#i feel like i should have recognized the voice sooner I’m a disgrace

[furinafontaine]

ELIEMONTY?

[rocketink]

LOST AND FOUND

In which you lose your stuff all the time but your first-floor neighbour somehow always has it for you. Or, in a soulmate world, your soulmate finds everything you loses and reverse.

pairing: minghao x gender neutral reader

genre: fluff, crack + neighbor & soulmate! Au 

wc: 2.2k+

warnings: none I think (this type of soulamte thingy is kinda crazy tho). Btw this is my first au so I’m sorry fpr any mistakes!! + English is not my first language so apologies :)

notes: I migh turn this into a series since I’ve thought about some details here and there as I wrote this au?? What do you think?? 

The situation inside your apartment has turned unbearable, and you know should have moved with Joshua when you had the chance. He wasn't the closest of your friends, but you're sure it would have been more comfortable with him rather than third-wheeling your roommates.

Now, you don't hate Mingyu and your best friend, you just think they are disgustingly cute. You feel very happy since you've seen them pining after each other for a while now (all the furtive glances they sent to each other when they thought nobody was looking was like being inside a rom-com movie and it was hilarious at first. It eventually became too much to handle). You've never seen two more oblivious people inside a room, it was exasperating. Things began to turn serious when they discovered they were each other's soulmates and they've been seriously dating ever since.

It's great, really, but why do you have to see each of their displays of affection? Or, should we say, why doesn't the time to find your soulmate finally get to you?

Because you know, deep down inside you, that the problem is not that they have a soulmate. The problem is that you don't find it.

"Good morning, love." Mingyu greets your friend with his deep morning voice, and gives them a kiss on their temple. "Good morning, Y/n." He gives you a tiny hug and you growl.

"It's too early for being cute don't you think?" You ask joking-not-so-joking.

"Feeling grumpy at eight in the morning? Woah, breaking your own record." You laugh at what your friend says and they laugh too. You don't mind being like this, just why does it have to get so awkward sometimes?

"Guys another disgrace has happened." You announce solemnly. "I have lost my jacket"

"Again?" Mingyu judges.

"But didn't you wash it yesterday? It must be hanged with the rest of the clothes."

"I checked when I woke up because it's cold and it wasn't there."

"It was pretty windy last night, maybe it fell?" Your friend suggests and they grin. "Maybe Minghao will bring it back to you later?"

Ah, here we have the other reason why you want to move to a lost town somewhere in Australia: Xu Minghao, your first-floor neighbor, the one that has an apartment to envy because of his small, well-decorated courtyard. You don't envy that, though, because your clothesline is right on top of his courtyard, and sometimes he has to bring you all the clothing items that fall into his yard. You don't know how all that ends up there, you've tried everything: from securing your clothes with more pins to tying it to the clothesline. But none of that ever works, and he always goes all up to the third floor -where you live- to give it back to you with a smile and a 'see you soon'. How does he know it's your clothes? You made sure to tell him the first time this happened.

Just like your friend predicted, that afternoon Xu Minghao knocked at your door.

"Hello." He greets with a friendly smile and your heart melts.

He's too adorable to handle.

"Hi, Minghao. Don't bother I think I know why you're here." You joke at your own clumsiness and he laughs with you too.

"You must have been cold without it." He seems worried and you shake your head.

"Don't worry, two layers of blankets made up for it."

He puts his hands into his pockets and smiles shyly and you feel your heart bursting off. When he leaves, you notice your jacket smells like him.

Ah, how you wished Minghao was your soulmate.

Things get more complicated when the finals approach. You can barely stand even after drinking your daily coffee and you spend day after day coming and going from home to the library. You are so focused and stressed that you barely pay attention to anything else, and you've lost from pens to your entire case. All of them safely brought back home by Minghao. You do not know how or when you threw your case through the window for it to end up at Minghao's yard, but he always brings some hot chocolate and a small talk with him, so you do not complain.

After all, you don't even remember how you wake up every morning by the end of the day. You end up thinking you need to control yourself a little more during finals.

One day it gets out of hand. You've probably had the worst of the days. You woke up late because you didn't hear the alarm clock, your roommates being all lovey-dovey already got you on your nerves, your exam was harder than you expected and you had a bad feeling about your answers. Then, when you finally got home, late and tired, your keys were nowhere to be found. You could feel your eyes getting watery and you knocked at the door. Nobody answers, your friend and Mingyu are celebrating their anniversary and you don't want to bother them even if all you want is a hot shower and watching a romantic without friends to cuddle. You immediately think of Minghao, would it be too much if you asked him to spend some time with you? You answer to yourself that yes, it would be too much, there's no need to bother anyone else. So what do you do now?

"Y/n?" Somebody asks behind you.

"Minghao?" And there you have it, just the one you were thinking of.

"Hi, uhm, are you okay?" You want to cry to that question, but you manage to hold back your tears.

"I'm fine I just- I must have lost my keys because I can't find them and there's no one home and I just want to sleep." You explain briefly.

"Are these your keys?" He holds something in his left hand that looks like your keyring -a framed pink paper with your name on it and a little olaf your sister once bought you-

"How did you find it?"

"I didn't, it appeared in my yard". He is as confused as you are.

"But... I remember I put it inside the pocket of my bag." You explain. "When I arrived it was opened so I just supposed they fell out. And there's no way they fell into your yard because they are always inside my bag, I never threw them... Why would anyone throw a keyring through my window? I-" You try to explain without taking a breath so that Minghao doesn't think you're a weirdo, but now you can't fight back your tears and Minghao looks worried.

"It's okay Y/n, don't worry, I understand. Well, I don't, but I know you didn't do it. Hold on let's get inside I'll make you some hot chocolate and we can watch a movie, okay?"

You nod without thinking, just wanting to be lulled into some peace. He makes you some hot choco as promised and makes some small talk while choosing a movie to watch.

"So where are your roommates?" He asks.

"Celebrating their anniversary."

"Wait, are they dating?"

"Didn't you know?"

"No? I'm so shocked what the hell." You laugh at his astonished face. "But are they...?"

"Soulmates? Yes, they are."

"Woah, lucky."

"I know right." You don't want this topic to surface but you can't help but ask. "Have you met your soulmate?"

"I haven't." After a few seconds, he adds, "have you?"

"No, not a single clue of who they are. I don't have a timer or a tattoo, or see them in my dreams... I'm getting tired of waiting. Overall watching the two lovebirds every day of my life."

"It is the same thing for me. I'd love to meet them or just to know how they are. I know I'm young and all that but I'm just very curious and almost all my friends have met them while I still don’t know how to find them. I feel left out."

You nod, relating to that feeling.

"By the way, if it gets tiring, why don't you just move out?"

"I don't know where to move to be honest. I don't know if I want to go through the 'look for a new apartment' process again, it's too tiring. Besides, I still have fun with them, they're not to blame for my loneliness."

Minghao laughs and looks away.

"Just so you know, I'm moving out next month. I found another apartment for a better price and I'm going to leave the one I have now. If it gets too unbearable, you can just take my place." And you are too focused on yourself to notice the sad look on his face.

Because Minghao and your little encounters made your whole living in a student's apartment life better, and you don't want him to go away. But you are just a neighbor in Minghao's life, so who are you to tell him that?

Minghao moves the following month just as promised, and you can't remove the moping face you wear.

"Why are you so sad Y/n? I've seen the new neighbor, he is as hot as Minghao." Your friend winks and you roll your eyes.

"I don't care. If he doesn't pick up my stuff then I don't want him."

"I've heard he is all the time arguing with their other roommate. Maybe they leave sooner than expected and Minghao comes back!"

"Don't be mean, Gyu!" You nag and he shrugs.

Somebody's knocking at the door distracts you from your conversation and both of your friends turn to look at you.

"Why do I always have to get the door? There's no Minghao now, I don't want it."

"Maybe is your new blue prince"

"Shut up, Mingyu."

But when you open the door to a frowning Minghao, your heart backflips.

"What are you doing here Hao? Is everything okay?"

"I am a little concerned." He shows you a small necklace you recognize immediately. "What was this doing in my house?"

"I lost it last week at university! I didn't know where it went." You try to answer.

"To my room?"

"Look, I also don't know what was my necklace doing in your house in which I've never stepped a foot in because is like five kilometers away ... Oh my god Hao did you walk here?"

"I took the bus." He looks down and then right at you. "The last time I saw you you were wearing it. I've been thinking for a week how did this get there since I haven't seen you in a month, I never took it and I know for sure you are not a stalker who would leave their necklace inside my room when nobody’s looking."

"Have you reached any conclusion?"

"Absolutely none. Then I talked to Jun and he said some of the romantic trash he usually thinks of, but this made me think."

"What did he say?" You don't know what direction this conversation is taking.

"He's a soulmate expert you know? He told me that maybe it’s because destiny wants us to meet again and I thought that couldn't be because oh god, what have I done to deserve you? Then I decided to make a little experiment and I'm really nervous because if this doesn't work out I might have lost the most important thing to me. Do you mind checking your room?"

You feel everything inside you revolving because of every single one of his words, but still, you do as he requests. You check your room, ignoring the question marks over your roommate's heads, and find nothing different. Except for a new notebook on top of your nightstand you hadn't noticed. It's a sketchbook, and all of the drawings on the inside are signed with Minghao's name.

"Is this yours?" He sighs in relief when he recognizes the sketchbook.

"This is a part of my life, you know?"

"Then how did you lose this?"

"I told June to leave it somewhere I didn't know so that I couldn't even look for it. I wasn't sure if it was going to work."

"I can't believe the universe does works like this."

"Me neither, but I'm glad it did."

"So, you said this friend of yours is an expert in soulmates?" You don't want to ask it directly, but you want to know if he's implying that you two are soulmates.

"Yes, I used the s word." You both laugh.

"Does this mean that you and I... You know."

"Jun told me this type of soulmate is rare, but it has happened under easier circumstances. All I know is that I keep finding you every time and I don't know if I ever want to stop finding you."

"OH COME ON JUST KISS ALREADY." You hear Mingyu shouting from the kitchen. "Babe, now I know how Y/n felt with us."

You want to laugh at Mingyu and tell him 'Ha, suffer you loser', but Minghao has other plans.

When he kisses you everything just seems simple and suddenly everything is fine, and you don't want to stop doing it. It's warm, it feels as if you had lost and found the most important thing in your life.

"Hold on then why did I never find anything yours?"

"Y/n, you break the kiss just to ask this?" You blush and he sighs. "I'm a very organized person, unlike others, so I barely lose things, happy now?"

"No. Does this mean that if I get lost in a crowd would you magically find me? You know, since I got lost."

"I don't know Y/n, and I don't want to find out. Now come here, I want to cuddle."

"Oh, yes. Finally."

[muertawrites]

Two Halves - Chapter Five (Zuko x Reader)

Part Four

Word Count: 3,300

Author’s Note: I was up until 4am finishing this on Thursday night, and honestly, the way my single brain cell was barely functioning at that point, I’m surprised this even got done, let alone that it got done relatively well. We’re also getting super close to 1,000 followers, so if you like this series or any of my other works, PLEASE subscribe! I’ve got some fun stuff planned once we get there that I’m really excited to start planning! 

~ Muerta

Despite their rocky beginning, your first few weeks as Lady of the Fire Nation go surprisingly well. After your conflict with Advisor Lin, everyone begins to treat you with newfound respect - even Zuko. Your first breakfast together was the last time he advised any of your aids to be moderate or keep their distance from you, instead encouraging them to speak to you as directly as they would him, openly reproving them when they treat you as if you aren't capable of grasping everything they face you with; of course, you very much feel like you aren't, remaining stoic during morning briefings in the dining room while inwardly panicking, hearing everything but only able to decipher about half of it. You’re lucky you’re still shadowing the Firelord, learning your place and duties; once you’re sent out on your own, you have a feeling you’ll drown before you even get the chance to tread water. 

Protective as he is, Sokka arranges to stay in the palace until you’re completely settled, stating that it’s his duty as the chief ambassador for the Southern Water Tribe; you know that the real reason is because he’s worried to death about you, trying his hardest to keep up the tough, unflappable big brother act for nobody's sake but his own. Toph also decides to extend her trip, quite concerned herself but mostly using the political tension as an excuse to catch up with you, Zuko, and Iroh - you don't mind, since having her around is an endless comfort to you, and you often invite her to sleep in your room so you can pretend that you’re just two friends enjoying normal young adult lives. 

Each day spent in Firelady prep school is a new lesson in what exactly the role means, and you’re quickly finding that it’s much more than observing any of the first ladies of the Water Tribe could have ever prepared you for. They were considered accessories to their chiefs, appearing beside their husbands mostly for aesthetics and only truly serving the purpose of giving birth to sons to take his place; as the Firelord’s wife, you’re seen as an extension of him, and he an extension of you. Your people view you as the monarch and matriarch of a massive, powerful clan, and expect you to live and act in sync with one another for the betterment of your children, both literal and metaphorical. Nation comes before everything, any action that could suggest intentions otherwise criticized with the utmost scrutiny; disgrace is all too easy, while honor seems near impossible. 

You have tea with Zuko every night before bed; the more you learn about the culture of his upbringing, the more you empathize with his younger self. 

“I understand now why you were so angry,” you admit to him one night. “They make you feel as if just being human were a mistake. I'm already frustrated - I can't imagine what seventeen years of it was like.”

Zuko hums, his face taking on a wistful, somber expression. 

“That's what my father did to me,” he explains. “Everything was wrong, even if it was what felt natural.” 

He takes your hand in his, his thumb grazing over your knuckles as he gazes off in thought. 

“We can change that, though,” he tells you. “Things already feel better with you here.” 

For a country that just ended a century long war in which they were the main aggressor, you would think that your advisors would put more energy into matters of diplomatic affairs than your image. 

“I'm just uncertain what a choice like this could make the nation feel,” Advisor Yong says. “We’re already walking a very delicate line.”

You stand in one of the palace’s many meeting parlors with Zuko, Advisors Yong and Sung, Sokka, Iroh, and the royal seamstress, pouring over multiple yards of fabric she's brought for the robes that will immortalize you in your wedding portrait. For the past forty-five minutes, you've been debating whether you should be pictured wearing Fire Nation or Water Tribe clothes - the proceedings have been dismal at best. 

“The representation of our tribe is important to our people,” Sokka replies to Advisor Yong. “We’ve been small for decades, and mostly because of the Fire Nation - she should wear a traditional dress.” 

“But certain people in our nation are still very put off by the idea of a foreign queen,” Advisor Yong argues. “A man was already killed over the matter; embracing it so fully could spark anger and endanger her and the Firelord even more.” 

In the time you've spent with Advisor Yong, she's grown to be your favorite of anyone within the royal council. Her small stature and plump, motherly features make her seem gentle and subdued, but her kindness only runs so deep; when faced with confrontation, she's like an angry bull - fierce, but in a way that's so swift and graceful, you barely notice her goring into you until she's shredded you to pieces. She's been one of your most supportive council members as well, guiding you in matters of proper Fire Nation etiquette and culture and sticking her neck out farther than could possibly be expected to keep you safe. You can see Sokka getting irritable, but you know she speaks with a voice that only has your best interests in mind. 

“Perhaps we should consider the external perception,” Advisor Sung suggests. His soft spoken manner is a welcome reprieve from the increasing bitterness in Yong and Sokka’s tones. “Yes, it's quite important that the Southern Tribe is recognized, and doing so will present a compassionate image of our nation. On the other hand, however, having our lord and lady in different traditional dress could suggest division; picturing them as the same would imply a more unified pair.” 

“Maybe we should put Zuko in a Water Tribe outfit,” you suggest flatly. “Make it look like we’re pushing you guys around for a change.” 

Zuko snickers beside you, raising a hand to his mouth to (ineffectively) stifle the sound under the guise of a cough. The rest of the room is deathly silent, its occupants either oblivious to your sarcasm or deeply unamused by it. 

“I believe what our lady is trying to convey,” Iroh chimes in, “is that we have hardly taken her own thoughts into consideration. After all, it is her marriage and her people she must represent.” 

“Okay, so what do you think?” Sokka prods, turning to you. “Do you want to wear Fire Nation clothes or Water Tribe ones?”

You sigh, dropping your eyes to the mixture of red and blue fabric sprawled out before you. 

“Honestly? I don't know,” you confess. “There are too many issues with either choice. I think we need more time to gauge how people react to me just being here before we decide.” 

“My lady, I understand,” Advisor Yong says, “but as cautious as we have to be, we can't be too hesitant; you can’t possibly hope to bear children in a few months’ time if we can't come to a decision on something like this in a timely manner.”  

You and Zuko both jolt, instinctively backing away from one another.

“Children will come much later,” Zuko sputters, his cheeks turning the same shade as his robes. “Right now we have to focus on getting the people of our nations to agree with each other.” 

“And children are an important part of doing so,” Advisor Yong explains. “They’ll serve to physically embody the union of the two nations; the sooner you become pregnant, my lady, the quicker we may resolve the issue.” 

“I’m not going to bring a baby into this world just to be a political pawn,” you snap, a bit more harshly than you intend to. “That wouldn’t be fair and I couldn’t do that to my kid.” 

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Zuko glance at you with an expression you can’t quite place. You want to reach for him but restrain yourself, feeling strange about showing him any sort of intimacy with an audience. 

“We need to decide what will be done about this portrait before we decide what will be done about heirs,” Iroh agrees. “We should give our lady more time to think on the matter. Could we spare another day?” 

Advisors Yong and Sung look to one another, Advisor Sung nodding his compliance. Advisor Yong also concedes, her tone almost apologetic when she speaks. 

“Another day will be just fine,” she says. “We’ll leave the final decision to you and your husband, my lady. Have Rina bring your instructions to the seamstress when you’re ready.” 

Your stomach flutters manically when you hear the words “your husband”. Advisor Yong has never referred to him as such, only ever calling him “the Firelord”; somehow, coming from her, the title feels much more significant than just the result of an arranged marriage. 

You flop down in the grass beside Zuko, burying your face in the sleeves of your robe. He chuckles, tossing another apple peel to the turtle ducks in the courtyard pond. 

“At least they’re being nice,” he consoles you. “Advisor Yong called me a coward in front of the whole council when I told her I wasn’t sure about getting married. She was right, but it’s hard getting your ass handed to you by someone who looks like a sweet little grandmother.” 

You sigh, rolling over onto your back and tilting your head to look up at him. He gives you a faint, assuring smile, which you can’t help but return. 

“I totally understand why you snapped when we were kids,” you tell him. “I’ve been here less than a month and I already want to go apeshit. Did you know that one of our advisors told me to take my betrothal necklace off the other day? The slimy little bastard waited until you left the room to do it, too! He told me it made me look less like a ‘naturalized Fire Nation woman’, and I told him that anyone who expected me to look like one was either stupid or delusional. And what, we need to have kids right way for the sake of political leverage? That’s horrible! What kind of monster brings a child into the world just to use them their whole life??” 

You draw back when you notice Zuko’s fallen expression. You’ve sat up by this point, and your near-screaming has scared the turtle ducks to the other side of the pond. You feel your heart drop into your gut, wishing you could take the words back. 

“Oh, Zuko,” you breathe. “I’m sorry. I didn’t…” 

Zuko shakes his head, closing his eyes and taking a deep, measured breath. You watch his chest rise and fall, his shoulders loosening as he exhales. When he opens his eyes again, he meets yours, the knot between his brows unraveling. 

“It’s okay,” he murmurs. “I know. My father was a monster. And my mother… she just did what she was told. I never realized how much she sacrificed for me until she was gone.” 

You inch closer to him, warily reaching for his hand. He takes it, lacing his fingers with yours and gently tugging you to sit beside him, reclining against the trunk of an ancient maple tree. He leans into you, clutching your hand tightly. 

“Sometimes I wish the worst thing he did to me was use me,” he laments. “Then maybe I wouldn’t have done such awful things to the people who loved me.” 

“Zuko,” you whisper, tightly squeezing his hand, “you’re not your father. Just the fact that you asked me to marry you proves that. You didn’t choose your family based on who would make you powerful. You chose me because you love my siblings, and they love you, and that’s exactly why I agreed to be with you. I never met your father, but I know for a fact that he never knew love like you do; he wouldn’t allow himself to because he thought it was weakness. But you’re so much stronger than he is, and could ever be, because Katara and Sokka, Aang and Toph, and Iroh - all of us are here with you. You allow yourself to show weakness in loving us, which is the bravest thing you could ever do. You are nothing like Ozai.” 

To your surprise, Zuko smirks at you; the corners of his eyes glimmer with the buds of tears, however, and the rest of his features don’t rise to match the expression on his lips. 

“No wonder Uncle likes you so much,” he says. “You sound just like him.” 

You scoff, punching him in the shoulder. He laughs, playfully tossing you over his lap and pinching the soft sides of your stomach, an area he discovered was sensitive by accident one day whilst he was walking you through the palace; you giggle hysterically, trying in vain to fend off the attack. He retreats after a little while, sighing as he cradles you in his arms - your head presses to his chest while his chin rests atop your head, hugging you tightly in a way he hasn’t done before. You wrap yourself around him, arms latching about his waist to hold him just as closely. 

“I won’t let them pressure us,” he assures you. “We’re family, and we have to take care of each other. That’s all I ever want to do for you.” 

You nestle into him, curling your body closer to his while your arms squeeze at his sides. He kisses the crest of your head, a rare display of affection he’s only done a handful of times - it makes you realize that even when you were teenagers, and Sokka started to make serious suggestions about keeping his promise of marrying you after Hakoda left you in his care, he never once made you feel as safe as Zuko does. 

“I hope I wasn't interrupting anything with my invitation,” Iroh greets you when you arrive at his chambers. 

Before your nightly pot of tea with Zuko, a messenger came to your quarters telling you that Iroh wished to see you; when you asked why, the messenger told you that the general wanted to teach you to play Pai Sho. You looked to Zuko quizzically, wondering what was so important about knowing how to play a board game that you needed to be summoned so late in the evening, and he sent you off, assuring you that, knowing Iroh, it was worth taking up the offer. 

“Just Zuko’s tea,” you tell him, “which, if it weren't for his company, I think I'd bail on every night.” 

Iroh chuckles, leading you inside and lowering you onto a cushion on one end of a large Pai Sho table; he takes the other seat, smiling good-naturedly at you. 

“Unfortunately, my nephew has never quite taken to the art of tea brewing,” he says, “no matter how many times I've tried to teach him; I take comfort in the fact that he's much better with a sword than I am, instead.” 

You grin, watching as the old man spreads a set of tiles across the game board. 

“Do you know of the significance of Pai Sho within the royal families of the Fire Nation?” he asks; you shake your head in response. 

“It is traditionally learned as a way of teaching our young leaders to rule with strategy,” he explains. “It is meant to teach a balance between inner passions and outward logic, as well as how to observe one’s peers; those who practice Pai Sho diligently know how to pinpoint an opponent’s weaknesses while understanding and controlling their own, keeping others from using their shortcomings against them.

“Each tile has a meaning,” he continues, “and represents a different positive or negative attribute. They may only move in certain ways, but can change their effect on the game based on how the player chooses to use them within each environment. For example…” 

Iroh goes on to explain each tile and its movements to you, walking you through each element of the game and practicing different tiles with you until you can actually place them in a somewhat skilled way. When you're comfortable, he plays a simple game with you, aiding you in which possibilities cause which consequences and pointing out ways you can better defend your side of the board. You play five games with him in total, never winning but trying as if you stood a chance against such a skilled player as him. 

When you lose the last game, Iroh removes the last tile you played and replaces it with the white lotus - you quirk your brow, wondering why that would be the better move. 

“I thought the white lotus was a weak tile,” you question him. “Why put it up against something as strong as the flame tile?” 

“There are no weak tiles in Pai Sho,” Iroh instructs you, “only ones that are often overlooked. Sometimes we must look at things from a different perspective, you see; manipulate the odds by doing something unorthodox and unexpected. If your opponent cannot anticipate your actions, they cannot overcome you.” 

Iroh removes the white lotus from the board, taking your hand within his and placing it in your open palm. He folds your fingers over it, closing your hand between both of his. 

“Keep this with you,” he says. “It may help you someday.” 

“But won't your board be incomplete?” you ask. 

Iroh chuckles, giving you a mischievous wink that makes you feel almost as if the man is in some way omniscient. 

“I have plenty of others,” he assures you. “It will do much more good in your hands.” 

The next day, you accompany Rina to the seamstress’s workshop, wanting to give her the instructions for your portrait dress yourself. When you tell her this, Rina is clearly confused - she gently attempts to explain to you that it isn’t necessary, that she’s supposed to handle these sorts of things for you, but once you reveal what you have in mind, she shifts completely. 

“The council is going to hate that,” she says. “I think it’s a great idea. I can take you to the seamstress, come with me.” 

When you relay your plans to the seamstress, she’s also shocked - her eyes widen, and she physically backs away from you as if even considering following your orders will get her executed for treason. 

“Are you sure?” she asks. “It isn’t what the Firelady would typically do…” 

“And I’m not a typical Firelady,” you reply, your tone bright and straightforward. “I’ve been asked to do what will create compromise, and this is the best compromise I can think of; I’m simply doing what I’m meant to.” 

The seamstress agrees, but only after you give her your vow that she won’t take any of the blame should the idea backfire (you're in charge, after all, so what can anyone do? She’s just following orders.)

In white fabric, she makes a set of robes for Zuko and a dress for you, each including elements crafted in Fire Nation and Water Tribe tradition. She then takes each set to its own vat of hot water, adding blue dye to one and red dye to the other - she places the pieces in, looking nervously up at you as you approach the twin cauldrons.

“I just want to make one last adjustment,” you tell her. 

Before she can respond, you take a bucket of blue dye and a bucket of red and tip each one into the opposite vat. The garments swirl as if caught in the midst of a tempestuous storm, the dye bleeding into the pristine fabric until it stains a shade of vivid, furious purple. 

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[thattimdrakeguy]

To Forget a Familiar Name (A story, but not a book.)

Please don’t forget, books have their end. We’re only stories to be told briefly, by some in single breaths.

Life’s simple pleasures can only last for so long. The feeling of a cool breeze against your thumb. The even colder months. A sensation, one that made you smile so wide, of a cold and soothing stream running through your toes and sometimes up to your thighs. The simple acknowledgement of a warm, comfortable home with a dog and blanket awaiting you, as your parents yelled cheese. This dog seemed to be a pug. Ironically she seemed quite catty, but she was dearly loved. 

Human-kind depends on these things. That’s something to remember. They make our soul feel weightless and happy, no longer as disgusted or dismayed, as we might’ve been a previous day, but able to feel something glad. That’s what we should always feel. Make another day feel important and grand. 

Life has itself made. Miniature miracles that make it a journey to take around the corner. Never disremember, the footpath that we travel is powerful and our own, no matter if it lags, but even that path shall eventually sag and reach its end as others go on and prosper happy and glad. That we can’t forget. Could take a wrong turn, that’s always a risk, but that decision so long ago isn’t going to return, while we must continue and keep going forward and on. We can’t always sit and wait. We might miss our date. Wouldn’t want to stop so early and alleviate. Pain could end sooner. But continue on, friend, and make the world your oyster.

Inside, in your home, by the fire, as your meal was being prepared in your stove, near your pet for now, with a good book to read, having your favorite drink, your favorite show on, it’s your favorite time to dwell as well. Wasn’t it just so precious, and undeniably swell? This was a comfy domicile and it was yours. Celebrate that and cheer. These are all things we hope to have, but they are simply not for all so equally. Some aren’t as blessed, some never had the feelings or your simple comfort. But don’t you worry, the sand that is our life would be colder without your inner glow. Another passenger to crash because another has no car wouldn’t solve a thing. Take comfort in the fact that inside your home, as you're on the phone, that these are here to stay.

There’s no need to worry about the day where that won’t be the case. It’s here and now, this isn’t future town. It’s the present day, you can feel the sun on your face, no more moles, just a fine glass, and a hand that you can hold. The palm that has texture you can recognize as a friend, or perhaps even more. You might switch it out, go to dine, but it’s that sensational fever, an inner beam, that makes you never feel low. That was the real treat. Did you need anything more?

An empty house, a crooked beam, a chilling wind, no slippers, no shoes, no sandals, look down and it’s only cold feet. When did you get here? Was it quickly? Did you make this decision? You might want to retreat. Until you realize you can’t no more.

The snow is friendly as long as you're warmed up. Make new friends with the space around you. You could use a carrot as a treat, or you could use it as a nose. Along with some rocks that your future kids will soon trot over as the eyes to give this friend some magical life all of it his own. You know it’s not real. It’s only imagination. But wouldn’t it be grand to make it awake? To give it this treat without human stakes? What a dream, what a laugh, it’s a gaffe, but you put that wish to sleep. Not everything was meant to last.

Welcome to spring, your kids are now here. Their cheery smiles, their infectious laughter, they make messes, but you love them like treasure. The eyes you can see on their face, why they’re like yours. You gave them a blessing, you gave them a life, and these ones won’t double as a potential frozen treat. This you can hug, without melting at your feet.

That game you wanted, and wished for, and listed. It’s past its release. No more time to play it. You have to sleep and be rested for bed much like your children. The temperature feels colder, but yet it’s the same. Another day ends, and another starts. Repeats many times, but now it’s like a thump. You feel a lump. Gravity seems to get harsher, and granted seems harder to hold. There’s your son, he’s got something of some sort, yell at him to tell him to wait.

More grass, but this isn’t comfy. This grass is sad, and not so alive. The trees have no leaves. This wind isn’t friendly. It seems like it’s raining, it’s water, but not like the streams. What was warmth like anymore? The sun was out yesterday, and it wasn’t warm then. For some reason the lights even seemed dimmed.

You remember your life for a second, your mother, and boy she was a hugger. Picking you, swinging you around, giving you all the love you could ever wish and desire. Then was your father who loved you as a child, and that sensation even when he left the nation, never felt flat, and certainly not when he came back. Where were they now? They were no longer around. Could they not make it? This didn’t seem fair. Bring me back home, this instant you hear.

Where am I? This isn’t my bed. Who is this in my dreams? I don’t know anyone named Kyle. My face looked like a disgrace. My hair was now gray. My skin looked in the midst of decay. Crying all around me. I didn’t get it. What was so sad? I only woke up a little lost. Which is where they should be going just about now. They were strangers they were. So many light blue outfits behind them. Several long white jackets. This didn’t feel fantastic.

Gravity must be mad, it’s going extra hard. Fuck, never mind this. I want my home again. It’s been too long since I’ve been home again. They cry for me to come back, but fuck them I say. I don’t need this. Certainly not now, and not then. When was then? Oh who gave a fuck. The time is now, and that’s all that mattered. This wasn’t future town.

Where were my friends? What were their names? I do remember that they were around this place. Right beside me. Might as well been right there. But they were the ones that were lost. Where was the familiarity? What was this fate? I remember going on dates, and being fed grapes. This wind is too harsh, I could fall down, but screw these people, this isn’t my town.

Walking���s much harder, and breathing felt like a fight. I just want to see my dog’s face again, my dad, my mate’s, my mother too. Was I so lost that I’m forever gone? I think something looking like my street is only over yonder. Only so many more feet. What grabbed me? I’ve landed harshly and I feel defeat. Must I crawl? How humiliating and all, but I have to get to warmth, I miss it desperately, and how.

Who would even miss me? I hear yelling, but for who? Was that my name? I’m fighting this destiny. All seems blue, even my flesh that was now covered in moles, but I’ve had that before, and I’ll beat it again. The windows into other houses, they look quite right but who were these fellows? No more Frankie, and Bobby, but they still seem almost familiar. Those were the same eyes, but not faces or taste. They were having fine dining, I wish I could join, but my bed and my dog, they were for me. Could I just stop feeling oh so tired, fucking please. My feet felt stabbed, my arms were wasted. Time was eating at me, like I was finally toasted and smoked, about to be served at Thanksgiving.

The doorstep. I finally made it. It smells just right, and this carpet was nice. Whoever picked it out must’ve been a heckuva guy. All these photos around, so many people. Ha. Who ever could they be? There was a TV with a DVD or Blu Ray of my favorite show. Finally here and rested. Now where was my dog and my favorite blanket? That’s what life is. Not feeling sophisticated and cooked like bacon. So hot outside? Or maybe it was cold. Heard something about getting burnt by freeze, maybe that’s what it is. Couldn’t be much after all.

I’m here now in my familiar town. Something amiss, but I didn’t feel like having a fit. This was my chair and that was my favorite drink on the counter. Why does this box of ashes have the name of my favorite mate? The one on four legs and had the funny face. This couldn’t be right. Who’s home was this? I didn’t remember walking in here. This can’t be right. Why is this room so bright?

It’s all I could see. I’m scared. I’m cold. My blood is running so thin. I wanted a hug, just be picked up and flung. To eat picnics while the birds hummed. This couldn’t be right. Those pictures, who were they? What did I look like? My answer already gone as I laid. My memory was defeated, while I lied in my kitchen, or was it the bedroom? Could’ve been the bathroom it all felt so similar. My skin felt rough and sagging. Had I finally gotten old? When did this happen? Somebody, please. I feel like my life is only a disease, and I won’t have it. I lived in a mystery town now. Oh, god, how?

Crying. Not again, only this time it was me. I haven’t cried in years, or maybe just weeks. This was pathetic, I had to get up. What was going on? What was this? My body felt lifted above. But not by hands, nor human help. Everything felt faded. Goodbye. Wait to who? Was that to myself? Please, this can’t be it. I felt so young, had I already been spent? This was it? All those years gone, and done, and this is all that happened, with only seconds remaining? Stranger’s for neighbors, and my known family already retired to the same place where I’ll be retreating?

All this and not even a dog, or a last kiss. My final meal was through a tube. This was so vile. Make it come back, I’m desperate, and pleading. All I feel is nothing but cold and beaten. A soft voice tells me something “Oh god, oh no.” tell me about it. One last touch on my hand. I wish I could speak. I would beg and grovel to my feet. I had to know. Who was this final stranger? The last hand I’ll ever hold onto, and the final voice before my end. 

All too soon, and too dang slow is how it felt. This was my finale, I’ll never be seen again. Should I want it to drag out, or take me out to a quick end? Was this all worth it? Even those simple comforts?

Years, and days and weeks, all the seasons. The smiles from the faces of people already deleted. All in memory, and now mine was gone. That moment forever turned to dust. Experiences, unique, all to our own, never to be talked about, not even in this home. Where was I to go? Would it be kind? Angel kisses and meeting the divine? My life with my dog, and my short-lived kitten, bring them back, please. I need it. I’m bleeding.

No more time for pleading, and time took no breaks. I could smell the breath of a demonic snake. It seemed like smoke, oddly burnt. Could that be my stove? Did I really start baking? The screams I heard, telling those to run. Was this the after-life or my own abode? This is all I caused. My body now rusted and almost roasted. Buried to rubble. My legacy in spades. Was this happening the whole time? I couldn’t believe it. It couldn’t have. I’ve gone nuts.

Me and my friends, those old-timey woes. The yarns we told, and bars we traveled to and fro. To feel so small and treated like a kitten in a mother’s arms, or on a father’s chest.

Those all felt so temporary, but this was it. All that to never be known ever again. At least by this body and mind. An artifact left to time. I sighed. I felt like the last of my kind. Pieces of existence decimated and depleted. It all held within me, but now I’m apart and seething. Burning away, and choking on soot.

I could imagine the sight, and those strangers having a fight. To save me or not? Could it be done? I suppose that was my family. What have I done?

Thinking to myself in this long drawn out moment, would one choose to exist, even after the run? I’d had to assume heck no, but who would know? Maybe the challenges we faced, looking down on our dead, living as a fecked up human race that destroyed all around us. We caused so much damage. But it was a part of us. Maybe some more unfortunate would give it a go. I feel bad, cause what a poor fucker if this was much better. Everything was empty like it didn’t matter.

Would those be legends too, for as long as time exists? Our only existence. Or would we too, as humans, begin to truly cease to exist.

Those memories that we become, and represent all that we exist once our bodies are torn, and our souls stop blinking, and we’re let out like a leaking liquid, as we become no more. How long could they travel? One day we’ll all be gone, and in the timeline we’re not even a blimp or a bump on the road. There was a much bigger picture and we exist as a skin cell laid across the page to become one with it, but nothing on our own.

All these inventions, and shows. Those festival lights that we glowed. All such happy times, and no longer remembered? I think I know what hell is, and it gave me my last shiver. How I had that in heat, that answer would never be delivered.

Crashing down around me, all that I knew. I’d be turned to dust with my best fluffy pal. It’d be poetic if not so horrific. That box, if only it could be kept. That’s what I want. For my friend to never be forgotten even if I remained unforgiven. These seconds left, and no breath for me to shout in my despair. All the latest bad memories that had transpired, that’s all that’s left of me. All my accomplishments couldn’t be recovered, they were going with me because of all this trouble.

What could be my last thought? Or what should be my last thought? Would I know my last thoughts? What were my last words? Man, I could barely remember. “Fuck you?” Huh, guess that was believable, and most likely true. If not right, I was to never know. I suppose I deserve that for causing these flames. Was I ever even married? Were they happy when they left? Or are they standing there depressed and angry as they watch this blaze. They’re probably a mess. One that I caused but could no longer fix. That chapter is gone and finally written.

This was so retched, so bastardized and dull. What was this rubbish? My last cough, oh now I feel it. I could see them now, that really shouldn’t be. I felt like I was 15 feet in the air. Guess this really was my defeat.

All I am is memories in their head, like all those that were traveling with me, lonely and minute. Their travels are now done and I’m bringing them with me. Yet I’m not all too elated.

I can see all that was no longer to be, as I go to see what’s going to last as my forever and maybe haven. I hope it’s as precious as they were to me. No laughing or crying, or desperate action. They were all that remained of me, yet I made their life feel like a prison.

Turned out that I had my last thought. It was that I was sorry, a whole lot.

[youseethingsandyouknow]

Quiet Day

After finishing up dinner and her usual chores, Chi-Chi looked around her empty house, inspecting it to make sure that there was nothing else that needed to be done. Sure, she could get a head start on dinner tomorrow but as she looked out the window, all Chi-Chi wanted to do was to bask in sunshine on this unusually warm day.

It was rare that she was home alone. Gohan was at school, Goten was at Trunk’s house, and Goku was off training with Vegeta. Deciding that she deserved some time to herself, Chi-Chi gathered a blanket, brought her book and went up to the valley to enjoy her day.

Chi-Chi was beginning a new chapter when she sensed someone behind her. Annoyed at the intrusion, Chi-Chi stood and spun around.

“ You’ve got some nerve sneaking up on a lady like this! You should be ashamed of yourself!” Chi-Chi scolded at the figure.

A man was standing in front of her. He was tall with armor on his chest and shoulders. He wore black skintight clothing under his armor and his black hair was buzzed. His face had a permanent scowl on it with a large scar of his right eye.

“Well, what do you want?” Chi-Chi snapped and crossed her arms.

The man in front of her chuckled and responded, “I see that Kakarot found himself a formidable mate.”

Chi-Chi froze at the mention of her Goku’s Saiyan name. Please don’t tell me this man is a Saiyan too. And then she saw it, the tail wrapped around his waist. Crap.

“His name is Goku! Now answer my question or I’ll make you answer.” Chi-Chi tensed.

“ I want revenge for what he’s done to me, woman. And the only way to do that, is take everything he holds dear until he begs me to stop.”

What Goku has done? This man must have him confused with someone else.

“ Look, I don’t know what you want but you should leave before I make you leave. Last chance jerk.”

The man in front of her chuckled again, “I’ve been training for this for years and my destiny is finally here. So now it’s time to begin….Chi-Chi.”

His face contorted into an expression that sent chills down Chi-Chi’s spine and everything screamed at her to run. Instead, Chi-Chi prepped herself and got into fighting stance. If she was going down, she’d go swinging.

———————————————————————

There it was again. This time is was clear that something was off. Goku stopped his advance on Vegeta and powered down.

“ Kakarot!” Vegeta yelled, annoyed at Goku.

“ I-I’m sorry Vegeta, I got to go. Something is wrong with Chi-Chi.”

“What do you mean?”

“ I’m not sure.”

Vegeta studied Kakarot’s face. Something was troubling him, and if he was not going to give this spar his all, then it wasn’t worth it to continue.

“ All right, let’s go check it out.”

“ Huh? Why are you coming?”

“ Because it might be nothing and we still have to finish our training, fool!”

“Right. Grab my shoulder.”

Placing two fingers on his forehead, Goku focused on Chi-Chi‘s Ki. Arriving on the quiet field where his family had been so many times before, Goku looked around for Chi-Chi. He also found another person in the field but he was turned away from him and Vegeta.

“Kakarot, what’s going on here?” Vegeta asked, tensing at the stranger in front of them.

“I don’t know, Chi-Chi is here somewhere though. I just got to find her.”

He kept scanning the field looking for any sign of Chi-Chi until he found her bright yellow dress laying in the grass ahead.

“CHI-CHI!” Goku screamed and raced to her.

Ignoring the person in front of him, Goku ran over to Chi-Chi, Vegeta close behind him. Her body was under a low tree, the tall grass swaying around her. When he got to her, he slide on his knees next to her body. He could finally sense that it was her Ki weak. He should have recognized it sooner; he should have come to her when he first felt something was wrong.

She was face down in the grass and one of her elbows was turned in an unnatural angle.

“Chi-Chi? Chi-Chi, come on wake up!” He pleaded as he gingerly picked up her limp body and turned her to face him.

“Kakarot.” Vegeta said shocked and barely able to speak as he stood over Goku.

Both of Chi-Chi’s eyes were swollen shut, her lip was bruised and bleeding. There were dark marks on her neck. Her usually slim face was swollen and Goku could feel blood on the back of her head, her hair wet and matted.

“Nice of you to join us, Kakarot. I was getting worried that we wouldn’t get to meet. But don’t worry, your wife kept me entertained.”

Goku scanned her face and clenched his jaw, his body vibrating with rage. He finally looked up from Chi-Chi’s battered face to the person speaking.

“Tato?” Vegeta said shocked.

“Hello, brother.”

Goku looked up at Vegeta and seethed. “Brother?”

“I thought he died with our planet, Kakarot. He should have, he was a disgrace to my family.”

“Well, being a king’s bastard would do that. But brother, Father sent me away weeks before our planet was destroyed. He couldn’t stand the sight of me, which worked to my favor. I’m not here for you though.” Tato quipped and Vegeta grunted.

“Well then what do you want?”

“My glory. What Kakarot took from me.”

Goku was too overwhelmed to even care who this guy was much less care about why he was here. Chi-Chi’s Ki was fading and he had to do something quick. Not breaking eye contact with Tato, Goku whispered.

“Vegeta, listen. Chi-Chi NEEDS a sensu bean right now. I’ll fight him, but I need you to fly to Korin’s tower and get a bean. Quickly, she doesn’t have much time.”

“But Kakarot-.”

“Just do it, Vegeta!” Goku spat out,barely controlling his anger. He didn’t want to leave. He had to show this guy that no one messes with his family and gets away with it.

Vegeta relented and raced off to Korin’s tower. His brother laughed and while Tato was distracted, Goku looked down at Chi-Chi.

He didn’t know if she could hear him but he pleaded with her in a soft whisper. “Chi-Chi? Chi-Chi, please just hold on.”

Goku stared at her broken and bruised body, it was a sight that broke Goku. His body was trembling from the pain.

Images of Chi-Chi flashed through his mind. The face before him now was almost unrecognizable and it would have been to anyone but him. He would always know her face. He spent seven years memorizing every detail of her features when bouts of loneliness hit him in death.

“I’m sorry, Chi-Chi. I wasn’t there to protect you. But I’m going to make him suffer for what he did.”

Gently placing her back on the grass, Goku stood up. He clenched his fist and turned towards Tato, his mind focusing on the battle ahead and not his pain and guilt over what happened to Chi-Chi. If he thought too hard on that, he would not be able to stand.

“Chi-Chi is quiet the fighter, Kakarot.” Tato smirked.

Goku glared at Tato, “Do NOT say her name.”

“She gave me quite the fight, for an Earthling that is. Even managed to cut me.” He turned his cheek to reveal a deep cut above his eyebrow, making Goku smirk. He knew Chi-Chi didn’t go down without a fight.

“She’s a beautiful woman. I would have had some fun with her if she didn’t decide to fight me first. I was looking forward to it, Kakarot.”

He smiled and Goku knew Tato was taunting him. But Tato talking about Chi-Chi in that disgusting way enraged Goku.

“ You’re going to wish you never laid a HAND on my wife.” He growled and Tato shook his finger.

“ Now, now Kakarot. I’ve waited a long time for this. I’m going to enjoy it.”

Just as Goku was ready to charge, a voice shouted in his mind.

Goku

Piccolo?

Goku, Korin is out of beans. Vegeta just got here and told us what happened. I think the only way to save Chi-Chi is to get her to a hospital. She might be in a lot of pain, but she’ll be alive and then once the beans are ready, we can give it to her for a full recovery.

Right.

Good luck.

Thanks.

Goku wasn’t sure how he would get Chi-Chi out of here and fight Tato but he could do both, he’d just have to finish Tato quickly. Just as he was about to charge him, Gohan shouted from above.

“Dad!”

Goku looked up and saw Gohan descending next to him.

“Gohan?” Goku questioned.

“I felt Mom’s Ki was fading and was on my way when Piccolo told me what happened. Dad, we need to take her to the hospital now. We can get this jerk another day, our focus should be on Mom.” Gohan then looked over at his mother and immediately clenched his jaw. His anger was flourishing but he had to focus on getting his father to step away from a battle and listen to him.

“I’ll finish him and meet you afterwards. Your mother needs help now, so take her to the nearest hospital. Korin is out of beans.”

Frustrated, Gohan answered back, “Dad, come on. We are wasting time. Mom needs us.”

Goku stepped forward towards Tato, focusing on the task at hand and ignoring his son.

“Dad!”

Goku said over his shoulder, “Take your mother and get her help.”

“Dad, can you for once focus on what Mom needs and not on fighting?! She doesn’t ask for much and the one time she needs you, you’re going to ignore her? What is wrong with you, your wife is horribly hurt, don’t you care!”

Gohan’s words stung. Unable to keep his emotions in check anymore, Goku turned on Gohan and yelled.

“Gohan, just do what I tell you! Take your mother and get her out of here, NOW!”

Gohan clenched his jaw and decided that it was useless. He wasn’t going to waste anymore time, especially with his mom’s Ki dangerously low.

“Fine.” Gohan spit out and walked over to his mother’s body. Gently picking her up, Gohan shot up to the sky, leaving Tato and Goku alone.

“I’m going to finish this right now.” Goku scowled at Tato as the ground around him shook.

———————————————————————

The annoying hissing and beeping were the first sounds she heard. As she slowly stirred, pain immediately seized her. She groaned and tried to open her eyes but only one would somewhat open.

“Chi-Chi?” a familiar voice whispered to her and she could barely get out a reply, the pain overtaking her, but she powered through.

“Go-ku?”

“Oh Chi-Chi! You’re finally awake.” His warm, comforting hand wrapped around hers gently and Chi-Chi slowly turned her head to his voice, her vision making out the fuzzy image of his orange outfit.

“W-what happened?” She asked.

There was a moment of silence and she waited until he answered. It took a while for Goku to reply.

“A Saiyan, Vegeta’s half brother actually, came here to get revenge on me for killing Frieza before he could. He attacked you to get to me, Chi-Chi. I’m so sorry.”

Memories of the Saiyan’s smile, his hand crushing her throat came back and Chi-Chi grimaced in pain. She remembered, but Goku couldn’t blame himself.

“I-It’s not..your fault.” She tried her best to speak, her throat dry and raspy.

“It is Chi-Chi. This is why I stayed dead after Cell. Bad guys seem to always find me, and now this time, one of them almost killed you.”

This time, Chi-Chi mustered all her strength to full open her less swollen eye to do her best to glare at her husband.

“Stop it, Goku. I’m fine. Don’t you ever leave me again because you think it will keep me safe. It would hurt me much more than what that Saiyan did.”

“Alright, Chi-Chi.”

She smiled and turned her head to rest on the pillow.

“I-I feel like I got hit by a bus.” She muttered and Goku chuckled.

“You look like you did too.”

She wiggled her fingers and was surprised that she could move her arm. In a swift motion, Chi-Chi slapped Goku’s face, which wasn’t nearly as hard wanted so it seemed more playful then she intended, which he caught onto.

“I’m kidding, but you got beaten up pretty badly, Chi-Chi. The sensu beans should be ready by now. Gohan went to go get them with Goten.”

“Good, this is awful.” Chi-Chi never complained so Goku knew that she was uncomfortable and in pain. It killed him to see her like this. She’s been in and out of sleep for about a week, the swelling in her face has gone down a little but she’s still in bad shape. Goku tried to follow what the doctors said about her condition, he thinks they mentioned something about a broken nose and cheekbone, lots of internal bleeding and some broken ribs. Thankfully, Korin rushed to get the sensu beans ready so she’d be feeling back to normal real soon.

It was a tense couple of days. Tato was a formiable enemy, and Goku had to use everything he had to kill him but he was successful. Afterwards, Goku came to the hospital and was able to be there when Chi-Chi came out of surgery. Gohan was furious and Goku was a bit hurt at his words but they both were able to talk and move on.

“Ha Mom!” Goten shouted as he came into the room and rushed to his mom’s side. Gohan smiled as he walked in and Chi-Chi felt a bit better hearing her boy’s voices.

“Hey Mom! We got you some sensu beans.”

Gohan came over to his mom’s side and helped to feed her a bean. Instantly, her energy increased and the pain disappeared. Chi-Chi’s eyes opened up and she was able to see everything perfectly. She was good as new.

“Yay!” Goten said as he pounced on his mom to hug her. Chi-Chi laughed and looked up at Gohan and Goku, who were standing on the side of her bed smiling.

“If it wasn’t for those beans you might have been in here for a couple of weeks.”Gohan quipped and Chi-Chi grimaced. She couldn’t fathom being cooped up in here longer than she has been.

“Well, let’s get out of here. I hate hospitals.” Goku smiled and put a hand behind his head as they all laughed.

———————————————————————-

Chi-Chi stared out from her kitchen window. She never would have guessed that a simple day reading in the valley would result in such chaos. She sighed as she went back to cutting the carrots for dinner.

“You okay Chi-Chi?”

Since they’ve been back, he’s been extra protective and attentive to Chi-Chi which was strange, but not necessarily bad.

“Yes, just finishing up dinner.” She answered not looking up from her task.

There was a pause and then she felt a hand stop her cutting. Annoyed, she looked Goku.

“What?”

“You know you can talk to me right? I know I’m not the best listener but I’ll listen now.” He looked at her and Chi-Chi finally stated what’s been on her mind.

“ I should have defended myself better. It was pathetic how easily I went down.”

“Hey, he was a strong fighter Chi-Chi. Even I had some trouble with him, so you shouldn’t beat yourself up about it. And besides, I saw that you gave him a nice shot.” Goku smiled and that made her feel better.

“I just don’t like feeling weak. I should be equipped to fight. I use to be in better shape before Gohan was born, but then life got in the way.” She quickly remembered how strong and formidable she was when she was younger.

“Well how about we spar again? Or I can teach you a couple of moves?” Goku asked and he saw Chi-Chi’s eyes light up.

“Oh really, you’d do that for me Goku?” She asked, excited about the idea.

Why sure! It’ll be fun, just like we did before Gohan.”

“This is wonderful! And maybe then I’ll finally beat you.” She smirked at Goku and playfully punched his chin.

“Well, we better get started then cause you got a long way to go to make that happen!” Goku laughed and Chi-Chi glared at him.

“Goku!”

“Oh boy, I’m sorry Chi-Chi, I was just joking – ow!” Chi-Chi smacked him with her towel as he ran off to down the hall.

“Goku, get back here!” Chi-Chi yelled and chased after him. When she got to their bedroom, she searched for him to give him another smack. How dare he!?

Suddenly, she was lightly shoved up against the wall and Goku was peering above her with both of his arms extended, trapping her in his embrace. He wore a familiar smirk and Chi-Chi knew what he was up to.

“I’m mad at you, Goku.”

Goku moved down and kissed her softly before leaning away from her. His voice was serious and emotional when he spoke.

“Chi-Chi, I almost lost you.”

She could hear the pain in his voice and looked to see that his eyes were shut tightly, trying not to let whatever he was holding in go. She touched his cheek and he tried harder not to let his emotions betray him.

“I’m not going anywhere. Besides, I still need you to train me so I can kick your ass.”

He opened his eyes and she smiled at him before he leaned in for another kiss, one in which he conveyed that he loved her and that he was thankful she was alive.

She was also happy to be alive, and she was grateful to be here with him in this moment.

[spam-monster]

Helsaweek free space

(I missed a bunch this year because virus-stress has worn down my brain. Might try to write for all the prompts I missed sometime, but for now, have this.)

Words

- One of them standard “soulmate au’s” where whatever your soulmate writes on their arm shows up on yours + two very secretive people who have their own reasons to not want to find their soulmate + hiding your identity because surely you’re not going to just run into them one day without knowing who they are = some very terrible, awkward situations. 

- Refrences to Frozen Fever and Frozen 2

- Elsa writing is in italics, Hans writing is bold italics

-----

If he was not a Prince of the Southern Isles, Hans would have been using the words to try and find his soulmate. But the Westergard family discourages, even forbids, royals from marrying their soulmates; they say those feeling only make you weak and vulnerable.

Luckily, the girl whose messages appear on his arm is not offended by this.

It’s not safe for anyone to be around me, she writes. I can’t control it. I’ve hurt people I care about. I don’t want to hurt you, too.

She won’t tell him what “it” is, and he doesn’t push it.

In that case…maybe we can just be friends? Hans writes her, the pen scratching against his arm. My brothers don’t pay a lot of attention to me. It would be nice to have someone to talk to at least.

I guess that’s okay.

What’s your name?

I

Don’t know if I should tell you

I don’t want you to look for me.

Okay

But I need to call you something

What if you make up a name? Like authors do?

She takes a few minutes to respond.

Isa.

Okay Isa.

And you can call me John.

John.

Maybe someday

When

If I ever get this under control

I’ll tell you my real name

 (Hans will wish he had kept asking. At the time, he hadn’t seen a reason to argue with her. After all, the world was a big place, and it was unlikely he would ever run into his soulmate by accident.)

(And if he did…he would know, right?)

---

Isa wrote him about her lessons, missing being able to go outside without fear, worries about her little sister (Isa had nicknamed her “Joan”, after a portrait of Joan of Arc she seemed to like talking to). Hans wrote her about his brother’s cruel pranks, his countries dismal atmosphere, the young foal he had been gifted named Sitron. Isa listened to his complaints even when they felt silly. Hans encouraged Isa in her battle against whatever was tormenting her.

It was nice, for a while.

Then his family found out that he still kept in touch with his soulmate.

“Unless she’s someone we can manipulate, there’s no reason to bother with her.”

“Like Hans would be soulmates with anyone destined for power!”

“But I’m not going to try and marry her! I don’t even know her name!”

In the end, he had to swear to not speak with her anymore.

(But since Hans technically had never been speaking with her anyway…)

I can’t write you as much as I used to, or they’ll notice. We can still keep in touch, okay?

---

Without a constant confidant to keep him distracted from neglect, his heart hardened.

Sometimes, they didn’t talk for weeks.

(One time, they didn’t talk for months. My parents���Isa had written, and refused to say any more.

I’m sorry, he wrote back.)

But still, she was always there, in the back of his mind.

*When I become a hero* he thought to himself *I’ll find her and save her from whatever thing has been haunting her all these years*

---

I’m nervous she had written him, the night before he arrived in Arendelle.

So am I he had written back. I’m meeting someone important tomorrow. I have it all planned out. If all goes well, I might finally be able to escape from my family.

I wish I could escape.

If I mess up tomorrow

Whatever is happening, you’ll be fine.

Tomorrow night, I’ll be telling you all about my brilliant plan’s success and you’ll be telling me about how you were able to control yourself just fine.

(He couldn’t tell her he was planning to get engaged to someone else. Even if they had agreed long ago that they weren’t going to marry each other, it would’ve felt awkward.)

And maybe actually be able to talk to your sister for once.

Okay. Right.

Thank you, John.

 ---

(The next night, Hans was too busy dealing with a kingdom full of panicked citizens and a summer blizzard to write anything to his soulmate.

She didn’t write to him either.

He should have noticed.)

---

John!

I’m sorry, I should have written to you sooner!

Things have been so hectic the last few days

I told her

I told her everything

Everyone knows and it’s okay

I was so scared

I thought I had lost Anna forever

But I finally figured out how to control it

Anna?

My sister

Her real name is Anna

(More words appeared. Hans didn’t process any of them.)

Elsa?

You know who I am

Were you at the coronation?

John?

Hans refused to look at his arm for a week.

---

Of course.

Of course it was her.

The one good thing in his life, and he had almost-

---

Are you afraid of me?

Please John

Just

Answer me

---

He should tell her to stop.

Never speak to her again.

It was torture.

If she found out who her soulmate really was…

---

Don’t stop

John?

Don’t stop talking to me

Please.

Keep writing

I don’t know if I can

I might not write you back

For a long time

And it’s not you

It’s not because of

Your powers or anything

Just please don’t stop

---

It was a self-inflicted punishment, and one he fully deserved.

---

He did write a bit, after that. Mostly just short comments on her stories or funny doodles when he was bored.

She never pushed him for an answer.

Now that he knew, she was a lot more open about everything. She told him her parent’s real names, what had really happened that had made her push Anna and everyone else away, about her creations, about Arendelle and its people, about Anna’s finding her own soulmate, about being a good queen.

(The one good thing about being an official disgrace was that none of his family bothered to try and stop him from reading her words anymore.)

---

I got hit by a snowball today.

Out of nowhere.

I almost though you had found me for a second.

oh

I might have sneezed.

Into a bugel horn.

But you don’t even live in Arendelle

I assumed

I don’t

How

That’s what I’d like to know

---

I’ve been hearing things.

A voice.

---

Arendelle is in danger.

We’re going to the woods.

I don’t know

When we’ll be back

Good luck

With that.

---

Hans was sitting in the stables, trying to read, when his arm started feeling a bit numb.

Then it turned cold.

Then…

Hans watched in horror as faint outlines of snowflakes started to appear.

Elsa

Elsa?

What’s happening?

---

A few hours later, he had scratched his arm open from writing so much and was desperately trying to talk himself out of stealing away to Arendelle’s mythical forest himself when the cold faded away as suddenly as it had appeared.

---

John?

It’s a long story

---

You died?!

---

You’re leaving.

---

You’re running away again, Elsa.

I’m not running away!

The forest needs me.

Anna needs you.

Anna is strong.

She’ll be fine without me.

But does she want to be without you?

---

Hans could care less about family, about “true love”, about soulmates.

So why did he keep arguing with her?

Now Elsa was the one sending curt replies, while he was the one who couldn’t stop writing to her.

How could he have everything he ever wanted, and just throw it all away like that?

How dare she.

---

*Anna didn’t jump in front of my sword for you to just abandon her again* he thought, but did not write.

---

You won’t even tell me who you really are! Why should I listen to you?

You don’t want to know who I am.

You can’t know that!

Believe me, I do.

You would hate yourself. You already hate me.

Yes, I’m mad at you right now

But I don’t hate you

You do

You really do

And you have every reason to after what I

John.

Have we met.

At the coronation.

There’s only one person i

John

How many older brothers did you say you have

---

12

And he said no more.

---

Look to the North.

It was the first time she had written him in three days.

There was a strange light in the sky, glittering like a fresh snowfall.

He took Sitron and followed it.

---

Surely she wouldn’t be foolish enough to come all the way here.

---

She was.

Hans almost didn’t recognize her at first. Her hair was down, her gown glowing white against the night skies and dark cliffs. A horse stood at her side, its colors shifting strangely. There were no ships anywhere in sight.

“It is you.” She said quietly.

“How did you…?”

“I rode.” She gestured to the horse, which on closer inspection was made of water.

(A Nokk, he remembered from her messages.)

“You rode across the ocean?!”

She shrugged, a bit awkwardly. “I didn’t want to take a ship. I didn’t want Anna asking questions and finding out about…” she gestured.

“…Yeah. This.”

He dismounted. Sighed. He was wholly unprepared to have this conversation.

“Okay. We should…do you want to sit down? This is probably going to take a while.”

---

Why did you…

Why didn’t you…

I should have known…

I should have figured it out, but I was so stupid and blinded and desperate…

I should have reached out to you, I knew you were hurting, I should have tried to help you…

---

“It’s getting late.” He finally said. “Or…early, I guess.” They had talked all night, and the sky was already lightening. “I should go back before anyone notices I’m gone. Which might take a while, but still-“

“Wait.” She said.

He waited. She looked him over, considering. Sighed. Stared up into his eyes.

“Hans. Come back with me.”

“What? …You can’t mean…are you crazy?! After everything I…I almost killed you!”

“You said…that you had though about saving me someday, but you never thought you were strong enough to do it. Well, I thought the same thing. About saving you, I mean. Finding a way to bring you to Arendelle, away from your family, but…I was scared of letting you get too close to me. That if we met, we wouldn’t be able to stay away from each other.”

He snorted at that, clenching his fists to try to hide the trembling in his hands.

“Hans…I’m not scared anymore. Of myself, or of you. Please. I want to make this right.” She reached out to him.

And he knew he shouldn’t, could think of a million reasons why (*not good enough not strong enough weak worthless only going to hurt yourself only going to hurt her can’t trust can’t believe in anyone*), but…he was just so tired of it all, and she wasn’t a liar like them, and he wanted.

He took her hand. Something settled, deep inside him.

“Okay. Just one question.”

“Yes?”

He gestured to Sitron. “How do we get a horse to ride a horse across the ocean?”

Her laugh was exactly as adorable as he had always imagined it being.

-----

(And he convinced her to spend more time in Arendelle, and she convinced him that the woods weren’t so bad, and they built a nice little cottage right on the border so they could divide their time equally between the town and the forest, and lived happily ever after the end.)

[ffxivimagines]

Commission 002 | Seafoam

Posted with permission from the commissioner! Thank you for allowing me to work with Raisa! 

There are many things that Raisa would prefer to do instead of confronting one of the many people who walked out on her in her time of greatest need. It feels ridiculous to go, barge into Limsan command, and demand that she be seen. It's not like Merlwyb wanted to give her the time of day when she was at her worst, nor would it seem that she would want to give Raisa the time of day now, even with everything settled and the Scions’ names cleared.  There is nothing much to think about while preparing to visit the Maelstrom Admiral. All there is is anxiety, filling her bones with ice in place of marrow. 

There are a great many things she would prefer to be doing, yes, but none of them would solve the problem that the Bloody Banquet had created. 

She stands before the aetheryte in Mor Dhona and wonders if she has the strength to face the person who she wants trusted as a friend and confidant. It still feels foreign to not be able to reach out so easily and take hold of the friendship that they once had. It's not something that Raisa has ever wanted to give up and yet it was wrenched from her hands all the same. Whether or not it was her fault has no bearing on the anxiety she feels. It all comes down to if Merlwyb would even want to see her. Travelling out and stressing over it would not help if she would not even be able to confront the person she so sorely seeks an apology from. 

Before she can lose her nerve she reaches out, feels for her coin purse, and allows the familiar flow of Aether to swallow her whole. Teleportation is not something she is unfamiliar with but the sensation a flowing between points and places in time always leaves her unsettled, skin too cool to the touch and nearly clammy with the last vestiges of magic from the aetheric highway between the shimmering crystal formations. She feels the telltale lightening of her purse (how her Gil was taken in precise amounts every time astounded her) and wonders where her coin had gone. It’s a better thing to focus on than the inevitable awkwardness of attempting to reconcile with someone who broke your trust and then made no move to apologize. Blinking sunlight from her eyes, Raisa decides but there is absolutely no way she is going home without an answer.

Some of the Maelstrom recruits recognize her when she passes─whether it be her bearing, her armor or the fact that she looks ready to kill a man with a piece of bread and sheet vitriol is unknown to her─and salute. She feels fake, wrapped in familiar red with a rapier at her waist. 

It’s not her color, but Merlwyb’s.

Wearing the coat she used to take pride in, she attempts to recreate the easy confidence that she had before. The stone of Limsa Lominsa is hot under the soles of her boots, baking in the coastal sun, and she feels relief when in the blessedly cool shelter of the lift. She forces nonchalance into her voice and orders, “Maelstrom command. I’ve an appointment with Admiral Bloefhiswyn.”

The slide of the lift upward is nearly enough to turn her stomach. How was she to greet her? “Hey, you sort of abandoned me to flee from Ul’dah and freeze my tail off in Coerthas. It wasn’t too enjoyable of an experience. Did I do something wrong?” It’s not like they’re on casual speaking terms as they once had been. There’s none of the space left to fill with easy chatter when each break in a letter is tense enough. 

The lift stops and Raisa feels her breath stick in her throat. She steps out. Walks the two steps to Merlwyb’s office door. Knocks. 

She waits, rocking on her heels and hoping (praying, really) that Merlwyb is not in. She doesn’t want to have come all this way for nothing, but the thought of confronting her is more devastating than the thought of possibly having been ignored. 

She knocks again. 

“Come in.”

Raisa pushes a breath out from between her teeth, hoping her anxiety will leave along with it, and opens the door. “Hey, I’m, uh, alive. Not well, but alive. Have a bell to spare?”

Merlwyb startles, surprise evident in how her eyes widen and the draw of her brow, and greets, “Raisa. It has been far too long.”

“Yes,” Raisa agrees, “it has. I’ve come for answers.” She resists the urge to keep a hand on the hilt of her rapier as if there is something she could fight instead of talking. She walks into Merlwyb’s quarters and stands before her desk. Even at her full height, Raisa feels rather short in comparison to the Roegadyn woman. Merlwyb gestures for her to sit and Raisa hesitates. 

Should she? Would it just be a way to put something between them more tangibly as estranged friends on opposite sides, or was it a cue to put down her worries and listen. Raisa decides to obey, but keeps her feet flat on the floor and weight shifted forward. She would not suffer another disgrace. 

“I expected you sooner,” Merlwyb admits. “I am not one for falsehoods, as you know, and that farce of a banquet was not of my liking as much as yours. This isn’t the time for explanations as much as it is apologies.” She stands, imposing and beautiful genuinely regretful, and bows. “Raisa Amarok, you have my greatest apologies. You were my friend and a trusted one, at that. I would hope we could have that again, granted that you choose to forgive.”

“I─” Raisa clears her throat, grimacing at the telltale crack of her voice. “And if I say yes?”

Merlwyb straightens, a wry smile playing across her lips, and replies, “We start over again.”

“Yes, then. I would… like that?” Raisa smiles back, lopsided and a little strained. 

“You look like you’ve eaten a Han lemon,” Merlwyb teases without a lick of heat. “We’ll work up to it. I have a lot to answer for─and I will answer for it, may the Seven Hells be my witnesses.”

Raisa allows her smile to drop and sighs. “This feels strange.” It’s an understatement to be sure, but better than leaving the conversation to lapse. “I did not expect you to want to see me.”

“Why would I not? You’re the most trustworthy adventurer on this side of the sea,” Merlwyb compliments, settling back into her chair and raising a brow. 

Raisa bites her tongue to keep from retorting with, “You abandoned me among enemies. I lost family because of you.” She instead mutters, “Friends don’t leave the other behind. Neither do those of the Maelstrom.”

“‘Till sea swallows all’ rings hollow to you, now, doesn’t it?”

“Yes. Yes, it does.”

They fall into silence and Raisa wants to go back and snatch those words out of the air. She wants this to work, needs it to, but the hurt is still there even after an apology and her own acceptance of it. She stands with a clatter of metal buckles against wood and says, “Make me believe it again.”

Merlwyb barks a laugh. “You have my word, Raisa. Is there aught else you’d have of me?” 

“Another date, if you’re fain to be in my company as I am in yours.”

She nods and says, “There are precious few I would consider to be as good company as you. It was… nice. That time before Cartaneau.”

“Yes,” Raisa agrees, “it was. I’ll see you soon, then.”

“Travel safe, my friend. May Llymlaean guide you well.”

The door closes behind her and Raisa blinks, takes a deep breath, and buries her face in her hands, cheeks heating at her demands. Yes, she’d heard Merlwyb had written to her with a vow to do anything to make it up to her and the Scions, but that was very different from asking for a literal date and some accountability. 

Raisa finds she doesn’t mind much when a letter comes a week later, the Postmoogle shoving it into her hands and hurrying along, addressed in coarse but legible script, “To: Raisa Amarok, my new-old-friend. From: Merlwyb Bloefhiswyn.” 

She holds the letter to her heart and smiles. 

Askbox | Ask Rules | Commissions | FFXIVWrite 2019 Fills

[slusheeduck]

Glory Obscured

My submission for the Angst-Off that I’ve been wanting to post FOREVER. Here it is! 

Summary: Years after that fateful Día de Muertos, Ernesto de la Cruz has reserved himself to an afterlife spent alone. But then, something happens. Someone knocks on his door.

               To be honest, he didn’t know how many years it had been. It certainly had been more than one—but two? Five? Thirty? They all bled together at this point. And this Día de Muertos passed like any other: the whole Land of the Dead enjoyed a vibrant, joyous holiday with visits home and time spent with family, and he was here, holed up in his beautiful, empty hacienda. If he wanted to, he could probably find an ofrenda with him somewhere—after all, his bones were still snowy white, and let’s be honest, everyone loves a good villain.

                And, if these past few years were any indication, Ernesto was a very good villain.

                But, really what was the point of milling about the living? There wasn’t anyone out there that he still cared about. Certainly not enough to bear the glares, whispers and even outright insults he’d endure heading all the way to the exit gates. So he stayed inside. His alebrijes were much better company than a bunch of strangers, anyway.

                After Día de Muertos, the days bled into each other again but—not too long after the holiday—something changed. Something interesting happened.

                There was a knock at the door.

                For a long time, he’d ignored any and all unsolicited contact. It wasn’t like there was any way to smooth over throwing a child off a ledge, and his agent had always told him that silence was the best option in this sort of circumstance. But there hadn’t been a knock on that door for years. He was still tempted to wait for them to leave, but then something even more interesting happened: a second knock came.

                Well…it would break up the monotony, at least.

                Luckily, he still dressed to the nines—he’d always taken pride in his appearance, and being disgraced wasn’t about to stop him from that comfort—so all he needed was a quick smoothing back of his hair before he put on his best Ernesto de la Cruz smile and opened the door. He kept his smile up for a full minute before he recognized the skeleton on the other side of the door.

                Last time, he’d been completely caught off-guard not only by how ragged and brittle Héctor was, but by just how different he looked without his skin. This time, he was struck by his manner. He stood tall—save for the little bit of a slouch he’d always had—and his face stayed composed as he met Ernesto’s eyes. If it weren’t for the way his fingers twitched, as if they were plucking at invisible strings, he might not have known that Héctor was nervous.

                A few years ago, Ernesto might have slammed the door in his old friend’s face, or spat out all manner of vitriol, asking if he was happy how things were now, if he was enjoying the fame that he’d won.

                But he was tired now. Too tired to fight, especially to fight a determined Héctor—he only faced issues head-on if it was important, and him coming up here alone clearly showed this was important. So, rubbing his eyes with a long sigh, Ernesto kept the door open and asked, “What do you want?”

                Héctor took a deep breath, his eyes flicking between the doorframe and Ernetso’s face a few times before he finally spoke. “Do you remember, every year on my birthday, I set a goal for the year?”

                Ah. That’s what day it was. Ernesto didn’t respond, and Héctor continued.

                “I’m turning a hundred and twenty-five this year…”

                “Feliz cumpleaños.”

                Héctor grimaced at the dry reply, but pressed on. “…and this seems like a good year for answers.”

                Ah.

                Ernesto’s first instinct was to shut the door in Héctor’s face, but he resisted. He couldn’t, though, figure out where to begin to think of excuses. He’d spent so long burying what he’d done, buring Héctor’s existence as thoroughly as his body, that he’d never even thought of how to excuse his actions. And because of that, he realized in one horrifying moment, whatever question Héctor asked would have to be met with the truth.

                The best course of action, then, would be to scare Héctor away. So, feigning ease, he leaned in the doorway.

                “Does your wife know you’re here?’ he asked, the same acid in his tone with the words as there had been over a century ago. On cue, Héctor straightened fully, immediately on the defensive. Looked like that part of him was still the same.

                “No, and that’s for your sake.” Héctor’s pose relaxed again, and he lifted his chin defiantly. “Unless you want to be a cat toy again.”

                That was enough to shake Ernesto’s plan. It was hard to intimidate someone whose wife had an alebrije the size of a trolley and deadly good aim. He winced, then gave a huff as he stepped back and gestured for Héctor to step inside. He could still get through this. Even after all this time, he knew Héctor. Once he got emotional, he would lose his cool, and Ernesto would have no choice but to ask him to leave. Though, as he guided hector to the sitting room of his mansion, it seemed like there weren’t many buttons to push after murder, theft, leaving him to be Forgotten, and almost killing his great-great-grandson (twice).

                Honestly, he should have just shut the damn door.

                “I won’t offer you a drink,” he said dryly, dropping into one of the beautiful chairs beside the huge, empty fireplace. Héctor sat down lightly in the chair across from him, awkwardly adjusting the leather apron he wore. So. Now he was a shoemaker, too. Of course. That wife of his always commandeered his life.

                Ernesto shook his head and crossed his arms for a moment as he stared at Héctor. So. There really was no scaring him off, at least not before they talked. He should have known that scrap of mercy was too much for the universe to give him. He waved his hand.

                “So what do you want the answer to?” he asked, voice flat. “Why I murdered you? Why I stole your songs? What, Héctor?’

                Héctor stayed quiet for a moment, drumming his fingers on his knee and staring hard at the floor. Maybe Ernesto’s bluntness had thrown him off. Maybe he’d realize he didn’t want these answers. Maybe…

                “Was that all our friendship was worth to you? An old notebook?”

                Ernesto froze, Héctor’s gentle bluntness catching him off-guard. “Are you stupid?” he asked, cool exterior faltering. “Your music was…still is the best in all of México!”

                Héctor suddenly looked very tired at Ernesto’s words, and his shoulder sagged slightly before he shrugged. “I just…I thought maybe after all we’d been through, I was worth more to you than some scribblings.”

                Ernesto stared at Héctor, swallowing hard. He hadn’t had a throat in so long, but he could still feel the phantom sensation of it closing up and leaving him unable to speak. Hector’s eyes flicked up to him for a moment before he squared his shoulders and leaned forward.

                “I would have forgiven you for the songs—even ‘Remember Me’. At the end of the day, they’re just words and…and dots on paper. But…” Héctor’s jaw clenched—in life, he would have pressed his lips together—and he let out a shaking breath before he said, “I thought of you as my brother.”

                “And you think I didn’t think the same of you?”

                The words came out surprisingly cold and crisp, and he kept his face still as Héctor sat back, eyes wide. Ernesto blew a long breath out through his nasal cavity, eyes firmly fixed to the side, away from Héctor.

                “You want answers? You want the truth? Then I’ll start with this. You are the closest…” He shook his head. “You are the only family I have left. The only person I’ve ever put my whole trust in. The only person I have ever wanted to spend years and years with hopping on trains and playing where we could. You meant the world to me.” He drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. “But I wanted the world, too. And so I had to sacrifice the only thing—the only person—who meant that much to me.”

                His voice stayed even as he spoke; he’d live with this realization for decades, even before he’d died. He looked up at Héctor, waiting to see his reaction. Brown eyes darted over his face, his mouth opened for a split second before it shut. He looked as if he were searching for some kind of punchline to a cruel joke.

                “Is that…is that really what you think?” Héctor swallowed, shaking his head as he fell back into stunned silence for a moment. “That was worth keeping me from going home? Some…some stupid idea of bartering with…with God or the universe or whatever for fame?”

                “I couldn’t have done it if you’d left,” Ernesto replied matter-of-factly, then rubbed one of his temples. “And, honestly, I don’t think I could have gotten the world even if you’d decided to stay.”

                He glanced up at Héctor, watching quietly as his head dipped forward, hands gripping his hair. He stayed still, then slowly began shaking his skull.

                “Ernesto, what happened to you?” he finally asked, voice breaking, before he looked up. “You have to have some shred of decency left in you. The…the Ernesto I grew up with was a good kid, a good man.”

                “Was I? Or did you just want me to be and made yourself see me as good?” Finally, a tinge of heat colored Ernesto’s words. He leaned forward, meeting Héctor’s eyes dead-on. “I know what kind of man I am, Héctor. I’ve known for a very long time.”

                Héctor blinked, face starting to slacken back into weariness. “So that’s it for you?” he asked, a catch in his voice. “You can’t even manage some sort of…apology?”

                Ernesto shut his eyes with a long sigh. “You know, before your great-great-grandson came along, I might have.” His mouth quirked up slightly. “I would have. I would have given you the most beautiful apology. Because I know that’s all you would have needed. If you hadn’t ambushed me on that Día de Muertos, if you’d come just a little sooner, I might have even gotten you to write a song or two with me before you were Forgotten. It’d be good press, wouldn’t it?” He opened his eyes, though he kept his gaze on the floor. “But I’ve had time to think since then. Being a social pariah gives you plenty of time to look back on everything you’ve done. And…why you did it.

                “The fact is, you still mean far too much to me to give you some empty apology just because that’s what you want to hear. You deserve better than that, Héctor. So the best thing I can give you is the truth. I can’t give you anything more than that.”

                Héctor stared at him, brown eyes wide and hurt. Ernesto had seen that expression hundreds of times while they were alive, and just once after they’d died. It was funny; he thought years of being Forgotten, of hearing bastardizations of his songs played everywhere would have hardened him.

                He wasn’t sure if he was relieved or disappointed that his friend’s heart was still so soft.

                He gave a long sigh as he sank back in his seat. “Go home, Héctor,” he said, meeting Héctor’s eyes directly. “Go back to your family. Go back to the fame you deserve.” He gave a long sigh as he looked down at the rug at their feet. “Go home.”

                Héctor hesitated, then slowly got to his feet. Even without looking at him, Ernesto could feel Héctor’s stare on him.

                “One last question, Ernesto. Just one.” Once Ernesto nodded, Héctor took a deep breath and asked, “If you had the chance to go back, all the way back to that night you…we shared that drink, would you change anything?”

                Ernesto’s eyes flicked up to look at him. “After how everything’s gone?”

                “Yes.”

                “I wouldn’t even hesitate to do it again.”

                Héctor took a deep breath, eyes wide, then slowly let it out as he sadly shook his head. He stuck his hands in his pockets, wilting slightly where he stood. “I guess…that’s all I needed to know.”

                Ernesto shut his eyes and said nothing more. He could feel Héctor lingering for a few moments more, but soon enough shoes clacked away on the marble floors. Eventually, in the distance, he heard the grand front door open and shut, leaving him alone again.

                He waited a moment, then got to his feet and walked over to the window. Below, the Land of the Dead glittered and pulsed with lights and pure joy, just as it did every other day. And he watched as a little figure below, gangly and still uncomfortable in his leather apron, disappeared back into the thriving world out there. Where he deserved to be. Where he belonged.

                Ernesto hadn’t been quite honest with Héctor, despite everything. There was another bargain he’d made in order to gain the world. The moment he’d entertained the idea of poisoning Héctor, he knew there’d be hell to pay. Maybe not immediately, maybe not for nearly a hundred years. But he’d always felt it, right on the edge of the horizon. A few years ago, his time had come, that was all. And Ernesto always knew when it was time to pay for his wrongdoings, for his ill-gotten gains.

                After all, he was a very good villain.

                And even now, even after his catastrophic fall from grace and being mired in the depths of infamy, he would not hesitate to do it all again.

                Not for a second.

[queenofcats17]

BATIM Inktober 31

Last day and it’s Reborn. I decided to focus on Esther and Joey’s relationship since Esther’s been on my mind lately.

This is three days late, and for that I am sorry. 

Most people who were friends with Esther Klein didn’t know she even had a brother. Her best friend hadn’t even known Esther had a sibling until she’d been invited to the Drew household and had seen the family portraits. She wasn’t surprised, honestly. She’d led most of her life separate from Joey. She was six years older, after all, always too old to be a proper playmate for him. She’d had expectations to meet, responsibilities to perform. By the time he’d run away from home, she’d been up to her ears in work at the law firm. Still, she remembered the day her mother had called her with cold clarity. She’d gotten home from work to find the phone ringing off the hook. She’d answered, expecting it to be a colleague from the firm who had been pursuing her relentlessly. She’d been ready to yell until she heard her mother crying on the other end. Her mother was speaking too fast, her voice clouded with tears.

“Ma, slow down,” Esther said. “I can’t understand what you’re saying.”

“It’s…It’s Joey.” Her mother sobbed. “He’s gone.”

“Gone…? What do you mean gone?”

“He ran away!”

Esther’s heart sank. Looking back, she felt like she should have seen it coming. Her parents had been worried about Joey, telling her about how angry he’d been getting, how he’d been drawing away from them. Looking back, she felt like she should have done something. She hadn’t been able to go back home to comfort her parents, so she tried to assuage their fears on the phone. Her heart was heavy when she hung up. She knew Joey’s mind had been set on art, but their parents had been worried he wouldn’t be able to live comfortably like that. Joey had evidently taken this to mean that they didn’t believe in him. He was always doing things like this. Always acting impulsively without any regard for the consequences. But she couldn’t force herself to be angry with him. She was terrified. She didn’t know where he’d go or what was going to happen. And that was petrifying.

She didn’t see her brother again for almost 20 years. By that point, he’d made quite a name for himself in the animation world. Joey Drew Studios. When the studio had opened, Esther had almost cried from relief. Her brother was safe and alive. And best of all, he was making cartoons like he’d wanted. She allowed herself to believe, for a time, that he was happy. But this only lasted for so long. When the rumors of bankruptcy began to circle, she paid a visit to her brother’s studio. She told no one at the office where she was going, nor did she tell Robert. But her husband knew. He always seemed to know. No one at the studio recognized her, not that she expected them to, especially since she introduced herself as Esther Klein. The employees looked nervous when she said she was a lawyer, but also resigned. She was led down to Joey’s office by a thin man with crooked glasses and dark bags under his eyes who told her he was the accountant, Grant Cohen. He assumed she was there because of the bankruptcy, and she did nothing to tell him otherwise.

“Mr. Drew, there’s someone here to see you,” Grant said when he opened the door.

“Tell them to wait.” Joey snapped. He looked to be buried under a mountain of paperwork.

“I’m not waiting.” Esther’s voice made him freeze. He looked up very slowly. Grant took one look at Joey’s face and got out, leaving the siblings alone.

“What are you doing here?” Joey’s expression was closed and guarded. There was no trace of the bright-eyed boy who had tugged on her sleeves to show her his drawings.

“I came to see you.” She replied. God, he looked so much older. She could see the beginnings of grey at his temples, mixed in with his dark brown hair. There were lines around his mouth, his eyes. He’d filled out a bit since she’d last seen him, stocky like their father. He’d grown a mustache too. It looked good. He looked like an adult. He was an adult. So why did she still think of him as that gangly kid?

“I figured.” Joey narrowed his eyes. “Why did you come to see me?”

“I missed you, Jojo.”

“Don’t call me that!” He stood up abruptly, slamming his hands on the desk. She didn’t flinch. She was used to his outbursts.

“I missed you.” She repeated. “Ma and Pa miss you.”

“It’s been 20 years. If you really missed me that much you would have found me sooner.”

“How?” She could feel her temper beginning to rise. “You ran away, Joey. You didn’t want to be found. You didn’t tell us where you were going, you didn’t tell us where you were staying, you didn’t even tell us you started this studio. Ma and Pa had to find out from the paper that you were even still alive.” She still remembered that news clipping her parents had sent her, the photo of Joey standing side by side with a man she didn’t recognize, looking happier than she’d seen him in years.

Joey grumbled something, sitting down. “What do you want Esther?”

She sighed, pulling out a check from her purse and placing it on the desk. Joey looked at her, then at the check, then back again.

“It’s not going to bite you.” Esther folded her arms. Joey snatched the check up, looking it over. His eyes widened.

“This…This is a lot of money.”

“It is.”

“Are you…giving it to me?”

“I am.”

For a moment, relief seemed to wash over her brother’s face. Then it was gone.

“You think I can’t do this.” He snarled, face transforming into a mask of rage.

“I think you’re having a hard time right now.” She chose her words carefully. “But I believe in you. I just want to give you a little help.” He scowled at her, then at the check.

“You changed your name.” He said. “Did you get married?”

“I did.” She couldn’t help but smile at the thought of Robert.

“Do you have kids?” His anger was ebbing now, curiosity peeking through.

“You have a niece and nephew, Joey.” She pulled out a photo, handing it to him. It was a family photo of her, Robert, and their two children. Rachel scowled at the camera, displeased by the dress she’d had to wear. Isaac dozed in his mother’s arms. He’d never minded getting dressed up as long as he was being held. Joey held the photo gingerly. The children in the picture were so small. The girl looked a lot like Esther, and the boy looked like the man he assumed was Esther’s husband, but with that trademark Drew dark hair.

“What are their names?” He asked quietly.

“The girl is Rachel and the boy is Isaac.” It was hard to miss the pride on Esther’s face. He’d always known she’d make a wonderful mother. Joey felt his stomach begin to twist into knots. She was like Henry. She had a family, a good job. There was no place for him in their perfect lives.

“They’re…They’re beautiful kids.” He handed the photo back to her. Esther tucked the picture back into her purse, studying his face carefully. He looked so sad.

“I’d love for you to meet them.” She said. Joey’s eyes shifted away from her. He pursed his lips, folding his hands on the desk.

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

“I just can’t.”

“That’s not an answer, Joey,” Esther said flatly. “Why can’t you come to meet them?”

“There’s no place for me in your perfect life.” Joey shook his head, a touch of bitterness entering his voice. “You’re some big-shot lawyer. I’d be a disgrace if you introduced me to any of your friends.”

“You’re being ridiculous.” She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “As if I’d ever be friends with someone who would think that of you.” The people at the firm who spoke disparagingly about Joey and his cartoons were not the kind of people she liked to associate with. Elitist assholes who looked down on her and the people she was close to.

“You’d eventually become ashamed of me.”

“Joey.”

“You’d throw me out eventually. As soon as I do something you don’t like, you’ll just pretend you’re not related to me.”

“I would never do that to you,” Esther said softly. She was honestly hurt that he thought she’d do something like that to him.

“You will.” Joey looked up at her, his expression hard and his eyes cold. “You’re just like everyone else.” Esther stared at him for a moment before her expression hardened as well.

“You want to wallow in self-pity? Fine.” She said, turning away. “But don’t come crawling back to me when this whole thing blows up in your face.”

“I don’t need your pity!” Joey stood up again, hands on his desk. “You never believed in me anyway! None of you ever did! But I’ll show you!”

“I hope you drown in ink!” She stormed out of the office and up the stairs. The employees whispered as she passed, saying something about how Joey had pissed off another lawyer. Grant shot her an apologetic look as she passed his office. She drove him, going upstairs once she returned and curling up on her bed. Robert came to join her a few minutes later.

“I’m guessing it didn’t go great.” He sat down beside her, rubbing her back.

“I don’t even recognize him anymore.” She muttered. “What happened to my brother?” She felt on the verge of tears. Esther didn’t like crying. When she’d been young, bullies had called her crying a sign of weakness. Unless she trusted someone, she didn’t want to cry in front of anyone.

“It’s going to be okay.” Robert pulled her into his lap, stroking her hair. “We’ll figure this out.”

There were many times in the years following that where Esther wondered what it would have been like if she’d been able to talk Joey down, if her children had been able to grow up with their uncle. Maybe she could have saved his employees from the fates they’d suffered. But she’d been so angry at him after that conversation at his office that she hadn’t gone back for a long time. And when she did…It was too late. Her brother had died a long time ago. In his place, there was only a monster. And Esther felt she’d helped to create that monster.

[texanredrose]

Everyone’s A Critic

Am I doing Freezerburn Week? Probably not, because I’m not feeling well, but this prompt I couldn’t resist. Soulmate AU based on this post.

Weiss’ brow furrowed as she quickly walked towards the exit, absolutely livid beyond measure. Thankfully, her companion for the showing happened to be just as vexed as her, though they’d made a promise not to voice any grievances until after they’d exited the theater. Hence her desire to be out of it sooner rather than later.

“I can’t believe-”

“Blake,” she said, tone sharp not because of her friend’s frustrations but because of their shared annoyance. “We have a deal.”

“That was before actually watching that trainwreck.” The Faunus’ ears laid back against her skull as she grimaced. “But the books were so good, we couldn’t have expected this disgusting catastrophe.”

However, for all Weiss’ desire to keep true to her word... oh did she have some rather pointed Opinions(tm) about this particular attempt to do justice to a well beloved series.

“It’s not just that.” They pushed out of the studio and into the florescent light of the theater’s hallways, following the throng of moviegoers who faced similar disappointment. “We can get to the myriad of ways they completely missed the point of the books later, because that in itself is a long enough list, but don’t you think we should start with how abysmal that was from the standpoint of just being a movie?” Frustration colored her tone as she quickened her pace, as if she could put physical distance between herself and the mere memory of that disgrace. “They cut so much material out, the plot is completely incomprehensible to one not familiar with the books, and even then is terribly disjointed in trying to be faithful to that. The pacing is god awful, likely because the directors merely googled which passages were most popular and poured all their effort into those scenes, which would make sense if they had all the other events leading up to them to build the tension and significance! As it stands, they’re just isolated moments when the story actually takes time to show itself, but all that is buried under layers of cinematic tomfoolery for the obvious intention of nabbing some manner of award and merely hoping every other scene can support themselves, which they can’t...”

Now that she’d gotten on a roll, the words didn’t stop, flowing from her mouth as she allowed every ill thought she’d kept locked behind her teeth go forth, with Blake nodding on occasion, knowing better than to try stymieing her diatribes once they got started. Thankfully, they usually agreed when it came to books and movies, seeking similar qualities, even if the Faunus tended towards media with a romantic streak. Once Weiss finished, it would be her turn to critique the awful, forced romantic subplot- a subplot, mind, that wasn’t resolved until the third book, and had no place being emphasized this much in the first movie- but that would be Blake’s terf.

“FUCKING HELL!”

Weiss came to a sudden stop, eyes widening as a voice she’d never heard before grabbed her attention with two little words. Ever since she learned to read, she’d become intimately familiar with those two words, seeing as they were tattooed across her left forearm in big, bold, yellow font. Her soulmate mark- and she’d especially attuned her hearing for those two words specifically, and this happened to be the first time she heard them in her life, which could only mean-

“You!” She whirled around, scanning until her gaze landed on the blonde marching towards her, and...

Okay, she’d fully intended to be more than a little cross with the foul mouthed heathen who’d permanently marked her with those very words. However, Weiss was also a mere mortal and currently being approached by a veritable goddess. Tall, with the early evening breeze sending wild blonde locks flying, lilac eyes that shone like gemstones, in a beat up leather jacket that ended at the elbows, showing off remarkably sculpted forearms that certainly looked like they’d give good hugs- crass her soulmate might be, true, but she also happened to be gorgeous, making Weiss a little more inclined to give the whole ‘soulmate mark’ concept more than her annoyance and contempt.

However, aside from being taken off guard by the woman’s looks, Weiss still had to bone to pick with her supposed soulmate, grabbing at her sleeve and pulling it back to show the mark that had essentially mandated she never wear anything other than long sleeves around polite company. “Do you have any idea what it’s like walking around with a mark like this?”

“Oh, you think that’s bad? Check this out.” Without wasting another second, the woman stopped in front of Weiss and reached up, grabbing the collar of her yellow shirt and ripping it.

Right.

Down.

The.

Middle.

And that brought to light three very important things.

One, her soulmate had decent tastes in undergarments. Two, she had the sort of abs that cosmically demanded to have something grinding against them. Three...

... the very, very long wall of neat white script curling across her chest and halfway down her abdomen, the words much smaller than what Weiss had on her arm to accommodate the sheer amount of space required, because apparently her soulmate had been within earshot since she’d started her tirade regarding the movie.

Blake elbowed her side under the guise of pulling out her scroll, stepping away to give Weiss a modicum of privacy with her soulmate- not that she needed the prompt, of course, she wasn’t uncivilized, but still- and pretended to be engrossed in checking her messages.

"You are really hard to stop when you get rollin’, anyone ever tell you that?” The blonde quirked a brow, completely nonplussed standing there with the tattered remnants of her shirt and jacket providing minimum modesty.

“It’s... been mentioned before,” she replied, scrounging for something to say. “So you’ve-”

“Had a novella tattooed across my chest my whole life? Now that you mention it, yeah, I have.” She set her hands on her hips. “And I’ve gone to every book adaptation movie released in the past ten years, thinkin’ I might meet you at one, and, I gotta tell ya- I liked most of them.” A shrug. “Yeah, sure, they aren’t masterpieces, but some of ‘em were quirky, or did one thing really well, or were just entertaining for their own sake, and I kept thinkin’ I was gonna run into you at one I liked and we’d get into this whole fight and, for all they say about soulmates being destined and all that, I have literally no desire to be shackled to someone who’s just gonna tear down the things I like, nuh uh, destiny can bite me, I don’t give a shit.” And even though they hardly knew each other- didn’t at all, really- Weiss found herself holding her breath and hoping her verbal evisceration hadn’t entirely ruined her chances of at least getting to know the woman. “But, the first time I saw this one, I knew- I thought to myself ‘oh, fuck me, this is it, this is the piece of shit my soulmate’s gonna go bonkers over, I’ve found it’, and so I- like an idiot- bought tickets to, and sat through, that piece of hot garbage forty-seven times, just to make sure I didn’t miss you.” Apparently out of steam, lilac eyes darted away for a moment as she reached up to run a hand through her hair, tongue darting out to wet her lips. “So, uh... I guess what I’m getting at is... hi, my name’s Yang, that movie was awful, so do you... want to talk about how bad it sucked some more? Maybe over dinner or a milkshake or...”

Weiss crossed her arms over her chest, head tilting in incredulity. “You saw this how many times?” Then she waved a hand. “No matter; clearly, you’re dedicated, you have good enough sense to recognize terrible when it presents itself to you, and you’re strong enough to endure torture for sustained periods of time.” 

Turning, she prepared to excuse herself from the rest of the evening but found her best friend to be... nowhere in sight, and her scroll buzzing in her purse likely provided the answer to the question of where she went.

If you don’t know how her abs feel by the end of the night, I am renouncing our friendship. Have fun. <3 -B

“Cheek little-” Rolling her eyes, she dropped the device back into her bag and offered a hand. “I’m Weiss. It’s nice to finally meet the foul mouthed heathen I’ve been looking for.”

Yang’s lips quirked up into a smirk. “Yeah, kinda glad I found the critic with a set of iron lungs, too.”

Slipping her arm into the crook of the blonde’s elbow, she turned them both towards the other side of the parking lot where a restaurant sat- not nearly as high class as she’d normally choose, but the proximity and ease with which they could reach it trumped her personal scale at present. That, and a table between them would help keep her from getting distracted. “How about I start making it up to you for suffering through all those showings?”

Much to her surprise, Yang fully meant it when she invited the woman to continue trashing the movie, and had a couple of thoughtful points of her own to address. For being just about the last thing she’d expected from her soulmate, Weiss had to admit... she actually rather liked it.

[experimenttext]

Chapter 10 - Anne’s Apology

          Marilla said nothing to Matthew about the affair that evening; but when Anne proved still refractory the next morning an explanation had to be made to account for her absence from the breakfast table. Marilla told Matthew the whole story, taking pains to impress him with a due sense of the enormity of Anne’s behaviour.           “It’s a good thing Rachel Lynde got a calling down; she’s a meddlesome old gossip,” was Matthew’s consolatory rejoinder.           “Matthew Cuthbert, I’m astonished at you. You know that Anne’s behaviour was dreadful, and yet you take her part! I suppose you’ll be saying next thing that she oughtn’t to be punished at all!”           “Well now—no—not exactly,” said Matthew uneasily. “I reckon she ought to be punished a little. But don’t be too hard on her, Marilla. Recollect she hasn’t ever had anyone to teach her right. You’re—you’re going to give her something to eat, aren’t you?”           “When did you ever hear of me starving people into good behaviour?” demanded Marilla indignantly. “She’ll have her meals regular, and I’ll carry them up to her myself. But she’ll stay up there until she’s willing to apologize to Mrs. Lynde, and that’s final, Matthew.”           Breakfast, dinner, and supper were very silent meals—for Anne still remained obdurate. After each meal Marilla carried a well-filled tray to the east gable and brought it down later on not noticeably depleted. Matthew eyed its last descent with a troubled eye. Had Anne eaten anything at all?           When Marilla went out that evening to bring the cows from the back pasture, Matthew, who had been hanging out about the barns and watching, slipped into the house with the air of a burglar and crept upstairs. As a general thing Matthew gravitated between the kitchen and the little bedroom off the hall where he slept; once in a while he ventured uncomfortably into the parlour or sitting-room when the minister came to tea. But he had never been upstairs in his own house since the spring he helped Marilla paper the spare bedroom, and that was four years ago.           He tiptoed along the hall and stood for several minutes outside the door of the east gable before he summoned courage to tap on it with his fingers and then open the door to peep in.           Anne was sitting on the yellow chair by the window, gazing mournfully out into the garden. Very small and unhappy she looked, and Matthew’s heart smote him. He softly closed the door and tiptoed over to her.           “Anne,” he whispered, as if afraid of being overheard, “how are you making it, Anne?”           Anne smiled wanly.           “Pretty well. I imagine a good deal, and that helps to pass the time. Of course, it’s rather lonesome. But then, I may as well get used to that.”            Anne smiled again, bravely facing the long years of solitary imprisonment before her.            Matthew recollected that he must say what he had come to say without loss of time, lest Marilla return prematurely.           “Well now, Anne, don’t you think you’d better do it and have it over with?” he whispered. “It’ll have to be done sooner or later, you know, for Marilla’s a dreadful determined woman—dreadful determined, Anne. Do it right off, I say, and have it over.”           “Do you mean apologize to Mrs. Lynde?”           “Yes—apologize—that’s the very word,” said Matthew eagerly. “Just smooth it over so to speak. That’s what I was trying to get at.”           “I suppose I could do it to oblige you,” said Anne thoughtfully. “It would be true enough to say I am sorry, because I am sorry now. I wasn’t a bit sorry last night. I was mad clear through, and I stayed mad all night. I know I did because I woke up three times and I was just furious every time. But this morning it was all over. I wasn’t in a temper any more—and it left a dreadful sort of goneness, too. I felt so ashamed of myself. But I just couldn’t think of going and telling Mrs. Lynde so. It would be so humiliating. I made up my mind I’d stay shut up here forever rather than do that. But still—I’d do anything for you—if you really want me to—”           “Well now, of course I do. It’s terrible lonesome downstairs without you. Just go and smooth things over—that’s a good girl.”           “Very well,” said Anne resignedly. “I’ll tell Marilla as soon as she comes in that I’ve repented.”           “That’s right—that’s right, Anne. But don’t tell Marilla I said anything about it. She might think I was putting my oar in and I promised not to do that.”           “Wild horses won’t drag the secret from me,” promised Anne solemnly. “How would wild horses drag a secret from a person anyhow?”           But Matthew was gone, scared from his own success. He fled hastily to the remotest corner of the horse pasture lest Marilla should suspect what he had been up to. Marilla herself, upon her return to the house, was agreeably surprised to hear a plaintive voice calling, “Marilla” over the banisters.           “Well?” she said, going into the hall.           “I’m sorry I lost my temper and said rude things, and I’m willing to go and tell Mrs. Lynde so.”            “Very well.” Marilla’s crispness gave no sign of her relief. She had been wondering what under the canopy she should do if Anne did not give in. “I’ll take you down after milking.”            Accordingly, after milking, behold Marilla and Anne walking down the lane, the former erect and triumphant, the latter drooping and dejected. But halfway down, Anne’s dejection vanished as if by enchantment. She lifted her head and stepped lightly along, her eyes fixed on the sunset sky and an air of subdued exhilaration about her. Marilla beheld the change disapprovingly. This was no meek penitent such as it behoved her to take into the presence of the offended Mrs. Lynde.           “What are you thinking of, Anne?” she asked sharply.           “I’m imagining what I must say to Mrs. Lynde,” answered Anne dreamily.           This was satisfactory—or should have been so. But Marilla could not rid herself of the notion that something in her scheme of punishment was going askew. Anne had no business to look so rapt and radiant.           Rapt and radiant Anne continued until they were in the very presence of Mrs. Lynde, who was sitting knitting by her kitchen window. Then the radiance vanished. Mournful penitence appeared on every feature. Before a word was spoken Anne suddenly went down on her knees before the astonished Mrs. Rachel and held out her hands beseechingly.           “Oh, Mrs. Lynde, I am so extremely sorry,” she said with a quiver in her voice. “I could never express all my sorrow, no, not if I used up a whole dictionary. You must just imagine it. I behaved terribly to you—and I’ve disgraced the dear friends, Matthew and Marilla, who have let me stay at Green gables even though I’m not a boy. I’m a dreadfully wicked and ungrateful girl, and I deserve to be punished and cast out by respectable people forever. It was very wicked of me to fly into a temper because you told me the truth. It was the truth; every word you said was true. My hair is red and I’m freckled and skinny and ugly. What I said to you was true, too, but I shouldn’t have said it. Oh, Mrs. Lynde, please, please, forgive me. If you refuse it will be a lifelong sorrow to me. You wouldn’t like to inflict a lifelong sorrow on a poor little orphan girl would you, even if she had a dreadful temper? Oh, I am sure you wouldn’t. Please say you forgive me, Mrs. Lynde.”           Anne clasped her hands together, bowed her head, and waited for the word of judgment.           There was no mistaking her sincerity—it breathed in every tone of her voice. Both Marilla and Mrs. Lynde recognized its unmistakable ring. But the former understood in dismay that Anne was actually enjoying her valley of humiliation—was revelling in the thoroughness of her abasement. Where was the wholesome punishment upon which she, Marilla, had plumed herself? Anne had turned it into a species of positive pleasure.            Good Mrs. Lynde, not being overburdened with perception, did not see this. She only perceived that Anne had made a very thorough apology and all resentment vanished from her kindly, if somewhat officious, heart.           “There, there, get up, child,” she said heartily. “Of course I forgive you. I guess I was a little too hard on you, anyway. But I’m such an outspoken person. You just mustn’t mind me, that’s what. It can’t be denied your hair is terrible red; but I knew a girl once—went to school with her, in fact—whose hair was every mite as red as yours when she was young, but when she grew up it darkened to a real handsome auburn. I wouldn’t be a mite surprised if yours did, too—not a mite.”           “Oh, Mrs. Lynde!” Anne drew a long breath as she rose to her feet. “You have given me hope. I shall always feel that you are a benefactor. Oh, I could endure anything if I only thought my hair would be a handsome auburn when I grew up. It would be so much easier to be good if one’s hair was a handsome auburn, don’t you think? And now may I go out into your garden and sit on that bench under the apple trees while you and Marilla are talking? There is so much more scope for imagination out there.”           “Laws, yes, run along, child. And you can pick a bouquet of them white June lilies over in the corner if you like.”           As the door closed behind Anne, Mrs. Lynde got briskly up to light a lamp.           “She’s a real odd little thing. Take this chair, Marilla; it’s easier than the one you’ve got; I just keep that for the hired boy to sit on. Yes, she certainly is an odd child, but there is something kind of taking about her after all. I don’t feel surprised at you and Matthew keeping her as I did—nor so sorry for you, either. She may turn out all right. Of course, she has a queer way of expressing herself—a little too—well, too kind of forcible, you know; but she’ll likely get over that now that she’s come to live among civilized folks. And then, her temper’s pretty quick, I guess; but there’s one comfort, a child that has a quick temper, just blaze up and cool down, ain’t never likely to be sly or deceitful. Preserve me from a sly child, that’s what. On the whole, Marilla, I kind of like her.”           When Marilla went home, Anne came out of the fragrant twilight of the orchard with a sheaf of white narcissi in her hands.           “I apologized pretty well, didn’t I?” she said proudly as they went down the lane. “I thought since I had to do it I might as well do it thoroughly.”           “You did it thoroughly, all right enough,” was Marilla’s comment. Marilla was dismayed at finding herself inclined to laugh over the recollection. She had also an uneasy feeling that she ought to scold Anne for apologizing so well; but then, that was ridiculous! She compromised with her conscience by saying severely: “I hope you won’t have occasion to make many more such apologies. I hope you’ll try to control your temper now, Anne.”           “That wouldn’t be so hard if people wouldn’t twit me about my looks,” said Anne with a sigh. “I don’t get cross about other things, but I’m so tired of being twitted about my hair and it just makes me boil right over. Do you suppose my hair will really be a handsome auburn when I grow up?”           “You shouldn’t think so much about your looks, Anne. I’m afraid you are a very vain little girl.”           “How can I be vain if I know I’m homely?” protested Anne. “I love pretty things; and I hate to look in the glass and see something that isn’t pretty. It makes me feel so sorrowful—just as I feel when I look at any ugly thing. I pity it because it isn’t beautiful.           “Handsome is as handsome does,” quoted Marilla.           “I’ve had that said to me before, but I have my doubts about it,” remarked skeptical Anne, sniffing at her narcissi. “Oh, aren’t these flowers sweet! It was lovely of Mrs. Lynde to give them to me. I have no hard feelings against Mrs. Lynde now. It gives you a lovely, comfortable feeling to apologize and be forgiven, doesn’t it? Aren’t the stars bright tonight? If you could live in a star, which one would you pick? I’d like that lovely clear big one away over there above that dark hill.”           “Anne, do hold your tongue,” said Marilla, thoroughly worn out trying to follow the gyrations of Anne’s thoughts.           Anne said no more until they turned into their own lane. A little gypsy wind came down it to meet them, laden with the spicy perfume of young dew-wet ferns. Far up in the shadows a cheerful light gleamed out through the trees from the kitchen at Green Gables. Anne suddenly came close to Marilla and slipped her hand into the older woman’s hard palm.           “It’s lovely to be going home and know it’s home,” she said. “I love Green Gables already, and I never loved any place before. No place ever seemed like home. Oh, Marilla, I’m so happy. I could pray right now and not find it a bit hard.”           Something warm and pleasant welled up in Marilla’s heart at touch of that thin little hand in her own—a throb of the maternity she had missed, perhaps. Its very unaccustomedness and sweetness disturbed her. She hastened to restore her sensations to their normal calm by inculcating a moral.           “If you’ll be a good girl you’ll always be happy, Anne. And you should never find it hard to say your prayers.”           “Saying one’s prayers isn’t exactly the same thing as praying,” said Anne meditatively. “But I’m going to imagine that I’m the wind that is blowing up there in those tree tops. When I get tired of the trees I’ll imagine I’m gently waving down here in the ferns—and then I’ll fly over to Mrs. Lynde’s garden and set the flowers dancing—and then I’ll go with one great swoop over the clover field—and then I’ll blow over to the Lake of Shining Waters and ripple it all up into little sparkling waves. Oh, there’s so much scope for imagination in a wind! So I’ll not talk any more just now, Marilla.”           “Thanks be to goodness for that,” breathed Marilla in devout relief.

[captainswanapproved]

The Highway Man Came Riding

So since my blog got deleted, over the next few weeks I’ll be reposting most of my old one shots. This one is one of my favorite angsty ones. Enjoy.

Summary:

Killian Jones, a handsome highwayman is in love with Emma Nolan, the daughter of an innkeeper. After a time apart, he goes to the inn and promises that after one last mission, he will return for her and they will start their lives together. However, fate has something else in mind for the young lovers.

Notes:

A/N: This AU is inspired by the poem “The Highwayman” by Alfred Noyes, and was written and edited while listening to Loreena McKennitt’s performance of the poem.

Killian Jones urged his horse to a swift gallop, determined to reach the inn before midnight. He had kept his beloved Emma waiting long enough. He nudged the horse with the heel of his boots, urging the animal to full speed.

The wind was blowing with unrestrained ferocity. The moon hung in the pitch black sky like a ghostly galleon. The winding road stretched out before him, slicing through the purplish moor. His breathing was labored and sweat beaded at his brow, but his longing to see his lass was far more important than resting. So he rode, and rode, until the battered inn door was in sight.

Killian’s eyes twinkled at the sight of the cobbled stone inn yard. He removed his whip from his belt loop and slid off of his horse. He cracked the whip against the blue shutters. They were locked up tight. He couldn’t help but be relieved. David Nolan was not thrilled about his precious daughter being in love with a simple highwayman, but the man had enough honor not to stand in the way of their love.

Killian fidgeted with the pristine lace at his throat and adjusted his tricorn hat. He took a few steps towards Emma’s wind and pursed his lips, whistling sharply. He waited for what seemed to be the longest moment of his life. The window finally opened and Emma came into view. Her face brightened the moment she laid eyes on Killian. “At last,” she cried.

Killian was before her in an instant. He took her hand in is and kissed it tenderly. “I told you I would be back in a fortnight, my love.”

“A fortnight is too long,” Emma said, “especially when you are going to leave me again so soon.”

“I promise this will be the last time I will ever leave you. I’m after a prize tonight, and with it, you and I will be able to afford a boat and leave this place forever.”

Emma’s eyes lit up at the prospect of finally starting a life with her true love. She had been trapped in this inn for far too long. “Then return quickly, my love,” Emma said.

Killian smiled at her, cupping her cheek with his gloved hand. “One kiss from you will ensure my safe return.”

Emma was more than happy to oblige. She poured all of her love and longing for him into the kiss. His fingers carded through her hair, undoing her carefully done plait. She clung to him as he deepened the kiss. They remained in their passionate embrace until the need for air became too much.

Killian still clutched her hand in his as they drew apart. “I love you, Emma, more than simple words can express.”

“I love you too,” she whispered.

“I will return as quickly as I am able. If I cannot return by morning light, look for me by the moonlight. I will come for you by the moonlight.” Then he released her hand and mounted his horse, galloping westward into the night after one last look at the woman he loved.

Emma continued to gaze out the window long after he was out of sight. “Killian, come back to me.”

-/-

Killian did not return at dawn.

Nor did he return at noon.

Emma sat at the window, staring down the road, waiting to catch a glimpse of her beloved’s ebony stallion.

Sunset came and went, and yet he still hadn’t returned.

The full moon and glistening stars lit up the dark sky. Emma had no doubt that he would come for her by the moonlight as he had promised. He was the only man to ever return to her.

At long last she heard the sounds of approaching hooves. Emma leaned out over the window sill, scanning the dark horizon. But it was not Killian Jones approaching.

Her eyes widened as she recognized the insignia on the flag. It had haunted her ever since she could remember. “Papa,” she yelled. “King George’s men are coming. They found us.”

David leapt from his chair by the fire and slammed the windows shut. “Hide in the cellar, Emma.”

“No,” Emma said, her expression hardened. “I’m not going to leave you.”

David gripped her arm and dragged her to the cellar. “I will not lose you the way I lost your mother, Emma. Now do not make a sound.” He closed the heavy door, hoping that it would be enough to protect his precious daughter, but in his heart of hearts he knew it wouldn’t be.

-/-

King George himself led his men to the inn. After twenty long years he’d finally have his revenge on the good for nothing boy that hat betrayed him. King George rubbed his thumb over the medallion he’d taken from his the lifeless body of his son’s wife. It had served as a reminder of the work that still needed to be done.

“Break down the door,” the king ordered. His men happily obliged.

King George entered the dingy establishment and found David waiting for him with his sword drawn.

The king smirked evilly. “Your courage has always been your greatest virtue,” he said. “But it will do you no good tonight.”

“It does not matter what you do to me,” David growled. “You will never fill that hole in your heart.” “Ah, but it will be enough to see your mangled body beside that of your daughter,” King George said. “Take heart in the fact that soon you will be reunited with your precious Snow White. The woman you threw away everything for. What would she think of you if she knew that you failed her?”

“You do not deserve to utter her name, you disgraceful bastard,” David shouted.

“I seem to have hit a sore spot,” the king told his men. The soldiers were soon roaring with laughter. “Tie him up,” King George instructed, and within moments, David was bound to a chair in front of the fire.

“Now where is that pretty little daughter of yours, David. She will be a fine prize for my men, who have gone so long without the touch of a woman. They will each have a turn with her before I put an end to her with my musket.”

“If you dare to lay a a finger on her I will kill you myself,” David threatened.

“I highly doubt that,” King George said, sounding unimpressed. “Find her. It should not be too hard.” His men went off in search of Emma as King George raided David’s liquor cabinet. His men would be in need of libations.

-/-

Emma sat with her knees curled to her chest. The cellar was pitch black. Part of her wished Killian would arrive and save her, but the other part wished for him to stay safe and far away from the tyrannical King George and his bloodthirsty men.

The sound of stomping boots overhead made her blood run cold. It would not be long until they found her. When they did, it may very well be the end of her. If only Killian had come sooner. She’d be out to sea with him. But then, her father would have been alone to face his life long enemy.

She bit her lip to keep from crying out when the overhead cellar door opened. A bearded man leered down at her. “I’ve found our prize, men,” he shouted. “And she will be a delightful bedfellow.”

Bile rose in Emma’s throat at his words. He gripped her wrist and yanked her into his arms. He dragged her to stand in front of the king.

The older man leered down at her. He cupped her chin in his hand and forced her to look up at him. “You are as beautiful as your mother,” he said to her, before turning to his men. “You know what to do.”

Her bearded captor’s laugher was the most frightening sound she’d ever heard in her life. The man dragged her to the bed and bound her to the post. He stuffed a soiled handkerchief in her mouth. Emma sputtered helplessly. Two of the men knelt on either side of her, the barrels of their muskets pressed beneath her breasts. Her eyes flew to the open casement, and she could catch a glimpse of the road that would bring Killian back to her. Please hurry, she thought.

Emma struggled helplessly against the ropes that bound her, as the five men circled around her, jeering and making crude remarks about her figure. The first man tightened the knots so that Emma’s back was rigid against the bed frame.

He pushed her knees apart and sat before her. “What a pretty lass,” he said in an oily voice. “I’ll be glad to make you mine in front of these fools.”

“Emma,” David shouted, his eyes wide with fear. There was nothing he could do, and soon his cries were silenced as King George smacked him over the head with an empty whiskey bottle, rendering him unconscious. He would never awaken again.

The others hooted and hollered as their fellow caressed her form and kissed her roughly. His hand wandered down towards the juncture of her thighs. Emma bit her lip, she would not give them the satisfaction of crying out. She could feel the cool metal of the musket through the thin fabric of her dress.

The minutes crawled by like hours as the men took their turn in violating her. She struggled against the ropes until she was dripping with sweat and her hands bled. All the while she kept her eyes on the casement praying that Killian would come for her. Her fingers brushed the cool metal of the trigger. It was hers to use at least, if Killian never came.

-/-

She thought she was imagining it at first, the sound of hooves against the road. King George’s men acted as if they had heard nothing at all.

But then, from the distance the sound grew louder. Her heart began to pound. Could it really be her beloved Killian?

She straightened her back as the man on top of her stood. He’d finally heard the sound. The man peered out of the wind, and he caught a faint glimpse of a highwayman galloping towards the inn. He sneered at his companions after catching a glimpse of Emma’s hopeful expression. “It seems that the lass might have a savior, gentlemen,” he said. “We shall soon take care of him.”

“No!” Emma cried helplessly.

Look for me by the moonlight.

Then she saw him though the casement. His face was like the brightest light she could imagine.He had come back for her, but now, it was her turn to save him. She couldn’t let such a light be extinguished from the world. But there was only one way to warn him of the danger.

She took one last look at her love, before leaning over the barrel of King George’s musket. Her finger gripped the trigger.

The gunshot pierced the silence. Her breast shattered in the moonlight.

-/-

The crack of the gunshot startled his horse, and Killian urged it forward when he realized the sound had come from the inn. Emma.

He had no idea she was bent over the barrel of an enemy’s musket, drenched in her own blood. Until he saw a flash of gold through the window. He watched in horror as Emma fell to the ground. Like a madman, Killian shouted a curse to the sky, and urged his horse to full speed. There was no time to spare. He had to get to Emma and tell her how much he loved her before she was ripped way from him. He brandished his rapier high as he charged towards the inn.

King George’s men were ready for him though. Their muskets were aimed and loaded.

A second shot pierced the silence. King George’s men shot the highwayman down like a dog. Killian fell off his horse, blood seeping from his wound and staining the lace at his collar. He died in a pool of his own blood, with his hand extended towards his true love, and she suffered the same.

The moon hung in the sky like a ghostly galleon. The wind howled with unrestrained ferocity.

The purplish moor became a grave.