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visit-ba-sing-se · 4 years ago

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My contribution to the “what happened to Kuzon?” question, I guess. No canon, just me making myself cry. Kuzon was old. He knew that, and with every move he made his body reminded him. Still, he was crouching over to clean the dust from a statue. The monk that it resembled had his eyes closed and seemed to be mediating, blissfully unaware off the world around him. Kuzon sighed. What would he give to just trade spots with him. Once more, he was not sure if he was supposed to find it rather funny or tragic that this small shed, in a small village between somewhere and nowhere, was where his life had led him. His parents had been a merchants. But not the kind of merchant you would meet on the city market and who'd sell you cabbage or fish. The kind of merchant that travelled to Ba Sing Se or Omashu and returned with ancient relicts that they'd sell some fire nation nobleman. Or the other way around, trade spices that would be used to for the spicy pickled kelp severed to earth kingdom royals. And Kuzon had been accompanying them for as long as he could remember, and a lot of it, he had loved. Counting heavy coins while sitting on his father lap, helping his mother chose between different colored pieces of cloth to buy and sell again for more, crossing items from a list before he even could read the words. And of course, he had met two of his best friends on their journeys. Bumi and Aang. And he had believed that that would be how things would stay, and that one day, he would grow up to be a merchant as well. Of course, in his mind he then imagines being the greatest merchant there ever was, who would have dinner with the king of Omashu and make his parents proud. And of course, that dream shattered as childrens dreams do. One conversation it had taken to tear his world apart. One conversation that he had listend to from the closet in their living room. Kuzon had used to hide when his parents welcomed wealthy clients, as they had never wanted him around then. Today, he still remembered that one trade as if it had been yesterday, not a century ago.

“You know, the prices for those artifacts are going to increase rapidly soon,” his mother had said, her you find my price to high but there is nothing you can do about that voice as he called it. “It is not like new once will enter the market. And I even heard that the government is striating to seize and destroy those that are currently one it.” Kuzon was angry at himself for not taking a peak at what she was selling earlier. Now they were standing with their backs to him and the view was blocked. “Even if you are right, which is not unlikely”, that buyer, a fire nation noble, had responded, “don't feel any bad at all profiting from that?” His mother had snapped back directly “Oh, don't strike that chord with me. You want to invest. I have an investment to offer. Nothing more, nothing less. This little intermission won't fool any of us, and you know it.” “Fine.” The nobleman than had sighed, as Kuzon had moved his head slightly, desperatly trying to get a glimpse of what had being sold. “A pity they had to kill all of them.” “They just made the best fruit pies. And they were so fun at parties.” None of this had made sense to Kuzon. Not until he finally had seen what the noble man had just bought. An air glider. Like the one Aang had had. And with that, it had hit him. Fruit pie. Air glider. Aang. Killed. Kuzon had not left that closet until finally, after he had missed lunch and dinner in there his father had discovered him and ordered to go to bed. Of course, looking back, it was childish. But In that moment, he truly had thought that as long as he stayed in the closet, the reality would stay out. The reality in which Aang, his best friend Aang, the funny, caring and genius Aang, Aang who he had spent some go the happiest days of his life with, was dead. And his parents were selling air gliders for profit. But of course, the reality was there, and it did not care if Kuzo accepted it or not. He was just 12, and one might say that a kid that age would not understand so much anyway. But Kuzon felt like in fact, he was the only one who did. The only one who saw all the places in which the air nomads were missing. The only one who saw how fearful the merchants from the earth kingdom that used to be good friends of their family now looked. The only one who did no pretend that their firelord was nothing else but a liar and murderer. All of that had made him wanting to yell. Or cry, Or both. But his parents had taught him not to do so very soon very well and so he did neither. But he wrote it down. He started with everything Aang had told him about his people, and what he could remember from the times he had visited. He continued with everything that happened then. When his father got drafted for the war. When they started having to say this weird pledge in school. When the man with the serious face brought the letter that made his mother cry. When they had to leave their big house in the capital and move back to his grandparents into a smaller house in a small village. And how despite all of this, the first thing his mom did in her new, small room was to hang up picture of Sozin so that he could stare down from there as well. He wrote down how after that picture changed from Sozin to Azulon, he applied to university to avoid getting drafted himself. The thought of that made him chuckle now. How smart he had found himself to be. Only too find out that at university they may did not teach him how to kill someone with a sword. But to kill his mind with some words. Of course, he had written that down as well. Just as he wrote down the rumors of the deserted admiral, and the drinking songs the other students were singing about bravery and burned towns. Finally, he got into one last fight with his anthropology professor that got him kicked out of university and close to being arrested. After more or less fleeing town, he cut his hair, hid in a few more closets and stole the passport of a poor lad named Lee. Like that, he escaped his military service scrubbing floors, serving tea and unloading ships on docks. He spent some nights in prisons as well, after fights he had picked at night and after assaulting governmental officials. For jokes about Azulon that he alone had found funny. As the result of trying to convince people that attacking Ba Sing Se would not be right. But no one wanted to be convinced, so once more, all he could do was write down what he observed. The cheering masses and tea sipping towns people just as the polluted rivers and starving fisherman. The children playing war in the streets, already so eager to kill and die for honor and glory just as the factory workers with dark circles under their eyes. He hated to admit it now, but during that time, he had been giving close to giving up more than once. He woke up in the morning not knowing which town he was in, nor how he would pay for dinner there in the evening. He had given up his home, his studies, his name. All because he had not been wanting give up on Aang. He could not betray his friend. When he was not able to fight all of them and stop the war, the least he could do was not to become one of them and instead bear witness for future generations to come. But is just got harder and harder each day, and more and more times he scolded himself for being just stubborn and stupid. His friend was dead. The Dragon of the West was at the walls of Ba Sing Se. And everyone just loved Azulon. What difference would it make if he joined them in? Or if he just stopped trying completely? What saved him was a small clay figure of a sky bison. A woman sold it on the market in a town which's name he did not even know. What he knew, however, was that these kinds of toys were only made by air nomads. And that that woman clearly had no idea how much the piece she was offering here was worth. He bought it without thinking twice. And that was how he finally became a merchant. Trading goods became his explanation for traveling up and down the country, searching for traces and hints, gathering artifacts that one way or another that found their way into the hands of people who had no idea what they were holding. Of course, he had to start small. Very small. But he had learned from the best there were. And he had a goal. “Maybe I am naive to think that one day, the war will be over and the firelord defeated. That one day we can speak freely again and that people will come and learn about the airnomads.”, he wrote down during this time, but when that day comes, they need to have something to learn from. After many years, when Ozai already replaced Azulon, Kuzon settled in a small village, where he lived in a small hut with an even smaller shed in which he kept the artifacts hidden. People quickly started avoiding him as the weird old man who in any other place would have already been arrested but here just served as village idiot. He continued writing, but news travelled slow and when they arrived were usually not reliable at all. Because of that, he nearly did not dare to write the first hopeful line after what seemed to be an eternity. Word has it that the Avatar has returned.

And then after another year, despite all odds and just like that, the war suddenly was over. At least so he heard. And noted that the war was over. And then finally, he put the pen down. Everything suddenly had changed. Yet still, it remained the same.

Kuzon was still alone in his hut and with his books, and still no one seemed to care. He had a testamony to make, but no one wanted to listen. They all just wanted to forget so fast. And he was a disturbance, since they knew that he remembered. There were rumors that the new firelord, Zuko, 16 and like that himself half a child, wanted to change things and own up the crimes that were committed. Some people pretended to support that. Others openly complained. Kuzon just would like to believe it was true. But he just had stopped trusting in firelords a long time ago.

Still, he tried his best to maintain the artifacts in good shape, but he was old. He had no family. No friends. And the thought that they would remain hidden here after his death, abdomend and forgotten, broke what was still left of his heart. But here he was, and here they were. Alone. Suddenly, when Kuzon could already feel his eyes filling with tears, he was interrupted by a voice. A very familiar voice.

“Somebody here?”, it asked. Kuzon was sure that it was only in his mind, brought back by all the memories. Still, while scolding himself for being a stupid old man, he slowly turned around, expecting to see nothing except for the wall of his shed. But his mind had not tricked him. There he stood, smiling that familiar smile that Kuzon never would have thought he would see again. Aang. And Kuzon cried.

#avatar #Avatar The Last Airbender #aang #kuzon #My writing #atla fanfic #atlla #avatar aang #why did I do this? idk #the good thing is that I cannot sleep anayway #the bad thing is that is is 1:48 am and I really need to get stuff done tomorrow #also I am sad now

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waveypedia · 3 years ago

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New Days

Rymin Week Day 4: Off the Train

1 2 5 6 7

Ao3

Contrary to popular belief (his parents), Min-Gi is not a morning person.

He’d trained himself into getting up and going to bed early, first at his parents’ insistence, then as a necessary skill for all the classes he was taking in high school (Gotta make that college application shine!). Yet given the choice, he would happily stay up all night and wake up extremely late.

On the train, all of Min’s obligations and restrictions suddenly vanished. Although his schedule was primarily dictated by not dying, which led him to sleep and wake up at odd hours (and telling time on the train is a complicated task anyways), he started sleeping in later and later. Now that he’s off the train, and most of his days consist of driving, songwriting, and practicing, he’s free to wake up as late as he wishes.

It’s why he finds himself slowly slipping into the world of wakefulness one unassuming Thursday morning. The van is already moving, as per usual - Ryan doesn’t mind the quiet mornings as Min sleeps away. Golden rays of sunlight peak through the van’s windows.

In the driver’s seat, Ryan is spotlighted in one. The sun’s brilliant hues turn his brown hair into shades of tree bark and make his soft skin glow. He’s beautiful.

Ryan is a morning person, in contrast to Min, but he would very much like to be a night person. They’ve spent ages lamenting the fateful injustice. Unlike Min, who used to force himself to go to bed early even if it meant lying awake in the dark for hours, Ryan chooses to just run on little sleep. He’d go out and party and/or perform all night, crash for a few hours, and wake up at his usual time.

He’s been getting better, though. Just like Min, they’ve both been making bounds of progress now that they’re off the train and free from restrictions. Every time Ryan goes to bed at a decent hour, it eases the worry in Min’s heart.

They’re both doing so much better now. Min never thought he’d be grateful for getting spontaneously kidnapped by a magical death train, but he and Ryan are so much happier now than they’d ever thought they’d be.

Ryan glances over, smiling fondly. “Good morning, sleeping beauty.”

It’s a running joke between them, one that started way back on the train with Kez, but Min’s heart never fails to make a little jump whenever Ryan calls him beauty.

“Morning,” Min replies, stretching. He digs around in a bag at his feet. “Did you move the songbook?”

“Yeah, I was working on it earlier,” Ryan says. He jerks a thumb behind him without taking his eyes off the road. “I left some new lyrics and chords for you to look over.”

Min smiles. “Thanks.” Following Ryan’s directions, he grabs the songbook, a blue pencil, and his coveted mini-synth. Items in hand, he carefully slips into the passenger’s seat and buckles up.

Ryan shoots him a quick grin and turns his music off so Min can write.

For the next few hours, they stay as they are - Ryan keeps them on track to their next gig, while Min tackles the lines Ryan wrote earlier. It was a bit of a learning curve, figuring out how to write songs together, when they first started out. Ryan only knew chords and tablature, while Min only knew notated music from his viola days. Now, though, a couple months into their journey, they’ve worked out a good system. Whoever comes up with lyrics or a melody first (usually lyrics, and usually Ryan) will pen it along with any chords or notes they can think of. The other will look it over, edit it, and add the missing element. It usually makes for a solid first draft.

Min twirls the pencil in his hand. Blue. His favorite color. Ryan usually writes in a red pencil, from a set of colored pencils he stole from his younger brother before leaving. It makes contributions easy to distinguish when writing and editing.

Every so often, while Min looks over Ryan’s ideas, he’ll pull out his mini-synth and tap out a melody. Both of them find it easier to create melodies with an instrument in hand. Min may not play his mini-synth on stage like Ryan plays his guitar, but it still makes him happy to play it regularly. Not as a toy, not as something he has to hide from his boss and his parents, but as a genuine instrument.

As he writes and plays, Ryan listens. He keeps his attention on the road and map, but chimes in every so often with little affirmations and suggestions.

“Is that a D?” Ryan muses. “Under a G?”

Min thumbs the corner of the page. “Yeah, I think it sounds cool. Thoughts?”

Ryan graces him with a patented Ryan Akagi grin, all teeth. “I like it! I’ll look it over when you drive.” Ryan squeezes his fists on the steering wheel. “I’m really glad we’re working together, Min. This is way better than anything I’ve written solo.”

Min ducks his head, cheeks flushing. “Oh- Uh- I like writing with you too,” he replies. “

In the afternoon, they pull over and Min takes the wheel. Sometimes at this time they stop for food - they’ve made it their mission to catalogue all the small restaurants across Canada and America on the way to New York for future reference. But today Ryan got a late start on driving because he was songwriting (“Inspiration strikes when it strikes, Min! Who am I to deny my muses?” Never mind that Ryan is uncharacteristically close-lipped about what/who said muses even are), so they eat separately in the car. They step out to stretch for a minute, and Min hands over the songbook and food. Then they’re off again.

Ryan makes a few more edits with his red pencil, but they always collaborate on the second pass. At both of their insistence, they have to wait until one of them isn’t driving to truly discuss it. Min thought he might have to put his foot down on this, but Ryan was insistent - he’s an experienced driver and knows far to well just how dangerous and difficult driving is.

The afternoon passes without much fanfare. Min keeps his eyes on the road while Ryan edits and eventually breaks out his guitar. The highway is long, flat, and unassuming. Few other cars pass them.

It’s for that exact reason Ryan gets an idea that is both brilliant and stupid.

“Min. Min. Minminminminminmi-”

“What.” A feeling of dread washes over Min before the words are even out of Ryan’s mouth.

Ryan grins toothily at him. “I’m gonna stick my head out the window.”

Min chokes on air., surprised. “Wh- Ryan. Why would you want to do that? Didn’t you have enough thrills on the death train?”

“Eh,” Ryan says, shrugging. “I’ve always wanted to do it, but i couldn’t exactly do it while driving when I was touring alone. Besides, my parents would never let me.”

“For good reason,” Min grumbles, but in his gut he knows Ryan’s already won.

Ryan frowns at him. “Look, I’m not stupid. I’ll be careful. I won’t lean so far out of the car that I’ll fall. I’ll come back in if there are more cars or it looks like I might hit something.”

“Or if we start turning,” Min warns.

Ryan’s replying smile is blinding. “Does that mean it’s a yes from you?”

Min rolls his eyes. “Just try not to die. If I show up to the venue with only half the band, the manager won’t be happy with me.”

“Yes!” Ryan punches his fist in the air and dances triumphantly - or, he dances as much as one can while sitting in the seat of a moving van.

Ryan rolls down the window and sticks his head out. He’s crouching on the seat, half-standing, in order to fully fit through the window. His upper body is out of the car. His arms wave and flail, making his jacket sleeves flutter even more violently in the wind.

Min starts to shout a warning, to yell about safety precautions, to give into the panic in his heart and yell get down, but the words die in his throat the minute he lays eyes on Ryan’s face.

Ryan is joyful. Euphoric. Happy. He has always been a smiley person, but times where he is truly, unadulteredly happy are rarer than you’d think. Here, riding half-outside of the van while they drive to their fame and dreams, he seems truly free.

Min smiles. God, he loves that man.

Ryan glances back, the light reflecting off his glasses, and flashes Min an adrenaline-fueled grin and a shaky thumbs up. His ankles wobble a bit. Before Min realizes what he’s doing, he reaches out and grabs Ryan for support.

Ryan’s mouth drops open in a small ‘o’. Min moves to take his hand back, but before he can, Ryan twists and reaches back inside the car to grab Min’s wrist, stopping him in his tracks.

Min freezes.

Ryan is smiling, more bashful and careful now than before. He’s still happy, but… nervous? Anxious?

Min’s heart flutters. He manages to smile back.

“I got you,” he says, although it comes out as a whisper.

“O-oh,” Ryan whispers. His eyes are wide and soft. “I… thank you, Min.”

Min ducks his head awkwardly. “You’re welcome.”

The rest of the drive is quiet. It’s not awkward, but it’s not as comfortable and natural as it usually would be.

Something has changed.

Min grips the wheel tighter and stares down the road, for a lack of real target. If looks could kill, the road would be up in flames.

It’s… confusing. He’s not sure why a change in their dynamic is so upsetting and off-putting. He and Ryan have gone through so many changes over the years, and they’ve always been able to come back to themselves in the end.

Besides, it’s not like they had an argument. Or even a misunderstanding. All they did was hold onto each other to keep balance. Why does this feel so monumental?

Min chances a glance away from the road to look at Ryan. He’s curled up in the passenger seat (because Ryan seems incapable of sitting normally when he’s not driving) with his guitar. The songbook, flipped open to their latest draft, is balanced precariously on Ryan’s knee. He’s bent over to read it accurately, which must be difficult, especially in the dim light. But he seems to be managing. He’s humming softly to himself, almost too quiet for Min to catch it. As he’s focused on the road (no matter how much he wants to listen to Ryan’s ethereal yet natural and homey singing) the melody floats in and out of focus. Ryan is also plucking at his guitar, playing mostly individual notes instead of chords. It’s calming and comforting, not to mention beautiful. If Min weren’t driving, he might just fall right asleep. Even though he’s the one playing, Ryan seems drowsy as well, judging by the way he’s leaning against the back of the seat.

As they draw closer to their destination, Ryan seems to consciously shake himself into wakefulness. He sits up and puts the songbook away to focus fully on his guitar. As Min pulls off the highway and navigates the city streets, Ryan tunes his guitar and warms up.

They run through a couple vocal exercises together, practicing harmonies and lyrics as well as warm-ups. Min is a bit shaky since he’s focused on the road, but he and Ryan know their songs by heart, and the warm-up does the job. He’s still a bit jittery as he pulls into the venue parking lot, but that’s normal. He hasn’t quite shaken his stage fright yet, but as long as he has Ryan at his side, he’s able to perform. More than that, he has fun performing.

Besides, Ryan confided in him a while back, before their first real show. “You’re not the only one with stage fright, Min,” he’d confessed. “Yeah, I love it, and the adrenaline basically cancels out the fear, but it’s still there. You just have to go for it.”

Min had felt comforted enough to perform with that, with the admission that even the seemingly-fearless Ryan Akagi, who’d always seemed more at home on a stage than at his actual home got stage fright. But then Ryan had hesitated, glanced down, and taken Min’s hand. Min’s heart had nearly stuttered to a stop in his chest. He almost missed what Ryan said next.

“Besides, it doesn’t matter if you get stage fright or not,” Ryan had said cheerfully, too cheerfully, although Min barely noticed. “All that really matters is if you enjoy what you’re doing. It’s more admirable to conquer your fear in order to chase your dreams than to not have fear.”

Min had smiled back, shaky but euphoric. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, not unlike how he felt onstage. “That’s very profound.”

Ryan had laughed and squeezed his hand. “Eh, I have a lot of experience. Listen to me, I’m the master!”

The mood subtly shifted with the joke, and suddenly they were laughing and Ryan let go of his hand and they were pushing the synthesizer on stage and it was all a blur from there until the curtain went down and Ryan was squealing and hugging him and picking him up and screaming We did it! You did it!

What a first show.

Min shakes himself back to reality and pulls into the venue parking lot. Ryan jumps out of the van before Min is fully parked, despite Min’s loud protests. He rolls his eyes and lets Ryan run ahead anyway.

While Ryan gets checked in with the manager, Min parks and unloads Barold and the rest of their equipment (which is pretty much just Barold now, since Ryan took his guitar with him in his haste). He heads inside, he and Ryan set up, and then they’re standing onstage behind a lowered curtain, waiting in darkness and silence for their cue.

Suddenly, Ryan turns around and flashes Min a thumbs-up and a bright smile. It’s more jerky and jittery than usual, probably because of the nerves and adrenaline. He seems a little more on edge today, though.

“We’re gonna do great!” Ryan promises, grinning.

Min smiles back. “We’re gonna do rad,” he replies. The tension between them dissipates, and the curtain goes up. Ryan turns toward the crowd, beaming his particular I’m-on-stage-but-I’m-really-enjoying-myself smile, and greets them. The crowd goes wild.

Energy floods Min’s body, and he grins back at the crowd. Ryan counts them off, and they burst into their opening number with the power and passion it requires. The crowd screams, but Min can barely hear them over the music and Ryan’s voice.

He’s living. Far more than he ever was before.

They both are.

After the show is a blur of chatting with audience members, grabbing something to eat, and scheduling another show. By the time they head to the hotel, Min’s exhausted. But he dutifully puts all the equipment in their hotel room and locks up the van before he collapses into bed.

Ryan is already in their room when Min comes in. He’s sitting on the bed, facing away from the door, with his hands on his lap. Most striking is the absence of his guitar. Ryan may have been playing all day, but it’s rare for him to be without his instrument and yet so still like this.

Ryan, to his core, is always moving. Even when he’s not physically moving, he’s always singing, humming, thinking. Yet now, he sits in absolute stillness.

“Ryan?” Min whispers. His voice is quieter than he intended, but Ryan jumps at it all the same.

When he turns, he’s smiling disarmingly, but it’s too wide and shaky to be natural. Ryan may have convinced someone else with that expression, but Min knows him too well to be fooled.

Min strides into the room with three short steps, locking the door behind him. He stops in front of Ryan, so close their knees are almost brushing. Ryan blushes. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I- Nothing.” Ryan won’t meet his gaze.

Min scowls. “Come on, Ryan. Aren’t we past this? Didn’t the train teach us not to do all this not-talking crap?”

Ryan flinches. “I- Sorry. I didn’t mean to. I’m just… thinking.”

“About what?” Min finally moves, stepping around Ryan to sit on the bed beside him. He takes care to keep his voice soft and gentle. He doesn’t want to scare Ryan again. Whatever’s going on seems to have him skittish all of a sudden.

Ryan bites his lip. “Min, I… you know I care about you, right?”

Min blinks, surprised. “Of course I do.” Hesitantly, he reaches out to take Ryan’s hand, running his thumb over Ryan’s knuckles. “I care about you too.”

Ryan blushes. His cheeks are nearly scarlet right now. Min’s a bit too tired to unpack that all on his own right now, but he knows it means something. It spurs him on, gives him a burst of courage and energy in the adrenaline crash phase after a show. “I’m glad we’re-” He’s about to say friends, but the word dies on his lips. Suddenly, it feels all wrong, but he can’t put his finger on why.

Slowly, Ryan turns to face him. His eyes are wide and anxious, his lips slightly parted, but there’s a set determination in him that shows in his face. He reaches out to take Min’s other hand, and… leans in closer.

Min finds himself leaning in simultaneously. Soon they’re close enough Min can feel Ryan’s breath on his lips. It’s hot in more ways than one.

Oh. Oh.

So that’s why today, Ryan’s hand on his wrist, the trusting and yet shocked expression of his, felt so weird and so right at the same time.

Their eyes meet. A silent exchange passes between them.

Do you want to do this?

Yes. Do you?

Yes.

If asked after, Min couldn’t say if he initiated it or if Ryan did.

All he knows is the gap between them is now nonexistent, and Ryan’s lips are on his, and suddenly it’s everything he’s ever wanted.

The kiss is slow. Hesitant. Exploring new territory, figuring out boundaries. But it’s not awkward.

No, they are Ryan and Min, Min and Ryan, Chicken Choice Judy, and they have come much too far to be awkward. They’ve been building towards this moment since they first met, even if they didn’t know it.

It feels like a found puzzle piece of himself Min didn’t even realize he was missing. Now, he is complete. Now, they are complete.

Now, they are both truly living their lives to the fullest.

this fic is just: *headcanon* *headcanon* *headcanon* *hea-

oh man i almost didn't finish this one in time. it's still the 12th here, though (by a couple hours!), so i'm good! it's hard to write a full one-shot every day, but i've already come farther than i thought i would! i told myself i would finish this today, and i did! i also told myself i would finish the week and my remaining prompts, and i will. :)

title is from new days by dreamcatcher. that's the second time i've used it as a title but the last one was for a zine fic so i can get away with using it here, lol. i really love that song, so that's why. the lyrics translation are absolutely nothing like this, but for some reason it gives off road trip vibes (at least to me), so it works really well for this particular piece!

okay confession time: i think this is the first kiss scene i've ever written lol. i was writing it and i was like "hey wait a minute i have no clue what i'm doing have i done this before??? i don't think so???" it didn't help that i didn't intend to write a kiss scene, but i got to the place where i'd intended to end it and it felt like the natural progression. i'm gonna go research good kiss writing after this. i would've done it while i was writing, but i didn't want to post this any later than i had to

i have a bunch of infinity train snippets and wips i wrote right after book 4 aired and my interest in the show peaked, and i really thought i had something that would fit well for off the train but i guess i didn't?? maybe i just daydreamed it and never actually penned it skfhksl. so i was kind of flying by the seat of my pants for this one. i think it's my favorite of rymin week so far though! it was also the most fun to write. i really love introspective pieces. ryan and min off the train, after their relationship is repaired, when they're in a much better place and truly happy with each other, is also my favorite time in their lives to explore. they're so much happier and healthier, and they can truly start to explore themselves and realize their dreams.

if you have a piano or something on hand you should play the d and g notes together. they sound heavenly. in choir two years ago we had that chord and i have never forgotten it because i love it so much.

if you ever wanna talk infinity train, writing, these amazing characters, or really anything hmu here on my tumblr or twitter! thank you for reading, and please leave a reblog/like/comment if you enjoyed it!

@ryminweek

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catgirlthecrazy · 4 years ago

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Holding the Moon

Empty practice grounds were like empty taverns to Kaladin. He was so used to seeing the place full of light and activity, that finding it without either of those things was downright unnerving. Usually, he couldn't go two steps without hearing the sound of weapons clashing or people grunting as they sparred. There were always a few ardents around, training warriors or maintaining the equipment. There were always spheres in every lantern bracket. A poorly lit training ground was an invitation to injury.

Tonight, there was only one person here. Only one sphere for light. It was rare for Kaladin to find Adolin here without his shardplate, but tonight he only wore simple sparring clothes. He had a sandbag set up in the middle of the room. He was punching the absolute crap out of it. No grace or finesse to his movements. Just one wild swing after another, like an overeager man breaking rocks.

The drafts of Dalinar's autobiography had come on Urithiru like the Everstorm. No stormwall, no abrupt onslaught of fury like you got with highstorms. Instead it came on slowly. From the Kholin scribes who copied it out, to their families, to the officers and workers of the tower, the contents of that text spread like fevers in the Weeping. In under a week, highprinces and water carriers alike knew that Dalinar Kholin had burned a city to the stone, and in the process, killed his own wife. Adolin's mother.

As soon as he heard, Kaladin made sure to check in on the younger Kholins. How could he not? One was his friend, the other still technically a subordinate. Both of them had already known- Dalinar had the decency to warn them before the news went public. It was hard to tell how Renarin was taking it. Kaladin had always had difficulty reading that kid. But Teft was keeping him occupied with training, and Rock was better at being a sympathetic ear than Kal had ever been. So Kaladin tried not to hover.

As for Adolin… You're the tenth person to ask me that, bridge boy. Leave me in peace. And Kaladin had. It seemed the respectful thing to do. Once Shallan got back from whatever infiltration kept her currently out of contact, his friend would have all the support he needed. It wasn't until Syl summoned him to the practice grounds in the middle of the night that Kaladin reconsidered that assessment.

"He told me he was fine," Syl whispered, "but I think he's lying. He sounded like you when you tell people you're fine."

Kaladin grunted. "Of course he isn't fine Syl. But if he needs to work his feelings out with training, we should probably let him." Almighty knew Kaladin had been there. Exhausting the body till you had no room to think about your grief had its merits. But damnation it hurt to see it happening to Adolin. Adolin, who sometimes seemed like nothing could dim the sun behind his smile. Adolin, whose eyes now stared ahead like empty pits.

"Yes, but he shouldn't have to be alone," Syl said. She took the form of a skyeel and wound around Adolin protectively.

The sandbag dented inwards as Adolin let off one last punch. With the slow acceleration of a falling tree, the sandbag toppled over. Adolin bent double with a groan, exhaustionspren puffing around him like jets of dust. Immediately, Kaladin was there with a ladle of water. Adolin accepted it, as he did the next ladle Kaladin brought. Then he tried to wave Kaladin off. "I appreciate the thought," he said, "But I don't need you to mind me."

"Maybe I just wanted to get in some late night spear practice." Adolin gave him a flat stare. Kaladin gave in. "Ok, fine, I wasn't. Syl was worried about you, and she brought me."

"Syl?" Adolin looked surprised at that.

"She explores the tower at night."

"Huh. Well, tell her I'm glad she cares." Apparently Syl was still invisible to him. "But I'm good here." He turned to reset the sandbag. It was at that point the prince's hands caught the dim spherelight, and Kaladin realized Adolin's knuckles were bleeding.

Kaladin's surgeon's instincts woke like sleeping axehounds who smelled the rain. He grabbed Adolin's hands and dragged them under the light. "Storms, Adolin, how long have you been at this?!"

Adolin tried to pull his hands out of Kaladin's grip, but Kaladin hung on. The scrapes were hardly the worst injury Kaladin had ever seen. In fact, as training accidents went, it was downright minor. But for his hands to get this bad from punching a sandbag? Adolin would have had to have ignored significant pain for a very long time. Check that he hasn't sprained something. Kaladin felt at Adolin's wrist. "Does it hurt when I press here?"

"No." Adolin pulled harder and finally yanked himself out of Kaladin's grip. "Honestly Kal, it's not that bad. Renarin can heal me later."

"Renarin can-?" Kaladin sputtered. This storming man. "That doesn't make it ok for you to hurt yourself, Adolin."

Adolin looked away. "I need this, Kal. If I don't exhaust myself, I… I obsess over all of it."

Kaladin softened at that. Storms, but he knew exactly what Adolin was talking about. How many times had he done this exact thing after Tien died? Worked himself so hard until his mind had no strength left to think about how much he hurt? He could remember at least one time when Sergeant Hav had needed to order him not to keep training through injuries. "Well. At least let me treat this before you do anything else."

Adolin raised an eyebrow. "Seems kind of pointless. I can just have Renarin heal it instantly."

"Your brother isn't here. Unless you plan to wake him up over this, you'll let me treat this the normal way."

A shadow of a smile flickered across Adolin's face, like the sun shining through thick clouds. He gave a tired mock salute. "Yes, sir!" Kaladin rolled his eyes.

Fortunately, the practice grounds kept basic medical supplies on hand in case of training injuries. After washing off the blood with water, Kaladin was able to daub Adolin's knuckles with lister's oil and wrap them in bandages. Adolin made a small grunt as he did. "Too tight?" Kaladin asked.

Adolin shook his head. "No, no. It's just- I'm so used to seeing you flying about like a paragon of soldierhood. I forget you know how to do things like this."

Kaladin didn't know what to say to that. He tied off the last bandage. "You'll probably want to change these out tomorrow."

"Or I can take it to my brother with the divinely-granted healing abilities and have him fix it completely."

"Or that."

Adolin glanced at the fallen sandbag. "You think you could help me set that up again?"

Kaladin gaped. "You want to keep going?!"

"I'm not too tired to think yet. So yes, I want to keep going."

"Your hand!"

"Protected now by these nice bandages you provided."

Kaladin crossed his arms. "No. Absolutely not."

Adolin's face darkened. "Fine." He leaned down to pick up the sandbag.

Kaladin grabbed his shoulder. "If you don't put that down right now, I'm summoning Syl to cut it in half."

Adolin turned on him. "I appreciate your concern, Kal," he said, voice tight, "But it's time for you to butt out."

Kaladin was completely unmoved. "If you keep going, you will hurt yourself."

"I told you. I need this." His words were angry, but it wasn't an angerspren he drew. It was an agonyspren, like an upside down face on the floor. The raw pain in his eyes was hard to look at. It was like looking at an open wound, still bleeding and vulnerable.

"You don't have to stop working out," Kaladin said finally. "But you do need to do something else. Something not so hard on your hands."

"Like what?"

He thought about it. "Spar with me."

"What?"

"Spar with me. Quarterstaffs, or hand to hand. You'll have a harder time breaking your hands on me, at least." And it would give Kaladin more control over the situation.

Adolin glanced at the battered punching bag, then shook his head forcefully. "No. Fighting an actual person… That's a bad idea for me right now."

"I've got Stormlight. You don't need to worry about me."

Adolin barked out a horrified laugh. "What?! No! Weren't you just telling me that being able to heal yourself doesn't make it ok?!" Kaladin pursed his lips, annoyed at himself. Adolin had him there. Perhaps Kaladin should have wondered why he had such a double standard about this, but now wasn't the time to examine that. Instead, Kaladin pulled two blunted practice swords from the equipment racks and handed one to Adolin. The prince stepped back. "I told you, I'm not going to-"

"Zahel's been teaching me sword katas," Kaladin interrupted. "One of them takes two people. You know the one?" Adolin nodded slowly. "Run through it with me." Kaladin offered the practice sword again. Adolin stared at the sword for a long moment. Hesitantly, he took it. Kaladin set the pair of them two sword-lengths apart in the middle of the practice grounds. Then, they began.

Two-person katas were more like a choreographed dance than actual combat. Kaladin lunged in for a prescribed strike. Adolin stepped back for the proper block. Adolin swept Kaladin's sword to the side in an exaggerated imitation of real combat. Kaladin would step aside and twist it into a disarming motion. The blades clicked softly with each careful exchange. The point was to practice responding to your opponent's moves until it became embedded in your muscle memory.

When you knew a kata well, they became a kind of meditation. Your body carried you through the forms, while your mind floated free. Kaladin could see that peace settle over Adolin like a warm blanket, and he knew he'd done the right thing. When they reached the end of the kata, Kaladin saw Adolin's shoulders tense, and the peace started to evaporate. So Kaladin returned them to the starting position, and started them again Adolin's eyes unfocused as his body feel into the trace of a kata he knew by heart. Kaladin started them through it a third time, and Adolin pushed to go a little bit faster. Kaladin let him. That was how it was supposed to go: you started off slow to be sure you got the forms right. Then you sped up, until you moved at combat speeds.

By the fourth time through the kata, sweat was beading on Adolin's forehead. Kaladin was making mistakes, but he didn't care. Tonight wasn't about Kaladin mastering the sword. It was about helping Adolin forget his pain for a little while.

By the fifth time through, the practice swords flashed through the air like windspren. Kaladin breathed in a little stormlight to keep from faltering. When they finished, Adolin finally stopped. He didn't bother finding a seat to rest. Instead he collapsed on the sand where they stood. The practice sword landed with a thump next to him. Adolin lay there, panting like a bellows amidst a swarm of exhaustionspren.

Kaladin fetched more water from the barrel. Adolin drank it greedily. "Thank you," he gasped.

"It's just water. It's no trouble," Kaladin said, settling down on the ground next to him.

"Not just for that. Thank you for not making me talk."

"Oh, well." Kaladin chuckled ruefully. "That wasn't hard. You're not a subtle man, princeling. If you wanted to talk, you'd talk. All I had to do was not argue."

Adolin huffed a laugh. They sat there for a long moment. Slowly, Adolin's breath calmed down to something reasonable. The little stormlight Kaladin had taken in puffed away. "Does it bother you?" Adolin asked. "Knowing what my father did?"

It was a good question. Kaladin took his time answering. "Yes, it does bother me. I followed your father because I believed he was different from other lighteyes I served. Better. Finding out he'd done that? It's… well, 'upsetting' seems an inadequate word, but I've got nothing better." He took in a deep breath. "But the Ideals teach that it's always possible to change into a better person. And Dalinar's done that. He's still doing that. So in a lot of ways, nothing's really changed for me."

Adolin ground the palms of his hands into his eyes. "In my head, I know he's not that man anymore. Hell, I can even admire him for working so hard to be better. I still love him, and I want to forgive him. But damnation. I just can't."

"Maybe you don't have to forgive him," Kaladin said softly.

"What?"

"It's easy to talk about how wonderful it is that someone's grown when they haven't hurt you personally. If you'd asked me that question about, say, Gaz? You'd have gotten a very different answer."

Adolin nodded slowly. "The thing is, I think about what Mother would say, if she saw me now. I know she'd want me to forgive him. She'd have forgiven him in a heartbeat. She forgave everyone... everything." His voice cracked, and he broke down into sobs.

Kaladin felt completely lost. Not because he was a stranger to crying people, but… well, usually Adolin was the one helping Kaladin through emotional breakdowns. Kaladin felt like he'd been handed a weapon he'd never held before and tossed into the ring with a master.

What does Adolin do to help me? Usually, he kept Kaladin distracted. Gave him a goal, or something to focus on. Anything to keep Kaladin from getting stuck in his own head. He took one look at Adolin, curled up and sobbing on the floor, and knew that wasn't what he needed. He didn't have the gaping void of emotion that sometimes took Kaladin. But if not that, then what?

Hugs. He likes hugs. Granted, he usually reserved them for Shallan and close family, but Kaladin had no other ideas. He crawled over to where Adolin lay. Slowly, as if reaching out to a feral axehound, Kaladin put his arms around the other man. Adolin hesitated only a moment. Then he collapsed into Kaladin's arms, sobbing into his shoulder. They sat there for uncountable minutes. Kaladin held the prince, stroking his hair softly. He thought of his own mother, and how she'd sometimes comforted him like this when he'd been a child, woken by nightmares. What would it have been like, to lose that as young as Adolin had?

Slowly, Adolin's grief subsided like a river after the storm. "Your mother sounds like a wonderful person," Kaladin murmured into his hair. "I'm sorry I never got to meet her."

"You've no idea. I'm sorry she didn't get to meet you or Shallan. She'd have loved you both."

"Can you tell me about her?"

And Adolin did. He told how she liked reading stories of far-off romance. About the care and delicacy she put into her glyphwards. About her love for simple pleasures. Beautiful sunsets, calm evenings by the fire, the smell of incense. Kaladin held him and let him talk well into the night.

#the stormlight archive #my fanfic #kadolin #kaladin stormblessed #adolin kholin #cosmere #brandon sanderson #my post

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rudysrings · 5 years ago

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Twin Pogues of the OBX - 1

A/N + Summary: SO I’m currently obsessed with the Outer Banks right now, and I had no idea that there was so much hype about it until I hit tumblr after watching the show. It kind of got me back into writing for a bit so I thought I would go ahead and publish something that’s been sitting in my drafts. It’s essentially a fanfic that goes through the entire show from the perspective of the reader, who is John B’s twin sister. Let me know if it piques anyone’s interest, because I don’t want to keep pushing out something that people hate lol.

Warnings: Mentions of sex, cursing, slowburn

Word count: 3056

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ON WITH IT!

You didn’t want to admit it, but you were tired of listening to the waves. It made you sick to your stomach. It didn’t help that the Chateau was so close to the water that it was all you could hear at night. The waves crashing on the shore. The waves colliding with each other. The waves fighting to topple boats that made the mistake of trying to take on a storm too big for them.

You listened for your father in every wave. You hoped you’d at least hear the ghost of your father.

Unlike John B, you had no hope that your father was alive. At first, you didn’t bother voicing that thought, but as time went on, and John B continued to have delusions, you started getting more and more vocal about your opinion. Your dad was dead. Period.

And it was time that John B accepted that, too.

The two of you may have been twins, but you were as different as two people could get. John B was, for the most part, quiet, reserved and mild. You, on the other hand, had a fuse shorter than the short end of the stick you had pulled. You were hot headed and often misjudged situations too quickly. John B was the calm before your storm. You preferred to call yourself passionate. You smoked, John B did not. You slept around with far too many tourons. John B did not. John B was a dense motherfucker. You could read the room the moment you walked in. The only thing that really bonded the two of you was your love for surfing, your love for the pogues and your love for your dad.

Now that one of those things had died, or simply “vanished,” as John B would say, all that was keeping your two member family together were the pogues and surfing.

The last few months had been hell, and all you wanted this summer, was to have a good time, all the time.

Speaking of which, you and the pogues had decided to break in the summer with a little rule-breaking. Kiara wanted to check out one of Gary’s new beach-house developments, which was being built right over a turtle habitat. You all shrugged at the suggestion and agreed.

You threw a can of beer up, JJ catching it instantly, wrinkling his nose when he looked at the label. “This is the shit stuff, Y/N,” he complained.

You rolled your eyes. “Next time I’ll boot-leg champagne for ya, sweetheart,” you drawled.

JJ winked. “That’s more like it.”

Rolling your eyes, you tossed two beers to Pope, which he promptly dropped and bent down to grab, dusting himself off, embarrassed.

You rolled your eyes, watching as he threw one to John B, who was far too drunk to hold onto it, dropping it on the deck of the house, causing it to burst.

Before you could comment on Kie’s overly concerned “Please don’t kill yourself,” to John B, you heard voices yelling “Hey! What are you kids doing up there?!”

“Shit,” You said, looking for your hat.

“I second that shit,” said Pope nervously.

John B swiftly made his way down, grabbing Kie’s hand and leading them out, Pope on their heels.

“Guys, have you seen my-”

Suddenly, you felt something slip over your head, and you smiled up at JJ, who patted the top of your head and pushed you down the stairs and out of the house, all five of you laughing as Gary and his men chased after you.

As John B jumped the fence, he held his hand out to help Kie over, doing the same for you once she made it. You rolled your eyes, slapping his hand away and smoothly making it over yourself.

Pope, as expected, fell over onto the ground as he jumped, JJ shoving him further jokingly. You glared at the boy, and he held his hands up as you helped Pope up, pulling him by the hand into a sprint.

JJ held his hand out of John B’s beat up old van, pulling your laughing body in. Pope closed the door as John B gunned it, but you opened it again, teasing Gary, who was struggling to catch up with you guys.

You tossed him a beer, which he tried to catch, but failed as he stopped running, his hands on his knees.

JJ laughed as he too leaned out of the van, “They don’t pay you enough, bro!” He yelled to Gary.

Your hair blew in the wind, strands of it tickling JJ’s cheeks.

He spat overdramatically, coughing, “Hey, uh, Y/N? You mind not choking me with your hair?”

You simply gave him a playful punch in the gut, taking a seat in between Kie’s knees, who was sitting on the bench behind John B.

Kie took your long, wild hair in her hands, taming it into a french braid. JJ watched with a goofy smile on his face, his conversation with Pope getting too boring.

John B drove down to the docks, where you guys took out the HMS Pogue for the rest of the day. You tried to slap the book out of Kie’s hands, holding a freshly rolled blunt out for her to share with you, but she glared at you, turning back to her reading. You noticed Pope doing the same thing.

JJ grabbed the blunt from your hands, lighting it.

You leaned an elbow on his shoulder, tutting. “Didn’t realize we ran with a bunch of nerds…”

Before Kie and Pope could retort, John B turned around, releasing a pile of freshly caught fish onto the deck of the boat and you cheered. “Nice, John B. We eatin’ good, today.”

“Yeah we are. You’re cooking.”

“I’m what?”

John B smiled smugly, “I did the catching, you do the cooking.”

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest, “Fine then I’ll also do more of the eating.”

“I never agreed to that,” John B argued.

You turned to him, “And that’s because you’re a greedy, cocksucking parasite and-”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. We’re here to have fun, you guys,” said Kie, her hands out to the two of you.

“Man, I’d really like to go one day without you guys at each other’s goddamn throats,” Pope groaned.

“Forget the fish, there’s a party tonight. First summer party. We gotta be there,” said JJ.

“Hell yeah, I’ll take a touron dick appointment over fish and chips any day,” you put your hands on your hips, looking at the rest of the pogues.

John B rolled his eyes at your blunt words, while Pope and Kie shrugged, agreeing.

Everyone looked to John B and he sighed before saying, “Yeah, I’m down.”

You all cheered, running over and piling on top of him, laughing.

The party was one of the best you had been to yet. While Kiara got on her soapbox about plastic and the boys were looking for girls to flirt with, you were on the hunt for someone who could make your night count.

As you waited in line at the keg to fill up your cup, the guy behind you spoke up. “You look too good to be hanging around the cut.” He flirted.

Your blood boiled as you turned around to get in this guy’s face. You stopped short once you saw what a nice face it was. You weren’t shallow, just… horny. “Am I now?” You smiled slightly.

He nodded, “Oh yes, too good for North Carolina even. The likes of you belong in Hollywood, babe.”

He had neatly trimmed blonde hair and striking blue eyes. Guess you had a type, after all, you thought fleetingly.

“Wow, can I get a name, kind stranger?” You flashed your teeth.

“It’s Asher ma’am, and you are?”

You shrugged, handing your cup to the guy near the keg, who handed it back within a second, full. You put your hand on Asher’s cheek, tapping it as one would a small child, “Oh, sweetheart, you gotta earn that.”

Asher’s eyebrows rose, walking with you down the beach. “How might I go about that?” He asked, suggestively.

You smirked. “It’s not how, honey, it’s where.”

And that was all you needed to let this guy rock your world that night.

You woke up alone the next morning in the hammock outside the Chateau, having crashed there after the party. Groaning, you rolled over until you fell on the ground, struggling to pick yourself up. John B appeared out of nowhere, helping you up.

He handed you some water, which you downed immediately, his hand on your back.

“You alright, kid?” He asked. You nodded, “Yeah, I just need a shower like yesterday,” You moaned.

John B nodded, slapping your shoulder. “Next time don’t drink so much, eh?”

You rolled your eyes, flipping him off as you walked inside. You were heading to the bathroom when you passed John B’s bedroom. You noticed JJ, half-naked and leaning over some blonde on your brother’s bed, his forehead practically touching hers. He noticed you instantly. Some emotion flashed across his face before he glared. “Dude, come on. Get outta here,” he said and you smirked.

“Get some, JJ,” you encouraged, barely dodging the pillow he hurled at you as you shut the door.

As you walked into the bathroom, you couldn’t understand why your stomach lurched when you thought about what JJ was probably doing with that blonde in John B’s bed. You shrugged, it was probably just the alcohol.

That afternoon, you and John B had an appointment with social services, who basically confirmed that you two would be put in foster care after they confirmed that your uncle wasn’t home to look after you two tomorrow.

As John B expected, you didn’t take it well. To your credit, you kept it together in the social worker’s office, but you practically had a meltdown the moment you stepped foot outside.

“How can they just fucking take us away! What did we even do wrong? It’s not our fucking fault Uncle T decided to split! Can’t they see that we’re better off on our goddamn own, John B?!”

John B shrugged. “Not much we can do, Y/N. It’s the law.”

At that, your breaths came even faster, “But it’s not fair, John B! What if-What if they split us up?” You were almost hyperventilating now, pulling your own hair.

John B furrowed his eyebrows, pulling you into a hug. “They’re not going to do that. I’m not going to let that happen, Y/N, you hear me?”

You pushed him away from you, “We’ll see, John B.”

The two of you caught a break. Hurricane Agatha came in the same day DCS was supposed to do your assessment. Your mind immediately went to the sick waves that would be forming. You tugged on John B’s shirt, pulling him away from the TV, “Call DCS and call them to reschedule. And then grab your surfboard.” Your grin stretched across your whole face, your eyes probably wild.

John B looked confused, then concerned. “You can’t be serious. There’s a hurricane?”

“Dead serious.” You crossed your arms. “Like you can resist these waves.”

John B shrugged. “Yeah, I’m in.”

The two of you ran out to the ocean, the dark clouds and harsh winds not fazing you, Pope having bailed on you guys, claiming that these weren’t surfable waves.

As you surfed the waves, constantly getting wiped out due to their sheer size and speed, you couldn’t help the thought: Did a wave like this kill Dad?

John B tried to surf a few waves, but he lacked not only your skill, but also your tenacity. He gave up and simply watched you from his seat on his board.

When you noticed a clearly fancy boat being tossed around in the waves, you pointed it out to John B, who squinted, trying to make it out. He agreed that it was strange. Who would go out in a storm like this?

The next morning, after surveying the damage that Agatha had caused, John B suggested that you guys go fishing, given the likeliness that there would be a whole lot of fish to catch in the marsh today.

Happy to put off cleaning up for a day and high on the fact that DCS wouldn’t be able to catch a ferry down here for at least a couple of days, you agreed.

After practically kidnapping Pope from his dad and picking up Kiara, the five of you drove down to the marsh, Pope steering.

Giggling, you pulled JJ by the hand up to the bow of the HMS Pogue and handed him one of the beers that Kiara had brought. He smirked and held it up along with you as he shouted for Pope to go faster. Pope groaned. “We’ve tried this like six thousand times.”

You shook your head. “I’ve got this. It’s gonna work.”

And it did. Kind of. You and JJ were downing your beers, Kiara complaining that it was getting in your hair. You looked over at JJ from your peripheral and smiled slightly at his silly face, mouth open like a fish as he attempted to get all of the beer that was being hurled out of the bottle.

Until the boat lurched to a sudden stop, catapulting you and JJ into the air. You felt your entire body flip as you fell into the water with a loud crash, water surrounding your ears. You broke the surface immediately, blinking against the sunlight. “Fuuuck,” you groaned.

You felt JJ reach you, wrapping an arm around your waist. “You good?” You nodded at him, resting your hands on his shoulders as you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

John B called out, “You good, Y/N? JJ?”

“I think my heels touched the back of my head,” JJ groaned.

You swam back to the boat, JJ right behind you. “Pope, what did you do?” You asked.

Pope looked as confused as the rest of you guys. “Sandbar. Channel changed.”

As you made it onto the boat, JJ pulled himself up, too, saying, “No shit.”

As your clothes were soaked, you slid your shorts and t-shirt off, leaving you in your teal halter bikini.

You didn’t miss how JJ’s eyes dragged up your figure, his ears turning pink when he reached your eyes and realized you noticed.

Biting your lip to keep from laughing, you turned to Pope, who had his eyes on something in the water.

“Guys...I think there’s a boat down there,” He said.

John B scoffed, “Shut up.”

Kie smiled, “No way.”

But Pope didn’t let up, “No, no, guys. I’m serious. There’s a boat down there.”

You all leaned over the side of the boat and sure enough, there was a large shadow, vague, but obviously in the shape of the hull of a boat.

“Holy shit. He’s right; let’s go!” You said, jumping into the water.

As you swam towards the shadow, you heard Pope muse, “You think there’s a dead body down there?”

You couldn’t stop your subconscious from immediately thinking Dad.

You almost threw up at the thought of stumbling across your own father’s drowned corpse.

But you knew that if that was the case, you would handle it far better than John B. You swam faster, trying to get down there before him.

The five of you made your way to the boat, your eyebrows raising against the water as you saw what kind of boat it was. This was a rich guy’s boat for sure. You recognized it as the boat from yesterday. You all took a peek inside, but couldn’t make out a body. You sighed aloud, bubbles releasing in the water.

As you guys resurfaced, you all laughed.

“That’s a Grady-White,” JJ laughed in shock, “A new one of those is like 500 Gs, easy.”

You guys climbed back into the boat. John B gave you a look. “That’s the boat we saw when we surfed the surge. Maybe it hit the jetty or something.”

Kie looked confused. “You surfed the surge.”

You smirked. “Well… I surfed the surge. John B mostly just watched.” Your brother rolled his eyes but he didn’t correct you.

JJ was getting on the boat when he heard you say that and his entire face lit up. “Yeah, that’s my girl, pogue style,” he said, giving you a high-five.

You grinned back, your stomach involuntarily tumbling at the words my girl.

“Fuck,” you whispered to yourself. Kie noticed, shooting you a look.

You blushed, looking away.

Pope asked, “Wait, wait, do we know who’s boat that is?”

John B opened the hatch on the deck of the boat, looking for the anchor inside. “No. but we’re about to find out.”

JJ shook his head, “Dude, it’s too deep.”

“Only for the weak and feeble, JJ,” John B said.

“Well, I’m not resuscitating you. I’m just making that clear up front.”

You worried that there could still be a body down there. Your father’s body. John B couldn’t see that. Plus, something about the thought of diving felt like a challenge. You took the anchor from John B’s hands. “I’ll go,” You said.

“What the fuck, no Y/N,” said John B.

JJ grabbed your upper arm, “Yeah, not a good idea,” he said.

You shook him off lightly. “I’m doing it,” you insisted.

JJ shrugged. “Well, I wouldn’t mind resuscitating you,” he joked.

You rolled your eyes, “You wouldn’t even know how.”

JJ smirked, “Yeah, but I have experience with-”

Pope interjected as you walked to the edge. “Diver down, fool,” he shook his head in slight disappointment. But then again, when was Pope not disappointed in you?”

JJ came over to you. Looking you hard in the eyes, he gave you a questioning look. You steeled your eyes. “I’m ready.”

He smirked, “You better be.” He gave you a shove on your shoulders, pushing you backwards off the bow of the boat and you could hardly hear him say “Diver down,” and John B say, “The fu-” before the water hit you, swallowing you whole as you quickly sunk with the weight of the anchor.

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snapefiction · 4 years ago

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Phases of the Moon Pt.1 - Snapeficition

A/N: This one is something I kept in my drafts for some time now but kind of still really like so I spontaneously wanted to post it. I hope you like it!

❤️ Please remember that English isn’t my native language and that my Writings will include Mistakes and maybe weird formed sentences. ❤️

Word count: 1321

Pairing: Severus Snape x Orphan!Y/N Flitwick

TW: Struggling Mental Health, Mention of Addiction, Mention of Torture

Phases of the Moon Pt.1

,,Are you even paying Attention, Severus?" Looking up he felt his burning, watery eyes paining him.

,,Yes, of course, Headmaster." He hasn't slept in days. To be exact in literally 68 hours which lead him to slowly going mental.

,,I know it's a lot but remember your promise-" Dumbledore started but Severus just nodded panicking.

,,Yes I am listening. I am listening." Almost begging he sat up again and wiped over his face to gain the imagination of wiping away his tiredness.

,,You made this promise."Dumbledore stated before continuing about his next Plan. Hours later after he prepared everything for his next Mission which would in conclusion would lead to his final death one day he fell onto his bed. His hammering Head wasn't shutting up. 73 Hours. Three days and one hour and he couldn't sleep? Ironic. Usually he liked staying awake for so long. Sometimes his paranoia took over and he forgot everything for a while. His body shut down so much that he finally could forget his degrading reality. But not tonight. Thinking about just taking a sleeping potion he quickly cancelled that idea. He took it way too often. He slowly became addictive to the magical relief. A walk would eventually do it, he deeply hoped.

Dragging himself through the corridors he had the feeling of not being a human anymore. Was he anything at all at this point? The Years of being a double agent left their traces and marks. Physically but also mentally. His Body aged quickly, leaving him in constant pain. But his mental pain was much worse. Having multiple panic attacks on the daily were just some of the milder things.

Thinking back to the first time he witnessed the dark Lord torturing someone he felt his stomach turning around. The screams still echoed in his ears and the imagine hunted him down in his sleep. It was cruel.

,,Severus? Are you alright?" A voice which wasn't more than a whisper made his head shoot up. Forgetting his thoughts trying to cope with the situation he nodded. Y/N Flitwick. Filius niece stood in front of him. His eyes had trouble identifying her as they had developed a film of tears.

,,Oh dear..."

-Y/N -

Wandering down the corridors you hoped no one would spot you as you tried to sneak out. You had trouble falling asleep during this phase of the moon and decided to get your mind off this stress somehow.

Hearing footsteps nearing you quickly casted Nox to stay undercover but as you discovered a familiar face you quickly casted Lumos again. His dark hair wasn't flowing anymore it were strands and his eyes weren't reflective but hallow and dull. All in all he seemed to be not well but like a living dead.

,,Severus? Are you alright?" As if he hasn't noticed you yet he quickly looked up but his eyes darted through you processing the sight. A weak nod was followed by a small sigh as he lowered his wand he held up as well to light his way.

,,Oh dear..." His hands were shaking so much you wondered if he was having a incident or got attacked. Pity bid your heart and you sorted your endless thoughts for a second. Racing one after one you stopped as you had a merge plan on how to continue as Severus didn't seem to be very approachable.

,,Severus, do you need help? I can guide you to Madame Pomfrey any second."

,,No." His voice was so silent you almost mistook it for your thoughts.

,,Do you need something?" Shifting in your shoes his presence made you feel tired too.

,,If it's not too much to ask- some company?" For a spare second a small smile crept up your face. Severus wasn't able to keep his eyes properly open but asked for you to accompany him. Nodding you agreed stuttering.

,,Of course. I was on my way to the old Astronomy Tower. Would you like to follow me?"

,,Lead the way." He cleared his throat slightly. Tugging your Coat tighter around yourself you made sure that Severus was still following and alright. Of course just from the distance and quietly but you could tell that he was thankful to not be alone anymore. Which was quite odd since you got to know to a dark, powerful, and mysterious man and not the one who was so weak you feared that he’d fall over any second.

After taking the last few steps you sighed as you spotted the overview. This Place always made you feel safe and hidden. Sitting down The small steps You signed Severus to do the same. His tall figure just sank down on his own. He looked around, his whole presence seemed to relax and a small smile was visible just for a moment.

His Shoulder leaned against the stone wall and his knees were still close to his chest. He wasn't really sitting but crouching. Somehow he was looking peaceful just now. Eyes flickering he quickly drove off to a deep slumber. Would anyone believe you if you told them that the feared Professor just fell asleep next to you? Probably not. The strange feeling that something wasn't right didn't let you go so you didn't dared to move or read the book that rested on the inside of your jacket pocket. You just watched the sky through the tall ceiling and imagined what a life at Hogwarts must be like.

Visiting your Uncle over the Holidays was always fun as you haven't grew up in the Magical world but as a Muggle. Learning late about you magical heritage you almost felt overwhelmed by this new world laying down to your feet. Filius quickly offered to teach you as often as he found some time which was just the case Right now again. Small Spells like Lumos and Nox were easy for you but still you struggled with Charms in General like the whole understanding of this world. The only person who never seemed to talk down on you was Severus. He picked you up on your first Holiday in Hogsmead and lead you to Filius. Severus wasn't very talkative but a good listener. And somehow it made you feel like he understood. Not the Charms Disaster , as how your Uncle called it, but the whole Situation on it's own.

Whenever Severus noticed how much you struggled and how Filius was close to throw his wand at you he invited you gently to a Potions Lesson which included drinking tea and reading notes that Severus collected to each Potion from the Textbook. He was a Saviour on it's own. You've spent so much time with him and still didn't knew anything about himself. Hogwarts was a weird Place sometimes. Not to mention the Wizards and Witches living there.

Discovering that you had a second Uncle who introduced you to your greatest Fairytales was impressive. Born without a family and after so many years getting dragged into another world was - let's call it a lot.

So it happened very often that you had to flee somewhere no one would look after you. The small spot on the steps at the Astrology Tower hid you well like a secret. That's why you thought Severus would appreciate it too. Looking down on him you saw that his head sunk down low. Deep breaths left his lungs and as some air strikes his slim figure you took of your Coat to cover him. At first he shivered but then continued to sleep. Maybe you could give him back some of the trustful feeling he offered you some time ago? You really hoped so. But for now the figures of the two of you were consumed by the Phases of the Moon. And this is how it began. Slow but steady. How your loyal friendship started and how trust bonded.

to be continued. 15.April.21

Taglist: @deepperplexity , @monstreviolet , @wow-life-love4 , @lizlil , @once-upon-an-imagine , @darkthought15 , @elizabeth-baelish , @looseheartedlady , @ithinkweallsing , @simpforsnape , @meteoritewolf69 , @rosaline-black , @morphineisouthoney , @mrssnivellussnape , @sarcasticequeen-blog , @agalandhermarvelobsession , @dracomalfoyownsmyass

Let me know if you want to be tagged in my Taglist! :)

#snape #severus snape #snape x reader #severus snape x reader #snape x y/n #severus snape x y/n #My writing #snapefiction

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daydreaming-cheese-weasel · 4 years ago

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community wild west au

okay, it’s a bit different from what i posted in the rough draft of ideas thing, but here it is!! this is part one, bc i think the whole thing is gonna end up longer than i thought lol

Annie knew she couldn’t stay here forever. It was a small town, and she always knew, somewhere deep down, that she would move on to bigger things someday. But that didn’t make it easier to be forced to leave. This was all she had ever known- playing kick the can with the younger children of her father’s patients while they got their medications, playing dress up with her mother, beating the dust out of their clothes during windy season with her brother. She knew she had to face the truth. She wasn’t welcome here anymore. If she had just known when to quit, she wouldn’t be in this situation... that’s what she beat herself up on while she silently bagged the cheese and apples her mother had paid good money for. If she wasn’t such a petty child, she could have stayed here forever... that’s what she thought while she stole the medication from her father’s office that could have helped so many people. But it was too late now, she thought as she reached the town’s limits, just before sunrise, wearing a form fitting vest given to her by her mother for her 18th birthday, taking on last look at the life she lost.

Troy never cried. That’s what he told himself, anyway, tilting his hat so that Abed wouldn’t be able to see his face. But looking at that poor horse, wincing in pain as Abed cleaned his wounds made a tear run a path down his dusty cheek. Abed was gentle with the animal, of course. Troy’s boyfriend would never ever hurt anyone, regardless of what the townsfolk used to whisper behind Abed’s back. Troy felt a flame in his stomach just thinking about them. And how terribly they always treated Abed. They were gone now, just memories of the past. Troy was free; that’s all he ever wanted.

Abed wondered where this horse had come from and how he gotten hurt as he gingerly wrapped his bright red bandanna around the horse’s front leg. It was almost the same color as the blood dripping rhythmically into the dirt. He glanced up at Troy standing a few feet away from where he was kneeling by the light brown horse. He could tell he was trying and failing to control his deep emotions, something Abed never had much trouble with. This horse represented Troy in a way, he thought. A little bit in pain, but nothing he couldn’t fix. Abed never expected to “fall” for his best friend. Especially since he didn’t fall in love- more like slowly slid into it. Drawing his attention away from Troy’s face, solemn yet “ruggedly handsome”, as the women in town would say, he realized that when the horse was healed, he would long to run again. To be free. But Abed was already rather attached to the poor thing. He wanted to see if he could bond with him so that the horse could have a way to survive and Troy and Abed wouldn’t have to continue their journey on foot. But would the horse ever outgrow their relationship? What would happen to Abed if this horse one day grew dissatisfied with his life, even though Abed had become reliant on him? He pushed the insecure questions out of his head and instead gave the horse some water to drink from his canteen, to try and gain his trust.

There wasn’t supposed to be any run ins on the way to Annie’s grandma’s house in Greendale County, a few towns over. She had heard stories of the people who would be on these kind of roads. Bandits, thugs- people who Annie didn’t have much experience with in her sheltered life back in town. But when she saw two figures and a horse laying on the ground, she knew she had to keep going, even if it killed her. This was the only way to get to Greendale where, hopefully she could stay- maybe even get a job and start her new life. With that hope in mind, she trudged on under the hot sun. She was tiring quick. She clearly didn’t know what she was getting herself into when she left, just hours ago. But she had no choice. Who knew, maybe these strangers could help her get to Greendale.

Troy and Abed exchanged a glance as the strange girl explained her situation.

“My father is a doctor, that’s why I have all these medications, I’m bringing them to Greendale,” Annie lied, fluttering her eyes, trying to look innocent. “But a few miles back, I crossed paths with some bandits! Th-they stole my dear horse, Ruthie and if you could spare just, just a few-“ Then she cut herself off, throwing in some tears for effect, really pouring in what her mother would call, “the sugar and honey”. Anybody you met would take pity on a sad sight like that, with her doe eyes and quivering lip.

“Look, ma’am, we don’t have any extra money, just barely enough for ourselves,” Troy told her. “Surely a girl like you could run those meds back to your daddy without any difficulty.” It was true that they had nothing to spare, but the girl didn’t have much to her and Troy felt a pang in his heart as he turned away from her and to the horse.

“No, you don’t understand! I need to get to Greendale!” Annie pleaded. She was only a day into her journey and her feet were throbbing in her boots, her throat dry.

“I’m sorry. I wish we could help you, but we have other things on our plate right now,” Abed said in his usual monotone voice (that didn’t make him sound very sorry, Annie thought), gesturing to the horse Troy was petting reassuringly.

“I-I can help your horse! How about a deal? You take me to Greendale, and I’ll help your horse,”she said. Troy perked up and glanced at Abed.

“An intriguing offer,” Troy murmured to himself.

“How would you help him?” Abed wondered aloud. The horse was looking worse by the minute.

“The medications! It works for people, it must work for horses, too, right?” she said, not even bothering to hide the desperation in her voice as her head pounded from dehydration.

“I thought that was for the people in Greendale,” said Troy.

“They... they don’t need it that bad,” Annie stammered, caught in a lie. The truth was she had hoped to sell the meds on the way to buy some food, but striking up a deal would work even better. Troy and Abed looked at each other, seemingly reading each other’s mind. The girl was obviously lying about why she needed to get to Greendale. Annie cleared her throat, bringing their attention back to her.

“Give us a minute to discuss it,” Abed told her. The men walked over to where they had dropped their supplies- sleeping bags, water, and food- leaving Annie with the horse.

“She’s desperate,” Troy said.

“She’s lying” Abed replies.

“We can’t push her; if she doesn’t want to tell us why she’s going to Greendale, we can’t make her.” Troy knew what it was like to want to shut down from the outside. Abed considered this for a moment.

“Okay. If you trust her, I’m with you. We were going that way, anyway. Plus, the horse needs help.” Troy grinned. He went on his tiptoes to kiss Abed’s cheek. He smiled at him.

“Thank you Abed,” Troy said, in that tender voice that Abed slid into love with.

“Let’s bring her some water, she looks like she’s going to pass out any second.”

Thanks for reading!! Reblogs are appreciated if you enjoyed it! Part two will be where they meet the rest of the group so stay tuned!!

(thanks for the inspiration @understandably-odd!!!)

#six seasons and a wild west au #trobed #trobedison #community #six seasons and a movie

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zet-sway · 4 years ago

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@the-wip-project day 46:

What does your editing/revision process look like?

GREAT QUESTION LOL (ʘᴗʘ✿)

It's a mess. It's a god damn shit ass mess. I can slam down 1k words in an hour if the mood strikes but I will, without question, second guess the everliving fuck out of every last word.

So I write a scene and then spend like 1 week minimum nitpicking it.

Editing fanfic! Its a thing I do until it makes me literally sick. Sometimes I know I'm done with something when I just can't fucking stand to read it anymore. Holy hell you guys just don't have any idea how heavily edited all of my work is.

The method is: draft first, fix later.

So usually my WIPs are stuffed into Tumblr's drafts thing. And I pick at them a few minutes at a time, multiple times a day.

While I'm at work

When I get home

Before bed

When I wake up

When I'm taking a shit

You know, downtime lol

In fact I often start editing the work before I even finish writing all of it.

The number one thing I find myself doing when I'm revising work, is taking the second half of a phrase/sentence/paragraph and cut/pasting it in front of what was once the first half. I don't know why but most of the time, when I rearrange words like this, I like them better.

I also keep the fucking thesaurus handy. Because I'm not confident in my vocabulary. One of the shitty things about writing a lot of smut is this oppressive feeling of "sameness" that permeates each work. It's all smut. Mouths, hands, genitals, sensations, feelings, intimacy. There are only so many words to describe how it feels to be touched. And I don't want to reuse the same idioms from scene to scene cause then it just feels like "I wrote the same smut but remixed." I'm trying to incorporate a heavy focus on dialogue these days and that's helping a lot, but wordplay is challenging when you're writing oral sex for the third time in two months. At that point I often find myself banging out a non smutty scene just to like, loosen up a little.

Side note: I found this "sexy thesaurus" online that listed "heart of her arousal" as a way to say vagina and I'll be honest I've never heard this one and I really love it so yeah expect to see that more lmao

And one of the biggest things I do when I'm editing is distance. I have to take breaks from the work, to write something else, or just to do anything else at all. Sometimes I read other fanfics which is a double edged sword because it's inspiring but also makes me think "fuck why didn't I think of that???" But I'm trying to distance myself from the notion that I can't "borrow" from other works. I can borrow. Borrowing a "train of thought" is not plagiarism. Borrowing one word used near another word is not plagiarism. If I don't try out new words, I will never grow as a writer.

And don't even get me started on dialogue. It's funny because I find Shepard's character a pain to write but her dialogue is very easy for me. She speaks with my voice (not literally but in terms of words). Thane I find easy to identify but harder to dialogue. I revise his words a lot. There's a fine line between his ample vocabulary and his direct way of speaking. For instance in Taste of Victory, I revised these lines at least five different ways:

"What do you hope to gain by poring all night over strategic data?" - I struggled with what exactly Shepard was looking at. I wanted her to be doing some small, pointless thing that made her feel like she was still contributing to the war while tired as fuck, but I didn't want to use the words "war assets."

"The whole galaxy could be on to us and I could not find it in myself to care." - I wanted him to say "I have no fucks to give" in the most Theloquent way possible. I just made up the word Theloquent - Thane + Eloquent. I'll see myself out LMAO

"Ah, the legend herself, assassinated in the fortified heart of her own warship?" - this line was originally way too long. I wanted to keep the words 'legend,' assassinated,' and 'warship.'

Thane in particular is very easy to "overdo," in my opinion. It's easy to put too many big words in his mouth and even easier to tack "Siha" on to every single line of dialogue. In my headcanon, he calls her Shepard just as often, usually saving Siha for more private moments but not always. Actually he sometimes calls her "Dess" too, as a shortened version of "December" (thank you spookyvalentine for that nickname!) but I don't use my Shep's name as a general rule. But yeah I don't want Thane to sound like a thesaurus.

The absolute hardest thing is second guessing the "plot." I'm dealing with a lot of that now. If I change an idea for something that hasn't been written yet - while simultaneously working on a scene that comes AFTER that event - oh my god it just makes my stomach flip with anxiety. I could fix this by actually writing in a linear fashion. But that's so fucking hard to do lmao. That's one reason I haven't finished my long ass WIP yet. I'm happy with the interlude scene but I keep thinking I want to slow burn it more - it's important because both Shep and Thane make direct references to events that happened previously. Events that I haven't written yet. This is me clutching my fucking head in my hands and screaming into a pillow lmao (╯°□°）╯︵ ┻━┻

So TLDR my editing process is extremely nonlinear, time consuming, and exhausting. I have this ingrained idea that "there's always room for improvement." But often by the time I'm done editing I can't see what's good about the work anymore. I know which moments I like but I can't see it from an objective standpoint anymore. Coming back to fanfic after years was an incredible experience because it was the first time I ever read my own work from a completely clueless perspective. It gave me inhuman confidence to write again, and I have to remember that because I'll second guess myself into the ground if I'm not careful.

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

I should maybe try and calm down a bit lol

#zet vs 100days #oh boy another wall of text

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comfy-whumpee · 4 years ago

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Marissa

@ashintheairlikesnow thank you for the fic starter that ran away with the spoon. This is very first-draft but it exists and is canon.

TW: drugging, romantic whumper overtones.

Taglist: @lonesome--hunter, @iaminamoodymoodtoday, @wildfaewhump, @ishouldblogmore, @lektricwhump, @that-one-thespian, @raigash, @paingineering, @whumpywhumper

It takes all their courage to come back. No matter how many times they’re welcomed, no matter how many times they’re invited, they always have to brave it. They walk up the little paved stone path to the cottage, hands folded against their chest, debating. It can’t be a good idea to do this. It can’t be. She’ll be angry. She’ll turn them away.

Northlight is a breeze blowing through normal people’s lives. They’re there for a lovely moment, and then they’re gone. They’re a shooting star, ephemeral, unattainable...irrevocable and yet inconstant.

The plants on the windowsills inside cover most of the window panes, but the door is cleared and the frosted glass inset amongst the wood shows a tall figure with a peering face. Then the door opens.

“North,” she says, her smile broad and soft like butter spread on toast. “It’s been so long. Come in, my love.”

Northlight smiles nervously, stepping past the hanging rugs on the hallway walls. They follow to the kitchen, where she puts on a kettle to boil.

She’s older. She used to be so strong, able to lift them without effort, carry them to bed, hold them tightly through their bitter nights of tears and terror. She used to show them how to exercise and build their strength until their body was something they controlled even when their chronology was not. She gave them skills and she gave them love, and she had so many of her own stories. Stories about the sky, their precious star-sailor.

She makes their tea how they have always liked it, two sugars and a sandwich on the side. She sits opposite them, and smiles, and reaches for their hand.

They let her take it. She is still the same beautiful Marissa that they fell for years earlier.

“I waited for you,” she says.

The revelation makes their eyes widen. Something fragile and terrifying comes to rest on their chest. “Waited?”

“Twenty years from the day you slipped away to this day now, when you’re here again. I should never have wasted a single moment I had with you. I missed you every day, North. Every day.”

Every day? Nobody could care that much about Northlight. They’re just a breeze, light, momentary, gone, forgettable.

“I worried, sometimes, that I’d hurt you. That I hadn’t been enough. You needed something stable, something to call home. I wanted to be that for you.”

A home with her, forever? How long had they spent together the first time? They can’t remember.

“I knew you’d come back.”

Less than a month. It had definitely been less than a month.

“Marissa, I...”

They try to stand. The world turns sharply in one direction and the other, simultaneous, like a combination lock. They need to run, they have to - but their feet are glued to the ground, knowing against Northlight’s wishes that a single step will tip them over the edge into darkness.

“It’s alright, North,” Marissa says, reaching out to tug them back down into the armchair. “I know you didn’t mean to leave me. I forgive you. I know you’ll never make that mistake again.”

No, no, this was meant to be a visit, a brief reunion before she was gone. They’re not supposed to - she wasn’t - they’re in trouble. They drank the tea.

Marissa stokes the fireplace, raking the embers together with a practised sweep. They watch, head tipped, world tilted. “Just relax. You’re home.”

They don’t have a home. They never had a home.

“Just relax.”

But they can’t move anymore.

Whatever it is, it holds them down like their skin is sodden. Pinned to the bed they’d once shared, they lie staring at the ceiling, head back on the pillows, unable to lift it. It’s all they can do to swallow, breathe and blink.

The room hasn’t changed. It’s painted lilac, one of their favourite colours. The furnishings are white with silver highlights, accents picked out along the edges of the bookshelves on the far wall, and in the decor like the flower vase on the sill. They stare absently at the clouds moving over that sky, and think about teleporting.

Teleport once into the sky, once back to the ground a distance away. Fall, and repeat. Get away without the ability to move.

Except it isn’t that simple. They can’t always teleport without momentum; it takes effort. If they end up with their face in the ground, they won’t be able to move it again. They’ll be trapped. If they can’t teleport fast enough, dizzy or confused, they’ll land hard, too.

They look away from the clouds. Turning their eyes is manageable, thankfully. They look at the dotted ceiling and make shapes from the pattern.

She comes in. She sits at the edge of the bed, worried but unrepentant. She holds their red scarf in her hands. They turn their eyes away, back to the clouds.

“Who is this from, North?”

They can’t answer. She must know it. The tone of her voice makes it sound like she’s worked it out, and she’s not happy. The scarf is simple wool and dye, hand-made, but into the end, a felt heart in matching red is sewn to the tip with white thread. She looked closely at that to see it.

All their other treasures she has left in their pockets, not jealous enough to take even those away. But the scarf, she took.

“It’s from someone who loved you, isn’t it? Someone from after we met. You didn’t have this scarf last time.”

It’s been twenty years even for you. Don’t act so surprised.

“I’m surprised. I thought you were different.”

I never claimed to be different to anyone else. I’m just being me.

“I thought we had something special, North. I told you everything. You asked for stories and I gave you them.”

Don’t believe you’re above and beyond a millennia of people. Don’t believe you’re not just as special as any of the other people I loved. You had as much love as I had to give, and that should have been enough.

“But it’s alright. You slipped away. You couldn’t help it. You can just stay here now, stay with me, and then you won’t need other people, will you?” She sits down on a chair opposite, folding her hands in her lap and tossing her hair. Her smile is star-bright and painful to look at. “I’m here.”

Not how it works. They don’t have the energy to reply. They can barely move still. It’ll happen eventually. I’ll hit a barrier, a time I’ve been in before, and I’ll be gone.

“So, North, tell me. What have you been up to while you were away. It’s been so long for me... Was it long for you?”

Ugh. They force jaw and lips and tongue into coordinated motion. “Y-Yes.”

“Oh...” For a moment, she seems thrown, and upset by the bluntness of their answer. Shouldn’t have drugged them. “How long?”

“Dun-no.”

“Oh.” She pauses, then smiles lightly. “Well that’s fine. You still came back.”

And it was a mistake.

“You have to drink, North.”

“C-Curse you.”

“I’m just trying to help.”

“Keep y’r poison.”

Marissa sighs, shoulders dropping, and sets aside the water. Northlight keeps their eyes averted from it, knowing any hint of moisture will make their throat burn worse. It’s been nearly a full day with nothing to drink, and they know it’s the only reason they can move enough to talk right now.

“Please, North,” she tries again after a minute. “You’ll get sick.”

“Not as sick as-s you.”

They don’t have to think about the rebuttals. They come easy and feel light, like tossing burdens from their shoulders. Marissa looks more pale and upset with each one, but that serves her right.

They’re trying to sway, just a little, now that they can more again. They shift to the left with a careful push, and then flop back, allowing the momentum to carry them the other way. They bob like the tideline on a beach, and in each lean, then feel time begin to open, the gaps between eras, the cracks Northlight will slip through. Just a little more.

Marissa grabs their shoulder and pain stabs through them life a stake. Northlight howls, a breathless sound, pathetically quiet, but still heavy with the shock of being hurt so badly out of nowhere. They even open their eyes, gracing her with the barest minimum of attention as she tries to hold them still. They breathe in gasps as her hand pulls away, and the sigil gradually burns down to a smoulder.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, stupidly.

She can’t know about the marks. She can’t know what they do. “Y-You poisoned me! Get your d-damned hands off me!”

“There’s no need to scream!”

“There is.” They catch their breath, and when she doesn’t immediately reply, start swaying again. Slowly, deliberately they build up their momentum.

“Stop it,” she mutters.

They’ve always done this. They need it, the security of being able to move, the freedom offered by the open pages of time, the control over their own body - not swaying when they want to is the same as holding into a hot plate when your instincts tell you to drop it before it burns.

Marissa glowers at them petulantly, but she doesn’t grab them again. Instead, she gets up. “I’m making you more tea,” she says, blatant in her intentions.

Northlight has been drugged plenty of times before. It’s one of the few ways to hold them down. They keep swaying, focused on the expand and contract of their time-slipping power. Expand and contract, open and close, blossom and wither with each move towards and away.

This is dangerous. If they drop somewhere inhospitable, if could be hours before they get the energy to move and sway and jump again. But it’s better than being captive here until she dies, fawned over like a living treasure she can’t bear to lose. So they sway, and teeter on the edge of a new era, and fall back again steady in this time. Like a pendulum, they swing back, and forth, and on the last strike, as though they were marking the hour, they pass the amount of momentum needed to break through the eggshell of this era, and burst the bubble into the great flow of time.

The instant later, they are in a forest, and they’re toppling to the ground as their legs can’t hold them. Their legs crumple, a knee hits their chin, and they roll unwillingly onto their side. Their head lands on their arm, level with a wild strawberry plant that’s just sprouted fruit, a little green gem dangling from its stem. They catch their breath as best they can, and try to ignore the desert sand cloying in their throat. They’re outdoors, they’re free, and she’s not going to hold them down again.

Amelie and Matt, Rishi, Marissa, why do they keep trusting that the people they love will stay the same? They always turn on their Northlight, one way or another.

Better to keep moving.

Once they can move at all.

#whump #romantic whumper #drugged whumpee #possessive whumper #betrayal #time traveller #angst #my fic #northlight #escape #marissa

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mordoriscalling · 4 years ago

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The Shrike and The Lark (pt.3)

Jaskier and Renfri are disaster twins ruling Creyden. When the Warlord of the North knocks at their door, Queen Renfri and King Julian are at an advantage - they know him. As in, they know him. (Inspired by the Warlord AU and “the heart is a winged beast”).

(Pt. 1) (Pt. 2)

Creyden, 1237

The morning following the feast, the monarchs of Creyden, their Royal Council and advisors meet with the White Wolf and his right and left hand.

“We come to you with a proposal of a non-aggression pact,” Lady Yennefer proclaims as soon as everyone sits down at a round table in the war room.

The King and the Queen have a wordless conversation with Lady Chancellor, a striking woman whose skin is nearly the colour of charcoal. After the three exchanges glances, Queen Renfri replies, “Creyden would find that treaty agreeable.”

The White Wolf inclines his head.

“We have prepared a draft,” the sorceress adds, presenting the scroll to the Solicitor-General.

“I shall take a look at it now,” the Solicitor answers.

The man appears orderly in all manners, with his prim attire and neat white beard. He surveys each line of the pact thoroughly. As everyone waits for his verdict, the negotiations continue.

“We have another proposal, though,” Eskel states. “An alliance, if you’d be interested.”

The suggestion is met with bewilderment from Creyden’s representatives.

“What would the alliance involve?” King Julian asks.

“Mutual profit, generally,” Eskel replies.

“I’m afraid I can’t think of any ways in which our kingdom could bring profit to you,” the King admits. “The White Wolf’s empire seems to lack nothing.”

The Warlord of the North has so far conquered Caingorn, Kaedwen, half of Aedirn, and two-thirds of Redania. It’s an area exceedingly large and full of diverse resources; the White Wolf, ruling over such a territory, should not be in need of anything. With one exception, perhaps.

“Nothing but reliable access to ports,” Lady Yennefer answers.

The one-third of Redania that remains sovereign is the part of the country adjacent to the coast. The King of Redania was wise not to have surrendered it; sea grants some considerable advantages, after all. Creyden, especially after turning Kovir and Poviss into their vassals, has plenty of seashores to make use of.

“I see,” the King says slowly.

Again, the royals and their Council hold a silent debate by sharing telling gazes among themselves. When the matter is settled with nods, Queen Renfri speaks.

“What would the White Wolf offer in exchange?” she inquires.

“Many benefits come from the very fact of being the White Wolf’s ally,” Eskel answers.

“And just as many threats,” Lady Chancellor counters.

To this, the witcher retorts, “Yet I should think that the Warlord’s military support whenever the need arises, in the case of both internal and external conflicts, is a suitable compensation for that.”

Such a prospect is so tempting that King Julian does not consult anyone, giving an immediate response instead.

“It would be a profitable alliance indeed,” he agrees. “But how do we ensure that we keep our sides of the bargain?”

“There are ways,” Lady Yennefer replies. “Marriage, for instance. ”

Many people in the room still in unease. The royal advisors grow tense, while the White Wolf scowls formidably.

“Yen –” he gowls but then, wonder of all wonders, falls silent at the gesture of Lady Yennefer’s hand.

“Would this idea have Her Majesty’s consent?” the sorceress asks the Queen.

“Consent,” Queen Renfri scoffs. Her countenance transforms suddenly, shifting into a fury powerful enough to overthrow kingdoms. “Consent!” she repeats, measuring the sorceress with a deathly glare, “As if that ever mattered before –”

“My Queen,” King Julian interrupts, in a manner surprisingly stern. “While you have every right to your anger, don’t you think it’s unjust for Lady Yennefer to suffer it? I’m sure she had no malicious intentions.”

The Queen’s wrath seems to falter as her brother talks.

“My King is a voice of reason,” she admits. Addressing Lady Yennefer, she then states, “I said it only once to my advisors and I shall it only once to you: I will not marry any man. Ever.”

The sorceress accepts the answer with an inclination of her head. She eyes the Queen intently and Renfri watches her closely as well. Before it can turn into a staring match, however, Lady Chancellor speaks.

“What about the King?” she suggests. “Perhaps he could be to the Warlord’s preferences?”

“No,” the Warlord replies firmly, without missing a beat. “With all due respect to His Majesty,” he adds, in a tone not so respectful, “I have no interest in taking a consort.”

At that, King Julian gives a mirthless, mocking laugh. “You have no interest in it even though you need it?” he asks.

The White Wolf’s gaze seems as fierce as flames when it rests upon Julian. “My need to take a consort is small compared to my need to be certain that I can trust my consort with my life,” the white-haired witcher replies. “I want a partner who’ll hide nothing from me, or I don’t want a partner at all.”

A lot more seems to have passed between the Warlord and the King than the words that were said. There is hurt in both their expressions – hidden deep but still visible – and Julian appears mournful for some reason. The room is quiet and everyone regards the two rulers with curiosity. The silence is finally broken by the Solicitor-General.

“This draft is acceptable,” he declares, which is met with clear relief on both sides. “We could develop it into a binding pact, sign it, and then negotiate the terms and conditions of the alliance whenever the Warlord deems– ”

“Or,” King Julian interjects, “we could start working on the new treaty immediately.”

This time, it is the Warlord and his two advisors who are surprised.

“What is your urgency?” Eskel inquires.

“We expect a rebellion from Kovir and Poviss any day now,” Lady Chancellor reveals reluctantly. “When it happens, the Warlord’s support would truly be invaluable.”

The White Wolf, Lady Yennefer and Eskel look between each other.

“I’m aware that I’m asking a lot,” the King adds, “But I’m certain that we can compensate you for the haste somehow.”

“Let us consider it in private,” Lady Yennefer decides.

The White Wolf, his right and left hand then take their leave. After they do so, the Council debates the proposal of the alliance. It seems ideal almost, and the advisors are suspicious. They voice their concerns about the White Wolf’s motives, for it may as well be a ruse. With marriage out of the question, there is not an easy but reliable way to hold the Warlord to his word. If it were to be an alliance based solely on the belief in mutual profit, Credyen could have its ports taken over and be conquered in a matter of days.

Queen Renfri and King Julian, however, do not consider the threat possible, and their confidence in the White Wolf displeases the Council. In fact, many of them see it as yet another sign of how untrustworthy the twin monarchs are. Even in their own kingdom, they regarded as unstable, and uneducated in the matters of running a state. Having spent so many years in exile, Renfri and Julian are not believed to be fit to rule. Although the twins’ reign has been successful so far, their subjects do not feel secure under their leadership, and Lady Chancellor does not hesitate to remind them of it.

“I urge you to be more cautious, Your Majesties,” she tells them, “The trust you put in the Wolf will have a negative effect on your fragile popularity.”

“It will until it won’t,” the King retorts. “The Wolf is good to the common folk. It’s the nobles who spread the terrible tales of him, and they are just myths. Not a single grain of truth to them. With time, the Warlord will prove himself to be a valuable, faithful ally, and our nobles will have to stop wagging their tongues eventually.”

“But how can you know that, Your Majesty?” the Chancellor presses on, “How can you be so sure?”

“My brother reads into people’s nature with the ease he reads books,” Queen Renfri answers. “Has he not appointed all the positions at this court with each person perfectly fit for their role? Has he not predicted the decisions of the Kings of Kovir and Poviss with accuracy?”

These arguments are not refuted, for no one can deny the truth of them.

“I understand why you’re afraid of the Wolf plotting to conquer us,” King Julian says. “I believe it would soothe your fears to bind him to his promise in such a way that he wouldn’t dare attack us. There must be something, so please endeavour to find it.”

The advisors are still displeased but the King’s suggested solution has appeased them slightly.

Soon after, the monarchs dismiss the Council. King Julian and Queen Renfri stay in the room and break their fast together. Having no other engagements until later in the day, the twins then amuse themselves with a game of chess. As they play, Julian banters with Renfri, partly for entertainment but also in order to distract her. His sister knows his tricks, however, and beats him twice.

Shortly before the bell strikes noon, the Warlord and Lady Yennefer return to the war room.

“We have come to the decision,” the sorceress announces.

“What will it be, then?” Queen Renfri demands.

The Warlord looks at no one but the King as he replies, “The new treaty.”

Read the rest on AO3

#myfic #geraskier #the witcher fanfiction #the accidental warlord and his pack #jaskier & renfri are disaster twins

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eyessharpweaponshot · 4 years ago

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fic writer asks

tagged by the forever wonderful @burninghoneyatdusk, @pawprinterfanfic and @sparklyfairymira - thank you guys, I enjoyed doing it!

Name(s)?

eyessharpweaponshot (Tumblr and AO3) eyessharp100 (twitter)

Fandom(s)?

just the 100. I have dabbled in The Blacklist (keenler for life) but nothing heavy.

Where you post?

AO3

Most popular multi-chapter (by kudos)?

Lose You Too

bellarke | modern au | partners to lovers

Clarke and Bellamy, FBI agents - both too emotional to be level-headed in the dangerous situations they face together. Slow burn, mutual pining, angst, sex and these two idiots caring about one another. All the greatest hits.

This was my first ever published fic and again, did not expect it to take off like it did. I still have people reading it for the first time and screaming in the comment section about it.

Favourite story you’ve written so far?

Devil Side

bellarke | post apocalyptic au | strangers to lovers

Bellamy and Clarke face the end of the world but with their fears just at the other side of the door, they need to close their eyes and trust one another to make it out - together.

I literally can’t even explain why I love this so much. Post-apocalyptic au’s are my absolute favourite and I love how two people are forced together in a dystopian circumstance and the love grows out of fear/care for the other person. Bellamy falls over himself trying to protect Clarke and that is just something in a fic that GETS ME. This fic has an element of everything - co-parenting, angst, smut, found family, loss. I wish I could write it again, lol.

Fic you were nervous to post?

I Found Peace in Your Violence

bellarke | modern au | strangers to lovers

Clarke Griffin has it all. She’s popular, an artistic prodigy and has a wealthy family to boot. So when her perfect world comes crashing down around her, it’s time to sink or swim.

She tests positive for the Homicidal Tendency Syndrome gene, also known as the kill gene. Clarke is plucked from her comfortable life and placed into a school with people just like her - carriers, delinquents.

When she meets Bellamy Blake there, he looks like everything they say HTS carriers are. A monster, a criminal. Yet, he’s the one who protects her.

Clarke thinks existing in this school is the hardest thing they’ll have to do, but as the outside world falls into chaos, she soon learns that things can always get worse. At Mount Weather training camp, they’re made perform certain tasks that make them question who they are - make them wonder if they really are as evil as the world accuses them of being.

At least she has Bellamy. Clarke isn’t sure how they are supposed to be these violent monsters when they can do something so human, like fall in love with one another.

I am going to be screamed at for this because it’s quickly becoming my most popular fic, but I HATED it for so long. My fandom friends who had to endure me complaining about it will tell you, before I posted it, I actually considered scrapping the entire thing. If you’ve ever written a fic where it made you ask yourself if you can write at all, you’ll know what I mean! yet somehow, it won Best Alternate Universe Fic (WIP) in the @bellarkeficawards. the world works in mysterious ways.

How do you choose your titles?

mostly song lyrics. I listen to a lot of music and it usually strikes inspiration for a particular scene. even if it’s just one line in that song, it could inspire an entire fic.

Do you outline?

sometimes. if it’s a WIP or a difficult fic, I will. for nothing else only to help me keep track of a timeline or not to forget certain aspects. I tend to work better ironing out ideas with Ciara. She’s my favourite soundboard, lol.

Complete works?

16 on AO3, all bellarke.

In-progress works?

Two on AO3, bellarke again.

I Found Peace in Your Violence - I work on this whenever I get time. there isn’t many chapters left.

I Am Lost This Time - I will finish this eventually but I started it when I still had hope for canon.

Coming soon/not yet started?

I have a post apocalyptic au in the works that will be posted one day. I've also signed up for @bellarkebigbang again next year so I’m excited to start that. Then there’s about 15 drafts in my documents that maybe I'll finish one day.

Prompts?

not right now. I hit a milestone following on Tumblr a while ago (thank you all so much) and I was gonna write some epic fic requests from my best friends in the fandom but I literally can never find time to sit down lately so I’m thinking they may not be written (I am the worst ever.)

Tagging: @icantloseyou-too @kombellarke @she-who-the-river-could-not-hold @marauders-groupie and whoever else would like to do it. apologies if you’ve already completed it!

#tag game #fics #bellarke fanfiction #the 100 #bellarke #eyessharpweaponshot #jensfic

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thegalleonsnest · 4 years ago

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Wiggle’s Muse - Short Excerpt turned into a FanFic

Yo, so, I wanted to share a small snippet of a future project I’m working on (while also delaying my current art projects). What I’ve written out here in this post was originally in a format not meant for professional writing purposes, but I said “eh, why the hell not,” and written it out in sort of a short fanfic format for you guys to read. This project btw, is not a fanfic (had to make that clear). What I am working on is a very large scale project for myself and is still in the blocking out/rough draft phases. This right here is probably my most fleshed out scene I’ve written out, and feels pretty complete as it’s own thing. Honestly, I’d appreciate the feedback if any of ya’ll found this interesting!

Also I’m putting this in a tumblr post because I don’t have an AO3 or fanfiction account, and this is already too short for it anyway. Read the excerpt below

In front of the camera lenses, multiple grumpuses walk back and forth discussing a matter of topics but most importantly, where was Wiggle?

"Has anyone gotten ahold of Wiggle yet? She was supposed to be here hours ago,” a gruff voice coming from out of frame says. “We’ve tried calling her for over an hour, but we got nothing,” says another off camera, “do you think we should reschedule-” before they could finish, the studio doors bust open with a loud thud echoing the studio room. A tall, short armed grumpus with a boa stumbles along the room carrying an oddly shaped banjo.

“There she is,” said the gruff voiced grump, “Wiggle, whatever you got going on, you better do it now cause we got a meeting with investors in half an hour!” From the blurry view of a slightly out of frame Wiggle, she barely registered what the grump said. In a stumble, she walks to the center of the camera’s view & shakes her head, almost slurring her words, “Doooon’t worry, Darling, we’ll get you a new vest later.” “What, no, wait, that’s not what I-” before another word could be said, Wiggle readies her banjo and strikes a quick pose before strumming the strings like her life depended on it.

It didn’t take longer than a few seconds before the crew sprung into action, setting the proper lightning, mics and cameras around her. Her rhythm and measures became a lot more stable, catchy even, and then she broke into song. The next set of lyrics would become an instant, regrettable classic.

It’s not long before the VHS tape stutters and stops, showing mostly static. A magenta furred Grumpus with some hair covering a part of eye, hits the eject button, takes out the tape and turns off the tv. “Girl, you were a right mess there!” She said with a giggle. “Tell me about it, Vrittany...” Wiggle said frustratingly, pinching the bridge of her nose. “And you’re telling me you can’t come up with anything better than that? Come on now!” “I wish I was lying, but I’m not. No matter what I come up with, nothing is topping whatever the heck my walking coma came up with instead!” Wiggle grabs her mug of coffee and takes a longing sip.

The two sit across from one another at the coffee bar. The aroma of that day’s set of cocoa beans waft through the cafe as most of the outside lamps fill out the darker spots inside. The place is nearly empty besides them, and a single muted green furred occupant sitting at a booth at the opposite end of the cafe, drawing away in his sketchpad.

“So, whatcha gonna do?” Vrittany asked sarcastically, “Stay awake for another week? Get inspired again? Hehe.” Wiggle sets her mug down, and answers, “I did try that again, but in style I fell asleep comfortably on a couch in the lobby”. Vrittany looked a bit stunned. “You’re kidding?! You’re crazy!” “Not crazy, Vrittany,” she takes another sip of her coffee before striking a pose in her high stool seat, bellowing out her voice. “Just creatiiiivly driveeeen~” “Whatever you say, darling,” Vrittany says before turning around to her bar’s sink. She cleans several mugs and glasses with gusto while preparing one last pot of coffee, enough for a single cup for later.

Vrittany takes off her apron and hangs it on the wayside of the counter as she walks around to take a seat next to Wiggle. After situating herself, she puts a paw on Wiggle’s shoulder. “Listen, pretty sure this is just a rut you’re stuck in right now,” she says. “Doesn’t every artist go through that every now and then?” Wiggle turns her head toward Vrittany, “Well..yeah, but this is different,” she desperately says. “I can’t let a song I made in my sleep be the best thing I’ve ever made! I know I can make something that’ll shake the world more than whatever ‘Do The Wiggle’ was.”

Vrittany pulls back her paw from Wiggle to put on her best thinking cap. As deeply in thought as she was, her face immediately relaxes into a deadpan expression, “Have ya tried singing from the heart?” Wiggle cracks a smile, “HA, if only that’s how it works! It takes a musical genius to write a hit song in show biz, not just some field day with my feelings.” “Eh, worth a shot. Got any other plans?” “I’m still trying to figure that out. I need some kind of inspiration...almost like a-”

Before she could finish her thought, they both caught a glance at the muted green furred grump who walked up to them. He mustered up the words and said, “E-excuse me, you’re Miss Wiggle, right?” Wiggle turned in her seat to get a better look at the young Grumpus. She could tell he was nervous, clutching his sketchbook in his arms rather tightly. She quickly put on a more relaxed front to help calm things down, while also still showing off a bit of her excited side. “Why yes I am, Darling,” she said enthusiastically. “And I can tell you must be a fan of mine.” “Y-yeah...!” The green grump looked a little more relaxed, but still stiff in the shoulders. “Hey now, no need to be so nervous. I always got time for my fans.” “Thank you, Miss Wiggle. Um…” “No need to finish that thought, Darling, I know what you’re about to ask and I’m happy to oblige!”

Before the young man could stop to say something, Wiggle pulls out one of her many professional hand out photos that she has, and quickly signs with her autograph before handing it to him. “O-Oh, thank you, Miss, but that’s not what I was going to s-say.” he sheepishly says. “Really? Not an autograph,” Wiggle says surprisingly. “It’s usually the first thing fans ask of me.” “Sorry, I just...I wanted to show you this sketch I made…”

The nervous grumpus slowly turns his sketchbook around to reveal a fully sketched art piece depicting a stylized Wiggle singing her heart out at the bar with Vrittany hanging out in the background cheering her on. He hands it to Wiggle to give them a closer look. It was still somewhat messy, showing a few guidelines and early roughed out shapes, but for what it was, it was still impressive to the two girls.

“Woah, that’s pretty rad!” Vrittany yelled out, leaning out from her seat trying to get a closer look. Wiggle was pretty stun, gasping at the sight of such a piece of artwork. “Darling, you drew this?! Just now,” Wiggle asked in awe. “Yeah! I was listening to some of your music and then you came in and sat down. It made me wanna draw you as fast as I could,” the green grumps says excitedly before rubbing the back of his head. “Sorry if it’s still a little messy looking though…” “Don’t be, because it is beeeaautifuuul~” “T-thank you so much, Miss Wiggle! T-that means a lot to m-me!” the grumpus says while his face lights up red from the praise. “You’re like an inspiration to me.” “Really now? Like a muse? All I do is sing the night away, Darling. You draw little masterpieces like this from me?”

As Wiggle continues to be enthralled by the young man and his work, Vrittany notices the coffee pot had finished brewing. She gets up from her seat and go back behind the counter to finish her last cup for the night. Wiggle and the green grump continue their conversation.

“W-well kind of,” says the grump, “it’s a bunch of music that inspires me when I draw. A lot of your stuff is so upbeat and fun, it gives me lots of different ideas to pump out!” Wiggle looks back, almost flabbergasted. “I’m...honestly a bit stunned that I had that kind of impact on you, Darling,” she says, almost with a melancholy tone, “...heh, kind of forget sometimes I do make some kind of impression on grumps like you.” She looks back down at the sketchbook, entranced by the creativity that sparked in the moment. That dazzling moment where it all clicked...where could she find that, when someone else can find it in her?

After an awkward minute of silence, the young grump spoke up and said, “If you like, you can keep the sketch page, Miss Wiggle?” Wiggle snapped her head back up from the sketchbook to the green fuzzball. “W-wait really? Are you sure you wanna give up this piece of art?” said Wiggle worryingly. “It’s no problem at all,” said the green grump proudly. “I already took a picture of it to save for later. I’m gonna make a painted version of it online later! Besides, it’ll make me happy if you kept it, since I was going to give it to you anyway.” “Oh Darling, you’re nothing more than a sweet one now, aren’t you? I’ll gladly keep it!” “Thank you so much, Miss Wiggle!”

Wiggle hands the sketchbook back to the green grumpus and he tears out the sketch. “No, Darling, thank you,” Wiggle says ecstatically. Vrittany returns from behind the bar with a to-go cup in hand, saying “Here’s your order, kid.” “Oh, thank you, Vrittany. How much was it again,” the green grump asked. “Eh, don’t worry about it. Don’t feel like counting change. It’s on the house.” “O-oh you sure?” “You wanna change my mind?” “Don’t think I can, so thank you!” The green grump turns back to Wiggle and says “It was so nice meeting you in person, Miss Wiggle!”

“The pleasure is all mine, Dar-,” Wiggle catches herself before she realizes something. “Actually, what was your name?” “It’s Grite, Grite Tillsland!” Wiggle lets a genuine soft smile grow on her face. She felt a lot more at ease and happier knowing her new friend was much more relax and happy overall. She reached out her paw for a handshake, and Grite reciprocated.

“The pleasure’s mine, Grite, Darling.”

#Bugsnax #Wiggle Wigglebottom #TheGalleonsNest Writing #Fic #wip excerpt #Bugsnax Fanfic #Hope you guys enjoy a taste of what's to come #even when there's very little context #I've got multiple large scale projects lined up #this is just one of them #I hope to officially start it this year #but there is still a lot of backend work to be done #and also I got tons of art to make too before then

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eryiss · 4 years ago

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Chapter One - INTRODUCTIONS

Summary: The Justine's were always a criminal family. The Dreyar's were forced into it due to prohibition. After gaining power and influence in the criminal world, the families were forced into a fragile truce. This was until the recently disowned Freed Justine arrived at Laxus Dreyar's door, demanding a job in exchange for information that could bring his family down. [Fraxus Multi-Chapter]

This was written as part of the Mashima’s Heroes Big Bang, hosted by @ft-ez-bb. I have been paired up with the wonderful @fairiesherefairiesthere, who's made this great piece of art. Remember to give them lots of love.

You can read this under the cut, on Fanfiction, or on Archive of Our Own. You can find the chapter masterpost here.

Chapter One: INTRODUCTIONS

~February 1921~

Slamming his hand on a stranger's door was not something he had ever done before.

But that night was populated with many firsts for the man. It was the first time he had ever left the comfort of his town house at two in the morning, walking the streets of New York in a thunderstorm. It was the first time a group of men had battered on his door and demanded entrance to his home, pushing past him without waiting for an answer. It was the first time his father had sat him down and explained in no uncertain – but definitely angered – terms that he was a disgrace, and that he was no longer part of their family. It was the first time that he had looked up the address of a man that, up until that point, had never held any real importance in his life. So yes, it was a night of firsts for Freed Justine.

With rain battering down on him and wind swirling both his hair and his clothes, Freed slammed his open palm on the door three more times with strength fuelled by adrenaline. Hardened eyes glared narrowly at the unmoving door, and with every whistle of the strong and manic wind he found his anger at the situation doubling.

The lights were flickering inside; someone was there, and Freed would be seen to even if he had to wait the whole damn night. He had nowhere else to be.

A droplet of rain hitting his eye further ignited his anger, and he balled his fist and pounded on the black door in front of him. His knuckles stung slightly at the force with which he acted, but the many other sensations of the storm coupled with his resentment and rage at the situation overpowered any glimmer of regret. He took a step back, walking down the stairs that lead to the house's front porch, and glanced at the curtains covering the view of the downstairs room. No movement.

Just as he was considering yelling through the window to get the homeowners attention – because his spiteful dedication to the situation was overwhelming his good sense of manners and politeness – he heard the sound of metal on metal; a latch moving. A moment later, the door was opened by an incredibly unimpressed man.

Laxus Dreyar; so-called up and coming king of New York's criminal society.

He was slightly disappointing, Freed concluded on instinct. The arrival of a new crime family had created a large threat to The Justine's legacy, or so his father seemed to think. They were gaining power and influence fast, and nobody was able to control them, nor predict them. They were led by a man who, in the telling and retelling of his actions, had gained a reputation that rivalled Freed's fathers. A monolithic force of nature.

But the man standing before Freed was just that: a man. Admittedly rather a handsome one, with striking blonde hair, broad shoulders and a perfectly trimmed waist shown well by his tight cut suit and jacket, the shirt untucked and ruffled. He was as much a regular man as Freed himself.

A glare was painted onto his features, and perhaps a lesser man might have crumbled under it. He had a clearly expressive face, and the anger was not forced. But Freed had been surrounded by the types of men who would kill someone without a second thought for any number of reasons, and had long since gotten past the ridiculous notion that a facial expression could instil fear.

Snarling dogs were still just dog. Freed would not cower to a dog, no matter how loud the snarl.

After a moment of looking at one another, ego fighting ego, Freed felt his patience snap. By all rights he should be in his bed, not standing outside in the cold, rain moulding his hair to his head only to have wind set it free again. Returning to his bed, and his house, was something he could no longer do. But he could get out of the rain. So, in an action that was aggravatingly reminiscent of his father entering his own house earlier in the night, Freed walked up the rest of the steps and through the doorway of the house, pushing the criminal to the side as he did so.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

Freed, having learned early the usefulness of knowing one's surroundings, gave the hallway of the house a glance over as he turned to Laxus. The hallway was large, and decorated ostentatiously; a sure sign that the money the Dreyar's now had was new to them. If they continued getting power at such a rate in the future, they would have to learn to be more subtle with their spending.

Freed also couldn't ignore Laxus' unique taste in décor; put kindly. The little statue of a golden dragon was particularly… unexpected.

As he turned, he also spared a glance at the mirror. He had been wearing a delightfully expensive tuxedo before he'd left his home, as befitting a gentleman of his status. Now, it was drenched and bedraggled, making him look like a mess. He'd need a hotel with good bathing facilities tonight.

That thought quickly was pushed to the back of his mind, as he saw Laxus' hand resting on a pistol on his belt. Not ideal.

"Get out of my fucking house," Laxus continued, his voice a low growl. He could be threatening then. "I ain't gonna ask again."

"I thought you wanted to know why I'm here, have you changed your mind?" Freed asked; it would be easy to get the power in the conversation. The blonde seemed rather oafish, even if he seemed to pull it off well.

"Shut up," The man growled again. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"At the moment it seems I'm drenching your floor with rain water. You wouldn't be kind enough to give me a towel, would you?" He sent a polite smile to the man, who brushed his fingers against his weapon. Charm wasn't going to work then. "You should close the door, Mr Dreyar, I expect the draft might soon become bothersome if you don't."

"I don't expect you'll be here long enough for it to matter," Laxus grunted.

He didn't seem perturbed by Freed's demand, nor by the admission that Freed knew who he was. That was somewhat bothersome for Freed, who had hoped for at least a quirk of the eyebrow or a twitch of the fingers as a way to read the man. The rumours had said Laxus could be stone-faced, so perhaps his reputation wasn't as exaggerated as Freed wanted.

"Well I'm afraid that I'm going to have to disappoint you then," Freed replied conversationally, watching as the fingers that had been stroking the gun now wrapped around it. He was pushing his luck. "My name is Freed Justine; I believe you've heard of my father."

The gun was pulled out and aimed at him within a second.

Staring down the barrel of a gun, a finger resting on its trigger, was a horrid experience. Because of his lot in life, Freed had found himself in the situation many times. He'd gotten as used to it as a man could get, but his heart still lurched, and mind raced. The man who didn't react like this when threatened with a gun had lost all their will to live, and Freed had not gotten to that point yet.

But unfortunately for Laxus, he had exposed a weakness. The Justine's and The Dreyar's were rival families, even if nobody said it aloud. Freed, at least to Laxus' knowledge, was a high-ranking member of his family's syndicate. Someone with power and authority, who was a threat to Laxus. So for him to force his way into Laxus' house was dangerous; not only because he could have easily spooked Laxus into killing him, but also because being an invader meant there was no murder charges if he did decide to shoot.

But he hadn't. He had clenched his gun tighter, but not pulled the trigger. And that meant, unless attacked, Laxus probably wouldn't shoot at all.

Just as they had done when Laxus had opened the door, they looked into one another's eyes and held contact. Freed knew he had to win their silent fight this time, because if he lost then he'd be thrown out on his ass and with a further bruise to his ego. He also couldn't do anything more because, although he was fairly sure Laxus wouldn't kill him for no reason, it was easy to pull a trigger on instinct. The idea sent a quick rush of panic though Freed, but he did all he could not to show it as his heartbeat rushed and his blood flowed hotly though his body.

"Why are you in my house?" Laxus' tone was still angry and filled with a threat, but the fact he spoke told Freed that he had won.

"I have a proposition for you, but we can get to that later," Freed spoke calmly, pleasantly. "I think first I should get that towel."

"No."

"You can't blame me for trying," Freed chuckled, taking a step forward. The gun followed him, and Freed paused. So Laxus wasn't ready for him to move yet. That was fine. "If this is how you wish to talk, then so be it. I believe that, as of tonight, we both have an issue that need amending. And I believe that we can help one another with these issues; I'm here to offer that help to you."

"No."

"Yes," Freed said, adding some authority to his tone now. "This really would be a conversation more suited to a sitting room, holding me at gunpoint in your hallway isn't particularly-"

"No."

"Oh for goodness sake. Are you able to say anything other than no? Hardly the mastermind of negotiations that I was led to believe you were," Freed muttered under his breath, twitching as the gun was raised slightly higher. He continued without movement. "Fine. I won't mince my words if this is how we do this. You and your family are very quickly headed towards a catastrophe, something that I have already experienced. I can help you avoid your empire imploding, and all I wish for in return is that you help me with my… newly acquired issue."

Glancing at Laxus, Freed noticed a tenseness grow further through his posture. He had expected that to be the case; he had essentially just insulted the man and alluded to an inevitable downfall. But, even if his finger still rested on the trigger, he didn't seem close to shooting. The rigidity went as quickly as it came.

"My business is fine," Laxus growled. "And ain't none of your business."

"It is my business in every sense of the word," Freed snapped back. "And this little life you've created for yourself, if you don't change how you act, will die and will take you with it. Of course you don't know how that will happen yet, which is why I feel I can help you," He muttered the latter statement. "But the fact is, if you keep acting like you are right now, then the tense relationships you've made will turn antagonistic and will lead to a conflict that you know you can't win. You're new to this, it's extremely evident, and when people realise that they will take advantage of it. In that, there is absolutely no doubt."

He glared defiantly at Laxus, glaring straight down the gun's barrel, adrenaline replacing fear. He was desperate and needed the man to believe him – to help him – and would do whatever he needed to. But he wouldn't beg unless it was absolutely needed.

A beat passed. Neither man spoke.

"What d'you drink?" Laxus eventually grunted, and Freed almost smirked as Laxus kicked his door shut.

"Port, though I doubt you have any," He tried to keep his smugness hidden from his voice.

"Think I've got a little of it," Laxus spoke without emotion.

He motioned towards a door in the hallway with his gun, and once Freed walked through it he found himself in a sitting room. Freed no longer was paying any mind to the gun pointed at him, because the fact Laxus had conceded meant that he probably already had doubts about his standings in criminal society, and thought Freed was the answer. He needed Freed as much as Freed needed him, and that was enough to keep him alive so long as he behaved himself.

Again, after a jerk from the pistol, Freed sat on one of the ornate chairs that was both obviously new and grandiose; the house reeked of new money, it was almost embarrassing. He watched almost amusedly as Laxus walked to a drinks cabinet and pulled out a bottle and a glass while still holding the gun. At least it wasn't pointed at him now.

When a small serving of the port was given to him, Freed took a sip.

"That's rather good," Freed praised, placing the glass on a side table. He expected he wouldn't get anything more, so wanted to savour it. "Perhaps not as good as what was available before all of this nonsense began, but certainly the nicest drink I've had in a long while."

"You said you had an issue, and you needed my help," Laxus said as he sat in a chair opposite Freed. His tone was almost… patronising. "And you seemed awfully passionate about how bad things can go for me, so I'm pretty sure you're desperate. What happened?"

Freed looked towards Laxus again, and his hackles raised slightly. This had been a trap of sorts, then.

The blonde was smirking, leaning back in his large chair. The gun was resting untouched on the arm, pointed towards Freed and clearly a constant reminder that Freed was the one in danger in the situation, not Laxus. His posture was relaxed, he had a toying glint in his eyes, and he was clearly trying to emphasise how much larger he was than Freed. Which he was, with broad shoulders rounded and thick legs spread to emphasise this. If Freed were anyone else, this might have been intimidating.

But Freed knew posturing when he saw it, and this was a clear example. They were both playing this little dance of dominance, wanting to remain in control should the situation turn sour. But that couldn't last forever with what Freed needed, so he allowed himself a disadvantage.

"I have been excommunicated from my family," Freed admitted, trying to sound nonchalant.

Laxus let out a little 'heh' at that, as if pleased. Freed bristled.

"And with that comes a lot of issues," Freed continued, though his tone was a little sharper now. "One of which being that, from now on, I no longer have a job, nor a home. So, I'm coming to you as I know that your main source of income comes from your tavern, and people willing to work at speakeasies are few and far between. I wish to have a job under you, and in return I will advise you on navigating the criminal world without making yourself a target."

"Bullshit," Laxus said plainly. "You could get any job, and not risk pissing off your father if he changes his mind. And with how needy you were being in wanting my help," He smirked, and Freed tensed further. "You're clearly not telling me everything."

"I've told you everything you need to know."

"Not if you want my help you ain't," Laxus laughed. "Why'd he kick you out."

"That's not important."

"Beg to differ."

"It's not," Freed repeated forcefully, and Laxus raised an eyebrow. How he'd lost his advantage so quickly Freed didn't know, but he knew he couldn't get it back yet without ruining his chances of getting help. He needed to concede a little more. "The reason will… it evokes strong reactions. My father will make the reason, and my disownment, known as a way to reaffirm his control. People know where I lived, will want to hurt me, and I need to make changes in my life quickly. And being the son of a notorious gangster means employment isn't easy to get in a hurry."

"That's a shame," Laxus smirked, sarcasm not hidden. "But I ain't even considering helping you if you don't tell me why he kicked you out."

"Why?" Freed narrowed his eyes. But the fact Laxus would consider helping him in the right circumstances did give Freed a glimmer of hope. "Why is it important?"

"Because you're the son of a guy who probably wants me dead, and definitely wants my business ruined," Laxus laughed, leaning further back in his chair. He was getting cocky, but Freed could utilise that. "And if you think I'm going to let some little prick in my bar who could easily be bullshittin' me, then you're fucking stupid. So tell me how you got on your daddy's bad side, I'll check it out to see if it's true, then maybe I'll be charitable."

"May I remind you, Mr Dreyar, that the reason I'm in this room is because you know you need me just as much as I need you," Freed snapped back, because subtlety be dammed. Laxus just smirked wider, and Freed knew he had shown his hand too early. "If you must know, I fucked one of his guards."

"He's guarded by women?" Laxus asked.

"No," Freed grunted.

Perhaps it was fuelled by his annoyance at losing control of the situation, but the time it took for Laxus to understand what Freed had implied was incredibly aggravating. Admitting something like that was never pleasant, as you could never guess if they'd simply be disgusted or think you're worthy of a beating.

"So," Laxus said after a moment, and there was a notable lack of disgust in his voice. In fact he sounded amused. "You fucked a guy and your daddy kicked you out? And now you're so desperate that you're coming to me."

"I need work, and doing something that pisses him off is ideal," Freed shrugged, and Laxus kept looking at him. Again, he needed to concede a defeat. "And you're more likely to overlook illegality than regular employment."

"Was that so hard to say?" Laxus taunted, and Freed was half tempted to attack the man.

But he didn't, because despite the blonde's clear cocky persona, and apparent enjoyment of the situation, Freed felt as though there was a chance he would get help now. The fact that Laxus didn't kick him out of his house, or shoot him, upon revealing he was gay was significant. Many men like Laxus would feel no guilt for killing a man like Freed, and yet Laxus maintained a conversation. The fact that he was taunting him rather than beating him was substantial, and Freed felt that as long as he didn't push Laxus too far, he might be his salvation.

Christ, the fact he needed salvation was humiliating.

Thankfully, it seemed Laxus was doing what Freed had wanted to do. He was making it known that he was in charge, but not forgetting that this was a mutually beneficial situation. And, as much as Freed didn't enjoy being the punchline of a joke, he could put up with it for now if it meant he got his way.

"What exactly did you think you could do in the tavern?" Laxus asked, and Freed had to stop hope from blooming.

"Accounts."

"Fuck no," Laxus laughed.

"Barman."

"No," Laxus repeated, and it was a word that was grating on Freed's nerves. "You ain't getting anywhere near my money."

"A server of some kind then," Freed gritted his teeth.

"Mainly have men as customers, and they like a pretty girl serving them," Laxus shrugged. "And as much as you might like flirting with men, not sure they'd feel the same way," He smirked again, a little sadistically. "How about scrubbing shit from the toilets all night?"

He almost took it. Because his dignity was nothing without his safety.

And he was desperate, he really was, even if he was trying to convince himself that he wasn't. Once his father made it clear that his gay son had been kicked out of the family, the word would spread. Employment in the normal places wouldn't be possible, and people would want to vent their anger at his so-called perversion through violence. A crime family like Laxus' could overlook crime, and people would be less likely to attack him at the risk of starting a gang war. That was why he needed Laxus' help.

As he went to speak – to confine himself to be the shit-cleaner of New York's drunkards – his eyes landed on something. A picture of what he assumed was the Fairy Tail tavern before prohibition started, sitting on the side table. People were standing around a piano, and Freed felt a further pulse of hope awaken.

"Do you have music played?" He asked, and Laxus frowned.

"Not for a while, no," Laxus shrugged, and Freed saw an opportunity. "Musicians ain't got the biggest balls really. Scared of getting into trouble."

"A shame. Most of the reason people go to taverns rather than drinking at home is the atmosphere," Freed mused aloud, hoping to get a small amount of control in the conversation again. "I assume that you've still got that piano, correct? I'm classically trained, and can play a variety of genres."

"You wanna be a pianist?" Laxus asked, amused.

"It's a skill I have, more dignity than cleaning bathrooms, and is beneficial to your business," Freed explained. "And since you clearly don't trust me, it allows you to keep tabs on me. Most of the night I'll be in the middle of the floor playing, and when I'm not it'll be obvious by the lack of music. It seems good for both of us."

Laxus seemed to consider this, and Freed said nothing, not wanting to risk ruining his chances. He noticed that, during their conversation, Laxus was no longer resting his fingers against the gun and his posture had changed slightly; a little less domineering than it had been at the start. This was all promising to Freed who, despite having insisted on seeing him immediately, had been pessimistic about his chances with Laxus.

Looking directly at the man, it was clear to see when Laxus had made a decision. The slight conflicted look lessened and his eyes narrowed a little as he looked straight into Freed's eyes. He didn't speak, waiting for Laxus to reinitiate conversation.

"Six AM," Laxus stated. "You're at the door at six AM. I hear how good you are. If you ain't good enough, you ain't getting a job and you leave me alone. For good. You understand?"

"Yes," Freed said.

"Then you'll leave," Laxus stood up, picking his gun up again.

He motioned with it for Freed to walk out into the hall again. Freed did as he was instructed, knowing that Laxus' charity – because that's what it was really – was tenuous at best. He walked to the door and opened it, sighing slightly at the heavy rain and wind that was still roaring. Previously he had been too engrossed in his anger at the situation to care. But now the idea of walking to the nearest hotel in this was repellent.

That sensation quickly died when a large hand wrapped around his neck from behind and a gun was pushed firmly into his spine.

"You even think about fucking me over," Laxus growled into his ear. "You make one mistake, you give me any reason to mistrust you, you take advantage of this kindness, then you're done. Your body gets discovered washed up and found by a guy working the docks, and your cock is sent back to daddy wrapped up in a pretty fucking bow. You understand me?"

"Yes," Freed growled back, glaring forward while gritting his teeth.

Laxus said nothing else, pushing Freed forward and out of his home. The door was slammed behind him, and Freed ground his teeth, fist clenching as he was left in the storm battering New York. He walked forward with a glare, deciding to go to a hotel that he knew always had rooms, the anger that had been steadily boiling up through the day coming to a rise.

But in the back of his mind, he had hope. And at that moment, that was all he needed.

~~~

~1 Week Later~

Walking into Fairy Tail always gave Laxus a small, perhaps arrogant thrill.

He'd grown up there, essentially. His grandfather owned the place before alcohol had been outlawed, and the tavern was part of who he was. He had always known that one day it would be his, given his father was no longer part of their family and he was the only other successor. But having it as his, being able to call it his own and do with it what he wanted, was so much better than he could have imagined.

When he pushed through the doors of what appeared to be an old, unused music store – they'd had to relocate for obvious reasons – he was met with the sound of people talking, laughing, and drinking. To know that he had facilitated this – that he was the reason for them being there – was addictive. He was in charge, and he loved it.

And really, who wouldn't?

Because not only did his new place in life give him a thrill, but it also filled his wallet and offered him a level of respect he'd never gotten before. Previously he'd been the grandson of Makarov Dreyar, just the young relative of the man who owned the famous tavern. But now he was Laxus, criminal and provider of alcohol during prohibition. People looked to him as someone not to be reckoned with, someone to both fear and adore simultaneously. He was the man holding his middle finger up to the unjust bullshit that his country had turned to, and the innate rebel inside crooned silently at the praise that got him. He was a man of power now, and it was incredible.

As he walked through Fairy Tail, people greeted him. Those who knew him were trying to get in his good graces, and weren't subtle about it. Laxus didn't care, he enjoyed the grovelling if he were honest. He didn't think he'd get used to it, and doubted that it would stop anytime soon, and he was content with that.

There was one outlier to this trend of respect: Freed Justine.

Now, Laxus hadn't surrounded himself by bootlickers and ass-kissers. While he got a rush by strangers scrambling over themselves to get on his good side, he wanted kickback from his staff. If someone was pissed off at him, he wanted to know; better to have honesty from his workers than have them attempting some sort of coup behind his back. So almost all of his staff had backbone, and voice their opinions when it was appropriate, just like Laxus wanted.

But the was Freed did it was… different. Maybe Laxus felt that way because of how they'd first met, where Laxus really had held all the cards in terms of power. He had expected that Freed would be so thankful and gracious for Laxus' display of pity – because he really did pity the man – that he would be obedient and wouldn't dare speak out of turn.

That had not been the case. There was no pretence with him, nor bullshit about what he was feeling. He felt as just comfortable speaking his mind as any of the staff members, many of whom who had known Laxus not as a criminal but as a kid.

Laxus was conflicted between wanting to threaten the bastard or to laugh at his arrogance.

He did enjoy pissing the guy off, though. Maybe Freed had realised that Laxus wasn't a killer unless truly pushed towards it, and that his threats were mainly empty, but that didn't make him a saint. The guy needed him and had a lot of pride, meaning Laxus could have some fun with him. For example, while he had told Freed to arrive at six AM for his audition, Laxus had shown up at eight-thirty, and Freed had been waiting in the cold for him. The glare and clipped conversation had been hysterical. It also showed Freed his place.

Though that had been somewhat diminished when Freed started playing, and Laxus felt his stomach flip at the slow melody that Freed had chosen to perform. He was an undoubtedly good pianist, and because of that Laxus had honoured his part of the deal.

As he walked to the bar, he spared the man no glances.

He walked behind the bar, where Gray Fullbuster and Lucy Heartfilia were working. They both greeted him while keeping their focus on customers. Good; he'd hired them not just because of their proficiency and making drinks, but because a flirtatious wink from some pretty young thing could sell a drink at a higher price. Gray had some young woman blushing as she nursed a glass of overprices booze, and Lucy had three men – and interestingly, a woman – enraptured as she poured them all drinks she would readily overcharge for.

"You kept an eye on him like I asked?" He murmured as he walked behind them.

"Of course," Lucy said as she slid over a drink, smiling at the older man who was ogling her. Laxus would have to get Elfman to keep an eye on him, he was almost drooling. "He's been fine. Hasn't done anything you don't pay him to do."

"As if he could," Gray laughed, walking from his customer to place used glasses under the counter. "He's literally the centre of attention, nobody can take their eyes off him. If he wanted to sneak off or whatever you think he's gonna do, his plan backfired."

"I don't trust him," Laxus muttered, glancing towards Freed again.

"Really?" Lucy said in mock surprise. "I thought having everyone spy on him was your way of welcoming him as part of the family. You really are subtle."

"Watch your mouth, woman," Laxus grunted.

"Why don't you make me," Lucy countered back, turning to face Laxus with a grin on her face. "Sir."

Laxus broke her gaze, and hoped that she wouldn't see the small, embarrassed flush spreading across his cheeks before he willed it away. This was a new thing the women of his staff had begun doing; anytime he did something that pissed them off, all they needed to do was flirt even slightly and Laxus' innate discomfort when it came to people overtook him, and he became awkward and a little embarrassed.

He could only hope that the men didn't try it because that would be… that would be another problem entirely.

The embarrassment wasn't helped by the now ever-present sound of Freed's music playing. Freed being there made Laxus very aware of how he treated his staff. The Justine's were renowned for brutality and ruthlessness, so Laxus doubted any of their staff would dare to treat the headman like Laxus was treated. He wondered what Freed thought about it whenever he saw it.

"I've got shit to deal with upstairs," He muttered, and Lucy laughed. "Don't know when I'll be down again, so make sure you keep an eye on him. And once he's finished, you kick him out. No exceptions, okay?"

"Yeah, you've mentioned it once or twice," Gray chuckled. "He only gets to be here when he's working."

"And I mean it," Laxus said firmly, and both of his employees nodded. "And if any shit starts to happen, you better call me down to deal with it okay. No matter how…" He paused, glanced at the older man still ogling Lucy, and grit his teeth slightly. "Pathetic it is, I'll deal with it."

"We know," Lucy laughed, turning to the customers again. She looked over her shoulder and grinned. It was the same stupid flirtatious grin she used to taunt him. "Goodbye, sir."

Laxus glared at her, cheeks going red again as he walked to the rickety wooden staircase that led to his office. As he walked he overheard his employees talking to one another, Gray telling Lucy that if she kept calling Laxus sir in that way then he might start acting on the flirtations. Lucy had laughed, saying that Laxus didn't seem the type.

There was a slight falter in Laxus' step as he heard that. While what she said was true – he really would never act on any of the flirtations from his female workers – he had to wonder if she knew why. Hopefully, she just assumed he wouldn't fuck an employee.

He couldn't fixate on that, so he pushed it to the back of his mind.

As he collapsed into his office chair, he sighed and ran a hand over his face and through his hair. He flicked open the top button of his shirt and opened one of the small windows, allowing the dank New York air to cool him slightly. With a yawn, he let his eyes close for a moment. He loved his work in Fairy Tail, and the benefits that came with it were undeniable, but it was exhausting.

Especially when one of his suppliers decided that he would bust Laxus' balls by raising then price of his booze. Of course that hadn't gone down well, and with Gajeel and Evergreen there to help make his point, the supplier had quickly changed his mind. Funny what a gun could do.

But it had been a stressful day, and Laxus wanted a break. He walked to the drink's cabinet in the back of his office, unlocked it and poured himself a glass. Like most of the drink's manufacturers, his favourite whiskey brewers had closed down during prohibition rather than going to the underground market, meaning this particular bottle of whiskey was a rarity. Laxus didn't sell it to his patrons; branded drinks were his and his alone. Though, he supposed if someone was desperate enough, he could name a price.

He tapped his fingers against the glass, the smooth brown booze gently jumping with each strong clink. He closed his eyes as he brought the drink to his lips and gulped down half of it, groaning as he allowed himself to relax. His drifting mind lingered on the gentle music.

Freed really knew how to play. It was astounding.

Although he claimed to be classically trained, he wasn't limited to old music, and he used his variety to his advantage. Laxus, after spending the first few nights of Freed's employ essentially spying on the man, had realised Freed had finetuned his song choices to fit with the different types of audiences. At the start of the night, he'd play understated music as an accompaniment to people's drinking. As it got later, and people got drunker, the songs became more interesting; something to dance to for those who wanted. By the end of the night, when the booze had truly taken effect, he went for fast paced jazz that elected cheers and hollers late into the night. He worked the crowd well without saying a word to them.

He was still at the first stage of his performance as Laxus relaxed in his office, playing light and inobtrusive songs that were pleasant to the ear but not taxing or overpowering. It was nice, and Laxus enjoyed listening to it.

When he'd been watching Freed, he hadn't been able to concentrate on the music.

Freed really was gifted musically.

Shaking his head to wake himself up, Laxus sat up straight and finished the rest of the drink. He needed to be awake, both because he had work to do and just in case any of his customers got rowdy; he couldn't leave his bouncers to work alone while he napped in the office after all. With that in mind, he unlocked his desk draw and pulled out some financial paperwork he needed to finish before the end of the week. This too was a downside of being a businessowner, even if not a legitimate one.

As he worked through his paperwork, he found himself absently humming along to the music slipping through the crack in his office door.

And in the few moments where he let his eyes close as a quick rest, he found himself imagining what Freed looked like as he played. How his hands would dance across the keys and his face would go into that relaxed expression that was such a contrast to the manic and almost feral look that he'd shown when they had first met. He considered why he couldn't decide which version of Freed he preferred; the calm musician or the bedraggled gameplayer. He asked himself why he should have a favourite version of the man that he didn't trust.

But, when a yawn split his lips, he found that he didn't care. Instead, he listened to the piano playing with contentment, and got on with his work.

~~~

~Two Weeks Later~

"You know you're allowed to drink an actual drink, right?" Bickslow laughed. "He doesn't mind."

Freed smiled a little at the comment, cupping his glass of water. He sat at one of the many tables scattered around Fairy Tail's main room, sharing it with both Bickslow and Evergreen. They were looking at him with amusement as they drank their beer – well, moonshine was a closer term for the drink – while Freed drank his water. They were teasing him, as they had been from the moment he arrived, and he accepted it; the two of them were the closest things to friends he had found in Fairy Tail, and he was enjoying them for their eccentricities.

They'd met one another a week back, where the two of them had arrived at Fairy Tail late and began working. Freed had noticed them beforehand, seeing that they had unusual work hours compared to others in the tavern, but were always there. Freed had assumed that they were more intrenched in the criminal aspects of the tavern, and their work hours were unusual because they were on the streets, working for Laxus in ways other than serving drinks.

He didn't pry into it; he knew better than that.

By happenstance, he didn't have to. Apparently his observations of the two of them hadn't gone unnoticed, and they had approached him after a night at the piano asking if he wanted a drink. He'd complied, understanding that this was some kind of test; one he had passed. They had tried to intimidate him, make it clear that if he wanted trouble they would happily oblige, and when Freed didn't cower nor clam up at their threat, they seemed to have respect for him.

At the time Freed had thought nothing more of the situation, but as the two continued inviting him to drinks after he'd finished work, they'd formed a friendship. He enjoyed their company, and not just because losing his standing in the Justine family – and the money that came with it – also made him lose his so-called friends. At least Ever and Bix didn't seem scared of him, like his old friends had; it was refreshing.

"I think it's best if I don't," Freed chuckled. "He practically salivates at every opportunity to get rid of me. Essentially stealing from him would be pushing my luck."

"Yeah, that's why he's salivating," Bickslow mumbled, and Freed frowned at him.

"You really shouldn't pay too much mind to Laxus," Evergreen laughed. "He's just quite territorial, that's all. But he wouldn't have let you here if he didn't trust you. I doubt he'll care if you get something to drink."

"I'd rather be cautious. Given the situation I doubt that I can risk getting on his bad side," Freed shrugged slightly; most likely everyone knew why he was there, so why be subtle? "And then there's the fact that I haven't drunk anything other than a half-glass of port since the beginning of prohibition. I've probably lost my tolerance for it, and I doubt anyone would appreciate me drunkenly screeching showtunes though the night."

"I dunno," A deep, gravelly voice from behind spoke, and Freed tensed. "Pretty good blackmail, I'd say."

The three gathered people turned to see Laxus, and Freed was trapped into a stare down by the smirking gangster. His hackles raised slightly at the look of amusement that was clear on the blonde's face – the same expression that Laxus got whenever he seemed to wrongfoot Freed. Admittedly that didn't happen often, given how careful Freed needed to be in his precarious situation, but it had always served to antagonise Freed. He promised himself that, should he ever have the same effect on Laxus, he would be equally smug about it.

"Hey man," Bickslow grinned. "You need us for anything?"

"Not tonight," Laxus dismissed. "You can be on the door with Elfman. Ever, I want you as a waitress tonight. Some creep's been after the girls, if he tries any shit with you I want you to deal with it. Do whatever, just make sure you can pass it off as an accident."

"Sure," Ever grinned, and Bickslow nodded. "Settle an argument for us. Freed gets free drinks like the rest of us, right?"

"Not if he doesn't wanna be thrown out on his ass he doesn't," Laxus replied, and the presence of that damnable cocky expression told Freed that he was probably joking. Still, he probably shouldn't risk it.

"You're fucking stupid," Bickslow laughed up at Laxus, shaking his head.

There was probably a subtext to Bickslow's words, and if Freed wanted to, he might have been able to figure it out. But, as had happened over the last few weeks, Freed found his mind preoccupied with how causal Laxus' workers acted around him. He was the head of both the Dreyar Family and the Fairy Tail business, which should have given him unrelenting respect. And he was by no means a pacifist, should the stories about him be true, so there should be a certain of level of fear aimed towards him. Nobody working for Laxus seemed to show it.

His father wouldn't have accepted any of that. If he heard so much as a whisper behind his back then he would have acted swiftly and with violence. Freed, as part of his ridiculous training for when he would replace his father, had watched as a man's fingernails were ripped out simply because the man completed an assignment an hour later than expected. It had been a long night full of shouting and screaming.

Would Laxus ever do that? Freed couldn't be sure yet.

"Justine," Laxus raised his voice slightly, and Freed looked to him. "I wanna talk to you. My office, come on."

"Of course," Freed nodded, and stood.

As he walked behind the bar and towards the staircase that led to Laxus' office, he missed the shared look of amusement between his two friends and Laxus' quick glare at them both. His mind was too busy fighting off the dreaded possibility that he might be losing his job.

Because it was almost inevitable that his father knew Freed was working for Fairy Tail at this point. He probably had informants keeping tabs on Freed and watching wherever he went, it was why he was keeping a steady rotation of hotels to stay at rather than finding an apartment to rent. That might have been a good choice, because if he was about to lose his job then he'd be without the protection of the Dreyar name, making him vulnerable to his father's whims.

Again, Freed wondered if taking that charming, barrel chested guard to bed was worth it.

"Take a seat," Laxus offered, motioning to the chair that sat opposite his desk.

Freed pulled it out and sat down, watching as Laxus relaxed into the large leather chair that had been tucked behind the desk. It was a grand and obnoxious thing, and it reminded Freed of just how new to having large amounts of money was to Laxus, because one of the few useful things of note his father had taught him was to spend modestly. The more evidence of illegal earnings the police could find, the larger the risk of repercussions.

He tried to relax into the seat as best he could, and watched as Laxus opened a small drinks cabinet from behind his desk. He pulled out a bottle of what seemed to be port – a cheap brand, but the fact Laxus had any branded alcohol at all was now a luxury – and poured some for Freed. He placed it before him and looked at him expectantly.

"I thought if I drank without paying then I got fired," He phrased it almost as a joke, but there was an edge of caution in it.

"I'll dock yer wages," Laxus shrugged. "We need to talk."

"I suppose so," Freed agreed.

There was a beat of silence.

"Look, part of the reason I hired you was because you said that you'd be able to help me deal with the politics of crime, and so far you haven't," Freed went to speak, but Laxus raised a hand to stop him. "And that's my fault, because I don't trust ya and I wouldn't take advice from a man I don't trust. But you've been here a few weeks now, and the numbers of people coming in have gone up since you've been playing," Freed felt a small flicker of pride at that. "And I'm pretty sure you realised that I've been having people make sure you don't pull any shit. And you haven't."

"Your bar staff aren't entirely subtle," Freed commented, and Laxus chuckled.

"Yeah, they ain't spies," He let out a small sigh. "Look, I think at this point I can trust you, at least a little. Not as much as the rest of my people, but more than I did at the start. But I wanna ask you a few questions before we do, because there's a couple things about your story that don't add up."

"If that's what you need then okay," Freed agreed. "But I didn't lie."

"Maybe, but you left shit out," Laxus rebutted, and Freed didn't argue the point. "So, you told me yer dad kicked you out of the family because you were fucking a guy, right? I'm pretty sure that the whole 'family is everything' bullshit is important to him. So even if he didn't like ya bein' gay, I wouldn't have thought he'd disown you just for that. So what's the real reason?"

"That was the real reason," Freed responded.

"The whole reason?"

"No," Freed conceded. "There had been others. He had a habit of hiring attractive men, and I had a habit of bedding them. Sometimes they confessed to it, sometimes they left his employ and he figured out why, and one on occasion he walked in on me in the act," Freed chuckled at that. "He was horrified, it was very gratifying. The attempt at beating me was less so."

"Attempt?" Laxus frowned.

"He expected his 'queer of a son' wouldn't fight back. He was wrong," Freed smirked. "But there had been warnings, demands and threats against me, to stop me from continuing. I didn't of course, and it seemed his bedding his most loyal guard was the straw that broke the camel's back."

"Right, I guess that makes sense," Laxus said with a small nod. "I'll believe that, but I still don't think you've told me everything. Because my address ain't common knowledge and you knowing it, and going there ain't an impulsive decision. So why did ya do it?"

Freed sighed a little.

"It wasn't impulsive, you're right," Freed admitted. "My father and I have never gotten along well. We have opposing values on a lot of things, and we've butted heads more than once. Recently I'd gotten tired of remaining chaste for his reputation, and perhaps spitefully I decided to indulge myself. There has been a tension growing, and me leaving the family in some way seemed inevitable. He, and the people he surrounds himself with, are violent and cruel, I needed protection. You were the obvious way to get it."

"How'd ya come to that?"

"Politics," Freed shrugged. "My father excels at reputation. He's not as influential and strong as he makes people believe, and nowhere near powerful enough to start a gang war. You've been gaining power and influence at a fast rate, and his information on you is limited, so he's cautious. He wouldn't risk anything and therefore if you took me as an employee, then he would have to leave me alone."

"You've given this some thought," Laxus chuckled, leaning back in his chair was a somewhat amused expression on his features.

"I expect most people working for my father have considered how they'd disappear if they fell on his bad side," Freed shrugged. "I thought that was the same in all criminal syndicates, but it seems that the people working here actually like and respect you."

"And what about you?" Laxus asked. "What d'you think about me."

"I think you need to keep your employees loyal, because if anyone defects to another family and tells them how you act around your employees they'll assume you're weak and see an opportunity," Freed said honestly. "I think you're perhaps in over your head and don't know what you're doing, though maybe that's because I've only seen the side of you that owns a bar rather than the side that threatens people into silence. But I think as a person and a boss, you're perhaps quite kind. Which is unusual."

"I guess that's fair," Laxus nodded slowly. He didn't seem insulted, which Freed felt somewhat surprised by. "I like to think I ain't some dumbass kid who fell into a world he ain't ready for, but like ya said, you ain't seen me in action."

"No, I haven't," Freed agreed. "And what do you think of me?"

He might have been pushing his luck by asking, but he felt he needed to know. Laxus was something of an enigma to him, given that he seemed to reject every stereotype of a gangster that Freed had come to know. But he was at Laxus' mercy, and knowing where he was standing with the man could mean life or death.

"I think you play the piano really well," Laxus shrugged, raising a glass towards Freed. "And I think we could work well together, eventually."

"Yes," Freed agreed, lip curling up slightly. He raised his own glass in toast. "I think we could."

#ftezbb2021 #fariesherefariesthere #Fraxus #freed justine #laxus dreyar #Fairy Tail #Fanfic #Writing #Event #Big Bang #multi chapter #Word Count 8.5K

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