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antihero-writings · 3 years ago

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The Boy with the Unspeakable Name (Ch11)

Fandom: Harry Potter (and the Chamber or Secrets)

Fic Summary: Tom Riddle may have won his battle with Harry in the Chamber of Secrets, but there were a few unforeseen consequences; loss of Tom’s memory being the most obnoxious of them. Is it possible to stop Tom’s past from becoming his future? Or is the young Tom Riddle doomed to repeat his mistakes?

Notes: Alright everyone I'M BACK ...And I'm so so SO sorry that I took so long to update. Over the past few months I took my first real break from posting fanfiction overall in a long time.

Before I posted this chapter, I actually ended up heavily editing some of the previous chapters, which I'd like to inform those who read the originals about first. (Currently only the Ao3 version, and the reblog version of this fic with the picture on top are up-to-date.)

* I made Tom overall more polite. I was of the belief that his politeness was not an innate trait, and without memory, he would be a bit more unpleasant, and then we could see him grow with time. I do still believe it's not an innate personality trait, but a couple things made me realize he really should act differently in my fic. * I made Snape treat Tom better in the interrogation chapter. Both at the beginning and end. I liked the ending with the Levicorpus spell, and I do kinda miss it, especially because it informed Harry's reactions, but I think it was just too mean, especially because of something I'm going for later. * I added a conversation with the other boy in the hospital wing. (By the way, if you go back to read that and can think of more things they should talk about, don't hesitate to let me know!)

...I think those are all the big things! Feel free to offer feedback on the changes if you read them!

I'm so sorry to everyone who was hoping for faster updates. I truly do appreciate your comments and support deeply, and hope that you will continue to read and still enjoy it. I would still love to hear what you think!! <3 <3

Chapter 11: The House of Books

“The summer? With you? And Harry Potter?”

Tom had been examining the objects Snape had brought him—objects which had apparently once belonged to him—and blinked, raising his head to look at him.

“Believe me, I am not thrilled about it either.”

“No, it’s not that—well, it is—it’s just…” He paused, running his fingers along the clothes laid out on the bed before him, then squinted up at Snape. “I’m trying to discern why this is a good idea.”

Snape looked away, seemingly wondering that himself.

“I think, with time, you’ll find that our headmaster has a very unique sense of what is good for others. He believes uncomfortable situations often serve for people’s betterment.” He looked off to the side and muttered, “Whether or not they agree.”

“What sort of ‘betterment’ does this serve?”

“I suppose he would like the three of us to…”—He exhaled—“get along.”

Tom raised an eyebrow a second time, as if to say Us? Really?

“Futile though it may be,” Snape added.

Tom bit his lip, internally assessing the situation as he also returned to assessing the objects.

It wasn’t ideal—that didn’t need stating. Tom had a difficult time fathoming why Dumbledore—who seemed to bear him no ill-will—would want him to live with one person who had a rather insurmountable grudge against him, and another who didn’t seem to like him much better. He wanted them to ‘get along?’ `Surely that couldn’t be it. There had to be more to it.

Was Dumbledore really so naive as to think they’d grow closer instead of hate each other more? Not that he quite understood why they hated each other in the first place.

“Is there a reason I can’t stay here over the summer? I wouldn’t mind.”

Clearly Snape would have preferred that as well.

“You no doubt heard at the Feast that there has been some question as to whether Hogwarts is entirely safe. The Board of Governors likely wouldn’t approve of a student staying over the summer until they are able to deny these suspicions. Also, the headmaster wants you to learn magic over the summer, and due to few teachers possessing a proclivity to stay at Hogwarts during this time, we must make other arrangements.”

Tom’s breath bated at the reveal that he’d be learning magic, his mind beginning to buzz. He tried not to let his excitement leak into his voice:

“You’ll be teaching me magic?”

“Do keep up.”

“So…” He sat back. “What’s Harry going to do?”

“Mister Potter will be…taking up space as usual, I presume.”

Tom stifled a laugh; he hadn’t been expecting such a response from a professor.

“You don’t like Harry, do you?”

“I’m not…particularly fond of him.”

“Is it too forward of me to say it doesn’t appear you’re particularly fond of me either?”

“I pains me to say you’ll have adequate time to learn there aren’t a great many things I feel an extensive amount of fondness for.”

Tom could already see it now.

“Consider it a trial period, of sorts.” Snape swept around the room as he altered the direction of conversation. “If you are able to succeed over the summer, you may continue your schooling at Hogwarts when the next year begins. How much you learn, and how quickly, will determine the year in which you are placed. That is, if you’re placed in any year at all.” He looked down his hooked nose at him like that was both the most likely option, and the most preferable.

Tom could tell hidden behind his words was the idea that this ‘trial period’ was about more than just how adept he was at magic. He’d didn’t need telling that he’d have to be careful in more ways than magical.

“Do you have any other business to attend to before we leave?”

“Wait, we’re leaving now?”

“I don’t come to the hospital wing for pleasant chats if that’s what you’re asking.”

Tom bit his lip. In all honesty he would have liked to stay and explore the school more, but he could tell Snape wasn’t the kind of person one could negotiate such things with.

He turned back to the items that were supposed to be his.

“Is this really all I have?” He asked softly.

Sure all the essentials were there: clothes, books, toiletries and the like, but nothing more personal. No pictures for his nightstand, or even a keepsake to remind him of home, of family. Nothing that could tell him a little more about himself.

Snape paused a moment before he replied: “All of which I’m aware.”

Tom didn’t say anything. Merely put everything back in the trunk and followed Snape to the door.

“Don’t you have anything to bring home with you?” Tom asked.

“Don’t you think a skilled wizard such as myself would have methods of sending it to its proper location?”

They spent the walk across the grounds in silence, which could probably be considered steely, though Tom didn’t mind. The grounds around Hogwarts, and what little he saw of the castle, were altogether beautiful, and empty conversation would only have dulled his enjoyment. He turned around, walking backwards, a smile creeping upon his face upon at the sight of the castle in its full glory. He came to find this wasn’t a school, this was a palace, a haven.

A—

The word home rose to the surface of his chest.

It occurred to him this was the first time he’d smiled since he lost his memory. Really and truly smiled.

The feeling wasn’t half bad.

Snape raised an eyebrow. “You like it?”

Tom cleared his throat. “It’s nice I guess.” But he couldn’t stuff the smile down, couldn’t quite figure out what this feeling was.

He must be a student, surely. Otherwise, why would he feel such fondness for the place?

He didn’t think Snape would reply, and was surprised to hear, barely audible, “I always thought as much.”

They arrived at a wrought iron gate with winged boars on either side—(really living up to the name, Tom supposed. All they needed was a decent amount of warts on them). Once they had passed through it, Snape stopped abruptly and held out his arm. It seemed he was expecting Tom to take it.

Tom wasn’t quite sure why he ought to do this, (and was rather offput by the thought of touching this man). Still, he did as he was told and—

He felt like he was being pigeonholed through a pipe. When the journey ended he was in an entirely new location, and wasn’t entirely sure he wouldn’t feel sick.

"Apparating for the first time can often make one feel unwell,” Snape informed the doubled-over Tom in a way that didn’t signify he really cared.

As Tom regained his bearings, he thought for a moment, in the same way he quite liked the walk along the grounds, he probably would have rather enjoyed traveling across the countryside. It struck him, that, while this sort of travel certainly got the job done, if wizards had a type of travel more like flying; allowing one to see the view, but also get where they needed to go quickly, he would like to learn it.

The new location, however, was far drearier and less pleasing to the eyes. Rather than an enchanting (and probably enchanted) forest, bordering sunny grounds, and a castle whose majesty was unmatched (at least in his current memory), this was a grimy, cobbled street, like a dull pencil: grey, disappointing, and without its sharpness.

He was almost certain the place was non-magical in nature. He couldn’t believe anyone magical would allow their cities to collect this much grime and…boringness. Identical brick townhouses lined those streets, their chimneys spewing smoke into the air, causing a low cloud of what could be either smog or fog to hang over the place, making the air warmer and more humid than necessary. Snape’s house was the last in the row, (at least, he assumed it was Snape’s as it was the one they were heading towards), and across from it he could see a black river winding through the mist.

Snape flicked his wand, unlocking what was presumably his front door.

Often houses have a certain, indefinable smell to them, but when Tom stepped inside this one, he found it wasn’t so indefinable: parchment, and old shoes, and maybe a little bit of neglect.

He could have fooled himself into thinking he’d walked into a bookstore. The walls were lined with books, the sofa and armchair in the corner creating a false sense of coziness—(‘false’ because nothing about this man said ‘cozy’). It had the air of being one of those spaces that is cluttered, but to call it anything but ‘neat’ would be an insult. Like a library of a devout scholar: cluttered with knowledge, yet, despite the fact that the shelves are puking pages, it all seems somehow perfectly in place.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Snape said in a tone that told him he didn’t want him to be comfortable at all. “Take care not to touch anything that isn’t yours.”

Tom’s eyes lidded. “So…don’t touch anything at all?”

“You’re catching on.” Snape smirked.

Tom rolled his eyes, not entirely sure Snape was joking.

“I’ll show you to your room.”

The words ‘your room’ were clipped, like the thought that it would belong to him for even a summer was repulsive. Though Tom could tell that before they arrived.

He opened a small door in the wall, which Tom would have thought another room, or perhaps a closet, but turned out to be a set of stairs.

After journeying up them, a hallway whose wood was in dire need of staining, dusty portraits whose stern eyes followed him as he walked by, and a decorative table with an empty vase upon it, greeted him.

The advertised room was small, and a bit stuffy, and a few of the floorboards creaked, but something told him he’d slept in worse conditions before.

Though it was a small house, they were able to keep to themselves. Snape was busy resettling into his house, and disinclined to give him a tour, and Tom, not having much to get settled in the first place, spent the time exploring his new surroundings.

He wandered around the library that was the downstairs, and the dingy hallways that were the upstairs. He took care not to enter what he assumed to be Snape’s room, as well as a few other locked rooms. He didn’t want to get on his bad side…if he even had a good side.

He quickly found he didn’t mind being around books. He had affinity for them, especially when their contents had to do with magic.

“Are these all about magic?” He asked Snape when he passed by.

“Some of them. It may surprise you to find most of them aren’t.”

“May I read them?” He asked, remembering Snape’s warning not to touch anything, as well as the fact that this was a ‘trial period.’

“If you cannot find ways to entertain yourself.”

“I’m sure I can. But you seem like the kind of man who appreciates silence.” He put his hands behind his back and smiled too pleasantly.

Snape pursed his lip.

They spent their time regarding each other as wolves encroaching on each others territories: they weren’t happy to be sharing the same space, but they couldn’t do anything but growl low until one of them made a move.

Later, when Snape made dinner, the action drew his attention from his book. Tom watched with fascination as Snape waved his wand with ease, and the ingredients floated and melded together of their own accord, like Snape’s wand knew what to say to them.

“Will I be able to do that?”

“A whole world of magic and you want to be able to make dinner?”

“Well—” Annoyance flared in Tom. “Of course I’d prefer to know much more exciting, dangerous things…but yes”

“Children are not allowed to use magic outside of school until they come of age…but, yes.”

The word ‘children’ in that condescending tone didn’t make him feel less annoyed.

“How come I’m able to do it, then? You’re able to teach me during the summer.”

“Dumbledore has his ways.”

Tom could tell he wouldn’t get any more information than that.

While they ate, Tom chanced a few more questions, and was surprised to find that it tasted quite good, and he thought he remembered someone once telling him good food does wonders for the soul.

He was glad to find that, despite Snape’s obvious distaste for him, and seemingly all things his age, he was cordial enough, and he certainly didn’t mind keeping to himself.

Tom was just thinking about asking when he’d start learning magic that evening, when a stack of books almost as tall as him landed on the table.

Flicking his eyes across the titles, he saw that each and every one of them something to do with magic.

“I expect you to have these read before before Potter arrives. Only then will I start teaching you magic.”

Tom leaned to the side to look at Snape and tried not to smirk.

“You sure this is everything? It doesn’t seem like quite enough.”

#harry potter #tom riddle #Severus snape #Harry Potter fanfiction #the boy with the unspeakable name #hp #hp fanfiction #hp fic #hp fanfic

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lov3nerdstuff · 4 years ago

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Voluptas Noctis Aeternae {Part 6.12}

*Severus Snape x OC*

Summary: It is the year 1983 when the ordinary life of Robin Mitchell takes a drastic turn: she is accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Despite the struggles of being a muggle-born in Slytherin, she soon discovers her passion for Potions, and even manages the impossible: gaining the favor of Severus Snape. Throughout the years, Robin finds that the not quite so ordinary Potions Professor goes from being a brooding stranger to being more than she had ever deemed possible. An ally, a mentor, a friend... and eventually, the person she loves the most. Through adventure, prophecies and the little struggles of daily life in a castle full of mysteries, Robin chooses a path for herself, an unlikely friendship blossoms into something more, and two people abandoned by the world can finally find a home.

General warnings: professor x student, blood, violence, trauma, neglectful families, bullying, cursing

Words: 4.6k

Read Part 1.1 here! All Parts can be found on the Masterlist!

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She took another deep breath, then held out her hand to him. "Would you do me the honor and dance with me?"

For a few seconds, Snape merely stared up at Robin in both shock and awe. Then he glanced down at her hand, and back up to her face with an entirely incredulous expression. "You cannot be serious..."

"You know me far better than to doubt that." She replied in utmost sincerity, then gave him that certain smile that was only reserved for him. "Dance with me."

He hesitated for another second, or perhaps merely used the time to wonder, but then he slowly placed his hand in hers and rose to his feet while his eyes never left hers. Only when they started making their way through the hall, towards the open space and the music, he wrapped his hand around hers entirely, switching their positions to take the lead. Robin didn't mind in the least, in fact she could hardly believe that she had found the courage to ask him at all, and even less that he had agreed.

They arrived on the dancefloor in perfect time with the end of the song, and Robin suddenly found herself incredibly glad that she didn't have the mind to pay attention to her surroundings. She had no doubt that people were staring, at both of them, at them together. But she found that in the very moment, she didn't care.

His eyes stayed on hers as he moved in closer, holding onto her hand while placing his other on her back ever so carefully, on that delicate part of her ribcage, and her body responded with an immediate shiver in delight. Honestly, dancing had never felt quite so publicly intimate, so wonderfully close and terribly far apart at once. Taking a deep breath, Robin got into position as well, just in time for the music to start.

"Are you certain you want to ruin your reputation by dancing with me?" He asked quietly, and yet his hold on her tightened ever so slightly as they started to move.

"I'm certain that there is nothing left to ruin." She replied with a small smile, the barest hint of a tease, and yet the deepest truth. "There is no one I would rather be with than you. I don't care what anyone says about that."

The barest hint of a smile ghosted over his face, for only a speckle in time, before fading from his lips and lingering in his eyes alone. He didn't say any more after that, and neither did Robin, as they danced only for themselves in a world of music, a world without people. Who needed a ball when two beings and a simple melody sufficed to delight one so entirely? Robin couldn't have cared less if the world around them had ended, she wouldn't have noticed in the least.

But once the music was what ended, the piece finished, and they came back to stand still while the world began moving instead, she unfortunately had to resurface from her illusion. The world wasn't just the two of them… they were but grains in the social machinery around them.

"Thank you for the dance." Robin said quietly before he could, smiling, even though she missed the warmth of his hand on her back when he let go.

"I believe that should be my text." He quipped in return, and Robin's smile widened ineffably.

"Well, I was the one asking you to dance in the first place, so I ought to thank you as well. For doing me the honour, and for making it such a pleasure." She reasoned, amused by his attempt at keeping a straight face. It was entirely adorable how he got flustered over compliments every single time, and even more endearing how hard he tried to hide it. But he couldn't hide from Robin, not truly, not without immense efforts.

"Minerva didn't exaggerate last year when she gushed about your skill at dancing. You are… good, indeed. In fact, I believe I have never had a more adept partner." He finally replied, and a warm rush of pride filled Robin's chest immediately. That certainly was a reputation she wanted to uphold. Not just in dancing.

"Makes me wonder what horrible partners you must've had before." She smirked, quirking an eyebrow at him in an obvious tease, and they started making their way off the dancefloor. "Actually, I-..."

"Excuse me…" None other than Damion Morgan stepped into their path, out of nowhere, and strategically blocked their escape from the open space. Every muscle in Robin's body tensed in an instant. "Seeing as Miss Mitchell is without any permanent company tonight, I believe I may very well steal her from you for a dance, huh, Severus?"

No! No no no no… Robin's mind screamed in protest, but her body seemed unwilling to transmit the statement. She wanted to tell him to fuck off, or at least to ask her for a dance instead of assuming that he needed someone else's approval but not hers. Even then she would've said no, or at least she would've wanted to. Ever since her birthday, she had been following through with the change of strategy and laid low, playing the submission almost too well. It disgusted her, quite honestly, but she had promised to Snape that she would do it, and it actually had resulted in less trouble with Morgan indeed. The dynamics between them had definitely shifted, on the surface at least, but Robin wasn't quite sure what actually lay beneath that. Damion Morgan still was a mystery to her, and not one of the good kind. And he was still waiting for an answer.

The fact that Snape was hesitating made Robin look up at him, but quite honestly she understood his struggle. It was safe to say that neither of them wanted her to dance with Morgan, but on the other hand, her act demanded her to agree to do so anyway. Robin knew that Snape had absolutely no reason to say no, no means to save her. It wasn't his decision, and Morgan very well knew that. He was playing his own game with them, and this time Robin couldn't change the rules without losing her own game in return. So when she looked up at Snape, he returned her gaze as both an apology and a warning. There was no decision to be made.

"As you quite correctly observed, I am not accompanying Miss Mitchell to the ball tonight. That however does not change the fact that you should be asking her if she will dance with you." Snape finally turned to scowl at Morgan, giving a reply as monotonous as ever, and yet he gave Robin's hand a subtle squeeze before letting go. She knew he was sorry for this… She was too.

"Well?" Morgan turned to Robin without wasting a heartbeat, smiling widely as always and holding his hand out to her, and she knew that she had no choice. With a polite but cold smile, she accepted his hand and let him lead her back to the dancefloor.

They got into position without further ado, and when the music began, they followed the gestus of the dancing couples around them. All the while, Robin had to suppress the desperate wish to chop his hand off for lingering on her waist. Better her waist than her ribs though, even if he was technically doing it wrong. She had no intention to tell him, and kept her nervous and fragile facade up like she ought to.

"Do you have any idea how many girls would love to switch places with you right now?" Morgan smiled at her smugly, and Robin only shook her head. She knew that he was right, the females of Hogwarts adored him, but she had never understood why. Never would want to understand it either.

"You know why I picked you though?" He asked on, but didn't give her any time to answer before doing so himself. "Because I took pity. When the only man willing to dance with you is Severus… Let's say I thought even you deserve a little better."

For a moment, Robin wondered if he was serious about this or if he had seen through her act and was trying to break her facades. Because honestly, he was getting dangerously close to that point right now. And if Robin had given in to her impulses yet another time tonight, she wouldn't have stopped at such simple torture as she had before. How dare he insult Snape like that... it filled her with a seething heat and anger. But she forced her emotions behind the walls in her head, swallowed both her pride and the blinding white hatred, and instead looked up at Morgan with a blinding smile instead. Always the damsel in distress.

"That is very considerate of you." She said in a whisper, for she wouldn't have been able to keep her voice from rasping. "Perhaps… Professor Snape too only danced with me for pity's sake."

"You don't know Severus, my dear…" Morgan huffed out a bitter laugh, sneering to himself as his hand dropped even lower to rest on Robin's hip. "He sets fire to the world around himself, but he never lets a single flame touch you."

The words sent a chill down Robin's spine, neither in fear nor in excitement, or perhaps it was both. Was it really that noticeable that Snape treated her differently? Probably. He never made a secret of it in class either, even if he usually called her by her last name then and kept the dialogue to an appropriate minimum. Somehow, at this point class felt more unnatural than their other meetings did. But that didn't mean that Morgan ought to know how close they were. Did he even know?

Robin kept her head straight either way, which allowed her to barely gaze over Morgan's shoulders. When they turned, her eyes found Snape standing among the observing crowd at the edge of the dancefloor, conversing with Dumbledore while still keeping an eye on her though. She was glad he was still nearby and not back at their table, even if in the company of the headmaster. The only other person whose mystery Robin couldn't quite solve. But at least Dumbledore was a neutral mystery, not a dreadful one.

"You never talk much, do you?" Morgan asked, sighing, and a mere moment later he almost made her trip over his legs. Very much on purpose, of course.

"I doubt that you would find interest in anything I have to say." Robin replied politely, and she had to admit that while she hadn't said much but for the occasional snarky comment during her time of superior neutrality over Morgan, she now said even less. Almost nothing, actually.

"Oh, don't make yourself so small, little songbird." He chuckled in an almost condescendingly empathetic manner. "I have always enjoyed that sharp tongue of yours… your crude little comments… the stepping out of line in the past few years."

"My behavior wasn't appropriate."

"No." He sighed, smiling. "But that's why it was such a delight. It's a shame that your… resistance against me has dimmed down so much recently."

Robin couldn't quite believe what he was saying. Didn't want to believe what he was saying, actually. And suddenly her act gained a whole new dimension of relevance, as she finally understood why Snape had insisted on it quite so vehemently. Morgan enjoyed torturing her. And he liked it better the more she fought back. The thought made her shudder, and for the first time ever she actually felt something like fear of the man currently holding her hand. She feared what she didn't know about him, in a twisted kind of way, and that perhaps was even worse. Her only chance was feigned submission, as disgusting as it was.

When the song ended, and the end of Robin's suffering was near, Morgan finally removed his hands from her hip and she could breathe again at last. His touch on her had felt like acid seeping into her skin, all the way through her dress even… She could only hope it wouldn't happen again.

"You are going to be a great partner, with a little more practice." He remarked, catching her wrist before Robin could excuse herself. "I very much look forward to our next time."

Robin's stomach twisted with a sick feeling, and yet she smiled at him politely, giving a courteous nod. "Have a nice evening, sir." She said, and at last he let go of her wrist, then bowed quite ridiculously and vanished off the dancefloor without another word. Finally, goddamnit…

Robin gathered her thoughts for a second, closing her eyes, breathing deeply. Then she made for the direction where she had seen Snape and Dumbledore. Honestly, she just wanted to get away from everything right now, away from the dancing and the music and the people. It was stupid how ten minutes of Morgan could overwhelm her quite so much, but the knowledge of the stupidity of the feeling unfortunately didn't change the feeling itself, and thus her heart picked up speed uncomfortably while it became harder and harder not to yell at everyone who stepped into her way. But she couldn't leave yet, couldn't… Until she finally found the two men she'd been looking for.

"Ah, Miss Mitchell, I knew we wouldn't have to wait for you long." Dumbledore greeted her even before she came to stand next to Snape.

"Good evening, headmaster." She replied, sounding too out of breath for her own liking, too annoyed, but when everything was starting to be too much, it usually happened faster than anticipated, and a lot less subtle than appreciated. "I hope I didn't interrupt your conversation."

"Not at all. Actually, I was just about to take my leave, and thanks to your impeccable timing, I do not have to worry about leaving Severus to himself. He will be in good company now." Dumbledore said to Robin, with his signature enigmatic smile, then gave Snape a look as well and finally nodded at both of them. "It is surprisingly warm for a December night, wouldn't you say?" Then, without another word, he turned around and sauntered off towards the buffet.

Robin let out a long breath once he was gone, vanished between people who didn't pay them any attention, before she turned around to Snape at last. "Thank you for waiting… I saw you kept an eye on me, that helped."

"Are you alright?" He asked in return, frowning at her in badly veiled concern. He was always so very observant… always knew when she wasn't feeling well. Robin could have cried for that reason alone.

"Not really. All these people are driving me crazy." She huffed, annoyed by the crowds and herself, and thus she crossed her arms over her chest. "This room feels like it's imploding, and I've been trying very hard for the last ten minutes not to burst into tears in front of everyone present. He didn't make it any easier for me."

"Morgan?"

"Morgan." She breathed in return, both ashamed of how easily he had gotten to her and how defeated she felt upon that.

Something in Snape's expression changed for a moment, lost in whatever string of thought he was following, but then his attention was back on Robin. "Are you going to leave?"

"Yeah… It's still some time until midnight, but I'm done with this bloody ball already. I just want to go."

Silence. For a few seconds they just looked at each other. "May I come with you?" He finally asked, carefully and almost reluctant. As if he would truly expect her to say no.

"I had very much hoped you would." Robin replied, and his question finally managed to bring a small smile to her face. He did want to stay with her after all… he wasn't tired of her company. "But don't you have to stay until shortly before midnight to chaperone this whole thing?"

"Considering I have hardly paid attention to anything but you this evening, I would say they are doing fine without me." He mused in all honesty, and his hand found its place on the small of her back again as they made for the doors. Upon his words Robin had to smile again, a little brighter than before, while a good chunk of the misery Morgan had caused her melted under Snape's touch, cleared away by his words, to leave nothing but warmth, and perhaps even a little excitement.

They soon left the great hall behind, passing by a group of chatting students, and finally made their way outside, towards the courtyard. Alone at last; some time shortly after eleven o'clock, no people, no music. Just Snape and Robin and the night. It really was surprisingly warm, especially for December, and the fresh air gave them no more chill than it had back in October. Even September, perhaps. Curious…

"Feeling better?" He finally asked, as they sauntered across the uneven stones and towards nowhere in particular.

"Mostly, yes." Robin sighed in return, and would've almost sighed again when his hand dropped from her back as they left the courtyard behind, and followed the path that led down the hill. Going nowhere, going everywhere. "It's just… nevermind."

"I'm listening. To anything you have to say."

"It's about Morgan. I think I'm starting to hear shadows speak when I'm around him."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that I don't think he just wants me low and broken for him to come out superior… I think he wants me to keep up my resistance because he likes the fight. He enjoys being cruel to me, but only when I fight back." She said, crossing her arms over her chest once again. "He believes my act, but he still tries to break it. Tries to get me to react."

Silence. "What did he do?"

"Other than not knowing or not caring about where not to put his hands on my body? Just words… words about you, mostly."

Silence. "I'm sorry. I should have found a way to spare you from that dance."

"It's not your fault. There's nothing you could've done about it." Robin shrugged and gave him a half smile. "I kept up the act, at least. Even though I wanted to chop off his hands most of the time."

"Remind me of that next time I make the mistake of touching you."

"It's not a mistake when you do it! I like your touch..." She protested instinctively, but a second later her mind caught on and her face heated up in an instant. "And… I should probably not have said that. But really, I was one hundred percent referring to Morgan and only Morgan!"

"I was merely joking. Trying to, anyway." He said in as much awkwardness as Robin had ever heard his tone take on. "But I'm not particularly good at conventional humor, nor at cheering you up as it seems."

Now that in return brought a smile to her face, and she could almost forget the mild embarrassment of what she'd previously admitted to. "It really was a terrible attempt at a joke. But you're doing good in the other regard."

"You're too easy on me, Robin."

"Not at all. You are just too hard on yourself."

He didn't reply, and thus Robin took his silence as agreement, or at least as him believing in her sincerity. While they made their way down the path, she could feel his eyes on her from time to time, and every one of those instances made her smile a little bit more. Whatever he was thinking about probably included her in some way, and that was quite enough to keep Robin's own mind pleasantly busy.

After a while, they found themselves returning to the courtyard as instinctively as they had left it. By now Robin was feeling rather cold indeed, chilled but not entirely frozen, but it was only twenty more minutes until midnight anyway. She could do that.

They sauntered through the arcades as they had done quite so often already, until at last they arrived at the very arches they had long before chosen as theirs. Snape went ahead to sit down like it was the only logical thing to do, facing the open distance beyond the castle, but Robin behind him hesitated.

"Just ask, instead of standing there like a dunderhead." He said calmly, and while Robin couldn't see his face, she was sure that he was smiling a little at least.

"If you already know what I want to ask anyway, I shouldn't have to ask in the first place." She replied with a small smirk of her own, and a moment later he moved over wordlessly to make room for her to sit down next to him.

Robin didn't hesitate to climb into his arch then, heart skipping a beat even though he had literally given her his permission, and she came to realize that the space between the columns wasn't quite as large as she had been led to believe. Thus when she did sit down, her entire right side was pressed up against his left. He didn't seem to mind though, his calm prevailed as it only ever did around her, and Robin wondered if he could hear her heart racing. She definitely didn't feel cold now.

"I can't believe a whole year has passed yet again." She said after a while. "We were out on the wooden bridge just yesterday."

"Seems like it, doesn't it?" He mused in return, then folded his hands in his lap. "And yet so very much has happened."

"Has it, really?"

"You saved a life, aced your OWLs, made some amazing discoveries and became a very much respectable professional in the field. You even impressed Professor Dumbledore, seriously impressed him, which I can assure you is a very unlikely thing to happen. And not to forget, we went on a very memorable excursion."

"And we had an accidental sleepover in the lab after that." Robin couldn't help adding with a small snort and a smile, upon which she got a low chuckle in return. The sound of it alone made her sigh in contentment. "It really was a good year."

"Except for the times I thought you might die, or the times I wanted to strangle you myself, or any instance involving a certain colleague of mine…"

"You really should stop focusing on the bad things." Robin protested with a roll of her eyes, and out of another of those nasty impulses, she leaned her head against his shoulder, or rather his upper arm. Should he shove her down the abyss in front of them for that, if he wanted to. But he stayed perfectly still instead, a little too still even, before relaxing again at last when Robin spoke on. "There are so many wonderful things to focus on instead, and it's those that matter in the end. In a few years, I won't be thinking about Morgan, or Jos, or the crowds… I'll think about dancing with you, and mocking people, and sitting here together. In the end, all I will remember of tonight is you and I."

Snape hummed in return, quietly, but Robin still felt the soft vibrations going through his body and resonating all the way in her chest. The feeling made her shiver, and she closed her eyes for a moment to make sure to remember. To savour every single feeling, every speckle of emotion, every little sensation.

"So did I succeed?" Robin finally asked, opening her eyes again to look out into the night.

"In what?"

"Getting you closer to happiness, even if just a single step."

"You did." He replied after a moment of silence, almost serenely in a way, and Robin had to smile. At least she hadn't imagined it.

"Good." She said, and for the moment she felt truly proud of this achievement. She had succeeded once… she had no doubt that she could do it again. "On to another step next year then."

In that moment, the faint noises from inside the castle picked up, and a few seconds later the sounds of fireworks carried over from Hogsmeade as well. Another shiver ran over Robin's skin, but she smiled anyway as she took one more deep breath, then lifted her head off his shoulder at last.

"Happy new year." She looked up, with a calm and serene smile that was content no less. "I'll be here to make sure that it will be one indeed."

"Indeed…" He mirrored, but when his gaze met hers, lingering and observing her like he was seeing her for the very first and yet the very last time at once, there was nothing happy about his expression at all. No, he looked quite as troubled as Robin had ever seen him, and just as torn.

Her heart skipped a beat upon the sight, and her brows furrowed into a concerned frown. Had she said something wrong? Done something, perhaps? Maybe she shouldn't have told him that he made up the majority of her happy memories these days… Maybe she shouldn't have allowed herself to get so close to him, physically and through her words. Or maybe this wasn't about her in the first place, maybe he was only thinking about the year ahead. Who truly knew what went on in that man's mind after all?

"It's getting quite cold out here… Wanna go back inside for the first coffee of the year?" She asked eventually, in an attempt to brighten up the moment after a good five minutes had passed in silence. But he just looked at her like one looked at a picture of something long lost. "Or… would you like to talk about it?"

"Perhaps another time." He replied quietly, taking one last glance at Robin before getting up in a graceful move she could only hope to imitate.

"The talking or to coffee?" She chuckled while she fought to get back onto her feet as well, trying to avoid stepping onto the hem of her dress that pooled around her legs. Dresses really weren't made for violating the suggested functions of architecture like this. "Nevermind, stupid question. Coffee sounds pretty amazing right now, all warm and comforting and calm. I'm making the first, just for tradition's sake."

"I was referring to both." He said once Robin's eyes met his again, in an expression as grave as his voice. The smile faded off her lips in an instant and a cold heat rolled over her, cursing through her veins like a liquid poison. It never meant anything good when he looked at her like that; rather on the contrary. He usually would start raging now. But it was the absence of even the smallest speckle of anger on his part that truly scared her this time.

"So… no coffee?" She croaked out, brows drawing together in confusion while her arms crossed over her chest on their own account. "We could also have tea, or-..."

"No." His eyes stayed locked with hers for another few eternal seconds, digging through her soul in their dark intensity, and while he wore his strongest facade of cold neutrality, even he couldn't keep it from quivering now. "Happy new year, Robin."

Without another word he turned to leave the arcades, hurrying off to become one with the darkness while Robin stood frozen to the spot, watching his billowing robes and long strides until he was gone entirely. If confusion had ever been this allconsuming to her, now it was an unbearable torture.

______________________________

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meeko-mar · 4 years ago

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Ok I just thought of this.

This is a further, further thought about my Kidnapped Deku Theory, about the captivity of Izuku, as well as the FUNCTION such an event would serve in his story. Surprise influence from a different Anime(movie) plays into my thought on this.

Now. Imma just preface this with: Part of me hopes I'm wrong about this, cause I like Compress and I don't want him to die yet.

But here we go.

So, Deku gets kidnapped, and somehow, the whole group, (probably minus Machia) escapes.

They bunker down in some hidden location. Shigaraki is way too depleted to physically do anything about stealing OFA at this particular point, so for now they just restrain Izuku where they can keep a close eye on him until shiggy gains enough strength . Izuku is desperately tired as well and cannot even hope of fighting back yet. So sit in captivity he does. And he observes.

And now here's where the whole thing of "Izuku needs to realize that the villains need saving too" thing comes into play,

Compress is SUPER injured. And unless one of them has some pretty adept med skills, it's unlikely that he'll get proper medical treatment for his wounds. So...barring anyone coming up with sudden healing Quirks, be it Shigaraki Or Izuku, it's likely that Compress will die.

Izuku is going to have a front row seat to the league as they lose, and mourn the loss of their friend.

Like I said I kinda don't want compress to die, but if his death has a purpose, aside from the escape of Shigaraki, maybe it's a step towards humanizing the League to Izuku. Up until this point, to him, they have been a nefarious, one-dimensional entity who has done nothing but terrorize his class and caused mayhem and death.

And nooo, this definitely ain't gonna erase any of that terrible shit they’ve done, or want to do, and he sure as hell ain’t gonna become their friend, but seeing some more relatable moments and seeing that even these guys are a found family and mourn each other's losses and that they sacrifice for one another too. It's gonna give him something more to think about in the big picture(and maybe make him realize some of the flaws in their Hero Society)

And, even though Izuku has chosen the profession of Hero, it doesn’t mean that he’d witness Compress’s death and be happy about it. He’s not the type to sit there and say “GOOD, you all deserve it, one less villain in the world!” (that’s Bakugou’s thing, after all) Izuku is a naturally kind and empathetic person. He can understand death and loss, and even though he cannot agree with their methods of rage, murder and destruction, he could come to understand some of the more nuanced roots of it. He wants Villains to face justice for their crimes, but he’s never been the type to actually wish death upon them (even when he’s trash-talking them while emulating Bakugou’s style).

((not to diverge too far, but I think the same goes for his understanding of Touya, he can grasp that Enji Todoroki was an absolute shit-heel to his kids/wife. He has a concept of abuse and how that had affected Shoto, and has in fact snapped back at Enji himself back at the sports fest when he really didn’t have to or even have the place for it, BUT It still doesn’t change the fact that Dabi was so far out of line in trying to murder his own brother that yes, Izuku is still super justified in what he said to Dabi instead of stopping mid-battle and trying to work it out with him. Like I said before, this ain’t that type of Talk-no-Jutsu anime. BUT I DIGRESS, BACK TO OUR TOPIC))

Like I said before and will say again til I’m blue in the face, Izuku’s understanding and developing vision of this world is more nuanced than that, and this is basically a slow-burn. He’s still young and learning, and he just needs those perspectives and experiences to edge in to his pre-conceived and admittedly exclusionary notions of heroism and society.

Secondly, Toga is also going to be mourning the death of Twice, who was killed at the hands of a hero that Izuku has worked with/admired himself. She’s going to have her own issues with Izuku and she may get the chance to have a more extended conversation with him, not like how the convo with Ochako was so stunted because Ochako was trying to apprehend Toga and was full of anger and adrenaline...Izuku in this situation will probably have no other option than to hear her out entirely. Assuming she’s not trying to stab him or suck his blood while she’s doing so.

The third thing that could affect him and his outlook, is that Izuku has already seen AFO’s manipulative tendencies over Tomura in the Quirk “dimension”, so he even has that to think about as well...potentially more, if Shiggy gets to try stealing OFA again. So there’s also that, which I think Hori is going to expand on later no matter what, arguably there was that one panel already that showed Izuku try to run towards Tomura as if to save him(not sure if that was what was happening, but we shall see).

Izuku may find himself in the den with villains, but he may see more pieces to the puzzle, and it might be the perspective he needs to truly become the world's next symbol of hope.

OKAY ADDED CONTEXT TIME. I suddenly realized where I think I got this particular vision.

If you have seen the Studio Trigger movie, PROMARE, there is a scene where the plucky protagonist, Galo, finds where a group of the Burnish are hiding, and the Deuteragonist, and Burnish leader, Lio knocks him out and ties him up. (without being too spoilery, the Burnish are people who have sometimes uncontrolled bursts of flames that have a habit of causing much destruction and death)

From here, Galo witnesses how they take care of each other even when the public image of the Burnish is a harsh and fearful one of rigid oppressionand dehumanization. He sees that they need to eat to survive, and most importantly, he witnesses one of their number perish after being a victim of many human experiments, and he sees them try to save that person, and then mourn, before they all leave. Additionally, Lio explains to him what the Burnish experience is actually like, as opposed to the narrative that is out there surrounding them, that Galo knows.

Now, Galo wasn’t exactly hateful against the Burnish people to begin with, but due to his job being a firefighter(an occupation in this world that is super Hype, kind of like Heroes in BNHA), his lot in life runs opposed to them by nature. He serves to protect others from the chaos that the Burnish people (mostly unintentionally) bring about...(also a bit like the Hero society.)

But this scene, set in a cave, with him restrained and with no option but to observe, serves to humanize the Burnish people, which obviously serves as the catalyst to the rest of Galo’s development and his choices later to stand up and help Lio.

BTW, PROMARE is an absolutely EXCELLENT movie and I highly recommend it...my hubby and I only just now got to watch it one of the first nights we were stuck at home sick. We slept on this the first year or two it was out, but it’s really good.

And as I was typing this and looking at a Meta video on YT about PROMARE it clicked that I must have gotten a little brain worm from this scene. Sorry if this got too far out of BNHA, and I didn’t share anything very spoilery.

So, RETURNING TO DEKU, and long story short: what would be the point of Deku getting kidnapped, especially at this time when the Villains have faced loss with Twice, and are quite likely to face it again if Compress dies from his wounds??

I think it’d be very very similar to this Promare scene, and would serve...almost the same function. Again, he’s not gonna become friends with the villains, and they are not going to turn to the Hero side, either. And it bears stressing, it doesn’t erase or condone or change Deku’s opinion on any of their criminal actions. Of which, there are many.

But it’d force Izuku into a different perspective, and he might learn a bit about at least some of their past, and their reasons for villainy... If they feel like explaining any of that to Izuku. It’s going to build on that foundation that his fight with Gentle and La Brava built. (Y’all, I love Gentle and his fight with Deku was important, if I’m reading these breadcrumbs right)

Anyway, this was super long, hopefully wasn’t too hard to follow, But my Kidnapped Deku Theory just keeps growing-- H E L P.

#kidnapped deku theory #meta #using some inspo from PROMARE #Kinda hope I'm wrong but it'd be interesting to see Deku learn this way #it'd create some interesting dynamics if he had to interact with nobody but villains for a while #my theory expands #oh no #mr. compress #bnha spoilers #post-war arc

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dinosaurtsukki · 4 years ago

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across the sea | a bokuaka fanfic (act. II)

inspired by the movie ‘portrait of a lady on fire’ by celine sciamma which is sad and lesbian

pairing: bokuto koutarou x akaashi keiji

word count: 21.8k words

contains: historical setting (actually the setting is vague bec if i tried to describe it more it would take 5 extra pages), heavy angst, slight fluff, greek mythology references, implied smut

summary: when Bokuto accepted a portrait commission for the young, engaged Akaashi Keiji, he never expected him to be so beautiful. he knows it's a mistake to be attached, a mistake for them to fall in love in a time when they know it's impossible for them to be together.

a/n: i’m a sad gay who loves sad lesbian movies and portait of a lady on fire is peak film. a lot of the things here are based on the film so i suggest you check out this beautiful movie, but i added a few tweaks here and there to make it my own.

chapters: act. I, act. II., act. III

The next day, Bokuto found Akaashi in the kitchen, of all places, kneading what appeared to be a bread dough next to a distressed looking Kageyama. Bokuto paused for a while, standing by the kitchen door with his arms crossed and a smile on his face, as he watched the young master, who was probably forbidden from working in the kitchen, and the house butler, who was probably worried there were repercussions for allowing Akaashi to do what he was doing.

“Akaashi-san, please allow me to take over from here,” Kageyama pressed.

“Nonsense,” Akaashi chuckled. “I never knew bread-making was this fun. And the dough texture isn’t even near what you described.” Just then, Kageyama had discovered Bokuto was already there.

“Bokuto-san! Please tell Akaashi-san that I can handle preparing breakfast myself!” he demanded. Akaashi lifted his head slightly to greet him.

“Good morning, Bokuto-san. I hope I’ll be able to make you a good enough breakfast with my limited cooking skills.”

“I’ll be making breakfast!”

Bokuto chuckled and approached the wooden table where they were walking. “Kageyama’s right you know. You shouldn’t be the only one making breakfast.”

“Right,” Kageyama nodded. A look of slight annoyance crossed Akaashi’s features. Up close, Bokuto see that a corner of his cheek and a bit of his brow was streaked with flour.

“In fact, I should be helping Akaashi out!” Bokuto grinned cheekily at an even more flustered Kageyama. “Come on Kageyama. Sit this one out just this once. We won’t burn down anything. Promise.”

“And as owner of the estate, I demand that I get to cook breakfast in my own kitchen,” Akaashi backed him up.

“Alright, I guess I’ll sweep every inch of the manor,” Kageyama huffed.

“Nope, not even that,” Akaashi shook his head. “Don’t you have some kind of hobby?”

“Well… I,” Kageyama cleared his throat and looked away with a slight flush in his cheeks. “I suppose I can work on my embroidery.”

“That’s the spirit,” Bokuto grinned. Akaashi had finished kneading the dough and was now shaping it into a bowl on a wooden board. “I’ll scrounge up something to fry,” he said, heading into the larder. A moment later, he came up with some unsliced bacon and a basket of eggs.

“That should go well with the bread,” Akaashi remarked as he slid the unbaked dough into the oven before dusting off his floury hands on his apron. Seeing him without his usual jacket and scarf with the sleeves on his shirt rolled up had a certain charm that stopped Bokuto from looking away as much as he should.

“Would you like to do the frying?” he asked, plucking a knife from where the kitchen utensils were to slice the bacon into thick strips.

“You’ll have to show me how first,” Akaashi said. After slicing the bacon, Bokuto ignited the stove and instructed Akaashi to place a pan over it. As it turns out, Akaashi was a quick learner, even with Bokuto as a mediocre cook and instructor, and in a short while, all the bacon had been fried perfectly and all he had left to do was to crack eggs one by one into the pan.

“You’re not that bad of a cook yourself, Akaashi,” Bokuto commented. The two of them were standing next to each other by the stove, barely inches apart.

“If I’d have known I should have told my mother earlier,” Akaashi smiled wryly. “I feel guilty for saying this but I’m glad she isn’t around. I wouldn’t be here cooking bacon and eggs if she was.”

“Well, not be an instigator but…” Bokuto shot a sidelong glance at him. “Would you want to… do some things you wouldn’t be able to do?” Akaashi raised his eyebrows at him.

“I’m surprised you didn’t think I was already planning to do such things.”

After the bread finished baking and the eggs finished frying, they lay their breakfast out on the kitchen table and brought out plates and forks for everyone. Kageyama, who seemed to have finished a good amount of his embroidery and was no longer distressed, thanked them for the breakfast. Bokuto couldn’t help but watch Akaashi eat with his hands: picking up bacon with his fingers and mopping up egg yolk with bread. His master told him that hands were the hardest things to sketch so Bokuto spent an entire year on hands until sketching them became second-nature to him.

After finishing breakfast, Akaashi met Bokuto again in the dining room to continue the portrait. This time, Bokuto decided to paint more slowly, taking the opportunity to perfect mixing his colors. He hadn’t foreseen needing to paint a second portrait so he noticed that he was running low on oil. ‘I could ask Kageyama to buy some for me from the town nearby,’ he thought, before glancing up at Akaashi. ‘Unless…’

“What are you thinking about Bokuto-san?” Akaashi spoke up, as if reading Bokuto’s thoughts.

“I, uh…” Bokuto stammered. Akaashi cocked his head.

“You had that look on your face again,” he said.

“What look?”

“The one where you’re deep in thought and you raise your left hand to your chin,” Akaasi smirked as Bokuto realized that he was in fact holding that pose. “I do have an excellent view of how you work from here and while I’m not adept at painting, a lot of your habits have been noted down in my mind.”

“Most subjects wouldn’t even pay any mind to the painter,” Bokuto raised his eyebrows.

“You’re not just a painter,” Akaashi said simply. “Back to my question, what are you thinking about?”

“Well, since I didn’t prepare for painting two portraits during my stay here, I seem to have run out of oil,” he sighed, rubbing the back of his hair, no doubt leaving streaks of paint there, not that he particularly cared. “I was thinking about asking Kageyama to pick some up for me at the town tomorrow, but I’m also curious about the town here.”

“So am I, I’ve never been,” Akaashi said. Bokuto felt a smile play on his lips.

“Your tone suggests that you know exactly what I’m planning.”

“Kageyama would forbid it.”

“As if that’s going to stop you, Akaashi.”

“You know me well,” Akaashi chuckled. It sounded like music to Bokuto’s ears. “Are you always this chatty with the people you paint?”

“I do try to get into some casual conversation to put the model at ease,” Bokuto said, dipping his paintbrush in a lighter color to highlight the edges around the portrait. “And I can’t imagine how boring it must be for them to have to sit completely still for hours.”

“Just out of curiosity,” Akaashi cleared his throat. “Have you ever had to paint nude models?”

Bokuto chuckled. “Almost everyone asks that. And yes, I did. My master sent me to classes on nude painting with live models in front of us. Though, it’s not as erotic as most people think. At one point, while painting a woman, I found myself sobbing because it had been more than an hour and I couldn’t get the shadows right and I had run out of paint.” Akaashi laughed again.

“That certainly clears up a lot of mystery,” he said. “Although, I can’t imagine you a sobbing mess.”

“Oh, I was very moody growing up,” Bokuto grinned. “I’d easily feel down when I couldn’t do something right. And that was often.”

“How did you readjust your mindset?”

“Well, I took a step back to look at how far I’ve come. Once I remembered that years ago, I couldn’t even sketch an apple but had reached a point when I can paint one in less than 10 minutes, I knew I could do so much more with practice. And now, I’m here.”

“Now, you’re here,” Akaashi smiled. And Bokuto knew there wasn’t any place he’d rather be.

That night, they convinced Kageyama to let them go to town the next day and that Bokuto would know doubt watch over him and that they wouldn’t let Mikoto-san know. Kageyama agreed, and the next day, after breakfast that was once again cooked by Akaashi and Bokuto, the three of them headed out to town. Something about the day and occasion made Bokuto bring out his nicest shirt which was powder blue in color, with pristine, white buttons. Akaashi looked more casual in his appearance than usual dressed in suspenders and a light, cotton shirt that he had left unbuttoned from his chin to the top part of his chest.

The town near the estate was quite different from the ones Bokuto visited in the city. For one, it was much cleaner, less-populated, and less noisy. Most of the houses and buildings were low, at most three floors in height, and the pathways around town were in cobblestone. The townspeople however, were busy and hard at work preparing for what seemed to be a summer festival. ‘It is the first of May,’ Bokuto remembered and paused during their walk to watch a group of men erect a tall, twelve-foot maypole that had colored ribbons tied around it. Bokuto took a mental image in his head of the scene, eager to recreate it.

“It’s a May Day Eve festival,” Akaashi said, standing beside Bokuto. “Right, Kageyama?”

“Yes sir,” he nodded.

“Have you ever been to one?”

“My hometown celebrates it,” he said, a faint smile crossing his face. “We have a similar way of celebrating as the people here, actually. There will be stands serving blackberry wine and cold drinks. Special stew and fried food made with fresh, summer vegetables. The flower sellers would be weaving flower crowns and selling them for people to wear. And at night, the dances will begin.”

“Is it true that the young girls dance around the maypole?” Akaashi asked.

“Yes. It is a sight to see,” Kageyama nodded.

“If that is so, maybe we should stick around to witness it,” he said. Bokuto raised an eyebrow and smiled at the suggestion.

“But—”

“Come on, Kageyama. Even you want to stick around,” Akaashi nudged him, smiling playfully. “My mother is a boat ride away. The worst thing that can happen is that I get the flu again.”

“We’ll return home before midnight,” Bokuto added. A conflicted look came upon Kageyama’s face.

“Eleven o’ clock,” he finally said.

“Deal!” Akaashi said quickly before turning to Bokuto. “Now, where to?”

The festival was still hours away from starting so after Bokuto purchased his oil, the three of them roamed around town, being dragged off to wherever Akaashi pleased. But neither Bokuto nor Kageyama minded much, seeing as how happy Akaashi was to finally get a glimpse of the outside world. They visited dress shops, groceries, a woodworker’s studio, and florist’s shops where people had already begun making flower crowns. They lingered in a shop selling fabrics and yarns where Kageyama had perused and bought different threads for his embroidery before passing by a bakery to buy bread for lunch.

By the time the sun was close to setting, the town had come to life as the May Day Eve festival began. The town was lit with lanterns everywhere and a bonfire in the town square. “Well, it has started. Anything you want to do first?” Bokuto asked Akaashi.

“Well, the blackberry wine seems interesting,” Akaashi said, looking at one of the stalls.

“Have you ever drunk alcohol before?” Bokuto asked.

“I have the occasional glass of wine when my mother lets me.”

“Just, make sure not to get too drunk,” Kageyama muttered. But Bokuto was feeling mischievous and he was curious as to how a tipsy Akaashi looked like.

“You heard him, Akaashi. Let’s drink to our heart’s content!” he cheered, slinging an arm around Akaashi’s shoulder as they made their way to the stall with Kageyama following behind them. Bokuto had never tried blackberry wine but it was much cheaper than usual wine and sold by the bottle. He bought all of them one each. The wine was sweet, much sweeter than grape wine, but packed more of a punch. Kageyama only finished half of his bottle before retiring to one of the benches to sit down and most likely take a nap, leaving Bokuto and Akaashi to roam around the different stalls by themselves. They passed the rest of Kageyama’s wine between them and Bokuto was highly conscious of the fact that their lips were touching the same bottle. Bokuto knew that at some point, he’d have to stop drinking if he wanted to make it home with Akaashi and Kageyama, but it was a summer night and summer nights were dangerous and recklessness hummed through the air and Akaashi’s smile was dangerous and his hands were warm, and both of them ended up visiting the blackberry wine stall a few times.

By their third bottle, Bokuto found himself standing to the side and watching Akaashi peruse the flower crowns being sold by a vendor. Both of them were sweating from the summer heat and Bokuto could see that Akaashi’s cheeks were especially flushed by the alcohol. “Bokuto-san, how does this look?” Akaashi asked, looking up at him with a daisy crown on his head. Bokuto chuckled, noting that Akaashi seemed to be a bold, impulsive kind of drunk.

“This suits you better,” he said, gently removing the daisy crown and placing one of golden chrysanthemums on Akaashi’s head. “The gold brings out the green in your eyes.”

“You sure seem to like looking at them,” Akaashi scoffed. Bokuto could tell he was teasing him. The blackberry wine made him bold too, and two could play at that game.

“I’m supposed to. I’m your painter, aren’t I?” he raised an eyebrow, nearing closer to Akaashi’s face. By the way his eyes darted, he was caught off-guard for a second, but quickly regained his footing. Just as he was about to respond, a loud call echoed throughout the square.

“The maypole dance is beginning now. If you would like to join, come up front,” a young man yelled. Almost immediately after, people began skipping over to the maypole to claim one of its long, colored ribbons, most of them being young girls. But there were a couple of men as well.

“You should join,” Bokuto blurted out, nudging Akaashi with his shoulder. “To make the most of your May Day Eve festival experience.”

“You think so? What if I get the dance wrong?” Akaashi asked.

“You won’t,” Bokuto grinned.

“Alright,” Akaashi agreed, stepping forward, and turning around to say “But your eyes better be only on me,” he said, fixing Bokuto once again with that piercing stare of his. ‘Dangerous, dangerous,’ the insides of Bokuto hummed but he could only nod and watch Akaashi walk over to the maypole to claim a ribbon. He held it in his hand, taking position with the rest of the dancers. When the music began, Akaashi keenly observed the dancers’ movements, moving slowly at first to copy them, before slowly gaining confidence to not have to look at the others around him. As he danced close to the maypole before spinning outwards, Akaashi caught Bokuto in his gaze once again for one second, before smirking and turning around. Again and again, their eyes would meet, almost as if Akaashi was making sure Bokuto was looking at only him. ‘No, he’s definitely doing that on purpose,’ he said to himself. But with the way Akaashi looked tonight, he shouldn’t have even been worried about Bokuto looking at other people in the first place. His movements were graceful and elegant, especially for someone who had just learned the dance a few minutes ago, and the light from the lanterns and bonfire nearby made his tanned skin appear to glow.

Finally, the dance ended and Akaashi rejoined Bokuto. He was flushed, breathless, and his clothes were in disarray, but he looked more alive than Bokuto had ever seen him. “How was I?” he asked.

“It was as if you were on fire,” Bokuto answered.

They rejoined Kageyama by one of the benches and headed home, occasionally laughing and jostling each other like the young men on the way to serenade a woman. Only, Bokuto had never in his life been interested in women. Not even the most beautiful models that he had encountered during his apprenticeship. Rather, he found himself more drawn to men: those in famous paintings recreating Greek myths and stories from the Bible. His first time had been with a male model he had been working with. It was no secret among painters that homosexual relationships do occur, but it was scandalous enough to be kept secret and away from prying eyes.

Except now, Bokuto could tell that something was different about his feelings for Akaashi, the same way he knew to destroy his first portrait of him and delay the wedding. As a painter, Bokuto was only ever concerned about whether his paintings captured every lifelike detail of the model. But as he progressed through the portrait, he found himself constantly wondering whether Akaashi would accept the final product as a reproduction of himself. Bokuto found himself hating Mikoto-san and Akaashi’s arranged suitor, wherever in the world she was. How could they expect Akaashi to be married to someone who only saw a portrait of him? Especially one created by someone who had actual feelings for Akaashi.

“Akaashi-san, please be careful,” Kageyama said, helping up his master who had tripped once again inside the house. The alcohol seemed to have taken full effect as Akaashi could barely stand and his eyelids kept drooping. Kageyama put an arm around him and attempted to help him to the stairs.

“I can do that,” Bokuto volunteered, quickly lifting Akaashi in his arms. He weighed very little, most likely because of how sickly he was, and he groaned a reply before leaning his head against Bokuto’s chest. “It’s alright, Kageyama. I’ll put him to bed.”

“Alright, you can definitely handle him,” Kageyama nodded. “Well, good night, Bokuto-san,” he bowed, before leaving for his own quarters.

“Mmm… tired…” Akaashi mumbled.

“I know, I know. I’m getting you to bed now,” Bokuto said gently before going up the stairs. He struggled a bit with getting the bedroom door open with one hand before finally making it inside. Gently, he lay Akaashi down on his bed and lit the oil lamp on his bedside table to prevent himself from bumping into anything. Akaashi was still wearing the flower crown and Bokuto plucked it from his head and lay it gently on the table when Akaashi stirred awake.

“Bokuto-san,” he blinked, sitting up.

“You’re in your room now,” Bokuto smiled, lifting the blankets to tuck Akaashi in. “I’m guessing this is the first time you’ve gotten drunk.”

“How could you tell?” Akaashi raised an eyebrow.

“I can’t believe you’re still like this even though you’re drunk,” Bokuto chuckled and shook his head.

“This was the best day I’ve ever had,” Akaashi sighed happily, looking up at Bokuto with sleepy eyes. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” And, without him thinking, Bokuto found himself bending closer to Akaashi and gently stroking the side of his face. To his surprise, Akaashi didn’t pull away, rather, he raised a hand to press Bokuto’s against his cheek. It felt as if there was something he should say at this point, and so he said “You were an amazing dancer.” His voice was surprisingly hoarse and deep, even in his own ears.

“And you kept your eyes on only me,” Akaashi whispered in return, he was sitting up on his elbows and their faces were even closer.

“How could I not? You were the most beautiful one there.”

Bokuto had always read that summer evenings were wonderful, magical, and passionate. A time when the impossible crosses into the realm of the possible But, they were also dangerous. As dangerous as the look in Akaashi’s eyes, as dangerous as the heat that radiated outside and inside Bokuto. Not only were summer evenings dangerous because of the air of recklessness and impulse, but because anything good that happened lasted dangerously short. ‘I’m going to regret this someday,’ Bokuto knew. He could tell Akaashi knew. But that still didn’t stop them from closing the distance between their lips, for Bokuto to instinctively wraps his arms around Akaashi to pull him closer, for Akaashi to, in turn, wrap his arms around Bokuto’s neck. It was a kiss as passionate and dangerous as a summer evening, but nowhere near as short. When they emerged, both of them were as breathless as the maypole dancers.

Bokuto sucked in a breath and stood up, swallowing hard. Akaashi was wide-eyed, seemingly snapped out of the drunken state he was in. “I…” Bokuto stammered. “Should I…?”

“I think, it’s time we said good night now, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi nodded, sounding back to his rational self. Bokuto couldn’t agree more, muttering a hasty ‘good night’ before leaving the room, the summer evening’s kiss still on his lips.

…

Both of them were quiet the next day, even during breakfast that Kageyama woke up, earlier than both of them because he wasn’t hungover, to make. Bokuto couldn’t help but glance up sat Akaashi as he nursed his cup of strong, black coffee, only to find the young man distractedly looking out the window. ‘He couldn’t have forgotten about last night, could he?’ Bokuto wondered. He wouldn’t help but feel disappointed if Akaashi had. It couldn’t just have been the wine doing the talking, or rather, kissing.

Finally, it came the time for them to work on the portrait. Akaashi came into the dining room dressed once again in the same expensive suit with his hair fixed and yet, Bokuto couldn’t help but remember the wild-eyed, breathless Akaashi from last night. Wordlessly, the Akaashi in front of him sat down, got into his pose, and waited for Bokuto to start. Only, he was only able to get a few strokes of paint in before putting his brush down and confronting Akaashi.

“Are we not going to talk about last night?”

Akaashi’s eyes widened a fraction at the sudden gesture. “I…” he began and trailed off.

“Was it just… the wine?” Bokuto asked, feeling the wave of disappointment begin to wash over. “Because if you think that’s the case—”

“I was scared that you’d think that,” Akaashi suddenly interrupted him. There was a conflicted look on his face. This time, Bokuto waited for his full response. “I may have been drunk but, kissing you, that was fully intentional. I think, I think I wanted to do it for some time.”

“Y-you have?”

“I was just unsure if you felt the same way,” he continued. “That night, when you told me about you being a painter, I wanted to see if you befriended me because you saw me as someone worth being with. And when you said that you did it just to get the job done, I was disappointed.”

“I’m sorry, I lied,” Bokuto sighed. “I was, I didn’t want to finish the painting at that point. I thought it would be better if you hated me and I moved on from this whole thing.”

“But you didn’t finish the painting,” Akaashi said, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Why?”

“Because it wasn’t you I painted. It was so different from the you I know and it didn’t feel right for me to turn that portrait in,” Bokuto answered, stepping forward. “Why did you finally choose to pose?” he asked, walking to Akaashi. Although, at that point, the answers were falling into place.

“Because I didn’t want you to leave. I wasn’t ready for you to leave,” Akaashi said, his smile growing until Bokuto stopped in front of him.

“I’m here now.”

“I know.”

“Can I kiss you again?”

“You know the answer to that.”

And Bokuto did. Bending down, he cupped Akaashi’s face in his hands and kissed him. Gentler this time, gentler than their summer evening kiss last night. He felt Akaashi’s hands on the sides of his waist, clutching at his shirt as if he was scared of him letting go. Bokuto gently circled his thumb on Akaashi’s cheek, as if to say ‘don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere,’ and the grip on his shirt relaxed. It didn’t matter that what they were doing was taboo or that Akaashi was engaged. In this estate, one that villagers didn’t visit and was bordered by the sea, no eyes were on them. They were in a world of their own.

“Where have you been all my life, Bokuto-san?” Akaashi murmured once they parted, their foreheads pressed against each other. “It’s strange. One of the reasons why I’ve never run away from this place despite the engagement and the constraining feeling is because it felt as if I would get a moment of liberty if I just waited. And it has come, in the form of you.”

“I don’t know about that. All I know is you’re the most beautiful and hardest thing I’ve ever had to paint,” Bokuto whispered.

“That beautiful?” Akaashi laughed, his breath tickling Bokuto’s nose.

“They say you’re more beautiful than your suitor.”

“Who’s they?”

“The ferryman of the boat I came here in,” Bokuto chuckled and stood up.

“Is it true?” Akaashi raised an eyebrow.

“You are a self-indulgent man, did you know that?”

“And you are the one who indulges me,” Akaashi grinned. “I don’t feel like posing for the portrait today,” he sighed. “Can’t we do something else.”

“We did something else yesterday,” Bokuto said. “But I think an extra day can’t hurt,” he smiled.

“Can we go to the beach again?” Akaashi brightened.

“Of course,” Bokuto chuckled.

This time, when they walked to the beach, they walked hand in hand, laughing and talking, stopping once or twice to kiss again. Years later, Bokuto would find himself unable to recall what it is they were talking about and instead, remembering only sights and sensations, which was more than enough for him. By the time they reached the beach, instead of Akaashi exploring the tide pools and wading in the water with Bokuto sketching in secret, they both sat down in the sand and spread their jackets out to lie on. Akaashi rest his head on Bokuto’s lap and handed him the volume of Greek Mythology book that he had snuck out.

“Read it to me again,” he said.

“Demanding, are we?” Bokuto raised an eyebrow but opened the book nonetheless.

“Of course,” Akaashi smiled and closed his eyes.

“Any particular story you have in mind?” he asked, thumbing through the pages.

“Look for what interests you,” Akaashi waved. Bokuto shrugged and went through the book until he came across a beautifully illustrated picture of a man staring at his reflection.

“The Myth of Narcissus,” he read aloud. “Am I saying the name right?”

“Yes,” Akaashi nodded. “Read on.”

And so Bokuto read aloud, feeling much more confident now than when he first read to Akaashi. Maybe its because he knew that the young man lying on his lap enjoyed the sound of his voice, something Bokuto never thought he’d bring. After a good half hour of reading, Bokuto himself felt tired and lay back in the sand. “Your turn,” he nudged Akaashi’s shoulder gently.

“Me?” he sat up, smiling sleepily at him before laying down on his chest with the top of his hair tickling Bokuto’s chin. It was a welcome, warm, weight on his chest and Bokuto circled an arm around Akaashi’s shoulder, pulling him close.

“Tell me a story.”

“Another Greek myth?” Akaashi asked. “Which one do you want to hear? I don’t even need to read aloud from this book.”

“Hmm well then. I’ve never really understood that epic poem. The one about Troy with Achilles and Hector,” Bokuto said. “I tried to read it once to study on Greek myths since they were so popular with painting commissions but it gave me a headache.”

“Ah, the Iliad,” Akaashi said. “Well, I’ve read about a million times. You’ve come to the right person.” Bokuto planted a kiss on his forehead. “There are many ways to start the story, but I like to take it back to when the goddesses Hera, Athena, and Aphrodite appeared in front of a poor boy named Paris.” And so, Akaashi told the story of the Iliad. His voice was nice and calming, enough to make Bokuto’s eyelids grow heavy, but engaging enough to keep him awake. Akaashi colored the tale with his own inserts and opinions, sometimes going to into detail about a particular hero’s story. And then, they came across the part of the story when Achilles had heard of Patroclus’ death.

“According to the story, he mourned for days and days on end for his dead lover,” Akaashi told.

“Wait, his lover?” Bokuto jerked his head up in surprise. “No one told me that his lover was Patroclus.”

“Well, in most translated versions of the text they describe Patroclus as a companion and a close friend. In the original text however—”

“Wait, you know Greek?” Bokuto sat up, disturbing Akaashi from his resting place. Akaashi raised an eyebrow at him.

“I can speak quite a few languages, Bokuto-san. I didn’t just twiddle my thumbs right here.”

“I should have known then,” Bokuto chuckled. “Anyway, you were saying…”

“Right. In the original Greek text, or as much was restored of it anyway, Patroclus is described as Achilles’ lover. And in fact, homosexuality was quite normal in Greece. There was a special troop of soldiers who fought in pairs with their beloved. They say they were won of the best fighters out there, because they always fought for their beloved. Additionally, it was believed that unions of the same sex were the only true kind of romantic love since it is not based on procreation unlike that of a man and a woman. And let’s not forget Sappho’s poetry and the Island of Lesbos,” Akaashi enumerated.

“Wow. So, why have I never heard of it before?” Bokuto said.

“The usual. The Christianized, civilized societies frown upon the practice so they conceal it in the translations,” Akaashi shrugged. “But I’ve always liked Achilles and Patroclus.”

“It’s all the more tragic then,” Bokuto sighed.

“Yes, but upon Patroclus’ death, Achilles wished for his ashes, when he died, to be buried with Patroclus’. So that they’d meet in the Underworld even after he died,” Akaashi smiled wistfully.

“So, that was after Achilles got shot in the heel, right?”

“You’re skipping ahead,” Akaashi nudged him.

“Tell me the rest of the story then,” Bokuto nudged him back.

“It’s getting dark,” Akaashi shook his head. And true enough, Bokuto looked up to find that the sun was just about to set. He always loved watching for sunsets and yet, he didn’t notice it.

“Tomorrow then,” Bokuto pouted slightly and stood up, dusting the sand off his trousers before picking up his and Akaashi’s jackets.

“Unless… you would be content with reading by the fireside in my room.” Akaashi had said it almost nonchalantly but even in the dim light, Bokuto could catch the hopefulness in his gaze. And who was he to refuse?

“Alright. But let’s have dinner first. I think we’ve worried Kageyama to death staying outside this long.”

Although, it seemed that Kageyama wasn’t worried one bit as he was doing his embroidery by the small fireplace in the kitchen when they came in. Bokuto wondered if Kageyama was doubtful of how much time Akaashia and Bokuto had spent together that day that wasn’t related to the portrait. Either he wasn’t that perceptive or he just didn’t care. Akaashi and Bokuto finished dinner quickly and locked themselves in Akaashi’s room. Instead of going to bed, he stretched out on the carpet by the fireplace and patted the spot next to him. ‘Just like the beach,’ Bokuto thought with a smile and stretched out across the carpet with his head tucked on Akaashi’s lap. He closed his eyes and felt a hand gently run through his hair.

“Aren’t you going to continue the story?” Bokuto mumbled.

“I may have decided to preoccupy myself with,” Akaashi hummed and Bokuto felt fingers lightly skim over his cheeks and forehead and down his nose. “I wish I had your eye and skill to capture a subject through a painting.”

“How do you know I have skills with painting? The first portrait was a ruined one and you haven’t even looked at the one I’m painting now.”

“I just know,” he felt Akaashi shrug. “What goes on in your head when you paint me?”

“Well,” Bokuto opened his eyes to look up at him. “First, I sketch a basic outline on the canvas, just so I know where everything is in relation to each other. And then, I pencil in your features. You have really delicate features so I try to keep a light hand,” he said, raising his hand to brush against Akaashi’s cheek. “And I spend as much time as I want to on your hands.”

“And then?”

“Then I start mixing my colors. That was always my favorite part when it came to learning how to paint. It’s how my master trained me too. I would sit for hours scrutinizing something and mixing the right shade,” Bokuto chuckled at the memory. “I take my time too when I mix the color of your skin. Browns and yellows and a bit of red. And then I make different shades from that color with white or mixing in a bit more brown for shadows, and a bit more red for that healthy flush on your cheeks.”

“At least I look healthy in my portrait,” Akaashi said dryly.

“You look absolutely stunning in your portrait,” Bokuto laughed as Akaashi playfully swatted at him.

“Once I have your healthy complexion, I move on to other bits. Like mixing the perfect color and shades to match your green robe. The dark brown for your hair. And then I paint it all in, adding colors and blending in shades so that it looks as realistic as possible. And by far,” Bokuto ran the crook of his finger near Akaashi’s temple. “Your eyes are my favorite thing to paint. Actually, I could spend hours just looking at you and sketching you.”

“Haven’t you already?” Akaashi smiled.

“Eveything I’m doing now feels slightly different though. I guess it’s quite task having to paint someone you love.”

The word left Bokuto’s mouth before he even knew what he was saying. He could feel Akaashi tense slightly under him and he sat up quickly. “I—I didn’t mean, I mean I did but—I’m sorry, let’s pretend that never happened,” he stammered, seeing the shocked expression on Akaashi’s face.

“There’s no need for you to apologize,” he shook his head with a slight laugh. “Actually, I thought I was the crazy one for thinking that.”

“Wait, you mean…?”

“Would it be crazy for me to say that I think I’ve loved you ever since the day we first met?” Akaashi asked. “I know it sounds crazy, but I’ve always had the feeling that you were someone I’ve always known would come into my life.”

‘What a naïve thing to think,’ was what Bokuto knew he and Akaashi were thinking of. But Bokuto had also witnessed it happening. There were friends he knew back at the studio or met in bars who would talk about the ease they felt when falling in love. ‘I’ve been with many women before, but this one felt coming home after a long journey,’ one friend had told him.

“When you think about it, what were the chances of me being chosen to paint you, out of all other painters? What were the chances of me having to paint you, out of all other subjects? What were the chances of me arriving here safely out of all the accidents that occur at sea? What were the chances of the days we’ve spent here happening smoothly in perfect succession out of all other outcomes?” Bokuto said. He saw his questions answered in the look on Akaashi’s faces. “Maybe we were meant to meet each other.”

With that, Akaashi leaned in close to kiss him again, and again, and again. It was no longer that summer night kiss but one of longing and elation of having met and knowing that they were both on the same page. Bokuto could feel Akaashi’s hands cupping his face and sliding down his torso, thumbs hesitating near the buttons of his shirt until Bokuto permitted them to undo each one. Meanwhile, his kisses trailed down from Akaashi’s mouth to the side of his jaw, down to his neck, and in the center of his collarbone, just under his throat, lingering like a question mark. Akaashi adjusted his position, lying back onto the carpet, and slowly undid the buttons of his shirt, baring his chest.

“I’m yours… Koutarou,” Akaashi whispered, beckoning him closer. Bokuto ran a finger tip down from Akaashi’s throat and down to his sternum. For once, he couldn’t imagine sketching nor painting this scene because there was no way it would be complete without the warmth and heat in their stares and beneath their fingertips. Sometime after Bokuto leaned down to kiss Akaashi and before they fell asleep in each other’s arms with only a thin blanket pulled from the bed to cover them, the image of the ghostly figure of Akaashi that Bokuto saw a few nights ago flashed in his mind.

…

The next few days were spent like so: Akaashi would pose and Bokuto would work on the portrait for a few hours each day before they’d go to the beach, or walk through the fields, or stroll through the town. At night, after dinner, they’d retire to Akaashi’s room with the door locked and their clothes ending up on the floor on more than a few occasions. Bokuto had never been happier waking up feeling Akaashi buries his face in the crook of his neck or waking up in the same position they had fallen asleep in when morning came. He’d always wake up before Akaashi did and held him tightly in his arms, praying that the sun would rise a bit more slowly or that Kageyama would wake up a bit later each day.

And the portrait was almost finished. Bokuto could feel himself subconsciously painting less each day or tweaking things like changing the color or painting over a finger again. He remembered one of the stories that Akaashi told him about Odysseus’ wife, Penelope, who had been left in their home island when he went to fight in the Trojan war. She was courted by many suitors and in order to delay having to marry someone until her husband came back, she excused herself by weaving her bridal train and unraveling the works she made each night. In the end, it felt pointless because delaying the portrait wasn’t going to do anything. Akaashi’s mother would return in a few days and leaving the portrait unfinished would just leave Bokuto without a job and having to cross the sea to go back home.

Bokuto took a small brush with a bit of the dark brown color he used to draw in details and scanned the canvas for anything left that he could possibly fix only to find nothing else. He was done. Bokuto stepped back and put down his paintbrush and palette.

“Do you need to take a break, Bokuto-san?” Akaashi asked.

“It’s…finished,” Bokuto shook his head. The look of concern on Akaashi’s face dissolved into his usual stoic expression. “Would you, uh, like to have look?”

“Alright,” he nodded, standing up from his chair and walking over to look at the canvas. Bokuto knew that it was a lot better than the previous portrait that he made and destroyed. While looking at it, he couldn’t help but feel that everything about the portrait was truly his because only he could look at it and know that he captured more than Akaashi’s likeness, but everything he had come to know about the young man over the past weeks.

“Is that really how you see me?” Akaashi asked.

“Yes.”

“I look beautiful.”

“You do.”

“Do you think my fiancée would be pleased?” he asked. Bokuto felt a lead weight in his stomach.

“She should be. I could imagine this hanging over your mantle in the parlor.”

“I heard she lives in Kyushu, the place where my Mother is visiting now. It’s quite far from here,” Akaashi kept talking, his voice sounding dead in Bokuto’s ears.

“I’ve never been to Kyushu but my master has. He says its beautiful during the springtime with all the cherry blossoms in bloom. There are wonderful art museums to visit and there’s a local theater nearby that places traditional music ensembles,” Bokuto trailed off when he saw Akaashi looking out of the window where the sea was.

“I know you’re saying all these things to comfort me Bokuto-san, but to me it all just sounds like you’re trying to console me. Like how mothers would talk to their toddlers about giving them a treat to stop them from crying,” Akaashi said.

“What else am I supposed to say, Akaashi?” Bokuto sighed. “You know as well as I do that this can’t last. The hate and the scorn we’ll have to experience. I could lose my credibility. Your family would disown you.”

“Then let’s run away! Can’t we? We could just pack our things and leave on a boat and get out of here,” Akaashi exclaimed. Bokuto saw so much hope in his eyes and was loathe to crush it. The world that he wanted to live in existed in the pages of a book.

“They’re going to do everything to find us. Do you really want us to live our lives on the run? And what will we do when they do? I don’t know if your parents would still force you into an engagement but they’ll throw me in jail for kidnapping you,” Bokuto argued. He didn’t notice that his hands were balled into fists.

“Why does it sound like you’re just willing to let this pass?!” Akaashi suddenly raised his voice, shocking Bokuto. “After all this you’ll still find someone to love and warm your bed, maybe in secret but you’ll still have that chance. Once you hand over that portrait to my mother, there’s nothing more for me!”

Bokuto stepped back. In front of him was the Akaashi who had grown up in a lonely manor surrounded by books, who had seen himself in the love that Achilles and Patroclus shared but knew that it was frowned upon in the world outside, who had purposely delayed his inevitable engagement by putting off any painters who came. “I’m—”

“I need to be alone,” Akaashi cut him off, walking around and past him to leave the dining room. With nothing left to do, Bokuto sat back in his stool and stared at the painting of Akaashi as if it would give him answers. He received no answers, only the knowledge that this may be the best painting he had ever created.

…

Akaashi had locked himself in his room for the rest of the day, and the day after that, so it came as a surprise when Bokuto saw him in the kitchen with Kageyama. The two of them were seated at the table, sifting through grains of rice to find tiny insects, rice weevils, that hid themselves among the grains. Kageyama looked up to greet him first.

“Bokuto-san. Dinner won’t be ready until an hour from now. Do you need anything?” he asked.

“No, it’s alright,” Bokuto shook his head, eyes unable to help themselves from glancing at Akaashi whose head was bent over in his task, before sitting down at the table. “Actually, I’ll give you guys a hand.”

“It’s not an immediate task. Although, I find it quite relaxing to do so,” Kageyama explained.

“I could use some relaxing,” Bokuto nodded, looking down at the bed of rice grains that had been spread out on a large platter made from woven leaves. He spotted a weevil, as small as a rice grain but standing out due to its black color, and picked it out quickly before crushing it in between his fingernails. Akaashi still said nothing.

“The madam is coming back in two days,” Kageyama said. “She didn’t entrust me to check on the portrait but personally I do wonder about how it’s doing.”

“It’s already finished. I think she’ll be happy with it,” Bokuto answered.

“I’ll definitely miss this place,” Kageyama hummed to himself as he sifted absentmindedly through the grains with his fingers. They were long and elegant too, but not as fine or delicate as Akaashi’s was.

“Where will you once we leave?” Akaashi asked, looking sideways at Kageyama. “If ever you need a job, I’m sure I can lend a hand.”

“Thank you, Akaashi-san. Actually, my family comes from Kyushu. My grandfather and older sister run a small bakery and I was thinking of working there from now on until I get bored,” he said.

“That sounds wonderful,” Akaashi gave a small smile. “I’ll be nearby then.”

“I was also thinking of working at a library.”

“A library?”

“Yes,” Kageyama nodded. Bokuto smiled slightly to himself at how chatty Kageyama was being today. Maybe it was all that time they spent talking to him and trying to make breakfast in the kitchen. “My sister works as a governess and she made the effort to teach me how to read and write. Sometimes I…” he glanced at Akaashi and blushed slightly. “Forgive me but, sometimes I borrow a few books from the library to read at night.”

“You don’t need to be ashamed about that,” Akaashi chuckled. “That makes me happy, actually, knowing that I’m not alone reading all those books.”

“I also browsed through your favorite book once. The Greek mythology one…” he added shyly.

“What was your favorite story?”

“The one about Hercules because it sounds so amazing,” Kageyama smiled. “What about you, Akaashi-san?”

“I have a lot of favorites,” Akaashi smiled wryly, picking out a weevil and crushing it between his fingers. “But the one that resounds quite a bit with me now is the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice.”

“I don’t think I’ve read that one.”

“It’s quite the tragic love story, actually,” Akaashi said. This time, when Bokuto looked up, he caught his eye and held his gaze for a few moments. “I could tell it to you if you like.” It was directed not only to Kageyama but to Bokuto as well, so he nodded his head almost imperceptibly.

“Once upon a time, there was a man named Orpheus. He wasn’t a man though, not really, because his father was Apollo, the god of the sun and music and medicine, and his mother was a Muse. Because of that, he was gifted with the art of music. He traveled with a lyre and his voice was so high and sweet that anyone who heard it couldn’t help but stop and look for where the sound was coming from.

“Now, Orpheus fell in love with a woman named Eurydice. But their love didn’t last long for Eurydice died from being bitten by a snake. Orpheus was distraught with the loss of his wife that he resolved to save her. So, he took his lyre, and plucking it with his fingers, he sang a song so beautiful that the ground underneath him opened and he could walk all the way down to the Underworld. He kept singing on the way down and his voice lulled Cerberus to sleep and kept the monsters guarding from attacking him, all the way until he came upon Hades, the God of the Dead and Ruler of the Underworld, and his wife Persephone. And Orpheus sang a song about them that was so beautiful, they both bowed their heads and let him pass to greet the ghost of his dead wife, Eurydice.”

“That sounds beautiful,” Kageyama said.

“But it doesn’t end there,” Akaashi shook his head. “Hades allowed Orpheus to travel to the surface with his wife and for her to come alive once they returned to Earth. But he gave one condition: Orpheus wasn’t allowed to turn around once during their walk on the way up because if he did, Eurydice would return to the Underworld.

“Orpheus agreed to these conditions and set off with Eurydice following behind him. As he neared the surface, his heart was overcome with fear that he was walking alone and longing to see his wife again. And in a single, tragic moment of weakness, he couldn’t help but to turn around to see his wife tumbling back into the darkness.”

Everything was silent for a moment, except for the shifting of fingers through the rice grains. And then, Kageyema spoke up: “That’s pretty foolish of Orpheus to do.”

“Maybe,” Akaashi chuckled. “But there are different versions to the tale. In some, they say that Hades tricked the both of them, not intending for Eurydice to be let go, and so designed an impossible task for them to fulfill. In another, Orpheus instead chooses the memory of Eurydice and so turns around to have one last look at her. And in another, Eurydice knew that the test was impossible in the first place and whispered ‘Turn around’ to see her lover one last time.”

“It’s a tragic story,” Kageyama said. Bokuto silently drew swirling patterns in the rice when Akaashi said,

“All the real ones are.”

…

This time, it was Akaashi who knocked on Bokuto’s bedroom door. It was nighttime, almost an hour until midnight, and they were both far from the shores of sleep. Bokuto wordlessly stepped aside and let Akaashi in. He scanned the surroundings of the room curiously before choosing to sit at the edge of the bed where Bokuto joined him. “I… wanted to apologize,” Akaashi spoke up. His head hung down and he played with his hands on his lap. “It was unfair of me to ask unreasonable things of you when both of us knew where this was eventually going to head. I knew it even before I kissed you. I just… wanted to hope, that’s all.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that. I wanted to hope too,” Bokuto reached over and took Akaashi’s hands in his. “I knew a fellow painter, we both attended classes together, who was caught sleeping with one of our male models. Both of them were kicked out of their respective guilds and blacklisted from ever being able to take commissions or enter another guild. I saw him in the street once with slurs being hurled at him while he begged around for alms.”

“That’s terrible,” Akaashi shook his head. Even recounting that memory left an acidic feeling in Bokuto’s stomach. He felt Akaashi clutch his hand gently with both of his, as if he was cradling a bird, and press it to his chest. Akaashi hung his head down and from the shake of his shoulders and the dampness on Bokuto’s hand, he knew he was crying.

“I don’t see what’s so wrong with us being like this,” he sobbed, his words coming out in hiccupped breaths. “I’ve had to deal with knowing this all my life and the one time I’ve found someone to love, it’s all going to be taken away again.” Bokuto wrapped both of his arms around Akaashi and pulled him close. Akaashi clutched at his arms and buried his teary face on Bokuto’s shoulder.

“I just want you to know that I regret nothing from these last weeks. Nothing at all,” Bokuto felt his own voice breaking.

“I regret locking myself in my room for so long. Who knew that an entire day could be wasted so, so much?” Akaashi hiccupped. Bokuto pulled away and brushed the hair that stuck to Akaashi’s forehead, cupping his face in his hands.

“Let’s make the most of the time we have left then,” he said, leaning in to kiss him. Akaashi’s mouth was soft and warm and wanting as they both fell down into the bed. They rushed through nothing, taking their time memorizing as much as they could of each other’s bodies and as much as they tried to fight it off, sleep came eventually.

…

“You know, you’re probably the only person who’ll ever get to touch me like this,” Akaashi said, breaking the silence of the muggy, summer morning air. It was the day of Mikoto-san’s return and they hadn’t left the bed yet. Bokuto wasn’t sure if he had really slept that night, only that Akaashi was continuously stroking his hair and their breathing fell into the same pace.

“I’m probably the only one who knows how to touch you,” Bokuto rolled over to press his face against Akaashi’s bare chest.

“Yeah, that too,” Akaashi said sarcastically. “If only we could stop time and let things just pass like this.”

“If only, if only,” Bokuto sang, propping himself up by his elbows on the bed to look down at Akaashi. His hair messier than usual, mostly due to Bokuto’s wandering hands, and there were a few marks on his collar bone, also due to Bokuto. He liked seeing him like this and knew he would keep this image in his head to save for his future mornings.

“I could draw you like this,” he mumbled, dragging his fingertip lightly across Akaashi’s cheekbone.

“Then draw me like this,” he smiled.

“Alright. So, I have something to remember you by.” He got out of the bed and walked over to where he kept his sketchbook and drawing charcoals before coming back.

“How do you want me to pose?” Akaashi asked.

“Just like that,” Bokuto smiled up at him as he flipped to a fresh page and started sketching an outline. Akaashi held his position: head propped up with his hand with an elbow on the bed, the curves of his body just barely covered by the thin blanket. Bokuto made sure to capture everything, going in with a heavier hand to make Akaashi’s facial features as stark as possible. He prayed that termites or insects wouldn’t eat at his sketchbook, that the charcoal lines would never fade, that the paper would never tear. Finally, he finished and showed it to Akaashi.

“It’s beautiful,” he smiled, running his fingers on the paper around the sketch, careful not to smudge anything. “Make one for me too. Something to remember you by.”

Bokuto unhooked the small mirror that hung on the wall above where he kept a basin of water for washing his face. Akaashi took it from him and held it steady in front of his chest while Bokuto peered at his reflection in between sketching. He had opened his sketchbook to a fresh page when Akaashi stopped him.

“Wait, can you sketch it here?” he asked, handing over his book of Greek Mythology that had somehow made its way to Bokuto’s nightstand.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“I’m sure.”

Bokuto thumbed through the pages until he landed on one with a good amount of free space. He had been trained to create self-portraits and could do passable ones. This time, he took extra care in capturing the details of his features. It was the only thing Akaashi would have left of him, so Bokuto wanted to capture himself as accurately as possible. ‘Remember this, and everything that happened here,’ he whispered into his sketch. Finally, he passed the book back to Akaashi.

“Page 57. I’ll remember it,” he smiled, sitting up to kiss Bokuto on the lips. It was sweet and wonderful and made them both long for more, but they knew it was there last. “I’ll always love you. No matter what happens,” Akaashi whispered, taking Bokuto’s hand and pressing his lips against the knuckles. “My beautiful painter.”

After dressing up and going downstairs for breakfast, they passed the time playing chess in the library, barely speaking except for when Akaashi was teaching him how the game was played. Finally, they both heard a knock at the door, the sound of Mikoto and other people coming in, and knew that their time had come.

The rest of the events that happened were a blur for Bokuto. He nodded and smiled as Mikoto gushed over the portrait and praised his skill before sealing the canvas away in a wooden box, much like the one Bokuto traveled with. The sound of nails pounding into the wood to seal it shut made Bokuto think of coffins. Mikoto called Akaashi to his bedroom upstairs to present him with a gift. After making sure the portrait was safe and taken care of, he headed to Akaashi’s room to bid his goodbyes.

Before that though, he clearly remembered Kageyama approaching him to say goodbye. He had said something along the lines of ‘Thank you for coming here. Akaashi-san was happy these past weeks,’ to which he nodded and smiled, giving him a hug before saying his goodbye to him. Bokuto threw his things into his suitcase before finally going to Akaashi’s room.

What happened upstairs wasn’t a blur in his memory either. Bokuto remembered, knocking politely on the door, hearing Mikoto inviting him to come in, going inside to receive his payment from her. He was aware of Akaashi standing in the middle of the room but couldn’t raise his head to meet his eyes. ‘Aren’t you going to say goodbye to me?’ Akaashi had said out loud, calling to him. Bokuto could hear the slight crack in his voice. As much as he knew it would be more painful for him to do so, Bokuto walked forward, his eyes still downcast, to wrap his arms around the man he loved with all his heart. He closed his eyes to remember this last feeling of warmth before quickly disentangling himself and heading out the door.

His own footsteps thundered loudly in his ears, especially because of how little he could see in the dark interior of the manor. Bokuto almost slipped on the carpet but caught himself using the stairway railing. As he reached the bottom of the stairs, he was suddenly aware of another set of footsteps but it was only when he opened the manor’s door that he heard Akaashi speak:

“Turn around.”

He didn’t even need to be told twice. Bokuto turned around to find Akaashi standing in the middle of the parlor, illuminated by the single shaft of light spilling into the slightly ajar doorway, wearing a new, navy blue suit that his mother bought. The suit he was going to wear for his wedding. Akaashi’s eyes betrayed the words ‘Keep this memory.’

Bokuto let out a single, choked sob before leaving the manor, shutting the door, and losing Akaashi to the darkness.

#across the sea #bokuaka #bokuto koutarou #akaashi keiji #bokuaka fanfic #haikyuu!!#haikyuu!! fanfic #portrait of a lady on fire!au #across the sea: act. II

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vipers-hat · 4 years ago

Note

Robb - “I’ve missed this.”

Like Father Like Daughter

Selene Kenobi watches her daughter grow up and forge her own path. More technical character study than anything but who’s really paying attention anyway.

Selene knew the moment she had found out she was expecting that her and Obi-Wan’s child was due for a lonely life. The Jedi were in the throes of recovery. There had been barely a handful left after the Purge. Not only that, but Obi-Wan had felt responsible for the Twins’ safety. She knew Obi-Wan trusted Bail with his life but knew next to nothing about the Lars, so she knew wherever Luke was, they would never be far behind. But most of Tatooine was just next to no life. It was perfect for their exile, their rebuilding from the shadows. But it wouldn’t be much of a life for a child.

Still, they made do. Once little Raza was born - their little hope, the first years of her life had gone smoothly, but mostly because she didn’t know any better.

Raza was full of life, delighted at anything and was eager to learn anything and everything from her parents. Anywhere they went, she would follow.

She was barely six when Obi-Wan suggested that they should see where she stood with the Force. They had sought out Yoda then, and after a few tests, she was found to be Sensitive - though Yoda was weary of proceeding with actual training.

Obi-Wan could barely blame him. He had taken after Qui-Gonn then, promising that he’d keep her on the right path, he wouldn’t fail, but he wouldn’t push, either.

Selene had wondered if it was a dangerous line for him to walk, but he had a point, and the Jedi needed to survive, so she had gone with it.

And so they had trained her in the ways of the Force. One of Selene’s fondest memories was watching Obi-Wan weave part of the girl’s hair into a braid behind her ear ‘just like old times.’ Raza had been delighted, beaming away, and wore the braid with pride. But time changed all things. She had developed some skill, but whereas Anakin had the desire to learn, Raza had the desire to branch out and try other things- that were decidedly not the Force. She was often distracted and would much rather spend her time watching wildlife run around than do any more Jedi studies.

It was the Summer of her tenth birthday that she had met Luke and his friend Biggs. Selene and Obi-Wan had been torn about it. They wanted her to make friends, needed her to make friends, but that particular friendship was complicated at best.

Once had gone off to play with Luke and Biggs once and had ended up catching Obi-Wan’s uneasy look, and then when he had instructed her to stay home for the day, she had pouted, going out of her way to make sure he saw her doing it.

And Obi-Wan, ever wrapped around her finger, had relented at that and told her to go play with them. The rules were simple: play with them, be their friend, but no Force.

She had agreed to that, and stuck to her word.

Until Fate had other plans when the trio were fifteen years old. On one of their usual adventures they had gotten close to a wraid nest and one had come after them. Raza had jumped between it and her friends, thrust out her hand and had tried to quiet its temper. It had worked, but it had been such a shift in energy her parents had sensed it a mile away - literally.

They had sat her down and explained things that next night after being assured that Luke and Biggs had just written it off as her usual skill with having a way with animals. They had explained things then… within reason. Luke was the child of an ‘old friend’ who had gotten too close to the Dark Side, they were there to keep an eye on him and look after him from a distance. She had been skeptical, but felt used, but thankfully after they had promised her finding him had been completely by chance, she had accepted it, and agreed to be sworn to secrecy about knowing the details.

And she had stuck to her word.

A couple of years passed, and Biggs had left Luke and Raza for greener pastures. Luke had withdrawn from her after that, and it had clearly hurt Raza. She had been outright depressed for a while, but managed to pull herself out of it. She chose to throw herself back into Jedi training to distract herself.

Another year passed. One day, Selene had been surprised to find Luke trailing behind Obi-Wan, and once she had heard him babbling about, ‘Obi-Wan, I thought your name was Ben’, ‘Resistance’, ‘only hope’, she had known things were about to change. Obi-Wan had glanced up at her, and she had stood and left the house to give them the room for whatever tale he was about to weave for the young man. She had called Raza to her side, and they waited.

Hours later, they had seen a fire rising up from the Lars’ homestead sometime hours after that, and Selene knew things had gone far from ‘changing’ - they wouldn’t be the same.

When Obi-Wan had returned with an utterly-defeated looking Luke in tow, Raza, ever the bleeding heart, even after everything he had done to her in the last year, had gotten up and locked Luke into a tight hug. No words were exchanged at all, but Luke had held on for dear life for a while.

That night, Obi-Wan had gone over more details about the Jedi for Luke - and had decided to honor Luke’s request to become one.

The next day, Obi-Wan had said his goodbyes to them, saying that he would be back soon. But even Selene could hear that he wasn’t certain. And it killed her inside knowing that the blind optimism was probably for her and Raza’s benefit.

Weeks passed. The Force had been restless, keeping her awake, and then suddenly there was horrible, horrible pain in her gut, and then heart, and she knew Obi-Wan wasn’t coming home from their mission.

Worse yet, Raza had felt it too. For a girl content with just being adept with the Force, whose skills were affected by that mindset, the Force Bond between father and daughter being ripped away had been brutal for her. It had knocked her to her knees, and she had sobbed, a mix of both understanding and confusion.

She had barely left her room for days after that. She only if it was necessary - or she had heard her mother mourning and come to check on her.

Later, Luke had returned to Tatooine a hero of the galaxy. He had gone to their house, shown up at their door, and upon seeing Raza he immediately pulled her into a hug, just as she did for him what felt like ages ago.

Witnessing the act was a small comfort in all the madness. The first night they had met Luke, Obi-Wan had told her he believed in Luke’s heart more than he ever did with Anakin. Yes, they had practically raised Anakin together, but he felt that Luke could be better, would be better - and that put a Hell of a lot of weight into that idea.

Luke had told them that he was going to find Yoda after that. Once he had learned that Raza had also been trained in the Force, he had been ecstatic and just short of begged her to go to Dagobah with him to train in the ways of the Force.

Selene had been skeptical about that. She had known Yoda had taken his own new life as a hermit living in the middle of nowhere a little too seriously, but she had kept her mouth shut. It was time for Raza to carve out her own path.

Still, when Raza had declined the offer, choosing to stay on Tatooine- with her, she was conflicted.

Shortly after, they moved a few hours away to the outskirts of a mining town. There had been rumors of the Empire hunting down the remnants of the Jedi, and if they were true, being outside a major city wouldn’t do them any favors. Mos Pelgo, however, had been perfect. It was brand new, not even on the map, there was a population of about twenty at the time, though it was due to change. She had still urged Raza to leave and put some distance between them. She had claimed it was safer- and it was, but she had refused again.

And so another year passed. Raza had started off as dreadfully lonely as she had felt at age seventeen But one day, she came home with a spring in her step and a smile on her face, and it almost moved Selene to tears then and there. She hadn’t seen the girl smile that big since Obi-Wan’s departure. That night she had sat with her mother, talking on and on about how she had met a few people in town; two in particular, a human, Cobb Vanth, and a Weequay, Baer, who had apparently liked her enough to offer her a job as a hostess in the cantina in town on the spot.

Selene had been skeptical about what sort of people that would expose Raza to, but seeing her daughter happy had won out, and she had let it happen without saying anything.

A couple of more years passed. Raza had spent less time home and more time at the cantina, but as a mother Selene couldn’t not notice how many times Cobb’s name came up and the sort of affection Raza would say his name with. She had met the man once or twice in town, and well, she’d be lying if she said she didn’t understand the appeal. He was attractive, charming, had an easy smile, and from small talk around town she knew he was kind, always put others first, often checked in on older or worse-off people, had his share of bad jokes. He had even called in a favor to get Raza her own place in town which gave her the independence that Selene wanted for her so badly. Obi-Wan would’ve liked him, she realized one day as she sat in the corner in the bar, watching silently as Cobb animatedly told a story to Baer and Raza, who were utterly enraptured with it. They would’ve gotten along. A few minutes later, someone had put some song on the jukebox and Cobb had all but dragged Raza to the dance floor, very loudly ignoring her shrieks of half-hearted protest before she relented and let him pull her in for a dance. Well, maybe Obi-Wan wouldn’t have been too thrilled that he was evidently moving in on his little girl, but still, he was decent enough he might have gotten a pass.

But like everything else, that had been bound to end in trouble, too. Try as she might to hide it from Raza, Selene had never quite been the same since Obi-Wan’s death. She was getting old and their Force Bond being broken had affected her just as much as it had Raza. On a particularly bad day she had been nearly bedridden, and Raza had come up to help her.

It was that night that The Mining Collective had shown up and decimated the town, and enslaved the residents with it.

They had seen it happen from the distant safety of their home, and realizing that intervening would’ve left them vastly outnumbered, they had to stay put. Raza had been a wreck all over again, and she hurt for her. How many times would she watch the people she cared about getting pried from her.

More months passed. It was all but impossible keeping a low profile against the Collective. Using some Jedi tricks, she and Raza had managed to make it seem like their home was abandoned, and it had worked out well.

Until one day when there was a rough knock on the door one night. Raza had all but shoved her out of the entry room to keep at least a couple of doors between her and the visitor, and gone out to face the stranger.

The visitor had been Cobb, weak and half dead. Raza had helped him get into the house, and after he had murmured something about it, Selene retrieved the armor he had motioned at, pretending to not notice that it was Mandalorian armor and that raised way too many questions. She had walked back into the house to find that she had interrupted the pair caught up in each others space, forehead to forehead, just holding each other- it was intimate - far too intimate for just friends as Raza had insisted so many times. Still, it felt all sorts of wrong bearing witness to whatever it was, so she had slipped away as quietly as possible.

Cobb’s recovery had been touch and go for a couple of days. Raza hadn’t left his side for long, nor he hers. And she finally, finally got to see why Raza and him had the talk of the town for nearly two years, and her suspicions from the other day about just what they were to each other increased tenfold. Even half dead, the man looked at her with a fondness that made her own heart ache.

It wasn’t until late one night when Cobb was out cold that maternal instinct finally took over and she couldn’t not say anything any longer. “I missed this, you know.”

Raza looked up at her and frowned. “What?”

“You. Smiling. Being very happy,” Selene replied, she crossed the room to stand beside her. “Your dear friend Cobb have anything to do with that? Is something going on here?”

Raza huffed “No.”

“Handsome man drops into my daughter’s arms after escaping slavers, first thing out of his mouth isn’t asking for shelter, it’s informing you he thought you were dead, no, nothing to read into here at all.”

“He technically didn’t ask for shelter, it was implied. Basically the same time he asked about me, considering he fell right before.”

“Mm-hm.”

“Mother. We’re friends.”

“Oh, yes. Friends. All my friends looked at me like that.”

“M-”

“Darling, if any of my friends looked at me like that, you wouldn’t have existed.”

“Mother!”

“What? I wasn’t your father’s first choice either, you know. Close second, but second all the same. That went to our friend Siri. But you? You don’t have to worry about that. That man probably only sees you in a room full of people. He’s a little more grey than I would’ve liked for you, but that could just be life on Tatooine - and the last few months in that… horrible place. Besides, if I recall, Leia and that Han aren’t that far off from you two.”

“Mother.”

“I can hear my title just fine, dear. No need repeating it so much.”

Raza shot her a look.

Selene laughed, then reached up and tucked a strand of golden brown hair behind Raza’s ear. “It’s just been so long since I’ve seen you happy, Raza. I’ve missed it so much, missed that little smile. I’d be grateful to anyone who brought that back.”

Raza opened her mouth, floundered for a moment, then shut it and promptly left the room.

It made her the first time she had flirted Obi-Wan. He had floundered and retreated the exact same way. It was almost fitting.

A day later, Cobb had wandered over to the armor he had brought by after ‘remembering something’ and had returned with a cylinder wrapped up in some cloth. He had handed it over to her, citing had ‘found it next to the armor’ and it ‘reminded her of ‘that one conversation we had’ and ‘just in case, I figured it might come in handy for that’- whatever that meant.

She got her answer when Raza had started to unwrap it.

It was a lightsaber, which came with initial mixed feelings. While that was almost guaranteed to mean that the Jedi currently missing it was most likely dead, it also meant that Raza had trusted Cobb enough with their Jedi secret, and he hadn’t sold them out.

And then her heart skipped a beat when Raza finished unwrapping the sword and the cloth fell away.

It wasn’t just any lightsaber. It was Obi-Wan’s. She didn’t understand how or why it could’ve come to Jawas on Tatooine, but she would recognize it anywhere.

And judging by Raza’s face, she had recognized it too.

Tears had sprung to her eyes nearly immediately, and Cobb, the poor man had looked panicked for a couple of moments, fearing that he had somehow messed up and offended her because of something he didn’t understand, but then Raza launched herself into his arms, nearly knocking the pair of them off balance and all but sobbing ‘thank you’ into his shoulder. He had held her against him and let it happen, looking quite lost for a moment until Raza had repeated ‘it’s my father’s’ a few times, and realization and then understanding crossed his face and he held her closer. He looked up at Selene then, keeping up his reputation on making sure everyone was okay, and she offered a grateful, tearful nod of her own.

She had left them alone again, figuring they had earned it again. If they weren’t anything yet, she was almost certain they were on the path.

Of course, the pair of them did absolutely nothing to quell Selene’s assumptions.

They had taken to sparring to check out the armor and looked far too comfortable standing that close to each other and being extremely hands on.

One night they had gone outside, reporting that they were going to check out any potential shift change patterns in the Collective’s ranks. They had tucked themselves just outside the house, where they could see into the valley below but if the Collective had scouts they could easily duck out of sight. Selene She had gone to poke her head out to offer them a drink, only to catch them talking quietly. The set of binoculars they had been sharing had been set aside between them, temporarily forgotten in favor of whatever the talk was. They were leaning close, almost touching foreheads again- but this time there was that loaded moment, and Cobb leaned forward further, going in for a kiss- and she had ducked her head at the last second, but hadn’t moved to entirely pull away either. She was dimly aware they were talking again as she made it inside. Maybe she had been wrong after all.

The next morning she had found them still outside, sleeping. Raza was curled against him and he was leaned into her, so whatever had transpired after that failed attempt at a kiss couldn’t have been that terrible.

Maybe she was right. Regardless, they were worse with subtlety than Anakin and Padme.

Another few days passed until Cobb had announced he was ready enough to go after the Mining Collective, and he and Raza had gone looking for a fight - and had won said fight a mere couple of hours later.

The weeks following that had gone by quickly. It was… strange, watching everybody realize they had been freed, that they had won. And before long, slowly but surely the town returned to something vaguely resembling normalcy.

Still, her daughter being one of the two town heroes was a nice touch. Obi-Wan would’ve been delighted- was delighted. She could feel that much. Especially when being the town heroes ended with them essentially being handed leadership roles. Whenever someone needed something done, the town went to them for it. And after a rocky start, they had settled into the roles nicely.

The little quiet lonely girl she had raised was finally an outgoing powerhouse of a woman, and Selene couldn’t have been prouder.

Years ticked by like that. Her daughter was consistently happy, her friends had been returned to her and were staying in place, a little worse for wear but getting better with time. There was always a looming threat of raiders or Tuskens, but that was just Tatooine in general. It was commonplace.

She still didn’t know why Raza and Cobb still kept dancing around each other, though. Always standing close, always touching, leading the place together- there was a stint where they even lived together for a stretch when the krayt dragon had taken out Cobb’s house out of commission during a hunt- but still never managed to proceed from there. She had lost track of how many busybodies in town asked how long the pair had been married.

Of course, because there was never a dull moment in their lives, it took the arrival of an actual Mandalorian to finally, finally do the trick and get the ball rolling. Things had been off to a rocky start, considering the Mandalorian’s solution to killing the creature was teaming up with Sand People. Selene and Raza had dealt with them in the past so they knew what to expect, and a couple of the People themselves had recognized them from previous dealings with their family and stuck close by, distrustful of the other Mos Pelgo residents- not that the feeling wasn’t mutual, and Cobb was at the top of that particular list. He had insisted they should stay with him for the night ‘so they weren’t potentially caught unawares, Jedi skills or not’, and refused to take no for an answer. The following morning, most of the town had gone after the Krayt, Cobb and the Mandalorian included, and Raza had stayed behind to hold down the Fort and keep the peace. Another couple of days had gone by, and there had been news across a few communicators that the Mandalorian had killed the Krayt. A few of the residents had piled into speeders to go investigate and help out where they were needed, and Raza had been among them.

She and Cobb had been one of the last groups to return after nightfall. Selene had seen a few of the others returning with their group, giggling amongst themselves and looking back at the pair every few seconds before going on their way. She had been concerned, protective, even, until she looked back at Raza and Cobb, who were just outside his house, just in time to see the former lean up to kiss the latter goodnight.

Well, wasn’t that interesting. She had pretended to look busy for a while and wandered by Raza’s house until she had spotted her daughter returning home. She had offered a knowing smile then, and her daughter had gone red. “So, it takes a krayt dragon’s meddling to get that man to sort out his priorities, hm?”

“Mother,” was Raza’s chosen reply, just as it had been those years ago.

“It took at least three near-death experiences to get your father to prioritize, you know. Now come on, you’re not getting out of not telling me anything about this.”

Raza had given her that same mocking tired look that Obi-Wan had given her so many times in their youth, though she had relented and moved aside to let her into the house - just like he did back then, too, letting her win whatever argument it was just to make her stop.

She had missed that, too.

#Ship: Robb #this is a mess and the ending sucks BUT #also @ mobile people Im sorry in advance if the readmore doesnt work #chyrstis

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adrianasunderworld · 5 years ago

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Leon x female!Reader

Meet the neighbor

***

He was so eager to be home. Leon had not been back in ages, Hop had probably shot up like a weed since last he saw him. Before he had left Wyndon on the train, Hop had talked his ear off over the phone about how raising his Wooloo was going, and went on and on about his friend ___. Ever since Leon had moved out a few years ago ,a new family had taken up residence shortly after, and Hop had become fast friends with their kids, a brother and sister.

Leon always chuckled when Hop rambled about sister. He would always bring up how good she was with pokemon and how nice she was, and of course how pretty she was. It was adorable how obvious his crush on the neighbor was, but chose not to comment on it.

It wasn't long after he got off the train that the towns people crowded around him. He of course smiled and greeted them, but around the back of the crowd he saw a familiar face wave and call out, "Lee! Lee!" Hop jumped with glee as his brother greeted him.

He hugged his younger brother and saw a boy stand awkwardly and wave. This must have been one of his neighbor friends. "You must be Victor!"

The boy nodded and grinned. "Yep! It's nice to finally meet you, Hop has told me so much about you."

"And he's told all about you and your sister," Leon looked around but there was sign of a girl with them. "Did she not come with you?"

Victor shook his head. "No, she was helping mum with the garden. She should be done soon though."

"You're gonna really like ___, Lee. She's a pretty strong trainer too."

That caught his attention. He couldn't recall many details, but he didn't remember either of them having pokemon. Oh well, he was sure the three of them would still appreciate the ones he brought.

As Leon walked with the boys down route 1, he saw an espeon sit on the stone fence of the property across from theres. It was almost unnerving how it seemed to stare right through him. But neither boy seemed bothered as they walked closer. The pokemon eventually hopped down and walked with them, Victor reached down and patted it in the head.

Victor and the espeon ran to the front steps of his house and called out, "Sis, were back! Get out of the mud already!"

"Back already?" Called out a female voice. Followed by footsteps. The source of it was most definitely not a fourteen year old girl like he had expected. Instead it was a young woman much closer in age to him than Hop. The espeon ran up to her and affectionately nudged her leg. She grinned at both boys before her eyes settled on Leon. "And you're back with company no less."

"You must be ___," Leon said ,holding in his surprise. "Hop has told so much about you."

___ smiled as she walked down the steps and pulled off her gardening gloves to offer her hand. "And Hop always talks about you. Good to meet the famous champion."

Leon felt his face warm as he shook her hand. Despite all the dirt smudged on her face, her eyes were bright and smile warm. Hop had not exaggerated how pretty she was. He cleared his throat. "You're pretty famous yourself the way Hop talks about you."

"Oh really?" She looked over at Hop, who had a cheeky grin plastered on his face. "Talking smack are we?"

"Of course not!" Hop defended before turning to his brother. "Wait, Lee! Didn't you say you had a surprise for us?"

Leon nodded and gestured for them to follow him to their house.

"Come on, __" Victor called out to his sister, who only laughed as she trailed behind.

Leon released the small pokemon from their balls, and smiled in amusement as Hop and Victor gawked in excitement as the young starters ran around the yard.

"So we get to pick one?" Victor asked, his eyes bright and hopeful.

"Of course!" Leon replied. "I brought them just for you guys."

"You can pick first, Victor." Hop said before the two of them looked over the pokemon, talking amongst themselves.

Leon had almost forgotten ___ was with them. She had been standing several feet away, but walked closer to Leon with a grin. "This is very kind of you." She said as she stood beside him. "Victor has been going on and on about wanting to train and go on a journey."

"Its nothing, I'm happy to help Hop and his friend get started. I hope I haven't over stepped if you were planning to get him a pokemon."

She shook her head. "Nah, I would have,but I think he's much happier with this arrangement." Victor cheered as he held up Scorbunny proudly. "This suits him more than any of my pokemon would." She patted the espeon on its head and it purred happily.

"Are you a trainer yourself?"

She nodded. "Yes, though I admit it's been ages since I've had a proper battle."

Leon's ears perked up at that. "Oh really? Why's that?"

She shrugged as she watched the boys run amok with the starter's. "No particular reason. Just busy helping mom with the farm and all that. There was a lot to be done after we moved here from sinnoh a couple years back."

Leon nodded. He understood the feeling well. Despite how much Leon wanted to train he had always been worried about what went on at home. Even after all these years.

"Don't look so glum about it." __ said, snapping him from his thoughts. "I had my time to run around and adventure. I collected all the gym badges, made it to the league and everything."

Leon could feel the familiar itch in his palm to reach for a pokeball and challenge her. If she had really done all that, she must have been strong. "Well then you and I have to have a battle sometime."

"A battle!?" As if he had been summoned, Hop appeared in front of them, bouncing in excitement. "You guys totally have to battle!"

"Yeah, sis!" Victor agreed. "Show Leon what you can do."

___ seemed a bit reluctant. "I don't know guys...its been awhile."

"Please!" The boys whined in unison. Leon chuckled a little.

"We don't have to right now if you'd rather prepare for a later date."

She shook her head. "No, no. It's alright."

"We can have a single battle if that makes you feel better. One pokemon each."

___nodded and looked to her espeon. The psychic pokemon had its game face on. "You ready girl?"

"Espe!" The pokemon agreed and ran to the backyard pitch, ready to go.

Leon nodded to his charzard and they made their way to the other end.

Hop and Victor sat by the pond wooloo and the starters sitting in their laps, eagerly waiting for their older siblings to start.

"A one point match, agreed?"

"Agreed." She nodded. "Go, espeon!" Espeon let out a cry as it took its stance.

"Go Charzard!" Leon cheered as his partner let out an intimidating roar. "Flamethrower!"

"Go left!" Espeon dodged to the side, its eyes started to glow. "Dazzling gleam!" A shining pink light emanated from the pokemon, causing charzard to be temporarily blinded and stumbling back. __ grinned before her next command. "Grass knot!" Blades of grass shot from the ground and entangled themselves around charzards feet, tripping it up.

"Charzard fly!" As if the command had broken it from its daze, charzard spread its wings and flew upward, breaking the grass that held it.

"You two go right for the throat,huh?" Leon grinned.

"Go big or go home," she replied."espeon calm mind."

Espeon shut its eyes, Leon could see the gem on its forehead glow, signifying the energy it was building up. Nope, can't have that.

"Charzard, tackle her!" The fiery pokemon swooped down from the sky, ready to dive right into espeon.

"Espeon dodge!" The pokemon opened its eyes at the very last moment and jumped right over charzard, who had flown low to the ground to reach the much smaller creature. Without waiting for her partner to land, ___ cried out, "psychic!"

Espeon eyes glowed as its power temporarily took hold of charzards mind to hit it with a psychic blast that sent it tumbling back.

"Go espeon! Get him!" Victor cheered.

Hop sat there slack jawed before cheering himself. "Come on charzard! You've had worse hits!"

Charzard shook off its daze and glanced at its audience before staring down its opponents. Leon grinned. He knew that espeons could sense even the smallest shift in the air, useful for detecting attacks, but it seemed this one had been trained to be particularly adept at this skill. This was going to be fun. "Charzard, use ancient power!"

His partner summoned the rocks from the ground and flung them at espeon, who proved Leon's theory that she was more evasive than most. She dodged the first and second rocks with ease and jumped over the third. However, charzard flung two at the same time, and while she managed to miss the first,the second came a moment to fast and smashed into her side, sending her skidding through the dirt.

"You alright?" ___ asked her pokemon. Leon could hear the concern in her voice,and for a moment he felt rather bad. Maybe he should have told charzard to hold back… however, Espeon forced herself up and growled at charzard. ___ nodded and looked at them with a determination that mirrored her partner. "Alright then… psyshock!" Espeon sent another blast of psychic energy at charzard right before running towards it. "Iron tail!" Espeon jumped and swung its tail at its opponent.

"Protect!" Leon shouted. Espeons attack bounced off the sheild, only inches from charzards head. "Been awhile huh?" Leon commented.

___ only grinned. "I never said we were rusty." The battle continued like that. Espeon dodged with expert ease but when charzard landed a hit, it hit hard. And even though Espeons attacks were not as powerful, they came fast and often. Before Leon knew it, a fire blast was sent towards it, and ___ called out for shadow ball to counter. The two collided and there was a flash of light from when the attacks collided. Both pokemon at this point looked exhausted but unwilling to give in. Leon contemplated if they should stop, however before he could say anything, both pokemon collapsed at the same time.

The silence was deafening.

___said nothing as she ran to her partner and cradled the pokemon in her arms, mumbling words of comfort and praise. The boys however were far less gentle as they broke out of their shock and started shrieking.

"Holy Miltank, it's a tie!" Victor cried out excitedly.

"I've never seen Lee in a draw like this!" Hop said, mouth hanging open as he looked at his brothers fallen pokemon. Leon had been doing this for so long, and yet he could not recall a time when he had a close match that ended in a draw either. The groan of charzard broke him out of his daze. He needed to tend to his partner. Leon grabbed the bag he had brought with him that held his supplies and crouched beside his old friend. "You did great buddy." He patted the creature on the head before setting to work using a revive and full restore to get charzard back on its feet.

Then he looked over to ___, who still held her espeon in her arms. Leon could not help but smile at the obvious bond they shared.

"Its ok, we'll get you home and patch you up." ___made a move to get up from the ground, but Leon was already on his feet and rushing towards her. He wasn't quite ready for her to leave yet.

"No worries, I have plenty right here." Leon broke out another set of revives and full restores and set to work on healing her. "You're a tough cookie aren't you?" Leon cooed as he healed the pokemon. "I wouldn't want to be on your bad side."

"Espeon." Espeon seemed to agree that he should not before getting on her feet and shaking the dirt from her fur. The pokemon licked his hand in thanks.

___ chuckled. "She likes you."

"I hope her trainer can say the same."

___ smirked at that and replied, "I don't know...shes not so easily swayed."

Leon could feel himself break out a wide grin when he heard his moms voice from behind him. "Goodness! What happened here?" The boys ran up to his mom and another woman who he could only assume was Victor and ___ mother, talking at length about the match.

Leon quickly glanced at ___. He caught a glimpse of her smiling at him before she looked away and walked off to help his mom get the supplies for the cook out.

Hop was right. He did like the neighbor.

#drabble based on a post i made a while ago #the battle was fun to write tho #pokemon #pokemon sword and shield #pokemon sword hop #leon #champion leon #leon x reader #champion leon x reader #pokemon x reader #fanfiction #trainer victor #trainer hop #rival hop #drabble #may write more but we shall see #Leon: I love the kind of woman that can kick my ass.

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mysterylover123 · 5 years ago

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Todoroki’s Relationships Analysis Part 7: Chapter 169-now. Culture Fest, Pro Hero, JTA, MLA & Winter Internship arcs.

(SPOILERS TO NOW)

Culture Festival Arc

The new, party person post retake arc Shoto

Shoto’s retake course has helped to change his perspective on things a little, and understand the value of fun a little bit more (which is what this arc is all about)

He remains critical towards Bakugou here, though Katsuki definitely starts it.

Or more accurately, the rest of the school starts it by acting like Class A asked to get attacked by crazy supervillains. Bakugou initially in this scene seems like he’s being a jerk, but he’s actually having one of his moments of kindness and empathy, as he defends his classmates from the rest of the school, and Shoto stops criticizing him once that lands.

Shoto spends most of the CF arc hanging around twith this group, whom he mostly gets along with on the level of fairly normal friendship, so there isn’t much to say about these scenes.

We see Shoto to be the most concerned classmate about Deku’s wellbeing, probably because he’s learned by this point that an unavailable Midoriya probably means he’s breaking his body in two.

He watches Izuku getting scolded by the teachers.

And hangs out with Iida during the Culture Fest event itself. (Iida is the universal bro)

Culture Fest Shoto is still fairly quiet, but much more sociable than before. He suggests throwing a big party for the school, which should probably tell you that he’s a very different kid from the start of the year.

Pro Hero Arc

This arc is mostly about Shoto’s relationship with his dad, though we get a quick glimpse of his classmates looking after him when the fight plays on TV.

Four classmates are specifically watching Shoto. Now, while Kiri and Shoto do have a friendship, Kiri is generally the “glue that holds the class together”, so essentially, he was written to be the kid who always looks after his teammates. The other 3 are Shoto’s 3 main ships: Bakugou, Deku, and Momo.

Though just about everyone comes over to him afterwards.

Included because how can you not.

joint Training Arc

Sero and Shoto sure have come a long way since “nice try” huh? And yes, Earlyroki is the phrase I want to use too.

Shoto is focused on watching Yaoyorozu’s fight.

He showcases some understanding of Momo’s tactical expertise and confidence in her ability to win. He believes that only a total assault on her could have been sufficient to actually defeat Momo.

He looks worried for Momo after she loses and states firmly that he “hopes she doesn’t get all discouraged again”, recalling her previous sadness and worrying for her in the future.

We see a moment of Todoroki and Bakugou being on the same wavelength here, as following the above panel Shoto immediately does just that.

Tetsutetsu pushes Todoroki to the point where he has to use way too much firepower. However, his team still loses/ties.

He has a Deku-like moment and this triggers his actions in the next arc (tears at BabyTodo in the left hand panel.)

This is his reaction to BlackWhip. He goes over to Deku after the JTA is over and after Deku’s training session with Bakugou and All Might and asks him directly, indicating he thinks Izuku has two powers.

Clearly, Shoto felt a bit betrayed that Deku asked him to go all out but was apparently holding back himself. I wish we could’ve had Shoto’s thoughts while the whole thing was going on.

He instantly believes Midoriya and doesn’t think to question this strange development. He compliments him as well, showing that Deku has joined Momo and Kacchan’s ranks as someone Shoto admires. Deku shoots right back at him.

Shoto, having tied while Deku and Kacchan, his two Official Rivals, both won with a complete knockout, obviously feels like they’ve surpassed him. This is, basically, his equivalent (though less angsty) to Bakugou at the end of the PLE arc, feeling completely surpassed by everyone.

The Joint Training arc sees, to Shoto, his classmates surpassing him, and spurs him to decide and seek out Endeavor as a Utility. We see his admiration for Momo, Kacchan and Izuku on full display.

MLA Arc

Newly minted Licensed heroes Todoroki and Bakugou are here to save the day Together!

They’re referring to each other as “we” and working together to end the villains.

Shoto’s showing concern for Kacchan, who as usual takes all concern for his wellbeing as an insult. (and as usual makes everything about Deku. Holy crap, was that really as powerful as the Sports Fest move?!?! They’ll have to bust out some sick animation for that).

Winter Internship Arc (up to present chapter, Chapter 250)

So Todoroki and Kacchan work together well. Are they friends? What does Shoto think of their relationship? His self-definition is that they get along well.

Todoroki apparently defines friendship as “spending a lot of time together”. Bakugou objects to this. Todoroki basically calmly insists that they get along anyway.

Shoto’s motto of heroism here is that he wants “to put others at ease’. We’ve got his manifesto as to heroism laid out here.

This is funny, yes, but also kinda heartbreaking. Shoto is incredibly awkward in his interview and doesn’t seem to understand that he’s being flirted with. It’s possible he doesn’t have much conception of what romance, flirtation and attraction even are. This is a facet I’d like to see explored more in shipping fics, actually, because any idea of Shoto as some smooth charmer with great flirting skills should be heavily dispelled by this instance.

Although he’s talking about his dad here, the words could just as easily apply to Midoriya.

Shoto instantly apologies to Katsuki, taking it as his fault that Bakugou was cut, because he’s not socially adept enough to get that Bakugou’s behavior is inappropriate. While one doesn’t have to, you could take Bakugou’s reply as him relieving Shoto of feeling guilty by telling him it wasn’t his fault. Just in Bakugou-speak.

Deku’s 3 most popular ships watch him try and conquer his quirk. Or is this in his head?

Some nervous solidarity between Shoto and Izuku, + bonus Jealous Bakugou.

ChristmasTodo notices Bakugou feeling down.

And immediately offers him and Deku internship jobs with the #1. Shoto’s motives her deserve some consideration. He states later on that he sees Endeavor, as far as regards his career as a pro, in a utilitarian manner. He views him as a means to an end for success (outside of their past and family drama, obviously). So Shoto is, essentially, offering Deku and Kacchan the best possible internship opportunity he can, even though it involves asking his old man for a favor. That’s some serious supportive friendship power right there.

Endeavor complains about having to teach all 3 but Shoto shuts him down quickly.

He agrees with Bakugou that Endeavor’s dismissive attitude is not what they signed on for or what he promised Kacchan.

Todo and Kacchan are again on the same wavelength here and act like they both find Deku’s constant chatter annoying.

In his big speech to Endeavor, he states that “competing with these guys” before correcting himself and trying to include the rest of his classmates in that estimation. But he ca’t take back that initial impulse. Deku and Kacchan are placed first in his estimation. They are the first ones he thinks of. And both, as well. It’s very clear that Deku and Kacchan (Twin Stars of class A indeed) changed his life. Thinking about it too...he didn’t immediately use fire after his match with Deku. It wasn’t until he hurt Bakugou by holding back and lost hte match that he really started to change.

“IN front of my friends”. Shoto again points out that he came her to use Endeavor, regardless of feelings. He insists on being treated the same as Deku and Kacchan, and tells Endeavor not to pretend to be dadlike to him in front of them. This impulse is interesting too. He doesn’t wish to present any kind of lie to these two.

Shoto pays a lot of attention to Kacchan and actually smiles when Bakugou calls Endeavor’s power a “rip-off” of Bakugou’s own explosion quirk. I guess he likes the chance to insult dear ol dad.

When Deku and Kacchan are both in a bad mood, Shoto plays supportive cheerleader.

He’s totally cool with the invitation.

He shows again some understand of (and criticism of) Deku.

This is where Todoroki comes to understand that Katsuki knows about his situation with Endeavor. Interestingly enough, while Deku is the one he told, he hasn’t shown any inclination to add more to that knowledge since the Sports Festival.

Deku shows some incredible understanding of Shoto’s mind here and supports his decision with Endeav either way. Shoto’s expression is astonished, as if he had never thought of his situation this way before.

He immediately opens up to Deku and Kacchan about Toya with Fuyumi’s help; once again, both know Shoto’s backstory.

He also reaches out to get the recipe from Fuyumi to give to Bakugou. Always the caring, considerate friend.

Presumably she doesn’t thank Bakugou too because he keeps insisting he totally isn’t friends with Shoto. Shoto looks so adorably embarassed here.

He’s solicited as a study buddy for Deku, and for now (until Friday) this is where we leave them. Jumping forward to save Natsuo.

So this retrospective on Todoroki’s relationships - Todoroki’s relationships only, from his POV alone - was interesting. And very informative, as it changed my perspective on Shoto’s character dynamics a lot. I hope you enjoyed, and let me know if there are any other characters you want me to do a Relationships retrospective on in the future.

#shoto todoroki #todoroki shōto #todoroki meta #todobaku #tododeku #todomomo #culture festival arc #pro hero arc #joint training arc #meta liberation army arc #winter internship arc

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ramblings-of-a-mad-cat · 4 years ago

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To you, how good are the vault crew at duelling and how do they duel? I think that Tonks is someone who uses more unconventional ways like in a courtyard making use of obstacles rather than a normal duelling club, Barnaby has strong spells and is able to tank damage, Chiara is the underestimated one who spams protego and episkey, takes no damage,winning through occasional offensive spells no one sees coming, and Merula duels offensively with cunning. I also can't believe MC just wins every time.

A very good question! Let’s go through the gang one by one.

MC - This is definitely open to interpretation. All we know for certain is that they’re either very good at dueling, very lucky, or some combination of the two. They’ve defeated acromantulas, dragons, unexplained ice golems, the list goes on. They’ve only ever lost to one person. So their style is open to interpretation (I think this was customizable during Aurelie’s quest) but in general, they usually win. This can be amended with head-canons, and I do have some of my own. Luca Fawley totally loses to the Red Cloak, to the Horntail, etc. But canon wise? Yeah...it is what it is.

Rowan - They’re not much of a duelist. I can’t imagine they have any experience in combat magic apart from helping MC prepare to face Merula all the way back in Year 1. Given their extensive knowledge however, they probably know more magic than the average person, and they’re probably the most skilled at casting spells nonverbally. To translate that to game mechanics, maybe that means they know all of the exclusive dueling reward spells? In terms of style, I feel like they’d favor defense.

Ben - This one is all about confidence. We’ve seen that Ben’s prowess at dueling seems to depend on whether or not his anxieties are holding him back or not. Most of the time, he seems like he would completely fail, but when he actually fights - either in Y6CH18, when he’s let go of his anxiety, or when he was the Red Cloak (So it wouldn’t come into play) he actually kind of kicks ass? I feel like he specializes in charms and would know which ones to use in combat. I also think Old Ben favors sneaking, New Ben favors offense.

Penny - Another character who wouldn’t specialize in fighting, but the inclusion of the Wiggenweld Potion as an option that is known to be useful in dueling suggests, at least in HPHM canon, that adept potioneers can use their talents in a fight. I don’t really see how that works, personally (The animation takes forever, why wouldn’t the opponent just hit them mid-swig?) but I can roll with it. Penny’s style would therefore be highly unpredictable, which would be her main advantage. No one would know what to expect because it’s not her spells that they’re primarily fighting.

Merula - Like you said, she’s cunning. She probably knows a fair few hexes that most people don’t know, at least early on. Similar to Snape, she would have had an early advantage thanks to learning stuff on her own (or probably from her mother) and while she’s not above using the dark arts, that also takes talent and an edge that I feel like Merula doesn’t usually have. She would have a blend of offensive and sneaking, and would play without any honor at all, which would be her main advantage. But she’d also get cocky, and probably celebrate a victory before it’s confirmed.

Bill - Here is someone who, at least to me, probably excels at Defense Against the Dark Arts. He’d have been in the D.A. if it was around during his time. But strictly light side magic, of course. He plays honorably, probably with a blend of offense and defense to help him manage particularly long fights. But he has a lot of natural talent, so that’s able to help him out.

Skye - As one can expect, her primary strength in dueling isn’t her magical prowess, it’s her physical fitness. Catch her dodging every curse like a bludger, ducking and rolling over. Throwing a punch because her opponent doesn’t expect that at all, and if she can snap a broomstick in half, odds are she also has a mean right hook. As far as magic actually goes, I figure she’d favor offense and be straight to the point. If there was ever a character to live up to the “Spam depulso” meme, it’s Skye.

Murphy - The opposite situation would apply here. Murphy can’t rely on dodging curses or moving around quite as easily. But I also feel like he wouldn’t spend a lot of time studying dueling itself. But he also knows a lot of trivia. Similar to Rowan, he’d pull out a spell that no one expects or has even heard of. He could also probably keep a few potions on his person, especially if he ever hangs out with Penny.

Orion - I’m going to be real with you. I think Orion does not duel. Period. This is similar to a head-canon I used to have about Yoda never carrying a lightsaber (which the prequels debunked, but that’s neither here nor there) I believe Orion is a pacifist and will never pick up his wand to harm another person. The most he will ever do is disarm or cast a shield charm. Even then, it’s not common. He prefers to talk his way out of situations, and something tells me it works more often than one would expect.

Rath - Here’s another case where physical prowess would be on her side. Not only that, there’s the intimidation factor. Rath is taller and bigger than most of her classmates, and it seems to be canon that she intimidates them for that reason. Beyond that, she also seems to have an ability to just shut down and go into a mode of focus, which includes focused rage. I know curses aren’t bludgers, but I feel like her training would still have an influence and make her aim, for example, twice as deadly. Yeah, she’d be a tough opponent and probably favor offense.

Andre - This boy has never dueled in his life, and I doubt he’s any good at it. His magical talents and creativity are undeniable, but when it comes to combat? He should probably just hide behind MC. If it comes to it, I think he’s going to favor sneaking more. Just seems more like his style, considering that by his own admission, he likes to spy on people.

Tonks - Okay, the main thing holding her back here is going to be the opposite problem that someone like Andre or Diego would have, and that’s dexterity and grace. We all love Tonks, but she’s almost certainly dyspraxic. I can see her aiming a finishing hex, only to trip over a nearby pebble. Apart from that, I agree. Her style would be resourceful and unconventional. I can see her transfiguring herself into different people to throw off her opponent. Definitely a sneaky type.

Tulip - Meet the most versatile duelist at Hogwarts. Seriously, with her inventive mind, her resources, and the influence of people like Merula and MC. Tulip can do anything that occurs to her, and she will. I feel like she favors carrying dungbombs and other pranks, to incorporate them into her dueling style. But she’s no pushover with magic, either. I’d say she doesn’t specialize but switches freely between offense, defense, and sneaking.

Ismelda - A more exaggerated version of Merula’s problem, in that in the early years, Ismelda would be simply terrible at dueling because she would attempt to use dark curses that she has neither the talent nor the cruelty to truly master. Other than that, we’ve seen that she has at least marginal talent for dueling and the use of curses and hexes. Practice doesn’t make perfect in this case, but it counts for something. She definitely strikes me as more offensive.

Barnaby - He plays most similarly to Bill in this case. I think he would focus more on offensive magic, given what he’d learn as a Slytherin rather than being in the Gryffindor Common room. But his code of honor would be the same as the Weasleys, and while dueling isn’t his passion the way creatures are, he does seem to enjoy it and is very good at it.

Liz - On the contrary, Liz is like Andre and Penny. This is not someone who ever draws her wand because she wants to, even for practice. That being said, that doesn’t mean Liz is not the argumentative type. Because she clearly is, and she’s clearly sensitive about being stereo-typed. In general, she seeks to protect the misunderstood and mistreated. If it came to it, she would draw her wand in those circumstances and likely play defensively. But she prefers to resolve conflicts verbally.

Charlie - Growing up a Weasley, you’d pick up a thing or two, of course. Especially being so close in age to Bill. These brothers definitely clashed and went to war (all in good fun) throughout their childhood. Fred and George probably ignited it, but Bill and Charlie do seem to exchange jabs with Percy as well. The main thing here is that Charlie would have learned a number of spells to subdue a dragon, and at least some of those probably translate to humans. So he’d be able to restrain an opponent in a duel.

Talbott - He holds back. He always holds back. Let’s think about this - his greatest secret weapon is one that he will always need to keep a secret and is constantly anxious about. He’s anxious in general, so similar to Ben, I think he could be a lot more powerful if he let loose. As a human or as an eagle. Seriously, golden eagles are fierce. Of all the animals to be in a fight, you could do a lot worse than a golden eagle. (I know this because I’m an Animorphs nerd.) So yeah, his biggest weakness is a mental one.

Chiara - Assuming that this is human Chiara, and not in her wolf-form, I feel like she’s another character who’s all but useless in combat. Though you’re right, this would lead to people underestimating her, and she is a Healer. There’s such a thing as army doctors for a reason. Between healing herself and setting up shields, she could probably tire out her opponent by tanking and playing defensively.

Jae - The embodiment of the sneaking archetype. Seriously, he is a living, breathing example of the Thief build from RPGs. While I don’t think he’d stoop to using dark magic, he definitely knows some less scrupulous spells. Probably Deletrius, and whatever spell is needed to break into Alohomora-proof locks. As for dueling? Here’s another character who would probably depend on potions or other tools that he has on his person, to supplement his own magical talents, since dueling wouldn’t be something he studied too much.

Badeea - In so many says, she is the most dangerous opponent on this list. Because her primary talent in the case of dueling makes her even more unpredictable than Tulip. Badeea...is a spell inventor. That alone gives her an edge, and she’s clearly an intelligent, talented witch otherwise. I don’t think dueling would be her first choice, mind you. Similar to Orion and Liz, I think she would see other methods to resolve conflict. But if it came to it, there’s just no way to prepare for an opponent like Badeea.

Diego - He’s probably one of the most talented duelists on this list, if I’m being honest. We know that like Barnaby, he enjoys dueling and probably gets a lot of practice. Combined with his talents in dancing, he would be physically fit and know how to move. I can see him having an extremely graceful dueling style where his wand is nothing more than an extension of his arm, and his preferred style would be whatever he felt like that day.

Beatrice - She would get destroyed. I love her, but it’s true. Her magical education is a year behind, and who knows what kind of long-term effects her time in the Portrait could have on her physical body. Not to mention that outfit looks a little too big for her, which would restrict movement. I think in terms of raw talent and overall effort and motivation, she could score a few hits, catch someone by surprise. But in a real duel? She’s not winning.

Alanza - I have no idea what Alanza’s levels of talent would be. But in general...she does seem to land on her feet, does seem to shrug off most things as water off a duck’s back. Survival skills apparently come easily to her, and she seems to just overall be a person who leads a charmed life. This is all assuming that there isn’t some other shoe to drop with Alanza, I think she would win duels entirely by accident.

#Harry Potter: Hogwarts Mystery #HPHM Headcanons #HPHM Analysis #The Circle of Khanna #HPHM TCOK

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dinfeanoriel · 6 years ago

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Missing Legend

Linked Universe belongs to the one and only Linked Universe and Jojo56830! Make sure to check them out! I own nothing but my writing.

~~~~~~~

“Anyone know where Legend went?”

The group of Heroes turned to find Hyrule wearing a frown on his face as he searched for the absent Link.

Wind and Four shook their heads. Sky and Warrior blinked in surprise when they realized Legend was, in fact, nowhere to be found. Time looked to Twilight who gave him a shrug. Apparently, no one had noticed Legend was gone.

“He left earlier,” Wild quietly spoke up, pointing in the direction of the forest, “Said he needed to clear his head.”

Time turned to him, “How long ago was this?”

Wild paused in his packing and thought for a second before answering, “An hour ago.”

The Heroes stopped what they were doing, their jobs forgotten.

“And he hasn’t come back since then?” Twilight asked, brow creased.

Time rubbed at his chin, his frown steepening. This was unlike Legend. It was common knowledge that Legend would often take walks to ‘clear his head,’ especially after a particularly rough day, but he would return within half an hour. For him to be gone this long...

“Wild, Sky,” Time suddenly addressed. The leader lifted his chin and fixed his single good eye on the two Heroes, “I want the two of you to look for him. Four, Twilight, you as well. The rest of us will finish packing up camp. If Legend is not found by then, we will join in the search.”

He received murmurs of acknowledgement and the four he’d chosen to look for Legend left immediately.

~~~~~~~

“Where could he be?” Wild overheard Sky wondering to himself. The two had headed eastward, seeing as this was the direction Wild had seen Legend go. They had yet to find anything.

Wild bit his lower lip. He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he was growing worried. They had tried calling Legend’s name a few times- a risk both agreed was worth taking- but hadn’t received any sort of response.

They hoped nothing had happened to Legend, but as time passed, they were beginning to suspect something might have gone down.

Wild shuffled through a couple of thick bushes and stepped out of the foliage, Sky following close behind. The latter hadn’t realized Wild had suddenly stopped until he’d walked right into him.

“Sorry-” Sky began to apologize, hands shooting out to grasp Wild’s shoulders as if to stabilize him. He trailed off upon seeing the look on Wild’s face. His eyes had narrowed and a stark frown marred his features, spelling trouble for Sky. The Hero shifted closer, lowering his voice, “What is it?”

Wild didn’t answer. Instead, he crouched down and swiped at something that had caught his eye.

An orb glimmering in the sunlight.

Sky knelt beside him, curiously eyeing the round orb Wild now had pinched between two fingers.

“What is that?”

“I don’t know,” Wild replied, studying the gleaming object. He appraised it from multiple different angles, tilting his head thoughtfully, “But there’s something about it...” He wasn’t sure how to describe it, but Wild strongly felt he needed to hold onto this rare pearl he’d found. “It’s more than it appears.” He vaguely tells Sky, standing briskly.

“It’s quite beautiful...” Sky remarked when Wild allowed him to admire it. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Nor I.”

Sky returned it back to Wild, entrusting it to his care.

“Legend might know what it is.” He suggested, “He’s quite knowledgeable when it comes to rare or unique items.”

Wild had to agree. Sure, he collected various items, but he didn’t amass as many as Legend did. He remembered walking into Legend’s home and being amazed by the innumerable amount of items stored in it. Weapons, jewelry, instruments...the list went on. There was no doubt among them that Legend was quite the adventurer.

A startled cry suddenly penetrated the silence at the same time a familiar snap! sounded. Wild’s heart jumped and he whipped around to see Sky shaking his foot wildly to be rid of the foul contraption that had mercilessly latched onto his boot.

“What in Hylia’s name?!” Sky exclaimed, falling back onto the ground and tugging furiously at the metallic object. It refused to let go. “What is this thing?!”

Wild hurried over,

“Stop! Stop!” He urged Sky, gripping the Hero’s ankle and stilling it. “You got caught in a trap.” He calmly informed the startled brunette. He winced sympathetically at the blood-coated edges of the dulled, but nonetheless still sharp, edges.

“A trap?” Sky repeated, utterly baffled. “For what?”

“Animals.” Wild explained, setting Sky’s foot gently down. “Hunters use them extensively to catch small animals such as rabbits for their fur or meat.”

Sky looked ill. Those poor animals..! How could anyone do such a thing to them?

“That’s cruel,” He whispered, suppressing a flinch at the blood specked contraption Wild expertly pulled apart. He freed his ruined boot, tracing the holes decorating it while Wild broke the trap. He could care less who it belonged to. He was a skilled hunter, there was no denying it, but he gave animals a quick and more-or-less painless death. He never used traps.

With the strength of the trap, Sky knew any poor rabbit’s foot would have broken or been shredded. He briefly thought of a poor, unsuspecting Kikwi stepping into one of these...

And immediately felt nauseous and sick. Gruesome and horrifying. It was a good thing he’d been wearing his boots.

“I couldn’t agree more.” Wild murmured, and Sky realized he’d spoken his thoughts aloud.

Finished disposing of the trap, Wild glanced over to see Sky slowly sliding his boot off.

“How badly are you hurt?” With all the tugging and pulling, Wild wouldn’t be surprised if Sky’s hurts were worse than they should have been.

“Just grazes and a few deeper cuts, but my boot is ruined.” His companion quietly answered, faintly disturbed.

Wild imagined this was the first time Sky had ever seen such a trap or heard of them.

“We’ll have to purchase some new ones for you, then.”

“Where?” Sky sighed, putting the messed up boot back on and standing with Wild’s help, “There aren’t any cobblers anywhere nearby.”

“Well,” Wild tugged his Sheikah Slate from his pack, the screen brightening as it automatically clicked on, “According to this, there is a village not too far from here.”

Sky thought on it for a moment. The search for their missing friend was still ongoing, and none of their other companions had caught up to them...

“Maybe we’ll find Legend there too.”

“Maybe...”

~~~~~~~

“Oh, look!” Sky breathed, “Your Slate was right! There is a village!”

Wild studied the village with a critical eye. He wasn’t sure why, but he felt greatly impressed to go there. There was something there he needed to find- and that he needed to find fast.

“Let’s go.” He started down the path, leaving Sky to catch up.

“What’s the rush?” The softspoken Hero inquired, casting a concerned look towards his friend.

Wild pursed his lips together, “I don’t know.”

Sky quirked an eyebrow but said nothing more. This was one of the reasons why Wild appreciated Sky. The Hero was quite adept in reading people. Their actions, body language, speech... Everything. He knew what they liked, what they didn’t like, what they preferred, how they were feeling...

Most importantly for Wild, he recognized when he needed peace and quiet or when he didn’t want to talk. He also had a calming presence that would envelop the others and help to soothe their troubled thoughts and hearts. A small, gentle smile always tugged at his lips and his eyes held a kind glimmer to them. He was warm and welcoming, drawing many to him.

Sky was oblivious to the effect he had on others, but Wild noticed. Wild may not talk much, but he did observe, and he saw more than others did.

They neared the village but never made it that far when Wild abruptly stopped again. Sky paused a little ways ahead of him, turning slightly to shoot him a curious look.

He followed Wild’s line of sight, stopped, and stared.

Was that a...

He was unable to complete the thought when Wild scowled and marched on over to where a man was seated on the edge of the bridge connecting the village to the rest of the land. Beside the man, was a crudely fashioned cage and within it, an injured, shivering pink rabbit.

Wild’s heart ached at the agony in the rabbit’s dark eyes as they darted his way and connected with his own. He could almost feel the poor thing’s pain as if it were his own.

Blood coated its soft pink fur and the rabbit was crouched in an awkward position as it tried vainly to keep its weight off its horribly mutilated foot. It also struggled to maintain as much distance between itself and the man- a feat rendered next to impossible due to the fact that it was in a cramped and rusty cage.

“Hey!”

Wild’s voice startled the man violently. He almost went careening into the rushing waters below, and Wild wished he had. He had half a mind to push him in for what he’d done to the rabbit! As incredibly tempting as that was, Wild forced himself to swallow back his anger.

Why this particular rabbit had garnered such a strong, protective, reaction from him, Wild did not know, but all he knew was that he needed to free it from the trapper.

“Do you mind, boy?” The man snapped at him and Wild bristled at the tone. Sky wisely edged away from him, eyes darting between the man and Wild. “I could have hurt myself!”

“The way you hurt that rabbit?” Wild returned. His voice was low and accompanied by a dangerous undertone. Sky shuddered. If looks could kill, the man would have been nothing but ashes to be carried away by the breeze.

“Why do you care so much?” The man asked, baffled by Wild’s crossness. “By the looks of you, you’re a hunter yourself. But,” He appraised the rabbit, not noticing the way it shrunk against the back of the cage when he did so, “I don’t think I’m gonna kill this one. Mighty rare, this one is. Never seen or heard of a pink rabbit.”

“I want to buy it.”

Sky and the man snapped their heads towards Wild in mingled shock and surprise.

“Buy it?!” The man incredulously sputtered.

“How much?”

“He’s not for sale.” The man stubbornly proclaimed, crossing his arms. Sky took in the worried and troubled look in Wild’s eyes. The pain of the rabbit reflected in his own.

Sky didn’t want to leave this rabbit with the man, either. Animals, especially ones attuned to living in the wild, were not meant to be detained and displayed like a trophy for people to admire, or to live in captivity for the remainder of their days. The poor creatures would suffer greatly and live a lonesome existence.

But for some reason, this rabbit...this rabbit was important to him. He didn’t know or understand why, but he knew he needed to rescue this rabbit.

The rabbit moved weakly to the opposite end of the cage, hooking its paws onto the bars and peering up at him pathetically. It physically pained Sky to see the bunny try to move, and he could tell it was forcing itself to ignore the sheer agony it was undoubtedly in.

They locked gazes, and Sky knew then and there that he couldn’t leave it behind.

Decision made, Sky straightened, folded his arms across his chest and stared down at the man,

“He isn’t, is he?”

The man slowly looked at the Hero towering over him and shrunk back at the look Sky wore. It wasn’t that Sky appeared at all threatening or frightening, but even Wild would have cowed if the look had been directed towards him. It was subtle, but the message was clear-

Give him to us or else

For such a gentle soul, Sky could come across as intimidating if he were pressed hard enough. He was someone whose wrath no one wanted to incur.

“W-well,” The man cleared his throat awkwardly, watching Sky closely, “I’d say for something as rare as this, maybe seven hundred rupees.”

Sky’s eyes very nearly bugged out of his skull. Hylia, it was like dealing with Beedle again and his overpriced items! Although, he had to admit he was a little surprised the man hadn’t demanded for more. It was true, pink rabbits were practically unheard of, but still...

Wild looked ready to protest but Sky raised his hand to stop him from doing so and gripped his shoulder reassuringly.

I have it all under control, He silently told the younger Hero. Wild chose to trust in him. Sky gave him a small smile then turned his attention back to the man, the kind gesture fading the instant he laid his eyes on the hunter.

“We can do six hundred.” Sky calmly negotiated, but his tone brooked no argument.

The man was clearly disgruntled, but Sky would not budge. He knew how much it meant to Wild to rescue this wounded rabbit.

“Six twenty-five, and that is final.” Was his last offer.

“Oh, alright!” The man gave in and Sky handed him the amount while Wild quickly rescued the rabbit from the abhorrent cage.

“There you are,” Wild whispered soothingly, petting the rabbit’s head with two fingers, “I’ve got you.” The rabbit nudged his hand, eyes begging for him to get it out of there. Wild carefully gathered the rabbit in his hands, deliberately avoiding jostling the disfigured foot. A spark of anger flickered within him but Wild pushed it aside.

He freed the bunny from the cage and cradled it to his chest. Sky proffered his sailcloth and Wild gratefully took it, wrapping it around the hurt animal. The rabbit burrowed itself into his hold, quiet sounds of pain escaping it.

With one last look of pure dislike towards the trapper, Wild turned and left. Sky didn’t bother to bid the man a farewell before hurrying after the younger Hero.

They went as far from the village as possible, never once looking back.

~~~~~~~

“How is he?” Sky asked once he and Wild had found a place to settle and care for the bunny.

Wild grimaced in sympathy when he undid the sailcloth Sky had willingly sacrificed. It was stained with blood. The man hadn’t bothered to treat the rabbit’s wound.

Sky looked faintly ill at the sight of the foot.

“Oh, Din...” He whispered, softly rubbing the whimpering rabbit’s head between its ears. “I’m so sorry that horrid man did this to you...”

Wild’s gaze darted up to him in surprise. For Sky to actually insult someone, he must have been as furious as Wild. He just hadn’t expressed it as openly as Wild had.

The rabbit remained lying on its side, nose twitching. It shuddered, wincing as it’s messed up foot flared in response. Sky spoke softly to it, soothingly brushing his fingers along its incredibly soft fur. He delicately slipped his hands beneath the rabbit and lifted it into his lap, providing it with a sense of security and protection.

“I don’t know how much I can do,” Wild admitted, frustrated with himself, “Can animals digest red potions or elixirs?”

Sky had no clue.

“I do have a fairy,” He said instead, “We could probably ask her to heal it.” He dug into his pack and drew out a bottle with a fairy and uncorked it. The fairy popped out and listened to their request to heal the rabbit. She immediately set to work and soon, the rabbit was standing upright with no sign of injury.

“Thank you, Miss. Fairy,” Wild said, gratitude shining in his eyes before the fairy vanished to wherever Fairies went when their job was done. He rubbed the rabbit’s spine with a smile as its nose twitched again and it tapped its foot experimentally. “Good as new!”

The pink bunny appeared to be satisfied with the results, surprising Wild and Sky when it seemingly nodded to itself. The bunny hopped a couple of times but still looked unhappy.

Wild came close to mirroring it, but he was more sad than dissatisfied.

“What’s wrong?” Sky asked and Wild sighed as he stared forlornly at the bunny sitting contentedly in the other Hero’s lap.

“I’m just sad that he has to go.”

The rabbit raised his head, ears flicking in his direction.

Sky smiled with a hum. Wild had a big heart and he was immensely fond of animals. Wolfie was almost a constant companion of his come nightfall. Wild had also mentioned he owned four horses and had been thinking of getting a dog.

“I will be too,” Sky murmured, patting the rabbit’s head. To his amusement, the rabbit almost looked disgruntled and embarrassed from all the attention he was receiving. His foot beat against Sky’s leg at a remarkable speed as he pawed at the air towards Wild.

Wild seemed to understand what he was saying and picked the rabbit up. He tucked it into the crook of his arm, lightly resting a hand on his tiny head.

Sky chuckled as he straightened and dusted himself off, “I don’t think he wants to leave.”

Wild brightened then dimmed again, “Time wouldn’t let us take him with us, though.”

“I don’t know,” Sky tilted his head meaningfully, “He does have a soft spot for you. I’m sure you could convince him to let you keep him. If you gained Twi’s support, there’s no way he could possibly say no to the both of you.”

The rabbit made a sound that made both Heroes look at him. Dark eyes were fixed on the both of them, greatly displeased.

“I don’t think he likes the idea of being a pet.”

“You don’t say?”

Sky burst out laughing when the rabbit jabbed Wild in the ribs with his paws. Wild cried out in surprise and held the rabbit at arm’s length.

“Cut it out, would you?! I wasn’t thinking as a pet!” He tried telling the indignant rabbit. Dark eyes narrowed on him as the rabbit clucked and growled.

Sky’s laughter stuttered and died as he stared at the bunny.

“They can growl?” He blinked owlishly, but neither Wild nor the rabbit appeared to hear him.

“I meant as a companion!” Wild was saying, struggling to keep a hold on the furious pink bunny. He feared he might drop him with how much he was squirming.

The rabbit paused, took a moment to consider his words, then settled. Wild warily drew him closer. The animal nestled into his arms, apparently content.

“Aren’t you a temperamental one?” Wild muttered good-naturedly.

“Indeed,” Sky chuckled, “Reminds me of someone else we know.”

The rabbit tensed in Wild’s hold.

Sky and Wild’s eyes then widened and they whipped their heads up simultaneously, “Legend!”

They hadn’t found their friend!

“We never found him!”

The rabbit shifted uneasily in Wild’s hold. Sky dropped his head into his hands.

“We need to go back and tell the others.”

~~~~~~~

So it was two subdued Heroes who found their way back to the encampment. They hoped, perhaps, Legend had been found, and they would see him with the other Links. Their hopes were dashed however, for surely, Wolfie would have been sent out to alert them.

“You’re back!” Wind’s voice sounded, but his bright and hopeful face fell when he found no sign of Legend. The other Heroes appeared just as dismayed.

“Legend’s gone, then?” Hyrule shakily expelled a breath. Time placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed,

“Twilight and Four found nothing.” He sighed. “Wolfie was unable to track his scent.”

Four shook his head when Wild and Sky looked to him, confirming their leader’s words, “Wolfie tracked him a ways, but then...it was as if his scent suddenly disappeared.”

There was a moment of grave silence as the Heroes digested this. It was Time who broke the heavy silence,

“Gather everything together,” He hefted his pack over his shoulder, “We’re heading out to find Legend.”

Again, the bunny squirmed in Wild’s arms, shrinking as if to make himself smaller.

“Say,” Warrior suddenly spoke up, gesturing to Wild, “What’s with the rabbit?”

#Linked Universe #linkeduniverse #Legend of Zelda #Fanfic #Blood

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lesdemonium · 4 years ago

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I’d Be the Choiceless Hope Chapter 4

Ship: Geraskier Word count: 11500 (total) Chapter: 4/16

Summary:

“Such a nice, beautiful sound,” the fae crooned. “If only he were this way always.”

Julian’s mother stood up. She claimed she was prepared to stop the fae, to protect her baby, but in Julian’s darkest moments he doubted this part of the story. His mother loved him, of that he had no doubt, but she had been young and weary, and even years later, she couldn’t quite get the twinge of exhaustion out of her eyes when she recalled Julian’s infancy. Even if she had been keen on protecting him, the fae was too close, too fast, too set on his plan.

“A gift, for the new mother,” the fae continued. He leaned a hand in to stroke Julian’s cheek. “I give you the gift of obedience.”

As a baby, Jaskier was visited by a fae, who gifted Jaskier’s mother with Jaskier’s obedience. As Jaskier grew older, the “gift” became more of a curse.

Additional tags: AngstAngst with a Happy EndingHeavy AngstUnrequited LoveNot Actually Unrequited LoveAlternate Universe - Canon DivergenceCanon EraNot Canon CompliantCursed Jaskier | DandelionAlternate Universe - Ella Enchanted FusionCurse of ObedienceRape/Non-con ElementsImplied/Referenced Rape/Non-conJaskier | Dandelion Whump

read on ao3 - read chapter 1 on ao3

read chapter 1 on tumblr

Jaskier knew they would eventually have to part. It was the nature of things, for him and Geralt. Geralt had contracts that even Jaskier had to agree were too treacherous for Jaskier to follow, and it was easier for Jaskier to find time to himself, and leave Geralt to his witchering. Geralt didn’t often pick the most populated cities, either, and if Jaskier was to set about changing his reputation, at times he had to place himself in a larger public.

He also had a feeling Geralt sometimes needed a break from Jaskier. As much as Jaskier was loath to admit it, he knew he was often too much for the witcher, and he feared the day Geralt decided to take his leave of the bard completely. It was easier, then, if he gave Geralt a break every now and again.

It became a tradition, then. After a few months of traveling together, Jaskier would find an excuse to leave. When a month or two had passed, they would meet up again, though when they parted for winter, it was for the entire season. Jaskier still spent much of his time with the witcher, and had grown quite adept at tracking him down. The one exception was after the banquet at Cintra; Jaskier did not find Geralt again for almost an entire year. Jaskier had a feeling this was by Geralt’s design. Geralt needed time to mourn, and get his head on straight, and Jaskier could accept that. When they reunited, it was like no time had passed at all, and for that, Jaskier was glad.

This time, though, as they parted, Jaskier could have sworn there was something behind Geralt’s very pointedly stoic face. Often, he imagined with his more cruel sense of humor, it was relief. This time, it was more somber, almost sad. That was a ridiculous thought, though. Geralt was as happy for the time alone as he had ever been, Jaskier was sure of it.

Still, as they parted, Jaskier found himself moving his feet slowly, turning back to watch the witcher’s retreating form over and over and over again. Once, he caught Geralt looking back, too.

It was nothing, though. Jaskier was sure of it. They hadn’t even made a plan to meet up again. Jaskier had simply allowed himself to be fooled by the affection and passion present as they laid together. He had allowed himself to be swept up in the way Geralt listened, not only to his words, but to Jaskier’s reactions, too. His care and attention during that first time wasn’t a fluke; if Jaskier seemed unhappy even slightly , Geralt did not allow Jaskier to brush it off. The inverse was true as well. Geralt acted as if studying Jaskier’s body and reactions for pleasure was his field of study, and he was quickly becoming an expert in it.

It was only sex, though. Nothing else changed. They both found other partners at times, and otherwise they were friends. No matter how many times Jaskier had daydreamed and longed to kiss Geralt without intent, or hold his hand as they walked the path, or use sweet words to convey the depths of his feelings, that wasn’t what they were to each other. Jaskier could handle that. He could love Geralt from afar.

Even with an audience as responsive as the one he had in Ellander, Jaskier was feeling lonely and melancholy. It had only been two weeks without Geralt, and already he was mooning over him like some lovesick maiden. Honestly, to compare what Jaskier was doing to them would be an insult to lovesick maidens everywhere.

He was trying to distract himself, for fear that if he didn’t, he would set about searching for his witcher again. Geralt deserved far more of a break than that, and Jaskier had no interest in embarrassing himself as far as to follow after the witcher as if Jaskier was not his own man. He was approaching thirty, it was time to grow up . Find a distraction.

The woman in the market was beautiful. She clearly had money, what with the delicate blush-colored gown draped across her lovely figure and the jewels around her neck, but that wasn’t what made Jaskier approach. Her smile was kind as she perused a stand selling bright flowers.

“Ah, I see someone as lovely as you chooses to fill her home with beauty,” Jaskier said as he approached the lady. “Might I make a suggestion?” He motioned to a bushel of daffodils. “The yellow would accentuate the rose of your cheeks divinely.”

Her smile was delighted as she held out her hand. Jaskier took it, sweeping himself into perhaps too much of a bow for the occasion, but the woman seemed pleased as he looked up and pressed a kiss to her knuckles.

“I do hope they give you a commission as you do their work for them.” She motioned for another woman, likely her lady in waiting, to take the daffodils, then turned her attention back to Jaskier. “I do, in fact, like to fill my home with beauty. I wonder if I might be able to add you to my collection.”

She was a countess. Charming and spirited and knew exactly what she wanted. Jaskier was pleased to find that he was among those she wanted, and allowed himself to be swept up in her grandeur. He had always been quite fond of pretty things and luxuries. He performed in her court and in the town, spreading word of his witcher and his own skill with his instrument. Soon, he barely had to speak a word before people were delightedly turning their chairs to face him and singing along even to his more complicated songs. At night, he warmed his Countess’s bed.

Jaskier never meant to stay long, but he found he could have loved her, truly.

For weeks, she was content to let Jaskier lead. She was warm and pliant under his touch, and her kisses were sweet and fraught with desire. Rarely did she order him about, though when she did, he couldn’t help but notice he hadn’t corrected her like he did Geralt. The Countess did not notice when Jaskier froze, only to stutter back to life a moment later. The commands were simple, he reminded himself. She didn’t know. If she had any idea Jaskier was unable to refuse, she would never order him about.

She grew bolder, though, as they always did. The Countess thought it was a game they were playing, and thought that Jaskier simply delighted in giving his partner what they wanted. He did, but not like this. Jaskier did not dare tell her. Instead, he swallowed his pride, put on a smile, and convinced himself that he was enjoying their coupling. Maybe, for his countess, the curse could be a gift.

“Stay with me, here, in Ellander. Live in my home and be mine,” the Countess said sweetly, pressing a kiss to his collarbone.

And that, well. Clever as Jaskier was, that would be a tricky command to avoid, and even tricker to obey to completion. His heart escaped to his throat in dread, and he swallowed around the lump it made.

He put on his best smile, wrapped his arms around the countess, and pressed a kiss to her hair.

“Nothing would make me happier, my muse,” Jaskier murmured back.

Jaskier could have sworn he felt her face heat up. He didn’t have to see her flush, however, to know that her cheeks had grown red.

It wasn’t a hard life. Likely, it was the best sort of life Jaskier could expect. He was free to write and sing his songs, while living in true comfort. He wanted for nothing, he was fed and bathed and had access to a warm bed whenever he wanted. The clothes he wore were beautiful, colorful, the height of fashion. He was comfortable and appeased in every sense of the word.

Jaskier hated it. His songs felt stale and trite, and there was no pleasure for him in performing for the same audiences time and time again. Adventure called to him from outside the city walls, and Jaskier longed to call back.

He thought, not infrequently, of Geralt. Jaskier wondered where he was, what creatures he had recently slain, if Geralt missed Jaskier at all. Perhaps he had finally returned to Cintra, claimed his child surprise. Or, more likely, perhaps he was avoiding the entire southwest portion of the continent, and his destiny along with it. Jaskier hoped he was finding more amiable beds to warm, and plenty of monsters to tell Jaskier about, whenever Jaskier could free himself. It didn't matter if Geralt missed Jaskier. Jaskier missed Geralt enough for both of them.

The countess grew bored of Jaskier. Jasker knew she did. Jaskier did everything within his power to make it so: he sang the same songs, he was less adventurous and excited in bed (which was less intentional than a natural side effect of the countess growing more and more directive), and without new adventures, he had no new stories to tell her. Still, it took months upon months of work for her eye to start to turn.

“I am getting older,” the Countess began, her voice neutral. Jaskier feigned indifference, only turned his head toward her to indicate he was listening, but his body tensed in anticipation. Where this was going, he had no idea. “It’s time for me to start considering the future. Marriage. Children.”

Jaskier faced her fully, his eyebrow raised. She wasn’t looking at him. Instead, she picked at her fingers. She was sitting up, her back against the wall behind her, and the blanket pooled in her lap, leaving her torso bare. The Countess was a sight, Jaskier had to admit. In another life, she would have made Jaskier an exceedingly happy man.

“I will be entertaining eligible suitors. It would be...unseemly, to have you here,” she said. She sounded regretful, but Jaskier’s heart soared. “It would never have worked between us. I have truly loved my time with you, but I must consider my options, my estate, the legitimacy of my children. You can only offer me love.”

Jaskier was prideful enough that he had to bite back his retort. He was a viscount, hardly an unseemly partner, but he didn’t want to argue against this. The Countess didn’t know, she thought he was only a bard with no titles to his name. It would be best if that was how it remained.

“I understand,” Jaskier said, taking the Countess’s hand and pressing a kiss to her knuckles. She looked at him, finally, and smiled. It still wasn’t enough, though. He couldn’t go without her word. “So, you want me to...?”

“Leave, Jaskier,” she said, nodding, and gently taking her hand back. “Leave, and remember me fondly.”

Jaskier stood, his body leading the way as his head tried to catch up. He was free to go. Jaskier could find himself anywhere now, and trail after adventure once more. He could find Geralt.

Jaskier packed his bag as he thought of all his “could” options. No longer a prisoner of the Countess’s estate, he could travel the continent again, singing his songs for Geralt and gaining more renown. His return would be triumphant, and he could find himself in another’s bed again, as he was no longer bound to the Countess. At least, until an unintentional command shackled him again. As it would. As it always had, eventually.

It felt as though his brain shuttered off for a moment on that particular thought. It could happen again. Because of the curse, Jaskier could not fall to the bed. The only actions he could take were those that helped him leave this place. The Countess wasn’t the first person to shackle him, she was just the first to do it unknowingly. All things considered, he had gotten off pretty easily. The people that trapped him wanted to use him for a particular, selfish purpose, but they didn’t seek to harm him or others. What if next time, he wasn’t so lucky?

He could find adventure again. He could find Geralt again. He could pretend that his life was easier than it was, and that he could move freely through the continent, to chase his happiness.

It was time to find Lazuli.

read chapter 5

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #geraskier fanfic #geraskier fanfiction #gerlion #gerlion fanfic #gerlion fanfiction #my writing

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the-darklings · 6 years ago

Text

—the space between fingers;

pairing: arthur morgan x female!reader

summary: What brings you back to life also gives you the means to destroy yourself.

word count: 5.3k+

warnings: a poor attempt at arthur’s pov RIP

notes: I would have had this out sooner tbh but you know ~life~ and ~drama~. Thank you for your insane support on my first two fics. You guys are amazing <33

tagging: the usual suspects: @ilikecheesecakeforbreakfast & @deviantramblings

. . .

What brings you back to life also gives you the means to destroy yourself.

It’s a simple truth he has known for many years now. He has gone through phases of it—his parents, Mary, Eliza and Isaac. Fragments of his life he can neatly order into moments that are almost happy, and moments that don’t resemble anything close to happiness.

There is good in those memories but the good always gets vastly outweighed by the memories seeping with bloodshed, bullets and dynamite. Some nights he’s surprised he manages to sleep at all. Even something as simple as sleep feels like a commodity he’s undeserving of.

He has learned his lesson a long time ago though—was taught it time and time again—to stop caring, to not get attached, that the only thing that matters is the Gang and the job. Sometimes his thoughts bleed with Dutch’s voice and he wonders if it’s his own conviction anymore or if the only truth he knows is the one Dutch tells him. He’s his own man, always has been, but sometimes—lately—it’s been harder to tell the difference anymore.

Blackwater has changed something in them. All of them. It’s the kind of fundamental change no one acknowledges but Arthur can see and feel it everywhere he looks.

Some things, it seems, never change though.

Javier’s music still has a way to gather everyone in the camp together.

The people he considers his own are gathered in a merry circle of happiness and laughter. A bottle of whiskey is being passed around but it’s not necessary, considering the state Uncle and Pearson are already in. That, however, doesn’t stop everyone from indulging.

Javier’s music has always been vivid, exciting and full of life; the type of music that makes you want to sing and dance on instinct. On this warm summer night, Charles has also joined in with his harmonica, creating a completely new and exciting set of melodies.

Little Jack is a bustling ball of limbs as he leads Mary-Beth and Karen in a wild dance, much to the amusement of the two young women. Dutch is leading Molly in a more elegant but no less energetic dance that has the redhead blushing bright pink. As always, Dutch and his damn charms are irresistible.

And there, just behind grinning Lenny and Tilly, is you.

He hasn’t seen you smile or laugh since Blackwater.

But your grin is warm and genuine as Hosea spins you in a circle.

Arthur knows you are fond of the man, much like the man is fond of you. Hosea was the first to see more in you than a simple street urchin who decided to steal from Micah—much to the latter's embarrassment and irritation.

Hosea was the one to convince Dutch to take you with them, who taught you how to read and write. Much to his delight, you took to it like a duck to water too. Hosea often brought up—with a not-so-subtle stare in his and John's direction—how much he wishes his old students have been as adept as you are. You’ve become a bit of protege of his.

Arthur sometimes finds himself wondering if it’s simply an old man’s sentimentality, or if you are genuinely two people who have found deeper kinship in one another.

Hosea says something and your expression crumbles before delighted laugh slips out of your mouth, your head slanting back for a moment. The sound is rich and loud, slicing through the heavy, energetic beat of the music.

He feels the sound of it wash over him, and remembers once again why he hasn’t sought you out since Blackwater. Why he has been keeping his distance even more so than usual, why he’s been accepting jobs that take him out of camp for days at the time. He convinces himself it’s because they need the money—and they do—but there is also you.

You make it hard to remember why he stays away, why he avoids connections, why he focuses only on getting the job done and nothing else.

You make a lot of things hard for him.

A part of him wants to look away from you and never look your way again. Because really, he will be doing you a favour if he does. He sure as hell isn’t a nice man to be around, and despite your quick fingers and even quicker tongue, you are a good person. At the core of you is warmth and life—so bright and vivid you practically bleed with it.

That liveliness is also what makes it so hard for him to just look away. Because it’s so very easy to get addicted to gentleness and kindness. Genuine interest and care. So easy to look forward to those things and start to treasure them.

Kindness, he finds out after meeting you, can be a very dangerous thing indeed.

He feels the sting of tobacco on his tongue but doesn’t look away from you, despite the hard voice deep inside him telling him that he should. He isn’t much of a man for festivities, although a free drink is always welcomed. He’s happy to watch over others though, watch the tension and the doubts melt away from their shoulders. That mountain was hard on everyone, and Arthur wonders if things will go back to how they were used to be any time soon.

Dutch shouts something and everyone else cheers in reply, Javier promptly changing the tune to match the uplifted mood.

“Pretty little morsel, ain’t she, cowpoke? Won’t mind a little tussle in the hay with the likes of her.”

Smoke escapes his lips and Arthur grits his teeth for a second, throwing his cigarette to the ground and stomping on it. He digs his boot into the dirt, imagining it's the head of the man who decided to bother him.

"Now I don't know if yer brave or just stupid," he begins almost jovially as he glances at Micah from under the brim of his hat. "Because unless you fancy losin’ all of your teeth I would keep your mouth shut. Think before you speak."

A snake. That's the only way he can describe Micah—the only way he can ever describe the man that feels right. He slinks around the camp, leering and watching, muttering in Dutch's ear far too often for Arthur's taste. But Dutch is a stubborn fool, and whatever he wants to do, he will. When an idea enters his mind, not much can change it. He admired that, once. Now that stubbornness is starting to become a burden, is starting to make him near unreasonable to deal with.

But that doesn’t wipe out twenty years of loyalty. Twenty years of bleeding, fighting and running together. And Micah should know better than to slither his way in and hope he will ever be able to match up to what he, Dutch and Hosea have gone through together.

"Now, I don't mean no harm, Arthur," the man replies easily but there is a sliver of greed, of lust, when his eyes flicker in your direction once more, and Arthur feels something in his gut burn. "We all know you have yer eye on that one. It just surprisin', that's all. The great Arthur Morgan brought down to our level by a pretty face."

Arthur’s lips curl upwards as he glances down, his fingers latching onto his belt buckle as he chuckles under his breath. The sound clearly confuses the blonde man in front of him because after a tense moment he joins in unsurely, the sound more anxious and wheezy than he probably would have liked.

When he looks up at Micah, there is a tense sort of air around him, and it’s obvious where his confusion stems from. Arthur rarely engages him, and if he does, it’s seldom with a kind tone, much less a smile.

He takes his time in approaching the man, the half-grin still lingering on his lips as he looks up at him. There is a very particular kind of joy to be found in the way Micah flinches when Arthur lays his hand heavily on the blonde’s shoulder, squeezing tightly.

“I’ve been runnin’ with Dutch for odd twenty years now,” he says conversationally, patting Micah’s shoulder heavily. “And you wanna know what’s the one thing that always happens?”

Micah remains tense and silent, a disgruntled sort of scowl twisting his expression and Arthur grins wider, fingers sinking deeper into his shoulder for a moment, “When it comes down to it, every man eventually shows what he’s really made of. I’ve seen it time and time again. Those who think they can trick and weasel their way outta of things...well those poor fellows don’t do so well with us. And they sure as hell don’t last long either. So a little respect towards your fellow gang members might do ya some good in the long run. Now you think on that, hm?”

Micah’s expression grows taunt, and his scowl only deepens with every word, but he keeps quiet and Arthur is grateful for it because he’s not in the mood to hear the snake run his mouth again.

After another stretch of strained silence, Micah finally opens his mouth to say something but he never gets to finish.

“Well, well, ain’t this a blessed sight,” Dutch’s voice slices through the night, and Arthur glances to his right to see the older man approaching them with a deceivingly calm expression. “My two best men in one place. Glad to see you two gettin’ on for once,” he adds with an underlying bite in his voice that doesn’t go unnoticed by Arthur.

A slice of anger rips through him at the comparison, but he only dips his chin to not let it show. Whatever opinions he has of Micah are for Dutch’s ears alone, and he sure as hell isn’t going to give the snake the satisfaction of knowing that his presence often causes friction between them. There's no love lost between him and Micah, that much is true, and the whole camp is more than aware of it even if they don’t voice it. He’s glad that he’s not the only one who feels like something is wrong with the blonde though, even if most excuse it due to his impressive skills with a gun.

And no matter how much Arthur wishes he could say otherwise, he has to agree with others. Despite his less than savoury attitude, Micah is a good gun to have in a fight.

“Oh, nothin’ much, Dutch,” he replies, patting Micah on the shoulder a few more times before letting go. He notices how Dutch’s eyes track the misleadingly harsh motion as he turns to face the older man. “Micah and I was just discussin’ the values of respect.”

“That so?” Dutch drawls slowly, eyes fixing on Micah, “Good discussion?”

Micah shoots a harsh glare his way, and Arthur feels his fingers clench around his belt buckle. It will not do him any good to start throwing punches now, no matter how much he wants to.

“It wasn’t anythin’, boss,” Micah bits out, his voice laced with irritation as he rotates his shoulder as if aggrieved. “See ya in the mornin’.”

Dutch does not stop him and Micah walks away without a backwards glance, though the silence he leaves behind is something Arthur would much rather not deal with right now. Dutch pulls out a cigar, still looking in the direction Micah has disappeared in.

“Must you always do this?” he asks at last, his voice pitched low and Arthur can feel his anger spike at the near disappointed edge in Dutch’s voice.

“Oh, I’m sorry, next time I’ll be sure to go and sing him a nice lullaby, Dutch,” he snaps back, motioning in the direction Micah has walked off in. “I’m not startin’ a damn thing and you know it.”

Dutch’s eyebrows rise and he nods his head slightly, a thoughtful hum thrumming at the back of his throat, “I see. And what about how you treat him?”

“How I treat him? And how exactly do I treat him, Dutch?”

His gaze is dark when he answers, “Like he ain’t one of us.”

Arthur scoffs, shaking his head in disbelief, “That’s probably ‘cause he ain’t,” he replies, words heavy with frustration. “Loyalty. Respect. We might be a bunch of crooks but I always thought that was at the core of our people. He has none of those things. Bell is the last man on this godforsaken patch of dirt that I would trust to ‘ave my back.”

“Enough, Arthur,” Dutch cut off sharply, taking a forceful drag of his cigar before he addresses him once more. “Micah has proven himself to be a fine fellow and valuable addition to our ranks, so I will hear no more of this, is that clear? It’s been a long day, son. You oughta get some rest. Wherever this animosity between you two comes from, I want it dealt with as soon as possible. We can’t be fightin’ amongst ourselves.”

“Yeah,” Arthur intones quietly in reply, bitterness welling in his chest. Besides Hosea, Dutch is the smartest man he knows, and yet when it comes to Micah, he refuses to budge. “Yeah, whatever you say, Dutch.”

He grits his teeth and turns to leave but a hand on his shoulder stops him, and he glances sideways towards the man who looks at him calmly but flatly.

“Son, you must understand,” Dutch begins softly, “I can’t have pointless fightin’ in the camp. I need ya with me, Arthur. I know I’m askin’ much but can you at least try?”

Once, it would have been so easy to turn a blind eye to it all, to simply trust Dutch’s judgement and let him handle everything. Now, Arthur is no longer sure what to make of any of this. Perhaps Blackwater shook his own faith more than he cares to admit.

“Sure thing,” he says at last, still torn, still unsure what the hell has happened to them. Who is responsible for this tension between them. “I’m always with ya, Dutch. But you better have a word with that fool because next time he runs his mouth, it will not end so well for him.”

He pulls back, stricken with the realisation that he can’t stand the thought of lingering here, that for some reason Dutch’s request feels almost like a stab of betrayal. Something in his gut twists at the thought and he tries to push it back as swiftly as he can. Dutch asking him to try and get on with Micah doesn’t mean he’s choosing favourites. They’re not kids for crying out loud. And yet—

His feet start carrying away before he even realises fully what he’s doing. But he doesn’t feel bad about leaving Dutch with those words because he means them and he needs to think, he needs—

“Arthur?”

He freezes.

It takes few blinks to slip out of his daze as he looks over his shoulder to see you standing there, your lips parted and a worried frown twisting the planes of your face. He hasn’t realized he’s stormed past the campfire till that exact moment, the lack of music leaving a near tranquil quiet in its place. Most of the camp has cleared out already, leaving only passed out Uncle and Sean by the fire. Hosea sits beside them, smoking his pipe as he gazes thoughtfully into the flames. You both stand just far enough to be covered by shadows but close enough to still see the glow of embers in the distance.

“Arthur?” you repeat softly, more worried this time as you take a step closer towards him.

You rarely speak his name. Usually, it’s ‘Mr. Morgan’ or some other version of identification that did not require his name. It’s only during rarest, most private moments that you forget yourself enough to use his first name. It warms something in his chest when you do; the worry and concern you so clearly feel towards him, even more so. It’s just another reminder that he has no business involving you in any of this though. It’s true you confide in him but he’s unsure if, just this once, he can return the favour.

“You ought to get some rest Miss (Name). Tomorrow—”

“Are you alright?” your question is brimming with genuine concern as you approach him, and it stops whatever words he’s about to say. “You look...upset.”

He wants to dismiss it but there is something disarming about the look on your face as you gaze up at him.

“It’s nothin’, don’t you worry…” he trails off before something catches his eye, and for a brief moment he forgets Dutch, forgets Micah and focuses only on you, his lips twitching upwards slightly. “Your Highness.”

He bows his head briefly, and his grin widens at your confused frown. There is a moment of suspended silence before your expression clears and you laugh, your hand flying to the top of your head where a freshly woven flower crown sits. Your expression is one of pure delight and he almost sighs at the feeling of lightness that blooms in his chest with it.

“Oh! Um—little Jack made it for me this morning,” you tell him with an affectionate grin, and he turns to face you fully as you come to stop right in front of him. “It was awfully nice of him, and he didn’t ‘ave to but he still—sorry, you’re probably busy! I don’t mean to waste your time Mr Morgan, just wanted to make sure you were alright.”

He watches you from under the brim of his hat, tracking the nervous twist of your fingers and wonders if you realise how endearing this nervous habit of yours has become. Except he shouldn't really care, certainly shouldn't notice it. And most certainly not feel better with you near. Like it’s easier to see things clearly, like your mere presence is enough to calm the simmering anger burning away in him.

But the thought of Dutch and Micah brings back the bitter sting and he feels his small smile wilt. He trusts Dutch, he does but—

“Mr Morgan?” your voice sounds again, and suddenly you’re close enough to touch, to smell, to feel the subtle heat coming from your body. He tells himself that the shiver that races down his spine is from the night chill and not your closeness. “Are you sure you’re fine? I’ve been tryin’ to ask you somethin’ but...I mean, you don’t have to if you don’t wanna,” you trail off, but he notices the sad break in your voice, and there is a part of him that tells him that he’s better off not knowing.

But.

“Apologies, Miss (Name), my head is all over the place today,” he says carefully, noting the way your eyes flicker back to rest on him. He knows that due to the dark and the angle his head is slanted in, you can’t really tell he’s looking right at you. “What was you sayin’?”

“Would you care for a dance, Mr Morgan?”

“Excuse me?”

From everything—anything—he might have expected to hear from you, that most certainly hasn’t been it. For a moment he’s uprooted and unsure because that cold, logical part of him is already rebelling, spitting how not only will this be improper but it will also be dangerous.

You are dangerous.

With your easy smiles, gentle yet understanding eyes and a sense of humour that would make most nuns blush with shame.

He’s been a fool for a woman’s love once.

A love that he has never managed to live up to, never managed to make his own. With Mary it’s always been a race to change himself, to shift his very being into something that will suit her and her high society life.

With Mary, it has always been take, take, take.

With you…

He hasn’t even notice when or how you managed to crawl your way behind the walls he kept so tightly around himself. Not only because he’s undeserving of such happiness but also because after Eliza and Isaac—

His heart—whatever little he ever did have of it—has been destroyed too many time to let another in. To risk the pain and agony of another loss.

But you stand there, looking up at him hopefully, shyly, and he feels so goddamn helpless at the sight of your unguarded expression.

With Mary, it has always been take, take, take.

With you, it has always been give, give, give.

Undoubtedly ironic, considering that from you two, Mary is the elite lady and you are nothing more than another runaway with little to no money to your name.

“There’s—er—no music Miss (Name),” he says finally, his throat dry because this is not the turn he ever expected his night to take. “It’s kinda hard to dance without it, ain’t it? Besides, I ain’t much of a dancer.”

A slight smile curls your lips, and he wonders why for a moment you look so relieved.

“Why Mr Morgan, there’s always music,” you tell him seriously and he feels his eyebrows rise, head tilting so you can see his dubious expression. “You just gotta know how to listen.”

You raise your hand to him, palm outstretched as you wiggle your fingers a little, “May I have this dance?”

Tell her no. Push her away now to spare her the pain later.

He wants to push you away—he really does—but as if in a daze, he cautiously takes your hand in his. Your fingers are so much smaller than his. He hasn’t realised until this moment just how small when in comparison to his. He feels you move them till your hands rest securely against each other, and he allows himself the foolishly indulgent moment of feeling the simple warmth of your skin.

It feels much nicer than he would care to admit.

“Now, just listen.”

His eyebrows knit together in confusion and he glances around, “To what?”

You chuckle under your breath, the sound warm and breathless as you look up at him and he wishes you haven’t. Suddenly he’s painfully aware of your hand in his, of your closeness, of his other hand resting on the curve of your back.

“—relax and listen to everythin’ around you, of course,” you tell him, almost teasingly, and he blinks, realising too late that he is so focused on your nearness he failed to hear you. “Nature is the best provider of natural music. Mr Morgan—Arthur—just relax.”

He clears his throat uncomfortably, and shifts on his feet, “Like I was sayin’ not much of a dancer, that’s all.”

Your head tilts and after a moment of silence, you start humming under your breath, drawing his straying gaze back to you. It’s hard to look at you. It’s still even harder to look away. His fingers itch with a sudden urge to pull out his journal and sketch the visage of you. He wants to remember this moment; the slopes of your face, the curve of your lips and the ghost of a smile on your mouth as your eyes remain shut. You look peaceful. So peaceful, he feels like he’s intruding on the moment even though he’s in the moment with you.

It’s then that he realises that your hums are matching the sound of crickets and owls, of a whisper of leaves caught in the wind, of nature itself. You’re swaying side to side unhurriedly, clearly lost in the moment and Arthur feels his breath seize in his lungs.

Is this his punishment then?

To be given a chance to meet someone as wonderful, as fiercely alive as you, and know he has no right to your heart. Because what could he possibly give you? You deserve someone better than him. Not an old, ugly, bitter outlaw with a bounty on his head, and a past soaked in the blood of the innocent.

You deserve some handsome city dweller who can buy you a pretty house with a picket fence and a dog. Someone who can give you kids who will adore you, and a garden where you can grow flowers when you grow old.

The pang of longing that cuts through his chest is sharp, near acidic, and his grip on you tightens just slightly. Your eyes flutter open and you blink up at him, lips curving down.

“Mr Morgan?”

Your voice is a mere breath that fills the space between you, and suddenly a thousand different things burn at the back of his throat. He wants to say so much and yet—

What can he possibly say? What words can possibly do this—do you—justice? What can he say to you that will not make him appear like a complete, smitten fool? Can he really look you in the eye and tell you how he thinks you’re lovely and kind, and better than anything he could ever deserve? How he could spend the rest of his life doing nothing but good and still be unworthy of you.

“Don’t you worry yourself, ya hear?” he answers with forced calmness, and reads your doubt in the subtle narrowing of your eyes. “Just an old man reminiscing, this is quite the relaxin’ end to my night, believe it or not.”

You’re silent for a long moment, the two of you still swaying side to side leisurely as you continue peering at him.

He’s always liked that about you too. That no matter what people tell you about him, what you hear or see, you always look directly at him. Like you can see him, like he’s real and doesn’t need to hide away or pretend. No fear, no resentment; not even after your less than friendly first meeting.

Something about the knowing, gentle scrutiny of your gaze makes him feel alive.

“I know...I mean, I understand that you don’t owe me nothin’ Mr Morgan but…” your breath catches, eyes slipping away for a moment and he wonders what, exactly, is the source of your internal struggle. You swallow audibly before looking back up at him. “I know you may not trust me but—”

“I do,” he utters before he can stop himself, and he can feel danger crowd him. Having you so near is clearly clouding his sense of reason, and he doesn't want to dig his grave any deeper than it already is. Your expression is frozen with shock, lips slightly parted in disbelief and this time it’s his turn to swallow heavily. “I do trust you,” he adds, ignoring the unfamiliar taste of those words in his mouth.

How many people have ever warranted his complete trust? He can count them on one hand.

Trust is not a currency he deals out freely or often.

“Oh,” you breathe, your eyes wide and he feels the tremble of your fingers in his hand. “I—oh. I’m glad.”

And damn it all. Damn that beautiful, soft smile that lifts your lips into a sight that etches itself into his mind, right into his heart too. Damn it all to hell.

This whole thing is becoming a goddamn mess. He knows he shouldn't have done this, knows that this level closeness to you was going to affect him. There is a reason he always opts to stay away. It’s better this way. For both of you.

But this—you—

He lets his hand drop from your back before taking a small step back, and lifting your other hand above your head. You let out another chuckle, seemingly even happier than earlier and it feels worryingly nice to know he’s the source of that joy.

You turn slowly as if savouring the moment, and for one, irrational second he doesn’t want to let you go at all. He wants to stay suspended in this moment of peace, cocooned by your warmth and shadows of the night, with nothing but a song of nature for company.

But all things come to an end, including your spin. Your fingers are still interlaced when you come to a stop right in front of him, grinning down towards the ground. You glance up, moonlight dully illuminating the flower crown sitting on your head.

There is a lull of silence, your fingers still entwined together, and the beat of his heart is the only thing he can focus on at that moment.

He’s about to pull away reluctantly but before he can, you move first by letting go of his hand. You step closer and he feels himself still when you duck your head down to not disturb his hat. The feeling of your soft lips against his cheek is the last thing he expects. It’s brief; nothing more than a fluttering brush of softness and warmth against his ragged skin, but everything about that moment—about the heat of your lips, the smell of your skin mixed with flowers, and the gentleness of your movement—gets committed to memory.

All things end, and you pull back so quickly, he knows the moment only lasted a few seconds. His skin burns, he burns with it, and his fingers clench into fists in an effort to keep himself...calm. He needs to control himself before he does something he will regret later. Like kiss you.

“Thank you, Mr Morgan, for the dance.”

He says nothing but that has never deterred you before—if anything, you understand better than most his need for quiet, and have always been respectful of it.

He finally nods his head, realises that he already misses the heat of your palm in his but refuses to voice his thoughts.

“I’ll oughta let you rest now, I’ve already held you up enough,” you note quietly, that faint smile still lingering in the corners of your mouth. “Goodnight, Mr Morgan.”

With another nod, you turn to go but he reaches out first, his fingertips brushing against your hand and you stop dead in your tracks. He pulls back like your skin has burned him, and it might as well has. He feels the heat of you sink into the very marrow of him, and it makes him grit his teeth briefly.

“Do me a favour, will ya?” he begins, his tone raspy and he forcefully clears his throat before continuing, “If Micah Bell ever so much as looks in your direction, you go straight to Hosea or Charles, alright? Or...me. Whichever you prefer.”

Your shoulders curve slightly and you look positively troubled. “Is there somethin’ wrong?”

He shakes his head sharply because the last thing he wants is to worry you with this. But the memory of the leering look Micah shot you earlier lingers in Arthur’s memory, and he finds that he can’t quite let it go.

“Nah, still, you never know,” he retorts calmly but you don’t look convinced, so he adds, “Don’t forget your shootin’ lessons tomorrow. Better get some rest, or I will be frightened for my own life come next sunrise.”

You roll your eyes, shaking your head but the mock irritated look on your face is brimming with tender affection that feels like a kick right in his heart.

“Goodnight, Arthur,” you call with a slight laugh, waving over your shoulder. “See ya tomorrow!”

He watches you walk away and every step feels painful, leaves him feeling bruised and raw even though it shouldn't.

Let her go you fool, let her go. Let her be happy.

He wants to. He really does. He wants to look away and do you that favour in return.

But he hears the thud of his own heart, feels the electrified buzz of his blood rushing through his veins, and finds that he can’t.

What brings you back to life also gives you the means to destroy yourself.

And perhaps you’re the kind of destruction he doesn’t mind.

. . .

an: Mr Morgan is fascinating to write. I truly hope I did him some justice with this fic. He feels things so deeply (based on his actions and journal entries) but rarely, if ever, voices his inner feelings. It’s interesting to try and realistically look at how he might handle having feelings for someone, but still being plagued by his self-hatred, doubt and overall insecurities.

This fic is very much a test run for something much larger and elaborate I have cooking in my head. So any feedback on how I handled his character (and others) and how I can improve would be greatly appreciated. Thank you for reading guys <33

#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur x reader #red dead redemption x reader #arthur morgan imagine #red dead redemption imagine #arthur morgan fic #rdr #rdr imagines #dutch van der linde #micah bell #hosea matthews #arthur's pov...#what did it cost?? everything.

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shreddedleopard · 5 years ago

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Inktober - Day 1: ‘A Captain’s Promise’

PROMPT - Ring

Okay so, here goes nothing. Inktober day one - a scene from AQR universe between Levi and Historia.

_________________________________________________________

Levi watched with amusement as Historia’s feet carried her slowly about his room. The neat bump at her abdomen seemed to have come out of nowhere, and it surprised him how quickly she’d begun to show - perhaps it had something to do with the smallness of her stature and frame. She carried it beautifully, though, and it made his heart swell with a pride he never thought himself capable of. “What is your fascination with my stuff?” He mumbled at her from his comfortable recline in his worn, red armchair. It wasn’t often Historia managed to sneak into his place for their secret evenings together - more often than not, it was easier for him to steal up to her quarters using 3DMG, or meet her at the Orphanage. But this night was different. “I can’t help it,” she threw back with a grin. “It still amazes me that I’m in The Captain Levi’s room, touching his personal belongings.” She turned back to where she was stood near his desk, picking up his stationary and examining it all one by one. “This is a lovely pen. Did you buy this yourself?” He rolled his eyes at the realisation that she was probably going to do this with every damn item in the entirety of his quarters. All he really wanted to do was pull her back on to his knee; wrap his arms around her like the stupid soft shit she’d made him. But he didn’t. He humoured her, because the smile on her face was a bit too beautiful to resist. “No. That one was a gift from Erwin. I ...” he fumbled for a moment, not really wanting to admit to her the story behind it, but also unable to deny the truth of it from her curiously wide, azure eyes. He sighed, resigning himself to his answer. “When I first came here, from the underground, my reading and writing wasn’t especially good. Don’t get me wrong - it was a lot fucking better than most of the poor bastards down there, but that’s not saying much. Never really bothered me; I was hardly writing love letters to titans before I disposed of them, was I?” His fingers reached to his throat to straighten his cravat, but then he realised it wasn’t there; he was in his casual shirt and pants after sharing a bath with her. His fingers curled awkwardly on the empty air as his hand lowered. “Then Erwin decided to make me Captain. It wasn’t a promotion I especially wanted, to be honest, but when he explained to me what it entailed, it made sense for me to take it to support him. The only fucker was, it involved a lot more paperwork than I’d been exposed to in the past. Almost made me back out of the whole thing altogether, to be honest.” He felt her gaze intensely; almost as though it were boring into his skin.

“That would have been a huge loss for the Survey Corps.” He shifted uncomfortably with a small ‘tch.’ “What changed your mind?” He grimaced, hoping that she wouldn’t think of repeating this to anyone. Especially not the person it was regarding. “Honestly? Hange did. Stupid Shitty Glasses went on and on about how she could get me up to speed with my literacy skills in no time; I hadn’t even told the cheeky shit that’s why I wasn’t taking the promotion. But she fucking knew, of course; like she always does. Anyway, in the end, I agreed just to shut her up. And, quite clearly, she was true to her word. Although fuck me, is her handwriting atrocious. Good job she’s a half decent teacher. Anyway, Erwin gave me that as a gift when Hange told him I’d re-thought my decision. Four Eyes has a matching one. If I’d have known then just how much shitty paperwork there was involved, I’d have thrown it at his stupid thick head.” He met her eyes finally, and found her smile had spread right up into her cheeks, creating little dimples. “What?” She shook her head. “Just you. Commander Hange is a saint.” He spluttered, incredulous. “She’s a saint?” “Yes.”

Damn his Queen and Commander for becoming so pally lately. She turned back to his desk, and her fingers swept over the draw handles. His heart lurched uncomfortably as his mind shifted to the mahogany box containing the little squares of fabric emblazoned with the wings of freedom that resided in his bottom draw. It wasn’t the fact that he’d have minded her finding them; more the fact that their evening had been so sweet so far, and the idea of it turning to darker topics dismayed him. Thankfully, they settled on the top drawer instead. She pulled it open slowly, peering inside unashamedly. “You’re such a nosy shit, you know?” “Just checking there aren’t any secret love letters in here, now you’re adept at writing.” He cocked a brow at her. “You’ve seen the extent of my penmanship in that department.” He left the chair, moving to stand behind her, a palm coming to rest atop her protruding abdomen. “I’m better with actions.” She twisted to look at him, and shit, if those eyes couldn’t draw the right words from him then he knew absolutely no fucker could. He lifted a hand to her chin, tipping her lips up gently to meet his in a soft kiss. “Mm-hm,” Historia murmured against his mouth in agreement. He couldn’t help smiling a little into their kiss. No one made him smile like she did, stubborn brat that she was. She withdrew from him after a moment, her attention turning back to his drawer. “Hey - who said I was done?” He cocked a brow at her. “Me,” she fired back at him without looking, her hand reaching into his drawer. “Fair enough.” He rolled his eyes again. How could he argue with that? Her fingers reappeared, and wrapped around them was a medal on a bolo tie. The medal she’d placed around his neck after Shiganshina. “Huh ...” she whispered. “I’d almost forgotten ...” Levi frowned at the medal. “Feels like another lifetime, you giving me that.” He felt her lean into him, her head resting against his shoulder as she turned the item over in her hands. “I wished I could have been there. Fighting beside you all.” The thought made his heart constrict uncomfortably. “I’m glad you weren’t.” She turned back to him properly then, her face suddenly twisted with an emotion Levi was unsure of. She seemed to search his eyes. “The thought of you going back ... to something like that ... I ...” He knew what she was trying to say. He felt it too; the idea of them being apart - him having to leave her for a battle he may not return from. But no matter how much he felt what she did, he couldn’t reassure her. Couldn’t promise her that there wouldn’t be another battle like Shiganshina, or worse. And he most certainly couldn’t promise her he wouldn’t be there, fighting beside his comrades as always. “I know.” He curled his fingers around hers, pressing the medal to her palm. His eyes closed, and he inhaled, merely revelling in the feel of them being there, together. All three of them. He wondered how many of these moments they might all be allowed, in the future. Best not to ask himself those questions. Fuck; if things were different ... if they were in a different situation, a different time ... But they weren’t. He opened his eyes, and brought their clasped hands up between their faces. “Listen, Historia. I’m going to be honest with you here; I can’t offer you what most men could - I told you this from the start. No cozy home, no stable lifestyle, no reassurances, no fucking gold ring.” He grit his teeth between the words. “But if I could ...” No. No use talking like that. She lifted a pale, dainty hand to cup his cheek, and right there and then he hated himself. Hated himself for stealing the heart of this pure, young girl that he didn’t deserve. Robbing her of the life she should have, with a better man. “I don’t want all that, “ she whispered, thumb stroking his cheekbone. “I want you. This. Us.” He stared into her sweet face for a moment, before pulling her roughly into his embrace. Damnit. He didn’t deserve her, but he couldn’t help himself greedily clinging to her with every fibre of his being. When he stood back, he unwound the bolo from her grasp, and pulled the strings taut together until the loop was tiny. Small enough for a finger. He clutched at her left hand, lifting it to his face as though inspecting it. Left was the hand for your ring finger, right? He took a long, deep breath, wondering if he was actually going to make an idiot of himself and actually do this. Fuck it. He knelt down awkwardly before her, and his mind was suddenly cast back to the day she placed the medal around his neck. Back when they were nothing more than comrades; acquaintances; Captain and Queen. He refused to let his eyes part from hers, crowned by crinkled brows as she gaped at him. “What are you ...” “I can’t give you a ring or any of that shit, Historia. But what I can give you is my life.” His fingers pulled the loop of the bolo tie gently over her ring finger, and he adjusted it so that the little medal was facing upwards, Wings of Freedom glinting symbolically up at them. “Levi-“ “Let me finish,” he cut across her, willing the stupid fucking blush he could feel at his shirt collar to stay put and not rise to paint his features. “I promise you, and our child, that I will serve and protect you both until the day I die. No matter what, I will fight for you; anything you ask of me, I will give you - my blades belong to you.” It sounded a lot less cheesy in his head. He averted his eyes finally, waiting for her to laugh at him, or tell him to get a life. But neither of those things happened. Instead, Levi saw a wet, glistening globe smatter on the floor before him. He looked up to find her face streaked with tears. Rising swiftly, he pulled her to him again. She fit so snugly under his chin - it was as though she’d been crafted especially for him. The little ray of fucking sunshine to his gloomy cloud. And here he was robbing her jovial light again. He rubbed her back as he felt her breath hot and hurried against his neck. “Shit; sorry. I didn’t mean to make you cry. I didn’t want to upset you. I ...” “No,” she pulled back to look at him, and there was that damn irresistible smile again. “These are happy tears.”

#inktober #inktober writing #inktober day one #inktober prompt #inktober ring #rivahisu #rivahisu fanfiction #Historia Reiss #Levi Ackerman #snk #snk fanfiction

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ducktales-wco-oo · 6 years ago

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✩ Marshall Mega Post ✩

This... Got hella long... So under a Read More it goes. :’D Fair warning: What was supposed to just be a rambly, screamy, I-Love-Marshall-So-Frickin’-Much post ended up being an in-depth and semi-headcanon filled Character-Bio post. Like... It’s REALLY long, friendos. :3

Here he comes...

The Good Boi

- Sherrif Marshall ‘Deputy’ Cabrera... Headcanon Time: He was called Deputy even before he became an actual one. Since he was a duckling, he’s dreamed of following in his father’s Bootsteps and becoming the Sheriff of Gumption. For as long as he can remember, Cabreras have been defending wherever they happen to call home. His ancestors were some of the first settlers in the area, helping build the small town from the very beginning. There’s always been a Cabrera protecting Gumption. So naturally, the townspeople were not surprised (nor did they have any arguments about) Marshall being appointed as Deputy.

- He was Deputy for several years before he was ‘promoted’.

- His father grew ill with what they assumed was just a minor ailment, but he gradually grew worse. It soon became apparent that he had Whooping Cough, and barely anything could be done to help. With no doctor or medicine available to the small town, he was quarantined and left in Marshall’s care. The disease quickly spread to Marshall’s mother (who had always been a rather sickly woman) and took her first. His father passed shortly after... The people elected Marshall as their new Sheriff, bestowing upon him the badge and his father’s hat.

- Marshall means ‘Lover of Horses’... A fitting name. Much like how Fenton grew up around Police Dogs and has a deep love for canines, Marshall grew up around equines. Learning how to ride from a young age, he might be a tad clumsy when walking on his own two feet- but he’s remarkably skilled at riding. Capable of near-effortlessly maneuvering the reins and performing task’s while on horseback. Like shooting and roping; two of his favorite pastimes. Marshall also enjoys throwing horseshoes and dancing. He is proficient in several styles, but his favorites are group dances like Line dance and Square dance. He also sings. :3

Okey-doke... Time for some ‘canon’ rambling.

- He is just as helpful and considerate as Fenton. Assisting Scrooge even though he was sassed by the duck, personally making sure that the Prospectors knew about the newcomer, reminding them about the Town Hall meeting so they wouldn’t be left out... Not to mention how he immediately pops into the frame to tell Rockerduck the town’s name. Gumption! :D That part is adorable and I frickin’ love it... The cute duck loves his town so much.

- Marshall is also very physically adept. Although his strength comes from ol’-fashioned hard work and manual labor, rather than the variety of tasks (like carrying around heavy materials for inventions) that helped Fenton grow stronger. Fights aren’t something that happens often in Gumption, but he is more than capable of handling them when they arise. Shown by how quickly he pulled Scrooge away from Rockerduck, body trembling slightly but remaining firmly where he was. Thoroughly taught how to defend himself, both with weapons and bare-handed, the fluffy duck might seem non-threatening... but he isn’t one to be trifled with.

- More laid-back than Fenton (hyperactiveness is something he got from the Crackshell side) he is much less prone to needlessly running himself ragged. If there are problems, he is quick to try and solve them and he does work hard to make Gumption the best town it can be. But, he isn’t afraid to take a step back and allow things to work themselves out as well. Like when Scrooge and Goldie were ‘fighting’. When Scrooge was first going to see the other, Marshall looked worried because it was obvious that he was going to pick a fight. But after witnessing their interaction, Marshall figured that they’d sort it out amongst themselves. Or how he was content to just relax and read a newspaper... Fenton tends to need to be doing something.

- Plus, Marshall wasn’t even phased by Gyro getting shocked by that clock (as if it wasn’t the first time he’s made an attempt to get back to the future) and calmly responded to Scrooge’s threats to ‘steal’ back the gold he earned. Instead of being concerned about the threat, he casually told them that Rockerduck had left and that they should basically just ‘let it go’.

- TOO TRUSTING, Fenton definitely takes after Marshall when it comes to assuming the best in people. Whether it’s a rich duck or a rich parrot, a Cabrera (or at least, those Cabreras) are going to wholeheartedly put their faith and well-being in them. After realizing that Rockerduck wasn’t a good person, he was plagued with guilt because he let the townspeople down. If Gumption became a Ghost Town, he would have placed blame solely on himself. During Scrooge’s speech, Marshall can be seen thinking over what he had done, has just learned, and deciding what to do next... Unlike Fenton, he has a very black and white view on Right and Wrong. They both believe in doing what is Right, but Fenton’s views are more grayscale when it comes to who is a good person and how to achieve the right thing.

- ‘The law is the law.’ Marshall prides himself on upholding the law, even if he doesn’t agree with it at times. But above it is his pursuit of Justice, and that’s what helps him decide to free the others. He swore to ‘pursue justice against all crooks’ and Rockerduck is a bigger one. The fact that he wished harm against people Marshall cares about (and was entrusted to protect) makes beating him even more important. Marshall knew he had a better chance of making things right if he joined the others rather than stand in their way... Still, he was not happy about them being ‘Outlaws’ and did not consider himself one. He was so relieved to claim that they were heroes instead. A good example of how Marshall and Fenton’s views differ is that Marshall wouldn’t have impulsively stolen the Gizmoduck armor.

- Marshall is incredibly smart and remarkably knowledgable about science/mechanics... but he just, doesn’t care much for it. He prefers doing things the good ol’ fashioned way and honestly, would prefer for things to stay that way. Why let some science doohickey do something that he can do himself? Where’s the satisfaction of accomplishing something if there’s not hard work involved? His views mirror Scrooge’s in this aspect. True, there is satisfaction in building a machine. In putting something together with his two hands, having to think about what he’s creating, etc... But aside from the euphoria of inventing something, he prefers to have little-to-nothing to do with them. Besides, why fix what isn’t broken? If a trusty thoroughbred can get him somewhere, then he sees no need to go taking a train.

- ‘This is a calamity! Waterloo! Blue ruin!’ Like Fenton, he has a habit of saying things in threes and I LOVE THAT. It’s just... Such a cute quirk and is repeatedly shown in the smol duck. Also, in Marshall’s first appearance episode, he blew up Gyro’s invention and knocked him unconscious. In Fenton’s, he caused Gyro’s invention to lose control and nearly flooded the lab with the FRICKIN’ OCEAN. Both Cabreras have caused him problems within the very beginning of existing in the show and that is beautiful. XD They’re trying their best...

- Both Cabreras are clumsy as heck at times and I support them wholeheartedly. Although, in Marshall’s case, this mostly appears when he is panicked. Unlike Fenton, whose clumsiness shows up most apparently when he is excited. (the fact that they both say ‘Blathering Blatherskite!’ when upset is just another thing to add to the list of why the smol ducks are incredible) But even when panicked, Marshall is sharp-witted and quick to calm himself and focus in a crisis. Much like Fenton, who doesn’t hesitate to act when the well-being of others is at stake. Their protective nature drastically overwhelms their initial franticness/nerves.

- Marshall shares Fenton’s optimism as well. Deciding to focus on the fact that while they might not have gotten the gold, at least the crook didn’t either. But more self-assured than Fenton, he didn’t react to Scrooge being angry at him. Even though it was clear that Scrooge was annoyed by his comment and view of the situation, Marshall was firm in his statement and didn’t look the slightest bit abashed for having ‘been the one to loose the gold’. As far as he is concerned, the situation was out of his control and he did the best that he could. He is alive, they are alive, and Rockerduck didn’t win... That’s plenty good enough for him.

#(This basically ended up being me getting a grasp of Marshall's character and whipping up some headcanons... :'D )#(Like... This is gonna pretty much make up most if not ALL of his Character Bio. lol)#ducktales-wco-oo #⭒ ˙ ˖ ✧ — ˗ˏˋ ❝ ʙʀᴇᴀᴋɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰᴏᴜʀᴛʜ ᴡᴀʟʟ ❞ ¦ 「 OOC 」#Keeps On Ridin' || {Marshall}#⭒ ˙ ˖ ✧ — ˗ˏˋ ❝ ʀᴇᴡʀɪᴛᴇ ʜɪꜱᴛᴏʀʏ ❞ ¦ 「 Headcanon 」

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sp4c3-0ddity · 7 years ago

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Water Rescue: Part Three

and so ends “Water Rescue”. as usual, go politely yell/gush at @rueitae for envisioning the mage/familiar AU here and here. i also owe her for letting me play in her sandbox, as the saying goes

this final part is ~5500 words. enjoy!! <3

warning for non-graphic violence/major character injury

Read on ao3 | Read Part One | Read Part Two

There was little reason for Pidge to be so exhausted this early in the day, little reason but staying up too late and waking up too early. She dragged her feet through the village, plastering a half-hearted smile onto her face after knocking on cottage doors and waiting for a resident to greet her.

“I have your sleeping draft, Madame,” Pidge said when the baker’s wife opened her door. She offered the bottle to her, all while wishing she could uncork it and down its contents for herself, perhaps curl up on the porch beside the cat that, somehow, didn’t rouse at her approach.

“Thank you, Pidge,” said the baker’s wife after taking the bottle. “Did you add something to it to mask the taste?”

Pidge grimaced and admitted, “I forgot. I had to make several batches this time, so I couldn’t take special orders into account.”

Her customer sighed. “I guess it’s still worth it.” She then passed Pidge a few coins, which she carefully tucked into her belt pouch before picking up her steadily emptying bag and retreating back to the main road.

To her surprise, the cat followed her, nearly tripping Pidge as it tried to pass between her ankles. She cursed but caught herself after stumbling forwards a few paces, right as the cat froze, its amber eyes fixed on a point that she couldn’t see.

Pidge raised an eyebrow at it. “Did you spot a mouse?”

Predictably, the cat ignored her and darted away down the road, its bushy gray tail streaming out behind it.

Pidge took the opportunity the quiet moment allowed her to check her bag for the remaining orders she had to fill, and when she only spotted a few bottles, she smiled in relief. With luck, everything but one would take less than an hour to deliver, and after visiting Allura and Coran, she could be on her way home in time to get back by sunset. And then perhaps a nap before she tended to the garden, and then, maybe, Lance would finally arrive.

The thought of Lance brought both a flush to her face and a slump to her shoulders. He should’ve visited days ago, if the pattern held, and for every day he didn’t—

Pidge scowled, inhaling bracingly before setting her shoulders and continuing the rest of her tasks, pushing Lance from her mind and hoping he’d stay out until she had a second to spare.

When she was finally on her way to Allura’s, her bag far lighter than before, a gray blur skittered across her path.

Pidge stared as the cat pursued a white rat - no, a large, white mouse - with copious whiskers sprouting from its snout. Its pointed ears twitched frantically, but then it spun around, standing on its hind legs and facing down the cat.

The mouse sneezed.

The cat recoiled with an undignified, pained yowl, every hair along its spine standing on end. The mouse nodded as if satisfied, with its hands on its hips, its mannerisms eerily human.

Pidge stifled a giggle, then approached the mouse, which peered up at her with beady blue-black eyes. “What did you do to it?” she asked.

“Taught it not to mess with me,” the mouse replied with a firm nod.

“I thought the village cats already knew not to mess with you,” Pidge said.

“That one must not have gotten the message.” The mouse turned, falling back to all fours as it started in a different direction.

Pidge followed close behind, careful not to overtake it though the pace her stride set was greater. “I thought you preferred walking around the village in human form, Coran,” she said.

The mouse’s ear twitched. “I did, but then I remembered how much fun being so small is.” It squeaked, a sound which Pidge took as a strange, mousy laugh. “Why didn’t you remind me sooner, Number Five?”

(Pidge had no idea why Coran insisted on calling her that.)

She rolled her eyes and grumbled, “I’m not that small.”

“No, I suppose you haven’t been this small since you were a wee fetus in your mother’s womb,” Coran said cheerfully.

“I—”

“By the way, Number Five, have you been getting enough sleep?” Coran cut Pidge off, sparing her the need to formulate a reply. The mouse tilted its head back, pace faltering just slightly, and observed, “Your eyes are looking very droopy, and you’re dragging your feet.”

The comment stunned Pidge into a stop just a few yards away from Allura’s shop entrance. She rubbed her burning eyes with one hand and tightened her grip on her bag with the other. “I’m just a bit…worried,” she confessed carefully. “The life around the lake doesn’t feel as it should.”

It wasn’t all that bothered her, not when she hadn’t seen Lance in almost two months, but it was significant enough that she felt drained of energy most of the time.

Her damn sensitivity to nature sometimes worked against her as much as it strengthened her.

At a tug on her trouser leg, Pidge glanced down to see Coran standing beside her foot. “Ah, yes, I was wondering if I imagined that my garden isn’t doing well. Perhaps after you and Allura conduct your business, you can take a look?”

Pidge nodded. “Sure,” she said. “It shouldn’t take too long.”

Coran left her at the door, slipping through a crack in the wall big enough for a rat-sized mouse but far too small for a short woman. And within a few seconds, the door opened in front of her, a tall man with neatly combed orange hair and a matching, bushy mustache smiling down at her.

At least he remembered to put on clothes before greeting her at the door…

“Welcome, Number Five, to Allura’s crystal shop,” Coran said. “How may we be of service today?”

Pidge snorted as she slid her bag down to rest in the crook of her elbow, already reaching inside while Coran shut the door behind her. “I’ve been here more times than I can count, Coran,” she reminded him.

“So you have,” Coran agreed, twirling the end of his mustache. “It still does to be polite when greeting potential customers.”

Pidge glanced around the empty shop, far smaller than Shiro’s and Hunk’s in her hometown, though it sold similar wares. The demand for Balmeran crystals in this village was nothing like it was in the city, and Allura didn’t have the skill to cut them like Hunk did. But she was far more adept at infusing them with magic, and individual crystals glowed so powerfully here that the shop needn’t bother with windows for sunlight.

“Who are you talking to, Coran?” a voice spoke up from the back, and Allura herself walked in, her heeled shoes clicking on the hardwood floor. She beamed as brightly as any crystal when her eyes fell on Pidge, her earrings glittering with stored magic. “Pidge! What brings you to the village?”

“Just deliveries,” Pidge said with a quick smile. “Yours are the only ones I have left.” She took the last few bottles from her bag and handed them to Allura, who tucked them into the voluminous sleeves of her dress without examining them.

“Well,” Pidge said, shouldering her bag again and stepping towards the door, “that’s everything. I should be—”

“Didn’t you ask her to check your garden, Coran?” Allura interrupted, frowning at her familiar.

Pidge tensed, stifling a sigh, and said, “Yes, he did. I’ll go do that now.” She swept past Allura, through the kitchen behind the shop, and out the door that led to the garden.

Behind her, she heard Allura ask, “What’s the hurry, Pidge?”

Pidge paused in the doorway and glanced over her shoulder. “I’m just expecting company,” she said, shrugging and feigning nonchalance. “The idiot can’t be bothered to tell me dates anymore, so I have to guess.”

Never mind that, so far, her guess was several days off the mark than ever before.

Pidge swallowed the flash of anger and dismissed the unhappy thought that Lance might’ve simply not wanted to visit her anymore. He’s probably just busy, she told herself. He has a big family; maybe a new niece or nephew hatched…

They were empty platitudes meant to comfort her, though sometimes they worked.

Now they didn’t, but they thought that he’d stop coming no longer made her heart sink. She knew he’d tell her if anything prevented or stopped him, so something must’ve happened.

Something awful, an emergency he couldn’t escape. Her palms grew uncomfortably damp, and she stared out at Coran’s garden with wide, unseeing eyes.

“Who are you expecting, Number Five?”

Coran’s voice pulled her out of her head and back to the present, and she turned to see him and Allura peering at her worriedly. She forced a smile onto her face and said, “Just Lance.”

“Oh, just Lance?” Allura grinned. “If it’s just Lance, then he won’t mind us keeping you for dinner, maybe even for you to stay the night, or—”

“No, I have to be home in case he comes today,” Pidge said, maybe a little too quickly judging by the slight widening of Allura’s eyes. Her cheeks warmed, and she amended, “I sleep better in my own bed.”

“With Lance?” Coran raised an eyebrow at her.

“What? That has nothing to do with it!” Pidge returned her attention to the garden and hoped neither of them could see how lividly red her face must’ve been.

“Perhaps it is for the best that you leave sooner,” Allura agreed, to her surprise. “There has been some…concerning activity around the lake of late.”

Pidge gaped at her. “What are you talking about?”

“Finish your look at the garden,” Allura said with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Then we’ll talk.”

Pidge scowled, but Allura retreated back inside before she could argue. So she closed her eyes and extended feelers towards the flora surrounding her.

Coran’s garden was well-tended, mostly vegetables and a few saplings that would one day bear fruit. He was practical - perhaps it was the mouse in him - and rarely planted anything for aesthetic value. But despite the season, no vines yielded flowers, and little new growth could be spotted.

When her magic touched the nearest grapevine, its energy recoiled in alarm. But Pidge coaxed it out within seconds, reading its fear of…corruption.

She repeated the process with most of the rest of the garden, sensing the same trepidation in each plant. They grew but little, their purpose altered so that they didn’t seek to bear fruit, only to survive. And when she crouched beside a tomato vine, funneling magic into it to convince it to flower, it took far more of her energy than it should’ve.

The garden was far from dead, but it behaved just like it was winter rather than spring.

Pidge stood and faced Coran, who watched her efforts with a clinical gaze. She rested a hand against her head at a sudden rush of dizziness, but when it passed she told him, “They’re afraid, so they’re still hibernating. My garden’s the same.”

“Afraid of what?” Coran wondered.

“Corruption,” Pidge said. She bit her lip, worried and wishing they could tell her more, but as her own garden knew little of the source, so did this one.

Coran sighed. “I suppose Allura and I will be relying more on the market for food this year then,” he complained.

Pidge snorted and didn’t bother pointing out that Allura was easily the wealthiest person she’d ever met, here or in the city.

She followed Coran back inside, prepared to leave until she spotted Allura approaching her with a bundled handkerchief in her hands.

“I didn’t pay you for the tonics earlier,” Allura said with a sheepish smile.

Pidge laughed and held out her hand, then raised a surprised eyebrow when Allura put a few coins rather than the handkerchief on her palm. “Thank you.” She slipped the coins into her belt pouch. “What’s that?”

“Oh, I…noticed your energy isn’t the same as usual,” Allura explained. “I fear that whatever’s affecting Coran’s garden must also be hurting you.”

Pidge blinked at her, stunned that she noticed - until she remembered Allura’s unique ability to read magic and energy. “Do you know what’s corrupting the lake’s flora?”

“I’m afraid that’s one thing I can’t glean,” Allura admitted, her eyes downcast. “But here.” She set the handkerchief in Pidge’s hand. “Use it carefully, but when you do drain it, I’ll be more than happy to refill it.”

Pidge unwrapped the bundle, her eyes widening as she laid them on a small Balmeran crystal set in a simple ring. It glowed as strongly as Allura’s earrings. “I…can’t accept this, Allura,” she said, glancing up at her. “This is too generous, and—”

“Take it,” Allura insisted. “I have a feeling you’ll need it.”

Pidge grinned, excitement taking root at the prospect of using the crystal. She’d never used one before and, once she accepted Allura’s generosity, was eager to try it on her way home.

“And, Pidge…” Allura sighed. “Warn Lance.”

“Of what?”

“There’s been some strange activity around the lake and in the village,” Allura said. “I suspect at least some of it is due to dragon hunters.”

“What?” Pidge wrapped her fingers around the crystal as her heart skipped a beat.

“One of them came into my shop,” Allura said, her eyes narrowing. “He had the audacity to think I’d sell him one of my crystals or tell him anything about rumored dragon sightings.”

“Y-you didn’t…”

“Of course not!” Allura said. “Despite his…inappropriate flirting when we met, I’d hate to see anything bad happen to him.”

Pidge couldn’t help her scowl and stab of irritation at the reminder. The first time she brought Lance to the village, he’d been quick to try his hand flirting with Allura, practically preening and tilting his head in a way that his scales caught the sunlight. Allura herself was quick to disabuse him of any notion she was interested, and even later provided him with a stern chat.

(Pidge never expected to see the day that a mouse intimidated a dragon.)

Not that the memory mattered now. It had been almost a year since then, and Pidge had another dilemma on her hands.

Her heart pounded as a new fear took hold. “I have to go then,” she told Allura and Coran. “I have to tell him.”

If he was my familiar, I could’ve warned him already.

Pidge cursed herself for her own cowardice, that she couldn’t bring herself to ask last time she saw him. She’d never put it off again, she decided; in fact, it would be the first thing she asked this time.

“Then go,” Allura said, understanding in her smile. “And come back again soon so we can invite you for dinner.”

Pidge grimaced, remembering the last time she ate Coran’s cooking, but she said, “I’ll look forward to it.”

After a quick, warm hug from Allura, Coran guided her to the door. As she stepped outside, he said, “He won’t say no.”

Pidge stiffened and glanced at him. “Who won’t say no to what?”

Coran smiled. “You know.”

“I—”

He shut the door in her face.

Pidge frowned at it, then spun on her heel and stalked down the main road. She set a quick pace, slipping the crystal ring onto a finger and stuffing the handkerchief into her belt pouch.

She struck her usual path out of the village and around the lake, sticking within the shade of the short trees that grew in the marsh. Her feet sank into soft ground and roots stuck out, threatening to trip her if she didn’t watch her step.

The whole marsh and the outlying forest seemed…depressed. They didn’t flourish like they should in the spring, greens muted into browns and yellows while branches and tendrils drooped.

This depression - this corruption the flora whispered about when Pidge prompted them with her magic touch - affected even the creatures of the marsh. No moths or butterflies fluttered through the air, no frogs lurked in the ponds, and no squirrels skittered over tree trunks.

The eeriness filled Pidge with a sense of foreboding, and between that and her new fears for Lance, she hiked as quickly as her strength allowed her. Even with the crystal Allura gave her, Pidge didn’t want to use the magic encased within except as a last resort.

She was less than halfway home, barely an hour shy of sunset, when voices drifted across the marsh.

Harsh, male voices, Pidge observed, and they were loud and brazen enough to set her on edge. She slowed her approach and ducked behind a tree, peering around it.

“Haxus, why is it that we are not yet out of the marshes?” the first man asked.

The tallest frowned at a parchment map spread between his hands. “I may have underestimated the distance between the lake and the travelers’ road,” he said mildly.

The first man piped up, “I see no reason we can’t camp here.”

The taller man grumbled, “You really want to spend one more night in this godforsaken marsh, man?” He nodded towards what looked like a long, water-filled box at the edge of the clearing. “No, the sooner we return to Daibazaal with our living quarry, the better it’ll be for our pockets. If it gets any weaker, I fear it won’t be worth as much.”

Pidge narrowed her eyes at the thing the man indicated. It lay in heavy shadow beneath a taller tree, and when she couldn’t make it out, she reached out to the tree, probing it for answers and trying to see what it did.

Trees were surprisingly verbose for flora and could even hold simple conversations, their thoughts more complex than those of smaller, faster growing plants. But rather than bare speech, all Pidge sensed from it at first was anxiety.

Pidge flinched away from it, the feeling making her heart pound and stomach churn, but she pressed the tree for details.

Bleeding dragon, it replied. Weaker than a seedling.

Pidge’s eyes shot open as she gasped, horrified at what the tree showed her. “Lance,” she hissed, fingers curling around the trunk of the tree she hid behind. Something hot and angry twisted in her gut, replacing her fear with an urge to move and to fight.

But she forced herself to take account first, to observe and to gather information. She couldn’t just draw energy from the crystal ring, couldn’t just call upon the weak flora in the marsh to capture the two men before her, not when they somehow incapacitated a dragon.

They were dragon hunters, just like Allura warned her.

Her heart pounded in her chest, blood rushing and feeding her limbs strength that she shouldn’t have after so little sleep and so long on foot. And Pidge realized that Lance could’ve avoided this if only she bonded him when they had the chance.

Pidge closed her eyes again, reaching out to the vegetation that grew in the marsh, to the creepers and vines that wound around tree trunks and branches and extended across the rare footpath, lying in wait to trip and tangle unsuspecting travelers.

But with the flora so dormant of late…

Wake, she bid the vines in the trees overhead. Creep, tangle, bind… She reminded the sleeping vines of their purpose, to ensnare and to entangle, to wind and to strangle. Then, when too few responded to her call, when only the youngest and weakest met her request, she inhaled.

Magic funneled from the crystal ring into Pidge. A soft gasp escaped her at the sudden rush of energy, but before she could revel and truly enjoy it, she expelled it into the world around her.

Creepers burst from tree branches and shot down towards the men making camp beneath. They screamed in alarm as thick tendrils wound around their arms and legs, binding them tightly to their bodies.

Pidge’s lips twitched up into a smirk as she half-watched, half-felt the vines pulling the men up into the trees, the contents of their pockets falling to the ground below. She bid the vines to tie the dragon hunters to the trunks and to keep them there, feeding them extra energy from the crystal ring to hold them while she redirected her attention onto something - someone - more important.

“Lance!” Pidge shouted, dropping her bag and sprinting across the half-built camp towards the box. She knelt beside it, inspected what now looked like a glass casket filled with water, and touched Lance’s cheek.

He lay in the water like the glass casket was his bathtub, eyes closed as if he slept. His scales looked unhealthy and wan without their usual glimmer, his skin pale and clammy. An arrow stuck out of his shoulder, oozing dark blood into the water.

Pidge reached into the water, intent on taking his hand and doing something to revive him, but then an awful, barely familiar emptiness touched the edges of her mind.

She flinched away, shaking her hand in an attempt to dispel the feeling, and stared at the hungry center of that vacancy.

The arrowhead half-buried in Lance’s shoulder pulsed with an ugly violet light.

Pidge resisted the urge to stumble away at the sight of the corrupted Balmeran crystal, its negative energy so different from that of the crystal on her finger. It explained how two mere humans - how dragon hunters - could’ve subdued him, but—

“I’m sorry, Lance,” Pidge muttered, swallowing around a sudden lump in her throat. “I should’ve asked you last time.” She gritted her teeth and gripped the arrow’s shaft as close to the head as she could get without her skin brushing the corrupted crystal.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” a deep, gravelly voice spoke from behind her.

Pidge froze, heart jumping into her throat.

She’d missed a dragon hunter.

“I need the dragon alive, you see,” the voice explained, “and if you pull that arrow out, it’ll bleed to death within minutes.”

Pidge stood slowly and turned to face the third dragon hunter, her mouth set into a scowl and her heart pounding furiously. She reached for the vines again, saw them begin to descend on the man, eager to tie him to his companions.

The dragon hunter narrowed his single eye at her.

Pidge pulled magic from her crystal ring.

The vines grew, wrapping around one of the man’s arms. But he growled, a spark flashing between his fingers before he lashed out.

A burst of flame erupted from his hand, igniting the vines and breaking their grip on him.

Pidge’s eyes widened, recognizing a fire mage, but she refused to be cowed. She forgot all wariness of overtaxing herself, drawing as much of the ring’s magic as she could hold, and threw it into the marsh.

The flora burst into life, trees all but glowing with a fresh green while vines and creepers dangled to the ground below. Roots creaked, their ends thrashing out of the wet ground and scrambling for a new hold.

The dragon hunter - the fire mage - before her only hesitated for an instant before he conjured fireball after fireball, meeting Pidge’s efforts blow for blow. “A child, I thought,” he said, grunting with effort, “but a talented tree talker after all.”

Sweat dripped down her brow, limbs heavy, and her attacks started to weaken as she breathed heavily. Likely as not, the fire mage had a healthy Balmeran crystal of his own, and she needed to end this quickly.

But before Pidge could brace herself for one last, more powerful attack, he pushed towards her. She jumped away from him, but she wasn’t fast enough.

A large hand wrapped around her throat, cutting off her breathing. He lifted her into the air, his single eye focused on her face with a glare.

Pidge tried to cough, tried to pull air in through her nostrils, but she couldn’t. Instead her lungs ached, her head light while dark spots crowded her vision.

“The dragon is my quarry,” said the fire mage.

His hand grew hot, scalding her skin, but she couldn’t even draw the air she needed to gasp at the pain.

Then the mage’s eyes widened, his grip on Pidge’s throat slackening, and his fingers uncurled.

Pidge fell, gasping for breath and dropping to all fours as the mage crumbled before her. He put a hand to his chest, and when he pulled it away it was covered in blood.

“Who…?” he said, tone hollow.

A figure stood over him, glaring down at the dragon hunter, a dagger dripping blood in their hand. “Pidge,” they said.

Pidge fought through her exhaustion to stand. She leapt forwards, catching Lance right before his knees buckled. He leaned heavily against her, so she slowly lowered them both, helping him lie down and pillowing his head in her lap.

The arrow still stuck out of his shoulder, the corrupted crystal staring up at her with an evil gleam.

Lance found her hand first, but his grip on her was weak - too weak. “A-are you all right?” he asked her, sounding faint.

“I’m fine,” Pidge said, her voice hoarse. “I’m exhausted, but I’m fine.”

“Good,” Lance said. He smiled warmly up at her. “Sorry I’m so late. Hunters caught me with my pants down…”

“Shh, you’re fine.” She interlaced their fingers together and rubbed a burning eye. “I-I need to fix you. I need to get that arrow out of you—”

“Bleed out f-fast if you do,” Lance argued.

“Th-then take this.” Pidge tugged the crystal ring from her finger, but she hesitated before she could slide it onto one of his. “I-it’ll get corrupted if I give this to you without pulling out the arrow, Lance.”

“Water might help,” Lance suggested.

Pidge searched around for her discarded bag, but Lance grabbed her wrist, holding her in place.

“Not to drink,” he said with a weak chuckle.

“Then…? They had you in a water-filled casket.”

“This stupid crystal’s killing me,” Lance explained. “The water was the only thing keeping me alive.”

Pidge blinked hot tears from her eyes. “I’ll get you back,” she decided, glancing over her shoulder. But she sighed when she saw how far away the casket was. “Once you’re back in water, then we can figure something out.”

“Pidge…” She spun back around when cool, gentle fingers brushed the hot skin on her neck. “He hurt you too.”

“I’ll be fine,” Pidge insisted. “Right now, I’m more worried about you. We need some way to boost your strength and then—”

She knew how she could do it without water.

Her eyes widened in realization, the idea captivating her. It was the only way, but…

“Lance,” she said, carefully cupping his cheeks and meeting his eyes. “I-I need you to let me bond you.”

His jaw dropped, surprisingly comical despite their situation. “A-as your familiar?”

Pidge bit back a reflexive, sarcastic response and said, “Yes. It might be the only way, but I can’t without your—”

“Yes.”

“What?” Pidge stared at him. “Lance, you - we can’t take something like that back, and if one of us dies—”

“Pidge,” Lance said, coughing, “I’m dying. And even if I wasn’t, I’d still…say yes.” Color entered his cheeks, his face warming under her hands.

Pidge gaped at him. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. D-do you know what to do?”

Her eyes still wide, but with her heart pounding, Pidge shook her head. Then she admitted, “I think I can guess.”

“D-do it then,” Lance said before another fit of coughs seized him.

Pidge’s chest ached seeing him in pain, but she had to shove that aside to perform the task at hand. She pulled all the magic that remained in the crystal ring, closing her eyes as it filled her, then reached for Lance’s consciousness the same way she would reach for flora.

Where most people would have some sort of block between their minds and the rest of the world, Lance’s opened easily when she probed. His mind touched hers, tendrils of thought surrounding her without overwhelming, all manner of emotions filling the space between them.

In exchange, Pidge opened her own mind, trusting someone with the deepest parts of herself for the first time in her life. She let him see her fear for him, her anger at his tardiness, her jealousy about Allura. And in him she read his fury at seeing her in danger, his regret over not coming back sooner, and…something so warm and soft Pidge wished she could weave a blanket from it.

Memories that didn’t belong to her unfolded before her mind’s eye, of playing in a bay with small fishing boats bobbing on the iron-gray waves, of chasing hatchlings over glaciers, of sitting around a fire tended by a tall woman with blood-red scales under her eyes.

(She wondered what memories of hers Lance saw.)

Energy flooded her veins, making her shudder. Her eyes shot open as she gasped, surprised at how rapidly strength returned to her limbs, and when she looked down at Lance he met her eyes with his own wide.

He took her hand in his and rested her palm over his wildly beating heart.

Pidge held her breath and leaned down to press her lips to his forehead. “H-how do you feel?” she said, her voice low so she wouldn’t disrupt the strange and sudden peace that fell over them.

“Amazing,” Lance breathed. “I think I can heal myself now if you take out the arrow.”

“O-oh,” Pidge said with a nervous laugh as she straightened. She’d nearly forgotten the corrupted crystal stuck in Lance.

“I don’t blame you,” Lance commented. “That was…a lot to take in.”

Pidge frowned. “Blame me for what?”

“Forgetting the crystal.” Lance narrowed his eyes at her. “Did you not—”

Pidge sighed and said, “We have a telepathic bond too.”

“Oh, then…oh. That’s going to be…hard to deal with.”

“According to Hunk, we’ll learn how to use it,” Pidge promised. “For now, we need to heal you.”

“Don’t touch the crystal,” Lance reminded her.

Pidge took the arrow’s shaft in her hand again, wary of the emptiness that threatened to suck the magic from her if she touched it, then pulled.

Lance inhaled sharply, a single tear falling from the corner of his eye while more blood soaked into his shirt. Then his hand covered the wound, and he breathed out.

Pidge winced, feeling his pain through their new bond, just as she could feel him pulling magic away from her to heal his injury. She distracted herself by finding the handkerchief Allura gave her earlier and wrapping the bloody, corrupted crystal with it.

“I think I’ll need to head back to the village,” Pidge said, sighing. “Someone will have to get those dragon hunters down from their tree, and I want Allura to take a look at this.”

Lance smiled in relief, his hand falling away from his shoulder. He then sat up, tugging at the collar of his shirt and peeking in. “I’m healed,” he told her cheerfully. “Want to see?”

Pidge flushed. “I think I’ll take your word for it, Lance,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“Suit yourself.” Lance glanced at her. “Your turn now.”

“My—”

Two cool fingertips touching her neck cut her off, the warmth of a healing spell seeping into her skin and soothing the burn. When Lance dropped his arm with a satisfied smirk on his face, Pidge reached up and felt the fresh growth of skin on her neck, her eyes wide.

She wasn’t sure why she was so surprised, not when she now had a direct link to his thoughts.

Then Lance asked, “Wait, what’s this about the village?”

“I need to go there.” Pidge stood up, brushing dirt from her trousers and shirt, then offered Lance a hand. “And since it’s so late, I’ll have to spend the night too.”

“I wish I could fly you,” Lance said, eyes downcast, “but even with the new bond, I don’t have the strength to shift into the dragon.” He took her hand, but after she pulled him to her feet he didn’t let go.

“That’s fine,” Pidge said, though her feet already ached at the thought of the long walk ahead of her. “I’m sorry to cut your visit short.” Her heart sank, and she thought, This is rotten…

Lance tilted his head, an eyebrow quirked. “Visit?” He laughed, a stray thought of I thought she was smarter than this radiating from his mind. “Pidge, you’re stuck with me now.”

“I…what?” Pidge stared at him, confused, but then her heartbeat sped up. “I-I am?”

Lance laughed and leaned down to rest his forehead against hers, making her flush from head to toe. “I’m your familiar now, remember?”

Pidge’s jaw dropped, and she uttered a soft, “Oh.” Then she smiled, so wide she thought her face would ache if she held it for long, and cupped Lance’s cheek with the hand not currently encased in his fingers. “Then I don’t mind being stuck with you after all.”

End

#rueitae #plance #pidgance #lidge #flirtyrobot #please comment/reblog if you like #boost my self-esteem #voltron #reem writes fic

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kuriquinn · 7 years ago

Text

Telanadas [17/19]

Cover Page & Disclaimer:

first chapter

Author’s Note: This chapter is dedicated to my dear @xxlovendreamsxx who isn’t having such a great day. Hopefully this makes you smile a bit today! Hence the early update ^_^

“Are you kidding me?” Naruto demands as the final door out of the temple opens on a spiralling stone staircase leading downward. It is lit by torches and nothing else. “We could have skipped all the freezing and the trials and just come in the back of the temple and gotten the ashes that way?”

“That would probably defeat the purpose of making a pilgrimage,” Kakashi reminds him. “These things are meant to test you.”

“Yeah, but one of those scenarios involved me with my clothes on.”

“We are all very aware of that, thank you,” Sasuke mutters.

It is a slow procession that descends the slippery, and sometimes crumbling, stairwell.

“Is it possible to get to the Deep Roads from here?” Sasuke wonders. “An underground route to Iwa might be more convenient for us than going around.”

“If there is, it wouldn’t be safe,” Sakura replies. “Not that the Deep Roads are ever safe, but there’s a difference between ten darkspawn and ten thousand.”

“Yeah, we learned that the hard way,” Naruto mutters with a palpable shiver.

Much to their chagrin, though their journey through the centre of the mountain is less dangerous than their trek upwards, it takes longer. There is nowhere along the way down for them to stop, and along the lone trek downward, moods and tempers fray.

They are all of them relieved when after half a day if walking, the ground levels out and leads to a narrow mining shaft. Fresh, cool air beckons beyond them. Though the sun appears to be setting, it still provides enough light to guide them out of a small path at the base of the mountain.

Once they are all safely back outside, the tiny doorway they came through shifts and fuses back up, rocks and stones drawing together seamlessly. If they had not walked through it, Sasuke would not know the entrance was even there.

“And that is why we could not have taken the back way up even if we wanted to,” Kakashi tells Naruto. “Dwarven doors are invisible when closed.”

“Yeah, yeah…”

The based of the Three Wolves Mountain is still cold and dreary, but it is not as dismal as the summit. Naruto wants to head for Uzushiogakure at once, but Sakura puts her foot down.

“I’m having a bath and real food and an actual bed for once,” she insists. “It’s been a week of pretending we don’t hear each other pee, I need a night of privacy.”

Sasuke makes a noise of agreement. After getting off the blighted mountain top, he wants a warm meal and the ability to scrub the blood from his various nooks and crannies. Perhaps Naruto was raised in a stable and likes the dirt, but Sasuke and his people have always been fastidiously clean.

To soothe Naruto’s grumbling, they do end up heading toward Arl Hiruzen’s castle. Still, the four of them keep an eye out for settlements in the area which might offer a place to stop.

As they walk, Sasuke realises Sakura has fallen into step beside him, while Naruto and Kakashi somehow linger farther and farther behind them. Wondering if it is on purpose, Sasuke makes the mistake of glancing at Sakura out of the corner of his eyes, noticing that she is doing the same.

Her cheeks turn red and she looks away.

“What?”

“Nothing,” she says quickly. “I was just…I wondered if you’re alright.”

Sasuke makes a face. “You always ask me that. Do I seem feeble to you?”

“What? No! That’s not—it’s just, I get the sense that people never asked you that much.”

“I am not a child that requires reassurance at every turn.”

“I didn’t say you were.” Sakura makes a face. “Is it so hard to believe I care about your well-being because…just because?”

He does not respond, not wanting to point out that beyond being hard to understand, it is illogical to him. In his view, he has done nothing to call for such an interest.

“I know you pretend like this was some silly mission or quest or thing to get out of the way,” she goes on, “and more trouble than it was worth. But what happened up there affected you.”

“Tch!”

“I saw you in that chamber when we fought those doppelgängers,” she insists. She lowers her voice with a surreptitious glance back to where Naruto and Kakashi bring of the rear of their little procession. “I didn’t mention it because the others were so close by, but I wanted to. It unnerved you to hurt us. Even if it wasn’t really us.”

“Is that something you saw?” he sneers, but there is little bite to it.

“Yes, it is,” she insists stubbornly. “You know why? Because I think you’ve developed a soft spot for us.”

“Then you are not as observant as you think you are.”

“Aren’t I? Because you seemed upset.”

“I wasn’t upset about that.”

I was upset because it was you.

Sakura groans in frustration. “You know what? Fine. You weren’t upset about that. You’re not upset now.”

“Right.”

“Oh, and while we’re at it, let’s pretend you’re not full of sod, why don’t we?” she goes on. “Because it seems that’s easier than coming out and saying it. With words and everything.”

Sasuke blinks, wondering if he has missed something. “Saying what?”

Sakura sighs and shakes her head, shoulders slumping forward. “Never mind. Here I was, figuring we’d gotten past this…this. But we haven’t. So, tomorrow’s another day, but right now I…oh, forget it!”

And she stomps forward, putting an impressive distance between the two of them considering someone whose legs are much shorter.

Sasuke stares after her, feeling as dazed as he was when hit in the face with Naruto’s doppelgänger’s shield.

“Is there a rule about women not making sense?” he asks out loud to no one in particular.

“Under normal circumstances, yes,” Kakashi answers, appearing by his side as if summoned. “But I think in this case, it is you being an idiot.” Sasuke shoots him an unimpressed side-eye. “I have never seen anyone so bad at reading the signals. That is saying something, considering you supposedly a high-and-mighty, observant assassin.”

“I fail to see the correlation.”

“I always heard the assassins trained in Oto were adept in many skills—especially body language and seduction.”

“You read too many novels,” Sasuke grumbles, tips of his ears burning, because under normal circumstances, it is true. “And I can read signals fine.”

“No, you can’t,” Naruto pipes up, appearing on Sasuke’s other side with a teasing expression on his face. “Because even I noticed it this whole trip. She’s practically been demanding that you…lick her lamppost, if you get my meaning.”

He wiggles his eyebrows and shoots Sasuke a filthy grin which Sasuke retaliates against by lashing out with his foot, tripping the human.

“Bastard!” Naruto chokes through a mouth full of ice and snow.

“Your response is a lot more telling than what he was implying,” Kakashi points out.

“Think what you want,” Sasuke grunts. “The situation is more complicated than either of you fools make it out to be.”

“Complicated? Is it? I do not see how it can be more so than say…threading a needle?”

Sasuke narrows his eyes at the older man, considering the merit of knocking the mage into the snow next.

“I am simply making a suggestion,” Kakashi continues, unbothered by the unspoken threat in the air. “Take a bit of advice from someone who waited far too long to act and missed out on one of the few comforts this brief life affords us.”

“When I want your opinion, I will ask for it.”

“You will not.”

“No, I will not.”

At least they can agree on that.

“Hey! Guys, look!” Sakura calls from up ahead. She is standing on a small hill rise, pointing at something on the horizon. “There’s a town ahead! It looks nice and big—I bet they have a traveller’s inn!”

“And they will no doubt charge a pretty penny for it when they see the desperate state we are in,” Kakashi remarks. “If they are full up, and she wants a room of her own, the three of us will have to share quarters again.

“First one gets his own room!” Naruto shouts, now recovered from his trip in the snow and shoving past Sasuke and Kakashi.

“Halfwit,” Sasuke mutters under his breath, but he takes off after him.

They shoot past a bemused Sakura, who shouts after them—something about short legs and injustice—but Sasuke is too busy overtaking Naruto to care. He exploits every degree of natural light-footedness to speed past the human, not stopping until he reaches the village. He feels no guilt over it, either—a room to himself is a luxury he has not had in a while.

There are a few odd looks in his direction—he is a Dalish elf, and clearly the settlement is human—but he ignores them. Soon, he finds the nearest guesthouse and makes a beeline for it.

As it turns out, there was no need for the contest (despite his own inexplicable satisfaction at beating Naruto) because the inn is all-but empty. The innkeeper informs him there have been no travellers through this part of the kingdom all season. For a modest sum, Sasuke can get four separate rooms for their party.

Ten minutes later, the others arrive, Naruto panting and swearing at him about cheating, while Sakura and Kakashi stroll in afterward.

“You’re both idiots,” Sakura informs them. He thinks she is just bitter she could not keep up with either of them even if she tried.

The innkeeper’s wife takes one horrified look at Sakura—her weapons and gear stained with more blood than any of the others—and declares, “Oh, you poor thing! Let’s get you out of that mess and into a hot bath.”

Which instantly makes Sakura break into the most delighted smile, her earlier irritation gone.

The innkeeper is not so coddling, grunting that there is a hogshead out back for them to use to wash. Then he heads upstairs to stoke the fires in their rooms.

“It’s fucking freezing!” Naruto complains. “Why don’t we get a nice hot bath?”

“Because we are manly men,” Kakashi replies, no trace of a joke in his voice. “And some of us might need a cold wash anyhow.”

Sasuke ignores him. He does not mind the temperature too much at the moment, too pleased at cleaning his skin of the dried blood and viscera. His gear is not in as poor condition as Naruto’s anyhow, considering he did not slice open a Bronto and practically bathe in its innards.

Whatever momentary discomfort he endures cleaning himself in the frigid yard is worth it. W

hen he enters the dining area, one of the serving wenches puts a plate of mulled cider and a hank of roasted rams’ meat in front of him. Animal flesh was never his preferred diet growing up, but occasional bursts of starvation have made him appreciative of most food, whatever its origin. Sasuke offers a silent prayer to Andruil for whatever successful hunt brought him this food and tucks in with gusto. For once he is too busy indulging in his own meal to note Naruto’s sloppy chewing or Kakashi’s increasing inebriation.

At a later point, Sakura joins them, no longer clad in her thick armour but in a dress that looks to have been borrowed from their hostess. It is too long for her, spilling to the floor, and too tight across the bosom. Sasuke tells himself he only noticed this because the garment makes it impossible to hide a weapon, not because of the sight it offers him of her cleavage.

The fact he chokes on his cider when she sits down beside him means nothing.

The serving girl comes by, offering a second helping of supper, and he declines. Days of living on road have shrunken his stomach, and if he eats too much, he will spend the next few hours vomiting and shitting in the snow. Or worse.

(He is confident that is Naruto’s more immediate fate).

“Perhaps later?” she suggests, her black eyes trying to telegraph something to him. “I’ll be working at my chores late, I could…bring it to your room?”

He is vaguely aware of Sakura stiffening beside him but does not know why. He waves the woman away.

“Do not make more work for yourself, I doubt you are well-paid for it,” he replies, standing and preparing to head upstairs. His exhaustion has caught up to him while he was sitting. “My needs have been well-seen to.”

He almost misses the way her eyes flit between him and Sakura.

“Oh! I see. Well then, pay no attention to me,” she says, sounding nervous for whatever reason. “Goodnight, ser.”

Sasuke frowns at her departing back and looks to Sakura. “Did I miss something?”

She looks like she is fighting down a smile.

“If you’re asking me if you’ve missed something, you’re more tired than you look.”

That makes a strange sort of sense, and he nods. “Good night.”

“I hope it will be,” she replies, which has him frowning and puzzling his entire way up to bed. Though he blames his confusion on the fact his eyes kept straying to the low scoop of her collar.

His tiny, private room is little more than a bed and a washbasin, but there is a tiny grate with a crackling fire that offer him a comforting warmth. The cot has a thick featherbed and well-insulated windows to keep out the cold.

It is a matter of minutes to divest himself of his clothes and slip into bed, placing his weapons within easy reach. It is a matter of seconds before he succumbs to a deep and dreamless sleep.

Only to awake with a violent start an indeterminable amount of time later.

The room is dark except for a trickle of moonlight from beyond the closed shutters. For a heartbeat, he is lost, torn from the heaviness of sleep, but his hand reflexively clenches around the dagger beneath his pillow.

Someone is here.

A split second before he can rise and hurl the dagger at the intruder, there is a whisper in the darkness.

“Sasuke-kun?”

It is Sakura.

He loosens his grip on the blade and eases up, his eyes seeking the familiar form of the Warden. The scarce light in his room is more than enough for him to make a detailed study of her form.

His first instinct is to confirm that she is not injured or in distress. (No midnight attack by enemies, then, which has happened before.) A beat later, he notices there is something open about her in the dark. Something he does not think is entirely because she’s exchanged her usual thick armour for a borrowed woollen nightdress.

There is vulnerability in the way she clutches at the rough downy blanket around her shoulders, her eyes shining at him with something akin to doubt.

“What is it?” he asks, the demand coming out harsher than he intends. But the closer she gets, the faster his heart beats.

Sakura does not offer an answer, instead stepping toward him in the dark before perching on the side of his bed. She continues to watch him, careful and evaluating, opens her mouth to speak, and closes it as if she forgot the words. Then, she bites down on her lip, hesitant, and tilts her head to study him again.

Sasuke bristles, not used to her lack of forthrightness. It bothers him, seeing her so uncertain and… timid? It goes against what he knows of her. Worse are the unspoken words, hanging there in the air and taunting him with the vast possibility of what they could be. He hates being curious and unprepared, and she is one who excels in making him so.

“Why—?” he begins, only to be cut off when she ducks her head forward and presses her lips against his.

It is a chaste caress, almost a whisper in its delicateness, but he feels as if he has been turned to stone. Thoughts stagger and vanish, a charge like electricity arcing through his body. He does not even dare to breathe as the world narrows to the sensation of her skin touching his and the flutter of her breath against his cheek.

The seconds stretch like days, and she pulls away again. Her cheeks are flushed, and her eyes continue to gleam at him in the moonlight, though now he can better interpret what is there.

Warmth. Fear. Determination. Desire.

And a question.

She does not speak it though.

At first, he thinks she dreads his answer, especially given her uncharacteristic apprehension.

Then he realises her silence is an offer.

She has come here for a purpose, one which he suspects is somehow not so obvious as the kiss she bestowed upon him, but even more significant. Yet instead of giving voice to that, she waits for his reaction.

He knows that if he were to turn away now, offer his back to her and her proposition, she would disappear from his room and speak no more of this. They can go back to the way of things tomorrow, and when their quest is over, part as only comrades in arms. In the same way he knows if he continues, she will accept whatever restrictions he requires. Even if it is only for tonight.

More terrifying than both options is the third. That if he chooses her—if he says the word, she will bind herself to his side much longer than a night.

On any other woman, he might see this as desperation, a willingness to take whatever scrap of attention he might deign to offer her. But he knows this woman, and desperation is not a brush with which she can be tarred.

As uncertain as she may be right now, watching for his reaction, her demeanour is calm and accepting. It is a resigned peace Sasuke cannot remember ever experiencing. And there is something else, something in her gaze he does not think he is ready to understand, but finds he wants.

Perhaps something of that shows in his expression because her eyes soften incrementally and a smile curls at her lips.

She leans forward again, once more pressing her mouth to his, but this time it is more than a whispered hint of what could be. There is substance and force, a resistance that is both a challenge and an invitation. Sasuke allows himself only one more second of hesitation before returning the kiss.

Translation:

Andruil – the huntress; elven goddess of the hunt

Warning, warning: incoming smut! We’ve only been waiting for this the whole fic… 😊

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#sasusaku #naruto fanfiction #dragon age fusion #humor #drama #romance #angst #clueless sasuke #elf!sasuke #dwarf!sakura #human!naruto #mage!kakashi #kakashi knows everything #kuriquinn

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