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fettsvette · 3 years ago

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Never Worn White (Part One)

Cloud City, Bespin. Boba Fett is on the hunt for a casual fuck before he cashes in on Han Solo’s bounty. You’re a naïve virgin, saving yourself for an adolescent fantasy… and it just so happens that he’s in town. Upon encountering the object of your infatuation though, you didn’t expect he’d be so willing to help you out.

Pairing: Boba Fett x Reader Words: 2.1k Rating: Explicit Warnings: Loss of virginity and unprotected sex

Can be found on Archive of Our Own here.

Boba Fett was in town.

There had been rumblings around the city for the past several days. Something big was happening, but nobody seemed to be sure of exactly what. You’d overheard people at the Shadow Market saying there was a beautiful woman who matched the description of Princess Leia Organa of Alderaan - well, formerly of Alderaan, now - staying in the guest quarters of the Administrator’s Palace, with a motley crew of attendants that included, of all creatures, a Wookiee. There were whispers of the famous spice smuggler, Han Solo, having been sighted as well, and even quieter mumblings concerning something called a ‘Skywalker’ (whatever that meant). An Imperial Garrison had been installed earlier in the week with no sign of leaving anytime soon, and the Baron Administrator himself, Lando Calrissian, had allegedly been seen meeting with Darth Vader himself.

Or so your roommate claimed.

“That big scary guy who works for the Emperor? The one with the magic powers who sounds like he breathes through a gas-processing vane?” You had asked skeptically when they’d burst into your shared flat with the news, the normally relaxed Aruzan acting infuriatingly bubbly at finally having gotten hold of the hot gossip in the neighborhood before you had.

The very same, they insisted; and the Baron hadn’t looked too pleased to be hosting such a powerful representative of the Empire, either.

They hadn’t seen anything themself, no - they’d heard it from one of their coworkers at Pair O’ Dice, who’d claimed their cousin’s friend’s uncle had seen them together, walking across the Apex Overlook with a squadron of armed stormtroopers trailing behind them… the amount of parties involved in this city-wide game of Comlink Operator seemed to go on and on and on. You couldn’t decipher what was true, and what was just garbled rumors and hearsay. And you couldn’t make sense why such a varied amalgamation of the galaxy’s most well-known creatures would choose to congregate at a mining colony so far away in the Outer Rim.

There was one thing you were absolutely certain of, however.

Boba Fett was here, in Cloud City.

You’d never been so sure of anything in your life. You knew it was true.

Because you’d seen his ship yourself.

It had been two days ago. You hadn’t been able to sleep, even after a long night waiting tables at K’cri’s Café, and you’d decided to take a walk down by the landing platforms in the wee hours of the morning, dawn still only a pinkish-orange smudge barely visible above the thick clouds. Whatever the time of day or night, there was always some action going on there - ships arriving constantly, bringing tourists from all over the galaxy looking to try their luck at one of Cloud City’s various casinos. You enjoyed watching the multitudes of different creatures disembarking off their various means of transportation - sub-aquatic Mon Calamari, blue-hued Chiss, reptilian Trandoshans; you’d even seen some gargantuan Hutts a few months ago, with their retinues of slaves and hangers-on, making their sluggish way across the concourse towards Yarith Bespin. It sometimes seemed that this city never truly slept.

You’d been about to finally call it a night, still not particularly tired but knowing that you should attempt to go home, draw your curtains against the burgeoning light of the sun, and get some shut-eye before your next shift the following evening, when a bizarre sound from above snapped you out of your reverie.

You’d heard the Slave I long before you’d seen it.

The ship’s engine gave out a strange whining noise, unlike anything you’d ever heard in a transport. It reminded you of a gigantic buzz-bug, and you resisted the urge to swat at the air around your ears out of habit, squinting your eyes against the hazy morning light to see what kind of damned contraption could be making such a racket.

The ship came into view as it banked around the clouds, beginning a slow descent towards one of the nearby docks, and you felt your heart give a walloping jolt from the shock of what you were witnessing.

‘No… it can’t be… not here…’

The ship was an ugly, mottled thing - a retired Firespray model of Old Republic make, the paint faded red and greenish-grey, much of it scraped away and adorned with deep gouges and obvious carbon scoring from firefights over the years. It had seemed to glide almost effortlessly through the air as it swept towards the docks, and as the transport grew closer and its image became more clear, your eyes widened, your blood screaming in your ears, your heart threatening to jump up out of your throat and flee from your frozen form. Its strangely vertical craft had suddenly rotated horizontally in the air, hanging momentarily as if suspended by a fine thread, and sank down to settle on one of the nearby landing pads, steam from the thrusters billowing around its now motionless form.

You knew the ship well, although you’d never actually seen it in real life. It was all over the HoloNet almost every time a huge sum of credits were posted on a well-known fugitive’s head, their eventual capture usually accompanied by footage of that very same transport leaving the scene. It was called the Slave I , and was owned by a man who wore a ragged suit of Mandalorian armor, and who made his living by hunting down and - sometimes killing - those who found themselves on the wrong end of a particularly influential creature’s business dealings.

Rooted to the spot, trembling from excitement, you’d stood on your toes and craned your neck, trying to catch a glimpse of the pilot as they exited the durasteel behemoth. When the boarding ramp had finally extended, however, you’d turned and ran back to your apartment, a wave of anxiety at possibly seeing the owner - and them seeing you - having overcome your senses. And there you’d hid for the rest of the day, pacing the floor of your living quarters and periodically peeking out the window, expecting to see the old Firespray taking off into open space from the vicinity of the dockyards across the city. But as far as you knew, it was still there. You could feel in your guts that it was.

That was how you’d discovered that Boba Fett had come to Cloud City.

The deadliest and most effective bounty hunter in the entire galaxy, in your town.

And you wanted to meet him. You needed to meet him.

It sounded almost dirty, to acknowledge that maybe you had a bit of a crush on Boba Fett. Although merely calling it a ‘crush’ was quite an understatement.

You were infatuated with him.

You’d followed his career almost obsessively since your early teenage years, when he’d first erupted onto the bounty hunting scene and began making headlines thanks to the clean, efficient work he’d make of marks who’d been unfortunate enough to cross his path. He was highly dangerous and had a nasty reputation for being a ruthless killer, focused only on bringing pain to the creatures that could earn him as many credits as possible. On top of that, he had exclusive hunting contracts with both the Empire and the Hutts, which didn’t garner much support from communities sympathetic to the Alliance to Restore the Republic, such as your own. Much of the galaxy considered bounty hunters to be the lowest of scum, on the same level as the criminals and other dregs and vestiges of the civilized universe that they were famous for capturing. It was difficult to admit that it wasn’t the gorgeous Falleen who lived down the hall that you fantasized about sweeping off your feet and charming the Corellian hells out of you, but Boba Fett.

You couldn’t fully explain it, even to yourself let alone your exasperated and befuddled friends, but there was just something downright sexy about him. You felt weak in the knees whenever you saw his visage broadcast on the holocaster in the café, and your ears always tingled and burned when you caught his name being mentioned in a snatch of overheard conversation. You spent hours scrolling and typing on your holopad, searching for any and all information you could discover on this enigmatic figure who wore the regalia of an ancient warrior race. You’d made it a point to haunt the local nightclubs and bars on your nights off, always seeking out information on Boba Fett’s whereabouts in the galaxy, his latest jobs, encounters that the creatures constantly flowing in and out of the local entertainment establishments may have had with him during their travels. You’d heard how good of a lay - and a generous tipper - he supposedly was from several of the go-go dancers who worked at the Zero-G Club, and the idea of Boba Fett himself getting a lap dance in a seedy topless bar always sent liquid heat pooling to your core. One of your most prized sources of intelligence concerning Boba Fett was Rystáll Sant , the half-Theelian backup singer for the Max Rebo Band, whose frequent sets at the Blue Petal Bar you never missed for this express reason. Lyn Me and Greeata Jendowanian had their own Fett stories, but Sant in particular became very talkative about her famous conquests while touring the galaxy - always after a couple spotchkas, which you were more than happy to share with her.

Rystáll Sant was adamant that she’d had a casual physical relationship with Fett for years, and that he was, without question, the best fuck of her life. She hadn’t seen, let alone hooked up with him, in several months, no, but the band had a long-term residency at Jabba the Hutt’s palace on Tatooine coming up, and she was looking forward to finally reuniting with him there. He was one of Jabba’s favorite hired guns, after all. You always came away from your conversations with Rystáll feeling flushed and woozy, in a way that had nothing to do with the copious amounts of alcohol you both consumed while chatting. You’d always been too shy to grill her on any of the specifics of her dalliance with Fett, even though you knew she’d be happy to give them to you - what kind of a lover he was, if he was gentle or rough or a delicious mixture of the two, what he sounded like when he moaned, what he looked like both underneath his Mandalorian helmet and that mysteriously dented codpiece - but those unasked questions haunted you endlessly. You wanted to learn the answers yourself, somehow.

In short, you were helplessly drawn to Boba Fett, and found everything about him to be intoxicating - from the danger associated with his chosen career, to the mystery of what dashing good looks he had to be hiding behind that black-visored helmet… and the fact that he was experienced.

Because you’d never been with a man before.

Ever.

You were a virgin in every sense of the word.

You didn’t consider yourself a prude, or anything close - you just felt you’d never met the right person who you’d want to share that part of yourself with. Your virginity was something sacred in your eyes, something you wanted to give to someone special, not to just waste on a drunken, spiced out tryst after a night partying. Your prospective admirers on Bespin bored you to tears, and you found yourself constantly daydreaming of being whisked away off-world by a masked man in a shining suit of armor; one who would take you on exciting adventures and carry you bridal-style back to his ship afterwards for a romantic, passionate night together.

You’d never admit it to anyone, knew you’d be laughed out of the social circles you’d managed to cultivate during your years living and working in Cloud City, but Boba Fett’s was the only name that ever came to your lips as you laid in bed, your hands between your legs, bringing yourself to climax twice, sometimes three times during one of your nightly sessions. Just the mere thought of him drove you wild in a way that no other person ever had, and you constantly fantasized about him claiming your innocence for his own, leaving you trembling and mewling underneath him.

And now, like a bolt out of the blue, he was actually here , located in Cloud City on some unknown business, possibly entangled in whatever Imperial affairs that’d had the entire colony holding its collective breath over the previous days.

It almost seemed as if it were meant to happen, that you were supposed to seduce and sleep with him, despite your initial panic at his unprecedented arrival. You knew how it sounded. If anyone found out about what you were planning, discovered the details of your deepest fantasy, the one thing you truly wanted above all else, they’d have you admitted to the psychiatric medcenter at Cloud City Central.

It was true.

You were saving yourself for Boba Fett.

You were on a mission to fulfill that adolescent promise to yourself, consequences be damned, and you had no idea what you were getting yourself into.

#boba fett #boba fett fanfiction #boba fett x reader

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echoes-of-the-clockwork · 3 years ago

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Book Two: Sapphire (Ignis x Reader) Chapter VII

At the Alstor Coernix Station, (Y/n) was inside the convenience store perusing the many items they had for sale. Ignis has entrusted her with enough gil to buy them some curatives. Their supply was low and needed to be restocked. Glancing out the window of the convenience store, she saw Ignis putting gas in the Regalia while Noctis was chatting on the phone. Prompto and Gladio were eavesdropping on the phone call.

Looking back to the items in stock, she searched the shelves for Ignis' favorite canned coffee-ebony. What caught her attention was a small sign taped to one of the shelves.

*****

Due to road closures, we are SOLD OUT of Ebony Coffee for the foreseeable future.

*****

"Uh-oh..." she mumbled.

"What's "uh-oh"?" Noctis asked as he overheard her when entering the store with Gladio and Prompto in tow. She stepped aside and allowed him to read the sign for himself. His eyes widen and nearly popped out of his head as he read the small piece of paper. "Oh, crap. They're out."

Gladio shook his head in disapproval. "Can't let him see this."

"He'd be crushed." The prince glanced outside to see Ignis finished filling the gas tank and was heading their way. "Shit, he's coming this way."

"What do we do?" Prompto asked panically.

"Nothing," (Y/n) replied. "Iggy will be fine without his ebony for a few days."

"Weren't you the one who said, "uh-oh"?" Noctis asked.

"I was, but it's not the end of the world."

"For you it might not be, but for us..."

"Mama Iggy gets cranky when he hasn't had his ebony," Prompto added. "And he gets really irritated in battle if we don't listen to him."

She crossed her arms. "I'm pretty sure he gets irritated not because of the lack of ebony but the lack of listening you three do in battle."

"Damn, no need to call us out like that," Gladio chuckled.

"Still, Specs isn't gonna like being out of ebony." Noctis looked at the (h/c)-haired girl. "You tell him the bad news, (Y/n). The rest of us will try to get a running start to avoid him. And if you survive, we'll come back for you."

She sighed. "Iggy's not gonna lose his mind and go on a rampage because they're out of ebony! And why do I have to tell him?!"

"He is waaay nicer to you than the rest of us," Prompto responded. "If it comes from you, it'll cushion the blow! You make him...gentle."

"What are you talking about?"

"Listen, Iggy's got a soft spot for ya," Gladio told the petite girl, placing a hand on her shoulder. "We all can see the way he looks at you, but it looks like you're the only one who can't see it. Sorry to say this, but you're a little dense, sweetheart."

(Y/n)'s eyes narrowed in an icy glare. Her jaw tensed as her slitted eyes focused on the shield. She clenched her fists tightly by her side as her gaze bore into his amber eyes. She watched in anger and satisfaction as Gladio released her shoulder and stepped away from her out of fear. He swallowed in fright when feeling a chill creep through his body. He held up his hands in defeat. "Now hold on a sec, (Y/n)..."

Prompto and Noctis rubbed at their exposed arms, fighting off the chill in the air. They stepped away from (Y/n), their teeth chattering slightly. The two best friends exchanged glances before looking back at the angered guardian. They were too frightened to say anything and kept their mouths shut. Without saying a word, she walked out of the convenience store.

Ignis, who had just entered the store, saw her furious expression and looked towards his friends. "It seems one of you has infuriated (Y/n)."

Noctis and Prompto jabbed their fingers in Gladio's direction and said, "He did it," in unison.

"Shit..." The brute mumbled, eyes focused on the girl who was now outside. "Thought she was gonna tear me into tiny pieces."

"Dude, you called her dense. Don't you think it was a little rude and insensitive?" Prompto asked. "I mean, I would be pissed off too."

"What could possibly insinuate her to be "dense," Gladio?" Ignis pried.

"Oh, please," the brute scoffed. "Don't tell me you're unaware of how differently you treat her from the rest of us? Or the way you look at her? That'd make you dense too, Iggy. Probably even more than her. Do you realize how often I've caught you staring at her when she isn't looking in the last two days?"

Ignis didn't know how to respond. He was aware of his own infatuation with (Y/n), but he never realized how often his gaze would drift in her direction. He must've been doing it more than he noticed in the past two days.

"What? You've got nothing to say?" Gladio retorted after seeing Ignis fell silent.

"Is there a response you're wishing to hear?" Ignis replied.

"Just tryna see if our straight-laced tactician really does have a heart and actually can fall for a woman."

The bespectacled man pinched the bridge of his nose. He decided not to entertain Gladio any longer and left the convenience store. Outside, he found (Y/n) near the Crow's Nest, her attention focused on a wanted poster of a behemoth that was causing trouble in the Nebulawood. The reward was large and tempting for any hunter that was eager to test their strength and earn a pretty gil.

Ignis joined her and analyzed the poster. "Tis a feat fit for royalty."

"Aren't you the one who said to keep the trouble to a minimum?" She asked. "I'm pretty sure a behemoth is a large serving of trouble."

"The large sum of gil is not tempting enough?" He asked.

"I'd rather not be skewered by a behemoth even for a large amount of gil."

"A shame, truly."

She snorted with laughter. "Since when are you the reckless one?"

"I am the most cautious of us all," he remarked. "Regardless, we are in dire need of funds and such a tremendous feat would fill our purses."

"You really think the five of us could take down a behemoth?"

"I believe with our combined skills the beast would still be a formidable foe but one we could eliminate."

(Y/n) looked back at the wanted poster. "You certainly have confidence in our skills, Iggy. Maybe too much..."

"Or perhaps you lack the confidence in our combined strength as a group," Ignis stated, peeking at her from his peripheral vision.

She placed a hand over her chest. "Ouch... That one hurt." She then smiled. "I actually believe we could handle anything that comes our way if we stick together, but even a behemoth could cause issues. And it's not like I'm some large, mighty spirit that could match the size of such an immense beast."

""And though she be but little, she is fierce,"" the advisor quoted. "Such a quote describes your spiritual form well."

"Tiny but mighty, huh...?" She looked back at the image of the behemoth. "Still, we might be biting off more than we can chew with such a large target."

"As per words provided by Noct: only one way to find out."

She laughed. "Yes. His carefree nature truly does suit him well. Let's just hope his carelessness doesn't get him or anyone else killed..."

"Which is why we are accompanying him-to prevent such calamity."

Just then, the two heard a familiar 'click'. When they turned around, they saw Prompto with his camera aimed at them. He lowered the device and smiled innocently with slightly red cheeks. "Just takin' some sweet pics. Don't mind me!"

"Are we ready to depart?" Ignis asked.

"Yep! We're going to the chocobo outpost first, right?" He remarked with eyes glistening in excitement.

"It's up to Noct."

"What's at the chocobo outpost for us to do?" (Y/n) wondered.

"Chocobos!" Prompto squealed. "What else?"

"Don't we have royal arms to find?"

"Well, yeah, but this'll be a quick detour! Once we've ridden the chocobos, we can go back to searching for the tombs. And, of course, see Iris in Lestallum."

The girl sighed in relief. "I'm glad to hear she's safe."

"Me too. Guess we forgot to mention the phone call to you." Prompto lowered his camera. "Now then, let's go!"

Ignis and (Y/n) exchanged glances before returning to the Regalia. The three other boys were already in the backseat, waiting for them. The girl climbed into the passenger's seat and peered over middle console at the blonde in the backseat. "Maybe I should sit in the middle seat, Prompto."

"And let you be squished by these two?" He pointed to Gladio and Noctis. "No way!"

The shield wrapped an arm around Prompto's neck and used his other hand to drive his knuckles into the top of the boy's head. "You sure 'bout that, pipsqueak?"

Prompto struggled against the brute. "H-Hey, you're messing up my hair!"

Ignis started the car and pulled out of the Alstor Coernix Station. At Noctis' command, he drove in the opposite direction of Lestallum and headed to Wiz Chocobo Post. Prompto was able to break free from Gladio and giddily bounced up and down in the backseat. His excitement only escalated as the distance between them and the chocobo outpost shrunk.

The moment Ignis pulled the Regalia into Wiz Chocobo Post, Prompto climbed over Noctis. His excitement caused him to move faster, but he tripped on his own feet as he climbed out of the car. He quickly recovered and ran over to the empty pens.

Noctis readjusted his jacket from where he was trampled by Prompto before exiting the vehicle. Gladio closed the door behind him as did Ignis and (Y/n). She leaned against the car and looked around the outpost. "For a place with chocobos, it's eerily quiet."

"Think this side trip was for nothing?" Gladio asked.

"Best we find the owner of the establishment before drawing any conclusions," Ignis said.

(Y/n) wandered around the chocobo outpost while the boys spoke with the owner, Wiz. She browsed through what the store was offering before departing with a smile. She continued walking around until she was stopped by a large chocobo chick. It pecked at the heels of her shoes before rubbing its feathery body against her legs. Her brows furrowed in confusion as to why it was acting somewhat like a cat. Squatting down, she hugged her knees and poked the top of the chick's head. It 'kwehed' in response, fluffing out its feathers.

Smiling, she petted the top of its head. She had only seen pictures of chocobos and was flabbergasted at the size of the chicks. "You are one big chick, but adorable. And your feathers are soft." The chocobo chick bumped its plump body against her legs and caused her to lose her balance. She fell on her hindquarters and blinked in surprise when the chocobo chick hopped onto her lap. It flapped its tiny wings with another 'kweh' before nuzzling its head against her stomach. "Guess I have to add friendly and cuddly to the list."

While petting the chocobo chick that was curled up in her lap, she spotted movement from the corner of her eye. Turning her head, she saw three more chicks heading straight for her. Their chubby bodies bounced as they trotted towards her. Even a few loose feathers were knocked free and sent spiraling in the faint breeze that blew through the outpost.

The three chicks reached (Y/n) and tried to join their sibling. However, there was only enough room for one chocobo in her lap. The other three opted to snuggle their bodies against her sides and back before taking a nap. The girl sighed through her nose when seeing the predicament she was in. "What do I do now...?"

"Oh. Em. Gee!" A voice squealed. The spirit looked up and saw Prompto with his camera aimed at her. Noctis, Gladio, and Ignis were standing behind the blonde as he took pictures of her. "The chocobos love you, (Y/n)!"

"Where did these guys come from?" Noctis asked the spirit.

"They came out of nowhere and ambushed me," she said, continuing to pet the chocobo chick in her lap. "As you can see, I didn't stand a chance."

Not even a minute later, a woman with a yellow apron ran over. "I'm so sorry about this, miss! The babies escaped their pen. I hope they didn't cause you any trouble."

(Y/n) offered the stablehand a kind smile. "They were no trouble. They're quite friendly."

"They really are," she giggled. "This hasn't been the first time they've escaped. I've tried to come up with ways to stop them, but they're amazing escape artists."

The guardian managed to lift the chubby chick out of her lap so she could stand up. The three other chocobos that were snuggled up against her plopped against the ground when she was back on her feet. The stablehand rounded up the four chicks and escorted them back to their pen. (Y/n) brushed the dirt off her dress and tights before asking, "Did you learn why most of the pens are empty?"

Ignis stepped forward. "Remember our early discussion of the behemoth?"

She froze, eyes widening. "Don't tell me...?"

"It's a beast known to the locals as Deadeye. If we desire to use the chocobos, the behemoth must be dealt with."

Her sapphire eyes drifted over to Noctis. "Let me guess, you took the hunt."

"Yeah. Is...that a problem?" The prince questioned.

"Not at all. Just try not to get you or anyone else killed."

Noctis' opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water. "Wha-? I..."

"You are audacious in battle, Noct," Ignis stated. "Which, mind you, has resulted in the injury of others."

"I am not that reckless," Noctis tried to defend himself.

"Sorry, buddy, but I've gotta side with Iggy and (Y/n) on this one," Prompto said. "You kinda are reckless in battle."

"So are you, blondie," Gladio remarked. "The only ones here who aren't reckless are myself, Iggy, and (Y/n). You two would be skewered meat if it weren't for the three of us watchin' your backs. Maybe you kids should leave the beast slaying to the grown-ups and stay here to play with the birds."

"We aren't kids!" Prompto screeched.

Noctis nodded. "Yeah!"

"Then prove it," Gladio shoves past the two younger boys. "Let's go take down a behemoth."

Noctis and Prompto dashed off with Gladio following close behind. (Y/n) clasped her hands together in front of her as she watched the three take off. "Gladio sure does love to egg those two on."

"Speaking of eggs, I do believe a scavenge for ingredients is in order once we've dealt with the behemoth," Ignis said.

The girl glanced at him in disbelief before laughing. "You would think about ingredients at a time like this. I'll see what I can do once we get back. We better catch up with the others. They won't be able to take down Deadeye without us."

"Yes, let's. Our assistance is always invaluable."

Ignis and (Y/n) left the chocobo outpost and caught up with Noctis, Prompto, and Gladio. They hadn't made it far down the dirt trail located just on the outskirts of the chocobo ranch when they regrouped with the other boys. They skirted around the Nebulawood in search of the entrance, but froze when the sound of snapping trees came from within the stone walls. The ground shook slightly with each tree that fell. It was like a domino effect where one tree would fall and then it would immediately be followed by another.

(Y/n) was pulling up the rear of the group when she suddenly heard the voice that had been haunting her ever since they left Insomnia. Stopping, she looked up at the sky and listened closely to the disembodied voice.

Vessel... Costlemark...

Her eyes narrowed in bewilderment. "Costlemark...?"

Ancient... Worship...

"I don't understand," she whispered. Her attention was drawn away from the voice when the sound of a threatening growl emitted from the Nebulawood. When it faded, she looked back up at the sky in hopes the voice would speak to her again, but it was silent. She promptly caught up with the boys just as they managed to locate the entrance to the Nebulawood.

Before they took another step forward, (Y/n) questioned the boys. "So this is Deadeye's prowling grounds?"

"That's what Wiz said," Noctis replied. "Why? You worried?"

"Not at all. Just do be careful. We don't need a dead prince on our hands."

"Hey, this'll be a walk in the park for us."

She sighed. "You say that now..."

"Wait 'til we actually face the beast before drawing any conclusions," Gladio finished the girl's thought. "Just try not to be an idiot and get your ass handed to you. We can't always be there to save you from all the trouble you put yourself in."

"Okay, I get it," Noctis groaned. "I'm reckless. Damn, you guys never learn how to drop anything..."

"We're simply here to watch your back, Noct," Ignis stated.

"Not to babysit you," Gladio added.

The prince threw his head back with another dramatic groan. He wanted to drop the subject and did so by ignoring his companions and entering the Nebulawood whether they were with him or not. Once a little ways into the rocky, windy structure of Deadeye's prowling grounds, he slowed his pace as he followed the path forward. They were surrounded by downed trees, possibly the ones they heard snapping earlier. From the damage done to the trees, it appeared something large had struck them down.

(Y/n) approached one of the fallen trees, her nose scrunching up when receiving a whiff of something that smelt awful. Gladio noticed her slightly disgusted expression. "What's up, munchkin?"

Ignoring the nickname, she responded with, "I've never encountered a behemoth before, but beasts and daemons all have distinctive odors. From the scent, I'm going to assume Deadeye caused all this damage."

"Behemoths have been known to stroke their bodies against trees and other structures to mark their territory, leaving their natural musk as a warning to other creatures," Ignis informed the group.

"Oh, nice to know," Prompto mumbled.

"Behemoths are territorial beasts. If we're not careful, none of us are coming out of this unscathed. We need to be extra careful in this area, especially since Deadeye has marked his territory," (Y/n) said.

Noctis rubbed the back of his neck. "Guess this isn't gonna be a walk in the park..."

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#ffxv #ffxv x reader #final fantasy xv #final fantasy xv x reader #ignis x reader #ignis scientia #ignis scientia x reader

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zukos-tsungi-horn · 4 years ago

Link

Rating: G

Summary: Zuko doesn't want to look like Ozai. After he botches his own haircut, Katara has a unique solution. Soft Zutara hurt/comfort/fluff oneshot, set 4 years post-canon

Word Count: 3499

XXX

His fingers tremble against the hilt of his dagger. His other hand is braced against the sink, where long black strands stand out starkly against the white marble. He should turn the faucet, wash them down the drain, like he wishes he could wash away this impulsive, rash, stupid decision.

At least Uncle is away, visiting the Southern Water Tribe on the Fire Nation’s behalf. If he were here, he would know exactly why Zuko had taken the knife to his long hair. Of course, it won’t grow back fast enough to hide. Agni, it won’t grow back fast enough for him to wear his crown. How is he supposed to attend the council meeting tomorrow? What will his advisors think when they see his hair chopped short and uneven?

He knows what they’ll think. He looks like—he looks like Azula, in those moments before their last Agni Kai.

He looks mad.

A mirthless laugh escapes his lips as he looks up to meet his reflection.

“Better mad than…”

He watches his face break, and looks away from his own weakness.

Better mad than a copy of my father.

His reflection is his own. The resemblance to Ozai can never quite be erased—it’s chiseled into his nose, his chin, the flecks of brown in his gold eyes. But with his hair cropped above his shoulders again, it’s less overwhelming.

He peels his fingers from the sink to brush his scar. That should have been enough of a mark to separate himself from his father.

But when Azula’s wide eyes looked at him...

“This was stupid. I’m not… I’m not Ozai,” he whispers.

He knows this. He’s been running the Fire Nation for four years now. His people respect him. The world respects him.

But he can’t forget the look in his sister’s eyes yesterday, when she took her first steps outside the rehabilitation center. When she saw him in his full Fire Lord regalia for the first time, his crown secured tightly in his topknot.

When she broke for just a moment, and thought he was her father.

Water drips from his eyes into the sink, trailing down to wet the clumps of cut hair clogging the drain. He’s being stupid. For all he knows, Azula said that just to get under his skin. She’s said worse things when he’s visited her in the center. But he really thought she was ready. The doctors said she wasn’t seeing things anymore…

But even if her moment of weakness was a hallucination, the reflected glimpses Zuko caught from his right eye weren’t. At least, he’s fairly sure.

He’ll know if he keeps seeing them now, he supposes.

He’s still trying to gather the strength to clean the sink—and the floor; he had more hair than he’d realized—when a knock at the bedroom door startles him. An undignified, strangled sound escapes his throat.

“Go away!” He shouts at whoever it is. He’d specifically asked his attendants not to disturb him when he turned in early for the night. An early rest was supposed to calm his irrational thoughts.

Instead, he’d caught his reflection in the bathroom mirror, and the dagger had been in his hand faster than he could think.

And now he’s here, hunched over the sink, shame and weakness etched into the sharp curve of his shoulders. Some of his cut hair clings to the fabric of his nightrobe, settles in his hood. No one should see the Fire Lord like this.

“Hey, I didn’t come all the way from the South Pole just to get yelled at,” an unmistakable voice filters through the thick wooden door. His eyes widen, snapping up to meet his reflection.

Maybe he really is going crazy. There’s no way.

More to confirm his sanity than anything else, he rushes out of the bathroom, crosses the bedroom in a few long strides. Flings open the door before he can talk himself out of it, before he can imagine what she’ll think if she really is there.

And there she is. Katara, standing taller than he remembers in a newer incarnation of her old blue tunic. Her long hair is braided down her back, and her lips are pursed in a narrow frown that softens at the sight of him.

“Zuko?” She speaks first, because he’s still too busy staring. Two years of letters are nothing compared to actually seeing her face. She’s always been beautiful, but now—

He winces. Now he remembers exactly how pathetic he looks.

“Are you… are you alright?” Her brows curve upwards in concern.

He’s not sure any amount of lying will convince her. If she can read his worries between this lines in his letters, she’s sure to see it in his disheveled appearance.

“What are you doing here?” He gasps out.

“Surprising my best friend, I thought,” she retorts before shaking her head. “Sorry. Uncle Iroh told me you’d want to see me, but if you don’t—”

“That’s not what I meant.” He shakes his head quickly, sending loose strands of hair fluttering to the ground. He’ll need to brush the chopped ends out if he doesn’t want to shed like Appa for the next few days. “I just… you didn’t tell me you were coming.”

She smirks in a way that’s very unfair to someone who’s already questioning his lucidity.

“That’s what makes it a surprise, silly.”

“Right.” He rubs the back of his neck. Sheds some more. He knows she’s seen him worse—Agni, she’s seen him in his old half-bald phoenix plume—but still he wishes he’d had time to prepare for her. Maybe it would have strengthened him long enough to weather that brief moment of weakness.

“You never answered my question, either,” she says quietly. Her hand reaches for his shoulder, brushing black strands from his sleeping robes, and he flushes at the contact. It’s been too long since he’s seen his friends if a simple touch like that feels foreign.

(Foreign, and wonderful, and if she’s a hallucination, she sure is a detailed one.)

“I… what?” He blinks.

She sighs heavily. Whatever she was asking, that was apparently the wrong answer.

“I asked if you were alright, but I’m going to take that as a no. You’ve been holding out on me.”

Oh. He must have missed that while she she was brushing him off.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says anyway. He just might have lost all coherent thought when he met with Azula earlier today, or right before he took the dagger to his hair, or when he first saw Katara. Regardless, he doesn’t want her to worry.

She looks him up and down, an appraising expression on her face. It’s too late to stop her from worrying, then.

“I didn’t just wake you up, did I? Your hair is still damp.”

“I’ve been awake,” he grumbles, but feels grateful she only points out that his hair is damp, not that it’s… frankly, a complete wreck.

“Well, if you’re not going to bed now… would it be alright if I come in?”

He isn’t used to the amount of hesitance in her voice.

“Of course.” They’ve just been standing in his doorway, where anyone passing by could see. Not that many people would be passing by this time of night, in this wing of the palace. The only other visitor he would expect would be Uncle, and apparently he’s sent Katara in his place. Odd, but Zuko supposes he can hear about his trip over morning tea.

(And he won’t complain about delaying his explanations for his hair a little longer.)

There’s nowhere to sit except on his bed. Maybe he should have thought that through, but thinking things through is clearly impossible today. He perches on the edge of the mattress, nodding his head for her to do the same. She leaves a small gap between them. He knows that shouldn’t disappoint him, but it does all the same.

“I’m sorry,” he begins, running a hand through his too-short-just-right hair. “I’m really glad you’re here. Honest. I just haven’t been… it’s been a rough day,” he admits quietly. There’d never been much point in lying to her. “I’m sorry you have to see me like this.”

“Zuko,” she says quietly. Her hand rests on the soft duvet, fingers inching closer to his, but not touching. “It’s times like this when I need to see you.”

“What? So you can heal me if I hurt myself?” He asks dryly. Come to think of it, the back of his neck stings. Maybe he did nick the skin there.

“No—I mean, I would, of course, but—spirits, I’m your friend. Do you really think I wouldn’t want to be here for you?”

She has a point. It would be an insult to her compassion to push her away now.

And he doesn’t want to.

“Sorry,” he mumbles. “I didn’t want you to worry.”

“Of course you didn’t.” She lets out a breath, a half-laugh, and slips her pinkie over his. The touch is so light it might be an accident, but it still grounds him.

She’s here. She’s real.

“Azula thought I was Ozai,” he blurts out. His gaze tears away from their brushing fingers, to the fist clenched in his lap. “She was supposed to be released from the rehabilitation center today, and I swear she’s lucid now, and… it’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid.” Her hand finally squeezes his. It’s like that one action draws out his tension, siphons it away. “You’re worried she’s right. That you look like your father.”

He flinches at hearing her say it out loud. She’s always been able to see right through him, but it’s still better than having to explain it himself.

“I don’t want to be anything like him. I don’t want to keep looking over my shoulder every time I pass a mirror, thinking he’s—thinking he’s there.” He winces.

Stupid. Pathetic. All the ways Ozai used to make him feel… apparently still does make him feel.

She just nods, though, as if that’s the most reasonable thing in the world.

“The haircut will help. It suits you better, anyway.”

He turns to stone when her fingers comb through the jagged ends. She must realize it, because she pulls away.

“Sorry. I just—saw some bits still stuck in there.” She blushes.

“I don’t mind,” he croaks out, throat suddenly dry. He clears it with a cough. “Actually, would you… would you mind fixing it up for me? I couldn’t see the back very well.” Not that he’d been really looking when he hacked it off.

“I’d love to.”

He feels like a little kid again, sitting cross-legged at the foot of his bed after providing Katara with the necessary supplies. Her bare feet swing down on either side of him, bracketing his shoulders.

“Hold still,” she says when he squirms, “or you’ll be getting a taste of stinky waterbender feet.” She wiggles her toes next to his face, and he laughs.

“Better than stinky earthbender feet.”

He’ll never forget waking up with Toph’s feet in his face, demanding that he carry her on his back. It was what he deserved after burning her soles that one time, but she still reeked. He was half convinced she smeared them with mud beforehand just to mess with him.

Katara goes silent. Was he joke that bad? Or maybe she’s just realizing how much of a lost cause his hair is.

“Katara?” He asks.

“Sorry.” She starts brushing out his hair. Each stroke sweeps away some of the worries crowding his mind. “I was just thinking… it’s been a while since I heard you laugh.”

It’s been a while since he has laughed. Katara and his friends always brought out the best in him.

His eyes slide shut as she combs away the snipped remnants. He shouldn’t get used to this. She’s just doing him a favor, that’s all.

(Even if she did want to touch his hair more often, she can’t. She won’t be staying in the Fire Nation long.)

(She never does.)

Scissors snip in his blind spot, right next to his bad ear. He suppresses a flinch. The one nice thing about keeping long hair was that he didn’t need anything sharp near the scarred half of his face.

“Your hair is so soft,” Katara says enviously. “Is there some kind of secret washing regimen for Fire Lords?”

“I just use whatever my attendants set out for me.” That probably sounds spoiled, doesn’t it? It’s not like the palace servants will allow him to go out with his hair unwashed.

Agni, even they are going to kill him if Katara can’t get his hair under control.

“Well I’m stealing it.”

He grins at that, though he should be intimidated. It’s hard enough to resist touching Katara’s hair as it is. Any softer, and it’ll practically be a magnet pulling him towards her.

Bits of hair fall on his shoulders, litter the red towel spread beneath him. He’s surprised she’s found that much to cut. He doesn’t have a mirror right now, so he can’t check to see how it looks. He’ll just have to trust her.

Luckily, he’s still used to that.

“Thank you, Katara.”

“Don’t thank me just yet. I might still give you a warrior’s wolftail by accident.”

He smiles, picturing it. “You say that like it’s a bad thing. The looks on the council’s faces would be priceless.”

She laughs. “You could start a new trend. Bring Water Tribe fashion to the big city.”

He’d like to bring more of the Water Tribe here than just that. But he knows he can’t ask Katara to stay. He’d said it right all those years ago: she rises with the moon, and he rises with the sun. They share the sky for just long enough to catch glimpses of her, before she disappears back to the bottom of the world.

He’s spent too long in the theater scrolls again, if he’s waxing this poetic. Better turn his thoughts to more practical matters.

“Would a wolftail be able to hold up my crown?”

“Theoretically,” she says between snips. He doesn’t flinch at them anymore. “But, I mean… were you being serious?”

He blushes, suddenly unsure. After all, he’s not a Water Tribe warrior.

“If I’m allowed to,” he admits quietly. “I don’t know what the rules are, if it’s like a phoenix plume, or if I have to be judged worthy to—”

A loud snip, and a chunk of his hair falls to the ground. She curses under her breath; it almost makes him laugh. She’d never been one to curse when they’d traveled together.

“I don’t think I have much of a choice. I cut this part too short; I’m not sure anything else will work now. I’m so sorry.”

He risks a glance over his shoulder. She’s biting her lip, glaring down at her scissors like they should glue his hair back together.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine, Katara. You really couldn’t make it any worse.”

“I could’ve made you bald.”

This time he does laugh. “Well, you didn’t. But even if you did, I wouldn’t be upset. No one could say I look like Ozai anymore.”

Her brow creases in pity. It’s not what he wanted—he’d been trying to reassure her.

She reaches down to brush his remaining bangs away from his face. The touch shocks through his system like ice.

“You’re nothing like him,” she says softly. “I wish I could make you see that.”

His lips won’t move to speak. Some incoherent noise might have passed through them, but Katara doesn’t point it out. She just combs his hair back, and removes the tail of her own braid to bind his hair at the back of his skull.

“Almost done.”

He has to face her for this last part, where she shears away the hair along the sides of his head, above his ears. It’s difficult to look anywhere besides her blue eyes. He tries to, though; he doesn’t want her to feel him staring.

“Is this weird?” She asks, her hands steady as she sends bits of hair fluttering down to his shoulders.

He almost shrugs before realizing it might mess her up. “Yujin—one of my attendants—usually cuts my hair for me. She’s great, but… I like this too,” he admits. “You’re very talented.”

“Thank you, but that’s not what I meant.” She smirks.

“Then—what did you mean?” His brow furrows.

“You’re kneeling.” Her eyes flicker down to his legs, which are tucked beneath him. “I just meant, since you’re the Fire Lord, you probably don’t do this much.”

“How else were you supposed to reach my head?”

She pulls the shears back and laughs. When her eyes open again, they’re soft as water.

“You haven’t changed. I didn’t think you had, from your letters, but it’s still good to see.”

“Thank you?”

“That is a compliment, I promise.” She smiles, coming her fingers through the ends of his new wolftail. It feels thicker and stubbier than a phoenix plume, and a little itchy on the sides, where his hair is much shorter now.

Hasn’t he changed? He never felt like he was going this crazy before. But strangely… after sitting here with her, he finds some of his worries aren’t as loud. Maybe it’s that he can’t see long strands of black hanging in the corners of his vision. Maybe it’s some kind of waterbending healing she worked in while his eyes were shut. Regardless, a new energy fills him as he accepts her hand and rises to his feet.

“Come on. Let’s make sure you like the Water Tribe look. If not, we can always do you up like an Air Nomad.”

He winces. “I don’t think I could pull off a shaved head as well as Aang.”

“I’m pretty sure you could pull off anything,” she mutters.

“What was that?”

Her eyes widen, and he has to hide a smirk, even if he knows it’s not true. He sure didn’t pull off the shaved phoenix plume. But it’s still flattering that she thinks he could.

“Let’s just get you to a mirror.”

She drags him to the corner of his room, where a gold-rimmed standing mirror reflects their forms. Even trusting that she did a fine job, he finds himself afraid to look at his face. It took him years to be okay with seeing his reflection at all, to not flinch at the wrinkled red skin on his left side. Lately, it’s the unmarred side that causes more problems.

But he does look up. And he looks… nothing like he expected.

A wolftail lies closer to the back of the head, unlike how a phoenix plume would sprout from the middle. And this wolftail in particular is barely long enough to stay in Katara’s hair tie. His black hair sprouts up like a tiny circle of grass. The ridiculousness of it almost makes him laugh.

“You like it?” She asks when she catches him smiling.

“I love it.” His hair might look a little silly, but he’s not lying.

Now, instead of thinking of Ozai when he sees his reflection, he’ll think of her.

“Thank you so much, Katara.”

He folds her in a hug. By the time he worries about it being too much, she’s already squeezing him back, burying her face into the crook of his neck. The scent of her hair wafts up to him, salty and sweet. Why did she ever want to borrow his hair products? Hers feels soft as a turtleduck against his cheek.

“I’m always here for you, you know. Next time, ask me before you go swinging your knife around, alright?”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he says carefully, “but you’re not always here. And I don’t expect you to be. You have family, and friends, and obligations…”

“Zuko.” She tugs on the collar of his robe until he looks down at her. “You’re one of my friends. So for now, get used to it.”

He blinks. His heart picks up a stuttering rhythm, one he hasn’t felt since the day he lay in the palace courtyard, pulsing with lightning.

“You—you’re staying?”

“I’ve already talked it over with Uncle. He said there are some rivers that have dried up, and I might be able to help divert water to towns that need it. Besides, the South Pole has so many waterbenders now, I was starting to feel redundant.”

She’s staying. At least for a little while, she’s staying.

He hugs her again. He couldn’t have stopped himself if he tried.

“Looks like I was missed after all,” she laughs.

He smiles against the top of her head.

“Always.”

XXX

The next morning, he arrives at the council meeting with a crown in his wolftail, and a waterbender’s palm in his hand.

#zutara #zuko #katara #atla #atla fic #fic tag #tali writes #yeah its been 84 years #found this half-written in my google docs and decided to finish it lol

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axe-trio-commanders · 3 years ago

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OC Interview: Zori Sunblade

Draw (or use an old drawing, don’t worry!) or take a screen of your character in an interview setting and make them answer the following questions!

INTRODUCTION

Can you introduce yourself?

"That, uh... depends- this isn’t going on public record, right? I mean- not immediately?” [redacted] “Okay, yeah, after my death is... well- no, maybe Seremnis’ death. Or whenever she wants- okay, give it to her after my death and she’ll- yeah. Okay.” Shuffling and creaking of leather. “Zori Sunblade, member of the Sun warband, magister of the priory, pact commander by title, uh... oh- leader of Dragon’s Watch. And uh. Charr. Ranger. Uhm... hi?”

What is your gender identity, orientation and relationship status?

“...Uh... I think...” mumbled “...burn me I hope I remember the meaning of these right, been a while-” regular voice “Uh- she/her... lady friends, so far, and- actually been married for a while.” [She shows of a ring around her left-hand ring finger. Its gem gives off a faint glow.] “Still sort-of figuring out what that means, but I think I’ve got most of it down.”

Where and when were you born?

"...I, uh... hm. Lend me some paper and quill?” [Paper and quill is lent.] “...So it’s... 34, and that was... 25, when I was...” [She nods and taps the pen affirmatively on the paper.] “1306 AE, at, uh... all I remember or have been told is growing up in a fahrar around Rin.”

What is your weapon of choice and fighting style?

“That depends. I can snipe pretty good with a longbow, but torch and axe are my go-to for close range... sometimes a dagger if I need to be a bit less conspicuous.”

Lastly, are you happy?

“...Well, that uh. That escalated quickly, huh?” laugh “Ah... sometimes. Sometimes... it’s- I guess I don’t clearly remember now if it’s harder than it used to be, but... I’m working on it.”

FAMILY AND FRIENDS

What’s your family like? What is your relationship with them?

“Dragon’s Watch is my family. As is my warband, Aurene... Canach’s in there somewhere, too. It’s... I dunno. Some of them... still look up to me, I guess, after everything- some of them know me to well, some of them... I don’t know. Warband’s... complicated, right now, and I’ll probably always worry about Aurene... the people that know the most want to help, I know they do, it’s just... it’s hard to believe things will get better sometimes.” laugh “Probably not the best thing to hear from the charr you’ve put in charge of saving Tyria for the past nine years, huh?”

Have you ever ran away from home?

“...I... I don’t know. Maybe that’s what I’m doing now- burn me, I... really don’t think I can go back to the legions now, regardless of if things are changing or not. Don’t really think there’s been another... place I’ve ever called home.”

Would you consider marriage or having children?

“I mean- kinda too late to have second thoughts on marriage, huh? Ah, not that I would. I don’t think I’d want to live without her at this point, being honest...” Tapping of claws “...Cubs, though... I don’t know. Not now, definitely. If I’m going to be taking care of cubs, It’s not going to be at a time where I can’t do it myself. Be there for them. Burn me, I’ve had far too many examples of what happens when you don’t.” Pause “...Have sometimes fantasized about a quiet house somewhere in the woods, though. Whenever the disaster’s over.”

Do you secretly hate one of your friends?

“...Why would you call them your friends if...? No, if that was even a question. I’ve made it very clear who I hate, and... burn me, I guess... yeah, the only one who isn’t dead is Phlunt. And... Bengar, probably. Not sure if he’s, uh. Stable, right now? Not- I mean I don’t go out and murder whoever annoys me, that’s not- it’s a short list. It’s a very short list. I’m not going to murder someone over, like... burnt toast or something. That sort of thing is reserved for endangering my family.”

Which friend knows everything about you?

“...I- mm... I... some of them know more than others. Definitely, people in my family know more than people outside of it- ...burn me, I... I think, alltogether, if everyone I knew pooled knowledge they’d have everything, but... not any one. It’s... it’s habit, I guess.”

ASKED BY FANS

“Please tell me you’ve filtered these beforehand.”

Are you literate? Have you been to school?

"Okay, good start, uh... I mean, I’ve been through the fahrar, obviously, and I’m also a priory magister- I learned a lot more about the... being literate there, but at this point in my life I’m writing-fluent in New Krytan, old charr pathfinding symbols, ancient orrian... in the process of learning a couple others, too. Can’t hurt.”

The eeriest prediction you made that later came true?

Snort “I’m not allowed to die. I mean- burn me, what else am I supposed to take away from the fact that I died- actually went-to-the-mists died, and got told by the messenger of a human god that I, of all people, could go back? Had to, in fact? ...Burn me, I should probably be happy about that, but. Implication’s aren’t great there.”

What is something you were embarrassingly late to realize?

“...That I’m... that there are people who’d miss me. Not- not miss the commander, but... I expected people would- mourn, write songs or whatever once I actually kicked the bucket, but it’s all a bit... hollow, when most of them don’t even know my name- and to some degree, that’s purposeful. They can- they can mourn the role I filled, the stuff I did, that’s fine, that’s not going to destroy them, not going to hurt for more than a... week, maybe. And everyone else- even the closest people- burn me I’m supposed to be dead. Not only was I, but there’s no- there’s no logical reason I’ve survived all this. Gods and Elder dragons have wanted me dead- entire factions, powerful people- I’m not allowed to die by- by fate, or whatever, but nothing else in Tyria wants me here, so I- you expect people to expect it, at least. To be prepared for it. I want them to be, for their own sake, but...” long sigh “...I... tried to get my warband to leave. Now that they knew... where I’ve been. What I’ve been doing, and... it really shouldn’t have been such a shock that they were worried about me. That... that they, and... everyone who knows how bad it’s gotten wants me to get... better. That I even have that option.”

Do you have mental health or physical issues?

quiet “...I don’t think any of us came out of this unscathed.”

What is your current main goal?

“...I think... I think I will just- just focus on getting better, now. I- burn me, it’s going to give me anxiety like nothing else to leave this to anyone, but I’ve- ...guess this is the first I’ll say it outside of closed circles, but I... I think I’m giving up the title of commander. I don’t think- that’s not going to mean I’m not around, I’m... probably not even leaving Dragon’s Watch, but... it’s time to hang the regalia up, at least. Leave the final say to someone else.” Laugh “Definitely not gonna miss the politics. May I never have to see Phlunt’s face again.”

CHOICES

Drink or food?

“...Oh, the hard questions are over now? Er- sort of? ...I mean, you need both to... live, so... Hm. I mean- I’ve had some really good food, Dragon’s Watch has one of the best chefs, but- if you’ve ever had an entire jug of water past the height of the moon, you know exactly my dilemma here.

Cats or dogs?

“This is what we call a ‘false dichotomy’. Both. Duh.”

Early bird or night owl?

“...I, uh. I’m not sure I’ve had a steady sleep schedule, for... five? Years? I guess if you do want to wake me up without either food or news of immediate disaster that needs fixing, I might consider physical harm, so... whichever one that is.”

Optimist or pessimist?

“That depends. On the subject of how good today’s food will be? Optimist. On Phlunt ever caring for anything other than his own pride and wellbeing? Pessimist.”

Sassy or sarcastic?

“...There’s a difference? Everyone I’ve met has both or neither.”

HAVE YOU EVER-

-been caught sneaking out?

“Nope. I was raised Ash, and I was good at it.”

-broke a bone?

“...I... I don’t think I have, actually. Probably got just about every other possible injury, but... not that yet.”

-received flowers?

“...I, uh. Eheh... The, uhm. The first time my, uh- now-wife sent me flowers, I... didn’t know what they were for? And sort of. Ate them.” pause “...They were... definitely not meant to be eaten. They were anonymous- she told me about it later- so I thought someone was trying to poison me until a close friend explained what getting flowers meant.” pause “...Burn me, I have no idea how long she was trying to flirt with me until I managed to catch on.”

-ghosted someone?

“...Have I mentioned the time I burned to death?”

-pretended to laugh at a joke you didn’t get?

“...Wait, that’s- that’s a thing? I could have been telling terrible, incomprehensible jokes this whole time and I have no way to even know?! I- ...no, I haven’t, I guess. I just sort of... sit there confused...”

“...That’s the last one? Really? Sort of an awkward way to end it. Well, uh... remember the release protocol we agreed upon. Whole buncha people are gonna be upset if you don’t- most of which know how to hide bodies. Not... not sure why I know so many of that type of people, to be honest with you.”

#zori sunblade #oc interview #icebrood saga spoilers #path of fire spoilers #yes i did do the math on those years. yes i am making this cannon.#yes zori is 28 years old as the current story stands #there's a good reason most of the charr she knows think of her as a cub

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notapaladin · 4 years ago

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and this faith is gettin’ heavy (but you know it carries me) - redux

Because I was thinking about this fic and realized it could be BETTER with even MORE angst, pining, love connected to physical hunger, and uh...connective tissue I thought really hard about but didn’t actually write at the time.

Also on AO3, as usual

Acatl grimaced as he stepped from the coolness of his home into the day’s bright, punishing sunlight. Today was the day the army was due to return from their campaign in Mixtec lands, and so he was forced to don his skull mask and owl-trimmed cloak on a day that was far too hot for it. Not for the first time, he was thankful that priests of Lord Death weren’t required to paint their faces and bodies for special occasions; the thought of anything else touching his skin made him shudder.

He’d barely made it out of his courtyard when Acamapichtli strode up to him, face grave underneath his blue and black paint. “Ah, Acatl. I’m glad I could catch you.”

“Come to tell me that the army is at our gates again?” They would never be friends, he and Acamapichtli, but they had achieved something like a truce in the year since the plague. Still, Acatl couldn’t help but be on his guard. There was something...off about the expression on the other man’s face, and it took him a moment to realize what it was. He’d borne the same look when delivering the news of a death to a grieving family. Ah. A loss, then.

He’d expected Acamapichtli to spread his hands, a wordless statement of there having been nothing he could have done. He didn’t expect him to take a deep breath and slide his sightless eyes away. “I have. The runners all say it is a great victory; Tizoc-tzin has brought back several hundred prisoners.”

It should have pleased him. Instead, a cold chill slid down his spine. “What are you not telling me? I’ve no time for games.”

Acamapichtli let out a long sigh. “There were losses. A flood swept across the plain, carrying away several of our best warriors. Among them...the Master of the House of Darts. They looked—I’m assured that they looked!—but his body was not found.”

No. No. No. A yawning chasm cracked open beneath his ribs. He knew he was still breathing, but he couldn’t feel the air in his lungs. Even as he wanted, desperately, to grab Acamapichtli by the shoulders and shake him, to scream at him for being a liar, he knew the man was telling the truth. That his face and mannerisms, the careful movements of a man who knew he brought horrible news, showed his words to be honest. That Teomitl—who had left four months before with a kiss for Mihmatini and an affectionate clasp for Acatl’s arm—would not return.

It took real effort to focus on Acamapichtli’s next words. The man’s eyes were full of a horrible sympathy, and he wanted to scream. “I thought you should know in advance. Before—before they arrived.”

“Thank you,” he forced out through numb lips.

Acamapichtli turned away. “...I’m sorry, Acatl.”

After a long, long moment, he made himself start walking again. There was the rest of the army to greet, after all. Even if Teomitl wouldn’t be among them.

Even if he’d never return from war again.

Greeting the army was a ceremony, one he usually took some joy in—it had meant that Teomitl would be home, would be safe, and his sister would be happy. Now it passed in a blue, and he registered absolutely none of it. Someone must have already given the news to Mihmatini when he arrived; she was an utterly silent presence at his side, face pale and lips thin. She wouldn’t cry in public, but he saw the way her eyes glimmered when she blinked. He knew he should offer her comfort, but he couldn’t bring himself to lay a sympathetic hand on her shoulder. If he touched her, if he felt the fabric of her cloak beneath his hand, that meant it was real.

It couldn’t be real. Jade Skirt was Teomitl’s patron goddess, She wouldn’t let him simply drown. But there was an empty space to Tizoc’s left where Teomitl should have been, and no sign of his white-and-red regalia. Acatl’s eyes burned as he blinked.

Tizoc was still speaking, but Acatl heard none of his words. It was all too still, too quiet; everything was muffled, as though he was hearing it through water. If there was justice, came the first spinning thought, every wall would be crumbling. No...if there was justice, Teomitl would be...

He drew in a long breath, feeling chilled to the bone even as he sweated under his cloak. Now that his mind had chosen to rouse itself, its eye was relentless. He barely saw the plaza around him, packed with proud warriors and colorful nobles; it was too easy to imagine a far-flung province to the south, a jungle thick with trees and blood. A river bursting its banks, carrying Teomitl straight into his enemies’ arms. They would capture him, of course; he was a valiant fighter and he’d taken very well to the magic of living blood, but even he couldn’t hold off an army alone.

And once they had him, they would sacrifice him.

Somewhere behind the army, Acatl knew, were lines of captured warriors whose hearts would be removed to feed the Sun, whose bodies would be flung down the Temple steps to feed the beasts in the House of Animals, whose heads would hang on the skull-rack. It was necessary, and their deaths would serve a greater purpose. He’d seen it thousands of times. There was no use mourning them. It was simply the way nearly all captured warriors went.

It was what Teomitl would want. An honorable death on the sacrifice stone. It was better to die than to be a slave all your life. But at least he would have a life—all unbidden, the alternative rose clear in Acatl’s mind. Teomitl, face whitened with chalk. Teomitl, laying down on the stone. Teomitl, teeth clenched, meeting his death with open eyes. Teomitl’s blood on the priests’ hands.

Nausea rose hot and bitter in his throat, and he shut his eyes and focused on his breathing. In for a count of three, out for a count of five. Repeat. It didn’t hurt to breathe, but he felt as if it should. He felt as if everything should hurt. He felt a sudden, vicious urge to draw thorns through his earlobes until the pain erased all thoughts, but he made his hands still. If he started, he wasn’t sure if he would be able to stop.

Still, it seemed to take an eternity for the speeches and the dances to be over and done with. By the time they finished, he was light-headed with the strain of remaining upright, and Mihmatini had slipped a hand into his elbow. Even that single point of contact burned through his veins. They still hadn’t spoken. He wondered if she, too, couldn’t quite find her own voice under the screaming chasm of grief.

And then, after all that, when all he yearned for was to go home and lay down until the world felt right again—maybe until the Sixth Sun rose, that would probably be enough time—there was a banquet, and he was forced to attend.

Of course there’s a banquet, he thought dully. This is a victory, after all. Tizoc had wasted no time in promoting a new Master of the House of Darts to replace his fallen brother, with many empty platitudes about how Teomitl would surely be missed and how he’d not want them to linger in their grief, but to move on and keep earning glory for the Mexica. Moctezuma, his replacement, was seventeen and haughty; where Teomitl’s arrogance had begun to settle into firm, well-considered authority and the flames of his impatience had burnt down to embers, Moctezuma’s gaze swept the room and visibly dismissed everyone in it as not worth his concern. It reminded Acatl horribly of Quenami.

Mihmatini sat on the same mat she always did, but now there was a space beside her like a missing tooth. She still wore her hair in the twisted horn-braids of married women, and against all rules of mourning she had painted her face with the blue of the Duality. Underneath it, her face was set in an emotionless mask. She did not eat.

Neither did Acatl. He wasn’t sure he could stomach food. So instead his gaze flickered around the room, unable to settle, and he gradually realized that he and Mihmatini weren’t alone in the crowd. The assembled lords and warriors should have been celebrating, but there was a subdued air that hung over every stilted laugh and negligent bite of fine food. Neighbors avoided each other’s eyes; Neutemoc, sitting with his fellow Jaguar Warriors, was staring at his empty plate as though it held the secrets of the heavens. He looked well, until Acatl saw the expression on his face. It was a mirror of his own.

At least his fellow High Priests didn’t try to engage him in conversation, for which he was grateful. Acamapichtli kept glancing at him almost warily, but he hadn’t voiced any more empty platitudes—and when Quenami had opened his mouth to say something, he’d taken the unprecedented step of leaning around Acatl and glaring him into silence.

If they’d been friends, Acatl would have been touched; as it was, it made a burning ember of rage lodge itself in his throat. Don’t you pity me. Don’t you dare pity me. He ground his teeth until his jaw hurt, clenched his fists until his nails cut into his palms, and didn’t speak. If he spoke, he would scream.

Somehow, he held it together until after the final course had been cleared away. He rose jerkily to his feet, legs trembling, and fixed his mind firmly on getting home in one piece.

Quenami’s voice stopped him in the next hallway. “Ah, Acatl. A lovely banquet, wasn’t it?”

He didn’t turn around. “Mn.” Go away.

Quenami didn’t. In fact he took a step closer, as though they were friends, as though he’d never tried to have Acatl killed. His voice was like a mosquito in his ear. “You must not be feeling well; you hardly touched your food. Some might see that as an insult. I’m sure Tizoc-tzin would.”

“Mm.”

“Or is it worry over Teomitl that’s affecting you? You shouldn’t fret so, Acatl. You know, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s not dead after all; there are plenty of cenotes in the southlands, and a determined man could easily hide out there for the rest of his life. He probably just took the coward’s way out, sick of his responsibilities—“

He whirled around, sucking in a breath that scorched his lungs. It was the last thing he felt before he let Mictlan’s chill spill through his veins and overflow. His suddenly-numb skin loosened on his neck; his fingers burned with the cold that came only from the underworld. He knew that his skin was black glass, his muscles smoke, his bones moonlight on ice, his eyes burning voids. All around him was the howling lament of the dead, the stench of decay and the dry, acrid scent of dust and dry bones. When he spoke, his voice echoed like a bell rung in a tomb.

“Silence.”

You do not call him a coward. You do not even speak his name. I could have your tongue for that. He stepped forward, gaze locked with Quenami’s. It would be easy, too. He could do it without even blinking—could take his tongue for slander, his eyes for that sneering gaze, could reach inside his skin and debone him like a turkey—all it would take would be a single wrong word—

Quenami recoiled, jaw going slack in terror. Silently—blessedly, mercifully, infuriatingly silently—he turned on his heel and left.

Acatl took one breath, two, and let the magic drain out of his shaking limbs. He hadn’t meant to do that. It should probably have sickened him that he’d nearly misused Lord Death’s power like that, especially on a man who ought to have been his superior and ally, but instead all he felt was a vicious sort of stymied rage—a jaguar missing a leap and coming up with nothing but air between his claws. He wanted to scream. He wanted blood under his nails, the shifting crack of breaking bones under his knuckles. He wanted to hurt something.

He made it to the next courtyard, blessedly empty of party guests, and collapsed on the nearest bench like a dead man. His stomach ached. I could have killed him. Gods, I wanted to kill him. I don’t think I’ve ever been so angry in my life. All because...all because he said his name...

“...Acatl?”

Mihmatini’s voice, admirably controlled. He made himself lift his head and answer. “In here.”

She padded into the courtyard and took a seat on the opposite end of the bench, skirt swishing around her feet as she walked. Gold ornaments had been sewn into its hem, and he wondered if they’d been gifts from Teomitl. “I saw Quenami running like all the beasts of the underworld were on his tail. What did you do?”

Nothing. But that would have been a lie, and he refused to do that to his own flesh and blood. “...He said…” He swallowed past a lump in his throat. “He said that Teomitl might have deserted. He dared to say that—” The idea choked him, and he couldn’t finish the words. That Teomitl was a coward. That he would run from his responsibilities, from his destiny, at the first opportunity…

She tensed immediately, eyes going cold in a way that suggested Quenami had better be a very fast runner indeed. “He would never. You know that.”

Air seemed to be coming a bit easier now. “I do. But…”

Of course, she pounced on his hesitation. “But?”

I want him so badly to not be dead. “Nothing.”

Mihmatini was silent for a while, wringing her hands together. Finally, she spoke. “He would never have deserted. But...Acatl…”

“What?”

“I don’t know if he’s dead.” She set a hand on her chest. “The magic that connects us—I can still feel it in here. It’s faint, really faint, but it’s there. He might…” She took a breath, and tears welled up in her eyes. “He might still be alive.”

Alive. The word was a conch shell in his head, sounding to wake the dawn. For an instant, he let himself imagine it. Teomitl alive, maybe in hiding, maybe trying to find his way home to them.

Maybe held captive by the Mixteca, until such time as they can tear out his heart. He closed his eyes, shutting out everything but the sound of his own breathing. It didn’t help. He hated how pathetic his own voice sounded as he asked, “You think so?”

“It’s—” She scrubbed ineffectually at her eyes with the back of a hand. “It’s possible. Isn’t it?”

“...I suppose.” He took a breath. “I think it’s time for me to get some sleep. I’ll...see you tomorrow.”

He knew he wouldn’t sleep—knew, in fact, that he’d be lucky if he even managed to close his eyes—but he needed to get home. He refused to disgrace himself by weeping in public.

The first dream came a week later.

He’d managed to avoid them until then; he’d thrown himself headlong into his work, not stopping until he was so tired that his “sleep” was really more like “passing out.” But it seemed his body could adapt to the conditions he subjected it to much easier than he’d thought, because he woke with tears on his face and the scraps of a nightmare scattering in the dawn light. There had been blood and screaming and a ravaged and horrible face staring into his that somehow he’d known. He did his best to put it from his mind, and for a day he thought he’d succeeded.

The next night was worse.

He was walking through a jungle made of shadows, trees shedding gray dust from their leaves as he passed under them. There was no birdsong, no rippling of distant waters or crunching of underbrush, and he knew deep in his soul that nothing was alive here anymore. Not even himself. Though his legs ached and his lungs burned, it was pain that felt like it was happening to someone else. His gut held, not the stretched desiccation of Mictlan, but a nasty twisting feeling of wrongness; part of him wanted to be sick, but he couldn’t stop. Ahead of him, someone was making their way through the undergrowth, and it was a stride he’d know anywhere.

Teomitl. He thought he called out to him, but no sound escaped his mouth even though his throat hurt as though he’d been screaming. He tried again. Teomitl! This time, he managed a tiny squeak, something even an owl wouldn’t have heard.

Teomitl didn’t slow down, but somehow the distance between them shortened. Now Acatl could make out the tattered remains of his feather suit, singed and bloodstained until it was more red than white, and the way his bare feet had been cut to ribbons. He still wasn’t looking behind him. It was like Acatl wasn’t there at all. Ahead of them, the trees were thinning out.

And then they were on a flat plain strewn with corpses, bright crimson blood the only color Acatl could see. Teomitl was standing still in front of him as water slowly seeped out of the ground, covering his feet and lapping gently at his ankles. There were thin threads of red in it.

“Teomitl,” he said, and this time his voice obeyed him.

Teomitl turned to him, smiling as though he’d just noticed he was there. His chest was a red ruin, the bones of his ribcage snapped wide open to pull out his beating heart. A tiny ahuizotl curled in the space where it had been.

He took one step back. Another.

Teomitl’s smile grew sad, and he reached for him with a bloody hand. “Acatl, I’m sorry.”

He awoke suddenly and all at once, curling in on himself with a ragged sob. It was still dark out; the sun hadn’t made its appearance yet. There was no one to see when he shook himself to pieces around the space in his heart. It was a dream, he told himself sternly. Just a dream. My soul is only wandering through my own grief. It doesn’t mean anything.

But then it returned the next night, and the next. While the details differed—sometimes Teomitl was swimming a river that suddenly turned to blood and dissolved his flesh, sometimes one of his own ahuizotls turned into a jaguar and sprang for his face—the end was always the same. Teomitl dead and still walking, reaching for him with an apology on his lips. Sometimes it even lingered after he woke, clinging stubbornly such that, just for a moment, he thought Teomitl was truly by his side and had a moment’s joy before reality reasserted itself and he remembered with gutwrenching pain that he was alone. Those ones were the worst.

He started timing his treks across the Sacred Precinct to avoid the Great Temple’s sacrifices to Huitzilopochtli. Sleep grew more and more difficult to achieve, and even when he caught a few hours’ rest it never seemed to help. He even thought, fleetingly, of asking the priests of Patecatl if anything they had would be useful, only to dismiss it the next day. He would survive this. It wasn’t worth baring his soul to anyone else’s prying eyes or clumsy but well-meaning words.

Still, when one of Neutemoc’s slaves came to his door asking whether he would come to dinner at his house that night, he didn’t waste time in accepting. Dinner with Neutemoc’s family had become...normal. He needed normal, even if it still felt like walking on broken glass.

Up until the second course was served, he even thought he’d get it. Neutemoc had been nearly silent when he’d arrived, but he’d unbent enough to start a conversation about his daughters’ studies. Necalli and Mazatl were more subdued than they normally were, but they’d heard what happened to their newest uncle-by-marriage and were no doubt mourning in their own ways. Mihmatini’s face was as pale and set as white jade, but as the meal wore on he thought he saw her smile.

“More fish?”

Neutemoc’s voice was too careful for his liking, but he nodded. Fish was duly set onto his plate, and he ate without really tasting it. He only managed a few bites before he set it aside.

Mihmatini picked at her own dish, and Neutemoc frowned at her. “You’re not hungry?”

She shook her head.

Silence descended again, but It didn’t reign for long before Neutemoc said, “Acatl. Any interesting cases lately?” With a quick glance at his children, he added, “That we can talk about in front of the kids?”

“Aww, Dad...”

Neutemoc gave his eldest the same look his father had once given him. “When you go off to war, Necalli, I will let you listen to all the awful details.”

It was almost enough to make Acatl smile. “Well,” he began, “we’ve been trying to figure out what’s been strangling merchants in the featherworkers’ district…”

Laying out the facts of a suspicious death or two was always calming. He could forget the ache in his heart, even if only briefly. But even when he was done, when he’d started to relax, Neutemoc was still talking to him as though he expected to see his younger brother shatter any minute. The slaves, too, were unusually solicitous of him—rushing to fill up his cup, to heap delicacies on his plate. At any other time he might have suspected the whole thing to be a bribe or an awkward apology; now, he just felt uneasy.

When the meal was done, he declined Neutemoc’s offer of a pipe and got to his feet. “I think I’ll get some air.”

The courtyard outside was empty. He lifted his eyes to the heavens, charting the path of the four hundred stars above. Ceyaxochitl’s death hadn’t hit him anywhere near as hard as this, but gods, he thought he could recover if only the people around him stopped coddling him. Everywhere he went there were sympathetic glances and soft words, and even the priests of his own temple were stepping gingerly around him. As though he needed to be treated like...like...

Like a new widow. Like Mihmatini. He sat down hard, feeling like his legs had been cut out from under him. Air seemed to be in short supply, and the gulf in his chest yawned wide.

But I’m not. I care for Teomitl, of course, but it’s not like that. It’s not—

He thought about Teomitl sacrificed as a war captive or drowned in a river far from home, and nearly choked at the fist of grief that tightened around his heart. No. He shook his head as though that would clear it. He wouldn’t want me to grieve over him. He wouldn’t want me to think of him dead, drowned, sacrificed—he’d want me to remember him happy. I can do that much for him, at least.

He could. It was easy. He closed his eyes and remembered.

Remembered the smile that lit up rooms and outshone the Sun, the one that could pull an answering burst of happiness out of the depths of his soul. Remembered the way Teomitl had laughed and rolled around the floor with Mazatl, the way he’d helped Ollin to walk holding onto his hands, the way he sparred with Necalli and asked about Ohtli’s lessons in the calmecac, and how all of those moment strung together like pearls on a string into something that made Acatl’s heart warm as well. Remembered impatient haggling in the marketplace, haphazard rowing on the lake, strong arms flexing such that he couldn’t look away, the touch of a warm hand lingering even after Teomitl had withdrawn—

He remembered how it had felt, in that space between dreams and waking, where he’d thought Teomitl was by his side even in Mictlan. Where, for the span of a heartbeat, he’d been happy.

There was a sound—a soft, miserable whine. It took him a moment to realize it was coming from his own throat, that he’d drawn his knees up to his chest and buried his face in them. That he was shaking again, and had been for some time. As nausea oozed up in his throat, he regretted having eaten.

It was like that, after all.

And he’d realized too late. Even if he’d ever been able to do anything about it—which he never would anyway, the man was married to his sister—there was no chance of it now, because Teomitl was gone.

He forced his burning eyes to stay open. If he blinked, if he let his eyes close even for an instant, the tears would fall.

Approaching footsteps made him raise his head. Mihmatini was walking quietly and carefully towards him, as though she didn’t want to disturb him. As though I’m fragile. You too, Mihmatini?

“Ah. There you are.” Even her voice was soft.

He uncurled himself and arranged his limbs into a more dignified position, keeping his fists clenched to stop his hands from trembling. At least when he finally blinked, his eyes were dry. “Hm.”

She sat next to him, not touching. There was something calming about her company, but gods, he prayed she couldn’t see the thoughts written on his face. She stretched out a hand and he thought she’d lay it soothingly on his shoulder, but instead she traced a meaningless pattern in the dirt. “...It’s hard, isn’t it?”

His dry throat made a clicking noise when he swallowed. “It is.”

“At least we’re both in the same boat,” she murmured.

The words refused to make sense in his head at first—but then they did, and he reared back and stared at her. No. I’ve only just realized it myself, she can’t have...she can’t be thinking that I—! “I beg your pardon?”

Her voice lowered even further, so that he had to strain to hear her. There was a faint, sad smile on her face. “You love him just the same as I do, don’t you?”

He drew a long breath. He knew what he should say, what the right and proper words would be. No, like a son. Or like my brother. But he couldn’t lie to her, not even to spare what was left of her broken heart, and so what came out instead was, “Yes. Gods, yes.” Hate me for it. Tell me I have no right to love him, that you’re the one who has his heart. Tell me I’m a fool.

She lifted her head, and her faint smile grew to something bright and brittle. “Good.”

Good?! He blinked uselessly at her, gaping like a fish before he could find his voice again. “You—you approve?”

“You’re my favorite brother,” she said simply. “And...well.”

She fell silent, her smile fading until it vanished entirely. He waited. Finally, in a much softer voice, she continued, “If you love him, there’s no harm in telling you what he swore me to secrecy over.”

Dread gripped him. Of course Teomitl was entitled to his secrets, but he couldn’t imagine what would be so horrible that Mihmatini wouldn’t tell him. At least, not while he lived. He didn’t want to ask, but he had to know. “...What?”

She blinked rapidly, fingers going still. She’d traced something that looked, from a certain angle, like a flower glyph. “...He...he loved you, too.”

No.

But Mihmatini was still talking. “He didn’t want me to tell you; he was sure you’d scorn him. But he loved you the same way he loved me...gods, probably more than he loved me.”

It was the last straw. His nails bit into his palms hard enough to draw blood, and he barely recognized his own voice as rage filled it. “Why are you telling me this?!”

Mihmatini took a shuddering breath; he realized she was fighting tears, and had been since she’d spilled Teomitl’s heart to the night air. “In case he comes back. If he does...no, when he does...you should tell him how you feel.”

He rose on shaking legs. “I think I need to be alone.”

Without really seeing his surroundings, he walked until he came to the canal outside the house. The family’s boats were tied up outside, bobbing gently on the water. When he sat down, the stone under him was cold; the water he dipped his fingers in was colder still. Neither revived him. Neither was as cold as the pit cracking open in his gut. Mictlan was worse, true, but all the inexorable pains of Mictlan were dull aches compared to this.

In case he comes back. In case he comes back. I love him—I am in love, that’s what this pain is—and I will never see him again in this world. Mihmatini says he loves me too, and it doesn’t matter, because his bones lie somewhere in the jungle and his flesh feeds the crows and I will never get to tell him.

Between one breath and another, the tears came. They spilled hot and salty down his face; he let them, shoulders shaking, because he no longer had the strength to stop them. And nobody would come to offer unwanted sympathy, anyway. Mihmatini had her own grief, and the hurrying footsteps he’d grown so used to hearing would never run after him again.

Eventually, when he was spent, he wiped his face and left. It was time to go home.

The rest of the month ground on slowly, and his dreams began to change.

At first they were minor changes—the blood was less vibrant, the forests and plains brighter. Teomitl bled less. Acatl woke without feeling as though the inside of his chest had been hollowed out and replaced with ash. And if that was all, he might have simply thought he was beginning to deal with his sorrow. Such things happened, after all. Eventually the knives scraping away at his chest would lose their edges, and he would face a life without Teomitl’s sunny smile.

But there was more than just a lessening of pain. He dreamed of a sunsoaked forest in the south, and woke feeling like a lizard basking on a rock, warm in a way he couldn’t blame on the heat of the rainy season. He dreamed that Teomitl was fording a fast-flowing river—one that did not turn to blood this time—and when dawn broke his legs were soaked up to the shins. That got him to visit a healing priest; he knew when he was out of his depth, and if his soul was wandering too far in his nightmares then he wanted to be sure it would come back to him by dawn. But the priest was as befuddled as he was, and only told him to call again if he woke in pain or with unexplained wounds.

Unexplained wounds? he thought bitterly. You mean, like the one where half my heart’s been torn from my chest? But he knew better than to say that out loud; his feelings for Teomitl were none of this man’s business. So he thanked him and left, paying a fistful of cacao beans for the consultation, and tried not to think about it until the next time he slept and the dreams returned.

And they were dreams now, and not nightmares. While he slept his soul seemed content to follow Teomitl’s solitary travels through the very outskirts of the Empire, and he no longer had to see him torn apart by monsters or smiling ruinously with bloody teeth. Teomitl barely bled at all now, and his wounds were only the normal ones a man might get from traversing hostile terrain alone—a scraped knee here, a bound-up cut there. He sang to himself as he walked, though the words slipped through Acatl’s mind like water. Once Acatl stood just over his shoulder at a smoky campfire while he roasted fish in the ashes, and his heart ached as he watched him cry.

“Acatl-tzin,” he whispered into his folded knees. “Acatl, I should have told you.”

“Should have told me what?” he tried to ask, but before he could form the words he woke up. There were tears in his own eyes.

It’s only because I miss him, he told himself. This is grief, that’s all. But there was the smell of smoke clinging to his skin, and a single damp leaf was stuck to the bottom of his bare foot. It hadn’t rained in Tenochtitlan last night. He stared at it for a long time.

Each night went on in the same vein. He would clean his teeth, lay down on his mat, and drift off to sleep—and in his dreams, there would be Teomitl, hale and whole and walking onwards. Despite himself, Acatl started to wake with a faint stirring of hope. Maybe Teomitl really had only been separated from the army. Maybe he truly was on his way home. And maybe I’m delusional, came the inevitable bitter thought when he’d finished his morning rituals. It had become much harder to listen to.

It was almost a surprise when he dreamed about a city he knew. It was a small but bustling place about half a day’s walk from Tenochtitlan, and as he walked through the streets he realized that the torches had been lit for a funeral. He could hear the chants ahead of him. There was a darker shape in the shadows which spilled down the dusty road, and he knew the man’s stride like he knew his own.

“Teomitl!” He hadn’t been mute in his dreams for a while now.

Teomitl didn’t turn. He never turned. But he stopped, and by the way his head tilted Acatl just knew he was smiling. Wordlessly, he pointed at the courtyard ahead.

A funeral pyre had been lit, and it was so like the rituals he presided over that he felt a distinct sense of deja vu. There was the priest singing a hymn to Lord Death; there were the weeping family members of the deceased. There were the marigolds and the other offerings, brilliant in the gloom.

“That could have been me,” Teomitl said, and Acatl heard his voice as though he was standing next to him in the waking world instead of only in a dream. “But it’s not yet, and it won’t be for a good long while. So you don’t need to fear for me. I keep my promises.”

They’d never touched before. But this time Teomitl turned to face him, and the hand he held out was free of blood entirely. Slowly, giving him time to pull away, Teomitl pressed his palm to his. Their fingers laced together, warm and strong and almost real.

“Teomitl,” he said helplessly.

“Acatl.” Teomitl’s smile was like the sun. “I’m sorry I made you worry, but I’ll be home soon.”

And then he woke up, the dream shredded apart by the blasts of the conch-shell horns that heralded the dawn. For a long moment, he stared blankly up at the ceiling. He could still feel Teomitl’s hand in his; each little scar and callus felt etched on his skin. He lives. The slow certainty of it welled up in him like blood. He lives, and he is coming back.

He rose and made his devotions before dressing, but now his hands shook with something that was no longer grief. As soon as he left for his temple, he could feel the change In the air. Scraps of excited conversation whirled past him, but he couldn’t focus long enough to pick any out. He concentrated on breathing steadily and walking with the dignity befitting a High Priest. He would not sprint for the temple, would not grab the nearest housewife or warrior or priest and demand answers. They would come soon enough.

They came in the form of Ezamahual, rushing out of the temple complex to meet him. “Acatl-tzin! Acatl-tzin, there is wonderful news!”

Briefly, he thought he should have worn the hated regalia. “What news?”

Ezamahual’s words tumbled out in a headlong rush, almost too fast to follow. “The Master of the House of Darts—Teomitl-tzin—he’s returned! Our warriors met him at the city gates!”

Even though he’d half expected it—even though the recurring dreams, his soul journeying through the night at Teomitl’s side, had kept alive the flickering flame of hope that now burned within him—he still briefly felt like fainting. He clenched his fists, the pain of his nails in his palms keeping him upright. “You’re sure?”

Ezamahual nodded enthusiastically. “The Revered Speaker has reinstated him to his old position, and there’s talk of a banquet at the palace to celebrate his safe return. I think he’s at the Duality House now, though—they’re like an anthill over there.”

Right. He exhaled slowly, forcing down joy and disappointment alike. Of course Teomitl would want to see his wife first above all, to reassure her that he was well, and of course he had no right to intrude. Nor would he even if he did—Mihmatini deserved her husband back in her life, deserved all the joy she would wring from it. The things she’d told him didn’t—couldn’t—matter in the face of their union. “I see. I suppose we’ll learn more later. Come—tell me if there’s been any new developments in those strangling cases.”

Ezamahual looked briefly baffled, but then he nodded. “Of course, Acatl-tzin. It’s like this…”

The latest crop of mysterious deaths turned out to be quite straightforward in the end, once they tracked down their newest lead and had him sing like a bird. He nodded at the appropriate times, sent out a double team of priests after the perpetrators, and had it very nearly wrapped up by lunch. He was settling down with the account ledgers to mark payment of two gold-filled quills to the priests of Mixcoatl for their aid when he heard footsteps outside.

Familiar footsteps.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, the tightness in his chest eased. But he didn’t have a chance to revel in it, because he knew the voice calling his name.

“Acatl? Acatl!”

He dropped the ledgers and his pen, getting ink all over his fingers. As the entrance curtain was flung aside in a cacophony of copper bells, he scrambled to his feet. Had he been tired and listless before? It seemed like it was a thousand years ago now. He thought he might weep for the sheer relief of hearing that beloved voice again. “Gods—Teomitl—”

He had a confused impression of gold jewelry and feather ornaments, but then Teomitl was flinging himself into his arms and the only thing that sunk into his mind was warmth. There were strong arms wrapped around him and a head pressed against his temple, and Teomitl’s voice shook as he breathed, “Duality, I missed you so much.”

Slowly, he raised his shaking hands and set them at Teomitl’s shoulderblades. He could feel his racing heart, feel the way he sucked in each breath as though trying not to sob. It was overwhelming; his eyes burned as he fought to blink back his own tears. He couldn’t speak. If he opened his mouth, he knew he’d lose the battle—and there were no words for this, anyway.

Teomitl abruptly released him, turning his face away. His voice was a soft, ragged thing, and his expression was a careful blank. “Forgive me. I was...Mihmatini said you’d be glad to see me. I wanted to look less like I’d been dragged over the mountains backwards, first.”

He swallowed several times until he thought he could risk a response, even as his eyes drank in the sight of Teomitl in front of him. He looks the same, he thought. His skin had been further darkened by the sun, there were new scars looping across his arms and legs, and someone had talked him into a fortune in gold and jade with quetzal feathers tied into his hair, but he had the same face and body and sweet, sweet voice. “It’s—there’s nothing to forgive. I’m glad you’ve returned.”

“They told me everyone thought I was dead.” Teomitl bit his lip. “Except for Mihmatini. And you.”

He steered his mind firmly away from the shoals of crushing grief that still lurked under the joy of seeing Teomitl before him. He is here, and hale, and whole, just as I dreamed. I have nothing to weep over. “I knew you weren’t. You wouldn’t let something like a flood stop you.”

There was the first glimmer of a smile tugging at Teomitl’s lips. “You have such faith in me, Acatl.”

“You’re well deserving of it,” he replied. And I love you, and even in dreams I could not think of any other path than your survival. That, he refused to say.

Especially because Teomitl still wasn’t looking at him.

They stood in agonizing silence, and he couldn’t bring himself to break it. Teomitl was so close, still within arms’ range; if he was brave enough, he could reach out and pull him back into his arms. Could bury his face in his hair and crush the fabric of his cloak in his hands and tell him—what? It didn’t matter what Mihmatini had said to him. There was simply no space for him in the life Teomitl deserved, nothing beyond that Acatl already occupied. He wouldn’t burden him with useless feelings.

But then Teomitl shook himself like an ahuizotl and turned back to him, holding his gaze. “Do you want to know what got me home, Acatl? What sustained me?”

Mutely, he nodded. He still didn’t trust his voice.

“You.”

He felt like he’d been gutted. “I...Teomitl…”

Whatever Teomitl saw in his face made his eyes soften. He took a step forward, hands coming up to—gently, so gently—rest on Acatl’s waist, and Acatl let him. “I thought about you. I—Southern Hummingbird blind me, I dreamed about you. Every night! I made myself a promise while I was out there, in the event I ever saw you again. Scorn me for it all you’d like, but I’m going to keep it now.”

Oh, Teomitl. I could never scorn you. They were very, very close now, and Teomitl’s gaze had fallen to his parted lips. His mouth went dry.

And then Teomitl kissed him.

It started out soft and gentle, lips barely tracing Acatl’s own. Asking permission, he thought with an absurd spike of giddiness—and so, leaning in a little shyly, he gave it.

Teomitl wasted no time. The kiss grew harder, fingers digging into Acatl’s skin as he hauled their bodies together. They were pressed together from chest to hip but it still wasn’t enough, they weren’t close enough; blood roaring in his ears, he wrapped his arms around Teomitl’s back and clung tightly. His mouth opened with a breathy little whine stolen immediately by Teomitl’s invading tongue, and when he dared to do the same, Teomitl made a noise like a jaguar and let go of his waist in favor of clawing at the back of his cloak, grabbing fistfuls of fabric along with strands of his hair. It pulled too hard, but he didn’t care. The pain meant it was real, that this was really happening.

Teomitl only drew away to breathe, “Gods—I love you—” before claiming his mouth again, as though he couldn’t bear to be apart.

Acatl twisted in his arms, knowing he was making a probably incoherent and definitely embarrassing noise, but shame wasn’t an emotion he was capable of at the moment. He loves me. By the Duality, he loves me. “I didn’t think—Mihmatini told me, but I didn’t think…”

Teomitl jerked back, brow furrowed. “Wait. Mihmatini told you?!”

His grip on the back of Teomitl’s cloak tightened at the memory. “She was trying to reassure me, I think. I’d just told her...well.” He couldn’t say it, even with Teomitl in his arms, and settled for uncurling one fist and running his hand up the back of Teomitl’s neck in lieu of words.

He was rewarded with a shiver, and the near-panic in Teomitl’s eyes ebbed into something soft. “What did you tell her, Acatl?”

He’d asked. He’d asked, and Acatl had always been honest with him. He’d be honest now, even if it made his heart race and his hands tremble. “That I love you.”

Teomitl made a desperate noise and kissed him again. There was no gentleness now; he kissed like a man possessed, hungry as a jaguar, and Acatl buried a hand in his hair to make sure he didn’t stop. Teeth caught at his lower lip, and he moaned out loud. This seemed to spur Teomitl on, because his mouth left Acatl’s to nip at his throat instead; the first sting of teeth sent a wave of arousal through him so strong it nearly swamped him. “Ah—!”

Teomitl soothed the skin with a delicate kiss that didn’t help at all, and then he returned his focus to Acath’s mouth. This time he was gentle, a careful little caress that gave Acatl just enough brainpower back to realize that he’d probably been a bit loud. Which is Teomitl’s fault, anyway, so he can’t complain. “Mmm…”

Even when they eventually pulled apart, they clung to each other for a long while. Acatl stroked up and down Teomitl’s spine, tracing each bump of vertebrae and the trembling muscles of his back. Teomitl dropped his head onto Acatl’s shoulder, breathing slow and deep. He’d twined locks of long hair through his fingers, gently running his fingers through the strands. Acatl had to close his eyes, overwhelmed. The stone beneath my feet is real. Teomitl’s skin under my hands is real. This—this is real. He is in my arms, and he loves me.

“I don’t want to let you go,” Teomitl whispered. “I never want to let you out of my sight again.”

Neither do I. He tilted his head, nosing at the nearest and fluffiest bit of Teomitl’s hair, and let out a long sigh. “You’ll have to eventually.” Even though he hated the thought, he couldn’t help but smile. “You’re the Master of the House of Darts, aren’t you? You have an army to help lead. Wars to wage. Glory to bring to the Empire.”

“Hrmph.” The arms around him tightened in wordless refusal.

He smiled against Teomitl’s hair, and realized as he did so that the unraveling tension in his core had left a void behind. A void that rumbled—loudly—to be filled. His face burned as he murmured, “But first, why don’t we see about lunch?”

Teomitl made an undignified snorting noise. “I have been gone a long time. You’re remembering to eat for once.”

It was the first time since the army’s return that he could remember feeling hungry. He decided not to mention that. To his regret, however, lunch meant that they had to be seen in public, which meant they both had to actually let go of each other. Reluctantly, he began the process of disentangling them; after a significant period of hesitation, Teomitl deigned to help. Even when they were no longer wrapped in each other’s arms, though, he stared at Acatl as though he couldn’t get enough of the sight.

And since Acatl was doing the same thing, cataloging the precise shade of Teomitl’s brown eyes and the exact path each visible scar took, he couldn’t blame him. I might have gone my whole life without this. What an idiot I was.

It took longer than Acatl liked for he and Teomitl to be properly alone again. It wasn’t until they were finally ensconced in a small receiving room with a plate of fried newts to share and strict orders not to be disturbed that he could do more than look, but just when he was getting up the nerve to maybe hold Teomitl’s hand his beloved leaned in and kissed him. It was chaste, but it still made him blush.

Teomitl was smiling when he drew back. “I missed doing that.”

“It hasn’t even been half an hour,” he muttered. “You’re insatiable.” But there was no heat to it, and he found his hand resting at Teomitl’s waist. The skin under his palm was just so warm. He’d felt cold bones and grave dust for too long.

An eyebrow went up in stunning imitation of Mihmatini. “And I’ve waited years for even one kiss, Acatl. There’s a backlog to get through, you know.”

The blush had just started to fade, but now it returned with a vengeance. “Years?”

“Mm-hmm.” Teomitl’s eyes gleamed. “I’d like to make up for lost time, if you wouldn’t mind.”

He swallowed hard. He’d wanted to know how Teomitl had survived, how he’d managed to make it all the way back home—the unreal fragments he’d witnessed each night had not been informative—but his questions suddenly didn’t seem that important anymore. “...I would not.”

And so their mouths met. Teomitl’s idea of making up for lost time was long and hungry; Acatl’s lips parted for his tongue almost before he knew what he was doing, and that was still a little strange but far from unwelcome. Especially when Teomitl drew back, mouth wet and red, to catch his lower lip between his teeth in another one of those stinging little nips that made his blood sing. A breathy noise escaped him, but this time Teomitl didn’t soothe it.

No, this time he lowered his mouth to Acatl’s neck and did it again. It was light and delicate, unlikely to leave marks, but Teomitl’s teeth were sharp enough that he felt each one in a burst of light behind his closed eyelids. He had to bury one hand in Teomitl’s hair and wrap the other around his waist just to keep himself upright; he couldn’t entirely muffle his own gasps. “Ahh—gods—”

Teomitl hummed, low and wordless, and slid a hand down his stomach. Acatl’s fevered blood roared in his ears, and all of a sudden it was almost too much. “Teomitl.”

Teomitl lifted his head, eyes bright. “Mm?”

“You.” He sucked in a breath, willing his heartrate to slow down. “You can’t keep doing that here.”

“You don’t like it?” Teomitl grinned at him. “Or do you like it too much, Acatl?”

If by some miracle all the rest of it hadn’t already made him blush, hearing Teomitl purr his name like that would definitely have done the trick. He had to turn his face away. “You know damned well it’s the latter. We both have our duties; we can’t very well take the rest of the day off to…” Flustered, he gestured between them.

“Hrmph,” Teomitl said, and kissed him again. This time it was slow and sweet and came with warm arms sliding around him, and he lingered in it for long, long minutes.

By the time they finally remembered their food, it was stone cold. They ate it anyway; Acatl couldn’t bring himself to care about such a mundane thing as cold food when Teomitl was leaning against him as they ate, with one arm still slung loosely around his waist. Not to mention that he was ravenous after all; he’d heard of love making you too nervous to eat, but loving Teomitl seemed to be different. Having him in his arms, knowing he wasn’t going to leave, knowing he would always be in his heart—it made him feel safe, and so he could enjoy his meal in peace.

When the afternoon light started to turn gold, they reluctantly got to their feet. They stood without touching for a moment that was just long enough to be awkward, and then Teomitl pulled him into a fierce hug. Acatl knew it was coming this time; he marveled at how they just seemed to fit together, with one hand buried in Teomitl’s hair and the other pressed flat between his shoulderblades to feel the steady beat of his heart.

Teomitl took a long, slow breath. “Lunch wasn’t long enough.”

“It wasn’t,” he agreed softly. “But there will be others. Many others.” With Teomitl by his side, he didn’t think he’d ever skip a meal again.

Despite the hint of dismissal—yes, he loved the man with all his heart, but they did both have other things to do—Teomitl made no move to let go of him. In fact, he squeezed a little tighter, turning to bury his face in Acatl’s hair. “Mrghh...”

He wanted to laugh, and had to bite the inside of his cheek to quell the urge. He made do with stroking Teomitl’s hair—gods, it was so soft—and taking a deliberate step back so that Teomitl had to release him or be pulled off-balance. Now Teomitl was glaring at him, but nothing would stop the slow upwell of joy in his veins. “Go on,” he murmured. “I’ll see you at the banquet tonight.” He hated formal banquets as a general rule, but he knew he’d enjoy this one. The food would no longer taste like ashes in his mouth.

Teomitl’s eyes were fierce as an eagle’s. “And afterwards? Will I see you afterwards, Acatl?”

“Yes.” It wasn’t an answer he even needed to think about, not with the way Teomitl’s lips parted in wonder. For the rest of my life. Whenever you want, for the rest of my life, I’ll be there.

Teomitl didn’t reach for him—he seemed to be deliberately holding himself still, tension ringing through his body like a drawn bowstring—but he looked like he wanted to. He looked like he wanted to yank Acatl back into his arms and finish what they’d started earlier, and the thought was exhilarating. “My chambers in the palace? They’re closest.”

Acatl flushed, shaking his head. That was a risk he refused to take. “My house. I’ll—I’ll be waiting.”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can.” There was a wild, radiant smile.

He smiled back.

Though he honestly hated the idea of separation too, he knew it would be alright. Teomitl had promised, after all.

#obsidian and blood #acatl #teomitl #teocatl #mihmatini #quenami #paladin writes stuff

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inviouswriting · 4 years ago

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Bliss

Aymeric x Kiya.

Some fluff. With a hint of some stuff but not graphic

Kiya was browsing through one of the market board listings, looking at minor things. She was almost on her way home, back to her place with Aymeric. She just needed a few things, a treat or something that says she was thinking of him.

She smiles as she collects an item and pays the retainer the fee. She smiles wide and races off back to home. Kiya crests the hill and stops brief at Last Vigil, jumping up onto it with ease as she overlooks the view in front of her. She has seen it many times, but the setting sun lighting the mist and clouds around always amazed her.

So much she didn’t hear the sound of metal footsteps behind her. A pair of strong arms snares her around her waist and lift her up.

Kiya gives a startled yelp, her tail poofs up at the end and ears flatten to her head. She curls up in the arms when they bring her to the chest behind her. Aymeric. He rests his head on top of hers, and looks out at the landscape in front of them. One he has known so much and never gets tired of.

“I could have thrown fire at you, you know.” Kiya pouts as Aymeric tightens his hold on her.

“Aye, but you didn’t.” He agrees, amusement in his voice.

“You just come from Fortemps?” Kiya asks, her hands rest on top of Aymeric’s.

“Aye, just catching up with Edmont about The Firmament. Still have yet to actually see the place. All I do is sleep and work it seems.” His voice loses its amusement for frustration. He had his hands full with keeping Ishgard in order and the lords and commoners from bickering too terribly in their meetings.

“What you got there?” He asks, pointing to the gift Kiya had gotten.

“A surprise. You can have it later when we’re home.” Kiya feels herself lifted into his arms.

“Then let’s go home shall we? I’m eager to know what you got.” Aymeric carries her with ease, from the many times he has done so. A content smile to his face. Kiya sees him smiling more around her.

When they reach inside the Borel house. Kiya hands Aymeric the gift, he looks at her, a questioning look to his eyes as he uncovers it. His eyes widen and glances to his wife who only beams happiness. She had gotten him a mini orchestrion for his office.

“How much was this?”

“Don’t worry about it. I hope it can make your days more bearable than boring silence.” Aymeric sets the music contraption down so it doesn’t break. He scoops his beloved into his arms, and gives her a full kiss. Kiya kicks her feet about, and wriggles in his arms as he holds her up.

When they part, Aymeric gives her more smirks and pleasant kisses along her cheek.

“I will cherish this gift.”

“Aymeric? May I ask something?” Kiya’s tone is curious.

“Aye?”

“Why do you lift me up so much?” She is met with a laugh.

“I thought it was obvious to why.”

“Aymeric?”

“It’s the only time I am the one supporting you. Instead of you supporting me and Ishgard. I am able to hold you.” Aymeric answers her, and doesn’t miss the way her eyes light up in what he means. Or the deep flush on her face from his words. Aymeric sets her down on her feet, he turns brief to the orchestrion and loads a song to it. Something light and to set the mood between them.

Kiya glances up at him as he takes her hands, he is already giving her a glance to indulge him in dancing with him. She lets him lead in a simple slow dance, minding their space in the den, enough room for two to do light footwork.

Aymeric sees how much she has grown from the first time he ever met her. Those years ago while in Gold Saucer where she was not so publicly known except for smaller deeds of good she’s done. He knows her life will always be tasked with struggle and the next big fight that decides the world.

For this moment, he takes all that away for her. He catches her off guard with dipping her backwards. Even laughs at the shocked expression on her face. Kiya puffs her cheeks, he lifts her into his arms again and lets her wrap her arms around his neck. He hugs her as tight as he can, he even feels her returning that tight embrace.

He soon feels her turn her head enough, and assault an ear with kisses. Aymeric feels his own face flush and he almost drops her. Kiya holds onto him and continues the gentle assault on the ear she kisses, feeling Aymeric hug her to him a bit tighter. Kiya relents and nuzzles the side of his face giving a few kisses to his cheek.

Aymeric adjusts her to be held bridal style in his arms. He eyes her, and she looks up to him meeting playful blue eyes regarding wide green eyes. He inclines his head down and claims her in a full kiss, he is met with her returning it.

Kiya lingers with the kiss, letting him take over, one of her hands sneaks to his right ear to touch the back of it. A visible shiver shakes even her and she is held tighter.

Aymeric breaks the kiss to bury his face into her shoulder.

“You are playing with fire, my love. Before we’ve had dinner or a chance to change clothes.” He is still in his regalia clothing, and Kiya was wearing clothes she traveled in. A smile on her lips.

“We should change that then. You are the one who lifted me up first.” She feigns a pout.

“And I’ll do it again, and again. Even if you tire it, I’ll still lift you up.” He gets a mild shove for being sweet. He beams lovingly at her, and she finds it hard to look at him when he looks innocent at her. He retains such a look, sometimes she feels unworthy to love him. He catches her smile faltering and moves to sit down with her.

“What’s wrong?” He says as he takes her hands into his, bringing her left to press a kiss on her ring.

“I feel like I don’t deserve you sometimes.” He furrows his eyebrows at that.

“Did someone say something again?” Kiya shakes her head no, and he finds himself wondering about her doubts.

“Did I do something?” Kiya is more frantic with her no.

“No, nothing like that. It... I just tend to feel this way sometimes. You’re so perfect and I’m well... not.” She doesn’t see his frown when she looked away.

“Kiya.. you know how I feel. I am for you. Not the merits you have done, or the fame.” He takes her and arranges her to be pinned beneath him on the sofa they’re seated on. Kiya looks up at him confused and wide eyed.

“You do so much more than just save our realms. I fell in love with you, for your heart. You shine in a way I see. No one else has to see that either, I’d be jealous if they saw you the same way.” Just a small hint of amusement in his words.

“Yet, you enjoy simple things, you can careless for the fancy or ornate. Modest in the things you aim for. You remind me, what it is like to have a home, instead of a house. You brought me something today because you know what my days are. Bringing me a joy to remind me of you as I’ll have it in my office. Just like the nameplate.” He lowers his head to hers to press his forehead to hers to prevent her from looking away.

“Aymeric.. You’re too sweet sometimes.” She earns a flashed smile.

“I do have a wife to spoil, and in a few months a child.” He tilts his head a little, he sees her flush dark at that. She still has yet to really show, with all her running around. He knows though and knows well she is in safe hands everytime she leaves.

They both sit up and Aymeric hugs her a little more knowing she still has her insecurities. He does his best to try and quell them. He guides her to follow him to change their clothes into something comfortable. He takes advantage of her half dressed to run his fingers up her exposed back. Kiya thrashes her tail when he runs his fingers along the fur.

Kiya turns a bit and it is the only time he can see the faint bump. Aymeric traps her in his arms again and moves to pin her once more onto the bed this time. His hands going to her abdomen, fingers gracing over the rise.

“You call me perfect, yet here you are. Doing something I could never do. Grow a child. Grow our child.” Aymeric moves down her form and presses his cheek to her stomach and turns to shower her in an affection. Kiya rests her hands on top of his head, and smiles warm. Aymeric looks up then lets her up to let her finish dressing in a warm sweater and leggings.

He wears his usual customary coat. They move back into the main part of the house, Kiya climbs the stairs to the rooftop. Aymeric settles on making food for them both, enjoying being able to provide her a home life when she returns to him.

Once dinner was made, he goes and finds her, he leans on the doorframe that leads outside to the rooftop. He sees Kiya looking up at the sky as it is freshly snowing, a serene look to her face and he witnesses the side not even the scion’s besides Minfilia has seen. Her relaxed and happy.

“You’ll catch cold, let’s get inside. I’ve prepared some chocolate as well.” His voice draws her out of her thoughts and there he sees her face light up at the idea of hot chocolate. Something they enjoy together on days where she feels insecure of herself. A reminder to a friend they lost, that gave them their life together.

Kiya doesn’t sit across from Aymeric, instead sits next to him, feeling closer when they enjoy each others company in a domestic way. They both tease one another through the meal, her poking his sides, and Aymeric touching her ears rubbing them between his fingers till her face is flushed and she flattens her ears to her head.

Every little moment lets her breathe comfortable and reminds her. She has a life to fight for, that he is everything and more to her. Such is carried over in how he gets her into a bath with him. Taking time to truly pamper her, with using scrubs and coaxes her to let him ease her worries as he uses his hands to ease tension from her body. The very dutiful husband, he enjoys every moment of washing her from head to tail earning purrs out of her. Kiya easily returns the pampering even against his insisting.

She touches over every sensitive spot in his sides, noting how ticklish he actually is, till he has her pinned below him to love her. She runs her hands over skin touching on scars that mar his skin. Aymeric is given the time to spend on her, and he never wastes it. Feeling fingertips on his shoulders or a scratch being made when he takes her.

All of it ending when he has her with him in their bed nestled into his arms well satisfied and comfortable from the day. She gives him soft affections. He returns them, he enjoys her ears, even with her flattening them with petting, the silky softness just under his fingers.

Kiya is lulled to rest letting him enjoy it even when the cat joins them. Nestling against Aymeric’s back, Kiya feels Aymeric get enough of his personal satisfaction in petting her head letting her get real rest now. The day ending and he knows the following day they do it all over again. The evenings are truly when he can stop the world once they were in their home together. Only catastrophe could bring her out of his arms, he hoped for at least a few months, they subside to allow her to enjoy being pregnant, without worrying over if she’ll lose their child from one wrong monster hit or the stress that was eating her alive.

Aymeric can only do what he does now, comfort her and create a sanctuary of bliss for her to return home to. If the scenarios were flipped, he’d gladly take her spot to be a proper knight than let his beloved face every danger instead. He’d gladly give her the docile life she craves for. Ever since her first primal slaying, she could never return to a normal life.

He noted on her face the first time he saw her in the Intercessory. She did not look like a person who wanted to face dangers untold. Yet he asked her once, why. He’ll never forget her words.

“They’ll just make someone else do it.” He realized her selflessness in accepting these roles because it is true, someone else would be thrown into the dangers she faces. Someone not blessed with the blessings of Hydaelyn. Someone who could be tempered, someone like himself. He has Halone’s blessings, but he is far from his wife’s ability to be called back from the brink of death. He would die, and what would happen to his home if that happened.

He shakes his head of the thought, and only tugs his sleeping wife closer. He learned her feelings when she had strode towards Nidhogg that one day. She was terrified, but kept going forward while everyone fled away from the Wyrm. He doesn’t forget her back or how she glared. She didn’t look like someone scared. Such thoughts make him remember just how much of an amazing woman he could never repay Ishgard’s debt to. So he gives her something else to lean on. Support and bliss.

He has joy in his heart feeling her against him, knowing she is safe and protected in his own arms. His hands resting at her abdomen over the life they hope to bring into the world. He wonders if they’ll look like him, or her, or would they show their mix. Aymeric lets the thoughts simmer in his mind. He sleeps on those possibilities knowing he has to be patient.

So he enjoys the moment there with her. Knowing he keeps her safe in his way. To keep protecting her heart.

#aymeric #ser aymeric #ffxiv aymeric #aymeric de borel #Kiya Shinikami #aymeric x kiya

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otterandterrierwrites · 6 years ago

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{Hungry hearts} IX. Star fritters (pt. 2)

A/N: The promised follow-up to this! I don’t want to sell myself short here but I hope the Drama feels right and not anticlimatic. My brain was like “too mushy for this time period, add angst!!” and I couldn’t argue against that. BUT there is a lot of cooking and talking about personal stuff, too!

A couple of days went by before Leia got back to him about their cooking plans, so much so that Han was beginning to think she had either forgotten or was acting like it.

‘Some of us are busy leading a revolution, you know,’ she told him wryly, arms akimbo as she watched him push a repulsor cart loaded with packs of membrill cheese into the mess hall’s kitchen. He’d kept those hidden from the person in charge of overseeing the supplies brought from Espirion as they were unloaded, since the membrill hadn’t been requested and he’d yet have to confirm with Leia that they were safe, edible goods. Afterwards, he had figured he would hold on to them for a little longer, until their off-the-books meeting (or else, until Leia asked).

‘I think you were just afraid your cookin’ skills will never live up to mine,’ Han drawled, parking the cart and sitting on a counter.

‘First off, get your butt off the place we prepare food on,’ Leia said, raising an eyebrow at him. ‘Second, does everything have to be a competition with you?’

‘Not everything, but—’

‘Good, because my fritters will knock everything you’ve ever made out of the park.’

‘Ha! Alright, let’s see it.’

Leia pointed at several piles of pale squares separated by layers of flimsi that she’d laid on the table.

‘We’re actually going to use the pre-made puff pastry dough that we use for pies because I… um, I actually don’t know how to make puff pastry. I remember the ingredients, but not the exact quantities. And you also need to do some tricky folding with butter, and you have to let it rest,’ she explained.

Puff pastry pies were a rare treat in rebel bases. Synthefood and dehydrated rations were the norm: easier to obtain, store and prepare than natural foodstuffs, and often lacking in terms of flavour unless you got creative with them—which many of the Alliance’s untrained cooks were not.

‘I was under the impression we’d be doin’ the whole thing?’ Han quipped. ‘You know that takes some of the credit off your cookin’ skills, Your Worship, don’t you?’

‘Oh, shut up and come here.’ She re-opened the pack of membrill Han had brought into her office and grabbed a knife. He noticed half of the square was missing and felt oddly pleased at knowing she’d at least enjoyed some herself. ‘First we need to cut this up into small squares, but not too small. Let’s just do this one to start with, all right?’

Once that was ready, she grabbed one of the squares of dough and laid it in front of her.

‘Now we take a piece of membrill, put it in the middle. We get some water in there,’ she said, dipping her index finger in a glass she’d set on the side and drawing a circle around the membrill square before grabbing another piece of dough. ‘We cover it like this, with the corners matching.’

She wetted the area over the covered sweet again, pressing lightly on the dough to seal it, and picked up the confection.

‘And now we just pinch under it like this and fold the corners out a little. See?’ Leia held it out for Han, who thought it looked more like a flower than a star.

‘Okay, I think I got it,’ Han said, nodding and rolling up his sleeves. He stood next to Leia and she watched as he repeated what he’d seen her do.

‘That looks good. Pinch it a little more—that’s right.’ She gave him a satisfied grin and then looked away, lost in thought for a moment. ‘I know I said we were just going to make a couple of them but—since there’s a lot of membrill and there’s a good stock of frozen dough… What if we made enough fritters for everyone, for breakfast tomorrow? I think the cooks will appreciate it. That is, if you want to. We’d have to be here a while, and we’d be doing a good deed, which I know you hate...’

‘Cute,’ Han said, although part of him appreciated her quick thinking in teasing him—when she wasn’t trying to hurt him. ‘Fine, let’s do this.’

He began to hand her over the packs of membrill, which Leia methodically unwrapped and set side by side on the counter—actually a long plank of durasteel set over trestle legs, identical to the ones spread out in dozens of rows in the hall outside. When the cart was empty, he grabbed a knife and they worked side by side cutting smaller squares of membrill.

‘So how come you know how to do this, Princess?’ Han asked as they worked. ‘Don’t imagine you were ever required to make dessert back home—or was it part of your royal training?’

He knew he was treading dangerous ground here: Leia could be as cagey about her past as he was. But sometimes, she’d open up a little, offer some kernels of her life before the day they’d met. In return, Han often found himself reciprocating—not with stuff that offered much about the less savory aspects of his life, though.

It wasn’t so much that he needed to know about her past. Nobody could understand better than Han that some things were best left behind, that his present self was the only thing he cared to show to the world. He was fine just getting to know this Leia, the one he shot Imps next to. He asked questions because then she’d talk to him about something other than her rebellion. And yes, maybe he’d learn something about her in the process.

Leia shrugged. ‘They were my favorites and I wanted to know how they were made, so one day when I was about six or seven, I snuck into the palace’s kitchens and asked one of the cooks to teach me. Memily was afraid she’d get in trouble if she put the crown princess to cook, so she told me we had to ask for my mother’s permission. I think I didn’t take that suggestion very kindly,’ she said, scrunching up her nose in embarrassment.

‘What did you do?’ Han asked, his knife still as he looked at Leia with interest.

‘Oh, nothing too bad, but… yeah, I think I said that I was the princess and she had to do as I said. I loved Memily, though. She just talked to me and convinced me to go to my mom and ask. She was very entertained by the idea, my mom,’ Leia said with a small, wistful smile. ‘She came down with us so that Memily could teach her, too. I was allowed to hang around the kitchens afterwards, if I wanted, as long as I behaved and didn’t get in anyone’s way.’

Han grinned, thinking of a tiny girl with pigtail braids trying to order around a bunch of poor cooks and learning how to make pastries next to her mother (whom he pictured in full queenly regalia).

‘So did you pick any other cookin’ skills from your stint as kitchen assistant?’

‘No,’ Leia said, laughing. ‘I’d moved on to something else a few weeks later. I did attempt to cook when I started going to Coruscant as my dad’s apprentice but—let’s say he claimed to have allergies I know he didn’t have, and I gave up after that.’

‘That bad, huh?’

‘Yeah… And I knew it was almost inedible, I just refused to give up.’

That didn’t surprise Han.

‘I think we’re done here,’ he said, looking down at all the cut-up membrill.

‘Okay, let’s clear up some space here—and here we go,’ Leia told him, moving a pile of dough squares next to him and setting the glass of water between the two of them.

They began to assemble the pastries, working in silence for a while.

‘Maybe I should take a commission here in the kitchen, teach ‘em what “flavor” means, whaddaya think?’

Leia chuckled softly but didn’t look up. He could see her biting her lip slightly and wondered what she was thinking about. Had he said something wrong?

‘Maybe you should,’ she said casually. ‘So when did you learn so much about cooking?’

‘Long time ago,’ Han said. ‘Picked up some from Chewie an’ his family.’

‘Oh.’

He could do this. He could give her something.

‘But mostly, I learned from Dewlanna,’ Han told her. It was less painful now, talking about her. ‘She was a Wookiee, too, an’ a great cook. She lived in the ship I grew up in, ya know. Looked out for me.’

‘Sounds like she was really special,’ Leia commented, touching his arm briefly.

‘Yeah.’

Leia didn’t ask what had happened with her, and Han was grateful for it. She got it. She understood this implicit agreement between them of not pushing, of accepting what was being given—at least as far as sharing personal information went.

‘She made a mean wastril bread,’ he said, smiling fondly at the memory, ‘an’ whenever I came in and watch her cook, she’d put me to do somethin’, said everyone should know how to feed themselves.’

‘Smart,’ Leia said with a dry chuckle. ‘My strategy is to just stick around people who can feed me.’

‘Don’t worry, sweetheart, as long as I’m here I won’t let you starve,’ Han said, without thinking much about his words. He expected to hear her laugh or make a comment, but Leia only said ‘Right,’ and kept working in silence.

After some time, she asked, ‘Would you start frying the ones we have while I finish the rest? You know how to fry, right?’

‘Sure, yeah. Do you?’

‘I... have fried,’ Leia said, looking away, her mouth twitching.

‘Oh no. What happened?’

‘A lot of splattering, and food that was still uncooked inside.’

Han shook his head.

‘Rich people.’

‘Hey!’

He winked at her and walked to the lined-up freezer units. ‘Fat, right?’

At Leia’s confirmation, he picked up a pack, took it to a deep pan and began his task. He fried pastry after pastry until they were golden brown, and placed them on trays lined with disposable towels.

In between batches, when the first ones he’d done had cooled off, Han said, ‘Alright, let’s try this.’

Leia looked up and watched him.

‘I hope you’ll like it.’

Han picked up a second fritter and held it out for her. ‘You too, Princess. Go on, you’ve earned it.’

The star fritter was as crispy as it looked, and Leia had been right: the sweetness of its heart was balanced out with the crust.

‘Well?’ Leia asked eagerly; he saw now that she had still not taken a bite out of her fritter.

‘Hats off, Your Royalness,’ he told her, raising his half-eaten pastry to her in salute. ‘They’re really good.’

‘Told you,’ Leia said, but she grinned before she started to eat. There it was, the nostalgic look again, as she savored her star fritter slowly, closing her eyes for a moment before staring off into the distant past of a Leia who wasn’t allowed to cook and didn’t need to, who was loved by parents that spent time with her, who thought that, no matter what, she’d always have her home to come back to, a plate of star fritters waiting for her.

Han was physically attracted to her, of course, but he was also drawn to the way they worked together, her quick wit, the fact that she didn’t back down from anything. Hells, even her shooting turned him on. And yet it wasn’t just that. He felt something for her he’d sworn he’d never feel again; mushy, idiotic feelings that he had no idea where they were coming from. He wanted to get her on his ship and fly her away from everything, have her making him try food from every corner of the galaxy while she watched closely for his reaction.

No, fuck this. I just want to sleep with her! he thought viciously.

‘Think we’ve done enough work today, Princess. When do we get to play?’ he asked, leaning in close, ignoring how lame his words sounded to his own ears as he tried to push those pathetic thoughts away.

Unsurprisingly so, Leia took a step back, her face darkening with confusion.

‘We still have some work left to do, Captain,’ she said firmly, then pointed at the still boiling pan. ‘That fat is going to overheat.’

‘Didn’t I do enough?’ Han asked, his voice rising in exasperation. He was met with a scowl.

‘Then go! I still have work to do here!’

This wasn’t what he wanted. How had they even gotten there?! But that was the truth, wasn’t it? She had work to do and it didn’t matter if he stayed or left. It never had. She “appreciated it” if he stayed, but only as long as he behaved and didn’t get in her way.

He turned on his heel and started walking away, waiting for her to call him back, to say that she wanted him to stay.

She never did, so he walked faster, because it was easier than staying and keep burning himself trying to do something he wasn’t meant to do.

#scoundressaturdays #hanleia #han x leia #han solo #leia organa #han and leia #star wars fanfiction #verse: hungry hearts #rated T #period: pre esb #2019

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petri808 · 6 years ago

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Fandom: ノラガミ | Noragami (Anime & Manga) Rating: Mature Relationships: Iki Hiyori/Yato

@noragamisecretsanta2018 Merry Christmas! @justebisuthings Yatori angst with a fluffier ending. I have no idea what city Noragami takes place in lol, so I just set this is Tokyo and nearby Kanagawa. I guess you could set the timing of the story after the latest chapter. I had fun writing this one so I hope you like it too :)

Echoed in the Night

It was Christmas Eve in Japan, but unlike in the west it was a day for couples…. Sharing a meal at KFC, maybe a Christmas Cake or some Wagashi… Strolling along the park hand in hand amidst the lighted displays of the Sagamiko Illumillion…. But, for a lonely young girl saddened by the disappearance of her first true love, it was like her heart was being ripped to shreds by all the festivities surrounding her.

Bless his heart that Yukine had tried to cheer her up by taking her to see the show and ride the rides. He too missed the days when the trio would venture forth like a family, all smiles and laughter through the streets of Tokyo and its surrounding cities. If it wasn’t for Heaven’s stupid wars or this ‘Father’ guys desire for its destruction, the young Regalia believed those moments wouldn’t be like a fleeting memory and ‘he’d be damned if he was gonna let it die just because Yato was too stupid to realize how much pain he was causing them by keeping them in the dark about it all,’ end quote.

And so here is where she found herself, feeling like a third wheel behind Yukine and Nora who’d decided to come along. They were kind of cute, Hiyori realized as the two children sat in the forward sky lift tittering and giggling to one another…. Oh, how sweet, now Nora had her head on the Yukine’s shoulder, and a blush no doubt flushed along his cheeks. Just wonderful, Hiyori glances away and focuses on all the lights gliding by below them. As much as she wanted to support their increasing rapport, all Hiyori wanted to do was cry, scream, and run as far away as she possibly could.

Once the ride was over, Yukine points out the swings and Hiyori just smile’s hiding her true feelings from the boy. “You guys go on ahead and have fun, I’m kind of tired of going on rides.”

“Are you sure Hiyori?” The concerned young man was hesitant to leave her side.

“Yeah, go have fun, show Nora what it’s like to be a kid,” the crinkling around her eyes seems to reassure him. “I’d like to just relax here for a spell and look at the lights.”

“Okay,” he grabs Nora’s hand and heads off towards the swings.

Hiyori’s body deflates against the bench and she pulls the coat tighter around her frame. The evening air was definitely cold, but it was the chill through her soul that left her freezing. She closes her eyes, unwilling to allow any tears to be shed lest it reflect the icicles growing in her heart. Yato…. Things were so much easier when she’d been blind to her budding love of the stray god. Why did Kazuma have to dash her hopes like that! At least Tenjin alluded to the possibilities of a god loving, like he did for Tsuyu. Let Yato himself tell her he didn’t care for her! Yato…. Where the hell are you!

Since late that afternoon he’d felt a powerful sting in his chest, like a thousand daggers running their blades through his flesh. At first, he thought maybe Yukine was upset and blighting him again, but a quick check around his body revealed no tell-tale marks. It wouldn’t have surprised him if Yukine had been behind the stings for he knew his young Regalia was very upset by his actions of late. Though the longer he thought about it, and the deeper the pains began to center in one location, maybe this was something completely different.

What day is it, Yato wondered as he travelled along the tops of the buildings, noticing a flurry of activities and lights near Midtown. Holiday’s didn’t mean much to him aside from all the delicious seasonal treats that abounded during this time, so of course he hadn’t realized today was December 24th. Hundreds of couples of all ages were gathered on the streets, some with families, many without. Aww, look at them, he first thought, I wonder if anyone has any wishes…. And that’s when it finally hits him…. The couples… The families…. Yukine…. Hiyori….

Another sting, worse than any before it stabs him with such ferocity, he almost falls off the powerline he’d been running along. Yato drops to the ground, clutching his shirt above his heart. Oh, Heaven’s, was this because of Hiyori! Was she the cause of all the pain he was experiencing? It was hard for a man who didn’t quite understand human emotions such as love. He knew what it was, he wasn’t blind to it, in fact he was pretty sure that’s exactly what he’d been developing for the young human girl, but since he’d never been in love before, the idea that it could actually cause pain was enigmatic. Hiyori wasn’t a spirit he was attached to, so she couldn’t blight him. Then how is she reaching out to me like this?

“Are you okay?” Kazuma drops down beside his master. “You don’t look so well, should we return to the shrine?”

“I think….” Yato turns to his friend, “I think I need to find Hiyori…”

“Hiyori, Yato I don’t think…”

“I’m sorry Kazuma, you head back to the shrine, but I need to find her!” Another deep sting pierces through him and Yato buckles at the knees, cringing through the pain.

“You are not in any condition to travel, let’s just go back to…”

Yato grabs Kazuma’s ankle, “If you’re really my friend,” his voice strained from the searing pain in his heart, “you’ll help me find Hiyori now!”

“Just call her or Yukine,” Kazuma helps Yato to his feet, helping to steady him, “or can you feel where Yukine might be?”

The stray god closes his eyes, “He’s not too far… if we take the train to Sagamiko station. He won’t always answer my calls right now, but he texts me if he leaves the area…”

After an unknown amount of time, Hiyori finally glances up from the ground at her surroundings. Considering how brightly lit most of the area was, the young girl had barely given any of the attractions much attention. It wasn’t worth it to take in a sight, only for a young couple around her age to walk by and dim the view. At least if she looked at the ground, she wouldn’t notice the hands being held, the embraces being shared, or worse….

She shivers again, if only the memories of her first kiss wasn’t such a hurtful one. Fujisaki had stolen what he had no right to take, but like an idiot, she had been too shocked and nervous to pull away. Maybe if he’d been just another classmate it wouldn’t be as painful. Ugh! ‘Father’ knew the knowledge of stealing my first kiss would enrage his son and that just isn’t right! I hate him! Hiyori’s fists clench at her sides, she needed to do something to take her mind of…. everything.

Once a quick text was sent to Yukine so he didn’t worry, Hiyori heads down the path towards the illuminated forest hoping that all the bright colors would shine a bit of light into her otherwise dreary mood. The dazzling LED’s covered trees in a rainbow of hues, even the ground was swathed in light so mesmerizing she had to shield her eyes or be blinded. Reds, Orange, Yellows, Purples, Greens, and Pinks… But strangely no blues.

Through twists and turns, up slight inclines or valleyed displays, Hiyori continued along the forest path, following the signs towards the exit. Rounding another bend, she reaches the famous tunnel of light, but the spectacle was not what made her pause. Blue. Light Blue. Just like Yato’s eyes. Heaven help her now she knew why the color had been devoid along the way! There was no way to avoid passing through it unless she wanted to walk all the way back to the entrance.

Hiyori merely sighs and trudges forward, keeping her eyes low to the ground. Pulling up the edges of her collar, Hiyori hides her peripheral view. She should have guessed that the color would reveal itself sooner or later. And why not to throw a wrench in her mood that had actually been a little better for the last 20 minutes or so… the rest of her life was throwing her curve balls one after the other.

As the tunnel curves slightly, something catches her attention, a scent she’d not expected nor picked up in weeks and it was growing stronger with every step she took forward. Hiyori shakes her head, it must be her imagination. Maybe there was a flower or plant nearby, or someone who just so happened to smell similar to him. He’d had no reason to be in the park, didn’t know she’d be there… Right? But as the exit appears, a shadowed outline of a man leaning against a pillar comes into view. Her breathing stills, feet still moving forward despite reservations telling her to run in the opposite direction. Fear that her mind was playing tricks on her run rampant. No, it could be, it shouldn’t be…. Her hands raise up to cover the gasp she didn’t know she was making. It was.

“Hi Hiyori,” Yato smiles weakly.

It was obvious from the look on the young girls face that his appearance was triggering a multitude of emotions. From surprise to anger, her blood begins to boil red hot! This bastard disappears for weeks with no contact and suddenly appears with just a Hi Hiyori?

“Is that all you have to say to me!” she screams uncaring of any onlookers. “You leave me all alone then show up unexpectedly with just hi Hiyori!? What about I’m sorry Hiyori, or better yet please forgive me Hiyori!”

He’d expected a bit of anger, but this girl was furious! Yato flinches back a step, though he knew the pain in her heart wasn’t from anger. Her fury was hiding the real emotion that had brought him there tonight.

“Please Hiyori,” he reaches out tentatively, “I wasn’t trying to hurt you.” She draws back causing a new ripple of stings to attack his body. Yato’s drops to his knees, keeling over in pain. He was right, it was from Hiyori’s shattering heart.

But seeing the man she still cared so much about fall to the ground in anguish flips a switch in her brain. She was angry yes, sad and hurt most definitely, but she had no idea that those feelings were somehow being conveyed to him. Was it because their fates had been entwined? Tears flood her vision as Hiyori drops before him and throws her arms around his body. “Oh Kamisama, am I doing that to you? Yato I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you…”

“S-Stop apologizing Hiyori. It’s not your fault. I don’t even understand why this is happening but it’s just… it’s not your fault.” He cradles her face in his hands as the waves of painful stings slowly subside. “Everything that’s happening to you is all my fault. If only I’d cut your ties immediately, none of this…”

“Don’t say it!” she shakes her head. “Don’t you dare say it Yato! If you had granted that first wish I never would have fallen in love with you, I never would have met Yukine, or Kofuku, or been a part of this amazing realm. I don’t want to lose you! Don’t you get it!”

“But you wouldn’t be sad right now, you’d be living a normal teenage life with your friends.”

“I don’t want a normal life!” Hiyori slumps in his arms, sobbing heavily. “I understand why you left us Yato…” her voice trailing and softened, “I know you are just trying to protect us and that you think it would be okay if you were reborn, but that’s not what we want…” She looks up and fixes his eyes upon hers, “we want you as you are now!”

“But Hiyori…”

“Could you just shut up for a moment Yato and let me process all of this.”

Yato opens his mouth to retort but quickly slams it shut. She was right, he’d caused her enough grief, so the least he could do was let her vent and figure out how to deal with it all. But as he glanced around and realized the spectacle they were making, he bundles her into his arms to find somewhere a little more private. Hiyori makes no move to resist, simply resting a hand on his shoulder and turning her face into his shawl.

Once out of view of any onlookers, he makes a few leaps until he spots a secluded area along the waterfront just outside of the resort. Hiyori takes out her phone, remembering that Yukine must be wondering where she might be. “Don’t worry,” Yato puts her down and gently places a hand over it, “Kazuma went to find them.”

A soft, “Oh,” is all she responds with and turns away to stare out over the water. The far shores were ominous, but the lake itself was glistening from all the lights of the park. It’s gently lapping waves shimmering, creating beautiful reflections like the stars above them. Hiyori was still so confused about it all, her feelings, humans, spirits, gods, and all the rules that seemingly bound each world. She was but one young girl just trying to navigate it all and she knew what her heart desperately wanted, but was that enough to somehow override everything that was working to keep them apart?

He just stood back and let her settle into her skin. This whole situation was something Yato had never in a thousand years has ever had to deal with, so he too was trying to process it all. In fact, it was basically unheard of for a God to fall in love with a human, at least not romantically. Sure, Gods cared for humans, Bishamon truly loved her Regalia’s, but they didn’t fall in love with them like he had for Hiyori. There wasn’t any God he could even consult with over this predicament which left him to handle it all on his own. Obviously, he wasn’t doing such a great job.

As he watched her eyes shutter through a light sigh, and the coat is pulled tighter against the chilly air, Yato moves in closer to wrap his arms around her waist. She startles at first but the added warmth along with his scent calms her enough to settle against him. This was the first time he’d held her like this and although awkward, it felt nice. He closes his eyes too. If only they were simply two humans bumbling their way through life and not star-crossed beings from separate worlds. For a fleeting second, he almost wished he could just be human.

Yato releases a vested sigh into her hair. “I don’t know what to do Hiyori,” he finally relents and lets all the fears locked away in his mind pour out. “I need to stop my father, I need to fight against Heaven’s stupidity, but all I really want to do is make you happy… And I don’t know how to do it all without someone getting hurt.” Another sigh escapes, “I’m so tired of people I care about getting hurt…”

Hiyori sucks in a breath and hesitates before placing her hands over his arms. With an exhale, she squeezes, “I don’t know what to do either.” She tilts her head back slightly, resting it against his chest, “I wish I could say just let it all go, let Heaven deal with your father and we go back to the way things were before it all started…. But I know that’s not possible anymore. I wish I could say that pain is just a part of life and we just have to learn to deal with it…. But that wouldn’t be fair either when there is something that can be done.” Hiyori let’s out a drawn-out exhale, “it’s selfish of me to force you to endure this just because I don’t want to let go…. But I can’t bring myself to severe our bond…. I don’t want to lose you…”

“I don’t want to lose you either Hiyori.”

Her eyes squeeze tight as a flood of emotions threaten to spill out. She takes a shaky breath, “Yato…. What am I to you? I-I mean, how do you feel towards me? I need to just know the truth because everyone is telling me that Gods are incapable of…”

“Love,” he finishes her sentence, “I love you Hiyori.” Yato buries his face into her hair. “If there’s only one thing that I am sure of it’s that. I don’t know what will happen…. Everything is so chaotic right now, but I don’t want to lose you either.”

“Then why is everyone saying God’s can’t love?”

“I don’t really care what everyone is saying,” he turns her around, “all I can know is what I’m feeling.” Yato tips her face up as a few drops of tears leak down her cheeks. “Hiyori open your eyes,” she shakes her head. He kisses the tears on either side of her face, “why won’t you open your eyes?”

“In case this is all just a dream, I don’t wanna wake up from it.” Yato chuckles and pinches her cheek, “Hey!” her eyes fly open, “what was that for!”

“It’s not a dream.” Pulling her face up to meet his own, Yato presses his lips against hers in a soft kiss. Hiyori freezes momentarily, the sudden warmth and knowledge that he was kissing her almost too much on her psyche. But as his hands weave around her body, smoothing against the small of her back in comfort, her own encircles his neck, fingers lacing through his hair. Small sighs and mewls of contentment, break the otherwise silence of the moment and remove any lingering doubts that what they were feeling were genuine.

He wipes away any traces of moisture from around her eyes, placing chaste little kisses on her lips before pulling back to gaze upon the flushed young woman standing before him. Yato smiles sweetly, “you are so beautiful to me Hiyori.”

“Oh stop!” her cheeks growing ever more crimson and heated, “I’m sure you’ve met plenty of pretty girls over the years.”

“Yeah, but you’re the first one I fell in love with in a thousand years, that makes you pretty friggen special don’t ya think?”

“I…” Hiyori gives up, there was no way to respond to that!

Yato just laughs, knowing he won that round. He takes her hand, squeezing lightly, “come on let’s get you home. I don’t need you catching a cold.”

“Where do we go from here?” she wonders aloud, “you’re just gonna disappear again aren’t you and leave Yukine and I in the dark again.”

He sighs, “I’m not doing it because I want to. It’s to protect you both from father and from Heaven. Kazuma is determined to fight no matter what I tell him, but you two…. It’s safer that you stay away.”

“Yukine is your blessed Regalia, surely…”

“Yukine means more to me than just some Regalia and that’s exactly why I don’t want him anywhere near my father if I can help it. Father’s just too dangerous.”

“You’re talking about the God’s Secret thing?”

“Yea… how’d you know that?”

“I figured it out.” Hiyori pulls Yato to a stop, “you need to realize we’re not stupid. Why don’t you just try talking to us for once because not knowing anything only drives us to think the worst and end us up in predicaments like tonight.”

“But…” Yato exhales and hangs his head, “you’re probably right.”

Hiyori leans in, pulling his face down to rest his forehead to hers, “come on, let’s go get Yukine and go back to Kofuku’s. We’ll sit down and figure this out as a family.”

Yato closes his eyes, Heaven’s was he really deserved of this girl? “I’m so sorry I ruined your Christmas Eve.”

She smiles and pats his cheek, “You managed to make it up to me in the end. Now let’s go home…”

KFC & Wagashi info https://favy-jp.com/topics/1421

Sagamiko Illumillion info https://www.japan.travel/en/spot/1606/

#noragamisecretsanta2018 #yatori #noragami #fan fic #yatori fanfic #sfw #yato #hiyori

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dcddyrecper · 6 years ago

Note

*Sends every single headcanon symbol from the last meme* :3

Send ❂ for a like headcanon.Death has a certain regard for people whom catch his fancy. He might find them cute, in their actions. Interesting or over all view them as more than a insect sitting at the table with him. (Especially in Dean's case, Death find's him cute, he thinks he see's the big pictures and he fails, but its human to fail, and its Dean's humanity that draws him. It's the same way in most cases, their is always something "shiny" about certain people.

Send ✄ for a favorite movie of my muse’s.Does watching humanity count as a movie..NO ? oh well... When he actually take in the cinema it's usually something one of his friends managed to drag him too. His favorite movie he's seen is the Crow, there was just something about the way the lines were delivered and how heavy the story line effected the crew that draw him to it. He personally went for Brandon Lee.

If the people we love are stolen from us, the way to have them live on is to never stop loving them. Buildings burn, people die, but real love is forever.

Send ✚ for one of my muse’s prized possessions.Many would assume his ring of status, this isn't so. One of Dee's most prized possessions is his Cadillac with the BUh-Bye license plate, no one ever said the Grim Reaper's white horse doesn't have a sense of humor. When Dee himself, never takes himself to seriously...his pale horse..another matter entirely. Still, its been his steed forever, and he does love it. In fact he feels bad for people who try to steal or vandalize it.

He's pretty sure Stephen King must have had an encounter with his car or one similar when he wrote Christine.

Send ✿ for a happy memory.It was Halloween he was in full Grim Reaper Regalia and he and Flip were working the night. Those who tormented little trick or treater’s were his prey. It never helped that anyone who screamed in shock and terror when he pulled the hood of his black robes back to expose the skeleton skull, than ran into the true mischief for the night.

On particularly rotten child. Who had never seen anything but the naughty list, had been bullying some children on his block. So Dee had initially only set out to give him a small scare. The boy had insisted he was in a dime store costume--now Dee wasn't certain for sure what a dime store costume was, but the tone implied it was disrespectful. So he REALLY set out to scare the hell out of this child.

Knowing a certain Fairy absolutely helped. So when the pumpkins had animated and chased him into his yard. Than the shadows had risen when his parents reassured him their was nothing in the shadows. That is was all his imagination. No one said Fairy magic was just shimmer and shine. With the creaking of boards, and whispers of voices never quiet full sentences, and the weight of someone sitting on the bed next to him when no one was their.

It might have been gaslighting him--a little, but it was a wake up call.

The boy had assured himself it was ALL a DREAM but the next morning he paled even more. On his pillow in Flip's whimsical script was SEE YOU NEXT YEAR.

Send ♡ for a friendship headcanon. Friendships last forever with Dee, he remembers every single friend he ever had back to the start of what ever it was he and God were before they were what they are now. Dee take's his friendships very seriously, they are glimmers of humanity, and that he can care for people is always a marvel to him. So he is loyal to the memory. The person is never dead if not forgotten, and he knows excactly when a person is back in the gene pool, or when they have gone to a final rest. He always personally comes to get a friend. He feels its the least he can do as they have been his friend. He might even call up a memory of who a person was, before they are who they are now.

Send ♬ for a childhood headcanon.He doesn't recall being a child, however, he does recall when the angels were children. His favorite was always Gabriel, the little trickster he had a certain air about him that Dee liked. The ability to not take himself to seriously. Though it had to be said before he became a complete brat, Lucifer was also on his favorites list. Than he betrayed the trust and friendship that Dee had for him.

So the childhood memory he has is theirs, and it was when it rained for seven days and seven nights. God was much more wrathful back then, and he tasked the little angels with gathering people they'd like to see survive and place them on an island far away from the flooding--what became of them, who they became can only be guessed at--Dee acknowledge's nothing.

Send ☼ for a dream headcanon.Do things like Dee dream ? The answer is yes all things dream even if they do not recall it. His dreams span more than one galaxy. His dreams can spawn the worst of nightmares, yet--these never really effect him. When he is in the throes of nightmares, a whole village may well suffer from them. So he often secludes himself away. What can scare Death, very little. The nightmares are suffered by him but not his as he is in a state of awakened dreaming even when he is "Sleeping". Sometimes they can stir him enough to wake up. Other times not so much. The fears and terrors of humanity are what he experiences, as he has to, so he can better guide those on their final journey. Luckily, his entombment is very rare.

Send ♧ for a cooking headcanon.SHOULD NEVER BE ALLOWED NEAR A KITCHEN MUCH LESS IN IT...Ahem... As has been noted before, Dee makes himself accountable for the fire that broke out in Chicago. The Windy City was not accounted for when he attempted ..and is was an attempt, but the struggle was real. While he has infinate knowledge. He had no real practical skill of HOW to do the cooking, and well--mistakes were made. Send ❧ for a food headcanon.Dee love's food, of all kinds and any kinds. He often brings rare (and strange) treats from all over his travels to his friends. No really don't thank him. he sometimes forgets that the human body might not be able to handle some of the things he returns with -OPPS- always ask what's in it if it doesn't look like anything you've ever seen!.

Send ★ for a talent headcanon.While some people might not be aware. Dee is actually a very skilled Doctor, this is a talent for him as he rarely has a reason to use or practice the skill. He often carries a fully stocked doctor bag and is quiet capable even without his magic, of tending to the wounded, surgery all that entails. Very few people would know this of him as he's fairly closed mouth about the life he lives when he has his one day as a mortal. Send ❀ for a crush my muse has had.Anyone who thinks Dee has any form of game is deluding themselves. He wasn't even aware he could experience more intense love than the general affection for his friends and others. So when he first met his wife and he was smitten he didn't know how to tell her he liked her let alone that he was Death. She already knew, the perceptive type she was, and she gifted him with a small heart held by skeletal hands, and this is how he came to have a wife. Send △ for a sex headcanon.-blank stare- All right so here we go. Dee doesn't actually have a gender, he is comfortable as a male or a female. He has worn both forms. He was never particular interested in sex. It wasn't something that came up really. He's a primordial "thing" and the concept of being that entangled with anything was rather unappealing, or he thought this way until he fell in love with his wife. Than he had these emotions he had to work through, his feelings that he couldn't examine, why did he want to touch her , to hold her hand. To be near her. It was taxing trying to figure it out to be sure.

Send ➷ for a sports headcanon.Dee can kick box...he sarcastically asked Castial if they should kick box now. However, there was a point where it might have been an interest and he learned it.

Send ♤ for a ‘dislike’ headcanon.Please stop messing up the natural balance. He's had about enough this century to be sure. The Winchesters, Lucifer...all these people tossing off the cosmic balance. They really don't understand how much work they make for him. Which is troubling.

Send ♆ for something my muse hates.Being Bound...you want to find yourself on the wrathful side of Death, bind him. He can hold a grude--FOREVER.

Send ⊗ for a phobia headcanon.Death has no phobia's but he finds the fact that people have them to be intriguing.

Send ☾ for a sleep headcanon.He doesn't really have to sleep when his wife is tired though he likes to curl around her and cradle her close against him. He really doesn't take up a lot of space in a bed, but he finds it soothing and a comfort.

Send ✜ for a fear headcanon.I am just going to point to his fond memory--Dee particularly likes to make people who are rotten but have a chance to change, fearful.

Send ☠ for a death headcanon.He is there for you, when it is your time. If you have questions, he has answers. Rest assured it is not Dust In The Wind. -ahem-

Send ◊ for a headcanon of the mun’s choice.X Dee's favorite health food is fish, and his favorite type is catfish

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dsknsk · 7 years ago

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Sanders Sides Major Arcana

So I made an entire Major Arcana today, themed around Sanders Sides. I made a Minor Arcana first, because I am using (and deriving some things) from the Geneverse Tarot on which I based a lot of cards. It was the first time I drew Talyn, Joan, Valerie and Dahlia too!

@thatsthat24

@tallykat3

@thejoanglebook

@randomslasher

@thebaagelboy

@gingermachiatto

@thelilkiwibird

0 - The Fool

I pictured Thomas in this card. He’s walking with his eyes closed, but he doesn’t see he’s at a very dangerous cliff. His jewel (right there next to his neck) is white, signifying he’s a beginner. This card is numero 0 in almost every deck; (in some it is 22) and it is a card of purity, innocence and not knowing much in general. But instead of it being pictured as something dumb (like the title suggests) it is put as being a blank slate.

Music - With Pearly (reminds me of the innocence of the Fool)

I - The Magician/Bateleur/Mountebank

Logan is pictured on this card. Instead of a wand, a cup, a pentacle and a sword he is holding up the alchemistic symbols in his hands (from left to right: Fire, Air, Earth and Water). He is walking, as these things are always moving in infinity (the symbol he is standing on). The earth behind him does not have any vegetation - yet.

Music - Rustless Fall (Sounds simply magical and like it would belong in Portal)

II - The (High) Priestess/Papesse

I needed for the next two cards two female characters. Here’s Thomas’ friend Dahlia as the High Priestess. She sits between the two pillars of the old temple, named Boaz and Jachin. One of them is black with a white dot; the other is white with a black dot - this references Yin and Yang. Dahlia is sitting on a throne and the moon is on the throne and also on her outfit. Together with the fact I placed her also above a body of water, means that she is ruling over the subconscious. Dahlia holds a perchment in her hands and she is sitting in front of a curtain. The red spots are actually pomegranates (I can’t draw them), the fruit Persephone ate and She was doomed.

Music - Sis Puella Magica (Light Instrumental Remix)

III - The Empress

I sketched this one last. I knew the Empress was going to be hard to pick someone for, especially since I picked Dahlia for the previous card. But I decided on drawing Valerie. She is sitting in (my approximation of) a forest, and she is holding a female sign in her hands. The Empress is strongly associated with female power, the Anima and mothership.

Music - Darling Kanaya (A dead ringer for this card)

IV - The Emperor

Roman sitting on a throne in the mountains. In tarot, mountains are a usual male symbol (don’t ask me why). He is holding regalia in his hand and a wand - a traditional fire symbol. His throne mimicks the rays of the sun. He is sitting calmly and has a stern expression. This card is the opposite of the Empress - Male power, the father figure and authority. It is associated with Aries (Aradia) and since it is a Fire sign, I put Roman in here.

Music - Requiem of Sunshine and Rainbows

V - The Hierophant

Joan, with a key in hand and their other hand raised in benediction, sitting in front of Thomas (left) and Talyn (Right). A card of methods that are tried and still hold true, tradition and status quo, should be taken as a whisper of ‘Don’t do it now.’ to you when it comes to trying out new things. It is associated with Taurus (Tavros).

Music - Salv8tion (Repetitive and the voices gave me a church vibe)

VI - The Lovers

Joan once said they shipped themselves with Talyn and because I’m not a shipper when it comes to Sanders Sides (when it comes to things other than that...they are...different so to speak) has this card has Talyn and Joan. Talyn’s more busy staring at their phone than watching Joan, but has one arm around Joan’s leg to keep them grounded. Talyn is holding Joan, who is pointing at the sky - a representation of the journey from the conscious mind, to the subconscious to the superconscious. This card is not only about love, but also about harmony, unity and - often - choice. The tree in the background is to recall a little from the Raider - White card. It is associated with Gemini (Sollux).

Music - Lilith in Starlight (two-sided waltz; picks up in rhythm in the middle part to return to a waltz rhythm at the end)

VII - The Chariot

Virgil isn’t the first Side you’d think of if you know what the Chariot entails: victory, motion, willpower. However, since this card is associated with Cancer (Karkat) and it is a Water Sign, I put in Virgil. The stars represent the celestial forces at work. Have a rare smiling Virgil - but it is no happy smile, it is a ‘Get out of my way’ smile. He is not making his way by rough power, but with powers from his mind, as you can see at his hands.

Music - Orange Hat/Breakdown (Badass fighting theme)

VIII - Justice/Adjustment

I know you’re just dying to see Strength in the place where I put Justice. Before you yell at me - I have two reasons for doing this.

1. Justice was card 8 before Aleister Crowley made a change;

2. I am a huge fan of the series Puella Magi Madoka Magica, which has a lot of Tarot symbology in it and it features heavy themes of Justice (albeit reversed) in episode 8.

Alright, Justice. It’s the card of the concept of Karma. Patton is blindfolded much like the actual Lady Justice. He is holding a scale weighting the Feather of Truth and a heart. Egyptian mythology says your heart is weighted with the Feather of Truth to decide where you go. In his other hand, he is holding a yellow sword with purple inscriptions in it, which is the symbol for Air. Also, what are backgrounds. It is associated with Libra (Terezi) and because it is an Air sign, have a Patton.

Music - Delta Divination (Fluctuating, as if deciding a verdict)

IX - The Hermit

Let me tell you a thing. I planned Logan for this card even before remembering it is associated with Virgo (Kanaya) which is an Earth Sign. This card represents solitude, meditating and a quiet moment before getting back on track and kicking a few asses. Logan is clothed in a covering robe here, suggesting invisibility.

Music - Darkened Streets (Picture yourself in a cave when listening to this)

X - The Wheel of Fortune/Chance

Named ‘Chance’ for brevity and also to mimick the Geneverse tarot card, this card was also a bitch to make. Why does it have to have so much to draw on it? This translated to all four Sides. Virgil as the one who rests at the depth, Roman as the one who always strifes to get higher. Logan and Patton rotate between them. This card is a card of, you know, Chance, but also inevitable fate and changing things. Oh, and cycles. That too.

Music - Puella in Somnio (Listen to it. It goes on. Forever repeating.)

XI - Strength/Lust

Strength, the card you’ve been waiting for when you were staring at card 8 instead. This card was a little hard. The beast, or often lion, represents inner animalistic tendecies everyone has. And because I cannot draw lions, I needed a substitute - and it became Roman. It is associated with my Sign, Leo (Nepeta), which is a Fire Sign so it needed to have Roman in it anyway. The Side of Thomas’ Ego and masculinity. He stands in front of Patton, sword drawn but he does not attack him. Patton is standing there, showing no signs of panic, and is simply holding up his hand closest to Roman, as in to say ‘Stop, no further’ but also ‘Okay, stay there.’ as in a calm way.

Music - Oolongcat (A calm track, as the titular strength is no physical strength)

XII - The Hanged Man

Thomas is hanging upside down, his hair is being ruined and all the blood’s streaming to his head. That can’t be healthy. Yet he is completely calm. He is tied on a tree with a red rope symbolizing human desire, and because his other leg is tucked behind it, he makes a reverse ‘4′. His jewelry (Tiara, hanger and the thing he wears on his chest) is on the ground, as they probably won’t stay on when hanging on this card symbolizing self-sacrifice, martyrdom with a cause and change.

Music - Clementia (as to symbolize the calmness he invokes and because it’s the theme of another character associated with this card)

XII - Death

A misunderstood card. This card is representative of a crisis and a large change. Keep in mind: This card in a reading has a 50% of being good if upright in my view. Anyway, Virgil in a yellow bed of red and blue roses. At the bottom two Red Spider Lilies (Lycoris Radiata) grow, as a symbol of seperation, death and meetings that don’t happen again. Virgil is dead in this image and that is why his skin tone is so light, for anyone who has never seen a dead person. It is associated with Scorpio (Vriska) which is a Water Sign, and it’s a coincidence that Virgil is on this card, because I was mainly inspired by the other Virgil tarot card.

Music - Serena Ira (which means ‘Calm Rage’, this music fits the image more than the meaning though)

XIV - Temperance

Talyn was perfect to convey this card, mainly because they’re nonbinary - the angel on the original card was too, as a balance between the genders. That’s because balance is all this card is about - peace and reunion. Talyn is standing with one foot in the water, and one foot at the ground, as if they are testing the water. A triangle box symbol can be seen behind Talyn. It represents them being protected by natural law. And as an extra - the water is actually flowing from bottom to top - as a subconscious mind to a superconscious. It is associated with Sagittarius (Equius).

Music - Calming Quartz (Which I usually associate with Virgil, by the way)

XV - The Devil

Deceit (who was another dead-ringer for this card), together with Roman and Patton who are bound. Their binds to Deceit are not physical, but mental (they’re mind-controlled if the Crocker tier eyes and fucked up color scheme could not tell you). This card is the ultimate Dark Side card. It is a representation of our addiction to things and being bound. This card is also a symbol of materialism. It is associated with Capricorn (Gamzee).

Music - Purple Bard/Paradox Remnant (Which I also regard as a theme for the Dark Sides as a whole)

XVI - The Tower

I honestly had no idea who to choose. It became Logan. He is an onlooker in regards to the small tower that is burning. Next to the fire there are two glass shards, which suggests that he burned the tower, using the sun’s rays. He is sitting there calmly. Clearly, he is okay with being on this card that represents disaster and sudden changes, but also chances for starting anew.

Music - Cor Destuctum (’Heart of Destruction’ or ‘Broken Heart’)

XVII - The Star

After the destruction of the tower and everything went down (literally), we see Patton calmly pouring water in a starry sky. The seven stars represent your Chakra’s. This card is a card of hope, rejuvenation and peace. It is associated with Aquarius (Eridan) which is an Air Sign, so here is another Patton.

Music - Desiderium (Signifying the tiny bit of hope left after destruction)

XVIII - The Moon

Virgil and Roman were my last dead-ringers I had. Mainly because this card is representative of mystery, secrets and - you won’t believe me - Anxiety. Virgil is standing half in a pond, half on the ground. He smiles mischievously and the hand also seems to say: ‘Be silent, you’re in my territory now’. His other hand is behind his back, as if he is holding something we are not allowed to know. There is a portal around Virgil, which seems to be leading to a pathway.

Music - Another Episode (Which sounds more magical than anxious)

XIX - The Sun

Roman posing with a sword. Everything is bright, and he is ready for whatever comes. This card is a card of positivity, joy and innocence. While Roman does not really embody the last thing, but he does embody several of the things this card is also associated with, which is passion.

Music - Salvae, Terrae Magicae (This really does not need an explanation)

XX - Judgement/Aeon

This card is called the Aeon in here in order to align up the Geneverse Tarot. This was another hard one since it is a card of the final battle, getting up one last time, the final push and I had no idea who to picture as the angel who awakes the dead. I decided to go for Virgil as I just wanted to have drawn a winged Virgil.

Music - Rust Servant/Handmaid of Death (You can see why I chose this - violence warning though)

XXI - The World

This is the card of ‘it’s finally done’. Getting your reward - you earned more than enough. Clockwise, this image shows Virgil, Patton, Logan and Roman’s hands.

Music - Sagitta Luminis

#sanders sides #thomas sanders #tarot #tarot cards #roman snaders #creativity sanders #virgil sanders #anxiety sanders #patton sanders #morality sanders #logan sanders #logic sanders #tsdeceit #joan stokes

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theeurekaproject · 4 years ago

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Alienigena

“You know,” Athena said, “I never would have pegged us as the type who’d be good at politics.” She fidgeted with the sleeve of her white dress, which didn't look like something she would ever willingly wear. Acidalia had suggested it and Carina had forced Athena into it; she didn’t seem particularly happy about the garment, and it was bound to end up in a crumpled ball of fabric on the floor by the end of the meeting.

“Well, we are astrophysicists,” Carina said, trying to hide the fact that her voice was shaking. She was also dressed in a gown that seemed to expensive for someone of her stature, and she felt just as awkward in it as she probably looked. It was a gorgeous dress that most likely cost more than her rent, but that didn’t make her feel any more comfortable in it—it was so clearly made for Acidalia that it felt like every seam and piece of fabric was in the wrong place. The skirt was too long, the waist was too small, and the chest and hips were too large. Carina felt like a knockoff Imperatrix, like an off-brand version of Acidalia that one might find in the bargain bin of a big box store. Her very un-Imperial short, straight hair didn’t help matters—no matter how much she wrestled with it, it seemed to settle back into strict bob, and it was too light for Acidalia’s black bobby pins to blend in. She was a stranger in a world she never thought she’d have a place in—all of this was Aleskynn’s territory much more than it was Carina’s.

Then again, Athena looked even worse, so maybe Carina was just overreacting. At least she hadn’t managed to destroy the sleeves of her dress.

“Stop playing with that, you’re ruining it,” she said. “Look, now there are loose threads.” “Well, if they didn’t want me to ruin it, they should have made it sturdier.” Athena pulled on another thread, which created a rippling, cinched effect from the top of the sleeve to the bottom. “This thing is probably more expensive than the Hope Diamond, but it feels like it’s made of paper.” “I mean, it’s made for noblewomen, isn’t it? They don’t do a whole lot of heavy lifting, or any work at all.” Carina couldn’t even remember the last time she’d seen Aleskynn do much of anything, really. Mostly she just sat around and complained, neither of which were the types of activities that would strain clothing.

“Noblewomen or not, if I can’t kick someone’s ass in all my finery, that finery isn’t worth the price,” Athena retorted, frowning down at the glitter that fell from her bodice every time she moved.

Behind them, someone laughed in a way that was instantly recognizable as the stilted chortle of a rich lady—a rehearsed sound somewhere in-between the o~hohoho of an anime ojou and the polite chuckle a parent might do when their child presented them with a crayon drawing. Carina turned around to see Acidalia, leaning against a bulkhead and looking amused. “I quite agree,” she said, smiling slightly. “If you can’t fight in a dress, why wear the dress at all?”

“Then why are you wearing that?” Athena asked, and, for once, Carina had to agree that she was right. Acidalia’s outfit was the epitome of impracticality—it was a cross between a Greco-Roman toga and a very large ballgown, which had been dipped in enough glitter that it could probably blind anyone who looked at it too hard. She was absolutely dripping with jewelry and regalia, which looked like it would hinder more than help her, and she was about five inches taller than she’d been before, meaning she must have been wearing even higher, fancier heels. From the way her skirts swept against the floorboards, Carina could tell she was wearing a crinoline, and several more skirts on top of that. Plus, her waist was cinched so tight that there was no explanation for it other than a very tight corset, which didn’t seem comfortable at all.

“Ballgowns are actually easier to fight in than you might expect,” Acidalia said. “There’s plenty of room for footwork under the skirt, and crinolines are very flexible, or it’d look like you’re walking around with a cage under your dress. And at a certain point, the bigger the skirt, the better—it protects your legs from scratches and hits, and sometimes even laser fire. I have multiple armored skirts.”

“But wouldn’t you trip on the hem?” “Not if you’re graceful about it. It’s usually fine, as long as you don’t try to run backwards.” Athena looked curious. “Hmmm. I’m going to have to test that.” “Don’t. You’ll get a concussion,” Carina warned. “So? I’ve had two concussions and my brain is fi-iiineee.” She slurred the last word for comedic effect, but nobody laughed (though Acidalia did look mildly amused.) “But what about the rest of it? High heels, corsets? Do you just break the heels off?” “You can’t make flats by breaking the heels off of stilettos,” Acidalia said, “but you can always kick them off. And the corsets are usually fine, too. If they’re laced up so you can breathe—which mine always are; Terra’s atmosphere makes it difficult enough for humans to breathe when their lungs aren’t being compressed, and I don’t need to suffocate in the middle of a speech—they aren’t that restrictive. I suppose it would be a problem if someone got you down onto the ground, because they do make it harder—though not impossible—to get up from that position. The worst part about dresses is usually the sleeves.”

“Then I guess it’s good that I completely destroyed mine,” Athena said, completely unashamed. Carina cringed.

Acidalia shook her head. “Not that type of sleeve. It’s the off-shoulder sleeves that are aggravating, because they make it impossible to raise your your arms fully, and if you rip them off, the bodice will slide down your front.” “At least flashing the enemy might distract them,” Athena remarked, and Acidalia laughed the same way a little girl would laugh after hearing something scandalous at a slumber party. How weird was that? Carina thought. This woman had admitted to smashing someone’s skull in—smashing multiple people’s skulls in—and the thought of anything remotely sexual was somehow stranger than that to her. Most people Carina knew had had sexual interactions with other people, but she didn’t know too many perpetrators of homicide.

But was Acidalia really a perpetrator of homicide? That made her sound like a criminal, and she was most definitely not a criminal—at least, not in the traditional sense. Most of her killings could probably be written off as justifiable self-defense; she didn’t seem like the type to take some sort of sadistic pleasure in stabbing people to death. Then again, you never really knew anyone, did you? Acidalia didn’t seem like the type of person who would willingly hang out with Andromeda, either.

Carina didn’t know how she felt about Andromeda. She seemed smart enough, and certainly powerful—her presence was just as imposing as Acidalia’s, if not more so. But there was a roughness, an edge to her, that gave Carina pause. The way she’d spoken about T’s death was so unnecessarily rude and dehumanizing, and the brash way she’d acted about dropping nuclear bombs on people who hadn’t even committed a crime was incredibly concerning. Even though they had only met once and never spoken, Carina got the feeling that Andromeda was the sort of person who thrived on violence—she didn’t exactly seem like a peace-seeker. But maybe peace-seeking wasn’t what warriors were supposed to do, anyway.

***

The journey to the landing site was only a few hours—it would have been much shorter if they weren’t actively trying to avoid detection—but thirty minutes in, Carina already felt like she was suffocating. The Revelation was just as huge as it had been on the way to Mars, but with this many angry, scared people packed inside, it felt so much smaller. Only Acidalia seemed calm, but even then it was difficult to tell if she was really as unaffected as she seemed; she was always so stoic that her emotions were completely unreadable.

As they flew over the starscrapers of Appalachia City, barely far away enough to avoid being seen from the ground, a wave of nausea hit Carina like a hovertrain. She swallowed hard, pushing it down into her chest where it seemed to curl up into a tight little ball of festering worry. For some strange reason, she almost wanted to tell Acidalia about it—Acidalia would know what to do. Acidalia knew everything. But Acidalia was busy studying some very official-looking books in the corner, the kind with gilded edges and embossed covers and paper made from real trees, and even if she wasn’t in a position where interrupting her felt unwise, she was still the Imperatrix Ceasarina. She was not the type of person Carina, or anyone, could really befriend.

Meanwhile, as Acidalia calmly flipped pages and wrote notes in the margins of elaborate books, the others argued and paced and stewed in a sea of barely-concealed, furious anxiety. Across the ship, David Seren and his daughter were engrossed in a screaming match, both insulting each other in Martian Anglicus Carina couldn’t even understand conversationally, while Athena looked on, entertained. Andromeda paced, dragging her one metal leg on the white floor with the strength of an ox, leaving scratches in the marble and looking angry—angry at the circumstances? Angry at herself? The expression on her face didn’t make Carina particularly eager to find out. Then there was Ace—poor Ace, who had lost a brother just as much as the Imperatrix had—who had disappeared with Lyra into a closet and slammed the door shut, barricading anyone from entering. Athena had cracked a joke about the implications, but Carina knew what they were doing in there—crying, mostly. Crying harder than Acidalia ever had or would, or slowly driving themselves mad with regret for what they’d lost.

Look at us, Carina thought. We sure make one hell of a team. A dethroned empress with the world’s worst mother, a Praetor with anger issues, two clueless Martians, two inexperienced Scientias, a Cantator who had stumbled into importance by accident, and a traumatized, depressed super-soldier whose only friend in the world had just died. They could barely even exist on the same starship together; how were they supposed to serve as a delegation? She understood why she and Athena were here—politicians or not, they were astrophysicists, and they had an innate knowledge of both the stars and the organisms that made their homes among them. The presence of the Martians and the Praetor could be justified, too, because they specialized in this type of thing—it wasn’t out of the question for appointed bureaucrats and wartime leaders to meet with foreign ambassadors. But there was no reason to drag Lyra and Ace into this, especially not when they were so clearly upset. Did they even want to be here? Carina wondered. Some people chased danger like their lives depended on it, but most weren’t willing to throw themselves headfirst into war for the sake of an adrenaline high. And now that T was dead, they couldn’t have been thinking rationally—they hadn’t been given any time to even process what had happened.

Nobody’s in a good mental state right now, Carina realized. She was terrified, and Athena probably was, too; she was just better at hiding it. The Serens had just effectively lost their home and all their “social points,” whatever those were. Acidalia and Ace and Lyra were all mourning, even if they didn’t show it. Andromeda was likely the most emotionally stable person on the whole Revelation, and she was a complete war hawk. How would they ever talk to the Mira? Acidalia would say something eloquent and political, then Andromeda would follow that up with something crass, and maybe the others would pop into the conversation to offer snippets of expertise, but half of them would be crying the whole time, and Cressida would still be on her phone, and David would stare awkwardly like a politician who didn’t know how to be a politician. And then the Mira would look at them and think really? This is who they sent? and that would be that and they’d be dead, and the war would be lost before it had even begun, and—

“You alright?” Athena asked, appearing behind Carina and making her jump about six feet.

“No,” she said truthfully, “I’m not. I’m scared to death, Athena.” “About what?” “About the nightmare aliens from outer space that have been at war with us for hundreds of years?! How are you not worried about this?” Her hands were shaky, her palms clammy, her voice higher than it normally was. She felt like she was breathing in helium, replacing all of the air in her lungs with squeaky-voiced nerves.

“We’re not dead yet,” Athena shrugged. “Besides, do you really think their ships are that scary looking?” “Well, I wouldn’t know; I’ve never seen one before.” When they were younger, before they were able to do calculus and telemetry, she and Athena had been responsible for tracking Miran starships, but that job mostly involved pressing the tab key on a computer when the numbers on the spreadsheet changed a little too much. It was the most primitive form of tracking—they were just looking at stars and the things that obscured them, and if their light dipped too low when it wasn’t supposed to, the Scientias would mark it for review. It was boring work that never paid off; nearly every foreign body was a planet or a satellite or something else of that nature, and all the other changes in the light were sent off to more experienced people before Athena or Carina got to understand what it was.

“Well,” Athena said, “don’t look now, but I think there’s one behind us.”

“What?”

“Look.” Athena gripped her shoulders and spun her around, sending a cascade of sequins and glitter careening towards the floor and leaving a puddle of pure sparkle. How did Acidalia live like this? Carina thought briefly, before turning to the window. She couldn’t see anything other than a blinding white glow and the rays of light that reflected off the Appalachia City starscrapers.

“What am I supposed to be looking at?” “Watch.” Athena fixed her steel-gray eyes on some invisible object before them, and Carina tried to do the same.

“I don’t see—“ she began, but then she did see, and something in her voice died. She stared up at the ship, a luminescent wall of blue that seemed more like a hovering water droplet than a spacecraft, and tried her hardest to conceptualize the fact that it was real. Fading in and out of her vision like a ghost, the ship didn’t appear very corporeal, but that was just the cloaking—underneath all that, it was as grounded in reality as the Revelation itself, despite its strangeness.

“It’s not what I expected,” Athena admitted, looking at the flickering wall of watery cerulean. “But I guess they’re aliens, so…?” “Yeah,” Carina said. “Aliens.” But, shockingly enough, she wasn’t as afraid as she thought she’d be; the ship looked more like a children’s toy than a military craft, and she couldn’t see any weapons anywhere. They were probably hidden—the Mira were anything but harmless, if they were strong enough to battle Eleutherians for hundreds of years—but they weren’t visible, and that was enough to reassure Carina that she probably wouldn’t be killed just for standing here. If they really meant business, they would have shown up in something more clearly dangerous… right? Acidalia looked up from the watercolored pages of one of her ancient books. “I suppose it’s time, then,” she said, with a deliberately final-sounding sort of calmness. In a massive movement of skirts and fabric, she stood, somehow elegantly staggering under the weight of her own swirling petticoats.

“Already?” Carina just barely squeaked out. “I guess it makes sense, but—“ “Scared?” Athena laughed. “Relax. They’re just, like, mermaids on crack or something.”

“Well, those ‘mermaids on crack’ managed to match us in war for centuries, so, yes, I’m a little nervous,” Carina snapped, flushing. Mermaids on crack was a hell of a way to describe a dangerous enemy, even if they were sparkly and blue. Acidalia looked at her sympathetically. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” she said, clearly trying her hardest to be gentle and nice.

Carina bit her lip. She didn’t want to do this—this place was not her territory. She had no business being here to begin with, and she knew she’d never be able to add anything valuable to the conversation—at least, nothing as valuable as Acidalia would add. But she was also a relatively normal-looking girl who could maybe pass as a rich girl to an uninformed observer, and it’d be simple to masquerade as a noblewoman or a lady-in-waiting as long as she kept her mouth shut and didn’t say anything stupid. The alien ambassadors would doubtlessly be suspicious if Acidalia arrived without an entourage, and that would be bad—the Revolution couldn’t afford to make their leader seem illegitimate in the eyes of the enemy, even if she was a technically illegitimate royal. With a Martian companion, two soldiers, and a battery of ladies-in-in-waiting, Acidalia looked like an empress. Without all of that, she’d look like a fleeing princess ousted from her empire. And sure, Athena and Cressida and Lyra could probably make Acidalia look more legit, but would they really? Athena couldn’t even give a research presentation without cursing, and there was no way Cressida could get through a boring political meeting without checking something on her metadit.

“I’m coming,” Carina decided, trying not to look too afraid. If she was one of the first Eleutherians to peacefully speak to the Mira, she’d make history. And if she died… well, she hoped it was quick.

#POV Carina #Athena #Acidalia #on the edge of eureka #Carina

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le-sejour · 7 years ago

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Fundamental Truths

Words: 1935

World: Hamiltime

Pairing: One sided Alexander x Reader

Warnings: Angst

A/N: Just wanted to project my own grief and inner turmoil in an inconspicuous manner like say fi c t io n?

Enjoy~

“A toast to the groom,” You slurred, raising a bottle of whiskey you had snatched off of your father’s stash. “To the bride.”

Was the room supposed to tilt this way? It almost felt like you were sinking. Nonetheless, you carried on with your speech.

“From your best friend,” If you focused hard enough, you could almost make out their faces. “Who was always by your side…”

You attempted to lean against a table for support but were surprised to find nothing there to brace your weight. Your inebriated self tumbled to the floor, the skirts of your gown thankfully cushioning you from the fall.

“To your union, and the hope that you provide…”

You were still on the floor. The room spun before your eyes as you laid there.

You weakly raised the bottle.

“May you always be satisfied.”

Silence greeted your words, the dark and desolate room swallowing the noise almost immediately as it left your lips. Your eyes surveyed what it could from your vantage point. There was your dresser and your window seat and your bookshelf with your little ornate box of letters…

A strangled sob left your lips as you gingerly propped yourself up.

You were a wreck. A mess. Your dress was soiled from the alcohol and dusty floors, your hair falling from its previously elegant bun. And, you couldn’t see it, but you knew the make up on your face was smudged and runny. Christ. Alexander would hate to see you like this.

A beat.

You laughed at the thought. A bitter, broken chuckle that almost bordered hysterical as your hand came up to grip your hair.

Alexander Hamilton.

Your mind ran through all the memories you had together, lingering on the moments his smiles and gaze were directed only to you. You almost smiled back in return.

Then you remembered that night, that one night that has haunted you through your waking days. You squeezed your eyes shut, as if the action could somehow force your brain to stop thinking.

That damned Winter’s ball and its prized jewels; the Schuyler Sisters.

You stared into the bottle of whiskey again as you felt anger and helplessness rise up within you. In the dim of night, you could barely make out your reflection in the amber liquid.

It had been a starry night, that night.

The wind was nothing but a chilly breeze, the pure, driven snow transforming the city into a magnificently magical landscape.

The Schuyler’s manor, in its entire splendor, was even grander than it normally was. It seemed to reflect the glittering winter wonderland outside, while still projecting an air of warmth and grandeur. A detail that deeply awed and excited the guests.

The ballroom was abuzz with the whispers of appreciation for the venue; the food was in such an appetizing display, the orchestra playing the most angelic tunes, and of course, everyone dressed to the nines in their best finery.

It was certainly one way to throw a ball.

But you couldn’t help the sigh that escaped you; earning you a few looks from the ladies you were begrudgingly standing around with. Everything about this ball was beautiful, but there was something missing.

Or, rather, someone.

“May I have the honor of sharing this dance with you, my lady?”

Speak of the devil.

You quickly turned away from the circle of gossipy women, a beaming smile radiating off your face as the fabric of your skirt swished and billowed around you.

“Alexander!”

“At your service,” The Caribbean replied with a flourish of his hand. “I’d apologize for being late but you seem to be having the time of your life.”

You rolled your eyes at his teasing.

He, of all people, knew how uncomfortable you felt socializing with those who considered themselves “old money”.

“It’s been awful, Alexander.” You smacked him lightly on his arm as he’s leading you onto the dance floor. “They’ve been pestering me about courtship and marriage nonstop.”

Your partner laughed as he twirled you around. “Sounds like an interesting way to spend the night.”

“Don’t get me started, Alex. One even told me that I’m soon past my prime for popping babies, like they were talking about the weather! The nerve!”

The two of you spent a few songs like that, just laughing and catching up. He would lead you into graceful dips and turns, his eyes never leaving yours as you moved through the ballroom. His arms were protectively situated around your waist.

It was perfect. The ambiance, the looks, the way he held you close to him during a particularly slow song… You couldn’t help but fall even harder for the young writer.

Your eyes found his again before noticing how close the two of you had actually gotten. It was close enough to be considered improper, but you didn’t move away. His face was so close. Too close. Almost as if you could just lean in and…

“Ladies and Gentlemen!”

The music lulled to a softer and quieter song as a booming voice announced its presence. You and Alexander separated quickly, a crowd gathering around you. Your cheeks burned and your lips tingled in disappointment. Were you really just about to…

Whispers drifted to your ears like a breeze. Seems like Philip Schuyler was about to introduce his daughters. He appears to be thanking everyone present but your attention was diverted to searching the crowd for the man you almost just kissed. He was suddenly gone from your side.

“-Angelica, Elizabeth, and Margarita Schuyler!”

The whole ballroom was thrown into a frenzy of murmurs. The Schuyler sisters were beyond stunning to look at. They seemed to float through the stairs leading into the ballroom, their whole appearance wonderfully dream-like. But you were still focused on looking for your dear Alexander.

“If you could marry a sister, you’re rich, son.” Your ears perked up at the dialogue. While that was true, you couldn’t believe the impropriety of the scoundrel who said it. As if all there was to the sisters were their fortune.

“Is it a matter of ‘if’, Burr, or ‘which one’?”

You stopped in your tracks as you heard the reply. You would know that voice anywhere.

Suddenly, your whole body felt like it was doused in cold water, seized by the icy claws of dread. He wouldn’t.

You looked to where you heard the voices, your gaze zeroing in on the man you’ve pined for for years. He was talking to a looming fellow with a wolfish grin.

You made your way to him.

“Excusez-moi, mademoiselle.”

You hadn’t realized it yet, but you had made the mistake of turning to face whoever was addressing you. He stood, no, towered, over you in his soldier’s regalia; a charming smile stretching his lips when you turned around.

“Um.. yes..?”

He held out his hand to you, a hopeful look in his sparkling brown eyes.

“May I ‘ave this ‘onor of dancing with the most beautiful woman in the room?”

Your face flushed red at the compliment. Of course, propriety dictated you to say yes to the man in front of you, lest you draw rumors to yourself and shame to your family. But you were still yearning to be back in someone else’s arms.

“I-I.. um..”

You stared at his hand before turning your head just in time to see Alexander kiss Angelica Schuyler’s hand. You felt your heart drop to your stomach. God, you were done for.

Defeatedly, you placed your hand gingerly on top of the man’s outstretched one.

“The honor is mine, sir.”

“Please, call me Gilbert.”

You laughed to yourself; suddenly back in the pitch black darkness of your room. You should have just continued on. You should have just pretended to not have heard the Frenchman. Maybe then, you could have stopped all this.

Taking a long swig from the bottle in your hands, you thought to yourself how you couldn’t have done that to Lafayette. He was a good man. He hadn’t known many people at the ball, and took a chance with asking you to dance with him. So you did. Even though you knew he could have gotten any girl to dance with him without really trying.

He was an absolute gentleman. You had no doubt your parents would have loved him. Despite struggling to speak your language, his wit and affability was boundless as you waltzed across the room.

The Marquis ended up monopolizing you the whole night.

You didn’t mind, though the emptiness in your chest screamed otherwise. He was decent company; attentive, witty, and well-meaning. He even introduced you to his friends at one point.

And just your luck, one of them happened to be the very man you were enamored with.

“Mon ami!” Lafayette exclaimed as he lead you to Alexander, his hand sitting atop the one you had resting on his arm. “I ‘ave not seen you all night, my friend! I wanted to introduce you to cette belle femme!”

Your smile refused to reach your eyes as Alexander greeted you and informed Lafayette he did, in fact, know you.

Elizabeth Schuyler was on his arm, her face positively glowing with adoration. It didn’t take an expert to see that she was absolutely helpless for him. After all, that must’ve been how you looked like when you met him all those years ago.

You gave her a weak hello, willing to the gods your voice didn’t sound as shaky as you felt, before your respective partners lead you back onto the dance floor.

You never saw Alexander again after that night.

Not during your weekly strolls through the market, not at your porch looking for another book to borrow, not even at the local bar he loved to frequent. He just… disappeared. Weeks rolled by with no word from him, no letter. Just the old ones you hid in your little ornate box that you took to rereading.

That was, until a letter finally arrived for you in the form of an invitation to a wedding reception. You had choked back a sob, feeling dismayed. Cheated. Absolutely betrayed that your closest friend, and longest love, had gone and gotten married.

Your chest tightened and ached at the thought. It was a fundamental truth that Alexander never saw you as more than a friend. A sister, perhaps, but never the woman he would spend his life with. Raise a family with. You were smart, sharp-tongued, and rebellious. Quick-witted and determined, just like him.

You knew he saw you as an equal, but not through your merits. You were an equal, but like looking in a mirror. You were too much like him, and you supposed it was why your relationship would never have worked. He was always trying to outrun his situation, his past. Himself. And you were someone he saw himself in.

And now here you were, at home, hours before the festivities were set to cease, sniffling into a bottle of burning hard liquor instead of wishing your best friend the best in his new life. Like Angelica had done for her sister, Elizabeth, a woman filled with wit and intelligence, but also patience and compassion. A perfect match for your Alexander.

“And I know,” You whispered to yourself, imagining their ongoing celebration with a heavy heart. Wishing for once that you could swap truths with lies for once. “She’ll be happy as his bride.”

“And I know,” Your heart splintered and cracked, your voice breaking as another sob ripped through you. “He will never be satisfied.”

“I will never be satisfied.”

#haha heyy *finger guns*#ya like angst?#alexander hamilton imagine #alexander hamilton x reader #alexander hamilton #hamilton #hamilfics #hamfics #hamilton imagine

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team-crtq · 7 years ago

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Volume 5 Episode 1 Review

Helllllo, RWBY Fandom! I’m Mod Quartz of the CRTQ Blog! The blog dedicated to actually critiquing RWBY!

For Volume 5 we’ll be reviewing each episode. And no, I won’t be the only one reviewing. My fellow Mods Cobalt, Regalia and Tangerine will also be reviewing alongside me. We each take an episode from the first twelve episodes and divide them between us! As for thirteen and fourteen: Well, Good ol’ Quartz managed to snatch them up so you’ll be getting a special helping of mineral this year!

But enough chit-chat: Let’s go!

First up we have the introduction to the Volume 5 which also serves as the establishing shot of Mistral. The build up with the ominous underground hallway was rather good, the detail on the bricks was pretty good, the lighting has improved immensely since before and considering all the crap that people have gone through with Volume 4: the light hearted banter before we see Mistral was relaxing. However, I do think that Ruby should have been called out for almost dying since she almost got caught by Tyrian and Jaune of all people shouldn’t be joking about death.

Then was have the heroes (and Jaune. No offense to Jauen fans, I just love making jokes about him.) actually seeing Mistral for the first time. The actual shot we get at first really captures a look of “ancient but noble Eastern city” with the beautiful but worn building sprouting out of gorgeous mountains with winding path ways and even more mountains in the background. However, I do have a small issue with the waterfall in this shot because, judging by how the water is flowing and falling, it can look like it is falling onto the walkway below and even so, I must criticize that said water would be splashing in the faces of people walking down it I know this seems nitpicky but tiny details like that can throw people off (plus I can’t spend this whole review praising RT.)

Next is the views of the city through 2-D shots. I’m pretty neutral on the whole 2-D aspect as while it’s jarring what with the establishing shot of Menagrie was in 3-D: We seem to be having longer episodes as well as two extra so this is certainly not jarring enough that I would demand resources to be moved. As for the shots themselves: They are well made still shots with plenty of detail and stuff going in the background to entrance the audience and make Mistral feel alive. I am getting a distinct The Last Airbender vibe from these shots which I must commend RT for being able to at least be reminiscent of such a beautiful show without insulting it. The character designs all follow RWBY’s rule of at least trying to make people seem distinct and unique, with hairstyles or facial features only being repeated a handful of times (one time I believe to denote familial ties) and for 53 people: that’s pretty good.

(PS: Huh. Two guys with one holding bamboo heart. ... Neat. They look nice enough together that I’ll ignore the cartoonishness of the bamboo heart.)

The dialogue in this scene mostly consists of Team RNJR making comments about Mistral while Qrow pulls a WOR and describes Mistral to them. Considering the fact that I love WOR, this works very well for me and I think Qrow did a good job of giving an overview of Mistral’s culture and functions. Of course, this isn’t enough for Mistral as a whole so I do hope we get more.

The next scene is introduced with a rather nice transition by Nora. Not too much to say about this one due to the fact that it takes place mostly inside a single room inside of a ship. It’s nice to see Weiss again and in a nice contrast to her Volume 1 self, she tries to apologize in case she’s been trouble to the pilot which is a great show of humility on her part. To also show off her development from being the selfish brat she was: Weiss hears a distress signal and asks to help them. This would normally be the part where the pilot heroically goes off to help Weiss save these people in some awesome action scene but I have to commend RWBY for doing the opposite and having him try to avoid the ship in order to just get home. I know this seems cowardly to us but that’s actually how a normal person would react to deadly monsters nearby, showcasing the difference in mindset between a Huntsman and a normal person.

The next scene focuses on introducing Lionheart. First we had a bit of build up with an empty looking Haven as the heroes relaxing as they finally make it to their destination. However, Qrow does point out latter that there is a disturbing lack of students and teachers which causes everyone to go on edge. So everyone rushes to the Headmaster’s room, with all of them preparing for battle in a pretty cool sequence of everyone drawing their weapons. Then Qrow kicks down the door and reveals...Leonard Lionheart, startled as hell. The reactions from RNJR were honestly pretty funny due to the unison scream but Qrow’s reaction was...too Looney Tunes for me. I dunno, probably just me.

Anyway, Qrow and Lionheart recover and banter a bit and afterward Team RNJR introduces themselves and I gotta say, RWBY has done a great job at body language. Lionheart gives an air of constant fear in his body language due to him being tense all the time and his actions constantly tells me “I’m afraid!” which suits his design as the cowardly lion. Meanwhile, Qrow gives off an air of easily created anger with his slouching back, fisted hands and slight leaning. And with RNJR you could get their base personalities just from hwo they move when introduced: Ruby being happy but slightly professional showing her idealistic view on being a Huntress, Jaune not moving much showing his status as the normal guy, Nora being very cheery showing her to be the energetic one and Ren putting his arms behind his back and bowing his head showing him to be the calm, collected one. Very rare you get that level of communication in simple actions.

The final part of this scene consists of Lionherat trying to shoo Qrow and RNR away by informing them that his staff is gone, Qrow getting up in his face while we have another example of good body language (IE the sudden widening of eyes the instant Qrow yells) and Qrow revealing that he filled RNJR in on the relics and maidens, which seems to disturb Lionheart. A nice little exchange to show the dubiousness of Lionheart.

The next scene is introduced with a few shots of the outside of the Belladonna household which...confuse me. they don’t really do much for the scene and the build up they offer is minimal at best. They should have cut the shots and saved the time and money.

Anyway: the true scene begins with Ghira and Sun bursting into the house yelling about how despicable and deplorable someone is. Kali makes a small comment about how they are finally agreeing on something, which causes Sun to get embarrassed and Ghira to, I’m assuming, snapping Sun in two to avoid the embarrassment when Blake comes in and tells them that everything will be alright. Between her soft but firm force, the dramatic lighting and her confident and assured stance it does give off a feeling that Blake would be a good leader so if this is build up for her taking control of the White Fang-Kudos.

Then we have Blake walking onto a balcony and dismissing a guard from her duty. ... Why we didn’t see any guards before is beyond me: this is just a mistake from the CRWBY. Then we have Illa appearing and attempting to talk with Blake. We get a bit of exposition as to what had happened before hand as Balke and her family went to try and arrest the twins from EPisode 5 but they managed to pin everything onto Illa and escape scott-free Interesting to note that Illa turns her head away when Blake mentions her taking the fall, as if she was ashamed for it. Then Illa tells Blake that she doesn’t have anyway of proving anything was true and Blake retorts by planning on showing the information to the fanaus of Menagrie to sway them against the White fang.

What comes next is a very moving scene where Illa removes her mask as she warns Blake that her plan will fail and then begging her to leave before it’s too late. This works on three levels: the first one being the most basic, the eye to eye contact in order to convey the message she is trying to get across not just to Blake but to the audience as well. It helps her face express even more than before and it touches people more easily. The second is symbolic: The White Fang were the masks because they are acting like the Grimm as they commit crimes in order to force equality. With Illa removing the mask but not tossing it away as she pleads with Blake, it enforces that behind her actions and behind her allegiance: there is a person who truly wants to help Blake while also showing her loyalty still to the White Fang. And third: it’s easy for people like us to hate the White Fang because most of them don’t really have faces. Just as we feel no empathy for the Grimm because of their disconnect from humanity, we feel less inclined to side with the White fang because without a face, we see them similar to the Grimm. By removing her mask, Illa and the writers force us to acknowledge that she is a person, just like we are ad her reasoning behind her actions is just as complex as ours are.

Sadly, Blake refusing by stating that illa will have to make her, which causes a great amount of sadness in Illa as she says “I know” before leaving: Again, enforcing she is a person. Then we end with a shot of Blake looking angry before her expression breaks and she just looks worn, showing that she can’t stay mad at Illa.

The upcoming scene is an exposition based scene with Lionheart and Qrow tading information. Usually I don’t like exposition scenes because it’s mainly just two characters talking plainly to each other (Hence why I enjoy the history lesson style of WOR) but there is enough personality in this scene to keep me interested. Lionheart goes on about the troubles that Mistral ahd to face due to the Fall Of Beacon (with a nod to Penny in there), the people they’ve lost and the difficulties they are facing now with the Grimm and the Kingdom of Atlas due to Ironwood’s actions from before and finally the issue with the Spring Maiden. Qrow retaliates and probably tried starting a fight but then Ruby comes in and shuts them down before they can fight and reassures them. Again, showing that she is deserving of the title of leader.

We then get something that many people were hoping for: An explanation on the connection to the Maidens and Relics. Apparently the relics are sealed away onside certain chambers and only a specific Seaosnal Madien can unlock it and get the relics. Now I might have been upset about such a blatant grap to connect the two but A.) This is the norm for gods, they pull this shit all the time and B.) This explains why the Maidens are so important, why Ozpin and Co. needed to protect them, why Salem is so focused on them and why Cinder is needed. SO yeah, I understand.

We also get some info on the Spring Maiden: Apparently she ran off ten years ago due to the stress of her powers and the weight they carry and seeing as she is a living key for a godly power: Yeah, that’d happen. Lionheart claims that he doesn’t even know where she is and Qrow reveals that he knows. And the news isn’t good: She’s with Raven.

(PS: Okay, what is with high tech wooden desk? there was no foreshadowing for that and Qrow just flings his scroll onto the desk as if the desk knows what is going on. Seriously man, cut out the Belladonna house shots and have Qrow type some stuff into the desk.)

Also, apparently RNJR knows who Raven exactly is as Yang’s mom. I’m guessing Ruby told them but how did Ruby know? Did Taiyang tell her when he told Yang? Did Qrow blurt it out while drunk? Did Raven try kidnapping yang when she was a child and Ruby saw it? I really hope this gets answered.

Anyway, Qrow tries to convince Lionheart to go get the Maiden from Raven but eh refuses on two fronts. One is that the Council of Mistral won’t devote resources to fighting bandits (and the whole Maiden-Relic business is very hush hush) and considering the strength of Raven and the Spring Maiden alone: Qrow can’t just rush in by himself and RNJR. He emphasizes the importance that they wait for the right time. He and Qrow trade a few verbal blows before the subject changes to that of info about Cinder and her little group which Lionheart tells that they can’t find anything valuable, just fakes and forgeries. The group of five leaves and Dr.Watts informs Lionheart that he needs to work on lying. That brings everything the Headmaster said into question as he could be a liar and trying to stall for time but due to Lionheart’s resigned expression, I also question if he’s on either side really. All in all: This keeps the audience on it’s toes.

The scene shifts to a remake of the final scene from Volume 4 so I’ll just skip that. All I have to say is; Oscar looks better this time around.

The next scene takes place somewhere else in Mistral where yang is getting a glass of water and taking a break before continuing her journey. While this happens, some really skeezy looking guy starts hitting on her, apparently missing the definition of “personal space”, “tact” and “no.” We get a nice little Goldilocks reference before he tries touching her hair and he promptly gets smack out the rest stop. The act of Yang smacking a gross perv out was damn awesome but the guy pinballing around was just terrible. It could have just been the guy landing right outside and it would have worked so much better. The owner thanks her and hands her a drink. Yang reaches out and her hand, the one that punched the guy, starts shaking and freezing up so she has to stop it. While I think this is a hint that her PTSD isn’t away yet: I can’t say for certain. But I am thankful if it is a hint that she’ll be dealing with it.

So we get a little talk from the owner about how far out from the Kingdom they are and how the only person he really sees is Yang’s mom, to which Yang replies that she knows. The owner warns her that bandits are dangerous, Yang brushes him and prepares to leave when the guy from before stops her and talks about how he heard she was looking for someone. How the guy heard her is a little dubious considering eh only just then recovered but I’m more concerned with the implication that Yang is looking for Raven than Ruby, which is what we’ve been lead to think. Yes, RT could have been misleading people but it just kind of invalidates her build up. However it can be forgiven if this road yields results.

The final scene shows us with Ren, Nora and Jaune all looking exhausted as someone knocks on the door. The three person team exchanges looks before Jaune walks up to the door and slowly turns the knob to open, building up the tension due to the rising foreboding music and the slow movement, to reveal the newest member of the cast Oscar standing there, looking rather nervous. He asks for Ruby, which makes Ren and Nora suspicious as Nora asks him why he wants to see her. Oscar stays silent for a bit until Drunkle Qrow, blitzed harder than Poland in 1939, stumbles in, mumbling about how “he found him” until he slips onto the couch while Oscar tells them that he might need some help.

Ruby storms out, apparently reading comics as she sees her uncle drunker than the country of Ireland as she facepalms and asks if he got drunk again, showing us that this is apparently a common occurrence. Oscar jumps in and seems surprised as he says that she has silver eyes, a call back to what Ozpin said when they met face to face. Ruby asks who he is and Oscar nervously explains who he is but who they probably know him as while Qrow makes drunk commentary in the background. The episode ends with Qrow triumphantly yelling “I did it!” before passing out on the floor while Nora winces. Honestly, the only way this could have gone better is if things cut to Patch with Taiyang saying “Qrow just passed out again, didn’t he?”

All in all, this was a very good beginning. There were a few missteps here and there but overall I think it was an amazing start to Volume 5!

Now I’ll see you all in Episode 5!

#rwby #rwby5 #rwby review #rwby spoilers #ruby rose #weiss schnee #blake belladonna #yang xiao long #jaune arc #nora valkyrie #lie ren #crtq #volume 5 reviews

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magnificent-dragons · 7 years ago

Note

I'd love to see a Supercat with #7 from your post!

send me a number and a ship

numbers || ships

Maybe it had not been the greatest idea to do keep it from Alex, and Cat, and everyone else. But then again they would have all told her not to do it, that she would probably get too much attention, or she would draw too much attention to her alter ego. The temptation was just much too strong though, she had to atleast try and do it. Maggie would get a kick out of it no doubt, and after it was done there was no doubt that Winn would find it hilarious. She just had to figure out how to do it outside of the house where Cat would not see her doing it. That would be one way to make sure she ended up sleeping on the couch.

Cat was in a business meeting and she would be at Catco until at least nine, Kara had roped Carter into helping, he may have encouraged the idea as well. Cat would not be happy about that either, she did not particularly like how the two tended to get in trouble, although she did love how the two got along. It was not going to be quick though, giving a video interview as two people is never a quick type of thing. If they were careful enough then maybe Cat would only end up finding out after the interview had been posted. Kara had planned it out, and once it was done it would no doubt be hilarious, to everyone who knew her super secret. There was no doubt in Kara’s mind that when Cat saw it she would end up angry at Kara for endangering her identity or simply being reckless with it.

Around 3:00 she and Carter began to set to work, with Kara’s outfit first, making sure she could quickly change between the two, and then not make any careless mistakes that would need Carter to edit the video. The whole plan was rather simple and it would not be terribly hard to pull off, although they might have to do a few takes in order to actually succeed, Kara was no real actress after all. She and Carter had spent around thirty minutes setting up the camera and the questions, he would have to use two cameras to get the angles, the trick was timing the switches with Kara’s changes.

Kara was sitting on the couch with glasses and notebook in hand, ready to begin the faux interview. When she finally finished getting ready and prepared, she signaled Carter to begin videoing. She went through the first question, zoomed across the room and sat on the other side in full supergirl regalia. Carter smirked behind the camera, knowing that Kara had to hold her hair while running, so that it did not look like she had just used superspeed. Kara tried to switch fully into her supergirl persona to answer the question but instead erupted in a fit of giggles, causing Carter to do the same.

The whole situation was hilarious to the two, they had set all of it up so that they would laugh at it later, but they were laughing at it in the moment when they were supposed to be selling it. After a few minutes of letting all of their laughter out, it was back to business with Carter behind the camera and Kara interviewing herself. It was all simple enough and the two worked in sync switching in perfect timing. They took at least four more takes, to insure that all of the switches went off without a hitch, seeing as how every video of supergirl was always gone over by the public with a fine toothed comb for anything that stood out.

Carter was a genious when it came to computers, he would no doubt be on par with Winn one day, it made Kara smile to think of it. The two spent an hour working on small edits for the video they were meticulous, they were hidden away in the game room at that point. Knowing that Cat could be home at any minute, and then be angry at their implausible and irresponsible idea. They were taking every precaution that they could, to make sure that Cat did not find out until the video was finished, otherwise the whole thing would be shut down before it had truly gotten off the ground.

She may have been using her super hearing to listen out for her wife’s heartbeat nearing their home, Cat had only just left the office which gave them at least thirty minutes, if Cat did not stop for food on her way home. That meant that the duo was in the final stretch, they had to finish soon, and they had to do it right or else the whole thing would backfire on them. In hindsight the whole plan may have not been the best idea for a joke, especially when it ends up so high stakes, but it also would help solidify people thinking that she and supergirl were two different people. That was the argument she was going to use to convince Alex or at least Winn, and her pout would probably be able to get J’onn on board as well.

“About how long do we have left?” Carter asked, looking over his shoulder at Kara, he was chewing on his bottom lip nervously.

“ we have at least thirty minutes, if she does not stop for food.” Kara stated back rubbing her son’s back, as he began to type away once again.

Kara was tempted to send a text to Cat and ask if she could pick up some food, but they had just eaten out the day before and the fridge was fully stocked so they would no doubt be cooking dinner tonight. That meant that when Cat arrived it would be down to Kara to distract her wife and insure that Carter was able to finish the job that they had started. It could not be that hard come up with some issue she had on an article and Cat would gladly help her look over it. The problem was she had already finished her last two articles and submitted them to snapper, and Cat would no doubt know that she had.

Carter continued work as Kara paced the house, trying to come up with a plan that would not end with Cat furious at her. In hindsight this whole thing may not have been well thought out, shame it was only now when it was far too late to back out that she was beginning to realize that she really did not have a good way to convince Cat. A few deep breaths later she had calmed down some and was somewhat prepared to face Cat. She would attempt to help with dinner that would get Carter at least an extra twenty minutes, before Cat would decide that she had to check on her son. The sound of Cat’s car pulling into the driveway set Kara into motion. She superspeed to Carter letting him know that Cat had arrived, before zooming back into the kitchen.

“Kara, I’m home.” Cat’s voice rang out, as she opened the front door.

“ you know I can hear your heartbeat all the way across town, you don’t have to announce that you are home.” Kara said, arriving in front of her wife and gently pecking her on the lips.

“ after that one time, when I walked in and—”

“ ok, ok I had solar flare that was different.” Kara said already smiling at her wife’s teasing, they had agreed never to mention that particular incident outloud again.

“Mmhm you had, but you still turn as red as a tomato every time I mention it.” Cat jested back, already taking off her heels.

“ where is—”

“ what are we doing for dinner I was hoping you could teach me some more about cooking,” Kara hated interrupting Cat and she knew how much her wife hated it when she was interrupted.

“ well I was thinking something Italian” Cat answered, she rested her hand on the small of Kara’s back letting her head rest on her wife’s shoulder. Kara could hear the smile in Cat’s voice; there was always a slight difference in the way Cat talked when she was happy or relieved to be home.

“That sounds great, do you want to go ahead and get started,” Kara said, wrapping one arm around Cat’s torso. She was trying to subtle divert Cat away from where Carter was working.

“You are already hungry aren’t you,” Cat said back turning in Kara’s embrace and moving to face her wife.

“ what can I say, kryptonian metabolism and all.” Kara tried to cover, although Cat did notice the crinkle.

“ mmhmm” Cat turned and walked past Kara deciding that she was not about to be fooled by her wife’s ploy, if Kara had the crinkle it meant that Kara was up to something.

“Want to tell me what you are actually doing?” Cat’s voice was firm as she walked on looking slightly into each room that she past.

“Not particularly.”

“ should i be worried,” Cat said stopping in her tracks, a look of concern crossing her face.

“No no of course not, it is nothing dangerous,” Kara covered her mouth the second she said it, realizing that she had just admitted to having something to hide.

“So you are doing something.” Cat smiled triumphantly.

“Umm maybe,” Kara said rubbing the back of her neck and looking at the ground.

“Why don’t we get this over with so that you do not end up sleeping on the couch for a week,” Cat said watching Kara for her reaction.

“I will just go and work on dinner how about that,” Kara said before using a burst of super speed to get out of the situation.

“Well i guess i will just find Carter then, and whatever the two of you have decided to hide.” Kara heard Cat answer back from where her wife was in the hallway.

Kara decided that getting to work on dinner may help ease Cat’s anger when she found out, she knew that Cat would not be angry at Carter it was not his idea after all. She went ahead and decided to get out all of the dishes and cookware they would need, she may not be good with the stove or any other part of the process of cooking but she could do some things. She decided not to use her super hearing, it may help her avoid Cat’s wrath. She soon heard the tell tale sound of Cat and Carter headed back towards the kitchen.

“Kara, Kara, we posted the video.” Carter came in encircling Kara in a hug.

“YOU DID WHAT NOW” surprise was written on Kara’s face, utter and complete surprise, she looked over at Cat waiting for some sort of emotion.

“Well seeing as the video was well edited and the acting was good enough,” Cat paused to smile and give Kara a kiss on the cheek before continuing. “You two did a good job and it was not a bad idea although, I think calling in J’onn may have been better, you did wonderful darling.”

“Can we go ahead and eat now, before you two get all lovey dovey.” Carter scrunched up his face, before rushing towards the the table he was already rushing over to the kitchen ready to help with dinner.

sorry for the long wait forgot that I had yet to post this one

#supercat #supergirl #supercat fanfic #anon #prompts #supercat fic #supergilr fanfic

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