#carry on my compassion if fate ever takes me into its hands; help those in need; you know the deal

[r0semultiverse]

I can’t wait to be a way older trans person and all the older tphobes start leaving this mortal coil. I’ll be grinning & cackling throughout my life. I WON BITCH! You’re 6 feet under & I’m still here! 💥

[zutarabender]

@zutaraweek 2022 day 5 - Album Read on AO3

---

Katara thought she knew what she was getting into. An old attic, discarded objects, and more dust than she'd ever seen in a single place. Her promise to help Zuko clear the Ember Island House mess had been firmly made and hastily followed. Even so, it had its downsides. Sometimes it was mold, or nesting insects.

This time, it was a thick tome, lined with pictures and drawings and quick portraits. She didn't need to be told who those faded faces and fragile smiles belonged to.

Her vision went blurry, her chest shaking.

"Katara, what is it?"

Zuko had crawled to her, his face now inches from hers. Her vision was stabilizing, but now her cheeks were wet. Her hands wiped them instinctively, and only then did Katara realize that she was crying.

"Please tell me," Zuko pressed her gently after a few seconds had gone by.

"I don't know." She wiped the tears again. They just wouldn't stop falling. She glanced at the album again, where those eyes frozen in time were staring back. They stabbed her chest and choked the air out of her lungs, and it all became clear then. "I don't have any of this."

All Katara had right then was the necklace around her neck, the one she was touching now as she usually did when she was reminiscing, or sad, or anxious. The one Zuko had once used to chase her, to taunt her. He looked away, as if he could guess the direction of her thoughts.

"Sometimes I wish I could forget."

"I wish I had the power to choose. I just... my brother once said he can't remember what Mom looked like, and I'm so afraid..."

Katara cut herself off. Admitting fear was forbidden. Everything she had ever been, everything she had ever done, was the result of her looking her future in the eye. War was raging around them. It was no time to reach into the past to desperately grasp at sunken memories.

"Even if you forget..." Zuko began, and waited until he had Katara's full attention before continuing. "The things that really matter will stay with you. Mom was kind and loving and that I will carry with me forever. I don't really need a picture to remember that."

Once his words reached her, Katara couldn't deny the truth to them. After all, Zuko knew better than anyone. Perhaps even better than herself, even though his mother was probably alive. He'd told her that much, a blurry confession that seemed alien even to him. But it gave Katara a way back from the past and into the future.

She pointed at a picture on the album. The face of Zuko's mother was familiar to her now, but in this picture, she held a baby Azula while a tiny, smiling Zuko stood by their side.

"This is her, isn't she?"

"Yeah."

Katara sought Zuko's gaze. In it, she found all that was always there - compassion, a little bit of awe, and something that Katara was beginning to suspect was true affection. It wasn't the bond thrust upon them by circumstances and similarity. Maybe it was wishful thinking, because Zuko was honorable, brave and caring; Katara would admire that even if nothing else united them. But they were tied together by bonds stronger than fate. So much so, that it was Zuko's heart beating in her chest. Only one beat, only an instant, but it was enough. 

"I'm going to help you find her, Zuko. Whatever it takes."

And at that moment, Katara couldn't help but wonder if her heart was beating in Zuko's chest in return.

[legguk]

Hi!! So,

it's my ( literal ) first time writing fanfiction, so I'm pretty new at this stuff, but Lady Dimitrescu is all I was able to think about for weeks and I >needed< to do something about it.

( If you want some context, I wrote this thinking “what if Alcina survived?” - Alcina's pov )

———

The fall,

The end of everything you once loved

Ethan Winters.

You woke up... somehow, you woke up. The frigid air hitting your fresh wounds felt like a jolt send by reality, as if one says "you're still alive" -

- and oh how you were starting to hate that feeling.

Laying on the demolished floor of your castle, muscles twitching in pain, mouth open gasping for air... that's how you are, how you will remember yourself from now on. A defeated dragon, a crushed woman, a dead mother.

You should get up, you should let go of your carcass and crawl your way back into the warmth of your home, you should—

—you should be dead, actually. Resting on death's cold embrace along with your daughters.

Daughters.

God, your daughters.

The memories flood your mind with a painful, unbearable reminder; they're gone, dead, crystalized - gone. They're gone. Your lovely daughters, your pride and joy, the main reason you'd open up your eyes in the morning...

...Bela,

Cassandra,

Daniela....

Their names are long cold, not yet forgotten - no, never forgotten - but somewhere else, as they don't belong here anymore; not on your arms, tucking them to bed. Not on your hands, caressing their faces. Not on your lips, kissing their foreheads. Not on your tongue, as you say them.

A raspy scream leaves your throat, it sounds disturbing.

You sob, hot tears trailing down your cheeks and neck, small cries for help find their way into the wind, disappearing with less importance then when they materialized.

You cannot recall for how long you stayed at that very same position, perhaps some hours, perhaps a day, but you are certain that at some point you were overcame by tiredness and collapsed - probably the best to do for now.

xxx

And so, rises the moon and the stars watch upon your limp body, the night howling a merciful wind and singing a melodic song. Grunting, you push yourself up with your elbows, sitting up and facing the sky through the hole you've made on the roof... and the levels above...

A huge carcass sits besides you, it's wings bended on itself and it's big mouth open to whoever would like to have a peek; you probably changed back into your normal body while unconscious... Now that you can see it clearly, you notice the damage that man-thing did to you... by heavens, how were you still alive and...

Oh. The castle. You look forward, taking in the horizon - the stars look exclusively shiny tonight - you breath in, the dusty air causes you to chough a few times. Stretching your neck a bit to see your whole house, you tell yourself it looks.. fine, actually, ignoring the broken windows. The broken windows.

It's cold. You shiver harshly, panting as the air meets your bare back and rumbles through your lungs, making you hug yourself, - you're naked, you just realized - the winter in Romania is truly kind to no one.

Your legs tremble with just the thought of trying to stand on your feet. You don't rush to do it either, let the wintry breeze take in your wounds, make it sting, burn it, freeze it; freeze your body along.

“To die. To die is to live. To live without them, that's torture. To live without their presence, absent of their scents, to not hear them, nor see their faces again, that's worse than death; far, far worse. How could I ever walk into that damned house without the heavenly sounds of their laughs, the tapping of their feet as they walk free, the steadiness of their heartbeats, reminding me that my own still beats.

Beats for them. For them only.

And they're gone.

So who shall my heart beat for? Myself? No, that wouldn't do. I will rip it out from my chest if I must, sacrifice it to any god who may hear me, all so I could spend five more minutes with them. Then I'd die in peace and find them at my arms again at whatever comes after this poor life.

But I'm here.”

You still hold yourself as you stare at a castle's - broken - window, new warm tears hanging the same trail the old and now dry ones did, a silent cry.

Your intrusive thoughts were abruptly cut by a loud noise from the inside of the castle, making you jump up, gathering all your last strengths to stand and walk a few shaky steps closer to home. The more you walked, the louder the noises got; a little rustle became a bang, and your tiptoing became a sprint, you hold yourself as tight as you can, ignoring the bleeding, the cold air spiking your lungs, how insanely fast you heartbeat was. You need to get there, protect the last remnant of them you still have.

The gates felt heavy now, even for you, who would open them with one hand. Where is your strength now? The fearless dragon who'd do anything to protect her house? Perhaps she died on that fall, and now all there's left is a shadow of what you were one day.

With much pain, you open the big doors, leading to the comfort of your house; you don't get in, you throw yourself in. The warm atmosphere engulfed you like a summer kiss on a winter storm, all you needed to ground yourself to reality for now. Grabbing some sheets laying over an old counter, you wrap yourself in it – oh, that's gonna get soaked in blood, but that's not of your concern now – moving incredibly fast for someone as hurt as yourself, you follow the continuous sounds that could not mean something good. The main doors are open, the cellar is unlocked as well, that idiotic man-thing couldn't even close the doors once he finished slaughtering your home? Imbecile.

You stand at the library's door now, suddenly frozen; you know what happened in there... do you really want to get in? Are you truly ready to face it again? Maybe you should take a step back and walk away, it would be the most logical decision to take now.

But what is logic when the heart screams? What is the brain for once your emotions take the best of you? You can't walk away. Put some honor on your name. Save the last bit of your daughter that fate is still conceiving you. Your chest rises and falls completely out of coordination, your fists close around the fabric involving your body; get ready, you're going in; gather the last bit of courage you have inside yourself and blast these doors.

And so you do.

You bring those pieces of wood to the ground, the only barrier between you and the reality you couldn't accept; a guttural growl forms in your chest as you see a lycan approach your child's crystalized body; you're blind with ire, sorrow, protectorship - you name it - and it makes you shout at the top of your lungs as you dilacerate the filthy beasts you'd bat your eye at. A bloody trail of corpses marks your way through the castle grounds, your claws dripping with fresh sanguine fluid - which you can't tell if it's from the creatures or from yourself - the crimson path follows you all the way to the other wing of mansion like a spirit who must haunt you for eternity.

You scream like a feral animal, blood soaking the once white cloth around your form; the scream becomes a shriek, which descends to a yelp, ending as a furious cry. You can feel the anger leaving you, like the waters of a waterfall; explosive, big portions of water falling into a numb, deaden lake. Hopefully those waters will carry you with them, you shall fall and sink at a anesthetizing lagoon.

You kneel, eyes closed, eyebrows frowned; a loud sigh fills the deafening silence in the air, your mind is blank – better, your mind is red, scarlet red mixed with black, ire and grief. Slowly, your head lower itself so you're facing the floor.

The big Lady Dimitrescu,

kneeling on a pool of blood, defeated.

•

“Lady Dimitrescu!”

Who..? The voice was so far yet so close, you try your best to focus on the direction of the calls but your nerves just won't cooperate.

“Lady!”

Who would be calling for you? Is your mind playing tricks on you now? And since when you were laying on the floor? Too many questions for too little answers. You try to stand up, but a sharp pain on your side made you cry out and fall on your back, face knotted in pain – perhaps your adrenaline rush was keeping you from feeling what was really happening with your body, and now you feel like you're betraying yourself for that.

A small figure approaches you in a fast pace, causing you to unleash your claws one more time and snarl at the not-so-possible threat; you were hurt. Vulnerable. Letting someone close was the last thing you wanted now. The humanoid thing backs away a few steps with your aggressive reaction, hands on their chest, visibly afraid – even though your vision is quite blurry, you identify their expression: scared, desperate, sorrowful – they call out once more, almost shouting.

“Please, Lady Dimitrescu, let me help!”

Ah... Help... The now clearer feminine voice washes over you - a wave of compassion - as if hope has found its way to your house again. Well, it better go away again, or you'll drag it out yourself.

“Out.” was all that left your lips, your intense gaze locking with hers, a silent yet not so discrete warning; although you had only said one word, it was well understood by the woman, who stepped away, eyes still meeting yours, a dreadful cast hang on her face.

Still, she didn't left.

Is that girl testing her luck? It can only be. Once again you warn her: “Leave. I will not repeat myself.”

Her posture stiffens, after a moment of silence she looks at the door, truly wondering about leaving or not; her body turns around, her knuckles going white from how hard she was grabbing the fabric on her chest – she's conflicted. But why? Who is she, after all? – A long, defeated sigh leaves her, as if she knows there is no choice left.

“Allow me to help.” A failed effort on trying to sound confident; her voice is full of tears and her tone is oscillating – it makes you wonder if she has been crying – The human walks towards you, trying not to make any eye contact; you can't stand on your feet, you left hand is pressed on your injured side, the other is open and directing your now extended nails towards her.

Oh how funny it is, no?

The predator being cornered by the prey. The dragon being trapped by the rabbit. How ridiculous it is.

Her extremely shaky hands hang in front of her, trying to say she won't hurt you – oh if she only knew it's going to be the other way round. – One step closer.. Her lips and chin tremble; Another. Your claws grow bigger, eyes peering through her soul; another step, your eyebrows frown, her eyes are teary. The last step - your blood is boiling hot, your nerves on edge; you are still the predator. - a slicing sound and a half-scream saturate the air for a millisecond, just for silence to overfill it once more. Red splashes over the room again, on your face, on your chest, but mostly on the floor, where the girl was thrown at.

An agonizing scream leaves her throat - what a miracle, she remains alive - both of her hands cover her face, blood spilling all over her; what a sight, you would most definitely enjoy this very much on another situation. She cries out in despair, making you face the ceiling and close your eyes, a tired look on your face – you just want all this to end, you don't have any more patience for this. You want to crawl back into your bed and starve, you want to destroy this place, make it abandoned ruins of what one day was a home; you want to kill that damned sickening man-thing, kill this foolish girl for perturbing your grieving, and then yourself.

The woman captures your attention once again, she is kneeling, her body facing yours, her right hand presses her ripped face, the other makes its slow way up to you, although she is trembling, she manages to keep her hand steady enough to hand you a little green flask with a yellow-y label; You look closer, 'treatment disinfectant' it says... Oh you can only be joking. You feel like slaughtering the girl right this instant, but takes in a deep breath and holds the flask, her hand immediately falling along with her body. Is she dead? No, her slow yet consistent breathing exclaims that she is still alive – you honestly find it a bit offensive – You should, but you cannot bring yourself to finish the human; you should end her suffering, but now she caught your attention; and besides, she wants to help, doesn't she? then the price she'll pay is staying alive.

———

hahaaa I'm so nervous about posting this,,, ,

and yes! It is a alcina x maiden fic! I do plan it to be slow burn, and if some you liked it and read it till here, please like and/or reblog and I'll post chapter 2!

( posted on Ao3! Name: “The woman in your castle” )

( chapter 2 posted!! )

[ackerdaddy]

hi! can i request for a oneshot for levi where he and his s/o are in the middle of a reallyyyy nasty fight where levi himself couldn’t help but lose his cool and raises his voice due to sheer frustration. but in the end they were able to find a common ground and made up. the setting will take place in the aot world but if u wanna turn it into modern au that’s fine too. :D i want to see levi lose his composure then return back to his stoic but loving self. also, i just want my angst and fluff 😂😂😂 tysm! 💓

Heya! I definitely made Levi into a soft boi for this one. It turned out to be longer than expected, so hope you enjoy <3

Parings: Levi x Reader

Genre: Angst, fluff

Words: ~1500

Summary: You recklessly put yourself in danger trying to save a friend while out on an expedition and Levi is not so happy about it

You knew you were in shit the moment Levi had glared at you from his horse across the formation as the squads retreated. The sheer intensity of his gaze had you suppressing a shiver that was threatening to run down your spine. You were excited when you were given the news that your squad was running a joint routine with the Levi squad out past wall Rose. Levi, however, had his own opinions on the matter; he hated that you were a part of this operation. It made him incredibly nervous to know his full attention wouldn’t be on keeping everyone else alive because your safety would constantly be lingering in the back of his mind, although he would never admit it.

He only said six words to you the day you left the walls.

“Don’t be stupid out there. Survive,” he tightened his grip on your wrist and sternly reminded you that he needed you to return home with him. While it seemed like he was scolding you, you knew in your heart that he said those words out of pure love and concern.

Everything had been going smoothly until you heard a blood-curdling scream that ripped from the mouth of your best friend. Looking to your left flank, you saw her being squeezed in the massive palm of an 8m titan. Your body reacted before your mind could protest, whipping your horse’s reins and taking off towards her and the beast. Once you were in range, you fired your ODM gear straight at neck of the titan and felt your body being pulled aggressively towards your target.

“Y/n, NO!” your friend screamed as you flew in. You were coming in much too quickly and at a very bad angle, desperate to save your companion.

The warning that fell from her lips was carried by the wind and alerted Levi to your location. Watching in horror from his position some leagues away, he kicked his horse into gear and galloped towards you faster than he’s ever ridden. He was forced to witness as the titan grabbed the wire of your ODM with its other hand, thrashing your body down and into the ground. You were unable to move from the sheer force of the impact, and the titan seized the opportunity. It picked you up, and all you could do was scream and slam your fists into its hand, although you knew your efforts were futile.

Everything seemed to move in slow motion. You looked at your best friend in the titan’s other hand and the two of you exchanged a look of both complete terror and complete love. The wide-eyed expressions on both your faces told each other that you knew your fate had been sealed. At least you were dying together. You scrunched your eyes closed and awaited what you presumed to be your gory demise.

Your eyes sprang open in shock when you felt yourself falling rapidly through the air. The fall left you no time to gather yourself and your back hit the hard ground with a sickening thud. Your tailbone was definitely broken. Wheezing and bloody, you frantically looked around to get your bearings. Footsteps approached you and when you gazed up at your saviour, you were met with those steely eyes looking down at you with an expression you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

You groaned and cringed internally when you saw Levi approaching you as you dismounted your horse.

“My office. Now.” He was using his Captain’s voice, and you knew you had to obey.

“Hey, you wanted to see me?” You said, feigning innocence. You busied yourself with shutting the door behind you and fiddled with the lock for way longer than necessary to avoid looking him in the eyes.

“Y/n, look at me.”

You turned around to face your partner and gave him a sheepish smile, hoping it would melt the ice in his voice, even just a tiny bit.

“What did I tell you?” He asked firmly.

“Not to be stupid,” you replied, voice filled with shame.

“Exactly. And what did you do?” He pressed.

“I was just-”

“The complete opposite of what I asked,” his voice was laced with frustration. He sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose before bringing his piercing gaze back to meet yours. Normally, your boyfriend was so calm and collected, but today there was a something else burning behind those guarded eyes. Nevertheless, it was becoming increasingly bothersome that he was talking to you in such a condescending tone.

“That doesn’t mean you need to treat me like a child,” you snapped, eyes ablaze.

“If you’re going to act like a child then I am going to treat you like a child. It is that simple,” he fired back.

“So you’re saying that I should have just left my best friend to die? Is that it?” you challenged.

“Oh for god sakes y/n!” Levi stated pacing towards you, causing you to back up until your back was flush with the door. Still, he continued, “Do you think I haven’t watched countless people that I care about die? You can’t be throwing yourself directly into the path of a titan without even thinking for a single second about the repercussions!” He shouted, his demeanor becoming increasingly heated. “If I hadn’t gotten there, you would have both been killed. How noble of you to give your life for the cause!” the venom in his voice dripping with sarcasm. His palm whizzed past your head and slammed into the door. The loud clap of his palm against the wood rang in your ear.

Your mouth slightly agape, you turned your head slowly turned to observe the hand that had smacked the door, then back to Levi, whose breathing was ragged and veins were popping out of his forearms. Unable to wipe the incredulous look from your face or form a coherent sentence, you continued to stare at him with wide eyes. You had never seen him this worked up before. His raven bangs fell haphazardly into those normally reserved, cool eyes. Today, there was a fire alight in them. They shimmered with an intensity that felt like it went right through your being, to the core. You felt naked under the vigor of his gaze.

“I’m . . . I’m so sorry Levi,” you choked out, blinking rapidly and trying hard to swallow the lump in your throat. You didn’t usually show this kind of weakness with anyone, and were almost embarrassed that your partner – humanity’s strongest – was seeing you in this state.

The instant that he saw the fear and sadness in your eyes that was threatening to spill over, the fiery light that was in his eyes was completely extinguished. This time, it was replaced by a soft look of compassion and love.

“Shh, it’s okay,” he tugged at your wrist, pulling you swiftly into his chest and resting his chin on top of your head. “I’m not mad, I was just worried. Y/n . . . I can’t lose you,” he admitted, his voice low and soft; almost a whisper. The low rumblings of his voice in his chest reverberated through your own, comforting and grounding you as you relaxed into his embrace and sighed through your nose contently.

“So . . . what you’re saying is I’m special to you?” you asked playfully, the crackling tension that had previously been in the air all but evaporated.

“Oh you’re special alright,” he joked, chuckling as he moved one calloused hand to caress the side of your head, guiding your face to his, your eyes locking. You heart melted when the corner of his mouth turned up ever so slightly into that crooked smile you loved so much. “You’re such a brat,” he teased, but the tone of his voice was interwoven with nothing but adoration.

“Yeah but I’m your brat,” you retorted, stretching up on your tippy toes to plant a tiny kiss on the tip of his nose.

“Must be my lucky day,” his voice was soft and warm as he leaned in to capture you lips in his.  

[philliamwrites]

The Dawn Will Come [Chpt.1]

Fandom: Fire Emblem Three Houses

Pairing: Dimitri x Reader, Claude x Reader, Edelgard x Reader, Yuri x Reader, Edelgard x Byleth, lots of minor pairings

Tags: #gn reader, # platonic love byleth & reader, #reader is a tactical unit, #angst, #slow burn, #subplots, #unreliable narrator, #pining, #remporary amnesia, #reluctant herp, #canon divergence, #lost twin au, #many chapters, #original content

Words: 5.2k

Summary: Waking up in a forest without any knowledge of your past and who you are, you join the house leaders of the Officers Academy to search for a way to return your memories. Unfortunately, the church has different plans for you, and Fate places you in the centre of a cruel game with deadly stakes. It certainly doesn't help to fall in love with a house leader who is doomed to be your demise.

Notes: Chapter 2 There’s also a playlist for this story that you can find here and here.

Chapter 01: A High Destiny

A high destiny seemed to bear me on until I fell, never, never again to rise.

[Mary W. Shelley, Frankenstein]

    It starts as it will end: in darkness.

    Black dots dance in front of your eyes, merging into dark shadows clawing at your consciousness. A dull throb pounds in your temple, a steady rhythm that speaks of life but isn’t enough to allow awareness of your surroundings. Memory is a foreign word you can’t explain, and trying to think of the past 24 hours is an unachievable task. Every glimpse slips through your fingers like sand, and the only steady reference point is the solid ground pressing into your hands and back.

    Slowly, you open your eyes. Treetops dance in the wind, towering above you like silent guardians of ancient times. The sun winks at you through thick branchesa and dancing green crowns, indicating it’s long past daybreak—but how do you know? Your memory is still a vast pool with no bottom and no means to dive into, and yet you think there’s a voice calling out to you, a heart-wrenching young, boyish voice—no, those are real voices ringing through the woods, appearing close to you. Alarmingly close.

    “You’re awake,” a woman’s voice starts, moments later followed by a corresponding face. Round, lavender eyes surrounded by thick, white lashes peak from above at you, blinking curiously. It’s an expression far from friendly, but not exactly hostile either, and of all the things you can think of at this moment, it is how strikingly beautiful she is. But before you can say anything, another person joins, leaning too close in for comfort.

    “You got us worried there, stranger,” a young man chimes in, squatting down beside you. His uniform isn’t exactly what you’d call fit for travelling through the woods. A heavy yellow cape falls over his shoulder, more fanciful display than practical use. But something in his posture seems very attentive, his broad shoulders taut like a drawn bowstring that won’t miss its target. “Weird place to take a nap, but hey, I’m not judging.”

    “I wasn’t—” you start, immediately struck by a throbbing pain behind your right eye that reverberates through your skull and wretches a groan from you.

    “Take it easy,” another voice joins, and panic spreads through you because of the amount of people surrounding you. Where the first man is a picture of warm colours—gold and sun kissed skin nourished on warm summer days, the other man observing you with a worried expression is clad in blue and black, blond hair falling into a pale face that carries the most striking blue eyes you’ve ever seen. Or so you think, because surely a colour like this, a blue stolen right out of the sky, wouldn’t be easily forgotten.

    More movement and rustling of fabric, and a chill settles in your bones as you begin to fear that you’ve run into a bunch of ruffians who’ve only kept you alive for so long because they’re hoping for valuable information. More people emerge from the underbrush, carrying large sacks and backpacks with billycans dangling at their sides. Among them, a tall man with a beard, clad in robust mercenary’s gear, steps forward, concealing another young woman with sharp features and unusual greenish blue hair.

    The sight of her strikes you like a bolt. It tastes like familiarity and the relief of being reunited with a long lost friend. But that is impossible. This is the first time you meet her.

    Is it?

    “You brats, I told you not to head off too far,” the older man bellows, crossing logs for arms in front of his broad chest. The first three take one big, polite step away from you, but don’t look apologetic at all.

    “I’m sorry for our hastiness, Captain Jeralt,” the girl says, her eyes darting from you still sitting on the ground to him towering in his full height above them. “But it seems we would have otherwise not found this person.”

    “This person who wasn’t really much conscious a couple of minutes ago,” the boy in yellow adds with a crooked grin. “How bad would it have been if someone else would have beaten us to it?”

    “No need to make me look like the bad guy,” Captain Jeralt interrupts with a raised hand before the boy in blue can join his friends' justifications. Instead, he turns to you and regards you with a scrutinising look.

    “What are you doing out here?” he demands. “Where’s your family? Friends?”

    “Uhm, they’re—” you start, but nothing comes to your mind. Not only that. You don’t know why you’re out here, where you are exactly … and basically anything that should come to you about your own person remains shrouded in darkness. “I don’t know.”

    Jeralt nods like that explains the very reason you’re still sitting on the ground like a misplaced cargo of cabbage. He kneads the nape of his neck, his face softening the tiniest bit. “And what’s your name?”

    Unable to hold his piercing eyes, you drop your gaze to the ground, curling your trembling fingers into the fabric of your wool jacket. “I, uh… don’t know.”

    If you thought you didn’t have their attention before, now their eyes are glued on your face in different levels of shock and disbelief.

    “A case of amnesia?” the blond male says, not quite managing to achieve the right balance between blatant curiosity and polite worry. “Does this mean you have nowhere to go? Don’tknow where to go?”

    “Goddess help you, Dimitri,” the other boy groans, running a hand through his short, brown hair. “Be any more tactless, will ya?”

    “He isn’t wrong,” the girl says, observing you like you’re a fascinating new specimen in her collection of strange things. “You need a place to stay. And help until your memories return.”

    If they return, you don’t dare to say because despite all things, hope still clings to you in the deepest corner of your heart, not allowing you to follow that train of thought and what it will mean for your future.

    “Then by all means, if you want to join,” Jeralt says, waving a dismissive hand in your direction. “I don’t think you kids accept a No, so I’m going to save my breath.” He turns around with a grunt. “Get them your horse, Byleth. We’re late as it is, and another night of Alois talking my ears off will make me do something I’ll regret.”

    The woman called Byleth keeps staring at you even as Jeralt walks past her and gives her shoulder a solid clap. You can’t say if she’s mute or just speechless because she’s filled with the same strange overflowing sensation like you: like a basin filling with water but unable to drain off. It appears you’re the same age, a couple of years older than the other three but still much younger than Jeralt, and yet the moment your eyes lock, it feels like there is something far older than any of you together passing between you. Something ancient.

    “Well, first off, on your feet, little one.” Strong hands curl around your elbows, hoisting you up in one swift movement. A wave of dizziness hits you like an unavoidable spell, and the pounding from before settles back behind your right eye.

    “Amazing, Claude,” the girl hisses, and quickly steps forward to steady you, pressing one hand against the small of your back where her strong fingers curl against the curve of your spine. Her other hand gently holds yours as she helps you regain your balance. “Excuse his manners. I promise not everyone from the Officers Academy behaves like a brute.”

    “The what now?” you ask, hit by another wave of dizziness that might originate more from the girl’s soft lavender fragrance rather than the world spinning around you.

    “The Officers Academy at Garreg Mach Monastery,” Dimitri provides this time. His posture is straight like an arrow, the stance of a soldier speaking to his officer. “That is where we attend as students and hence are going right now.”

    “And you want me to come with you?” you ask like you have the option to refuse and go somewhere else. Strangely, the thought of joining a group of armed knights and mercenaries doesn’t fill you with fear or anxiety. You’re about to tread into foreign waters, and yet your heart is calm like a still compass guiding you in the right direction.

    Claude clasps his hands behind his head like he’s got nothing to do with you feeling unwell at the moment. “Unless you have another place to be?”

    Luckily, your head does come clear and breathing becomes a little easier. You nod to the girl and she holds you a second longer before she nods back and lets go. “I guess not,” you mumble, looking at each one of them. Byleth still hasn’t moved. By now you can’t really tell if she’s looking at you or through you. Surely, she would have said something by now if she thought you were familiar, right?

    “Then it’s settled.” The girl nods solemnly, throwing her silky, white hair over her shoulder. “We welcome you in our company. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Edelgard von Hresvelg, heir to the Adrestian Empire.” Edelgard gives you a tight-lipped smile that quickly thins into a white line when the other two introduce themselves as Claude von Riegan, grandson of the Sovereign Duke of the Leicester Alliance and Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, future king to the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus. None of these names ring a bell to you, but you nod, pretending to know exactly what they're talking about.

    “Okay, we need a name for you as well,” Claude proposes, tapping a slender finger against his chin. He has a strikingly sharp jaw that looks fit to cut stone. “Can’t have everyone call you stranger or little one now, can we?”

    “No,” you say. “Especially since we’re about the same height.”

    Claude laughs like you just told him the best joke he’s heard in years. “Soo, since we found you here … how about Glade? Or Woody?”

    “How about no,” you say with furrowed eyebrows.

    “Apologies.” Edeglard sighs and shakes her head, her expression a mix between disappointment and annoyance. “Claude isn’t much accustomed to the notion of consideration.”

    Claude rolls his eyes. “Then you come up with something, princess. Or is it impossible because you can’t take out the stick up your—”

    “Claude,” Dimitri half shrieks, his pale cheeks splotched with red dots. As he stumbles over his own words trying to apologise for Claude’s behaviour, Edelgard simply deadpans, “Bold words for someone in stabbing range.”

    The fourth in this round of strange people considers you with a blank expression, her steady gaze like a solid touch on your skin. Before a greater argument can break free between the students, Byleth says a name with a surety like she’s never said anything else in her life, and hearing it, this barely whispered word immediately lost to the wind, you just know it’s your name.

    “Yes, much better than what Claude proposed.” Dimitri nods, regaining his composure even though he’s still staring daggers at Claude. “It sounds more civilised as well.”

    “You didn’t even suggest anything,” Claude remarks, but the huff of annoyance quickly dissipates from his voice when he jerks a thumb towards Byleth. “That’s Byleth, by the way. Funny story is, we met her just a couple of hours ago as well.”

    “Fate must have brought us together here today,” Dimitri agrees with a solemn nod. “I swear on my honour as a noble knight from the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus that I will see you safe to the Monastery. Lady Rhea will surely be able to help you there.”

    “Okay. Thank you,” you manage, unable to connect a face to this name in your head that feels like it’s about to burst any second anyway. The only course of action lies within those strangers who are so willingly offering help that you can’t stop worrying it’s a ruse. But without anything to offer them except your life, there’s little coming to your mind that they can anticipate in taking you with them. Tthe fact that Byleth knew your name doesn’t sit right with you as well. There’s something waiting to be grasped at the tips of your fingers, and yet you lack the strength to embrace it.

    Following the little group of soldiers and students through the woods, you remain silent on the journey, only answering questions with approving or denying hums. How did you end up in this particular forest? According to Jeralt, you’re currently moving away from a village called Remire and towards the mountains to the northeast where the monastery lies tucked away between two mountains. Judging from the clothes you’re wearing, you’re a commoner, and when Edelgard pushed a slim dagger in your hand, nothing rung in intuitive knowledge about how to handle a weapon. Your mind remained silent, like an untouched chord.

    There’s little you can say about the first impression those people left on you. There seems to be a unanimous dispute between the three students, hanging palpable in the air whenever an argument starts that’s pregnant with implied insults or passive-aggressive comments. From that you gather there’s tension between the governing fractions in Fódlan, something else you’ve learnt from listening to them squabbling.

    Byleth and Jeralt acknowledge their bickering as if it was flies buzzing around their heads. They keep more to themselves and their mercenary comrades, indicating they’re really as much of strangers to the students as you. Their conversations are a lot quieter as well, their heads leaning close together for the illusion of privacy. More than once you notice Byleth sneaking glances in your direction, and every time you lock eyes, there’s something close to comprehension when she looks at you. The further you march through the woods, the less you try to meet her gaze. Reaching the monastery is the first step to regain who you are, or so you hope, because the opposite would mean you’ll continue stumbling through the darkness with no lead to your past or why you’re in this particular part of Fódlan, and you can only hope that this Rhea person really will be able to help you.

    A sound from the underbrush cuts through your thoughts.

    Thinking it might be an animal, you don’t let it bother you too much. No one else seems to have heard it, so maybe it was just your imagination. But your brain refuses to let it rest, and fails to push it away from your mind because something about the sound doesn’t seem to be right. The more you try to focus on it though, the blurrier it gets; the less you understand its origin.

    Then, you hear a voice from within the woods. It sounds like a slurred whisper.

    “What was that?” You stop in the middle of the road, looking around the thick trees. Claude barely manages to avoid walking into you. “What was what?”

    “There’s something here.” Unable to explain further, you wave your hand around for emphasis. He looks at your hand, incomprehension written all over his face. “And that something is what exactly?” he asks.

    “I don’t know.” You wave your hand wilder. “But I don’t have a good feeling venturing further.”

    “You may be still tired,” Edelgard offers, not hiding her irritation that the journey stopped. “It won’t be long until we reach Garreg Mach. You can rest however long you need inside the monastery’s infirmary.”

    “I’m not tired,” you hiss, hand falling back to your side where it clenches into a fist. “I just really don’t think we should go further for now.”

    “And why is that?” Dimitri inquirers. He raises a hand and the soldiers following them come to a halt, a murmur of unrest breathing through their lines, and it’s just enough that you question if it would be better to play if off and admit your mind is playing tricks on you due to exhaustion.

    But whenever you blink, a red veil falls over your right eye, blurring your surroundings. Little red dots move slowly in the distance through the forest. If you didn’t know better, you’d say it’s some sort of life form far away, slowly advancing on your position. “Because someone is coming,” you finally manage, scratching the thin skin below your irritated eye that’s started twitching slightly. “Someone is coming towards us from southwest. And I can’t say if they’re friendly or not.”

    Three pairs of eyes consider you like you’ve grown a second head. Only Byleth stares into the woods like she might find the strangers you’re talking about waiting behind the trees if she just looks hard enough.

    “Little one, are you sure this isn’t just an aftereffect from you hitting your head?” Claude offers, squinting into the woods. You’re pretty sure he’s staring directly at the moving dots but for whatever reason can’t see them.

    “Unless amnesia is suddenly another term for going crazy, I don’t think so,” you snap, unable to hold back the irritation raising to the surface.

    A whistle echoes through the tree crowns. Byleth snaps her head in the direction of the sound, growing all tense. She raises her hand into a tight fist, and all movement stills behind you. When you turn around, you see the mercenaries waiting in the underbrush like a flock of crows ready to swipe down on their prey. Jeralt breaks away from them and approaches Byleth, a frown cutting a deep wrinkle into his forehead.

    “Bandits,” he says, and quickly signs a hand gesture to the nearest bowman. He nods and disappears between trees. “Another mile away. If we stay on this road, we’ll walk right into them.”

    “Seven hundred feet, actually,” you blurt. Jeralt looks at you like you’re a cockroach under his boot. Another whistle cuts through the woods, one long followed quickly by two short. Byleth exhales audibly, and only now you notice she’s moved to stand beside you. “Seven hundred feet,” she mutters, her eyes fixed on you.

    Jeralt tenses. “How do you know, kid?”

    “I don’t know,” you mumble towards your boots. “I just see.”

    There’s an uncomfortable silence falling around you, and you’re too afraid to look up and read distrust in their eyes.

    “Does it matter?” Claude finally breaks the silence, sliding his bow from his shoulder. “They won’t be a problem with the knights and mercenaries on our side.” He jerks his chin towards Byleth, already plugging an arrow from his quiver. “You should really see her fight.”

    “Wait,” you say, reflexively reaching for the hem of his cape. “Don’t engage them yet.”

    Claude stops, one eyebrow arched up in a curve. “Beg your pardon?”

    “They come from the woods. Which means this is their hunting ground and they have the advantage. They have dozens of archers. I think they’re waiting until you reach a glade. And then open fire.”

    “Which means we’ll end up as skewers.” Claude scratches his chin and twirls the arrow between his slender fingers. “I can think of better ways to shuffle off this mortal coil.”

    Dimitri perks up. “You’ve read the Tale of Hamelot I gave you?”

    “I’ll give it a six out of ten. His soliloquies were awful.”

    “Boys.” Edelgard snaps her fingers impatiently as Dimitri opens his mouth to protest. “Not the time.” She takes your wrist and pulls it away from Claude’s cape, her hard gaze like a sharp knife. “Are we simply ignoring the fact that we have someone in our midst knowing the enemies’ movement and deployment?” she cuts in harshly. “Is this a plan to lure us into an ambush?”

    “You think someone would give away their comrades’ position just like that?” Claude eyes her wearily. “Don’t be so suspicious of everyone.”

    She glares at him. “I rather be suspicious than dead.”

    Which is a valid point and a trait you willingly admit to share with her, but that doesn’t really solve the problem at hand. Luckily, Dimitri seems to think the same. He doesn’t unfasten the spear on his back yet, but his fingers dance swiftly over the handle, immediately resting on where he can easily pull it from the straps if needed to strike down an enemy. “Fact is enemies are approaching,” he concludes, looking at his fellow students in search for a consensual ceasefire. “We must put an end to them before they target defenceless travellers on their way out of the forest.”

    “Spoken like a true crowd-pleaser,” Claude says, either unable or not caring to hide the mock in his voice. “We can resolve our new friend’s condition after we take down the enemy.”

    “I don’t agree with this,” Edelgard declares, but nonetheless unclasps the double-bit axe from her back and swings it on her shoulder like it weighs nothing. “But I accept that this is a more pressing issue.” The easiness in the movement robs your lungs of air, and even though there are more important matters to focus on, you wonder how her muscles play under her black uniform swinging around a thing like that. Your admiration comes to a quick end when Jeralt and Byleth close the circle. Her hand rests on the hilt of a short blade as she scans the underbrush, her body rigid with battle anticipation.

    “Let them come to us,” Jeralt announces. “Let them think they have the advantage.”

    “Your knigths over there move slow through the woods,” you say, gesturing at the waiting man clad in heavy armour and armed with shields. “But their amour can resist some stray arrows coming down on us. It’s the rearguard that will take them by surprise from another direction and—”

    “And charge their flank or rear to finish them off,” Jeralt ends with a crude nod. “Indirect approach. I thought of that as well.”

    Your mouth goes dry. The idea plopped seemingly out of nowhere in your mind, but yes, now that you think about it, that is the indirect approach tactic, first recorded after the Battle of Nicaea in … Faerghus? Or was it Adrestia? The picture in your mind is still blurry, but now you can make out definite lines of objects: Books with drawn pictures of pointing arrows and coloured lines, each lettered with a name or an approach in a neat handwriting that isn’t yours. The picture triggers another wave of dizziness, disappearing as fast as it appeared.

    “They’re going to faint in three, two, one…” Claude’s voice rips you back to the present. You glare at him and raise a fist to show how close to fainting you really are. He only laughs at the tiny fist in front of his face.

    “Enough brats, get into position,” Jeralt bellows, and the students scatter with a bouncing step in all their strides as they take the lead of a small unit.

    You’re about to retreat to the furthest point away from battle when Jeralt blocks the way. “Not you. You’re going with Byleth.”

    “I’m what?”

    “Byleth,” Jeralt nods to the young woman ahead of you, “will be the commanding unit and you’ll help her.”

    The world tilts a little as panic takes hold of you. “I can’t. I don’t know how to fight.”

    “You seem to know enough to plan a counterattack.”

    “That doesn’t mean anything.” Your voice sounds horribly piercing even to your own ears. “It was just a lucky guess.”

    “I don’t know what’s the deal with you,” Jeralt says with a finality to his voice that doesn’t allow objection, and this time you clearly see the head of a mercenary guild, one that gives commands with every breath. “But that wasn’t a lucky guess. You see what it needs to win a battle. So you guide them.”

    He turns around sharply and leaves, not bothering to check if you plan to abandon them. It’s madness. You should abandon these people, should flee from the fight that will demand blood and death. One, two, three … six steps and you’re standing beside Byleth, taking deep breaths. It doesn’t help. She eyes you sideways with a raised brow, and you flinch at the metallic rasping sound as she draws her sword.

    “I shouldn’t be here,” you mumble, staring into the woods. The red dots are approaching faster, forming into more recognisable features of humans. “I’m going to die. Without knowing who I am or why I’m here. This is the worst day of my life. I think. I don’t know. It has to be.”

    Byleth hums beside you. You can’t tell if it’s a thoughtful or an affirmative hum. “This might sound crazy, but I do trust you.”

    “Maybe you shouldn’t,” you say, struck by a sudden fear that this all is a fever dream and you're about to lead them into ruin. It’s enough that you don’t even notice this is the first time you two are talking to each other since your meeting.

    Byleth studies you out of the corner of her eyes, then says, “A very persistent voice inside me tells me I shouldn’t.”

    “That’s your survival instinct. Listen to it.”

    “Yeah,” Byleth says, and there’s something like a faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips. You blink and it's gone. “I might do that.”

    You don’t really understand what’s there to smile about, but the moment quickly disappears as silence settles, only occasionally disturbed by a bird sitting in the trees above you.

    “So what exactly do you see?” Byleth whispers after a moment, barely shifting in her crouching position. You on the other hand really want to move your legs before they go numb.

    “I don’t know why you guys even believe me,” you mumble, and pinch the bridge of your nose with your fingers, trying to stave off another rush of dizziness. “And I don’t understand it myself. It’s the opponent, in a way. I see their strengths and weaknesses, their amour and weapons. It’s like … it’s like the flow of battle is displayed in front of me.”

    Byleth hesitates a moment, then nods like everything is pretty much self-explanatory. You wonder if to her it really does sound plausible, as she is someone who is practically born in battle, a daughter to a mercenary who breathes battle and fighting. Before you can explain anything further, she ducks more into the bushes and silences you with a sharp hush, her body tensed. The first bandits approach the glade, their bows and arrows ready to strike as the Academy’s knights engage them. Swords and axes clash against each other, battle cries ring through the woods. Byleth gestures you to follow her, and out of the corner of your eyes you see the students do the same, moving around the bandits. From the distance, you notice Claude gesturing wildly. It’s a mix between pointing at himself and then at the space a couple of feet away from his unit, and though you’re unable to fully comprehend it, you shake your head. He gives a thumbs up and slows down until he halts inside the thick cover of ferns.

    Just when you reach the right angle, Byleth looks back at you, waiting for your approval, and after briefly hesitating, you signal with a short nod to attack. Edelgard is the first to emerge from the underbrush. She has a dancer’s grace and a seemingly unerring instinct for what her opponent will do next. Her axe cuts through the first bandits who are too surprised to regroup in time. Dimitri and Claude are quickly to follow her. The crown prince of Faerghus wields his weapon of choice like he’s never done anything else in his entire life. The spear is the instrument to a deadly song they know by heart, and whoever stands in the way of their melody is cut down swiftly. Claude doesn’t disappoint with his steady aim either, his eyes sharper than an eagle’s. He nocks his bow, draws and impales a bandit that’s been running toward a mercenary with a crooked nose and eye patch. The mercenary gives him an offhand salute and goes back to fighting a thug twice his size.

    And then there’s Byleth. At first you don’t see her as the battle’s chaos swallows her and she disappears between moving bodies. But once your eyes catch up to her again, it’s hard to look away. Byleth moves through the enemies’ lines like an avenging angel on a mission. Her sword arm causes havoc as it conducts the tact of death’s complicated choreography and one by one the bandits fall to her deadly dance. Strangely, what describes it the best, you think, is divine.

    The battle is almost over. The last bandits fall or flee back into the woods as they abandon their comrades who lay down their weapons and yield. A miserable sound of relief escapes you when you see the end nearing with little casualties on your side, thanking whoever watches over you and guides your weapons in victory.

    That is until you see something, and at first you aren’t really sure you see it. Veiled by a red haze, a gruesome scene unfolds before you: As Byleth is focused on helping a soldier back up on his feet, a bandit strikes her from behind, wedging a dagger through her spine and into her heart. When you blink, the scene is gone and with it the red veil covering your surroundings.

    You don’t think twice. Jumping out of your hiding spot, you quickly recognise what will be Byleth’s murderer. Only he never gets the chance to approach her. With everything you’ve got, you charge into him and send him flying on the ground, you on top of him. The bandit groans, groggily turning on his back to see what struck him, and before you can start to fear for your own dear life, Byleth is beside you and rams her sword into his throat, silencing him forever.

    She looks down at you and you feel like she knows what just happened. Why you jumped in. It’s in those keen, piercing eyes that speak of a unimaginable wisdom. She reaches a hand out to help you up, and when you stand, the last bandits have been secured and the chaos finally settles. That is when the throbbing pain in your right eye doubles you ever, the pain akin to a pinprick of ice hammering into your skull. The pain makes you sick as stars explode behind your closed eyes, and the more they dance in feverish circles, the harder you press your hands against your eyelids, trying to smother the pain by pressure. It doesn’t work.

    Unable to breathe properly, your stumble, and when you move your hands, your fingers smear something warm and wet across your cheeks.

    Someone takes in a sharp breath. “Your eye,” Byleth breathes, a hand raised but remaining hanging in the air like she’s unsure if it’s okay to touch you. In the background you hear someone calling out you’re bleeding, and it takes a few seconds to understand where you’re bleeding from. Your right eye cries blood when the pain finally knocks you out, darkness falling onto everything.

[chaoticallysapphic]

the great divide part six

summary:  Who knew that eight words would be your undoing. If you had known then what you know now you wouldn't have signed up for Suyin's dance troupe, you probably would have left Zaofu just to be safe. But you didn't and fate had branded you with a path that chained you to someone who would break your heart.

a/n: The last part! Please remember there is an epilogue, Gif is made by @stelladonna​ and a massive thanks to @medeliadracon�� for beta reading this series! And also a big thank you to @ladyxffandoms​ for helping me figure out what was missing. 

word count: 8k

When you leave her office, Kuvira is filled with rage so hot she fears it may burn her insides. She hears the slam of her doors and the muffled conversation between guards before it’s softly shut once more. “It shouldn’t be a tough decision, Kuvira.”

The malice in your voice, the use of her full name, it shattered through the toughest of walls within her. Ones you’d never breached before. She’s never been good with her emotions, ever since she was a child she warped her sadness, her loneliness, and sometimes even happiness into anger as a way to protect herself. 

She was a difficult child with a temper the size of Ba Sing Se, so difficult in fact that her parents deemed her unfit for their life. It felt like the world was ending when she first arrived in Zaofu, the way her parents spoke to her before they left, making her seem like no one would ever truly love her unless she let Suyin mold her into a model citizen. 

And that was another problem, Suyin always tried to turn Kuvira into a miniature version of herself. It didn’t matter how different she was, Suyin tried to bury who Kuvira truly was with a perfected version of herself, a false one.

Up until her parent's abandonment, she always assumed love would be easy and that she would instantly marry her soulmate. She’d pull her shirt up just a bit and look at the words swirled across her hip bone in wonder. “Would you mind helping me memorize the routine?”

Those words, however minuscule and mundane, proved to her that she was worthy of love. That one day she would be loved. But as she grew older in Zaofu she felt a disconnect regarding those words on her hip, the first time she had sex she had covered it up, as if trying to shield the person she hadn’t even met yet. Hara, the name of the girl who had eyed her since the first day of guard training, didn’t seem to care at all. 

Kuvira feels like she should lie and say she had her eyes on you since the first practice you attended but honestly she hadn’t even noticed the new addition to the troupe. When you had pranced over to her, still light on your feet after the routine, and spoke, she wondered what kind of soft-spoken woman would end up loving someone whose own parents hated her? 

She remembers that night in the metal flower in vivid detail. When you were spinning alongside her in the air she suddenly was consumed with the desire to kiss you, she didn’t even realize she had pulled you close until your soft lips touched hers. 

She knew from the moment you spoke that first day she should have broken up with Baatar Jr. But Kuvira, even though she will never admit it out loud, is a stubborn and flawed woman who can’t stop once she sets her mind to something. 

The fourth night of the second month on the train after she had been uncharacteristically gentle with you, was the first time you said you loved her. She asked you to repeat yourself again and again until you pulled her into a deep kiss, pouring all your love into it. The action left her breathless, and with that kiss, you broke her first wall.

She doesn’t even realize she’s crying until she starts to think about you and all her memories of you. You’re most likely in your room erasing any trace of her there may be, completely ready to extract her from your life. 

Kuvira forces herself out of her office and over to her front door, she opens it up just a few inches, enough for the guard nearby to see. She doesn’t care if he can see the tears racing down her cheeks. “Have a guard stationed outside of Y/n’s door.”

Once she shuts the door after he nods, Kuvira walks into her room where she sits on the edge of her bed. If she goes to sleep, will you still be in her life tomorrow? Kuvira shoves off her boots but otherwise stays in her uniform as she lays down and stares blankly out the window, her country needs her. They need her to protect them in a way no one has ever protected her before. 

Kuvira doesn’t sleep that night, she stays awake, her gaze focused on a potted plant out in the courtyard, and imagines every possible scenario in her head. These last few years have spoiled her in a way, you were always by her side through it all. You were there cheering her on and making her feel loved and wanted. She doesn’t know if she can go back to how it used to be, to loneliness. 

When rays of sunshine start to peak through her window, she pulls herself up and out of bed. Kuvira goes to the bathroom to smooth out any wrinkles in her clothes but doesn’t feel the energy or motivation to change into a fresh pair. She slept in her bun, it’s a bit frizzy now with a few loose strands that she tries to tuck into her braid, there’s a pesky curl that won’t cooperate. Kuvira eventually gives up on it, letting it stay out and frame the side of her face. 

You love when she has her hair down, when it’s down you immediately run your fingers through the dark curls and let out this content sigh that fills her heart with adoration. Kuvira shoves her feet into her boots on the way out of her room, beyond caring about her appearance. The guard outside her door, the same from last night steps forward when she walks out of her room. 

“Ms. Y/n left her room around one A.M, it’s been reported that she’s staying at the encampment.” Kuvira frowns, did she take too long? Have you given up? 

You were her guiding hand, her moral compass and now you’re gone. “Thank you,” she says monotonously before heading towards the kitchen. Despite her desire to shut herself off from the world, her stomach is cramping in pain due to hunger. She should have eaten the food you gave her last night, now it’s strewn across the desk in her office, cold and gone bad. 

She takes herself the familiar route to the kitchens, growing up here has its perks. She'd seen how you look around in a mixture of confusion and wonder when they had gone to try and negotiate with Suyin. Kuvira knows this place, she ran down these very halls when she was younger. Despite the hollowness that echoes through the halls, the lack of laughter and conversation turns the whole home into a colorless husk of what it used to be.

Kuvira hadn't noticed the lack of life within as she walked into the empty kitchen. Her guards had gotten Suyin's chef to cook breakfast and dinner, and she had given him lunch off. It was for sentimental reasons, all the birthday cakes he baked her and midnight snacks. He might hate her now but she'll keep giving him lunch off in hopes of paying him back for the happy memories. She doesn't like to owe people. 

He must not be in yet, it's barely dawn. The kitchen is empty, giving Kuvira the perfect moment of respite before her dreadful day. She grabs a piece of bread, most likely baked yesterday, and an apple. Part of her doesn't have an appetite, to upset about her fight with you to want to eat. She forces it down with a glass of water, the food helps her slightly, helps her feel stronger than before. 

Kuvira walks down the hall, her feet carried her out of the estate and towards the tram. “I need to get out of the city,” she says to the operator waiting for any passengers by the tram doors. He nods and briskly walks over to the operating booth, she decides to grab onto the pole at the center of the cart and stand. The machinery starts with a jolt but Kuvira remains unmoving, staring straight ahead. Slowly the scenery around her begins to change, it takes her around the outer domes where a few people are toddling about, most likely walking off to work. 

The tram goes under a tunnel before entering the main dome. That towering golden statue of Toph Beifong comes into view and Kuvira sighs as a memory of you enters her mind. 

You’re moving around your room on the train as the view from outside is blurred due to the speed you were moving at. You and Kuvira were beginning to get to know each other in the safety of the night, which brought you such joy. Standing in front of your vanity with only Kuvira’s undershirt on you begin to take the pins out of your hair. “What was your home like?” She had asked. A wide smile made its way onto your face as you set the bobby pins into a small ring dish. 

“Just so cozy. We have a townhouse in the main dome across from the botanical gardens. I had the best view from my bedroom window,” you let out a wistful sigh as you begin to untie your locks. “Our home was directly situated to the center of it, all you had to do was walk across the street to enter. So I got to wake up with a view of every flower Zaofu has curated, it felt like it was just for me.” 

Kuvira watches you fondly from the bed as you continue “my dad and I made a metal planter to hang from our kitchen window by the front door, during summertime hydrangeas bloom from it.”

Without thinking Kuvira rushes over to the emergency brake button and slaps her hand onto it, the tram stops with a harsh jolt that sends her stumbling to the side. The doors automatically open with the lights above flashing red. Kuvira stands on the edge, looking below. The fall isn’t far but it could still hurt her, so she bends two of the metal seats, ripping them out of their places screwed to the floor and warping it into a crud shape of a ladder. 

She bends it to the edge, moving the nails that popped out to screw them into the floor to secure the ladder. Kuvira lets out a deep sigh before beginning her descent below. This is stupid and will most likely blow up in her face, but if you decide to say goodbye to her today, she wants to see the place that you once called home. There are a few inches between the ladder and the ground so Kuvira jumps, She bends at the ladder back into the tram so if it starts whilst she’s away it won’t break any buildings in the process. 

An old man opening up shop stares at Kuvira with wide eyes, watching her walk away as the tram above stays frozen. She’s a block away from the garden she’s heard you gush about, more and more people begin to filter out from their homes to start their day and each one eyes her with disgust. Squaring her shoulders, she stares ahead and away from everyone's watchful gaze. 

The gardens come into view, towering bright green trees with vines growing on the wrought iron fence surrounding it. Kuvira stops at the entrance, looking inside with hesitancy, as if worried she’ll destroy it upon contact. There’s a pond in the center with a few lily pads floating around with two benches across from one another by the pond. 

Flowers of all shapes and colors are scattered around and when her gaze locks on the towering Sunflowers in bloom, Kuvira suddenly remembers once finding you tucked behind them with bloodshot eyes and a raspy voice from crying. That was the second time she had knowingly hurt you, the first being asking you to keep it a secret. Kuvira takes a step back, not feeling worthy of stepping inside such a radiant place, and begins her trek around it to your house. 

Most of the homes don’t have many outdoor decorations, a welcome mat or a potted plant seems to be the theme so when her eyes lock onto that metal planter with blue hydrangeas Kuvira knows she’s found the place. It’s a two-story townhome with some sort of stick figure drawn on the second story window and when she looks over her shoulder she sees how perfectly centered the house is to see all of the gardens from above. 

She doesn’t know what to do now. She never really thought through her plan, which is incredibly unlike her, but that memory came flooding back through her mind and she knew she needed to see it for herself. Slowly she takes a step forward, and then another and another until she’s in front of the door with her fist raised, rapping three times against the metal. 

Kuvira doesn’t know why she does it, maybe it's the sleep deprivation or an act of desperation to feel your presence again, she honestly doesn’t know. There’s the sound of thunderous footsteps from behind the door and a masculine voice calling out “I’ll get it!” 

A man opens the door with the same color hair as you, he’s a bit on the chubbier side and looks to be roughly 6’2 or maybe even 6’3. 

Kuvira can see the resemblance in certain features of his and it makes her long for you even more. Your father scowls at the sight of her, his demeanor has changed from cheery to vexed in a matter of seconds. She shouldn’t be surprised. 

“I’m Kuvi-” 

“I know who you are, you made us kneel before you.” His voice is gruff and his words clipped. Kuvira sighs, right, she did do that. “What do you want?”

‘I’ve come to talk to you and your wife about… well about your daughter.” Spirits this is awkward, your father stares Kuvira down for a few moments before frowning. Slowly he steps aside, letting her in. Your home is warm with family photos framed and hanging from the wall, the entry is a narrow hallway with an archway that leads into a small kitchen. As Kuvira follows your dad down the hall her eyes catch on a photo of you. 

You can’t be any older than eight in it with your arms wrapped around your father's neck as he carries you on his back. Your mother is beside the two of you, pushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. All three of you are grinning and Kuvira notices that one of your front teeth is missing. Both of you have lived such different lives. At eight Kuvira was being abandoned by her parents for being too out of control. 

Two people who grew up in completely different environments with such clashing personalities are soulmates, in some ways, it seems like a sick joke. But she can’t be upset about it when she loves you this much, just confused. 

Your father clears his throat, ripping Kuvira from her thoughts. She looks over and tenses, he’s looking at her like he wants to say something but shakes his head and enters the room at the end of the hall. Kuvira reluctantly leaves the photo behind and follows after him. 

The room is a living and dining room with a small circular table that has an elegant bouquet of yellow and white flowers in a simple vase with four chairs tucked underneath it. There is a cozy looking periwinkle sofa and an unlit fireplace with a photo hanging above it, this one is larger and is of you before the performance all those years ago. You look so pretty in that costume and so happy. Kuvira swallows. 

Your dad walks up the staircase tucked to the right, leaving her in the living room where she awkwardly stands. She doesn’t think he wants her to go up. Kuvira makes out the sound of aggressive whispering from upstairs, she can’t make out any of the words but soon after two people come walking downstairs. Your father and your mother. 

Kuvira’s eyes widened, you always mentioned your mother being part of the guard but you never mentioned her being the Lieutenant for the main dome. Not only did she help train Kuvira, but she also placed the captain's pin onto her uniform during her ceremony. She had smiled at Kuvira, having seen her as her own, and said quietly “I’m so proud of you.” 

That smile is long gone and replaced with a scowl. “What could you possibly want to say about our daughter?” Your father places a gentle hand on her shoulder, trying to calm her down a bit. 

Kuvira gulps as she eyes the both of them, there're so many emotions raging within her now that she doesn’t know if she can even speak. Suddenly this place somehow seems too much like you and she wants to run away from your mother's wrathful gaze. “I’m… Your daughter,” Kuvira internally groans. This shouldn’t be so hard. “ Y/n and I are soulmates.” 

“So the rumors are true…” Your father mutters as he plops down onto the couch with a dumbfounded expression. 

“What rumors?” She had locked herself up in her room all of yesterday and this is her first time having a conversation with someone that’s not you. Your father grimaces. 

“That guards found you in her room, naked,” your mother spits the words out. Oh spirits, this is not a good first impression. Kuvira feels her face flush a deep red “that you imprisoned your fiancé because he caught the two of you.” 

“It’s a lot more than that” she offers, neither seems to care. Your father seems to not want to hear any of this because he quickly stands and walks off towards the kitchen. The sounds of pots and pans being moved can be heard through the otherwise eerily silent home. “I didn’t want to imprison him.” 

“I don’t care, what I want to know is why you were even with him if my daughter is your soulmate. She abruptly left with you three years ago.”  

The explanation floating around her mind isn’t good enough, she can’t seem to figure out how to eloquently explain herself without it seeming like she doesn’t care about you. Suddenly as she thinks over the last three years and she starts to notice how harshly she’s treated you. 

Up until now she always claimed it was for the good of the country, when you both finally got married the world would try to eat you up and chew you out for being with her. She needed you to have a perfect image and be resilient. 

“I-I needed him for engineering and he wouldn’t leave with us unless he thought I loved him,” Kuvira says sheepishly. Your mother looks unimpressed as her jaw begins to clench. “I have always loved your daughter though.” 

“So you hid my daughter, my beautiful, amazing, and sweet daughter away like something to be ashamed of?” She takes a step closer, scowling. Kuvira feels like the collar of her jacket is choking her. 

“No! I have never been ashamed of her, I always told her how much I loved her.” 

“But you turned her into the other woman for your own selfish desires!” 

“They weren’t selfish, they were for the good of the empire! She understood.” Kuvira thinks you understood but right now she’s not too sure. A kettle in the background begins to whistle. 

“My daughter dreamed of the day she’d meet her soulmate, she had everything planned out and I know for a fact that the woman I raised would not be okay with what you’ve turned her into!” Your father quietly reenters the room with a tray that holds three teacups with steam coming from them. 

“I love her, I just want to fix everything! It's why I came here,” that’s the real reason that compelled Kuvira to come here, if anyone knew you better than her, it’d be your parents. 

“How is she doing?” Your father asks, Kuvira looks over at him and notices how sad he looks. His eyes are bloodshot and a few tears fall from his eyes before he wipes them away. 

“She’s healthy but upset with me.” 

“As she should be,” your mother mutters under her breath. He picks up a teacup and blows on it, “why is she upset?” His voice cracks. 

“She wants me to end this, told me it's her or the empire and I don’t know what to do.” Kuvira sighs and runs a hand through her hair, messing her bun up a bit. 

“And why haven’t you chosen her already?” Your father's voice is calm, there’s a sadness to it but he doesn’t shout or rage like your mother who has her back turned to Kuvira as she goes to pick up one of the teacups. She can see how tense your mother is, how angry she still is. 

“Because it's my country, if I give it up to Wu and Suyin then I am turning my back on the people I promised to protect.” 

“You once promised to protect Zaofu at all costs” your mother snips out, he places a hand on her shoulder and softly says “honey, please.” She relaxes just a fraction as she takes the seat beside him at the table, glaring at her tea. 

“These people are vulnerable and need someone to make sure they feel safe again. I’m that person, and your daughter understood that, or I thought she did.” 

Your father sets his cup down and pats the chair beside him that’s situated across from your mother. She shyly walks over to it, she doesn’t want to sit down but she’s already pissed your mom off just by existing and she’d rather not give her another reason to hate her. 

“They were vulnerable, but you have gotten rid of the bandits and raiders. You’ve stabilized the empire as you promised, now it’s time to let go and hand over the reins to someone else.” 

“I can’t do that,” Kuvira says, her heart is racing. Let someone else rule? Give up the control she craves? The idea makes her feel unsafe, like the second she does it someone will destroy not only her but also you.

“You have to, my daughter won’t stay with you otherwise. Are you really ready to give up love for power?” He hands her the last cup of tea, the scent of jasmine wafts up and fills her senses. She slowly goes to pick up the cup, her hands shaking. 

She’s so overwhelmed, none of this is meant to be happening. She’s supposed to win and you're meant to love and support her, then she proposes with a beautiful emerald ring that she’d make herself and you’d say yes. That’s how it’s meant to go, that’s how she has envisioned it since day one. 

“This isn’t how it’s meant to go” she confesses, your father sets a soft hand on her own to help stop the shaking. 

“How do you think it’s meant to go?” And so she tells him what she just thought, and she adds on how both of you would continue to better this country together and maybe, one day in the far future, have a child. 

“Did you ever ask Y/n if that’s what she wants?” Your mother tries to keep her voice calm, tries to keep from yelling at her again. Kuvira stares down at the cup, trying to wrack her brain around the time you’d chime in with the future you wanted, or a time she even asked. “Just because it’s the future you planned for her doesn’t mean it's the one she wants. You can’t just plan everything out without including your partner's opinions and desires into the equation.” 

You once talked about what your wedding would be like with Kuvira chiming in every once in a while, but that was it. That was the only time you mentioned anything regarding the future. 

“Love is about equality, you both should be putting in equal effort. It’s a delicate balance that takes time to learn, give, and take. It’s not always going to be perfect even with your soulmate but you make it work for each other. If my daughter stayed with you all these years then she must love you, but for her to put her foot down shows she has had enough.” Your father's voice is soothing and calms her down just a bit. 

“But…” Kuvira’s voice shakes, “what do I do if I give up control? It’ll never go back to how it was before, how am I meant to go back to everyday life after everything I’ve done? After knowing I probably could have done more.” 

“No one knows what life will be like after. But I think a few years down the road you could get back to the place you were at before, maybe a new and improved version due to all the knowledge you’ve acquired over the years and due to having Y/n with you,” he takes a sip of his tea after speaking and delicately sets it down on its saucer. 

“I know you need control in your life Kuvira, it’s what made you good at being Captain, but you need to let go. Everyone has to let go at some point and this is your time,” your mother says. Kuvira’s eyes glance around the room as she feels her heart begin to pound, it feels like any second it’ll leap out of her chest. Let go? The idea sends her mind spiraling with horrifying scenarios of what might happen. 

“We may not like you, but if you drop this once and for all, and make our daughter happy then,” your mother lets out a deep sigh “we will be here to support and help you.” Tears glisten in her eyes as she stares at the both of them. “If our daughter loves you then that must mean there’s still some good left in you.” 

Kuvira begins to softly cry, a hand comes up to cover her mouth as her shoulders hunch in on themselves. Your dad lets out a soft sigh and says “c’mere,” before pulling her into his arms and hugging her. Kuvira doesn’t hug him back nor pull away, she just sits there and cries into his shoulder. She knows what she must do and it terrifies her, fills her with doubt, and causes her stomach to clench from anxiety. 

“You need to bring her back to us, please,” he whispers, and Kuvira nods. Slowly he pulls away from her and offers her a gentle, comforting squeeze on the shoulder. She desperately wipes at her eyes, suddenly embarrassed to have cried in front of them, and lets out a shuddering breath. 

“You should go find her,” your mother says. Kuvira stands on wobbly legs, her hand placed firmly on the table for support. When she’s fully upright your father pulls her back into a hug, a short one this time. Kuvira awkwardly pats his back until he lets go. 

Your mother stays seated, staring her down. “Don’t break her heart,” she says. Kuvira vehemently nods, her eyes wide. She will do whatever it takes to protect your beautiful heart and if you forgive her she will cherish it every second of every day. 

She leaves shortly after that, your dad gives her a cookie before letting her leave which turns out to be really good and she walks over to the tram station. It’s since been fixed so when she presses the button requesting its presence it zooms by and opens its doors for her. The chairs are still messed up, just laying there a mess of something hardly resembling what they used to be. The tram takes her out of the city and to the entrance where she wastes no time hopping into a jeep and speeding off. 

The midmorning sun beats down, today is incredibly hot and causes little beads of sweat to form on her forehead. When she gets to the encampment Kuvira slows just barely and everyone moves out of the way at the sound of the car barreling through. She abruptly stops it and jumps down before heading into her tent. 

Inside Kuvira marches to her radio, she disregards the state of it and doesn’t even notice the filing cabinet you broke as she tunes into the main radio station the encampment uses. “Radio Freedom, what do you need?” 

“Find y/n and send her to my tent.”

“Of course, great uniter. I’ll tell all my men to search for her.” The voice stutters out a reply before she switches it off. Spirits she feels like she might go crazy whilst she waits for you. She leans against the front of her desk with her arms crossed as she tries to come up with some grand speech of how much she loves you, of how your love and presence is what has kept her sane over these last few years. 

She looks up at the ceiling and sighs, the idea is terrifying but she chooses you, she’ll let go of her defenses and send her men home for you. 

The sound of fabric rustling has Kuvira snapping her head back down to stare into your eyes. You look pissed, you don’t have on your jacket so the white undershirt sticks to your sweaty skin and you have your hair in a messy ponytail instead of the usual bun. 

Kuvira wets her lips before speaking, “I spoke to your parents.” Your eyes widen at that, Kuvira continues “I didn’t realize I knew your mom, she helped train me when I first joined the guard.”  And she hates my guts which I don’t blame her, Kuvira thinks. I let her down, just like I let you down. 

You finally look into her eyes and spirits, even with that furious look on your face you take her breath away. “So?”

“She’s a blunt woman, and when I told her about us neither of your parents were pleased.” You wrap your arms around yourself and frown, she wishes she could know what’s going on inside your head. “But they gave me a piece of useful advice, something I probably could have had use of hearing all those years ago.” 

She slowly walks over to you, hesitantly so. When she’s close enough you look her over and purse your lips. There’s a slight look of concern written on your features and it swells her heart with a hint of hope. 

“That if I love you, it shouldn’t just be me taking from you, but by asking you to hide everything and go along with my plans that was exactly what I did. I realize now I never even asked what you want, what you envision when you see our future.” 

You begin to silently cry and she has to use all of her willpower to keep from reaching forward to wipe away your tears. 

“It should be equal. Give and take and be there for each other. There shouldn’t be punishments or silent treatment,” Kuvira pushes a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “What do you want?” 

You squeeze your eyes shut at her words, your bottom lip trembling. You get lost in your thoughts, something you do often but Kuvira decides not to pull you out. She’ll give you all the time you need to reply. 

“I want peace,” you say, your voice a mere whisper. But she hears you loud and clear. “I want this all to end and I want us to finally be able to love one another in front of others. I don’t want any of this, I can’t peacefully live in a world where this… this mission is a success.” 

Kuvira takes a step forward and opens her mouth to pour out all of her feelings, to promise that she’ll end it when something interrupts your moment. A shout and gunfire pierce through the air. Kuvira’s heart drops and she rushes forward to look outside of the tent. 

Her men are scrambling around like ants, stumbling to get to their places. She makes out a clash of fire and earth up ahead and runs out, leaving you behind. She turns a corner and comes face first with one of her men, instead of informing her of what’s going on he shoots a ball of fire at her. Kuvira’s eyes widen as she bends up a wall to protect her. 

“C’mon oh great uniter! Fight me” he shouts. Kuvira’s nostrils flare as she pushes the wall forward towards the man, it hits him and sends him stumbling back. As she advances with hands clenched, ready to activate his bracelet he shoots a spiraling wave of fire out of his foot that has Kuvira jumping out of the way. “It’s even ground now,” he says in a smug tone as he raises her pant leg to show a naked ankle. What?

Her heart races as she stands back up, cracking her neck to the side. She fought the avatar, she can fight this puny fire bender. Kuvira gets into stance, smirking as she shoots out two pieces of metal, one wraps around his ankle and the other around his neck, and with a twist of her wrist, he’s flying backward, slamming into the metal wall of one of the guardhouses. 

“Kuvira!” She hears you spit out, her head turns as she watches you desperately run over with an enraged look on your face. You bend the metal off the poor man, he falls to the floor with a groan. “Leave him alone.” 

“He is defying me!” Her eyes widened in rage, how could you defend him? “He is one of my soldiers and he just tried to kill me.” 

“He was never one of your soldiers!” Your fists are clenched as you try to control your anger, “you forced him into this!” 

With both of you distracted he raises once more, letting out a pained groan before shooting a small, weaker bolt of fire. You shoot up a wall for the both of you, keeping your gaze trained on your lover. “It’s him or me.” 

Kuvira lets out a growl of anger at your words, loyal earth empire soldiers rush past towards the battlefield, ignoring the lover's quarrel as they shout out commands to one another. “Why are you defending him!?” 

“Because Kuvira what we did back then wasn’t right, because I made a promise to myself to protect them and I will not break it!” Her eyes widen, stumbling back a step. There’s so much going on in her head, she just wants to silence all the anger and confusion that burns within this situation. 

“You freed him?” She asks incredulously, you thickly swallow before nodding.

 “I freed all of them.” Your wall begins to crumble, the fire bender has since left, leaving the two of you to stare at one another. “And I’d do it again in a heartbeat. I should have never let you cage them in as you did. You asked me early what I want? I want you to let this war go, I want you to leave them alone and surrender!” 

“I can’t do that!” Not now, not after being attacked, not after seeing that her men are in some sort of danger. Your hands reach up to cup her cheeks, eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Yes you can, I know you can Kuvira.” 

She rips herself out of your grasp, suddenly feeling like your touch will poison her. Poison her resolve and burn away all of her control. She needs this war to thrive, she needs it more than air itself. 

A deafening boom is heard from behind her, once more she leaves you behind but this time she feels you hot on her heels as she runs towards the battle. Kuvira vaguely makes out something moving in the air, she squints her eyes to figure out what it is and the object swoops down just a bit to drop down soldiers that aren’t hers. It’s a sky bison she realizes, that must mean Korra is here. 

She sees that one of the people that dropped down is Bolin as he lava bends a circle around him and his team to protect them from her soldiers. He wastes no time as he bends up a chunk of earth and hurls it towards the soldiers, most don’t jump out of the way in time, the force of it knocks them down and causes them to pass out. She hopes they are just passed out. 

The others around him are all different kinds of benders donning makeshift armor under their shaggy and ripped clothes, Kuvira realizes with a stunned expression that it’s the reeducation camp uniforms. Her heart pounds as more of her men fall all around her, the comforting words of your father worm their way into her head as she squeezes her eyes shut. The young dictator stumbles back and pulls at the roots of her hair in frustration, she can’t let this go, can’t give up. 

This is the most in control she’s ever felt, she no longer fears for her life or for her future, it was within reach and exactly what she imagined it to be. With her rule, she thought she erased any chance of reliving her younger years, alone and heartbroken as the longing for someone to hold her ate her up. Suyin’s comforting words never worked, but the sound of her men marching did. 

When Kuvira opens her eyes she sees that more of her men have fallen and Bolin’s group has moved on, she surges forward to eradicate them when your hand wraps around her forearm and pulls her back. She looks over her shoulder with a snarl, not realizing it’s you. 

“Don’t make me choose between you and my country.”

 “It shouldn’t be a tough decision, Kuvira.”

But if she does choose this war, this overabundance of control she will be alone and heartbroken because you will leave her. You made it clear yesterday that you won’t stand by and support this anymore, that you won’t stay by her side if she chooses this path. Your fingers through her hair work too, your soothing words are like a balm to her soul and your smile eases her into this warm state of calmness.

With you, she doesn’t need the marching of her men or the rush she gets when getting someone to sign over their land. You give it to her without a second thought, you give to her because you love her and your love doesn’t come with a price or consequences. 

You tug her to the trunk of a jeep and force her climb onto it. When she stands up on the hunk of metal you grab her cheeks and force her to look at the battle ahead. More and more of her men are falling as air benders use their full force and mecha suits shoot them down. Kuvira then notices the lack of mecha suits on her side and how in the middle of the field there’s a clash of green uniforms going against one another. The field lights up with all forms of bending as each man readily gives their life to her cause. 

“If you surrender your men will be fine! Kuvira be the woman I know you are, stand down!” You pull her eyes away from the scene so she can look at you, look into your eyes that are full of fear and desperation. 

“Bu-” Her heart begins to race, she feels like she may vomit. 

“I need you Kuvira! I need you more than them, so surrender,” you bite your lip. “For us, please Vira.” 

You pull her into a breathtaking kiss that's anything but romantic, your fingers squeeze a bit tighter at her cheeks as you slant your lips against her own, she shakily brings her own hands up to grip your waist in a bruising hold. 

When you pull away, there’s a tear racing down your cheek as you stare into her eyes. “Please.”

“Fine!” She spits out, her throat feels like it’s closing up as her fingers begin to shake. This is everything she’s worked towards for three years, every agonizing day spent pouring herself into documents and threatening governors and mayors into submitting to her will. 

Every kiss she ever gave Baatar, every time she ignored your pleading eyes. 

She’s about to give it all up for you and feels panic scrap through her as if it were wrapped in barbed wire and she doesn’t know what to do, her whole body shakes as she looks around at the mess she created. 

“We need to get to the fro-” Your eyes widen, trained on something behind her. 

“Watch out!” You scream, pushing her out of the way. An icicle bolts through the air, it all seems so slow and yet happens so fast. Kuvira goes stumbling back, barely able to keep herself up, her gaze moved from you during the push so when she hears the sound of you letting out some sort of strangled sound her head whips over to see the icicle lodged in your lower left stomach. Your white shirt begins to turn red as blood spills out. She’s frozen in place as she watches you slowly lift a hand to touch your wound as a pained whimper leaves your lips. 

That terrible noise rips her out of her frozen state and she dashes over to hold you as you begin to fall to your knees. When Kuvira looks over to see where the icicle came from she looks into the wide, terrified eyes of one of the rebels. It’s one of the ones you helped free. 

Before she can even think of all the ways she’s going to kill that woman you croak out “Vira?” Her gaze flickers back to yours, tears are welling up in your eyes and Kuvira feels the warm blood begin to spill onto her hands. 

“I’m gonna save you, gonna find someone to heal you.” Her voice is high pitched and cracking but she doesn’t care. “You are not going to die.” Kuvira looks around for someone to help save you, her one chance at happiness from going up in flames. She feels her vision blur as she desperately turns her head in all directions when it lands on the blue robes of the water benders fighting on Korra’s side. 

One of them has to be a healer, she thinks. “I need to lay you down so I can drive,” you grip at her wrist, your eyes widening at the idea of her letting go of you. “It’s the only way I can save you, I’m so sorry.” 

Suddenly she doesn’t care about anything but you, her fear of losing control has been replaced with the fear of losing you. She can’t lose you, you're the light in her life and without you, she’ll once more be the abandoned, unlovable ward of Suyin.

She quickly leans down to press a firm kiss to your forehead before gently setting you down in the trunk of the car before clumsily jumping into the front seat and turning the key. The jeep roars to life, the only problem is how her pathway is blocked. 

Kuvira stands in her seat and pulls two large walls from the earth, soldiers stumble out of the way as she pushes it through the battlefield, offering a small, clear pathway for her to drive through. She floors it and hears you groaning in the background, causing her to grip the steering wheel harder.

Her hands keep slipping from being soaked in your blood, she fights with all her might to not look down at them, knowing she needs to focus on the road ahead. Her wall ends halfway so with one hand she bends two walls again, it takes a bit longer and these walls are much shorter and less sturdy but it does the trick. 

Suddenly Korra appears at the end of the pathway, her hands once lit with fire extinguish at the frantic look on Kuvira’s face. She makes it to the end of the pathway, Korra jumps out of the way as Kuvira slams her foot on the brakes. The car comes to a screeching halt and without a second to lose Kuvira is scrambling out of the front seat to where she left you. 

Kuvira lets out a loud, strangled sob at the sight before her. Your skin is so pale and there’s so much blood, the floor of the trunk is coated in the deep red and Kuvira bites back a sob. You look up at her, softly saying “Vira?” 

Kuvira’s wet hands go to rest on your cheeks, she looks up at Korra and screams “I need a healer!” Her scream snaps Korra out of her daze and she rushes over to the jeep, when she opens the door of the trunk and sees blood begin to trickle off the edge, her heart drops. 

She’s never met you before but Suyin told her enough to know you're the one who helped them. She climbs into the truck, her brown pants slowly sticking to her skin from the blood. 

The icicle has melted now, leaving in its wake a gaping hole as she summons water from one of the vats they brought for the benders and encases her hands in it. She’s only ever healed herself and it was never something so severe. 

“Please,” Kuvira says to the avatar, her wet words scraping out of her throat as she continues to cry. “Please save her.” Korra nods, keeping her gaze on your wound as her hands begin to glow and hover over the gaping hole.

Neither of them notices how the fight has halted, Kuvira’s soldiers waiting for her to end the avatar due to how close they are. Their leader begins to sob as she desperately holds your neck so she can lift your head and set it on her lap. The metal probably isn’t very comfortable. Your cheeks and neck now have bloody handprints on them as Kuvira repeats like a mantra “You’ll be fine, you’re gonna be fine. I love you so much, you’re gonna live.” 

Korra calls over her shoulder “I need another healer!” Two waterbenders rush over, water already bent around their hands as they climb up to help. All of their hands glow as they hover over your wound, “she’s lost a lot of blood” one of them says to the other.

“Just fix it!” Kuvira demands, her heart dropping at his comment, neither of them acknowledges her as they continue to work on her soulmate, one of your hands weakly grab at her wrist so she’ll look at you, her gaze snaps to yours and she softens in an instant. “Everything’s gonna be okay, my love. Okay?” 

“Okay,” you weakly reply. Kuvira rests her forehead against your own, trying to keep from screaming out. “I love you, Vira.” 

“I love you too, y/n. I love you so much.” She continues to repeat herself, you look up into her eyes with a small, adoring smile. 

It feels like hours go by as they work on you. Whilst the three water tribe members try to save your life, Suyin walks up with a solemn look on her face. “You need to end this, Kuvira.” 

Her eyes pull away from yours to look into those of Suyin’s and she angrily spits out “I don’t care, end it. So long as Y/n lives I don’t care.” Her men at the very front of her army hear her though and all let out differing noises of surprise. “I surrender.” 

Suyin begins to spit out orders on how to arrest her men, she sends the other Beifongs back to Zaofu to clean up Kuvira’s mess whilst everyone else stays on the battlefield to help her arrest and detain the earth empire loyalists. Kuvira places a kiss on your forehead and closes her eyes so she doesn’t have to watch it all be ripped from her, she focuses on your breathing as she tunes out the youngest Beifong sister. 

Every once in a while you groan out in pain and Kuvira’s heart clenches with fear each time. “We’ve done all we can for now,” Korra says softly from behind her. Kuvira looks over her shoulder at the Avatar and sees Suyin walk up to the edge of the trunk with her arms crossed over her chest. “You can send me away to prison once she’s better, just don’t take me away from her just yet.” 

“I made a promise to Y/n and I may not like it but I will stand by it. By ending this war you will be put under house arrest, we need Y/n awake before we can do that though.” Suyin sighs, Kuvira’s gaze shifts to your own at Suyin’s words but she finds them shut. 

Frantically, fearful that you won’t ever wake up, she places two fingers on your pulse. It’s weak, but there. “She’s just sleeping, she’ll need lots of it.” 

“Y/n said she’ll choose the city for herself, for now, we’ll need to cuff you and take the both of you back to Zaofu so she can get the rest she needs.” 

She pulls your body up and into her arms so she can hold you, your head lulls onto her shoulder and you let out a soft groan at the movement. 

She places a kiss on your forehead and closes her eyes as she hears orders being given by the younger Beifong sister. She doesn’t listen, too focused on your breathing to care. She has willingly given up her army for you, and she’d do it again if it means saving your life. 

[prettywordsyouleft]

Forsaken | Part 1

Summary: As one of the Forsaken, Jinyoung had no right to covet anything as his own. When he stumbles across you standing in the middle of the village he had plundered, the memories of old make him risk it all, clutching at the past in hopes for a better future.

Pairing: Park Jinyoung x reader

Genre: warrior au / star crossed lovers / angst / romance

Warnings: death, kidnapping, cursing, a myriad of emotions - this is a really sad love story.

Index: Prologue | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15

It was a mistake to let his emotions take hold of him. In the face of danger, Jinyoung had been taught to follow orders and leave nothing to chance. He had men he had to account for despite the many lives he left to their ill-fate. It was a crooked way of thinking, though he often tried not to do such a thing when carrying out a task for the Rebellion. The more he thought, the harder it was to walk away from the sins he committed.

It had started with petty crimes, taking money from those in power. He had been able to cope with such requests, anything to keep his head above water.

Or better yet, still upon his shoulders.

For a man who had no home or family to call his own, Jinyoung was far too selfish to survive. So pulling off stunts as he had meant he steadily rose in the ranks to the front line.

He remembered his first proper test as a commander for the Rebellion as if it were yesterday. The screams of those who lost their homes, their deaths haunting him in his slumber for weeks after. It didn’t grow easier with each plunder, though he had grown colder.

He was able to sleep some nights.

Yet when he saw you standing there in the face of danger, stricken by fear and uncertainty, Jinyoung had moved faster than he should have. You were a variable he hadn’t ever expected to cross over in these parts of the country, believing you were still nestled in the township he had left you behind in.

It was him who was meant to be but a ghost to you and yet here you were, fractured images rushing to his mind as he strode through the fires, through the travesty towards you.

Your voice calling his name in his mind urged him to move faster, almost running to your side, barricading you within his arms when a part of a porch began to fall around you. The shock seemed to put you in a stupor, long enough for Jinyoung to tie his mask around your eyes, shielding you from seeing anything more.

You were from a world of light. The idea that you had seen the darkness thus far made him desperate to remove you. He hoisted you up, surprised that you didn’t fight him any. You weren’t limp in his arms, rather, your hands clung to the collar of his shirt, making Jinyoung clamp his eyes shut, trying to avoid the memories that flashed through his mind.

Did you know it was him already? You were too complacent and he was shaking as he carried you to safety. What was he even doing? You believed him to be dead, like he was meant to be all along.

Those of the Forsaken were just like that. Someone who had nothing surely shouldn’t have you.

His hands tightened around you with this thought, coveting you, keeping you for himself. The selfish need to have something more as his own, someone he craved regardless of the consequences meant he placed you down on the cart alongside some of the trinkets that had been taken from the homes before they were set alight. Jinyoung almost laughed at how ridiculous this was.

Still, you were worth more than anything that they had found here.

“Boss, we don’t take prisoners.”

Glancing at his subordinate, Jinyoung glared. “She’s no prisoner.”

“But-”

“BamBam’s new, he doesn’t get it,” another mentioned, his eyes dark, regarding Jinyoung as if he could read all of his thoughts this way. Jackson then smiled grimly. “Shall we set off? There’s nothing left but ruins now.”

Jinyoung looked down at you, cowering and coughing as you shook. He took off his coat and threw it over you, covering you completely. With you out of sight, he took the first controlled breath since he had arrived at this damned place. Nodding to his second in command, Jinyoung moved to the horse tethered to the tree beside him. “We can return to base now. Our mission here is complete.”

“Don’t you wonder what life will be like ahead of us?”

Looking at you, Jinyoung shook his head, a smile spreading out his lips. “No, why should we?”

“Well, they say we’ll live for a lot of years, if we stay healthy that is. I want to live a good life.”

“Aren’t you now?” he wondered and you grinned at him. “I thought you said you couldn’t be happier now if you tried.”

“Since meeting you, life sure has been different,” you agreed, leaning in closer, your hand reaching for the collar of his shirt, anchoring yourself in preparation for the heady experience of kissing him. Jinyoung licked along the bottom of his lip with bated breath for the same moment to come crashing upon him. You inched closer. “Saving you was the best thing I’ve ever done.”

Jinyoung shook his head, dislodging the memory from going any further than that. Looking to the cart where you had remained hidden, he wondered why you had to reappear in front of him now in this part of his life. He had never thought of the future, knowing from his upbringing, having one was impossible to hope for.

Still, he hadn’t wished for this kind of life for either of you. Or for you to cross paths again.

“Will you speak of her to me?” Jackson asked as he rode alongside Jinyoung, casting the man a hard look. “She’s that girl, isn’t she?”

“That girl is long dead to me.”

“Yet you take someone hostage like this? You know the risks you just took with us all,” Jackson continued, tilting his head to the side. “You wouldn’t-”

“Will you tell of my deceit?” Jinyoung pressed and was relieved to see the man shake his head immediately. He then grew annoyed. Jinyoung didn’t want to be in a situation where he should feel relieved after what they had done earlier in the day.

“Still, you owe me-”

“Owe you?” Jinyoung asked, smirking even. “The term of owing you-”

“Fine, fine! I won’t even ask!” Jackson cut in hastily, throwing one of his hands up in the air. “I’ll never speak of my debt in life to you again!”

Jinyoung chuckled. “If you keep my secret, I will see us as even.”

“What will you do with her?”

That, Jinyoung didn’t quite know how to answer. He had acted on impulse, the youthful version of himself mustering up more strength in that moment than the man he had become. Now you were a weight he would have to carry for the rest of his or your existence.

However long that may be.

As he searched for any signs of regret, he didn’t find them. Swallowing, Jinyoung shrugged in response. “What should I do with her?”

“It depends on her worth. We could trade her,” Jackson offered and Jinyoung laughed.

“She has no assets that we could use to our advantage in a trade.”

“Can she cook?”

Jinyoung smiled as another memory came to mind. “Some.”

“Then she can feed our men! Surely you can admit that Youngjae is no good at feeding us.”

“I normally step in to help salvage what he brews,” Jinyoung agreed, chuckling with his friend. His humour eased off, his eyes flickering back to your hidden form. Would your future be secure at the camp? He sighed.

Whatever it would be, Jinyoung knew he would carry you without complaint. You had wanted a good life, and whilst he knew that would be far from the cards now, you would still have a life.

And he hoped being alive would be enough for you. For now, at least.

The rest of the journey was spent singing along with his comrades or talking up ahead with Jackson. Jinyoung knew you had grown alert to those around you, despite making no attempt to move. It intrigued him, he had not once shackled you to the cart, and yet you acted as if you were tied down, unable to escape even if you tried.

However, he didn’t trust himself around you just yet, moving away so he couldn’t even look over his shoulder to check on you. He was in the company of men who thought highly of him as their leader. The last thing he needed to do was show a vulnerability that could lead to an uprising within his own battalion.

By the time the camp came into view, Jinyoung was exhausted. He threw his leg over the neck of his horse and leapt down from its back, landing with more of a thud than usual. It was early morning and most of those who were stationed here would be still asleep. It was the perfect time for Jinyoung to grab you and take you into his home, away from prying eyes and unnecessary questions.

He was more than certain you would have many of your own once you came to your senses.

The mere thought of you recognising him sent a surge through him, ending the squabbling over what to do with you between Yugyeom and BamBam, his order silencing that of his team. Jackson patted him on the shoulder before tasking his comrades with collecting the booty they had come away with.

Jinyoung moved you swiftly towards his home. His heart pounded with every step, your body slumping into his side effortlessly. Keeping his gaze forward and his grip tight around you, he soon had you out of the light and deep within his home. No one else would enter such a place without his command to do so, and yet he was still frazzled, laying you down and then dashing around the room for supplies, for some sense of order.

It was when he realised that you had succumbed to your exhaustion that he too sunk down to the ground, sitting in the middle of his room and staring over at you.

“Why did you spare me?”

“Spare you?”

He nodded. “I stole your compass, did I not?”

“Should I cut your hand off then?”

“Perhaps,” he offered, hesitant of your complacency. He watched as you tilted your head to the side, a smile soon growing upon your lips.

“Everyone needs saving in life. Don’t you?”

“I shouldn’t. I’m not meant to be saved.”

“Really? Why not?”

He rubbed at his neck awkwardly, not knowing why he was telling you, a complete stranger and one that he had just stolen from none the less, about himself. It was a rule he had long kept ever since he had been labelled a Forsaken. “No one cares for me.”

You blinked a couple of times before reaching out to hold his hand. “Well let’s change that, shall we? I’ll care about you.”

“Who are you to show me that?”

“Me? Why I’m Y/N. And who are you?”

“I don’t have a name.”

“That’s so absurd, why wouldn’t you have a name?!” you exclaimed, your brows knitting together when you realised of his situation. You smiled instantly. “Ah, I see. Well, why don’t I give you a name?”

“You-you would?”

“Of course! Everyone should have a name.”

“Why?”

“How else am I meant to call for you?” you answered with a giggle and he smiled for the first time. You mirrored his gesture and then placed a finger to your mouth in thought. “Hm, how about Jinyoung? After all, I found you here at the Jinru Bridge.”

“Where do you get the young part from?”

“Because we are young, silly! And I hope you can feel the freedom of being young forever, Jinyoung.”

“Are you sure that’s a good name for me?”

“I like it,” you said with a pout, offended that he seemed unimpressed with your choice. He shook his hands dismissively before smiling at you again. “I’m Jinyoung?”

“Why don’t you go stand over by that tree,” you offered and he frowned. You laughed and ushered him off. Jarringly, he obeyed your request and jogged over to the tree. Before he could do anything else, he heard you call out his new name, instinctively making him turn to look at you.

You grinned as you called out his name repeatedly, his heart now jumping around in his chest as he laughed in response.

It was then that he realised he had finally met someone who might actually care for him for the first time in his entire existence. He felt warm, and as you continued to smile at him, he knew he would do anything to remain at your side.

_________________

Part 2

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[kristallioness]

Awakening and healing

Summary: Aang and Katara help each other deal with the aftermath of the coup.

Word count: 2,200

Author's note: I blame this post by the Pentapox After Dark community on Facebook. You all should know by now that these medicine/healer-themed prompts are my weak spot (and I'm very pleased that you're exploiting that weakness). So in return, I shall warn you that this story contains quite a bit of angst, mixed together with some tender moments. Set post Coup of Ba Sing Se, when they're on the captured Fire Navy ship in "The Awakening". The scene picks up from the moment where Aang realizes that Katara had brought him back to life, and she tells him he needs to rest. There's also a reference to a heartwarming headcanon I wrote about in "An undying habit". You don't need to read that one to understand what's going on here, but I highly recommend it. *promotes*

----------x----------

She let him loop one arm around her shoulders for support as they wobbled towards the bed. It'd merely been a few hours since he woke up from his near month-long sleep. His muscles weren't strong enough to carry the light weight of his body too far yet.

"Gentle.." Katara murmured in a motherly tone, stooping down a bit to help Aang lower himself onto the mattress. She could hear him breathing heavily through the aches that plagued his torso.

Her warm hand pressed against the fresh dressings that she'd wrapped around his chest. Just slightly below the angry scar hidden underneath on the back, which she'd finished healing a couple of minutes ago.

She held onto his hand with the other one, her grip as tight as his own, not wanting to let go until he'd settled down. If it was up to her, she would never let go again.

"There.. Let me help you with that."

She reached for the crumpled blanket on the footboard and flung it open, allowing the thin cloth to fall down and cover him up. Not that he'd get cold, since these chambers on the ship were hot like the inside of an oven...

But Aang wanted to be nice to her. If anything, she deserved to be around him after everything they'd been through. He let her bustle about until he felt that she'd done everything to help him feel as comfortable as possible, given the circumstances.

He winced when she eventually perched on the edge of the bed. His spine seemed to be extra sensitive to any sort of movement after the intense healing session.

"Are you okay?"

Aang groaned, letting out another deep breath ever so slowly to get through the pain that tingled its way up to his shoulders.

"Ugh, I'm in a lot of pain, Katara."

She gave him a weak smile as she adjusted the top of the blanket, folding it over down to his stomach.

"Are you just saying that to get attention from me?"

"Yes, medical attention," Aang said sternly, grimacing again when he pulled his hands out from under the blanket and rested them on the dressings that covered his middle. Katara's smile turned into a frown and a small blush creeped up on her cheeks. She'd completely misinterpreted the situation.

"I'm sorry! Does it hurt anywhere? Do you want me to heal-"

She kept apologizing and examining him for any evident injuries she might've missed. Her nervousness started getting on Aang's nerves as well. He didn't mean to get her in such a tizzy.

He stopped her by grabbing her wrist to get her to stay still. They stared into each other's eyes in utter silence for what felt like a full minute, neither one daring to make a move. He spoke up, a bit more tenderly this time.

"No, you've already done enough."

He gave her wrist a reassuring squeeze, but that didn't convince her. Katara didn't wanna give in so easily. She pulled her hand out of his grip, her face full of seriousness and concern.

"Nonsense. Tell me, where does it hurt?" she insisted. Aang slowly averted his gaze, tracing the path along her extended arm and onto the hand she'd placed on his right shoulder. He moved it around in a circular motion, trying his best to hide another grimace.

"My right shoulder."

Katara gave him an assuring nod, summoning some more water from the bowls she'd used during the healing session. The cool liquid that she waterbended beneath her palms lit up as she began healing his shoulder.

The truth was, it didn't just hurt in his right shoulder. But if that gave her something to do and stopped her from worrying so much, it was worth it to let her focus on only one thing at a time.

It was relaxing, watching the gentle movements of her fingers tapping the skin around his shoulder. Those healing hands had clawed their way out of the catacombs and safely onto Appa's back so they could escape. So she could save him. She was like a guardian spirit to him. Without her, he wouldn't even be here.

"So.. what happened that night? After I.."

Aang paused, swallowing to take the time and phrase his words in a way that wouldn't break her heart.

"..Fell? What happened in Ba Sing Se?"

"Shh.." she hushed him like a little child, but remained silent, too. Sadly, that's what they still were - young kids torn into a world of devastation and destruction. And out of all the people on that ship, she'd single-handedly witnessed the worst of it. The sight of the world's supposed saviour, the last airbender, the only living descendant of his people, their leader and moral compass, their friend, her best friend.. No, the potential love of her life, dying right in front of her.

Aang patiently waited for her answer, allowing her to continue healing in the meantime. But Katara never mustered enough courage to retell the events to him. Not yet. She'd just gotten him back, and she wasn't ready to relive those feelings of despair again.

"Let's talk about it tomorrow, okay? It's a long story."

Aang's heart sank for her. She didn't even wanna look him in the eye when she spoke to him. What sort of hell had she been through these past weeks? And was he the reason why she seemed so cross with everyone around her, including her own father? That wasn't the same sympathetic Katara he knew before.

Aang couldn't help but feel a bit ashamed. Ashamed of having made her suffer so much because of him. Because he hadn't been strong enough to protect her, or Ba Sing Se, or the Earth Kingdom. And it was all because he'd chosen her over his own spiritual needs. Because he loved her. He loved and treasured her so much that it'd cost them the fate of another nation. It was an incomprehensible mess, to say the least.

She noticed a cloud of worry come over him when he knitted his brows, nuzzling the side of his face into the pillow to focus on her hands doing their work once more.

"Aang?"

He looked into her blue eyes, as if he wanted to say something to her. He would've wanted to pour his heart out to her. About what'd happened, how he was forced to choose between her and the sake of the world, what he truly felt for her. But his thoughts never escaped his lips. At least she'd gotten his attention.

"Is there anything I can do?"

He shook his head against the silky red material.

"No. I need to think about some things."

Katara nodded solemnly as she finished healing his shoulder. She waterbended the leftover water back into the bowl. After that, she cupped his cheek and leaned in closer to whisper.

"Like I said, you need to rest," she agreed. Aang closed his eyes just as she got closer. He felt her leave a tender kiss right in the middle of his forehead, probably on the tip of his arrow. Maybe the old Katara was still in there somewhere.

He stared back at her while she repeatedly caressed his cheek with the back of her hand. The soothing sensation started to make him weary. He yawned before asking.

"Aren't you going to your own room?"

The corners of her mouth curled into a fond smile.

"Don't worry, I will. I just wanna stay here with you for a little longer."

Aang didn't mind her keeping an eye on him. Knowing that he was surrounded by her company, as well as his friends and allies, put him at ease.

His mind was reeling in so many ways that right before he began to doze off, he realized he hadn't heard her leave the chamber. But he did hear her shift on the bed, and a moment later, he could feel something heavy on his bare chest.

He opened an eye to peek at what was happening. He startled a bit when he saw the crown of her head right below his chin.

"Uhh, Katara? What are you doing?"

She was taken aback by the sound of his voice. Katara hastily sat back up and turned her back towards him, desperately trying to hide her flushed face behind her hand.

"Nothing! I'm so sorry! I was just, uhh.. force of habit."

Force of habit? Did she do this all the time when he was unconscious? Aang wasn't entirely sure whether he should feel flattered or creeped out. But since she seemed more flustered than he was, he figured it was the former option. He felt bad for making her feel uncomfortable.

She was fiddling with her braid when he slipped a hand out from beneath the blanket to poke her thigh. Katara was still blushing furiously when she turned around to face him.

"No, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."

He entwined his hand with her own, the one she'd hid her beautiful, but crimson face behind, giving it a slight tug to invite her closer.

"Please, stay. I'd feel safer with you here, watching over me," he begged, clenching their hands together. He managed to earn that loving smile out of her with that gesture. If she hadn't been blushing so hard, he would've witnessed her cheeks turning red again.

She scooted over to him, uttering one final word for the night.

"Okay."

Katara felt relieved that he hadn't asked her to leave him alone after that awkward mishap. She'd gotten used to being by his side almost all the time, so much that she'd forgotten to keep her guard up around him now that he was awake. She wasn't sure how she could fill that empty feeling inside if she had to go and sleep in a separate cabin.

This time, she was careful. She waited, tenderly stroking the short hair on his head until he fell asleep. Once she was certain that he was out cold, she went to pick up her Fire Nation cloak. Having buttoned it together with the brooch above her chest, she returned to the only bed in the room, and simply lay down beside him.

Katara pulled the red cape over herself like a blanket and got as close to Aang as she could, so she wouldn't fall over the narrow edge of the bed he'd left her, in case she turned around through her sleep. But it had to do.

She let her hand run down his cheek one last time before she rested it above his heart. He was back. After weeks of care and observing him breathe and lie completely still, he was finally awake and moving about. She still couldn't believe it.

Katara thanked the spirits for bringing him back to her, to all of them, to the rest of the world. She didn't know how much longer they.. Correction, how much longer she would've survived without him.

As the corners of her eyes became misty, she no longer had to hold back her emotions. She wept silently, without him or anyone else seeing or hearing. The only proof being the small damp spot on the pillow, where her teardrops ended up by rolling down the side of her cheek or dripping over the crook of her nose.

Even when Aang wasn't staring into her eyes or talking to her, or pretty much doing anything, he still had a way of getting her to open up to him. She considered that to be a remarkable power. This was the first time she'd cracked since they'd left Ba Sing Se.

Katara rubbed her wet cheek into the pillow and sniffed, so her nose wouldn't get too clogged up from crying. She gazed at his face from the top of his short brown hair to the bottom of his chin. That was the mental image she wanted to remember and take along with her as she began to drift off into her own dreams.

By the time her weariness got the better of her, she could no longer recall the last time she'd slept so peacefully. No more nightmares about failing to heal him with the spirit water. No more restless nights when she felt it was her duty to watch over him all night long, in case he stopped breathing and nobody would notice. No more worrying about whether she'd done enough as a healer. Just the two of them, sleeping together for the whole night without fear.

Aang could only echo her joy. When he woke up the next morning, the first thing he saw was Katara sleeping right next him, her hand reaching out across his chest. He didn't know whether she'd intended to cuddle up to him or she'd been too tired to go to her own bed, but it was a sight worth waiting for.

He tenderly stroked her cheek in return, to which she moved her head and nuzzled her nose into the pillow, but luckily she didn't wake up. It was the best sleep she'd gotten in the last couple of weeks.

[belit0]

Make sure he never comes back.

Rated: T

Pairings: I’m not spoiling that in this first edition, so if anyone is interested in more from this story, I’ll give that away ;)

I got inspired from a writting prompt, and this was born:

The Land of the Uchihas imposed itself disgustingly throughout the entire Fire Nation, dominating and conquering with force and terror. Small kingdoms and peoples who tried to rise up against their power were subdued, humiliated, stripped of everything they ever possessed. Those who accepted the inevitable with peace and without a fight, found a more relaxed destiny, without being treated like animals for the rest of their lives.

At the beginning of their reign, the Uchihas had been a stable clan, which showed no interest in expanding beyond the lands they owned. Owners of great luxury, they lived in harmony with their exuberant wealth. Reserved, secretive and stoic, no one knew that mysteries were unveiled within the great gates of their village. They did not admit foreigners or people from outside their clan, but neither did they attack anyone who dared to approach them. They were peaceful.

Everything had changed when another clan of the Fire country, the Senju, decided to dominate all the lands around them. Ruthlessly, they murdered all their opponents without a hitch until they encountered an imposing and unexpected enemy, the Uchihas. They would not allow their legacy to fall so easily into the cruel hands of those barbarians. These two groups shared more pain, agony and history than just the dispute over ground; they were related.

With passion and vigour, both families fought their way through a heated struggle that lasted three sunsets and four moon deaths. By the end of the war, the leader of the Uchiha, Indra, all powerful and praised by his followers, had fallen to the sword of his brother, Ashura, leader of the enemy clan. Before receiving reprisals from the surviving Uchihas, he himself fled, ordering a hasty retreat, rejoicing in the victory he was taking from the encounter. The death of his older brother, his only brother, meant nothing to him, and pleasure ran through his veins in the knowledge that he had fallen before the grace of his weapon.

However, Indra’s son, Uchiha Madara, heir to the leadership that his father’s death brought, had seen his progenitor’s death from the front line, and had been unable to act to save him. At only sixteen, the dark-haired teenager had been paralysed by the terror of the scene. His uncle, cold and disheartened, pierced his father with his sword, from his chest to the other end.

When the Senju retreated, panic crept into his system, and Madara ran to the dejected body of his only direct family. He knew he had a younger brother, but he never knew what had become of him. He had not had the pleasure of meeting him, but he had always fantasized about the situation. For some reason, the clan was forbidden to talk about it, and the information was not accessible. He withdrew the blade from the man’s chest, and tried to cover the bleeding wound. It was a clean, side-to-side incision. The amber liquid ran down the torso, soaking the hands of the young man, who was frantically trying to save his father from eternal darkness.

“Son, cease your action. My departure is inevitable.”

Squinting, Indra watched his eager offspring, who struggled to keep him alive. His time was not long, but he was proud to have instilled such passion in the child he had raised. If only he could have saved his other son…

“Father! Don’t abandon me! I beg you…”

“…Child, perpetuate your walk on the path of compassion…justice…evoke the love that I profess to you when the road becomes difficult…do not follow in the footsteps of Ashura…and find him…find your brother…Izuna…”

His last breath left his lungs, as his eyes closed for the last time.

“FATHER! NO!”

After Madara took power, darkness rained down on Uchiha’s land. No one understood what had changed inside the boy, who was once a sweet and gentle kid with the entire clan. Now, he showed himself to be an archaic person and refused to receive contact with anyone. He had inaugurated his first act as a leader by commanding a fierce invasion of the Senju Lands. Not only had they been victorious, but he had cut off Ashura’s head himself and impaled it on the doors of their village as a warning.

Whoever messed with Madara would meet the same fate.

For years, this leader’s empire just grew and grew. His tyranny soon flooded every corner of the nation, forcing, coercing and subduing anyone who crossed his path. The characteristic symbol of this bloodthirsty family, the malevolent red and white fan, spread out gloriously and infamously in the form of flags, plaguing every place where a town or village once resided.

At the age of 23, Madara was staying in the capital of his kingdom, coordinating from the comfort of the main palace the few remaining invasions to completely dominate the entire region. But his mind found little interest in conquest. In fact, establishing himself as the supreme king of the area had never mattered to him. Since his inevitable assumption of power, his only goal had fallen on his father’s last words.

‘Izuna…’ was the only word that resonated in the back of his mind. That name, that beautiful name, meant hope.

“Lord… Are you here with us?” One of his advisors brought him out of his absence, and forced him back into reality. He was meeting with the honorable members of his personal council. Also present was the captain of the military troops belonging to the capital, who directed orders to the barracks located throughout the country in the smaller Uchiha villages that had been founded after each conquest.

Madara observed other unknown faces, but he played down their importance. The last time he had been able to recognize all the members of his clan was when his father was still the leader. Walking the length of the long table where the meeting was taking place, all eyes were on him, waiting for an answer that he was unaware of. He had been fantasizing throughout the discussion. With his arms folded over his chest, one leg crossed over the other, his head held high in front of him, he responded monosyllabically, a sound that always saved him when he was caught off guard.

“Hm.” Nervous glances met each other over their teacups as the murmur echoed again from the meeting room. Easily, he was absent again in the freedom of his imagination, fascinated by the ease with which he could enter that world of fantasy. A world that usually belongs only to children. But his childhood had been corrupted by a lost brother… Izuna.

When the session was over, Madara was motionless in his seat. Imitating his action, the captain of the military forces, remained unmoving in his position, accustomed to that routine. Both waited for the room to empty before speaking.

"My lord, I am afraid to announce the lack of progress in the mission you have given me. My fittest men and I have ridden without ceasing for weeks and…”

“Are you telling me there’s no sign of him?”

“My lord… my convictions… I dare to declare that your brother must have died by now…”

He could not finish speaking, for from where Madara sat, a knife flew without warning, and was mercilessly thrust into the man’s eye. He was an expert in cutting weapons, and never missed a chance to practice on live targets. No one could talk about his brother in that way. Ever since he became a leader, Izuna’s quest was an ever-present mission. The entire Fire Nation had been scoured, searched for in every corner by that young Uchiha that no one knew about and had never been seen.

But Madara was no fool. He knew what his clan thought. He knew that they thought him insane for searching so hard for a person who resembled a ghost. The resources devoted to tracking down his brother were incalculable, to the extent that the Uchiha were at a financial low, never before reached by his predecessors, thanks to him.

He could hear the servants rumouring about how he had lost his mind. He could hear his men doubting his ability to carry them through. His family, the legacy his father had given him at the cost of his blood, was now beginning to turn its back on him. All they wanted was the total conquest of the region. To receive the unpleasant title of supreme leader. None of that mattered in his life, for what he wanted most was to regain what he had never been able to have.

Despite the differences he had with the people he was leading, as he no longer considered it right to call them relatives, he was aware that he needed his position as a ruler to get the help of the clan, and thus find the whereabouts of Izuna. His brother’s story was still a mystery. No one knew what had become of him after his birth, no one had seen him, no one could describe his appearance. A needle in a haystack. And although in the back of his mind the word ‘dead’ flickered with dazzling lights, he refused to pay attention to it. He would spend his whole life searching for him if necessary.

—————————————-

Facing a new dawn, Madara’s horse rode bravely before his commands, guiding the military formation that followed behind him. The Uchiha travelled at great speed from the capital to one of the newly opened villages, located almost on the border of the land of fire and wind. Carrying swords, bows and arrows, shields with the clan’s emblem, they hurried through the rising heat, wearing gleaming black armor. They covered the entire torso, shoulders, and the front and back of the legs. Combat sandals, suitable for the need for skill, could be seen on the warriors’ feet.

The leader of the troop, distinguishing himself from the others, wore a long black cape attached to the shoulders of his armor, identifying him as the head of the squadron. After coldly annihilating the former commander in the meeting room, Madara had decided to personally take charge of the military section. His long dark hair cascaded down his back, dancing uncontrollably in the face of the horse’s revolutions and the wind. The urgent hurry was due to the announcement of a runway that had arrived in the capital that morning, carried by a messenger hawk. The leader of the location to which they were travelling, reported having found conclusive information about the famous “Izuna” and demanded the immediate presence of Madara to verify the veracity of the facts.

When they woke him up and he personally read the message that the pale and breathless maid had brought him, his heart beat as fast as when he saw his father die in front of his eyes. Putting together a team and having them travel that distance from one moment to the next was risky and extremely rushed, but the expectation consumed him and the urge to find out what that clue was was too much to hope for.

When he was forced to rest because the night was falling on them, anger took hold of him in such a pure way that he had to get away from the whole group so as not to kill them on the forest floor. He made up his personal sleeping space at a great distance from his men, knowing that it was unlikely that he would encounter any thieves or outsiders in the area as it was under his power. He stripped off his armor and did not even bother to set up a proper shelter for the early morning hours. Wearing the black clothes, he always wore under his war protection, he placed the shield of his torso on the grass and laid his head on it, using it as a pillow.

He relaxed by looking at the green leaves on the trees, feeling the breeze playing with his loose hair. Before he knew it, he was fantasizing. He thought of arriving in that village and meeting a young Uchiha, his brother. His only remaining relative, who would accompany him for the rest of his life. He would not have to be alone anymore. Eventually, amidst emotions, happiness and dreams, darkness lulled him to the land of rest, and he managed to sleep.

But he had made a mistake in thinking that he was alone.

———————————–

When he woke up, he felt happily renewed, ready to reach that blissful place and discover that mystery. But unfortunately, he was not in the forest. The sounds of nature did not reach his ears, the morning breeze did not blow on his senses. Something was wrong. Reluctantly, he wanted to open his eyes, only to realize that, even if he tried, the world was still dark around him.

He did not allow despair to grow inside him, years of war, fighting and training had shaped him into a warrior fit to face any scenario. He tried to move his hands, to bring them to his face to confirm that his eyesight was covered by something, but discovered that he was chained. Handcuffs were tight and constricting, hugging his wrists. He tested the range of motion, and noticed that he could move his arms at least a little forward. He was not totally restricted.

He lifted one leg, confirming the theory that he also had shackles on his ankles. Again, a small range of motion was granted to him. He was sitting against a cold, solid wall with all his limbs tied off and deprived of his sight.

He could only hear, smell at the very least. The rage of being held against his will one step away from finding information about the man he had sought for so many years consumed him in an inexplicable way, but he could not afford to act recklessly and ruin his chances of escape because of his impulses.

He waited, waited and waited, still in the cold, secret place, unanswered and boiling inside. He had no idea how much time had passed, what time of day it was, what had become of his troop. The unknowns overwhelmed his head when a sound took him out of his anxiety. Without conveying any emotion to the outside world and determined to be indecipherable to his captors, he heard footsteps coming down a long staircase. Then the person walked down what he thought was a corridor, until it got closer and closer to him. The footsteps stopped, and the rumble of a heavy titanium door being opened was heard throughout the room where he was being held.

“I apologize, my King, for the lack of decorum on the occasion… unbecoming of our usual action. But… before one such as you, Lord Uchiha, we cannot take risks, I hope you understand.”

A female voice spoke from somewhere in the room. He could tell that the woman was standing in front of him by the direction of the sound, and from the information provided, she was some kind of thief; probably, a group of them. He would remain silent, and would not offer compromising information to his enemy. Not because he cared about his clan, but because of the custom of wartime. Once again, he felt like a teenager, where he was targeted because he was the leader’s son. Today, however, he was the leader.

“Did the cat eat your tongue, My Lord?”

Internally he found it amusing to think that this should be taken as an insult. The woman he was dealing with seemed to have no desire to mistreat or torture.

“…Man of few words… Blessed. The payment for your ransom should be coming any minute, Lord Uchiha. You will be free then.”

With that said, the woman’s footsteps were heard again, moving away from him calmly. The door resounded thunderously after a few seconds, and as it closed, the footsteps continued down the corridor that he sensed following. The footsteps disappeared behind the many steps a moment later.

Abduction for profit’ had been delayed by something as banal as materials. He felt insulted, anger threatened to show itself, to glow through his strength and to tear off the chains that kept him confined to that place. But that, he had to admit, as incredibly tempting as it was, was also incredibly stupid. When the Uchiha paid the ransom, he would be released peacefully and could finish the journey to the village quietly, assuming that the group holding him was large enough to rule over that area.

He.Just.Had.To.Wait.

And so, it was. He ate the ration of food that was given to him some time later, and felt the hours go by inside him, until eventually sleep overcame him. He was startled when he was awakened by a slight kick in his calf. His body was asleep and cramped, thanks to the lack of movement due to the restriction of the chains. He needed to move, his energy and his mood were deep within him.

Reluctantly, he came back to life when he heard the voice of the same woman speaking to him again. Without warning, he felt a delicate touch over his eyes, and the blindfold that deprived him of his sight was removed. By reflection, he held his eyelids tight to the sudden invasion of light. It was not very strong, for the room where he was imprisoned was dreary and poorly lit, but after being in the darkness for an indefinite time, even the smallest illumination felt enormous.

When he managed to focus his eyes again, he could appreciate the woman in front of him. She was short, with long, long pink hair, reaching down to her lower back. Emerald eyes looked at him intently, and a purple jewel in the shape of a rhombus adorned her forehead. A long black cape with strange red details covered her body, but it opened at the front of her figure to reveal the tight black shirt and dark trousers she wore underneath. The sleeves were so long that Madara could not see her hands, which made him uneasy as he could not see if she was carrying weapons.

“…O my King… My Lord… I have news…”

Slowly, the pink-haired woman moved one of her arms. Alerted, the Uchiha looked intently at her hand, anticipating an attack or an assassination attempt. To his surprise, when the sleek limb was revealed under the long sleeve of her cloak, the only thing that appeared was an envelope. Specifically, marked with the symbol of the Uchiha clan.

Confused and amazed, Madara held the object in the hand where the woman had placed it, as he could not deliberately move them. It was a letter, and it was open.

“I suppose it is a pity for you… My Lord… but we, on the other hand, are wonderfully rich.”

On the paper, it read as follows:

“To whomever this statute has the pleasure of addressing

We cannot ignore the assistance given by you in the removal of Lord Madara

As a token of our gratitude, we sent twice the amount you requested, in exchange for one last favor

Please

Make sure he never comes back to us.

                                                                       -The Honorable Uchiha Council”

The words his eyes saw broke the last barrier of self-control he had left, and he couldn’t help but explode at that very moment. His family had taken the opportunity of his abduction to get rid of him. They were using this group of thugs to see that his presence was eradicated. It was an insult to his father, to him. To his brother.

The chains on his wrists came off the wall when, with a battle cry, the Uchiha used all his strength to free himself. Finally, being able to move his arms, he allowed his anger and contained ferocity to run through his veins, without any restrictions. Outside of himself, he lunged at the woman in front of him, and straddling her, he placed his hands around her neck. The force he exerted was too much, and the pink-haired woman soon began to lose the color in her skin and the air in her airways.

“I JUST WANT MY BROTHER!”

[mwolf0epsilon]

Can you write a short dark fic for the pairing Joey x Henry, where after Henry threatens to leave the studio, Joey snaps and kidnaps Henry and turns Henry into a perfect Boris or Bendy so that Henry would never leave his side, please?

Summary: Joey Drew couldn't ever take 'No' for an answer, much less when it came from the object of his ill-fated obcession.

---

[[MORE]]

When brought into the world children were never inherently cruel. They were curious and blunt, which often resulted in uncomfortable situations for those they interacted with, but overall younglings were empathetic at heart until reshaped and redefined into something otherwise.

The world was a terrible influence after all, and it could marr even the purest of things.

There were exceptions to this rule however…

Joey Drew had certainly been a curious kid. Unabashedly blunt too, with how often his innocent words cut deep into both his parents and peers.

But not once did he empathise enough with others to be considered a kind child.

If anything, most others his age had steered clear from his company, finding the mellow kid with the great big toothy smile to be unsettling on an instinctive level. Children were, after all, capable of sensing evil. Even in its stages of infancy.

So imagine everyone's surprise (Joey's included) when Henry Stein decided to befriend the town's most infamous little black sheep.

Kind bleeding heart that he was, Henry had thought it unfair that others would judge another as strongly as they judged Joey, so he'd taken it upon himself to make the kid next door's life a little less lonesome.

Give him what he surely needed: A good and caring friend.

Needless to say, he regretted that decision more than anything in the world...

It hadn't always been so bad. Once Joey had actually been a friend to him, and cared enough to look after Henry when he'd most needed.

Now however? Now Henry could barely recognize the monster behind that unnerving grin...

The burning selfish desires in those sapphire blues, hidden behind an half-lidded expression that was reserved to feign a serene and caring persona…

As charming and handsome as Joey looked (because he'd always been unnaturally pretty, even when going through the awkward stages of puberty), Henry couldn't help find his apathetic and selfish nature abominably hideous.

Especially now as he brought him the results of yet another failed experiment.

"I'm getting closer dear friend." He held the snapping, snarling little beast at arm's length, this failed mockery of Edgar barely looking like the adorable cartoon spider he was meant to be. "Soon I'll be able to make you perfect, and then we'll be back together as the dynamic duo we always were..."

Henry shuddered at the thought, tightly curling in on himself as he watched Joey end the poor creature's miserable existence. His bowl where his meals were served clattering loudly, as the inky heart of the slain critter was tossed onto it with precision. A mimicry of flesh thumping against the metal with a wet splat.

He fought back the urge to cry as he felt his mouth water.

"Eat up my loyal wolf… We can't be wasteful." Joey's cruel smile almost ruined his appetite. Almost. "Don't worry, this wasn't anyone you knew…"

With that said, Joey left him to greedily consume the offering.

Looking in the bowl's reflective surface once he'd licked it clean, Henry found that he could barely recognize himself anymore.

His stretched out face progressively becoming less and less humanoid as he was fed the experimental failures of Joey's horrid machine, and his pale hair having long since turned black and begun to spread.

He looked like what one would envision Boris the Wolf to look like in some lovecraftian fever dream. Dressed in ill-fitting ripped clothing, and barely able to balance a pair of cracked glasses on the bridge of his elongated nose.

An inhuman beast that fed off of the misfortune of others, losing his humanity as time passed on by.

He wondered if he'd forget himself eventually. If he'd forget that the devil in disguise that was Joey Drew was to blame for his malformations.

If one day he'd actually grow to love his captor in the same manner that Stolkholm syndrome victims tended to do, once brainwashed into submission by their abusers?

Another shudder forced a garbled whimper out of his deformed face.

To whatever god that could hear his broken pleas, he sure hoped not.

Henry didn't want to give Joey what he wanted.

Not when that monster of a man had taken him away from his family to keep as some sort of freak show pet.

Playing some sick version of house with the "puppy" he sustained on a cannibalistic diet. Disgusting.

Curling up, Henry cried himself to sleep. Thinking of his wife and children.

Missing them terribly while locked up in the bowels of Joey's demented studio.

-

The Ink Demon wasn't bad company, Henry had found. It seemed to understand his pain on a level no other creature did, offering him what little compassion it could whenever Joey dropped by with more "food".

It feared and loathed that devil of a man just as much as Henry did, and it knew to be kind despite never once being treated with the same sort of respect.

The one positive of this odd kinship between the two, was that Joey seemed pleased by them forming the sort of bond Bendy and Boris had. Thus never getting in between their interactions.

"One day soon, it'll all be just as I envisioned." He'd purr as he pinned the bound inky wolf to the ground, touching Henry in a way that made him want to gag, and rip the rat bastard's throat out with his horrific set of doggish teeth. "Just a little more and you'll be perfect."

He didn't want to be perfect.

All Henry wanted was to kill Joey Drew and go home.

"But first, I have a surprise for you." A surprise that came right after this twisted display of "affection". This gross invasion of the abominable wolf's personal bubble.

Joey presented him with an absolutely Perfect Boris.

Overalls, pie cut eyes, soft velvety fuzz and all… no signs of dripping or asymmetrical proportions.

The terror in those eyes however… it was all too human.

"I told you I'd find a way to reach perfection. Once I've finished tweaking the process you'll be just as perfect as him… Maybe more." Joey purred. "I miss your voice after all, dearest friend. Until then I give you this fearful pup to do with as you wish."

Upon his tormentor's departure, the cartoon wolf scrambled away from Henry. Shaking like a leaf and whining pitifully.

A child, Joey had converted a child…

Hell hath no fury like the righteous rage of a scorned father.

That bastard would pay for all he'd done!

But first, the large and deformed beast that was Henry Stein carefully scooted over to the shaking Boris clone and comforted him as best he could.

He'd protect this poor pup, no matter what.

The Ink Demon seemed to be in favour of extending that same grace, although it did still go for the kill when the less than agreeable ink monsters came around looking for trouble.

-

Buddy's transformation had certainly enraged him when Joey presented the poor boy to him. Sammy's and Norman's fates however were the last straw to break the camel's back.

Most of the people that worked at the studio were strangers to Henry, but the young musician and the oddball projectionist had been friends to him.

With every stranger's heart he consumed, the large beast of a wolf grew more and more restless. The revulsion he felt when looking upon Joey growing into an all consuming desire to violently murder his captor.

When a faceless ink creature wearing only suspenders and a Bendy mask came in one day to bring him his meal however…

"My lord wishes me to feed you, oh Great Lupine... Abyssal Hunger of the Ink's Abyss…" The body shape wasn't one he recognized. The slight arch to the creature's legs a bit strange to look at, and the four fingered hands an indication that something strange had definitely come to pass in this poor madman's transition into his current state. But that voice…

"Shhh...Shhaaammiieeee…?" His voice had returned as a dissonant mess, one that was not fit for a gross mockery of a muzzle like his own.

"Is… Is that my name, oh Hungry One?" There was both fear and hope in his voice. That in itself made something twinge painfully in Henry's chest. "I… Yes, yes that is my name isn't it? Sammy… I… oh thank you kindly, Benevolent Wolf. Please, feast upon your meal. I have worked hard to acquire it in the name of our Lord, your most wonderous companion."

What had Joey done to Sammy Lawrence, the proud music director that had more than half the mind this mindless drone had? Good heavens, what had he done that completely broke the poor kid?!

Rather than voice his horror, Henry did as he was told. After all the more he ate, the more his gluttonous appetite grew… as did this horrid body he was stuck with.

Abyssal hunger indeed…

He forgot what shame tasted like, but not mercy.

As selfish as it may be, he did request one thing.

"It is as you wish, oh Hungry One… I shall protect all pups that enter my lair." The Prophet bowed once, twice and then trice as he took Buddy by the hand. "Another horror skulks in the darkness, wearing an Angel's face. She hunts wolves, for fun. I shall show them your mercy."

He trusted that Sammy would keep his word. He was as stubborn as they could get, after all, and did not back off from a challenge very easily.

Henry would miss Buddy's company though.

That particular encounter was bad on a moral level, but it did turn out alright in the end. When the Projectionist was presented to him as a play thing however, Henry had begun to crack. No one deserves such a horrible fate as to carry the weight of the world on their shoulders.

Norman had once carried a world of unimaginable knowledge on his back.

Now he only had the painful weight of a projector on his neck, and the volatile temper of a mindless beast.

The deformed wolf had done his best to gain the creature's trust, but it feared being attacked far too much to let a nearly 20 foot inky monstrosity near itself.

Self preservation hadn't completely left the Projectionist it seemed.

He'd let it go, hoping doing so would be a sign of good will on its own.

And then when he'd been once again left alone, Henry continued to stew in his anger. Talked himself into showing a rarer more violent side on Joey's next visit.

Even tried to fight back against him the next when he tried to touch him.

This was a losing battle however… After all, Joey Drew couldn't ever take 'No' for an answer, much less when it came from the object of his ill-fated obsessions.

Henry Stein just so happened to be his biggest obsession. Even as this horrifically imperfect monster that only an equally horrific demon could ever hope to understand.

[beyond-the-mirror]

Red Riding Hood and the Red Devil - Dante x Reader (200 Followers Special)

Just recently I was navigating tumblr when I realized that my current follower account was already above 200 and I was like “… whaaat?”

I want to take this chance to thank you all for your support and the positive reception of my beloved works Nocturnal Encounters and Music of the Night. Your feedback DOES MEAN A LOT to me and I want to encourage you to leave as many comments as you want so I know how to keep improving myself and my writing skills. And also thank you for reading my random, spontaneous headcanons that I know you didn’t ask for but I still provided just ‘cause.

Anyways, I dedicate this story to all of you. It will be divided in three parts and let me warn you now that part two and three will be quite spicy. 👀

WIthout further ado, let’s head into this story! 

Part Two - Part Three

……….

Part One

When your neighbors entered your bistro that morning, you definitely weren’t expecting the news they were about to deliver you.

Your grandmother was shopping at the market, going on her daily routine as always, when she suddenly collapsed in the middle of the crowd. Luckily the doctors managed to give a proper diagnosis, nothing than couldn’t be cured  normally with the proper treatment and a lot of rest. The problem laid on the advanced age of your dear grandma, her weak complexion being a potential catalyst for the illness to worsen shall she not receive extensive care and attention.

She was the only family you had left, your parents died during your teenage years and she had no other children beside your mother. Hiring a personal nurse was out of question, with the medicines already taking much of your modest income. With no other option available, if someone had to step up to this task, it had to be you.

As soon as the apple pie you had baked cooled down a bit, you packed it in your basket along several other home-cooked meals and the elixir bottles the doctors prescribed. With everything properly packed, the only thing left was waiting for the carriage to arrive.

A knock on the door signaled the coachman’s arrival. Before heading out, you quickly put on your favorite cape to protect you from the chilly air outside. You had acquired it years ago as a present from your grandma, a handmade cape colored in the most vibrant and dazzling crimson you had ever seen, only the richest roses gardened with the utmost care could compare to the beautiful garment in any way. You would always wear it during fall and winter, always making sure it never got damaged or torn. Because of it, everyone you knew in the little city you lived lovingly nicknamed you ‘Red Riding Hood’.

Thanking sincerely the short staff that worked by your side, you hugged each one of them before departing, may heaven bless them for their unconditional support during this hard time of yours. As soon as they heard the news, they immediately stepped up without question, offering their total help to keep the bistro running in your place so you could focus completely in your grandmother’s treatment. They were amazing and trustworthy people, your business was indeed in rather good hands.

With one last goodbye, you climbed onto the carriage. The plan was very simple: you would stay at your grandma’s as much as she required, only returning to the city for supplies and her prescribed elixir when needed. She lived not too far away by foot, her house being at the outskirts of the neighboring village, but considering you were carrying a basket full of food and a suitcase, going by carriage was definitely the better choice.

“Everything will be fine.” You assured yourself, grasping the front of your cape as if holding on to that sense of security.

……….

“I’m sorry Miss but we can’t keep going. The road is blocked.”

“Blocked? What happened?”

You were wondering why the carriage stopped so suddenly. As you got out, the answer laid clearly right in front of you.

A rockslide was blocking the ample road ahead and stopping all travelers from going any further. It was such an odd sight, there had been no storms or earthquakes recently for the steep to be weakened to such length. Everyone present was utterly baffled, just what exactly happened here?

“I’m afraid it will take a few weeks to fix the road.” Added the coachman, his tone full of sorrow since this incident was definitely going to affect his job. “There’s nothing we can do to keep going. We must go back.”

No. You were not going back. Your grandma needed you and there’s no way you were going back. “What about the forest? If this passage surrounds it, then by walking straight from here we should eventually make it to the road again, am I correct?”

A worried expression took over the coachman. “You are indeed correct Miss, but please don’t go there. The forest is too dangerous, many people have gone missing and the locals always warn not to enter under any circumstance.”

“You are very kind sir, but my family needs me. You don’t need to come with me.” You handed him the accorded payment for his service. “Thank you for your service, you may go back to your family now.”

The old man gulped “In that case Miss, there’s something you must know if you insist on continuing.” Reaching into his leather bag, he fished out a small compass as well as a map, which he proceeded to unroll. “According to this map, the portion of the forest you need to cross is actually quite short, which means you should be able to get out in no time as long as you walk in a straight line. Please, I beg you to take this compass with you, it has a small charm embedded on the back for protection.”

The look the man was giving made it impossible for you to refuse, not to mention that the compass would definitely come in handy. After he unloaded your stuff and climbed unto his seat, you thanked the kind man once again. “Please take care Miss. I will pray for your safe return.” With those words, he bid you farewell and returned home.

……….

Red Grave Woods was quite an enigmatic and feared forest to everyone who knew about it. It may appear silent and peaceful to those who didn’t know any better, and that misjudgment almost always lead to rather tragic consequences.

You walked in a hurry across the woods, hood over your head and never once looking back. One of your hands tightly clutched the front of your cape, once in a while letting go to briefly check the compass encapsulated within its grasp. You did your best to keep a cool mind, just like the coachman mentioned ‘the portion you need to cross is actually quite short’.

‘Just a little more. Just a little more.’ You repeated mentally over and over. It would be over soon. Sooner than you thought. However, you couldn’t help but feel as if something could happen to you at any time, you knew just how vulnerable you were by going all alone into the woods.

And the pair of glowing red eyes watching over you knew it too.

In just an instant, the temperature drastically dropped, making you stop dead in your tracks. Your heart pounded in your chest so loudly that you thought it was going to explode.

Clutching your cape and the minute compass, you whispered a short prayer to try and calm yourself down. You reminded yourself ‘Don’t turn back. Whatever you do, don’t turn back.’

“You know it’s quite rude to turn your back on someone, don’t you?”

A deep distorted masculine voice had just called you from right behind, leaving a deadly silence taking over the ominous woods. Not even the wind dared howl any longer.

You stood frozen in place, refusing to look back or even acknowledge the mysterious presence behind.

“Not to mention it is straight up an offense to trespass into another’s home without an invitation. Aren’t you quite the naughty girl?”

‘Don’t look back, (Y/N). Under any circumstance, do not look back.’

“Come on little red lady. Let me see your pretty face.” His warm breath tickled the back of your neck, sending chills down your spine. Well, whoever this creature was, you might as well face him. Whatever fate you were about to meet, at least you would do it upfront.

Very slowly did you turn. “Ahhh there she is!”

You kept your eyes closed as you faced him, until you finished gathering enough courage to finally flutter them open. Before you stood a tall anthropomorphic creature, a man covered head to toe in a dark scaly armor with a burst of red energy on the center of his chest, magma rivers traveling along the cracks between the many scales and ridges of his body. He had a set of thick red wings curled down and bellow his arms, resembling a coat of sorts. Four red horns protruded from his head backwards, accompanied by a set of short white spikes on top of his head and another bellow his chin. His blood red eyes were fixated on you, and his lips formed a smirk that revealed two rows of sharp fangs.

This demon towered over you, he could easily toy with you and crush you like an ant whenever and however he wanted, yet he simply stood there staring at your form.

“What do you want?” you inquired the beast, trying your best not to show any weakness or hint of fear.

The demon chuckled at your false bravado. “I should be the one making that question. Didn’t your parents teach you not to play in the scary woods? A big bad wolf could attack and gobble you up in one single bite, or should I say a big bad devil?”

Was he being playful? By his mocking tone you concluded that he was merely toying with you like a cat would a mouse, and oh how that infuriated you so.

“I’m afraid I do not have time to humor a stranger. I have an urgent matter to attend to, so whatever it is that you want with me you will tell me right now.”

“Oooh a feisty one.” Truth be told, he was impressed with your attitude. No wonder you had caught his eye, you were definitely entertaining him. “But sadly that won’t do you much help, oh no.”

The demon circled you, scrutinizing you with his glaring eyes. “And what is that supposed to mean?” You followed him with yours, not trusting him enough with your back towards him.

The creature hummed “This forest consumes, my little red lady. Many, many horrors have made this place their home; shadows who love preying on the innocent, especially on little innocent girls playing in the woods. Oh, how they love those in particular.”

“And let me guess. You are one of those horrors.”

His chest rumbled with laughter “Actually, this is your lucky day little one. For it turns out, I may just be the kindest demon you will ever encounter in this cruel world.” The devil gave a dramatic bow to you, his ruby eyes staring at you before giving you a charming wink.

You huffed at the devil’s strange demeanor. There was nothing trustworthy about him, but it’s not like you could run away easily. The best course of action would be indulging him in this game of his, only then perhaps you’ll find a small chance to survive.

The red devil took notice on the way you kept your basket close to you, and he wondered the reason why. A short breeze blew, and the red devil was no longer in front of you.

“Now I’m curious to know what do you keep in this thing of yours. Whatever it is, it smells delicious!” His voice was now behind you, and in his hands he held… your basket! But how? When did he-?

The demon sniffed as he held your basket to his face. He could make out the rich aroma of fruits, herbs and spices; his mouth watering at the positively delicious food inside.

“Hey! Give that back right now!” You immediately tried snatching it back, only for him to lift it beyond your arms reach thanks to his incredible height. He simply ignored your struggling form and opened the lid, and sure there were several kinds of prepared meals that looked utterly delightful. Herb-crusted pork loin, sweet apple pie, homemade pizza (his favorite human food, and with no olives! ) and… suspicious-looking purple bottles? He picked one of those with a clawed hand to examine it up close.

“Huh. What do you keep in this weird bottles eh? They smell kinda funny.”

Before he could possibly break them, you managed to snag the one he was holding. “Those are elixirs! Now unhand that basket this exact moment!”

“An elixir… What do you need this medicine for?”

He watched the way you frowned, eyes now with a hint of worry. “My grandmother… she’s terribly ill. She’s the only family I have left. I need to take care of her, otherwise she…” No. Now was not the time for tears. Show no weakness in the presence of a demon.

To your surprise, the red devil actually returned your basket, with him now knowing the reason why you were walking so hurriedly before.

“Why are you holding your tears, little one?”

By the time you realized, the mysterious creature was now kneeling before you, one of his claws gently catching a stray tear that managed to escape your eye. Despite being an entity of fire, brimstone and flames, the warmth he emitted wasn’t scorching, on the contrary, it was inviting and comforting.

“Because sitting and crying won’t make a difference, it won’t save my grandma. I must stay strong and keep moving forward.” It was hard, but you managed to keep your composure.

The red devil hummed, his chest rumbling and purring. “Let me offer you a deal then.” He got back on his feet before continuing. “I shall be your guide and guardian in this forest so you can make it to your grandma’s house unscathed and with no unsolicited attacks from the local demons. How’s that?”

You quirked an eyebrow towards him. He was willing to what now? “What? You’re giving me your protection just like that? Surely there’s something you want in return considering how cunning and deceiving your kind is.” He may seem nice, but there was no way he would offer something without expecting an exchange for another, it’s how demons were and always will be.

“And you are absolutely correct about that, little red lady, very insightful indeed. Now now, what could I possibly ask from you? Mmm…” with a finger on his lips, the creature made a show of pondering his request. A snap of his fingers signaled that he had made up his mind. “Got it! Actually it’s something really simple, but very fun.”

He came closer to you, hooking a clawed finger under your chin and tilting your head upwards so you could meet his gaze. “How about…” he leaned down, his breath fanning over your lips. “… a kiss?”

You immediately pulled away, a crimson blush bright on your cheeks and nose tip. How dare he make advances on you? And during the dire situation you were going through?

The demon simply laughed at your reaction, amused by the indignant scowl you were giving him. “C’mon little one, it’s only a tiny peck I’ll be giving you. It could be on your cheek, if you are feeling unsure about it.” Another wink from him. Was this creature for real?

“Ugh! You sly devil.” Such insolence! It seemed that this little game of his would not stop… yet you remembered what you told yourself before, the best course of action is to indulge this demon for better chances at survival. “… Fine. Just go ahead.”

His smirk evolved into a full wolfish grin and once again, he towered over you while you did your best to avoid his eyes. First he leaned down, taking his time to smell your scent. It was sweet, intoxicatingly so, with floral hints then and there. After a few seconds of silence, you felt his lips press against the flushed skin of your cheek. They were surprisingly soft and plump, staying there for what felt like an eternity. When he pulled away, you almost missed his warmth and proximity.

“There. It wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Your blush deepened. No, it definitely wasn’t so bad after all.

“So. If we are about to continue together, I think it’s only fair you give me your name. I want to know who is my traveling companion this nice morning.”

This time it was you who smirked. “Only if you tell me yours first. Since I’m obviously at a disadvantage, if I give you my name now, it would only grant you even more power over me. You go first.”

“Not bad, little red lady. Not bad at all.” Oh you were incredibly smart, the oldest tricks in the demon book would definitely not work with you. He had just met you and he already liked you, his intuition was right when he witnessed you entering the forest with determination in your steps.

“You may call me Dante.” He took one of your hands, lifting it to his lips and placing a soft kiss at your knuckles. “How should I call you, little red riding hood?”

You smiled at him, this time it was a sincere genuine smile “You may call me (Y/N).”

[finalfantasyandnerdiness]

da capo al fine

For eternal beings, the ebbs and flows of time mean very little. Whatever happens, the world will keep moving forward, and so will they. No end. No beginning. For a human, though? Every second counts.

Every word.

Every decision.

A mortal with the power to turn back time is a fearsome creature, because a mortal cares – and if they decide that they’re going to find a timeline where everyone they love survives, they will do whatever it takes to make it happen. Even if it means abusing a power that was never meant to be theirs.

A Fire Emblem Three Houses retelling where everybody lives, basically. Also: Dimileth. 

Read on Ao3

For eternal beings, the ebbs and flows of time mean very little. Whatever happens, the world will keep moving forward, and so will they. No end. No beginning. For a human, though? Every second counts.

Every word.

Every decision.

A mortal with the power to turn back time is a fearsome creature, because a mortal cares – and if they decide that they’re going to find a timeline where everyone they love survives, they will do whatever it takes to make it happen. Even if it means abusing a power that was never meant to be theirs.

*

“You. How long do you intend to sleep?”

Byleth opens her eyes. A young girl she vaguely recognizes stares down at her from a throne of stone. Her eyes, as eerily green as her hair, are expectant and clearly annoyed.

Where am I? Byleth shakes her head in an attempt to clear the cobwebs clouding her mind. Who am I?

“Get on your feet. Right now!” the girl snaps. “You are just like a child, always needing me to hold your hand…” She sighs. “This is the last time, you hear me? No more restarts. This is it.”

Byleth has no idea what any of it means, but she still nods.

The girl’s face softens. “Make it count.”

*

The first seconds are always the worst. Byleth never gets used to those terrifying moments where her entire being is a blank slate. She knows she’s supposed to recognize the bearded man in front of her, but he could just as well have been a complete stranger. Then, it clicks. Everything falls into place. He’s her father. She’s a mercenary. And, most importantly, she’s been here before.

*

Even though most of Byleth’s memories are blurry, the ones about the three heirs are always crystal clear. One look is all it takes to remember their tragic fates. Blue eyes, full of barely restrained hatred. Green eyes, sharp as a blade. Violet eyes, burning with determination. Three young rulers, destined to tear each other apart.

Not this time. Byleth looks at them, one by one, treasuring the innocence they will all inevitably lose. She’s lived through this chain of events more times than she can remember, getting closer and closer to her goal just to see a seemingly insignificant detail turn her dream to dust. Not this time, though. Sothis has given her one last chance, and she won’t let it go to waste.

This time, they will all live.  

*

To the boys’ obvious disappointment, Byleth chooses to join the house of the Black Eagles. The three heirs are all suspicious by nature, but Edelgard easily takes the crown. Edelgard trusts no one but herself, which isn’t that surprising considering her only experience with friendship comes from a man who can’t get through a single sentence without mentioning blood. She’s hidden her heart away behind walls as impenetrable as her armor, doing her best to smother the fear and loneliness that lures within her. To bring the true Edelgard out of her shell takes time. Lots, and lots of time. So Byleth picks the Black Eagles, and tries not to notice the flash of darkness in Dimtri’s eyes.

*

Dimitri is young. So very young. He’s yet to grow into the inhuman strength he’ll one day wield with ease, still grinning awkwardly every time he accidentally breaks another training sword. He’s a prince, charming and polite, the definition of picture perfect. No one has any idea what hides behind that flawless smile.

Yet.

Byleth sees the way he looks at her, how his gaze lingers when she swings her blade on the training grounds. Their eyes meet. Her body instinctively reacts, but she forces herself to ignore it. Chronologically, he’s only three years younger than her, but he’s still a kid. Her conflicted heart, however, still remembers the king.

Her life would have been so much easier if she hadn’t fallen in love with him all those lifetimes ago. He forgets. She doesn’t.

*

Before Garreg Mach, Byleth used to think of herself as a fairly unemotional person. People called her the Ashen Demon for a reason. She didn’t really get people, and people didn’t really get her either. Then, she met her students, and everything changed. Now, she cares a lot, and it’s more tiring than she ever could have imagined.

“There we go again,” she mutters to herself as she watches Raphael and Caspar race through the courtyard, up to goddess knows what. She loves them both with all her heart, but critical thinking is not one of their virtues. To be frank, neither is thinking, period. She sighs and hurries after them. She has no idea what they’re going to break this time—a plate, a nose, a window—but they’re definitely breaking something.

*

Byleth has just left her private quarters to head to class when she nearly crashes into Seteth.

“Professor. There’s an… issue, we need to talk about.”

Of course there is. She sighs internally. Sometimes, she wishes she could just skip past certain conversations. She’s gone through this particular one so many times by now that she practically knows every line by heart.

Seteth clears his throat. “Due to your unexpectedly extraordinary tutoring skills, nearly all of this year’s students have requested to transfer to your class. While the feat in itself is admirable, it has led to some unfortunate consequences. Hanneman and Manuela now only share four students between them, and I’ve heard that your classroom is running out of desks. It’s not a very efficient way to run a school.”

“I agree.”

Seteth blinks in surprise. “You do?”

She nods. “I’ve given it some thought, and I think the best solution would be to separate the professors from their assigned houses.”

“That’s a preposterous—”

“The houses themselves would remain, of course,” she quickly adds. “I only propose that we rethink the way we hold our classes. The three of us have different areas of expertise, and we could use that to our advantage if we split up the classes by subject instead of houses.”

“I see.” Seteth hesitates, furrowing his brow. “It’s an unorthodox idea, but… I do see the benefits of your proposal. It could be… efficient. I will get back to you once I have discussed this with Rhea.”

Byleth nods again. Rhea will, albeit reluctantly, say yes, because when Seteth finds something that can be described as efficient, he will make it happen. The classes will be split up between the three professors, and Byleth will get the chance to tutor all the students – including those stubborn last four.

She’s not losing them again.

*

At the night of the ball, Byleth makes sure that it’s the students of the Blue Lions house who make the promise to reunite in five years. Their carefree laughter makes her stomach turn. They have no idea what fate she’s just bound them to.

Dimitri’s smile hurts the most, but she goes through with it anyway. She needs him to be there when she wakes up.

*

Even though Byleth knows it’s hopeless, she still always tries to save Jeralt.

Losing him never stops hurting.

*

“Thanks for letting me borrow your old man’s diary, Teach,” Claude says.

Byleth snatches the notebook out of his hands. “You would have stolen it anyway if I’d said no.”

“Me? Stealing?” He grins, placing a hand on his chest. “Your lack of faith in my moral compass wounds me.”

Byleth raises her eyebrows.

Claude sighs, his façade flickering. “All joking aside, I have to admit that some of the stuff in there is pretty hard to swallow – especially the parts about you. I’ve got so many questions, and I doubt you’ll ever answer a single one of them.” His eyes twinkle. “You sure know how to drive a guy crazy, Teach.”

Byleth shrugs. His obvious frustration doesn’t bother her – not anymore. He’ll eventually figure everything out anyway, with or without her answers. He just doesn’t know it yet.

*

She loves all her students. She really does. But sometimes, she can’t help but think that if Ferdinand yells out his name one more time, she’s going to strangle him.

*

“It’s not my place to question your way of tutoring, but I do feel the need ask you about the attendance record of one of your students,” Seteth says. “Linhardt von Hevring has been absent from nearly half of your classes this month, and I’ve noticed a lack of disciplinary actions. I would recommend stable duty or—”

“He’s doing important research,” Byleth interrupts. “As long as he keeps passing his tests, I don’t see any reason not to encourage it.”

“Well… I suppose I will have to trust your judgment, Professor.” Judging by his frown, he’s clearly not trusting it at all.  

Byleth nods. She doesn’t blame Seteth for being skeptical. She would probably have doubted Linhardt too if she hadn’t known just how important that research would be to give some of her students a chance to grow old.

*

While the inferno of hatred that sometimes flares up in Dimitri’s eyes is undeniably terrifying, it doesn’t scare Byleth nearly as much as the cold apathy in Rhea’s.

*

A high-pitched shriek echoes over the monastery. People start looking for its source with obvious concern, but Byleth just smiles a little to herself. The boys of the Black Eagles house always figure out sooner or later that the only way to get Bernie out of her comfort zone is to literally carry her out of it.

*

Every now and then, Byleth slips. She tries to keep everything in the right order, to remember what she’s supposed to know and what’s yet to be revealed, but her memory is far from infallible. Most of the time, no one mentions her little accidents. She’s a strategist, after all. Predicting things is a part of her job description. Some slips, though, are too obvious to go unnoticed.

“Professor… Did you just call me El?”

Byleth groans internally. Yes, she most certainly did. It’s late, she’s tired, and she just casually used a nickname the heiress would never, ever, share with a professor she barely knows.    

“No one has called me that since I was a kid. Those who once did are long gone.” Edelgard’s eyes narrow. “How did you know?”

“My apologies,” Byleth says. “I just thought it suited you. I won’t use it again.”

“No… I quite like it.” While the suspicion still lingers in Edelgard’s gaze, a small smile graces her lips. “Please, keep calling me El. I’m not sure why, but I enjoyed hearing you say it.”

Byleth nods. “If that’s the case, I will.”

“Good.” A hint of shyness sweeps over the future emperor’s face. “Thank you, my teacher. It may not seem like much, but it means a lot to me.”

The next time Byleth uses that name, it’s not by accident.

*

Felix’ digs at Dimitri are as sharp as his blade, and so is the resentment in eyes. Dimitri takes the insults without blinking. Their friendship is laced with a burning hatred they both believe is justified. It’s painful to watch, especially considering how easily the swordsman would give his life to protect his childhood friend. He never hesitates. Not even once.

*

“You fool! What were you thinking, charging right into an enemy’s trap? Again?” Sothis’ sharp voice echoes against the stone walls. “Are you just a boulder rolling down whatever hill it’s on? No, even a boulder has more sense!”

Byleth lowers her eyes. Her least favorite part of the cycles may be the first awakening, but this is the one Sothis dreads the most. Not surprising, considering that this is where the goddess has to disappear. It’s inevitable, though, even if she doesn’t run head first into Solon’s spell. Sooner or later they always end up here, facing the same decision over and over again. Sothis always makes the same choice.

“Thank you,” Byleth whispers. “For everything.”

Byleth reaches out her hand, and the power of the goddess seeps into her soul.  

*

Callused hands gently stroke her bangs out of her face. Her consciousness is fading, but she doesn’t need to see to know whose hand it is. She would recognize that touch anywhere.

“Sorry, Professor,” Dimitri says. “I have no choice but to carry you back.”

*

Byleth raises her eyebrows as Sylvain limps into the training grounds. “Ingrid?”

“Yes.” He awkwardly scratches the back of his head.

“Did you deserve it?”

After a moment of hesitation, he sighs. “Yes.”

*

The sight of Edelgard’s coronation is as breathtaking as it is terrifying. The ceremony marks the beginning of a nationwide bloodbath, but Byleth still can’t look away from the blinding beauty that is Emperor Edelgard with a golden crown on her head.

*

A cacophony of rattling armor and frantic prayers fills the monastery. The moment Byleth hoped to avoid is once again taking place before her eyes. She leans against the railing of the third floor balcony. In the distance she sees Edelgard’s army gathering, preparing for the first battle of the war that will tear Fódlan apart.  

It can’t be stopped now. It’s too late. Byleth’s time ran out the moment Edelgard’s betrayal set Dimitri’s dormant fury aflame. The war is happening. Her only option now is damage control.

“Hey, Teach.”

Byleth flinches. Even after countless cycles of nearly identical events, she’s still caught off guard every now and then – especially when Claude is involved. He’s turned unpredictability into an artform.  

Claude moves to her side. His calculating eyes roam over the area below. His expression and posture radiate confidence, but his desperate grip on the railing has already turned his knuckles white.

“It can’t be stopped now,” he says, echoing Byleth’s thoughts. “Neither of those two will ever allow the other to live. There’s going to be a war, and it’s not going to be pretty.”

“So much death.” Byleth’s voice cracks. She’s seen it happen before, and now she’s going to have to see it again. She knew, but she still couldn’t stop it.

“You don’t have to go down with them, you know.” Claude sends her a quick glance before turning back to the soon-to-be battlefield. “This is their feud, not yours. I mean, just consider it. Someone’s got to protect the people in this mess, and that someone could definitely use that strategic brain of yours.”

“And in this scenario, that ‘someone’ is you?”

“If the shoe fits.” Claude shrugs. “I don’t care about who wins this war. I have a vision, and that vision would be pretty useless if there was no one left in Fódlan to see it. What do you say? Have I won you over yet?” A grin tugs at his lips. “You’d make a good Deer.”

She would.

She has.

She shook her head. “I can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t?” He tilts his head to the side. “Too fond of the kinglinesses, eh?”

She hesitates for a moment before deciding to, for once, tell the truth. “You’ll survive this war, with or without my guidance. You don’t need me. Not like they do.”

“Careful there, Teach. You’re starting to sound like you can predict the future.” His gaze sharpens. “Did you know that the Battle of the Eagle and Lion still keeps me up at night? I go over every move I made, every detail of my strategy, and how you managed to see through it all. It’s been driving me crazy – crazy enough to consider the possibility of you being some kind of mind reader. But that’s not it, is it?” He gives her a dangerous grin that almost reaches his eyes. “Come on, Teach, give a curious guy some peace of mind. I don’t kiss and tell.”

“If I told you, you’d never let me go.”

Her words clearly catch Claude off guard, which is a sight very few ever get to witness. For a moment he looks like he’s going to jokingly deny her claim, but in the end he just sighs. “I’d use you.”

She nodded. “And you’d end up hating yourself for it.”

“Fair enough.”

Claude studies her face, the cogs of his brilliant mind turning. His charming trickster façade flickers, revealing a taste of the unstoppable man he will one day become. “Let’s say you’re right, Teach. Maybe I don’t need you by my side to make my vision come true. Doesn’t mean I don’t want you there.”

Memories of wild wyvern rides, uncontrollable laughter, and pearls of sweat on copper skin flashes before her eyes. Heat rushes to her cheeks. He blinks.

“Oh, I get it.” The lighthearted tone in his voice clashes wildly against the intensity in his eyes. “There’s a version of this, whatever this is, where you choose me, isn’t there? One where you and I…?”

“Maybe.” She gives him a melancholic smile. “Just… not this one.”

*

Byleth knows she has to fall. She has to take that final blow that sends her down into the abyss. It’s the only way to make things turn out the way she wants to. She knows that, but she’s still just as terrified when the darkness claims her.

*

“You… how long do you intend to sleep? Get on your feet. Right now!”

*

The stairs leading up to the ruins of the old monastery are littered with butchered corpses. Carefully minding her steps, Byleth continues forward, heading towards the place where she knows she’ll find the wretched shell of the boy she abandoned when he needed her the most.

He’s on the floor, leaning heavily on his lance to stay upright. His pale skin is stained with blood. The dark circle surrounding his one remaining eye has the color of a bruise. Sweat, mud, wounds, scars – his handsome face is covered in layers upon layers of suffering. The guilt hits her in the stomach like a sledgehammer. Even though she always knows what awaits her at the end of her five-year slumber, she’s never prepared for that first sight of the haunted creature that used to be Dimitri.

Her dream comes with many sacrifices, and this is the one where Dimitri pays the price. The king that Fódlan so desperately needs can only rise from the ruins of a broken prince.

The prince in front of her is about as broken as a man can be.  

Byleth knows he won’t accept her hand, but she still reaches out for him. She always does. And it always breaks her heart when he turns away.

“I should have known that one day you would be haunting me as well.”

*

The abandoned monastery springs back to life as its former teachers and students return. One by one they enter Garregh Mach, all of them bringing a shard of joy and a small shimmer of hope. Byleth smiles as she watches a highly frustrated Lysithea try to put a book back on a shelf she clearly can’t reach. Her smile widens even more when Raphael enters the library. She knows exactly where the situation is heading, and she never grows tired of watching her former students get into ridiculous fights over absolute nonsense.

Her happiness is genuine, but it’s also bittersweet. This is where the tricky part begins.  

*

“Leave it to me,” Byleth yells as she crosses the battlefield, heading towards the trembling silver-haired foe. It’s not a very strategic decision, but no one questions her. Maybe they’re all relieved they won’t have to be the one dealing the final blow against the sweetest boy to ever grace the Officers Academy.  

*

When Dorothea dances, she enthralls everyone around her. No one, friend nor foe, can look away. They see a rose in bloom: beautiful, delicate, and full of life. She doesn’t. No matter how many times Byleth tries to convince her otherwise, the songstress still only sees herself as petals slowly falling to the ground, leaving nothing but thorns.

*

Byleth is well aware of the location where Rhea is kept prisoner, but she still pretends to be just as concerned as the rest of the archbishop’s loyal supporters. She holds on to her worried façade with an iron grip, because keeping Rhea locked up is the only way to prevent her from crushing Byleth’s plan before it’s even started.

Though they’d never admit it themselves, Dimitri, Edelgard and Claude share a fairly similar vision. The three of them fight for a unified Fódlan, where the strong will no longer prey on the weak. In a world like that, there’s no place for a power-hungry demigoddess. Byleth knows it, and so does Rhea.

*

A part of Byleth hates Dimitri with her entire being during his feral phase. Another part still loves him just as intensely. Her exasperated frustration is, however, always present, because spending hours upon hours on building a strategy around a murder machine with zero sense of self-perseverance makes her want throw the prince off a damn roof.

She finds him in the cathedral as always, muttering morbid nonsense about ghosts and heads being ripped off their shoulders. While she doesn’t usually agree with Felix when he calls the prince a wild boar, she has to admit that approaching Dimitri when he’s like this feels a bit like cornering a wounded animal – an animal with a very bad temper and very sharp claws.

“Dimitri,” she says softly. “We need to talk.”

Dimitri slowly turns around. Despite everything that’s happened to him, he still moves with the proud confidence of a ruler. He stands tall before her, his broad shoulders blocking the evening’s last rays of sunlight trickling in from the windows. The resentment in his single eye is merciless.

“Leave.”

“No.” She raises her chin. “Your army expects me to guide them through this war, and I can’t do that if you continue to disregard my orders. The stunt you pulled today with those bandits… You’re going to get yourself killed, and you’re taking everyone down with you. I can’t allow that.”

“You can’t allow that?” His cold chuckle sends a shiver down her spine. “Who do you think you are, giving orders to the walking corpse of your prince?”

He takes a step forward, and despite her feigned confidence, she takes a step back. A grave mistake. He continues forward, and she continues to back away. The wounded animal has caught the scent of blood.

Her back hits the wall. He places a hand next to her head and leans forward, caging her in. She’s fast and clever, but he’s got more raw strength than a mere human should ever possess. She would never defeat him in hand-to-hand combat, and they both know it.

“If you do not approve of what I have become, then kill me”, he says. “If you insist that you cannot… then I will continue to use you and your friends until the flesh falls from your bones.”

She swallows hard, but refuses to look away. Her courage might be wavering, but her resolve is not. “I’m not afraid of you, Dimitri.”

“You should be.” His gloved hand slowly traces her arm, her shoulder, her collarbone, until finally coming to a rest on her neck. His thumb caresses the vulnerable skin of her throat before giving it a light squeeze. “Don’t you dare pity me, Professor. We’re the same, you and I. After all is said and done, we are both murderers. Both stained. Both monsters.”

“Yes,” she whispers. “We are.”

His pauses. For the first time since their reunion, he truly looks at her. His trembling exhalation tells her he’s finally noticed it – her longing, her yearning, her need – and he snaps. His lips crash into hers. She melts into his ruthless touch, returning the kiss with a desperation matching his.

She’s back.

She’s home.

He pulls back, his eye roaming her face with childlike wonder. To her, this is just one of the countless kisses they’ve already shared, but to him, it’s their first – and, as far as he knows, possibly their last. A moan escapes her lips as he grabs the back of her thighs and hoists her up. His grip tightens to the point where it will most certainly leave bruises. He clings to her like a man on the verge of drowning.

“I won’t leave you again, Dimitri,” she says, entangling her fingers in his hair as his lips wander down her throat. “I swear it.”

“Good.” He bites down hard on the spot where her neck meets her shoulder, a place where neither her hair nor her clothes would hide the mark. She can’t see his face, but she feels his feral grin against her skin. “I do not intend to let you go.”

*

Manuela and Hanneman have been bickering for nearly half an hour when Sylvain walks by their table in the dining hall. He pauses mid-step and leans down.

“You’re aware that everyone knows you’re sleeping with each other, right?”

Hanneman gasps. Manuela screams. Ingrid kicks Sylvain in the shin.

*

Some sacrifices are uglier than others. Rodrigue’s death, as necessary as it is, might be the ugliest one of them all.

*

“Your hands are so warm… Have they always been?”

The last remains of the broken prince is washed away by the pouring rain. The king rises.

*

One day, Mercedes drags a reluctant Death Knight into the monastery. She smiles proudly, reminding Byleth of a child that’s about to ask her parents if she can keep the stray cat she just found in the gutter. Byleth can’t deny the value of Jeritza’s skills, so he stays. On the battlefield, she appreciates his presence. Everywhere else, she’s ambiguous at best. She tries to believe Mercedes when she claims that her brother is just a little bit misunderstood, but he’s not making it easy. Not even once during her countless lifetimes has she managed to get share a cup of tea with the knight without receiving a poetic confession of how badly he wants to stab her in the chest.

*

Byleth is never as calm as when she’s lying in Dimitri’s arms, listening to the soft thuds of his beating heart. She can’t help but wonder what it’s like to have a ticking little machine in your chest that keeps you alive. According to Dimitri, people usually don’t even think about it. It’s just there. She wonders if she would get used to it too, if her heart ever were to start beating.

She highly doubts it.

*

Sylvain pauses mid-step as he passes Dimitri and Byleth in the dining hall. He smirks.

“You’re aware that everyone knows you’re—”

Ingrid clocks him in the head with a plate.

*

Byleth hates Gronder Field.

*

“If you’re going to lead Fódlan, then the Alliance lords will follow you.” Claude hands Dimitri his bow. The former leader of the Alliance is limping a little, but overall, he seems to have gotten through the battle more or less unharmed. He always does. It’s like his plans have so many backup plans that not even death itself can keep track of what’s going on.  

“I’ve played my part now,” he continues. “Right, Teach?”

“You have,” Byleth says. “Thank you for trusting us.” Wordlessly, she adds, Thank you for trusting me.

“I knew you’d come. You’re a bunch of soft-hearted suckers after all.” Claude winks, and wordlessly replies, Always.

“Go to Almyra. Make your vision come true, Kha—” She bites her tongue, but the slip is already out. “Claude. Make your vision come true, Claude.”

“Your wish is my command.” He gives her a sarcastic little bow, keeping eye contact through the entire movement. His grin has a knowing edge. “Too bad I’ll never get to experience that other version, eh? I bet it was a fun one.”

Byleth smiles. “It was.”  

*

Hilda manages to break an impressive amount of hearts – and furniture – during the few days she stays at the monastery before jumping back up on her wyvern to follow Claude to Almyra.

*

This is it.

Byleth clenches her trembling fists as Edelgard walks up to Dimitri. For the first time in many, many years, the two of them speak in earnest. Their conversation is calm and sensible, dancing around the unavoidable for as long as they can. Eventually, they reach the point of no return. They share the same vision, but they both conclude that their methods are too disparate to coexist.  

In every other timeline, this is where Byleth loses. Dimitri and Edelgard go their separate ways, and one of them winds up dead. She takes a deep breath. Not this time.

“Neither of you will see your dream come true unless we defeat Those Who Slither in the Dark.” She looks at a highly skeptical Edelgard, and then turn her gaze to a very confused Dimitri. This is the moment she’s been preparing for since she first laid eyes on the three heirs. This is why she spent so much effort on returning lost items, organizing choir practices, and saving money for expensive tea. This is it.

“Do you trust me?”

*

The temporary truce between the Holy Kingdom and the Empire is anything but pretty. The wounds each side have caused the other are too deep to heal with a simple common goal. What they all share, though, is their loyalty to their respective leader – and their leaders have decided to put their faith in their old professor.

Together, they prepare for their march to Shambhala.

*

An unavoidable side effect of the truce is the liberation of Rhea.

If Rhea knows Byleth’s true feelings, she doesn’t show it. The demigoddess keeps giving Byleth that serene smile, treating her like a companion, a mother, and a daughter all at once. Byleth plays along, because she knows all too well how Rhea reacts when someone questions her authority. It always ends with fire. Lots, and lots of fire.

Byleth keeps up her dangerous act, because Rhea can’t show her true face yet. Those Who Slither in the Dark must be defeated before the world burns.

*

“You never told me about Those Who Slither in the Dark,” Dimitri murmurs, softly stroking Byleth’s hair. “Why would you hide such a thing from me?”

“If I’d told you, you would have gone after them yourself.” She presses a kiss to his jaw before settling back down on his chest. Her body relaxes to the sound of his heartbeats. “We wouldn’t have made it on our own.”

A lie, of course, but it’s a white one.

He sighs. “Even now, after all this time, you are still a mystery to me. My beloved, will you ever entrust me with your secrets?”

“When all of this is over, I’ll tell you everything. I promise.”

Truth.

*

Edelgard grabs Byleth’s arm and pulls her to the side. “For as long as the Church of Seiros controls Fódlan, this war will never end,” she says in a low voice. “I will continue down this path until the people of this land are free to decide their own fates. I have devoted my life to destroying the blood-stained cycle the church so desperately wishes to uphold. Defeating Those Who Slither in the Dark will not lead me astray.”

“I know.”

They stand in silence for a while, watching the army close in on the underground city.

“Will you go back to them, once this battle is over? To him?” Edelgard lowers her eyes. “You were once like family to me. I do not regret my decision to start this war, but I cannot help but wonder how things would have been if I’d walked down this path with you by my side.”

Better, yet so much worse.  

After making sure no one’s listening, Byleth leans closer. “I want the cycle to end, too, El. So does Dimitri.”

“A highborn person like him will never understand the struggles of the poor and weak.” Edelgard scoffs. “He believes they cannot survive without their faith, that it’s their useless prayers to a goddess who will never answer that keep them alive. He claims to speak on the behalf of the people, yet he still refuses to let go of the system that is causing this injustice. Do you truly believe that he will change his mind, my teacher? That a man like him can ever see the truth?”

“I hope so. Just like I hope that you, once this is over, will see that you both share the same vision.”

“That’s a dangerous gamble, even for a strategist like you.” She snorts, her eyes glittering with amusement. “But then again, I do remember the days when you used to make plans based entirely on lucky hits.”

*

Byleth has never seen anything as terrifying or as beautiful as Dimitri and Edelgard fighting side by side. Power, grace, speed, skill – together, the two rulers are unstoppable. Edelgard gives Dimitri a short nod when Areadbhar blocks an enemy blade moments before it slashes her side. Dimitri’s lips twitch when she returns the favor, her shield blocking an arrow aimed at his chest.

In perfect synchronization, they both fall back as they reach their final foe. With the Emperor and the King guarding her back, Byleth raises the Sword of the Creator.

Thales falls.

*

“So, uh, are we still at war or what?” Caspar asks, casting nervous glances left and right as the army leaves the ruins of Shambhala.

Linhardt yawns. “I have no idea.”

In all honesty, neither did Byleth.

*

Back at Garreg Mach, Rhea, still affected by her years of imprisonment, once again tries to entrust Byleth with the leadership of the Church of Seiros. The demigoddess eyes turn cold when Byleth declines.

“The world is changing, Seiros,” Byleth says. “Humanity is rising up. Fódlan belongs to its people, and It’s time for the children of Sothis to let go.”

Rhea reacts just like Byleth knew she would. A guttural roar pierces the tense silence of the monastery.

The world burns.  

*

The crest stones within the soldiers and monks of the Church of Seiros react to the Immaculate One’s calls, and soon, the monastery is crawling with mindless beasts. The two armies are once again forced to work together, and so is Dimitri and Edelgard. Putting their grudge back on pause, the two of them raise their weapons against the feral creature that used to be Rhea.

Out of all of Byleth’s battles against the Immaculate One, this should have been the easiest one. With two armies instead of one, she was certain the odds were in their favor – but, as always, it turns out there’s a detail she’s overlooked.  

With Dimitri’s and Edelgard’s strength combined, Those Who Slither in the Dark went down much faster than Byleth predicted. Thales never managed to summon his javelins of light. Rhea never took that almost lethal hit to save them all.

This version of the Immaculate One, worn-out but mostly unharmed, is the strongest one Byleth has ever faced.

Over and over, Byleth sends the coiled blade of the Sword of the Creator through the air, but every time an enemy falls another one takes its place. All around her, soldiers of the Kingdom and the Empire alike fall victim to the Immaculate One’s merciless fire. True terror fills Byleth’s chest. She miscalculated, and this time, she won’t be able to go back and make things right. This is her last shot, and she’s failing. Again.

“What’s the plan?” Sylvain yells from his steed, blood trickling down his face from a wound on his forehead.

Byleth slashes down another white beast as she tries to come up with an answer. Not even Ashe and Lysithea have managed to get close enough to Rhea to attack. Dedue, who can usually withstand pretty much anything, was nearly killed in one single hit. There is no plan. There hasn’t been for quite some time.

Somewhere to her right, Edelgard gasps. “Look!”

Byleth turns around. Her eyes narrow as she stares at the horizon. A strange cloud is approaching from the east, and it’s moving fast.

“What is that?” Dimitri punches a church soldier in the face before piercing another one with his lance in one single movement. “More beasts?”

Byleth’s brain goes blank. They wouldn’t survive another wave of reinforcements. Her battalion withdrew ages ago. Mercedes is running out of healing spells. Felix, the one-man army, is surrounded, and he’s already tricked death more times than should have been statistically possible. Byleth has officially run out of strategies.

She squints at the horizon. Her heart skips a beat. She catches the glimpse of a banner, and it carries the colors of yellow and black.

“No,” she says, smiling. “It’s the King of Almyra.”

*

The master of unpredictability swoops in with an army of wyvern riders, and just like that, the tides turn. Eventually, Byleth stands before Rhea with the three young rulers by her side.

“You ungrateful piece of trash.” The Immaculate One’s eyes burn with manic hatred. “I gave you everything. You stole my mother from me. I will take her back!”

She lunges for Byleth, but her blow is blocked by a crimson shield.

“Your reign has ended, Rhea,” Edelgard says, her voice unwavering. “This battle marks the birth of a new world – a world where the strong will no longer prey on the weak.”

Dimitri rearranges his grip on Areadbhar, preparing to strike. “A world where people are allowed to choose their own beliefs.”

“A world where everyone, regardless of their heritage, can be free.” Claude draws his bow.

Edelgard gives the two kings an appreciative nod before turning back to Rhea. “A world,” she says as she raises Aymr, “where there’s no need for gods.”

*

The Immaculate One falls. One by one, the crest-bearing beasts drop to the ground as Seiros’ power leaves their bodies. Something cracks in Byleth’s chest. The Sword of the Creator slips from her hands, and then she’s falling too.

She knows what’s happening. She’s known from the beginning how her journey would end.

It was worth it, she thinks, and then the darkness claims her.

*

Byleth blinks. Her mind is blank. She tries to remember where she is, but her brain gives her nothing. She then tries to remember who she is, but she doesn’t seem to know that either.

“Professor.”

“Teach.”

“Teacher.”

The three names are called out all at once, and somehow, she knows they all belong to her. She blinks again and tries to focus on the three faces hovering above her. Blue eyes, green eyes, violet eyes, all staring down at her, sharing the same obvious relief. Her mind clicks. Everything falls back into place.

“I did it,” she whispers. “I finally did it.”

Dimitri scoops her up and hugs her to his chest with a desperation that makes her fear for the safety of her ribs.  

Edelgard smiles, tears rolling down her cheeks.

Voice trembling, Claude says, “I like the new hair.”

*

Once the Emperor has made sure that the governing of Fódlan will no longer be decided by bloodlines but by the will of the people, she hands over the crown to the unified nation’s first elected king. The former Prince of Faerghus becomes the King of Fódlan, and with the support of the King of Almyra, he opens up the continent’s borders to the rest of the world.

The power of turning back time is lost forever. The human who once wielded it feels no remorse.  

*

Byleth never stops cherishing the soft thuds of her beating heart.

[mar-bluu]

so this is the fic i wrote and am going to submit to my school’s creative writing comp! please tell me what yall think! :3 The ‘theme’ of the comp was: “our 2020 vision is a bit blurred” Ship: javid or jarah (depending on what you want/how you read it) Words: 1595 Warnings: Mentions of death

“Hi, my name is [REDACTED], and this is my younger brother, Les! We’re a little lost and were wondering if you could help?” Jack had flipped down the top of the newspaper as the person before him pulled him from his reading. They were fiddling with the bottom of their shirt nervously as the person Jack assumed was Les poked at a stray tin can with a wooden sword. He looked between the two. An interesting looking pair. Jack closed and folded the newspaper and tucked it under his arm, only the headline and date were visible. 1899. “[REDACTED], huh?” He had rolled the name around his mouth, it was sweet like honey, warm and enveloping everything in a strange, sticky-sugary sweetness. Jack had smiled to himself then, and grasped the hand of the other person in front of him, greeting them with an odd sense of affection he hadn’t felt once in his many, many, many years. “Well, what can I do ya for?”

--

It was different now. That sense of warmth had faded long ago and a name that once filled him with an essence of life and vivacity was now cold and hollow. Time had passed, as it always did, and if Jack had expected one thing to come from that first fateful meeting it certainly wasn’t what had happened. Love, if it could even be called that. At first, Jack had written it off as mere infatuation, in his time he’d had many a fancier, but those illegitimate declarations of devotion and obsessive lust had melted and dropped away like the dead flies on a bedroom window. And he was alone again in the world. But that time? That time, something had been different. That awkwardly nervous figure that had so bravely asked for his help, was different. Jack couldn’t explain it. He’d spent hours of his time pacing back and forth in his room running over that interaction again and again and again, but he couldn’t figure it out. Weeks and months he’d spent, either with them or coddled away from the outside world wondering why? What was it about this person that was so different? So unique? And why, god why couldn’t he draw himself away?

--

Then time passed, as it always did, and months, became years, which in turn became decades, and not once did they leave. There was no selfish desire, no false, fanatical addiction. Just love. In all of his time, Jack had never felt anything like it, and as much as he hated to admit it, he was hooked. In the summer of 1913, they were married. It was a life Jack had never expected, but one that he came to love and one he never wanted to let go. But time passed, as it always did, and as they began to age, wrinkles appearing at the corners of their eyes and mouth, their hair greying, and body becoming weak and fragile, they began to ask questions about why Jack never seemed to follow suit. It had been easy to dismiss at first, loose jokes about great genetics, creams and ointments, deals with the devil, but it became increasingly more difficult to explain away their differences when the two of them were mistaken for parent and child. They knew, at least Jack thought they knew, that there was something about him; that they may have mistaken who they married as entirely human, but never once did they say anything.

--

1946. Jack had lost the first and only love he had ever felt. He hadn’t been expecting it in the slightest. Truth be told, he’d forgotten humans were such fragile beings with lifespans only a fraction of his own. He’d never experienced a pain quite like that. A sharp stinging blade that bit into his heart and pulsed through his body, spewing poison into his veins, one that, when it finally left, gifted a permanent, dull, toxic throbbing. Jack had seen his fair share of death, of overturned, rotting corpses piled in hallways or decaying in shallow graves, but he had never been around anyone long enough to experience a loss firsthand. It was cruel, Jack thought, so horribly cruel that a person with that much love in their heart was taken from a world that needed them. But no matter how much he scorned the universe, cursed it for its callous apathy, or screamed to the heavens that it wasn’t right, that it wasn’t fair! His lover did not return. And time passed, as it always did.

--

So it was quite the surprise, at least for Jack, when they next met again. 1966. A cool April’s day and Jack sat in a coffee shop, sipping on his lukewarm tea when he heard someone clear their throat behind him. ““Hi! My name’s [REDACTED], and this is my younger brother, Les!” Les. That name sounded familiar, but at this point, he’d probably met a million and one Les’s. He shrugged it off. “We were seated here a few hours ago, and Les lost his toy sword; it’s wooden and about yea big.” Jack felt a weird sense of déjà vu wash over him. “We’ve been through almost the whole town, and this is the last place we have left to check.” They scratched the back of their neck bashfully. “We’ve already spoken to the owner but what’s the harm in asking you too right?” they laughed to themselves. Les stood dejectedly to the side, kicking his feet against the ground sullenly. “Anyway,” they reached into their pocket and pulled out a slip of paper. “This is our phone number and address. Please let us know if you find it!” Jack gave a curt nod and reached for the paper. Their fingers brushed. He felt it like lightning crackling through his body, a jolting sting of pain that stirred up agonizing emotions Jack had tried valiantly to bury. He felt his stomach drop and tears spring to his eyes as he jerked back, snatching the paper out of the other person’s grip. It was them. Oh god, it was them. The person in front of him was different, younger, for starters. Their clothes were different, their hair, lips, skin, and body were all different, only their eyes were the same. Jack stared, an intense storm of emotions broiling inside of him, their eyes were the only thing that seemed to calm him. They held the same kindness, the same understanding and compassion, the same love that Jack had known only once before. It was them. Jack calmed himself, willing his shaking hands to still, as he slid the paper into his pocket and slipped out of the seat, moving quickly past the siblings. “Uh, yeah, I’ll- I’ll let you know.”

--

He had tried to avoid them, he really did, but just like last time, he was inexplicably drawn to them. And just like last time, he had spent a lifetime with them, laughing, crying, just enjoying being together. Living again. Then he lost. He lost again, just like last time… And so, Jack had run. He had turned tail and fled like a frightened child, hopping between worlds and universes, desperately trying to hide himself from the only person who could bring him such elation and yet unknowingly cause him unbearable pain.

--

But no matter where Jack went, where he ran to, they were there. Different faces, different voices, different bodies, always the same eyes. Always the same person. So he came back, tail between his legs, he slunk back to his world, the place where it all started. He couldn’t avoid them no matter where he went or what he did, so what was the use in continuing to run? He knew how it would end, as it always did. With them. He still tried to avoid them, every lost dog, every stuck kite, and every accidental bump. Jack ignored them, brushed them off with a quick apology or promise to keep an eye out. And it worked. Slowly, he began to forget. The name he couldn’t bring himself to say, and the pure bliss of their first life together were the last remaining memories Jack had. The interactions began to die down. It had been almost 13,000 years -give or take a century- since he’d last run into them, but there was an unshakable hankering, a powerful yearning to see them again. For no matter how much they hurt him, the longing for that joy, that fleeting second of pure euphoria was causing him more harm than the thousands of years of pain that he had been carrying since that first meeting.

--

And so here he stood, looking at a face that he had never seen before but was so achingly familiar, a blurry mass of every mouth they’d ever had, fuzzy noses and misshapen cheekbones, standing under the celebratory banner. ‘Welcome Class of 2020!’ And without having to hear it, almost as if it was pure instinct, Jack rolled that name around his mouth. But now, it felt heavy on his tongue, it tasted of rotting flesh and decaying bones. It made Jack want to vomit, and every voice in his head told him to run, to flee, to spare himself the inevitable pain of watching the one he loved die again. However, he stilled himself, quieted the noise in his head and put on a brave face as he gazed at the figure in front of him, holding a young boy’s hand. “Hi! My name’s [REDACTED], and this is my younger brother, Les!”

[looking-for-wisdom]

Bleeding Hearts (chapter one)

a/n: this was a fic I did for the @grishaversebigbang! It ended up being roughly 33,000 words, the longest fic I’ve ever written. I loved participating in this event and working with my gang as well as the tides :)

Corporalki: @villainofthepiece​, @dregstrash 

Materialki: @bucumber​ X, @koelsong​ X [art may contain spoilers]

Summary:   Zoya has spent her life learning to survive a world of fairy tales. She knows better to rely on wishes and fate; those things only protected the nice girls, the ones all the stories were about. She was used to doing whatever gruesome task was needed to get by, but now, with her aunt’s life on the line, she has finally met a monster she’s struggling to beat. A monster that comes in the shape of a kind prince she can’t help to grow attached to. 

But that’s always been the case. The monsters are what you find when happiness is just within reach. But she’s strong and she won’t falter— she’ll do what’s needed, as she always has before, to save the only good woman she’s ever known. Even if it means plunging a knife into the heart of the first man she’s ever loved. Even if it means becoming a monster herself.

Ao3 Link: Bleeding Hearts

(chapter one under the cut)

What becomes of the girls whose parents do not teach them unwavering kindness and whose fairy godmothers are not magic enough to keep them from harm? What becomes of the girls the slipper doesn’t fit and the prince does not steal away from drowning in cruelty? There is no happy ending promised at the close of their story. So they learn, learn to swim through the abuse and lift a sword themselves, lest they become another maggot filled body in the graveyard.

Zoya had read the kind of stories where young women overcame their evil stepmothers with their obedience and compassion. Unfortunately, Zoya had no stepmother, just one horrible regular mother who had birthed her and spent every moment after shaping her daughter into an equally horrible side character in someone else’s story. It wasn’t that she was immune to draw of fairy tales and their promises of futures with a prince who called her lovely, but not every girl had that in her cards. Zoya glanced over the hand she’d been dealt. She was not sweet or innocent enough to be the damsel in distress. The game of fate was rigged— with every girl who was saved from misery a hundred others suffered in her stead. 

Shivering but far too afraid to risk asking her mother for a place by the fire, the childish part of her hoped. Winter’s might be less harsh if she was not so alone and unloved. But compassion was a rationed resource, like medicine and wheat. It might have been nice to have, but girls with no one to fight for them had to choose their battles, and unlike bread, kindness didn’t keep her alive. 

Sabina Garin had been wealthy once, many years ago, and like most who had never seen sacrifice, she underestimated its sting. It was easy to be fearless when one had never felt real fear in the first place. 

When her father had passed his inheritance had been split equally between his two daughters. Lilyana, the eldest sister had invested in a plot of land at the edge of town where she kept a small garden and a chicken coop. She built a home there, selling vegetables and eggs in town when she was in need of money, and she was happy. 

With her own cut, Sabina enjoyed the same luxuries she had in her youth. Seeing no appeal in farm work the way her sister did she resided in the house that had belonged to her father. At nineteen she married a handsome man with nothing to his name but a winning smile, and for a while, she was happy as well. At least, until the debt hit. 

Marriage for love is an appealing prospect, but the stories never talk about the bloody endings. No one mentions the way he yells when the money runs out. No one mentions the way she hoards the few jewels she has left because they’re the only thing that makes her feel like herself. No one mentions when the house is taken and she’s bloated and raging from the parasite inside her but he is nowhere to be found.

Sabina’s episodes began not long into her pregnancy. With no trace of her husband and no place to stay but an abandoned stone cottage at the edge of town it wasn’t long before she became unpredictable. It was a miracle that the child made it to its due date in the first place, though one could say it would be the first of many times Lilyana Garin would come to her niece’s aid. 

She had offered her sister help on many occasions, but Sabina had repeatedly refused Lilyana’s generosity. Pride, after all, was the only thing she had left. When Sabina became a danger to herself, however, the older daughter could stay away no longer. Though Sabina had no way of paying the housemaid who had worked for her father, Lilyana ensured she stayed the nine months until the child’s birth, hiding knives from the expecting mother and restraining her hands when she desperately clawed at her body until the skin was nearly gone. For months Lilyana held her breath, praying that her sister might be stabilized and the child would survive. 

And against all odds, her prayers were answered. 

The midwife said the birth went by with relative ease. The mother and child both handled the process exceptionally well. The only oddity was when she asked the mother for a name. Sabina had only sneered. “Call it what you will. It makes no difference to me.”

For the sake of simplicity, the midwife had given the child a placeholder name of sorts, at least until her mother came to her senses. She’d call her Zoya, just until Sabina saw fit to name the girl herself. 

She never did. 

So perhaps if it had been Zoya’s mother who fell ill, she wouldn’t have agreed to the witch’s terms. She couldn’t have cared less for her absentee mother, but when a letter reached Os Alta it brought news of the closest thing to family she’d ever had. 

Her young cousin, Lada, had written of her mother’s condition-- Lilyana had grown feverish and weak. The town’s medics estimated she had two weeks to live.

Desperation had a strange way of sending people deep into the woods where good, honest people lost their morals somewhere in the darkness. It had a way of turning skeptics into the arms of witches. But when it came to saving Lilyana’s life, nothing was too high a cost. Kill the prince. Carve out his heart and leave his body bleeding on the floor. Zoya wasn’t a killer, but a few towns away one of the few good people left in the world was dying. Zoya would have given her soul away a thousand times if Lilyana lived. 

The main square of town jittered with anticipation. The feeling filled Zoya’s chest, clamping down on her lungs and stealing away her breath. Gossip was sweet on the lips of housewives and young maidens, like the juice of an apple after taking a bite. Zoya was no fool; she knew what was on their minds. A few months earlier, the young prince Nikolai had proposed-- but not to a distant princess or nobleman's daughter. He’d given the ring to an orphan girl with no prospects or riches. Faces lit with hope and perhaps a bit of envy whenever they spoke of the prince’s fiance. She’d been from a town just carriage rides away from Os Alta. It could have been any of them. But yesterday, news had come that the girl had left Os Alta for good, leaving the promises of riches and romance behind her. Not a single person could figure out why. 

She’d been given a shot at a storybook ending. Zoya wasn’t gullible enough to believe her life would have been perfect, but when she thought of what her own future held, even she couldn’t help a pang of irritation. She would have taken wealth in a heartbeat over her fate. She shifted the basket she carried up onto her shoulder, the weight of it exhausting her arm at a rapid pace. With her other hand she lifted her skirts in a futile attempt to keep the mud from seeping into the fabric as it dragged along the ground. As she walked she overheard elated conversations.

“They say she was beautiful-- hair like starlight and a smile like the sun. It’s surreal, honestly, that some everyday girl won over a prince. She must be quite something,” said a girl she’d met only in passing, to a young blonde woman at the baker’s stand. Then, with a cheeky smile, added, “Maybe I'll find myself a princess soon with my winning looks.” 

Across the way a middle aged woman shared her own thoughts on the matter with her daughter. “Perhaps if you spent less time fooling around that could have been us! We’d have been rich, you idiotic girl!—”

Despite herself, Zoya felt a familiar chill go down her back.

Tiny people, wrapped up in their tiny lives, bound to accomplish tiny things. For perhaps the first time ever Zoya envied them. At the end of the city’s main road, after dozens of wooden merchant stands and civilians homes, were the woods. Travel in Ravka was unavoidable, but most families stuck within the cities borders as much as possible. The forests on the outskirts of town were places of darkness and witchcraft beyond the understanding of the standard civilian. However, there were ways to make navigating the woods less dangerous. Old wives tales said to carry black tea leaves in one’s left shoe or bury a lock of hair in the dirt before beginning your journey. Most nonbelievers opted for a professional guide. 

Zoya had no guide as she found her way between the brush and trees, though, nor was her shoe supplied with tea leaves. Her travels through the woods were not a situation of point A to point B. 

Zoya intended to find a witch. 

An hour in, Zoya had acquired a multitude of new cuts up her arms from low hanging branches and nearly destroyed what was left of her skirt by snagging it on thorn coated weeds. She’d also come across at least fifteen new types of bug she’d never seen before and honestly could have gone her whole life without. Zoya had learned to hold her own against all sorts of dangers growing up in Pachina, but that didn’t make her any less disgusted by the grimes and grudge of the Ravkan forest. 

She dragged onwards, a cool sweat gathering on her forehead and regrets filling her mind. Of course— hundreds of people go missing every year without any explanation and yet the one time she goes looking for trouble the death forest decides to be a normal lot of trees. Typical. 

“Don’t know how to handle someone who doesn’t fear you? Is that it?” She called out to no one in particular. “I didn’t realize witches were such cowards.”

Or perhaps she was just a stupid child, looking for magic where it didn’t exist. Perhaps those people had simply been mauled and eaten by bears and she was the idiot trying to be the next. 

The sun passed over the sky as she became more and more hopelessly lost in a forest where she seemed to be the only inhabitant. Honestly, witches had no respect for willing customers these days. She only realized just how much time had passed when dusk began to fall. Night was coming, and she had no idea how to get back to the city. It was one thing to be in the forest during the light of day, but trapped in the darkness with no food or water was something else entirely. 

The moon shone a sickening white glare onto the black dirt floor, seeming to take all the pigment from her skin. Zoya hadn’t been afraid of the dark for many years, but there was something… off about the way the darkness felt here, as if it was alive and feeding on any sort of life. Goosebumps rose on her skin, and she tensed, waiting for something horrible but not knowing what. 

She stood, frozen, listening for any sound other than her own shallow breathing. But nothing moved, not even tree branches in the wind. She was alone. 

Which made it all the more terrifying when someone spoke. 

“What could possibly bring a lone girl to the woods at night?” said a molasses smooth voice from behind her. 

Zoya spun around and was greeted by a pale faced man with dark hair who was far too close for her to not have noticed his approach. Every instinct in her mind screamed to back up, but she forced her legs to stay in place. She would not be intimidated. She met the man’s void black eyes with a fearsome stare. “I’m searching for a witch with the kind of magic to help me,” she stated, voice like steel. “Tell me, would you fit that description?”

A sly smile curled across his face and sent a chill down her spine.

 “That depends,” he crooned, “what can you offer me in return, Zoya Nazyalensky of Pachina?”

Zoya felt a certain sort of dread sink into her chest. There was something wrong with this man-- he knew things he shouldn’t. She should have been afraid, but a morbid part of her was drawn to it. 

She wondered, despite herself, what would it be like to be him? She’d never feel small with a power like that at her disposal. She’d never be made a fool of. For a moment, the swell of her envy almost overpowered her reason, but then she thought of Lilyana. She was not here to find a way to be rid of her own weaknesses. Zoya shook the initial fog of his presence from her mind and reminded herself that for once, she would not be selfish. 

“What is it you want?” she retorted.

His smile did not falter as he considered. He slipped past her, like an ink spill with legs, so that she had to turn to keep sight of his face. Her eyebrows furrowed together in confusion as he walked away from her, but just as she was about to call out for him to stop he paused and glanced back at her. “Well?” he asked. “Are you coming?”

Her mind was empty of a response, perhaps still caught up on the absurdity of what she was doing. Her legs, thankfully, had instincts of their own and carried her forward when he began walking again so she didn’t lose sight of him in the darkness. He led her through the trees, as if he was navigating a maze for which only he had the map. As lost as she’d already felt, it was nothing compared to the lack of an internal compass she had now. The forest had consumed her completely. 

This was insane. Her mind ran rampant with possibilities as the silence between them grew longer. She’d be murdered by this demon of the woods and no one would even hear her scream as he dismembered her. She should run while she still had the chance. 

Except, if she ran Liliyana died. 

So, she kept walking. They entered a clearing of land. At the center of the plot was a looming mansion of black stone and though Zoya was no expert on the woods, she had spent the day wandering its depths and knew for certain the building had not been there before. This man’s magic was dark, but it was also powerful-- she needed powerful. The dark haired man led her to the tall doorway of the structure and held open the wooden door. “We can discuss terms inside.”

She hesitated for just a beat. This could very well be the room in which he planned to butcher her and bake her liver into a pie. She considered this man she knew nothing about and what he was offering. If there was even the smallest chance he could help her, she had to take it. 

There was no going back. She stepped through the door frame and into the home of a witch.

Whatever she had expected, this was not it. She remembered the tale of witches with homes of candy to lure in naive children. She had thought she’d see cages filled with starving creatures and cobweb covered jars holding various gruesome substances. She had thought there would be a cauldron to brew potions that would cure dying aunts. To her surprise, though, there was nothing of the sort. The floors were a sleek black tile and the walls were covered in bookcases filled to the brim with titles in languages she didn’t understand. Golden lamps hung down from the ceiling, casting a warm light onto the sleek table in the center of the room filled with well kept paper and an ink well. Tapestries of the night sky made with painstaking care hung as the rooms most prominent decor. 

If she hadn’t known better, she would have thought she’d wandered into the home of one of Ravka’s most wealthy nobles. 

She swung around to face the man, who had been observing her carefully since her first step into the room. “First things first, who exactly are you?” She asked, eyes narrowed. 

“Names are a powerful thing, Zoya,” he answered as he walked towards the desk at the center of the room. Something about the way he moved reminded her of black silk. “For now, you can call me The Darkling.”

Her lips pulled together in a tight line and placed a hand on her hips. For a moment she considered calling him out on his pretentiousness-- what kind of title was “The Darkling”-- but she restrained herself. In the grand scheme of things his name hardly mattered, and angering him didn’t strike her as the best way to get what she wanted.

He took a seat at the desk and gestured to the chair directly across from him. Smoothing her skirt as she sat down, she felt almost like she was at a business meeting in the town square and not trying to make a blood deal. “I’ve heard that magic can do things science can’t. Buildings are created without any regard for physics and wounds that normally kill are healed in a split second,” she began, an authority in her voice that she hoped hid the fact there was no real power behind it. “My aunt is ill. The doctors say there’s nothing to be done, but that is the opinion of a medic, not a magician. Can you save her?”

A certain rage sparked within her when he didn’t look her in the eye. She didn’t have the time to waste on a man who could do nothing for her. She had already lost a day to the woods, and here he sat, unimpressed and hardly listening. Part of her wanted to get up and leave right then and there if he wasn’t going to give her request the dignity it deserved, but she stayed seated, waiting. 

He spoke then. “I can,” Zoya’s breath caught half way in her throat. Hope crawled into her lungs and left no room for breath, “but it will cost you.” 

“I don’t care,” she responded, not missing a beat. “I’ll trade my life for hers, just name the price.”

He wasn’t smiling, but Zoya could almost see the grin in his eyes and felt like she’d just walked into a hunter’s snare. “I know you’re afraid of me, Zoya,” he said, and though she wanted to insist that some stranger in the woods didn’t scare her, her words fell flat, “but I have known you for much longer than you believe. Your familiar with a blade, aren’t you?”

Zoya swallowed the lump rising in her throat and nodded. When she was young she’d studied swordplay when her mother was away. Soldiers left home to begin their training at fourteen in Ravka, and for a girl whose home had been anything but stable, it had been an appealing opportunity. The issue was, the army was for men only. She’d hoped they’d see her skill and immediately make an exception, but when she was finally old enough to enlist she’d been turned away at the gate. 

How this witch knew that was beyond her. “I believe we can help one another. For you, I will not only return your aunt to health, but also give you the chance to pursue your dream,” he continued. “All I ask in return is that you rid Ravka of what is standing in our way. The Lantsov line has held this country back far too long-- I plan to lead us into the future, and I’ll need a general by my side. The only thing you need to do is get rid of the old crook’s heir.”

Zoya could barely breathe. It was all too good to be true-- first he’d claimed he could help Liliyana and then he’d promised her what she’d dreamed of since childhood.  She would have taken the deal in a heartbeat if he wasn’t asking her to commit treason in return.

“Vasily,” she breathed, but he only shook his head. 

“He’s not nearly competent enough to be a concern. Talents like yours should be spent on a real threat. The king’s second born, Nikolai, is much more clever than his brother,” said the Darkling. “I know you don’t trust me yet, but my intentions are good. You, of all people, have seen the state of this nation-- the hardship it’s people face. You and I are very similar: ambitious, strong,  and intelligent. We can change things.”

She chewed her lip and shifted in her seat, weighing the pros and cons. Zoya was many things, but she wasn’t a murderer. 

At least, not yet. 

Her rejection from the army had allowed her to keep her hands blood free until now. It wasn’t that she had any compassion for the prince, but there was nothing noble about slaughtering an unknowing victim. The honor of serving her country and protecting her people against an enemy who would kill her if she didn’t end them first was vastly different than what he was asking her to do. 

In the end, the morality of the proposal didn’t matter. If it was one life to save another, Liliyana was more important. The only question was whether or not The Darkling had any credibility to his offer. It was true she barely knew him, but for the first time since she had first encountered him he seemed fully sincere. A tug in her gut told her he was right. She didn’t know if they were as similar as he claimed, but something deep inside her made her believe his love for Ravka was as real as her own. 

And if he was telling the truth about that, then he was probably true in his claim that he could heal her aunt, too. Or, at the very least, she had to believe it was true. She feared she would not be presented with another opportunity like this.

It was the best chance she had, even if it would make a killer out of her. She stared him down, taking in the room that had appeared from nothing. “I’ll do it.”

She could repent her sin later by aiding this man in his journey to lead Ravka into an age of prosperity. That was for later, though. For now, Zoya just needed a plan.

The Darkling smiled knowingly, but as far as she could tell it was not mocking. Looking away for only a moment, he pulled a quill from somewhere she couldn’t see and handed it to her. 

“Find your way into the castle and get close to the prince. Trust will make him foolish. If you need to contact me, use that quill. The ink will find its way back to me. When it is time to put the plan into motion I will contact you. Until then, keep your wits about you.”

“Wait--” she interrupted, afraid he’d simply dissipate after giving his orders. “How am I supposed to infiltrate the palace? They don’t just allow anyone inside.”

“Nikolai has been in need of a new Etherialki for a few weeks now,” he answered, unphased. She tried not to wonder what kind of spies he must already have under the Lantsovs’ noses to have that kind of information. “You will be filling the position.” 

The servants of the Lantsov family were divided into three orders: Coporalki, Etherealki, and Materialki. Coporalki had a tendency to remain in the palace. They were responsible for keeping the palace functioning properly and were trained in the art of medicine. Materialki was the class of any sort of specialist working within the Lantsov’s walls. From chefs, to tailors, to blacksmiths, each played their part in making up the artisans category. 

Etherealki were traveling companions to the royal family and whatever rich guest happened to be staying with them. They accompanied their charge from dawn till dusk, braving and complication of man or nature along the way.They were known to think on their feet to quickly amend any problem their employer might encounter. It was, without a doubt, the most fitting role for Zoya’s skill set.

 “What about my aunt? She might not last long enough for whatever you’re planning to be ready.”

“There’s no need to worry-- deliver your end of our agreement and I swear to you that your aunt will live.”

He extended a hand towards her and she examined him one last time. Growing up, she’d been told to never trust witches, and here she stood, going into business with one. If life had taught her anything, it was that the worst monsters aren’t always supernatural in nature. For all intents and purposes, the Darkling seemed to have good intentions. More than that, he had the power to save her aunt. 

From every angle, Zoya came out of this deal with what she wanted. 

She held his gaze and took his palm in a firm handshake before gathering her things and heading back into town.

[yetanotherfanficblog]

Part

Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV

Characters: Pyotyr Ilych (Male Duskwight Elezen Warrior of Light), Y’shtola Rhul

Rating/Warnings: PG (Mentions of Violence and Death)

Summary: Pyotyr considers the ramifications of the battle for the fate of the First, and the marks it has left upon his soul. Written for ffxiv write 2020 prompt #14. Spoilers for the Shadowbringers MSQ.

---

Pyotyr Ilych, Warrior of Darkness, had much to consider. The identity of the Crystal Exarch. The strange and wondrous sight of the ancient city of Amarout, and the combination of fear and of longing, and of mourning for something lost, or stolen, or forgotten, that suffused his chest when he remembered those tall spires. The last words of Hades, of Emet-Selch.

But for now, he focused on his hand, held above him, fingers splayed, as he leaned back in a chair at his kitchen table, in his quarters at the pendants. For a long moment, he held it there, staring at the back of those long, delicate, fingers as if the pattern of scrunched skin on his knuckles might unlock the secrets of creation.

He was only barely roused from his reverie by a knock at the door.

"Come In!" he called, still looking at his hand. The door opened to admit his fellow Scion, Y'shtola Rhul, lately known as Master Matoya of the Night's Blessed.

She looked at the Elezen splayed out on the chair before her, hand in the air, and cleared her throat delicately, "Are... you quite alright, Pyotyr?"

"Oh!" Pyotyr shook his head, as if snapped out of a dream into waking, he lowered his hand quickly, tugging his garments into places as he rose from his chair, "Y'shtola! Come in, Come in! What a pleasant surprise, I thought you were on your way back to Slitherbough!"

"I was planning to be," Y'shtola said, taking the proffered invitation and sweeping into the room, "But I decided I'd best stock up on certain reagents and research materials before I returned, and the markets won't have all of them ready until the morrow."

Pyotyr smiled, "So, one more day in the Crystarium, and you choose to spend a part of it with me? You honor me."

Y'shtola smiled back, with a bit of a sigh, "None of that, now, Pyotyr. You're one of my dearest friends, and I hadn't seen you in years, and only days ago, I thought we might lose you forever."

Pyotyr grinned, "But I am here, and feeling better than ever. Available to brew a potion, heal a wound, slay a monster, or discuss aetheric theory with a dear friend over a cup of tea. Shall I pour you one?" He walked breezily over to the stove, where a kettle had indeed just begun to pipe, and began bustling about grabbing a pair of cups and a small tin of tea leaves from a nearby cupboard.

"Tea sounds wonderful," Y'shtola said tentatively, sitting down at one of the small but sturdy wooden chairs at the kitchen table, smoothing her skirts, "but are you sure?"

"What, sure I want tea?" Pyotyr said, without looking back, focused on packing the leaves into their tea balls, "Of course I am. We've spent too many nights at the Rising Stones poring over old tomes together over a cup for you to doubt that, haven't we?"

"No," She said with a sigh, "Are you sure you're alright? You looked rather distracted when you came in."

Pyotyr turned, now carrying two cups of steaming hot beverage on a small platter, and he smiled a small sad smile as he bought them to the kitchen table, setting one in front of Y’shtola, taking the other in his hands as he sat down beside her.

"Hm," he mused, "I suppose that is a fair question. And a hard one to answer. I feel... physically fine. Without the weight of that extra aether, I feel as light as feather. Yet, I feel more solid, more real, than I ever have before. It... sounds strange, but I feel like there is more of me."

Y'shtola took a sip of her tea, a thoughtful look on her face, "More? Yes, your aether looks repaired, but also... stronger. More solid. I suppose in some ways, you are... more."

"But," she continued, "I have a feeling that isn't all there is to it, is there?"

Pyotyr took his own sip of tea, then nodded at her, "Your instincts have always been sharp, my dear Miss Y'shtola."

He let out a long breath, and stared up at the ceiling for a moment before continuing, "When I say I feel like there is more of me, I find myself... somewhat terrified at what that might mean."

"Terrified? You have always been one the bravest, most steadfast persons I know. I know people change, but I cannot forsee that changing about you too soon."

Pyotyr smiled softly, "You flatter me, Y'shtola. But.... no, for whatever I am, I will continue to be loyal to the Scions, a defender of Eorzea as long as people of good will inhabit her land. But... I am, or thought I was, Pyotyr Ilych, Son of Vylbrand, Scholar, Scion, Alchemist, Doctor, and Friend. It was all I ever aspired to be, even if the tides of war and fate have swept me up into larger things than I ever dreamed of as a Limsan street rat."

"Emet-Selch," he continued, after another sip of tea, "seemed to recognize me as someone. I'm still not sure if he wanted me to desperately be his old friend, or hated with all his might that I might be his old friend."

"The possibility of reincarnation has been considered by scholars and believed in by many societies over the years," Y'shtola said, "But most of them believe you are who you are in the present. No matter how you reincarnated, or if you reincarnted, you are still you."

"Perhaps," Pyotyr said, "But It is strange to know who else you might have been... who else you might be, when you never expected to be anyone else... and beyond that. Ardbert."

"He was a part of you," Y'shtola said, a small acknowledgement, a nod of the head.

"Yes. My shard, my counterpart, here on the First. Whoever Emet-Selch recognized, we were both parts of him. And now Ardbert is part of me. Our souls are rejoined, parts of the person who Emet-Selch used to know."

Pyotyr drained the rest of his teacup before continuing, "And now I wonder. Where does he end and I begin? Shall I find myself possessed of that bravado? Of that desperation? Shall memories and thoughts of Braden and Lamitt and Renda-Rae and Nyelbert crowd out memories of Alphinaud and Y'shtola and Thancred and Urianger and Alisaie? And what of the person Emet-Selch knew? Now that I am closer to that person, now that I have come closer to what the Ancients were, what the Ascians are... shall I find myself forgetting myself and Ardbert alike? Will I be seized with a dangerous nostalgia for a past world? Shall I find myself wandering ruins of the past in anger and lust? Emet-Selch asked me to remember, Ardbert and his comrades deserve to be remembered as the heroes they were, and I want to. I want to remember them. I want to remember them. But I want to remember ME, too. How can I make sure I still remember me, that I am still Pyotyr, when I have had so many other people thrust upon me now?"

His hands dropped to his knees, and his face dropped with them, just a bit, as if he might be trying to hide his eyes, and he fell silent again.

Y'shtola closed her eyes for a moment, sighed, then opened then. She leaned across the space between them, and placed a hand over Pyotyr's right hand, then scooped it up gently with the other, cradling it between her palms.

"I have watched your aether closely ever since we reunited," she said, "And I watched it even back on Eorzea, before the Exarch's summons took me. I know you, Pyotyr Ilych, not just as a beloved friend, but on a very elemental level. Ever since you were able to harness the light against Hades, you have been exactly as I remember from Eorzea, only more so."

"More so...?" Pyotyr raised his chin a bit, to look at her with shining eyes.

"Your pattern shines bright against the gaps, but it always has. And it has always been your pattern. Whoever you used to be, whoever you have been joined to. Your journey has tempered you in its own way. You have gained strength. You have gained comrades. You have gained wounds and healed wounds alike. But you have always shown the qualities that shine brightest in you, the compassion, the bravery, the will to fight to protect the weak. In all those ways, You are still  the man I met so long ago, in the Grotto near Summerford Farms."

Pyotyr chuckled at that, "I remember it well. Your little history lesson on the Sailor's Requiem made me feel like I was back in school, then helped me defeat that poor goobbue, then handed me a knife, spoke a few cryptic words, and left me standing there, mouth agape."

Y'shtola smiled back, "See? Just as a sweet and sassy as you ever were, Pyotyr Ilych. And in my defense, I did come back for you."

Pyotyr chuckled, "And swept me up into a world I never imagined. All because I wanted to know why some of my old shipmates had been kidnapped. Despite such strange beginnings, I can't say I would have traded any of it for the world. Thank you, My Mysterious Cultured Conjurer, for noticing such an unlikely adventurer."

Y'shtola chuckled herself at that, and squeezed Pyotyr's hand, "Unlikely or no, I can't imagine anything up until now would have gone as well as it has without you. Whatever else happens, you are still a Scion. We will be besides you, and we will always remind you of who you are: Our hero, our exemplar, and most importantly, our Beloved friend."

Pyotyr now smiled, a true, unguarded grin, as he squeezed Y'shtola's hand back in return, "Alright. You've convinced me. I'll put aside my worries, at least for now. But... I think it will be a few hours before I feel like going to bed. Would you perhaps, stay with me, My dear Miss Y'shtola? We can talk of old times, or you can tell me stories of your time here in the First."

"I can think of no better way to pass the time, my dear old friend," Y'shtola answered back.

And so they sat, the two friends, the two veterans, speaking of all the adventures they had been a part of, past and present, and even into the future, long into the night.

[incorrectly-quoted-queers]

Drunk Punch Love: Chapter 6

Pairing: FemShep and Garrus Vakarian (Shakarian)

Rating: PG-13 (with some tossed F-bombs)

Summary: Their awkward, badass journey through saving the galaxy and accidentally falling in love

Chapter 6: Savior of The Citadel

Anya Shepard doomed the council. And worse, she knew that others would call it a bid for human interests. But sacrificing the Destiny Ascension meant that more people could live, and those still trapped in the Citadel could be protected.

At least, that's what she kept telling herself as she stood next to Saren's bloody husk corpse and watched everything explode outside the window, hoping what she just did was worth it.

She didn't know if she could live with herself if her choices didn't mean something. There were already way too many graves tied to the decisions she'd made.

Like hell she knew this would be her fate when they were coming up the turbolift to fight Saren. It would have been harder to know she had something damning in common with the turian she was about to face, but she doubted he felt as much compassion and guilt as she did.

In all honesty, all she thought about on the way up was how much she wanted to watch the fucker burn.

Then those turbolift doors opened and she, Wrex, and Garrus darted up those council steps that she had a Pavlovian association with disappointment and frustration. Anya could feel it building up in her as they got closer and closer.

Taking that last step to the council's podium, there he had been. And that time, after all the damnable near misses, she didn't give him a shot. Much like he did to Nihlus, Shepard put on her Infiltrator cloak, stood right behind him, and fired her pistol.

Anticlimactic, but so damn satisfying to see him drop like a rock. He didn't deserve a grand fight. He deserved to fall down without the luxury of final words.

Well, then Anya turned around and everything outside was burning and they were asking her to make the call. Thousands of Alliance soldiers and Citadel civilians, or the hundreds of people protecting the council. All she saw were the numbers and the innocence and she made it.

But it was over. It had to be over.

Of course it wasn't fucking over, but she wanted it to be. Something grabbed her leg, though, and crashed her down into a lower decks area. The creature before her had Saren's face, but it was dripping blue blood and was now three times her size. It looked like a goddamn demon with the skin texture of as husk. Wrex and Garrus dropped down to help her and that's when a real bastard of a fight began.

Sovereign just had to go and play god with Saren, didn't he?

Shepard's mind started running on full adrenaline, dodging Saren's husk and protecting her team. Wrex got a wicked face slash and Garrus got thrown into a wall, but the asshole wasn't going to take anyone else from her.

She collapsed him under some pillars and hoped she'd make it out alive. Part of her wondered at the time if i'd be easier if she didn't; after all, her job was only going to get harder now.

But she pulled herself out of the rubble, even though her ears were ringing, and Garrus carried her back to them. Anya was struggling to keep her memory on track just walking back into the safer parts of the Citadel. She was pretty sure her ears were bleeding and everything was kinda blurry. It just was nice to have a trusted arm around her shoulder keeping her safe.

And now she was stuck in a very loud, very overwhelming meeting with Udina and Anderson and it felt like she was just floating above it all. The destroyed Presidium couldn't be real, right?

Hell, everything the past couples days felt so wrong.

"Shepard? Are you listening? What do you think?"

Anya's body jolted and she looked straight into Udina's very pissed off face. She ran a hand through her hair; during the Saren fight her normally immaculate bun ripped open and her hair was all over the place and probably matted with blue blood. Whoever the hell thought she was the most capable to answer anything must've lost their damn mind.

Still pressing a wet cloth to her split lip, Anya tried to salvage things. "No. Sorry. What did you ask?"

Udina rolled his eyes and made a disgusted noise like she was a petulant child, but repeated himself, "With the council gone, new leaders need to be put in place, ASAP. And with humanity at its best, we're going to be at the forefront."

"Okay? And how am I involved in this?"

Anderson looked pretty uncomfortable, but he kept his hands behind his back and looked at her seriously. It was at least nice someone treated her like an adult who deserved a spot at the table. She always appreciated that about Anderson; he looked at everyone that way. "With your new fame as the savior of the Citadel, people will look to your for guidance. So Udina wanted your vote on who should lead the council."

She didn't mean to, but Anya laughed so hard that her definitely bruised ribs hurt like hell. She even had to put her wet rag down on the railing to hold her sides so they didn't literally split. "Me? The closest thing I know to council level seniority are you two." Udina gave her a pointed look and her stomach fell through the glass floor. What made either of these men capable of the job? She adored Anderson, he was a mentor and a friend, but he was no politician. And Udina knew his politics, but he quickly fell into "humanity first" mindsets. And that shit wasn't going to be helpful for a galactic war.

And yet here they fucking were.

Running a hand through her hair again, and trying not to grimace when she definitely caught something in her fingertips, she tried her best to answer them, "While just picking between you two is the dumbest shit I ever heard, my vote would be Anderson. We're heading into a war, and we need people who can get our asses out of it at the helm." But with a deep, slightly beleaguered sigh, she added, "But don't go too far, Udina. I still think you should advise him and kick diplomatic ass. I'm sure Anderson will need a lot of help not clocking anyone."

While Udina didn't look happy, he at least looked slightly amused. "If you're sure. Now on the matter of the Destiny Ascension-"

"If the extranet's going to burn me alive, let them. I let them die out there. They should hold me accountable, even if the law never will."

Anderson furrowed his brow and reached for her hand. Anya didn't mean to wince away so quickly. Instead, he just gave her these sad, soulful eyes. They didn't make her feel any better. "Somebody had to make the call."

"Of course somebody did. And today, it was me. Doesn't make up for the people dead, though." Rolling her shoulders, Anya stood up straight, removed herself from leaning against the railing. It was time to soldier up. "Don't worry about me, Anderson. I can take it. Just make sure there's a damn good statue or something for Willaims, will you? Without her, no one would've made it."

They both looked like they had more to say, and even Udina looked concerned. Maybe they should be. She was now the first human Spectre who now had the galactic authority to name or kill councilmembers. That was fucking scary. But Udina just said, after getting serious frown face from looking at something from his wrist, "We will. Now, Admiral Shepard is on the extranet. Threatened to "sick her bear" on me."

The universe was damn bleak, but of course her mother could make it better with one sentence. Looking Udina, she let him in on the secret, "She means me. She calls me her baby bear. But a warning, if she'd told me to rough you up, I would."

Anderson chuckled, but Udina only did that awkward laugh thing where he really means that he hates soldiers and wishes he didn't have to interact with them as much. Anya couldn't really blame him. Picking up her helmet and holding it on her hip, she nodded and them both. "I'll be in your office using the screen to deal with mother bear."

After she got into Udina's office and left the men to, probably, argue, she let the neutral look on her face fall. She let her face go heavy; as heavy as it felt. Hell, it probably should be heavier. Today had been a long fucking day.

But she had one more thing to deal with: Oksana Shepard.

Anya inhaled deeply and then sat down at Udina's desk. One or two clicks and she was calling the infamous Admiral Shepard. Within seconds of starting the call, her mother's short, bright blonde hair, gray eyes, and scarred cheek. And somehow, on this dark fucking day, she was smiling. Trying to give her own best grin, Anya said, "Hello, Mama."

"Detenysh! My little one! Today was a good victory. You did good. How does it feel to have that rogue Spectre eating metal?"

Shaking her head, she always found it hard to talk straight in front of her mother. She was a warrior through and through. Sure, Anya was a warrior, too, but if there never was another war again and she was out of a job, she could probably live with that. Oksana couldn't. She answered as honestly as she could without starting a fight, "Good to protect people. Less good to know how many dead it took to take him down."

"They died honorably, Anya. That's all anyone can wish for." While she nodded, Anya couldn't help but wonder: is it? But then her mother continued, "I am so proud that my daughter is the savior of the Citadel. Your father would have been proud, too."

Anya didn't really know what to say to that. She'd never met her father. "I hope so. I made a lot of hard calls today."

"They are all preparing you for the great Admiral or General you will one day be."

A million old conversations swirled around in her head. "Mama-"

"I know, I know. You'll find your own path. It's just pure coincidence I was right about all of it so far."

The smug way her mom said it kinda pissed Anya off, especially with that smirk on her face, but she was going to let it slide today. "I'm just happy to see you."

"And I you, Detenysh. You're the reason all my men are okay and so many people made it out alive today. When they chose you for a Spectre, they chose right."

Feeling herself get a tad bit emotional, Anya rubbed her face and tried to shake the feeling away. "Shh. Enough of that." With a crash from outside and a loud yell, Shepard could tell Udina and Anderson were arguing again. She flashed her mother another smile before ending the call, even though she knew this might be the last she saw of her for awhile.

Happens when your mother's specialty always was undercover missions. "I have to go be a hero a little longer. I love you, Mama."

"I love you too, little one."

And then she was gone. Anya could get more emotional about it, probably even have a year's worth of therapy about how her mother often popped in to give her praise but never was a consistent parental force in her life. But she really didn't have the time for counseling right now, and at least her mother was okay. Honestly, Anya would take any good news from today that she could get.

Logging off, she stood back up and put back on her stronger face. It was time to play babysitter to the two men she just appointed to run the Council together.

Why did anyone let her make big decisions?

///

Author’s note: 

So happy a bunch of people enjoyed the last few chapters on here! I’m posting often to catch up to the story on other sites. 

Thanks so much for reading, and double thanks to my lovely patrons:

Danyell Jones

Amy Connolly

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