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myopinionhi · 4 years ago

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A Will Solace Character Analysis: the Underappreciated Soft Side

I've noticed many fanfictions have Will Solace OOC. So I’ve been thinking about aspects of Will’s personality fans seem to either gloss over or exaggerate. Here, this post is me doing an in-depth analysis explaining Will Solace’s canon personality in the books, and how it can sometimes differ from fanfictions. Sprinkled in this analysis are tips to fanfiction writers on how they write Will as more in-character.

There is one major aspect of Will that people seem to ignore or underemphasize. Nico best explains it when describing Will in this quote

Jason was a fighter. You could tell from the intensity of his stare, his constant alertness, the coiled-up energy in his frame. Will Solace was more like a lanky cat stretched out in sunshine. His movements were relaxed and nonthreatening, his gaze soft and far away. In his faded SURF BARBADOS T-shirt, his cutoff shorts and flip-flops, he looked about as aggressive as a demigod could get, but Nico knew he was brave under fire. During the Battle of Manhattan, Nico had seen him in action - the camp's best combat medic, risking his life to save wounded campers.

To sum it up, Will Solace is a very chill and calm character. A lot of writers make Will more irrational, impulsive, overbearing, and emotional than he actually is. Will is not the type of character to create drama unless he's, as Nico puts it, "under fire." In other words, the intense side of his personality doesn't come out unless the situation is urgent or dire.

Fans remember during the Second Giant War how he gets angry and argues with Nico over Nico's health and shadow-traveling, so many assume Will is going to be this fiery over a lot of other things regarding their relationship. For example, fanfic writers may make Will controlling or overly sensitive with Nico. However, keep in mind, Will gets heated with Nico during the Second Giant War because Nico's shadow-traveling is killing him. This is how Will describes Nico's dire state.

"Coach Hedge told me all about your shadow-travel. You can’t try that again."

"I just did try it again, Solace. I’m fine."

"No, you’re not. I’m a healer. I could feel the darkness in your hand as soon as I touched it. Even if you made it to that tent, you’d be in no shape to fight. But you wouldn’t make it. One more slip, and you won’t come back. You are not shadow-travelling. Doctor’s orders."

Will is a healer. When he touches Nico's hand, he can sense how little sleep and food Nico has been getting and how Nico's being taken over by darkness. Nico is on the verge of death and hasn't cared about his health for a long time. Nico is also stubborn about it, so Will has to be aggressive in order to save Nico's life. This aggressive behavior is not the norm for Will, but it can sometimes come out when he has to assert control in a life-or-death situation.

Will is a calming prescence. He's a diplomat. He stops violence on multiple occassions.

He's one of the few people who's able to calm Clarisse's violent rage, and he does so in a gentle manner.

Clarisse pointed her dagger at Rachel. "What about their allies, huh? Did you see that tribe of two-headed men that arrived yesterday? Or the glowing red dog-headed guys with the big poleaxes? They look pretty barbaric to me. It would’ve been nice if you’d foreseen any of that, if your Oracle power didn’t break down when we needed it most!"

Rachel’s face turned as red as her hair. "That’s hardly my fault. Something is wrong with Apollo’s gifts of prophecy. If I knew how to fix it –"

"She’s right." Will Solace, head counsellor for the Apollo cabin, put his hand gently on Clarisse’s wrist. Not many campers could’ve done that without getting stabbed, but Will had a way of defusing people’s anger. He got her to lower her dagger. "Everyone in our cabin has been affected. It’s not just Rachel."

One of the most underrated Will Solace moments is when he stops a bloody battle from happening between Camp Half-Blood and Camp Jupiter.

But he knew it wouldn’t do any good. After weeks of waiting, agonizing and steaming, the Greeks and Romans wanted blood. Trying to stop the battle now would be like trying to push back a flood after the dam broke.

Will Solace saved the day.

He put his fingers in his mouth and did a taxicab whistle even more horrible than the last. Several Greeks dropped their swords. A ripple went through the Roman line like the entire First Cohort was shuddering.

"DON’T BE STUPID!" Will yelled. "LOOK!"

People are so used to seeing demigods, especially male demigods, being aggressive fighters that they can't wrap their heads around a brave and strong demigod who actively tries to avoid unnecessary conflict and destruction as much as he can.

And that's Will Solace's strength: he has the ability to prevent as much harm as possible.

Will is a difficult character to write. There's a lot of dueling factors with his personality. He's calm and pacifying while also being brave and assertive. He's fun and lighthearted while also being intelligent, logical, and grounded. He's laidback while also being responsible and hardworking. He's insecure but not melodramatic. He's very caring and protective but not pushy.

Will's personality confuses Nico sometimes too.

He’d always thought of Will as easygoing and laid back. Apparently he could also be stubborn and aggravating.

The trick to writing Will is to keep in mind his default personality is a soft and lighthearted character. Writers tend to overemphasize the hard side of his personality when his default personality is actually the soft side.

Think of the relaxing, lanky cat metaphor Nico uses for him. He and Nico bicker often, and it works for Will because he rolls with everything and doesn't take things too seriously. He's able to alleviate Nico's moodiness with humor, wittiness, groundedness, and patience. Nico affectionately calls Will a "dork" because Will usually keeps things light. Interestingly enough, he's able to be lighthearted without coming across as insensitive or an airheaded goofball, the latter of which is something Nico dislikes about Percy's personality. On a related sidenote, another way writers make Will OOC is they make him too dumb or too immature. I know I mentioned to focus on Will's soft side, but be careful to avoid that too. He's a SENSIBLE, lanky cat.

The way Will keeps his composure during a stressful situation by using laughter while still being mature is expressed well in this exchange with Apollo. (Yes, Will has a lot to manage.)

It was difficult to think of this young man as my son. He was so poised, so unassuming, so free of acne. He also didn’t appear to be awestruck in my presence. In fact, the corner of his mouth had started twitching.

“Are—are you amused?” I demanded.

Will shrugged. “Well, it’s either find this funny or freak out. My dad, the god Apollo, is a fifteen-year-old—”

“Sixteen,” I corrected. “Let’s go with sixteen.”

“A sixteen-year-old mortal, lying in a cot in my cabin, and with all my healing arts—which I got from you—I still can’t figure out how to fix you.”

“There is no fixing this,” I said miserably. “I am cast out of Olympus. My fate is tied to a girl named Meg. It could not be worse!”

Will laughed, which I thought took a great deal of gall. “Meg seems cool. She’s already poked Connor Stoll in the eyes and kicked Sherman Yang in the crotch.”

The fiercer side of Will's personality comes out only when the situation calls for it; this happens sometimes when he has to be a caring family member, a responsible healer, or a warrior in a dire situation. Even when he gets more forceful, he doesn't get more forceful than he has to.

Since Will has such a balanced and lighthearted personality, what are his flaws? What are the dark sides of his personality? There are four main things that stick out.

1. He's insecure about his self-perceived lack of abilities.

"I agree," Will said. "I wish I was a better archer … I wouldn’t mind shooting my Roman relative off his high horse. Actually, I wish I could use any of my father’s gifts to stop this war." He looked down at his own hands with distaste. "Unfortunately, I’m just a healer."

2. He sometimes struggles to endure the heavy responsibilities he has as a healer and as a protector to his family.

“I got it reattached,” Will told me, his voice shaky with exhaustion. His scrubs were speckled with blood. “I need somebody to keep him stable.”

I pointed to the woods. “But—”

“I know!” Will snapped. “Don’t you think I want to be out there searching too? We’re shorthanded for healers. There’s some salve and nectar in that pack. Go!”

I was stunned by his tone. I realized he was just as concerned about Kayla and Austin as I was. The only difference: Will knew his duty. He had to heal the injured first. And he needed my help.

3. He forces himself to bottle his emotions to keep his composure.

Will laughed under his breath. “I’m terrified. But one thing you learn as head counselor: you have to keep it together for everyone else. Let’s get you on your feet."

Here's a second example.

I rested my hand on Will’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. We’ll be back by dawn.”

His mouth trembled ever so slightly. “How can you be sure?”

4. He constantly worries about his loved ones.

Nico rested his hand on Will’s shoulder. “Apollo, we were worried. Will was especially.”

In conclusion, Will Solace's personality is difficult to get correct. But don't worry, if you write Will as a laidback, witty cat in your fanfics, I guarantee he'll be more in-character than many other fanfics with Will Solace.

(Note: I am only human. If you believe I'm misinterpreting some aspects of Will's personality, feel free to express it. What I say isn't 100 percent the right interpretation.)

#pjo #percy jackson and the olympians #will solace #nico di angelo #solangelo #percy jackson #heroes of olympus #trials of apollo #spoilers #meta #character analysis #fanfic #fanfiction #blood of olympus #hidden oracle #long post #toa #hoo #apollo

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goldenavenger02 · 3 years ago

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I can't be alone with all that's on my mind

But the hatred took over, after all. He should've been the green ninja. He should've been the one who was chosen to defeat The Overlord. "I don't want to control it! This isn't anything I don't already feel!"

Takes place after The Forgotten Element

•••

Kai's stomach convulsed as he gripped onto the toilet seat tightly, his knuckles going white.

As soon as the horror had sunk in that Skylor and Lloyd were injured by his greed and that Skylor had been taken, he had bolted to the bathroom and barely made it to the toilet in time before his stomach spilled over.

Which brought him to where he was now, bent over sick in the small bathroom just outside of the main room.

•••

"You have to destroy the staff, Kai!" Lloyd pleaded, running up to him as he continued to blast Chen's lackies.

"Chen was right! This thing's awesome!"

"Kai, it holds too much power! Destroy it!" He heard Lloyd say to someone "if we don't get that staff out of his hands-!"

"No one is taking my staff!" He yelled, anger in his voice. This was his now. He deserved it, after all. Lloyd just wanted to be the special one again. "You had all the power, now it's my turn!"

He shook the thoughts out of his head briefly, glaring at the offending object. "What am I saying? I can't… I can't control it!"

"No, Kai! Don't!" Lloyd pleaded, his arm in front of Skylor. A pathetic attempt to stop him, really, as he started to use the powers, the rush flowing through his body

"I should've been the green ninja!"

And with that, he launched the blast, watching the terror in their faces. He relished it with a grin.

•••

"Kai?" A voice broke him out of his thoughts, resulting in a shudder. He couldn't quite place who it was, but then it came again. "Kai, can I come in?"

A cough cut him off from responding to Cole, but he swallowed it back. "Yeah."

The door opened and Cole sat on the floor next to him, setting his hand against his back, "FSM, you're sweating through your gi." He heard him mutter under his breath, "I brought some water if you're up to it."

Kai shook his head; he wasn't very nauseous anymore, but he also wasn't sure he could keep anything down just yet since the nausea was now being replaced by the sinking feeling of guilt.

"Sensei G's got Lloyd," Cole spoke, clearly knowing exactly what Kai was thinking, "He's got some burns, and he's kinda weak from the whole "powers being sucked out of him" thing, but he's gonna be okay."

Kai nodded, but then the second thought came to his head. 'Nya still thinks I betrayed her and everyone else.'

Once again, Cole cut him off before he could even speak. "Lloyd explained the whole thing, they're not mad. Nya said your plan was dumb, but that was it."

Kai couldn't hold back his chuckle at the mental image of Nya critiquing his plan, but it was short-lived. 'Skylor's still hurt. And missing.'

"No one blames you, you did what you thought was right." Cole spoke softly, gently setting his hand on Kai's shoulder, who finally mustered up the strength to move away from the toilet and take the cup of water from Cole's hand, muttering under his breath as he drank.

"Don't think telling Lloyd that I should've been the green ninja before blasting him was right."

"You weren't in your right mind, the staff-"

"The staff brought out my subconscious thoughts that I've had since we found out about the prophecy." Kai interrupted, setting the empty glass down on the floor.

"The staff makes one greedy, power hungry. I don't know how it does it, but it obviously does. The reason it had no effect on Chen was because the dude was already cuckoo for cocoa puffs," Kai couldn't hold back a snort at the ridiculous phrasing, "and if you don't believe me, you can go ask Lloyd for his two cents."

Kai sighed. He knew he should talk to Lloyd, at least see that he was okay for himself, but at the same time, he had hurt Lloyd, the one he swore to protect when he was fully aware of what he was doing.

"It's up to you. Alternatively, you could help us try to find Chen, but considering you just threw up your guts, I'd go with the safer choice of talking to Lloyd."

Kai used the wall to pull himself to his feet, hitting the knob on the toilet before allowing Cole to support some of his weight since his legs were still shaking before speaking.

"Take me to Lloyd."

•••

Lloyd winced as Nya wiped at the cut on the side of his cheek.

While most of his injuries were from his fight with Chen, that one had occurred when the jet crashed into the basement and the staff hit him across the face as it flew out of Kai's hand.

Although, if he was being completely honest, he didn't remember much of the whole situation.

•••

Lloyd winced as he was pulled to his feet by two of the lackies who kept referring to themselves as Kapow and Chop, his side throbbing horrendously from his fight with Chen.

Despite trying to fight back, he was weak both physically and emotionally, not to mention the vengestone keeping his hands behind his back.

As he was forced down the halls and the echoes of the large serpent hit his ears, he fought back the tears that wanted to stream down his face.

'How could Kai do this? How could he hurt the team like this?' He tried to push back the selfish thought of 'how could he hurt me like this?' and tried to replace it with 'how could he do this to Nya?' but he couldn't do it.

As the chanting grew louder, he tried one more time to break out of the two men's hold, but one just kicked him in the leg, forcing him forward into the large room all four of them had snuck into on their first night here.

But Cole and Jay were nowhere to be seen, and as he looked at Chen, Clouse and Skylor who were surrounded by guards, he swallowed harshly, seeing Kai standing next to them.

The chanting rang in his ears as he was forced to kneel, the vengestone quickly being replaced by two giant chains attached to the floor.

He looked up as footsteps approached, seeing Kai grow nearer; the sadness and fury consumed him as he demanded, his voice thick with tears. "Why would you help them?"

"Don't worry," Kai insisted in a hushed tone, but as Clouse approached, he raised his voice, "it won't hurt. Much." Before walking away from him with a cackle, the chanting stopped altogether.

Lloyd watched as Skylor offered herself willingly to the spell, a pit growing in his stomach as she cried out in agony.

He had to shut his eyes.

But the cries stopped shortly afterwards and he opened his eyes, only to see Chen approaching him with a wicked grin on his face and his stomach dropped in fear.

"And now for the final element," the staff was pointed towards him and out of the corner of his eye, Lloyd saw Kai turn away, "only one can remain."

The white light surrounded him, and he was immediately hit with a searing pain in his chest that sent him to his knees before forcing a scream from his throat.

It was over fairly quickly, but he collapsed onto his hands and knees, trying to regain his breath as his body, now weaker than ever and heaved harshly.

•••

"Alright, that's the last injury," Nya announced, bringing Lloyd out of his thought process to see a joking smile on her face, "unless you're hiding something from me."

"No, you got everything. Thank you." Lloyd smiled softly, receiving a hand in his hair and he couldn't hold back his laughter because of just how normal that was.

"I'm gonna go help them find Chen, but your dad is right outside if you need anything. Get some rest."

Lloyd nodded, watching as Nya exited the room before laying down on his back, biting back the sharpness of the bruising from where he was thrown by Chen with his own abilities directly into the leaderboard.

The pain dulled out enough for him to close his eyes and try to let sleep take him when the door opened and two sets of slow footsteps approached him.

He couldn't stop from flinching due to the sting as a hand gently touched his burned wrist, but he instantly regretted it when he heard the voice. "Lloyd? Are you awake?"

'Kai'

Lloyd opened his eyes, blinking away the blurriness to see Cole and Kai standing over him. "Yeah, I'm awake," he noticed the guilty look on Kai's face, as well as the paleness, "you okay?"

"I should be the one asking you that."

"I will be," Lloyd nodded, getting a good look at Kai's face and already knowing that if he was gonna get any information out of him, they needed to be alone, "Cole, can you-"

"Yeah, I need to talk to your dad anyways," Cole smiled, winking to ensure he got the hint before making his way out of the room.

The door barely closed before Kai spoke up, "Lloyd, I am so sorry about all of this."

"You did what you thought was best, I can't blame-" Lloyd started, but he was cut off quickly.

"I meant the staff."

'Oh'

"Kai, that wasn't your fault-"

"I could have killed you!" Kai shouted, cutting Lloyd off again, "I could've killed you and Skylor, I said things to you that I haven't believed in years!" He had tears coming down his face now even though his cheeks were still red with frustration, "I hurt Skylor, I hurt Nya… I hurt you."

Lloyd wasn't thinking when he wrapped his arms around him, all he knew in that moment was that he needed Kai to stop crying, to stop feeling so bad for something that wasn't even his fault.

He felt hot tears soaking his shoulder as Kai's body shook against him, like he had been holding this in for a long time. 'How do I make him see that it isn't his fault?'

•••

Garmadon wasn't sure what he was expecting when Kai came out of the small room that his son was currently residing in while he recovered.

He definitely wasn't expecting him to come out with tears in his eyes and bright red cheeks though.

"Kai, are you alright?" He asked softly, in order to avoid startling the obviously in distress teenager.

"Yeah," he stopped to wipe his face on his sleeve, "yeah, I'm okay?"

Garmadon raised an eyebrow before motioning him closer. "Take a walk with me, Kai."

"No, you need to stay with Lloyd-"

"Just down the hall and back," Garmadon didn't like the idea of leaving his son, but he also knew that the majority of the elemental masters were nearby, and if there was an emergency, they would be informed before anything could happen to Lloyd, "Lloyd will be fine."

Kai relented after that and the two of them started walking at a steady pace with only the silence lingering in between them.

"You know, Kai," Garmadon spoke softly, watching as the fire elemental's gaze met his, "when I was bitten, I did a lot of things that I didn't have control over. I became corrupted and hurt a lot of people I care about. My brother, my wife, you four ninja, even Lloyd."

Garmadon heard Kai's breath hitch and saw a few tears forming in his eyes. "But after my son saved me, you all forgave me even though I didn't feel as though I deserved it. I still don't know how all of you did that so easily."

"Well, if it makes you feel better, it took me awhile to forgive you for all of that." Kai said in a joking tone, even if his voice was thick from crying and the tear stains on his cheeks were becoming fresh again.

Garmadon shot him a soft smile before continuing, "there are things in this world that we cannot control, things that have to balance out. Although it takes time to heal from those things, to forgive ourselves for those things, that doesn't mean we can't let others forgive us for them and to give us a second chance."

Kai wiped his face on his sleeve again and Garmadon put his hand on his shoulder, feeling his body shake under his touch.

"You don't have to forgive yourself right away from what happened with the corruption from the staff. In fact, I wouldn't expect you to do so. But letting the others in, letting them give you a second chance… It's a good place to start."

Kai nodded, tears rushing down his cheeks at full speed now, "I'll do that."

"Good man," Garmadon smiled as the two of them turned to make their way back down the hall, "and if you need someone to talk to about this again, my door is always open."

"You don't have to-"

"I'll have none of that," Garmadon shook his head, "You will come to me if you need someone to talk to about this again."

"Is that an order?" Kai smiled, the tears finally starting to slow and his mood was clearly starting to brighten, given that his sass was coming back.

"Yes, it is." Garmadon nodded, seeing that he had accomplished what he set out to do, "do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Sensei Garmadon." Kai winked as the two stopped in front of the door, his demeanor growing serious again, "I'm gonna go help them find Chen."

"Very well." Garmadon smiled, watching as Kai pulled his hood over his head before running to join the others outside.

#Ninjago #lego ninjago #kai ninjago #cole ninjago #lloyd montgomery garmadon #sensei garmadon #nya ninjago #ninjago skylor #kai angst #angst #hurt/comfort #takes place after the forgotten element #but also is slightly altered so Kai had blasted lloyd and skylor before the others came in with the roto jet #tournement of elements #kai and garmadon solidarity #emeto cw #emeto tw #its not that graphic but i know it can be triggering for some

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inviberu · 3 years ago

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mirror

An old mirror dirty enough to the point you can’t see your reflection anymore. Faust decided to take a better look at it. He never expected it to turn out as a lost relic from a once prosperous city.

“Oh dear me!” Snow gasped, putting his hand over his mouth to appear more shocked than he actually is. A thoughtful smile suddenly took over his expression not long after as he put his hands on his hips. “I would’ve never thought I’d see this again in this day and age.”

“You know what this is?” Faust’s eyes widened as he examined the mirror in his hands once more, its golden rim giving off a shiny gleam after recovering it from the ruins during their last expedition to the Eastern country. It managed to pique the hermit’s interest after seeing it lay bare on the ground in such a terrible state, wanting to recover it to its former beauty. In some way, it reminded him of himself.

“But of course! This was awfully revered back in the day by both humans and wizards alike. It’s a good thing that my weary self was able to remember it.” Snow chirped, taking a closer look at the mirror. “A relic from a once-famous city—a mirror that is said to have the ability to show you the future. After their downfall, no one had any idea about where the relic laid rest. Ohoho! You’ve come across an exquisite item indeed.”

“The ability to show me the future? That’s ridiculous. I just picked it up from the ground, there’s no way a mirror like this is a lost relic.” Despite the sureness from his words, his voice held a certain kind of doubt that believed Snow. There was no reason for someone like Snow to lie to him after all, there was simply no merit in doing so and Snow wasn’t one to lie about this sort of stuff just for his own amusement.

“You think I jest? I see, then why don’t you try it out for yourself?” Snow’s expression held a smug smile before he remembered something and he let out a small gasp. “I heard it was very moody and picky though, so it might not work on your first try.”

“A moody mirror? The more I hear about this mirror the more I think that it’s a joke.” Faust shook his head.

“Ohoho! Try saying ‘please and thank you’ to the mirror when you try.” What Snow said sounded like a tease but Faust knew well that he was being serious. He didn’t know which one was worse—he could only let out a sigh as he inspected the mirror again. Could a mirror truly tell him of the future? Such an item is far too dangerous to be left out in the open.

“Woah, so you’re telling me this mirror can show you the future?” You wandered inside Faust’s room back and forth but your eyes remained fixated on the mirror placed on his desk, its intricate golden design never failed to catch your interest. It was hard to believe such a thing was capable of showing you the future when all sorts of magic relating to that were either forbidden or extremely hard unless you were gifted with the gift of prophecy like the twins from the North.

Faust let out a sigh, he couldn't bring himself to believe it either but there were a lot of strange things in this world—this was just one of them. "Apparently," he pushed up his glasses as he took the mirror in his hands and looked at his reflection. "Do you want to give it a try?"

"Me?" You asked curiously, wondering why Faust would ask you such a thing but you weren't against the idea of the mirror showing you your possible future. Though you can't help but feel a little bit scared when you thought about the possibilities—there was nothing more terrifying than the unknown future, after all. Faust handed you the mirror and you stared at it blankly. With much hesitance, you nodded.

"I'll try… how does this even work in the first place?" You tried tapping the glass, wondering if it was some sort of touch screen mirror but you were met with disappointment when it did nothing.

"Snow said to try saying 'please and thank you' to the mirror, I don't know if that'll work though. He said it was moody." Faust let out a dry chuckle, the thought still ridiculous to him but never crossed it out as impossible. If the mirror would truly respond to something like that, it only proved the strangeness of this magical world. You shot him a strange look, a moody mirror? But you pushed back the doubt to the back of your head and put your trust in him instead.

"Mirror, can you show me the future? Pretty please?" You cooed, feeling a bit stupid for pleading to a mirror like this. You waited a few moments for a reaction while looking at the object expectantly, only to be met with utter disappointment when it did absolutely nothing. Faust was silent along with you until he let out a small laugh, did you look stupid when you were doing that? You questioned if Snow was just pulling both of your legs, that mischievous old man!

"As expected, it won't work just because we asked it to."

"Geez, Faust! Do you really think a shabby thing like this can show us the future?" Shabby was the last word you would use to describe the mirror had it not been for your rage towards its defect. It looked elegant and regal, as if it didn't spend centuries lying beneath some rubble—it was a miracle the glass wasn't broken by such heavy fragments lying atop of it. You shook your head and gave Faust the mirror, giving up on it after you added: "How about you try it? It might listen to you because you're the one that picked it up."

He shot you a hesitant look, he had a feeling this wasn't going to end well yet he pushed that feeling into the back of his mind and stared at his reflection—he caught a small glimpse of your face in it while you were looking away and he couldn't help but break into a small smile. At that moment, something changed.

The hand mirror shook slightly in his grasp. Faust, alarmed, tried to make it sit still by gripping it tighter but it proved to be futile when it flew from his grasp and a blinding light filled the room—eliciting gasps of shock from the both of you as Faust grabbed to shield you from whatever was emerging in his room. When the light disappeared, it took him a while to get adjusted to the sudden change but once he did, he saw the hand mirror transformed into a full-body one sitting in the middle of his room.

"What in the world…" Faust left your side to carefully inspect the area, making sure there were no more risks in the area before taking your hand while telling you it was safe—aside from the now huge mirror residing smack middle in his room, its golden glow giving off an intimidating aura. You felt your initial shock turn into excitement.

"Isn't this great? It responded to you! What did you say?" You asked him, curious. You weren't paying attention to him at that time, perhaps you missed something.

"Nothing, actually. It just started vibrating and this happened." Faust tipped his hat slightly, closing his eyes and let out another sigh. One strange thing after another, he was bound to be drained at the end of the day, wasn't he?

"That's strange, you didn't say anything and yet it responded to you… curious." You stroked your chin. Faust stepped into the mirror's view and nothing was out of the ordinary, it showed him nothing of the future, only his reflection. He paused, was it broken after being left there for so many centuries? It was a plausible explanation. It was just like a normal mirror now, it was a shame such a relic has lost its true value—eroded along with the years that passed.

That is, until you stepped into the view.

The moment you stepped into the view, everything that the mirror showed suddenly changed as it emitted a faint white glow. You closed your eyes for a second and you could hear the faint sounds of… bells? You opened your eyes slightly to look at the mirror only for Faust to slap his hand over your eyes to obstruct your vision before you could get a small glimpse of what changed.

A bunch of incomprehensible sounds fell from Faust's lips and you tried to remove his hand from your eyes but that just made his actions more frantic. He grabbed your wrist and dragged you away from the mirror to outside of his room. You tried asking him what his problem was but you were left unheard as he left you outside and shut the door to his room aggressively. By the time you tried making sense of the scenario, you were already staring at his door from outside—did he just kick you out?

Your mouth was wide open when the realization dawned on you—what was his problem!? You crossed your arms grumpily, a part of you wanted to knock on his door again to demand an explanation but another part wanted you to storm off without saying anything to him. You pouted, or was he trying to protect you from something dangerous? Magical items could be dangerous if not handled correctly, after all.

In the end, you didn't know what to do and rested your forehead against his door frame with a clenched fist ready to knock at any given time and a defeated look.

To say Faust panicked back there was an understatement, he felt as if his soul was about to leave his body right then and there when he saw the scene the mirror showed him. He could only breathe a sigh of relief, he was glad he acted quickly before you caught a glimpse of it—that would've made things worse and he wouldn't know what to do. He slumped against the door, feeling a bit light-headed and fuzzy, the heat refusing to leave his face. He was embarrassed.

The sight wasn't something particularly scary or tragic. In fact, it was the complete opposite—though that made it all the more confusing as to why Faust would stop you from looking at it. It was a scene that he saw in one of his many dreams, something that flustered him to no end and wished it would leave him alone.

The bells that rang in the background, the happy couple dressed in white as they looked at each other lovingly, a perfect wedding scene straight from the dreams Faust doesn't tell anyone. A perfect wedding scene of you and him in the distant future—together.

To think your fate was intertwined like this… Faust could only hope that it's a future that's bound to happen. But, right now, he can't let you find out about this lest he wants to live the rest of his life inside the forest hiding from you. He would simply pass away from sheer embarrassment, oh how would he even face you? His cheeks burned red at the thought of a wedding with you once again.

#mhyk #mhyk writing #my writing #promise of wizard #faust #mhyk faust #faust x reader #promise of wizard x reader #mahoyaku x reader #faust lavinia #faust lavinia x reader #no beta we die like white #the wedding rot ... immaculate

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alderaani · 3 years ago

Text

more than gold

summary: A lost Jedi Temple, a riddle, some literature, and feelings that Cody isn't ready to speak out loud. | AO3

note: written for @codywanweek and the alt day 5 prompt Sith/Jedi Artefact Shenanigans! sliding in on the last day with one more thing written than expected, so i’m happy with that! i’m pretty ill today so i hope it actually makes some coherent sense 😂 also if the riddle was super obvious, soz, never written one before and turns out it’s really hard.

“You know, I could have sworn I told you not to touch that,” Cody says conversationally, from where he’s splayed out on his back.

“Really? I’m sure I didn’t hear you,” Obi-Wan says, cheerful despite being crumpled in a heap. His elbow is in Cody’s gut. Cody glares at him.

The room they’re lying in is circular, stone, carved out of some Forced-damned mountain and according to Obi-wan, practically thrumming with power. The ceiling is high and vaulted, letting in slivers of light where intricate mirror systems catch the sunlight of double suns and project it deep underground. It takes on a slightly blue cast, reflecting off the huge pool of water they were lucky to not fall into. Four walkways at each cardinal point lead to a central platform, and interspersed between them are four waterfalls.

It should be serene. Except now the waterfalls are travelling backwards, and all the doors, including the one they came in by, are blocked. Cody scrambles up onto his elbows, dislodging Obi-Wan with a grunt.

“What did you do?”

Obi-Wan follows his gaze and gasps, delighted. “Now, will you look at that?”

Cody is looking. Frankly, he doesn’t trust this place enough to not keep his eye on it at all times. Obi-Wan keeps saying that this temple was built long ago, by ancient, peaceful Jedi as a place of learning, and that it won’t hurt them. After they got cut off from the rest of their men at the entrance, however, Cody thinks he could be forgiven for having his doubts.

As Obi-Wan himself proves, peace-keeping hardly rules out danger.

“Amazing,” Obi-Wan breathes, hoisting himself to his feet without a second glance, to walk back up to the plinth and stalk round it, examining the incomprehensible runes engraved there.

Cody is left to peel himself off the floor, and instead goes to prod at the barriers now sealing the exits with the end of his blaster. He tries not to look too much at Obi-Wan, at the soft sweep of his hair and the span of his shoulders. Being on their own like this is something he’s avoided, of late - not because he doesn’t enjoy it, but because he’s starting to enjoy it all too much.

He doesn’t trust the way his heart leaps when Obi-Wan smiles, when he asks him to call him ‘Obi-Wan’, when the cycle draws on and they’re up late again, companionably finishing reports and debating strategy. Or, as they had been doing until Cody got cold feet and started finding excuses, debating novels, which Obi-Wan checked out of the Temple archives and read aloud, one chapter at a time, before they turned in for the night.

He doesn’t trust himself not to ruin this by overstepping. There’s something about his general that makes him lose all control of his tongue, and puts him in danger of voicing thoughts that really he should not be having at all.

It’s agony. It’s bliss. It’s stretching him to breaking point, and this is possibly the worst situation they could have ended up in, really.

“These are made out of water,” he says over his shoulder, grunting as he tries to push his blaster through. He is, of course, unsuccessful.

“Ingenious,” Obi-Wan says. “How did they manage that, I wonder?”

Cody cuts a glance back at him, and grins, despite his exasperation.

“You’re not more worried about how we’re going to get out?”

Obi-Wan waves a hand. “I’m sure the path will reveal itself, in time. Oh, look - Cody, I think this is a puzzle!”

Cody bites back a groan. They do not have time for this. They never really had time for it, but Obi-Wan promised it would be a brief detour on their way to the capital for hyperspace lane access negotiations. He’d looked so excited by recon reports of a lost temple that Cody just hadn’t been able to say no. He’s never able to say no to Obi-Wan, even when he isn’t following orders. It’s probably his fatal flaw.

“I don’t suppose there’s an off switch? A back button?” He asks hopelessly. The Force, at least the Jedi sort, very rarely seems to work that way. Obi-Wan is always talking about moving through problems, about seeking balance and adapting to what’s around you, rather than manipulating it. It’s not Cody’s favoured approach; he was trained to leverage his environment to its maximum advantage, and finds he has little patience for anything else.

Obi-Wan snorts. “This is a defensive mechanism, I’m afraid. Judging by the architecture this was built at the height of the Sith Wars. This artefact is designed to trap us here until we understand the mechanism and progress, or until, back when the temple was occupied, someone would come and deal with the intruder.”

“That doesn’t sound very peaceful,” Cody says.

Obi-Wan shoots him an amused look, the warm, soft kind that makes heat rise from the pit of Cody’s belly right up to his ears.

“Even a pacifist may defend himself,” he says, then leans over the pedestal. “Now, how about you stop grousing and come help me with this?”

Cody rolls his eyes, but goes, slinging his blaster across his back and crossing his arms.

“And stop looming,” Obi-Wan laughs, catching one of Cody’s gloved hands and pulling it down to rest at his side. The simple touch makes Cody’s cheeks burn.

“Don’t see what help I can give you, Sir,” he says, frowning down at the characters surrounding the bright blue artefact. “I was never any good at Ithorian.”

Obi-Wan pauses, then tilts his head up. “Ah. Is that what it is?”

“I - I think so?” Cody was never any good at his language flashtraining; he never had the proper patience for it, but he can usually figure out the basics.

“No, no,” Obi-Wan muses, stroking at his beard with his free hand. “You’re quite right. Goodness me, it's been a long time since I last saw this dialect. Let’s see now…”

Cody steps back and waits, keeping his attention firmly split between their blocked exit points while Obi-Wan ponders. The slow upward movement of the waterfalls is eerie - it still makes noise, but none of it is right. Instead of the gentle patter he expects of water joining a larger pool, there’s a faint gurgling as they move further into each grate, travelling somewhere he cannot see.

Obi-Wan finishes his fifth circle round the platform, and the hand at his chin goes still. Cody stands at attention, expectant.

“It’s a riddle,” Obi-Wan says, and if possible, his delight grows. “Yes - the language is coming back to me now. Do you know, I haven’t looked at Ithorian in maybe 12 years?”

“Sir?” Cody says, tilting his head to look at the characters more closely. He doesn’t have even a passing proficiency at modern Ithorian, and presumably it’s changed a bit over the millennia. His training was focused on the basics, and only the useful bits, at that. He thinks he can make out the words for ‘ water ’, and ‘ enemy’ , both of which are either unhelpfully descriptive or frankly discouraging, but that’s about the extent of it.

“My old master - he loved prophecies. When I was a teenager I could never see the point of it, but it meant I spent a lot of time learning the old Ithorian dialects. They’re known as the most peaceful species, did you know?” Obi-Wan shakes his head. “They’ll exile anyone violent, it’s quite remarkable, really. I suppose in some sort of idealistic emulation, a lot of the early Jedi texts are written in their dialect.”

His blue eyes are keen, his laser sharp focus firmly on the podium. It gives Cody a moment to observe his clever fingers, the long line of his neck, the open delight with which he tackles this new problem. It’s a rare thing, to see him so relaxed, and Cody can’t help the fond smile that creeps up on him despite the circumstances. This almost makes it worth it, and on reflection, he’d rather an ancient temple than the last thing that had made Obi-Wan so happy; a wretched, bioluminescent fungus, which had infected half the battalion and given them hives. Their general had studied it for weeks.

Obi-Wan’s lips quirk up. Cody barely trusts himself to speak.

“I didn’t know, Sir,” Cody croaks, then pauses, fishing for something normal to say. “Didn’t we have to defend the governor’s daughter from an Ithorian bounty hunter on Ganaris-IV?”

“Well,” Obi-Wan grins. “Those exiles have to go somewhere, don’t they?”

Cody huffs a laugh and reaches up to scratch his neck at the seam of his bucket.

“Let’s just hope they didn’t all come here. What’s this riddle, then?”

Obi-Wan shifts to the side, then points at a spot on the podium. “As I said, it’s been a long time, but I think it starts here, and goes something like:

A thing to be forged, where water is thicker,

Worth more than gold, unless it’s pyrite that glitters.

An enemy of my enemy, or in hard times, in need,

Sometimes fair-weather, or in high places indeed.

What are you, traveller? ”

All of Cody’s hopes that it would be something nice and obvious, like “lightsaber” or, given what’s going on around them, “gravity”, escape from him like smoke. Jedi and their metaphors. It’s not just a quirk of Obi-Wan’s, clearly.

“Does that mean anything to you, Sir?” he asks, turning the words over in his head once, twice, then frowning when nothing comes immediately.

Obi-Wan’s brow is also furrowed, but in a leisurely, meditative manner.

“...I have some ideas, I think,” he says. “How about you, my friend?”

What does he think? He thinks that there are other sorts of puzzles he is much better suited to. Word play and idioms...what does a clone have to offer that?

Still, Obi-Wan is watching him, expectant and gentle, and he sifts back through the lines, a little more seriously this time.

“Ice, maybe?”

Obi-Wan nods, slowly. “Perhaps. Walk me through it.”

Cody swallows. “Ice is something that can be made, right? It’s not exactly forged, but…”

He trails off in uncertainty.

“Go on,” Obi-Wan says with another one of those soft, devastating smiles. It fractures all the thoughts in Cody’s head, and he has to stop, clear his throat and gather up all the pieces.

“I suppose...it’s just thicker water, isn’t it? On warm planets it’s a valuable commodity, it’s found in high places, and I suppose if you wanted snow, a freeze would be fair weather.”

Obi-Wan is rubbing his beard again, and he’s still smiling. “Fascinating. I would never have thought of that...only, I don’t think it’s quite there. That mention of pyrite is troublesome, and the ‘enemy of my enemy’, where does that fit in?”

Cody shrugs his shoulders, frustrated, and feels a hot flush creep up his neck. “Don’t know why you’re asking me, to be honest, Sir. Kamino hardly covered poetry.”

There’s a slight pause, then Obi-Wan’s hand is on his again, tugging it slowly down from where he’s crossed his arms.

“I wish you wouldn’t do that,” he says, soft.

“Do what?” Cody’s voice is gruff.

“Dismiss yourself. You do it sometimes when we’re reading together. There is often no right and wrong answer to these things, no secret. There is only perspective, and you see things I never would, if only you would trust yourself.”

Cody looks down and away, back towards the waterfalls and their slow, glacial climb. He isn’t sure that’s true. He enjoys what Obi-Wan shares with him, what other lives he gets to touch in their books, but more than anything they convince him that, beyond war, he knows very little of anything at all. He would like to, someday.

His eyes land on Obi-Wan’s lips briefly, before he tears them away. Particular experiences he would like to know more than others.

There was one book that Obi-Wan had read early on, back when this infatuation was just setting its first tendrils into him, about a forbidden romance at the heart of the old Mandalorian court. Two heirs of rival clans battling to be together against the good approval of their noble relatives. It had been torrid, ridiculous and entirely unexpected when Obi-Wan had suggested they break up their reports with some literature.

But what it had done was give him the words to express the crawling heat in his stomach, the urge he has to reach out, to touch, to soothe, to care for. He’d known what he wanted before that, of course, in a more rudimentary manner, but it had gifted him the language of yearning.

Suddenly, a particular passage springs into his mind and he straightens.

“You don’t think it could mean ally, do you? In Beneath the Armour, Mata threatens Clan Riza by saying he has ‘allies in high places’.”

Obi-Wan pauses, and then a brilliant smile spreads over his face. “Yes, that’s it! Pyrite - Fool’s Gold; a false friend! Brilliant Cody, whatever made you think of that?”

Cody grins, even though Obi-Wan can’t see it, and doesn’t answer.

“Is that really it?”

“I think you’re very close,” Obi-Wan says. “The characters engraved into the platform...yes! Stand close to me, Commander.”

Cody does, watching curiously as Obi-Wan lifts his hands, shuts his eyes, frowns, and pushes . Six blocks that make up the platform lift, the characters on each glowing bright, lurid blue. Under their feet, something scrapes, shifts and clunks, before the platform lurches upwards, spinning gently.

There’s a thunderous gurgling sound, before all of the pool beneath drains away.

“The answer,” Obi-Wan says, slightly breathless, his hair a little out of place. “Was friend.”

“The doorways are still blocked,” Cody notes drily. The plinth with the blue orb that started this whole mess has also risen, and underneath it are a set of very wet, slimy looking steps. “I don’t suppose it’s as simple as just walking down these and getting in?”

“Likely not,” Obi-Wan agrees, then inexplicably shifts a little closer, so that they are sharing space. Cody’s heart skips a beat. “But it’s like I told you, Cody. You are far greater than what you have been given.”

Cody coughs and looks at his feet, at their boots almost toe to toe, pleasure at the praise singing low through his body.

“Now,” Obi-Wan says, too close and not close enough. “How do you feel about another puzzle?”

Cody groans, laughing, and after a moment, follows his General into the dark.

#codywanweek2021 #codywan #obi wan kenobi #commander cody #alderwrites #i would tag this jedi culture but i literally pulled this out of my ass #there is absolutely no basis in canon here #only vibes #the clone wars #star wars #codywan week 2021

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sparkkeyper · 4 years ago

Text

A Matter of Trust

My take on the “night at Crowley’s flat” fic.

Swapping faces requires complete trust. Unfortunately, Aziraphale has not been particularly honest leading up to Armageddon and it's hard to overcome that doubt.

Words: 2295

Warnings: None

-------------------

"You really think she meant switching our actual faces?"

"I've been over it a dozen times and I'm quite sure. I've had the last 72 hours to become familiar with Agnes' peculiar brand of predictions."

Crowley blew out a long breath and took another sip of his coffee. It was the deepest hour of the night. Darkness pressed around the outside of his flat, threatening at the edges of the LED lighting. "Put a lot of stock in this prophecy, do you?"

Aziraphale nodded from where he sat nearby on the couch, the torn slip of prophecy on the cushion between them. "Absolutely. Every prediction in her book came to pass exactly as she saw it. If this is the scenario we're up against, then 'choosing our faces wisely' is our best shot at surviving it."

"Suppose that's settled, then. Once Above and Below start after us, they won't stop unless we really give them a good reason."

"I agree. Now, this will require complete trust and extraordinary focus in order to work. It isn't like lending someone a scarf."

"That's the point, I thought. Something neither side will see coming."

"Exactly. All right then." Aziraphale wriggled a bit on the couch, bracing himself. "Are you ready?"

Crowley set down his coffee and flexed his fingers. "Ready."

Aziraphale held out his hand and the demon took it. Swap with him.

Nothing happened.

"Er..."

"Ngk. Hang on." Crowley gave himself a shake. "Been a long day and all that. Lemme just refocus. Right, let's do it." He took the angel's hand again. Swap. With. Him.

Again, nothing happened.

There were several long, awkward seconds.

Get it together, you stupid snake. This is important. This could be the most important thing you've ever done. This is Aziraphale. Best friend for centuries. You know what to expect from him.

He did know what to expect. That was the problem.

The moment was stretching on far too long. He dropped the angel's hand like it had burned him and scrubbed his palms over his soot-stained face.

"Crowley?"

"It's fine! I'll make it work, give me a blessed break."

He stood and paced the room for a moment while Aziraphale sat stiffly on the couch, watching him. "Is there anything I can do to...to facilitate things? I'm not sure what the problem is."

"There's no problem, it's fine," Crowley snapped. "I've got this. Just worry about your end of it and I'll worry about mine. Right!" He spun on his heel with his hand out and Aziraphale stood to match him. "Swap, then!"

He clasped the angel's hand and tried. He could feel the miracle simmering somewhere in the ether, attempted but not complete. He reached for it, he reached with all his might.

"Crowley-"

"I can do this," he insisted, a pit forming in his stomach. He'd just held his car together for 40 miles, he could believe one little idea for 5 seconds.

"Crowley-"

"I can do this!"

"Oh for goodness' sake-"

The angel was frustrated. He had every right to be but that was beside the point. A frustrated Aziraphale got indignant. A frustrated Aziraphale stormed off.

A frustrated Aziraphale pulled away when they needed most to stick together.

Crowley blessed savagely and spun, stomping for the balcony.

"Where are-"

"I just...I need to get some air." He slammed the door behind him before Aziraphale could respond.

The night breeze from so many stories up was like a slap in the face. Crowley welcomed it, leaning heavily on the balcony railing and burying his face in his hands. He couldn't do the miracle. Not that he didn't want to - he'd rarely wanted anything so much in his life. But he couldn't get his heart into it the way it needed to be.

We're not friends!

It wasn't true, of course. But it was something Aziraphale had wanted to be true. Because it would make the angel's life so much less complicated. Crowley was a friend...until he wasn't. Crowley occupied a place of esteem...until he didn't. Aziraphale worked so very hard to view a messy world in a manageable way and sometimes cuts had to be made.

His coffee sat suddenly on the railing because it knew what was good for it, and when he raised it to his lips it obligingly added a considerable amount of whiskey.

If they couldn't do the swap, they had no future. The Earth had a new lease on life tonight, but if they couldn't swap it would be at the price of their own. He knew Hell would show no mercy and he couldn't fool himself into thinking Heaven would. But Aziraphale... When it came to Heaven, Aziraphale could fool himself into thinking a lot of things.

I don't even like you!

Even if I did I wouldn't tell you! We're on opposite sides!

Aziraphale, who always had excuses to fall back on.

Aziraphale, who had a book with the Antichrist's address and hadn't told him.

Aziraphale who, when the world was on the brink of destruction, had kept calling out to Heaven.

If it came down to their partnership or Heaven, Heaven was the first to be appeased, no contest. Crowley understood his reasons. Aziraphale was, at his core, an angel. He treasured that identity even if he disagreed with his superiors and assignments. He held out hope in goodness, in Her, in a way Crowley never could. He wanted so badly for everything to turn out nice and good in the end, and Crowley could not take that from him.

When Heaven couldn't provide, Crowley was there to be his safety net. But Heaven was always, always first.

The balcony door clicked behind him and hesitant footsteps stepped out into the night. "If there's anything I can do to help you focus, you need only ask."

Crowley couldn't bring himself to look at him. "Focus isn't the problem."

Aziraphale was quiet for a very long moment. "Oh," he said softly.

There was no shock in his voice. No condemnation either. Crowley wondered if it would take some time to sink it, given everything that had already happened to them tonight, but as Aziraphale joined him at the balcony railing he knew that the angel understood what this meant.

Dull blue eyes followed Crowley's gaze out over London and Aziraphale took a slow sip of his tea. "This is my fault, isn't it?"

"Don't," Crowley told him tiredly. "What's done is done."

"But the consequences are ongoing. And will be for a long time, I expect." Aziraphale sighed heavily. "I am responsible, I won't pretend otherwise."

"I tried," Crowley confessed, the words barely audible over the background hum of the city. "I truly did."

"I don't doubt it."

A breeze wandered in. Tousled through red and blonde hair. Wandered somewhere else.

"I suppose I ought to at least ask...was it slow over time or was it because of this past week?"

Crowley didn't answer for a moment, taking another sip of his coffee. "Bit of both."

"Mmm." Aziraphale nodded, not particularly surprised by this. "I should have seen this coming, really. I should have seen a good many things coming."

"Stop it," the demon muttered. "You can't see everything coming. Something something ineffability."

"Is just one of the excuses I've been hiding behind for a very long time. And now it's caught up with me. With us." He sighed. "I suppose it's not just evil that contains the seeds of its own destruction."

Crowley didn't have the energy to come up with a biting response. He just looked exhausted. "I don't regret a minute of it, you know," he murmured. "The Arrangement. You and I. Wouldn't trade it for anything." There were dark circles under his eyes. "But I can't trust you the way I'd need to for this to work. I wish I could. I've tried. I just can't do it."

Aziraphale grimaced to hear the words out loud, but did not dispute it. How could he? "I don't blame you. You're right - it's not fair to ask you to trust me when I've squandered your trust so thoroughly."

We're not friends, hung thick in the air between them.

"Not that I think you don't care," Crowley clarified. "I know you do. You're terrible at hiding it, really. And you came to find me today before it all ended. That's not nothing." He took another sip of coffee. "But you also lied to my face. Repeatedly."

"I did," the angel acknowledged quietly.

"While the world was ending."

"Yes."

"That hurt, Aziraphale."

Aziraphale bit his lip hard. "I know. I'd take it back if I could. But I suppose it's too late to make a difference now."

They stood in silence for a time. Then Crowley sighed and turned back to the flat. "Come on. It's been a long day. There's wine in the kitchen, we may as well enjoy it while we can before they come for us."

The angel followed him inside and watched as he pulled glasses from a cabinet. "Thank you again for allowing me to stay the night. You didn't have to, after everything."

"Stay as long as you like," the demon uncorked the wine bottle. "Your shop's gone. Fuck's sake, I'm not a monster."

"No." Aziraphale's expression was very, very soft. "You're not."

Crowley took off his sunglasses and looked up at him at last: this demon whose heart had been broken too many times. "I want you to be all right, Aziraphale. I need you safe. I need you alive. I want to see you happy. But I don't know how far I can meet you."

"I can't say I'm surprised, after all I've put you through," the angel admitted ruefully. "Denying we were ever friends, or insinuating that you were somehow less than I. I've been a rather dreadful friend to you over the centuries."

Crowley hung his head, wine forgotten. "I know why you keep us at a distance and I know why you lied about the boy. You were doing what you thought was best at the time. I can't blame you for that. But to do what that prophecy wants, when push comes to shove I need to believe with all my heart that you won't leave me hanging. And I...I can't bring myself to believe that." He scrubbed his hands across his face. "Given time I might, but we don't have time. I can't do it. And I hate it. Because that's going to get you killed. I need you alive but once they come for us, I won't be able to save you. Not this time."

"You talk as though you're not in danger yourself," Aziraphale's face crumpled. "Crowley, if Below gets their hands on you they will destroy you utterly. I will not let that happen. I can't take back what I've said but you are the dearest thing in this world to me and I'm not going to stand back and let them take you."

Crowley looked like he was trying so very hard to hope but just couldn't get there. "I want to believe that, I really do. But I can't do blind faith like you can. I don't have it in me anymore."

Aziraphale closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to the demon's. "I'm not asking you to forgive what I've done. And I'm not asking for blind faith. Goodness knows how much trouble that's caused." His voice cracked at that but he plunged onward. "I'm only asking you to believe me when I say that I will not let Hell have you. If we cannot switch our faces, we will find another way."

"But your prophecy. Agnes-"

"Agnes be damned." That shut Crowley up. Tears glistened on the angel's cheeks. "If I have to march Down There after you. If I have to take up a sword. If I have to stand between you and God Herself. I swear to you on everything that I am, I will not let Hell have you."

And in that brief moment, for just that one promise in a sea of other broken ones, Crowley believed he was telling the truth.

His hand scrabbled for Aziraphale's and he pushed for all he was worth before he could lose this moment, he pushed every atom of his soul into the heart of his best friend, gave him everything that he was and ever could be, and in that instant he trusted Aziraphale to keep him safe.

And then Aziraphale was pouring into him and Crowley opened himself up and let it happen, let him seep into every muscle, every bone, every molecule of his being -

-and suddenly there was no difference between them, there was no angel, no demon, just a tumult of soul and hope and pain and fear and resolve and-

Crowley tumbled out the other side like falling out of bed. He gasped in a strangled breath, stumbling backwards into the kitchen counter and staring suddenly into his own face. He stared down at his clothes - beige - and his hands - manicured - and back up, feeling the warmth of his best friend's corporation surrounding him like a blanket. Aziraphale, in Crowley's, did much the same.

There was stunned silence in the flat as they let this sink in. Then one of them snapped, or maybe both, and suddenly Crowley's face was buried in the collar of a stinking, burnt leather jacket and Aziraphale was crushing him close, and both were squeezing so hard the other could scarcely breathe.

"Thank you," Aziraphale managed at last. "For trusting me enough to let me save you."

"Not if I save you first," Crowley choked out, and broken giggles filled the flat.

(Also on AO3!)

#good omens #good omens fic #the night at crowley's flat #aziraphale #crowley #aziraphale having to take responsibility for lying #the body swap #can these two idiots just SIT DOWN AND TALK #trauma is never your fault #being gaslight and coerced is never your fault #but we still have to be aware of those we hurt when we're not at our best #not that Crowley's 100% innocent #they'll figure it out they just need time

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inkandpen22 · 4 years ago

Text

I Hate You, I Love You

Pairing: Harry Potter x Female!Reader

Warnings: Smutty-smut, swearing, fighting

Word Count:

A/N: my first smut lol be nice

Masterlist

It’s the day of Fleur and Bill’s wedding. Alone in Ginny’s room, I stand in front of her mirror, analyzing my appearance in this dress. Hermione picked it out at the store. She insists I look best in blue. I wasn’t sure about it being silk or the low neckline or the practically nonexistent back. At least it has straps, though they’re about as thin as pasta.

There’s a knock at the door behind me and a call over my shoulder for the person to enter freely. When I turn back to the mirror, I see Harry enter quietly. I swallow hard, clenching my jaw as I pretend not to care. He approaches me nervously, his hands in his pockets.

“You uh... you look really nice,” he compliments, look at my reflection by my side.

My eyes remain on the mirror as I mumble a soft ‘thank you.’

Harry sighs, picking up on my frustration. It rolled over to today after last night's bickering following dinner. Ron may have left it to slip that the ‘Golden Trio’ may be leaving any day now to search for Voldemort’s Horcruxes. Harry somehow failed to mention to me, his girlfriend.

“Y/N, I’m sorry,” he apologizes, sounding frustrated. “Can we talk about this? I would like for us to enjoy tonight.”

His words are rational if we were discussing him forgetting a minor matter! Instead, we’re referring to him leave for weeks, perhaps months! We will have no form of contact! I won’t know if he’s dead or alive!

“No,” I answer sharply. “Talking about it will just make it worse,” I determine, turning to head out of the room.

Harry grabs my wrist, stopping me. “Wait-”

“Harry!” I snap at him, much to his surprise. Harry stands there wide-eyed, taken aback by my rash reaction. How does he think I felt after I learned that he’s putting himself on death’s doorstep. “Look,” I sigh, softening my tone. “I understand that you’re ‘The Chosen One,’ but we’re only seventeen! Things are steady at the moment, why must we rush it?”

“I have to do this!” Harry insists and I yank my wrist free of his hold. I pace away and he follows close on my heels. “Do you think I’m going to enjoy it? This won’t be a little holiday, Y/N, we’ll be hunting ways to destroy Voldemort!”

I whip my head around, eyes pricked with tears, “but I don’t you to go...”

Upon seeing my distressed state, his features soften. He reaches out to me, cupping either side of my face softly. “I know, my Love. I don’t want to leave you... believe me,” he whispers, caressing my cheek and I place my hands over his. “But it’s up to me to fix this. Everyone is depending on me.”

“Let me help you!” I try to reason with him.

“No, I can’t ask you to risk your life for me,” he refuses sternly, but I can tell it’s out of fear.

“You're risking your��s for me,” I argue. “For all of us!”

“That’s different!” His hands fall roughly as he turns his back to me.

“How?” I shout at him.

He can the most irrational person! For being ‘The Chosen One’ he’s rather stupid! Hermione would’ve been a better option in that pointless prophecy!

He spins toward me sharply and yells, “because I don’t have a choice! Because I love you!” He pauses, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he stares into my eyes solemnly. “Because I love you...” He repeats in a whisper.

“I love you too,” I reply quietly, tears threaten to fall from my eyes. I can’t lose him. A world without Harry in it is a world I couldn’t bear to live in. “Please Harry, please let me go with you!” I practically beg.

He shakes his head, avoiding my gaze. “It’ll be dangerous Y/N. I... I don’t know if I’ll be able to live with myself if anything were to ever happen to you.”

“I can take care of myself!” I remind him in a hiss.

I hate how defenseless he sees me. I’m one of the most skilled witches in our class at Hogwarts, Dumbledore said so himself once.

“I know that!” He barks, hitting his boiling point. “But I want to protect you!”

I roll my eyes with a scoff, he can’t be serious! “Oh stop with that ‘me man, me protect woman’ bollocks, Potter,” I mock.

“Why can’t you just listen to me!” He yells at the top of his lungs, his face turning red.

“I’m coming!” I insist, not backing down as I add to this screaming match.

In a swift glide, Harry crosses the yards between us. He grabs both sides of my face and smashes his lips to mine hungrily. At first, the action catches me off guard and I struggle to shove him off of me. He merely wraps his arms around me, pressing me to his chest. Harry’s never done this before, this isn’t like him. He’s usually so hesitant and unsure of himself. I find myself melting into the feeling. I embrace the sensation and Harry grips my waist, his nails digging into my skin. I wrap my arms around his neck, deepening the kiss. Harry grabs the back of my legs and I jump to wrap them around his waist. Walking across the room, he then lowers me onto the bed.

“Merlin, you’re so stubborn,” he mutters against my lips as he raises the hem of my dress up.

“I’ve learned from the best,” I remark bitterly, still frustrated with him.

“Why must you be so hard all the time?” He insults, rising above me with a disdainful glare in his eyes.

“You’re one to talk,” I giggle, referring to a different kind of hard. Potter doesn’t scare me. Though I’ve never seen him this way, I’m still shaken. In fact, it excites me.

Furious with my reaction, he aggressively curling his fingers under my panties and yanking them down his legs. “You expect me to allow you to come with us when all you do is distract me!”

“That’s not my fault, Potter. You’ve always been too deep in your own head,” I tease, combing my fingers through his hair as he lowers himself down between my legs.

“You’re right,” he agrees surprisingly, peering up at me. “I should be deep inside you more often,” he smirks wickedly before disappearing between my legs.

My eyes flicker up to the ceiling as I feel Harry’s tongue brush against my core. At first, it’s a series of steady glides. He’s teasing me, making me want more. My hand brushes his brown curly locks back gently. Then, Harry picks up his pace unexpectedly, causing me to jolt from surprise.

“Godric fuck,” I curse, breathless from the sudden burst of pleasure.

“You’re already so wet for me,” he purrs against my core, making me shutter.

Harry’s nails dig into my thighs roughly, holding me in place as I struggle under his aggression. I had no idea Harry had this in him, it’s incredible. The sensation is all-consuming, I can’t get enough of it. I bite down on my lip, suppressing a sweet moan.

“Don’t do that,” he commands. “Moan for me, Baby.”

I peer down at him, thinking of everyone in the house. “But-”

His eyes narrowed at me in slits. “Do as I say,” he growls, moving up from between my legs to lay on his side next to me.

I swallow hard as Harry glides his fingertips down my body, watching them travel down to my core. His flicker up to my face as they enter me. My lips part with a gasp and I grip his forearm.

“That’s right,” he mutters in my ear. “I want you to cum for me.”

I moan, his action and words testing my willpower. His lips kiss my neck and suck at the skin, finding my sweet spot. My eyes squeeze shut and I feel myself slipping. He knows me too, it isn’t fair.

“Please Harry...” I whisper pleadingly

“Look who’s so compliant now.” I can feel his smile against my skin, “you want to?”

I hum, nodding my head slowly.

“Say it for me,” he instructs. “Beg for it.”

I remain silent, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. He can’t win everything. Then, he begins pumping his fingers in and out of me faster. I gasp, reaching down quickly to stop it. He moves to hover over me, his fingers continuing their attack as his other hand wraps around my neck. He towers over me with a pleased smirk at my defenselessness.

“I won’t unless you say it,” he warns mockingly.

I squirm under his pressure, his fingers driving me closer to the edge.

“Say it,” he repeats.

“Fuck me dammit!” I bark, frustrated that he can make me get so close with little effort.

“There’s my girl,” he chuckles wickedly. “You needy needy girl.”

His attack ends as I hear him unbuckle his belt. I pant, catching my breath after everything. I was so close, dangerously close. I’ve never yearned for someone or anything more. I want Harry, need him. The best part, I’m fucking pissed at him and he’s pissed at me. We fucking hate each other right out and we’re taking our anger out on each other in the most glorious way.

Standing beside the bed, Harry glides his palm over my soaking core. My back arches off the bed as a quiet curse escapes my lips. He chuckles, rather pleased with him.

“You’re so fucking wet for me, Y/N,” he grins, grabbing me by the ankles and yanking me closer to him. “Just wait until I fill you.”

I roll my hips uncontrollably, needing him inside me. Merlin, I need him to fuck me hard. I need him to utterly wreck me with everything he has.

Harry teases my entrance with his tip, glancing between me and my core. Then, his eyes stay on mine as he glides into me slowly. My lips part as I suck in air sharply. He smirks mischievously, slipping his hand around my neck. Steadily, he keeps apace. I moan, getting used to the sensation and adjusting. Then, Harry increases his pace at a rapid rate, making me hiss. Pounding into me, he grips my neck tighter. I whimper, overwhelmed by the pleasurable and foreign pain.

“Scream for me, Baby,” Harry pants, relentless with his assault. “Scream my name for everyone to hear.”

“Fuck Harry,” I whine, running my nails down his back, likely leaving marks.

He moans in my ear, the sound causing my core to pulse. I wish I could hear it repeatedly.

“Just like that,” he breaths. “Louder!” Taking a fist full of my hair, he tugs it back.

I shake my head, everyone will hear us, then what? We’ll have embarrassed Fleur and Bill on their wedding day.

Irritated with my refusal, Harry starts rubbing circles over my clit as he thrusts into me relentlessly. A yelp escapes me uncontrollably, much to Harry’s satisfaction.

“You’re going to do as I say from now on,” he hisses, starring down at me as I squeeze my eyes shut. “You’re going to be a good girlfriend and respect me!”

“Fuck you, Potter,” I grumble, barely able to speak.

He chuckles mockingly, “you already are.” I feel the pleasure building up in my core. Godric, I hate how I’m angry with him, but he still manages to get me off. We were fighting just minutes ago! I fought him off but it was hard not to give in. The passion in the anger energized the need for him even more.

He’s hitting my G-spot relentlessly as he rubs circles over my clit. I’m so close, my walls tighten around Harry.

“That’s it Y/N, cum for me,” he orders. “I want you cum all over my dick.”

His words push me over the end, the pleasurable feeling pouring over me. Harry thrusts into me faster, intensify my high. My back arches off the bed as a deep moan falls between my lips. Harry starts at my neck, kisses down my front.

He groans as I cum on his hardness. “Fuck, I’m cumming,” he pants. “I’m gonna fill you up so much.”

Right as I begin to subside from my climax, Harry hits his point. He rolls his hips, his dick hitting depths new for both of us. I moan, relishing in the feeling as his cum fills my walls.

Harry falls to the bed beside me. The room falls silent as we recover, nothing but the sound of the two of us trying to catch out-breath. Well shit, that was by far the greatest shag I’ve ever had. I stare up at the ceiling, still trying to process everything.

“You’re staying,” Harry pants as if that means anything. He certainly knows how to ruin a perfectly good moment.

I scoff dismissively, whipping my head to the side to look at him. “oh I am so coming!”

“It’s going to be rough!” He starts arguing again. “You’re going to get hurt!”

I laugh at his reasoning, “if what just happened proves anything, it’s that I can handle a bit of roughness.”

“Y/N...” he sighs, rubbing his hands over his face. “I couldn’t bear losing you.”

Rolling onto my side, I cup his face gently and make him look in my eyes. “You won’t lose me. Now you know I don’t make promises, so I won’t. But, even if something does happen, I will always love you.”

With a soft nod, he kisses my palm and places his hand over mine. “I love you so much.”

There’s a comfortable pause as we stare into one another’s eyes, pondering the minutes. Harry reaches out and brushes his fingers through my hair comfortingly. Soon, we won’t have this and we don’t know what may happen. We’ll have to make the most of what we have now.

“What time is it?” Harry asks.

I check the clock on the nightstand. “Three forty,” I read before turning back to him. “Why?”

He scrunches his brows together up at the ceiling, deep in thought. “That gives us twenty minutes. We’d be cutting it pretty close.” He glances over at me with a cheeky grin. “What do you it again?”

“Oh please, Potter,” I giggle, already moving to straddle him. He grips my waist, steadying me. “We can do it in ten max.”

“God, I love you,” he grins, bringing me down for a kiss.

I think this time around won’t categorize as angry sex, but for the future, Harry and I wouldn’t mind if we bicker now and again.

#harry potter #harry potter imagine #harry potter fanfic #the weasleys #hogwarts #hp imagine #hp fanfic #hp fandom #hp marauders #hp #imagine #smut #harry potter smut

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pricemarshfield · 3 years ago

Text

moments like these

A Figayda angst/hurt/comfort fic. Requested by @sapphic-tuesday even though they only requested it because I love Figayda. (ily bestie) Read on AO3 here.

Prompt: Figayda, angst, hurt/comfort, “You don’t need to stay.” “I don’t need to. But I want to.”

The forest is dark and damp and the worst fucking place Fig has ever been, and she's running as fast as she can to get away from herself. She'd point out how it's way too on the nose if she had any breath left, but as it stands, it's all she can do to keep putting one foot in front of the other, slower and slower.

Eventually she has to just collapse into the nearest bush, hope somehow that's enough stealth even as the crack of the branches seems to echo out for miles and miles. There's a long, long beat, where she thinks, just for a second, that maybe she's done it. Maybe the other her isn't too perceptive, either.

She hears an oddly pitched laugh from right behind her ear, as though she isn't lying on the ground, and when did the branches tangle around her leg? Where'd her bass go? Why did none of her friends even seem to care that someone else took her place--

Fig wakes up with a start, sits up, hits her head against her ceiling which is, of course, the living room floor. Her horns scratch it a bit, but thankfully, her mom won't ever see it. Her crystal says it's 3 in the morning when she checks it, and fuck, she's gonna be stuck in here for awhile if she can't pass back out.

She could send a quick text to the Mordred group chat (the manorlings, despite Ragh vying for 'OWLBEAR HYPE HOUSE') and ask if anyone's up to let her out, but then there'll be questions about why she's up, so she just concentrates on mage hand until she nails the chord and the ceiling opens.

The house feels too empty with everyone asleep, too stifling when she can't make any noise, but there's not exactly anywhere else she can go. Her days of sneaking out in the middle of the night to go to concerts aren't nearly as fun now that she misses her friends the whole time. Also, now people recognize her for being one of Solace's biggest stars or whatever, and that's just kind of a hassle when she's not in the mood for attention.

The living room couch is an old, cracked leather thing, moved from Jawbone's apartment. It's not comfortable in any traditional sense, but there's a groove in it that fits her perfectly, and that's nice, in its own way. Sometimes she misses the couch in the old house. It got burned to hell in the attack on prom night, though, so. The whole house did, honestly; when she went home after everything, the window in her bedroom was shattered, glass all over her bed so that she had to pick up each piece, vacuum up what small pieces she couldn't see. She still woke up with a couple cuts on her legs that she didn't have before, but it was home, even if the posters and the pink wallpaper were both singed, even if the purple comforter she'd had since she was a kid didn't smell like it used to.

The old Faeth house never really felt like home after her horns, sure, but Mordred...

She does like it here. Loves it, when everyone's crowded around the table, Adaine arguing with Kristen about some minute difference in casting, Jawbone telling a wildly off-color story to a confused-but-interested Aelwyn, Sandra Lynn making sure Ayda has enough food on her plate while she blinks back fiery tears.

But it doesn't change the fact that she lived here for all of a day before spring break, and right now the hallways and secret passages and tall ceilings all feel ominous, not exciting anymore.

She turns on the light before her mage hand dissipates, scrolls through the games she has on her crystal. Most of them are things she's had on here back when she liked unicorns and glitter and all those girly things that she never got around to deleting.

It's something to do, at least.

The bright colors are nostalgic in just the wrong way, and she makes it through two minutes of matching pop rocks and cake slices before she's scrolling through the games again, on-edge for no goddamn reason.

"Fig?"

Part of her relaxes against the couch before she's even finished processing the voice as Ayda. "Hey! I didn't think you were staying here tonight."

"I wasn't," Ayda says, looking at her with an expression she can't read at all. She's in a deep blue chemise, like she'd been sleeping before she walked through the enchanted door into Mordred. "I--may I sit?"

"Yeah, of course," Fig says, patting the spot next to her. "Always, babe."

Ayda cries a little as she sits, and Fig wipes the tears away. The first time she tried, when she was a normal tiefling and didn't wear the title of Archdevil, it stung a little, like stepping into a too-warm bath. Now, it feels just like the hint of warmth against her hand, uniquely Ayda and not at all painful. (Which is also uniquely Ayda, to never freak Fig out even when she's in this shitty mood.)

"So," Ayda says. "I was in Leviathan, as I needed to--well, still need to, I've merely decided the task isn't as important--I'm getting sidetracked."

"Yeah," Fig says, and when Ayda stiffens, says, "Not bad! Not a bad thing! It's cute."

"Oh," Ayda says. "I--sorry," and bursts into tears again. Fig wipes them away, kisses her cheek just 'cause she can, kisses the other one because she can feel Ayda's face get even warmer.

"No worries," Fig says, too late, because she's not--this is still new to her. "So what's going on?"

"As you know, I am a divination wizard, though not an Oracle like Adaine, our best friend." Fig nods. "But sometimes my dreams have--not prophecies, but looks into the present, or even occasionally the past."

"Okay," Fig says. "Is there, like, a slumbering demon lord underneath Mordred?"

"No," Ayda says. "I asked a ranger I know in Leviathan to check before he left on a journey to Sylvaire. Unrelated to the Nightmare King. I checked, just to be sure, because I am sure none of us want to deal with that again."

"Mmhm," Fig says, willing herself to keep breathing slow and easy and not tense up like she wants to. It's just Ayda talking about preventing further Nightmare King stuff. The Nightmare King doesn't even exist anymore, they're Cassandra, they're cool. "So, uh, what'd you see in your dream?"

"You," Ayda says. "That isn't uncommon. I dream of you often. You're in more of my dreams than not. Is that strange? Should I not have said that?"

"Not strange," Fig says, sure her cheeks are red rather than pink. "Just--I'm flustered, okay, give me a second."

Ayda nods at her, not smiling but face relaxed in a way that suggests the same feeling. Fig grabs her hand just to ground herself, squeezes it once. There's a moment before Ayda squeezes it back, like she's thinking about whether it's the right thing to do.

"Totally normal," Fig says, just in case.

"Good," Ayda says with one long exhale. "I was worried."

"You know, it doesn't matter to me if what you do is 'normal'," Fig says. "I like you whether what you do is normal or not!"

Ayda nods. "I want to finish my thought, but after that I want to kiss you. That was the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me."

"You could kiss me and then finish the thought?"

"I would forget," Ayda says, like she doesn't remember everything, like Fig is enough to distract her. Fig can't quite meet her gaze, then, a smile pulling at the corner of her mouth. She squeezes her hand again. Ayda squeezes back immediately. "Um. I'm distracting myself. What was I talking about?"

"Your dream."

"Right. Thank you, Fig. I dreamed about you, and I think it may have been--it was as though I was standing at your bedside. I know it was a dream and not sleepwalking, because I can't actually stand in your room--it's too short and I don't want to set your house on fire. But you seemed upset, and while I don't know if that was real or a dream or not, I couldn't--I couldn't just sit in my room and Leviathan without checking."

"Oh," Fig says. "Um. I'm fine."

"Hm," Ayda says. "You know, you were the one who told me that if people say they're fine, it very rarely means they're fine. I don't understand the logic of it at all, but I trust your insight."

"It's stupid," Fig says, and then, in a twist, bursts into tears herself. "God. It's stupid, I don't even know why I'm upset? Like, it's literally nothing, nothing is going on, I'm just dumb--"

"You are not dumb," Ayda says, and Fig hates herself all the more for the panic she can hear in her voice. "You have taught me so much, and if it matters to you, then it's not stupid. Fig?"

"Yeah," Fig says, voice embarrassingly choked up. She clears her throat as best she can, which isn't very well, since she's still actively crying. "Yeah, I know."

"I don't know what you know," Ayda says. "But I know that when I cry, you wipe my tears away, and I'm going to do the same for you, unless you want to stop me, in which case I won't."

Fig doesn't move, lets Ayda wipe away her tears even though it makes her want to cry more, someone being nice to her right now. "Thanks."

"Any time," Ayda says with the weight of a promise and not at all like the platitude most people would mean. "Do you want to talk about it? It's okay if you don't. I often don't want to talk about the things I'm going through when I'm still going through them."

"I don't," Fig says, because the idea of explaining the nightmare and Mordred and her old house being destroyed and feeling so, so unmoored and stuck all at once makes her want to tear her own hair out. "I don't--you don't need to stay. I'll be okay. If I'm not--if I can't talk about it, you don't need to stay."

"I don't need to stay," Ayda says, carefully, and Fig grips her hand tighter without consciously meaning to. "But I'd like to. If I can."

"I meant it when I said always," Fig says, still not looking at Ayda because she can't.

"Do you want me to?"

"Yeah," Fig says. "I always want you to stay."

Jawbone walks into the room on his way into the kitchen, sees two teenagers holding hands and crying and slightly-burning his couch, and decides he can just get water from the bathroom instead of the kitchen. He's not one to interrupt a moment.

#figayda #fig faeth the insatiable #ayda aguefort #fantasy high #dimension 20 #sapphic-tuesday #request #my fics

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namelessbaron · 3 years ago

Note

Why don't you like Zinnia? Not hating, just curious 🧐

Ok why don't I like Zinnia? Pull up a seat because this is gonna be a long one.

Zinnia had a ton of potential as a character she was supposed to be the culmination on the themes of ORAS and Gen 3 in general, which is that extremism and being unable or unwilling to listen to a different point of view even if you’re doing good. Only results in pain, misery, and a stain on your ideology.

A woman who is one of the last descendants of an ancient tribe of Dragon tamers who worshipped Rayqayza as their savior and possibly god and one of the first Pokémon to Mega Evolve but hasn’t in generations, and now thanks to legends and prophecies knows that a meteor is coming to the planet to wipe out all life. But what truly motivated her to act was the death of Aster in order to be Lorekeeper and to put her plans into action.

That is all well and good but the problem is unless you read the supplemental material you will never find out this backstory but ok let’s leave the manga out of it.

What does she do in ORAS that makes me despise so much? Simple she not only joined but then gave info about Primal Groudon or Primal Kyogre to an extremist eco-terrorist group when she knows FULL WELL WHAT WILL HAPPEN WHEN THEY AWAKEN THOSE BEASTS TRUE POWER all just in a gambit to reawaken Rayquaza’s Mega form, a plan that wouldn’t have worked because the meteorite that Rayquaza is GONE so no mega Rayquaza so we would have been totally screwed twice over if Zinnia got her way and did she really take one moment to oh I don’t know.

Stop and think about what she was doing?! NO!! OF COURSE SHE DIDN’T!!!

See this machine right here? Yeah this machine in both Omega Ruby and Alpha Sapphire both Team Magma and Aqua were using this in conjunction with the meteorite which is the ONLY THING THAT CAN MAKE MEGA RAYQUAZA MEGA EVOLVE AND SAVE THE WORLD FROM A COMPLETE CATASTROPHE to make this volcano erupt(Which by the way that could screw up the Hoenn Region bad on its own, you ever think of that eh Zinnia?!)

It was only thanks to sheer fucking luck that the PC that’s you showed and handled things as well as they did that nothing bad happened, also when Groudon and Kyogre achieved Primal form Rayquaza was nowhere in sight. I know I beat this drum earlier but still it’s worth saying.

Now just a couple of weeks later in a act of desperation Zinnia starts stealing mega stones from various trainers including Maxie/Archie, Courtney/Matt, and Wally. Now scientists are trying to solve the aforementioned meteor problem when Zinnia just waltzes on in(Is there seriously no security in the Pokemon world?) and begins to explain that the multiverse through legends and stories(Now this part I don’t mind) I don’t even have a problem with the idea of her objecting to just teleporting it somewhere else and let that world take care of it/burn. No I have a problem with her extremism with not considering another option.

Now that is the main theme I get that BUT! Maxie and Archie had an entire game to set up and try to make sense of their philosophies, whereas Zinnia who despite the fact she is in the game and we could talk to her at any time, she only shows up three times in the base game. Because she only gets to star in Episode Delta she has lay down so many exposition dumps and asking you questions about truth or ideals that aside from being a reference means nothing in the end.

She can’t develop her personality all that well, so I didn’t care about her story, but I did care about Hoenn.

Also I found her battle to be very easy IMO so it didn’t really impress me.

But the worst part if the fact that she suffers NO CONSEQUENCES for her actions in this game and considering GF’s usual pattern she is never returning.

Again the world was saved thanks to quote Two Face blind, stupid, simple, doodah, clueless luck that Hoenn and the rest of the world was saved.

So yeah sorry this took so long to answer but I hope regardless if you agree or disagree you liked this.

On a side note her theme and battle themes are real slappers. =)

#Zinnia #question answered #sorry this took so long #Apologies for the caps.

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cupofteaguk · 4 years ago

Text

i’ve seen the way you look at me when you think i don’t notice

FROM THE PETALS COLLECTION

[pairing] :: jungkook x fem!reader

[genre] :: percy jackson au + angst

[word count] :: 7.3k

[note] :: attempted a son of hades!jungkook storyline. vaguely inspired by nico di angelo’s character arc if you’ve read the books (because coughs well this use to be an unpublished nico di angelo fanfic don’t at me LMAO), but you don’t need to remember the character slash be an expert in the story to read this fic! Also this is a friends to lovers fic hidden behind my attempt to write a story of grief. pls enjoy!

When Jungkook is fifteen years old, he arrives at Camp Half Blood with pennies in his pockets, one Kim Taehyung on his back, and monsters on his tail. There are all kinds of creatures that have been following him for weeks—some with wings, some with clubs, but all with the intent of murder in their eyes as they chase Jungkook up the hill. Taehyung had warned him about this happening, that starting this journey would attract lots of unwanted attention from lots of dangerous half-breed monsters. Something to do with Jungkook’s scent, whatever the fuck that’s supposed to mean.

In the beginning, Jungkook hadn’t known what to expect, hadn’t known what Taehyung meant by strange creatures and a camp just for him. Even right now, as he is running as quickly as his legs can take him with his lungs feeling like it’s about to burst—he doesn’t really understand.

What he does understand is that he has been alone his entire life. With a childhood filled with no father and a frightful mother, Jungkook has grown up spending time by himself in the company of his own thoughts and emotions. With such a strange (and lacking) family dynamic, it exposed him to lots of bullying and snide comments from peers, most commonly seen during school or walks home. The first half of Jungkook’s childhood is defined by this—by the teasing for being different, for failing classes, for being awkward and shy, for never knowing his place. The second half of Jungkook’s childhood is filled with sleeping on the streets, with stealing food at convenience stores, on how he’s been truly alone since he was thirteen.

That is, until Kim Taehyung corners him at the midnight strike of his fifteenth birthday—which leads the two of them to this current moment.

Jungkook doesn’t understand much right now. All he knows is that he needs to run.

As Jungkook approaches the top of the hill, he sees a group of people surrounding an archway. They’re all bundled up in gears of shields and swords, and each of them turn towards the boys as the monster thudding grows louder and Jungkook’s calls become more clear.

Half of the group near the archway break off, immediately making their way towards Jungkook and Taehyung. There are a few questions thrown here and there, before the main objective is just to make sure the boys get to safety. Taehyung’s weight gets distributed between Jungkook and another person, and together the bigger group makes their way across the hill. They cross a tall pine tree that Jungkook hardly notices, because he’s completely out of breath, wounded across his entire body, with legs that feel like jello.

Taehyung’s weight shifts entirely to the other person as Jungkook trips and falls to his knees. Quickly, Jungkook whirls around so his butt and his arms are on the ground. With his eyes directed towards the hill, his heart crawls up his throat as he sees the monsters making their way up towards him. His body moves before his mind does, his arms moving him closer towards the archway.

Someone settles themselves right behind him. “Woah, hey.” Your voice is soft, your hand between his shoulders is comforting. “You’re okay, you’re safe now.”

“B-But!” Jungkook stammers, pointing shakily towards the creatures now growing closer and closer to everyone. “Those monsters! They’re coming!”

As soon as he says that, the monsters stop in their path, right next to the pine tree from earlier. Their collection of beady eyes glare angrily down at Jungkook, their screams are hollow cries that press painfully against his ears. This conveyance of frustration continues on for a few seconds, before one by one the monsters turn around and make their way back down the mountain.

Jungkook’s breathing is frantic, along with his heart rate, as he watches the creatures disappear below the dip. “W-What the hell…?”

You angle your head toward in order for Jungkook to look at you—you wear an expression of softness, of understanding, and Jungkook momentarily sees stars.

That, however, could have also been from the excess oxygen in him, and the fact that one of those creatures had landed a swipe to his head.

You gesture to the pine tree. “You see that tree? That’s Thalia Grace’s tree—a long time ago, she and some of her friends were trying to get here, and Thalia sacrificed herself to ensure her friends could be safe. She was a daughter of Zeus, so he turned her into a tree that would protect the camp. Monsters just like those can’t get in anymore.”

Jungkook feels the adrenaline fading, along with his ability to follow conversations. Daughter of Zeus? Like, Zeus from those Greek mythologies? The camp? Had this been the place Taehyung told him about?

It’s all too much to keep up with. Jungkook faints before he can ask his question, in which the last thing he sees is your eyes, concerned and twinkling. He passes the thudding in his heart off as pure and utter exhaustion.

Jungkook wakes up on top of a white hospital bed a few hours later, head swimming and Taehyung situated at the foot. He offers a cup of something called ambrosia that immediately clears the headache. “Woah, what the fuck?” He asks, holding the cup away from him and staring at it with wide eyes. He looks over at Taehyung. “What is this? My headache went away as soon as I drank this. Also, it tastes like banana milk. Is this a dream?” Without waiting for an answer, Jungkook leans back and takes in his surroundings. He looks to be an infirmary, beds with white sheets along the walls and light shining in through the windows. There’s a few other people lingering about, hovering over occupied beds.

“Jungkook.” Taehyung’s soft voice pulls his attention back. “We’re in Camp Half Blood. You brought us here.” Taehyung’s smile is sad, but confident. “You brought me back, even though it was my mission to bring you here. Thanks.”

Jungkook stares. “So… you weren’t lying about the camp. T-This is all real?”

It is then that Taehyung explains everything to Jungkook. Explains that the Greek gods Jungkook learned about in class are real, and that sometimes they come down from Mount Olympus to mingle with mortals—which is where their demigod children come from. Demigods are part god, and therefore have enhanced physical ability as well as some level of control or skill over the realm of their godly parent. Taehyung goes over this information as slowly and as calmly as possible, but Jungkook still has trouble processing the information. In a way, it makes sense that Jungkook would be in this position. He’s always known he was different, always felt like he could never fully belong in the mortal world he spent so long occupying. He just could never label his feelings with a concrete answer.

Until now, that is.

Jungkook decides to ask Taehyung one more question. “Why couldn’t you explain any of this to me on the way over?”

Taehyung seems to be choosing his next words carefully. “As we kept going, you were attracting more monsters. That’s something that normally doesn’t happen, unless the demigod the creatures are tracking is one that’s insanely powerful. Like, a demigod that’s born from the Big Three—Zeus, Poseidon, or Hades. I read accounts of what happened to us happening to other kids that were born from any one of those three gods. I figured that the less you knew, the better. A demigod who doesn’t know they’re a demigod is a much less serious threat—your scent isn’t as strong as it could be if you know about who you are.”

Jungkook ponders this. “So my dad could be Zeus, Poseidon, or Hades?” He’s definitely heard of those gods. The ruler of all gods, and his two brothers.

Taehyung presses his lips together, leaning forward in his seat so his forearms rest on his knees. “Maybe,” He says. “It’s pretty rare, though, so I don’t want to give you an answer only for it to not be true. Only time will tell.” He must see the lost, the confused, the anxious look on Jungkook’s face, because Taehyung takes a seat on the edge of the hospital bed. “Hey, JK, cheer up.” The usage of his nickname makes the corner of Jungkook’s lips turn up. “While we wait for your dad to claim you, you can stay with me in my father’s cabin. My dad is Hermes. He’s a patron to travelers, so all campers who come here are welcomed until they’re claimed by their godly parents.”

Jungkook can only manage a nod at this. He still has many questions, still does not fully understand. With what Taehyung is telling him, Jungkook is not even sure he will belong here, or if he will be ostracized once again for being different amongst the different.

But he trusts Taehyung—so he’ll follow Taehyung.

Jungkook is at Camp Half Blood for a week before Taehyung is called for another assignment. It’s due to a prophecy given by the Oracle who lives on the campgrounds—the figure grants quests to campers to undergo a series of dangerous adventures in order to accomplish something for the long term benefit of demigods, the human race, the Greek gods themselves, anything of the sort.

In the case of Taehyung, he is chosen by fellow camper Kim Namjoon to join him in and travel west and retrieve stolen items from a museum collection. It seems like an easy quest. At least, that’s what Jungkook is told.

Kim Namjoon is a son of Athena, someone whom Jungkook met a day into his arrival at Camp Half Blood—friendly and smart and answers Jungkook’s questions about mythology with ease. It had been good when Jungkook first met the former, because he had many questions, some of which couldn’t be answered by Taehyung. Namjoon is someone that Jungkook immediately grows a fondness and admiration for—only leaving him that much more confident that the quest will go smoothly.

“You guys will be okay… right?” Jungkook asks Namjoon, as the latter is shouldering his backpack. He’s not the only person seeing Namjoon and Taehyung off on their quest, but Jungkook had been one of the first people to show up. After all, when your only friend is leaving on an adventure, it tends to bring in the worry and the anxiety. “And you’ll watch Taehyung, won’t you?”

“Of course I will,” Namjoon reassures, tight smile across his lips but he distracts Jungkook with a hand on his shoulder. “Taehyung and I have been doing quests together for a few years. We got each other’s back.”

Taehyung slides in next to Namjoon, glancing over at Jungkook with all the care in the world in his eyes. “Hey JK, just promise me you’ll do your best to be comfortable here, okay? Keep trying out those different skills we were working on, okay? Your dad will claim you, I’m sure of it.”

Jungkook looks down at his fingers, wringing the hands together. “I-I’ll try my best.”

Namjoon and Taehyung exchange glances, partaking in a silent language exchange, before Taehyung looks back at Jungkook. “I know someone who can help.”

Taehyung leaves Namjoon with his backpack before stepping away from the group, making his way down the hill back towards the camp grounds. Jungkook follows shortly behind. It’s still early in the morning, most campers are inside their cabins sleeping away the mist, but there’s a small group of campers near the archery grounds. There’s some laughter as a new person steps in to ready the bow and arrow. Jungkook watches as this new archer aims as the target, pulls back the bow, and—!

“Y/N!” Taehyung calls.

The person at the archery station flinches, sending the arrow a few centimeters away from the center of the target. You whirl around, and Jungkook’s stomach drops because it’s you—the person who helped him when he more or less crashed into Camp Half Blood.

You gape, still holding the bow in your arms as your eyes narrow into a glare as you continue to stare straight at Taehyung. “Kim Taehyung! Where are your manners!” You call out. “Aren’t you supposed to be on a quest now?”

Taehyung slings an arm around Jungkook’s shoulder. “I need to borrow you for a second, it’s important.”

You seem to be saying something to one of your friends, because you hand the bow to a friend before walking over to the two boys.

As soon as you reach your destination, you look at Jungkook and give him a bright-eyed smile of recognition—one that brings him back to the first time he met you, when he saw stars. “Hey!” You exclaim. “I remember you, you came in with Taehyung last week. You looked like you had been through a lot—are you feeling better now?”

“I-uh…” Jungkook tries to form words.

“He had some ambrosia, he’s fine,” Taehyung cuts in kindly, sending Jungkook a look he can’t decipher. Taehyung goes on a momentarily rant, explaining that Jungkook would just need someone to help him further adjust to life at camp, as well as help him figure out who his godly parent was.

Taehyung says a lot of words, but Jungkook isn’t entirely paying attention. His gaze is fixed on you, taking in your easy smile and bright eyes. He can feel his eyes widen and the flush crawl up his cheeks the longer he lets himself look at you—yet, he doesn’t understand what it means. He’s never seen someone like you before, in his years of school and in his years living on the streets.

“So, I just need you to help him out. Hopefully his dad will claim him before we get back.”

“That’s something to look forward to,” You reply, sounding genuinely excited for that. You turn your full attention to Jungkook this time and smile. “Hi, I’m Y/N. Nice to finally meet you!”

He takes your hand. Fifteen-years-old, and he wears his emotions in his eyes. “I’m Jungkook.”

Jungkook is at Camp Half Blood for three weeks when he starts getting nightmares.

Not only that, but it’s the same kind of nightmare—something horribly realistic and chaotic and messy but so painful that Jungkook finds himself waking up with tears dusting itself in his eyes.

It always starts off the same: Namjoon and Taehyung on their quest. They appear to be in a room of antiques, each boy looking cautiously at the collection around them, with their backs pressed against each other. There is a low hum in his dream, where the voices emit a low frequency and sound like static—like he’s hearing the conversations underwater. Suddenly, a burst comes from above, a shatter of something in the room, a clatter of hollow bangs and clashes, and a yell. His dream always turns blurry after the fight starts, but it always ends the same—Namjoon pulling Taehyung away from a fight. And the latter is badly wounded.

And Jungkook always wakes up at the sight of Taehyung. And it’s the same question that swirls around in his mind, over and over again. Did Taehyung die on the quest?

At first, it’s easy for Jungkook to write off the dream as a dream—nothing more, nothing less. Perhaps his subconscious playing tricks on him, playing around with his fears and turning it into videos to play in his brain. But with each passing night, a voice starts to ring in his mind.

My dear boy. It’s a deep voice, husky and low and full of pitiful sadness, like it can sense the pain that Jungkook is trying to internalize. Don’t you understand? Kim Namjoon let your best friend die.

There’s something about the voice that is familiar, like he’s heard it before.

The voice plays in Jungkook’s mind over and over again, like a record, and it shakes him to the core. The potential of what the voice is and what the voice could mean frightens him, and it shows.

It shows in when Jungkook just outright misses the target with his bow and arrow in the present day. The pair of you are out on the field today, and you’re furrowing your eyebrows together.

“Are you alright?”

Jungkook stares at his arrow, somewhere flung off to the side, before his gaze shifts to you. You’re always so sturdy, so concerned, so worried for him. Besides Taehyung, who else cares so much for his safety and wellbeing—?

He stops, lowering the bow. He wears a serious expression. “Can I tell you a secret?” He whispers.

You furrow your eyebrows at his tone. “Of course. Is something bothering you? I know your father hasn’t claimed you yet, but the gods can be really busy around this time…”

“No.” He shakes his head. “Not that.” He steals himself for speaking the words into reality. “I had a dream that Taehyung died, even though Namjoon promised me nothing would happen to him.” He doesn’t miss the way you flinch at his accusation.

You don’t reply to him at first. You stare at him, eyes conflicted. Jungkook stares back, briefly wondering whether you’ve had the experience of knowing death. He doesn’t voice the question, choosing instead to maintain steady eye contact with your nervous expression.

“Perhaps it was just a dream, Jungkook,” You say carefully. “Namjoon always keeps his promises. He and Taehyung have been working together on quests for years. And Namjoon is the smartest person I’ve ever met. If they ran into a situation Namjoon thought they wouldn’t be able to handle, he wouldn’t even think to risk the lives of the people he’s with. He won’t let you down.” You’re smiling tightly, clearly trying to keep the tension light but Jungkook suddenly finds that his heart is not in the mood.

He wants to believe you. He wants to believe in Namjoon. But he knows what his dreams are. And that voice. These are things he cannot ignore no matter how hard he tries.

But the thing is, his dreams are real—Kim Namjoon does not keep his promise. Jungkook can see this across his face the moment Namjoon returns to camp, alone.

“Not only did they know we were coming,” Namjoon explains quietly to the camp counselors, late in the night, at a meeting spot reserved for higher ups. “They had taken over the museum a few weeks before we showed up. It was an ambush. I… I couldn’t save Taehyung.”

No.

“No!” Jungkook cries out, standing up and making his position known—loitering in the background of the meeting.

Namjoon meets his gaze from across the gap that separates them. “Jungkook?”

Jungkook’s head is spinning, his breath coming out in gasps, as he backs up slowly away from the growing crowd of camp counselors. “Y-You promised me!” He accuses loudly, pointing at Namjoon. “You promised nothing would happen to Taehyung! You lied to me!”

“Jungkook, I’m sorry.” Namjoon steps out from amongst the group of counselors, a hand out in front of him as if approaching a frightened animal. “We were overwhelmed. If I could take it back and save him, I would—!”

“Shut up!” Jungkook cries louder, running his hands through his hair. He should have known, should have known that weight in his gut was a warning and not a feeling. The tears in his eyes make it blurry to see anything to understand anything—because Taehyung is dead, along with his kindness and compassion and the safety he brought. “I hate you, I hate all of you!”

Suddenly, there’s a rumble in the ground, a shake in the Earth so intense that a hushed silence falls over the crowd. At once, the ground splits open and a roar of fire explodes up from the pit, threatening to drag in anyone who gets closer. There are screams from the campers, from the counselors, but Jungkook doesn’t care. He’s so angry, so hurt, so lost. He doesn’t hear any of it.

Until he hears your voice. “Jungkook!” You scream across the gap.

Jungkook stills upon hearing you, lowering his arms and opening his eyes. Blinking away tears, he feels his heart rate slow back down to a manageable pace. The split in the ground closes before he looks up. He sees the camp counselors up ahead, equal looks of fear and horror across their eyes.

He turns just enough to see you. You, with your wide eyes, looking confused and upset by what he has just done. And Jungkook feels nothing but disappointment. He has never done anything like this before, and he doesn’t know what it means.

So he runs away. He runs away from Namjoon and this god forsaken camp that he knows will remind him of Taehyung.

He runs away from the whispers from campers, a representation to serve that Jungkook will never truly belong here.

He runs away from you, the only other person he would think to trust from now on. He can’t handle any of this anymore.

Two weeks after Jungkook runs away from Camp Half Blood, and a shadow of a figure appears to him in the midst of the evening air. It’s a ghost with a dark twisted smile, who calls himself Min Yoongi—a king in a past life, who now resides in the Underworld as a judge for all souls.

He tells Jungkook that Jungkook is a son of Hades—which explains why he knew about Taehyung’s death, why he split the ground open all those weeks ago. There’s something borderline dangerous about Yoongi’s smile.

Every fiber and nerve in Jungkook’s body is begging him not to trust this ghost. But, of course, Jungkook doesn’t listen. He stopped listening to things a long time ago.

Besides, Yoongi soon makes offers that Jungkook cannot escape from. A way to bring Taehyung back, a way to strike revenge upon Kim Namjoon, a way—!

Jungkook blinks the thoughts away. He had dozed off again, something he’s been doing a lot lately.

“You should sleep,” Yoongi advises, his voice more of a whisper than anything else. There’s a touch of eerie to him, in his paper white skin and gray eyes.

Even though Jungkook doesn’t desire sleep, far from it, he settles with listening to the ghost anyways. So he curls up on a makeshift pillow crafted from his beaten down (stolen) leather jacket, and closes his eyes.

But instead of the previous nights, where he dreams about death and destruction, dreams up different ways Taehyung could have survived, dreams up Namjoon not caring about Taehyung’s death—he dreams of you.

Dreams about you are such a rarity now, but they always make him feel warm. Content. Almost satisfied.

In the dream, the pair of you are situated underneath a big tree at the edge of the forest. You’re in the middle of teaching him about Mythomagic—a card game he had immediately developed an interest for—and he realizes he’s dreaming about a memory this time. When he steals a look at you, he sees sunlight curling around your form, lighting up your hair and your eyes. He hears your laughter and sees the crinkle in your eyes. He can feel your happiness and the innocence in the air around you. He remembers the peacefulness, the calming nature of you.

He misses it—he misses you.

A cold chill running down his spine startles Jungkook awake as he springs into a sitting position. The fire before him has long since been put out, and Min Yoongi is floating in front of him. The latter wears a sharp look. “You’re dreaming about her again, aren’t you?”

Jungkook sighs. Good things in his life could only last for so long. He runs a hand through his hair and turns to gather his jacket into his arms. “I thought I asked you to stop peeking into my mind.”

“You were smiling,” Yoongi observes quietly.

“That’s none of your business,” Jungkook snaps.

“It must have been a good dream. I couldn’t see the contents of the dream, just the subject.”

“Stay out of my head!” Jungkook hisses, standing up and sliding his arms into the jacket.

“You care deeply about her.”

“What do I have to say to get you to stop talking about her?” Jungkook retorts hotly, feeling his temper rise. It had been a good dream. The best one he’s had all week.

Yoongi looks at him passively. “Just answer one of my questions,” He settles calmly.

Jungkook grunts. “Fine. What is it?”

“Why exactly do you care so much about her? You hardly know her.”

Jungkook slides his backpack over his shoulder. He ignores the touch of passive aggressiveness in Yoongi’s tone. “She was the only one at camp who went out of their way to make me feel like they actually gave a shit.”

“She cares more about Namjoon than you,” Yoongi interjects bluntly. “She and Namjoon have been friends for longer. She only talked to you because of Namjoon, after all. And don’t you hate him?”

“Shut up.”

“You worry she doesn’t care for you the way you do. Haven’t you wondered why she hasn’t tried looking for you?”

“Shut up.”

“She was only nice to you because Namjoon asked her to be nice to you.”

“Shut the fuck up!” Jungkook explodes, turning towards Yoongi with his arm out in a striking motion. His arm cuts clean through the ghost, and he watches as the pieces wisp away into the air. Either way, it doesn’t matter. Yoongi will be back soon, probably to reprimand him, but mostly to carry on as if this hadn’t happened—to continue asking questions and continue trying to piss Jungkook off. It doesn’t matter. Jungkook could never bring Yoongi any harm. The latter is a ghost, after all.

There’s still a lot he doesn’t understand.

Jungkook calls off his deal with Yoongi shortly after the You Incident—in which a series of dreams about you sent Yoongi on an accusatory streak that sent him back to the Underworld where he rightfully belongs. It’s good because he doesn’t want a ghost meddling in his personal business, and his personal feelings.

It’s bad, however, because Jungkook no longer has an evil ghost by his side that offers up revenge.

This leaves him to do the next best thing—try and summon Taehyung.

As a son of Hades, his powers do include communicating with ghosts like Yoongi and cracking holes into the ground, but it also involves the ability to summon deceased souls. All that is required is a pit, some food, and a cantation in Ancient Greek. It’s supposed to be simple, and in a way it is.

Except when the soul he’s trying to summon doesn’t want to be found, which is exactly how it has gone with Taehyung. He’s tried to get Taehyung’s attention for weeks now, to no luck. And he’s tried everything.

Jungkook scowls to himself as he takes in the local convenience store to buy the various items he’ll need to attempt another summoning. Animal blood is one of the best tools for this type of power, but animal blood doesn’t exactly like up on shelves in aisles of grocery stores—so Jungkook has settled with fast food meals, chips, or anything cheap he can get his hands on.

He glares at the lineup of sodas in front of his gaze, trying to focus but he finds his mind wandering against through his memories, picking the ones that are most guaranteed to make him feel like shit.

His mind settles on a line Yoongi said to him countless times regarding you: She was only nice to you because Namjoon asked her to be nice to you.

His hands shake in his pockets, determined not to believe it, but finding himself pool with doubt nonetheless.

“Jungkook.”

He jumps out of his skin at the familiar voice he’s spent the past many months thinking about, as the sensation rings through his body. He experiences brief flashes of emotions he hasn’t undergone in awhile: peace, warmth, hope. He turns on his heel and can’t help the way his eyes widen at the sight of you.

The months that have passed since his disappearance really does wonders to your face. You look older. You look wary, but well prepared. Most of all, your eyes are still that bright light he remembers more often than he cares to admit. But you also look sad, like the sight of Jungkook is worse than you expected.

“Jungkook…” You say again, quieter this time.

You saying his name again brings him back to reality, brings him back to where he is and why he’s here. He doesn’t need you. Like Yoongi said, you’re friends with Namjoon—and Namjoon is the reason why Taehyung is dead. His voice sounds hollow. “What are you doing here?”

“I should be asking you the same question.”

His scowl deepens as he settles for a Mountain Dew on the rack. “That’s none of your business.” He catches the hurt that flickers in your eyes, but he turns towards the cashier before he can feel sorry for you.

You trail after him. “Please don’t shut me out,” You plead gently. You stay behind Jungkook as he pays for his food. “I came here looking for you.”

“Awfully convenient—but I don’t think you should be wasting your time,” Jungkook grumbles, bounding out of the shop and stopping along the sidewalk. “Why don’t you go back to Namjoon and keep being his best friend and just leave me alone?”

A sort of realization seems to settle in your eyes, as if you’ve just confirmed something. “I’m not leaving,” You say firmly after a moment. “I’m here by myself, Jungkook. No campers, no Namjoon, it’s just me. I know you’re mad at Namjoon, and you have every right to be upset. I know why you cracked a hole in the ground. I understand all that now. But I really think you should stop blaming Namjoon and hurting yourself. Namjoon didn’t mean to let Taehyung die—!”

Jungkook whirls around, his eyes a twin set of fire. “Don’t say his name,” He snaps roughly, but falls silent when you don’t even flinch.

How could he raise his voice at the only person who has gone out of their way to ensure his safety?

He turns away. He doesn’t apologize, and you don’t ask him to.

The pair of you don’t say anything for a long moment—Jungkook just makes his way down the sidewalk and you follow along.

He stops after a moment. He turns himself just enough so you can see his profile. “Fine,” He says, trying to ignore the flutter in his chest when you flash him an appreciative smile. “I’ll let you tag along. But only because I feel bad for snapping at you. I’ve just…” He sighs. “Been going through a lot.”

You step forward to stand by his side. “We can talk about anything you want to, Jungkook. I’m still your friend.”

He swallows thickly at your offer, hoping that you don’t notice. If you do, you remain silent. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answer to.”

Two days after you join Jungkook’s travels, you seem to decide he is calm enough for a sensitive question. But you’re sneaky about it. You wait until the night, when both of you are curling around a fire—you in your sleeping bag, and Jungkook with his signature leather jacket makeshift pillow underneath his head. “Why are you so afraid to talk about Taehyung’s death?”

He flinches at the mention of Taehyung’s name, knowing that snapping and causing a scene would do nothing to stop you from asking the question over and over again. You had given him a few days, but something about your tone tonight tells him that you won’t take no for an answer.

Jungkook turns his head to look at you. Your eyes are flickering against the fire. “I’ll answer your question if you answer one of mine.”

You shrug a shoulder. “Sure.”

He sighs, momentarily stumped. “I’m afraid that if I admit it, or let other people admit it in front of me, it’s true and there’s nothing I can do to bring him back.”

“I don’t think Taehyung would want you to bring him back, Jungkook. He saved Namjoon that day; he sacrificed himself for a reason—!”

“Okay, my turn,” Jungkook interrupts, refusing to hear any of it. “Why are you here? Really?”

You are quiet for a second. “I was sent on a quest to come find you,” You reply after a moment. “The oracle told me about a prophecy where you were in danger. It said you had made a deal with Min Yoongi, said you were considering a soul for a soul trade to get Taehyung back. I was scared for you, Jungkook.” You sit up in your sleeping bag, leaning across the space between the two of you. “My turn. Why don’t you want to believe that Taehyung sacrificed himself to save Namjoon?”

“Because why would he do that?” Jungkook retorts back. “Why would he leave behind everything he cared about? Why would he leave me—?” The words choke in the back of his throat as his heart rams painfully against his chest, the underlying reason for his bitterness surfacing up again. He thought he had smashed his grief down far enough where it would never have to see sunlight again. “It’s nothing. I’m not playing this game anymore.”

You are quiet, watching as Jungkook curls into himself and turns his back to you. “When are you going to start letting me in?” You whisper. “I didn’t accept that quest for no reason, Jungkook, I came because I care about you. I want to help you.”

I’ve already let you in, far more than I wanted to, Jungkook thinks to himself instead, wrapping his arms tighter around himself.

“I know that Taehyung would have never wanted to leave you. He cared about you a lot, and saw you as the little brother he never had. You guys deserved more time. You deserved more time to have the family you never got to have. You wanna know the last thing Taehyung said to me, after introducing us to each other all that time ago? He said that you guys only knew each other for a short time, but you were the strongest person Taehyung had known. I know how much Taehyung wanted to be there for you. But he also had other responsibilities.” Your fingers twitch as if you want to reach over and grab onto Jungkook. “Namjoon had been the leader of the quest, he was the main priority. Taehyung had to make the call. He would never have wanted you to take the guilt for a decision he made on his own.”

Jungkook hesitates, before rolling onto his back. “Why does Namjoon deserve my forgiveness?”

Finally, he spares a glance at you. You’re still looking at him, gaze sharp over the fire. It distracts Jungkook momentarily, as his mind thinks about how different you are from fire. Fire can be harsh, blunt, unforgiving, and relentless. Like him.

But you are like the sun—bright, warm, longing. You refuse to give up on him.

“Because it’s the right thing to do,” You whisper. “Because everyone deserves a second chance.”

He stares at you. He doesn’t know what longing dances behind his eyes, but you seem to know, because you avert your gaze and grumble something about going to sleep.

He watches you turn to your side, and he wonders.

Jungkook has tried to summon Taehyung a grand total of ten times in the weeks prior to his run in with you. Each time is met with failure, because it seems like Taehyung does not want to be summoned which is disappointing and disheartening. To be honest, it makes Jungkook less and less enthusiastic to keep attempting something he cannot guarantee.

But as you stand next to him over an empty pit the pair of you have spent the last thirty minutes digging up, you take your hand in his. You smile at him, nodding. “It’ll work this time.”

So Jungkook pours in the Mountain Dew and dumps out the bag of chips he’s acquired into the hole. As he repeats the same cantation he’s said for the past ten times, the food starts bubbling as spirits from the Underworld fight to get a taste of the offering.

“Show me Taehyung!” Jungkook calls out, although he sounds worried and unsure.

At once, a spirit with a bright light, brighter than the others around it, shines through. It slides to the front to drink from the food at the bottom of the pit. The figure morphs and forms into Kim Taehyung.

Despite everything, despite the long hours that Jungkook has committed to summoning Taehyung, the sight of his friend does not fill him with joy. It fills his eyes with tears.

You notice, you always do. You squeeze his hand, but you also let go of him. “I’ll leave you two.”

So Taehyung talks. He talks and talks, about his quest, about his sacrifice, about Namjoon, about forgiveness.

This is something Jungkook has wanted for weeks. Yet, the longer Taehyung talks, the deeper he can feel the rifts of frustration.

Frustration at Namjoon, for whom everyone is telling Jungkook to forgive.

Frustration at Taehyung, for leaving him drowning in the sorrows of his own nightmares. For leaving him, even when he wasn’t ready to be left.

Frustration at you, for always caring about him, even when he’s sure he doesn’t even care about himself anymore.

When Jungkook releases Taehyung back to the Underworld, he feels like a hollow shell. He simply stands there, in front of the pit that brought forth his best friend. His mind is whirling with questions, with a curiosity.

You approach him slowly. “Jungkook…”

“You should go back,” He mutters.

You actually look shocked at this now. “What?”

He turns on his heel to address you properly. “Go back to camp.” He doesn’t mean to sound so harsh, but the words come out like a snap. He tries to reprimand the situation when your face falls just a fraction. “Go back to camp,” He tries again, a little softer this time. He keeps his gaze on you, even when you look up to stare at him. “It’ll be okay. I just need a little bit of time.”

At this, you nod slowly. You try for a smile. “Come back home, okay?”

He thinks he knows what you mean, but you disappear before he can ask you.

He returns to Camp Half Blood after a few days, with his leather jacket and black iron sword. The campers that guard the border part for him like the Red Sea—with the exception of one camper. He’s an older camper, who even in the dark shines brighter than the moon overhead. It’s a son of Apollo quality. It belongs to Jung Hoseok, a camper Jungkook met when he first arrived at camp. Hoseok is like sunshine—he’s always bright and cheerful with a positive disposition.

Today, despite still having that glint in his eyes, the boy wears a much more solemn expression. Almost as if he’s seen everything that Jungkook has gone through. Or, at the very least, has heard about it. “Hey Jungkook…” Hoseok greets. He doesn’t leave much room for conversation, because he gestures past the archway entrance, down the hill, towards the Big House—the main meeting place for campers, the central point of Camp Half Blood. “She’s waiting for you.”

He doesn’t need a list of camp names to know who Hoseok is talking about. Jungkook just mumbles his thanks, trying not to draw too much attention to the flush against his cheeks as he follows the pathway down into camp. It’s late, so the grounds are devoid of people, making it easier for Jungkook to step onto the porch of the Big House.

You’re on the porch, pacing back and forth with your thumb in between your teeth and you look nervous. You’re mumbling something underneath your breath.

But your ears are just as good as your eyes, because as soon as Jungkook steps on the wood, you’re whirling around to face him. “Jungkook!” You exclaim, approaching him with tentative steps. “Y-You came back.”

He levels you with a look, feeling a bashfulness overcome him. “You asked me to,” He says. There’s a slight pause. “I told you I needed time to think, and I have. You were right. Everyone deserves a second chance. It wasn’t fair of me to go after Namjoon the way I did.”

You nod, giving him a small smile. “I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

Jungkook continues to stare at you, feeling a fondness overcoming him. “Thanks,” He finally settles with. “For, you know, finding me. For not giving up on me.” He looks down, scratching the back of his neck. “I should probably go find Namjoon and apologize.”

You wave away his concern. “Namjoon is asleep.” You angle your head towards the oceanside that surrounds the camp. “Want to take a walk with me?”

So you lead him through the camp, past the cabins of campers, past the archery set, past all that, to finally the beach located along the outskirts of the camp. It’s home to many boat races, surfing adventures, and firework displays. Currently, it’s devoid of activity. Right now there is merely a wooden pier that stretches out into the ocean, one that you and Jungkook walk down before you settle down at the edge.

You pat the spot next to you, and Jungkook sits down. Since you don’t say anything, he allows himself to stare out at the horizon, and the movement of the ocean. When you still don’t say anything, Jungkook dares himself to look at you. The moonlight is cascading across your features. You look like home. You feel like home.

You look at him suddenly, and knit your eyebrows. “Do I have something on my face?”

“Oh, uh, no…” He trails off, forcing himself to look away from you. Should he tell you? Not tell you, but… “Hey Y/N,” Jungkook speaks before he can think otherwise.

You look at him. “Yes?”

Jungkook straightens his back a little. “I-I think I should tell you… I didn’t come back just for Namjoon. Actually, I came back to tell you that I, uh, well, I missed you—I mean, hanging out with you—I wanted to be a better person because of you—I mean, not just because of you, but—!”

You start to smile at that, before you do something unexpected. You lean over and kiss his cheek.

He feels like his body has just been shocked, the sensation dancing up and down his spine. “W-What was that for?” He’s trying to sound confused, but his nerves immediately start getting the best of him.

Your smile is still present, but it’s a kind smile that touches your eyes and assures him of his choice to return. “I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice. You still wear your emotions in your eyes. That’s one that hasn’t changed over the past year.”

He scoffs, but his face feels hot and he’s sure the effect he’s trying to go for is lost anyways.

#jungkook scenarios #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jungkook x y/n #jungkook x reader #bts scenarios #bts x reader #bts fluff #bts imagines #bts angst #traci writes #collection:petals

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today-only-happens-once · 4 years ago

Text

(un)claimed

Title: unclaimed

Summary: Virgil is a demigod. The good news is that he is not alone. A Percy-Jackson!AU fic. Platonic/found-family DRLAMP dynamics.

Word Count: 4217

Warnings: some violence and weapons, Greek mythology, passing mention of curses, feelings of anxiety, some self-doubt and self-deprecation, parent issues (of course, it’s a pjo!AU), no Side is a bad guy but there’s some tension between Remus and Roman, I play a little loose with PJO timeline stuff woops, Janus has done some light antagonizing of the gods.

A/N: Honestly, it should surprise nobody that I wrote this. Heh. Just for fun to release the happy chemical in my brain. Not that deep or involved. Just a light little diddy. <3 Hope you enjoy! Edited by yours truly so all mistakes are mine. No tags because it’s a fandom-specific AU, not because I don’t love y’all. <3

///

“See that tree on the hill?”

Virgil quirks an eyebrow at the boy beside him, taking in his bright orange t-shirt and the three beads on his leather necklace. He has what Virgil would swear was snake scales across the left side of his face. Janus, he had said his name was. (Like the god? Virgil had asked. No relation. Not unless Athena has some explaining to do, the boy had told him with a wry smile as if that was somehow supposed to make sense.)

He’d met Janus four hours ago in New York in Central Park after a very weird encounter with a cyclops. Though if he’s being honest, the cyclops had only been the most recent run-in with vicious creatures out of his mother’s old Greek myth anthology. He’d been ducking and dodging and outrunning them for nearly a year at this point. Janus had appeared seemingly out of nowhere, sliced the cyclops with a dagger and it vanished in a puff of gold dust.

Then Janus told him he knew a safe place to go. Perhaps he was an idiot, but Virgil had followed without much objection. The idea of a place that was safe was nearly too good to be true, but Janus had just dusted a cyclops. And Virgil figured there was at least some power in numbers, if nothing else.

Virgil follows where the other boy is pointing and sees a tall pine tree at the top of the steep hill. He nods.

“Go there. You’ll see a camp in the valley. Chiron will explain.”

“Chiron?”

“Yes. Activities director. You can trust him.”

“You’re not coming too?” Virgil looks at the boy beside him again. Janus is looking in the opposite direction of the tree back the way they’d come and he yanks the dagger out of his belt.

Janus’s mouth twitches. “We’ve got company. I will hold them off. The border is protected. You’ll be safe once you cross the tree line.”

Alarmed, Virgil looks over his shoulder and sees a winged creature in the distance. It looks almost a like a bat, if a bat could be the size of a human person. “What is that?!”

Janus gives a slight shove to Virgil’s shoulder. “Run, Virgil!”

“I can’t leave you behind—”

Janus mutters something that sounds foreign, and yet Virgil understands it. A curse word in… was that ancient Greek? Virgil isn’t given time to process it before Janus grabs Virgil’s arm and takes off at a sprint up the hill. Virgil stumbles but he manages to keep his feet under him as he takes off at a run for the looming pine. As they get closer, Virgil chances a glance over his shoulder. The winged creature is maybe twenty yards away. It’ll be on them any second.

Janus whistles sharply. “Hey! We got incoming!”

Seemingly out of nowhere, three other kids appear from near the tree. One of them notches an arrow in an honest-to-gods bow. He aims, then releases. Virgil watches, stunned, as the blow strikes true and the winged creature vanishes in a puff of gold dust that gets caught in the breeze.

Virgil rests his hands on his knees as he catches his breath. Janus, beside him, is breathing hard as well but he nods to the kid with the bow and arrow.

“Nice shot,” Virgil tells him.

The kid looks to be maybe a year older than Virgil, and is wearing a t-shirt that matches Janus’s. He’s also got a necklace of beads, though his has five of them. Virgil realizes that some of them match Janus’s, plus a few more. He slings the bow across his back and flashes Virgil a bright grin.

“Thanks! I’m Sloane.” He extends his hand.

“Virgil.” He shakes the kid’s hand.

Sloane nods to the other two kids that had materializes near him. One of them is a girl that looks a little younger than Virgil, maybe 14, with dark hair pulled back into a ponytail. The other is a guy in a backwards baseball cap and a plaid shirt over the orange tee that looks about Sloane’s age. His necklace only has one bead on it.

“This is Valerie,” Sloane introduces. “She’s from Cabin 10. And this is Kai. He’s from Cabin 9.”

“Sloane,” Janus interrupts. “Where’s Chiron?”

Sloane jerks his head down the hill. “In the Big House with the lead counselors.”

Virgil watches Janus’s brow furrow. “Seems unusual. Did something happen?”

Valerie sighs. “Kind of. Dionysus gave one of his kids a quest. Counselors are meeting about the prophecy to see who is going.”

Janus’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Which one?”

“Jack. The prophecy mentions a death. That never bodes well, and kids aren’t exactly lining up to work for Mr. D.”

Janus hums thoughtfully, his eyes trailing over the crest of the hill. Virgil watches as he shoves the knife into his belt. Kai cocks his head slightly, studying Virgil closely. Then, he looks at Janus. “Has he been claimed?”

Virgil frowns. “Claimed?”

“No,” Janus tells Kai, then looks to Virgil. “Follow me. I’ll explain as we walk.”

Janus nods to the other three and Virgil follows him down to the valley below. From this vantage point, Virgil sees the cabins Janus has been talking about, forming something like a horseshoe shape. In front of it is a large building that Virgil assumes is the ‘Big House’ that Sloane had mentioned. He sees other buildings and structures, but decides to wait to ask about them.

People mill around, most of them wearing the orange t-shirt that has a winged horse and the words Camp Half-Blood printed on them. When they notice Virgil, most of them throw a curious glance to Janus. Janus doesn’t even seem to notice.

“Welcome to Camp Half-Blood,” Janus says as they walk. “It’s one of the few safe spaces left for demigods like us.”

“Wait,” Virgil says, certain that he heard Janus incorrectly. “Demigod?”

Janus glances at him. “Hm. I gather you really don’t know very much. Yes, demigod. Half-god, half-mortal.”

“And you think I’m one of these, uh, half-bloods?” Virgil shakes his head. “Listen, I think you’ve got the wrong guy.”

Janus looks almost amused now, an eyebrow arching almost like a challenge. “You couldn’t have gotten across the border into camp if you weren’t. Let me guess… you have ADHD and dyslexia.”

“Wh—I mean, yes, but—”

“You were raised by either a single parent or no parent at all,” Janus continues.

“My mom, until—”

“You see things others either don’t see or don’t remember.”

“I—”

“Please. Do stop me if I’m wrong.”

Virgil falls silent, his chest a bit tight. He crosses his arms over his chest as they walk.

Janus waits for a beat before he elaborates, sounding like it’s a spiel he’s given a dozen times already. “The ADHD is the battle reflexes. Dyslexia is because your brain is wired for ancient Greek, not modern English.”

Virgil’s mind is reeling. “But—”

“The things you see are because you’re a demigod. You are able to see things as they are. Mortals—most mortals—get deceived by this thing called the Mist. Someday, with training, you’ll be able to manipulate it as well. It’s a useful skill.”

Virgil feels suddenly way too hot, and yet still has the sudden desire to pull the hood of his hoodie up over his hair. “Demigod,” he repeats, though saying it aloud doesn’t help it make sense. “Are… Are you telling me that my dad is a god? Like a Greek god? Zeus? Apollo? Those guys?”

Janus glances at him and looks, for a split second, almost apologetic. “I understand that it’s a lot to take in at once. This is why Chiron usually takes the initiation. He usually has a more, ah, sensitive means of broaching the subject. But since he’s meeting with the lead counselors, I’m afraid the responsibility falls to me.”

Virgil blinks. He can feel the pressure in his chest building and he forces himself to take a breath. It doesn’t help as much as he’d been hoping it would. “Which one?”

“Hm?”

“Which god is my dad?”

They’re passing in front of the Big House now. There’s two people standing on the front porch—a blonde girl holding a Yankees cap and a boy with a goatee leaning against the railing—seeming deep in conversation. The blonde girl offers Janus a small wave. Janus nods back.

“To your question, the answer is that we don’t know,” he says. “Since you haven’t been claimed yet, your guess is as good as ours. But you might be claimed any minute now, or never claimed at all. I was claimed three days after arriving at camp by Athena. But we have several campers who haven’t been claimed at all. Remy Short is one such example.”

“Athena. Goddess of wisdom and strategy,” Virgil remembers. He’d read that name in his mother’s library when he was younger. And he has a vague memory from sixth grade social studies.

“Indeed,” Janus replies. They circle around the house and Virgil realizes that Janus is leading him towards the semi-circle of cabins. “Since you haven’t been claimed yet, you’re designated to Cabin 11. Hermes’ cabin.”

“Janus!” A bright, cheerful voice calls from behind them. Janus stops and turns, and Virgil follows his gaze. A boy that looks about Virgil’s age, maybe a year older, is running towards them from the Big House. He’s got a flop of curly hair and big round glasses.

“Patton,” Janus greets as the boy slows to a stop near them. “Virgil, this is Patton. He’s the head of the Hermes cabin.”

Patton grins and holds out his hand. “Hi, Virgil. Welcome to Cabin 11. I’ll talk to Chiron about getting you some supplies—”

“I’ll talk to Chiron,” Janus interrupts as Virgil shakes Patton’s hand. “I need to ask him about some things anyway. Patton, could you—”

“For sure,” Patton agrees readily. “I’ll show Virgil around!”

Janus excuses himself and starts towards the Big House. Virgil rubs the back of his neck and offers Patton an awkward smile. Now that he’s closer, Virgil realizes that Patton is maybe an inch or so shorter than him. He’s got four beads on his necklace.

“How ya doing?” Patton asks him, startling him out of his thoughts. Virgil meets his eyes. Patton’s are a warm brown, and his smile is sympathetic. “I remember my first day at camp. It’s always overwhelming.”

Virgil huffs. “Yeah, you could say that.”

“You’ll love it here,” Patton says with a surprising amount of confidence.

Virgil arcs a skeptical eyebrow. “I’ve heard that before. I don’t seem to, ah, stay in one place very long.”

“Kicked out of school?” Patton guesses. He starts walking around the cabins and Virgil follows, slipping his hands into the pocket of his hoodie.

“Yeah. Several times.”

“We all have,” Patton says, not unkindly. “That’s the best thing about camp. In the mortal world, we’re all labeled as weird or outcasts. But at camp? We’ve all been through it. Oh! This is Cabin 10. Aphrodite’s cabin.”

Patton walks Virgil around the semi-circle, explaining each cabin’s assigned deity. He adds that Cabins 1 through 3 are empty, though apparently there was a girl that used to be in Cabin 1—Zeus’s cabin—who joined the Hunters of Artemis and left camp. Cabin 2 was Hera’s, and since she didn’t have children, the cabin was mostly honorary. Cabin 3 usually had a kid in it, but he apparently was on some kind of recon mission and wouldn’t return for another day or two. Cabin 8—Aretmis’s cabin—is also, usually, empty except when the Hunters visit.

“Since you don’t know who your dad is, you get to bunk with us at the Hermes Cabin,” Patton explains. “We take all unclaimed kids, since Hermes is the god of travelers.”

“I thought he was the god of thieves,” Virgil says before he can think about it.

Patton smiles sheepishly. “Yeah, that too. If you’ve got anything important, maybe keep it with ya. Just in case. I try to dissuade stealing, but old habits die hard for some of these kiddos.”

Patton leads him around the camp, pointing out the strawberry fields, the armory, and the forge that mostly gets used by the Hephaestus kids. A few of them wave at Patton, who eagerly waves back and calls a few of them by name. He shows Virgil the arena, where two kids are sparring. Patton takes a seat and Virgil sits beside him, watching the two boys circle each other.

Both of them are wearing matching orange t-shirts—Patton had told him that he’d be getting one too—and some armor. One of them has dark hair and square glasses. He’s got two knives, one in each hand, and even from a bit of distance Virgil can sees the slight sheen of sweat to his forehead. The other one’s hair is a couple of shades lighter. His sleeves are rolled up and he wields a sword and a shield.

“The one with the glasses is Logan,” Patton explains. “He’s a child of Athena. The other one is Roman. He’s a child of Apollo. I met both of them in Seattle before we made our way to camp together thanks to some help from a satyr.”

“All three of you have been claimed?” Virgil asks, watching as Roman charges at Logan who rolls out of the way and then nimbly jumps back up to his feet. He slashes at Roman’s back but Roman parries the blow with a well-timed flick of the sword.

“Not immediately,” Patton says. “Logan was claimed as soon as we got to camp, but it was a month or so for me. And Roman was nearly a year before Apollo claimed him during a campfire song. It certainly surprised a lot of people.”

“Why?”

“His brother was claimed by Ares three months before him, so most people thought Roman was Ares’ kid too.”

Virgil glances at Patton. “Roman has a brother?”

Patton’s mouth presses into a thin line for a moment, and Virgil gets the sense that it’s a touchy subject. “Yeah. Remus. It’s unusual for two kids of the same family to both be demigods, and the fact that their father are two different gods led to some… tension. Roman and Remus don’t exactly get along.”

Virgil nods his understanding and turns his attention back to the sparring pair. Roman blocks a quick slash from Logan with his shield and swipes at him with the sword, but Logan parries the blow with the other knife in his hands. Then in a series of quick movements—Virgil isn’t sure how it happens, exactly—Roman is flat on his back and Logan is on his chest with the knife to his throat.

Roman says something that Virgil can’t make out, and Logan says something in kind before he climbs off Roman and helps him up. Roman flashes a grin and shoves Logan’s shoulder before he glances past his sparring match and sees Patton and Virgil sitting on one of the benches.

Roman waves. “Heya, Padre!”

Logan glances over his shoulder and quirks an eyebrow at Virgil but stores his daggers as Roman jogs over. Patton stands and Virgil follows him down to meet Roman halfway.

“Hey, Roman,” Patton replies. “I didn’t know you started using a sword!”

Roman grabs a towel off a nearby bench and mops the sweat off his forehead. “It’s new. I’m still trying to get used to it. I think the balance is off.”

“The balance is fine,” Logan quips, stepping up beside him. “You just need more practice.”

Roman rolls his eyes but doesn’t argue. “Either way, Specs. I’ll take archery any day over waving a sharp stick around.”

“You are definitely a son of Apollo,” Logan rejoins back without malice. “And it would be unwise to only be versed in ranged attack.”

“And you are definitely a son of Athena.”

“Correct.”

Virgil snorts, and then a part of him regrets it as Roman and Logan both look over at him. Virgil flushes slightly, uncomfortable with the sudden attention, but Patton seems to only perk up more.

“Oh! Sorry, this is Virgil. He’s a new camper. Janus ran into him on his way back and brought him along.”

“Which cabin?” Logan asks.

Virgil shrugs. “For now, Cabin 11, I guess.”

“Unclaimed, then.” Virgil listens for the judgement in Logan’s voice, but he doesn’t hear it. It sounds more like a flat statement of fact, as if reporting the weather. Logan nods once. “Very well.”

“I was just showing him around,” Patton supplies. “You guys wanna join?”

Logan starts shrugging out of the armor he’s wearing. “Regrettably, I said that I would assist Harley with some blueprints when I had finished sparring with Roman.”

Roman slides the sword into the scabbard at his side. “And I’m overdue for a Pegasus lesson. I can’t miss it again. The last thing I need is Mr. D giving me another earful.” Roman gives a quick two-finger salute and rushes out of the arena.

Virgil blinks at Patton. “Pegasus?”

Patton grins brightly. “Come on. I’ll show ya.”

…

Patton spends the rest of the afternoon showing Virgil around the camp. They go to the stables (where Roman offers to take Virgil for a ride but Virgil immediately declines because he’s never been a fan of flying). They swing by the beach on their way to the climbing wall. Virgil watches, amazed, as two kids climb with impressive speed and narrowly avoid the magma that starts to pour down it.

One of the kids has a Morningstar gripped between his teeth, a green bandana around his upper bicep and a matching one around his head. He’s fast, scaling the wall with a well-practiced ease. Virgil hears him laugh delightedly when his hand slips and he almost gets burned by the lava. It’s somehow both impressive and disconcerting.

“That would be Remus.”

“That’s Remus?” Virgil repeats, though when he looks a bit closer he sees the similarity in hair color and skin complexion. “I guess I see the resemblance.”

“Don’t tell Roman that,” Patton says lightly. “C’mon.”

They pass the amphitheater where, apparently, there would be a bonfire tonight. Patton shows him the volleyball court where four kids are playing one another. They wave at Patton as they pass.

“You seem popular,” Virgil supplies. He’s lost track of how many kids have waved at them as they walk around.

Patton lifts a shoulder modestly. “I dunno. Since Hermes is the catch-all cabin, a lot of camp knows me since they come to our cabin if they haven’t been claimed yet. Sometimes we get kids that get claimed right away, or kids that already have been claimed, but otherwise? I get to be their lead counselor for at least a little bit.”

“Sounds like a lot of responsibility.”

“I kind of like it,” Patton admits with a smile. “It’s like I’m everyone’s honorary camp dad.”

The conversation cuts out as dinner is called and they head to the mess hall. Patton explains the offering to the gods prior to the meal, and Virgil scrapes part of his plate into the fire. He doesn’t know what to ask for.

It’d be nice to have a family again, dad, he thinks, unsure of who he should even direct the comment to. Patton waves him over, offering a seat beside him.

Virgil chances a glance around the mess hall as they eat. The Hermes table is certainly the most crowded, though Virgil can’t say he finds that surprising. Athena’s table has several kids reading while eating. Two kids at the Ares table are in the middle of an arm-wrestling competition. One kid at the Hephaestus table is pouring over a blueprint, and Virgil wonders if that was the Harley kid that Logan had mentioned.

Towards the end of the meal, a few kids at the Apollo table starts singing “Bohemian Rhapsody” and it’s not long before most of their table is doing the entire song with harmony. Someone from the Demeter table tells them to ‘save it for the campfire’, but it does nothing to deter the Apollo kids. Virgil catches Roman laughing as he sings, one of his sibling’s arms slung around his shoulders.

Virgil glances over and sees Logan at the Athena table sitting next to Janus, watching the chaos unfold and the faintest quirk of his lips betray his amusement.

Virgil feels some of the tension in his chest relax just a little.

…

The bonfire starts around dusk. Virgil is making his way to the amphitheater from dropping supplies off at the cabin when Roman comes up from behind him and loops his arm through Virgil’s, chattering excitedly about how much he loved this part of camp. Virgil sees an ukulele case slung around his shoulder.

Logan appears a second later on the other side of Virgil, commenting dryly that the Apollo kids had done their vocal warm-ups during the dinner. This only served to lead Roman to do actual vocal warm-ups—trills and scales, specifically—as they walked. Patton and Janus were already sitting down, three rows back. Patton waves when he sees them file in. Remus is sitting beside Janus, seemingly trying to goad him into some kind of competition that he was having no interest in. The firelight glints of Janus’s scales.

“Hey,” Virgil says to Roman and Logan. “Can… I ask what happened to Janus?” He immediately regrets the question, cursing his lack of a filter, but neither of the other boys seem perturbed by the question.

“A curse from Aphrodite,” Logan answers. “Janus had gone on a quest for our mother, and it led to some… unsavory tension between himself and Aphrodite. From what he’s told me, he accused Ares of being a snake in the grass while in the presence of Aphrodite, and… well. The love goddess didn’t take kindly to that. But it’s purely cosmetic.”

Virgil arcs an eyebrow. “Remus seems chill with him.”

“I’m not sure that Remus is aware of the accusation Janus leveled at his father,” Logan muses. “And Janus is not one to hold the children accountable for the actions of their godly parent.”

“It doesn’t benefit him,” Roman adds in, using his free hand for air quotes. “Or something like that. Janus is all about himself and how he can improve his own standing.”

“Sounds like someone else I know,” Logan quips dryly.

Roman scoffs, but when Virgil looks at him, there’s a teasing glint to his eyes. “Well, I wasn’t going to say it, but you guys are half-brothers for a reason.”

Logan looks at Roman over the top of his glasses, but Roman just shoots him a cheeky smile as they approach the other three. Virgil slides into the seat beside Patton, followed by Logan and then Roman. There’s a few kids—Virgil isn’t sure what cabin they’re from—trying to lead a call-and-response chant as campers file in. Down the row, Remus enthusiastically calls out the responses at the top of his lungs.

“Roman!” A new voice calls out from the end of their row. A tall guy, a couple of years older than them, is holding a ukulele and jerking his head down towards the bonfire. “You ready to help me kick this thing off?”

Roman grins and jumps up. “Would be an honor, Thomas.” He rushes off and he and Thomas start playing a song together with practiced ease. He and the other Apollo kids start singing, and before long the vast majority of campers are joining in. A few of them, including Patton, sway a little. Virgil doesn’t sing, but he listens and tries to remember the words.

The sky grows dark. The Apollo kids eventually cede the floor to some Ares kids who start up another chant. More songs are sung, some snacks get passed around, and Virgil is starting to think that maybe, with time, he could get used to this.

“Oh! I almost forgot!” Patton says beside him, as the next song starts. He drops something into Virgil’s lap. “I got this for ya.”

Virgil looks down. It’s two camp t-shirts. The black winged horse and the Camp Half-Blood print stares up at him. He looks over at Patton.

Patton just smiles. “Claimed or not, you’re one of us. We claim you.”

Virgil feels like maybe that’s good enough for him.

#sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides au #platonic drlamp #virgil sanders #percy jackson au #pjo!au #fighting #weapons #violence #found family? in my fics? its more likely than you think #janus sanders #remus sanders #patton sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders

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janiedean · 3 years ago

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Book!Theon is Azor!Ahai, not Jon. It makes no sense narratively for Jon to be AA, and it’s the most stereotypical thing ever, and he’s already stereotypical, he’s the red flag for the audience. Theon’s chapters are full of hints, he has the perfect salt/smoke/stars/dragons thing at the end of ACOK, when he “dies”. His story is about destroying death, his entire narrative, with things that come from mythology and ancient literature, points to that. The show is trash, but don’t you think that it’s a little weird that Theon is there at the end and then Arya comes out of nowhere and becomes AA? And what ending does she get? Exploring the unknown SEA with SHIPS? Being free and on her own? Maybe it doesn’t make sense for her because it’s not for her. D&D already took everything else from Theon, they took this too. And even if he’s not AA, he’s still clearly connected to magic and all of that, he didn’t go though so much for nothing, he didn’t take his name back for the first time in his life, his name that literally means “godly”, for nothing. He has something big to do, and it’s about himself, not Robb and the Starks. And he’s also so clearly connected to the politics of the north and of the iron islands, a villain was literally created for him, so I don’t understand how can you say he’s not really important and all he’s got left to do is retire in a house and be sad. Of course he has a lot of trauma and that’s important, but I don’t like how people reduce him to that and act like just because those things happened, he can’t do anything else

anon with no ill will and I swear I don't want to sound pedantic or anything but I, uh, never came to the conclusion you say I came from - that said let's go in order even if I think I already went through all the reasons why it makes literally no sense if it's anyone but jon, but let's start with one thing:

It makes no sense narratively for Jon to be AA, and it’s the most stereotypical thing ever, and he’s already stereotypical, he’s the red flag for the audience.

it's stereotypical.... to us maybe, but it is not to westeros. like, you're looking at it through audience-lens because it has been years and the show confirmed r+l=j and we all figured that shit out, but to westeros, the idea that the prince that was promised is a bastard guy serving on the wall aka a state-sponsored prison where people go to not die and is filled to non-desirables to society is... the least likely option in existence? no really, but again:

first thing that should quiet all doubts, when melisandre asks r'hollor to see azor ahai bc she wants to see stannis, r'hollor shows her jon snow and instead of going like 'uh wait why am I seeing another dude' she's like 'I want to see stannis but r'hollor shows me jon snow there must be some disturbance on the line', like she doesn't even consider for a second that it might be jon;

no one else has brought WITHIN THE NARRATIVE jon up as a likely candidate - they said stannis, they said dany, they said whoever but no one ever said hey jon snow might be AA, because again no one even suspects that it might be jon;

other matter that you're overlooking here: if theon is azor ahai.... it means that the rebellion basically was for nothing? because like the entire shtick with rhaegar targaryen's bad life choices™ is that he was apparently a swell dude, then he read a book where somehow it was exactly explained how the apocalypse was gonna happen, he deduced that he was the guy who had to father AA/the prince that was promised and in order - first he doesn't care about fighting but suddenly after that he starts getting learned; - he immediately worries over having THREE children from which we can deduce from the narrative that as far as he knows in order to fight when the wights come he has to have three kids for three dragons and one of them is azor ahai; - the moment his wife can't have more than two even if he's sure that he already had the right one (aegon) he still runs off with lyanna to make sure he has the third because it's that important that HE rhaegar targaryen fathers the three heads of the dragon... to the point of starting a civil war and most likely giving arthur orders to make sure that the kid lives at all costs even if he thinks lyanna's kid is NOT AA; - let's remember that the entire schtick is also that 'he is the ptwp and his is the song of ice and fire' which means that this kid of rhaegar's is the person these books are titled after.

now, let's look again at tyrion's infamous quote which I always bring up in these cases but let's refresh our memory here Prophecy is like a half-trained mule. It looks as though it might be useful, but the moment you trust in it, it kicks you in the head now: given this, we can absolutely assume that no single prophecy in this book goes the way the person at the end of it interprets it... which means that rhaegar was wrong on a lot of accounts, but guess what, the thing is that one out of three of his kids is dead (if we count aegon as trueborn, if he's not then two on three but I think he's trueborn) and the one who hatched the eggs/has the dragon is DANY so he already was wrong on head of the dragon #1, and he can absolutely be wrong on aegon being tptwp which would mean mistake #2 and we should know about the prophecy, but one of his children being AA and his being the song of ice and fire looks a bit too much of a stretch to be incorrect and have AA being someone else's son also would be.... but if AA is jon ie the one he had for last that he was sure was not AA and who doesn't even have the targ name (nor the stark one) and no one suspects having that kinda ancestry then yes it fits exactly all the parameters and it still allows for rhaegar to have partially misinterpreted the entire thing even in large chunks but not enough to make it look like he was completely making shit up, which... I mean the long night is coming I don't doubt he had very good reasons to want to stop it; also, anon not to beat the dead horse, but: - jon's death fits all the prophecy parameters already there's the bleeding star, the smoking wound and the salt of the tears which btw is not obvious nor something you'd immediately do 2+2 about... which fits perfectly with the above - jon died and came back to life in the godforsaken show like he's literally the only idiot who resurrected in it and we're supposed to handwave it the way dnd did? - jon has a valyrian steel sword that he can handle while theon atm really doesn't - we could argue that ygritte could be a possible nissa-nissa contender though I mean maybe it could also be that he and val get hot and bothered and it turns out it's her or someone else and that hasn't happened yet but surely there's more evidence for that with jon than with theon - theon has like... povs in two books for a total amount of less than fifteen chapters, jon has at least ten chapters per book or so on, which just mathematically makes jon a main fiver character while theon is not and like I understand deconstruction and all but you don't make your ace in the hole mystical prince hero character someone who has had fifteen chapters total at most unless I remember wrong the amount he had in acok in comparison to someone who was a main throughout the entire thing - like guys I say it as someone whose third-fave char is theon, theon is not a main fiver™ character and that's okay that's not the point, and with that I don't mean he's not important, I mean that he's not one of the five main ones that have most of the plot stuff on their shoulders and he's not THE main character, because if theon is AA then these books are named a song of theon greyjoy and considering that the main five are jon tyrion arya dany and bran I think it's highly not probable that at the end of it theon is the one character to rule them all

and that was for how jon fit the criteria, but theon doesn't fit them because again he doesn't have a number of chapters/povs that justifies such a plot twist, balon is certainly not rhaegar and I don't see how rhaegar reads a prophecy wrt balon and thinks it's about him, the heads of the dragon should be three and theon had three siblings two of which are dead and asha has no tie to the dragon storyline, this means that theon should be able to ride/command a dragon and we know that in theory just targs can and there's already three of them around - dany jon and aegon - and if anyone who's not a targ has a narrative reason to ride a dragon is tyrion not theon... and tyrion is a main fiver too, also there's the nissa-nissa/burning sword angle and as it is theon could absolutely use a bow again but a longsword with his hands maimed like that and no muscle mass would be a bit implausible, in order for the reborn prophecy to actually make sense it means his last adwd chapter should have smoke, salt and the bleeding star which it doesn't but jon's has so there's that

now, re what you said wrt theon:

Theon’s chapters are full of hints

not really? he doesn't have a tie to the magical storyline beyond his connection to bran. they have hints for a lot of things but that he's AA? idt so

he has the perfect salt/smoke/stars/dragons thing at the end of ACOK, when he “dies”

okay but then I could use the same argument for saying that AA could be davos when he survives blackwater because he says he woke up in wreckage of smoke in salty water, and then stannis has equally valid arguments bc he has the shiny sword and he's in dragonstone etc and we all know it's not stannis, also an AA death at the ending of acok when the topic has barely been introduced in dany's vision is entirely too early for me to drop that bomb

his story is about destroying death, his entire narrative, with things that come from mythology and ancient literature, points to that.

his story is about overcoming trauma and abuse and not dying in the process (which is why I think the show was trash) and okay but everyone in these books has something that comes from a mythology or ancient literature, like jaime brienne and c. all have arthuriana roots same as bran, doesn't make any of them a viable AA candidate

The show is trash, but don’t you think that it’s a little weird that Theon is there at the end and then Arya comes out of nowhere and becomes AA?And what ending does she get? Exploring the unknown SEA with SHIPS? Being free and on her own? Maybe it doesn’t make sense for her because it’s not for her.

considering that maisie williams was shocked that arya was AA and she also thought it made no sense and that dnd never thought theon had his own storyline while I can agree on the fact that it fits more for him as an ending than for arya, I don't think that means it makes him AA, same as I think that they gave sansa his storyline and possibly his confrontation with ramsay and I'm not 100% convinced on the last part anyway but that just means they didn't realize theon doesn't exist for the starks' storyline, also like.. in the show everyone but c. was in WF and theon was already dead when arya did her thing and honestly idt the battle of the long night will ever go like that anyway so idt even partially show truthing is bringing us anywhere

and even if he’s not AA, he’s still clearly connected to magic and all of that, he didn’t go though so much for nothing, he didn’t take his name back for the first time in his life, his name that literally means “godly”, for nothing

I never said it was for nothing which I'll elaborate in a second and ofc he's connected to the magic storyline... because he's connected with bran's storyline and his last round of atonement has to happen through bran in the sense that since he was the one basically forcing bran out of wf now he most likely has to facilitate bringing him back or smth (surely not dying for him), but like whatever magical stuff he has going on it has to do with bran dot, not with AA which I still think he doesn't have a stricter text connection to than davos has for that matter and idt davos is AA as I think I made clear

He has something big to do, and it’s about himself, not Robb and the Starks.

never said he didn't, and I also said that I wasn't going to speculate in detail about what theon has to do because I don't think there are enough text elements to say it now but there will be when wow comes out for sure, but like again I don't want to make predictions when I don't have the elements and wrt theon's themes/possible canon ending etc I always said that he most likely isn't going to inherit the islands but that he'll do something huge before the books are done which is gonna be tied to the northern storyline and possibly to bran because he has to go specular to acok - acok is his downfall, adwd is 'I'll find myself again', wow+ados have to be what would theon do if he decides his own thing while being his own person, or recycling my old THEON HAS HEGELIAN THEMES IN HIS STORYLINE acok = thesis, adwd = antithesis, wow+ados = synthesis so obviously he has something huge in the plans.... I just don't think it means he's AA

And he’s also so clearly connected to the politics of the north and of the iron islands, a villain was literally created for him, so I don’t understand how can you say he’s not really important and all he’s got left to do is retire in a house and be sad

aaand here we get to the point which is that... I never said that? I honestly never said that? I said he has to overcome his trauma and live and thrive and be happy after that. if he retires in a house at the end of ados after he does whatever he has to do in the main plot it's going to be because it's what he wants to do and most likely he and jeyne are going to be adorbs while doing it together or smth or if he goes back to the islands and advises asha then he's going to be happy doing that too, but like... the entire point of theon's sl is that he overcomes that horrendous abuse while not being a perfect good victim™ throughout and still be happy after and gain his redemption? that's what I always said. I never said that now he can just retire and be sad. trauma recovery is becoming happy after getting over your trauma. not being sad. and like.... sometimes not getting amazing mythological things but just being happy by yourself is actually a goal? again, grrm is a lapsed catholic. if I know that breed and I do, he doesn't think redemption and happiness are in shortage at the supermarket. and in order for theon to have narrative importance/weight/relevance he doesn't have to do magical mythological IMPORTANT™ things (even if I think he does have something cooked up as I said above), but like the entire point of his sl is the trauma recovery. he's there for that. that's literally his point in the plot and the fact that grrm created a villain for him means that he thinks it's an important thing to explore.

also I personally think that theon's arc is the best written thing in those books so like I don't want to undermine its importance, I just don't think that in order to be important™ then theon has to be dragged kicking and screaming into main fiver territory because there isn't the need.

. Of course he has a lot of trauma and that’s important, but I don’t like how people reduce him to that and act like just because those things happened, he can’t do anything else

I don't like that either esp. when coming from dnd who didn't even let him have it fully, but: and when did I ever do it? I never said that theon is only his trauma. my standing opinion wrt theon is that he's grrm's best written/constructed character (along with jaime) and his most innovative one (jaime following but theon wins it) because theon deconstructs the backstabber trope which I already went on about but:

again usually ppl who backstab the good protagonist™ get caught and punished and you never hear their pov

theon has all the povs

he's the main char in that storyline not robb

he has entirely understandable reasons that ppl decided aren't sympathetic just bc they don't want to admit that in his position they'd have done the same thing

the audience hates him for having contributed to robb's downfall but then he gets a comeuppance that's completely not what anyone would deserve for that and he gets the spotlight/the sympathy again

he gets narrative redemption saving jeyne so you can see he's not an asshole at all

has to get through horrific abuse for his entire life not just with ramsay, he's not a good victim™ but he's still written in a way that makes you want to root for him and at the end he actually comes through so you want him to keep on succeeding

which is smth that with the backstabber trope never happens

now the thing is that theon's there bc a) identity issues b) trauma recovery storylines that then get tied to bran's main one but like idg why just having the recovery storyline would make him lesser - saying he's not a main fiver doesn't mean he's not important, it means he's not a MAIN™ character... which in asoiaf doesn't matter bc even ppl without povs are important to the narration and are there to drive a point (see sandor and stannis), and I don't see why saying that the most important part of his sl/the one grrm wants to stick with the readers is the survivor part of it rather than whichever heavy magic related plot thing he has to play in the future means undermining his importance. and while I think he has that role, idt it's the most important one he has bc being a survivor is what sells his storyline/the entire arc of his character.

then if come wow I'm wrong I'll be like okay I fucked up, but: honestly, imvho there is no way that azor ahai is not jon snow, the fact that collectively as a fandom we think it's obvious doesn't mean people in westeros do, each single point of evidence is at jon and if occam's razor is a thing then it's jon and that's okay because as deconstructed chosen one as he is, jon is still the protagonist of these books and regarding the prophecy above, it makes a lot more sense that this series is titled a song of jon snow and not a song of theon greyjoy and I say this as someone who vastly prefers theon as a character. also, if smth is well-written, readers should see it coming, so the fact that jon is AA isn't predictable if it's true, it's grrm.... knowing how to write a book and plant his hints because if everyone guessed right then if he makes it suddenly someone else bc jon is too predictable then it's dnd making it arya bc SURPRISE WE NEEDED YOU TO GO LIKE WTF HAS JUST HAPPENED INSTEAD OF FOLLOWING THE NARRATION TO ITS NATURAL CONCLUSION, not 'it's too predictable' or the audience red herring the way jaime being the valonqar is an audience red herring. jon being AA should be absolutely obvious for the reader who paid attention and a total surprise for the other characters in the narration, the audience red herring is more dany than anyone else imvho and I'm dying on that hill for now, thanks for coming to my ted talk but like I don't see how it's anyone but jon personally X°D

#jon snow #theon greyjoy #janie writes meta #idk anon i've never said theon wasn't important #i said he wasn't a main char #and like.... my fave char is robb #who doesn't even have a pov #is EXTREMELY important to the narration bc the rw is the crux of 50% of the plot #and i wouldn't call robb a main either #and in asoiaf there are five mains™#and everyone else is on a level of importance #but like those five mains are MAINS more than the others #and jon is the main-est of them so X°DDD #like the fact that the protagonist of a series is the one that has to save the world isn't smth that i think grrm wants to deconstruct #he wants to deconstruct HOW he gets there #but that's mvho #peace

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blissfulalchemist · 3 years ago

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Chance/Faith - ‘ what did you dream of? ’

Hello there once again! I do hope that you enjoy this short piece!

tw for drug use and mention. also for my dumb tongue in cheek jokes.

just under 2k

There’s something to be said about the peace that comes with sitting on the roof of some building. Hell just being up high always had its appeal to Chance, it was the coming down that left him sick. Maybe not the act of falling itself, that also provided some peace, but finding yourself back on the ground. The reality of being present, alive, stopped being fun the moment he had nothing but coming to his knees at the mere thought of them….of all that he had lost. Being grounded was overrated. Being grounded was pain. Being grounded was accepting the truth….something Chance had never been very good at.

To be high, in the sky, drunk enough to no longer keep steady on the ground….that was freedom….happiness. Even if it was set to kill him sooner than people wanted.

Catching the black smoke rising in the distance he smirks, giving a shake of his head, it’s the fourth one he can spot looking over the border of the Valley and Hebane. The gunfire Chance can just barely make out in the distance has him leaning back letting the sun warm the skin he’s sure is starting to look red rather than sunkissed. He probably should have stuck to the drinking after being arrested, he probably would have gotten another year of life. He definitely wouldn’t be in the middle of some war he never wanted to start or even end if he was being honest.

He takes a deep breath catching the hints of memories from when he was a teenager dying in the tight black clothing on this same roof in the height of summer. Back then Chance was just starting to experiment with drinking more and smoking weed while he dated some daughter of a successful real estate agent from New York, her hair the same color as Rachel’s. The eyes were a straight blue and her voice was a bit too gruff, she blamed it on always yelling for a taxi in the big city, and she was too self centered. It was only her hair that he liked.

Chance huffs, sitting up as he pulls out the stolen joint letting it find a place between his lips, testing the lighter once before he settles himself more. According to Hurk the joint was filled with some of the best weed in the world and how he saved it before some guy named Jason burned the whole farm down. Of course Jason was someone that Hurk met while out in Malaysia and really Chance should have been there to take down some guy that could almost rival Joesph in the crazy department. The exaggeration of the story Hurk had weaved for Chance still makes him chuckle, even now as he takes a drag letting the smoke sit in his lungs and envelop his tongue for a minute.

He let’s the smoke circle around him, closing his eyes, the high kicking in almost as fast as the Bliss does. “At least you’re right about it being some of the best,” Chance mumbles, bringing a knee up to rest his arm on while he watches over the activity he can’t really see. He’s about halfway through the joint when he feels someone watching him from below. Chance leans over catching the glimmer of her light brown hair, golden in the afternoon sun, before her blue-green eyes smile at him. “You’re pretty far out for just some casual stroll, don’t you think?”

He smirks as Faith rolls her eyes playfully, “Could say the same about you, Chance,” she tilts her head, looking to the stairs of crates leading to the roof, “Mind if I join you?”

Chance shrugs, letting out the latest drag, “Long as you can promise Jarhead or Gaston Wannabe aren’t waiting in the treeline to take me in.”

Faith begins the climb up the crates shaking her head, “Now why would I do that?” She smoothes out the skirt of the white lace of her dress, sitting next to him, taking the joint from his fingertips, “I don’t really like sharing you as it is.”

He watches her for a moment, taking in the way her hair shifts from brown to blonde at the whims of the breeze blowing, how her lips curve in a small smile as she inhales the smoke, and her eyes closing for a moment before handing the joint back to him. His heart tugs towards her, the suspicions he’s been having coming to the forefront of his mind. She can’t really be the same girl, there was no way. Tracey didn’t know Rachel like he does….did. Like he did. Seeing Faith like this though….Chance can’t help but see an older version of Rachel from that high school photo when she was a freshman, the last picture anyone had of her. He shakes the thoughts from his head, it was all probably a lingering hallucination from Bliss. Why wouldn’t it be possible for it to show you someone that you really wanted?

“What are you thinking about,” her voice pulls him back to the roof, the smile she wears before laughing, “Anyone home up there?”

He laughs in return, “This stuff really does live up to the hype it was given.”

Faith hums, leaning back on her hands, “So what did it make you think about?”

“The past,” Chance mutters, flicking the ash off, “This place brings back too many memories.”

“What kind of memories?” She asks sweetly.

“Summers up here, people I’ll probably never see again,” he says, balancing the joint between his lips as he searches for his phone, “Nothing special really.”

He lets out an a-ha finding it in his pocket, “Those people you think you’ll never see again,” Faith starts, Chance giving a nod for her to continue as he searches through the playlists, “Can I ask who they are?”

Chance settles on a song by Ghost, letting the music fill the silence while he takes what will be one of the last drags of this joint. He mulls over the answer as the smoke fills his lungs once more, passing the rest of it to Faith. “A girl.” Faith slides her gaze towards him slowly, “One of the few reasons I would have the possibility of being more comfortable with this place.”

“She an old girlfriend?”

“No,” he shook his head, “Just an old pipe dream.”

The silence falls quickly, Chance letting it stay for the length of a song, gripping for something lighter to talk about with her. She lets her head rest on his shoulder, fingers becoming entwined with his, “We’ve heard rumors about you, Chance.”

His heart rate slows after the initial surprise of her touch, his free hand closing over her chilled fingers, “If they’re from Gossip Girl, take it with a grain of salt.”

She laughs, giving a light slap on his chest, “Be nice. John’s not that bad once you get to know him.”

He rolls his eyes, “I’ll keep that in mind next time he’s got me strapped down and a knife to my throat.”

“But seriously though, many of the locals say that this wasn’t your first choice of a career.”

“I don’t think being the pawn in some supposed prophecy is anyone’s first choice in a career.”

“You’d be surprised actually,” Chance arches a brow at her response, “Again though can you let me finish?”

“Don’t I always?” He smirks, ”Thought you said that was my best quality.”

Faith groans, “Chance! Focus,” she takes a deep breath shifting to better lay against him, “What did you dream of being when you were younger?”

“Pfft, you seriously want to know that?” She nods, “Why?”

“Curiosity,” she states.

“Will you tell me yours?”

Faith thinks for a moment, tracing the tattoos on his hands, “Only if you tell me the truth.”

Chance lets out a sigh, keeping his eyes focused on the open space before him, “I wanted to be like Dad,” Rachel would have known that. “Your turn.”

“We didn’t have any dreams,” she giggles, the tone contrasting with the weight of what she’s just said, “What was the point when there wasn’t a chance we’d get anywhere close to them.”

“Something to aspire to,” he offers, “Keep you going. Keep you living.”

“Do you still have that dream? Wanting to be like your father?” Her voice flows almost like a song, drawing him in each time. There’s some resistance from him today as it feels almost inappropriate with their conversation.

“Sure. I was on my way once before,” he shrugs, “Why couldn’t that happen again?”

Her eyes are big, taking in every movement in his face and eyes, there’s a tingle along his skin the longer she stays looking at him like that. It doesn’t feel bad, but it also wasn’t the one he wanted to be feeling with her this close. Finally she blinks slowly, the shadow of her smile persisting as she looks at him now with such care, “Then why haven’t you felt like living in a long time?”

Chance jerks away, staring her down, heart pounding in his ears, “The fuck is that supposed to mean? I’m not suicidal.” He moves away from her shaking his head, jaw tight, “I just like to have fun. That’s it.”

“No one doubts that, Chance,” she stays in place, not even attempting to reach for him like she’s done before, “There’s just this….emptiness inside of you. We can feel it. Can understand it.”

“So?” She’s finally positioned herself to have the dark evergreens as a backdrop for her face.

“You can be helped and we can do that, Chance,” she urged softly, “You took help once before, what makes taking help from us so different?”

“Hilarious. I’ve given you multiple speeches on why that is.” Why is she being so pushy all of a-, A flicker of light dances just above her hair, much like a firefly and easier to see with the darker colors against her, Of course. He exhales sharply, “I’d remind you once more but,” Stupid. I knew she’d never have been this far out, he thinks, readying himself to leave, “ghosts don’t really remember unless it suits them anyway.”

“Chance wait,” they call out, crawling across the roof once he’s jumped down from it, “Come back. We can talk again. Just you and me.”

“Nice try!” He barks out, eyes cast down as his fingers work to untangle the headphones enough to get him back to the road, “I’m not coming back. Not going to fall for it again.” He finally has the earbuds in place, turning to point at the figment of his desire, “Not today Siren! Not today!” The woods are replaced by the screams of a man who’s fallen for someone he shouldn’t have. Her lips….my poison….How stupid could I be trying to pursue her?, He ground his teeth, nails digging into his palms as he mouthed the lyrics, I can’t even tell when she’s real….Just like they planned her to be.

That was the worst part of being sucked into the hell hole of Bliss, you saw who and what you wanted and they were always idyllic, making it too tempting to stay. Chance slowed, seeing a field of white coming straight at him. Tracey had said she and Faith were friends once upon a time and maybe they were or maybe, just like with him, the drugs made her think it was her old friend. Someone long dead and gone to her. It just makes her look like how Rachel probably would. Nothing more. The one person that could make Hope County more bearable for him….The one mistake he could have fixed after all this time.

#look I think i'm hilarious at times and sometimes i am but i love my meta jokes #see my love for legends and their meta #also look at me finishing something in a timely manner #lets hope it sticks as I feel my anxiety kick up #also sorry for the time of day I wanted to get this posted before I head off to work for the night #x: emo flower child #a chance for faith #faithxoc #chance ruicknar oc #faith seed #faith seed fc5

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