and weighted.”

Kaladin rolled his eyes and gave Adolin a long-suffering look. Adolin snorted. “Shallan, I’m losing feeling in my legs.”

“Better to be down here than up there. You’ll get us sick too.”

“Shalllaaaaaaaannnnn,” Adolin whined. “We need to keep Kaladin warm for as long as we can before we have to go.”

Shallan grumbled. “He has a fever. He's plenty warm.”

“I can keep you warm, then,” Kaladin said. “Plenty of heat to go around. Because I'm so hot.”

She didn't move for another moment, still resisting. Adolin wiggled his feet underneath her, and she slapped at them.

“Fine. But you two need to move over so I don't fall off the bed.”

Both obliged, and she dragged herself to Kaladin’s other side, burrowing around until she was comfortable. Kaladin grunted and adjusted for her presence. He sighed contentedly once she was settled, nuzzling into her hair.

Adolin watched the faint light track across the ceiling, pressed against Kaladin’s side, listening to his heartbeat and breathing. It was moments like these that he really treasured; even though Kaladin was sick, they were all together, alive and away from the expectations they had to conform to in public. This… this was peaceful and calm. Once again, Adolin found himself making a mental note to have someone help him burn a glyph of gratitude for the two wonderful, amazing people here with him. He shifted a bit to drape an arm across Kaladin’s torso, found Shallan’s freehand, and threaded their fingers together. How had he gotten so lucky? To end up with Kaladin and Shallan, two powerful, beautiful, incredible Radiants with razor sharp wits and unique, lovely personalities and attributes… his love for them threatened to overwhelm him sometimes.

Surely they felt similarly. Perhaps they too were contemplating such things as they stared at the light, slowly drifting across the ceiling. Perhaps they too marveled at how the beauty of the world seemed to increase when people were with those they loved. Perhaps they too wondered at the intricate nature of the cosmere, how it aligned to bring them together.

“If we get sick, it’s your fault,” Shallan muttered into Kaladin’s side, interrupting Adolin’s thoughts.

Adolin closed his eyes briefly, an exasperated sigh threatening to escape him. Despite it, a reluctant smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

“No, ’s your fault.” Kaladin’s voice slurred slightly, already half asleep. “For not letting me Stormlight so I can get better faster.”

“I didn’t realize Stormlight was a verb.” Despite the barbed nature of the comment, Shallan’s tone was soft and quiet.

“S’not.” He sounded like he was fighting to stay awake, just to keep arguing with Shallan. Adolin rolled his eyes, allowing the fond smile to grow on his face. “Didn’t… use it like that.”

“Shallan, leave him alone. Let him sleep.”

“Fine.” She kissed Kaladin’s jaw. “If I must.”

Kaladin smiled sleepily, eyes closed. “I love you.”

“Love you too.”

“I love you too. Now get some storming sleep.”

[teamoliv-archive]

Archive: Fists of Iron and the Steel Heart

Ivory is treated to an exhibition match against a Beacon student and learns a harsh lesson about why greater skill and experience don’t always translate into an easy fight.

Characters: Ivory Reynard (teamoliv) Blade Stryker (strykingback)

BATTLE: Ivory vs. Blade

Ivory had taken to Beacon Academy well enough. Though there were difficulties. She was still failing Grimm Studies miserably, her team had made enemies within the first week of being here, and at least a few of them had a stern talking to by staff over their behavior.

At least here she was in her comfort zone.

Standing at one end of the practice arena, she stood tall with her equally tall battleaxe looking out at her opponent that had been selected for the match. She gives a glance to the teacher- a stern woman in white and purple who looked like she could kill with a glance. She raises up her hand as the participants’ faces appeared on the screen above, one showing Atlas’s flag behind it and the other Beacon’s. Their names were on display but she announced it anyway. “Ivory Reynard versus Blade Stryker.”

She turned her attention to her opponent again. Blade Stryker? That sounded more like a title than a name. He even had swords. She almost had to smirk at it. She grips the handle of her ax tightly and holds it out to her side much like a sentry on watch. “Sorry, but I can’t promise I’ll hold back.”

She closes her eyes to steady herself, mentally repeating a mantra to herself.

You are a blade. You are a shield. You were meant to serve.  Meant to protect. Know no fear, nor joy, nor sadness.  Your feelings are one with your commands. Master yourself, for a good sword is never thrown aside.

When she opens them again there’s a cold unresponsive emptiness to her. The grip on her weapon tightens. She awaited her opponent’s motions, as well as the signal to begin.

Blade looked at Ivory with a smirk as well putting himself in a combat stance. “Same here, Time to give you a welcoming party from Beacon itself!” he said waiting for the signal as well.

Remember What Mom, Uncle Norse, and Cousin Hikari taught you

you must move faster than your enemies

Strike as quick as possible.

Don’t let certain things get to you

If they do…

BEAT THE CRAP OUT OF THEM

Thinking to himself he had a grin on his face hoping that Ivory will be a worthy challenger.

Ivory stood there emotionless at the other end of the arena. It was a sort of semi-trance she had been taught years ago. As a rather expressive and emphatic girl she needed to learn how to calm herself. This particular little meditation took only a few moments but the result was evident to anyone who knew her for any length of time. She would effectively ‘turn off’ herself and focus entirely on the combat. For the time being, Ivory was all but blind to the world around her, and more dangerously, the full consequences of her actions. That didn’t mean she didn’t know what she was doing. She knew exactly what was about to happen. This poor little first year wouldn’t know what hit him.

When the buzzer sounded the match began. She wordlessly snaps herself down into a crouching position, planting her hand on the ground and holding her weapon upward. Where she put her hand, a glowing target matching the one on her necklace formed.

Ivory’s semblance manifested in the multi-colored targets she could create. They would stay wherever she placed them until destroyed; their color denoting their function. This did render them single-use however so careful but liberal placement was needed to make them effective. This one was a rebound target. Any force applied to it would be launched in the other direction. In this case, Ivory needed to go up. She kicked herself off of the target. The sound of glass shattering and the burst of light from it betrayed its activation as she launches herself high into the air.

She’d need a place to land, though. On the way up, she extended her open hand downward. A green target hung in the air at a slight angle.

She lands on her heels on her decent toward it, standing very high up in the air. She leans back almost as if trying to fall off of it. But her heels were seemingly locked in place and her posture was righted when her ax snaps shut and a tripod pops out of the haft, forming the massive anti-tank rifle of Isengrim’s ranged form. She slaps the mount onto the target for bracing.

In the time it took to set this up, her opponent had a good chunk of time to set himself up to. Now was just a matter of seeing what he did and reacting accordingly. Then firing once she had a shot. But first she needed to see what she was facing.

“A Sniper Weapon!?!?!” Blade thought to himself, using quick thinking he changed Inferno into its shotgun mode and started to rush around shooting at  Ivory. “GET SOME!!!!!” Blade shouted

“Damn it! What am I doing?! Rushing in like this! I don’t even know if this is strategic!” Blade thought to himself once more.  

That was his plan? Charging in and firing while screaming like a mad man? Well, maybe that worked for ground-based opponents but Ivory was already settled pretty far up in the air.

This was either a fake-out or this guy just didn’t know what he was doing. Either was entirely possible.

She decides to test the waters by seeing how he reacts to a warning shot. She levels the rifle and lets looks a shot a foot in front of his charge. Lining up a second shot with a rifle this size would take a bit of time, but hopefully her opponent didn’t have any real method of either getting up there, or shattering her platform.

I need to plan for that anyway. If I go down, I can’t fire.

She’d have to switch Isengrim to the ax form on descent if that happens. For now she needed to gauge his reaction to the first shot.

“Hmm, she is in a  high areas… Well then time to get a better reach then! Inferno can get me to her but I wonder how far? I’ll have no choice but to use my semblance if I have to!” Blade thought to himself  turning around and pointing Inferno to the ground.

“Here we go” Blade whispered to himself quickly as he pulled the trigger as he felt the propulsion launch him towards his target. “BOOYAKASHAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!” He shouted in glee as he turned around looking at his target. 

Feeling as if he’s close enough He extended his left arm out  to his target. He activated his semblance as a yellow  glow appeared from his arms as one of them came out almost spiritual manifestation of his left arm extended out to Ivory grabbing her.

“Yes! That was 4 feet! if she was farther that could’ve been 6 feet which is my semblance’s limit! Now then.” Blade thought to himself.

“Gotcha!” He said as the spiritual arm pulled Ivory down.

Her opponent trying to close the distance by launching himself upward was expected. Extending out a spectral hand to try and pull her from her perch was a new one. Ivory stumbled, saved only by the fact that her lock target kept her feet in stuck in place. She kicked at the target to shatter it and freed her legs from what would otherwise have been an awkward grapple.

There was still the issue of the actual semblance, though. As she fell with Blade, she held her long rifle out to her side. The bipod, trigger, and ammo cartridge folded into the handle while the large ax blades that made up the end of the rifle popped up straight and flared outward with a loud clang. Isengrim’s ax form was just as long as the rifle at about six-feet tall- close to her own height. Which made his arm an easy target.

She arced the ax at his outstretched elbow, aiming for the joint. Against any normal untrained person this sort of blow would take the arm clean off.

I hope you have a strong aura because otherwise this is going to hurt. A lot.

She didn’t really have a landing strategy yet, but on top of her opponent was idea. She could potentially use the rifle’s recoil to both shoot him and bounce off but that was for later. Let this loud first-year find out what happens when you take a 0.50 caliber AM rifle right to the chest at point blank range.

Closing the distance was the easy part, now the hard part came in seeing Ivory’s weapon change from a sniper rifle to a goddamn ax was the hard part. Not to mention noticing that it’s right on his arm…

“From what my uncle told me about my semblance… that if my arm gets blown off it would take me a full hour for my semblance to repair itself…. If i don’t get this  weapon off of me soon….. I have No Choice!! I have to do it!” Blade thought to himself  as another yellow glow came from his right arm and with a quick burst of speed a spectral manifestation of his right arm  struck at Ivory’s face.

“TRY ME!!!”  Blade Shouted at Ivory

The ax blade nearly connects to its target at full force before depth perception proves a little of a foolhardy mistress in the form of an extended fist disrupting her aim. It didn’t hurt a lot, but it did cause her strike to deflect the wrong way. She felt the blade nick against her opponent but nothing to do any sort of damage.

At least this meant he let go of her leg. She presses both feet against Blade’s chest and vaults off of him, twirling a little to break her momentum while she descends several yards from him. He had a longer reach than she had bargained for at first and needed to be sure of that. Picking herself up from her landing, she looks over to where he was falling. More than likely he would be able to land fine as well. Her own teammates would be able to save themselves from that so she shouldn’t assume Beacon’s lot can’t either.

Guess I should stop playing games.

This needed to end sooner rather than later. She holds out her hand firmly and a red target appears in front of her.

She grips her ax by the center of the handle and brings the blade against the target, shattering it instantly. The blade was struck aflame. She adjusts her pose to hold the weapon out to her side, standing much like a sentry or guardsman with a polearm at their side. Her free arm ready to place another target if needed. Let him come. The fire was going to last forever- either a few blows or about twenty seconds, whichever came first. Still, the fact that it was ablaze was what she was banking on.

That hair of his probably needed a lot of gel or spray to keep the way it was. It was probably very easy to catch. But she’d need to bait him closer.

The axe was a close call, but it did nick something, for now thought he had to focus on his landing!  His block did some effect but however it caused his to hit the floor as he groaned a little on the impact. Standing back up he quickly tapped his hair and felt something was missing..

Did..

that axe

NICK…

HIS

HAIR!!!

“You…”

“I’M GONNA KILL YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

Blade shouted as he dropped his weapons and entering a blind rage blitzed towards Ivory while with tow golden glows shown up on his arms as the spectral arms which helped him came out while he sprinted at full speed to get to Ivory.

“WHEN I GET MY HANDS ON YOU, BEST BE PRAYING TO THE MAIDENS OF SUMMER, WINTER, SPRING, AND FALL. CAUSE I WILL BEAT THE EVER-LOVING CRAP OUT OF YOU UNTIL I FEEL LIKE YOU’VE HAD ENOUGH!!!!!!”

Blade shouted in pure fury rushing at Ivory

Well that certainly wasn’t the reaction she was hoping for. Ivory didn’t even actually TRY and hit him yet but apparently the glancing blow from earlier chopped a piece of that hair already.

He noticed- and was in a visible rage.

Most people didn’t respond to something so minor with that level of ferocity. She expected panic after she lit him on fire. This threw that plan out the window. To make the matter worse, he was charging right at her. At least that was something she could deal with.

Ivory brings her ax to bear and begins twirling it, rapidly, letting the flames spread in front of her hoping to deflect any incoming sword blows. She’d need to be careful with this. People were usually both faster and stronger when this enraged due to that pesky little burst of adrenaline. They were also less thoughtful and more easy to goad into mistakes. All she needed to do was block him until he tired out. She couldn’t afford any slip ups.

Unfortunately, she made one. She noticed too late her opponent had dropped his swords. He was charging in fully ready to pummel.

A blow manages to land by ducking underneath her spinning ax while it was in a rising arc and level her right in the gut. It didn’t hurt as much as a full weapon would have, but it was still a heavy hit. One strong enough to force her to stagger back. Ivory cursed her off-center balance and knew she had just made a massive opening- all due to one little oversight. She was open for the rest of the flurry as Isengrim flew out of reach with a loud crash on the floor, the flames extinguished.

The last of them sent her back flying a few feet. She landed right as the end match buzzer sounded and Beacon’s stern combatives teacher raised a hand to mark the end of the match.

“GOT ANYTHING ELSE TO SAY NOW!!! WELCOME TO BEACON! I JUST GAVE YOU THE INITIATION BEATING!!!!” Blade said still in his blind fury watching his opponent land until the buzzer brought him back to reality as the Stryker looked around and scratched his hair quickly.

“Huh? Fights over, Sorry about the beating Ivory but next time make sure not to do what you did to me!!” Blade apologized towards Ivory walking over to his weapons and picking them up and leaving the stage.

“Man.. Atlas really needs to step their game up…” he thought to himself.