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m4nd0l0r · 3 years ago

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Memories From Apollo - Part 1.

Description: The god of the sun loves its own rays, from his ballads that strummed from his trusted lyre, it drops sunny speckles of good things, the warmth you feel from the sun, the glimmering light that reflects to the waters.. But sometimes they bear memories, they make you remember from one touch of its heat, and whatever you glimpse on can be good or bad, but you see them for a reason.

Ships: Din Djarin x Reader, Steven Grant x Reader, Marc Spector x Reader, Jake Lockley x Reader (yes its a mamma mia au + crossover fic of the mandalorian and moon knight-)

Category: Fluff and a lot of reminiscing

Word count: 7.1k words

Author’s note: i’m sorry that i took so long with this— i procrastinated so hard and i realized all the plot points i wanted to add wouldn’t fit so pt. 2 will be a thing… if i defeat laziness that is!- also i made a playlist for this so uh i hope yall enjoy both fic and music!! i used “baba” and “ba” since its a gender neutral term for mama/papa :)) the spanish here were from translate websites, i apologize for possible inaccuracies along with how i interpreted DID in this fic :”D

His eyes fixated on his screen, the blue light blares through his tired pupils as he clicks “yes” on each decision question he gets himself across to. Spam clicking the mouse, his arrow taps and taps to his heart’s delight.

Plane tickets have gone overpriced, he entertains the thought. The price for London to Greece skyrocketed, no wonder he only sees a few people go on vacations nowadays, he thinks again, as if he needed a distraction.

As if he already didn’t try to steer his attention from his screen from choosing to do this. To try to come back. But he’s a little late for second thoughts, the card already got approved, no turning back.

As his payment pends, he opens his cabinet, and just sinks his hand right through its contents, raking through each and every item he just tossed inside. And through his search, he finally grabs onto an old leather journal.

Pulling it up, it was obviously worn down, with it being softer but the etching of his name, Marc, that he jabbed down with a pen knife the same few years ago he got this very diary.

Flicking through it, he had a small grimace. But it soon disappears as he grabs a pen and a pile of sticky notes. Writing, the ink bleeds through the paper, and it stains in the words:

Steven, Jake.

Give this to them. My last favour to you two.

-Marc.

-x-

The wonderful rays of the sun of Kalokairi rushed through your palms, and it felt great. Letting out a sigh, you wished every day was like this, but then you realized, you didn’t need to wish. It was always like this, and you loved every minute of it. Every minute of that good golden sun, the thrilling heat in your fingertips, and forever changing wind.

The ripples of the sea were eminent in your ears, ringing back like the sounds of pendulums. SWOOSH! It roars along with jumping fish and seagulls that try to catch its food in a now cold morning. As you breathe in and out, a cloud coming out of your mouth, you sighed. You didn’t bother to wear a jacket, your hat was enough, you thought. Besides, the sun was hot enough to make you forget the fierce winds.

You then touch your skin, goosebumps plumped from the contact. Your fingers then trail your face, you feel small wrinkles that form all over the years. You then touch the necklace wrapped on your neck, playing with the pendant. Trying to fight off the grimace that tried to creep up at your wistful smile.

Damn it you felt old. No, you are old.

Because now you’re dealing with your daughter’s wedding.

Well, what are you supposed to do with that information?

It felt like whiplash. As if the waves of salt water came to throw you off your sandals.

“Engaged!?— Luka- This isn’t some crood joke is it?” You gasped out, eliciting a laugh from your daughter.

“No, Ba! Why would I even joke about such a thin— It’s real, look!”

And then with how she went up to you -eyes coated with glitter, you’d think you’ve seen a disco ball- and flaunted thedarling lady ‘friend’ -Luka would joke, especially when you used to actually thing that she was just her study buddy..- that gave her a ring.

A ring! All embellished with gems and everything! Oh my gods you thought you were going to faint at your chair right then and there.

You gasp.”I never thought this day would come by this quickly!” Your voice is almost nothing but a whisper. “My own little girl’s getting married..! I feel faint!” Your voice quivered, but Luka knew you were joking.

To some extent.

Your own daughter getting married? Oh a thing you never even thought of. And as if the gods above sprung up to spite you, she’s getting married at 20. Not like it was much of a big deal- well it was- but gods. Shaking your head lightly, maybe you should have downed some sort of wine before you started thinking about all of this- Before you drown yourself in this pipehole— Yes, yes- That sounds like a good idea.

Unfortunately, you were nowhere at your hotel. No glass, no booze, but damn it- you were impatient, you were almost excited even.

Rushing by the docks, you were like a firecracker waiting to explode- But you were going to explode to your trusted comrades of all these years— And before you could even take another breath you heard those familiar voices.

Your eyes swiftly drift to the end of the wooden platform, and a smile etched itself on your lips.

“Well would you look at what the gulls passed on!” You yell, running through and stumbling your way. A shriek emanated from the edge, your partners in crime Evie and Anne- just came in just in time for the main event.

“How dare those birds pass us on?” Evie tittered, her red hair blaring from the sun and her heels clicking through the planks. Anne just guffawed, running their dirty blond hair -noticeably chopped, but it fits, you remarked to yourself. “Betcha they passed us cos all of that hunk of plastic ya got!” She earned herself a -offended- choking sound from Evie with that one.

The moment of -such quick- realization clicked in your head. “Evie- you got- it-“ You pointed at your chest, “DONE AGAIN?!” You shrieked oh so cheekily, Evie only gaped their mouth an O then transformed into a giant smile. “Paid by the FIFTH-“ She oh so emphasized, “Husband!”

“EVIE—!”

Anne seemed to be actually surprised by this, her voice breaking out in a stronger accent. “Ya cheeky bastard! Ya gotta be kiddin’ me!- No wonder ya don’t seem so damn broke, heels an’ all- an’ they look so—“

“Sooo?”

“FUCKIN’ REAL-“

“Alright enough tit tatter!“ You sighed. “Now I’ve got a wedding to plan and for you two to attend! We must go—!” You went on with a stern voice, though it was laced with such a noticeable joking voice. But the two only focused on one thing, making them only coo at you like a cat.

“Goodness me, Luka? Getting married? I still can’t believe it— She’s got one step ahead of you!” Anne hushed. “I bet she already planned everything before even telling you… Especially how excited she can get.” Evie added on with a laugh.

“That is true.” Anne only said. Rolling your eyes with an amused face, you grab your car keys in your pocket. “Yes yes, I expected that from her.. but marriage as that exact leverage?” You raised a brow almost dramatically. “Never in a million years.”

“Luka is an eccentric kid, what’d ya expect?” You rammed your engine in. Your beat up car finally roaring itself back to life. Dang, you really should get it fixed.

“Honestly-“ You huff. “Anything else.” Evie had her brow raised up from this. “Is the groom that much of a bad guy?”

“Bride. And no, she’s fine, she’s kind with my girl, they’re very lovely together and Luka’s really happy with her, and I’mhappy to see that.” You then pause, taking a deep breath, “It’s more of a..”

“Parent thing?” Oh Evie dropped the bomb right at you, and here you are, having you and Anne bracing for impact. You only breathed in and out once more, lighting it sink in. But she wasn’t wrong.

“..Yes… Exactly that.”

-x-

“Luka you cannot be serious!” Someone hissed, “Dragging these unfortunate souls to our wedding?” The winds of the island blew stronger, as if it were angry along with the talker. “They aren’t strangers, love— They gushed about them!” Your own daughter- Luka- said.

“Ever since I was a kid, Ba sometimes would mention them- whenever they thought I’m asleep,” She faked snores, earning a laugh from Ivy. God that made her stomach roll. “Right upstairs, I’d hear them, talking their way to the night sky by the balcony.. And gods they were yearning.”

“And you thought the best thing to do was to invite them?”

“Uh yeah? I mean you did say that I can invite whoever I want, my love.”

“I meant people anyone would know- not strangers.” She raised a brow, her tone light.

“I mean- Ba would know ‘em.” Luka snorted. People were bustling around the hotel, and they were all fumbling about, with the decorations, and the dangling lights and banners, along with packages that Ivy ordered herself. She loves all the fuss, Luka thought, but honestly she liked it more when Ivy would fuss at her instead.

“But still— Sure that’s the case- is this the right thing to do? Drag in those poor blokes all for our grand day, and you expect your poor parent once they learn this- to not explode?” Ivy only screeched with a light tone. “If you keep your mouth shut!” She almost wailed and her fiancée let out a squeak of laughter.

Luka only cackled, “You better keep it shut Ivy- Or I might tickle my way to you for your silence—“

“You wouldn’t!”

“Maybe I would, so-“ She motioned her thumb and index right by her mouth, making a slicing motion, to say to shut it. “Besides, they obviously still fancy Ba, why would they accept those invitations if they didn’t?”

“To be polite?”

“Oh please! Polite after twenty-ish years of not seeing each other? You’re reaching, my dear!” Luka almost squawked with both of them whispering like school girls. “With their responses, You’d expect them to be right by the hotel’s entrance like a flock of geese.”

“Well I hope not,” Ivy eyed her. “Wouldn’t want to see them have a heart attack ‘cos of their own daughter!”

“You’d get dragged to this too, they’re your future parent-in-law after all!”

“You—“ But before she could even continue, you were back from picking up her aunts, and you seemed distracted with the amount of laughter and huffing going about. The two opted to hide by the wall, typical, but maybe it’s enough to not get caught.

Also long as you were very much out of sight. Good, you might not hear anything.

But your own daughter knew you very well, and you had a sense of a hawk. “Ivy- Love- Lets go upstairs before Ba catches us on and drags us with my aunts—“ And they both left with a lot of cursing and complaints of running on heels- mostly from Ivy though, Luka noticed.

“Hurry hurry- I’ll just give you a massage- Let’s just get out of here!” Ivy seemed agreeable this time, actually hurrying up. Her fiancée sighed, then again, she did bring this to herself, she can’t really complain about that, can she?

-x-

Taxi, ferryman, taxi, ferryman, were the only words that were ringing through this man’s head.

This was one of those times that he wished that cars could actually go faster, through the busy streets, through the market filled with fresh fish and plucked out veggies. He wished he could plow faster across through the ferry dock.

He didn’t have time for this! He was here on some (un)reasonable whim, and now he’s rushing like god knows what. But the thing is, he knows why, and all due to a piece of paper.

One day, he had some sort of letter in his mailbox. He never really got any, now that he thinks about it. It made him realize that it was very dusty too, that’s for sure. But as he ripped the tape off of the letter, and started to actually read it, he was more than surprised with the fact his jaw didn’t dislocate and fall to the wooden floor.

“A weddin’.. invitation?” His voice faltered, and when he read a little further, he actually let out a sigh of relief. It wasn’t your wedding. It was your daughter’s. Shameless, the only word that went through his head. How could he be so relieved about that? It was stupid, and he wanted to punch himself for it.

But now, in Greece, he was on the verge of biting his fingernails -a habit he certainly picked up somewhere- He was clutching his bag with him. He certainly packed.. a little too light. Damn it he felt so spontaneous- he shouldn’t have indulged in doing so.

But the minute he looks away from his book back in his loft, he’s suddenly seated on his office chair, computer open at 5am, and he sees his screen on a website with the purchase of a plane ticket from London to Greece. And when he felt his eyes widened from the sight, it really did.

Yes, he could have refunded, but maybe just maybe.. he thought he needed a vacation? I did not, I think. He tried to tell himself. Justification wasn’t exactly his specialty.

Damn it Marc, and damn you Jake for not stopping him. Knowing the damn guy, he would’ve encouraged Marc.

He swears again on his head, bet they both planned this, and they’re just cackling right in their headspace’s seats like madmen. Maybe he was reaching, but the man needs to blame at least something- or someone. As if he could be right. Maybe, but how would he know?

As Steven just tossed everything in his head, he fades away from the world, into the seclusion of his cramped mind, along with little old Marc and Madman Jake - little nicknames he gave them.

Murmurs of a voice came from the front, and that’s where everything clicked back in place for him. He was already in Greece, not in his flat. And he was definitely late for his boat.

Letting a few obnoxious swears he mostly picked up from his co-workers, he stumbled out of the taxi, saying the words, “cheers” and “mate” as he tosses enough money to the driver, earning him a smile and something in Greek that he couldn’t understand.

He was running, his shoes clanking through the pavement. Damn it! Damn it! He was already yelling through the wind. “Bloody hell!” It was a pitiful sight really, a foreigner running his way to the ledge, trying to catch up to sailors removing the ropes that tied to the mainland, ready to anchor away to the sea.

“Wait, wait!” He begged, but alas, the ship was already swimming away, with their passengers waving him goodbye pitifully, and it was as if they were silently laughing at him. But he couldn’t care about that- or even dare to think about it. Must be the meds.

How the hell was he gonna get to Kalokairi now?

“Bullocks!” He exasperated, huffing a few breaths with his luggage on hand. It was only now it really clicked, he was alone. Alone, in a foreign country. He's been alone before- Sure he has some money, but it’s a little.. unnerving, to say the least for him.

“My sentiments exactly.” A voice makes him turn in surprise, not noticing someone being beside him- or to even talk to him. Turning to his side, he sees a man cladded in leather, he meant it. Leather jacket with an assortment of pretty pins he couldn’t really see without his glasses, and those leather boots, he couldn’t help but notice them, they looked so cool. He almost didn’t notice the rope wrapped on his hand, strange.

Not wanting to be rude, he had his eyes center itself into looking at a sign. It was a bad choice on his part really, as he forgot that everything he was in Greek, and he’d have it easier if it were in hieroglyphics. “Uh.. you know how to read this..?” He asked the stranger, and his brown eyes looked at him.

“It says, next ship is on Tuesday.”

“T-Tuesday?! No no no.. really?” And when the man in front of him didn’t make any remark, he took it as a yes. “Can’t believe..” He would slump down if there was a wall behind him. But no there wasn’t, he would have tripped and fell on his back.

The wedding’s on Sunday.

As Steven wallows in misery, with no second plan in sight, the stranger only stares at him. It was like a hyena waiting to pounce on prey; static with impatience. Hand on the rope, loosening his hold, he tossed it to the boat- which makes Steven realize that it actually wasn’t random- it had purpose. He felt stupid.

But as he looked to where it was tossed, his eyes widened a little, it was a boat. Built to resemble metal, it was cladded grey with the most random sized screws bolted at each plate. With the basic things a ship would have present, the differences being that this had a figurehead of a majestic mudhorn, with its horn out and its realistic face with a scary scowl, it made him think that it could’ve belonged to a museum, or at least a gallery.

He also noticed the words “Razor Crest” bolted to the side with a modern font. Small but readable enough to let everyone know the name of this boat. It‘s got quite a ring to it, Steven thought as he marvelled at the ship. It’s not everyday you’ll see a leather knight with his steel horse-boat.

It was as if the stranger knew the look behind Steven’s eyes, because what he said next was.. sudden.

“I’m not a taxi service.”

“I’m sorry?-“

“But I’ll have you hop in,” He suggested, “Just.. don’t make a mess.”

“I- uh—“ He didn’t have time to fully process but he replied in the best way he could. “Gotcha.. err-“

“Mando,” He guessed it was some sort of street name. Was he even using that right? Steven wondered. “Mando is fine.” He added in, gesturing for him to come in. His arm slung unto his baggage, he carefully -practically- leaped himself onto the unstable boat, making it even sway further by the water.

“Sorry— Uh-huh, gotcha,” He repeated, “The name's- bugger-“ The ship rocked along with the waters, making him almost fall flat to his face. “-Steven then. With a V.” Mando only nodded at him before going further into the cockpit, leaving him alone near the platform by the back. Looking at the wall, he saw a familiar piece of paper, he was no peeper, but he felt an itch underneath his fingers, the want to see. That was always his weakness; curiosity.

Coming closer, he managed to finally get a peek. And it only took two letters for him to realize.

“So uh… You’re here for the weddin’ too right?”

Silence. Pure silence. As if he were dead.

Now as he thinks that.. is he even actually alive? What if he was just some robot coded to say some basic sentences to some lost cargo boy (him to be exact) and he’s been an idiot trying to strike a conversation with him the whole time?

Okay.. I’m gettin’ ahead of myself. He thought, no wonder his highschool teacher tried to drag him to drama club, he would have fitted in.. If it weren’t for him stuttering each line out of anxiousness.

He looks back at the figure who looked ahead, not bothering to give him an indifferent look. A sigh emanated from his throat.

This long boat ride was gonna stretch itself, wasn’t it?

-x-

The waters were extra rocky today, that’s for sure.

Mando- or more properly— Din, was sure that it was low tide. But here he was, the Razor Crest on the verge of tumbling down like a fallen jar from some mom’s cupboard, with a stranger nonetheless.

That same stranger was by the railing, holdin on for dear life as he visibly tucked in the urge to puke his guts out to the sea.

He has no idea what came over him, why he decided spontaneously to let this poor sod in. Maybe because of pity? Most definitely, Din thought.

The man- no Steven, had a charm to make others pity him, with that sad look on his face when he learnt that the next boat was on Monday rather than today- maybe he has problems with marking dates, Din will never know. Pity huh, at least that’s what the man in a leather jacket thought or felt, to be more specific.

The last time he felt pity was when someone cried over losing a mock lottery ticket because it caused ten ginger candies from their own friend. And that was.. ages ago, twenty years from now. And that someone was you. He still remembers it, you wanted to scratch off the lead off of that ticket, where you could win from a stitched blanket, or some cute knick knacks from the mainland market.

“I could have gotten one of those penguin plant pots!” You wailed out, “They were adorable!”

“The ones Izzie sells?”

“Those exact ones! With cute little props and costumes.. Gah! I coulda gotten one..”

“You could buy one from her store itself.”

“C’mon now, Din!” He liked how you say his name. Light-hearted, airy, as if it were cute. “Free stuff is something we shouldn’t pass up on! Especially if it's cute shiny porcelain!”

With that said, three days later, right at your doorstep, you wake up to a package- and inside it was those same penguin plant pots, and in your favorite color too. Attached was a note saying: Don’t worry, for you, these are free. -D.

Just from that signature, you knew it was him.

For Din, it was genuinely a spontaneous buy, and no wonder you wanted to get one free, they were fucking expensive, then again they were pretty. So once he saw them perched up at Izzie’s shelves, he instinctively went to his wallet and boom! He bought at least two

One that reminded him of you, as if they pottered up a mini penguin who just resembles your most notable things about yourself. Even had a prop of your trusty tool for your little hobby. And the other was the one who was basically him, it even had a leather jacket, and he was sure he needed to get it.

Definitely for no other reason.

His mind suddenly snaps out from the trance, as his body relaxes from the now peaceful waters. It made him be chucked out from his little walkthrough through memory lane, punching down a stop button as he heard loud thuds! “You all right?” He raises his voice, hoping that the man could hear him from the end of the boat.

“Yeah- pretty peachy yeah- wait no- actually- gimme a sec— Crap no- no- the diary— shit-“ More rummaging by the rear, Din calms (not really). With seagulls screeching out and the winds roaring through his ears, they were the only sound that rushed through that tranquility, which stops as the quiet seeps through the cracks. “Hey? Steven?” He calls out, concerned with his tag-a-long.

The silence just continues; it was just a storm being brewed right at the two of them— Confusion and fear bubbled through Din. Did Steven get thrown off the boat? He better not have- He can’t have a guest literally drown under his (not so) watchful eye. That would be bad taxi service.

Ok maybe he really needs to stop referencing that joke, it was only relevant around two years ago, when Peli actually made it funny. To some extent.

Getting out of seat, he swiftly walks by, searching for his companion. Looking back at the nooks and sides, nothing, he even looked up at the roof, and there were nothing but a few gulls perched up like it's their nests. He didn’t bother to shoo them away, they’ll fly out once the boat moves again.

But he was really growing anxious, like palm-sweaty worries. Where the hell could this guy have gone? In this whole ship? Especially when most of the rooms are locked?

Guard raising higher, not only was he tense, he was growing some sort of suspicion. He was growing distrustful. Genuinely he didn’t want to feel that way for this poor man, especially with his pitiful display earlier, but what if that was all a trick? He didn’t like the thought of that.

Din finally catches a figure by the corner of his eye. It was Mister Stoaway, resting his forearms at the railing of the boat as his hands fidget on his sleeve.

Relief washed over Din. “That’s where you were.” Was all he said, approaching him. “You were too silent, made me think you got thrown overboard.” He added in to ease the quiet.

But something felt off, he noticed. Something felt very wrong. As if the air shifted from the cool breeze to burning hot.

“¡Dónde coño estoy?” (Where the fuck am I?!)

Now this. This is where Din gets confused. Even more confused with his silence, because, wasn't this man British earlier??

“I don’t understa—“

“No te lo vuelvo a repetir, pendejo.” (I won’t repeat myself, dumbass.) He said, leaving no room for any excuse nor any sorries. “¿Dónde estoy yo? Y ¿Quién cojones son vosotros?” (Where am I? And who the fuck are you?)

Shit, how was he going to deal with this? The man was literally on the verge of tears earlier about a damn water taxi schedule, and now he’s a raging man spitting out Spanish- a language he does not understand, mind you- what the fuck happened? And as he gets pestered continually with angry questions in a whole ‘nother language, he finally understood with his slight regret.

Don’t take in strangers.

-x-

Evie squawked at you, “Gods! With all that marriage talk, I’m still surprised you out of all people never got married.”

“Oh we’re not delving on that topic, Eves.”

You look at your side, seeing one of your employees struggling with carrying a few boxes. “Hold on a sec-“ You come closer and pick up one of them, trampling your way to the kitchen then back to the courtyard. Another came up to you, asking you things on the lines about “fixing” and “windows.”

Your two accomplices just looked at you at once. Somewhat. As you peeked, you knew what that meant, they were concerned, maybe they thought you were overworking. Which you are. For fifteen years. “Now where was I? Ah yeah, you already know the drill. Marriage is not- and will never be for me.”

Anne didn’t seem keen on putting such a topic just yet,deciding to just quip. “Aye, ya say that but you got yaself a kid, things can definitely change.”

“Anne… That’s different.”

“C’mon, ya’ve been on this rock for more than a decade yet ya still haven’t found anyone?” Anne cried out. “That’s a little tragic now that Anne says it like that..” Evie mused, earning a wince from you. Wow alright, that does sound bad.

But sometimes -well maybe most of the time- you like to be in denial. “It’s really not you two, really I have the hotel with me and Luka, and besides-“ A pause threatening to leave them on a cliffhanger. “I did try to.. once.”

“WHAT?!”

Your lips pursed, “Hush! You’re being too loud!”

“Well this is new to us!” Evie screeched, “How did it go?”

“I tried the uh- Tinder app.” You rolled your eyes once more, “It went absolutely nowhere,” You seemed mortified for even trying to get on that colossal mess of a platform. “When I was looking at some people there, one of them had their wedding photos as their profile! Wedding!”

They better just have used it on they looked ‘good’ -sure, lie to yourself he looked like a toerag, you thought-.. Maybe that was his ex-wife, or the guy just had such an ego thinking he can pull twice— you wouldn’t know, you wouldn’t dare to learn. No no, you told yourself, you’re better than this, curiosity will just bite you in the ass. You think.

“Besides- pssh- That’s already a giant red flag on its own!”

“More than a red flag than-“ Then Anne coughs, that’s when you caught on to her joke.

“You didn’t.”

“I just did.”

“I mean-“ You started laughing louder, “You aren’t wrong— Even Marc wouldn’t stoop so low-“ You stop yourself. Shit. Ceasing, you bit the inside of your cheek, and suddenly you had the urge to just hit your head with your palm, you were supposed to keep a secret ‘til you were on your grave.

“..Who do you mean… Marc?” It clicked on both of their heads at the same time, like a connected light switch.

“Uhm-“

“Gods, ya are full of surprises right now!” Anne yelled out, and you were sure if it weren’t for her sunglasses, you would see her bulging eye sockets out of pure shock. “Marc, MARC? WHO THE HELL IS HE?”

“Zip it!—“

“What happened to our code?! Telling everything and anything?!” Evie clutched her heart, as if she were betrayed and left bleeding out by a sullen lover. “Ladies- ladies— not here—“ You tried to say but your words got chopped off like fish as they both screeched in unison. “WHERE ELSE?” They butted all in at your face. Letting out an awkward laugh, you go. “Not here-“ You look around, seemingly alarmed. “Come on! Upstairs—“

“What about the wedding plans? Introductions! To the two brides?!”

“Those lovebirds can wait- let them be lovey-dovey—“ Dragging yourself upstairs, up to the third floor, to your room. They were screaming, and gods you wished you knew how to keep your mouth shut, now you have questions to deal with, answers to tend to.

Staircase after staircase, you drag these two with you, ignoring each gsp and yell they have from the creaking wooden planks. Maybe next time you’ll fix it, maybe next time you’ll replace the material. It’s always a “next time.” But you know you don’t have many of those in life. You had enough of running, maybe it's time to settle and let it out for once.

Finally right at your bedroom door, you bust it open, rushing yourself to your bedside table. Your hands feasting itself to your chase, you try to find your most hidden possession.

Your diary from twenty years ago.

“Damn- I don’t remember putting this here, oh whatever—“ But before you could even say anything else, Evie took the diary from you, making you yelp. “Hey, give it back!”

“I know you, and you’d definitely omit some details here given the chance!” She replied, Anne only trudged right next to Evie, already wanting to know the details. “It’s only fair you give us the truth, the whole truth.”

“Fine! Do what you will! Just—“ But before you could continue, Evie goes. “April 3- A Drive. A fucking drive. Wow, so interesting.”

“-Don’t read it out loud. Darn. Nevermind.” You only earn yourself giggles like teenagers. This was like all of those sleep-overs you had with them back then, when you all were still boy-crazy and Anne was actually still in the dating field.As the two were right at your bed, you followed, laying down chest first to your blankets.

“Let her have her fun.” Anne cheekily whispers to you, making you roll your eyes jokingly. Evie coughs out almost obnoxiously, making you two snap your heads in her direction, and she continues.

“Din suddenly asked me to go for a drive with him. A bloody motor ride. Honestly I thought he wanted to pick up something when he first asked me but it wasn’t? He said he felt- impulsive. And oh how I wish maybe sometimes he would be impulsive all the time.

But it was a weird thing to ask- I mean- none of us had a car. How would that work? I asked him, but he only winked, something I've never seen him do, but I welcome it. Suddenly BAM! I went to the parking lot with him and there was a motorcycle. I yelled and laughed with him in surprise as he held me up on it. Sweet, it was.. endearing.

Though his hand is well- occupied, seating my face by his shoulder works too. The comfort of him just letting me rest by him as he drove us all around the mainland until the docks, it felt.. nice. Just the view, and the two of us, shoulder by shoulder. Hand in hand.

He’s a simple man, never was a romantic, but damn it, I loved his effort in trying. It made me think that he really likes me. and I hope he knows I like him too.”

“Ooooooo cheeky.”

“Shut it.” You were gonna have your eyeballs fall off if you keep on rolling your eyes. Evie only chuckles- or err, more of a squeak.

“Fine fine, ahem— April 8- Wow.

Marc. Fucking. Spector. Taking me on a picnic? Well that sounds unreal to me. Until now that is.

He took me to the south of the island, and up I see is the most romantic thing I think he’s ever done. All on that little blanket, he got me the foods I’d talk about that I’ve been wanting to try, and everytime I wouldn’t like something, he laughs and fakes disgust with me, even when it was obvious that he liked them.

I wasn’t a fan of one of the seafood dishes, so I couldn't really recall the name, though I thought I was gonna gag from it. I saw him like the dish, I know, seriously? Marc Spector, liking something? Well I like to think I’m one of those things Yes he actually does. But how?

I could tell if he liked them of course. It’s a little secret just for me to keep, but there would be a little dimple that would come up right by his cheek, and a little sparkle in his eye. It’s cute. But every time he’d smile over something.. he hides it with a smirk.

He thinks he can fool me, but I can see through it. He was the type of guy to wear a tough exterior, even if he tries to hide it with fake sneers and eye rolls, I can and will always tell, maybe because I’m observant with him.”

Evie only gives you a look before continuing again. You give one back as a warning.

“April 12- I forgot about the festival.

Well until Jake suddenly invited me as he was delivering some stuff to my dad. Well technically he was helping out earlier, apparently dad said it was for summer money, but sincerely I think otherwise, maybe for me? or maybe that’s just me wanting to dream.

The festival was a lovely event. The decorations that stashed itself to the booths, and the mainland’s plaza were so gorgeous, as if you were walking through the night sky, by the stars. But rather than that, we joined onto the festivities, the singing and dancing. And wow, I must say he’s a good singer.

He was literally singing my favorite song, I’m even surprised he remembered, was it that special to him as it was to me?requesting the musicians to help him out. God I felt like I was some sort of school girl with a man crush because I was going red. Like, if you were to dye a pure white shirt red, it’d be just as bright. It was just- so unexpected, I would have never thought of him singing. But when he did, it was just- I have no words. It was good. Great. That’s all I can say.

He also choired along the singers, dragging me along gently to the plaza’s middle, right with the dancing people. They all played songs for romantic dances, for family ensembles and we both were invited, our arms always locked in together not to get lost, he would say. But that tone of his, it makes me believe that it also means something else, but I might be overthinking it.

When the third dance ended, we rushed away from the dance floor, gasping and racing each other as he rushed to the stalls while he had me chase after him. And as much as this man was fit, god damn it, he was fucking fast, he had me running as if I were in the Olympics.

By the time I reached him, he had his hand clasped tightly, and once I fully looked, there was a necklace with a sun pendant in his hand. And as he wraps it around my neck with that handsome smirk he always wears, he tells me.

Eres el sol para mi luna.

I don’t know what it means, I’ve tried to ask but he only winks. From the way he said it, it sounded.. sweet, but how would I know? Whatever it meant, luna means moon and sol means sun.. I could assume from el and mi… the sun.. my moon.

I don’t want to assume but.. is it a love confession? That.. deep? Would Jake do such a thing? Or am I just making a big deal? I hope it was, if it were, I would be over the moon.. literally.

“Sois las estrellas de mi luna..” Evie repeats, it was strange to hear that from someone else’s voice, it felt.. too weird. To the point that it felt traitorous, and for what reason? You couldn’t pinpoint why.

“Is the necklace the one you always wear nowadays?” And your nod was the only answer she received.

“Alright then… April 17- Why am I so surprised of Steven asking me on a date?

I guess because I’d be the one asking him usually, well.. I didn’t mind, so it was fine. But damn, I could get used to this.

He pointed at the moon, and he would tell me stories. Crafting it with artistic words and with a bright story-telling grin on his face. He was always animated, talking as his hands made its way through the air, marvelling as he narrates his favorite story. (it was the Myth of Khonshu, known Pathfinder he would add) He would marvel at how the god paved ways for travellers in the night in the desert, shining the moon brightly for light, and making paths for them to walk in sand.

Even if I couldn’t see it, my imaginations soared from him. Usually I sometimes hate it when people chatter too much, it makes me think that they’re all wasting my time.

And honestly this wasn’t the type of date I expected, but its him, it’s something he would do. It’s a Steven thing and that’s why its so special.

And that’s also why even though it was just another retelling of this story, I couldn’t help but listen with heart eyes. It felt easy to listen, and for once, I actually wanted him to talk for hours. and only him specifically. And how can I not listen to him? I do get to see that adorable twinkle in his eye. He’s a nerd after all. A cute one too.”

And that was the last diary entry, only those experiences you obviously cherished, especially when you kept this journal right by you. Evie then closed the diary, and looks at you again.

“.. What happened to all of them?”

“I..” You kept it far behind your mind for so long, you didn’t know where to start. Bug now the lock is finally now being picked, with rust collecting, its snapping open slowly. “I.. It’s a little difficult, it just .. happened.”

Difficulty makes everything hard just to finally shut this chapter off of your life. To end this wonder you have in your mind, to finally end the questions in your mind, on why?

Evie stood up, opening the double doors to your balcony. You trample your way right outside, holding on to the railing, the other only looked at you, and you hoped it wasn’t pity. You didn’t need that. All you need maybe, was closure. Maybe to see them.

No. Absolutely not. You are not going to turn back to the pages of your life, you need to skim forward. Because that’s the right thing to do right?

But as you look down, you see them. Right outside your hotel. At the fucking lobby.

“What. The. Fuck.”

Well maybe you need to revise a page or two.

There they were, Din, with his leather jacket and.. no. Was that..? No no, he acted differently, you knew how he acted. This, this was Jake. Oh god. Memories flood back in like a supposed secure dam just cracked.

“What— What’s going on?-“ One of them says, but it just blurs out, not bothering to respond to them. You were already running down the stairs, not bothering to hear your friends out. Like a madman, you felt adrenaline rush through you.

Your heart pumped with excitement, you found a new mission. Don’t let this go. You can’t miss this- no, absolutely not.

One two three, one two three, you count in your head with each heavy breath, and finally on the last flight of stairs, you skip a few steps and just quicken the pace. Hopping off from the last tread, you didn’t realize that they were already by the front door, and that you almost headbutted straight through them.

But still- thank fuck. You didn’t miss it. One of their hands clutching both your arms, balancing you from your rushing. Looking up, you didn’t miss how Din looked at you with a change from his rigid posture, the awkwardness fading so quickly. How you would have missed Jake’s shine in his eyes if you weren’t as observant as you were, as it was something that doesn’t appear as easy as you would think.

“You still make a grand entrance, mi sol.” (my sun)

You would usually make a comment, just to tip Jake off a little from his balance. But you didn’t, instead you really threw him off by just grabbing his shoulder and pulling him- along with a surprised Din who yelped- to a giant hug.

You breathe in, into the warmths of them. It was as if you were afraid to let go, that they’d disappear from your sight, and that you would never feel their skin right by yours ever again if you wrench your hands away.

“You alright?” Din asks you, you only weakly chuckle.

“I just- missed you guys so much.” You inhale again, “Mi querida/o (My darling), I’m here now. We’re here now.”

The rays of the sun shine through you, and the past continues to enter your mind, like a stream. You didn’t bother to ask why they were here, it could have been a trick of fate, but you could care less, the only thing that mattered was that they’re here. With you.

“Yeah. Yeah, I know.”

And it was April, summer.. all over again.

____________________________________________

Tag list: @darkened-writer @spacetime8032 @moonmaiden1996 @simonsbluee @shangchiswife @formyfandoms @howdidigotinhere @stagerightlauren @sleuth-sparkle @rvmanoffbarnes @dearlawdimasimp

#moon knight #the mandalorian #marc spector mcu #marc spector #marc spector x you #marc spector x reader #steven grant mcu #steven grant #steven grant x you #steven grant x reader #jake lockley #jake lockley x you #jake lockley x reader #din djarin #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #moonknight x reader #the mandalorian x you

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yostresswritinggirl · 4 years ago

Text

Lullaby for the Gods

You have two options

"Stories brought on to the wind will bloom into legends in due time; An ancient tale comes whisked into the wind; In time it will grow and sprout once again." The Weaver and Nurturer of Tales, how they came to be and how they have gone.

Pairings -> Venti x God of Time (Ambiguous, Can be Reader)

Word Count -> 1976

Themes -> SCENARIOS, Background, Timeline, It's sad kinda

Series -> #Bonafide specials (100 followers event) Special slot from a special someone : not sure if they want to be tagged

Warnings -> This is my interpretation on the God of Time based on the Sacrificial Weapons Series. And since the prompt only mentions Venti, I won't focus much on their relationship with Decarabian.

Winds of the North are migrating through the crown of the continent once again. The clouds and breezes shift at the peak of day and the grass, the trees, the flowers they all sway. This was the first encounter, as one of the threads of the thousand migrating winds that is Venti, he had always been fascinated by the strong gales that covers a vast land beyond his reach. The city of Mondstadt protected by raging winds far stronger than he.

"Come now, little guy, are you not straying from your stream?" Such beaded eyes of the little sprite detaches from the crown of the North, with its giggles accompanies a sound reminiscent of bells as he nuzzles at the outstretched hand, fair and smooth. A finger consoles his little cheek as the God of Time echoes his snicker. As the sprite settles on their hand, they both spare a minute to watch the God of Storm's dominion. And then they turn to guide Venti back to his current, to his family of winds.

And the little sprite will not witness them until the second cycle of wind passes the cold land of Mondstadt.

So when the time came, several weeks after, Venti once again strays from the winds to venture to his own current. Where are the satin robes that flows with the breeze, that witnesses the rage of another God? The sprite follows tinkling of tin carried by the thousand winds, harmonizing to produce a soft and sleepy melody that lulls those to sleep.

In a distant island he finds himself upon a huge sundial atop a mostly quiet temple. And there stood again the God of Time, with a distant look over the ocean horizon, eyes clouded yet sparkling from the stars that bounced from the surface of the water. Their skin never frails nor wrinkles, hair lustrous and thick, yet their eyes carry a thousand yard stare of shrouded sadness.

"Little wind..." the sprite nuzzles against the cheek of the God, vibrating in worry as he urges them to smile. And they did, even if did not reach their eyes. "You've strayed again, your achon is far from here," cradling the elf to their neck, they turn away from the horizon to the west.

Yet when they urge him to go back, he stubbornly stays.

A stubborn wind playing around the wielder of Time itself. His courage was admirable, and he is lucky that this God is benevolent to his advances.

So they entertain Venti, and the wind begins his stories. Tales of those he'd witnessed when the wind ventures through the continent; and in every word he spills the God of Time is attentive, for when his accounts finally come to their end, Time puts into their memory for keeping. You weave the tales and I treasure them for that is my duty, they spoke with melancholy.

Decarabian is a God that loves his people more than others would know, more than the people would know. And he is also a lonely God. Perhaps it is this distance and disconnection from the world and his people that had made him naive to what he has forced upon his subjects.

The first prayer was heard beyond the wall of storms, only befalling to the ears of the God of Time and the wind spirit who were enjoying a leisurely stroll through the frozen land Andrius had covered in his territory. A man's woe for salvation of the city beyond the gales first reaches the God.

Yet they are unmoving and silent as they watch from afar the Gunnhildr.

But the wind spirit was not that, he was curious and as always he is carried away to his own feat. So without warning he strays from Time and listens to the crying one ever so patiently, and there he receives a glimpse of power that shall manifest one day to greater good.

God of Time offers a smile in the forests where they hid. But only that. For despite being the God of Time, they are solely there to protect its flow. To maintain balance and what should be.

There is nothing they can do to help the people of Mond.

"Little wind." The moniker carried a hard edge of worry unlike the other instances it was used. "The land of Decarabian is... treacherous and suffocating. You are but a tiny wind against his storms." Yet they knew such words will not remove the resolve in the tiny spirit. "Come back to me in one piece, alright? Remember your tales."

Venti softly bumped his hooded head to the God's cheek in reassurance, before he too disappears past the walls of gale front.

And so the God of Time can only do nothing but stand in wait. Like they had always been. Like they had always done. For Decarabian then, for Venti now.

"Bring forth the freedom we all desire."

Many of those that dwell the King of the North's cold wasteland once talked of an ethereal being of satin and silk, of flowing sands, that which overlooked the land of the storms with a somber look. Perhaps it was the waiting and the hoping, but many felt great semblance with the deity. Of the longing look for a distant freedom.

"Little wind," immediately after was a chorus of laughter at the irony brought upon by habits. Venti, now Barbatos with his great wings loom over the God of Time, hands outstretched to feel upon their smooth hands. "I always knew there was more to you."

"My muse," he tastes the new name with his newfound voice, and with his there was a chorus of angelic echoes. "There are festivities upon us, for the city of Mond trapped that was. The people had prepared a grand temple, for just us two Gods it is already ample."

Yet the God of Time smiled only with their lips at the mention of a shrine. You told them about me, they mused as the archon carried them both with the wind where the temple by the east cliff resides.

Give yourself some credit, the new Anemo Archon responds in light banter.

But the God of Time does not.

And so days of reenactments and performances were all that they were driwned upon. For daily, between the peak of the moon and the glimpses of the sun, devoted subjects would appease to the two Gods of Mondstadt through retelling and theatrics of their hard-earned journey to freedom.

Although they cannot glimpse upon the forms of the deities, the light giggles reminiscent of bells that comes from amusement and the flow of draping satin are enough reassurance that their important audience still lingers and listens to their offerings.

This dwelling became their place of rendezvous. And whenever the amphitheater was not crowded by devotees, a lyre plays with a melodic voice, weaving tales of Mondstadt's anew. The God of Time would be there to treasure every story that is weaved, but their subjects remember such moments in a different light: the strum of the strings and the lilt of Barbatos carries with it a hint of serenades.

It seems as tho the faceless God enjoys the Anemo Archon's tales the most.

Whenever it is the Gunnhildr's clan that performs their tale of courage in honor of defending Mondstadt, life and freedom, Barbatos' happiness was the most extraordinaire. The winds breeze by to caress everyone with comfort.

The Imunlaukr receives praise from the God of Time when they are the one on stage. Of courage and bravery, with their desire to not only protect the city of Mond but to appease the Gods, time slows when they follow their script. As if honored by time to stay and linger for the amusement.

And finally, the Lawrence clan holds with them a different reaction, for when their time has come it is quiet. Other clans would comment that perhaps the Gods do not favor their performance but they continued regardless, and they carry with them the essence of wisdom and strength, from the frozen lands to the new city. And only after they perform are they graced by the softest winds and the kisses of youngness that they carry with them even after.

This clan's performance sings with expertly woven symphonies and journeys of hardships through the cold, not harsh but comforting, soft melodies and that of longing. During their performance unbeknownst to their eyes is when the wind embraces the passage of time, where it is in its calmest moments, cradled between his arms and resting against his chest.

The bloodline of the Lawrence always ends the rituals for the morning, for the God of Time had finally found themself free from the shackles of the storms, peacefully resting in the arms of freedom. And it is in these moments that the people appreciate the lessened harshness of time.

Time is harsh and unrelenting, and should always be moving.

The God of Time protects time, nurtures time, and urges time. No force or law shall break the equilibrium of time nor tip its balance. And this unbreakable rule applies to them.

For this reason they ask one day, to the Anemo Archon, why they praise Time. What do they expect from time. And there Barbatos finally sees the burden of a thousand years, of the constraints of that whom is held down by prayers, held down by incapability.

Time only knows harshness. And they cried to the winds without restraints, for not once will they be able to gift the people that so desperately long for their blessings.

And for once, the wind was silent.

For once, the winds... understands the insanity of being one with time. A force made to be unmoved and unrelenting, to be shackled to a single tale when you are burdened with the pleas of many others.

Time is harsh, because they are meant to be.

So when the Anemo Archon finally desired rest and detachment to procure the essence of freedom, they too felt the chance to finally breathe. "Can you set up my awakening five hundred years from now?" Venti laid his head upon the lap of Time, teal eyes and smile somber yet gentle and reassuring. "Preferably at the peak of Ludi Harpastum, if you would allow." An hour glass manifests next to him, allowing his wish.

"When you wake, I will be here," they mumbled as the archon lets his eyelids rest, feeling a soft kiss to his forehead that lulls him to sleep.

"Tell me the tales like a balladeer." And he slumbers away the years.

"When I came to be, the Lawrence ruled over Mondstadt, governing with the most disgusting aristocracy. It was only right that they lost the blessings of thy winds, after all it is only for those who fought to be free," Venti sighed with pure disappointment, "Honestly."

"What happened to your Time friend, then? Did they tell you what happened during your sleep?"

The windborne bard looks at Paimon with a wide yet steeled gaze so daunting it made her squeak and hide behind the traveler. Who silently watches as Venti once again sighed and resigned to strumming his lyre.

"They're gone." No rhyme, no smiles, no cryptics.

Barbatos sought out the help of the winds of Teyvat to tell tale on the dwellings of the God of Time yet came out empty handed. And his only salvation, the oldest of the Seven, can only shake his head as he too does not know of the whereabouts of the God.

The fragments of time lingers in cursed windswept ballads and stories. And as the years go by, all worshipers and records had forgotten about the deity.

They only sing praise to the wind shrine now.

Now who shall nurture the stories brought by the winds?

I seem to have a knack for hurting Venti.

@creation-magician @boxofteenageideas @zelos-simp @ellitx @your-local-venti-simp @indigodreamtime47

#genshin impact #genshin imagines #genshin impact x reader #exile.flower #Genshin impact venti #venti x reader #god of time #gender neutral #bonafide specials #bruuuuh #what is this #i dont know either

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eyndr-stories · 2 years ago

Text

To Be Human (FNAF SB fanfic) C8 - Good Lord There's THREE Of Them

In Summary:

In a distant future where humans no longer roam the Earth and the sentient robots they left behind are left with little to no clues as to the lost history of their inherited world, Sun and Moon take up the title of scientists and endeavor to create their own human in their lab (that's where you come in!) in order to shed light on the mystery that is the lost history of the human race. Shenanigans and existential dread ensue as you, a funky little lab creature given sentience, attempt to puzzle out what it really means to be human.

Things To Know (always read responsibly!):

Reader insert! Y/N is not used and gender is not specified, though later in the fic the reader receives a name (also, this reader does not have any boobas lol which I only mention because reader doesn't have a shirt when they first Emerge From The Science Tube Thing and I don't mean to curse / bless yall with the mental image of reader just runnin around titties out lmao)

hurt / comfort :^)

Non-specified relationships between reader and Sun & Moon, this can be read either as pals or more, totally up to your interpretation

enemies (sorta??) to friends (to perhaps more, up to u lol)

Sun & Moon are referred to with gender neutral pronouns

The reader and other characters are often in mortal peril! This world is full of Funky Creatures (other than you) and some of them attack and hurt several characters, including the reader character

On that note there is some blood and minor gore

Occasional swearing

Reader is at times kidnapped / brough to / kept in places against their will

Thoughts and ponderings of sentience and whether or not your thoughts and feelings are your own

Sun & Moon treat the reader as if they are not sentient / intelligent for the first few chapters

That's all I can think of, as always if you want me to add something please let me know!

Start reading here: Chapter 1

Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9

C8 - Good Lord There's THREE Of Them

You really weren't sure what to expect. The room you were in was imposing enough, with its incredible dome glass ceiling, its pillared walls steeped in shadows, its smooth and glossy tiled floor. There was age to the way the floor had tilted and dipped below your feet when you'd been pulled into the room, and in the way parts of the walls had been littered across the street outside, and in the way the building itself settled and creaked, massive wood trusses groaning under the endless weight of the dome, the glass foggy but spotless. Despite the age, everything was clean, not a single cobweb even in the highest corners, not a speck of dust or dirt to be found on the floors or walls or any of the furniture you'd glimpsed before being brought to this room by the two strangers you'd met in the lab.

The darkness was heavy, but your eyes were adjusting to the dark. The rain had only picked up, so hoping for outside light was pointless. There was light streaming in from the hall you'd come from, a sharp white light that had hurt your eyes.

You glanced at the two strangers at your side. They each had a claw on your shoulder, just in case you tried to make a break for it.

Boredom was starting to set in when at last you heard footsteps. Slow, methodical, steady.

A shape congealed from the darkness directly before you, though the only things you could really make out were two pairs of glowing white eyes, fixed unblinkingly upon you, and a softly glowing halo of light encircling the four eyes. You wondered if there was another room at the other end of the hall, or if this new stranger had just been standing in the dark the whole time.

"I'll admit, I had my doubts. But it seems you two were telling the truth. You did find a human." The shadowed stranger's voice was low and smooth, almost disarmingly calm.

You maintained your apprehensions. You had been kidnapped and brought here against your will, after all.

"You doubted us, boss?" The bot to your left sounded upset.

"Of course. The pair of you have disappointed me before. Frankly you were both a mistake away from being decommissioned," the shadowed stranger deadpanned.

"Boss!" The bot on your right bristled.

The bot on your left laughed nervously. "Aw, common, they're just joking. You're just joking, right, boss??"

The shadowed stranger was silent.

"I want to leave," you stated.

"It can speak." The shadowed stranger took a few steps forward. You now could make out a long flowing cloak. Their head looked circular, not unlike the heads of Sun and Moon.

"It sure can. Has quite a mouth, too. It was mean to us the whole way over," the bot on your left grumbled.

"It tried to bite me at one point," said the bot on your right.

You had half a mind to try biting the bot again. The shadowed stranger chuckled.

"Fantastic. Leave us, watch the door for now," the shadowed stranger said, a hand raising from the dark to wave the two bots away.

"Are you sure boss? It's kind of… volatile," the bot on your left warned.

"Do not make me repeat myself. You wouldn't regret it for long," the shadowed stranger said lowly.

The bots had turned and wheeled themselves away so quickly that they were at the doorway before you could even turn to look at where they'd gone.

When you turned back, the stranger was inexplicably in front of you, paces away. You hadn't heard them move, and might have jumped out of your skin if you hadn't been so on edge already.

The stranger was a full head taller than Sun and Moon. The features comprising their face were simplistic but sharp, glowing white eyes watching you with an uncomfortable amount of intensity. A ring of white light glowed in a halo around their faceplate, the effect not unlike how Sun's rays would glow in the dark. Their faceplate seemed to be set in front of the ring, the light casting a heavy shadow over most of their face. They had on a long red scarf, and you had to physically restrain yourself from reaching out and touching it because holy shit it looked soft. The stranger was also wearing a black and white vest, and a stiff pair of black pants. There was not a spot or wrinkle to be found. The stranger had four arms, also like Sun and Moon, and you found yourself wondering about how similar the three of them looked.

"Who are you?" you asked.

The stranger bowed, though they kept their eyes trained unblinkingly on you. "Call me Eclipse."

Huh. They had a solar-themed name as well.

"I'm Star. Goodbye." You turned and walked away, since you were now unhindered by those two bots.

Eclipse didn't move to stop you. You made it to the doorway before those two bots swiveled themselves to block your way. You were not physically strong enough to push past them.

"I want to leave," you stated again.

"None of that, now… Star, was it?" Eclipse smiled smoothly. "You're much smaller than I thought you'd be… yet, human none the less. Do you realize how rare you are? How special you are?"

You squinted suspiciously at Eclipse.

"The only human. Well, the only living human, that is." Eclipse waved a hand, folding the others behind their back. "Do you have any idea what some people would trade away just to be in the same room as you?"

"No," you answered honestly. You couldn't imagine that these people wouldn't instantly turn around and demand their batteries refunded, though.

"Well I do. And my dear, the profits are astronomical, even for someone of my stature." Eclipse set a hand to their chest.

"I don't want batteries," you said.

"Oh," Eclipse laughed, "They won't be paying you, my dear."

"…Oh." You turned and eyed the bots guarding the door again. You tried to push one, but they didn't budge. You turned back to Eclipse. "…I am uncomfortable."

Eclipse cocked their head at you. "I don't care," they said frankly. "Your apparent sentience is unfortunate. For you, of course. I could charge so much more for the privilege to converse with a human…"

You didn't like that one bit.

"Tell me, where had those blundering idiots hidden you? I had that lab searched high and low, though I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that my lackluster employees failed me once again." Eclipse sighed.

You scowled. "Sun and Moon are very smart."

Eclipse rolled their eyes, the glowing orbs leaving brief trails in the low light. "Those two are insufferable. Sun and their embarrassing conscience would be annoying enough on their own, but Moon is horrendously un-charming and pitifully paranoid. At least Moon has the common sense to be a shy little shut in, do society a favor and keep their disappointing self from the rest of the world. Sun just goes about bothering anyone unlucky enough to find themself within earshot of them."

You stalked back across the room. That heat crawling under your skin was back. It was buzzing in your head now. It was loud enough to entirely drown out the little voice of apprehension in your mind.

You fixed Eclipse with a sharp glare. "Sun and Moon are better than you'll ever be. You're clearly just jealous of them and their talents."

"Jealous??" Eclipse scoffed. "The moment I find them I'm going to decommission them personally. They're useless and irritating."

You cocked your head mockingly. "Oh? How many humans have you created?"

Eclipse glared at you. There was a brief pause, just long enough to grant you some satisfaction.

"They would still be scuttling through the catacombs like rats without me. It was my resources, my power, that wrought you and the humans before you into existence," Eclipse said.

Your small satisfied smile evaporated. "…Humans before me?"

Eclipse stared at you in a way that made you feel small. "You didn't seriously believe they created a human so completely on the first try, did you? Come now, don't be stupid."

You were silent. You didn't know what to say to that. Had there really been other attempts before you? Other… prototypes? What had happened to them?

Eclipse pulled a shiny little box covered in buttons out of a pocket on their long coat and tapped a button. At once, lights along the bottom of the far walls came on, creating a stark and clinical backlight to the pillars lining the walls.

The pillars you now realized were not pillars, but tubes. Familiar glass tubes. There were six along each wall, ten total. Each were full of a thick clear liquid that carried the light strangely, creating a cloudy effect. Through the foggy cloud of thick liquid you could see that inside each tube were… well. You could hardly call them human. They were clearly attempts at creating a human, but they were wrong. You hadn't seen a human, you hadn't even seen your own face now that you thought about it, just what you could see of yourself by looking down. But you knew. You didn't know how, but you knew that these humans were wrong, deeply and unsettlingly.

Limbs too long, faces too fluid and skin too loose. Pieces of them sagged or were much too tight, revealing too many or too few bones. There were a few 'humans' towards the end of the room that were less disturbing and uncomfortable to look at. Still, you didn't look at them for long. They looked a little too much like you.

You wondered if these prototypes had been alive in any capacity at some point. You hoped not, shivering at the thought.

"I want to leave," you repeated, quietly this time.

Eclipse 'tsk'ed at you. They loomed over you, smiling a smile devoid of any sort of friendliness. "You won't be leaving here for a very long time."

"I will not be a trophy for you to show off and profit from." Your hands were starting to shake. You tightened your fingers into fists.

Eclipse cocked their head mockingly. "That's not for you to decide, dear." Their tone was condescending.

"I'd rather die," you said.

"No need for the theatrics. Don't try to be difficult. It won't be so bad, you'll see. The first showing will be rather soon, I've waited long enough for my due reward. I've already sent out word of your display opening by the end of the night. Of course I'll need to have you cleaned and prepped first, you're utterly disgusting." Eclipse stared down at you with disdain, folding all four arms behind their back.

A flash of that crawling heat rushed through you, and you threw a punch at Eclipse. Eclipse lurched backwards out of range, scowling at you.

"Do not touch me," Eclipse warned.

You glared and decided right then it was now your life's purpose to smear your dirty hands all over Eclipse and their perfect clothes.

However, you didn't have time to do more than raise your hands before you heard a sudden commotion from behind you. You turned just in time to see the two bots in the doorway, who'd been turned to watch you in case you attempted escape again, be toppled from behind by a familiar pair of animatronics.

"Let them go, Eclipse!" Sun demanded, marching into the room past the incapacitated bots by the doorway.

Moon was right by Sun's side. "Or else."

"Oh, good! How convenient of you two to come to me. Now I don't have to hunt you down." Eclipse straightened and smiled. They pulled out that shiny little box again and pressed a different button. A heavy metal wall fell over the doorway behind Sun and Moon.

Everyone was sealed inside the room with an echoing BOOM.

"Two against one?" Moon raised a brow.

"Don't flatter yourself, dear. You won't be a challenge," Eclipse said.

You finally overcame your shock. You'd been staring wide eyed at Sun and Moon. "Why? How??"

Sun and Moon quickly made their way to the center of the room, where you were standing with Eclipse.

"We weren't sure where you'd gone at first, but when Foxy received word of a showing of a live human here at Eclipse's showroom… well. It wasn't too hard to piece together that they'd found you," Sun explained. They quickly checked you over, making sure you were undamaged.

Eclipse started to pace around the three of you, keeping a few paces distance. "As convenient as it is for me… why come here of your own volition? You know I do not lie. I told you I would decommission the two of you, and I promised to make it slow. Surely you don't mean to tell me you've offered yourselves up to me for the human."

Moon folded their arms. Sun put a hand on your shoulder.

Eclipse looked unimpressed. "Why not just make another human?" Eclipse paused. "Unless… you care for this one??"

Neither Sun or Moon said anything. You looked at them. There was resolve on both their faces. Sun's hand squeezed your shoulder tightly. You suddenly felt much lighter, and your face felt warm. They were here for you. They were putting themselves at risk for you.

"Wow. Disgusting." Eclipse sneered.

Moon moved first, lunging for Eclipse.

Eclipse had been waiting for this, though. They dodged smoothly, then sidestepped as Moon immediately swung two fists at them. Eclipse swung back, but Moon batted their fist away with a newly repaired arm.

Sun pulled you behind them before stepping in to throw some punches of their own. Moon advanced as well, the two of them doing their darndest to overwhelm Eclipse.

Eclipse was insanely fast. They dodged and blocked punches faster than you could see them coming. Eclipse was irritatingly elegant about it too, as if they were dancing. A dance of heavy metal limbs, grating and scraping and banging together. You were rooted to the spot, the image of trying to get in the middle of this fight, in the middle of powerful metal hurtling at high speeds, not going over well in your mind. You couldn't help feeling useless with your small squishy limbs. Eclipse smiled, and a deep concern edged its way into your mind. Sun and Moon felt it too, as they cast increasingly worried glances to each other.

Not only was Eclipse rolling with the punches, but it actually looked easy for them.

Things went wrong far too quickly. You just watched, unable to do anything else.

As Moon threw another punch, Eclipse grabbed Sun's extended arm and jerked them to the side. Sun crashed into Moon, who was caught off balance and was shoved over. Eclipse threw Sun down, throwing a foot down on Sun's back, pinning them there. Moon was still getting back up, so Eclipse unlatched the panel from the back of Sun's head unhindered. Eclipse's fingers were wrapped tightly in the revealed wires by the time Moon was back on their feet. Sun shuddered uncomfortably. They were still, gripped tensely by the fear of jostling Eclipse's grip.

"Move and I rip these pretty wires out," Eclipse warned.

Moon stood stock still, eyes flickering between Eclipse and Sun.

Moon spoke to you, eyes still focused on Sun and Eclipse. "Star, I lifted the remote for the door off Eclipse. It's in my coat pocket. Take it and get out of here."

"When did you…?!" Eclipse pat their pockets with a free hand. Sure enough, they did not find their remote. You could see a bulky item sitting in Moon's pocket.

Admittedly… there was a part of you that desperately wanted to run. You wanted to leave this place far behind. You glanced at the prototypes who'd come before you, all mangled and clumsy and horrifying. It felt like they were watching you.

"Now wait just a moment," Eclipse said quickly. "If you stay, if you cooperate… I'll let these two go unharmed."

"You can't trust them. Go," Sun said, somewhat muffled from the floor.

"I am a bot of my word," Eclipse promised. "Common, I know you're fond of them."

You looked at Sun and Moon. They both looked back, expressions hard. They wanted you to run, to save yourself, to be free. Even at their own expense. There wasn't a doubt in your mind that Eclipse would destroy them if you left.

Eclipse was right. You were fond of them. These two were going to be the death of you after all.

You took a few steps forward, trying to keep from trembling with what you were about to do. You stood yourself before Eclipse. "I will stay. Let them go."

Eclipse smiled, relieved.

"You can't!" Sun cried.

"Star, don't do this," Moon argued.

Eclipse removed their fingers from the wires at the back of Suns head and began to straighten. You moved quickly.

You spit in your hand, wound it back, and slapped Eclipse clean across the face.

The crack of it echoed around the room in the most immensely satisfying way.

Eclipse shrieked and stumbled back, scraping and clawing at their face. "Disgusting!! HORRIBLE, filthy!"

Sun scrambled to their feet as you felt Moon snatch you up from behind. With you in tow, Sun and Moon booked it out of the room, Eclipse's wails following.

The hall was a blur, as was most of the city streets the three of you raced down. The rain had picked up, and you luckily did not encounter any people out on the streets.

At last, Moon and Sun came to a stop under a wide concrete bridge, providing cover to the street below from the rain. Sun peeked back around the corner as Moon carefully set you down.

You immediately hugged Moon. When Sun came back to announce the coast was clear, you hugged them too.

"You came to get me," you said. You pulled away to look at them both. You were still shaking.

"Of course we did, dear." Sun pat your back.

"What were we supposed to do, let that horrible cretin take the culmination of all those years of hard work and dedication from us?" Moon huffed, folding their arms and looking away.

Sun nudged Moon.

"…I'm glad you're safe," Moon added quietly.

You grinned. It was nice to know that you meant as much to the two of them as they did to you. Despite your rocky start, you'd become quite attached to Sun and Moon.

"Why did you go off on your own??" Sun questioned.

"You two couldn't go to the lab, you’d be recognized. So I thought…" You paused and reached into the pocket of your hoodie. "I just wanted to get these for you."

You held out the ribboned bells you'd taken from the lab. Sun and Moon stared at them, then at you.

"You got these for us??" Sun cried, accepting them gently, holding them as if they were the most fragile things in the world.

Moon pulled you into another hug. The hug was brief and tight, then Moon pulled away to turn and face the wall and awkwardly scuff their foot over the pavement.

Sun smiled at Moon. "Moony are you crying?"

"No." Moon sniffled.

"It's okay, I'm crying a little too," Sun said. "Oh, you are such a treasure." Sun pulled you into a hug next, squeezing you with all four arms.

Well, they seemed to appreciate it. Mission success.

After some time to recuperate, the three of you decided it was time at last to face the catacombs. You weren't far, and both Sun and Moon felt it would be risky to stay out on the streets. There was no doubt Eclipse would be looking for the lot of you.

You were wondering why the catacombs would be any safer than the streets, but you arrived before you could ask, and your question was answered immediately upon setting sights on the place.

The catacombs, its massive gaping stone doorway set into a weed ridden hill in the bowels of the city, was gated and locked off on all sides by electric fence and patrolled by a few identical uniformed bots.

You eyed Moon and Sun. "We're about to do a crime, aren't we?"

Sun awkwardly looked away. Moon looked a little guilty.

"Yes. For science," Moon said.

"Okay." Did robot laws even apply to you? You didn't feel especially bad about breaking them regardless. "How do we get in?"

Sun and Moon lead you around to the top of the hill, then down the street closest to the doorway to the catacombs. Moon boosted Sun up over a brick wall, then helped you up next. Moon joined you on the other side, where the three of you crouched in the shadows directly above the doorway, at the very top of the hill.

"Now we wait for the patrols to move far enough away that they won't hear us drop down," Sun whispered.

The three of you didn't have to wait long. Sun dropped first, catching you as you followed. Moon jumped after you, and the three of you hurried down past the doorway, and into the catacombs.

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botwstoriesandsuch · 4 years ago

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Finally finished this! Sorry I’m a bit late.

Made this song in pairing with a new Revalink soulmark fic: Paraphrase

Based on a prompt @motherhyrule (Happy Birthday and thanks!)

Read it on AO3 or, here...

Chapter 1: Holes

There were holes in the sky.

While the artificial blue glow of Vah Medoh was a constant reminder of abnormal circumstances of this view—looking out into the east, you could be fooled for a moment to believe in serenity.

The details of the great, inky abyss were blurred by the occasional grey cloud, crawling towards the light of a decaying moon. Its pale, crescent complexion gave a humble glow to the dancing seas of grass and the motionless hills of glistening lake water. Below, wooden huts embraced one another on the edges of an ancient spire. The winds had crafted a fine sculpture, the unique silhouette of Rito Village cast faint shadows on Lake Totori.

There was distant whistling from either the cutting breeze or a bored village guard, perhaps leaning against his spear, dreaming of slumber.

There's a fire, somewhere. A spiral of smoke rises with a delicious aroma fantastic enough to reach the heights of Medoh. Someone making a late-night stew, under the dotted, broken sky.

If you could tear your eyes away from the nature down below, the navy blue canvas would still be there to greet you—a perfect night that cloaked any traces of the sun, as if time was always meant to be this way. Unchanging, and ever an elegant, unrivaled mix of blue, black, and grey.

But of course, unchanging was not everlasting. The perfect canvas was pierced by the frozen heights of Hebra, and flaming stars. Whole armies of them were scattered across the sky, as if the goddess had flicked a handful of embers at the night, burning through the blue and into an unknown.

"I heard that stars are actually holes into the heavens." Link finally said. "Like...They break through the sky, and at night you can look through them and see the great beyond." He leaned back, shifting himself into a more comfortable position on the rocky cliff.

The ghost beside him raised an eyebrow, wings tucked behind his back.

"Oh? And where exactly did you hear that?"

Silence.

The boy looks out to the distant mountains, wreathed in grey clouds with filtered moonlight. When the wind blows his golden hair just the right way, you could catch a glimpse of a familiar expression.

"...I'm not too sure."

Revali nodded, looking back into the night. He stood beside the hero, and let a quiet sigh escape him, the turquoise flames that circled around the Rito seemed to rise and fall with his chest. "Well. I cannot confirm or deny such a thing, but I imagine it's a decent enough fairy tale to entertain the fledglings."

Link scoffs, a smile tugging at his lips. "Really? They don't give you a big ghost book on how all of life works? What's the point of being dead if you don't know the answer to all the fancy questions?"

"I appear to have missed Hylia's educational spirit lecture. Perhaps my schedule was busy at the time. I do apologize."

"Don't apologize to me! You're the one who missed a once-in-a-afterlife-time opportunity."

"..."

"...Too soon?"

"No, it was just a horrible joke."

"Pfft. Well OK, Mr. 'Well I'll be plucked'"

"I don't think I'm going to accept criticism from someone who's sense of humor isn't even a year old."

"Aha...Fair enough."

A chuckle. A nod. A smile that doesn't reach his eyes.

Silence.

The moon crawls further west. Winds start to die with conversation.

The ghost sighs again, but of course, no breath escapes him. Something itches in the back of his mind, and he looks up at Medoh.

Her phantom blue eyes pierce both mortal and incorporeal, yet there's a tenderness in the way her head tilts towards Revali—every so slightly so as not to wake the whole kingdom with the groan of gears. The gesture is wordlessly understood by her pilot, something about speaking the unspoken. He clicks his tongue.

I don't remember flipping a relationship advice switch in your control unit...

Medoh's lights glow brighter and dim, playfully.

The Rito shakes his head.

No, he thinks again. It's better this way.

The Champion looks out towards Hyrule Castle, Medoh's red laser aimed directly into the heart of the swirling malice. From this view, it’s almost beautiful. Like layered petals of a rose...

I cannot wait to burn it to the ground.

"Yeah..." Link replied. "Don't worry, Revali. It'll be different this time. I won't let you down, again."

The Rito blinked. "Ah. Did I...say that outloud?"

Link nodded, tilting his head to the side with a smile. "You always seem in such deep thought when looking at Medoh. Your face gets a lot more s—uh...I don't know... " He trailed off, making the wise decision to not finish the sentence. Afterall, he wanted to hang out for a little bit longer before Revali's glares punted him to the Akkalain Sea.

Nonetheless, Revali grimaced. Looking at him? Acknowledging him? Oh, there was nothing worse in the world than that...

Time really can change anything.

"Hmph. Well," Revali turned his head back towards Medoh, "With Windblight gone, it's nice to actually have conversations...As unconventional as they may be." He makes sure that his smile can only be seen by the sky.

"She's good company."

Link picks at loose pebbles, tossing them off the cliff and letting gravity take them to new destinations. His hands are already coated in a dusty beige dust.

"Well, if Medoh ever becomes a bore. My schedule's always open." He chuckles. "I'm certainly a different sort of company in comparison, so I should be able to spice up your d—!"

"No."

The iciness of his tone runs Link's spine cold. He dares to look up at the Champion.

It takes all of Revali's strength to continue staring at the stars.

"You should really stop coming here, Link. You have a job to do, and so do I. You gain nothing by returning here each night."

He pauses, his beak clenched just a bit too tightly.

"You did well, avenging me, but now...Your job here is done, and there is more work to do. The fact that you keep visiting each night while the world fades away is pathetic, honestly. You banter and quip as if you have all the time in the world, as if everything doesn't depend on your success. Quit acting childish."

Silence. It drowns out the whistling wind.

Revali looks at the holes in the sky.

"It'll be morning in a few, so get lost. I don't need you here."

The Rito can feel the hero's eyes tearing into him.

= = = = = = =

"Careful now! Can't have you return with half a head. Can I?" Revali loosed an arrow just above Link's head, striking true in a Bokoblin's right eye.

Link whips around just in time to see the monster drop dead, just a foot away from where the knight stood. He turns back and gives the Rito a thumbs up in gratitude.

"Eye think that solves that problem." Link groans and rolls his eyes, but Revali smirks at the grin he attempts to hide. "Ah...One of the best things about these occasions is that you're in no position to quip back at me with your hands full like that." Revali shoots him a wink. "Perhaps I'll interpret your silence as overwhelming awe for my verbal abilities."

The Rito bows left and right, playfully. "Thank you, thank you. It takes a great deal of practice, but perhaps you'll grace my level of skill one day."

Link signs as best he can with the Master Sword in his left grip.

"You're an asshole."

"Perhaps. But it's your fault for sticking around!"

"On your left..." He suddenly says.

There's no hesitation as Revali moves his head out of the way, letting Link swing his sword over his shoulder. A brilliant beam of blue light escapes the edge of his sword, the disc of energy making contact with a Bokoblin's neck, slicing it asunder mid-roar.

"Hmm. Now that's just breath taki—"

"Shut UP!" Link says, knocking an elbow into his ribs. He starts to sign again. "Let's keep heading east. We need to close this pincer quickly. I'd like to finish before lunch..."

The Rito scans the snow covered path, littered with monster guts and blood. Deep reds and purple stain the pristine, crisp morning. The sky is a deep green, pine trees covering the day, dressed in coats of white. The breeze blows the smell of rotting corpses and hickory his way.

"Alright. Let's get a move on. Don't need the Princesses yelling at us again."

"A bit late for that, don't you think?"

The boys both look up in time to see a large burst of water erupt from a nearby cliff. It cascades into a shimmering slide, that freezes as it flows. A bright red Zora flips through the air and descends on it, landing delicately in front of the two. She gives a warm smile that could melt the winter.

"Shall I assume you ran into some chuchu troubles, again?"

Revali scoffed. "That was one time!"

"Hehehe...chuchu go 'sluuurrrp...'"

"Plus, that incident was entirely a certain knight's fault. I've been nothing but incredibly efficient and productive, since then."

"And your tail feathers are all the better for it!"

Revali thwacked Link with his bow to shut him up. The knight rubbed the back of his head with an "Ow..." and shot a rude glare, but the Rito continued. "So where is the Princess?"

Mipha gestured uphill to where she had come from, her magical waterfall already beginning to melt away. "We finished cleaning up the other end of the Tabantha path. She's met up with Urbosa and Daruk by one of the bridges."

The Zora smiles as she looks between Revali and Link. "I volunteered to check on you two while the others headed back. Neither of you need help cleaning chuchu slime out of your hair, yes? I do have the pliers, this time."

Revali's rageful squawk was drowned out by Link's laughter.

Before the trio's banter could truly serenade with the sounds of the forest, Mipha was off to regroup with the others, and Link was soaring in the sky.

The sky was open and clear, not a speck of grey clouded the air. The sun was perched comfortably on the heights of Tabantha ridge, painting the horizon with strokes of orange, the distance blushing in the morning's presence.

The wind flipped Link's hair back and forth, so he finished tying the braid behind his neck, woven tightly with a single, Prussian blue feather. Its tip looked like someone had dipped it in the moon's pale glow.

Braid or no, the heights above Lake Totori were quite cold, and Link nuzzled himself further into Revali's soft feathers. If he were any softer, it wouldn't be out of the question to drown in him.

"You're distracting me." Revali craned his neck back, raising an eyebrow at his passenger. "Keep it together, back there."

The hero shrugged his shoulders. "It's cold."

"I told you to drink another elixir before I took off."

"I wasn't cold then! Besides," He flopped back into the Rito's soft down. "This is adequate protection." Link's words were slightly muffled as he spoke.

Revali sighed. "You're insufferable..."

Eying the destination down below, the Rito rolled his shoulders to get Link's attention. "Keep steady. We're almost there." He started to dip forward.

"And try not to go flying, I imagine it won't work out well for you."

Before Link could even process his words, his stomach started to drop. Falling fast, Revali arched nearly perpendicular to the ground, his bright blue scarf flapping behind him. The Hylian on his back could do nothing but grip onto his armour for dear life, clothes flapping wildly. His loose sleeves caught the wind, pushing them back to reveal pale gold letters, etched in the underside of his right forearm.

Leaving so soon?

The wind rushed by Link's ears, and the sky quickly faded from the cerulean glow of morning, to the snow laced air of the Hebra. What was once broad strokes of indistinct colors soon morphed into the intricate faults, flaws, and edges of towering grey mountain peaks. With the heavens stolen from them, and the frozen earth quickly coming to greet them, Revali quickly opened his wings to catch the air, swooping just above the ground and shooting forward towards the Flight Range.

Rows of cool safflina and wildberries whizzed by, the scent of smoked boar drawing closer and closer. Revali could practically feel Link's appetite from aura alone. Although, the fact that his grip on his back was starting to tighten didn't exactly keep it subtle, either.

"I left the stew going before we headed out for the mission. It should be perfect by now..." He tucked his wings into himself with a quick twirl as he shot through a narrow pass.

The cold updrafts of the Flight Range now biting into his face; the Rito let his wings expand with a few more great flaps, before landing gracefully on the railing of the wooden platform.

Link practically soared off Revali's back and bounded straight for the simmering pot.

"'Thank you, Revali, for giving me a ride across all of Tabantha without asking for so much as a rupee in return!' Oh, you're so welcome, my dear hero. It's always a pleasure to aid a flightless Hylian in need." He shook his head as he made his way into the hut.

"'Oh, but really Revali! The speed at which you travel, and the strength required to take on my loathsome person as you fly is truly something to admire. It's a miracle you took me with you at all.' Why, you are much too generous with your compliments, Link. I have half a mind to write this all down for—MmMph?!"

In a brilliant move of both telling Revali to shut the fuck up, while also sharing their meal, Link shoved a ladleful of delicious stew in the Rito's beak.

Warm, savoury stew trickled down his throat, banishing the cold from his body in mere moments. His tastebuds were nestled with flavours of nutmeg, tender meat, and the delicate heat of a perhaps a single, spicy pepper.

Link's expression was equal parts, "Will you shut up now?" and "So how's it taste?"

"Not too bad...The prime meat I procured is obviously the main event. But your seasoning skills are certainly something of note..." Revali made his way to one of the cabinets, as Link rolled his eyes.

The Rito set his bow beside the Master Sword, leaning it against the painted wood. His eyes lingered on it for a bit too long, before he scoffed and continued on his routine.

Quiver on the counter; bomb arrows wrapped properly; armour loosened and set aside; scarf—

The feathers on Revali's neck suddenly floofed up at Link's touch. But he didn't dare turn around and risk losing the sensation.

He carefully unfolded the fabric around Revali's neck, and drew it off his shoulder. He wrapped it around himself, and signed at the Rito, "Mine, now."

The Rito chuckled, before turning back around to look at the hero, now adorned with far too much blue. Blue tunic, blue scarf, and sapphire eyes—it wouldn't be out of the question to mistake him for the sky.

Link stretched out his hand, and traced the edges of Revali's face, eventually falling down his neck, and towards his shoulders. His fingers eventually hovered over some familiar words that wrapped down the left side of his neck and down his shoulder.

You should give yourself more credit.

They both did nothing but smile at each for a moment, leaning closer and succumbing to the moment. Revali could already feel Link's breath, and see the bits of snow still sticking to his (horribly) braided hair.

The Hylian saw something curious in the Rito's expression as he planted a kiss on the tip of his beak. Looking back up at his jade eyes, he couldn't help but smile wide. Revali cocked an eyebrow.

"Something to say?"

Quiet. The fire chuckled in the background.

Link finally leaned in and whispered to him.

"You smell like shit."

Revali scoffed loudly before shoving Link to the carpet, where he burst out laughing, the wind carrying it to the spirits above.

"Gods, you're insufferable. Why do I settle for you..."

Link unsuccessfully attempted to toss a pillow in his face in revenge—Revali catching it with ease.

"Beats me! Now come here, you stinky bird." He patted the space in front of the fire. No doubt he wanted to sit between his wings again

"Stew or no, I need you to keep me toasty."

In no time, Revali had sat down and wrapped himself around Link, resting his beak on his head.

A hole in the ceiling let sunlight trickle on them as they warmed up.

= = = = = = =

Link finally sighed, the sound falling off into the void below.

"You-I can't-It was never..." He trails off, before chucking another pebble off the cliff, shaking his head.

"...I'm sorry. I know that you...That we're not really...friends or whatever...I don't mean to force you into anything uncomfortable. I owe you that much..." He looked up at the spirit, a determined look on his face.

"But, don't worry. Whatever mess I was before, whatever person you hated 100 years ago. They're gone, now. I promise I'm different. I promise I won't repeat whatever mistakes I made with you."

Revali just wants to die all over again.

"Well. That's good to hear. Perhaps there's hope for you yet, hero..." He walks forward, so he can't see his face, pointing a translucent feather far out east.

"I'd say your next objection should be Rudania. It's the closest. You can backtrack through whatever roads you've already trailed through getting here." The Rito then waved towards some glistening summits just a bit south. "Although, you said you've been to Kakariko and Hateno, yes? You could probably trek to Zora's Domain from there. The Zora will no doubt be a great asset to your further adventures—"

"Who was I closest to?"

Revali knew it was impossible to feel cold at this point, but he felt something shiver nonetheless.

"What do you mean?"

"Like...the pilots I mean. Was I...particularly close with any of them?"

"Well how should I know!" Revali snapped. He immediately regretted it seeing the look in Link's eyes. "I mean...sorry..."

Silence.

"...Mipha would be overjoyed to see you, I'm sure." He pointed again towards the cliffs surrounding Zora's Domain. "She had quite the heart...She'll make better company than I, I'm sure."

"Mhm...Alright." Link nodded to himself.

"But whatever you choose, don't try taking on Naboris, yet. Urbosa was one of the strongest warriors that even I've ever met. So I imagine that what awaits there is...deserving of more preparation."

The moon escaped from the clutches of a grey cloud, and the two of them were bathed in moonlight.

The knight's sword on his back glistens.

"I'll start making preparations tomorrow, and I'll finally be out of your hair." Link scratched the back of his head. "Although...I hope you don't mind if I come back every now and then to get pointers on using your Gale. I really only used it that one time when you gave it to me, and I've been a bit scared ever since, aha..."

Revali nodded. "That would be a more productive use of your time, yes."

Link finally stood, adjusting the strap of his sword around his shoulder.

"S-So...with Mipha. I actually heard from Kass that...uh he's—well you see, I figured you could confirm if she actually—"

"Stop." His response was as sudden as thunder. Link started sputtering again.

"S-Sorry. I know you just s—"

"Stop doing that. Stop trying to learn about the past, there's nothing for you there." Revali poked a feather at Link's head, which surprisingly made physical contact as he flinched away. "You've been given a gift, you understand? You have the luxury of being unburdened by the pains and memories of 100 years ago, while the rest of us have been stuck wallowing in what we once knew for over a century. Things that we can never attain now that we are dead." He glared, eyes sharp enough to stab into Link's flesh.

"It'd be an insult to the rest of us to throw away such a gift. So stop being ungrateful, and move on."

Silence.

Revali sighed, turning back towards Medoh. "Now get los—"

"You have no right to speak to me like that!"

The Rito whipped around. "Excuse me?"

"You don't know what it's like!" Link stomped a foot down. "You don't know what it's like, to have no attachments, no nothing to grasp onto!"

The Hylian shook his head, looking at his hands. "You're dead because of my failures, and for that, I'm truly sorry. I really am. But..." He looked the Rito, dead in the eyes. "But now I have nothing of value. Nothing to tell me what I'm worth, besides being a fighter. Besides defeating the Calamity. I don't know what kind of person I need to be," He waves a hand at Revali, "Or even what person I should try not to be. I can't...I don't want to just be nothing. Nothing but a sword and useless snippets of a dead past.

"So don't try and tell me there's nothing for me in the past. I need to know what I was, what I lost, and what I did wrong. N-Not just for me, but for everyone's sake! I want to truly know what this is all for, even if it hurts me..."

Link looked down, caressing his right wrist. "I want to know...what it was like to be complete...at the very least..."

Revali looked him up and down, something clawing up the inside of his chest, threatening to escape as dangerous words.

"...Let me see your arm."

"What—?"

"Hurry up, and just come."

Link cautiously stepped closer to Revali, extending his right arm towards him, like a handshake. But he roughly tugged him closer and folded the sleeve of his Rito garb away, exposing the skin to the crisp night air.

Pale gold letters adorned Link's inner arm, running from his wrist to his inner elbow.

Why did you think it was impossible?

The Rito nodded to himself. He had noted the first word being different when he had first reunited with Link, but it put him at ease—and completely shattered something—to have his suspicions confirmed.

"Do you know what this is, hero?"

"Yeah, it's a soulmark. This is probably what my soulmate 100 years ago said when they—"

"No." Revali let his arm fall, turning away. "It's a soulmark alright, but your soulmate is very much alive."

"Wh-What?!" Link started to walk up to Revali. "T-That's impossible! I-It's been over a hundred—"

"That's not the soulmark you had when I met you." Revali said simply. "You died. You were revived. You are adorned with a new mark, and are destined for someone new. Or someones. Or, maybe your soulmate is just yourself, it really depends..." He turned his head back.

Link was just staring at his arm. He bore no smile, but Revali could see the new fire in his eyes.

"It's like I said. It'd be an insult to go digging up the past. But I suppose I can't stop you..." Revali continued to make his way to Medoh. "You want something to fight for? Fight for that..."

The moon disappeared behind another cloud, and the glow of Medoh was all that bathed them. Link finally looked up, calling after the ghost in the mist.

"I...Thank you, Revali. But just so you know..." The Rito Champion turned, staring directly at the hero's determined expression.

"This doesn't change what I want. I still intend to know who I was."

There was quiet as they each looked at their ghosts.

Revali sighed, giving a sad nod.

"I know."

He disappeared in glowing blue flames, the embers falling towards the stars.

#if you reblog this revali comes to your house and gives you a hug. it's a proven fact #revalink #paraphrase revalink #mudkip music #botw fanfiction #botw #breath of the wild #legend of zelda botw #loz botw #soulmark au #botw soulmark au

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littleeyesofpallas · 4 years ago

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Bleach Cosmology 4/4

Last post in this series on Bleach world terms: [1] [2] [3] The super super unaddressed Quincy realm from the final arc, soon to be adapted into the final anime season...

Schatten Bereich(シャッテン・ベライヒ) Sha-tte-n' Be-ra-i-hi, German for “Shadow Realm” and pretty literally interpreted in Japanese as [影の領域] “Realm of Shadow(s).” A straight forward description of what it’s supposed to be as a place hidden in(?) the shadow of Soul Society, and the Seireitei specifically. It’s a real shame we didn’t get any actual explanation of what this realm was or how it worked or really much of anything other than the super vague description...

Did the Quincy make it themselves to hide in? Did the Shinigami make it to banish them to?* What was that thing about Yhwach having a time limit he could spend away from it that just never came back??? If the Quincy were wiped out 200 years prior, how are there so many of them in there?* Had they been recruiting new Quincy from the human world?(As Nodt having been in a hospital bed suggests yes) How were people getting in there? Or were they supposed to be original Quincy from the conflict 200 years ago, in which case... we were told Quincy were specifically humans who’d just mastered and passed down a set of distinct skills, so how did they survive 200 years without just aging and dying?

*[edit]: My mistake. It’s mentioned at the start of the second attack that they hid themselves in the shadows of soul society specifically 1000 years prior, and following the alluded to first conflict between the Shinigami and Quincy. Although that event wasn’t really elaborated on either, so that just raises other questions.

Anyway... none of that has to do with the locale itself, and frankly there aren’t really any answers to uncover in the sparse world building material the final arc gave us... As to the physical features of the realm itself, Kubo really pulled an awkward repeat of Hueco Mundo with the stark white stonework in a realm of eternal darkness... But this time, it’s more explicitly cold and also literally icy.

I feel like there was supposed to be some kind of theme about the Quincy living in shadows and not seeing the light of the sun, and being denied its warmth, which just seems like a tiny tweak of the Arrancar Arc’s night sky and day light/sun and moon imagery. Was the Soul King meant to have a sun motif that we just never got to see? (equating light of the sun with love of god and loss there of, harkening back to biblical revolt of heaven imagery?) Sun gods and sun king and god kings are all pretty classic to Japanese mythos, and also to Japan’s fetishization of some of classical Europe (although that’s more French rococo, ala Louis XIV, than German) If there’d been a more overt Sun theme with the Soul King it would’ve made a much more interesting parallel with Ichigo’s Black Sun(opposite Rukia’s white moon) motif.

Sorry, off topic again, and mostly just filling space here...

Wahrwelt(ヴァールヴェルト) Vaa-ru-ve-ru-to meaning “True World” and written as [真世界城] “True World/Society Castle.” Note that while [真世界] being read as “True World” obviously is meant to mirror Wahrwelt, [世界] can also read as “Society” which is probably meant to directly mirror Soul Society[尸魂界] although they don’t use the exact same construction to denote “Welt” and “Society.” It suggests that Soul Society is a false regency over the spirit world, and that the Quincy are the rightful rulers, rather than being outsiders come to take over. Although it feels a little misplaced that the Wahrwelt was specifically the replacement for the Royal Realm and not what replaced the Seireitei.

Silbern(ジルバーン) Shi-ru-baa-n' just meaning “Silver.” Written as [銀架城] meaning “Silver Mounted Castle.” I've seen people translate this is “Silver Cross Castle,” but I think this is a misunderstanding of the verb kakaru[架かる] meaning "to cross." But that's not "(a) cross" like the Quincy cross, it's "to cross" like to cross a street. The Quincy had a whole thing about silver stretching pretty far back in the series so there’s consistency there, but it doesn’t seem like there was much more going on with it...

As you might expect from the kind of shoddily put together final arc, there’s not a whole lot else to go off of here. Which is a shame, because although there’s not a wealth of potential the way the Arrancar arc had, there was certainly a lot of empty space to fill as far as world building or character motivations go. It would’ve been nice to have actually taken the time to explore any of that...

In particular there was the super SUPER curious bit with what appeared to be Quincy ruins left in Hueco Mundo that we didn’t really get much of an explanation of. Kubo even does a remarkably good job with visual story telling where the rough stonework we get only a glimpse of makes it very clear that the ruins aren’t the same same as the clean, sleek designs of Los Noches.

I think one of the light novels gave them the name “Negal Ruins” that the Bleach wikia references, but I don’t have Japanese copies of the LN to confirm that, and the wikia confusingly doesn’t cite where it got the name from or include any kind of kanji or kana...* But as little as that is to go off of, I do LOVE the idea that the Quincy once occupied Hueco Mundo in the past, and it just feels like the first tiny tiny step toward what should’ve been a much bigger plot point. Even the fact that Urahara is out there with scientific equipment doing some kind of research seemed to imply that he’d come back with some crucial information... I guess that was supposed to be the hollow pills plot device? But that wasn’t especially clear, let alone remotely satisfying either as follow up or even as its own plot development.

*no no, i was way off. It’s right there in the same chapter they show up. [ネガル遺跡] “NE-GA-RU” + “Historic Ruins/Archeological Site.” Dunno why my eyes just glossed right over that. Not that it really clarifies anything.

Curiously, the Taiyou-no-mon[太陽の門] “Gate of (the) Sun” that plays kind of a deus ex machina role toward the climax of the arc isn’t named in German at all. (it is mentioned on a few separate occasions, so it doesn’t come out of “nowhere” exactly, but it’s never really elaborated on either) It’s not clear if that’s supposed to mean something, or if Kubo just gave up juggling dictionaries to come up with a new name on the fly. It sticks out like a sore thumb by comparison though. Very odd.

Anyway that’s basically it for big world terms across the major story locales... There are a few misc. locations like the Valley of Screams or or Hell focused on in the movies and only briefly brought up in the manga, but they’re all pretty literal names: Kyougoku[叫谷] “Scream Valley” where the lost souls, Blanks wind up when they can’t make it to Soul Society, referencing their unheard voices. Jigoku[地獄] just the actual Japanese word for an underworld, originally borrowed from the Chinese Diyu[地獄] and the mix of indigenous Chinese and Buddhist influences mythos, but at this point linguistically used as the translation for any kind of penitent underworld, regardless of cultural origin. It’s written with the characters for “Ground” and “Prison.”

I may not have had a lot of take aways from all this, but I gotta admit going back over some of this material did kind of rekindle my excitement for the anime this year, so that’s something.

Bleach Cosmology posts: [Karakura] [SoulSociety] [Hueco Mundo] [Wahrwelt] [Hell/Naraka(allusions)] [Animal Realm(?)] [Preta Realm(?)]

#bleach #kubo tite #tybw #quincy #sternritter #wahrwelt

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rosalies-rage · 4 years ago

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folklore x Twilight: An Analysis

folklore's lyrics match Twilight uncannily well and here’s proof!

my tears ricochet - Rosalie

We gather here, we line up, weepin' in a sunlit room And if I'm on fire, you'll be made of ashes, too Even on my worst day, did I deserve, babe All the hell you gave me? 'Cause I loved you, I swear I loved you 'Til my dying day I didn't have it in myself to go with grace And you're the hero flying around, saving face And if I'm dead to you, why are you at the wake? Cursing my name, wishing I stayed Look at how my tears ricochet We gather stones, never knowing what they'll mean Some to throw, some to make a diamond ring You know I didn't want to have to haunt you But what a ghostly scene You wear the same jewels that I gave you As you bury me

And I can go anywhere I want Anywhere I want, just not home And you can aim for my heart, go for blood But you would still miss me in your bones And I still talk to you (When I'm screaming at the sky) And when you can't sleep at night (You hear my stolen lullabies)

Rosalie would sing this to her murderer/fiancé at her funeral as he goes around being the ‘hero’ and ‘saving face’. She’s ‘screaming at the sky’ because he has stolen the one thing she really wanted from her ‘anywhere I want, just not home’. Even though she loved him ‘til [her] dying day’, she can never forgive and has no choice but to haunt him.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

exile - Edward in New Moon

I think I’ve seen this film before And I didn’t like the ending You’re not my homeland anymore So what am I defending now? You were my town, now I’m in exile seein’ you out We always walked a very thin line You didn’t even hear me out (You didn’t even hear me out) You never gave a warning sign (I gave so many signs) All this time I never learned to read your mind (Never learned to read my mind)

Edward leaves in New Moon because he believes he and his world are too dangerous for Bella, exiling himself indefinitely. They had ‘always walked a very thin line’ as he tried to be with her without harming her, and he literally ‘never learned to read [her] mind’. Now he’s left and can’t do what he wanted to do, i.e protect her (’what am I defending now?’).

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

august - Jacob

Salt air, and the rust on your door I never needed anything more Whispers of “Are you sure?” “Never have I ever before”

Back when we were still changin' for the better Wanting was enough For me, it was enough To live for the hope of it all Canceled plans just in case you'd call And say, "Meet me behind the mall" So much for summer love and saying "us" 'Cause you weren't mine to lose You weren't mine to lose, no

Your back beneath the sun Wishin' I could write my name on it Will you call when you're back at school? I remember thinkin' I had you

Bella and Jacob start spending time together in the ‘salt air’ by La Push beach fixing beaten-up motorbikes (’rust’). Jacob knows Bella isn’t interested in him but lives in hope (’to live for the hope of it all’) and by the time the Cullens come back he’s convinced he could win Bella’s loyalties (’I remember thinkin’ I had you’). It doesn’t take place in summer, but it is a brief, intense fling that lifts Bella from her Edward-induced winter, and Bella calls Jacob her personal ‘sun’. In the end, though, Bella tells Jacob that there was never really a choice between him and Edward; it was always going to be Edward (’You weren’t mine to lose’).

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

invisible string - Alice & Jasper

And isn't it just so pretty to think All along there was some Invisible string Tying you to me?

Something wrapped all of my past mistakes in barbed wire Chains around my demons Wool to brave the seasons One single thread of gold Tied me to you

Alice woke up as a vampire with no memory of her past - all she had was her psychic abilities, which were an ‘invisible string’ leading her directly to Jasper. On Jasper’s side, he was living a brutal life training newborn armies until Alice found him and ‘wrapped all of [his] past mistakes in barbed wire’, putting ‘chains around his demons’ and leading him to a better life. You could also interpret it as his journey to chaining his inner monster that wants to kill humans when he goes to live with the Cullens.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

epiphany - Carlisle

Something med school did not cover Someone's daughter, someone's mother Holds your hand through plastic now "Doc, I think she's crashing out" And some things you just can't speak about

Only twenty minutes to sleep But you dream of some epiphany Just one single glimpse of relief To make some sense of what you've seen

This song describes the experience of medical staff during the COVID-19 pandemic, and Carlisle was a doctor during the last major pandemic (Spanish Flu in 1918), which is where he turned Edward. A religious man, he searches for an ‘epiphany’ from God while he grapples with the decision to consign another person to a life of vampirism and tries to understand whether or not he still has a soul.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

mad woman - Rosalie

Do you see my face in the neighbor's lawn? Does she smile? Or does she mouth, "Fuck you forever"? And there's nothing like a mad woman What a shame she went mad No one likes a mad woman You made her like that And you'll poke that bear 'til her claws come out And you find something to wrap your noose around

They say “move on” but you know I won’t

I'm taking my time, taking my time 'Cause you took everything from me

Rosalie is filled with anger and bitterness over her murder. She’s cast in a bad light particularly because she’s an angry, ‘mad woman’ but she explains that her murderers ‘made her like that’ when they ‘took everything from [her]’, and in return she ‘[took her] time’ when killing them to make sure they knew she was coming.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

cardigan - Bella on Jacob

And when I felt like I was an old cardigan, under someone’s bed You put me on and said I was your favorite You drew stars around my scars But now I’m bleedin’

Bella was destroyed after Edward left, feeling that he’d taken most of her with him and was just discarded like an unwanted toy (’I felt like I was an old cardigan, under someone’s bed’). Then she started hanging out with Jacob and his friendship (’I was your favorite’) started to heal - or at least disguise - the hole in her chest (’You drew stars around my scars’). But then he left, too, when the werewolf transformation happened, which left her ‘bleeding’. It turned out she wasn’t really healed, she’d just been papering over the gap with Jacob’s love.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

illicit affairs - Edward & Bella as tragic fated lovers

Tell yourself you can always stop What started in beautiful rooms Ends in meetings in parking lots It’s born from just one single glance but it dies and it dies and it dies A million little times

Leave no trace behind, like they don’t even exist

When Edward first becomes enamored with Bella and wants to get closer to her, he convinces himself he can always stop - but he can’t. The more time he spends with her, the more doomed he is. When Bella gets hurt because of him, first in Twilight and then in New Moon, he disappears in hopes of keeping her safe and hides all the presents he gave her (’leave no trace behind’).

And you wanna scream Don't call me "kid," don't call me "baby" Look at this godforsaken mess that you made me You showed me colors you know I can't see with anyone else Don't call me "kid," don't call me "baby" Look at this idiotic fool that you made me You taught me a secret language I can't speak with anyone else

A dwindling mercurial high A drug that only worked the first few hundred times

And you know damn well For you, I would ruin myself A million little times

This part is Bella’s response. When he left, he took away this entire paranormal world he’d introduced her to (‘You taught me a secret language I can’t speak with anyone else’), leaving her to think she’s gone insane because not only has she lost the love of her life, all traces of an entire extra world have disappeared. She wants him to stop patronising her by saying she’ll move on like mortals do (’Don’t call me kid, don’t call me baby, look at this godforsaken mess that you made me’). Desperate to get some sense that he’s still there, she starts doing risky stunts like motorbike racing and jumping off a cliff (’A dwindling mercurial high’). Like she told him in the meadow scene in the first book, she is willing to die for him, and we see in New Moon that he feels the same way (‘you know damn well / For you I would ruin myself, a million little times’). The only way for them to stay apart would’ve been to never meet in the first place.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

seven - Rosalie on her childhood friend Vera

Please picture me in the trees I hit my peak at seven Feet in the swing over the creek I was too scared to jump in But I, I was high in the sky With Pennsylvania under me Are there still beautiful things? Sweet tea in the summer Cross your heart, won't tell no other And though I can't recall your face I still got love for you Your braids like a pattern Love you to the Moon and to Saturn Passed down like folk songs The love lasts so long

Before I learned civility I used to scream ferociously Any time I wanted

Rosalie fondly recalls her human life and her best friend Vera, who had the normal life she never got. This ‘love lasts so long’ even though Vera is dead by now because Rosalie still remembers her, even if her human memories are fuzzy and she can’t necessarily ‘recall [her] face’. Also, Rosalie was always valued only for her beauty, but maybe she ‘hit [her] peak at seven’ because her beauty hadn’t yet started overshadowing her personhood and she was still able to ‘scream ferociously’ at that age instead of being the girl and young woman who had to learn ‘civility’ and be married off to a rich man.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

hoax - Bella in New Moon

My only one My smoking gun My eclipsed sun This has broken me down My twisted knife My sleepless night My winless fight This has frozen my ground Stood on the cliffside screaming, "Give me a reason" Your faithless love's the only hoax I believe in Don't want no other shade of blue but you No other sadness in the world would do My best laid plan Your sleight of hand My barren land I am ash from your fire You know I left a part of me back in New York You knew the hero died so what's the movie for? You knew it still hurts underneath my scars From when they pulled me apart

Bella’s ‘eclipsed sun’ has disappeared and left her ‘broken’, ‘sleepless’ and believing she has no way to win him back. She literally goes and stands on a ‘cliffside’ before jumping off just to see a hallucination of his face - Edward, a mythical creature, is the ‘only hoax she believes in’. Even though he’s hurt her and broken her heart, she ‘don’t want no other shade of blue but you’. He thinks he’s saving her from harm by leaving, but the scar from James still bothers her, i.e. his leaving cannot protect her as the damage has been done (’You know it still hurts underneath my scars’) and now Edward has just added emotional scars that ‘pulled [her] apart’ and left a gaping hole in her chest.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

peace - Edward & Bella in Breaking Dawn

I never had the courage of my convictions As long as danger is near And it’s just around the corner darlin Coz it lives in me No, I could never give you peace

Would it be enough if I could never give you peace?

Throughout the series, Edward has been afraid to get too close to Bella for fear of hurting her (’danger is near’, ‘it lives in me’). Now he finally has to accept that she’s not going anywhere and value her choice. Even after he’s no longer a threat to her directly, their life is full of challenges like the Volturi. It’s impossible to guarantee her safety, and she doesn’t want him to - she wants to be in his world as an equal. He comes to terms with the fact that it’s okay if he can ‘never give [her] peace’.

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#twilight #the twilight saga #twilight renaissance #Edward cullen #jasper hale #Alice cullen #Rosalie hale #carlisle cullen #Taylor swift #folklore #ts8 #tslyrics

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misc-headcanons · 5 years ago

Note

heyyy I (hopefully) finally got a chance to make a request! uuhh I don't wanna be greedy and ask for a full on scenario, but could I maybe get a short little thing about Basil Hawkins flirting with a lady-reader through a fortune telling session? ://0 thank you v much! (if it's a completely uninspiring request you're more than free to pass on this since I haven't seen you write anything else for him, and maybe you'll have more fun with something else filling my request slot)

(Commissioned by @supernova-hcs-art ! Tysm, this is my first-ever commission and I'm very excited about it 😚)

Hawkins/F!Reader: Expression

Word Count: 1426

Basil Hawkins was a hard man to read, even to those closest to him. Whether he was happy, upset, scheming, or simply looking off absent-mindedly in the distance, he naturally kept his thoughts and emotions behind a stone-faced mask. Normally, he didn't view this as a problem; the less emotion he showed, the more he was recognized as a cold and calculated man that was not to be trifled with. When it came to a certain matter though, he hated just how difficult it was to broadcast what he was feeling: ____.

She was captivating in every way, always managing to make his mouth a bit dry and his pale skin the subtlest bit of pink just by speaking to him. He hoped that telling her how he felt would put him at ease, but he'd never confessed before; hell, he hadn't ever felt attracted to someone like this outside of a platonic appreciation of beauty or personality. Not only that, but he didn't want to overwhelm her by confessing out of the blue when she had no idea of what he was really feeling, thanks to that stoic expression of his. No, he needed to be subtle about this. And when ____ had asked him if he would give her a tarot reading, it seemed that fate had given him a golden opportunity.

Hawkins silently opened the door to his private cabin and let ____ inside to sit at a large circular table in one corner of the room. She marveled at the intricately painted art on the wooden table's face, which was a beautiful dark blue that was speckled with gold and silver stars, a brilliant sun, and a crescent moon across from it. It blended in perfectly with the rest of Hawkins's room, with its iridescent crystal statuettes and shards, indigo curtains, and the heavy-yet-soothing smell of incense smoke and lavender. "So," she remarked, turning to face Hawkins with a smirk. "This is where the magic happens?"

Hawkins shut the door, ignoring how white his knuckles were when he gripped the handle; how did she make his heart race like this with just one glimpse of her face? "It's...not exactly magic," he replied, walking to the chair opposite hers and taking his deck of cards out of his coat pocket. The familiar tingling of his fingertips as he held the cards eased some of the giddy anxiety in his chest after he'd heard her laugh at his response.

"Fair enough," ____ replied, settling into her chair and running her fingers over the image of the sun in front of her. "This is where the 'interpretations based off of probability and dozens of varying factors' happens." She watched Hawkins expertly shuffle his cards, admiring how graceful his movements were as the cards flipped through his slender, gloved fingers. "Is there anything I need to do? Just so you can get a better reading from me?"

Hawkins pursed his lips slightly as he had the idea to try flirting with her for the first time, just to subtly let her know how he felt about her. "Performing a tarot reading for someone I'm already familiar with doesn't require much," he replied. "And...we are very familiar with one another, are we not?"

____ shrugged and nodded. "I'd say so," she replied casually. "When you're fighting and traveling the seas together in close quarters on a ship, it'd be hard for us not to become close with each other."

Hawkins's face remained unchanged, but internally he felt a twinge of disappointment; apparently he'd been too subtle and indirect with that approach. He'd have to think of something a bit more bold. His attention turned to the cards, and he set down the shuffled stack in the center of the table. "Cut the cards with your dominant hand, please," he instructed. ____ complied and when she reached out to pick up the cards, her fingers brushed against his. Hawkins felt much warmer under his ruffled shirt collar, and he gently pulled down his neckline to try and get some relief.

____ noticed this and raised an eyebrow. "You're warm, too? It is kind of muggy in here," she remarked, setting the cut neck down to pull down her shirt a bit as well. "Might be the incense, though."

Hawkins was externally cool, but internally screaming. He wasn't the kind of man to luridly gaze at a woman at the first sign of showing extra skin, but...she was right across the table from him, pulling her neckline down; it was in his direct line of sight, dammit! His eyes quickly snapped to the cut deck and he picked up the card on top to begin arranging a tarot spread. "This will be a simple Celtic Cross arrangement of the cards," he began, laying the first card down.

____ peered down at, leaning forward a bit with her elbows on the table "This card describes your overall personality," Hawkins said. "The Queen of Wands: Passionate, creative, courageous…" He glanced up to see her reaction as he trailed off. "Beautiful…"

Hawkins saw ____'s eyebrows raise ever so slightly, and the corners of her lips turned up a bit. Their eyes met for a moment, and Hawkins quickly shifted his gaze to draw the next card. "What is crossing you, or simply what you're dealing with at the moment," he continued, clearing his throat a bit. "The Page of Cups usually indicates a message, one of love or happiness, or good news."

____ bit the inside of her cheek. "Hmm. Would wanting to confess something count? Or maybe…" She glanced sideways for a moment. "Maybe wanting someone else to say something to you?"

"Depending on the message, that could be what the card is referring to," Hawkins replied, wondering what--or who--she could be referring to. Hopefully as he continued the reading, he could get more answers. "What crowns you…"

He set down the third card, and ____ let out a small laugh at the image of the Lovers in front of her; she covered her mouth as she grinned at the image of a young couple embracing each other. "Oh my god, you've got to be kidding me," she sighed, looking across the table at Hawkins with a playful smile on her face. "I knew it, I knew you knew."

Hawkins tilted his head to the side and furrowed his brows; the knowing look in her eyes and mischievous smile confused him, and he felt as if he were hearing an inside joke that he didn't actually understand. "I...don't follow," he replied, not used to feeling completely lost like this.

____ pointed down at the cards. "The cards," she replied. "You didn't 'shuffle' them, you set all of these down to get me to say it first. I mean...really? 'A message of love', 'passionate', and the LOVERS card?" She held up the card between her fingers and waved it back and forth.

Say "it"? Say...what?

____ shook her head with a smile and rolled her eyes. "And you've still got that handsome poker face of yours, even after you got caught," she sighed. "I was always so nervous about admitting it, just because I wouldn't know how you'd take it. I mean, I didn't know if you'd feel the same way; I know that expressing yourself like that isn't your strong suit."

She set the card down in front of Hawkins and purposefully brushed her fingers against his before resting her hand over his own. When he saw the warm color in her cheeks, the way her eyes shined as she looked at him, and felt her fingers touch his…the realization of what she was saying slowly dawned on him. The only changes in his stoic expression were the more noticeable spots of pink on his cheeks, and how his normally heavy-lidded eyes widened to the size of saucers.

____ gently laughed again, surprised to see that for such a cold-and-collected pirate, Hawkins seemed to be floored by the smallest of touches. She already thought he was handsome, but now he was comically adorable. The color in his cheeks intensified, and she gently squeezed his hand. Hawkins regained his composure and was hesitant for only a moment before awkwardly squeezing her hand in reply. When he saw how her smile widened a bit, he felt the lovesick tightness in his chest from before fade into a warm and pleasant feeling. She definitely wasn't the only one whose fate was currently crowned by the Lovers...

#one piece #one piece scenarios #one piece scenario #hawkins #basil hawkins #mine #commission #female s/o

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dhwty-writes · 4 years ago

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Chapter 6 - Stories, Smiles and Secrets

So, I have been informed that the last chapter was sad. I'm sorry (I'm not). As compensation there is- uh... 'checks notes* fluff? It's that what you call it? Yes, there's fluff in this chapter! Enjoy! Thanks @persony-pepper for betaing this chapter!

Summary: The poacher is found and Jaskier does what he does best: telling stories.

Read on AO3

Part 1 | Part 6 | Part 8

Jaskier almost fell out of his bed when the doors burst open without any warning. "Wha's happenin'?" he slurred, trying to regain his balance as well as his dignity.

"I have come to tell you, brother," Janina announced and cruelly ripped the curtains open to reveal bright sunlight, "that Cousin Fiona and I have just led a delightful conversation over the breakfast table. While you were," she raked her eyes over him and wrinkled her nose in disgust, "still sleeping, great gods above and below, the sun rose half an hour ago!"

He suppressed a groan and swung his naked legs over the edge of his bed, ignoring Janina's shriek: "Good gods, I did not need to see that."

He rolled his eyes at her and dragged himself to a standing position. "Be glad I'm wearing a shirt at all," he grumbled, not even attempting to smooth out his appearance. There was no way he'd be able to match Janina's impeccable countenance in these early hours. "From the top," he demanded as he pulled on a dark green silk robe, one of his most prized possessions, "you had what with the girl?"

"A conversation," she said smugly and sat down on the chair he normally deposited his dirty laundry on. 'Serves her right,' he thought smugly. "Ten whole minutes."

"That's impressive." Were it any other hour, he would be howling with laughter. "You do realise that I had plenty of those, right?"

"She didn't say a single swear word."

He raised his eyebrows. "That's not really what I call 'in her good graces'," he grumbled, unwilling to admit that it was far more than he had to show for it.

"It's progress," Janina insisted stubbornly.

"Well, congratulations to you, dear sister." He winced. "Coax a smile out of her next and you have won." Jaskier clamped his mouth shut. 'Why the fuck did I say that?' he asked himself, 'Why the fuck don't I ever think before I talk?'

The smile on Janina's face told him that she had hoped for an outcome like that. "I'll hold you to your word," she purred and spun to leave.

"Fuck," he whispered, his brain working hard to catch up with what was going on. She was already out the door when he finally got his mouth to work again: "Janina!"

She peered back into his room. "Yes?" When she was batting her eyelashes like that, she looked almost adorable.

"Don't you dare threaten my witcher again," he hissed. "Or Fiona, for that matter."

"I-"

"No, Janina," he interrupted her harshly, "one misspoken word and never seeing the inside of this castle will be the least of your worries." He stood, throwing all he had picked up on by observing Geralt into looking as menacing as possible. "Never forget, sister, in here our power might match but you don't want to face me out there. A word from me and you can forget about your precious reputation. Is that understood?"

It was impressive how she took it all with a straight face. "Quite, my lord," she answered coldly, the slightest quiver in her voice betraying what went on inside her head. "May I go, Lord Pankratz?"

"You may."

She spared him a long calculating glance. "Just so you know it," she whispered, "you are turning into father. You even look like him."

Jaskier was glad that the slam of the door drowned out his shocked gasp as he staggered backwards, his knees growing weak. 'Sweet Melitele,' he prayed silently as he flopped down on his bed again, 'anything but that.'

'Surely it can't be that bad,' he thought, but when he tried to think back on his behaviour in the past few days, it made him sick.

"Fuck," he cursed again. 'No wonder the princess doesn't like me. I wouldn't like myself either.'

For the second time that week he was already dressed when Jakub came to collect him and quickly sent him away with the food he had brought. The words of his sister weighed heavily on his mind and stomach, and he found himself entirely incapable of eating anything as the words of his letters blurred before his eyes.

There were a lot of invitations from his varying neighbours he had to decline, feigning excuses about his father's recent death while they really were about hiding Cirilla and Geralt. 'I've got to do something to make her descent less obvious.' Hiding her in plain sight hadn't been his worst idea so far, still the possibility that some nobles had been to Cintra in the last few years and had caught a glimpse of the princess. But there still was a month to figure that particular obstacle out.

Midday was approaching rapidly when a knock on his door announced a visitor. "My lord," Borys, one of his guards, greeted him with a bow when he stepped inside. "We have found the poacher."

Jaskier raised his gaze expectantly from the letter he was penning. "Well," he looked around. "Where is he?"

As answer, there was the sound of commotion rising to his study and he rushed to the window to see a scrawny lad kicking and screaming, straining against the iron grip two of his other guards had on him. Marin was shouting orders and gesticulating wildly while the culprit drew quite the crowd. There were stable boys hooting and hollering, not quite obvious who they were cheering for and one of them seemed to shout something bad enough to earn him a clout on the ear from Wiktor. Geralt ushered Cirilla to the side – they had just been training – and pressed the two wooden swords into her hands while exchanging a few words. With a sharp nod the princess sprinted across the courtyard, disappearing from his line of sight – into the armoury probably.

Then, Geralt stepped out of the shadows and his demeanour changed to what Jaskier called the Scary Face. From up here it looked almost a bit like a bird ruffling up its feathers. The thought made him smile benignly. The boy stopped struggling as soon as he saw the witcher looming above him.

Jaskier turned away. He had seen enough. "Have him brought into the hall," he ordered and went back to his desk to at least close his inkwell – no need to waste the good ink by having it dry up.

By the time he got to the hall, his captive was already there, kneeling before the dais surrounded by no less than four guardsmen and a witcher. Jaskier clicked his tongue in disapproval. "Now that won't be necessary, I think," he decreed. "Leave us, please."

"My lord," Marin began warily, "talking to him alone would be highly inadvisable, in my opinion."

"Right," he answered as he took his place standing before the dais and placed his hands on his hips. "Which is why the witcher stays. The rest of you leave."

There was a fair share of reluctance on all parts but most of all on Geralt's: "I am not some common guard, my lord," he growled.

"Indeed, you aren't," Jaskier answered as soon as the three of them were alone in the room. "I just think the lad might appreciate a more private environment."

The kid laughed, high and clear. "For what exactly, my lord?"

"Ah," he said and leaned back against the dais, looking his captive over. "Not a lad at all, it seems. I am impressed, little girl. Do you have a name?"

"Alina," she answered. "And I am not little."

He raised one of his eyebrows. "How old are you, Alina?"

She raised her chin defiantly. "Sixteen."

"Right," Jaskier snorted. "How old are you?" he asked again.

There was hesitancy in her eyes before she cast them down and mumbled something incomprehensible.

"What was that?"

"She said she'll be fourteen in a moon's turn," Geralt answered for her. "My lord."

His eyebrows shot up. "Now I'm even more impressed. Cut her loose, witcher, Alina and I will have a nice conversation about how she learned to hunt."

The witcher grunted something Jaskier had long learned to interpret as surprise, but did as he was told all the same before retreating to one of the mighty columns that supported the ceiling. Alina rubbed her wrists slightly, obviously torn between looking at Jaskier in confusion and not wanting to anger him by doing so. "Get comfortable," he prompted and waited until she sat before him with crossed legs before he continued: "Who taught you how to hunt? I've seen your traps, they're wonderfully crafted."

She scoffed. "As if I'm going to tell you that."

"I'm not going to hurt you," he tried to assure her, "I'd have already done that if I wanted to. So? Any other master huntsmen or -women I need to know about?"

"Just me," she answered. "Now."

"And your father died when...?"

She flinched visibly. 'Ah.' He was onto something there. "My mother," she said after a while, "died a year ago. She's the one who taught me."

"I am sorry for your loss. Your father?"

"Ask yours," she shot back.

"Then I am doubly sorry that my family has caused you pain. Do you have any siblings?"

"Two," she admitted. "They're both younger than me."

"And there's no one left in Lettenhove to take care of you? Aunts? Uncles? Cousins? Maybe in some other town?"

She shook her head and there was the tiniest of sniffles.

"Oh dear," Jaskier said softly, fighting the urge to wrap her into a tight embrace. "I am so very sorry." He sighed heavily. "Go to the kitchens, Alina. You will receive a warm meal and food to share with your siblings. You will be taken care of for the winter."

She blinked in surprise. "Aren't- aren't you going to punish me, my lord?"

"I do not appreciate it when my game is being killed without my consent, that is true," he amended. "Therefore, you will come back in spring. I believe my huntsman is looking for a new apprentice."

She could do nothing but stare at him, her mouth opening and closing repeatedly.

Jaskier waved his hand at her. "Go now. You must be hungry." Still at a loss for words the young girl scrambled to her feet and rushed out of the room.

"Why'd you do that?" To his shame Jaskier gave a start, Geralt's voice much closer to his ear than he expected. "My lord?"

He turned to the witcher who stood barely two paces away from him and quirked his eyebrow. "Why did I do what?" he inquired.

Geralt gave a non-committal shrug Jaskier usually translated as 'whatever', but to his surprise he even elaborated: "Send her off with food. Promise to train her. Not punish her."

"She was hungry," he explained, "with no hopes of earning money. And she was scared."

"She could have lied," he suggested.

"Why should she?" Jaskier responded without hesitation. "I firmly believe that accused are innocent until proven guilty."

"To escape her rightful punishment? To steal from you?"

"I have plenty to share, it is no trouble at all." He fiddled with his signet ring, waiting for a response. It didn't take long for Geralt's silence to wear his patience thin: "Well, has she?"

"What?" Amusement made the lines around his eyes crinkle.

"Lied, I mean."

For that Jaskier was even rewarded with a tiny smile. "No, my lord. Not as far as I could tell."

"Good." Honest relief flooded through him. 'How terribly embarrassing it would have been,' he thought, 'to discover that my judge of character has betrayed me now.' Then, another thought appeared in his mind: "Do you think cousin Fiona is well enough to go riding with me today?"

"Hmm," Geralt made, thinking about it for a while. "I guess. Give me... give me an hour with her, my lord. I'll bring her to you."

He clasped his hands behind his back and nodded curtly. "I'm looking forward to it."

Geralt was a man of his word and not one hour later there was a timid knock on the door to his study and Cirilla entered, her eyes cast downwards. "Lord Julian?" she said so quietly he almost couldn't hear it. "I wanted to apologise. For disappointing you."

He smiled widely. "Oh, you mustn't. There is nothing to apologise for. The gods know I wouldn't look forward to spending all my time with old fools such as myself or our resident witcher."

She tilted her head, apparently unsure how to respond to that.

"Can I maybe tempt you to go for a ride with me now?"

She nodded eagerly. "I would like to."

"Good!" Jaskier leapt out of his chair and skidded over to her, offering her his hand to take, which she respectfully declined. That was just as well for him, same as the stoic silence she offered in response to his incessant babbling on their way to the stables. Geralt had to have alerted the stable hands, for they were already waiting there with Dancer and Dreamer, the two beautiful mares his sisters called their own. Both had recently received new saddles—he had discovered that, while saddles couldn't be embroidered once they were done, they could be branded, so now he had a saddle with buttercups and Cirilla one with little lions.

They rode out the gates at a leisurely pace, much slower than the breakneck speed Jaskier had grown fond of. But this ride wasn't solely for him; rather it was for the information Geralt had revealed to him on the previous day: Charming Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, the Lion Cub of Cintra with pretty gifts, was a futile attempt. The reason why he couldn't get her to like him was that she thought he didn't like Geralt. 'And that I am a total ass to everyone,' his brain added helpfully.

They had long left castle and village behind when he tried again: "Would you like to hear a story, cousin Fiona?"

"I would prefer not to,” she answered coolly.

"It's a good story, I promise." She scowled at him. "And I am sure you have heard it before, though surely not from a raconteur as skilled as I am. Let's see, what do we need? Right, a stage: imagine the most beautiful place in the world. There are miles upon miles of fields with flowers, in every colour of the rainbow. Can you see it?" He didn't wait for an answer. "Good. Now, the actors. We have a Hero, of course, because every story needs one. Large and fearsome with a mighty sword and a mightier shield he uses to protect the Innocent. Ah, there's another character. The Innocent, who ask the Hero to save them from the Villain. There's a Devil in this story, and a King. And... well, there's also me."

"You?" she asked sceptically. "Why are you there?"

"No reason in particular," he smiled at her. "I am just... the Narrator, if you will, the most unimportant character there is. The story would have transpired just the same." His smile grew sad. "There just wouldn't have been anyone to tell it after. But let's not think of that." He cracked his knuckles drumming out a rapid rhythm on the horn of his saddle in lack of a lute to play. "Once upon a time in the late summer of 1247, there was a mighty Hero in a town at the edge of the world. A beautiful year that was, and there were many beautiful places, though none quite as beautiful as where we set our stage. And I was just- I was travelling the continent, looking for a story to tell. Not necessarily mine, just any, really. That's what the Narrator does, right?"

Cirilla didn't answer.

"I was in a beautiful little town, singing not quite so beautiful little songs, when it happened: the Innocents cried out to the Hero. The Hero accepted, of course. He set out to slay the Devil. And I followed him. Always in search of a story to tell, just as I told you. The Hero didn't want me there, of course; he was, hm, a lone wolf, if you will." He quietly laughed at his own joke. "Did I listen? Of course not."

"That's stupid," the princess interrupted him. "And you're telling the story wrong."

Jaskier smiled. 'Finally.' He knew his talent hadn't abandoned him. "Is it? Why so?"

"You're not the Narrator! You're just another Innocent, and the Hero is trying to protect you!"

"Am I? I'm not sure. You are never just one thing, clever girl. A hero in one story is a villain in another."

She scowled. "Well, then what is the truth?"

"The truth?" He contemplated that question for a while. "Why, my dear Cirilla, I believe the truth in this story is completely inconsequential. As is in most stories."

"That doesn't make any sense," she huffed in annoyance.

"Let's see if I can make it make sense." Jaskier thought about it for a little while. "It doesn't matter if the story I tell you is true or if I have made it up," he said finally. "Truth is not what stories are for."

There was a sparkle in her eye, akin to what he'd call curiosity. "Well, then what are they for?" He felt himself reminded of his days as guest lecturer in Oxenfurt. She wasn't even that much younger than the youngest of his students, although he'd always preferred to teach the older classes.

"That is the question every master poet asks themselves," he gave the same answer as always, "Why do we tell stories? Why do we listen to stories? What makes a good story? I fear I cannot give you one true answer as little as I can give you one true story. I can, however, give you the answer that is true for me."

He took the lack of an answer as an invitation to continue: "Stories are for emotions. They are to make you weep and laugh, to make you shout in anger and yelp in surprise. To make you feel wonder and terror and hate. And love. Above all, stories are there to make you fall in love. With the world, with the future, with the past. Love for the villains and the innocents. And for the heroes, of course."

Cirilla grunted, obviously displeased with the answer. Jaskier almost gave up when she didn't offer another reply. But then, to his surprise she asked: "How does the story continue?"

That put a smile on his face as he urged the horse up another path to extend their ride. That would take a while. He continued to give another rendition of his and Geralt's first meeting, a bit truer to the actual events than what he relayed in his first famous ballad. But with her he didn't have to fear that any harm would come to the elves of Dol Blathanna.

Once he had finished, she was silent for a long while. Then she said: "The Hero is Geralt." It was not a question.

"He is."

"Then the story is not a good one," Cirilla said decisively. "I know the ending and it is not a happy one. You hate each other."

Jaskier smiled softly. "Oh, my dear princess. That is exactly why I told you this story. I know this might look like a grim ending but I promise you, it is not. If there had ever been a time to hate him it was there in that shitty tavern in Posada, when he was the Butcher of Blaviken. Before I came with him. Before I had made him the White Wolf. Before I had spent half my life in service to him and his heroics."

"What did he even do to make him hate you so?"

Jaskier flinched at the wording of that. 'I don't hate him,' he wanted to say. 'Not for a long stretch.' Instead he asked: "Shouldn't you ask him that?"

"I did!" Cirilla insisted. "And he tried to explain. But I don't think he even knows what he did wrong."

His heart clenched painfully and suddenly he had the pressing desire to weep. 'You lying bastard, as if you don't know' he thought and felt the anger flare up again. "Then it is not my place to tell you."

"But he hurt you?" Jaskier turned, surprised at the genuine concern in her voice. 'Maybe she doesn't take that much after Geralt after all.'

"Yes."

"A lot?" She blinked at him with large puppy eyes and he wanted nothing more than to reach out and embrace her.

"Yes."

"As much as my grandmother when she-" Cirilla's voice broke and she gulped.

"Oh my," Jaskier breathed. "Oh, I am so sorry, I didn't mean to remind you of that, dear girl, I-"

"It's alright," she whispered, her voice thick with tears. "But it's nice to know that we have something in common."

Jaskier winced. "No, it probably hasn't hurt quite that much. But very nearly."

"Why?" she asked agonisingly. "How?"

"Sometimes the people we love most are the ones to hurt us most," he answered honestly.

She stared down at the reins she clutched tightly in her hands. "I still think it's a sad story."

"Oh, but you're seeing it wrong. We are not done yet; look around you." He spread his arms. "All the players are on the stage again! I think we are merely entering the second act. And I believe we might live to our happy ending yet."

She grunted and rolled her eyes, the spitting image of Geralt.

Jaskier couldn't help but laugh. The sound seemed to startle her. Did all sounds startle her or did he just laugh that little? "I see you are taking after our resident witcher."

"And that is a bad thing," she stated matter-of-factly.

"Not necessarily, no." He granted her a quick smile. "He's got a lot of good qualities. "

More silence followed as they ducked beneath the branches of a tree. Soon after Cirilla remarked: "You never say his name."

'She's very perceptive, that one.' Now it was him who stared at his hands, twirling his thumbs idly. "I suppose I do not."

"Why?"

He sighed heavily. How could he even begin to explain that? "I have shouted his name to every corner of the continent," he said thoughtfully. "The one you know and half a hundred others you surely will have heard. All to erase one unsavoury moniker. And it hasn't gotten me anything but rejection. I guess he has to earn it again."

They rode in silence for a while. To his surprise it was Cirilla again who spoke up first: "So you love each other?"

"I wouldn't know about him. But I guess I do."

"You don't kiss."

That startled Jaskier and Dancer snuffled when he pulled on the reins too harshly. "No, we don't. Never have."

"My grandmother and grandfather used to kiss all the time," she said with the innocence only a child could possess.

"I fear I cannot imagine that."

"It was gross."

He laughed. "That I can imagine. How about a faster pace?" he asked when they left the hill trail they had been on. When the princess nodded her assent, he pressed his heels into Dancer's sides, prompting her into a slow trot, not so fast that Cirilla couldn't follow. To his surprise she quickly sped past him and it was on him to catch up to her again, cursing and panting when he did.

"Cousin?" she asked, her voice lighter than ever before. "What about your name?"

"What about it?" he asked surprised.

"He said you forbade him to say it."

'Ah. That.' That truly wasn't his proudest moment. "I did."

"Why?"

"In part just because I was angry. In the beginning also, because I thought I could soothe my pain like that. I am no longer who I was with him and I can never be again."

"And now?"

"Now it's just fun to look at him trying to avoid saying it." He winked.

There was a smile tugging at Cirilla's lips. And then, for the first time since her arrival she laughed. It was a glorious sound, sweeter than any music he'd ever heard, as if sent from Melitele herself – he swore he would treasure it for the rest of his life. "You're mean!"

"Only a little," Jaskier replied and laughed, too. It was the first true laugh that had passed his lips since- since the Dragon Hunt truth be told. "But don't tell him, I want to see him dance around it for a little longer."

She drew her fingers over her lips, signifying her silence. Then, she asked: "What about me?"

"What about you, dear child?"

"What should I call you?"

"You, my dear, may call me whatever you like." He smiled brightly. "Though I think I'd like it best if you called me Jaskier."

"Jaskier," she said, tasting the sound of the name on her tongue. "I like that. It sounds pretty."

"I was very pretty when I chose it."

She wrinkled her nose at him. "Really? I wouldn't have guessed it with all those wrinkles."

Jaskier placed his palm on his chest, gasping in mock-hurt. ‘She and Yennefer would be a great fit,’ he caught himself thinking. "Now who's the mean one?" To his never-ending amazement Cirilla laughed again. "What about your name. What should I call you?"

"Ciri. It's what everyone calls me."

"And you would like me to belong to that chosen few?" he teased.

"Yes, Jaskier," she answered. "I would like that very much."

"You know what I would like?"

"Hm?"

He leaned over to her so he could whisper in her ear even though they were still a few good paces away from the gatehouse. "Sneak in the kitchen and steal baked apples."

Ciri gasped a little. "We can do that?"

"Pfft," he answered and sat upright again, "who's going to stop us? The lord?"

"Isn't your cook going to be angry?"

"That, my dear," he tapped her on the nose, "is half the fun." He swung from his saddle and extended his arms to help her down. "Come with me?" he asked and this time when he extended his hand, she took it.

Once they had raided the kitchen for baked apples and other sweets – very unsuccessful in their attempt not to get caught – he led her to the North Wing, past Armoury and Dining Room and Study, to the floor where his personal quarters were along with two other bedrooms. He pushed the door to the smallest of the three open and Ciri nearly dropped the plate she was carrying.

"What is this room?" she asked in wonderment as she stepped inside. There was a narrow bed on the other end as well as a desk, but above all it was littered with toys – dolls and tin soldiers, a rocking horse and several toy swords, stuffed animals and balls and drums and everything a child could wish for. "Jaskier?"

"It's, um-" He cleared his throat. "It's my room. It was, rather. Until I was your age. A bit older maybe. I couldn't move you in here for propriety's sake, I'd never hear the end of it but you are welcome to come here anytime you like. Or the four bedrooms above, they're my sisters'. I'm sure they have more dolls and suchlike if you'd prefer tha- oof."

The air was pressed out of his lungs when Ciri hugged him tightly. "Thank you," she whispered quietly and he gently stroked her head. "Can we stay for a while?"

He gulped. "Of course, little one. As long as you like." He sat down on the thick rug in front of the fireplace and watched the little princess flit around, seemingly eager to try out each and every one of the toys while he helped himself to the sweets they had abducted. Despite the host of toys in this room, he didn't have a lot of happy memories connected to this place. 'Maybe it's time to make new ones,' he thought.

"What are those?" Ciri shrieked in delight and showed a box to him.

"Oh!" he answered gleefully as he gingerly accepted the chest. "My puppets!" He had almost forgotten about them. "I invented my first stories with those."

"Can you tell me one? Or two?" she asked eagerly as she sat down.

"As many as you want. Let's see, I guess I'm a bit out of practice, but-" He dug through the chest, searching for the right puppet. "Once upon a time," he said impassioned as he tugged two of them free, "there was a Prince living in a tower. It was guarded by a fearsome Dragon..."

After no less than five of his earliest inventions his throat was sore from all the talking – how had he been able to sing for hours, gods, what had his life turned into? – and begged for mercy. Ciri, ever the lenient princess, granted it to him, moving the puppets about by herself for a while. Oh, what would he give to hear the story that bloomed in her head, a story about a knight with a fool's hat riding a kelpie with a prince no less?

"Jaskier?" she asked, hugging the prince close to her chest.

"Yes, Ciri?"

"What about the Narrator?"

"What about him?"

"In your stories," she explained, "everyone deserves to be loved. Even the villains. What about the Narrator?"

"I told you, my darling," he said softly, "his fate is inconsequential to the story. It doesn't matter whether he is loved or not."

"That's not true," Ciri whispered and for a moment he feared she would begin to cry, "Without him there would be no story at all. No happy ending." She hugged the prince closer. "And... it matters to me."

"Oh, my sweet darling girl," it was all he could do not to burst into tears, "the world doesn't deserve you." She looked very confused at that, so Jaskier offered: "Would you like another story?"

It was already getting late, Ciri was bedding her head on an embroidered pillow hugging a toy emperor tightly, and Jaskier could scarcely speak anymore when a quiet knock at the door announced Geralt. Ciri blinked sleepily up at him and Jaskier nodded curtly.

"I take it you had a pleasant afternoon?" the witcher asked. “And evening.”

"Very," Ciri answered and yawned as he leaned down to brush the hair from her face. "I like Jaskier."

Geralt gaped, though Jaskier could not say whether it was for the statement or the name.

He smiled contently and stood, walking over to the door.

Geralt cleared his throat. "You do not need to leave, my lord."

"I know," he said softly. "But I believe you have a lot to talk about." He hesitated at the door and looked back over his shoulder. "Sweet dreams, Ciri. Goodnight, Geralt." The look he got from both of them was priceless.

#my writing #of witchers bards and broken hearts #OWBABH #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #cirilla #geraskier fanfiction

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writersrealmbts · 5 years ago

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Harvest Moon

Description: Halloween! Werewolf!Taehyung x Reader: You live a normal life, in a normal little town, but it’s the Wolf-Harvest Festival, and the moon is full.

Posted: 10/30/2019

Tags: Werewolves, Werewolf!Taehyung

Wordcount: 3,422

A/N: It’s almost as good as the first time I tried to write it and the computer deleted it.

You grinned as the man breathed fire into the air and his fellow entertainers juggled torches, slowly walking to the next source of entertainment. The smells of food, the cheer of crowds, the all encompassing warmth of the Wolf-Harvest Festival. Your village and the neighboring villages were all excited for this. It’d been a good year, an extra long growing season with extra harvests. Everyone would eat well this winter.

You smiled as one of the children gave you an caramel apple slice on a stick, smiling as they skipped away with the other children.

You ate as you observed a dance performance, interpreting the wolves that once roamed the towns according to legends and old tales. The protectors of children and guides to the lost.

And who would occasionally take a villager as their mate, which was what was being depicted inaccurately onstage. When werewolves chose mates it was more romantic. The villagers were the wolves true-mates, and they would court the villager quite successfully before then leaving with said villager. No one who left with the wolves ever returned, or if they were it was by force and it didn’t go over well.

But that wasn’t nearly dramatic enough for performers.

You shook your head, and continued along, checking the goods at each stall to determine if you wanted any of them, but ultimately loosing yourself in the crowd. Surrounded yet alone.

A hand gently brushed along your shoulder, then down your arm, drawing your hand out until his fingertips barely parted from yours.

Your gaze was drawn to his face, and the seductive smirk he wore as he regarded you. His tongue flicked over his lower lip, and his head tilted ever so slightly, beckoning you to follow him.

You nodded ever so slightly, following even though some part of your mind knew that this was a dangerous thing to do.

But his face was enchanting. Unreal.

The smile fluctuated from amused to alluring, entirely godlike. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from his face, even though you could glimpse his gorgeous neck, the golden skin of his collarbone, how his shirt was opened ever so slightly to reveal more of the golden skin of his chest. His eyes glowed in the firelight, drawing you further into his hold over you.

You vaguely noticed that you were entering the forest, drawn away from the crowds.

The light was dimmer, yet his eyes still glowed, turned partially away from you, holding onto you by the fingertips. Trees encompassed you, but you couldn’t keep track of the path you were taking. It was as if every time your mind would start to wander to your surroundings, his touch would grow just a little more enticing.

You could tell the forest was getting denser, trees and branches closer together and blocking what little light was able to permeate the canopy from the sunset.

An eyebrow quirked, head rolling and exposing his neck seductively. His tongue slid along his lips again and then you were staring at his lips.

A deep chuckle came from his throat, and you felt breathless, but it was enough to break the hold on you long enough to realize that the only thing you could clearly see was the man, and his glowing eyes, and you definitely didn’t know where you were despite having explored the woods around your home your whole life.

Then his hand encompassed all of yours, warm and strong.

Your gaze snapped to his hand.

Long fingers. Long, gorgeous, sinful fingers.

His grip tightened and he jerked your through some sort of plant-y barrier and suddenly you found yourself gazing out over a grassland. In the distance you could see the shimmer of a lake and a different forest, and the moon was just peeking over the horizon, opposite of the sun.

You loudly drew in a breath as if you hadn’t been breathing the whole time.

He was standing behind you a little, the fingertips of his right hand brushing over one shoulder while his left hand brushed the loose hair from it. “You’re brave,” He murmured, and gods! His voice! As if he wasn’t already unearthly, his voice just seemed to embody it more. “And beautiful.”

You didn’t know if you would ever breathe properly again, but you slowly turned to him, gaze on the ground at first, but flicking up to his face once his shoes came into your field of vision.

Yeah. Still godlike.

He chuckled again, very close to you, very close to your face. “Do you know what I am?”

You felt a trill of fear and apprehension, but also excitement. And attraction. You swallowed, piecing together your fractured thoughts and answering before you really could acknowledge your own thinking. “A werewolf.”

“Are you still unafraid?” He asked cheekily, long fingers tilting your chin up until you were no longer staring at his smile, but his eyes. Gorgeous, entrancing eyes. “Because you don’t seem to be?”

“I…know the stories….” You whispered, licking and then biting your lips. “And it’s not…that I’m…unafraid….”

His nose suddenly brushed lightly against yours. “Do you know why you’re here?”

You nodded slowly. “I’m…your mate.”

“My true mate,” he whispered, and—gods, could he just give you two minutes to breath? One of his hands rested lightly on your waist. “Is that okay with you?”

“Isn’t it a little late to be asking that?” You whispered.

He shook his head, and suddenly his lips brushed against your eyebrow. “I could return you to your home next full moon, and you could live your life as though this never happened.”

“Except my job would be gone. Can’t run a school without a teacher.” Your mind was starting to catch up. “And where are we?”

“This is neutral territory, space between our land, the witches, and the vampires. Used for festivals. I’m actually surprised that there isn’t one tonight with a harvest moon. Over there, where you that first hill is where pack territory starts, and extends far beyond the lake.” His voice was low, and his lips touched your neck, causing you to gasp. “You’d never be an outcast again, y/n.”

You froze, mind beginning to race. “How do you know my name?”

“The moon has been full since yesterday,” He replied, stepping back only a little, so he could look you in the eyes. “I was drawn to your scent, but I didn’t want to approach you until I could discern your attachment to that place. You have no family, one friend who forgets you in lieu of her own happiness, and though you’re fond and attached to the children, you’re scorned by their parents. Even if you choose not to be my mate, there could still be a place in the pack for you.” The smirk was long gone, and he looked utterly serious. Sober, and compassionate. Sympathetic.

You forced yourself to turn away, unable to think clearly in his presence. “I would have to become a wolf, wouldn’t I?”

“Eventually,” He replied. “The pack is close, we couldn’t bear to watch one of our own age while we stayed young.”

You turned back, confused. “Werewolves don’t age?”

He shrugged. “Not after reaching peak adulthood. Whenever that may be. Packs move around, new packs are formed. My pack is a younger one. Wolves die, don’t get me wrong, but we don’t age. Makes our bonds deeper, more important.” His fingers trailed along your face, filling you with a warmth that had been missing in your life for a very long time.

“Y-you said I could leave if I don’t like it?”

He nodded slowly. “I’ll still check on you after, though. I’ll need to.”

You nodded as well. You figured it would be harder on him for the mating to not go over well. “Um, I guess show me to your territory?”

He suddenly grinned, and instead of being super seductive and alluring, it was adorable and playful. “Okay! I’ll be shifting once the moon is fully over the horizon, and then you can ride on me to the territory. It’s farther than it looks and you’ll be safer riding me than walking. Then the others will know that you’re mine and will stay away.”

“Others? Like, other werewolves?”

“Oh, no, they’re probably already waiting for me to return. No, other creatures. Vamps, witches…spriggans….” His gaze drifted out over the valley, as if just remembering the last creature. He looked back to you and smiled, looking amused. “They’ll be out and about soon, but they know not to come between a wolf and his mate. Too much trouble for everyone involved.”

“Should we at least start walking while we wait for the moon?” You asked.

He nodded, offering you his hand, but this time it was with a playful grin instead of that smirk. It was like he’d done a one-eighty. A completely different side of his personality showing, and yet you were still attracted to him and that adorably boxy grin. This side of his personality felt more…human?

He stopped to pick some of the flowers, being particular about what ones he did, and leaving the stem nice and long. He walked along with a spring in his step. “I think you’ll like it with us. We had a good harvest this year as well, so we’re going to eat well. And we had limited hunts for the past couple years so that there’s more prey this year. We’re going to start the hunt soon, so we can smoke the meat and make sausage.”

“When?”

“Two days time,” He answered, looking toward the lake. “I’m sad that it’s happening while you’re with us.”

“Oh, it’s okay. I could help. My father was a butcher. I used to help in his shop.” You watched his fingers twist the stems together, smiling a little as you recognized what he was doing. You taught the girls in the school how to make flower chains like that earlier that day.

He finished the ring, then added flowers to it to look fuller before turning and placing it on your head. “Pretty.” He skipped ahead a couple steps to stoop and pick more flowers.

You paused beside him as he was fiddling with a rather troublesome stem, watching as the moon slipped fully from the hold of the horizon.

Taehyung looked up at it, face blank before he smiled softly. He placed the flower crown in your hands. It was larger than the one you wore. “Here, put it on my head after I shift.” He unbuttoned his shirt, sliding it off his shoulders.

You looked away, flustered.

He made a pained sound, then you heard a low growl that turned into terrifying howl.

You shivered, shrinking in on yourself until you noticed the flower crown draped across both of your hands.

He made a soft sound, and you turned toward him.

He had gorgeous fur, with a couple darker spots on his face that you figured were freckles in his human form. He was sitting, looking at with his head tilted cutely. Tail wagging. He lowered his head a little.

Which would have been cute if he was almost as tall as you were, sitting down.

“Wow,” You whispered, then let out a breath all at once. “You weren’t kidding about being big enough for me to ride.”

His tail started wagging, and his nose touched your fingertips—cold and wet.

You looked at your hands and remembered the flower crown. You carefully draped it on his lowered head, making sure to hook it around his ears.

He stood up afterward, seeming pleased, and nudged his clothes toward you.

You picked them up, folding them carefully and putting them into the bag that he had been carrying.

He crouched down, using his muzzle to nudge you toward it.

“Right, I’ve only ever ridden horses, so forgive me if I hurt you.”

He yipped playfully, rubbing your hip with his muzzle before settling down to wait for you to climb on.

You carefully hopped up, swinging your leg over and then shifting forward a bit to grab onto his scruff to keep yourself in place. “This is probably the craziest thing I’ve ever done.”

He wiggled, then stood when he felt your grip on his scruff tighten. He slowly started walking, then set off in a trot toward the lake, letting you become accustomed to riding him before picking up his pace.

You could glimpse some bats flying through the air and you could swear you heard a cackle in the distance.

But though some of the bats definitely circled around you, they didn’t come within reach of your wolf’s sharp teeth.

He barked once, when a bat came too low, too close.

The bats quickly flew away.

It was only a few more minutes before he slowed to a trot again and the lake was much closer.

Another wolf came running up, silver fur rippling in the orange light of the moon, it stopped when it spotted you, though. It was shorter than your wolf, but only slightly. It seemed smaller since this wolf seemed to have a slighter figure, elegant or graceful.

Your wolf lay down, and you slipped off even though it scared you.

He gently tugged on the bag with his clothing and you took it off and set it down before turning away.

You turned back when he tapped your shoulder.

The other wolf had shifted as well, wearing pants and a loose shirt as well. He had a mysterious and elegant air to him still. “Taehyung?”

“Jiminie! This is Y/n. She’s my mate!” Your wolf grinned at the other man. “Y/n, this is Jimin, he’s my best friend.”

Jimin’s expression softened, and he smiled a bit. “Hello, y/n. Tae-tae, we were worried about you. You ran off without a word.”

“I followed my nose through the portal, sorry Chim.” He gently guided you closer to him with his hand on your shoulder blade. “Where are the others?”

“Near. I’ll go find them and tell them to come…clothed,” Jimin regarded you with an amused smile, then jogged away.

The flower crown Taehyung had worn as a wolf was hanging around his neck now, and his shirt wasn’t quite buttoned correctly.

“Like I said, my pack is a young one. Last year the older members moved on, just the seven of us stayed behind. It’s the our pack has lived for ages, when a new alpha comes that’s ready for a leadership position, either the rest of the pack splits off or the new alpha leaves with those that wish to follow him. Namjoonie-hyung is a good leader though, and it’s nice having more space to roam.” Taehyung picked up the bag, then smiling at you. “You’ll be a little outnumbered, though.”

“Outnumbered?”

“Well, none of the others have mates just yet. I’m actually a little young to have found mine. Usually we can’t tell until we reach complete maturity. Jungkookie is our youngest, he was a little young to stay behind with our new pack, but we’d been raising him ever since his parents were killed when he was…thirteen winters old? He’s seventeen winters old now. He’s our pup.” He smiled lovingly at the thought of his pack-mates. “But none of the others have found their true mates yet. We’re still sort of establishing ourselves. We work with another pack that’s nearby, trading labor and goods where we can. They’re pacifists, and they’re mostly grateful that we’re between them and the witches and vampires and spriggans. They’re popular for those raising pups. A lot of the packs have their moms and pups stay with them until the pups are old enough to consciously shift in and out of wolf form instead of shifting with their moods. Usually around the time they start to really run around. But a lot of folks stay longer, and I’m sure they would love to have a school!”

You had begun smiling again as he sort of rambled, realizing he was doing his best to make sure you’d want to stay. “Sounds like a nice idea that we can look into some other time.”

He looked at you and relaxed a little more, sort of staring at your face in a soft sort of way. “You really are the most beautiful creature I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

You looked to the ground. “You’re pretty handsome yourself, you know.” So handsome that it was enchanting.

“Thank you,” He said, beaming happily when you glanced up at him. Then he turned quickly. “Hyungs! Jungkookie! Come meet my mate!”

You stepped closer to your man, feeling a little shy.

They were all different, and yet handsome. Not nearly as handsome as your man, but in their own ways.

“This is y/n! Y/n, this is Namjoon-hyung, our leader—”

Namjoon dipped his head and you returned the gesture, smiling nervously.

“—Then that one is Seokjinnie-hyung, the short one next to him is Yoongi-hyung—”

Seokjin offered you a kind smile while the other just sort of nodded tersely.

“Hoseokie-hyung is the one next to Jimin, who you met, and hiding behind Seokjinnie-hyung is our little Jungkookie!” Taehyung pointed everyone out.

Hoseok had a bright grin.

Jungkook didn’t seem nervous, calmly watching you from behind the safety of Seokjin’s broad shoulders.

“So, y/n, you’re from which village?” Namjoon asked, and he sounded…kind.

You told him the name of your village, darting a glance up at Taehyung.

Namjoon smiled and nodded. “I remember it. They still celebrate the wolf-harvest?”

“Yes, they do. Tonight, actually,” You answered softly, still glancing to Taehyung for reassurance.

He kissed your temple. “You looked so pretty in the firelight. Ah, I should have bought more treats for everyone. I did get some candied nuts, though!” He pulled out a bag of the nuts from his satchel, tossing them to Jin, who immediately opened the bag and started tasting.

The other boys were quick to gather around him and the bag.

You smiled a little. “You all act like you’re starved for sweets.”

“Well, we’ve had to use our sugar sparingly. Haven’t had the chance to trade with the neighboring pack quite yet,” Namjoon explained.

You looked up at the moon, then at Taehyung. “I just realized I don’t even have clothes.”

He glanced toward the moon as well, looking worried. “I don’t think I could get us both there and back before the moon disappears.”

“Then would you go, at least?” You asked. “I don’t need much.”

You swore his face was red.

“Um…yeah…yeah, I can go…um…could someone show her to…where she’ll be staying?” He seemed flustered.

Jimin nodded, stepping forward. “I can.”

Namjoon was looking at the moon. “I better go with you, Tae, just in case. I can open the portal for a few extra minutes if we need to.”

Your thoughts raced and you came to a conclusion before you could stop yourself. “Actually, just…bring whatever you can? I don’t think I need a month to decide to stay here.”

Taehyung seemed to calm instantly, looking like you hung the stars in the sky. “Really?”

You nodded. “I mean, still no promises on the whole mate thing, but I can find a place here just as easily as I could back there.”

He grinned and nodded. “Okay!”

“In that case, you’ll probably need extra help,” Yoongi said, his voice unexpectedly deep. “While Jimin takes y/n to the cabin Seokjin cleaned out this morning, we can go clean out the house. With all of us, it shouldn’t be that hard to get back before the moon sets.”

“And I’ve got some magic bags from my trade with the witches earlier this evening. Apparently, they can’t get their baneberry to grow as well as ours is.” Seokjin grinned and held up a couple satchels that had been slung over his shoulders. “But we should hurry.”

“Right, let’s go,” Namjoon ordered, discarding his shirt.

You glanced at Taehyung one last time before darting to Jimin’s side.

“Oh, welcome to the pack, y/n,” Namjoon called out.

When you glanced back, six wolves were sprinting across the grassland.

One with a ring of flowers around its neck, dark fur tinted orange in the light of the harvest moon.

Yeah, you made the right choice.

Masterlist

#werewolf!taehyung #halloween story #reader x taehyung #taehyung x reader #kim taehyung #werewolf!au #halloween story madness #bts #bts fic #kim namjoon #park jimin #jeon jungkook #kim seokjin #min yoongi #Jung HoSeok

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managedmischiefs · 4 years ago

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north commentary//chapter one

it’s finally here!! I apologize for the time it took for me to actually get this posted but it’s finally here. I didn’t edit any of the actually commentary so if there’s mistakes then I’m very sorry. also, I’m not going to tag anyone on the tag list for north, but if I do more of these in the future then maybe I will.

I’m going to begin editing chapter two immediately after posting this and it will be up probably sometime tomorrow night, so look out for that! enjoy my commentary. hopefully you find it insightful in some way and you get a deeper understanding for my oc and for my interpretation of spencer.

SPENCER

Being late to work is not something that I tend to enjoy. I hate it, in fact. I feel like I'm letting my team down if I'm ever late to round table meetings or if I miss a briefing. But these days, sleep is rare. And if I do sleep, it's not uncommon for me to sleep over the array of alarms I have.

Hello lovely followers and readers!! Thank you for spending your time reading this commentary and for getting involved and being interested in the way that my brain works while writing this fic. If you like commentary like this then I’ll definitely do more in the future!! There’s future chapters that I would absolutely kill to do commentary on and would love to explain my thought process on. This commentary is mainly about why I choose to make Spencer and my OC act certain ways because this is only the first chapter and there aren’t plot points to dissect, but if I do more in the future then I’ll definitely talk about plot points and such. Enjoy!!

Coffee is a must have for me at all points of the day. No sleep means exhaustion and exhaustion means my brain doesn't work as quickly as it could and that means we don't solve cases and not solving cases means more people die. I can't have more people die on my watch so I drink as much coffee as I can. But the coffee in the bullpen isn't always the best so if I ever have time, I stop at a cafe on my way to work. I take the extra five minutes to walk there before hopping on the metro.

I mumble off my coffee order to the tired looking barista and she scribbles down my name. I hand over a few stray bills to pay and get some change in return, tucking it in my pants pocket. I give a tight lipped smile to the barista before moving to a table in the corner of the cafe, pulling a book out of my messenger bag and starting to read, crossing one of my legs over the other. I don't look up while I wait for the barista to call out my name, not even when two people bump into each other in front of the door or a tourist asks someone else for directions. I just read my book and chew my lip, tapping my fingers against the hardcover.

We all know that Spencer lives his life on coffee and would probably fall asleep standing up if he didn’t have coffee every morning and at multiple points throughout the day. There’s quite a lot of mentions throughout the show that coffee in police stations is really bad, so I wouldn’t imagine the coffee in the BAU is much better. So in my mind, Spencer would search for a coffee shop that he liked and one that he thought was cozy and peaceful. He doesn’t strike me as a fast paced person in his personal life. What I mean by that is I don’t think he would be the person to only allot himself just five minutes to get his coffee, catch his train, and get to work. He strikes me as someone who wants to take his time and be able to sit down and read his book. Thus, this scene was born.

"Spencer," I hear my name being called and finally allow myself attention to be lifted.

I stand quickly, tucking my book in my bag and closing the flap before heading back to the main counter. But the buckle of my bag gets caught on the button of my sleeve when I try to close my bag all the way. I pull at my sleeve, trying to get the buckle unlooped. But in this tussle with myself, I don't even realize that I'm still walking until I bump right into someone. I move my attention from my bag and catch the person's shoulders so I don't completely knock them over and make not only a fool of myself, but of them too.

Spencer is clumsy, we all know this. He’s not just clumsy when he meets girls and is flustered by their attention/affection but he’s clumsy in these types of social situations where he has to rush to stand and grab his cup of coffee. There’s a lot of times in the show where you can see him struggling to put his messenger bag on because it gets stuck in his hair. He’s just not too swift. But we all love him unconditionally.

"Oh my gosh," I say immediately, my eyes widening, "I'm so sorry,"

"It's okay, it's okay," the girl laughs, her hands squeezing my arms as she regains her balance, “didn’t even fall. You caught me. I didn’t even break a sweat!”

My eyes finally find the girl's face and I'm rendered absolutely speechless. I somehow notice everything about her right away and I memorize her beauty. Her eyes are a bright, beautiful shade of ocean blue and her eyelashes cast shadows over her perfectly pink cheeks. Her hair is wavy and blonde with brown roots, but there's a yellow and blue patterned scarf tied around the front of her head like a folded bandana with pieces pulled out to frame her face. Her nose is small and I can only liken it to a button. Her lips are full and plump and a pretty light pink color and her Cupid's Bow is one that Cupid himself should be jealous of. Both of her ears are full of different types of piercings, and her nose even has a hoop in her right nostril.

She's wearing a light blue knit sweater tucked into a tight denim skirt, along with a pair of short black boots with small heels on them. Her nails are painted white and her fingers are full of rings, each of them different styles and various shades of silver with yellow gems. I notice a tattoo on one of her fingers but she moves and I can't make out what it is. I wonder if she has more tattoos. I find two straps around her shoulders and realize she's wearing a leather backpack, one probably very similar to my own bag. The last thing I notice is the old fashioned camera hanging around her neck, resting just above the waistband of her skirt.

Spencer doesn’t feel like the kind of guy who would judge a book by its cover. He doesn’t seem like he would take one look at a person and decide the type of person they would be. I don’t even think he would necessarily abuse his profiling skills in his everyday life and with the strangers he meets. But if he managed to stumble upon a girl that he really liked and had an instant attraction to, like what happens right here with Amelia, I really think that he would want to know everything about her. He would scramble to collect information about her, based on her appearance and just the sound of her voice and off of what she ordered. So not only do these last two paragraphs serve as me being able to be outright about who Amelia is and what my OC looks like (because I always have a really specific look for my OC’s) but it also serves as Spencer collecting as much information this girl he just met and that he finds much more than intriguing.

I've seen my fair share of pretty girls. I've seen girls that I wouldn't mind getting to know better. I've met girls that have caught my attention. I've even been in what I believed to be love. But what is this? If I thought I'd seen a beautiful girl before, I clearly hadn't met this girl before. She looks like an angel sent directly from heaven. She looks like she was crafted by God himself and put on this earth to grace mankind with her beauty. Is it fair for one woman to be this beautiful? Is it even possible? I didn’t think that one woman could possess such beauty.

What the hell is wrong with me? I can barely even breathe. I’m just staring at this gorgeous specimen, admiring her smile and trying to memorize the way her fingertips feel on my forearms. I quickly try to think of something to say, another apology for running into her, but I can barely even breathe when I stare at her, much less speak.

Spencer doesn’t get a lot of girls, and when he does, he doesn’t generally have good luck with them (Lila, Maeve- lol). But I truly believe that when he catches feelings, he falls so hard. He doesn’t fall too fast, and this is explored in upcoming chapters, but he falls really hard and he treats his girlfriend/crush like an absolute queen. He worships to ground she walks on and thinks she put the moon and the sun and the stars in the sky. This is just how I imagine how Spencer would see and treat his SO in a relationship. He would really love them with all of his heart and dote on them endlessly and give them his whole heart.

"Spencer," the barista calls out my name again, setting my cup down on the counter before walking away. Saved by the barista.

The girl smiles at me and her face lights up, only further illuminating her features. She's got two dimples on her cheeks, bringing out a childlike spirit in her that I pick up right away. "Um," she says with a laugh, "is that yours? You should probably grab it before someone else steals it,"

I wish I could say more about Amelia’s character right now because she is so beautifully complex and so confusingly real, if that makes sense. She appears to be so put together, as Spencer so aptly observes, but as time goes on, she really starts to fall apart at the seams. But every person is like this. Nobody is truly ‘put together’ no matter how hard they try. That’s what makes us human. We all fall apart eventually. There’s a little glimpse into the future for you.

Okay, Spencer, breathe. You can do this. You’ve spoken to pretty girls before. Sure, it’s hard and it’s scary, but you can do it. Just say words. Preferably, coherent words. Preferably, maybe, a full sentence.

More of Spencer being adorably confused when it comes to girls. How can you not love him??

"Right," I finally force out, dropping my hands from her arms. I hadn't realized until now that I was still holding onto her and she was still holding onto me. I reach over and grab my steaming coffee, almost wincing at the heat under my fingertips.

The girl still hasn't moved when I turn back to her, but now she's fiddling with her camera. "Are you," I start to say before hesitating. Her head pops up and she smiles again, letting her camera fall against her stomach. I gulp, shuffling my feet against the floor as I attempt to speak a full sentence. "I didn't mean to bump into you like that,"

"Oh, it's totally fine," she waves her hand at me casually. "I wasn't paying attention either. No harm, no foul. Like I said, I didn’t even break a sweat,” The girl pushes her hair behind her ears and places her hands on her hips. With the confident way she speaks, I almost expect her to keep speaking, but she doesn’t. She just looks at me with the cutest smile, even baring her teeth, waiting for me to say something else.

Amelia is very much so an extrovert and it’s obvious in the way that she has no problem participating in this conversation (and how she has no problems remembering how to breathe like Spencer does), but she’s not bouncing off the walls and screaming and grabbing at Spencer. He wouldn’t gel with someone like that, in my opinion, because they would overwhelm him. I wanted Amelia to be like a breath of fresh air for Spencer, or the feeling of the sun on your skin, or how the relief you get when you lay in bed after a long day (I don’t like that last comparison but just bear with me). I wanted her to, right off the bat, being a calming presence to him. If you notice, Spencer points out that he expects her to speak but she doesn’t. She waits until he speaks and in my mind, I envisioned that as Amelia reading the situation and recognizing Spencer’s slight anxiety and waiting until he was comfortable speaking. She didn’t want to push him and cause more anxiety. Do with that information what you will. Let us continue reading.

So I clutch my cup of coffee and swallow thickly. “I-" I hesitate yet again, but when the girl's eyes scream for me to continue, I do. "What's your name?"

She opens her mouth to speak but before she can, another cup of coffee is placed on the counter. "Amelia," the barista announces before walking away.

Amelia laughs, taking a step over to grab her cup, which I immediately notice is tea and not coffee. "Took the words right out of my mouth,"

Remember when I said he was trying to collect as much information on Amelia as possible?? He notices she’s drinking tea instead of coffee.

"Amelia," I repeat as if testing the way the word rolls off my tongue. It tastes sweet. "You heard already, but, um, I'm Spencer,"

"It's nice to meet you," Amelia holds her hand to shake mine, and the panic starts to set in. For a moment, I debate on actually just shaking her hand so I don’t seem like a total freak to this girl that I seem to have a massive crush on. But the prospect of shaking a total strangers hand is repulsive and when I find myself looking at her hand for more than two seconds, I’m starting to count up the amount of germs that would be present there and I have to force myself not to make a face.

The show is very inconsistent with Spencer’s hand shaking because sometimes he’s giving out handshakes like it’s candy but other times he’s waving. So fuck the cm writers. In my head, Spencer rarely shakes hands with people other than those on the team and those he really trusts. So the sheer fact that he’s even considering shaking Amelia’s hand is a huge deal. He wants to make a good impression on her and he’s just hoping that he doesn’t look stupid in front of her. He’s even willing to shake her hand to make a good impression. He’s willing to do something that he absolutely hates, and to me, that’s a huge deal.

So of course, while my hands get clammy and my heart rate speeds up, I do what I do best. I spit out a fact that Amelia didn't ask for. "On average we carry 3,200 bacteria from 150 different species on our hands,"

Amelia's fingers curl into her palm and she retracts her hand, looking down at her palm and smiling just a tiny bit. "You know, I don't blame you for not wanting to shake hands. It is kinda gross anyway,"

"Sorry," I blurt out immediately, still shuffling on my feet. "That was rude of me,"

"It's not rude," Amelia counters, sipping her tea without so much as grimacing at the inevitable heat. "Are you in a rush?" I glance down at my watch and see that I still have ten minutes until I should be getting on the train. I relay this information to her and watch as she smiles again. "Would you like to sit with me then?"

Guys, I love Amelia so much. I know that my .2 brain cells created her, but I really love her. She doesn’t cut of Spencer when he gives her a fact about germs and she goes along with his aversion to handshaking without a second thought. There’s no interruption or eye-rolling or sass. She listens to him and accepts him and then offers to sit down with him. I think that Amelia found Spencer attractive at first, and now that they have been conversing for just a few moments, she finds him much more intriguing, and that’s why she asks him to sit. She wants to know what this guy’s deal is.

"Oh," my eyes widen slightly and I squeeze my coffee cup so hard that I think I might poke holes in the sides, "y-yeah, sure,"

"Cool," she breathes out, waving me on and leading me to a booth on the other side of the cafe. I'm far too anxious with this situation and by Amelia's beauty and her comfortability around me to even think about relaxing, or drinking my coffee, or taking my bag off from around my shoulder. I definitely can’t remember any of Morgan’s advice on how to chat up girls or any of the conversation starters I’ve memorized for social situations like this. My mind is completely empty, just when I need it to be full and plentiful. How lovely.

I’m trying to imagine Spencer trying to implement Morgan’s advice on picking up girls and it’s. Wow.

Amelia sits across from me and grins, and every time she does, I swear my heart skips a beat and another butterfly breaks through its cocoon in my stomach. "So where are you off to this morning, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Work," I answer, and then realize that's an incredibly vague answer. Amelia raises her eyebrows as she lounges back against the booth, clearly waiting for me to elaborate. "Uh, I work for the FBI, actually. More specifically, the BAU- the Behavioral Analysis Unit,"

"You're a profiler!" Amelia perks up again, sitting up straighter with a huge grin on her face. "That's super cool! My dad is a police officer, sheriff actually, back home in Texas and I'm pretty sure he's worked with the BAU before and he says you guys are awesome. You catch serial killers, right?"

I'm almost stunned by her reaction. Most people don't believe behavioral profiling works, and most people resist the practice, especially local police. But her acceptance of it is incredibly refreshing, and it's welcomed. Honestly, any type of excitement from this Amelia girl is welcomed. It’s a beautiful sight.

I can feel my cheeks turn bright red as I nod, still clutching my coffee cup. "Yeah, we do. And um, what about you?" I hate talking about myself so I change the subject. "Where are you off to?"

"I'm actually meeting a friend of mine to go shopping a few blocks over," Amelia gestures out the window. "But since we're talking about your job, I'll tell you about my way less cool job, which is an artist. I went to Carnegie Mellon and then moved here and I’ve been here ever since. My preference is canvas painting but I bring my camera around a lot, hence," she holds up the camera around her neck, "the camera now. I try to capture spontaneous moments for when I do exhibits and galleries and such,”

I’m not sure why but I feel like Spencer would really meld well with someone very artsy. He’s not necessarily an artistically driven person, so I think he would need someone who could open his eyes to a new world. I think that’s why I didn’t like Maeve. She was basically the female version of Spencer and it just wasn’t really an interesting thing to see two identical people get together. But if Spencer could have his eyes opened to the world of art, it would be a magnificent thing.

"I've always loved art. Never been talented at it, but I like it." I shrug nonchalantly and sip my coffee, trying to divert my eyeline down to the table, but when Amelia smiles at me, I can’t find it in me to break our eye contact.

Something about Amelia's smile brings me in. Every time she flashes her teeth, I feel myself sink further into my seat and I feel my head get fuzzier. I almost forget that I have to get to work in just a few minutes. But I don't want to go anymore. I want to stay here and keep talking to Amelia. I want her to keep going on and on about canvas paintings and her education at Carnegie Mellon, or even just tell me why she likes tea over coffee, if that’s even true. I don’t know anything about this girl but I want to.

"Nobody is technically good at art," Amelia responds. "Everyone has their strengths and weaknesses in the arts, everyone sees art differently, and that's okay. I'm sure you're not horrible, I'm sure you just haven't found your strength yet, Spencer," She enunciates my name with such beauty and grace that I almost ask her to say it again. I'd do anything to hear her say my name again.

I like adding in these little moments, like having Spencer getting lost in the way Amelia says his name. I think it takes a scene or an encounter from just being superficial and takes it a little further. Instead of them sitting at a table, he’s sinking further into the reality that the two of them are creating through their conversation, even if it’s just because Amelia is saying his name in a way that sounds like liquid gold.

"If-" I'm cut off when my phone rings in my pocket, so I lean over and fish it out. I read a text from Garcia that tells me we have a case, meaning we'll be briefing for a new case this morning. I sigh defeatedly, wishing I hadn't just gotten a text that usually piques my interest. Today, it makes my heart drop.

Guys!!!! Spencer loves his job!! As much trauma as it’s caused him, I really think he loves helping people immensely and he loves going to his job every day (apart from the times he’s being kidnapped and tortured haahahahaha moving on). How often does he not want to go because he would rather socialize? Amelia must mean a lot. Wink, wink.

"You have to get to work?" I look back up at work to see yet another smile on Amelia's perfect face. "Go ahead, it's okay," I’m so used to seeing disappointed faces when this text comes in, not a smiling face. It’s odd, somewhat confusing.

I grab my coffee cup and stand as Amelia does the same. She holds her cup to her chest, looking down at her feet. "Will," I chew on the inside of my cheek when she looks up at me, ocean eyes wide with anticipation as I struggle with my words for the umpteenth time, "can I see you again? We barely got to talk and you-"

"Yeah," Amelia nods before I can even finish my sentence. "Can I give you my number?"

I have to hold myself back from jumping up and down in excitement. "Y-Yeah, sure, of course," I pull my phone out yet again as she does the same. She tells me her phone number slowly so I can get it down, but of course, it sticks in my brain immediately.

"Just text me," Amelia murmurs, looking over my shoulder at my phone where my shaky thumbs press against the buttons on my phone to type out- hi, it's Spencer. She waits until her phone rings and then she smiles at me. "Great, I've got it. Now, um, go. Don't let me be the reason you're late in helping people. You don't have to text me if you don't want to," she pauses for a moment, and I wonder what she's waiting for. Is she waiting for me to confirm or deny that statement? Is she waiting for anything at all? Is it an open-ended statement? Where have all my profiling skills gone? Forget profiling- where is my common sense? "But if you do wanna text me," I'm thankful when she starts talking again, "don't until after you've solved your case. Don't worry about me until you've saved lives. But like I said, if you don't wanna text me, you don't have to,"

My phone buzzes again and I can only imagine it's someone from the team asking me where I am, hurrying me along so we can get started on our briefing. I ignore it for now. "Well," I have to clear my throat to be able to speak again. I give Amelia a bashful smile holding up my phone for her to see, "I'll text you when I'm back home,"

Amelia blushes, her bottom lip being pulled between her teeth. She breathes out a tiny laugh, nodding. "I look forward to it, Spencer,"

I take a step towards the door and feel my body grow cold at the distance starting to increase between us. "I'll talk to you soon, Amelia,"

I also really love the idea of Spencer immediately feeling the loss of Amelia around him. Like I said, she’s meant to be like the sun shining on his face. Spencer doesn’t get to experience warmth, love, and comfort much and I really wanted to douse him in that.

And with that, before I have it in me to take one more look at the angel standing in the corner cafe, I hurry out the front door. There's a dumb smile on my face as I rush down the stairs to the train platform, struggling to swipe my card and respond to Penelope's text at the same time, all while running to catch the train at the platform. I'm somehow successful at all of this and only manage to breathe once I'm inside the stuffy car. Amelia's face is stuck inside my head and I can't get it out, and I'm positive that I never want to.

///

"Reid? Reid!" My head pops up as Morgan forcefully says my name, catching my attention and bringing me out of my daydream.

When I look up at him, he's already staring up at me with his eyebrows raised, clearly expecting an answer out of me about something. I have no idea what that something is, but he’s wanting an answer about it. I clear my throat, placing my cup of terrible police station coffee on the table and running a hand over my face. "Sorry," I apologize half heartedly, "I was thinking,"

Morgan sits across from me at the table and folds his hands. "Case related?" I glance up at him before deciding to completely ignore him, standing and walking up to the board, returning to examining the geographical profile. "Reid, come on, we've been on the case three days. You've been distracted ever since you walked in for the briefing. You can talk to me," I keep ignoring him. I stare at the map in front of me. "Is something going on? Is it your mom?"

"My mom is fine," I spin around and cross my arms over my chest, ignoring the way my heart starts to speed up when Amelia’s face resurfaces in my brain. "Can we just solve this case so we can go home?”

I had another paragraph written after this sentence that I wound up deleting because I thought that this was just a better ending than whatever it was that I originally wrote (I literally don’t even remember). I don’t imagine Spencer was too distracted that his work was impacted but I imagine that when he has just a few moments to let his mind wander off, he would allow himself to think of Amelia and how happy she made him feel. I really believe he’s a daydreamer and when he’s given the opportunity to let his mind rest (as in not exert himself as much as he does when he’s working cases) he would let his mind cling to something that brings him comfort and something that would almost lull him into a sense of security and safety, and I think that thing quickly becomes Amelia. At this moment, right after their first meeting, I don’t think Amelia is Spencer’s main daydream just yet, but this will be quick to change.

Here’s the writers commentary for chapter one!! Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed it. Chapter two will be out very soon so keep your eyes open. If you want to be on the tag list for this or for North, let me know and I’ll add you on. Thank you so much for reading <3

#nikos writing #nikos north fic #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x oc #matthew gray gubler

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chapitre7 · 5 years ago

Text

Waltz for the Moon

The Untamed [陈情令] | Mo Dao Zu Shi [魔道祖师] fanfiction

Lan Zhan | Lan Wangji/Wei Ying | Wei Wuxian (Wangxian)

Science-fiction/Merpeople AU

CW: Suicidal references

Read on AO3

And it's breaking over me A thousand miles down to the sea bed Found the place to rest my head (Never let me go)

– Florence and the Machine, Never Let Me Go (Ceremonials, 2011)

Unable to perceive the shape of you, I find you all around me. Your presence fills my eyes with your love. It humbles my heart, for you are everywhere.

– The Shape of Water, screenplay by Guillermo del Toro & Vanessa Taylor (2017)

He thinks nothing much of his routine, as he does it one last time. Listening to the records, writing his reports. He does everything with the same diligence he’s employed in the past five months, and tomorrow, nothing will be needed anymore. There will be no scheduled time for work out, no eating from his provisions made to last one more month. There will be no more necessary or light reading, and no more songs to play as he lets his body unravel, unfold from itself, an evening stretching out in the dark of the deep blue sea. Only in this small station, with its dim lights and solitary hours, did he allow himself to simply be. Until he fell asleep, and began the day anew, in the same lights, the same routine. Time was meaningless, nothing at all. There was only a series of repetition, and the sounds of the ocean.

Lan Wangji finishes typing his last report and leans away from the keyboard. Then he picks up his notebook, filled with so many of his scattered thoughts, his handwriting as neat as it had always been. Uncle had liked it that way, and so he had liked it, too. He wonders if he does like it, neatness, or if it’s just the only thing he’s ever learned to be. He shakes his head, takes his pen, and leans its fine tip against the paper. A second of hesitation later, he pulls it back, and stares at the blue dot on the paper, where the ink just started to tell his story.

Where to begin? What to say? To summarize the beginning and the end, and how it could not lead anywhere but here?

Dear brother, he begins. Do you remember that day on the beach?

It’s not what he wants to say. It’s so far. The memory is only flashes, the feeling of sand against his palm, feeling sick with the salt in the air, a fluttering white dress in the long distance—

Dear brother, he tries again, pausing to listen to all the background noise that he’s made his home in his expedition. The inevitable low humming of the computers; the low ping of the sonar screen; and when he closes his eyes, he can hear the singing, even without the headphones. Calling him, beckoning him, enveloping in a warmth that was simply neverwhere. Even if the station was perfectly acclimatized for him, specifically for him, it was always cold with indifference. Or did he only begin to think so after that one venture outside?

Brother, he writes. I was sent here to find life. I didn’t think I’d find my own, or even that I was looking for it.

But he had been, hadn’t he? When he set out to study the ocean, when he went deep into every lecture, raising his hand, asking his questions, all under the hard glare of their uncle. All this time he had been trying to see and understand, to find a place that made sense for him. To find a spark of genuine joy in the wonder of the unknown, in the sea that had always been close to him. That had been close to him, since that day.

(The sun grew cold on his back. Mother had been gone for so long.)

Brother, he whispers, at the top of a new page. When you see him, you’ll understand.

He halts, the ink staining the page again. He puts the notebook away and pushes his chair back, standing and walking to one of the station windows. His fingers touch the tempered glass, just like he does when the other is outside. He’s not there now, but Wangji sees him everywhere, sees him with his eyes closed, sees him in his dreams. He never used to dream, too knocked out by pills prescribed just right to last all eight hours of the night. He had been afraid to dream, afraid of what he’d find there, inside himself. Now there are red eyes in a vastness of a black blue, and arms that encircle all of him.

Lan Wangji had gone there for him. Well, he was sent there to try and relocate the sonars to catch sign of him again, as the last reports had been inconclusive. Brother had shown concern, had begged him to take someone else, but they both knew he worked better with no chatter, no lingering presence of anybody else, even though he had seen the light in certain eyes the moment he had volunteered for the expedition. Some thought he wanted all the glory of catching new footage of deepwater life. Others strongly believed he thought himself superior and constantly belittled their efforts.

He needed the quiet of these expeditions, and the distance from everything that was... Everything that was.

“If anything happens, anything at all, Wangji, even if it’s just your gut instinct, you call the base immediately.”

He had promised his brother. He had promised his brother so many things. Had promised to make friends, to eat well, to sleep well, to live well. He did his absolute best at every single thing, if not for himself, then for his brother. To keep brother’s smile on his face, to keep him from worrying, when he had worried enough. Wangji had hugged his brother back then, long, taking in the scent of him, the minimal difference in their heights, the way he cradled the back of his head like he was still a little boy. They both knew he felt alive in the sea, in his research, interpreting data. They both believed he could do it, trusted he could do it.

Lan Wangji wasn’t ready for it.

He thought he saw glimpses, during the first month. As if whatever being that he was searching for was hiding, knowing exactly where the sonars could find it, and running away just in time. A shadow. Putting on his suit, armed with new equipment, he tried to go as far as safely possible to extend the reach of the sonar. Back at the station, he alternated between focusing on his monitors for any glimpse of life and closing his eyes to listen in to the headphones full of ocean sounds. All of the data would be sent back when his expedition was done, to be analyzed and interpret by a whole team, but he would do whatever he could. Liked to, in these dangerous waters.

That night, he could pick nothing but the calming nothing, buzzing inside his ears. Before he went to bed, he let the music of his uncle’s favorite orchestra play from the station’s speakers, like a palate cleanser, just enough to ease his body until a proper rest, so he could begin the next day with fresh determination. And the following day; and the one after that.

It took him days to hear the shy response. With a throbbing head and back, slouched over his workstation, Lan Wangji dimmed the lights to the semi-darkness in which he slept, but he didn’t get up, he didn’t remove the headphones. He sat there, eyes closed, breathing, thinking himself breathing underwater, living away from any concern or expectation. Free to wash upon a golden shore, to warm up against the blessed sunrise, and then go back home. To live without his mother’s choices or his father’s failures on his shoulders.

He heard it then. Low at first, distant, then louder. Nothing like a whale, more like... Humming. Nonsensically, everything like singing.

His eyes snapped to the monitors, and he saw the trail of it, of its limbs. It approached so quickly, Wangji watched as its arms wove around the station, as though it wanted to embrace it. From where it stood, Wangji could see it from the station windows, so he looked, his breath stuttering painfully in his chest.

It looked like a man. Had the torso, head, arms of a man. But Wangji had seen from the monitors, and could see from the windows as well, that it had the limbs of a cephalopod, all deep red and sprawling around him, around Lan Wangji. From a distance, its eyes seemed black just like its long, human-like hair, but as he approached — moving more by instinct than conscious mind —, he saw the station lights reflect on its irises and they had a red glow to them. Its lips parted and its hands, impossibly human, touched the glass from the outside. Wangji, more human than researcher, reached up to touch his own from his side. The lifeform seemed to startle, just a bit, and pushed its hand back when Lan Wangji pressed his against the glass, before curiously touching back. In a detached kind of way, Lan Wangji noticed his own hands were bigger. The creature shook it place, its lips, slightly darker than the rest of its skin, forming a smile. Did it... laugh? Lan Wangji couldn’t wrap his head around any of this knowledge, but it had sung. Seemed to have, his equipment had caught it. Was he dreaming? Was he dead?

He couldn’t breathe. He let himself fall against a seat by the window, hit head hitting the glass, just beside his hand, and he breathed in, out, his breath catching on the cold surface and fogging it up. He took his time, listening to his brother’s voice in his head all along. He inhaled and exhaled, until the glass grew warm, until he felt good enough to open his eyes again. The red pair on the outside stared back at him, unblinking and wide. Leaning his forehead gently against the glass, he focused and unfocused his eyes, taking in every detail he could see, until he could draw it all from memory, if he wanted. His sketches were nothing special, and nothing he could produce could ever compare to the real thing, but he could try, if he wanted. At that moment, all he could do was watch it, see how it responded to him, following his hand with its gaze, and swimming from one window to the next, when he moved.

“I have to sleep,” he told it, almost regretfully. He felt both too wired and exhausted, hopeful and fearful, that if he closed his eyes, what prospects awaited him when he next woke up. But he couldn’t stay awake forever, so with one last gaze at the one outside, he let the strings of Gusu drift him away to sleep.

Brother, I want you to know...

That he woke up to nothing but the darkness outside, until he saw those long arms reaching for his station again, and those eyes peering through the windows again, eager and searching, and those lips smiled, truly, beautifully, upon seeing him.

That he spent hours looking at it, speaking to it, while the other tilted its head and seemed to listen, until it opened its mouth and sang, all of it caught in his records and in Lan Wangji’s perfect memory.

That one night, he dimmed the lights and played a waltz, his feet moving to the one-two-three, one-two-three inside, the other twirling over itself outside, shaking with bubbles of laughter, while Lan Wangji laughed, easy and loud like he had no memory of ever doing, stumbling over his own feet and falling, the other plastering itself to the glass as if it wanted to catch him. Touching his cheek against the glass, he thought of himself waltzing in the water, twirling in an embrace that hurt nothing but breathed life in his lungs.

That, unable to classify it under any categorization, he took to call him A-Ying.

And that one day, not counting all the time that had passed and how much he still had left, Lan Wangji geared up in his suit, uncaring for the limited oxygen that was supposed to be used only for necessary outside ventures, and he left his station to float up to A-Ying.

At first, he just circled around him excitedly, tentatively. Then, he took Lan Wangji’s gloved hand in his human-like hand. With no justification but the voice of instinct, Lan Wangji felt safe when he was pulled closer to A-Ying. He didn’t feel like he was going to get eaten or hurt or even accidentally harmed. His arms and tentacles brushed against his suit curiously, barely touching, and his human arm circled his waist, the other tapping the visor of his helmet. More, he seemed to say, whine, the waves of his voice rippling in the ocean around them. Lan Wangji couldn’t help but huff a quiet laughter and hold A-Ying’s face between his hands. More, he thought. I want to touch you more, too.

He thought of him as he fell asleep, he wrote about him in his official and his personal notes, and in all the time he could spare, he gazed at him, and he watched him live, and eat, and swim, and dance, all around him. Lan Wangji never missed any live reports with his base, and he never neglected his duty, but every day he fell farther from the surface and closer to the bottom of the sea.

Brother, I’m not giving up. I’m giving in.

The cluster of discarded messages only grows by his feet, paper ball after paper ball. Clad in the thin, white underclothes he wore under his suit, Lan Wangji sighs, walks around his station, his digits scraping against his equipment, against his monitors that never turned off. He touches the crumbs of his last dinner, minimal on his dining table. His boots echo on the metal of the station floor, taking him to his sleeping chambers, taking him, one last time, to his belongings, to the only two items he cherishes in everything that he’s ever owned. A picture, yellowed with time, of his family. Not just his brother and his uncle, but his mother and father, all five of them smiling in front of their summerhouse. He folds the picture and slips it under his skin-tight clothes, and picks up the other object. A ribbon that his mother used to wear in her hair. No one knew he had it, that she had given it to him on that fateful day, right before she turned around and walked into the sea, never to surface again. His takes his hair, long like hers, just like in that memory he still clings to, and he ties it into a half-ponytail, the ribbon falling long and white against the black strands.

He’s ready now. Armored, made strong with everything that he is. He walks back to his working station, picks up his pen, and he writes.

With the message finished, he walks to the dock, where his suit awaits. One last trip, to fulfill a promise. Not to A-Ying, not to mother or brother, but to himself. He steps into it, latches everything perfectly into place, firm and secure; he takes one last look at his station, and opens the door to the sea.

Once outside, he can see A-Ying. He swims to him, all red limbs and perfect smile, and when he catches him, they spin in place. It’s like a song, like a dance long practiced. Lan Wangji bows his head, closes his eyes, and breathes in the suit’s oxygen. A-Ying just holds him, not pushing or pulling anywhere, patient, like a dutiful lover. Lan Wangji breathes and breathes, in the limited oxygen, the sound loud inside the suit.

He thinks of A-Ying’s song in his headphones. Of uncle’s fear that he’d end up like his mother, or worse, perish like his father, of a broken heart. Uncle had tried to harden his heart, to teach him to not waste time on flimsy connections, but on family, on knowledge, and as Wangji had been so inclined, on the nature he seemed to love so much. But uncle didn’t know that his heart was his loudest voice, searching, desperate, for a love that felt real. And that a part of him always knew he’d find it, maybe just like his mother did, underneath the sea surface, deep under the waves, singing a song no one else could hear.

His hands tremble as they move to the latches of his suit. This deep, there is little hope for him as he is, simple and flawed and human. His hands don’t stop. He opens his eyes, looks at A-Ying, at his smile, and he doesn’t stop. One by one, he undoes all of the safeties, strips himself bare. The gloves, the suit, the helmet, they all fall, fall to the ocean abyss.

A-Ying holds on to him. His hands feel human on his face, on his arms, on his hands when their fingers interlace. He lets himself look at him, vulnerable, dying, sees the awe in his eyes before he opens his mouth and lets the last of his oxygen leave him.

I’m not giving up.

A-Ying’s mouth closes over his. He breathes not air, or not just air, but something else, something more, that science has no name for. A-Ying’s fingers trace a pattern against both sides of Lan Wangji’s neck, and he keeps his mouth closed over his. Although overwhelmed, experiencing what maybe no one has ever experienced, Lan Wangji can still move his arms around A-Ying, move his mouth against his, tilting to a different angle. It’s an undocumented phenomenon; it’s a first kiss.

When A-Ying moves back, still cradling Lan Wangji’s face, the researcher breathes.

Only then, A-Ying allows himself to take his hands and swim with him. Away from the station, back and forth and swirling, one-two-three, one-two-three, bubbles coming out of their mouths in soundless laughter, foreheads touching as they dance and dance and dance, away from the surface, not quite at the bottom, but in the middle of the sea, where they exist together.

At the station, Lan Wangji’s waltzes keep playing, all the way to the end of his playlist.

***

Lan Xichen sits in the labs of a department that is not his own, incapable of looking away from the many screens. His tears have long dried, after hours of holding onto his little brother’s belongings. Clothes he would never wear again, notebooks filled with the pristine handwriting that Xichen could never emulate, no matter how alike they were. That’s how his brother always was, a paragon, never content with anything else. If he fell short of his own expectations, he’d work beyond it; in work, in interrelationships, in regards to himself. He longed to be whole.

He has folded Lan Wangji’s message and kept it safe in his pocket, next to his heart. He’s reread it to the point of memorization, every word repeating itself in his mind, in his little brother’s voice. He sounds younger in Xichen’s head, as though he never really grew up to the age he was in his last mission, in the last hug they shared.

Brother, you used to tell me mother loved to dance. I don’t remember. These days, I don’t remember her voice or her face anymore. It’s difficult, not remembering. I like to think I remember everything you ever did for me, even though there are things you did even before that. When I was born, you must have held me. I think about it when I’m alone, so I’m never truly lonely.

That’s how I want you to think of me and remember me. Not with the sadness we think of mother’s last day, and everything that they told us, when we were too young to understand. Think of me as I’ve always been. Think of me, not at peace, but peaceful, at last.

I don’t remember much about mother, but I remember this: her holding my hand as we walked the wet sand together, just the two of us. Her kissing my forehead, her hands in my hair. And words I heard in my dreams, before my dreams were taken from me.

“A-Zhan, I’ll be going home now.”

In the endless monitors of Lan Wangji’s department, Lan Xichen watches his little brother, striking white against the dark of the ocean, swim hand in hand with a creature he’s never seen before, or that no one has ever been allowed to see before. It moves and accommodates and molds against his brother as if they’ve known each other for years, forever. Together, they seem to dance. Lan Wangji’s — mother’s — white ribbon trails behind him, like it’s always been a part of his body.

I’m not giving up, brother. I’m not going away. If you stay where you are, working just as you’ve always done, taking care of yourself as you’ve always done for me and for every life on this planet, we’ll see each other again.

I’m going home. I’ll be waiting for you here. And when we see each other again, I’ll show you everything.

The headphones against Lan Xichen’s ears speak with the language of the ocean. And given how long he’s been listening to it, he, too, can clearly make out its voice. Singing, humming a waltz, speaking the syllables of his brother's name, seeming to laugh with boundless joy.

#MerMay 2020 #The Untamed #Mo Dao Zu Shi #fanfiction #Wangxian #Lan Wangji #Wei Wuxian #Lan Xichen #Alternate Universe: Science-fiction #Alternate Universe: Merpeople

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the-peachpit · 4 years ago

Text

NO SHIPPING

Wanring: Blood, Very loose interpretation of the dream smp lore lol

Summary:Technoblade Get's To Dream Before Quakity, Before Time Is Altered By Dream. Before Tommy Has A Chance To Return.

Notes:Hi! I'm really nervous to be writing for this group. I tried hard to respect boundaries using a master post on tumblr to double check. if I over stepped anywhere or was wrong in my interpretation let me know.

It wasn’t his fault. The blood on his hands meant nothing cooling and seeping into his fur. Fur. He hadn’t even noticed that he’d transformed back. Was it that easy for him now to lose control?

Stumbling his way into his home inviting the snow on his heels Technoblade let the door shut enveloping the room in darkness, not even the moon was out tonight. Limping like the beast he was Techno lit a torch on the wall with shaky hands. He caught a glimpse of himself in the small hall mirror the deep cut in his snout darkening his pink fur grungy and matting. It’d been so long since he’d returned to his true piglin form. He wasn’t a beast; he was a man. He lived like a man; he grew up among great men. His father was the best man he knew, and his brothers- men of action and determination. Skirting a fine line into madness over their pride, maybe his brothers were beasts, and maybe he played a part as the eldest. Hearing voices, unable to control his shapeshifting, giving into the voices and pushing Wilbur a little too hard outside. Maybe he had been the plague, but he changed. God he had changed. Refining himself in the image of those around him wanting nothing more than peace among the outskirts and land of his own to farm.

Now he stood covered in blood that wasn’t just his huffing his snout fogging the glass. Where did he go wrong? Was it demeaning his brothers dreams? To be leaders, Wilbur was always meant for something great, and even Philza could see it fostering his natural leader instinct. Sometimes it felt like Wilbur was the eldest. The way he would stir up Tommy for a laugh, but always taught the boy to be patient and gentle. How he took care of Technoblade when the voices demanded blood and his hand twitched over his sword. The way Wilbur had found techno doubled over in the closet scratching at the wooden floor with claws piercing long marks. At that point Techno had been in his human form for a while but was losing control that night with Philza out of town. Techno was supposed to protect his brothers. Instead, he chucked his sword to the corner so he wouldn’t be the one to end their lives as his piglin form emerged. Wilbur was slow, but fearless as he spoke softly placing a hand over Techno’s. it was the warmest he’d ever felt. Wilbur told Techno he trusted him, that his brother could never hurt him piglin or not. Wilbur promised to always be louder than the voices. How fast L’manburg had risen and fallen. Techno almost couldn’t believe it when he heard the news. Wilbur had been exiled from all he loved. Instead of coming home Techno found Wilbur and Tommy looking battered and defeated in a cave. Techno’s heart broke seeing them look so dull he offered to help. When he handed Wilbur his first sword techno ignored the flame he saw, the glint in his brother’s eye. He should have said something, instead he led his brothers charge into battle sealing their fates unknowingly.

When Wilbur died Techno felt like his own life had been taken from him. He watched his brother die at the hands of his father and there was no good in the world anymore, nothing mattered. He wanted to scream, but instead scowled hiding himself away. Until his youngest brother betrayed him. Voices seared his brain and Techno knew releasing those withers was a bad idea, but he was so angry. Betrayed by the boy with wheat colored hair who shot for the stars letting nothing stand in his way. The boy who followed his older brother anywhere even into madness. Techno felt like he had no family after that. When he got home from that battle as L’manburg burned he felt the sting of it all. The blood on his hands was almost Tommy’s.

Techno smashed the mirror forcing himself to transform, to see the human hand covered in blood. He was a person. With little strength left he popped back to a pink furry beast. He continued to light his small home trudging to the bathroom. His clothes were torn in spots partially from the transformation. Forcing himself to turn again he saw the damage to his human complexion, the dark bags under his eyes, the scar on his snout ran from the right underside of his cheek to under his left eye. A trophy of sorts.

Techno cleaned his wounds slowly, deliberately, letting himself feel the sting of antiseptic. He deserved it- to hurt like they hurt. Changing his clothes and moving to the living room techno lit his fireplace when the vase in the corner of the room caught his eye. It was filled with various flowers from Ranboo who would generously give them away when Techno would visit Tubbo mostly to see Tommy. Techno never understood why Tommy had forgiven Tubbo for anything, and so easily at that. Techno had gotten revenge on Tubbo watching blood seep from his face by his own hands and still wasn’t satisfied by the punishment. In fact, Tommy was ruining it, because when Techno saw Tommy make Tubbo smile moving the burn scars on his face Techno felt weird. Remorse? Tommy was a spitfire who never thought anything through including befriending the enemy. Techno wondered if in the end he was an enemy? The thought squeezed his heart like a vice.

Techno looked at the chair in the middle of the room, he’d wanted to read a book and call it a night, his bones ached, and his head throbbed. Was he getting too old for this? Fighting everyone, why was he stilled pulled into this? He asked to be left alone, it’s all he wanted.

Huffing he knew he couldn’t just sit there. Opening the front door, he grabbed his coat before walking towards the stables stomping through the snow to his polar bear. It would make the trip faster, and Tubbo enjoyed seeing his pet. It would make things, easier.

Ridding through the dark with just the gentle glow of the stars to guide him Techno let the blistering cold nip at his face. To perk him up or make him feel alive he wasn’t sure. He rode through the frozen tundra watching the snow melt to warmer climates. It was spring where Tubbo lived a new life. He never locked himself away. Knocking on the door Techno waited unsure what he could even say when he saw the charred face of the small ram boy.

“Do you have any god damn idea what time it,” Tubbo’s curses slowed as he rubbed his eyes taking in the sight of his former foe.

“I’m not sure time’s been a blur tonight,” Techno shrugged.

“Why are you here?”

Techno could practically hear Tubbo’s teeth grinding.

“I just want to talk about,” Techno sighed, “Tommy.”

“Leave,” Tubbo’s normally cheerful voice sent shivers through Techno’s spine.

“I will just,” Techno stood straighter saving face his 7-foot frame usually kept him brave.

“Leave!” Tubbo shouted, “Tommy’s dead! I had his funeral and, where were you? Couldn’t be bothered to show up! Did you even know?”

Techno felt it the crack in his heart, he knew Tommy was dead. He was probably one of the last to hear in passing from Ranboo before being left on his own in his self-made snowy dungeon. His hell he personally crafted. He didn’t sulk at first, it sunk in over a glass of whisky, his youngest brother had been beaten to death in a prison he was never meant to be in. The brother he had cleaned scrapes for and applied bandages. The brother he taught how to fight and had dinner with hearing his plans for his future. Tommy, the boy with wheat colored hair who shone like the sun. It wasn’t fair. His light was snuffed out in a cold dark place at the hand of his tormentor from day one. Beaten to death. Techno couldn’t get over it. He smashed his glass and knocked his bookcases to the ground. Beaten to death! Brutal, soulless, painful. God Tommy was probably in so much pain. Pain Techno couldn’t protect him from or make better. He died alone.

“I killed him,” Techno’s voice was a whisper that stung.

“What?” Tubbi stuttered.

“I killed Dream,” Techno looked at his hands he could still see the blood.

“I don’t,” Tubbo stepped forward driven by curiosity.

“I went to the prison,” Techno shouted, “I kicked the crap out of Sam, and I killed Dream!” He ran his hand frantically through his messy pink hair, “I was just going to talk to him, but I saw Tommy’s body, and I had my axe.”

Tommy’s eyes were milky a far cry from his curious blue gaze. His face was bruised and bloodied. He looked so cold not even the lava could warm him. Dream just sat there welcoming Techno assuming he was a break out party. The voices screamed demanding blood, and Techno obliged happily. With a fierce swing Techno planted his axe between Dreams ribs.

“He laughed,” Techno smiled, “The damn bastard cackled as I slaughtered him. All he did was scratch me once as I lost control and mauled him.”

“Kinda looks like he scratched you pretty good,” Tubbo observed the large scar.

“Heh,” Techno laughed, “I guess.”

“Did you come all the way here just to tell me this?” Tubbo leaned against the door frame.

“I want to know if you’ve seen Philza,” Techno asked, “I brought back Tommy’s body, it’s in the snow at my place. I want to bury him properly. Him and Wilbur. I’m not sure if Philza knows about Tommy yet, and I should be the one to tell him.”

Philza hadn’t talked about Wilbur either since the tragedy. Techno wanted to walk about that too.

Tubbo nodded, “Let me talk to Ranboo, I’ll be back out.”

The plan was set in motion. Tubbo accompanied Techno back to his house refusing to look at Tommy’s corpse and Techno couldn’t blame Tubbo. They rode for a day and a half returning to the small cabin Techno remembered growing up in. He could hear the laughter of Tommy and Wilbur echo on the breeze that rustled the trees. He saw Philza standing on the deck looking down at them. When did he get so old? He looked so tired. He knew.

No words were exchanged as Techno dismounted his polar bear and Philza descended the stairs. Techno tried his best to make the words come to him. He was told he always had a way with words. Before he could open his mouth, strong arms embraced him. They were warm and comforting. They felt like support. Slowly Techno raised his arms grabbing onto Philza’s shirt hands balled into firsts. When was the last time they were this close?

Tommy and Wilbur were buried in the back of the house under the tree Tommy had fallen out of breaking his arm. Under the tree Wilbur wrote songs on lazy afternoons. Under the tree Techno taught his brothers how to wield a sword and be strong. The tree they grew under.

“Welcome home Theseus.”

#dream smp fanfiction #fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #fan creation #dream smp

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emptymasks · 5 years ago

Text

Wither and Wilt

Pairing: Rudolf von Österreich-Ungarn | Rudolf Crown Prince of Austria/Der Tod | Death

(as in Rudolf has a crush on Der Tod, it’s up to you whether Der Tod truly returns his affections, I wrote it that he does truly like Rudolf but you’re welcome to interpret it anyway you like)

Words: 2032

Rating: General Audiences

Read on Ao3 @ emptymasks. I can’t put the link or tumblr blocks the post.

Notes: Death is based on Uwe Kröger's Der Tod from the original 1992 production, with a little bit of inspiration also drawn from the Hungarian production's A Halal. You could probably picture anyone as Rudolf, I kept imagining Andreas Bieber and Lukas Perman's portrayals while writing it. Death is genderfluid in this because 1. I'm genderfluid and I see Uwe's death as genderfluid and that representation matters a lot to me , and 2. Uwe literally descried his Der Tod as fluid in gender and sexuality. So there's your canon genderfluid, pansexual Death.

So... you will most likely laugh when I say how i got the idea for this fic, that after having several WIP's for various Elisabeth fics, I ended up writing this because, right, I was playing Animal Crossing and of course I've made several of Uwe's and Máté's Der Tod costumes for me to wear in the game and while wearing my 'Uwe Tod Jacket' I put a white wildflower in my hair and literally had to leave the game so I could right this because the idea came straight away.

It was unusually sunny for April. Sunlight peaked in out of the tree branches of the gardens, casting speckles of stained glass windows onto the grass. The many flowers and shrubs only sought to pair with the weather and make the most pleasant day of the year so far.

It was the weather that had driven Rudolf outside. He loved the fresh air, loved feeling it on his skin, despite how his family would prefer him cooped up inside. (Though they always seemed to want him inside when he wanted to be outside, and outside when he wanted to be inside. Forever wanting for him whatever he wished for the least.) He'd forgone a jacket or coat, allowing the breeze to flutter against his white shirt that billowed out as he moved.

A glimpse of sunlight and a walk alone through the gardens was one of the few pleasures in life Rudolf had at the moment. One of the few things that was just his. He was fortunate that the spring air hadn't coaxed anyone else outside and he got to enjoy all of it to himself.

Although... there was one person who couldn't damper his walks, only increase the joy Rudolf found on them. And as if he'd been waiting for Rudolf to think of him, the wind turned bitterly too cold for a moment and a pair of footsteps were at his side.

They didn't speak for a while. They didn't need to. Rudolf found comfort in his old friend simply being by his side, he needn't do anything. They walked in tandem until they came to a small clearly populated by wildflowers and Rudolf could feel the wind high on his cheeks.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" His voice was quiet, as if afraid it was a stupid thing to say.

"Quite," Death's reply was soft and it called to Rudolf like a siren and he turned his head to find Death wasn't staring at the clearly, he was simply starting at Rudolf.

Rudolf felt his mouth part and cheeks flush and he didn't know how to prolong the moment and he definitely didn't want to say anything that would cause Death to leave. He walked a few paces more.

"Would you like to sit with me for a while? It doesn't have to be long, I know you're always busy, and you shouldn't feel like you have to spend any time with me and..." Rudolf trailed off as Death sat down at his feet.

"I assure you, Rudolf, I wouldn't be wasting my time by spending it with anyone I like."

"Oh..." He winced at how stupid he sounded. "Alright then."

He sat down opposite Death, not close enough to touch, afraid of what would happen if they did but also longing to know. Death turned his head and looked out across the gardens and Rudolf took the chance to stare.

Out of all the times Death had come to him, only a couple of them had been outside of his bedroom. (Not that that had any implications, he pleaded at his heart). The few times they'd been outdoors had been at night or in the evening, the light low and dark, Death rivalling the moon with his glow.

This was the first time he'd ever seen Death in the daylight.

Rudolf felt like he had to hold his breath as he gazed. The sun made Death's hair a more buttercup yellow, more colourful than he'd ever seen it, and only highlighted how pale his skin was even more. Where human's skin would darken a red colour, his seemed to be... blue. Rudolf thought about how impossible that was, but this was Death. For all he knew Death's blood was blue, if he even had blood at all. Light gleamed off his skin and it almost looked as if there were tiny, intricate crystals along his cheekbones, glistening and shimmering.

He didn't know what Death could be looking at, and realised Death very well might not be looking at anything at all. He may just be content to let Rudolf stare. And so Rudolf tore his gaze away and looked down. The more colourful flowers had given way to ones of pure white and Rudolf plucked one up with an idea. A stupid, childish idea that Rudolf found himself acting on.

“Here,” Rudolf reached up, the pale white flower trembling in his hand, and tucked it behind Death’s ear. “White looks nice on you.”

Death’s face cracked for a second, broke out of its usual cold and calm expression into one of quiet shock, and then the smallest smile at the corner of his mouth.

“Why, thank you, my little prince,” He spoke and Rudolf thought about how often Death’s voice sounded like it was only for him, as if everything Death said to him was their own little secret. A black gloved hand reached towards the bundle of white wildflowers in Rudolf’s hands. “Why don’t you match with me?”

Rudolf’s hands jerked back and Death’s face morphed back to looking cold. He tilted his head. Always so curious about humans and their funny little worries.

The cold gaze lingered on Rudolf, he could feel it baring down on him as he looked at his hands.

He hadn’t meant to react as quickly and sharply as that. Should he explain himself? He wished sometimes Death would just ask him things more often, but Death was so content to just sit and wait until Rudolf was ready to share and that just caused more anxiety to swirl around in Rudolf’s stomach. What if Death wasn’t really waiting until he was ready to speak? What if Death just didn’t want to know and if Rudolf opened his mouth he’d just be bothering another person, disappointing another person, words and ideas tumbling out of his lips before he can stop them, his passion seen as immaturity and naivety. What if Death was merely humouring him, and as soon as Rudolf spilled his heart all over porcelain skin and black velvet, he was met with jeers; His mother sat on her throne as Death coiled around from behind her and leaned into her ear, lips brushing against skin, heat and temptation and desire pouring out of his mouth as she looked down on him in scorn.

A sudden coldness brushed against his hand, then slowly pressed down and Rudolf fought the urge to shiver.

Death’s hand laid bare against his own.

He knew of course, that all that was ever under those gloves were hands, just ordinary hands (well ordinary looking hands), but he half had expected something monstrous. Perhaps gnarled or scared skin. Perhaps a blue glow that seemed to linger around Death just as he would enter or leave his visits. Perhaps claws.

Instead pristinely manicured nails decorated the soft, albeit cold, skin that rested against him. Death was a prideful being. He still had his head slightly tilted, eye’s deciphering a puzzle.

“This is about more than you not wanting to wear flowers in your hair…?” Death said it like he himself quiet sure he was asking a question.

“It’s…” Rudolf felt like he’d surfaced out of water and had the urge to take gasping breaths. “It’s not that I don’t want to… It’s… It’s not something a man does.”

“According to whom?” Rudolf forced himself to keep still, even as he thought he heard Death almost chuckle.

“Grandmother said-”

“Oh, your family and their silly, little ideas-”

“Grandmother said that men don’t wear flowers. Flowers and pretty things are for women and girls to wear and for men to admire.” Rudolf was surprised at how he continued to talk over Death. From anyone else he would have received a reprimand, but Death looked proud.

“…You’ve put one in my hair.”

“Yes, well, to be honest I’m never really quite sure if you’re a man.”

He didn’t mistake Death chuckling at that.

“I’m never quite sure of that myself, either. I find it tends to change with the wind," And Death got Rudolf to chuckle in return. "So, tell me,” He leaned forward and got that glint in his eyes as if he’d just spotted an opportunity to gain something, some new piece of information or emotion. “Is it wrong for me to be wearing it? Or are you seeing me as a pretty woman to be admired by your masculine gaze?”

Rudolf could feel his face heating up.

“Or perhaps, my dear prince, you don’t think it’s only women who should be admired?” Rudolf tried to pull his hands back, but Death had a firm grip on them. “It’s alright, it’s quite alright. I’m truly flattered. And, let me tell you this because I think you need to hear it, it’s perfectly normal. There’s nothing wrong with it. Your grandmother’s opinions on the other hand… Who is she to say what you can and cannot wear? My future emperor,” Death reached out with his gloveless hand and brushed his fingers over Rudolf’s cheek and he shivered. “Only you are in charge of what you do, how you choose to dress, and who you choose to be.”

He held Death's gaze for what felt like an eternity. Everything seemed to be waltzing around them as they themselves where held captive in their own dance, twirling as the world fell down around them.

Death seemed like he was waiting for something. Rudolf sat, frozen, and Death retracted his hand.

"I think you'd look rather fetching..." Death murmured as if talking to himself, but well aware that Rudolf could hear him. His fingers skated over the flowers standing proud from the ground, ghosting over them but never touching. The flowers almost seemed to bend out of his way, as if they knew who he was, what he could do.

Their eyes met with a challenge in Death's that said 'pick one'. Rudolf's hands moved blindly as he wrapped his fingers against what he hoped was a flower and tugged. He'd thought his hands had been shaking when he tucked one behind Death's ear, but it was nothing compared to how much they were quivering now.

"Will you...?" Rudolf held his hands forward and Death hesitated for a moment, fingers twitching. Was there a reason why he hadn't just picked one himself and placed it in Rudolf's hair? Rudolf knew what Death's kiss could do, and he'd wondered if the reason Death wore gloves was the same. But he'd just been touching Rudolf, and he was still alive.

Death's eyes flickered between the flower and Rudolf's eyes, before he leaned forwards. He picked the flower up carefully by its stem and slid his finger and thumb together, causing the flower to twirl around. He watched it with a curiosity Rudolf would have described as 'child-like' if it wasn't Death he was trying to describe.

He was almost mesmerised by the spinning of the flower that he almost didn't notice it at first. The flower was drooping ever so slightly. He thought perhaps Death's group was just squashing its stem, but it seemed to keep drooping and drooping. Death moved his hand and Rudolf followed with his eyes as the flower was drawn up to Death's face.

White petals brushed over cold lips.

The flower yielded.

It furled in on itself and faded, the top of the stem turning a pale, rusted brown. Death's hand moved and Rudolf was amazed that the petals didn't fall out. Perhaps somehow Death was keeping them in there? Rudolf expected cold brush against his ear, but none came. Death was still moving, picking and plucking more flowers, and as he wove them together they cried out and wilted. He closed up the chain and held it up, inspecting it, before shifting his gaze back to Rudolf.

Death raised himself up into his knees and placed the circle dead flowers on Rudolf's head.

"There," Death said. "A crown fit for an emperor. My emperor."

There was a sound like the ghost of a snapping branch and Death turned his head.

And then he was gone, and Rudolf was alone, frozen as the petals started to fall from his head.

#elisabeth das musical #der tod #elisabeth the musical #elisabeth musical #todolf #crown prince rudolf #mywriting #mine

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ask-de-writer · 5 years ago

Text

MET BY MOONLIGHT : (Part 1 of 3) : Flocking Bay

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to Flocking Bay

MET BY MOONLIGHT

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

5740 words

written 2003 by Glen Ten-Eyck

Reproduction in any form, physical, electronic or digital is prohibited without the express written consent of the author or proper copyright holder.

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Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights. They may reblog the story. They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions. I will allow those who do commission art works to charge for their images.

All sorts of Fan Activity, fiction, art, cosplay, music or anything else is ACTIVELY encouraged!

///////////////////////

It was evening in Flocking Bay. My last patient had gone home hours before and I had finished up my day’s lab work, ground the last lens, and eaten a leisurely dinner. The second day of July was a fine one and I planned a quiet stroll by the last light of the sun and to finish by the light of the full moon which would not set until almost morning.

The long shadow of the ridge behind the town had covered my home and place of business, The Blackwall Street Ophthalmology Clinic, an hour before. As I sauntered along Blackwall, which ran across the back of the town, just under the ridge, I admired the lush green foliage fading toward black as the sunlight failed. I like the evening and the dark.

My ramble had taken me up the street nearly a mile. By now, the full moon was providing all of the light. The sun was just a glow of memory beyond the ridge. I passed the old Hilstrom House. It was the oldest house in Flocking Bay. Built in 1647 by the first Hilstrom. He had got the land for the town by shooting an Indian Shaman in the back. Peeling paint revealed hand squared beams and other details that showed its age. Many generations of Hilstroms had been born here, raised here and died here.

Seven years ago, the last of the Hilstroms had vanished. The courts had just declared him dead and now the place was due to go on the auction block for back taxes. I remembered all of the questions that I’d had to answer when it was realized that he had vanished — And I was the last to see him.

I had truthfully told them that I had last seen Mr Hilstrom in front of my clinic. Of course he was still there, – in slightly altered form – for any who knew what to look for. Only one living person that I was aware of did know what to look for. Myself.

I am the last descendant of the Marquost Shaman that the first Hilstrom had murdered by that shot in the back. That black deed and its bloody aftermath had gained the land upon which Flocking Bay had been built. The slaughter that followed that killing was the result of cooperation between white and Indian. The other tribes had not even coveted the Marquost land. They gave it away to the whites after they had used the whites to break the grip of our magic upon them.

The other Indians had sold the Marquost children into slavery with other tribes . . . a mistake. There has, as a result of that bit of greed, been a Marquost Shaman to hound them down the full tale of the years since the massacre in 1647. And the descendants of those Indians still think that the tribulations that they suffered are the result of white-man’s duplicity. . .

Hilstrom House was at the edge of town. Only a little further, just out of town, was the old Wikes place. I planned to turn around there and go back, loop through town, past the library to the waterfront and then back to my clinic. About four miles altogether.

I spent a short time contemplating the perfectly done, absolutely ugly, example of Carpenter Gothic architecture that was the old Wikes place. On my return, I became aware that I was being followed. At first glance, I would have thought that it was a wolf. That couldn’t be. The Maine Wolf has been extinct for over two hundred years.

It had to be a stray dog. Big dog. One of those Husky types, maybe. One good glimpse showed it to be a female. The dog kept its distance and I ceased to worry about it once I realized that it was not being hostile. Curious perhaps. I had no real fear.

Flocking Bay has little crime and few stray animals of any kind. Such crime as there is comes mostly from outsiders. We get along with a town constable and a justice of the peace.

The latter is a woman some thirty or forty years of age whom I met during the investigation of Mr Hilstrom’s disappearance.

I completed my walk and the dog followed me almost to my door. She paused at the round black stones that line my walk and parking lot. Her hackles rose just a bit as she sniffed at the stones, in particular the one that used to be Mr Hilstrom . . .

The beast disappeared into the night more silently than a ghost.

The next morning I looked up animal control in Flocking Bay’s tiny phone book. I dialed the phone and it rang a number of times before it was picked up.

“Laelia Darkmoon, Justice of the Peace,” said the voice from the receiver cheerfully. “What can I do for you, Dr. Fredricks?”

“Hi Laelia. Isn’t caller I.D. wonderful? I must have dialed wrong. I wanted animal control.”

“No, you dialed right. I wear both hats. Lost a critter?”

“No, I don’t even know if I should bother you with this but last night I saw a big stray dog. No collar, looked to be sort of a Husky-Wolf hybrid or something. I was out for a walk and it followed me from the woods out near the old Wikes place.”

She laughed, “I know it. Don’t worry. It’ll never harm a soul. Grey, white blaze, bit of a ruff at the neck, straight tail with long hair?”

“You’ve seen it before?”

“Only a few times. It’s the Flocking Bay werewolf. Not really a werewolf. It seems to be the very last Maine wolf. It wouldn’t matter if it did hurt somebody. It’s protected to the hilt by the Endangered Species Act.”

“Why’d you call it a werewolf?”

“Due to better light, its mostly seen at or near the full moon. It’s there anytime though, don’t worry about that. It’s real enough.”

“Thanks for telling me about the wolf. That was fascinating. I’ve only met you professionally. Coffee and the pastry of your choice at the Stone Oven, noonish, say?”

“You’re on. See you there.”

I got through my morning appointments without any problems. Simple glasses, a set of contacts, all the usual minor difficulties. I told my receptionist that I would be out for two hours at lunch.

Allison grinned at me. “Got a hot lunch date, Doc?”

“You wish,” I retorted with an equal grin. “I’m going to go talk to the Justice of the Peace about a wolf that I saw last night.”

“You saw the wolf?” asked Allison, wide-eyed. Wistfully she added, “I’ve lived here all my life and I’ve only heard other people talk about it.”

“I really saw it. I thought it was a stray dog until Laelia set me straight about it. It came right up onto the front walk of the Clinic.”

“It did?” She pointed, “You mean right out there?”

“Yes. Say, Allison, why don’t you take the rest of the afternoon off? My dime. Go take out your little sailboat or something. Enjoy.”

With a “Thanks, Doc!” thrown over her shoulder she was gone before I could change my mind. I locked up and walked down toward the waterfront. The Stone Oven Bake and Coffee Shop was only a block back from the water and had a nice view through a small park to the docks and the sea.

Laelia was waiting for me at a small table out in front. She was a large, spare woman, nearly 5'9" tall, with gray-black hair that had a white streak near the center of her forehead and icily blue eyes. I could not even make a guess at her age. Belying her otherwise formidable appearance was a smile of genuine warmth.

One of my little accomplishments is the reading of heraldry and she had a pin shaped like an escutcheon that could be heraldically interpreted. “Sable, wolf’s head proper erased argent, in the sinister chief an anulet argent,” I read.

She looked startled and then laughed. I liked that. She had a good laugh. “Not many can read that pin. It’s an heirloom. The family crest from the old country.”

“It looks like a wolf under a new moon,” I said and added, “Just coffee and pastry or would you like lunch? They have a fabulous stew served in a fresh baked bread bowl here. I can smell that it’s ready.”

“Lunch sounds and smells fabulous,” Laelia said stretching in an animal-like fashion. “The pin does represent a wolf under a new moon. Our family name was unpronounceably Polish before it became Darkmoon. That was a long time ago, though. 1648, I think.”

“Truly interesting.” I said as I seated myself. “Few know much at all of events that far removed in time. I had people here in Flocking Bay but the last of them was gone in 1647.”

She looked at me curiously and said, “1647? That was the Year of Founding, as they called it in the Annals of the Township. The Year of the Massacre would be more like it, I think.”

Slightly on my guard, I asked, “What do you know of the Marquost massacre? Most people haven’t even heard of it.”

“Did I tell you that local history is one of my hobbies?” she asked. “I have the complete Darkmoon Diaries, the older Hilstrom Diaries, the Annals of the Township – 1647 through 1882, and a long standing friendship with Mrs. Alderman, the Librarian. What she can’t lay hands on, hasn’t even been rumored to exist.”

I laughed. “I, too, have met the formidable Mrs. Alderman. Have you seen her file on the Wikes place? Now there is a mystery for a long winter night!”

I was surprised at the grimness of her response. “I not only have seen it, I entered a legal true copy into the Court Records when I got the order to block further sales of that house. Sixty innocent people have disappeared there!”

She relented and added, “Both the Township and Flocking Bay Realty opposed the order. The Township cited the loss of tax revenue from the estates of the missing persons!

“Flocking Bay Realty tried to cite loss of income by using the historic sales record. I asked if they wished to be named as accomplices in an investigation into the deliberate disappearance and probable death of sixty people. They shut up.”

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#MET BY MOONLIGHT #Part 1 of 3 #Flocking Bay #Written by De Writer

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