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lovelivingmydreams · 4 years ago

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A story by heroes and vilains

Virgil Anker: Hard won victory

When you make progress through hard work, the fruits are oh so sweet. Though, sometimes, bittersweet is more accurate.

Virgil was actually relieved when Janus texted him that he wanted to skip the first day. There was an assembly and a ceremony planned and Janus did not feel like going.

This meant that Virgil could postpone being confronted with him just a little longer. It hurt a little that Janus hadn’t figured out there was something wrong yet. Virgil hadn’t really talked to him since the whole elective incident. He’d sat with him during lunch and their shared classes. But he hadn’t come by his house or hung out after school like they used to. He’d made it a point to be more animated in his conversations with Roman. He’d stopped berating him for picking fights and simply dragged him away while apologizing on his behalf. During the summer he had made sure to always be busy or away. Picani had helped him sign up for a summer camp to work on his assertiveness. Virgil hadn’t been sure at first, but he knew that Picani wouldn’t suggest it if he didn’t truly believe it might help. And it did. By the time Virgil got home he was ready to go through with his plan. He asked his dad to come along to the session right after camp and told Picani he could tell him all about Janus. He’d spent the hour curled up on the couch as he observed his father sit with a stoic expression, impeccable posture and fists clenched dangerously on his knees. Picani expertly avoided putting labels on the situation, knowing Virgil still felt very uncomfortable acknowledging those. He also managed to summarize Virgil’s 20 minute long rant about how he hoped that it would only have to be a wakeup call for Janus. That he’d get his act together and that they could go back to being friends once he did. His dad had seemed calm and collected on the surface, but Virgil could tell he was horrified to learn that Janus had become such a problem without him noticing and had been more than happy to drive Virgil straight to his principle’s house to explain the situation and ensure that Virgil would have to spend as little time as possible with Janus for the next two years if necessary. Virgil convinced him to at least call ahead. Principal Stokes was very understanding. Apparently the other teachers had talked to them on several occasions about Janus but they had been unsure what to do about it. It was their intention to figure out a policy regarding troubling signals of toxic behavior between friends in the upcoming year. Virgil fidgeted during the whole conversation. His teachers had been planning some kind of big intervention? Had it been that obvious to everyone else? “Virgil, don’t you dare blame yourself for this situation,” Stokes insisted. “It is not easy admitting that someone you care about is no longer good for you. You wanting to see the best in Janus is not weakness. It’s admirable.” Virgil glanced at his dad who was looking at his principle and nodding firmly in agreement. Then he turned to Virgil with a proud smile. “Your parents would be so proud of you Virgil,” he assured him. And he wanted to ask for a name, a memory, but he wasn’t ready to open that can of worms again. Especially not in front of his principal. “For which part?” he asked, hoping this was okay. It was, or at least, his father gave him a straight answer for once. “Both. Your father believed that fighting for yourself was just as important as fighting for others. And your mother knew that caring about others didn’t mean you should stop caring about yourself.” Virgil couldn’t help but smile at that. His parents sounded like they would’ve been awesome. He wished he had a memory of them. Any memory at all. But he didn’t want his dad to think he wasn’t enough. Between his anxiety and the situation with Janus, he already felt self-conscious. Luckily there was Patton. He and dad were nearing their one year anniversary and they had moved in together. Dad had ‘subtly’ brought up all the practical reasons why it made no sense for him and Patton to have to commute to work separately and such as summer approached. Somehow he’d been surprised Virgil put it together. Now they had a house they would all move into over the next week. Patton had already moved his stuff into their current over the summer. The idea of change still made him nervous, but if that change included more Patton in their lives then he could live with it he supposed. It had been great so far. Patton was kind and patient and caring and completely smitten with his dad. On top of that he seemed not to see Virgil as competition for his dad’s attention but an extra person to love. Patton had a lot of love to give the world and not enough people to spend it on. He also seemed to know when to leave Virgil be and when to push him to come out of his room. He knew when Virgil needed complements and when he just needed to know that it was okay if he wasn’t alright. He was also protective. When dad explained the Janus thing over a ‘family dinner’ with Patton, they had those every Sunday nowadays, he’d almost stormed off to the Bullard house. “No one makes my son sad!” he’d told Dad. That was the first time Patton had referred to Virgil as his son and… Virgil had been okay with that. So he now had two dads. Pretty much. When he came back from camp, his escapades as the invisible vigilante changed. His dad was out late a lot and promised to let him know when he left the university. Virgil told himself that he was ‘getting a room’ with Patton. Patton had taken Virgil out for Papton-son bonding time a few times over the past year. Patton taught him to bake, and learned to cook alongside him and took him on trips to the park to fly a kite or kick a ball around. Virgil liked it. But apparently both his dads had signed up for a project of some sorts. One that required a professor Biochemistry and a professor Moral Philosophy… Yeah. No. At least he no longer had to worry that his dad was getting involved in anything dangerous or illegal. Not with Patton there. Anyway, when his dads were out on a project, Virgil was babysitting a startup hero. He’d noticed him by coincidence one night as he was sitting on a roof overseeing one of his usual streets. He’d arrived to find the gang members he’d been shadowing had already had a victim in their grasp. Virgil had acted impulsively. He’d hidden his presence with all of his might and tossed a rock at one of their heads. It had momentarily distracted them, especially considering another rock hit the leader from a different angle. This had allowed the victim to escape. Virgil followed the path of the other rock and spotted the dark clad figure on the roof, ducking away to hide. And if he could see him surely those buffoons could see him too. Which was awful because the leader sent some of his goons in Virgil’s direction and some other’s in the direction of the roof. Wanting to help out a fellow well-meaning gifted, Virgil pushed himself and willed the goons not to see either of them. It was hard to cloak two people in different locations from two different groups of people who were looking for them. But if that idiot newbie- though he wasn’t much more experienced- hadn’t helped then Virgil might’ve had to make a bigger distraction and risk being noticed for real. So he owed him one. He hid behind a dumpster and waited with baited breath, hoping this would work. It took him a moment to notice, but he could kind of feel this guy under his cloak. He felt, like fireworks. It was cheesy but that was the best way to describe it. He’d never hidden anyone other than himself and Janus. Jan felt cooler, more smooth. He didn’t know if he had a distinct presence, but this was an interesting discovery. The goons got really close at one point, probably would have spotted him if his cloak hadn’t been working overtime and he hadn’t been wearing dark clothing all over. He could feel the fireworks intensify for a bit before they calmed down and the energy felt more like a bonfire. Still intense and warm but les, prickly. He took this to mean that newbie had been nearly spotted as well but was successfully kept safe by the cloak. When the gang members regrouped Virgil heard them whisper about changing their hangout. Damn it. He needed to follow them now. Would idiot follow them as well? Virgil listened closely as he snuck trough the alley after his prey trying to look casual, almost as if he was part of the group walking ahead. He heard someone muttering in a frustrated tone. Virgil relaxed a little at that. This guy was a real hero, possibly in training, but still. So he had people who would have the sense to not send him after criminal organizations. Virgil had no such restraints. He followed the gang for a few blocks, his phone ready to record, trying to forget about the well-meaning moron. Which would be a lot easier if he hadn’t ran into him as he did whatever it was he tried to do about a car accident the very next time he went out. Virgil acted on reflex and threw up a physical protective barrier he normally used to catch blows from bullies. He’d never used it to protect someone else before now. He didn’t know he could. From idiot’s body language he could tell that he was being scolded for being so reckless. Again. Good. Maybe he’d learn his lesson this time around. Virgil didn’t seek idiot out, their path’s simply crossed and once they did Virgil couldn’t not keep an eye on him. And now, idiot was. Virgil wasn’t sure how he knew that this hero was his idiot. Maybe it wasn’t. He’d have to actually meet him and cloak him to see if he had that same energy. It was the last day before summer and he’d just read Janus’ message about skipping the first day and where to meet up to hang out. Too bad for him, but Virgil wouldn’t show. Or at least he hoped he wouldn’t give in to this feeling in his chest that made him think that he should at least let him know because if he didn’t then maybe… “Virgil, breathe. You are doing the right thing,” his dad told him calmly as he looked away from his tablet. There was a local television station playing on the tv as background noise where Virgil had heard about the appearance of a new masked hero. Each time he wondered if it was idiot or someone else entirely. He seemed government sanctioned from what he could tell. The amateur footage didn’t show much, but Virgil couldn’t help but think that this hero was about his age.

Normally his dad would roll his eyes at heroes that ‘basked in the spotlight’ as he called it, and get on with his day. But now every time an update came he seemed to pause and listen. Weird. But maybe Virgil wasn’t the only one who thought this new hero was a minor like him. Maybe his dad was worried on behalf of this guy’s parents. Parental empathy. “Maybe you should just block his number? Or get a new one?” his dad suggested pulling him from his thoughts. Right his own little crisis. “He’ll definitely come over then. At this point I don’t think he’s expecting a reply. I barely texted back last year even before I made my decision. Don’t know when that started, I just…” It was disturbing every time he realized that the upcoming… ‘break up’ for want of a better term had already happened. It just needed to be said. Suddenly the ‘breaking news’ jingle cut through the living room and both he and his dad paid attention. “I’m standing here at ‘Universe banking’ where just moments ago our town’s newest superhero stopped an armed robbery. With me Ashley Greene, an employee at this office who saw it all. Ashley, you said you were shot at?” The young woman was still in tears as she told the story of how she, bravely but foolishly, had angered the would be robber with a gun, when she was caught sounding the alarm. And then out of nowhere, the ‘dashing, kind, modest hero,’ -according to her -was there to save her. Dude caught a bullet for some stranger? Definitely idiot. Idiot reminded Virgil of Roman in a few ways to be honest. Except, there was no way that his dramatic idiot of a crush could do stealth missions for even a night, let alone a whole summer. Not even with Virgil’s constant supervision, and idiot didn’t even have that much. And no way would Roman hide that stupidly handsome face he was so proud off. And if he did, he’d wear something better than whatever that thing was the vague camera footage showed idiot wearing. From what he gathered the woman had probably drawn the comparison to a prince from the outfit. What whit the sash and all.

But on the whole it seemed like a plain white jump suit. The costume designer in Virgil was disgusted by the uninspired choice. Also, Roman would tell everyone at school and their moms if he decided to become a hero. Virgil smiled a little to himself on his way to school, imagining Roman recounting his daring rescue if he were idiot… Or ‘dream prince’ as the media dubbed him. His dads had been more nervous about him going back to school where he couldn’t avoid Janus any longer than he was. He was nervous, but he had made a decision, and he was going to see it through. As he’d expected Janus was nowhere to be found the entire morning.

He did see Roman entertain his usual group of friends during the assembly. He wondered if that offer to sit with them was still standing. He almost joined them, but thought better of it. He didn’t want to assume and if Roman was going to reject him, he preferred for it to be in private. So he sat alone and let his thoughts drift to possibilities. Mostly worst case scenario’s, but even in the ones where he ended up spending the next two years completely alone as Roman finally chose himself a princess to be his prom queen, completely forgetting Virgil even existed and where Janus hated him for standing him up this morning, he felt at peace with that. Because even that was better than spending another day in the constrictive dynamic he’d been putting up with for the past two years. Lunch came around and by the time he entered the cafeteria Roman and his group were sat at their table talking excitedly about something. Dream Prince no doubt. Once again he imagined Roman standing on the table declaring himself to be a real hero. He’d be wearing something dramatic, something stylish. Something maybe not entirely practical. Roman took care with how he dressed, but Virgil had seen him sacrifice function in favor of form plenty of times over the past few years. He was definitely not shy about pushing the boundaries of what was considered ‘masculine’ when it came to clothes or even make up. Virgil could respect that. He liked experimenting with his make up too, though he wasn’t comfortable enough to break out his lighter pallets for going out in public yet. Virgil walked to his usual table to eat his lunch and wait for when Janus would show up, demanding to know why he didn’t show up that morning even though he never indicated in any way he was planning to do so. He took out his sketchbook and made an outline of a standard male figure and started adding clothes to it. A cape was a must for Princey. If only to look good for the camera during interviews. Though he would look so cool taking it off in order to fight his opponents. Probably saying some cheesy one liner with a confident smirk. He decided he’d draw a ‘pretty’ version now and a practical one later. So he added heals, lined the whole thing with gold details, put in buttons, a belt to store a sword or any gadgets Princey might be using and a sash, even a crown. He was just about to start a new page for the practical outfit and considering designing a stealth version of it so he could come along on Virgil’s stake outs when suddenly… “Is that a Dream Prince superhero costume?” Virgil immediately slammed the book shut and looked up. He wasn’t supposed to see that! Roman’s wide eyed awe turned to a shocked pout. “Don’t hide it! It’s gorgeous!” he insisted. Virgil felt a whole swarm of butterflies set loose in his stomach. He really thought so? Was he just being nice? “That hero dude wishes he had something that amazing.” Hero…? Oh… Only now did Roman’s initial remark fully register. He thought this was inspired by the new hero. Of course he’d assume that… “Um… Thanks,” Virgil muttered. What else was he supposed to say? “Oh no this is actually meant for you because I can’t go an hour without thinking about you and with all that superhero talk I couldn’t stop myself from imagining you as a hero and designing you a full hero wardrobe”? Nope, that was not going to happen. “I’m serious,” Roman insisted, not impressed by Virgil’s attempt to dismiss his complement. “You’re super talented.” Why did he have to say that? Virgil felt his cheeks heat up and tried to hide it by focusing on the last bits of his meals. Why was he here? Why was he talking to him? He never came over. Was this because J wasn’t here right now? Roman couldn’t be here when Janus came. That would end badly. Not to mention the fact that Jan would never believe this was Virgil’s own idea if Roman was anywhere near him when he explained his decision to him. Wasn’t he busy dazzling his fangirls minutes earlier? “Is there a reason you abandoned your girlfriends to talk to me?” Virgil knew Picani would say that he was confusing assumptions with facts. Or something like that. He didn’t like that he snapped at Roman. He’d done nothing wrong. He couldn’t help it that the thought of him with some girl made Virgil’s stomach drop. Roman frowned visibly confused as he looked back to his table. Suddenly he gasped and turned back to him rubbing the back of his neck flustered as he started ranting. “They aren’t… I mean they are my friends who are girls. Not… I thought that was rather obvious. I’m the ultimate gay disaster,” he laughed awkwardly. “Sorry, I just… I’m rambling. I’m not used to saying it yet,” he admitted. Virgil just stared at him. “Oh.” Gay. All this time Roman was gay. Not even vaguely interested in any of the girls in school. He stood a chance? Judging by the uncharacteristic nervousness, Roman was uncertain how Virgil would take this news. Well, this was one of those times where this information was relevant. “Don’t worry, I get it,” he assured him, gesturing to his signature purple patched hoodie and magenta hair. Roman looked him up and down for a moment and then his eyes widened in understanding. “Oh, that’s clever. Maybe I should start doing that too.” And just like that he got his confidence and flair for the dramatic back. “You know, since it’s not as obvious as I thought. Don’t want any awkward conversations where I have to tell a lovely maiden she’s just not the right gender for me.” He struck a tragic pose and sent Virgil a wink that made his heart jump. This was not out of the ordinary for Princey, but now that Virgil knew he was gay, he couldn’t help but wonder… “So… You came all the way over here to come out or…?” Is he going to ask me out? God what do I say? Should I say yes? Or play it cool and pretend I need to think about it a bit first? Wait, no, he won’t ask me out. He would’ve done so already if he was interested right? But what if he assumed I was straight all this time as well? Just keep breathing V. Keep breathing and listen to what he says. Roman shook his head as if to get his thoughts back on track that way. “No, I just… I’ve been having trouble keeping up with schoolwork and I wondered if we could study together?” That… What? “Don’t you have friends for that?” Virgil asked dryly as he got up. His lunch was finished and he needed an excuse not to look at Roman right now. He was disappointed. But… Was Roman trying to ensure they’d spend time together this year? He still wanted Virgil to be his friend? He really didn’t know what ‘giving up’ meant did he? Roman chuckled. “I do and they are lovely. There are few challenges we can’t conquer. But homework seems to be one of those few. We distract each other,” he admitted. Virgil thought back to every time he’d seen Roman with his friends. To his one conversation with André, and he understood what he meant. “You won’t let me get away with slacking. You lack the patience.” Virgil put his now empty tray on the dishrack and looked back at him. Spend time with Roman at least once every week? Just the two of them…? “Sounds good,” he smiled. It sounded really good. “Great… Friday works for you?” Roman asked with that brilliant smile of his. Virgil just shrugged and nodded. “My plans got canceled so you’re in luck.” He hadn’t visited Janus for any of their normal weekend plans since… early spring, come to think of it. He hadn’t had the energy. And now he definitely wouldn’t go back.

And when it came to his family, other than for Sunday family dinners he could do whatever he wanted with his spare time so long as he let his dads know. And this was technically school time. Suddenly something in his peripheral caught his attention. Before he consciously registered the falling ceiling lamp he launched himself at Roman. “Princey get down!” he shouted. ‘Save him!’ was the only thought in his head. He’d never believed any of those stories about time slowing down in a moment of crisis. But he swore he saw every minimal change in Roman’s expression as his happy smile turned to confusion. He could feel every cell of his body that touched Roman’s as they crashed to the ground. He moved to cradle Roman’s head to shield it from hitting the ground too hard. Once the impact was absorbed he pushed himself up but not too far. He checked Roman over while he tried to not have too much of a gay panic. Which wasn’t easy. He was laying on top of Roman Castile. He was close enough to smell his collonge. That or he smelled really good all by himself which of course he would! The near death experience was completely forgotten as he was just a breath away from kissing Roman and God did his classmate’s eyes just drop to his lips? He had to have imagined that. He could not handle this! And at the same time he felt like he could not bear to move. Then time snapped back to normal and everything seemed louder and brighter than before. He already knew that just the past ten minutes would take up most of the hour he’d spend with Picani next Saturday. For various reasons. “You okay?” he managed though he found most air was pushed out of his lungs by the fall already. Roman just nodded, seemingly not quite catching on to what had just happened yet. Knowing that any moment now they’d be swarmed by concerned bystanders Virgil rolled off him and helped him sit up. Roman glanced from Virgil to the smashed lamp. By some miracle neither of them had been cut by flying glass. Then again, maybe Virgil had shielded them. “You saved my life,” Roman whispered in awe, still processing everything.

“Well. Anxiety. Makes me hyper aware of everything around me,” Virgil said dismissively as they stood up. He blamed the adrenaline coursing through him for the way he’d just casually admitted to having a disorder he had been reluctant to tell even his father about. “I’m glad,” Roman joked softly. Frick that smile. “Yeah… Well…” Luckily he didn’t need to reply. They were quickly overrun by worried people and guided to the nurses office and then to the hallway in front of the principal’s office where they were told to wait for their parents. Great. Logan was going to lose his mind. After a few moments of debating with himself he decided that taking his meds in front of his crush was less embarrassing than potentially have an anxiety attack in front of him. So he dug through his backpack to find his pills. “Thanks again,” Roman offered, scratching at the back of his head. “Well,” he muttered as he finally found both his water bottle and his pill bottle. Picani had prescribed him something to help him manage his anxiety in high risk situations. He wasn’t supposed to take it too often, but after the morning he had he kind of needed it to deal with his dad. Virgil didn’t like taking pills in general, so this was a last resort coping tool. Talking to Roman, knowing he kind of sort of stood more of a chance than he thought he did was nerve-wracking enough on its own.

But then there was the whole Janus thing and what happened in the cafeteria and then his dad and... God he needed his meds. “I needed to get out of the way too. Might as well take you with me right?” Virgil hurriedly took his pill, hoping that it would go ignored. It didn’t. “You cool?” Roman asked worriedly. He couldn’t bear to look at him right now. He could feel his face heating up and prayed his thinner foundation was enough to hide it. “For my anxiety,” he admitted as he shook the pill bottle before shoving it back and taking another swig of his water. “My dad is going to freak. He’s protective.” It was so important to him that Princey understood that whatever he’d see today wasn’t how his dad normally acted. “And if he freaks I freak. And if I’m going to freak, I better take my meds.” Please don’t ask more. “My parents are the same,” Roman offered sympathetically. “They forget I’m not Remus at times. And honestly I think they go a bit overboard with him as well… I could look out for him.”

Part of Virgil wanted to talk about Remus with Roman. He could hear the hurt and longing in Roman’s voice. But he was still tense about showing how broken he was. What was he thinking telling Roman? Now he’d never want to be around him again… No, he couldn’t think like that. He’d worked on this with Picani, with the camp counselors. “Hey, don’t stress it,” Roman’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts. “If they didn’t give me massive headaches I’d be on meds for my ADHD.” Virgil looked up in surprise. Roman was broken too? Or, not broken. Broken didn’t fit Roman. But still. Roman had something he needed meds for like him. Only he couldn’t take those meds because his body hated them. He had to just deal. Roman found his surprise funny it seemed. “What? It’s almost more obvious than the rainbow in my soul,” he chuckled with a dramatic pose. Virgil couldn’t help but laugh along. Thinking back to… Well everything Roman ever did, he was right. “I suppose you are right. You always seem to own every single moment. I guess I assumed you were extra by choice,” he admitted, feeling a little embarrassed that he missed that in his blind admiration. “Don’t worry about it. We all have our own challenges. And hey. If not for your anxiety, I’d be a stain on the cafeteria floor. And if not for my ADHD I wouldn’t have crushed it on the stage four nights in a row during last year’s production!” Virgil couldn’t help but smile as he saw Roman light up at the memory. “Yeah, you were pretty alright,” he allowed casually. He did not expect Roman’s eyes to widen and his grin to be quite so blinding at that. “You were there?” he gasped. It looked like he was trying, and failing, to hold back the extra. Virgil shrugged casually, hoping he did a better job at hiding his true emotions. “I mean, I helped out with some of the set and costume designs,” he admitted. He might have put a little extra care in the Prince costume. As he had with all Roman’s roles.

“They gave me a ticket. I was just seeing my work brought to life,” he explained casually. He glanced back at Roman and saw the young theatre enthusiast look up at the clock.

“Hey can I have your number?” he asked suddenly. Virgil’s heart stopped. Roman Castile just asked his number… Did he hear that right? His confusion must’ve been very clear because Roman quickly added: “For Friday, I mean.” “Oh, sure,” Virgil nodded, silently berating himself for thinking for even a second that he’d meant it any other way. Roman gave him his phone. He swiftly put himself in as ‘guide to hell’. His dad had taught him about his namesake and the meaning of his name near the end of middle school when he’d felt embarrassed by it. And a Roman poet who actively ridiculed the emperor was a pretty cool guy to be named after as far as Virgil was concerned. And then he’d read Dante’s inferno over the summer and he was completely sold on it. He hoped Roman would get and appreciate the literary reference. And if not, it fit his aesthetic well enough. He handed Roman his phone back and smiled to himself when he saw him grin when he checked his new contact. He looked down in his own contacts. Roman had just put his name with a ;p next to it. He could do better. He grinned, feeling daring as he changed the contact name. Suddenly a loud voice startled him out of his mischief. “Mi hijo!” He looked up and saw a Latina woman, dressed in a kitchen uniform, stride through the hallway. He could see Roman stiffen and then the prince of junior year was mercilessly dragged into a soul crushing hug. Obviously dying of embarrassment. It was kind of endearing though. “Mom, please, I’m fine.” Roman groaned, though the chuckle took away from the complaint. “Fine?” Mrs. Castile scoffed. "The principal told me what happened Roman!” She stepped back, gripping her sons shoulders tightly, sharp eyes looking him up and down to see if there was any sign of damage. “I could’ve lost you! Rest assured the city will hear from us about proper maintenance of the school buildings!” She had a point, Virgil supposed. It could have ended badly for them. But, as Picani said, living your life on might haves, was exhausting and pointless. “It was a freak accident mama. Please don’t make a big deal out of it. I don’t even have a scratch,” Roman argued. This was met with another nod. “I heard.” Suddenly her eyes met Virgil’s and she lit up. He had to resist the urge to step back. Roman definitely had inherited his mother’s eyes. And if he read the woman’s expression right, she was about to show how much of his energy came from her as well. Before he could brace himself for whatever she had in store for him, he was looking at Roman’s white Varsity Jacket. “Mom, this is Virgil, he was my lab partner last year,” he introduced them, mostly turned towards his mother and his body still blocking her path. Virgil saw her give a nod, prompting Roman to step to the side. “Virgil, this is my mother, Alicia Castille.” Virgil could not begin to express how much he appreciated this. Roman knew for all of maybe 20 minutes that he had anxiety and he was already trying to accommodate him.

All he could do with that for now was give him a smile and try to make a decent impression on his mother. “Pleasure to meet you ma’am,” he offered as he held out his hand. Formal and with respect for other people’s personal space, like his father had raised him, was clearly not the Castile way. His hand was grabbed in two warm, soft hands and pressed against a chest as he was met with an earnest look that told him that if not for Roman he would have been on the receiving end of one of this woman’s hugs. “First you help my boy discover a love for science and then you save his life. You are a marvelous young man,” she gushed, making Virgil blush. Wait… Had Roman talked about him? To his mother? In a positive way? His hand was released and he struggled to find something to say in response. “Ah, well…” But then it was his turn to be embarrassed by his parent it seemed as the sound of his name being shouted cut through the hallways. He couldn’t help but shrink back. He hadn’t heard his father sound so distressed since he thought he was having an attack last year. Logan appeared around the corner and quickly locked eyes with him. Relief starting to replace the worry right away. Moments later Virgil was hugged tightly.

“You are alright.” “Dad, please, I’m fine,” he pleaded. The one time he wanted his dad to stick to his slow and steady method when it came to physical affection. Then again he’d expected this. It was like whenever his dad was overwhelmed emotionally he looked for a life line. Usually, that was him. Finally, his dad let him go. “What happened?” he asked as he looked him over to see if there was any sign of a recent panic attack or injury. Once he was satisfied with his inspection he glanced at their audience, as if he was suspecting them of having caused this crisis. “Who are these people?” “Roman Castile and his mother…” Virgil explained, confused that he hadn’t figured that out himself yet. Wait… He couldn’t have… “Dad, did you even let the principal finish his explanation?” he asked already filled with dread at the most likely answer. “I… Well, I’ve never been called to school before. When he said something happened… I didn’t want to waste time. It was only logical.” Virgil rolled his eyes. “I’m surprised you didn’t head straight to the ER,” he huffed. His father did not appreciate his attitude. “Forgive me for caring about the only family I have.” Virgil immediately felt bad. He felt nervous and embarrassed, but that was no excuse to take it out on his dad. He truly meant well. Most likely he’d been just as nervous today, if not more so. Getting that call, he must’ve assumed Janus had done something bad for the staff to call him in. “I know you care dad. But you can overdo it a little,” he muttered. That was true as well. Whenever his dad did get emotional, he got really intense. “Pardon me sir.” Virgil and his dad looked up in surprise when Roman’s mother spoke up. “But you are this fine boy’s father, correct?” she asked pleasantly. His dad straightened his posture “Logan Anker, I apologize for my behavior. I…” He was immediately stopped by a warm smile and careless wave of Mrs. Castile. “Oh, don’t mention it. You should have seen me the first time mi principitto came home with a bruise. I was this close to murder,” she chuckled good naturedly as she held her fingers a hairs width apart. “I can relate I belief,” his dad chuckled as he looked back at him in that way he would sometimes. A strange mix of happy, proud, sad and worried. “Alicia Castile,” Roman’s mother introduced herself. “Your son has helped my boy in class last year and now he’s saved his life. I feel like I owe your family a great debt. If you ever have a party that needs catering I’ll give you family prices. No questions asked,” she promised. “You run Magical Kitchens. I have had the pleasure of sampling your work before, I might hold you to that,” dad smiled politely. Then his eyes returned to Virgil. Oh no. That was his ‘firm parent’ look. “We’re heading home, you are going to rest up.” Yep he was right. He made a thing out of showing off that he thought he was overdoing it, but allowed a small smirk to show it was in good humor. “So I won’t get a lecture on playing hero?” he asked teasingly before waving Roman goodbye, giving his mother a polite nod and heading off towards the parking lot at a steady but swift speed. He wasn’t willing to risk staying around much longer and risk any more embarrassment. “Not today,” he heard his father reply behind him.

Very soon they rounded a corner and Virgil could hear his dad’s phone buzz. “Patton, I’m sorry, I overreacted. Virgil is fine,” he said as he ruffled through Virgil’s hair. Much to the latter’s dismay. What was his dad thinking? What if Roman saw? He quickly stepped away and tried to fix his hair as best as he could. Looking back to make sure there were no witnesses. Luckily the hall was still empty. He decided to walk a bit faster though, just in case. “I see.” Oh no. Virgil didn’t like his father’s tone at all. “Thank you Patton. I’ll see you later.” A moment later he hung up. “Patton did talk to the principle didn’t he?” Virgil guessed, deciding to get this over with as fast as possible, as he got in the car. Just then he caught sight of Roman and his mother arriving at the parking lot. Roman was talking to her about something. Gesturing wildly with his hands, his face alight with enthusiasm. He really liked seeing him like that. He was looking forward to seeing it more often over the course of the year without having to worry if it somehow upset Janus if he spent time with him. “He did…” Right… His dad heard he had almost gotten hurt. “It’s not a big deal dad. It was a freak accident and we’re both fine. I promise,” Virgil assured him. He could see Logan steady his breathing and focus. He knew better than to interrupt while his dad was thinking this deeply about something. Virgil relaxed as his father finally started the car and left the parking lot. Now there was no chance of Roman spotting them, or Virgil subsequently doing something embarrassing.

“I am sorry if I embarrassed you back there.” Virgil flinched. Had his dad noticed? God was he that obvious? No. It’s fine, just play it off. Maybe he meant, embarrass you in front of your classmate, not crush. “It’s whatever,” he mumbled, desperately searching for a change of subject. Suddenly it hit him. “You don’t have to take me back home you know. You have like two more classes to teach right? I can sit in the back and draw some,” he looked back to Logan with a small smile. “I’d like to see my flashcards in action.” His dad frowned thoughtfully. “You didn’t hit your head at any point?” “No,” he stated. “If either of us hit our head it would’ve been Roman.” And he had made sure that he didn’t. “Well, okay then. I don’t mind showing of my son to my students,” his dad smiled fondly, making Virgil almost change his mind about going home. At his father’s instruction he texted Patton. “Coming over to campus. See you soon.” “My students have probably gone to study in the library or taken an extended lunchbreak due to my absence,” Logan explained as they entered the empty auditorium. Virgil looked around imagining himself in a room like this in a few years. “They’ll be informed that I have returned soon. We’ll see how many actually show up in-” “Where is my brave angel baby!!!” Virgil looked up, fight or flight instincts fully engaged. Patton was rushing towards him. And before he could decide how to respond he was being hugged.

“Oh, kiddo. Are you okay? Were you scared? Why aren’t you at home?” Virgil couldn’t be annoyed at him when he sounded so distressed. “Pops, I’m fine! Not even a scratch on me,” he assured him, gently hugging Patton back. “Aside from ‘Gay Panic’ his emotional state was not compromised.” He did not just do that. “Dad I swear I’ll move in with uncle Thomas!” Virgil threatened, deciding that this was enough hugging and stepping away from Patton “What do you mean? Was it a boy? Was he cute? Tell me!” Patton squealed. “Don’t you have a class to get back to,” Virgil huffed, very done with being publicly humiliated. Dad’s students were already arriving. He regretted his tone a little when he saw how confused Patton was by it. Luckily Logan was there to be ‘moody teenager translator’. “Don’t take it personal. He’s just a little embarrassed.” He didn’t have to look so pleased by it though. “Ugh, I’ll be in the back,” he stated as he made his exit. By the time he had settled in and took out his sketchbook and pencils, Logan was addressing his students. “Take your seats everyone. I apologize for my tardiness, but rest assured we won’t fall behind first day of the semester. We’ll start class in 10 minutes so your classmates have a chance to join the lecture if they want.” Virgil heard the students filtering in, but was focusing on the drawing.

He had just finished the body, when his dad started class. “Hello everyone. Apologies for the delay. Today is not… Vibing with me it seems.” Virgil looked up and saw his dad hold up one of his flashcards. He chuckled along with the class. “Welcome back to all of you. I look forward to having another productive year. Please be on your best behavior. My son Virgil is joining us today.” Virgil waved at the many turning heads when his dad motioned in his direction. “So I’d like to get some cool dad points today.” Again a chuckle rippled through the room. “But now, without any more stalling. Let’s get started.” Virgil dove back into his sketch. He hadn’t given much thought to the color scheme for the suit, other than gold detailing, but for the real one he was thinking red, white and gold. That seemed to fit the heroes tastes. No full on white jumpsuit. Red pants, gloves and cape, that would make the white shirt pop out more. He stood by the cool factor the cape would add to the complete look. Though he noted down that it was meant for formal functions. He toned down the gold details. He’d been having a bit too much fun with those. Then he worked the crown he’d designed into the mask. He considered the boots and decided to give the mannequin normal white shoes. But, as a joke, added a heeled version in the margin. He observed his work, it looked cool. He had some more place on the page and put down a few ideas for a cool logo they could put on the cape. Like a coat of arms. A family crest. Something to complete the prince aesthetic. He really liked it. He had to admit, he first thought he’d just make the design, show it to Roman and then leave it be. But… What if he really sent in a copy of this to the GTH… He wasn’t going to think about that right now. Maybe later… “Hey!” Virgil looked up in surprise. One of his dad’s students was talking to him. He looked to the front of the room. It seems like his dad was busy setting something up. “You are Anker’s kid huh?” They asked. Virgil nodded. “Cool. What’s it like to have him for a dad? Like, he’s a stick in the mud but he’s also pretty funny. What’s that about?” Virgil quirked his brow, not sure if his dad just got insulted or complemented. “I don’t know. He can be strict, but that’s cause he cares a lot. He’s mainly very supportive,” Virgil explained. “You’re not really what I imagined his kid would look like,” the student in the next seat mused. “Um… I guess, not? I’m more of an artsy kid I guess,” he admitted. “Is it true you got him and professor smiles together?” Professor… “Patton you mean? Uh, yeah. I gave them a little push.” Both students nodded in approval. “They are so cute together. Good job,” the second student praised. Virgil smiled, he had to agree on that one. “Thanks,” he nodded. Then his dad called everyone’s attention again. Virgil turned the page and started working on something else. A costume for him should he have the funds to get one professionally made. The class continued like that. With him working out several designs for himself, occasionally interrupted by either his dad pulling out the notecards, or one of his students asking him something during a quiet moment. Before he knew it he and his parents were heading back to the car. “So what happened?” Patton wondered, making Virgil tense up at once. Well there went all his progress in relaxing. “Nothing! Can we just drop it?” Virgil pleaded as he got in the backseat and fastened his seatbelt. “It’s pretty much as you said. Virgil pushed Roman to safety, both boys are fine.” Virgil was grateful for his dad’s factual and neutral summary for about one second. “Wait… Roman… The Roman?”

Virgil felt all his muscles lock in place. Patton should not know that there was a ‘the’ Roman! “I… I never mentioned Roman during family dinners…” And he hadn’t talked about him the past summer. Which could only mean… “Dad!” he exclaimed accusingly, only making Logan chuckle. Was this payback for back when he first met Patton or something? “Oh, don’t be embarrassed kiddo. Logan, tell me you didn’t say anything too bad in front of him,” Patton pleaded. “Not to my knowledge. I didn’t even bring up that I recognized him.” Virgil felt all color leave his face. No… No. Why!? “What do you mean?” Patton asked curiously adding to Virgil’s horror. He wanted off this ride, now! “Well, I’m pretty sure he was the charming Prince Virgil couldn’t tear his eyes away from during the play.” Ok. Time to panic, and/or cry. He was leaning towards the ‘and’ option. “That’s not… I worked hard on the costume. That’s all.” He knew it was a very poorly executed exit strategy. If his dad had noticed how he kept a special eye on Roman’s Prince, then he might’ve noticed… “And the shepherd from the winter play. And he was the crazy scientist and the minstrel in the plays of your freshmen year,” Logan added. Virgil was ready for the universe to swallow him now. “It’s not like that,” he insisted. “What were you two talking about anyway?” Patton wondered. And Virgil was grateful for the slight change of subject. Virgil shrugged. “We worked well together last year. Roman suggested studying together once a week,” he explained. And that was the truth. And luckily, that seemed enough to put an end to the conversation. Just in case though, Virgil escaped to his room the second he got home. No sooner had he taken out his phone to put on some music to drown out everything else, or he got a call. Normally he would hate that. But the idea read “My DreamPrincey”

“Purgatory. Satan speaking,” he smirked as he picked up. “Hello there my chemically imbalanced romance.” Of all bands, it had to be that one? And again with the possessive pronoun. It should be illegal to affect someone this much in a single sentence. Virgil didn’t miss a beat though. “Hey there sir Singalot.” His heart stuttered when Roman chuckled at that one. “I just realized that we got extremely rudely interrupted.” “You could phrase it like that,” Virgil laughed. “So… when and where do you want to meet Friday?” Your place, the park, the mall… No… Homework. It’s for homework. “Let’s head to the library after school. We can grab some pizza from across the street after if it’s late,” he suggested, trying not to cringe as he pretty much asked his crush out to dinner. Sure, it could be interpreted as a platonic thing. But still. These were big steps forward to him. “Sounds great,” Roman agreed happily. Virgil didn’t want the conversation to end there though. Luckily he had a good question about the subject at hand. “Yeah. Hey, about that. Are you cool with helping me out with Spanish? I know you take French, but…” His mom had greeted him with a Spanish pet name right? But maybe they weren’t raised with the language beyond that… “I mean…” Had he just offended him?

Before he could spiral too much, Roman answered. “My parents raised us bilingual. Me encantaría ayudarte a aprender el lenguaje de la passion, mi caballero oscuro.” Holly… He had no idea what he just said. He spoke way too fast for him. Apreder… that was teaching or something. And he thought he caught passion in there. God what was it with this guy? “That better be you saying you’ll help,” Virgil huffed. “Of course mi amigo sombrío. It’s the least I can do por mi Salvador,” he teased. Virgil blushed. He understood Salvador. Savior. Roman had called him his savior. “Virgil? Who are you talking to?” Virgil suppressed the urge to curse. Really dad? Now?

“Roman dad! We’re talking about going to the library on Friday!” he yelled back, holding the phone away from his face. He really hoped his dad would leave it at that, but he wasn’t so lucky. “For homework right?” Of course homework! Was he being serious? “Yes dad. He’ll help me with Spanish,” Virgil replied with an exasperated eye roll. “Alright. I’ll leave you boys to it. Dinner at six.” “Noted…” he called back, waiting for a few seconds to make sure he heard him go down the stairs. “He’s gone,” he sighed in relief. “Sorry about that. He is… He means well, but sometimes…” He was lost on how to explain his dad’s intense reactions to his safety honestly. Usually he was very calm and collected. But bring in a scraped knee, or a bruise and Virgil could feel the fear come off him. Even when Logan tried to hide it. “I get it… I’m sorry about your mother,” Roman offered. Oh… Oh yeah his dad had said something about their small family. Roman really paid attention huh? “Oh… Right… Um… I never.” He took a breath. It was fine. Roman wouldn’t judge right? “I don’t remember either of my birthparents so…” “Shit. Sorry, I didn’t…” Roman hurried awkwardly. It made Virgil smile a little.

“It’s alright… I don’t advertise it, but I don’t really care if people know.” Except he cared a little that Roman knew and would think badly about it. Which made no sense, but his worst thoughts rarely did in hindsight. “Logan is my dad in every way that matters. I’m sure they were awesome and everything… Dad seems to miss them anyway. And sometimes he’ll say that I’m like them, or that they’d be proud and stuff… But yeah. He’s protective of me. Hence his whole ‘don’t be a hero’, rule.” God he was rambling. Someone stop him. Roman chuckled. “Well, too late for that. You might as well pick up your tights now.” Roman meant to brighten the mood. But god no. That would be an actual nightmare. “As if. I wouldn’t be caught dead in something like that. I’d be more into the Midnight Mirage aesthetic,” he confessed. Already thinking up a design. “Shut up! That’s totally my celeb crush!” Roman gushed. Now Virgil really wanted to try putting something together inspired by Mirage. “You? Prince of theater, have a crush on LA’s vigilante?” He asked incredulously. “I wouldn’t have picked you for the type to like bad boys,” he teased, while he wondered if he counted as a ‘bad boy’ in Roman’s eyes. “I like the mystery,” Roman replied casually. And then, as Virgil could have expected, he turned the tables on him. “Well since you know my big secret, it’s only fair if you tell me your crush. Spill Doctor Gloom.” His crush… Celeb crush. Roman was talking about crushes on celebrities that were too old for them to start with and unlikely to ever meet them. Still he needed to buy himself some time. “Um…, well for a girl… I’d say Blaze.” She was really cool and intense and criminally good looking. At least if you asked Virgil. “And guy?” Roman pressed. Virgil felt his throat close up, his heart skip a beat. What to say? “Come on. Which prince tickles your fancy?” You. “Who may sweep you into his arms-” you “-and ride off into the sunset with you?” You, you, you 100% you. “DreamPrince,” he blurted instead. Why? No clue. But it happened. And it was the least credible answer. Dream Prince didn’t even have an official picture released to the public yet. There was only one witness who had gotten a decent look at him and talked to him. “I didn’t see that one coming,” Roman’s surprised voice pulled him out of his panic. Was he buying it? “So our resident edge lord fancies himself a literal prince charming as a romantic partner huh?” he teased. Apparently he did. Well maybe it wasn’t that bad. He’d basically just told Roman that he was his type, right? What little anyone could gather from the Prince fit Roman as well. Still he felt the need to backpedal a little. He could not pretend to be swooning over that guy too much. “Don’t look too deep into it. I just admire his guts. Gifted or not, it takes nerves of steel to face a guy with a gun like he did.” Or to face bullies, and to be friends with him while Janus gave you the death glare. “And to go outside in that crime against fashion.” He shuddered as he recalled the jumpsuit. He might have to send in his design. For everyone’s sake.

“I’ll probably be over it next week,” he huffed dismissively. Showing that he was not too invested in this ‘crush’. Roman hummed in response, seemingly distracted. Virgil felt butterflies in his stomach as a hopeful thought crossed his mind. What if he was building up to… He had just said that Virgil’s preferred aesthetic matched with his celeb crush… And then he was pressing for his type… What if he did want to ask him out? “Any reason why you wanted to know?” That was nowhere near as casual as he’d wanted to be. But it was out. And Virgil was holding his breath in anticipation. “Stacey!” Virgil had to pull back from the phone due to the sudden loud exclamation. Who? “My friend. She’s been pestering me for your number since I mentioned I had it and I obviously wasn’t going to betray your trust and do that. So…” Wait… No. “Stacey wants to go out with you, would you be up for that?” Oh…. “Stacey?” He thought back. He remembered her. “Seen her in the art studio a few times. She’s got style.” And she was very pretty. If he was completely honest with himself he was kind of flattered that he had apparently caught her eye. He supposed he should give it a chance. “Sure. Text me her number,” he decided. “Awesome,” Roman replied, unaware of the stinging in Virgil’s heart.

They talked for a long time after that though. About school, summer, Disney and theater. It was easy talking to Roman. It always had been, but now… It was just different. Suddenly Virgil heard Roman’s mother call out, almost instantly followed by his dad. “Man… time sure flies,” Virgil mused, his cheeks hurting from all the times Roman made him laugh.

“Si. Nos vemos mañana!”

Virgil chuckled. “That means… See you tomorrow, right?” Virgil verified.

“Si!” Roman exclaimed. Virgil chuckled. “Bye Princey,” he said gently before hanging up. He checked his messages before heading down. Roman had texted him Stacey’s number and he had a message from Janus. He decided to call Stacey now. Get it over and done with. “… Who is this, and how did you get this number?” Virgil smirked. She had spunk. He kind of liked that. Maybe this would be not so bad. “I’m the devil dear. Someone you considered a friend just sold me your soul,” he said in his best imitation of a demon voice. “OMG… Virgil? Virgil Anker?” she asked, seemingly flustered. “That’s my name,” he acknowledged. “Roman said you wanted to go out with me?” “I’m going to kill that pompous…” “So you don’t want to hang out at the gallery tomorrow?” he asked playfully. “Wait really!?” she asked shocked. Virgil chuckled as he got up and started going down the stairs. “Well, it’s not a date exactly. Consider it a vibe check. We’ll set up a new canvas, have some fun and get to know each other. Then after we can see if we really want to go out together. What do you think?” he offered. He didn’t want to deal with the pressure of a first date right away.

“Oh, yeah. Awesome!” she agreed. He made his way into the kitchen. “Kay, so tomorrow after school. See ya later Stacey,” he bid before hanging up. “Who, was that?” his dad asked from his seat at the kitchen table. “Stacey. One of Roman’s friends…” the thought of Roman, and how he’d played wingman for her hit him in the chest. “He… Told me she liked me and asked him for my number. I got hers and we’re going to hang at the art gallery to see if we click. I haven’t really hung out with anyone other than Janus or Roman, so I don’t… Know if I’d like any of my other classmates. I figure I should give her a shot. She seems fun,” he said. Mostly to remind himself as he took his seat. “It’s like I said… Me and Roman… It’s not like that.” No matter how badly he wished it was “That’s really sweet of you Virgil,” Patton offered. Virgil gave him a small smile. After dinner he opened Janus’ text. “Sry bout what happened 2day. Will U B @ schl 2mrw?” Virgil was taken aback, and a little hopeful. So Janus had come to look for him and heard what happened? And he actually asked him for his plans? Maybe, maybe he didn’t need to lose his best friend after all… No. This is why it took so long. When not around others Janus was almost always great to hang out with. He was fun and smart and weird in a cool way. But at school he would be around other students. Around Roman. That would be the test. He texted back. Hoping it would help somehow. “M fine thx. C U there.”

confrontation

Masterpost

@cirishere @hestianerd1 @moonlightshow00 @naturallyunstablegamer @alias290 @meowthefluffy @frida0043 @angelic-cali @selenechris @theblackveilinreverse

#sanders sides #ts sides #virgil sanders #roman sanders #prinxiety #logan sanders #patton sanders #janus sanders #tw food mention

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darkkidplaidopera · 4 years ago

Text

“For eternity” Khunbam

as always sorry for any errors, and there’s smut under the cut so you’ve been warned lol

<- ->

Khun Aguero Agnis has never been prone to believe in the supernatural. As he said himself, this world has already contained enough madness itself. The first rule of living there everyone learned as a child – if you want to avoid making the same mistakes, you have to know your past. What's more, each human being was born with a mark on their body which symbolized the way one died in their last incarnation. The mark belonging to Khun didn't look particularly large. Some people thought he's lucky because of it. Yet two dark dots staining his pale neck looked as if he got bitten by a venomous snake. Even though they seemed way too huge for simply a wild animal, Aguero tried not to think about it. Was there a big chance that he'll die this way again? No, of course not. He didn't have any possible way of meeting such a creature during his usual life. And that's enough of a reason to don't care about his mark. After all, Khun Aguero Agnis was a busy man, he had no time for this kind of nuisances. Always dressed properly – a tailored suit, shiny shoes, black tie, and an expensive watch. If you ever tried to imagine what a stereotypical businessman looked like, he'd be the first thing popping into your mind. Khun's life, just as his straightened blue hair, was lacking any kind of mess. He couldn't understand people who treated their marks as a significant part of themselves. There was no such a word like “destiny” in his dictionary, because believing in it had no logical value. After all, he lived in a world with much bigger issues – economy, politics, and even an upcoming climate catastrophe! Caring about something as trivial as body marks in current situation seemed egoistical. Or at least that's what he thought.

Fall was such a pretty season, but it had a major flaw. Too short days. Aguero spent most of his time in his office, which resulted in the fact that both when he entered, and left the building there was already dark outside. Maybe Khun didn't like to admit it, but coming back to his house was the least favorite part of the day for him. The office was his sanctuary. Full of life, people, important matters. And his house? Empty, filled with loneliness, and apathy. Aguero had everything, but he felt like he still lacked something. Or someone, to be more precise. Khun could reject those thoughts, try to disagree with them, he could even find them totally idiotic. But for what reason when deep down he knew himself what was the truth? Self awareness was both a blessing, and a curse. Yet the awareness itself couldn't possibly affect his daily routine in any way. Aguero packed his documents, and checked for the last time if everything was on its place. It was a few minutes past 8 P.M. If not for the streetlamps, there would be an unbreakable darkness surrounding every inch of the world outside. Khun lived near his office, so he could easily go back to his place on foot. On his way he passed different parks, streets, and houses. Aguero swore to himself that there was no other place in this world with so many imbeciles behind the wheel who treated speed limits like suggestions instead of restrictions. Khun considered himself to be a tolerant person. Yet there was one thing he absolutely couldn't stand – irresponsibility. Suddenly, he heard a weird noise behind his back. It couldn't possibly be wind. The noise sounded more like a rustle of some leaves being stomped at. Aguero turned around immediately, but the only thing he saw was an empty road dressed in a dark shroud of the night. Maybe he imagined things? No, impossible. Maybe it was some kind of animal. Yes, that's the only rational option. Khun tried to believe that. Yet, during the whole walk to his house, he felt like he wasn't alone. As soon as Aguero reached his destination, he closed the door quickly while throwing his cloak at an armchair.

“Alone once again,” Khun murmured.

Talking to himself was one of those habits that he didn't create completely deliberately. Khun didn't like spending time in an absolute silence. Being left alone with his thoughts was too overwhelming. Silence was the only thing that could scream the truth so loudly. Khun Aguero Agnis was a successful man. And he was really fucking lonely.

“You seem really confident for someone who's wrong.”

Aguero froze. That voice definitely didn't belong to him. It didn't even sound fully humane. A husky, low timbre made Khun shiver. He felt like an animal that's slowly getting closer to getting trapped in a cage. The velvet voice seemed to cling to Aguero's heart, and surround it with golden threads. The ones that spread their warmth, making others unable to take their eyes away from the beauty. Those that one day will stop Aguero's circulation to own the last beat of his heart.

“Who are you?” Khun asked while trying to get out of his narcotic trance.

“Does it matter? I can introduce myself with every name, and every past. But it won't change anything,” a man answered.

Khun took this moment as an opportunity to see the source of the voice. A man standing next to his window seemed completely indifferent to what was happening, as if the situation's nothing new for him. Because of a black cloak he was wearing, his posture lightly blurred with the night sky. Long, dark hair covering a part of his face made the stranger slightly more mysterious. It looked as if his clothing was chosen on purpose so the slim body didn't look so fragile. Because of his tallness, and rather delicate face structure the stranger reminded Aguero more of a statue than a real human being. His marble skin, and body seemed like an embodiment of the slenderness of Gothic architecture that somehow got trapped in a Greek sculpture.

“I don't think any different. But since you've already broken into my home, you could already make some effort, and provide me a believable reason why,” Aguero snorted.

“Does everything need to have a reason, though? If something has to happen, then it will, no matter if there's a legitimate cause of it,” the man replied.

Nonsense. Nothing happens without a reason. Khun Aguero Agnis would never allow something as irrational as fate to make a difference in his life without a permission.

“And, Aguero,” the stranger continued. “Don't you want to know what was the real cause of your mark?”

“How do you know my name?”

With each passing second Khun found it harder to stay calm. There was a stranger in his house who had probably followed him before, and somehow even knew his name. Aguero didn't know if the man meant any harm, but he also wasn't too thrilled to check. Khun knew there's a chance he's in danger, and even worse – he didn't know how to escape from his own house to call the police.

“I've been watching you for quite a time.”

Yikes. Isn't that stalking? Suddenly, a wind blow came through the room, and left a slight impact on the man's hair. The dark cascades made a contact with golden light coming from his big eyes. They seemed familiar. Too familiar for Khun's liking. A quiet voice in Aguero's head was getting louder, and louder. And its screams were repetitively filling his mind with one word.

“Your name is Viole, right?”

The man nodded.

Jue Viole Grace has never considered himself to be an extraordinary human being. Well, maybe let's start with the fact that he never considered himself a human. As one of the creatures that most people thought existed only in fairytales, he tried to fit in really hard. And it wasn't an easy task. With his extremely pale skin, dark hair, and fangs that were a little too long Viole was rather easy to find in a crowd. Viole considered the twenty-first century as a nice change, though. In the previous ages, his appearance usually made people either scared or nervous. Not to mention when he had to run away from villages while being chased with pitchforks, and torches. And now? Now if people react to his looks at all, they usually just wonder if there was a new collection with vampire accessories in Hot Topic. Viole liked it. No one would believe he's a vampire anyway. The society apparently thought of reincarnation, and weird body marks as completely normal. But vampires? No, that's not possible. Yet what else could he expect, when after all these years some people still believed that the Earth is flat? Viole didn't complain, though. Conspiracy theories were way better than wasting his time on priests trying to exorcise him to get some demons out. Viole didn't mind waiting. He didn't remember his past lives fully, but there was one repetitive thing in all of them. Eyes made of cobalt. But not some ordinary blue eyes. Only the ones that belonged to his Aguero had this exact color. Dark, but not overbearing hue that looked almost mauve in daylight was irreplaceable. Every time Aguero was amused, his eyes shined with him, and Viole could swear on his life that they looked like a sky full of stars. He'd wait for Khun as long as it's necessary. But he hoped that the right time will come soon.

The fact that his Aguero remembered him made Viole feel relieved. Even if a detail or two of their relationship escaped from his head. The last time they met his Aguero was gone too soon. Even though Viole would give up his own eternity for Khun, there was nothing that could remain immortal when facing this world's cruelty. The marks weren't necessarily equal with death. They meant that the soul has already perished, but brought no meaning when it came to talking about the state of one's body.

“How much do you remember, my Aguero?”

Khun blushed madly. Most people didn't dare to act informal around him, let alone call him Aguero. It didn't bother him, though.

“Not a lot, unfortunately. I don't get why everyone's in some kind of tower,” he replied.

“It's a long story, my Aguero. Too long for just one night.”

Said story wasn't the most pleasant one to tell, too. Even though the godless tower was supposed to bring them happiness, the true joy came with the disappearance of it. Viole couldn't possibly be happy knowing how many people died because of him.

“There's quite a few interesting things that I remember, though,” Khun smirked with a dangerously amused look on his face.

Viole almost didn't notice how quickly Aguero closed the distance between them.

“How loudly you were moaning my name, for example,” he whispered into Viole's ear.

Viole felt his cheeks turning crimson. Beacause of the long time he spent without his Aguero, he almost didn't remember what a tease he was. But Khun forgot one thing.

“Then you should also remember how much you liked choking on my cock, and begging for more.”

Aguero frowned. He didn't recall Viole being that bold, and it really turned him on. Their lips connected in a hungry kiss which was a beginning of a sinful act. At some point, Aguero's legs wrapped themselves around Viole's waist, and Khun wasn't sure if he had any control over them anymore.

“I think a need a reminder,” Khun said, and licked his lips. “Preferably in the bedroom, third door on the left.”

“I'll make sure that you'll never forget again.”

Quiet moans started to fill the spacious room. Tangled, blue hair partly covered Aguero's rose-red cheeks. His plump lips, now lightly swollen, were wrapped around Viole's member, and made honey-eyed man lose his mind. A stream of saliva on Aguero's pale chin, his half-closed eyes, and needy moans were enough of a reason for Viole to forget about anything else. His Aguero looked exceptionally pretty when he was so obedient. When defenseless, he seemed almost pure, and full of innocence. Or at least what was left of it. Viole felt that he's about to cum, but it was too early for

that. The fun has just started.

“Mm... Aguero,” he said with a hoarse voice. “Be a good boy, and lay on your stomach for me.”

Khun tried to stood up, but his shaky legs were a major inconvenience. Viole has already made a mess of him, and he didn't even properly touch him. When Aguero's throbbing cock touched the sheets, an obscene noise left his mouth. He wanted Viole's touch. No, not just wanted. He needed it. Now. He felt Viole's arms slowly roaming around his body. And then, a silky fabric of his own tie made contact with Khun's wrists, tying them up.

“Is it too tight?” Viole asked, and the only answer he got was an incoherent mumbling, supposedly meaning 'no'.

Viole's lips started leaving trails of kisses on Aguero's body, making their way to his inner thighs.

“Stop t-teasing me, Viole,” Khun gasped, not even entirely sure himself if the words made a proper sentence.

“I thought that good boys are more patient,” Viole replied. “You know that being disobedient results in a punishment.”

He didn't wait for any reply this time. He liked seeing Aguero like this. So vulnerable, and willing to do what Viole wanted. But he wasn't sadistic. He could pamper his Aguero a little, and skip the punishment part. Viole reached for the lube that laid on the nightstand, and let the cold substance cover Aguero's needy, twitching hole. Khun moaned loudly when Viole's member entered him.

“Harder, please!” Aguero yelled with no care that someone might hear him.

Hoarse incoherent sounds left Khun's mouth, when Viole increased the speed of his thrusts. The erotic act between them brought another deadly sin to their lives, and made it take full control of the lovers. A throbbing release of their passion ended with an intense orgasm, leaving two men in a chaos of their own bodies.

“Viole?” gasped Khun exhausted, craving for air. “I want to be yours only.”

“You're already mine, Aguero,” replied Viole. “You've always been.”

Gold eyes roamed around Khun's body once more, while pale hands untied him.

“Not in that way, Viole” Khun said. “I want to be yours forever.”

The man looked into cobalt eyes once more, as if he was looking for reassurance. Aguero was confident with what he wanted. Viole's lips left a few delicate kisses on his neck, and then bit it.

“For eternity, Aguero?”

“And even longer, Viole.”

#khunbam #khunbaam #tower of god #tog #tog ff #kami no tou #khun aguero agnis #khun aguero agnes #25th bam #25th baam #jue viole grace #vampire bam #modern au

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chiimmchiimm · 5 years ago

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❝ 𝖒𝖔𝖓𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗 !¡ 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓇𝓉𝑒𝑒𝓃 ❞

CHAPTERS “ 01 - 02 - 03 - 04 - 05 - 06 - 07 - 08 - 09 - 10 - 11 - 12 - 13 - 14 - 15 - 16 - 17 - 18 - 19 - 20 - 21 - 22 - 23 - 24 - 25 - 26 - 27 “

The northern jail was the most dangerous in the country, social scum, thousands of criminals were locked behind their bars. Who would tell poor Blair that he would end up there because of his father’s mistake. The problem was not the lack of hot water, but that inhuman obsession that many of the prisoners had for “new toys.” Rookies had two options; be submissive and abide by veterans’ orders or suffer the dangerous anger of those disturbed minds. It all started one night when Blair had the bad idea of going to shower alone.

𝒫𝒶𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔: Jungkookoffender au x (female: Blair). 𝒢𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒: Genre: smut.(later), offender au, fluff, angst. 𝒲𝑜𝓇𝒹𝓈: 4.3 k 𝑅𝒶𝓃𝓆𝓊𝒾𝓃𝑔: +18 𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔: dirty language, lies, mood swings, spectacular and close bodies, muscles, biceps, problems, very big problems, resolved threats, future friends, jealousy on her part, sad but spicy conversation in the end, rare metaphors ... 𝒜𝓊𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓇’𝓈 𝓃𝑜𝓉𝑒: A long time, dear readers, I paused to finish the story completely. I will try to upload the chapters more often. Great things are coming !! Thank you very much for reading and enjoy the chapter !!

Did you have me for what?

Fucking shit because every time we talked, he left me with the word in his mouth and left, leaving the greatest suspense in history. It seemed like her favorite hobby, confusing me as she tried to make sense of everything she said. But all that was a dead end because every time I reached a conclusion he would come and make me think a thousand different times. I never understood men, much less this one. I did not like the feeling of uncertainty that settled in my chest every time I had the privilege of being the recipient of such ambiguous words.

My fist hit the leather material with enthusiasm. I did not know at what point I had arrived at the prison gym, I was only aware of my actions when I noticed the cold latex contrast with the heat of my knuckles. Maybe I had found my way to let off steam. When he hit the bag he didn't think, he just moved the muscles unconsciously. I needed that, let go of instinct and stop thinking about deep eyes and strong arms with wonderfully perfect tattoos.

I liked that inmates ignored me, it had been a long time since I had heard loud compliments and overly embarrassing sexist comments. In a way, they had learned to respect my space and they didn't bother me as much, of course, the presence of Thirteen had been a mitigating factor worthy of note. In these weeks my relationship with Thirteen (if the strange bond that unites us can be called that) had advanced to such a point that I did nothing without him at my side. I suppose that we had a common goal, to protect his sister, but in fact, I liked that he will also ensure my safety. Since the occurrence of the baths he had not detached himself from me, and in a way, his company did not bother me as surprisingly I thought he would. He was not as bad as he thought, his grumpy character had been lowered considerably in these weeks, he was no longer the same serious boy whose only facial gesture was manifested through a slight involuntary blink. Without going any further, he continued to maintain that firm and regal posture but there were times when he thought he saw a small smile appear.

A smile like now.

"If the sack had a mouth, it would be laughing at your blows." I hear his mockery between the roars of my fists hitting the leather material. His back was turned to him but I could imagine how his corners rose in a mischievous smile that only screamed the desire he had to make me rage. His longtime favorite hobby. Buffet exhausted and then stop hitting the stuff to turn me around. Thirteen received my frown with a small laugh.

"Yeah, but you have to understand that not everyone lives three meters away and has arms bigger than their head." I blurted out, she seemed to look annoyed but both he and I knew that my contemptuous tone was overactive. Cross your arms to calm the hectic movement of my chest. For him it had been nothing more than small blows but he had really left my breath. Long heavy breaths with her mouth ajar as she skeptically watched him. I felt how the beads of sweat gradually accumulated on my forehead and then bathed my neck with pride. Thirteen observed me sitting from an exercise table, with his dark eyebrow raised as he followed the path of a drop that went down the column of my neck towards my tank top. My breathing increased dramatically for reasons other than exercise when her tongue came out in a provocative dance to wet her two parted lips. I squeezed my arms to cover the view of my semi-transparent white sweatshirt. I felt very intimidated on my feet, as her eyes traveled everywhere she had exposed. Even more when her dramatic silence began to bore me and my mind began to produce thoughts about how good the white T-shirt she wore today looked, how well her tattoos stood out in the artificial light of the bar lamps and in the wide and fluffy that turned his thighs when crushed when sitting.

I swallowed hard to catch my breath as Thirteen scrambled to her feet to impose her height on me. I had to tilt my neck up to see the dark glow in his eyes.

"I'm not ten feet tall," I groan with a small pout as I wrinkle my nose and frown. Her gesture made me laugh a little. However, I stopped laughing when his eyes dropped to my wet little cleavage. My breath hitched and the mouth of my throat began to dry. I part my lips in a snap, causing her to soon admire his movement. "However, I have parts of my body that are quite large."

Snap your fingers in front of your face to catch their attention. Immediately his eyes stopped admiring the beginning of my breasts to settle on me as if nothing.

"My face is up here, Thirteen."

I pass a slanting self-sufficient smile as I stared at mine. A look too intense to hold for too long. For a fraction of a second I wished I had closed my mouth, because at least the other way I didn't notice how nervous I was when his pupils dominated mine too easily. Turn the sack around and hit it to camouflage the tension that had formed from the awkward silence.

Center the force of my punches at one point to increase damage to the bag, isolating myself from around me. Suddenly, my back hit the hard surface of his chest. I immediately froze by canceling any future moves I intended to make. I swallowed so that the dryness of my mouth was not so bothersome. My stomach clenched as the weight of his hands began to warmly embrace my hip. I tried to glance askance at his body but his hands held me in place. One of his legs came slowly down the side of my body, when his thigh brushed against mine I swore I heard a gasp escape from his lips that landed directly on the surface of my ear when he leaned enough so that I could feel the wetness of my skin from his lip.

"You are too weak to leave all the weight of the blow in your hands," he whispered in a graver tone than usual. I deduced from the movement of his chest that he looked more disturbed than the normal stability of his voice reflected. He raised his hands leaving a silky path too nice, I closed my eyes unconsciously when he left them on my waist. By then, my breathing was too strong to try to hide it. It was as if after his hot walk my joints would stop working, submitting to the sweet torture of his overly provocative caresses. In a movement that caught me completely off guard, he thrust his knee into the hollow of mine and dug his fingers into my waist to propel me forward so that my fist hit the material. Incredibly the bag moved for the first time since I started my workouts. I opened my eyes forgetting, or rather, trying to ignore how good my whole body felt when feeling the cozy warmth of his big hands.

“But how?” I asked, too surprised by the simple fact that I never thought I would ever be able to move the bag on my own. In a quick blink I managed to glance askance at her face, her sharp detailed jaw in front of my eyes giving me a perfect perspective of her wonderful profile. His well-formed cheekbones and the relief of his large nose. I even managed to discover amid the roughness of his broad neck a small mole that caused a sweetness to the eye. Thirteen realizing my devotion to new discoveries of her skin, I turn my head completely. His wild pupils dominated mine leaving me at his disposal. The moisture on my lips felt a sharp chill as it contrasted with his hot breath.

"You are small, you have almost no muscle and you hardly know how to defend yourself." All you can do is attack strong enough first to give yourself time to run away.

I felt ashamed for her lack of confidence in my physical state, more than hurt, however, deep down I knew she was right and that's why I kept quiet. I was never a physically strong girl before, I did not win a fight in my life and if I did it was not for me, but because someone interrupted. And maybe that was what bothered me so much that even knowing I was right I didn't want him to see me as a helpless animal that had no other way than to flee. I've been running away from an abuser all my life, and I think sometimes people get tired of running away. In my case, quite a long time ago.

"Well then, teach me how to defend myself," I whispered in a conciliatory tone. Thirteen I raise one leaves surprised by my interest, however, a short time later began to form a smile marked by pride. I felt good at the time, able to do anything.

“Do you see the black area of the bag?” He pointed his eyes forward, making him turn his head towards his directions. Take a close look at the black stripe that covered the top of the bag. He bit back an unsatisfied moan as he remembered that it was the hardest area. At first I had tried to soften her but had done nothing other than bruise my knuckles thoroughly. I nodded a little confused for not understanding what was the interest of her looking right there. His finger reached to the start of the sack just on the edge as the material slipped in to form a flattened circumference. Raise your head to facilitate my perspective. It was almost funny to see how his hand reached that height without any problem knowing that I would not even jump. I gave a little frightened gasp when I stick his lip to the cartilage of my ear and whisper softly as if he were telling me a story. "This area corresponds to the beginning of the forehead. and the small fissure that corresponds to the mouth, lower is the jaw and a little lower is the jugular and finally the neck. "I was amazed to be a spectator of so much strategy. It was true, if I could get a better look there were marked parts that corresponded to all the parts that he had named, it was only necessary to pay more attention to the details. His finger attached to the hand of his tattooed joint looked powerful, large, so mesmerizing from the dance of his marked veins. "You just have to look for the area that you think can fuck the most." But if I give you some advice, the first blow send it directly to the neck, you will leave it breathless for a few seconds long enough so that you can punch it and knock it to the ground.

"I will," I swore safely.

"Yes," he whispered, dragging me into a world full of chills. Her lip had settled on my skin like it was her second home. The contrast was so relaxing when enough time passed. Her lip was so soft as well as hot. In an instant I found myself casting a longing gaze at him. I did not know why I simply began to feel an exaggerated desire to see his black eyes again. He reciprocated in seconds. I regretted when I realized the very compromising position I was in. His face was too close to the point that his nose was caressing mine. The long arm I had as a support began to slide down until it was inches from my neck. Everything seemed to disappear around me when Thirteen began to bow her head with a desperate slowness.

“Am I interrupting?” A voice foreign to us interrupted the moment too abruptly. Thirteen stopped leaning quickly to look at the unknown person. Suddenly, I noticed how his jaw clenched and his nose widened. When I could feel the tension in his shoulders I couldn't help but turn around and understand why Thirteen had reacted that way. "I was looking for you, Thirteen."

I instantly recognized that wicked smile and that piercing look.

"I don't have time for your psycho shit, Hong Kong." Thirteen replied with a tired air in the reflection of his voice. The named broadening the smile further exposing his tongue pircing more than macabre. His yellowish, sharp teeth began to create small retches at the beginning of my stomach. I don't know if it was fear of everything I had heard from him or simply because I didn't like how tense everything was getting, I just knew that I wanted to leave urgently.

Suddenly, Thirteen's hand caught my wrist too hard to push me on its way. However, we could not take two steps as miraculously two men appeared in front of us just as creepy as the other one standing in our way. I heard a deep sound come from Thirteen's throat as a warning. The taller of the two, a blond with a beard, seemed unaffected, however the smaller one truly doubted his position.

"I said I was looking for you." He spoke again in the same neutral tone. I looked at Thirteen immediately but he didn't stop terrifyingly shooting the bearded blond. His fingers wrapped more and more tightly around my wrist, letting me understand that he was getting quite angry, but also that he was getting nervous.

"Take off," he growled at the blonde. I was quite surprised by the cold and terrifying tone I use. It had been a long time since I had seen that part of him. And I admit, I wasn't liking seeing her again, it was too scary.

"You should thank me that I have had the education to introduce myself here to ask you myself if the rumors I have heard from some prisoners are true."

Suddenly, the air became much heavier. I watched with some panic as he closed his left hand into a fist. I had never seen him lose control like that, it was as if his rational part had suddenly vanished and another good had appeared instead. There was a moment when his fingers were clenching too hard, he groaned silently but with enough plea for him to hear my complaint. As if it was a sign that she was being carried away by the impulse her hand loosened suddenly causing her to exhale in relief.

"Surprise me," he spelled slowly but very demanding.

"Well, it turns out that one of my trusted men was suspiciously sent to the hospital with a broken jaw. Rumors have it that it was because he messed with the wrong girl."

My mouth clenched impossibly to hold back a gasp. I had an urge to cover my lips to hide a scream but I held steady for the sake of both of us. You didn't have to be very smart to know what he was talking about. My good imagination played a trick on me, scenes of a guy lying on the floor drinking his own blood while Thirteen kept giving him more blows. I felt guilty because this was all for me. I knew I was that girl Hong Kong was talking about as I also knew that my problems were starting to affect Thirteen and I felt pretty bad.

"Yes, he messed with the wrong girl."

Hong Kong slowly shook his head to the side. His smile exuded amusement, an ironic glow that had rendered me speechless. Thirteen managed to move a little toward him to keep his gaze. He positioned himself with his back to me and when I was afraid to stay behind with the two Hong Kong men, suddenly, I felt a hand catch mine to calm me down. Ironically, this was the first time he had shaken my hand. I couldn't turn off the disappointment of my heart because I really waited for that moment for a long time without realizing it. Fears left me when the warmth of his hand took mine.

However, my eyes caught an abundant body moving from the corner of my periphery, I slightly turned my neck and it was when all the nerves returned ripping without mercy. The sweat suddenly turned cold as I froze as I saw something shiny and pointed mockingly peek out of the blonde's sleeve.

When he took a step forward, I knew in that instant his terrifying intentions. His eyes glued to a fixed point on Thirteen's back as his eyes sparkled with anticipation. I really didn't know what to do, not when I knew what was going to happen if I didn't do something. Thirteen was on his back, he was protecting me, he was ignoring two psychopaths so he didn't have to deal with Hong Kong's bloodshot eyes. My chest rose so high that my heart began hammering inside my ear. Taking a rather exaggerated exhalation of air I placed myself in front of him with open palms.

"Don't do it! Are you really planning to take that out here when you have a camera pointed directly at the nape of your neck and another in front of us?" I whispered quite upset. I controlled my tone with concentration but if I could analyze the nuances of my babble I could Successfully deducing that I was truly terrified. The blonde remained impassive at my little hysteria and just then laughed at me. I felt small under his wicked gaze, I opened my mouth to cover an overly revealing gasp.

It was at that moment that Thirteen turned suddenly to make sure with a quick glance that he was fine. Afterward, I watch the blonde glaring at him with so much fury permeated by every detail of his pupils that I cut his laughter abruptly. Thirteen wrinkled his nose and grunted in his direction as he took two steps causing the blonde to back off at the same time colliding with his partner.

"Don't go near her, motherfucker."

His roar was too aggressive. Her nostrils flared at the strong breaths. His brow furrowed together with his nose. But really, really it was the dilated vein in his neck that could really stand out from the whole scene.

“The wrong girl, huh?” Hong Kong cooed quietly. Thirteen seemed to lose track of the situation for a couple of seconds. He blinked nervously for a couple of seconds but knew how to compose himself skillfully. I didn't even need to look at him to know that he was controlling himself terribly. Her knuckles couldn't be whiter and I could swear her nails were digging deeper and deeper into her palms. When Hong Kong spoke again the air came back to me again. "Let's go, I already got the answer I wanted."

True to his word, Hong Kong and the other two left when the Asian signaled for them to follow him. The tension returned to me when the blond collided his shoulder with Thirteen's when it passed by him. Thirteen smirked as he moved his leg to sneakily hit his stomach. The blond whimpered weakly intending to turn but his friend dragged him out of his reach.

When I thought the scare was completely gone a loud scream made me jump in my place.

"What the hell do you think you're doing!"

I opened my eyes with regret as my mouth closed uneasily. Thirteen was furious. Killing me back. Leaving me more nervous than I already was.

"I don't know," I stuttered. I buffeted, closing my eyes before swallowing hard. "What did you want me to do when I saw I had a screwdriver under my sleeve?" I have acted on impulse, sorry.

But my attempts to get him to listen to me evaporated as fast as water in the summer. Thirteen remained royal. I knew that deep down it was nothing more than a reprimand for intervening in other people's conversations and also, that I really did not want to behave in this way but I assumed it was due to the constant accumulated tension.

"Damn it, Blair." Hong Kong really isn't a person you can screw with. ”I gasp, forcing myself to calm down before completely losing patience. He slid his palm across her face as he whispered a couple of curses.

"He didn't come to speak and both you and I knew perfectly well. Did you want me to stay on the sidelines when his friend wanted to stab you with that thing? ”I insisted with overwhelming urgency. The sharp point returned to my head causing a terrifying chill.

Thirteen clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes contemptuously.

"I don't need anyone to defend me," he clarify loudly, rejecting the idea of needing help from someone other than himself.

"Oh, believe me I know." I laughed wryly as I recreated inside my head the memory of him boxing.

"You are too impulsive."

"And you're too dependent." Furious, I let out an agitated sigh. Thirteen raised an eyebrow to declare how unimportant my view of him was. “I know you've probably always solved problems just because you've gotten used to not depending on anyone but this is different. You must tell your friends so that ...

"I'm not going to get you into this," he growled, completely opposing what he had said earlier, drawing out a weary sigh.

"Stop wanting to be alone! Because you don't think of all the people who love you, Lucy, Jimin, Taehyung even though I don't show it very often I think Suga does too. Accepting help from others does not make you a weak person, on the contrary, it only shows that you are strong enough to correct mistakes and find the right solutions”

"And you love me?"

I was blank for a few seconds when I cut myself off with that question. I blinked uneasily at his direction trying to understand if my ears hadn't really played a shovel at me. Inevitably I began to ask myself, an immediate answer came out, one that, despite being totally confusing, was still secret to me. I mean, yes. I mean, yes. Thirteen mattered to me. He was a good friend and besides, he was always there when he needed it. But...

Those were really the reasons?

"649 report in the direction immediately." When the metallic voice of the intercom broke into gym Thirteen and I turn our eyes to the device hanging on the corner of the wall. Taking advantage of his oversight, I ran away. And I must admit that I felt like a complete coward at the time. But he didn't really blame me, I wasn't ready for that conversation.

"Hello." I greeted Brian cheerfully as I approached the principal's door. He smiled warmly sending me feelings of security and tenderness. My heart skipped a beat. It had been a few days since I saw him and I must admit that I missed those striking green eyes.

"Hello, Blair," I reply back when I finally get in front of him. Despite his smile and his good demeanor I couldn't ignore the tension that was building up on his shoulders. He turned on his side and opened the door. "Come in, they're waiting for you."

Slightly tilt your head, getting lost in the situation.

"Who?"

Brian intended to reply, but his mouth was immediately closed when a tall, stout, and dressed man took up my entire field of vision. She frowned in confusion. I briefly looked at Brain who nodded at me nervously.

"Miss London, have a seat please." The director's sudden voice distracted me for a few seconds. Not knowing how to deal with this situation, I decided to sit down and wait for things to clear up.

"What is all this?" Despite the fact that it was the director who had been in front of me, the question was thrown into the air so that both the man from before and the other, who had just seen when I entered the room more, they will take the initiative to speak. There was a brief pause that further condensed the oxygen in the office. The man in the suit took enough authority to stand next to the principal. The sockets of my eyes almost shot out when I managed to visualize the gold plaque hooked on his belt. However, it was different from the regulation in my country. I was much more confused, and worse still, much more scared.

Did they come to tell me about my father's dirty business?

Did they come to threaten me so that I will plead guilty at trial?

"My name is Kim Hyulin, I'm an inspector for the Seoul Police Station Homicide Squad. We came here because we have to ask you some questions." His foreign accent took me by surprise. The alterations that navigated his pronunciation were very similar to those of Thirteen and his friends. Suddenly Hyulin put her hands on the table. Watch the gesture suspiciously. There was something in its tonality that told me that it had not been entirely clear and that there were things to say. His expression was harsh, he frowns enthusiastically trying to scare me but his attempt was in vain. The unnatural wrinkles on the length of his skin gave him the image of a mature man in his forties. However, the other man dressed in a much cheaper suit was young and it was obvious that he was a novice.

"What kind of questions?"

"Limit yourself to answer and you have not asked," the rookie roared with an air of superiority. The contemptuous tone that I use accompanied by a look full of pride bothers me. He was looking at me like I was some trash he had to deal with.

“Answer what?” I breathes out nervously at her planned circumlocutions.

Hyulin blew out a breath as her lips parted with a snap. I don't like his accusing look. Nor his ways of analyzing my gestures as if from them he will get the answer he so longed for. I glance quickly at his apprentice, who quickly straightened up. Then he spoke:

"Tell me Miss London, how much do you know about Jeon Jungkook?"

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mystic-kitten-writer · 5 years ago

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Limerence [M] ︳27

Pairing: Zuko x OC

AU: Adult-Verse

Genre: Romance, mainly fluff with smut, and if you squint hard enough - you’ll find some angst.

Rating: SFW

Words: 6500+

Notes: Thank you, everyone, for the lovely comments, follows, and just overall support. Take care everyone, and stay safe!

Masterlist ︳26 ︳ 28 ½

❤ Buy me a coffee? ❤

Limerence: (English/n.) the state of being infatuated with another person. The moment their eyes locked they knew - the flames within him twisted while the water within her turned. It was a connection, a connection that would lead to love, adventure, and drama.

Appetence

(French/n.) a longing or desire; a natural tendency or affinity.

~ Ying Yue Jiang ~

My hands were trembling, so much so, one would have thought a damn earthquake was happening. A small huff left my lips, frantically seizing whatever laid on the vanity and dresser; and throwing it in the suitcases. Whatever my eyes fell upon fell into the bags – and quite chaotically might I add.

Zuko’s stern voice resonated in the unfinished house, speaking with the guards outside in the kitchen. Even with the door closed, I could make out a few words, their soft mutters as they discussed amongst each other. His voice was different, no hint of compassion or warmth – taciturn.

And I found myself stopping, just remembering the look on Zuko’s face when he took in what I said. It was Mai – she was snitch, and I knew it killed him to hear that. She was a childhood friend, and for someone that close to turn against you…I could only imagine how hurt he must be. My eyes lined up with the floor, looking at the mess I left.

Photos scattered of Azula, Zuko, Mai and Ty Lee. They were children, innocent. Smiling away with not the slightest idea of how things would have turned out in the future. That now, they were at war with each other. I sighed. The pain, of fighting with your flesh and blood…

I let the remainder of things drop from my hands, picking up the scattered photos. I should probably put these away before Zuko sees these…another droned out sigh fleed my lips as my fingers drew along the images. I was a fool – how did I not clue in that the maid wasn’t a maid but Zuko’s sister? But how was I supposed to know that his sister was crazy…?

Crawling on my hands and knees, I picked up the rest of the photos, tossing them to the bottom of the box. A few stuffed animals laid at the top of the box, I wanted to wash them, place them in the children room. A plan for a later day…

The door creaked - opening slowly. It caught me off guard, rushing to get back on my feet, brushing my curtain of hair behind my shoulders. Zuko stepped inside, the door sliding shut as he studied my frazzled posture and suitcases, “What are you doing?” He enquired, voice low.

“I-I was packing to head back home…” I whispered, anxious. The way his face seemed pale, eyes dim as he huffed, “Don’t bother.”

“What?”

But he didn’t speak.

With shaky steps, Zuko walked over to the side of the bed, sitting down with shoulders slumped. The bed dipped, a drained sigh escaping him and I hesitantly stepped forward, eager to ask more.

But as I inched my way towards him, he weakly patted the plush sheets of the bed, “Come.” He muttered under his breath, and my brows pinched together. I strolled over, ready to take a seat next to him, but as I made a move, Zuko shook his head, “Sit in the middle of the bed.”

I frowned, what’s going on with him?

But I didn’t utter a word, the way his head hung low, voice gruff – he wasn’t in the mood to argue, and I wasn’t going to test him. I lifted up my light summer dress, deciding that since the romantic vacation of ours is long gone, might as well put on decent clothes and brush my hair.

I sat with my knees bent in the center of the bed, staring at Zuko’s broad back with uncertainty, “Uh, now what?” I awkwardly muttered, expecting some damn magic trick to happen, but instead, he dropped like a rag doll.

Zuko’s raven hair spilled over my lap, his head dropping flawlessly between my legs as he squeezed my knees like a teddy bear – my cheeks turning a bright red at the gesture. The way he groaned, eyes closed as he snuggled closer to me, legs pulled tight into a ball.

My eyes softened, hands instinctively falling over his head and combing through his locks, “Zuko…” I whispered as he sighed achingly. Zuko wanted comfort, to feel safe – and I smiled because it was heartwarming to know that Zuko trusted me this much. To be so exposed as he was now. “I should’ve known Azula was involved in this.”

“How? You thought she was gone…”

“No, I wished she was gone, gone for good. But now she’s back, and Mai-” I found myself cringing at the mere mention of her name, “I knew we weren’t on good terms, but-but I didn’t think…her brother almost got hurt in that incident, why join Azula? It just doesn’t make sense.” Zuko hissed, hands covering his face as he vented.

I sighed listening to him rant before I let my hands fall over his and pull them down. His eyes were dark, lips chapped as he fumed underneath me, “None of this makes sense Zuko. Why would Mai join Azula? Why is Azula targeting me if she’s trying to get at you? There are so many unanswered questions…” I huffed, letting Zuko’s hands rest on his chest as he gazed upwards to me.

My fingers stroking through his hair once again, watching as his silky strands of hair slipped through my fingers with ease.

“Because the best way to get to me is through you.”

I stopped. My eyes fluttering back to Zuko, our eyes locking.

Defeat – that was the look that painted his face. I lamented and closed my eyes, letting myself fall into his figure, feeling his warmth as his hand brushed through my hair, “I promise after everything is done, I’ll take time off. A week, a month, as much as you want. I owe you.”

A soft smile flickered, pulling away slightly and looking down at Zuko, determination in his statement, “A month, me and you. We could start working on that baby.” I teased. And for the first time since he walked through that door, Zuko chuckled. Shaking his head as his hand trailed down my face, his thumb brushing my lips.

His touch was divine, a calming effect that made my breathing ease and heart relax. “Zuko…”

“Yes, love?’

“Why did you tell me not to pack?”

“Cause we aren’t leaving.”

I frowned, brows pinched together as I looked down at him with a look of bewilderment. Not leaving? What? That makes no sense-

“I don’t understand…” I muttered, trying to study Zuko’s expression, “It’s risky. We don’t know who is helping Azula and how many people. If we try to leave, and we get caught mid-way through transport, we’re at a disadvantage. So the gang is meeting us here, at Ember Island.”

“The gang is coming?” I blurted, jumping up as my eyes widen in shock. Zuko nodded, “I need them, they know how dangerous Azula is. I sent word to them, they should arrive in a few days.”

It was a horrible mixture of emotions – happiness to see everyone again, but how I wish it were on better terms, “Is…Azula that dangerous?”

“It’s her lack of moral boundaries that’s the most terrifying.” To think that I met her far too many times without realizing her strength, her power. But if she was so mighty…why did she seem frightened by me the other night? She could have easily overpowered me if she was indeed powerful.

“Yue…” My head snapped downwards, surprised to hear Zuko refer to me by my name. At this point, it was always pet names, names I’ve learned to love and respond to. His lips were pressed tight, thinking about something, struggling to form the words. “What’s wrong, Zuko? Spill it.”

“I-It’s just…”

What does he want to ask? Why does he seem hesitant? Fearful?

“How did you know it was Mai? You said you got into an argument, but I don’t remember you telling me this…” Zuko muttered, and I lowered.

Not so much at the fact that I may have to come clean soon about the whole fist in the face thing, despite Iroh’s efforts of keeping it under the radar. But because that wasn’t the question Zuko wanted to ask. I could tell.

The way Zuko’s eyes shifted shouted curiosity – and I would know that look, it, unfortunately, has been the cause of my many downfalls. He’ll ask me his real question… eventually, I won’t pressure him.

I let my hand run down Zuko’s face, tracing his lips. “Zuko, you need to rest, don’t worry about it.”

“If she tried to start something with you…” Oh, she did start something, but he doesn’t need to know that I dealt with it.

“Zuko, close your eyes, rest…you’ve had a rough day…” I cooed, letting my hand caress his face. And although he wore a scowl, I grinned, because his eyes did flutter close, “I can’t – there is so much to do, to plan-”

“Zuko…” I whispered, letting my fingers fall over his closed eyes, humming the same tune he has hummed to me countless of times. And just like his breathing evened out, his chest rising and falling at a steady pace, his lips parting. And I smiled, he looked at peace – finally.

And I sat there, with Zuko fast asleep on my lap, watching him so at ease. I’m such a creep, I’m literally watching Zuko sleep. But I couldn’t help it – it was rare for him to snuggle up to me. Usually, it was me cradled in his arms. I kind of like being the bigger spoon for once…“I love you so much…” I hummed softly, studying his features. I can stare at him forever-

A soft knock on the door caught my attention, speaking softly as I covered Zuko’s ears, “Come in…”

The door slowly opened, a head peeking through, it was the head construction worker. His wrinkled eyes fell upon Zuko’s relaxed figure, his expression soft, “You got a magic touch.” He chuckled, nudging his head to Zuko, and I smiled, “Do you mind passing me the blanket over there?”

He nodded, carefully waltzing in the room and letting the blanket slip from his grip and onto the bed, “Is there something you need?” I asked, and he shook his head, “I actually came to ask you for permission.”

“For what?”

“The maids and workers were thinking of leaving early, the guards will stay put, but we think you two need some time alone. I can imagine this is a tough time, for you both…” He muttered, and I sighed. Both of our eyes falling upon Zuko, “Was their relationship that bad?” I asked.

He winced, “You can’t pick family.”

I nodded, I knew what he meant by that.

“Thank you for giving us space. It means a lot…” I whispered, and the man nodded, “We’ll leave, the guards are in their posts, something about formation 12 and 17…” He grumbled, a hint of confusion in his voice, “Don’t worry, I’m just as lost as you are.” He sniffled in a laugh, walking back to the door, “Have a wonderful evening, Ying Yue – make sure you two eat dinner.”

“We will - see you tomorrow.”

He shut the door behind him, my hands leaving Zuko’s ears as I started placing the light blanket over his body. I could hear a bit of shuffling, the front door closing, meaning it was just Zuko and me, and a few guards at position 12 and 17 – whatever that means.

Carefully, I got Zuko’s head off my lap, swiftly grabbing my teddy bear and placing it over Zuko’s chest. I giggled tenderly, watching the way Zuko instinctively hugged the bear to himself. My eyes gazed around the room, what to do now.

I was torn.

We were stuck here for a few days. What are we supposed to do? Carefully, I got out of the bed, making sure to shut the bedroom door delicately to not disturb Zuko. And with a successful click sound, I let out a long huff.

The house was empty.

What do I do now? Do I sit for the rest of these days, waiting for the gang to come? Do I act like nothing is wrong, continue on in vacation mode – we’re here anyway. I frowned, running my hands through my hair as I waltzed into the kitchen, noticing the maids left behind seasoned meat. They’re literal spirits.

I could cook the meat in the oven, cook some vegetables…yeah, I can probably do that without setting the whole house on fire. And without a second thought, I grabbed the cutting board, washing a few vegetables before mincing. “What do I do…” I hummed.

Zuko and I dealt with stress differently.

Zuko indulged in more work when stressed, while I tried to meditate, take time to myself to think. And if we were back at the kingdom, and this happened, I would’ve had an idea as to what do. But it was different, we were at a vacation house. I can’t sit here, waiting, for something to happen. Gosh, I would go insane. But it feels wrong to relax, go to the beach and swim like nothings wrong.

I stopped chopping, huffing as I stared at the raw vegetables, “If only you could talk and give me an answer…” I grumbled but quickly chuckled, “Actually…good thing you don’t talk, I’m literally butchering you at the moment. Oh my gosh, am I actually talking to vegetables?” The knife slipped out of my hands, and I slapped my face. I’m going insane. I’m talking to vegetables.

A large pot sat over the stove, and I began filling it with water, ready to boil the vegetables. The water dripped from the tap, the liquid splashing about as I absent-mindedly watched. Water…

That was another issue. I had to train – genuinely train.

I couldn’t avoid it like the plague anymore. I had the skills, and my confidence has grown. The thought of bending didn’t frighten me as much anymore, and I had to thank Zuko for that. He was patient, and whenever I did bend, he cheered me on. I smiled softly, shutting the tap and turned on the burner.

Zuko would help me train, I knew he would – he told me countless times how he would help me. I knew what I was doing, but I needed to refine my skills. I was rusty, and while I could definitely untangle my way out of a sticky situation – it would be better if I were prepared. If Azula was as strong as people said she was, I needed to be ready.

I slipped the roast into the oven, letting the vegetables slowly cook as I grabbed the nearest baking ingredients – a simple plan coming to mind. I could cook dinner, train with Zuko for a bit, and have a few sweets ready for us for the night. A delicate balance between work and relaxing. And I smiled to myself, I got this.

The smell of the meat cooking, the soft sounds of the boiling water while I whisked away. So lost with what I was doing, I didn’t hear the bedroom door opening, and a grumpy Zuko waltzing into the kitchen. His gruff voice caused me to jump, not realizing that a bit of time already passed between baking, setting the table, and washing a few dishes, “Are you baking?” Zuko asked. A hint of exasperation in his voice.

I pouted, placing the batter to the side to rise while we eat, “Sweets for later tonight. Dinner is almost set, I figured after dinner we could train for a bit?”

But the look on Zuko’s face wasn’t what I expected.

The way he scratched his head, still a bit drowsy as he had just woken up, “What are you making for dinner? We don’t need a feast.” He fussed, and I grimaced. Zuko had a certain attitude in his voice, and I could feel my skin itch. He’s stressed Yue – don’t let it get to you.

“It’s just a roast the maids left for us and a few vegetables. It’ll be ready in a few more minutes-”

“And that’s time wasted. Something simple would’ve been enough. We have things to do.”

“I don’t think three minutes of waiting is going to be a life or death situation.”

Zuko rolled his eyes, snickering at my words and I bit my tongue. “You aren’t taking this seriously at all.” He snarled under his breath, but loud enough for me to hear. My eyes widen, letting my hands rest on the counter, “I am. And if we’re going to train, we need to eat. A good meal.”

“And we need sweets too?” Zuko seethed, chining the bowl I set to the side. My fingers pressed against the marble countertop, relax. Zuko is just under pressure. Breath. “I figured after training it would be a nice treat. To unwind.”

“I can’t believe you’re actually in vacation mode after finding out that my sister may hurt you,” Zuko growled with crossed arms. I bit my lips, nails digging into the palms of my hands as I glared, what is wrong with him? Why is he such an ass? “I’m not. But I also know we can’t lock ourselves up inside this damn house and just wait for something to happen.”

“Obviously you are if you’re baking.”

“It’s a damn treat Zuko for after we train! I’m sorry for wanting to help you de-stress from a stressful day with a damn muffin!”

“I’m stressed because you aren’t taking anything seriously!” Zuko shouted back, and my breath hitched. He was furious at me at the moment, and I didn’t understand why. “What are you trying to say Zuko?”

Zuko stomped forward, breathing uneven as he narrowed his eyes, “I’m saying I’d appreciate if you’d fucking stop playing house for a minute and realize we have more important things to do than fucking baking!”

“Playing house? It’s DINNER Zuko and a damn SNACK. We can train after we eat.”

“We need to train now. I don’t want to babysit you during a damn battle.”

My body trembled. Hands into fists. “Babysit?” I hissed, moving away from the counter. Breath Yue, just breath. He didn’t mean it, he’s under stress. Don’t let him-

“You’re weak Yue. I can’t always come running to your damn rescue all the damn time.”

I lost it.

“Come to my rescue? I’m sorry confiding in you is me being weak!” I cried.

Zuko’s eyes widen at my tone. The way his face paled, seemingly recognizing how out of hand this bitter argument has gotten. But I was passed the point of being understanding – he said things that he knew would trigger me. “Yue you know I didn’t mean it like that-”

“No Zuko, you did. And you know what, you’re wrong. Because the truth is; I punched Mai in the face, and I loved it. I almost killed Kayto during our damn walk, but I kept it a secret. And last night, I had your sister cowering away from me. So if you want to be next on my list, keep on talking.”

Zuko rose his hands, a grimace on his face as he dubiously stepped forward, “Baby, I didn’t mean it-”

I pulled away from his reach, my chest heaving as I shuddered. His eyes were soft, almost pleading, and it was then I realized I was crying. Fuck me and being such a damn crybaby, no wonder he thinks I’m weak. Maybe he’s right – I’m just a damn burden to everyone. “Leave me alone, Zuko. Dinner’s almost made, eat by yourself-”

“Babe no, I’m sorry, I’m stressed and-”

I shook my head, turning on my heel - storming away as I flung the door open, “Where are you going? Yue!” I ignored Zuko’s shouts, and also ignored the fact that I wore nothing but damn house slippers. The sand stuck to my bare feet, a few random pebbles jabbing into my skin, “Come back, please-”

The sound of his heavy footsteps on the wooden floors behind me, as I furiously kicked the sand underneath me, “Yue, where are you going?”

“Away from you!” I shrieked, turning around to face him. Zuko stood at the front entrance, face dropped, and I irritably wiped my tears, “I just wanted to help you relax while getting things done, and all you do is get mad!”

At this point, a few guards heard my shout, hesitantly watching, unsure whether to get me back into the house. “I’ll do anything for you, Zuko – I just want you to be happy!”

“You do make me happy-”

“Obviously not if I’m stressing you out!” And with that, I turned on my heel and stomped away.

I didn’t know where in the world I was going, and I didn’t care. I needed to get away, get from this crazy life I ran myself into.

I could hear Zuko shout after me, but he didn’t dare chase me, and for that – I was grateful.

The setting sun cast mellow dramatic hues of red and yellow along the water, the foam sticking to my feet as I savagely kicked the ground over and over. I knew he was stressed, I knew he didn’t mean those things, but it hurt.

And it didn’t hurt the same way when Mai said it or his sister, even Kayto – it hurt more. Because Zuko meant everything to me.

Another sob bubbled up, and I dropped to my knees. Crying in my hands as my body quivered. My eyes hurt, nose runny as I wailed like dying animal. He’s right – I’m weak. I cry over everything. I cry whenever I get frustrated or happy or angry. And sitting here alone as I wept made a longing that I’ve pushed away for years come back.

I wanted mom and dad.

Their touch, their laughter, everything – I missed it all.

Dad’s terrible jokes, mom’s stubborn attitude. If only I didn’t listen to dad that day –running away like how he told me to, and I stayed with them. If I fought.

Would they be alive? Would I still be living in the Earth Nation – with them, happy? But I wouldn’t have gotten the chance to meet Zuko-

I hissed under my breath.

“Why did you say those things to me?” I hiccupped, only then raising my head to look around. The beautiful white house of ours long in the distance. How long did I walk for? I sighed, my feet hurt and it’s getting dark out…

“Here-”

A white handkerchief appeared right in my face, catching me off guard as I tumbled backwards. My eyes widen, sniffling as the hand followed my fall. I sat on the ground, speechless, meeting a pair of stunning blue eyes, “You need it more than I do.” A man murmured under his breath – voice rough and strained.

He was older, skin tanned and brown hair pulled back into a tight bun, “Take it.” He hissed, and instinctively, I grabbed the napkin from him – his tone demanding.

My fingers brushed against his coarse skin, bringing the clean cloth to my face as I wiped my tears, “T-thank you.” I muttered, still taken off guard. I didn’t hear him come in front of me. Was I crying that loud? Gosh, I probably look terrible.

The man sighed, stopping my thoughts as he sat down next to me, looking conflicted with himself. The way he tapped his stubby fingers on his knees, watching the waves ease up the sand, and then back into the vast body of water. Stealing a few seashells along the way.

And being myself, I shamelessly studied him. His dark coloured blue robes. He didn’t dress particularly fancy – rather plain. Simple slacks and shirt, no accessories on him or any ink or piercings. Maybe he lives in the town? Going for an evening stroll…I would do that same if I lived in such a lovely town. But it was his eyes that really had me mesmerized.

They were a deep blue, and they lacked life.

Void of emotions – and based on the wrinkles and scars that ran across his exposed skin, I could tell he lived a hard life. He couldn’t be old – maybe early thirties? But his indifferent expression made him seem older. He abruptly turned to face me, his thin lips pressed together as he stared at me.

His gaze was intense, having me cowering away internally, “What happened?” He blurted. My eyes widen, frowning as I shrugged my shoulders, “N-nothing.”

“I ain’t stupid little girl. Boyfriend issues?” I coloured, looking at the water, was it that obvious? He let out a long sigh, running his hands against his pronounced jawline as he watched me, “Y-you like nature?”

But this time his tone was a bit different. He stuttered for a minute before finishing his sentence. I smiled, nodding my head, “Y-yeah…my mom used to take me sightseeing.” His expression hardened, nodding at my words.

Silence…

My breathing relaxed, playing with the fabric between my fingers. I knew Zuko would kill me if he found out I was sitting on the beach with some random man and his handkerchief. But…he didn’t seem like a threat. Just scary looking.

And I laughed under my breath.

“You’re right…” I wheezed, bringing my knees closer to my chest, the breeze kissing my skin and causing goosebumps to appear. The man snickered, shaking his head, “What did he do?”

“What makes you think it was his fault?”

“Something tells me your boyfriend is an idiot.” I snorted. Whoever this man was – had no idea who I was. If only he knew that he was insulting the Fire Lord. “He’s not an idiot…he’s just…”

“An idiot?”

We both snorted, laughing softly as he bared a soft smile. A smile that oddly suited him. “Well – it’s not like I have anything better to do with my life. So enlighten me – what happened.”

I looked at him, “You want to hear about my relationship problems?”

“Like I said; I have nothing better to do at the moment. So amuse me, little girl.”

“I’m not little…” I grumbled under my breath, and the man rolled his eyes, “Yet you cried like a child.”

“H-hey!” I gasped, and the man grinned, seemingly enjoying the rose he got out of me. “Just because I show how I feel doesn’t make me a child.”

“Wouldn’t know, I don’t do emotions.”

“You can’t not not do emotions. They just come.”

“Does this face look like a face filled with emotions.”

The way he looked at me, face stone cold with narrowed eyes, and I giggled. “You know, just because you don’t show your emotions so obviously, doesn’t mean you have none. You seem like someone who cares…but…they’re good at hiding it.” I spoke, not really taking account that I just met this stranger.

He scoffed, rolling his crystal coloured eyes as he picked up a few tiny seashells. The way he flicked them off his palm, like some sort of game, “Do you pick apart your boyfriend the same way?” I smiled, looking at the water as I thought of Zuko.

Zuko was probably one of the frustrating and fascinating people I’ve ever had the honour of knowing.

He was sweet and harsh, handsome and cute, just the embodiment of opposites. You never did know what you were getting. And while most people would get annoyed dealing with someone, someone who couldn’t go a damn hour without running off to attend some political matter – I could.

Because now that I saw through that façade of Zuko’s – I realize Aang was right. Zuko was rough along the edges, but Zuko was a good guy. The things he said, the way his eyes glazed over and screamed my name as I stormed off, “He said mean things to me…he’s stressed and I know he didn’t mean it but…”

My voice trailed off. Looking at the different tones of white sand that we sat on. I knew Zuko didn’t mean those words, but I was still upset. Just with everything going on, a large pout formed on my lips as I huffed.

“You love him?” The man beside me grumbled, shaking his head as if loving someone was something to be disappointed about.

I nodded, biting my lip as I brushed my hair behind my ear, “I love him a lot…” The man snickered, shaking his head at my words. “Do you love someone?” I asked, curious to learn about this strange man. He scoffed, and I rolled my eyes, “Let me guess – you don’t do love.”

The man glanced at me with an amused look as he scratched his chin, “Depends. Some would say I’m driven by love, while others would say I’m driven by everything but love.”

He watched the way I pouted, ready to ask more questions, but he glared, “You’re a curious one.” I reddened, looking back at the water. “Yeah…my boyfriend tells me all the time.”

In fact, Zuko tells me tons of things.

He always says how smart I am, how beautiful I am and how he wants a family with me and- “Thank you.”

The man turned his head to me once again, brows pinched together as he looked at me with a puzzled look, “For what? I gave you a napkin.”

“For helping me feel better about the fight with my boyfriend.”

The man rolled his eyes, starting to shift in the sand as he stood. I followed his lead, dusting off the sand that stuck to my summer dress. I have to wash my feet for sure, I hate the feeling of sand between my toes.

I held the napkin, turning to the man, “Your handkerchief…” I mumbled, and the man scrunched his nose. “Keep it…” And I realized why. It was kinda dirty because of me. I pouted, pulling the fabric to my chest, “If you come tomorrow in the morning, I can give it to you washed-”

“Don’t bother.” He mumbled, crossing his arms as he huffed, “Go, little girl. It’s late.”

I nodded. But despite knowing that the sun was almost set and I had a bit of walking to do, my feet didn’t leave. I studied the man in front of me. He was tall, a large build, sharp features, but I was once again absorbed in his eyes. His blue eyes, they reminded me of someone, and I smiled softly.

“You’re a really good person.” I hummed, and the man’s eyes widen. The way his thin lips parted, shaking his head, “Only for today.” I tilted my head at his words, puzzled. He seemed to be speaking in code this whole time. “Why only for today…?”

“It’s my birthday.”

My eyes widen, jumping upwards as I clapped, “Happy birthday! I hope you got to spend it with family and friends.” He nodded, shrugging his shoulders, “…I did – family.”

I took a few steps back, smiling and waving, “I’m glad, and don’t forget – everyone has a bit of good and bad in them, but it’s up to us to decide what side we want people to see.” The man smiled, arms crossed as he nodded his head. A smile, it really did suit that grumpy face of his.

“Hope to see you soon, mister!” I chirped, before turning on my heel to go back to Zuko.

I didn’t know who that man was, but he had some good in him. He looked scary, and he spoke roughly, but he seemed kind. I held the handkerchief closer to my chest, skipping back to my beacon, home.

The lights from inside the house glistened against the white stone, the sky dark and the moon shining. A few guards spotted me, their faces bearing soft smiles and relief. But they never approached me, just gave me hidden smiles. I really shouldn’t have left like that, I probably made everyone worry.

My hand reached forward, turning the knob with ease, surprised it was left unlocked. I pushed the door slowly, my head peeking through and letting my body slip inside with ease. The house was eerily quiet, but it didn’t take long for my eyes to spot Zuko. It was like a natural skill of mine, being able to detect that man from miles away.

He slouched in the couch, face in hands, grumbling to himself and I frowned. No matter how upset I was, it hurt seeing him like that. My fingers glided along the door edge, trying to shut the door soundlessly, but the clicking sound caught Zuko’s attention.

His head shot upwards, eyes wide the moment he spotted me.

I didn’t get a chance to breathe, let alone think.

Zuko jumped from his seat, hastily running to me. The way his arms wrapped around my body, pressing me so close to his chest, stuffing his face into my neck. I gasped, wincing at his tight grip but he didn’t loosen – instead, he hugged me tighter.

“Z-Zuko I can’t breath.” I groaned, but he just scoffed, ignoring my pleas as his hands ran up my hair and back, “I thought you left me.”

My body stiffen, inching away slightly to look at his face. His eyes were glossy and red, and it clicked. Was he crying? I really frightened him- “Zuko,” I whispered, my hands reaching to cradle his face. Was he insane? He thought I would leave him? Sure we fought, but I wouldn’t leave him over a damn argument.

I wouldn’t leave him because things in life were starting to get tough. I loved him – and that meant through the good and bad times. Because that was what love was.

“I shouldn’t have said those things – I just took everything out on you for no reason and-”

“No Zuko I’m sorry for leaving like that. I know you’re stressed and I’m sorry for-”

But Zuko pulled away, a scowl on his face as he looked at me with bewilderment, “Why are you apologizing? You did nothing wrong! It was literally all me.” He huffed, staring at me with such disbelief. I frowned, biting my lip, “Because I know you didn’t mean anything you said, but I let it get to me and-”

“There’s no and Yue. I hurt you, I should be the one on my knees begging for you to stay, for your forgiveness.” And I grimaced because the look on Zuko’s face killed me.

He looked so worn out, hands running through his hair as he stared at me. “I just get so fucking scared. I know you can handle yourself, everyone tells me how strong you are but just the thought of something happening makes me sick to my stomach.”

I opened my mouth to calm him, but he was faster. The way Zuko’s hands grabbed my hips, pressing me up against the front door. His forehead against mine, cheeks flushed, as we stared into each other’s golden eyes. “I don’t know why I said those things, I just get so overwhelmed whenever things involve you. I-it’s like I change. I ruled this Nation for years without an issue, and you come along, and the thought of tying my damn shoes overwhelms me.”

The way Zuko spoke, words flowing out of his mouth in a jumble. His cheeks were glowing, forehead scrunched upwards as he struggled to breathe. “I love you – and I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for you. For when Mai said whatever she said to you. When you fought with Kayto and my sister-”

My hands cupped his face, feeling his fair skin underneath my fingers. “And Yue…you’re not weak. I never meant that. You’re the strongest person I’ve met. The most patient and beautiful woman I know.” My cheeks flushed hearing his words, trying to look away as I bit my lips, tears threatening to pool over. Because hearing those words slip out of those precious lips made my stomach flutter and heart pound.

But Zuko's hands trailed upwards, cupping my face in his hands and forcing me to gaze at him once again. The way his thumb trailed along my lips, my lips parting as we stood so close to each other. “I promise, tomorrow, we train. And you can kick my ass all fucking day.” I cracked a smile, laughing softly. The way Zuko chuckled, his breath tickling my lips.

I let my fingers trail along Zuko’s jaw, his eyes studying my lips, and my eyes staring at his. The way Zuko’s chest rose, his thumb rubbing my bottom lip tenderly. “I love you, please don’t leave again. I-I’ve had so many people walk out of my life, and if you walk out to I-” With an affectionate peck, I shut Zuko up.

I knew of the pain.

The loss.

The want.

My eyes fluttered close, feeling him press me up against the front door as I hummed softly. His plush lips against mine, the way we danced to a sweet tune – a single song that only we shared. Zuko groaned, his hands intertwining with mine, spreading them against the wall behind us. I gasped, the kiss turning from a sweet dance to a possessive want – a need.

“I love you, Zuko.” I gasped, hands held against the wall, loving the feeling of being completely engulfed by Zuko. His lips turned upwards, my eyes fluttering open as he playfully rubbed the tip of his nose against mine, “Go wash up, I’ll heat up dinner to eat.”

“You didn’t eat yet?”

The way Zuko looked at me, surprised that I would even ask such a question. “Of course not, not without you. I’ll set the bath and heat the water for you, and while you bathe, I’ll set up dinner.” I smiled, his hands untangling from mine, watching him step back. And before I knew it, my mouth opened. Asking him a question that had been itching my mind the moment I got here, “Zuko…were you crying?”

The way Zuko tensed, looking over his shoulder with the brightest red tinge. He looked like he got caught red-handed, holding a flustered look as he struggled to speak, “Hurry up and get that cute little ass of yours inside that bathtub before I change my mind of heating up the water for you.” He grumbled, shyly walking away while rubbing his head.

A grin painted my face, giggling as I eagerly skipped behind him.

I got my answer.

Disclaimer: I do not own any Avatar characters portrayed in this story besides Ying Yue Jiang, Lia, Kima, and any future creations.

❤ Buy me a coffee? ❤

#Zuko x OC #zuko x reader #Zuko #Avatar The Last Airbender #atla zuko #atla: zuko #Fire Lord Zuko #Prince Zuko #Series #Love Story #Romance #Love #Firebender #Masterlist #Waterbender #Atla #Smut #Thanks for reading!#thanks for the support

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echoghost1 · 4 years ago

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Finally able to get this prompt done! When it doubt, continue something you started as a one shot!

This is a continuation of Phanniemay 2017’s Day 7 Rituals, then followed by this year’s DannyMay Day 21 Ooze followed by Day 22 Isolation

you can enjoy continuing this saga here

or down below

Maddie couldn't stop thinking about what Danny had told her. Not only had a ghost possessed him, a feat she thought was only capable in horror movies once the act of Overshadowing came to light. It was so intense.

He'd been pushed out of his body? His consciousness removed? How was that even possible?

Was that what would happen to anyone who got possessed or was it because of his ectoplasmic contamination? Was that just the specialty of that ghost?

But the thing that plagued her mind was worse than the implications of potential, worse than the theories about these monsters that she could cook up.

It was her worry about her son.

He seemed almost casual when regaling this horror story, practically blasé about the whole thing. Heck, he had apparently nearly forgotten all about it? How could something so intensely dramatic not leave a bigger mark on his psyche? It was almost like this wasn't the worst thing that ever happened to him.

Maddie froze. Not the worst thing? What could be worse?

What else hadn't he told her?

She had to know. If she couldn't get the information from the source, she'd do her research, someone had to know something right?

Maddie had started by asking her ever perceptive daughter. Surely she would notice if Danny was hiding things.

Jazz didn't reveal much. Other than saying that Danny did his best to clear out the second any ghosts showed up. She also promised to keep a closer eye on him.

Maddie just hoped she'd be able to catch anything before it got too bad.

Next Maddie waited until school was back in session, a few days in, to let the routine fall back into place before she continued her quest for knowledge.

She changed into her civilian clothes before making her way to the school, she wasn't here for ghosts.

Maddie knocked on the doorframe to Mr. Lancer's office and waited to be invited in.

"Ah, Mrs. Fenton. What do I owe the pleasure?"

"I was hoping to ask," she hesitated, not really sure how to put it without sounding like a bad mother, "to ask you about my son, Danny. Has he ever been attacked by a ghost at school? Been directly targeted?"

"Danny? Oh heavens no. He's always the first to run for cover. No idea where he hides, but it must be effective."

"Oh?"

"No one can ever seem to find him. Even his friends end up sputtering for answers."

"How often does this happen?"

"It'd be easier to ask how often it doesn't. The ghost attacks on the school are almost daily." He paused then gave her a concerning look, "I thought you of all people would know that."

"I- Right of course." Gosh was it really that bad? No wonder they resorted to magic to try and protect themselves. Not that it did them any good.

"Then again, now that you bring it up. Danny isn't always just the first to leave. It's more than that." Mr. Lancer gasped, "Wuthering Heights! I think he tends to leave before the ghosts show up! I don't know how I didn't notice it before. I'll have to confer with the rest of the staff to be sure, but gosh if that's true he's like some sort of human ghost alert system."

"That reminds me I have something I need to do at home." She fibbed before ducking out of the office.

Her mind raced as she sped home. If Lancer was right, she'd need to test it.

The plan itself wasn't complicated. The hard part was setting up the pieces first. She checked her watch and waited.

Danny was surprisingly quiet as he entered, if she wasn't actively watching he would have just slipped by completely. When did he get so sneaky?

"Hi honey, how was school?" She called from the kitchen making sure she was loud enough.

"Fine, I guess." He shrugged as he made his way towards the fridge.

With him distracted she held up her hand and used her fingers to countdown from 5. Her eyes watched Danny intently the whole time.

He was still rummaging around for food when he abruptly stopped, his body went ridged with a gasp. Quickly pulling his head out and slammed the door. "Gotta go!"

"Danny, wait!" She easily outran him and blocked his path. "Where are you going?"

"Bathroom," he blurted out, "geez can't a guy go to the bathroom in his own house?"

Well, he was definitely getting better at lying, still bad, but better. "Danny you don't have to hide. Your Dad can handle it."

"Handle what?" He asked but his attention was clearly split. His need to flee apparent in his fidgeting posture.

"The ghost. It's just a small one."

"Ghost? What ghost? Who said anything about a ghost?"

She placed a hand on his shoulder, "Sweetie it's okay. I know."

"Know? Know what exactly?" He asked, pulling back half a step.

"That you're psychic. I just don't understand why you thought you needed to hide it."

"Psychic? I'm not psychic." He denied.

"Then what do you call it?"

Danny was beyond exasperated, "What are you talking about?"

She sighed and urged him to sit down. After some reluctance he relented. "I had a hunch and needed to test it.” She started, “Your father is outside, behind the fence, he released one of the samples."

"You released a ghost outside? On purpose? Why?"

"To see your reaction."

It only took a moment for Danny to catch on. "My ghost sense?"

"Is that what you call it?" That was so precious, he must have named it so it didn't seem so scary. "So how does it work?"

He gave a noncommittal, "I dunno." He leaned back in his chair, "and I don't get why you think that makes me psychic."

"You don't need to see or hear the ghost, and yet you are just aware that it's around. How is that not psychic? And does it only work on ghosts?"

"What else would it work on?" He asked, honestly confused.

"So it's not just a general danger sense." Maddie mused aloud.

"Don't think so." He looked away suddenly self-conscious, "so you're not mad?"

"Mad? Why would I be mad?"

"Because I lied."

"I can't say I'm happy about it, but I'm not mad at you."

"Just disappointed then." Danny slummed so deep into his chair that you could hardly call it sitting. Only his back touched the chair, his arms hung listlessly at his sides.

"No, I'm just confused. Why did you think you had to hide it in the first place?"

He sighed and pulled himself back up. "I don't know." He kept his gaze down at his hands, "At first I didn't understand it. I thought it would just go away if I ignored it. But it didn't. It got stronger," his eyes flicked up to her, watching for her reaction.

She did her best to show support, doing all she could to hide the hurt in her heart seeing him like this.

It worked and he continued, "I haven't really tested it. Not scientifically. It starts with this feeling, like I’m not alone. Then I get cold and see my breath. It always points me in the right direction."

"Away from the dangerous ghost?"

"No. Always towards it."

She wanted to question that, but he stood up abruptly and stared out the window.

"What was the ghost you released?" A visible white-blue mist escaped his lips as he spoke, slowly drifting up to the ceiling before making its way to the window. Just as he said it would.

"It was just a small one. A little animal looking one."

"Well, it's not alone now." He turned back to her and held out his hand, "let's go help Dad." He smiled despite the mist in his mouth. The courage he was showing her filled her with a level of pride she wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to verbalize.

So she took his hand instead.

#Danny Phantom #phan fic #dannymay2020 #prompt mask #Maddie Fenton #tfw when your horror story one shot turns into an almost reveal fic #gotta say I'm a sucker for people *almost* figuring his secret out but not

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artificialqueens · 5 years ago

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Royals 6/9: I Believe That You See Me For Who I Am (Branjie)- athena2

A/N: There’s a lot of feelings in this chapter! Thank you all so much for all the feedback, each comment really is important to me. I hope you leave some feedback on this chapter! Title from Love song by Lana Del Rey. Writ is the most amazing beta and I can’t thank them enough for their help!

***Please note this chapter does have a panic attack, social anxiety, and aspects of an unhealthy relationship***

—

Vanessa opens her eyes to another day in the north, her teeth not chattering for once thanks to Brooke’s blankets. A reminder that Brooke is not what she expected, not what the early signs indicated she was. Vanessa isn’t sure exactly what she and Brooke are–is ‘friends’ too much of a stretch for someone she wanted to kick mere weeks ago?–but maybe it doesn’t need a name. Maybe she can just enjoy a day with Brooke and her soft voice, not the commanding one everyone else heard. If only she had had Brooke’s voice giving her lessons instead of her tutor’s dull monotone, she might have actually paid attention.

A loud meowing sounds at the window. What is with the animals up north and their obnoxious sounds? How could a cat even be that loud?

She shrugs off her eight layers of blankets and peeks out the window to reveal two cats huddled on the edge of the grass. One is smoky gray, the other swirly brown, and even from here, Vanessa can see that the poor things are underfed; realizing that they’re probably strays, she forgets her annoyance.

The meowing continues, and suddenly a tall figure makes its way toward them, bowl in hand and a loaf of bread under one arm. It’s Brooke, getting on her hands and knees by the cats, setting the bowl in front of them and breaking bread into chunks that she offers to each cat, their tongues darting out. Brooke even extends her hand and lets the gray one lick her.

Vanessa smiles, and turns away before her heart starts to feel something she can’t fight.

—

“Big feast tomorrow,” Vanessa comments as they enter the castle courtyard.

“I hate feasts.” Brooke mutters.

“Me too. The only good part is the food.”

“I just hate having to talk to so many people, and they’d all know if I make a mistake or say something wrong.”

“You can make mistakes, Brooke.”

“I can’t.” Brooke’s eyes darken and Vanessa’s heart surges with regret. She wishes she could help Brooke somehow, but she knows that there’s just no getting out of certain situations, having felt the suffocating burden herself.

She can’t help Brooke escape the wedding, but if only there was something she could do to make Brooke laugh, or even just smile… she remembers the pride swelling in her chest when she got Brooke to laugh for the first time, how it was like she had uncovered a treasure. She’s learning that Brooke is a tightly wrapped chocolate, and if you’re willing to untwist and unravel all the polished, pristine layers, the inside is sweet and rich, nurturing the soul, and all Vanessa knows is that she wants to keep Brooke safe from anyone that would rip and tear at her in pursuit of the prize.

But right now, Brooke’s seal is just too tight. The circles under her eyes are more pronounced than ever, stark against pale skin, and she has the weight of the world on her slim shoulders even though her posture remains flawless.

What could she do? Vanessa sticks her gloved hands into a fresh pile of snow, shaping it into a rough ball. She rears her arm back…

“Hey!” Brooke spins around to find the assailant, brushing snow off her shoulder.

Vanessa gives an exaggerated shrug in mock innocence.

“I know it was you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Vanessa raises an eyebrow.

“I could have you arrested for treason,” Brooke threatens, voice light.

“You could. Or you could throw one back, even things out.” Vanessa encourages.

Brooke scoops up a handful of snow, then lets it slip through her fingers with a shake of her head. “I can’t. It isn’t proper. Princesses don’t throw snowballs.”

Vanessa can see the longing in her, just how badly she wants to but won’t let herself. How a part of her is trapped inside, locked in place by her title. Vanessa gathers another mound of snow and lobs it at Brooke. “Well, I just did,” she retorts, “Twice.”

A spray of white shoots toward Vanessa and almost knocks her over. Brooke grew up with this snow, and her aim, like everything else, is perfect. Vanessa is too busy laughing and dodging the onslaught to produce her own ammunition, collapsing to the snow in a fit of laughter, and her stomach is burning when Brooke offers her a hand up, similarly grinning.

Brooke reaches out and brushes the snow out of Vanessa’s hair. Her touch is light but Vanessa feels it deep in her body, maybe even on her heart. Brooke’s eyes narrow in focus, brow furrowing, and Vanessa doesn’t dare breathe and disturb her concentration. It’s only when Brooke’s cheeks bloom soft pink and she tears her hands away that Vanessa notices the snow has been out of her hair for over a minute now.

“Should we go get lunch?” Brooke suggests. “The bakery has a new soup this week.”

“Soup it is.”

—

The bakery’s soup is so thick and flavorful that Vanessa proclaims she’s having it for lunch again the next day, and that’s exactly what they do.

Brooke is standing in line to get two bowls and Vanessa is sitting at a table toward the edge of the village square when she sees a flash of dark hair leaving a pub. She gets up and ducks around a shop, thinking that she’d rather get run over by a horse than have a conversation with him, when he appears behind her and there’s no escape.

“Enjoying your day in the village?” Thomas inquires.

“I could ask you the same question,” Vanessa deflects. Based on what Brooke told her, she’s already decided he doesn’t deserve her kindness, and the predatory way he peers at her and keeps glancing over at Brooke makes her hair stand on end, solidifying her decision.

He smirks. “Just working on some business dealings.”

“Does Brooke know your business takes place in a pub?”

“I’m sure she suspects, though I doubt she cares. She only cares about herself, haven’t you noticed? That’s why she’s marrying me, to make herself look better–”

“That’s not true!” Vanessa snaps, though a few weeks ago she would have made the same declaration herself. But last week, Brooke stood in the bakery line for almost half an hour just so Vanessa could try a maple tart, and she fed those cats yesterday. And as for marrying Thomas, Brooke hadn’t given her many details, but Vanessa knows wholeheartedly Brooke is the one being taken advantage of, not Thomas. Another thing she’d gotten wrong at the beginning of this trip.

He sneers at her. “Brooke’s on her way back now. I don’t think you’ll be telling her about this, will you?”

“Are you threatening me?” her hands fly to her hips. “I’m not afraid of you.”

“No,” he answers, “You’re not.” And then his face darkens like a storm cloud. “But Brooke is. I think it’s better for her if she doesn’t know about our little meeting, don’t you agree?”

He walks away because he knows he’s won, and Vanessa has to force her jaw closed. She could handle herself, but if he’s going to threaten Brooke, she can’t risk it. She thought Thomas was just a social-climbing prince using Brooke to give himself higher status, but could he be a bigger threat than she thought?

Damn it. Why could she never see the danger, never see the teeth of the beast, until they snapped shut around her?

Her heart aches, but she knows she has to stay silent to keep Brooke safe.

She goes back to the table just as Brooke sits and slides her a bowl. “Everything all right?”

“Of course.”

Brooke’s face is cut deep with worry as she eats her soup and Vanessa just wants her to be happy again.

“Did I tell you about the time Silky knocked over an entire display of apples? She wanted to make a game out of it, see how many she could pull out before the whole thing fell.”

“How many did she pull?” Brooke asks.

“Two. Then it was an avalanche.”

Brooke breaks off into that snorting laugh that Vanessa can’t help but smile at. Brooke didn’t even hesitate to do it this time, and she’s coughing by the time she’s done.

“It sounds like you three have a lot of fun.”

“We do.” Vanessa smiles, a rush of affection for her friends flooding her. It gets washed away by sadness though, at Brooke’s look of longing.

“That’s nice. It must be nice. To have a friend, I mean,” Brooke says softly. “I don’t think I ever have. Not a real one, anyway.”

Vanessa slides her hand across the table and rests it on top of Brooke’s. “You have me.”

Brooke’s eyes widen and her breath hitches; then she puts her other hand on top of Vanessa’s and Vanessa silences her heart once more.

—

Vanessa returns to her room, skin still tingling from Brooke’s touch, when Silky says her parents need to speak with her. Her anger from before lunch has receded but comes roaring back when she sees that hopeful expression on her mother’s face and knows she isn’t going to like what’s coming next.

“Vanessa, your father and I were talking…”

“And?” The last time a conversation started like this, with her mother making that face, she had found out they were coming north a month early.

“Well, there’s going to be some princes at this feast tonight and more at the wedding, and it might be time for us to start thinking of an engagement for you.”

Vanessa’s stomach drops; it might actually exit her body and splatter on the floor.

“I’m sorry, what?” she demands, praying she misheard.

Her mother sighs. “It’s just that you’ll be 18 in the fall, and that’s typically the age when engagements are announced. We’ve given you a lot of freedom, but you do need to think about the future. You are going to be queen someday, and–”

“No!” She’s out the door before anyone can try to stop her. Without consulting her mind, her feet take her to Brooke’s door, but Vanessa can’t bring herself to knock. The feast is in less than two hours, and Brooke is surely getting ready, shedding the person that threw snowballs yesterday and becoming the princess everyone wants to see. Vanessa can’t go in there. She refuses her body and returns to the portrait room.

She takes slow breaths, all of her insides ready to revolt. Her mother’s words slash her like a sword. Her parents have always understood her need to be free, her dislike of stuffy royal rules. Somehow she thought that meant they would spare her a royal marriage to a man she would never love, never even like. Just like Brooke, stuck in a marriage she would convince herself could be worse, as if that somehow made it good. Some part of her had hoped that, even after everything she went through to keep it secret, somehow they would know what had happened last year, would know marrying a man was out of the question for her.

Vanessa races for a plan that gives her some time. Maybe if she tells her parents that she and Brooke have become friends (she’ll even swallow her pride and admit their idea worked out) and she just wants to enjoy the next few weeks with Brooke, they would let her wait until returning home to meet with suitors. It’s not much, but it will have to do for now.

She gets ready for the feast, shedding and applying parts of herself just like she knew Brooke had learned long ago.

—

“You look beautiful.” Brooke leans over to whisper before they make their entrances.

Vanessa is in her favorite gold dress, the one Brooke had stared at the first day they spent together. Even with all that’s happened today, she feels a tiny bit better hugged by the bright gold of the dress, missing only her necklace.

“Thank you. So do you.”

Brooke’s dress is a pale green that matches her eyes perfectly, the color even more striking now. The bags under her eyes have been concealed, her hair is braided on top and in loose waves underneath, her posture perfect.

Vanessa hears her entrance being announced and she trades one last smile with Brooke–the last real one either of them will experience tonight–and then she heads inside.

—

The feast is everything she has come to expect from a feast: trying to remember dozens of names and titles that would inevitably escape her seconds later, pretending to be interested as princes drawled on, answering the same insincere questions with the same insincere answers, and too much talking before the food is served.

Through it all, she’s been unable to keep her eyes off Brooke, making the rounds to all the nobles with Thomas. He has a firm hand around Brooke’s upper arm. A hand of ownership, not comfort. Like Brooke is a prize he shows off not because he cares for it, but because he wants everyone to know he’s won.

High-pitched laughter soars down the great hall, and Vanessa sees Brooke’s eyes flicker to the laugh in fear. They’re talking to Lady Cain–one of the nicer people in attendance, though the bar is so low it’s underground–when Vanessa notices the wine in Brooke’s glass rolling like the sea.

The wine sloshes around again, and Vanessa knows what’s going to happen but can’t do anything about it. The glass slips through Brooke’s trembling fingers, hitting the stone floor with a tinkering crash and dark red liquid splashing over Lady Cain’s shoes.

Time stops, all the chatter in the room grinding to a halt. Heads flock toward the noise, and Brooke’s face goes redder than a tomato. Vanessa discerns sweat beading at her temples from feet away. King Richard gives a warning glance to his wife, then turns his back on Brooke and resumes his conversation with a lord, the others in attendance following.

“I’m sorry, I’m s-so sorry.” Brooke throws herself on the ground to clean the glass, and Vanessa doesn’t miss the disgusted look Thomas aims at her.

“Oh, don’t worry dear, it was an accident,” Lady Cain says warmly before Thomas drags her away, leaving Brooke with the mess and one last glance that says this is not over. Vanessa crouches to help her, giving the glass shards to Plastique, who appears with a bucket.

Brooke’s breaths are more like hiccups and her hands are shaking. Vanessa quickly gathers up the rest of the glass before Brooke cuts herself, Plastique getting the smallest crystals with a broom.

“Are you all right?”

Brooke doesn’t answer–maybe can’t answer, Vanessa thinks, given her wheezing gasps for air.

“Plastique,” Vanessa says, “I’m taking Brooke outside for a moment.”

Her hand slips loosely around Brooke’s elbow, trying to keep her steady, the opposite of the hold Thomas had on her. She helps her out to the stone hall and into a corner, the torchlight illuminating just how pale Brooke is.

“I’m sorry,” Brooke chokes out. “They must be so mad, it’s all my fault.” She shakes her head frantically, words tumbling over each other, chest going up and down too fast. “I can’t make a mistake like that, I’m such a disappointment, I can’t–”

Vanessa watches Brooke with fear rising in her like a tide. She’s never seen anything like this, the way Brooke is panting but not taking in any air, her eyes darting around wildly, unable to stop or connect with anything, how the shakes are hitting her whole body now.

Should she get Nina, or the castle medic? But she can’t leave Brooke like this, and Brooke is in no condition to walk. Vanessa’s on her own.

“Breathe,” Vanessa says gently, not knowing what else to do. Brooke is going to make herself sick if she can’t breathe normally, and Vanessa can’t let her own terror escape and make things worse. Desperately, she adds, “Like me. In, and out.” She exaggerates her own breathing, smiling in relief when she sees Brooke copy her, her chest moving slower.

They stand there, slowly breathing, not speaking, for what feels like hours. Eventually, Brooke’s legs seem a bit sturdier and she is breathing normally, shakes easing out.

“Are you all right?” Vanessa asks when it appears Brooke has enough air to speak.

“Y-yes.”

“What happened?”

“I-I heard those people laughing, and I thought they were laughing at me, that I messed up or did something wrong. And then Lady Cain was talking and it was like I was underwater. I couldn’t focus, couldn’t hear anything correctly, I thought something was wrong with me and then I got so scared and the glass just slipped–”

“Shhh,” Vanessa whispers. “They weren’t laughing at you.”

“They will be now, though, I ruined everything–”

“Shhh,” Vanessa repeats, resisting the urge to rub Brooke’s back. “You didn’t ruin anything. I bet they already forgot what happened. They’re probably all complaining about how long they have to wait until dinner.”

It’s a weak attempt to cheer Brooke up, and she gets a faint smile for her efforts.

Brooke squares her shoulders. “We have to go back in there.”

“I know.” What she would give to leave, to run to Brooke’s room and talk until morning while Nina kept them supplied with chocolate cake.

Brooke takes a deep breath and her face resumes its mask of perfection, all the fears and emotions she just let Vanessa witness carefully sealed back inside. Vanessa wonders how exhausting it must be.

“Let’s go.”

—

Vanessa’s ear has been pressed against her door for almost an hour now, waiting for Thomas to leave Brooke’s room. They went in right after the feast and Vanessa is grateful the walls are so thick because she doesn’t want to know what’s being said in there. Finally, a door slams and someone growls as they pass her room.

Vanessa isn’t breathing as she knocks on Brooke’s door.

“Brooke, it’s me. Can I come in?”

No answer.

“Brooke?”

Still no answer, and Vanessa’s heartbeat is in her ears. If that bastard put his hands on her…

She eases open the door to find Brooke on the edge of her bed and staring at the floor, still as a statue.

“Brooke?”

Brooke gives one brief nod and then looks up, her eyes refocusing as she takes Vanessa in.

“He didn’t…” even the thought of it makes her burn with anger but she has to ask, “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

“No,” Brooke says quickly. “He was mad, but he didn’t hurt me.”

He did, though, Vanessa thinks. There’s a lot of ways to hurt someone that aren’t physical, and while Brooke’s outsides aren’t marked, Vanessa doubts she can say the same about Brooke’s insides.

“You shouldn’t be alone like this. You want me to stay here tonight?” The question comes out before Vanessa is even aware of the thought.

Brooke nods without hesitation, and Vanessa drops next to her on the bed, the silence filling the room until Vanessa finally breaks it.

“That stuff you were saying during the feast, about being a disappointment,” Vanessa starts, unsure where she’s going, “You don’t really think that, do you? Because it’s not true and I want you to know it.”

“It is, though.” Brooke shakes her head. “I spilled wine on one of my father’s top allies. She probably thinks I’m an idiot unfit to rule. They probably all think it. I embarrassed my whole family. How can I ever lead a country–”

“Listen to me,” Vanessa’s voice is firm. “Don’t you think that. Not for a second, Brooke. I mean it. You just get a little nervous talking to people, that’s all. It doesn’t make you unworthy of being queen.”

“But I’m not good enough.”

“Yes you are, Brooke. Whether you’re being Princess Brooke or just real Brooke, you’re absolutely wonderful just the way you are.”

Brooke is looking at her with a hesitant hope, the same part of her that exudes its fierce princess grip probably preventing her from accepting the words.

“I never thought I’d say this,” Vanessa begins, “But I know how you feel. I know what’s it like to feel like you’re being used, like the real you isn’t enough compared to princess you.”

“You do?”

Vanessa smiles bitterly. “I do.”

And she begins to speak.

—

Vanessa notices the hair first.

Long and glossy and black, like a raven. The woman is arguing with a merchant, trying to get a peach for a reduced price. Vanessa struts over, disguised like a commoner, and slams her gold into the merchant’s palm. She takes the peach and hands it to the black-haired girl, who says her name is Beatrice. Vanessa quickly lies that her name is Isabela and ensures her sun necklace is tucked beneath her dress. Beatrice smiles, and Vanessa’s heart is gone.

She meets her again the next day, and the day after that. Vanessa spins a tale of working for the princess, which explains all her gold. The freedom is intoxicating. She is Isabela, and Isabela doesn’t have to hide. She tells Beatrice all her hopes and fears, her dream to travel the kingdoms, how she feels constantly underestimated. For the first time, she is with someone who likes her for herself, not for her title.

They sneak off to a nearby meadow and trade kisses hidden by the tall grass, a world that exists just for the two of them.

Vanessa finds herself buying Beatrice anything and everything she could want. A dangling necklace in one of the shops. A shiny pair of earrings. A new dress with bright red roses embroidered all over. Vanessa didn’t mind. If she could give someone this happiness, why wouldn’t she?

Beatrice is her perfect rose: sweet and soft and delicate. And Vanessa holds it too close to see the thorns.

Things begin to escalate, and Vanessa is too in love to notice. Beatrice gets caught stealing one day; can Vanessa talk to the princess and get her pardoned? Of course she can. A week later, Beatrice is in the village jail for a series of brutal, bloody fights. Princess Vanessa gathers the gold and papers needed for her release, and doesn’t even mind when the rumor gets twisted around to claim that she was the one to get in those fights.

“I wish we didn’t have to hide.” Vanessa says one day, grass forming a wall around them. “I wish we could just love each other and be ourselves.” She means it much more deeply than Beatrice will know, but the general idea is the same. To be open and free, not bothering with disguises and titles, is Vanessa’s deepest dream.

“Oh, I think you know a thing or two about hiding,” Beatrice declares, and Vanessa still can’t see the danger. “Isn’t that right, Sun Princess?”

Her heart nearly stops. She can’t find any words.

“That’s right. I know. I knew all along,” Beatrice continues, standing now.

Vanessa wants to stand but her legs won’t work. Would Beatrice tell? Would she still love her? Surely, surely, she would still love her, after all the secrets and kisses they’d shared.

Beatrice cackles, and Vanessa’s blood runs cold. “Wait, did you think I actually loved you? You did! Aww, that’s cute.” she mocks.

The tears are falling before she can stop them and it feels like her chest is being split open. The princess side of her knows she’ll have to pay Beatrice off, do what it takes to keep this secret. But the real side of her is just too heartbroken to breathe.

How could she have been stupid enough to think someone would actually like her for her? All those kisses, all the times Beatrice had been the only one to understand her…she had just been used, like a toy. She had given all of herself to a person that would have never stopped taking until there was nothing left to her, and she didn’t even notice.

“Now, I won’t tell anyone about this, but there is one more thing I want.”

“What?” Vanessa chokes out, not sure she even has anything left to give.

“I want your sun necklace.”

Vanessa’s mouth falls open. She can’t give that up, she can’t. She’s had it since she was a baby.

“That’s my price. Take it or leave it. I think we both know how bad this would be for you and your parents if it got out.”

Vanessa can’t breathe. She’s trapped and there is no way out. Lose the necklace and keep the secret, or keep the necklace and risk terrible things happening to her and her parents. She undoes the clasp with shaking fingers. She holds it out to Beatrice, and that’s the last she sees of either of them. She curls up on the grass and cries, and is still there when A’keria and Silky find her hours later.

After a sleepless night, she decides she’s done hiding. She tells her parents that someone stole the necklace from her and that she’ll be visiting the village in royal clothing from now on, ensuring everyone knows who she is and making friends with people so no one will dare rob her again. At least now she’ll know why they’re being kind. She won’t get fooled, won’t think someone could actually like her when she’s not a princess.

Her heart is never going to fall in someone’s hands again, no matter what she has to do to keep it in her possession.

—-

“I’m really sorry,” Brooke finally says after she’s done. “That’s terrible. I’m so sorry it happened to you.” Her eyes are warm and kind, and Vanessa knows they’ve crossed some invisible line tonight, that they’ve both seen parts of each other they keep hidden from everyone else, and that there’s no breaking this connection they’ve forged.

“It’s all right. I’ve moved on the best I can.” She sighs. “That’s why I was so mean to you when we first met. I thought you were just another fake nice person. I’m sorry.”

Brooke shakes her head. “I’m sorry too. I put some ridiculous standard on you and decided you didn’t meet it before I even knew you.”

Vanessa reaches over and places her hand on Brooke’s knee. She can feel the smooth skin through Brooke’s thick dress, and she takes a breath. She glances over Brooke’s tired eyes, her full lips, the tiny scar peeking through the concealer. Her heart skips a beat, her stomach feeling light despite all the food she ate.

A soft meow breaks her concentration, and she spins around to see two cats cuddling on Brooke’s desk chair. She pictures Brooke sitting at that desk, doing work from her lessons and staring out the window at the world, refusing to admit how much she wanted to play in the snow. The thought breaks her heart, and she focuses on the meowing instead.

“You got cats?”

Brooke blushes. “They’re strays. I found them the other day, and they came back this afternoon. I couldn’t leave them out there alone! Something might have happened.”

Vanessa’s smile turns into a yawn, and the exhaustion plows into her like a carriage as she realizes it’s well past midnight.

“We should probably sleep,” Brooke suggests.

“Right.” Vanessa’s eyes drift to the bed.

“I’ll take the sofa,” Brooke offers.

Vanessa scoffs. “Not with those legs of yours. It’s way too small for you. I’ll take it.”

“Absolutely not, you’re a guest.”

“Then.” Vanessa pauses. “I guess we’ll just have to share the bed.”

Brooke nods and turns down the blankets. “I’ll get you something to sleep in.” She digs in her wardrobe and passes Vanessa a nightgown.

Vanessa twists her arms all over and whines in frustration when she can’t get her dress off.

“I’ll take it off for you,” Brooke offers, her long fingers making short work of the ribbons, her breath tickling Vanessa’s neck.

Brooke turns away and Vanessa steps into the nightgown, even though she wouldn’t have minded Brooke seeing her with nothing on. She pushes up the sleeves, which completely cover her hands, and promptly trips over the too-long hem, nearly falling on her face as Brooke suppresses a snort and Vanessa swats at her playfully.

Brooke retreats to the corner, her long, pale, arms pulling at the strings that close her dress, but Vanessa bats them away and does it for her, Brooke’s posture beginning to stoop with each knot she unties, and Vanessa rushes with warmth that Brooke trusts her enough to let some of the perfection fade. She turns around while Brooke changes, taking in the tower of books beside the sofa and smiling at the image of Brooke reading in front of the fire.

Brooke is softer and younger in her bright white nightgown. It gives her an angelic look, and Vanessa wishes Brooke could look this carefree and joyful all the time. She motions to the bed with a small smile, and Vanessa follows.

Brooke’s bed is massive. She slips into one side and Brooke takes the other, and there’s still room for a whole family and maybe even a horse between them.

“Thank you for staying with me.” Brooke’s voice is just above a whisper.

“Of course.”

“Good night.”

It started snowing again after the feast and the fire in Brooke’s room is dying out, but Vanessa doesn’t think she’s ever been so warm in her life. Brooke’s back is to her and the moonlight slanting through the windows glows on her blonde hair. Vanessa’s heart is fluttering the same way it used to around Beatrice, and she isn’t sure what to do about it. It’s not something she thought she’d feel again, and definitely not for Brooke. But she’s not sure if she can fight it much longer. She spreads her limbs, knowing she is safe here, Brooke too far to touch but close enough to feel her presence. Secure in her blankets, Vanessa slips into the best sleep she’s had in months.

—

Vanessa wakes before dawn and finds that one of her legs is tangled up with Brooke’s. And she’s not the only one that’s shifted position. Brooke must have rolled over in the night because she’s turned toward Vanessa, just about a foot away now, and having her face so close knocks the air from Vanessa’s lungs.

Brooke is sound asleep, getting rest Vanessa knows she desperately needs. All the worries and stresses that line her face in the day, lines she’s too young to have in the first place, have smoothed out, and she looks serene, her sharp edges softened. Her chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm that Vanessa finds soothing. Vanessa decides to just leave her leg where it is rather than risk waking Brooke. She’s exhausted enough already.

Brooke’s hair is messier than she would ever allow, a loose strand falling over her face. Vanessa tucks it behind her ear without even realizing it, the motion almost natural.

Brooke lets out a soft sigh in her sleep, and Vanessa’s walls crumble down around her.

Her heart has fallen into Brooke’s hands, and she couldn’t take it back even if she wanted to.

—

“This next part is tricky,” the correspondent states, “That’s why it will be left to me. The day before, I’m going to plant a fake story about danger at the wedding.”

“But it’s not fake…” the man says slowly.

“No, but she’ll take the bait and tell the king, and no one will believe her. They’ll think she’s just making it up, and then after the wedding…”

“They’ll blame her because she mentioned it happening. They’ll think she planned it and did it out of jealousy, and tried to use the story as a cover.”

“Exactly. And then the blame is on her and not us.”

#rpdr fanfiction #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #branjie #lesbian au #princess au #angst #royals by athena2 #royalty au #tw panic attack #tw social anxiety #tw unhealthy relationship #concrit welcome #submission

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petrichorismydrug · 5 years ago

Text

RUBATOSIS | JJK | Pt 2

Pairings: Jungkook x reader

Genre: Fluff, minor angst (this can change) | Roommates, coffee shop, soulmates AU | Latina OC

Word count: 2.5+k

Sumary: It started with a small hold of his hand, then it was just easy to hold his hand because for some weird and unknown reason it fit perfectly with yours.

A/N: This part wa written with me half asleep, so I will edit this later

This chapter contains one (1) phrase in spanish, and maybe I will edit this later cause I think I switched the POV but its almost midnight and I'm most sleep than awake.... but the idea didn't leaved me so I need to write this.

The writters block is finally over!!!!

Hope you like. Lots of love

Pt 1 | Pt2 |

[NOW]

“You know, it’s really unfair to realize that romance was created by corporations to prey in losers who thing buying nice things will make somebody love them, when in reality it’s not. That is why I don’t support all this gift giving thing that happens on valentine’s day or B-days. So, I don’t want any of you buying me unnecessary things”

The new ones in this group of friends were surprised, they even had theirs presents ready for valentine’s day; it was in three days. The older ones knew that you actually loved presents although you really did think that it was unnecessary to spend money in something useless when they can easily give you a used t-shirt or hoodie, normally you give them hints when saying things like, ‘that’s cool’ when something catches your attention from their wardrobe. A long time ago you stopped saying ‘that will look amazing on me’ but they still saw the words on your eyes when something catches your attention.

“It is already ‘That’s 70’s show’ time of the year?” said Jin while grabbing another slice of pizza. Yoongi was looking at the ceiling for answers, Hobi pressed his lips making his dimples appear and Joon just shake his head.

“I think I already told you, Hyde is a bad influence” Namjoon spoke while reaching for his soda.

“If you want to call someone a bad influence, that is Kelso. Hyde is beautiful, don’t you dare say something bad about him with your dirty mouth in my presence” Joonie looked offended for a big moment there, and when his jaw did the thing, she knew she almost fucked up “Sorry, you know...”

“He cheated on Jackie” he stabbed back at you, both holding each other stare, the old ones knew this was getting on a dangerous war line. It was not a good day for both and your fights, the real ones usually end bad. On the other hand, the young ones were already lost on fighting the idea of returning the presents or not. Jungkook started to sweat cold.

“How very dare you?” her voice trembles a little, Hyde was your sunshine, your emotional support character

“He did” matter of fact his voice sounded back, in a low tone.

“The writers just did him dirty because he was too good for the show and people started to like him more than the other guys” Joon just shrugged “and for your information, he is much better than Ross Geller, he is a person with and obsession”

“How can I say no, when you are right?”

“You see. I have good eye for characters, I mean, I love Chandler.”

Namjoon scoffed “Everyone loves Chandler.” After a long pause, with the air thick, and everybody nervous except for Jin that was still eating his slice of pizza unbothered; you broke the silence, just to give a message to Joon.

“Sabes que te quiero y eres un tonto, ¿verdad?” a smile made his face to shine and his deep nice dimples appeared. How can you fight with this one? He is the nicest that always try to protect you. Your one and only giant that was there to fight your dragons. Your moon to your dark nights. The hot to your shot. The landscape to your big picture. The plane to your dream travel. He was always there, and you don’t see your life without him. A brother from another mother.

“What she said?” Jimin asked softly to Yoongi, who was still looking for answers on the roof; after a couple of seconds he grabbed his fake wise man beard.

“That he’s an idiot and she hate us all” as fast as the light travels four cousins flew across the living room to where Yoongi was seated, making a mess of popcorn in the floor paired with some complain noises from him. “Fork! That was uncalled for”

“You are going to clean all that as punishment” You said, privilege of living here, you can sometimes order around, and your cute friends would obey you. Sometimes. Even though this time he was asking for doing some house cleaning with all his bad behavior, and by bad behavior I mean, he is being a liar, what he knows is forbidden in this household.

“You are the ones that made this mess, I’m the victim here, why would I?”

“You broke rule number one” Jungkook spoke, standing up taking some empty glasses to refill them with soda in the kitchen. Everyone just laughed at that, because it was true and Yoongi was shook, you could just tell that by his face, but he laughed too.

Looking at Jungkook walk away you were immediately attracted to follow him as if he was like some weird and strong magnet, because you know, maybe he needs help with something. Clearly that was the only reason. Clearly. Before even realizing what, you were doing you were walking behind him.

“Need a hand?” He saw you leaning to the counter near him, but he shook his head with a smile pasted on his face. How could someone so tall look so cute and huggable. He was serving the drinks and mumble some words, but you couldn’t make out any. “You said something?”

“No!”

“Okay? No need to scream here.”

“I didn’t scream, just talked with enthusiasm” you just laughed at his pink cheeks and red ears, but you would not say that to him. Its not polite. But you know what, lets forget about that, you were distracted by how his hair was starting to cover his eyes and it started to be a dangerous future without going back. His coconut hair was like a safe point, but this new him with a new pierced ear started to haunt your days, more because he lived with you.

Reaching for his hair you spoke again “You urgently need a haircut” the softness of his hair was a new sensation to your hands, but it was so nice. There was no way you were using the same shampoo and your hair needed extra care and treatments. Was he made on a lab? Even his eyelashes were longer than yours, or any women you know.

“Ah… maybe, but I’m saving money, I’m going to let it grow for another month, probably two” two months, the words echoed in your head, two months without a cut? That was too much. Because this person in front of you was unique but adding long hair… you were not ready for that path in your life.

“I can cut it for you, if you want” you say still grabbing some strands of hair, Jungkook looked at the ceiling and then at you, the stars that shared the space in the black of his eyes always amazed you, -stars, that was the only option for that shine in his eyes, the light in the kitchen wasn’t even that bright, probably he actually was a robot, normal eyes can’t shine like that- “what..? I don’t know what that look means”

“You want to cut my hair?” his tone could be mistaken for a mockery but was a nervous one with a smile at the end. It's just so much to say, but you misunderstood.

“Well, its not as if I want it’s just that I wanted to help, but forget I say it” you were not offended, but there was this feeling in your chest, maybe shame, not sure you can’t put a finger on it but was a weird chest pressure. The quick and most easy escape was just going back to the living room, it was your want and decision, but the hand in your hand kept you in place. Leaning his head to your hand working on his hair.

“You will not chop my head off?”

“I’m not doing it”

“No! do it, please” if you wanted to name an animal that fully described Jungkook you were sure he was a bunny, but now you were concerned cause you could practically see the bunny in him but also a puppy. A bunny with puppy eyes, that was unfair… he was unfair. He started to notice you can’t say no to him, and the worst part? Even though you knew that too, you still say yes to him.

A big huff leaved your mouth “Alright, I’ll do it. But I don’t want any regrets later.

“Never” his smile was bigger, how so?

“When you want to do it? Let’s set a date”

“Now?”

“You are crazy, we have people over, we can’t”

“Why not?” he grabbed your hand and pulled you closer, not hugging you but close enough for you to have troubles breathing. Why he always smells so nice and baby like?

“Because… because, because Jeon…” a hand in his chest made it worst for you, that was a note for future reference, not that you will go around touching him or something. But it was hard to ever consider that when he flicks his hand to the back of his neck; such gestures make one fall in love madly. Hold on, what was that? The noise of someone cleaning his throat made you both look at the source of the noise, that happens to be Jin. This saved you from a talk with yourself that you surely were not ready to have.

“Sorry, did I interrupt something?”

“No” you cut any word that Jungkook wanted to say and took a step away from him cleaning the inexistent crumps on your clothes. “Just talking”

“About what?” that alarmed you, the look on Jin face told you he was there a long enough to misunderstand this conversation you were having.

“He wants me to cut his hair”

“Ah” Jin relaxed but for some reason his posture started to take a defensive one “she is actually good at it, she did an amazing job at my last haircut”

“You cut his hair?” that was one of the two questions Jungkook wanted to ask you, because ‘you go to his apartment alone?’ was the other and Jin never comes here for you to do that.

“Yes, since a long time actually. When was the first? When I moved here?”

“No, remember that time Namjoon told you I was really mad at that person that chopped out my bangs? Then you volunteered, it was when we meet, like a month into the friendship.”

“Oh right, and that person being you because alcohol do weird thing to you. Please don’t even do that again, its damn hard to fix your hair with that length.”

“Still handsome.”

“I never said anything about your looks”

“So, he is handsome?” the tone of indignation in Jungkook voice was astonish, why was he like that?

“Yes, he is”

“Yes, I am” you both said, you in a normal voice while Jin had an offended one. His pouty mouth was so cute. Why were your friends so damn handsome?

“What’s up with this bickering?” Namjoon entered the kitchen followed with the other 4 guests of the night.

“He doubted my handsome face” Jin yelled, he was not a narcissist, but he knew well he was handsome, you all knew. They all are sinfully handsome. Maybe you did well in your previous life to be in the same room with seven specimens like them.

“Oh! You are handsome dear” Hobi said, patting his back.

“Yes, even Y/N couldn’t help but fall in love with him in the past” Yoongi apported an unnecessary fact of your life, making you and Jungkook to open your eyes as big as you could, if it was a competition Jungkook would have won. Even though the reason why you did it was for different causes.

“Hey! I’m not going around telling your crushes! If this is a revenge for you cleaning, you will be banned for movie night”

“It’s not revenges, I didn’t know we were not allowed to tell this, is in the public domain, the one involved knows, what’s wrong with the kids knowing?”

“So, you dated?” Jimin said with a cute and curious smile, you can’t get mad at him. But the air was thick, and everyone noticed.

“Umm… no, Brandon, that bastard…” Jin said lowly

“Who is Brandon?” Tae asked, munching a slice of pizza

“No, his name is Bradney, it’s my fairy”

“Your what?!” Jimin, Taehyung and Jungkook screamed making you all to wince.

“My fairy… I, we all have a soulmate. So, we all have a fairy, the one that brings the things our soulmates lost. I’m not the only one knowing this, right?” When they nodded you continued “My soulmate didn’t let me” you pointed between Jin and you “let’s keep it that way”

“You know your soulmate?” Jimin asked what Jungkook was struggling to say, but the words didn’t find the way out of his mouth.

“No”

“What is the problem? Maybe you never meet him or her” the words Tae said were true, everyone knew them, they were people that knew his soulmate, and nothing happened, some never meet, and nothing changed their life.

“Its… It’s a he, but…” when you looked at Jin, he and all the old ones knew this was your limit for this topic, cause you really liked Jin, and Jin liked you back, but this was so hard cause you can’t turn back time, you had your chance and you decided to say no to it. You don’t regret it, but still, there is this weird feeling when this is the topic.

“Maybe we should get going guys, it’s getting late” The sunshine to your life saved you with his most brilliant voice and smile that made his eyes disappear. Luckily everyone takes the hint and didn’t asked further. Your chest was aching a littler and the release of air was making you to conscious of the lack of breathing you were making. A hand in your back bring you to earth again. It was your moon.

“You okay? You want me to call Sunmi?”

“I’m okay, really. If I need something, I will call her myself.” then a figure was behind Joonie

“I am sorry, I, you know I don’t have a filter when I’m with y’all” Yoongi apologized

“Don’t worry, I know you didn’t do it on purpose” you hugged him tightly “Still you need to clean” a grunt leaved him, but he actually made a mistake then.

In less than half an hour everyone leaved with small talk and vibrant goodbyes; lots of hugs were given. Yoongi actually cleaned, in a weird way that you almost stepped and did it yourself but at the end he did a good and decent job. You were just taking the trash out of the bin to take it out of the apartment in the morning when you leave for work. Jungkook was fixing the cushions, making them look fluffy by hitting them with more energy than needed, but if it was his way of doing it, you were more than happy to let him enjoy his time with them.

“So” he broke the silence “Tomorrow?”

“What is happening tomorrow?”

“I am setting a date for my haircut”

“Oh right. Yes, I can tomorrow.”

“It’s a date then” he bunny smiled, and it was the most adorable thing, you are sure you are never getting tired of it.

#batgtan scenario #bts scenario #jeon jungkook #jjk #jungkook x reader

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batdaddies · 6 years ago

Text

Madreperola

warnings: explicit content, violence

pairing: orm x reader

about: im rusty, been AGES since my last time writing, tried to post this into orm tag for three times now, hope now works, after you are done and still want more, leave a prompt at my askbox, i need some more orm around, patrick wilson killed and now i should write kinky smuts about the ex-king of atlantis, this is not that kinky yet, kinda wanted, kinda dont, whatever, the whole Y/N looks funny because I made it into a scenario in an extra page on my tumblr that you can actually insert your name into it, but it wasnt working so yeah, i just wanted to post it so i can write another one. You are not a surface dweller, you are a badass atlantis warrior, a lot of canon made by myself, sorry. Enjoy!

MADREPÉROLA - MOTHER OF PEARLS

Orm is made out of duties, ideas, strength, pain and pieces of a man who once thought he could die alone.

EYES

They were cheering, loud within the dense water, they had music, excited with drums and bubbles around the instruments. Atlantis was painted of those sparkling jellyfishes all around, all the citizens with hands up, waving. Happiness was a strange feeling, how deeply it was, he had been going around for some minutes now, and everytime his eyes flashed around the faces of his people, the smiles were pure, how could they not notice the way his father’s hand on his mother was a little too hard? Were they not seeing through, was it too dark? How could they not see their smiles didn’t match their eyes?

He could sense on his skin, the hair on his arms, right under his royal armour, his hands holding the ropes with a tiny shake. The image of his mother yelling, back and forth with his father had been disturbing; he could hear from the corridor, a strong impulse and he was by the door, opening just to see her beautiful form on the floor, the silver trident on her hands, pointing into his father’s neck, who had his own trident against her belly. They all shared a quiet stare between, his mother soon being the first to give up, she had called his name, throwing the trident behind her, a sign of peace for the time, she didn’t try to explain anything, instead her long arms circulated his torso with care, love. But he was stuck with the situation, with his parents obviously fighting, hard, to the point of fists. His father spoke first.

“Tell him, Atlanta,” the voice husky, dark, capable of investing fear in any being under the seas. The wrinkles on his eyes showed the age, showed the tiredness, the madness, and the hard pupils, they were black unlike his own, his traces only from his mother. A trembling hand came for his mother's back, holding her to protect her, to protect both, specially himself from that tone. “Tell him about your time in the surface…”

His mother pulled him out of the room in that same minute, feet pushing the water, mouth rushing his concerns, not that she actually could, however she tried, whispered what she normally did. Don’t listen to your father. You know he is out of his mind. I love you so much. A help with his hair, a kiss on his head, and they were separated for the parade. He watched his father soon joining him with the soldiers behind, the tridents on hands, watched how he whispered something into her ear before impulsing her trident to her hand so she could have, they all sat down on the animals. He had a shark for once he was young, small, only a prince. His father and mother in front of him, on a pedestal on top of a tylosaurus.

The parade was for pride, the kingdoms together for the solemn purpose of existing after the Great Fall. The royal families, the respected generals and war heros, all lined up to celebrate another year. Atlantis was first of course, the Xebellians behind, followed by the Fishermen, and the Brine. The occasion was peaceful, for what Orm wasn’t in peace at all, he wasn’t a man yet, couldn’t understand the factors of marriage, couldn’t let go of the incident, he was smiling at least, because at some point his father turned behind to take a look, and his lips moved. Smile. As his king wished, he did, an order he wasn’t exactly fulfilling, the white teeth where showing, his mouth opened, but it was crooked, and fake. So lost inside his own head, inside his own thoughts.

Focus! Focus! The voice inside yelled at himself, what kind of Prince he would be if he couldn’t complete his duty? When he finally took his eyes off his father’s grip on his mother’s hands, they averted to the side, searching on the crowd a will to go through all that. All the faces, all the shouts. Nothing. He felt nothing. Until his head moved up, and there, far away, on the higher platform for important, high-borns families, on the privilege views. Someone who had the same serious face as him, unbothered gaze, hair swimming, adorning the shape of her cheeks like a crown with a gold ornament on the side, the lips closed on the rigid line of her jawline. She wore purple and suited her well.

Orm tried to recall when he had seen her before, failing. A strange face. But she was sitting somewhere he would known everybody. By the sides, a man and a woman, he also tried to recall their faces, nothing yet. She entertained his stare until the platform was left behind, until his neck couldn’t turn anymore to watch her.

Seemed there were actually two sad atlanteans that day.

EARS

Once, the worst part of his birthdays was his mother, not herself. Not her caring, soft hands, or her hugs, or kisses. Not her smile. Not her blue eyes. Not the blond hair swinging in the entire room in pretty waves. Her absence. The first year without her presence was disturbing, the second was awful, and the third was fading. It was a shame to say, Orm didn’t remember her that well, now. Some years had passed, along memories, and longing. Sometimes he was ashamed to say he didn’t think of her that much, the grieving had a funny way with him, he was locked away in his own room for days, yet no tears. His father had kept the secret until the very last moment, he didn’t know what was happening until the trench was close enough, besides the entire kingdom knowing, he was oblivious, seemed his father had even funnier ways to mess with him.

Forced to look, forced to watch, and fight against his own mother being sacrificed, she had shouted for him, and Orm had yelled back, but his father was stronger, he was right there, holding him still, hands on his biceps, face on his ears, like a spirit from the past, he felt the lips on his earlobe. A bastard. He stopped immediately, shocked, body failing to keep fighting. The bastard. His senses numbed as she was slowly disappearing from his sight. She had a half-breed, treason.

For months, he didn’t know if he was grieving his mother, or her secret. A powerful queen like herself, to subjugate, accept, cohabit with a human… She had lost her mind, yet the more he thought about it, the more he lost his. The thin line of love, and obeying was starting to fade. The King’s speeches were beginning to make sense, the new ideas of a different future were settling right inside his brain, almost able to recite them one by one, the strongest was the King’s wish to make Orm Marius the best yet. The whole attention, devotion and energy should be spent on his training, on his lessons, on Atlantis that had been suffering with the surface for decades. It was showing then, Orm was becoming the man his father wanted him to be, who took pride on the pure-blood son one day not being only a great king, but a dangerous threat to his enemies.

That year was even decided there was no party, Orm needed to train, needed to study; the only thing it happening was people bringing gifts. He didn’t want that neither, but the King said this costum couldn’t stop, it was necessary. They needed to be spoiled, they needed to be known, to be superior. Vulko was on his right, while the King was on the throne, he was just floating in the warm water in the room, his hands together in front of his torso that was getting bigger, a shape of broad shoulders. He wasn’t small anymore, maybe still young, but not that young, not that innocent. If anything, Orm’s blue bright eyes had a colder shine, the traces on his skin starting to look more like his father than his mother.

“And this is the family of Y/L/N,” Vulko’s voice was distance, low, only for him to hear. “Their ancestors served the crown once, before the second war, they were habitating in Xebel, but decided to come back to Atlantis now the patriarch is dead.”

A woman and a girl were swimming close, stopping to greet. Who he judge as the mother was carrying a box with an aquamarine as lock, the attire of same shade, silver bracelets and a kind smile.

She was placing in front of him with the pile of many others, but he never saw her doing so, instead, he was intrigued by the weapon the daughter was holding, dark grey, utterly curvy on the edges which were five, the handle adorned by arabesques circulating until the extremes along the battle marks, seemed old, however powerful. The girl held it with a straight posture, a warrior. Different from what he reminded, but it was her, he was sure. Purple dressed her too well. The hair had four or six braids floating around her face, much like a halo, adorning the cheekbones, the still rigid jawline, and still hard lips. Her eyebrows were up high, pearls on top of them, matching the color of her eyes. And this time, the purple was tight, admitting both of them had grown up, the cleavage was revealing her popping clavicules, the extra skin of her breasts, the curves continuing to her waist, and hips. Almost a completely woman. An attractive woman.

“You bear a trident,” he stated to her, blankly, forgetting to thank for the gift. His face with no emotions, but it didn’t mean the shiver he felt in his spine wasn’t there, a trickling feeling on his skin that Orm couldn’t name it. It was somehow disrespectful, like a question, taking off her right to carry it.

Her left eyebrow lifted even higher, pearls sparkling along in shades of green, purple and yellow, the trident suffered a whirl, and a thug on the ground, sound echoing, “it belonged to my great grandfather, he fought in the war, died for Atlantis.”

The voice match her looks, daring, a reckon, the water danced on her tone, which meant she was not intimidated by him, ready to prove she was worthy of carrying it. A strong presence with a strong sound, even she was smaller than him, not passing his chest for a fact. All the lessons of reading the opponent was handy in a moment like this, her body language was of someone always alert, someone confident, her breathing was calm, indeed not caring who she was facing. The Prince Of Atlantis. She’d be a good adversary.

“Were you trained with it?” the question now didn’t have any second intentions, rather just curiosity. His face finally moved, just a curl of lips, a blink of lashes, and the feeling stopped by his neck, where his hair was standing on the ends.

“By my own father who had it before me,” she said, noticing his icy eyes were staring down at her, a little movement of her feet, floating higher to fix it. They were on the same level, in an uncomfortable silence, if any noticed, the others accompanying them were alert.

“Good,” Orm said, with a nod of his head. “One day may Atlantis need you as a soldier.”

“My honor, Your Highness,” her tongue hit the back of her upper teeth when talking, which he saw slowly, the feeling going down his shoulders, under the armour, to his hands, the tip of his fingers. It didn’t fade until she turned and left the room, legs swinging in the water with her mother by her side.

The day remained boring, nothing pleasing Orm, neither the training later, or the studies, for what his mind couldn’t stop remembering itself of a purple attire, a trident, and a ringing voice.

My honor.

My honor...

Your highness...

NOSE

The passages of his life were made of deaths, every critical decision, every choice given, every chance made only after losing a life. Queen Atlanna had been sacrificed, only then he was able to decide who he wanted to be, a traitor like his mother or a powerful king like his father, he decided to be none, to be better, to be the best in every way he could. Accomplished. The King Orvax had died, only then he was able to rise to his purpose, finally giving him the freedom of being just a Prince; the chance of serving his people, of succeeding his plans for the future. For what, Orm wanted to great, a legend perhaps, there was no insecurities for the throne, no doubts of himself, he knew he could, he knew he would, Atlantis wouldn’t know a better King.

Sometimes, Orm would even forget he was a man of needs. Yet the truth always found a way to slap his face, shouting to be recognize, yelling louder than he ever could.

It wasn’t a subject his father spoke with him about, he was just given a wife and nothing else. Mera, the xebelian. It was a deal, an arrange, and Orm had grown up with her for far too long to know he wasn’t able to love her, he could respect, offer his loyalty, be a good husband, but never love. She was beautiful, he knew, he always did, since they were kids in the adventures through the oceans, when the lights hit her just right, her long red hair waving, she was pleasing to look at, but something was lacking, something was off. Love wasn’t made of attractive faces or colorful hairs. Indeed, Orm believed he wasn’t capable of love. His biggest duty was to Atlantis, to its preservation, to its protection.

Mera felt the same, he knew. She would never love him. They had consideration for each other, it was even good on a side to have her as a future wife, he wouldn’t pretend to be somebody to gain her admiration, she wouldn’t force herself into a unhappy marriage with somebody else. At least, they were friends when young, and time only could help them to have an heir, as he hoped. Because it was issue he decided to mind after the marriage, after the ceremony, when it in fact happened, not now when they are only betrothed: touching her. She didn’t excite him. He didn’t fantasized about her. Rarely were the times he actually fantasize about a woman, even when it happened, his body curling in his bed, the water dense on his torso, thick on his lungs, and the spasms asking for it, there was not a face, or a body, it was just the feeling. Sometimes he would close his eyes and think of purple. Sometimes he would force himself to fight the feeling away.

Vulko tried to talk to him about that subject, voice taken back, an apprehension on how to approach such matters. Orm stopped him, noticing what that was about. “I am not an animal, this alone should be enough for your concerns.”

It did had a toll on him lately, when his young years were gone, and Orm was what others would call proper age. His body at its peak, his physical appearance established, and the looks it brought to him. The servants passing by, their pupils heavy under the lashes, not reaching his own gaze because that would be reaching, but piercing through the armours, on his neck, and lips. They would be intense when it was time to train, when his body was left to feel the water without barriers, they usually had his armour on hands, or food, or bars when it was time for a new lesson. His feet felt the ground under, his torso circulated in cold water, fighting. The muscles lines were changing according to his moviments, too many of them, back, abdomen, arms, chest, all the stares on him. Orm felt he was giving a show, not training. When it was time to try the bars, the servant came with a bowed body, delicate hands offering the new instruments of battle, and his hand lingered against hers to get it. She moved her head to him, the hair moving in the way, able to cover her entire face but an eye. Desire.

That night had been hard to get through, he wanted it. He needed it. Skin twisting in his bed, the water gaining a new temperature his body failed to adjust to, his neck couldn’t even shallow it properly. It was the first time desire won against him, he thought about searching for her, but what humiliation would be for a Prince around hallways, impulsing himself to seek a servant for satisfaction. He couldn’t sleep, the pain on his lower abdomen asking for release, for the torture he putted himself through, his mind didn’t focus on any other matters besides an atlantean’s body.

His journey through this path had been somewhat disturbing after that, women knowledge his presence, his beauty, his appeal of a sleek blond hair with big, blue eyes, a straight nose and a rigid jawline. He discovered what he liked as well, what made him ask for more, not many times, maybe just three or four, enough for him to be satisfied for months, or years, they were usually high-borns, discreeted, not interested in stealing him for his duty, rather having a night with Prince Orm while they could. He always felt bad after, dressing himself and his mind going for Mera, felt like a betraying act. Guilt overcame pleasure easily after.

But the ironies of life were much deeper than his oceans, even with his future wife by his side, so close to him, sensing the water running through her mouth, nose, and lungs, he couldn’t control the desire when it drowned him, it started as an impulse in the back of neck, growing into a itching on his palms, to a tightness on his stomach. The surprise made him lean forward, eyes wide, a predator watching.

She came dashing in whirls, the bubbles forming a tail behind her feet, the tip of her trident ripping the water, and she stopped, arms opening, trident rising on top of her head, the armour was composed of hard golden scales on the shoulders falling through her breasts and hips, her feet had the protection boots coming to her knees, under of course, as usual, the purple hugging her curves. The braids on her hair this time were the ones for war, from the roots of her forehead to the back where they were loose, no helmet, but a huge choker on her neck, with pointed ends curling out of her face. She shouted with the crowd, they cheered for her, they loved their champion. To savour her congratulations, the body swag around the platforms, trident in circles, everybody had their hands up, and she was rising. Until she stopped again, higher, close to the Royals.

Orm regretted missing the battles, he had better matters to attend to, but his presence in the deliver of the medal to the champion was important, only he could deliver it, when his vizier said the champion that year was a she, he never thought that she was the one, he should have known, all his years and she was the only he could recall who had a trident, and was willing to take it to battle. Also, he regretted not participating that year, he would be very pleased to fight against her, test to see what she was capable of. Of course much, for what she had won.

Closer, it was easier to see the scratches on her armour, only a glove on her right hand, the left with blood floating in tiny bubbles, the bruise on her cheek, a line of red between purple and green, but she was fenomenal, the posture straight, not losing the high class, her beauty had grow older just as his. The traces of her nose and lips were softer, those are a shade of red almost purple, and her eyes batted against the top of her cheeks in long, thick curtains of lashes, the height hasn’t improved though, still smaller, and Orm couldn’t describe exactly what he felt when she entered the platform, pushing herself to the ground, kneeling with her entire being, trident resting on both hands, and hair in waves. It was desire, so much desire the water around him became heavy, a pressure on his shoulder he hadn’t ever felt before.

“Your Highness,” she greeted still bowing for him, fulfilling his memories of her voice, Orm had dreamt of it once, or twice, perhaps more times he wanted to admit, and the electricity inside his veins almost choked his voice out to answer.

Mera or Vulko none existed by his side, or the crowd, or the cheering. Only the atlantean kneeling for her King, offering him her trident, paying her respects. Orm held the medal high, swinging his legs to stop by her front.

“My champion,” his voice was raw, and she looked up to his cold eyes, an abyss of darkness, her lips twisted, but in what he identificate as his effect on the opposite sex, and Orm knew right away he could touch her face and she would let him, but he didn’t, not because he didn’t want to, but because she had the right to obtain what she came for. His hands switched quickly and the pearls around the medal fell from her head into her neck, until it rested between the choker and the armour. “Congratulations.”

She finally stood up, and Orm had been so close, the threads of her hair waved close to his face on the movement, almost a caress on his nose, she smelled of the deep currents when they pass the lava and the texture of both were meet in the fire and water, of fresh seaweed in the old city, sweet like battle, like duty. He was private, he was against any public touch, yet the King himself drowned in that smelled and wished to take her right there, uncover her curves, learn about her flesh, and listen to the graceful music her sounds would be on the water. He didn’t fantasize, yet he was, flashing question of what she liked, of how she was once nude, if she had another men in her bed, lost in the color of her eyes, in the halo of her hair, in the fierce beauty. Behind her glory class, he also saw the imagination flowing, of him, his lips, his hands, his body.

“I must know your name,” his upper lip, slightly meatier than the lower, moved and caught her gazing. For the Gods, Orm wanted her.

“Y/N, I—” she whispered slowly, fixed on the mouth, but was interrupted by Vulko, carried the King’s trident to him, Orm woke up from the tantalizing moment when the cane was presented.

“It was one of the best battles I've ever seen,” he said, cheerful, letting the heaviness of the trident fall on Orm’s hands.

“Thank you,” she bowed again, and Orm wished she didn’t, not for anybody else, only himself.

“Go present Atlantis your medal, champion,” he sent her away with good intentions. Go feel your glory. To what she nodded, with a last look at her handsome King, heavy lids, heavy heart, then Orm smiled, a malicious manner, corner of his lips rising, no teeth, superior to all.

Y/N circulated in the ocean, the trident shining, the crowd cheering even more with the medal adorning her neck, and Orm was left with his vizier, with his betrothed, and the unspoken understatement, both knew what it meant, and it was enough. She would come back for him, he just had to wait.

That night, desired had won, and Orm didn’t fight against it, closing his lids and thinking of the smell of her hair.

MOUTH

Orm would never forget the first time he laid his lips on hers, Y/N had a tight grip on his golden armour, nails crawling up between the scales to find any piece of skin she could, it was more a press than a kiss, strong for what both wanted to feel for too long, desperated. They were soft, so soft, and so eager for him, there was no space for anything else as he held her head with his both hands, prisioning the hair between his gloves, pulling her closer if possible. But Orm wanted more, always.

His life was made of conquering, of ruling, they were his first extinct. The times in the past when the shivers in his spine passed through when seeing her were nothing compared to the hammering urge to own her. To be owned by her.

Y/N had parted the lips, her tongue advertising between in hunger, licking his mouth, and inviting his own to taste it. Her flavour was of warm waters, of longing, of desire, and pleasure. Of betrayal, of treason, of unloyalty, and guilt. A perfect mixture of everything Orm had been craving for his life. They kissed as two creatures, humming into each other as battling for more, for survival, knowing they didn’t have time to go slow, to take it somewhere. They only had that moment, and it had to be enough. His teeth came for her lips, crashing down on the lower one as his hands pulled her head back, wanting to both have her and destroy her.

I am not an animal, he had said to his vizier. But the lines of desires were blurred, Orm couldn’t recognize himself when his teeth bit into her neck, the flesh gently bending over, the veins pumping blood under his mercy, and she moaned, body pressing on his armour, pushing her into his torso. Orm lost it then. The first sound of her was the same as winning, the thrill of it. He was addicted to that, to devour her. He knew he whispered something into her ear as his hands helped her to strip himself from the armour, from the crown, groaning when her fingers ran on the muscles on his back, unplugging the attire, that fell on water and then the ground. Her purple attire was torn before she could have the chance to undress herself to him, Orm had grabbed the sides and pulled hard, for he couldn’t wait to touch her skin.

The curves were a sight to touch, the rough hands squeezing her being with want, too fast to remember, enough to feel, they filled with her breasts, then her hips, and his mouth joined, kissing and biting the way down. He had her laid on his own bed, the King’s bed. Almost a Queen. He drowned under her, on the edge of the bed, his tongue discovering her real taste as she wished. Orm could stay there forever, watching her swishing her hips harder on his face, the warrior strength forcing him deeper. Her moans were delicious, outraged, feeling his tongue entering, her eyes had searched for him, watching his tongue licking all the way from the crack, to the entrance to the point of pleasure. Orm sucked her intimacy with his opened, and was also able to watch the effect it had on her face, the eyebrows high, the flashing of color on the cheeks, and the pearls adorning their bones, sparkling. His thumbs seeked into her, opening the lower lips for more. He wanted more. He wanted everything.

The orgasm took a time, showing Orm both she had been done this before and she was not shy. Her feet stopped on his back, the jewelry on her ankles scratching his muscles, serving the support to thrust her hips toward him, and she rolled them many times, moaning his name, sucking water, loud and needy. Orm ate her up, helped her to the limit, took her there and admired the beauty in an atlantean’s cry. Her back curling, hands messing the bed and chest expanding His arms held her entirely, thighs, waist, ass, the skin hot, delicious. Y/N grabbed him immediately by the shoulders, eyes blinded by carnal thoughts, and kissed his lips, impulsing herself into his lap. They were sitting the floor then, and she cried again, the suffocating stretch for her King. He was big, thick, pulsing. Clutching into her back as the groan left his throat, she was tight, and wet; different from the sea, dense, heavenly.

No rhythm, no nice and easy pace. Orm groaned on her lips as rode, hands squeezing her back, pulling her hair, eating her moans, and cries like he had been starving. The breasts rubbed on his chests, the nipples hard, the thighs hitting against his own, and tides of water circulating them. At some point, he took control on the moviments, stiffening her body still, thrusting up into her. Y/N had let go then, nails digging behind on his knees, and back curled in the way her breasts followed his control. A hand came for her neck. Orm gave it a light thug to make it noticed, and didn’t know who enjoyed it more. Him, feeling her veins and the shape of it, or her, rolling her eyes and crying for her King.

Beg for me. He managed to let out, between all the mixture of emotions, all the creatures actions. Beg. And before she could, his feet pushed the floor, they ended on the wall, Y/N was turned and her head rested there. Give me the pleasure again, Your Majesty. She said, overwhelmed by him, their legs circulated together and they held on the glass. The sea outside with the purple and pink lights, gardens of seaweeds, corals, and Y/N inside offered herself to him, a tilt of waist. Make me worthy. Orm invaded her again with power, hitting her hips on the glass with a sound overflowing the room. He held her neck, disappearing his face into her hair, smelling the freshness, the sweetness, taking her from behind with the same strength he used to fight with. She accepted, she wanted it, she could take it. Muffed pushes into the wall with their many others noises, the fleshes of both collapsing into each other, easily mistaken as they could become one, and Orm never felt like that before. Fulfilled. Her lips caught him in ways he had never been kissed before, her body engulfed him in ways he had never been touched before; she was a beast of domination, and the track of who was the one in control faded, of course he gave orders and she listened, however how could he be sure she wasn’t exactly doing what she needed to do to make him follow the path she wanted?

They had each other for hours, and hours, Y/N had been bending for him in every position, and Orm had worn himself out in her arms. Their bodies floated around the room, back to his bed, Y/N on her knees and elbows, on the table with holographic lights that reflect on her skin in colorful maps and letters as she once again managed to get on top, terrifyingly holding his neck, laying on water, on the ceiling, soaring on the sides, clapping on the white material. He had come undone four times with her that night, stamina dripping from the pores, dancing between them in the drift, and Y/N wasn’t done, not yet. Laid on his chest, kissed his muscles and let his fingers entry her core, there was nothing left to do, but watch the perfection of how luxury stripped on her face. It was the moment he saw the future of wanting it again, searching for her again. And for the first time in a night of betrayal, Orm didn’t feel guilty. Instead, he felt peace, closed his lids and explored dreamlands.

Many were the nights Orm passed through the guards on the palace and dived into the dark, using the ruins of the Old City to arrive at her home, more times than he would like to admit. His emotions were always the same, every time seemed the first time. Y/N would greet him into her chambers, they would kiss and succumb into each other greatly, like warriors waiting for battles. She would wear purple, blue and even white; some nights the pearls on her face were on top of her cheekbones, highlighting the sea, some nights on the back of her hand, embellished into the dress, some nights her hair was braided from the roots, not letting him touch it, some nights she would wear diademas of precious stones, and gold. And some nights Orm wasn’t a creature, neither was she. Some nights he would trace her features with his finger tips before a kiss, some nights he would talk, of the throne, of Atlantis, of destiny, of her.

She was far more interesting than he could imagine. Her family came from a line of high borns since before the Great Fall, her great grandfather became one of the King’s vizier at his lifetime, but died in the second war, the trident was a gift passing through generations, her descendants were always proud of it, making the tradition of every heir being trained, guided to, when the Crown needed, they would fight by again. Her mother was from Xebel Royalty, what could and would explain when her fingers moved in circles creating bubbles and weak currents, however not always, she was quite unsure of it. Y/N was trained and educated there, coming to Atlantis when her father died, and her mother insisted she finished her training where he finished his own. His last words were be brave, and never ashamed. Before that, the only time she had been to Atlantis was on the celebration, the parade, many years ago when Orm remembered as the first time he saw her, sadness locked on her lips. He enjoyed the opportunity to ask why then, and her words trailed off, confessing she had an older brother, who by right, would be the one trained with the trident, and he was until he decided to swim too close to the surface, and never came back, Orm remembered his mother for a second, and it faded. Y/N was filling his space when the trident were passed to her, at the beginning, never seemed good, her father pushed to much, compared too much, she preferred the spells, preferred learning about the water, plants; after his death was the moment she stopped practicing the gifts from her mother, to honor him, it was her passion now. That night, they didn’t have any intimacy, Orm slept on her chest with her fingers curling his blond hair, most of his armour still on. A feeling easily to get addicted to.

“13,” her voice was quiet, as if telling a secret, the ringing a massage on his ears, he turned his face and felt her soft lips touching his cheek, they formed a smile. The fingers on his rib cage were gently tracing a scar there, the skin was rough unlike the rest of his torso, the muscles flexed in a shiver when only the long nail finished the drawing, obviously she referred to it. “I counted, you have 13.”

Silence.

It had been one of those night, where just lay together was enough, the warmth of somebody else’s body to press against was what he craved. He was nude for what Y/N had took his armour off piece by piece, unplugged his attire from behind and left a trace of kisses his spine. Orm floated on her silky sheets and she sat by the edge, admiring his bare beauty.

“Kiss me,” Orm said, his tone the same husky, grave, intimidating kind he used to give orders to General Murk, on his eyes, there was an abyss of coldness, the blue not transmitting any emotion, however his upper lip curled, asking for hers, and Y/N trailed off to accomplish, wondering if it was the closer her King ever got to ask for something.

She sealed his mouth with a first peck, then a second, and a third when the ends of her hair decided to play along his cheeks, until Orm had with her games, the tip of his tongue coming to line the shape of her bottom lip, calmly entering between the teeth, licking the inside inviting her to follow, and Melissa did, kissed him like promising to break him into pieces.

MIND

The yells came from outside, not perceived exactly what, seemed more of roars of sea beasts, and soon, knocks on the walls, loud thugs happening closer and closer to the entrance, then guns, the shots took always echoed of metal on the end causing everybody in the room alarmed into a group of protection, the guards pointing and waiting for the riot reach them while Murk and Vulko impulsed into a barrier for their King, who, for the sake of his own good, wielded his trident, and floated in a higher level, the black cape hem waving in water, covering the vision of Atlantis behind the huge glass. A final thug when the last guard outside bumped into the ground unconscious and, with the body light, stopped into the water, arms opened.

When she came, which he expected her to, she wasn't the type to be tamed down, her trident came first, the five edges crushing the fiber the door was, her body seen finally, the curves wrapped up in a gray suit, the boots had the famous scales of an armour, in the same of shade of white she cared on the scales of her shoulders, her hair whipped with the strength her arms up her head, the fingers were interlaced holding the weapon on the middle; the usual pearls where forgotten in the bubbles, disconnecting from the skin, her jawline was a rigid line along the lips, showing the ranger of her teeth, and the eyes… Oh, her eyes were revenge, demanding blood, they were never this insane before. Her biceps recoiled with the trident, and from her throat, they all heard her roaring, when in a first succeed try, the prongs breached the fiber isolation.

“Do not let her pass!” Murk shouted, sword ready to be used, but before the guards could follow, the trident entered the hole, twisted into a straight line and pulled back, having both of their heads bumped against the walls by the necks on the cane. The general was about to attack when, the last three remained noticed the same eyes asking for war were red, and bubbles of tears formed in the threads of her calm path to the middle where they were found.

Y/N stared at him, trident ceasing by the side, loose on her palm. She stared at his blond hair free in the water with the crown of a King, at his rosy lips that had no smiles for that specific moment, at the broad shoulders carrying the whole kingdom upon, and at the blue eyes, where she found nothing, no care, no compassion, no pity, no empathy, just a freezing immensity the Seven Seas could envy its depth. His posture was unbreakable, risen up above her, taller, stronger, with no mercy.

Orm saw on her face the confusion going through her ideas of to say, he knew when she was thinking, her lids blinked fast, he saw her sucking of water through the mouth, she was also out of herself. It wouldn’t be easy to invade a royal ship, all the degrees to finally reach him would cause even exhaustion on the most praised soldier, what was impossible in fact for her was just another task. He had to admit though, he expected her to come to him alone, somehow in private, not that way, not in an one atlantean crusade.

Her hand unlocked a plug from her silver belt, throwing it at his feet, the object a red flashing message. It had been sent last night, at her home, right at her by a soldier who didn’t identify as anybody, simply leaving it and going away.

“A year,” she started, voice trembling in both anger, and sadness, minding not at all Vulko or Murk glaring at her. “A full year and can’t my King at least deliver the news himself with me?”

There were seconds of anticipation, and waiting, when Orm spoke, it was in a misery. “I do not wish to see your face no more. Wasn’t I clear?”

“Orm…” she pleaded, intimacy wearing off in her, the old, caring way she’d greet him at her chambers, waiting for talks, waiting for kisses.

“Your Majesty!” she was corrected by Murk, who snarled with the scar on his face twisting in disgust.

Y/N left a single sick laugh, from the redness of her eyes, bubbles kept falling. “Of course, Your Majesty. I demand an explanation.”

“Leave,” Orm commanded, tone higher, mouth opened in anger, the teeth rangering, and his trident touched the ground under his feet in a warning. The shock on her eyes was not mistaken, she was about to pronounce herself again, but he stopped her, “Leave!”

It was her turn to impulse herself up, eyes on the same level as his, separated only by the vizier and the sword pointed at her waist, and her trident gave the same thug on the floor, for now her face were only anger. “I will not!”

Orm swimmed through the barrier of the two in a motion of arms and floated by her front, close enough he could see there were only three pearls left on top of one eyebrow, and only one on the other, the shine of her cheeks, the beauty of her traces which were harsh at glaring back at him, and could almost feel the softness of her lips. He was glad she came this way, it was easier to send her away in front of others.

The edge of his weapon trinkled in the movement of elapsing it to her neck, a real threat.

“It was an order,” his tongue clicked in every word, unforgiving, the voice raw and collected again.

Y/N blinked slowly, looking down at the edges on her trough, not being able to hold the strong posture any longer, when her pupils stared back, defeated, she whispered. “What was I to you?”

Orm didn’t expect it, there was not something he had prepared for before, his lungs had a tighter grip on their own, the water was too thick for the second, and he gulped, not answering.

Everything.

It was the real reason he had to leave, not for the lack of interest, or for what she could possible think of, no. Not at all. By the Gods, Orm didn’t wish for it. But, six nights ago, when he found himself between her arms and legs, gaining her comfort, he longed for what he didn’t know what.

A lie, he did. Orm longed of her eyes every morning, staring back at him on his bed, longed of her voice calling his name in the afternoon, longed of her smell when he was sitting on his throne, longed of her lips, kissing him at nights. He longed for her profoundly, feeling home only into her arms, feeling freedom only when she was close. It was new, the seconds counted to meet her, to lost himself into her, the way his body begged for her in the nights he was away. In that same moment, Orm thought for a minimum amount of time of a life with her, of how could be to have her as his Queen, present her as his, and valued as hers. Fantasized about not only for that, but much more. Showing her the other kingdoms she didn’t know, allowing her study knowledgement available only for a Queen, swimming the rest of the seas together, helping Atlantis to grow.

The day next to when it happened, Mera and her father had been with him for a mere hour, to discuss matters of Xebel. Her red hair coloring a guilt, a mirror Orm saw his own reflection as his mother. Treason, he repeated at himself. Traitor, he accused himself. Because he was ready to break the deal with the King Nereus, for his own sake, forget the huge plans he had for his people, for their future, he did not wish a betrothed, and he was ready to put his own kingdom at risk for it. Then he knew he had to leave Y/N before doing so, even if in the back of his mind, the vision of his father and mother fighting each other flashed non stop.

What was worst? A loveless marriage or two kingdoms splitting to fail the Rise of Atlantis?

Loveless.

Orm thought he was not able to, he thought it would never come to him, however there were her, the prove. He didn’t know sadness like that until she gave up, trident floating by itself in front of him and left, swimming away. In his chest, a heart he had dedicated only for Atlantis, arching.

His life had never been the same since then, but a Great King would never let life distract him from the duty.

HEART

“Orm,” his mother called, the long hair a whole wave of blond in the very clean room, her voice sweet and delicate. It felt strange in the beginning, it seemed more of a mirage, a memory lost in years, the point between dreams and sleeping where it was blurry to tell the difference, until her hands came in a gentle touch, to hold and hug, it was when the point of real reached higher than dreams and she was there. There. Alive and well.

He was quiet, not for ignorance, but for the animal on the other side of the glass, the small turtle was the first to appear that week, it was the season of year the higher water changed the temperature and fishes were claiming for the warmth, traveling from another part of the sea. It was utterly tiny, and it swang in a circle, legs clapping bubbles, definitely showing off to him for what he was close, the fingertips touched where the turtle was, in an attempt to reach it somehow. A small sound to communicate with him, and it spinned again. There was envy spreading inside his chest when seeing it, floating free beyond those clear walls where he was trapped with only a bed to rest, and a view to mourgue.

“Orm,” she called again, still calmly, noticing what had happened. Months had gone by since the last time he was able to swim in open sea and of course, he would miss it. Her son turned his head, ears in her direction, but not the eyes, still locked with the friendly turtle, one of the only companion he had in days.

Of course, Atlanna would come almost everyday to see him, informing when she would be gone for more than two days, she didn’t say the reason, yet it was obvious it had to do with the human on the surface. Mera came twice only, said very little, for what her eyes had a sense of shyness when seeing his state, then she had come to say sorry, and was asked to never come again, pity was not something he wanted to hear. Vulko came after a long time, both not having any words for each other, it was out of consideration for before, when he was young and knew better. Arthur never came.

“Yes, mother?” Orm profered, quietly. Hand falling at his side, and feet switched in, slow, almost not moving, small inches above the floor. The boots he wore were black, a special shade reflecting the coral lights, and on the ends by his calves, a detail in blue contrasting with the white suit adorning his body, no hardness of armour, no jewelry on the shoulders, the ordinary kind, the ones that, when the light hit right, sprinkled baby blue on the scales texture.

“I took liberty to go into your bedroom,” she started, cautiously, making him turn complete at her over his shoulders, the once rough features of his face were nothing more than plain now, emotionless like the last months had dragged the life out of them, they were still ever so breathtaking, just lacking even the slight feeling to prove he was not dead inside.

As a mother, she wanted to find something, could be anger, could be pain, could be failure, anything she could use to help him heal, would be easier to know what Orm was thinking and feeling when she wanted to talk, but he was a barrier, one of the strongest, like the bridge outside Atlantis, surviving decades with no moving, in the ruins of once a empire. She had heard stories of Orm as a King, not about the war against the surface, the other ones, how he helped the technological advance in their soldiers, the study of the new plants presented in the capital, and news philosophies for their culture, the people had an enormous respect for him, an intimate relationship for what he was always watching his kingdom close. His ideas of change, of growth was supported by them all, Atlantis joined him in the attack on the Brine without second thoughts, and there were the whispers around.

King Orm. King Orm. The real King Orm. He still had support, for what Arthur had the Atlan’s trident, however was oblivious in a degree to Atlantis, to the people, and the costumes, for what Orm had grown up in those waters, under the kingdom’s eyes, won championships with them as a crowd, built new places, expanded the homes and knowledges, and gave a hope of saving their children, once for all. She wondered if Orm knew he was forgiven, not by the Fishermen, but by Atlantis and Xebel, and by his brother. Wondered if he knew the agitations presented in the few last weeks outside his cell was not just guards yelling at each other by another prisoner’s fault, it was in fact a failed attempt of freeing him.

Little they knew, Orm didn’t wish to be rescued, at least that Atlanna knew, because when she brought him some spare suits and some holograms to read through, he dismissed, saying he was just like any other in those prisoners cells, then shouldn’t be treated specially. The only favor he accepted was the window to the depth of the sea, to remember, to still have the contact with the land he was trying to protect. And to remember, that part of him who failed, lost his throne, hundreds of soldiers, his betrothed, and his glory.

“Mother, I told you I do not want special treatment,” he said, the last bit of hoping of making her understand, he wasn’t rude, however definitely bold.

“I found the trident, Orm,” Atlanna stood from the bed, body hovering up in the middle of the room, the crown on her head rather small than he remanded from his young years, when she would play with him, and put it on his head, promising he would be great. From the way she spoke, she knew somehow, though Vulko, the only one present in that room who didn’t die or vanished, Murk was gone, never came back from the surface, and he didn’t tell.

Actually, it was a part of the beginning of his reign, Orm kept locked deep inside the back of his mind to never remember again, a hard task he had fulfilled like any other until months ago. It began with a struggle, when his hand closed around the trident left behind, the silence of the room sucked him into an abyss of despair, there was no need to excuse himself, Orm left right away, feeling the bubbles of her impulses breaking on his cheeks for she had been in the same path not long ago, but he went straight to the palace, two tridents and only one heir; he knocked her weapon down under his attires, under the studies on the tables, where no one could see, cracked the wall and hid there, the only vestige of its existence was a scratch on the material being taken off and placed back again. It hunted him like a spirit in nights, when his body arched for her, painfully, and he still felt the taste of her mouth on his, nightmares invaded his sleep, the weapon shaking the cabinet, shining through, it would break it at some point, align on his neck and take his life, Orm always woke almost drowning. He had missed her in the morning, for when he had opened his eyes for her smile, the curve of her lips an enchantment of their own, he had missed her in the afternoons, her voice of talks, of stories about her life, of Xebel, of her mother and father, and gone brother, how many details she could give when describing what she thought Atlantis could improve. He had missed her, completely, even losing in rare occasion the control of himself, opening the crack on the wall and staring at her trident. He doubted it was capable of calling her into the Seven Seas, calling her back home. He never tried, pulling the wall back into place and scolded himself to never even think of doing it.

And love didn’t fade like that, he grieved her for her death to him, and suffered quiet when he saw pearls, when he saw purple. Tried twice harder, and harder to forget her, focusing on his kingdom that was worth the sacrifice, for only years later, he was able to push her back into the darkness his brain made just for her to dwell, a coffin of black arabesques and red scales, her name adorned on the visior. Yet, Orm, with an extend acquaintance in atlantean behavior, should had know that kind of happiness simply wouldn’t be replaced like that, didn’t matter how much he succeed in his duties, that kind of happiness not even Atlantis could bring back.

The irony was the sacrifice he offered to the Gods passed by as nothing, for there he was with nothing left on his palms. Nothing.

Atlanna saw what that did to her son, saw the eyebrows falling, the lower lip curling, the pupils longing into the ground, and an awful sigh leaving his mouth. What did on his body, sinking into the floor with heaviness, the broad shoulders falling in an inferior posture. The first feeling coming from him. It was sorrow.

“Please, mother,” he begged, trembling. “Leave.”

She didn’t, instead went for him, staring at the ghost of a warrior who had no strength, she smiled in grace, empathy, denying with her head. “The writtens on it allowed me to find its owner. She is back in Atlantis, my son.”

Orm widened his eyes, heart skipping a beat with the revelation. “No, please, mother…”

“Yes,” Atlanna nodded then, careful with the words, whispering into his cheeks, the same ones her hands came to hold, to not let him shatter across that depressing cell. “Do you wish to see her?”

The mere thought of her in front of him, seeing his state, what he came was a shame of its own. Gods, the things she must heard of him already, the fallen, miserable thing he had become, locked away in a prison, no crown, the humiliation it brought to Orm was a reason to never leave there again.

He finally broke, shattered around, his blue eyes red of insanity, pushing his own mother’s arms away, impulsing himself into the ceiling, where his back hit with a loud thug, the roar leaving his throat was enough for the whole building to hear, if not, outside too. No! He impulsed to the glass then, hitting with his left shoulder in a chance to escape that room, go to the Trench himself and be gone, there was no way to bear the emptiness the news created inside. Orm wanted to disappear.

Atlanna yelled in his behalf, trying to get him, calm him down when he tried to divide the glass again, shouting with all his being. The guards outside were moving already, to contain him. Orm didn’t care, he kept trying, again, and again. Until he stopped all of the sudden, his senses captured the attack seconds before, and his body shifted to dodge it. It was no plasma, no shot, just five curved edges piercing the glass. He was definitely drowning when his neck betrayed his commands and followed from where it came from.

As the sun that long ago shined through Atlantis, Y/N was found by the entrance of his cell, hovering like a goddess ascending, if years had any affect on her beautiful traces, the only difference able to be shown would be her hair, longer than before, a big halo around the face, her own crown of braids dancing between the threads. The attire was purple, scales trickling green and blue, defining the curves of a body he knew like the lines on the palm of his hand in the past. Her wrists contained silver bracelets, a match to the silver boots up high on her thighs, where the ends branched gills. And, as the memories, on top of her high eyebrows there were the pearls, the biggest one between them, and the smallests following the shapes, her pupils under the thick lashes were harsh, the same superior posture she had when she was gifting in his birthday, the lips in burgundy color. She didn’t seem happier, neither sad. Neutral.

Orm was speechless, stuck. Emotions he had buried deep down forcing their way up against the barrier he built to protect himself, the water in his lungs missed the automatic suck and felt like he wasn’t breathing at all, he was drowning in everything she was and represented. How lower he had to reach to be enough?

“Orm,” she called his name as a firm song from the Fishermen, tenting to a side, speeding to enter the cell and hovering by this presence. It was a clue for every guard and Atlanna withdraw for privacy. He still couldn’t believe she was in his front, judging his defeat as the rest of his people was, the disgrace he had fallen into, the strongest burden any could carry.

He retracted without noticing, to the corner, head low, his voice tried to get out, ask her if she had any pity left for him, she would leave. Melancholy, his legs curled, and he knelt on the floor, cheek resting on the surface, not capable of looking into her direction. Her shadow engulfed his being demonstrating she was not leaving, her soft hands came soon later, to his face, the palms pulling gently his cheek back. When Orm felt the scales of her attire on his face, realised it was true, relived the nights and nights her chambers were an escape, and before he knew, his eyes closed in a sob, his hands implored around her, grasped her hips, clutching closer, supporting his weight on her stomach, where he ultimately cried, tears mixing in the ocean.

Y/N hugged his head, caring, letting him lament all his lost, to assume him that, in the end, there was still hope.

#orm marius x reader #king orm x reader #orm marius #king orm #orm marius imagine #aquaman #dc #dceu #gabs writing #finally

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butterflyinthewell · 5 years ago

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Headcanon: How to scare Godzilla.

It’s possible to scare Godzilla, but it requires a roundabout way due to his cognitive disability.

Godzilla feels the physiological reactions one gets when they’re scared. He gets that weird itchy feeling in his stomach, feels his heart beating fast, notices his breathing gets quicker and all he experiences is restlessness. There is no cringing away or turning to flee. His body is responding as if he’s fearful, but it doesn’t light up the emotional areas of his brain that tell him “dude, you’re scared, get out of there.” That connection is missing in his brain, it never formed.

The emotion that comes up instead is angry defiance. He processes the situation and thinks he has to stand up to challenge whatever is causing a problem and crush it. He thinks of himself as being very brave because of this.

Godzilla got in trouble all the time as a baby for not running away when he saw predatory animals coming at him. He stood there and stared at the huge teeth / claws, or he screeched and squared up to fight. His dad was always darting out to snatch him up and run away to safety. That was something his dad didn’t grasp-- he scolded Godzilla all the time for putting himself in danger, and he had to tell him constantly to GET AWAY if he saw a bigger animal come at him or he was going to die. Young Godzilla eventually got this and started ducking into the underbrush.

The only real way to scare Godzilla is to remind him of trauma. Trauma is different because it hurts really bad, or it leads to an unknown. Exposure to something that triggers memories of That Traumatic Thing will light up the emotional center of his brain first. He doesn’t want to feel That Traumatic Thing again, so that sets off the physiological fight or flight response. Then he feels actual fear as we know it. He can still get mad, he can still fight, but he’s running more on the instinct to GTFO than worrying about winning.

Scared Godzilla is a really sad sight. He screams. He’ll hurt himself trying to destroy or get away from what’s scaring him. He loses control of his bowels. Sometimes he throws up. He cries, tears and all. If there is no escape he will take a protective posture by hunching down with his hands up near his face to guard his eyes and viciously decimate anything that comes close to him. He will never take a submissive belly-up posture voluntarily no matter how scared he gets.

Fortunately, not much can trigger fear in Godzilla like that. The things that do seem irrational until you understand the trauma behind them. All of his fears ultimately tie back to one thing.

Sudden darkness that he didn’t go into by choice.

The most painful parts of his mutation were spent in nothingness because he went temporarily deaf-blind. This was when he was scrabbling around on the seafloor, eating sand and puking it up with blood. He didn’t know when it would end or if it would end. Mutating was not a kind or peaceful process for him.

Sudden darkness is Godzilla’s literal worst fear. He won’t be afraid if he swims or goes somewhere dark on his own because he’s choosing to. But throw a black bag over his head that’s thick enough to not let any light through the fabric and he will absolutely panic.

Bright white flashes close to his eyes

Mostly at night because it destroys his night vision and temporarily blinds him. It reminds him of the bright flashes he saw when he landed on the nuclear waste in the Bering Sea.

This one isn’t too bad because it passes quickly and he can see again after his eyes readjust to the dark.

But one of the quickest ways to make Godzilla mad enough to chase you and end you is scaring him with a bright white flash at close range.

Long falls

Heights don’t bother Godzilla until he falls off them. A drop of one full body length isn’t a long fall to him, it has to be at least a thousand feet or more (either literally or by scale related to his size). He has to see the ground he’s falling towards to trigger this fear. It comes from his plunge into Mt. Mihara in 1984. The high-pitched sound he makes as he falls is a scream. It’s different from his chesty deep roars.

Godzilla has a very wonky sense of balance, and standing on the edge of cliffs triggers his vertigo. Falling forward is extremely disorienting to him, the same disorientation he felt when he couldn’t see or hear while his body mutated.

The fear stops immediately when he hits the ground. It’s not the impact or heights he’s afraid of, it’s the disorientation of falling. This is a fear he forgets he has because it’s so rare for him to fall off anything high.

He runs into it in my Shrinking Project fanfic when he gets startled awake and leaps out of somebody’s hands. He ends up howling, hitting the floor and getting up totally fine.

Needles

This one is from the Shrinking Project fanfic I’m working on, and it’s a very conditional fear that sort of gets nipped in the bud before it turns into an all-out phobia.

Goro (villain of story) tricks tiny!Godzilla into using his beam and stabs him in the stomach with a needle to see what happens. Godzilla’s beam takes a path it’s not supposed to and literally cooks his internal organs. He’s kinda like an armored egg in that regard-- hard exterior of bones, muscles and flesh wrapped around a fragile interior. The uncontrolled radioactivity almost causes him to explode, but his body saves itself by venting the heat into his largest dorsal plate until it explodes instead. His innards still get cooked enough that he “dies” (cardiac arrest, agonal / guppy breathing), and his mutated healing abilities restart his heart and normalize his breathing again.

The pain was same pain he felt while mutating, so the needle created a new trauma memory. He actually doesn’t use his beam for awhile thanks to this.

Later, the heroes of the story have to take a blood sample to check on his health. He tries to escape the needle, freezes during the poke in his tail (caudal vein) and realizes he’s okay after it’s over. Reiko and Kenpachiro are really gentle about it and give him lots of pets and comfort to show him they aren’t out to be mean.

Godzilla recognizes / remembers every face he sees, so he learns needles are only scary if Goro is holding them and doesn’t panic the next time Reiko and Kenpachiro have to poke him.

But yeah, the unusual fear response is why Godzilla flattens anything that provokes him instead of turning and leaving. This issue doesn’t pose much danger to him when he’s full size because he can crush pretty much anything; being tiny is a totally different situation. The rushes of adrenaline aren’t good for his heart while he’s tiny, and he’ll do damage to or destroy whatever he sees as a challenge or threat even if it means he gets hurt in the process.

Basically, he won’t move out of the way of a moving car, he’ll yell at it until it runs him over. His spines will puncture a tire, he’ll get up and blast the car with his beam because it knocked him down. Something will melt or catch on fire and now it’s a huge mess.

Godzilla does not submit to anyone or anything. It’s never a smart move to subjugate him.

He’ll accept Junior (or Shezilla and Filia, depending on the headcanon) knocking him onto his back during play-fights because that’s not a serious battle for dominance, but he gets offended if an opponent does that to him. Then he gets pissed off and everybody’s day gets wrecked.

He doesn’t get scared if he sees his family (Junior, Shezilla or Filia, again depends on the AU) being threatened or hurt, he just gets murderously enraged and will trash everything in his path to protect them. That’s when Godzilla’s physiological adrenaline rush gets dangerous...

...for his opponent.

So anyway, that’s how Godzilla responds to fear. He doesn’t until something triggers trauma memories.

#Godzilla #Heisei Godzilla #disability headcanon #headcanon #gojira #tw feces #tw vomit #tw needles #tw animal cruelty #Godzilla Junior #Shezilla #Filia #godzilla family #long post

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philosophicallie · 5 years ago

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walk on water

SUMMARY Adylena teaches planeswalking.

The witch known as Adylena has been said to have a certain unsettling feel to her. The air around her is changed, somehow. Strong, potent, fearful. Not in the way that would make you feel afraid, but instead you feel the power radiating from her.

She is a planeswalker.

You planned to learn from her, if she’ll have you.

You had come to her in the light of day, having found her cottage just off from the town she placed herself nearby. The door opened on its own, as if she knew you would be there.

“Stranger,” she greeted. “What is it?”

She went straight to business.

You stammered, suddenly intimidated by said air around her. Her eyes stared intensely into yours, and you squirmed beneath her gaze. Even your own familiar, your quite fearless feline companion, cowered and jumped from her perch on your shoulders. Rather, she was hidden behind your legs.

“Out with it,” she sighed, the seemingly inhuman posture she kept now relaxing. But it didn’t help to make you feel more equal to her.

“I wish to learn to planeswalk,” you tell her.

Her expectant gaze turned… bored? “Of course you do.” She began muttering, waving her hand as it touched her head. She looked exasperated. “Maybe I should just join that school my sister loves so much.”

Yes, her sister, Gajalina Sokyrin-Burran, was another powerful magician. But she was a wizard, and a busy, fleeting one at that. Finding counsel with her was difficult when she was nowhere to be found. No one knew where she was, and if they did, they never disclosed that information.

“Jeker?” Adylena called back into her house. A very large bird approached the door, it’s attention turned up to her. This must be her familiar.

It’s eyes were just as terrifying as her own. The bird cooed in acknowledgement. It was nearly half her height. “Tell Amyt and Terū to get off the furniture, will you?”

The bird — Jeker — nodded as it then flew off deeper into the cottage, which was bigger than you had expected. Adylena followed it in.

You lingered behind the door, lifting your familiar into your arms, unsure if she were inviting you in until she returned. “Get in here already,” she said, leading you inside.

The inside of the home had a different feel to it as well. It wasn’t similar to Adylena’s aura, or Jeker’s, it was just its own… place. It had its own feeling. It had its own magic.

Two dogs came running at Adylena, friendly, but not too excited. One looked elegant, regal — a dog that would be a noble’s. You suppose that may have been a pet she had from her sister? The other dog looked almost bear-like, but also expensive. Perhaps a hunting dog?

“Amyt, Terū,” she greeted, giving both of them pets. “We have a student.”

She turned to you, and you nearly felt like prey. Not for the dogs, but more for her. Adylena was a creature to be feared.

“Sit,” she commanded to you, and gestures to the couches she had. You obeyed.

She sat in front of you, laid back in her seat. She didn’t even look at you as she began talking. “Just because I have traveled to sama Gaja does not mean I am powerful. Never call me that. I merely have an understanding of interplanar magic.”

You nodded, and she was satisfied enough to keep going.

Adylena spoke as if she’d done this a thousand times before. Perhaps she has, if her reaction earlier had to mean anything. “Planeswalking is so easy, most animals do it. Average magicians can do it. My own children did it. There’s more than one method, and more than one door. My sister could force her way through if she wanted. She has enough power to create herself a personal door.”

Suddenly, she turned to you and grinned, wide and dangerous. “Me? I slip my way through.” Her eyes were alight with magic and amusement. She reminded you of a coyote. A wise trickster with twisted words and endless knowledge.

“The doors I take are never the same. I always close them behind me, and take care to make sure that nothing ever follows me.”

You hung onto her words, taking them in. She had much to know, and much to share. “That is your familiar?” Though she stated it more than asked. Your cat was a bit calmer in your arms, but even she knew just how much magic radiated from everything in here.

“I— yes, yes it is,” you nodded, scratching at her neck to calm her.

Adylena smiled, as if she approved. “Do you know where your familiar comes from?”

“The… Uh, sama Gaja?” You guessed.

“Exactly. You have opened a door to sama Gaja before. Everyone can do it.” She whistled, and her hawk perched on the armrest of her own seat. “Jeker came from there. My dear sister’s Ixi came from there. They will serve as our guides there.”

“Are— are we going there right now?” You asked.

“Only if you believe you are ready.” Adylena purred. Her eyes turned to the bookshelves she had, and the piles of books that littered over her home. “If you think I have books on sama Gaja, I do not. Well. Not any published ones, that is. And none I’d enjoy sharing with the public. Personal journals, study journals, memoirs. I have pages, you may see, but never touch.”

“I’m. I,” You pause and try to gather yourself. “Do you think I’m ready?” You ask instead.

She turned back to you, light dancing in her eyes. She seemed to like that question. “We’ll have to find out.”

“I’ve taught countless magicians in these lands. They all take me to different planes.”

That caught your attention. She had been to multiple different planes of sama Gaja? “You don’t go to—”

“Never. You never see the same plane twice. You’ll learn of it soon,” Adylena waved her hand flippantly. “Make your way in.”

You blinked at her. “But I still don’t know how.”

She laughed at you, not unkindly, just in amusement. “Oh but you do. You just have to open your eyes.” She may as well just be an onegi herself. How well she did she know sama Gaja?

In one moment, she was right there in front of you. And in the next, she was gone in a flash of blinding light, only leaving behind soft simmering smoke.

“Perhaps you could learn to use the planes as a means of travelling,” she suddenly spoke, right behind you. You screamed, startled by her appearance. She looked amused, almost, if not menacing.

#the interplanar system #adylena burran #mga kuwento #enona reja #canon #second person #original #interplanar ficlets

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enniewritesathing · 6 years ago

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the lore~

aka all the juicy bits about this version of lycanthropy. although, bc it’s long, I’ll split it into this and then specifically to John.

Lycanthrophy is split into 4 “grades”. Grade 1 are carriers (aka genes are not activated/dormant/latent) but have no chance to turn, but they can pass them on. In this case, John’s mom is a Grade 1. It’s unknown what grade his father was, but most likely Grade 1 as well. Grade 1 lycans typically don’t know about it until their children have gone through their first transformation.

There are two main ways of lycanthrophy -- cursed by a witch or warlock that knows the spell or inheriting the gene from their parents. A lesser known way is through biting, but this is exclusive to Grade 4 lycans and they are rare.

John is a Grade 2 -- mostly human appearance aside from his eyes, hands, body hair, and teeth. In this case, he’d probably be refered to as “wolf-man or man-wolf”, and can still blend in with the human population in this state. Grades 3/4 are closer to the classical werewolf image.

He cannot shapeshift as a Grade 2, so he is still the same height. There’s some muscle increase but seeing that John is already this, it’s hard to tell.

However, when there’s the rare super moon eclipse, he is a Grade 3 with partial transformation for the duration of the eclipse. It’s... not good.

Lycan and werewolf are used interchangably -- werewolf being the most common term and easier to remember. Lycan is the more formal term.

Lycans have a common trigger for transformation, and that is the moon. It’s been reported that they can avoid it by not being touched by the moon’s light, not looking at it, locking themselves away for their duration or simply staying inside of their place of residence.

In John’s case, he is turned by a supermoon and not a regular full moon; a supermoon is typically 3 or 4 times a year and this makes him stay in his lycan state longer. Grade 3/4 only turn the night on the full moon. Regular full moons for John, he has a marked agitation and is sensitive to everything.

There’s also triggers unique to the lycan and far easy to stop the process. John is prone to turning from extreme emotion (anger and anxiety), so he meditates from time to time in to keep himself in check.

Lycans are naturally carnivores, but it depends on the lycan themself. John has a marked increase in eating meat when he’s turned, but will still eat fruits and veggies.

Other than the deer he ate, he doesn’t have a preference for ‘wild’ food. He does get those urges to ‘hunt’... he has caught a rabbit and a couple of birds.

Lycans have the ability to communicate with other animals, or at least, be very in tune with them.

Yes, John has talked to Spaghetti. It’s not any different from what he does, but the only difference is that they can understand each other. She’s not afraid of him due to the fact she considers him as her dad (one of them anyway) and has looked after her since she was a kitten.

John loves cats as it is, and he really does when he’s turned. Most cats are confused about this until he explains the situation... but still, he respects their space. (Cats? They gossip.)

Dogs are wary of him at first until he states his friendliness (sitting on the floor and being eye level with them).

They have a fondness for dogs and/or cats. Most likely to adopt a bunch.

A lycan’s body tempurature is higher than a human’s, so they have a penchant of wearing less clothes. For John, it’s shirtlessness, having an open shirt, or a tank top. (But really prefers not wearing a shirt).

Because lycans have heighten senses, they can also be extremely empathic to the point of being “psychic”. They can sense emotions as if they’re experiencing it. They can read “surface” thoughts and can tell if a person is lying or otherwise.

As John said, lycans chooses their mate carefully because once they give the sacred mark, they are bonded to each other until death. If the lycan is the surviving mate, they will not seek out another one. He mentions that he skipped the courtship part of it, but that’s honestly the dating part. This can take as little as a couple of weeks to years and maybe decades.

Lycans don’t really have a concept of sexuality, or at least the very least, they are really relaxed about it.

The relationship/bondship may not be necessarily be sexual either.

With the sacred mark on their neck, it grants the lycan’s mate life longevity and age deceleration. So, John and Brian are gonna live for a long time because of this.

Lycans of all grades can live past 120 years. If they don’t do anything stupid. Which is way easier said than done.

They are extremely protective of their mates. I mean... John killed a bear. A big grizzly bear. But they are not possessive.

Lycans are also naturally fiercesome fighters. It’s not farfetched that they participate in combat sports of all types. It’s also an excellent way to keep their aggression in check. John does Muay Thai, but he does not tap in to his lycan side.

Lycans in their human form have near-exotic eye colors, or a ultra bright version of human eye colors. John’s eyes are a striking amber. In low light, they appear to glow.

The first few times transforming is harsh on the body, but the more times a lycan turns, the better they are off, and the faster the process is. Grade 3/4 lycans can transform as fast as 30 seconds. John, after this, learns to transform within 5 minutes.

The point, the start of transformation is the heart, and then it spreads to the rest of the body. Because of that, it causes immense pain and of course, spikes the lycan’s heart rate to an dangerous rate.

John tells Brian that his heart was stopped six times last in order for him to not transform and have his human side to take back control. This is a way, but it’s a very extreme way and it only works in a specialized controlled environment. He almost dies because of this.

To compensate for this, lycan hearts are strong (in order to handle the transformation.)

In the notes, it describes transformation as “succumbing to the ocean’s waves.” John interprets this as a sort of meditation.

The reason there are so few lycans is a combination of calculated purges that have dwindled their population to near non-existance over the course of 500 years.

It is not known how many remain because they’re scattered across the world and extremely elusive. Because of this, there’s no lycan social hierarchy or dynamics; and if they did exist, it wouldn’t be that rigid/strict. (Meaning, John would theorectically be an alpha... not that he’d really adhere to that. He’s not the posturing, aggressive sort.)

Personality wise, lycans do tend to be introverted as to not draw suspiscion, however, they are known to be very social.

Lycans are pretty durable, even if in their human state.

The stories and myths about lycans stem from Grade 3/4s losing control of themselves and going feral/berserk.

Lycans are allergic to a certain amount of silver; they can still use utensils to eat with. If wounded with silver, depending on how much, the wound takes longer to heal. If shot with silver bullets, it takes two to kill them -- one to the brain and one to the heart (not necessarily in that order). Otherwise, it will severely wound them and even force the lycan to revert back to their human state.

Lycans can heal themselves if the wound isn’t mortal. The bigger it is, the more time it takes, so it can vary between a few seconds to hours, and will leave behind very faint scars. For broken bones, it takes about a day to mend.

Wolfsbane -- of all types -- smell foul to a lycan.

A lycan’s mate smells very sweet to them. (When John turns again and they’re home, he just... sniffs everything.)

They are more likely to remember a person by their scent than by their name. This is especially important when a Grade 3/4 lycan turns.

Lycans do try to be discrete about that, but curiousity tends to take over when met with new situations.

Some don’t have a sense of space. This true for John when he wants something or attention.

The first transformation usually takes place around the age of 13. Any earlier, a lycan child may be at high risk of dying. This was true for John’s twin brother, Jacob, who turned at the age of 9. John was 11 when he first turned and nearly died.

The week preceding turning, lycans grades 2-4 experience a fever that is initially low grade (~100.4F) then turns to high grade (103F+).

Depending on the grade (or themself), a lycan does not wear clothing during turning, or at least something that can stretch with their body in order to not rip their clothing (usually spandex for modesty). Clothing feels very abrasive on their skin as well (which is why John tore his off).

Lycans... do howl, but this is more of a Grade 3/4 thing. John has howled before but it’s very soft and low. It’s like a “woooooo”sound. Certain noises do set them off though.

They do share a lot of their behaviors with dogs. Grade 2 lycans can disguise it as quirks, but it is noticable. (for example, when Brian asks a question that starts with “Do you wanna...?” and John immediately perks up.)

Of course, they are naturally hairy and not exclusive to a lycan’s gender. Some prefer to groom and some prefer to rock it.

Lycans make excellent cuddlers. Especially during the winter time.

Lycans do get along with other occults... but they don’t like the smell of vampires.

And here’s the spicy portion because I’m sure some of ya’ll were looking for it 👀

Lycans do go through heat from 1 to 5 times a year, and lasts about a week. It’s preceded by being extremely horny on main. John goes through it 3 times a year and can happen in either lycan or human form.

There’s little to no refractory period -- aka cooldown.

John is pretty mindful of Brian’s rules but boy is he annoying until he says it’s okay to go. He is also mindful of teeth and claws but Brian doesn’t mind that. (Or his tongue.)

Sex can last hours and can happen multiple times a day during heat.

This is when most bond marks are made, and typically made on the neck. Other locations include inner thigh, hand (around the thumb area), upper arm, shoulder, collarbone, or if the lycan is really cheeky... the ass cheek.

Some lycans have sex in their human form because of convenience. Some. This doesn’t exactly apply to Grade 2 lycans because they’re still human-shaped.

Sex can also be a little rough and tends to leave marks behind.

There are... some enhancements.

#a text post #non sims #lore post #I'm pretty sure I'm missing *something*#feel free to ask me about anything !!#or if you need me to clarify!#i'll make a post specific to John later on because it might get lost @_@#*lost in this post i may say

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talabib · 3 years ago

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Practical Advice To Help Guide You Down The Bumpy Road Of Life.

In the story of Pinocchio, a little puppet gets his wish: he loses the strings that had been used to control his life, and gets the opportunity to be a real, independent boy. But what Pinocchio didn’t realize was that this also meant coping with all the dangers of real life, as well as the painful lessons to be learned through honesty, friendship and family.

Classic stories like Pinocchio, as well as many other popular myths, fairy tales and religious parables, all portray the task of finding meaning in life as a balancing act between order and chaos, the familiar and the exotic, or security and adventure.

People continue passing on and rereading historical texts, along with the works of philosophers such as Socrates and Aristotle, because we yearn for universal values and rules to give our lives meaning.

Hierarchies are a common facet of life in societies around the world, so give yourself an advantage with good posture.

You’ve probably heard of the phrase, “the pecking order,” right? But do you know where it originated?

It comes from the Norwegian zoologist Thorleif Schjelderup-Ebbe, who was studying barnyard chickens in the 1920s when he noticed that there was a clear hierarchy among these birds. At the top were the healthiest, strongest ones that always got to peck first when the chicken feed came. At the bottom were the weakest chickens, with their feathers falling out, who only got to peck at the leftover crumbs.

Pecking orders like this aren’t limited to chickens; they occur naturally throughout the animal kingdom. Lobsters, for instance, whether they’re in the ocean or raised in captivity, will aggressively fight over the best and most secure spots for shelter.

Scientists have found that these competitive conflicts will lead to the winners and losers having different chemical balances in their brains. Winners will have a higher ratio of the hormone serotonin to octopamine, while the ratio in losers will tilt in the opposite direction.

These levels can even affect the posture of lobsters: more serotonin will lead to the winners being more agile and upright, and more octopamine makes losers tense and curled up. This difference will factor into further confrontations, as the upright lobsters will appear bigger and more intimidating, causing the tense ones to remain submissive.

As you may have guessed, similar hierarchies and cycles of winning and losing play out among humans. Studies have shown that those in the grips of alcoholism or depression are less likely to enter a competitive situation, which only reinforces more inactivity and continued low self-esteem and depression.

Conversely, those on a winning streak often present a swaggering and confident body language, which can help them keep their streak alive. Just like lobsters, humans are constantly measuring themselves up against each other, and we associate a person’s intelligence with their physicality.

So if you’re trying to give yourself an advantage, follow the first rule: hold your head high and strike the posture of a winner.

Care for yourself with the same tenderness you would a loved one.

If your dog was sick and the vet prescribed it medication, you wouldn’t second-guess the doctor and leave the prescription unfilled would you? And yet, one-third of people ignore the medical prescriptions they’re given by doctors, which begs the question: why do we take better care of our pets than ourselves?

Part of the reason is that, because we’re always conscious of our own flaws, we feel self-loathing, which, in turn, can lead to unnecessary self-punishment and a sense that we’re unworthy of feeling good. Thus, we take better care of others than ourselves.

This belief that we’re unworthy goes at least as far back as the story of Adam and Eve being exiled from the Garden of Eden. In this metaphorical tale, Adam and Eve represent all human beings, and they’re tricked into eating the forbidden apple of knowledge by an evil serpent. By following the advice of the snake, humans are seen as being forever corrupted with wickedness.

While the story of the Garden of Eden makes us self-conscious about this dark side within ourselves and can reinforce the sense that we don’t deserve good things, it can also be read another way: it’s not just us, but the whole world that is corrupted. The humans and the serpent of the garden can be seen as the entire world’s natural mix of order and chaos.

This duality of nature can also be seen in Eastern philosophy as well, and represented in the two sides of the Yin-Yang symbol: there’s a light and a dark side, yet both sides contain a portion of the other within them, and neither can exist without the other.

In this scenario, harmony is achieved by finding the healthy balance between light and dark, and one should strive not to go too far in either direction.

For example, if a parent were to try and protect their child from being exposed to anything “bad,” they would only be replacing that chaos with the tyranny of too much order. In other words, it’s futile to try to be perfectly good.

This leads us to the second rule: care for yourself like you would a loved one.

So, look after yourself, but don’t fight against chaos, as this is an unwinnable fight. And rather than only doing what makes you happy, try to do what is best for you.

As a child, you may not have wanted to brush your teeth or wear your mittens, but these are things that should be done. As an adult, you must determine the goals that help define who you are and the direction you want to take in life. Then, you will find the steps that you should take, and the actions that are best for you.

The wrong companions can drag you down, so choose your friends wisely.

One of my childhood friends never left the prairies of a northern Canadian hometown, Fairview, Alberta. Instead, he stuck around and ended up among the town’s other ne’er-do-wells.

Every once in a while, I would return home and catch up with my friend – and each time, my friend’s slow, sad decline became more apparent. What was once youthful potential became aging resentment.

For me, it became clear that those ne’er-do-wells were bringing my friend down and holding him back in life. And this is something that can happen to anyone anywhere.

In a workplace setting, a similar dynamic can play out when an underachiever is put into a team of high performers. The manager might think that this will result in the problematic employee picking up good habits from the others. But studies have shown that the opposite is more likely to happen, and the bad habits will start to spread and bring down everyone’s performance.

This is why the third rule is to make sure you surround yourself with supportive friends, as these are the kinds of friendships that can bring about positive change.

Being picky about your friends is a smart move and is not selfish or snobby. Supportive and encouraging friendships run both ways: when you need a boost, they’ll be there for you, and if your friend needs help to rebound from a setback or make an improvement, you’ll be there for them.

This dynamic can encourage individual success and, as part of a team, it can lead to great social accomplishments.

When john left Fairview for college, he joined a group of like-minded individuals who helped each other in their studies and in many other accomplishments, such as creating a newspaper and running a successful student union.

You’ll know you have good friends when they don’t tolerate your wallowing in negativity; they’ll want what’s best for you, so they’ll encourage you to snap out of it and get back on track.

Progress is made by comparing yourself to your past achievements, not to others.

There used to be such a thing as being a big fish in a small pond. But now, thanks to the internet, even the concept of a small community is a thing of the past. These days, we’re all part of a global community, and no matter where you are, there is always someone better than you.

This brings us to the issue of self-criticism. Now, it’s important to be critical of one’s self – if we weren’t then we’d have nothing to strive for, no motivation to better ourselves and our lives would quickly become meaningless.

Luckily, it’s a human tendency to always see the present as lacking and the future as promising much better. There’s a reason for this tendency, as it helps us stay motivated to push forward and take action.

However, self-criticism can get ugly when it becomes all about comparing ourselves to others. When this happens, we quickly lose sight of our progress.

First of all, this leads to thinking in black-and-white terms: we’ve either succeeded or failed. This prevents us from seeing the incremental improvements that are often small, but nonetheless important.

Comparisons also lead to losing sight of the big picture by focusing on a single aspect of our lives and blowing it out of proportion.

For instance, let’s say you’re reviewing the past year and notice that you weren’t as productive at work as some of your peers. You could instantly end up feeling like a total failure. But if you were to zoom out and look at all the aspects of your life, you might realize that you made some real improvements in your family life.

This is why the fourth rule is to never compare yourself to others, and to always judge yourself against your own prior accomplishments.

Comparing current results to past ones will also keep you moving forward. If you start to think that you’re always winning, this is a red flag that you need to do a better job of taking risks and giving yourself challenging goals.

When checking in on your progress, think of yourself as a home inspector. This means looking at things from top to bottom and categorizing every problem. Is it a cosmetic or a structural fault? Before you can give a stamp of approval, make a list of things that need to be improved.

This detailed approach is likely to keep you so busy on yourself that you’ll be unconcerned with how you stack up against others.

It is a parent’s duty to raise a responsible and kind child.

If you’ve ever seen parents ignoring a child who’s wreaking havoc, you may have wondered: are they just bad parents or are they being clever by allowing the child to tire himself out?

Approaches to child-rearing have changed over the years, often as a result of the age-old nature-versus-nurture debate, and differing opinions about the kinds of instincts we’re born with.

In the eighteenth century, there was a popular belief championed by the philosopher Jean-Jacques Rousseau that suggested our prehistoric ancestors were sweet, gentle and child-like. They blamed our history of war and violence on the corrupting influence civilization has had on us.

But nowadays, we have a clearer understanding of the fact that people are indeed born with aggressive instincts, and must learn how to become kinder, gentler, more “civilized” adults. After all, you likely remember how vicious kids on a playground can get; most workplaces are a picture of tranquility in comparison!

According to experts, it’s really up to parents to make sure their naturally aggressive youngster learns how to be a well-adjusted adult, which brings us to the fifth rule: parents need to be more than a friend – they need to raise a responsible and likable human being.

This can be a challenge since no one likes being the “bad guy.” But children are aggressive because they have the natural instinct to push boundaries so they can find out where society’s lines are drawn. So a parent must be firm and decisive in drawing those lines.

While this may not sound like fun, think of it this way: if they don’t learn these things from a loving, understanding parent, they’ll learn it later on in a way that’s sure to involve less love and understanding.

So let’s look at three key methods for good parenting:

The first is to limit the rules. Too many rules lead to frustrated kids who are constantly hitting barriers. So limit things to a few basic, easy-to-understand principles, such as don’t bite, kick or hit anyone unless in self-defense.

The second is to use the minimum necessary force. Effective and fair discipline can only be applied when consequences are made clear. The punishment also needs to “fit the crime,” which means it should only be as severe as necessary for a child to learn not to break the rule again. Sometimes a disappointed look is all that’s needed; other times it might be a week without video games.

The third is to come in pairs. Children are clever and will try to get their way by playing one parent against the other – so a unified front is important. Also, every parent makes mistakes, but if you have a supportive partner, you’ll be likelier to notice and catch those mistakes.

The world is filled with injustices, but we should not blame others for our lot in life.

There’s no point in mincing words: the world is full of challenges and suffering – but this isn’t cause for despair.

Nevertheless, many people throughout the ages have seen life as so cruel and unfair that drastic responses are justified. The Russian author Leo Tolstoy saw existence as so absurdly unjust that he suggested there were only four valid responses: childlike ignorance, hedonistic pleasure, suicide or struggling on despite it all.

Tolstoy analyzed these positions in his essay “A Confession” and concluded that the most honest response was suicide, while struggling on was a sign of his weak inability to take the appropriate action.

Others have responded in a similar fashion, yet decided to take other lives along with their own, in acts known as murder-suicides, such as the Sandy Hook or Columbine school shootings. In June of 2016, there had been a thousand shootings in the United States over the preceding 1,260 days, in which someone had killed four or more people before, in many cases, shooting themselves.

But despite Tolstoy’s bleak worldview, and no matter how much you’ve suffered or however cruel and unjust you find life to be, you shouldn’t blame the world.

This is the gist of the sixth rule for life, which states that you should take responsibility for your own life before you judge the world.

There’s another Russian writer, by the name of Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn, who believed it was possible to reject the cruelty of life, even when it’s being cruel to you.

Solzhenitsyn was among the communists who fought against the Nazis during World War II, yet despite his service he ended up imprisoned by his own state after the war. And as if life in a Russian gulag wasn’t bad enough, he found out he had cancer while serving his sentence.

But despite all this, Solzhenitsyn didn’t blame the world for his lot in life. He accepted his role in supporting the Communist Party that had imprisoned him, and took it upon himself to use the time he had left to contribute something good and meaningful to the world.

What he did included writing the book, The Gulag Archipelago, which provided a history, as well as a damning indictment, of the Soviet camps he’d experienced firsthand. The book played an important role in extinguishing any lingering support that Stalin’s brand of communism had among intellectual circles worldwide.

Sacrifice can be a meaningful act, and we should seek meaning over immediate pleasures.

Have you heard the story about the monkey who got caught with his hand in the cookie jar? As the story goes, there was a cookie left inside an open jar, and the opening of the jar was just big enough for the monkey’s hand to enter – but not big enough for his fist to come back out with the treat in it. So, if he insisted on trying to hold onto his treat, he would be stuck.

The moral here is that there is a price for greed: the monkey got himself captured because he refused to just let go of the cookie.

How different is this from human behavior? How many people pursue pleasures every day that aren’t in their best interests? And how many are unwilling to make sacrifices that are in their best interest?

One of the side effects of seeing the world as a pit of despair is that it makes it especially easy to justify a life based in immediate pleasures that will make it more bearable. Plus, if it makes you happy, it can’t be that bad, right? This is the logic behind binge eating and drinking, drug use, sexual debauchery and other self-harming behaviors.

The other side of this argument is sacrifice, the kind that brings better things in the future by giving up something now. This goes back to ancient times, where tribes would put food aside to make it through the winter or to help those in the community who couldn’t hunt or farm.

This is another topic heavily represented in the Bible. When God kicks Adam and Eve out of paradise, it’s made clear that their original sin is the cause of the harsh and cruel life that everyone must face. However, our suffering in life is the sacrifice we must make so that we may experience the joys of the afterlife.

This brings us to rule seven: seek meaningful goals over instant gratification.

Now, you might think this is a simple concept and something that most people already do. After all, we sacrifice our time to go to work and put in hard hours now so that we can take a vacation later on or relax on a beach in the summer.

But this goes deeper than sacrificing for your personal gain; there are big and small things we can sacrifice for the greater good, and the bigger the sacrifice, the more rewarding it can be.

It can help to think of the lotus flower. This plant starts its life at the bottom of a lake, and inch by inch it escapes the darkness until it breaks through the surface of the water and blossoms in the sun’s rays.

In other words, stick with something and be ready to make sacrifices to reach your goal, and you will be rewarded.

Lies are a common tool of self-deception, but we should strive toward truthful living.

The German philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche believed that you could measure the strength of a person's spirit based upon how much undiluted truth they can tolerate. While truth is often considered a valuable commodity in our culture, we nevertheless tell lies all the time.

One of the main reasons for lying to ourselves and to others is to get what we think we want. The Austrian psychologist Alfred Adler called these life-lies, and they’re characterized as the things we’ll do and say to turn a poorly-thought-out goal into a reality.

For example, you might picture your retirement as taking place on a secluded beach in Mexico, with an infinite supply of margaritas. This kind of goal can be so attractive that you’ll continue fooling yourself into thinking it’s possible, even as events pile up that make it increasingly far-fetched.

You could even develop allergies to sun, sand and booze, but continue lying to yourself about this perfect plan – even though it’s not really a plan at all, since you haven’t identified any concrete steps that could potentially make it a reality.

These kinds of delusions often go hand in hand with our ability to fool ourselves into thinking we already know everything we need to know. This is an especially foolish perspective to have, since it shuts off our natural desire to learn and grow.

But worse, and far more evil, things can happen when you’re living a life-lie and unwilling to recognize the truth. In John Milton’s epic poem, Paradise Lost, Lucifer is portrayed as a reasonable character, but one who becomes too proud and enamored with his talents – so much so that he and his followers are kicked out of heaven for daring to challenge God’s ultimate truth.

This sets up rule number eight: stop lying and be truthful.

You don’t need to give up each one of your ambitious goals, but you should be flexible so that your goals are realistic and reflect the truth. So, as your understanding and worldview changes, so should your goals. And if your life is off track, it might be time to challenge the current truth you’re following, the one that has you feeling weak, rejected or worthless, and reaffirm your personal truth so that you can get back on the right track.

Conversations are an opportunity to learn and grow, not compete.

Thousands of years after his death, the ancient philosopher Socrates is still considered one of the wisest men who ever lived. One of the reasons for this is his belief that the only thing he was certain of was that he knew nothing, and this was a driving force in his conversations and his openness to learn.

When you engage in genuine conversation, it should be a similar process to thinking. Thinking things over is essentially listening to yourself as you explore two sides of an issue. So, in a way, you’re creating your own internal dialog, which can be difficult since you need to accurately represent both sides while also remaining objective in your conclusion.

This is one big reason why people talk to each other, so that they can more easily present the two sides of an issue and come to a conclusion. Even children will do this: if one kid thinks it would be fun to play up on a roof, they might suggest this idea to a friend who then points out the dangers of this idea. The conversation that ensues allows the child with the original idea to take in the new perspective, consider how likely it is that someone will fall and hurt themselves, and hopefully make the right decision.

However, conversations often don’t go this way. Instead, one person – or perhaps both people – will refuse to listen and treat the dialog as a competition they need to win, in order to validate their preconceptions. So, rather than hearing what the other person has to say, they’ll be thinking about what to say next or act like it’s a contest of one-upping each other.

This is why the ninth rule is listen to what others have to say, while presuming you have something to learn from them.

An easy tip for being a better conversationalist is to listen and then summarize, or recap out loud what the other person just said. This serves multiple purposes: it helps assure that you’ve heard things correctly, while also helping it stick in your memory; it also reduces the likelihood of distorting or oversimplifying details in order to suit your side of the conversation.

Sometimes the truth hurts, and it’s painful to take in information that means you have to change your ideas and preconceptions. But this is the price you pay as part of the beautiful process of learning and growing.

The complexity of life should be confronted with clear and precise language.

Life truly is an enormous and complicated tapestry, and yet we tend only to see the isolated parts we need to see. If you’re walking along and see an apple on the ground, you probably don’t think of the branch, tree, roots and soil that were all connected before it fell.

The reason is that we tend only to recognize or pay attention to the things that are either useful to us or stand in our way. The apple catches our attention because it represents food and sustenance. But we don’t consider the tree and the soil because they are of no use for satisfying our needs.

Of course, we can’t be thinking of everything all the time – the world is far too complex for that, so the mind simplifies things and makes it easier for us to get on with our lives. However, every once in a while, something can happen to shatter our conception of the world and make things seem chaotic.

This is why rule ten is extremely important: use precise language.

How does this help? Well, think of the word “car.” You know what a car is right? It’s a vehicle that gets you from point A to point B. But when this vehicle breaks down halfway between A and B, do you know the precise ways in which a car works? Can you pop the hood and fix this piece of complex machinery?

There’s a good chance that when your car breaks down, you feel primal urges to curse and maybe even kick the car for not being such a simple thing anymore. This is what happens when things get complex and chaotic, so in order to recover, you must reestablish order by clearly and precisely explaining what went wrong.

The same thing needs to happen when your body breaks down and you get sick. There could be any number of problems going on, so you need to tell your doctor the precise symptoms. Does your stomach hurt or is it a fever? Did it begin after you ate something? What was it? By being precise, you can restore order and take steps to start feeling better.

Precise language can make your relationships run more smoothly as well. Does your partner do something that bugs you, like failing to clean up after themselves? The sooner you’re honest and precise with them, the easier life will be.

There are bad and oppressive men, but we must avoid suppressing human nature.

In George Orwell’s The Road to Wigan Pier, experts come to the conclusion that socialism was attracting defenders in England, not because of sympathy for the harsh conditions facing miners, but out of hatred for the rich and powerful.

Today there are similar attitudes toward the male-dominated leadership known as the patriarchy.

One influential source of this hatred for the patriarchy is Max Horkheimer of the Marxism-based Frankfurt School, a proponent of so called “critical theory”. He felt that education and intellectualism should focus on social change, and, instead of working to empower women, it should seek to combat and destroy the powerful oppressors in a culture – i.e. the ruling males. Likewise, in humanities courses around the world today, the recommended political action is the dismantling of our macho culture.

Everything is about destroying rather than fixing or creating, and according to experts it has left us with an outrage directed at male behavior that can tend to be excessively harsh and shortsighted.

For example, many male students are regularly confronted with hostile accusations of being part of the patriarchy – but the path of righteous change shouldn’t involve treating every man as a potential sex offender.

While it’s true that many men have behaved deplorably, expert argues that men have also used their naturally aggressive attitudes for good, like engaging in healthy competition, exploring dangerous areas and making much-needed progress.

Outside some of the buildings on the University of Toronto campus, there were amazing skateboarders showing off admirable fearlessness and a willingness to embrace danger. But then, city officials decided to prohibit skateboarding on the campus.

Which brings us to rule number 11: don’t bother young people skateboarding.

We can’t establish rules that go against the very nature of who we are as people. Our rules should definitely protect us, but they shouldn’t do so in a way that suppresses the good qualities in people.

We’ve actually seen a fairly good fictionalized account of what can happen when men are stripped of their masculinity. As the story in Fight Club shows us, aggression can then become a forbidden fruit that manifests itself in fascist tendencies. Another, real-world reaction to emasculation is the current resurgence of right-wing politics.

The truth is, women don’t want boys to grow up without a chance to learn things for themselves and be independent. He posits that every boy has a mom, and what kind of mom would want to care for a dependent man-child?

Life is hard and full of sorrow, so it’s important to celebrate the small joys in life.

Have you ever had to care for a sick person? It can be one of life’s more difficult challenges. Charles’s daughter has been coping with severe arthritis since she was six years old. She has suffered from constant pain, requiring frequent injections and multiple surgeries for joint replacements.

If you had a daughter in this situation, you might think life is unfair – but it’s important to recognize that the dark bits of pain, suffering and sorrow are what give the good moments their value.

Consider Superman. When this character was first introduced, he was hugely popular. But then, the comic book writers kept giving him power after power until he was virtually invincible. Naturally, readers starting to find him super boring.

If there is no risk of danger, Superman’s victories are hollow. And in the same way, good moments would be meaningless if we didn’t have to fight through difficulties and suffering to reach them.

This is why it’s important to follow rule 12: make the best out of even the smallest joys that life offers.

By following this rule, you’ll be sure to embrace life and appreciate every good thing that comes your way. You’ll also be sure to see yourself through the tough times, even when they’re prolonged.

After years of pain and discomfort, charles’s daughter eventually found a new physiotherapist who helped her find greater mobility, a fair amount of normality and a lot less pain. There may be further complications down the road, but they’re both happy to enjoy the improvements for as long as they last.

This is the best attitude to have; it’s the kind that makes you take your time to stop and pet a cat when you cross one on the sidewalk.

Remember, there is no day without the darkness of night, just as there’s no order without chaos. There is suffering in life, but it’s also what gives meaning to our perseverance and makes the moments of peace so rewarding.

Navigating through life is a constant struggle filled with trials and tribulations, and if there’s any guarantee in life, it’s that there will likely be more troubles around the corner. But there is also beauty and joy to be found, however fleeting these moments may be. All you can do is try your best, be honest and truthful, and avoid being selfish and prideful. It’s also important to take responsibility for your own lot in life, and not blame the world or others for your shortcomings. Ultimately, it is only you who can improve your life.

Action plan: Ask yourself, “How was I wrong?” You may not like the answer, but this is a way to keep improving and stay truthful. By asking yourself this question on a regular basis, you’ll be able to enjoy the satisfaction of making progress every day as you keep striving to be a better human being.

#Rules and Practical Advice To Help Guide You Down The Bumpy Road Of Life.

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