#the roots covering the sun have been breaking apart and earth is finally able to start getting light as soon kuafu and the apemen land

[doodledrawsthings]

Oooh so I’ve been Rotating dwbi au in my head and I have a question;; so the whole reason this au happens is because eigong didn’t infect the roots right? But if that’s the case,, how is it that yi isn’t connected to them any more, if they’re still intact?? Or did they still get destroyed somehow? :0 curious

So- I'm actually retconning that, lol! I was struggling to come up with reasons for them to not be able to go back to Penglai. And @lumpy-veev saved me by coming up with the idea of the roots grabbing him and pulling him in after Eigong infects them. So I've actually been working off of that concept, instead. Yi comes to somewhere similar to the limitless realm, where what's physically real and what isn't is kind of wonky. He essentially fights off a manifestation of the mutated Tianhuo in a 4th boss phase "like a white blood cell fighting off a virus" and uses the Rhiz bomb to finish it off. Fully expecting not to get out of there alive and not able to personally say goodbye to his friends due to not having a signal, he leaves Kuafu, Shuanshuan, and Shennong a goodbye message he doesn't expect to get delivered before loosing the arrow. Instead of being allowed to die, however, he's spat back out onto the floor of the pinnacle room. He wakes up an indeterminate amount of time later to several missed calls from Kuafu, still on the ground, none of his wounds having been healed, and the Fusang roots wilted and dryly breaking apart around him. He calls Kuafu and asks him to come pick him up and then weakly limps over to the greenhouse to see if Goumang is still alive and if there's anyone left in the Empyrean district who is able to be recovered.

[master-sass-blast]

Not Normal.

Part One, Part Two, Part Three

Not gonna lie, this whole fic is me projecting just how bad I want a massage.

Summary: “I’m not having you break my back if yours is already busted.”

The corner of her mouth curls up in a smirk, but only for a moment. “I’m not some fragile, old lady. I know my limits.”

You lift your chin and stare her down. “I’m not consenting.”

Lin scowls and lets out an irritated huff. “Then what the hell are you doing here?”

It stings, just a bit, but you shrug it off and turn to leave. “I’ll let you rest.” You make it halfway to the door, then stop when an idea occurs to you. “Actually...”

Lin looks up when you walk back into the sitting room. “What, change your mind?”

You roll your eyes. “No --but there might be something else I can do for you.”

AKA you get Lin to agree to some self-care, for once in her life.

Pairing(s): Lin Beifong x Reader.

Rating: T on account of my love of swear words.

Word count: 4.5k.

There’s a certain element of “razzle dazzle” that comes with “seeing” --or, perhaps more accurately, being fucked by--Lin Beifong.

You know that the Beifongs are an old money family; hell, everyone in the world practically knows it. The flying boar crest pops up in nearly every major Earth Kingdom enterprise, from mining, to textiles, to political halls.

Lin, despite her staunch pragmatism, is no exception. Her apartment is in the nicest complex in the city --one of the nicest in the world, even--where rent goes for several tens of thousands of yuan a month. She drives the latest model Satomobile (and even with her personal acquaintanceship with Asami Sato, it’s no small financial investment). The fixtures in her apartment --what of them there are, given Lin’s leanings toward minimalism--are all high end, from her furniture, to her bed sheets, to the toiletries that neatly line the built-in shelf in her shower.

And, if she has an occasion to stay somewhere other than her apartment, her tastes don’t waver in the slightest.

According to Lin --who’d given you a short, gruff answer when you’d asked the first time about why she’d invited you to the Four Elements and not her apartment--it’s because of the Spirit Vine entanglement that’s taken over a good chunk of the city. Whenever she has to work in the outer reaches of Republic City, she stays in a hotel suite until everything’s resolved since the drive back to her apartment has practically tripled.

(Personally, you’re not complaining. It’s not every day you get to sweat up the sheets in a bed of a five star hotel room.)

You stride up the steps to the entrance of the hotel, a spring in your step. Your mind’s already awhirl with countless options for the evening; all of them end with your ability to walk being severely impaired.

(It’s the small things in life.)

The front desk staff already knows you (a credit to how often Lin wrecks your back). A crisply dressed concierge member hands you a heavy metal key when you detour to the desk, then gives you a polite “Have a pleasant stay” as you head over to the elevator banks.

It’s a long, tortuous two minutes to the penthouse.

The penthouse comes with its own butler --something you know rankles Lin, but it’s hotel policy. They greet you when you step off the elevator and usher you into the sitting room.

Lin’s there, stretched out on a velvet upholstered sofa with a pillow propped under her head. Her arms are crossed over her chest, and her mouth is set into a tight scowl.

You can already feel the bruises on your thighs; a shudder runs down your spine. “Rough day?”

Lin grunts, then tries to sit up --only to gasp in pain and stop halfway.

You frown, alarmed. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Lin spits through gritted teeth. She winces as she forces herself to finish sitting up and settles against the couch gingerly. “It’s just my hip.”

You cross your arms over your chest and arch one eyebrow at her. “Somehow, I doubt that.”

“I said I’m fine,” she snaps.

“I’m not having you break my back if yours is already busted.”

The corner of her mouth curls up in a smirk, but only for a moment. “I’m not some fragile, old lady. I know my limits.”

You lift your chin and stare her down. “I’m not consenting.”

Lin scowls and lets out an irritated huff. “Then what the hell are you doing here?”

It stings, just a bit, but you shrug it off and turn to leave. “I’ll let you rest.” You make it halfway to the door, then stop when an idea occurs to you. “Actually...”

Lin looks up when you walk back into the sitting room. “What, change your mind?”

You roll your eyes. “No --but there might be something else I can do for you.”

“Like what?”

“I do have a job aside from letting you fuck my brains out,” you quip, which gets a terse chuckle from the older woman. “I’m a healer. Massage therapy and chiropractic adjustment, with a specialty in dealing with injury and scar tissue rehabilitation.”

Lin stares blankly at you. “Oh.”

You do an internal victory dance; it’s not everyday you manage to surprise Lin Beifong. “I might be able to get you some pain relief.” You purse your lips when her expression sours and put your hands on her hips. “Pride isn’t worth pain, Lin.”

She opens her mouth to argue --then winces again and sighs. “Fine.”

You nod --after a moment to process your shock. “Okay. I’ll need to pick up a couple things from the office I work in.”

She waves one hand and tips her head back against the couch. “Fine.”

You stare at her for a beat, then turn on your heel and head to the door before she can change her mind.

***

It’s times like this that you’re grateful for the invention of the phone.

Thanks to the Spirit Vine blockages and rush hour traffic, it takes an hour to get to your office. You call Lin from there to let her know that’ll likely take you a while to get back --which she accepts with little more than a grunt--then pack up what you need.

Thank Spirits for the invention of the portable massage table, too.

By the time you get back to the Four Elements, the sun is setting (although, for late winter, that’s not surprising). Your foot taps against the floor of the elevator car as it whirs past the countless floors to the penthouse. As soon as the doors open, you exit --the butler lets you into the penthouse proper--and head straight for the sitting room.

Lin’s still there. She’s laying on the couch in the dark with one arm over her eyes.

“I need to turn the light on so I can set up.”

She grunts in response.

You turn on a table lamp, then start setting up your massage table. You keep glancing over at Lin, try to suss out what’s ailing her.

She’s tense --but, then, Lin’s almost always some sort of tense. Her jaw is clenched tight, and her hands are curled into fists. Her whole body looks keyed up, almost like relaxing hurts.

You realize she hasn’t taken her arm away from her eyes. “Light sensitive headache?”

Another grunt.

“Does talking hurt?” When she grunts again, you tut softly in sympathy. You secure the last leg of the massage table, then pick up your fur skein you use to hold water (it’s easier than toting around a bowl) and amble over to the couch. You crouch next to her, study her face and where she’s holding tension for a moment, then quietly ask, “Is it your scars?”

Lin tenses --likely on reflex, you’ve seen it in several trauma patients--but grits out, “Partially.”

“Alright.” You bend some water out of your skein. “I’m going to try to get you some relief so you can open your eyes and talk, okay?” When she nods, you continue. “I’ll need to work on your face, head, and neck. Is it alright if I touch you?”

Lin purses her lips, then takes her arm away from her eyes and nods.

You gently place your hands against her cheeks and use the water to feel along the tissue and muscle there. You can feel the scars --the angry, inflamed, knotted stripes of tissue that streak across her right cheek--and, sure enough, when you start massaging them gently, you can feel the pull of tension shooting into the surrounding muscles, up her forehead and scalp, and down into her neck.

“Yeah, that’s a gnarly one,” you murmur, mostly to yourself, as you try to find the root knot. You move one hand to Lin’s neck and start pressing your fingers against it. “Did you take a hit to the right side of your face recently?”

Lin’s lips curl into a tight smirk. “Got slugged in the face by a perp.”

“Ouch.” You suck a breath through your teeth. “Yeah, that would probably do it.”

“Should see the other guy.”

“Oh, I already knew they’re worse off.” You smile when she chuckles, then focus on feeling out the tension in her shoulders and neck. “Okay, I think I’ve got at least part of the root here. I’ll be able to get the rest of it once we get you over to the table.” You take a deep breath, then place your water-covered hands on her shoulders. “I’m gonna start down and work my way up so that the bigger muscles help the smaller ones release. You’re probably going to feel really warm from all the blood flow moving through the tissues again. If you need me to stop, tell me.”

Lin takes a deep breath to brace herself, then nods. “Just do what you need to do.”

You nod back --out of habit, her eyes are still closed--and start using the water to massage the muscles how you’ve been trained. You knead her shoulders with your waterbending, using the water in her muscle tissue to massage out the adhesions. “Come on,” you mutter as you work at a particularly stubborn knot. “I know you’re not happy; please let go for me…” You smile when you feel the muscle --finally--relax. “Thank you.”

From there, it’s like chasing after an unraveling rope. The release in the shoulder muscles triggers relaxation in Lin’s neck and face; all you have to do is follow along and catch any stragglers.

Lin lets out a gasp, then relaxes against the couch.

“That’s it,” you murmur with a smile as her body goes limp. You focus on the crown of her head, make sure the headache finishes dissipating properly, then bend the remaining water back into your jug once you’re done. “How’s that?”

Lin opens her eyes and blinks. “Feels like I got a full night’s sleep for once.” She pauses, then grimaces. “And like I’ve been out in the sun.”

You laugh quietly and nod. “That’s the blood saturating your muscles and soft tissue. It’ll settle in a bit --slowly!” you hiss, placing your hand against her back to help her sit up. “Don’t fucking undo all my hard work.”

“I’m so sorry,” Lin says, smirking. She lets you help her stand --though she glares at you a little for it--then winces as she straightens.

“Yeah, I figured there’d be more,” you mumble as you look her up and down. “Sit on the center of the table, arms down. Do you mind if I turn on another light so I can see better?”

“That’s fine.”

You turn on another lamp, then skirt around the table so you can better examine the set of Lin’s shoulders and her back. You press your fingers down the length of her spine, checking for resistance. “It’s your left hip that bothers you, right?”

“Yes.”

“That tracks with what I’m seeing,” you mutter as you check her ribs. “Can you turn your head to the left for me? And to the right?” You place your hands on her neck so you can feel the motion of the joints and muscles, then tap the left side of her neck. “You’ve got a lot of resistance here, likely caused by your body trying to correct your favoring your right side. I’m going to do some massage work first; the bones move easier if the muscles are already relaxed.” You step back and dig through the bag you’d brought with you. “Are you sensitive to scents?”

Lin grunts, displeased. “No fucking lavendar.”

You chuckle, then opt for the unscented massage oil, just to be safe. “Shirt and bra off, please, then lay flat on your stomach.”

Even though it’s nothing you haven’t seen before, the sight of Lin Beifong topless is always enough to leave you breathless. The musculature in her back, shoulders, chest, abdomen, arms, even her hands, to say nothing of her tits…

You force yourself to close your mouth before you start drooling.

Lin lies down on her stomach, lets you reposition her arms and adjust the angle of her neck…

You sigh when you realize her hands have curled into fists. “Lin.”

“What?”

“I need you to relax.”

“I am.”

You arch one eyebrow at the back of her head. “For a cop, you’re not a very good liar.”

“Not supposed to be. That’s the attorneys’ job.”

You snort, then shake your head with a sigh. “Lin. Please. It’ll be harder for me if you don’t relax.”

She sighs --and then slowly, reluctantly, she lets her body go limp against the massage table.

You murmur your thanks --and tuck away the interesting fact that she conceded to make things easier for you--then pour some massage oil onto your hand and rub it between your palms. Once your hands are warm, you place them on Lin’s upper back and start working.

There’s a lot to work on. Between Lin’s sheer muscle mass and the stress-slash-physical wear and tear of her job, there’s knots and adhesions all over her back.

Lin grunts when something near her left scapula goes crunch. “What was that?”

“Gristle,” you reply with a smile. When she scoffs, you laugh. “I’m serious. The muscles around the shoulder blades get used a lot. The knots that form give the muscle tissue about the same consistency as gristle.” You dig your thumb into another line of knotted muscle and press it through. “Crunch, crunch, crunch. Do you do any yoga or regular stretching?”

“I do some stretching as part of my workout routine.”

“Good, good. I’d recommend adding some upper body stretches to your regimen; it’d help with all the tension you carry up here.”

Lin snorts, low and soft. “Whatever you say, kid.”

***

It’s slow work. There’s a lot of trauma and scarring on and in Lin’s body --no surprise there, given her line of work.

You switch back to waterbending-based healing when you get to her left hip. You grimace when you feel how inflamed the joint is, then start working on calming the irritated and overworked tendons. “You need to take it easier on the job.”

“I need to do my job properly,” Lin fires back, sucking in a breath when you adjust her hip further.

You switch to pain relief techniques. “You won’t be doing your job at all if you destroy the joint.”

Lin grumbles under her breath, but doesn’t argue further.

Once you’re done with the massage work, you let her get dressed before having her lie down on her back. “Have you had a chiropractic adjustment before?”

“Yes.”

“Alright, good. I’m going to work on your back first.” You put a padded board underneath her back, then have her cross her arms over her chest --one atop the other, hands on her shoulders so her arms make a ‘V’ shape. “Alright, curl your chin up.” You put one arm around her, supporting her back, then help her up so you can put your fist between Lin’s back and the board. “Okay, deep breath in… and let it out.”

Lin grunts when you roll her down over your hand and something in her back pops. “Shit.”

You freeze. “Are you okay?”

“Fine. Keep going.”

You keep working up her back, then take the board out from under her back once you’re done. “How does that feel?”

Lin shifts experimentally. “Better.”

“Good, good.” You move to stand at the head of the massage table and start palpating her shoulders and neck. “Alright, let me take the weight of your head in my hands.” You gently turn her head to the left, feeling for any resistance. “Just let your body relax… okay…” You get her neck in position, feeling out where the tension rests. “Tilt your chin up for me, please.” You adjust your grip on her head. “Alright, deep breath in, then out…” You wait for her to exhale, then jerk her head to the left.

Lin groans when her neck cracks. “That felt good.”

“I bet.” You repeat the process for the right side, then have Lin roll on her sides so you can adjust her lower back. “Lay back down, I want to check your knees and ankles.”

Lin arches one eyebrow at you. “Is that… normal?”

“They can be safely adjusted, if that’s what you mean.” You flash her a teasing grin as you walk down the side of the massage table. “Besides, call it a hunch.”

“What ‘hunch?’”

By way of response, you start feeling around her knees and ankles. You nod, then laugh. “Yep. Definitely an earthbender.”

Lin smirks up at the ceiling. “Your first hint was?”

“You lot are rough on your ankles and knees. All that stomping around. I can tell just by how jammed up everything is in here.” You adjust her knees, then move to her ankles --and frown. “What the hell kind of shoes are you wearing, day to day?”

“My uniform boots.”

You squint at her from the base of the massage table. “The metal ones? With the retractable soles so you can use your seismic sense when needed?”

“...Yes.” Lin lifts her head, then chuckles when she sees the stink eye you’re giving her. “They’re practical.”

“They have no support for your joints,” you fire back. You smack her shin --albeit not harshly--when she lets out a huff of laughter, then set about adjusting her ankles. “Stubborn old fart.”

Lin snorts. “Pigheaded kid.”

You smile and shake your head.

***

By the time you finish, it’s nearly ten. The sky is dark, save for the few visible stars --thanks, light pollution--and the sounds of the city have wound down to a gentle roar.

Lin stands, stretches, then lets out a sigh of relief when there’s no pain or resistance. “Thanks.”

You wave your hand as you go about packing up your supplies. “No problem. I wasn’t about to let you suffer.”

Lin nods after a moment, then pads over to a nearby desk. “How much do you charge for your services?”

You gape. “I-- Lin, no--”

“I can always pick a number at random.”

Your mouth snaps shut. You sigh, but acquiesce (mostly because you’re certain she’ll pick an absurdly high amount just to get a rise out of you). You rattle off a price --an expensive price, maybe worth two or three day’s work in total--then accept the check Lin hands you moments later. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

You huff a little --it still feels weird, taking a friend-but-not-friend’s money--as you tuck the check in your bag --and then your stomach decides to imitate a dying whale.

“I’m guessing you didn’t have dinner,” Lin surmises.

You shrug. “Kind of hard to give a massage and eat at the same time.”

The corner of Lin’s mouth quirks up. She nods to a nearby phone. “Kang’s is still open, if you want to put in an order.”

“...Okay.”

This entire night is a break in your usual routine. Massage and chiropractic work aside, normally you’re either headed home or in the middle of being fucked into the nearest solid surface by now. There’s no casual hanging out --and, sure, Lin’s ordered take out for the two of you on occasion, when you were both hungry, but all this still feels… different.

(You’re not sure what’s scarier, the change or the fact that part of you likes it.)

You put in the order --fortunately, Lin’s ordered from Kang’s before, so you know what she likes--then put down the phone just as the clock strikes ten. “Oh! Murder Mystery Theater is on!”

Lin looks over at you. “What?”

“It’s a crime-drama radio show. They run a new show every week.” You gesture to the radio. “Do you mind?” You take Lin’s hand wave as the permission it is, and turn on the radio before tuning it to the right station.

The sound of slightly muffled string instruments floats out the speaker.

“This week! On Murder Mystery Theater…”

You make yourself comfortable in an armchair that matches the velvet upholstered sofa. The new shows air at nine, so this one’s a rerun, but you recognize it as one of your favorites --a dramatic game of cat and mouse between the intrepid detectives and a serial killer hiding in plain sight.

Five minutes in, and you realize that Lin’s listening along, even as she reads from a newspaper. You catch her looking over at the radio or staring off into space while she processes the story unfolding before her.

Eventually, she flips to the next page of the paper and says, “The doctor did it. He gets off on killing his patients.”

You raise your eyebrows as you look over at her. You already know she’s wrong --it’s the mortician’s assistant, who so happens to be the doctor’s son. A smile stretches across your lips as an idea forms in your brain. “Wanna bet?”

Lin looks up from the paper and smirks at you. “What’s your wager?”

You mull it over, then grin wickedly. “If you’re wrong, I get to use the cuffs on you at some point.”

Lin scoffs and sets the paper down on the coffee table in front of the sofa with a thwap. “And what could you possibly offer to make that a balanced wager?”

“If you’re right… I’ll behave for a night. Whatever you want, no complaining, no fighting.”

Lin’s eyes light up. She smirks, then extends a hand out to you.

You grin and shake her hand.

***

Dinner arrives halfway through the show. You and Lin eat in the sitting room, listening to the show while eating (spicy possum chicken with steamed vegetables and rice for her, braised hippo beef with spring rolls for you).

“--but Jang said she was with her husband at an evening show until eleven.”

“...Which means he can’t have been playing cards with his friends at ten.”

“Not unless he’s a Spirit. Come on, I’ll drive. Let’s go see if Lee remembers this ‘show’ he went to with the missus.”

“This isn’t half bad,” Lin comments around half a mouthful of possum chicken.

“I thought you liked Kang’s,” you fire back, even though you caught her meaning the first time.

She rolls her eyes, swallows, then continues. “I meant the show. Its description of police procedure is actually on point.”

“The creator shadowed police departments in the Earth Kingdom and the Fire Nation for over a year before writing the first episode,” you explain before biting into a spring roll. You chew, swallow, then add, “He used to work as a PR rep for law enforcement when they had to work difficult cases.”

Lin nods, impressed. “It’s definitely better than all the crime family and love triangle shit that gets put out there.”

“Well… that stuff happens, doesn’t it?”

“Not the way the media likes to write it.”

You concede with a shrug --then perk up when you realize the script is heading towards the twist reveal. You shove the rest of your spring roll into your mouth to keep from tipping off Lin to your “insider information.”

“Lee Jang is a servant to this city. He’s been my coworker for three years! I think I’d know if he was a psychopath murderer.”

Lin’s brows knit together. She sets down her container of chicken and glares at the radio. “The mortician’s assistant?”

You shrug and take another bite of your entree to keep from grinning like an idiot. “Eh, there’s still time for things to shake out different. Each show always has a twist.”

Except it doesn’t “shake out different.” The mortician’s assistant is arrested, there’s a few brief trial scenes, and then it ends with an allocution when it’s apparent that the case isn’t going in the defendant’s favor.

Lin tosses her chopsticks against the coffee table and slumps back against the couch with a disgusted scowl. “Fucking dammit.”

“I guess that makes me the winner.” You tidy up your take out trash, pretending to pay Lin no mind as she glares holes into the side of your skull.

There’s no hiding your smug sense of victory --especially from a seasoned detective such as Lin Beifong.

She narrows her eyes. “You knew how the story would end.”

You lift your gaze to meet hers and smile, smug and unrepentant. “New shows air at nine. Reruns air at ten.”

Lin rolls her eyes. “So you cheated.”

“The odds are always in the house’s favor.” Your smile slips when you take in her obvious discomfort and displeasure. “We don’t have to hold the deal if you’re that upset about it.”

Her gaze cuts over to you. She studies you for a minute, then relaxes minutely and shakes her head. “It’s fine. A deal’s a deal.”

You’d argue, but something in her eyes --a familiar glint you’re accustomed to seeing before starts undressing you, or spanking you, or bending you over the nearest flat surface--makes you stop. Your cunt throbs, and you push through it by crossing your legs. “Alright, then. I’ll let you know when I want to collect.”

Lin rolls her eyes --but she’s smiling, just a hint. “Brat.”

“Funny, I thought that was why you liked me.”

Lin merely rolls her eyes again (but you swear you see her smile get bigger, just a bit).

You stand, stretch, then turn off the radio when it switches to a commercial. You eye the clock, then groan when you realize it’s almost eleven. “Dammit. I didn’t realize it was so late.”

It’s too late for a cab --again--or the hotel’s car service. Lin could drive you, but it’d be forever to get to your apartment building from here (thank you Spirit Vines and bureaucracy for impeding the city infrastructure).

Lin glances at the clock, then stands and starts clearing her share of the take out trash. “Stay here. Use the second bedroom.”

You nod, grateful (it’s not the first time you’ve stayed over with her at the hotel, given that the Spirit Vine roadblocks aren’t exactly new). “Thanks.”

Lin nods--

And then the two of you just stare at each other.

(Because, while this isn’t the first time you spent the night in her hotel suite, normally she fucks you in your bed, then heads to her own bedroom once you’re sated and on the verge of passing out.

But, if it wasn’t clear, this isn’t exactly “normal procedure.”)

Lin moves first. She nods again --awkward and jerky--then carries her trash over the bin in the kitchen before striding off to the room she usually uses. “I’m going to bed. Good night.”

“Good night,” you reply, soft enough that you’re not sure she hears you. You blink when the door to her bedroom thumps shut, then sigh and force yourself to clean up and head for bed as well.

(Despite the luxurious mattress and bedding, sleep is a long time coming.)

[theyreonlynoodlesmike]

Melting Wax, Crawling Vines: Part 3 (Vincent Sinclair x Fem!Reader)

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Warnings: character death, intent to kidnap, violence, abusive relationships, domestic physical and verbal abuse, blood mention, stalking, basically the reader has been in her own horror movie

Word Count: 3302

Basically, when I said this was gonna be the darkest thing I ever wrote, this was one of the chapters I was talking about. Vincent is coming the next chapter though!!

@meanduck

You were at your sister's house, and you'd almost been able to relax. It had been three weeks since you'd left your ex, three weeks since you'd seen him. 

At first, he'd been heavenly. You'd cultivated your relationship, thinking that the pair of you were growing together. It wasn't until you'd been with him for a few years that you realized you hadn't. You hadn't grown together, he'd grown around you . He'd grown around your life like vines around a tree, taking root in your soul and wrapping tightly around your every activity. And, at first, you didn't even mind it. Your parents had passed away during your relationship and you'd only had your sister and him to keep you going. You thought he was simply keeping you upright, from falling over and being consumed by the earth. That he held you up and kept you growing. Until you found that his leaves were soaking up all your sun.

It'd been little things at first. Comments here or there. Things he would never say in front of your friends or your sister. Just things that chipped at your self esteem. Then, the comments became yelling at you until you cried. Then- You shook your head. You didn't want to think about the shiner on your cheekbone or your busted lip. You hadn't looked at a mirror in the entire week you'd been at your sister's. Usually, you'd been able to cover up the results of his anger, and you'd made sure to avoid anyone until it faded into something a little easier to explain. But a shiner right near your eye and a busted lip? One surprise visit from your sister was all it took for you to crumble, to tell her everything. You tried to explain that it wasn't his fault, that he just got angry sometimes, but she'd packed you away in her truck and had about a quarter of your things at her house the next day. 

He had called. Over, and over, and over. Your sister picked up the phone each time, and had started hanging up the second she heard his voice after only a day of his insistent calls. She helped you build yourself back up, even if you'd only break back down the next day. And she even insisted that you file a restraining order. You'd been granted a PFA, and you'd finally gotten an official restraining order earlier that week. Some of your friends still couldn't believe what they heard, and you figured not all of those ties were going to last. Especially when he was in their ear. So, you spent most of your time at your sister's house, which had grown quiet ever since he'd been given notice. No calls, no voicemails, nothing. You were almost at peace living with her.

The pair of you were sitting in her living room, eating ice-cream and watching reruns. You'd reached over to give her hand a squeeze, a silent thank you. She'd decided to stay home from work that night, simply because you weren't sure you'd be able to withstand the night by yourself. She'd understood, and she'd told you,

"They can manage without me tonight." She was a waitress at the nearby diner, one she'd been working at ever since you were teenagers. She always made the same joke. You were the one that went to college, she was the one that waited tables. That was just that. Your parents hadn't had enough money to send you both, and you felt a little bad about it now, but you were sure you could make it up. Once school started again in September, you could help her pay for her house. Maybe she could take time off and take some night classes. Even if she assured you she was content with how things were every time you brought it up, you thought it could be good for her. Helping her was easier than helping yourself, after all.

When a commercial began to play, both of you groaned.

"They always pick the worst times." Your sister said as she fumbled for the remote. You leaned back, sucking on your spoon as you said,

"That's, like, the point. They wanna keep you in suspense." You said, and she rolled her eyes before she started flipping through the channels to find something to watch until the commercials were over.

"Suspense, my ass." She said, and you stifled your laugh with another bite of the frozen treat. She smiled at you, and, for the first time in a really long time, you felt safe again.

***

"I thought a beer might fit the occasion better." Bo said, and you accepted the drink all the same. He might've been right about that, and you watched as he flipped the cap off for you before handing you the drink. You took a long swig, having sat up, and wiped your mouth after you pulled the bottle away from it. You stared down at the green bottle in your hands, wondering where you should even start. At the beginning? You thought. 

But where was that? Your first date? His first comment? The first time he hit you? You took another swig. You decided that that night was the only really important night. But you hadn't even pried open the wound yet and it already stung. You played with the rim of the bottle opening as you began,

"I wasn't completely honest with you, Lester. I'm not just moving. I'm- I'm running away-" You stopped yourself to take another swig. It was hard to admit, but how else could you say it? You were running. To a new town, a new job. A whole new life in hopes of abandoning him with the one you'd left behind. The boys had gone quiet to let you talk, but Lester pressed on by asking,

"From what?" And you grimaced. It wasn't a what. The monster in your nightmares, the person that had plagued your young adult life. He wasn't a what, even if he acted like it sometimes. Even if it would be easier to understand him if he was a what.

"A who." You quietly corrected. You stared down at the bottle, missing the look the boys shared. "I'm running from a who. He, um," You paused, blinking quickly to push back the tears before just screwing your eyes shut altogether. The palm of your hand pressed against the bridge of your brow as the images of that night flooded back.

***

Just after that feeling began to settle, you heard a sound of a car hitting gravel. Both of your heads turned and it only took a second for both of you to realize who it was. You'd both seen the car time and time again over the years. In a second, all safety had snapped. Your sister was launching herself off the couch, heading straight for the front door and scooping the phone up on the way. She was already dialing 911, but there was a pause. His car door didn't open and his feet didn't hit the gravel. You didn't have time to figure out what had stalled him, because your sister was already talking to the cops. She was already telling them about the restraining order and that he was here, unannounced. You were frozen on the couch, and all you could do was listen. Your heart was beating out of your chest and your mind was fuzzy. What was he doing? Why is he here?  

There were a million possibilities and then one made itself clear, one that shook you and made a cold sweat appear on the back of your neck. Your sister was supposed to work tonight. You were supposed to be alone.

When that door finally slammed, you threw the ice-cream out of your hands the second you realized. He wouldn't come through the front. He wasn't stupid. You ran to the back, locking the door just as a dark figure appeared through the blinds. A silhouette outlined by the setting sun. Your sister was grabbing you, yanking you away from it as the handle shook. He was trying to get in. You could feel tears beading at your eyes, but your sister was slapping a hand over your mouth when you heard the glass shatter and tugging you under the dining room table.

***

You didn't have the words to describe what he was. He was a lot of things, and summing him up seemed just a little too difficult in your current state. You waved a hand, waving away their hands when they reached out to touch you. You didn't need to be consoled. Well, perhaps you did, but you weren't sure you'd be able to keep your composure if you were. You didn't want to cry in front of strangers, especially ones you'd just fainted in front of. Instead, you tried to focus on telling them what you knew. You started with how you knew him.

"My ex-boyfriend. He, um, he's really-" Psychotic. Abusive. Violent . "Dangerous." That was the word you landed on. "I left my hometown to start over and to, well, leave him behind. But, he," You stared at your hands, before you took another swig. "He found my new apartment complex. That's why I-" You said, gesturing your hand to point out the current situation. You heard Bo suck in a breath. You looked up, seeing that he was lifting his brows and shaking his head. When you looked at Lester, he was rubbing the back of his neck. They were quiet for a moment, before Bo gave you a pat on your leg. His tone seemed to shift, a charming facade replacing it.

"Well, y'know, maybe he just wants to talk. Just wants closure. I mean, you did date him, so he can't be that bad." Bo said, and your face fell. His eyes followed the change, and his own attempt at a smile faded. You knew he couldn't have known. That he was just trying to be polite and make you feel better. You knew you shouldn't take it personally or snap at him. But, you couldn't help the coldness of your voice when you said,

"He killed my twin sister. The only closure he wants is to finish the job." And you downed the rest of the bottle.

***

You and your sister had been hiding. Under the table while he checked the living room, darting towards the living room the second he went back into the kitchen. He'd been talking the entire time. Almost as if he wanted you to know where he was,

"Yoo-hoo. I didn't expect you to be home tonight, I'll tell you that. But that's fine. I'm here to take your sister home." You'd heard him head towards the other side of the house, back towards the laundry room and the guest bathroom. "A restraining order? Now, I thought maybe she was just going to take some time to herself. Realize how much she missed me. But I got that notice and, well, I knew you'd stuck your hooks in deep." You could almost imagine him wagging his finger. He was heading towards your sister's study. "Y'know, you two might be identical, but," He paused. You could practically see him shaking his head. "I could always tell the difference. My baby she's just- She's a little softer, ain't she? And she's got that smile." He whistled. "No wonder all those kids listen to her. She could stop traffic with that smile. She's here, ain't she? Well, honey, stop hiding, okay? Just stop hiding, and we'll go home. I won't do nothing. Promise." And you could nearly hear him cross over his heart. Your sister placed a finger over her lips, and you held a hand over your mouth to muffle your cries. As if she believed you might really sell them out, surrender yourselves to him. She peeked over the couch, before she was dragging you by your hand towards the central stairway. She peeked past the banister, her china closet and umbrella holder on your left. You looked around, making sure he wasn't coming back. He was being quiet now, and the silence made it so the only thing you could hear was your heartbeat thumping in your ears. You looked down. There, leaning against the china closet, was a wooden baseball bat. You wrapped your hand around it, tugging it close to you as you sister leaned close to whisper,

"We head for the attic, close the stairs, and wait for the police to come. Okay? Don't look behind you and just run." She said, and you gave her a nod. But, just as you rounded the corner and got halfway up the stairs, you heard the slap of your ex's hand against the banister.

"Gotcha." You turned, and you didn't think. You swung, surprising the man and hitting him square across the face. Right across the mouth. In all the years you'd dated, you'd never once striked him. You hit him again, the force behind the blow making him fall back and land on his back. You wanted to hit him again. Make sure he wouldn't follow you up the stairs. Make sure he wouldn't bother you ever again. A rush of adrenaline had gone through you, and you knew it would be so easy. One or two more purposeful swings and you'd never have to worry about him again. But your sister was yanking the bat out of your grasp and pulling you up the stairs.

He was down, but he wasn't out. The second the pair of you had gotten the stairs to the attic down, you heard the top stair behind you creak. Your sister had ushered you to go up first. To get to safety. But you turned around, seeing that, while his mouth was bleeding, he could walk fine. 

"You bitch." He cursed, taking a step towards you on the landing. Your sister swung the bat, just as you did, but the element of surprise was gone. He caught the swing, and you hadn't been able to see the look on your sister's face as he yanked her forward by it. "Fuck you." He said to her, and you screamed a cry of,

"No!" As he wrestled the bat out of her grasp and threw her down the stairs. You stared, unblinking. People fell down the stairs before and walked away completely fine. And some didn't. Your sister laid in a heap, unmoving. You'd heard the sickening crack, the sound of bone crunching. A sound that let you know that she wasn't going to get up. She wasn't going to save you this time. You'd frozen, staring at the girl at the bottom of the stairs. At the face that had matched your own, but who's eyes had gone blank. He'd practically leapt towards you. His hands on your arms, his grip tight enough to crush bone. His breath was hot in your face as he spat out the words, 

"You think you can leave me? You think what she got was bad? When I'm done with you, you'll wish it was you at the bottom of the stairs." But the next sound was the sound of a siren, and you watched as your ex's head swiveled towards the door. Again, you didn't think. You threw your head forward, headbutting him hard enough to make your ears ring and to knock him back. You'd hit him right in the nose, and it was gushing blood. His grip loosened and you pushed him the rest of the way. You pushed yourself to turn around, scampering up the stairs. You yanked the stairs up just as he tried to pull himself up, and brought the string with you. You sat there, holding onto the string so tight that your knuckles had turned white. You were breathing heavily, and a sob racked through you as what just happened finally caught up to you. You laid on the floor of the basement, the smell of dust clogging your nose as you cried. For the first time in your entire life, you were completely alone.

***

"You hit him with a bat?" Bo asked, a soft chuckle of surprise leaving his lips. You'd explained what happened, how he'd broken in after hearing about the restraining order. If Bo hadn't already refilled your hand with another beer, you would probably be mortified that you were telling them this much. 

"And broke his nose." You said after taking a swig, wiping your lips with your sleeve once again. That was the only bit of satisfaction you'd gotten from the situation, even if regret outweighed it in multitudes. "I-I know it's not good to say this, but I really," You paused to take another swig. "I really wish she'd let me finish it. Then, then," The words were thick in your throat. "Then, she would've lived." You gestured with the bottle for a moment, your mouth opening as if you had more to say, before you snapped it closed. You were staring straight ahead, refusing to meet either of their gazes. Even if they seemed warmer than ever. "I should've killed that sonovabitch." You mumbled to yourself, taking another long swig until there was only about an inch left in the bottle. You sighed and pinched the bridge of your nose. "I need to- I need to call my friends. Tell them what happened." You were moving to get up, moving to stand. But Bo was placing a hand on your shoulder and saying,

"No, no. That's not a good idea, darlin'." And your gaze turned confused. His voice was as charming as ever as he said words that disturbed you to no end. "Obviously, one of them is a rat. How else would he have found you?" He asked, and you stared at him. Perhaps you were drunk, or maybe he was truly right. You looked away, considering the idea. "Or maybe one of them didn't mean to give it away. Either way," He sighed, shaking his head. "The less people know the better."

"Well, I've gotta- I've gotta head home then. He'll think I'm- I'm in my new town-" But Bo was cutting you off again.

"Listen, honey, if I was a crazy psycho like that guy," He said, making a gesture with his thumb. "The next place I'd look for you is in your hometown. Now, you were gonna have to stay the night in Ambrose anyways, right? I haven't even started on your car." He pulled back, throwing up his hands. "And Ambrose isn't even on a map. So , the smartest thing to do is to stay here, in this house, until you figure out your next move." And maybe you were just drunk, but Bo was making perfect sense. Still, you said,

"I couldn't- I couldn't ask that of you. I don't have money to pay rent and I don't- I probably can't even pay for my car- "

"You're not asking, I'm offering." He said, poking a finger at you and then at him. "And, as for payment, I'm sure we can work something out. Now, I-" He looked up, glancing at Lester. "Wouldn't feel like a good christian if I just let you leave after hearing a story like that. You'll stay in Ambrose, and we'll look after you until you figure out what to do." And you could feel your lip trembling as you looked at the man. You launched yourself forward, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck and hugged him before you could even think twice. He seemed surprised, and he awkwardly pat your back as you whispered a mantra of,

"Thank you." Over and over.

[ace-in-a-shopping-cart]

Jewel of the Sea: Chapter 4: Escape and Meeting

Chapter 3

Main Taglist: (Send an ask to be added or removed!) @starlocked01​​​ @spoopy-turtle​​​ @lizluvscupcakes​​ @more-fandon-than-friends​, @i-cant-find-a-good-username, @vindicatedvirgil, @star-crossed-shipper, @justaqueercactus, @gayboopnoodle, @sanderssidesweirdo

Little Mermaid AU Taglist: @5-falsehoods-phonated, @vindicatedvirgil, @starlocked01, @viva-la-pluto-dam-you,@pan-immortal-jefferson-starships, @acetatertot, @silvarraven, @logan-positivity, @virgil-positivity, @sandersidesblog24, @luella-the-homosexual, @positivitykitty

Word Count: 1,710

Virgil was woken the next morning when the transition from fins to legs happened. Luckily, it wasn’t as painful as Virgil thought it would be. It felt like his tail and the fins that crept up his sides had simply fallen asleep, a pins and needles kind of pain. The fins on his sides seemed to flatten and retreat into his skin. His tail split apart, starting from the median notch in between his flukes. That pain was a bit sharper but nothing he couldn’t handle. Soon, the scales were almost melting into skin, and he was left with nothing but his shirt. The only piece of clothing he had came down to the middle of the leg, what the pirates called ‘knees’. 

Virgil had a full turn of the moon to get used to having legs and knees as, through the gap in the tarp, he watched the pirates go about their days and he waited for an opportunity to escape. His tank was just long enough that he could stand and walk a few steps. It was hard at first, like a newborn human must walk. Eventually, he understood how to do it. The rocking of the boat and the confines of the tank must have made his walking pattern weird and unlike most humans’. He saw the way the pirates walked and tried to follow that but understood that they were most likely the exception and not the rule based on how the cliff figure walked. He tried to match the way Logan walked but it was hard when all he had to go off were memories created at a distance.

The day to escape arrived sooner than Virgil thought it would but, judging by the phases of the moon, it was still a week or two after Remy showed up. Most of the pirates, including Remus, had gone down to the town for a break while the sun was high in the sky. The rest of the crew seemed to have gone into the ship for a nap or something. Either way, the coast was clear.

Virgil filled the cup with water and grabbed the scrap of paper before he slid out of the hole Remy made and landed heavily on the floor. His first steps outside of water were heavier than he thought they’d be as he didn’t have the water to cushion him. Needless to say, his steps alerted the pirates that he was moving.

He tried to go faster, feeling himself pick up speed. He had been unsure how fast or long he could go but soon figured out that it was at least a bit faster than the pirates as he made it over the gangplank and into the woods that surrounded the beach, pausing just long enough to empty the water into the sand, where it could be returned to its kind. Virgil knew the ship hadn’t moved from where he was first captured, the gangplank reaching all the way to the wooden structure jutting out from the beach, probably because the pirates wanted to see if anyone would come for him.

Knowing he was faster than the pirates, he pushed himself to his limit, running as if he were being chased by an angry kelpie instead of mere men. The same muscles he used for swimming were turned into muscles to be used for running, causing him to be able to have a higher stamina and endurance than the others. It didn’t help his subtlety as he had no idea how to avoid the smaller plants or the low hanging branches. This resulted in even more cuts along his legs, the ones from his tail having transferred over, and new ones forming on his face and arms and chest as he tried to block. The only direction he had was to keep the cliff to his right. If it was always there, he’d be running away from the pirates and that’s all that mattered in the moment. He couldn’t keep himself from shooting glances backwards, hoping to outrun the pirates.

Not looking where he was going, Virgil didn’t notice the large tree that laid in his path until he tripped over it. He rolled downhill for a little while, hands desperately reaching for anything that would stabilize him or slow his descent in any way. In time, he managed to hang onto a tree root that was sticking out of the side of the hill, stopping him in his tracks and letting him be deeply aware of the new cuts on his palms. 

“Are you okay?” A voice sounded from behind Virgil.

He spun around, hands still clenched around the root, looking for the person who spoke. Finding that he was at a level enough area that it was safe to release the root, he did so. Standing, he tried to brush himself off but was met with bloody palms. “You know, I don’t know if I am.” He said by way of a response, still breathing heavily.

A hand came to rest on his shoulder, causing his eyes to move from his palms up to the stranger’s eyes. This, in turn, caused him to realize that the stranger wasn’t as much of a stranger as he thought. He found those seaglass blue eyes staring at him, laced with concern and compassion in a way that oddly made Virgil feel safe and like crying at the same time. “Can I help at all?” The cliff figure, Logan’s, voice was smooth and soft, like he was speaking to a spooked sea otter.

Virgil shrugged, feeling tears gather in his eyes even as he wanted to bury his head in the stranger’s chest, searching for a comfort he would usually find in his siblings. “I don’t know.”

Logan nodded as if he understood exactly what Virgil just said. “Well, may I ask why you were running through the woods in nothing but what looks to be a potato sack?”

Virgil looked down at his garment, seeing it was quite torn from the run. “I was running from someone.”

The man nodded, removing his hand from Virgil’s shoulder. Virgil mourned the loss of contact. Logan untied a black and white piece of cloth from around his waist, tying it around Virgil’s with the knot on his hip. He nodded as if satisfied before walking over to a contraption Virgil recognized from Logan’s many trips to the cliff. It was some device that he was able to sit on and travel distances that mers were usually only able to travel if they tamed a kelpie, which was hard and extremely dangerous. Virgil was wary of the land kelpie that didn’t look like a kelpie, taking a step away from it. 

Logan seemed to notice him do that. “It’s alright, I’m not going to leave you.” As if that were to help calm Virgil down.

His ears pricked as he heard the sounds of people in the plants behind him. He took a few hesitant steps closer as Logan opened a chest-like compartment in the back of the land kelpie. He grabbed what seemed to be a head covering and thrust it into Virgil’s hands. “Hurry and put this on, I can hear the people gaining on you.”

Virgil did as he was told, sliding the head covering on and latching the strap. Once he did that, Logan came over and checked the strap, his own head covering already on. “It looks good. Okay, hop on.”

He straddled the land kelpie, his hands gripping what looked to be horns protruding from the front. Virgil didn’t like the look of the horns but they didn’t look sharp enough to do any damage so he slid on behind Logan, the seat causing them to be quite close together. Logan looked back at him, his eyes shining with something Virgil couldn’t name. “Hold on tight.”

Virgil did so, his arms wrapping around Logan’s waist and locking into the fabric of the front of his shirt. Logan did something to cause the land kelpie to roar and they were off, leaving the woods behind in favor of a long stretch of open land. The wind was too much and Virgil ended up with his face in Logan’s back, breathing his scent deeply. Virgil had never been good with earth scents but Logan smelled like the woods they just left and seawater. He smelled as close to home as Virgil had smelled for weeks and he couldn’t get enough.

✴ ✴ ✴

Logan let out a loud laugh as the wind buffeted his hair, his leather jacket wrapped snugly around him along with the stranger’s arms. His motorcycle roared as he hit the gas, not only wanting to get away from whoever was chasing the poor man but also desperate to be home and having his wounds cared for. He drove down the highway before using the exit that took him to the area in which his home resided. He had planned on visiting the cliff he usually went to at this time of day, having finally gotten a clean bill of health from his doctor after three weeks of bedrest, only to be sidetracked by an interesting looking feather on the ground. He’d never seen it before and knew it didn’t come from any local wildlife.

However, he’d been distracted by the handsome stranger falling down the hill to his right. The man was covered in cuts and bruises that couldn’t have all come from the undergrowth and low hanging branches. He had a wild look in his stormy gray eyes when he was falling, a look that came from being caged or lost in the wilderness. When he had stopped sliding, he’d been breathing heavily and his legs were unsteady as a newborn deer’s, his hair that looked black but would be purple when dry sticking to his scalp and covering an eye. Logan had tried to be gentle and kind but the man looked like he was about to cry when he turned around. So, Logan did the only thing he could in that moment: offer help. Now, the man was holding onto him as if he’d never let go and Logan’s heart ached for him.

Chapter 5

[inheritorofmemories-archive]

This is my gift for @lilolilyr for the Andromaquynh Secret Santa. You asked for a hurt/comfort fic, and I delivered. Hope you enjoy it, and happy holidays! Ich hoffe, dieses Geschenk findet dich gesund und glücklich <3

I’m putting it under a cut for length purpose and here is the link to the fic on AO3.

~

Lost and found again out there among the paths

The stars are bright, cold and unreachable, hung high in the firmament.

They haven’t changed in all of her centuries gone. The names are different but the same figures look down on her, the gaze of the Ursa and the Swan’s tail, the Crane hidden under the horizon in these parts of the world.

She isn’t ready to see her homelands yet, but this is enough. This is good. The Steppe hasn’t changed either, the same grass covering the earth everywhere she looks, the sun burning her skin as the winds surround her. It all feels so familiar, the sights, the animals, the long days of travel. Andromache, sitting by her side, walking by her side, sleeping by her side. Andromache, Andy, Andreas, Hadriana, Anath and so many other names forgotten by time. And still, she’s here, with her.

They are not riding horses but it doesn’t matter, Quỳnh would crawl to the end of the world with Andromache. They left their jeep three days ago at the entrance of those lands and they’ve been traveling by feet since then. The pace is slow but that’s what they both need. Peace, to be able to feel the grain of time slip through their fingers, not lost in the confusion of the modern world and its obsession with going so fast nothing matters anymore.

They talk as they walk, share memories and new stories, but mostly they walk, side by side, hand brushing and glances shared in the intimacy of the wide and open Steppe. Even the wind taste familiar in these moments. Quỳnh watches a lot, at night when the sun has gone down, she watches Andromache’s profile lightened only by the fire in front of her. Shadows dances in her temples and cheekbones and her pale eyes are drawn to the flames, mirrors bright with life. Quỳnh wishes she could bridge the distance between them as easily as they used to.

~

When the salt finally ate through her bound of iron, when the ocean took mercy on her, when Quỳnh broke out of her prison the first thing she felt after the burn of air in her lungs was an indescribable fury. A mad feeling seething in her heart that she mistook as anger, resentment. But it wasn’t that at all, she now recognizes it. She felt shame, because she knew then, crawling on the rocky beach away from the cold ocean that it happened. She had been broken, after millenniums of riding the world without a care, a handful of lunatics had done it.

She feared she had become nothing but a shell of the woman she was once. An’ always said she was like a sword, sharp edges and unforgiving. She used to joke that no one but her love’s skilled hands could handle her, that it was meant to be the two of them. It felt good, to know she would always have a resting place with Andromache.

She feared she lost herself in the ocean, that despite how hard she kept her faith in Andromache, how hard she clung to life, suffering over and over through the pain of drowning, of burning water suffocating her lungs, she feared she lost it all. That Andromache wouldn’t have that sacred place for her anymore, that she had become monstrous at the eternity spend in a cage.  That despite how bright of a beacon it has been, her love somehow couldn’t be enough to save her. That their love wasn’t enough.

She was mad, furious at what happened to her, but more than anything she was scared. Scared of this new world, of what it had become and what she missed. Scared that she’d never find her family, that she would never have a home with them again.

And now, in a twisted play from fate, she is scared of losing Andromache.

She is so scared, like she has never been. Before seeing that damned iron coffin, nothing frightened her, for she had Andromache. Even the coffin didn’t fill her with as much dread as the sight of those bruises on Andromache’s cheek did when she finally found her again with the spy’s contacts the drunkard gave her. She wondered, has she lost her? Has she lost part of her soul? Did she cause this cruel fate?

~

They left the family a week ago. They needed time alone they said as they were packing their bags. Quỳnh needs time alone with Andromache, to be only with her, like they had been for so long before meeting Yusuf and Nicolò. She missed them, but looking at them doesn’t hurt like it does when she watches Andromache’s face. Andy said she had to leave, to be alone for a while, away from it all. It warmed Quỳnh’s cold chest that she was included in her idea of alone, that alone without Quỳnh means not whole, not complete, lacking.

They took a plane and flew all the way to the Great Steppe. At least it hasn't changed since she was gone, unlike her homelands. There’s still a bitter taste when she sees what happened to her mountains and her coastlines. Andromache says it gets easier after a few years, but she’s not sure she wants this to be more bearable, to get used to it.

They’ve been playing a game lately, “what hasn’t changed” she calls it. It started a few months ago when she finally grew tired of being reminded of everything new she missed the creation of. She looked at Yusuf who had been explaining to her some new gadget she had no interest in learning about that night and challenged him to find five things in the room that she knew of. It’s been easier talking with him since then, almost like before. The rules are simple, list everything that stayed the same through the centuries she wasn’t there for. Nicolò’s uncanny words, Yusuf’s bright eyes. The stars. An’s sweet tooth. The way Quỳnh still wields blades with the same grace; she can still spar with Yusuf in their shared Viet, Greek and Persian tongues.

Her love’s face hasn’t changed yet, despite her new mortality. She still has the same piercing eyes that look like home, that calls for her to come back home, please come back to me she heard Andromache cry out in her sleep.

She hides, hides it well in the day, in front of Yusuf and Nicolò and Nile. She smiles and laughs and moves the same. It’s only when they’re alone that she allows the walls to break down and for Quỳnh to see what’s going on in her head. The guilt in her eyes every time she looks at her, the way she touches her like she’s fragile, like she’s mist that would dissipate with the smallest gust of wind. She was so ready for Quỳnh to hate her when they found each other again, she doesn’t think Andromache’s really let go of this idea, that she doesn’t deserve Quỳnh, that she somehow failed by not letting her life rot by looking after an impossible task.

Quỳnh only needed one look at her pendant around Andromache’s neck, the pain etched in her eyes, the desperation in her voice for all doubt that she had been forgotten to leave her mind. The anger, the bitterness was still there, but how could she ever loathe Andromache, the other half of her soul, the one so unjustly ripped away from her?

At night, that’s when Andy confesses her fears. How scared she is too, of dying, of being gone after so long, of being without her family, without Quỳnh. Of losing that constant in her life, that she knew she would be there to see it happen, whatever was bound to happen.

She tells Quỳnh about her fear of aging, of her hands shaking, her hairs falling grey, her vision turning blurry, her feet uneasy and her mind crazy. Her fear of leaving them behind, the fear of the unknown. After all those years, the unanswered question still bears heavily on her. She wished she had answers like Nicolò and Yusuf do, like Nile does. That assurance that there’s something after for her.

She has nightmares too. When it’s not Quỳnh waking up cold and her chest squeezed by terror, it’s Andy who sweats through the sheet and mumbles names over and over. She dreams about Lykon, the hot blood on her hands. Quỳnh holds her through the night and they cry together, still bearing the grief for their lost brother. They share the burden, and that is all Quỳnh can ask for, wish for.

They share a lot of tears for the years lost to men’s madness, the one they won’t have, their mistakes and misdeeds. They share laughs too, when it’s late and the night is dark and the house quiet. Those real shards of joy that sounds like a thousand carillon, the sweet, soft laughter that heals and mends. They are rare, so, so precious. They talk about their first years together, learning to speak the same tongue, to move as one. They hold each other, close and dearly, with the desperation of a drowning man because Quỳnh refuses to let her go and Andy can’t seem to stop reaching out either, always seeking a touch.

It helps, feeling her hands in hers, her lips against hers, their body pressed together under the covers and standing hips to hips in the house, never apart, always locking eyes and sharing smiles.

~

They’ve set their camp in a nook of rocks just as the sun approached the horizon, near a small freshwater current and protected from the winds. They gathered wood together and Andromache used her metal lighter to start the fire. They unrolled their bedrolls and the thick plastic tarp and they filled their bottle with cool water, washed their hands in the stream like they so often did in time pasts.

They’re preparing their meal, Quỳnh’s cutting the few roots they have and boiling the barley and Andromache is gutting the two rabbits she killed earlier with her bow, her own labrys laid between them as the knives work. She’s wearing jeans and a woolen sweater and yet it still feels familiar, the sound of the blades and the crackling of the fire, the smell of wood and iron pot, the sight of the clear night sky, no clouds to cross the picture.

They chat idly in their own tongue as they work, no English, modern or what Quỳnh remembers, not even the so recent Italian language or the Sabir Yusuf spoke with them at first. No, it’s old, old enough that it’s forgotten by everyone, everything, papers and stones except for two being on this earth. They throw in the occasional olden Greek and Latin when they are in need of too new of a concept but it soothes Quỳnh’s heart to speak what she first learned, to build it again with Andromaque, keep its memory alive. It feels like saving a part of herself.

The comfortable silence is broken by a sudden shout from Andromache followed by a string of cuss and a number of blasphemies to at least three different cultures. Quỳnh turns her head in time to see her throw the half-skinned rabbit and the knife on the ground and clutch her hand to her chest. Her grip on her knife lessen and she wills her worries to quiet down.

“Fucking shit,” Andromache mutters under her breath and Quỳnh can see the blood flowing from the wound she inflicted on herself. She’s pressing on it but it doesn’t stop the blood from dripping down to her wrist. “Cut my hand.”   She says and turns to shrug at Quỳnh, feigning carelessness. “Wasn’t paying attention.”

“You really should let me handle the knives, my love,” Quỳnh says as she sets her own knife down. Andromache has been hurt enough for her to know how to react in situations like this one, the sense of dread has quietened since the first wound she saw on her love’s body. “I would appreciate it if you could bring all your fingers to our couch tonight.” She tries to laugh; Andromache tries to smile. It still hurts too much but she knows it would somehow feel worse to not at least pretend that everything is okay. As wrong as it sounds, that hollow laugh of hers and the tight smile stretched over Andromache’s face feels like a breath of fresh air in the depth of their heavy hearts.

“We talked about this,” Andromache mutters. “I don’t want this to change anything.” This. This. This feels so unjust. How could the world punish them like that, taunt Andromache with eternity and take it all away just as Quỳnh finds her way back to her.

“Letting me use the knife won’t take away your skills my love. Or your honor.” She’s tiring of Andromache’s misplaced guilt, of her own heart betraying her and making her doubt. They have too few years to taint them with such futile thoughts and feelings. It’s at this instant, Andromache still holding on her hand and Quỳnh watching her hair falling in front of her eyes that she decides to push past what is outside of her control and move forward. She’ll keep the pain in her heart but she won’t let it define her, nor will she let Andromache be defined by it.

“Come,” She says and extends her arm toward her. “Give me your hand. Nile showed me how to care for wounds.” They’ll move on, gods help her they will find their path again, she swears it. Andromache holds her gaze for a moment, tilt her head, and it’s the first time since they reunited that Quỳnh gets that feeling. The one deep down that she knows, that they both know, that they are one. That they don’t need words, only a look, a touch to get it, to understand the other. Her throat lumps with relief as Andromache gives her her hand to hold. She’s holding her gaze with a peace she hadn’t see in so long, warm and confident despite the chaos surrounding them. Things will get better her guts murmur, and she believes it.

“It was time you pick up on this century’s medicine my heart, the way things are going I’ll have more scars than a crocodile has teeth before I get my first grey hair.” And this time the joke feels right. It feels like home, like the teasing and ribbing they shared so many times before a battle, on their couch, at a meal, in the busy streets, vast deserts and quiet forests. Quỳnh grins as she takes the small first aid kit in their bag and opens it in front of her, still holding Andromache’s wrist between her fingers.

“I might as well do it, seeing how determined you are at testing Nile’s and Nicolò’s knowledge of medicine. They need someone who isn’t afraid of telling you off before you run faster than modern science can follow.”

“It’s the hair,” Andromache says as if she hadn’t been intimidating kings and emperors with hair as long as a horse’s mane before Quỳnh even met her. Quỳnh smiles, the pain wavering in her heart as the warmth of feeling whole again gains her. Finally, she looks down at Andromache’s hand to judge the extent of the damage on the palm, only to have to double-take what she sees.

The blood isn’t flowing anymore and she knows that knife was sharp enough to dig deep in the flesh. The left hand, the one holding the meaty rabbit and the one victim to the blade’s enthusiasm, the one bearing the wound, doesn’t have any cut to show. Quỳnh’s breath locks as she stares at the hand, now cradled between her own.

“My love.” She says, and when she wipes the blood with her thumb, the skin appears undamaged, no cut, no scars, nothing but the smooth extend of her palm. She does it again, and a third time just to be sure. The flesh and muscles, tendons and bones underneath are unscathed, whole and perfect.

“What?” Andromache asks but keeps her eyes fixed on Quỳnh’s, a frown painting her face with worry. “Is it bad?”

“Your hand.” Quỳnh whispers. “Look at it.” There’s a moment of silence, maybe a minute, maybe an hour, Quỳnh herself isn’t sure. She just knows that she’s filling with euphoria and that Andromache’s right hand is touching the healed skin, slow strokes of wonder.

“It’s gone.” Her voice is hoarse, barely a whisper. She touches the skin, press on it, rub away the blood. It’s her hand that makes Quỳnh look up, and her eyes are filling with misty tears. “It’s gone. Quỳnh, I’ve healed.”

“Your immortality Andromache.” And the same shadow crosses Andromache’s eyes and her own mind.

“Wait.” Quỳnh lets go of her hand as she takes the knife again. They both watch as she brings the blade to the back of her forearm and slowly slices the skin, a hand long wound. It feels like one of those miracles Nicolò always talks about, the way the skin stitches itself close on its own, how the blood stop and the edges meet and the scar fades in a minute.

“It’s back, I’ve got it again.” The words are barely out of her mouth that Quỳnh wraps her arms around her neck and bring her close into an embrace, Andromache’s arms warm and heavy on her back. They’re shaking, laughing, whispering sweet nonsense into their shoulders, and Quỳnh knows tears are flowing from their eyes, she welcomes the liquid joy.

“Our love was enough then.” She can’t help but voice it out loud, needs to hear it to really understand the reality of what’s happening.

“Quỳnh?” Andromache pulls back, plunge her gaze into hers, it feels almost too much, too big.

“Our love was enough.” She feels herself laughing, nervous and bursting with relief, uncontrollable. “It is enough.” ‘I am enough’ she can’t help but think.

“What are you talking about Quỳnh? Of course it is. Always has been enough, more than enough. It has always been everything to me.” Both of her hands come to rest on the side of her face, cradling it with great gentleness.

“I was afraid my faith in you, in us had been wavering in my prison.” She confesses, lets herself feel it, feels the depth of the hurt now that she was proven wrong, that she knows it is untrue. “That you lost this gift of immortality because of me, because of my unreliable heart.”

“Oh Quỳnh.” Her voice breaks then, as does her face. “Have you been thinking this all this time?”

“Do you think me mad? To think that you losing your immortality coinciding with me finding you again broken, mad with fury, was nothing meaningless?” Quỳnh shakes her head then, covers Andromache’s hands with hers.

“Quỳnh, what are you talking about? I never doubted you.” Pain lines Andromache’s voice, desperation. “If you see yourself broken, then what am I? We are not as we were, will never be again. But that had nothing to do with you my heart.” She kisses her with urgency as if she couldn’t use her words to express everything in her heart. Quỳnh closes her eyes and feels the wind dry lips move against her, slides her hands behind her neck and bring her even closer. They part with a pant and Andromache smiles, a genuine, guilt-free smile, small but the seed of something bigger. “Our love was never tainted, in all of our millenniums together, it survived every hardship, every terror, every obstacle. We will survive this too.”

“I knew this, somehow, but you understand better than anyone how the mind is. It’s so easy to be tricked by sorrow when you’re grieving and hurting.”

“I’ll spend this eternity given to me reminding you Quỳnh. We never understood this gift, there’s no point reading meaning where there’s none. The only thing I am sure of is the love that courses through this world, through us.” Andromache fixes her gaze on her, strong, unwavering, and oh how Quỳnh missed seeing it. “I love you like the earth loves the sun, undeterred, constant, in the depth of my being because without I am not alive.”

“Can you believe that I do not hate you then?” Quỳnh prompts and she closes her mouth into a tight line. “That what happened was never your fault? That you couldn’t find me any more than you could save Lykon? My anger is not directed at you, never was, never will be.”

“I hate that I couldn’t save you,” Andromache says with shame in her voice. “I should have been there for you. You lost so much because of me.” This isn’t a new conversation, but it’s only today that Quỳnh realizes what she needs to hear, not a logical argument nor a dismissal of her feelings.

“I forgive you,” She says, and this time it’s Andromache who let go of a tight laugh, wet with tears. “I forgive you, Andromache, of any fault you gave yourself, I absolve any wrong you think you’ve done. You’ve saved me once in that desert where our path crossed for the first time, you saved me again in this century. I do not accuse you of anything, and neither will you. You are free of this burden.”

“Thank you.” Andromache whisper, tears in her eyes. “Thank you, my love.” Healing won’t be easy, but this is a start. They can forgive each other, forgive themselves, move on from there with a clear slate and shoulders relieved from their heavy loads of sorrow. They can do anything; they are not strained by time or Death anymore.

“We have time.” Quỳnh realizes, just as Andromache swipes her thumb along her jaw. “You will live, and we have time.” She pushes back Andromache’s hair, and she allows herself to feel the relief too. “You will live Andromache, spend time with the family, with Nile, Yusuf and Nicolò. You will see Sébastien again.”

“I don’t have to go yet.” She says, and the smile that carves itself on her face is radiant, shining with newfound light. “I don’t have to go.” Her hand slide at the back of her neck and slowly she kisses her, once, light and barely there, she rests her nose on her cheek “I am only grateful to have the gift back, to have the opportunity to spend it for as long as I’ll have it with you, together.”

“Just the two of us,” Quỳnh says through another laugh, press her forehead against Andromache’s, feel the warm skin and her hands over her shoulders. Let herself feels it all.

“Until the end.”

Quỳnh breathes the same air as Andromache, in, out, feel the same pulse as hers under her fingers, beating as one, like it always had. Like it was always meant to be.

~

The stars are bright, old and eternal, hung high in the firmament.

The fire is slowly dying, the last flames licking the wood and giving their valiant effort to burn for a bit longer. The moon lights their step, pale blue and cold on their warm skin. They are dancing together, waltzing under the milky way, hand pressed against hand, feet mirroring feet, circling each other as they did for the very first time ages ago, when the stars had different faces, when Andromache was still called a goddess’s name and Quỳnh’s was a whisper amongst her people’s legend.

Their gaze locked, lost in each other’s eyes, their nose touching and sharing the same breath, it feels like a dream.

“Do you remember my love,” Quỳnh pants as she shifts on her feet and pushes her hand against An’s, raising it high in the sky. “That night in Bābilim?” She grins and twists her hips just so as to press Andromache closer to her chest. She wishes she could crawl into her ribcage, be as close as possible, seize her heart from the inside and never let go again. She settles on sliding a leg between hers and let herself get lost in her scent, drunk from it like a young boy is from his first sip of ale.

“If I remember,” Andromache whispers in her ear. “You looked like wildfire. The most beautiful creature I had ever seen.” There had been music Quỳnh remembers, and wine flowing like rivers from the amphoras. She danced through the night, and Andromache’s gaze upon her was heavy and burning, she felt stripped from everything, baring her soul for the first time in her life. That’s the night their love became more than allyship, more than friend and necessity. That’s when it shifted to become more, to become everything.

“Do you remember what I said?” Andromache asks her, lays her left hand to her chest and she does the same, feel her heartbeat strong under her palm despite their clothing.

“More please!” Quỳnh moans like An’s does and pushes away with her hand only to crash together with the next steps. Andromache grins and indulges her change of rhythm. They had a room that night, a soft bed of feathers and fine silks like they had seldom seen with their own eyes.

“After that. On the balcony.” And Quỳnh remembers fondly that moment. Andromache had draped herself over her back, holding onto each other and murmuring in the quiet night. The moon had been full then too, albeit the desert looked warmer than the Steppe they are dancing in today. They circle each other again, Quỳnh savors the moment with her entire being.

“You will be my deathbed.” She meant it as a joke after the night filled with passion, but they both knew the deeper meaning. It hanged unsaid in the air between them. “Remember what I said?”

“And you mine.” Andromache presses her nose close to her cheek, her breath warm on her skin. They are silent after that, don’t need words anymore, not when they have each other.

They finish their dance when the last of the fire blow away in the night. They press their foreheads together and stand in the middle of the Steppe, alone, together. Whole and one. For the first time in over a year, in over five centuries, her heart finally feels at peace. She’s home, in the embrace of Andromache’s arms, of Andy’s, in the certainty that they won against fate, that they are truly immortal. That they’ll live together again.

The stars are bright and Andromache’s eyes are even brighter, Quỳnh is sure of that.

[rorynorth]

Supervillains weren't supposed to pay for coffee.

In fact, Julian Godfrey had come into this very cafe last week—in full costume—to demand a free latte on his way home from holding some CEO hostage. He'd already forgotten the man's name, but the ransom money was going to fund some lavish apartment upgrades.

But today, Julian wasn't here for a drink. He was here to sit in the corner of the cafe and send emails and read and, of course, finalize his plan to take an entire city block hostage. Rather than his villainous costume, he wore the clothes he wore to his day job at the library: black pants, a dark purple button-up, and a black blazer.

He did still want his coffee, though.

Julian ran through tonight's plan as he stood in line. He'd been preparing for this for months, and it had taken a lot of training to be sure he'd be able to pull it off. This would be the biggest demonstration of his power yet.

Most importantly, he'd be doing this alone. He had to. If he succeeded, the city would see him as a real threat. He was already feared, but maybe they'd finally regard him with the same awe as they did Blazar.

Julian planned to relinquish his control of the apartment block in exchange for a considerable sum of cash—not particularly original, but money wasn't his real goal anyway. He was going to lure in the city's biggest hero and completely destroy him. Or at least, kick his ass hard enough to keep him out of commission for a few months.

One of the cashiers waved Julian over. "Next, please!"

"Macchiato. Sixteen ounce," he told her.

"Great, that'll be five ninety-five."

Julian opened his wallet and pulled out a single five dollar bill. Damn, he'd thought he had more cash. "Hold on, let me find my card—"

"You're a dollar short?" came a voice from his right.

Julian glanced up. The girl who'd spoken pulled a dollar from her own wallet and held it out to him. He briefly considered turning it down. He had plenty of money to burn, after all.

But why say no to convenience?

"Thank you," Julian said, quickly looking the girl over as he accepted the dollar. She was nearly a foot shorter than him, probably around five foot three. Her skin was light brown, her eyes were a few shades darker, she wore a white flannel over an oversized teal New Atlas University tee, and—

"Your hair's blue," he noted, lifting an eyebrow. Her curly hair, pulled back into a ponytail, was dark brown for a few inches at the roots. The rest of it was a faded turquoise.

She laughed. "Yeah, I get that a lot. And it's no trouble, really."

While Julian waited for the cashier to finish up his transaction, he watched the girl walk away out of the corner of his eye.

"Here's your change, your drink will be ready in a minute." The cashier dropped a nickel into his hand. "Next!"

Julian stood at the edge of the cafe, debating approaching the girl. It was surprising that someone would offer a stranger a dollar without being threatened, wasn't it? Yes, sure, some people were just nice, but he'd already been reaching for his credit card.

The girl grabbed her drink and left before Julian could make up his mind. An employee called his name a moment later. He grabbed his coffee and found a seat in a corner of the cafe.

You don't take a free drink from a restaurant because you can't afford it, Blazar had told him once. If you're after money, you rob a bank. You take the drink to remind people you could be anywhere, at any time. You take the drink to remind people that they're never really safe.

Julian sipped his coffee. The block of apartments he'd be attacking in a few hours was a short walk from here. He'd pass it on his way to the Complex. The area was familiar. A few times a week, for the past month, he'd spent hours generating stone beneath the streets. Still, it would be nice to take one last look at the layout. He had a lot of asphalt to break through.

He closed his free hand into a fist and formed a single stone. When he opened his hand, the small rock rested on his palm.

That was all he'd been able to do as a child. It took a lot of energy to form matter, after all. But even before he'd fully developed his geogenesis powers, he was at least able to manipulate his creations. Thank god for that. Blazar probably wouldn't have kept him around if all he could do was make pebbles.

Julian pulled out his phone. He responded to a few scheduling emails from other library employees. Checked the time. Skimmed the news. Checked the time again.

It was nearly five-thirty when he finished his coffee. As he rose to his feet, he ran a hand through his dark hair. He was really looking forward to tonight. He hadn't been this excited about a fight in a long time. During the walk to the Complex, he assessed the sidewalk beneath him, searching for the largest cracks, the weak spots he could pull the earth up through.

Storm Warning would have no choice but to show up, really. This was going to be the biggest threat the city had ever seen. Except, perhaps, for a few of Blazar's stunts. It was hard to compete with some of the fires he'd started.

Another five minutes of walking brought Julian to the alley hiding the Complex's entrance. The elevator he took could only be accessed with a key, and the only floor it went to was the top.

A text from Blazar came in halfway up the building. When are you returning to the COVE?

About to walk in, Julian replied. He'd never dare say it to Blazar's face, but he hated calling it the COVE. Not the word itself, but the overly complicated acronym Blazar had come up with. Complex of Villainous Entities. Why make it more complicated than it had to be?

The name didn't matter much, anyway. There were only four of them left now.

The elevator door opened, revealing the open living area. At the opposite end of the space were the doors to the balcony, and a hallway leading to the living quarters. To the left was the kitchen, and to the right were the couches and massive monitor that Damselfly was currently using to watch reality TV.

"Hey, Julian." Damselfly looked up from where she was draped across the couch. Her vibrant blue insect-like wings fluttered as she twisted herself around to watch him enter, glittering in the light from the kitchen. "How are your books?"

She didn't really care. The others took any opportunity they had to make a jab at Julian's job. "Library's doing great," he told her. "Is Blazar in?"

"Nope."

"What about Lord Saturn?"

"Haven't seen her, either." Damselfly's head tipped to the side. Her short, dark waves of jet black hair shifted. "What are you up to?"

"I'm getting into a fight tonight," Julian told her.

"Ooh, Storm Warning?"

"Hopefully." Storm Warning was easily the strongest hero in the city. And the most charismatic. And he was the most fun to fight.

The other heroes who popped up enough to be a household name hardly did anything beyond fighting common criminals in alleys. The minor villains they used to fight had been driven out of the city years ago, or killed. Julian ran into the smaller heroes from time to time, as did Damselfly and Lord Saturn. But Storm Warning was the only one who ever dared to fight Blazar.

"Well, if you're looking for the mask that only covers the top half of your face, it's in the sink," Damselfly said.

"Why is it in the sink?" Julian asked. He frowned. "And how did you know I was looking for that one?"

Damselfly shrugged. "You use the full mask for missions. Half mask is for big public shows. Like fighting Storm Warning." She lifted an eyebrow. "And we were out of dishes and I needed something to put my nachos on."

Julian sighed as he picked his mask out of the sink. "Did the other two say anything about when they'd be back?"

"Nope." Damselfly folded her arms over the top of the couch and rested her chin on them. "Why, you looking for backup tonight?"

"I don't need backup."

"All right, well, I'm here if you change your mind." Damselfly thought for a moment. Her wings twitched. "On second thought, there's a new episode of Haunted Weddings tonight, so I probably won't come out."

Julian rinsed off his mask and wiped it dry with a towel. "Glad I can count on you." He'd been the youngest villain at the Complex, until Damselfly showed up. While Blazar had succeeded at hammering responsibility into Julian, Damselfly hadn't been so keen on establishing herself. She preferred to tag along on whatever plans the others came up with.

"I don't get why this girl is having her wedding at her university," Damselfly said, her attention back on the TV. She tossed a piece of popcorn into her mouth and continued speaking as she chewed. "I mean, I get there was a murder, but those buildings are hideous."

Julian considered asking what exactly the point of the show was, but he didn't have time to listen to another one of Damselfly's spiels.

"You gonna go to college, Julian?" she asked.

He'd considered it, but Blazar had turned him off the idea. You don't need it. You're powerful. You can take whatever you want. He'd tried to dissuade Julian from getting a job, too, but he and Saturn had day jobs. And Julian wanted something to occupy his time, even if he didn't need the money.

"I don't know," Julian finally answered. "I'm already twenty-four."

"That's young!"

Bold words, coming from a sixteen-year-old. "I guess," Julian replied. His mind jumped to the New Atlas University shirt that girl at the cafe had been wearing. He'd spent a fair amount of time looking at their website. Was she a student? Or did she just know someone at the school?

Julian shook off the thought. The sun was setting. It was time to get ready.

The pants and shirt of his super suit were a deep purple. And, like any decent suit, the material was sturdy enough to protect him from minor blows. Then there were the white gloves, white boots, and the collared gold cape that fastened at the neck. Julian liked it, despite Blazar's occasional jab—Still haven't gotten rid of the cape yet?—but he wasn't stupid. The fastener was easy to undo, so he could pull it off before any fight really got going.

The final piece was the metal mask, also gold in color, with slits for his green eyes to peer through. It was the most iconic part, too, the thing people thought of when they heard his name. There were five points at the top, the one in the middle being the tallest, that gave it the appearance of a crown.

Like Damselfly had mentioned, he had two: one that covered his entire face, and the one he'd be wearing tonight that left the bottom of his face exposed. It made conversation easier. And threatening people. A small device embedded in the bottom edge of the mask—designed by Lord Saturn—altered the sound waves of his voice as he spoke, deepening it just enough that only people who knew him well would be able to recognize it.

Julian left his room and returned to the living room.

"I'll watch you on the news!" Damselfly called as he headed for the door. "Well, when my show's on commercial, anyway."

Julian paused. "Don't we have every streaming service?"

"I don't think you know how TV works." Damselfly waved her tablet. "Besides, if I don't watch it live, I can't follow what's happening on social media."

"Blazar might want to use the monitor to watch me."

"I don't think he's coming by tonight."

"We'll see." Julian could worry about Blazar later. It was time to focus.

Right now, he was Citadel.

~

This is the first chapter of Villain Complex, which is available to read in full on my wattpad auroraanorth. It's also linked in my pinned post!

[morningfears]

Like Hell

Rating: PG-13 (Mentions of blood, Hell, Heaven, other religious themes)

Summary: omg okay so your writing absolutely kills me so for the blurbs list, i was wondering if you could do something for Demon!Cal (my weakness) with numbers 12 and 25? like maybe the reader is human & she knows about what he is and there's some intense shit going on in Hell, like maybe Cal's given some kind of ultimatum in regards of his relationship with her if that makes sense kjdnfjkd thank you cat!! love your writing omg for @cakesunflower

Word Count: 3.3k (this was supposed to be a drabble🤷🏻‍♀️)

Calum had never been the kind of being who was easily unnerved. He was one of the most, if not the most, unflappable beings that Hell had ever produced and that was a fact that he took pride in. He’d mastered the art of stoicism, had learned to control even the more basic feelings of anger and his natural impulsive nature, and on the surface, could seem almost mild-mannered or even meek compared to his more boisterous brothers and sisters.

He had never taken joy in inflicting pain, had never taken pride in losing his temper, and had never gone out of his way to trick a human — or other being — when sealing a deal. When compared with those around him, Calum almost seemed bored. He seemed like was going through the motions, living a life that he’d been predestined for, all the while waiting for something bigger than himself.

And maybe he was.

When he had a moment of solitude to think about it, Calum wondered if that had been the case all along. He wondered if he’d been bored in Hell, waiting for something interesting to break the monotony of blood-curdling screams and cliche fire and brimstone. He wondered if he’d been placed there by mistake, if his soul hadn’t been meant to go somewhere else — anywhere else —, but those thoughts were only fleeting. After all, he’d made a deal and a contract signed in blood is more binding than he ever could have realized.

He always imagined that he would be forced to live a life of monotony, a life that he almost hated, in the worst place he could imagine. He spent a little more than a thousand years splitting his time between his home in Hell and wandering the earth, searching for the most vulnerable souls to steal with the promise of the fulfillment of their wildest dreams. But that all changed the moment he met her.

The moment Calum met her, he knew that there was something about her that would change him for eternity. 

She was marked, her soul shining bright as a warning for those like him who dared to approach her, and Calum had had to look away because staring at her was like looking into the sun. She was human, almost annoyingly so, but the mark of Heaven that radiated from her told Calum all that he needed to know; someone (her mother, he later found out) had relinquished her soul to an angel.

Calum knew without a shadow of a doubt that he wasn’t meant to approach her, that he would’ve been better off steering clear of her altogether, but she’d smiled at him, her lips curving softly and her eyes brightening as she caught sight of the novel in his hand, and he’d been so unnerved that he couldn’t do anything but take the seat she offered him.

“I love that book,” she told him, her voice a soft whisper that floated in the cool breeze outside the quaint cafe, as she pointed to the book clutched in his left hand. “I volunteer at a food pantry and the director recommended it. It was enlightening.”

Calum had never been struck silent. He was often purposefully quiet, he often used his silence to his advantage, but he found himself desperately wanting to respond to her comment only for his extensive vocabulary to fail him. The witty words that sometimes escaped him without a second thought were nowhere to be found as he simply stared at her, his eyebrows furrowed and his jaw clenched. His skin felt as if it were on fire, his heart beat just a little too fast, and his palms grew sweaty against the slick paperback cover as he watched her smile at him.

Whether she found him off-putting or not, he hadn’t known. She simply smiled at him, bright and pretty, before she turned her attention back to her own book. She kept her headphones, the bright green ones that Calum would soon come to know just as well as the bright white glow of her soul, on the table and that struck Calum harder than it probably should have.

He hadn’t meant to linger that day, hadn’t intended to stay in the cafe longer than the amount of time it took to get a cup of coffee, but he’d stayed as long as she had and, without really noticing, made it a habit to stop by around the same time every day in hopes of seeing her again.

He knew from the very beginning that he shouldn’t fall for her, that there was never a possibility of them having a happy ending, but rationality didn’t seem to work where she was concerned. Instead, the harder he tried to fight it, the more in love with her he fell.

She knew what Calum was the moment he sat down at her table. Just as he had been able to see the bright white glow of her soul, she had been able to see the inky black of his. Just as it pained him to stare at her for too long, it hurt her heart to feel the negative energy that he and all others of his kind radiated. Despite this, or maybe because of it, she never entertained the thought of letting him go. She knew, just as he had, the moment that their eyes met, they were meant to be.

Even if the universe — and the respective owners of their souls — didn’t agree.

Calum was relatively free to move about the earth as he saw fit. He could come and go as he pleased, leaving his spot in Hell empty as long as he desired. As long as he collected the signatures of souls he was assigned, no one really paid much attention to what he was up to. Calum was always the one that the man in charge needn’t worry about. He was reclusive, yes, but he did his job and he did it well.

But then the rumors started to swirl.

Whispers about Calum’s relationship with a soul belonging to heaven began with those he was closest to. If it had been about him trying to win her over, bring her to the dark side, those whispers would have ended almost immediately. However, when the whispers continued with the fact that Calum wasn’t trying to win her over, that he was simply in love with her, they gained enough traction to reach those who wished to see Calum fall.

A demon falling in love was one thing. A demon falling in love with someone destined to be an angel? There was no way in Hell.

Calum walked down the hallway, the heavy thud of his boots echoing around him, and let his thoughts wander to the night he’d been dragged from his home to the depths of Hell, literally. He’d been questioned endlessly, asked what in Satan’s name he thought he was doing falling in love (such a dirty word in Hell) with a girl who was to fight him in the Final Battle. They weren’t afraid of Heaven, not at all, but demons and angels (even those who had yet to ascend) steered clear of one another; that was the one rule no one bothered to break.

He remembered the stench of brimstone, the screams of prisoners that surrounded him, and the laughter of the demons who longed to see him suffer. He hadn’t feared for himself that night, not in the slightest, but a sliver of terror stabbed at the back of his mind as he imagined what harm might come to her from the angels. He knew that beneath the cherubic faces and the bright white light that partially hid them from his view lurked a fury and a brutality that demons would never know.

Her soul was destined for Heaven but now that he’d tainted her, the afterlife would be anything but pleasant.

Calum’s usual calm was replaced by a flurry of butterflies as he descended the stairs into Azazel’s chambers. The idea of descending into a pit of forbidden knowledge did not bode well with him, nor did the knowledge that his most vicious brothers awaited him. Something felt wrong, even for the center of all that was wrong with the world, and Calum wanted to turn and run. He wanted to avoid his fate, wanted to live a life of solitude with her and pretend that nothing bad could ever touch them, but a sharp tug in his chest pulled him deeper into the pits of Hell.

This was where he truly belonged, whether he liked it or not.

“Brother,” Michael cried as Calum entered Azazel’s chambers, “how nice of you to tear yourself away from the angel and join us. I take it Heaven is as pleasing as they say.”

“Now, now,” Ashton chided, a wicked grin on his lips as he clapped Calum on the shoulder. His black eyes sparkled in the dim torchlight and Calum had to fight every instinct not to flinch away as he glanced at him. “She’s still just a human,” Ashton reminded Michael with a shake of his head. “That doesn’t mean your valiant efforts to corrupt her soul aren’t recognized, though, brother.”

Calum bit back a retort as he settled into a plush leather chair opposite Luke. He kept his eyes on the door, waiting for Azazel to enter, and wished for the meeting to be over with so that he could return to the apartment that he shared with her and go back to sleep. He wanted a human normalcy, craved it more than he ever imagined he would, and he could feel it slipping from his fingers the longer Azazel kept them waiting.

“How nice of you all to join me,” Azazel bellowed as he finally stepped into the room, fifteen agonizing minutes after Calum had arrived. He wanted to roll his eyes at Azazel’s characteristically boisterous appearance, wanted to get up and leave and never look back, but he kept himself rooted to the spot as he watched Azazel sink into a chair at the head of the table. “You all know I love a good chat but today is strictly about business. You,” he began, looking squarely at Calum as he folded his hands on the black marble table top, “it’s time for you to let the angel go.”

“She’s not an angel,” Calum reminded him, his tone exasperated as he lost the battle against rolling his eyes. “She’s human. And while it’s frowned upon to be with a human, there is nothing expressly forbidding it.”

“Cut the bullshit,” Azazel snapped as he slammed his hand against the table, surprising the four demons surrounding him. Azazel, for all his flamboyance, had never seemed so truly angry. He had never really snapped; he’d only ever been mischievous, a little annoying, but Calum could feel the fury rolling off him in waves as he stared Calum down. “She belongs to Heaven. Her soul is marked and you’ve known it the entire time. It’s time to let her go.”

Calum knew that he shouldn’t fight, he knew that this was his argument to lose, but he couldn’t stop himself. The words poured from his lips before he could really register them as he asked, “Why now? We’ve been together for nearly three years. What makes today so fucking special?”

“The War has begun!”

The room fell silent at Azazel’s declaration. Ashton, who had been whispering conspiratorially with Michael, lifted his head so quickly that Calum feared he might’ve injured himself had he been human. Luke, who’d looked uncomfortable from the start, paled visibly as Azazel’s words echoed around the room. Michael, always annoying and smug, blanched and looked as if he might throw up and Calum really couldn’t blame him.

He knew that it was a a prophecy, knew that the end of days was to come, but he hadn’t counted on it happening so soon. The War had come and with it came a call for soldiers; it was time for her soul to ascend to Heaven and there was nothing Calum could do to stop it.

“Michael sent word this morning. The War has begun and I could say that you have a choice, Calum,” Azazel continued after taking a moment to breathe, “but you don’t. Let the angel go. Someone will be coming to collect her soul soon. You know what will happen if an archangel catches you with her and you know what will happen if you attempt to run; you have no choice, Calum. Let her go and return to Hell immediately.”

Calum didn’t stay to hear the rest of Azazel’s speech.

Upon hearing that the War had begun and that her soul would be collected sooner rather than later, Calum knew that he needed to get back to her.  Their time together was limited, beyond anything he had even imagined, and he wanted to make the most of his last moments with her. Azazel was right, he knew that, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to prolong the inevitable as long as he could.

When Calum returned to their apartment, he found her in the kitchen with a coffee cup in hand. Her eyebrows furrowed as she scrolled through her phone, no doubt reading the news that she’d missed during the night, and his heart ached as he watched her for a moment. He knew that mornings like this would never happen again, that there was no way for him to roll out of bed and cook breakfast with her while they discussed her strange dreams, and it broke his heart to see her standing there in nothing but his t-shirt.

It hurt like hell to know that the fantasy he’d built had started to crumble but it hurt even worse to know that she’d soon be entrenched in a battle that he’d promised her wouldn’t come for another few millennia.

Calum couldn’t help himself. He moved swiftly around the kitchen island, knocking his hip into the sharp edge but barely registering the searing pain as he cupped her cheeks in his hands and crashed his lips to hers. The kiss was frenzied for a moment, panicked and desperate, as she struggled to keep from dropping the coffee cup to the floor. She knew that the liquid wouldn’t burn him, she knew that it took more than a cup of lukewarm coffee to hurt him, but she still cared enough to try to keep him from harm and that made Calum’s chest tighten painfully as he pulled away from her.

“You’ve never kissed me like that before,” she whispered against his lips as he rested his forehead against hers. She knew that he’d been called to Hell, knew that something must’ve happened with the others that put him on edge, but it was so rare for him to get this way. It was rare for anything to ruffle Calum and she couldn’t help but ask, “What do you need from me?”

“Just for today,” Calum began, his voice quiet as he met her eyes and held her gaze, “I want to pretend that we’re normal. I want to pretend that Hell isn’t real and Heaven doesn’t have a claim to your soul. I want to pretend that the world doesn’t hang in the balance and that the future isn’t a fiery vision of brimstone and bloodshed. I just want to spend today loving you.”

Calum didn’t speak of bloodshed and carnage often, he wanted to avoid upsetting her, so she knew that the mention of the disturbing meant that he was truly ruffled by whatever had transpired in Hell. Instead of questioning him further, she simply nodded and pressed another soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I need to go get groceries,” she informed him with a soft smile. “We can stop and get breakfast, if you want. Maybe we could run by the cafe?”

“And then the bookstore?” Calum asked, a small smile of his own threatening to quirk his lips.

“And then the bookstore,” she agreed with a nod. “Let me go get dressed. I’ll be right back.”

Calum watched, a bit of the weight lifting from his heart, as she rushed out of the kitchen to change. In less than five minutes, far less time than she normally would’ve taken, she returned dressed in a pair of jeans and one of his sweatshirts. He kissed her again, this time with all the love he’d ever felt for her threatening to spill into the kiss and keep them locked in an embrace for the rest of the evening, before he let her guide them out of their apartment and toward the cafe they met at.

The streets were unusually quiet, Calum would later recall. There were only a few pedestrians milling about and even fewer cars. A dark cloud loomed in the sky and Calum could have sworn he heard the distant thundering of trumpets. He tried not to think about it, tried not to let any of it get to him as he focused solely on the sound of her voice as she told him about her latest dream, but the crack of thunder and the shaking of the ground beneath their feet told him that this was it; their time was up.

With the cafe just out of their reach, they soon found their path blocked by a tall figure that seemed to be bathed in golden light. Calum felt the sear of heavenly fire against his skin, warning him not to step too close, as he turned his head away from Raziel, The angel he’d once imagined meeting was now his most dreaded sight.

Raziel had come to take her to Heaven.

They’d both know that this day was coming but Calum could see the surprise on her face as she realized what was happening. As the golden light of Raziel began to consume her, she reached out to him. Calum’s hand stung where her skin brushed his and trying to hold onto her was like trying to catch water in his hands. He watched her continue to burn brighter and brighter, Heaven’s shimmering light nearly blinding him, as he listened to her call out for him. His name was the only thing she could utter, the word falling from her lips like a prayer. But as hard as they both tried, the end had come.

The golden light that surrounded Raziel swallowed her entirely and seared Calum’s hand so badly that he finally flinched and brought the wounded limb to cradle it against his chest. He knew that this wouldn’t be the only scar heavenly fire would leave him with but he also knew that this one would hurt the most. As Raziel’s light flared and burst,  shattering into a glittering confetti that scorched the sidewalk around him and burned his skin wherever it touched, Calum swore he could still hear her voice calling his name.

When the light faded, when the fire ceased to burn and his hand stopped bleeding, Calum lifted his head to find that he was utterly alone. The passersby had disappeared, likely only temporarily as angels didn’t enjoy taking their souls in broad daylight with witnesses, and so had she.

She was always Heaven’s to claim. Calum had known that from the very beginning. But watching her be pulled from his grasp had hurt like Hell and Calum was determined to do everything in his power to get her back.

By the angel, he wouldn’t stop until he had her in his arms once more.

_______________________________________________________________________

Author’s Note: I changed it up just a tiny bit because angels and demons and drama. And, also. Like. My writing is absolutely nothing compared to Summer’s (the person who requested this; like, I’m lowkey embarrassed that anyone good reads my stuff lol) so if you haven’t read her writing, a) where have you been and b) go check out her stuff. Anyway. Did anyone catch the Mortal Instruments references? I’ve been vvv into angels and demons lately. I think it’s partly because of Mortal Instruments, partly because I’m delving into religion for my thesis. I don’t know. Anyway, I haven’t written anything in a while and I’m a bit rusty so just give me a minute to get back into it. My prospectus is finished, my conference paper is submitted; I’m golden for a little bit. I promise I’ll get MF3 up at some point. I just didn’t want to jump into it without being able to dedicate time to it, you know? Anyway. Have some demon!Cal. I’m gonna go do a face mask and watch Shadowhunters because what else would I be doing (homework, is what I should be doing)?

[managedmischiefs]

north commentary//chapter one

it’s finally here!! I apologize for the time it took for me to actually get this posted but it’s finally here. I didn’t edit any of the actually commentary so if there’s mistakes then I’m very sorry. also, I’m not going to tag anyone on the tag list for north, but if I do more of these in the future then maybe I will.

I’m going to begin editing chapter two immediately after posting this and it will be up probably sometime tomorrow night, so look out for that! enjoy my commentary. hopefully you find it insightful in some way and you get a deeper understanding for my oc and for my interpretation of spencer.

SPENCER

Being late to work is not something that I tend to enjoy. I hate it, in fact. I feel like I'm letting my team down if I'm ever late to round table meetings or if I miss a briefing. But these days, sleep is rare. And if I do sleep, it's not uncommon for me to sleep over the array of alarms I have.

Hello lovely followers and readers!! Thank you for spending your time reading this commentary and for getting involved and being interested in the way that my brain works while writing this fic. If you like commentary like this then I’ll definitely do more in the future!! There’s future chapters that I would absolutely kill to do commentary on and would love to explain my thought process on. This commentary is mainly about why I choose to make Spencer and my OC act certain ways because this is only the first chapter and there aren’t plot points to dissect, but if I do more in the future then I’ll definitely talk about plot points and such. Enjoy!!

Coffee is a must have for me at all points of the day. No sleep means exhaustion and exhaustion means my brain doesn't work as quickly as it could and that means we don't solve cases and not solving cases means more people die. I can't have more people die on my watch so I drink as much coffee as I can. But the coffee in the bullpen isn't always the best so if I ever have time, I stop at a cafe on my way to work. I take the extra five minutes to walk there before hopping on the metro.

I mumble off my coffee order to the tired looking barista and she scribbles down my name. I hand over a few stray bills to pay and get some change in return, tucking it in my pants pocket. I give a tight lipped smile to the barista before moving to a table in the corner of the cafe, pulling a book out of my messenger bag and starting to read, crossing one of my legs over the other. I don't look up while I wait for the barista to call out my name, not even when two people bump into each other in front of the door or a tourist asks someone else for directions. I just read my book and chew my lip, tapping my fingers against the hardcover.

We all know that Spencer lives his life on coffee and would probably fall asleep standing up if he didn’t have coffee every morning and at multiple points throughout the day. There’s quite a lot of mentions throughout the show that coffee in police stations is really bad, so I wouldn’t imagine the coffee in the BAU is much better. So in my mind, Spencer would search for a coffee shop that he liked and one that he thought was cozy and peaceful. He doesn’t strike me as a fast paced person in his personal life. What I mean by that is I don’t think he would be the person to only allot himself just five minutes to get his coffee, catch his train, and get to work. He strikes me as someone who wants to take his time and be able to sit down and read his book. Thus, this scene was born. 

"Spencer," I hear my name being called and finally allow myself attention to be lifted.

I stand quickly, tucking my book in my bag and closing the flap before heading back to the main counter. But the buckle of my bag gets caught on the button of my sleeve when I try to close my bag all the way. I pull at my sleeve, trying to get the buckle unlooped. But in this tussle with myself, I don't even realize that I'm still walking until I bump right into someone. I move my attention from my bag and catch the person's shoulders so I don't completely knock them over and make not only a fool of myself, but of them too. 

Spencer is clumsy, we all know this. He’s not just clumsy when he meets girls and is flustered by their attention/affection but he’s clumsy in these types of social situations where he has to rush to stand and grab his cup of coffee. There’s a lot of times in the show where you can see him struggling to put his messenger bag on because it gets stuck in his hair. He’s just not too swift. But we all love him unconditionally. 

"Oh my gosh," I say immediately, my eyes widening, "I'm so sorry,"

"It's okay, it's okay," the girl laughs, her hands squeezing my arms as she regains her balance, “didn’t even fall. You caught me. I didn’t even break a sweat!”

My eyes finally find the girl's face and I'm rendered absolutely speechless. I somehow notice everything about her right away and I memorize her beauty. Her eyes are a bright, beautiful shade of ocean blue and her eyelashes cast shadows over her perfectly pink cheeks. Her hair is wavy and blonde with brown roots, but there's a yellow and blue patterned scarf tied around the front of her head like a folded bandana with pieces pulled out to frame her face. Her nose is small and I can only liken it to a button. Her lips are full and plump and a pretty light pink color and her Cupid's Bow is one that Cupid himself should be jealous of. Both of her ears are full of different types of piercings, and her nose even has a hoop in her right nostril.

She's wearing a light blue knit sweater tucked into a tight denim skirt, along with a pair of short black boots with small heels on them. Her nails are painted white and her fingers are full of rings, each of them different styles and various shades of silver with yellow gems. I notice a tattoo on one of her fingers but she moves and I can't make out what it is. I wonder if she has more tattoos. I find two straps around her shoulders and realize she's wearing a leather backpack, one probably very similar to my own bag. The last thing I notice is the old fashioned camera hanging around her neck, resting just above the waistband of her skirt.

Spencer doesn’t feel like the kind of guy who would judge a book by its cover. He doesn’t seem like he would take one look at a person and decide the type of person they would be. I don’t even think he would necessarily abuse his profiling skills in his everyday life and with the strangers he meets. But if he managed to stumble upon a girl that he really liked and had an instant attraction to, like what happens right here with Amelia, I really think that he would want to know everything about her. He would scramble to collect information about her, based on her appearance and just the sound of her voice and off of what she ordered. So not only do these last two paragraphs serve as me being able to be outright about who Amelia is and what my OC looks like (because I always have a really specific look for my OC’s) but it also serves as Spencer collecting as much information this girl he just met and that he finds much more than intriguing. 

I've seen my fair share of pretty girls. I've seen girls that I wouldn't mind getting to know better. I've met girls that have caught my attention. I've even been in what I believed to be love. But what is this? If I thought I'd seen a beautiful girl before, I clearly hadn't met this girl before. She looks like an angel sent directly from heaven. She looks like she was crafted by God himself and put on this earth to grace mankind with her beauty. Is it fair for one woman to be this beautiful? Is it even possible? I didn’t think that one woman could possess such beauty. 

What the hell is wrong with me? I can barely even breathe. I’m just staring at this gorgeous specimen, admiring her smile and trying to memorize the way her fingertips feel on my forearms. I quickly try to think of something to say, another apology for running into her, but I can barely even breathe when I stare at her, much less speak. 

Spencer doesn’t get a lot of girls, and when he does, he doesn’t generally have good luck with them (Lila, Maeve- lol). But I truly believe that when he catches feelings, he falls so hard. He doesn’t fall too fast, and this is explored in upcoming chapters, but he falls really hard and he treats his girlfriend/crush like an absolute queen. He worships to ground she walks on and thinks she put the moon and the sun and the stars in the sky. This is just how I imagine how Spencer would see and treat his SO in a relationship. He would really love them with all of his heart and dote on them endlessly and give them his whole heart. 

"Spencer," the barista calls out my name again, setting my cup down on the counter before walking away. Saved by the barista. 

The girl smiles at me and her face lights up, only further illuminating her features. She's got two dimples on her cheeks, bringing out a childlike spirit in her that I pick up right away. "Um," she says with a laugh, "is that yours? You should probably grab it before someone else steals it,"

I wish I could say more about Amelia’s character right now because she is so beautifully complex and so confusingly real, if that makes sense. She appears to be so put together, as Spencer so aptly observes, but as time goes on, she really starts to fall apart at the seams. But every person is like this. Nobody is truly ‘put together’ no matter how hard they try. That’s what makes us human. We all fall apart eventually. There’s a little glimpse into the future for you. 

Okay, Spencer, breathe. You can do this. You’ve spoken to pretty girls before. Sure, it’s hard and it’s scary, but you can do it. Just say words. Preferably, coherent words. Preferably, maybe, a full sentence.

More of Spencer being adorably confused when it comes to girls. How can you not love him??

"Right," I finally force out, dropping my hands from her arms. I hadn't realized until now that I was still holding onto her and she was still holding onto me. I reach over and grab my steaming coffee, almost wincing at the heat under my fingertips.

The girl still hasn't moved when I turn back to her, but now she's fiddling with her camera. "Are you," I start to say before hesitating. Her head pops up and she smiles again, letting her camera fall against her stomach. I gulp, shuffling my feet against the floor as I attempt to speak a full sentence. "I didn't mean to bump into you like that,"

"Oh, it's totally fine," she waves her hand at me casually. "I wasn't paying attention either. No harm, no foul. Like I said, I didn’t even break a sweat,” The girl pushes her hair behind her ears and places her hands on her hips. With the confident way she speaks, I almost expect her to keep speaking, but she doesn’t. She just looks at me with the cutest smile, even baring her teeth, waiting for me to say something else. 

Amelia is very much so an extrovert and it’s obvious in the way that she has no problem participating in this conversation (and how she has no problems remembering how to breathe like Spencer does), but she’s not bouncing off the walls and screaming and grabbing at Spencer. He wouldn’t gel with someone like that, in my opinion, because they would overwhelm him. I wanted Amelia to be like a breath of fresh air for Spencer, or the feeling of the sun on your skin, or how the relief you get when you lay in bed after a long day (I don’t like that last comparison but just bear with me). I wanted her to, right off the bat, being a calming presence to him. If you notice, Spencer points out that he expects her to speak but she doesn’t. She waits until he speaks and in my mind, I envisioned that as Amelia reading the situation and recognizing Spencer’s slight anxiety and waiting until he was comfortable speaking. She didn’t want to push him and cause more anxiety. Do with that information what you will. Let us continue reading. 

So I clutch my cup of coffee and swallow thickly. “I-" I hesitate yet again, but when the girl's eyes scream for me to continue, I do. "What's your name?"

She opens her mouth to speak but before she can, another cup of coffee is placed on the counter. "Amelia," the barista announces before walking away.

Amelia laughs, taking a step over to grab her cup, which I immediately notice is tea and not coffee. "Took the words right out of my mouth,"

Remember when I said he was trying to collect as much information on Amelia as possible?? He notices she’s drinking tea instead of coffee.

"Amelia," I repeat as if testing the way the word rolls off my tongue. It tastes sweet. "You heard already, but, um, I'm Spencer,"

"It's nice to meet you," Amelia holds her hand to shake mine, and the panic starts to set in. For a moment, I debate on actually just shaking her hand so I don’t seem like a total freak to this girl that I seem to have a massive crush on. But the prospect of shaking a total strangers hand is repulsive and when I find myself looking at her hand for more than two seconds, I’m starting to count up the amount of germs that would be present there and I have to force myself not to make a face.

The show is very inconsistent with Spencer’s hand shaking because sometimes he’s giving out handshakes like it’s candy but other times he’s waving. So fuck the cm writers. In my head, Spencer rarely shakes hands with people other than those on the team and those he really trusts. So the sheer fact that he’s even considering shaking Amelia’s hand is a huge deal. He wants to make a good impression on her and he’s just hoping that he doesn’t look stupid in front of her. He’s even willing to shake her hand to make a good impression. He’s willing to do something that he absolutely hates, and to me, that’s a huge deal. 

So of course, while my hands get clammy and my heart rate speeds up, I do what I do best. I spit out a fact that Amelia didn't ask for. "On average we carry 3,200 bacteria from 150 different species on our hands,"

Amelia's fingers curl into her palm and she retracts her hand, looking down at her palm and smiling just a tiny bit. "You know, I don't blame you for not wanting to shake hands. It is kinda gross anyway,"

"Sorry," I blurt out immediately, still shuffling on my feet. "That was rude of me,"

"It's not rude," Amelia counters, sipping her tea without so much as grimacing at the inevitable heat. "Are you in a rush?" I glance down at my watch and see that I still have ten minutes until I should be getting on the train. I relay this information to her and watch as she smiles again. "Would you like to sit with me then?"

Guys, I love Amelia so much. I know that my .2 brain cells created her, but I really love her. She doesn’t cut of Spencer when he gives her a fact about germs and she goes along with his aversion to handshaking without a second thought. There’s no interruption or eye-rolling or sass. She listens to him and accepts him and then offers to sit down with him. I think that Amelia found Spencer attractive at first, and now that they have been conversing for just a few moments, she finds him much more intriguing, and that’s why she asks him to sit. She wants to know what this guy’s deal is. 

"Oh," my eyes widen slightly and I squeeze my coffee cup so hard that I think I might poke holes in the sides, "y-yeah, sure,"

"Cool," she breathes out, waving me on and leading me to a booth on the other side of the cafe. I'm far too anxious with this situation and by Amelia's beauty and her comfortability around me to even think about relaxing, or drinking my coffee, or taking my bag off from around my shoulder. I definitely can’t remember any of Morgan’s advice on how to chat up girls or any of the conversation starters I’ve memorized for social situations like this. My mind is completely empty, just when I need it to be full and plentiful. How lovely.

I’m trying to imagine Spencer trying to implement Morgan’s advice on picking up girls and it’s. Wow.

Amelia sits across from me and grins, and every time she does, I swear my heart skips a beat and another butterfly breaks through its cocoon in my stomach. "So where are you off to this morning, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Work," I answer, and then realize that's an incredibly vague answer. Amelia raises her eyebrows as she lounges back against the booth, clearly waiting for me to elaborate. "Uh, I work for the FBI, actually. More specifically, the BAU- the Behavioral Analysis Unit,"

"You're a profiler!" Amelia perks up again, sitting up straighter with a huge grin on her face. "That's super cool! My dad is a police officer, sheriff actually, back home in Texas and I'm pretty sure he's worked with the BAU before and he says you guys are awesome. You catch serial killers, right?"

I'm almost stunned by her reaction. Most people don't believe behavioral profiling works, and most people resist the practice, especially local police. But her acceptance of it is incredibly refreshing, and it's welcomed. Honestly, any type of excitement from this Amelia girl is welcomed. It’s a beautiful sight. 

I can feel my cheeks turn bright red as I nod, still clutching my coffee cup. "Yeah, we do. And um, what about you?" I hate talking about myself so I change the subject. "Where are you off to?"

"I'm actually meeting a friend of mine to go shopping a few blocks over," Amelia gestures out the window. "But since we're talking about your job, I'll tell you about my way less cool job, which is an artist. I went to Carnegie Mellon and then moved here and I’ve been here ever since. My preference is canvas painting but I bring my camera around a lot, hence," she holds up the camera around her neck, "the camera now. I try to capture spontaneous moments for when I do exhibits and galleries and such,”

I’m not sure why but I feel like Spencer would really meld well with someone very artsy. He’s not necessarily an artistically driven person, so I think he would need someone who could open his eyes to a new world. I think that’s why I didn’t like Maeve. She was basically the female version of Spencer and it just wasn’t really an interesting thing to see two identical people get together. But if Spencer could have his eyes opened to the world of art, it would be a magnificent thing. 

"I've always loved art. Never been talented at it, but I like it." I shrug nonchalantly and sip my coffee, trying to divert my eyeline down to the table, but when Amelia smiles at me, I can’t find it in me to break our eye contact.

Something about Amelia's smile brings me in. Every time she flashes her teeth, I feel myself sink further into my seat and I feel my head get fuzzier. I almost forget that I have to get to work in just a few minutes. But I don't want to go anymore. I want to stay here and keep talking to Amelia. I want her to keep going on and on about canvas paintings and her education at Carnegie Mellon, or even just tell me why she likes tea over coffee, if that’s even true. I don’t know anything about this girl but I want to.

"Nobody is technically good at art," Amelia responds. "Everyone has their strengths and weaknesses in the arts, everyone sees art differently, and that's okay. I'm sure you're not horrible, I'm sure you just haven't found your strength yet, Spencer," She enunciates my name with such beauty and grace that I almost ask her to say it again. I'd do anything to hear her say my name again.

I like adding in these little moments, like having Spencer getting lost in the way Amelia says his name. I think it takes a scene or an encounter from just being superficial and takes it a little further. Instead of them sitting at a table, he’s sinking further into the reality that the two of them are creating through their conversation, even if it’s just because Amelia is saying his name in a way that sounds like liquid gold.

"If-" I'm cut off when my phone rings in my pocket, so I lean over and fish it out. I read a text from Garcia that tells me we have a case, meaning we'll be briefing for a new case this morning. I sigh defeatedly, wishing I hadn't just gotten a text that usually piques my interest. Today, it makes my heart drop. 

Guys!!!! Spencer loves his job!! As much trauma as it’s caused him, I really think he loves helping people immensely and he loves going to his job every day (apart from the times he’s being kidnapped and tortured haahahahaha moving on). How often does he not want to go because he would rather socialize? Amelia must mean a lot. Wink, wink. 

"You have to get to work?" I look back up at work to see yet another smile on Amelia's perfect face. "Go ahead, it's okay," I’m so used to seeing disappointed faces when this text comes in, not a smiling face. It’s odd, somewhat confusing.

I grab my coffee cup and stand as Amelia does the same. She holds her cup to her chest, looking down at her feet. "Will," I chew on the inside of my cheek when she looks up at me, ocean eyes wide with anticipation as I struggle with my words for the umpteenth time, "can I see you again? We barely got to talk and you-"

"Yeah," Amelia nods before I can even finish my sentence. "Can I give you my number?"

I have to hold myself back from jumping up and down in excitement. "Y-Yeah, sure, of course," I pull my phone out yet again as she does the same. She tells me her phone number slowly so I can get it down, but of course, it sticks in my brain immediately.

"Just text me," Amelia murmurs, looking over my shoulder at my phone where my shaky thumbs press against the buttons on my phone to type out- hi, it's Spencer. She waits until her phone rings and then she smiles at me. "Great, I've got it. Now, um, go. Don't let me be the reason you're late in helping people. You don't have to text me if you don't want to," she pauses for a moment, and I wonder what she's waiting for. Is she waiting for me to confirm or deny that statement? Is she waiting for anything at all? Is it an open-ended statement? Where have all my profiling skills gone? Forget profiling- where is my common sense? "But if you do wanna text me," I'm thankful when she starts talking again, "don't until after you've solved your case. Don't worry about me until you've saved lives. But like I said, if you don't wanna text me, you don't have to,"

My phone buzzes again and I can only imagine it's someone from the team asking me where I am, hurrying me along so we can get started on our briefing. I ignore it for now. "Well," I have to clear my throat to be able to speak again. I give Amelia a bashful smile holding up my phone for her to see, "I'll text you when I'm back home,"

Amelia blushes, her bottom lip being pulled between her teeth. She breathes out a tiny laugh, nodding. "I look forward to it, Spencer,"

I take a step towards the door and feel my body grow cold at the distance starting to increase between us. "I'll talk to you soon, Amelia,"

I also really love the idea of Spencer immediately feeling the loss of Amelia around him. Like I said, she’s meant to be like the sun shining on his face. Spencer doesn’t get to experience warmth, love, and comfort much and I really wanted to douse him in that. 

And with that, before I have it in me to take one more look at the angel standing in the corner cafe, I hurry out the front door. There's a dumb smile on my face as I rush down the stairs to the train platform, struggling to swipe my card and respond to Penelope's text at the same time, all while running to catch the train at the platform. I'm somehow successful at all of this and only manage to breathe once I'm inside the stuffy car. Amelia's face is stuck inside my head and I can't get it out, and I'm positive that I never want to.

///

"Reid? Reid!" My head pops up as Morgan forcefully says my name, catching my attention and bringing me out of my daydream.

When I look up at him, he's already staring up at me with his eyebrows raised, clearly expecting an answer out of me about something. I have no idea what that something is, but he’s wanting an answer about it. I clear my throat, placing my cup of terrible police station coffee on the table and running a hand over my face. "Sorry," I apologize half heartedly, "I was thinking,"

Morgan sits across from me at the table and folds his hands. "Case related?" I glance up at him before deciding to completely ignore him, standing and walking up to the board, returning to examining the geographical profile. "Reid, come on, we've been on the case three days. You've been distracted ever since you walked in for the briefing. You can talk to me," I keep ignoring him. I stare at the map in front of me. "Is something going on? Is it your mom?"

"My mom is fine," I spin around and cross my arms over my chest, ignoring the way my heart starts to speed up when Amelia’s face resurfaces in my brain. "Can we just solve this case so we can go home?”

I had another paragraph written after this sentence that I wound up deleting because I thought that this was just a better ending than whatever it was that I originally wrote (I literally don’t even remember). I don’t imagine Spencer was too distracted that his work was impacted but I imagine that when he has just a few moments to let his mind wander off, he would allow himself to think of Amelia and how happy she made him feel. I really believe he’s a daydreamer and when he’s given the opportunity to let his mind rest (as in not exert himself as much as he does when he’s working cases) he would let his mind cling to something that brings him comfort and something that would almost lull him into a sense of security and safety, and I think that thing quickly becomes Amelia. At this moment, right after their first meeting, I don’t think Amelia is Spencer’s main daydream just yet, but this will be quick to change.

Here’s the writers commentary for chapter one!! Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed it. Chapter two will be out very soon so keep your eyes open. If you want to be on the tag list for this or for North, let me know and I’ll add you on. Thank you so much for reading <3

[himluv]

The Meadow, pt. 2

This one is long, and sad. But I love it. I hope you do too. Set directly after Dalish.

And remember, if you want to read from the beginning, I’ve collected these oneshots over at AO3.

The journey to Wycome was long and tense. It took nearly a week to reach the city by ship, and during that time Riallan spoke little. Solas was used to quiet, to traveling for weeks and barely hearing his own voice until he dreamt in some ruin. Even with Riallan they were prone to peaceful bouts of silence. It was comfortable, serene. Calm and soothing when worried minds would rather tie themselves in knots.

That was not the case on this journey. Riallan’s silence was a heavy thing, oppressive and all consuming. He only heard her voice when she spoke to the pair of diplomats Josephine had sent with them, and even then it was void of all the warmth and humor he’d come to expect.

In the dark of night, tucked in the small cabin they shared, Riallan slept with her face pressed to his chest. Some nights she cried, but the closer they drew to the Marches the more she withdrew and the less she wept.

He wasn’t certain it was an improvement.

Once in the city, Riallan’s silent grief transformed to a barely restrained fury. The four of them walked to the inn where Josephine had booked their rooms, Riallan marching ahead of them. She didn’t face him, but he recognized the disapproval that wracked her body at the sight of the lavish inn. The marble floor gleamed beneath their feet as they entered, and with each step he feared her rage would explode from her.

“Ah, Inquisitor,” said the concierge, a tall man with a bushy mustache and a thick brogue. “Welcome to Wycome. The Palisade is honored to serve you.”

She held the man’s gaze until he flushed and cleared his throat. “Lady Montilyet reserved two rooms,” he glanced at their party. “Is that correct?”

The diplomats nodded, but Riallan had other plans. “We only need one,” she said. Her tone begged the man to argue with her, begged the diplomats too. “Whichever is the nicer.” She glanced at the diplomats and added, “I will be sleeping elsewhere.”

“You worship--”

“Inquisitor--”

“I will meet you at the ship after three days,” she said to their companions.

She didn’t even glance at Solas as she walked by and out the door. He wasn’t sure if she was giving him the choice to join her or if she simply assumed he would follow. Honestly, she might not have considered him at all, her perceptions were so clouded with fury and grief.

He followed her out into the cobblestone street and walked beside her without a word. When they left the city and followed the road into the forest, he knew where they would eventually end up.

The smell of smoke met them first. It was faint now, weeks old, but the flavor of ash still tinged the air and filled him with dread. It did not take much creativity for him to imagine the scene they would find in the meadow.

Her meadow.

What he hadn’t expected was an Inquisition agent waiting for them in the trees. The woman bent at the waist, her fist at her heart. “Inquisitor. Lady Nightingale sent me to secure the meadow.”

Riallan’s voice was lifeless. “Did you touch anything?”

“No, Your Worship.” She grimaced. “Only buried the remains as you requested. We were able to identify almost everyone thanks to your descriptions.”

Riallan swallowed and her eyes glistened, but no tears fell. “And Deshanna?”

The agent looked at her feet. “The Keeper rests just outside the camp, with a view of the creek.” She cleared her throat. “The saplings arrived yesterday.” She glanced between Riallan and Solas. “Do you require assistance?”

“No, thank you,” she said. “You may leave us.”

She bowed again. “Of course, Inquisitor.” She cast a knowing glance at Solas, then she vanished into the woods. If the agent actually left them, he would eat his shirt. He had a feeling Leliana would not let the Inquisitor out of her sight for awhile.

Riallan made to continue on into the meadow, but she paused at the brush of his fingers on her arm. When she didn’t look at him, he said, “Vhenan…”  

“We don’t have time for this,” she said, but there was no heat in her voice. “We have almost thirty trees to plant and only three days to do it.”

“Ria.” He tugged on her arm. “Look at me.”

She turned to face him, silent tears tracking her cheeks, but said nothing.

“What are you thinking?”

She took a shuddering breath. “Too many things.”

“Drith ma, vhenan.”

She closed her eyes and let the words pour from her. “That I should have been here. That I could have helped. That I’ll never forgive myself for being gone so long. That I’ll never hear my maela’s voice again. That I’ll never get to introduce you to her. That I never wanted to share the meadow with you like this.”

She took a deep, terrified breath and whispered, “That none of this would have happened if I’d had the decency to just die in the Temple of Sacred Ashes.”

Her words, her fears, all the horrible grief she carried in her heart brought a sting to his eyes. He blinked to keep the tears at bay; it would hardly help if he started crying too. He wanted to comfort her, to tell her that he was glad she yet lived, that the world would be poorer for her loss, but he knew she wasn’t ready to hear them. In this moment she would gladly give her life if it meant it would bring her clan back.

There was nothing he could say that would change that. So, instead, he laced his fingers through hers and brought her trembling knuckles to his lips. “Come vhenan,” he said. “Let’s put your clan to rest.”

The days were long, the work of digging and planting trees a physical labor he hadn’t experienced in a long time. But he made no complaint, even as the heat threatened to suffocate him and the sun burned his skin. Across the meadow, Riallan had stripped down to her leggings and breast band, sweat glistening on her skin. She hadn’t cried since they entered the ruined camp. The sight of the charred and broken aravels, massacred halla scattered around them, had brought her to her knees, but once the shock wore off, anger and purpose fueled her.

She had too much work to do and now that indomitable focus he so admired served her well.

If the days were long, then the nights were eternity. Despite the back-breaking work, Riallan hardly slept. She kept vigil at the fire, her eyes distant as she succumbed to memories.

“It’s fitting,” she said on the third night. Firelight flickered on her face, casting her green eyes in shadow. She met his gaze for a fleeting moment, then looked out toward the creek. “My parents and sister are buried here.”

He had never heard her speak of any other family besides Deshanna. He’d assumed some sort of tragedy made her keep them to herself. His silence was invitation enough for her to continue.

“Mamae died in childbirth. Twins are hard even when one of the babies isn’t breached.”

“I did not know you were a twin,” he said, which was silly. Of course he didn’t, she’d never once mentioned it.

She nodded. “Maela said we were identical, and that the world simply wouldn’t have been able to handle the both of us.” She smiled at that, a sad and bitter thing. “Raena was stillborn. Mamae wouldn’t stop bleeding, no matter what Deshanna tried.” She shrugged. “Papae never recovered. He went on a hunt and didn’t return. One of our hunters found him days later hanging from a tree.”

Solas watched her and felt true fear claw at his chest. The way she said it all, blithe and unconcerned. As if she’d said it a million times before, as if she felt not a single word that passed over her lips. There was a detachment to her he had never seen, as if her spirit would simply float away if it weren’t for the body rooting her to the earth.

Riallan stood suddenly and held her hand out to him. “Walk with me?”

He’d grown accustomed to her whiplash moods these past days. Her emotions were powerful and fleeting, making her a tempest of fury and grief one moment, and the still of a moonless night the next. The best he could do for her was to be the rock her tides crashed against, steady and unflinching in the brunt of her storm.

“Of course,” he said, and let her pull him to his feet. On their way to the bank of the creek, they passed the only grave that had yet to be graced with a tree. Riallan avoided Deshanna’s burial site, either because she wanted to honor her grandmother last or because she was dreading the ritual. Probably both.

When they reached the creek she settled down onto the bank and stretched out on her back. Solas followed her lead. The night was warm but the sea breeze was cool and refreshing, the sky above them clear and bright with stars.

He closed his eyes and focused on his other senses. The smell of the salt in the air doing its part to scour the ashy tang of death from the meadow. The ripple and babble of the creek as the cool, clear water tumbled over the stones that made its bed. The sway and hush of leaves in the trees promising a new sort of life after death.

It took him a moment to notice the change in Riallan’s breathing beside him. He’d slipped into a meditative state as he absorbed the meadow, but the hitch in her breath, the sharp, broken, shuddering sound as she struggled to control herself wrenched his eyes open.

“Vhenan?”

She covered her face with her hands and shook her head. When he reached for her she rolled away from him, curling in on herself as terrible sobs wracked her body. He followed her, curved his body around hers, and held her as grief tore her apart.

Riallan had cried a lot in the last week. Tears that came fast and hard, then dried just as quickly. Soft, trickling tears that hardly anyone noticed before she dabbed them away. Quaking, shaking tears that left little evidence on her face, but told the tale of her grief in the tremors of her body. All of those tears had been cried, and yet none of them bore the true weight of her loss.

There, on the bank of her favorite place in the world, Riallan’s grief was finally set free. She shuddered and sobbed, gasping for air and choking on tears until she was nearly sick. But Solas did not let go of her. He kept one arm around her middle, holding her back to his chest, while the other brushed the hair from her forehead in soothing strokes.

He did not shush her. He did not whisper comforting things or try to convince her that everything would be all right, no matter how much his heart ached for her. She had just lost her entire family, her people. Her clan. He would not diminish her grief with his selfish attempts to make her feel better.

He knew how she felt all too well. If he could take that pain from her, he would. But he could not. Like so much else in their lives, she would have to endure.

Solas held her until her tears subsided, until she rolled toward him and pressed her face into his chest. Until her breathing evened out and she abandoned the meadow for the solace of the Fade. Once he was certain she was asleep, he carried her back to their little tent and put her to bed. Then he settled in to guard her dreams.

In the morning Riallan insisted on planting Deshanna’s tree on her own. He gave her the privacy she desired, and busied himself with preparing their lunch. He watched over her, from a respectful distance, as she sank down onto her knees. The tree was planted. Riallan wiped at her face, but she didn’t shake, didn’t sob. The tears were quieter once more.

He smiled as she began to speak, her voice too low, the distance too far for him to hear, but the longer she sat there, the more animated her hands became. And then she bowed, put her hands to the dirt, and cried. No maelstrom, no heaving sobs. Just the soft, rocking rhythm of sorrow casting her adrift one more time.

When she joined him at the fire her face was splotched with red, but her eyes were clear. Steady hands took the bowl he offered and she gave him the first smile he’d seen since he found her under the tree in Skyhold’s garden.

“Thank you, Solas,” she said. She looked down at the stew. “For being here. For helping me.”

He dropped the ladle back in the pot, abandoning his own meal to stand before her. He ducked his head to meet her gaze. “There’s no need to thank me, vhenan. I wanted to come.” He kissed her forehead and rubbed his hands up and down her arms.

She lifted her face and pressed a fleeting kiss to his lips. “Still,” she said. “Thank you. I don’t know how I would have done this without you.”

“Ara melava son’ganem, vhenan.” He cupped her face in each hand and looked her in the eyes. “Ar lath ma, Riallan.”

Tears pooled in her green eyes, and though sadness still filled them, something bright and warm edged at the centers.

Solas thought it looked an awful lot like hope.

[xxpadfootxx]

🐾Night Terrors & New Beginnings - Part 3 (Lovely Oddities)🐾

Izuku and his mother walked along a wooded gravel drive leading to a nice log cabin that was tucked neatly into the embrace of the surrounding trees. The sun was warm and bright, its rays shining through the tree leaves in a way that left little dapples all over the small pebbles on the driveway. The pair walked in silence up to the house, a slight bit of tension hanging between them, a mix of fear and worry about the other person. Ever since the visit to the hospital, Inko Midoriya had been extra protective of her son, calling or texting him all the time and staying up late at night, unable to fall asleep with the fear of a dragon sneaking in to steal her boy away. Izuku had started to worry about her almost as much as she worried about him. The lack of sleep and the stress of the anxiety from the attack was starting to have a negative impact on her health. Izuku glanced at his mother as they walked, the rocks crunching beneath their shoes, and let out a sigh.

“Mom, I really am okay. I know you are worried and I understand why, you have every right to be, but I’m worried about you now. You look too tired,” Izuku draped one arm around his mother’s shoulder.

“I know that sweetie, the doctor would not have cleared you if you had not been physically and mentally stable with the current situation but I can’t help being anxious! Sometimes I just forget how dangerous the world really is and when you almost lose someone you love…” She wrapped one of her arms around Izuku’s shoulders and pulled him closer to him, their legs almost tangling as they continued to walk down the winding path.

“Well, hopefully, this therapist can settle both of our anxieties, that way you won’t have to worry so much. Neither of us will have to,” Izuku said, gesturing to the cabin.

“Me too, Izuku. Me too…”

They finally reached the end of the drive and knocked on a pair of beautifully handcrafted walnut doors, breaking apart from each other but still holding each other’s hands. To their surprise, the door flew open just a few short seconds after they had knocked, almost as if the resident of the house had been standing at the entrance to wait for them to arrive.

“Welcome to my home!”

To say that she looked odd was a little bit of an understatement. The woman standing at the entrance of her cabin was taller than both of the Midoriyas with long ivory hair that had been fashioned into one fishtail braid going down the back. Her eyes were a pretty deep brown and her skin was an even mix of pale and a light brush of a spring tan. It was what she was wearing that caught the Midoriyas by surprise. The woman was wearing a set of ashen combat leathers that complimented her hair with a slight gray contrast between the two. At the waist of her gray pants was a black leather belt that held an interesting assortment of items, such as a dead fish, a hammer, a shield, and a strange-looking green root. Her hands were covered by heavy black gloves and around her neck, she wore a necklace of small bones. Despite this, the strangest part about her appearance was not the necklace of bones or strange combat gear but the large white and gray eagle that sat on her shoulder. Not waiting for an introduction from the pair of startled guests, the woman stepped to the side and gestured them inside with a bright smile on her face.

“Please feel free to make yourselves at home here, I’ve got tea on the stove right now that will be ready in just a few minutes,” the woman followed them into the living room before departing into the kitchen. She came back a moment later holding a small tray of tea and some baked treats. She bent down and placed the tray on a wooden handcrafted table and the eagle on her shoulder took off silently, landing on a landing post on the other side of the room.

“Did you find the place okay?”

“Yeah it was no problem,” Inko replied.

“Very good! My name is Haruka and I am here today to look over one of the few injuries my friend at the hospital wasn’t able to properly diagnose, is that correct?”

“Yeah that’s right,” Izuku said, looking around at the surprisingly neat and pretty interior decor.

“Alright, what’s your name? Izuku, right?”

Izuku nodded.

“Okay Izuku, give me a rundown of how you’ve been feeling and then we will take a look at the injury shall we?”

“Sure!” Izuku thought for a moment. “I don’t really feel any pain in my hand anymore but I feel pain everywhere else. It is a really dull pain, to the point of me almost being able to ignore it but it is still there. It flares up sometimes though, I just feel pain everywhere in my body. It wakes me up at night sometimes. I have also been having these really weird dreams where I am in the dragon’s body, the one that attacked me as if I am living in the dragon’s life and all of the dreams are always full of terrible pain and horror.”

Haruka nodded and wrote some things down on a notepad she had pulled out of a hidden pocket of hers.

“Any other issues or symptoms?”

“Well… yes actually. I feel like my senses have been heightened. Even just walking to your house today, I felt comfortable under the trees even though a forest is where I was attacked. I feel like my sense of smell and sight has been magnified, my hearing too so that I can experience things a split second before my friends and family do.”

Haruka looked up at him for a moment, her eyes meeting his before she dropped her gaze and continued to scribble some things down.

“Thank you Izuku that was very helpful! Are you comfortable with showing me your hand where the injury is?”

Izuku nodded and held up his hand. His other hand shook as he reached over to pull off the glove he had been wearing to cover the mark, his nerves suddenly skyrocketing. He didn’t know what was wrong with him, he felt like he was revealing a part of himself that he shouldn’t, like taking off all of his clothes in public. Even so, he swallowed the strange feeling and ripped off the glove, turning his palm around so that Haruka could take a look. Haruka studied his hand for a moment, even taking it in her hands and feeling it with her surprisingly soft fingers. The eagle on the stand nearby ruffled its feathers and cawed, shaking its head and prancing in place before finally settling once more.

“Alright, Izuku can I be straight forward with you?”

Izuku nodded.

“And Mrs. Midoriya can I also be straight with you?”

“Yes.”

“Okay good,” Haruka took a deep breath and looked at them both in the eyes. “It is a brand, young Midoriya. It happens sometimes when a dragon is in serious danger and it needs to escape a situation fast but also doesn’t want to lose something that it wants or needs. My doctor friend told me that you thought this dragon was a Night Fury? Those dragons are renowned for their intense intelligence which means that the dragon that attacked you could have very easily decided to save you for a later meal by marking you so that it could find you again.”

Inko Midoriya gasped and Izuku felt all of the blood rush out of his head leaving his face a pale and sweaty mess.

“W-What?”

“Don’t panic young Midoriya. I know it is scary but don’t worry, the brand doesn’t last forever and the dragon will soon lose interest. Also, if it is a Night Fury, that thing will be hunted from every corner of the earth and will have no ability to get anywhere near the city,” Haruka sat back with a sigh and scratched her neck. “Even so, I want you to be very careful. Don’t go walking alone at night, stay with friends and family during the day, and never let your guard down. As I said, you should be fine but your safety is as much my priority as it is your mother’s so I want to make sure you know every precaution before you leave here, alright?”

“Alright. Thank you so much or your help.”

“It was no problem at all young Midoriya, and while you are out living your life, I will order a new type of medication for you that will help you get rid of the brand faster alright? It should also get rid of the weird dreams and constant pain.”

“Thanks again,” Inko Midoriya said, tears threatening to spill over onto her cheeks. “We will see you in a few weeks.”

“I look forward to it!” Even the eagle cawed at them as the pair walked out of the cute but strange little cabin and into the forest.

[bubble-tea-bunny]

before you go

[sidon x reader]

author’s note: i swear this story wasn’t even meant to be like, that long, but i just kept adding scenes. hope you enjoyyy

word count: 16,475

PROLOGUE

Millennia have passed since the day the ruins were swallowed up by darkness, but the witch in those woods remembers it well. She sees it vividly in her mind’s eye like yesterday: thick trunks of towering trees, whose roots cling deep in the earth, extending their branches with their lush green leaves, growing closer and closer and closer until the last sliver of sunlight disappears, no longer welcomed on the forest floor.

The light isn’t missed. What creatures lay in hiding here thrive without it, nocturnal animals left to roam all hours of the day, surrounded by perpetual night. Torches scattered throughout the maze of this forest, hanging on sconces of crumbling stone walls and statues, are ignited by the daring adventurer trying to find their way to the center. But they never get far, turning around and using their trail markers to direct their way back out, and with the passing hours, the flames flicker and whither, dying down to embers.

No one has found the witch. Her hut rests deep in the woods, in a shadowy corner that most have failed to reach. The lack of disturbances means she can work without interruption. She tends to a small garden whose herbs grow beneath the dim light of a lantern strung up on a nearby branch. When they’re fully grown, she harvests then organizes them on a shelf, where they sit ready to be mixed into her newest elixir.

They work well for a good portion of the concoctions she creates: healing tonics, draughts of strength, sleeping potions for the restless and nightmare-riddled. She keeps them in tinted glass bottles with cork stoppers and knows exactly which elixir is stored where. The magic she practices is hardly sinister, and she’s content to keep this peace. The magic she practices is innocent, until one day, it isn’t.

She finds the recipe in an old leather-bound tome covered in dust. The language is old but she understands it (well, what still remains that hadn’t faded with time, that is). The book is vague about what the potion grants, but all she knows is that given what it asks for, it must be powerful. To create it would be crossing over into more harmful forms of magic, yet she can’t find it within herself to push away the biting curiosity to delve more into what she has discovered. The aged volume seems to pulse with life in her aged hands, exuding a power of its own that prevents her from putting it down and forgetting what she was seen.

Gathering the ingredients would be a difficult and lengthy process, but she’s learned to be patient. She wouldn’t be going out to collect them; they would come to her. And they do, steadily, in the form of the rare travelers with the intelligence and determination to venture further into the forest, closer to the middle, and closer to the witch’s hut.

She doesn’t hurt them. She won’t hurt them. And she says that to them quietly even though they can’t hear her, having passed out due to her sleeping potion. She only needs one thing, one little thing, if they would be so kind as to hand it over…

By the time the traveler wakes up, they’re back on the path illuminated by their own hand, and they can’t remember ever happening upon the witch. There are other bits too, other recollections they won’t be able to recall, though when (if) they finally realize that, they’ll be far from this place, and thoroughly at a loss as to what happened to that one corner of their brain where memories are hazy, like staring through fogged glass, aching to see what lies on the other side clearly, but unable to do so.

Those stolen memories stay with the witch now, radiant essences in purples and yellows and blues, floating and curling in their bottles. They’re pretty to watch. She lines them up, checks off the list of ingredients one by one in the tome: anger, empathy, happiness, innocence… All taken from the unfortunate souls who come into the dark woods. They don’t anticipate losing anything other than time in the day, and as far as they’ll be able to tell, that is the only thing they lose while exploring here. It’s a small mercy, the witch reckons, that they won’t notice.

She has only one ingredient left, but there has been no one to collect it from. It’s as though the universe understands that’s she is so close to being done, and has delayed the moment when she should find what she is searching for, building the tension, the suspense. For all the patience she has practiced for the centuries she has lived, she’s never felt antsier than this instant, the days passing like years. The lighting of torches signals the presence of another lone wanderer, but she doesn’t see those spots of orange flames.

Her frustration is palpable. and she sighs heavily. She can do nothing but wait.

———

I.

The roar of the waterfall is a comforting white noise to Sidon, and it gently pulls him into the waking world at the break of dawn. His eyes crack open, serving witness to the rising sun washing over the water and painting the town in golden light. He’s always sluggish in the mornings, in no rush to push away the grogginess beckoning him back to sleep for a couple more minutes, or several, or maybe another hour if there’s nothing of note to attend to.

This morning, he nearly rolls over to continue sleeping, but his gaze passes over the folded parchment on the nightstand, and as if he’d been shocked, he sits up straight, fully alert. Reaching over to grab the letter, he opens it to reread it for—well, actually, he’s lost count of how many times he’s read it. He skims it, looks for the date mentioned to confirm that yes, that’s today.

It’s still early for most of the other Zora to be up, but those who are greet Sidon with a quiet good morning. He smiles and returns them all without stopping his stride. No one tries to get him to pause a moment for conversation, and he’s certain they all know where he’s going for his walking to be so purposeful. This has happened many times before, and when Sidon is set on something, he thinks little of anything else. Kayden especially understands this, for he grins as Sidon approaches the steps to the inn, already knowing why he’s there.

Kayden needn’t speak, only nudging his head to the side, in the direction of the beds. Sidon nods in thanks and quietly searches for his goal, footfalls silent so as not to disturb those slumbering. He finds it on the far end, separated from the others who have checked in for the evening, and he feels a large smile creeping onto his face, unable to be contained.

He sits on the edge of your bed, reaching out to brush your hair away from your face. Your nose scrunches as the silky strands pass over the sensitive skin of your cheeks. Then your face relaxes again, and he thinks you’ve continued to sleep. He wouldn’t mind if that’s the case. He just wanted to see you, to feel you and know that you’re here again. And it would be enough to hold him over until you finally woke, and he would be graced with the sound of your voice.

It turns out he doesn’t have to wait, for you groan quietly and your eyes are brilliant even if only half-open with fatigue. You hum and it’s as if you’re trying to say his name, to question if it’s him, but you don’t have the energy to enunciate it properly. He understands perfectly anyway and says yes, it’s him, and he’s so happy you’re back.

He sets a hand on your face, being careful of his claws as he strokes your cheek. He’s considerably larger than you are, and the size of his hand emphasizes this fact more. You lay your own over his and hum again. It’s not another attempt to say his name or any other words. Rather, it’s one of contentment, almost a purr, and Sidon’s chest tightens and he can’t believe how much he can miss someone. You murmur that you’re happy your back too because home is where the heart is and you’d buried yours here a long time ago.

You yawn and stretch your arms, and he gives you time to wake up more fully. Once you’ve blinked away the last of the sleepiness, he stands and offers you his hand, asking if you would like to regale your adventures to him over breakfast. You grin and nod, accepting his hand to help you up.

Sidon won’t deny that he worries for you when you’re exploring. He knows you can fight, can take of yourself, but Hyrule is vast and there are dark corners with monsters even someone of your ability will struggle against. He says to spare no details of your journey so you don’t, recounting the close calls (of which there are more than he would like, though he would prefer none at all), and he calms himself down by assuring himself that you sitting across from him isn’t some figment of his imagination. You’re real. Though if that’s not enough, and he needs more proof to keep him grounded, he reaches across to feel your soft skin beneath his fingers.

It’s like he’s being told a bedtime story with the sense of epic your retellings contain, filled with obstacles and triumph, and he thinks he’ll dream of it tonight, dream of you being front and center, the hero trekking through the land on a quest. Not that he hasn’t already dreamed of you. Sometimes, when his heart is especially heavy and he’s laden with gloom to be so far from you, he dreams of calm waters and of you sitting at its shore, the low tide lapping at your feet and your toes curled in the cold dirt. Then you see him watching you and smile, beckoning him over, and he’s overcome with a sensation that it’s actually you he’s observing there, that you’ve stepped into his dream from wherever you are in Hyrule, reminding him no distance is too great to feel you are ever truly apart.

Of course, it’s all fanciful speculation with no bearing in reality, inspired by a love that makes him wax lyrical like he’s a natural born poet with one muse in mind (but he has no desire for any other because you’re the only one he needs). You don’t actually have the power to traverse through dreams, but it does feel like you when he sees you and interacts with you and Sidon figures that’s because his soul knows yours so well.

Being higher up in the mountains, the weather in Lanayru is more temperate, and you like to bask in the breeze and the sunlight from outside the town, away from the noise. Sidon joins you, and he admits to you that every now and then he comes out here while you’re away, but it doesn’t feel the same.

“This beauty is difficult to enjoy with no one to appreciate it with,” he remarks softly.

You smile and lean your head on his shoulder. “I saw the most incredible statues in Gerudo and thought the same thing.”

The two of you are perched on the edge of a small cliff overlooking the Zora River, where you aren’t going to be interrupted anytime soon considering it’s sizable distance from town. There were plenty of other wonderful areas from which to survey the strong current of water as it flows downstream, towards the wetlands, that are closer to Ruto Lake, but you like to come here because the air at the Bank of Wishes feels different somehow, in a way Sidon can’t delineate with words but he sees it in the sparkle of your eye when the sun shines over you just right.

Stepping onto this small section of leveled ground is to cross the threshold into a realm where things are not as they seem, and you’re privy to the revelation that this is where the strings of the world are tinkered with and manipulated. It pulls the sun and the moon across the sky, pulls the strings of a soul like a harp and the ensuing breathy sigh of a fondness newly discovered is the song. It pulls you and Sidon with threads wrapped around your fingers, guiding you here, and then towards each other. And Sidon loves nothing more than to hear you sing.

He’d stumbled across you once, having arrived at the bank before he did, and he nearly called your name but remained quiet once he realized you were preoccupied with a red container. The stems of blue nightshades are looped through the small ring on the thick golden band wrapped around the cylindrical vessel, which you’re taking extra care with securing. You continue to kneel next to it even after ensuring the flowers won’t slip out, and he can’t hear what you’re saying but he thinks he knows what words you whisper.

Then you push the container into the water, and it lands with a small splash. You stare as the current takes it around the bend, and when it’s out of sight, Sidon comes out from his hiding place. You turn around, eyes wide in surprise to be caught off guard, but you relax at the sight of him and Hylia’s blessing rests in the curve of your lips and he could live there forever. He understands the glow of those flowers was a piece of yourself and you’d wished for it to seek out the one you wanted to give it to, and the water fairy is constantly listening because he stands before you now, and his heart warms at your knocking of the front door, and he knows pretty blue nightshades wait on the other side for him to welcome home.

You point out a school of fish near the surface of the water that’s passing by, and Sidon watches them with you as he takes hold of your free hand resting in your lap, anchoring himself to the moment. He’d happily live out his existence here with you.

He promises one day you’ll travel through Hyrule together. He can’t easily leave Zora’s Domain because of his obligations as prince, and you understand, you do, and in return he wants to give you better, he wants to give you everything. But your soft smile lets him know that he is more than enough for you. This universe could fall away around you both and he’s not sure you’d notice.

“I’ll have my darling prince to protect me then,” you state teasingly.

“You will,” Sidon responds, equally playful, but then the tone shifts and the jest fades and as he gently strokes the back of your hand with his thumb, he assures you that he’d always keep you safe. He would gladly be your knight.

While he would like to spend every hour in your presence, that simply isn’t possible, and he reluctantly leaves you to your own devices as he attends to his duties. You have no issue filling that time with conversing casually with the other Zora and with travelers about where they plan to go next. It’s from conversations with the latter that you tend to draw inspiration for deciding your next point of interest.

A fellow Hylian shares the rumors of skeleton horses in the Tabantha tundra which show up in the middle of the night, their red undead eyes like omens of ill fate. It sounds scary, she says, but apparently they’re gone by morning. Not even bones are left. She’s intent to witness these creatures herself, and she’s stocking up well here in Zora’s Domain since it’s a far journey. The idea of skeleton horses certainly grabs your attention, but you don’t think you’re as intent to travel so far, since you’d just arrived from Gerudo.

The Goron in Coral Reef mentions that he had just visited Lurelin Village, the small fishing town on the southern coast. The weather’s a little warmer, a little more humid, but that could easily be alleviated by dipping into the ocean for a swim. He paints the picture easily for you, of the turquoise waves and white sand beaches. He exclaims that the seafood paella is like nothing you’ve ever eaten before, and your mouth waters merely thinking of what it would be like to taste. You’d heard of it before, but never had the opportunity to try it.

He laughs at the glazed look in your eyes, your thoughts on Lurelin Village’s famed dish. “I’m tellin’ ya, ya gotta go down there and order yourself some!”

You nod in agreement and yeah, you do need to go down there to try the seafood paella! The Goron guffaws again and pats you on the back—That’s what I like to hear!—but he’s strong and even the light clap between the shoulder blades nearly makes you tumble to the ground.  

With your mind made up, you settle down in a quiet corner to take out your map and plot a route to the seaside town. It’s still in Necluda, which means the actual travel time to get there and back won’t be long at all. You could make the Dueling Peaks stable your halfway point and cut through the forests, heading east for a short duration until the trails begin leading further south. You wouldn’t be gone as long as you were last time, and perhaps you could learn to make the paella and buy the proper ingredients to recreate here for Sidon to try too. Yes, this is perfect!

You sit back and review what you’ve drawn out on the map and the notes you’ve written on the sides. This map had been a recent purchase, considering your old one had been torn to shreds after a run-in with bokoblins. As such, it lacks the messiness of your original copy, which contained multiple lines representing the routes you’ve taken on your travels, as well as even more notes scribbled on the sides with tips or reminders. While this new map is certainly easier to read due to the lack of pencil marks all over the place, it’s missing the charm. But you suppose that’s hardly going to be a problem as you continue to move around Hyrule and figure out new paths to take in order to see as much of the land as possible. Just so long as another monster doesn’t sink their teeth into it…

The clean state of this map also makes it simple for you to spot a section of the map you had marked with a circle and a question mark. Your brows furrow as you stare down at it, attempting to recall when you had done that. You could vaguely remember being told stories about ruins there when you’d been at one of the stables. It starts coming back to you then.

The stable master had brought it up when it had been late and you were half-asleep, prepared to head inside to sleep. He’d spoken of a patch of trees in northern Hyrule, past the Great Hyrule Forest, and it had no name. Only the ruins hidden within did. Thyphlo Ruins.

It’s dark in those woods, he warned. Really dark. Other travelers who had stopped to rest at the stable had shared their experiences of attempting to reach the center, to see what might be there, but none of them had succeeded. They say the dark does strange things to the mind, the stable master explains. And the shadows… You think you see things that aren’t actually there. Not many have the mental fortitude to withstand the strain of being surrounded by pitch black for as long as is required to arrive at the middle of the labyrinth. You’d never heard of anyone that had gotten that far, so who’s to say there was anything to find there?

But… there had to be, right? It would make sense to if not assume, then at least hope something did, indeed, lie at the center, because for all the trouble one has to go through, a prize at the end, be it a treasure chest or a priceless artifact or some such valuable object, would be adequate recompense, especially if it came at the cost of near insanity. The world would show itself to be awfully cruel if the ruins had no reward to proffer, and while you consider yourself to be optimistic, you also understand that the world can be awfully cruel and you can’t rule out the possibility that a successful journey to the innermost parts of that forest may leave you empty-handed.

The more risk-averse would turn away from the prospect of exploring that mysterious patch of tightly packed trees, but you’ve the drive and determination to dive into it, to push through what might hide behind large trunks and mossy stone columns, and reach the end. You wouldn’t be satisfied with mere stories of others’ experiences. You want to have one of your own.

It’s early afternoon when Sidon is dismissed, leaving him with the rest of the day to spend with you. You’re sitting by the cooking pot at the inn, and the smell of baked apples reaches his nose the closer he gets. You don’t notice him because you’re preoccupied with what he registers is a map, which you hold in one hand, a slice of apple in the other. His mouth opens to announce his arrival, but his feet coming into your periphery causes you to glance up. A spark flickers behind your eyes and you could illuminate the whole of Zora’s Domain and that flash of love which steals his breath away because that’s for him, all for him are the dots of light in the corners of his vision whenever he should gaze at the sun.

He sits down next to you and points at the map. Planning your next adventure?

You smile and nod enthusiastically, showing him the route you’ve outlined for yourself. He’s first drawn to the lines leading south, towards the coast, but you pull his attention to the one trailing north instead, and his own smile begins to falter as he traces it back to the smaller but still dense cluster of trees above Great Hyrule Forest.

Though he’s not an adventurer like you, he’s heard his fair share of stories regarding the woods surrounding Thyphlo Ruins. The curiosity evident in the voices of those with a biting curiosity to travel within that mystifying landmark he fails to understand, for he feels no such pull, no such urge. The way he looks at it, if there is anything hiding there in the darkness, chances are, they don’t want to be found. And he’s perfectly content to not go looking.

But he is not you, and that is not how you look at it. You sound excited to have finally settled upon your next destination, and he feels bad that he can’t join you in your elation, not when his mind festers with concern for your wellbeing. He forces the smile back onto his face and does his best to support you in any other way that he can, finding it in the delight you exude at the prospect of continuing your exploration of the vast land of Hyrule. He’s glad that you’re doing something which you truly enjoy, and he tries to focus on that instead of where your passion is bringing you now.

Even for all of that, you know something is bothering him. He shouldn’t be surprised. You know what he is thinking, what he is feeling, by the small changes in his expression, by his nervous swallowing, and most of all by his slight hesitation to meet your eyes right away when you turn to him. He can’t shake the shame that creeps up on him that he can’t be as excited as you are, a notion that can’t be alleviated by the fact that you would never fault him for anything like that. He sees it in your small sympathetic smile and feels it in the warmth of your hand as you reach over to set it atop his.

“I promise I’ll stay safe,” you say, but you can only promise so much because to go somewhere that dangerous, there’s no guarantee of complete safety. Perhaps instead you voice it as a form of comfort, a reminder that Sidon needs every now and again that you’re being careful, and how could you not be when in the days spent traveling from place to place, your mind is filled with thoughts of returning here, to him, to home?

“I wish I could go with you.” He might not understand that yearning to explore the unknown, but he would venture into that forest without delay if it meant he could protect you, watching your back and the shadows outside your line of sight. He hates the idea of you being in there alone.

You squeeze his hand once in a gesture of reassurance. It mirrors how his heart squeezes as you look upon him so lovingly.

“I do too,” you remark quietly. "But we’ll have our own adventures one of these days. I’ll even let you mark them out on the map.”

Sidon smiles more genuinely now, beginning to relax. You’re trying to steer the conversation away from anything harrowing and he understands and appreciates that you are. It would do neither of you well to linger on any of the what-ifs. And he trusts you, truly, to be vigilant. You have been this long, and you’ve always come back to him.

As you outline your plans to him, he feels more at ease with the caution and preparation you’re clearly practicing. By the time the day of your departure rolls around, there’s only a small inkling of worry left in him (though that would always be there regardless of where you traveled).

Your evening spent at the inn isn’t a typical occurrence. You’d only done it because it was late when you’d arrived, and you didn’t want to disturb Sidon, no matter how many times he told you he wouldn’t mind. After that first night, you’d stayed with him in his own quarters, and it’s here that he laments how quickly the days have passed that you should already be leaving him.

Once you’ve checked that you have everything you’ll need for your travels, you close your bag and set it down on the table in the corner. Sidon is watching you from where he sits on the edge of his bed, and you walk over to him, taking the hand he holds out so he can pull you closer gently. His arms wrap around you as you stand between his legs, and you rest your own around this neck. You don’t look down at him and he doesn’t look up, for given that he towers above you when standing, in this position, both of you are eye to eye.

The world turns so slowly without you, he bemoans. I wish I could hold it in my hand to speed it up and bring you back to me sooner. You have wished for the same and smile wistfully at those sentiments he seems to have plucked from your brain. How must your days have felt before you met me? you tease, not really expecting an answer, but he gives one. Like eternity, he confesses.

He walks you to the very edge of town, and you linger at the end of the bridge, the walkway beneath your feet a soft blue accented by the glow of the luminous stones set in the pillars and arches. You stare at the trail leading away from Zora’s Domain and back towards the mainland, and Sidon’s staring down at you, and he doesn’t miss the pause in your stance, like you’re about to put one foot in front of the other and begin your journey but can’t find it within you to actually move.

“Hey.” He’s gentle as he draws your attention to him. “Are you okay?”

You purse your lips and he thinks for a moment you’re going to shake your head, but then you take him by surprise as you lunge towards him and hug him tightly. He’s quick to reciprocate, bringing an arm around your shoulders to hold you near. You murmur that you’ll miss him and your words are sunshine because he melts more and more with every syllable. Now it’s his turn to reassure you—he’s going to be here when you get back, and no stretch of land or water would ever be enough to separate you. Just think of me when you lay down to sleep, he says, and I’ll never feel too far away. If you had changed your mind and decided to stay here with him, he would welcome you gladly, of course. But he knows you won’t do that. It’s not in your nature. You hear the calls of the wild and yearn to follow them. Now go have a new adventure.

He stands there until you’re out of sight, and his walk back across the bridge is unhurried. You had wanted an early start, and by this point, the sun hasn’t quite yet revealed itself fully from behind the horizon. The fog above the water, which had been thick in the cold hours of the night, is starting to dissipate due to the growing warmth. Sidon lifts his gaze to the sky. It will be a nice day today, judging by the weather.

The duties he has to attend to as prince of the domain aren’t sufficient to make the time pass faster. He sits in meetings with his father and Muzu and occasionally the head of the guard, head leaning in his hand. His mind is elsewhere, and he stares out at the town like he might see you down there, waiting for him to be dismissed so he can join you.

“Sidon.” Muzu calls him sternly, the tone behind it slightly scolding.

Sidon blinks and reels his thoughts back in to the discussion, taking a deep breath and sitting up straighter in an effort to become more alert. His lazy movements betray how close he had been to falling asleep as well as any lack of guilt to be caught daydreaming. Muzu huffs and shakes his head but doesn’t bother to address his inattention. This isn’t the first instance this has happened, and the one solution would simply be to move on. Sidon’s thoughts would inevitably slip away to something (someone) else, and no number of reminders to stay focused would change that.

It’s also why King Dorephan isn’t irritated with Sidon’s behavior. While it’s part of Sidon’s disposition to be chipper, that attitude only persists during meetings (which even Dorephan will admit can be boring) if you’re in town. You give him something to look forward to when they finally adjourn, and he’d be energized for the entire duration. But the story is different when you’re gone, and though Sidon is happy to spend time with his friends, he’d enjoy it more with you around.

He understands what Sidon feels for you, and he knows there would be no stopping the drifting of his mind in your direction as he no doubt wonders where in Hyrule you are currently. As if on cue, he notices Sidon’s attention shifting again, eyes apparently staring at the wall but Dorephan has a suspicion Sidon isn’t admiring the architecture.

“I think we can stop here for today,” Dorephan speaks up.

Muzu trails off, confused and missing the look shared between the king and prince. Dorephan nods at Muzu, a motion of finality, and the advisor stands, bowing before making his leave.

“I’m sorry,” Sidon apologizes, and there is some guilt laced with it.

Dorephan grins and shakes his head. “Don’t apologize. You can’t help where your heart pulls you. The mind invariably follows.”

Sidon smiles slightly too, thankful that his father is sympathetic. He’d always been less strict than Muzu. Sidon stands and bows, about to follow Muzu out, but Dorephan halts his departure as he asks if you’ll be back soon. Sidon shrugs, for you hadn’t specified how long you’d be away (you tend not to, since even you don’t know how long your trips would be). He sighs instead and it’s rife with longing. She could return tomorrow and that wouldn’t be soon enough.

The days are merely the rising and setting of the sun, and the nights a constant reminder of you. The crescent moon is your smile and it guides Sidon across the threshold from the waking world to that of dreams. He wonders if you’ve followed his advice, to think of him as you fall asleep, and when he dreams of you, he’s sure that you have.

He receives no correspondence from you, and while odd at first, he isn’t bothered by it. You’re busy traversing Hyrule, and once you find an inn to settle down at for the evening, you’re probably too tired to write. He understands. Usually when you do send a letter, it’s with the date of your return, which is never too far off from the day that a courier hands Sidon the folded piece of paper. So that’s what he looks forward to, what he uses as a way of surmising that you would be coming to Zora’s Domain. If the courier is in town, he is watching closely, stomach buzzing with anticipation, only to be left disappointed when the messenger leaves, and he is empty-handed.  

But he repeats to himself that as the days crawl along, the absence of letters isn’t worth fretting over. Sometimes, you don’t send one at all, and he isn’t aware of your presence here until the morning or night of, when he spots you walking around town, asking other Zora if they have seen him. He supposes he’s just grown used to the messages, for you had been sending them during your travels with increasing regularity. To receive none now is a disruption to the routine, but it was nothing more than that.

And it works for a while, convincing himself that you’re preoccupied with your exploration and perhaps have decided to take the long route back to Zora’s Domain. Though if this turns out to be the case, he does wish you would have sent something, at least to let him know you’re okay. Not that he doesn’t doubt you’d be careful, but he’d always worry about you in some capacity, a small inkling in the back of his mind that wouldn’t disappear until you were here with him again.

The morning that his concerns come to a head, and he actually starts to fear something has happened to you, is, coincidentally, the day you return. Muzu is the one to inform him, having seen you walk into Coral Reef the moment it opened. Sidon is quick to descend to the lower levels of town, every rushed step synchronized with the beating of his heart and he can barely contain his zeal, his happiness, his relief that you are back and you are safe. Because he won’t deny that this particular journey had gone on long enough without communication to warrant serious distress.

All the emotions welling up within him come out in a breath of near disbelief to find you right where Muzu had said you would be. Any tension he had felt uncoils and a sense of calm permeates his being from the top of his head down to his toes. His chest tightens because he’s missed you so much and you are back and the clocks tick at their normal pace once more.

You descend the steps of the general shop and as you come nearer, Sidon sighs your name and he has missed the way it felt upon his tongue. He waits for you to return it, to gaze up at him with that charming grin and whisper his name or shout it because you’re so excited but it wouldn’t matter either way because all he cares about is that he gets to hear you utter it.

But you don’t. You don’t run into his arms, don’t light up at the sight of him. Rather, you walk up to him at a leisurely pace, seeming to stop in front of him less because you’re elated to see him and more because he’s merely blocking your path. You tilt your head back to look up at him but you have no reaction to the toothy smile on his face. For reasons Sidon can’t explain, his expression refuses to fall, though deep down he knows something is off. The smile remains, however, the last vestiges of a hope that he’s just imagining those things and nothing is wrong. Nothing is wrong.

“Um…” Your voice is tentative, like you’re choosing words carefully, like you’re not sure of what to say. He catches the brief drop of your eyes to his grin before you lift them again to meet his own gaze, and you shake your head as if to tell him that if he’s looking for someone, it’s not you. It can’t be you. “I’m sorry, but… do I know you?”

———

II.

Sidon’s smile dims, caught off guard by the question. You continue to stand there, expecting a response, and after a few seconds of silence, you raise a brow. But then he flashes another smile and lets out a small chuckle.

“That’s funny, [Name].”

You’re only joking, surely, pretending to not know who he is. His mind refuses to consider anything but, despite the fact your face isn’t breaking out into a grin, unable to keep up the charade any longer. When you hear him say your name, you don’t look comforted by it, you look confused. With brows drawn together, you shake your head again.

“Have we met before?”

Any semblance of joy on his face finally ebbs to nothingness, and his confusion matches yours. His heartbeat quickens but not in a good way, as realization dawns on him that you aren’t messing with him. You are entirely genuine, treating him like a stranger and thoroughly apologetic that he seems to recognize you and you can’t remember where you might have seen him in the past.

“It’s me…” he starts quietly, as if those are the key words and a section of your brain will light up in recognition. “It’s Sidon.”

You still watch him blankly, your demeanor unchanging, not picking up anything special to hear the name. But then your expression does change, your eyes widening after a few moments, and he inhales sharply, prepared for you to acknowledge him and maybe this time, drop the act and the joke and the two of you will spend the rest of the day catching up, enjoying the presence of the other. And he waits with bated breath for you to thrust yourself into his arms and for the strength of impact to steal that breath away as you express how much you missed him.

You don’t do any of that.

“Prince Sidon?” you exclaim. Sidon doesn’t nod to confirm it but you bow anyway, bent at the hips and staring down at the ground for a second then standing back up straight. “I-I’m sorry I don’t remember us meeting. Please forgive my forgetfulness, your highness.”

You wring your hands nervously and Sidon doesn’t want any apologies because you shouldn’t have to offer any. The bated breath leaves him in a silent and shaky exhale as the reality of the situation sets in. This isn’t a joke. The way you’re acting is authentic. You’re staring at him with no ounce of familiarity, and the look in your eyes reminds him of any other traveler who passes through Zora’s Domain and finds themselves anxious and unprepared to be in the presence of the prince. And it shouldn’t be like this. You aren’t just any other traveler, not to him. Though how could he expect you to know that now?

You’re still waiting for him to speak, hoping that he won’t be annoyed. But he isn’t. He could never be. Not with you. So he shakes his head, forcing himself to smile just a little, a polite one to put you at ease. “There’s nothing to apologize for. We all forget things sometimes.”

You visibly relax, shoulders drooping after being tensed those several long beats. Sidon doesn’t say anything more, and you have nothing else to add either, so you clear your throat, a failed attempt to break the awkward air hanging between you.

“Er… well… if I may excuse myself, then…” Your request for dismissal is shy and Sidon’s heart is twisting because this is how you acted the first time he’d ever met you, and the memories are fond but that’s how they should have stayed. Just memories.

“Of course.” He stands to the side to give you room to walk past him, and you bow again, though not as deep as the first, before skirting around him.

He stares at your retreating form, understands that it’s you who’s walking away yet at the same time, it doesn’t feel like it is. The one he has conversed with might have your eyes and your hair but perhaps it wasn’t actually you. It made no sense for it to be. Delight fills your gaze when you see him and it’s complemented by a wide smile as he brings you close and threads his fingers through the soft strands of your hair. But who he has just spoken with held no such delight in their eyes, and there was no big grin to behold, and they never came closer than a respectful arm’s length, clearly not sharing in the expectation that Sidon would hold them near and tangle his fingers in their hair.

No matter how many ways he tries to rationalize that he’d been mistaken, that it wasn’t you he’d spotted exiting Coral Reef, he won’t ever be able to deny the way his chest had tightened when he saw you, when he heard you speak though you used the words of a stranger. And he still feels the tug to follow after you, to get you to admit you have been joking and while it gave him a scare, he admires your commitment but now, life can go on as normal.

However, that’s not what would happen. Your reactions couldn’t be faked. He could implore you all he wants, to remember. He could beg you to dig around and uncover that corner of yourself, the place where he resides and where you understand how much you love him. He wants you to know he’s not just a prince, he’s your prince, and you mean the world to him. He wants you to remember it all, and there’s a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach to know that you don’t. You can’t.

He’s at a loss as to how to handle these circumstances. Never has he been faced with something like this. The biggest question on his mind is how this happened. It’s not as though he could simply ask you. As far as you were concerned, you aren’t missing any memories to begin with. This was the work of some form of magic, surely. But it was none that Sidon had ever heard of. He’s in dire need of answers, but the only one who might know anything, as well as the only one he trusts enough to help him figure it out, isn’t in the domain currently. Sidon doesn’t know when he will be, but until the day his friend crosses that bridge into town, he is left waiting.

You stick around for a few more days, and Sidon finds himself falling back into the habit of searching for you. Before, he’d approach you the moment he spotted you, maybe even sneak up and surprise you if he felt particularly playful. But now when he notices you speaking to other travelers or having your weapons repaired at the blacksmith’s workshop, he keeps his distance. He stays far enough away that you can’t tell he’s staring intently in your direction, observing your sweet smile and straining his ears to listen to your laugh. All the while, he misses the time he’d been able to elicit those reactions from you, and his chest would swell with pride whenever he was successful. He wore your love for him like a badge, a reward of the highest honor. It’s practically impossible for him now to comprehend that he has been set aside to the margins, a thought far from your mind, because you have never left the center of his own and would never leave it.

It dawns on him one mid-morning that despite the hand fate has dealt, he’s not being prevented from doing those things which he had carried out with great pleasure when you looked upon him with so much love. He could try to make you smile, make you laugh, and perhaps the embers of forgotten flames might flicker to life.

You’re settled down by the cooking pot, drawing and scribbling on your map. Sidon approaches quietly to avoid startling you, but you don’t notice him. He ponders what he should say to you, what might make for polite and casual conversation. He has to treat you like a stranger, and it hurts him to do because as he watches you, he sees his whole life sitting there. And he could never be angry with you when you finally slide your eyes over to him and the fondness isn’t returned because you can’t know that he’d witnessed that all slip away the moment your memories were stolen. But he doesn’t know what to be angry at so he’s angry with himself, and he swallows the lump in his throat and tells himself it’s time to focus on you, just you, because you’re what matters.

He points to the map you hold. “You’re a traveler?”

You nod in lieu of replying verbally. He can surmise you’re nervous. So he smiles gently as he asks if he can join you.

“O-Oh, yes, of course!” You scoot over to make room for his much larger frame and he inserts himself into the spot rather easily. It all starts to feel familiar for him.

He glances over your shoulder at the map with its pronounced creases from being folded and unfolded. There are additional marks which have been added since you’d last been here, but he knows it’s the same copy because of the line drawn from the domain towards the south, to Lurelin Village. He addresses said route, inquiring if you’ve visited or planned to soon.

This pulls back the floodgates and with a few extra questions from Sidon to steer the conversation, you’re gushing to him about your interest in exploring Hyrule. You tell him of where you’ve gone and where you’d like to go, and he listens attentively, nodding and humming intermittently to show he’s following along. He can’t contain his little grin as he senses the passion in your voice and he already knows these things, your love for exploration and the vastness of the land. He knows all these places you have been to and the stories associated with each one. But he hangs on every word anyway like he’s heard none of this before and you’re so eloquent and heartfelt and he has missed the closeness of it all, as you open up to him.  

Then your string of tales wanes. I’ve told you all the exciting parts, you reason. And you laugh nervously, apologizing for rambling as long as you had and not allowing much space for Sidon to talk. But he laughs with you and says it’s okay, he doesn’t mind. He prefers to listen. He’s so genuine as he looks at you that you have to look away for a second, cheeks warming.

With a plaintive sigh, you lift your head to survey what parts of the town you can see from the inn. The sun is setting and the sky is shifting from dark blue to orange.

“I don’t know why,” you begin, eyes narrowed as you stare into the distance, at the gleam of luminous stones set within the pillars as night falls, “but I always find myself coming back here after my journeys. It’s a special attachment that I can’t really explain.”

Sidon’s eyes are glassy but luckily you fail to notice because you’re not facing him. A heavy weight drops into his stomach and he wants to tell you he loves you and that there had been a point where you loved him too and that’s why. That’s why you feel the tug deep down to end every expedition here, why a part of you has made it instinct to call this place your starting point, your base, your home. Everything leads back to him and you’re so close but not close enough. You could always be closer.

You glance at him, and you’re none the wiser to the tears he has willed away, and your soft smile makes his chest tighten. For a second he might believe that things are normal, the way they were, and you’ll suggest the two of you watch the sun disappear from the outskirts of the domain where there isn’t as much light to interfere with the view. But he knows things are not normal and those won’t be the words to leave your mouth next so he tells himself you’ll be his view this evening, as the setting sun illuminates your features, painting your skin with orange hues and swirling in the depths of your eyes where it slumbers until the next day when you should wake, and the world will follow on your heels.

Sidon is alone in his bedchamber tonight, and the idea is uncomfortable, that you aren’t with him despite being in the domain. Suddenly his room feels even lonelier.

The moon hangs high in the sky and bathes the cold stone floor in light as well as kisses the expanse of Sidon’s scales as he remains near the window to stare out at the blackened waters below. He’s too preoccupied contemplating the events of today to try going to sleep. What rest he may manage to obtain will surely be restless, and he doesn’t consider that any better than not sleeping at all. Sometimes you liked to stay up to admire the moon, and he wonders if you’re doing that now.

He hadn’t talked with you for long, but it had really, genuinely felt good to hear your voice because he had missed you, during those few weeks apart. It lifts his spirits to see you walking around town. Your presence is the only thing that can pull him out of his slumps, its absence what put him there in the first place. He likes being around you because you make him want to sprout wings and fly, and you would always have that power over him, with your memories or no. He feels like he’s falling in love with you again (not that he’d ever stopped). Maybe you’ll fall in love with him again too.

You’ve set your sights on Lurelin Village, and you’re the one to instigate the conversation as you trot up to Sidon, noticeably more relaxed now, and excitedly tell him of your plans to go to the coastal town next. He mirrors your zeal as he envisions the bright blue waters and the warm sand. He’d like to swim there one day, he confesses to you. But since he can’t right now, he asks that you have fun for him.

Sidon has trouble masking emotions, and sometimes the strongest ones can slip through. That’s the only explanation he has for why you become bashful during an otherwise casual chat. Because he can’t hide his gaze of admiration and love for you no matter how hard he tries and maybe you’ve picked up on that. He ponders if you see glimpses of another life reflected back in his eyes where you aren’t merely guessing if he means to stare at you in that way because you are why that affection fills his being as he observes you.

You have already left Zora’s Domain for Lurelin Village when Link saunters into town on a gloomy afternoon. A week separates your departure and his arrival. Sidon greets him at the bridge and they make lighthearted banter over lunch. It’s not until they’re full, unable to eat another bite of their wildberry crepes, that Sidon finally brings up more serious topics. Namely, the situation with you.

Link listens closely as Sidon talks, eyes narrowed in concentration because there’s a problem to be solved and Sidon can’t solve it by himself. But Link is at a similar loss as to how this could have happened. He shrugs helplessly and sits back and says if this is some form of magic, he hasn’t ever heard of it before. I’ve never known there to be magic that could manipulate the mind.

Sidon is disappointed that he’s still stuck at square one, but he isn’t mad. They are out of their depths here. They have no idea how to combat that which is unknown to begin with. He speculates perhaps you had sustained a head injury, but that hypothesis doesn’t find any footing given that if that were correct, you should’ve lost more than just your memories of him. Link nods silently along, giving Sidon the space to think out loud.

With a heavy sigh, Sidon slides his eyes over to the Veiled Falls visible through the large windows and shakes his head, and he’s quiet as he divulges that he feels burdened by failure. He hadn’t been there for you like he promised. And you might have come back to him as you have always come back to him, but this time you didn’t come back to him whole. He should’ve gone with you. Then maybe whatever had happened wouldn’t have, and he wouldn’t be having this conversation, heavy with regret and melancholy hindsight.

Link hates to see his friend like this. The picture of the Zora prince before him is far from the Sidon he knows. Sidon’s the one to pick others up when they’re down but Link understands that the tables are turned now, and he is in need for the favor to be returned. Link has met you several times, when your stays in the domain have overlapped. It’s abundantly clear to him how much you mean to Sidon, and he almost feels as though he is sharing in the distress no doubt settling in Sidon’s entire being.

She wouldn’t blame you, Link asserts. Sidon’s movements are sluggish as he blinks and turns towards him. Neither of you could’ve predicted this.

Sidon agrees, silently, that that is true. But it does little to make him feel better, though he appreciates Link’s efforts.

At failing to garner a response from Sidon, Link purses his lips and picks at what remains of the crepe on his plate, pushing around a wildberry with his fork. He looks from his food to Sidon and back again, his mind a flurry as he racks it for some sort of solution. Granted, there couldn’t be many. Whatever had affected you had to be powerful, and there would only be so many methods to counteract it. The odds seem insurmountable but Link isn’t willing to give up because he doubts Sidon isn’t willing either. When it comes to you, Sidon is willing to do whatever it takes to make sure you’re okay. Whatever it takes…

Slowly, Link halts his poking and prodding of his food, eventually abandoning the fork entirely and leaving it stuck upright in the thickest part of the crepe. He reaches out to the glass of water to his left to take a sip and sneaks a glance up at Sidon, who isn’t looking directly at him, still staring beyond Link to the windows. Even without meeting his gaze directly, Link senses the misery. Sidon’s desperate.

But desperate enough to…?

Yes. The answer is yes because Link knows Sidon would lay down his life for you if it came to that, and so the idea Link is hesitating to share despite the fact it must be the only solution would be a small price to pay for your wellbeing. And what kind of friend would Link be to withhold anything that might help?

So he tells Sidon there might be a way to fix this, and he knows there’s no turning back when Sidon finally faces him and there’s the slightest light in his gaze, the flash of hope kept tempered in case the proposed solution goes nowhere and he be left even more disappointed than before. But Sidon would hold onto it tight because you’re the gleam of sunshine in the center of his eye and he would never let go of you.

There’s this statue… Link begins. There’s a statue in Hateno Village with magic of its own. It’s strong, and no one is sure how it works or where the magic comes from. But if one makes a request to the statue, the wish is granted, regardless of what it is. If you want the water to turn green, it’ll happen. No one’s tried to ask for anything so ridiculous, of course, not that there was any need. Those aware of the statue’s existence are aware of its power and do well not to make absurd requests for the sake of witnessing just how powerful the statue is said to be.

Link ends the explanation with the remark that this is what could give you your memories back, could make you remember Sidon. But he tacks onto that one final statement, more quietly: I think it might be the only way.

Sidon keeps silent as he mulls over what he’s learned. Whatever magic was involved with that statue, it must be dark, and while he might initially be opposed to dabbling in dark magic, the circumstances are too dire for him to be immediately reluctant. As it stands, he is giving it serious thought. Link had sounded confident that going to the statue would work, and that’s good enough for Sidon to agree that this would be worth looking into. However, Link’s quiet admission that this was the only solution spoke for consequences less than favorable, and while Sidon knows to expect as much considering the forces they’re reckoning with, Link’s tone had been dismal, as if to warn Sidon to be very, very careful.

Link is watching him closely now, and he takes a deep breath, feeling like he’s about to break a hundred years of silence when it’s only been around a few minutes.

“What does the statue ask for in return?”

The question was going to come up inevitably, but Link still delays answering. His hesitation to reply already speaks volumes. It takes a piece of your soul. It wants a slice of your mortality. He forces the words out, though it pains him to voice the suggestion. He wouldn’t ever want Sidon to surrender those things, whether it was just a piece or the whole. That was to surrender a literal part of himself, and he could never get it back. But ultimately, it was Sidon’s decision what to do, and as Link sits there, lets his words ruminate in the prince’s mind, he knows what Sidon will decide. Like he’d said prior, all of it, in the wider scope, is a small price to pay for you.

Sidon nods. He’ll go before the statue.

With his mind made up, the next course of action is figuring out when he can leave town to make the trip to Hateno. He would do it overnight and do his best to return to the domain as soon as possible the following day. He would try to make the journey there and back without stopping for rest but he knows that wouldn’t be possible because while he could swim via the Zora River, the distance from there to Hateno is still too large to cover at once. He would sleep enough to ensure he wouldn’t fall over and pass out from exhaustion, but nothing more. He couldn’t be gone for long.

The tail end of Link’s visit nearly overlaps with yours, but he misses you by hours. He leaves in the morning, and you arrive at noon. Sidon spots you at the inn, where you’re sitting on one of the beds, observing the hilly expanse of Upland Zorana and the Veiled Falls. The town is elevated high enough that the spray of water at the waterfall’s base can’t reach, but if it did, Sidon’s sure it would feel refreshing.

He calls your name gently and you look over once you hear it, giving him a curt smile before returning your attention to the scenery. He sits on the edge of the bed, giving you your space, and gently so as not to jostle you. The water beds are quite squishy.

“How was Lurelin Village?” he asks, and he’s smiling, prepared for the excited ramblings of your most recent escapade.

But he doesn’t get that. All he gets is a noncommittal shrug, and this leaves him rather bewildered. He might’ve been less so had you followed it up even with some simple and vague remarks as It was good or I had fun. It’s the complete silence that is out of the ordinary. He continues with another question, attempting to start a conversation. “Did you enjoy yourself?”

When he asks this, you shrug again, but you must sense that he doesn’t consider that a good enough answer at all (especially after the first shrug) so you elaborate. “I did.”

Sidon’s brows furrow but you don’t notice. Are you mad at him? He has no idea why you would be. You were in perfectly good spirits around him before you’d left Zora’s Domain, and he hadn’t seen you until you came back today. There was no opportunity for him to do anything that might arouse that resentment in you, not that he would ever try to do that. He can’t recall ever acting in a way that angered you. Instead, he owes it to the fact you may just be tired from the traveling. Once he considers this a possibility, he starts to feel a little guilty that he may have just interrupted you as you were about to take a nap.

You exhibit no signs of wanting to talk, staying silent and facing forward. With a quiet sigh, Sidon says he’ll let you get some rest because you must’ve had a long journey. He stands and walks back to the front steps of the inn and you make no move to stop him.

Sidon plays the interaction between you two over and over in his head that night. Sure, it really could have been that you were exhausted and that’s why you acted like you did. But he’s also sure that if that were true, he wouldn’t feel that nagging feeling in his chest that something is different. He knows you incredibly well, firstly. Secondly, this scenario reminds him of the worry he’d felt when you were away from the domain for longer than usual, and your return had quelled it up until he learned you had forgotten who he was, proving his concern had merit. Now he knows to give the benefit of the doubt to his instinct, because though his brain might reason nothing strange is afoot, his gut is pointing him elsewhere.

The following morning he finds you in the same spot, but you’re now sitting on the end of the bed, head resting atop your knees, which you’ve drawn to your chest. Sidon hesitates to go to you, not wanting to upset you again if it turns out that you truly had been tired, but he can’t prolong talking to you. He has to figure out whether it had been your lack of rest that made you abnormally wordless or if there was something more going on.

Good morning. He greets you in a hushed tone for your sake, not wanting to scare you. There was no one else in the inn he had to take care not to wake up.

To respond with a shrug is, evidently, too much energy for you now. Your eyes flicker to the side to glance at him just for a second, before they slide back to watch the waterfall. He sits on the bed next to yours, settling down at the end. For a few minutes, you observe the water together and the silence is almost comfortable. Sidon pretends the day is like any other, the two of you watching the current flow, winding its way between high cliffs. If you were closer to the river, you’d spot fish.

The moment of mere pretend is swept away by the wind that blows through the inn. Sidon turns his head to stare at you on the other bed, where you’ve not appeared to move an inch. This cathartic nature is wholly uncharacteristic for you, and he could hardly believe that who he’s seeing now is you, who have always been so energetic.

“How was your adventure at the beaches down south?” Sidon has accepted that he will need to be the one to carry the discussion along.

“It was fine.”

This is a verbal reply at least. But it leaned neither towards a positive connotation nor a negative and Sidon doesn’t know what to make of it. He’s even inclined to say that you sound apathetic. His suspicions begin to grow.

“Well… Have you started planning where you’d like to visit next?” There’s another bout of silence. He’s unsure if that means you’re thinking on his question, wondering where you want to go after your period of rest here, or if you’re ignoring it. Both were possible give how you’re acting and how little you move or speak.

You inhale deeply and stretch your legs out, hands braced on the mattress. Sidon perks up, thinking maybe he was wrong, maybe you’re okay and you were just tired, so you’ll be a little slow talking about your next destination and he won’t mind that one bit. You exhale in a heavy sigh, and it comes across as burdened and very tired.

“I haven’t thought about it, no…” You trail off, attention dropping to your lap. You pick at the loose thread on your pants. “I haven’t thought about much lately.”

The admission raises alarm in Sidon. It signals to him that something strange is going on, laying itself on top of the already bizarre occurrence of losing your memories of him. Were the two phenomena connected? He assumes them to be immediately, but you might have also run into trouble again on your trip to Lurelin Village. The cogs are spinning in his head as he tries to make sense of the situation, of what could be happening to you.

Gradually, he starts to make connections, just hypotheticals with no grounding. His confirmation could only come from you directly. So when thinks he might have found the string connecting both your loss of memories and your sudden lethargy, he asks you another question.

“[Name],” he says your name softly, “do you feel any urges to travel?”

You don’t stop to consider the question, and when you look at him, you seem nonplussed by it. The look in your eyes makes it seem as if you don’t even understand why you should be getting excited about something like that. You almost look bored.

“I don’t care much for it.” You shake your head.

And then Sidon knows, and he wouldn’t have if he didn’t know you so well. Whatever you had run into that stole your memories of him, it had stolen more than that. It had taken an entire emotion away. Now, not only do you not love him, you can’t love at all. The magic which has affected you must work gradually, and that’s why you were still passionate about your exploration up until this most recent visit of yours to the domain.

The sudden loss of your enthusiasm to travel across Hyrule is to have lost parts of your very being, and that’s how Sidon knows this isn’t just a change of heart or fatigue. You have never had a change of heart about your travels or come close to it. Your desire to roam the wilderness and discover what is out there is core to who you are, and you would’ve gladly done it for the rest of your life. But now you suddenly have no interest, and what’s more, you don’t even realize that anything is unusual about the fact you have no interest. The problem arising from what magic had struck you runs much deeper than simply forgetting him.

He wants to apologize. He wants to say it over and over until you’re sick of it. But of course you would never know why he was so apologetic, and there’s an ugly twisting in the pit of his stomach because he wants you to get mad at him too. For saying sorry too much or for letting you get into this mess in the first place because it’s his fault. He deserves your anger but you don’t even have any to express. As it stands, you understand yourself to have no resentment for him. He wishes he could lament to you his failure to protect you and maybe still you wouldn’t be mad and you’d say that you don’t blame him like Link said you wouldn’t, but Sidon needs to hear it from you and he just wants you back.

He doesn’t know who stares back at him as you look over, having started to think that the silence had stretched too long. You tilt your head, prepared to ask if something is bothering him, but he stands up before you can.

“I’ll give you time to wake up more fully. It’s early. I’m sorry I intruded.” He flashes a brief smile in farewell, then turns quickly, the smile dropping once he does. He’ll never know if you tried to stop him in that moment, hand held out as if to get him to pause, before the words die in your throat, and you let him go.

Technically, it isn’t that early in the morning—the shops are all open—but he had to get away before he broke down in front of you. You, so unaware, left feeling detached by no choice of your own, at the center of the whole affair without even realizing. You’re beginning to drift farther and it hurts the most when you're sitting next to him, and he’s forced to bear witness. And he can’t believe how much he can miss someone.

———

III.

Link returns three days later and they make preparations to leave for Hateno that same afternoon, just as the sun begins to set. The golden hour might be better to enjoy in a happier context, but it’s the glare in Sidon’s eyes today when he glances west.

He’d told Link of what had transpired with you and Link frowns as he listens. The circumstances of your memory loss keep getting stranger and stranger. As they’re riding out of Zora’s Domain, Link wonders aloud if this might mean you could get worse if they didn’t do something to fix it. Sidon says he doesn’t want to think about what might happen, but deep down he can’t help but entertain the thought, wracked with paranoia as he has been these past weeks.

Would you continue to lose more of yourself? Perhaps your inability to feel love is only the beginning. Perhaps as the days wore on, you’d gradually become unable to feel much else, until you were just a shell. But who would do such a thing? Sidon fails to wrap his head around what might drive someone to do something so cruel and to someone so sweet. You have plenty more to lose if Link’s speculation is true, and Sidon’s inclined to say that the process is already underway, because how could he ever hope to see your smile again if there’s nothing that makes your heart burn with passion, to a degree so high you can’t contain and it pulls the corners of your lips up and crinkles the corner of your twinkling eyes?

The more of you that fades, the more Sidon perceives himself following suit. You’re a big part of his life and he can’t imagine it without you. He doesn’t want to. Without you, he’s just a prince, and the title pales in comparison to what he means to you. The honor of one day taking over as ruler of Zora’s Domain doesn’t mean much if he’s alone.

It’s the middle of the night when they arrive in Hateno Village. They had been diligent in their travel, taking as few breaks as they could manage. The main road of the town is empty, everyone having gone to bed earlier, and all that lights their paths are the torches in the wall sconces and the lamps hanging above locked storefronts. Said lamps sway gently with the cold breeze, the flames flickering to near ember before the gust stops, and they roar back to life.

Link comments that he’d never made the trip from Zora’s Domain down to Hateno so quickly before, and it’s meant to be a small joke, to brighten the mood. Sidon humors him with a small chuckle, but is unable to muster anymore than that. But Link understands, and quiets down as he leads him to their goal.

Sidon’s chest is heavy as he realizes what he is about to do. The notion of approaching the statue had seemed so faraway in the days leading up to this trip and while on the journey to Hateno, like a dream, but now he’s here and this is real. These last few minutes are his last chance to back out, but he won’t. He doesn’t even consider it. The consequences sound harrowing, to trade part of his mortality, part of his soul, but he knows it’ll be worth it. If you got to be whole again, he could live contentedly in a fractured state. Maybe he won’t even feel any different, so long as he could see you be happy.

Link walks through Hateno as though to go to his house, but instead of ascending the hill, he takes a path leading farther down, between two rock faces, their heights blocking the moonlight from reaching the grass. They’re cast in shadow and with no light source in this area, they can barely spot the statue on the other side of the large boulder, positioned like it’s in hiding.

This statue is larger than the goddess statue in town, its horns protruding menacingly, the points dulled down with age; and its wings are spread, adding height to the already imposing figure. It’s clear that this statue receives no care or maintenance. The stone is dark from dirt and moss, riddled with cracks and flattened in corners where the tips have crumbled, forced to withstand the elements and unsuccessful in its efforts.

No one comes to maintain this statue, Link says. He and Sidon stand before it, staring at its state of disrepair. They say a dark energy looms here.

Sidon nods. He’d had a sense of foreboding once they stepped into the presence of the horned statue, the power of it weighing on him, like it knows that he’s here to strike a deal, and it’s pressing in on him, forcing out the words and the commitment. Vaguely, he wonders when the last time anyone had approached the statue was. What it asks for is serious, and only the most grave of situations could lead someone here, in their most desperate hour. The statue is a last resort, and a chill runs down Sidon’s spine as he becomes aware of the power it must have. Dark magic does exist, its tendrils snaking through Hyrule, ominous and dangerous and unbelievably strong. Perhaps it was the work of Hylia herself that such strength is so hard to find, to accidentally stumble upon. Dark magic plays no games with fools.

The overgrown grass blows with another gust of wind and sifts as Link adjusts his stance, resting his weight on one foot. He glances up at Sidon. Are you sure? he asks. There’s a second part untacked to his question, but Sidon understands it fine—this is his final opportunity to turn around.

Link would never judge him for backing out. Dealing with dark forces is hazardous, and not everyone is capable of standing before the statue, shoulders squared and confident, ready to trade with it, a fractioned section of their soul and mortality for the granting of their one wish, their chief desire. Even Link doesn’t think he could do that, and for Sidon to be here only makes him respect the Zora prince more. But if in this moment Sidon were to turn away, Link would understand. The deep discomfort, of the air squeezing too tightly the longer you’re here, digging in like claws, is the ultimate trial, to test one’s resolution and commitment. Not all can bear it.

However, Sidon hardly looks bothered. His eyes are aflame with determination, and it reminds Link of why he respects Sidon so much in the first place. The resolution pumping through his veins has been there since the beginning. He doesn’t back down from challenge or adversity, and in matters concerning you, he only fights harder. That’s why when Link had given Sidon one last chance, one last out, he already knew the answer.

Sidon nods. He’s sure. His mind had been set the moment he’d learned of this statue.

Link leaves Sidon alone, mentioning that he’d be at his house, back in the direction they came from. I’ll get a fire going, he says. For when you get there. As Sidon takes the last few steps to stand right in front of the statue, Link starts walking back up the hill, throwing a somber good luck over his shoulder.

For a few moments, Sidon stares at the statue, unsure how to begin. Does he approach this as though he were at a statue of Hylia? Should he kneel? A breeze blows through, the two hills where the statue sits between forming a wind tunnel which makes the gusts strong. The chilly air seeps through his scales and he feels heavy, like there are weights in his stomach and attached to his ankles so that he’s unable to move from this spot. And then he hears a whisper, in the back of his head.

Shall we strike a bargain?

The sinister spirits looming within the statue have made themselves known, but Sidon doesn’t yet know how to form the words, to string them together and communicate his wish. He would have to phrase it carefully to avoid being misunderstood, and in attempting to phrase his request, he realizes he is at an impasse.

Whether or not he would come before the horned statue to make a deal had never been a question nor a doubt in his mind. It had seemed simple to him: he would make the trade in return for your memories. It was clearcut, precise. But now things are hazier and the line is blurred because the recent developments concerning your missing emotion had made it less so. This was not as easy to navigate, and your wellbeing hung in the balance.

If he were to ask for your memories back, for you to love him again, he’d get that. The statue would honor any demands made, as long as the price is paid. But that’s all he would get. And while he’d be over the moon to feel that once more, what it was like to be loved by you, it isn’t enough. It’s what Sidon wants but it isn’t what you need.

No, what you need is to feel love again at all. If the statue granted the wish for you to remember and love him, your love would only stretch that far. Sidon knows the phrasing of the request is of utmost importance, because though the statue accepts and carries it out, dark magic takes delight in skewing the words until the result scarcely resembles what was asked for. He just gets one wish, and to ask for you to remember him and to love again are two.

His chest tightens and it hurts and this twisting isn’t the work of the horned statue. The internal conflict is nearly too much to handle but in the incomprehensible flurry he knows what he must do. He knows what he wants for you, because from the very start, this was about you and it would always be about you because he loves you. He loves you so much his heart is cracking down the middle and he is preparing himself to let you go.

That’s what they say, isn’t it? If you love something, let it go. Sidon’s made tough decisions before but this is by far the toughest. The reason for it is due to his difficulty in coming to terms with what will happen from here, after he voices his wish. He already knows he wants what’s best for you, and he knows that’s what he will ask for, but he’d spent so long clutching to you tightly, he doesn’t want to see you carried away, the wind scooping you gently from his embrace. But for you to be your old self again, in its entirety—capable of love for the sunrises and sunsets, for the flowing water of the rivers, for exploring the full breadth of Hyrule and sharing your adventures with any willing ear—is more important. He cares more that you can love, even if it means you wouldn’t love him.

You won’t remember him the way you knew him before, won’t know how much you loved him or how much he loves you, but he would show it as best he could. And though he hates to consider it, you might fall in love with someone else anyway. He can’t see the future but if it came to that, he would have to be ready. In these several seconds he mentally steels himself for the possibility, and it doesn’t make the weight of his decision any lighter, but he basks in the small comfort that he will see you full of love, and he would be happy with that, even if you gave it away to another. You falling in love with him would just be a bonus, and if you don’t, he’ll still love you, and he hopes somewhere deep in your subconscious you will understand just how much.

A heart so big shouldn’t go empty. This final thought pushes Sidon over the edge, and he makes known his wish to the statue.

Link looks up from stoking the fire when the front door creaks open. Sidon peeks his head through then steps fully across the threshold, quietly shutting the door behind him. The air is solemn and at first, Link hesitates to say anything, but he figures maybe Sidon would appreciate it, as something to ground him, bring him back to earth after the ominous atmosphere he’d been immersed in. How did it go?

Sidon doesn’t respond immediately, but Link is patient. He stares into the orange flames, then inhales deeply, chest expanding, then steadily exhales. Link surmises it isn’t a breath of burden. It almost sounds light, a sigh of relief. But Sidon wears no smile to complement it.

“I made the deal,” Sidon states. He isn’t particularly wordy, deep in thought of what has occurred.

Link doesn’t push him to elaborate. What had happened was a private matter, and if Sidon didn’t want him to be privy of details, he wouldn’t ask about them. Instead, he nods, then returns to his original task of gathering ingredients to cook a simple meal for both of them. As he throws everything into the pot, he suggests they leave for Zora’s Domain before the sun rises. That would give them a few hours of rest. If they’re just as diligent as they had been on the way to Hateno Village, they should make it back by noon.

They eat in silence, the only noise the crackling of the fire and their spoons clacking against the bowls. Link’s attention is on his food, and he doesn’t notice Sidon’s contemplative gaze.

“It’s interesting,” Sidon remarks suddenly, and Link turns to him. “Considering what I’ve traded, I don’t feel any different.”

Link hums, and he smiles a little. It’s a small form of pity, he guesses, that one feels the same with a fractured or a whole soul. The horned statue has some sympathy, it seems. Upon this comment, Sidon chuckles, the tension leaving his shoulders and the air relaxing into something more comfortable. By the time they ride out of Hateno, it’s normal once more, and they’re chatting casually, as if the events from a few hours ago hadn’t happened, or occurred too far in the past to remember or linger on.

You aren’t in Zora’s Domain when they arrive, and you still don’t return in the few days that follow. Link says he’d like to stay and wait for you, to see for himself what has come of the bargain Sidon made, but he has his own business to attend to elsewhere. Sidon is understanding, and tells him it’s okay, but Link still parts regretfully. He parts with Sidon with hopes that you’re doing well. It certainly has been a while since he’d seen you. Maybe some day soon your visits here will intersect.

Sidon waits for you anxiously, and he’s antsy during meetings with his father and Muzu. He resumes his usual practice of gazing out the window in search for you, and for multiple mornings, it’s fruitless. He doesn’t see you out there, and his shoulders sag in disappointment with every day that passes. He falls asleep at night pondering the nuances of the wish he made, if the results were immediate or if they were gradual. If it was the latter, surely by the time you finally walk into town, he’ll witness what came of his journey to the horned statue. He knows his desire was fulfilled, the statue true to its word, but he can’t help the small inkling of doubt that nothing had changed.

Finally, finally, he spots you crossing the bridge on an early morning, the soft glow of the luminous stones encasing your figure as you walk, and the only assurance he isn’t dreaming is the jump in his chest of his heart skipping a beat.

He runs down to greet you and you prove to him that something had changed, everything had changed and it changed for the better because when you see him, you smile so widely and exclaim that you need to tell him of your latest adventures to the cold planes of Hebra. And you’re so beautiful Sidon might cry. He’s missed you. He voices that to you, how it felt like you’d been away for so long, and you laugh, wondering aloud It couldn’t have been that long, surely? and you’re still grinning at him as you continue jokingly Are you that lost without me around?

Sidon chuckles. His own smile is fond and maybe you detect that, or maybe you don’t. “You have no idea.”

He spends the rest of the day with you, listening intently to your stories. His reactions might be a little overdone, but you don’t appear bothered, instead seeming rather appreciative of his rapt attention. It feels good to hear you ramble. The passion is tangible.

This continues to be the state of things from then on. You venture out to a new location, and he waits for you, eagerly awaiting your tales. You’re always eager to share them. A warmth floods him on the day he spots you sitting by the cooking pot at the inn, map in hand as you scribble notes on it and trace out new routes. You’d had to replace the map again, and you’re embarrassed as you admit it had flown out of your grip on a windy day and got stuck in a tree, too high for you to climb up to retrieve.

“At least last time it was because of a fight with bokoblins, and that sounds much more exciting,” you lament, but you can’t pretend to be sad for long as you break into giggles at the silliness of it. “But maybe one day the wind will knock it free and carry it to someone who needs to find their way home.” You shrug nonchalantly at the casual hypothetical.

Sidon’s mouth twitches, a grin fighting its way to the surface. You are so kind, and do you realize that, he wonders? Do you realize the extent of the compassion you feel? He’d like a heart like yours, with enough room to welcome anyone who requires shelter.

You notice his silence and glance over, head tilted as you ask if he’s okay. He’s fine, he promises you. More than fine. He’s doing wonderful. You seem to doubt him briefly, watching him closely for a few beats until you concede. Your lips curl into a smile, satisfied that he’s being truthful. Good, you say. Sidon smiles softly at the straightforward response, curt but relaying perfectly how much you care.

The two of you lapse into a quiet again but it’s comfortable. You sit there together, and a kaleidoscope of butterflies runs loose in Sidon’s stomach. He might grow those wings any second now and take flight. If he does, he’ll be sure to hold his hand out for you to grab onto, if you want to tag along. He hopes you do. You’ll never know the things he did to turn you back to your normal self, but that matters little to him. What he’d traded was worth it, and he would do it all again.

Besides, he’s too busy marveling at that greatly missed warmth in your gaze to feel like any part of his soul had ever gone missing.

———

EPILOGUE

You have a tendency to wake up at dawn.

It’s a habit you figure has been instilled from the constant traveling. You prefer to start the day before the sun rises, in order to take advantage of the crisp morning air. Sometimes the afternoon heat is harsh enough you have to stop more often to rest, hiding in the shade of a large tree just off the trail. Such instances typically delay your journey and set you behind, and it irritates you only until you remind yourself that the journey to your destination was just as important as reaching the destination itself. The whole purpose is to explore to Hyrule, to bask in what it has to offer, and perhaps the silver lining of the hotter days when you’re forced to stop earlier than planned is that you’re allotted more time to slow down and admire the scenery.

The rays of the rising sun shine through patches of clouds dotting the sky as you walk along the dirt path, and your cheeks flush at the cold wind prickling at your skin. It had been dark when you left the inn, but the sun will have fully risen when you get to your goal. This would’ve gone much faster if you weren’t carrying a wooden container. It requires the use of both your hands, for it’s heavy, and you move slowly, occasionally setting it down to take a break. In the few minutes you use to rest, you like to study the water down below, and the way it glitters in the early morning. The steady current is a quaint white noise to keep you company on your trek.

Once you finally arrive at the small section of leveled land overlooking the river, you set the cylindrical vessel down and heave a sigh of relief. Your arms will probably be aching from how far you’ve had to bring it. You might feel it by lunchtime, but you won’t mind.

You’re facing east, lone audience to the sunrise, and settle down at the edge of the cliff, legs crossed, and open up the container to take out the parchment and pencil you’d placed there before you set off.

Where you sit currently has been named the Bank of Wishes. Finley had told you about it once. At this place, the river gladly receives the confessions of the heart and carries them away, and the subsequent days are spent hoping they might find their way to the one they’re meant for. It sounds fantastical, like make-believe, but perhaps that’s the point. There’s a magic here that makes the impossible possible, if only you’re willing to believe. And you are.

You think you can feel the difference in the air, the hospitality of the breeze swirling around you, still cold but not at all unpleasant. There are a few fireflies fluttering about like little fairies, blinking silently, still brilliant against an orange sky. The nocturnal creatures would retreat shortly, but for now, they take interest in the container at your side, and as they come close, you hear the faint flicker of their wings.

Your heart does the thinking while you draft your letter and your mind merely follows, and maybe it’s the hum of the lightning bugs’ wings or maybe it’s something else that resounds in your head, murmurs of welcome, as though whatever roams here unseen is glad that you have stopped by. You’re glad you’ve stopped by too, and the lightness that fills you as you take a deep breath is simultaneously the work of the crisp, gentle breeze and the mystical presence curling around you, goading the words out, the admission, the feelings you have for the one who means a lot to you, means the most.

Once you’ve signed the letter, you read it over. There are some spots you’ve had to scratch out a spelling error but even for those flaws you think it’s perfectly written. It says everything you need to give voice to. You nod to yourself, satisfied with what you wrote, then fold the parchment and reach back inside the red container for the third object you had placed within, the last piece in the process.

The pale blue nightshades seem to glow, as you hold the stems in one hand and cradle the petals in the palm of the other. Carefully you tie them to the golden band wrapped around the vessel, bending the stems appropriately but never pulling too hard for them to snap. They’ll be a small beacon, lighting the way for your letter as it floats along the water.

After that’s done, you set the letter inside then close the lid, checking that it’s secure. When you’re satisfied that it won’t pop back open, you reposition yourself to sit on your knees. You aren’t quite sure what you should say, if there were any traditions or methods of opening the conversation with… well, with whatever wanders here, waiting for another confession to guide downstream. But any worry of starting it wrong is nonexistent, and you keep it simple.

Your heart’s in that container, you think, for you feel no need to speak aloud. Whatever is here would know your thoughts. You heart’s in that container and you’d like for it to be kept safe. It may have far to travel but your heart’s already used to that. You’ve journeyed through this land, from end to end, and what more could the space between you and the one you love be? If it were wide as Hyrule or even wider, you would close the distance gladly. A hundred miles is a hundred steps to you, to reach who your soul yearns for.

Now all that’s left was to send away the vessel. You turn it onto its side, then give it a firm push. It rolls off the edge and drops down into the water with a small splash. You watch it float farther and farther, a school of fish trailing just behind. Perhaps they’re drawn to the small spot of light that are the nightshades, just as you are, as you continue to to sit there, until finally the container curves around the bend, and you can no longer see it. You still don’t move after it’s disappeared, rooted to the spot for several seconds as you take in the moment, memorizing how bright the sun is this morning, how cool the grass is, how contented you are to have done what you did. Life feels a little different now—a little brighter, a little more full of love.

Then your brows furrow, your eyes lowering from the sky back to the river.  And it’s odd, you think, that all this feels vaguely familiar…

“[Name]!”

You twist around at the sound of your name. Sidon is standing just off the path, waving at you even though you’ve no need for that to notice him there. He’s tall, and his red scales stand out from the blue sky. His smile is big as he walks closer and asks what you’ve been up to.

You shake your head and stand, brushing off the dirt from your pants. Nothing, you say. Thankfully he doesn’t pry, and having sensed your desire to keep what has transpired a secret, he changes the subject. He invites you to breakfast, and you’re about to accept, but your stomach answers for you and growls. This prompts you to grin sheepishly.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Sidon remarks. Then he laughs, and it is truly wonderful to hear.

The day is already looking to be quite splendid, and there’s no one else you’d rather spend it with. Whenever you should finally gain the courage to tell Sidon you love him, you can only hope he feels the same.

[kenzieam]

Destroyed - Chapter One (Chris X OC)

Rating: M

Warnings: Violence, language, drama, angst

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What happens if Chris survived the bank robbery?

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Five Years Later

The sun beat heavy on his bare shoulders, the skin pulling slightly with the beginnings of a sunburn. Chris tightened the final bolt then straightened, ducking out from under the reach of the truck’s hood, stretching his spine with a groan as he dropped the wrench with a clatter in with its mates then pulled a rag from his back pocket to wipe his hands.

He let the sun warm his face for a moment, eyes closed and contemplated; should he get a start on figuring out what was making the Adler’s van run so rough, or go eat lunch?

That was his life now, and he was content with it.

He’d just made up his mind, lunch first, Adler’s van second, when a new sound pierced his thoughts. Dropping his head from the sun’s warmth, he turned to look over his shoulder.

A late seventies Toyota Land Cruiser wheezed towards him. Although old, it was in decent shape, either an older restoration or just plain well cared for, but right now, it needed help. Chris watched as it wound down, seemingly like a wind-up toy petering out, and gasped one last time before stalling a few dozen feet away. All clearance lights, already dimmed, died instantly and Chris, although not a betting man, not since gambling with his life five years ago, would have laid odds on what the Toyota’s problem was.

The driver’s door opened as Chris approached and he felt a sudden jolt of electricity. Not even Erin’s kiss in that bar as they’d learned their cover had affected him like this. A woman stepped out, no… scratch that, an angel appeared.

Long auburn hair, faint strands of blond catching the sun; thick and wavy and just perfect for Chris to card his hands through. Sunglasses of probably the same vintage as the Cruiser were pushed up into that glorious mane to reveal a set of cat-shaped eyes in the most unique and breath-taking shade of lilac-grey Chris had ever seen. Faint wrinkles of worry marred the smooth heart-shaped face and then she was looking right at him and Chris felt like he’d been kicked in the guts.

“Hey- , uh. Car trouble?” He stuttered, feeling his face start to flame.

The faintest of smiles. “Yeah.”

“Sounds like your alternator.” Chris scrambled for steady ground; known terrain when the earth was practically shaking beneath his feet.

“I thought so,” she murmured, sounding resigned. She met his eyes and Chris felt a fresh jolt. “Do you think it took my battery out with it?”

A lopsided grin, the majority of people he helped had no idea what an alternator even was, let alone knew how it worked.  

“I’ll check that, if you got it here fast enough, it should be okay.”

She bit her lip for a moment. “How long will it take? I have to get to work.”

“Not long, I can have it done by this afternoon if I’ve got the part laying around.”

The woman flinched slightly. “I work late, I won’t be able to come back until tomorrow.”

“That’s fine. You said you had to work? I can take you-“ Chris was babbling and he knew it, forced himself to shut up. “I mean, if you’d like.”

The faint smile again, a hint of pink in her cheeks. Maybe he wasn’t the only one being thrown off his axis right now. “I can’t ask you to do that.”

“No, it’s fine.” Chris was inexplicably terrified of losing contact with this woman and if he’d had more time to think about it, it probably would have bothered him, this sudden attachment. “I’m just heading out to lunch; I can give you a ride. Where are you going?”

Her eyes met his, that strange lilac-grey seeming to pierce into his soul. After a heartbeat, something flickered in her gaze, something Chris would swear was fear. “No, thank you.” Her voice was firm now, insistent and Chris felt an unexpected and unexplained pang of disappointment. She reached into her purse and pulled out a flip phone.

Chris stood rooted to the spot, frozen, until the woman raised her head. “Would you like me to sign anything first?” Her voice was tentative again, as if she worried she’d angered him.

Chris swallowed hard, hating that she was slipping between his fingers and at the same time, absolutely stunned that it mattered so much to him already. What the fuck is wrong with you, King? “Yeah, follow me. I’ll make out a work order.” He turned and strode into the shop, heart hammering a frantic tattoo in his chest. Reaching the counter, he grabbed the necessary paperwork and a pen. “Uh, name?”

The woman had reached the other side of the counter and now shifted her weight, almost uneasily, as if she was leery even of giving Chris her name. “Raen.” She finally answered, pronouncing it like ‘Rain’. “R A E N Casteel.”

“And a number to reach you at?”

Another pause, as if weighing her options. Chris had studied body language and received more than enough training in the F.B.I. to read this woman’s behaviour. She had been hurt by someone in the past, badly, and was either running from it still or was just permanently marked, forever cautious around strangers, especially men. His heart ached with a sudden desire to pull her close and crush away all her bad memories, show her that not all love and all men meant pain; and track down the ratfuck that had made her this way to begin with. Finally, she offered a number, chewing on her bottom lip.

“Okay,” Chris scrawled the number, mind racing as he tried to organize his thoughts. He’d never been so thrown by someone in his life, not since her. In the space of only a few minutes, he’d gone from content and hungry, his biggest decision of the day being when and what to eat, to being absolutely swept up in a mysterious woman, ready to fight for her and kiss away her sorrow. But no.

He couldn’t.

He’d fallen hard for a woman before, and it had nearly killed him. He could not do that again.

“Alright.” He cleared his throat, forcing a casual tone. “I’ll look at it and give you a call and an estimate.”

“Thank you. If I don’t answer, please leave a message.”

“Sure.”

The woman gave him one last hesitant smile, then dropped the keys on the counter, turned and almost fled the shop, the door banging closed behind her. Chris watched her hurry away and disappear around the corner.

Jesus wept.

He wanted to help her, and not just by fixing her vehicle.

As soon as his doctors discharged him from the hospital, as soon as it wasn’t abject agony to move anymore (because Chris had gone cold-turkey on all hard drugs after), he’d left the F.B.I., taking all the compensation and bonuses offered to him for his service and sacrifice. Breaking the lease on his apartment, he’d loaded his truck (not the monster he’d driven as Undercover Chris, but his own) and pointed it east, intent on leaving L.A. and California and the west coast entirely, not stopping until the icy dread that ran rampant through his veins finally ebbed and he could draw a deep breath again.

Staying in L.A. meant memories, it meant driving past old haunts and neighborhoods, remembering his shitty past and even shittier career as a Special Agent; one that had started promisingly enough, especially for a delinquent kid who had more in common with the thugs he chased than the agents who hunted them, but had cratered hard when he’d accepted his last assignment.

Deep cover, a chance to advance and take out an asshole at the same time. Dangerous, but definitely worth it; and then he’d met her.

Erin Bell, his awakening and his ruin. His rise and his downfall. In her he’d found a partner, a fellow survivor of a hellish childhood and for a time, he’d been in love. Blinded by the light, as the song went.

He’d let himself believe he could have it all, that he and Erin could give the middle finger to Silas’ gang, to the F.B.I., Sheriff’s Office and the whole fucking world and just run off together with a shit-ton of stolen money.

How wrong he’d been. At the last moment, his conscience had finally intervened, and he remembered the fright and tears in that blonde teller’s eyes as Silas had screamed at her, the abject terror in her innocent face. As he’d watched Silas drop the duffels, spewing tell-tale purple clouds and storm back into the bank, the haze had lifted from his mind and even Erin’s horrified, pleading stare hadn’t been enough to bring it back.

No one gets a fuckin’ scratch. He’d vowed, but he’d been the naïve one then.

“F.B.I.!” His words hadn’t had the desired effect, Silas hadn’t fl0undered in shock or dropped to his knees in acquiescence; it was like he’d known and, looking back, he probably had, trading Arturo for Chris at the last moment, the psycho had at least suspected someone was a mole and Chris had been the one to break cover.

The memory of the burn from the bullets was something that still woke Chris up from a dead sleep, multiple points of agony in his torso, a line of fire on his scalp. That last bullet Silas gave him, aimed as the kill shot to his skull as he lay gasping and already dying on the grimy industrial carpet of the bank; had, depending on your viewpoint, either saved or doomed Chris, missing his brain and splitting a line on his scalp instead. Silas hadn’t noticed as he’d stalked out and Chris carried that scar to this day, visible at all times because although he hated thinking about his past, he’d kept the shorn head and facial hair.

If asked, he couldn’t explain why, but maybe it really was to remember, even though he hated to. Seeing Undercover Chris, with a buzz cut and goatee everyday in the mirror was his penance. He couldn’t, he didn’t deserve to go back to the neatly-groomed man he’d been before, hair longer and fluffy and worthy of a woman running their fingers through it; he wasn’t that man anymore, for better or worse.

He’d driven until his truck had made the choice for him, quitting in this mid-sized town in New York state, lasting long enough for him to limp it into this very mechanic’s shop. A chance comment from the owner, that he needed a new mechanic, had been the catalyst for Chris to stay, at least for awhile.

As a kid, knowing through bitter experience that his own mother was an unreliable source, Chris had kept himself alive with his hands. More specifically, using his hands to fix and tinker. A few hours working on the neighbor’s broken lawnmower earned him enough to eat for a week, the car he’d traded a day’s worth of small engine work for and spent two months of weekends working on before selling to the plumber down the street helped him make it when his mother finally OD’d and he’d needed to keep himself afloat, keep the nosy housewives on the block from calling CPS and reporting a child left alone. Not that they’d have been overly concerned for Chris’ wellbeing, his mother had supported her drug habit by spreading her legs for anyone with cash or drugs, and most if not all of these women’s husbands had partaken at one time or another, meaning Chris was practically guaranteed abandonment when the real object of their fury and indignation was gone, and only her son was left to blame.

That history had been his fuel for a time, spurring him to apply for the F.B.I., encouraging and driving his ambitions to make something of himself, to be more than the fatherless son of a crack-whore.

And, for a time, he had been. He’d been more. Chosen for the assignment, entrusted with the delicate task, but he’d fucked it up, as it was in his genes to do and it still burned sometimes to think about it.

And now, working at the shop had kept him busy, tired him out enough that sometimes he was even too exhausted for the nightmares. So, when the old man had announced his retirement two years later, Chris had offered to buy the place.

For almost three years now he’d been here, running his own business, continuing and building on the shop’s reputation in town, paying Karma back with steady and honest work.

But was Raen another Erin? Another flash fire that would only leave him staggering and burned, another paradigm shift in his already jagged and torn existence?

He’d worked so hard to rebuild his life, was he ready to risk it all again?

[a-fluffer-nutter]

Planet Earth

A/N - Hey y’all, here is a fic I really loved writing for @funficsandstories birthday! Sorry this was a bit late, but I hope you love the fic as much as I do! Happy birthday and I hope everyone has a great day!

Word Count: 1,793

           “Planet Earth, again?” John walked into the room, waving away the pungent scent of marijuana from his nose. It was three in the morning, elephants walked across the TV screen, trumpeting at each other as John’s flat mate stared intensely at them. The room was pitch black apart from the television, candy wrappers and opened Tupperware blanketed the floor.

           “It’s the best…” Sherlock’s voice trailed into something unintelligible, his eyes unblinking, a reddish tint haloing his irises.

           “You’ve seen this episode five times already,” John rolled his eyes, walking past Sherlock into the kitchen. “What’s so special about this episode?”

           “The dude guy died…” Sherlock’s words jumbled together, pointing at the screen as a male rhino mounted a female rhino. The man with the tousled hair and the slurred speech pointed at the screen, a dopey smile drawn onto his face. “Procreation at its finest.”

           “How many strains have you had so far?” John asked, holding up the empty container, the lid laying nearby on the floor. John quickly filled a glass full of tap water before walked over to his chair, which was pushed into the corner of the room.

           “Not enough.”

           “So, I leave you alone for two days and you become a raging pothead, eh?” John decided to sit on the floor beside Sherlock, not keen on waking up the neighbors with the sound of the large chair scratching against the floor. “How about I pull a you for a minute?”

           “The brain named itself,” Sherlock let out a short laugh, reaching his hand into a near empty bag of crisps. John laughed to himself, highly amused by Sherlock’s current state, ever quite seeing him like this. Sure, John had seen him high on cocaine plenty of times, but this was different. Instead of his typical serious, yet hyperactive high, Sherlock was currently in a form of transcendence. He seemed to be on another plane of existence, not his mind palace, mind you, but in this delusional state where the real him was locked away and the slower, giggly Sherlock was out to play.

           “Judging by the papers strewn around the flat, someone was murdered recently, and you’re determined to find the killer. This person, most likely a man, judging by how you’re performing the experiment on yourself instead of on another person, was high at the time of death, which means he was likely an American,” John stood up, looping around the chair to stare down at Sherlock who finally tore his eyes away from the show, “Anyway, you believe that there is no possible way that someone could be murdered without putting up much of a fight when high, so you are testing every single strain of weed available for testing, as I’m sure that was his drug of choice and you were not able to identify which one he was on when he died,” John paused, nearly breaking his stark composure thanks to Sherlock staring at him wide eyed, his lips slightly parted in awestruck. “All in all, you’ve been testing all the strains you can to see if you can be as immobile as our victim was. You can see which brain activities have been depleted and which pressure points are weaker, I’m sure. So, how is that working for you so far? Learn anything?”

           “You sounded like me,” Sherlock said, head cocked to the side, becoming too heavy for his neck to support in this stupor. He lazily reached his arms out and grabbed John’s collar, tugging on it to bring him down to his level. “If you’re so smart, then why am I watching this show?”

           “The man’s Netflix history composed of Planet Earth, with this episode being one of the last three he watched. Based on Netflix’s algorithm, he this was the last one he watched, with the very next episode being the one that Netflix shut itself off. You can tell it was this one by the numbness of the content and based on the approximate hour of the murder, the man was mostly likely alone and wanted to be aroused, which is also true thanks to the weed. The rhino sex scene in this episode would provoke a sense of numbing satisfaction and humor, which you are experiencing right now, and would also distract the victim from being snuck up behind.”

           “You should take my job,” Sherlock giggled through his words, falling back into his chair, nearly being absorbed into the soft material. “You’re so smart, John.”

           “If I am as smart as you think I am, should I help you conduct your experiment?” John asked, the seeds of a devious plan taking root in his brain.

           “Is the sun hotter than 10 degrees Kelvin?”

           “Um, yes?” John tilted his head in a brief wave of confusion, quickly shaking it off. “So, for your experiment, I’m going to attack you at certain angles and see if you can fight me off. If not, then this may be the strain our victim was smoking before he died. You ready?”

           Sherlock nodded, his eyes glittering with a drowsy excitement. He turned back to watch the show, watching a pride of lions prepare for a hunt. John scooped up his glass and set it in the kitchen, mentally preparing himself before initiating his plan, knowing this was quite possibly his only opportunity to have Sherlock in this state ever again. Quietly, he snuck up behind Sherlock, whose body seemed tense, but not as tense as he usually was in his normal state. Quickly, from behind the chair, John struck.

           Sherlock instantly dissolved into a giggling mess of a man, his arms folding against his chest, not trying to fight back whatsoever. On the occasion that John had ever tickled Sherlock, the younger man would bite back his laughter at first, taking a lot of provoking to get a laugh out of him, his hands usually going straight for John’s wrists until the dam broke. Once Sherlock did finally start to laugh, he would cover his mouth to hide his laughter, not wanting anyone, including himself, to hear it. This situation was different, much different.

           His laughter loud and clear, Sherlock didn’t once try to cover his mouth or even try to fight back the flood breaking loose. Head back, heels digging into the floor, Sherlock simply laughed as John climbed the ladder of ribs to the high ledge of his collarbone. A deep red blush painted Sherlock’s face, one rarely seen by John, though barely visible in the darkness of the night, the gazelle being ruthlessly slaughtered on screen not offering much light. John didn’t even need to tickle him very much, just the mere presence of his fingers against Sherlock’s skin sent the detective up the wall.

           “Well, it looks like our victim was probably using this strain,” John let out a low laugh to himself, enjoying himself way too much, but who could possibly blame him? Sherlock was letting loose for one of the first times in his friendship with John, and quite possibly, his entire life. Who wouldn’t enjoy hearing this beautiful composition coming from Sherlock?

           “If I can get this one spot, then we will know this is the strain that he was using,” John rolled Sherlock over, which wasn’t too hard, the other man offering no resistance whatsoever. Sherlock lifted his head, turning it ever so slightly so his mouth wasn’t covered by his seat, as if wanting John to hear him laugh. All the tension that was resting on Sherlock’s shoulders had evaporated once he felt John’s fingers gently press against the curvature of the shoulder blades.

           John prayed for no one to call the police as Sherlock screamed, his low, contagious laughter filling the flat. His limbs flailed aimlessly as John lightly scratched between the shoulder blades, causing his laughter to go silent, reaching a state of bliss John had only gotten Sherlock to only on other time, though not nearly this quick. It had only taken him mere minutes to get Sherlock to this state this time, a new record John knew he would never beat.

           “Alright, Sherlock,” John finally said, stilling his fingers before Sherlock would begin to wheeze, as he had the time before. Sherlock curled into himself, hugging his body weakly, smile still wide on his face. “Time for you to get some sleep.”

           “But I’m hungry.”

           “Hi hungry, I’m John,” Sherlock let out a soft laugh, an act of pure genuineness that John could barely believe it. It was one thing to force him to laugh, as John had just done, or to make him let out his sympathy laugh, but this was much different, so different that John couldn’t tell if the marijuana induced it or Sherlock had finally broken down his wall enough to let John see this part of him. “That was adorable.”

           “You’re adorable.”

           “You’re tired.”

           “I thought my name was hungry,” John couldn’t help but laugh at the ridiculousness of this all.

           “Let’s get you to bed,” John said, pulling Sherlock out of his chair, hugging him around the waist to stand him up. “You can watch more Planet Earth tomorrow when you’ve solved the case.”

           “But you solved it,” Sherlock replied, stumbling to walk with John, practically being carried to his room. “You’re going to take my job if I’m not careful.”

           “I highly doubt that.”

           “I’m high.”

           “I know that,” John laid Sherlock onto his bed, listening to Sherlock rustle around to find a comfortable position.

           “You’re so smart, John,” Sherlock said sincerely, his voice nearly matching his typical tone, throwing John off. “Thanks for being my friend.”

           “Of course,” John said, his heart full of wonderful things. “Goodnight, Sherlock.”

           “When you empty a vacuum cleaner, you become a vacuum cleaner.”

           “Jesus fucking Christ,” John muttered to himself as he gently closed the door, knowing that’s all he was going to think about until he fell asleep. On that note, falling asleep seemed like a great idea.

           John walked back into the main room, Netflix just about to switch to the next episode of Planet Earth as John switched off the TV. As he went back toward his room, he kicked something very small and hollow. Picking it up, John went back into his room and switched on his light. Eyes burning from the sudden brightness, John strained as he looked at the empty container, a few words scrawled onto a piece of tape wrapped around the middle. Repeating the words over and over, John set the container down on his side table after turning out the lights, knowing exactly what he was going to do in the morning.

           John was going to buy more containers of that strain of marijuana for Sherlock to smoke.

[553butterfly553]

The Adventures of Arcadia and Hendrickson - 19

Broken

“H...How?! I thought attack magic wasn't supposed to work on Zeldris?!” Mael yelled out in shock as he held less of his brother now.

“Did you forget? I was the one that lent you that power, The Demon King, in the first place!” The Demon King yelled out to his injured son.

“Uncle Zeldris!” Arcadia cried out but remained rooted next to Hendrickson. She knew she needed to be there just in case. She couldn't let him die for Zeldris's sake.

“Bastard!” Ban yelled out as he kicked the Demon King in the face hard. “You... Absolute scumbag bastard! That's your son... Your own flesh and blood, isn't it?!” Ban was repeatedly punching and hitting the Demon King as he yelled at him. “Just what the hell are you trying to pull?!”

“I am the Demon King!” He bellowed as he punched Ban back finally. “I have no need for weaklings in my bloodline!”

“So what?!” Ban responded as he attacked back. He just kept attacking the demon over and over again, until the Demon King was sent flying backward. As the Demon King stood up, he was covered in black and yelled out loudly. He then began to fly in the air, bouncing around randomly. “...What is it this time?!”

“That's the Demon King's death throes,” Merlin answered as she was finally conscious and back up on her feet with the help of Escanor.

“You... You all...”

“He's planning on dragging the captain down along with him. We need to drive him out of his body now!”

“Hey, were you able to meet Meliodas?! Was he doing okay?!” Hawk questioned the young goddess.

“...Why didn't you come with us, Hawk?” Elizabeth returned with a question of her own.

“...W...Well... B-Because...” However, he was cut off by the Demon King flying at them as he continued to scream out.

“For now, we've got to stop him from zipping around!” Ban yelled out as he made his move to head after the demon. Ban was able to get in front of him and try to stop the demon from moving any further. “You seriously don't know when to give up, do you?!” However, his attempts shot the Demon King upwards. Elizabeth, Merlin, and King all began to use a combined attack on the demon as he was above them. That caused the demon to scream out even louder now.

“Hang in there, captain!” Diane yelled out as she then got ready to use an attack of her own. The Demon King came back down almost hitting Ban in the process. Now, however, he was laughing like a psychopath.

“My final ultimate technique...” The Demon King muttered out as he laughed. However, Hawk came crashing down on his head and shoulders. “Master!” Ban yelled out, horrified by what the pig was doing. Diane chose this moment to use her attack and send the Demon King upward on a huge mountain of earth. Ban then quickly made his way up the mountain and prepared to attack the Demon King once more. “I'm comin' for you, Cap'n... It's time to get your ass back here!” Ban sun out as he delivered the finishing blow. He punched down on the Demon King's abdomen, causing the mountain to shatter around them and split down the middle. Everyone looked on as the dust began to clear.

“Did...it work?” One of them questioned as everything finally became clear.

“Yes... Welcome back!” Elizabeth called out as she wiped a tear from her eye. There laying on pieces of lifted earth, was the real Meliodas.

“Geez... My body is beat to hell...” Meliodas spoke with a smile on his face.

“...To hell and back, that is.” Ban sun in response with a matching smile on his own face. It seemed like everything was over, just like that. However, Arcadia and Hendrickson's attentions were turned to the disappearing Ludociel.

“It's... so quiet,” Ludociel muttered to his brother. “Would you tell me... what's happening? I can no longer see anything.”

“It's over, brother,” Mael responded as he held his fading older brother. “The Demon King had been wiped out. The threat has been eliminated. And it's all thanks to their efforts... The Seven Deadly Sins. They have managed to do what none other was even capable of...”

“Hmph... How naive. Just because the Demon King was vanquished, doesn't mean that the Holy War is over.” Ludociel muttered out bitterly. However, he then spoke more. “Even so, brother... This is still the first, small step. The first step that the Goddess and Demon clans who once hated one another are taking together.”

“Lord Ludociel!” Hendrickson spoke with a pained smile on his face.

“Precisely. I never thought I'd hear words like that came from you.” Elizabeth spoke up next, bringing everyone's attention to her. She'd walked over silently without anyone noticing.

“Please, forget it. I was merely sick of his meaningless Holy War.”

“...I won't forget. I won't forget how you all risked your lives to protect us. Thank you, Ludociel. And you... Mael.”

“Hmph...” That was all the now smiling Ludociel had to say before disappearing completely.

“Brother...” Mael muttered as he watched his brother depart. Hendrickson and Arcadia just looked up as well and watched their friend leave.

“He'll be at peace now. We all will be, hopefully.” Arcadia muttered as she looked over at Hendrickson. She sadly smiled at her lover and leaned against him as if she could no longer stand by herself. He wrapped an arm around her in return to not only pull her close but to keep her standing upright as well.

Then their attention was turned back to the Seven Deadly Sins. Specifically, Escanor who began to whistle and smile widely.

“But still, I can't believe it! You actually defeated the Demon King! Not to mention the fact that both the captain and Ban managed to make it back!” Escanor yelled out happily. However, no one else seemed to share his enthusiasm. “What's the matter, everyone? You're all looking so gloomy...”

“Of course, we're happy that the captain and Ban came back... But the biggest problem of all still hasn't been solved.” King responded simply as he looked over at his friend.

“Ahh...”

“Exactly. There's only one day left until Elizabeth's curse manifests. And now we've lost any means of breaking it.” Merlin stated as she looked down at the ground. “The captain tried to collect and absorb all the commandments in order to break it... but in the end... The Demon King had to be destroyed.”

“Which means Elizabeth is going to die...” Diane muttered as she began to cry despite her lover patting her on the head softly and comfortingly.

“Diane. That's already settled and done with. What I wanted most was for Meliodas to return back to his normal self!” Elizabeth was now at Meliodas with her hands affectionately in his hair. “If Meliodas did become the Demon King, then we would have never been able to see each other again. Whereas even if I die, I'll be reincarnated time and time again.”

“I suppose that is what you wanted to begin with, sis-sis. But are you really going to be okay with this?” Merlin questioned simply as she turned to her friend.

“...Sorry to butt in, right in the middle of your serious conversation, but... There's a way to break the curse.” Meliodas chose to chime in at that moment, causing the rest of the sins and Elizabeth to be shocked. “Actually, a funny thing happened while I was escaping from Purgatory. I just coincidentally managed to acquire that power.”

“Y'know, you really should learn to read the atmosphere a bit. Making a joke like that might wind up getting you killed.” Gowther mumbled to the captain.

“Haha, but I'm not joking.”

“I agree with Gowther. There's no way you just happened to conveniently get a hold of that power... Unless you really did...” Ban stated next as he looked down at his friend.

“Now then, shall we get to it?”

“Meliodas...?” Elizabeth hesitantly asked as she looked over at her shorter lover.

“Okay, everyone apart from Elizabeth and myself, please clear away.”

“Wh...What are you about to do?” The giant questioned as she and everyone else backed away.

“Merlin, would you do the honors?” Meliodas snapped at the woman with a smile on his face.

“...Sure.” Merlin then used her powers causing a black haze to form around the goddess and demon.

“What is this, Merlin?!” King questioned after his lover pointed out the obvious black haze.

“This is the form of their curse, made visible... Eternal life and perpetual rebirth.”

“So this... Is the curse that we've been afflicted with?” Elizabeth asked, however, was ignored by her lover suddenly changing his appearance.

“...You're not going anywhere.” Meliodas stated, startling the other sins.

“C...Captain?” Escanor questioned out in shock.

“F...Father?” Arcadia hesitantly asked as she saw the form the man changed into. It was a similar look to how the Demon King had looked.

“Elizabeth... I'm for the 3,000 years I made you wait... But now, at last, I can fulfill my promise with you!”

“Hey... Meliodas?” Elizabeth suddenly and hesitantly questioned causing the demon to turn to look at her.

“Hmm?”

“Even after you fulfill your promise to me... Will you still... Go on loving me forever?” The girl was now crying as she looked at Meliodas.

“...Of course, I will, Elizabeth! Forever and ever, until you get sick of me first!” Meliodas then gathered power and sent it up flying at the two visible curses. With that, the curses were broken with a blast of sparkles.

“Wow... it's so pretty...” One of the sins muttered as another one spoke up as well. “I can't believe it... that curse of Gods was so easily broken...” Meliodas then turned back into his usual self, before receiving a hug from Elizabeth.

“And now, our long journey is also, at last, finished,” Meliodas spoke up with a smile.

“No... It's only just begun.” Elizabeth responded as she cried some more. “Let's all head back to Liones. Everyone is waiting for us!”

With some tears of her own, Arcadia looked at the happy scene in front of her.

“Can it really be over?” The girl questioned as she looked up to her lover. Hendrickson just softly smiled down at her. He didn't have any answers for her. All he could do was tighten his grip on her and remain there with the girl for now, and forever.

[ace-in-a-shopping-cart]

Director’s Cut Chapter 4: Escape and Meeting

Director’s cut chapter 3

Virgil was woken the next morning when the transition from fins to legs happened. Luckily, it wasn’t as painful as Virgil thought it would be. It felt like his tail and the fins that crept up his sides had simply fallen asleep, a pins and needles kind of pain. The fins on his sides seemed to flatten and retreat into his skin. His tail split apart, starting from the median notch in between his flukes. That pain was a bit sharper but nothing he couldn’t handle. Soon, the scales were almost melting into skin, and he was left with nothing but his shirt. The only piece of clothing he had came down to the middle of the leg, what the pirates called ‘knees’.

Virgil had a full turn of the moon to get used to having legs and knees as, through the gap in the tarp, he watched the pirates go about their days and he waited for an opportunity to escape. His tank was just long enough that he could stand and walk a few steps. It was hard at first, like a newborn human must walk. Eventually, he understood how to do it. The rocking of the boat and the confines of the tank must have made his walking pattern weird and unlike most humans’. He saw the way the pirates walked and tried to follow that but understood that they were most likely the exception and not the rule based on how the cliff figure walked. He tried to match the way Logan walked but it was hard when all he had to go off were memories created at a distance. He follows the visual example better than the memory. I’m not sure if every ADHDer is a visual learner but I know I am and as Virgil’s ADHD is based on my own it was important to me that this be included.

The day to escape arrived sooner than Virgil thought it would but, judging by the phases of the moon, it was still a week or two after Remy showed up. Most of the pirates, including Remus, had gone down to the town for a break while the sun was high in the sky. The rest of the crew seemed to have gone into the ship for a nap or something. Either way, the coast was clear.

Virgil filled the cup with water and grabbed the scrap of paper before he slid out of the hole Remy made and landed heavily on the floor. His first steps outside of water were heavier than he thought they’d be as he didn’t have the water to cushion him. Needless to say, his steps alerted the pirates that he was moving.

He tried to go faster, feeling himself pick up speed. He had been unsure how fast or long he could go but soon figured out that it was at least a bit faster than the pirates as he made it over the gangplank and into the woods that surrounded the beach, pausing just long enough to empty the water into the sand, where it could be returned to its kind. Virgil knew the ship hadn’t moved from where he was first captured, the gangplank reaching all the way to the wooden structure jutting out from the beach, probably because the pirates wanted to see if anyone would come for him.

Knowing he was faster than the pirates, he pushed himself to his limit, running as if he were being chased by an angry kelpie instead of mere men. The same muscles he used for swimming were turned into muscles to be used for running, causing him to be able to have a higher stamina and endurance than the others. It didn’t help his subtlety as he had no idea how to avoid the smaller plants or the low hanging branches. This resulted in even more cuts along his legs, the ones from his tail having transferred over, and new ones forming on his face and arms and chest as he tried to block. The only direction he had was to keep the cliff to his right. If it was always there, he’d be running away from the pirates and that’s all that mattered in the moment. He couldn’t keep himself from shooting glances backwards, hoping to outrun the pirates.

Not looking where he was going, Virgil didn’t notice the large tree that laid in his path until he tripped over it. He rolled downhill for a little while, hands desperately reaching for anything that would stabilize him or slow his descent in any way. In time, he managed to hang onto a tree root that was sticking out of the side of the hill, stopping him in his tracks and letting him be deeply aware of the new cuts on his palms.

“Are you okay?” A voice sounded from behind Virgil.

He spun around, hands still clenched around the root, looking for the person who spoke. Finding that he was at a level enough area that it was safe to release the root, he did so. Standing, he tried to brush himself off but was met with bloody palms. “You know, I don’t know if I am.” He said by way of a response, still breathing heavily.

A hand came to rest on his shoulder, causing his eyes to move from his palms up to the stranger’s eyes. This, in turn, caused him to realize that the stranger wasn’t as much of a stranger as he thought. He found those seaglass blue eyes staring at him, laced with concern and compassion in a way that oddly made Virgil feel safe and like crying at the same time. “Can I help at all?” The cliff figure, Logan’s, voice was smooth and soft, like he was speaking to a spooked sea otter.

Virgil shrugged, feeling tears gather in his eyes even as he wanted to bury his head in the stranger’s chest, searching for a comfort he would usually find in his siblings. “I don’t know.” ADHDers have a lack of emotional regulation, resulting in Virgil’s emotions being larger than life.

Logan nodded as if he understood exactly what Virgil just said. “Well, may I ask why you were running through the woods in nothing but what looks to be a potato sack?”

Virgil looked down at his garment, seeing it was quite torn from the run. “I was running from someone.”

The man nodded, removing his hand from Virgil’s shoulder. Virgil mourned the loss of contact. Logan untied a black and white piece of cloth from around his waist, tying it around Virgil’s with the knot on his hip. He nodded as if satisfied before walking over to a contraption Virgil recognized from Logan’s many trips to the cliff. It was some device that he was able to sit on and travel distances that mers were usually only able to travel if they tamed a kelpie, which was hard and extremely dangerous. Virgil was wary of the land kelpie that didn’t look like a kelpie, taking a step away from it.

Logan seemed to notice him do that. “It’s alright, I’m not going to leave you.” As if that were to help calm Virgil down.

His ears pricked as he heard the sounds of people in the plants behind him. He took a few hesitant steps closer as Logan opened a chest-like compartment in the back of the land kelpie. He grabbed what seemed to be a head covering and thrust it into Virgil’s hands. “Hurry and put this on, I can hear the people gaining on you.”

Virgil did as he was told, sliding the head covering on and latching the strap. Once he did that, Logan came over and checked the strap, his own head covering already on. “It looks good. Okay, hop on.”

He straddled the land kelpie, his hands gripping what looked to be horns protruding from the front. Virgil didn’t like the look of the horns but they didn’t look sharp enough to do any damage so he slid on behind Logan, the seat causing them to be quite close together. Logan looked back at him, his eyes shining with something Virgil couldn’t name. “Hold on tight.”

Virgil did so, his arms wrapping around Logan’s waist and locking into the fabric of the front of his shirt. Logan did something to cause the land kelpie to roar and they were off, leaving the woods behind in favor of a long stretch of open land. The wind was too much and Virgil ended up with his face in Logan’s back, breathing his scent deeply. Virgil had never been good with earth scents but Logan smelled like the woods they just left and seawater. He smelled as close to home as Virgil had smelled for weeks and he couldn’t get enough.

✴ ✴ ✴

Logan let out a loud laugh as the wind buffeted his hair, his leather jacket wrapped snugly around him along with the stranger’s arms. His motorcycle roared as he hit the gas, not only wanting to get away from whoever was chasing the poor man but also desperate to be home and having his wounds cared for. He drove down the highway before using the exit that took him to the area in which his home resided. He had planned on visiting the cliff he usually went to at this time of day, having finally gotten a clean bill of health from his doctor after three weeks of bedrest, only to be sidetracked by an interesting looking feather on the ground. He’d never seen it before and knew it didn’t come from any local wildlife.

However, he’d been distracted by the handsome stranger falling down the hill to his right. The man was covered in cuts and bruises that couldn’t have all come from the undergrowth and low hanging branches. He had a wild look in his stormy gray eyes when he was falling, a look that came from being caged or lost in the wilderness. When he had stopped sliding, he’d been breathing heavily and his legs were unsteady as a newborn deer’s, his hair that looked black but would be purple when dry sticking to his scalp and covering an eye. Logan had tried to be gentle and kind but the man looked like he was about to cry when he turned around. So, Logan did the only thing he could in that moment: offer help. Now, the man was holding onto him as if he’d never let go and Logan’s heart ached for him.

Director’s cut chapter 5

[storytimejustice]

October 6th: Tree

The new and first president of Elkmire Cain Roth had just landed on the small island that used to be named the Kingdom of Stars. It's the last place where native Primwallians have homes and he hopes to tear that apart. But little does he know there's a lily pad stuck to the bottom of his ship with two girls inside that refused to allow that to happen.

"President Cain Roth gaining more land for Elkmire to prosper" "President Roth rehoming natives and merging them with civilization" "The new president is doing something the heroes refused to do in procuring this land and helping the natives" different medias read flooding the screens and pages across Elkmire.

"You're absolutely crazy." Florina said towards Totsi as she threw her bow over her shoulder and grabbed a singular arrow, tossing her hair braided with a pegasus feather over her right shoulder. Florina grabbed her sunflower bracelet and the rose that she intertwined in her hair and finally grabbed a small beige pouch that seemed to be filled with sand. 

"Then why are you coming with?" The older girl asked as she walked through the portal on the roof of Starlight mansion and winding up in the Celestial castle.

"Because you'll need backup and I care about your family's history not being lost to time. I know I'm just a descendant of an Earthling but I don't follow Roth's mindset. You know no one in Chimera Blade does." Florina explained as the two walked up to a map on the wall.

Totsi pressed the arrow against the wall and watched it disappear but left her hand there and Florina took a pinch from the beige pouch and blew it toward the map while Totsi spoke out "Cain Roth". The two girls saw swirling colors around them and then when they reappeared they were on top of the main mast, Florina lashing out vines to grab Totsi and keep them locked onto the mast. "Sometimes I hate that map." Florina whined as the two looked around seeing that Roth had already begun traveling towards the Kingdom of Stars. Overnight while the ship carried itself over the waves towards its destination Totsi and Florina had moved into the lily pad under the ship. 

As the sun rose to begin a new day Roth and his crew walked off the boat and onto the beach and they began placing small figures on the soil ahead. "Grandir" Roth spoke and the figures grew to become large machines with blades to chop down trees and some bulldozers. Florina had controlled the lily pad making it grow larger and cover the duo and move over to the beach. Putting her fingers to her lips the lily pad shrunk and flew into a small hidden pouch on her dress and as they were about to go around the other side of the beach Florina ran over to the ship and shoved a small seed into hole in the wood before following Totsi.

Totsi faced the rubble before her that used to be the kingdom of stars before Nova had totaled the island by finding and taking the Phoenix pendant. Although if the Earthlings hadn't built over the ruins they wouldn't have had to worry about the world falling apart around them. Pulling her bow off her shoulder Totsi pulled the string back and Florina put a seed pinched into the string. As an arrow of light appeared the seed coiled around it and as it was fired into the rubble vines lashed out lifting different portions and creating a tunnel through it and a secret shortcut to Totsi's family.

Sadly they were too late though. As they arrived Roth was already in front of the small village and trees were being chopped away and rows of white sage that grew on a nearby hill was being harvested while Totsi's family stood still and scared between Roth and their village. Their last piece of history. 

"You get your family to safety." Florina mumbled to Totsi and blades of grass flew up around Florina and she was gone but Totsi heard a loud rumble and looked over as the harvester that was stealing the white sage was being crumbled by vines and Totsi nocked an arrow.

"I recommend staying away Mrs. Osyka." Roth stated and the earth moved below her but she moved nimbly evading a large stone that protruded through the earth. "You know I can split this land in half and send them straight into Bile's domain. I recommend just allowing me to work. And I'm guessing from the harvester that Florina is with you but I brought someone to deal with her." Roth informed but barely dodged an arrow of light.

"If you split open this land you don't have the power to keep the water from the ocean pouring in and you don't have the power to put it back together to build upon it." Totsi hummed catching his bluff and dodging another unearthed chunk of rock. "You're weak to take from my family. The Earthlings that did before are weak too. They think that power lies in strength but really power lies within hidden weaknesses and strength lies in the ability to know when you're outmatched." Totsi hummed and spun her bow and fired another arrow, her eyes darting everywhere across Roth's body. He dodged the arrow but didn't see the air bullets coming and got hit with each one sending him flying backwards and causing bruises to quickly form. "They don't break the skin but they can break bones. You have many weaknesses from your sense of you being royalty because of your position to your posture as you use your spells. You leave yourself very very open." Totsi hummed and when she looked over, flower bulbs surrounded each of the remaining natives and they burrowed into the ground. 

"Well now that I kept you busy with my monologuing" Totsi hummed and a gust of air planted Roth against the ground giving Totsi time to look around and see that all the machines were crumbled and coiled up with vines. Cain was getting angry and Totsi could tell as his attacks seemed to be getting faster and more random but all of the members of Chimera Blade had trained for fights against him knowing it'll come down to him or the heroes in the end. With one more gust of air Roth flew backwards and Florina appeared behind him with her sunflower shield catching him and forcing him towards the ground before vines entangled him and began creating a slingshot. As the slingshot released Totsi gave it an extra blast of air and they watched as Cain was shot into the distance and made a large splash about 500 feet into the ocean.

"Hey I have something I need to take care of real quick. Make sure your family is okay. Also look out for a flamehead he's the only one I wasn't able to take down from Roth's crew." Florina hummed and Totsi watched as the bulbs that had submerged underground reappeared above ground and unfurled showing Totsi's family. As soon as they all seemed to get their surroundings and take in what had happened Totsi had them all in a group hug having not seen them in years.

Florina had made her way back to the ship dropping pinches from the pouch she had with her along with dropping small nuts and seeds as she walked until she made her way back to the ship. Sensing the small seed she planted within the ship and the seeds and nuts she dropped on the way and the trees that had been chopped down Florina got into a meditative state and focused pouring all of her magic out. A tree grew through the full length of the ship and embedded its roots into the salt water and sand below and small plants and regular sized bushes and huge trees began erupting across the land including surging through all of the crumbled machines and surrounding the small village of natives.

Everything seemed fine until she heard a chuckle and heat. Florina's eyes snapped open as the last of her magical energy coursed out of her and turned around to see one of the Flame Runners from the beginning of Roth's campaign. Florina stood up wavering a bit from how much energy she just poured out but she still had her sunflower shield grown and she was ready to fight. As fire surged towards her though it was cut short by a gust of air and Florina watched as the ocean around her began picking up until a wave came in and right hooked the Flame Runner into a tree and for just a second Florina thought that she saw a face in the tree she had grown through the ship. 

It was a week after Florina and Totsi had stopped Roth's attack on the remaining native land and it was still the talk of the media speaking ill words of the natives and of the heroes leading to members of Chimera Blade taking turns watching over the natives and the island to make sure no one would attack.

Totsi and Florina had gone back together once to regrow the white sage and Totsi used a bundle of it to cleanse the toxic land.

Just because something is easy to take doesn't mean you should. White sage is now an endangered plant and is being stolen from Native American land. If you are not Native American do not use white sage to cleanse. If you do wish to use Salvia apiana I recommend finding a way to grow it yourself. Although there are other sages you can grow or get that aren't endangered nor stolen from Native American land. (Yes I know some spots of the internet say it is not even close to endangered but from what I understand they're talking about two different white sages and Salvia apiana is endangered)